Darker (3 page)

“Seventeen. Then. I’ve picked up a few more since. I’ve been half expecting to be invited to the AQA exam board’s office Christmas party, I’m so well known there…” I break off, conscious that I sound like a total freak, and here I was trying to convince him I’m fairly normal.

“But why, Eva?” Far from reassuring him of my status as a normal person, Nathan’s expression is one of absolute bafflement. And I really have no convincing answer to his question. Still, I have to try.

“Because I could. And it’s what people like me do, sort of a hobby. I love to learn things, new things, so I’d go from subject to subject, reading, practising, whatever was needed. I only ever need to read something once, and I remember it, absolutely. No need for revision or anything like that so it really doesn’t take that long. At school they kept on entering me for exams, and I kept on passing them. The challenge wasn’t so much to pass, it was more about getting the A* grades. My school also offered a degree level curriculum so I had a head start. I did the equivalent of the first year of my degrees in maths and music while I was still there, but there comes a point when you just need to move on and get into a university…”

My voice trails away, and I’m still not totally convinced that he believes me. He is staring at me, then back at the documents in front of him. Time for my trump card. “Can I please borrow your iPad?” He slides it across the desk to me. I fire it up and go online, navigating quickly to my own Flickr account. I find the photo my proud mother took at my degree ceremony—me a lanky little teenager, dwarfed among the strapping twenty-somethings, all lining up to shake the chancellor’s hand. “That was me in 2005,” I say, passing back the iPad. He stares at the screen and mutters something sounding rather like ‘Fucking hell’. Then, ‘That investigator’s fired’.

I reach for the iPad, intending to close the thing down, but he has other ideas. Just as I knew he would, he Googles me. The most obvious way to find out the key facts in anyone’s life. And my key facts come up. And just keep on coming. And coming.

I watch his face, his eyes skimming down Google’s list of Evangelica Byrne mentions, of my accomplishments. It’s a long list. He scrolls down, keeps looking back to my face, one eyebrow quirked. Eventually he’s done, the iPad at last blank. Now he’s just gazing at me, his expression unreadable.

“Well, you are a lady of many, many talents it would seem, Miss Byrne. Except it’s not Miss Byrne, is it? It’s Dr Byrne. Am I right?”

I nod.

“Tell me. Tell me from the beginning. How did you get to do all, all this…?” He gestures at the small black screen, pressing the on switch to bring it all back up again.

“As I said, I have a high IQ. So I’m a fast learner.”

“Lots of people are fast learners. Even I can be when it suits me.” Another inscrutable stare—I’m not sure if I’m being threatened or not. He goes on, once more reading down the Google list. “This is more than just being quick on the uptake. Don’t hedge with me, Eva. Tell me about yourself. All of it. Now, please.”

“Okay.” I take another deep breath, close my eyes to gather my thoughts, and work out just where to begin. He waits. He’s patient and not going anywhere. So, at last, I start.

“I am, was, what the educationalists would call ‘profoundly gifted’. That means I have an IQ of more than one hundred and eighty.”

He interrupts me. “You said one hundred and eighty-one. And I’m guessing that makes you some sort of fucking genius? What about the average person, someone like me? What would their score be?”

“I’ve no idea about you. Actually you don’t seem at all average to me.”

“Are you insulting my penis again, Dr Byrne?”

“God, no!” My head snaps up, I meet his eyes and realise he is smiling, joking with me. He seems to have an unerring gift for knowing just when, and how, to lighten the mood—help me to relax, to get my story out. It works, and I continue, feeling slightly more confident now. “The average score is around one hundred, the normal range is about twenty points above or below. Ninety per cent of people fall into that range.”

“So at one hundred and eighty plus you’re well outside the range of ‘normal’?”

“Yes. My score is one hundred and eighty-one.” I say it quietly, and want to explain, justify myself. “I don’t normally tell anyone that—it seems, well, it seems like boasting. But you did ask me. And the truth is it’s not always that great to be so far outside of the ‘normal’.”

“Oh? How’s that then? I can see being a slow learner would be a struggle. So how was it for you, Eva?”

“Starting school was awful. I was so bored. I got into lots of trouble, even got expelled—permanently excluded in the education jargon—for being a troublemaker, disruptive.”

“Miss Byrne, disruptive. Now I’d really like to have seen that.” His gentle smile is encouraging. Maybe he’ll listen, accept me, even after all that’s happened. Hoping, daring to let myself think this whole pile of crap might turn out to be okay after all, I continue.

“My mother was brilliant. She knew what was wrong with me, or right with me, depending on how you see it. She knew what I needed. She’d seen me learning to read, all by myself, before I was three. She kept asking my schools to have me tested, but no one would, they just thought I was a nasty, attention-seeking little tearaway and she was a doting mother who could see no wrong in me. Maybe she was, but she was also spot on about my ‘special’ educational needs. My dad’s RAF career meant we moved a lot and schools just thought I was reacting to that, never getting settled anywhere. It was only after he died, when we moved to London and stayed put at last, that my mother paid for me to be assessed by a private school specialising in gifted children. They repeated the tests three times before they accepted my scores. Then they offered me a place, on a scholarship because I was a ‘special case’. From then on I was fast-tracked through the education system. I started taking GCSEs at around nine years old, passing them, obviously, and then A levels. By the time I was thirteen I had armfuls of GCSEs and A levels. My school said I was wasting my time there and I needed to move on. To university.”

“How did you cope, at university so young? How did you make friends, take care of yourself?” Typical Nathan, straight to the heart of the issue.

“I didn’t. That’s why I’m the screwed up mess I am now.” At his puzzled look I press on, anxious now to get all this out. “I went to universities in London so I could live at home, like any other thirteen-year-old.” I noted his eyebrow quirk again at the mention of universities, plural, but we’d come back to that. “I was so much younger than the other students, I had nothing in common with them. I couldn’t go to bars. I had no interest or talent for sport. I hadn’t even started my periods so how could I relate to the other girls, much less the boys. Actually, I was terrified of the boys. My mother always warned me to stay out of their way, that they were dangerous and would take advantage of me because I was so young. Looking back I understand her concerns, but I got it fixed in my head that boys, men, were to be avoided. So I avoided them. In fact the other students, males and females, were generally kind enough, when they took any notice of me at all. But mostly I was the little nerd at the back. The strange, brainy kid, who went home every day for her tea.”

“What about other kids your own age? Kids at your school?”

“At my special school I was okay, I did make some friends there, although the catchment for the school was so wide—most of southern England—that I had no friends living near me, no one to socialise with outside of school. So I never did socialise. And in any case the friends I had were left behind when I went to university. I’ve had acquaintances since, colleagues, but no friends. Until now. At Black Combe. That’s partly why I so want to keep my job. Please.”

“The jury’s still out as far as your job with me’s concerned. I want to hear the rest of this then I’ll decide. Please, continue.” He stands, walks around me to the table, squeezing my shoulder as he passes me. I take that as an encouraging sign and listen to him pouring coffee, before he brings me a cup. Instead of sitting back behind his desk, though, he grabs a chair from the meeting table then turns it to face me. He sits down just a foot in front of me. Feeling more vulnerable, more exposed than I have during any of our sexual or Dom-sub encounters, I sit still, staring at my hands. I can feel his eyes boring into me as he considers. Then taking my hands in his, he squeezes them until I look up at him. He smiles.

“I can see this is difficult for you. Take your time. I’m listening.”

I close my eyes briefly, starting to relax—slightly—and I rush on before he thinks better of it. Best to get my academic CV dumped on the table, so to speak, and let him pick over it. Work out just what sort of a weird bitch he’s got mixed up with.

“I studied music at King’s because I loved it. It was easy, light relief really. But music was the second string in my bow if you’ll pardon the pun. Really, I was a mathematician. I got the first class BMus, but I also got a first in Mathematics the same year.” His eyebrows shoot up again—apparently a mathematician is to be viewed with even more respect than a gifted violinist. “The two sets of skills are often found together,” I hasten to explain, somehow wanting to reassure him that I’m not that special, not that odd. Not really. “Then I moved to University College London, did an MSc in Mathematics and Modern Languages. I was awarded that in 2008, when I was eighteen.”

“So, a musician, a mathematician and a linguist. There really is no end to your remarkable talents, Miss Byrne. Sorry, Dr Byrne.”

Sarcasm? But he is smiling. His eyes are smiling. He really doesn’t mind. “So, what did you do from 2008 to now?”

“I went back to King’s, this time into the Faculty of Modern Languages. I got a research fellowship, and did my PhD in Linguistics. Then in 2010 I was offered a research fellowship at Oxford, St Hilda’s College, and that’s where I was until a few weeks ago.”

“So, Dr Byrne, it sounds as though you’ve had a glittering academic career. Why did you leave?”

Ah, the six million dollar question. The one I still struggle to answer. But I’ll try. For Nathan, I’ll try.

“I wanted more in my life than just academic institutions. I’ve never been anywhere else, done anything else except learn, study, research and occasionally teach. I like to teach, but I don’t get to do it that often…”

My voice trails away. The next bit is the hard part. This is where I become vulnerable again, my emotions and needs laid bare. I reflect on the irony—I’ve already laid my body bare before Nathan, and on balance he’s looked after it pretty well. Apart from that one mishap, for which I do accept some measure of responsibility. But emotional fulfilment is a whole new ball game. Men are not good at emotional stuff, at the touchy feely stuff—or so I understand. But hey, who am I to talk?

“I… Growing up I got the education I needed, eventually. Some of it. Most of it. Intellectually I matured, and I am now a respected academic in my field.”
Well, several fields really.

“Physically too. I may not have much in the way of curves and sex appeal, but I am a normal woman, everything works fine. Even my libido, as I now know.”

“How fortunate for us both, Dr Byrne.” His smile gives away the humour behind the wry statement, encouraging me to go on.

“But emotionally, I’m a bit of a car wreck.” Leaving that hanging in the air, I stop, take a sip of my coffee to give me a moment to work out what to say, how to explain my particular pile of mangled wreckage. The liquid hitting my stomach reminds me that, apart from a croissant at breakfast—which he rudely interrupted to spank me—I haven’t eaten all day. My stomach growls loudly, taking both of us by surprise.

“Sorry,” I mutter, pressing my free hand to my grumbling tummy in the hope that it will just keep quiet long enough to not disgrace me further.

Laughing, he takes my coffee cup and puts it on his desk. “I want to know all about your car wreck, Eva. I suspect that’s the heavy stuff and we
will
deal with it. But first we need to feed you. And have some fun, I think. Some light relief. Do you fancy a night out? Or rather—will you come out with me tonight, Eva?”

Incredulous, I gape at him. “Are you asking me out? For a date?”

“A date? Yes, could be. Will you come out on a date with me tonight, Eva?”

“No one’s ever asked me to go on a date before. I’m not sure…”

“I’m beginning to realise how sorely lacking your otherwise brilliant education has been in some important respects, Miss Byrne. Sorry, Dr Byrne. There are some gaps. Some very worrying gaps. Gaps we need to fill. And dating is one of those gaps. I agree that in an ideal world the dating would come before the fucking, but hell, you’ve got to start somewhere. So, Dr Byrne, will you come out with me tonight? Please.”

Laughing, I begin to get into the spirit of it. “Yes, Mr Darke. I’d love to. Where are we going?”

“Hey, we’re in Leeds, cultural centre of the known universe. Well, Yorkshire anyway. What do you fancy? Opera? Ballet? Theatre? Cinema? Clubbing? Casino? Dancing?”

“Not clubbing, definitely. And I’ve got too many aches and pains for dancing just now. And anyway I can’t dance.”

“You’ll learn. But not now. And later if you’re very well-behaved I’ll massage those aches and pains for you if you like… A bit more gentle fucking perhaps?”

My heart leaps, delighted, relieved. He still wants me. Amazingly, he still wants to make love to me. “I’m not dumped then? You said… I thought you meant…you didn’t want me anymore.”

“You were never dumped, Eva. Not really. And I want you so much I’ve a few aches and pains of my own. But you did terrify me and we do need to sort out the safe word business. I can’t do with you fainting like a Victorian virgin every time I pick up a cane. My heart won’t stand the strain.”

“Well I was very nearly a virgin. And I told you, I’m a fast learner. Maybe now you’ll believe me.”

“True on all counts, Dr Byrne. You are extremely well-qualified. But please allow me to be the authority on gentle fucking and all related matters, at least for the time being. So, where are we going? What do you fancy?”