by Hyland, Tara
“This one, he might marry you, hey, Irina?” he’d said, nudging her in the ribs.
She’d wondered sometimes why Matthew didn’t have a girl of his own; she guessed it was because of his weight. But underneath he was a nice man. On his third visit he had started asking her about herself, asking where she had come from, if she was okay. Her English wasn’t good, but he’d seemed to understand that she was here against her will. And he had promised to help her escape. Next Thursday. Only four more days. After all this time, she could last that long.
The key turned in the lock and Irina’s heart jumped, as it always did at that sound. Bedari appeared in the doorway. He said something to the man behind him, who moved forward to take a look at Irina. This must be the client Bedari had told her about earlier. He was rich, apparently, with very specific requests.
“He like natural yellow hair,” Bedari had said. “None of that dye shit.” The Albanian had brought clothes for her, too. She wasn’t to put on the short, tight skirt or garish makeup like usual. Instead, she wore a floral dress with long sleeves and a demure neckline. Her face was scrubbed clean and her fair hair brushed until it shone. Irina tugged nervously at the collar of the dress. Anything out of the ordinary worried her now. The stranger looked her over, then turned to Bedari and said something. She understood enough to know that the man was pleased with her. Money was exchanged, and then a happy Bedari left the room, locking the door behind him.
Once they were alone, the man indicated for her to sit on the bed. She did as she was told, and he smiled a little at her. She began to relax. He was different from her usual clients, better dressed—clean, and close-shaven. He sounded a little like Matthew, she decided. She wondered why he came to a place like this, when surely he could have many women.
He came over to sit beside her on the bed. He was still fully dressed and seemed to have no interest in taking her clothes off, either. He simply stroked her blonde hair away from her forehead, tracing the contours of her face with his hand. There was something almost tender in the way he touched her. After months of being starved for affection, it took Irina by surprise. For some reason, she had the strangest urge to laugh. A giggle rose in her throat. She tried to swallow it back, but failed. As the man bent to kiss her, a strange, high-pitched titter bubbled forth from her, a nervous, involuntary sound.
Her hand came up to cover her mouth, but it was already too late. In that split second, the man’s expression changed. For a brief moment he looked hurt, and then his eyes hardened, his lips tightened. She could tell that he thought she was laughing at him, mocking him.
After all this time, Irina had developed a sixth sense for danger. The alarm sounding in her head reminded her of when she’d first met Bedari all those months ago. She saw the blow coming even before the man had raised his hand.
“Ne . . .” she implored, as his open palm connected with her cheek. If only she knew the words to explain that she hadn’t meant to be disrespectful. “Prasau!” she cried. “Help!”
But he wasn’t listening. He had stood up now, so he could put more power behind his fists. Irina had seen men like this before and knew there would be no reasoning with him—just as she knew that her screams and anguished pleas would be ignored by everyone in the house.
The back of his hand struck her other cheek. Weighing 90 pounds to his 160, she was no match against the full force of his rage. The impact of the blow split her skin open and knocked her off the bed. She put her hands out to break her fall. But as she went down, she cracked her head on the bedside cabinet. Her neck snapped back and she felt something break inside her.
She must have been drifting in and out of consciousness. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. The man was kneeling over her, and he no longer looked angry, only scared. And he was shouting at the door—calling for help, she imagined. But it was already too late. She could feel herself fading now, slipping away for good.
It was so unfair, she thought dreamily. A few weeks ago, this might have seemed like sweet release. Now she’d had an end in sight—only four days until Matthew came to rescue her. But she wouldn’t be here for him. Would he notice? Would anyone care that she had gone?
That was the last thought that went through her head.
51
_________
Tokyo had been playing on Elizabeth’s mind. It was Piers’s comment on the uncertainty surrounding her father’s successor. Something that had seemed so implausible when she’d first read about it in that newspaper article all those weeks ago suddenly appeared more likely.
It didn’t help that everything seemed to be about Caitlin at the moment. Elizabeth was so fed up with celebrating her half sister’s achievements, her wonderful, perfect life. And now her father was planning to give Caitlin 5 percent of the company. Maybe, as he said, it was simply to bring Caitlin closer to the family. But maybe there was something more sinister behind his actions.
Elizabeth brought up her concerns with Piers, who seemed to be the only person on her side at the moment. He tried to reassure her that she had nothing to worry about. But finally, when she wouldn’t let it go, he sighed and said, “If you’re really that worried, you should talk to your father. Ask him outright what his plans are. That way you can set your mind at ease.”
That evening, Piers was due to have dinner with William. The ten-year age gap between the two men had never been so obvious. The stress of Armand Bouchard’s takeover bid had caused another angina attack. Piers sensed that the episode had upset his brother, reminded him again of his own mortality. It was the perfect time for him to raise the subject of Elizabeth.
“So did Elizabeth finally get around to speaking to you?” he asked.
William looked up sharply. “No. Why?”
“Oh!” Piers feigned surprise. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
William scowled. “Come on. Spit it out.”
“Honestly, William. It’s nothing. She’s just worried about you.”
“Worried about me?” William was on the defensive now. “In what way? What did she say?”
Piers pinched the bridge of his nose. “She simply mentioned that she’s concerned about your health, especially now that this Bouchard mess has reared its head again.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Piers looked uncomfortable. “Well, she thinks we need a strong management team if we’ve got any hope of defeating his bid.”
William’s eyes narrowed. “And she doesn’t think I’m up to it, is that what you’re saying?”
“Heavens no!” Piers protested. “She’s just worried about the stress all this is causing you.”
William’s voice was cold as he said, “Well, you can tell her from me that she’s got nothing to worry about.”
A few days later, Elizabeth finally managed to get an appointment with her father.
“Daddy,” she said immediately, “I think we need to have a serious chat about your succession plans.”
William was immediately suspicious. “What plans?”
“Well, I assumed—”
“I wouldn’t assume anything, Elizabeth,” he interrupted. “As you can see, I’m fit and healthy and have no intention of going anywhere.”
“But the other week—”
“The other week was nothing. It was just a small episode.” He gave a wry smile. “Would you jump into my grave half as quick?”
“Daddy! I didn’t mean it like that! I just think that your choice of next chief executive is something we ought to talk about.”
“Why? What’s it got to do with you?”
Elizabeth felt confused. This wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to turn out. “I would have thought it had everything to do with me,” she said. “I’ve spent the past three years sweating blood, getting this business back on its feet!”
“Don’t exaggerate,” William said icily. “You’re not the only one who cares about this business, and you’re not the only one who
helped turn things around.”
“Oh, yes? And who else helped? Caitlin, I suppose.”
He looked at her levelly. “Now you mention it, Caitlin has played her part.”
It was precisely the wrong thing to say. “Oh, please,” Elizabeth scoffed. “She might be good at designing, but that doesn’t mean she’s got what it takes to run a major company. She doesn’t have it in her, and you must be losing it if you think she has!”
“Don’t talk about me or your sister like that!” William thundered.
“Half sister, Daddy,” she shot back. “You might want to remember that.”
“And you might want to remember that I am still in charge of this company.” His voice was cold, his eyes like flint. “For now, what I say goes.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
It was the worst outcome Elizabeth could have imagined. But she didn’t realize that her life was about to disintegrate even further.
Elizabeth would always remember the exact moment she realized Cole was having an affair. It was the night of his birthday, and he’d decided to hold a dinner in the private dining room of Osaka. She was late as usual, a last-minute crisis at the office. She rushed into the restaurant, flustered, knowing she didn’t look her best, wishing she’d had time to get her hair done and change into the new outfit she’d bought.
Dinner was already under way by the time she reached the dining room. Cole was at the head of the table, and his assistant, that mousy little Japanese girl, was next to him. Elizabeth was about to walk over but something stopped her. She’d never really bought into that women’s-intuition nonsense, but somehow she sensed something wasn’t quite right.
She lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching Cole and Sumiko together. It wasn’t that they were doing anything obvious—holding hands or whispering to each other—they were simply eating sashimi, like everyone else around the table. But when some wasabi sauce escaped from the side of Cole’s mouth, Sumiko giggled and then reached up to wipe it away.
And that’s when Elizabeth knew.
It was like a physical blow. She faltered on her feet, had to grab the doorframe to steady herself. She felt the bile rise from her stomach, as she remembered how Cole had joked about Sumiko’s crush on him, how she had teased him about it. But there was no time to feel sorry for herself. People had begun to notice her. She couldn’t run away and cry—and God, that wasn’t her style anyway. She had no choice but to go over to face them.
As she crossed the marble floor, the conversation at the table faded as the guests turned to watch her arrival. They were all waiting to see what she was going to do, she realized. Well, she wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of causing a scene. Instead, she pasted on a smile and walked over to Cole.
“Happy birthday, darling.” She leaned down to kiss him lightly on the mouth. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Don’t worry about it.” And he meant it, too.
She realized then why he hadn’t been mad at her for missing the opening of Osaka; why he’d stopped bugging her about the hours she was working.
Elizabeth was still standing. Cole had made no move to find her a seat. There was a spare place at the other end of the table, but she was damned if she was going to sit there.
“Sumiko, would you mind,” she said, pointing toward the empty chair. “I’d like to sit next to my husband.”
“Of course, Elizabeth.”
The words were said politely enough, but Elizabeth couldn’t miss the touch of insolence in her eyes. It took all of her self-control not to slap the girl—and God, she was a girl, too—as she took her time gathering her belongings and vacating the seat.
Dinner was terrible. Elizabeth could feel everyone looking over at her, assessing her mood. Somehow, she kept up a steady stream of polite conversation. She stuck to mineral water, apart from a sip of champagne for the birthday toast, worried that alcohol might make her say something she shouldn’t.
The party broke up around midnight. She watched Cole kiss Sumiko briefly on the cheek, his hand lingering a fraction too long on her arm, and wondered how much more of this she could stand.
Husband and wife didn’t say much to each other during the taxi ride home. Throughout the meal, Elizabeth had envisioned confronting Cole when they got back, but once they were there, she couldn’t find the words. They went straight up to the bedroom, undressing silently, backs to each other. How long had it been like this between them? Elizabeth wondered.
Once they were in bed, the lights out, she reached for him. She felt his reluctance at first, knew he wanted to pull away, but she was insistent, bringing her mouth down hard on his, making it clear what she wanted.
He gave in, but on his terms. There was no romance, no affection. He turned her over, so they couldn’t kiss, then mounted her, thrusting into her fast and hard. There was silence throughout the whole act, the only sound a low grunt when he finally came. Then he rolled away from her, still saying nothing.
She waited until his breathing deepened and she knew he was asleep before stealing out of bed and going over to the bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she sat down on the edge of the tub and finally cried. She cried so long and hard that it was as though she’d never cried before, biting down on her hand so he couldn’t hear the huge, great hulking sobs that racked her body.
A long while later, she washed her face and headed back to bed.
She planned to say something the following morning, but she still couldn’t find the words. And as the days and weeks passed, she realized she wasn’t going to. She was surprised and appalled at herself. All those years she’d scorned her mother for sticking by her father, and now she was doing exactly the same thing. But the truth was, for the first time in her life she had no idea what course of action would be for the best. Because, when it came down to it, she still loved Cole.
She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for. But then fate has a habit of throwing in a catalyst, a wild card, a curve ball—something you’d never expect. For Elizabeth it was the third morning in a row when she found herself on her hands and knees, heaving over the toilet bowl. As she sat back on her haunches, wiping her mouth with a piece of hastily grabbed toilet paper, she remembered how preoccupied she’d been six weeks earlier. Preoccupied enough to forget to take her birth control pills around the time of Cole’s birthday. And preoccupied enough not to notice what she’d done until now, when it was far too late.
Getting through the days was an effort for Elizabeth. Everything was piling up on her, and she was waiting for something to crack. The situation still hadn’t improved with her father. She was terrified that he was seriously considering making Caitlin the next chief executive.
Elizabeth was sick of hearing about Caitlin. She remembered when the girl had first arrived at Aldringham, shy, naïve, and awkward. How was it that now she seemed to have everything—the company, as well as a man who was madly in love with her, and a baby on the way—when she, Elizabeth, the original golden girl, had nothing?
She’d never really thought having a child was important to her. But now, in the position where she had no partner to be happy with her, to share in what should be a joyful occasion, she realized how much she wanted it. With no one to tell, she had never felt more alone.
The only person who seemed to be on her side was Piers. It was in him that she confided her fear that William was favoring Caitlin. They spent long evenings closeted in his office, as she ranted about the unfairness of it all.
“It’s ridiculous!” she declared, for what felt like the hundredth time. “I deserve this! I’ve given up everything for this business—all my time, my energy. Even my . . .” She had been about to say “even my marriage” but managed to stop herself.
“I know, I know,” Piers commiserated. “I’m on your side. I think your father’s on the verge of making a terrible mistake. I don’t want to see you cheated out of your inheritance, either.”
; Suddenly all the fight went out of her. Between Cole and this . . . she just didn’t have the energy any longer. “But I suppose if Daddy wants it that way, there’s nothing I can do, is there?”
It had been a rhetorical question. But she saw the look that crossed Piers’s face—thoughtful, calculating—and the spark in his eyes. “What is it?” she said slowly. “What are you thinking?”
“I might have an idea how to get around this, to make sure you get what you deserve, after all.” He was studying her carefully as he spoke, as though looking for her reaction. “It’s not perfect, of course,” he continued. “But it might well be our only option.”
Elizabeth felt a prickle of unease. The way he’d said it, she sensed whatever he had in mind was going to go against her father’s wishes. But what choice did she have?
“Tell me,” she whispered.
Piers’s suggestion was for them to stage a management buyout—effectively an acquisition by executives within the company. He wanted to pool their shares—his 5 percent and her 7.5 percent—then launch the takeover bid together. There was one main complication—as they wouldn’t have the personal funds to acquire the company outright themselves, they’d need to find an external backer.
“How hard would that be?” Elizabeth asked, both thrilled and terrified by what Piers was suggesting. Was she seriously considering this? Did she dare?
“I’ve been looking into it,” he said, a touch enigmatically. “I think there are a couple of private investors who might be willing to put up the money.”
His arguments were clear and concise. With two members of the family working together, their bid would be viewed favorably by the market—especially if they emphasized her part in the turnaround. He’d even put together a spreadsheet showing the price they could offer to buy at. If she was a little surprised that he’d gone so far on his own, she didn’t dwell on it. At first glance, the numbers looked good; they would be offering 40 percent above where the shares were trading. Of course, it was easy with a management buyout to put together a fair price—they were both insiders who knew the business well.
