Secrets After Dark (17 page)

He’s panting hard in my ear, a throaty noise that buzzes against me, setting off more tiny, crackling fireworks. Then he puts two fingers to my bud and starts to stroke me hard and fast, rubbing back and around, exciting it beyond endurance. It’s all it takes to push me over the edge. I hear a high-pitched sound, a keening ‘oh’, and I know it’s my own voice, as I suddenly rush into the torrent of my orgasm. It’s all it takes to make him come as well and he thrusts harder still but more slowly, his grip at my waist tightening even more tightly and his weight pressing me forward as he’s possessed by the force of his climax. At least it subsides, and we are both left panting. His penis is still hard and thick within me and my muscles hold him there tightly as though unwilling to let go of their beautiful plaything.

‘Sweet girl, did you enjoy that?’ he whispers, his arm now tight around my waist, supporting us both. His mouth moves in my hair, kissing me lightly.

I nod, speechless.

‘Did you want it?’

I nod again.

‘Did you need it?’

‘Yes...’ I whisper, my voice light with post-orgasmic weakness.

He withdraws gently, and I sigh as he pulls out, wishing we could stay joined together for ever. A moment later I feel a soft cloth beneath me. He’s taken a handkerchief and is wiping me tenderly, making sure that his spending isn’t pouring down my thigh. ‘There,’ he says.

The next moment, I’m overcome with tiredness. It isn’t simply fatigue, but a black, all-encompassing exhaustion that utterly saps me. As Dominic is pulling my skirt back into place and I’m trying to put my neckline straight again, I am suddenly overwhelmed by it. My knees begin to buckle and I go weak.

He catches me as I start to fall.

‘Tired out, sweetheart?’ he says, but his voice sounds distant and slightly warped.

Thank God he’s here,
I think, and it’s my last conscious thought before I switch off like a light and everything goes into blackness.

Chapter Ten

I wake in the morning and have no idea where I am, only that my head is pounding and I’m dying of thirst. My eyes hurt as the morning sunlight burns my lids and it is a while before I can open them and look around at my surroundings. I’m naked in a bed in a hotel room, a luxurious one judging by the look of it and by the fact that my bed is a vast double with a toile de Jouy canopy over it. But I’m alone.

I groan at the throbbing in my head, and manage to get myself out of the bed and into the nearby bathroom to get a glass of water. My reflection is truly shocking: my hair is all over the place, my eyes are bloodshot and my skin pale and dry where it isn’t red and blotchy.

‘Oh my goodness,’ I say, appalled. ‘What the hell happened?’

I try to recall the previous evening. It is all clear enough until the time when Dominic started dancing with Anna. After that, I have to put everything back piece by piece, searching for flashes of memory until it gradually comes back. I remember how odd I felt, how spacy and disconnected. I remember the horrible panic of being alone in those tunnels, and the strange writhing on the floors of the caves I passed, as if they were covered with snakes slithering over one another.
Then... of course...
In the mirror I see my face respond to the memory as my eyes widen and I draw in a sharp breath. I met Dominic in the tunnel. He found me. He rescued me. So where is he now? And who the hell put me to bed?

It takes several glasses of water, a bath and a cup of sweet tea to revive me even a little. The pain in my head subsides to a low thud.
This is so weird. I don’t have any clothes except last night’s dress. I don’t even have a hairbrush or my phone. I hope Laura isn’t worried about me, I told her I’d be home even if it was late. And I have no idea where I am, or where anyone else is.

I assume I’m in the hotel where Andrei and I dined last night. I’m staring at the phone and considering calling Reception to ask for Mr Dubrovski’s room, when there’s a knock at the door. I pull the hotel bathrobe I’m wearing a little tighter around me and go to answer it.

A bellboy stands outside, holding a large breakfast tray. ‘Room service,’ he says, and I stand back to let him in. He sets up the tray on a folding table by a white armchair, lifting the silver cloche on the tray to reveal soft scrambled eggs falling over toasted muffins with folds of dark-pink smoked salmon on the side. A cafetière of coffee, a glass of juice and a small basket of French pastries completes the meal. As I smell the coffee’s rich aroma, I realise that I’m starving.

The waiter prepares to leave and says, ‘Mr Dubrovski sends his compliments, miss. He says someone will be here to collect you in one hour.’

‘Thank you,’ I reply. So that’s part of the mystery solved.
The rest will have to wait until after I’ve had my breakfast.

Restored by the delicious food, I put on my evening dress, which has been carefully draped over a chair –
who did that? I don’t think it was me
– and dry my hair with the hopeless hotel dryer and only my fingers as a comb, so that I’m ready when the knock comes an hour later.

It’s strange that last night this dress was the most gorgeous thing in the world. It feels all wrong this morning. Like a badge of shame. Like I’ve had a one-night stand and everyone’s going to know.

I open the door expecting to see Dubrovski standing there, but instead it is Anna, laughing, her slanted green eyes dancing.

‘Oh wow,’ she says through her laughter. ‘You look pretty bad.’

‘You don’t,’ I say honestly. She is bright and fresh in a white shirt, black pencil skirt and a bright blue cardigan belted at the waist. Her make-up is perfect and her dark hair ripples glossily over her shoulders.

‘The fact I have luggage might have something to do with it,’ she says, with a touch of sympathy. ‘Here.’ She holds out a black trench-coat and I take it gratefully.

‘I wasn’t expecting to come to a party last night,’ I say as I put the coat on. It’s a little too big as Anna is taller than I am, but it’ll do very well. ‘Let alone stay the night somewhere. I didn’t even bring a wrap.’

‘Don’t worry, we’re only going from here to the car. You’ll be home again in no time,’ Anna says cheerfully, and we start walking together down the hotel corridor.

I feel a little awkward as I say tentatively, ‘Anna, I know this sounds awful, but I’m a bit hazy about what happened at the end of last night...’

‘I know,’ she replies as we near the lift. She presses the button to call it. ‘I could tell you were out of it when Andrei brought you up out of the cave.’

‘Andrei brought me up?’ I frown. That doesn’t sound right.

Anna nods, watching the lift indicator that shows it’s approaching. ‘Yes. Dominic and I were waiting for you at the entrance to the catacombs, and Andrei brought you out. Well... he carried you, really. You were sound asleep, or passed out, or whatever. Then the driver he organised drove us all back here in the Bentley. It was a little cramped but we managed.’ Her green eyes slide to me as the lift pings and the doors open. As we step inside, she says, ‘It was me who put you to bed, in case you’re wondering. All very proper, no men allowed.’

This is a relief, though I can’t help flushing slightly as I imagine the beautiful Anna tussling with my unconscious body, somehow getting the evening dress off me and discovering my lack of underwear underneath. It’s not exactly a charming picture.

‘You must have had a lot to drink,’ she says as the lift descends. ‘Or maybe you’re not used to it, huh? Andrei forgets that not everyone was brought up with vodka in their milk.’

‘That’s the funny thing,’ I say, frowning. ‘I had some wine with dinner, a martini and a glass of champagne, but all of that was stretched over hours and I felt fine until we were—’

Just then, the lift doors open and we step out into the lobby. I recognise it from the night before. Standing by the front door are Andrei, still in his evening clothes but without a bow-tie, and Dominic, in a dark pinstripe suit and holding a suit bag over one arm. They turn to see us. Anna’s heels click loudly on the floor tiles as we approach.

‘Good morning,’ cries Andrei effusively. ‘How are you? All right? Recovered?’ He walks a few steps towards me and takes my hand. ‘I must apologise to you. It’s all my fault. I kept you up far too late, and made you mix your drinks. No wonder you felt so sleepy. Please forgive me.’

‘Of course I forgive you,’ I say, a little stiffly from my embarrassment. ‘I hope I didn’t make a fool of myself.’ My gaze slides involuntarily to Dominic. He’s looking at me intently, his expression impassive except for a faint light of tenderness and encouragement mixed with concern that I’m sure only I can see. ‘Good morning,’ I say. I wish that we were able to hug one another, kiss hello. I want to draw comfort from the softness of his freshly shaven skin, the warm lemony scent of his cologne. Dammit, I wish we’d been able to sleep together, wrapped up in one another the whole night.
This situation is crazy.

‘Good morning,’ he returns. ‘Did you sleep all right?’ His voice is perfectly normal but I think there is an undertone of intimacy that I hope no one else will detect.

‘Yes, thank you.’

Andrei pats my shoulder. ‘Are you ready to go? Let’s head home. The car is waiting in front.’

The four of us go out onto the gravelled forecourt. The hotel looks quite different from last night, when it was floodlit by golden beams. In the grey autumn morning, it’s a chillier sight but still beautiful. The Bentley waits, its front wheels turned expectantly towards the gate. We climb in, Andrei and Dominic in the front, Anna and me in the back. As Andrei turns on the engine and drives out of the front gate in a spray of gravel, I sit back in my leather seat, the sense of puzzlement I felt earlier coming back to me like the memory of a bad dream.

What is it that’s bothering me?

Apart from having to pretend that I barely know my boyfriend?

Apart from the fact that I passed out and had to be carried by my boss?

That’s it, I realise, with a clammy chill. Anna told me that she and Dominic were waiting for me and that Andrei brought me up to the surface. But my last memory is of being with Dominic, and having lost Andrei completely.

I stare unseeing out of the window.

What’s going on? How could I have such a big blank in my memory?
I wonder if Dominic left me alone at some point and then subtly sent Dubrovski to find me.

Left me passed out, alone, in a passageway? Surely he wouldn’t do that. Maybe I wasn’t out cold. Maybe I was conscious but just can’t recall anything.

I remember looking into Dominic’s face the previous night and hearing him say that I had to learn to trust him a little bit more. He must have handled everything the right way, he would definitely have known the best thing to do. What other explanation is there? I can hardly trust my vivid imagination, which is always eager to spring into life and paint me pictures so real I sometimes have trouble remembering that they only happened in my mind.

We’re on the motorway now, gathering pace, swiftly overtaking all the other traffic. We’re going back to London.

But this time,
I remember with relief,
Dominic will be there.
At last we’ll be together.

I smile for the first time and try to turn my thoughts towards that.

Andrei decrees that I take the rest of the day off.

Back at Albany, Dominic and Anna do not come in, but head off together with their luggage. I watch him go. It feels strange and wrong that he is going with Anna, leaving me behind with Andrei. In the guest bedroom, I put on my clothes from yesterday, leaving my beautiful new dress on the bed – after all, it doesn’t belong to me – and the earrings in their box on the dressing table. All the borrowed finery, left where it belongs. My phone has died overnight, its screen black and unresponsive, refusing to awaken until I give it some power.

When I’m dressed, I let myself out of the set very quietly, hoping not to meet anyone. I hear an unfamiliar voice in the office as I go past. That must be Marcia’s stand-in. No one sees me as I go out the front door and through the stairwell into the covered walk. I’m glad to be free. I couldn’t concentrate on art today.

I’m not as tired as I expected, though, and I certainly don’t feel like going back to my empty flat to sleep during the day. Besides, I feel ill at ease in a way I don’t understand. Then it occurs to me. I’ll go and find James. I haven’t seen him for a while and I miss him.

It is a short walk to James’s gallery, up Savile Row, through Hanover Square, over Oxford Street and along Regent Street, then off through smaller, windier back ways to the Riding House Gallery. It’s just as it was the first day I stumbled across it earlier in the summer. That feels like a lifetime ago. The notice in the window advertising for a temporary gallery assistant changed my life, because James decided to take a punt on a girl who walked in off the street and offered herself for the position. The only difference now is that the window is displaying a different artist and new works adorn the plain white walls within. Through the glass, I can see James’s assistant Salim at the desk, looking at something on the computer, but no sign of James himself.

‘Hi, Salim,’ I say as I enter. ‘How are you?’

‘Beth, hi.’ Salim grins. We’ve met a couple of times since he took his old job back. ‘Good to see you. Have you come to catch James?’