Pinstripes (16 page)

He wondered if he could see her that evening. He had a dinner arranged with his top client, Stephen Lock, and he knew he couldn
’t sneak off. Stephen liked to party and would probably insist they go on to a club. After that, it would be too late to go to Clara’s. He would be stuck with his wife.

He was still reliving the details of the previous night, when the telephone rang. It was his wife and she was hysterical: Jemima, their youngest daughter, had appendicitis and had been rushed into hospital. His presence was required. This meant he wouldn
’t be able to see his client that evening, and he didn’t know when he could see Clara again. He cursed Jemima. He picked up the telephone.

Before he finished dialling Stephen
’s number, he changed his mind. He called Clara and told her to come straight to his office. He was too far away to notice the sympathetic glance Sarah gave her as she left the desk.

“
Hi,” Clara said, wondering what he needed now. She was increasingly on edge after the conversation with Sarah, and being at his beck and call was not going to get her any sympathy from the rest of the desk.

“
Jemima has appendicitis. She’s in hospital.”

Clara thanked the god of appendicitis.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said sweetly.

“
Yes, well, I have to go, but I’m supposed to have dinner with Stephen Lock from MMN. I want you to go instead.” Tim had decided that if Clara was with Stephen he could kill two birds with one stone. The client would have his dinner; Tim would know where Clara was. Stephen was over fifty, married and unattractive. He was not a threat.

“
Me? But I’ve never even met him.”

“
Clara, this is an order. Here’s his number. Call him and let him know what’s happening. I’ve booked Nobu and you just need to be your normal charming self. Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Clara took the details and left. She called Stephen, who sounded old, and she arranged to meet him at Nobu. She spent the rest of the day working as hard as she could, knowing that Tim wasn
’t there to distract her. He would not be able to call her into his office; he wouldn’t be able to call round to see her. She was free of him. Even if it was only for a day and a night, it was a wonderful feeling.

Before leaving for the restaurant she had a line of cocaine. When she arrived, Stephen was already there. She sat down and ordered a bottle of champagne. At first glance, it was worse than she thought. Stephen was so pleased to see her, which he would be considering that he was over fifty, with little hair and a huge belly. At best he was distinguished; at worst he was over the hill. He was not a date, he was a client. Clara told herself this as the cocaine swam around in her brain. She found it hard to distinguish between the two.

As they ordered, Clara enjoyed the conversation. Stephen could tell a good story and he kept her laughing for most of the meal. She had to sneak to the loo for another couple of lines, after which she couldn’t remember what she ate, if she ate. She knew she was charming. She was always charming. Stephen became charming too. After brandy, Stephen suggested going to a club, and Clara readily agreed. She was high as a kite and having fun. He was drunk and could barely draw his red eyes from Clara’s cleavage as he explained that he had membership at Annabel’s. Clara loved Annabel’s. As he called to reserve a table, she paid the bill.

At Annabel
’s the fun continued. Stephen might not have had the looks, but he knew how to make Clara laugh, how to compliment her. He didn’t know she was wasted. They had a bottle of champagne and Clara had more cocaine. They danced – Stephen was as amusing on the dance floor as he was off it – they laughed, and suddenly Stephen became very, very attractive.

Clara could barely remember who she was, let alone why she was there. And she had that feeling of need, which she couldn
’t fight when her addiction kicked in. “Let’s go,” she breathed, knowing what she wanted.

“
But I thought we were having fun.” Stephen looked confused.

“
Oh, what I’ve got in mind is far more fun,” Clara replied. She asked the door attendant for a taxi, which he flagged down quickly. As they drove to Clara’s flat, Stephen tried to speak, but Clara hushed him with kisses. As soon as they got inside the flat, she pulled off her suit and stood naked; Stephen looked on in awe. She peeled off his clothes slowly and tried not to look as he stood before her in all his glory. He was far too fat to contemplate.

She seduced him in a way he didn
’t know existed. They had sex on the sitting-room floor and when it was over, Clara glanced at the sweating whale in front of her. He was leaning back against the sofa, his tiny penis flapping against his thigh. Clara looked away and offered to call him a cab. He nodded – too amazed at his good fortune to speak.

He thanked her as a gentleman would, and Clara smiled, as a good salesperson would do. The only thought in her head was that she wasn
’t an SFH salesperson, she was a sex salesperson. She took another line of cocaine and then another. Then she saw the truth. She had had sex with a client. One of Tim’s biggest, clients. She was enveloped in a cloud of disgust. She couldn’t believe she’d done it. She calmed herself down by reminding herself that she was a sex addict: she couldn’t help herself. She had an illness. She hadn’t been rational. She was in deep shit.

Wrapping herself in her crisp linen duvet, she took a couple of sleeping pills and forgot to set her alarm.

She woke at midday. The answer phone was beeping. She hadn’t heard any telephone calls, but she never did when she took sleeping pills. The only voice on the answer phone was Tim’s. He was barking that she had better call him straight away at the office. She burst into tears as she heard the anger in his voice.

***

Tim was fuming. “How dare she do that to me?” he said to himself. He had gone to work after spending a stressful night at the hospital. Jemima had had her appendix removed then demanded that he stay with her. His wife was hysterical and his elder daughter was sulking because she wasn’t the centre of attention. No one would listen to him and he began to hate women. In the morning he excused himself, saying he had important meetings at work. In reality, he needed to get away from his family.

At the office he found some peace until his client, Stephen Lock, the fat, respectable married man, had called him to thank him for the
“great piece of arse” he had sent. Then he had been unable to stop himself telling Tim how much of the arse he had seen. And the breasts, and the other bits. Clara had betrayed him. She had slept with another man. Tim wanted to kill her.

As soon as he had an explanation, he would decide what to do. He told himself that Clara might not have slept with Stephen. Stephen might have lied. He had probably tried it on and she rejected him. Tim hoped that this was so. Unable to bear it any longer, he told his secretary he had a last-minute appointment and took a cab over to Clara
’s flat.

Clara opened the door wearing her towelling dressing-gown. Tim barely looked at her.

“Hi,” she said.

“
Clara, did you sleep with Stephen?” His fists were clenched.

“
Yes,” she said.

“
No. The answer was supposed to be no. Clara, you are a fucking little whore. You slept with one of our most important clients. You said you only slept with me.”

“
Yes.”

“
Fuck, Clara, how could you do that to me?” Tim had never before felt this angry.

“
I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

“
Nothing just happens. You make it happen. You bitch, I should beat the shit out of you.” Tim’s face was contorted with rage.

Clara hoped he wasn
’t going to hit her. He looked as if he might.

After a few minutes silence, he grabbed her roughly by her bathrobe and pulled her to him. She screamed and he put one hand over her mouth. He undid his trousers with the other, trapping Clara with his legs. She tried to push him away but she had no strength. He took his hand away from her mouth, undid her bathrobe, pushed her to the floor and climbed on top of her.

“Don’t you ever have sex with anyone but me!” he spat, as he entered her.

Clara cried out in pain.
“Shut the fuck up. You behave like a whore, I’ll treat you like one,” he said, and thrust into her even harder.

Clara
’s head was spinning. She had lost control of her body. She could feel Tim prodding at her, and it hurt, but she couldn’t say anything. She couldn’t lift her arms to push him off. She saw that he had pinned them down, but she couldn’t feel it. By the time he’d finished she couldn’t feel anything.

Tim
’s face was red and contorted as he climbed off her. Clara stayed still. She tried to work out what she could do or say, what she should do or say. He’d raped her, but maybe he’d had a right to. She was a whore. A worthless whore who gave her body to anyone who wanted it. This was her fault; this was what she deserved.

“
I’m sorry,” Clara said, still lying on the floor.

“
You’d better be,” Tim said, as he stood over her.

“
I’ll come to work,” Clara started crying.

“Don’t
fucking cry. I don’t want you at work. Don’t even think about work. You stay there with your legs open waiting for your next fuck. You’re not fit to work.” Clara knew this was true. She was in no state to move, let alone work.

“
I’ll be there on Monday. It’s my job, Tim. I need to come in on Monday.” Clara was pleading.

“
Fine. Do that. In the meantime, I want you to know I’m very angry, disappointed and upset. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m going to do something.” Tim stormed out, leaving her lying on the floor in a puddle of tears.

His first thought after he had calmed down was how he could turn this to his advantage. He could offer to forgive her if she agreed to his terms. His terms would be that she would resign from her job, he would leave his wife and move in with her. The sex he had just had with her had proved that she would let him do what he wanted. She would let him have her whenever he chose. He wanted that; he wanted her all the time. Although he was eaten up with jealousy at her sleeping with Stephen, he could use it to own her. He wanted to own her. Tim believed that this was love.

***

Clara spent the rest of the day crying. She needed to talk to someone
, but she didn’t have anyone. Her brother would be disappointed in her, and he was the one person in her life who had any faith in her. She couldn’t risk losing him. Her parents would probably drag her home, lock her up and make her marry the first man they could persuade to take her off their hands. She had no friends. Clarissa would probably have a heart-attack if she knew what Clara had done. No one would understand, no one would forgive her. How could they when she couldn’t forgive herself? Tim’s violation was something she pushed to the back of her mind as she got up and went to get her cocaine.

Clara felt disgusted with herself. But it wasn
’t her fault that she was addicted to sex. How could a person say no when they were addicted? She tried to figure out when she had first needed sex this much, but she couldn’t remember. If she was being honest with herself she would have realised that it was probably at the same time she had started taking cocaine, but to Clara, cocaine was her one and only friend. She couldn’t betray it.

How did I end up like this? Clara thought, as she lay on her cream sofa and stared at her cream walls. Her immaculate flat represented her life. It felt empty right now.

***

That afternoon Tim made a decision. His wife called him constantly with updates from the hospital. Jemima cried, Jemima wanted ice-cream, Jemima wanted comics. It went on endlessly. Tim pointed out that it was a simple operation that many people had, but to his family it was a Greek tragedy. And Tim felt tragic. He sat in his office not really working, thinking about the Clara problem.

Clara was young, sexy, keen and open-minded. She doted on him. He knew that although she had slept with Stephen he would forgive her. He had to forgive her. The alternative to forgiving her would be to lose her. He couldn’t lose her.

By the end of the day, Tim picked up his briefcase and knew exactly what he was going to do. He would tell his wife that on Saturday he was going to play golf with an important client. Instead he would go to see Clara. He would tell her that she had to resign and he would leave his wife and move in. They would buy a new house – he didn
’t like her flat – after the divorce had been finalised. He would marry her as soon as he was divorced and they would live happily ever after. Tim would have what he wanted: Clara in his bed.

***

Clara had to pull herself together. She had slept so much lately, cried so much and been totally unlike herself. She needed to get a grip on her life. She was seeing James on Sunday for lunch and by then she would be so together that everything would be fine. She would start next week with a new outlook and a new life. She would finish the affair with Tim and throw herself into work. The new Clara. This Clara would not be called a whore; she wouldn’t let Tim force himself on her ever again. No man would be allowed near her unless she wanted it. She needed to take control.