The Endgame (5 page)

‘Lisa, stop it,’ he said gently, pushing her hand away, his expression almost pitying. ‘Please.’ He raked a hand through his hair. She could tell he was affected by her, but he was determined to resist her.

She swallowed hard. She couldn’t let him send her home. If she couldn’t seduce him, she was just going to have to throw herself on his mercy and hope for the best. ‘Um ...I’d like to wait for Mark, if that’s okay. Would you mind if I stayed here until he’s ... ready to leave?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, relieved.

‘You’re really enjoying that cake,’ Grayson said with an indulgent smile as she forked up the last bite.

‘It’s delicious. I haven’t had cake in a long time.’ Maybe he was right and she’d needed the sugar, because she felt more relaxed now. Perhaps that was why she suddenly felt brave enough to be open with Grayson about what she wanted.

‘Grayson, can I ask you a favour? Would you mind if we, um ...’ Maybe she wasn’t feeling so emboldened after all.

‘What?’

She took a deep breath. ‘I promised Mark I’d go along with whatever happened tonight, and ... well, I don’t want to let him down.’ She bit her lip. ‘Would you pretend that we – that I–?’

‘You want him to think we’ve had sex?’

‘Um ... yes.’

‘Sure, no problem – if that’s what you want.’

‘Thank you,’ Lisa breathed a sigh of relief, finally able to properly relax. As the tension left her body, she suddenly felt overwhelmed by all the tension and emotional turmoil of the evening, and she found herself blinking back tears. She was aware of Grayson’s eyes on her face, scrutinising her.

‘Lisa,’ he began tentatively. ‘I don’t really know you, and I’m sorry if this is out of line, but ... is Mark abusive? Are you afraid of him?’

‘Oh no,’ she said, striving to keep her tone light. ‘He doesn’t hit me, if that’s what you mean.’

It was true, strictly speaking. She had used the present tense, and he didn’t hit her anymore. But that was more down to the fact that she had learned to walk on eggshells and manage his moods than to any restraint on his part. He still hurt her physically in other ways. He was often rough with her during sex – biting and scratching, digging his fingers into her skin so hard he left bruises, fucking her violently until she could barely stand afterwards.

‘There are other forms of abuse,’ Grayson said. She looked up to find him watching her face intently, and she hoped her dark thoughts hadn’t shown on her features.

She gave him a reassuring smile. ‘He just ... gets frustrated with me.’ She chose her words carefully. ‘Like he said, he finds me very provincial and naive. He gets annoyed when I can’t keep up. I’m trying to be more sophisticated, but ...’ She trailed off.

‘You’re lovely as you are.’ Grayson lifted a hand as if to stroke her cheek, but then checked himself and dropped it.

‘He finds me quite ignorant, I’m afraid,’ Lisa said with a shaky smile. ‘And he’s right. There’s so much I don’t know about. I didn’t finish college. I don’t know about wine – I can’t say clever things about it. I haven’t travelled. There wasn’t any money...’ She trailed off. She shouldn’t be telling him this. He was just being kind. He wasn’t interested in her shitty life story.

‘Those things aren’t important,’ he said, his eyes intent on hers. ‘People don’t care about that stuff – not people who are worth knowing anyway. What matters is what kind of person you are. You seem kind and decent, and anyone can see that you’re intelligent. You don’t need money or a degree to validate you. You shouldn’t allow anyone to make you feel small because you haven’t had the opportunities or advantages in life that they’ve had. That doesn’t make them better or cleverer than you – just luckier.’

Lisa looked down at her hands. She felt tears stinging the backs of her eyes. He was being so kind, it was going to make her cry.

Suddenly the spell was broken by the sounds of shouts and high-pitched shrieking drifting in from the garden. Lisa blushed as her eyes flew to the glass doors leading to the terrace that wrapped around the side of the house, relieved that the hot tub was out of sight. Her eyes darted to Grayson, and he looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

‘Well, you’re probably going to be waiting a while,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we go into the library? It’s ... quieter.’

‘That would be good,’ Lisa said gratefully. She could do without the humiliation of sitting here listening to Mark getting his rocks off with another woman. Not that she was jealous – Isabel was more than welcome to him. But it still made her feel pathetic and humiliated.

‘Follow me,’ Grayson said, standing.

‘What a beautiful room,’ she said, smiling at Grayson as she stepped inside.

‘Thank you. I like it. Have a seat. Would you like a brandy?’

‘Yes, please.’

He nodded. ‘Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a moment.’

When he was gone, Lisa explored the library. It was her idea of bliss. All the chairs looked so inviting, she couldn’t decide where to sit. She could see herself spending hours curled up in one of the reading nooks, lost in a book, or in the depths of one of those armchairs in front of a roaring fire. Then her eyes lit on a chess board set up between the two armchairs, and she gravitated towards it. As she drew closer, she saw that there was an unfinished game in progress, and she couldn’t resist checking it out. Sitting down in one of the chairs, she leaned over the board, examining the state of play. There were only a few pieces remaining, and she played the endgame in her head, her fingers dancing over the pieces as she worked out the moves each player would make. She didn’t know whose turn it was, but she saw how Black could checkmate in one move. Her fingers hovered over the bishop as she tested the strategy from every angle. But there was no question about it, she decided. It was unbeatable. Her fingers were automatically reaching for the piece when the door opened, and she jumped back guiltily as Grayson came into the room carrying two globe glasses filled with an amber liquid.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I was just testing something. I would have put it back.’

‘Be my guest,’ he said as he placed the glasses on a low coffee table in front of the fireplace. ‘You play chess?’

‘Yes, I love it! My grandparents taught me – they were great aficionados of the game. I used to play a lot, but it’s been a while.’

He sat in the chair opposite her. ‘So, show me the move you were going to make,’ he said, nodding to the board.

She hesitated a moment before picking up the bishop and moving it into position. ‘Checkmate.’

His eyes scanned the board briefly, but she could tell he already knew it was game over. ‘I win,’ he said with a smirk, sitting back in his chair.

‘You’re Black?’

‘Yes.’ He picked up his brandy glass and lifted it to her in salute.

‘Oh, that’s not fair! I would never have left my king exposed like that in the first place. I’d have seen that move coming a mile off.’

He grinned. ‘Yeah, Isabel’s not very good.’

‘Oh, will she mind that I’ve finished her game?’

‘No, she’ll be delighted. She’s not that fond of chess. She just plays occasionally to humour me.’

Like he plays her games, Lisa thought. ‘Can we play?’ she asked eagerly. The words were out of her mouth before she thought about it.

‘Why not? I imagine we have plenty of time. But I warn you – I’m very good.’

She raised an eyebrow in challenge. ‘So am I.’

‘That’s fighting talk.’ He grinned at her. ‘Okay, you’re on.’

Grayson set up the board, and as they began to play, all Lisa’s tension gradually seeped away. The brandy warmed and relaxed her, and she started to unwind and enjoy herself, forgetting the awkwardness of the situation as she became absorbed in the game. Grayson wasn’t kidding when he said he was good, and it required all her focus and concentration to plan her strategy and try to anticipate his next move, leaving no room for self-consciousness. Besides, chess had such happy associations for her, just handling the familiar wooden pieces, following the time-honoured pattern of play took her to a better place. The familiar rhythm of the game was comforting. She could tell Grayson was enjoying himself too – she saw his eyes light up as he realised she was a worthwhile opponent.

‘Your grandparents taught you well,’ he said as he waited for her to make her next move.

‘They did. We played all the time when I was a kid.’ She couldn’t help the automatic smile that came at the memory.

‘You’re close to your grandparents?’ Grayson asked. ‘You said they brought you up.’

‘Yes, we were very close. But they’re dead now.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Lisa nodded in acknowledgement. ‘They were both obsessed with chess,’ she said, smiling fondly. ‘They were fiercely competitive with each other. They kept up this epic ongoing rivalry all through their lives together, right up to the end. The scores were into the hundreds, but they always kept track.’

Grayson smiled. ‘Who was ahead in the end?’

‘My grandmother. My grandfather said she died when she did to spite him – because she was determined to quit while she was ahead.’

‘They sound great.’

‘They were. They were still full of life, even though they were old. They were such fun to be around. I miss them so much.’

‘I’m sorry. If it’s painful to talk about them–‘

‘No, it’s nice. They’re happy memories.’

She realised as she said it how much she had missed talking about her grandparents. Mark never wanted to hear about her life before him. He resented the idea of anyone else having a claim on her affection – even her family. He had subtly discouraged her from reminiscing about them, or anyone she had known before she met him. In the beginning he had said it was for her sake, to help her get over her loss. He didn’t want her to upset herself by dwelling on the past. But now she saw that his motives had been purely selfish, and it hadn’t helped at all – it had just made her sadder, and her grief more acute. Her grandparents had been a big part of her life, and she had nothing but happy memories of them. Suppressing those memories was like losing them all over again. It felt good to talk about them now, to acknowledge their place in her life, and it gave her a warm glow remembering how much love there had been in their home.

‘So how did you meet Mark?’ Grayson asked her.

She knew what he must be thinking. She and Mark looked like a very mismatched couple. He was ten years older than her, and it was obvious they came from very different worlds. ‘He came to my college,’ she said. ‘It was our second year show.’

‘What kind of art did you do?’ he asked, his eyes alive with interest.

‘Painting. Mark paid a lot of attention to me. He was very complimentary about my work. He sort of became my mentor.’ She smiled wryly at the memory. ‘He swept me off my feet.’ She had been so flattered by such a distinguished and important art dealer as Mark taking notice of her, so pathetically grateful for any scrap of his attention. She’d been dazzled by him, impressed by his success, wealth and position in the art world. She’d been so proud he’d chosen her when he was surrounded by much more glamorous, sophisticated women. But she realised now he didn’t want an equal, a woman like Isabel who would stand up to him and hold her own. He wanted someone as in awe of him as she had been.

‘And yet you quit.’ Grayson frowned.

‘I moved in with Mark over the summer, and he suggested I defer my degree and take a year out. I’d been slogging to pay my way through college, working as a waitress every shift I could get, on top of looking after my grandparents. Then they died. I was exhausted and stressed out. He offered to support me so I could take time out to just paint. So,’ she shrugged, ‘I didn’t go back to college in the autumn.’

‘And you never went back? Why not?’

‘It turned out I just wasn’t very good.’

‘Mark obviously thought you were talented. An endorsement from him really means something.’

‘He soon changed his mind,’ she said with a bitter laugh. ‘I guess I didn’t live up to my early promise. It happens. Even Mark makes mistakes. Taking that year out woke me up to how talented I really was in the grand scheme of things. I realised I’d never make it as an artist. I’d just have been wasting my time and money returning to college.’

Grayson narrowed his eyes, studying her carefully. ‘That’s a shame,’ he said.

The truth was it was Mark who had knocked her notions of herself as an artist on the head. His initial admiration and praise of her work had quickly turned to constant criticism and scorn, until nothing she did pleased or satisfied him. His disappointment in her was obvious. He made it clear that he thought he’d been mistaken about her talent, and that he now saw her as a trite, talentless pretender unworthy of his time and attention. He had not only shattered her confidence in her work, but he had drained all the joy from it for her. Painting used to bring her such intense pleasure, but Mark’s unceasing and increasingly irrational demands gradually turned it into a grinding chore; an endless, fruitless struggle to win the approval of someone who was impossible to please. His relentless derision had finally stamped out every shred of belief she had in her work and crushed her spirit to the point where she felt it was pointless to attempt anything because she already knew it wouldn’t be good enough.

‘Mark needed an assistant, so I started working at the gallery.’ She realised now it had been part of his campaign to control every aspect of her life, so that it all revolved around him. He had gradually eroded everything she had for herself – her art, her work, her friends – until there was nothing in her life but him.

‘But you don’t work at the gallery now?’

‘No. Mark needed someone more qualified, more in touch with the contemporary scene.’ She tried to keep her voice even, not to betray how hurt she still was by that. It had broken her heart to leave the gallery. She had loved her job there. It had allowed her to keep up with the art world even if she couldn’t really be part of it. She had wanted to scream at the injustice of Mark taking on a recent graduate to replace her, explaining that he needed someone better qualified and more ambitious – someone who was serious about building a career in the arts. He had actually had the gall to cite the fact that she had never finished her degree as evidence of her lack of commitment. She wanted to argue that he was the reason she had dropped out of college. He had persuaded her that she didn’t need a degree and led her to believe that he would support her in her career. She had plenty of ambition and she would have been happy to build a career at the gallery alongside him. But she had said nothing, mindful not to do anything to provoke his anger. Instead she had stood mutely by while he whisked the rug from under her feet. That was when she first realised she was afraid of him.

It had been the final step in isolating her. ‘I’m just a housewife now, I guess,’ she said with a shrug.

‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ Grayson said, ‘if it’s what you want.’ His smile was kind, but his eyes looked troubled.

‘What about you?’ she asked, desperate to take the focus off her. ‘Did you always want to be an architect?’

‘Well, not always. I did go through a phase where I wanted to be a power ranger.’

‘Power ranger? Impressive.’

‘Yeah, fighting crime in a spandex suit.’

‘Mmm, you’d look good in spandex,’ she smiled. God, was she flirting with him? It was a bit late for coyness considering the things he’d done to her in the kitchen.

‘But once I realised I’d never qualify as a superhero, I guess architecture took over. Mainly I just wanted to wear a hard hat and drive a digger.’ He gave her a boyish grin. ‘But I always loved building stuff, and I was a whizz at Lego. So I guess it was on the cards from an early age. What about you? What did you want to be when you were a little kid?’

She grinned. ‘It’s a bit embarrassing.’

‘Come on, I showed you mine, you have to show me yours.’

Lisa knew he didn’t intend it to sound like innuendo, but she couldn’t help blushing.

‘It can’t be more embarrassing than power ranger,’ Grayson coaxed.

‘Don’t be so sure. At least yours was human. I wanted to be a mermaid.’

His eyes locked with hers, his gaze openly appreciative. ‘Is this your way of distracting me, so I can’t concentrate on my next move? Because it’s working.’

Lisa blushed, remembering too late that mermaids weren’t usually portrayed as modestly as the sweet and innocent Ariel from the Disney film that had fuelled her childhood fantasies. In folklore, they traditionally sat around naked on rocks, luring sailors to their doom.

‘‘You’d make a beautiful mermaid,’ Grayson said. ‘But then, you’d make a beautiful anything.’

‘I didn’t want to just sit around combing my long hair, though.’

‘I take it this ambition was inspired by the Disney version of
The Little Mermaid
?’

‘Yes, Ariel was my idol. I wanted to save people who were drowning at sea.’

Grayson laughed. ‘Especially if they were handsome princes?’

‘It wasn’t just about handsome princes. Little girls do dream about other things, you know. Though if one had come along, it would have been a nice perk of the job.’ She had thought Mark was her prince, she thought, smiling at the irony of it.

‘That’s the drawback of being a power ranger,’ Grayson said as he moved his knight. ‘No time for romance.’

Lisa laughed. She couldn’t believe how easy she was finding it to chat to Grayson, especially after what had happened in the kitchen. Occasionally an image of him sucking her nipples or licking her pussy would flash into her mind, and she would blush, feeling hot all over. But then he would say something and she’d become engaged in the conversation again, and forget to feel embarrassed and shy with him.