by Dee Palmer
“No. I’m not sure how many times I have to say the same damn…oh, fuck.” My attempt to ease his mind dries on my lips, and I feel my perfect little world drop away with the flashback.
“What?” He doesn’t pull his hands from mine, but I can feel the desire to do so is as strong as my need to hold him to me and make it all go away.
“He didn’t pay me, Jørgen; you have to believe me. I have never received money for sex, and if that’s what the article says, its a fucking lie, but…”
“But?”
“Jørgen,” My voice cracks, the plea in his name crumbles unheeded against his stony demanding reply.
“Hope.”
“My purse was stolen that night. It’s how I ended up back at his hotel, and in the morning, he gave me money for my cab.”
“How much?”
“Excuse me?”
“How much money did he give you?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Really? Because he evidently did. He said he paid you five hundred pounds.”
“Oh.”
“Oh? That’s all you have to say. It didn’t strike you as a lot of money?” His narrow eyes match the icy accusation. It’s like a glacier has descended around him. It chills the air around us, freezing his feelings for me; if not dead, certainly into instant hibernation.
First hurdle down. Why did I think this would be any different? Because he’s different. Well, Hope, newsflash! No he isn’t. And judging by the way he’s glaring, it’s safe to say our fairytale is well and truly over.
“He was loaded, and frankly, no, it didn’t. And it never occurred to me he considered it payment for sex because, trust me, if that was the case, my ass is worth a shit tonne more than five hundred quid.” Channelling my anger is the only defence I have to fight the unbearable hurt and humiliation I can feel just waiting in the wings. It’s only a matter of time before that brings me to my knees, but I won’t break now, not here and not in front of him.
“Fuck, Hope, just how stupid do you have to be?”
“What?” Holding my hands up and away from him in shock, I step back. I don’t know who I’m more disgusted with at this point. Him for being an arsehole or me for believing he was different. I slip the rings from my finger and hold them out for him.
“Hope, don’t!” He steps toward me only to stop when I hold up a warning finger.
“Don’t what, Jørgen? Don’t do something else stupid? Too late, I already did; I married you.”
MY VISION IS BLURRY FROM the lack of sleep and too much whiskey for this time in the morning. I’m a wreck, and I know I shouldn’t be in my office, but I can’t stand to be anywhere else right now. At least here I can pretend to be a fully functioning adult, in my apartment, alone, I am anything but. Frustration and desperation are my only companions, and they’ve kept me awake for three days straight as I’ve tried fruitlessly to track down my wife.
I slide my arm sharply across my desk, sweeping everything to the floor. My computer monitor, keyboard, pens, phone and the full glass of water that Thomas brought in and placed next to my whiskey when he arrived first thing. The whisky is safe in my other hand as everything else from my desk crashes to the floor.
“Fuck!” Flopping back into my chair, I’m looking up to the heavens, cursing the last dead end and praying for some divine intervention when Thomas pokes his head around the door.
“Sir?”
“What is it, Thomas?”
“Sir, I don’t mean to pry.” He steps into the room and walks over to the debris on the floor.
“I’m fairly confident that’s exactly what you mean to do.” I tip the crystal tumbler up and empty the glass. Dragging my hand through my hair and squeezing the solid tension in my neck, I let out an agonisingly heavy sigh. Exhaustion and shame cloak my mind, filling me with doubt and desolation. It’s not a feeling I like, and I know I’m not handling it well. The last time I felt anything like this, I fled to Vegas to drown my sorrows, yet this is so much worse. This is my fault, and I know it, and until I find her, there’s fuck all I can do about it.
“Is there something I can do to help?” He replaces the monitor and picks up everything from the floor.
Walking around my desk toward the open and half empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, I let out a humourless laugh when I answer him. “Have you perfected time travel?”
“Still working on that one, actually. Sorry.” He steps to block my path, and when I step around him, he takes the glass from my hand and gives me a look. I should be irritated. No, I should be fucking furious at his interference but right now, I don’t know who I am. The only thing I know is that, without her, I won’t ever be me.
“You can’t help, Thomas. No one can. I …fuck!” I drop to sit on the low leather sofa in the corner of my office. Thomas takes the seat in the chair opposite, but not before fetching a fresh glass of water and pointedly placing in on the coffee table before me.
“You said that already. In fact, you’ve said little else for the past three days. I take it things didn’t go to plan with Ms Mathews on the island?”
“Things went perfectly to plan with Ms Matthews on the island. They just went to hell in a handbasket when we got back to London.”
“I saw the newspapers. I take it you did warn her that the press can be, excuse my language, bastards.” He lowers his voice on the swear word.
“I did, but in this instance, I was the bastard.”
“Sir?” He exhales, and the shock in his tone is as clear as the confusion on his face.
“I—” My throat closes around my explanation of events. The high definition flashback cleaves at the space in my chest, and the agony of watching Hope walk away with my heart renders me speechless.
“You didn’t believe what they printed, did you?” His eyes widen with horror.
“I didn’t handle it very well.” I have to rub the rawness from my eyes as tears start to threaten. I am ashamed of the way I behaved, but I won’t cry here. Thomas offers a concerned compassionate smile but wisely moves this unprecedented conversation forward and hopefully to a conclusion.
“I see. So I take it she’s not answering your calls?” He takes his notepad from his inside jacket pocket and is instantly my highly efficient PA. With pen in hand, he is ready to try and fix my mess. If only it were that simple.
“Her voicemail is full. The phone at least hasn’t left her apartment, but she’s not there. I’ve checked.”
“How have you checked exactly?”
“I haven’t broken in, if that’s what you’re looking so worried about. I’ve parked outside for the last three nights, and when I’m here, I’ve had Boris, our head of security for BlueSky, sit there in my place. There’s been no movement. I’ve checked everything I can think of, and I can’t bloody find her.”
“You’ve tried her work?”
“No, I didn’t think of that. Of course I’ve bloody tried Serenity.” The sarcasm might not be helpful, but honestly, it’s a ridiculous question. Hope’s passion is her work, and it’s the first place I checked. “They aren’t expecting to hear from her for a few weeks. She told the operations manager that she was going off grid. I even told her it was an emergency, but the only contact number they have is for her mother, and I know she’s still on her cruise. Fuuuuuck!”
Thomas is silent until I’ve finished howling like a lone wolf. “When is her mother due back?”
“In two days.”
“Right, well, that’s the fall-back position, but in the meantime, there is plenty we can do. I take it you’ve asked Boris to check the airports? Sorry, silly question. How about online? ”
“He has a contact at the Met Police that is looking into all the major exit points from the UK, and I have checked online; she hasn’t posted anything.”
“Do you mind if I also take a look? I might be able to trace some of her friends’ accounts and find her that way.”
“I would appreciate that, Thomas, thank you.”
“No problem.” He finishes writing whatever on his pad, stands, brushes the creases from his trousers and goes to leave the room. He stops at the door. “Sir?”
“Yes.”
“You might want to take a shower and have a shave. You look a little feral.” He wrinkles his nose as if he can still smell the stale stench of my three days of despair from across the room.
“That’s an apt description of my current state.”
“Yes, but your sister is here, and—”
“Storm, is here? Why? Where is she?” Sitting bolt upright, my head groans with the sudden movement. The thick fog of alcohol hinders my ability to process the information Thomas is spoon-feeding me like a patient parent.
“I assume she’s here because she’s seen the papers and is concerned about you. Especially since you haven’t been returning any of her calls. Her flight just landed, so I imagine she’ll be here in a couple of hours, depending on the traffic.”
“Shit!” I reach for the glass of water and gulp it down.
“Well, at least the expletives are getting a little cleaner.”
Wiping my mouth, I flash a warning look at my PA’s quip. “That will be all, Thomas.”
“Very good, sir.”
The scalding water of the shower in my office en suite did feel good. The heat seemed to seep into my tense muscles and ease some of the physical pain, if only for a short time. Any respite is welcome. I wipe the steam from the mirror and stare at my reflection. I can’t face having a full shave, and my beard is already filling out. My eyes are bloodshot, tired, and empty. I look almost as shitty as I feel, but I’m clean and in fresh clothes. It’s as good as it’s going to get until I have some good news, until I make this right.
I’m pulling a tie from a concealed drawer when Thomas knocks.
“Come in.”
“Oh, that’s better, sir. Storm just called. She’s fifteen minutes away.” His smile is wide and genuine, and as much as I’m grateful, I am struggling to care about anything other than finding Hope. I could look like a scarecrow for all it matters to me, however, I don’t want to worry my sister any more than she clearly is, and I’d rather not have a picture of me looking like a hobo hitting the papers.
“Fine, would you make a dinner reservation? I don’t much care where.”
“Burger King it is, then.” He flips and mock salutes.
“Tell me, Thomas, do you enjoy working here?” The colour vanishes from his face when his eyes meet my glacial glare. He may be trying to lift my spirits with an attempt at a joke, but this is not the time or place, and until she’s back, I am not that person.
“Excuse me, sir, I’ll book Hide; it’s one of Storm’s favourites.”
“How very appropriate.”
“Indeed, sir.” His eyes are on the floor, and I feel like a royal shit for snapping at him. He turns abruptly to leave, and I cough to stop him. He looks up, and I force my mouth into some sort of gracious smile, which even I can feel is more like a grimace; however, it’s the best I can manage.
“Thank you, Thomas.”
“Very good, sir.” He cocks his head with understanding. I don’t know what’s worse, empathy and understanding or hurt feelings. Oh, wait, yes I do.
“JJ!” My sister barges past Thomas, a blur of short, ice-white hair and wearing a bright red quilted coat that’s ten sizes too big for her tiny frame. From the doorway, she launches herself across the room fast, high, and right at me. I brace, stretch my arms, and all too late. She crashes into my chest, knocking the wind from my lungs and her name from my mouth in a gasp.
“Storm.” Her arms constrict tighter and tighter around my neck until I really can’t breathe. Her legs are now dangling, and when she takes her own weight, I quickly ease myself out of her anaconda grip. Holding her shoulders away from me, our eyes meet. This has to be the first time she is looking me up and down searching for signs, rather than the other way around.
“Oh, JJ, I’m so sorry. You look…oh, god, JJ, you just look so heartbroken.” She slips my hold and rushes forward again, her face burrows hard against my chest. She hugs my waist this time, and I let her. I need it. Thomas has slipped out of the room at some point, and I’m hoping it was before Storm hit the nail on my heart.
“I’ve had better days.”
“You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to pretend with me, Jørgen.” Her pixie features contort with sadness. The deep blue of her eyes glisten with emotion. She always did feel things in four dimensions and glorious Technicolor, wearing her heart on her sleeve like a flashing beacon.
“Actually, I do. It’s the only way I can keep it together.”
“Come on, let’s get you home.” Slipping to my side, she keeps one arm around my waist. She barely reaches my shoulder in height but makes up for it with her firm manoeuvring of us out of my office and toward the elevators.
“Thomas made reservations. Let me take you out for dinner.” Thomas nods and hands me my coat as Storm fails to slow her determined pace. “I believe I could use the distraction.”
“And some food by the look of you.” She shakes her head as we both catch my reflection in the lobby doors. I’ve definitely looked better.
In the elevator, I press the button for the garage and Storm raises her judgmental brow.
“You’re not driving, Jørgen, I can smell the whiskey on you,” she admonishes.
“I’m not driving, you are.”
“What! What about your driver?” Panic pitches her voice to a wince-inducing squeal.
“I gave him the week off.”
“The restaurant’s not far. Can’t we get a taxi?” I stride from the elevator and walk toward my car. Storm skips to keep up, tugging on my sleeve for me to slow down.
“I’d like to go somewhere first.”
‘Where?”
“I’d just like to check.” Muttering, I can feel the tension surging in my veins, rising with the frustration that has my temper on the ragged edge.
“Check?”
“Please Storm. Don’t push me,” I snap, check myself, and manage to curb the edge to my tone enough to at least be civil. My jaw is locked, and I still have to push the words through clenched teeth as I’m forced to explain. “I want you to drive to Hope’s apartment so I can see if she’s returned home and I don’t want some taxi driver bearing witness to what happens when I realise she hasn’t.”
“Okay, JJ, okay. It’s going to be all right.” Her features crumple and soften with understanding. It’s so much worse, and I have to close my eyes at the fresh wave of pain consuming me, rendering me immobile and mute.
She sucks in a slow, deep breath, and her whole demeanour changes from dark to light with a metaphorical flip of a switch. She is instantly all business and action. “Let’s go, then.”
The engine fires up, and she swallows thickly as the beast of a car smoothly rolls forward, and we head out onto the busy London streets, immediately hitting enough traffic to make this a longer than average journey. Storm takes the silence as an invitation to grill me. I don’t blame her. She must have a million questions about Hope. Still, she surprises me with a wholly different line of questioning.
“So you’ve had someone watching Hope’s place all the time since you got back? Why do you need to check personally? I mean, I’m not judging, I’m just asking. Surely they’ll let you know if she comes home?”
“I only have someone doing the day shift.”
“And you do the night shift.” It’s a statement, but I answer all the same.
“Yes.”
“I see.”
“It’s possible you do.”
“She’ll forgive you.” Our eyes meet briefly.
“I accused my wife of less than a week of being a prostitute, Storm. She’d be quite within her rights to never forgive me.”
“You love her?”
“Yes.”
“And she loves you?”
“She did.” Exhaling, I feel the painful wr
ench in my chest at the notion everything has changed. It can’t.
“She does, people don’t fall out of love that quickly,” she argues.
“Why not? People fall in love that quickly.”
“Work with me here, JJ. Even if she was that fickle, you are not the impetuous type, so I can only assume, for both of you this is real and you both still love each other. This is just a misunderstanding.”
“A fairly substantial misunderstanding.”
“I don’t argue that. Still, mistakes happen. You just happen to be the one that messed up first. A new experience for you, I believe?”
“Indeed.”
“Trust me JJ, she’ll forgive you.”
I daren’t give that flame of hope any oxygen as I voice my more immediate concern. “I still have to find her first.”
“That you do.” She pats my leg and quickly replaces her hand on the steering wheel of my Maybach. She drives an electric car back home and the roar of the six litre V8 engine has her shaking every time she puts her foot on the gas.
The sat nav guides us across town, and I am suddenly aware that Hope and I aren’t the only ones affected by that article. “What did father say? I take it he saw the article?”
“He didn’t. His press secretary informed him. He issued a statement supporting you, questioning the truth of the article, and requesting privacy for the family. The usual. I think he was a little hurt you didn’t tell him first.”
“I didn’t know until I saw the headline. Besides, it isn’t true; she never took money for sex.”
“Not that bit, that you didn’t tell him you were getting married.”
“Oh, that…I didn’t know she would say yes, and if I’d told him, he would’ve told mother and, well…” I shrug, and a knowing smile is creeping up the side of Storm’s face.
“It certainly wouldn’t have been a surprise for Hope, that’s for sure. Mother would’ve been at the island before you with flowers, a cake, and a dressmaker.” She lets out an affectionate light laugh.
“Exactly.”
“Still, you need to call them, they are both a little frantic.”
