‘Another glass?’
Adriana holds up the second bottle of white we’re midway through, having not long finished our food. The risotto was amazing, and I can tell my new landlady has a natural flair in the kitchen. It’s gratifying to have eaten something home-cooked for once. I’m ashamed to say that ready meals and takeaways have been my staple diet these past few months. Even so, I tell myself not to get used to it, Jasper’s warning about keeping things platonic between Adriana and me thrumming in my ears.
It’s why I hesitate in response to her offer of more wine. Knowing I can’t afford to lose my inhibitions around her. ‘I shouldn’t,’ I say.
She grins, a glint in her eye. ‘Go on, it’s Friday. And we’re celebrating your moving in.’
She holds my gaze, and it’s hard to say no to her. Plus, thinking about what a rough few weeks she’s had, I don’t want to upset her. It’s a big house, and I can tell she’s enjoying having some company again.
‘OK, sure,’ I sigh. ‘But I know I’m going to regret it in the morning. I’m supposed to be going for a run, remember?’
She grins again, the same glow lighting up her face. ‘You’re young, you’ll brush it off in no time. Some water and a strong coffee and you’ll be as right as rain. It’s when you reach nearly forty like me that the hangovers are tougher to get over.’ She tops up my glass as I hold the stem steady at its base, a little scared of how much I’m enjoying her company.
‘Come on, you’re still young yourself,’ I say. ‘Actually, I thought you were much younger.’
Shit, why did I say that? It sounds like I’m flirting with her. It’s the wine talking. I’m usually so reserved around women, but the booze has loosened my tongue. Although perhaps that’s just an excuse for what’s really going on here. The fact that I have this innate desire to flatter her. Make her feel good about herself, just because she’s so lovely. Plus, I feel a connection with her. Both of us orphans, having lost the people we loved most in this world, and yet finding solace in our creative pursuits. She’s beautiful but she doesn’t flaunt it the way some women do, and I can’t help finding that incredibly attractive.
Adriana narrows her eyes, her lips curling up at the sides. ‘Are you flirting with me? Because if you are, don’t stop on my account. I need all the compliments I can get at my age. Keep them coming.’
Another smile and I feel my face flush. She may not flaunt her beauty, but she’s not afraid of voicing out loud what she’s thinking. Such a contrast to the girls I’ve dated casually in the past. Coy and reticent to speak their minds for fear of putting a step wrong. Her directness is refreshing. Sexy.
‘Gosh, I hope I didn’t embarrass you,’ she says before sipping her wine. ‘I meant it as a compliment.’ She sits back in her chair, cocks her head to one side. ‘How is it that a nice, handsome guy like you, well spoken and polite, doesn’t have a girlfriend? You’re twenty-five, right?’
I nod. ‘Yep. And perhaps there’s your answer, I’m too young to be tied down.’
Her gaze drills through me. ‘Maybe. Or perhaps there’s more to it than that?’ She stops talking but her focus never leaves me. Brutal yet breathtaking. Again, it makes me wonder if she’s been looking into my background. Or maybe she’s just naturally perceptive? Just as I’m pondering this, she darts up from her chair, starts pirouetting around the room like a young girl, still holding her glass, if not a little precariously. It throws me a little. ‘Oh, to be twenty-five again.’ She swigs more wine. I can tell she’s a bit tipsy. ‘My twenties were the best years of my life.’ She stops spinning, comes to a standstill, and yet still waves her glass around. ‘University, meeting Charles, marrying him in the Seychelles in front of fifty friends and family. I’m not sure I’ll ever have that kind of happiness again. Be that content.’
As I hear her reminisce about Charles and their idyllic wedding I feel a tug of jealousy, but I also have this delicious desire to get up and kiss her. Thankfully, I’m not that plastered and manage to restrain myself.
‘Don’t say that, you have plenty of time to find someone else and marry again,’ I say.
‘But that’s just it, I don’t want to marry again.’ She sits back down. ‘There’ll never be another Charles. Whoever I meet will always be in his shadow, and that wouldn’t be fair on them.’
I admire her devotion to her husband, and again can’t help feeling slightly envious of the man she clearly put on a pedestal. He must have been one special bloke, and it tells me Jasper’s wrong. That there’s nothing iffy about the way Charles Wentworth died. It was an accident, pure and simple. Nothing more sinister to it.
‘And what about you?’ she says. ‘Do you want marriage, kids, some day?’
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘One day. But I’m not in any hurry.’ I don’t tell her I’m too scared to have kids of my own. Knowing that I’d be forced to hide so much from them. My real name, for example, along with the ugly truth I carry around with me night and day.
There’s that same intense stare. As if she’s digesting my response, trying to decide if I’m being truthful with her. Whether she can trust me. Why is that? She can’t have discovered my name change. Under UK law I was never obliged to register it with any official body. But then, just like that, it eases.
‘And what about you?’ I ask. ‘You never wanted children?’
She sighs. ‘I did, but Charles and I had trouble conceiving. I guess it might have happened eventually, but now we’ll never know.’
I feel bad for asking the question. I should have known better considering what a sensitive topic having kids can be. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.’
She shrugs her shoulders. ‘It’s fine. I’m not sure I’d have been any good at raising kids anyway. My own mother wasn’t maternal at all, so there’s every chance I’d have been just as bad.’
I hadn’t expected that. Her revelation is laced with bitterness. I think back to when I asked her if she missed her parents. Her response had struck me as odd at the time, but now it makes more sense. Unlike my mum who showered me with love, it’s clear from Adriana’s remark that hers was a very different experience.
I shake my head. ‘Not necessarily. I agree our childhoods can shape who we are as adults. But I also believe it can go either way. Sure, there are some who repeat their parents’ mistakes, but there are others who learn from them, make a conscious choice not to replicate them, to do things better. I may not have known you for long, but I can tell you’d make a great mum.’
Fuck, I think I am drunk after all. And way too emotional. It’s always been my problem, but Mum said it was what she loved about me. That I wasn’t afraid to show my emotions. She said it was a rare quality in a man and something I should never feel ashamed of. Just thinking about her words, remembering the unconditional love in her eyes, makes my own well up. Shit, not in front of Adriana, I tell myself. I do my best to stifle my tears, briefly turn away and pretend to rub some imaginary dust from my eye in the hope that Adriana won’t notice.
But she’s not easily fooled. She reaches out and takes my hand, and I have no choice but to make eye contact with her. She edges closer, so close I can smell her perfume, my pulse accelerating. ‘I think that’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me,’ she says. ‘Thank you.’ She holds my gaze and this time I can’t stop a tear from escaping.
‘You’re welcome,’ I say.
She smiles. ‘I can tell you were thinking of your own mother when you said that.’ Before I have time to respond, she’s wiped away my tear with her thumb, and there’s a moment when I think something more is going to happen between us, that we might kiss, something I want so badly, and yet know what a terrible idea it would be. But then, just like that, she stands up and starts clearing the table, and I feel both relieved and deflated.
I help her clear then stack the dishwasher. ‘I’ll show you how to use the other appliances tomorrow,’ Adriana says. ‘Washing machine, oven, and so on.’
‘That would be great.’ I smile, slightly thrown by how we’ve gone from having such an intimate moment to talking about kitchen appliances. ‘You mentioned you have a cleaner?’ I say.
‘Yes, Maria comes Mondays and Fridays, for four hours at a time. It’s not easy keeping this place spotless, as you can imagine.’
‘I can, not easy at all.’
‘I like to keep things clean and tidy,’ Adriana elaborates. ‘Charles used to joke I had OCD, but I’ve always had a thing about cleanliness. My mother was the same, and I guess it became ingrained in me. Of course, I’m fortunate to be able to afford for Maria to come twice a week.’
‘There’s nothing wrong in keeping things tidy. I shall try my best to live up to your expectations.’
‘Thank you.’
Another awkward moment. I glance at my watch. It’s only ten but I’m not thinking straight having consumed nearly a bottle of wine and I desperately need to extract myself from this uncomfortable situation. ‘Well, it’s been a long day, a long week, in fact. I’ll just grab some water, then hit the hay. Unless there’s anything you need me to do?’
I pour myself a tall glass of water from the filter jug in the fridge while waiting for her to respond. She smiles. ‘No, I’m fine, you go ahead. I’ll lock up, set the alarm. Sleep well.’
‘You too.’
I’m about to leave when she stops me in my tracks. ‘Wait, let me write down the alarm code for you in case you decide to go for a run before I’m up.’
‘Oh yes, good idea.’
She opens a drawer and pulls out a notepad, finds a clean page and jots down the code, rips the page out and hands it to me. ‘Here you go.’
I thank her with a smile, then leave. Back upstairs in my room, I crash out on the bed and for a few minutes just lie there replaying the evening over in my mind. There’s something so captivating about Adriana, and right now in my hazy alcohol-fuelled stupor all I can see is her face, the way she smiles, the way her hair falls in loose waves down her shoulders, the lost-soul look in her lovely eyes, a trait I recognise in myself. But I know I need to stop thinking about her that way. Truth is, we’re worlds apart in ages and backgrounds and nothing could ever come of it. Plus, I’ve never been one for casual flings or one-night stands, that just isn’t me, it never will be, and I’m guessing, from the way she talks about her late husband, it’s not Adriana either. It’s clear she’s still in love with Charles. Besides, I have too many secrets of my own to make a meaningful relationship with anyone possible.
Within ten minutes, I fall fast asleep, but wake at three a.m., still in my clothes and desperately needing a pee. ‘Fuck,’ I say out loud, realising how cold I am, having been lying on top of the covers for the past five hours, while my head is throbbing from the wine. I knew I’d regret that extra glass. I lean over and grab my water, knock it back, wishing I’d brought two glasses up with me. I can’t go downstairs and get a refill now as the damn alarm will go off and I might wake Adriana. I’ll just have to accept feeling like shit when I go for my run. If, that is, I make it. I hoist myself off the bed, head for the bathroom, pee then quickly brush my teeth and scramble into my pyjamas. I’m just clambering back into bed when my phone on the bedside table lights up. I half think about ignoring it, but then decide I’d better check, just in case the person I’m desperate to get in contact with about Dad has finally emailed me back. To my dismay they haven’t. But there is one new message that catches my eye, because it’s from an address I don’t recognise. Protego@vistamail.com. I’m conscious it could be spam, but still click on it, intrigued. In retrospect, I wish I hadn’t. Because once I’ve read it, I’m suddenly very much awake. And terrified.
Hello Sebastian, I do hope you’re settling in OK. You don’t know me, but I’m an old friend of Adriana’s. I quite like you, I think you’re different to the last one, but I sense you’re hiding something. Something you’re ashamed of. I’ve tried to find out what it is, but you cover your tracks well, suspiciously well in fact, and so I’ve decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. For now, that is. But you need to know that if you hurt her like others have, you’ll wish you’d never been born. You also need to tell your friend Jasper to stop meddling, because no good will come of it. Ethan meddled and we all know where that got him. Tell Jasper to back off, because if he doesn’t, I’ll have no choice but to intervene. She’s been hurt too many times in the past. By people who didn’t deserve her, who lied to her, betrayed her, took advantage of her sweet nature, and I just can’t bear to see that happen again.
One last thing – don’t even think about showing this to your landlady or changing your mind about living there. You’ll be placing her in grave danger if you do, plus you’ll upset her, and I feel sure, from the way you look at her, that’s the last thing you want.
Sweet dreams, Sebastian. I’ll be watching you. I hope your first night is a restful one.
I was cold before but now I’m chilled to the bone. How the fuck am I supposed to sleep now? I shoot up from the bed, start darting around the room, scanning the walls, the ceiling, the far corners, then underneath my bed, the desk, literally everywhere I can think of, looking for some kind of camera or listening device. Because it’s obvious this place is bugged, and that someone is watching me. Is that why Adriana’s been acting so nervy? Does she suspect she’s being spied on? Is that why she clammed up when I mentioned the man I saw standing at the end of the street when Jasper and I arrived? Is he behind the email? Does he have some kind of hold over her? It would explain why she snapped at me when I asked her who she thought he might be?
The sender claims to be an old friend. But how do I know they’re telling the truth? That they’re not just some crazed stalker who’s obsessed with Adriana, who fantasises about being her friend when, really, it’s all just a figment of their imagination? It happens to celebrities all the time. And maybe because this person is infatuated with her, they’re looking to scare her lodgers, yours truly being the next target. Even so, the reference to Ethan is beyond disturbing. Was his death really an accident, or at the instigation of whoever wrote the email? Whoever this person is, it’s clear they’ve been delving into my background, but thankfully don’t appear to have found anything. Yet. Just knowing there’s someone out there who suspects I’m hiding something is freaking me out, though. Because the fact is, they’re right, I am hiding something. Something big.
And how do I know they won’t stop digging until they discover the truth?