Page 49

49

LONDON, 1986

Amid all the furore of the press conference, it’s easy for Cassie to snatch Ben’s jacket—with its distinctive spray-painted logo—from the back of his chair and walk unnoticed to the lift. She lets herself into room 245 with the key Amelia had managed to extract from the bellboy in exchange for sexual favors.

There’s a moment’s hesitation as she turns the key in the lock, but as soon as Michael’s musky scent permeates her nostrils, Cassie’s suddenly underneath him again and all thoughts of backing out transform into a rabid ball of anger.

She helps herself to the minibar as she waits, drinking anything that will help numb her nerves and steady her resolve, all the while psyching herself up for when he eventually arrives.

She doesn’t have to wait more than fifteen minutes for him to burst through the door and, as expected, he’s blinded by rage and fury, so much so that he doesn’t even see her sitting in the chair by the fireplace; as she watches him rip the ringing phone from the wall and listens to his embittered bellowing, a breath catches in her throat. She hasn’t thought this through. She’s thrown herself into the lion’s den. She’s enraged him before and look how that turned out. Why the hell has she done it again?

As he disappears into the bathroom, yelling expletives, she edges herself out of the chair and tiptoes toward the door. She’s almost there— just a few steps more —but it’s too late. He’s spotted her.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” he roars, as blood runs down the side of his face.

All thought of doing what she came here to do vanishes. She has to get out of here.

She lunges for the door, but he gets there first, slamming himself against it, his body filling the entire frame.

“Please,” says Cassie, making a feeble attempt to reach around him for the handle.

He pushes her and she falls backward, stumbling over the coffee table and onto the floor. Her face crumples as he comes toward her, but she refuses to cry.

“I asked you a question and I expect a fucking answer,” he yells as he looms over her.

Cassie shuts her eyes tight, as if already giving in to what is surely about to happen. How had she ever thought that this wasn’t how it was going to play out? It was a foregone conclusion, and she freezes, ready to accept her fate.

But the weight of his presence moves away and the hot breath that had hung over her in an ominous cloud quickly dissipates. When she dares to open her eyes again, he’s pacing the floor in heated agitation.

“I swear to god, if I ever see him again I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he spits, as if he’s forgotten she was ever there. “He doesn’t get to call the shots…”

Cassie lets out the breath she’s been holding in and eases herself up onto a chair, grateful for the reprieve, but knowing that she’s not in the clear just yet.

“Who the fuck does he think he is?” Michael rants.

This is her moment. The one chance she’s got of turning this around. To do what she came here to do. If only she were brave enough.

“Ben Edwards?” she says, her mouth moving faster than her brain.

His head swivels and his dilated pupils drink her in, as if seeing her for the first time.

“I saw what happened down there,” she says, willing her voice to stay on an even keel.

“He’s gonna get it…” says Michael. “I swear to god, he’s not going to get away with it…”

“I don’t blame you,” says Cassie. “He walks around as if he’s untouchable, but he’s nothing without you.”

Michael’s eyes soften, as if suddenly grateful for the sympathetic ear. “Exactly!”

“Why don’t you come and sit down,” she says, her trembling hands patting the sofa cushion beside her. “I’ve got something that might make you feel a bit better.”

He raises his eyebrows questioningly and Cassie’s chest feels like a boa constrictor is wrapping itself around it. She’s aware of the dangerous game she’s playing, but her hatred for him, and what he’s done, is far greater than the risk. So, she pushes on through the fear and pulls out a foil parcel from her bag. It feels tiny in her hand, and she wonders if it’s enough.

“What’s this?” asks Michael, as she carefully unwraps the white powder.

“I’m reliably informed it will give you the best high you’ve ever had,” says Cassie, her hand shaking as she offers it to him.

He grins as he takes it from her. “Well, then who am I to argue?”

She watches as he reaches into his back pocket and takes a bank card out of a battered wallet, then kneels on the floor to cut the powder into a line on the coffee table. “D’you wanna go first?” he asks, as he rolls up a ten-pound note.

Cassie shakes her head. “Be my guest,” she says.

He roars as he snorts the first line, the animalistic cry coming from deep within as he throws his head back. “ Fuck , yeah!” he calls out when he’s able to form the words.

“I told you,” says Cassie.

“That is some crazy shit,” he says, his anger having immediately evaporated. “What the fuck!”

Cassie forces a smile.

“Where did you get this from?” he asks, going in for another line.

“I can get more,” says Cassie, sensing a way out. “I can get as much as you want.” She goes to get up, but he makes a grab for her, forcing her to stay put with a strong hold on her arm. His skin on hers makes her flesh crawl.

“Oh, man…” he says, as he collapses back on the sofa. His eyes roll into the back of his head, but his hold on her remains firm. She needs to get out. She’s got more than she needs to make the phone call. The reporters will have a field day with this.

“Oh no you don’t…” he mumbles as she tries to pull her arm from his grip. “You’re not leaving me.”

Cassie’s heart pounds in her ears, drowning out his ramblings. She wonders how long it will be until he lets her go. She needs him to fall asleep, but what if that’s not what this drug makes him do? What if he gets a second wind and wants to go all over again?

As she watches his flickering eyelids, she carefully reaches into her bag and takes out the Instamatic camera. If this is the only chance she’s going to get, she needs to take the picture now, while he’s semiconscious and surrounded by drug paraphernalia. He won’t be able to charm his way out of this one, not if she’s got photographic evidence.

“Stay with me,” he slurs, as she gently pulls her arm from his loosening grip. “Promise me you won’t leave. Because what will become of me… if you’re not here to… to…”

His breathing slows and, once she’s certain that he’s passed out, Cassie takes the opportunity to rearrange the scene, making sure the foil and rolled-up bank note take center stage. It’s only after she’s taken a couple of shots that she remembers Ben’s jacket, which she drapes casually over the back of the sofa so that any voyeur will all too easily be able to picture him just out of frame.

If Michael’s going down, she’s going to make sure Ben goes with him. It’s the least they deserve.