The Second Wife

by Fleet, Rebecca

  When she looks back, Dominic is still watching her, his lips faintly curled in a smile. ‘You like Kas, don’t you?’ he says eventually.

  The phrasing strikes her as strangely coy. She shrugs and nods, meeting his gaze.

  ‘Can he trust you?’ Dominic says then, and there is a new sharpness in his voice. All at once it is as if Kas is there, glinting behind Dominic’s flat, dead eyes. She feels that she is being auditioned for a part she knows nothing about. The air is loaded with something she does not understand; some thickly cloying sense of compulsion and duty, of contracts and promises.

  She turns the question over in her head. There is something second hand about it, as if Kas’s needs and wants somehow render Dominic’s own irrelevant. He is staring at her, unblinking, his pale hands held lightly around his glass. She does not know what warrant she is signing by agreeing, but she finds herself nodding and saying yes. Yes, of course, he can trust me. And once it’s out, there is no taking it back.

  Later, she looks back and sees that after those few words with Dominic at the bar, it all progresses with frightening speed and efficiency. At first it’s inconsequential – the occasional request that she keep an eye on the cloakroom, or take a few orders at the bar, and she’s flattered that they’re comfortable enough with her to ask. It’s only a couple of weeks later that Dominic beckons her into a corner of the club and passes her a small packet, tightly wrapped in silver foil. He names the sum he’s after, directs her towards a man across the dance floor and thanks her casually when she trots back, cash in hand. Over the next few visits, she is passed several more of these parcels. She knows she’s acting as a go-between, a handy buffer to render the transaction harder to trace, but it doesn’t much bother her. She’s bought drugs herself many times, although she’s never sold them, and she can’t see that much difference between the two sides of the coin.

  December 12th. She’s walking to the club through lit-up streets, Christmas lights twinkling and flashing across the night skyline, sparkling like cool blue jewels in the branches of trees. Anticipation runs through her like fever. There is ice on the ground, and the pointed heels of her shoes slip and skid on the treacherous pavements. She is wearing a tight black satin dress that pushes her breasts up like offerings, and she feels the frozen air lashing her bare skin, but inside she is burning. As she picks her way through the shining streets, she reaches into her bag and takes another pill. These days it seems as though they barely dent her consciousness, but the habit persists.

  She walks up to the front of the queue and nods at the bouncer. She doesn’t have to speak; they all know her by now, have been briefed that she is to be let in whenever she wants. She slips past the rope and smiles, seeing the jealousy in the eyes of the other girls in the queue; skimpily dressed, badly made-up, chewing gum or picking cheap nail varnish off their fingernails. She knows Kas would never look twice at any of them. Going to the cloakroom window, she slips her jacket off her shoulders. The air in this anteroom is cold and sterile. She glances at her watch. It is just past ten, the time when the punters start pouring in and the room heats up. Anticipation rushes through her and she throws open the heavy black door, the music surging up and enveloping her as she moves forwards, lights flashing and swooping above her head.

  He’s there, of course, and she sees him straight away. She has grown used to picking him out in a crowd; it’s as if he has his own personal spotlight, constantly trained on him wherever he goes. He’s leaning against the bar, his head tipped slightly back. Even at this distance she can sense a certain tension in the way he holds himself, as if he is preparing himself to fight. As she comes closer she thinks she sees some warning in his eyes, behind the unnaturally reflective gleam that comes off them. He barely seems to see her at first, and for a brief moment her mouth fills with nervous saliva, tasting bitter and sharp. She swallows and steps closer. She doesn’t often approach him uninvited, but tonight she’s feeling reckless.

  ‘Sadie,’ he says, smiling, his perfect, pointed teeth flashing at her for an instant. His full attention is on her, flooding her with warmth. ‘I hoped I would see you tonight.’

  ‘Did you?’ she says, tossing her head. She knows her voice is level, even if she can feel her heart bumping against her ribs. While she is near him she feels herself become someone else, someone almost unrecognizable. She believes he likes this hardness in her – the sense that, like a glittering diamond, her beauty is the type that if used right could cut through whatever it touches. He admires a strong woman, she thinks, and so that is what she is when she is here. That is what she can be.

  ‘Yes.’ He reaches out and pulls a bar stool close to him, motioning her to sit next to him. Sadie smiles and sits, and in the same moment she sees Dominic, standing on the other side of the bar, swigging from a silver flask. She nods a greeting at him, but for once he does not respond. His gaze is intently on Kas and his closeness to her. For some reason, his lack of acknowledgement makes her shiver, as if someone has walked over her grave.

  She drags her eyes back to Kas. He is leaning inwards, his breath strangely cool against her ear. ‘You could help me out with something a little different tonight,’ he is saying, ‘if you wanted. Do you want to help me?’

  Uncertainly, she nods. Kas has never asked her for anything directly before, and something in the question feels odd and unbalanced; she cannot think what she could possibly have that could be of use to him. He is very close now, and with an electric shock she feels one of his hands sliding lightly around her waist and the other coming up to cup her chin, twisting her face towards his. She can smell the sharp cinnamon scent she has come to associate with him, the merest echo of which can make her stop dead in the street, her whole body flooding with longing.

  ‘I can trust you, Sadie,’ he says. There is no hint of a question in his voice. He speaks with such assurance that she instantly thinks of Dominic and his strange, querying tone that night at the bar. She has the eerie sense that her words have been dutifully fed back, her name ticked off a list. She wants to reply, but her mouth is dry. The tips of his fingers are still resting underneath her chin, his thumb pressed hard against the line of her jaw.

  He is silent a few moments before he speaks again, his voice quiet and low, so that she has to strain to hear him. ‘There is a man coming here tonight,’ he says. ‘He is not here yet, but he should arrive in about thirty minutes. His name is George Hart. You don’t know him. He doesn’t know you. Look.’ Swiftly, he pulls a photograph from his pocket. A man of around forty, white and thickset, sandy hair cropped around his temples. The photo has been taken from some distance, across a car park. A prickle of instinctive knowledge tells her that the man was not aware of it being taken.

  ‘You see him?’ Kas says. ‘You could pick him out?’

  She stares at the man’s stocky frame, the good-natured set of his face. He is frozen in the act of unpacking a supermarket trolley into the back of a car. ‘Yes,’ she says.

  ‘Good,’ Kas says. ‘George and I have been working together. He is a good man, but we have some business to discuss. He has agreed to meet me here in the club tonight, but I need to talk to him in private, alone. You understand?’ He is talking smoothly and confidently, barely pausing for her response. ‘I need you to approach him, and bring him to the basement stock room – you know it. Then he and I can talk in peace. Do you understand?’ he says again, and this time it is very definitely a question.

  Sadie runs his words back in her head. Her mind feels fuzzy and amorphous, as if made out of cotton wool. ‘You can’t ask him yourself?’ she says. ‘Why me?’

  Kas shrugs, not taking his eyes from her face. ‘It is better that it does not come from me,’ he says. ‘For reasons I do not understand, people are wary of being alone with me.’ He shrugs elegantly and smiles, but the words send a chill down her spine. ‘And as for why I am asking you … Well, surely that is obvious.’ Now his gaze dips, deliberately sweeps her from top to toe, and despite the panic
that is starting to throb inside her, she feels a sharp pang of desire. ‘You can get him there,’ he says, the conviction in his voice like a caress. ‘I know you can.’

  Sadie glances across the bar again. Dominic is still watching them. She looks back to Kas. ‘This business …’ she says, licking her lips. ‘Is it – is it …’ She realizes that she does not know exactly what she wants to ask.

  ‘There is nothing for you to worry about,’ Kas says soothingly. ‘We will talk, that is all, and then he will go. And after that …’ He lets his words trail off, smiling. She can feel heat radiating off him; she breathes in the scent of him and it makes her head reel. For a brief moment, she shuts her eyes. In the temporary darkness it feels as if he is enclosing her, his presence everywhere at once. She is not stupid, and she knows that she is about to mix herself up in something she does not fully understand, but fiercer than her fear is the need to please him, to do what he wants. It sounds so simple, and it is within her power to do it.

  ‘OK,’ she says, hearing the word fall into the tiny space between them, and he smiles again, drawing back. She sees his muscles visibly loosening, releasing tension.

  ‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘Watch out for him, and bring him down in half an hour or so. I will be waiting.’ He stands up, and, turning, as if struck by impulse, he takes her hand and brings it to his lips. The touch only lasts a second, but as she watches him move away she feels it still burning on her skin.

  She recognizes the man at once. He looks out of place in this setting, dressed in an open-neck blue shirt and a pair of workman’s jeans. Scanning the crowd, every now and then he takes a gulp of beer from his pint glass. Under the strobe lights, his hair is strawberry blond, and she can see a spread of freckles across his cheeks. He’s doing his best to look confident, but she can see a hint of wariness in the way he looks around, his eyes darting back and forth. As she slips closer to him, she sees him briefly suck in his lower lip and tug on it, blinking, before he takes another swift sip.

  She is right next to him now, and she sees him notice her automatically, in the way that men usually do. ‘Been stood up?’ she calls above the music. George Hart is not a tall man, but she tips her head back and looks up at him.

  He swings round and stares at her. She can see that although his mind is elsewhere, he is flattered. ‘Not sure yet,’ he says briefly.

  ‘Well,’ she says, slipping on to the stool next to him, ‘I’ll keep you company while you wait.’

  He frowns, looking her over dubiously. He is double her age; an open, likeable face, but nothing extraordinary. She holds her nerve. In her experience, most men are surprisingly easy to convince that they are stunningly attractive to women. It seems George Hart is no exception. She sees his face relax, and immediately she offers to buy him a drink. He asks for a whisky and Coke this time, and as he knocks it back, his tongue loosens. He drops Kas’s name – ‘the boss man’, he calls him, vaguely waving his arm to encapsulate the club, and asks her if she knows him.

  She shakes her head, but she cannot resist probing a little further. ‘Are you friends?’ she asks.

  George Hart shrugs nonchalantly. She sees a flicker of pride in his eyes. ‘You could say that,’ he says. ‘Known him for a while. He asks me down here sometimes, like tonight – free entry, you know? Seeing as he knows me. Been doing a bit of work for him, actually. Buying and selling? But as it goes,’ he continues, ‘I’ve decided to knock it on the head.’ He leans in, gazing at her with drunken sincerity. ‘Got a baby now, haven’t I, and it’s time to move on. Wash my hands of it.’

  Uncertainly, she nods. ‘Does he know?’ she asks.

  For a moment George’s face looks haggard, doused in apprehension, and then his expression straightens. He waves a dismissive hand. ‘Nah,’ he says, ‘but he’ll be OK.’

  ‘Right,’ she says automatically. Before she can stop herself, the thought flashes into her mind. He does know, she thinks. And that’s what he wants to talk to you about. For an instant, the words tremble on her lips. She looks at him. He reminds her of a kindly neighbour or a seldom-seen uncle; the kind of person she would normally treat with polite detachment and little more. A baby, she thinks. He has a baby. And even though she knows that this means nothing, really, that there must have been a dozen fathers or more who have slavered over her and been inside her, it somehow throws her off-track. She does not want to touch him, and she does not want any part of this. Something is telling her to walk away.

  She almost does it. And then she thinks of Kas down in the basement, waiting for her. She thinks of what he will say if she goes back on her word, and the look of disappointment that he will give her before he turns away from her, for the last time.

  George is starting to fidget and cast his eyes around the club again, watching out for Kas. She forces herself to speak. ‘Look,’ she says, ‘I don’t think he’s around. In any case, if he is, you can catch up later. How about we go somewhere more private?’

  Here it is. She reaches out her hand and places it at the top of his thigh. The material feels scratchy and slightly damp, the muscle beneath tensing under her touch. She glances up at him, her eyebrows raised invitingly; she feels her lips peel apart in suggestion. The moment is white-hot and electrically charged. She has forgotten, in this instant, who this man is; there is only the familiar rhythm of seduction, the cut and thrust of approach and response. George Hart hesitates for a moment, taking one final look around the club, and then he puts his hand on top of hers. The gesture is almost romantic, she thinks, considering the multitude of other places he could have put it. She wraps her fingers around his and pulls him from his seat.

  ‘Come on,’ she says, ‘I know a place.’ She guides him through the swaying crowd, her eyes fixed on the small red spotlight that signals the steps to the basement. She has never been down there before, but she has seen Kas emerging, always locking the door behind him. She knows that this time it will not be locked. Curling her fingers more tightly into the man’s palm, she glances back at him. He looks confused and eager, almost grateful, and for an instant she is pulled up short. She is not sure, not sure at all of what she is doing. But now they are at the steps, and she is pushing the door open and slipping quietly in, unobserved in the dark corner, and pulling him after her. Together, they descend the staircase, and she sees another door to her right, left ajar so that dim light spills out across the floor from the room beyond.

  ‘Here,’ she says. George’s hands are around her waist now, drawing her against him, as she backs against the door and pushes it open. He has lost his earlier finesse, his touch rough and almost aggressive. She leads him into the room, a small, stone-walled storage cavern, almost bare but for a pile of boxes stacked at one end, a corner table and a lamp. In an instant, as the door slams behind them, she sees Kas, standing silently in the corner, leaning back against the wall. Even though she has been expecting it, the sight of him makes her body jolt in shock. She gasps, and George immediately lets go of her. He swings round, and she sees him visibly stiffen and go still. He does not speak.

  Sadie looks at Kas, but his gaze is fixed on George. In another moment, she feels hands on her shoulders, guiding her away. Twisting around, she sees that it is Dominic. He is pushing her back towards the door, and at first, her mind groping for comprehension, she does not resist. In the half-light of the basement, time seems to slow and stop; everything around her is motionless, and she hears the faint, muffled thud of music above, seeping through the ceiling. Her head swims. And then she is suddenly terrified. The fear makes her struggle, kicking out against Dominic, and she hears her own breathing coming hard and fast. Even as she resists she knows that there is no point. He is stronger than her, much stronger, and she is not sure enough of what she is fighting against.

  After that everything happens very fast. She is pushed outside the door, and Dominic comes with her, closing it tightly behind them. He holds her only by the wrist now, but his fingers clutch around the bone like iron. He t
ells her to be quiet, and somewhere in the back of her head she thinks that this is strange, because she has not spoken a word. Her legs are shaking, threatening to collapse below her. They stand there together outside the door for two minutes, maybe three. Dominic’s eyes never leave the dark summit of the staircase. She feels a powerful impulse to run, and the need is so strong that she shifts an inch or two towards the stairs. Let me go, she whispers, so quietly that she cannot be sure that Dominic has heard. He makes no reply, but his grip on her tightens. She looks at him, and sees his face calm and set, his glassy eyes fixed somewhere above her head, as if she is not trembling beside him, as if she is not there at all.

  A knock comes from the other side of the door. With silent efficiency, Dominic swings round and pushes it open. Kas is there, his face oddly alert and searching. He says something that she does not catch. And then they are all inside the little room again, and for just a fraction of a second before the two men move forwards to block her view, she sees it: the shape of a body underneath a rough sheet of sacking, perfectly still. For a few hectic seconds, the pieces do not fit together. Her eyes flick around the room, searching for George, back and forth, each image like the snap of a camera inside her head. There is no one moment when she understands, only a deepening fear and shock that numbs her from head to toe.

  She is shuddering; she doesn’t realize how much until Kas puts his hand on her arm. ‘Go back upstairs,’ he says. ‘Stay by the door for a few minutes, and then go home.’ The words are innocent enough, but every one of them pierces her like a knife. She feels Kas’s fingers under her chin, tipping up her face to meet his. ‘You did well, Sadie,’ he says. ‘You will keep this to yourself.’

  She thinks that there is just the faintest quaver of a question in the last word, a tiny rise in his inflection that seems to demand an answer, but she cannot make herself nod.