‘Too late, actually,’ I say, and reach into my tote bag.
I consider our relationship with hindsight. I hadn’t been fully conscious of it at the time, but I didn’t like the generous things Hollis did for me. I felt his gifts, his romance, the endless love were all a way to own and control me. And that’s how it was in the end. In the beginning, I confessed my world to him, and in the end, he used it all against me.
‘You look so sorted now, I can’t get used to it,’ he says, looking at me with a longing expression.
‘I suppose I am, yes.’
‘I don’t know, I’m not a psychiatrist. I’m just thinking that maybe the knock on your head when you fell put something right,’ he says, and I notice that his chair is creeping closer to me.
‘No, you’re clearly not a psychiatrist.’
He smiles, and with the mere flick of a finger his chair rolls to my side and he takes my hand. I pull it away from him.
‘I want you back, Lola. I want to start again.’ He snatches my hand back.
‘Sadly, Hollis, it doesn’t work like that.’ I smile at him fondly, then get up. I move behind him and slip my hand into my bag. I grip the handle of the hammer. It’s now or never.
‘I know I’ll have to win your heart all over again, but I’mgoing to try,’ he says, as I put one hand on his shoulder. ‘You were worth more than life to me.’
‘I was never worth that much, Hollis. No one is.’ I move my hand to his temple. It probably feels like affection to him, but I’m adjusting his head so that I can get a good connection and do what Mont Blanc should’ve done all those years ago.
‘I never stopped loving you,’ he says, reaching up and putting his hand on mine.
‘I know, and, in my own little way, maybe I never stopped loving you too,’ I say. ‘But I’m married to someone else now, Hollis. I don’t want to go backwards.’
‘He doesn’t love you like I love you.’ His voice is plaintive now.
I slide the hammer into my palm and feel a rush of desire. I step back slightly and widen my stance. He has no idea as his hand strokes my free hand affectionately.
‘Why did you search for me for so long when I treated you so badly?’
‘If you love a tiger,’ he says, ‘you know that one day it’ll bite your head off, but you don’t love it any less, because you’ve always known it’s a tiger. You were my tiger.’
I look down at him. I feel a piercing beat in my head, the pitch rising and rising. I need this. I need this now. I need to stop the past recurring. I need Hollis dead. To secure my future, I need to kill my past. It’s completely rational.
I try. But my arm won’t move.
Chapter47Beaufort
Thursday, 19 December
The Christmas tree in the lobby of the Savoy is so beautiful that I could stare at it for hours. Sadly, I have an assignation to get to. The Beaufort Bar is dimly lit and decorated in jet black and shining gold. It is sleek, sexy and expensive, a little like yours truly. I am draped on an art deco sofa, ensconced in velvet cushions, listening to a jazz standard played on a baby grand with an attentive barman smiling at me. It has the feel of one of my favourite fantasies.
Tor first met Zac at the American Bar, but that’s not for me at all – too shiny and light. I like a room with dark colours and hidden corners that you can disappear in. A room for whispering.
Tor believes that Zac is a victim like her. She emailed him at my request to say that she has the rest of the money but wanted to see him in person to check the details before she sent it.
Apart from mere lust, Tor’s background might explain this risky affair. Her parents were cold. She spent most of her childhood in boarding school. She wasn’t given love, and hasn’t learned what it feels like. And she has so many staff running her home, she needs a release from the stress.
Zac is her opulent rebellion against her parents’ absence andthe compromise of her love-free partnership with Lawrence. I can’t object to her methods, but her judgement is off. By all means, sell your soul for personal gain, but choose a partner who inspires trust. Neither Law nor Zac would fall into that category.
The silk-crepe halter-neck Valentino gown I’ve chosen has a ravishingly high split skirt that gives tantalizing glimpses of my legs. I have accented this outfit with bold earrings and a chunky gold necklace. I’m channelling excessive wealth and the promise of promiscuity.
It’s not difficult to understand men like Zac Estall. He probably found himself in a relationship with an older, richer, married woman at some point in his life and realized that it could be quite lucrative. He’s a planner, but he also has an opportunistic streak, and I’m guessing that he won’t be able to resist an attractive woman of indeterminate age alone in beautiful surroundings with luxurious bedrooms so close by.
I see him surveying the room like a predator. I feel his eyes linger on me, move on, then return. He takes a seat near the bar, orders something without looking at the cocktail menu, and interacts with the barman as if they are old friends. His charm is tangible, and his suit is beautiful. I can feel the Zac Estall effect immediately deep between my legs. He is movie-star gorgeous, and looks like a bad boy. Tor did him a disservice in calling him handsome. I have to remind myself I’m working and not here for pleasure. But it’s hard not to want, when the offer is so unhusband-like.
I order a seasonal sour, which arrives on a silver tray and is placed with an elegant flourish on the table in front of me alongside a small bowl of olives. I sip, turn to the room, and note his eyes boring into me. Not lust yet, although there’s a hint of desire. He smells the money. It’s eight o’clock already. Any moment now, Zac will receive a message. I turn away, relax back into my seat and let the music flow over me.
