Claire Seeber - Never Tell

‘You hope what?’

‘I do hope you’re not threatening me.’

‘Don’t be so stupid.’ He looked at me with those blue blue eyes. ‘Why would I do that?’

We stared at each other. His eyes were blue as untroubled sky. Then slowly, very slowly, I backed into the bathroom and shut the door between us, leaning my cheek for a minute against the cool wood. The idea that he was there on the other side disturbed me intensely. I sat on the side of the bath and put my head between my knees for a while.

When I came out, he’d gone. I crept across the corridor and tried the locked door again. This time, it swung open. Behind it lay a pretty yellow bedroom, all sprigged wallpaper and a four-poster bed; in the corner, a Louis XIV chair with a woman’s silk robe thrown carelessly across it. There was a silver hairbrush set on the dressing table and a bottle of Dior perfume, but not much else – apart from another door in the corner, behind which I thought I could hear movement. Taking a deep breath, I headed towards it.

‘Hello?’ I said again, and then I put my hand out and wrenched it open. A hiss and a squeal, and a ball of white fur launched itself between my feet and disappeared under the bed. A bloody Persian cat! I laughed tremulously at my own stupidity.

As I went to close the bedroom door behind me, I glanced at a portrait hanging on the wall. The sleepy brown eyes of a young woman gazed down on me and I froze on the spot. I felt the same icy sensation I’d felt in the office the other day.

I stared and stared up at her, almost expecting her to blink back – but of course she didn’t.

I hurried down the stairs, back to the party, her eyes boring through the door into my back the whole way.

Downstairs, the party was beginning to thin out. Kattan’s young henchman was gone; the MP, Eddie Johnson, was so drunk he was in danger of toppling over like a giant Weeble. Over by the fireplace my husband was deep in conversation with Kattan, both talking in low voices, Kattan smoking a cigar. The smell reminded me of my childhood.

‘All right, my petal?’ James kissed my head as I arrived at his side. I smiled weakly. My every instinct screamed that something was terribly wrong in this house, that the veneer of wealth and respectability covered up a darkness I couldn’t yet fathom; that so far it was impossible to put my finger on it. I felt the strongest desire to run away – but a stronger instinct to know the truth.

‘Yes, thanks,’ I murmured, smiling at James, who looked like Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire cat.

‘I was just telling Mr Kattan about Revolver,’ James said, pocketing something. My heart sank.

‘Indeed.’ Hadi Kattan, smiling pleasantly, exhaled a plume of blue smoke. ‘Every man should have the chance to own a nightclub. Life would be so boring without a little fun, no?’

‘I guess it’s always good to let your hair down.’ I took James’s arm like the loyal wife I was.

‘Here’s my card,’ James said. ‘Let me know what you think.’

‘I’m so sorry to drag him away, Mr Kattan, but I think – babysitters and all – you know … ‘ I wanted to be home with my children right now.

‘It’s been fantastic to meet you, sir.’ My fickle husband, so easily turned. ‘Guess we’re going to have to call a cab.’ James looked ruefully at his empty glass. I bit my lip. He had promised he would drive.

‘Please,’ Hadi Kattan took my hand, ‘Danny Callendar can take you home. I am sorry you did not get to meet Ash. Next time, perhaps.’

‘Oh no, that’s fine, honestly,’ I said quickly. ‘Thank you, but a cab’s fine.’

‘Please, Mrs Miller,’ Kattan’s voice was silky, ‘I insist.’ He pressed his warm lips to my cold hand.

Waiting on the front steps, I shivered: the sudden drop in temperature pervading my bones.

‘Something’s not right here,’ I muttered to James. ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but something’s not right.’

‘Rubbish.’ My husband shrugged himself into his leather coat and switched on his phone. ‘He’s a charming bastard, I’ll give him that.’

I thought of Kattan’s lips on my hand and shuddered. ‘All that stuff about women and guns, for Christ’s sake. It’s like the bloody dark ages. It’s like the bloody Taliban.’

‘For Christ sake, Rose,’ James’s cheerful demeanour dissolved, ‘you sound like that BNP bloke on the news the other day.’

‘I don’t.’ I was appalled. ‘I just – I don’t trust men like Kattan, and I’ve met a few. All smiles on the surface and bigotry beneath.’

‘You sound rather bigoted yourself, petal. You’re always looking for the worst in people.’

‘I’m not. I just look for the truth.’ I thought of the painting in the bedroom; I remembered James’s recent terrible nightmare. All these events were conspiring to bring back memories I’d suppressed for so long. I wondered whether I dare say it. ‘James—’

‘What?’ He was more interested in his phone.

‘It’s very odd. I just saw a picture, a painting upstairs.’

‘So? The whole house is full of bloody paintings.’

‘It really looked like Huriyyah,’ I whispered.

I definitely had his attention now.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ His dark eyes were furious. ‘I actually had a good evening for once. Don’t ruin it now with your stupid imaginings.’

‘I don’t think I was imagining it,’ I protested quietly. ‘It really gave me a jolt.’

‘Just shut up, OK.’ He rounded on me. ‘OK?’

‘OK.’ I was taken aback by the force of his anger as the Range Rover pulled up beside us.

Grit and cut grass stung my eyes, and my hair lashed my face painfully as the helicopter finally landed, great blades chopping the air. James shoved me into the car and swung in beside me. ‘Cheers, mate,’ he yelled over the din. ‘This definitely saves us a wait.’

My heart sinking, I caught the fair man’s eye in the mirror and looked away as he raised an eyebrow, a very faint grin playing on his face.

‘Shame we can’t jump in the chopper.’ James stretched out his legs. ‘Best way to travel.’

‘It belongs to Ash Kattan,’ Callendar said, pulling away smoothly. The helicopter blades were slowing as I turned to take a final look at the house.

I saw a face at an upstairs window; I figured it was about where the bedroom I’d been in was. Just in time, I suppressed the urge to shout ‘Stop’.

‘Where is Maya Kattan at the moment?’ I leaned forward. ‘Do you know?’

‘For fuck’s sake, Rose,’ James hissed. ‘Just leave it.’

‘It’s just that Mr Kattan said he wanted her to meet us,’ I pressed on regardless. ‘It was a shame she couldn’t make the party.’

James took my hand and squeezed it so hard I winced. I glanced into the driver’s mirror as I sat back. Danny Callendar looked at me inscrutably.

‘I’m not quite sure where she is, Mrs Miller,’ he answered easily. ‘Perhaps she’s gone up to London for a few days. She often does.’

‘Why?’ I wondered who the man driving her silver Porsche had been. I wondered if I dared ask.

‘I wouldn’t know.’ His tone told me I would get no further tonight. He offered us a paper bag over his shoulder. ‘Lemon sherbet?’

We both declined.

Silence fell across the car. One thing was certain: I knew for sure I couldn’t do Xav’s story now. However much my appetite was whetted, I had to stay home with the children. I’d sworn for their sake I’d never do anything risky again; motherhood had to come first now, and the atmosphere in the manor didn’t bode well at all.

Leaning my head against the glass, I watched the tall hedgerows slide by in the dark, listening to the hiss of the tyres on the road. I was sitting beside my husband, but I was lonelier than I ever remembered being before I was married. I felt a strange longing for something I could not describe.