Page 13 of Love and Loathing

He didn’t stop, ignored all her protests, the efforts she made to free herself, the choked tears and the heat of her mortification and fear… He ignored it all, dragged her away from the lights and waiting cars and ushers at the front of the hotel to a quiet side street, a service entrance, she didn’t know, couldn’t see much through the rage of tears blurring her eyes.

Finally: “What the fuck were you thinking?”

He let her go forcefully, almost threw him from her. She stumbled a step, and the large, catering-sized bottle of tomato ketchup fell to the floor, napkins scattering in the breeze. He stared at it, then flung his gaze back at her.

“Are you fucking insane, Evie?” he shouted. “Assaulting Domnall White!”

She wiped her eyes fiercely, heedless of her makeup. “It wouldn’t have hurt him! It’s to get him in the news!” She was shaking. Spitting angry. Trembling and sick, and how she hated being looked at like this, utter contempt on Aubrey’s face. “It was to drag all his crimes back into the light!”

“And you into jail? With a criminal record? And my fucking career! Did you think about that, when you decided to use me as your unwitting accomplice?”

“They wouldn’t care about you!”

“Do you think your father would see it that way? I’d be out, Evie! Jesus fucking Christ.” He dragged his hands through his hair, then shook his head and looked at her, cold and hard. “That was all bullshit, was it? Pretending to be there for my sake because your brother couldn’t? You used my history with Liv against me, and you have the gall to accusemeof being immoral?”

“The ends justified the means.”

He gave her a long look, the disdain in his eyes its own punishment for that reply. But even though she wanted to sit down and cry, she lifted her chin, defiant, and he looked away, a muscle in his jaw clenching. Probably from fighting the urge to throttle her.

“You need arresting,” he said at last. “If you weren’t Roscoe’s sister, I’d hand you over to security myself.” He shook his head in disgust, then got his phone out, tapping on the screen.

“What are you doing? If you’re calling Roscoe…”

He gave a dark laugh. “I’d be better off calling the vet and getting you a rabies shot. No, I’m calling you a taxi, Evelyn. Because you need to go home, have a long, cold shower, and work out how you’re going to spend the rest of your life making sure I never set eyes on you again.”

SIX

Aubrey spent the weekendwith a headache, the spectres of two very different women haunting him day and night. He’d expected to be persecuted by thoughts of Liv, but the fact Evie kept forcing herself into his mind seemed completely unfair.

“Ought to be locked up,” he muttered, sitting on his sofa, a very cold beer in his hand.

“Suicidal, stupid littlewench,” he said with gritted teeth, packing his suit for the dry cleaners, scowling at the ketchup on the sleeve.

“Of all the idiotic, immature, conniving little…” he said on Monday morning as he brushed his teeth, reckoning he looked at least five years older. He stepped into the shower, water scalding hot.“Imagine bending me over this bar and…”

“No,” he told the empty, steamed-up bathroom. “Absolutely not.”

The day felt interminably long, and Aubrey was looking forward to his sofa and another ice cold beer when George Blackton stepped into his office.

Aubrey greeted him with a sinking feeling. The man normally stepped in once or twice a week for these chats. Probing for a weak spot. But today’s visit could only be for a report on last Friday’s event.

“How’d it go, then?” George asked, getting straight to it as usual.

“Fine. I think.”

“Fine? We need better than fine. I want the man secured.”

“He’s friendly. He likes us. But it’s natural for a man like that to be cautious.”

“Hm.” George stepped past Aubrey’s desk and looked out of the window, hands clasped behind his back. Aubrey swivelled his chair to face him, waiting for the man to speak, fairly sure what was coming next. He was right.

“Domnall’s interested in us for our class. He’s new money, but he wants the appearance of old. It’s my peerage, my family’s name, that first drew him to us.” He turned and looked at Aubrey. “That’s one of many reasons I wanted Roscoe in this role. He was the perfect lure for a man like Domnall.”

Aubrey made no response, expression unchanging.

“If it’s English aristocracy he wants, that’s what we’ll have to give him,” George continued. “It’s shooting season in a few weeks. Duck. Partridge. I will personally invite him up to Conyers for a hunting weekend. You will come, too. You don’t have any of those daft qualms about hunting, do you?”

“No,” said Aubrey, unsure if he was lying. He’d never given it any thought.

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