Lost Souls

by Michael Knaggs

  He closed the book and turned it over again to the back cover, to the picture of the man he believed was the real hero of the NJR.

  *

  It was mid-evening when Grace returned, her noisy entrance jerking Tom out of a shallow sleep. He picked up George’s book, which must have fallen onto the floor when he dozed off.

  “I’m sorry for being so late,” she said, heading straight for the kitchen and the task of preparing a stir-fry for their meal. “You must be starving. What have you been doing?”

  Tom got up from his chair and followed her through.

  “Reading Mr Holland’s book,” he said. “Well, dipping into it, anyway. Amazing that I have never read it before – I should be ashamed of myself – am, in fact. Especially when I’m mentioned in it so many times – and you, too, of course.”

  “Well, you’re welcome to borrow it, if you want. I keep that copy out, but I’ve another one that I got George to sign for me.”

  “Okay, I will, thank you.”

  “If you’ve recovered enough to face a glass of wine, there’s white in the fridge behind you and red in the rack next to it. I’ll have a glass of Pinot Grigio, please.”

  “You really spoil me, don’t you?”

  She paused for just a second. “Make the most of it,” she said, and then carried on stirring the mixed vegetables in the wok.

  *

  Grace had changed back into the dress she had been wearing earlier, and was seated on the sofa across the low table from him. She had kicked off her shoes and curled her legs underneath her. Tom was on the chair where he was sitting when she returned from work. He felt recovered after his meal and was nursing his third glass of wine.

  “You know what this reminds me off,” he said. “That time at the Canoo restaurant in Düsseldorf. After the meeting. We were sitting like this with a Beck’s each waiting to be served. Reggie had gone to the loo and…”

  “Well, that’s just kind of ruined it for me.”

  Tom laughed. “Not for me,” he said. “We were just staring at each other. You looked fabulous – just like you do now.”

  “Why, thank you.” Grace raised her glass to him. “Yes, I do remember. It was really freezing outside, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, we must have been mad to walk there from the hotel.”

  They sat in silence for a while.

  “Then later, back at the hotel,” Tom said, “when Reggie had gone to bed, there were just the two of us again and I had the chance right then… Do you think I’ll get another chance?”

  “Where do you think this is going, Tom?” Grace’s voice was full of steel.

  “I was just thinking, that’s all. Thing’s could have been so different between us.”

  “How? Do you mean if Sir Joseph and Lady Winchester had never had a daughter?”

  Tom frowned. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

  Grace got to her feet and began to pace around.

  “Okay, what things then?”

  “Well, you know…If…”

  “Yes, things could have been different, but opportunities to make them different couldn’t have been more plentiful. Christ, all you ever did was talk about it!”

  “But I thought we agreed…”

  “We never agreed anything.”

  “Okay, accepted, then. I thought we accepted it couldn’t go further. Our positions, our careers…”

  “Your wife!”

  “Come on, Grace. You knew I wanted to. I couldn’t have made it more obvious.”

  “I’ll tell you what was obvious, Tom. That we had a real relationship – not consummated – but real. You gave every impression it was just a matter of time – you knew exactly what message you were sending out. And this against a background of your darling, hyphenated spouse trying her best to undermine you with every public opportunity – radio interviews, magazine articles, even vox-pops at international conferences – and no doubt during all that time giving you no sex. Then she clicks her fingers and two years of growing expectations are just wiped out. ‘Guess what, Grace; Maggie doesn’t think I’m so bad after all. Isn’t that wonderful?’ Well, no, it’s not, actually. It’s fucking pathetic!”

  She was breathing heavily and still pacing, back and forth behind the sofa. Tom remained silent for a long time.

  “Perhaps you’re right, Grace,” he said. “You probably did have every right to expect something more. In which case, I’m sorry. But let me ask you something that’s none of anyone’s business but yours. We’ve known each other for – what – five years – probably longer. In all that time, I have never asked you anything about your private life.”

  “But that’s about to change.”

  “Yes, because you’re making out to be a victim here; a vulnerable, lonely girl, looking for love…”

  “I’ve never said that…”

  “Who’s been wronged by some frustrated married man, neglected by his wife, who has taken advantage of her, et cetera, et cetera. Well, I’m sorry, but you are nothing like that. You described yourself as the ice-maiden earlier. Now why is that? I’ve never called you that; I’ve never heard anyone else call you that. So it must be how you see yourself. You are a spectacularly gorgeous woman and you could have just about any man you want. So, tell me why you’ve never had a relationship for as far back as anyone can remember. Unless your partner is the most understanding person in the world, because I can’t recall a single occasion when I – or Andrew or anybody else – needed you for something and you weren’t available.

  “And another thing. As I recall, this so called ‘relationship’ of ours wasn’t exactly love at first sight. For a number of years, you didn’t show any interest in me at all…”

  “I’m not sure what’s relevant in all this,” Grace interrupted. “You asked me if there was any chance of shagging me and I was just pointing out that you’ve had more than enough chances already. Which raises the question – what’s stopping you? Answer – you’re listening out all the time for the next finger-click in the hope that Maggie’s going to suddenly call you back.”

  Grace continued pacing and shaking her head. Then she stopped, as if she’d reached a decision, and leaned on the back of the sofa to look him in the eyes.

  “I suppose there’s no harm now in telling you this. I have not been in a relationship for over twenty years. On that occasion, it was someone I met attending a seminar in my last year at Cambridge. He was a young AV specialist talking to a group of students doing media studies as an optional extra. He was great-looking, a bit of a rebel, cool and dangerous, and every girl in the group fancied him like mad. We decided to have a competition to see who could be the first to lay him. Cut a long story short, it was no contest. I was the only one he was interested in and he invited me round to his apartment-cum-studio.”

  Grace walked round from behind the sofa, sitting down again and tucking her legs under as before.

  “He was a fantastic lover. For over an hour on a thick fleece rug on his living room floor, I made it over and over again before he finally came himself, so far into me I thought I’d choke.”

  Her eyes had been burning into his. Now she dropped them to look lower and he became aware of his mounting excitement.

  “I’m glad you’re getting off on this, Tom, because now is where it gets a bit nasty. On the strength of that hour of frenzied sex, I knew I loved him; I wanted to be with him all the time. I had never felt like that before – or since for that matter.” She paused, her face clouding over. “Then, just as he rolled away from me, the door leading through to his studio burst open and four guys – all with their dicks out – came rushing through, whooping and yelling. One of them was actually on the point of ejaculating, his eyes rolling in his head. My guy had set up a camera so they could watch everything as it happened on a TV screen in
the next room.”

  “Jesus!” Tom was shocked, but Grace’s revelation only fuelled his excitement. He could picture himself in that room, in front of the TV, watching this beautiful woman squirm and writhe, squeal and moan. He found his own eyes dropping now to her tanned legs, imagining them thrashing around in her throes of ecstasy. He looked up into her eyes again, finding it impossible to read her expression.

  “The bastard! That’s sick!” he said.

  “Yes, you’d have hated having to watch that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Oh, come on, Grace…”

  “It doesn’t matter. I grabbed my clothes and rushed out. Pulled on my jeans and shirt more or less as I was running away, with all five of them out on the landing behind me shouting the most obscene stuff after me. And I’ve never been in a relationship since – never even wanted to be. Until I crossed the line with you – wanting to be, I mean. An unfortunate accident.”

  Tom didn’t speak for a while.

  “Christ, Grace. I’m so sorry. What did you do?”

  “I went to see my friend and he sorted it out. He went round with six of his rugby chums in ski masks and smashed the place up, including his AV equipment, and bounced him off a few walls. Turns out – my lover revealed under torture – that he had a recording of our tryst, which he willingly handed over in exchange for the preservation of his kneecaps. He also very kindly agreed not to go to the police – still thinking about his kneecaps, no doubt.”

  “Useful friend to have.”

  “Yes, I met him when I was a fresher and he was completing a post-doc in politics. I started going along to his evening lectures and he sort of took me under his wing – to prepare me for great things, he said.”

  “Only his wing?” Tom smiled.

  “Oh, yes. He was only interested in my mind – nothing else. Still is, in fact.”

  “Still is?”

  “You know him, I think. His name’s Andrew Donald.”

  Tom sucked in his breath. It was his turn to get to his feet and pace the room, his mind going back to his last meeting with Jackie Hewlett. Something she said had started him thinking at the time, but now her words crystallised into real meaning – ‘I get the feeling that Andrew has some sort of hold over Grace and that everything you say to her goes straight back to him.’ He stopped pacing and leaned on the back of his chair, staring into her eyes.

  “So it’s true. You are Andrew’s spy. You tell him what people are thinking and saying and – no doubt – do whatever he tells you to do. It’s a debt of gratitude; for saving your pride twenty years ago.”

  Grace laughed out loud. “A debt of gratitude! Oh, Tom, you are priceless – if that’s another way of saying incredibly naïve. It has nothing to do with gratitude.”

  “What then?”

  “Andrew kept the recording. He told me he’d destroyed it and was sure it was the only copy. Then years later, he wanted to recruit me at the start of his political career. I already had doubts about his integrity, so I said no thank you. He pointed out that I owed him; I said he had such a good time beating the shit out of the guy that I thought we were even. He said something like, ‘I wasn’t the only one who had a good time with him. You seemed to be really enjoying yourself.’ I said what did he mean and he said, ‘Well I’ll check again tonight, but the last time I watched it you appeared to be having a great time.’ So, guess what, I changed my mind about taking the job…”

  “The bastard! And he’s been blackmailing you ever since?”

  “Not exactly. Subliminally, perhaps, but, I don’t think it’s ever been mentioned since then. I mean he’s never demanded anything from me other than to apply myself to the ever more rewarding jobs he’s given me. Right now – according to some people who know about these things – my position is probably the most powerful job in the government apart from the Prime Minister. If all blackmail victims suffered like I have, people would be placing full page notices in the dailies advertising for blackmailers. So, however it started, I’ve enjoyed the ride; no complaints.”

  “And has he still got the recording?”

  Grace beamed across at him. “As far as I know. Would you like me to ask if you could borrow it? I’m sure you’d enjoy it more than George’s book, if your reaction when I was telling you about it is anything to go by. Is it still there?” He stepped out from behind the chair and she lowered her eyes again. “I thought so.”

  Tom was breathing heavily now, the tightening in his trousers beyond his control. Grace looked up into his eyes.

  “I could make that go away, if you like.”

  Tom strode across to the sofa; Grace swung her legs up and lay down on it to receive him. Their bodies came together with a furious urgency, their clothes almost disappearing in the desperate frenzy. There was no struggling for early restraint, like his love-making with Mags, just a surging ambition to discharge his passion.

  It was over quickly for him; he had hardly entered her, finding her surprisingly unreceptive to his thrust, as if choosing to resist him at the last moment. His hardness quickly receded after his release and he lay, breathing heavily, with Grace rigid beneath him, her arms by her sides. He pulled away from her looking down into eyes which glared back with a steely satisfaction and without a trace of tenderness.

  “Grace, I…”

  She pushed him away, grabbing her dress from the floor. Turning away from him, she pulled it on over her head before standing up and smoothing it down over her hips and thighs. Tom followed her lead, dressing quickly, his eyes on her all the time.

  “Grace, I…” he repeated. She walked out of the room, returning a few seconds later carrying his jacket. She held it up for him to inspect.

  “There you go,” she said. “One un-mangled leather jacket.” She held it out and he took it from her.

  “My phone…?”

  “In the jacket.”

  “Grace, for God’s sake. Say something.”

  “You mean like, congratulations – you did get another chance and this time you took it. Oh, yes…” she held out her hand, palm upwards, “… thirty pounds for the valeting.”

  He fumbled with his wallet, not sure whether she was serious about the money. She took it from him, anyway, edging him to the door.

  “Look, Grace, perhaps it was just the wrong time – you know. Perhaps…”

  “No it was the right time – the only time, in fact.” She opened the door and gestured for him to leave. He stepped through onto the outside landing. “Bye, Tom.” She closed the door.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sunday; 25 October

  It was a quarter past midnight when he arrived back at Balmaha.

  He picked up the phone on the table in the living room and heard the intermittent tone telling him he had messages. The first was from Daniel Hastings.

  “Tom, not sure whether you’ve taken on a new lawyer. If so, I wish you’d told me. You’ve missed three meetings with me now – the last one on Friday. I can’t represent you if you won’t talk to me. If you have got another lawyer, then please ignore this call and wish him the best of luck from me – he’s going to need it. Otherwise call me right away.”

  The phone had been slammed down. The second message was from another close friend; one who had only recently been in his thoughts.

  “Hi, Tom. This is Jackie. I guess you must have forgotten, but we had a date today – Saturday – at your apartment at two o’clock. If you remember I had Lucy with me in London and she’d asked if she could see you again. She’s a big fan, like I told you. Don’t worry about missing us – I know you’ve had a lot going on recently. But something really weird happened. When you get this message, can you phone me right away? It doesn’t matter what time.”

  Tom looked at the wall clock. Nearly half past midnight, but she did say right away. He took out his mob
ile and scrolled through to Jackie, pressing the call key. The phone was answered on the third ring.

  “Hi, Tom, thanks for getting back to me.”

  “Jackie, I’m really sorry – twice. First for not being here earlier and second for how late this is.”

  “That’s okay. You’re forgiven – twice,” she said, with a little laugh. “I just needed to tell you this as soon as possible. When we went to see you today – well, yesterday – I buzzed you first from outside the building. But remember you gave me the security code for the outside door, so when you didn’t answer, we let ourselves in and went up to your apartment. Just as we got there, this man came out of the other apartment. He said ‘Hi’ and then he sort of froze and shot off down the stairs.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Well, I guess you could say tall, dark and handsome. Heavy-rimmed glasses; well dressed…”

  “That’s my new neighbour, Oscar Strange. Strange by name and strange by…”

  “Yes, but Lucy recognised him. She said he was the man who abducted her from school.” He could detect a trembling in Jackie’s voice.

  “Is she sure? I mean, it was, what, three years ago?”

  “That’s what I said, but she says she’s certain. She actually said, ‘Now do you believe me when I told you he was dishy?’ Do you remember her saying that at the time?”