He also had a week’s supply of Glargine, the slow-release insulin he took at night. If he was in the cell longer than a week, he’d be in trouble. Well, he thought, perhaps I’ll be free by then. I certainly hope so.
What he couldn’t understand was why he was there, why he was being held captive. Peter had tried various scenarios: kidnap, mistaken identity, terrorism; none of them made any sense. Why would anyone want him? The main thing, he decided, was to be brave, not to cry.
Having the dog helped enormously. He whispered his thoughts in its ear and shared his food with it. Perhaps when all this was over, his mum would let him keep the dog. Assuming they let the dog go with him. He was trying to think of a good name for him. It had to be worthy of the animal, something with a ring to it, something defiant.
And all the while the CCTV camera watched him. And fifty miles away in London, Lord Justice Reece periodically logged on to see how he was doing. He was looking forward to giving the boy what he needed, but anticipation was a huge part of the pleasure. He had rehearsed various scenarios in his head many times. Soon, he’d be able to put them into practice. It was what set us apart from the savages, in the judge’s opinion. Deferred gratification.
He had to fly to Brussels that evening, but he’d be able to view the boy whenever he wanted on his laptop until they were finally together in the coming week. An Internet feed was such a boon. The wait would only increase the pleasure, particularly now he could see what Conquest had arranged for him. Conquest had surpassed himself. The child was perfect, perfect in every way.
The judge thought back to when he was a child the same age, a very different child. He hadn’t been good-looking. ‘Blubber lips’, that’s what the other boys had called him at his boarding school, as had most of the teachers. His parents had been equally dismissive. At home, the judge had felt like an unwelcome guest who’d overstayed his welcome. But the judge had survived the bullying and the beatings. He’d survived through hard work, intelligence and the fierce will that they would not crush him. Every exam passed with an A grade, the scholarship to Pembroke, the first-class degree, all were battles he had won to get back at them. And now his time had come. They would dance to his tune. Those prefects who had beaten him, who had devised excruciating torments for him, and were now the Establishment, let them dance and grovel. Those good-looking boys who would never have reciprocated the judge’s schoolboy passions, let them dance the way he wanted them to dance.
He stared hungrily, lasciviously, at the boy’s straw-blond hair and licked his thin, juridical lips, lips that were so used to pronouncing judgments with pedantic, legal precision. Watching as the boy stroked the dog, the judge felt himself stiffen. Come Unto Me, that was how the school song had gone. And now he was calling the tune. It would be very soon now. Soon you will Come Unto Me, he thought. Very soon indeed.
19
In Germany, in Stuttgart, Kathy had finished her meeting with the line manager and the procurement director from the Siemens subsidiary, and she knew the contract was hers. The trip had gone far better than she could have anticipated. What was particularly pleasing was that the Germans had extended the contract period from three to five years. That was a huge, unexpected benefit to PFK. She was now looking forward to Monday to report to her company how things were going. Pleasant visions of the future danced across her imagination. She’d finish early and meet Peter from school and take him to the cinema for that new action film he wanted to see, the one she’d told him she wouldn’t have time to take him to. She was sorely tempted to call her MD, Tim Morgan, at home to tell him the good news, but decided to leave it until she went in to work. She had a reputation for coolness that she was proud of and she didn’t want to compromise it.
She was due back on the four o’clock flight to London and had accepted a lunch date from Max Brucker, the Siemens man. She had found herself the night before hoping that he would make a pass at her; she found him extremely attractive. She had spent a year mourning Dan; now she felt it was time to come out of her shell of bereavement. Nothing had happened last night but she knew that if he had tried anything, she’d have flung herself on him. She wanted him very badly. She looked at her left hand. She was looking at her marriage band. Gently, she worked it off her finger. She held it in the palm of her hand, the golden symbol of her past life, and stroked the circular indentation it had left in the skin of the third finger. She said, ‘I’m sorry, darling’ to Dan’s memory and undid the simple gold chain around her neck, then slid the wedding ring through and replaced the necklace. There, she had done it. It was a simple gesture, but a powerfully symbolic one. She was no longer married. She wondered if Max would notice. No, that wasn’t true. She knew Max would notice. How could he not? It was why she’d done it. It was a signal as clear and unequivocal as the ‘Please Make Up The Room’ sign she would hang on her door handle when she vacated the room.
She was wearing her hair back in a ponytail today. It had been her lucky hairstyle before she’d been married. Maybe it would work again. She knew she’d be back and forth to Germany with increasing regularity so there was no need to rush things. Then she thought, no, sod it, I’ve had enough of this. If he doesn’t make a pass at me today, I’m going to make one at him. We’re both adults after all, and I’m bloody attractive. She looked at herself in the mirror and pouted, then grinned at her reflection. She tossed her head and watched the ponytail bounce with the motion. I feel frisky, she thought. Who could ever have imagined. She felt happier than she’d done in ages.
She tried Annette’s house again but got the answerphone and left a brief message about Peter, asking her to tell him she’d be picking him up from her house about seven. Annette’s mobile number was on a business card that she’d left in her other purse so all she had programmed on her phone was the landline number.
Annette put down the two heavy bags of shopping with a thud on the kitchen table and filled the kettle to make tea. They were plastic bags and they eyed her reproachfully. The cupboard under the stairs contained the reusable hessian and jute organic shopping bags and a quantity of heavy-duty plastic Bags for Life that she’d bought over the years. These she inevitably forgot when she went to the supermarket. Her husband had taken Sam and his friends to the local swimming pool and the house would be mercifully quiet for the next couple of hours. Thank God, she thought. The house was wonderfully peaceful. She thought, I’ll have a cup of tea and then I’ll lie on the sofa and relax. God, that’ll be wonderful. She yawned and checked her BlackBerry for messages. Nothing.
As she drank her tea she felt the soft, warm weight of Dizzy rolling on to her feet under the kitchen table. Stroking the dog’s warm body with her toes, she thought suddenly of Peter Reynolds who adored the animal. She froze with the teacup in her hand as abruptly as if she were a TV image that had been paused on a remote. No, no, it couldn’t be. She thought, I’m imagining things. Her heart started to pound like a trip hammer. Calm down, she thought, calm down.