She looks at me for a long moment, evidently enjoying her power over me. Then she says, ‘Wasn’t I?’
I stare at her, horrified by the idea that she witnessed whatever happened in the catacomb tunnel.
‘You are a little fool,’ she says with a laugh. ‘What if I wasn’t only watching? What if it was me who had you?’
I turn and run, desperate only to get away from her. Her horrible laughter follows me as I go.
Chapter Eighteen
I run down Piccadilly in a panic, hardly knowing where I am or where I’m going. It feels as though for days I’ve been on a knife-edge, afraid that someone is going to bring my world crashing down around me. I thought it was going to be Dominic or Andrei – I never guessed that it would be Anna. But it all makes an awful kind of sense now.
She is Dominic’s lover. It must be true. She knows intimate, private things she can only have learned from Dominic. She knows about the rope marks. She even knew about the ring. How can that be possible unless she’s psychic? Dominic must have told her, it’s the only way. And he would only share those things with someone close and intimate...
I shiver and huge tears fill my eyes, blinding me.
And what about that terrible thing she said – hinting that she had made love to me in the cave. How could that be? It isn’t possible, surely – I know a man’s touch and taste and feel. It was definitely a man who had sex with me that night. But a horrible doubt gnaws away at me. Could I have made a mistake? Perhaps I did, considering the state I was in. No... no. Everything in me rebels at the idea. I don’t want to have had an experience like that without my consent. It’s completely and utterly wrong.
A voice in my head screams at me: But how did she know you had sex in the catacombs at all? She must have seen you. Unless it was Dominic and he told her! Or... it was Andrei and he told her!
I stop on the pavement, squeezing my eyes shut. I press my hands to my ears, wanting to block out all the internal voices chattering at me, making accusations and counter accusations, asking questions, supplying answers, making links, breaking them again. I can’t stand the noise and the babble but most of all I can’t stand the pain that’s growing inside me like a steel balloon expanding in my chest, threatening to suffocate me from within. I’m choking back tears. I want to call Dominic and yell at him, demanding an explanation, the truth at last. But I can’t. I can’t speak. I can’t think. I just want to curl in a ball and weep, and then die and leave this horrible mess behind me.
I’m losing strength in my body, my knees buckle and I think I’m going to faint. In the chilly darkness of the London street, with people rushing past me, I sob hard and manage to make my way to the side where I lean against a shop window, so despairing that I have no idea what to do next. Then a thought comes into my mind.
I pull out my phone. Somehow I manage to make it work, scrolling through my contacts until I see the one I want. I press call and a moment later, James’s familiar voice sounds in my ear.
‘Hello, darling, how lovely to hear from you! How’s life at Dubrovski’s? No more dodgy drinks, I hope!’
I try to speak but it comes out as a gasping sob. Instantly he’s concerned.
‘Are you all right, Beth?’
‘N... n... no, I’m not,’ I manage to say.
‘Where are you?’
‘By Green Park Station. Oh, James, it’s terrible!’ I can’t prevent huge sobs racking me.
‘Stay there. I’m on my way.’ He cuts the call.
I feel better knowing he’s coming, but I’m still lost in a miasma of misery, tears pouring down my face. Passers-by look curiously at the girl crying her eyes out by a car showroom window.
James is there within a quarter of an hour despite the rush-hour crowds and when I feel his arms around me, I can’t help letting go and weeping into the lapels of his overcoat.
‘There, there,’ he says gently. ‘Let’s get you inside and sort this out.’
He hails a cab and bundles us both in. I sob all the way back to his flat and James just lets me get it all out, not asking me anything but passing tissues and keeping a firm arm around me when the sobs get too much to bear.
By the time we’re going into his cosy flat, I’ve calmed down a little and am in the hiccupping and sniffing stage, with fresh falls of tears when I remember the cause of my misery. James settles me on the magenta velvet sofa among a riot of orange, teal and gold silk-and-velvet cushions, and gets me a glass of water. There’s no sign of Erlend, his partner.
‘All right – tea or a stiff gin?’ he asks when I’ve had a sip and got rid of my hiccups.
‘Stiff gin, please. And then tea,’ I add.
He goes to the drinks tray and pours two large measures of Hendrick’s into crystal glasses, adds the contents of two small cans of tonic, lemon slices and, from a miniature magenta freezer, ice cubes. He brings one to me and then folds his long thin frame into the large armchair opposite. ‘Erlend is out late tonight, we’ve got the place to ourselves. So shoot,’ he says. ‘Tell me everything.’
I explain what’s happened since I last saw him, culminating in my meeting with Anna today and her awful claim that she is Dominic’s lover and that he is simply using me as a plaything.
‘And you believe Anna over Dominic?’ James asks, one eyebrow raised. ‘After everything you two have been through?’
‘I know that sounds ridiculous,’ I reply wretchedly. My eyes are already feeling swollen and sore. I blow my nose into another of James’s useful tissues. ‘But I don’t know what else to think. I don’t want to believe it, but I don’t see what else I can do, considering what she knows.’
James leans forward and peers at me over the top of his glasses. ‘So the evidence is...?’
‘She knows things she could only know if he’s told her.’ I huddle back into the cushions. ‘The things we used to do together – the fact that the flogging was our breaking point. I didn’t even tell you the exact details but she knows what happened and where. Then there are the marks on Dominic’s back – how can she possibly know about them unless she’s seen him naked? They only appeared after I was with him on Sunday, so she must have been with him since then. And she says that he’s done this before, dated girls like me—’
James holds up his hands and closes his eyes. ‘No,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘That’s not evidence. That could be something nasty she’s saying to cause even more pain. She can easily make up malicious stories to fit the facts.’
‘But she knew he’d mentioned a ring to me!’
‘Or it was a lucky guess,’ James replies. ‘After all, if he hadn’t mentioned a ring, it wouldn’t have made any difference to her insinuations. She’d just have assumed that if or when he did mention a ring, he’d have made her lies seem true.’
I give a huge sigh. The crying has exhausted me and I’m in a state of confusion, going round and round. All I know is that it looks very bad for the state of Dominic and my relationship. James takes a sip of his gin, his brow furrowed.
‘The puzzle is the things she knows,’ he remarks. ‘How can she know about the dungeon? He must have told her, you’re right. That’s the only obvious explanation because no one else could, if you two are the only ones who know what happened. But that doesn’t make them lovers. Perhaps he’s been indiscreet and told her more than you’d like her to know – that is bad of him. But it might not be the tragedy you’re making out.’
‘But how did she know about what happened in the cave?’
‘Perhaps she was spying. Not a particularly pleasant thought, but it’s an obvious explanation.’
‘But... she as good as said it was her.’ My lips tremble again. ‘Can that be possible?’
‘It’s possible,’ James replied frankly. ‘You wouldn’t be the first woman to be fooled by another woman pretending to be a man.’
‘No.’ I shake my head emphatically. ‘I just can’t believe that. The height, the bulk, the dinner suit... it was definitely a man.’
>
‘It is more likely,’ James concedes. ‘It usually takes a great deal of preparation for a woman to make a convincing man, and to make another woman accept her as one. It’s almost as important to be psychologically convincing as it is to have the physical attributes. Belief is the main thing. Once that’s established, a well-chosen dildo, perhaps with a bulb of hot water to provide a convincing orgasm, can usually do the job quite well.’
I shiver. ‘No. It definitely wasn’t that. I might have been pretty out of it, but I’m sure that didn’t happen. ’
James runs his finger around the rim of his glass. I think he’s enjoying this detective work, and I’m glad he’s able to think straight when I can’t. ‘Yes,’ he says finally. ‘You’re right. Thinking about it, she would have to come prepared with a lot of equipment and have the time to get changed into it, find you, seduce you effectively without being interrupted, then get changed back again and make sure Andrei finds you at exactly the right moment, while meeting Dominic above just in time. And why? Naturally, you’re an attractive woman, Beth, but she’d have to be extremely determined to have her way with you. No, it’s not possible. I think we can put her last comment down to fucking with your mind, not your body.’
I give a big shuddering sigh. Thank God for that. I couldn’t bear the thought that I’d been so deceived. I’d felt violated. But in my heart, I was sure it couldn’t really be true. It’s just a huge relief to know that, in James’s considered opinion, her sexual trickery would be impossible.
‘It seems to me,’ James says, crossing his legs and jiggling the ice in his glass, ‘that you need to talk to Dominic. He’s the only one who can give you the answers. He can tell you whether or not it was him in the catacombs. Only he can tell you how those rope marks got there, and only he can tell you how Anna knows what she knows, and whether he is really being unfaithful.’ He gazes at me, his grey eyes serious. ‘My dear girl – it’s Dominic you need to talk to.’
Later, after providing me with a restorative supper, James puts me in a taxi home. I stare out of the window at the city as we make our way eastwards and home. Pulling out my phone, I look for a message from Dominic but there’s nothing. I stare at it, wondering what to do. He’s close to the end of this vital deal, the most important deal of his life, the key to his entire future. Maybe to both our futures. Can I ring him with the awful things I’ve got to say to him, and put the whole thing in jeopardy? What if he’s innocent and I ruin everything? I could never face him again.
I try to cling on to James’s conclusion that all I need to do is talk to Dominic and clear up the mess, but with every mile that disappears under the taxi wheels and separates us, James’s sound advice becomes less convincing, and the doubts come swirling back. I recall the raised welts on Dominic’s skin. I didn’t imagine them. Someone had to have inflicted them. And Anna knows about that deeply private fact. I try to think like James and consider other explanations: perhaps she’s seen the marks in another context. Could Dominic have got changed in front of her, or told her that he’s got some marks on his back? It’s possible. I mustn’t judge. I mustn’t leap to conclusions. I mustn’t convict him without hearing his side of the story.
James’s final words of advice ring through my ears. Before I talk to Dominic, I have to calm down and prepare to accept his explanation. I can’t approach it with the idea that he is guilty. ‘Take your time,’ James said. ‘Get on top of your emotions and use your head, not your heart. Remember – who do you trust more? Dominic or Anna?’
He makes it sound very simple and yet it isn’t. The horrible suspicions are ready to leap into my head and start their whispering, undermining all the joy and trust and love.
I send a text to Dominic:
Call me when you can, when the deal is done. I’d love to talk x
Nothing comes back immediately. I lean my head against the cool glass of the taxi window as we head further east, towards the ancient winding streets of London’s old heart.
By the end of the week, I’ll know. One way or another.
The next day I do not go back to Andrei’s apartment. I won’t, not while there is the slightest chance that I might bump into Anna. I never want to see her again. I only have a few things left to do and then I’m free of Anna and Andrei for good. Mark can deal with Andrei from now on, I’m going to keep well clear.
I go straight to the gallery in St James. The Fragonard is still in the window and it looks as exquisite as ever. I love that girl, rich with blood and breath beneath the surface of her beautiful skin, her eyes downcast, absorbed in her book. The gallery owner is wearing a curious outfit of tweed plus-fours and a moth-eaten jumper, his white hair hanging down in that strange thin curtain from the edge of his bald spot. He doesn’t seem to recognise me at all from the other day.
Perhaps I’ve been changed by misery, I think grimly. I’m tired from all the extreme emotions of the day before, and the dull pain I’m still feeling. My eyes are bloodshot and swollen after all the crying I did. And there’s no word from Dominic yet. He’s pulling away from me again, it seems to be a pattern after there are cross words between us. He won’t give himself back to me immediately. He makes me wait. Always in control.
‘Can I help you?’ asks the gallery owner.
‘Yes. I’m glad to see that the Fragonard is still here,’ I say. I contemplate the back of its frame as it stands on the window-facing easel.
‘Yes,’ the owner replies. ‘But she goes to auction in a few days.’
‘Auction?’
‘That’s right.’
There’s no time to lose. ‘I want to buy her,’ I declare.
He looks at me, amused. ‘My dear child, she’s not something to be acquired on a whim. She costs a great deal of money and I intend to get the full market rate for her.’
‘I’ll pay that,’ I say firmly. ‘I know what she’s worth.’
The owner sighs with irritation. ‘Now, that’s enough of your silly games. Why don’t you go and amuse yourself in someone else’s gallery? Because I don’t take Monopoly money.’
I take out Andrei’s black credit card. ‘I don’t expect you to. Now, here’s what I’m going to pay you for the painting.’ I name my sum.
Mark laughs when I recount the story to him that afternoon over cups of fragrant Earl Grey tea.
‘What did the old rogue say?’ he asks, sitting back in his armchair, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
‘He didn’t know what to say. He was speechless.’ I laugh too, remembering the utter astonishment on the gallery owner’s face. ‘But once I mentioned your name and Dubrovski’s, he understood that I was serious. After that nothing was too much trouble. He was delighted to sell it for so much money and without having to pay commission to an auction house.’
‘And you put it all on a credit card?’ Mark’s disbelieving.
I shook my head. ‘It was a little more complicated than that. It took a little while to sort out authorisation and movement of funds and so on, but we eventually did a fast transfer. The painting belonged to me within a few hours.’
‘You mean, to Andrei.’
‘Of course. To Andrei.’ I smile at him. We’re sitting in his drawing room, close to the fire that’s burning hard in the grate. It’s a chilly autumn day outside, just a grey murkiness that eventually fades into night. Mark is well wrapped up in cashmere sweaters and scarves, a pair of fingerless gloves on his hands, sitting as close to the fire as he can. He must feel the cold badly. It’s not surprising, there’s not an inch of fat on him to keep him warm. In fact, he’s thinner than ever, almost gaunt. He needs to eat a little more. He’s fading away.
‘And where’s the painting now?’ Mark asks, wrapping his fingers around his teacup.
‘Hanging in Andrei’s bathroom, just as he wanted. I hope it will be a marvellous surprise. He hasn’t seen any of the work yet, so I have no idea how he feels about it, but I’m happy with it.’
‘That’s good.’ Mark nods. ‘Confidence
in your own work is vital. You must trust your instincts.’
‘So that’s it.’ I sigh happily and take a sip of my tea. ‘I’ve finished my job now. The Fragonard is my final flourish, my sign off. Now I can come back and work for you. Won’t that be nice?’
‘It will be wonderful, Beth.’ Mark looks thoughtfully at his highly polished chestnut leather brogues, and then back at me. ‘I need you now, more than ever. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news. That’s why I asked you here today. You might have guessed from looking at me that I’m not exactly at my peak. I’ve been feeling unwell and generally off colour for months and lately it’s got even worse. They sent me for various tests, and now, at last, they know for sure what it is.’
I go still, a feeling of dread crawling over me. Of course he’s not well. I should have guessed. It’s obvious from the way he looks. But somehow I haven’t seen it, I’ve been too wrapped up in myself and my own feelings to pay much attention to him. I feel fearful for Mark. ‘What is it?’ I whisper.
He shrugs lightly. ‘One of those awful things where the cure threatens to be worse than the disease. I shall have to go into hospital to have something nasty cut out of me, and then for radiation treatments and perhaps chemotherapy. They’re hopeful I can be put right, I believe. But you know what doctors are like, they only tell you bad news when it’s completely unavoidable. So, for now, my chances are good and the prognosis could be worse. We shall see.’
I feel terrible for him, and desperately sad to know he has this battle ahead. He looks so frail already. ‘What can I do? How can I help? Do you need me to be here with you? I’ll do anything, you know that.’
‘You’re very sweet,’ he says with a smile. ‘I do know that. But it’s not necessary. My sister is coming to stay with me, to help me through the treatment. She’ll be taking me to hospital and generally looking after me, you don’t have to worry about that.’ He pauses and says, ‘But there is something you can do for me.’
Secrets After Dark Page 25
