The Betrayal (20 page)

‘She’s definitely tuned into our wavelength,’ Jessica says when the door closes behind her.
‘I’m more than happy to go with Kingfisher Graphics.’

Karin Moylan is exactly the right person to redesign
Lustrous
magazine.
To smarten it up so that more and more readers can stare at our vacuous, airbrushed photographs and envy a world that doesn’t exist.

‘She’s good,’ I admit.
‘I was also interested in our third interviewee.
We should call him back for another interview.’

‘He’s not what we want.’
Jessica has decided.
‘You’ll enjoy working with each other on this project.
It makes such a difference when there’s a good team spirit.’

I return to my office and stare out the window.
I can’t remain in this job.
I’ll toss burgers, clean offices, sweep the streets rather than sit facing her again.
Her hands will be all over the magazine, the way they were all over the blackboard in our classroom when she drew my image for all to see.

I press my nails hard against my bottom lip as I recall in detail the morning I entered the classroom and saw a naked figure with small breasts, a grotesque penis and large feet drawn on the blackboard.
No name was written underneath but the flaming red hair and exaggerated corkscrew curls were instantly recognisable.
Unable to look at the pupils clustered around the blackboard I ran from the classroom to the toilets.
I huddled in a cubicle until Jenny, who’d gone directly to the principal’s office to report the drawing, coaxed me out.

The blackboard was wiped clean when we returned to the classroom.
None of the students claimed to know who drew it.
No one was held responsible, nor could it be proved that Karin had anything to do with it.
But I saw the truth in her eyes when she pressed a finger to her cheek and tilted her head, appraisingly.
Nothing has changed since then.

Liam taps on my office and enters.
‘I reckon we’ve made our decision.’
he says.
‘As far as I’m concerned it’s the last interviewee.
I’m taking her out for coffee.
I’ll be back in half an hour.’

He taps on my computer and opens a
Core
file.
‘Take a look at those shots and write some captions for them.
Jimmy French is off sick today and I need them ready for production by five.’

‘Sorry, Liam.’
At last I can let my anger show.
‘Do it yourself.
Core
is not my responsibility.’

He frowns, leans over my shoulder, overpowers me with his aftershave.

‘In Wall Publications everyone mucks in.
Otherwise Jessica throws a hissy fit and, believe me, that’s something you don’t want to experience.’

I stare at the screen after he leaves.
It’s typical
Core
material, the photographs taken outside a nightclub.
A dead-eyed model hanging from the arm of a celebrity chef who does a weekly cookery programme on television with his chirpy, bright-eyed wife.
How will she feel when she sees these photographs?
I want to delete them but nothing can be hidden anymore.
Hard drives, CCTV, mobile phones, paparazzi.
This wife’s fate is sealed and his too.
As for the model – we’ll feature her in
Lustrous
when she comes out of rehab.

Caked Out!
I write and delete.
In the Stew
suffers the same fate.
I close down the file and write a note to Liam.
Do it yourself and let me deal with Jessica’s hissy fit!!!
I dig my pen viciously into the paper.

I enter his office and leave the note on his desk.
Karin has left her portfolio case against the wall.
She must be coming back to pick it up.
I hesitate then walk towards the door.
The corridor is empty.
Quickly, I return and place it on the desk.
I unzip it and turn the pages.
My hands begin to sweat.
One of the plastic pages slips from my grip with a heavy flap.
I lift it again and stare at an image.
Jagged shards of ice, blazing.
The letters SHARD chiselled as finely as pinheads.
The pages slap loudly as I close the leather case.
The zip jams on the corner.
I lean my hands on the desk to steady my breathing.
It’s almost four o’clock.
They’re due back any moment.
I pull the zip back then ease it gently around the corner before returning the case to its original position.

Unable to face the stifling atmosphere of my office, I run outside and stand on the steps.
I remember the unnecessary force Jake used when he ripped the Kingfisher Graphics business card in two.
I remember the text… New York… New York… homeward bound…

Children’s voices ring from the park across the square.
The tall Georgian houses sway towards me.
I grip the railings.
Rage tears at my throat.
It pulses in my wrists and in the serrated scars I believed had healed.
New York… New York calling… Frank Sinatra sings in my ear.
An ear worm.
I’ve always disliked that song, the inevitable circle swaying backwards and forwards at the end of a wedding, drunken legs kicking outwards.

T
heir first harrowing
row marked a change in their relationship.
Now, Jake heard steel in Karin’s voice when she spoke about give and take.
Essential elements in a shared relationship, she said.
Sooner or later Nadine had to know the truth.
So, too, had his children and Eleanor.
When would that be?
She put these nightmarish questions to him calmly, argued rationally that she should not be expected to hide indefinitely in the shadows of his family life.

Tonight, in an Italian bistro overlooking the Liffey, she asked him to bring her to Sea Aster.
She cut him short when he mentioned his pact with Nadine.

‘Did she tell you we met?’
She drew back from him, her face shadowed in the glow of candles.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘In
Lustrous
on Friday.
I’ve been commissioned to revamp the magazine.’

‘You never mentioned.’

‘I figured she’d tell you.’

‘How?
I spent the night with you.
She’d left for London when I returned so I wasn’t talking to her.’

The waiter came to the table to offer them a dessert menu.
They both declined and waited in silence while he removed their dishes.

‘What did she say to you?’
Jake asked when they were along again.

‘That her marriage is in perfect working order.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘She told me you’re still together.
Some things never change, that’s how she phrased it.
I can take that two ways.
You’re together under one roof or together in the same bed.
Which one is true?’

‘You know exactly what she meant.
I haven’t lied to you about our living arrangements.’

‘Then why don’t we spend tonight in your apartment?’

‘I told you – ’

‘She’s in London with Liam Brett.
They’re not due back until tomorrow.’

‘That doesn’t matter.
We have an agreement.’

‘Who am I supposed to believe?
You?
Her?
She knows we met on that flight.
You claim you didn’t discuss it with her.
She has no reason to lie.
You, on the other hand, have every reason to deceive me.
You promised me a future yet you won’t even allow me to see your apartment.’
She pouted warningly.
‘We spend all our time in my space.
Tonight, I want to spend some time in yours.
Otherwise, this just becomes another one-sided relationship.’

T
he silence
when they entered Apartment 2 was eerie, almost oppressive.
Jake switched on lights, turned up the music, opened wine.
Nothing could banish his unease.

‘Stop worrying.’
Karin watched in amusement as he gathered unwashed dishes from the coffee table and carried them to the kitchen.
‘You’re making me nervous.
Sit down and relax.’

‘Just give me a moment.’
He headed to the bathroom, unable to remember the last time he splashed Harpic around the rim of the toilet bowl.
In the bedroom he picked up his clothes from the floor and shoved them into a laundry basket.
Thankfully, he had changed the sheets the previous day.

He was smoothing out the duvet when she entered the bedroom.
Her glance flickered around the room, checking for the feminine touch, the spill of powder on the dressing table, necklaces hanging from black, ornamental fingers, perfume, a silk scarf draped over the back of a chair.
Satisfied that this was an all-male environment, she stood before the full-length chervil mirror.
Slowly, teasingly, she opened her blouse, her gaze sultry yet playful as she undid each button.
Her breasts rose, plump and firm, from the cleavage of her bra.
She waved the blouse over her head before tossing it across the room then unzipped her skirt, kicked off her high heels, rolled down the lacy tops of her stockings.
The urge to take her in that instant, to plunge in deep and hard, to hear her sharp little cries and feel her nails digging deep into his shoulders almost overpowered him.
Her eyes – reflecting back at him in the mirror – commanded him not to touch her.
She unhooked her bra, tantalisingly removed her thong.
Only then did she turn to face him, her body as smooth and flawless as a doll.
The air was musky with her scent, her sense of anticipation as he lifted her in his arms and lowered her onto the bed.
He kicked off his shoes as she unbuckled his belt, her fingers nimbly unzipping him, freeing him.
She laughed at his urgency as he pulled off his shirt then traced his lips from her throat to her breasts, moved downwards over her taut stomach.
She opened to him, her legs rampantly splayed as his tongue probed deeper, tasting her, hearing her whimpering cries, the rush of her breathing.

Nadine’s presence hovered above him like a reproachful shadow.
He forced her away.
The unknown could not hurt her but in that pause, that instant of guilt, remorse, shame, he had no idea what to call it, he became aware of sounds from Apartment 1.

He tensed as he heard the clatter of wheels.
Nadine was dragging her overnight case up the stairs.
He tightened his hands on Karin’s wrists, forced her to be still.

‘That’s Nadine.
You said she wasn’t due back until tomorrow.’

‘That’s what Liam Brett told me.
Monday, he said.
Not Sunday.’

‘Then she must have come back early.’

‘It doesn’t matter.
She won’t know I’m here.’
He felt her resistance, the strength of her thighs as she arched towards him.

‘We should leave.
I can’t… not with Nadine upstairs.’

‘Poor Jake, you’re really spooked.’
She laughed softly and ran her finger over his lips.
‘Just relax.’

He heard music, a door slamming, a phone ringing.
Nadine was right about sound carrying.
It was a cacophony.
She crossed her bedroom floor.
He imagined the high arch of her foot when she kicked off her shoe, then the second one.
He listened to the pull of wood against wood as she opened drawers, hinges whining, a chair being dragged closer to the kitchen table, the rumble of pipes as the taps ran.
Why had he not been conscious of those sounds before now?
Had she moved so silently that the only indication of her presence was the occasional blare of the radio?
No, he thought, this evening was no different to any other.
It was guilt that honed his awareness.
Lies.
That was the difference.
Submerged in lies… submerged in desire… submerged yet afloat.
The words contradicted each other and mired him in deceit.
The wood squeaked as Nadine climbed down the stairs.
That would be the seventh step.
It had creaked even when he was a boy.
He heard the front door open and close.
His doorbell rang.

‘Does she usually come to your apartment at this time of night?’
Karin whispered.

‘No, never… not at night.’

‘Don’t answer it.’

‘Something must be wrong.’
He pulled on a pair of boxers, grabbed his fleece top from a chair and padded bare-footed towards the front door.

‘We need to talk.’
Nadine had changed into trainers and a tracksuit but there was nothing casual about her expression.

He stepped outside, eased the door closed behind him.
‘What’s wrong?
Has something happened to Ali?’

‘Ali’s fine.’

‘Stuart?’

‘He’s good.
Are you going to ask me in or do we have to conduct this conversation on your doorstep?’

Light flared from the breakfast room.
Nadine turned, startled and walked to the bay window.
He watched, too shocked to move, as she stopped and raised her hands to cover her eyes.
Karin, unaware that she could be seen, was standing in the curve of glass.
She was wearing one of his shirts.
Not just any shirt.
His favourite one, pale blue twill, a present from Nadine.
She had bunched it loosely over her bare shoulders, her hands clutching the two edges protectively over her breasts.
The gesture made her nakedness underneath even more provocative.
Suddenly, aware that she was visible, she pulled the curtains across but it was too late.
The enormity of his betrayal washed over him when Nadine dropped her hands and he saw her stricken expression.
She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.
The only sound to break the silence was the slap of her hand against his cheek.
Its force sent him staggering backwards.
By the time he recovered she was running towards her car.
He followed her but he knew that no matter how fast he ran he would never be able to catch her.