Back at the house in Chelsea Thomas lay awake in bed listening to the passing voices of the late-night revelers. Someone somewhere was playing David Grays White Ladder, and the songs filled Thomas with a sense of longing for people and places he didnt yet know.
Toward midnight he fell into an uneasy sleep. He dreamed that he was once again in his mothers bedroom in Flyte watching Greta in the long mirror, but this time she seemed unaware of his presence in the doorway. She stood with her hands on her hips, wearing the same lemon silk dress of his mothers that she had worn on that day the previous October, but now Greta had brought it in at the waist with a thin black snakeskin belt that matched her raven hair.
Slowly her hands moved to the buckle of the belt and eased open the fastening. She held the two ends for a moment and then let go. In Thomass dream the belt fell slowly to the floor but he didnt hear it land. It was a dream without sound, but unlike other dreams hed had, it was full of will. Greta did as she did because he willed it. If he did not will it, then she would stop. No, more than that: she wouldnt be there at all.
Slowly her hands moved to an invisible zipper at the back of the dress just below the nape of her neck. She had it in her fingers, and slowly, with exquisite deliberation, she pulled it down. He could feel the movement as if he were tracing the line of her spine with his finger, and he knew that she only did it because he willed her to. The effort made him sway and catch hold of the side of the door, but she didnt seem to notice. Instead she pulled her arms free of the dress and stepped out of it closer to the mirror. The dress was a discarded pool lying on the floor between them.
Her body was perfect. Thomas could feel the strength of it, the muscle tone of the thighs below the rounded hills of her buttocks. He imagined running his hands slowly up the inside of her legs, and as if in answer to his thought Greta slowly moved her legs apart, arching herself forward as she did so.
In his dream Thomas stepped out from the shadow of the doorway and fell to his knees. Groping forward almost blindly, he took hold of Gretas naked sides, pulling her close so that his fingers soon had hold of her hard nipples as she pushed her breasts down toward him. Almost at the same moment his tongue found the wet softness between her legs and he went forward into a dark, unconscious ecstasy.
Thomas tossed and turned on the bed, throwing the hot duvet onto the floor as he did so, but he did not wake. The dream would not let him go. He felt Gretas hands on his shoulders pushing him toward his mothers bed.
He staggered to his feet, asking for release, but as his knees landed on the bed and he arched his back ready to thrust himself deep inside her, he looked down and saw his mothers sapphire ring glowing midnight blue on Gretas finger, and his mothers gold locket hanging from her lovely neck.
He cried out in his sleep, waking as he came, and then lay on the bed like someone pulled half drowned from the sea while the sound of fire engines sirens passed the house and then faded into the distance.
Thomas stood washing himself at the sink in the bathroom at the top of the stairs. He was flushed with a confusion of feelings, self-disgust and sexual excitement contending with each other for dominance. Looking down at his body, he felt almost frightened. It was as if he had no control over its workings.
His inner clock had been set to the unchanging rhythms of Flyte. Year after year, nothing changed there except the weather until Barton died, of course, which was why his mother had brought him to London, where everything was different. The girls in the street, the music after dark, the sound of the sirens. Anything could happen here, and Thomas suddenly felt imprisoned by his fathers house, with its anonymous rooms and high staircases. He needed to get out and walk, breathe the air, if only for five minutes.
He dressed hurriedly and went down the stairs almost on tiptoe so as not to wake his mother. In the hall the grandfather clock gave the time as half past twelve and Thomas realized that he couldnt have been asleep for more than an hour before the sirens had woken him up.
He opened the front door and looked out. The main road to his left seemed as deserted now as the little side street on which his fathers house stood. The music had been turned off and almost all of the windows that he could see were in darkness. Only one or two passing cars broke the stillness of the night.
Thomas took a deep breath of the cool air and then walked down the steps, shutting the door behind him. The house was only three away from the main road, and Thomas turned immediately into it, heading toward the bridge over the River Thames. He had driven across it with his mother earlier in the evening when they were coming back from the restaurant. It had been covered with tiny white lights, and theyd stopped on the other side to look at it properly because it was so pretty. The Albert Bridge it was called. Named for the husband of Queen Victoria, the Prince Consort. The one whod died young and broken the Queens heart.
However, Thomas didnt get as far as the river. Two young men with baseball caps turned back to front appeared suddenly, coming toward him up the street. One was walking half in the gutter, and the other was running a beer can along the black railings of the houses so that Thomas realized he would have to pass between them. He could not turn back, as he was too close to them, and there was no one else in sight. He accelerated to get the moment over with, but just before he drew level they both moved into the center of the sidewalk, knocking his shoulders so that he almost lost balance.
Nothing else happened, however. Behind him, Thomas could hear them laughing as they carried on down the street.
Stupid little cunt, one of them said. Did you see the look on his face?
Thomas didnt hear the other reply. He carried on, walking slowly down the street, cursing himself for his stupidity in going out so late. His mother had told him to be careful, that London was a dangerous place, and she hadnt even been talking about walking deserted streets after midnight. He hoped that the noise of the beer can on the railings wouldnt wake her up, send her into his room to find him gone, but soon it had faded into the distance and he felt safe to turn around and head for home.
Hed gotten almost as far as the little side street when he saw them at the top of the road. They were coming back toward him. They were still walking but quicker, more purposefully than before, and Thomas felt desperately in his pockets for the house key. His mother had given it to him when they first arrived, and he was sure that he had brought it with him when he came out.
They were closer now, and Thomas could see their faces. They were laughing, and one of them was punching the fist of one hand into the open palm of the other. They could see him too, feel his fear.
Got lost, have you, cunt? said one. Why dont you come here and Ill give you some fucking directions.
The other one laughed.
Got any money? he asked. Got a phone?
Panic had momentarily paralyzed Thomas as they approached, but when the second youth spoke he felt his strength return. He dashed suddenly to his right down the little side street, and in two seconds he was trembling by the streetlight outside his house.
There was clearly no time to lose. He could hear them coming toward the corner. It was obviously worse than pointless running up the front steps if he had no key, and the thugs would catch him if he ran on down the side street. They were three or four years older than him and a lot quicker. He took his only chance and ran down the stone steps into the basement area by the front door of Gretas apartment.
Hed noticed the house trash cans down there earlier, but when he got to the bottom of the steps they were nowhere in sight. Someone must have moved them since the afternoon. A second later he saw where theyd gone. They were just inside the open entrance to a vault under the sidewalk. Thomas dashed in, taking care not to make any noise. In normal circumstances nothing would have frightened Thomas more than going into a pitch-black vault, but now he went right inside without hesitation, grateful for the enshrouding darkness.
He was not a moment too soon. The two youths had stopped on the sidewalk just above his head.
Hes gone down in one of these fucking basements. Thats where hes gone, said the one whod offered to give Thomas directions.
No, he hasnt, said the other. Wed have seen him if hed done that. Im not fucking blind, even if you are. Come on, well catch him if were quick.
Thomas heard the sound of them setting off at a run down the side street. He wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt and pressed his hand hard against the left side of his chest, covering the pain of his racing heart.
Breathing deeply, he stepped out of the vault into the basement area so that he was standing outside the front window of Gretas flat. It was less than five feet away. The bottom half of the window was open, raised no more than six inches from the sill. It had been shut earlier in the day and the curtains had been half open, whereas now they were closed. Thomas noticed the difference because hed been down in the vault after lunch part of exploring the house with no risks attached because his mother had said that his father and Greta would be away until the following evening. Hed looked in through the window and seen the gas fire and the two armchairs and behind them a table and chair and a bookcase. Everything neat and tidy. He couldnt see into the room now, but he could hear voices. One was too soft to make out, but the other was close and Thomas recognized it almost immediately as Gretas.
Youll just have to be patient. Its not that difficult.
Thomas couldnt hear if the other voice replied, but a moment later Greta was speaking again. She seemed to be just on the other side of the curtains.
No, you listen to me. You can wait a little longer. Thats what we agreed.
Another pause and then her voice came again. It was farther away this time.