‘Really?’
‘Even the Queen’s had two first cousins who were secretly incarcerated in a mental asylum, and Burke’s Peerage declared them both long dead, on the misinformation supplied to them by the family. It was only when a journalist discovered in 1986 that one of the women was buried in a grave marked only by a plastic name tag and a serial number and the other is still alive but forgotten that the story came to light.’
The food arrives. Cake stands filled with delicate finger sandwiches, scones, cream cakes and tarts. Lana pours the tea. ‘You must try the cucumber sandwiches. Until I came here I had never tasted one. They are exceedingly delicious.’
I take one and bite into it. Lana is right. The cucumber is very finely sliced. It is light and buttery and scrumptious.
‘What happened to Victoria?’
Lana’s face tightens at the mention of the woman’s name. ‘She has been locked away in a place where the doors have windows.’
I am shocked. ‘Just because she crashed your wedding reception, emptied a glass of wine on your dress and nearly slapped you?’
Lana looks directly at me. Her eyes harder than I have ever seen them. ‘She had three razor blades taped to her fingers. She didn’t want to slap me, Julie. She wanted to shred my face, and disfigure me forever.’
My mouth drops open. ‘Oh my God!’ The thought of what so nearly happened that day.
‘Blake looked like he wanted to kill her that night. I thought he was going to do her harm.’
‘It was actually her father’s idea. He knew that Blake had become an obsession for her, and if she was not locked away she would do something that would end her in prison. She is being treated with the best that money can buy.’
‘Can someone become mad just like that?’
‘It seems mental illness runs in her family. Her grandmother suffered a major nervous breakdown and, despite spending many years at a private sanatorium in the care of famous psychiatrists, she never recovered fully. At a grand society dinner party in New York she shocked everyone by eating the roses that were there as table decorations.’
I meet her eyes. ‘That makes perfect sense. No wonder she was saying all those crazy things about Blake.’
For the first time since I have known Lana, her eyes become veiled. ‘Yes, her breakdown was very unfortunate.’
Twenty-five
As soon as I come into the apartment I know immediately that Vann is not in. The flat seems emptier than normal. I wonder where he is. Perhaps he has popped down to the newsagent. Smith comes towards me and rubs his face against my legs. I pick him up and glance upstairs. Why, the door is slightly ajar. I put Smith back down and go up the stairs.
I even go so far as to touch the doorknob.
So desperately do I want to see the painting he has done of me, but my hand falls away. I can’t do that to him. I take a backward step. For the first time in my life I resist my curiosity and refuse to indulge in my propensity to snoop. I run down the stairs and as I get to the bottom stair, Vann opens the front door.
He stops what he is doing and slowly turns his head in my direction. We stare at each other. Not for the first time there is some unspoken message in his eyes. I feel the breath die in my throat. It is as if we are talking but silently. He is telling me something. I am telling him something. I don’t trust what I am saying to him. There is something wrong. I drop my eyes. Confused. What the hell just happened? I hear him walk towards me.
‘Show me your hands,’ he says.
I hold them out to him. ‘I didn’t look, Bluebeard,’ I joke weakly, but my head is still reeling from that silent exchange.
He looks me in the eye. ‘I know.’
‘How do you know?’
‘There are no marks on your hands.’
I laugh. ‘Honestly, how do you know I didn’t?’
‘It’s in your eyes.’
I giggle wickedly and start to undo his belt and pants. ‘And I…want a thick and tasty treat.’
He likes me to do it on my knees, in front of him. I drop to my knees in obedience and rub his member against my cheek. It feels as warm and polished as a glass sculpture that has been sitting in the morning sun. There are not many things more perfect than this. The moment flips to slow motion and we do it right there on the cool wooden floor with Smith watching from not far away. The movement of his fingers inside me is deft, but raw with sensuality. He stares at me while he fucks me.
‘How many licks before I touch your soul?’ he whispers.
I am too far gone to reply.
Afterward we both lie on our backs panting, staring at the white ceiling. I turn my face towards him. ‘Lana invited us out for dinner.’
‘Do you want to go?’
‘Why not?’
‘OK. Arrange it with her.’
‘I have. Wednesday, next.’
‘Blake found me an agent. He saw a couple of my canvasses, thought they were good, and has set up a sixteen piece exhibition for me at the Serpentine.’
My eyes light up. ‘The Serpentine? Isn’t that a really posh place that only showcases the works of the very best artists?’
‘Yes, but it’s not a reflection of the quality of my work. More a testament to Blake’s reach.’
I lie on my stomach and prop myself on my lower arms. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of refusing. So what if Blake’s influence can give you a small leg-up. Everybody needs a break at some time in their lives. If your work is not good enough you’ll fail anyway?’
‘No, I’m not going to refuse.’
He smiles lazily and I dig my chin into his chest. ‘Vann?’
‘Mnnnn?’
‘Why do you keep your hair long?’
‘It’s what hair does naturally: it grows. Shouldn’t you be asking the other men why they cut theirs instead?’
I pull a face.
He chuckles. ‘Hair is not what culture leads us to believe, a cosmetic preference. During the Vietnam War special forces in the war department combed the American Indian Reservations to look for young men with outstanding tracking abilities—experts in stealth and survival.
‘But once enlisted an amazing thing happened to these men. The talents and skills they had possessed on the Reservations seemed to mysteriously disappear. Recruit after recruit failed to perform as expected. Extensive interviews and testing proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that when the men received their military haircuts, they could no longer ‘sense’ the enemy or ‘read’ subtle signs. When the men were allowed to grow their hair back their ability to ‘sense’ came back. Hair is an extension of the nervous system, a type of antennae.’
‘Is that really true?’
He grins. ‘Maybe?’
I punch his arm. ‘What do you need tracking skills for anyway?’
‘To track sulky-mouthed girls with green eyes.’
‘My eyes are not green.’
‘You keep saying.’
‘Vann?’
‘Mnnnn…’
‘How come Blake’s brothers didn’t come to the wedding?’
I feel him still beside. Always this reaction when we are discussing Blake or his family.
‘I don’t know.’
I know instantly that he is lying. ‘Do keep in touch with them.’
‘A little with Marcus.’
‘What’s he like then.’
‘He changed a lot after his son died.’
There was no mention of that in the websites I had trawled. ‘Oh, how old was he when that happened?’
‘Eleven months.’
‘What happened?’
‘Cot death.’ He sits up suddenly. I reach out a hand and gently tug him back down. He allows me to pull him back down.