Acts of Love

by Talulah Riley

  ‘Now we’re getting down to it,’ said Bernadette, as they entered the elevator. ‘There’s the pig-headed narcissist I’ve come to know and love.’

  ‘You may know me, but you don’t love me. Not yet, anyway,’ said Radley, as the doors slid shut behind them.

  ‘How can I love you?’ asked Bernadette, quietly.

  ‘Charming. I’m not so thoroughly bad, you know.’

  ‘No, no, I wasn’t being hostile. I meant it as a genuine question.’ She turned her green eyes up to gaze at his face, wanting very much to kiss him. ‘How can I love you? Help me to love you.’

  She jumped as Radley banged his fist against the emergency stop button and the elevator came to an abrupt halt. It was an electrifying moment, and after staring at him for a split second to judge the crackling lust, Bernadette threw herself into his arms, nuzzling her head under his chin and pressing her cheek against his chest. His strong arms encircled her, and she was overcome with the sensation of rightness. It felt so comfortable and pleasant, and her body fitted exactly into his. She wanted to drown herself in the physical reality and forget everything: forget her own name, forget the existence of Tim, and of every man who had hurt her, forget that Radley was as dangerous as every other bastard out there. She wanted him to wipe every thought from her mind, and to leave her numb and oblivious.

  ‘Do you mean it?’ he asked, pulling her back to look at him. ‘Do you really mean it?’ His lips were so close to hers, and her body tingled.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, in a small, sad voice, ‘I suppose I do. It would be ever so convenient to love you.’

  He let go of her sharply, and she felt the immediate lack of him, the emptiness of not being surrounded by his warmth and overpowering energy. ‘Damn!’ he said, stepping back and shaking his head fiercely. ‘You’re unbelievable.’

  Suddenly Doris’s voice rang out, the clear electronic sound cutting through their absorption. ‘Radley,’ the voice asked, ‘is there a problem?’

  ‘No,’ said Radley, loudly and firmly.

  ‘Shall we resume service?’ asked Doris.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Resuming service,’ and the elevator whirred to life, moving upwards once more.

  ‘Can they hear everything?’ asked Bernadette, glancing nervously at a camera installed in the corner.

  ‘No, thank heaven,’ said Radley, refusing to look at her.

  At the fifth floor, the doors drew back to reveal a vast open-plan space, with rows of desks in low-partitioned cubicles. People buzzed efficiently, typing at their desks, or moving through the office labyrinth with important gait and shining eyes. Radley changed as he entered: he too walked faster and with more purpose, and he appeared to forget the incident in the elevator. Bernadette kept pace, weaving with him through the rows until they reached a desk somewhere in the middle.

  ‘This is me,’ said Radley, seating himself at a nondescript workspace.

  ‘Don’t you have an office?’ she asked, surprised. ‘Shouldn’t the CEO of the company have an office, or at least a desk that can be distinguished from the others? Where do you take meetings?’

  ‘I take meetings in one of the conference rooms, like everyone else. This is Silicon Valley. We’re very egalitarian here. You wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘Just because I’m English doesn’t mean I’m some hard-nosed elitist.’

  ‘No, being English doesn’t, but being you does. Now, I need to answer emails for a bit. Would you like to sit with me? If not, you can take a tour of the building with my assistant. I can join you in an hour.’

  ‘I’ll wait,’ said Bernadette. ‘I’m here to shadow you.’

  ‘You’re here to torment me,’ muttered Radley, turning to wake his computer. As soon as the screen came to life, he ignored her presence, so utterly taken up was he with his bright, shiny machine. Bernadette stood somewhat stupidly by his desk, glancing around at the hive of activity.

  A pleasant-faced man about her own age popped his head over the partition of a neighbouring cubicle. ‘Ms St John?’ he stammered nervously. Bernadette knew she had seen him before, but she couldn’t quite place him. His features were vaguely familiar.

  ‘Have we met?’ she asked politely, with a winning smile.

  ‘Actually … yes,’ said the forlorn boy. ‘At Tim Bazier’s surprise engagement party. I was in town with Radley. You … um …’ and he blushed a pretty crimson.

  Her stomach lurched with embarrassment. Of course! This was the random young man she had rebuffed and then pretended to know. Why must all past transgressions haunt her? ‘Call me Bernadette,’ she said wanly.

  ‘Nice to officially meet you, Bernadette. I’m Sam, Radley’s assistant.’

  ‘Oh. We emailed. Good to put a face to the name.’

  In their email exchanges Sam had seemed scarily efficient and middle-aged, helping Bernadette schedule her time with Radley and answering various logistical questions with prompt ease. But in reality he appeared easy-going and casual – and he was young and good-looking too. Why had she been so quick to repel him at the party? He must think her very odd.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to stretch your legs and look around? A trip to the cafeteria might be more fun than staring at Radley’s back for an hour,’ he said persuasively.

  ‘Well, perhaps the cafeteria would be nice. And could I ask you a few questions for my article?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’

  Bernadette moved to follow him, but was stopped short by Radley, who, quick as a snake, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards him.

  ‘Sam’s a nice boy,’ he hissed, so that no one could overhear. ‘Lay one finger on him and so help me …’

  ‘Don’t threaten me,’ Bernadette huffed testily, shaking off his grip.

  ‘Well don’t make cow eyes at my assistant.’

  ‘I do not make cow eyes!’

  ‘Try to have at least one non-flirtatious encounter with another human being.’

  ‘I don’t know how to interact with someone without resorting to flirtation,’ she hissed back. ‘I do it when I’m nervous. It’s a sort of insecurity thing.’

  Radley snorted. ‘You, nervous? Chance would be a fine thing.’

  She stared at him challengingly, and then quite deliberately strutted over to Sam, who was waiting patiently.

  ‘So, Sam,’ she said in a friendly fashion as they walked to the elevator, passing workers who gave cursory glances in her direction, but not the rapacious looks she was used to – the employees of Clarion Molecular seemed to have a higher purpose, a subtle superiority that elevated them above the scandalous or the mundane. The room buzzed with honest work, like a hive or a colony. ‘What’s it like to work for Radley?’

  The boy’s eyes lit up at the question, and he spoke with an almost religious fervour as he rushed to expound on his favourite topic. Radley had no need to fear her seductive charms; there was clearly no room in Sam’s life for romance, so completely absorbed was he with his work. ‘It’s an honour, obviously,’ he stammered. ‘I still don’t know how I landed the job. I wasn’t the most qualified applicant, but Radley is a man who likes to nurture potential.’

  ‘So he chose you, the less qualified candidate, and in so doing has won your unfailing gratitude?’ she asked, smiling sweetly, showing her journalist’s half-smile, half-sneer.

  Sam looked askance. ‘I wouldn’t phrase it exactly like that,’ he said carefully, some of the boyish ardour dissipating. ‘Not unfailing gratitude. But I trust Mr Blake and his vision.’ He had obviously fallen for Radley like a giddy schoolgirl. He began to seem less attractive.

  On the ground floor, they walked out to a pleasant courtyard, where white benches were positioned around an array of exotic plants and flowers, and subtle jasmine provided the base note in a tropical medley.

  The cafeteria was housed in a low building. On entering, it seemed they had stepped into a corporate banquet rather than a simple lunch hall. It was an epicure�
��s delight. Every type of cuisine was available at serving stations scattered around the large room. Stalls were piled high with bright fruits, pizza ovens emitted a warm glow, delicious soups simmered in large cauldrons. There was a dedicated vegan bar, and a ‘pick-your-own’ orchard of potted indoor trees and fruit-bearing plants.

  ‘This is quite something,’ Bernadette said. ‘You must dine well.’

  ‘I tend to eat all my meals here at work,’ Sam-the-Eager laughed. ‘In fact,’ he said, warming to his theme, ‘going home at all just isn’t necessary. I could shower here, eat here, exercise here … sleep in the meditation room. It would be awesome! I’d live here twenty-four seven if they’d let me.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you feel the lack of something?’ Bernadette asked. ‘Real life, for example?’

  ‘But this is real life!’ he exclaimed, his body twisting for emphasis, his face adamant. ‘There is nothing more real than what we’re doing here, nothing more interesting, nothing as beautiful or as challenging! There is nowhere I’d rather be.’

  ‘Gosh,’ said Bernadette drily. ‘Lucky you.’

  He stared at her with clear blue eyes that reminded her suddenly of Elizabeth, his face registering pity and confusion. ‘I’m sorry if I sound extreme to you,’ he said frankly. ‘But there are a lot of people here like me. We all think we’re doing something good and worthwhile. That’s not an easy thing to find in this world. Believe me, I’ve chased that feeling down in all the wrong places.’

  ‘I’ve never felt that way. I can’t really imagine what it’s like,’ she admitted, feeling suddenly very useless.

  ‘Then I’ll hazard you’ve never really been in love,’ he smiled. Her eyes widened so startlingly that he faltered. ‘That was rude. Sorry.’

  ‘I am in love,’ she said. ‘For your information.’

  He stared at her as though trying to read her soul, and Bernadette felt uncomfortable, a sinner being looked on by a blameless innocent. She wished she hadn’t judged him so harshly; that her mind could open to the generous possibility of his naïve world view being the right one, that he wasn’t just an impressionable worker, a propaganda-fed, put-upon soldier on the front line.

  ‘We were all kind of shocked,’ Sam said, ‘when we read that he’d proposed to someone. You must be pretty special.’

  She wondered why his statement sounded more like a reassurance than a compliment. It was annoying that he seemed to assume she must be in love with Radley, and it was difficult to squash the overwhelming desire to correct him. She waited for him to say more, to divulge secrets or question her further, but he simply indicated with his arm that she should move on and help herself to whatever food she fancied.

  She chose a latte and a delicious-smelling cinnamon roll covered in sticky white icing. They sat out in the courtyard at a picnic table, the sun warming their backs. Sam had a green tea and thin slices of mango, which he chewed thoughtfully, mindful of every mouthful. He looked like a character from a video game, and Bernadette wondered whose avatar he was, wondered who was controlling the words that came out of his mouth, words that led her mind in such funny directions. He seemed to intuit what would most stimulate her thoughts; he was a divine messenger from the gods, not just a puppet of Radley’s making, but a mouthpiece for the universe, if she was willing to listen.

  He reminded her of a young Tim. He was one of the good guys, a thoroughly nice human being so caught up with his own small part to play that he could offer nothing but pleasant sincerity. A man of faith.

  ‘But isn’t Radley a megalomaniac? A tyrant? A slave-driver?’ she pushed.

  Sam shook his head, but without hostility, used to her probing now. ‘No! Don’t you know him at all?’

  ‘It’s not my own opinion I’m bothered with right now, it’s yours.’

  ‘He’s so off the back foot all the time – he’s so … cool! I can’t do it! I wish I could be that cool, but I get worked up about small stuff, and I get really crazy about the big stuff. You may have noticed,’ he said, ruefully.

  ‘I’ve noticed you take all this personally,’ Bernadette said, waving her arm around to encompass their surroundings.

  ‘Radley’s only ever forceful when he needs to be. He doesn’t have to rule this place with an iron fist because we’re all desperate to be here. The number of applications for internships is twenty times what we can accept. If you have a love for bioengineering, this is the only place to be. Seriously. It’s the Superbowl of biotech. There are dozens of companies globally trying to do this stuff, but we’re the only one actually doing it. We’re the only one with a marketable product.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Bernadette, interested in spite of herself.

  ‘Well, because of Radley. Because he’s a genius!’

  ‘How convenient. Everyone does seem fond of saying that.’

  ‘That’s because it’s true. He created the technology. That was all him. It’s not some kind of trick.’

  ‘Pride in good regulation, then?’

  ‘I’m telling you, he’s cool. Totally reserved, and laid-back. He doesn’t really speak much at company meetings; he just sits there listening, and lets everyone else talk. Then he’ll come in at the end – boom! – with just a sentence or two, and it’s like all the other stuff was unnecessary. He’s solved whatever was being argued over, and he’s done it without upsetting anyone. I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘Nor could I,’ said Bernadette, wondering why she was finding it hard to marry her own impression of Radley Blake with this glowing account. ‘Can I ask you, is he not often … confrontational? Combative? Scathing?’

  Sam popped a piece of mango in his mouth and shook his head slowly. ‘No. Those aren’t the kind of words I’d use to describe him. He’s majorly supportive. The only thing would be …’ He paused.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, he hates to see unused potential. It’s something that drives him nuts. As long as I do my job and put in maximum effort, I’m not afraid of him. And that works for me, because I’m that type of person anyway. But a lazy bum who felt entitled – he’d see that as a wasted resource. He’d go to war on it. So I guess he’d be combative and confrontational with someone like that. But I’ve never seen it. Why would I? There isn’t anybody like that around here,’ he said, looking about him innocently. Bernadette narrowed her eyes.

  Suddenly Radley’s towering form appeared at their table. ‘Hello,’ he said cheerfully. ‘My ears are burning.’

  ‘So they should be,’ said Bernadette.

  Sam stood, stretching his back and rolling his shoulders. ‘I’m going to head upstairs, if that’s okay?’

  Bernadette nodded. ‘Thank you for keeping me company. It’s been illuminating.’

  ‘Has she been trying to ferret out skeletons?’ Radley asked.

  Sam grinned, his freckles crinkling. ‘She’s nice. I like her,’ and with a nod to them both, he ambled away.

  Bernadette was touched. The way he had expressed his approval had been so natural and unmannered, she could almost believe he meant it. Radley was watching her shrewdly. ‘It’s not often you get called nice, I imagine?’ he asked.

  Bernadette frowned indignantly. ‘You imagine incorrectly. I get called nice, and beautiful, and special, and all those kinds of things all the time. That’s why I know to ignore it.’

  ‘Then it’s a shame if overindulgence has meant you can’t recognise the truth when you see it. Sam was clearly taken in by you, and is thoroughly convinced of your niceness. He wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Sam’s been taken in by you, that’s for sure.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘He’s so grateful that you hired him, when getting in here is apparently harder than getting Centre Court seats at Wimbledon. And he wasn’t the most qualified for the job – so he’s indebted to you for ever. Smart.’

  ‘He wasn’t the most experienced, but he was certainly the most qualified in terms of what I needed from an assistant. He’
s a great worker.’

  ‘He’s a young evangelist. It was quite cultish, in fact. To hear him speak, Clarion Molecular is a house of worship, and you can walk on water.’

  Radley reddened. ‘I don’t encourage cult-like behaviour. In fact, I actively discourage it.’

  ‘So that’s a problem then?’ she pushed, reaching into her bag for the army of Dictaphones. ‘You worry about being worshipped?’

  ‘Oh no you don’t!’ said Radley, offering her his hand and pulling her up from the bench. ‘I’m not giving you any fodder to make me sound like some kind of crazed egomaniac.’

  ‘You do know there is no point in trying to protect yourself by being cautious with your speech? I’m spending two days with you. You’re going to say enough in the line of normal conversation that I could piece together quotes to make you sound any way I wanted. Like the monkeys typing Hamlet.’

  ‘Well, I’m trusting your journalistic integrity. Now, let’s tour this place. We’ll start on the roof.’

  They walked side by side back to the now familiar elevator bank. Bernadette couldn’t help but notice the way people greeted Radley as they passed, smiling widely, nodding hello. She had never seen such raw admiration directed at one human being: people were genuinely delighted to see him, and thrilled when he offered them a brief acknowledgement. It must be enough to turn a man’s head, she thought.

  When they were alone in the elevator, Radley said, ‘I don’t think we should spend the night up here. We’ll head back to LA after dinner, if that’s okay with you?’

  The manner in which he said it, staring attentively at the ground rather than at her face, made her react more wildly than she would have done had she stopped a moment to consider her actions. But she was so perturbed suddenly by the idea of not spending the night with him, by the rejection, that, copying Radley’s earlier action, she slammed her fist violently against the emergency stop button. The elevator abruptly halted.