Prologue: Kindred Spirits
She joined him at the latter end of a Friday night in the Cock and Bull. Any of her work colleagues still present were deep in chat-up scenarios or in lengthy debates about football or films. He was seated at a far corner table, nursing a tumbler of whiskey. His eyes flicked her way as she slumped into the chair beside him, her own newly-filled glass in hand.
"Not got some pretty little thing hanging on your every word tonight? You're losing your touch," she said, her words slurring. She was not unattractive herself, with pale slender features, blue-green eyes and auburn hair pulled into a high ponytail, but her face was set in a derisive scowl and an excess amount of vodka was compounding the effect.
"I have to devote
some
thought to business," the object of her low-key scorn responded. His height was apparent even seated and he had an athletic massiveness about him. Added to that were the grey-flecked dark hair and stone-carved features, making him almost a caricature of masculinity. "The McLennan contract isn't going to finalise itself," he told her. "Those pretty little things will have to wait."
"Christ, Gavin, listen to yourself." Her contempt was palpable. "You really think you're God's gift."
"If you only knew," he said, surveying her as he tipped the glass to his lips. "I'm the gift that keeps on giving."
She stared back at him, dislike and lust for him competing on her face. "Well you didn't get to give anything to Erica," she said with spite. It was clear that she was broaching the subject for which she had sat down.
"Erica...?"
"Oh don't play games. You haven't forgotten Erica Greendale, the sweet doe-eyed beauty. Or I'd like to think you haven't. You cancelled on me so you could take her out."
"Erica." He repeated the name like he had finally recalled who she was. "Yes, we went out a few times. She was--what's the phrase?--'dealing with relationship issues'. I tried to help her. You know, 'be there for her'." He spoke both phrases like he'd borrowed them.
"Bullshit. Erica told me all about it. I know the whole pathetic story." She took clear delight in her knowledge. If her opening salvo had been bold, by now she was achieving devil-may-care recklessness. "You whisked her out on the town to a load of hot venues. You took her to Gordon bloody Ramsey's restaurant, no doubt to impress her with how easily you could get a table. It's probably the closest you'll ever come to
wooing
a woman." (In her satirical mode she made the word sound like an owl-hoot.) "All that effort just so you could get inside her knickers. And then the night you were all set to reap the reward, she got a call from the Bigger Better Deal and left you alone to toss yourself off. Don't tell me that didn't bruise the mighty McClain ego?"
He met her look of victory with an impassive stare, but she continued undaunted. "She told me everything. Made out she was so, so sorry to have led you on. But I could tell she was revelling in it, like she was in a fucking chick-lit novel. Two big rich and successful men pursuing her, till she had to let one of them down. Poor Erica. Guess she decided to go for the richer, more successful one."
She stared at him as levelly as her inebriated state would allow. "He used to work for you, didn't he? Before he went off and started his own rival company. He was off in America, making big deals, only he came back to snap up the lovely Miss Greendale from right under your nose." She gave another pause, gauging how effectively her words were soaking in. "And now she's
marrying
him. Date's been set and everything."
"Is there any particular reason you're telling me all this, ehhh..."
"Helen," she snapped, when he groped for her name. "Look, sit there and pretend she didn't piss you off, but I know your type, Gavin. It galls the hell out of you when you find you can't have someone at the snap of your fingers."
"I think you're the one who's galled." He returned to his drink. "I'm sensing she's not your favourite person."
"Why wouldn't she be? Erica's
everyone's
favourite person," the brunette protested sourly. "Especially men... They're all like you. They love that sugar-and-spice, butter-wouldn't-melt routine of hers, so sweetly sexy but yet so very innocent. She'll laugh at your dirty jokes, but in that 'Oh I'm so shocked, you're
so
bad' way she has. You all fucking lap it up. It's pathetic."
"Well there is something intoxicating about her type," he said thoughtfully. "I suspect we want either to protect or corrupt her."
"She's got her protector now, her knight in a big shining Mercedes, so you've missed your shot at doing either." Smugness at his defeat melted away to reveal her own bitterness once more. "She's marrying Mr Stephen Laughton on July 20th. It's the society wedding of the year. They've already booked the Langham Hotel for the reception."
"You seem to know a lot about it."
"I should do. I'm chief bridesmaid."
He broke into laughter so uproarious that several other drinkers looked their way. She glared in response, abashed by the irony in her own confession. "Which begs the question," he said, still visibly amused, "how you come to be officiating at the wedding of someone you plainly can't stand."
Her defiance faded and she told him, her tone more sheepish. "Erica adopted me as a best friend when I started working for the company. Now I can't shake her off. I suppose I used to think she was okay, until..."
"Until she took Stephen Laughton, when you'd seen him first?" He finished off her sentence when she couldn't complete it. She flinched at his words and then fumed, having evidently been called on her secret.
"Something like that. Anyway," she said, trying to brush the subject away, "she caught me off-guard when she asked me to be bridesmaid. I'd said yes before I knew what I was doing. I'll find some excuse to back out."
"Don't." His tone was peremptory. She looked at him surprised at his insistence. He was scrutinising her, taking a visible interest in the conversation for the first time. "Go ahead with it," he said. "Be her bridesmaid."
"Why?" Her voice was wary, but his tone had grabbed her interest.
"Well," he said with a stare so penetrating it made her shift in her seat, "it strikes me that however pissed off you are with me, you're vastly more angry with her. Tell me if I'm wrong." She said nothing in response. "Now let's say for the sake of argument that I did feel slighted when she ran back to her original beau before I'd got to spend any... special time with her. My question to you would be how much would you like to see her taken down a peg or two? To--dare I be so bold--carry out a bit of sabotage regarding her wedding plans?"
Her voice, when she found the breath to reply, was more hushed than before. "I'd love it. But you can wish for things all you like..."
"Oh I'm sure two smart, scalded people working together could do more than wish, one of them being so close to the bride and holding a position of trust. There are a few ideas occurring to me even as we speak." She was leaning in to him, fascinated by anything he might have to say. "It'd slipped my mind, but you cropped up in our conversation when she and I were dating--her ever-so-naughty best friend Helen. She struck me as somewhat in awe of you, like you were her walk on the wild side by proxy."
She grunted sardonically. "Yes, that sounds about right."
