Revenge of the Tide (19 page)

I
t was a Friday, again, the next time Dunkerley stepped over the line.

I was looking forward to dancing, and, although it had been an incredibly busy week at work, it was nearly over and I couldn’t wait to get to the Barclay later and loosen up.

There was an afternoon meeting, one of the things Dunkerley had initiated that was universally unpopular with my team. On this Friday, to my great misfortune, nobody turned up except me. We’d been so busy during the day that I’d hardly noticed that most of the team were off work. Two of them were off sick. Gavin was in Tenerife. Lucy had taken a half-day to get her nails done. So that left me, and Dunkerley.

I think he’d been told to stay out of my way by Human Resources, while they investigated my allegations. Either way, I’d hardly seen him since that argument we’d had in his office. But now, here he was, sitting across the boardroom table from me, staring at me blatantly in a way that was making me feel increasingly uncomfortable.

We waited in silence, until ten minutes after the meeting was supposed to start, Dunkerley cleared his throat and said, ‘Well, Genevieve. Looks as if it’s just you and me today.’

‘Looks like it,’ I said.

‘So, what have you got to report?’

I looked down at the performance report I’d printed off in preparation and passed it across the table towards him. I was top this month. It had nearly killed me, but the need to get away from all this had spurred me on.

He read over it quickly and nodded. ‘See,’ he said, ‘what you can do if you try?’

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t trust myself to speak.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘I think you may have misunderstood my intentions towards you.’

I raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Really? And what were your intentions, exactly?’

‘My intentions were to get you to sleep with me.’

Whatever I’d expected him to say, it wasn’t that. I must have looked shocked, my cheeks flushing.

He laughed at my discomfort. ‘You can’t have been surprised. Not in the line of work you do. I mean, your other work, of course.’

‘If that’s the end of the meeting,’ I said, ‘I’d really like to go and finish off what I was working on.’

‘You’re a very hard worker, Genevieve.’

‘You know you shouldn’t be saying this. How do you know I’m not taping this conversation?’

‘Because you’re not as clever as you think you are.’

I was getting angry now. I wondered if he realised that he had found the right button to push to get a reaction. ‘You’re a shit, you know that?’

‘Yes, probably. So, are you going to do it?’

‘Do what? Fuck you? In your dreams.’

‘Not that. Are you going to drop your complaint against me?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Why should I? If anything you’re just giving me more to report.’

‘I think you should drop your complaint before everyone else finds out what you do on the side.’

‘You know what? Tell them. I really don’t give a stuff. In fact, I might well tell them myself. I might just invite them all to the club as my guests and see what they think. Shall I do that? I could invite everybody – except you.’

I stood up abruptly, the chair rocking behind me, and left the room, slamming the door behind me.

We’d finished the first bottle of wine and were a quarter of the way through the vodka before he kissed me again. We were on the sofa together, laughing about something that wasn’t even funny, and somehow I collapsed against him and mumbled, ‘Sorry,’ as he took my face in both his hands, as though he might miss otherwise, and that made me laugh too, and then I couldn’t say anything because his mouth was on mine.

While he was kissing me I climbed on to his lap and sat astride him so I could control this, even though I was so drunk I was having trouble balancing. He held me steady, his hands on my waist.

At last I stopped to give him a chance to breathe.

‘I seem to remember saying this couldn’t happen,’ he said.

‘Well, I’m not very good at following instructions.’

‘Even more so because we’re both drunk.’

‘You’ve never had drunken sex before?’

‘Of course I have. Is that what’s happening, then?’

‘What?’

‘Drunken sex.’

‘Well, maybe we’ll sober up eventually. Then we can have sober sex too.’

It was dark in my bedroom, and chilly: the heat from the woodburner had warmed the saloon and the alcohol had warmed us from the inside, but going into the cold room I found myself shivering. I undressed as quickly as I could and got under the clean duvet. Carling took longer to get undressed, folding his clothes and leaving them in a neat pile on the chair on to which I’d already thrown my clothes with far less care. He was thinking about it too much, and maybe I wasn’t thinking about it enough.

He had a good body. Even in my drunken state I could tell: he was warm and solid and had kept himself fit, athletic rather than muscular, long-limbed, taut. He climbed in bed with me and immediately pulled me against him. The skylight over our heads bugged me. I still remembered the shock of seeing that face, framed against the dark sky. Was that only last night? It felt like a long, long time ago.

It was drunken sex, but it was still good. Tangled in the darkness, unfamiliar bodies reacting in unfamiliar ways; breathing hard, and sweaty limbs against each other in a sort of desperate dance to which neither of us were certain of the correct steps. The conclusion of it was something of a relief for both of us. He fell asleep straight away, not snoring but breathing heavily, his body firmly between me and the door of the bedroom. If they came for me tonight, they would have to get past him first. Even if it took a lot to wake him from his drunken sleep.

I liked him, that was true. Was it enough? Was it wrong of me to have fucked him when my feelings for him amounted to less than for most of the people who lived on the marina? God, I was even fonder of Malcolm than I was of Carling – but I wouldn’t have fucked Malcolm if he was the last man alive.

I thought about Dylan, wherever he was. What he would say if he knew what I’d just done. I could almost picture myself saying it. Him standing there in front of me with his arms folded across his massive chest.

I fucked that policeman.

He would raise one eyebrow at me as if to say,
So?
And he would pull that face that implied he had somehow expected better.

I was still angry hours later, when I finally got to the Barclay.

The club was busy, packed out: more than one stag group by the look of it as I wove my way through the throng of people towards the dressing rooms. I saw no sign of Fitz but that meant nothing; it was early. Maybe he’d show up later.

Dylan was talking to Nicks, by the largest stage. They seemed to be deep in conversation, but Dylan looked up as I passed, gave me a nod.

I got changed for my first dance and did some stretches to warm up. Not for the first time, I wished I could choose my own music. I needed something fast, brutal. Something to work off the aggression a little bit, so that I could calm down for my routines later in the evening. When I got on to the stage for my first dance, fortunately it was ‘Sexy Bitch’ by David Guetta and Akon. That would do the trick. Not exactly girl power, but I would embed my stilettos into the crotch of any man who felt like challenging me about my attitude tonight.

Fifteen minutes later, and my first routine was over. I’d put effort into it, done some high twirls and spins and an upside-down split against the pole that I’d only tried a couple of times before. It looked inelegant if it wasn’t done properly. The last time I’d tried it had been at Fitz’s party.

I watched the faces of the men gathered around the stage when I finished and I knew I’d done a good job.

In the dressing room I drank water and dabbed the sweat off my skin with a towel. A proper workout to start off with. I scarcely noticed Dylan until I’d finished, and only then because Chanelle called out, ‘Dylan! You’re perving over Viva – stop it.’

He wasn’t perving, of course; he was standing in the doorway like a brick wall, his face impassive. When he’d finally got my attention, he said, ‘Fitz wants to see you.’

I checked the clock over the dressing table. I didn’t want to waste time; I could be out there in the club, earning money.

Dylan walked up the stairs to the offices and I hurried after him, tottering on ridiculous heels. ‘What’s it about, do you know?’

‘Don’t ask me,’ he said.

I was half-expecting to see several blokes gathered in the office as usual, but today Fitz was alone. Despite the warmth I’d generated by dancing, I felt a shiver. I wondered what it meant, that he was on his own, and if I had any cause to be afraid.

‘Viva. Can I get you anything?’

I wasn’t really thirsty but I needed a reason for Dylan to come back. ‘Water, please.’

Dylan was dismissed from the room with a nod from Fitz. He crossed the room and shut the door.

I smiled at him.

‘Have a seat, my dear,’ he said, indicating the sofa.

I did as I was told. No wonder I was shivering. The window was open behind me, the heavy curtain moving gently as the breeze stirred it. I could hear the noise of the traffic in the street below.

‘So,’ he said at last, ‘you enjoyed the party the other week?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It was a good night.’

‘Fancy doing it again?’

‘Sure.’

‘Next weekend?’

Was that it? He could have asked at closing time, or sent a message through Dylan.

He was standing in front of me, his legs slightly apart, hands thrust into the pockets of his expensive silk suit. There was a knock at the door and a few seconds later Dylan opened it. He brought a tray with water on it, exactly as he had done last time. Ice and a slice of lemon on a silver dish. He set it down on the table next to the sofa and left the room again without a word, or a look at Fitz, or at me. He shut the door behind him.

Fitz cast a glance behind him at the door and turned back to me, head cocked to one side as though he were considering something. ‘He likes you,’ he remarked.

‘Could have fooled me,’ I said. ‘He never so much as gives me a second glance.’

‘You had a nice long chat with him last weekend,’ he said. ‘What was that all about?’

‘He was asking me for advice on some girl he fancies,’ I said, without missing a beat. Whatever I’d said would have been a lie and I was sure he would have seen straight through it, but I wasn’t about to drop Dylan in the shit.

To my profound relief, Fitz laughed. ‘Sly old dog,’ he said. ‘I still think it’s you he likes. Maybe it was some kind of double-bluff.’

I laughed too, and Fitz went to his drinks tray. He poured himself something that could have been whisky, a tumblerful.

He came and sat next to me on the sofa. Next to me, but a respectful distance between us. ‘See,’ he said, ‘I have a problem with that.’

‘With what?’ I said, feeling uncomfortable again.

‘With him liking you.’

‘Why’s that?’

Fitz drank from his glass, downed the whole tumblerful as I watched, one gulp after another. Then he sighed heavily and put the glass down on the table, reaching across me as he did so. ‘Because, my dear Viva, I like you too. And that big bastard is better-looking than me.’

I smiled at him. ‘You like me, Fitz?’

He was watching me coyly from his end of the sofa. ‘Come on. You know I do.’

I drank my water to give myself a few seconds to consider how to play this. ‘I didn’t think you had any free time for girls,’ I said at last. ‘You’re a very busy man.’

He looked at me steadily, as though he was evaluating my response. ‘You’re different from the others,’ he said. ‘That’s why I like you. You’re not going to piss me about, are you, Genevieve?’

‘Depends what you mean by that,’ I said. ‘I work for you and I’m very proud of what I do. If you want to fit me in around my dancing, then that’s fine. But I don’t want to stop dancing, Fitz. And if anything happens between us, then I don’t want that to interfere with work. Do you understand what I mean?’

‘You mean you wouldn’t mind a fuck every now and then, but you don’t want a relationship?’

‘To put it crudely, I guess that’s probably about right.’

He nodded slowly, as though I’d given the right answer.

‘Well,’ he said at last. ‘You are different from the others. You really are.’

‘I need to go,’ I said. ‘They’re busy downstairs.’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t want to come between you and your dancing.’

He stood and held out a hand to help me to my feet.

At the door he kissed my hand gently. ‘I don’t do casual fucks, Genevieve,’ he said. ‘If I can’t have your heart I’ll have to make do with having you as a valued employee.’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

I half-walked, half-ran back down to the dressing room, feeling a little as though I’d been in the lion’s den and come out again without so much as a scratch. Could that have gone any better? Only if I’d managed to renegotiate my payment for the next private function – the question of my remuneration had somehow failed to come up in the light of the other revelations.

Dylan was waiting for me outside the dressing room and he walked back with me to the door to the club. ‘Well?’ he said.

I smiled at him. ‘He thinks you fancy me,’ I said.

Dylan laughed, and I went off to find some nice gentlemen to chat to.

I woke up and my head was splitting with pain even before I opened my eyes.

I was alone – Carling was gone. My head fell back on to the pillow and that hurt, too, the bump on the side of my head jarring with the impact.

I needed water.

I dragged myself upright and found a T-shirt on the floor, pulling it over my head as I went next door to the bathroom. I drank from the tap, ran my hand under it and over my hair, holding a cupped hand of cold water against the bump on the side of my head.

I washed my face and finally looked in the mirror. I’d looked worse, I thought. It would have to do.