Beauty and the Dark Page 15

  Jack puts his key in the door and opens it. The air is warm and filled with delicious smells.

  “We’re here,” he calls out.

  Almost instantly a woman pops her head around what must be the living room door. Her eyes are blue, a lighter shade than her son’s, and kind. She is grinning like a child, and I lose all my nervousness. This is the woman who bore Jack. Who loves Jack and wants only the best for him. I’ll show that nobody can love him more, or give him more than I can.

  “What a pretty little thing you are,” she says walking into the cramped hallway. She is dressed in a pretty blue dress and there is a cameo brooch pinned to her chest. Jack told me her husband died many years ago, but she is still wearing her wedding band on her finger. Her nails are painted a rosy pink.

  “Thank you,” I say shyly.

  She looks up at her son slyly. “I can see now why your head’s turned.”

  “Sofia, meet my mother, Florence. Ma, meet my girl, Sofia.”

  She leans forward and kisses me on both cheeks. “You don’t know how pleased I am to meet you, Sofia.”

  Jack takes my coat and she ushers me into her small living room. It’s charmingly cluttered and cozy.

  “What a lovely home you have, Mrs. Irish.”

  “Call me Flo, dear. Jack told me your mother’s passed on, so I’m like a mother to you from now on.” Genuine warmth radiates out of her kind face.

  “Thank you, Flo.”

  She gestures towards one of the chintz sofas. “Will you have a glass of sherry?”

  “I could murder a glass.”

  She smiles. “Something tells me we’re going to get along just fine.”

  I smile back. “I think so too.”

  After that the evening becomes a night of laughter, reminiscences from the past, and wonderful food. Florence has made lamb leg flavored with garlic and rosemary.

  As we eat she tells me that in spring wild garlic appears all across Ireland in the shaded woodland areas. During that time even the air would smell of garlic. When she was a girl she used to harvest the leaves for her mother to serve with the lamb, or toss into a salad.

  “Next time I will make Beef and Guinness stew. It’s Jack’s favorite dish. It’s perfect for a cold winter’s day,” she says, picking up a forkful of scallion flavored, buttery mashed potato.

  Dessert is Chocolate Guinness cake iced with a thick layer of creamy white chocolate and cream cheese frosting. It looks exactly like the topping on a pint of Guinness. She watches me like a hawk as I put a piece into my mouth. It is dense and fudgey with a distinctive malty flavor from the stout.

  “It’s completely delicious,” I pronounce truthfully.

  She beams happily.

  Afterwards, there is coffee and little chocolates from a delicatessen down the road.

  “Do your Irish impersonation,” Jack urges.

  “Top of the morning to you,” I say loudly, and both mother and son fall about laughing.

  Thirty-nine

  Sofia

  What a stroke of luck that on the very morning I decide to make the beef Guinness stew that Florence talked about she calls me. When I tell her I am making it from a recipe I found on a cookery blog on the net her response is predictably Florence.

  “You can’t trust the recipes you find on the internet. Nobody likes giving away their secrets so they’ll always hold something crucial back,” she says darkly.

  Then she makes me get a piece of paper and gives me the recipe over the phone. She is right. While the blogger took pains to declare that browning the meat is absolutely vital as it imparts a rich flavor to the stew, she neglected to mention the real secret to browning. The meat has to be browned as large steaks then taken out of the pan and diced. Florence tells me browning small pieces of meat will make the meat tough as leather, after which no amount of stewing will soften it.

  “Do you want me to go through it all again?” she asks when we get to the end.

  “Nope. I got it all, Flo. Thank you.”

  “Hmmm … Make sure you get a good piece of boneless shoulder.”

  “I can get that at the supermarket, right?”

  “Yes child.”

  “I will go there this afternoon”

  “I forgot to say,” she adds, “that like the meat, the vegetables should be browned as large pieces. Fish them out when you are nearly at the end of your cooking. After you have simmered them with the meat to get the flavor out of them, just fish them out. They will be quite soggy and tasteless by then, so you replace them with freshly diced vegetables.”

  “I will,” I tell her, my pen scribbling fast.

  “What else? What else?” she mutters to herself. “Oh yes, don’t use more than two tablespoons of flour, or it will become muddied.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “And yellow onions. Not red.”

  On my paper I add yellow next to the word onion. “Got it.”

  “Not too many parsnips, or it will overpower all the other ingredients.”

  “Fine.” I note that down too.

  “Did I say use chicken stock, not beef?”

  I run my gaze down her instructions. “Err … you didn’t say, but good that you mentioned it. I would have got beef.”

  “If I think of anything else I’ll call you again,” she says.

  “Thank you again, Flo,” I say with a smile in my heart. I think I’m going to love having her in my life. She’s so genuine and real.

  That afternoon Lena comes around with Irina, and we take a trip to the supermarket together. Leaving Mika in the car, we go in to get all the ingredients I need while Lena buys some stuff for herself. Afterwards, Lena stays with me for a bit. Once Irina has been changed, fed, and put down for a nap, we sit and have coffee and the cream cakes we got at the bakery.

  “You are happy, aren’t you?” she asks.

  “Yes, very,” I reply, and she grins happily.

  When Irina wakes up an hour later, Lena goes back to Cheshire, and I start to make my stew. I just put all my ingredients on the counter top to begin cooking when Jack calls.

  “Whatcha doing, doll?” he asks.

  “Well,” I say, slicing open the plastic bag of carrots, “I’m preparing a surprise for you?”

  “My dick just got hard.”

  I laugh. “Not that type of surprise.”

  “What then?”

  I start putting the vegetables on the chopping board. “Do you know what the word surprise means?”

  “I know what the word means I’m just not a big fan. Just tell me,” he coaxes persuasively.

  “You can use that voice all you like. I’m not spoiling my surprise.”

  He sighs. “At least tell me what you’re wearing.”

  I glance down at my thick sweater and old jeans. “The truth, or shall I make it up as I go along?”

  “Make it up.”

  “You’re one of those guys who calls up adult chat lines and listens to women pretending to climax while they’re actually painting their toenails, aren’t you?” I tease.

  “What’s with all the wild accusations? I’ll have you know I’ve never called an adult chat line in my life. However, I could be persuaded to call one if you are going to man it.”

  I giggle. That’s what I like about my Jack. He treats me exactly the way he would if he was with any other normal woman. I never get that with Guy or Lena. They are always walking on eggshells around me. Lena has now managed the impressive feat of never once mentioning the word whore, prostitute, or hooker for over a year.

  Once while we were watching TV together, she was flicking channels and hit Pretty Woman, and you should have seen how quickly she clicked out of it. She is so hurt by my past and so frightened of hurting me that she doesn’t realize it only makes my past feel even more shameful and dirty to me.

  Jack on the other hand won’t allow anything to come between us. He accepts my past completely and behaves as if it is a non-starter in our relationship. As far
as he is concerned we’re starting with a clean slate. If he has a fantasy he wants to explore with me where he leaves a thousand pounds on the bedside and pretends he is my customer, then we’ll talk about it in the same way we’ll talk about his fantasy of tying me to the bed, or getting me off in a public place. At every opportunity he instills in me that we’re just a normal couple finding out what works for us.

  “Go on,” he urges, using his melted butter voice. “My next appointment is in less than ten minutes.”

  “Nope,” I say firmly, picking up the knife. “I don’t think I’m going to indulge you right now. I’m too busy preparing your surprise.”

  “Treat them mean and keep them keen huh?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Fine. It better be some surprise,” he says grumpily.

  I end the call, still smiling, and start chopping off the heads of the carrots. Everything goes according to plan, and I had already poured in the chicken stock and Guinness over the meat and vegetables. I was just about to put the stew into the oven, when Florence calls.

  “Sofia, have you started making your stew yet?”

  “Yeah, I’m just about to put it into the oven.”

  “Oh, thank heavens. I forgot to tell you to add a small cup of strong black coffee and a piece of bittersweet chocolate.”

  “At what stage should I add it?”

  “Now.”

  I laugh. “That was a bit of luck, wasn’t it?”

  She joins in the laughter.

  I end the call and look in the fridge. I have no dark chocolate. I switch off the stove and scribble a note for Jack if he comes when I’m out.

  Gone to get chocolate. Love you. xoxo

  Then I grab my phone and my purse, pull on my coat and my silly purple hat because it is drizzling outside, and go to the front door. Mika whines because she wants to come, but I don’t take her because it’s wet and messy and I’ll only be gone for a short time.

  “Just wait for me. I’ll be back soon,” I say, and slip out of the door.

  I button my coat in the elevator. As I come out of it I see the little old lady that lives in the apartment a floor below us coming through the entrance so I wait and hold the lift for her. She smiles at me.

  “It’s horrible out there,” she sniffs.

  “I know.”

  “I’ll be glad to put my feet up with a cup of tea,” she says.

  I step out into the street. It is already busy with people returning from work. I huddle into my coat and hurry down the road. I get into the shop and Kaja is behind the counter. There is no one else in the shop and she chats with me as I pay for my chocolate bar. As she is returning my change, that quaint little bell over the shop door rings.

  I turn around and my heart stops.

  Forty

  Lena

  I stand by the window staring at the needles of rain lashing the glass. I don’t know why I feel restless and jittery inside. I’ve felt as if there is a tight knot in my stomach ever since I woke up this morning. Even Guy knew something was wrong.

  My first thought was that it was something to do with Sofia, so I called her straight away, but she seemed fine. Still, I invited myself to her place. She was the picture of health. We went shopping together and even then the niggling sensation wouldn’t go away, so I actually asked her outright if she was happy.

  “Yes,” she said, and glowed like a light bulb. You can’t fake that kind of joy. That made me feel a little better. Then, while I was there Jack called, and the way she melted at the sound of his voice made me sure there was nothing wrong.

  Reassured, I came back home, but the tightness in my stomach is worse, far worse now that I have come home, and I’m alone. It must be my paranoia working overtime. Maybe I’m just not used to seeing her so happy. I know Jack is ridiculously in love with her, but a part of me is still frightened that it is all too fabulous. That something bad is looming on the horizon.

  I touch my forehead. Or, maybe I’m just coming down with something. I see Mary’s reflection appear in the glass, turn around and smile at her.

  “Would you like me to bring in some tea?” she asks.

  “No, thank you, Mary. I had a cup with Sofia.”

  “Oh, how is she today?”

  My mouth curves automatically. “She’s fine. She’s cooking for her man tonight.”

  “It’s good to know that she’s happy. She has a beautiful heart.”

  “Yes, she does.” I turn towards the glass and the rain splattering on it. “Why don’t you have an early night, Mary? Make your way back to the village before the storm comes.”

  “I will. Thank you, Mrs. Hawke.”

  “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  She leaves the room and I turn back to the window. It is dark and miserable. Lightning streaks across the sky. The weather is definitely going to get much worse. Strange to have a thunderstorm in winter. I remember when I first arrived at this house, how a big tree came down in the night. I hope no trees come down tonight. It’s always a sad occasion for me when we lose a tree.

  “Lena.”

  I whirl around in surprise. The room is empty but for me, but I could have sworn I heard Sofia’s voice call my name. I freeze and listen, but there is only the sound of the rain. The kitchen is too far for sounds to carry, and Irina is upstairs with her nanny.

  My heart starts beating really fast.

  The churning sensation in my stomach is so strong I feel physically sick. I press my hand into my belly. Something is wrong. Very wrong. I know it. I run to the table, grab my phone, and call Sofia.

  It rings out.

  I call her home phone. Sometimes she’ll leave her cellphone somewhere and not hear it from the kitchen.

  There is no answer.

  The knot in my stomach is so tight I can barely breathe when I call Jack.

  Forty-one

  Jack

  I write a note for Karen in the file of the patient sitting in front of me, close it, and look up at her with a smile. “If you take this outside my assistant will sort out some dates for you.”

  “Thank you very much, Doc,” she says taking the thin folder from me.

  “No problem.” I stand and start walking around the table.

  She follows my example and we walk together towards the door. I open the door and hold my hand out. As she puts hers in it my phone starts ringing.

  “Saved by the bell,” she quips.

  I smile politely. “See you soon,” I say, letting go of her hand.

  As soon as she walks through the door I close it, cross the room, and glance at my phone. It’s Lena. With a frown I accept the call.

  “What’s up, Lena?”

  “Do you know where Sofia is?” she asks in a rush.

  “At home,” I say immediately, even though my brain instantly registers that she can’t be or Lena wouldn’t be calling me.

  “She’s not. I’ve tried both her mobile and the landline. She’s not answering either.” Her voice is high and full of anxiety.

  At that point my mind refuses to believe anything could be wrong. I am very aware that Lena tends to be overprotective. “She should be,” I say mildly. “She said she was preparing a surprise for me. I assumed she was cooking something.”

  “She was, but I can’t contact her, Jack, and I’m really worried. I know it sounds stupid to you, but something is wrong. I can feel it.”

  Her words send a chill through my body. “I’m on my way,” I say striding towards my door.

  I run through the reception and burst out into the street in my shirt. I run around the block to where my car is parked. I get into my car and start the engine. A text comes through. It is Lena again.

  Please call me the instant you find her.

  I turn on the ignition and speed dial Sofia’s number. Sofia has never activated her answerphone and it rings out. I swing out into the traffic, swearing.

  The journey home is without any doubt the longest one I have ever ta
ken. I get cursed at by a dozen irate drivers, but fuck them. I just use the sheer width of my Lambo to literally ram my way through the traffic.

  They honk and viciously spit profanities at me, but they make way. I don’t care what happens to my steel box, but they do. I hit two red lights and just plough through, but less than a block away from home I get stuck in a standstill traffic jam. I pull over onto double yellow lines, get out, and start running.

  I fly through the entrance door of my building and slam my palm on the elevator button. It opens. I go in and pace the floor restlessly while I wait for the elevator to take me up to my floor.

  The doors swish open and I run down the corridor. On the other side of the door I can hear Mika barking, and for a few seconds I actually think everything is fine. She must have popped out and now she is back with the dog. Fucking hell, Sofia. This is some surprise all right. I open the door and Mika doesn’t run in mad circles around me. Instead she barks in a high pitched tone.

  Oh shit.

  I rush through the apartment calling for her, even though I know she is not there. In the kitchen I see the half-cooked pot of stew. I touch the pot and it is still warm. The oven light is on.

  I look around and see her hastily scribbled note stuck under a fridge magnet. I stride up to it and snatch it off the fridge. She went to get chocolate. I dial her number, and as it rings I walk through the apartment. At least I know the phone is not here. She took it with her.

  I run all the way to the corner shop. Kaja must have seen me running because she comes out and stands under the awning at the entrance of her shop. Her hands are tightly clutching the edges of her cardigan and her eyes are anxious.

  “Have you seen Sofia?” I ask urgently.

  She nods, her hands coming up to gesture wildly as words tumble out of her quickly. “Yes, she came here. She bought chocolate and then these two scary men came in. They spoke to her. I think in Russian. She didn’t say anything to them. She just turned to me, and asked me if she could leave a message for you with me. She looked pale and strange. Not like herself at all. She was talking like a robot. I was so shocked I just nodded and she said, ‘Tell Jack. I’ll love him to the day I die.’ Then she went with them.”