Chapter Four

Rick had a hard time getting to sleep on Sunday night. Thinking about returning to an office that contained both Cecily Swanson and the envelope hidden in his bottom drawer kept him awake. He tossed and turned, the clock on his phone ticking through one hour, then two, then three. He sighed, switched on the bedside light and unlocked his phone, thinking to read the some of that week’s Financial Times articles in hopes they might bore him to sleep.

He was just launching the browser when a text from Kim pinged in.

 

Hey. Hope this doesn’t wake you. Not sleeping tonight. Keep thinking about yesterday. Had a great time.

 

Rick blinked, a rush going up his spine. His shoulders loosened instantly, and he started typing.

 

I’m not sleeping either. Yesterday pretty great.

 

He watched the dots of Kim’s incoming reply with something between ice and fire spreading through his belly.

 

Everything okay?

 

Rick bit his lip and stared at the ceiling for a while, chasing that very question for yet another circuit around his head. A sudden, powerful urge to tell Kim everything rose up inside him. He was in consultancy. Maybe he would have some insight into those accounts. Maybe he could at least tell him there was nothing to worry about. He started to type but seeing it all spelled out in words made his stomach dip. He deleted the text with a frustrated noise and started over.

 

Yeah, everything fine. Just thinking about what you owe me.

 

Is that right? Well maybe we better get this account settled as soon as possible.

 

He grinned.

 

Sounds good.

 

Great. When?

 

Rick glanced at his closed laptop and the pile of printouts and files next to his bed and tried to work out if he would even get an evening to call his own at any point before this deal was done. Then he shook his head, deciding he would make time.

 

Friday?

 

It’s a date. Now go to sleep.

 

Rick grinned, switched off the lamp and watched until his phone screen went dark, just to make sure no more messages came in. He closed his eyes and breathed deep the remembered smells of citrus and sandalwood, imagining a warm weight across his hips. He started counting how many minutes were left until Friday night and finally drifted off.

 

* * * *

 

“What's got you in such a good mood at this fucking heinous time of the morning?” Ella muttered. Rick showed her his phone screen. She stared, frozen, with one arm in her coat.

“Am I looking at what I think I’m looking at?”

“My banking app, yeah. My advance bonus came through.”

Ella grabbed the phone, her eyes widening. “These numbers are black?”

Rick grinned. “They are.”

Ella pressed her lips together. Her brown eyes filled with tears.

“That’s Mum’s fees and the Visa cleared. And that’s just for starters.”

Ella flung her arms around his neck. Rick smiled and held her close while she shook with laughter and sobs. She kissed his cheek and wrestled herself the rest of the way into her coat, swiping her eyes with her sleeve.

“I’m gonna be late,” she said, searching for her bag, “but it’s worth it. Well done, Rick. You officially win at life.”

“Meet me for lunch,” he called. “We’ve got some plans to make.”

“Sure. Where?”

“I’ll text you the address.”

She nodded, smiled brightly and left. Rick went to shower, feeling lighter than air.

He greeted Michaels so jocularly when he arrived at the office that the other JA looked taken aback. He shut the office door and breathed deep the scent of the fresh bouquet of St. Valentine’s Sacred Heart roses that stood on the table near the window, for once enjoying the rich smell. He loaded Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On album on his phone, synching it with the office’s Bluetooth speakers and turning up the volume. A runner delivered him his latte right on cue and was unable to hide a blush when Rick thanked her with his best smile, the first one he’d worn in the office that wasn’t fake.

After she’d left, he fished the envelope of summary papers from the back of his bottom drawer and took it to his shredder. He lowered them into the feeder, his finger hovering over the power button. Slowly, he withdrew them again. He stared at them for a full few minutes, then, without examining his reasoning too closely, stuck the envelope to the underside of the next drawer up with tape. He shut and locked the bottom one, put the key in his pocket then put it out of his mind. He spent the rest of the morning drafting terms and comparing contemporary figures from the primary revenue streams of S&G and EBR.

“I see someone is happy with their advance.”

Cecily Swanson stood in the doorway, regarding him warmly. Rick stood, resisting a glance at the locked drawer with an effort and turned the music down.

“Don’t stop the celebration on my account.”

“Not stopping,” he said. “Just making it more inclusive. The bonus was extremely generous. Thank you.”

“Well, Dad looked at your progress reports and decided you’d earned a little more than we’d discussed.” She stepped into the room and closed the door gently behind her, never taking her eyes from his.

“Please thank him for me. And let him know we’re right on schedule. I’ll set up a preliminary terms meeting at the end of the week.”

“I’d like to be there.”

Rick hesitated. “It’s just the preliminary meeting with their JA and admin support,” he said. “There won’t be anything that needs—”

“Everything to do with this deal is of significance to me…and my fiancé,” she added, a little heavily.

“Of course,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets. His fingers brushed against the key and his stomach clenched. He withdrew his hands again. “I’ll check your availability with Bryce.”

“I’ll make myself available.” Her smile warmed. She glanced out of the wall of glass to where several members of staff were pretending very hard not to be watching. She turned a more secretive smile his way. “Any time.”

“Thanks,” he said, managing to not break eye contact.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, holding out a red-bordered envelope. His name was handwritten in cursive script on the front. He withdrew the gilded card and kept his face neutral with some effort.

“Cecily—”

“I want you to be there, Rick. You’re a big part of what is going to make my marriage a success. You deserve to be involved.”

He hoped his hesitancy could be interpreted as pleased surprise. “I have a plus one?” he said. Her smile didn’t flicker.

“Only if you want one, of course. But I would like to meet your sister, very much.”

He nodded and smiled understandingly. “Of course. I… We’d be honoured. Thank you.”

She locked eyes with him for a moment then she nodded. “I’ll let you get back to it. Remember… If you need anything, anything at all, just ring.”

“I will.”

He watched her walk to the lifts with the admin staff glancing up and rapidly back down as she passed. When the lift door closed behind her, he sank back into his chair and stared at the wedding invitation, wondering if the gilded card could possibly be as heavy as it felt.

His personal phone buzzed on the desk and he jumped.

 

Hey, big shot. Where are we meeting?

 

Rick noticed the time and cursed. He shoved the invitation into his bag and grabbed his coat, sending Ella the address as he left.

Somehow the Uber got him to Poplar Court a good ten minutes before his sister. The uniformed doorman was expecting him and chatted amiably about where to find the nearest Tube station, park, deli and restaurants while he waited.

Ella eventually arrived on foot, glancing round at the towering apartment buildings and busy access road with a bemused expression as she climbed the stairs and pushed open the glass front doors.

“What are we doing here?” she asked in a low voice, glancing at the smiling doorman.

“I’ve got something to show you.”

She followed him into the lift, still frowning. Her expression flattened as they crossed a marble-tiled landing and watched in silence as he slipped a key into the lock of flat fifty-nine. She stepped into the high-ceilinged, open-plan space with her eyes wide. The wall of windows on one side overlooked the Thames. The London skyline rose up beyond the river, gilded silver by rain. There was a deep, dove-grey carpet under their feet. The walls were white, making the huge space bright and airy. A large chrome kitchen was set off to one side. A glass-sided staircase climbed the far wall to a mezzanine level with more wide windows and a chrome-and-marble en suite just visible through an open door.

“Rick,” she breathed, turning in a slow circle, “what is this?”

“You like it?”

“You fucking kidding me? It’s amazing. Does it mean what I think it means?”

“It does.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I shit you not.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “It’s incredible.”

“You think I should take it?”

“Hell yeah,” she said. “It’s perfect. And so close to your work.”

“It’s not for me,” he said, holding out the keys.

She started at them like they might bite. “What?”

“It’s yours, El.”

She shook her head. “No, Rick. Don’t be stupid. You can’t—”

“I want to.”

She shook her head again, taking a step back. “It’s too much.”

“It’s not.”

“It is. Way too much. Besides, I can afford the old place on my own, just about, now that Mum’s fees are sorted for a while. You take this place. You’re the one—”

“El,” he said, taking her hand and pressing the keys into it, “if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t even be here.”

“That’s crap.”

“It isn’t. It was you working all hours and scrimping and saving that kept us going all this time. Without you, we’d be nowhere. Let me do this for you.”

“It’s too much,” she said again, staring round the flat. “I can’t accept it.”

“All the folks ever wanted for us was to have a decent home,” he insisted. “Now I have the chance to make that happen. Please let me do this for you…and for them.”

She sniffed. When she went on, her voice was thick with unshed tears. “How can I live it up here with you going home every night to that shithole?”

He smiled. “I won’t. I’ve signed the lease for number sixty as well.”

She clutched the keys to her chest and let the tears fall.

The last thing Rick did before returning to the office was head to his own flat across the hall and shove the key to his bottom office desk drawer into the back of a kitchen cupboard.

 

* * * *

 

The week wore on and he left the office later and later each day as the deadline for the merger approached. His bank balance dwindled as deposits were paid and more bills settled, but every night when he returned to No. 60 Poplar Court, whatever the late hour or his level of exhaustion, he felt like he was finally returning home and it made it all worthwhile.

The few hours he got to sleep each night, he slept well.

He expected to feel more than he did when Bulky Waste came to clear the Morden flat at Wednesday lunchtime. He had to be there to let them in or he would have gladly avoided it. But when his mother’s sagging sofa, stained coffee table and broken bookshelves were heaved into a skip by the sweating removal men, the only thing he felt was another weight lifting from his shoulders.

Soon the marks in the worn carpet and patches on the faded wallpaper were the only evidence that a family had grown, known dreams and watched them die between those walls.

His first meeting with the reps from EBR was the next day. Cecily Swanson attended, as promised. He purposely didn’t mention the subsidiaries at any point and neither did anyone else. They agreed to a timeframe, exchanged research data and signed off on some preliminary numbers. Cecily saw the EBR delegates to the exit with a glittering smile, which turned heated when they were alone.

“Great work, Rick.”

He thanked her and escaped to his own office under the pretence of emailing progress reports.

By the time Friday rolled round, he was both ragged with fatigue and tingling with anticipation. When the email came through from Cecily suggesting he finish early as a reward for all his hard work, he came the closest he ever had to genuinely liking her.

 

No problem, Rick, you’ve earned it. Also, if you haven’t tried it yet, I highly recommend the wine merchant on Cotton Street. It’s on your way home. Drop in tonight and tell them I sent you. I’ve arranged a little something for your weekend.

Cess

 

Rick stared at the email for a long time, torn between excitement and wariness.

 

That is very generous.

Thank you.

Rick

 

You’re welcome. See you Monday.

Cess x

 

The ‘x’ at the end of her email sent a jolt through him, but he shut the computer down and grabbed his coat, shelving his concerns with a, by now, well-practised ease.

He located the wine merchant and found, without surprise, that they were expecting him. The owner engaged him in an in-depth discussion of his tastes, punctuated with samples for him to try. He kept glancing at his watch, even as each sample, he had to admit, tasted better than the last. He knew nothing about wine but was able to fake the terminology from articles he’d memorised for the many networking parties he’d crashed over the years. In the end, the merchant presented him with a top-shelf pinot noir and a middle-shelf champagne, waving away his credit card, saying it had already been taken care of.

Rick left, shaking his head, but pleased to be in possession of something half-decent to serve to Kim. He fell back into daydreaming. His new bed and some of his kitchen appliances had arrived the day before and the handyman had stopped by that afternoon to hang the wall racks for his guitars. He’d sent Kim the internet listing and address for the flat the second he’d signed the lease, ostensibly so Kim would know he’d left Morden, but really so he could show Kim just what he could afford now. He spent the whole journey home trying to decide if he was up for having Kim over to see it in person yet or if he wanted to wait until the rest of his furniture arrived.

Still not allowing himself to acknowledge the sneaking desire to impress, he started drafting a text, inviting himself to Kim’s place instead, telling himself that if Kim saw the place now, he would only wonder why he didn’t own a load of fancy furniture already. The clamour of the early evening traffic, even the sirens of several police cars that whizzed past him as he crossed into Poplar, barely penetrated. He typed, enjoying the tingle in his fingers and toes as he imagined what Kim’s place might be like, and what the younger man might taste like after a few glasses of champagne.

He’d deleted and re-phrased the text three times by the time he’d got his keys in the front door. He shook his head to himself. He was acting like a teenager again. But everything else was coming together just right. He might be working ten-hour days for a woman he would eventually have to let down, and he still couldn’t entirely stop thinking about the envelope in his desk drawer, but it finally felt like his life was coming together.

He wanted to make dating Kim part of that life. He’d never felt the potential of something so early on in a relationship before, especially when he knew so little about the person. But when he thought of Kim’s light, easy manner and the way he treated Rick like an equal without appearing to even have to think about it, something that wasn’t just lust stirred under his belly.

Of course, the striking, beautiful face, devilish smile and sleek, toned body didn’t hurt matters. He tantalised himself with the thought that tonight they might get to—

Rick switched on his living room light and froze. The new sofa was positioned at right angles to his glass coffee table and smart TV. His boxes of vinyl were stacked against the far wall and his running shoes were by the front door. Everything was as he’d left it that morning, but something was…off. There was a chill in the air…and an odd smell.

He moved forward, trying to identify what was causing unease to snake up his spine. A draught brushed against his face. He moved to the balcony door and found it was open a crack. He frowned. Had the handyman left it open? Why would he even open it on this freezing January day? He slid it shut, turning the key in the lock.

The smell was stronger in the kitchen. He frowned. His breakfast plate was in the sink but he’d only had time for toast, so that didn’t explain the sickly-sweet, almost meaty, smell in the air. It was then he noticed his block of chefs’ knives was on its side, the knives spilling out onto the counter. He righted it and returned the knives to their slots. There were two missing. He turned, scanning the kitchen and froze.

A pool of very red, thick liquid spread across the tiles behind the breakfast island. One of the knives lay next to it, the blade bejewelled with red droplets like rubies. He stepped closer, examining the spatters and smears on the tiles and up the side of the island. They resolved themselves into handprints, the skids of kicking heels, the splashes and spatters of a desperate struggle.

Adrenaline bolted up his spine. He grabbed one of the remaining knives and hunted the flat, top to bottom, nerves tighter than wire, but the place was empty. He rang Ella. The phone rang and rang.

“Pick up. Pick up.” It went to voicemail. He swore and tried again.

“Hey,” she answered, sounding harried. “Kinda busy here.”

Rick closed his eyes, relief choking him.

“Rick? What’s up?”

“Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay. What’s wrong?”

Rick backed out of the kitchen and sank onto the edge of the sofa, unable to tear his eyes from the gruesome scene in the kitchen.

“Rick?”

“You’re working late tonight, right?”

“Yeah—”

“Okay. I’ll send a car for you at closing, okay? Don’t walk home.”

“Rick, you’re scaring me.”

“I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

He started to dial nine-nine-nine with shaking hands when there was a loud banging on his front door. His heart climbed into his throat. Someone pressed the bell then banged again. Still shaking, he picked up the knife and moved towards the door.

“Mr Bennett?” a gruff voice called through the woodwork. “Mr Bennett, open up. Police.”

Rick hurried to open the door. It was only when the short, round police officer with a rain-specked overcoat and grim expression glanced at his hand that he remembered he was still holding the knife.