‘You will never understand us. Don’t try.’
‘Is it the same reason your family doesn’t appear in the Forbes rich list?’
He bestows her a smile. ‘That’s better. Now you are beginning to understand. The greatest fortunes are all secretly earned, ferociously guarded.’
‘So… You are the most eligible bachelor because…’
‘The impression of meritocracy must be maintained at all times.’
‘Ah, the taint of elitism.’
‘No, but close.’
‘Why so evasive? I am bound by contract. I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to.’
‘If you controlled eighty percent of all the wealth in the world… Wouldn’t you want the status quo to carry on?
We prefer to trade anonymously behind a façade, behind the public faces. Kings, prime ministers, tsars, sultans, and emperors come to power and lose it to the jealously and dissatisfaction of the people. We have, uninterrupted, ruled from behind the scenes for centuries. Our secrets are precious.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Time you were in bed,’ he says, and lifts her into his arms. Her hands go around his neck.
‘You’re getting long, Bloom.’
‘Too long for you, Barrington.’
‘Never too long for me, Bloom.’
She turns her head and sees their reflections in the mirror on the opposite wall. Her long nightgown trails behind her and in the soft light from the nightstand they look like the romantic hero and heroine of the black and white movies her mother likes to watch. But we are not, she reminds herself. All his plans don’t include me. The thought is depressing. It makes her feel sad. She buries her face in his neck.
‘To sleep?’
‘Not quite, Bloom,’ he replies quietly.
He drops her in the bed with a plop and looks down at her tousled hair on the white pillows. In the shadows his eyes are unreadable.
‘What is it?’
He brings his mouth towards her and her mouth lifts to meet his. This time their kiss is special. She feels him trembling and the answering purr of her own body. It is as though they are drinking from each other. Their bodies meld together.
And when they are lying sated in the dark he says, ‘I love it when you come and your pussy grips my cock.’
She turns her face away from him and shuts her eyes in despair. She understands what he is doing. Always, she must be reduced to an orifice.
Twenty three
oday, Lana is happy. Billie has called to tel her the Tgood news. The antineoplastons that her mother is on are working. The tests are back—the tumors are regressing. Her mother will have to carry on her treatment for another three months, but she can return in two days’
time to England and carry it on there.
Lana is so happy she cries.
To celebrate, Blake has taken her out to dinner at Le Gavroche. She has already dined on the most delicious cheese soufflé cooked in double cream followed by grilled scallops. Her dessert, a raspberry millefeuille in praline-flavored chocolate, has just been put in front of her.
Blake has the Le Plateau de Fromages Affines. She watches him cut a slice of strong cheese. It is almost transparently thin. He places it on a small square of cracker and slips it into his mouth. She imagines the flavors building up in his nose, the cheese melting on his hot, silky tongue, and cheesy liquids traveling down the back of his throat. She watches the movement in the strong column of brown throat. The entire operation is fluid, elegant, almost a ceremony. It is his education. There is no greed in him. Not even for her.
She looks away and meets the eyes of another man. He is looking at her with the same expression she must have had in hers while she was looking at the banker. Now she knows what lay in the belly of all those men who gazed at her with desire in their eyes. She looks down at her dessert, dips her finger into the praline-flavored chocolate, and places it on her tongue. She raises her eyes and Blake says, ‘You are in bad trouble.’
She doesn’t take her finger out. ‘What kind of trouble?’
she mumbles.
He smiles and is about to answer when a flash of surprised annoyance crosses his face. Its appearance and disappearance is swift. Very quickly his face resumes its neutral expression. Lana turns her head curiously to see what has caused the disturbance. A silver-haired man is walking towards their table. When the man arrives, he ignores Lana, and looks only at Blake.
Blake’s lips twist. ‘Father, meet Lana. Lana, my father,’
he introduces.
His father looks at Lana. His eyes are pale blue stones.
He pushes his glasses up his nose. He looks mild and harmless. If she had seen him in the street, she would have smiled at him.