Eye Contact (11 page)

They came to another telegraph pole – the same splintered grey wood as all the others. His father pulled out a piece of white paper, carefully covered in polythene, and began fixing it to the pole with drawing pins, his face an unfamiliar mask of fear as he smoothed down the clear film and pressed home the last pin.

Another one done. Large, uneven capital letters at the top of the sheet, telephone number along the bottom . . . and the dark, photocopied face in the middle.

He stared up at the face smiling out through the polythene in clean school uniform and smartly combed hair. It was the same photo that usually sat on the shelf above the fireplace at home. It was a photo of his big brother.

‘Come on.’

A large hand reached down to take his and led him back towards the car. The door was held open for him and he climbed in, settling back in the seat once more. A moment later, his father got in and wearily reached across him, grasping the seat belt and pulling it over. It felt tight, pinning him down into his seat. There was a click as the belt clip snapped into the slot, and he looked up. His father was staring at him, the expression slowly changing from worry to puzzlement . . .

‘Sir?’

Naysmith opened his eyes. Everything was suddenly very bright and very loud, and he became aware of a low rumble all around him. He blinked a couple of times and found himself looking up at a pretty blonde flight attendant in a smart red uniform.

‘We’ll be landing at Southampton in just a few minutes. I need you to put your seat back up for me, please.’

She had nice eyes.

‘Thanks for waking me,’ he smiled as he pressed the button to raise his seat. ‘I hate it when I sleep through my stop.’

She laughed and turned to walk back up the aisle. Naysmith watched her go, then rubbed his eyes and yawned. He checked his watch – 7.20 p.m. – before turning his attention to the window. A green patchwork of fields drifted up into view as the aircraft banked, occasional wisps of cloud whipping past the wing. Everything looked different from up here, bathed in the golden light of early evening. He leaned over, trying to identify the landscape that slid below them, searching for the coastline, motorways, rivers – anything he might recognise – straining at his seat belt to see better. It felt tight, pinning him down into his seat . . .

. . . and suddenly he remembered the dream, that familiar dream he’d not had for years. Was it all beginning again, those memories of another life encroaching on his sleep? He stared out at the tilting horizon and wondered what it meant.

A chime came over the public address system, followed by the captain’s voice saying, ‘Cabin crew, seats for landing please.’

Naysmith stretched and let himself sink back into the headrest. An omen, or simply a dream? Either way, there was nothing to do now but enjoy the ride.

He liked small airports. Everything was close together and the queues were short. Ten minutes after stepping off the plane and onto the tarmac, he was walking through the double doors into the main terminal concourse. Kim was waiting by the coffee bar, wearing a long charcoal jacket and jeans, her hair up. Her face broke into an excited smile when she spotted him and she ran over, greeting him with a long kiss.

‘Hey,’ he grinned after she let him go, ‘I’ve only been away three days.’

‘Well . . . I missed you.’ She gave a bashful smile, then brightened. ‘How was Amsterdam? How was your presentation?’

‘Bloody tiresome.’ He yawned. ‘The conference went well – picked up several new clients – but I had to sit through so many boring meetings. The Belgians were the worst – I took a couple of them out to dinner and it was the longest evening of my life. I almost pushed one of them into a canal, they were so dull.’

‘You poor thing.’ She slipped her tiny hand into his as they walked out of the building. ‘Sounds like you had no fun at all.’

‘I wish.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear you behaved yourself.’

Two ambiguous statements.
He slowed, searching her face and reading the glimmer of guilt that betrayed her meaning.

Other women.

‘Don’t start that again, Kim.’

She faltered, then looked down, long lashes hiding her eyes.

‘Sorry,’ she said quietly.

They crossed the road. Kim paid for the ticket and led him into the car park.

‘You’ve had a long day,’ she said as she opened the boot for his bag. ‘Can I drive us back?’

‘Only if you drive fast,’ he smiled, lifting his bag into the car. ‘I just want to get home, open a bottle of wine and curl up with you.’

‘I’ll drive fast,’ she promised.

He opened the passenger door and slid into the seat, yawning as he did so. Pulling the door closed, he reached up for the seat belt . . .

. . . and paused as his fingers touched it. His thoughts returned to the dream, to what it meant, to the game. Ideas began to form, a blur of exciting possibilities and challenges . . .

. . . but not tonight. For now it was still just a whisper, and he could push it away, force it to the back of his mind. Tonight he simply wanted to enjoy Kim.

He reached across and caressed her thigh as they pulled out of the car park and drove off into the evening.

Wrapped in a warm white bathrobe, Naysmith made his way slowly down the stairs. He yawned and pushed his hand through his hair as he walked through to the kitchen where the flagstone floor was cold and invigorating beneath his bare feet.

He switched on the kettle and took out a tin of fresh coffee, inhaling the dark aroma before scooping a few spoonfuls into the tall cafetière. Life was too short to drink instant coffee. Opening the bread bin, he took out a crusty loaf and cut four thick slices, dropping them into the toaster. Padding across to the fridge, he gathered up butter, marmalade and orange juice and placed them on the large wooden table. Then, yawning again, he picked up his phone and checked his email while he waited for the toast.

Kim wandered in, rubbing her eyes.

‘Morning, you.’ She tilted her head to one side, tangles of long brown hair spilling down over the shoulders of her baggy T-shirt. She wore a pair of white socks to protect her feet from the chill of the floor.

‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ Naysmith smiled. ‘Coffee’s on. Sit down. I’ll get it for you.’

‘Mmm, thanks.’ She shuffled over, gave him a drowsy hug and then sat at the table, propping up her head with her hands. ‘What time is your meeting?’

‘Ten,’ he replied. ‘There’s plenty of time.’

He plunged the filter down slowly and carefully through the coffee and poured two cups. Adding a splash of cream to hers, he placed it on the table, then moved behind her chair to massage her shoulders. She felt delicate and pliable in his hands, her skin pale and smooth to the touch.

‘Mmmm,’ Kim sighed, as she reached up and put her small hand on his forearm. ‘It’s nice to have you back.’

Naysmith smiled and turned back to the counter to put the toast on a plate.

‘Any news from Jemma?’ he asked as he sat down. ‘Did she make it over here in the end?’

‘Yes, she came round on Tuesday to keep me company. Actually, that reminds me: she invited us to have dinner with her tomorrow night. John will be there. I didn’t want to say anything until I’d checked with you . . .’

Naysmith poured a glass of orange juice for her, then one for himself.

‘That’s fine,’ he nodded. ‘Tomorrow’s quiet for me – just a few calls to make, and I can do that from here. Today’s the only proper meeting.’

Kim sipped her coffee.

‘What is it today?’ she asked.

‘Monthly operations meeting at Woking,’ he replied, without enthusiasm.

‘Are you driving or taking the train?’

‘Driving.’

She was quiet for a moment, studying him with those large hazel eyes.

‘I wish you weren’t,’ she said at last.

Naysmith glanced up at her.

‘You must be tired from Amsterdam,’ she continued. ‘I don’t want you having an accident or anything.’

He looked at her for a moment, surprised by the note of concern in her voice. It was oddly pleasing.

‘Nothing’s going to happen to me,’ he said, taking her hand, ‘I’m much too careful.’

He held her gaze for a long moment, then, smiling quietly to himself, continued his breakfast.

Kim ran her finger round the top of her glass.

‘Well, I still think it’s unfair that you have to go out today,’ she frowned.

‘That’s enough.’ The stern edge in his voice silenced her, and she looked down, biting her lip nervously. There was something about seeing her like this – suddenly timid and vulnerable – that quickened his pulse.

Naysmith swallowed the last of his coffee and stood up. Leaning over her, he kissed the top of her head, then gently lifted her chin so that she was looking up into his eyes.

‘We each do what we have to do,’ he smiled.

The heavy steel shutters shivered for a moment before crawling back up into the darkness. Naysmith eased the car under them and down the short ramp that led to the basement parking. As he pulled into his space, he noted the other cars lined up in the gloom beside him.

The rest of them were already here. Good. He disliked people being late.

He got out, smoothing down his shirt before retrieving his jacket from the hook in the back. Then, taking his bag from the front seat, he walked quickly across the low-ceilinged space beneath the office building. A magnetic fob on his key ring made a featureless grey door click open and he hurried up the stairwell.

‘Hello, Amy.’ He smiled as he breezed into the sunlit reception and dropped his bag onto the newspapers that covered the waiting-area table. ‘How’s your week been?’

‘Oh hi.’ She looked up from behind a curved wooden desk and returned the smile. ‘It’s been okay, thanks. You’re just back from Holland, aren’t you?’

‘Last night,’ he shrugged, ‘but you know I can’t keep away from this place.’

Amy laughed. She was a little quiet, but intelligent and very organised. Today she was wearing a smart cream blouse and had taken some trouble over her hair. Not particularly attractive but always well dressed, always professional – he admired that.

‘The others are already here?’ he asked, glancing up at the clocks behind her desk. There were three of them, each showing a different time, with ‘Woking’, ‘Hamburg’ or ‘Boston’ written below. Naysmith thought they were pretentious.

‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘I think they’re in the boardroom.’

‘Okay.’ He picked up his bag. ‘I’m going to grab a coffee before I go in – would you like one?’

Her face lit up. Clearly it had been a while since anyone else had offered.

‘I’ve got one here,’ she smiled, pointing to a cup hidden behind her screen, ‘but thanks for asking.’

‘No problem,’ he grinned, opening the office door. ‘See you later.’

Coffee in hand, he pushed open the heavy door and walked into the boardroom. There was a polished oak table that ran the length of the room, with high-back chairs on three sides and a large video conference screen at the opposite end. As he walked in and took a coaster for his cup, the three people already seated greeted him. On the screen, a man wearing rimless spectacles waved and called, ‘Hey, Rob!’

‘
Morgen
, Andreas.’ Naysmith raised a hand in acknowledgement. ‘Are you running Hamburg on your own today? I don’t see Christof.’

‘No, but he will soon join us I think.’ Andreas smiled. ‘Everyone is there in England now?’

‘Yes, we’re all here.’ Naysmith took his seat and looked round the table. Fraser and Gina, the two directors, sat opposite him, while Alec, the permanently miserable project manager, was to his left.

Gina finished typing and closed her laptop. She was immaculately dressed as always, in a navy blue jacket, her dark hair in a smart bob.

‘I think we’ll get started.’ She smiled. ‘Rob, would you like to begin?’

Naysmith’s presentation went smoothly. He ran through the new opportunities from his visit to Amsterdam, then gave an update on existing clients and sales projections.

‘Looks like we’re going to hit our numbers for the quarter.’ Fraser nodded approvingly as he looked at the spreadsheet in front of him. He was a lean man in his early fifties, with short greying hair and a likeable manner. Naysmith got on well with him.

The morning ebbed away as the meeting dragged on. Andreas and Christof discussed business from the German office and then, after the arrival of a tray of sandwiches and cold drinks, Alec launched into a monotonous report on the status of the various projects that his team was working on.

Naysmith found his mind wandering. He began to think about his next game, anticipating the thrill of finding a new target. He yearned to be out of this room, out in the streets waiting for fate to present that next challenge. But it couldn’t be anywhere round here. Finding someone too close to his work or home would be foolish. He had to be patient.

Alec was still talking. The report he was giving sounded very much like the report he had given last month.

Naysmith wondered what sort of person his next target would be. He or she was out there now, the path of their life meandering blindly towards that instant when they would meet him and the game would begin. It fascinated him to think of them, being so unaware that they were on a countdown to such a significant moment.

He glanced at his watch and willed the meeting to end.

By three o’clock, he had escaped. Emerging into the strong sunlight from the underground car park, he at once felt invigorated and threaded his way out of the town centre before speeding north towards the motorway. Gina was always a difficult one to impress, but she’d been pleased by the numbers he’d presented today. She and Fraser would both give him a free hand now, which was ideal. Especially if he wanted to dedicate time to a new game.

Leaving Woking behind, he cut across country and soon joined the motorway. Pulling into the outside lane, he could feel the desire growing steadily inside him. He was wound tight with expectation and impatience, rebelling at the monotonous miles of green and grey sliding by. He yearned for that terrible rush, the heightened sense of awareness that flowed through him when he hunted. It was so strong in him now, he could barely contain himself.