Liam calls, “Babe, where are my glasses?”
“Where they always are, on the side in your study.”
I turn back and stare at the computer screen, feeling the bile rise in my throat. Vincent Debruges stares back at me with the cold eyes of a sexual predator. He gives me the creeps and I feel physically sick every time I meet him. I begged my boss to find someone else, but he was adamant it had to be me. I’m not stupid, I know he’s had it in for me since I arrived. Word is, he wanted the position filled by his buddy from university but the powers that be wanted a woman to balance their diversity levels. It’s no wonder I have to work extra hard to gain any approval from the men I work with because they just look at me as a ticked box – a statistic that prevents their company from adverse publicity at a later date.
Sighing, I try to study the case as if my eyes are a microscope looking for ways to plead his case. It’s obvious he’s guilty, from the evidence taken from the victims and the video evidence from the children involved. Two of the children were from his own family and the hurt and betrayal in the eyes of them and both parents will live with me to my dying day. I hope I lose this case and the bastard gets three life sentences and never gets out. I hope this man pays the price in an extremely violent way in prison and I hope he suffers because what he did to those poor children will affect them and everyone who knows about it to their dying day.
The door opens softly and Liam moves behind me and I relax as the familiar scent of whisky and tobacco fills my senses. “Come to bed.”
I lean back as he massages my shoulders and his breath fans my neck as he gently nips at the side causing me to melt. If I had one wish right now, it would be to do exactly as he says, but I don’t have that luxury because this case is too important to let slide, so I say with bitterness, “You know I can’t.”
He increases the pressure and I moan gently as he runs his fingers under my top and strokes my skin like a favourite pet. He spins the office chair to face him and drops to his knees, taking my lips in his and demanding entrance. Clasping my head, he punishes me with his tongue, tying mine with his and demonstrating that ‘no’ is not an option. It never was when it came to him, which is why we’re here today.
He pushes my skirt up with his other hand and gently traces a path to my thigh and as if by magic, my legs fall apart as easily as they always have – for him.
Yes, I can deny Liam Davis nothing and never could, and even the thought of failure makes no difference at all as I allow him to pull me from my chair and against his hard body.
As Liam gets what he wants as always, Vincent De Bruges stares out from the computer screen, a silent reminder that my life’s not perfect and probably never will be.
* * *
No amount of coffee will keep me awake and with a sinking feeling, I slip one of my pills into my mouth and take a sip of cool water from the fridge. I worked until 3am and it’s now 5. Two hours of a fitful sleep before I leave for London and another day spent trying to build a guilty man into an innocent one. Liam is still sleeping and I wonder how he does it. Nothing fazes him, he just carries on regardless and always seems to land on his feet. A quick shag in my office was as much attention as I could give him yesterday and I know his patience will soon run thin. Liam is, and always was, an extremely sexual man and likes it regularly and won’t take a simple ‘no’ for an answer.
Briefly, I watch him sleep and my heart settles. It was worth it; it was all worth it because of him - this house and our new life. Once this case is over, I will book us a much-needed holiday and indulge in two glorious weeks with the man I love. They owe me the time off and Liam never has to worry about that as he is the boss of the building company he owns on the outskirts of Brighton. Business is good and money is no object, time though is scarce and I vow to make a little more of it for him because if I don’t, I’m under no illusions I could lose him.
As soon as I’m showered, dressed and fed, I grab my briefcase and laptop and head outside. Flicking the electronic device to my BMW, I climb into the sports car and shiver slightly as my bare legs hit the leather surface of the seats. The mornings are crisp and cold and yet it’s still summer and as the sun warms the air as the day goes on, the last thing I need is warm clothing to make me uncomfortable.
The sun is rising majestically in the sky, bathing the dawn in a rosy glow, and I take a moment to snap the pink sky that proves what a miracle worker Nature is. Nothing can compare to her mastery, and I love that I get to see her at her best before the day takes over.
All around the development, the inhabitants sleep and the shuttered windows hide their occupants behind them. I always envy them their safe, warm beds as I start the commute to my office in London.
Life would be so much easier if I worked from home, or not at all, as is the case for most of the women here. Marriage and babies, the perfect home and a loving husband, how I used to turn my nose up at that, now I realise its power because as it turns out, I want nothing more.
As I back out from the driveway, my heart sinks as I realise that when I return the sun will be setting. It will be a different photograph I take and one that shows I’ve missed out on another day spent in suburbia, living the life I always dreamt of. However, that will have to be put on hold until I am established in a company many would kill to work at. Hammers and Goldstein, a law firm in the prestigious Canary Wharf and well known in its field. I am one of several solicitors working on this case and today we have a meeting with Geoffrey Monroe, the Barrister in charge of defending our despicable client.
Geoffrey Monroe is very good at his job and any information we feed him better be factual and researched impeccably because he will strip it bare and call out any mistakes before morning coffee.
I can’t be the person who fails in that roomful of men, all waiting for the inevitable to happen. I know they will scrutinise my work more closely and reserve their harshest criticism for whatever I present. It’s always been the same and I can’t see it changing in the foreseeable future, but I am determined to make it. I’ll show them and I’ll show them well.
As I make my way to the end of our little street, I stop at the junction to check the road is clear. It always is because nobody else leaves at 5.30am every day, but today I must wait because a black car is crawling towards me and I look with interest. I know that car.
For a moment, I just watch as it passes me and turns into the driveway of the house with the pretty pink door. I hesitate as the lights dim and the door opens and I lift my phone to pretend I’m texting, buying me a little more time to observe. I’ve never seen the person who lives here and I’m mildly curious, so as a leg swings from the door onto the driveway, I shift my car in gear and crawl past, winding the window down and smiling brightly at the man who looks at me in surprise.
“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met.”
I stop at the end of his driveway and he looks up in surprise as he hears me speak.
He looks confused and I wave my hand towards Sycamore avenue. “I live around the corner, we’re neighbours of sorts, it’s good to meet you.”
He nods and appears a little unsure what to do next, so I say in a friendly voice, “I’m Jasmine, sorry I didn’t catch your name.”
I can tell he feels uncomfortable, but he’s backed into a corner, so he shuffles towards my car and says politely, “Charlie.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Charlie, sorry to accost you on your doorstep but it appears we are the only ones who work unsociable hours in this place. Do you work nights, I hope I’m not keeping you from your bed?”
“Sometimes, not always.”
“Ah, shift work, what is it you do?”
He appears irritated but that’s never bothered me before, many people are irritated by my questions and I ask them, anyway. It’s a thirst for knowledge I’ve always had along with a suspicious mind and from where I’m sitting, this man has ‘suspicious’ written all over him.”
“Security.”
He smiles and says quickly, “Sorry, it’s been a long night, it was nice to meet you… um… Jasmine.”
“Same, oh, and Charlie…”
He stops and I almost see him sigh as he says wearily, “Yes?”
“You must come over for drinks one evening and meet the rest of the neighbours. Shall I drop an invitation into your wife later?”
I can tell he’s not happy as he looks exasperated and snaps, “I’m not married.”
He runs his fingers through his hair as if the answer to his problems lie there and then sighs and heads toward me, leaning down and mumbling, “To be honest, I’m a bit of a loner. I like to keep myself to myself and don’t really have the time for social events. Thanks for the offer though, but I must say no. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
He turns away and this time I watch him go, saying nothing until the door clicks shut behind him.
As I start the engine and close the window, I think about what I discovered. Charlie, whatever his name is, was lying through that grim cruel mouth of his because I know how to spot a lie a mile away. Firstly, he was wearing a wedding ring and yet said he wasn’t married. Maybe he’s divorced or separated. That could be the case. Then the look in his eyes when I asked what he did was the one I see most days when the guilty try to think of something quickly to disguise reality. Whatever his job is, it’s not security because I know what I saw and I see it every day. A guilty man thinking on his feet to escape the truth. However, there was something familiar about his face that made me sit up and take notice. I know that face, but I can’t think where from. Who is Charlie from the house with the pretty pink door because if he’s in security, I’m tucked up safely in bed?