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  Sutton continued to watch, and listen, and learn.

  There were some glances. Some were directed at him, as an unknown, but the majority were for Angela in her stunning dress. More camouflage. He would hardly be remembered.

  But Angela looked deeply uncomfortable throughout, and Sutton had to admire her tenacity. This couldn’t have been easy for her, but she didn’t run away. She bore it, as best she could.

  They ordered another drink – this time Sutton had his coke without the Jack Daniels – still waiting for as yet unseen important players. Specifically, Daniel and Suzanne.

  There was another room, they discovered: at the end of the bar, a small door led to a lounge. This also had a bar, but there were less people here, and the guests were older. No music. Old acquaintances not seen for years, and eager reports on each other’s progress. The lighting was brighter, reflecting off patterned red and gold wallpaper. Well cushioned armchairs surrounded low marble topped tables.

  Neither of them could hide in there. Better to wait until later, when people would be drunker, and less on their guard.

  They continued to wait at the bar, but another hour passed, and no one of any note entered the main part of the hotel.

  After the hour was up, he suggested they move into the lounge; there was no other course. No sooner had he made the suggestion though, than the elusive Daniel appeared, blocking the doorway. Sutton knew it was him because Angela gripped his arm tightly and whispered the name in his ear. He nodded. He was ready. He had been ready all night.

  “Angela,” Daniel said. He seemed angry. Sutton caught the smell of alcohol on his breath. He was drunk, but he was covering it well. “We have to talk.”

  “We have nothing to talk about, Daniel,” she said.

  “We need to talk in private,” Daniel said vaguely, and then looking about, suddenly remembered. “The conservatory.”

  Daniel took off, completely confident that they would follow.

  Angela didn’t look happy, but it was the opportunity Sutton had been hoping for.

  He tugged on Angela’s hand, coaxing her to follow him, as he followed Daniel, through the red and gold wallpaper lounge and out a door at the back.

  The conservatory ran along the back of the building, and was divided into sections by bamboo screens and furniture arranged in tight circles. There were lamps on the walls and on the tables, but it was mostly in shadow. Outside, the night pressed in against the glass.

  Daniel seemed surprised to turn and see Sutton was still with them.

  “Hello?” The tall man said, frowning.

  “I’m Sutton Mills.”

  “I’m sure you are, but this is a private matter between Angela and myself –“

  “I don’t care,” Sutton said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Angela said, “whatever you have to say, Daniel, you can say it right here, and you can say it all in front of Sutton.”

  “Right,” Daniel said, bluff and angry. “Right. Fine. We can tell Sutton all about it, and he can join me in telling you how stupid you and Maggie have been.”

  “Stupid!” Angela said. “You have no right –“

  “I have every right.”

  “You’re just greedy –“

  “I’m trying to help you and Maggie…Can’t you see?”

  “Seems to me, you’re helping yourself,” Sutton said. “What’s the matter? Have you got problems with your finances?”

  Daniel’s face was rigid.

  “No –“

  “I know an accountant that might be able to help.”

  Daniel looked blearily affronted.

  He said to Sutton, “you don’t understand. How could you? You don’t have the full scope of the depth and breadth of what’s being going on –“

  “I don’t think I need to,” Sutton said. “You’re basically trying to steal from an old woman. I wonder what your father would say about that? He’s probably turning in his grave.”

  Daniel’s mouth hung open for a stupendous moment.

  “Fuck you,” he finally sputtered. “Fuck you. I don’t know you. Who the fuck are you?”

  The question was rhetorical. Sutton stared at him. How much could he push? Would Daniel give? Or would he rebel?

  “Angela,” Daniel said. “Can we talk? Please? This…man is not helping.” His tone was almost pleading.

  “No, Daniel.”

  “Don’t you think that our interests would be better protected if I were in charge? I mean, Maggie’s not exactly an accountant –“

  “She built that business from nothing!”

  “True, but she can’t take the agency where it needs to be, there’s so much more she could do with it, so many other ways she could expand –“

  “I don’t want to hear it, Daniel,” Angela said. “And neither does my mother.”

  “It’s alright, Angela,” he said. A sneer creased his mouth. “There’s no need to get all high and mighty on me. Nobody could ever say your motives are morally superior to mine. I know how much you’re worried about the agency. Because without Maggie, you haven’t got a leg to stand on. I suppose you could go back to your university lover. That is, if he’d have you.”

  Daniel smiled.

  Sutton could feel Angela wanting to go for him, and he had to hold her back.

  Moving forward, he stepped on Daniel’s foot, and stood so close to him that he automatically took a step back…or tried to at least. Daniel’s mouth opened in protest and Sutton took his left hand and squeezed until he could feel the bones grate together.

  “Hey,” Daniel protested.

  He wasn’t feeling it, and he wasn’t feeling it because he was drunker than Sutton had originally thought.

  He squeezed harder.

  “What the fuck-“

  Sutton was ready to shake him up. His heart was pumping, every light source in the room sharply defined, the sounds of the music and conversation slow and distorted…but at the last moment he stopped himself. At the time, he didn’t know why. But later he understood.

  He was going to pulverise him for Angela.

  And that wasn’t the way to play this.

  Daniel was too drunk to listen to reason…in fact, he was altogether too drunk to comprehend much of anything. Better to try another time, when he could at least have an idea of what was going on.

  Instead, he said, “I think I heard somebody in the lounge calling for you.”

  He pointed vaguely and turned away from him, dragging Angela with him along the length of the conservatory and back into the main room through another door. Sutton looked back once to see Daniel rubbing his hand; he stood a moment, watching them walk away, and then he turned and retreated. Good thing too.

  “Are you alright?” He asked Angela.

  “No,” she said. “I’m shaking from head to foot. I think I’m going to cry.”

  “You think you are, or you’re going to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t know what?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t know if you’re going to cry, or know that you’re not going to cry, but think you can stop?”

  She shook her head.

  “No, I don’t…I don’t…” She shook her head again. She looked up at him, saw his smile, and made a rude noise. “You’re making me angry on purpose.”

  “I don’t think I could make you any angrier.”

  “You’re a man, aren’t you? Well then.”

  Leaning close to her, he said, “if he sees you crying, he’s won. And you’re better than he is. So don’t.”

  “Oh. I wish I was.”

  “You came here tonight, didn’t you? Braved the lion’s den, as it were.”

  She looked at him earnestly.

  “I was going to cancel. I almost rang you half a dozen times.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  She thought a moment.

  “I didn’t think
you would have let me.”

  He smiled.

  “No. I wouldn’t have.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “Come on. Let’s find you a seat before you drop.”

  *

  “Do you know,” she said dreamily. “You have the warmest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  He checked her.

  “You’re drunk.”

  “No,” she said, offended. “No. I’m fine.”

  “Anyway,” he said. “You have the warmest brown eyes. Not me.”

  “I look like a goldfish,” she said, sipping more of her drink. Vodka and orange juice. A double. “My eyes are all bulbous and horrible.”

  “Hm.”

  He was amused.

  He stood up. He realised Angela was holding his hand…and she wouldn’t let go.

  “What are you doing?” She asked, close to panic.

  He went around the other side of the table and took a seat next to her.

  Their thighs were now touching.

  She looked a question at him.

  “I need a better view of the room,” he explained.

  “Oh.”

  “Also, we’ll seem more like a couple this way.”

  “Oh. You scared me.”

  “Why?”

  She looked everywhere but at his face.

  “I thought you were going to run out on me.”

  He smiled.

  “I’m not built like that, Angela.”

  “Really?” She said, with a brittle smile. “I’ve never known a man who hasn’t let me down.”

  She took another sip of her drink.

  Sutton watched her. She was reasonably easy to read. There had been a man, and it had not ended well.

  So what, he thought. There could be no one in this ostentatious venue who didn’t have a few battle scars.

  The true test was how bitter the failure made you. And whether you could get up and carry on.

  “There’s Suzanne, by the way,” Angela said, after a time. “There. The gold dress.”

  He looked, and in seconds picked out who it must be.

  She was easy enough to spot. She was very tall, and her figure was disproportionally top heavy; these were the first things that he noticed. There was a bundle of dark hair, tied up at the back of her head, and a long neck and elegant shoulders; the dress started just above her sizeable breasts, and there were no straps. Her skin was dark, and there was no break in the tan. There was a fault, although by anyone else’s standards it might not appear to be that way: she had no bum. Or rather, it was so narrow that it might have belonged to a man. But of course there was enough of the rest of her that no one need ever notice. And the gold dress worked on the better parts of her, drawing the eye: the skin, the curves, the thousands of sparkles across her ample chest. When she turned, having finished conversing with a couple of rapt young gentlemen, Sutton was able to see her face clearly, and he didn’t like what he saw. He couldn’t say what unsettled him. The eyes were small, but with enough make-up to make them seem larger. She had a strong jaw. There was something masculine about the face, he decided, but he couldn’t put his finger on what.

  “Angela!” Suzanne said, having spotted her. She came toward them. She held out her arms for a sisterly hug. “How are you!”

  Angela managed a smile but was not looking well.

  They embraced briefly, but without Angela getting up. Suzanne sat on a chair on the other side of the table, her hands clasped around a handbag. Two nails on her right hand were chipped. That seemed significant for some reason.

  “We didn’t think you’d come,” Suzanne said.

  Angela smiled again. Her head was swaying ever so slightly, as if in a breeze.

  “I didn’t think so either,” she replied carefully.

  “I pretty much had to get her here in a headlock,” Sutton said. He stretched out a hand. “Hi. My name’s Sutton. Sutton Mills. Nice to meet you.”

  Suzanne gave him a frank, speculative look. She didn’t smile. For a moment, he felt like a horse being inspected just before it is sold.

  Then she accepted the hand.

  Her skin was cold to the touch. Like a lizard’s.

  “I’m glad you came,” she said to both of them.

  “It’s been…interesting,” Sutton admitted.

  Suzanne asked, “have you seen Daniel, Angela? Have you spoken to him?”

  Angela muttered something. Sutton leaned in close to hear.

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t be polite. I’m going to be sick.”

  And with that she bolted for the bathroom.

  Sutton wasn’t sure if it was an act. If it was, it was very good.

  There was a momentary pause, a social blip, where two relatively unknown people suddenly found the burden of conversation thrown upon them.

  Sutton said, “we did see Daniel actually. It wasn’t a…happy meeting.”

  Suzanne closed her eyes.

  “Oh no.”

  “Congratulations, by the way,” he said, raising his glass.

  “Thank you. So Angela and Daniel, did they…?”

  “You’ll be glad to know it didn’t actually come to blows,” he said.

  “I hate it. I do. All this fighting…”

  “Well.” Sutton sat back. “You could stop it. If you really wanted to.”

  She checked him, and then shook her head.

  “I can’t.”

  “If you say so.”

  “No. I really can’t.” Suzanne shifted in her seat. “Anyway. It’s a misunderstanding. That’s all. Daniel, my fiancé, is concerned about the letting agency that Angela’s mother runs. The mother is…she is not well. He offered to take most of the load from her – which, by rights, should be his, and make her a name partner, so she can sit on a beach and reap all the rewards while he tries to make it into something more – but she refused. Now, does that sound like somebody in their right mind?”

  “As I understand it, it’s her company,” Sutton said.

  “Well, yes…”

  “She built it from nothing.”

  “Nobody’s disputing her business acumen –“

  “That’s exactly what your fiancé’s disputing.”

  Suzanne looked thoughtful, more reserved.

  “How long have you two been together?” She asked.

  The change of subject caught Sutton off guard momentarily.

  “What?”

  “You and Angela.”

  He lied. There was something about Suzanne that brooked caution; best not to give her any ammunition by divulging the truth.

  “About a month.”

  “And…you get on well?”

  “Of course.”

  He smiled.

  “Of course,” Suzanne echoed knowingly. “The honeymoon stage. And what is it you do, Mr Mills? Is that really your name? Sutton Mills? It sounds like the name of an old factory or something.”

  He smiled. It was not a new remark.

  “I’m an artist. I paint people. Portraits mostly.”

  “Oh.” She sounded surprised…and impressed. “Oh really? Could you maybe…paint me some time?”

  Sutton stared at Suzanne. She was shameless. Flirting with a stranger…and at her engagement party too. This was so different to the Suzanne of only a moment ago. It was almost…disturbing.

  The eyes were very blue, he noticed, now that he could properly take her in. She was altogether a striking looking woman.

  At that moment Angela stumbled into their table, knocking over glasses and pretty much falling into Sutton’s arms.

  She said in a miserable voice, “I don’t feel very well.”

  He smiled his apologies to Suzanne.

  “We better go.”

  “Of course.”

  He rose. He had to support Angela.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “It was nice to meet you.”

  Suzanne smiled,
but hesitated a moment…and then nodded, and turned and disappeared in the crowd.

  Angela sagged on his arm.

  “Is this an act?” He whispered.

  She made a strange gurgling sound, but did not communicate in any intelligible way.

  “Obviously not. Come on. Let’s get you home.”

  *

  CHAPTER 9

  By the time he got Angela to his car, she had fallen into what passed for a coma.

  He owned a Mitsubishi Galant, three years old. It was practical, and reasonably presentable. Cars were a badge for success, but Sutton couldn’t care less; all he needed was a vehicle that could ferry him from A to B with a minimum of fuss. The Galant did alright in that regard.

  Taking special care, he laid her in the passenger seat and belted her in. A soft snore escaped from her mouth. He smiled, and mindful that her legs were in the footwell, closed the door.

  But this presented him with a problem. Where did she live? Who could he call? He didn’t have Maggie’s number, no longer knew where she lived. He got into the car and tried to rouse his sleeping passenger once more, but with no success.

  So he had to look in her purse.

  As invasions of privacy went, this one wasn’t very severe…but at the same time he felt uncomfortable about it. And intrigued. There was money, £50. There could be no doubt she was a former art student: there were so many receipts, leaflets, prints of paintings, so many useless notes to herself, so much clutter.

  It was towards the back that he found the photograph. It was old, worn, bleached colourless by age and decay. It was of a man, his shirt off, hair in a tangle across his sweaty forehead, hunkering down to some big dirty engine in front of him. There was oil on his left arm up to the elbow. A right rogue. He was looking over his shoulder at the camera. He looked annoyed.