Silver Tears Page 2

  It wouldn’t be long before she had to put the mask back on again—play the role that had become hers in her home country. But tonight, she could be who she wanted to be. She continued to walk until she came to a beautiful cobbled square. She wandered deeper into the labyrinth of winding lanes.

  You have to lose yourself to rise again, she thought to herself.

  A man disengaged himself from the shadows and offered her his wares in a hoarse whisper. Faye merely shook her head. A large door bathed in the yellow hue of the streetlights opened softly and two people—a man and a woman—who had been waiting outside stepped through it.

  Faye stopped and looked around before changing tack and heading for the door, which had closed again. There was a small doorbell. A camera above her. She pressed the button, listening for the sound but hearing nothing. Eventually, the lock clicked and the door slipped open. An enormous room filled with beautiful people and the sound of clinking glasses opened up before her. Directly ahead of her there was a glass wall and beyond it a magnificent terrace. The illuminated ruins of the Colosseum shone like the wreckage of a spaceship in the distance.

  A large mirror with a gilded frame allowed her to see well-dressed, faceless shadows chatting in groups behind her. The women were young, beautiful, and tastefully made up, wearing elegant short dresses. The men were generally somewhat older, but also looked good—radiating the calm and self-confidence that wealth so often gave. The small fragments of conversation that reached her were in Italian. Glasses were being refilled, drained, refilled.

  Not far from her, a couple was kissing. Faye scrutinized them with fascination, unable to tear her gaze away from them. They were young—perhaps twenty-five or so. He was tall and handsome in that Italian way, with stylish stubble, a powerful nose, and dark hair combed into a side part. She was wearing an expensive bone-white dress that fit tightly around her hips and emphasized her slender waist. Her dark brown hair was up in a simple arrangement.

  They were clearly so infatuated that they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Again and again, his long fingers would slip up the inside of her tanned thigh. Faye smiled. When her eyes met those of the woman, she didn’t lower her own gaze—instead, she calmly contemplated the couple. She raised her drink—a whiskey sour—to her mouth. Once upon a time, she had been in love like that. But that love had suffocated her, turning her into an inert thing with no will of its own, contained within a gilded cage.

  Faye’s train of thought was interrupted by the young woman, who suddenly came over to her.

  “My fiancé and I wonder whether you’d like to have a drink with us,” she said in English.

  “You don’t look like you want company,” Faye said with amusement.

  “We’d like yours. You’re very beautiful.”

  She was called Francesca and had been born in the city of Porto Alegre, near the Atlantic coast in Brazil. She worked as a model and was also a painter. He was called Matteo and his family owned a hotel and restaurant empire. He painted too, although he wasn’t as good as Francesca, he explained with a slight smile. They were friendly, polite, and made her laugh. Their zest for life and unconcernedness were infectious. Faye became caught up with them and had another two drinks. She was dazzled by their beauty, youth, and love for each other without feeling any envy. She didn’t miss having a man. She wanted to control her own life without thinking about someone else all the time. But she loved seeing these two together.

  After an hour, Matteo excused himself and departed in the direction of the men’s bathrooms.

  “We’re about to leave,” Francesca said.

  “Me too. I’m traveling home tomorrow.”

  “Would you like to come back to ours for a while and continue the evening?”

  Faye weighed up the offer without dropping her gaze. She could catch up on the lost sleep on her way home. She didn’t want the evening to come to an end—not yet. She wanted to see more of them.

  * * *

  —

  The taxi pulled up outside a looming, stately looking building. Matteo paid and they got out of the car and were let inside by a liveried doorman. The apartment was on the top floor and had huge panoramic windows and a balcony facing a pretty park. The walls were covered with black-and-white photographs. When Faye examined them more closely she realized that some of them were of Francesca. Some kind of Italian pop was playing from the speakers. Behind her, Matteo was mixing drinks from a selection of spirits on a drinks trolley. Francesca told a story that made Faye laugh harder than she had in a long time.

  Faye sat down on an enormous cream-colored couch beside Francesca. Matteo passed them their drinks before sitting down on the other side of Faye. Her head was spinning pleasantly with intoxication. The murmur from the street below had a calming effect but at the same time she was filled with tense expectation and excitement.

  Francesca put her drink on the coffee table, leaned in slowly, pushing down the thin shoulder strap of the red dress with soft fingers, and kissed Faye on the collarbone. Waves of warmth raced through her body. Matteo twisted her head toward him, his lips getting closer before he feinted away, grazing his mouth across her throat and nuzzling her neck before kissing her. Francesca’s hand softly caressed her thigh, moving up, stopping at the last moment and appearing teasingly at the small of her back. It was like being in a dream.

  They undressed her first, then themselves.

  “I want to see the two of you,” Faye whispered. “Together.”

  Jack’s face appeared in her mind’s eye—she thought about the time he had talked about inviting a woman to join them. Faye had refused. Not because she found the idea unappealing—but because it had always been so apparent that it was for his sake. It was different for Francesca and Matteo. Faye was there for both of them. It wasn’t because they’d grown weary of each other, but because their love and attraction was so strong that it was brimming over and there was enough for one more. And she was taking delight from the entire situation.

  Faye groaned when Matteo bent her over—across Francesca—and pushed into her from behind. Faye stared into the Brazilian’s wide eyes as her fiancé thrust into her. Francesca’s mouth was half-open, her eyes inquisitive, intense.

  “I like seeing you fuck her, baby,” Francesca whispered to Matteo.

  She was a means for them to strengthen their solidarity, although she was also included.

  When Faye was close to coming, Matteo pulled out of her. The deep couch was a tangle of their naked, sweaty bodies. Faye had never experienced anything as intimate as becoming part of these beautiful, infatuated people’s pleasure. Her body trembled as Francesca moved closer to her. They exchanged a look as they got onto all fours at the end of the couch and curved their backs. Matteo stood behind them, first penetrating Francesca and then Faye, before moving his cock between them. Finally, Faye reached climax. She cried out loud. Matteo couldn’t contain himself any longer; his breathing was becoming heavier.

  “In her,” Francesca panted.

  Faye felt him get harder before he exploded.

  Afterward, they moved still entwined and lay down in the big bed in the adjacent bedroom—all three of them. They passed a cigarette between themselves, still breathing deeply. Faye set the alarm clock on her mobile to make sure she didn’t oversleep, before trying to drift off. After half an hour, she gave up. She carefully disentangled herself and clambered out of bed without waking the couple. They stirred slightly in their sleep, wrapped their arms around each other, and crept closer in the warm patch where Faye had been lying.

  Naked, she poured a glass of champagne from an open bottle and then took both out onto the balcony. The city was filled with sound and light. Faye sat down on a lounger and perched her feet on the rail. A warm summer breeze caressed her naked body, making it tingle and tickle. But what should have been a perfect moment was marred by thoughts of
Kerstin’s expression as she had looked at the monitor in the study just before Faye had left the house the previous day. Not much upset Kerstin. She was a rock against which other rocks crumbled into dust. Something was up.

  Faye sipped the champagne thoughtfully while her thoughts careered away. There was so much that could go wrong in a company as big as Revenge, especially given the sizable investments they had made. Big money, big investments, big profits—but also big risks. Nothing was certain. Nothing was unshakable. Faye of all people knew that much.

  She turned around and saw the beautiful couple lying in bed inside. She smiled at them. Right now, she didn’t want to think about Kerstin’s troubled face; right now, she didn’t want to think about everything that lay ahead. She wanted something else.

  “Mommy!”

  Julienne came running toward Faye and gave her a wet hug.

  “Don’t run on the paving stones!” Ingrid called out from over by the rattan sofas.

  “Now you’re wet, Mommy,” Julienne said with concern once she had disengaged from the hug and saw that the front of Faye’s blouse had a damp patch on it.

  “It doesn’t matter, sweetheart. It’ll dry out. But what’s this? Haven’t you got out of the pool since I left?”

  “Nope.” Julienne giggled. “I slept in the pool and ate in the pool too.”

  “Fancy that—I thought I had a little girl, but it turns out she was actually a mermaid!”

  “Yes! Like Ariel!”

  “Just like Ariel.”

  Faye stroked her daughter’s wet hair, which had begun to shimmer a slightly greenish shade.

  “I’m going upstairs to unpack, be back down soon,” she called to Ingrid, who merely nodded and returned to her book. She had clearly begun to trust Julienne’s capabilities in the pool a little more.

  Faye climbed the stairs and carried her bag into the bedroom. She quickly wriggled out of the wet blouse and the other clothes she had been traveling in and changed into a soft cotton loungewear set. She stowed the wheelie bag in her walk-in closet. Her Girl Friday, Paola, would unpack it later.

  The bed looked so inviting that Faye lay down on top of the covers with her hands clasped behind her head, allowing herself to relax. The thought of what had happened in the bed in Rome made her smile to herself. She yawned and could feel how tired she was—she had literally not slept a wink during the night. On the other hand, she had slept all the way home. She didn’t want to risk nodding off now, but over the years she had learned the art of taking a few minutes’ absolute rest before getting up with more energy. The trick was to resist the impulse to close your eyes, so she looked around and let her eyes linger on both the details and the big picture.

  The bedroom was her oasis. There was also a light color palette here—crisp white and a soft shade of blue. Sleek, elegant furnishing—nothing too heavy. Nothing like the enormous, solid desk that she had bought as a gift for Jack, solely because it had once belonged to Ingmar Bergman. Jack had loved that kind of thing. Big gestures. Major bragging rights. Being able to show visitors around the house and casually mention that this desk they happened to be passing had belonged to the great director.

  Faye contemplated her own neat white desk with satisfaction. It had never been owned by any autocratic, self-satisfied lecherous old bastard who had conned and exploited the women in his life. It had only ever belonged to her. Without the weight of what had gone before. Just like Faye. She had disentangled herself from her own story. Reshaped herself.

  She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The anxiety about what Kerstin had said was beginning to make itself felt again. It could no longer be postponed. Kerstin’s study had been empty earlier, so Faye assumed she was in her bedroom. Kerstin often liked to take a siesta, but Faye always tried to avoid thinking about the fact that she was no spring chicken any longer—that she had seen both sides of seventy. The very thought that Kerstin wouldn’t always be there at her side was enough to give Faye palpitations. The loss of her best friend, Chris, to cancer had brought home to her all too clearly that nothing and no one could be taken for granted. And besides, death had been a part of her life for far too long.

  She tapped on Kerstin’s bedroom door.

  “Are you awake?”

  “I’m not asleep.”

  Kerstin sat up drowsily when Faye came into the room. She reached for her glasses on the nightstand, her eyes clouded with sleep.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “I wasn’t sleeping,” said Kerstin, standing up and smoothing her trousers. “I was just resting my eyes for a moment.”

  Faye wrinkled her nose slightly at the scent of patchouli in Kerstin’s spacious bedroom. After she had met Bengt, who was posted to the Swedish Consulate in Mumbai, on a flight, she had begun to spend an increasing amount of time in India. She had gotten involved with an orphanage and always traveled out with great quantities of necessities for the children. The only thing was, she would return with gaudy gold-tasseled souvenirs to “brighten up” the muted color palette of Faye’s lounge. Paola was under strict instructions that any such items were to be returned to “Ms. Karin’s room.” They had quickly given up all attempts at teaching the irascible Italian to pronounce Kerstin the Swedish way, so they had settled upon the rather more simple Karin by way of compromise.

  “Do you miss Bengt?”

  Kerstin snorted and put on a pair of slippers that were neatly stowed at the foot of the bed.

  “At my age, you don’t miss each other. It’s like…something else when you’re a little older.”

  “Oh, that’s bullshit,” Faye said with a grin. “Paola has been gossiping about how ‘Ms. Karin has much nicer underwear now.’ ”

  “Faye!”

  Kerstin blushed all the way down to her neck and Faye couldn’t resist the impulse to wrap her arms around her.

  “I’m so happy for you, Kerstin. But I hope he’s not planning to claim you on a full-time basis. We need you here too.”

  “Don’t worry. After a while over there, I get sick of him.” But Kerstin’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Come on, let’s go down to the study. I’ve got something I have to show you.”

  They descended the stairs in silence. Faye could feel her heart sinking with each step they took. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  * * *

  —

  Kerstin sat down behind her desk and switched on the computer, which began to whir. Faye settled down in one of the two large Chippendale armchairs in front of the desk. Although the ban on gaudy trinkets extended to Kerstin’s study, Faye had decorated it with Kerstin in mind. In addition to her recently discovered delight in all things Indian, Kerstin had one great passion in her life: Winston Churchill. So Faye had ensured her study was done out in a classic English style with a modern twist. The pièce de résistance was a huge framed photograph of Winston Churchill in pride of place on the wall above the desk.

  Kerstin turned the display toward Faye, who leaned forward and tried to bring order to the figures flickering past on the screen. She was most certainly knowledgeable in the financial aspects of the business world, but Kerstin had proven herself to be the true expert. Winston stared down at them sternly, but Faye avoided looking at the picture. Right now, she didn’t need the judgmental gaze of a man.

  “I’ve been looking after Revenge’s shareholder register since you’ve got so much on your plate with the American expansion and the new stock issue. Before you left for Rome, two shareholders had sold their holdings. And now another three have gone.”

  “To the same buyer?”

  Kerstin shook her head.

  “No, but I can’t shake the feeling that they all seem to be synchronized.”

  “Do you think someone is trying to take over Revenge?”

  “Perhaps,” said Kerstin, looking at her over the top of h
er reading glasses. “I fear that may be what we’re facing.”

  Faye leaned back in the armchair. Her body was tense and every one of her veins throbbed with adrenaline. She forced herself to remain calm, even though her thoughts were running away with her. It was too soon for speculation. What she needed more than anything right now were facts.

  “Who’s selling?”

  “I’ve printed a list for you.”

  Kerstin pushed a sheet of paper over to Faye. Kerstin knew her well. Faye always wanted critical business information printed instead of just reading it on a screen. She would have to save the trees by other means.

  “I don’t get it…Why are they selling?”

  “There’s no time for sentimentality right now. First we need to evaluate the situation—you need to get up to speed with everything while I keep digging. We can be pissed off later. But not now. It takes energy we can’t afford to waste right now.”

  Faye nodded slowly. She knew Kerstin was right. Nevertheless, it was hard to refrain from speculating about which of the women she had trusted was selling her shares in Revenge. Behind her back.

  “I want us to go through everything together. Line by line,” she said.

  Kerstin nodded.

  “Let’s get started.”

  Faye looked at her and then returned her gaze to the sheet of paper. Something turned over anxiously in her gut. She hadn’t predicted this. And that worried her more than anything else.

  The house was silent. Everyone had gone to bed. Everyone except Faye. She was still up with the list, going through it over and over. Trying to collect her thoughts.

  The figures danced before her eyes. She was tired and dejected—the latter an emotion she hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since Jack. And it was one she disliked intensely. Forbidden thoughts began to creep up on her. What if it was already too late? What if they could no longer save Revenge? What if she had let down her guard so much over the last two years that enemies had been able to sneak up behind her unnoticed? She would never be able to forgive herself. Weakness was something she had left behind. With Jack. He was the carrier of her weakness, and he bore it as close to himself as the ill-fitting prison clothing.