The Darkest of Shadows

by Lisse Smith

  I could hear Claire’s muffled voice coming from the handset, and with no other choice, and with a negligible shrug I handed it over. “Your wife!”

  His eyes darkened instantly as he put the phone to his ear. I didn’t wait to hear what they had to say to each other; I hightailed it out of the room and didn’t look back. Not my business, not my marriage, not my divorce.

  “I’m really sorry about that,” Patrick told me when he caught up with me later. I was checking us out of the hotel, so that we could fly down to Frankfurt for the memorial service for the workers who had died. “She had no right to go at you like that.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I told him as I signed the credit card receipt. “She’s obviously confused, and if it makes her happy to blame me, then that’s her issue.”

  “Thank you,” he said with obvious relief. “I’ve told her that there isn’t anything going on, but she doesn’t understand how I could give her and the boys up for my work. She’s certain that there is another woman involved, and I’m sorry to say that she’s decided that person is you.”

  “Like I said, don’t worry about it.” He walked beside me as we went out to the car. “Let’s just get this next part over with, and I’ll yell at you about your wife later.” I smiled to let him know I wasn’t serious, and he surprised me by reaching out to grab my hand. I jerked it out of his touch, but that didn’t seem to bother him.

  “You’re a pretty amazing person, Lilly,” he told me seriously. “You don’t think like other people.”

  I took a step back, away from the moment. “I’m not who you think I am, Patrick,” I told him. “You see a person who isn’t really there. Please remember that.” I wasn’t sure he’d understand, but I hoped he would at least take pause. I wasn’t good for him. I wasn’t good for anyone, not anymore.

  Frankfurt was probably a beautiful town; it probably had lovely aspects that in normal people, and in normal situations, would have been appealing; but to me, from the moment we landed, it weighed heavily on me. I didn’t see the beauty. I didn’t see much at all. The looming funeral was all my mind could comprehend.

  I wondered if it would look bad if I vomited in the middle of the service. Would that make the company look bad, or more compassionate?

  I hadn’t eaten anything since we arrived, not that first night and certainly not the next morning, when we all gathered in the hotel restaurant for breakfast. Tea was all my stomach could manage.

  “The service is at midday in the town hall,” Patrick reminded us. “Look, I’m not sure how we’ll be received, or what is going to happen. But I’ve spoken to the owner of the company that the men worked for, and he knows were coming and is grateful, so I’d expect the rest of the people to follow his lead. He’s a prominent member of the community, so his word is well respected.”

  “It’s just you and Lilly going?” Stephen asked. “You don’t want Michael and me there?”

  Patrick sighed. “It’s a really fine line,” he said. “Too many people, and it seems impersonal, forced, a media stunt; too few, and it’s disrespectful. I’m trying to balance in the middle, but I think that Lilly and I will be better received than if all four of us turned up.”

  Provided I don’t disgrace us all…but I kept that thought to myself and concentrated on stirring my tea, around and around and around.

  TEXT: Funeral today.

  REPLY: Bad day.

  TEXT: Can barely breathe.

  REPLY: Think about something else.

  TEXT: Thats crappy advice.

  REPLY: Sorry. Keep ur phone with u and text me.

  TEXT: I dont think that would go down well with the grieving families.

  REPLY: Screw them.

  TEXT: Maybe I should think about that instead…

  REPLY: Whatever makes you happy honey! What about running?

  TEXT: U want me to run to the funeral?

  REPLY: No smartass, after. Think about how good you will feel when u run after.

  TEXT: Raining here.

  REPLY: Course it is!!! Sing songs in ur head.

  TEXT: Might work. If not ill ring u when i go crazy.

  REPLY: Good luck with that…

  It wasn’t a long drive to the hall—probably a good thing, because my stomach wasn’t quite sure what it wanted to do.

  In the confusion of the rain and the masses of people milling around in front of the hall, I was able to keep my mind off what was happening and just stay focused on getting inside without getting wet or trampled.

  We found a seat about halfway down the hall, and without touching me, Patrick managed to guide us through the throng of people to our seats. He sat quietly beside me, lost in his own private thoughts.

  “Are you OK?” he asked me after a while, as we both watched the room fill with people.

  “Not sure yet.” I tried for a smile, but it wasn’t too successful. “But if I start frothing at the mouth, you know I’m not doing so well.”

  He raised his eyebrows at me. “Is that a possibility?” He thought I was serious.

  I huffed quietly. “No, Patrick,” I assured him. “I might pass out, but I doubt I’ll start having convulsions.”

  “Oh, OK.”

  I managed, barely, but I managed. I think it was mostly because it wasn’t a church. The fact that they held it in a hall took away a lot of the feeling, a lot of the emotion, and I managed to keep hold of my sanity for long enough to get through the service. I kept my eyes glued to the back of the man in front of me. Luckily he was fairly tall, which blocked most of my view, but he was also wearing an interestingly patterned shirt, and I took a long time counting and considering the lines and patterns detailed on it.

  The minute the service ended, I was up and gone, Patrick dodging through the crowd in my wake.

  I made it outside and around the corner of the building before I was thoroughly sick in the garden. The rain didn’t bother me. It helped in its own way; the wetness of it felt like it stripped the contamination of the service away from me. Washed the memory and the feelings from my body as being sick cleared all remains of that time from the inside of me.

  I pushed my wet hair back from my face and looked up into Patrick’s worried face. He helped me stand, and I leaned back against the wall of the building. We were hidden to most of people who were exiting the hall by the gardens and a small stone wall that encircled the property. Only if someone was very adventurous would they see where we stood.

  I took a few deep, calming breaths while I waited for the tremors to finish.

  When Patrick looked like he wanted to say something, I held up my hand to stall the words. I wasn’t going to explain; there wasn’t anything to say, and I wasn’t really up to it anyway. Instead, I straightened from the wall, and with a last deep, calming breath I walked out of the garden.

  TEXT: Managed to hold out till after the service then was sick in the garden.

  REPLY: Nice. Hope u didnt get any on ur shoes.

  TEXT: Shoes ruined. So sad.

  REPLY: Catastrophe. Please tell me they werent Manolos???

  TEXT: Thank god no.

  REPLY: U will just have to replace them then.

  TEXT: See there is a silver lining to this day…

  Three

  “Happy Birthday!” Sally came bursting into the office with a huge bunch of flowers in her arms.

  May 1, another of those days that I wished never existed. In my estimation, 365 days came around far too soon, and I really hated how people seemed to think that because it was the day of one’s birth, it should be celebrated and acknowledged. I didn’t, so why should anyone else?

  It wasn’t as hard a day as some others, but the sooner people realized that I didn’t want the attention, the better.

  “Sally.” She must have realized from my tone that something was up, because her head popped out from behind the bunch of flowers to peer at me where I sat at my desk.

  “Sorry.” She stammered in embarrassment, then turned tail and dumped
the flowers in Ashlan’s arms when he came out of the office to investigate Sally’s boisterous arrival.

  “Happy Birthday, Ash,” she chirped happily.

  Ash looked totally confused. “But it’s not my birthday,” he said, as he juggled the mass of blooming roses.

  “Isn’t it?” Sally waved away his denials. “Well, let’s just say I’m getting in early with your gift.”

  As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up inside me. Sally really had a good heart.

  “Not your birthday, huh?” Patrick asked from where he stood in the doorway. I hadn’t seen him enter, but I was pretty sure he had witnessed the whole scene.

  “Well then I guess these are for you too, Ash.” Patrick deposited a beautifully wrapped box in Ashlan’s already burdened arms and walked quietly into his office.

  REPLY: Bad day?

  TEXT: Crappy.

  REPLY: Try not to take it out on them. They don’t know.

  TEXT: People should mind their own business.

  REPLY: People aren’t like u. Some people think that a birthday is a cause for celebration…

  TEXT: Some people suck.

  Thankfully, May passed, as it always does, closely followed by June and July and then the rest of the months, until Christmas once again loomed darkly on the horizon.

  I still didn’t socialize with anyone outside of work—well, anyone except Sally. She religiously took me out for dinner or a movie night once a month. She politely referred to it as my therapy, but whenever she tried to bring anyone else along, I always canceled, so she quickly got that idea out of her system. I had work, and for the moment, that was sufficient.

  December, workwise, was a really busy time of year for us. Not that we actually accomplished much production, but the pending Christmas holiday seemed to prompt a flurry of social activities that surpassed any other time of year.

  I had Patrick booked for functions at least four times a week, sometimes more, and he managed just about all of them with his usual nonchalance. All except one particular party. That event, I was sad to learn, was something that required my attendance.

  “I need a date,” Patrick told me late one afternoon, while I was sitting in his office. He’d just flown in from Paris, where he had been for a Christmas Party the night before, and this was the first time all day that I’d been able to catch him.

  “I beg your pardon?” I wasn’t sure what he expected me to do about that. Assistant I might be, but I drew the line at matchmaking.

  “Monterey’s bash,” he explained. “It’s black-tie, and pretty much compulsory in our industry. I was supposed to go with Maria, but she’s booked with Peter to go to the Law Society function.” He shrugged in apology. “It’s rude to cancel this late, and we’ve confirmed for two.”

  I hesitated for a moment. “You want me to find you a date?” I asked in surprise.

  Patrick gave a small chuckle. “No, Lilly,” he said. “I want you to be my date. Strictly a work function—but I really need to take someone, and this last-minute, it’s just too difficult to find the right person, someone who won’t embarrass the company, or me.” He shrugged.

  “When exactly is this event?” I asked cautiously. A large part of me thought this was a bad idea.

  “Tomorrow night.”

  Oh, it was that event. His schedule didn’t actually say “Monterey’s bash,” although the name should have given it away for me. The function he was referring to was the Christmas Party for Monterey Enterprises, our biggest competitor, actually one of the biggest and most successful companies that existed. I didn’t know a whole lot about them, but from what Patrick had told me, everyone stepped very carefully around them.

  Lawrence Monterey was a force unparalleled in business. His net worth was estimated at well over fifty billion dollars, and that was the bottom of the scale of what they could determine.

  “Ah.” I interpreted his hesitation. “Monterey Enterprises.”

  “Yeah. Them,” he admitted. “It’s really important that we don’t offend him; hence, it’s important that we attend—but we also have to stay out of his notice as much as possible. We really don’t want to draw too much of his attention at the moment, not if we can avoid it.”

  That was an unusual comment. “Meaning what, Patrick?”

  Patrick shot me an almost amused glance. “It’s easy to forget how clearly you see situations,” he said.

  “What’s going on?” I encouraged him to continue.

  “We’re more vulnerable than we should be at the moment,” he admitted.

  “We, as in the company?”

  “Cartright and Nagel.” He nodded. “Our GM is ready to retire, he’s old, and it’s been his plan to step down for a long while now. But with Lincoln’s death, his plans have gone to pieces. He has to sell. Simple as that. We took a hit with the Harbor project in Belgium, confidence in the company fell…it was inevitable, I suppose, but for it to happen all at the same time has seriously weakened our global position, and Monterey is exactly the type of person to take advantage of that. If he doesn’t offer to buy the company outright, I wouldn’t be surprised if he forms a takeover bid. He’s very good at what he does, and I have no doubt that he knows exactly what is happening with C and N. The less attention we draw to ourselves in his presence, the better for everyone.”

  “So you need someone responsible to sit beside you and show a solid base for the company.”

  “Pretty much.”

  I knew Patrick was under a lot of strain—his role was diverse and complicated—but I had no idea that he was also battling to keep the company together. “Is it that bad?” I asked.

  “Not at the moment,” he replied. “But it all pretty much depends on what old Parsons ends up doing.” He shrugged, looking defeated. “We can only advise him so much, but ultimately the final decision will be his.”

  I’m not sure I would have said yes if Patrick had just asked me to attend a work function with him. But as with most things in my life, this wasn’t a normal situation, and somehow I heard myself agreeing to go. “I’m going to have to leave early tomorrow,” I told him, as I prepared to leave that evening. “Attending a black-tie function takes more than a few hours to prepare for.”

  “Take whatever time you need,” he agreed.

  I’m not quite sure any man actually comprehended how much effort it took for something like that. I had spent most of the afternoon organizing hairdressers and waxes, and that’s before I spent half the night shopping for the right dress. You didn’t show up to a Monterey function dressed in your Sunday best. You dressed to impress, and it had to be a high-end fashion label. I was inordinately glad that I had a fairly extensive nest egg as I trudged up the stairs to my unit with my new Gucci dress. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to wear it again, but I couldn’t find it in myself to regret the purchase. It was a stunning creation of pure white that hung to the floor, with a small train that swept the ground behind me as I walked. The cut was elegant and classic, with crossed folds of material that swept across each breast and over my shoulders and back before twisting around my waist, creating a very feminine shape.

  I was surprised to find myself extremely nervous the next morning at work. Patrick seemed as unruffled as always, but the butterflies in my stomach were causing me an inordinate amount of grief.

  TEXT: I cant believe im excited about this.

  REPLY: Id be disappointed if u werent. Lets swap.

  TEXT: U cant wear white. Doesnt match ur colouring…

  REPLY: id make it work. There better be a picture coming my way later

  TEXT: isnt there always

  “I’m going now.” I stuck my head in Patrick’s office to let him know I was leaving.

  He rose and crossed the room to the door. “I’m sorry you have to do this,” he told me. “I know how much you hate social events.”

  I smiled at his hesitancy. “I’m kind of excited actually,” I assured him. “Besides, it’s a work f
unction, and I’m not going to know anyone there, and it’s unlikely I’ll ever meet them again, so I think I’ll be fine.”

  My smile must have encouraged him, because he relaxed a little. “OK, then. Well, I’ll pick you up at your place at six o’clock.”

  “I’ll be ready,” I assured him, and with a final wave to Sally, who was seriously glad it was me going and not her, I headed off to be made beautiful.

  I asked the hairdresser to keep the style simple; the dress was the focus, not me. So she swept it loosely up behind my head and left tendrils of it to float around my face. They also took care of the makeup, giving me a smoky, sultry, dark-eyed look, so it was probably a strange sight when I caught a taxi back home—half of me looked amazing, the other half was seriously underdressed.

  I had just enough time to snap a quick photo off before my phone buzzed to let me know that Patrick was waiting down stairs for me.

  Living on the first floor had some advantages, but one of those wasn’t the stairs. It was a slightly precarious trip down the narrow stairs in heels, carting a train and a clutch, but I did manage it.

  I passed one of my neighbors just before I stepped out the front door, a husband and his wife—whom I’d never gotten around to meeting—and if their rather stunned expressions were anything to go by, I must have looked half decent.

  Patrick was standing beside the town car when I emerged. “Good evening.” I smiled happily at him.

  If he hadn’t already been pressed against the side of the car, I was pretty sure he would have fallen over. He looked startled and astonished and, thankfully, speechless.

  The gift and the curse of how one looked. Once, I would have been happy if a man had given me that reaction, but now it just tended to leave a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. They could never accept that I wasn’t interested, and it always led to more pain, usually more for me than them.

  But this was Patrick, and he knew that I couldn’t give him what he wanted; and for tonight, he had asked for my support. So as long as he stayed beside me to keep the unwanted company away, I could manage to give him the picture-perfect partner that he wanted.