Drowning (19 page)

“You look like shit,” he observed, and although his words were not said with any particular malice, I felt my own smile waver and then disappear. How I must look, to him? Tired eyes, tangled hair, no trace of make-up, muddied, and barefoot, with bleeding palms and stained and crumpled clothes.

“I know. I’m sorry,” I said reflexively, and could have kicked myself for having fallen back into the routine of apologizing and placating him. Still, he was right. I didn’t look my best, and that was a problem for Vince, who set great store by appearance.

Briefly, I thought about what I had become during the months I’d known my husband. Far better groomed. Aware of brand names and quality. Conscious of my image, and of the image I projected to others, particularly him.

We’d shared many serious, deep moments although, looking back on it, I could never remember Vince having made me smile as much, in our entire relationship, as Nicholas had in just a few days.

“I crawled over those girders back there. That’s how I got here,” I told him, pointing to the river behind me, hoping to lighten his mood or at least impress him. “Do you want to take a drive down to see them better?”

Vince glanced at the river, then back at me, and with a shrinking of my heart I could see the disbelief in his expression.

“Whatever,” he said. “That road looks crappy. I don’t want to get the car stuck. You’re here with me now. That’s what counts, hey, baby? We’re together. Let’s get back to Royal Africa. One of your bags was in my car, so there’s some of your gear in the hotel room.”

“Oh, that is good news.” I climbed into the car and we set off.

I’d been worried about what I would say to Vince if he asked me about my stay at Leopard Rock, and what we would speak about if he didn’t. I had dreaded trying to fill the silence between us. In the end I needn’t have worried. He turned up the music in the Land Rover to a level that did not allow for conversation, and I spent the drive back to the hotel listening, with relief, to R&B while pretending to be asleep.

The five-star hotel where Vince was staying was the last word in opulence. It was decorated in ecru, wine red, and gold, with dark wooden ceilings, sweeping navy blue and forest green curtains. The walls were covered with drapes of African textiles and and safari-themed oil paintings. Sumptuous as it was, I would have swapped it in an instant for the light, bright, airy, and simple décor of Leopard Rock.

Stopping off at the front desk, self-conscious about walking through the glamorous lobby barefoot, I inquired whether any of my replacement credit cards had been delivered yet. The receptionist on duty said nothing had arrived yet, but that she would contact my room immediately if anything came in.

I followed Vince down the carpeted corridor and up a flight of stairs to our suite. I was beginning to feel nervous, as if I’d had a stay of execution that was now over. I knew that, soon, we would have to talk things through, and that he would question me in detail about what I had done while I was away from him. I needed to have answers prepared, and a story that would stand up to his interrogation.

“There’s your bag,” he said, when we were in the spacious bedroom.

The small leather carry case I’d never thought I would see again was resting on the ottoman. Oh, the relief of finding that it contained my make-up, my perfume, two pairs of shoes, and a few items of clothing that I’d thrown in at the last minute in case I needed anything extra to wear.

Vince sat down on one of the armchairs and began reading something on his iPhone. He was clearly not in a mood for conversation, so I went into the bathroom and spent the next hour showering, fixing up my nails, blow drying my hair to glossy perfection, and doing my make-up.

I couldn’t help it. Nowhere were the memories of Nicholas more vivid than when I stood under the shower. The patter of the water brought to mind the rain that had been beating down on the thatched roof when I had first regained consciousness in the lodge. It reminded me of the swimming pool where I had lost myself in our first kiss; the waterfall where we had first made love.

It was there, under that running water, while I was washing the last trace of him, the last smell of him, off my skin, that I came to the realization that deep down I had known for a while.

I was going to have to tell Vince everything.

I could not go forward in our marriage carrying this lie with me. I had broken a contract of trust, and as painful as it might be, and even if it meant sacrificing our relationship, it was what my conscience was telling me to do.

The only question was—how and when to break the news?

I made myself up immaculately before changing into fresh clothes, including a black top I knew Vince liked. When I came out again, my hair shiny and groomed, my body fragrant, his nod of approval told me that I had redeemed myself in his eyes.

“I’m going to be busy now,” Vince said. “I have to Photoshop all my images and send them through by the end of the day.”

“Do you want some help?” I offered, but he shook his head. The rejection sent a pang through me. Vince had always accepted my help in the past.

“Before you start…” I began, gathering my courage together, but my incipient confession was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone by the bed.

Frowning, Vince got up and answered.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, she’s here. She must come down to reception? For what?”

He waited, listened. “Okay.” Replacing the phone, he turned to me. “I don’t know exactly what they want. I can’t understand the locals here when they try to speak English. Something’s arrived for you, and they need you to sign a form, I think. Anyway, you must go down there now.” He checked the time on his phone. “I’ll see you at breakfast in ten minutes.”

“I’ll see you there,” I said, and hurried out of the room, grateful that the inevitable showdown had at least been postponed.

Downstairs, I saw it was eight-thirty a.m. and a new receptionist was on shift.

“Mrs. Mitchell?” she smiled.

“That’s me,” I confirmed.

“I have this for you.” She passed me a cream-colored envelope with the hotel logo on the front.

“Thank you,” I said, taking the envelope and turning away, but her words stopped me.

“If you could open it here, please?”

“Okay. But why…?”

“I was told to make sure that you stay here while you read it, ma’am.”

Instructions from the credit card company? I didn’t understand at all. Frowning in confusion, I tore open the envelope.

Inside was not the Visa card I’d been expecting. Instead, I found a room card with the hotel’s logo on it, and a folded compliments slip.

Opening the compliments slip, my eyes widened and my heart started to race.

There was a short, printed message on it.

This card is for room 101. Use it if you need it. N.

Nicholas?

Suddenly terrified that Vince had followed me down here, I glanced round, but there was no sign of him. I stood for what seemed like a long time, looking down at the page through eyes that were blurry with tears. I felt breathless with shock, ridiculously emotional at the fact I’d heard from Nicholas again.

He had already found out that I had left the lodge. How had he known so fast? Had Miriam told him that I had gone missing and he’d put two and two together? No, of course—he knew Hennie, the hotel owner. So perhaps, when Miriam had contacted him to tell him I was gone, Nicholas had phoned Hennie and found out I was here.

“We can hold the card for you here at the desk if you’d like to come by for it later,” the receptionist said. “I’ve been instructed to tell you that you must use the room at any time you need to.” Her voice was gentle.

I felt as touched, as protected by this gesture as if Nicholas had been there himself to put his arms around me to bid me farewell. When I first met him, I would never have thought of him as a gentleman, and yet, this gesture was one of pure chivalry. In spite of the fact I’d run away without even saying a proper goodbye, he’d been thoughtful enough to book me a private room—to be used, I supposed, to gather myself together if Vince and I ended up having a fight. Or to sleep, if Vince banished me from his bed.

I found myself smiling, and blinking tears away while I did.

“If you could please tell the sender thank you,” I said, handing back the compliments slip. The card itself I put in my pocket. Room 101. Since ours was 214, I guessed 101 would be on the ground floor, in the opposite wing of the building.

Dabbing the tears carefully away from my eyes so as not to smudge my make-up, I made my way to breakfast to wait for Vince.

He didn’t come.

I sat in the colorfully decorated dining room, watching other guests strolling to the buffet to pile their plates with tasty looking food, while the waiters kept my coffee cup and juice glass filled. I waited for half an hour, during which time I had two orange juices and two coffees.

Vince must have decided to skip breakfast, or order room service, I thought. Or perhaps something had come up—an important phone call from back home, or another project he needed to discuss. At any rate, having Vince not turn up after he’d said he would was not entirely unusual.

I returned to the bedroom. Knocked on the door.

No answer.

I went back downstairs and got a key card from the ever-helpful receptionist, and let myself in. Vince was not in the room and I could not see his phone anywhere, although his laptop was open on the desk, screensaver swirling. As I had thought, then, he’d had a call, probably while on his way to breakfast, and had gone somewhere private to take it.

I sat down at the desk to wait for him, and as I did so, my elbow brushed against the wireless mouse. The movement caused the screensaver to dissolve and the image that was open in Photoshop appeared in vivid detail.

My mouth fell open as I gazed at it.

It was a close-up artistic photograph of a woman’s breast. It was bigger than mine, full, plump, and perfectly rounded in a way that made me think it might have been cosmetically enhanced. The skin was flawlessly pale, the nipple a deep pink in color, elongated and aroused and gleaming with moisture. It was pierced through its center by a small, bright golden ring.

The depth of field in the picture did not allow for me to see the background in sharp focus, but as I stared in shock from the photo to the hotel room and back again, I realized where it had been taken. Here, in this bedroom. I could see the place where the gold and maroon stripe of the wall hanging matched up with a horizontal line near the door-frame’s upper corner that Vince had not yet Photoshopped out.

This must be Helena. Vince had told me about her pierced nipples, during a time soon after we’d started dating when he’d been half encouraging me and half bullying me to have mine done as well. My refusal to entertain the idea of having my nipples pierced, or my
breasts augmented, which he had also suggested, had sent him into a sulk for a week.

Now, staring at this photo, I understood why Vince had not wanted any help with his editing. He hadn’t only been doing the
Vogue
shoot. He had also been doing… this.

His artistic eye shone from the picture. Just as he had intended the onlooker to do, I found myself wondering, imagining, whether the moistened shine on that puckered nipple had been made by ice… or by saliva… or…

The click of the hotel room door opening made me jump.

Vince pushed the door
open and strode angrily into the room.

“Where were you, Erin? I thought I asked you to join me at…”

He stopped speaking, abruptly, as he saw my face.

“You look pissed. What’s your problem?”

“This is my problem,” I told him icily.

I swiveled the laptop round to face him, and watched him go very still as he saw the image on its screen. He paused for only a moment before recovering himself. His voice loud and accusing, he demanded, “What the hell are you doing messing around with my computer?”

“I was in the dining room,” I told him in a voice that sounded surprisingly calm and level. “You weren’t. I came back here to wait for you and I bumped the mouse by mistake. You left this image open. I assume there are others, but I haven’t looked.”

Vince’s chin jutted. “You should have waited for me at breakfast.”

“What’s breakfast got to do with this?” I asked, hurt and outrage quavering in my voice.

He shrugged. “What’s work got to do with anything? I told you when we first started dating that I sometimes photograph nude models.”

“Yes, but not ex-girlfriends.”

“I had a job come in from
Playboy
. Very good money. They wanted an erotic shoot, but something different. Something classy. Helena was here already and she has the right size tits. Yours are too small,
baby. Nobody reading
Playboy
wants to look at B-cups. And if you look at the other pics, she’s also got a yummy tattoo near her…”

“I don’t want to look at them!”

“Well, I told you this is how things are.” Vince stared at me, managing to look both smug and aggressive. “If you don’t like it, leave. The nearest hotel is about twenty miles away. See how far you get with no credit card or ID.”

Listening to Vince, I felt helpless. Crushed by his words and the forcefulness of his attitude, I was ready to back down and agree with him when I suddenly found myself emboldened by a surge of anger.

“That’s fine, actually,” I said dismissively. “You can do what you want. Photograph what you like. I’m going to take you up on the offer of the trial separation you suggested on the phone. We need time apart. Things aren’t working between us, Vince, and if you want an idea of how badly they’re not working…”

His face was like thunder. I wished fervently I had thought before opening my big mouth. But it was too late for me to stop, so I pressed on.

“If you want an idea of how badly they’re not working, I’ll tell you. While you were prancing around in this hotel room photographing your ex-girlfriend’s breasts, I was having an affair with the owner of the lodge where I was staying. I’m not proud of…”

I was going to tell him that I was not proud of my decision. That it had been foolish and stupid and entirely my own fault, and that I regretted it deeply. But I did not get a chance to say any of that, because before I could, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me up from my chair.

“You did what?” he yelled. His lips were curled back from his teeth and I could see the silvery gleam of the fillings in his molars, could smell strong coffee on his breath. His fingers dug viciously into my skin and I cried out, feeling cold with terror.

“Ow! Stop!”

I had forgotten how strong Vince was when he was trying to hurt me.

“No!” I pleaded, as his grip tightened.

“What do you mean, an affair? Are you fucking kidding me?”

He grabbed a fistful of my hair, tugged hard. I felt roots rip out of my head, a sharp, exquisite agony, blood storming through my veins. I was tempted—so tempted—to shout that I’d been lying to him, that I’d only been trying to provoke him with my words, but I knew it was too late for that, and that even if I did, I would still suffer the consequences of his fury.

Screaming was something I could do—if I yelled loud enough perhaps somebody would be alerted—but, anticipating my strategy, he clamped his hand over my mouth, crushing my lips against my teeth so hard I tasted blood.

I forced my jaws open and snapped them shut, managing to get the flesh of one of his fingers in between them. With a shout of pain he snatched his hand away.

I had just one chance, one moment left to act, and I needed to take it.

I lunged forward, yanking myself out from his grasp, feeling a raw fire in my scalp as more hairs pulled loose. I dived for the door and snatched it open and then I was out, running down the corridor as if my life depended on it, knowing that if I could find another person then I would be safe, because Vince would never lay a finger on me in public; only when we were alone.

He was pursuing me. I could hear the thudding of his footsteps. I hurtled down the stairs, my shoe catching on the edge of a rug and sending me flying. I sprawled onto the carpet, raw agony flaring in my injured palms. No time to think about how much it hurt. I was up again and on the move, my breath sobbing in my chest as I rounded a corner. Finally, thank God, there was a chambermaid approaching, her trolley loaded up with fresh linen. I sprinted past her knowing Vince would not; that he would drop back to a normal pace until he was out of her sight.

That bought me a few precious seconds of time.

What to do? Where to go? Was I going to throw myself at the mercy of the hotel receptionists, explaining what had happened and asking them to keep me safe until I could get out of here?

No guarantee, though, that Vince wouldn’t smooth talk his way into persuading them that I was delusional.

There was only one place I could go now. I sprinted across the reception area and headed through to the opposite wing of the hotel. In room 101, which was all the way at the end of the passage, I could be safe.

I fumbled the key card into the slot, praying it would open without a problem, checking behind me as I did so, dreading that Vince would catch up with me. He would have slowed down to cross the lobby, though, and afterwards would not know which hallway I’d gone down—passages led to conference rooms, to the kitchen, a ladies’ bathroom.

The door to room 101 clicked open and I burst inside, slamming it behind me.

Inside, air-conditioned quiet and tranquility. Blessed silence. I stumbled to the sofa and flung myself on the cushions, my legs suddenly boneless.

On the table in front of me I saw a small ice bucket and a clean hand towel had been set out. My eyes filled with tears as I realized exactly why Nicholas had thought to offer me this haven. Not just for my emotional well-being, but for my physical safety. He had lived with abuse as a child… he had guessed this would happen.

I soaked the towel in the ice and pressed it onto my burning scalp and throbbing lips, its cold touch offering instant relief. Blood feathered out across the white linen like a spreading flood. I shut my eyes and wept softly.

I knew it would be too dangerous to leave this room. I would stay here until my credit card arrived. Once I had that card, I would have my independence back—enough, at least, that I could arrange transportation and alternative accommodation while I waited for my temporary passport to be ready.

I dialed the front desk and asked the receptionist if she could please call me in this room when my card arrived, and that I did not want anybody else to know where I was.

“No problem, Mrs. Mitchell,” she reassured me.

In spite of this, I started feeling fearful again. What if somebody, in all innocence, told Vince about this room? What if he managed to talk his way into obtaining an access card?

I spent a few minutes fretting over this possibility. In fact, I was considering whether I should drag some furniture in front of the door just in case, when I heard the sound I had dreaded—the click and whirr of the latch opening.

Shit, shit, a chambermaid would have knocked, so it had to be him. It had to. And I had nothing to defend myself but…

I picked up the ornamental wrought-iron bowl on the desk and hoisted it high above my head. When Vince came in, I was going to throw it at him, and then I was going to dive past him and…

The door swung wide and in walked Nicholas de Lanoy.

Nicholas stopped in his tracks when he saw me struggling to brandish the heavy bowl, and for a long moment we stared at each other. My heart thundered in my chest. The bowl slipped from my grasp and thudded down onto the table.

My lips felt numb, and not just from the ice I’d applied.

“You’re hurt, Erin,” he said softly. “Are you all right?”

“What are you doing here?” I asked. My voice trembled. I couldn’t stop looking at him, noticing he was wearing a pair of jeans I hadn’t seen before and a black Polo shirt. His gold-tanned skin, his broad shoulders, his sandy hair—all so familiar and dear, although the expression of deep concern in his pale eyes was new to me.

“I came to find you,” he said.

He locked the door behind him and strode over to me.

Then I was in his arms, wrapped tightly around me, my eyes flooding. I held him close, unable to believe he was really here. I had been so sure I would never see him again. My deep, shaky breaths did not stop me from weeping in relief.

“You came to find me?”

“I had to make sure you were okay.”

“I am,” I told him. “Thanks to you.”

“I was so worried.” He touched my lips with a gentle fingertip.

“I told Vince about you. I might have done it in a more tactful way if I hadn’t seen he’d been photographing his ex-girlfriend’s breasts,” I said.

“He did more than that,” Nicholas said, his voice cold.

“Huh? What are you talking about? How do you know?” Scrubbing tears from my eyes, knowing it would be smudging my recently applied mascara but that Nicholas would not mind, I stared at him.

“Hennie told me a couple of days ago. He said your husband and some blonde were all over each other at dinner soon after she arrived, and they spent the night in the same bedroom. The chambermaid found evidence of cocaine use the next morning. Read into it what you want. I should have told you at the time, but I didn’t. I worried it might only make things worse and drive a wedge between us. That you wouldn’t have believed me—or that you would have chosen to believe his lies.”

Soberly, I thought about it, wondering what I would in fact have done. I didn’t know what the answer to that was. All I knew was that with every day that had gone by at Leopard Rock, I had ended up trusting Vince less and Nicholas more.

“When I found you had gone, I wished I’d told you. Wished I’d been able to change your mind, to stop you from choosing to run. Worst of all, I couldn’t get to you immediately. I had to organize a hired car. Which I did as fast as I could.”

“Well—thank you again.” I didn’t know what else to tell him. I feared that anything else I said might betray the depths of my feelings for him.

“Sit here with me. We need to talk.” He guided me over to the bed and helped my trembling body gently down onto the cool smooth sheets. Then, with his arm around me, he continued in a serious voice.

“I didn’t just come here to make sure you were safe, Erin. I wanted to ask you to come back with me.”

“To come back with you? To Leopard Rock?” I could hear the incredulity in my own voice.

“Yes.”

“But… for how long, Nicholas? Another week? Two? I don’t think I can do that, because…” Oh, well. Time to be honest, whatever the cost. “Because I’ve fallen for you in a big way, and it was difficult enough leaving the first time.”

“Is that why you ran?” His voice was gentle.

“Yes. That’s why I ran.”

He took a deep breath. “The timing couldn’t have been worse. Because I was about to ask you to stay. And not for another week, or for another two.”

I stared at him, my eyes wide with amazement. In my head, desire warred with disbelief. The prospect of returning to the lodge… staying there with him, without the inevitable prospect of a return flight looming ahead… but how was this possible? What had happened to the libertine who had made me such a brazen proposal less than a week ago?

“But… but we hardly know each other,” I stammered out.

“That’s why I want to spend a long time getting to know you better,” Nicholas said, his voice gentle. “A very long time. I’m thinking years, although it may well take decades. Or the remainder of the century, if you’ll have me. I’m totally sure about what I want, Erin. But if you’re unsure, we can take it a week at a time. In which case, I’d like to invite you to come back and spend just one more week with me.”

I found myself blinking tears out of my eyes again as new emotions rushed in. Joy… relief… hope. I had not allowed myself to entertain any of them—had never thought they would be possible. I had never been able to imagine a future with Nicholas. Now, it felt as if the foundations of my world had been rocked. Instead of leaving alone for the plane back to New York, I could be returning to the estate, to be with the man who, in just a few short days, had managed to turn my life around—and had captured my heart.

“I was planning to ask you to stay,” he said. “I was doing my best to gather my courage together, but it wasn’t easy, not with your situation as it was—and given how much your decision meant to me. Then you pre-empted me by leaving, and I thought I had lost you.
Worse, I thought I’d allowed you to go back to a situation where you could be hurt.”

“Are you sure…” Suspicion surfaced briefly. It was a question I had to ask.

“What?”

“Are you sure you are not just inviting me back because you’re trying to protect me from an abusive husband?”

“No, Erin. I’m inviting you back because I am totally and utterly smitten with you. Because I’m in love with you.”

“You’re what?” was all I could get out. My heart was racing.
Was this really happening? Had he truly said these words?

“I’m in love with you,” he repeated. “In the time that you’ve been in my life, you’ve changed it for the better. You’ve helped me understand that I am not the same person I was ten years ago, and that I’d only be fooling myself if I carried on trying to behave that way. When I realized you’d left, it felt as if my world had ended. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I can only hope that you do. Or that you are prepared to give us a chance, even if it means walking away from your marriage.”