By the time I wake up Blake is gone. I bring Sorab into the bed and lie watching him drink his milk while my brain incessantly replays Blake’s intriguing and confusing words from the night before.
You must believe me when I tell you, you are my sustenance, my oxygen. In fact, right now, what I feel for you is the only part of me that feels human.
Other than my failed attempt at being a wrecking ball, nothing I can see has changed between us, and yet the coldly furious stranger who could barely stand for me to touch him is suddenly professing an emotion so deep that it makes my toes curl. And what was the insistence that I promise never to leave him until the 42 days are up all about? What were the things that I do not understand that he referred to and he obviously did not want to tell me about? I remember again his intense eyes. He seemed to be begging for something from me, and yet what was he begging for? Another thirty-eight days with me? Why? Nothing makes sense.
Jack’s words come back.
No man wants a woman for just 42 days.
When Blake said it would be my choice, did he mean the choice to be his mistress? And what of Victoria, his patient paragon of spotless virtue? I have dealt with her and I know without any doubt that she will not allow such a scenario.
I kiss Sorab’s head. ‘What’s Daddy up to, Sorab?’ I ask, but he only sleepily sucks at his milk bottle.
The day passes lazily without incident. My movements are slow and languorous. The pain is beginning to subside. When I use the toilet there is no burn. I am excited by the idea of Blake inside my body again. I recognize that I am in a state of constant arousal.
Laura calls to say that Blake will be home for dinner, but not to prepare any food. She is ordering in for us. Chinese. ‘Anything you particularly want?’
‘Crispy Peking duck,’ I say.
I hear the smile in her voice. ‘Yes, that’s a particular favorite of mine too, Miss Bloom.’
It is a fine day with only a little wind and at four in the evening I pack a book and take Sorab out in his brand new stroller into the park for some fresh air. The seat where I had been joined by the exuberant puppy is empty so I head for it. The sun is deliciously mild, but I do not put the hood of the pram down. Next summer he will be ready to play in the sun.
I eye him proudly and he blows bubbles and shakes his rattle violently. I am so incredibly in love with him. I look around. There is hardly anyone about and after a little while, I take my book out and begin to read. No more than ten minutes could have passed with Sorab contentedly playing with the little toys hung up on the hood of his pram when a woman comes up to us.
‘Oh, but he is a daahling,’ she croons.
I look up from my paperback smiling. ‘Thank you.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Sorab.’
She swings her head suddenly towards me and I am stunned by the flash of alarm in her eyes. ‘Why did you name your son so?’
I remember myself. ‘He’s not my son. I am babysitting for my friend.’
‘Oh,’ she says and straightens so I get to see her properly. She has medium brown hair, pink cheeks, and blue eyes, and is wearing an understated, but obviously very expensive coat. Her accent is very upper class, but there is something shrill about her eyes. It makes me itch to stand up and put myself between her and my son. I stand up and we are facing each other.
‘Why did she give him such a name?’
‘It is after the legend of Rustam and Sorab.’
‘Do you know the story of Rustam and Sorab?’
‘No,’ I lie, immediately.
‘It is the legend of a very great warrior who accidentally kills his own son in the battlefield, because when the boy was born his mother lied. She told the father he had no son, that she had borne a girl.’
I stare at the woman trying to control my horror, but by the expression on her face I am not succeeding. The irony had not hit me before. What have I unthinkingly done? Who is this woman? What is she to Blake, my son, and me?
‘Who are you?’
‘Who I am is not important. Do not be tempted to stay longer than your allotted time. You and your son are in grave danger. It may even already be too late. Don’t trust anyone.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Beware of Cronus,’ she says, her voice as dry as dust, and begins walking away.
‘Hey, come back,’ I call out, but she increases her speed, and quickly disappears from my sight. I sit back down because my knees will no longer support me. I know that woman. An evening breeze rushes past me. I force myself up and push the pram as quickly as I can back to the apartment. Inside, I rush to the computer and Google images for the fourth Earl of Hardwicke and his family. Up pops a picture of the woman.
I sit back. The memory of her perfume drifts past me. The rest is a blur of real fear. Of course, I recognize her. The resemblance is small, but noteworthy. She is Victoria’s mother, but there is something pitiful about her. She has lost something precious. True, her shrill eyes betrayed extreme fury, but beneath the rage, she was essentially telling me that she has had to suffer, and intolerably. But unlike her daughter she was not threatening me, but warning me so I could avoid a similar suffering in my own future. Beware of Cronus. Turn back now, Lana. Before it is too late.
My phone rings. It is Blake.
‘Hi,’ I mumble.
‘You sound strange. Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I say.
‘I’m coming home early. Wait for me.’
‘I’m here,’ I say.
By the time Blake gets home I have stopped restlessly pacing the floor and stilled the tremor in my hands, but not the terrible fear in my heart. I am standing in the middle of the living room lost to some unknown dread, when Blake appears at the doorway. I turn towards him and suddenly I am filled with a new fear. Can I even trust him? I feel confused and frightened of what I do not know.
In a few strides he has covered the ground between us. ‘What is it?’
I shake my head. ‘Why are you back so early?’
‘We are going to Venice.’
‘Venice?’ I repeat stupidly.
‘Would you like that?’
‘I can’t. I have Sorab.’
‘He will come with us. Laura has arranged five nannies for you to interview tonight. They come with the highest recommendation from the best nanny agencies in London. The nanny can help you here too until such time as you no longer need her.’
Why did no one warn me about this? My hands rise to my temples. ‘A nanny?’ The word is foreign on my tongue. The idea intimidating. Another woman taking care of Sorab.
‘The first lady will arrive at seven and one every half hour after that until you find one that you think is suitable. I thought we could have an early dinner. Laura has ordered us Chinese for six o’clock, I believe.’
I nod distractedly and notice the relief that washes over his face and tense shoulders, but I cannot imagine why he is relieved.
‘Can I fix you a drink?’ he asks, and moves to the bar. I stare at his turned back. Suddenly I have the distinct impression, he is worried about something. Something important. Something about me. But he doesn’t want to talk about it. Not yet. It’s part of those secret things I do not understand.
‘A large brandy,’ I reply.
He pushes a goblet into my hand, kisses me softly on the forehead. ‘I’ll join you after a shower. Just relax. Be back soon.’
‘Why are we going to Venice?’
‘You are going to the opera to experience Venetian music in its original setting. Pack your black dress,’ he says, his eyes smoldering.
He has planned a Venetian adventure for me. I drop my eyes to the floor. I dare not look in his eyes, not yet. I plan to tell him about Victoria’s mother. Not today, though. Not until I figure out who Cronus is. And who I can trust. Who is friend and who is foe?
The nannies arrive punctually. When the third woman comes through the door I know she is the one. She has a pleasant face and laughing, soft eyes. Her name is Geraldine Dooley. She is from Ireland. I put the baby in her arms.
‘All right, lad, what’s the story?’
Sorab babbles back at her.
‘T’be sure,’ she agrees solemnly.
The last two candidates I am able to cancel by calling their mobiles, but the next candidate is already waiting for me in the living room. I go out to meet her.
‘I’m so sorry to have wasted your time. I have just found the nanny that is perfect for my son.’
She smiles and pulls on spotlessly white cotton gloves. ‘You haven’t, my dear. I have been paid a considerable amount for attending this interview on such short notice.’
A thought occurs to me. ‘What time were you contacted?’
‘I couldn’t say for sure. But perhaps 4:30 pm.’
‘Oh.’ That was just after Victoria’s mother approached me in the park. Can it be a coincidence that I am suddenly being whisked off to Venice? Her words, ‘trust no one,’ still reverberate in my head. Perhaps it is naïve of me, but I am unafraid. I believed him when he asked me to trust him to do what is in my best interest. And I still do.
With his hands spanning my waist just above the bruises and his eyes never leaving mine, Blake gently lowers me onto his throbbing hardness. The muscles in his jaw twitch and betray his lack of detachment. I know he is worried about hurting me, but I am so slick and wet and ready that the first inch slips in easily, filling and opening me beautifully. It feels so good I drive myself down and suddenly he has pierced me too deeply, stretched the swollen hole too much. I cry out involuntarily and I feel his hands bodily lift me off the shaft I am impaled on.
‘Jesus, Lana. Take it easy,’ he bites out.
But now that the first flash of pain is gone I am afire with need. I want to forget about Cronus and Victoria and all the confusing things I have not yet figured out and I know no better way. I place my hands on either side of him and slowly push my trembling, clinging sex down until the bruises on my rear touch his thighs. I stop and move upwards. This exquisite pain-pleasure is what I have been craving all day. This time I go down that bit faster. My soaked sex hovers an instant at the tip of his shaft and then comes down too hard. I cry out. He tries to hold me up.
I shake my head and say, ‘No, this is fine. I can take it.’
He tightens his grip around my waist.
‘No. No more pain for you,’ he says firmly, and gently rolls me onto my back. He covers my entire body with daddy-long-legs kisses until I feel as if I am floating. And when I do come, I feel as if I am a pond on a day when the sunlight is so white it is impossible to look at it. And someone goes and throws a stone into the pond of my very core, the shimmering ripples spreading out and out and out.