by Tom Barry
“What does it mean? You spent the whole evening with him. I can’t think what David Knight must have thought.”
“To hell with David Knight and what he thought,” said Isobel. “Someone was paying me some attention for a change and, quite frankly, I liked it. What is wrong with that?”
“If you can’t see what’s wrong with—”
“For God’s sake, nothing was wrong with it!” she shouted. “I speak Italian, I like talking about Italy. I already spend time in Tuscany and, if you must know, I’m fed up with always imposing myself on Maria while you are selling your precious time here, there, and everywhere. So tonight was not a waste of time, not for me anyway.”
Peter folded his arms, his face set against everything he was hearing. But Isobel refused to be intimidated into silence by his sullen look. “We’ve been invited to visit this place Capadelli, and I’m going just as soon as I can arrange it. So you can come and keep me company while I visit, because if you won’t, maybe Jay Brooke will.”Ten
Jay stared out the window as the plane lurched into the first part of its descent, the sudden sensation of the drop adding to the nausea that had infringed on his mind and body since departing. Beneath him another plane seemed to slide across the sky, like a penny across a glass tabletop, and he pulled his gaze back into the cabin, painfully aware of his helplessness. He rarely looked out the window when flying but his company on the plane left him no choice. The two people he was most anxious to avoid were both just metres away and could approach at any moment; dread clutched his internal organs, twisting and knotting them until the sky seemed his only safe refuge. From the corner of his eye he could see Lucy’s shapely arse, thrust very deliberately in his direction as she served a redfaced businessman his sixth flute of complimentary champagne. Jay half-sighed with nostalgia; if this was back when they first met, he mused, he would probably have already had her knickers off — if she was wearing any — and pleasured her behind the food trolley. But now, as she stood up, he turned quickly back to the window again, determined to avoid eye contact, fearing the power she held over him.
“Excuse me, sir? You were asking about transit arrangements in Pisa?” said a chirpy voice, professional precision slicing through his carefully created reverie. Jay looked up to find Lucy smiling down at him, a well-groomed picture of proficiency with immaculately coiled hair and devil-red lips.
“Actually—”
Before he could finish, she glided in next to him, pushing her gazelle-like legs beneath his as she leant towards him.
“I think you’ll find everything you need in here, sir,” she said, reaching one hand into the seat pocket and grabbing his crotch with the other — her smile fixed and precise.
“Really,” said Jay, straining to keep the shock of the impact from his voice, “I’m ok with transit arrangements in Pisa. And, while we’re at it, I don’t remember booking the complimentary massage.”
He tried to pull himself away but Lucy was not dissuaded and turned fully towards him, blocking off the view from the aisle with her back. Her grip tightened as her seductive smile vanished.
“Dream on, you smug bastard. It’s what I’m planning on squeezing you need to be worried about.”
“I don’t know what the problem is, but this is a really bad time. I need you to get your arse out of that seat so I can collar that grumpy looking sod over there.” He flicked his eyes agitatedly behind him, to where he could just make out the side of Andy’s face, pressed submissively to his wife’s lips as she whispered in his ear.
“My arse is staying where it is until I am good and ready to move it,” hissed Lucy, “and so is my hand.” She tightened her fingers around him as her lips trembled and formed themselves into a snarl.
“Why—”
“You know damn well why I’m here.”
“Unfortunately, I do not,” said Jay with as much cheerfulness as he could muster, his words short and breathy under her pressure. “Mind reading must only be a girl thing.”
“Why haven’t I been able to get hold of you for four weeks…until now?” Lucy squeezed harder.
“Squeezing my balls is not going to get us anywhere,” said Jay, attempting to level his breathing.
“Pardon me, kind sir, if I beg to differ.” Lucy wore her smile again, and mercilessly increased the pressure.
Pain shot through Jay’s lower body, and he reached out and wrapped his fingers around Lucy’s slender wrist.
“Lucy, I have been totally maxed out for the last four weeks; it’s as simple as that.”
“If you’ve had time to go to the loo in the last four weeks, then you’ve had time to call me. You need to do better than that,” she said, tightening her grip.
“Ok, ok,” he gasped, trying to push her from him. “I should have called you. I’m sorry. Ok?”
“No, it is not ok.” She sat back and relaxed her grip, hurt now merging with the anger in her eyes. “And you have completely blanked me since you got on the flight.”
“Working on my laptop is not blanking you,” Jay sighed, “you are the only reason I am on this flight.”
“The reason you are on this flight is because it’s heading where you want to go. When it lands, you’d better get your butt over to the Tulip Hotel if you know what’s good for you.” Lucy as good as clenched her fist to reinforce the dire consequences that would befall Jay should he be foolish enough to spurn her invitation.
Jay said nothing as a torrent of contradictory thoughts ran through his mind; there were twenty good reasons why he didn’t want to change his plans that evening. But if he didn’t get rid of Lucy in the next five minutes then the repercussions could be terminal — he had to placate Andy before they landed. For the thousandth time in two years, lying was his only option, and he embraced it like an old friend.
“Believe me, as soon as I saw you at Gatwick I changed my plans.”
“So you are booked into the Tulip?”
Jay faltered, caught in his lie. “Yes, my plans are to go over to the hotel from the airport. That is correct. I’ve already asked Eamon to meet me at the airport and take me there. But I’m also committed to meeting up with the team later. It’s business. So I will have to get away promptly.”
“You’re supposed to be the big wheel; you’ve got the rest of your life for building your sand castles in the sky with a greasy cog like Eamon.” Lucy tore at him with her hand as she said it until it seemed her nails would touch through his skin.
“Ok, you win!” he panted. “But you need to let go of that grip of yours and get out of here. Please?”
Lucy released him with a cheesy smile and rose to her feet before deftly twisting herself into the aisle, her body slender and pliant once more.
“Well, that seems to be all sorted, sir.” Her voice was chirpy again, all sugar and sunshine. “If I can do anything else for you, don’t hesitate to press the little button above your head.” She flicked it on and off again with vigour before sauntering away, her heels clicking with applause.
Jay breathed a sigh of relief and tucked away his laptop, sure that any encounter with Andy would be simple in comparison, just so long as he got there fast enough.
“Are you operating an appointment system, or can anyone join you?” said a loud, grating voice. Jay almost jumped, the volume shattering his tense body like glass.
“Hi, Andy, I was just about to come over, but take a seat.”
Jay looked furtively at Andy as he settled himself into the seat. His face was furrowed and thin, his sandy hair much coarser and thinner than Jay remembered. In the hills below them, Jay’s team was burning through Andy’s money faster than a forest fire and, if things down on the ground were really as bad as Jay had been told, if Andy truly was in danger of losing his fortune, then Jay knew only one person was to blame.
“I see you haven’t lost your touch,” said Andy, as Lucy strutted past again.
“She just wanted some information.”
“Like your phone number?
” He raised his eyebrows, unwilling to believe a word.
“I gave her yours. I hope that’s ok.”
“If only. Anyway, what brings you out on this flight? Weren’t you coming tomorrow?”
“Eamon’s got some concerns. I thought I’d better get across earlier, check things out before the board meeting.”
“What sort of concerns?” asked Andy, his voice weary with disappointment and disquiet.
“The usual,” said Jay, “too much to do and not enough money to do it with. I really can’t say much more till I have assessed things in Capadelli.”
“He must have given you more than that? Else why would you be coming out early?”
The weak blue of Andy’s eyes glowed with the torment of not knowing, of not having known for two years. Jay felt sorry for him, but to save his own skin he had to be vague.
“Eamon doesn’t have the big picture. He’s mainly worried about the sales; that’s the way he put it. As soon as I know the facts, I will update you.”
He could feel Andy’s eyes burning into him, looking past the words, but he took it no further, changing his line of attack to something more tangible.
“I was looking at the in-flight magazine. Nice piece you have in there.”
“Thanks,” said Jay, awaiting the blow.
“Though I thought we’d agreed to cut back on the marketing? To put what money is left where it’s needed?”
Jay refrained from mentioning that there was no money left and simply watched fate take its course as Andy pulled out the magazine from the seat pocket and flicked through to the offending article.
“How much did this fairy story cost me?” he demanded, thrusting his finger into the face of the smiling policeman in the photograph.
“Twenty grand.”
“And you think that’s sensible, given the financial situation?” Andy’s eyes bulged with disbelief as his finger bore a hole into the photo, tearing a black gulf in the smile.
“That article was commissioned six months ago,” said Jay with a dismissive shrug, “things were different back then.” Back then twenty grand seemed like loose change to a free spending marketer like Jay. But twenty grand would always be twenty grand to hard-nosed Andy, particularly when it was his twenty grand.
Andy snorted in bitter laughter. “And the couple in the article, the honest copper and his wife who are living the dream in the little piece of paradise we have created, do they even exist?”
“No, they do not,” said Jay, determined to sound unashamed, “but that is not the point. They are intended to be illustrative of the type of people who are investing with us.”
“And you are ok with that? Some people might think this article is misleading.”
Jay sighed; they had debated the difference between spin and deception too many times now for him to care anymore.
“It was the writer who came up with that idea, not me, so I guess the technique is a standard one.”
Jay did not meet Andy’s eyes as he finished speaking, choosing instead to fiddle with the magazine in the hope that Andy would return to his wife, who had been watching intently, an irritating flash of blonde in Jay’s peripheral vision.
“By the way, how’s it going on the TMI deal?” asked Andy, seeing straight through his friend-turned-adversary. “You now part of the jet-set world of rock and rollers?”
Jay’s mouth twitched into an involuntary smile but Andy beat him to his own answer. “I guess that as I haven’t heard anything, it’s still in play?”
Definite threat lined his voice; the knowledge that Andy could make or break the deal he facilitated festered on the edge of their relationship ever since the decline of the dream in Italy.
“No announcement as such,” said Jay, “but everything we’re hearing is that the decision has been made. It’s just a question of the internal sign-off process. They have to make work for the bean counters.”
“Better not take anything for granted,” said Andy. “I hear it can be difficult to get a champagne cork back in the bottle.”
Jay was in no mood for snide threats and gestured to where his antagonist’s wife was straining her head above the seats to get a better view.
“Kate ok back there?” he asked.
“You in a hurry to make space for the hot hostess again?”
“It’s a nice thought. But I was in the middle of something on my laptop. Maybe I can get back to it while the old creative juices are still flowing.”
Andy laughed. “Ok, Julian, I will leave you to the hostess and your flowing juices.”
Jay sunk into his seat, now left only with the dull and constant worry of his music deal. If he lost, then he would be slowly and agonizingly suffocated by his sins of the past two years, which already flitted like shadows in the corners of his life. But, if he won, they would be cast to the wind, blown away like dust to become the hate and tears of other people, and it didn’t matter who those people were.Eleven
Rain fell relentlessly on Florence, striking the ancient roofs and paving stones like heaven-flung spears as Peter and Isobel drove away from their hotel. They were heading for the Garfagnan area in northern Tuscany to hunt for their holiday home. They drove in silence, Isobel’s brow as stormy as the weather whilst Peter clicked away at his emails in the passenger seat. A low and sullen argument in the hotel that morning determined the driver, Peter having blindly overridden Isobel’s fears of driving abroad with his need to be constantly in contact with the office.
“I don’t think you appreciate how serious things are,” he said, referring to his work problems and ignoring his own failure to share them.
“But you are the star man,” she said, in an attempt at conciliation.
“Star man or not, the client is threatening to sue.”
“But that’s Tokyo’s problem, surely, not yours? And you’ve done nothing wrong.”
But her curiosity only inflamed his agitation. “Right and wrong doesn’t come into it. If the client sues then the firm will settle out of court. It will cost millions, and heads will roll. And the buck ultimately stops with me because they are my client.”
“But what if—” she started to argue, but he cut her off.
“But what if nothing, now can we leave it, please.”
She sat now, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, staring ahead as the events of the weekend played on her mind and his heavy breathing and restless shifting scraped at her skin like sandpaper.
Finally, Isobel could bear the silence and the tension no longer. Without warning, she jerked down on the wheel and across the oncoming traffic. The sudden change of direction threw Peter to one side and he grabbed instinctively for the handle above his ear, expecting an imminent collision, as the long and uninterrupted sound of a car horn blaring increased his fear for his life. The front wheel of the vehicle hit a low curb at twenty miles per hour, and Peter’s head went upwards as the car came downwards, and collided painfully with the roof.
“I need a coffee,” announced Isobel, braking hard and bringing the hire car to a jarring halt, and in the process throwing Peter’s torso forward toward the dashboard, and his phone out of his hand. “You can stay here sulking like a spoilt child, or you can come inside. But don’t come if you are going to bring that horse’s face and self-righteous look with you.” And having set her terms, Isobel got out and sent the car door crashing closed with all her force.
Peter had either sat to consider his options or to compose himself, because by the time he came through the café door, entering somewhat sheepishly, or so it seemed to Isobel, she was seated with a coffee before her. A second coffee sat in front of the seat opposite, under the saucer that Isobel, in spite of herself, was forced by habit and good nature to place over it.
“You have already ruined one day in Florence,” said Isobel with a threatening look, “and now you seem determined to ruin another. It’s bad enough driving on these roads in this weather, without having to listen to your silent disapproval.”
“Well, we are going to show, and we will look around Bagni di Lucca even if she doesn’t.”
“To what purpose?” asked Peter, “To buy a pig in a poke?”
“No, to enjoy it like normal people. Tourists come from all over the world to see the Garfagnan; it’s famous for its natural beauty, and it’s been a spa town for hundreds of years. Napoleon even had his court there at one time.”
Peter let out a dismissive snort. “Look, Isobel, I am here because you asked me to come. And it’s turned out to be the worst possible time, with everything that’s going on at work.”
“And when won’t things be going on at work? Your clients can live without you, remember that.”
“Yes, but can we live without them?”
“For three days? Yes, I think so. Now get yourself out of whatever doom and despair is gripping you, and let’s give the exercise our best shot.”
Isobel’s assault was not a recipe for lifting his spirits, but Peter decided to show willing nevertheless. And he also had life and limb to think about. “I’ll drive for a while if you like.”
“I have started so I will finish. You can spend the rest of the journey on your precious machine, just be civil when we get there. Please.”
Isobel’s account of the previous day was true to the facts. Florence, in all its beauty and splendour, had been utterly ruined for her by his presence. As she sought to soak in the sun and the culture of her favourite city he scuffed along behind her, complaining about everything and rarely looking up from his hands. He trailed silently around art galleries — more concerned with his screensaver than the paintings — was sullen and introspective when they sat down for lunch, and accidentally dragged his feet through an artist’s chalk painting as they walked along the Ponte Vecchio, leaving Isobel to apologise profusely and to offer a few coins in penitence as he slunk into the shadows to take a call.
