Detained (31 page)

Darcy lifted her glass too. She needed this alcohol if she was going to sleep tonight. “Is that so bad?” It was terrible, but it was what they were left with, and she needed to get used to it.

“Given what we might have been discussing tonight, no, but Lord I’m going to miss him. I have to get accustomed to the idea I’m not allowed to need him anymore.”

Darcy’s breath out was a sigh to empathise with Peter’s loss. “You’ve done fine.”

“Not really. I’m struggling. I don’t have Will’s knack of seeing to the heart of things. Of knowing what battles to pick and getting knocked down and shaping back up again. I’m the politician. He was the strategist, the general, the visionary. He made the business in his image. Oh, he knew eventually he had to put in stronger systems and processes that depended less on his influence, but he was having too much fun to step back yet.”

Darcy watched Peter trying to be nonchalant as he studied the menu. She’d long since stopped thinking about him as an evil Spiderman. He was a friend. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked thinner and paler. He was hurting almost as much as Will. To make it worse, she knew more about his troubles than he suspected. But did it cross the line, shift her from friend to journalist on the lookout for a lead news item, if she told him?

Peter looked up. “The lamb is superb here, and leave room for the pavlova. Just because he didn’t know you today doesn’t mean he won’t remember. I keep forgetting he’s only been back for a few days. In one way it’s like he’s never been missing. You should go see him again. Bo will take you out there.”

“He punched that door on purpose.”

“Yeah. He does stuff like that now,” Peter sighed. He caught the waiter’s eye. “That violence, that dead mean streak, it was always in him. It’s the reason he thought he might’ve killed Feng. But he always knew he had a choice, control it or be controlled by it and he got off on the control.”

Darcy smiled, the memory of breaking Will’s control, being the reason for him to lose it, was almost a meal of its own to live on.

“I know about Avalon, Peter.”

“Shit. Are you telling me as a journalist or as a friend?”

“I’m both. I’ve always been both.”

Peter raised his glass, an ironic toast. “To the journalist in you—no fucking comment. To the friend—Will would consider this a hostile takeover, but I’m not so sure. I don’t know if he will ever be able to run Parker again. Whether he will want to. But it’s quite possible there’ll be nothing left by the time he’s ready. It makes sense to sell to Avalon. But for the record, I’m going with no comment.”

Darcy clinked Peter’s glass. “For the record, I hear you, and since it’s not the kind of story my program does, you’re safe with me.”

Peter studied her. She thought he was about to make a jibe about journalists not being the most trustworthy people on the planet, but he surprised her with, “Are you happy?”

“Sure, I have the job, I’m earning brilliant money.”

“I think that’s your version of no comment. I thought we were being friends tonight.”

Darcy frowned, caught out. The waiter arrived and gave her thinking time. They ordered, but it was too much to hope Peter was distracted by the business of eating. He gave her a level look, his lawyer look.

“I’m fine. Today was rough, really rough, but I’m fine,” she said.

“You’re way too thin. Will would be horrified.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. He thought I was a prostitute.”

“He thought you were like Jiao. First tier,
bao er nai
—a mistress. It’s officially still prostitution and illegal, but it’s common practice. If you can get past the fact he was so crude, it’s a compliment.”

Darcy blinked at him in surprise. “You are kidding.”

Peter shook his head, grinning. “But I’m also not crazy, so I’m quitting this part of the conversation before you ‘no comment’ me for the rest of the meal.”

Over scallops and then lamb, they talked about food, politics, fashion, real estate; anything but what brought them together. Will was like a silent participant at the meal: watching them eat, always in their thoughts, making it awkward to ignore him.

Darcy heard herself chattering away and wondered at her ability to keep up the false cheer. She wanted to run a bath at the hotel, sit in it and cry. She wanted to re-book her flight for tomorrow and go home. There was no point going to see Will again, and no way the effort of doing it wasn’t going to wreck her. And she couldn’t afford to be wrecked. He was in this position so she was free and well, and able to live her life. She couldn’t repay his memory by failing, and if she let her heartbreak take her down—she’d be failing spectacularly.

“Darcy, hey you’re miles away. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She was continents away, back in Sydney, trying to focus on being new Darcy because there was no old Will left to fixate on. “Are you sure about the pav?”

“Oh, yeah. We have to have the pav.” Peter did that thing men with room presence could do and got waiter attention with the lift of his chin. He ordered and turned his eyes on her. “You know, there’s a chance Will is foxing?”

“Foxing? As in being a duplicitous prick!”

Peter laughed, slamming his hand on the table making their waiting dessert spoons jump. “I wouldn’t have put it like that, but now that you mention it, yes.”

“How can a man who hasn’t spoken for eight months be running a scam?”

“Talk to Bo about it. Bo thinks Will has had his memory back for some time, but didn’t want to acknowledge it. Will claims not to remember how this all came about, so not remembering you fits. But he always was a cunning bastard, so it’s not a stretch to think he knows more than he’s letting on.”

“He looked at me like I was nothing to him. I don’t think that was an act.”

“Up until four days ago he could only talk in one word sentences. Today he was giving me orders, very succinct and clear ones.”

Darcy looked away, out over the Huangpu to the lights of Pudong. “Don’t say that to give me hope, Peter.”

He caught her hand and held it, threading his fingers through hers like Will did. She sucked in a breath to cool the heating coil of anxiety in her chest.

“Is it so wrong for me to want him to remember you? If he remembers you there’s a chance the old Will is still in there somewhere.”

She looked at their hands. Peter’s fingers were long and elegant. He was a concert pianist to Will’s manual labourer. “I can’t be an experiment. I can’t be a proving ground for you or Will. I’m not strong enough to do that.”

Peter turned her hand and pressed it back on the starched white linen tablecloth. He sat back in his chair. “One more visit. One more chance. I’m your friend, but I’m Will’s brother and I need him. It’s the least you can do.”

“He who speaks without modesty will find it difficult to make his words good.” — Confucius

Bo was confident. There was a strong chance Will had been foxing. But he wasn’t sure he was still doing it.

“He remembers the finest details. The way my wife made
xiaolongbao
—soup dumplings. That was eight years ago. I don’t see how he could remember that and not remember what happened to him, and not remember you. I think it’s too much for him, too painful. I think he doesn’t want to remember.”

“Where were you last night, Bo, when Peter strongarmed me into coming here again?” Darcy said.

Bo gave her a sympathetic look as he parked the Audi at the Double Happiness Rehabilitation Hospital.

“Oh, I get it. You don’t think he remembers me, but you want me to try again anyway.”

“I’m sorry, Darcy. Yes, that’s what I want. I’ll wait for you here.”

Darcy knew she could simply tell Bo to drive her back to the hotel and he would, no fuss, or at least that he’d show. She knew she could spend the afternoon shopping, and with money in her pocket, maybe even enjoy it. She knew Will was somewhere through those doors and there was a possibility he might remember her.

“What if remembering me means he has to remember all the dreadful things that happened to him, Bo? What if I’m so bound up in all that pain, he remembers me only to hate me?”

“Life is simple. We insist on making it complicated. What if he remembers he loves you?”

It was a big what if.

She got out of the car, went to the administration block and signed in as a visitor. The receptionist told her Will was in the gym, and if she waited in the café she’d see him come past. She went to the café, ordered a pot of tea and waited. Twenty minutes later, shirtless, in baggy cotton drawstring trousers that clung to him in sweat patches, and with his right hand in plaster, Will walked right past her without a blink of recognition.

That was it then. What more could she do? It really was over. Time to move on; and not look back. She stood. Will’s path had been blocked by two wheelchairs. She saw the detail of the tattoo on his back. This was a man who remembered the things important to him. How could he not know her? How could she not try to break through to him?

“Will Parker.”

He shifted, looking for a way around the wheelchairs. Without turning he said, “Who wants to know?”

“It wasn’t a question. I know who you are.”

He half turned, regarded her with dark, cold eyes. “Oh right. You, Pete’s squeeze. He’s not coming today.” His path was clear, but he hesitated.

“I know.”

Now he turned fully, aggression in his stance. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

“Why would you do that?”

She searched his face for some trace of recognition; a softening, a shift, a blink. Anything.

He advanced on her. “Did we know each other? Did I fuck you?” He came closer. Darcy could see the pucker in the skin of his arm where the bullet struck. She was catapulted back to the corridor at Quingpu and all that red, red blood.

“What’s wrong with you?” He grabbed her arm as she swayed, his fingers biting into her skin. “You need to get out of the sun or fucking eat something.”

She pulled out of his grasp. It wasn’t his fault he was this way, and she wasn’t frightened of him.

“Yes we were together. We covered a lot of ground: detention rooms, beds, floors, bathtubs, balconies, piano tops, elevators,” she paused, watching him for any sign of recognition, “clothing closets. Is any of that ringing a bell with you?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Honey, I’ve been with a lot of women and I don’t remember you. Must be a reason. I remember the good ones.”

She gave him a laugh, just for show. “Oh I was good. I made you lose control, that’s how good I was. Shame you don’t remember.” He was so close, she could smell the sweat in his skin, so close she could see his eyelashes were wet, spiky and clumped together.

The side of his mouth ticked up in half smile. “Really, well maybe you could show me. I’ve got nothing but time, honey, and you came all the way here just to see little ole me.” He lifted his hand and with one finger traced a line down Darcy’s bare arm. “Been a long time since I’ve had some action. I’m raring to go.”

She wasn’t going to let this man who wasn’t Will get to her. “You’re trying to shock me.”

He leaned closer. “I’m trying to get you to leave me alone.”

“And why would that be?”

“Because you’re a crazy bitch.”

She stepped back. “You’re the one named after a superhero. You’re the one who punched out a door yesterday.”

“Look, you either want to fuck or get out of my face. Your call.”

There was nothing. She saw nothing in him, not a hint of the man she remembered, of the man who’d nearly died to protect her.

“I’ll take box B. You’re right, I thought I knew you. But I’d never have anything to do with a man like you. I’d never let him touch me. The Will Parker I knew wasn’t crude or ugly mean. He was charming and smart and funny. I loved him and he loved me.”

The man who was supposed to be Will pushed a hand through his wet hair, overlong now and curling. “Yeah. Lucky you, lucky him. Whoever the fuck he is.”

Darcy took another step back. “You’re nothing like him. Oh you look similar, have the same mannerisms, but he would never deliberately demean anyone for caring.”

“Crazy, you’re crazy.” He was shaking his head. He had one fist wrapped around the back of a café chair.

He should be her Will but he wasn’t. He should remember her but he didn’t. And it wasn’t his fault. “Goodbye, Will.” Darcy looked down to pick up her bag.

“What, no kiss?”

She pulled back. He was almost on top of her. He looked like Will. He could be Will. He was breathing hard. What would he do if she took him up on his offer one last time?

She put her hand to his damp hair, stepped into him and kissed him. When their lips touched he jerked like he’d been hit with a bolt of electricity. His plastered hand came around her back to hold her close; the other went to her face, fingers fanning across her cheek. For all his early aggression, he held her with infinite gentleness and his kiss was soft and tender.

She pulled away first, desperate to see who he was now. His bare chest was heaving as if he’d been chased by demons, but his eyes were narrowed and his look was severe. Her sleeping beauty was still out cold, this imposter in his place.

“Like I said, I remember the good ones.”

Darcy snatched her bag from the seat. She wasn’t going to cry in front of him. She wasn’t going to run either, though she wanted to. As she turned away she was aware of him watching.

He called out, “Have a nice life, gorgeous.”

It was that last word, that last remnant of Will that made her stop, hesitate, turn back. But he was already gone. The next thing she heard was the sound of glass smashing, and she wondered what had broken, other than their hearts.

“When anger rises, think of the consequences.” — Confucius

Will phoned Bo and was packed to blow the joint, five minutes after having his other hand strapped. He’d lucked on the only pane of glass in the place that wasn’t tempered so all he needed was stitches.

At reception he said, yes, he was aware he had damaged both hands. Yes, he was aware he had a problem with anger. Yes, he knew he was checking out on his own recognisance, without the approval of his doctors or his next of kin.
Fuck Pete
. And of course he understood he’d be charged for the repairs.