The Tied Man (10 page)

She suddenly became serious.  ‘However, it concerns me that you turned down last night’s opportunity.  As you’re more than aware, the press would adore a story like this, armed with none of the facts and a heightened sense of false modesty.’ She walked back to her desk and handed me a document wallet.  ‘I would suggest that you sit down whilst you take a look.  Let’s call it ‘insurance’.’

I wordlessly sat on a divan and tipped the contents out onto the coffee table.  The very first thing that tumbled out was a photograph of  Daniel, my half-brother, sitting on a colourful plastic bench in the playground of his residential school.  It had been taken from some distance away, but I could tell that it was recent: spring blossom foamed on the hawthorn trees surrounding the sunlit yard and Daniel wore the rainbow-coloured cap I had sent him from
London
on my last vi
sit.  I felt physically sick. 

I numbly leafed through the rest of the papers and found a meticulously researched summary of my little half-brother’s life.  His latest school report; copies of emails to my father and stepmother asking for permission for a trip to the zoo; a list of his current medication.

‘I need you to know that it gives me no pleasure to bring a child into all this.’  I was vaguely aware that
Blaine
was speaking to me from several rooms away.  ‘I would have much preferred to have gathered the materials for your incentive last night.’

‘What, hidden cameras?  Classy.’

‘A full range of the latest surveillance equipment, actually.  As I said, it’s vital that I have insurance against any of this becoming common knowledge.’

I briefly considered asking just what ‘insurance’ had goaded my father into travelling all the way to Spain to find me, before deciding that I never wanted to know.

‘So, to summarise.  I would very much appreciate it if you remained at Albermarle Hall until my portrait is completed.’ 
Blaine
took the photograph from my hands and began to place all the papers back in their wallet.  ‘I wouldn’t dream of keeping you prisoner here, but I should tell you that the individual who took that photograph is currently staying within five minutes of your brother’s school, and will remain there for the duration of your residence.  I’m sure you can appreciate that my first loyalty is to my business.  This doesn’t have to change anything, Lilith.  If you decide to do anything foolish, then I’m afraid I’ll be forced to take action, but if you’re sensible, then none of this will ever be mentioned again.  I’m merely being honest with you and protecting my interests.  Do you understand?’

I struggled to drown out the roaring that had returned to my ears.  ‘Yes, I understand perfectly.  Will that be all?’

‘For now.  I hope you have a productive day.’

I sat at the kitchen table, absently stirring a mug of black coffee for the thousandth time and letting a cigarette burn out between my fingers.  I wore a pair of pyjama bottoms and nothing else: my back would be too tender to cope with the pressure of fabric for another couple of hours, and my arse was just about letting me sit down without killing me. 

‘Jesus, Henry, she was fucking horrified.  I’m there spread-eagled like the fucking gimp I am, and
Blaine
hands her the whip and tells her to get on with it.  It was like asking a Mother Superior to flash her tits.’

Henry grimaced.  ‘It’s rare for her to get it this wrong.’

‘You’re telling me.  God, this is going to cause some trouble.’ 

‘It’s all a little odd.  Lilith didn’t strike me as a prude.’

‘It’s not that.  I just reckon she’s the first person I’ve ever known who’s been in that situation and decided to act on principle.’  I managed a last drag before the filter itself began to burn.  ‘Whatever, I reckon she won’t be able to look me in the eye again.’

Henry stopped piling dishes.  ‘Does that bother you?’

‘Nah,’ I lied, carefully circling my shoulders to test the extent of the damage.  As if on cue, Lilith walked into the kitchen, took one look at me hunched over the table, and walked out without saying a word.  ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ I groaned, using my teeth to pull my tenth Marlboro of the morning from its pack. 

Yes, it bothered me, and even bloody Henry knew it.  It bothered me a great deal, not least because I might just have lost something that was never mine to begin with.  I pulled smoke deep into my lungs, ignoring Henry’s forced cough, and idly wondered if it was physically possible for a man to smoke himself to death in two hours.

Before the butt had finished smouldering in the Wedgwood saucer I was using as an ashtray, I lit my next smoke.  I waited for Henry’s concerned reproach, but none came.  Instead, he mutely stared over my head.

‘I can get two across, but I’m having a little difficulty with five down.’  Lilith stood in the doorway and coolly appraised the cross-hatched pattern of damage to my back.

Henry gave her a grateful smile.  ‘Would you care for a coffee?’

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got anything stronger?’

‘Well, there’s my cooking brandy, but…’

‘That’ll do.’

I didn’t move, as if through silence I could render myself invisible.  Lilith stood above me and unscrewed the lid from a small jar.  ‘Keep still,’ she ordered.  ‘Arnica.  It might sting a bit, but it’ll help to bring the bruising down.  Have you got some ice, please, Henry?’

Henry, stunned into silence, obediently wrapped a handful of ice cubes in a tea towel and passed it to Lilith.  In between mouthfuls of cheap brandy from a mug, she pressed the impromptu icepack to the worst of my injuries, and began to rub arnica into those that had just started to settle.  

Trapezius, deltoid, infra spinatus, teres major, teres minor, latissimus dorsai
.  Under my hands, Finn became an anatomist’s model.   I named each muscle, mouthing the words under my breath as an atheist’s prayer for distance.  ‘Is it always this bad?’ I finally asked. 
Blaine
had clearly kept going long after I had fled the scene.

‘Looks worse than it feels,’ Finn replied, which was no answer at all.  He leaned across the table to take another cigarette from its battered pack.

Under the angry
grid of
most recent marks, I could see a fainter web of silver-white lines across the man’s back and shoulders.  I traced one with my finger.  ‘These are older.’

‘A few months, maybe,’ came the lie.  It would take years for a scar to fade to this translucent memory.  ‘Anyway, I don’t know why you’re down here wasting time playing
Florence
fucking Nightingale.  If I were you I’d be packing my kit – if you’re not swayed by flaying me alive, she’ll be busy finding another way to keep you on the island.’

‘She already has.’  I finally sat down.  ‘May I?’ I asked, taking a cigarette without waiting for a reply.

‘Feel free.’ Finn took the lighter from me when my trembling fingers failed to make it work.  ‘I thought your body was a temple.’  

‘Not this morning, it isn’t.’

‘You could tell us if you wanted to.’ Henry joined us at the table and pouring me another inch of brandy.  ‘You don’t have to.  I mean, if it’s personal - ’

‘Daniel.  My half-brother.  He’s ten.  Autistic.  Goes to a residential school in
Wales
.  They’re working miracles with him.’  I drained my mug again.  ‘She showed me school photographs, reports, everything.  Even some bloody memo from his teacher to the head about packed lunches for a school trip.  Apparently she could reach him at a moment’s notice.  I assume she’s telling the truth?’

‘No, no, I’m sure…’ Henry began, but Finn silenced him with a raised hand.

‘Yes, she’s telling the truth, and yes, she could – has – done it.’  He pulled the last cigarette from its pack and lit it, curling his tongue around the blue smoke.  ‘She’ll have built in contingency for you saying ‘no’ right from the start.’

I murdered the last of the brandy.  ‘So if she planned on me refusing your initial offer, why send you in the first place?’

Finn drew hard on his cigarette.  ‘Because she hoped it would get you in the mood to want to smack the living shit out of me.  And because she gets off on fucking with my head.’

It sounded so wantonly cruel that I looked to Henry for confirmation. 

‘I wouldn’t say it quite so crudely, but yes, that’s about right.’

‘And it blurs the boundaries, doesn’t it?’  Finn added.  ‘Means I stand bugger-all chance of working out what’s truth and what’s the latest twisted fantasy.  Keeps me in my place.’

‘Your place.’

‘Yeah.  You know, the one you so accurately guessed yesterday afternoon. The ‘nasty piece of smackhead rough-trade that got lucky’ place.’

‘You worked the streets?’

Finn nodded.  ‘
Phoenix
Park
and thereabouts.  First time when I was fifteen, last time the day before I made it to this paradise.  The only job I’ve ever had.’  He gave me a bitter, defiant glance.  ‘So I’ll understand if you don’t want to share a toothbrush.’

‘Well
that
would be a little hypocritical of me, don’t you think?’  I asked, gearing up for what was about to come.

‘What, you’re going to tell me you were a fuckin’ whore?’

‘No.  But my mother was.’

‘Yeah, right she was,’ I laughed, until I saw Henry making frantic gestures behind Lilith’s back.  ‘Sweet Jesus, you’re
serious
?’  I had never detested my enforced ignorance more.  I recalled yesterday’s pass in light of Lilith’s revelation and inwardly cringed.  ‘Henry, you miserable little fucker.  You’ll have known would you?’

Henry nodded sadly.  ‘I’m sorry, Finn, really I am.  It’s just that –’

‘Yeah, okay, I know.  Can’t have Mother distressed now, can we?’  I turned to Lilith.  ‘Look, I know it makes no bloody difference at all now, but  I’m sorry for yesterday – if I’d known…’

‘But you didn’t know, did you?  And from what I can gather, that was all part of whatever sick game I’ve just had the great misfortune to stumble across.  So if this is the time for apologies, will you accept mine for my anger?’

Apart from Henry’s constant twittering remorse for everything he did, I couldn’t recall the last time anyone had apologised to me, and Lilith held out her hand in a gesture of reconciliation.  Of levelling.  We shook.

I suddenly recalled the weak-chinned guest from a few months ago – one that
Blaine
had dealt with herself, thank God – and looked again at Lilith.  ‘So, your ma... Jesus.  But isn’t your old man someone?’

‘Sir Simon Montfort CBE, failed MP, Knight of the Realm, and all-round spineless twat and waste of DNA.  My birth name was Clarissa Montfort, before you ask.  ‘Bresson’ was my mother’s maiden name, and ‘Lilith’ was our gamekeeper’s cat.’

‘So how the hell did that one work out?’ I asked, desperate to fill in a few gaps.  Henry mimed pulling a zip across his mouth.

Lilith saw him this time, and he blushed.  ‘It’s all right, Henry.  I think it might be a good idea to clear a few things up, don’t you?’

I had the feeling I had just managed to screw up once again.

‘My father met my mother when he was an exchange student at the Sorbonne, and she was a prostitute in a
Montmartre
brothel.  He started out as a customer, but by all accounts romance blossomed.’  Lilith stubbed out the cigarette that had barely touched her lips.  ‘Knowing my father I find that part rather hard to believe, but I digress.  It became our Big Family Secret – the story was that they’d met one sunlit autumn afternoon whilst admiring the same Cezanne in the Louvre, and despite my mother’s humble background my father was determined to marry her.  It wouldn’t have been hard for people to believe that, at least.  She was the most beautiful girl you could imagine.  Anyway, it remained secret for the best part of fifteen years.’

I stood to rifle through a cutlery drawer where I knew Henry had hidden a packet of cigarettes I’d foolishly left on the kitchen table a few mornings ago.  ‘It all went tits up, huh?’

‘Beyond belief.  It was an election year, and my father was defending his nice, safe seat, full of lots of blue-rinse brigade crones who’d have removed their false teeth and sucked him off as fast as he could unzip his flies.’

‘Goodness.’ Henry busied himself with stacking away the clean dishes.

Lilith didn’t seem to notice.  ‘A week before the polls, he got a call from some scumbag from
The Herald
, saying he’d uncovered some interesting stories about
Paris
in the springtime.   Within two hours my noble shit of a father had issued a statement that told of his shock and disgust at this revelation, and within a day my mother and I were shipped out of the family home with whatever we could carry.’

‘He threw you out too?’  I found two crumpled, sorry-looking fags in a packet and lit the least wrecked.

‘That would have been too cruel, even for him.  Evicting his thirteen-year old daughter just before polling day?  No, I was given the choice: stay or go, and an hour to decide.’