Substitute

by Rey, Isobel

  ‘No … I’m curious about you.’

  She thought he caught his breath slightly. She looked at his face, it gave nothing away. Had she gone too far?

  ‘His father was my colonel in the army. My mentor, really. Rich family, but he didn’t take his privilege for granted. Unlike his son. I gave Tony a job because his father asked me if I could use him. He loved sport, he was personable – or so his father thought. I guess parents are blind. They don’t see their kids as anything but kids, they don’t see who they are, who they really are, out in the world. He’s disappointed his father over and over again. He’s not a man who deserves that.’

  Alexia could sense a deep bond that must have formed between the two men. Brothers in arms, she thought. There are few bonds stronger. Nathan’s sadness for the disappointment of his friend in his son was obvious.

  ‘But Tony is charming. He can manipulate pretty much anyone,’ added Nathan.

  Alexia flushed again, ashamed at how easily she’d been manipulated by him. Nathan hadn’t finished.

  ‘It’s the perfect skill for this job, really, but he’s on his final warning now. I can’t put up with him much longer, I’m running a business.’

  ‘What’s he done?’ asked Alexia.

  Nathan took a deep breath. ‘He likes to play the big “I am”, but doesn’t put the work in. Some of the stars like him, because he’s just like them – cocky, vain. But …’ He hesitated.

  Here it comes, thought Alexia.

  ‘It’s the way he behaves with women.’

  She knew it. Nathan might have seemed aloof but he was no fool.

  ‘I’m not really blaming the women … Well, some of them –’ he hesitated again ‘– but Tony should know better.’

  She had to speak, this might be her only chance. She had to tell him. Speak now, Alexia! She was shouting at herself in her head. Speak, girl, for God’s sake!

  ‘You mean like when you caught him having sex in your boardroom, the night of the party?’

  Nathan didn’t move, didn’t speak. She could see the little muscles in his neck; he was working hard to stay stoic.

  ‘It wasn’t me!’ Alexia blurted.

  He hesitated for a moment. She held her breath.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It wasn’t me. In the boardroom …’

  ‘But … I saw you,’ said Nathan, struggling to keep his composure.

  ‘Yes but it wasn’t me. I mean, it was, but it wasn’t …’

  Nathan was confused. She saw his eyebrows knit and his mouth open slightly. No words came out. But then she wasn’t really making much sense.

  ‘I’d only been with you a couple of days; I didn’t know anyone in the party. I sneaked into your bathroom because the one downstairs –’ she stopped, not wanting to get the coke-snorting staff into trouble ‘– it was full. So I sneaked in – to your bathroom, that is – but once I got in there Tony came in. He didn’t know I was there and he was with …’ She stopped again.

  What could she say? She couldn’t tell on Phillipa. She didn’t know the dynamic in the office; Phillipa was very senior. Nathan might not believe her.

  ‘Someone,’ Alexia continued. ‘He was with someone and they –’ she swallowed ‘– on your table!’ She hoped the meaning was clear enough.

  Nathan’s jaw dropped, only slightly, but he was clearly having trouble getting his head round this one. She watched him, desperate for any clue about his reaction. Did he believe her?

  ‘It wasn’t you.’ His voice was almost a whisper, the intonation making it a question. ‘It wasn’t – you? ’

  ‘No, it wasn’t me. But then she – the woman, that is – left. And –’ Alexia was gabbling now ‘– he found me. And you came in and then …’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘And then I accused you and threw you out.’ His voice sounded flat, realisation hitting him.

  Alexia almost collapsed with relief. ‘Yes. Yes! I wanted to say something but how could I …? I mean, I hardly know you. And I really didn’t know you then, I’d never met you before. And you’re my boss, and …’

  His hand reached over and held hers. Her panicky breathing almost turned to a sob as she felt his fingers close over hers.

  ‘It’s OK …’ His voice was warm and reassuring.

  They sat for a moment. His hand was so comforting she wanted him to pull the car over, to take her in his arms, to kiss her.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he repeated.

  There. She’d said it, it was out. And he believed her. Joy flooded her, and she looked down at his hand, his long, elegant, strong hand, covering hers.

  But he pulled his hand away and put it back on the steering wheel. She looked at him; he was unreadable again. Damn him! Was it just a professional touch, the way he’d held her hand; was he comforting a hysterical employee or was it more? She still didn’t know. This was agony.

  ‘And the stationery cupboard?’ asked Nathan.

  Alexia’s stomach took a dip on the rollercoaster. No sooner did she think she’d got to the top than she was plunging straight down again.

  ‘He followed me in, he keeps following me. He keeps …’ Alexia faltered. What could she say?

  Nathan’s voice was low. ‘I thought you two were …’

  ‘No!’ protested Alexia vehemently. ‘It’s not him I want!’

  She realised too late what she had said, and its implication. It’s not him I want. That meant there was someone else she did want.

  The sentence hung in the air between them. They both stared straight ahead, at the morning traffic cluttering the motorway. Alexia jammed her eyes shut. How could she have said that? How could she have been so stupid?

  After what seemed like an eternity Nathan spoke.

  ‘If he’s harassing you then you must make a formal complaint.’

  He was her boss again, personal curiosity tucked safely away, back in its box.

  Make a complaint? Against Tony? How could she? Only an hour ago he’d been raking his tongue over her clit. How could she make a complaint against him? A complaint about what? That he made her wait too long before he fucked her so she went without?

  ‘No, I don’t … I’d rather not … I don’t want to make a fuss.’

  ‘Look, Alexia, this is quite serious. In a previous life, if my staff weren’t doing their job and looking after each other properly, people died. And I still take the wellbeing of my people very seriously.’

  Alexia was panicking. ‘I – I know. But please, I just really don’t want to …’

  She couldn’t finish her sentence.

  Nathan sighed. ‘OK, OK. I understand.’ He looked over at Alexia; he could see her distress. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to bully you. Of course if you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to do anything. It’s OK, really.’ His voice was tender and low. ‘Really.’

  He looked at her again, to make sure she knew he was sincere. He turned back to the road. ‘But I won’t tolerate bad behaviour. He’s done enough to be on a final warning. I’ll be watching him closely from now on.’

  Alexia felt a flood of relief. She breathed out heavily and they settled into silence.

  The car ate up the miles and Alexia thought about her encounter with Nathan that morning, about Blondie. Their conversation in the car was difficult but it was honest, most of it. But how could she ask about the model? She was just a casual hook-up, that was clear, but why? Did he play around after all? Perhaps he was just better at hiding it than most. But he wasn’t hiding it all that well last night in the booth at the reception. And had he realised she’d seen Blondie this morning? Would he care?

  She was subconsciously biting her lip as the questions churned inside her. Nathan had turned to look at her. She had been too absorbed in her misery to notice.

  ‘Alexia?’

  His voice jolted her.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry … I was just thinking …’

  ‘About this morning? In my suite?’

  She
was stunned. He’d been thinking the same thing. Had he been wondering whether she’d seen the model leaving his suite? Or was he thinking about the shower, how she’d stood there looking at him, admiring his naked body.

  ‘Um …’ Alexia struggled, desperate for something to say that didn’t involve his complete nakedness, or his previous night’s conquest. ‘I was just … Your scars …’

  Nathan blew out. It was old news to him.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, resigned. ‘Iraq. Sniper.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Alexia gasped at the idea that someone could have aimed at Nathan, could have tried with singular determination to take his life.

  ‘Don’t worry, he wasn’t very good.’

  ‘He wasn’t?’ asked Alexia.

  Nathan gave a snort, his face cracked into a cynical smile. ‘Well, I imagine he was aiming at my head!’

  Alexia realised her mistake and laughed a nervous little hiccup of a laugh.

  ‘Oh yes … I see what you mean.’

  They fell into silence again. He concentrated on the road. This conversation, this journey was agonising, like a stop/start dance. One step forward, two steps back. She had to keep it going.

  ‘I’m glad he missed – your head, that is. He obviously didn’t miss you completely … But, you know …’

  Nathan looked at her and smiled. ‘Yeah, I know …’

  ‘That was … It must have been hard …’

  Nathan was pensive. ‘All war is hard, for everyone.’

  ‘It must have been difficult to – you know – adjust when you came back?’

  She knew she was in dangerous territory, but she had to push. Nathan’s face darkened.

  ‘Well, not everyone understands. Some people can’t – won’t – understand.’

  The deliberate change of word demonstrated his anger was still near the surface. He was still hurt by his girlfriend’s betrayal, the way she’d abandoned him. She understood his mistrust of women. How could he trust?

  They fell silent again. Alexia looked up to see they were coming into London. Nathan concentrated on negotiating the traffic. It was easier not to speak now; he had reason to be silent.

  After a while she realised they weren’t going to the office. She looked around. Nathan sensed her confusion.

  ‘I’m taking you home,’ he said.

  ‘But … Why aren’t we going to the office?’

  ‘You’ve worked hard over the last couple of days, so I think you should relax and come in tomorrow. If Romy is still ill then I’ll need you at the tennis event. It’s only a day thing, in Wimbledon. You don’t really have to do much, just be there.’

  ‘The tennis?’

  ‘Yes just to make sure anyone who approaches Jim Brooker comes through me.’

  Jim Brooker was the rising British tennis star, only 19 but already hitting the magazine covers.

  ‘Oh yes … OK …’

  Alexia thought for a moment. ‘But you don’t know where I live.’

  Nathan was silent for a moment as he navigated a busy junction. ‘I know where you live,’ he said quietly, and moved into the next street.

  Alexia kept completely quiet for the next 20 minutes. He knows where I live, she thought. This trip had given her as many questions as it had answers.

  She sat with her hands in her lap, adrenaline and tension flooding her body. Nathan turned the car into her street and pulled up right outside the door. She had never seen a parking space free before. But for him everything seemed to be easy. Even the traffic seemed to part for him.

  He turned off the engine. She was about to thank him for the lift when he got out, pressing the boot door button on his fob. She climbed out of the car, retrieving her coat, and watched him as he pulled her bag out of the boot.

  He slammed it shut. ‘Which door is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Er – the red one,’ said Alexia, watching him as he strode towards the entrance.

  He put down the bag on the step and she caught up with him, fiddling with her key. ‘Well, thanks again, you did well,’ said Nathan.

  Alexia smiled and looked down shyly, pretending she was searching for her key on the ring. There were only two keys; it was quite a performance.

  ‘Romy has some competition,’ he joked, the humour strained. They both knew this was difficult.

  ‘Let me help you with that.’ Nathan took the key ring from her and looked at the two keys. He picked one and put it in the lock. It turned. Right first time – of course, thought Alexia.

  He handed her the key ring; as she took it, their fingers touched. She felt it. Did he feel it too? The electricity? The undeniable jolt?

  She looked up into his face. Unreadable again. He seemed troubled, but what …? She couldn’t tell. He was so close to her; again so, so close. For a moment, for one heart-stopping moment, she thought he leant towards her … He was leaning towards her. She looked in his eyes. Did she see wanting there? Was it her own want she saw in his eyes?

  He was inches from her, his head bent. She thought he might – just might … Then he stopped.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Alexia. Enjoy the rest of your day.’

  Back down the rollercoaster! She was dismissed, yet again.

  He turned away and walked back to his car. Alexia stood and watched as he got in and pulled away down the street. He didn’t look back.

  In the flat, Alexia almost deflated onto her bed. She had dropped her case in the hall and dragged herself into her room. It was only midday and she was exhausted. The strain of the last few days had wiped her out and she lay back and closed her eyes.

  The memory of Nathan in the car clung to her, like the smell of his aftershave.

  She went over their conversation. ‘It’s not him I want!’ she’d blurted. Did he know what she meant? She felt her need for him was so clear, so transparent, how he could not know?

  ‘I know where you live,’ he’d said. Did he know because he knew where Romy lived and, by extension, her? Had he looked it up because of the trip? Or did he just wonder where she lived? She could only hope.

  She had a few answers after their journey, but so many more questions.

  She lay back on the bed, still holding her coat. She was clinging to it like a teddy bear. She had taken a step towards him by being so bold in the car. But had it got her anywhere? Did she know any more about the man, really know? About how he felt, what he felt about her? Did he feel anything? He’d kissed her, and today, just now, she thought he might kiss her again. But then the memory of Blondie crashed in on her fantasy. She remembered the rumpled bed. Blondie got a lot more than a kiss.

  She let out a small, frustrated scream and pulled her coat over her head, covering her face as if that would blot out the swirling memories.

  She lay there, for how long she didn’t know. But she must have fallen asleep as the next thing she remembered was being shaken gently and a faraway voice.

  ‘Alexia … Alexia, hey … You with us?’

  She opened her eyes to see Romy sitting on the bed.

  She mumbled then lifted her head, blinking to try and clear her blurry vision.

  ‘Well, hello. Welcome home. What the hell did you get up to that you’re sleeping in the middle of the day – or shouldn’t I ask?’

  Alexia sat up, completely disorientated.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Six-thirty. So – what happened?’

  Alexia was groggy.

  ‘Oh … Give me a minute …’ She swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She felt as if she had slept for a year.

  ‘OK, well, I’ll make you a cup of tea. That should help …’ Romy went to the door. ‘But then I want to hear all about it!’

  She disappeared into the kitchen and Alexia heard her fill the kettle.

  Alexia changed out of her clothes and put on a long nightie and a thin dressing gown. She was so tired she couldn’t bear to wear anything tight. She padded into the living room to find a hot, steaming cup of tea waiting for her.

/>   Romy shouted from the kitchen, ‘I’ve made some casserole, just rice with it.’

  ‘Great,’ said Alexia, as the realisation hit her that she hadn’t eaten all day.

  She took a long swig of the hot tea and felt it bring her slowly back to life as it made its way down.

  ‘I’ll just have a quick bath before dinner if that’s OK?’

  Alexia went into the bathroom and ran the water. The cure for all ills, she thought, remembering how Richard had made her ready for the tub last night.

  She spent half an hour in the bath hoping the hot water would shake off the cloak of sleep that hung on her. Sleeping in the day left her feeling drugged. But the lapping of the warm water on her skin made her dream of Nathan even more. She pressed her hand to herself to try and still the ache. She cupped her pussy and squeezed her legs, hoping it would silence the demanding hunger. But she found herself rubbing and tracing her fingers against her clit. ‘Oh stop it!’ she said out loud, and stood up with such speed, she spilled half the bathwater onto the floor. She breathed a heavy, desperate sigh of frustration and anger and grabbed a towel to wipe up the mess. She trudged into the living room.

  Another heavy sigh escaped her as Romy came into the room with two large bowls of steaming beef stew with two forks.

  ‘There you go,’ said Romy, handing her a bowl and cutlery.

  They sat on the sofa, and Alexia started to eat. The casserole was delicious as always; Romy was a good cook, her Italian mother had seen to that. But Alexia felt as if she were trying to put rocks in her stomach. She was so tense, so miserable, she could barely swallow.

  ‘Now I know something’s wrong,’ said Romy. ‘You always like my Spezzatino di manzo!’

  Romy put down her bowl, picked up Alexia’s teacup, and walked out. Alexia loved the way her friend’s North London accent would suddenly morph into Neapolitan whenever she broke into her mother’s native Italian. She returned seconds later with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She poured and gave Alexia a huge glass.

  ‘Drink!’ It was an order, which Alexia dutifully obeyed.

  ‘Can we watch some TV, just for a while?’ she asked.

  Romy was about to protest – she was still waiting to hear about the trip – but Alexia shot her a pleading glance. She needed to blank out for a bit longer.