The Endgame (23 page)

‘Hey, why so serious?’ she asked, forcing a playful laugh. ‘It’s not goodbye forever. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘I know. I just want you to know – in case I forget to tell you tomorrow. I hope you’re really happy.’

She blinked away tears. ‘Thank you.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’ He kissed her forehead, and then he pulled her into his arms, moulding her body to his, and making her wish midnight would never come and they could stay like this forever.

She was in a sombre mood that night as she got ready to Skype with Mark, aware that it would be the last time she would speak to him. Tomorrow night he would be flying home, and when he got back on Tuesday, she would be gone. If everything went according to plan, she would never see him again.

She even felt a slight stab of pity for Mark as she thought of him arriving home from his trip to find the house empty, and her gone. He had been a big part of her life, and she believed he did love her in his own twisted way. But she wasn’t in any danger of being swayed from her decision to leave. The man she felt sad for only existed in her memory now. She had no sympathy for the monster he had become.

She felt a mixture of excitement and fear as she thought about the next couple of days. While she planned and prepared for leaving, she had never allowed herself to think far ahead, because it was too daunting. But occasionally the enormity of what she was undertaking hit her, and she felt overwhelmed. She was leaving behind the life she knew, not knowing what the future might hold, and she couldn’t help being nervous. However stifling this house and her life with Mark had been, there was a certain safety and security in its familiarity. Now she was facing into the unknown with no map or blueprint, no friendly face to turn to, no one to hold her hand and guide her.

There were things here that she would miss too – things she resented having to leave behind. She was sad to be leaving London, the city where she had grown up. It had always been home to her, and it held so many happy memories of her childhood with her grandparents. And then there was Grayson … She had been desolate leaving him tonight, and he had been just as loathe to let her go. Whenever her mind strayed to thoughts of him, she carefully steered it away. She couldn’t bear to dwell on them.

Instead she had concentrated on mechanically making preparations. She had eradicated every trace of Grayson from the house. Then she had busied herself packing. Her suitcase was stashed under the bed, ready to go. There was just this final call with Mark to get through, one more night with Grayson tomorrow, and then she would walk out of this house and her life would change forever.

As she waited for his call, she undressed, put on a sheer black baby-doll that Mark loved, and retouched her make-up. Her lip curled in contempt at the image that stared back at her from the mirror as she applied a final slick of lip-gloss. There she was – the perfect sex doll, ready to do her master’s bidding, to serve his every need. She hated what she had become – what Mark had made her. She consoled herself with the thought that after tonight, this person would no longer exist. She would never have to be this pathetic creature again. But for now it was show time, she thought, as she settled herself in front of the laptop.

‘Hi, baby,’ Mark grinned at her from the screen, his eyes glittering as they raked over her body. ‘You look so beautiful,’ he said, his voice thick with lust.

‘Thanks.’ Lisa licked her lips provocatively and slipped the straps of her babydoll off her shoulders, preparing to go through this hated performance one last time. She undid the ribbons at the front and parted the material, exposing her breasts, then peeling it off in a slow striptease. Just one more show, she told herself, closing her eyes as she began stroking her body.

When she left the gallery, she crossed to the other side of the river and strolled along the embankment in the sunshine. It was a warm, bright day, the sun sparkling on the water. She was going to miss all this, she thought as she leaned on the parapet and looked across the river, the city spread out before her. Boats chugged up and down the river with their cargoes of tourists. To her left the London Eye turned slowly, starkly white against the blue sky, while in the distance the palace of Westminster was a potent reminder of the city’s past. Downriver on the other side, the imposing dome of St Paul’s stood proud alongside futuristic glass skyscrapers. That juxtaposition of the ancient and contemporary was one of the things she loved about London, the weight of its history sitting comfortably alongside the vibrant modernity of the city. She would miss the bustling crowds and the cultural life, the sweep and energy of it all.

She stopped for a coffee at one of the cafes along the embankment, and as she sat outside, taking in the view, her thoughts turned to Grayson. She wished he were here to share her last day with her. It was crazy. She’d only known him a few weeks, but she wanted him with her all the time now, sharing every experience. She touched the scarf at her neck. It had seemed symbolic to wear it today. It was a mark of her new beginning and a small gesture of defiance, openly flaunting something a man other than Mark had given her. She owed so much to Grayson. She wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for him, and it wasn’t just the money. His regard for her had helped to restore a little of her self-confidence and strengthened her courage to see this through. If only there were something she could give him in return, she thought, stirring her coffee broodingly. She would like him to have something to remember her by. But she had nothing of her own to give. Her paintings, the only things that were truly hers, were gone.

Or were they? It suddenly occurred to her that that may not be true. Mark had never brought her two unsold paintings home from the gallery. She had no reason to think they weren’t still there. She hadn’t thought of them in such a long time. She had detached herself from that part of her life and put it behind her. But talking about art with Grayson had reminded her how much it had meant to her – and how much she had believed in her work before Mark’s criticism crushed all her ambitions and dreams. Maybe she shouldn’t have taken his judgment as the last word on her talent. Had she been wrong to give up so easily?

Even if Mark was right and those paintings had no objective merit or commercial worth, they were a part of her, and having all but forgotten about them, she suddenly had a compelling urge to get them back now if she could. She felt the need to see them, to reconnect with the person she had been when she made them, as if by gathering the scattered pieces of herself together, she could start the slow process of making herself whole again.

She had started to envision her life after Mark, and she wanted art to be part of it. Even if she would never make it as an artist, she wanted to try. Painting had always made her happy. She missed it, and she wanted to feel the joy of creating something again, the sense of achievement of finishing a piece she was satisfied with, regardless of anyone else’s opinion.

She paid for her coffee and hurried back to the street, excited at the idea of retrieving her paintings. No doubt when she saw them now they would seem naive and crude. But nonetheless, it was what she wanted to give Grayson, and she felt sure he would appreciate the gift. She was always holding back with him, and she wanted to finally give him something of herself before she left.

‘Hello, Lisa,’ she smiled, looking up. ‘It’s nice to see you.’

‘You too, Greta.’ Lisa smiled. ‘I was just passing and I thought I’d pick up my paintings while I was here.’

Greta frowned. ‘Your paintings? I’m sorry, did you buy something recently?’

‘No, I mean
my
paintings – the ones that were on sale here.’

‘Oh.’

Something about Greta’s blank expression struck dread in Lisa’s heart.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about them. Maybe you should wait until Mark gets back. He’s home tomorrow, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, but I’d rather pick them up today, if possible,’ Lisa said, forcing a smooth smile. ‘It was a couple of years ago ...’

‘Oh,’ Greta brightened, grasping at this explanation. ‘Before my time, then.’

‘Yes. They didn’t sell, but I’d like to have them back. I just thought I’d collect them since I was in the neighbourhood.’

‘Well, they’re probably in the storeroom. You’re welcome to have a look, if you like.’

‘Thank you.’

Greta opened a drawer in the desk and produced a key. ‘Do you want me to help you?’

‘No, thanks,’ Lisa said, taking the key from her. ‘I know where it is.’

She crossed the floor and went upstairs to the private part of the gallery. She unlocked the door to the store room with a sense of foreboding. It was a large room, with canvases covered in bubble wrap stacked ten deep against the walls. She started by the door and began methodically raking through the paintings, many of them familiar to her. It was a real treasure trove, and she could have happily spent the afternoon poring over the contents of the room. But she didn’t linger, quickly moving on the next stack when she didn’t find what she was looking for. She was ready to give up hope as she flipped through the final pile, barely glancing now, no longer expecting to find her paintings. Mark had probably tossed them in the skip with the rest, she thought despondently.

But then, suddenly, there they were – the very last two, tucked away in the furthest corner of the storeroom. Her hands shook as she lifted them out. She picked one up, feeling a sudden rush of pride and satisfaction as she looked at it through the filmy wrapping. She had expected to see it now as Mark did, recognising all its flaws and realising that his assessment had been accurate. Instead she felt a glow of pride, and a sense of relief that she hadn’t been deluding herself all those years. She still believed in this, she still felt it was good – more than good, in fact. It had been a long time since she had done anything she felt proud of, and it was a good feeling. She turned the painting over in her hands, and as she did so, her eye caught a little green sticker fixed to the back of the frame with the words: Not for Sale.

She sank to the floor, dazed, a feeling of dread settling in her stomach as the meaning of this edged into her consciousness. She wasn’t even sure what it meant. Had it been put there when Mark had removed the paintings from display after they failed to sell? Or had they never been offered for sale in the first place? She lifted out the second painting and turned it over. It had the same sticker.

She shook herself out of her reverie. She could think about what this meant when she was home alone. She stood, gathered up both paintings and left the room with them, locking the door behind her.

‘Ah, you found what you were looking for?’ Greta asked as she marched back to the desk.

‘Yes, thanks.’ Lisa handed her back the key. ‘Is it okay for me to take them?’ It suddenly occurred to Lisa that as far as Greta was concerned, she could be walking out of here with something that didn’t belong to her.

‘I’m sure it’s fine. We know where you live,’ Greta laughed. ‘I’ll just need to mark them off the inventory.’ She tapped her computer keyboard. ‘Let’s see. Your surname is Matthews, yes?’

‘That’s right.’

Greta frowned at the screen. ‘I can’t seem to find you here. Let me see the paintings.’

Lisa placed them on the desk side by side.

‘Oh yes, of course.’ Greta smiled as she picked one up and turned it over. ‘They’re not in inventory, so it’s fine to take them.’

‘They’re not in the inventory?’ Lisa asked, trying to stop her voice shaking.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘They’re not for sale,’ Greta said, pointing to the sticker.

‘But they were.’

Greta shrugged. ‘Yes, but Mark told me you decided you couldn’t bear to part with them when it came to it. I guess he didn’t want to risk them getting mixed up with stock, so just took them off the system altogether.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Lisa nodded, trying to appear calm while she felt like she had been punched in the gut.

‘I’m not surprised you didn’t want to sell them,’ Greta said. ‘They’re beautiful pieces – very powerful.’

‘Th–Thank you.’

‘I’m surprised it doesn’t happen more often, to be honest. I mean, art is so
personal
, isn’t it? It must feel a bit like giving away one of your children.’

‘Um ... yeah,’ Lisa said faintly.

‘Would you like me to wrap them in paper for you?’

‘Thank you. That would be great.’

‘Lovely weather, isn’t it?’ Greta made cheerful small talk with her as she wrapped the paintings, but Lisa was hardly aware of what was being said. She just wanted to get out of the gallery and be alone to think this over.

Outside, she walked along the street in a daze, trying to get her head around what had just happened. Mark had lied to her. He had never tried to sell her paintings. Did he simply think they weren’t good enough, and pretended to accept them to spare her feelings? Greta had said nice things about them, but maybe she was just being polite to her boss’s girlfriend. But deep down, she didn’t believe that. He had done it to keep her down, to have her where he wanted her, dependent on him for everything. She couldn’t bear it. Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought of all she had lost, the career she might have had. She would never know how different things could have been.

She hugged the paintings to herself. At least she had something worthwhile to give Grayson now, she thought, wiping away a tear. There was no point in crying over what might have been. She would make more paintings – better ones.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her mobile ringing. She fished it out of her bag, startled to see that it was Mark calling. It would be the middle of the night in China.

‘Hi, Mark,’ she said warily.

‘Lisa, are you okay? You sound–‘

She took a deep, shaky breath. ‘You didn’t try to sell my paintings.’ She was surprised to hear the words coming out of her mouth. She hadn’t planned to say that. But she would never have another opportunity to confront him about it. Even over the phone, she hardly had the nerve to challenge him.

‘What?’ His voice snapped like a whip.

‘I was at the gallery. I thought I’d pick up those paintings you took to sell. But they weren’t in the inventory. You told Greta I didn’t want to sell them.’

He sighed heavily. ‘Oh baby,’ he said, his voice dripping with pity, ‘they just weren’t good enough. I didn’t know how to tell you. ‘

Once she would have believed him.

‘I’m sorry. I should have been honest, but I knew how much it meant to you. I didn’t want to be the one to shatter your dreams.’

But you
were
, she thought.

‘Lisa? You’re not going to sulk about this, are you?’

‘No, I just– No.’ She swallowed hard, tried to sound calm. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Look, we can talk about this later, when I get home. Okay?’

‘Yes, fine. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’

‘Well, maybe it would be best to leave it until tomorrow.’ She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘I’m sure we’ll have better things to do tonight.’

‘Tonight?’ Her heart started to pound and her mouth felt dry suddenly. ‘What do you mean?’

‘That’s why I called. Good news, baby – I got my business finished early and I’m on my way home.’

Lisa’s heart slammed into her chest and she could hardly breathe. ‘What? Wh–When?’

‘I’m in Paris, just about to get on a flight to London.’

‘But last night ... we Skyped.’

‘I was in the Mandarin Oriental on the Rue Saint-Honoré,’ he chuckled. ‘I was going to surprise you.’

‘Oh!’ She felt sick at the thought of all her carefully laid plans being thwarted at the last minute.

‘But then I couldn’t wait to tell you. Besides, I want you to come out to the airport to meet me.’

Lisa struggled to remain calm, but her insides felt like they were on fire. Her mind was racing as she tried to process a thousand thoughts at once. How long did she have? She needed to stay focused, find out exactly where she stood.

‘So what time does your flight get in?’

‘Andrew’s got all the details. I’ve told him to pick you up. He should be with you in about an hour.’

‘Great!’

‘Yeah, so cheer up and get your glad rags on. I can’t wait to see you, baby. I’ve missed you so much.’

‘Me too.’ Lisa gulped, fighting to stem the tears that were stinging the backs of her eyes, trying to swallow down the rising panic. She had no time! And what about Grayson? She would never see him now. Her mind was a blur and she could hardly concentrate on what Mark was saying, just aware that she was losing precious time every minute he stayed on the phone.

‘Wear something sexy,’ he said. ‘And no underwear. I can’t wait to fuck you again.’

Lisa just nodded dumbly, not able to speak past the lump in her throat, desperate for him to end the call so she could think. She flagged down a taxi as they spoke. She had to get home and out again before Andrew turned up.

‘I have another surprise for you,’ Mark was saying in her ear as she opened the taxi door and slid inside. ‘But you’ll have to wait for that until I get home.’

‘I can’t wait,’ she said, her mouth feeling like sawdust.

‘Well, they’re boarding my flight. Got to go. See you soon, baby. I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

She ended the call and flopped back against the seat, trying to calm her breathing and collect her thoughts. She couldn’t let this faze her. It wasn’t a disaster, she told herself. She was all ready to go, her bags packed. She just had to get home, grab her stuff and get out again before Andrew arrived. There was plenty of time. Still, she couldn’t help growling inwardly with impatience at every red traffic light.

When they got to the house, she leapt out of the taxi and dashed for the door, fumbling with the keys in her haste. In the bedroom, she gathered up her things on automatic. She felt hunted and she wouldn’t feel safe until she was out of the house. She had cut it too fine already. As she threw the last of her things into the case, her thoughts flew to Grayson. She would have to stand him up tonight, and she felt a pang of guilt as she thought of him waiting for her.

But there was no time to dwell on that now, she told herself as she flung last-minute things into her bag with trembling hands. She could think about that later. When she was safely away from here, there would be time to indulge in missing him and longing for him, in thinking of what might have been. Right now, she had to concentrate on getting away.

When she had shut her case and checked her bag one last time for passport and money, she surveyed the room with a quick sweep of her eyes. Most of her clothes still hung in the wardrobe. She looked at the rails of silky tops and strapless cocktail dresses, the rows of spiky heels beneath them. She wouldn’t need clothes like those anymore. She wouldn’t wear clothes like that ever again, she thought, with a shudder of distaste.

She picked up her handbag, grabbed her wheelie case and raced down the stairs. Her heart was in her mouth as she pulled the door closed behind her. She strode down the path – and froze as she reached the gate and saw the car waiting there.

Andrew – he was already here. She was too late. She stopped dead in her tracks, her knees feeling like they were going to give way. She looked around wildly for some escape route, but Andrew had already seen her and was getting out of the car.

‘A–Andrew,’ she stammered.

‘Miss Matthews,’ he said with a deferential nod, not looking right at her as usual. Lisa saw his eyes drift to her suitcase, and he gave a puzzled frown.

‘I–I wasn’t expecting you so soon,’ Lisa gulped. Tears stung her eyes and burned the back of her throat. She felt her body slump despairingly, and she was struggling not to cry. ‘I was just ...’ But she couldn’t think of any excuse.

‘I was expecting the traffic to be heavier. I got here earlier than I should have.’

Lisa nodded, hanging her head.

‘Would you like me to call you a cab?’

She looked up at him, hope blooming inside her chest.

‘I’d give you a lift, but I won’t get here for another half hour or so. The traffic’s bad.’