Dishonored (7 page)

Settling back and placing a cushion behind his head, he opened the magazine, drew on the cigarette and took the ashtray from
the side table, balancing it on the arm of the sofa. He glanced at the glossy ads, flicked through the features, then ground
out the fag, closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep. It was eleven o’clock in the morning and he had just flown in from
Delhi.

“Phillip! Darling!” Suzanna stood poised in the doorway, one small Biba carrier bag in her hand and a stocky, red-faced taxi
driver behind her, laden with the other seven. “I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon!” She glanced behind her at the
driver. “You can go,” she said curtly. “Leave the bags there.”

Digging in her purse, she followed the cab driver out into the hallway and pulled out a pound note. She handed it across.
‘Thank you,” she said, and Phillip kicked off his shoes, hearing the slam of the front door. He sat forward and peered out
into the hall.

“Suzy?” The only reply he got was the soft rustle of what he thought were her clothes, then the sharp click of her boots on
the parquet floor. He waited.

“Have you missed me?” she asked from the doorway.

He turned to look at her. She stood in her black panties and boots, the bare skin on her round, firm breasts the same nut
brown as her long, smooth thighs. She flicked a strand of chestnut-colored hair back off her shoulders and smiled.

“My God… Have I…?” He held out his arms. “Come here…”

Moving across to him, she stood in front of him while he kissed her chest, trailing his mouth down across her breast to the
erect tip of her nipple. She was so filled with longing that it took her breath away. She needed him; it was like a drug,
the sex between them.

“Well show me, then,” she murmured, taking his hand from her hip and pressing it gently against the lace covered mound between
her thighs. Then she knelt, one knee either side of him on the sofa, and unbuckled his belt. “Show me how much…”

Some time later, wandering naked from the bedroom to the kitchen to make some tea, Phillip heard the phone ring and went to
answer it.

“No!” Suzy had jumped out of bed and was at the door of the sitting-room. His hand froze above the receiver. “I’ll get it,
darling,” she said casually in an attempt to cover her tension. “Oh, and put something on, will you?” She smiled. “You never
know who can see into this flat.”

Phillip narrowed his eyes and looked at her as she answered the call but she ignored him. He walked toward the kitchen.

“Oh, hello, Poppy! Yes, yes fine, darling!” She perched on the edge of the table and looked down, pretending to inspect her
nails. Phillip watched her for a few moments, then went on into the kitchen to make tea. He kept one ear tuned into the conversation.
“No, no I didn’t know,” Suzy went on. “Oh, really? Well, if he does I’ll let you know. Of course, but things change, Poppy,
you never know what…” Suzy broke off as Phillip came back into the sitting-room and placed a tray on the sofa table.
“All right, I’ll let you know. Yes, yes thanks, Poppy. See you!” She hung up.

Still naked, Phillip poured the tea. “What things change?” he asked, handing her a cup. “And who’s the mysterious ‘he’?” Sitting,
Phillip saw Suzy blush but she quickly turned away to hide it and fiddled, tying the belt of her silk wrap.

“ ‘He’ is no one important,” she answered. “And lots of things change.” She smiled nervously and disappeared into the bedroom.
A few moments later she stood in the doorway and chucked a towel at him. He caught it and held it up.

“What’s this for?”

“Don’t be churlish, Phillip,” she answered, “put it on and make yourself decent.”

He reached for his cigarettes, still ignoring the request and lit two, handing one across to her. “Why?” he asked, leaning
back. “You’ve never complained before.” He glanced down, then up at her, making his point. “And why not answer the telephone?
It’s never bothered you in the past.”

Suzy shrugged, avoiding his eye, and, bending forward, she flicked her ash. Phillip caught her arm and held her wrist. He
felt a moment of panic. “What is it, Suzanna? You’re not tired of me?”

She jerked her arm free. “No! Of course I’m not tired of you! For God’s sake, Phillip, you should know that at least!” She
looked away. They had been together for over three years and Phillip Mills was her life. “It’s not you, it’s…” she broke
off and stood up, crossing to the window. She didn’t want this confrontation now, not on his first day home. “It’s nothing,”
she said. She turned her back on him and looked out of the window at the street six floors below. She felt suddenly very desperate.

Phillip waited. He stared at her back, at the tense line of her body as she hugged her arms around her and hunched her shoulders.
He could feel an intense fear rising in his chest.

“Have you met someone else?”

Suzy spun around. “Oh God, no!” She laughed; the question was so ridiculous. It was a sharp painful sound and it seemed to
break her. Suddenly she put her hands up to her face. “Oh God!” She started to cry.

“Christ, Suzy! What is it?” Phillip sprung forward and pulled her close to him. He had never seen her cry before; in three
years he had never seen a tear. “Suzy?” He kissed her hair as she pressed her head against his chest. “Suzy, please, it can’t
be that bad.” He tilted her face up. “Hey! Come on.” He kissed the corner of her mouth as she wiped her tears on the back
of her hand, sniffing loudly. “Come on.” He led her over to the sofa and sat, pulling her down beside him and reaching for
the towel to cover himself. He was suddenly embarrassed by his nakedness.

“You OK now?”

She nodded, fumbling in her pocket for a handkerchief.

“Are you going to tell me what’s the matter?” Suzy looked away. “What is all this stupid ‘don’t answer the phone, don’t walk
around without any clothes on’ about?” He stared at her profile, a perfect face framed with soft dark hair, and he loved her
so completely that it frightened him. “Am I the ‘he’?”

She started. “And you don’t know I’m in England, you haven’t seen me?” His voice took on an angry edge. “You don’t even want
Poppy to know, your best friend?”

She kept her face turned away from him and gripped the handkerchief, twisting and wringing the silk around her fingers.

“Why, Suzy?” Phillip asked it almost lazily, as if he couldn’t care less but the blood was pounding in his ears. “Why all
this drama?”

“Because…” She broke off helplessly and reached forward for her cigarettes.

He caught her wrist. “Because what? What Suzy?”

“Because of bloody Mitchell!” she cried, wrenching her arm free and jumping up. “Bloody, bloody Mitchell!” A sob caught in
the back of her throat. “Mitchell is watching me, his spies, they’re everywhere, they know all about me, about you!” Her voice
was high and tight, the pain strangling her. “He wants a knighthood, he wants you out, gone! Out of my life! He made threats,
he hurt me! He said…” She was shouting, her face crumpled with grief. “He said people are saying you’re a gigolo, a kept
man, he said people are laughing at him, that I’m causing a scandal!” She covered her face with her hands and began to weep.

All Phillip could do was sit motionless and stare at her. He was so shocked he didn’t know what to say, how to comfort her.
Mitchell Harvey had never been part of the question, he had been a blank face in the background, a ruthless homosexual who
had married Suzanna as a cover for his sexuality. He didn’t care what they did so long as they were discreet within their
own circles. He didn’t care about anything, least of all Suzanna.

Phillip looked helplessly down at his hands. “Suzy, please,” he said quietly. “Please don’t cry like this.”

“Like what?” she suddenly screamed. “Like I’m going to lose the only thing that I’ve ever wanted, ever loved! Don’t you care?
Don’t you…” She lashed out at him but he caught her arm.

“For God’s sake, Suzy!” He yanked her toward him and held her, pinned her body tight to his own, his arms locked across her
back. “For God’s sake, stop it,” he cried hoarsely, as she struggled against him. “Jesus, Suzy…”

But her violence stopped as abruptly as it had started and she slumped against him, her face buried in his chest. Phillip
stroked her hair, wrapping his fingers in it. He looked above her head at the picture on the wall, a picture they had bought
together in Bond Street, a Chagall, and he remembered handing the money over in cash, Mitchell’s cash, he remembered the thrill
of it, the sexual excitement that the power of money could bring. He remembered fucking Suzy all night, the picture propped
up against the wall in the bedroom and her face turned toward it every time she climaxed. Gently he tugged on her hair and
tilted her head back.

“You OK?”

She nodded and tried to hide her face again.

“It’s all right,” he said, “I love you, remember? You won’t put me off with baggy eyes and a red nose.” He did love her, it
was the truth. He loved everything about her, her beauty, the lifestyle they shared, her money.

Suzy smiled, a sad, half-smile, then she moved away from him across the room and picked up the packet of cigarettes, lighting
two, as was their habit. She held Phillip’s out to him and he came over.

“Thanks.”

“I have to go to Spain,” she said flatly. “At the end of the week. Mitchell is entertaining at the villa.” She smoked as she
spoke, almost continually, holding the cigarette close to her face. When she finished one, she immediately lit up another.
“And he wants to do the season, all of it, poncing around with him, dressed up, lying to people, pretending!” She stood up
and walked away. “I won’t be able to see you, he’ll make sure of that. I won’t…” She broke off, unable to go on. Swallowing
hard, she managed to calm herself. “He means it,” she said quietly, coldly. “He wants the House of Lords, he has some deal,
some bloody deal to finance and he needs respectability, he needs me! Ha! What a fucking joke! Mitchell, the East End thug
in the House of Lords! Lord Harvey, duffing up his wife!” The bitterness in her voice shocked Phillip. She hardly ever talked
about Mitchell, he knew very little about the other side of her life. “I’ve missed you so much,” she said, looking away. Her
voice had changed again, it was small, like a child’s. “All the time you’ve been in India I’ve thought about you, about this.”
She glanced around the flat, their flat. “Being together.” She dropped her head and put her hands up to her face. “I don’t
think I can live without you anymore,” she whispered, “I really don’t.”

“You won’t have to live without me,” Phillip answered. He reached out to her and took her hands. “Suzy? Look at me, Suzy.”
She lifted her head. “Listen, I promise you that we’ll find a way out of this.”

She shook her head helplessly.

“Yes! I promise!” Pulling her toward him, he held her hands up and kissed her palms, her wrists. “I don’t know how, I can’t
pretend that I do, but there will be a way.” He eased her in closer so that she stood before him and dropped her hands, slipping
his fingers inside the silk, touching her warm flesh. “Have I ever let you down?”

“No.”

He edged the robe down, exposing her bare shoulder and her breast. He put his mouth to her nipple and ran his tongue over
the tip, making her shiver. “I would do anything for you, Suzanna,” he murmured. “Anything.” He parted the rest of the silk
and looked at her body, a body he cherished. “I won’t let you go,” he said, and, closing her eyes, Suzanna almost believed
it was true.

P
HILLIP JUMPED OFF THE BUS AT THE CORNER OF THE
R
ITZ AND
Green Park, ignored the shouts from the conductor and dug his hands in his pockets. He was in a black mood. Suzy was off
to Malaga in the morning, he’d had to find himself somewhere to stay at bloody short notice and he no longer had the car.
Being without the Mercedes really got to him. Striding off in the direction of St. James’s Palace, he took a left turn and
walked along St. James’s Street, glancing miserably in the window of Lock & Co. at a panama he could not afford and hurrying
past Berry Bros, and Rudd. Without Suzy to finance his living expenses, wine on account and expensive headgear were out of
the question. He carried on down the street, keeping his eyes ahead, and turned the corner into Marlborough Road.

“Good evening, sir.”

He took his hands out of his pockets and nodded at the policeman on duty. “Major Phillip Mills,” he said.

“Mills… Mills…” The policeman ran his finger along the list he had on his clipboard. “Ah, here it is.” He looked
up and smiled. “Thank you, major. Go on through.”

Phillip walked past the barrier toward the palace and took the third door on the right. He was meeting Bertram in the mess
to collect the key to his flat and finalize a few details. He hoped to God the man didn’t have any cats to feed.

“Evening, sir.”

“Hello, corporal.” Phillip handed his raincoat over. “I’ll have a gin and tonic.” The corporal nodded. “Is Captain Bertram
in the mess yet, d’you know?”

“No, sir, he’s been called away, he left a message for you, sir.”

“Called away?” Phillip held down his irritation. If Bertram had skipped off without making arrangements for him he would be
well and truly beggared.

“It’s Major Mills, isn’t it?”

“Yes!” Phillip snapped. He was in no mood to be civil.

“Erm, Major Latham is in the mess, sir, he’s expecting you.”

“Who the devil is Major Latham?” Phillip sighed irritably and straightened his jacket. He turned and walked into the mess,
wondering what the hell he was going to do; the last thing he wanted was to go home to his mother in Wey-bridge.

“Phillip?”

Phillip looked across the room. “My God! Teddy Latham!” His face broke into a broad grin as he hurried across to his old chum.
“Of course, Major Latham! What the hell are you doing here?” The two men shook hands warmly.

“I haven’t seen you for bloody years, you old dog!” Phillip beamed. “The last time was…?”

“Old boys cricket,” Teddy filled in for him. “Fifteen years ago this summer! You got drunk as a skunk on Sussex ale and passed
out on Smythe’s parent’s Chinese rug just before dinner!”