by Penny Henry
"Oh really, Rose?" Connie pounced. "And I suppose you'll be running through your new fitness routine?"
“That’s what I call dedication,” said Imogen. “Let’s hope you can walk tomorrow.”
“Hopefully not,” said Rose which sent Connie and Imogen into gales of laughter. “Actually he's taking me to meet his parents. He thinks I'm thirty-two."
Imogen and Connie shook their heads in despair.
"And how exactly did that happen, Rose?" asked Imogen innocently.
Rose lifted her hands in a gesture of amazement. "I just cannot imagine, darlings. But far be it from me to shatter his illusions. I wouldn't want to be responsible for the irreparable damage to his impressionable young mind."
"That is so thoughtful of you," said Connie drolly.
"You’re incorrigible, Rose," added Imogen. "Let’s hope Tony’s mother has an iron grip on her husband."
"Hmm, apparently Tony's father is a fine-looking man. He’s rich too. Now there's a thought."
"Behave yourself, Rose," said Connie. "We’re supposed to be offering Imogen wise advice. We’re not here to encourage her to leave the straight and narrow."
"Don't be so dreary, darling," drawled Rose. The alcohol was taking effect and Rose was in no mood for a serious chat. She took Imogen's hand and patted it gently. "You listen to what Connie has to say, honey. She has much more sense than me when it comes to men. She doesn’t bother with them.” She flicked her eyes towards Connie for a split second. Imogen didn’t notice. “Anyway, I think you’re a goddamned hero, honey. And if you need some time off, feel free to take as much as you need. You deserve it. Keep your chin up and we'll speak in the morning. You've got my mobile number, so for heaven's sakes remember to use it if you need anything."
"Thank you, Rose, I won’t forget." Rose would defend her friends to the gallows. It was only when it came to men that Rose's better judgment deserted her. Connie was the only one that had learnt to handle men with the skill of a ring mistress leading a dancing horse. Men had no effect on her. Imogen sometimes worried about Connie. She knew her best friend was a passionate woman. Then she usually felt guilty and closed her mind to her train of thought.
As if in answer to Rose’s prediction, the blare of a car horn outside the restaurant sent her into a minor panic. She hastily checked her lipstick in a tiny mirror from her purse.
"How do I look, darlings, will I do?"
Imogen and Connie chorused together, "You look wonderful, Rose,"
Chapter Fourteen
A second blast from Tony’s car horn sent Rose hurrying towards the door, blowing kisses and calling goodbye.
"She is such a nightmare," said Connie as the door juddered shut behind Rose's flying figure. "She never has worked out what playing hard to get means. When she says a guy is eligible she means he’s got a pulse."
“Her heart is in the right place." The two females giggled and waved back as Rose threw an arm in the air and the car roared away."
"Here's to Rose," said Connie raising her cup of coffee.
"And to all who sail in her," added Imogen sparking an infectious fit of laughter.
They laughed until they cried and Imogen felt the tension drain away. She was glad she had forced herself to escape her apartment and be with people she loved. The sun still shone, Rose and her relationships were car crashes waiting to happen and Imogen could still laugh.
When their laughter died Connie looked at Imogen. "That's Rose sorted out. Now, what are we going to do about you?" Connie was regarded as the mother hen in the office. It was to her the young girls came when their boyfriends were treating them badly - and the older women when their relationships had gone off the boil.
They ordered fresh dinks and Imogen swirled her black locks round her face. "I haven't got a clue," she admitted. "I like them both. Everything has happened so fast."
"But if you’re being honest you don't really know either of them at all, do you?"
Imogen was embarrassed to admit it. "No, you’re right. I don't know them. I've seen Roger come and go over the past two years but—"
"And you always thought he was a geek."
Imogen shrugged. "Okay, yes I did. I didn't make any effort to get to know him."
“You are so shallow, Imogen Mercouri. Gable appears and you fall head over heels in love."
“I know, I know. But that was before I got to know Roger.”
"And now you don't know how you feel?"
"I'm just so confused. I’m attracted to both of them. The problem is that I don’t like being kept in the dark. They’re both secretive and it’s really annoying.” Rose's casual remark came to mind. A chilling thought struck her. "You... You don't think Rose could have been right, do you? You know, that they’re playing a game with me. That they’re planning on sharing me?" She looked horrified.
Connie smiled. “I wouldn’t think so. You’re not Rose for a start. And it sounds like it’s too serious to be a game. Maybe it’s a case of sibling rivalry. Roger might have been keen on you for a while and never had the nerve to do anything about it. Now that Gable’s on the scene a he might think he’s missed his chance."
"You make it sound like two dogs squabbling over a bone." Imogen sniffed disapprovingly. "But then again, you might have a point. Roger does get upset if I mention Gable's name."
"I can't say I'm surprised. If Roger has the hots for you he won't be happy that you compare him to his brother. It sounds like he’s spent his life in Gable's shadow. Now that fate has brought you together his brother is his main rival."
"I can see what you mean," said Imogen uncertainly. "But, it’s just that Gable is so charismatic. He’s everything a woman dreams about. He’s got the lot - looks, style, charm and the physique of a Greek god."
“Maybe it’s the image you've fallen for. He might be very different underneath. You could be just another notch on his bedpost. You said you thought someone had hurt him, remember? So where is this mysterious woman now? It’s all very suspect. He seems to like playing things close to his chest. You just never know."
Imogen's brow darkened. "You don't think he's stringing me along, do you? That he's amusing himself at my expense.” She was suddenly angry at the thought that Gable might be using her.
Connie arched a neatly groomed brow. "It has been known. He is a man, isn’t he?" She tilted her head. “Who knows? Roger might be the safer bet. You really need to find out more about them both. And that’s especially if you’re going to go on seeing Gable - or even Roger come to that. They both sound a bit fishy to me.” Connie played with her empty coffee cup. "I don't suppose there’s any chance you could get inside their apartment and take a look round without them being there?"
Imogen looked offended. "I'm shocked, Connie." Then she lowered her voice. "Actually the same thought occurred to me, but one of them has always been around. It would be nice to know if they’re genuine or not."
"Surely, they’ve both got to be out at some point?"
To Imogen's knowledge they were both out today. "How would I get in? The fire door is kept bolted and the penthouse has an electronic lock."
"What does it look like?”
“I’ve only ever seen a picture of it. That was when we were first told we were getting them. I always use the fire stairs when I go up there. I know it’s got a keypad so we’ll all need to have our own passwords.”
“And the penthouse already has one like it?”
“I’d imagine so.”
Connie was on a roll. “What sort of password? Is it a sequence of numbers like the office?"
"No, it’s not. It’s more like a mobile phone keypad. It’s all very high-tech. We get to choose our own six-digit password, letters and numbers I suppose.”
"There you are then," said Connie satisfied. "All you have to do is find the right password. I’d bet it's been left lying round the boys’ apartment. Next time you're there you should take a look. Then, when the boys are both out, it’s hey presto!"
"I don't think I'd have the nerve. What if I got caught?"
"I'm pretty sure you could sweet talk your way out of it," said Connie amusedly. "You’d just have to flash that smile of yours and any man would forgive you anything."
Imogen gave some thought to Connie's idea. It would certainly put her mind at rest to know that at least one of the brothers was what he said he was. Not to mention the relief she’d feel if she was able to confirm their supposedly unattached status. That was something she had only assumed. Neither of them had ever brought up the subject. And they were both very secretive.
"I'll do it," she said. "I might even be able to get up there today. I'm supposed to be seeing Roger this evening. I wonder what password they’d choose."
They tossed a few ideas between them and Connie paid the bill. They had planned to walk into the old Royal Navy College at Greenwich and stroll round the magnificent buildings, but Rose had left early and Imogen wasn't in the mood. The idea of discovering the password excited her and she was looking forward to putting the plan into action. Connie hid her disappointment well. She had been looking forward to strolling through the Painted Hall and brush arms with Imogen as they admired the paintings.
They said goodbye outside the restaurant and Connie had a word of warning, "Promise me you won’t take any risks, Imogen. It would be embarrassing to say the least if you got caught." She looked down at her feet. “Especially, after knowing what you’ve just been through.”
The words made Imogen start. She knew what it felt like to find a stranger in her home. Then she reassured herself, this wasn’t like that at all. This was about self-protection. She wasn’t planning to harm anyone. She managed a smile. “I’ll be careful, Connie.” She tapped a finger on her temple. “I can always escape down the fire stairs. They’ll never know I was there. They’ll think the other one left it open.”
Connie looked skywards. "Well, just take care.” They hugged each other and softly kissed each other’s cheeks. It was an unhurried embrace and Connie held on a little longer than necessary. Imogen didn’t distance herself. She shut her eyes and curved her body into Connie’s. She felt a warmth and intimacy with Connie that she had never shared with anyone else.
“One of these days, Connie, I’m gonna rip off your clothes in the nearest park.”
Connie pushed Imogen to arm’s length. She pouted sulkily. “Promises, promises.” She tossed her blonde head and spun away. “Bye, Imogen. Oh, and remember. I don’t do prison visits.”
Imogen laughed. “Some friend you turned out to be.”
They turned away from each other to walk in opposite directions. Imogen was about to turn the corner to find her parked car when she heard Connie's voice above the noise of the Sunday tourists. Try I M O G E N."
The password worked first time. It was a scary thought that the brothers had been keying her name into the key-pad every time they came home. She had driven directly back to her apartment block and the underground car park had been virtually empty. The residents were making the most of the fine weather. It had been easy to confirm the black Porsche hadn’t returned. Imogen had impulsively taken the elevator all the way to the penthouse and held her breath while she pressed the intercom button a couple of times. No one had answered. Then she had tapped in her name. She had held an irrational fear that she would do something wrong. Somehow the forces of law and order would be alerted and converge on the penthouse like the SAS storming the Iranian Embassy. Her nerve had held and the password had been accepted. She had ever so slowly pressed the door handle and taken her first tentative steps inside the boy's apartment.
"Hello, is anyone there?"
She held herself in mid-stride, straining to catch an answer. Emptiness greeted her and she pushed back the door on the familiar display of photographs.
"Hello, Roger? Hello, Gable?"
Nothing came by way of return. She stepped round the door and closed it silently. Why was she sneaking around if the penthouse was empty? The answer was guilt. That and the hope that if she was quiet she might have some warning of unwelcome company and make her escape like a cat into the night. She had left her purse in the car and tucked her door key in her pocket. She hadn't decided if she should go straight to the inner door of the fire stairs and unlock it just in case. She decided to leave it. She only planned to be there for a couple of minutes. Swiftness was the key. She tip-toed into the lounge and swept her gaze across the shelves and tops of cupboards. The roll-top writing desk caught her eye. She felt an almost irresistible urge to stride across the room and throw back the lid, triumphantly exposing the twin's dark secrets. Then she thought it was a bit obvious. She’d be better off checking the rest of the penthouse. What if she found one of the boys sleeping? She was confident that she could talk her way out of trouble. She’d say the door had been left open. She stepped across the floor and into the corridor before putting her hand on the handle of the spare room. A flood of self-disgust suddenly consumed her. She was no better than Don Thornton. A chill of panic squeezed her heart and forced her to fight for breath. She had never seen a single thing inside the apartment that hinted at any deceit by the twins. She had always been received openly and left to her own devices in the lounge. There was no evidence to support her paranoia. There would be nothing in the spare room to convince her otherwise. She let go of the door handle and stood back aghast at her foolishness. She had to get out of the apartment. And she had to get out now before she got into serious trouble. Roger or Gable could come back at any moment. She half-ran through the lounge, utterly ashamed of herself. She halted when she saw the roll-top desk. It was exerting a powerful attraction. It would only take a second. She spun on her heel and walked towards the desk. The brass key jutted temptingly from the catch. The boys had no reason to hide it. The few visitors they received were likely to be people they trusted. Imogen grimaced at the thought. Her stomach shrank from the distaste of her betrayal. She lifted the lid halfway before she froze. The beautifully crafted piece of furniture must have cost a pretty penny. She breathed in and slid the lid fully open. Imogen watched with complete detachment as the roll-top lid sipped back to reveal her worst nightmare.
Her flawless face looked back at her from cut-out pages of every magazine and newspaper that had carried her picture over the last two years. The spread of articles looked to span the time she had been living there. Roger had already been occupying the penthouse. It had taken a full year before they had exchanged a nod. Another year before they had reached their current level of intimacy. He had been obsessed with her from the beginning. She felt sick. This was a whole different ball game. She didn't even consider herself a celebrity. She sifted through the clipped-out articles and showbiz column quotes. Every interview she could remember giving, and some that she couldn’t, had been painstakingly snipped out and stashed in Roger's desk. She felt hollow inside. She tried hard to remain calm, racking her brains to justify his obsession. He was painfully shy and suffered from a chronic lack of confidence. He would have been a very lonely man until his brother’s arrival. Her recent encounters with him had revealed a wonderful warm-hearted man. His brother’s company had been good for him. Roger was emerging from his anti-social hibernation. It had been his defense against a brash outside world. He had started to spread his wings. One caustic word from Imogen might return him to his twilight world of dusty books and loneliness. One stinging sentence would destroy everything that Gable had achieved. Could she accept the responsibility for ruining Roger's life?
There were grounds to support Imogen's logical thought process. The sheaf of neatly word-processed pages threw it back in her face. She leafed through the reams of poetry. There was nothing lewd or erotic about the flowing verse that was dedicated to her. But this was where logic and fear parted company. Roger was supposedly computer illiterate. Both of the brothers had gone out of their way to stress the point. Yet she was convinced she had seen Roger carrying a laptop. Why had he not admitted his prowess with a word processor? And why
had Gable lied to protect him? The second question was easily answered. Gable was Roger's twin. He would defend his brother to the death. In Imogen's mind there was only one reason why Roger would need the silence of his twin. Roger Winter was the poison pen letter writer.
Her heartbeat went into overdrive. She absent-mindedly crushed the poem she had been holding into a tight ball. The pounding in her ears was the blood forcing its way through the arteries in her head. She had even confided her fears about the letters to Roger. Why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be now? She had enough to deal with at the moment. Her traumatic experience at the hands of Don Thornton had almost broken her. She desperately needed Gable to be with her. She ached for his strength to lean on and his voice to calm her.
"Imogen?"
The single word was music to her ears. "Gable!"
She turned on shaky legs to stare straight into Roger's sad eyes. The smile that had illuminated her face died in an instant. Her eyes bulged with the horror of being caught and an unreasonable fear of her captor. She backed away to come up against the edge of the writing desk. "Keep away from me, Roger. I'm warning you." She stuffed the screwed up sheet of paper into her pocket and felt behind to close her fingers round the paper knife on Roger's desk. She whipped the blunt weapon from behind her back to wave it in his general direction.
"For God's sake, Imogen. Put the knife down. I know what it looks like but I can explain everything, please—“
Imogen recoiled from the same words that Don had used. Her eyes darted round the room. He was several meters away from her but his long legs would bring him to her in a second. She had to get out of the apartment. "Stay away from me!"
Roger stayed where he was, lifting his open hands away from his body. "Imogen, I would never harm you. Please believe me." He had read the terror in her eyes and guessed at the assumptions she had made. He knew the trauma she had experienced on the previous night better than anyone. He planned to do nothing that would alarm her further. "Put the knife down, Imogen," he said softly. "You've got it all wrong."
