Shades Of Submission: Fifty By Fifty Part 55

It was strange hearing him talk of my ex and my brother like this. A side of their earlier lives I'd never known about.

"Please don't judge me for sowing a few wild oats."

His hand was still on mine, and so I turned mine and squeezed back. "Why would I judge?" I asked.

"Well... One of our parties got a bit out of hand. We got a bit carried away, you know? All four of us. The Press got wind, my family found out and they did what they could to snuff out the story before it became a scandal. That's it, Trudy: just college kids getting stupid."

A party... I knew what wasn't being said. They'd moved from pa.s.sing girls around to sharing them... an orgy... a gang-bang.

"But..." I said. "But... Ethan?"

I pulled a face and Will did a double-take and then laughed, just a little.

"I know, right," he said. "Your brother has s.e.x."

I pulled my hand away and rapped him lightly on the wrist. I didn't need that kind of image, that kind of knowledge. Ethan was still the big kid who went all goofy for Dunkin' Donuts.

I couldn't quite leave it there, though. I had to ask.

"Sally," I said. "You said she'd been found dead. The word you used was 'killed'..."

Serious again, he nodded. "She always had problems. Desperate for attention, desperate for contact. I can see that now. Back then she was just a rather attractive young woman who was throwing herself at us, you know? A few weeks ago she called me. I don't know how she got my number, but she always did have her ways. Said she was in a clinic and she needed money. Sally always needed money, but now she had big bills to pay if she was to get the help she needed. Said she had turned to me first as an old friend, but she could always turn to Eleanor. And I knew that 'turning to Eleanor' meant telling her whatever it took to get money from the family Sally was no friend of Eleanor's."

"Blackmail."

"Desperation," Will said. "The action of a vulnerable woman who was struggling to cling on."

"You're doing that protective thing again," I chided him, and he smiled, which was a heart-achingly beautiful sight on a face that was looking so anguished.

"I spoke to Interpol today. An agent I know"

That thing of his again: the tantalizing hints, the man who just happens to have contacts at the international police agency...

"I've given statements and everything already, of course. They might want to talk to you, too, I'm afraid. Filling in all the gaps, and all that."

"Me?" But of course: I was there in Austria. But did that mean that Will was under any kind of suspicion? Was I... was I his alibi...?

"Just to confirm a few details," he said. "No big deal. Dessert?"

So how do your first dates go?

This, my first date with Will I couldn't count that fairytale meal in Austria as a date; it had been something else entirely and we started off with talk of bondage, we got hot and steamy over oysters, we talked of dark secrets from the past, of murder... I ended up understanding him no better than before, the evening only confirming that I didn't really know him at all. I even had the nagging suspicion that somehow I was getting wrapped up in an international murder plot as some kind of cover story. I was being used, being gamed all over again.

This, our first real date, and we ended with pleasantries, an awkward, stilted exchange outside the bistro while we waited for a cab, and then he went off in his chauffeur-driven car and I climbed into my cab, gave my address to the driver, and somehow felt a weight lifting.

All the way up Tottenham Court Road and onto Euston Road, my head was spinning, and trying to catch a thought was like chasing b.u.t.terflies. Past King's Cross, and my head started to settle. I was so confused by that man! The evening had been such a mix of things.

The attraction was like nothing I'd ever known. It was as if there were rubber bands stretched taut between us, always pulling us together. Just a look, a touch, a half-smile, and my heart would race and there would be a heat deep in the pit of my belly. I wanted him more than I'd ever wanted a man before.

And those moments when I managed to sc.r.a.pe beneath the surface and glimpse the real Will. Each of them, a moment to treasure, when you see it in his eyes and smile, when you've connected.

I wanted that. I wanted that Will.

But Willem Bentinck-Stanley was a man of many aspects. The fl.u.s.tered upper-cla.s.s thing, the arrogance of a man who has always had whatever he wanted, the evasiveness that I guessed went with the kind of jet-setting James Bond lifestyle he led. The manipulation... He was a man who didn't trust people and that seemed to translate to it being okay to use and abuse them.

Was I just a challenge, a game to him? Or might I be something more?

By the time my cab had pulled up outside my Islington apartment, my head was little clearer.

Was this how I should feel after a first date?

I didn't know. All I knew for certain was that nothing could ever be simple with Will Bentinck-Stanley.

"Hey, bro', how's things?"

"Hey, sis'! It's good. Everything's good. You get our postcard? So what's up, then?"

"You busy today?" It was a Sunday, the sky a beautiful September blue. Perfect for a day out, a drive, perfect to just get the h.e.l.l away from London and blow away some of the cobwebs. "I didn't get to see much of you at the wedding. Thought maybe we could catch up. What d'you say, E?"

"Sounds like a d.a.m.ned fine idea to me, little sis'." Since when had his accent started to fade, and Englishness creep in? We really had let things lapse over the last few years. Time to make that up.

"Cool. That's great. Be with you in a couple of hours?"

"Hour and a half tops in that little car of yours, sis'. I'll put the kettle on."

It felt like ages since I'd been out in my Mini, with its Stars and Stripes roof. In fact, the last time had probably been Ethan's wedding up in Norfolk: that awful, traffic-choked journey up there and then the mad midnight rush home, getting away from Will and his arrogant claims to his friends that he could have me any time he wanted. So much had happened in the last couple of weeks, and as I drove my head was rushing with all those confused thoughts about that infuriatingly enigmatic man.

Traffic was light, and in under an hour and a half yes, big bro' was right I was edging the car into a tiny parking s.p.a.ce just outside the city center. Ethan had an antiques shop just off Bridge Street, so I grabbed my bag and a box of donuts from the pa.s.senger seat and headed into town.

I paused by the river and took a deep breath, allowing myself to soak up the atmosphere: the tourists, the mad rush of students on bicycles, the guys trying to persuade me to take a ride on the river in a punt. It was a completely different world.

Good call, Trude. Good call.

A few minutes later I was ringing on my brother's doorbell. He kept the shop open on Sundays through the summer, but today it was closed perhaps because it was September now, or maybe because he was only just back from honeymoon and still in vacation mode.

I stepped back to look up at the windows above the shop where Ethan had his apartment, and then when I looked down again the door was swinging open and he was standing there, six foot something of lean, muscular man in long shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, with a buzz cut, and a stupid, goofy grin all over his face.

"Hey, sis'," he said, his arms spread wide, and I stepped into his hug. Instantly, it was that thing again, something about the shape of him and the scent of him that took me right back to those times when I would fall into my pop's embrace and he'd pick me up off my feet and swing me around.

"Hey there, E," I said, taken aback by the sudden rush of emotion. I pulled away and thrust the box of donuts into his hands. "It's not Dunkin' Donuts" that was a Pop thing, too: bringing Dunkin' Donuts home just to see the grins on our faces "but will you accept Krispy Kremes as almost as good as...?"

That grin again, what I'd always called his Dunkin' Donuts grin.

"So," he said, "what's up?"

I fell into his arms once again, and it felt so d.a.m.ned good.

I'd only met Eleanor for the first time at the wedding, and then she had pretty much blanked me. At the time I put it down to big day nerves, to never having met me and maybe not even being sure who I was at first.

She was a real beauty, tall and raven-haired with wide, dark eyes and even after a honeymoon in the Maldives delicate pale features. Ethan referred to her as his English rose, and it was easy to see why. When he led me upstairs she was standing at a window. She turned and gave me a big smile. "You must be Trudy," she said, and rushed across to give me a warm embrace.

Such a contrast to the wedding! Had she really not worked out who I was that day?

It was when she stepped back and fixed me with those dark eyes that I had a sudden flash of recognition. The family resemblance to her brother, Will. I wondered then if she, like him, was a person of many aspects. Was this the real her, and the cold, suspicious Eleanor of her wedding day a product of nerves? Could she switch at will, or was it more subtle than that?

G.o.d d.a.m.n it, Trudy, get a grip! So d.a.m.ned suspicious and paranoid these days...

"Eleanor," I said. "Did you guys have a good time? Are you going to tell me all about it? Are there pictures? Come on, I've been here how long, and you still haven't shown me pictures?"

We laughed, and then Eleanor went off to make tea, and I remembered that odd moment at the wedding when she made her vows, including the promise to obey.

The three of us drank tea from delicate and very old, I suspected china, and made small talk for a while. Then Ethan flicked through their honeymoon photos on his iPad. Lots of palm trees, blue skies, and white sand. Halfway through, I put a hand on my brother's arm, then leaned in and hugged him, briefly. He looked happy. Both in the photos, and now, as we went through them. Not Dunkin' Donuts instant gratification happy: happy happy. I liked that.

"I'm glad I came," I said, when we'd finished.

"Neat photos, huh?"

I gave him a hard stare. "I mean it's been far too long and we should make the effort, is what I mean."

He laughed. "Sure sis', we must. Hey, let's go get lunch, okay? There's this place up by the Cam, does Tex-Mex just like back home."

Even though the place was busy, we timed it just right and got ourselves a window table overlooking the river.

"We'll do it, okay?" he said, as we sat watching the punts go past and waited for our food to arrive. "This. You're right. We need to make the effort. We're family, right? All of us."

Eleanor smiled, and put a hand on his forearm. Her nails were long and painted deep red, dramatic against her pale skin. "We should," she agreed. "Family matters."

Back at the wedding, I'd been edgy, tense, and it had taken Charlie of all people who had helped me understand why. Since our folks had died a couple of years back, Ethan and I had been the only family we had. Him getting married changed all that: he was marrying into an ancient family with long traditions: just as he was gaining family was I losing mine?

I smiled at Eleanor, grateful. She was very reserved, and hard to work out, but that was the sweetest thing to say just then, as if she knew exactly where my insecurities lay and wanted to rea.s.sure me.

Family does matter. I thought back to that awful trip, flying in to JFK with Charlie, meeting up with Ethan who'd been able to get there a day earlier; driving out through Queens and the Bronx in steely silence, out along the coast to Bridgeport and then up to Naugatuck where my parents had lived, and now where they lay at rest in a funeral parlor.

"That day," I said now, all of us gazing out across the river. "That day when you met me and Charlie at the airport and drove us home." Home... "When you cut off the highway at Seymour and did the rest of the trip on back roads. It was a long time before I worked that out."

He looked down, said nothing. Eleanor was looking puzzled, so I explained. "Our parents' funeral," I told her. "Ethan picked us up from JFK, but the route home would have taken us along the road where the accident happened."

"It took me by surprise the day before," he said. "Just driving along there, like I'd done a hundred times before, back when I lived with the folks. But then... that day. There was a long, gentle curve, no real hazards, but then there was a length of traffic barrier torn aside, a dark oil patch still. That was it. That was where it happened. I couldn't let you see that, T."

"I never did thank you," I said. "Not just for that. For all the little things. The big things, too. You stepped up to the plate, took care of everything, while I just let myself wallow in grief and a relationship that was. .h.i.tting the rocks already. I didn't really think, at the time, and then it just seemed too late."

Ethan shrugged and looked awkward. "We never really talked, did we? Then, or later. Just sealed it all off."

We'd already been living in England by then, Ethan finishing his doctorate at All Hallows and then settling down in Cambridge; me b.u.mming around, first in Cambridge and then in London, trying to find openings in publishing and eventually getting that first temp job at Ellison and Coles. But afterwards, after that trip, the funeral, we drifted.

"Do you think talking would have helped any?"

He shrugged again, and this time Eleanor joined in. "He bottles a lot up," she said. "He doesn't let things go easily."

Our food came in all its Tex-Mex glory. Ribs and chicken wings, fiery salsas, mountains of fries and onion rings. It was funny to see Eleanor dig in. I wouldn't have thought it was her kind of thing at all, but that didn't stop her. The three of us drank Buds and Sol with our food, and for a time things pa.s.sed in silence as we concentrated on our meal.

After a time, Ethan caught my eye and winked, almost like a naughty schoolboy under the teacher's gaze.

One of those unspoken exchanges. Things were good between us. We'd each grieved in our own way and then moved on, and now we both understood that, and it felt as if a weight had finally been lifted.

Perhaps some things are best left un-said, though.

Afterwards, we walked idly along by the river Cam. It really was a beautiful day, and it felt so relaxed, away from London and all the mess that had filled my head; just me, my brother and his wife who I was just getting to know.

I hadn't gone up to Cambridge to dig over the remains of the past. In fact, as I drove up there I'd made a conscious decision not to raise it. This was family stuff, completely separate. I didn't want to spoil that.

But when Ethan paused, half-turned towards me, and said, "I hear you've seen something of Eleanor's brother since the wedding," I realized from his manner that it was something that had been bubbling below the surface all along.

I glanced at Eleanor, a short distance away and, keeping my voice low, said, "A bit, yes. Did you hear what happened? Sally Fielding" he visibly flinched at the name "well, she pa.s.sed away. s.h.i.t, Ethan, I'm sorry, I thought you knew..."

Such a clumsy a.s.s! I just blurted it out like that. He'd been close to her, back at All Hallows; I'd a.s.sumed he would know. h.e.l.l, I didn't even think that far, I just let the words rush out.

Eleanor came and took Ethan's hand. Giving me a sharp look, she said, "That's hardly a surprise. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be blunt, but she's been a walking pharmaceuticals lab since her Cambridge days..."

So she'd heard it all.

"I just... I'm sorry. I thought you'd have heard already."

Is it bad that my first thoughts were not of my brother's feelings but of what damage I might have done to our relationship in the s.p.a.ce of a few seconds?

"I didn't know you knew about Sally," said Ethan. "It was a long time ago. Ah... I guess Will told you, didn't he? It was a long time ago."

"He told me some, yes," I said. I was very aware of Eleanor's presence. Now clearly wasn't the time to rake over stories of old flames. Of gang-bangs and whatever else had taken place. No, not now.

We walked on until we reached a big green park Ethan said was called Jesus Green. At one point Eleanor hung back to watch some kids playing doubles on a fenced-off tennis court, and I stayed with her. I didn't realize at first that she had deliberately separated me and Ethan, but then she said, "I don't think we need to go back there, now, do we? All that's in the past, where it belongs." There was a sudden steely edge to her words and I wondered what she meant, but then I understood: back there to Ethan's time at All Hallows, to the time with Sally Fielding.

I faltered, shook my head, wondering where she was heading.

"No need to open old wounds," she added.

"I didn't even know there were wounds," I told her. "Will won't say much."

"Clearly," said Eleanor. "Ethan's told me about that time."