Shades Of Submission: Fifty By Fifty Part 49

I rode the Northern Line to Kentish Town, and then walked, 45 minutes at a brisk pace and good for thinking. I liked that time, when I could afford the luxury of taking it: a chance to separate my day at the office from the evening ahead. Not that I had any grand plans beyond pizza and an old DVD.

Or so I thought, at least.

There were flowers on the doorstep of the lovely old Victorian terraced building where I had my apartment. Red roses.

Just three of them, loosely tied. No wrapping, no note.

Not even any indication that they were for me and not the leggy Swedish doctor who had the apartment across from me.

But I knew.

I remembered the single red rose left for me that night I had driven back from Ethan and Eleanor's wedding.

I was that fish on a line.

I still couldn't quite work out his game, the repeated shows of interest and then dismissal, the blowing hot and cold.

Maybe he'd realized what an English a.r.s.e he had been at lunchtime. Apology seemed a familiar mode for him.

I stood and turned, the bunch of three roses dangling from my hand. An elderly man walking past smiled, either an old romantic or he liked the sight of my legs in my rather short pencil skirt just a little too much. A bunch of teenagers were hanging out in a doorway opposite. A young woman with a pram, an Asian couple holding hands, a guy in a pin-striped charcoal suit that looked way too expensive for him... The hustle and bustle of a north London street at the end of another long day.

And then I saw a single splash of red, like a poppy growing from the sidewalk. It was another red rose, its stalk threaded through a row of black, wrought-iron rails.

I crossed.

The same rich, velvety petals, and again, no note.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

He had me snagged, drawn into his game.

Just turn around, drop the flowers in the trash and have that quiet evening with a film you were planning.

The inner voice of reason and good sense.

The inner voice that still tried, even though I was never going to do what it said, not when I'd already looked along the street and spotted another pinp.r.i.c.k of red.

The inner voice could go jump, even though I'd hate myself for being so weak later.

A single twist of clear tape bound the rose's stalk to the upright of a street sign.

I detached it, added it to the growing bunch in my hand.

Turn. Movie night. Order in from Domino's. Do it.

Two more roses guided me along another residential street.

Another was threaded through the uprights of an iron fence, marking the boundary of one of those tiny parks that dotted London.

I went through the open gate, and immediately saw more roses, each with its stalk planted in the ground. A staggered line of roses, leading me into the park.

It was a comical sight, and that touch of humor totally undermined my growing resentment of being gamed.

I was smiling as I followed that line, no longer picking up the roses as I had so many by now.

I paused at a line of trees. Just beyond, I could see a picnic spread out, champagne flutes glinting in the low, summer evening suns.h.i.+ne, silver cutlery arranged on a checkered cloth, an open wicker hamper just to one side. And a figure sitting there, knees pulled up, a big grin on his face.

"Charlie," I said. "How, erm... What...?"

"I knew you'd come. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist." He looked smug. He looked a little scared, too, which was good, since I'd been telling him to back off for most of the week and this was hardly backing off.

He saw the look on my face, and that smug smile vanished.

"I thought..."

"No, Charlie," I said. "You didn't, did you? Because if you had thought, you'd have realized that putting on something like this, impressive and totally out of character as it is, just isn't going to get you anywhere when I've been telling you, over and G.o.d-d.a.m.ned over, that there is no us, that there is going to be no us."

He was standing now, hands hovering uncertainly at his side.

"Well I must say you have a funny way of showing it," he said.

"You heard the words, right?"

"But there was more than just words, wasn't there, Trude? So much more than just words. We have something special , babe. There may not be an us right now, but if you'd only give it a chance it could be really special."

"I gave it a chance. It's over. It's been over for more than a year, give or take one or two aberrations."

That hurt. That was the punch to the soft belly.

"If you deny it enough, do you think you'll actually start to believe all that bulls.h.i.+t one day?"

That was what I needed: more of that arrogant, smug aggression from him. I could fight that.

"I'm not the one in denial, Charlie. I've never been the one in denial. That's you."

"You want to talk about denial?" he said now. "I know exactly why you're p.i.s.sed off with me now. It's because you thought it was him. I could see it, Trude. I saw your face fall when you saw it was me. Disappointed that it wasn't Willem f.u.c.king Bentinck-Stanley."

I didn't meet his look. I couldn't. He'd seen right through me.

"I've told you, Trude. Steer clear of him. He's a bad lot. An unworthy character with a history."

Did he really say unworthy. Oh bless, Charlie.

"I tell you, Trudy, the past always catches up with you. Forget all about him, babe. You're worth far more than that. Oh, Trude... Let's try again. Give me a chance to show how good it can really be!"

I don't know how we had ended up so close, standing almost toe to toe. I could see a pulse twitching in one eyelid, the pale blue of his eyes, whites showing all around the pupil, always a sure sign of his excitement anger, arousal, whatever.

He'd dressed how I liked, how he knew he looked good. Dark blue chinos, a plain s.h.i.+rt, a chunky tie loosened at the neck.

He smelled of Issey Miyake.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"I was a fool," he said. "I was in denial. I blinded myself to signs that things weren't working, things I could have fixed if only I'd had the b.a.l.l.s."

A hand raised, a finger gently trailing down the line of my jaw. He knew my b.u.t.tons all right. The flowers, the setting, the clothes, the looks and touches, the sweet talk...

b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"It's not going to work," I said. "You couldn't fix it then. You can't fix things now. There is no us."

That finger, still on my jaw, the thumb on my chin.

"We're magic, Trude."

This was not going to happen. Not again. This was not going to turn into ex-s.e.x. I was better than this. Charlie, G.o.d d.a.m.n him, was better than this.

The intensity. I didn't remember this kind of intensity in him before. It was as if there was a heat about him. I could feel it, standing so close to him like that.

I tried to break that spell, that moment.

"We're not magic, Charlie. We're over."

I raised a hand to push his away, but in a sudden movement he s.n.a.t.c.hed at me, taking my wrist in his hard grip.

This is not going to turn into ex-s.e.x again.

My heart was racing, my legs weak.

This is not going to happen.

The line of trees provided a natural screen, shutting off the sounds of London. To the other sides, more trees closed in. It was as if he'd managed to conjure up a private, screened garden just for this encounter.

"No. Charlie. Just... f.u.c.k it. No."

He jerked my arm down, pulling me closer, still gripping me by the wrist. So close, my face brushed against his, my b.r.e.a.s.t.s squas.h.i.+ng against his hard chest. His free arm snaked around me, keeping me close against him.

Those chinos. Those d.a.m.ned chinos... I could feel his hardness against my belly, and I was weak and I knew I was going to succ.u.mb.

I'm a strong woman.

I'm a successful, professional woman.

But a strong man... well, a strong man, holding me hard against him, desperate for me, dominating me. A strong man who knows exactly which b.u.t.tons to press.

I looked up into those piercing blue eyes.

That smile. That arrogant, smug, G.o.d-d.a.m.ned smile.

I pushed against him.

He misinterpreted at first, thought I was writhing, pressing, wanting more. Then he understood. The look in my eye, maybe.

I twisted, pushed, tried to break free.

"No, Charlie. Just what part of 'no' don't you get?"

"Your words and your actions... well, they don't seem to correspond, do they, Trude? The churchyard? Then my place? You know how good we can be, babe."

His mouth, then, bearing down on mine. His lips hard against my softness, his tongue probing, the taste of wine and cigarettes.

Had he always been this strong?

Every time I pushed him away, he took it as a response, an invitation. Every time I softened, he took it as me yielding.

What did I want?

At that precise moment, I no longer knew.

Was this some kind of pivotal moment? Yield, try again, welcome this new Charlie.

Or was it madness, like the madness that had led to that desperate, needy tryst at the church after Ethan and Eleanor's wedding? The madness that had led to the repeat encounter at Charlie's Aldgate apartment?

"No, Charlie. Just no."

His mouth was tracing the line of my jaw. Hard lips, firm tongue.

His grip was steel, his body hard against me, his need absolutely clear.

"No..."

His mouth on my neck, working down.

I was confused. I was aroused, wet, suddenly urgent.

But not urgent for Charlie.

This may well be a pivotal moment, but not the kind he had antic.i.p.ated. This was confirmation. This was strong me, not weak, vulnerable, immediate gratification me.

"I said, 'no'!"

A harder push, and he stopped, or hesitated at least.

There was surprise in his look. Maybe he was seeing a new me, just as I'd seen a new him. He hadn't thought I had the fight.

"Enough."

He tried to pull me closer again. I was still trapped in his embrace, his steel grip on my wrist.