Twisted Agendas (11 page)

“Sir, would you like some champagne?”

“Lovely.” He looked Piper up and down as he took a glass off the tray. “I watched you in the other room earlier. You’re very good at your job.”

The woman remained frozen, her face a mask, the exaggerated cigarette holder pointed toward the ceiling as if she were a mime artist.

“Ma’am, some champagne?”

The woman’s head turned instantly. Her liquid eyes fell to the tray. “Oh, why not,” she said, in a cultured English accent. “It’s pretty decent stuff.” As she
put the flute to her lips, she held Piper’s gaze to the cusp of brazenness. An unexpected electric shock whipped through Piper.

“We own a private club in the West End,” the man said. “We’re always on the lookout for pretty waitresses.”

Piper’s instinct was to set the record straight and inform him this wasn’t her regular job until she remembered her place in the pecking order and didn’t speak.

“Don’t you think she’d fit in nicely, Annabel?”

When the woman looked into her eyes again, another electric shock darted through Piper. It was bizarre. She needed to get away.

“You’re very attractive in a pixie sort of way,” the woman said. “Our members would love you serving them drinks.”

“Is my waitress disturbing you, Lady Annabel?” the manager said, as he approached.

“On the contrary, actually, we’ve been detaining her. You’re awfully lucky to have her.”

Attractive in a pixie sort of way
. The woman’s words circled in Piper’s head as she went downstairs, simultaneously welcome and unwanted.

“Almost over,” Todd said.

“I can’t wait to get outta here.”

Piper put her tray on the counter and looked at Todd. They’d been dating for nearly three months and he’d been patient.

“You wanna eat the leftovers at my place?” she said.

“Fine by me.”

“You can… you can stay over too, if you like.”

His eyes shot wide open. “For real?”

“I’m ready,” she whispered in his ear.

“I thought you wanted to revise.”

“I’m assuming that’s a yes?”

“That was awesome.” He looked into her face for a few seconds before easing himself off her body. A trickle of sweat ran between her breasts. Propping his head up
by his right arm, he looked at her lovingly. “Champagne, caviar and you.”

“In that specific order?” she said, her mouth still dry from drinking the bottle of champagne Todd had smuggled out from the event.

“Was it for you as well, honey bunny?”

She wondered how many pet names were made post-coital. “It was good.”

“Just good?” The Bambi stare transformed to one of concern. “What do I need to do to make it great next time?”

“It was great.”

He smiled like a goofy teenager, reached out his hand and began to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“I hadn’t put you down as Mr. Insecurity.”

“This is just so unexpected. I’ve wanted this for weeks. And then you just decide it’s happening tonight. How come?”

“Is that a complaint?”

He moved to kiss her on the mouth. She offered the cheek.

“I need to get some shuteye,” she said. “I’ve got to study. You, too.”

“Let’s cuddle.”

“It’s too hot.”

“Aaw, come on honey bunny.”

She relented. They lay in silence, the dusky orange light from the outside street lamp piercing the loose curtain weave. The adjacent yellow bookcase glowed and cast a sharp shadow over the
bed.

“I like you a lot, Piper,” he said, kissing the nape of her neck.

She didn’t answer, just lay with her eyes wide open.

“You awake?”

“Against my will.” She gave him a mock nudge with her elbow. “Go to sleep.”

He pressed his naked body closer and cupped his hot hand over her left breast. A moment later, he put her nipple between his fingers and squeezed.

He cleared his throat. “I’m glad Danny’s gone.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I admit now I was jealous of him. He could be here with you and I couldn’t.” He kissed her neck again. She felt his penis stir against her leg.

Sliding her hand underneath the sheet, she pulled his hand away from her breast and moved to the other side of the bed.

Two short cries emanated from Julia’s room as he came out of his bedroom. Danny stopped and listened. There was another cry. He walked along the landing to her door and
gently knocked. She didn’t respond.

As he opened the door, he said, “Julia, is everything… ”

“Don’t come in!”

The harshness in her tone caused Danny to freeze with the door still ajar. He stared at his hand on the brass door handle until his muscles caught up with his brain and permitted him to obey the
command. Halfway along the landing, he heard Julia talk aloud. It dawned on him what he’d heard. His face burned with mortification.

Ten minutes later, Julia came down dressed in her shabby robe. She was as unkempt as the house, tufts of her hair standing on end, waxy face and a love bite at the base of her neck.

“Did you make tea?” She headed toward the kitchen.

“Coffee.”

“That’ll do.”

He watched from the sofa as she lit a cigarette, eased back her head and blew smoke at the kitchen ceiling. Upstairs, a door creaked open. A moment later, the bathroom door closed and was
immediately followed by the metallic gurgle of the water pipes inside the wall of the kitchen.

“Sorry for bursting in on you,” he said.

She peered over the top of the magazine. “No problemo.” She turned a page and reached out for her mug on the coffee table. As she did, the front of her robe parted and exposed her
right breast. A chunky silver earring was attached to the nipple. She eased back and readjusted the robe.

Danny’s eyes remained fixed on the spot where he imagined the ring.

She looked over and caught him staring. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve seen a tit before, haven’t you?”

“What’s on it?”

Her lips curled into a sly smile. “It’s a nipple ring.” She laughed. “Clive got one and I liked it.”

“Looks heavy. Isn’t it painful?”

“It’s great for sex.” She arched one eyebrow rakishly. “You should get one. Lots of men get their nipples and dicks pierced these days.”

Danny’s scrotum crawled. He became aware of his shirt pressing against his nipples. Her overnight guest crossed the landing and started down the stairs. About to take a sip of coffee,
Danny peered expectantly at the staircase. His coffee mug pinged hard against his front teeth as a woman, slender and petite, appeared at the doorway.

“Julia, you don’t happen to have a spare toothbrush, do you?” She smiled at Danny.

As Julia introduced them, Danny rose automatically, shook her hand and sat again. A lull in the conversation occurred before Katie and he spoke simultaneously.

“You go first,” Katie said.

“Would you like a coffee?”

“Lovely.”

When he returned Julia and Katie were entwined on the sofa. Julia nibbled the woman’s ear lobe. Their blatancy astonished him. He set the mug down quietly on the table and went to his
room.

Wide carrara marble steps, concaved in the higher trafficked areas by two centuries of visitors, swept up to the modern plate glass entrance doors of the
Kant-Institut
a
three-storey former residence adjacent to a German art museum. Once inside, however, the sumptuous classical interior Danny expected had been sacrificed in favour of German practicality; a
glittering chandelier in the foyer had been replaced with parallel rows of recessed lighting, the marble floor blanketed with tough industrial carpeting and the beautiful oak staircase was
embellished with a garish fire red metal banister. A large sign in the middle of the foyer performed a triple function, greeting students, advising the whereabouts of the finance office and stating
any course fee balances were to be paid on registration.

A friendly German woman helped him complete the enrollment documentation and told him to proceed to Classroom three on the second floor. When he got there, fourteen people, including two Chinese
gentlemen and a woman in her sixties who looked like Dame Edna, but dressed in a business suit, were already seated at flimsy desks arranged in a semi-circle around a chalkboard and slide
projector. Some students had fat dictionaries and notepads on their desks.

He spotted an empty desk next to a young woman on the other side of the room and started across. Her elbows were planted on the desk’s surface and, as she read, she supported her face by
pressing her fists against the sides of her cheeks.

“Is anyone… ”

The woman jerked back abruptly. She lifted her hands with the palms facing out as if they were shields. Her right wrist was swathed in a bandage and she had a small cut in her forehead, just
beneath the hairline.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She lowered her hands again and the terrified expression softened to one of neutrality. “It’s my fault. I never hear a thing when I’m reading.”

A long slender neck ascended to an oval face housing a defined chin, straight perfect nose and intelligent eyes. Her hair was luxuriant and glossy, so glossy it sparkled in the overhead light as
if dipped root to tip in a pot of varnish.

“I’m Danny Connolly.”

“Nice to meet you.” She began reading again.

Danny thought he heard a faint whimpering but couldn’t tell where the sound came from.

“Is anyone sitting here?” He nodded at the vacant desk when she looked up.

“I… yes… no-one,”

He heard another whimper.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” She leaned quickly over to the far side of her desk and thrust her hand into a large bag at her feet.

“I didn’t get your name,” he said, when she sat up again.

She extended her slender hand. “Finty Bunting.”

The hand was freezing to the touch. “Did you say ‘bunting’?”

“Bunting, as in bunting.”

Her tone sounded jaded, as if she’d heard the question many times. “I wasn’t trying to be funny. It’s just, I’ve never come across the name.”

She smiled. “You said you’re ‘Connolly’?”

“Aha.”

“That’s Irish Catholic?”

He nodded.

“I met another Irish chap called Connolly a few years ago. “He was an inmate at the jail I used to work at.”

Her remark implied he should know the man. Danny wondered if this was what the English always thought when they met an Irish person; whether Irish people with the same surname were related,
whether all Irish Catholic were in the IRA or just sympathisers, and whether they would do them harm.

A tall man with a blonde-grey imperial moustache came into the room with a bundle of papers he set on top of the projector.

“Good morning, my name is Alfred Fehler,” he said in a German accent, “I’m your teacher for this course.”

His gaze moved from face to face, as if he were burning everyone’s features into his memory. When he was finished, he muttered, “
Na schoen
” and began to discuss the
course content. Next, he distributed the stack of papers that turned out to be vocabulary lists. The remainder of the lesson was dedicated to introductions, each student stating their name and
discuss the extent of their knowledge of Germany and its culture. The next lesson ran consecutively. Halfway through, Finty excused herself to the teacher, picked up her oversized bag and hurriedly
left the room. She returned ten minutes later.

“Would you like to go for coffee?” Danny asked, after the lesson had ended and they were making their way out to the street.

Hilary, the Dame Edna look-alike, came down the steps toward them. She spoke with the same BBC accent as Julia, was a Magistrate and lived in West London.

“I say, Herr Fehler covered a lot of ground this morning,” she said. “I think we’ll learn quickly if we apply ourselves.”

“That’s the general idea,” Finty said.

The older woman peered over the top of her black-framed glasses, as if trying to decide whether Finty was being acerbic or witty. She half-turned toward Danny. “I took a Portuguese course
a year ago. Damned tricky language.” She brayed like a donkey. “Herr Fehler’s supposed to be a baron, you know?”

Danny was skeptical.

“Anyway, must dash,” she said.

He watched her stride down the street, her head held high and the sun making her lilac-rinsed hair very vivid. He turned back to Finty but she was already walking away.

When he arrived home late that afternoon Julia was stretched out on the sofa reading a romance novel, a genre he’d been surprised to discover she liked until he asked her
about it and she explained she could polish them off in three to four hours. On the carpet between the sofa and coffee table was a hillock of newspapers and magazines.

“Hello,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

“I’m going to really enjoy the course.”

There was still no response. On two occasions since he’d moved in, she’d behaved this coldly. The first time he’d been hurt, his hurt turning gradually to worry that he’d
perhaps unknowingly offended her as the silence stretched. When he asked her about the churlish behaviour after she’d returned to her usual good spirits the following morning, she informed
him she was like this occasionally and to just ignore her when it happened. Though he was getting used to the moods, he didn’t like them because the atmosphere in the house was so thick and
uncomfortable.

The coffee maker was still switched on, its carafe stained brown because the coffee had evaporated. The kitchen side was littered with the trimmings of raw chicken amid puddles of pinkish water.
Nor had she cleaned up her breakfast or lunch dishes.

“I need to ask you something,” she said, as she walked toward the kitchen, a menacing tone in her voice he’d never heard before.

“What?”

“You seemed disgusted when I introduced Katie to you.”

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“Don’t insult me any further.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How’d you describe your attitude?”