Letters from Yelena Page 18

  Noah,

  How exciting! I never thought you would want to meet. I will be there at 12, wearing the same red coat that I had on when I last saw you. I can’t tell you what a thrill this will be for me!

  C

  I didn’t have time to consider all the allusions of her response. I grabbed an umbrella, and made a quick obsessive-compulsive sweep of the house, thinking what a burden and a treasure it had already become.

  The square was well appointed for my purposes. It was overlooked by a small café from which the statue was clearly visible. Usually the square was a stamping ground for gothic teenagers and romantic liaisons, but today the bludgeoning sky had rendered it empty. From the café, I had a perfect view of anyone arriving. My internal rhythm had increased to an almost audible hum, and I felt slightly dizzy.

  At 11:55 a very slender, dark haired woman in a red trench coat stepped into the square. She looked up to check that she was stood under the statue and then looked around. I leant against the window to get a better view of her and yet her features remained imperceptible to me. At that moment the sky rumbled, and I realised that through an additional sheet of rain, C would be completely impossible to identify. I scattered coins on the table and rose to meet her.

  At that point I had no plan, Noah, no idea of what I would say to her. How on earth could I justify introducing myself when she was expecting to meet you at any moment? As I tied the cord of my coat around my waist my mind worked quickly, flicking through a series of reckless options. I could create any reality for us both; all it took was choosing the right words. For a moment I wondered if I could just pass her by; it might give me long enough to catch her face, and allow me to end this madness right now. As I left the café I honestly intended to do just that. God knows how differently my life might have turned out had I stuck with that resolve; it almost does not bear thinking about. But as I drew close, she looked up, and I realised that I was looking into the eyes of Catherine. Here at last was the proof that I was not good enough for you, Noah. I felt sick to my stomach. All the fears that I had struggled to keep tied down were suddenly torn free from their moorings. They crashed around my head, smashing up all the furniture of my mind. But still I kept walking towards her.

  My eyes widened, and my gaze locked into hers. It was inevitable then that we would speak; it was inevitable what would happen next. I would always react the way that I was about to, and the consequences would therefore always be the same. My window of sanity had passed. She looked at me, baffled.

  ‘C?’ I asked. She looked at me, her eyes already slightly accusatory. It certainly looked like Catherine, and yet I didn’t feel angry at her, for worming her way back into your life. I felt intimidated.

  Of course, in this setting, she was not the Catherine that I had seen in your photos. She had been captured only in snapshots, the profile of her face, the sweep of her hair. Assembling all those images into one expectation was never going to be easy. But I did know that familiar dread inside me when looking at her, the same dread I had had when rifling through those photos. Even if her face was thinner, slightly harder than I had expected, it was still Catherine.

  ‘Yes?’ she said. I faltered, and the rain started to come down.

  ‘I’m Anna, Noah’s secretary. I’m afraid he’s been detained.’ The words flooded out, and I settled readily into this new role. It fit me much better than the queasy persona of a jilted lover. She looked back at me, and I felt assured by her acceptance. Her expression was not one of subdued anger, as I had expected it to be.

  ‘His car was scraped by a lorry when he was on his way here, and it was quite badly damaged. He’s okay, but his phone was broken and he has to go and get his car fixed as he needs it to travel to London tomorrow. He asked me to call by to send his apologies.’

  ‘Oh. Oh right. I’m sorry – are you sure he’s okay?’ She looked deflated, concerned. The rain was coming down, and the thick droplets were suddenly soaking both of us.

  ‘Shall we – shall we go inside for a coffee?’ I asked. ‘And get out of the rain? Then I can explain it all.’ I was already eagerly awaiting the ten or so steps it would take to the café, during which time I could try and determine for sure if this was Catherine, and if so what she was doing back in touch with you.

  ‘Er – okay,’ she said, looking disappointed for the first time.

  We stepped into the café, but those few steps were spent shielding ourselves from the onslaught. The sound was suddenly muted by the closed door. ‘Coffee?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah sure.’ She looked ready to stand up. ‘To be honest, I’m just glad that Noah’s okay. I can meet him another time. That’s not a problem.’ She looked slightly confused.

  ‘The rain is really coming down,’ I said, and looking past her I was relieved to see that this was true.

  The waitress served me two coffees, and I carefully put them onto a tray. As I moved over to the window, she stayed silent. ‘I think we should probably stay inside until it passes, it’ll hopefully only be a quick shower.’

  ‘Did you say your name was Anna?’ she asked. I wondered if she had somehow worked out exactly who I was. ‘Yes, I am,’ I said, clumsily. ‘Are you a friend of Noah’s then?’

  ‘No,’ she laughed, and she shook her hair free of raindrops. I saw then that she had dyed her hair into a slightly darker shade, and that she had lost weight since those photos had been taken. She looked younger, somehow, and she seemed to have less presence in the flesh than she did on Polaroid.

  I wondered if, having lost weight and changed her hair she had seen your name on a literary listing and come to make your acquaintance as a new fan of yours. After all, it had been a good five years since you had been in touch and it was possible that she could have presented herself to you as a different person, having perhaps felt deeply embarrassed by the manner in which she had left your life before. Telling you that her name was C might have allowed her to have another chance with you. And you, aware of her striking resemblance to someone significant who had vanished from your life, might have been intrigued enough to take her number, perhaps without as yet telling her that she closely resembled a former lover of yours. And perhaps consequently only I was aware of what was really going on. Catherine was trying to worm her way back into your life by posing as another woman, and you, not knowing this, were allowing her. But why were you doing this? Maybe you felt that her resemblance to Catherine would allow you to exorcise your demons for her through another woman. But this was Catherine, I told myself, nodding slightly as I thought it and as my eyes met hers. In writing this down, I can see now how far the vague concept of logic had slipped.

  I instantly decided that I should try and ingratiate myself with her, to find out exactly what it was about this woman that had made her so significant to you. Only then, I thought, by understanding her charms, could I usurp her in your affections and remove her permanently from your life.

  ‘I met him at a literary convention the other week,’ she said. ‘I was overwhelmed by his last book and had written to him about it months ago, but didn’t receive a reply. At the convention we got chatting and – I’m sure just out of politeness – he asked for my email address. A few days later I wrote to him, and to my great surprise he asked me to meet him here. But now that he wasn’t able to come, I wonder if I’ve lost my chance to ever see him again.’

  ‘Not at all,’ I said. I must have looked at her admiringly, marvelling at her manipulations. To think that she was so determined that she hid the truth even from me, a perfect stranger. Thank goodness, I remember thinking, that I had studied those photos. Otherwise she might have succeeded in her intentions. But now I had an opportunity to prevent her clawing her way back into your life.

  ‘Not at all. Noah very rarely agrees to meet any of his fans. He must have felt a connection with you, to offer to do that.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  I thought that she played the role of the naïve, star-struck fan, who happen
ed to be beautiful, with great conviction.

  ‘Oh yes. I know from working with him that he very rarely spends time with other people at all. If he has invited you to meet, it must be because the two of you really hit it off. He wouldn’t have done it for any other reason.’

  She suddenly looked suspicious. ‘I am a little surprised that a writer his age has a secretary. Are you a big fan of his work then as well?’

  ‘Very much so, however much other people love his work, I feel it cannot compare to how important it is to me.’

  Suddenly, I was speaking as Yelena. Almost pleading that she understood how essential you were to me, begging with her not to steal you from me. ‘It cuts both ways though,’ I continued. ‘He asks me to read his work while it is still in the early stages and then give my opinion on it. I’m lucky, because I don’t believe that he does that with anyone else.’

  ‘You are lucky,’ she replied. ‘And I understand how you feel about him too.’

  Her eyes levelled into mine, with a glint that I suddenly found compelling.

  ‘I can see why Noah wanted to meet with you though,’ I said. ‘I can already see that you share the same empathic perspective that he has, that you too have that sensitivity. He is obviously susceptible to the charms of young and beautiful women. But what man in his position wouldn’t be?’

  She quickly looked up at me, surprised by this sudden change in tack. I felt a sense of triumph, and wondered if I had just outmanoeuvred her. But then her expression brightened, and she seemed to feign a blush.

  She smiled. ‘You’re very kind, and I think that you might be right. Why else would he choose you for a secretary? He clearly has a taste for women like us.’

  The rain outside had ceased. A slight sheen was rising from the concrete. The café, though still half empty, now felt a little humid.

  ‘And who can blame him?’ I asked. Her eyes met mine. I sensed that something in her manner had shifted. She was suddenly no longer practical, concerned. Her body was responding to me in a different way.

  It was then that I remembered the details of the photos I had so rabidly consumed. I realised that if I had been able to draw Catherine to this point, why wouldn’t I be able to seduce her too? The logic of this decision seems mad now – she had gone there to meet you – but at that moment my reasoning seemed strong and clear. If I were to seduce Catherine, I would finally get to see exactly what it was about her that you had found so attractive. And then, and only then, could I fully replace her.

  ‘The rain has stopped,’ I said. ‘But shall we get another coffee?’ Her lips parted, and I remembered that in the photos they had been plump, red, eager to ease into a smile.

  ‘Why not?’ she said.

  I waved the waitress over to our table. As she poured out the dark, thick coffee, I felt C’s eyes analyse me.

  The next time I was consciously aware of what I was doing, was when we arrived at C’s flat. It was late afternoon by then, and the world seemed to be giving off a porous fragrance.

  Her flat was small and artfully cluttered. I remember looking for sculptures, and feeling relieved after observing a couple, but I felt unsettled by the red and black Francis Bacon prints on the wall, the facial features on each clouded and indistinct, lacking any clarity. They seemed to surge towards me and taunt me. I remember the precise way she placed a glass of white wine beside me as we sat in her drawing room. The way that, after many searching and purely cosmetic conversations, she stopped perching on the edge of the couch and moved to sit next to me, placing her hand around my neck. I had never seen a woman up close like this before, never seen a painted mouth open for me in such a sensuous manner, and yet I was aware I had constructed this situation myself.

  I suddenly found her presence powerfully involving and I kissed her with real tenderness. I felt a wave of passion pass over me. Closing my eyes I could see your body, clasped against hers as mine now was. I unbuttoned her shirt, which revealed a shaft of her ivory white chest. As she leant back on the couch I could see your mouth closing on the swell of her breast, which rose to a tight peak. I kissed her, searching for your essence within her. Somehow I was able to sense it, distant and elusive. It existed in the root of her passion, suddenly awakened as I circled her waist with gentle and yet insistent fingers, before eventually finding the source of her pleasure. I could almost feel your presence when her body broke open, when her shirt fell from her slim shoulders. I wondered if I was touching her in the exact same way that she had touched you, but that wondering soon turned into an urgent need to make sure I was. I imagined that it was your hands that passed around her neck, that gathered her from the shoulder blades. Your hands that implored her to turn over, and your eyes that took in the pinched quality of her flesh, the smooth S shape of her back. In imagining it was your lips that explored the texture of her neck, it seemed to become so.

  The hands that unbuttoned my blouse were gentle, and yet accommodating too. When our bodies finally merged, it was your name preying upon my lips, the thought of your back and body that consumed me as we pressed against each other. I sought you in her tender and shivering flesh, chased you, with fingers and lips, across the plane of her navel. Though it was C and I having sex, I was acutely aware it was not only the two of us that were present. Your ghost encircled us, eased our fluttering bodies together. Her thighs opened, wanting you to ease inside her, and yet I met that welcome with a tender embrace. She came in my arms, overwhelmed by my insistence to find you within her. As she caught her breath we held each other gently, and I found you again in the nape of her neck, the scent in her hair. You embodied me, your words scrolling across my consciousness as I kissed her neck, my teeth drawing from her lips the exact reaction you had strived so hard to capture in your letters. As I searched for those precise sounds her body responded – questioning and yet plaintive. I could sense her wondering what was driving this fervent exploration, but then the sound of her pleasure turned to a plea for mercy as I bit her neck. Suddenly your description seemed to exist in another world, as here there was only the remonstrating expression of a beguiling woman.‘You drew blood,’ she whispered, her hand clasping against her neck. Gathering her thick, dark hair in my hands I moved to soften her anger, kissing her mouth, my fingers urging the tensed muscles in her back to relax. Her reaction was wordless, a brief bodily rearrangement. We began to move in rhythm again, and I felt your presence knife down my arms and into my fingers as I began to scratch her flesh. How exactly had you done it again? For a moment her body broke upon, her pleasure rising to another crescendo. I felt so exhilarated by the thought of her responding to my scratches just as she had done to yours. I was capturing it all. My eyes, I knew, held no tenderness now. They studied her for the times I would replicate these exact sounds, the exact myriad collapses of flesh. Her eyes met mine, retracted at the studious expression glazing my face. ‘Don’t scratch me,’ she ordered, the end of the sentence breaking the erotic clamour of her insistence into something more suspicious. ‘You’re hurting me.’

  But your presence was overwhelming me, so much so that I had no choice but to chase it through this woman’s retreating flesh. I had to make her come again. I had to hear the alteration in the tone of her voice, the one you had rhapsodised over in potent cascades of letters. But her eyes were tightening now, ready to condemn. Whatever game she was playing with me now seemed to be rapidly losing its charm. I was possessed, consumed by my craving to find you, and with it the physical relief I desperately craved. I knew my body would only be satisfied when my mind was. But our bodies had lost our connection, her arms tightening to keep me apart from her rather than close. I needed to bring her to a climax again but she was preoccupied only with my pleasure – with finishing it. I tried to throw her onto the bed but she slipped off me, her arm pinning me against the sheets. ‘Stop it. Let me kiss you.’

  ‘Lie down,’ I replied, soft and yet firm.

  ‘You’re hurting me,’ she whispered, clutching her hair in her fis
t and bunching her thighs against her chest. ‘Give me a moment.’

  I had been so close to the final prize that I felt my body revolt in anger. It desperately wanted release, and yet I knew I had pushed this woman too far. ‘Lie down,’ she said. ‘Let me.’

  But my hand swept hers from my breasts. ‘What’s wrong?’ she hissed.

  ‘You’re stopping me,’ I said. ‘You know what I’m trying to do and you won’t let me.’

  She sat bolt upright, the colour suddenly vanishing from her cheeks. ‘What are you talking about? You’re scaring me now.’ She whipped the sheet around her breasts. ‘Perhaps you should leave, Anna.’

  ‘So it’s not a game any more, when I come close to the prize? Is that how it works?’ The combative tone felt so jarring, given the recent tumult our bodies had both been in.

  ‘The prize? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ The tone became authoritative. ‘There’s something very wrong going on here.’

  ‘Wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong Catherine.You pretending to be someone else to try and get Noah back. Pretending to be this innocent C woman just to ensnare him again. Isn’t that sick? Well you had your chance, and you disappeared from his life. He’s mine now, and I know how to keep him.’

  ‘I want you to leave,’ she said, grabbing her shirt and pushing her arms through it. ‘Right now.’

  ‘So you don’t deny it Catherine? You don’t deny that I’m right?’ My thighs were bunched against my body now but I felt coiled, ready for the confrontation.

  Her voice dropped. ‘My name isn’t Catherine, Anna. It’s Cecilia. And I think this was a mistake. You need to leave.’

  ‘I’m not Anna, and you know it. And you’re not Cecilia either.’

  ‘You made it all up,’ she said, pushing her fingers through her hair. ‘Noah, the accident, you’re just some perverted… what are you?’

  ‘I’m his girlfriend, Catherine!’