by T. M. Logan
‘The house is certainly quieter than the last time I was here.’
‘The party? Yes. A shame that it was rather tainted at the end by an unexpected guest.’
He paused, placing his palms together as if in prayer. ‘First of all, Sarah, please let me say something.’
She shifted in her seat.
‘OK.’
‘I want to apologise for my behaviour.’
It was the last thing she expected. She had never heard him apologise to anyone before, for anything.
‘Apologise?’
‘The other day I let myself get a little . . . carried away.’
That’s one way of spinning it, Sarah thought.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.
‘Oh, but it does. I wanted to be sure that you didn’t take things the wrong way.’
‘It’s fine, Alan.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wonderful.’ He smiled and leaned back in the big armchair. ‘So, my girl. What shall we talk about?’
She took a sip of her drink. There was so much gin in it that she could barely taste the tonic or lemon. Was there another taste in there as well? Something in the background, masked by the gin?
‘Whatever you want, Alan.’
‘How about the Boston trip – have you decided whether you can make it?’
‘Actually, I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve decided –’
The doorbell rang, a two-tone clang of bells echoing through the large entrance hall.
Sarah froze, panic etched on her face.
‘Who’s that?’ she said in a low whisper. ‘I thought you’d arranged to be left totally alone to write, this weekend?’
Lovelock held up a calming hand.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of whoever it is.’
Sarah covered her mouth.
‘Oh God, what if it’s Nick?’
‘Does he know you’re here?’
‘No. At least . . . I don’t think so.’
Lovelock gave her a slow smile.
‘Glad to hear it.’ He put his drink down on the low, glass-topped table and got to his feet. ‘Stay there. Whoever it is, I’ll get rid of them.’
He went out into the hall. Sarah heard the front door open for a few heartbeats, a brief exchange of words and then the door slammed shut again. The metallic click of a lock slotting into place then a door chain being replaced. A moment later Lovelock reappeared holding a shoebox-sized parcel. He tossed it onto a side table and – ignoring the armchair he had previously occupied – sat down on the sofa next to Sarah.
‘Don’t worry – not your hubby checking up on you. A courier.’
Sarah sat back, crossing her legs and smoothing her long skirt out over her knees. One shoe tapping nervously.
‘Anything important?’
‘Just Caroline’s daily delivery. Honestly, I’ve no idea how she filled her days before Internet shopping was invented.’ He picked up his whisky again. ‘Where does hubby think you are, anyway?’
‘He’s not . . . we’re having a little bit of time apart at the moment.’
Lovelock smiled, showing small, yellowing teeth.
‘Really? Taking a break, are you?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Probably wise.’
She stared into her drink, steeling herself against the intense discomfort of revealing such personal details to this man. But she had to speak openly, let her guard down – so that when the time came, he would do the same.
‘He took himself off again,’ she said. ‘Went to stay with someone. He said he was trying to find himself, whatever that means.’
‘A woman?’
‘Sorry?’
‘He went to stay with a woman?’
‘Yes. He met her at an audition last year.’
‘A shame,’ he said, without conviction. ‘You must be lonely, on your own.’
‘It’s tough, with the kids and everything else going on. But it’s thinking time for us both, so we can get a few things sorted out. Work out what happens next.’
‘And what do you want to happen next?’
Sarah took another sip of her drink, the gin sharp on her tongue. She glanced at the clock over the aquarium: 7.42. Twenty-eight minutes left.
Bait the trap. Do it now.
‘I’ve decided that I’m prepared to do what I have to do,’ she said, her tone heavy with resignation. ‘And I want to go to Boston with you. The two of us.’
78
‘Ah!’ He clapped his hands together. ‘You’ve decided to join me after all. Marvellous.’
‘I want to meet the Atholl Sanders people, I want to help you win this grant and work with you on the project.’
‘So you’ve finally come around to my point of view. I knew you would, in the end! It really is most gratifying, Sarah.’
‘I understand the situation. Like I said: I’m prepared to do what I have to do.’
‘Go with the flow?’
‘Yes.’
His grin was as wide as she’d ever seen it, a gaping rictus of victory. Sarah suppressed a shudder.
‘That’s my girl,’ he said.
She swallowed hard, searching for the right words.
‘You said it would be good for my career, to meet the funders and develop some contacts at the foundation.’
He edged closer to her, draping one long arm along the back of the sofa.
‘Undoubtedly. And besides all that, we’re going to have such fun, you and me. I’ll tell Jocelyn first thing Monday morning to get you a flight booked and have the hotel booking amended. We’ll get adjoining rooms, shall we?’
She felt herself nodding, as if on autopilot.
‘I don’t know Boston at all.’
‘Oh, it’s an absolutely terrific city.’ He leaned forward. ‘It will be my pleasure to give you an intimate guided tour.’
‘Great.’
He studied her, a look of immense satisfaction on his face, and clapped his hands again.
‘I’m so pleased that you’ve come around to the idea, Sarah. It’ll be a wonderful trip.’ He picked up his glass and clinked it against hers. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers,’ Sarah said in return.
Now close the deal. Get what you came here for.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing Boston,’ she said, taking another small sip of her drink. It was strong enough to make her wince.
‘Oh, you’ll love it. There’s a conference in Chicago in February that you should come to, as well. I’ll be able to introduce you to some really rather fascinating members of the American academy. Have you been to Chicago?’
‘I’ve not been to America at all, Alan. Just never had the chance.’
‘Well,’ he said, toasting her again with his raised glass, ‘now you shall, my dear.’
Keep him talking.
‘What are the dates?’
‘Four weeks from now. BA business class – naturally – I’ll have Jocelyn send you all the details. Boston in January is something special, I can tell you.’
‘I’ll have to read up on the city.’
‘Oh don’t you worry about that,’ he said, giving a mock bow. ‘I will be your guide. I’ll show you everything worth seeing.’
Sarah raised the glass to her lips again and took a small sip.
‘So I just wanted to ask you about the – the terms of the arrangement.’
His smile faded.
‘Terms? How do you mean?’
You know exactly what I mean, she thought, remembering his words from just a few days ago.
Once a week, every week, you’ll come to my office. We’ll lock the door, I’ll sit back and you’ll get down on your knees and go to work. Or on your back. Perhaps on your front. Perhaps all three.
‘I mean what happens after tonight?’ she said, choosing her words carefully. ‘You spoke about us having a weekly arrangement? With the changes in the department, I mea
n.’
‘Slow down, Sarah. You’ve lost me.’
She leaned a little closer to him, shifting her body so that she was facing him.
Go on. Say it.
‘The restructure in the department. You said some people were going to lose their jobs, and my name was near the top of the hit list.’
Lovelock was close enough for her to smell the stale tang of whisky on his breath.
‘There are some tough decisions coming, that’s a fact.’
‘You said my job was at risk.’
‘That’s true. As are others.’
‘But there was one thing I could do to avoid the chop.’ Their conversation about the scarred man was burned into her brain. ‘And for you to – to keep certain things to yourself, rather than telling the police.’
He tossed the rest of his whisky back in one gulp and went over to the drinks cabinet for a refill. Sarah watched him: an inch of whisky and an inch of water, each from identical crystal decanters. He returned to the sofa, unfastening the second button of his white linen shirt.
‘We don’t need to talk about these things now, do we? How about we discuss it . . . later. Afterwards?’
‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to talk about it now.’
A flash of anger crossed his face and she thought he was about to refuse again. But then his frown lifted.
‘Of course, why not.’ He crossed his legs towards her, leaning into the sofa so their legs were almost touching. ‘What is it that you’d like to know?’
79
‘I want to know if my job will be safe,’ Sarah said.
‘Are any of our jobs truly safe?’
‘You know what I mean, Alan. You told me in your office, you made it very clear.’
‘It is good to be clear, is it not? A matter that becomes clear ceases to concern us.’
‘What?’
‘Friedrich Nietzsche.’
‘Remember you told me that once we start this new arrangement, you’ll make sure I’m not made redundant in the restructure. That the threat disappears if we have sex.’
‘Are you hungry?’ he said abruptly.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I’ve got a couple of juicy rib-eye steaks and a stunning bottle of ’91 Mouton Rothschild open and breathing. Just let me know when you’re getting hungry.’
Get him back on track.
She willed him to say it, to repeat the words he’d spoken to her just a few days ago. The clock on the wall said 7.51. Nineteen minutes before Laura called her mobile with the prearranged message that would be her signal to escape.
‘I’d rather get things straight between us, first. If we start the new arrangement tonight, just like you told me, then what?’
She pictured herself sitting in a meeting room with Peter Moran, the school manager, the dean and the head of HR, as she played them the recording of this conversation. The looks on their faces as they understood what it meant: first disbelief, then denial. Followed swiftly by panic. That look, that moment, might go some way to balancing out the nightmare she’d had to live with for the last two years.
Lovelock leaned back, running a hand over his balding pate.
‘Want my signature in blood, do you?’
‘I just want to make sure we’re on the same page. I want to hear you say it.’
‘Say what, exactly?’
‘That I can keep hold of my job if I agree to the arrangement. If I agree to sleep with you.’
Say it, just once. That’s all I need.
He smiled. A long, lazy smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
‘I love your outfit, by the way.’
Sarah was momentarily thrown by the change of direction.
‘Thanks.’
‘And I love what you’ve done with your hair and make-up. Can’t recall ever seeing you look so good.’
She made herself smile back.
‘Just trying to make the effort. Show willing.’
‘There’s only one problem, Sarah.’
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
‘Problem?’
‘I’m afraid so, yes.’
She felt a tingle of fear in her stomach.
Abruptly, Lovelock stood up and walked out of the room into the hallway. A moment of silence, then she heard the heavy metallic thunk of a deadbolt being shot home. Then another.
The front door. He’s bolting the front door.
He came back into the lounge, pocketing a set of keys. Closing the door behind him, he sat down again on the sofa beside her.
‘There. That’s better.’
Sarah could feel her heart thudding against her ribcage.
You’re trapped now.
‘What’s the matter, Alan?’
His greedy eyes ran over her.
‘Here’s the thing, Sarah. You’ve done a wonderful job with your make-up, your hair, your outfit, your shoes, your perfume. It’s all absolutely lovely.’ He stared at her a moment longer. ‘The only problem is, I don’t believe you.’
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Sarah stared back at him.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s simple, really.’ He gestured at her blouse with a wave of his hand. ‘I don’t believe you’d come here all dolled up with your nice outfit and your best shoes and your most expensive perfume. I was fully expecting you to cancel at the last minute, make some excuse that one of your little brats had a sniffle, something along those lines. I didn’t believe you’d come – and I certainly didn’t think you’d come looking like this.’
‘It’s what we agreed.’
He shook his head.
‘You gave in too easily. Far too easily. I think, deep down, in your heart of hearts, you think you’re above it all. You think you’re too good, too virtuous, to have to do something like this.’
Sarah felt the flutters of panic taking flight in her chest, Laura’s words of warning echoing inside her mind: This plan could go seriously wrong if he figures out what’s going on. As in, catastrophically fucking wrong.
The clock on the wall said 7.53. Twenty-three minutes since she had arrived, and still seventeen to go before Laura’s rescuing call.
Seventeen minutes is going to be too long. Far too long.
‘Too good for what, Alan? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.’
‘The truth is that we all have to make sacrifices. All of us are sinners, Sarah. All of us. Marlowe said it himself: ‘If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves.’
‘You’ve got it wrong, you’re –’
He put a finger to his lips. His eyes gleamed with a strange intensity, his pupils reduced to tiny black pinpricks.
‘Shush now.’
Get out. Use the alert word now. Just get out.
As she opened her mouth to speak, he snatched up a black remote control from the table and hit a button. The jazz music coming from the ceiling speakers rose and swelled until it was almost deafening, an onslaught of trumpets and saxophones.
‘What are you doing?’ She could barely hear her own voice against the noise.
He grabbed her mobile from the coffee table, made the screen come to life and shifted over to sit down heavily on the sofa next to her. He took hold of her right hand, gripping the thumb, and pressed it against the Sony Xperia’s home button. Registering her thumbprint, the phone unlocked. She tried to grab it from him but he pushed her hand away, studying the screen. He found what he was looking for and showed it to her.
The recording app was live, the digital counter showing twenty-five minutes elapsed. He hit the end button and the counter stopped. He moved right up close and shouted into her ear.
‘What were you planning to do with this recording?’
Sarah’s heart was slamming so hard against her ribcage she could barely speak.
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing useful, anyway,’ he shouted over the music.
She shook her head.
He went into th
e app’s file manager and erased the recording of their conversation.
‘No matter. Gone now.’
He switched the phone off and walked to the tropical fish tank, holding it over the water.
‘Alan, don’t!’ Remembering the alert phrase again, she shouted: ‘It’s my brand new phone!’
He shrugged and dropped the phone into the fish tank.
‘Oops,’ he said, as it sank rapidly to the bottom.
Had Laura even been able to make out her words, against this noise? It didn’t seem likely.
Lovelock came back to the table and picked up her handbag, going through its contents and feeling the lining. He studied the flick knife before putting it into his trouser pocket, then returned his attention to the bag, looking closely at what appeared to be a decorative stud at one end, studying it from different angles. Finally he raised an eyebrow and nodded slowly to himself.
He dropped the bag and its contents into the fish tank before sitting down next to her again.
‘Those little spy cameras are amazing, aren’t they? Virtually invisible if you don’t know what you’re looking for. Can’t hear me or see me now, can they? Your friends? Can’t hear you either.’
One camera left. One last chance to make this work.
‘Alan, please,’ she shouted over the swooping, lurching cacophony of jazz music. ‘Let’s just talk.’
‘Stand up.’
‘Why?’
‘Just do as you’re told, my dear.’
She stood up, taking a step away from him as she did so.
He studied her, his head on one side. Beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead.
‘Turn around. Slowly.’
She did as she was told, eyes searching the room for something she could use as a weapon. A poker by the fire. A vase on the mantelpiece. She finished her circle and faced him again.
There was a look of triumph on his face.
‘I knew it,’ he said slowly. ‘It’s the brooch, isn’t it? It doesn’t quite work with the rest of your outfit. Almost, but not quite.’
‘It was my mother’s,’ Sarah said. The lie didn’t sound convincing, even to her own ears.
‘Why would you ruin a lovely smart jacket with a fussy little thing like that?’ He gestured with his hand. ‘Take it off.’
