Simon Beckett
Fine Lines
Chapter One
Anna and Marty were very obviously in love, and when I decided to end their relationship I knew I would need help. I had neither the skil nor the experience necessary to attempt such a task on my own.
Fortunately, I knew someone much better qualified.
Zeppo did not remember me when I telephoned, which was not altogether surprising. We had met, but only twice, and I am not the sort of man who makes a lasting impression.
Zeppo, however, was quite the opposite.
I arranged to meet him in a restaurant just off the West End. He was late, and I was turning the waiter away for the second time when he final y arrived.
I signal ed to him and he strol ed over, apparently unaware of the looks he received from the other diners. But he walked just a little too slowly and a little too deliberately to be entirely unconscious of them.
He greeted me pleasantly enough, but made no apology for his lateness.
I chose not to mention it.
"You're looking very tanned," I said. "Have you been away?"
"I've just got back from Italy." His eyes strayed around the room as he spoke. Checking his audience, I thought.
"Work or pleasure?"
"A bit of both. I was over there on a shoot, but I managed to slot some skiing in as wel ." He grinned. "You've got to, real y, haven't you?"
"I take it the model ing's going wel , then?"
"It pays the rent. And it beats working for a living." The waiter appeared and handed him a menu. I ordered a wine I thought should be expensive enough to impress. "So. You said you'd got a business proposition," Zeppo said, once the waiter had gone.
I had hoped to wait a little longer before broaching it. "Why don't we discuss it over the meal? There's no rush, is there?"
He shrugged. "I'm just curious to know what it is, that's al ." I opened my menu. "Shal we at least order first?"
"I'd rather you tel me now, if you don't mind. Put me out of my suspense." He gave me a rather flat smile. Reluctantly, I closed the menu again.
"As you like." I made a minute adjustment to my cutlery. "The thing is, I … ah, want to hire your services." From the look on his face I realised he was jumping to the wrong conclusion.
"It concerns a girl," I added, hurriedly.
"A girl?"
He seemed amused by my awkwardness.
"Yes."
I felt a tickle in my throat and coughed to clear it. "My assistant. At the gal ery. It's, ah... wel , it's a rather difficult situation, actual y." I cleared my throat again, conscious of Zeppo's faintly condescending smile. There was no easy way to say it. I plunged on.
"I want you to seduce her." Whatever he had been expecting, it was not that. His amusement vanished. "You what?"
"I want you to seduce her." I felt my face burning. Although, from what I knew of Zeppo, I had no cause to be embarrassed.
He was about to speak when the waiter reappeared. I sampled the wine and pronounced it acceptable without tasting it. Zeppo waited until he left, then leaned forward.
"Is this a joke? Has someone put you up to this?"
"Oh, no." I shook my head emphatical y to convince him. "No, it's no joke." He stared at me. "Let's get this straight. That's the "business proposition" you said you'd got? You want to hire me to sleep with someone?" I looked around to make sure no one could hear. "Ah ... yes, that's right."
"Christ!"
"I'm prepared to pay wel ."
"How wel ?" I told him. He looked surprised. "You'd give al that, just for me to go to bed with this girl?" I nodded. "Why?" I attempted a shrug. "Let's just say I disapprove of her current boyfriend."
"And that's it?"
"Wel ... yes." He gave a stunned laugh. "I can't believe this. I hardly even know you, and now you're calmly asking me to sleep with somebody, because you don't like who she's going out with?"
"I realise it's an unusual request. That's why I'm offering such a large sum."
"This is..." He shook his head, mutely. "Why are you bothered who she goes out with anyway?" I tried to sound nonchalant. "Anna's a beautiful and intel igent girl.
She can do better." He snorted. "Oh, come on. You're not doing this out of the goodness of your heart. What's the real reason?" I hesitated, feeling myself blush again. "I find Anna ...
very attractive. But I realise a young girl like her is hardly going to be interested in a middle-aged man like me. I accept that. What I can't accept is seeing her throw herself away on someone who doesn't deserve her. I find that intolerable." Zeppo frowned. "But you're asking me to go to bed with her. If you fancy this girl yourself won't that bother you?"
"Not as much as the thought of her with him." Some skepticism stil lingered on his face, so I added, "Apart from anything else, you would only be temporary. And it would split them up. That's the main thing." That was not entirely true. But it was a motive Zeppo could easily believe. He appeared to accept it. "You've real y got it in for the poor sod, haven't you? What have you got against him?"
"I haven't anything against him personal y. He's just not the sort of person I think is suitable for Anna, that's al ."
"Why? What's wrong with him?"
"He's ..." I searched for an explanation. '.. . Unexceptional."
"In what way? Social y? Intel ectual y? What?" I fussed with my napkin. "Physical y." A look of understanding came on to Zeppo's face. "And if you've got to stand back while she goes off with anyone else, you'd rather it be someone good looking. Is that it?"
"I wouldn't have put it quite like that. But yes." He smiled, drily. I took a drink of wine, and was surprised to find my glass nearly empty. I refil ed it. "So how close is she to this boyfriend?" Zeppo asked.
"Very, I'm afraid. They haven't known each other long. Less than a year, at most. But they're living together, and as far as I can tel they're both infatuated." I paused. "How much of a problem do you think it'l be?"
He gave a shrug. "I don't know. I can't real y say without meeting them, can I?" He looked at me. "And I haven't agreed to do it yet."
"No, no, of course," I said, hastily.
He twirled the stem of his wineglass. "Why ask me, anyway? I've only spoken to you at a couple of parties. What made you think I'd be interested?" There was an edge of suspicion to his voice. But I had been prepared for that.
"You're a model. You're used to living off your looks. This isn't real y so very different. Besides which, you were the only one who sprang to mind. I don't know many people who might be suitable for this sort of thing. I'm only an art dealer. I don't move in those sort of circles." There was also another reason for choosing him. But I would keep that to myself. For now.
He watched the wine swirl in the glass. "Suppose I say no?"
"Then I'l have to find someone else, obviously." I hoped I sounded unconcerned. "I've told you how much I'm prepared to pay. And it's hardly an unpleasant ordeal. I dare say I shouldn't have too much difficulty finding someone wil ing to do it. But it would save trouble if it was you." Zeppo accepted this without comment. I tried to gauge his expression, without success. "How soon can you give me an answer?" I asked.
"Is there any rush?"
"Oh no," I lied. "But if you're not interested I'l have to make other arrangements. So the sooner I know where we stand, the better." He contemplated his glass again. I noticed the waiter hovering and waved him away. "Where are the toilets?" Zeppo asked, abruptly.
"Ah … I think they're through there." He pushed back his chair and went out. I picked up the menu and went through the motions of reading it without understanding a single word.
I put it down and took a drink of wine instead.
Zeppo seemed to be gone a long time. I was glad when he reapp
eared in the doorway. This time he scanned the room openly as he crossed it.
"So how old is this girl, anyway?" he asked, as soon as he sat down.
"Anna, is it?"
"Yes, Anna. She's in her early twenties."
"And you say she's good looking."
"Oh yes. Very. At least, I think so." Zeppo nodded to himself. His right hand rested on the table, fingers drumming an erratic beat. There was a subtle change in his manner. He seemed more decisive than before. I tried not to raise my hopes.
"And you'l pay cash?"
"Cash, cheque. Whatever you like." He was silent again. His fingers continued tapping out their uneven tattoo. I waited. Suddenly he grinned.
"Okay. Why not?"
"You mean you'l do it?"
"That was the general idea, wasn't it?" I hoped he could not see how relieved I was. "Oh good," I said, letting my breath out slowly. I smiled at him. "More wine?" Anna had worked at the gal ery for nearly four months. For the first three of those I hardly noticed her. She had simply been another assistant, the latest in a long line of young women I had hired to help out over the years. So long as she remained punctual and reasonably competent, nothing else concerned me. The fact that she was attractive was incidental and unimportant.
My attitude towards sex had always been one of indifference. Even as a young man I had no great interest in the subject, and what little curiosity I had went unanswered until my mid-twenties, when I misguidedly hired the services of a prostitute. The experience was distasteful and I felt no inclination to repeat it. Instead, putting the incident behind me, I concentrated on a more dignified outlet for my energies. Art.
For a time I had aspirations of becoming an artist myself.
Unfortunately, my talent seemed to lie more in appreciation than application, a fact which merciful y led me to abandon my own attempts before they became too embarrassing. I was disappointed,
but realistic. I reasoned that if I could not make a career from my own work, I could at least do so from other people's. I already owned a modest col ection of oils and watercolours.
The next step seemed obvious. I became a dealer.
My interest in erotic art did not develop until I bought my first example of it, however. It was an eighteenth-century French snuffbox, unremarkable until it was opened. On the underside of the lid was a picture of a girl, coquettishly lifting her skirts to reveal that she wore nothing underneath. I was enthral ed, and the snuffbox became the first piece in my private col ection. I was, of course, aware of the irony of being fascinated by erotica when sex itself held no appeal.
But that piece, and subsequent ones, seemed to possess a subtlety and charm completely lacking in the physical act. It impressed me in a way mere fornication never had.
I entered middle age content with my life. I had everything I wanted:
a flourishing business, and a private, harmless passion that I could afford to satisfy. I neither wanted nor saw any reason why my situation should change. And, had I not been absent-minded one evening, it might never have.
I had left Anna to close the gal ery while I went to an auction. It was by invitation only, and halfway there I realised I had left mine in the office. Annoyed, I turned back for it.
I expected the gal ery to be empty. It was past closing time when I returned, and I presumed Anna would have already gone home. I parked in the al eyway around the back and let myself in. The building was in darkness. Two flights of stairs led up to the office, one from the gal ery at the front, the other from the storeroom at the rear. At the foot of the latter I switched on the light, and the bulb blinked and went out. Exasperated, I began to climb the stairs in the dark, and was almost at the top before I realised there was a light on in the office.
My first reaction was to go back to the car to telephone the police. If it was a burglary I wanted no part of it. But the fear of humiliating myself over a false alarm prevented me. I hesitated. Then, surprised at my own courage, I went up the rest of the stairs and on to the landing.
The office door was partly open. Light spil ed out from it on to the darkened corridor. I tiptoed slowly closer, more of the room coming into view as I approached. Then, when I was only a few feet away, I heard Anna cough.
I relaxed. Relieved and irritated. I took another step forward, intending to announce my presence, and stopped.
Through the gap in the doorway I could now see the large, gilt-framed mirror that hung on the opposite wal . It showed part of the office that was stil hidden behind the door. The bookshelf. My desk. The desk lamp, casting a golden il umination into the room. And Anna.
She was naked except for a white bra and pants. She stood poised with her weight on one leg, the other slightly crooked as she strained with both hands for the strap in the smal of her back. For a moment she did not move. The mirror, set against the blank, surrounding wal , framed the scene as perfectly as a painting. Then there was a sudden forward motion of her breasts as the bra came undone, and Anna bent her shoulders and slipped it off. Dropping it out of sight, she hooked her thumbs in the top of her pants and pushed them down. Her breasts swung heavily as she stooped, her hair sliding over one shoulder in a dark club. Then she turned to confront herself in the mirror. And me.
Instinctively, I flinched back. But the hal way was in darkness: I was invisible. Cautiously, I moved forward again. Now Anna's reflection directly faced me. Her hands went to her hair, tying it behind her with a black band. Her head bowed slightly; her breasts stretched and quivered. Her stomach was smooth, slightly rounded at its base and deeply indented by a long, oval navel. Below this, the thick wedge of black curls was stil pressed flat from her underclothes.
She turned then and reached for something out of sight on the floor;
the pose presented me with an angled view of her back. It gleamed where the light caught it, her spine a shadowed groove. She bent further, head and shoulders dipping out of sight until her buttocks became almost heart-shaped. A smal , dark diamond formed where they joined her thighs. Straightening, she stepped into another pair of pants, black this time, and pul ed on a pair of tights. She drew them up her legs and over her stomach to her navel, so that the lower half of her body was al black, the upper stil white and naked.
Suddenly I lost sight of her as she moved out of view of the mirror. I felt a surge of panic. But her reflection returned almost immediately, holding a black dress. I watched, regretful y, as her body was concealed in it, cherishing one last glimpse of her breasts as she eased them inside. Then she was fastening the dress behind her, clothed and hidden once more.
I remained in the corridor, reluctant to accept it was over. It was only when Anna began to put on her lipstick that I remembered where I was, and what I was doing. I crept away from the doorway and went back downstairs, trembling and light-headed. At the bottom I leaned against the cool wal and closed my eyes. An after-image of Anna naked in the mirror instantly appeared, and I quickly opened them. I waited until the tightness in my chest and throat had subsided and then began to climb the stairs again.
"Anna? Is that you?" I shouted.
"Mr. Ramsey?" There were hurried sounds from the office. Then Anna appeared in the doorway. She looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I was just getting changed. I wasn't expecting you back."
"That's quite al right. I'm sorry if I startled you. I forgot some papers." I found I could not actual y remember what I had gone back for.
"I hope you don't mind me using the office as a changing room."
"Not at al ." I fol owed her into it. There were no signs of what I had witnessed. The ceiling light had been turned on, and cast a bright, harsh light to the room. I tried not to look at the mirror.
"Are you going anywhere nice?"
"I'm meeting my boyfriend for something to eat, then we're going to the theatre. There's an Alan Ayckbourn play on."
"Ah." I could not help but think of the body under the dress.
Concealed by a thin layer of fabric. I realised that she
had taken a bra off but not replaced it. I wondered if she only wore one for work.
In my presence. The thought disturbed me. "Wel , I hope you enjoy yourselves." She smiled. For the first time I found myself real y looking at her, noticing her features. The dark eyebrows and straight, rather long nose. The large mouth with what I now saw to be sensuous lips. I envied her boyfriend. "We better. The tickets cost a fortune." She turned and picked up a shoulder bag from the floor. Her buttocks briefly moulded themselves against the fabric of her dress. I remembered the smooth, pale heart-shape they had formed.
"Do you like Ayckbourn?" I asked.
"I don't know. I've never seen anything of his before. But Marty that's my boyfriend thinks he's bril iant." She grinned. "It's pathetic. It takes an American to get me to see an English playwright."
"Your boyfriend's American?" I was suddenly aware how little I knew about her. It had never bothered me before.
"He's from Boston. He's at university here." She repositioned the bag on her shoulder, a signal that she was ready to leave. But I could not let her go just yet.
"Real y? What subject?"
"Anthropology. He's a research student."
"What made him choose London? It's rather a long way to come, isn't it?"
"Wel , I think a lot of it had to do with him wanting to see England.
But he says the course here is quite a good one." She glanced at her watch. I knew I was delaying her, but I felt compel ed to make up for my ignorance. I tried to sound casual.
"Have you been going out together very long?"
"Almost a year." A pleased smile spread over her face.
"You seem very fond of him." She blushed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry."
"That's okay. It's not prying." I could think of nothing else to say. There was a brief silence while we both stood, uncertainly.
"Wel , I'd better be off." Anna said. "There's nothing else you need me for, is there?"
"No, no, I don't think so." I did not want her to go, but could think of no excuse to keep her. I moved out of her way, and with a shock realised I had an erection. Flustered, I went behind the desk, thankful I stil wore my coat.
Fine Lines Page 1
