All the Rage (6 page)

‘Every damn one,' Kara responded, looking back at him. ‘There are literally hundreds of them, and look at the time lapse between each message. Every fifteen minutes. This took her bloody hours, Michael,' she said gravely.

 

***

 

Searching for reasons which would make some kind of sense to what was happening made his blood run cold. What he did know was this: Lauren was possessive and needy and calculating. What he did not know was this: how far was he prepared to go with his fascination for this woman? Admittedly, he felt he was losing control with his business; and his relationship with Adele was disintegrating to the point of collapse. He felt diminished and unworthy and rudderless. Perhaps Lauren represented another world in which to escape. Certainly, this now appeared as an unwanted intrusion and yet…yet… he had a compulsion to be propelled head first into this alternative universe of the weird and the wonderful. Thinking about it, though, made him realise it wasn't an unwanted intrusion.
Christ. He welcomed it.
It was now becoming a distressing trait in his thought process that he was prepared to search for it and embrace it. What the hell was going on?

Everything he knew and understood and valued in his life was suddenly in question. But, strangely, it bothered him little. A small madness had infiltrated his orderly mind and had become an insidious intruder, gradually overpowering his logical reasoning to illogical fears. In his brain, the dark shadows embraced him perversely. They offered comfort. The further he withdrew into the murkiness, the more he felt protected. Lauren was both the comfort and the protection. He wanted to believe this. She was his salvation, his Holy Grail. It was his fascination with her that held the flaw.

His mind then turned to his other obsession.

Money. It consumed his parallel thoughts. He began to calculate a survival plan which would enable him to rise above the debris of divorce. Adele's financial demands would begin the seeds of gradual destruction, one which his business could not sustain, especially in the current economic climate. He was acutely aware of the damage her actions would cause and it deeply appalled his sense of injustice. The seemingly bad timing of her selfish act also galled him. Callous bitch.

When he considered the various options open to him, each presented a frightening scenario. If he were to hold on to the business then turnover would need to improve significantly in order to fund a substantial loan or provide cash up front to fuel her greed. The advice from his accountants spelled out the caustic truth. Firstly, he owed the Inland Revenue £150,000 for the current fiscal year. The impending tax inspection would incur approximately £9,000 in expenses and untold claw backs, and the rent on the property in Cork Street would rise from £130,000 to £155,000 next year. In addition, business rates were set to soar in the city. At the existing level of projected turnover loss, the gallery would be contemplating a drop in profits of £200,000. Then there was the tiny matter of a possible one million pound divorce settlement and as yet unconfirmed yearly maintenance figure (£100,000 had been mentioned), plus the loss of the investment in the Spanish villa. He would be left with the Chelsea apartment (heavily mortgaged) and the country house, which he had inherited from his parents. Something mighty substantial would have to be sacrificed.

His main concern was the business. If turnover continued to dive in such alarming fashion then how would he be able to sustain the restructuring of the finances, which would inevitably require loan funding of a large scale? This could be achieved, but the equity in his assets would in turn be savagely reduced, thus making the foundations on which everything was built particularly vulnerable.

And then he turned his attention to the sale of the Porter originals. Twelve of them! That prospect certainly whetted his appetite. Lauren had offered him the opportunity to market them, and if he hesitated, then undoubtedly another art dealer would step in quickly. These paintings would be highly desirable and realise big value profits, possibly as much as £750,000. He was aware of his first obligation, which was to the business. Therefore, it would be financial suicide to ignore such an opportunity, tantamount to gross negligence in his own professional integrity if he allowed this chance to pass him by. He was first in the queue, ahead of the pack. That was how he always played the game: being the predator.

He checked for Lauren's contact number. After three aborted attempts, drawing breath and steeling himself, his fingers nervously punched in the telephone number that took him on a path to the unknown: a journey of discovery, a destination without boundaries. The warnings, however, were there.
Sick Chick
, Kara had said earlier. It made him wonder, and then something else crept into his brain: be careful what you wish for
.

 

***

 

If Kara had been concerned at the odd antics displayed by her boss, she

was downright spooked by his initial reaction to the emails. He was too damn calm for her liking, almost undisturbed by the obsessive nature of Lauren O'Neill. What hold did she have on him? What really happened at the house? It was this same concern that justified her decision to listen in on the private telephone conversation between them. Fortunately, Michael seemed to be oblivious to her concealment just beyond the open door of his office. It was a risk she took but a risk worth taking.

This is what she heard:

‘Hi, it's Michael, the good Samaritan. How's the head? Uh-uh. I felt awful leaving you the other afternoon. No. No. It was no problem. I thought it best to leave well alone for a few days, but, well, to be perfectly frank with you, Lauren, the emails were rather alarming. ' A long pause ensured. ‘OK, you don't have to feel like that. No. No, of course I will help you. ' Another but much longer pause, followed by a sigh from Michael. ‘Lauren, nobody is abandoning you. No, I will not be like all the others…' He took a deep breath, changing the telephone from one ear to the other. He listened patiently. ‘Lauren, hear me out. Calm down, please calm down. Right now you are experiencing a very traumatic upheaval in your life and you're not
expected
to behave in a rational manner. Believe me, I know exactly what you are going through - listen, let's meet for a drink and I'll do the talking this time, OK? Come up to town and we'll go out for a meal, what do you think? Great. Great. Catch the train. Do you know the Monsoon restaurant off Monmouth Street, Covent Garden? It's just opened to good reviews. Let's meet tomorrow night, say, eight thirty? Good. No. No. You can stay at my place, are you OK with that? ' He paused. ‘Fine, Lauren, I look forward to it. Take care. '

Kara heard him replace the receiver. Even from her hidden position she detected his nervous excitement at the prospect of meeting up with her. With any luck, he had sufficient health insurance to cover all eventualities, she thought. Then she quietly slipped away.

 

***

 

Kara had agreed to meet Marcus directly after work at a wine bar just a few hundred yards from the gallery, one which she was familiar with. This made her feel more comfortable, rather than enter alone and order a drink in a strange place. Marcus was late. She drank her chilled Pinot and made idle chat with the barman, whom she knew as Jack, an Australian from Perth. Feeling relaxed, they swapped banter and insults as only two people could who came from their respective mother countries. The more insulting the joke, the less offence was taken. That was the way it was between the Brits and the Aussies.

She checked her watch again and sighed. Then the door opened and in breezed the boy.

‘Hi, sorry I'm late. ' Marcus said, plonking himself beside her on a stool. Catching the barman's eye, he shouted, ‘bottle of Becks, mate! '

Kara stared at him, disdain in her eyes.

‘How's it going? ' he asked, oblivious to her annoyance. He overfilled the space between them wearing a huge grey duffle coat and scarf and a cheeky grin. Kara shifted backwards on her stool, feeling overpowered.

‘A good way to impress me,' Kara remarked, glancing at her watch and then deflecting her gaze toward Jack. ‘A girl can get easily distracted if kept waiting. Is this your idea of playing hard to get? '

The grin on Marcus's face widened. He grabbed his bottle of Becks and swallowed hard at the ice cold beer.

She could tell he wasn't going to apologise.

‘My creative juices were operating big time, I just had to go with the flow,' he said. ‘The painting's great, even if I say so myself. Besides, can't have you putting round the rumours that I'm chasing you. I have a reputation to uphold. '

‘Reputation? ' Kara asked, raising her eyebrows.

‘Yup. Being seen to be punctual implies that I have nothing better to do with my day, as if I'm just hanging around waiting…'

‘For a date? ' she interrupted, punching his arm playfully.

‘Well, kinda. Is this an official date? '

‘Far too soon, Marcus,' she said. ‘I'm distinctly unimpressed with your attitude and now the timekeeping leaves a lot to be desired. It's rubbish. Not looking good, is it? '

‘Hmm, I was rather hoping you would give me the benefit of the doubt and put it down to the eccentricities of my artistic temperament. '

‘Well,' she amused herself, ‘how about we beg to disagree and in the meantime let's put our
so-called
relationship on hold, calling timeout while you undertake a strict period of probation, set by me. Deal? '

‘Hell,' he shrugged, ‘you're going to be one hard nut to crack. '

They moved to another bar and then on to an Italian restaurant, Mario's, where they shared seafood pasta and a bottle of Chianti. His treat. She was warming towards him.

‘Do you know of an artist called Julius Gray? ' Kara asked, forking her pasta.

‘Nope. Should I? '

Kara pondered. ‘No. But I
feel
I should. And yet…'

‘Do I need to fear him? '

She was startled. ‘
Pardon
? '

‘For your affections. I need to know the enemy. '

‘Don't be silly. You have nothing to worry about on that score.' She laughed generously. ‘Apparently, he has disappeared abroad with his mistress after dumping the wife. I'm intrigued, that's all. He is a prolific painter and I've never
actually
heard of him. Neither has Michael. '

‘Ah, the
other
man in your life,' Marcus joked, gulping his wine and giving her the hard stare over the lip of his glass.

‘You can be so immature,' she replied in a dismissive tone.

He grinned, arrogantly. ‘Touched on a raw nerve, have I? '

Kara took a deep breath. ‘Marcus, let's establish the ground rules, OK? 'She bristled with her words, forcing him to sit back from the table in a defensive mode. ‘First,' she said, ‘you have done all the chasing and I regard your juvenile banter as mildly amusing and, at best, a somewhat happy diversion from the daily grind of what we all laughingly call
life
'. Second, if you persist in this line of interrogation every time the name of my boss is mentioned I'll have no choice but to sabotage your forthcoming exhibition. '

The penny dropped. She rejoiced in wiping the grin from his smug face.

‘I have the power, believe me. ' She produced one of her superior smiles. Then she added, ‘And third, just because you have the arrogance to think you will succeed in getting me into bed, I should remind you that juvenile, spotty, coarse and vulgar youths do not –
do not
– get me wet between the legs in the same way as a mature, thoughtful, handsome and debonair art dealer would, with the minimum of effort. Does that give you any idea of how far off the mark you are, or do you need further examples of discouragement? '

‘Ouch! I suppose I should leave right now? '

‘Possibly…'

‘So,' he said, ‘do I take it that all my courageous efforts are in vain? '

‘Yep. '

‘Am I as stupid as I look right now? '

‘As stupid as you look. '

‘So,' he said, pondering once again. ‘On a scale of one to ten, where do I rate? '

‘In terms of
what
? ' she enquired, mystified.

‘Well, how shall I put it,' Marcus said, weighing up his chances, ‘in terms of getting to shag your brains out. Sorry about the crudity. I would hate to offend your sensitivity. '

‘No offence taken. ' She thought for a moment, bringing her finger to her lips. ‘Hmm, two out of ten, max. Sorry. I hate to further humiliate the humiliated. '

‘Feel free. It's a kind of control you feel you need to exercise for fear of being put down. You get the rejection in first. It's quite endearing, actually. '

Kara suddenly saw Marcus in a new light, impressed by his progressive insight. For the first time, she felt embarrassed. 'Wow,' she said. ‘Am I that transparent? '