Persuading Annie (8 page)

Annie smiled. I’ve always hated you, she thought. Now I know why.

She tried to argue, but found she couldn’t. All her energy was taken up pumping the blood round her body that she’d been saving for a special occasion.

Instead of jumping out of the window, which suddenly struck her as a wise and well-prepared plan, Annie forced herself to stay motionless, staring at the monitor above the lift, watching a tiny green cube of light smoothly and slowly ascend.

Ground floor, first, second …

Was it going to be empty, or was she going to find herself face to face with the pillock who’d ruined her finals and her life? The pillock she’d have risked everything for. It was a puzzler and no mistake.

Third, fourth …

‘Are you sure you’re all right, dear?’ asked Shirley. ‘You’re looking awfully pale.’

I’ll show you pale, thought Annie. Large window, five flights up, say your prayers, bitch.

She attempted a smile. ‘I need a holiday,’ she mouthed.

Fifth floor. The lift chimed its arrival and the doors opened noiselessly.

Using up all her energy, Annie turned to face it. It was empty.

She decided that to weep and hug Shirley might arouse suspicion, so with a great deal of concentration, she managed to propel her body forwards by supporting it on one leg after the other. Walking, she remembered. She knew it felt familiar.

‘Bye,’ she whispered to Shirley, with a weak grin on her face. She even waved as the door slowly divided them from each other. She’d made it.

Once on her own, she let out a loud moan and leant her head against the closed door.

Oh … my … God, she thought, overawed by the size of her emotions. So much anger. All I need is a leotard and I could become a wrestler.

Then she realised that Jake might be waiting for the lift at the bottom.

Her body froze.

The lift sank slowly to the ground.

There was only one thing for it. She closed her eyes.

‘Dear God. Prove you exist and let me die in here. Now. NOW.’

She opened her eyes. Nope. No God. Or if there was one, He was a sadist.

She looked frantically around. Why wasn’t there an exit in here? Or at least a toilet? Bloody cost-cutting crap.

She breathed deeply in an effort to regain control. Too deeply. She started seeing stars.

The lift landed her gently on the ground floor and she heard its soft chime.

She held her breath and in a last-ditch effort to compose herself, stared at the mirrored door before it opened to reveal her fate. A madwoman stared back at her.

Slowly the door silently opened.

Nothing, emptiness, void.

She almost wept with joy. Instead she walked furiously out of the office and hailed a cab.

It wasn’t until she was dropped off outside the Tate Modern that she started wondering something.

What the hell did Jake look like now?

* * * * *

‘First you persuade me this place is worth going to, then you don’t turn up,’ Cass shouted to Annie, as Annie ran, somewhat unsteadily, towards her.

‘I have the best excuse in the world,’ started Annie.

‘I don’t want your excuses,’ said Cass. ‘I want your soul.’

‘I left it in the lift,’ replied Annie, her voice vice-tight.

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing. Let’s go and look at lots of paintings children of three could have done.’

Annie didn’t have the energy to explain. Her body seemed to have run out of blood.

They wandered round the exhibition slowly, Annie taking in little, marvelling that her world map could so suddenly be wacked out of kilter.

It was a rather tiring afternoon.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later than expected, due to bad traffic, Jake Mead stepped out of his cab and looked up at the imposing building above him.

He straightened his Boss tie, brushed a hand over his close-cropped hair, gripped his leather computer bag even tighter and stepped purposefully into the London office of Markhams’ PR.

He was ready to kick ass.

6

THE GENTLE RAT-A-TAT-TAT
on the door was the same as it had always been, humble yet dignified.

‘Come!’ called George, trying to ignore the catch in his voice and the two pricks of sweat under his arms.

His valet stood before him.

‘Ah …’ boomed George, before stopping.

Never could remember the bugger’s name.

His valet – obstinately ugly as ever – coughed quietly.

‘Alfred, sir.’

‘Yes, quite so, quite so,’ allowed George.

Alfred didn’t move a muscle.

George grimaced. Why couldn’t Susannah have dealt with this? It was her idea, after all.

‘The thing is, you see,’ he started, and then finished. What was the thing again? He forced his brain to remember. It had all made perfect sense when Susannah had said it and the wretched fellow wasn’t standing right in front of him. Luxury, expense they couldn’t afford, tightening the purse strings and all that. Have to dress himself in future. It’s the latest thing – some royalty even doing it now.

Ah yes. Now. How could he put that eloquently?

‘All a bit of a luxury, you see,’ he started. ‘An expense we can’t afford, tightening the old purse strings and all that. Have to dress like royalty now. Some of them. Hope you understand, old chap.’

Alfred understood perfectly.

‘Of course,’ said Alfred gently.

George winked at him. Splendid fellow. Sorry to see him go.

‘Sir is sacking me,’ said Alfred.

George started.

‘Oh! Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’

Alfred gave a short smile and a curt little bow of the head. That was more like it.

‘How would sir like me to put it?’

George looked at him in stunned amazement. He had no idea the man was as rude as he was ugly. Amazing how duplicitous people could be.

Alfred continued.

‘Obviously, I’ll have to talk to my union—’

‘Your
what
?’

‘My union – you wouldn’t expect me to accept—’

‘I would expect nothing less,’ shouted George. ‘An utter disgrace! After thirty years’ loyal service, to stab me in the back like that …’

‘Exactly my point, sir.’

‘What?’

‘I knew you’d understand.’

George swallowed hard.

‘Don’t force me to do something I don’t want to do,’ he threatened darkly.

‘What did sir have in mind?’ answered Alfred calmly. ‘Wearing taupe at me?’

What?
George gasped with disgust. He’d never been so insulted in all his life!
Taupe?
In mid-winter? The man was quite clearly raving. He had to get him out of his home, God only knew what he could do. He was unsafe.

What the buggering hell had happened to the buggering class system? Country was going to rot.

George furrowed his brow menacingly at his evil, double-crossing, ugly ex-valet. Alfred stood his ground.

There was nothing for it. With as much dignity as he could muster, George fumbled in his bureau drawer, eventually took out his cheque book and Mont Blanc fountain pen and, as he unscrewed the lid, sat tall in his chair. He wouldn’t let anyone say he’d lost his pride at the end.

‘How much?’ he asked, with as much bile in his voice as possible. That should shake him up a bit. Bribery didn’t become a gentleman.

‘Well, let me see …’ Alfred did some slow mental arithmetic. ‘Thirty years service without one day’s sick leave, no pension, no holiday taken this year …’

George started sweating. Why hadn’t Susannah warned him this might happen?

He started filling in the rest of the cheque while Alfred did his sums. He wrote quickly, so that his hand wouldn’t shake quite so much.

* * * * *

Alfred managed not to smile until after he’d shut the door quietly behind him. And then he smiled so much, his features temporarily realigned themselves into some sort of order. George would have been impressed, if only his own features weren’t so temporarily unaligned at the same time.

Alfred kissed the cheque in his hand and headed straight
out of the house for the bank. He’d learnt a lot from his time with George Markham. But his most precious lesson had been to keep quiet when in the company of an idiot. He’d had no intention of staying with George once he’d heard that Victoria and Charles’ spoilt little brats were moving in. He had almost resigned immediately, but something had told him to sit it out. And always let the idiot speak first.

It was a lesson that would help him start up his own business of valet training. And George would be his leading example to all his future students.

* * * * *

The gym smelt of floor wax, as usual. It was a smell that had, after four years, become synonymous to Annie with channelling her aggression. Or rather, letting rip.

She swore at herself as Daniel’s size 10 swiped past her head for the third time.

‘Aim at me!’ she shouted at him. ‘Stop patronising me just because you’re a blackbelt!’

Daniel smiled at Annie as her two bunches bounced furiously up and down.

‘Temper temper,’ he said softly and then chopped her in the face.

‘I WASN’T READY!’ she screamed, livid.

But Daniel had already stepped back to kick her in the stomach.

With a surge of aggression, Annie blocked her stomach, stepped back and kicked her right leg higher and wider than Daniel could ever manage. It got him in the face and he fell backwards on to the mat.

Hah! Thought Annie, standing victoriously over him.
Female flexibility wins every time. Sex, karate and childbirth. That’s what little girls were made for.

The karate instructor ambled over as Daniel rolled left and right moaning softly.

‘For God’s sake, Annie, you’re supposed to be channelling your aggression, not killing your opponent.’

Daniel blinked.

‘I’m all right,’ he mumbled from the mat. ‘No harm done, mate.’

Annie smiled sweetly.

‘I
was
channelling my aggression,’ she explained. ‘Into his face.’

As the instructor wandered off, she picked Daniel up.

‘Sorry Dan,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Ever wondered why you’re single?’ he asked, his hands covering his nose.

‘Yeah,’ she said, letting go of him. ‘My standards are too high.’

Daniel fell messily back on to the mat.

‘They’re average.’

* * * * *

‘New York? How
delicious!
You know Brutus had family out there, don’t you? I can’t believe you’d rather stay in boring old Hampstead,’ gushed Cass.

She looked round for a stray waiter. She was dying for a glass of wine.

Annie smiled gently. She might have expected this reception to her news.

She had never got over the fact that Cass had married a man called Brutus. She didn’t think she ever would. She watched Cass catch the attention of the waiter, wondering
aimlessly if she was going to have the bottle, or energy, to tell Cass about Jake today. Maybe …

‘Why don’t you pop out and visit your folks for Thanksgiving?’ continued Cass, ‘We’ll be able to meet up – Brutus and I go out every year at that time. I know! We’ll do Madison Avenue.’

‘I’ve got an even better idea,’ exclaimed Annie, ‘after I’ve gone bankrupt, we can
rob
Madison Avenue! Bagsie the Versace balaclava.’

Cass changed the subject fast. She hated it when Annie got sarcastic.

First things first, she had a man Annie simply had to meet.

Annie sighed. Would Cass never tire of trying to match her up with some horribly eligible bore? Why did everyone assume that because she hadn’t had a serious relationship since … for a while, she was desperate for one? Didn’t they realise that as far as she was concerned, men were there to service her when she required servicing, much in the same way as a plumber was there when a leak sprung. Or, on one very fortuitous occasion, to do both at the same time.

‘He’s over six foot tall, built like a brick shithouse, thighs like mountains, knees like a Greek god and Brutus plays rugby with him so he’s seen him in the shower – Annie, we’re talking serious potential here.’

Annie perked up.

‘Sounds interesting.’

Cass grinned.

‘Deep down, you’re really very shallow, aren’t you?’

‘It’s not that deep down,’ smiled Annie. ‘I’m shallowly shallow.’

‘There is a slight catch though,’ said Cass. ‘He’s got a rather unfortunate manner.’

Annie nodded. There was always something. ‘Arrogant, patronising? Or snivelling, toadying?’

‘No.
Manor
. Unfortunate manor. Two hundred acres, completely surrounded by farmland. Stinks of manure for ten months of every year. Apart from that he’s perfect. Wondered if you’d like to go shooting pheasants with us all. The season’s just about to start.’

‘So sorry,’ said Annie wearily. ‘I belong to the Friends of the Pheasants Society.’

‘Don’t make me miserable, Annie.’

‘Sorry. Let’s not discuss the massacre of harmless wildlife for mindless sport, shall we?’

‘Let’s not.’ Cass scanned her menu. ‘Right. What shall we eat?’

Over their first glass of wine, Annie explained to Cass why she was grateful not to be going to New York. She couldn’t bear the thought of living at such close proximity to Davina. Katherine, fooled by simple flattery, was blind to the real motives of her ‘friend’. But it was clear to Annie that Davina was after more than a fling with George – and Annie was concerned enough to think that there was a real danger of her getting her way. She had to keep an eye on her.

George had had many affairs – Annie felt sure that his marriage to her mother had not even put a stop to that. But, and it hurt Annie to say it, Davina knew exactly how to turn the head of a vain, foolish man like her father. God only knew what would happen if someone like Davina married him and became the matriarch of the Markham family. She was cunning and clever, putting as much effort into appearing innocent and naïve as her sisters put into being beautiful.
Davina could win an Oscar for her daily performance. Annie was terrified about the schisms Davina could create within her family.

‘Schisms? Why would she do that?’ asked Cass.