The Pleasure Quartet (28 page)

She looked up at him, perplexed, faintly amused, he thought, as if it was not the first time she had been swapped for cash. He searched her face for some sign of upset emotion, but in that respect she was totally blank.

Noah’s stomach was tied in tight knots.

‘Hello, Summer,’ he said to her. ‘I’m Noah.’

‘You know who I am?’ For the first time this evening, her face was animated.

Noah looked into her eyes and was struck by that unmistakable fire and sadness burning in equal measure inside. He knew in an instant that all the anguish he had suffered in his lengthy quest for her had been worthwhile. And more.

8

Sense and Sensitivity

Who was this guy?

The departing American sailors were just pinpoints in the distance now and I stood uncertainly in the alley at the back of the club facing him, still trying to digest what had all happened.

In my brain, David Bowie was still singing that song about fire, its bittersweet melancholy call dragging me back to the dance floor where I had somehow disconnected from reality, found myself indifferent to the world, alien, both dreading the consequences and welcoming the total lack of responsibility for my actions.

I knew I had experienced those sorts of feelings before when despair had carried me to the edge and I just couldn’t care any longer what was about to happen to me, and I resigned myself to the fact that I might not even emerge alive on the other side, let alone in one piece. An acceptance of oblivion as a way out, an escape. But from what?

Had this stranger just purchased me of all things? Or paid cash to stop me being used there and then by the men?

There was a sense of loss in his eyes which I couldn’t understand.

‘Hello, Summer,’ he said to me. ‘I’m Noah.’

My mind spun.

Was I no longer protected by the anonymity that Brazil had provided me with so far?

‘You know who I am?’ I was almost shouting.

And took a closer look at him.

It was night and the light was poor and flickering, a solitary bulb hanging across a drooping clothesline strung between the club’s building and a nearby starving tree, barely illuminating the empty alley.

He was medium height and appeared to be in his late thirties, dark brown hair swept back from his forehead, thick and abundant, just a little too long for conventional respectability. His eyes were similarly dark, gazing at me with a terrible intensity, X-raying me on the spot with nervous fascination. He had sounded British but I couldn’t place his accent regionally. His cheekbones were prominent and even in the surrounding shadows he clearly sported an untidy two- or three-day growth of beard, evenly darkening his features. He wore a pair of slim-fitting grey twill trousers, high-end trainers and a crumpled dark-blue short-sleeved shirt.

I searched my memory for where I might have come across him before. The Ball, or some place else?

‘You’re Summer Zahova, aren’t you?’ he said. And then as if he had guessed my thoughts. ‘We haven’t met before but I know who you are . . .’

It would have been creepy, had he not just saved me from a bad experience. He now gazed at me with an unsettling look both questioning and tinged with curiosity.

‘I am . . .’ I mumbled.

‘Should we call the police?’ he said. ‘Or first go inside and report this to the club?’

I laughed, a distinct note of bitterness present in my voice.

‘They won’t care,’ I told him. ‘Thanks for your concern though.’

‘But those guys . . .’

I shrugged. Scuffed the toe of my ballet flat on the ground. My feet were beginning to ache, from all the running, walking, and dancing I’d done that night already. At least I wasn’t wearing heels.

‘Really,’ I said. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Would you like to go somewhere and sit down for a bit then? Talk? This isn’t quite the right place for a conversation. Do you know anywhere?’

Was a mere conversation all he wanted from me?

I knew I couldn’t return to Raoul’s cousin’s digs, seeing that I had ended up here after fleeing the place.

‘Not really.’

‘Hotel?’

‘No. I was staying at a . . . friend’s . . . But I . . . I can’t go back there.’

‘I’m at the Atlante Plaza,’ Noah said. I liked his name. Sometimes a person’s name fits just right with their face. This was one of those instances.

‘Okay,’ I said.

He glanced down at his watch. I always noticed men’s watches now, as Dominik had always worn one.

‘The bar stays open late, I think.’

Neither of us had realised how late it actually was and the bar was shuttered when the cab we finally flagged down dropped us off.

‘Maybe the one by the rooftop pool is still operating?’

It wasn’t either.

We ended up in his room.

He was checking through the mini-bar while I gave the large suite a look over. It seemed as if he hadn’t been here long and wasn’t planning on staying either. There was no clothing scattered around, or the sort of mess that usually clutters up hotel rooms. I couldn’t even see a suitcase.

‘You travel light,’ I remarked.

‘I’m just here for the night,’ he explained. ‘Flew in earlier with just a small carry-on bag, with a spare shirt and toothbrush. It’s by the bed. I fly back tomorrow. Well, later today . . .’

‘Where to?’

‘Rio.’

‘You live there?’

‘No. Passing through for work. I’m from London.’

I nodded.

‘What about you? Any plans to return to London?’

‘I’m not sure. Some days I think about it. I’ve been in Rio for some time, now. But not sure how much longer. It’s complicated . . .’

He passed over the small San Pellegrino bottle he had picked from the fridge and pulled the tab on the can of Cola he had taken for himself. He had picked up a bar of chocolate too, tore open the wrapper and handed a row of dark squares to me. We sat in facing armchairs sipping our drinks and nibbling.

I was finally beginning to relax, the flow of adrenaline running through my veins settling down, an impression of peace returning. There was no sense of menace about Noah, although I was well aware he was deliberately being very careful in trying to make me feel at ease here, in his presence.

‘Care to tell me what happened at the club?’

‘Just me being foolish, I suppose. I have a habit of getting myself into trouble.’

‘From where I was standing, it didn’t look like you were the one causing the trouble.’

‘I’m gratified that you think that. But believe me, if we were in a court of law, yours would be the minority opinion.’

‘Did you know the men well? Friends of yours?’

‘No.’ I think I blushed a little. ‘Only met them earlier. I was feeling lost, maybe drank too much; I should have been more cautious.’ I didn’t tell him about Raoul and the situation that I had run from with only a small amount of cash and no immediate way to get home. At the time, the American sailors had seemed like a possible way out of an impossible bind, a safer bet than sleeping at the bus terminal.

I expected him to say something but he remained silent, his dark brown eyes scrutinising me and a thousand thoughts no doubt swirling inside his head.

He was visibly a man who knew the art of patience.

As Dominik had.

I sort of wished he would question me further, drag out my secrets, the layers of craving and shame that made me who I am, but he held back. Neither judging me nor blaming me.

‘Where do you know me from?’ I finally asked.

‘Your music.’

‘Oh.’

I had almost reached the point where I had forgotten my previous life on stage.

Had he been a face in an audience? At a legit classical gig, or a more dubious one, involving Antony or the Ball?

‘I work for a record company. I came across one of your CDs and just loved it. Been stalking you ever since . . .’ He smiled faintly. ‘Musically speaking, that is.’

The mineral water, straight from the hotel room fridge, was freezing cold, momentarily numbing my throat.

‘I even contacted Susan, your agent, to find out if you had any plans to come back to the recording or performing scene,’ he added.

I felt a sense of relief wash over me.

‘What a coincidence we should meet, then,’ I said. ‘In Brazil of all places.’

He hesitated.

‘It isn’t,’ he replied. ‘I knew you were somewhere around these parts. That’s why I came.’

I mulled over his revelation. It didn’t make sense.

‘But until a few days ago I’d never set foot in Recife,’ I protested. ‘I’ve been based in Rio. How could you know to find me here?’

‘I didn’t,’ Noah confessed. ‘That’s where the coincidence lies . . .’

Should I believe him?

The night was deepening and my lassitude along with it.

I was stranded in Recife with a man I didn’t know what to make of. It was either that or risking a return to Raoul’s. That was if I even had enough spare cash on me for the cab ride. I shuddered to think what kind of punishment Raoul might see fit to dole out in response to my running from him earlier.

‘Can I sleep here?’ I asked Noah.

‘Of course. You take the bedroom; I’ll make myself comfortable. He indicated the couch.

‘I’ll be okay here,’ I said. ‘You have the bed. It’ll be morning soon anyway.’

He insisted.

All I had on was my G-string and the small black dress I had escaped from Raoul with. I kept both on and slid between the covers. The bed had not been slept in since Noah’s arrival. The sheets still smelt faintly of starch and a green herbal note from whatever detergent they had been washed in. Part of me had hoped I would catch his scent, get a distant whiff of whatever masculine note defined him. Help me in my attempt to isolate what puzzled me about him.

I closed my eyes.

Listened to the almost imperceptible sounds filtering through the door from the lounge where he had remained. He was restless, I could feel. Like me, unable to sleep properly.

I stayed in bed a couple of hours, tossing and turning, finding it impossible to switch off, a strong undercurrent of anxiety animating my heart and body. I rose, tiptoed to the en suite bathroom and wetted my eyes and face, in a vain attempt to wash away the last twenty-four hours. The door to the other room was not fully closed and I silently pushed it open. I cautiously made my way across, the deep pile of the carpet under my bare feet, towards the sofa where his shape was outlined beneath a formless blanket in the darkness.

Stood and looked down at him.

His eyes were open.

Watching me. Intently.

‘You can’t sleep either.’

It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact.

‘No,’ I said.

He didn’t rise. The angle of his head against the edge of the sofa looked awkward and I felt a wave of guilt at having kept him away from the bed, seeing I hadn’t even managed to get a minute’s sleep in it myself.

‘You should take the bed,’ I suggested.

‘What about you?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. Maybe I’ll sit a bit here instead, gather my thoughts. Or I might leave. I don’t want to impose on you.’

His eyes peered into mine.

‘What is wrong, Summer?’

‘Nothing. I’m fine now.’

‘I don’t mean now, I mean in general. Why did you come to Brazil, give up on everything?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘I’m willing to listen, you know.’

‘It’s just me. I’m a bit of a mess. Things are complex.’

Damn, why did he keep on looking at me like that? I was not ready for confession. I wasn’t that sort of girl. Or was I? The sort that needs a kind and understanding shoulder to cry on, to exorcise the ghosts, the demons, the madness. Say something, Noah . . .

But he remained silent, didn’t even appear to blink, as if expecting me to open up.

Which I knew I wouldn’t. If only out of pride.

‘I really should go.’

‘Where?’

‘Back to Rio eventually, I suppose.’ Maybe he could loan me the money for the bus.

‘I’m due to fly there around midday,’ Noah pointed out. ‘The guys I came up to Recife with . . . The Handsomes . . . you might have heard of them . . . They have a private plane ready to roll. There are a few available seats. You’d be most welcome . . .’

I felt torn.

He finally moved, threw his blanket aside. Like me, he hadn’t undressed.

‘Stay,’ he asked.

The way he said it sprung like an arrow straight through my heart. As if that single word concealed a million others and his life depended on it. I couldn’t remember another time when a man’s voice had affected me so much.

‘Okay,’ I agreed.

The hint of a smile animated his features, one of terrible relief.

Silence dug in.

An aeon of silence that could have lasted well into the morning still hours away unless one of us moved or spoke first.

Noah gazed at me.

I looked back at him, allowing a sense of peace to wrap its arms around me, cauterise me.

‘Come to bed, then,’ I finally said. Put my hand out to him, and we walked to the bedroom.

I unzipped my dress and slipped out of it. He expressed no surprise at my wearing so little underneath; after all, he had no doubt known so from our encounter in the alley behind the club. I nodded to him and he undressed likewise, until we both stood lit by a pale silver shimmer from the sky outside the window and a crescent of faraway moon.

We pulled the sheets apart and slid in. His nose buried itself in my hair. I could feel his warm breath against my ears.

I was surprised by how hot his body was as I squeezed against him, skin to skin, grinding my arse against his middle.

The animal hardness of his cock buried itself against the small of my back.

Aware of his arousal, I instinctively twisted my arm and extended it towards his midriff to take him in my hand, but before I could reach his penis, his own hand gently blocked me and pushed it back.

‘We don’t have to,’ he said.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, let’s just sleep,’ he whispered.

And then we did. Drifted away with childlike ease and naturalness.

No one batted an eyelid when Noah and I arrived by taxi at the small private airfield ten miles or so from the city to catch the private Lear plane hired to return The Handsomes and their small crew to the capital. Nor did anyone appear to recognise me, with the possible exception of the band’s almost painfully thin young assistant, a spikey-haired blonde wearing a pair of black-studded ankle boots and a lime-green T-shirt dress that dwarfed her small frame, and who stared at me with a bemused look of curiosity on her face but didn’t say a word, either to introduce herself to me or point out that she knew who I was. The flight to Rio mostly took place in silence, the majority of the passengers dozing after a long night of deejaying and boozing. Noah and I sat together, but the proximity of so many others prevented any sort of proper conversation. We agreed to meet for lunch the following day. It seemed the group’s tour was moving on down the coast to other South American countries, but Noah would not be accompanying them further and he informed me that he would only remain in Rio for a couple of days more before he was needed back in London.