She found Dennis in the cramped annexe, looking for a space to put the cherrywood box. He slid it onto a central shelf.
“The estimate’s wrong,” Persephone told him. “You forgot to carry a one.”
He accepted the piece of paper, narrowing his eyes.
“A senior moment.” He took a pen from behind his ear and made an annotation on the page. “I can’t charge him the full amount now. The hundred pounds can stay off the total as a goodwill gesture. I’ll just clear it with Alastair.”
Dennis walked past her. She backed into the shelves to avoid his touch, and her hand brushed the lid of the cherrywood box. It was smooth and warm beneath her skin.
She could learn a lot from a conservation project, she thought. Her resolution that morning not to push her luck melted. Her luck was already pushed. She had told Larkin about enchantments. She had sold her own dolls. What was the point of timidity now? Dennis had reminded her that she was already irredeemable, should Conrad think she’d betrayed him.
Her fingers gripped the box more tightly. Rapidly, before Dennis could notice, she slipped it into the pocket of her apron. He’d said there was a backlog. No one would miss the box till the New Year.
She stepped out of the storeroom, and Dennis locked the door behind her.
40
“Congratulations,” said Madoc. “You got what you went for.”
Larkin had met him for lunch in London, at a restaurant in Coal Drops Yard where every surface was stainless steel or granite. The crowding meant they were yet to receive their starters, but bread was provided, and they were in no hurry.
“How might I lay an enchantment or two?” Madoc asked. “Can I tempt you to tell me?”
“No. Sorry,” Larkin said.
Madoc’s mouth downturned in mock disappointment. “I would never have given you that glowing reference if I’d known you’d be so mean.”
Larkin didn’t rise to the bait. Madoc had never faulted his work. He felt safe in his status as star pupil.
“You’re saving your enchantments for the highest bidder, I take it?” Madoc pressed.
“I haven’t decided yet.” Some day Larkin might well need to sell his new knowledge. But for now, he was enjoying being one of the select few to possess it – for that made the knowledge feel more special. He had other means of making money to exhaust before burning that particular boat. His desire for enchantments had never been about their financial value. He had wanted the control they bestowed over his emotions. He could now feel anything he liked from Lucy’s wallhanging of hexes – and stop feeling it, just as easily.
Madoc sipped from his glass of red wine. “When will you leave Oxford?”
“I may not.”
“But it’s so parochial.” Madoc broke off a corner of bread, and swiped it roughly in the butter dish. “Which it hasn’t any right to be, given the expense of the place. At least London has the decency to be a truly world class city when you cough up to live here.”
“But if I stay – and Conrad officially sanctions my knowledge of the enchantments – I wouldn’t be reliant on Maria’s money any longer. I’d get proper recognition for my talents if I worked at Kendricks.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t love Maria keeping you. How is she?”
“She’s speaking to me again, finally. She’s delighted at the opportunity to fool Conrad Kendrick, with that replica. I don’t know how she can abide forgeries. It’s worse than anonymity – all that talent, attributed to someone else.”
“Surely she’d never let you stay at Kendricks. She’d tell them all about your nefarious past from spite.”
This was too insightful for Larkin’s comfort. “Staying wouldn’t be without its difficulties,” he admitted. “I’ve been trying to persuade Persephone to set up her own business under the Kendricks’ name. Then I could be her partner, but she’d be bringing recognised pedigree. We’d be penniless to begin with – I’d be cutting off the bank of Maria fairly conclusively – so the whole endeavour’s dependent on whether I can get another source of funds to come off.”
Madoc ran a nail between two teeth, to loosen a morsel of bread. “My boy, you’ve buried the lede.”
It took a moment for Larkin to grasp his meaning. “Persephone isn’t the reason I’m rethinking my plans; not in the way you mean. The alliance would be advantageous.”
“I find her pretty.”
“Yes,” Larkin said irritably. “She’d be at home in a Rossetti painting. That hair. But I don’t enjoy her company. She makes me anxious.”
“How so?”
“I’m always uncertain about what she thinks of me. And it’s not exactly a pleasant feeling when I think about her. More like an inability to think about other things. No, that’s not quite right; it’s like I’m compelled to make her relevant to everything else. She gets into everything.”
“Are you having me on? You really haven’t felt this way before?”
“No.”
“Don’t tell Maria that. It sounds like limerence.”
“I don’t like it.”
“It normally wears off quickly.”
“There you are! I’m not thinking of marrying her, or any of that palaver; but we could be useful to each other.”
“Some people find when limerence wears off, love is left.”
Larkin was silent.
“Do you love her?”
“Sometimes I’m in love with Persephone,” Larkin confessed. “And sometimes I’m not, but I want to be. And sometimes I’m relieved to feel nothing for her at all.”
Madoc shook his head. “That poor girl.”
*
When Larkin returned to the eyot, he went directly to Conrad’s house, as the residents were gathering there to welcome home the Paid Mourner. She had been released by the CPS and reinstalled in the cage below Conrad’s stairs.
The gathering immediately struck him as subdued. Talk barely rose above a hum, though a scan of the hall suggested everyone was in attendance – everyone except for Persephone. She had declined, in emphatic terms, on the grounds of bad taste, for it was hard to untangle a celebration of the doll’s return from a celebration of Briar’s imprisonment. Her reaction wasn’t surprising. Of the other residents, Larkin hadn’t expected their presence to be so strained. Surely they couldn’t be feeling bad about Briar, too? They had all suspected him – it wasn’t as though they believed he was innocent – so wasn’t it too late to look regretful about it? Their reaction didn’t make sense to Larkin.
Curiosity drove him to the cage. The forgery was astonishing; he wouldn’t know her from real. As far as he could tell even the crazing was identical, which couldn’t have been easy to achieve.
People were drinking wine, but Larkin couldn’t see any for the taking, so he made for the kitchen. There he found Hedwig, fringe falling in her eyes, as she slid a tray of vol-au-vents from the range.
“Need a hand?” he asked.
“Help me plate these, while they’re still warm.”
He joined her in arranging the tarts on a willow-patterned server.
“It’s going with a swing up there,” he commented.
“Oh don’t, it’s dreadful. What’s the matter with everyone?”
“I’ve no idea. My best guess – they’re angry about the police searches.”
“Still? It’s been weeks.”
“Yes, several of which Conrad was absent for, and no apology has been forthcoming.”
“He’s not going to apologise.” She still smiled, but she looked unusually fatigued. Larkin stared past her, to the open door, to check they were alone.
“You did a good thing, Hedwig.” He leant in, close enough to whisper. “The doll’s perfect.”
“Is she?”
“Her appearance is astonishingly accurate. I can’t speak for the enchantment – but it must pass muster. Conrad wouldn’t be satisfied otherwise.”
“He’s happy as Larry.”
“And he fully accepted the ransom
demand was genuine? He didn’t hesitate to cough up?” Larkin thought again of that two million pounds.
“Everything went perfectly.”
If she’d pocketed most of the ransom she was now a rich woman. He knew for a fact the replica didn’t cost that much. Nowhere near. Larkin thought once more of the money he’d need, if he severed ties with Maria. “So you’re not at all worried about Conrad finding out?” he checked. “What if Briar changes his story?”
“That possibility has crossed my mind. Even if he were to panic, he’s not in a good position to be believed. First he said he didn’t remember what happened; then he said the fairies made him take her, which Conrad believes but won’t change Briar’s legal culpability. Why would anyone believe him if he changes stories again and says she’s a fraud? I’ve never given him the butcher’s details, so he can’t even say who made the doll.” She positioned the last vol-au-vent at the rim of the plate. “I’d better take these up; was there a reason you came down?”
“I was looking for a drink. But on reflection I might head home. The Eyot Tavern calls.”
“Larkin,” Hedwig stalled him. “You haven’t told Persephone, have you? About the replica?”
“No. Why would I do that?”
“Because she’s your girlfriend.”
It seemed to be the day for this discussion. “I’m not sure I’d call her my girlfriend.”
“Would she?”
“No. I don’t think she would.”
“What is she then?”
“I don’t know. Not that. Who told you otherwise?”
“There’s only a few hundred of us here, Larkin, did you think people wouldn’t notice? You pay half her rent. You take her on trips to nice places. One trip, anyway.”
“It was your mother who told you.” Margot was acerbic about Persephone. It wasn’t romantic jealousy, Larkin didn’t think. It was almost jealousy of Persephone having a father – even one as useless as Briar – when Margot’s daughter didn’t. But he acknowledged that his own resentments about paternity secrets might make him read motivations into Margot’s behaviour that weren’t there.
“Mama did tell me, as it happens. I say I would have known even if she’d been discreet. No one’s ever looked at me the way you look at Persephone.”
“Whatever’s between us is expedient. You’re clearly no stranger to that, if your stiff of a policeman is anything to go by.”
He was rarely openly rude, and regretted it now, because it suggested Hedwig had touched a nerve. Her smile didn’t falter; she simply replied: “Spoken like a true Sorcerer.”
“What?”
“It’s just something I’ve noticed. All the Sorcerers get affronted when women can make them feel things. Even Dennis isn’t immune to it, and he’s such a teddy bear in other respects.”
This comment struck Larkin as so self-evidently absurd that he felt better disposed towards Hedwig; she hadn’t any special insight, and her observations on his relationship with Persephone could be safely dismissed. With more mellowness, he said: “Forgive me; I spoke out of turn. It’s been a long day and I really think I should go home.”
As he headed towards the back door, Hedwig said: “It’s still early, Larkin.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Early enough to salvage. Say hello to Conrad for me!”
41
Persephone had lit the fire in her room at the Tavern, and positioned her desk in front of the flames to keep her feet warm. She peered through her magnifier at the cherrywood box. Painstakingly, with a narrow chisel and periodic swabs of alcohol, she scraped the dust and grit that had accumulated along the lid.
On the floor below, the back door opened and closed. Persephone paused to identify the footfall on the stairs. Larkin, not Mrs Mayhew. He knocked for her without first going to his room.
“You’re back early,” she said when he came in. The tips of his ears were rosy from the cold. Noticing this made her stomach flip, and she thought, good grief, what kind of infatuation makes you crave to touch someone’s ears.
“The viewing was very odd.” He removed his gloves. “No one seemed to be in the mood to celebrate.”
Which was fitting, to Persephone’s mind. Celebrating the Paid Mourner’s return was difficult to distinguish from celebrating Briar’s imprisonment, and she couldn’t have drunk and danced with the others in good conscience. Her own feelings were less celebratory, and more relieved. Her father’s removal from the eyot had led to a drop in her defences. It was as though she had been holding her breath all her life, without even realising it, and could now exhale. She would not hear him shouting in the road. He would not be there to start fights or to break her possessions. The tension had gone from her head and her limbs.
Larkin nodded at the wooden box. “What are you working on?”
“Stolen goods. Like father, like daughter.” She laughed nervously. “Sorry. Gallows humour.”
“Where did you steal it from?” Larkin asked, apparently unfazed by her bad behaviour. She explained while he picked the box up and examined it attentively.
When she had finished speaking, he said: “There’s something funny about this pattern. You don’t have a lipstick, by any chance? One with a reflective tube, gold or silver, either would do as long as it reflects well.”
“In the top drawer, over there. Why?”
“Wait and see.” As directed, he rummaged through the make-up drawer. A couple of lipsticks met with his satisfaction. He returned to her desk, standing behind her this time so they would both have a view of the box from the same angle.
“Now if I’m right—” He placed one of the lipsticks at the centre of the box, right in the middle of the circular pattern. “There! It’s an optical trick, called anamorphosis.”
The swirling patterns were reflected in the golden lipstick case. But because the case was curved and cylindrical, the reflection formed a different, coherent image. In the shining surface Persephone saw a man and a woman, kissing. He wore a dinner suit, she a feathered veil and white flapper dress.
“How beautiful,” Persephone said.
“You’re beautiful,” Larkin told her, and kissed the back of her neck. Her skin effervesced, from the base of her head to her elbows. He kissed her again, where the top of her spine met the zip of her dress.
“Can I undo this?” he asked.
“Yes.” She heard the purr of it unfasten. He exposed her shoulder. The bra strap fell with her sleeve and he kissed the pink groove it had left behind.
“Just the same as before; yes?” he asked.
“No,” she said, her eyes on the hearth.
“No?”
“Last time I said I didn’t want to have sex. I changed my mind. I do. If you still want to.” She stood, and added more kindling to the flames.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” The anxiety about her inexperience had relented. At first she was unsure why. But she found sex easier to contemplate now, and it seemed related to the lack of tension in her body; to the fact she was no longer on permanent alert. “I don’t have anything, I’m not on the pill, or—”
“It’s OK. There’s some condoms in my pocket.”
She turned to face him. His lips were parted; his eyes trained on her naked shoulder. She shrugged off the other sleeve and let the dress fall to the floor. They stared at each other for a few seconds more. He broke their stillness by swooping in to kiss her mouth, their teeth colliding. His one hand cupped her jaw, the other stroked her waist. The scent of the workroom clung to him – beeswax and varnish – and beneath that was his own odd fragrance, which was as sour and moreish as the tang of a truffle. The wool of his coat scratched her skin. He had so many clothes on. They were removed at speed, the condoms thrown on the bed. She felt, briefly, more shy in the face of his nakedness than her own; more shy about looking, than being looked at. But I’m here to look, she thought, warding off self-consciousness. As he moved to kiss her again, she said: “Hang on. I just want to see you.”
He was slight, and his skin cream in the firelight. A tattoo of a black and white feather adorned his upper arm. The hair on his chest was fine and symmetrical. His penis was rigid against his stomach. She had thought about what it would look like and yearned to touch. Nerve or initiative failed her.
In a mirror of her thoughts, he said: “Christ I’m scared.”
“You are?”
“Yes.”
For him, it must be the enchantment raising the stakes.
“I’m not frightening,” she said.
“You’re terrifying.”
She let him kiss her this time. They pressed close, his skin next to hers. They lay on the bed. His mouth traced its way to her nipple, and next to her navel. He moved his hand between her legs. He remembered how she liked to be touched. She peaked quickly, leaving her limbs heavy and her vision pricked with light. Newly languid, she sought to return the favour, watching his face for permission.
“Can you show me how?” she asked. “Like I showed you?”
He placed his hand over hers to guide its motion. She listened to his breath quicken until he said, softly, “Wait.”
“Doesn’t it feel good?”
“Yes – that’s why you need to stop.”
The condom wrapper crackled before it tore. She waited until he was ready to hold her. His leg shifted between hers, then he was on top of her. His shoulder tasted of salt. Their skin adhered with moisture. He pushed into her by increments and there was no pain as she’d feared; only the sensation of being stretched past a point she’d known she wanted. She struggled at first with finding a rhythm, and followed his cue. Perspiration made him gleam; his colour was high. At last he cried out and his full weight pressed upon her ribs and pelvis as he relaxed. It was not that they were finished. But they would take their time. They were less apprehensive, and more curious. By sunrise her mouth would be sore and she would throb inside and her legs would be tired, as tired as if she had spent the night walking the Thames Path. With the dawn, Larkin rose from her bed and picked up the cherrywood box. He stood, naked, re-examining it.
The Thief on the Winged Horse Page 22
