Tonight, I could only hear the handle click and the knocker thud.
No key turning. Perhaps she forgot.
But what if she didn’t?
What if she hadn’t locked the door on purpose?
Does she know that I noticed?
*
In order to get rid of the confused thoughts that have been nagging me for a week, since the evening of the gentlemen’s auction, I decide to have a swim in the pool and make peace with myself.
Opening the massive carved oak doors, I realise that my own sanctuary, the last haven of peace left at Denby, has been desecrated.
Jemma is lounging on an inflatable chair, floating with a foot in the water, a glass of champagne in her hand, and a pair of absurd sunglasses.
We are indoors. Okay, the glass dome of the pool lets in a lot of light with its ‘sky in a room’ effect but, believe me, wearing sunglasses is really not necessary.
The swimming pool was my great-grandfather’s idea, he had it built at the beginning of the twentieth century; unlike many houses with tacky and pretentious modern pools, our mansion gains a lot of charm thanks to this old lady.
“I see you made yourself comfortable,” I observe.
“I have to make up for lost time.”
“You get used to luxury rather quickly.”
Jemma lowers her glasses and shoots me a sidelong glance. “I’m the one keeping the whole thing afloat, aren’t I?”
“Didn’t we agree to stop bringing up our arrangement?”
“As far as I’m concerned, we’re even,” she says.
“We will never be even.”
“Won’t we?” Jemma, with her feet in the water, kicks hard in my direction, wetting my trousers up to my knees.
“Very mature, congratulations. You happy?”
She nods, satisfied. As I turn towards the exit, I notice the champagne bucket by the pool. I pick it up and pull the bottle out. “La Côte Faron, Jacques Selosse… I see you have remarkable taste.” I sneak a look at her to make sure she’s within range. “Enjoy the luxury, then,” and I throw the melting ice over her.
“Very mature yourself!” She protests, sliding down from the inflatable chair to reach the pool ladder. “Damn you, Ashford. You spoilt my meditation!”
Cursing in a low voice, she goes to the wicker deckchair to wrap herself in a bathrobe.
While I’m putting the bottle back in the bucket, a forceful thrust hits me and a second later, I find myself in the pool. Jemma snuck up from behind and pushed me in. What a fool I was to put myself in such a vulnerable position! All the years I spent in the army and my strategic studies just went down the drain.
I hang onto the edge of the pool and wipe the water away from my face, while Jemma laughs out loud at her victory.
This isn’t over, you little bitch.
I’m about to get out, but instead of putting my feet back on the edge, I use the momentum to grab the edges of her bathrobe and pull, so that Jemma joins me in the water.
She doesn’t give up and, even if I don’t see the point in it, she keeps splashing me, raising annoying spurts of water with her hands.
I grab her wrists, which doesn’t require much effort, but I linger for a moment, just to let her believe that her little battle makes any sense.
She stiffens, trying to escape my grip, with the result only of getting even closer to me.
