The Tied Man (6 page)

‘It’s to your liking, then?’

I was too exhausted to bitch.  ‘It’s beautiful. Someone’s gone to a great deal of effort.  Was this you?’

The man flushed with a pleasure that suggested praise was a rare thing.  He was already on my side.  ‘Well, I did have a little help.’

‘And those roses are incredible.’ I walked across the room to touch one delicate, milky petal.  A dozen stems, some still in tight bud and others already blooming into softly fragranced splendour, stood in a crystal vase on the mahogany dresser.

‘Ah, can’t take the credit for them, I’m afraid.  They were grown here on the island, though.  We have a very talented young gardener.  Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll bring the rest of your luggage to your room, shall I?  Then you can grab yourself a nice hot bath and relax before dinner.’  He paused in the doorway, suddenly embarrassed.   ‘Um, I know this is rather awkward Ms Bresson, but Lady Albermarle likes me to have a quick peep in our guests’ cases, just in case they’ve accidentally brought anything with them that might be against the ethos of the island.  Would you mind awfully if I checked through your things before you unpack?’

I was harshly reminded that this was no holiday. ‘Do I have a choice?’

‘Well, some people prefer Coyle to…’

‘No.  I’d rather you did.’

‘Very good.’ Henry gave a deferential nod.  ‘Dinner in an hour?’ 

‘Fine.’  I waited until he had left, then dropped onto the bed and swore in English, French and Spanish until I ran out of words.

*****

To my disappointment the cavernous bathroom didn’t have a shower, but it did have a magnificent Victorian roll-top bath that could have doubled as a swimming pool.  I filled it almost to the brim and submerged myself in near-boiling water until I felt the warmth begin to return to my aching, chilled body. 

I exhaled and let myself sink to the bottom until my head hit cast iron with a muffled thud.  I counted to a hundred and eighty before my lungs began to complain and I had to resurface: this had been one of the exercises that had weaned me off two inhalers and a hefty dose of steroids for asthma so severe that I had been hospitalised more times than I could count, and now it calmed and focused me beyond measure.

Control.  The one thing that shaped my life, and the one thing I felt that I was about to lose.

I had been standing in the oak-panelled drawing room for fifteen minutes.  I had arrived five minutes early, which meant that the enigmatic Blaine Albermarle was ten minutes late.

Just as I glanced at my watch again, Henry reappeared with a bottle of wine.  ‘Lady Albermarle apologises for the delay.  Some last-minute business to attend to.  Perhaps a glass of wine might help?’  He proffered a green bottle wrapped in a white linen serviette.  ‘Pouilly Fuissé.  I believe it’s your favourite?’

‘Thank you.’  I held out a heavy, intricately carved glass to be filled.  The wine was perfect, and as I stood there in the candle-lit silence, the first glass disappeared before I knew it.  Just as Henry sidled up to refill, I heard the approach of clipped footsteps.

‘Lilith, darling.  I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.’  A rich, warm voice broke through the hush, and I finally turned to greet my host.  Blaine Albermarle in the flesh was every bit as stunning as her photograph, and at nearly six feet tall in a pair of vertiginous heels, she towered over me.  She wore a dramatic chocolate-coloured sleeveless gown that emphasised her hour-glass waist and impressive cleavage, and I was glad that I had made the effort to put on a favourite blue satin dress in a hue so dark that it matched my hair.  ‘It’s an honour to have you at Albermarle.’  She leant down to kiss me gently on both cheeks. 

‘I’d like to say it was an honour being here.’ 

Blaine
gave an understanding nod.  ‘Before we do anything else, I feel I need to apologise.  There was some… unfortunate business with your father, I know that.  I merely suggested a meeting with you, and then I heard that he’d gone to visit you in
Spain
.  Believe me, I had no wish to force my way to the front of your queue, but now that you’re here I can’t deny that I’m delighted to have you as a guest.   I’d like to assure you that you’ll be fully compensated for your efforts.’

‘So.  What exactly do you want from me?’

‘Goodness, you
are
forthright, aren’t you?  Shouldn’t we perhaps talk about the weather first, or your journey?’

‘
Blaine
, no matter how delightfully I’m being spoiled right now, we both know I need to repay the debt of that feckless bastard I have the misfortune to call my father.  And the sooner that debt is paid, the better I’ll feel.’

‘You’re really nothing like your father at all, are you?’
Blaine
said, amused.

‘I should fucking well hope not.’

If my language offended her, it didn’t show.  ‘Fair enough.  To be honest, I simply want a portrait done by you – a ‘Lilith Bresson’ for my private collection.  I’m probably the first member of my family not to have my picture hanging somewhere on these walls, and I find your work incredible.  I don’t think there’s another artist around today who comes close.’

‘You do know that my method of working means a piece can take months?’

‘I appreciate that this is something of a sacrifice for you, and I’m more than aware that you don’t have the happiest of memories of this country - ’

‘A beautiful use of understatement.’

‘- Which is why I want you to make yourself comfortable here at the Hall.  Treat it as your own home.  You never know – you might even rediscover a love of your native land.’

‘I very much doubt that.’

‘Well at least give yourself tonight to relax.  You’ll find that Henry is an amazing chef, and you must have had a particularly tiring twenty-four hours,’
Blaine
coaxed, as from the corner of my eye I saw a third figure descend the sweeping stairs into this vast room.  ‘Ah.  And as if on cue, here’s our final dinner guest.’  She held out her hand to lead this latest arrival forward.  ‘Lilith, I’d like to present Finn Strachan.  My companion.’ 

My profession was to capture beauty, from
The Players’ Triptych
to my portrait of Rosario and her girlfriend:  people who could bring a room to a standstill simply by walking through the door.  I had grown used to the easy good looks of Nat and my eye could be caught by Gabriel James’ glamour, but I had never met anyone quite like the willow-thin young man standing before me:  Finn had the face of a fallen angel. 

Wide, dissolute eyes the colour of moss agate gazed out from behind a long, thick fringe of muddy blond hair, and loose strands fell to frame a snub nose and sensuous cupid’s bow of a mouth that was just saved from being feminine by a square, stubborn jaw.

The very first time I met him, Finn Strachan stole my breath. 

‘I’m delighted to meet you.’ I held out my hand and waited.  So far, so fucking normal.  We’d had the big introduction, designed to present me like some exotic specimen and set the scene for later that night, that week or whenever, and then we had the reaction from the guest, based on the man they wanted to see.  

I was used to being appraised, but like a fool I had hoped that Lilith Bresson might be different, that the hellion I had watched all those weeks ago might climb out of the screen and cut through all this shit in the same way she had cut through that fat twat.  Instead, she stood and stared up at me like all the rest and disappointment set hard and cold in my stomach.

‘How
rude
of me.’  Lilith suddenly reached out and clasped my hand with both of hers.  ‘You must get this all the time – not that that’s a valid excuse.’  There was soft pressure on my palm, and she smiled so that her arctic eyes sparked with sudden warmth.  ‘Oh. 
You’re
the gardener.’

I gave a mute nod.  I must have looked nonplussed, because she added, ‘Calluses.  Gardener’s hands.  So thank you for the roses – they’re beautiful.’ All said in a confident, surprisingly low voice that gave her command of the room.

I realised then that this was the first time I had heard her speak –
Blaine
’s largesse with the television had not extended to turning the volume up – and there was no mistaking Lilith Bresson’s upper class heritage, although at least her mouth wasn’t entirely stuffed with marbles like most of the fools we entertained around this table. 

‘S’okay.’  This time I nearly managed actual speech. 
Blaine
was going to kill me.

‘He’s not usually so tongue-tied.’
Blaine
placed a light hand on Lilith’s arm and led her to the table and away from my attempts to appear human.  ‘You’ve made quite an impression on him.’

By the time I sat down to dinner, I was so exhausted that I felt my appetite might be gone forever.  Henry,  used to dealing with flagging houseguests, had other ideas.  He produced an exquisite meal, light enough to tempt the most fatigued palate: lobster ravioli; a summer salad grown in Albermarle Hall’s kitchen garden; tiny, bittersweet wild strawberries and thick primrose-yellow cream.  Just an hour after I had thought I might fall asleep across the tablecloth, I cleared my plate and moved on to a second helping of everything.  Finally, after I had eaten more in one sitting than I had managed all week, I pushed my spoon to one side.   ‘That was amazing.’ 

Blaine
smiled.  ‘I feel it’s so important to make my guests feel at home as soon as possible.  I trust Coyle gave you a warm welcome?’

I searched for the right words. ‘He was very… professional.’

‘He normally receives better reports than that, especially from our female guests.  Was there a problem?’

‘No, no problem.  It’s just – well, he knows it, doesn’t he?  That whole ‘Celtic Charm’ thing’s a well-polished act, but it reminded me of one of those theme pubs on the
Dublin
tourist trail.  Shelves full of pitchforks and wheelbarrows, and not a native in sight.’ 

‘Thank you for the feedback,’
Blaine
said pleasantly.  I noticed Finn’s eyes wander to a picture at the far end of the dining hall.

‘You’ve been to
Dublin
?’ he asked, just about managing to swallow a laugh.

‘About five years ago.  Some cocky bastard restaurateur who’d decided his food was about to ‘capture the zeitgeist’.  He blew half his budget on getting me to do a couple of pieces for the bar.  You’re from there?’

‘Not quite.’  Finn took a drink before forming his reply.  ‘A village about twenty miles out.  Colcurren.  Have you heard of it?’

‘No. No I haven’t.  Must be small, huh?’

‘Tiny.’ Finn moved his gaze to the floor.

I desperately needed to change the topic, and for once
Blaine
obliged:  at this stage I was not meant to be a subject to be dwelt upon.

‘Lilith, you look amazing tonight – no mean feat after the day you must have had.  How on earth do you manage to keep that figure?’ 
Blaine
began to turn on the charm for our latest arrival, playing her game.

‘Genetics,’ Lilith coolly replied.  ‘Size six no matter what I do.  That, and a run every morning.  Minimum five miles.’

‘How very disciplined.  So, where do you get that unusual colouring?  I suppose everyone must comment on those eyes.’

‘The wolf’s eyes are my father’s, unfortunately.  But the skin’s from my mother.  She was a
pied-noir
.’

‘Oh.  Like Camus.’  I had spoken before I even realised.

‘What was that, Finn?’
Blaine
asked, as if distracted by an intruding child.

‘Um, Albert Camus.  He was born in
Algeria
…’

She gave me a tight smile.  ‘Well, aren’t you the clever one?’

Lilith rescued me.  ‘Have you read much of his stuff?’ 

I nodded.  ‘All of it.
The Plague
’s probably my favourite.’

‘
La Peste
.  Cool.  Original or translation?’

I had to look at her to check that she wasn’t taking the piss.  ‘Translation only, I’m afraid.  I speak English with a smattering of Gaelic.  Mainly the swear words.’

Lilith rested her elbows on the table.  ‘The Gilbert’s a fine translation – I find that you don’t lose anything.’

It was the longest conversation I’d had in months, and it was doomed as soon as my mouth opened. 

‘So, what do you think of Lilith’s work, Finn?’
Blaine
suddenly asked, knowing full bloody well what the answer would be.

‘I’m not familiar with it, I’m afraid,’ I replied, with as much dignity as I could muster.

‘You’ll have to forgive Finn,’
Blaine
said.  ‘He’s not a big art fan.’