Untouchable (7 page)

‘Harry says he’s in government.’

‘An MP?’

‘Harry won’t say.’

I turn to face her. ‘Does it matter?’

‘Of course not,’ Elisa laughs. ‘I’m being nosy, that’s all.’

‘Look, is everything all right?’ I keep my eyes fixed on her, alert for tells. Non-verbal leakage, as I was trained to call it.

She stares back at me, her expression a question mark.

‘I noticed you messaging or something earlier. On your phone.’

There. A slight flush in her cheeks before she looks away. ‘A bit of a family crisis. Sorry.’

‘But you’re OK?’

She purses her lips a little, then smiles. ‘I’m fine. Really.’

‘Right.’

She removes a couple of bottles of sparkling water from the fridge and takes them into the lounge. I follow with some clean glasses. Put them on the coffee table then check the three bedrooms to make sure everything’s still respectable. All look pristine – after all, most of the evening’s action has taken place in the living room – but in the largest I spot a condom wrapper just underneath the bed.

I bend down to pick it up. As I straighten I catch sight of Alex in the doorway, observing me with the same kind of dispassionate curiosity he wore for the porn.

I stare back at him. He walks in, closing the door behind him.

‘So,
Alex
,’ I say. ‘How was Paris?’

He sizes me up for a moment, then laughs. ‘Why? Did you miss me?’

When I don’t respond, he takes another step forward. This man makes me very nervous, and it’s not only that gun. There’s something about him that feels calculated, almost rehearsed.

‘So, the appointment the other week. What was that all about?’

Alex doesn’t reply. Just holds my gaze.

‘Checking me out, were you? Why? This party was booked a month ago.’

Alex shrugs. ‘Simply curious. Thought it might be interesting to get to know you a bit beforehand.’ He moves closer, until he’s only a few inches away. I can smell his aftershave, something subtle and musky. He looks right into my eyes, but doesn’t attempt to touch me.

‘I’m still interested,’ he says. ‘In hearing about you.’

‘Like I said, there’s nothing to tell.’ I resist the temptation to step back, to put more distance between us.

‘Stella …’ His tongue dallies on my name as his hand darts out and grabs my wrist. I flinch and try to twist away, but his grip is firm as he pulls me to him. ‘Quite the little enigma.’

He holds the back of my head firmly as his mouth presses itself against mine, his kiss rough and insistent. Then he pushes me on the bed, parting my gown, his lips moving to my breast. I stop resisting. My body responds to his touch like parched earth to rain, my skin prickling, my mind turning blank as deep water as he runs his hand down my belly and slips it between my legs.

‘Wet already, Stella?’ he says, his voice teasing. He hovers for an instant before pushing two fingers inside me. I feel myself contract around him as he leans over and kisses me hard on the mouth.

‘Don’t you get tired of all this?’ he murmurs as he slides his fingers in and out, his thumb hovering over my clitoris.

‘I—’

‘Shhhhh …’ He increases his pace. ‘Don’t say a word. Put everything out of your mind.’

His thumb presses harder, starts to circle, and my hips curve up to meet him. Another kiss, then he pulls his head back and locks eyes with mine, his look almost challenging, as he steps up the rhythm on my clit.

A warmth spreads through my abdomen, a hitch in my breathing.

‘You,’ he says, with a small crook of his mouth, ‘are a very provocative woman.’

I turn away from the intensity of his gaze, but he uses his free hand to pull my face back to his.

‘Come on, Stella. Let it go.’ His voice is low, insistent, speaking to that unthinking part of me that has taken over, hungry, oblivious to anything but the exquisite sensation in my groin.

‘I can’t …’ I gasp, but sense myself getting near.

‘I think you can,’ he whispers, so close to my ear I can feel the moistness of his breath on my skin, and then I come with a cross between a yelp and a moan, Alex suspended above me, watching me subside. That perpetual half-smile. A taunt. An invitation.

I lean forward and grasp his neck, pulling him towards me, parting my legs as my hand goes down to unzip his trousers.

But he pulls away. ‘No, Stella. Not here.’

I look at him. ‘Why not?’

He just shakes his head. ‘Get up.’

The night is wearing into early morning, though it’s still dark outside. Harry and Rob have tired of porn and now CNN runs soundlessly from the screen on the wall. Janine is picking at a tag on her nail, mentally on sabbatical now that no one is paying her any attention.

‘Shit.’

Harry grabs the remote and turns up the volume. We all stare at the TV. A reporter in a grey trench coat stands in front of the Houses of Parliament, speaking fast into a handheld microphone, reeling off details of some defence contract. Before I can catch what it’s all about, Alex gets up and seizes the remote, blanking the screen.

‘What the—’ Harry blurts, but shuts up when he sees the frown on Alex’s face. Even so, his features are rigid with excitement. He punches the air, belly fat wobbling with the force of the movement.

‘Fucking yessssss!’

Alex’s expression gives nothing away.

‘He did it,’ Harry exclaims loudly. ‘
He actually fucking did it
.’

‘Who?’ asks Elisa, looking from one to the other. ‘Did what?

Harry eyes her and sniggers. ‘We could tell you, darling, but then we’d have to kill you.’

Elisa smiles, but there’s frost in it. Harry doesn’t pay any attention.

‘I can’t believe the bastard didn’t say anything all evening. Not a fucking thing!’ He looks around and spots a half-empty bottle of whisky. Gets up and gathers together a collection of glasses. ‘Come on, girls, let’s party.’

Elisa and Janine both accept a Scotch. Janine downs hers with a wince – clearly she’s more of a champagne girl.

‘This calls for emergency supplies.’ Harry digs in his pocket and pulls out another bag of white powder. He offers it to Alex, who shakes his head. Janine does a line, then Rob. He waves it at Elisa and me.

I excuse myself. ‘Too much to do today.’

‘What?’ Harry snorts. ‘Get your fanny waxed?’

I let myself stare at him for an instant too long, but he’s too high to notice.

‘Well, I’m gonna get totally wankered.’ Harry wipes his nose and leans back into the sofa, a beatific smile across his lunar face. ‘Being as I’m now a damned sight richer than I was this time yesterday.’

He looks over at Alex. ‘And you, mate. What have you just made? Huh?’

Alex maintains his impassive expression.

‘Thought so,’ Harry grins.

Janine sits on the side of the sofa. She looks first at Harry, then Alex. ‘Sounds like you’re both very lucky boys.’

Alex’s mouth tics, as if repressing the impulse to say something snide.

‘Naughty boys, more like,’ drawls Harry with a snort of laughter. ‘We’re golden, darling, we can’t lose. We’re fucking untouchable.’

‘Untouchable?’ Janine leans towards him, giving him a premium view of her cleavage, while slipping a hand inside his dressing gown. ‘Surely not?’

‘You’ve no idea, sweetheart.’ Harry downs the rest of his Scotch and pulls her on to his lap. Yanking a breast from her corset, he pinches her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

‘You’ve got no fucking idea at all.’

10

Friday, 13 February

As soon as Rachel walks in I realize I’ve made a mistake. Everything about the place – the central circular bar, the runway floor lighting, the clumps of live bamboo – seems silly and frivolous juxtaposed against her heavy brown mac and large practical handbag, the strap slung across her chest like a bandoleer.

Rachel takes in the crowd of twenty-something media types and City traders as she wriggles out from under her bag and coat, ignoring the hovering waitress, anxious to relegate them to the cloakroom. Underneath she wears a grey trouser suit, the jacket straining over the bust. Her cheeks have a ruddy glow untempered by make-up.

There’s a dip in the corner of her mouth that might be disapproval. Or disdain. She slings her things over the back of the chair and sits with a heavy sigh, leaning on the table and pressing the heel of her hands into her eyes.

‘Glad you could make it.’ I offer her a welcoming smile.

Rachel sniffs. ‘I couldn’t find it. I went round the block twice – in the end I had to go in and ask at the pizza place on the corner.’ She nods across at the plate-glass entrance to the restaurant. ‘Would it kill them to put up a sign? Or is that too unhip?’

She turns back and stares at the bamboo thicket a few feet away from us. ‘What’s today’s special? Panda steaks?’

‘We could go back to the pizza restaurant if you prefer.’

Her cheeks grow redder and she shakes her head. She picks up her menu and scans through the options. Another twitch of the mouth as she notes the prices.

‘It’s my treat,’ I insist.

She chews her lip. Doesn’t argue.

The waitress glides over. I order a glass of Prosecco then look at Rachel. ‘San Pellegrino.’

‘Prosecco for me too,’ she tells the waitress, then sees me frowning and laughs.

‘It’s OK. I’ve stopped breastfeeding. Finally.’

Her phone bleeps from somewhere in her bag. She retrieves it and reads the message. Starts to text something back.

I glance around as I wait for her to finish. A man over by the bar catches my eye and smiles. I check him out briefly. Tall, slim build, but not really my type. I turn back to Rachel, who’s stashing her mobile away again, lips pursed in apology.

‘Sorry, just checking in with Tim.’

She squints at the other diners, running a self-conscious hand over her wind-blown hair.

‘So, how did it go?’ I prompt.

‘It nearly didn’t go at all. Therese has got a cold and couldn’t go to nursery, and by the time Tim arranged to work from home, I’d missed the train. I barely made the meeting.’

‘And?’

Rachel shrugs. ‘It went OK.’

‘You sure? You don’t sound very certain.’

‘Oh, they want me back all right. Even offered me more money.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

She groans. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to go back to work – I’m more than ready to do something other than trail after the kids all day. It’s just that I’m not sure I want to go back
there
.’

Rachel went into employment law thinking it would be a quiet backwater after the cut and thrust of the bar. Little realizing that hell hath no fury like an employee scorned.

‘But the money’s good,’ she sighs. ‘We need a bigger house now Theo’s growing up – they can’t share a room for ever, and you know Tim’s job is always hanging in the balance.’ She scratches the tip of her nose. ‘They made a second bloke in his department redundant last week.’

I give her a sympathetic look and for the first time since she arrived her features relax into a smile. The waitress returns with the wine and takes our order. Rachel seizes her glass, swallowing almost half in one go, then grunts in appreciation.

‘Christ, I’ve been dying for a drink for nearly three years.’

I eye the inch or so left. ‘I’ll get you another.’

‘Better not.’ She puts her glass back down. ‘It’ll go straight to my head, and I must catch the eight-thirty train.’

I dig my teeth into my lips, trying to hide my disappointment. I’d been hoping Rachel would keep the whole evening free – I can’t remember the last time we got to hang out together. But I know she’s making an effort as it is.

‘So, how’s things?’ She sits back, scrutinizes my face.

‘Fine. Good.’

Rachel stares at me a bit longer, then down at the tablecloth. I can see she’s struggling for something neutral to say. She loses the fight. ‘You’re still …’

I sigh. ‘Yes.’

She chews the inside of her lip. Raises her eyes back to mine. ‘Grace—’

‘Rachel, let’s not do this again, shall we? Let’s not go over this any more. I’m OK. Really.’

She fiddles with the stem of her glass, twirling it in her fingers so the little bubbles spin and swirl. ‘I know, Grace. But Jesus, I …’

I snort.

She looks at me quizzically. Almost offended.

‘We’re like some Victorian pastiche,’ I say. ‘The mother and the fallen woman. It seems you’re always trying to save me or something.’

Rachel’s smile is reluctant. ‘I’m not trying to save you, Grace. I’m simply trying to …’ She stops, as if she no longer knows what to say. ‘I just can’t believe you’re doing this. Not after everything …’ Her voice lapses into silence.

Not after everything.

I stare at my oldest friend, wondering how to respond. Wondering if it ever occurs to her that I’m doing this precisely
because
of everything. I consider trying to explain. How the way I am now is the only way I can live with what came before.

I close my eyes briefly, and there he is. Michael. The first time we met, the look he gave me – cocky, knowing, full of challenge. A smile that said there was nothing I could do for him, but I was welcome to try.

Christ, to think I imagined I could help. Hard to believe I was ever such a fool.

‘Grace?’

I lift my gaze back to my friend. See out of the corner of my eye that the man at the bar still has his head turned in my direction. ‘How’s Tim?’ I ask, pointedly changing the subject. ‘Finished his shed yet?’

Rachel grins, allowing me this one, the alcohol finally lifting her mood. ‘Nearly. Another few years and it’ll be great.’

‘Men and their caves, eh?’

‘You should come and have a look.’ Something a little off-hand in her tone.

‘I will,’ I insist, at the same time knowing I’ve said this once too often for Rachel to take it seriously. I try to recall the last time I was there. Right after Therese was born. Over two years, I realize with a lurch of guilt.

The waitress appears with a plate in each hand, bending her knees as she places them in front of us. Rachel examines her salad.