The Fury(37)

“No. Maybe we’ll go out. I can’t think now.… I’m going to have a bath.”

“I’ll run it for you.”

“I can manage.”

Agathi nodded. She watched Lana for a moment. It was unlike Agathi to offer an unsolicited opinion. But she was about to make an exception.

“Lana. Are you—okay? You’re not, are you?”

Lana didn’t reply.

“We can leave right now—if you want.” Agathi gave Lana an encouraging smile. “Let me take you home.”

“Home?” Lana looked confused. “Where’s that?”

“London, of course.”

Lana shook her head. “London isn’t home.”

“Then where?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what to do.”

She got up. She walked into the bathroom. She turned on the taps and ran her bath.

When she returned to the bedroom, a few minutes later, Agathi was no longer there. But she had left something behind.

The crystal pendant was there, on the dressing table, glinting in the sunlight.

Lana picked it up. She looked at it. She didn’t believe in magic; but she didn’t know what to believe in anymore. She dangled the pendant over her palm.

She stared at it, her lips moving—as she murmured a silent question.

Almost at once, the crystal began to twitch, jolt, dance in the air.

A tiny circular movement—that grew and grew, above her outstretched palm—wider, and higher … a circle, spinning in the air.



* * *



Outside the house, on the ground, a solitary leaf moved.

The leaf was lifted up into the air by an unseen force—spinning it in a circle. The circle grew bigger and wider, higher and higher … as the winds appeared …

And the fury began.





15





The fury was an apt name, I thought, given Kate’s mood.

She had been spoiling for a fight all through dinner at Yialos. Now that we were back at the house, she seemed intent on finding one.

I thought it best to keep out of her way. So I remained outside, by the French windows, smoking the joint. From that safe vantage point, I watched the drama unfold in the living room.

Kate was pouring herself another large whiskey. Jason went over to her. He stood there awkwardly and spoke in a low voice.

“You’ve had enough to drink.”

“This one is for you.” Kate thrust the tumblerful of whiskey at him. “Take it.”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t want it.”

“Why not? Go on, drink it.”

“No.”

“I think,” Lana said firmly, “we should all go to bed.” She stared at Kate for a moment; a warning look, if ever I saw one. And for a second, it looked like Kate might back down.

But no. Kate accepted the challenge. She tore off her red shawl, twirling it in the air like a red flag in a bullfight—and threw it onto the back of the couch.

Then she brought the glass of whiskey to her lips and drank it all in one go.

Lana was poker-faced but I could tell she was furious. “Jason, can we go upstairs? I’m feeling tired.”

Kate reached out and grabbed hold of Jason’s arm. “No, Jason. Stay right there.”

“Kate—”

“I mean it,” Kate said. “Don’t go. You’ll regret it, if you go.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

He removed Kate’s hand from his arm—a bad move, I thought. I knew it would enrage her. I was right.

“Fuck you.”

Jason looked startled. He wasn’t expecting that level of anger. My heart went out to him, almost.

I understood now. Kate’s anger had betrayed her: this whole charade was for Jason’s benefit, not mine or Lana’s. It was Jason Kate was mad at.

Lana understood this, too. She had the unnerving instinct of a great actor. She knew this was her cue.

As always, she underplayed her delivery: “Jason. Make a decision, please.”

“What?”

“You must choose.” Lana nodded at Kate, not taking her eyes off Jason. “Me or her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

There was a slight pause. Jason’s face was a sight to behold—like witnessing a car crash in slow motion. Caught between these two women, this was about to end badly for him. Unless he managed somehow to prevent it.

What Jason did next would be most revealing. Barbara West once told me an old writing trick—where you give currency to a specific person, or object, by including them in a choice between two alternatives. What you are prepared to give up for something tells us everything about how much you value it.

Jason had a clear choice here—between Kate and Lana. We were about to discover—if we were in any doubt—whom he valued the most.

Barbara would have loved this, I thought. Just the kind of situation she’d steal and put into a book.

Thinking of Barbara made me smile—which was unfortunate, as I realized Jason was staring at me, a look of fury on his face. “What the fuck? You think this is funny, you evil prick?”