Tedd and Todd's secret (24 page)

"What are you talking about? Tell me!" Aidan roared again, moving closer.

"It's amazing that you don't know, you goose," James answered him.

"I don't know if I could pull him off you this time," Lance warned him. "So be careful what you say."

"You seem more reasonable than him," James observed. "You look harmless. You and the girl can save yourselves if you want. Don't get involved in this. I repeat, it's something that you'd never understand. But as far as you go, big man, I don't think there's anyone else in the world running a bigger risk than you. Remember my words."

Aidan's phone rang. Lance thought he'd throw it against the wall, interrupting him as it was at that very moment, but to his surprise, after looking at the name of the caller on the screen, he answered it.

"You have him?… Good, let me know when he's alone… This is my affair. I'm not going to change my mind." Aidan paused. "He's right in front of my nose… Until now he's only made stupid threats… Don't worry. He'll talk."

Lance looked at Carol. Neither of them had any idea who Aidan was talking to.

"OK, I'm sick of your puzzles," Aidan said suddenly. "I want answers, not rubbish that doesn't make any sense. Start talking, dwarf."

"Don't do it, Aidan," Carol begged him, standing between them. "Leave him to me. I'll get him to talk."

"Oh no you won't," James corrected her. "You're starting to bore me. And I can see now that you're idiots. You don't understand anything. Remember – you have been warned."

Without waiting for an answer, James White took two quick strides and jumped through the glass window and disappeared into the void. The three of them raced to the window in time to see James crash into a car. The fall from the sixth floor had caused the car's roof to buckle and its windows to burst into a thousand pieces.

They watched James get up and jump down, then lift his head, unaware of the commotion he'd caused among the shocked pedestrians. James White raised his head and gave Aidan the finger and a smile, before trotting down the street as if nothing had happened.

"Did you see that?" Lance said, alarmed, after what seemed like minutes of stunned silence. "That madman nearly fell on your Ferrari!"

Ethan Gord picked his way through a group of foreigners spreading across the pavement then, with his hands buried deep in his pockets and his coat pulled high around his neck, he continued on towards the bridge. The day was cloudy, and the cold wind chilled his bones.

He reached the point where he had come so often before to weigh everything up, and turned, his eyes wide open, his head held high, the symbol of London standing proudly before him.

He studied the magnificent clock, and for an instant wished he could treat it like the tourists behind him were doing, their cameras immortalizing its splendour. But he hadn't looked at it that way for a long time. He sighed as a long limousine stopped in the middle of the bridge and one of the most despicable people he knew got out.

"It must be my lucky day," Dylan Blair said, walking towards him. The limousine drove on. "No one less than the champion himself. How are you, Ethan?"

"Suddenly intrigued. What exactly are you doing here? It's still early for you, if I'm not mistaken."

"I'm doing the same as you," Dylan said, turning to look at the clock. "I like to keep informed. How's your son, by the way? I heard he's got cancer. I'm sorry."

"Don't pretend you're sorry for me," Ethan warned him. "You're incapable of worrying about anyone other than yourself. Are you trying to tell me that the king of the party has come here because the final step worries him?"

"I'm worried about James White."

"More about yourself, I should think," Ethan replied. "It's Otis and Ashley that are putting everything on the line and you're worrying about James. When you're in one of those wheelchairs, I hope no one worries about your fortune."

"Take it easy. You seem very touchy today. I'm not your enemy, and it'll be a long while before I'm in one of those chairs. But when it happens, I hope it'll be Ashley's. I want to take charge of the Whites, at least, for as long as James is alive. Wasn't it like that when you were his boss?"

"I suppose what you mean is if he was conscious of what he really is. And the answer to that is yes. As far as I know, he always knew," Ethan paused. "Why do you like him so much?"

"He's an amusing chap. He's got a spark even when he's down. He doesn't stop saying that life stinks, though. It's his motto, but the truth is that he never bores me. Is he in danger? Is there a Black after him?"

"It's difficult to say," Ethan said, staring at Big Ben, "but I think it's more than likely."

"Come on. Tell me more. I don't know why it bugs you so much. I guess it's 'cause I don't understand anything. You're the expert. What's the problem in telling me? I could pay you. How about that? Ah, I forgot; money means nothing to you. Who doesn't like money? It's not natural."

"It's not so simple," Ethan replied.

There was something about Dylan that irritated him. He couldn't help it. What the capricious millionaire had said first was true, they weren't enemies. Dylan had never done anything to him. But nevertheless he felt a sort of repulsion towards him. What really annoyed him more than anything was the fact that his place was guaranteed in one of the chairs, but despite that, he didn't know how to interpret Big Ben.

"Since then, Otis has been in a desperate situation. The Blacks are going bad. I'd say that Ashley is going to win, and that's good news for James. But that doesn't mean that he can't die, even if the Whites win."

"There's nothing new in any of that," Dylan frowned. "Do you mind me asking what you've got against me?"

"What?" The question took Ethan by surprise. "I told you what I believe. It isn't easy to know what will happen. And you? There's nothing more serious and dangerous than this, and you treat it as if it's a game."

"That's because it is a game," Dylan advised him.

"On top of that," Ethan went on, "you're a selfish bastard. You got into this without having to. I've never seen anybody as materialistic as you."

Dylan Blair was thoughtful. "That's a reasonable point of view. But we're talking about my life here, which, I might add, has improved considerably thanks to this. I'm the one who has to judge if I'm happy or not, not you. I had no goals or objectives before. I was trapped in a sad life with no future. Who are you to question my values? You know perfectly well that I've hurt no one, except perhaps myself. Why do you feel it's necessary to condemn and insult me constantly?"

Ethan took a few seconds to reflect on that. He hadn't expected such a serious conversation with Dylan.

"Accept my apologies. It's certain that you're not looking to hurt anyone. I've been too hasty in criticizing you."

"But it seems you can't help hating me. I can hear it in your voice. You're holding yourself back. Don't do it. I'm old enough. Come on, let go. What is it? What's eating at you? It can't be my parties or any other rubbish like that. There's got to be something else."

"The fact is that… I don't understand how you did it. You risked everything in exchange for living forty years in a sort of endless orgy. I know that it's none of my business, but it seems thoroughly irresponsible."

"Very well. Do you feel better now?" Dylan asked him happily. Ethan did feel better, he had to recognize that. Relief flowed through him like a wave. "We've just discovered that you're a meddling bastard who sticks his head into other people's lives and appraises them without having any right to do so. Not only that, but you're also capable of professing eternal hatred for someone only because you don't like them."

"I'm already missing the serious part of this conversation," Ethan said.

"Eh, nothing's happening. It doesn't bother me. I swear. I like you. Come on, man. Admit that there aren't too many people you can talk to about this. Let's do something," Dylan proposed. "Find out where the next fight's taking place and we can go and look at the show while I put a proposal to you."

"I'm not sure I want to spend any more time with you," Ethan lied, knowing that he did want to spend more time with Dylan. What the millionaire had said was true. There weren't too many people around that he could talk to openly about the Blacks and Whites. But he didn't know if he should do that. James had hit the nail on the head. He couldn't help hating him. He'd got involved again in this affair to save his son from his battle with cancer and Dylan had popped up converting the whole thing into one big party. Everyone else was involved for some serious reason, and much of the time against their will, but Dylan was the exception, carrying on as if everything was taking place in an amusement park.

"If you accompany me I'll tell you something about Tedd and Todd," Dylan tempted him.

"You know something about them?"

"I saw them barely an hour ago."

"OK, then," Ethan said, lifting his head to look at Big Ben again. "I could be making a mistake but I think I know already where it will be. We've got to hurry. There's not much time. It's in a shopping centre."

"Don't worry, I've already called my limousine," Dylan said. "Now here's the deal. I want you to teach me."

"You're joking, aren't you?"

"Definitely not. You're the best. Who better than you to instruct me?"

"Don't even dream about that. If my plans work out well, you could find yourself facing my son."

"The seventy-year-old? You want him in this to free himself from cancer? How astute. Well, I guess you have to try it."

Something stirred in Ethan as he got into the limousine. For the first time, he had the disagreeable sensation that his idea to save his son wasn't so good. It was an automatic reaction to the approval of an undesirable like Dylan Blair. If he considered that it was a good idea then surely it was the exact opposite.

CHAPTER 17

Aston Lowel had never sweated so much for a woman his whole life. He shook his head and twisted the corner of his lips in a clumsy attempt to make it appear that he could maintain the rhythm required. He shot a glance at the woman at his side and confirmed, begrudgingly, that she was showing no signs of slackening the pace. He shouldn't have got into this with her in the first place.

His criteria had failed him resoundingly when he'd entered the gymnasium on his lunch break and set his eyes on a beautiful woman running on a treadmill. Seeing the machine beside her was vacant, Aston took his chance to get up close and before he started running he made note of the speed that the beautiful stranger was running at. He smiled like a nervous teenager and made sure he had marked a higher speed than hers, with the certainty that he would be able to impress her favourably. He was completely mistaken.

Aston was one of the most ambitious lawyers in the city, but if he handled his cases the way he had this situation, he would have been out of a job a long time ago. He'd been building the spare tyre around his gut for the last few years, which didn't stack up as the right form to take this woman on. Besides, he'd only been coming to the gym for two days.

He'd just settled his second divorce and he figured it was time to trim the fat and get out there and look for a third wife. He slowed down and felt his shoulders slump when he looked at his watch and saw he'd only been running for seven minutes. The sweat was dripping off him and his breathing was beginning to tell him that the punishment was too great. His legs felt heavier as the minutes ticked by and he was praying to all the gods that he wouldn't start farting.

The woman continued at the same pace, staring at her reflection in the wall mirror in front of her, and at her brown ponytail bouncing from one side of her head to the other. She appeared to be younger than Aston, around forty, which he figured was the perfect age for him these days.

She was pretty, her figure showing the benefit of her fitness regime, but there was something serious in her expression, something sad in her light brown eyes.

"I think I've started too quick," Aston said, stopping the belt before his heart gave out. "A three-day flu has left me very weak," he lied, drying his wet forehead with a towel. The woman kept running, indifferent. "I'm… sorry to have interrupted your concentration."