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“No. I’ve checked all the European haunts. No one’s seen him. Thomas said he was seen at the airport?”
“He must have chartered something. I’ll look into it at some point.”
“You’ll damn well look into it now,” I spit, infuriated with his lack of interest. “Do your job, Alex.” Silence again, apart from the aggravated sigh that comes first. I don’t give a shit for it. He’s trained me past accepting that as an answer, and Sabella certainly has. “Sabella said he was lost, that he was in hell and that I should let him go. What does that mean, Alex?” Some movement happens on his end. I can hear him bundling things up or shuffling papers. “And do you realise how much pressure Beth’s under? Why haven’t you done something to help her? She shouldn’t be at work. Sort some staff out for her.” Still nothing.
I gaze out into the gardens, waving at Maria to get me some more coffee, and then tap my fingers on the table. All night I’ve been up trying to find Pascal around the Rome clubs. Nothing. It’s like he’s a ghost that never existed. He very much does. “Alex, come on, talk to me.”
“I’ll call you later. See what I can find out.”
“No, you’ll bloody talk-“ the phone goes dead. Great.
Maria arrives ten minutes later, a tray of fine Italian coffee laid out before me. I’ve asked her to pack me a bag and downed the drink before I’ve thought much more about it. I need to find him. That’s my job. Whether it is Alex’s or not is apparently debateable. I don’t know what the hell is going on with him lately. He’s closed down on all of us, and is acting like a complete cock. He’s supposed to be the one we’re all doing this for, and for some reason he’s pushing us all away. Me, I get. Pascal even in some way, but not Beth. Beth is his world. I’ve seen the person he is with her. It’s so different from the man either I or Pascal know. He’s soft with her, nice. He smiles and laughs at mundanity, as if the fact that she’s saying it makes it seem interesting. There’s nothing dirty or Machiavellian about their time together, like there is with Pascal. It’s peaceful. Beautiful, actually. Which makes his actions now she’s pregnant seem reprehensible.
Well, if Alex won’t support her – I will. I suppose, in some way that I’ve not quite found reason to yet, that’s my job, too. I look after them both for him. Seems odd, but that’s just the way we have become. And I haven’t tried London yet. Maybe Pascal’s there. Why is beyond me. He doesn’t even like London, apart from the fact that Alex is in it.
My bag waits by the door of the Ferrari, filled with not much at all. I’m travelling light as always, barely any need to bother taking clothes other than essentials. We all seem to have wardrobes filled with clothes in all locations. That’s how we live our lives. New York one week, Rome the next, then onto London. I’m mostly in New York still, working trial law, but the pull back to wherever Pascal is never keeps me away long. He comes to seeClaire, and I invariably end up coming back here with him for a few weeks after that and work over the phone. It seemed to be functioning for us. I thought we were all managing. But Sabella was right. Something is off kilter, especially with Pascal.
I jump into the car and head for the airport, calling to book a flight on the way. One way to London. As always. I never book returns anymore. Returns get missed, and that wastes money. I may be wealthy now, but wasting money still isn’t something I do. I can’t, regardless of the boutiques I now shop in that Elizabeth tells me about. I am still Lilah James to me, no matter the people I socialise with or the criminals I defend – Alexander being one of them. He is, too, more so than I ever thought. His background is complex and diverse to say the least. Appalling actually, which is probably what’s put me off sleeping with him now I know. Killing a paedophile in front of my face wasn’t enough to stop the want, but reading detailed reports of things he ‘might have done’ in his past, along with dubious business projects, and then finding a way to defend that for him? Well, that’s just tipped the balance of acceptability for me.
An hour later and I hand over the keys to a porter, asking him to take it to parking. They’re good here like that. Mind you, everyone’s good at doing things when you have money to give them. People crawl and scrape, offering services that even I’m surprised at sometimes. They’ll do anything you want if you’ve got enough cash to give. I have now. Trial law has brought me an awful lot of wealth. It’s startling how many men and women like Alexander are out there, all of them hiding some past that their business suits cover. And I’m good at covering up dirt. Pascal is too.
Damn good.
~
London is brisk and fresh by the time I hit Euston, trailing my small carry on with me. It’s good to be here in some ways. Everything feels like home in a strange sense of the word. Not that it is anymore. New York is home, or that and Rome, but London is where the other two of us are, and so it feels like an idyll somehow. We use Alex’s house as if it’s a base to flip in and out of, keys constantly on our persons in case the need to travel to safety comes. He said this is always the place to run to, and then Elizabeth showed me the safe room he has in the back of it and told me the codes for entry. If he calls and tells us to run, this is where to. I've not entirely got on board with that theory, opting for different options. And why any of us should need to run anywhere I don’t know, but given his past maybe it’s important. Regardless, I won't be running here. I'll run to my own place. One that is mine because of him.
I wander through the station, heading for the taxi rank, and wonder why he impressed that so heavily. We all sat in the lounge last year, seemingly having a good time, and then he answered a phone call. Ten minutes later he was giving a stern talk about safe rooms and where we should go, what we should do. We all nodded. He wasn’t to be messed around with that night. And then he left and went to bed, clearly disturbed by something. I'm not surprised given the content of his past life, but he wouldn’t even talk to Beth. Odd.
I whistle hard and long the moment I hit the front of the station, searching for yellow, only to remember I’m in London and the taxi rank is full of black cabs waiting for me. I snort, amused by myself and this transatlantic life I now lead. Who’d have thought only a few years ago I was on the streets, barely enough food in my stomach to stay alive. I have a lot to thank Alex for, and Elizabeth.
“Alright luv?” the cabbie says, as I slide into the nearest one available.
I nod and smile, then rattle off the address of Alex’s mansion. It really is a mansion. Not quite the fairy-tale castle that Pascal lives in, but that wouldn’t suit Alex anyway. Too much flair, too dramatic. It suits Pascal, though. It feels so much like him when we’re there and he gives in to this love we feel for each other rather than fighting it. We talk of a future, of family, of being together withClaire and having more like her. And he talks so well of those things. He muses them as if they’re everything he ever wants, and then he clams up a little and asks me to beat him. Because that’s normal for us. Not lately, though. In fact, not at all for some time.
My fingers press Beth’s number, wondering where she is, and then I shake my head. It doesn’t matter where she is. She’ll come home. She’ll never be anywhere but at her home – with him. I smile and think about them together, imagining the way they kiss so quietly, and then envisage the last set of bruises he put on her throat. I frown, not at the thought of them, but at the thought of him and whatever is going on with him. I assume he’s worried about hurting her now she’s pregnant, but that would forge him closer to Pascal not further away, wouldn’t it? Complex as ever.
- Are you scared? And if so, what of exactly?
I send it to Alex before I’ve lost the train of thought, knowing he’ll answer when he’s good and ready and not a moment before. And then I rally off another one to the other man in my life.
- Where the hell are you? Answer me or I’ll chop your balls off next time we meet.
Arsehole. How dare he do this without asking me before hand, or at least telling me? It’s not like hehasto ask. We don’t work like that, but some amount of pleasantries would have been nice.
We are a couple, after all.
The road comes into view as the cabbie negotiates heavy London traffic, the length of it lined with pristine shows of wealth and British glamourisation. There’s nothing pretty about it. It’s an overpowering show of London’s elite, and busy as fuck to boot. The last week or so in Rome has given me some space from the noise, the same noise that infiltrates my ears all the time I’m in New York. This constant ring of sound again now makes me smile into it, remembering my place in the four of us. I’m the one that drowns that noise out, who chops back all the bullshit and gets to the point of the matter. That being love. Love.
I sigh and wonder why he’s run away. What’s vexing him now? Other than Thomas and his little show of Gay domination over the world’s kink clubs. Which, to be fair, is not on at all.
“We’re here, luv,” cabbie drawls.
“Quite,” I reply. We are indeed here. And here I will stay until Alex does his job, even if that means I have to rile him up to raging heights to make that happen.
I pass the driver some money and step out in front of the gates, listening to the thrill of chaos in the air that lingers behind me. Hmm. Messy. Not that the manicured lawns in front of me are. They’re exquisite, just as they always are. But the man that owns them is. I know him now. And this Alex, is not an Alex any of us need.
The gates swing open as I plug in the code, and I wander down the gravel, nodding at some gardeners that are tidying leaves. I’m not even sure if Alex cares a fuck for this ground he owns. He told me he got it from some guy that went bankrupt, then thought it would make a useful base. A useful base? The place is big enough for ten families, let alone two people. It’s not a base. It’s a family home, one that should be filled with the children Elizabeth wants. Just like Pascal’s castle.
