Unveiled

  kitchen, and I’m longing for the familiar scent of a hearty, stodgy meal. I can hear the low hum of the television from the lounge, where Ted has set up base, and I’ve heard the frequent sound of his mobile phone before he answers promptly and speaks in a low whisper, no doubt assuring either William or Miller that I’m here and I’m fine. I’ve made him endless cups of tea and chatted idly about nothing in particular. I even gently broached the subject of my mother again and got nothing, only a sideways glance and Ted’s observation that I look just like her. He’s told me nothing that I didn’t already know.

  My phone rings. I look down at the table where it’s laid and raise surprised eyebrows when I see Sylvie’s name flashing up at me.

  ‘Hey,’ I answer, thinking I’ve masked my hopelessness well.

  ‘Hey!’ She sounds out of breath. ‘I’m running for the Tube but wanted to call you as soon as possible.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘A woman came into the bistro earlier asking after you.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Don’t know. She left pretty quick when Del asked who was asking.’

  My back straightens in my chair, my mind racing. ‘What did she look like?’

  ‘Blonde, stunning, very well dressed.’

  My heart catches up with my mind and commences to sprint. ‘Around forty?’

  ‘Late thirties, early forties. Do you know her?’

  ‘Yeah, I know her.’ My palm finds my forehead and my elbow rests on the table. Sophia.

  ‘Rude cow,’ Sylvie spits indignantly, and I huff my agreement, but what the hell is she doing tracking me down?

  ‘What did you tell her?’

  ‘Not much, just that you no longer work at the bistro. Who is she?’

  I take a deep breath and sink back into my chair, injured at Sylvie’s reminder that I no longer have a job. ‘No one important.’

  Sylvie laughs through her exertion – an insulted, disbelieving laugh. ‘Sure,’ she says. ‘Anyway, just thought you should know. I’m at the station so my reception is gonna die any moment. Swing by next week. It would be nice to see you.’

  ‘I will,’ I agree, though there is no mistaking the lack of enthusiasm in my voice. Stupidly, I don’t want to see my replacement handling the coffee machine with precision or delivering the shop’s famous tuna melts.

  ‘Take care, Livy,’ Sylvie says softly, and then cuts the call before I can give my assurance that I will. That reply wouldn’t have been any more convincing than the previous agreement to swing by sometime.

  I go to dial Miller but freeze when an unknown number illuminates my screen. I stare at my phone in my hand for a long, long while, trying to fathom the deep-seated sense of anxiety riddling me, telling me not to answer.

  Of course, I ignore it and go right ahead and connect the call. ‘Hello.’ I sound timid and nervous. I am, yet I don’t want whoever’s on the other end of this call to know that, so when I get no response, I repeat myself, this time clearing my throat and forcing confidence into my tone. ‘Hello?’ There’s nothing, no reply, no sound in the background. I draw breath to speak again, but I catch a familiar sound and end up holding the air that I’ve just inhaled. I hear words. A familiar voice with a foreign accent, all husky and low.

  ‘Miller, darling, you know how I feel about you.’

  I swallow my breath and battle to prevent myself choking on it.

  ‘I know, Sophia.’ Miller’s reply is soft and accepting. It makes me feel nauseous.

  ‘Then why have you been avoiding me?’ she asks, equally as gentle. My mind is quickly building up the scene on the other end of this line. And I really don’t like what I’m picturing.

  ‘I needed a time-out.’

  ‘From me?’

  My bum lifts from the chair until I’m standing, waiting for Miller’s response to that. I hear him sigh, and I definitely hear the chink of glass on glass. He’s pouring a drink. ‘From everything.’

  ‘The other women, I accept. But do not run away from me, Miller. I’m different, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ he agrees without hesitation. None whatsoever. My body develops the shakes, my heart is pounding in my chest, and my racing mind is making me dizzy.

  ‘I missed you.’

  ‘And I you, Sophia.’

  The bile shoots from my stomach to my throat and an invisible grip wraps around my neck, choking me. I cut the call, not needing to hear any more. I suddenly can’t breathe, overcome by fury. And yet, I’m perfectly calm as I pop my head around the lounge door to find Ted at the window, his suited body relaxed in his standing pose. He’s pretty much been in the same position since we got home.

  ‘I’m going to soak in the bath,’ I tell his back, and he looks over his shoulder, smiling at me warmly.

  ‘Will do you good,’ he says, returning to face the window.

  I leave him on watch and go upstairs to get dressed. I’m trying to think straight, trying to recall Miller’s words to Sophia, Sophia’s words to me, Miller’s words to me about Sophia. It’s all gone, leaving a mammoth void in my mind to conjure up plenty of other thoughts – none of which I like. I knew she was different, someone to be more wary of. I slip on some skinny jeans and a satin camisole. I avoid my Converse, stepping into my black stilettos instead. A ruffle of my hair to bring out the waves and a dusting of powder finishes me off. Then I grab my purse, creep down the stairs, and wait for my moment to slip out the door unnoticed. My moment comes in the form of a call on Ted’s mobile. He turns his back to the window and starts to pace around the lounge, talking quietly. Letting myself quietly out the door, I set off with absolutely no urgency. The anger is dominating me. So why on earth do I feel so calm?

  The doormen are holding court at the entrance to Ice, armed with their clipboards, causing me an immediate predicament. The moment one of them clocks me, I’ll be reported to Ice HQ and Tony will be in pursuit. I really don’t need that. Resting my back against the wall, I run through my limited options . . . and come up with none. I’m not daft enough to think the doorman won’t recognise me, so aside from a convincing disguise, I’m not getting in that club without warning bells going off.

  My whole being was so full of purpose from the moment I disconnected that call. One obstacle has chased away that fortitude and left a little room for sensibility to take hold. I allow myself to consider the consequences of my intended actions for a moment, and I actually begin to comprehend the danger I’m putting myself in, but then a commotion from across the road snaps me from my deliberating and pulls my attention to the entrance. A group of four men with their girlfriends are all ranting, and the doormen are clearly trying to pacify the rankled group. It doesn’t seem to be working, and my back pushes away from the wall when the scene moves to a whole new level of disturbance. One of the women steps up to a doorman, screaming in his face, and his hands come up in a gesture to suggest she should calm down. His attempt has the opposite effect and within a second, four men are all diving on him. My eyes widen at the chaos unfolding. It’s anarchy. Yet I quickly register that this could be my only opportunity to slip in undetected.

  I hurry across the road, being sure to keep as close to the wall as possible. I make it into the club unnoticed. I know exactly where I’m going now, and I walk with steady, even paces, my earlier calmness and purpose returning the closer I get to Miller’s office. But now I’m confronted with another obstacle. My shoulders sag. I’d forgotten about the keypad code required to enter Miller’s office. I didn’t think this through properly at all.

  What now? The element of surprise won’t work if I have to knock, and he’ll see me on the camera before I get to the door anyway. ‘Idiot,’ I mutter. ‘Fucking idiot.’ Taking a deep breath, I straighten my camisole and close my eyes for a few seconds in an attempt to gather my wits. I feel relatively calm, yet anger still burns in my gut. Damaging anger. It’s all contained, although that may change once I face Miller.

  I’m standing in front of the door, under the watch
of the camera, before I’ve even instructed my legs to carry me there, and I’m knocking it calmly in quick succession. As I knew they would, Miller’s eyes widen in alarm when he throws the door open, but in the blink of an eye, he has that impassive mask back in place. I begrudgingly note how spectacular he looks. But his jaw is tight, his eyes warning, and his chest is heaving.

  He steps out and pulls the door behind him, swiping his hand through his hair. ‘Where’s Ted?’

  ‘At home.’

  His nostrils flare and he whips his phone out, dialling urgently. ‘Get your fucking driver here,’ he spits down the line, before punching in a few more buttons and taking the phone back to his ear. ‘Tony, I won’t ask how the fuck Olivia got past you.’ He’s whispering, but the hushed tone doesn’t eliminate the authority. ‘Come and get her, and watch her until Ted arrives. Don’t let her out of your sight.’ He stuffs his phone in his inside pocket and hits me with blazing eyes. ‘You shouldn’t have come here, not when things are so delicate.’

  ‘What’s delicate?’ I ask. ‘Me? Am I the delicate thing you don’t want to break or upset?’

  Miller leans into me, slightly lowering his frame to get our faces level. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You think I’m fragile and weak.’

  ‘I think you’re being forced to deal with things that are beyond your ability, Olivia,’ he whispers, making it plain and clear. ‘And I haven’t got a fucking clue how to make it less painful for you.’

  Our stares hold for the longest time, mine lifting to maintain our connection when he straightens up, rising to his full height. The agony in his expression nearly floors me.

  ‘Are you trying to send me over the edge?’ he whispers, not coming closer to comfort me. I need his thing, so I move in, but he steps back, shaking his head in warning. Realisation dawns fast, and I glance up at the security camera above the door. She’s watching us.

  ‘Why is she here?’ My voice is even and strong.

  ‘Who?’ Miller’s face is guarded and guilty. ‘No one’s here.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me.’ My chest begins to puff under the strain to breathe through my anger. ‘How much did you miss her?’

  ‘What?’ He checks over his shoulder again, and I seize the opportunity, using his momentary lapse in focus to push past him. ‘Olivia!’

  I land in his office less ladylike than I would have hoped, but I soon find my composure, flicking my hair over my shoulder and tucking my purse under my arm. Then I smile as I cast my eyes to where I know she’ll be. I’m not wrong. Reclined in Miller’s office chair, legs crossed, wearing a cream trench coat and drawing on a long, slender cigarette, is Sophia. The air of superiority suffocating me is potent. She’s smiling slyly, looking at me with interest. It’s only now I wonder how she got my number. It’s inconsequential. She wanted to pull me from my hiding place and she’s succeeded. I’ve played right into her hands.

  ‘Sophia.’ I make sure I’m the first to break the painful silence, and I also ensure I hold my own. ‘It looks like you beat me to him this evening.’ I detect two things the moment I finish speaking – Sophia’s mild surprise because I can see it plain and clear in the slight parting of her red lips, and Miller’s unease multiplying by a million, because I can feel him twitching behind me. ‘I’ll just help myself to a drink before I leave.’ My high heels carry me across to the drinks cabinet and I pour myself a tall, straight vodka.

  ‘Sweet girl, I’m not stupid.’ Sophia’s haughty tone makes my confidence vanish.

  I close my eyes and try to steady my trembling hands, and when I’m sure I’ve reined in my shakes, I take the glass and turn to face my spectators. I’m being regarded carefully by both parties – Sophia thoughtful, Miller nervous – as I slowly bring the highball to my lips. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’ I swig the whole glass back and gasp before filling it again.

  The tension in the room is palpable. I look across to Miller, only mildly registering condemnation on his face. I swig my second glass and slam it down, making him physically flinch. I want Miller to feel what I’m feeling. I want to take that resilient part of him and hurt it. It’s all I know.

  ‘I mean,’ Sophia starts confidently, looking at me with a slight curve on her red lips, ‘you’re in love with him and you think you can have him. You can’t.’

  I don’t deny her conclusion. ‘Because you want him.’

  ‘I have him.’

  Miller doesn’t argue with her or put her straight, and when I look at him, I see that there is no intention to. I can’t even locate the sensibility to convince myself that there must be good reason, so pouring another shot of vodka for good measure, I saunter across to him. He’s standing like a statue by the door, hands in pockets, clearly brimming with aggravation. He looks at me with the expressionless, emotional beauty that captured me in the first place. It’s rife. His defence mechanism is on lockdown. I stop before his tall, motionless form and gaze up, noting the slight pulse of his dark stubbled jaw. ‘I hope you’re happy in your darkness.’

  ‘Don’t fucking push me, Olivia.’ His mouth barely moves, his words hardly audible, but they are loaded with threat . . . which I totally ignore.

  ‘See you around.’ I slam the door behind me and navigate the maze of corridors urgently, finding the stairs and taking them two at a time while knocking back my third vodka, eager to get to the bar and maintain the numbness that the alcohol has incited.

  ‘Livy?’

  I look up and see Tony and Cassie standing at the top of the stairs, both frowning down at me. I have nothing to say to either of them, so I bypass them and round the corner to the main club.

  ‘Livy,’ Tony calls. ‘Where’s Miller?’

  I swing around, finding both of their expressions have morphed into worry. And I know why. ‘In his office,’ I say, walking backwards so as not to delay my escape. ‘With Sophia.’ Tony curses and Cassie looks genuinely worried, but I don’t waste time evaluating the cause for their concern. My overwhelming need to stake my claim is there, but so is the need to hurt Miller after hearing that call and Sophia state with such confidence that Miller belongs to her. I know he doesn’t, he knows he doesn’t, but his lack of input and the memory of him telling her he missed her has fired me up.

  Weaving my way through the crowd, the powerful beats of NiT GriT’s “Prituri Se Planinata” assaulting my hearing, I arrive at the bar and slam down my empty glass with a twenty. ‘Vodka and tonic,’ I demand. ‘And a tequila.’ My order is delivered hastily, my change just as fast, and I’m throwing back the tequila immediately, followed closely by the vodka. The liquid burns its way down to my stomach, making me close my eyes and feel out my throat. It doesn’t deter me, though. ‘Same again,’ I shout once he’s done with the guy next to me. The numbing of everything – my mind, my body, my heart – is intensifying with every swig of alcohol, the feeling of misery slipping away fast. I like it. A certain sense of detachment is building.

  I lean against the bar and cast my eyes across the club. My gaze drifts over the hordes of people, taking my time, my drink poised at my lips, wondering whether my lack of urgency to lose myself amid the crowds and wreak havoc on my part-time gentleman’s sanity is my subconscious telling me not to be rash, that I need to stop drinking, sober up and think hard about what’s happening and why.

  Maybe.

  Probably.

  Undoubtedly.

  I may be on my way to a drunken stupor, but I can still appreciate that dormant reckless gene that had me willingly seeking out my mother’s clients and lowering myself to a level that I can’t bear to accept. Feeling the familiar fizzing of internal fireworks, my eyes dart around the club less casually now, more panicked, and I catch sight of him stalking towards me.

  Oh shit. Any notion I had that Miller wouldn’t rein me in under the circumstances has just been dramatically crushed. He looks homicidal, and I’m clearly the sole focus of his anger.

  He makes it to me, his lips straight,
his eyes dark, and takes the drink from my hand. ‘Never serve this girl again,’ he barks over my shoulder, keeping his eyes on me.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ comes a timid reply from behind.

  ‘Get out,’ Miller breathes down on me. He’s barely containing himself. A quick flick of my eyes over his shoulder confirms Sophia is standing across the club, chatting with a man, but her eyes are rooted firmly in our direction. Interested eyes.

  My shoulders square of their own volition and I reclaim my drink from behind me. ‘No,’ I whisper before taking a sip.

  ‘I’ve asked once.’

  ‘And I’ve told you once.’

  He reaches for my glass again, but I pull away and attempt to escape by dipping past Miller. I don’t get far before Miller’s grip on the top of my arm stops me. ‘Let go.’

  ‘Don’t cause a scene, Olivia,’ he says, snatching the drink from my hand. ‘You are not staying in my club.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask, unable to stop him from pushing me on. ‘Because I’m interfering with your business?’ I’m yanked to a stop and swung around.

  He pushes his face to mine, so close I’m certain it could look like he’s kissing me from afar. ‘No, because you have a fucking nasty habit of letting other men taste you when you’re pissed off with me.’ His eyes drop down to my mouth, and I can tell he’s fighting the urge to tackle it – to taste me. His hot breath on my face burns away some of my anger, making way for another heat. But he pulls back, face straightening as he takes a step away from me. ‘And I won’t think twice about breaking them in half,’ he whispers.

  ‘I’m really pissed off with you.’

  ‘So am I.’