Forty 2 Days

by Georgia Le Carre

  ‘Mr. Barrington?’

  He turns slightly towards me. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Who is Cronus?’

  He turns fully towards me, and smiles. At that moment the strangest thing happens. Into those dead eyes climbs something. The most inquisitive look that you ever saw, an interest more avidly probing than you could ever have thought possible in those leaden eyes. It is as if it is no longer even the same man. A cold claw grips my insides.

  ‘When you do your little Internet searches find the shrouded one under the name of El,’ he says and opening the door exits the apartment.

  Twenty-nine

  I do not walk, I run to my laptop to type El into Google’s search engine.

  El, I learn, is a deity dating back to Phoenician times. He is meant to be the father of mankind and all creatures. He is the gray-bearded ancient one, full of wisdom. The bull is symbolic to him. El is distinguished from all the other gods as being the supreme god, or, in a monotheistic sense, ‘God’.

  Through the ages he is listed at the head of many pantheons. He is the Father God among the Canaanites. In Hebrew text El becomes a generic name for any god, including Baal, Moloch, and Yahweh. Finally late in the text I come across the reference to Cronus.

  Apparently it was the custom of the ancients during great crisis for the ruler of a city or nation to avert common ruin by sacrificing the most beloved of their children to the avenging demons; and those who are thus given up are sacrificed with mystic rites, arrayed in royal apparel and sacrificed on an altar. Those that follow this path are called the sons of El.

  El the articles points out is the root word for elite.

  I type in El and Cronus and learn that el cronus is a sex toy for men.

  I type in Saturn and El and I find out that El is another name for Saturn. And Saturn is interchangeable with Cronus.

  I sit back. To avert common ruin these men give the most beloved of their children as a sacrifice to their great god El. Did it mean what I thought it meant? That Blake’s father would willingly sacrifice his son in exchange for more power?

  I hear someone at the door and quickly click out of the pages I am on. I go to the door warily, but it is only Blake.

  ‘Hi,’ he says. He looks normal.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Great.’

  I walk up to him and kiss him. His kiss belies his casual attitude. It is the kiss of a man who is drinking sweet water from a fountain before a long journey into the desert. My hands entwine in his hair. I want the kiss to go on and on but my brain will not allow me to. Now that I have proof that walls have eyes and ears I cannot be myself. I withdraw my tongue slowly, work my hands down to his chest and give him a slight push.

  He looks down at me, his eyes darkened and wild.

  ‘Can we go out for dinner tonight?’ I ask, forcing a smile.

  ‘Sure. Where would you like to go?’

  ‘That Indian place you took me to last year. I forget its name. The one named after the thieves’ market.’

  ‘Ah, Chor Bizzare.’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘We’ll drop Sorab off at Billie’s.’

  ‘Shall we call Mrs. Dooley instead?’

  ‘No,’ I snap, and then quickly smile to take away the sting. ‘Billie was just complaining that she never gets to see Sorab anymore.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Hey, I’ve always been curious. When you get your reports from your spies what do they tell you?’

  ‘Just a list of your movements.’

  ‘Have you received your report for today?’

  ‘Yes, as I was on my way home.’

  ‘What did it say?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just want to know how it works.’

  ‘OK. Today you stayed indoors until 3:50pm when you took Sorab out in the pram to the coffee shop around the corner. You had a cake and coffee and were back by 5:00 pm.’

  I try hard to keep my face neutral. I never left the house!

  Then it hits me. A look-alike lures the spy away and the father enters the building and comes to see me. When the father leaves the look-alive re-enters the building. Now I know. Now I know. Blake cannot protect me, or himself, from his father.

  His father has outsmarted him.

  Thirty

  “We are the tools and vassals of rich men behind the scenes. We are the jumping jacks, they pull the strings and we dance. Our talents, our possibilities and our lives are all the property of other men. We are intellectual prostitutes."

  —John Swinton, Head of Editorial Staff, New York Times,

  at a banquet thrown in his honour, 1880

  Blake’s father is true to his evil. The Independent and the Guardian are the first to report that the CEO of the International Monetary Fund, Sebastian Straus Khan, has been implicated in a scandal. A Burmese maid working at a hotel in New York has accused him of rape. He has been apprehended at the airport. The BBC runs the story at lunchtime. By evening every TV channel is running the story. There appears to be no investigation. Simply a story that is repeated almost word for word by all the different news feeds. Each one gleefully convinced of his crime.

  That night when Blake comes home, I have painted my face and dressed in the sexiest outfit Fleur sent. The tight pink leather pants that Billie said, made my bum look all trapped and ripe and in need of rescuing, and a little top that leaves my shoulders and back bare.

  His eyes light up. ‘Wow, what’s the occasion?’ he breathes against my ear.

  ‘We’re not spending the night here,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve booked us into The Ritz.’

  He smiles slowly. He has no idea. Inside I am dying. It is our last night together, a night I will never forget. We have dinner, I taste nothing, and then we go upstairs. There is champagne waiting in a silver bucket. I did not order it. Compliments of the house. I don’t drink. I don’t want anything to be fuzzy. I want to remember every last detail.

  That night I am insatiable.

  Again and again we make love until he says to me, ‘Go to sleep, Lana, I don’t want you falling ill on me again.’ Even then I reach down and take his big, beautiful penis in my mouth and mumble, ‘Use me for your pleasure. You have paid for this.’

  And he looks deep into my eyes and says, ‘Consider the debt paid in full.’ The irony stabs me in the heart. He has no idea.

  When morning arrives, I pull him close and whisper, ‘I love you. I’ll always love you.’

  And when he is leaving, he says, his voice husky with emotion, ‘I’ll miss you terribly until I see you again…tonight.’

  And I almost break down. He will never see me again. Tears blur my eyes.

  ‘Hey,’ he calls very softly. ‘Nothing can keep us apart.’

  A sob breaks through. He does not understand.

  When he is dressed and leaving, I hold on tight. He looks at me with strong, sure eyes. ‘Nothing can keep us apart,’ he says again. And then the door closes behind him and I sink to the ground. I cry as if I will break apart. When I am all cried out on the floor of The Ritz hotel, I rise numb, but ready. This is for him and Sorab. This will keep them both safe. I get into the lift, between my legs sore and the tips of my breasts singing from being sucked and bitten all night. Tom is waiting in the lobby for me. My thick coat is folded over his arm.

  ‘Mr. Barrington had me get this from the apartment for you. It’s a cold morning.’

  Again I am struck by how carefully and thoroughly Blake’s mind works. Always he is one step ahead. Except for the most important thing of all. I take off my light coat and get into the coat Tom has brought for me. I turn my head and notice a man looking at me. Our eyes meet. He does not drop his. I look away. The world has changed for me. A few months back I would have assumed that he found me attractive; now I am not certain if he has not been paid to watch me.

  Outside an icy wind hits me. I am glad for the coat.

  In the car I stare out of the window. I
am actually in a state of shock. The thought of leaving Blake is so painful I refuse to think about it. It is almost as if I am on autopilot. There is an accident ahead and Tom takes the longer route through South Kensington. We pass an old church. The door is ajar and I jerk forward.

  ‘Stop the car, Tom.’

  Tom brings the car to a stop by the side of the road.

  ‘I’m just going into that church.’

  Tom looks at me worriedly. ‘I can’t park here.’

  ‘I won’t be long,’ I say, and quickly slip out of the car. I go through the Gothic wooden doors, and it is as if I have stepped into another dimension. It is cool and hushed, the sound of the street outside strained out. The stonework is beautiful. I see the holy water, but I do not cross myself with it as my mother used to. I follow the gleam of candles into the belly of the church. There is no one else there. My footsteps echo in the soaring space. I go to the front of the church and sit on a wooden pew.

  I close my eyes. I don’t know why I came here. I don’t believe in God. God has done nothing for me. All he has ever done is take and take and take every fucking thing I’ve ever had. I feel so incredibly sad and defeated I wish I did not have to leave this quiet sanctuary. Hot tears are pricking the backs of my eyes. Life is so unfair.

  Suddenly there is a gust of cold air. I open my eyes and look around. There is no one there. A draft? And then I have the strange sensation that my mother is there with me. I stand.

  ‘Mum?’ I call out.

  My voice sounds strange and loud in that empty space.

  ‘Mum,’ I call out again, this time more desperately.

  Nothing. I sit down again and close my eyes and presently the sensation returns that my mother is with me. The sensation soothes me. ‘I love you, Mum,’ I whisper. ‘You left me too quickly. I never even had a chance to say goodbye.’

  A feeling of peace settles on me. There are no words to describe the sensation. A timeless moment and I don’t know how long I sit there. It is only the sound of footsteps that rouses me. I look behind me. Tom is standing by one of the pillars at the entrance. I stand up and go to him.

  We walk silently to the car. There is a yellow parking ticket stuck to the windshield.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say.

  ‘Laura will take care of it. My instructions are clear.’

  We get into the car and Tom drives me to Billie’s.

  ‘Can we take a small walk down by the canal?’ I say to her.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  I put a finger on my lips. ‘I just fancy a walk.’

  ‘All right,’ she says, frowning.

  ‘It’s cold outside. Wear your coat.’

  She takes her coat and follows me. When we are in the bracing air I tell her everything. Sometimes she will come to a sudden stop and stare at me mouth agape, and then I will take her arm into the crook of mine and we will continue on our path. I have never seen Billie look so white or totally robbed of her trademark wisecracks. It serves to highlight just how shocked I must be to be able to act so normally.

  After the walk I kiss Billie’s stunned face goodbye, and she pulls me hard against her body as if she could pass me some of her strength. Both of us know exactly how to contact each other. She is blinking back the tears.

  ‘Be safe,’ she calls as I push Sorab away from her.

  Then I go home to await my next instructions.

  When the call comes I leave my cellphone on the dining table and push the pram out to the front. I wave to Mr. Nair and he looks at me with confusion. I know that only a few minutes ago he must have seen my look-alike push an identical pram out of the door, perhaps to the coffee shop where she will have cake and coffee. Just outside the front door a car is waiting for me. A man jumps out of the front seat. I take Sorab out of his pram.

  He holds open the back door while I slip into it. When I am settled in, he closes it with a gentle click. He folds the pram quickly, stores it in the boot, and gets into the front seat. Not a word has been exchanged by any of us. The car pulls away.

  I think of my lookalike. She must have reached the patisserie by now. She has probably finished with her slice of cake. I imagine she must be an actress. Paid to play a part and then disappear. She will probably push her pram back into the building. Perhaps Blake’s father has another flat where she can drop off the pram and effect a change of clothing. A hat, a scarf, a wig, before she exits the building forever.

  And Blake, my poor darling love, will come home to his empty nest.

  Thirty-one

  We travel for many hours, stopping only at rest stops. Finally we arrive at a farmhouse in the moors. Here the countryside is wild and deserted. A strong wind is blowing as I get out of the car.

  ‘Where are we?’ I ask.

  But the men simply smile politely. ‘They will tell you when the time comes.’

  Inside it is warm. A fire is already roaring in the fireplace. From the kitchen come delicious smells of roasting meat. I am shown to my room upstairs. It is pleasant enough, with blue patterned wallpaper and a double bed with a thick mattress. There is a crib in it too. As instructed I brought no clothes for Sorab or me. The man tells me everything I need is in the drawers and cupboards. I can already see the exact same brand of formula that I use for Sorab on the dresser.

  He leaves and I go to stand by the window. The moors seem to stretch into the horizon. Not a single dwelling in sight. Fear gnaws at me. Why am I here? I know Blake’s father said this is to be my temporary home until everything is arranged, but something feels very wrong.

  Another voice in my head frets, you didn’t keep your promise to Blake. But I had no choice. I protected Blake with my own body. I walk away from the window and lie down on the bed, curling my body around Sorab’s sleeping one. I close my eyes and pretend I am in my bed in St. John’s Wood until there is a knock on the door.

  ‘Dinner is ready,’ someone informs.

  I wash my hands and freshen up before going downstairs. I put Sorab in the playpen and one of the men puts a plate of food on the table and withdraws from the room. I hear him open the front door and go outside. I eat alone. The food is wholesome and steaming hot, and I finish it all. Something tells me I am going to need all my strength.

  I fall asleep while I watch TV in my room.

  I am awakened by a hand over my mouth. My eyes jerk open. A man’s voice urgently whispers, ‘Please don’t make any noise.’ A small torch is switched on. ‘Blake sent us,’ and he dangles over my eyes, in the light of the torch, the ruby and black diamond necklace that Blake put around my neck in Venice. I gaze at it as if hypnotized, but in fact I do not need the necklace. I recognize the man. Brian, the one who felled Rupert.

  ‘Can I take my hand off now?’

  I nod.

  ‘Take nothing. Just pick up your baby and keep him as quiet as you can,’ he instructs.

  Carefully I lift Sorab out of his crib and lay him across my chest. He makes a small sound, but does not wake up. We go down the stairs. The house is dark and silent. As we round the corner of the dining room, I see an inert shoe and quickly look away. I knew I had made a mistake from the moment I got into the car with those men. Now I know I am on the right path. Come what may. We get into the car and the car pulls away. I don’t look back. I look down on Sorab’s sleeping face and will him not to wake up, buy the noise of the helicopter blades wake him up. He screams his head off and does not stop until we touch down on a helipad in a totally different part of England.

  Thirty-two

  ‘Put your hand out for her to smell you,’ says Brian.

  The German shepherd looks at me warily. There is not an ounce of friendliness in her. This is the dog version of Mr. Barrington Senior.

  I put my hand out.

  ‘Guard,’ Brian orders. The dog sniffs my hand and goes back into his sit position.

  ‘Now, hold out your son’s hand.’

  I hesitate. Sorab’s hands are so small and there is something about the dog that I
don’t quite trust. It has been trained to kill on command.

  Brian turns to one of the other men and says, ‘Give me your shoe.’

  The man takes his shoe off and holds it out to Brian. He lets all four dogs sniff it. ‘Guard,’ he says, and throws the shoe into the air. It falls about thirty feet away. All four dogs run towards the shoe and form a circle around it, their backs to it.

  ‘Go get your shoe back,’ he tells the man.

  The man begins walking towards his shoe. Five feet away from his shoe, the dogs growl viciously and bare their teeth. Their bodies are crouched, ready to pounce in attack. The man stops in his tracks.

  ‘At ease,’ Brian says, and in unison the dogs leave the shoe that they had been guarding so ferociously and trot back to him. He praises them then gives them treats.

  ‘Let them smell the boy.’

  I bend down and hold Sorab’s hand out in front of their black faces. One by one they sniff his hand and go and sit by their master.

  ‘Guard,’ their master says. Immediately their ears stand to attention. Brian disappears and the dogs stay with Sorab and me as we catch the last of the day’s sun. As soon as we go through the front door, the dogs stop following us and begin patrolling the grounds.

  It has been two days that we are living in this house. It is surrounded by high walls, a massive manned gate, and teams of dogs that patrol the grounds incessantly. There are CCTV cameras every few yards and security staff watching their screens twenty-four hours a day.

  I wonder where Blake is and why he has not come for me, but I feel no fear. I know Sorab and I are safe here. I think about Billie. There is no way to contact her either. There is no Internet or a phone line. That evening I dine alone and go to bed early. I feel lonely but I am not bored. I know that somewhere out there Blake is executing the plans that I have seen so many times in his eyes.

  It is 2:00 am when I feel the mattress depress next to me.

  ‘Blake?’