The Poison Morality (12 page)

Josie turned her nose down at the outcasts of the alley that the dark haired woman walked down impassively.  She huddled at the opposite corner and watched her strut toward the young man at the other end striking him across the face.

Josie snapped pictures of them both, she watched him cower from her.  Then she handed him a bag and turned towards Josie, hiding back around the corner.  She walked past Josie within inches, the look on her face expressed nothing of the action she had just witnessed and Josie had to respect her for the strength she exhibited.

More and more as she watched this woman, the more enthralled she was with her.  It seemed that she went all over the city, running Josie ragged only talking to a few people, in between her frequent visits with Declan with the door closed.

She seemed to inhabit a flat in the city centre and an old abandoned house on the outskirts of town.  This constant running around was getting on Josie’s nerves.

Back at the office she confronted Declan, “How long am I doing this for? 
What
am I doing this for?”

Declan was annoyed, “For me remember.”

“I know but…she’s all over the place.  Meanwhile work is piling up and you’re not exactly paying me for overtime.”

Declan walked past her and shut the door behind her, taking the camera from around her neck, she thought he was going to kiss her but he just went behind his desk and hooked the camera up to his computer, downloaded the pictures and then set the camera aside.

“When is this going to be done,” she asked, agitated and tired, walking up to the desk to try to get his attention.

“When I say it is,” he said flipping through the pictures.  “You haven’t really brought me anything I can…hold on,” he turned the screen, “she goes here,” indicating the decrepit house across town.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I don’t know, she went there last Tuesday, today,” she was looking up at the corner of the ceiling trying to remember.

“No, I mean how often.  Does she go on particular days?”

“No, everything is random with her, everything,” she lifted her hands hopelessly and let them drop back to her sides.

“Who’s this,” he said looking at the homeless man she had slapped across the face.

“How should I know who he is?  She walked up to him, slapped him…”

“Slapped him,” he looked amused.

“Yes, slapped him, talked to him, gave him a bag and left.”

“Where is this?”

“It’s an alley; I’ll have to show you, I can’t remember any street names.”

He grunted at her, not sure if he was satisfied or dissatisfied.  “I’m tired Declan, can I just go home now?”

He stood up, taking off his blazer and approaching her, she really wasn’t in the mood but she typically didn’t deny him, she still wanted that promotion, and he said she would be rewarded.  “Thank you,” he said and she was shocked, his hand unbuttoning her blouse, kissing her neck, his fingertips brushing the curve of her breasts.  “Tomorrow you’ll take me there.”

“Alright,” he kissed her, his mouth roaming freely over hers, his hand undoing her trousers and pulling them down with her underwear.  Turning her, his fingers bit into her upper arms when he bent her over the desk.  Her legs constricted by the trousers around her ankles confined there by lace ups, she tried to push the shoes off to get her trousers off but they wouldn’t go and he rammed inside her, striking her hips painfully against the edge of the desk, his fingers digging into her upper arms.

She didn’t cry out at first, the sensation of him inside her overpowered the pain of the desk pushing into her hip bones but after so many thrusts, she cried out, reaching behind her trying to push at him but he held her wrist to her back and she yielded.  Staying as loose as she could, pushing back against him, fuelling him on only to keep from hitting the desk harder.  Her free hand clenched, her nails biting into her palms.

He quickened and one yelp, he collapsed on her, kissing her neck and then pulling out of her.  Pushing up, she held back tears, thinking the brunette would slap his face, so why didn’t she do the same to Declan? 

Adjusting her clothing, she grabbed the camera and reached the door but stopped.  Walking over to him, his eyebrow lifted in speculation, and she slapped his face.  Not very hard, it probably hurt her hand more than it hurt his face but there was satisfaction in it and she left him stupefied.

***

Josie stood shivering in her jeans and short leather jacket, her red hair pulled back into a ponytail watching the woman and man sitting on the steps sipping their warm coffee while she stood holding a camera, shivering.  At least the sun was warm, when the wind wasn’t blowing. 

It wasn’t the large crowd at Covent Garden that the summer weather draws but warm enough for passers-by to stop shopping long enough to be entertained.  The small crowd laughed at the street performer except the three of them.

They were smiling and laughing with each other, enjoying each other’s company and engrossed in conversation.  He was older by more than a few years than she, maybe even old enough to be her father but he was still handsome with wavy hair and bright blue eyes that tilted up slightly at the corners.  Like Declan, there was fifteen years between him and Josie.

The woman spoke and then gave all her attention to him when he spoke.  They were immersed in conversation but still applauded taking their cue from the crowd around them.  Josie however snapped photos of both.

Declan called her Sophie.  Josie thought she was lewd when they first met but she seemed to be amiable really and not the threat that Declan obviously thought she was as she leaned towards the man.  He was well dressed in a suit and his lips curled at the corners when he looked at her.

On the step, the smells of warm food from the surrounding restaurants made Josie hungry and she shivered when a strong breeze blew through, questioning more and more why she was doing Declan’s bidding.

They rose, taking hands and then kissing cheeks.  Josie snapped another photo and then noticed the crowd looking at her.  Embarrassed she looked at the man doing his routine.  He had made some joke at her expense and she didn’t even realize.  She shrugged and laughed her cheeks burning.  By the time he returned to his routine and Josie was forgotten again, the man and the woman disappeared.

Straining and scanning, she hoped to see her but they were gone.  She didn’t think Declan would be pleased if she admitted she had lost the brunette while taking photos of her.

“Not very good at the spying lark are you?”  The low sultry voice was familiar.

Josie turned around and saw an amused smile.  “I…don’t know what you mean.”

“So if I look at what’s on the camera it won’t be full of photos of me?”  The dark haired woman took the camera, brushing Josie’s breast and lifting her hair taking the camera off scanning.   “Declan sent you?”  Josie didn’t resist, but she didn’t answer the question.  She was mesmerized by the woman’s way of approaching her, soft but knowing.

Josie couldn’t answer and just nodded, caught in the act.  He wasn’t going to be pleased at all.  “He said you’re name is Sophie.  I’m Josie.”  She reached out a manicured hand; the woman took it holding it just a little too long.

“Oh well he would wouldn’t he,” the amusement left her face.  “Josie, I remember you,” she put the camera back around Josie’s neck.  “I don’t see anything very incriminating so please share with him if you want.  Just make sure he pays you for your services.  Or he already does that as your lover, doesn’t he?”

“You are quick to the point aren’t you,” Josie shifted her weight, uncomfortable.  Declan told her to keep their affair a secret and she had.  “So what do
I
call you then?”

“You my lovely,” she stroked Josie’s cheek, “Call me Sydney but shhhh,” laying a finger on Josie’s lips, “it will be our little secret.  And let me guess, you give him what he wants with the promise to give you what you want, am I right?”

“Did you two have a relationship too?”

“We have a working relationship, that’s all.  And what does he promise you in exchange for these photos?  It has to be more than sex since he already gives you that.”

Josie looked down at the camera, nervously fidgeting with the buttons, “It…doesn’t work that way.”

“Maybe it should.  Come on, let’s do a little shopping.  I’ll buy you something pretty.”  Josie’s breath caught when Sydney stepped forward, reaching around pulling the band from her hair.  It fell beyond her shoulders.  “There, you’ll be warmer.” 

“Is that man your father?”  Josie asked, trying to distract from the chemistry that was obviously between them and jealous of the chemistry between Sydney and the man.

Sydney laughed, “Father, oh no, Sam is a nice man, not like any father I’ve ever known.  He’s an acquaintance, that’s all.”  Then Sydney hooked her arm into Josie’s leading her down the row of shops.

Sydney made Josie laugh and she was curious how she found her so attractive.  There was never a sexual attraction to a woman before.  But it was more than that.  It was the way she spoke to her, shown genuine interest in her, gave her attention, softly touching the back of her hand. 

Sydney asked about Josie’s ambitions and dreams.  Watching attentively when Josie spoke and commenting only when she had something relevant to say.

They talked about everything and more.  In one afternoon, Josie realized, as Sydney placed the necklace with the crystal heart around her neck that she wanted to explore what she was feeling.  But until Sydney made the first move, she was apprehensive however she wanted to touch the pale skin, kiss her breasts, and feel her inside and out. 

Josie planted a kiss on Sydney’s cheek, “Thank you.  It’s lovely.  You know Declan asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I told him I wanted this necklace and he bought one and gave it to his wife.”

“What did you get for Christmas,” Sydney asked, moving Josie’s bangs off her eyes.

“He gave me a pen set but,” she smiled, “he also…never mind,” her pale face turned pink, making her freckles darker.

Sydney raised an eyebrow, “Go ahead, you can tell me anything, I know how men are.”

“He gave me lingerie,” she whispered, looking around to make sure no one was close enough to hear her “and he made me put it on in his office that morning so he could picture me in it all day and then that night, he made love to me on his desk.”

Sydney seemed amused and looked at Josie like she was a child taken in by something that she should not have believed, “And what did he do with the lingerie you were wearing already?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“You’ll find you probably don’t want to know.”

“What do you mean by that,” she was defensive, Declan was a sexual being, so was she and there was nothing wrong with that.

Sydney took her hand urging her forward, “Nothing but just so you know, for future reference, no one ‘makes love’ on a desk.  Has he ever promised you anything?”

“A promotion, that’s when we started..,” she stopped wide eyed; her fingers came to her mouth.

“It’s alright; he made you think to get a promotion you had to have sex with him?”

“That’s the way it was at first but there’s just something about him, I can’t describe it,” they walked slowly up the street to Josie’s flat, “I made the mistake of asking him to take me to dinner one time.  He was angry with me, gave me a speech about his wife and how we can’t be seen together and then he touched me in a way I know he doesn’t touch his wife.”

“So it’s like a secret only you and he share and that makes you feel special?”

Josie stopped, “Exactly.”

Sydney’s dark eyes penetrated Josie’s green ones; she was lost in them, dark and mysterious.  “He should make you feel special because you are special, not because he wants special things from you.”

Josie didn’t quite get her meaning but when Sydney escorted her to her flat and kissed her sweetly at the door, parting her lips and the tip of her tongue teased, testing.  “Tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow,” Sydney agreed, “I’ll take you to dinner and make you feel special without the secrecy, or with it, if you prefer.”

She reached over and stroked Josie’s hair and brought her lips to hers again, kissing her with passion but soft not like Declan’s abrasiveness.   Josie was giddy at the very idea of exploring another woman.  However, there was no doubt in her mind that she was being played by both sides.  She would not be manipulated.  She would still do her spying on Sydney for Declan. 

Sydney backed away into the doorway but Josie clutched the lapel of her black leather jacket and pulled her in kissing her again and closing the door.

The scarf sat in the bag on her table for a week.  She could take it back but she owed him a scarf.  She could mail it, have it delivered, any variety of things to avoid him but the truth of the matter was, she didn’t want to avoid him.  He had respected her privacy and had not shown up at her door like she thought he would but left plenty of messages with theories about Owen and Sydney.

Oliver meandered from the Pimlico stop and the quiet streets of Westminster in no particular hurry to get home.  He felt the cold breeze chilling the night air from the Thames and wanted to follow it to a bridge, cross over and knock on her door but he knew he couldn’t.  His footsteps echoing was the only sound besides the new buds on the trees rustling. 

When he approached his building he saw a figure in the dark and there she was.  The light from the inside corridor outlined her body and glowed on her face.  Her hair fell across her shoulders, the corners of her mouth turned up slightly at him, glad to see him but hiding it. 

If she was half as thrilled to see him as he was her, she was doing a very good job of hiding it.  However, the smile was instantaneous when she saw him even if she instinctively tried to hide it.  Meanwhile it was all he could do to remain calm.  “Sophie, I’m glad you’re here,” suddenly concerned, it seemed unusual that she would just turn up outside his door, “Are you alright?  Is your cut alright?  Do you need me to take a look?  You should have called; I would have come home quicker.”  His excitement to see her revived him from a long day.

“Yes, I’m fine, it’s healing properly.  I was going to leave in a few minutes actually.  When I started over here, I forgot I didn’t know your schedule so I was going to wait for a while and then go if you didn’t turn up and try again later.”  She held up the bag from Harrods, “I brought you something.”

He didn’t respond, only going in the door, if she wanted to give it to him, it would be inside, “I’m having left over Shepherd’s Pie, I have plenty, will you stay and eat,” he put the question but proceeded in the door, not waiting for her to reply, helping to take her coat off before taking off his own.  It was obvious he was excited to see her and she had to admit that was a good feeling.

“I’ve never had it but I can’t stay anyway….” 

He had a stunned look on his face, “Impossible, how can you be British and never had Shepherd’s Pie?  Besides tea it is the foundation of the British Empire.   Anyway,” he continued, not waiting for her reply, “I’m glad you’re here to share it with me,” checking his watch, “You’re not in a hurry are you?”  He went and chose music as was his habit, apparently.  It was quiet, ambient but upbeat, translated…he was tired but happy to see her.

“Missing your
favourite program?  Eaten already?  You’re looking lovely and refreshed so I know you’re not tired,” he kept asking, eliminating any excuse that would keep her from leaving.

“Well no, I…Who is this?”

“The Cure.  So you have to do something to prepare for tomorrow?”  One eyebrow rose up in question.

“Umm…no.”  She lied, he knew she lied, she knew he knew but he left it alone but it provided him the opportunity he was looking for and he was off tomorrow so he didn’t acknowledge it only putting the plan in motion, already thinking about what he would do and how to go about it.

She shook her head no, “It’s just that I came to bring you something, that’s all.”

Oliver proceeded into the kitchen.  Sophie knew what Shepherd’s Pie consisted of and she had to admit she was hungry, remembering she had not eaten since this morning.
He started heating up the food on plates in turn.  While the food was heating, Oliver opened a bottle of red, pouring both of them a glass handing one to her, the pungent smell immediately affecting her senses. 

She watched him swirl his, ever so slightly, and she mocked him.  After he smelled his, she did the same and she could smell more than just the grape, it had an intense smell of the earth and the air the grape grew in.  Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply of the wine and the bouquet was fruity and spicy.  Instinctively, she brought the glass to her lips and sipped it, tasting the depths of the
flavours. 

“Do you like it,” tilting his head indicating the glass in her hand.

“It’s bitter but,” she sipped it again, “I like it.  What kind is it?”

“It’s a Cabernet Sauvignon, I’ve been saving it.  I brought it back from France; it reminds me of my trip there.”

“You’ve been to France,” she asked, her eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas.

“Yes, to the countryside and Paris.” 

“I would love to go one day,” she said, recalling the photos of France in the book.  “Anyway,” she had almost forgotten what she came for, his moving about and quick speech disrupted her train of thought.  Putting the glass on the table, she said, “I wanted to give you this,” she said handing him the bag, cutting off his path to the kitchen.

“A gift?  I’m flattered,” he put his glass down and sat at the table.  The clean scent of his aftershave was a contrast to the smell of the strong wine.  He was too close but he was so soft in his movement, it didn’t matter.  She hoped that he didn’t expect a kiss or anything else.   She had not thought of that before now.

“No, it’s not a gift.”  Suddenly she seemed nervous that he had misinterpreted her gesture, she sat across from him.

“So, it’s
not
a gift from Harrods?”  Inspecting the logo on the bag, he then pulled out a scarf similar to the one he had used around her waist ruined with her blood.  “Sophie, this is very nice, you didn’t need to do that, it’s much nicer than the other one,” he read the label.  “This is cashmere,” his surprise made her uncomfortable, the cost was immaterial; her goal was to find a scarf similar in colour and design.  Holding the scarf, he admired it and looked curiously at her scarf hanging by the door, cheap wool, dark with red pinstripes, he could see even from where they were sitting.

“It’s not a gift,” she repeated, “I owe you a scarf; I ruined your other one so I owe you a scarf, plain and simple.  I was looking for one similar in design; you said it was your
favourite.”

He started to speak but looked from the scarf and then, “You remembered what my scarf looked like,” staring down at her curiously. 

“I remember details easily,” she stated matter of fact.

“And where did you get your scarf,” he put the scarf on the back of a chair and became occupied with the food again placing a plate in front of her, the steam covering her face as he handed her a fork and spoon, not knowing which she would prefer, and refilled both glasses.  He was thoughtful with the details she learned.

“A stall somewhere, probably.  I don’t remember.  I had forgotten about it and found it in a drawer.”  She shovelled through the contents of the plate inspecting the ingredients, sliding the peas to the side with the prongs of her fork.

He noticed it but just smiled, watching her carefully move them over, vigilant in her effort not to move anything else.  “If you don’t like it, you can take it back,” she said with a wave of her other hand dismissing the scarf all together.

Oliver sat and tucked in.  “No, it’s wonderful. Thank you.” 

“Why do you feel the need to feed me?”

Oliver laughed, “Food is a very social activity and everyone needs to eat.  Food is one of the great things about life.  I’ve told you, I just need someone to cook for and I think you need to be fed something that doesn’t come out of a tin or a cardboard container occasionally.” 

“I can take care of myself,” loading her fork and putting the food in her mouth, chewing slowly, she
savoured the flavours; the softness of the smashed potatoes, the harmony of vegetables, and the tender meat all covered in delicious sauce.

“And if I wasn’t there to catch you and stitch you up?  What would you have done?”

“I don’t know.  I would have managed.”

“Really?  I think you were lucky I was there.”

“We don’t know.  You might have been the man Sydney wanted me to run into in the first place remember?”

Oliver chuckled, “Could that be her way of playing matchmaker?  But there again how would she know who I was and even then he was supposed to scare you for your own good.  I don’t know if it’s cryptic or too simple an explanation we just can’t see it.  Why would she care if you were in that alley or not?”

“We can speculate until the end of time but only Sydney knows the answer.”

“And you don’t want to find her?”  Sophie looked off into the distance.  “What are you afraid of?  Now that you know she knows about you.”

Sophie shrugged, chewing slowly, searching her feelings, “Then why doesn’t she approach me, assuming she left the photo.  I feel like…she doesn’t want to meet me.  I don’t know why.  Perhaps she thinks I’m in some kind of danger and she’s…I don’t know, trying to protect me from a distance.  I just feel like I need to leave it alone for now.  I’ve searched for her on the social media websites but found no one.”

“Maybe she is the danger.”  He continued chewing but knew she might be offended by that so he didn’t look at her.

She set the fork down on the plate, elbows on the table, folding her hands together.  “What do you mean?”

“She hired a drug addict to chase you and he nearly stabbed you.”

“That wasn’t her fault; that was his.”

Oliver didn’t feel the need to debate the point with her and changed the subject back to the food, “Is it good?  It’s usually better the next day, when all the
flavours have blended together.”  Her eyes had closed the same as when she tasted the wine.  The pie was savoury and warming.

“Yes, did you make it,” scooping up another forkful, he watched as her lips closed over it and slowly pulled it out, chewing leisurely, cherishing every bite.

“Yes and I get a lot of satisfaction out of watching your enjoyment of it,” pointing to her with his spoon, elbows on the table.  Smiling, he was happy to find something he could do that she liked.  Little sounds of pleasure came from her as she chewed.  He didn’t think she even noticed.  Her attention only came away from the plate long enough to answer his questions or ask one; the wine had made her more relaxed.  “With reactions like that, you can be assured I would be content to feed you all the time.”

Sophie blushed and changed the subject.  “You’ve never been married then?”  She covered her mouth, forgetting it’s rude to talk with your mouth full.

“No.  I assume you’ve never married.  What about boyfriends,” he asked refilling her glass as well as his own. 

“No,” she answered abruptly, as if the notion of her having a boyfriend was beyond comprehension. 

He switched gears, “Girlfriends?”  She almost choked on that question but answered no much the same as she did with the boyfriend question.

“You?”  Her gran told her, years ago not to scrape her plate but she wanted to get every drop of the gravy.

“Some,” he sipped the wine, thinking of Mona.  His eyes went to her gift of the print since it now reminded him of Sophie, he looked at it often.  Plate and glass empty, she had tucked her hands in her lap and sat back satisfied in her chair but the crease between her brows showed her confusion over his answer. 

“No lovers neither,” it was a question he wasn’t expecting an answer to.

“Never.  I mean no.  Wouldn’t that be the same as a boyfriend or girlfriend,” she sat upright in the chair ready to spring from it.

Both of his eyebrows shot up in surprise.  “You are innocent aren’t you?”  He smiled broadly, the corners of his lips curving at the ends, the lines down his cheeks deepening, his bottom lip protruding slightly.  She grinned at his amusement despite herself and then sucked on her bottom lip to detain the smile.

She tensed up, her mood turned dark suddenly.  “I think I should go,” she stood, teetering slightly.

“Sorry, forget I asked.  I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”  His smile faded to a slight grin but his tone was serious, “Sophie, it’s important to me that you’re comfortable here.”  He started to pour more wine in her glass but she placed her hand over it.

“I am more comfortable with you than anyone, even myself,” she mumbled not really addressing him but he heard it all the same.  Realizing that was said out loud, she jumped up, “I really do have to go.  I’ll be busy tomorrow,” that was her way of saying that she won’t be available to talk but it was also his cue to put his plan into action.

“I’ll take you home.”

“Oliver,” she started to protest.

He picked up the new scarf, “You know the drill.  Would you like to walk?  It’s a lovely night and it will give us more time to talk?”

Normal, she thought and he wants to be your friend.  “Sure.”

They followed the street where he lived in Westminster and then up between Westminster Abbey and Houses of Parliament to Westminster Bridge.  They walked in silence for a while just enjoying the evening.  It would be spring next week and the flowers were already in bloom from the unseasonable warm weather and abundance of rain.

They passed a couple on the bridge pushing a pram, the baby happily giggling and kicking his feet.  Oliver and Sophie smiled when they passed but Sophie continued to keep looking until she couldn’t see the baby any longer, Oliver watched her, the genuine smile prompted him to ask, “You want children, don’t you?”