All the Rage (8 page)

‘There's a club just around the corner,' he volunteered.

‘You look absolutely shattered, Michael. We can skip the dancing. Why don't we go back to your place… if I'm still invited to stay? '

Michael took her hand and slowly kissed it. ‘I noticed you've come without an overnight bag. I wasn't sure I should be so presumptuous. '

Lauren retrieved her slim handbag from the floor and tapped the side. ‘I travel light. I only need a toothbrush and change of clean Janet Regers. Shall we go? '

 

***

 

Kara let herself go with an intensity never felt before. Her lovemaking with Marcus was frenzied and heated and unrelenting. Entangled flesh and bone tingled and shimmered. She was intoxicated with the scent of sex. It engulfed them, allowing each to explore the other's body with a passion to which only new lovers can aspire. They rushed, pushed, spread and penetrated, licked and pulled, bit and caressed, searching for pain and pleasure until they were both completely sated. They eventually lay on damp rumpled sheets, breathing fast and falling heavily into that strange suspended time lapse of exhaustion and ecstasy, of heightened senses and a futile gesture of defiance: of taking and being taken. A glorious surrender.

Falling blissfully still further, Kara became aware of his arousal, his reawakened power, and within moments she felt his strength as he turned her over, lifted her forcibly from behind and entered her, thrusting himself into her time and time again, as if minutes became hours, and yet he sustained his motion of her, machinelike, until her pleasure became cruelty, her body a simple tool to his, and her mind a whirlpool of sensual slavery. She could take no more and she cried out. But still he took her, harder and faster.

Long into the night, just as the first light of the morning filtered into the bedroom, he whispered in her ear, ‘I bet that's something your
precious
boss couldn't do. '

She in turn pushed his face away and deliberately positioned her back to him. She hated his triumphant boast.

‘Fuck off, Marcus,' she said, drifting back to sleep.

Chapter Four

 

Michael made love to Lauren again in the morning, less urgent this time; and he found a tender embrace –
a certain touch –
which he had not experienced for many years. She caressed and soothed his body and he in turn yearned for
this time
to be captured and held just for him, so that he could retreat into her protection whenever the need was there. Lauren offered a warm shelter in which to hide away from the cold hostility that invaded his world.

During the night they had remained awake, holding each other in silence, staring into each other's eyes, he slowly mapping the curves of her delicious body with his tongue, she hungrily kissing his every taut limb. He discovered with delight that they
fitted.

Later, in the kitchen of his apartment, Michael heated fresh croissants which they ate greedily, washed down with chilled, freshly squeezed orange juice. He sat huddled side by side with her at the breakfast table in the glass conservatory. Below them, sleek grey-hulled yachts bobbed in the icy cold Thames. Then, much to their surprise, giant snowflakes began to fall in a swirling mass from the leaden sky. They watched with a childlike innocence, as if time somehow held them magically suspended in this precious moment.

As minutes passed by, the view from the window disappeared behind a blanket of white, leaving their own ghostly reflection staring back at them.

‘Lauren, can I be personal? ' he said, nervously searching her eyes for a sign of disapproval. He was reluctant to spoil the moment but it had to be said, ‘I've asked before, I ask again: do you want Julius back? '

She was silent for a long time. ‘I can't forgive him, ever. I have Irish blood in me and my temperament won't allow me to humiliate myself any further.
He doesn't deserve me.
For a long time I wished to harm him. And
her
as well. ' Lauren's body stiffened. ‘Is that bad? '

‘I can understand it,' he said eventually. ‘Adele and I shared many wonderful moments. Then, before you know it, it all goes terribly wrong, and you end up searching for the answers and find there aren't any. And then you feel a failure. When you find out that betrayal is the instigator, it is very difficult to come to terms with it. The truth is, however, that betrayal is often the symptom, and we must all share the responsibility. If people were happy, they wouldn't have the need to look elsewhere. We fail despite ourselves. Betrayal is a harsh lesson and we find it difficult to forgive. It is natural to want revenge. Whenever we find ourselves discarded, we want to lash out. It is a very powerful urge.
Is it bad
? Yes, but I want to
hurt
Adele. The rage I feel scares me. '

He watched as Lauren rose from the table. She disappeared from view and suddenly hugged him from behind, kissing the back of his neck.

‘In answer to your question,' she said, ‘I do
not
want Julius back. Not now that I have you. He has chosen someone else, a whore, to be exact. Rage? Yes, I too have a rage. But right now I feel only contempt. It boils up whenever I think of them together. For me, Julius is dead. From the moment he abandoned me, he will always be dead. '

 

***

 

It was long into the afternoon when Michael decided to drive Lauren home to Laburnum Farm, after the TV weather forecast warned of heavy snow overnight. The sky was an amazing violent red and yellow and the air icily sharp. With this in mind it was a sensible precaution, one borne out not of gallantry but necessity.

This evening, he wanted to be alone, to think long and hard as to where the entanglement with Lauren was leading. On the one hand, he was falling in love with – no – he
was
in love with this beautiful and intoxicating creature. On the other hand, he was fearful of her bewitching nature. She was overpowering him.

Come tomorrow, he would pursue another matter, and to do this, to be clear and alert, would mean no distraction beforehand. Hence, his immediate desire to separate himself from Lauren. During the time he was alone in her husband's studio something had bothered him that he could not put a finger on. It nagged him like a bad toothache.

Now, driving the two of them in his BMW along the Embankment, past the Chelsea barracks, he began to see a picture gradually unfold. Like a lot of people, he did his best thinking in a car. Switching on the CD player, he engaged the whispering husky tone of Sade singing
Lover's Rock.
He glanced over to Lauren and glimpsed her smile as she settled down into her seat, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep, lulled by the comfort of the music. He, too, enjoyed the soothing nature of the rhythmic beat, but his mind was active now, racing ahead of himself. The same question kept battering his brain.
What
had he seen in the studio that so puzzled him?

His memory, his recollection of what he thought he saw was insignificant, at best, untrustworthy. And yet this piece of the jigsaw had to be important because it caused him to be unsettled and mindful. Above all, it made him question his own motives as to why he allowed himself to be embroiled in this strange scenario in the first place. If he was being totally honest with himself, it proved a necessary diversion from the problems of the shoddy disintegration of his own marriage. The answer – his fulfilment – lay in the ghosts that surrounded him.

Logic was the key. To begin with, he would have to find Julius Gray: this was paramount to saving his own sanity. If he had a future with Lauren, then this was a dilemma that had to be solved. The unthinkable would be if Julius was dead, even murdered, and Lauren was implicated in his death. He shuddered. Without this end to uncertainty, their relationship would always be impaired. With each passing mile on the road, a degree of doom descended upon him. It suffocated him like a thick woollen blanket. Just
how
would he find this missing man? Tomorrow, somehow, he would begin the quest.

 

***

 

Kara arrived at the gallery uncharacteristically early, chirpy and especially pleased with herself. She had left Marcus asleep in her bed, exhausted from the frolics of the night before. The cup of tea she set beside him on the bedside table would soon be cold, but she declined to nudge him from his deep slumber.
Some people just don't have the stamina
, she concluded in amusement, satisfying herself with the delicious thought of his frantic all- night performance.

Tucked in behind her desk, she keyed in the appropriate code on the computer keypad and entered the file marked ‘Sale or Return', being those paintings which artists left in good faith on the understanding that a commission would be taken by the gallery in the event of a sale. It was common practice. Kara had devised a system whereupon she would list the paintings, do a print off for the artist and she or Michael or even Ron would sign for them, as a safeguard against possible discrepancies. It was a system that was both simple and effective. Perversely, there lay the evidence that Kara was looking for. Within these print-offs, which nobody really cared about, not least the artists who were often idle and inefficient, was a list of
all
the paintings which entered the gallery, which in turn were either sold, kept, or returned. These were, in the great scheme of things, forgotten lists, always left for good old dependable Kara to update. And this she did, diligently.

It worked like this. If Adele sold a painting deemed “under the counter” she would take great pains to ensure that the painting itself was never produced in the first place. It
needed
to disappear. This was easy on a Sale or Return basis as no invoice had been raised in the first place. Effectively, the painting did not exist, satisfying the artist, the gallery and the delighted buyer, who would gain from a generous discount with his purchase. Everyone was happy, everything fine, except for the small matter of one dutiful secretary and her very tidy lists. All it would take was one vindictive telephone call to the taxman. And Adele would be in the shit.

Unfortunately, so would Michael, so she would have to play this carefully. He and Adele were partners after all, and would be implicated together. Kara poured a second cup of coffee and began the arduous task of compiling sales and identifying the missing stock. Something had to surface, eventually. If Kara could rake in enough evidence against Adele, then this in turn could be a significant weapon for Michael. The intended phone call to the taxman was only a threat: a bluff. Just the allegation of possible fraud would suggest Adele's rapid withdrawal from her already ludicrous demands from Michael, thus allowing him to salvage what he could in the divorce proceedings. Scandal was one thing. Impending criminal charges were entirely different. A fair exchange, Kara concluded smugly. She was confident that Adele would back off with this possibility hanging over her head.

‘I could do with a cup of that coffee,' Michael bellowed as he entered the front entrance to the gallery.

Kara jumped in her seat and spilled her coffee down her blouse.

‘Aaagh! ' This was the second time someone had bloody crept up on her. She thought back to Marcus and his similar antics the other day.

‘Are you OK? ' Michael grabbed a tissue from the desk and handed it to her. ‘This is a bit early for you to be in, isn't it? '

Kara regained her composure, mopping the stains with her makeshift towel. ‘Couldn't sleep last night,' she muttered. ‘Water pipe broke in the street, damn roadwork drilling at six o'clock this morning right outside the flat. No peace for the wicked, so I thought I'd make up for a couple of late appearances recently. ' Speedily, she switched the file on the screen to an alternative client database to hide what she was doing.

He looked over her shoulder, seemingly unconcerned. ‘Fine, I'm impressed. What are you doing? '

‘Er, searching for Mr Applegate's phone number. I thought I'd follow up his inquiry. '

‘What inquiry? '

She was flustered now. Thinking fast, she said, ‘He needs a restoration quote for a Dyef painting that apparently has developed hairline cracking on the surface of the canvas. It's worsened over the years, and he is concerned about his investment. The canvas may need relining. '

‘Hmm, what a pain. It will have to be an insurance claim. ' Michael shrugged. ‘Always more trouble than it's worth. Still, get him to drop it over. We'll take a look and get an estimate from the workshop. '

Off the hook now, Kara said, ‘You're in early as well. '

Michael drank the cold remnants from her coffee cup.

‘Hmm, yes…couldn't damn sleep. '

Kara was aware that he seemed distracted and a little dishevelled. Even more of a surprise, she was shocked to hear him steal her lines.

‘I was interrupted by workmen outside the apartment: must have been a burst water pipe. No chance of a lie in. '

She noticed he recovered his composure and returned to more pressing matters. ‘Actually, I need you to find some information for me. Fancy a big fry-up breakfast across the street? '

Kara had a ferocious appetite after a night of sex. She was pleased that her little ploy on the computer had not been detected. She grabbed her handbag.

‘You tempt me with all the best offers,' she smiled.

 

***

 

Poppy's Diner was always busy, mostly with construction workers, taxi drivers and local retail staff from the department stores and shops along Piccadilly. The language was usually strong at this time of the morning, but Michael ignored the banter from the other tables and tucked heartily into the full English breakfast, with added buttered toast on the side. He declined the black pudding. He noticed she scoffed everything.

‘Big appetite,' he remarked, staring at Kara's plate.

‘Big girl,' she replied, attacking her food with determination.

‘Hardly. There's nothing to you. ' He studied her carefully. ‘Am I working you too hard? '

Kara looked up, dabbing her mouth with a paper napkin.

‘Overworking me, underpaying me, never a day off, the list is endless. Dedication usually has its rewards, but I can't see them. '

‘Really? A little bird tells me that a certain artist, who shall remain nameless of course, is providing all the incentives that you want. '

‘Who told you that? ' Kara snapped, lifting her fork in mock attack. ‘Tell me! '

‘Oh, a thoroughly shameless acquaintance of ours. '

‘Ronald! I'll kill him! '

Michael laughed. ‘Nothing gets past Ronald, you should know that. Gossip is what spurs him on. Talking of shameless folk: How is young Marcus? '

Kara eyed him suspiciously. ‘Fine, he's fine. Actually, Marcus is more than that, he's wonderful. ' She beamed. ‘And he is certainly not shameless, not like one woman in particular I could mention. '

Michael took up the hook. ‘Speaking of Adele, we are honoured with her actual presence on Monday. She's coming in to complete the dreaded VAT quarterly returns. '