15. Mel
Mr Lazenby sent me. He’s been talking to people. He’s made some progress... He’s found something out. He knows where your friend is. She’s okay. He thinks he can pull strings.
That dizzying rush, like the bursting of a dam. Standing up from her bar stool, clutching at the bar for fear her legs would go from under her.
Suze... The tall, glamorous dancer grabbing at her arm to steady her. The look of compassion in her eyes. The understanding of what a huge moment this was.
You have to come. I have a car outside. I can take you there right now .
Walking unsteadily, her lope like that of a drunk, or of someone who had been at sea for weeks and hadn’t yet learned how to walk on stable land again.
The sick lump in her throat, making it difficult to swallow, to breathe.
And all the time, Suze at her side, one hand holding her upper arm, the other looped around her waist. Steadying her with the contact as much as the physical support.
Outside, the evening sun was still harshly bright as her eyes slowly adjusted from the gloom of the King’s Head’s interior.
A dark car waited at the roadside, engine idling softly.
“Where?” asked Mel, finally finding her voice again. “Where is she?”
“A safe place. She’s okay. Come on, we’ll take you there.”
Suze reached for the door, pulled it open, and gently guided Mel into the back seat.
Harriet. She was going to see Harriet.
Not just that, but Suze had said Harriet was okay. Those simple words both conjured up all the fears Mel had tried so hard to suppress over the past week and immediately dismissed them.
Fears for what her friend might have been enduring. For what she might find if she ever saw Harriet again.
She was okay.
The car rushed through the center of town, then cut down a suburban road Mel vaguely remembered. Across a narrow railway bridge. Past a school, an arcade of neighborhood shops, more anonymous housing.
She realized she was still clutching Suze’s hand, and she smiled awkwardly, extricating her fingers.
“Thank you,” said Mel.
Suze smiled, shrugged, said, “Just doin’ my job, you know?”
She considered calling Jimmy, but held back. Better to wait until she was with Harriet, until she understood the situation.
Her mind rushed with possibilities. Had Glenn rescued Harriet from somewhere, or negotiated her release via one of his shady contacts? Had Thom Sullivan, perhaps, relented and made a reward available – but would that have worked so quickly, though? She’d only spoken to the man a couple of hours ago, at most. Perhaps, though: Sullivan was a man who made things happen, who got what he wanted, to use Glenn’s preferred term of praise for those he admired.
Or perhaps it was more prosaic than that. Maybe simply putting word around had finally turned something up, found Harriet holed up in some dealer’s house, or maybe even at a friend’s place, and Glenn’s or Sullivan’s people had located her and brought her to some safe location to dry out.
Had Glenn known earlier? At the party? Had that smug smile been concealing the knowledge that Harriet was safe?
She wouldn’t put it past him. He liked theater, and would love the idea that he might be the one to orchestrate the end of this drama, with his kid brother floundering some way behind.
If so, she would hate him forever for drawing out her pain, but still always be in his debt for this... which was just about how he would want it, she knew.
The car slowed, a couple of miles along a narrow lane, rolling green fields on one side and dense deciduous woodland on the other. The trees parted at a turning, a long wooden gate blocking the way.
They stopped and the driver got out to swing the gate open.
Mel hadn’t seen much of the driver until now, just the back of his head. Now she saw he was a shortish Mediterranean-looking guy, dark hair, thickset features, latte skin tones. Was he one of Glenn’s people, or part of some other group? Or just a driver, no connections...?
He climbed back in, drove a short distance, stopped, and climbed out to close the gate again.
“Nearly there,” said Suze, with a flicker of a smile. She wasn’t just doing her job, despite what she said. The look in her eye told Mel she got it, the significance of this.
They pulled up a short time later in front of an upright redbrick building with white marble columns either side of a double front door. It looked like a rather grand farmhouse that was trying to look more like a modest country manor house. The gardens surrounding the graveled stopping area at the front had seen better days, kept roughly in order now but not actively gardened. Outhouses lay to the side and rear, barns and a low-roofed building that might have been a stable.
The driver opened Mel’s door and stepped back. When she caught his eye he gave a little sympathetic smile, too. He was part of this; he knew they were doing something good.
“Come on,” said Suze, pausing on the first of two wide steps that led up to the entrance. “It’s okay.” There was something bizarre about seeing Suze in her short skirt and bustier top standing on the steps of a country house, like a glamour shoot for a men’s magazine. Her words and smile were reassuring, though.
Mel swallowed, tried to calm her thumping heart, and followed the dancer into the building.
§
“Not long now, I promise.” Suze smiled around the half-open door, then stepped back, out of the room, and let the door swing softly shut under its own weight.
Mel was in a bright, airy room, mostly shades of cream and white with a couple of darker pieces of furniture. Again, it reminded her of a photo-shoot, and she wondered what kind of property this was, the shabby chicness of it seeming more carefully cultivated the more she saw of the place.
She went to the window just as their car pulled away. Leaving? Or simply moving to park in the yard at the side of the building, where she’d seen a couple of other cars?
She wanted this over. Wanted to see the look in Harriet’s eyes, to get reassurance in that look. Wanted her friend in her arms, so she might never let her go again.
She remembered Jimmy’s call from earlier, when she’d been in the King’s Head and Suze had shown up.
Did he know something too? Were he and his people, as he’d called them, converging on this place at this moment?
She reached into her purse, rummaged among make-up, tissues, keys, pen, money. In a moment of panic, she remembered glancing at her phone as it lay on the bar, buzzing with Jimmy’s call.
Had she picked it up from there? She’d been distracted, first wondering what Suze was doing there and then by the dancer’s words, by the promise that Harriet was safe.
Surely she hadn’t left her phone.
She tried hard to remember.
Had there been a moment when she’d reached for the phone as she stood to leave? When she’d realized the phone was no longer there and she assumed she must already have tucked it into her bag? Or was she just imagining that, her memory filling in blanks, trying to construct a plausible narrative?
She must have left it on the bar. She’d probably never see it again – despite its refits, the King’s Head was not the most salubrious of establishments.
She cursed her stupidity. Folded her arms across her chest and hugged herself, telling herself the simple loss of a phone shouldn’t suddenly make her feel so exposed.
Where was she?
What were they doing?
Why the delay, when Suze had told her she was taking her to Harriet?
She moved across to the heavy wooden door, took the handle and paused, telling herself she really was being paranoid now.
Twisted the knob and pulled.
The door wouldn’t budge.
She was locked in.
§
He made her wait.
Glenn.
Of course it was Glenn.
She watched the shadows grow long outside, the sky take on shades of gold and bronze, and then steadily darken.
She didn’t switch on the room’s light, instead leaving her eyes to adjust to the fading light. It was the one element of control she had left.
She’d been so stupid.
How had she walked into this?
She knew Glenn had been just about the only suspect in Harriet’s disappearance. Not only had she worked that out, but Jimmy had come after his brother, and she didn’t doubt he had evidence he hadn’t revealed to her.
And yet still she had thought she was being clever, thought she was outsmarting them both.
Glenn must be laughing now. Must have been laughing at her all along.
Her phone... Had Suze simply seen it lying on the bar and swiped it while Mel was distracted by news of Mel? Or had she slipped it from her purse as they sat in the car?
Bitch.
All those little smiles, the squeezes of the hand, the comforting words.
Bitch.
The door opened. She turned, and he stood there. He’d changed out of the suit he’d worn at the party into jeans, a white shirt, a brown leather jacket – he hadn’t even come directly here. Drawing it out. Making sure she knew she wasn’t a priority.
“Where is she?”
He did that annoying hands-spread gesture of his.
“Safe,” he said simply.
“That’s what your stripper said.”
“She had no reason to lie.”
He reached for the light switch, flicked it on, and they both squinted for a second or two, adjusting to the flood of light.
There was something different about Glenn tonight. Less front. That’s what it was. He didn’t need to impress anyone, didn’t need to project an image.
And that was the most scary thing of all.
Glenn Lazenby had won.
“So what now?” Mel said, trying not to let her voice reflect the other side of that coin: that she must therefore have lost.
He smiled, and Mel tried not to feel sick.
“Now?” he said. “Now, darling, I get to take whatever I want.”
She held his look, still fighting, but that only made him smile again.
She was right: he’d been laughing at her all along, always at least one step ahead.
“Let Harriet go,” she said. “Please. Just do that one thing. She’s only a child.”
“That doesn’t exactly make her less valuable.”
She’d never known him like this. Relaxed. Not having to pretend. She realized she’d never really known him at all.
Valuable. That chilled her.
There was always a price.
She recalled now, talking with Thom Sullivan at that party only earlier this evening, the moment when she’d pretty much begged him for help and he’d paused, turned to her, and reminded her of his ‘offer’ to stay with him at his place in Monaco. Extracting his price. Then, she’d thought she knew her own limits, knew she didn’t have a price. She’d thought she could turn him down.
How naïve.
How damned naïve!
She had a price. Everyone did.
“What do you want?” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Glenn had always had a thing for her. She couldn’t remember if he’d even been aware of her much before Jimmy was, but a definite rivalry had developed between the two Lazenby brothers for her attentions.
Was that what this was about?
Was that why he’d tricked her into coming here, trapped her in this room?
He took a step toward her, and she did her best to hold his look before finally turning away, looking down at the floor.
Another step, another, and he stood before her. Reached out, used the lightest touch of a finger to tilt her chin up again, make her look at him.
“That all depends, darling,” he said. “Depends on what it is you’re offering.”
“Let Harriet go.”
“No, no. That’s not what I meant. That’s what you’re asking for, not what’s on offer. You see what I mean, Mels?”
“I... I’ll do whatever you want. Just let her go.”
Closer still, his finger still pressing lightly beneath her chin. She felt his breath on her face. Breathed his cologne mixed with the scent of leather.
Slowly, he trailed that finger down, under her chin, down the front of her neck and along one collarbone. Down until it came to rest lightly in her cleavage.
She wanted to punch him. Wanted to be sick. Wanted, desperately to run.
She stood there, his fingertip resting delicately between her breasts.
“Do you mean what I think you mean?” he said, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.
He knew what she meant. She didn’t answer. Tried not to breathe, because the rise and fall of her chest only reminded her of where that finger lay.
“You might have to spell it out for me, darling. Make sure I’ve got it right, you know?”
She couldn’t. Couldn’t open her mouth, couldn’t find the words.
He drew his finger away, pressed the tip to his lips.
“You want to fuck me, is that what you mean?”
She ground her teeth. Wouldn’t meet his look, even though she knew that was exactly what he wanted. He wanted her cowed, beaten. He was getting off on it. This wasn’t a sex thing – it was beating his brother, beating her. Righting past wrongs. That’s what turned him on: it was a power thing.
“No,” she finally said. “I don’t want to fuck you, and you know it. But that’s what you want, isn’t it? So I’ll give it to you, if that’s what it takes. Just let Harriet go.”
For a moment she thought he was going to. He reached for her again, and she thought he was reaching for the thin strap of her dress, to ease it down over her shoulder.
Instead, though, he pressed his hand to her cheek, cupping her face before withdrawing.
“Nah,” he said, that smile on his face, telling her he’d won again, got her to stoop so low, broken her. That was what he’d really wanted, to break her.
“Nah,” he repeated. “Not that I’m not tempted, of course. I always thought there was a spark between us. Am I wrong? No, I didn’t think so. I can tell.”
He took a step back, shaking his head slowly. “No,” he said. “Tempted as I am, I’m not going to take you up on your very kind offer. Don’t want to spoil the goods, know what I mean?”
He laughed one more time, then turned and left the room.