Death by the Book - Lenny Bartulin [60]
‘It’s still early. No need to disturb anyone.’
‘You’re a prick.’
‘When I’m in the mood.’
Annabelle stepped up into the alcove and went to walk past him.
Jack grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close. ‘You want to tell me what the fuck’s going on?’
‘I just told you.’ She tried to shake her arm free. ‘Let go of me!’
He released her. Her eyes were hard and unfriendly and Jack had the feeling that everything between them had just evaporated. Maybe there had been nothing to begin with.
He turned away and threw his cigarette to the ground. He looked out over the smooth billiard-felt lawns and into the tall wet trees along the stone-walled boundary, and up the slope at the smoky horizon. Maybe what he needed to do was go for a long walk. Clear his head. A hundred miles ought to do it.
‘Jack.’ Annabelle was still standing behind him. ‘Please.’ Her voice was softer now, a tone of helplessness at its edges. ‘You have to understand. Louisa is having a rough time and now all this has happened, too. My father’s away and I’m in the house alone. I don’t have that many options.’
‘I’d say you had more than one.’ Jack kept his back to her, waited. Nobody moved, nobody spoke.
‘Jesus, you think I want to be here?’
Jack turned around, slowly. ‘You telling me you can’t afford a hotel?’ he said, feeling heat rise up his back. ‘Or a quick trip to New York, Hong Kong, London, Paris, wherever the fuck you want?’
She gave him a look of contempt. ‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Yeah, right. All that bank balance but not five cents’ worth of imagination.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s bullshit.’
‘Oh, if only you were rich, if only you had money!’ Annabelle sneered. ‘There’d be nothing to worry about, would there? No problems, no dramas, everything would be perfect all the time. God, you’d be so fucking good at it, wouldn’t you, Jack?’
‘That’s not what I’m talking about.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Annabelle lowered her voice. ‘Everything I’ve got can be taken away from me. Do you understand? Louisa. Money. My whole future. You think it’s easy for me?’
‘Must be terrible. Did the horse ride help?’
‘Fuck you! What the hell do you know about any of it?’
‘I know a load of crap when I hear it.’
Annabelle threw her helmet at him.
Jack moved to his left and caught it. He grinned, turned the helmet over in his hands a few times and then put it on his head. It was a couple of sizes too small. ‘What about the whip?’
Annabelle came up and pushed him hard in the chest. The helmet fell off and rolled down the step, out onto the driveway gravel.
‘You think you know everything, don’t you?’ she said, holding the whip down by her leg like a knife. ‘I’m just the sad, little rich girl with too much money and time and nothing to do?’ She moved in closer and hissed at him. ‘Nothing to do but fuck good-looking bastards like you?’
‘Thanks for the compliment.’
She pushed him again.
‘Hey, I’m just after a straight answer,’ he said, frowning. ‘All you keep giving me is right angles.’
‘Straight answer to what? I’m stuck between a bad mistake that won’t go away and a twisted old bastard that happens to be my father. Neither of them gives a shit about me and both of them can take it all away. Straight enough for you?’
‘So what do you want from me?’ said Jack. ‘Pick you up and ride you out to my castle?’
‘Your castle?’ Annabelle Kasprowicz laughed. A hard, nasty laugh. Jack flushed a hot shade. Women always knew where to aim the high heel.
He grabbed her wrist. It was soft and thin and the thought flashed through his mind that he could snap it like a matchstick. He eased his grip. Annabelle let her shoulders sag and Jack sensed her body relinquishing. He brought his other hand up and took hold of her chin. He pushed her head back a little and turned it to the side, like he was inspecting it for flaws. She let him. She was flawless. A tear slipped down over her perfect cheekbone. Jack watched it reach his finger.
He had not heard the approaching footsteps.
‘Get the fuck away from my wife.’
Annabelle made a noise but swallowed it. Jack let go of her and looked up. Durst