Twisted Agendas (21 page)

This was one thing Danny noticed about her. Though he’d give her opportunities to discuss what was going on in her private life, she never availed of them. Of course he realised he had no
right to expect her to, but it niggled him nevertheless.

“Why don’t we sit out here and study today?” she said.

Danny regarded the fan-backed wicker chairs and tall root bound rubber plants flanking them. He’d also promised Julia he’d repot them but hadn’t had the time. Or more
truthfully, he’d been too lazy. She’d bought beautiful new pots a month ago and asked a week ago if he still planned to transplant them for her. He felt guilty.

“Let’s do that,” he said.

Excusing himself, he left to freshen up. The phone rang when he arrived downstairs again.

“Hello,” Julia said. “Hello. Who is this? Answer me.”

She put the mouthpiece back on its cradle. It was the eighth anonymous call they’d had in a week. Each time they happened, Danny thought about what Piper said the morning she’d
arrived at his house following her release from jail, about how she thought the police weren’t finished with her yet. Maybe it really was the Special Branch. Maybe they’d followed Piper
to his home and had now bugged his phone to eavesdrop or find out some things about him.

“It’s definitely some prank or school kids playing tricks,” Julia said. “They’ll get bored. This happened to me a couple of years ago at my old flat.”

“This isn’t all that unusual, then?” Danny said.

“They’ll knock it off soon. Mine did. Just like that.” Julia snapped her fingers to emphasise her point. “I never heard from them again.”

“
Kann ich Dich eine Frage stellen
?” he asked Finty. He sat back on the fan-backed chair and smiled.

“That’s really good, Danny. Okay, my turn now.”

“Seriously,” he said. “I want to ask you something.”

She looked at him nonplussed.

“I’ll say this in English because it’s far more complicated.” He smiled again to reassure her it wasn’t an interrogation. “We’re almost finished the
course and I don’t know much about you. I know you’re a strict vegetarian. I know your puppy… whom I haven’t seen in a while and would love to, by the way.” He pulled
a sad look. “You live in South London and have a part-time job you never really talk about.”

“What else do you need to know?”

“That sounds a wee bit harsh, Finty.”

“It does?”

“Yeah, you said ‘need to know’ like I’m being nosy.”

“Aren’t you?” She immediately put up her hand, palm out. “That was rude. I’m sorry.” She went over to him and planted a kiss of apology on his cheek.

“I like you Finty and I’d like to know you better.” His face flushed. He felt exposed. He looked away toward Mrs. Hartley’s garden where a magpie, perched in the shade of
her chestnut tree, was watching him. Superstitious, Danny scoured the tree and beyond, needing urgently to see a second one. There wasn’t any.

“Okay,” she said. “What can I tell you?”

He turned back to her. “Start with your work.” He held out the wine bottle and she brought her glass up to its opening so he could refill it.

“Psychological assistant sounds very grand but it’s really just a fancy name for doing anything I’m told to do.”

As she described working with young offenders in the Probation Service, some of whom were very troubled, he watched spellbound. The sun played with her dark hair, making its natural red and
copper highlights glint and sparkle. He imagined its softness between his fingers. Her full mouth and parting lips as she spoke sent shivers through his body.

“Talk about pent-up rage,” she said. “Poor kid sat opposite me at a table for nearly an hour and didn’t speak, just stared at his hands or looked past me to the
wall.”

“Why was he locked up?”

He wanted badly to lean over and kiss her, to run the tip of his tongue along her slender neck. He wanted to put his hand inside her T-shirt and cup her breasts.

“Slashed his sister’s face with a knife when she caught him taking money from her room.”

The words cut into his thoughts. He nearly dropped his wine glass on the flagstone platform.

“I didn’t know your job was so dangerous.”

“I bet you’re sorry you asked about it now?”

“No. It’s just… ”

“I love my job and hope it’ll become full-time at some point. These kids have very little going for them.”

Her flashing eyes were now wide open windows. Danny saw the intense conviction she felt. It was a side of her character he’d suspected she had and he loved her now it was revealed. He rose
off his chair and moved toward her before the logical side of his brain could order him to stop. Stooping, he put his hands against the sides of her face and kissed her on the mouth. As soon as his
lips pressed against hers, the spell broke. He opened his eyes and wondered what the hell he’d done. Still, he wasn’t sorry. Her lips were as lush as he imagined. No, far more than he
imagined. She made no effort to rebuff him. Her hands hung in the air for a moment and then she put them around the back of his head. Emboldened, he slipped his tongue into her parted lips. Again,
she reciprocated. He eased her gently to her feet, their kiss still unbroken. But the process of activating body muscles required superimposing thoughts and, a moment later, she pulled away.

“What’s the matter?”

“I have to leave.”

“It’s only five.”

“I… I have a boyfriend.” She gathered her notes hastily and stuffed them into her bag. “I shouldn’t have let this happen. Please don’t think badly of
me.”

“Is it serious?”

“We live together.”

The muscle cords in Danny’s neck tightened.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for… ” She started toward the French doors. “I’ll see you in class next week.”

“Finty, wait a minute.” He ran after her.

She’d already crossed the living room and was opening the front door when he got inside.

“Finty!”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. Her eyes glittered with tears.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.” His words sounded as hollow as he felt. “Can we stay friends?”

“I’d like that, Danny. A lot.”

He watched her walk away. He watched until she turned into King Street. Still, he stood rooted, staring now at the vacant air she’d just occupied. Inside, he threw himself on the sofa just
as the phone rang. He rushed to it. No-one spoke.

“You fucking weirdo, stop calling here.”

He listened again and thought he heard people talking or perhaps it was a radio or television in the background. He slammed the receiver down.

Several things struck Piper like she was now a tourist in her own city. They were things she would never have thought about had she not lived for the past year overseas. She
kept forgetting the subway was air-conditioned and was always delighted by the refreshing cold air smacking into her sweating face every time the doors opened and she stepped into a carriage from
the stifling platform. She also persistently forgot the map of the subway grid was adjacent to the train’s doors and not above the window as on a London tube, and kept checking there first to
see which station the train was next approaching. Another thing was the raw energy on the Manhattan streets, so different in character to London’s well-mannered busyness, an energy
intensified by the brash presence of colossal skyscrapers, wide avenues and jets of pristine white steam curling from manholes in the streets. And there was also the energy from the traffic.
Nowhere did drivers honk more than in New York City. The final thing was the food served in the restaurants and delis: bagels containing a quarter pound or more of cream cheese, challenging
sandwiches piled so high with sliced meats and cheeses they were lopsided, and colossal burgers served alongside a mountain of fries, or plates of steaming pasta, and steaks so enormous they were
obscene. It was little wonder so many of her countrymen and women were obese, or dying of heart disease and diabetes related illnesses.

After exiting the train at Chambers Street, she made her way up to street level. A wall of searing heat slapped her face. The sun’s glare forced her to narrow her eyes as she looked up to
take in the view of the twin towers in the near distance. That was actually another thing: she’d forgotten how brutally hot Manhattan was in the summer. London never got this kind of energy
draining humidity. When she arrived five minutes later at the law office, she felt she’d been exercising in a dry sauna because her face, cleavage and arms glistened with perspiration. The
firm was situated on the fourth floor of a pre-war office block. Its reception was panelled floor to ceiling in English library style dark wood. A corridor nearby the reception desk ran to the
attorneys’ offices within the heart of the floor. Behind her, a client reading the
Wall Street Journal
occupied the nearest of two sumptuous maroon leather couches separated by an
oversized solid oak table. Invited by the friendly receptionist to take a seat, she sat on the other couch, took out a portion of her dissertation and began to proofread.

Five minutes later, her mother came out. “Hey, Phila.” She opened her long arms in preparation to embrace as she approached.

Piper was shocked by her mother’s youthfulness. She’d expected her to be on the plumpish side still, but her body was taut and defined. Tanned thighs disappeared above a fashionably
cut summer dress. Gone was the bluntly cut dark hair well threaded with grey, replaced by a lopsided bob that made her look not unlike Linda Evangilista. Only faint lines around her eyes and a
softening of the cheeks and chin belied she was forty-six years of age.

“What’s happened to you, Mom?”

Her mother laughed.

“You’ve been working out.”

“Not too shabby, huh. What can I say? Gotta keep myself healthy.”

Her mother ran her hand up and down her left arm. “I thought we’d eat at an Italian restaurant I know two blocks from here. They make a killer chicken parm and serve whole wheat
pasta.”

The restaurant was already packed with bankers and lawyers from the World Trade Center, many wearing de-rigueur lightweight summer suits and chatting animatedly into cell phones. She took her
mother’s recommendation and ordered the chicken parmesan but had a glass of white wine in addition to the large bottle of sparkling water her mother selected.

“You’ve been here three days already, huh?” her mother said, as she returned the menu card to the waiter.

“I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong. It’s just… ”

“What am I thinking?” Her mother broke a piece of bread and dipped it in the plate of golden olive oil.

“That I didn’t get in touch sooner. I’ve got this dissertation and I’m researching like crazy.”

“You don’t have to apologise.”

“I’m not.”

They fell silent. Her mother chewed bread as she looked about. Piper watched a dust strewn construction worker whose upper body and arms bounced as he drilled into the pavement with a
jackhammer.

“By the way, I meant to say you’re looking good as well,” her mother said. “You’ve dropped round your face and it suits you.”

“Thanks.”

“Phila, you should think about growing your hair again. It’s kinda severe so short. I always liked it shoulder-length. Remember how you wore it in the eleventh grade?”

“Call me Piper like I asked? Yesterday, I started the process to get it changed.”

“That’s the kind of research you’ve been doing.”

“
Mom
, please.”

“What’s wrong with Philomena anyway?”

“I don’t like it.”

“It’s my name.”

Another silence occurred that was broken by the waiter’s arrival with their house salads. Pointing a huge pepper mill, he asked Piper if she wanted some. She nodded.

“How much pepper you wanting, Phi… Piper?” her mother asked, staring wide-eyed at the bowl.

Piper nodded at the waiter. She stuck the fork into the greens and began to toy with them. “Why do we always end up doing this, Mom?”

“Doing what?”

“We’re together half-an-hour and already arguing.”

“We’re not arguing. It’s only because we’re alike.” She popped a cherry tomato in her mouth. “You were always your own person. Look how you went off to
England. Not every girl would do that.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“It is.” Her mother took a sip of water. “How’s your father?”

“As well as to be expected.”

“Which means what, exactly?”

“He’s renting an apartment on the Lower East Side now, Mom. It’s tiny. His rent’s sky-high because the area’s gentri-fying.”

“And that’s my fault, how exactly?”

“You made him sell our home.”

“Half that house was mine. I needed the cash to put myself through law school.” She picked up her fork. “He should buy if it’s gentrifying. He’ll make a bundle in a
couple of years.”

“I thought the law firm’s paying.”

“Only after I graduate. Until then, I’m on my own.” Her mother pushed her plate aside. “Anyway, that wasn’t a home. You’re smart. You know that.”

“Hmm.”

“There’s still time to change your mind about being a bridesmaid.” Her mother leaned away slightly to allow the waiter space to place the bowl of bowtie pasta with pesto in
front of her.

“I’m still going to pass.”

“Fair enough. You’re still up for meeting Juan, aren’t you?”

“Aha.”

“You’ll like him.”

“I will?”

While the food was delicious, Piper didn’t feel hungry anymore. Her mother inquired about the state of her finances and plans for the future, questions Piper responded to with concise
vagueness.

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight.” Her mother’s fork was poised halfway between her plate and mouth. “You’re about to get a Masters diploma and still
don’t know what you want to do.”

“That’s it.”

“You’re unbelievable.” She shook her head. “Do you know how many women would love to be in your position?”

“How many, Mom?”

“If you come back to New York, you’d find a job with an investment bank starting at… ” The wrinkles around her mother’s eyes deepened as her face puckered in
concentration. “Oh, I’d say over a 100k, easy.”