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You fucking what!?
Of all the things I supposed my new correspondent might say, that was not one of them. Do it again? Why? If this person was gathering ammunition to seek revenge on Nick or to use against me, did they really think I’d hand them more?
Reply. I don’t think so. Send.
A few minutes later, another response arrived. It was somewhat more loquacious but had a very final feel to it.
Unless you want these photos in a mail shot to every single one of your colleagues tomorrow morning, you WILL do it. And make it good.
I pushed away from the desk and rubbed my face, momentarily lost. Was this really happening? I pulled and toyed with the situation in my mind, trying to see if it could be anything other than what it seemed. Anything. But it refused to shift. I got up and paced away from my PC then back to it, exploring the limits of my predicament the way a new prisoner might explore his cell. Soon enough, it became clear there was absolutely no room to manoeuvre. I couldn’t exactly report this to my boss, let alone the police. Or even tell Nick, despite the fact he was just as much at risk as I was. I really did have only two options: let the one who sees expose me to the entire House tomorrow, or engineer another night with Nick and leave us both open to further scrutiny.
I continued to pace. Minutes passed as I mentally scrambled around and over my predicament, but eventually my indecision was eclipsed by a growing rage. I hated not being in control.
So I made my choice. I would visit Nick again; not to satisfy the unknown desires of the one who sees, not even for my own pleasure, but to buy myself some time. I was going to figure out who was doing this to me and make them eat that fucking phone.
Now that I knew what to do, my brain quickly mapped out how to do it. Top of the list, I needed to make sure Nick stayed in the Cottage.
I headed downstairs and made my way to Steve’s office. He was sat behind his PC with his glasses perched on the end of his nose, and he waved me forward. He was an attractive man: somewhere in his fifties, lean and with a look about him that suggested he was quite the catch in his heyday.
“David! What can I do you for?”
His tone was genial but the way he continued to look at his computer said make it quick, so I did.
“Can Nick stay in the Cottage for a while?”
Now Steve did look up at me. His expression was part didn’t we deal with that already? and part why is my deputy throwing in his lot with this guy?
“I hardly think that’s appropriate, do you?”
“Not especially, no,” I replied honestly, “but he lost his home yesterday and his job today…” I let that sink in then added, “Just for a few days.”
Steve thought about it for a long moment then pointed a finger in my direction.
“A few days then. But even a sniff of trouble and he’s out.”
It’s a bit late for that, I thought, but I was awash with a sense of relief all the same. If Steve had insisted Nick vacate the House without delay, I’d be in trouble.
“Thank you, Steve,” I said, and for some reason I found myself adding, “And thanks for going easy on Nick today. That was good of you.”
Steve waved this off. One thing I liked about him was his resistance to arse-kissing.
“Oh, I was going to throw the book at him,” he said matter of factly. “You need to thank Alan for the reprieve, not me.”
So it was Alan who’d helped Nick avoid a disciplinary? That made no sense. I had to find out why he’d done it. Under the present circumstances, everything felt like it could be important.
I left Steve to it. A brief chat with Michelle revealed that Alan and Nick had left for Alan’s office a good half hour ago. I followed, heading outside and in the direction of what we fancifully call the Maintenance Hub. This collection of squat buildings and storage huts is located in a quiet corner of the grounds, hidden from view behind tall evergreen hedges and under the boughs of large oak trees. The foremost building contains the crew’s changing area, break room and Alan’s office, and for security reasons its door is always latched. I didn’t have my key on me so I was required to knock and wait. I was let in by Wayne, a thickset nu-metal fan with tattoos the shape of blades climbing out of his collar and up over his shaved scalp.
“Hello Wayne. Alan and Nick here?” I asked as I followed him past the musty changing room and into the grubby lounge. The air was redolent of the pasty he was heating in the microwave.
“Nick emptied his locker and is gone.” Wayne turned and widened his eyes on the gone to convey its deeper meaning. “The boss is in his office.”
Alan heard my voice through his open door and called me in. He was at his desk with an open lever arch file in front of him. He turned to see what I wanted. The way I regarded him must’ve seemed pretty cool because he frowned a touch.
“Something you need?” he asked.
Are Pendik Escort you blackmailing me?
“Steve mentioned it was your idea to let Nick resign. I just wondered why you’d do that, what with the uh… Kelly thing.”
I was basically saying I was surprised he hadn’t been more of a wanker about it, but I was working to a deadline and there was no time to be coy.
Alan tossed his pen on the desk and leaned back in his chair.
“The ‘Kelly thing’ is exactly why I did it,” he said in a way which conveyed how little he appreciated my two-word summary of recent events. He pointed a finger towards the door, indicating Nick. “I want that little twat gone. Not just out of the House, but out of the fucking county! The sooner the better.”
It seemed Alan figured that Nick, homeless and now unemployed as well, would be obliged to slink back to Southampton and away from Kelly altogether.
“So,” he continued, “cheers for playing your part today.”
He gave me a conspiratorial nod, seemingly referring to my little tête-à-tête with Nick in the corridor outside the meeting room. He thought I’d persuaded the guy to quit! Well, I suppose I had, but for vastly different reasons to Alan’s own. I was eager to disabuse him of the notion and see his reaction to my news.
“I’ve arranged for Nick to stay in the Cottage for a few more days,” I said levelly. “Until he finds his feet again.”
Alan’s reaction was immediate. His face dropped and he fixed me with a disbelieving glare.
“You did what?”
He saw I was serious and began to rant. I’d never seen him so visibly furious before. He was incensed his scheme had been undermined and that Nick would still be close enough to sniff around his daughter. His rage took me aback but it told me two things for sure: Alan certainly did not want Nick here at the House and he was not my blackmailer.
Down the line I’d regret sabotaging my working relationship with Alan, a feat I’d undeniably accomplished by supporting Nick. But right then I was too pleased with myself to care. I’d removed one suspect from my list. I decided to leave but I caught a final “…better tell him to keep the fuck away from me, Dave. I mean it.”
I slipped out, making a wide-eyed sorry! expression at Wayne as I passed him. Wayne, mouth full of pasty, gave one of those unhappy yeah, thanks nods in return. It looked like I’d made the maintenance crew’s Friday afternoon a miserable one.
Outside once more, I cut across the grounds to the Cottage. I supposed I’d better tell Nick he could stay as soon as possible or else he might simply pack up and disappear. As the roof of the ugly bungalow came into view, I was suddenly afraid he might have already gone. But of course he could go nowhere just yet. My blue Focus was still parked behind his black Astra, there where the narrow gravel drive finally terminated after winding through the grounds. The front door was unlatched and I let myself in, calling hello as I went.
“Yo,” Nick called back from the kitchen.
I found him taking his clean clothes from the washing machine, roughly folding them still wet and stacking them on the table. He moved with excessive care, like a neanderthal handling futuristic technology. I smirked at that. As he placed a tee shirt atop the pile, he gave me a whatever glare and returned to the machine. He was still wearing my clothes, and my trousers outlined his arse beautifully as he bent to pull the next item from the drum. That was the precise moment all the confusion, fear and anger of the last hour shuffled over to make way for another sensation: a thrill of excitement. Regardless of the context, I would be getting close to that beautiful body again.
“Are you ready for some good news?” I asked him, leaning on the doorframe.
The look Nick gave me suggested he felt like he wouldn’t hear good news ever again.
“Alan fell under a ride-on mower?” he joked without enthusiasm.
“Afraid not. But you can stay here in the Cottage for a while, until you sort out a place to live.”
Nick stopped what he was doing and leaned against the counter, looking confused. He folded his arms across his chest and from one hand dangled the tight white briefs I’d examined so closely earlier on. My heart stepped up a gear at the sight of them.
“You what?” he asked sceptically. “You really think they’ll let me stop here after the last 24 hours?”
I nodded. “Yep. It’s all cleared with Steve.”
Nick looked down at the floor for a moment, although his eyes were not really focused, and he blew air through his lips. Then he nodded and something about his whole body just seemed to relax as if sensing the pressure easing off a touch.
“And you sorted that for me,” he said.
It wasn’t really a question so I didn’t really answer, just gave a half-shrug. Even so, Nick flashed a genuine smile, threw the briefs on to the table and then held one large fist out towards Anadolu Yakası Escort me. After a second I realised he wanted me to bump it, and I obliged. It was my first ever fist bump.
“You’re all right, Dave,” he said approvingly. “Get in that fucking lounge. I’m making you a tea.”
And get in the lounge I did. I made myself comfortable in an armchair beside one big window, and a few minutes later Nick appeared with a mug in each hand. He set one down on the coffee table in front of me then took his own over to the sofa. The spot he chose was more or less directly opposite me. No sooner had his arse touched down than he eased into a manspread so wide his legs formed a 90-degree angle, one knee pointed off to my left, the other to my right. I was dead centre to this offhand and overwhelmingly indelicate display. Those trousers pulled tight across his thighs and hugged closely to his groin either side of his junk, forming a beautifully symmetrical mound directly beneath his zipper; heavy nuts and long, thick, flaccid dick all cupped together into one arrogant bulge. It can’t have been comfortable being so constricted but something told me he liked it. That packed in feeling was something only a well-endowed man could really appreciate. And there was something else too, like he was subconsciously demonstrating he filled my clothes in a way I did not. Maybe in this trying period he was holding firm to something nobody could take from him: in one crucial way, he was a bigger man than me; bigger than Alan and Steve; in fact bigger than anyone in this whole place.
As our chat wound on, Nick revealed he’d planned on checking in to the cheapest hotel he could find until his friend Ryan returned from his holiday. The two of them had exchanged messages and Ryan was happy to put Nick up for as long as he needed, even if that ran to weeks or months. He’d never had any intention of leaving town but the hotel room was something he could ill afford, so he was extremely glad of the use of the Cottage in the meantime.
Secure in the knowledge Nick wasn’t going anywhere just yet, I was able to head off and do what I needed to. I told him I’d be back later with food and something to drink. With nothing better to do, Nick kicked back and began an afternoon of crap television.
I slipped out of the Cottage but didn’t immediately leave. Instead I walked around it and over to the shrubbery at the edge of the grounds. Just behind the first snarl of bushes, a narrow and well-worn track headed off in both directions, running parallel to the House’s boundary line. This was where the suspicious guy had been loitering this morning. I trampled through the long grass and bare branches until I stood on the roughly the same spot he had. To my right the track meandered off into the undergrowth until it vanished from sight. A hundred metres or so to the left, however, it was joined by another path which led into the woods away from the House. I walked over to this junction and looked off into the trees. This path was wider and ran ruler-straight for a few hundred metres before disappearing over a slight rise. It was deserted but I could hear the sound of a car passing in the distance. There was a country road back there, I knew.
I spotted a wooden post sticking out of the long grass, the white direction signs on three of its faces telling me these tracks were part of the public footpath network. I considered the possibility that the young man was simply a rambler, and for a brief moment I began to feel easier about the entire thing.
It didn’t last. The fact these footpaths were open to anyone was irrelevant: that particular guy had been shifty. The instant I recalled his movements and the look he gave me, I knew he wasn’t just an innocent passerby. What I didn’t know was if he had a role in my current predicament. As aggravating as it was to admit it, I had no way to tell. For now all I could do was put him aside and focus on what was in front of me.
I headed back to the Cottage and drove my car around to the main building. It was time to track down Sam, who had started her late shift, and see what she knew, if anything. I eventually found her giving a group of new arrivals a tour of the facilities and I tagged along at the back of the small crowd. I made bored faces and yawning motions throughout the remainder of her spiel, hacking it down from at least another five minutes to a succinct two and a half. As soon as the guests dispersed she sprang at me and slapped me five or six times about the head and arms.
“DAVID!” she was exasperated. “You total bastard!”
I laughed under the rain of childlike blows. Sam was clearly amused beneath her mock fury. I could see that easily, and within a few minutes of general chitchat I knew Sam was not my blackmailer. One thing that had endeared her to me was her total lack of guile. Her actions, motives, ambitions… everything was as transparent as water. Not only İstanbul Escort did she lack a good reason to plot against Nick or me, she simply would not be able to hide it. Such a malignancy in our relationship would be as plain as a thundercloud in an otherwise clear sky.
As Sam began to grumble about a particularly large delegation due in the following week, I zoned out and thought about my diminishing list of suspects. Sam and Alan has been struck off it, as had the strange passerby for all practical purposes. Just two names remained: Kelly and Konrad.
It was easy to picture how Kelly, roaming the grounds last night, might have wandered over to the Cottage and looked inside. A quiet investigation would have revealed her cheating ex-boyfriend out cold and being jerked off by another man. It was no great leap to imagine a lust for vengeance coming to the fore, prompting her to pull out her phone and capture the scene. But would she pressure me into a repeat performance? It certainly seemed possible, especially if my exploitation of Nick felt like appropriate payback for his philandering ways.
As for Konrad, his potential reasons for blackmailing me were less apparent. Perhaps he and Nick shared an enmity of which I was unaware, or maybe I’d given him reason to bear a grudge against me somewhere along the line. These seemed very unlikely prospects as Konrad was such an easygoing guy, but then again these were unlikely circumstances all round. He was my next port of call, so I slipped away from Sam and headed to the little house Konrad shared with his girlfriend. As it transpired nobody was home but I wasn’t overly concerned. I’d been quite productive so far and whittled down my investigation from five leads to two. Also, a plan to catch the one who sees in the act was forming.
But first things first. I ran into my apartment to collect a few things then set off to the supermarket, followed by a trip to a pizza place in town. Late afternoon was darkening towards evening by the time I pulled up behind Nick’s Astra again. I unloaded my haul: two large pizzas, a dozen beers and a new bottle of Jack Daniels.
Nick was sprawled out on the sofa and watching the television. Its screen was the only light in the place and I guessed he hadn’t moved much since I left earlier. The night pressed at all three windows of the triple-aspect room and I felt watched already, although surely it was too early for the one who sees to be around.
Nick span into a sitting position as the smell of pizza reached him. He spotted the drinks and gave me a rueful smile.
“Dave!” he exclaimed, just as happily as a carefree man would. “You are a dude!”
“Whatever,” I replied in a bored tone, but I was surprised to find I enjoyed meeting his approval.
Snap the fuck out of it, I told myself firmly. You have work to do.
And there we sat just like two regular guys; eating, drinking and chatting about whatever was on TV. I ate only half my pizza whereas Nick ate all of his and some of mine before collapsing contentedly back on the sofa. I went easy on the beer despite his mocking encouragement to keep up, consuming just one bottle while Nick downed three. I couldn’t risk losing a clear head.
So thinking, I decided to set up my plan for catching my blackmailer. Under the cover of cleaning up, I gathered together the pizza boxes and empty bottles and took them to the kitchen. I’d brought my digital camera from home and I placed it on the sill of the window at the end of the hall, with the lens facing into the house. Standing to one side I pressed the shutter release button, took a photo and checked the result. The image had captured both the staircase and the length of the hallway right to the front door. Perfect. I switched the camera to video mode and shut it down, then placed it back on the window sill and rearranged the cluster of dusty ornaments there. All that was visible was the lens and I was sure an unsuspecting eye wouldn’t spot it. I just had to start the camera rolling before I took Nick upstairs. It would film for over an hour which was surely long enough to reveal the identity of our uninvited guest.
When I returned to the lounge, I eschewed my usual armchair and sat on the sofa with Nick. We continued to drink, he far more than I, and watch the box. Nick flicked between channels, finding a programme where men sat around discussing cars, then stopping to watch a show with an actress he found attractive, and finally settling on an old TV movie. At no point did he question why I’d chosen to spend my evening with him. It seemed like he’d accepted me as a sort of friend and I felt a twinge of guilt at that. Still, I cracked open the bottle of Jack and, after a small swig of my own, I passed it along to Nick.
His phone rang just before nine. The way he reacted to the name on the screen suggested the call was a pleasant surprise.
“Chris! You all right mate?” he asked, delighted but clearly uncertain. His voice had the unmistakable slur of someone not quite sober.
I decided to give him some privacy. I went back to the kitchen and began hanging his damp clothes over chair backs and radiators. By the time I was done, Nick’s conversation was over. I returned to the lounge.
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