Primula Bond - The Unbreakable Trilogy

‘You do count, Crystal.’ I leaned nearer the mirror to paint on some mascara, but kept my eyes on her. ‘I’ve seen the video. Don’t go all poker-faced. Gustav showed me the photos and movies in the house in Baker Street. I saw you being spanked by some dominatrix figure. You know my work. My scenes from a Venetian convent. So you know we’re on a similar wavelength. I daren’t ask Gustav, but who’s the person in the fetish leather going at you with the whip?’

‘I guess it’s no secret. It would be easy enough to google the material if you really wanted.’ The brush paused in my hair, then snagged on a tangle. ‘It’s Margot. His ex-wife. That was her sideline.’

‘Some sideline! What was her mainline?’

‘She ran a couple of boutiques. One in Switzerland and later she opened one in Marylebone.’

‘What sort of boutiques?’

‘Fashion. And then she branched out into accessories.’

We caught each other’s eyes in the mirror. Hers were two black slits above her thin red mouth. Mine were huge with questions.

‘Accessories. Right. Like handcuffs? Catwoman muzzles? Whips?’ My hands flew up to my mouth. ‘So how on earth did you get involved, Crystal? Were you friends?’

She picked up a vicious-looking comb and worried at a knot of hair until it unravelled.

‘She placed an advert, about a year before the end of their marriage. Discreet demo model for the private shows she staged to encourage her more timid celebrity customers. Gustav was refusing to be part of the underground business by then, although he oversaw the filming of the installation. Then the dreadful showdown occurred and she, and the brother, were gone.’

Down in the street we heard the melodic honk of the car horn.

Crystal’s eyes glittered in the bright morning light flooding in from the three arched windows. The brush resumed its work and jerked my head backwards.

‘Margot hasn’t left the building, though, has she? She’s still up here, getting in the way.’ I tapped my head. ‘I need to know what I’m up against.’

Tangle sorted, Crystal brushed so briskly that it hurt.

‘You’re up against a spectre, nothing more. But everything about her was toxic. They were a toxic mix. At first her, ah, hobby was only indulged when she was at the house in Lugano. But then her buyers and clients became international and started clamouring for more access, and so their home in Baker Street became the club. The punters loved the illusion of the respectable old English town house being the facade for all that debauchery, and that’s why it was the obvious place to keep the collection even after they both moved out.’

I shook my head in disbelief. My hair swished like silk. ‘No wonder it felt like a mausoleum.’

‘It went to her head. She was the queen bee in that house. She paraded her obsession in front of him, cajoling and threatening him if he didn’t join in. It got out of control. Mind games and bullying.’

‘I don’t understand why he would preserve it as an exhibition if it made him so unhappy?’

Crystal bent her head in agreement. ‘I agree. I’ve tried to persuade him to sell it or just destroy it. But it’s an investment. It still makes huge amounts of money. He’s an entrepreneur, remember. Sees potential in the darkest of corners. Maybe he’s holding it to use against her one day. But it’s poisoning him, just like she did. Women like that are very devious about the ways they wound and men are too proud to fight back.’

‘I know all about what goes on behind closed doors. But in the end it’s only—’

‘Sticks and stones. Yes. But that woman could have cut you down at fifty paces with just a look, let alone words. And then finally when he did fight back she carried out her ultimate threat.’

‘Ultimate threat? You mean stealing his brother?’

‘His only remaining family. He’d cared for the boy since he was tiny.’ Crystal stares at the wall above the mirror for a moment, as if the lives she’s described are scrolling across it like an old cine film. ‘But when she left, I decided to stay.’

I took the brush off her and stood up. ‘So you and Gustav were lovers?’

She actually laughed, then. A surprisingly tinkly, musical laugh, like sleigh bells.

‘Oh no, you’re barking up the wrong tree there, my little lotus blossom! Men aren’t my thing, even charismatic ones like Gustav!’

I wish she was here now. Cold and peculiar as she is, she makes me laugh. I am getting used to her being around; my maid, the kindly shadow over my shoulder. And how much light has she shed, in one short conversation!

‘Come on, Dickson,’ I am bleating now. ‘At least let me stay in the car until he gets here. It’s freezing, and I’m starving. It’s been hours since you made me those smoked salmon sandwiches.’

‘Yeah, he’s told me what an appetite you have. That’s why I have to go to the shops, Miss. The cupboard is bare.’

‘So take me with you. I’ll show you what grub I like.’

He takes his chauffeur’s cap off and rubs his gloved hand over his totally bald pate. There’s the tattoo of a slender woman’s leg, foot pointing like a ballerina, winding up the back of his neck.

‘No can do. My orders are to leave you here, Miss. He told me you’d be fine. A tough nut brought up in the middle of nowhere, is what he said.’

‘Marooned, more like.’

Dickson shrugged awkwardly. ‘Just my instructions.’

‘Do you know, Dickson, all I dreamed about when I was stuck in that house on those wretched cliffs was being in the middle of a city, part of a herd, hemmed in by buildings and streets, assailed by strange music, foreign languages, aromatic smells and exotic food. And being warm. Always warm.’ I rest my hand on his bulky sleeve. ‘Stay here and tell me your story.’

‘Nothing to tell.’ He brushes my hand off as if it’s a speck of dust. ‘I’m sorry, Miss. After I’ve bought the food I’ve got to check progress with the land agents and then I’ve the afternoon off. I do have a life, you know. Between you and me I’ve got a friend who works at the Alprose chocolate factory over the way. She’s waited for me all this time, would you credit it? Then the boss wants me back on duty to sort out your dinner.’

I take a good look at Gustav’s chauffeur-chef in this stark white light. Usually I only see the back of his head. Occasionally catch a glimpse of him in his chef’s whites in Gustav’s kitchen, tenderising meat and blending mangoes. Difficult to tell how old he is. Around Gustav’s age, maybe. They’ve been together a long time, apparently, boss and manservant. Batman and Robin.

‘I thought this was going to be a dirty weekend for me, too.’ I scuff my feet grumpily, clapping together the beautiful leather ski gloves with a mother-of-pearl shimmer that Crystal has given me, trimmed with silver fox fur to match my hat.

‘I’m sure he intended you to enjoy the view while you wait, Miss, you being artistic and all that. It’s beautiful here. Look.’ He waves his arm around the mountains surrounding the lake and the pastel buildings reminiscent of the islands of Venice lounging around the water’s edge. ‘Italian on the one hand. Swiss on the other. See that pretty church tower up there? That’s the chapel where they were wed.’

‘Don’t want to hear it, Dickson!’ It’s almost a sob. ‘Come on. What am I going to do in this smelly old yard if he doesn’t show up?’

‘You can ride, can’t you? Horses, I mean?’

I glance around. So that’s what this is. A stable yard. But most of the loose boxes look shut and bolted.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact. I used to ride a lot in Devon when I was a kid. It was the only fun I was allowed to have. And that would explain why Crystal dressed me up as “Equestrian Barbie” this morning. But how does Gustav know that?’