Revenger

7

Wednesday evening: Alix watched the blue flashing light of a police car reflecting off the puddles in the rain-slicked street as it came up Knightsbridge towards her, hurtled past the Hyde Park Palace Hotel, and then raced away towards Piccadilly. It was getting dark now, and the streets were starting to clear of cars and pedestrians alike. Even in an area as smart as this, people only went out at night if they had a very good reason to do so. And no one got in anywhere without first proving their right to do so. All new arrivals at this or any other major hotel, for example, had to pass armed security guards, bag- and body-scanners, and even the occasional body search before they could even check-in. Thereafter their room keys acted as pass-cards to get them through the entrance barriers. Once inside, it was like entering a separate dimension of luxury and indulgence, hermetically sealed off from the ever-increasing chaos and shabbiness of the world outside.

Alix found the effect to be more disconcerting than reassuring. As much as she had never felt a single second of nostalgia for the grim, depressing greyness of her Soviet childhood, there was still a tiny part of her that clung to some of the socialist idealism that had been drummed into her as a girl. The presence of this island of wealth, and others like it, amidst an increasingly rough sea of poverty and lawlessness disturbed her. It reminded her of Moscow in the years immediately after the fall of Communism, when the rule of the state and the secret police was making way for a culture of gangsters and oligarchs. One of those tough, ruthless men had kept her as his mistress, and she had learned first-hand about the way the world worked when the strong took whatever they wanted and the weak went to hell. She didn’t want to go back to that, either.

Thinking of the past only served to remind her how far back her memories went. Alix had long since come to terms with the fact that she was no longer the pretty young thing of days gone by. She was more at ease with the face and body she saw reflected in the mirror now than she had ever been in the past. Of course, it didn’t hurt her self-confidence to love and be loved by a man who made it perfectly obvious how much he desired her. She heard him now, coming in behind her, and turned to watch him as he walked across the room.

‘Ah, there you are,’ said Carver, smiling as he caught her eye.

Even now, the sight of him could still make her heart flutter like a teenage girl’s. She loved his strong hands and forearms, the taper from his broad shoulders down to his narrow hips, the high, firm curve of his butt. She loved watching his clear green eyes. Their moods were as changeable as the sea: sometimes bright and sunny, sometimes stormy, sometimes as cold as Arctic ice.

She was almost certain Carver had no idea of the effect that his face and body had upon her. It was simply not an issue he even considered; he never for a moment thought of himself as something to be looked at or judged in the way that every woman in the world was constantly obliged to do.

They’d met more years ago that she really cared to remember, one summer’s night in Paris on the Left Bank of the Seine. It was a perfect setting for romance, but far from a conventionally perfect introduction. She’d pointed a loaded Uzi in Carver’s direction. He’d replied by smashing her face-first against a bus-shelter before she could open fire, knocking her to the ground, rolling her over and cuffing her hands behind her back. Then he’d sat her up against the side of the shelter and interrogated her; someone wanted him dead and he needed to know why. She’d been furious with Carver for the brutal, impersonal efficiency with which he’d rendered her helpless, furious with herself for letting it happen, furious with the whole damn world for the way it treated young women like her. But there’d been an immediate, overwhelming connection between them. No matter how hard she’d tried to deny it, she hadn’t been able to. It’d been obvious he’d felt it, too. And all these years later nothing had changed.

He had reached her now and circled her waist with his arms. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ he asked, pulling her close to him.

‘Not you as well as Grantham?’ she protested.

‘We don’t need the money.’

‘Yes, but the people who work for me need their pay cheques. And that means I have to get new business. Anyway, I promised the President.’ She ran her fingers down Carver’s face. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to rush into anything. And I’ll know if Adams is telling the truth or bullshitting me. I’m not some innocent, naïve little schoolgirl.’

‘No, you certainly are not,’ Carver said, with a wicked grin, holding her even tighter, letting her feel his hardness. ‘So why don’t you show me just what a grown-up, experienced woman you are?’

Alix felt herself starting to melt. She had about five more seconds before he kissed her, and then any feeble attempts at resistance would crumble. It took every ounce of will she possessed to deny herself what she very badly wanted and pull herself out of his grasp.

‘No,’ she said with a certainty she did not feel. ‘I’ve got a car coming to pick me up in twenty minutes, and I’ve got to shower, change and get myself ready by then. You’re just going to have to wait.’

‘I don’t think I can,’ he said, taking a step towards her.

‘Well, you’ll just have to.’

Alix dashed to the bathroom, slammed the door behind her and locked it before he could charm his way in. At that moment she would happily have cancelled the meeting, let her business go to hell and spent the rest of the night with Carver. But there were people who depended on her, people with mortgages to pay and families to feed. And as much as she might have been tempted, she wasn’t going to let them down.

Carver stared at the bathroom door, feeling the throb of his frustrated desire. He wanted to take her so badly: on a bed, on the floor, up against the nearest available wall, he wasn’t choosy. It didn’t help knowing that she’d felt it too. In fact, it made it worse. How did women do that — say no to sex they obviously wanted? Let the driver wait outside for a few extra minutes, for Christ’s sake. It was only just past six o’clock now, and the main event wasn’t due to start till eight. There was plenty of time to make everybody happy.

Alix wasn’t going to change her mind now, though. He knew her well enough to be sure of that. He wandered off back to the suite’s living room and picked up his mobile phone from a side table. He pressed speed-dial and waited for the call to be answered.

‘Evening, Snoopy,’ he said.

‘Oi, show some respect, you cheeky sod,’ said the South London voice on the other end of the line.

Carver laughed. ‘All right then, I’ll start again… Good evening, former Company Sergeant Major Schultz. How are you?’

‘Getting by. And yourself?’

‘Not too bad… You still on for that drink?’

‘I’ve got to do some business at a pub tonight, as it happens — the Dutchman’s Head, down Clapham way. We can go there, get a couple of pints in first. You getting here by cab?’

‘Most likely, yeah.’

‘Tell the cabbie it’s just behind Clapham North station. What do you reckon, half seven?’

‘Sounds good to me.’

‘And boss, keep your eyes open, yeah? There’s always kids off the estates, playing at being gangbangers. They’re just a bunch of chavvy little toerags, but they’re all tooled up with knives and that, so watch yourself, yeah?’

‘Understood. I’ll see you at seven thirty. And if you get there before me, mine’s a pint of London Pride.’