My plan was to sneak her onto the roof, under the stars, and propose above the Thames. What could be a more appropriate backdrop, given all our walks along the river?
But when I arrived at the gallery, Lana wasn’t there. Kate was, though, holding court at the bar.
“Hello,” she said, giving me a funny look. “I didn’t know you were coming. Where’s Lana?”
“I was about to ask you the same question.”
“She’s late, as usual.” Kate gestured at the tall man standing next to her. “Meet my new fella. Isn’t he devilishly handsome? Jason, this is Elliot.”
Just then, Lana arrived. She came over and was introduced to Jason. And then—well, you know the rest.
Lana acted completely out of character that night. She was all over Jason, flirting shamelessly with him. She threw herself at him. And she was being so weird with me, so cold, and dismissive. She rebuffed all my attempts to talk to her—as if I didn’t exist.
I left the gallery feeling confused and dejected. The cold hard ring was in my pocket, and I turned it over and over in my fingers. I found myself giving in to a familiar feeling of despair, a feeling of inevitability.
I could hear the kid sobbing in my head: Of course, of course she didn’t want you. She’s embarrassed by you. You’re not good enough for her, can’t you see that? She regretted kissing you. And tonight was her way of putting you in your place.
Fair enough, I thought. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps I never stood a chance with Lana. Unlike Jason, I was no practiced seducer. Except of old women, apparently.
My jailer was waiting for me when I got back to the house. She had been writing all evening and was now relaxing with a large Scotch in the living room.
“Well, how was it?” Barbara poured herself another drink. “Fill me in on all the gossip. I want a full report.”
“No gossip. Very dull.”
“Oh, come on. Something must have happened. I’ve been working hard all day, earning our daily bread. At least you can entertain me a little before bed.”
I was in no mood to indulge her and remained monosyllabic. Barbara could sense my unhappiness. And, like a true predator, couldn’t resist going in for the kill.
“What’s the matter, dear?” She peered at me.
“Nothing.”
“You’re being very quiet. Is something wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure? Tell me about it. What is it?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, I bet I can guess.” Suddenly, Barbara laughed, full of glee—like an impish child delighting in a mean prank.
I felt unaccountably nervous. “What’s so funny?”
“It’s a private joke. You wouldn’t understand.”
I knew better than to react. She was trying to provoke me, but there was no point in getting into a fight with Barbara. I have learned from bitter experience that you never win an argument with a narcissist. It doesn’t work like that. Your only victory is to leave.
“I’m going to bed.”
“Wait.” She downed her drink. “Help me upstairs.”
Barbara walked with a stick by then, which made climbing stairs difficult. I supported her with one arm. She held on to the banister with her other hand. We slowly made our way upstairs.
“By the way,” Barbara said. “I saw your chum today. Lana. We had tea—and a nice cozy chat.”
“Did you?” That didn’t make sense. They weren’t friends. “Where was that?”
“Lana’s house, naturally. My, my, isn’t it grand? I had no idea you were so ambitious, duck. Mustn’t set your sights too high. Remember what happened to Icarus.”
“Icarus?” I laughed. “What are you on about? How many whiskeys have you had?”
Barbara grinned, showing her teeth. “Oh, you’re right to be scared. I would be, too, if I were you. I had to put a stop to it, you see.”
We reached the top of the stairs. Barbara let go of my arm, as I handed her stick back to her. I tried to sound amused.
“A stop to what?”
“To you, duck. I had to put the poor girl straight. She doesn’t deserve you. Few do.”
I stared at her, feeling frightened. “Barbara. What have you done?”
She laughed, delighting in my distress. As she spoke, she hammered her stick on the floorboards, underscoring the rhythm of her speech. She was clearly relishing every word.
“I told her all about you,” Barbara said. “I told her your real name. I told her what you were, when I found you. I told her I’ve had you followed—that I know what you get up to in the afternoons, and the rest. I told her you’re dangerous, a liar, a sociopath—and you’re after her money, like you’re after mine. I told her I caught you messing about with my medication not once, but twice, recently. ‘If anything should happen to me in the near future, Lana,’ I said, ‘you mustn’t be surprised.’”
Barbara drummed her stick on the floor as she laughed.
“The poor girl was horrified. Do you know what she said? ‘If all this is true,’ she cried, ‘how can you bear to live with him in the same house?’”
I spoke in a low voice, flat, expressionless. I felt strangely tired. “And what did you say?”
Barbara drew herself up and spoke with dignity. “I simply reminded Lana that I am a writer. ‘I keep him around,’ I said, ‘not out of pity or affection, but to study—as an object of repulsive fascination. Very much as one might keep a reptile in a cage.’”
She laughed and pounded her stick on the floor repeatedly, as if applauding her witticism.
I didn’t say anything.
But let me tell you, I hated Barbara in that moment. I hated her so much.
I could have killed her.
It would be so easy, I thought, to kick that stick of hers and knock her off-balance.
Then just the lightest of touches would send her falling backward down the stairs—her body thumping down the steps, one by one, all the way to the bottom … until her neck broke, with a crack, on the marble floor.
9
You’d be forgiven for thinking, after everything Barbara West told her about me, that Lana would never speak to me again. Friendships have foundered on less.
Thankfully, Lana was made of strong stuff. I imagine how she reacted to Barbara’s character assassination; that cruel attempt to discredit me in her eyes, and destroy our friendship.
“Barbara,” Lana said, “the majority of what you said about Elliot is untrue. The rest, I knew already. He is my friend. And I love him. Now get out of my house.”
That’s how I like to picture it, anyway. The truth is, there was a definite coolness between Lana and me after that.
It was made worse because we never spoke about it. Not once. I only had Barbara’s word for it that the conversation had even taken place. Can you believe it? Lana never mentioned it. I often thought about bringing it up, forcing her to confront it. I never did. But I hated that there were secrets between us now, subjects to be avoided—we, who had shared so much.
Mercifully, Barbara West died soon afterward. No doubt, the universe sighed with relief at her passing—I certainly did. Almost immediately, Lana started calling me again, and our friendship resumed. It seemed as if Lana had decided to bury Barbara’s poisonous words along with the old witch herself.
But it was too late for me and Lana by then.
Too late for “us.”
By then, Jason and Lana had embarked on their “whirlwind romance”—as the Daily Mail breathlessly called it. They were married a few months later.
Sitting in the church, watching the wedding ceremony, I was keenly aware I wasn’t the only guest with a broken heart.
Kate was sitting right next to me, tearful and more than a little inebriated. I was impressed she had brazened it out—in true Kate style—and attended the wedding, head held high; despite having ignominiously lost her lover to her best friend.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have gone. Perhaps what Kate should have done, for the sake of her mental health—and this goes for me, too—was to pull away and distance herself from Lana and Jason. But Kate couldn’t do that. She loved them too much to give either of them up. That’s the truth.
And after Lana married Jason, Kate tried to bury her feelings for Jason and put the past behind her.
Whether she succeeded is open to question.
10