The Poison Morality (17 page)

Sydney sat on the edge of the bed watching Josie sleep.  Sliding off carefully, not to disturb her she walked naked to her jacket taking the memory disk out of the pocket and replacing the one in the camera with it, downloading.  Then putting the original back in, she started deleting.

Not enough to be suspicious, as Josie snapped a lot of photos, but enough to direct Declan where she wanted him to go.  Meanwhile, Owen was doing the same for her.  Declan and Sydney sending their spies out but at least what she was doing was going to be useful.

Josie stirred, the sheet moved down exposing her breast and Sydney put her lips the curve of it.  “Where will you be leading me today?”  Josie asked.

“I have to meet someone later.  You can’t spy on me today.”

Josie looked disappointed, “What do I tell Declan?”

“Tell him you lost me in the stalls of The Portobello Road Market.”  Sydney was nuzzling Josie’s neck and kissing her mouth, her hand was moving down her stomach.  “Besides, it’s Saturday, your day off, sod him.”

“Who are you meeting?”  She asked between moans, her eyes closed.

“Do you want to know for you or Declan?”  Sydney raised her head, Josie opened her eyes.

“I just thought maybe we could spend the day together.  Maybe I can come with you?”

“You can come,” she said tracing kisses down her breast, stomach, and thighs.  Sitting between Josie’s legs, she opened her knees, “here and now but that’s it.”  Her thumb massaged Josie’s clit with just enough speed and pressure.  Sydney watched her face, reading reactions and altering what she was doing to accommodate.

“You’re meeting Declan, aren’t you?”  Josie’s back was arching, her hips moving in sync with Sydney’s hand.

Sydney stopped and rested her cheek on Josie’s bent knee, her long hair covered her naked breasts and she asked, “What does Declan have I don’t?”

“A dick,” Josie was still moving and Sydney started again but much slower.

“Darling, he is a dick.  I mean, what do you want from him?”

Josie sat up, moving the dark tresses on Sydney’s face, a few inches away.  Sydney looked down thinking how lovely she was, “I want that promotion he promised me, so I can get out of this flat and out of that office.  So I can be with you.  If he knew what we were doing,” she shook her head, “I don’t know what he could be capable of.  He would be angry to say the least.”  She fell back, her red hair splayed across the pillows and Sydney quickened her motion, admiring the porcelain skin and pink nipples arched in the air.

Sydney turned serious, her back stiffened and she looked harshly at Josie, “I know exactly what he’s capable of.”

“You knew him before didn’t you and you bring him money, what for?”

“Nothing you have to worry about,” Sydney’s fingers of her other hand entered and circled the spot inside her and it only took a couple of minutes before Josie cried out, convulsing.

Josie was panting, Sydney still fingering her while hovering over her kissing her neck.  Josie’s hands squeezing Sydney’s breasts.  “Is it dangerous?”  Josie asked, intrigued.  They flipped positions, Josie on top now, her knee pressing between Sydney’s legs over and over.

“
He’s
dangerous.”  Josie smiled at Sydney’s reply, biting her lip.  Sydney knew that was Declan’s appeal for Josie but little did she know that Sydney was even more so.

“And when you have to choose between us, which will you choose?”

Josie’s smile faded, “Depends.”

Sydney expected an answer similar to that but for the moment she didn’t care.  She had played her, taking and giving what she needed for Declan to take the bait.  Josie blindsided by opposite passions for Sydney and Declan trying to find fulfilment in the wrong places unable to get all she needed from one person and Sydney completely understood that divide.

The man caught Sophie’s glimpse in the mirror behind the bar.  He was about forty five, handsome, in a suit scoffing down a quick lunch and sipping his lager.  She was agitated to say the least, her thoughts returning to Oliver’s kiss and the fact that he knew for sure what she was.

She sat back in the chair, relaxing, picking up the book and reading the same line for the tenth time, when out of the corner of her eye she could see the man turned her direction.  She glanced up and he was staring at her.  She had already looked at his face twice.  She knew who he was and that he came here every day during the week for lunch, she didn’t need to know more than that.

That was enough, the preliminary work was done, and she shut the book and shoved it in her bag and walked quickly towards the door when he stepped out in front of her.

“My name is Bryson,” his manicured hand reached out to her.  “You look very familiar, do I know you?”

Her mouth opened but words weren’t coming out.  What do people normally say in situations like this, reach hand out, say your name but this wasn’t a normal situation.  Someone was waiting for her to poison him and was paying a lot probably.

When she didn’t react, he still gave a half smile and was obviously admiring her face.  Her feet wouldn’t move, now what would she do?  The only thing she could think was how do I do this now?

“Um…no I don’t think so.  I-I was just leaving.”  She started to step away but he moved into her path.

“I know.  That’s why I stopped you before you slipped out of my life and I could give you my number.”

Oh
that’s
how I can do this, she thought sarcastically.  She was starting to see why someone would want him gone.  “And what makes you think I want your number?”

“The way you were staring at me in the mirror,” he said shrugging.

“I wasn’t staring at you; I thought you were staring at me which caught my attention.”  Oh, she was impressed with that line.  It wasn’t a total lie and he was probably too conceited to notice what Oliver could.

“And I was, I couldn’t help it, you’re radiant,” he seemed surprised even though they were his words.

Now she knew he was taking the piss, “I have to go.”  Before she could walk away, he had her hand, she turned, mortified that he had taken such a liberty but not pulling away yet, she didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself than she already did.  The bartender was leaning on the counter smirking at her.  Bryson reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a pen, writing his name and number on the palm of her hand.

She couldn’t believe what he was doing.  Either he thought his charms worked miracles or he wasn’t afraid of being slapped in the face.  He turned her hand over and his lips softly pressed there. 

“I hope to hear from you.”

She scoffed and jerked her hand away and then what came out of her mouth surprised them both, “Count on it.”  Her eyes went wide and then she practically ran out of the pub and down towards Trafalgar Square.  She would go into the gallery, look at the paintings, and try to forget Oliver’s lips on hers and Bryson’s lips on her hand, the nerve.

She was agitated and angry, throwing the coins in for donation and blindly walked through the corridors full of people.  She tried to relax and enjoy the art, which was the purpose of coming when her mobile went off. 

So distracted, she pressed the button to answer without looking and realizing her error, it was too late when she heard Oliver’s voice.  “Sophie, I wanted to apologize for the other night.”

She sat on a bench, whispering, “There’s nothing to apologize for, really.”

“Where are you?”

“National Gallery.”

Quiet.  “Are you stalking someone,” his voice was low and stern.  She didn’t answer but stared at the number written in her palm.

“I’ve already done that.”  That’s not what she meant to say, what she meant to say was, that it was none of your damn business.

“Can I come by tonight, I have something for you, an early birthday present.”

Her annoyance with him dissipated, “How do you know when my birthday is?”

“You told me.  You don’t remember?”

“No, when...”

“So will that be fine with you?”

Staring at the numbers on her palm she thought about it.  I can call him, set up a date to meet outside the pub and get him then or I can actually meet him, pretend to be on a date and knowing how vain he was, she could do it when he tried to kiss her.  No, the idea was repulsive.  Bryson was a good looking man but Oliver, Oliver was…

“Are you still there?”

“Um, yes,” she forgot she was on the phone, “but there’s something I have to do first, I’ll be home after.”  Now she was contemplating dating her victim when she couldn’t stand to look at their faces before but his arrogance grated on her.  She didn’t want to interact with him but if she set up a time to meet him there, she would have control and not have to wait for him.  The decision was made; she didn’t know why she didn’t think about it before.

Silence.  “Will it take you long?”

“No, not long.”

“Sophie, please be careful.  If I’m there at eight will that give you ample time to… take care of business?”

She was annoyed by Oliver again, indicating he knew what she was going to do.  And unsettled that she was approached by her victim, he made a pass at her, spoke to her, gave her his number, she didn’t know if she would be able to do it at all now.  These men!

“Sophie?”

“Yes, yes, plenty of time,” she turned off the phone, giving up on the gallery entirely; she walked back outside the clouds gathering.  Leaning on the fountain, the pigeons walking around her feet and the water splashing behind her, she dialled the number on her palm.

“Bryson.”

“Bryson,” her voice shook, “I’ll be at the pub at six thirty.”

“Is this…” she hung up.  She plunged her hand into the freezing water of the fountain and left it there until the cold crept up her arm, the water moving it back and forth.  She felt pins and needles and then nothing, numbness.  When she could no longer feel it, she took it out again, the ink was smudged and she wiped what was left on her trouser leg.

***

That evening, she dressed in her usual black.   She had to admit the time was passing too slowly for her.  Not because she wanted to see Bryson, still unsure how she was going to play that but that she would see Oliver and he was bringing her a birthday present.

She waited hovering opposite the pub.  It was a busy area and the pub was crowded, there was no opportunity to do it on the street or the pub.  She could abandon the whole thing and catch him during his lunch but now he recognized her and that made everything that much harder.

He was there looking inside the window, not seeing her, he waited under the awning, checking his watch.  Damn, she thought, she should just go home and wait for Oliver.  But it would be a long anxious wait, she wanted to see him and waiting would make her restless so she walked across the street, “Bryson,” she said, not smiling but he did.  He was dressed more casually than earlier but not by much.

“The pub is crowded, I know a nice Italian restaurant around the corner,” he was ushering her, his hand around her arm before she had a chance to reply.

They walked in and he was recognized and greeted by the waiter who put them in a romantic booth at the back.  He ordered champagne, not asking her what she wanted or liked.  She looked at the time on the wall. 

He handed her a menu, she didn’t know what to order and didn’t care.  “The carbonara is sublime.”

She had no idea what carbonara was, “Fine,” she said.  What kind of opportunity could this be?  He stared at her, his green eyes lingered on her face making her uncomfortable. 

“I’m sorry to stare, I just feel like I know you from somewhere.”

“Nope.”  She looked at the clock again.

“I don’t even know your name,” his voice was low and seductive.  All she could think was where to insert the needle without him noticing but with all of his attention on her it was impossible.  Her throat tightened, there was no way she could choke down the pasta.  This was a huge mistake.

She didn’t answer, intending to speak as little as possible but when the back of his fingers brushed her cheek, she turned to him suddenly, grabbing his wrist, he had a look of amusement, “You don’t need to know my name.”

Instead of being offended, he sat back away from her and his eyes brightened.  He saw her as a challenge and he enjoyed that.  Even if she did it here, there were too many people around who saw her face, distinctly with him.

She started to get up to leave, this was pointless but he caught her hand again, frowning now, “Where are you going?”

Out the front door, she wanted to say but if she could find a back way that would be better.  “Loo?”

“That way,” he nodded towards the back.  “I’ll order for you shall I?”  He didn’t even look at her for an answer.

Once in the toilet, she slammed her purse on the counter and stared in the mirror.  There were no doors between here or there she was confused about what to do.  Why did she do this?  She would have never trapped herself like this before.  After several minutes, she looked in the mirror when the door opened and Bryson walked in.

“Thought you had gotten lost,” he approached her, standing in front of her, her back pressed to the wall.  He fingered the fake flower on the counter behind her and then looked at her, “Or maybe you wanted me to join you.”  He put the question but he made no motion, waiting for her to give consent.

“No, I think you should get out and I think I should leave.”  She brushed by him and he let her go, thank goodness, her heart was racing.

“You don’t have to leave,” he was saying behind her, “I just misinterpreted, that’s all.  No harm done.  Come on,” he took her hand lightly, “food’s waiting.”

Maybe if she put the needle in his food, would the poison work that way as well?  There was only one way to find out but how could she deflect his attention enough to do that.  She looked around, waiters busy, she and Bryson placed in a dimly lit corner that part was fine.

He picked up his utensils, rolling pasta on his fork; she tried to do the same and she only nibbled, too anxious to actually eat.  Her nerves were shot, with him looking at her and she was thinking how to inject him, she felt terrible.  No matter how much of a conceited bastard he was, it was just too much.  Oliver was completely right. 

Bryson had spaghetti and meatballs, if she could get it in a meatball then if he ate it then he would have done it to himself, if he didn’t then he would go on as before and she would let the whole thing go.  Someone else, more ruthless would have to do it.

He tried to ask her questions but she just answered with questions to steer the conversation back to him and as long as he was talking about himself he was completely entertained and occupied, not noticing she barely touched her meal.

If she waited for him to go to the loo they could be there all night.  She looked at the clock anxiously.  “Do you need to be somewhere,” he asked, stroking her fingers.

“Yes as a matter of fact I do, so really we should wrap this up.”

Misinterpreting her meaning, yet again…”I agree,” and he motioned for the waiter.

She was going to be late.  Oliver would wait for her though.  But she didn’t want to wait.  Being with this creep made her realize just how much she would rather be in Oliver’s company instead. 

She had to think fast, she knocked her purse in the floor, items scattered on the floor.  Bryson automatically leaned over to pick up her things.  She took the needle and stabbed the meatball, put the cap on, and put it back in her pocket and bent over, making a fuss over the scattered items.

Once all was back as it should be, he stood to leave taking her coat and holding it for her and then putting his own coat on.  Her eagerness to leave made him abandon his food and the poison meatball.

“Thanks,” she said walking quickly towards the door; she didn’t hear him behind her.

When she rounded the corner, his hand grasped her arm and she turned, he was chewing, paused to swallow before speaking but before he could, she asked, “What are you eating?”

“Meatball, it was the last one and they are really good here, wouldn’t want to waste it.”  He ate it, she thought, his choice.

“I thought we were having a good time,” he was close to her, his breath smelled of garlic and his thumb was tilting her chin up.  He was totally oblivious to the fact that the conversation they had was completely one sided.  His lips were on hers and she pushed him away wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

“
You
were having a good time,” she contradicted.  “I’m going to go and meet my friend and have my good time.”  With that she turned and left him standing there.  She heard him cough, if the money was in her account in a few days she would know if it worked, but for right now Oliver would be at her door.

***

Pacing outside her door, he was ready to break it down, not knowing if she was inside hurt or still out.  She blew in from outside, he was tapping the gift wrapped box on his fingertips and both of his hands dropped to his sides when he saw her.