Rebound (15 page)

There is a global company meeting next week in Paris, a meeting he can’t, for personal reasons he doesn’t go into, attend. He wants me to go there and be not only his envoy, but his
eyes and ears. I am to present his speech and answer all the questions that may arise, presenting ‘his vision’, as he calls it. At the same time he wants me to flush out his opponents,
read their minds and report back to him. For the rest of the day he explains his vision to me, based on diversification of the supply base. It sounds like a scenario for the takeover of the world,
done by tiny steps on a local level. Needs and objectives of stakeholders are being mentioned, creativity and the people are not. The fluffy packaging that will appeal to the minions will come
later. I begin to get glimpses of the real Julian, a steely-cold man with the empathy of a Borg, emerging from behind the jovial and caring facade of Mr President.

The day in Julian’s office is a sobering and formidable experience. It’s making me realize I live in cloud cuckoo land, a naive place I’ve created for myself through my
complete lack of knowledge and understanding of the real corporate world. How on earth did I get to the position I’m at? The only consolation is the hope that I’m not the only puppet
whose strings are being pulled by the invisible hands of the corporate gods above.

Walking me out of his office, my hand warmly nestling in his, he tells me that his assistant Laura has already made all the travel arrangements for me. I’m catching the 07.01 Eurostar on
Monday and coming back on Wednesday morning at 08.43, to arrive in time for an 11 a.m. update meeting with Julian. I shall be staying in Paris at Hotel Plaza Athénée, which he makes
sound like his personal favourite.

‘Go out of the door and turn left and you’re on the Champs-Élysées, turn right and there’s the Eiffel Tower.’

It transpires that this is where the meeting will take place. Oh, he adds as I walk into the lift, Laura has also taken care of my other work arrangements and my appointments diary has been
cleared till Wednesday afternoon.

I go back to my office and take a few minutes to gather my thoughts. There’s no way of escaping it, my make or break time has arrived. I pick up the phone and ring Chiara to arrange dog
care for Wispa. Bad news, she’s going to Italy on Sunday and won’t be back until next Saturday. I’ll have to beg Bell for help and, if she can’t do it, drive Wispa to
Norfolk and leave her with Kate. I call Bell and she answers on the first ring, still high from jet lag.

I explain the situation, crossing my fingers she won’t say no. I really don’t feel like driving to Norfolk this weekend.

‘That’s no problem, hon,’ she says to my relief. ‘In fact, it’ll work out rather well. I’ve found this wonderful Polish handyman and I want him to do a bit of
decorating before Candice arrives. He’ll be painting the whole flat from Monday, so I might as well move to yours instead of sitting in the stink of emulsion. When are you back?’

‘On Wednesday, but you can stay at mine as long as you want.’

‘No, it’s fine, I think he’ll be done by Wednesday.’

I put down the phone, grateful to Bell for providing such an easy solution. I’m also impressed by her sudden burst of home improvements. She’s been talking about decorating her place
for years. It’s amazing what a new relationship can do to you. I pick up my phone again and call Ray. I texted him last night thanking him for delivering my car and for the rose, but he
hasn’t texted back. The call goes to his voicemail and I leave him a message, thanking him once more and saying that I hope we’ll see each other again. As soon as I disconnect I kick
myself for sounding too keen. But it’s too late to erase the message. Oh well, I’ll just have to live with it – hopefully he won’t use it against me. I leave work late,
drive home, take Wispa for a short spin round the block and go straight to bed. I have a lot of brainwork to do this weekend.

Saturday disappears in a flurry of work. I go through all the documents Julian has given me, marking the passages that are particularly complicated, memorizing the main points,
listing all the potential pitfalls. I’m not convinced by his vision, but who am I to disagree? I’ll have to be convinced enough by Tuesday, when the most important session takes place,
to try to bait the company sharks with it. I stop working only to take Wispa for a walk. It’s a hot day, ‘a mini heatwave’ as the papers call it, caused by an unusually hot stream
of air coming from Spain. Wispa seems to be limping badly, which may be caused by the heat, but worries me. I check her paw and there’s nothing obviously wrong with it, no cuts or thorns, no
broken toenails. I hope it’s nothing serious, otherwise I’ll have to ask Bell to take her to the vet on Monday, a kerfuffle I’d rather spare her.

By the time I’ve gone through everything, it’s late in the evening. My head is throbbing with all the information; I feel cranky and restless. I need to go for a run. Wispa looks at
me putting my running gear on and limps back to her bed. It’s clear she doesn’t want to come with me. She must be in a lot of pain to miss her evening run. I stop at the front door, go
back and rummage in the hallway cupboard, looking for a pepper spray I brought from the States a few years ago. I’m not sure it’s still working, but I tuck it into the pocket of my
shorts, just in case.

Dusk is settling on the Heath, making trees and grass lose their colour. The shapes become blurred and unreal, all detail suddenly gone. The sky is dimming its brightness and the first stars and
planets appear above the horizon. There is a handful of people about, mostly carrying their blankets and baskets in the direction of a few cars still parked in Merton Lane. I run up the hill at
full speed and realize how unfit I’ve become lately. I can hear my heart pounding in my head, my breath quick and shallow. Once I reach the top I slow down. I don’t turn right into the
woods because it’s too dark there already. I run down across the meadow, which is still getting enough light from the sky, then turn sharply left, making a loop. I reach the main path again
and decide to cross it and continue in the direction of the Ladies’ Pond. I hear footsteps behind me, regular and strong, another runner making the best of the twilight hour. I run across the
South Meadow at a steady pace. The sound of footsteps is still behind me. There’s no one else left on the Heath now. I try not to panic, thinking that whoever it is will change their
direction soon. But the sound of trainers pounding the ground persists, going exactly at my speed, not trying to overtake me and not slowing down. I quickly glance back and see the dark silhouette
of a man, about twenty paces behind me. I think of stopping and letting him pass me, but fear is pushing me forward, my muscles locked in the mechanical movement of my limbs. I try to breathe
steadily, not to break my rhythm, not to show that I’m afraid. I turn right onto a path and he does the same. I check my pepper spray, still tucked safely in the pocket of my shorts. At least
I have something to defend myself with, if he attacks me. But for now my flight or fight response is limited to flight. The Ladies’ Pond, I think, maybe one of the guards is still there. I
change direction and run towards the back gate of the pond. I pick up speed, hoping I’ll shake him off, and for a moment I think I’m winning, his footsteps no longer audible behind me.
I see the wrought-iron fence, the sign that says
WOMEN ONLY, MEN NOT ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT
, and for a split second I hope it’ll stop him, but I know it won’t. I reach the gate and
it’s locked, a huge chain and padlock in place. I think I hear the footsteps behind me again and I grab the top of the gate and leap over it, half-climbing, half-vaulting. I’m on the
narrow, overgrown path that runs behind the toilets and the guards’ house. I slip in the mud, then keep running, reach the main path and turn left towards the swimmers’ platform. I
enter the square of concrete in front of the bathrooms and look hopefully at the guards’ house. The door is locked and it’s dark, there is no one here. I turn to keep running and there
he is, standing on the path, blocking my escape route. I take a step back, my heart pounding, my hand on the spray. He moves forward, coming out of the shadow of the building into the moonlight,
and I recognize him. It’s the Dior Man. My fear gives way to relief, to be instantly replaced by more fear. What is he doing here? How come he always manages to find me on the Heath? What
does he want this time?

He takes a step forward and I instinctively move back towards the edge of the pond. I can always jump into the water and swim round to the meadow, try to get out on the other side, I think
frantically, trying to anticipate his next move. I slide the pepper spray out from my shorts’ pocket and hold it hidden in my hand. If it doesn’t work, I can still hit him with it,
it’s better than trying to fight with bare hands. Slowly, he raises his arms and pulls his sweat-drenched T-shirt off. I watch him as he drops the T-shirt on the ground, unsure what to do, my
heart thumping. His wet bare chest shines in the moonlight. Then he moves his arms down and unbuttons his shorts. His shorts drop to the ground and he bends over to take off his running shoes. I
watch him as he straightens up and stands before me, completely naked, unashamed and beautiful in the blue light of the full moon. He takes a step towards me and I gasp, my fear mixed with awe. And
then he is in full motion, running towards me, and I cry out, teetering on the edge of the concrete platform. He passes me, his beautiful body stretches above the water and he’s in, swimming
with large strokes out towards the middle of the pond.

My fear suddenly replaced by lust, I drop the pepper spray to the ground and rip my clothes off, oblivious to everything, my body screaming for him. Naked, I dive in, bracing myself for a cold
shock, but the water is surprisingly warm. I resurface and look around, trying to locate him. Ducks, scared by the disturbance, flap their wings by the shore, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I
try to find the bottom of the pond with my feet, but it’s too deep, so I stay on the surface, paddling with my arms. The commotion dies down and it becomes very quiet. I float on the water,
inhaling the fresh, watermelon smell of the pond. The moonlight shimmers on the surface, framed by the impenetrable darkness of the bushes surrounding it.

And then he’s right behind me. I feel his hands on my breasts, his cold body next to mine, his erect penis nudging my back. He grabs my waist and turns me round to face him and my legs
float up, embracing him. He feels solid, anchored, as if he’s standing on something on the bottom of the pond, his back against the swimming platform. Still holding my waist, he guides me
onto him. My heart racing, I want to laugh and cry at the same time, the sensation so strong it overwhelms me. We begin to move rhythmically and the water moves gently around us, holding us afloat,
caressing our bodies. Our rhythm changes, it’s faster now, more erratic, and I tighten my legs round his waist, digging my fingernails deep into his skin. And then I come and I know
I’ve never come like this before, the orgasm so complete and overpowering I feel paralysed. All I’m able to do is to hold on to him in order not to drown. He comes right after me and
lets out a moan, the first sound he’s uttered tonight. We remain motionless in the water and everything around us becomes still, an occasional cry of a bird breaking the silence.

I don’t quite know how I got back last night, all I remember is standing under a stream of hot water at home, a mixture of mud and bits of water plants at the bottom of
the shower. I must’ve gone to bed straight after that and slept like a log till Wispa woke me up this morning, demanding her walk. Her leg is better, thankfully, she’s not limping any
more, one thing less to worry about for Bell when she stays here next week.

I’m having my morning coffee at the kitchen table, thinking about yesterday. Flashes of images and feelings I had last night have given way to more rational thoughts. I am unsettled by my
encounter with the Dior Man, but not because it was sex with a stranger in a public place. Of course I’d be naive not to acknowledge that there might be a connection between him and the Heath
attacks, but somehow this part of the experience, the danger and the taboo nature of it, doesn’t bother me now. Yes, it was furtive and illicit, but it was also sexy as hell, probably one of
the most satisfying sexual experiences of my entire life. What worries me is that it felt different last night, it wasn’t a rough and selfish fuck like I’d experienced with the Dior Man
before. There was a new emotional intensity to it, new tenderness, a hint of affection. The Dior Man didn’t seem like a stranger any more, my body recognized a certain familiarity in him and
responded to it with an urgency that took me by surprise. Yes, he did give me a fright, chasing me across the park, but wasn’t it part of the game we had invented together? I have to face the
truth: I’m falling for him. I caught myself, as I lay in bed this morning, wondering who he is. I no longer want him to remain anonymous. I want to know his name, hear his voice, see him
smile. I want him to know my name. Why does it worry me, I think, as I refill my coffee cup? Because I know I can’t let it go on any longer. Without me noticing it, a casual experience has
morphed into an addiction. I can’t let it go on because it will lead to my own undoing. I feel a sense of loss, disappointment, regret, but I know I have to break the spell now, before
it’s too late.

Bell calls me to arrange the time she’ll arrive at my place tonight. I tell her to come for dinner and then I start packing. Luckily all my uber-business-bitch clothes have just been
dry-cleaned, so there isn’t much to think about. I check the weather in Paris and it’s more or less the same as London, just a couple of degrees warmer, which makes it even easier. By
the time Bell arrives I’m packed and ready to go. Laura, Julian’s efficient guardian angel, has booked my cab for the ungodly time of 5.45 a.m., so I’ll need to go to bed early. I
relax for the evening, listening to Bell’s Vancouver stories.