No Such Thing As Immortality

by Sarah Tranter

  ‘Nate,’ she cut into my anguished thoughts with a warning, ‘we are taking this one day at a time – you promised! I can’t help but feel we are meant to be together and I won’t hear you say otherwise.’

  I reached up and put my hands over hers, and gently let my head fall forward until our foreheads touched. What had I done? How could I possibly let this continue? I had to …

  ‘I come bearing food,’ Aunty Hetty’s voice rang out. I quickly put some distance between myself and Rowan and attempted to recover my composure. I hadn’t even heard her approach, and she was now standing right over us.

  ‘Are you two kids okay?’ she asked.

  ‘Absolutely. Never better,’ Rowan squeaked. ‘And cheese and pineapple on sticks – yum!’ She leaned over to grab two from the paper plate Aunty Hetty had put on the little table by the bench, before sitting back in her seat. She was doing a good job of disguising her anxiety.

  Why did I get the feeling Aunty Hetty knew exactly what we had just been talking about … and had turned up to ensure I didn’t do what she had warned me not to?

  ‘A special day, I would say,’ she continued. ‘Your dinosaur was a hit, Nathaniel; the children have been delightedly imitating your bloodcurdling growl throughout tea.’

  I met her eyes and said silently, fully expecting her to hear me, ‘We need to talk. What do you know about Simeon Frey?’

  She maintained her composure remarkably well, and her eyes revealed nothing, but there was no doubt she had heard me. I observed the draining of some of her cheek colour.

  ‘Well, I’ll make myself scarce,’ she chirped. Yes, she had definitely heard me. ‘Ooooo, Rowan, before I forget. I’ve heard Jonathan Martin’s been admitted for psychiatric evaluation. Apparently, he’s been blubbering away about some kind of monster. Couldn’t have happened to a better person. So very fortuitous. That really made my day. Anyway. Tatty bye.’

  Rowan’s emotions were all over the place. She couldn’t still care for him? Please no!

  ‘You are not worried for him, are you?’ I ventured, whilst tracking Aunty Hetty’s walk back up the garden.

  ‘No, Nate, I’m not. He can rot in hell as far as I’m concerned!’

  My heart beat again.

  After a moment’s pause, she asked, ‘What exactly did you say to him that day?’

  Ahhhhh. ‘You think this has got something to do with me?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. I just wondered what you said to him.’

  ‘We just had a little chat. I asked him to stay away. I was actually very restrained.’ Rowan was quiet. ‘Please tell me I do not scare you?’ I said softly. I didn’t think I felt fear. It was more like uncertainty.

  ‘You don’t scare me, Nate, you don’t scare my family. If you scare shits like Jonathan Martin, well … that’s their problem! And back to our earlier conversation. We do this day by day … and I DO NOT want to know!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nine to Five

  I let out an immense sigh of relief when Rowan opened her front door. She had made it safely down those damned stairs. I could now unclench my hands from the steering wheel and beep my horn. When she saw me, I felt her surprised pleasure and excitement, at odds with both the roll of the eyes and the irritated look she gave me. I smiled; despite appearances, she was pleased to see me.

  I leapt out of the car to greet her. It was 8 a.m., Monday morning. ‘Good morning, Ms Locke. I am your chauffeur for the day.’ I bowed in a way that was second nature to me, due to the historical period of my formative years.

  Rowan was shaking her head disapprovingly, but nevertheless her eyes were travelling over me. And it felt so good; I felt good this morning. I was putting into action my plan to keep Rowan safe. Frey, whatever he was, would never get through me.

  She spoke distractedly, her eyes continuing to wander, ‘I should have known that controlling nature of yours wouldn’t let me do this.’ She snapped her eyes back to my face and spoke with a little more focus, ‘Nate – you have to let me do things for myself. I’m getting the bus. I’m a big girl now and, believe it or not, can get to work on my own.’

  I could feel her irritation, but it wasn’t extreme. In fact it was miniscule, as other thoughts created far more pleasing emotions for me to experience. I couldn’t help but grin. ‘And I will, but all in good time. You are not honestly going to tell me you are going to hobble off now – with your crutches, I am pleased to see – but nevertheless, hobble off – when I am here at your service? By the way, it is the first time I have seen you in your business attire …’

  Rowan was wearing a black skirt suit, with an amber top. I knew about this suit. I had heard her talking to Clare about it. It had been a new acquisition from Jigsaw, an extravagance ‘she’d simply had to have’.

  ‘… and you look particularly appetising.’ I meant it. She both looked and smelt ravishing. But I couldn’t dwell on it. I was on a mission this morning. ‘I even have a decaffeinated skinny latte in the car ready for you,’ I added, as extra impetus.

  ‘How did you know that’s how I take my coffee?’

  I shrugged and gave her an innocent smile. There were lots of things I had learnt whilst on my clandestine rooftop perch. The suit and coffee, of course, but also that the weigh-in this morning had gone well; I was hoping it would work in my favour and Rowan would be in a reasonably amenable mood.

  ‘Don’t look at me with those puppy-dog eyes, Nate.’ I shut them for a moment and took a deep breath. This was going too far.

  ‘So, does the coffee … settle it?’ I asked, tentatively re-opening my eyes.

  ‘This morning it does, because you are here, and because the coffee is calling me. But this is the first and last time, okay? I really mean it. I’m not some weak, helpless female who needs you running to her assistance all the time. The first and last time!’

  I grinned, but there was no chance. My protective instinct was now in overdrive. Besides, I could think of no place else I would rather be than by her side, every moment of every day. I knew we were on borrowed time, so I was going to make the bloody most of it.

  ‘So, any of those Monday-morning blues you were worried about?’ I asked, as we weaved in and out of rush-hour traffic.

  She turned and grinned at me, shaking her head. Her coffee was in her hands and, although she wasn’t intending to let me know, I was totally and utterly off the hook. Her eyes were sparkling and I doubted either of us was oblivious to the chemistry filling the car.

  ‘Are you working today, too? You’re all suited and booted.’ I wallowed in the sensations her accompanying visual inspection triggered.

  ‘I have a meeting this morning.’ I turned and smiled. She was still assessing me. ‘Any meetings for you today?’ I was trying to sound casual. She abruptly looked away, and I felt her anxiety. There was no question as to what had caused it. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, but managed to say gently, ‘You will be off his account, Rowan, so do not worry. He will not be an issue for you again.’

  She looked at me suspiciously. I shook my head at myself.

  ‘The first thing I am going to do, before anything else, is go in and demand I’m off that account.’ She spoke with deliberate determination. ‘I’m not going to let the bastard wreck my career!’

  The smile of encouragement I gave vanquished her anxiety, but I was forced to look away and focus on the road. I couldn’t get that damned kiss out of my head. I concentrated religiously on my driving until we drew up outside Rowan’s offices.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ she warned, when I got out of the car and opened her door. ‘There’s a lift and you’re not helping me to my desk!’ Her determination was felt loud and clear so I knew there was no point arguing. After helping her out of the car, I therefore had to watch her hobble away. ‘Rowan!’ I called, unable to let her go quite yet. As she paused and turned, I closed the distance between us, oblivious of all the rushing office workers I no doubt effortlessly passed. Lowering my face,
I ever so gently let my lips touch hers. ‘For luck,’ I said, my voice, husky and desperate.

  After Rowan was out of my vampire sight, I drove around the corner to park. In half an hour I had a meeting with Mike Peters, Rowan’s Managing Director. For now, though, I would fret about Rowan’s likely reaction to discovering she would be working for me; ‘I reckon you would be a nightmare client,’ sprang to mind.

  I was sat in my car, frowning, when Rowan unconsciously tipped me off to having started her own meeting with Peters. My alarm grew as her fear and anxiety became more intense, and anger began to intrude. In fact, she was becoming incredibly angry and upset, and I soon found myself resting my head on the steering wheel, gripping it with such intensity I was amazed it didn’t shatter.

  Surely he had let her come off the account? Any reasonable man, for Christ’s sake, would have removed her from the account! What kind of way did this man do business?

  I tried to hone in my hearing to their meeting, but Rowan’s reaction was making it impossible. ‘I am not going to be able to sort things out, if she does not calm down,’ I wittered away worriedly to myself, whilst banging my head repeatedly on the steering wheel. ‘And just how am I supposed to meet with the bastard, when all I want to do is rip his throat out?’

  I gave compartmentalising another go, putting into practice all of my recent efforts to sideline Rowan’s anger and distress. It wasn’t remotely good enough, but my muttering had confirmed my ability to talk.

  I pressed speed-dial and Rowan picked up almost immediately. ‘Rowan?’ I asked as gently as I could muster. She was upset. I knew that already, but I caught a sniffle. ‘Have you been crying?’ I couldn’t keep the anguish and outrage out of my voice. I would kill Mike Peters for this! If there was no Dynamic PR, then Rowan was not at risk in the workplace … but I knew how much she enjoyed her job. Christ! This was going to be difficult.

  ‘He said no!’ she stuttered.

  ‘Rowan, this is really important; I need you to calm down. Trust me – I can make this right.’

  ‘How? I’m going to have to leave my job and I love it!’

  I couldn’t for one moment imagine why, when it involved working for an imbecile like Mike Peters.

  ‘You have to trust me. I can, and will, sort this out. You will not need to leave. I own Gray Portfolio, for Christ’s sake, and will find a way to ensure you are removed from that account. Please believe me.’

  She was calming down a little. I could feel some relief entering into her immense emotional cocktail … relief, perhaps, that someone was helping her fight this battle?

  ‘Where are you?’ I asked gently.

  ‘In the loo.’

  ‘Do you want me to come and get you? I could take you home until this is resolved.’

  How I would achieve that, with my current restriction in movement, I didn’t know, but I would find a way. Our conversation was helping, though.

  ‘Thanks, but I’ll be okay. I promise I’m not normally like this.’ I could hear the rustle of the tissue as she wiped her nose. ‘I’ve been working here for eight years and have never cried in the toilets before!’

  ‘Rowan, sweetheart – are you sure you do not want me to come and get you? I am fighting an urge at the moment to storm in there and carry you out.’

  She wasn’t affronted, there was no indignation. God! She was feeling vulnerable. Instead, she started giggling. That was better. I could handle this. ‘Oh, the girls would love that! Perhaps not today though, hey?’

  ‘Not today then – but I am offering my services, whenever required.’

  She paused and I felt her feelings go someplace really not good for me, but most definitely put to bed – a bad analogy – the worst aspects of her upset.

  ‘I was going to say something then, but just remembered, I’m meant to be a good girl.’

  I moaned. ‘Just keep remembering it. I am going now. But trust me.’ And hung up.

  I had to refocus. Rowan was currently calm enough for me to at least undertake the meeting – that was good. But I knew I needed to calm myself down before I saw Peters. I reminded myself how much Rowan loved her job and no Peters meant no job. My own satisfaction could not be a consideration here.

  Twenty minutes later I was in Peters’ office. He was dressed in a charcoal pinstripe suit and lavender shirt, the top button of which was undone; he was wearing no tie. He was, however, wearing eye-catching pink-and-lilac striped socks. His mousy hair was gelled back. I didn’t like him, and not because of the socks.

  I was deliberately making Peters ill at ease. We had started the meeting with him sat behind his large mock-regency, fake-leather-embossed desk, playing nervously with his Montblanc fountain pen and whatever else he could find to keep his fingers active. He had, within the last five minutes, however, retreated as far away from me as possible. He had been subconsciously rolling the wheels of his black imitation-leather executive chair further and further from me. With his last push backwards, he had discovered, to his consternation, that he had hit the wall. He was, therefore, at the limit of his subconscious retreat.

  On his lap were a pile of paperclips, spent staples, rubber-bands – even some old herbal teabags, which he had been using as worry-beads.

  I realised I was at the edge of what was acceptable behaviour around humans. As far as I was concerned, however, he was lucky I hadn’t gone over that edge. I was keeping myself in check, but unashamedly taking pleasure in the beads of sweat I could see breaking out on his forehead and the sound of his too-fast heart.

  But here I was, offering to move my account to his company, an account I knew to be worth at least three times the firm’s total annual revenue from all existing accounts combined. I may unnerve him, but he was, nevertheless, a businessman.

  ‘There is one condition to my immediately moving Gray Portfolio’s public relations requirements to Dynamic.’ He was still unable to meet my eyes; he had made that mistake when I had first walked into the room. ‘I expect Rowan Locke to act as Account Director and obviously, with the size of account, I expect her to focus entirely on my account and no other. With colleagues already handling Miss Locke’s accounts during her absence, I see no reason why she cannot begin working exclusively for me as of this point.’

  He both looked and sounded flustered. ‘I’m not … sure Rowan’s the … best person for your … account.’

  ‘And why is that, Mr Peters?’

  ‘I have another very good Account Director, who would, I’m sure, do as good a job as Rowan. Rowan is needed on her existing accounts.’

  ‘I would like Miss Locke.’

  ‘It’s … not that simple.’

  ‘Explain,’ I uttered ominously.

  He stuttered, ‘Frey Investments have made it … clear they require her on their account too, so … she wouldn’t be able to work for you exclusively.’

  I felt the chill pass through me. Further confirmation Rowan was being targeted by Frey.

  I recovered myself before proceeding. ‘Mr Peters, Gray Portfolio will move to you today, but only on the condition Rowan Locke works exclusively for me.’ I stood up to leave. ‘On the basis you are unable to give me that assurance then my business will remain at Shaftesbury. I wish you a good day.’

  I had only made one step towards the door before Peters caved. ‘Alright, then.’

  Yessss! I had done it without the charm, although it would most certainly have followed, had it been necessary.

  But that had not been easy. And I didn’t like the fact Peters’ heart rate, high throughout our meeting, had got dangerously so as soon as Frey Investments had entered the equation.

  But what did it matter? ‘It was not yet our time.’ I would make damn sure it was never his time.

  ‘I am very pleased to hear that, Mr Peters. Perhaps you would like to make the necessary calls to your team – so we can get straight down to business? I was thinking of an introductory meeting in, shall we say, ten minutes? Board Room One, I notice, is empty.�
��

  I had no intention of leaving his office until he had made the calls, determined to see this through, so he did so, whilst I stalked around the room, looking at various newspaper headlines hanging framed on the walls, ignoring the fake leather sofa he had nervously ushered me to.

  As Peters terminated his last call on his landline and prepared to address me, his mobile phone rang. Reaching for the phone that was upon his desk, I observed his face turn ashen as he looked at the screen displaying the caller ID.

  Simeon Frey.

  He glanced nervously in my direction.

  I met his look with a self-satisfied grin. And why not? How fortunate was this? ‘The sooner he knows, the better. And feel free to tell him exactly why Miss Locke will no longer be working with him.’

  I wanted Frey to know Rowan was no longer unprotected and if that made me the target, all the better: I neither knew nor cared what I was dealing with. I was going to consign him to history.

  Swallowing audibly and with a shaking hand, Peters accepted the call.

  ‘Is she back today?’ I heard Frey snap.

  And I wanted to snap his neck.

  ‘She is. But I’m afraid Rowan will no longer be able to work on your account.’ Peters spoke so quickly, his words stumbled over each other. The nature of his delivery seemed to reflect what his heart was now doing. ‘She …’

  Peters words died away at the sharp intake of breath that sounded on the other end of the phone. Eerily quiet. ‘Why? I was under the impression you grasped the nature of the unfortunate misunderstanding between Rowan and me and furthermore assured me it would not be a problem.’

  Peters stuttered in response. ‘It has been requested she head up the team to work on the Gray Portfolio. I realise it is not ideal but I am very much hoping we can continue with the arrangement we had in her absence? Whilst Rowan is in demand, that Account Director is equally as good and will no doubt do Frey Investments proud.’