by Liz Evans
He drew me back inside and shut the blinds. I asked him who he did like to be - if not Tom. ‘Should I call you Rainwing or Daniel? You are Daniel Sholto, I take it?’
‘Yes, I’m Daniel. But Dan will do. Was my performance that inspiring? I seem to have moved you to tears.’ He reached out and wiped a thumb down over my cheek.
I hadn’t known I was blubbing. That neglect of my big day had hit me harder than I’d been prepared to admit - even to myself. Perhaps that was why I blurted out, ‘It’s my birthday. And no one remembered.’
‘So you decided to cheer yourself up by stealing a present? Should I be flattered that it was my taste above all others that you coveted?’
‘I wasn’t going to take anything. Honestly.’
‘Well, no. One usually takes things dishonestly, as I understand the rules.’
‘I meant ... It’s a bit tricky to explain.’ But I’ll have a convincing lie on the tip of my tongue any second now, Danny boy - if you can just keep talking for a little longer.
Luckily he did. At least he said, ‘Come into the kitchen.’
I perched on a wooden stool by the breakfast bar and watched him flick open an overhead cupboard. He set two champagne flutes on the counter, went to the fridge, took out a bottle of bubbly and whisked a clean white napkin from a drawer. He had a way with the foil, wire and cork that a wine waiter would have envied.
Filling the two glasses, he took one by the stem and toasted me. ‘Here’s to your birthday, Miss Smith. Am I allowed to ask which one?’
‘Thirty.’ I picked up my own glass. ‘Cheers.’
It tasted expensive. I hoped it was. ‘You’re taking my attempts at breaking in very coolly. Is it a lifestyle thing, karma against crooks or something? Or are you just incredibly laid-back?’
‘The truth?’
‘Why not.’
‘I’m bored. And you’re an intriguing diversion.’ He waved the crystal in a vague sweep that encompassed the kitchen area and whatever was visible through the archway. ‘Look at this place. It’s not a home - it’s pit-stop between meetings.’
‘Meetings for what?’
‘I work for a bank. Negotiating finance packages for businesses. Far Eastern, mostly. Although some of the Latin American countries are coming on line now.’
‘Isn’t it interesting?’
‘It was, once. But now - you get tired of facing the same greedy-guts across the same board tables. It doesn’t matter where you are, they all want the same thing: bags of dosh and no responsibility if the whole thing goes down the toilet.’
‘So why do it?’
‘Money. I intend to retire at forty and spend the rest of my life on a beach somewhere.’
‘How long to splash-down?’
I thought there was the slightest hesitation before he admitted to twenty-nine.
‘Top-up?’ Champagne fizzed to the top of the flutes again. ‘So, Miss Smith, if burglary isn’t your career of choice, what is?’
The student-anxious-not-to-publish-without-permission wasn’t going to pass the credulity test under these circumstances. I decided to stick to as near the truth as I could without prejudicing Barbra’s anonymity.
‘I’m doing a correspondence course. You must have seen the ads: “Train to be a Private Investigator”?’
‘I think so. Amongst the classifieds for kinky lingerie and adult DVDs in the tabloid papers?’
Well, call me common as muck, do, Daniel dear, I thought, whilst keeping an ingratiating smile stretched over my lips. ‘You have to do exercises and send them in. For my latest assignment I had to take random photos of people and then try to trace them without cheating and following them home right there and then.’
‘And you took my picture, did you? May I see?’
‘I didn’t bring it with me,’ I lied. ‘You were in your Indian kit. The bus driver at St Biddy’s remembered you. And then I traced your landlady in Canterbury ... Miss Schlesinger.’
‘She doesn’t have my address.’
‘You left a book behind.’ I extracted the Walt Whitman from my bag and passed it over, the cover open so he could see the pencilled note.
‘How careless of me. And I went to such trouble to conceal my tracks.’
‘Why? If you don’t mind my asking?’
‘No, I don’t mind. Although I’m not sure I’m going to answer.’ He threw back the rest of his champagne and ran a wet finger around the rim. It set up a high-pitched whine that made me long to knock his teeth in.
Which would have been a pity. They were nice teeth. Now I had a chance to study him, I could see what made him such an attractive woman. The narrow face with its high cheekbones and large dark sloe-eyes was the sort of look that kept supermodels in work and plastic surgeons in super-tax havens. Without the long sweep of Rainwing’s wig to soften the edges, the image was slightly gaunt, but he still registered as 8.5 on the Smith Fanciable Scale. Even if he did have at least one teeth-itching personal habit.
‘Are you trying to call the cat in?’
‘Pardon?’ He refocused on me.
‘The noise.’ I nodded to the slowly circling middle finger.
‘Oh? Sorry. It’s a stupid habit. I don’t realise I’m doing it. Are you hungry?’
‘Almost invariably.’
‘Will you have dinner with me? If you don’t have any more sleuthing to do this evening?’
‘Nope, I’m all sleuthed out.’
He ordered a Chinese takeaway on his credit card, demonstrating his facility with numbers by reeling off the whole sixteen- figure code without even bothering to get the plastic out. We finished the champagne whilst we were waiting for the delivery. He put some smooch music on the sound system and fetched a fresh bottle from the fridge.
We’d graduated back to the living area by then. Daniel sat on the floor with a sofa at his back. I liked that. I always sit on the floor too, for preference.
The cork came out with a disappointing lack of exuberance once again. ‘No pop? Is it flat or something?’
‘Firing it off like a cannon is the mark of an amateur. Those of us who appreciate good wine prefer not to waste it.’
‘Is this good?’ I twisted the label. It meant nothing to a dedicated aficionado of supermarket plonk. ‘How much does it cost?’
‘About ninety a bottle, I think.’
‘You don’t know?’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t really notice. Drink up, Miss Smith.’
‘Grace.’
Pressing the palms of his hands together in a prayerful gesture, he intoned, ‘For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. And I, for one, am.’ He tipped the straw- coloured liquid down in one smooth movement whilst I admired the way his silky skin caught the lamplight. The light tan glowed like liquid gold in the V of his shirt neck.
He lowered his head quickly - saw me looking - and leant over. I half expected him to try for a kiss and was debating whether to pucker up or fend him off. Instead he surprised me by very gently rubbing his nose against mine.
It was an interesting sort of manoeuvre. I tickled back. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that the second bottle was two thirds empty already. And I hadn’t had anything to eat since Shane’s double bacon sarnie this morning. I hoped that Chinese arrived before I had to decide whether or not to take this a bit further. Or did I? ‘I meant my name is Grace.’
‘Really?’
‘Grace Smith isn’t the sort of name anyone would make up. It’s too dull. My friend Annie is a Smith too, and her parents gave the kids all really outrageous first names. To make up for the ordinariness.’
‘Annie isn’t outrageous.’
‘Anchoret is. And her sisters have been lumbered with Tennessee and Tallahassee.’
‘That is ... unusual.’
‘It’s not as unusual as Rainwing ...’ I could hear my tongue slipping and sliding whilst it gave away personal details of a fellow investigator - which is a real no-no. The bottle on the t
able was empty. He’d refilled my glass again when I wasn’t concentrating. I should have slipped the contents into the vase behind me, but it seemed such a waste at ninety quid a bottle. Especially when no one else had even bought me so much as a Ribena for my birthday. So I kept sipping.
‘Rainwing isn’t my real name, though, remember. It’s my spirit name, I guess you could say.’
‘Yep. Don’t suppose you get many Sioux called Daniel.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you do.’
The bubbles fizzed up to the glass rim again. I asked him if Miss Schlesinger realised Rainwing and Daniel Sholto were the same person.
‘Naturally she does. Although I didn’t realise she knew my surname. Careless of me, that. Dear Vi minds the suit and the car for me whilst I’m at the centre.’
‘And she doesn’t mind?’
‘Is she shocked, do you mean? If she is, the scandalous cost of millet and cuttlefish these days tends to override her finer feelings. After all, it’s not as if I’m doing anyone any harm, is it?’ He was doing a reasonable amount of harm to my earlobe with his teeth by that point. It felt terrific. Two drop-dead gorgeous blokes showing an interest in two days - was I hot or not!
So I relaxed and enjoyed the sensation until the intercom buzzed and Daniel uncoiled himself. ‘Can you answer that whilst I sort out more drinks?’
I signed for two huge carriers that smelt heavenly. It wasn’t the standard takeaway collection of tin-foil packages. This lot came in wine-red bowls that could have passed for china. The rice bowls were china, with a message inviting us to keep them as a souvenir of our experience. There was even a dish of lemon-scented towels to be heated in the microwave.
Daniel spread the banquet over the low coffee table. ‘I ordered the Emperor’s Birthday Feast. It seemed appropriate.’
I sneaked a look at the menus under the pretence of fetching some kitchen roll to act as a serviette. Supper had just cost him a hundred and twenty quid - plus tip.
I’m not naturally over-impressed by guys who flash the cash, but if a bloke’s going to try for the full seduction scene, it’s always pleasant to find he doesn’t see you as his for the price of a lager and a chicken vindaloo. I looked out at the vast array of dishes on offer and was aware I had a decision to make here. Was I going to sleep with the biggest dish of all - or not?
14
Piling Peking duck on a pancake, I rolled it up. ‘You were going to tell me about Rainwing.’
‘Was I?’ He wielded his chopsticks with enviable dexterity. ‘What do you want to know?’
All I needed to know - for the purposes of Barbra’s brief - was whether he/she had a criminal record. But what I really wanted to know was: ‘Why?’
Dan sighed gently and tucked his legs under him, resting an elbow on the sofa and twisting slightly so he could look directly at me.
‘Because I have to. Most of the time I can handle this ...’ He circled a chopstick, flicking grains of boiled rice on the cushions. ‘I switch off, concentrate on the insanity of the banking world and hold on to the thought of that beach. But sometimes the pressure gets to me and I just have to escape.’
‘And become Rainwing?’
‘Yes. I’ve always needed to dress in women’s clothing. Not all the time, just occasionally - to relax. At first I only did it at home. But then I found myself wanting to mix with other people - as a woman. I tried the club scene at first, but it wasn’t me. There was too much of everything: too much make-up; too many sequins; too much backcombing and hairspray; too many posturing and pouting drag queens. I wanted to be accepted as a woman in the real world. And then I discovered the Purbricks’ place. It’s a study centre for the exploration of traditional teachings and crafts amongst Native Americans; or First Nation if you prefer.’
‘I know the place. Just moved to outside St Biddy’s, hasn’t it?’ I asked artlessly.
‘The very one. It was like a sign finding them. Native American studies had always been a bit of a hobby of mine anyway, and students often came in costume, it was part of the fun. There I could just unwind. It was so liberating. I was devastated when they had to leave their last place. Selwyn - that’s the owner - has no business sense at all. I don’t know how his wife copes with him, frankly. Well, I do. She loves him, it’s as simple as that. She confides in me. Woman to woman.’
‘Doesn’t that make you feel rotten? Deceiving her like that?’
‘You don’t understand. When I’m Rainwing, I’m not a man pretending to be a woman. I am a woman. I can’t tell you how totally at peace I feel after a few days at the centre. But the bank might not understand. In fact, they definitely won’t. That’s why it would be a disaster if anyone were to give them even so much as a hint.’
Those peat-dark eyes were holding mine. I saw the question in them.
‘They won’t hear it from me. But are you sure it would be such a big deal? From what you read in the papers, some of these highflyers lead pretty bizarre lives.’
‘Oh, they do. But the trick is not to get found out. There’s the public face - which has to be beyond reproach. And the private one - where anything goes and you can sell tickets to consenting adults if you like.’ He held his hands palm upwards in an elegant gesture, supporting the two unseen halves of his life. ‘Would you say you were an open-minded kind of person, Grace?’
‘Pretty much, I guess.’
‘And if someone were to give you a million pounds tomorrow, could you honestly say you’d be happy to entrust it to a bank where the male employees wear dresses and make-up?’
I wish I could have said sure - no problem. But there’s nothing like coming face to face with your prejudices to find out just how conventionally boring you really are. He was right, of course: my windfall would have gone to the professional grey-suit not the bloke on the left in the buckskin mini.
‘I can see the answer is “no way, ma’am”,’ Daniel said, reaching across to take a spare rib. ‘You should try these, they’re delicious.’ He handed me a sticky bone. He was right. It was great. I gnawed off lumps of crisp, juicy meat and asked if he hadn’t ever run into anyone he knew when he was in his Pocahontas kit.
‘Not that, no. But I did nearly get caught once. This was a few years back, when I was still doing the club scene. I’d got myself up in the full outfit - dress, wig, make-up, false nails, the lot - and there’s this ring at the door. So I’m tripping over to answer it - assuming it’s the taxi driver - when suddenly this voice calls out asking if I’m in. And it’s my boss. That was the closest I ever came to experiencing what it’s like to be a real woman. I nearly gave birth’
‘What did you do?’
‘I broke the world record for getting my kit off. Then I just flung myself into the shower. The tray looked like Hannibal Lecter had had a snack in there - just ten red fingernails and a wig swirling around on the tiles.’
I laughed. The sounds whirled around inside my head. Despite the padding from the Chinese chow, I was getting well and truly sloshed, but who cared - it was my birthday.
‘Anyway,’ Daniel continued, ‘I eventually open the door to him and he takes one look at this scene - me starkers under my robe and the carpet covered in black stockings and frilly underwear - and gives me this big knowing wink and tells me he’s sorry to have called at a bad time. Next thing I know, I’ve got a reputation as the office stud.’
He explored what was left of the untouched bowls and asked if I could fancy a toffee apple.
I most definitely could. He re-topped our glasses with fizzing cream yet again.
‘You trying to get me drunk?’ I asked. ‘So you can have your wicked way with me?’
‘No.’
‘Not your type?’
He slipped closer so that those large brown irises were a few inches from mine. ‘I’m not gay, if that’s what you mean. And I don’t want to be a woman - not in any permanent biological sense.’
‘So what’s the problem here?’
‘I just tend to p
refer my partners sober.’
‘Pity.’ (Did I really say that?)
He offered me a toffee-coated slice of apple. The heat exploded in my mouth and I gasped, sending a dribble of juice and hot sugar down my chin. Dan mopped it up with kitchen roll and finished up the cleaning with his tongue. He was very thorough; he even washed off the back of my teeth with it.
‘I thought you liked your girls sober,’ I murmured when we finally came up for air.
‘I think we should all try to be a little flexible in this life. I’ve tried sober. Perhaps it’s time to move on. Experiment.’
‘That’s prob .. . prob . .. because you’re drunk too.’
‘Am I?’
‘I’ll check.’ I locked my lips around his and took several deep breaths. It wasn’t a method much favoured by the traffic police, but I have to tell you, it was a lot more fun than a breathalyser kit.
When we disentangled this time he was flat on the floor and I was straddling his waist. The lamplight was still gleaming off that triangle of golden skin at the V of his collar. I just had to see if the tan went all the way down to his belly button. I flicked open the top button. Then the second.
He caught my wrists just before I reached the answer to that intriguing question. ‘I’ve never done it with a private investigator before.’
‘Trainee private investigator.’
‘When do you get your badge?’
‘When I’ve passed all my tests.’ I debated whether to bite him and make him release my wrists. In fact I’d bent over, my teeth hovering over the curve of that deliciously smooth, hairless chest, when he abruptly let go of my arms and reached up under my T- shirt to locate the fastening of my bra.
In the interests of equality, I got his kit off too before we ended up in a tangle on the bed. There was a slight hiatus in proceedings at that point whilst he rummaged in cupboards, drawers and pockets in search of condoms. I lay on top of the bed and watched. His growing frustration when he couldn’t find any was both hilarious and reassuring. A giant economy pack in the bedside drawer would have been a real turn-off. Eventually he found a box and abnormal service was resumed.
