Deceptions (42 page)

“But it’s the past that’s the problem, Virginia. Not the future.”

Sent: 9 March 2.00 a.m
.

Subject: Loneliness

Virginia … remember? A Chinese takeaway, beanbags on the floor. We played the Buzzcocks over and over again. “Ever Fallen in Love” was our song. I tasted your hot mouth. Oh, how I tasted you. You laughed when we came together, laughed into my shoulder, bit hard into my flesh and rested – but only for a short while – in the crook of my arm. Remember Virginia – remember the magic? Rain on the windows, you and I locked indoors against the world. Answer me. My witch, my bitch. Tell me you’ve forgotten. I’m lonely tonight, Virginia.

Razor

Virginia’s personal assistant entered with the post and daily papers, which she laid across her employer’s desk. Most correspondence only needed a cursory glance before being passed on to various members of staff but it gave Virginia an overview of everything that was going on throughout her company. It also afforded her an opportunity to view the newspaper clippings supplied by the cutting agency employed to track publicity material about her clients.

She picked up a large manila envelope and slit it open. The newspaper clipping was heavily underlined.
P
OLICE
S
EEK
I
NFORMATION ON
H
IT
-
AND
-R
UN
A
CCIDENT
. The same anonymous message that accompanied the birthday card was stapled to the clipping. Not a muscle moved in her face as she read the report. She glanced towards her assistant, wondering if she too was aware that the air had suddenly been sucked from the office, but the young woman was breathing calmly as she moved to the window and opened the blinds to the exact angle ordained by Virginia.

The afternoon passed. Adrian’s mobile phone had been switched off. Lorcan said he was at a meeting. She discussed a forthcoming product launch with Joanne. A rapid-bonding adhesive, no matter how sticky and revolutionary, was such an uninteresting product to promote that even Virginia’s professionalism had faltered when assembling the press kit. It was late in the afternoon when Lorcan rang through. Adrian had returned to his office. He would see her now.

He stood with his back to the door, absorbed in watching the progress of a blue-bottle across the windowpane. When she called his name he turned and walked towards his desk. She noted its tidiness, empty of clutter, no ideas roughly sketched, no catchy slogans, storyboards, transparencies. He slumped into his chair and waved her into an armchair with wide-angled arms. She sank deeply into soft cushions. The fly swept over her head and dive-bombed around the office before fluttering back to the window.

“Poor bastard.” Adrian sighed. “How long will it take before the light dawns?”

“Fly watching may be an interesting pastime but it’s not going to solve our problems.” She did not like sitting in such a low chair. “I assume your untimely departure from your office had to do with this.” She struggled to her feet and laid the clipping before him.

He gestured towards the litter bin where he had dumped the shredded clippings from his own copy. “What can I say, Virginia? We’re fucked and it’s all your fault.”

Sent: 13 March 5.30 p.m.

Subject: Sighting

Another day over, Virginia. Did you miss me … even for a moment? At lunch-time today I caught a glimpse of you crossing Nassau Street. Your hair was blowing in the wind. I followed you past Trinity College, watched your long legs striding ahead of me. You broke the lights. Impetuous, as always.

I miss my vampire bitch.

Razor

The lure of good wine and tasty canapés brought a sizable gathering of journalists to the Congress Hotel to launch the revolutionary adhesive. Virginia’s experienced eyes gauged the numbers. They were mainly from trade publications but two social diarists from the nationals had made an appearance and a consumer-affairs journalist from RTÉ. They were handed vellum folders, bound with the new adhesive, and a gift box of the company’s products. One journalist, arriving late, addressed her as Veronica and brushed aside the press release with a dismissive flick of her hand.

“Don’t add to my clutter, Veronica. I can only give the product a few lines, if at all.” She tapped her pen impatiently. “Surely it’s not beyond your reach to condense it for me.”

“Which publication do you represent?” Years of experience in the business of public relations helped maintain Virginia’s composure.

“
Dublin Echo
.”

“I thought they were sending their science correspondent, not their social diarist?”

“You thought correctly.” The journalist’s smile flashed warningly.

“Then you’ll find everything you need, including photographs, in the press release. If you have any problem with the information, please contact my office.”

“You PR types would denude the world of trees if you had your way.” The journalist shrugged and shoved the press release into her briefcase. “So much paper and not a sentence worth reading.” She glided into the press reception where she was loudly greeted by friends.

The speeches were over and the journalists had scoffed the canapés when Ralph arrived.

“I wasn’t aware your name was on my invitation list.” She glanced pointedly at the list in front of her.

“I haven’t been on your invitation list for a long while, Virginia.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To see you, of course. I miss my sparring partner.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m busy running a press launch.”

“A sticky situation, what?”

“I’m not in the mood for jokes, Ralph.”

“I keep hoping you’ll reply to my e-mails.”

“I delete them instantly.”

“Not even a sneaky little look?” He smiled. His teeth looked whiter than she remembered.

“What do you want from me?”

“I thought we could engage in a little light banter over dinner.”

“I hate to dash a man’s hopes but needs must.”

“You can tell me all about tonight’s success.” He glanced towards the open doors of the Ivy Suite where the hum of a large gathering was audible. “It has been successful, hasn’t it? Only my Virginia could persuade a bunch of free-loading journalists that glue was a worthwhile present to carry home in their goody-bags.”

She found herself smiling. How the smile reached her lips, let alone her eyes, astonished her. The evening had been successful, despite the attitude of the
Dublin Echo
reporter whose svelte body and Bambi eyes had reminded Virginia of a faun and filled her with a hunter’s instinct to aim and fire.

In the past, she had always met Ralph after a press launch and relaxed down with a drink or a meal. He would listen to her rehash the evening, laughing at her anecdotes and the gossipy tit-bits she had picked up from journalists. The temptation to accept his invitation was fleeting. Beneath his affable smile, he was ruthless when crossed in business. She had no reason to believe he would behave differently when crossed in love, and he did still love her. She could see it glinting in his smile, his eyes, his speculative stare. But was he ready to forgive her? The answer, she suspected, was in the negative.

Adrian was sleeping when she returned to the apartment. He had started snoring, not an undignified, rampaging snore but a gentle, whistling whine through his nose that drove her from his side and into the chilly living-room where her computer flickered, beckoned.

Why, Ralph had asked, the last time they were together. Why him? Why take that one step too far? She had wanted to scream the answer back at him and was shocked by her desire to do so. The boy. It always came back to the boy. He had bound her in a sinister secret, forced her into hasty, unplanned decisions, sent her scurrying into a foxhole of an apartment which she hated and where her lover’s body – so fervently desired when it was unobtainable – now lay shivering in his own fear.

Sent: 14 March 1:45 a.m.

Subject: Lonelines

After I left you, I went to the Horseshoe Bar. Packed as always. The women were beautiful. But I drove home alone. There was only one woman I wanted in my bed. How many ways can a man love a woman – a woman love a man? Once upon a time we tried each one then started all over again. I keep thinking about what might have been – should have been. You and I were never meant to be sparring partners. Virginia, where did you go when I foolishly averted my gaze? I miss my vampire bitch.

Razor

The third envelope arrived a week later. The sender had cut Virginia’s photograph from
Prestige
and placed it beside a silver car. The sea lapped against the wall of the pier.

An hour later Lorcan called into her office and asked if she knew where Adrian had gone. He was due to give a presentation in thirty minutes.

“Cancel it, Lorcan,” she said. “He won’t be back on time.”

When he left, she shredded the anonymous photograph. She tidied her desk, pens, staplers, paper clips and the letter opener shaped like a dagger. She carefully placed each item into its allotted space. A place for everything and everything in its place. When her office was in order she called in her staff for a brainstorming session on how to engineer publicity for a forthcoming award ceremony.

After the meeting ended, she entered Adrian’s office, unable to believe he was still missing. Lorcan was on the phone, his face in profile as he made excuses to an irate client. The insolence that had been so irritating in the early days had disappeared and he was beginning to acquire a confident business-like manner which reminded Virginia of his father – but without the abrasive edge.

“He’s still not back, Ms Blaide. I expect he was held up with a client.” His attempts to pacify her only increased her anger. It was becoming more difficult to smile. “I’m sure that’s true, Lorcan. When he does contact you, tell him I need to speak urgently to him.”

He removed a folder from a drawer in his desk and held it towards her. “I keep working on these ideas. Would you mind looking over them? I’d appreciate your opinion.”

“Of course I will, Lorcan. But this is Mr Strong’s area. Have you shown them to him?”

“He’s not remotely interested.” His reply was matter-of-fact. “But I’d respect your opinion.”

She opened the folder, glanced quickly through the contents, surprised to see how meticulously everything had been prepared. She examined the visuals he intended using to promote Sheraton Travel. Satellite pictures taken at night from outer space, pinpricks of global light linking continent after continent, the vast and the sparsely dotted regions – a filigree as delicate as early morning cobwebs on hedgerows, and in that instant, as she absorbed the image, she was running fleetly, barefooted, down a country lane and Lorraine was running with her, Old Red Eye panting between them, and the world was hazed with wonder. She shook her head, scattering dewdrops, and concentrated on how Lorcan Sheraton would link these visuals into the worldwide concept of his father’s travel agency. His ideas had a raw energy that excited her. With the right training he could be good. Ralph would have picked up on his talent immediately.

“I’m impressed, Lorcan.” She snapped the folder closed and handed it back to him.

“You don’t have to pretend.” He made no attempt to smile back at her. “I asked for an honest opinion. I want my father left out of this.”

“I’m being honest, Lorcan. Your ideas are good. They need refining but there’s no reason why they can’t translate into a viable advertising campaign. As a matter of fact, your father and I had quite an interesting conversation about you when we were in Madeira.”

“I can imagine.”

“Actually, he’s very proud of you. He mentioned a friend of yours who had an accident. The two of you were very close, I believe.”

His face flushed. For an instant she thought he was going to burst into tears. “Killian was my best mate.”

“I hope he recovers soon.”

“Thanks, Ms Blaide. I’ll tell Mr Strong you were looking for him.”

She wondered where anger lay. Throughout the day, as one phone call after another relayed the same message from Adrian’s answering service, it moved arbitrarily from one body zone to the next. It cramped her stomach, tightened her chest, clenched her teeth. It was after ten before he returned home.

“Where the hell were you?” she demanded. The walls of the apartment were thin. Often, they heard music at night, and raised voices, thudding footsteps, toilets flushing, the creak of beds. Tonight she no longer cared who overheard. She followed him into the bedroom where he dropped his shoes on the floor with an unnecessary clatter. He slowly wound one sock into the other and flung them towards the laundry basket. He missed the target and the bunched socks crouched like a baleful rodent on the wooden floorboards.

“I left about a dozen messages on your mobile. You must have realised I was frantic with worry but you never even
bothered
returning my calls.”

“I was at a meeting.”

“Don’t bullshit me, adrian. What meeting?”

“A meeting with myself.”

“That must have been utterly fascinating.”

“Pathetic would be a better description. I went to Churchview Terrace, met some of the old neighbours. Mr Thomson, sad to say, is dead. Emily will be choked when she hears. She adored him. But I’m glad to say the rest are as fit as ever. A hardy bunch, those pensioners. The house looks the same but different, like it’s acquired another skin. They have a jeep parked outside, for Christ’s sake. Then I went to the warehouse where Lorraine had her first studio. There’s an office block in its place. Surprise, surprise. After that, where did I go? Oh yes, I had a drink in our
special
hotel. Under new management, would you believe? The staff actually noticed me. Wouldn’t be safe to go there any more – that’s if we needed to, but of course we don’t because we have this cosy little love nest all to ourselves.”