The Ivy Lessons (30 page)

‘Thanks so much,’ I say. ‘I’ve never had a manicure before.’ I look at my shabby, half bitten nails. ‘But you can probably guess that yourself.’

Merile smiles, and begins rubbing my hands, cuticles and nails with various
oils and lotions. They smell di
vine, and soon she’s pushing my cuticles back and snipping and filing my nails. She buffs each nail, then holds out three shades of polish – navy, dark green and silver.

‘I think these
will
suit you best,’ she says.

‘I like the green,’ I say, thinking of the ivy in
Marc
’s garden.

She flicks two coats over each nail, then bows at my feet and ca
refully takes off my new shoes
. She massages each foot, then
fetches a bath of steaming water and places each foot carefully in the lavender-scented liquid.

I turn and notice
Marc
is watching me, a half smile on his face. ‘A
sk Merile for whatever you need,’ he says.
‘
I’ll be done by the time we land.’

‘How long until we get there?’ I ask.

‘Maybe another eight hours,’ he says. ‘The pilot will get us there as fast as he can, but ... we’ll see.’

After my nails are done, Meril
ee fetches me a lunch of crab salad
, followed by the lightest and most delicious lemon soufflé I’ve ever eaten.

I eat, dose a little, watch movies and – more often than is decent – watch
Marc
. We pass through night time, and then the su
n comes up again, and I watch the horizon
, fascinated. I’ve never seen the sun rise twice in one day before.

We have thin slices of melt-in-the-mouth steak for dinner, and poached pear for dessert.

Then the plane begins to descend, and it suddenly hits me that I’m thousands of miles away from home and have no idea where I’m going. I still don’t understand
Marc
, who he is or what he wants from me. Sometimes, I feel like I see flashes of kindness and love. Other times I see coldness and his need to control.

The plane begins to bump around.
Turbulence
, I guess.

Now I
feel nervous and sick.
My breathing gets quicker and quicker, until I feel like I can’t breath
e
.

Marc
flashes me a look. ‘Sophia. Are you okay?’

I nod. ‘Just a little ... scared. And ...
sick.’ I put a hand to my mouth and look out of the window.
Marc
unclasps himself and knee
l
s beside me. He takes my hand.

‘Sophia – look at me.’

I do, and my breathing gets
faster. Each breath doesn’t feel like enough. I have to have more air, and I begin to gasp.

‘
Take deep breaths,’
Marc
says
. ‘Merile!’

Merile rushes out from the front of the plane. ‘Mr
Blackwell
. You should be buckled in.’

‘Bring the medical kit
,’ says
Marc
,
‘then strap yourself in.’

She nods and rushes away, returning with a white box. ‘Mr
Blackwell
. Allow me.’

Marc
shakes his head. ‘
You go strap yourself in. Leave this to me.’

Merile looks reluctant, but I guess if she’s worked with Marc before, she knows not to argue with him. She returns to the front of the plane.

‘It’s okay, Sophia,’ says
Marc
, opening the kit. ‘You’re just having a little panic attack. There’s oxygen in here if you need it, but I don’t think you
will
. Breath
e
. Breath
e
. Nice and slowly.’

I take longer breaths and
Marc
holds tight to my hand. The plane bumps, and he staggers back on his haunches, then catches himself.

‘Sit down,’ I say between breaths. ‘You’ll hurt yourself.’

‘Just keep on breathing,’ he says.

I feel calmer with him holding my hand, even though the plane is both descending and bumping around. I see the sun high in the sky, and see shimmering sea and white sands below.

After what feels like an eternity, the plane bumps onto a runway and I hear
a rush of air as we pull
to a stop.

Marc
has held my hand the whole time.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper, as the plane door is rolled open. ‘You really didn’t need to do that. I was having a silly panic attack.’

‘Sophia, I brought you here,’ says
Marc
. ‘
I gave you my word I’d
take care of you.’

Warm air rushes into the plane, and I stand up shakily.

‘Where are we?’

‘See for yourself.’
Marc
walks me to the plane ste
ps, and I look out past the concrete runway and flight tower and see green trees, sand and ocean. The sky is bright blue, and the air feels like a warm bath. Birds twitter in the trees, and in the distance I see an oval-shaped building made of glass.

‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, breathing in the sweet scent of flowers.

‘We’re in the Caribbean,’ says
Marc
. ‘This place is totally secluded. No press. Nothing but us.’

‘But I still don’t know where we are,’ I say.

‘We’re on my own private island,’ says
Marc
.

Chapter
64

I remember reading
that
Marc
had his own island. It was in some magazine article about celebrities who were mega-millionaires. I remember some other famous person, I forget who, had a collection of jet packs.
But
Marc
had an island. A whole island.

‘Your own island,’ I breathe, walking down the plane steps.
‘Look at the trees. They’re amazing.’

Marc smiles.
‘There are all sorts of plants here.
More than just ivy.
’

I smile. ‘I’d love to go walking in that forest,’ I say, pointing to the canopy of green.

‘Later,’ says
Marc
. ‘First, let me take you to my place.’

A huge Rolls Royce drives us from the airport, down secluded dirt roads to the glass oval building I saw from the plane.

We walk through a glass door, up glass steps and onto a glass balcony that looks out over the sea. Because most of the whole building is one big window, it feels like we’re floating in the forest and above the beach, part of nature.

The house is decorated with fur rugs and leather sofas, but it still lacks the warmth of somewhere that’s truly lived in. That’s truly loved. There are lots of flat screen televisions,
remote controls
and gadgets around.

‘How do you like it?’
Marc
asks, strolling to the window that looks over the sea.

‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, ‘but it reminds me of your house in Lon
don. It needs some warmth to it.
’

Marc
turns to me, and his lips tilt upwards. ‘Warmth?’

‘Things that make it feel like a home.
Plants, maybe.
’

‘You’ll have to enlighten me about that one.’

‘Have you ever brought girls ... a woman here before?’ I ask, thinking perhaps I don’t want to know the answer to that question.

‘Once,’ says
Marc
, looking out over the water. ‘Years ago.’

‘One of the girlfriends you don’t really have?’ I ask.

‘She wasn’t my girlfriend,’ says
Marc
. ‘She was a friend’s girlfriend, and it was a mistake to bring her here.’

‘Why?’

‘She had a certain fantasy she wanted fulfilling that involved both me and my friend.’

I swallow. ‘Meaning?’

‘Me
aning she wanted to have
two guys at once, and I was the lucky other guy. But my friend wasn’t all that happy about it, and I’ve never seen them since.’

‘Oh.’ I stand awkwardly, wishing I’d never started the conversation.

Marc
turns to me and smiles. ‘
You didn’t like that answer, did you?’

‘No.’

‘
You
’ve
heard about Pandora’s box?’

I nod.

‘Sometimes,
it’s best not to know too much
. You might not like what you find out if you ask too many questions about me. I’m not what you call wholesome. I have a past. Not a great past.’

He goes to the open plan kitchen and opens a
gleaming silver Smeg fridge. Its door is full of
champagne, and he takes out a bottle and pops the cork.

‘I think we should drink to celebrate your arrival here.’ He takes down two glasses and pours the champagne.

I take a glass. ‘This
house
is yours and yours alone?’ I ask.

Marc
nods.

‘It doesn’t feel like you,’ I say. ‘Nor did the townhouse. It feels ... empty.’

‘Well, maybe I’m empty,’ says
Marc
, taking a sip of champagne. ‘I’m certainly morally empty, if you look at my choice of companion on this trip.’

‘I don’t think you are,’ I say. ‘You didn’t want any of this. You would have walked away right at the start, but I didn’t let you.’

‘I’m five
years older than you, Sophia,’ says
Marc
, looking serious. ‘I
should have been able to say no, regardless of my feelings for you
. A good man doesn’t fuck his students. No matter how hard he falls -’

He stops himself, taking a sharp sip of champagne, and looks out at the beach.
‘Look. What I mean to say is, this isn’t a habit for me, okay? I never, ever thought something like this would happen. I’ve never done anything with any of my pupils before, and after you I never will again. But that doesn’t make me morally decent. I should have said no.’

‘You’re talking like I had no say in the matter,’ I say.
‘It was my choice as much as yours. More so. You tried to walk away. I didn’t want you to. And you’re not morally empty. But this place ...’ I gesture with my hand. ‘There’s no love in it. Only things.’

‘It wasn’t built for love,’
Marc
snaps. ‘All your fantasies can come true here. I can make anything you want happen. You want two guys at once? I can make it happen. You want a girl to join us? It can happen. I can tie you up, you can tie me up, whatever you
want can happen here.’

‘I want you to lose
your
inhibitions.’

‘I don’t have any inhibitions,’ says
Marc
. ‘I’m sexually and morally bankrupt. I’ve fucked women in
every way there is to
. Nothing is off limits for me.’

‘But have you ever come with a woman?’

‘
A few times
.
When I was younger.
’

That answer knocks me sideways.
I don’t know what I was expecting. It hurts me to think he’s shared things with other women he’s never shared with me.
‘
But with me you never ...
’

‘I learned very quickly to stay in control. That intimacy leads to all sorts of places I don’t want to be.’

‘So you never want to be close to people?’ I say. ‘Close to me?’

‘I’ve been closer to you than I’ve ever been to anyone in my life,’ says
Marc
. ‘That’s what you don’t seem to understand.
’

‘Even though you’ve never come with me?’

‘The way I feel for you ... it’s different. But t
his is as close as we
can
get. You either accept it, or leave. I can’t give you any more.’

I think about that. If I believed this was the most
Marc
could ever offer me – the occasional show of closeness, followed by a coolness that freezes me to my core – then I would walk away. But I don’t believe it. I think
deep down he wants to let himself go, but he can’t
.
He’s too scared.

Marc
sips
his champagne and sets down the glass. He walks over to me and takes my hands. ‘I didn’t bring you here to talk. You do know that, don’t you?’

A warm feeling runs through my stomach, and I feel my thighs pull together.

‘
Do you trust me?
’