The Billionaire Banker

by Georgia Le Carre

  ‘Hi,’ she says. She is very expensively dressed and very seductive. She is a call girl. He can tell a mile off. ‘Buy me a drink?’

  He sighs and raises his hand. Instantly, the bartender comes to his side. He moves his thumb in the girl’s direction. ‘Get her a drink too,’ he says. The girl smiles at him. Ah, the clothes were bait, the hook is her smile. She is very beautiful. She has long, shining blonde hair that he can see is natural and pearly teeth. He wants to be distracted.

  ‘You must be very rich and powerful,’ she says.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘The way the bartender left what he was doing to serve you first. It’s always a good sign of big money.’

  ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘Russia.’ He nods and almost smiles. Cliché of clichés.

  Of course, she is Russian.

  ‘And you? You are American.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He has never paid for sex. And then it hits him suddenly. He is paying for sex! It makes him laugh out loud.

  ‘What is so funny?’ the Russian asks.

  ‘Why did you become a hooker?’

  Her eyebrows arch. She is pure sophistication.

  ‘Because I like nice things.’ Then she deepens her voice until it is like hot caramel. She is very good at this. ‘And I love a hot fuck with good-looking strangers.’ She eyes his crotch greedily. She does it well and if he didn’t know better he would think she was desperate for his body and not the contents of his wallet.

  Lana’s white face when his father ordered her to leave the table flashes into his mind. He signals to the barman.

  ‘Charge everything to my father’s room,’ he says, and leaves a fifty-pound tip. His father is tight and actually goes through his hotel bills. ‘Enjoy your drink,’ he says to the Russian beauty, downs his, and makes his way to the lift.Upstairs, his father is waiting for him. As he expected the meeting does not go well.

  ‘Do you think you are the first Barrington to be tempted?’ his father asks him coldly ‘Tempted?’

  ‘Tempted to throw it all away for a bit of flesh.’

  ‘I don’t want to throw it all away.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘It hasn’t crossed my mind.’

  ‘Do you think I am a fool? Do you think I cannot see what she is to you? Each one of us has a personal siren summoned from some demonic place, who enters our lives in the most mundane way, leads us to the very edge and sings as we fall to our destruction. I had mine. Many years ago.’Blake stares at his father. A memory struggles to surface. A voice in his head, ‘Don’t go there, boy.’ He does not. Instead, he turns almost gratefully to his father’s story. Even the thought of his father being in love is foreign, impossible.

  His father smiles frostily, his voice is calm and unemotional, but the memories must have been bitter for his mouth is a tightly controlled slash in his face. ‘She was a redhead, a fledgling star. Every time I saw her, I could have ruined everything, but I fought it with every ounce of my being.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘Dead.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘It got so bad your grandfather paid a man to run off with her. She became a drug addict and died in a motel room. I saw the pictures and even then I felt an indescribable loss. But now, when I think back, I realize that my father was right. She was the enemy carefully chosen for me by fate. A beautiful butterfly. After she had destroyed me, after I’d lost everything, she would have carelessly moved on to the next flower.’ He looks intently at Blake. ‘What would happen if I paid your girl to leave you?’

  Despite himself, Blake flushes with anger. He turns away from his father. ‘I’ll thank you to stay out of my business. I don’t want to leave everything for her. It is only a fling. Temporary.’

  He walks away from his father and stands close to the door. He is so angry at his father’s suggestion to pay Lana off that he barely listens while his father accuses him of letting ‘a woman’ get under his skin. Eventually, he leaves and walks the streets of London for almost an hour. He feels confused and lost. The only thing he knows for sure is that he aches for her. With every fiber of his being, he aches for her.

  He tells himself it is just lust. But he knows, he knows it isn’t. It isn’t lust when you want to reach out and wipe away her tears and press her body against your own. He doesn’t just want to fuck her, he wants to hold her after that. She fills the void inside him that has never been filled by the best schools, the most beautiful women, the fastest cars, the most expensive champagnes, the most glamorous parties.

  He takes a cab back to St John’s Wood and lets himself in quietly. For a moment he stands at the mouth of the corridor. The living room is dim. Then he walks towards it—his feet soundless on the thick carpet—and stops at the threshold. Only the lampshade by the sofa is lit. She has fallen asleep on the couch. Her fingers are slack and trailing down. There is an empty glass that has rolled away from her. He goes to her. She is unbearably, impossibly beautiful. He puts his hand under her neck and the other under her knees and lifts her. She moans softly, but she does not awaken. He smells the alcohol on her breath.

  ‘Don’t leave me,’ she mumbles.

  He freezes. For a time he is still, but she does not awaken so he carries her to their bed and puts her down.

  He bends down and kisses her lips. She is half-asleep, but she opens her mouth and he deepens the kiss. Her hands come up to his hair, her fingers entwine in the silky strands. She moans and arches her body towards him. He supports her body with his forearms and lifts her towards him and begins to suck at her exposed throat.

  ‘Please, Blake…’ she gasps and molds her body towards his.He lets his mouth trail lower. At the soft swelling where her breast begins he stops and sucks again. This time longer. He will leave his mark on her. She moans with pleasure. He takes his mouth away and looks at the red mark possessively. He feels like an adolescent again.

  She is his to mark. He put his mouth on another part of her creamy skin and sucks diligently.

  Her hands are moving towards his belt. They are urgent but useless against the metal buckle. She is more than half drunk. He puts his hand into her pajama trousers, slips it under her panties, and touches her between her legs. Her sex is wet and tingling for him. She has never begged him to enter her before. He wants her to.

  He rips open her pajama top. A button hits the mirror in the room and makes a sound. She does not hear it.

  He grabs the ends of her trouser legs and tugs. They come off and he flings them behind him. He rips her panties. He unbuttons her top and latches his mouth on her nipple. Her head falls back and she sighs with abandonment. He gazes at her body exposed to him, his to do as he pleases with. He has never felt the need to sexually possess anyone like this before. But her he must. She is like a craving. An addiction.

  ‘Tell me you’re mine,’ he orders hoarsely.

  ‘I’m yours,’ she says.

  ‘Beg me to enter you,’

  ‘Please Blake, enter me. I want you to. Badly.’

  ‘Open your legs and show me your pussy.’

  She opens her legs and he sees how wet and glistening her open flesh is.

  He takes his shirt and his trousers off. She watches him from the bed. Her eyes are huge and strange with desire.

  He has never seen her like this. It turns him on. He stands a moment longer savoring the way he feels. Hard, ready and so horny. That feeling of animal passion. This is his mate. He owns her. He has paid for her.

  He climbs on the bed—the mattress gives under his weight—and enters her. She cries out, and then she is gripping him so hard, her nail dig into his flesh. He lets her climax before he allows himself to. When they are finished she falls asleep almost instantly. He lays his large hand on her stomach possessively. He thinks of his father and of Victoria. He will not ruin his father’s plan. They are also his plans. Soon he will tire of sex with her, he tells himself.

  Some deep part of him know
s it is a lie, but he goes to sleep snuggled against her warm, soft body, feeling good.

  There is still time. Plenty of time to sort it all out.

  Twenty four

  lake has a business dinner that he expects to run late, Bso Billie and Lana are going to a wine bar that has just opened in Seymour Place. She washes her hair and dresses in tight jeans and the top that Fleur had called basic even though it is rather grand, with lace and pearl buttons down the front. Peter is on holiday and Blake has left strict instructions for her to take a taxi to and fro. Lana goes to see her mother first.

  Her mother looks well. She is steadily gaining weight, there is color again in her cheeks, and seems in good spirits.

  The pouch with her supply of antineoplastons is strapped around her waist.

  ‘My, don’t you look nice,’ she says, bustling Lana into the kitchen. She puts a skillet on the stove. ‘You can’t drink on an empty stomach. We are having grilled chicken and salad.’ She sprinkles nuts on a bowl of salad.

  They sit to eat and it is like old times. Afterwards, she refuses all offers of help with the dishes and shoos Lana away. ‘Go. Go and have a good time, you. Call me in the morning.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ Lana says laughing as she is bodily pushed out of her mother’s door.

  At Billie’s, Lana is ordered to lose the lace top and slip into one of Billie’s skinny tops. She has to admit the red top looks hip and a whole lot sexier.

  The taxi drops them outside the entrance of Fellini’s.

  They open the wooden door and enter the dimly-lit interior. It is all green walls, chrome fittings and framed black and white photos of movie stars from the forties and fifties. The clientele is quite a mixed bag, but seems to be mostly office folk.

  They find a table and Lana buys the first round. When it is Billie’s turn, she goes up to the bar. A guy sidles up to the half-circle seat that Lana is sitting on. He is wearing a suit and must be in his mid or late twenties. He smiles at her. Friendly face. She will also remember later that he looked clean and trustworthy. There is nothing about him to suggest otherwise

  ‘Hello, doll,’ he says. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

  ‘Thanks, but my friend’s gone to get me one.’

  ‘Mind if I join you girls?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ interrupts Billie rudely. She is standing behind Lana and actually glowering at the man.

  She looks quite tough and fierce.

  ‘No problem,’ he says immediately, and with a wink to Lana, gets up and goes back to join his friends, who are gathered at the bar. He says something to them and they slap him on the back and laugh uproariously. For some reason, their laughter disturbs Lana and makes her think it is somehow connected to her. But Billie is saying something and she turns her head to listen.

  Blake feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and instantly perceives that it is from Lana. Why, he cannot say, for she has never called him before. He takes his phone out of his pocket and looks at the screen. It is her! He excuses himself, walks away from the table, and puts his mobile to his ear.

  ‘Hi,’ says a voice he does not recognize.

  ‘Yes,’ he says, his voice, strangely abrupt. Some part of his brain registers surprise at the state of his voice.

  ‘This is Billie, Lana’s friend. Don’t panic, but some wanker has slipped a roach into her drink, and she’s gone down.’

  Her accent is hard for Blake to understand, and he has never heard the term roach, but he guesses instantly that Billie must be referring to a date rape drug. ‘Gone down?’

  he repeats.

  ‘Look, I’ve had to leave her at the table with one of the bar staff to come outside and call you, so could you hurry here, please?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  She gives him the address.

  Without going back to the table to make his apologies, Blake rushes out of the restaurant. He double parks outside the entrance of Loren, and bounds into the bar.

  His eyes scan the room. A young girl with extremely white hair is waving at him. Lana is slumped against her and her head is lolling on the girl’s left shoulder.

  Billie stands up and tries to keep Lana up with her hand, but Lana flops over it and moans. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ Billie says. ‘Almost all my friends have had it slipped into their drink before, and we’ve all survived.’ She jerks her eyes towards a group of men. ‘I think it’s them over there, but over my dead body will they be taking this girl home with them.’

  Blake glances over at the men. Six lads. Youngish.

  Their idea of fun. As soon as they sense his eyes on them, they quickly turn away. Blake experiences a fury that he has never know. The urge to go over and punch their smirking faces burns his guts. He turns towards them, raging uncontrollably. A hand on his arm stops him. He looks at it. The nails are painted to look like slices of watermelon. The sight has a strange effect on him. He loses the edge of his anger. He drags his eyes to hers.

  ‘If you prop her up on one side, we can walk her out,’

  she urges. Her voice is surprisingly strong and purposeful.

  He had dismissed her, the spiders and the boiled-egg white hair. She was more. No wonder Lana held her in such high regard.

  ‘No need,’ he says, and scoops Lana up easily, as if he is Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind.

  ‘Oh!’ Billie exclaims. Then she turns around and, flicking her middle finger at the group of guys who have turned to watch, follows Blake out of the restaurant. Billie opens the passenger door and Blake deposits Lana into the seat. He closes the door and turns to face Billie.

  ‘Thank you for calling me.’

  Billie shrugs. ‘No problem. Thanks for coming.

  Couldn’t take her home. Her mum…you know how it is?’

  Blake nods. ‘How will you get home?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll just hop on a bus.’

  Blake frowns. ‘Is that safe at this time of the night?’

  Billie’s eyes widen. Suddenly he seems so much older.

  ‘It’s only ten o’clock, Mr. Barrington.’

  Blake takes his wallet out of his pocket. He pulls two fifties out and holds them out to Billie. ‘Here, take a cab.’

  ‘Uh…taxis don’t cost that much, Mr. Barrington.’

  ‘Call me Blake, and please, don’t argue with me.’

  Billie reaches out and takes the money. She shifts from one foot to another. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks.

  Tomorrow will be the killer. She’ll think she’s dying, but she’ll be OK. Give her lots of water to drink.’

  ‘Thanks again.’

  ‘Oh, and if you want to do anything kinky to her now’s the time. She won’t remember a thing in the morning.’

  For a moment Blake stares at her in shock, and then he realizes that it is her attempt at a joke. He shakes his head.

  Strange girl. Billie pulls Lana’s phone out of her pocket.

  ‘Here’s her phone. She’ll need to call her mum before twelve or there’ll be trouble.’

  Blake takes it distractedly. ‘OK, I’ll make sure she does.’

  He walks over to his side of the car and gets in.

  Billie watches the car roar powerfully into life, pick up great speed almost immediately, and take the corner at an alarming speed. She stuffs the money into the back pocket of her black jeans and casually ambles over to the bus stop.

  At the bus stop she sits on a cold plastic chair and replays the moment when Blake picked Lana up. She will never have that, but instead of that usual tinge of envy because someone else has more than her, her little heart is soaring for Lana.

  Banker boy cared.

  Lana moans and Blake takes his eyes off the road to briefly look at her.

  ‘Ooh uuugggg why uuuuuuggggg,’ she says, and covering her face with her hand, mumbles unintelligently.

  Blake doesn’t try to talk to her. When he reaches the apartment block, he takes his keycard from the dashboard and goes out to
Lana’s side. The night porter’s eyes are round with curiosity when he carries Lana through reception towards the lift. The porter stands up, but Blake shakes his head, and he sits down again. Blake elbows the lift button. It opens immediately. He slots in his card and they are transported up. The movement of elevator makes Lana stir in his arms. ‘Sorry, Mummy,’ she says. ‘Oh it’s you’… more gibberish…then clearly, ‘where’s Mum?’

  ‘She’s home safe.’

  But she appears not to hear, and seems to be trapped in some nightmare of her own. ‘Don’t die, Mummy. You promised to come to my wedding.’ He watches her with a frown. ‘You said you would.’ She begins to cry. ‘Mum, it’s cold. I’m so cold.’ Blake curses. The lift door opens and he carries her into the apartment and deposits her on the bed.

  She grasps his arm and looks into his eyes, frowns, and does not seem to recognize him. ‘Where’s my mother?’

  She shivers. He covers her. ‘I’ll tell you now. You won’t break me, Barrington,’ she slurs and turns on her side. ‘I’ll tell Jack what you did. He’ll sort you out.’

  ‘Jaaaaccccckk,’ she wails.

  It makes the hair on his neck stand to see her this way.

  But it is only when she starts talking gobbledygook in earnest that he gets worried. He goes into the kitchen and phones his doctor. After a few minutes he ends the call and stares at the granite top. He is simmering with anger —with her, for being so careless, so naïve, and with those pigs that thought they could drug a girl and rape her. His hands clench. He breathes deeply and lifts his chin. He closes his eyes. They didn’t get her. They didn’t get her.

  His hands unclench. He takes another full breath. It is not her fault. She is as innocent as a child. Grimly, he goes to sit by the bedside and listen to her ramblings. In all of them, he is the enemy. The one who wants to use her for sex. He clasps his hands and says nothing.

  The porter brings the doctor up. Dr. Faulks is very quick with his analysis. There is nothing much to do.

  Wait it out. Fluids are the key. Tomorrow will be bad.

  She will have memory lapses, most likely won’t remember a thing. Oh, plastic sheets might be a good idea. Sometime incontinence can occur.’