‘I’ve done it,’ she whispers amongst the familiar shadows, and grins. She thinks of the stone-like biceps and the hard slab of his stomach that her hands and body encountered. Then she touches her mouth. She can still feel his lips, his hands. She remembers how she lost control and totally forgot herself. And the unfamiliar too damn good sensation he caused in her body, between her legs. Is it a dream? It cannot be just her life.
Don’t be too happy yet. He could still change his mind.
She swallows the paracetamols and avoiding all the creaky areas tiptoes upstairs. The light is off in her mother’s room, so she quietly opens the door to look in on her sleeping form. But her mother is sitting on a chair by the window. She must have seen Lana come in.
‘What are you doing?’ Lana asks.
‘I heard you come in,’ her mother says softly.
‘Could you not sleep?’
‘No. I start my chemo on Monday. Just enjoying the feeling of well-being I guess.’
Lana crosses the room and kneels beside her mother. She is not wearing a scarf, and her bald head glints in the moonlight. It makes Lana sad. ‘I’ve got good news for you, Mum. Remember that clinic in America that I was telling you about.’
Her mother frowns. She is only fifty but the worry and pain make her appear haggard. ‘The one we can’t afford.’
‘Well, it’s not a hundred percent yet, but I think I’ve managed to raise the money.’
‘How? How did you do that?’ Her mother’s voice is suspicious and frightened.
‘I met a guy. A rich guy who just wants to help.’
‘A rich man who wants to help?’ Her mother’s tone is frankly disbelieving.
‘Mum, please don’t be like that. It’s not anything like you are thinking.’
‘Oh no? What is it like then?’
‘He’s just a nice guy who likes me.’
‘I wasn’t born yesterday, girl.’ Her mother’s skeletal fingers grip her hands. ‘You haven’t done anything you’ll regret, have you?’
‘I promise I haven’t. I just drank too much champagne,’ she puts her fingertip to her temples, ‘and my head’s pounding. I promise, I’ll tell you everything tomorrow when I’ve had some sleep.’ The last time she remembers lying to her mother was when she was nine and she had pretended she had brushed her teeth. Guilty and terrified of being discovered she had raced up the stairs to wet her toothbrush.
Her mother’s hands move up her arm urgently. She touches the tips of her fingers on the dark bruises on her daughter’s arm, while her worried eyes bore into Lana’s. ‘Where did these come from?’
‘That’s not him,’ Lana explains nervously.
‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions,’ her mother warns darkly.
‘I promise, I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, but it’s not what you think.’ Really it is worse, a little voice says. ‘All will be well, you wait and see,’ she says brightly and smiles. Her mother does not return her smile. Instead she gazes at her sadly.
‘Goodnight, Mum. I really love you.’
‘I love you too.’
Lana stumbles down the short corridor to her room. She makes it to the edge of her bed and drops the shoes clutched in her hands. Then like a tree that has been felled she falls onto the top of her bed and is almost instantly inside a deep, dreamless sleep.
Six
The muted but insistent ringing of her mobile phone jars Lana awake. For a moment she lays crumpled and confused on her bed. Her head is banging furiously. Then she pats the duvet around her, locates her purse and pulling her phone out squints at the number. It is the agency.
She sits up, clears her throat and says, ‘Yes?’
‘Hello, Lana, it’s Jane here.’
‘Hi, Jane.’
‘Well, we’ve received a disturbing and very serious accusation from your current employer. They have also requested a replacement to finish the booking. So please do not go into work today. Mrs. Lipman would also like to see you to sort out this situation. Can you come in later today?’
Lana remembers Blake telling her to keep the day free. ‘Not today but tomorrow.’
‘Oh,’ There is a surprised pause. ‘All right. What about ten thirty tomorrow?’
‘OK, see you then.’
Lana gently eases her head back on her pillow. She listens carefully and hears her mother moving around the flat. She sighs. She will have to go out and face her mother and tell fresh new lies, but she feels so tired she falls back to sleep.
Again it is the phone that wakes her. She lifts it up to her face. It is a number she does not recognize.
‘Hello,’ she croaks.
‘Miss Bloom?’ a woman’s voice enquires. Her voice is extremely efficient and professional. And wide awake.
‘Yes.’
‘Laura Arnold, Mr. Barrington’s personal assistant, here. Is this a good time for you to talk?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ Lana jerks upright and takes a gulp of water from a bottle by her bedside.
‘Mr. Barrington has asked me to make some appointments for you today. May I run through them with you now?’
‘What kind of appointments?’
‘Peter Edwards, Mr. Barrington’s driver, will be around your flat at ten forty-five. Your first stop will be your doctor where you have an appointment to see the nurse.’
‘How do you know who my doctor is?’
There is a pause. It is pregnant with possibilities, perhaps even explanations.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lana says quickly.
As if she has not been interrupted, the woman continues, ‘She will discuss various contraceptive options with you if you are not already on some form of birth control. Next, you have a meeting with Mr. Barrington’s lawyer. Once you have concluded your business there, you will be dropped off at our publicist, Fleur Jan’s office. Ms. Jan will take you shopping and then on to your appointment with the hairdresser. After that Peter has instructions to take you to a beauty salon where you are booked for a full body wax, manicure and pedicure. Please bear in mind that Mr. Barrington does not like garish colors. He prefers light colors, but likes French manicures best.
‘When you are done at the salon, Peter will take you to the apartment in St John’s Wood and show you around. Please do settle in. The fridge and cupboards will be fully stocked, but should you require, I can also arrange for a meal of your choice to be delivered to you from one of the local restaurants. It would be advisable to eat lightly as Mr. Barrington gets into London late evening, and he wishes to take you out for supper about nine p.m. He tends to be very punctual so do be ready by eight thirty. Do you have any particular dietary needs or preferences?’
‘No.’
‘Food allergies?’
‘No.’
‘Good. Would you like me to order your dinner?’
‘No, I’ll make do.’
‘Fine. Do you have a passport?’
‘No.’
‘You will need one.’
‘Why?’
‘Mr. Barrington travels often and I believe you will be required to accompany him on some of those trips.’
‘Uh… I see.’
‘I will make the necessary arrangements for you and contact you tomorrow.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Oh, and when you go to meet the solicitor please take some form of identification with you. Do you have any questions?’
‘Er… No. I don’t think so.’
‘If you do come up with any question or requests call me on this number. I will be happy to assist.’
‘OK. Thanks, Miss Arnold.’