Chapter Seventeen
No Fairytale Endings
It was Wednesday afternoon and Velma was sorting out a technical glitch in my computer while I was at James’s desktop, growing alarmed over a client bank account I was having problems with. Five thousand pounds was missing and I couldn’t find it, much as I double checked each transaction, tracing every fiduciary deposit I’d made the previous week.
What the hell had happened? When I phoned the bank they said the money had been transferred with my password. I was stumped, raking my mind and wondering if I was losing the plot. If I didn’t find it, I would tell Greg and see if he could help me. He had the password also. Maybe he’d received instructions from the client I hadn’t known about. No way would I tell James.
Call me proud but I didn’t want him to think I was incompetent after his compliments at the weekend. I logged out of the account and gazed at James’s screen. It was neat, just like his desk. There were a few folders saved at the top right corner; client names mostly, and one called Puerto Escondido.
Hidden Port.
Was James a closet pirate? I was intrigued but I had learned my lesson about being nosy. Not that I would open James’s files, mind. Just saying. Still, why did he have a file like that on his desktop?
I checked the time and went to stand over Velma’s shoulder, not wanting James to come back from Madrid and think I was snooping. I was more nervous than the first day of work, wondering if he remembered his dinner invitation.
James came in a few minutes later, phone stuck to his ear.
“All done,” Velma said brightly, batting her eyelashes at James.
Why didn’t she sway her hips back to reception? Greg was in a meeting and it was the ideal time to talk to James alone.
As soon as Velma left, James ran his gaze over me, pausing briefly on my breasts. In spite of my best efforts heat crept into my face. I’d worn a clingy violet top and a flirty, hip-hugging skirt. There was cleavage on show but that’s what push-up bras are for, right? Besides, if we were going out for dinner I could hardly accompany James to a swanky restaurant looking like a middle-aged housewife.
James’s suit was as sleek and well-tailored as usual but I thought he looked particularly handsome. He was also wearing different cologne, something with a hint of bergamot, and I beat back the thought he’d chosen it for me. Well, if he wanted to turn me on he was succeeding.
James’s briefcase almost knocked over the tea mug I’d left on his desk and I got up to retrieve it. There was something predatory in his shoulders as he watched me advance. My Sluts R Us button responded and I swayed my hips—much better than Velma had—as I approached. My mind reminded me of my guilt, giving me a good reason not to flirt, but my body didn’t listen.
James picked up the mug and sat back, a challenge in his eyes. My pulse rocketed out of control. Images of unzipping his trousers and straddling his hips, of sinking down on him as he rose and hardened inside me stopped me in the middle of the room. He saw what I was thinking and became still in that way he has of concentrating fully on my every move.
Advance or retreat?
A brisk knock on the office door took the decision away.
“Hello, Sparkles.”
It was a voice I’d hoped never to hear again, a nickname that froze me to the spot. I wasn’t ready for this! Not now and not ever. Blood that had been rushing through my body only a few seconds ago drained away, leaving only a wispy, fragile shell behind. I shut my eyes, took a deep breath and turned around slowly.
Ten years had passed since I’d last seen Manuel, but it could have been ten minutes for all that time had lessened the impact. He looked much the same, even though he was in his fifties. Medium height with thick brown hair and a long nose, still handsome and athletic.
And deadly.
Fear and rage paralysed me. He took my fear and swallowed it whole, returning it with not a single remorseful word. What I read was regret, but not for what he had done to me. It was regret he hadn’t been able to screw me like he’d wanted.
Manuel dropped his eyes down my body. Up again. He looked at me like he used to, with hunger and lust. I blinked, shame and helplessness overtaking my rage, just as it had as a young girl. He smiled at my reaction, triumph in his eyes. He had defeated me in the length of time it took me to breathe in and out.
“How about that kiss, Sparkles.”
“Manuel,” I said hoarsely.
James pushed his chair out and I was vaguely aware of movement behind me. My uncle didn’t stop his advance, hand outstretched.
Oh God, he was going to touch me!
My mind urged me to do something, jump away or hurl abuse. Anything to avoid the feel of his skin on mine. I took a step backward and smacked into a solid chest. James put his hands on my arms and pulled me into him, keeping me from fragmenting into tiny pieces. I wanted to shout but it was like one of those nightmares where you think you’re screaming and wake up, mouth open and not a sound coming out.
“Leave me alone,” I whispered.
Manuel smiled. “Can’t I visit my favourite niece? Caroline told me where you work.”
A low, feral sound came from James’s chest. “Not when you’re a sick bastard who should be in prison.”
James didn’t give Manuel a chance to respond. He grabbed his arm and dragged his struggling body towards the door.
“Your parents are dead, Paisley!” Manuel shouted over James’s shoulder.
James thrust him against the wall and Manuel straightened his collar. He rolled his shoulders angrily. “They were in a car accident on the way back from church. The funeral is on Saturday at St Albert’s.”
I stumbled into James’s desk. Manuel moved towards me but James blocked him.
“I’ll drive you to Trenmore,” Manuel said. “Isabel is already there.”
“You’re not taking Paisley anywhere,” James said. “Don’t visit her, talk to her or look at her again or you’ll deal with me. After that the only people you ever fuck will be your fellow inmates.”
My numb brain registered that James was swearing and thought it odd, but what he did next was even more out of character. Manuel made a move in my direction and James punched his jaw. The cracking sound was like popcorn. He didn’t let Manuel recover, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him out of the office. Later, Velma told me James threw Manuel into the lift, but she’s prone to exaggeration when she’s gossiping.
When James came back his features were suffused with barely controlled violence. He phoned security, gave them Manuel’s name and description and instructed them to ensure he exited the building and wasn’t allowed back.
I trembled, thinking I should be reacting to Manuel’s news somehow. My parents were dead. Dust to dust and ashes to ashes, yet I couldn’t feel a thing.
And Manuel knew where to find me.
I retreated to the glass wall. My body was encased by fear and my mind by self-loathing. Why hadn’t I done something? Shown Manuel he couldn’t affect me anymore? Instead of confronting him as a grown woman I’d allowed James to fight my battle for me. I was the same pathetic weakling Manuel remembered.
James came to a stop next to me, his body tense. Could it be that he cared about me even a little bit? That beyond the lust I’d seen in his eyes at Matham Manor there was... A little thrill raced to the tips of my toes, only to be stifled by the thought that what James felt for me was pity. He knew about my past with Manuel and had seen my inability to deal with his visit.
The afternoon was sunny but it didn’t matter. I looked at the City of London and all I saw were dark streets and hidden alleyways. Somewhere out there was a man who still had the power to hurt me.
“I’m sorry about your parents,” James said.
“It’s okay. We hated each other.”
James turned his head but I resolutely didn’t look at him. His voice was gentle. “Manuel won’t come back.”
I couldn’t answer. Maybe this was what it felt like to be an iceberg—tiny shards of crystallised terror and shame, sculpted into a Paisley-shaped figure.
“Please don’t put his visit in my evaluation report,” I said dully. “I don’t think ‘the candidate receives visits from psychopaths, inciting boss to violence’ is a good—”
James swore under his breath and reached for me.
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, and jumped away. “Nobody fucking touches me unless I say so!”
His hand froze in midair.
“Oh God, I’m sorry,” I said brokenly.
I rubbed my arms frantically, trying to stop trembling so hard.
“He’ll never harm you again,” James said, with quiet assurance. “I promise you that.”
His declaration was made in friendship, with the same kindness he’d shown a messed-up eighteen-year-old girl. And just like back then there was no pity in his eyes. He radiated compassion. Tenderness. It affected me more than his anger had, filling me with an inner warmth that was far stronger than the physical attraction I’d felt only minutes before.
“Ryan has a game out of town on Saturday,” James said. “I’ll ask one of the other parents to take him so I can—”
“No,” I said, appalled he felt obligated to take me to the funeral.
“John and María were Ryan’s grandparents, and my in-laws for a brief period,” he said quietly.
Right, I’d forgotten. “Did they ever meet Ryan?”
James sighed. “They weren’t interested, as many times as I offered to visit with him.”
“They wouldn’t be,” I said bitterly. “I wonder if I should even bother to go to the funeral.”
“I’ll take you.”
No, no and no! I hadn’t deserved his kindness at eighteen and I didn’t deserve it now. I wanted it—oh, how I craved it, but I couldn’t accept it.
“Tarzan will take me,” I said, almost tripping over my feet in my haste to put distance between us.
“The dancing minister?”
I nodded.
“A man for every occasion.”
I stared at him blankly.
“Go home, Paisley,” James said, sounding like my boss again. “Take as much time off as you need.”
I felt his steady gaze on my back all the way out the door.
* * *
Tarzan and I squeezed into the middle of a pew at the back of Saint Albert’s Catholic Church. The funeral service was scheduled to start in twenty minutes, but with a decrepit-looking Father Martin puttering around the altar I had the feeling it would be delayed. He was retired, but had insisted on officiating.
Most of the Spanish community of Trenmore was in the crowded church. Caroline sat at the front next to a dark-haired man I presumed was her husband, her head covered by a black mantilla. She hadn’t seen me come in and I wanted to keep it that way.
My mobile pinged and I read the text from Marcia and smiled. If she were here she’d be making me feel better by slagging off my relatives, but she had to work and there was Fleur Anise to consider.
Tarzan raised his eyebrows.
“Chocolate cupcakes and Psycho await us tomorrow afternoon.”
He pulled a face. “A slasher film after laying your parents to rest?”
I shrugged. “When the going gets tough, the tough watch slice and dice. It helps to ease the tension.”
“I can suggest other films to do that.”
I lowered my voice. “Pussy Party at the Raunchy Reverend Retreat?”
Tarzan’s fair skin turned pink. “You’re never going to let me forget that phase, are you?”
“Just keeping it real, Reverend, but I won’t tell Marcia.” I leaned in to whisper in his ear. “It’ll be our little secret.”
“You’ve got too many of those already.” He gave me the all-seeing minister look that never fails to make me squirm. “You have to tell James the truth about Ryan if you want any kind of meaningful friendship with him.”
“Good thing I only want sex.”
My mind didn’t even bother to zap me for the lie. It didn’t need to. James had been in my thoughts almost every single second since Wednesday, and I wasn’t trying to deny the attraction anymore. I was fluent in man-speak and the signals he’d sent out before Manuel’s visit were red hot and very male.
But it felt as if there could be more to it than physical desire.
I quieted my clamouring thoughts by telling myself I was mistaken, tripping on the weird numbness from my parents’ deaths. James couldn’t have any romantic feelings for me. I was hardly “his sort,” if you know what I mean. Besides, he already had a lover, a girlfriend or an f-u-c-k buddy in the form of Vanessa. Regardless of the smouldering looks he sent my way, it was a friendly, parent-to-parent relationship James wanted.
My mobile rang, and I recognised his private number. A few people turned around, giving me irritated looks when I didn’t answer. Foreigner’s “Hot Blooded” was hardly appropriate for a church but I stared at my phone and let it ring. James had phoned a few times since Wednesday but I’d felt too awkward to speak to him.
I tapped the screen and waited.
“Hi,” he said.
How can one tiny word block the blood flow to your brain and twist your tongue into schoolgirl incoherence? I made a garbled sound and shot to my feet. James said something but I didn’t catch it. He seemed to be in an outdoor space with plenty of noise. I squeezed past the mourners in my pew and headed outside while he told me Ryan’s rugby game had just finished.
“Ryan’s team won but he’s upset because he was substituted. I’ll have to cheer him up later,” James said. “It’s your turn next time.”
“You mean that?” I said hesitantly. “I can still see him?”
You’re not supposed to intuit emotions via satellite but hey, my screwy mind does things other people’s don’t. I wasn’t surprised I could feel James’s displeasure without him saying a word. I should have known better than to think he’d change his mind because of Manuel’s visit.
I mumbled an apology.
“Has he approached you?”
I shuddered. “No, and I don’t think he will. Tarzan’s with me. We’re spending the night in Brighton.”
Silence, and then I heard him tell Ryan to strap himself into his booster seat. I smiled, picturing a child’s car seat in the back of a Porsche or a Lamborghini.
“How are things at Flintfire?” I asked, floundering for a topic.
James switched into boss mode. “Fine. Somebody else will accompany Greg and me to Valencia. Velma speaks some Spanish and wants to come.”
I bet she does, my mind said.
“I’ll be back on Monday,” I said firmly. “There’s a lot to do before we leave.”
“I don’t want to see you in the office.”
As ever, his dictatorial tone got my back up. “Well, I want to see you,” I retorted, instantly cringing at my words.
“Okay.”
Huh? I didn’t get to find out what he meant by that. In typical James fashion he’d made his pronouncement and hung up. I shook my phone, wishing I could whack him over the head with it for being such a...a...
Perplexing and considerate—albeit bossy—man you can’t stop thinking about even though you try so hard I’m forced to zap you into infinity, my mind supplied.
I stared at the green fields beyond the old tombstones, a silly smile on my face. It faded though, as hopelessness and guilt battled for supremacy. Why the hell had I lied to James at his and Caroline’s wedding? If I hadn’t been drunk I would have kept to the truth and nothing but. Self-loathing mixed with despair. I could never come clean about Ryan and I could never be James’s friend—or anything else for that matter. I might as well bury my fledgling happiness in one of the tombs in front of me.
I was halfway back to my pew when I came face to face with Manuel, coming in the opposite direction. My mobile felt warm in my palm, almost as if I were holding a small part of James’s essence close to me. James hadn’t pitied me. He’d been protective, yes, but not because he thought I was a weakling; he didn’t see me as a poor little victim and he didn’t judge me.
He judged Manuel.
I stood straighter, lifted my chin and stared into Manuel’s dark brown eyes. The crowded church faded out until it was just him and me, and we were standing on a fault line between my past and my future. It was an opening chasm he would either drag me into or from which I would leap away, choosing a side on which to land.
There’s no changing the past and no cure for innocence lost, no safe hideaways and no fairy tale endings. The bad guys get you and then they get away. Full stop and end of story. It’s what you do after the end that matters.
You deal with it and stop the fucking whining! my mind ordered.
As much as it hurt to enter Manuel’s darkness, I didn’t flinch. I’d finally learned a thing or two. Hope strengthens, fear kills. He might have got away with abusing me but he’d never get to me again. Never. Something in my face must have communicated my thoughts because Manuel’s satisfied smile disappeared. He dropped his eyes and looked disconcerted. Disappointed at my lack of fear.
Slowly, I became aware of the curious stares and of one enraged bystander in particular. Aunt Isabel’s face was pinched so tightly she looked like she’d implode. Narrowed eyes flicked between her husband and the niece she despised. She was in black from head to toe, red-eyed and grieving but not too stricken to cover her suspicious jealousy. She took Manuel’s arm and they headed to wherever they were going.
When I sat down next to Tarzan my knees were weak and I was shaking. He put his arm around my shoulders and hugged me close.
“Ghost from the past?” he said.
“More like a ghoul.”
I couldn’t concentrate during the service. I felt like a fraud, attending a mass for two strangers. Caroline was sobbing on her husband’s shoulder. Well, at least one of us could. My childhood had seen me cry for the lack of my parents’ love, my adolescence for the lack of their protection. My well had long since evaporated and all that was left was a sculpture in salt.
After the funeral, the church emptied of mourners. It became silent in the way that draughty old churches have of making even the air feel hushed. I looked around. It was just Jesus, the Virgin Mary and me.
Pain and sorrow and silence.
I walked up the aisle. When I reached the altar I stopped and stared at the caskets. Black and shiny, and one of them bigger than the other. Side by side. Each one was engraved with a gold crucifix in straight Romanic lines, rough underneath my fingertips. I pressed my palms to the glossy wood.
John and María, María and John, my mind sang sadly.
I swirled their initials with one of my tears.