Wicked Pleasures (115 page)

‘Oh Max,’ said Shireen again. ‘Do be quiet. Anyway, it’s not a dress, it’s a suit.’ She looked down complacently at the black jacket and skirt. ‘I got it from Next. They call it the City Look.’

‘Nice pearls too,’ said Max.‘Very executive.’

‘Do you like them? They were a birthday present from Chuck. He brought them from Hong Kong for me.’

‘Good old Chuck,’ said Max. ‘God, I envy that man. Fancy a drink after work, Shireen?’ He put his mouth to her ear again. ‘I might have some news for you, from my friend at Mortons.’

‘Ooh – yes.’ Shireen looked excited. ‘Yes, all right, Max. Usual place?’

‘Usual place.’

The usual place was the Fenchurch Colony wine bar; Shireen had now met Max there four times, as he progressed her entry into the world of the dealer.

The entry was fictitious, of course; he had asked Jake about it, for form’s sake, and Jake had said very solemnly, tapping his nose the while, that he would certainly see what he could do. He had even met Shireen with Max once, and talked to her at some length about a trader’s life and how she would enjoy it and what prospects for her there might be in it; in exchange for this information and (as Shireen thought) promotion of her cause, and several glasses of champagne a time, Shireen chattered artlessly about what was going on in the office in general and between Chuck and Freddy in particular. It was a double double of course; they knew it wasn’t entirely artless and she knew they knew, but as long as that was how it appeared, then no one could get heavy with anyone.

‘My goodness,’ she said that night, settling into her chair, tugging her microskirt down over a millimetre or so of thigh, ‘my goodness, what a day I’ve had.’

‘Oh really?’ said Max, filling her glass.

‘Yes, really. There’s this big deal going through, you know Bretts, the flash jewellery people –’

‘Yeah yeah,’ said Max, ‘one of Freddy’s faves.’

‘Yes, that’s right. I do like that Barry Brett, he’s really lovely to me. He promised me one of their gold chains with the pearls in, you know, at trade, next time he comes in. I hope he won’t forget. Well anyway, they’ve acquired a big stake in Langleys, you know, that posh jeweller. It was a dawn raid,’ she added with a complacent expression.

‘My goodness, Shireen, you have all the jargon these days, don’t you?’ said Max.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘you know, you pick up a lot just listening. Well anyway, Bretts’ shares have roared away, of course, but so have all the rest –’

‘Of course,’ said Max.

‘And now they want to make a bid for Langleys, but there’s some other company after them, some American company, and so the shares have gone even higher, and Bretts haven’t got enough cash to bang in an offer of their own.’

She sat back looking very pleased with herself.

‘So?’ said Max. ‘My goodness you’re a clever girl, remembering all this,’ he added hastily. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’

‘So, well I don’t know,’ said Shireen slightly lamely, ‘but I do know that Chuck really wants Bretts to get it, and he and Freddy have been on the phone all day, trying to help them.’

‘Mmm!’ said Max thoughtfully. ‘How much money is Brett looking for?’

‘Max,’ said Shireen suddenly, ‘Max, are we here to talk about my career or Chuck’s deals?’

‘Oh God, Shireen, I’m sorry. Your career of course. Now look, I’ve talked to my friend, Jake, you know? And he says there’s nothing at Mortons just this minute. There was that slight hiccup at the end of the summer, remember, and they’re just a bit cagey. But everything’s looking fine now, and Jake says he thinks they will be looking for people at Citicorps any minute and he’s going to put in a word for you there.’

‘Oh,’ said Shireen. She sounded disappointed. ‘I thought it was going to be a bit more, you know, solid than that.’

‘It’s quite solid,’ said Max. ‘Don’t knock it. If Jake Joseph’s recommending you, you’ll get the job. No messing. Now then, talking of solids, shall we go and eat? I shall fall over if I have any more of this stuff.’

‘Yes, that’d be nice,’ said Shireen. ‘Can we go to Langans again?’

‘Of course,’ said Max.

He smiled at her, his most come-and-get-it smile, the one that had sold so many thousands of shirts and pairs of jeans and Ts and even boxer shorts what seemed like a very short time ago. God, life had been simple then. How on earth had he got into this kind of mess?

‘Three hundred and fifty million pounds,’ said Shireen, through a mouthful of smoked salmon. ‘I just remembered, that’s what it was.’

‘What what was?’ said Max. He had just been wondering if he had the nerve to go back to Angie’s house at – what would it be – one, and try to get into her bed. Probably not. She was strict about that sort of thing.

‘What Brett needed. To bid for Langleys.’

‘That’s a lot of money.’

‘Yeah well,’ she said, pressing her legs artlessly against his under the table, ‘you can get money easily these days, can’t you? Even that much?’

‘Oh you can,’ said Max.

It was 5 October.

‘Have you ever bought anything from Bretts?’ said Max to Angie. They were lying in her large bed, after some outstandingly good sex; Angie turned to him, her green eyes very amused.

‘Of course not. Load of tat. Why?’

‘Oh – just wondered. My little friend Shireen was talking about them.’

‘They’re quite a successful little chain,’ said Angie. ‘High-street stuff.’

‘Yes, well, they’re putting in a bid for Langleys.’

‘Oh really? Bit up-market.’

‘Yes, I know. Bit expensive too. Three hundred and fifty million, I’m told.’

‘Small beer these days,’ said Angie.

It was 7 October.

He was in love with Angie. There was just no debating it. He loved her. He loved everything about her. He loved her angelically hard little face, with its great green eyes, and he loved her ingenious, greedy, slender body, he loved her sense of fun and he loved her tough, clear-sighted pragmatic mind and he loved her dubious moral sense, at once so devious and so honest; he loved all those things. He only wished there was some chance that she might love him.

Max knew that if he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the night of the party. The heady, reckless flight to the bedroom; Gemma’s pain; the fight; Gemma’s revelation; Melissa gone to hospital; Jonty gone, Tommy gone, the guests gone, everyone gone; the police finally gone, statements taken, detailed, painstaking statements; Gemma driven home, silent, weeping, to her parents, left with them, with helpless apologies; and finally, just him and Angie alone in the house, shaken, sobered, exhausted – and yet strangely, oddly exhilarated.

She had turned to him and said quite simply, ‘So now what do we do?’ and he had looked at her, very serious, and said, ‘Shall we go upstairs then?’ and she had looked back just as serious, and her eyes had been most unusually direct, candid, and she had said simply, ‘Yes.’ He had taken her hand and led her upstairs; they had gone into the bedroom where they had been before, and she had stood there, her eyes fixed on his, and moved forward and begun to kiss him, sweet, honeyed, questing kisses, her body pressed harder and harder against his, her arms wrapped more and more tightly round him. She had stood back suddenly, and grinned and said, ‘Time for the hundred-pound unzip, Max,’ and he had undone it, right to the bottom, and she had slithered out of the catsuit, dropped it on the floor and stood there, quite, completely, amazingly naked. Max had thought about Angie, imagined her naked for so long, it was hardly a surprise at all; and yet the greatest shock he could have
imagined. Desire roared through him, stunning him, shaking him; so thin she was, so perfect, flat-stomached, slender-thighed, but with those ripe, rich brown breasts, quite full, with large dark nipples standing out, and a great thick bush of quite reddish pubic hair.

He moved forward; he felt very strong suddenly. He took the breasts in his hands, bent his head, began to kiss them, his tongue working on the nipples. He felt them harder still; he moved his hands down, tenderly, down her back, down to her buttocks, so firm, so strong. Max had always averred you could judge a woman’s sensuality by her buttocks; if they were hard and taut, her appetites were strong. Angie’s were very hard, very taut.

‘Get your clothes off, you bastard,’ said Angie suddenly. ‘I can’t stand this very much longer.’ And while he was tearing off his shirt, his trousers, his pants, she moved and lay on the bed, her arms flung above her head, her legs slightly splayed, staring at him.

‘Oh God,’ she said, ‘oh God,’ and that was all, and then he was on her, holding her, afraid of failing her, of not doing right by her, and yet so desperate, so hungry for her that he could scarcely contain his body and what it needed, had to do.

‘Stop,’ she said suddenly, ‘wait.’ And she turned him over, and looked at him, smiling down, staring almost consideringly at his penis, and then slowly, very slowly, she knelt astride him and lowered herself tenderly onto him, very slow, very very cautious; she was lusciously, wonderfully wet, and neatly tight; he felt her enclose him, felt the glorious sweet warmth; ‘Be still,’ she said, ‘be still,’ and he thought how strange the words were, to come from her, so formal, so firm, and of course he couldn’t, he couldn’t be still, and almost at once he began to thrust, up into her taut, tender welcome, feeling the waves, the great surging, pushing, overwhelming waves breaking out of him, out, out into the freedom, the release of her, of Angie, of Angie his love.

Later, hours and hours later, he said, ‘Angie, I meant it, what I said earlier. I love you. I know I do.’ And ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘oh Max, don’t talk such nonsense, don’t say such things, how can you love me, me of all people?’ and she smiled, but there was a pain behind the smile.

‘I do love you,’ he said, ‘of all people, of course I love you. I love you more than anything. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen years old, and I first saw you, that lunchtime at the Ritz. Do you remember?’

‘Oh, I remember,’ said Angie, smiling at him, her green eyes soft suddenly. ‘Baby and I had just gone public, it was such fun to be out together, not hiding in endless bedrooms, and he said, “Look, that’s my nephew over there with that extremely beautiful girl.”’

‘And what did you think? What did you say? Or don’t you remember?’

‘I remember what I said,’ said Angie, ‘although I probably shouldn’t tell you, I said, “He’s fairly extremely beautiful himself,” and I remember what I thought, I thought what a spoilt, arrogant little brat you must be. And I was right.’

‘That isn’t fair,’ said Max. ‘That really isn’t fair.’ He felt genuine hurt suddenly.

‘Of course it’s fair,’ said Angie briskly. She pulled the sheet up over her suddenly. ‘I’m cold.’ Max sighed. The mood of closeness, of love, felt shattered.

‘So I don’t mean anything to you?’ he said. ‘You’re just fooling around. Is that right? I’m this week’s man.’

‘Max,’ said Angie, ‘Max, don’t. Don’t spoil things. This is so new. Of course you mean something to me. Of course you do. But I don’t know how much yet. Max, I’m still hurting. From Baby. Give me a chance.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and he meant it. ‘I forgot. I’m a fool. And I’m really sorry.’

‘It’s all right,’ said Angie. ‘And you’re not a fool.’

Since then they had been together a lot. If Max had had his way he would have been with her all the time. But he didn’t.

Angie said she needed space, time, her independence. She had her company, which she had neglected, she had her twins, whom she had neglected rather more, and she simply couldn’t commit herself totally to a relationship at the moment. Max found it hard. He had always had what he wanted; had achieved it with comparative ease. He had never, he realized, had to wait, wait for anything. It was very uncomfortable.

He saw her two or three times a week; and that was good. Very good. They had fun. Angie told him she hadn’t had so much fun since Baby had been young. Max liked that.

He stopped worrying, without understanding quite why, about Freddy and Mary Rose, about Hartest and Alexander. Any emotional energy left over from his job was expended on Angie. They ate out a great deal, went dancing, saw shows, watched videos over Indian take-aways. They also had a lot of very good sex. Angie’s inventiveness, appetite, and sheer pleasure in bed (and in the car, and in the park, and in the shower and in the drawing room, and once, rather memorably, in a box at the theatre) slightly awed Max. He had always thought of himself as a bit of a stud. He discovered that compared with Angie he was a novice. And every time, afterwards, however wild and close and fused they had been, she seemed to withdraw from him, to retreat into herself, to go away from him again, to become a single and quite separate person.

One day, he promised, one day, he would make her stay.

One night, soon after his dinner with Shireen, he took Angie to the Ritz. ‘For old times’ sake,’ he said.

It was packed; all the restaurants in London seemed permanently packed, even in the week, even on a Monday. This was a Monday. Monday, 12 October.

They had a good dinner; over a second glass of Armagnac (during which Angie made a rather interesting suggestion as to what she might do to Max with the Armagnac she had at home), Max looked across the room and saw Freddy passing the doorway, en route to the gents’, with another man. He looked young and very flashy; he thought it was Brian Brett.

‘Excuse me,’ he said to Angie. ‘Nature calls.’

He followed Freddy in, just in time to see him turn into the row of urinals.
Max shot into one of the cubicles and bolted the door. Shortly afterwards, he heard Freddy’s voice.

‘Right, Brian. Back to the ladies.’

‘Yes indeed. A lovely lady, Mrs Drew.’

‘Isn’t she? Chuck’s a lucky man.’

‘Indeed. Now Freddy, while we’re alone, I have to tell you I could be a little strapped for cash on this. I calculate I’ll need something in the order of – well let’s say sixty on top of the usual loans. Is there anything – well, that you could suggest?’

‘Oh good Lord yes,’ said Freddy. ‘No problem at all. We can underwrite that sort of figure. Don’t worry about it, Brian.’