anticipated.
And then there was Alix, sitting in a soft white armchair at a table for two, a posy of yellow flowers in a small glass vase in front of her, waiting for him.
He had a couple of seconds to pause in the doorway and look at her before she spotted him. She looked fantastic: not wearing anything fancy, just being the woman he loved.
There was something that nagged at him, something out of place. But the thought vanished as she heard him coming across the marble floor, looked up, and for a fraction of a second the expression on her face was… absolute horror. Shock. As if she’d seen a ghost. As if she weren’t just surprised to see him, but appalled.
She forced a smile across her face.
Carver had seen Alix play a part before. He’d seen her pretend and dissimulate. But he’d never seen anything as phony as that smile.
He didn’t have any time to think about it, because she’d got to her feet and put her arms around him, like one old friend meeting another, air-kissing either side of his face and whispering two words. “I’m wired.”
They sat down. Carver hadn’t been sure how it would be when the two of them finally met, but he hadn’t expected this terrible discomfort, almost embarrassment, a tension filling the air between them.
“So… Natalia.” He put a heavy emphasis on the name, thinking himself back into the part of Kenny Wynter, remembering Vermulen would be listening somewhere. “How’s life with the general? Hope he doesn’t work you too hard…”
“No, he doesn’t… In fact, I don’t really work for Kurt at all anymore.”
“Really? Has he fired you?”
He didn’t have to fake the sly grin on his face as he said the words, or the gently teasing note in his voice.
“No,” she said, and the next words were so quiet that Carver thought for a second that he hadn’t heard them properly. “He’s married me.”
“I’m sorry…?”
“My name is now Natalia Vermulen,” she said, in a voice whose cheerful intonation was utterly contradicted by the devastation in her eyes. “We were married this afternoon… by the mayor of Antibes.”
Carver wanted to be sick. He felt as though someone had stuck a fork in his guts and was twisting his intestines like strands of pasta. Still, he had to be Kenny Wynter, the callous thief who couldn’t care less if a Yank general was daft enough to marry his sexy secretary just to get into her knickers.
“Congratulations, love,” he said, and then glanced at the ring-the one he’d refused to acknowledge when he first set eyes on her. “Nice rock.”
“Thank you… Kenny.”
“Don’t thank me, darling. Keep flashing that around much longer, I might be tempted to nick it.”
She giggled politely.
“I’m sure you’re not really like that.”
Her voice had the sound of casual conversation, but her eyes were pleading. For what? Understanding? Forgiveness? As if Carver should be considering her problems, putting himself in her position.
She was still talking.
“We only decided to get married on the spur of the moment.”
“Good of you to waste your wedding day on me.”
“Well, I’d promised Kurt…”
“And you didn’t want to let him down. He’s an impressive bloke, your general, got a bit about him. Special, right?”
“Yes he is, very special.”
Carver assumed that was for Vermulen’s benefit, and now she was trying to explain what had happened.
“Spending so much time together, over the past few weeks, I’ve got to know Kurt very deeply. He’s a remarkable man, and he was so kind to me. You see, I was told that someone close to me, someone I loved, had died. Kurt was there for me. He made me feel life was worth living.”
Suddenly Carver realized that he’d only half understood. She was trying to explain, all right. But she wasn’t explaining a terrible mistake they could find a way to put right. What he heard now was: You’re history.
He felt humiliated, stripped of all pride. The anger and hurt were filling his skull, building up pressure that must surely crack him open, till he just lashed out at something, anything-smashed the glasses from the table and threw the bottles at the bar; took out his gun and started firing at everyone around him, going for body shots, so they’d all hurt as much as he did. He wanted to kill Alix. He wanted her back. He didn’t know what he wanted… Somehow he summoned up a faint trace of professionalism.
“Yeah, that must mean a lot, a bloke doing that for you…” he said, responding the way he always did to emotional pain, by forcing himself to detach, shutting down his emotions.
“Tell you what-why don’t I tell you what I’ve been up to while you’ve been busy getting married. I’ve found a property that’s well worth investing in. I reckon your old man’d be interested.”
She could play that game just as well as him. In an instant she was Natalia Vermulen, the untroubled new wife of a wealthy, powerful man.
“Really? That sounds fascinating. Do you have anything you could show me?”
“Here, check it out…”
