Forty 2 Days (The Billionaire Banker) (9 page)

At nine thirty I invite Mr. Nair up for a coffee.  He comes through the door holding his
I’m the Boss
mug, his eyes bulging with curiosity.

We sit at the kitchen counter.  ‘What happened to you, Miss Bloom?’ he asks.

‘
I had to go to Iran suddenly.’

‘
Oh! No wonder.  Poor Mr. Barrington.  You broke his heart,’ he states, enlarging his eyes dramatically.  I watch him bite into a biscuit.  Crumbs land on his jacket.  I look at them, but my mind is spinning.

‘
Why do you say that?’ I ask as casually as I can manage.

‘
Because,’ he says, ‘I was the one who gave him your letter.’

‘
My letter?’

‘
Yes.  Have you forgotten, you sent your friend with a note instructing the porter on duty to give the envelope to Mr. Barrington?  It was a strange note, very formal, not at all like you, but I knew it was you because I always recognize your handwriting.’

I take a sip of coffee, swallow and lick my lips.  ‘What did Mr. Barrington say when you gave it to him?’

‘
I tell you, Miss Bloom, it was the oddest thing.  He practically snatched it out of my hand, tore it open and read it right in front of me.  The contents shocked him so very much I saw his eyes go back to the top of the letter to read it again.  Then he crushed the letter in his hand and walked out of this building…and I have never seen him since.’  

I bite my lip.  The past.  I can never change it, but then would I?  How can I regret it?  Sorab came out of my sorry past.

Mr. Nair pops the last bit of biscuit into his mouth and hops nimbly off the stool.  ‘My ten minutes are up.  I’d better go.’

‘
My friend Billie will be coming this morning.  Will you call me to let me know when she does?’

‘
I can do better than that, Miss Bloom.  I will show her up myself.’

I thank him and close the door.

An hour after the stuff that Fleur sent arrives Billie breezes in with Mr. Nair in tow.  

‘
Thanks, Mr. Nair,’ I say relieving him of a large bag of baby things.

‘
I’m very happy to help you, Miss Bloom.’  He nods happily towards Sorab.  ‘He looks exactly like his father.  A very handsome boy, indeed.’

I freeze.  

But Billie is quick off the mark.  She grins broadly.  ‘Sorry, mate, but this one here is my baby.  Don’t you think he looks like me?  Everyone says so.’

Mr. Nair’s dark, confused eyes look to me.  

‘
I’m only his godmother,’ I say weakly, filled with a sharp sense of pain.  I am terribly proud of Sorab, and not being recognized as his mother is far more difficult than I expected.

‘
Oh, I’m very, very sorry.  I spoke out of turn,’ Mr. Nair apologizes.  Poor man.  He looks embarrassed and flustered.

‘
Please don’t worry about it, Mr. Nair.  I know you meant no harm.’

‘
Better be going.  The desk is unmanned,’ Mr. Nair mutters awkwardly and hurries away.

I close the door and turn towards Billie.  ‘Oh my God, Billie.  He knew.’

‘
Of course he did.  He is Indian.  They are into astrology and all that shit, aren’t they?’

‘
Billie,’ I wail. ‘Recognizing a family resemblance has nothing to do with astrology.’

Billie crosses her arms.  ‘I know that!  I was being sarcastic.  For God’s sake, Lana, what’s got into you?  Sorab is a three-month-old baby and
all
babies look alike.  I wouldn’t even be able to pick him out from a line-up of six babies.’

I frown unconvinced.  I believe that Sorab is one of those children who have very definite features.  ‘He
does
have his father’s eyes.’  

‘
Look, you said Blake’s secretary sent a whole list of baby stuff, including pram and cot, to the apartment, right?  So he’s obviously seen it all go into the lift, put two and two together and come up with four.  Unfortunately for him, the correct answer is five.  Now, quit fretting over things you don’t need to worry about and give me a tour of this awesome flat.’

I smile.  I am such a paranoid fool.  Of course, she is right.  I give her a grand tour.  

 ‘
Wow!’ she enthuses.  ‘Guess how much this crib costs?’

‘
I don’t know. Five hundred quid?’

‘
Add another zero and you’re almost there.’

‘
Really?’  

She pulls the price tag off and holds it out to me.  ‘Five thousand five hundred and fifty-nine pounds for a fucking crib when a third of the world is starving.’  She shakes her head.  ‘Still it is dead cool to be so stonkingly rich, isn’t it?’

My phone rings.  It is Laura.  She is calling to tell me that Tom is on his way with my morning after pill and to tell me to be ready for 8:00 pm.  She has made a dinner reservation for Blake and me at The Fat Duck.

‘
It sure looks good from the outside, though,’ Billie says, having listened to my conversation with Laura.  

Billie finds a box of chocolates in the kitchen and then lunges headlong into the bed and, lying sprawled on it like a sultan, makes me try all the clothes on, one by one.  She insists I keep a pair of pink leather pants.  ‘You got to.  They make your bum look all ripe and trapped and in need of saving.  Blake is an ass man, right?’

‘
How do you know?’

‘
Just a guess.  Now go try on the long black dress,’ she orders.  

The black dress makes her gasp.  ‘Very, very sexy.’  

I grin.  

‘
How many are you allowed to keep?’

‘
As many as I want, I think.’

‘
Really?  What’s that like?’

For some reason I think of the white dress.  ‘Nice, I guess.’

‘
What happened last night?’

‘
He’s angry with me, Bill.  Very angry.’

‘
He didn’t hurt you, did he?’ I can hear the protective anger come into Billie’s voice.  She is such a firebrand.

‘
No,’ I say, but I find it almost impossible to discuss how I feel about Blake with Billie.  For Billie sex is fun, something to do when she feels horny.  For me, and I suspect for Blake as well, it is a clawing need.  I know it is the reason why he is angry.  He hates losing control.  Control is important to him.  In fact, if I am given only one word to describe his personality, I would have to use the word controlled.  His whole life is about control of himself and others.  He is controlled in everything he does, what he eats, how he eats, all his dealings, the precision of his time keeping, his immaculate appearance.  I don’t think I have ever seen a single scuff mark on his shoes.  

Until I came everything was perfectly in order, compartmentalized.  There was room for a fiancée and a mistress.  Now it is all a mess.  I am like the lock of hair on his head that will not be tamed.  He wants to walk away and feel nothing but disgust for me, but he can’t.  I look Billie in the eye.  

‘
His real anger is not directed at me, but at himself for still wanting me.’

‘
I’ve no beef with him.  I only fear it will all blow up and he will not be able or willing to protect you against his family and the bitch.’

I do not tell her about my near run-in with Victoria in Harvey Nichols.  That would be putting the cat among the pigeons.  She stays until the five o’clock rush hour traffic abates at six.  I send her home with a heavy heart and a couple of tins of the goat’s milk formula.

At seven I come out of the bath and slip into a blue dress.  It is long and straight with a demure neckline, but it dramatically deepens the blue of my eyes and suggests the curves that I no longer possess.  I am stepping into a pair of peacock blue shoes when I hear him come in.  I look at my watch.  He is early.  I turn in surprise when he comes directly into the bedroom.  For a moment we look at each other.  He is wearing a silver-gray suit, a white shirt, and a black and red striped tie.  

‘
I hope you haven’t dressed in a nun’s habit on my account, because it is coming off the first chance I get,’ he says.

Once he might have come up to me and told me how beautiful I looked.  My hands flutter upwards uselessly and settle down to my sides.  Now he will not accept anything except that which suggests I am a slut.  He goes towards the bed.  The journal is lying on the bedside table.  He picks it up and opens it to the empty first page.  He comes towards me expressionless.  He reaches a hand into his jacket and emerges with a sleek black fountain pen.  Swiss.  Very expensive.  He holds the journal and the pen wordlessly out to me.  

I take the offered items and go into the dining room.  I sit at the long, polished table and write.

Day 1

Blake ripped the first dress that I have actually loved into two and fucked me hard against the bedroom wall.  Then he threw me on the bed, didn’t deliver on his promise, and used the C word on me.

I go back into the living room where Blake is pouring himself a shot of whiskey so large my eyes actually widen. I hand him the book and his pen.  He opens the book, reads the two sentences I have written and looks at me with amusement.  

‘
The C word.  May I remind you that you come from a council estate where the…er…C word is almost an adjective?’

I lift my chin.  ‘I first heard that word in the playground when I was six years old.  A mother had sat on one of the benches by the swings and described her toddler daughter as a ‘clever little cunt’.  So I came home and used the word in front of my mother.  She didn’t scold me or wash my mouth out with soap.  “I have obviously failed in my duty as a mother that you feel comfortable to allow such a vile word to sit on your tongue.  I will not eat until I realize where I have gone wrong,” she said.  She put dinner on the table and refused to eat.  “Of course you have to eat.  You have done nothing wrong,” she told me. I had to sit there and finish all my food.  She would not let me leave a single pea behind.  She did it again at breakfast.  By lunchtime I was so distraught I could not eat a single mouthful.  I promised her I would never use the word again.  And I haven’t until today.’

He steps away from me, as if knowing that little bit about me is poisonous to his sanity or well-being.  ‘If you are ready we should leave now.’

Outside he remote unlocks a white Lamborghini.  The wings lift upwards.  It is the kind of flashy car I associate with the spoilt sons of Saudi Arabian oil sheiks.  I settle in.  ‘What happened to Aston?’

‘
Wrapped it around a tree.’

I swing my head around.  ‘With you in it?’

‘
Yes, cracked a couple of ribs, but, as you can see, I emerged unscathed.  It’s hard to hurt me.’

There is an edge to his voice.  Of course.  He is telling me I have hurt him.

The Fat Duck is the same as I remember it.  Great service and divine food, but there is a large difference that I cannot not notice.  Blake is drinking far more than he used to.  He orders the obligatory bottle of wine that perfectly matches our meal, but hardly touches it.  Instead, he goes for the whiskey.  I have already counted seven.

‘
You were completely drunk when you had your accident, weren’t you?’

‘
Yup.  Miss Marple solves yet another mystery.’  

‘
Didn’t they do you?’

The alcohol has relaxed his tense shoulders somewhat.  He laughs and I want to press my mouth against those hard lips. ‘Have you forgotten everything I told you, Lana dear?  The Barringtons are above the law.  Cream always floats to the top.’

‘
So does shit.’

He raises his glass and chuckles without mirth. ‘Let’s see how bright you can be when you are naked in my bed.’

‘
Depends how full my mouth will be,’ I retort unwisely.

‘
To bursting, darling.’

I feel my cheeks heat up.  ‘Are you planning to drive home tonight?’

He picks up his glass and shoots it.  ‘I wouldn’t risk your pretty face on my windshield for anything.  Tom is coming to pick us up.’

In the car we do not touch each other.  Our conversation is stilted and shallow, unsustainable.  

What did you do today?

 
Billie came around with her baby.

 
Fun?

 
Yes.  

Both of us are already thinking of the time we will be alone.  When only our bodies will speak.  There is something about this man that makes my hands itch to touch his skin, suck that firm mouth, meld with him…forever.  Desire fogs my brain.  

I pretend to drop my purse.  He bends to retrieve it, but I reach out for it and brush his clothed thigh.  Immediately I feel him tense.  

‘
Don’t push me, Lana.  I am already on the edge,’ he warns.

We are like tinder and kindling.  

I
n the lift I raise my eyes to meet his.
Fuck.  What the hell?

The door whooshes open.  

He takes my hand and drags me behind him.  Opens the door and pulls me through, and leaning back against it tugs me to him so I fall smack onto him.  My purse finds a quick path to the carpet, opens its guts, spills.  His hot mouth finds mine. The kiss is rough, crazy intense, and full of urgent need.  It is what I saw in his eyes.  I go astray.  I don’t want to come back from this.  His hand locates the zip at the back of my neck.  That hapless zip flies down and the nun’s habit pools around my shoes.  

His hands expertly release the clasp on my bra.  One tug and it is gone the way of the dress.  I am so lost in the jaws of desire that I barely hear the sound of light lace tearing.  Once again, I am naked and he is fully dressed.  

For a moment he holds me at arm’s length simply looking at me, the way he used to do in the beginning.  Then he takes me to the gilded mirror on the wall.