“He really was a snob.”
“He really was. He’s dead now, of course. But, back then, Europe was dead to me. Which is why I end up here, on this little island where they don’t care so much about the politics in Paris and Vienna and all those places. Playing in an orchestra. Not what I dreamed of, not at all.”
“The best orchestra, though,” said Lydia, tweaking his nose.
“Oh yes, of course. The best orchestra. At first I just did it because it was a secure income and I could live. I always said I’d still try to get solo work and get an agent but as the years went on, I suppose my confidence left me a little.”
“You? Lacking confidence?” Lydia snorted.
“I know you don’t believe me. But it’s true.”
“You could have gone to America.”
“There are things I don’t want to face, in America.”
His father. His brother.
“Even now?” said Lydia softly.
Milan didn’t answer.
“I am having a bath,” he said eventually.
Lydia watched him lope into the bathroom, his hips swaying, his back view reminding her of some priceless sculpture of David. She heard the taps turn and the water roar into the big corner bath.
Surely his father and brother had come back to Prague for his mother’s funeral, she thought. Surely he must have seen them then. But he didn’t appear to be back in touch with them in any meaningful way. Was his sense of betrayal and deep-seated anger really still as strong as it had been when he was a child and a young man?
Perhaps they hadn’t attended the funeral after all. Perhaps they had felt too guilty, too implicated in her death. Perhaps they had been afraid to face Milan.
She tried to imagine going through the experiences he had been through and couldn’t. She thought losing a lover was bad, but what about everything he had lost? True, the career issue had been partly of his own making, but the punishment had massively outweighed the crime.
He had been living these last eighteen years in a half-life, a limbo. Unable to express his talent fully, unable to go home, unable to communicate with his family or any element of his past. He had been a true exile. No wonder he was so difficult.
She buried her face in a pillow. What was she going to do? About him, about Karl-Heinz? She felt responsible for them both, and they had both poured out their darkest secrets to her. How could she abandon either of them now?
“Are you coming into the bath?”
Milan’s voice drew her out of her agonised trance. Whatever had happened in his life, he was happy now. He had solo work, and a woman who loved him. He no longer drank or took crazy risks, sexually and otherwise.
She wasn’t doing him wrong. She wasn’t.
In the bath, he lay back, a peaceful face amidst the foaming bubbles.
Lydia climbed in, enjoying the effect of the warm water on her aching muscles. She sank down between Milan’s legs, leaning back against his chest, ready to fall back to sleep there in that steamy double-embrace.
“So you see why I don’t want you to go to that party,” whispered Milan.
The party. She had forgotten all about it.
She was supposed to be going to enjoy kinky sex play with the man who had trashed Milan’s career.
“Yes. I do see,” she whispered back.
What on earth was she going to do about it though?
Chapter Ten
Vanessa sat up in bed and looked at the red numbers on her alarm clock. Two forty-six. Why was she awake now?
She looked down at the empty half of the mattress, not quite sure for a moment whether Ben had stayed the night or not. He hadn’t. She remembered now that they’d had dinner together then he’d gone on to meet his flatmates in a pub near their home. She’d felt the need of an early night and had stayed in with a scented candle and the Pride and Prejudice DVD. She’d even found herself comparing Mr Darcy unfavourably with Ben. It must be love.
A sharp clatter on the bedroom window made her heart jump into her throat. That would be what had woken her up.
It was a windy night and Vanessa tried to convince herself that it was flying twigs from the trees at the perimeter of her small estate. Maybe acorns.
The roar of “Vanessa!” that followed changed her mind about that.
She leapt out of bed, pulled up the blind and opened the window.
“For God’s sake, shut up,” she hissed. “You’ll wake the whole Close.”
Dafydd ap Hughes flung his arms wide and opened his mouth, as if preparing for a serenade.
“Don’t you dare,” she scolded, too angry and embarrassed to be frightened. “I’ll call the police.”
“I’ve been buzzing you for hours,” he said. “I need to talk to you, Ness.”
“Go home. It’s the middle of the night. You’re probably drunk—go and sleep it off. Whatever you’ve got to say can wait until tomorrow.”
“You won’t talk to me tomorrow. You’ll avoid me and stick to that namby-pamby pansy boy of yours like glue. He’s not the one for you, Ness.”
Dafydd had raised his voice again.
Vanessa heard the window below hers open.
“All right, all right,” she said in a panic, fearful that she would become the pariah of the block if this continued. “Come to the door and push the buzzer. I’ll let you in. But only so you can call a cab.”
She shut the window and pulled on her dressing gown, her heart racing as she headed for the hallway. After all, this wasn’t a very good idea. Damn him, catching her at a bad time so she was too flustered to think. This was what he would have been counting on.
Perhaps she could call a cab for him and make him stand in the communal hall while he waited. Yes, that would be safest.
She buzzed him in and stood by the door, listening for the heavy tread of his boots on the stairs. It was like the approach of doom.
When he arrived at the door, she trembled to think that only an inch or so of wood separated them.
He knocked loudly.
“Ness? Come on, thought you were going to let me in.”
“You can stay there. I’m going to call a cab.”
“But I’ve got something for you.”
“Leave it by the door,” she said with determination.
“Oh, I don’t want to do that. It’s important. I need to hand it to you personally. And besides, it’s not the kind of thing you might want your neighbours to see.”
Vanessa’s heart thumped.
“What is it?”
“That video we made of us. But never mind. I’ll go and knock on your neighbour’s door, shall I, and leave it with them?”
“For fuck’s sake.”
Vanessa, bright red and panting with dread, opened the door swiftly, leaving it on the chain.
“Give it to me,” she said, pushing her hand through the gap.
A smiling Dafydd, his face pressed to the gap, removed the video case from an inner pocket and held it maddeningly beyond her reach. He’d pasted a nude photograph of her on to the front, with the title ‘Vanessa Laid Bare’.
“Maybe Ben would like it,” he said. “What do you think?”
Vanessa had forgotten that the film had ever been made, but now lurid memories of it rushed into her mind.
“Of course, it’s pretty old-school,” he said. “Not up to today’s standards, technically. But it has a certain retro charm. I wonder what the people on YouTube would make of it?”
“Dafydd, stop it.” Vanessa was almost in tears. “Please.”
“Just let me in and I’ll hand it to you. That’s all I ask.”
He put the case back in his pocket and caught hold of Vanessa’s hand. She tried to pull it back, but he held it tight, stroking her wrist with his thumb, looking down with a reverent expression on his face.
“The hand you gave me in marriage,” he said softly. “I wish you’d wear your ring.”
“Fuck off.”
“Let me in, Ness, or your movie
career starts tomorrow.”
“You bastard,” she said, but she took off the chain and opened the door with an air of resignation.
Dafydd walked straight into the living room as if he were lord of the manor, shrugging off his heavy wool coat as he did so.
When Vanessa followed him in, she found him standing with a hand on the mantelpiece, like a Victorian patriarch surveying his domain. His air of possession and authority enraged her.
“You can give me the video and go,” she said. “Don’t come near me. Put it on the coffee table.”
She looked around for her mobile phone, then realised with dismay that it was on the mantelpiece, right beside Dafydd.
“This is nice,” he said. “Tasteful. Spick and span. You always liked to be tidy, didn’t you?”
“I spent too long picking up your socks from the floor,” she said. “The video. Put it down on the table. Please.”
“I fancy one last watch of it, actually,” he said, rummaging in his coat before flinging it on to the nearest armchair. “Why don’t you put it on? Let’s have a cup of tea, love, eh? I’m frozen from all that palaver outside.”
Vanessa picked up the nearest handy item—an interiors magazine—and threw it at him.
“Stop it!” she yelled. “Stop acting like you own the place and everything in it. Give me my phone. I want you out.”
Dafydd put up an arm to defend himself, but the magazine flapped harmlessly down at his feet.
He laughed, long and maddeningly, then picked up the phone and started playing with it. The sex tape lay on the mantelpiece so the only way Vanessa could get to it was by getting right into Dafydd’s personal space. And she knew with a cold, hard certainty that that would be a terrible idea.
“You’ve got a text from Ben,” he informed her. “Aww. ‘Wish you were here, bed is too big without you. Save all your hot loving for me tomorrow. Kiss kiss kiss’.” He looked from beneath a thunderous brow. “You fucking whore.”
She froze, rigid with fear, horrible memories of all the things he had done to her and could do again making her stomach churn.
“Please go,” she whispered.
“Go? Where should I go? I’m at home, love. I’m your husband. You belong with me.”
“It’s over,” she said, gripping the back of the sofa to stay upright, since her knees weren’t co-operating. “You know it’s over. Don’t do this.”
“You’re too tired to watch the film. I can understand that. So get that nightie off and get to bed. I want to make love to my wife—that’s my right. It’s time you had a little reminder of what you’ve been missing. God, I’m going to make you scream.”
“No,” she cried, and all she could think of to do was run. Run far and fast away from him.
She made a bolt for the front door, but he caught up with her in two strides and dragged her wrist away from the handle.
“Get off me, get off me,” she sobbed, but he pinned her in the door frame, towering over her, his breath sour and whisky-smelling.
“Come on, Ness,” he growled. “You don’t mean that. Have you forgotten the way we were? Like a pair of horny animals, doing it anywhere and everywhere. Remember that day we fucked eight times? Your poor sore little pussy. And my cock, smeared with blood. We had to stick to oral for a week. Do you remember that?”
“That was before,” she said, struggling to release herself from his pinion. “Before I realised what you really were.”
“Before you went cold on me,” said Dafydd, pressing harder.
Vanessa knew that grip. It was just tight enough to hold her, but not so tight as to cause bruises. He was an expert in that.
“Before you started raping me,” she said, and she spat in his face.
He stared at her so murderously that she felt faint. Then he transferred both of her wrists to the clamp of one hand and wiped her gesture from his cheek, slowly and deliberately.
“Rape is a strong word, Ness,” he said.
“It’s a strong thing. A terrible thing. A crime.”
“Yet you never reported it.”
“You know how the law stood back then. Marital rape wasn’t recognised. But if you touch me now, so help me God, I’ll be down to that police station so fast…”
“Ness.” He put a finger on her lips, sealing them. “I’m not a rapist.”
She shook her head to indicate her disagreement, struggling even harder against his inexorable power.
“I’m not going to give you anything you don’t want,” he said. “But I want to show you that you’re not being honest with yourself. You think you don’t want me, but you do. You want us again. You want what we had. Think of it, Ness. It was the best time of our lives.”
She tried to bite his finger and he removed it, leading her back into the living room and sitting her down on the sofa while he knelt in front of her, holding her by the backs of her legs.
“Look at me,” he said. “I’m on my knees before you. I want you. I love you. You’re my wife. Give me a second chance.”
“You haven’t earned one,” she said flatly. The phone still lay on the mantelpiece. If she could just get him to let go of her… Now that she knew he wasn’t going to rape her, she felt a little more level-headed. At least he was too interested in self-preservation to risk the consequences of that particular horrific crime.
But it didn’t mean she was safe. Not yet. She was going to have to carry on blanking his advances whilst trying not to rouse his temper too high.
“I’ll earn it. I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said. “Couldn’t you at least finish it with that dweeby drummer? I can’t bear to see you with him. He’s just not man enough for you, Ness. You deserve a real man.”
“Real men don’t rape women.”
“For God’s sake, can’t we let bygones be bygones? I’m sorry about all that, truly I am.”
Something about this blatant falsehood brought Vanessa back to indignant life.
“You fucking liar,” she exclaimed. “You’ll say anything to get your own way, but you aren’t sorry, not at all. You’d do it again if you could get away with it. Well, thank fuck for DNA testing and forensic science, that’s all I can say, because if it weren’t for them I’d be lying on the bed covered in bruises right now. Don’t you dare try to deny it.”
Some of the concentrated evil went out of his face. Her words had struck home.
He sat back on his heels, still holding on to her legs.
“You really do hate me, don’t you?” he said, mournfully, as if expecting sympathy.
“What do you expect?” she shrieked. “Welcome back, rapist! I’ve missed your mind games so much. Do you think I’m fucking insane?”
“You’re so strong,” he whispered, gazing at her with frightening intensity. “I’ve treated you so badly. I don’t deserve you. But I can’t stop wanting you. I can’t stop it, Ness. You’re so beautiful…just so beautiful…”
She couldn’t speak, staring at him, thinking only of recommendations for divorce lawyers. She would make an appointment. Tomorrow. But she wouldn’t tell him that now. In his unpredictable, emotionally turbulent state he could be capable of anything. She would concentrate on getting him out of the flat.
“I’ll call you a cab,” she whispered. “I’m too tired for this, Dafydd. Way too tired. Talk tomorrow, okay?”
“Dinner?” he said hopefully. “I’ll book the restaurant we used to go to. That little Mexican place in Clapham. If it’s still open. You used to love their margaritas, remember?”
“No, not dinner,” said Vanessa, her eyes shut, trying to blank out the memories. Dafydd, always the centre of attention, speaking crap Spanish to the waiters in his booming barrel-chested voice.
“Lunch, then? Some nice places near the WSO HQ. Or just somewhere casual if you prefer, Pizza Express or whatever.”
“I don’t want anything date-y, Dafydd. No intimate tables for two. You can meet me in the park, by the bridge.”
“St James?”
/>
“Yeah.”
“What if it’s raining?”
“Bring an umbrella.”
“Okay. Right. Before rehearsal?”
“Yes, say nine o’clock. But you have to get home to bed or you won’t wake up in time. Let me get my phone and call that cab.”
A moment passed which Vanessa sensed was make or break. He’d calm down or he’d get even worse.
As his grip loosened on the backs of her knees, she tried to mask her sigh of relief.
He knelt back on his heels and watched her get up and retrieve her phone.
“You will be there, won’t you?” he said. “You aren’t fobbing me off. I won’t let you fob me off.”
“You know me. If I say I’ll do a thing, I do it.”
She began dialling the local taxi firm and gave them her address in a low, slightly shaky voice.
“They’ll be five minutes. You’d better get your coat on.”
Dafydd picked up his coat at the same time as Vanessa picked up the sex tape. He snatched it from her and put it back in his pocket.
“My personal property,” he said, with a leering smile.
“You said you’d give it to me.”
“I said that to get in here. All’s fair in love and war, no? I don’t want to lose my best bargaining chip, do I? Besides, I was going to watch that when I got home.”
“Fuck you. Get out of here.”
She marched to the front door and yanked it open.
Dafydd followed unhurriedly, pulling on his coat and yawning. When he came level with Vanessa, he took hold of the door handle over her hand and shoved it shut again, cutting through her resistance as if it were nothing.
“I’ll get out of here when I’m ready,” he said, looming over her again. “When I’ve had my goodnight hug. Come on. Old time’s sake, Ness.”
She shook her head.
“Just a little hug, then I’m gone. I promise.”
She looked at his meaty hand over hers on the door handle, his solid height and bulk. She had no chance of getting rid of him if he wouldn’t go.
“Get it over with then,” she muttered.
She shuddered as he scooped her up against him, hating the feel of his arm at her back, like an iron band imprisoning her.
Close Harmony Page 10
