Connected (12 page)

Peter stood still, his feet rooted to the floor.
He closed his eyes, replaying the moment in his mind. Part of him wanted to
rush after her and ravish her there and then. Another part of him wanted to get
as far away as he could. He had wanted to kiss her almost from the first moment
they had met, but now he was terrified. For more than twelve years, he had
never kissed the lips of a woman other than his wife. In spite of all the
fantasies, he had felt safe in the knowledge that they were only that. It had
become a game to think one thing, while saying and acting another. It had been
harmless fun to imagine that Isabelle had felt the same way, without really
knowing if it were true. He had revelled in the delicious pleasure of imagining
an unfolding affair, while simultaneously denying that such a thing could ever
exist. And yet deep down, had he not known that eventually, inevitably, he
would arrive at this point?

For a while he had noticed the curious way in which
such fantasising would make him sneeze. At first it had seemed like a strange
coincidence, but increasingly he realised that it was somehow connected to his
adulterous thoughts. It was as if something inside him was consciously
interrupting the potentially dangerous stream of consciousness in order to keep
him on the straight and narrow. Later he had read in a scientific journal how
it was not uncommon for sexual thoughts to trigger the sneeze reflex, although
the reasons were still not well understood. According to the journal, it was
most likely due to a kind of hereditary short circuit in the autonomic nervous
system, but Peter preferred to think of it as an evolutionary sub-conscious
control system. Certainly if this were the case, then it had clearly failed on
this occasion. No control mechanism had kicked in. Fantasy had turned to reality,
leaving him hopelessly adrift. Tomorrow he would have to return to Bracknell,
to Abigail and the kids. He turned to the computer again and clicked send/receive.
Still no response. There seemed little more for him to do here.

Doug was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling overlaid with
the hazy indistinct images of a night’s dreaming. An air of frustration
persisted as he tried to make sense of the seemingly disjointed scenarios
presented by a mind slowly hauling itself from slumber. Aggression – pain -
street lamps speeding past - more pain – voices - bright lights - faces. A
sense of having to attend to some urgent matter, but being thwarted at every
step. The images subsided, and the glossy white paint of the ceiling came into
focus. He was lying on a mattress firmer than his own, and stiff cotton sheets
pressed awkwardly against his body. There was tightness across his left cheek,
and out of the corner of one swollen eye socket, he could see white gauze from
some kind of bandage or dressing. He tried to sit up, but a pain shot through
his lower back, causing him to slump back down again with a grunt.
“Good morning my gallant hero!” came a sleepy but familiar voice from
his right. He tilted his head to the side, his neck objecting painfully. Huddled
in a chair by the window, through which the first glimmer of dawn was
announcing a new day, Cindy clasped a blanket around her shoulders. Under this
was the red evening dress he now remembered from the night before.
“What happened?” he croaked, his throat parched and sore. “I remember the
Russian hitting me…and you smacking him with that bag.”
“Is that the last thing you remember?” asked Cindy standing up and pouring a
glass of water.
“Jock! I remember Jock and the others showing up. Or did I imagine that?”
“No, They arrived just as Sergei was about to start on me.”
“Good old Jock!” said Doug, cracking a smile. He raised the glass to his lips
and sipped at the water. His upper lip was numb on one side, causing a few
drops to dribble down his chin.
“Then you passed out and I brought you here to the hospital,” she continued,
gently dabbing at him with a tissue. “You have bruising to your lower back from
that rabbit punch, but no internal bleeding. You also have a broken cheekbone
from when he hit you with the brass knuckles. You kept losing consciousness
last night, so the doctors ran some kind of brain scan.”
“And?
“And they wouldn’t tell me anything. They said they’d need to run more tests
today when you’re awake.”
“God only knows what I’d look like now if you hadn’t hit him with that bag.
Jesus! What do you keep in that thing, gold bricks?”
“A training weight… A girl can’t be too careful,” she said with a grin.
“Christ, the guy was fast though!”
“Well, you were a bit drunk too, but yes, apparently he grew up in some of the
toughest neighbourhoods of Moscow - got plenty of practice looking after
himself I imagine. I’m so sorry you got involved Doug, I really am.”
“What the hell were you doing with that thug Markov anyway? Did you meet him at
Kal’s party?”
Cindy’s expression froze. “How do you know his name?”
“The police inspector, Bullock, the one investigating Kal’s death, told me. He
showed me a photo of him. Asked if I’d seen him at the party.”
“What did you say?”
“I said yes. I was pretty sure I had seen him.”
“Did you mention me?”
“No - why would I? Until I saw you together last night, I had no idea you even
knew him.” Doug was starting to get angry. “Is he your boyfriend or something?”
“No!” she scowled. “Nothing like that.”
She sat back on the chair, looked down at her shoes and sighed.
“His name is Sergei Markov.”
“That much I knew already!”
“He’s a …” Cindy paused searching for the right word. “… a businessman with
some rather dubious connections,” she continued. “He owns a couple of clubs -
gentlemen’s clubs. One in Colchester and one in North London. Those goons in
the Range Rover last night are two of his bouncers. He also has various other
interests, not all of them strictly legal.”
“I still don’t see where you fit in to all this.”
She sighed and looked up at him sadly. “While I was studying for my degree, I
worked part time at the North London club to earn some extra cash.”
“You were a stripper?” asked Doug, incredulously.
Cindy frowned. “Exotic dancer was the preferred term - but yes. Actually, I
started out just serving drinks at the bar, but one night Sergei saw me and
offered to triple the money I was making if I danced for him. I was broke, so I
gave it a try and discovered I had a certain talent for it.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” said Doug, “you’re the sexiest thing I ever met!”
“Well, thanks … but if you don’t mind, I’d rather you kept this to yourself.”
“Of course – I wouldn’t dream of telling anyone – if anyone asks, you’re a
highly successful accountant, who just happens to go like a…”
“Yeah, yeah okay!” she interrupted with a smile. “Anyway, rather than getting
into debt like all the other students, I was earning seven or eight hundred a
week and when I graduated, had enough savings to put a deposit on a flat.”
“So what are you still doing with him - and how did you learn to speak Russian
like that? I heard you in the wine bar!”
Cindy seemed surprised. “I didn’t see you in the wine bar, what were you doing
there?”
“I was walking up the High Street with the lads, and I just saw you in there.
So I went in and watched you from the bar. Couldn’t hear what you were saying,
but when you left, I heard you speaking Russian.”
Cindy stared at him for a while as if replaying the previous evening in her
head. For the first time since Doug had met her, she looked uncertain of
herself. Some seconds later she regained her usual composure and continued. “My
mother was a ballerina with the Moscow Ballet,” she said with a sad fondness.
“My father was English - a set designer in London. They met during a rehearsal
for “The Nutcracker” back in the seventies and fell in love. The following year
she defected to England to be with him.”
“No wonder you know how to move … did your mum know about your stri…exotic
dancing?”
“She was already dead by then. They were both killed in a car crash when I was
sixteen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago - but no - she would have hated it,” she said, looking
genuinely ashamed. “She would have hated Markov and the whole scene actually.”
“So why were you with him last night?”
“I’m getting to that. You see, when I graduated and gave him my notice, he
didn’t want to let me go.”
“Because you were such a great dancer?”
“Partly, but it was more than that. I was the only one who hadn’t slept with
him, and it made him want me even more. After I left, he started to find me all
sorts of accounting work on the side. Some for him, some for his business
associates. All of it paid extremely well - vastly more than the work was worth
anyway. I wasn’t totally comfortable with it at first, but as a new graduate
recruit, I wasn’t making very much at the firm I’d joined, and it just seemed
too good an opportunity to turn down. Anyway, last month he made me a business
proposal which would have had me working with him full time.”
“I bet he did!” said Doug in a lewd tone.
“I refused, of course, but last night he invited me out for a drink to try and
change my mind.”
“And you turned him down again.”
“Yeah – he wasn’t happy.”
“So it had nothing to do with Kal’s party?”
“Of course not!” she cried.
“So what were you two doing there? I thought you said you’d tagged along with
some girl - Tracy wasn’t it?”
She blushed. “Okay…I admit I lied about that. I’m sorry. It’s just that
hanging around with Mafia types isn’t something you brag about. Sergei asked me
to go with him. He said he had some business to do with one of the students,
and said he’d pay me if I just went as his date. In spite of all that hard-man
exterior, I think he’s actually quite insecure.”
“My heart bleeds for him!” said Doug sarcastically. He rubbed his lower back,
“…almost literally in fact… By business, I assume you mean drugs.”
“I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell me, but yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised.
Anyway, he disappeared after about an hour and left me to find my own way home.
I decided to have a few drinks and the rest, as they say, is history.”
She came over and kissed him on the forehead. “It was very brave of you to step
in last night.”
“Yeah, I really had him on the ropes didn’t I?” said Doug, touching his cheek
and recoiling instantly. “I couldn’t let him hit you like that and not do
something though.”
“I think it’s probably the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“But if I’d known you were so well armed with Armani over there, I might not
have been so quick to step in.”
“Yeah you would,” she said, kissing him again, this time on the lips.
Doug became serious again. “Was Kal the student Markov had business with?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, I saw them talking.”
“But you’re sure he left after an hour?”
“Quite sure. Surely you’re not thinking that Sergei had something to do with
Kal’s suicide?”
“I don’t know what I think. Something made him jump out of that window.”
The two were silent for a moment then Cindy looked at her watch. “Listen, I
need to go and run some errands this morning, but I’ll be back later to check
in on you. Is there anything you’d like me to pick up? Maybe some overnight
things - your laptop perhaps. I think they’re going to want to keep you in at
least another day or two.”
“If you’re busy, I’m sure Brian will be along later,” offered Doug.
“Of course not, it’s the least I can do after last night.”
He placed a hand on her hip and let it slip down to her buttocks. “All right
then, thanks! Keys should be in my jeans pocket. In my room there’s a small bag
by the washbasin with my toothbrush and stuff - and if you could find a clean
T-shirt and some underwear that’d be great.”
“What about your laptop?”
“Hmm - don’t really feel like working, but yeah I suppose I should have that
too. Do you think they have WiFi in here?”
“Probably not, but I have a 3G dongle thingy you could borrow.”
“Cool, all right then. Better bring the charger too.”
Cindy took the keys, kissed him again, then left.
I’m dating a stripper! Thought Doug, smiling with a mixture of pride and
amusement.

A little later, there was a knock on the door and
a short, middle-aged and rather portly nurse entered the room. “How are you
this morning? She asked cheerfully. “You had us all worried last night.”
“My back and face hurt, but otherwise I’m okay I think.”
“Good, the doctor will be along shortly, but in the mean time, I just need to
check your temperature, pulse, and blood pressure.”
Despite her rotundity, she had a pretty face with rosy cheeks and a sparkle in
her eyes. Doug put the thermometer in his mouth and held out his wrist.
“Do you need anything for the pain?” she asked, taking the wrist and squinting
at her watch.
“No, it only hurts when I try to move.”
“Simple solution to that then!” she said, eyes glinting with mischief.
“Don’t move?” ventured Doug.
“You got it!” she replied with a grin. She tightened a band around his upper
arm and pressed a button. “Must have been quite a tumble you took last night?”
Doug looked at her blankly.
“Your girlfriend told us what happened - said you fell down some steps outside
the pub.” Seeing Doug’s reaction, she frowned. “That is what happened, isn’t
it?”
“Yeah… something like that,” he finally replied, feeling a little deflated at
the way his gallantry had been reduced to a moment of drunken clumsiness. “I
don’t remember exactly.”
“Alcohol can do that to you!” she admonished.
He guessed that Cindy must have lied to avoid getting the police involved.
Markov would have pleaded self defence anyway. After all, Doug had intended to
flatten the guy, if only the little weasel would have stood still for a split
second. Carrying a knuckle duster for self defence though, was pushing it a bit
far, he thought. Oh well. At least Cindy seemed to appreciate his attempt at
bravery.
“Well everything here seems normal,” said the nurse finally. “Breakfast will be
along in a few minutes. Is there anything else you need?”
“No thanks,” he replied.

Breakfast, consisting of soggy cereal, and two
small pieces of toast with jam, did little to satisfy Doug’s now ravenous appetite.
He was just wondering whether to press the red call button to ask for some more,
when Dr. Singh, the Indian doctor who had treated his concussion after the
match, entered the room. “Mr. Richards,” he said. “I’m sorry to see you back so
soon. How are you feeling this morning?”
“My lower back aches every time I try to move and my face is very tender.”
The doctor examined his back. “The muscles supporting your lower spine have
been bruised so it’s going to feel tender for a few days, but there’s no
lasting damage here as far as we can see. As for your face, you had quite a
deep cut which we stitched last night, and a minor fracture to your cheekbone.
Luckily the bones haven’t moved though, so if you can just avoid any further
impacts for next few months, it should heal up on its own.”
“Does that mean I can’t play rugby for the rest of the season?”
“It would be unwise. You see, although it’s just a fracture, it’s weakened this
whole part of your skull, and now needs time to heal. If you received another
trauma to that area, it could split open further, affecting your eye socket,
and then you might require reconstruction surgery.”
Doug’s appetite waned, as he began to feel queasy.
“What I’m most concerned about though, is the way you were losing consciousness
last night.”
“I did drink quite a lot - that does tend to make me rather sleepy,” offered
Doug, hopefully.
“That might explain part of it, but at one point you appeared to suffer what we
call a partial seizure and that indicates something more serious.”
“Like what? My girlfriend said you ran a brain scan.”
“We did a CT scan to see if you had any bleeding into the brain, and that was
negative, but I’ve scheduled an MRI for this afternoon. The MRI can be better
at helping us spot other kinds of abnormalities besides bleeding. In the mean
time, try to get some rest.”