One last secret, p.9
One Last Secret, page 9
Neo suddenly drops the knife and fruit, and shoots out his hand for me to shake. I do so. He clasps my hand tightly, pumps it up and down too vigorously. I’ve often found that an overly zealous handshake indicates someone who is a bit of an insecure dick. It’s a shame that for many, wealth simply breeds greater insecurity, competition, and a vicious strain of ambition. Neo doesn’t look like a comfortable match with Sisi. I can’t quite put my finger on why – they are both incredible to look at: hard-bodied, chiselled, with great smiles. It’s something about their energy. She is languid, self-approving; he is agitated, tense, and I can’t imagine he approves of anything much, not even himself.
‘And I am Amanda.’ A slight, bird-like woman, possibly only five foot three, stretches out her slim arm, offering me her hand to shake. The jewellery she is wearing is sensational, breathtaking. Her engagement ring is a trio of enormous diamonds that sit somewhere between awe-inspiring and just-a-bit-too-much. My thumb automatically brushes my third finger. Obviously I had to leave my engagement ring at my apartment. I’m surprised how much I miss it, how easily and swiftly it’s become settled on my finger. Amanda’s wedding ring is a band of diamonds, as is her eternity ring. Differently cut and set diamonds, but each ring equally impactful. She is also wearing a diamond bracelet. It’s thirty-eight degrees Celsius and she’s enjoying a casual lunch wearing tens of thousands of pounds’ worth of jewellery. Women who do this have either everything to prove or nothing at all. I wonder which she is.
Then I notice that her slight wrist is blooming a band of black and blue. The bruises are imprinted on her tanned arm and appear as a shadow to the bracelet of sparkling diamonds. She follows my gaze and flinches when she sees that I’ve clocked her injury. To avoid embarrassing her, I dart my interest towards the food laid out on the table: sweating cheeses flopping out of their bloomy rinds, slices of cucumber swilling in balsamic, ruby-red tomatoes glistening in extra-virgin olive oil, and thin pink slices of ham. ‘This looks delicious,’ I enthuse, giving Amanda the necessary privacy to quickly tug at the sleeve of her lace top, put her hands on her lap under the table and bury her indignity and anguish.
I see she is a woman with everything to prove. Her diamonds are there to tell us she is loved, even though the bruises shout otherwise.
She continues to look me in the eye. A challenge, or a request for understanding, for silence? Or maybe just her way of getting through. Getting on. ‘And that’s my husband,’ she says cheerfully. ‘The one splashing about, emptying half the pool. Darling, you really must work on that butterfly stroke. Your technique is such that we are all soaked.’ She rolls her eyes playfully. Of course her congenial show of marital exasperation is supposed to show she’s a happy wife. Most people would buy it. Her husband emerges from the pool, a silhouette against the sun, his shadow falls across me. ‘Jonathan, darling, come and say hello.’
It’s a common enough name. There’s no reason for concern. But as his shadow falls across my path, I know straight away. I know it’s him.
14
Dora
He doesn’t flinch, his gaze doesn’t flicker. There’s nothing at all in this man’s demeanour or expression that betrays the fact that just a week ago, he cuffed me to a bed, beat me, raped me. He smiles, affably. The widest smile I’ve been greeted with, in fact, but his eyes remain cruel slits. Instinctively I back away from him. Placing myself behind a chair so that there is a physical barrier between us.
‘Fuck, Danny mate. You lucky sod,’ he says, open-mouthed with apparent admiration. I stare at him, try to hold his face together, but it shatters, fragments like pixels breaking up on a Zoom call, and I begin to doubt myself. Is it really him? It is, of course, I know it is, but I so desperately want it not to be that my brain is rejecting the idea. It can’t be him. ‘How did you ever persuade someone so beautiful as her to date you?’ He laughs, but it’s not funny, especially when he adds, ‘You must be paying her, right?’
And there it is. I freeze. Daniel giggles nervously, but the others don’t seem to notice the comment; they look on genially as Jonathan pulls Daniel into a big manly hug, slaps him on the back and says, ‘Well done, mate.’
He moves quickly around the table. Cat-like, he pounces. I’m a mouse he’ll play with, rip apart, eat, leave my kidneys splayed out. Nothing else left of me. I feel nauseous and panicked as he pulls me into a hug too. His wet body pushed up against me, crushing my breath, my voice. He is large and picks me up, lifts me easily off my feet. I’m dangling, helpless. I feel his hot, sour breath on my neck. My gag reflex flickers as I am sure I recognise the smell of his skin. Then he drops me as quickly as he picked me up, turns away from me and reaches for a plate, a knife, the charcuterie board.
The conversation bounces on around me. Questions are asked about the journey, the weather forecast, is anyone up for a game of tennis this afternoon? The court is apparently stupendous. Exceedingly high-grade. ‘Flat as a flounder,’ comments Neo. I don’t join in with the chatter. Although Daniel briefed me to be a vivacious and gracious girlfriend, I can’t play that role. My mind is whirling. I believe in coincidence, or more accurately, I believe in the six degrees of separation. I think six handshakes away is generous; most of us are linked by two or three, and in my case it’s usually something a lot more intimate than a handshake creating the links on the chain. I remember Elspeth saying that Jonathan asked for me by name, that he was a recommendation from an existing client. Indeed, that was the reason I decided to make room for him that day. So obviously Daniel must have been the person who recommended me. I suppose he can’t be aware that Jonathan went ahead and made an appointment, because if he were, he would never have suggested I come here under the pretence of being his girlfriend. I realise he’ll have no idea that his friend is a sadistic bastard who hurts women – few men ever notice as much about their friends – and yet I feel angry and betrayed. Eventually I find my voice, cough, and mutter that I want to go to my room and unpack, change into a bikini so I can sunbathe. In fact, I plan to go to my room, pick up my bag and call a cab. I’m heading straight back to the airport; I’m not staying here with Jonathan. I can pay back Daniel’s fee.
Melanie offers to show Daniel and me to our room. Her presence means I can’t warn Daniel that Jonathan knows who I really am. Instead, we keep up the facade of being a happy couple. Daniel makes a few comments about the size and beauty of the house. ‘Wow, you could get lost in here,’ he says affably as we wander through the long and winding corridors.
‘We came up the main stairs, but obviously there are back stairs too, originally designed for the servants’ access, I imagine. Using those will be quicker if you want to get out to the pool, although not quite as glam. I wanted you to see the place in all its glory,’ explains Melanie.
‘Isn’t it beautiful, darling?’ prompts Daniel. He nudges me in the back between the shoulder blades, presumably wondering why I’m not doing a better job of playing the giddy, gregarious girlfriend he requested.
I gaze up at the ornate cornicing and blink. ‘Very nice,’ I mumble in response.
We are shown into a spacious, elegant room, decorated in eggshell-blue and gold brocade. There is a four-poster bed. It’s stunning, but the vintage fabric smells musty, heavy. There’s a marble fireplace, an en suite bathroom with a copper claw-footed bath, and the parquet floors are waxed to a gloss. It’s magnificent. I’m fleetingly disappointed that I won’t get to enjoy it.
‘Where’s my case?’ I ask glancing about.
‘Probably tucked in the bottom of the wardrobe. The staff will have unpacked for you.’ Melanie opens a drawer and reveals my underwear mixed in with Daniel’s. The intimacy is incongruous. She giggles. ‘See, all done. We want our guests to have a dreamy time here. Totally relaxed. We want to spoil you.’ She stops short of bragging ‘no expense spared’, but the implication is heard, loud and clear. ‘I’ll leave you to get changed. We’ll see you back by the pool as soon as poss, hey?’
The moment she closes the door, I dash to the wardrobe and fling it open, I grab my case, throw it on the bed and start to pile my belongings into it.
‘What are you doing?’ Daniel asks, obviously confused.
‘Leaving.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t like your friends.’
‘Oh, you mean that thing Liling said. She didn’t mean to be spiky. You can imagine how much racist crap she puts up with. She was just trying to head it off. She said she liked you.’
‘No, not Liling. She doesn’t scare me.’
‘They can all be a bit cliquey,’ he admits.
‘It’s Jonathan.’
‘Jonathan?’
‘He’s a …’ I break off. What can I say? A psycho, a sadist, a rapist. ‘He’s a client.’
‘Jonathan is?’
‘Didn’t you recommend him? Daniel, did you tell Jonathan what I do? Did. Who – what – I am?’ I ask these questions without slowing down the process of packing. I continue to rush around the room, opening drawers at speed, grabbing bikinis, underwear, vest tops; yanking dresses and shirts off their hangers. The clothes I carefully selected for this trip and spent all last night ironing are thrown haphazardly into my case.
‘No, of course not. Why would I do that? It would blow everything.’
‘I don’t mean now, on the trip. I mean in the past. Have you ever told him you pay for sex?’
Daniel is blushing. He turns pink at the top of his cheekbones, making him look horribly like Piers Morgan, or Jeremy Clarkson. I know he has told Jonathan just that. Maybe not the specifics, but enough. Maybe one night after they’d had a few.
I stare at him coldly until he splutters, ‘I think maybe I have mentioned you. Just once. He was having a pop about how dull I am and how I never get any.’ He breaks off and then clarifies, unnecessarily, ‘Any sex, that is. So I told him I had an arrangement with you. He was quite impressed by my daring, the novelty. He did ask for details. I gave him Elspeth’s number, but I had no idea he had followed up. He’s married.’ I roll my eyes at his naivety but bite my tongue. He adds, ‘Are you sure he’s a client? He didn’t seem to recognise you.’
‘I am sure. It only happened last week.’ He was wearing a mask, and then I closed my eyes trying to block him out, but even so, I’m sure.
‘But he didn’t say anything.’
‘He said you’d have to pay me to be with you.’
‘That was a joke.’
‘It wasn’t. Anyway, what was he supposed to say, exactly, with his wife there? My clients aren’t usually especially excited to claim me in front of their spouses.’
‘Oh yes, of course.’ Daniel brightens. ‘Well then, we don’t need to worry, do we? He can’t blow our secret if he can’t say how he met you. I’m really only concerned about what Sisi thinks.’
I roll my eyes, this time in despair. My problem is not whether Jonathan knows Daniel has paid me to be here, but what he might do to me while I am here. I’m not one for telling tales. Women like me suck it up, hold it in. Usually. But I need to explain this to Daniel. ‘He frightens me. He’s not a nice man. He hurt me.’
‘Hurt you?’
‘Yes.’ I decide that if Daniel asks for details, I’ll give them to him. I won’t lie. I won’t protect Jonathan – why the hell would I? Nor will I shield Daniel. I’ll treat him like a friend, I’ll risk the truth.
But he just nods, he doesn’t ask. ‘Oh, right.’ He doesn’t care. I zip up my suitcase.
‘I’m going to call an Uber.’
‘What will I tell my friends?’
‘That I’m feeling ill, that we had a row, that my mother’s sick. Tell them anything, I don’t care.’ I reach for my handbag and fish out my phone. ‘Oh bugger.’ The battery is dead. Frustrated, I look around the room, trying to locate the charger that I know I brought with me. I can’t see it on the mantelpiece or the dressing table. I check the bedside drawer. ‘I don’t know where they’ve put the charger.’ I moan in exasperation.
Daniel pulls his phone out of his pocket. ‘I’ll call. Of course, if you want to leave, I’m not going to keep you here against your will.’
‘Thank you.’ Relieved, I sit on the side of the bed. I can feel a sticky prickle running down my spine, pooling at the base of my back. Thank God Daniel is, at his core, a decent man. I see now that he was too embarrassed to ask for details about how Jonathan hurt me, and he’s a bit overly trusting generally, which makes him appear weak, but in the end, he’ll do the right thing.
He studies the app for a minute or two and then says, ‘I’m really sorry, Natalya. They can’t get here for another two hours. I guess we are in a very rural area, more farmers than Uber drivers. I’ll google a local cab firm.’
I wait. I can feel my heart thumping against my ribcage. I start to imagine Jonathan coming up the stairs, walking into this room. He could cuff me, spread-eagled, to the bedposts. Momentarily, black splodges obscure my vision. I blink frantically. Am I having a panic attack?
‘There’s only one taxi company listed. They’re based in the next village. I’m sorry, Natalya, they’re not open on Mondays.’ I start to sway. I’m certain the colour has completely drained out of me. Daniel looks panicked. ‘Hey, don’t worry, I’ll book the Uber. It’s only a couple of hours away. Should I look at flights for you too?’
‘If you would.’ I take a deep breath in through my nose. It’s just a couple of hours. I look around the room and notice for the first time that there is an ice bucket, within which is a bottle of chilled champagne. The bucket glistens with condensation that looks like little diamonds, but I’m not in a celebratory mood, so instead I guzzle down a large glass of the elderberry cordial that’s presented in a pretty jug. It’s just a couple of hours.
15
Dora
I want to wait in the room until the Uber arrives, but Daniel says he needs to join the others at the pool, otherwise it will look odd. I’m scared that if Jonathan realises I’m alone, he’ll come and find me. The thought makes my stomach heave. I’m safer in company, even if it is his company. The plan is we’re going to pretend I have a work crisis that I need to return to in London. I’m grateful to Daniel for being so accommodating and understanding; I thought for a brief, terrifying moment he was going to insist I stay here with Jonathan.
We change into our swimwear. Daniel modestly goes into the en suite to do so. Hilarious, when you think of the things we’ve done together in the past, but I’m grateful for his decorum. Something has changed. I’m not sure if it’s because of Evan’s proposal or Jonathan’s beating, but I’m not the same. I put on a one-piece and a pair of shorts. I just wouldn’t feel comfortable in any of my skimpy bikinis in front of Jonathan. If I could, I’d wear full PPE. Or maybe sixteenth-century armour.
‘I’ll give you the fee back,’ I assure Daniel as we walk towards the pool.
‘Well, you can keep a fifth of it. You have spent the day with me.’
I feel embarrassed for him. His division of the pie seems small, ungracious, although intended to be the opposite. I try to shrug off that feeling. It’s not like me to bring sentiment into this sort of matter. I decide I will keep a fifth as he suggested. It’s work. It’s money. It’s nothing else.
When we return to the pool, I’m relieved to find that Amanda and Jonathan are not there. They’ve gone to play tennis. Now that I know I’m going home, I don’t have to make an effort with these people. My first impressions are that they are not great friends to Daniel; they are not especially good or interesting or lovely people. If these people are his emotional support, it’s no surprise he visits sex workers and pays for intimacy. If I had been continuing with the job, out of professional pride and courtesy to Daniel I might have tried to charm them. Instead, I lie on a sunlounger and close my eyes. I let the sun cocoon me. My eyelids are heavy. I ask Daniel to wake me twenty minutes before the Uber is due, and then I fall asleep.
When I wake, I instantly know something is wrong. I’m not by the pool on the sunbed. Something heavy is weighing me down. I feel groggy, and it takes me a while to work out where I am. I’m back in the room Melanie showed us to. I’m lying in the four-poster bed. Despite the heat, someone has covered me with a quilt. I kick at it, panicked, hemmed in. It’s a great relief when it slithers off the bed onto the floor. I kick at the top sheet, which has been firmly tucked in at the bottom of the bed, then sit up, breathless. Wipe away the saliva that has dribbled down the corner of my mouth. What is going on? It’s dark in the room; someone has closed the shutters. I rush to the window and fling them open. Light splatters into the room, lands at my feet. But it isn’t the solid yellow light of day; it’s the peachy light of sunset. What time is it? I must have missed my Uber, maybe my flight. My eyes are still adjusting to the light flooding in the room when the bedroom door creaks open. I jump.
‘Hello, sleepyhead.’
‘Fuck, Daniel, you scared me.’
He shrugs, looks sheepish. ‘Sorry for sneaking. I didn’t want to wake you.’
‘Why the hell not? You were supposed to wake me. I’m leaving.’ I look around the bedroom, spot my suitcase, packed ready for my flit. I lunge for it. Hold tightly to the handle, ready to roll it out of the room right now. First, I ask, ‘How did I get here? I fell asleep at the pool.’
Daniel looks confused. ‘No, you didn’t. You wouldn’t come down to the pool. You said you didn’t want to see Jonathan.’
I stare at him; now I’m the one that’s confused. That’s not what happened. But then I catch sight of my own reflection in the dressing table mirror, and I notice I’m wearing the clothes I travelled in, not my swimming costume.
