Future Tense (8 page)

“Yeah, well, she did, in my opinion—she's, uh, not herself right now, but I think I know how I can talk her round,” I said. “Yes, I think I can do that,” I added, more to convince myself than my nurse.

“What's the other guy's name?” she said.

“The other guy? Oh, you mean Travis—his name's Travis.”

“Hm. Nice name. What's he like?”

“Oh, you know, tall—”

“—Dark, handsome, sexy voice?” she nodded. She reached behind her head with both hands to fiddle with her knot, which had the pleasant effect of making her breasts present themselves like two propositions, and since she was sitting up higher than me, I got the, um, points, which I think was the, um, ideas. Now, I'm getting confused.

“Er, that's right,” I said. “You know the type. You know, you're very easy to talk to, Brie—you have a nice, uh, personality. I feel as if I've known you all my life and I could tell you anything—you're a journalist, right?”

“With these nails?” she said.

“Yes, I see what you mean, they are very long, and, uh, pink, it would be kind of hard to—but you could be working undercover.”

“Undercover?” she smirked. “That could be fun.” She pulled back the corner of my sheet.

“No—that wasn't code, Brie!” I said. “Just be a nurse for me—what other uniforms do they have at that agency of yours?”

“Mr Duckworth! I'm a fully qualified nurse!”

“Yeah, and I'm Squadron Leader Biggles,” I said.

“Who?”

“Never mind. Look, why don't you bring that paperback I saw you reading over here and read to me?” I said. “I like books.”

She slipped off the bed and sauntered over to her chair to pick up the book. Her nurse's uniform didn't look regulation, the skirt was half way up her thighs and the rest was skimpy enough to cause a cardiac arrest.

“Yes, I got a second in English Lit at Oxford,” I said. Actually, I got a third, but second rate sounded better than third rate. Yes, I did go to Oxford, but I think I went under it, or it went over me.

She waved the lurid cover of her paperback at me, as she retouched her lips with her lipstick.

“This isn't exactly Jane Austen,” she said.

“Jane Austen?” I said. “What made you say that?”

She came back and sat on her spot, but this time wrapped her free arm around my neck.

“I don't know. Didn't she write books?” she said. “Where would you like me to start?”

“Chapter one—yes, she did, but—it doesn't matter,” I said.

“Are we sitting comfortably?” said Nurse Brie, languidly raising one of her legs onto the bed and crooking it up.

She was wearing suspenders! Yes, I knew the Duck was setting me up, but what for? Did he think I was going to fall in love with his nurse and forget about Emma? Why was he so keen to make me forget about Emma? Unless he was just being kind. Like I said—why was he so keen to make me forget about Emma? There had to be an ulterior motive.

Brie began reading, in a talented voice—the kind guys would have paid premium rate call charges for, just to listen to her tell them what she did at the gym. I nestled back in my pillows and closed my eyes.

“Chastity Adams was the kind of girl who had never made a habit of sleeping around,” whispered Brie, huskily, “but she decided in her sophomore year at college to experiment with every sexual experience, at least once, before going on to do missionary work—”

“—What's this book called?” I smiled.

“
What Chastity Did
by Prudence Withers,” said Brie.

“Prudence is a guy,” I said.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“Well, he knows a lot about multiple female orgasms,” she said.

“Please, read on,” I said.

Chapter 5

The courier arrived at six thirty p.m. Brie woke me up. I found myself so firmly tucked in that I couldn't move my arms to sign for the package. My nurse had to loosen the sheets to release me.

“Into a bit of bondage is he, luv?” grinned the motorcycle courier.

“Give me that thing!” I said, reaching for his electronic notebook. “Where do I sign?”

“Just sign at the bottom with this pen, mate,” he said.

I scrawled my name with the light pen, started to write Sloane, scribbled it out, and wrote Duckworth. “Here.”

“Thanks, mate—forget your own name?” he laughed. He gave me my package and loitered, looking round at the room. “What's this then—the penthouse ward?”

I tore open the wrapping and found my card and a note from the Duck inside a cardboard gift box. I looked up at the courier and tilted my head to one side. “Yes?”

“Any reply?” he said.

“No.” I turned to Brie. “Tip him, Brie.”

“Cheers, mate.”

He followed Brie over to her handbag and I read the note, it said:

Dear Stephen,

Guard this triple platinum MasterCard with your life.

The PIN number is on the other sheet of paper.

The upper limit is 100K, but don't go mad, as I am

not made of money. Tell Miss Parker not to let

you let her out of your sight. Have fun.

See you soon.

Love,

Julian

I ripped it up while I memorized the four-number code on the other sheet and then tore that up and dropped all the pieces back in the box.

Brie finished seeing our courier out and came back to me.

“What was that thing with the bed?” I said. “I was trussed-up like a kipper.”

“Just habit,” she smiled. “You fell asleep. I didn't want you to pull your stitches out.”

She sat on my bed and smoothed my hair back off my brow. “Did you get it?”

I held up the box.

“Will it be enough?”

“Plenty and some,” I said.

She kissed my temple and was up for a full one on the lips, but I turned my head away. “We have an arrangement,” I said. “Let's stick to it.”

“Okay,” she said. “I just thought we might fool around. You enjoyed the book.”

“You were making most of that up,” I said.

“No I wasn't,” she said.

“Yes you were, you weren't even looking at the pages half the time,” I said.

“Well, what if I did?”

“You should write one yourself, Miss Parker,” I said.

“What happened to Brie?”

“I think I like Miss Parker better,” I said.

“It makes me sound like a dominatrix,” she said, in her huskiest voice.

“Hey, stop that! If you want that fifty K, you have to promise to stop trying to seduce me.”

“Miss Gummer must be very special,” she said.

“Miss Gummer? I never told you her second name. How did you know that?”

“Your brother must have mentioned it.”

“He wouldn't have told you that,” I said suspiciously. I was suddenly seeing Miss Parker in a whole new light.

“I want to know how you knew Emma's surname. I didn't tell you. So, how come you knew?”

“All right. Your brother did tell me,” she said. “And that's the truth. I'm not a real nurse, well, I did some of the training, but the agency I work for is not a nursing agency, strictly speaking.”

“So what is it—strictly speaking?” I said.

“You know—you already guessed—I'm from an escort agency. Your brother wanted me to show you a good time—to make you forget this Emma Gummer, but I'm obviously not good enough and don't come anywhere near the perfect Miss Gummer.” She dabbed at her eyes.

“Brie, my brother means well, but he sticks his big nose into things that are none of his business,” I said. “You had a deal with him, but now you have a deal with me, and I bet I know who's paying you more.”

“You are, Mr Duckworth,” she sniffed.

“Then consider your arrangement with my brother terminated. It's just good business, Brie,” I said.

“Okay.”

“Let's move on.”

“Yes, Mr Duckworth.”

“Good. Now, why did you stop playing with my hair? Playing with the hair is permitted,” I said.

She ruffled my hair and looked at me in a special way, the way someone else used to look at me.

“But don't fall in love with me—it's forbidden,” I said, only half-jokingly.

I flinched. I had detected something deep within her eyes, which I can only describe as an angry flaring of the pupils. Like a frustrated child who has promised to behave, but still resents the telling off. But I might have been imagining things, because it passed so quickly and then she was smiling indulgently at me again.

“Don't worry,” she said. “There's no danger of that.”

“If I get a good night's sleep,” I said, “maybe we could discharge me in the morning. I'll need a wheelchair.”

“We have one,” she said, studying my face with that strange look again.

“What's up?” I said.

“Nothing. I'll give you a sedative to help you sleep,” she said.

She walked stiffly over to her handbag, took something out, and returned.

“Do you know how to do this?” I said.

“Yes,” she said, pulling a sick grin. “They taught us sedation between bondage and flagellation class.”

I was taking a liking to Miss Parker. But there was still something about her that troubled me, well, not really troubled me, but sort of made me suspicious of her, well, not really suspicious, as such, but slightly cautious, well, not exactly cautious, but a bit wary, well, not even wary really—I just had a funny feeling about her. Do you know what I mean? No, of course, you don't. Neither do I.

She produced a hypodermic syringe and squirted some out of the needle to get rid of the air, and then she pulled back the sheet to expose my side.

“Can you turn your hip for me, please, Mr Duckworth?” she said.

I twisted my lower body round as far as I dared and felt her inject into my right buttock, and then wipe it with a cold antiseptic swab.

“Okay,” she said, covering me up again.

“Don't tuck me—” I started to say.

* * *

I slept fitfully. I was still getting my big squid nightmares. I woke up in a cold sweat, having narrowly escaped from one's multiple clutches. It was really weird because the one that was trying to get me could talk and we weren't even underwater when it attacked me. Well, it didn't really attack me, it was sort of trying to guard me, I think. The thing was wrapped around my bed, with its tentacles going right under the mattress and interlocking, kind of like an embrace. It was just sitting there on the end of the bed, staring at me with its huge black eyes. I forget what it was saying, but it definitely called me by my name. And then when I struggled and cried out it slid off the bed, but I was still trapped because Nurse Parker had tucked me in too tightly again. I wonder what Freud would have made of that. Well, here, for what it's worth, is my interpretation—that squid in the attic had scared the shit out of me and damaged me for life.

“Shh-shh,” soothed Miss Parker, making a lovely ‘O' shape with her lips. She was right up close and her breath smelt of fresh strawberries. That beautiful face was quite a tonic after what I'd been looking at all night, I can tell you.

I swallowed hard. “Nightmare,” I said. “Keep having the same one.”

“Oh, poor thing,” she frowned. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“A wheelchair,” I said. “Get me out of here.”

“You've got a one track mind, Mr Duckworth,” she said.

“Push me down it in a wheelchair then,” I said.

“All right, I'll get you your wheelchair, but you must promise to eat something and let me take a look at those stitches.”

“Coffee and toast—I'll take it in my wheelchair,” I said.

“Oh, Mr Duckworth,” she sighed, “haven't you enjoyed your stay here the teensiest bit?”

“I'll enjoy the bit when I'm leaving,” I said.

She stuck her tongue out at me and went off to get the wheelchair out of a cupboard behind her chair.

“It was here all the time!” I cried. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because I was afraid I'd wake up to find you halfway up the M6,” she said.

“That's a point. Do you have any idea where Duckworth Hall is?”

“Don't you?” she said, unfolding the wheelchair.

“No.”

“I thought you lived there.”

“Yes, I do live there, but this is the first time I've ever left the old family pile,” I said. “And I was unconscious when they brought me here, so I don't know my way home.”

“Oh, how sad,” she frowned. “What is it that your family do exactly?”

“We're travellers.”

“But you just said you've never left Duckworth Hall,” said Miss Parker. “I'm confused, Mr Duckworth.”

“Not that sort of traveller, Miss Parker,” I laughed. “Antique entrepreneurial peregrinational ones.”

“Oh, that kind. I'll take my fifty thousand in advance, if you don't mind, Mr Duckworth.”

She pushed the wheelchair to the side of my bed and put the brake on.

“Anyway, what do you care if I'm telling you a pack of lies?” I said. “As long as you—”

“—Get my money,” she smiled. “As long as you pay me—up front—you can tell me you live on the bottom of the sea for all I care.”

“Hmm. I've been thinking about that, Miss Parker.”

“How reassuring.”

“What do you intend to do with all your money?” I said.

“Is that any of your business, Mr Duckworth?”

“It's just that I thought if you were planning to buy a car we could kill two birds with one stone,” I said.

“Oh, I see,” she said, sitting on the corner of my bed, and fondling my hair, “so now I'm not only going to be your chauffeur, but also an owner-driver.”

“Does that matter?”

“Well, if we had a crash, you could claim on my insurance, Mr Duckworth,” she said.

“Hmm. I didn't think of that. Actually, you'd be my chauffeuse, Miss Parker,” I said, stalling. “Ah, but what if I insured it for you?”

“Done,” said Miss Parker, kissing my forehead. “Now, I'm going to go and prepare you a big breakfast. And if you're a good boy, I'll feed it to you.”

“Hmm. That sounds sexy, Miss Parker,” I said. “In a strictly business sense of the word.”

“Is business sexy?” she said.

“Oh, Miss Parker—business is sex,” I said.

If you think a sin, can it be just as good as doing it? Well, if it is, I was unfaithful to Emma while Miss Parker was feeding me my breakfast. She did that mummy thing of opening her mouth every time she wanted me to open my mouth and making yummy noises to encourage me to eat. And sometimes when bits dribbled out she—but we'd better not go into that here. Anyway, I suppose it must have been Oedipal. Oh, God—why do we have to have You and Freud?

Well, I did manage to persuade Miss Parker to buy a car, but I couldn't get her to buy an English car, because we couldn't find one, so we—I mean, she—bought a BMW. And then we bought a map and she located Duckworth Hall, which turned out to be not that far from Highgrove, but then I didn't know where that was either, until we looked it up on the map. They're both in Gloucestershire, which is where anybody who is anybody would like to live, if they could afford the property prices and a book of speeding season tickets for driving up and down to Town. Town is what the toffs call London, only it is usually pronounced “Tine” in Gloucestershire-speak.

Miss Parker's driving was exhilarating, because she was such a brilliant driver and she drove so fast. But I never once felt alarmed, sitting next to her, with Radio One blaring and Miss Parker singing along to all the complicated lyrics of the Hip Hop songs, and pointing things out to me as we whizzed along the bendy, high-hedged roads. She was telling me about the Romans, because a lot of them lived in Gloucestershire a very long time ago. Did you know that they invented germ warfare? Miss Parker did. They used to catapult infected bodies into the forts and cities they were besieging. They were bastards, Miss Parker said, although it was wrong to judge them by contemporary attitudes, she supposed.

And then we stopped at a country pub and she wheeled me in and got me a pint of real ale and a Ploughman's for lunch. She even played darts with some locals and beat them easily, with a nine-dart finish. I was beginning to think there wasn't anything Miss Parker couldn't do.

And then, when we were only a few miles from Duckworth Hall, she pulled into a lay-by and we started snogging. It all happened so naturally. I couldn't help myself. I think I was falling in love with her. And by the time we pulled into the long and winding driveway up to the Hall, I was besotted with her. It was hard to imagine how anyone could be more sotted in such a short space of time.

Bentley answered the door and seemed more surprised to see Miss Parker than me. I didn't even know he knew her.

“Miss Parker?” he said. He glanced down at me, in my wheelchair. “Sir Stephen?” And then back at Miss Parker. “But I thought Sir Julian said you were to remain in hospital for the rest of the week.”

“There's been a change of plan,” said Miss Parker. “Take Mr Duckworth up to his room. He needs rest. I must speak to Sir Julian. Where is he?”

“He is away, Miss Parker,” said Bentley, taking over the handles of my wheelchair from her.

“Damn. When will he be back?” she said, going through to the hall ahead of us, leaving the old butler to push me in.

“Well, I could let him know you are here, Miss Parker. Perhaps, he will return,” said Bentley.