If everyone showed up they were in trouble, if they claimed vacant seats too soon and the people who’d paid for them were simply late, they were in bigger trouble. This wasn’t like being in the wrong seat at the theatre. You couldn’t simply shuffle over. They couldn’t afford to draw any attention to themselves and the plan needed time to ripen.
Darcy watched the room intently. She needed to avoid being seen by Peter Parker or Aileen McVale. It helped she looked wildly different in her finery from the woman who’d come out swinging in their office this morning. More importantly, she needed to track Will.
She knew the knots in her stomach were about the risk of getting caught, not nervousness about seeing him. Because there was no guarantee he’d come, and no way to anticipate how seeing him again would make her feel. Her knuckles were bruised and sore but her resolve had hardened. She hated Will Parker and he’d get what he deserved.
“This is more fun than a mudslide,” said Robert, exchanging his empty glass of wine for a full one as a waiter swept by. “You know charity is controlled by the Party here. Private charitable organisations, like what Parker is doing, are a big deal.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking so much, honey,” said Darcy, taking the glass from his hand. She didn’t think Parker and charity belonged in the same sentence. “Are you all set? If we’re lucky I’ll spot Will quickly, and we won’t even need to find a table.”
“And if he doesn’t come?”
Darcy shrugged, making the fringed beading on her skirt shimmer. “Then I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go.” And totally screwed over.
“Stand there while I test the camera for this light,” said Robert, moving Darcy to the left of the orchids. “Smile, babe,” he laughed.
While Robert played with camera settings, Darcy saw Aileen sweep into the room on the arm of a much older man. The banker husband had white hair and a regal manner. In a full-length red satin dress that left her shoulders bare and had slits to both thighs and black elbow length gloves, Aileen looked part royal consort, part dominatrix.
Peter Parker made an entry a few minutes behind her. His date, wife, escort, whoever she was, wore virginal white, the dress so tight she was forced to take small steps. Twice Peter had to turn back to look for her. He seemed impatient about that. He looked like the wealthiest man in the room. Everything about him seemed to shine.
Seeing Aileen and Peter was a relief. It was a sign this plan had a chance. There’d been every possibility the event was sponsored by Parker but more junior company flunkies did the honours. Gerry had bet on it. It was a spine-stiffener to know Gerry was wrong.
Darcy watched the door. Will wasn’t already in the room, she was sure of it, so maybe he really wasn’t coming. She couldn’t think about that. She turned her attention to the fast filling tables. She needed to find places they could sit. Right up until the official speeches there was still a chance Will might show.
She jumped when Robert touched her hand. “Over there, table thirty-two.” He was pointing towards the back of the room. “Someone’s kid’s sick, we can sit there.”
“How do you know that?”
He laughed. “My father is deaf. I lip-read.”
“You could’ve told me that.”
“Like a good
Lin Gui
I like to keep my weapons hidden.”
“
Lin
what?”
“Chinese Ninja. Come on, I’m starving.”
At the table, Robert said, “Smile and nod,” and launched into introductions, explanations, who knew, but Darcy smiled and nodded, and got smiles and nods back from the others at the table.
Sitting down she felt less conspicuous, but it was also harder to scope the room out. In this crowd, maybe five hundred people, she might never see Will.
The first dishes arrived. Shark fin soup, braised abalone with vegetables, sirloin steak with broccoli. Waiters circled with wine. Peter Parker worked the other end of the room, shaking hands and laughing. Robert said he was speaking Shanghainese, talking about fundraising. More dishes arrived. Crispy whole fried chicken, stir fried lobster with ginger and scallions, steamed fish. Darcy took Robert’s glass away and two of the women at the table laughed. Husbands who drank too much were obviously a problem needing no common language.
Dessert arrived. Sweet red bean soup and dish made of ground chestnuts and whipped cream called Peking Dust. A band started playing and couples got up to dance.
Will Parker slipped into the room when Darcy had given up expecting to see him. When she’d chugged her own second glass of wine and copped an elbow in her bead-covered ribs from Robert.
She was separated from Will by four rows of tables and a mass of swirling movement, but she knew he’d arrived because chills rolled up the back of her neck. He was directly in her line of sight. She grabbed Robert’s arm and sank into his side as Will’s gaze roved across the room. His unruly hair was brushed smooth. His tux was an old-fashioned glamour number with satin stripes down the pants legs. He had the jacket slung carelessly over his shoulder and his bow tie was undone. He looked every bit the wily pirate and her pulse pounded at the sight of him.
He was looking for someone and for one untamed moment Darcy hoped it was her. Then she remembered.
“Babe,” said Robert and he flung an arm around her shoulders. “That him?”
“That’s him.” She kept her face averted, eyes down on her lap.
“He’s a commanding looking dude.”
“He’s a duplicitous bastard.”
“He’s, er, coming this way.”
Darcy jammed her new shoes hard into the wood panel floor scrambling to push away from the table. She had to move now, get out before Will found her.
Robert was in her ear, holding her arm. “Be still, he’ll walk past.”
The older woman sitting next to Darcy leaned across and said something to Robert. He replied, then said, “I told her you had morning sickness.”
Darcy smiled weakly at the woman who nodded, smiled and patted her hand. The next contact she felt was on the top of her shoulder. She knew that touch. It stung like sunburn, it burned like deceit.
“Darcy.”
She was undone.
She didn’t need to be a lip-reader to understand Robert mouthing, “Shit!”
There was nothing she could do but face her betrayer. She pushed back her chair and stood. His name weighed down her tongue, making it hard to speak. “Will.”
He might have asked why she was here, insisted she leave. He might have called security, or grabbed her by the hair and hauled her out of the room himself. He said, “Dance with me,” holding out his hand, expecting her to take it.
“Don’t mind me,” said Robert, who’d scrambled to his feet as well.
Will laughed. He appeared to notice Robert for the first time. “I’ll bring her back. Darcy?”
After pretending not to know her name, he was intent on wearing it out.
“Go away, Will.”
He stepped in behind her, his hip bumping hers, surrounding her with the citrus tang of his cologne. “What are you doing here?” His hand closed around the back of her neck and her bones started to liquefy.
“I’m here with a colleague.” She tried to pull away, but one thumb rubbed small circles up the column of her neck and anchored her in place.
“I don’t care. Dance with me.”
“No.”
His lips brushed her ear, “You’re divine.”
She angled her face away from him. “I hate you.” Not an adult response. He’d turned her into a sixteen year old, broken-hearted over Nathan Tucker all over again.
He ran his hand down her back till it rested at her waist. “No, you don’t.”
“Stop telling me what to do.” She spun to face him. “Stop telling me what to think.” His arm was around her, he yanked her to him. “Stop making me feel this way.”
The words were out before she understood they told him too much. She saw understanding in the flex of his eyebrow, in the fire in his eyes. He was going to kiss her. She was going to scream.
She pushed against his chest and he captured her wrists, moved backwards between two tables until they were on the edge of the dance floor.
“Let me go, Will.” He wrapped her close, she had nowhere to put her hands but on his shoulders.
“You came to me.” He whirled her around. “I thought you’d never want to see my ugly mug again.”
She played her joker card. “That’s ridiculous. How could I know you’d be here?”
He laughed. “You lie.”
He could see through her. “Let me go or I’ll scream.
“I thought you liked to dance with me. You did before.”
“Before I knew you as lying, cheating, bastard, scum. Let me go now. You’re not allowed anywhere near me. Peter made that perfectly clear.”
“Is Peter the problem? Fuck Peter. He works for me.”
“You’re the problem.”
They were surrounded by other couples. He stopped. Dropped his arms. “I’m sorry, Darcy. I never meant for you to get hurt.”
They were standing chest to chest, breathing each other’s air. She should’ve run from him. She closed her eyes. She detested him, but his nearness was sending her senses into hyper-drive, locking her knees and gluing her feet to the dance floor. Her heart was thumping so loudly surely he could hear it. His hand found hers, his arm stole around her waist, and she let him bring her hips to his, rock them side to side, press his cheek against her hair and trace spirals on the exposed skin of her back.
She wanted to kiss him, to bite his lip until he bleed, until he understood how much he’d hurt her. To jam her stiletto into his foot until he was impaled on it, to score his chest with her nails until he bore a mark for every tear she’d cried that day over him. She wound her arm around his neck and listened to him hum the Sinatra tune in her ear.
She was under his skin and he wasn’t going to see her coming.
When the song ended and applause broke out around them, she pulled out of his arms without a word or a glance, turned her back on him and left him in the middle of the floor.
“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.” — Confucius
Robert had his nose in another glass of wine when she got back to the table. “Jesus, Darcy. I thought you disliked the guy?”
She took her seat and the women who’d patted her hand grunted and turned her head away in disgust.
“I hate him.”
“Anyway I got the pics, we can go.”
She grabbed her purse, this nightmare was nearly over. “Hold on, am I in all of them?”
“Well, he was wrapped around you like poison bloody ivy.”
“No, that won’t do.” Last thing she wanted published was photos of herself in Will’s arms, and there was only so much even the best photoshopping could do. “We need a clean shot of him.”
“Righto, well where is he now?” Robert knelt up in his seat to look around. Darcy let him do the up periscope routine while she gulped another glass of wine. She needed this, and Will deserved whatever she could dish out. She’d been nervous but focused when they’d arrived, but seeing him, being so close to him, breathing in the warmth of his skin and hearing him say her name had rattled her.
“I’ve got him.”
Robert was standing. He hauled Darcy to her feet and stood her in the walkway between the tables. The walkway that wound its way right to where Will was standing. He lifted his camera and went to work. Anyone watching would see a man taking an overly enthusiastic amount of photos of his partner. With her back to Will it should’ve been easier for Darcy to ham it up for the camera, but she couldn’t shake the feeling he was watching her.
“Relax, he’s not looking at us,” said Robert. He put his hand on Darcy’s shoulder and walked her backwards, until he had the distance and angle he wanted. “Say cheese, babe.”
“Too close.” Darcy fought the urge to look over her shoulder to see exactly how far Will was. “What’s he doing?”
“Standing there like a wallflower. A waiter just brought him a Scotch.”
“How do you know it’s Scotch?”
“Lips remember. The guy has class. It’s a sixteen year old Lagavulin, neat. Bet it’s a double. Back up a little more.”
“No, it’s too close.”
“It’s fine, he has no idea. These are great shots.”
Despite goose pimples from the fear of being caught, the tight clench in Darcy’s body was beginning to unwind. In two minutes they’d be out of here. In another five she could be in her room with her shoes off, pulling the pins from her hair, and celebrating with an eight dollar Toblerone from the minibar.
Robert looked up from his viewfinder and his brow creased. “Oh shit!” He shoved the camera behind his back and started to back away. Before Darcy could figure out what was happening, she was knocked sideways into a waiter as two enormous men in dark suits with radio mics in their ears brushed by. The waiter’s tray tipped and his load spilled onto a group of guests, releasing a torrent of loud complaints and a cloud of alcohol. Darcy rubbed her elbow. Robert had put a table between himself and his pursuers. He had a cheeky grin on his face, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight, but they were closing in on him.
One of the men went right, the other left. Heads turned. People swivelled in their seats to see what was happening. Robert was caught in a pincer movement and virtually lifted off the ground. He was marched out the nearest exit, leaving Darcy scrambling to grab her purse and follow.
She burst through the exit but there was no sign of Robert or the security team. He’d disappeared. Then she heard rapid fire Shanghainese. The voice was unmistakable. She ran down the corridor and around a corner. Robert was being held down on his knees by the security goons. Will reared over him with Robert’s camera in his hand. It was all over unless she did something.
They didn’t know she was there, standing side-on to them. She took her phone from her purse and hit record. She shot film of Will as he berated Robert, as he confiscated the camera. She kept filming when Robert was released and stood up, when Will pulled the memory card from Robert’s camera, pocketed it, and shoved the camera back in Robert’s hands.
Robert’s eyes finding hers gave her away. She had enough time to slide the phone into her purse before Will turned.