She picked her head up and stared at Gertlinger with something he’d hoped to see but never expected to.
Lust.
Their relationship had been platonic, professional, and even wooden at times — but now, instantly, it was something vastly different.
‘You were amazing,’ she said, near breathless. ‘I never expected it from you.’
She hit the B2 button and the box began to trundle down towards the underground car park.
‘Neither did I,’ Gertlinger replied shakily.
Angela blushed a little and looked him in the eye. ‘I don’t quite know how to say this, but I feel like I’m seeing you in a different light all of a sudden. I’ve always thought of you as brilliant, but now… There’s something more.’ She swallowed and looked down. ‘Doctor, I—’
‘Call me Florian,’ he said quietly, trying to breathe. Forcing himself to. His heart had kicked back into overdrive again.
‘Florian,’ she said, her cheeks flushing even more. ‘I always try to keep my work life and my personal life separate. But since I only have a work-life, it doesn’t leave much room for the personal… And there hasn’t been anyone who… I mean, I haven’t with anyone for a long time, but… seeing you up there, talking like you were, there was just something so real about it, so heartfelt, so raw. I was impressed. And that doesn’t often happen. But more than that, I was moved by it. I’ve always felt that… I mean… It…’ She shook her head and looked away bashfully. ‘Shit, sorry. Look at me. I’m rambling. I just don’t want this to come out wrong, or jeopardise our working relationship, or—’
‘Angela.’ Gertlinger cut her off. ‘Now you are rambling.'
She smiled at him and he smiled back at her.
‘I just don’t want you to think less of me when I say this. I’ve never been good at the whole should we shouldn’t we, does he doesn’t he… thing.’
He drew a sharp breath, trying to keep up with her rapid mumbling. ‘Angela.’
She paused for only a second before she came out with it. ‘I want you, Florian. And I want you now.’
Gertlinger swallowed and met her gaze. There was a silence between them as the elevator stopped and the doors opened onto the parking garage. The cool air of the basement level circled slowly around them as she kept her eyes locked on his. He was still stunned. He’d hoped she would say those words for so long, and after her strange rambling, he’d even sort of half expected it, but to hear it out loud was still utterly stupefying.
After a minute, the doors began to close and Gertlinger automatically reached across the threshold to keep them open, still searching for the correct response to Angela’s statement.
He couldn’t find one, but he didn’t need to.
As per usual, she had all the words. ‘That wasn’t too forward, was it? I like to be honest and I like to get what I want. There’s no point deluding ourselves, is there? You want me, too, don’t you?’
‘N-No, there’s not — any point deluding ourselves, that is,’ Gertlinger stammered. ‘And no, you weren’t too forward. The perfect amount, I’d say.’ He cleared his throat and tried to rid it of the quiver that was giving his nerves away.
Angela smiled her big, seductive, disarming smile and stepped a little closer to him. ‘Good, then you won’t mind me telling you that I’m very turned on right now.’
Gertlinger swallowed hard, shaking his head. ‘No, I don’t mind.’
‘There’s just something about a man who can stand in front of a crowd like that and turn them…’ Angela stepped even closer. His breathing tightened as the smell of her perfume encircled him. She gently swung her hair off her face and reached. Her fingers delicately ran up the front of his shirt and over his chest, lingering at his collar as she caressed his neck. He shivered under her touch.
‘We can go whenever you’re ready,’ she whispered after a second, noting his hands stiffly at his sides, realising that his apparent lack of reciprocation wasn’t down to anything other than plain inexperience.
Under her direction, they came face to face and she gently pressed her lips to his. They were soft, delicate. She kissed him gently, as though he were about to shatter. He felt like he was.
She dictated the pace and they started tentatively, Gertlinger still floating in a state of blissful languor. He’d expected, at any moment, to wake up and still be faced with the podium and an angry mob after having collapsed in front of it in a puddle of anxiety. That all of this would be a dream. But it wasn’t, and he found himself growing more relaxed, more excited. His experiences with women had been fleeting, rare, and above all else, mundane. He wasn’t all that interested in them, and they were less interested in him. But now, Angela was here, with him, fulfilling the fantasy that he’d harboured for what seemed like forever.
She pushed him against the wall, blind with fervour, and rolled her tongue against his. He felt her body against his chest and his hands traced eagerly along her back down her thighs. Her figure felt slight under his hands, the hands of an unfledged man.
There wasn’t much love in his life — there never had been. He’d slept with only a small handful of women and had never married or settled down. A woman like this, a woman like Angela — beautiful, intelligent, accomplished — she was a mirage to him. A perceived oasis in the sexual desert of his life. One that didn’t exist
A thought crossed his mind, then. What would she think of him? She would want to see washboard abs and the performance of a stallion, not soft fleshy bulges and a ten-second mile. He felt nervous again as her hands ran over his stomach and settled at his belt. His fears reared up and nausea hit. But then, as her hands settled there, not hurried or expectant, his fears seemed to slip away as quickly as they’d come. His hands moved down and curled around her thighs. She breathed softly into his collar as his fingers explored her curves.
He smiled to himself, genuinely happy for the first time in a very long time. There was his work. There was always his work. But he’d always dreamed of more. And now that it was suddenly within reach, he knew that he never wanted to let it go. Let her go. She was it for him, and he wanted to tell her that. He wanted to say it with every shred of man that he was, and even then he knew that it wouldn’t be enough to really convey just how he felt.
She pulled away from him and took his hand. ‘Come on,’ she said, leading him out of the lift. She walked quickly across the parking lot, pulling him along behind her. She reached into her inside breast pocket and pulled out a small black fob. She clicked it and the lights on a black GSC town car blipped in the corner. She amended her heading and moved towards it. The car was long — practically a limo, with a spacious back seat, a cabin divide and blacked out windows. She tore the door open and it swung wide, bouncing off the stop. She shed her jacket and hurled it into the car. With a coy smirk, she grabbed Florian by the tie and pulled him into the back seat. She locked the doors and then set about getting undressed—
‘Doctor Gertlinger?’
‘Angela?’ he replied absently, still deep in the memory of that first triste.
‘No, it’s Eleanor…’ came an alien voice from outside of the fantasy.
Like the lash of a whip, he was back in the room, in front of the huge studio audience, face to face with Eleanor, the chat show host. The movie had finished on the big screen and she was staring at him, eager to start the interview.
He was just glad he had his legs already crossed, because he was still far too immersed in the memory than was appropriate for a live television audience.
Gertlinger cleared his throat and forced himself to acclimate, smiling broadly, like Angela had taught him so long ago.
Eleanor spoke again. ‘So, Doctor, tell us what we can expect over the next few years?’
Gertlinger feigned laughter. ‘Well, the short answer is… nothing. You see, now that the ship has passed out of range, we can merely trust that the onboard computers do their job.’ He made sure to use the word “trust” not “hope”, as he’d been
instructed. ‘Every simulation we’ve run has been successful and all the onboard readings were perfect at the time of transmission loss. So things are looking good. We won’t know of course for almost thirteen years, but it’s all fingers crossed.’ He held his hands up and showed them off to the crowd. People laughed.
The exchange continued as Eleanor asked Gertlinger questions that did nothing but make him and the GSC look good. It was a welcomed change from being on with Tamara a decade ago now, when she’d tried in vain to make him look like a brute.
The rest of the interview went by in a blur and then Gertlinger was nodding and smiling to the applause of the audience, a guy next to camera one with a headset on nodding and counting them out. The theme music to signify the show’s end played and Eleanor thanked him one last time for his presence.
The evening sun was low and orange in the sky as Gertlinger emerged back onto the street outside the studios. On autopilot, he pulled out his phone and dialled a number. It rang four times and then Angela answered.
‘What is it, Florian?’ she sighed.
‘I was just thinking about you, and—’
She cut him off. ‘You know you shouldn’t be calling. And especially not to say things like that.’ Her voice stung his ears, but he thought he could hear a sadness there, too. Distantly. Deeply. Faintly.
‘I know, I’m sorry. Where are you?’ he asked dejectedly.
‘I’m working.’
‘I know, but where?’ He was almost pleading. ‘I want to see you. I want to see him, I want to see Max.’
There was silence for what seemed like an age. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she said, quietly, as though she was cupping her hand over the phone and muttering so that someone wouldn’t overhear her.
‘Not a good idea? I have a right to see him.’
‘I know you do, but I’m working nonstop and I can’t just drop everything the second you call. You know that, Florian.’
‘I know… I know. But I’m happy to come to you. Where are you? Just tell me where.’
More silence. She took a breath. ‘Berlin.’
Gertlinger smiled, feeling his throat ache, his eyes burn. ‘I’m flying into Geneva tomorrow. I can change my flight and connect through Berlin.’
‘You can’t just call me up out of the blue like this and demand—’
‘I’m not demanding anything,’ Gertlinger snapped. ‘I know you won custody, but he’s as much my son as he is yours. You can’t stop him seeing his father. I’ll text you the flight schedule when I know it.’
She sighed. They were both too tired to argue anymore. ‘Okay.’
‘And Angela?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I miss you.’
The words hung in the air and a moment of stillness settled on the line. And then she jerked the noose tight.
‘Goodbye Florian,’ she said flatly.
And then she hung up.
EIGHTEEN
THE VEIL
2122 AD
‘Jesus, Aaro — it’s palatial,’ Sorina laughed, rolling across the bed.
The plush white duvet enveloped her almost entirely as she settled in the middle, looking up at the bright moulded ceiling above.
Aaro smiled and chuckled a little as he twisted the cork out of a champagne bottle on the other side of the room. It popped loudly and surprised him. He hadn’t opened a sealed bottle in over a decade. The gold-foiled container sat neck deep in a sterling silver bucket of ice, on top of a chrome tray that had been placed in their room. A card was folded and stood next to it. The words “Good Luck!” were written in a fancy scrawl.
‘It should be. Could be our last ever night in a bed — I’m glad they’re treating us.’ Aaro examined the cork, sucked on the sodden end, and then cast it aside, aiming for a wastebasket. He missed.
‘Don’t say things like that,’ Sorina called, propping herself up on her elbows. She hung her head backwards and inspected the room. ‘I didn’t even know they still had hotels. I thought they had all been closed down or repurposed into apartment blocks.’
‘Stockholm is a different world.’ It really was like being on a different planet. In a different time.
‘You’re telling me.’ She grinned at him as he approached with a glass for her, the golden liquid misting gently it was so cold. He sat on the edge of the bed and she took it. ‘Here’s to one last night of five-star luxury before the worst and perhaps last few days of our lives.’
She pondered his words before tentatively clinking her glass with his. The mood sank suddenly. ‘Do you really think we won’t make it back?’
Aaro did his best to smile reassuringly at her. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘They’ve definitely prepared well for this trip, and there’s a lot riding on it. I don’t think they’d go through with it if they didn’t honestly think it could work.’
She bit her lip. ‘I guess you’re right.' She drained her glass and motioned for a refill. He did the same. It was the elephant in the room. All of this was a last meal. Prisoners on death row getting one last lobster dinner before they’re strapped to a chair and plugged in.
They both polished off another glass in silence. Aaro looked around, cradling the flute between his fingers.
The floor was oak boarded and covered with an especially regal-looking mauve rug. The walls were panelled white and freshly painted and the coving was thick and ornate, leading into the centre moulding which gave way to a miniature crystal chandelier. The room was bathed in soft white light. He couldn’t help but wonder if all the rooms were like this, or whether this one had been redecorated just for them. A bathroom led off to one side and on the other was a large window. Aaro stood and walked towards it. He had the bottle in one hand and the glass in the other. He refilled on the way and stood, spinning the champagne in slow circles, listening intently as it fizzed.
Beyond the glass, the city lights twinkled.
It was almost unreal. The sound of an old city rung muted through the glass. Car engines and dogs barking. Like a city should be. Aaro swallowed. This was now an oasis in the desert. Out there, beyond the lights and the city walls lay thousands of miles of Vara country, where death lurked in every stagnant ditch and behind every gnarled tree. And that’s just where they were heading. When Sorina had asked him if he thought that they’d get back alive, he’d lied. He knew they were going to die. She’d escaped their clutches once, but all she’d done was run. They’d been in a large group and there was safety in numbers. She’d had a headstart and wasn’t around to face the danger they really posed. She was fast. She was at the front of the group. Her family weren’t. She’d told him what happened. Of how they haunted her and scarred her. Stalking her every waking thought and invading her every sleeping nightmare. But she knew nothing. She knew what she thought, what she dreamed, what she was told… But Aaro? Aaro knew too well from what he’d seen, and what he’d done. He’d faced them and survived, barely, and only by dumb luck. And determination. And he didn’t come out unscathed. He shouldn’t have survived really. He should have died. Ten times over. He always felt like he was meant to, like he’d done wrong by not going to her, by not joining his Emilie wherever she was. She called and she beckoned, but stubborn as he was, he survived instead. Just to live on in this godforsaken wasteland they called Earth. Only to face a death later on, now with less hope in his heart and less resilience in his soul. He didn’t know if he could endure going out there again.
He believed in heaven even less now than he did then, but somehow more in hell than ever. He was sure that there was no God out there — not like the ones Christians spoke of, at least. A merciful, forgiving, understanding, loving God. Aaro grimaced at the thought. No, there was no such thing. Devils, however? Yeah, they roamed freely, cutting down, maiming and eating anyone unlucky enough to cross their paths. They plucked people from one hell and sent them straight to another.
And that’s where Aaro was heading.
I’m sorry, Emilie. Sorry I left y
ou alone for so long down there. But don’t worry, I’m coming. I’ll be there soon.
Aaro blinked and his vision blurred behind a teary sheen. The neck of the flute snapped in his tightly curled fingers and blood ran warmly from between them and dripped onto the freshly buffed floor.
He stared into the distance as Sorina approached. Her bare feet padded softly on the rug as she came up behind him, standing close enough that he could smell her perfume. She clutched at his hand with a pristine white towel, saying nothing, and laid her head against his shoulder. With her other hand, she clasped a fistful of his sweater and held herself against him. He felt her throat move against his skin as she swallowed softly.
‘Don’t worry. I’m scared too,’ she murmured into his back.
Aaro dragged his arm across his face to wipe away the tears, and turned. Tugging his hand free from the towel he laid down the broken glass on the table next to the window and put his other arm around Sorina, holding the bloodied one aloft not to douse her. She looked up at him through her fringe, her lips quivering and cheeks flushed. She looked as though she was about to burst into tears. Her heart was full of emotion. Sadness, hope, regret, but mostly fear. He could see it in her. Feel it coming off her, through her skin like heat.
He pressed his lips against her forehead and held them there, holding her in his arms. After a minute he exhaled and released her. Their eyes met and they shared a long, slow kiss. It evolved naturally from there. Usually, they were no better than animals, but tonight, that didn’t seem befitting. This was a night to be treasured and remembered. One to be savoured. Aaro walked her slowly backwards, kissing her soft mouth, tugging at her bottom lip with his teeth. Warm breath rolled across his face and her eyes fluttered closed as she gave herself to the moment. Her fingers curled in the back of his sweater and gripped tighter as they reached the bed and sank backwards into it. The duck down absorbed them and Aaro lowered himself onto her, pressing his body into hers. She kissed him harder now, as though when she pulled away it would all be over.
The Veil Page 12
