Page 99 of A Dark Fall
I arrive at his building at St Katharine Docks about forty minutes later but spend another fifteen driving around to locate a parking space. After I park up and get to the front of his building, I’m confronted by the confusing high-tech intercom. I know his apartment number and that it’s on the tenth floor, but the intercom on the front door doesn’t appear to correlate to that, and there are no names to help either. While I’m deciding which random button to press, a guy leaves, smiling politely as he holds the door open for me.
In the elevator, the knot in my stomach starts to vibrate again, gaining mass. I can’t decide if I’m more annoyed or scared. What if something happened to him? What if whoever hurt him the night I stitched him tried again? Another wave of nausea washes over me.
What makes you think I let them get away with it?
No. Jake can look after himself in that way, I’m certain. But if he’s safe, why not call? Surely, he knows I’d be worried about him. What could have been so urgent it’s prevented him from contacting me? Unless, of course, he didn’t want to talk to me.
In front of his door, I take a deep breath and press the doorbell. It’s ridiculous, but I feel as if my whole life is about to be determined by whatever happens when the door opens. By whatever it is he has to tell me.
We’ll talk tomorrow. Properly.
There’s no answer, and so I wait for a moment before pressing it again. It didn’t occur to me he might not be home. As I pull my phone out to call him, I hear movement behind the door before it’s clumsily unlocked and opened.
I’m not sure what happens first—either my stomach bottoms out or my breath catches in my throat. But I can’t breathe. Not fully anyway.
Her hair is blonde with purposely accentuated dark roots, and it’s mussed in the sort of way that advertises the fact I’ve dragged her from sleep. She’s dressed in a bathrobe—one that looks too big for her. She’s roughly about my age, I think, maybe a little younger, and pretty in a hard-faced kind of way. She’s clearly fallen asleep in a full face of makeup, because her mascara is smudged under her eyes, and her lashes—which, from here, look false—are clumped together above her dark brown eyes. I must be at the wrong door.
Good lord, please let me be at the wrong door.
“Erm ... I was ... looking for Jake.” I glance behind her at the number etched into the door. It’s his door.
Her eyes narrow suspiciously before a small smile moves across her face.“He’s ... um ... indisposed right now.” She glances behind her as she pulls the door closed. “Can I pass a message on for you?’’
As my mind scrambles, she yawns, running a hand through her hair.
A thought pops into my head then—a random, pointless thought. He wasn’t lying when he said he doesn’t have a type. We couldn’t be any more different. She’s petite, tanned, and blonde. And I’m none of those things. I wonder if it would be worse if Gemma from his club had opened the door, or Dawn from the elevator. I decide that no, it wouldn’t be worse. It would be equally as bad.
I swallow and shake my head. “No. No message,” I say. Something about the look in her eye tells me it wouldn’t reach him anyway. I smile some ridiculously polite smile at her before turning on my heel and starting down the hallway, my legs slightly unsteady beneath me.
The familiar burn of mortification and humiliation settles over me like a hot fog. Like how I felt when I pressed play on the answer message from The Hilton Covent Garden when they called to say Ben had left his BlackBerry in his room after he checked out early that morning. They had thoughtfully called “home” to let him know, adding quietly at the last minute that his “wife” had also left some underwear. Somehow though, this feels worse. Probably because I should have known better. Probably because Ididknow better but decided to fall in love with him anyway.
I glance back once to see her watching me from the doorway with that same small, smug smile on her face. It’s larger now.
An image of Jake lying naked on his back waiting for her to return to bed blasts into my mind, and I feel my fists curl. Then I imagine his body being touched and kissed by her, his perfect mouth moving its way over hers as he pushes himself inside.It causes a blast of white-hot rage to wash over me and stop me dead in my tracks. No. I’m not going to be this person—not again.
Spinning on my heel, I march back to his apartment with a rod of steel in my spine and bang hard on the door. It’s opened right away this time, and I smile sweetly at the surprised face of Jake’s tart.
“I’d like to speak to him, thanks,” I say as I barge past her into his apartment. The TV is on—still on from last night, seemingly, as I register some children’s program with dancing teddy bears, but there’s no sign of him in the living room or kitchen. He’s indisposed in bed then. I whip around to face her, glancing up toward his bedroom.
“He’s not up there,” she says, coming to stand against the wall by the kitchen. The animosity emanating from her threatens to drown me. She’s still smirking, but it occurs to me that maybe she’s not smirking at all. Maybe it’s that she has a mean set to her face.
“You said he was indisposed.” I look up toward the bedroom again. Do I want to go up there? Catch him red-handed? I’m about to call him down when she speaks.
“He’s out,” she says, folding her arms across her chest as she looks me over from head to toe, unimpressed. Oh, god, I dislike her intensely. She looks cruel and cold, and her pretty face and figure do nothing to dispel that.
I glower at her. “You do know that being indisposed isn’t the same as being out, don’t you?” I say. My tone is condescending, and to her credit, she notices. She narrows her eyes on me and stands up straighter.
“So, you’re his doctor bitch then,” she says.
I blink, feeling as if I’ve been given an electric shock. How the hell does she know about me? Did Jake speak to her about me? I feel sick again.
I stand taller too and narrow my eyes as well. “And you are ...?” I ask.
“Vicky,” she says as though she expects it to mean something. It doesn’t.
I shrug. “He’s never mentioned you, sorry. But if you could mention to him that the doctor bitch dropped by, that would be great. He’ll know who you mean,” I say before walking past her to the door.
She says nothing as I pass, only eyes me with disdain. There’s a moment where I think she might attack me. I feel it seeping from her, and I brace myself for it. But she doesn’t. Only mutters something under her breath I can’t hear.