Walking in Darkness

by Charlotte Lamb

  ‘Sorry? What did you say?’

  The blonde gave him what was obviously meant to be a seductive smile. ‘I was just going to have another gin, but I’m plumb out of lemons.’ She looked him up and down through half-closed eyes with improbably long lashes. ‘Hey, you’re cute – come on in and have a drink with me.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m busy just now – ring Room Service.’

  ‘Well, fuck you,’ she said, but Steve was already loping away towards Sophie’s room, his heart thudding with anxiety.

  There was now no sign of Gowrie. Steve banged on her door with a clenched fist and kept on banging until the door was yanked open and he almost banged on her nose.

  Relief made him feel sick; his head had been full of images that terrified him, seeing her alive made him suddenly angry.

  ‘What was he doing here?’

  ‘Don’t you yell at me!’

  They were yelling at each other, neither listening to the other or answering.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Steve shouldered his way into the room, moving her bodily aside to do it.

  ‘Get out!’ she yelled.

  ‘Not until you’ve told me what he was doing here!’

  ‘Talking. We were talking.’

  Suspicions began to colour his mind; he looked at her, eyes hard, angry, remembering what he had thought when he saw the way Gowrie looked at her during the press conference yesterday afternoon. So much had happened since; his first impressions had been overlaid by a hundred others, but now he said curtly, ‘You are his mistress, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ She walked away towards the window and looked out at the cloudy sky, the geometric skyline, roofs, towers, pinnacles, and between them the leafy maze of Central Park like a moving mirage.

  He watched her warmly curved body and hated the thought of it in Gowrie’s arms. Looking at her bed he saw the tumbled sheets and his stomach heaved. ‘Have you just had sex with him?’

  ‘You’ve got a nasty, dirty little mind.’ She didn’t turn to look at him even now, and it was beginning to annoy him, being ignored like that. She couldn’t even be bothered to look at him and he wanted her to, he wanted to force her to acknowledge him. His body was throbbing with awareness of her – how could she be so totally unconscious of him?

  ‘Something is going on between you and Gowrie. Don’t bother to lie. And somebody tried to kill you yesterday. Why? And who burgled your apartment? Somebody wrecked the place, tore it to pieces. Don’t try to kid me they were both coincidences.’

  She turned then; he saw a shudder run down her throat. ‘Wrecked the apartment?’ Her face was white as scraped bone.

  He wished he hadn’t told her, but too late now; and maybe she should know. Shouldering out of his overcoat, he dropped it on a chair to give himself time to think what to say to her, then looked at her searchingly.

  ‘Look, Sophie, you are fishing in dangerous waters. Gowrie is an ambitious man with a lot to lose. If you’re wise you’ll stay away from Gowrie. I know him, I’ve known him and his daughter all my life. My father’s a lifelong Republican, he’s worked with Gowrie for years, Dad knows what sort of guy the man is. Gowrie plays hardball.’ He paused, frowning, visibly hesitating, then said offhandedly, ‘For instance, I knew a guy once who was in love with Gowrie’s daughter, but Gowrie didn’t think he was good enough for her, he didn’t have the right connections, or the money and influence Gowrie wanted for his daughter, so he saw to it that she married someone else, someone Gowrie approved of. The man’s ruthless, you see. He’ll stop at nothing.’

  Sophie stared at him, her woman’s intuition making her wonder if Steve’s ‘friend’ had been Steve himself. There had been a harshness, an undercurrent of real bitterness, in his voice while he talked about it.

  ‘Was your friend badly hurt? I mean . . . was he very much in love with her?’ she gently asked, and saw his face tighten and turn cold.

  ‘He felt he’d been kicked in the guts, yes.’

  ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ she whispered and their eyes met. She read the truth in his eyes, then he scowled, looking away, angry pride in his face.

  ‘It was all a long time ago,’ he bit out, his voice rough with what she suspected might be pain. Was he still in love with her? How strange, thought Sophie – he was in love with my sister, with Anya, although he doesn’t know it. She felt a strange intimacy in talking to him about it while he had no idea of the true identity of Cathy – there was a surreal feel to that. Identity was so vital – if you didn’t know who you were or where you belonged you would be lost, alone in a hostile universe. When she was very small she had often felt like that; afraid and isolated. She never wanted to feel that way again.

  Angrily, Steve said, ‘We’re talking about you. Don’t try to side-track me. I warned you not to open your door to anyone. Why did you let him in here?’

  ‘He stood outside and said, “Little pig, little pig, let me in, let me in . . .”’ She laughed wildly; he didn’t.

  ‘It isn’t funny!’ His voice rose sharply. ‘Tell me the truth, Sophie. What is going on?’

  ‘I can’t tell you!’

  ‘Why not? Is it his secret – or yours?’ Steve said, still angry, and saw tears slip into her eyes, shining like a glaze over the porcelain blue.

  Steve took the steps between them so fast he hardly knew he was moving, dropped the buff envelope of photos on the table and reached for her.

  ‘Don’t cry.’ He put his arms round her and felt her trembling. ‘What is all this? Why can’t you tell me?’ he murmured, his cheek against her soft hair, breathing in a fragrance that reminded him of spring, of wildflowers, sweet meadow air. She leaned on him and his heart quickened.

  ‘I’m scared,’ she whispered, looking up, her pale pink mouth quivering.

  Steve kissed it, knowing he had been waiting to do that ever since he first saw her, and felt her lips tremble even more. She had her eyes shut and she wasn’t pulling away, she was leaning towards him. Her breath tasted of peppermint; toothpaste, he thought, his kiss deepening, opening her mouth wider, his tongue slipping between her lips. Her body was shaking more than ever; suddenly he realized she was giving at the knees as if she was about to faint.

  Steve picked her up, lifting her feet off the floor, his arm underneath her knees.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Her eyes flew open, alarm in them.

  Without answering, he carried her to the bed and laid her down on it, going down with her, leaning over her to kiss her again. His face had filled with hot blood.

  Desire had hit him with the force of a tidal wave, tearing him from the moorings of common sense and reason, carrying him into wilder regions than any he had ever visited. He had never wanted any woman this badly, so badly he was feverish and couldn’t think straight.

  He shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor, his hands shaking as he pushed up the thin, ribbed cotton sweater, slid his hands inside it, caressing her naked midriff, the smooth, soft skin clinging to his fingers.

  ‘No,’ she said, suddenly pushing at his shoulders. ‘No.’

  Steve lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes dark with need. She stared into those eyes and fell silent as she read his feelings in his face.

  ‘The first time I saw you, I wanted to make love to you,’ he whispered. ‘You’re beautiful, Sophie.’

  ‘Thank you, but don’t bother with the compliments,’ she tartly said, wriggling from under him, sliding off the bed until she could stand up. ‘Sorry, but I’m not the easy lay you seem to hope I am.’

  He sat up, flushed and furious. ‘For God’s sake . . . what on earth gives you the idea I think that?’

  ‘You accused me of being Gowrie’s mistress. You think anyone can get me into bed.’

  He was urgent to get her back into his arms, but he realized he wouldn’t now and his blood began to cool. Flatly, he said, ‘I never said that! I didn’t think it, either.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you did, Mr Colbour
ne, and I didn’t like it. Get out of here, will you?’ Sophie was completely in control now. She zipped up her jeans, pulling down her sweater, turning angry, darkened eyes on him. ‘I shall start counting to ten – if you aren’t out of here by the time I’ve finished I’ll start screaming next.’

  Steve got up reluctantly, his tie hanging loose, his shirt half-out of his trousers, and straightened his clothes. ‘You’re wrong about me, Sophie,’ he said flatly. ‘OK, I want to make love to you, but I don’t think you’re a pushover. Say no, if you like, but say it for the right reasons – because you don’t want to go to bed with me, not because you have the wrong idea about my motives or my opinion of you.’

  ‘Did you treat Cathy Gowrie that way? Did you try to get her into bed almost the minute you met her?’ Asking that question made her realize with a shock of disbelief that she was jealous – but how could she be jealous of Anya, who she had come so far to find, had been aching to meet at last? Her own emotions bewildered and scared her. How could you feel so many contradictory reactions at once?

  He slowly turned, running a hand over his ruffled dark hair, walked towards her with the silent lope of a hunter, his long body graceful and deadly.

  She stiffened, alarm leaping into her throat.

  He paused and looked down at her, his eyes angry. ‘Forget everything I said about Cathy Gowrie – do you hear me? Forget I ever mentioned her.’

  ‘Have you forgotten her?’ she threw back with the force of the jealousy she felt, and saw his face quiver.

  He stared into her blue eyes fixedly, then suddenly smiled. ‘I’ve known Cathy most of my life, since we were both kids. I’ll never forget her, how could I? I’m very fond of her. But I’m not in love with her.’

  She watched him, wondering if he was lying, but not knowing because she didn’t know him well enough.

  He stared back at her, his face calm now, then moved away, walked over to the table and picked up the buff envelope he had dropped there. ‘I brought these to show you.’ He tipped them out on the polished surface; they fanned out, glossy prints, the faces grainy and surreal.

  She hesitated. ‘Photos? Of what?’ But after a pause she joined him, picked up one of the photos with a sharp intake of air as she recognized what she was looking at.

  ‘Where did you get it?’ Her eyes flicked to the others, her face puzzled, startled. ‘Are these all my family photos?’

  ‘Yes, I had them reproduced from Lilli’s wheel. Your family photos were stolen from the apartment and I wondered if there was any significance in that, if there was any reason why someone should want photos of your family to vanish. They hadn’t realized Lilli was doing this collage thing – I found it on the floor and took it away with me, with her permission, to have the faces blown up and printed.’

  She picked up the one of the baby, her hand shaking, stared at it; suddenly her eyes filled with tears.

  Steve wanted to put an arm round her, to comfort her, but he didn’t want her accusing him of opportunism again, or pushing him away, so he just stood there watching her with anxious sympathy, his own throat salting up.

  Huskily he said, ‘That’s your little sister who died, isn’t it?’

  She touched the baby face with one finger, head bent. ‘Anya,’ she said. ‘Yes, that’s her, taken on her second birthday.’

  Steve looked at the laughing little face of a child with curling dark hair, wide-spaced eyes. He had looked at it several times since he got the photos, but suddenly he felt an odd flash of déjà vu, a memory he couldn’t track back. He had seen a very similar picture somewhere before. But he couldn’t remember where or when – or was he simply remembering seeing the wraith-like photocopy set in Lilli’s wheel? Or maybe he was seeing this dead child through Sophie’s eyes by some sort of osmosis or sympathetic magic. He seemed to himself always to be trying to understand her, work out what she was feeling and thinking – perhaps he had begun to pick up what was happening inside her head and heart?

  It was strange, though, that she was so distressed by seeing a picture of a child who had died before she was born. What did the dead child mean to her to upset her like this?

  ‘I’m having another set of photos printed,’ he told her gently. ‘You can keep these. Maybe soon you’ll trust me enough to tell me why the originals were stolen from the apartment.’

  He waited a moment but she didn’t answer or even look up, so eventually he walked away. He was almost at the door when Sophie whispered, ‘I’m sorry. I do trust you . . . I think I do . . . but I still can’t tell you, I can’t tell anyone.’

  Don Gowrie lay on his back watching the gleam of pale, pearly flesh and black lace suspenders holding up black silk stockings, as it climbed on top of him.

  ‘She wouldn’t let me buy her off, she wouldn’t go back where she came from, she wouldn’t swear not to tell Cathy,’ he said, his voice thick with rage and frustration. ‘She’s going to get to her somehow, whatever I say or do. I can’t stop her because I can’t tell Cathy or her husband why I want to keep this girl away from Cathy. And she’s going to tell her, and that will bring everything crashing down on all of us.’

  A scarlet-nailed hand trailed slowly down his belly and his flesh hardened and lifted as the fingertips brushed it. ‘My way is the only way, you know that. Let me deal with it.’

  He closed his eyes to enjoy the sensations pulsing through him. ‘You tried once and you failed. All that achieved was to make Steve Colbourne curious, the last thing I need.’

  The stroking hand was joined by a hot, moist mouth; he groaned suddenly with sharp, intense pleasure.

  ‘Good?’ whispered the mouth, licking him.

  Good,’ he gasped. ‘Ah . . . yes . . .’

  ‘I won’t fail next time. Trust me. She won’t ever reach London,’ the reddened, glossy lips whispered as they began to suck.

  He began to pant, groaning, his mouth wide open. ‘Ahhhh . . .’ His mind stopped working; he gave himself up to the expert, tormenting mouth and tongue, shuddering violently, jerking, as the liquid heat finally gushed out of him.

  His deep grunts of satisfaction dying away, he lay there, breathing audibly, still and flaccid, eyes shut, sated and at rest for a while. He needed the release, the letting go, the brief peace. The strain of his life was sometimes unbearable, weighing down on him until he was bowed down with it. Only this brief, ecstatic pleasure could help when it got too much.

  Slowly his mind began to work again, to worry, question. ‘I’m not sure. Do we have to go that far? She says she only wants to see Cathy. What if it’s true? What if she doesn’t mean to tell Cathy the truth? I wish I knew for certain what was best. Maybe there’s some other way of dealing with this? If only she wasn’t so obstinate. God, why is this happening? Why now? It’s like some crazy doomsday judgment. It isn’t fair. Just when I need everything to go right for me.’

  ‘Crawling out of the woodwork like a bug.’ The other body slid off the bed; gathered up clothes, a suit, a shirt, a tie. ‘You know what you do with bugs. You squash them. Ruthlessly. You can’t waste time arguing over the moral rights and wrongs. You just stamp on them. Isn’t Colbourne going to be at this dinner tonight?’

  ‘He’s on the press guest list.’

  ‘Then I’ll deal with her tonight, while he’s out of the way.’

  ‘Be careful,’ Don said, as he had said before, but with more violence. ‘For Christ’s sweet sake, be very careful.’

  Sophie was watching TV when the phone rang, making her jump and look at it as if it was an exploding bomb. Who could that be? She wasn’t expecting a call.

  Then she remembered that she had rung Vladimir. She got up and ran to pick the phone up, saying breathlessly, ‘Hello?’

  It wasn’t Vlad, it was Lilli, sounding very cheerful. ‘Sophie, Theo and I are downstairs in the lobby – are you in bed, or are you up and dressed?’

  ‘I’m up and dressed. This is nice of you. Come on up.’

  ‘No, listen – I wondered, hav
e you eaten? Because we thought we could eat down here. The main restaurants are out of our price bracket, but there’s a trattoria in a corner of the lobby, and the menu prices aren’t bad at all, for a hotel like this. Are you hungry? Will you come down and join us?’

  ‘Give me two seconds,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you at the trattoria.’

  It took her ten minutes, in fact, because she had to wash, change into something a little more stylish than jeans and a sweater, do her make-up and hair and spray on a little perfume.

  Lilli eyed her from head to foot, taking in the pretty angora pink sweater, the cheap fake pearls which still managed to gleam softly against her skin, the dark grey straight skirt, the black high heels which made her long legs look slender and graceful. ‘Well, you look better than the last time I saw you, in that hospital bed,’ she said approvingly.

  Theo’s eyes were bright with male appreciation; he bent his grizzled grey head to kiss her hand with his usual heavy Continental gallantry.

  ‘Ah, Sophie . . . even lovelier than usual.’ He straightened, almost creaking, a hand at his back. Lilli claimed he wore a corset to maintain that upright, boyish figure now that he was nearly seventy and at times Sophie believed her. ‘I was sorry, so sorry to hear about your accident. I would have sent you flowers but Lilli told me you were only staying in hospital one night. No ill-effects, huh?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. How are you, Theo? You look wonderful. Retirement obviously suits you.’

  ‘He hasn’t retired,’ snorted Lilli. ‘He’s moonlighting with half the media in New York, working odd shifts here, odd shifts there, picking up a story here, a story there, and little crumbs of income everywhere.’

  ‘Time enough to retire when you’re put in your coffin,’ agreed Theo, beaming. ‘I get bored doing nothing.’

  Sophie glanced into the Italian restaurant and saw that it was filling up: there were not many tables free. ‘Shall we go in and eat?’

  ‘Yes, I’m starving,’ Lilli agreed, pushing open the door and leading the way. ‘Have you seen much of Steve?’

  ‘Too much,’ Sophie said, then wished she had not been so unguarded as Lilli gave her an amused, intrigued glance.