‘Yes, I said that.’
‘What made you say that?’
She tilts her head and regards me speculatively. ‘Because he looks at you as if he can’t believe his eyes. Like a boy looking into a shop window full of the toy he wants most in the world, but can’t have.’
I shake my head. ‘I’m starting to feel like a Japanese tourist here. Give me a map please.’
She smiles. ‘With all the others he was doing basically the same thing. Different positions with different bodies to vary the boredom. But what he does with you. This is beyond what he ever dreamed of.’
I blush. ‘Oh, you mean the sex.’
‘I’m sure that is very good but no, not that. How can I explain to you? It’s like you woke him up from a deep sleep.’
I think of the way the gentle stroke on my hair that escaped out of his iron mask last night.
‘You’re the only one he wants, little fish,’ Olga says softly.
After a breakfast ruined with confusing thoughts I step out through the French doors into the garden. There is no one about and it is so quiet and tranquil I can’t even hear the faint sound of traffic from here. I take a deep lungful of the fresh, cold morning air and it kinda starts to clear the cobwebs in my head. Maybe I should spend a little time alone in nature.
I drift around the side of the house. My destination is the Japanese garden that I saw from Zane’s study window. Leaving the springy grass I step onto a stony path and follow it until it opens out to a secluded stone garden.
I stand by a rock and look at the meticulously exact garden. There is no grass just a rectangular plot full of stones that have been so carefully raked the lines are as straight as a ruler. I guess it is beautiful the way a brand new chrome coffee machine is beautiful. In a cold, modern, flawless and functional way.
Me, I like a garden with flowers, weeds, bees, birds, worms, the occasional frog, a messy dog running through my flower beds, digging things up, barking, and the sound of children playing.
I rub my cold face with my hands.
Still, I guess this is Zane. This is the world he is trying to create inside and outside him. A flawless, exact, cold world where cascading water is represented by carefully placed stones. Something moves in my peripheral vision and I half-turn in that direction. It is in the window of Zane’s study.
Sunlight makes the glass glint so I have to lift my hand to shade my eyes in order to see into it. To my surprise I see him standing there watching me. For a few seconds we simply look at each other. Static starts up on my skin and I feel as if I am drowning in his gaze and all these crazy emotions swirling inside me.
As if pulled by a magnet I start walking towards him.
I reach the window and place my palm on the glass. The glass is freezing. Slowly, like a man in a dream he lifts his hand and places it on the other side of glass facing my hand. I smile at him and a ghost of a smile tugs the corners of his mouth. Behind him, I see the door open and slimy Lenny enters the room and waits by the door. I bring my gaze back to Zane and watch him change right before my eyes.
First his smile dissolves.
A distant and wholly professional smile takes its place. Then his eyes become cold and forbidding. Fascinated and transfixed I watch his chest lift and fall heavily before he takes his hand away from the glass. Then he turns away from me and faces the world with his mask firmly in its place. I retract my hand and walk back in the direction I came from, my mind’s eye replaying his transformation.
As I reach the swing, my phone rings. I hit accept and Stella starts shrieking into my ear. It is a long and melodramatic screech and I begin to laugh. When she runs out of breath, she takes a quick snatch of air, and carries on all full speed.
I sit on the swing. ‘Stop it,’ I tell her with a laugh.
‘I want to, but I can’t,’ she says and keeps up the shrill sound.
It is so infectious I almost want to join her. We’ve done it before. Both of us shrieking away. It’s actually quite fun, but if I start I’ll probably have all Zane’s staff out here in a second. ‘So you like them then?’ I ask instead.
‘Like them? Like them?’ she screams in my ear. ‘I’m fucking in love with them. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought I was seeing things.’ She pauses suddenly and in a far more, by far more, sober voice asks, ‘They’re not knock-offs from China, are they?’
‘No, they’re real,’ I say reassuringly and put the swing into motion.
‘Oh Jesus! I nearly gave myself a small heart attack there!’ she exhales with relief. Then she is back into gush mode. ‘Oh my God, Dahlia. They are fabulous. It’s the best freaking present ever. I couldn’t believe it when I opened the door and postman goes, ‘Been shopping have ya? I was half-asleep and I thought you had sent me the shoes from that woman with the Hong Kong connection, which of course, I would have been over the moon with, but bloody hell! Jimmy fucking Choos! I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.’