Although I had assumed he must have been in bed, in my imagination he was still dressed in a suit or a dinner jacket. I had never seen him in anything else. Each one splendidly cut and terribly civilized, but unable to hide the raw, animal power of the lean, powerful body beneath. At six feet five inches and wide shoulders rippling with muscles he towered over most men.

I heard a woman’s voice, glamorous and trailing, ask, ‘Who is it, Ivan darling?’

His reply was brisk and left no doubt as to exactly what he thought of me, a pain in his neck. ‘No one. This is will only take a few minutes. Get back in bed.’

Stung, I said the first thing that came into my head. ‘I’ll start making the funeral arrangements tomorrow.’

There was a second, pregnant with a disbelieving silence before he spoke again, his voice strangely quiet. ‘Everything has already been taken care of. My secretary, Theresa, will liaise with you so you know where and when to present yourself.’

‘Oh,’ I said, at loss for words.

Of course, how silly of me. Obviously, everything had been done. It was not how it was when my stepfather died, when we ran around trying to arrange everything while he lay in the mortuary. Robert’s funeral would be a well-attended affair requiring much planning ahead.

‘I’ll see you at the funeral,’ he said, and the line went dead.

I replaced the receiver back on its hook and slowly walking to the window stared at the coating of snow on the edges of the windowpane. Ivan De Greystoke had eyes the color of sunlight falling on gray tinsel, but the moment Robert introduced me as his wife, they became glacial.

Expressionlessly, he extended his hand and took mine in a warm, strong clasp. I had not wanted to shake hands with him, not wanted any part of his body to touch mine, but when our skin met, I was overcome with the strangest sensation of wanting to prolong the contact.

The same was not true for him. He had pulled his hand away almost immediately as if he was touching something dirty or repulsive.

‘May I say, Robert,’ he had mocked dryly, ‘you are the envy of every man tonight.’

Robert glowed with pride and happiness, but I blushed, because I knew he did not mean it. He detested me. He thought I was a gold digger and nothing I said or did subsequently made him change his mind. His dislike was eventually obvious even to Robert, so I never understood why he made Ivan the executor of my trust. At first I begged him not to let Ivan be in charge.

‘Why for god’s sake? You know he doesn’t even like me,’ I pleaded.

‘He’s the only one I can trust,’ Robert replied sadly.



Ivan De Greystoke

Mayfair, London

I killed the connection and stared out of the window. So: he was dead.

The man who had the thing I wanted for so long was dead. I tried to imagine her at Barrington Manor. She must be in the Yellow Room. That would have been where the doctor had waited. He must have insulted her as he had been instructed to do. And yet her voice had been cool as if she was fucking giving me the weather forecast. I could almost picture her. Jeans. Blouse. Her long blonde hair in a thick plait down her back. Her mouth: as if butter wouldn’t melt in it.

Little gold digging bitch.

I had a raging hard-on.

‘Ivan,’ Chloe called from the bedroom. Her voice lilting. She had not lied. She really was the hottest cocksucker this side of the Atlantic and I’ve had enough to know. I walked to the bedroom.

She was lying on the bed with her legs spread open. She was the kind of girl that you could have done anything to. I walked up to her. She began to play with herself, slowly inserting her finger into her hole.