by Jane Bidder
At home, it was winter. What would her mother be doing? A vision of her in bed with that man made her shiver. What would Lyndsey be doing? Laughing over a hot chocolate with new friends at uni. Confiding in them instead of her. For a moment, a pain flashed through her. Then she reconsidered Rufus’ question. What was she going to do?
‘I don’t know,’ she replied truthfully. ‘I can’t rely on your brother’s kindness for ever.’
He didn’t disagree. Had she hoped he would? Told her, perhaps, that Sam had plans for a future together? Of course, she’d thought about it. But every time she did, a picture of Joly came into her head. Followed by Georgina …
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked as they passed a small crowd gathered round one of those motionless human statues who stood on the street, coated with face paint with a bucket for money at their feet. The things people did to survive. Things she knew about all too well.
‘I’m too thick for university. Sam’s going to try and pull a few strings so I can join “the firm” at a junior level.’
He said ‘the firm’ in a slightly mocking manner. Then he laughed. ‘What would we do without my brother, eh?’
The conversation worried her all day. When Sam arrived to take her out to dinner that night, she was quiet and not as responsive as usual when he kissed her.
‘What’s wrong?’ he said, sensing immediately that something was up.
‘Nothing,’ she lied. But over dinner, she did tell him.
‘Please don’t think I’m ungrateful.’ She took a sip of sparkling water, eyeing the wine bottle on the table. Wine which he had paid for. In an expensive restaurant which she would never have dreamed of going into before she’d met him. Her mother’s voice rang out in her head. ‘No better than a kept woman but without the sex. That’s what you are.’
It was true. Georgie pushed her plate away, her salmon steak half-eaten. Suddenly she didn’t feel hungry any more. ‘I can’t carry on living here for ever. I need something to do.’
He nodded. ‘I know. But you don’t have a working visa. The only way …’
Sam stopped as a well-dressed couple swanned up to them. ‘Sam!’ squealed a small, dumpy woman with little sense of style, judging from that sack of a dress.
‘Great to see you,’ said her partner, reaching across Georgie (so rude!) to shake Sam’s hand. Then they launched into a rapid conversation involving cocktail parties and a yacht in the harbour. Clearly they weren’t short of money.
Eventually, the woman turned to her. So far, her conversation had been directed at Sam. ‘It’s so hard to find anyone to decorate out here, don’t you think? The Australians have little sense of culture.’
‘I could help.’ Georgie found the words coming out of her mouth. ‘I’m not bad with colours.’
Sam looked up, startled. Suddenly she realised she’d never discussed this with him. In a way, she’d wanted to keep it a secret. It was part of the old her. Yet here it was, escaping.
‘I was going to do a fashion design course in London but … well, I stayed out here instead.’
She smiled at Sam. He smiled back at her. Somehow she’d managed to re-write her past in a few sentences. The implication was that she’d stayed out here for him.
The woman was drawing a card out of her handbag. ‘Maybe you’d like to ring me.’ She glanced at Georgie’s outfit appreciatively. It had been one of the expensive dresses which Sam had bought for her but Georgie had chosen the colour. Coral. Simply cut. But elegant. ‘I like your style. Ring me and we’ll see what happens.’
Sam was quietly pleased as he took her back to her flat afterwards. ‘They like you,’ he murmured.
Georgie sensed this was important.
His pleasure (which also sounded like relief) was evident in the way he was unzipping her dress. Until now, they had just kissed and – occasionally – gone a little further. So different from Joly when they had almost devoured each other within a few minutes. No. She couldn’t think of that now. Couldn’t allow herself to think of Joly who would right now, be languishing in prison, furious with her because she’d got away.
If only she knew what had happened to him. But the news – which she’d been scanning – had been silent on the fate of the three English backpackers in Thailand. Maybe it wasn’t so important over here.
Thinking of Joly distracted her as Sam explored her body further. Suddenly she was aware of his bare skin on hers. It was different. Smoother. Too smooth.
‘I’ve waited as long as I can,’ he said, leading her to the bed.
Georgie waited for the excited rush; the fireworks; that incredible wave of passion that had happened with Joly. Nothing. Just a feeling of being entered and then hanging on while he squirmed and writhed and eventually let out a small moan.
‘That was amazing,’ he said, tears in his eyes. ‘I love you, Georgie. I really do.’
‘I love you too,’ she found herself saying out of politeness. And then it was too late to take it back.
Georgie found it curiously appealing to work at the estate agent’s. The cut and thrust of London and the office routine distracted her from the real world. The one in which Sam would, even now, have read part of her letter. He’d had plenty of time to ring her. To say that he understood. But there had been nothing.
Ellie had gone away for two months with friends – how wonderful that academic life allowed you to do that. And Nick was travelling too, with his friends. It was almost as if she’d never had a family. Often, Georgie stayed late working in the office, something that her boss commented on with appreciation. In reality, it was so she didn’t have to return to the one-bedroom flat with the damp on the ceiling.
If it had been hers, Georgie told herself, she would have done it up. Got someone in to do a damp course. Painted the walls sage green with a cream carpet. Put in white shutters instead of curtains to maximise the light …
Stop. This wasn’t her home. It was a make-shift. Until something happened. Meanwhile, she spent her spare hours wandering round galleries – there was a great exhibition at the National Portrait – and browsing round Fenwicks and Selfridges, knowing she couldn’t afford to buy anything. It was like being a poor backpacker all over again.
Meanwhile, underneath was that constant current of fear. What if the unknown blackmailer still hadn’t given Sam the money back? What if she had done this for nothing?
Word spread around Sydney’s ex-pat circles. The dumpy American with the gold chain was so thrilled with the ‘transformation’ (as she put it) of her apartment that she recommended Georgie to all her friends. Even better, Sam’s boss got to hear about it and he commissioned her to oversee the ‘revamping’ of the board room and the offices of senior members of staff.
‘We can’t pay you because of the permit situation,’ he explained. ‘But you’d be doing us a favour if you could lend your eye.’
At first, Georgie was daunted by the challenge. Yes, she was good at colours. But she’d been lucky so far. If she hadn’t managed to spot just the right shade of curtain fabric in the market for her first client, it might have been a different matter. The friendly fabric seller had put her in touch with a warehouse that specialised in unusual paint colours and wallpapers.
Her outlandish mix for the boardroom (apricots with yellows and reds) had met with some raised eyebrows from the warehouse staff, but Sam’s boss had loved it! ‘That’ll wake them up, that’s for sure,’ he’d chuckled.
Meanwhile, Sam was thrilled at her success. ‘They love you,’ he said, interlacing his fingers through hers during a rare evening out alone at a local restaurant. Since coming to Australia, she’d discovered that very few people ate in within their circle – usually they were in a group of ‘friends’. The latter were Sam’s, of course – none of the other women appealed to her as kindred spirits. Oh how she wished Lyndsey was here. She missed Rufus too, who had been sent to Singapore.
‘It’s a great opportunity,’ he’d said excitedly. Then his face ha
d darkened. ‘But – and I know this sounds awful – I’d rather have done it off my own back instead of Sam’s.’
She knew exactly what he meant. Yes, she had a flair for decorating. But if she hadn’t had Sam’s contacts, none of this might have happened. Still, at least she was busy. Busy enough to almost forget the horrors she had left behind. Then, four months after she’d arrived, three things happened in one week.
On the Monday, Georgie began to wonder why her period was late. It was quite often three or four days behind, but it had been nearly ten days. She reassured herself with the thought that she didn’t have sore breasts or felt sick like her current client, who was three months pregnant and keen to tell her about her symptoms. But it was late, nevertheless.
On the Wednesday, Sam came home early with a strange expression. He knows, she told herself, appalled. He knows what I did. Someone’s told him about Georgina. About Joly. About the drugs. He’s going to turn me in.
In a funny way it was almost a relief. At least she wouldn’t have to hide any more.
‘Please sit down.’
He led her to the sofa with a degree of courtesy that exceeded even Sam’s beautiful public school.
Georgie’s heart threatened to burst out of her throat. And then he began to speak. ‘My boss called me in today. He wants to promote me.’
‘That’s wonderful!’
Relief made her voice come out in a squeak. So this wasn’t about her. It was about him. That half-hope that she might be discovered (if only to put an end to this constant looking over her shoulder), vanished. In its place was an all-encompassing gratitude that she wasn’t being thrust into prison after all.
Sam’s fingers drummed on her shoulder. They felt curiously irritating. ‘In one way, yes. It is wonderful. But in another, it means change.’
Change? A change that involved her? Or which shut her out. Every now and then, Georgie had wondered about leaving Sam. Much as she cared for him, she never had the fireworks she’d had during that one night with Joly. There had to be more out there. Yet at the same time, it was safety which counted. Wasn’t it?
‘They want me to move to Hong Kong.’
Hong Kong? Of course! It was where all Sam’s friends went, the ones who’d been promoted. It was seen as the next step up.
‘That’s wonderful!’ she said, stammering as she tried to take all this in. ‘Congratulations.’ Then she looked around at the flat with the furnishings that she’d made her own. How she’d miss it! ‘Would it be possible for me to stay on here a bit?’
‘Stay on here for a bit?’ Sam shook his head. ‘For someone as lovely as you, you have an amazing lack of confidence. I want you to come with me, Georgie.’ He dropped to his knee and pulled out a box from the inside of his jacket. Georgie’s heart raced and sank at the same time. Out of all the options which had been flying round her head, she hadn’t been expecting this.
‘Georgina Peverington-Smith. Will you marry me?’
For a minute, she almost corrected him. I’m plain Georgie Smith, she nearly said. Not the posh one. I’m the girl they’re looking for. The drug smuggler with a warrant for suspected murder.
Her voice wobbled. ‘I’m not sure I can.’
Sam’s face fell.
‘It’s not that I don’t love you – I do. But it’s so fast.’
He stood up, disappointment spreading across his face. ‘Of course it is. I’m sorry.’
His tone reverted to the type he used when speaking to a business colleague.
‘Please.’ She leaped to her feet. ‘May I just think about it until the end of the week?’
Another stiff nod. ‘That’s when I have to tell them my decision. I don’t want to leave without you. But I need to think about the future, Georgie.’ His eyes looked sad. ‘I want a wife and a family. And I think you will fit that role perfectly.’
Fit the role? If only he knew! For the next few days they tiptoed around each other. Still her period didn’t come. Most women would have leaped at the chance of a proposal from a man like Sam, especially in her situation, Georgie told herself firmly. But the memory of Joly lingered. It wouldn’t go away as she advised clients on wallpaper and colours. And it wouldn’t go away in her dreams.
Then on the Thursday – the day before her deadline! – she went into the market to look for more silks. Glancing at a newspaper stand, she froze.
‘Three British backpackers jailed for ten years. Hunt still on for the fourth.’
Her mouth turned dry and she wanted to vomit right there, on the ground. That could be her! Instantly, she reproved herself for being selfish. Poor Joly. Poor Vanda and Jonathan. Even though she didn’t like the last two, the thought of them being sent to a Bangkok prison was too awful to contemplate. Yet what could she do about it? Handing herself in wouldn’t reduce their sentences. At the same time, it was too dangerous to stay here. Someone might follow a lead from the airport. Someone, somehow, might track her down.
It was time to run again.
Turning round quickly, she headed for the medical centre. By the time Sam came home from work, she was ready. Poor Georgina’s shell was no longer in its box under the bed. It was in her pocket to give her strength as she spoke.
‘Is your offer still open?’
They might have been negotiating a contract in the boardroom.
He nodded.
‘I’m pregnant.’
The words came out starkly. She didn’t feel like messing around.
His face broke out into a grin. ‘That’s amazing.’
She studied his face. ‘Really?
Understanding broke out over his face. ‘So that’s why you wouldn’t accept my proposal immediately. You were worried it was for the wrong reasons.’
Georgie certainly hadn’t thought of it that way but if that was how he wanted to see it, that was fine.
‘So will you accept me now you know I’m thrilled?’ he asked, gently touching her slightly rounded stomach.
She nodded. ‘Yes.’ Thank you, she murmured under her breath. ‘When do we leave for Hong Kong?’ she said through his chest as he enveloped her in his arms. Smooth arms under the shirt. Not tough and hairy like Joly’s.
‘In a fortnight.’
Happiness rang through his words.
‘Is there any chance of leaving earlier?’
He paused, loosening his grip, and looked down on her. ‘Why the rush? A few days ago, you weren’t certain you wanted to go.’
She felt a quickening of panic. ‘I just don’t want people to see that I’m pregnant, and I want to get married in another country.’
He nodded. ‘I can understand that. But what about your mother? She’ll need time to come over.’
Georgie’s mind worked fast. ‘She doesn’t travel.’ Standing on her tiptoes, she forced herself to kiss him. ‘Besides, I just want a quiet ceremony. Is that all right?’
He kissed her back. A too-wet, too-slobbery, keen kiss. ‘If that’s what you want, my darling. The sooner the better, in my view. I can’t wait for you to be Mrs Hamilton.’
Georgie Hamilton.
Two names that had nothing to do with her.
Two names that might just help get her out of the mess she was in.
‘Georgie Hamilton?’
The south London voice at the other end of the phone was slightly rough at the edges, jerking her back to the present.
Georgie was used to this. You got all types, she discovered, looking for rental properties. There were the young rich who didn’t bat an eyelid at the ridiculous prices being asked for one-bedroom near-slums. There were professional couples who still couldn’t afford to buy. There were women like her: shy, embarrassed, clearly unused to asking the right questions about rentals. Georgie had learned to recognise them immediately. Bolters. Women who had left their husbands and now needed somewhere to live.
And the rather rough-spoken, self-made type who referred to her as Georgie on the strength of one appointment. One had even asked her out
to dinner the other night despite the fact that she still wore her wedding ring, even though Sam had still failed to get in touch. There’d been nothing from the police either. Only an answer-phone message from the computer man, saying he was ‘still working on the gremlins’.
‘Is that Georgie Hamilton?’ repeated the voice impatiently.
‘Sorry.’ She was jolted back into the present. ‘Yes. It is.’
‘I’m ringing on behalf of a friend. Be outside the Royal Academy at 6.30 p.m.’
‘Who is this?’
‘Don’t be late. You finish at six so you should have plenty of time.’
Then there was the sound of a receiver being replaced.
This person knew what time she finished! How weird …
‘Are you all right?’ asked the girl working next to her.
Georgie nodded. ‘Yes, thank you.’
Her private life had to stay private. But instinctively, Georgie was certain that the phone call was about the missing money.
THIRTY-FIVE
I got into private security, as I like to call it, when I was Inside.
Easy money, said the bloke in my cell.
Varied too. You never get bored.
Sometimes you follow someone.
Sometimes you make a phone call on behalf of the client, like. It might be to check that someone’s in the office. We get a lot of wives who want to know that.
Sometimes it’s to make an assignation, like.
‘Why can’t the client do it themselves?’ I asked.
‘Cos they don’t want to be recognised, ’course.’
Didn’t sound too difficult. And it isn’t.
Provided you’re careful. Sometimes though you feel really sorry for the person you’re taking in. I felt that way about this woman I’ve just spoken to. She sounded scared. Really scared.
I’ve been there. I know what it feels like.
To be honest, I felt sorry for her.
