He runs his hand through his hair. He moves away from me. Paces the bedroom carpet like a caged creature. Then he sits beside me. ‘Do you really want the truth, Lana?’
‘Always.’
‘Even if it makes a liar of you?’
‘Even then.’
‘Because I couldn’t trust you with my son. Not in that horrible place you live in.’
My jaw drops.
‘Jesus, Lana, what did you expect me to do? That place is crawling with drug addicts and low-lifes. I can’t even bear it when you go there let alone a helpless thing like him.’
I gasp. ‘You knew all along?’
‘Oh, Lana, Lana, Lana. You must take me for such a fool. Did you really think I would not know he is mine? I knew from the moment I laid eyes on him.’
I am so shocked I can say nothing. Then I remember how silent he had suddenly become when he first looked at Sorab. And then he had blanked his eyes and casually asked me, ‘Does he cry a lot?’
And that was the first day he had stayed the night. That was the first day he stopped drinking heavily and the first day he began to look at me without hate. It was the day he understood that I had left him not because I had been paid, but because I was pregnant. The next day his things had arrived and he had begun to live in the apartment with me.
‘This elaborate charade… It was for you. For whatever you were playing at. I wanted to know what kind of woman you were. What kind of woman are you, Lana? You lie with me every night and you never think to tell me I have a son?’
I sit up. ‘I was afraid.’
‘Of what? Me?’
‘I was afraid you or your family would take him away from me?’
‘What are you talking about? I would never take him away from you.’
‘It is in the confidentiality agreement I signed. If I have your child I will have to give it up.’
He sits on the bed and leans his forehead against his hand. ‘This is all so fucked up.’ He turns to face me. ‘I’m sorry, Lana. I was so stupid.’
‘What happens now?’
‘Nothing. For now.’
A thought suddenly occurs to me. ‘So you were having me followed because you are worried about Sorab’s safety?’
He nods, but his eyes are careful, watchful.
‘I didn’t have Sorab with me today.’ My voice is flat.
‘You have your own detail. Do you think I would protect my son and not his mother?’ His gaze is hard, uncompromising, refusing to be ashamed by his underhand methods.
‘I don’t like being watched. Call off my shadow?’
‘After today? Are you kidding me?’ He stands up and puts some distance between us. He turns to look at me. ‘It’s for your own protection, Lana.’
‘Today was an exception. I don’t need to be protected.’
‘What’s your real objection, Lana? It’s not like it’s in your face, is it? You didn’t even know until today when Brian had to break his cover.’
‘That doesn’t make it better.’
His jaw clenches. ‘I can’t work. I can’t concentrate. In fact, I think I actually go quite crazy when I don’t know that you are all right. Can’t you just humor me on this one thing?’
‘Why are you so paranoid? Is there something that I should be fearful of?’
He comes to me. ‘I have my reasons. You and Sorab are my first priority.’
I look at him stubbornly.
‘Is it really so much to ask, Lana?’
‘OK.’
He breathes a great sigh of relief. ‘Thank you.’
I touch his hand.
‘There was a time I used think Arab men were mad to keep their women covered and hidden. Now I know where the need comes from.’ He jabs his finger into the hard wall of his stomach. ‘In here.’
God, I love this man so much it hurts. It actually hurts.
Twenty-five
I wake up in the cold, bluish light of dawn. For a moment I lie in the elaborately carved four poster bed confused by my surroundings, and then I remember. We are in Bedfordshire, at the Barrington’s estate where Blake’s sister lives. We arrived at the wrought iron electric gates in the dark, and ran up the curving stairs in the light from the moon. It was how I imagined young lovers of ancient times met, in secret and in the dark. We fell into bed and I ravished Blake after we had drunk a whole bottle of vintage champagne directly from the bottle.
I burrow into the delicious warmth of his body. He does not wake but puts a heavy hand on my stomach. I turn my head and smell the sheets. Starched sheets. My grandmother used to have starched sheets in her house.
Blake said I could explore the house and garden as long as I keep away from the west wing, where his sister lives.
And now I long to go into the extensive garden. I lift Blake’s hand and edge out from under it. The morning air is surprisingly chilly. I dress quickly. There is a large extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed. I throw it over my shoulders and slip out of the room. The entire house is dim and silent. I walk down the corridor and stand at the top of the beautiful staircase. I am drawn to a painting.
A family at breakfast scene. Probably Victorian. I go closer to it. A man with rosy red cheeks is spooning egg into his mouth; some of it is dropping off his spoon. He is holding the egg cup very close to his chin. I realize that it is not a picture that is meant to depict the family as dignified or grand, but is a parody of unparalleled and uncouth greed. It is also ironically a celebration of greed.
My hands glide down the polished banisters.
I try to imagine Blake as a boy running in these spaces as I pass the music room with its priceless antique furniture, its rare objets d’art, and its tables of exotic orchids and feel a kind of lingering sadness. Nothing truly happy has happened in this house. Not even the children who ran through these rooms were happy. The entire house is crying out for the sound of laughter.
I pass another room where the heavy drapes are still shut and enveloped in the same sort of despairing gloom. Through that room I can see the main reception room. In the foyer, which looks like the inside of a snail, hangs a Salvadore Dali, blue black with naked ritual dancers. It looks almost like an orgy to me. I cross the black and white checked marble floor and go out of the front door.
Outside it is warmer than inside the house. The sun is filtering through the trees. The vista is as magnificent as that of any old stately house. I walk around the side of the building, admiring the lay of the land. There I come upon a massive, industrial-size greenhouse. Flowers, vegetables, herbs and fruit are plentiful. Some reach the ceiling. In the middle of it is a large hydroponic pond.
At the side of the glass structure, I meet a peacock. I have never seen a peacock before and I slowly inch closer. Suddenly it opens its tail and I am shocked by how beautiful it is. A pure white peacock comes to join it. I wish it would open its tail too, but it doesn’t. Instinct makes me look up and I see Blake standing at the door leading to the stone balcony outside the room we slept in.
He is looking at me.
I wave to him. He does not wave back, but opens the door and walks out onto the balcony. Shirtless, he stands looking down at me. I gasp at the sight. The way the house frames him, draws him in as part of it. I feel the privilege of his background swirl around him like an unseen hand and grasp him in its invisible clutches. He belongs here in these splendid surroundings. In every way he is different from me. I imagine what he must see. A woman wrapped in a blanket. I am not regal or imposing. I am the outsider.
After a grand breakfast Blake takes me to meet his sister.
The reception room we wait for her in has been painted in soft pink. She is accompanied some a woman in a nurse’s uniform and dressed in a long dress and blue sweater. A butterfly pin sits in her hair. Her eyes are as blue as Blake’s, but otherwise she is nothing like him. Her brow is low and juts out and her skin is very pale.
‘Hello, Bunny,’ Blake says softly.
She drops her chin shyly and points at him.
‘That’s right. Your brother has come to see you. Isn’t that nice of him?’ the nurse says.
She nods vigorously.
‘Would you like to show him your zoo?’
Again she nods and smiles.
‘Perhaps you’d like to show him some of the tricks you have taught your animals to do.’
She beams with excitement.
Blake walks up to her. ‘Will you show your animals to my friend too.’
For the first time her eyes come to rest on me. I smile. ‘Hello,’ I say.
She begins to rock her head and smile shyly.
‘Come on then,’ Blake says and holds his hand out to her.
She puts her pale hand into it, and we go outside towards a white marquee where there are seats all around it and a sandy enclosure in the middle. We take our seats and Elizabeth goes to the podium like structure at the entrance of the sandy enclosure. She claps her hand and a horse runs in. It gallops around the enclosure a few times and comes to a stop a few feet in front of her. She raises her hand and the horse rises to its hind legs and paws the air. She drops her hand and the horse ambles towards her. From her pocket she produces a cube of sugar and holds her hand out. The animal accepts the treat delicately and she turns around to smile proudly at us.
‘Well done,’ congratulates Blake.
Elizabeth claps her hands with delight.
I am truly amazed. It is very impressive to see a woman with the mental capacity of a child successfully train animals to perform tricks and obey her. Afterwards we watch Elizabeth’s Indian elephant sit on a stool and turn around in a circle on his hind legs, a cute dog dance on command, and her pet monkey ride a bicycle.
When the show is over Elizabeth grabs Blake’s hand and starts pulling him out of the tent. Blake gestures with his other hand for me to follow them. She takes him to her bedroom, a pink room filled with dolls, children’s books and a rocking horse specially made to accommodate an adult. Taking a hairbrush from her dressing table she puts it into his hand and like a child runs eagerly to the bed and sits sideways on the edge of it.
At first Blake looks surprised that she should remember a ritual from so many years ago, but then he goes and sits behind her. With gentle hands he takes the butterfly clip out of her hair, and begins to brush her luscious, dark hair with long, sure strokes.
The girl clutches at his shirt and sobs, when it is time for us to go. She becomes hysterical when the nurse and a servant try to pry her away and they have to sedate her. In the car Blake is very silent and lost in his own thoughts. The way she had clung so desperately to him had distressed me too.
‘It’s great how she trained all those animals, though, isn’t it?’ I say, in an attempt to take him away from his unhappy thoughts.
‘She doesn’t train them. An animal trainer works with them and everybody just pretends that she has trained them.’
‘Oh! Whose idea was it to do that?’
‘My mother’s.’
The brevity of his answer tells me not to go there. As ever, any talk of his family makes him clam up. I turn my head and gaze at the countryside and think of the fraught child locked away in that sad house, and the woman who won’t acknowledge her child’s existence, but who will go to elaborate lengths to create a private circus, which her daughter can ringmaster.
Twenty-six
It is a Monday night. Blake has already phoned to say he will be late. He has a meeting. I am in bed reading when he comes in. He stands for a moment at the doorway simply looking at me. He seems different. Not so held together.
‘What’s the matter?’ I ask.
‘Just admiring your beauty.’ Even his voice is drowsy and very appealing. This Blake is like nothing I know. He begins to walk towards me. Sits on the bed beside me and his liquored breath hits me instantly. I suck in my breath.
He nods knowingly, sagely. ‘That’s right… Been drinking.’
And then underneath the smell of the liquor, perfume. Expensive. Crushed flowers, herbs, musk. I have smelt this before. More than a year ago. When he came back from his birthday party. The realization hits me like a fist in the belly. Victoria. I stop thinking. Pain and fury are rushing into my brain. I raise both my hands and push him. He is not expecting such a reaction and he falls backwards, awkwardly, to the floor. I hear the thud of his body hitting the floor.
‘What the fuck?’ he slurs.
I fly towards his prone body and with quick hands I unbutton his fly and pull the trousers down to his hips. I tear furiously at his underwear. I bend my head and smell his crotch. But the odor is familiar. His. I sit back on my heels and look at him. He has raised his head off the floor and is looking at me, astounded.
‘What’s good for the goose… You were with a woman. I smelt her perfume on you.’
He lets his head drop to the carpet and sighs heavily. ‘Yeah, my mother.’
Shit. Of course his mother was at the birthday bash last year too. I scramble over his prone body, and peer into his face. ‘Ooops… Sorry.’
‘Why don’t you finish what you started, Lana?’
‘Yes, sir,’ I reply, and start tugging his trousers off.
‘Take your clothes off and sit on me, but face my feet. I want to see my dick disappearing into you, and your pretty butt hitting my groin.’
I slip my nightgown off and ease myself on the hard column.
‘Ride me hard and fast,’ he says and I slam myself onto him.
‘Oh yes,’ he groans.
He is drunk and it takes longer than usual for him to come. By the time he does I am sweating and exhausted. I haven’t come, but all I want to do is lie down beside him on the floor. I slide off him and am about to fall sideways to the floor when he catches me.
‘I want you to rub yourself on my thigh until you come, but this time face me so I can see you come.’
I sit on his thigh, our juices squelching under me. The hairs on his thigh tickle me, and feel strange on my open pussy. I begin to rub myself on him while he watches me with avid eyes. The spasm of release comes quickly to my exhausted body. I slump against his body, my breast crushed against his rib bones, my cheek pressed on his chest.
‘How could a woman who has had a baby have such a tight pussy?’ His voice is rambling, sleepy.
I grin to myself. ‘The woman doctor who delivered Sorab said she always puts in a couple of extra stitches. “For your husband” she said.’
Blake chuckles. ‘That should be made standard practice.’
I rest my chin on his chest. ‘Why did you get drunk today?’
He sighs heavily. ‘Because today I had to make a very, very difficult decision.’
I raise my head up onto my palm and look into his eyes. ‘Involving your mother?’
He brings a finger to my lips. ‘Shhh…’
I sigh and drop my head back down. All these secrets. Why can’t he just trust me and tell me.
His voice is a whisper. ‘It’s a funny thing smell, isn’t it? Do you know the thing I missed most after you left?’
‘Sex?’
‘Sex? I slept with hundreds of women.’
I feel searing pain at his words. ‘In the beginning I had them all; brown, black, yellow, redhead, blonde, you name it. Got myself wasted and bedded them all. Then I began to be a little more discerning. They had to look like you, at the very least, from the back. If I drank enough and kept the lights dim, then I could fool myself that it was you, but the second I woke up, I knew: it was not you. They all—every single one of them—smelled of stale sex. No one had your smell. And I would practically run out of the door.’
His words, if they are meant to console or flatter me, have the opposite effect. I don’t like the thought of all the women he has been with paraded before my eyes. Everything he has had with me he has had with others. There is nothing special just between us.
‘Fuck my smell! Is there nothing we can do together that you have not done with anyone else?’
For a mo
ment he simply looks at me as if pleading with me to recant. I don’t. A bitter expression crosses his face. He sits up. Almost I can believe that he is no longer drunk, but stone cold sober.
‘Get on the bed,’ he says.
I obey immediately. This Blake reminds me too much of the old Blake. Far away and distant. Cold. A stranger. I am almost regretting my request. He gets up, goes to the drawer where all the sex toys that we never got around to using are kept, and pulls out a vibrator. This one is not big like the black and orange one that he humiliated me with. It is white, shaped like a missile, and of a modest size. He shrugs his shirt off.
‘Lie down,’ he says. His voice is clipped and quite scary. This is not my Blake. Yet, he is mine. This Blake lives inside the Blake that I know and I want this Blake too. This Blake is my opponent, but this Blake also holds secrets. Secrets that I want. I am not all light and he is not all dark. To be whole, to know him completely I only have to embrace his darkness and make it mine.
Do I have sufficient bravery?
Of course I do.
I will take my torch and go where love takes me.
He puts the vibrator on the bedside table close to him. Then he positions himself so his cock is over my mouth. And I note the most surprising thing of all. His cock is flaccid. This does not excite him in the least. He is doing this for me. Slowly, he lowers his dick into my mouth. I have never had it half-soft before and it is strange in my mouth. But it makes me determined.
I begin to suck so hard and so well and it grows quickly in my mouth to double its size. He takes the vibrator and inserts it into my slick vagina. He twists and turns it a few times inside the slippery walls, then removes it, and puts it into my hand. I take it, surprised. It is not switched on.
‘Go on. Fuck me,’ he orders.
But I am paralyzed. This is neither sexy nor erotic for me. I don’t want to do it, and I can see in his eyes that this is unrelished territory for him. He takes my hand and, positioning it over his rectum, pushes my hand hard upwards. There is no real lubrication. Only the juices from my own sex. I see him jerk and wince with pain.
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