The Calling (21 page)

Marlowe wondered why she couldn’t will her heart to stop. It was hers after all, and it would have seemed right that it should obey her commands.

She could hear it beating out its strange slow-quick, fluttering rhythm. It never supplied enough oxygen, always leaving her yawning or drawing in quick, short gasps. And her limbs floated, drugged with lethargy.

Why couldn’t she just tell it to stop?

But Marlowe knew there was no such easy release from her nightmare.

She returned to her desk, late again. She had made-up excuses ready but, as with most times she turned up late, nothing was said and the excuses went unused.

Mr Butler emerged from his office with a clutch of notepaper and passed it to his PA. They spoke a few syllables each, but nothing audible to Marlowe above the slowly creaking hands of the wall clock. He tilted his head as he spoke, but in a neat way, and Marlowe could see he wasn’t prepared to ruffle his meticulous appearance even to deliver a sacking.

He turned to her and smiled, with the smallest flicker at the furthest corners of his mouth. ‘Marlowe, can I see you for a few minutes, please?’

It wasn’t a question, more a demand, and she followed him into his office.

‘Your timekeeping and lack of concentration are becoming a
serious problem. You do realize that, don’t you? As the senior partner in this firm …’

Marlowe tried to stop her eyes wandering into mid-nowhere.

‘… it is important that all our employees are treated fairly, and the law states…’

Is he sacking me or not?
she wondered, not quite able to pin down his words and assemble them in the correct order.

‘… You’ve been here for several years and you’re clearly a very able young woman …’

Perhaps he’s not
, she mused and tried to make better eye contact, but his mouth ran on and on and still she couldn’t focus on his words. There was only one downside to losing her job: she’d be left with too much thinking time, and that was one hell of a downside. Agree and be humble, she decided.

She stared down at her lap and tried to appear remorseful.

‘The last time I spoke to you, we both agreed that issuing you with a final written warning would be the appropriate course of action.’

Marlowe nodded.

He strummed the tips of his fingers on the desk blotter. ‘You do remember, don’t you?’

She nodded again and looked up, trying to read his placid features. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘So I would be within my rights to dismiss you right now. But what I really want …’ he stalled, following the line of Marlowe’s gaze to the front page of the
Cambridge
News
which lay on his side table, at an angle of one hundred and eighty degrees.

She leant forward and, with an involuntary thrust of her hand, snatched it up from the table. She rose to her feet and staggered backwards to collapse into his guest chair, tearing her gaze from the picture and trying to read too much of the text too quickly.

‘No, no,’ Marlowe whispered. She held it in her lap, with her head bent over and her hair falling in a curtain around the half-folded newspaper. Her finger ran across the grainy photograph and she struggled to breathe under the weight of emotion that clenched her lungs tight. ‘I knew her,’ she gasped in a jagged whisper.

‘It was in the daily papers this morning.’

She shook her head. ‘I didn’t read one today. I just saw her picture
now.’ She read through the article, commenting out loud. ‘She took her car through the car wash as she was leaving Cambridge, and paid for their top programme, with wax and wheel wash and everything. Why would she do that?’

She looked up briefly and saw Mr Butler eyeing her oddly. She knew she’d just divorced herself from him and their conversation. He stared at her with a mix of revulsion and morbid fascination.

She continued to talk. ‘It says they’ve interviewed a guy at the garage, who remembers her. And so does the teenager in Wells that served her lunch. He thought she seemed “pleasant”, and she had a pot of tea and sandwiches.’

She saw a tear drop on to the paper, but it hardly felt like one of her own.

‘This is a shock to you, isn’t it, Marlowe?’ he asked quietly.

She blurted out a few garbled words between sobs, then drew a deep breath and tried again. ‘She ate lunch and had her car polished, and probably made her hair and make-up look nice too. Do you know why?’

‘No,’ he replied, with a quick sideways glance at the clock.

‘Do you know Cromer?’ she asked, changing tack.

‘It’s on the Norfolk coast, about twenty-five miles north of Norwich. I think Veronica and I once walked along a coastal path near there.’

‘What’s it like? Is it pretty?’

‘Striking I’d say. I don’t remember much. You can’t walk on the beach, because the cliffs are falling away. At the bottom, which is probably a hundred feet down, there’re just rocks and mud and sand.’ He coughed and clasped his hands together, the way she knew he always did when he was closing a meeting. ‘But that was a while ago, Marlowe.’ He’d already slipped too far from his own agenda. ‘Marlowe, about the job …’ he began.

‘Forget it.’ She cut him short. ‘It won’t work out. I’ll go and clear my desk.’ She passed him the paper. ‘She made everything nice because she needed to feel she’d got something right.’

Marlowe clicked his door shut, and then he read the article about Julie Wilson in its entirety for the first time. The most graphic statement came from a couple out with their dogs. 

We were walking back from Happy Valley and saw a car parked at the top of Light House Hill. We walked past it and I noticed the stereo was playing and a woman was sitting in the driver’s seat. She was facing the sea and her side window was open. I didn’t think anything was odd but then, as I walked on, I heard the engine revving loudly, and I turned back and saw her drive off the cliff. There was a huge crunching sound. A load of dust flew up and we could still hear her stereo playing, but by the time we reached the edge it had stopped. There was nothing we could do.

Pete Walsh had framed Fiona Robinson’s photo and placed it on the low table beside the television, where it would be easy for him to see. By that point she had become the only girl to adorn his sitting room.

The sunlight lit up her hair, and her eyes were bright as they twinkled at him through the camera lens. He picked up the picture and touched his index finger to her cheek. As he stared straight into her face, the estate agent stared directly back and he could almost hear the whisper of her voice. His heartbeat quickened a fraction as the words escaped from his lips: ‘I love you, Fiona.’

He glanced at his watch yet again, and found that only moments had passed since he last looked at her. She had done that, changed time for him.

But she had done so much to change him.

Since meeting her, he had become uplifted and filled with a giddy spirit that bubbled up inside him and carried him along through the monotony of his work. She’d pulled away the blanket of melancholy that had smothered him now for … He paused. For how long?

He wiped over the television screen as he considered this question. He didn’t know the answer, but he guessed it was longer than he’d like to admit.

The dust vanished from the glass; he hadn’t realized that it had built up so much.

He studied the room more closely then, trying to view it with a fresh eye. He felt that the simplicity of the two large armchairs
combined with the plain walls and wooden floor gave the room a sense of tranquillity, but to ensure this didn’t translate into sterility to the female eye, he had added a large vase of flaming-orange and yellow chrysanthemums.

He had also placed a dozen tiny tea-light candles at varying heights around the room, and set a single thick church candle beside Fiona’s photograph.

His watch read 7.20. Only ten more minutes. Again he
experienced
that tingle of anticipation, knowing he’d planned the perfect evening for his perfect woman. And now he had to just let it unfold. Savour it for the wonderful memory that it would become.

He did not even consider the possibility that anything would go wrong.

Fiona parked her car outside at two minutes before half-past. Pete turned from the window, letting the curtains fall shut behind him. He smiled contentedly as he began to light the candles dotted around the room. She was always on time, but he knew that, before leaving her car, she would check her hair and make-up, and then glance at his house to check if he had seen her.

The small flame of each tea light wavered before settling to a steady glow. He lit a joss stick, then shook it until the flame died and its exotic aromatic smoke drifted upwards in a wave of sweet musk.

Finally, as Fiona knocked at the door, he lit the church candle and glanced again at her photograph. He was ready.

As he opened the door, he knew that he would find her studying his face, looking for his approval. ‘How are you? You look lovely,’ he began, then stopped and instead cupped her cheek in his hand and drew closer to her. ‘What am I saying, Fiona?’ He drew his breath in gently as he relished her light scent. ‘I’ve been waiting to see you all day. You look wonderful.’

Fiona’s confidence surged back, and she put her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you, too. I can’t believe it’s only been a day since I last saw you.’

‘Me neither. I think of you all the time,’ she giggled. ‘It’s so distracting! I didn’t ever think I was the romantic type!’

Pete took her hand and led her into the sitting room. ‘I didn’t think I was the romantic type, either. Look what you’ve made me do.’

Fiona stood at the door, as if actually entering the room would break the spell. She was really here, she told herself; she really was looking at a romantic idyll that had been created just for her, Fiona Robinson.

Pete took her jacket and hung it beside the front door, then ushered her further into the room and closed the hall door, finally sealing them off from any unwanted distractions.

Fiona constantly watched him, and he hoped she longed for him the same way that he ached for her. He placed a hand around her waist and another around her back as he pulled her close and they began to kiss.

He could feel a faint tremble ripple through her as his hold tightened. Perhaps she was excited, or perhaps she was scared and would pull away. Her trepidation excited him. He let himself sink gradually back into one of the armchairs, and she moved with him, still kissing him as she slid into his lap.

The fabric of her dress moved fluidly in his hands and he explored the curves of her body through the soft cotton. His fingers traced the contour of her spine, up and down, until diverting along the line of the rolled edge of her silk camisole. He moved his index and middle fingers steadily across her back and, following the thin strap, over her shoulder and further down towards her nipple.

They stopped kissing then and he paused for a moment. Just long enough to feel her quiver again. He needed to know she wanted him to go further, and to let her wonder whether he would.

And then, with a firmer grasp, he began to tug at her dress. He heard her breath quicken as he caressed the bare skin of her neck and forced her dress aside to reach for her breasts.

Together they tipped on to the carpet. The candlelight danced on the walls and ceiling above them. Fiona’s hesitancy fled and she freed herself from her clothes as quickly as he could release the buttons and catches.

As if intoxicated, Fiona relished her nakedness, and Pete knew that she was now entrusting herself to him totally. This wouldn’t be
just simple sex to either of them, but the consummation of a far deeper tie. She lay still and watched him as he undressed.

He watched her too, as her hair, her eyes, in fact everything about her seemed to shine in the half-light. Like an incandescent angel guiding him to a happiness, he thought.

And, when he was ready, he knelt between her legs and, lifting her hips to meet him, he resolutely thrust himself inside her. She gasped but their eyes remained fixed upon each other. Serious. Intent.

There would be other times devoted to pleasure alone. This time was about belonging and bonding.

She would own him and he would own her.

Determined rays of sunlight finally poked through the overcast early-evening sky and gently began to evaporate the day’s rain. The setting sun bathed the room in a warm, golden glow and illuminated the aqua and indigo checked duvet.

Fiona dozed with her cheek nestling into Pete’s chest and her arm wrapped across his stomach, until the warmth of the sunshine stirred her. She wound one leg over both his legs and rolled closer, pressing her damp thighs around him. Her fingers stroked the skin along his left side, feeling his ribs and shoulder blade.

He kissed her hair, enjoying the mingled scents of shampoo and perfume. ‘I love being close to you like this, Fiona,’ he whispered. ‘I never believed being with someone could feel this good.’

‘Almost too good to be true. I don’t want anything to spoil it,’ she purred. ‘And nothing will, I hope.’

He spoke with his face still buried in her soft hair. ‘We’re meant to be together.’ He squeezed her hand and lifted it to his lips and kissed her fingers. ‘You’re my perfect woman.’

Fiona tilted her head to look up at him. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’

‘Rubbish,’ he murmured and kissed her fingers again, then held the tips between his teeth and sucked them.

She pushed her fingers in deeper and ran her middle finger along his tongue. ‘Come on, you’ve had a few serious girlfriends, so you must have said something charming to them. What’s your
catch-phrase
, then?’ She withdrew her wet fingers and traced a path from his mouth into her own, and sucked them clean.

‘You’re feeling randy again, you naughty girl!’ He rolled her on to her back and kissed the soft skin on her neck just below the ear. ‘I’ll tell you something, Fiona. I’ve stuck it out sometimes just hoping it would get half as good as this, but it never did. And now if I think of anyone in my past, it doesn’t even seem real.’

She pulled his face towards hers, slid her tongue between his lips and wrapped her legs around him again, curling them up with her ankles by his hips to make it easier for him.

‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘it’s more like an old video I’ve seen, but not like I was ever really there. You’ve eclipsed them all.’

She pretended to look concerned. ‘Not some old dirty videos, I hope?’ she enquired coyly.

He grabbed her ankles and pushed them back towards her shoulders. ‘I wouldn’t mind making a dirty video with you.’

‘You pervert!’ she gasped.

‘No, I’m not. I just can’t get enough, at the moment.’

‘Well, I’m not depriving you.’ She laughed and they rolled over together. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, with her legs straddling his hips. ‘Which bit do you want to video, then?’

‘I’d like to watch you strip, and then force me to give in to your demands!’ He ran a finger down between her breasts and gave her nipple a quick tweak.

‘Force you?’ she giggled. ‘That’ll be the day; we’re as bad as each other.’

‘God, no, you’re worse. It wasn’t just fingers you wanted to suck, was it?’

‘It still isn’t,’ she said, ‘but I’m not doing that on film. I look bad enough topless in photos.’

‘Oh, well, I s’pose I’ll get over the rejection,’ he joked and nudged her hand towards his erection.

‘Uh-huh,’ she murmured in agreement, as she began to nuzzle his neck and simultaneously massage his body with her own. She ran the tip of her tongue down his body, then traced circles with it on his hip. She sucked suddenly at the skin, leaving a small round love bite, before licking a thin trail along his groin.

Suddenly his hand shot between her face and his naked flesh. ‘What topless photos?’ he demanded.

She propped herself up on one elbow. ‘When I went on holiday
with Rob, he took a couple of topless photos of me.’ She smiled in self-deprecation. ‘I decided then that I didn’t have a future as a lingerie model!’

Pete frowned. ‘But what did
he
think?’

‘Who cares? But he didn’t let me have them back.’ She ran her fingers through her hair and lowered her lashes at him, keen to restore the previous moment. ‘Anyway, the less said about him the better.’

‘Do you think he’s still got them?’ he pressed her.

‘Pete, forget it. It’s over four years ago.’ She stroked a fingernail along the top of his thigh. ‘Now, where was I?’

Pete pushed her upright, and a sudden tension in his voice sharpened his words. ‘So why tell me that, Fi?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged, uncertain as she felt the stab of his discomfort prick at the back of her neck.

‘Are you trying to make me jealous, or something?’ he accused her.

‘No, of course not,’ she replied, bewildered.

‘Then what? Don’t start playing games with me, Fiona. I’ve had enough of it.’

‘It wasn’t meant to hurt, Pete. I thought …’ Fiona’s voice trembled for a second. ‘I thought we weren’t going to have secrets from each other.’

Pete looked away and shook his head. ‘You’re right, I’m the touchy one. I’m sorry.’

She sat for a moment in the middle of the bed, with her arms folded across her naked breasts, then reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘Let’s just forget it, eh?’ Next she climbed over his legs, back on to her own side of the bed, pulled the duvet over them both and waited for Pete to speak next.

There was silence for a few minutes. She hoped he wouldn’t get dressed before they’d made things up.

As though he sensed what she wanted, he slid on top of her and they made love again. He didn’t speak, or kiss her. He just looked deep into her eyes, and she gazed back into his.

He found it hard to shake Rob from his thoughts, though, and wondered what had made Fiona talk of another man while she was lying in his bed. It was unsettling simply because everybody knew that first love was the hardest to forget.