On the Floor (23 page)

I am nailed, explored and accounted for. ‘You remember Diane down at the Abingdon Vet clinic, who looked after Rex that time? Well, I spoke to her about finding a home for Rex.' This is a total lie, I didn't, I haven't, but it occurs to me right now that this is a moment that's heading my way.

‘You found someone?'

‘Diane said no problem, they'd be a queuing up for a dog like him.'

‘So you'll be moving out here soon then?'

‘I haven't said yes yet, though Felix thought I'd come to see him with the good news today. When in fact I was sent out here to get a simple answer to a simple question.'

‘So did you get it?'

‘Mission accomplished. Geri got the simple answer to the simple question.'

‘Congratulations.'

‘Which I really should deliver.' I grind my cigarette out in the ashtray. ‘But you know what? Fuck them.' I am seized by a sudden fury at being catapulted around the globe at everyone's whim. ‘They can wait. I‘m tired of playing messenger. And for all they know I could be having a late lunch with Felix.' Stephen smiles indulgently at my little show of force and I reach for my wine glass and knock it back as if this adds conviction. Is there nothing in my repertoire that he hasn't seen before?

The waiter brings another margarita. And water. And more wine. And for a moment I want to lunge forwards and rip the smooth skin from Stephen's face just for being so adult about our unexpected meeting, so utterly relaxed, holding out a way forward where we can be ex and civilised.

‘I need sunglasses, the white tablecloth hurts my eyes.' Stephen reaches into his pocket, brings out a pair of Ray-Bans.

‘So typical of you to come prepared.'

‘You know me, always at the ready.'

‘How about a cognac?'

‘You don't like cognac.'

‘Zanna told me I need to start liking new things. So I'm practising.'

He raises his glass and something in his easy charm makes me want to jab him. ‘So how's the family, Stephen?' He gives me a sardonic arch of the eyebrows. ‘I'm guessing your mother was gutted when you told her we were history.'

‘Oh, you know Lucy, she will never like any woman I bring home. But let's not go there, Geri.' He rises from the chair with a smile, a little rap on the knuckles, a gentle warning about picking sores in public.

‘Sorry, just kidding.' But I'm not and I fumble for a cigarette in my handbag and watch him walk away across the terrace towards the loos, stopping to murmur something in the waiter's ear. I used to wonder if Stephen and I would still be together if we could have stopped arguing about things like the fact that I think his mother hates me.

She doesn't hate you
, he said, slamming the car door on the end of what turned out to be my last visit to Esher just over a year ago.

I am NEVER EVER EVER going to that fucking house again
, I announced, unaware that my prophesy would soon come true because I would never again be invited.

This car stinks of dog
, he snapped.

Your mother is such a bitch
, I replied, leaning my head back into a night-drive fantasy about Lucy being strangled by the pearls that Stephen bought her for Christmas, reliving the strained aperitifs in the hand-mottling cold of the dining room. Lucy ingesting little bird bites of food into the black O of her perfectly made-up mouth, demonstrating her mastery of the art of elegant eating and me using my fork like a shovel because my mum never told us not to; the effort of being on my best behaviour driving me to drink far more than everyone else, Lucy slicing into her husband's monosyllabic contentment to say,
Geoffrey darling, why don't you pour Geraldine another glass of wine
. Stephen making a throaty snorting sound while his red-haired sisters swivelled their bobbed heads to take in my empty glass. Lucy's mouth creased into a straight line, eyes narrowing as I struggled for an amusing put-down when she asked about my little flat. Like I lived in some bedsit in Catford.

All this time Rex wasn't allowed into the dining room because of the cream carpet and I could hear him whining out in the hallway. Then there was a sudden furious scratching and everybody froze because Lucy just had all the doors refurbed, so I said
It's OK
, but got up too quickly, felling my glass.
Oh, shit, I'm so sorry
, and Stephen said
Shit
and jumped to his feet, wine snaking towards his trousers and Lucy said
Geoffrey
and Sister One was already rushing for the door and Rex came flying in and
I was tugging at his collar saying,
I'll get you a whole new set, Lucy, don't worry. They're antiques
, she murmured and Stephen snapped,
It doesn't matter
, as I was overwhelmed by an urge to whip off the tablecloth and carve my initials into the slab of rosewood with a silver fork.

She doesn't hate you, she just finds you difficult
, said Stephen, sinking into the couch back at my flat, but I could never resist the pointless pursuit.
Do you find me difficult?
He flung his head into the cushion.
Let's not get into this
. But I hacked on.
So you do?
And then he lost it and it just got louder, forcing Rex to hop down from the couch and stand whimpering in between the two of us until Stephen said
I might as well leave now
.

‘So tell me, Geri,' Stephen slips back into the chair, ‘why don't you want to live in Hong Kong?'

I hear Zanna's home truth from a couple of nights ago.
I know why you don't want to go
.

‘I guess I'm running out of reasons to object. And Felix is getting impatient. In fact the simple-answer-to-the-simple-question that I have not yet delivered comes with a price tag attached.'

‘Contingency?'

‘Oh, Felix didn't exactly spell it out. He just reminded me he owns my ass.'

‘You mean if you deliver your answer you will be committed to moving out here?'

He picks up his glass and holds my gaze just over the rim, those knowing eyes. Behind him the hazy sun seems to lurch suddenly to the east but it is me, slipping, the collision of margaritas and wine and whatever the fuck else that is sloshing around in my sleepless drunken brain. And I need the loo but the terrace seems like a perilous crossing, the effort of rising from the chair too much to contemplate. I'm sticky with sweat, my hairline warmly damp and a comforting trickle down the back of my neck.

‘Fact is Felix can pull the plug on my career any time he wants. All he has to do is stop giving me business.'

‘He likes you.'

‘You mean he likes
toying
with me. Just like you did.' Stephen inclines his head and I light another cigarette. ‘Sorry, scratch that – NO – don't say a word. Just think of it as my cheap jab with a sharp object for leaving me in a hotel room.'

‘You're right,' he says solemnly. ‘That was unforgivable.' His hand hovers above mine and he hesitates, giving me time to pull away. But I appear to have no neural signals, all transmission has failed and I don't move, just watch his hand slip over mine like a holster. Looking like a perfect fit. And we are both staring at this still life when the waiter returns with the cognac. Stephen lifts his head to my shaded eyes, removes his hand and turns away to look out over the terrace and a gathering haze. He is gently biting on his lower lip now, an old habit of thoughtfulness.

‘You should be careful with Kapoor, Geri.'

‘I've had close shaves with bankers before.'

‘Touché.'

‘Anyway, Felix says, as usual, that the answer lies with Kant.'

Stephen grins. ‘Remember the time you said that to the Grope?' We laugh. It is almost like the old days. He stops laughing and squeezes my hand. The sun seems suddenly much lower.

‘I'm glad we met,' he says.

‘This doesn't mean anything.'

‘There's always history.'

‘So let's drink to that.'

Stephen sits on the high stone wall while we wait for the cab. ‘Not a bad place to be I guess, if things do get worse.'

I nod, drop my cigarette on the drive.

‘Two days to expiry,' he makes a small explosion with his mouth
and hops down to the ground in a confident no-hands way, landing in exactly the spot he had targeted, a true investment banker. I lift my head, but he's already looking down at me, standing so close that I am level with the second unfastened button of his shirt.

In the cab I sit at one side of the back seat, a full person-gap from Stephen who is staring straight ahead with his elbow in the open window, and it feels like all the air is being sucked out of the car by this stretch of leather in between us. When the cab pulls up at the Mandarin and he takes my elbow, the steps are somehow deeper, wider, longer; there's the blur of a doorman between the closing doors. The bell sounds, the lift shudders, I'm standing with my back to the wall as we ascend and Stephen guides me out onto the soft hush of the corridor, pulls me forward, stops to slide a hand over my breast and I am looking up only at his eyes, then we slam against the door and somehow get inside and I let his shirt follow the curve of his shoulders and flutter to the floor. Stephen grips my arms from behind, turns me over to lay face down on the cool sheet, his tongue drawing a hot slow line down the middle of my back, both hands curve over my cheeks and I thrust my ass upwards and backwards, spread my knees as his fingers glide in to check what I already know, that I am wet and ready, and for a while I cannot tell what is sliding and pushing so deeply inside me, except that the moment is coming and we are hurtling headlong towards it as the Peak glitters and sparkles in the window.

In the wakeful aftermath I lie in the crook of his arm, my leg slung over his. Lights burn away the dusk, quick and fleeting in its sudden transition. Stephen raises his arm and sweeps the hair gently back from my forehead and I close my eyes to the release that deadens my limbs, the onset of an exhaustion that might actually lead to sleep. Now, here, safe, returned to something resembling peace.

‘So you're worried that Felix will force your hand,' he says and I wish he hadn't spoken. That we could just lie here mute and close and still.

‘I dunno. That's the kind of weird fucked-up person he is.'

‘You think he has you over a barrel with the simple answer to the simple question?'

‘Felix has something that Steiner's wants very badly. And of course the only person he will talk to is me. So
that's
why they sent me out here. The Grope's bright idea to fast track his route to the board.' I sigh. ‘All I have to do is deliver the goods. And then the Grope can tell Kapoor to tell his client he can have what he goddam well wants if he pays up 30%.'

Stephen does not respond, he lies beside me breathing evenly, my head resting still on the steady rise and fall of his chest.

‘Or else I could stay in London and go down in history as the saleswoman who threw away her monster client all because she didn't want to go to Hong Kong.'

‘You could always find some other clients.'

‘I could always leave the City and start a puppy farm.'

He laughs, ‘Come here,' and pulls me in tight and on top of him. My hair falls forward and he pushes it back. I look down on his face, there as it should be, but what were the odds?

‘Geri,' he says, a little frown rippling across his brow.

‘Shh,' I warn, ‘don't speak. I don't want you to speak.'

‘I'm sorry.' And I want to ask what for? Is it for the old past or this present moment that is already fading, or is it even for some future that has not yet come into view?

But ‘Shh,' I dip my head. I kiss him into silence.

‘WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?'
The Grope must have been sitting right in Julie's lap since the call transfer is instantaneous.

I'd been staring at the clockface for a full minute before I understood
I'd slept for nearly three hours, which would be a cause for celebration if it wasn't for that fact I could tell without moving that I was alone, that Stephen was gone, had left for his flight and that I had been once again abandoned in a hotel room with a stale and empty bed like the remake of a bad movie. Only this time with a critical message gone undelivered and me running late for a plane. The red button on the phone flashing warningly, three folded notes shoved under my door.

‘I got held up.' Standing there by the mirror with the reflected disarray of the bed sheets behind me.

‘You saw our man.'

‘Yeah, I saw him.'
Saw him
. There is a disorientating echo on the line that makes me feel dizzy, like a little schoolgirl parroting her answers at the back of the class.

‘Well, what've you got? On a no-names basis,' he adds in warning. Like my fucking hotel room is bugged or something. Like the Mandarin hotel might be recording my line.

‘My man says our information is out of date. He now owns 20%.'
20%
. And I think a low tooth whistle rolls back at me.

‘He believes the target is undervalued.'
Undervalued
.

‘And?'

‘My man says he has not spoken to the board. He knows they are hostile but he will go his own way.'

‘So?'

‘He only cares about price.'

‘And?'

‘He says the right price is up 30%.'
30%
.

‘Up 30%?'

‘Up 30%.' And it feels like we could swap the echoed number back and forth in chorus.

‘Up 30%,' he repeats again, since it is after all the simplest messages that often go unremembered.

‘I have to get to the airport.'

‘Fuck the airport! What's your best guess, Geri?' The Grope couldn't
care less if I'm road kill as long as I deliver the goods. ‘What's your gut? That's where he trades?'