The Boleyn Effect (The Boorman Ending) (6 page)

How bloody dare he speak
to me like that. I may not be blonde, but I am one hell of a
looker. I can catch any man's eye. I've held George's attention for
long enough.

'You know what? Fuck off,'
I shout.

'Hit a nerve did I?' he
smirks.

'Well at least I don't
screw around with desperate young women. How many more times does
Megan have to open her legs for you to start to give a
damn?'

His face pales with anger.
'At least, she thinks I'm good enough to be there. Unlike some,' He
throws back.

'Oh and we are right back
there again. Jesus Christ George, maybe if you learned to grow up
then I might think about, but I doubt that will happen
soon.'

'You're a fucking bitch,'
he snaps, before he slams his way out of my flat.

I stare at the door in
disbelief. I cannot quite believe that he's said that to me. After
all the compliments he showers me with, he goes and says that I
can't compete with some blonde or even Harry's wife. I have eyes
and I know I am damn beautiful. I have long glossy brown hair, dark
wide eyes and pale skin. My figure is fucking good and I know I can
pull off any item of clothing. I am not some wilting flower. I am
the whole fucking bunch.

Flopping down on the sofa,
I pick up my phone, drop it and then pick it up. I hate fighting
with George. I find it unsettling when we’re not getting along. I
sometimes wish that he'd not come along when he did and helped me
out of my shit, because, even though it's never mentioned it's like
a time bomb ticking away between us.

He gets away with so much
and it's because I feel I need him. Maybe deep down he's my back
up, just in case I end up old and alone. We have a sick and twisted
friendship that little would understand, but you know what, it's
our fucked up friendship and I can't live without it. Picking the
phone up once more I start to punch in my message.

'For your information I
did get his attention. Not bad for a non-blonde'

I wait for a moment and
then it beeps a reply.

'I'm a dick. I saw you got
his attention. I just don't want to push you into anything and I
want to keep you safe'

'I trust you. Let me sleep
on it and we'll talk tomorrow'

I smile. He's driven off
his temper and calmed down. He doesn't want to fight either. I do
need to sleep on this, because he's right, I could get seriously
hurt. Seducing a man is the easy part, its keeping your head that's
the hardest. I have to really think whether I have the gall and the
strength to come out and win this unscathed.

Grabbing my laptop, I
decide to do my own research and typing Harry Cobain in the search
engine sends me to a newspaper article and the university website.
I open the article first and I'm greeted by a large picture of both
Harry and Katherine stood arm in arm. They look so happy and
perfect.

I scroll down and read
about how Harry Cobain at forty-six is the youngest Dean the
university has ever had. After gaining his PhD in the Social
Sciences he continued to work his way through university while
producing journals and papers. So he's some sort of prodigy. I get
it already. Harry was right about one thing, it's his wife who is
the business woman.

Katherine Cobain owns a
fleet of estate agents that were started by her father as a young
man. He began with one shop and soon it grew into an empire. Come
to think of it, there are plenty of signs with Aire emblem
emblazoned on them all around town. Katherine inherited her
father's business ten years ago at his death and gone from strength
to strength. She seems like one hell of a woman.

Apparently she and Harry
met while both at university and though it was love at first sight
they did not get together for another year when they met again.
They married after eight weeks of being together and the rest is
history. I note that there is no mention of children, but I wonder
if they are the sort of couple where work has always comes
first.

I intend on closing the
laptop down, but I find myself staring at the picture of them. It's
taken with some trees behind them. Maybe somewhere on the
university grounds. Their bodies turned to each other, even though
their eyes are on the camera. They look happy and loved up. Can I
really do this to them? Or has Harry already done the damage,
because according to George, he's been rocking the boat within his
marriage already.

Why does he cheat on her?
What doesn't she have to keep him faithful? Because for the life of
me I can't see what the problem is.

Maybe Katherine does need
a way out. The problem could well be his and not hers. I look at
the picture. I could do this. Seduce him and give his wife her
freedom and I will also get mine. This thing between me and George
in reality is a dead weight around my neck and I need to get rid of
it. I make a snap decision and open my mailbox.

'If we are going to do
this then I want to make him work hard. I don't want to become like
the discarded blondes. I'm a brunette and we have much more
substance.'

There is no instant reply,
but I already know that George is mulling it over. He wants this to
be prefect and I have to trust him. If things got too serious then
he would pull me out. It is after all just a game where I will
finally gain my freedom.

CHAPTER
NINE

'These are really good,'
Katherine gushes over my portfolio.

After leaving a few
messages, I have no choice but to arrange her visit. I need the
money and I'm sure she'll pay over the odds for good pictures. Plus
I haven't done anything wrong yet. It's all been talk, nothing
more. Apparently, pinning Harry Cobain down is a tall order,
according to George anyway. So, I've yet to put my seduction
technique to work.

'Thanks, like I said I'm
not used to doing the shots you are wanting,' I answer.

Katherine looks at me with
her dark piercing eyes which are full of mischief. In tight jeans
and a gypsy top she really is gut wrenchingly beautiful. Very much
like Harry, she has a very strong presence. One that is warming and
trusting.

'I'm sure that two women
like us know what men like and you have a good eye. A very good
eye. Look at this one. It's stunning.'

I swallow hard as she
pulls out the picture that I took in the library. The one where I
was in the arms of her husband after he near on killed
me.

'I'll do you a copy,' I
find myself saying.

'You'd do that?' she asks
in surprise.

'Yes, it's no problem. Ok
let's see if we can decide what we are going to do.'

We spend the afternoon
talking and negotiating her anniversary gift and eventually she
leaves happy and full of my praises. She seems so very trusting and
I feel a little sorry for her. I wonder how many real friends she
actually has. How many just hang on to her because of who she is
and what she can give? And if she is unhappy in her marriage then
she must be lonely. It goes to show that money and status doesn't
mean a thing in the grand scheme of things.

When she leaves, she asks
if we could meet again and I tell I would call. It's an empty
promise. I can't really be this woman's friend, not when I am going
to try and seduce her husband. The less emotionally involved I am
the better it will be all round.

Exhausted and a little
drained, I decide to take my camera and go for a walk into the
nearby Museum Gardens. A walk in the Gardens always allows my head
to settle and gives me time to think. I love being near the ruins
of the ancient Abbey and the old stone work always gives me great
pictures that I can sell on to the tourists.

As I walk, the setting sun
is staining everything in gold and pinks and so I use the
opportunity to snap a few close ups of blooming flowers and knotted
trees.

A couple are engrossed in
one another on a bench and moving behind them I take a few shots
with the stonework as a backdrop. Living in York is a photographers
dream. There's always something interesting to look at and a few
hidden treasures that people just pass by.

Finally, I reach the rear
part of the Abbey and I take in the scene in front of me deciding
what shots I am about to take. The city around me is starting to
spring to life as twilight descends. Even though the gardens are in
the city centre the quiet here is eerie, but beautiful. It's almost
like it's cocooned from the outside world. No wonder the monks
settled here.

Twilight is my favourite
time, not quite day or night and everything always looks
interesting especially through a lens. Getting on my belly, I
decide to go for some low ones. Lining the Abbey walls through the
lens, I push the button just as a dog runs into shot.

'For fucks sake,' I curse
as I check back the picture with a blurred dog-shaped smudge
on.

Ok, not a problem just do
it again, but no matter where I lay or move to the dog seems
content on following me around before deciding that I'm more
interesting and starts to sniff around.

Sighing, I sit up and pet
my chocolate brown intruder on the head, before roughly running my
fingers in its collar. Getting to my feet, my new friend looks up
at me expectantly.

'So, who do you belong
to?' I ask.

'He's mine.'

I jump at the voice behind
me and swing round to be face to face with Harry Cobain. Jesus,
this is just far too cliché.

'Well, he's just ruined my
shot,' I half chastise.

'What can I say? He's
drawn to pretty ladies, who lay in the grass,' he
smirks.

'Does that line work a
lot,' I laugh.

He shrugs. 'Well it
clearly amuses you. I am sorry that he ruined your picture. Hope it
wasn't important.'

His face looks suddenly
serious and concerned as he calls the dog to his side and puts its
leash on.

'Just personal pictures.
Nothing really,' I reassure, reaching for the dog again.

A smile warms Harry's face
and he looks relieved.

'There's a pub just at the
end of the gardens, can I buy you a drink to say sorry?'

I glance at my watch and
contemplate for a second. It's all for show, because I already know
the answer. Play it cool, George would instruct if he were here.
Not too eager. Anne Boleyn played coy when it came to Henry. I must
do the same.

‘
I’m not
sure.’

‘
Go on and I’m
no expert, but you are losing light,’ he smirks.

I can’t help but smile. He
does have a point and he knows it.

'Yeah, I can stop for
one,' I answer.

'Great. This is Monty by
the way,' he introduces the dog as we walk down the
hill.

At the pub, I sit outside
with Monty while his master brings us refreshment. The night air is
still warm and because of my furry friend we have to utilize the
beer garden. The smell of the River Ouse is almost pungent in the
warm summer air, bringing with it unwelcomed winged guests that I
have to wave away. Harry returns quickly and places my Crabbies
down in front of me, before sitting opposite with his pint of
Bitter.

I'm a little surprise at
the Undertone's T-shirt he's wearing, indicating a definite rebel
behind the smart clothes. His jeans are worn and tired looking.
This is dress down Harry. The Harry that takes his dog out for a
walk in parks and probably comes to this pub for a drink before
going home.

'Nice shirt,' I
comment.

'I'd like to say that it's
new, but unfortunately I remember them the first time round. Fergal
Sharkey, the lot,' he smiles. 'I don't suppose you know who that
is.'

'Of course I do,' I say.
'I'm a sucker for 80's pop and hair rock.'

He laughs and its sound
fills me with warmth.

'So, do you freelance, or
work for someone?' he asks.

'I rent a space,' I
answer. 'I do mainly portraits etc.'

'And that's the
dream?'

I place my bottle down and
swallow. Such probing questions for a guy who I barely know, but I
feel compelled to answer him and I have no idea why.

'I'd rather have my own
place and make money from doing gallery shows. You know enough to
not to worry about the rent.'

'Well, I've not seen
you're work, but I'm sure you've got a great eye.'

This is it. I have an
opportunity and I'm about to grasp it with two hands. I just hope
he's going to take the bait. I need to know for certain how
interested he is.

'It's not far from here.
It’d be great to get some opinions. Monty is more than
welcome.'

Harry's eyes widen a
little and I see a little sparkle there that causes me to inwardly
smile. He knows it's a challenge and he is debating whether to take
me up on it. I know there's some interest. The leaning closer when
I speak. The unbroken eye contact. The subtle glances to where my
cleavage can be seen from my shirt. This guy is a player and I am
about challenge him to a brand new game.