Page 106 of The Dead Ex
Nothing.
Is he in? I hope that decoy present did the job. It was only a cheap copy of a designer pen, but it looked pretty good.
I am carrying something bigger now. A framed photograph of his office taken from a rather unusualangle which involved some gymnastics on my part, leaning out through my own office window. I am rather proud of it.
But if he doesn’t bloody open the door, I can’t give it to him.
I try again. Still nothing. I am nervous now. Freezing, too. I should have worn something warmer than a short skirt on a cold winter night like this. But I know he likes my legs. And I need to keep him happy.
It’sdead on 8 p.m. now. Where the hell is he? I ring the bell once more. ‘Hello?’ says the voice on the intercom. At last!
‘It’s me. Helen.’
‘Come on up.’
He’s waiting for me as the lift door opens. He kisses me long and hard.
‘I’ve been ringing the bell for ages,’ I say, finally breaking away.
‘Really?’ He checks his watch. ‘But I thought we said eight.’
‘I was early.’
He gives me a sidewayslook. ‘That can be as bad as being late. My dad would lock us in the cellar if we weren’t exactly on time.’
So that explains his fear of being cooped up in small spaces. I’m sure that David has kept me waiting deliberately, but it won’t serve my purpose if I accuse him and get even more on his wrong side. So instead I follow him in. The lighting is low.
‘Sit down. Please. Champagne?’
I takea small sip. It tastes sharper than last time.
‘I could get used to this,’ I joke, trying to introduce some levity into the air.
‘I expect you could.’
There is no sign of food. My stomach feels empty.
He gives me another hard look. ‘What are you doing next weekend, Helen?’
‘Seeing friends,’ I say casually. ‘What about you?’
‘Working.’
I wait for him to suggest a date, but there’s silence.
‘That’s some television,’ I say, eyeing the huge screen on the wall. It’s one of those cool designs with a static screen picture, presumably to make it a feature in its own right before it’s switched on. I’ve seen them advertised in glossy magazines. This one shows a beach with a long line of palm trees and parasols.
He seems amused. ‘You like it?’
‘Course I do.’
‘I love hot places,’ he says,as though talking to himself. ‘Especially when they’re remote and no one can get to you.’
It’s all right for some. I’m still eyeing the telly. ‘Shall we watch a film?’
‘Like a couple, you mean?’
‘That would be nice.’
