Brian Warbrick gloomily gazed through the train window at the passing countryside. There was nothing new to see; everything was all too familiar as he made this monthly journey. He was a Yorkshireman with all the characteristics associated with the people of that county. His voice was redolent of the north, flat-toned with short vowels, though only slightly accented. He was taciturn and appeared to be dour.
As a department manager in a large American owned manufacturer of bathroom equipment he was in a position of some responsibility. In earlier days, years before he had started work there, the locally owned firm had made boilers, but an American take-over had led to a change of policy. Boilers were out; fancy bathrooms were in.
Once a month there was a departmental meeting held in the London headquarters of the company. There were two more factories in the UK as well as several others in various parts of the world. The American bosses liked to keep an eye on their world-wide organisation and that meant key people gathering to make their reports. Brian couldn't help thinking that computers could do just as good a job without the necessity of meeting face to face.
Nevertheless, until two years earlier the trip had always been welcome as his wife, Marie, accompanied him She spent the day looking around Oxford Street shops, whilst he was in the meeting. In the evening they went to the theatre or a concert. It was a regular interval in the daily routine and both of them looked forward to it.
Brian was twenty when they married, Marie being a year younger, and were close to their twelfth anniversary when tragedy struck. The street was bereft of traffic as Marie began to cross it. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a car screeched towards her at high speed. It was driven by a fourteen year old boy who had 'borrowed' it from his father. Marie didn't stand a chance. She was dead upon arrival at the hospital; so was the baby she was carrying.
The couple had loved each other deeply since their teen years and were inseparable. Losing his wife reduced Brian to a pale, silent shadow who had no interest in work or pleasure, in life itself. If he had contemplated suicide he kept quiet about it, but his friends and relatives believed he was often close to it.
Aged only thirty-four, Brian's hair was greying, there were dark shadows under his eyes, his face was permanently veiled in a sad mask and he walked with hunched shoulders. Although not previously renowned for his gaiety, now he was positively melancholy, refusing all attempts to lighten his load.
"You can't go on like this, Brian." His sister, Andrea, had invited herself to his house.
"Like what?"
"Sitting cooped up in here brooding about what might have been, but will most certainly not be. Not with Marie, anyway."
"You don't have to remind me. I have nightmares about that car and the fourteen year old maniac behind the wheel. Night after night I see Marie being hit and rolling over and over as the wheels go over her - all four of them!" He put his head in his hands.
Andrea gently put her arm round her brother's shoulder. "I'm not saying it's easy to forget, love. I don't suppose you ever will. Something like that's awful; and with the baby, as well. Two lives, just like that. And the boy didn't get more than a wagging finger and a bit of community service. But, let's face it, there's no real way to pay for what he did and nothing's going to change things. What's done is done. You're still here and you've got to get on with your life."
"I am. Best I can."
"No, love." Andrea shook her head. "No. That's just what you're not doing. You're stagnating, not going anywhere and seeing no-one."
"I go to work every day."
"Bet you wouldn't even do that if you didn't need to earn money. If you were a millionaire you'd wrap yourself up in a cocoon and shut out the rest of the world entirely."
"Maybe."
"When you go to London nowadays, what do you do?"
"Attend meetings. Endless meetings."
"But after. You and Marie used to have a night out."
"That was the two of us together. Now I stay in the hotel and go to bed early."
Andrea clucked in disapproval. "It's time you went out again."
"It's only been two years."
"It's time, love." She squeezed his shoulder.
"I don't like going to the theatre by myself."
"Then find someone to go with you."
Brian pulled away from her, walked across the room and looked out of the window. "It's not as easy as that. I don't know how. It was all so natural with Marie. I didn't have to think about it. We met, we fell in love, we decided to get married. I've no idea how it happened; it just did. I....I can't think about trying to make it happen again. Besides, it's too soon. I don't want to forget Marie."
"You don't have to - and you won't. But, she's the past, love, no matter how loud you shout and kick. She's gone; faded into a memory. But she'll always be there as a memory. No matter who you might meet now - even if you love her as much as you loved Marie....."
"Impossible!" Brian retorted.
"No, love," said Andrea, softly. "There's more than one right person for all of us; the snag is finding them. Once, you're lucky; twice is a miracle, but it does happen."
"What the hell do you know about it? You're divorced."
Andrea shrugged. "Nigel wasn't the right one. I've still to find him, but I'll keep on looking until I do, or until I'm too old to try any more." She crossed to him and laid her hand on his. "You keep looking, too."
Disembarking from the train at King's Cross, Brian swiftly made his way to the cab rank and climbed into a waiting taxi ahead of the queue that would inevitably form with the new arrivals. The pavements were crowded with hurrying people of all ages, shapes, sizes and nationalities. Stopped at traffic lights, he studied the young women passing-by; how was he supposed to get to know any of them? After the meeting he could go to a bar, he supposed. But he drank very little and was completely incapable of chatting to a stranger, male or female. He needed time; and time was something he lacked.
He thought about the women he knew, nearly all of them associated with work in one capacity or another. Many of them were around his age and attractive enough, but he never thought of them as anything but colleagues and knew little about them personally. Anyway, he disliked relationships in the work-place; too distracting. No, it was impossible; he could never find someone to take out.
The answer came quite by chance. He suddenly became aware of some litter on the floor of the cab. He bent down and picked it up. It was a business card. A casual glance told him that the business was an escort agency.
Escort.
That could be the solution to his problem. There was a play in town he fancied seeing; it had a good cast and the reviews were excellent. Reading about it in his Sunday paper had whetted his appetite. He could go by himself; many people did. After all, you sit in the theatre and get taken into a different world. You can't talk; it's an anti-social event. On the other hand, it's nice to be with someone; to be able to discuss the play with them; to have a meal; to have.....
"Ridiculous," he said out loud. The taxi driver on the other side of the glass partition didn't hear him.
Ridiculous; but on the other hand he hated the thought of going alone. Paying someone to keep him company seemed a pretty desperate measure and he had a slight feeling of self-loathing, but it was that or nothing.
During the lunch break Brian used his mobile to phone the agency and then to book tickets for the play. He was all set.
*****
"Is Toby all right?" Christine anxiously asked.
"In a bad way," replied her sister, Margie, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
"Oh, no!"
"But the doctors think he'll pull through all right. Some broken bones and squashed bits."
"That doesn't sound very medical."
"You know me. I run a mile from anything to do with illness and injuries. I couldn't take in everything they were saying."
"Burying your head in the sand," Christine grimly said.
"I suppose so." Margie sniffed. "You were always much better than I was at dealing with unpleasant things."
Christine took her sister's hand. "You've had more to deal with than I have, I must admit. A difficult birth, a rocky marriage, financial trouble..."
"The list is endless." Margie sniffed again, feeling truly sorry for herself.
"What happened to Toby?"
"I only took my eyes off him for one moment. He dashed into the road and right into the path of a car. The poor driver is shattered. I'm sure he's blaming himself, but it really wasn't his fault. There was nothing he could do."
"Yes, it must make you feel pretty wretched when you knock somebody over - especially a four-year old boy."
"If it was anybody's fault it was mine."
"These things happen so quickly. Can I see Toby?"
"You can go in, but he's been heavily sedated so he's out of it. Also, there are so many bandages wrapped round him you can hardly see anything of the boy."
"All the same, I'd like to see him."
"Of course."
After a brief word to the nurse they were both admitted to the small private room where poor Toby lay. He resembled a mummy and was completely unaware of everything. They stood in silence for a while then quietly left.
"Are you staying in the hospital?" Christine asked.
Margie nodded. "I'd better. I want to be here when he comes round. The poor little mite won't know where he is or why he's hurting and wrapped up."
"I'd better get back to work. I'll ring you later and see how the patient's getting on."
Margie put a hand on her sister's arm, detaining her. "There's..." she hesitated. "There's a big favour I want of you."
"Of course. Anything."
"Don't be too hasty. You won't like this one."
"Don't be silly, love. You need help and I'm here for you."
"Let's sit down."
"Is it that serious?"
"Yes."
They found seats in a large open-area waiting room which already held a number of other people, but there was no-one too close to them. Margie didn't look at her sister as she talked, finding it difficult to broach the subject.
"Since...since Rob left us for that other woman -" she couldn't even call her by name - "it's been a real struggle. Financially I mean."
"I know. Do you need me to help?"
"Yes, but not with money."
"Then what?"
"You won't like this."
"Try me."
"Rob left me with a lot of money problems and I needed to get a job. I don't have much to offer an employer and certainly not one who's going to give me a decent salary."
Christine frowned. "What's all this leading up to?"
"A confession."
"About what?"
"How I make money."
There was a long silence. Christine sat frozen to the seat. Surely her sister wasn't saying...did she mean....? The answers to her questions didn't bear thinking about.
Margie broke the silence. "I have one good asset. Even Rob admitted that. A trim body, nicely rounded boobs and I'm a good fuck."
"That's three assets," Christine distractedly murmured.
"I've put my talents to use, that's all."
"That's all? You've become a prostitute and the best you can say is 'that's all'."
Christine spoke rather loudly and Margie glanced around to see if anybody had heard. There was a man who was looking in their direction. She thought he was grinning.
"Keep your voice down."
"I'm sorry, but it's come as a something of a shock. My instinct is to shout and rave at my younger sister for becoming a whore."
"It isn't quite like that."
Christine raised her eyebrows. "No? Then how is it?"
"I'm not a prostitute. Not really."
"How can you be not really a prostitute? Either you are or you aren't."
Margie sighed. "You see everything in such black and white terms."
"How else?"
"There's also grey."
"Um. I've never been sure about that one."
"You don't know what it's like to struggle; to try and make sense out of a topsy-turvy life. I want stability - for Toby as well as myself. But first I have to get out from under this mound of debt. So I became an escort. There's good money in it."
"An escort? Isn't that the same as being a call girl?"
"Not quite."
"Ah." Christine nodded. "I see. We're in the grey area."
"I'm only an escort. I accompany a man to a function, theatre, concert or dinner. Whatever. I get a pretty good fee for that. A hundred and fifty pounds an hour."
"What!"
The interested man was looking again.
"Sh."
"Sorry," Christine whispered.
"Of course, I don't get it all. I have to give a percentage to the agency."
"And all you do is escort a man?"
"For the fee - yes."
Christine looked suspiciously at her sister. "What does that mean? For the fee?"
"That's all I'm contracted for. Should I decide to offer more intimate and private services then there's an additional negotiable payment. But that's completely up to me. If I fancy him."
"But even though you fancy him, he still pays."
"Yes."
"You're a prostitute."
Margie sighed. "If you will."
"When we started this conversation you mentioned me doing you a big favour. I only hope it's not what I'm thinking."
"I have a booking tonight. It was made minutes before Toby's accident. I can't manage it with him in here, but I can't lose the money."
"My God, Margie. It is what I'm thinking. You can't be serious."
"Look upon it as a blind date."
"You don't get paid to have a blind date," Christine said grimly.
"Actually, you wouldn't be getting paid. The money is for me."
"You're splitting hairs."
"Please, Christine. I know how much you must hate the mere idea, but I really need the money."
"Perhaps if I stayed with Toby," Christine suggested.
"I think he'll want his mother, don't you?" Margie gently replied.
"Yes." Christine sighed in resignation. "All right. I'll do it. But don't expect me to make a habit of it."
Margie searched through her handbag. "I've got the instructions here. I go under the name of MaryAnn, by the way. It helps to protect my real identity." She handed over a piece of paper and hugged her sister. "Thanks. I won't forget this."
"Give my love to Toby when he comes round."
"I will."
They waved as Christine left the room.
*****
It was a long day and Brian was tired. The meeting had been acrimonious after it was revealed that the American parent company was setting new targets; impossible targets, many said. Recently there had been an alarming slump in sales and a good deal of shouting had achieved absolutely nothing. Luckily, he wasn't in the firing line, so he could sit back and indulge himself in feeling sorry for those who were.
He checked into his usual hotel in the heart of the West End. It was nearly five-thirty. He only had an hour before meeting his...what was she? He hated the thought of spending an evening with an escort; companion didn't sound right and she wasn't really a date. Confound it! What had he let himself in for? Andrea must really have got to him.
After a quick shower he dressed and went down to the restaurant.
"Table for one, sir?" enquired the waiter.
"Er, yes."
Perhaps he should have arranged for his escort to have dinner with him, but the thought hadn't occurred to him until just now. On the other hand, it would probably have been a bad idea. Some stranger sitting opposite him instead of Marie. Trying to make polite conversation. No, the less time they had together the better. It would be all right in the darkness of the theatre.
Brian ordered a lasagne and drink. The service was a little slow and he had barely finished the meal when he looked at his watch and found it was time to meet...what was her name, for God's sake? The woman at the other end of the phone had told him when he had made the booking, but he had completely forgotten. What an idiot.
His mobile rang.
"Hello."
"Hello. Mr. Warbrick?"
"Yes."
"This is Chri - Maryann."
"Who?"
"Your escort tonight."
"Oh, yes of course." That was her name. He remembered now.
"I'm on my way. Be there in about ten minutes."
"Erm....right. That's fine."
Christine thought her client - or Maryann's client - or Margie's client - sounded nervous; almost reluctant to talk.
"Where shall we meet?"
"I'll....erm....I'll meet you in the reception area."
"How will I recognise you? Tall, dark and handsome, I suppose?" She gave a little laugh. It sounded hollow.
"Erm....no." There was no lightness in his reply. "I'll stand by the shop selling cameras, jewellery and so on."
"Right. Look forward to it."
Christine clicked off the phone. Um. He didn't sound too promising. Bit dour, at the very least. This was going to be a fun evening. Margie owed her big time for this favour. On the other hand, sisters should look after each other.
The taxi drew up in the forecourt of the hotel. Christine paid the driver and went inside, smiling shyly at the doorman who had opened the cab door. She suspected he probably had a pretty good idea why she was there, but maintained his impartial demeanour, though his eyes feasted on her trim figure as she went through the revolving door. Feeling embarrassed, she quickly entered the hotel lobby.
There was a lot of activity inside, but Christine spotted the shop easily enough; and, sure enough, a man was standing outside. Not over tall, dark hair, neat beard and well dressed. He looked as if he should have belonged in this environment, but somehow seemed awkward and ill-at-ease.
Christine crossed the lobby. "Mr. Warbrick?"
"Erm....yes." The man still sounded as dubious as he had on the phone.
Christine smiled, determined to be pleasant against all odds. "I'm your escort for tonight."
She held out her hand; the client looked at it for a moment, as if wondering what to do with it, then shook it in greeting.
"Yes, of course. Maryann, isn't it?"
"That's me."
"I thought we'd have a drink first. All right with you?"
"Of course, Mr. Warbrick. I'm paid to do what you want." She smiled again, then added: "Up to a point."
"Erm....quite. This way."
She followed him. He made no attempt to take her arm or even try and pretend they were together. Christine inwardly moaned; this was going to be a difficult evening. It was obvious that even polite conversation was beyond this man. Why did she have to get lumbered?
He found a table and sat down, waving his hand at Christine for her to follow suit. It was warm in the bar, so she slipped off her coat, putting it on an adjacent chair. She adjusted her tunic top, which had become slightly ruffled with the coat's removal, then sat down.
"You look...erm...." the client coughed; it was a single, totally artificial and unnecessary cough. "Most attractive."
Good God! A compliment. Dragged out of him, it was true, but nevertheless, a couple of flattering words.
"Thank you, Mr. Warbrick." Christine once again smiled sweetly. This was hard work.
"I don't think you need to be formal. After all, this is supposed to be a social evening." Christine thought that 'supposed' was an appropriate word. "I'm Brian."
"Pleased to meet you, Brian." Christine smiled and once again extended her hand.
"Oh...erm...yes. Likewise, Maryann." They shook hands for a second time.
A waiter appeared by their side.
"What would you like to drink?" Brian enquired.
"Gin and tonic would do nicely."
"Small brandy for me."
"Yes, sir." With a deferential nod of his head, the waiter departed to fulfil the order.
"You know the programme for tonight, do you?"
"No."
Brian frowned. "But I told the agency exactly where I was going and what sort of escort I required."
Christine shrugged. "Sorry. I know nothing about it."
"This is too bad. We're going to the theatre. I asked for someone who was interested. Are you?"
"Oh yes," Christine enthusiastically replied.. "I've seen all the musicals - well, most of them. 'Phantom of the Opera', 'Chicago', 'Mary Poppins'...."
Brian exploded. "Good God! Musicals! 'Mary Poppins'. That's not real theatre."
"It is for me."
"What about straight plays?"
"Non-musical, do you mean?"
"Yes."
Christine shook her head. "I've rarely seen one. A couple of Shakespeare's when I was at school and - something else a few years ago. Can't remember what it was. I wasn't very impressed."
"Oh, Lord." With his elbows on the table, Brian buried his face in his hands.
The waiter chose that moment to return with the drinks. "Are you all right, sir?" He sounded concerned.
"Yes, yes, yes." Brian removed his hands from his face and elbows from the table. "A minor problem, that's all."
The waiter placed the drinks down and presented the bill, which Brian signed, writing his room number. He put a tip - surprisingly generous, Christine noted - on the waiter's tray.
"Thank you, sir."
It was a bad start to the evening, but Christine became an Oscar winning actress and pretended that she was unaffected by Brian's rotten mood. The play, a comedy, was most amusing and she enjoyed it far more than she would have expected. In fact, she laughed so much that the rest of the audience was affected and, after a slow beginning, the whole atmosphere brightened.
After the play they went for another drink: "Before you go home."
That put an end to Christine's worry about the outcome of the evening. Sex was not on the agenda unless she offered it, according to Margie. But what if the man was persistent. Was it a case of giving in to keep him quiet? She wasn't at all sure. Brian Warbrick had just put her mind at rest; he didn't want it anyway. Strangely enough, she felt a little hurt that he should so obviously spurn her.
They went to a crowded and noisy bar not far from the theatre. Shouting, trying to hear each other above the chatter of other punters, was not conducive to conversation, so little was said. After a quarter of an hour they left and Brian hailed a taxi for Christine.
He opened the door. "You enjoyed yourself tonight, I think."
"Yes, I did. The play was really quite funny."
"It was supposed to be. When George Bernard Shaw wrote it I expect he was hoping for a few laughs."
"I've heard of him."
"I should hope so. He wrote 'Pygmalion' as well." There was no reaction. "Perhaps you know it as 'My Fair Lady'."
Christine smiled. "Oh yes, of course."
She stepped into the taxi and Brian slammed the door. Settling back into the seat she gave her address to the driver. As the cab pulled away she looked back through the rear window; Brian was still standing where she'd left him. She thought he looked forlorn and lost.
*****
"We have a problem," Margie announced.
"We do?" queried Christine.
"I have a booking for tomorrow."
"Don't ask. I'm not going to stand in for you again."
"Was is that bad?"
Christine shook her head. "No, it wasn't bad at all. Quite pleasant, in fact. He was a bit quiet and a little off-hand, but not unattractive. A man of few words; at least to me. He did tell me he was a widower. His wife was killed in a road accident - and their unborn child. Two years ago."
"It seems to me that he can't have been as off-hand as you suggested if he told you all that."
"No, maybe not. After an uncertain start we seemed to get on quite well."
"That's good."
"But I'm still not doing it again. I hated the thought of being paid to be charming to a perfect stranger."
"It wouldn't be a stranger tomorrow," Margie informed her sister.
"What do you mean?"
"It's him again."
"You mean Brian?" Christine looked surprised.
"Obviously you made a good impression. He specifically asked for Maryann. Nobody else would do."
"Really?" Christine couldn't help feeling a little pleased.
"That's why we have a problem. As far as he's concerned, you're Maryann."
"Oh dear, whatever can we do?"
"What I suggest is that you keep the appointment and when you get the chance tell him the truth. In future he can book Maryann - me - or someone else."
"He'll be furious at being tricked."
Margie smiled. "I don't think so. You'll explain it all very nicely and he'll fully understand the last minute emergency and how self-sacrificing you were."
"I hope so."
"Does that mean you'll do it?"
"For his sake, not yours."
"Thank you, sis." Margie lightly kissed Christine's cheek.
*****
He was there. Same place, same time. But there was a difference. His greeting was warmer with a hint of a smile. For her part, Christine was glad to be seeing him again. For the past month her thoughts had frequently drifted to their evening together. How long was it? He'd paid for three hours; perhaps it had been a little longer. Even so, a ridiculously short time for him to occupy her mind so much.
He ordered drinks.
"Are we going to the theatre again?" Christine asked.
He nodded. "Marie and I always took advantage of this monthly visit to London. There was usually something we wanted to see."
Christine smiled. "But not a musical."
"No, never."
"You're really a cultural snob, aren't you?"
Brian looked at her. "Do you think so?"
"To dismiss a very popular form of entertainment as nothing but rubbish...."
"I didn't say that," Brian protested.
"As good as. You dismissed it out of hand as not being theatre."
"Yes. I suppose I did."
"Where are we going tonight? Another comedy?"
"Afraid not. This one's a rather serious, weighty play, I'm afraid. 'Death of a Salesman'. Arthur Miller."
"I'll try not to snore."
They looked at each other for a moment then burst out laughing. He put his hand on hers. It was such a simple, unthinking and natural gesture that neither of them thought anything of it.
"It's a long play, that's why I've booked you for four hours."
Christine was brought back to reality with a start. This was not a date; it was a business arrangement. Her time had been paid for and she was nothing more than an escort. Perhaps this was when she should tell him the truth.
On the other hand, it might be better to leave it until the end. This was his night and she didn't want to spoil it. Heaven knows what his reaction might be.
Yes. That was it. Wait until after the play.
*****
Brian was right. It was a long play. And weighty. Nevertheless, Christine was caught up in the power of it and couldn't stop discussing it until they were back at his hotel.
"Can I tempt you with a nightcap?" Brian looked at his watch. "Or maybe not. It seems even four hours wasn't long enough. It's almost half past ten. The witching hour."
"I thought it was midnight when Cinderella turned back into a drudge."
"Is that what you do? Turn into a drudge."
"Not really. I work. It's a nothing very much job in a bank, but it keeps me off the streets."
"Does it?" Brian quietly asked.
Christine realised this was the moment.
"I don't care about the time. I'll have the drink with pleasure."
They made themselves comfortable in the hotel bar and Christine steeled herself to explain the true situation. Before she could open her mouth Brian took away the opportunity.
"I've enjoyed our two evenings with each other. I was totally devastated by the death of Marie. Could barely hold myself together. I tried getting drunk a couple of times to blot everything out, but it didn't work. All I got for my pains were two mighty hangovers. My sister, Andrea urged me to find someone else, but I'm not ready. That's why this escort thing is just right. When I come to London I'm not on my own."
"What about the rest of the time?" Christine enquired.
"I manage. It's a struggle, but I manage. Full of self pity, you see."
"You are rather."
He looked surprised. "You needn't agree with me."
"It's the truth."
"The truth can hurt sometimes."
"Yes. It can." Christine felt her chance had completely slipped away.
"I can't cope with a proper relationship, but a paid escort is the perfect answer. We get on very well together. Extraordinarily well."
"Yes, we do."
"So I'd like to make this a permanent arrangement. I'll give you a list of my dates and you make yourself available. Perhaps - for five hours."
"Only as an escort. No sex."
"Of course. Understood."
Christine sat back in her chair. She should tell him. This was not what she wanted. She wasn't an escort, for heaven's sake. It was her sister who was the escort. This was not what she wanted.
But what did she want? She was totally confused. A few hours in his company and she - she what? She was jealous. Jealous of a dead woman who had claimed all his love for herself. All he had left to give was money.
She should tell him.
And lose him completely.
But what did that matter? Love at first sight was only for silly romantic stories. It didn't happen in real life. You had to get to know somebody; all their idiosyncrasies and quirky little ways; all their foibles, tempers and flaws. Love didn't come out of the blue, just like that.
And yet...
She should tell him.
"Are you still with me?" His voice cut into her thoughts.
"Yes."
"What do you say? Does it present a problem to you?"
"Problem? Yes."
"Maybe you don't want to see me again."
"Oh, that's not the problem."
She should tell him. But the words stuck in her throat. If this was all she could have, at least for now, then she would have to be content.
"I agree."
Brian breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad."
"But don't phone the agency. I'll give you my number." She reached into her bag which, typically, was crammed full. Needless to say, pen and pad were to be found if she dug around long enough. "And Maryann is only the name I use for - for business purposes. My real name is Christine."
"I prefer it."
"Do you?"
"I'm not sure what a Maryann should be like, but somehow, not like you."
"Ah. Here it is." She finally found the pad. "Now all I need is a pen."
"Here." Brian offered her one.
"Thank you." She wrote out her name and telephone number. "I've put my mobile, too."
"I'll give you my card in case you want to get in touch. If I'm not to contact you through the agency what about payment?"
Damn. She hadn't thought of that. She didn't want paying anyway. Could she say this one's on me? No, that would be no good. The whole point was that he needed to pay for her company. It was his policy of non-emotional involvement.
"Give me a cheque."
"Right." He raised his glass. "To a successful arrangement."
Christine gave a weak smile. This was not what she wanted.
*****
"Feeling a little better, are you?" Christine asked.
The small boy, still heavily bandaged but sitting up in bed, managed a slight nod. "A little, Auntie."
She patted his hand. "That's good. Your mummy tells me you should be out of here next week."
"I'll be glad to go home."
"I'm sure you will." Christine bent over and gave Toby a brief kiss on the forehead. "I'll come again tomorrow. Mummy will be in later."
"Right."
Margie was waiting at home with the kettle boiled ready to make a cup of tea.
"I imagine he's looking better." Christine made herself comfortable on a settee. "It's a bit difficult to be certain with all those bandages. It's certainly been a long job."
"Nearly six months." Margie sighed. "I thought I'd lost him a number of times."
"Um. Very worrying."
There was a silence between the two women.
"How is it going?" Margie eventually asked.
"What?"
"You know what. Your punter, Mr. Brian Warbrick."
"He's not my punter."
"The only escort in the business with only one client."
"Leave off, won't you."
"That bad, is it?"
"I love him. He doesn't love me. The oldest story in the world. He thinks he has to pay me to keep him company."
"Tell him the truth."
"I can't. He only wants me as an escort once a month. It's not much, but I don't want to lose even that."
"That sounds pretty pathetic."
Christine sniffed. "I suppose it does."
"Have you taken it further?"
"Made love, you mean? No. We've been to the theatre, had dinner some drinks, but nothing more."
"Have you any idea what to charge if he asks?"
Christine shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I'm not doing it for money."
"You're taking it for escort services. That's only one step up."
"I suppose that's the grey area you talk about."
"Something like that."
"I'm not taking any money at all."
Margie looked surprised. "I thought you were pretending to be a paid escort. How do you do that without taking money?"
"He gives me a cheque, but I don't cash it."
Margie sighed. "What a waste of good money. You could always give it to me if you have a conscience about it."
"No, I couldn't. He would really be paying me for my company then."
"What's the difference? He thinks he's paying anyway."
"But I know he's not."
Margie shook her head in bewilderment. "You've got me, dear sis. Logic goes out of the window."
"Take my word for it; it's different."
"Whatever you say."
All the same, whenever Margie looked at her slim bank balance and thought of the money she could have been earning from Brian Warbrick she felt more than a little annoyed.
*****
Over the months the sessions had become longer. Brian now booked Christine from 6 until midnight.
"Less pressure on time. We can relax more." They were sitting in an up-market restaurant in Soho. "Did you enjoy the play tonight?"
"I found it a little confusing."
"It was a mystery, after all."
"Yes, but that doesn't mean you come away from it still mystified by the plot and characters."
"True. Perhaps we should see a musical next time."
Christine smiled. "Are you going slumming?"
Brian shook his head. "Not quite. 'Sunday In the Park With George' is on. I've seen it before, but would like to compare this new production."
"I don't know it. But, I'll look forward to it."
"It's a Stephen Sondheim piece. I consider him to be a very literate writer and perhaps it's unfair to label his works in the musicals genre. Some of them, anyway."
"You really are a cultural snob, aren't you," said Christine laughing.
"If you say so."
"But I love you all the same."
It was a throwaway line, but as soon as the words came out Christine was shocked to realise the truth of them.
Brian hesitated, his gaze fixed on a wine glass which he slowly twisted. "Forgive me if I've got this wrong, but I always thought that an escort was prepared to offer further services."
"At an agreed extra charge." Christine felt a tight knot of tension in the pit of her stomach. The moment had finally come.
"Naturally. So far you haven't offered. Does that mean you find me too repulsive?"
"Oh no. Not at all."
"Was that going too far? I must admit, I don't consider myself repulsive, but then I'm biased. Perhaps I'm not attractive enough. I lack emotion. Too withdrawn. Even, perhaps, a little cold?"
"Do such things count when sex is exchanged for money?"
"I would have thought not, but you tell me."
Christine knew her face was red with embarrassment. "It isn't that I don't want to. It's just...."
"You were waiting for me to suggest it. After all, I'm doing the paying and maybe one hundred and fifty pounds an hour is my limit. For instance, tonight will have cost me over one thousand pounds if you include theatre tickets, drinks and dinner."
"A lot of money," Christine murmured.
"It would be if I was actually paying."
"Pardon?" Christine was startled.
Brian put his hand over hers. "I've been checking my bank statements."
"Oh?"
"You haven't cashed the cheques."
"Er - no. No, I haven't"
"Not very business-like. Especially for someone who works in a bank. The first one will soon become useless."
"I...I didn't realise it had been so long."
"Don't you need the money?"
"I... Christine struggled to get out the words. This couldn't go on any longer. She had to put a stop to it. "I'm a fake," she finally blurted out.
He looked surprised. "Fake?"
"I'm not - actually - an escort."
There.
It was out.
"I don't understand."
"My sister is the escort. It was her you booked the first time, but her little boy was run over and badly hurt that same day. She didn't want to lose the money so I stood in for her. It was only supposed to be the once. When you asked for her again it became awkward."
"I'm sorry."
"What about?"
"Your sister's little boy. I know what it's like. I'm sorry for putting you in a difficult situation. Probably for making you feel cheap when I paid you for your company."
Christine managed a smile. "Actually, I thought I was pretty expensive."
"There are more pricey escorts." Brian looked and sounded distracted. "I...I didn't want involvement. That's why I paid."
"I know. You told me."
Christine picked up her bag, opened it and took out the cheques. She put them on the table in front of him.
"You'd better have them back. Tear them up yourself." She rose from her chair. "It's me who owes you an apology for deceiving you all this time. I'll be going now. Thank you for - everything."
She left the restaurant, glancing back as she stood in the doorway. Brian was sitting as if frozen to his seat, staring at the cheques in his hand. In the taxi she was barely able to hold back her tears. When she got home the floodgates opened.
She had lost him.
*****
"What's wrong, love?"
Andrea had noticed the change in her brother when he returned from his recent trip to London. For the last few months he had been a new man with a spring in his step and a sparkle in his eyes. He had given no reason for the metamorphosis, but Andrea guessed there was a woman behind it and she was pleased. Now, suddenly, he had reverted to being morose and withdrawn. His shoulders were hunched, his face grey and pinched.
He knew that he was behaving like a callow, love-sick young fool. Unable to concentrate on anything, even work, he found his thoughts constantly returning to Christine. Her deception was perfectly understandable and, anyway, what did it really matter? She said she loved him. Of course, it was spoken in a light-hearted way with no depth of feeling. Still, perhaps she did.
As for him, it was quite clear that he had been more affected by Christine than he cared to admit. Despite only being a paid escort she had got under his skin. His plan to shut himself down and wallow in the memory of his lost love and wife had badly backfired. He didn't quite know how to react to the revelation of Christine's true status. It should be a relief. He should feel happy, but instead he felt profoundly disturbed. He thought his emotions were under control and he had got the balance right; a little feminine company, but no expected commitment. He had been faithful to Marie.
"You got caught, didn't you?"
"Pardon?" Andrea startled him out of his reverie.
"You wanted to shut the world out and wallow in self-pity, but you've met someone, haven't you?"
"Can you tell?"
"All the signs are there. What's happened? Has she turned you down?"
"No, it's nothing like that. It wasn't that kind of relationship."
"What then?"
"I hired an escort."
"You paid a woman for her company?"
"Yes."
"And anything else?"
"No. We haven't had sex."
Andrea was puzzled. "If she's only an escort why so much gloom?"
"I've fallen in love with her."
"Oh."
"And she's not an escort."
"You've lost me."
So Brian explained.
"Let me get this straight. You thought Christine was an escort and looked upon you purely as a meal ticket. It upset you to find you were falling in love with her and then you got even more upset when you found out she isn't an escort at all. She may even love you back."
"Maybe."
There was a slight pause and then Andrea began to laugh. It was infectious. Brian joined her. They laughed until the tears were falling.
"What are we laughing about?" Brian finally managed to ask.
"You."
"I'm glad you find me so amusing."
Andrea held his hand. "Go get her, lad. She'll be good for you. Marie belongs in the past. Leave her there."
*****
"It's Brian. I'll be in London on Tuesday and I've got two tickets for 'Sunday In the Park With George'. I'd love you to be my escort. If you're free that night meet me at the usual place."
He left the message on the machine having deliberately phoned when he knew that Christine would be at work. He was nervously waiting at the bar of the hotel when he saw her come in. She threaded her way between tables and chairs until she stood next to him.
"Mr. Warbrick?"
"Yes."
"I'm Christine. Your escort for tonight. At least, until midnight. After that..."
"Yes?"
"We'll have to negotiate a new price. But I warn you. I don't come cheap."
He took her into his arms.
"You're worth every penny," he murmured.
And they kissed.
As a department manager in a large American owned manufacturer of bathroom equipment he was in a position of some responsibility. In earlier days, years before he had started work there, the locally owned firm had made boilers, but an American take-over had led to a change of policy. Boilers were out; fancy bathrooms were in.
Once a month there was a departmental meeting held in the London headquarters of the company. There were two more factories in the UK as well as several others in various parts of the world. The American bosses liked to keep an eye on their world-wide organisation and that meant key people gathering to make their reports. Brian couldn't help thinking that computers could do just as good a job without the necessity of meeting face to face.
Nevertheless, until two years earlier the trip had always been welcome as his wife, Marie, accompanied him She spent the day looking around Oxford Street shops, whilst he was in the meeting. In the evening they went to the theatre or a concert. It was a regular interval in the daily routine and both of them looked forward to it.
Brian was twenty when they married, Marie being a year younger, and were close to their twelfth anniversary when tragedy struck. The street was bereft of traffic as Marie began to cross it. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a car screeched towards her at high speed. It was driven by a fourteen year old boy who had 'borrowed' it from his father. Marie didn't stand a chance. She was dead upon arrival at the hospital; so was the baby she was carrying.
The couple had loved each other deeply since their teen years and were inseparable. Losing his wife reduced Brian to a pale, silent shadow who had no interest in work or pleasure, in life itself. If he had contemplated suicide he kept quiet about it, but his friends and relatives believed he was often close to it.
Aged only thirty-four, Brian's hair was greying, there were dark shadows under his eyes, his face was permanently veiled in a sad mask and he walked with hunched shoulders. Although not previously renowned for his gaiety, now he was positively melancholy, refusing all attempts to lighten his load.
"You can't go on like this, Brian." His sister, Andrea, had invited herself to his house.
"Like what?"
"Sitting cooped up in here brooding about what might have been, but will most certainly not be. Not with Marie, anyway."
"You don't have to remind me. I have nightmares about that car and the fourteen year old maniac behind the wheel. Night after night I see Marie being hit and rolling over and over as the wheels go over her - all four of them!" He put his head in his hands.
Andrea gently put her arm round her brother's shoulder. "I'm not saying it's easy to forget, love. I don't suppose you ever will. Something like that's awful; and with the baby, as well. Two lives, just like that. And the boy didn't get more than a wagging finger and a bit of community service. But, let's face it, there's no real way to pay for what he did and nothing's going to change things. What's done is done. You're still here and you've got to get on with your life."
"I am. Best I can."
"No, love." Andrea shook her head. "No. That's just what you're not doing. You're stagnating, not going anywhere and seeing no-one."
"I go to work every day."
"Bet you wouldn't even do that if you didn't need to earn money. If you were a millionaire you'd wrap yourself up in a cocoon and shut out the rest of the world entirely."
"Maybe."
"When you go to London nowadays, what do you do?"
"Attend meetings. Endless meetings."
"But after. You and Marie used to have a night out."
"That was the two of us together. Now I stay in the hotel and go to bed early."
Andrea clucked in disapproval. "It's time you went out again."
"It's only been two years."
"It's time, love." She squeezed his shoulder.
"I don't like going to the theatre by myself."
"Then find someone to go with you."
Brian pulled away from her, walked across the room and looked out of the window. "It's not as easy as that. I don't know how. It was all so natural with Marie. I didn't have to think about it. We met, we fell in love, we decided to get married. I've no idea how it happened; it just did. I....I can't think about trying to make it happen again. Besides, it's too soon. I don't want to forget Marie."
"You don't have to - and you won't. But, she's the past, love, no matter how loud you shout and kick. She's gone; faded into a memory. But she'll always be there as a memory. No matter who you might meet now - even if you love her as much as you loved Marie....."
"Impossible!" Brian retorted.
"No, love," said Andrea, softly. "There's more than one right person for all of us; the snag is finding them. Once, you're lucky; twice is a miracle, but it does happen."
"What the hell do you know about it? You're divorced."
Andrea shrugged. "Nigel wasn't the right one. I've still to find him, but I'll keep on looking until I do, or until I'm too old to try any more." She crossed to him and laid her hand on his. "You keep looking, too."
Disembarking from the train at King's Cross, Brian swiftly made his way to the cab rank and climbed into a waiting taxi ahead of the queue that would inevitably form with the new arrivals. The pavements were crowded with hurrying people of all ages, shapes, sizes and nationalities. Stopped at traffic lights, he studied the young women passing-by; how was he supposed to get to know any of them? After the meeting he could go to a bar, he supposed. But he drank very little and was completely incapable of chatting to a stranger, male or female. He needed time; and time was something he lacked.
He thought about the women he knew, nearly all of them associated with work in one capacity or another. Many of them were around his age and attractive enough, but he never thought of them as anything but colleagues and knew little about them personally. Anyway, he disliked relationships in the work-place; too distracting. No, it was impossible; he could never find someone to take out.
The answer came quite by chance. He suddenly became aware of some litter on the floor of the cab. He bent down and picked it up. It was a business card. A casual glance told him that the business was an escort agency.
Escort.
That could be the solution to his problem. There was a play in town he fancied seeing; it had a good cast and the reviews were excellent. Reading about it in his Sunday paper had whetted his appetite. He could go by himself; many people did. After all, you sit in the theatre and get taken into a different world. You can't talk; it's an anti-social event. On the other hand, it's nice to be with someone; to be able to discuss the play with them; to have a meal; to have.....
"Ridiculous," he said out loud. The taxi driver on the other side of the glass partition didn't hear him.
Ridiculous; but on the other hand he hated the thought of going alone. Paying someone to keep him company seemed a pretty desperate measure and he had a slight feeling of self-loathing, but it was that or nothing.
During the lunch break Brian used his mobile to phone the agency and then to book tickets for the play. He was all set.
*****
"Is Toby all right?" Christine anxiously asked.
"In a bad way," replied her sister, Margie, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
"Oh, no!"
"But the doctors think he'll pull through all right. Some broken bones and squashed bits."
"That doesn't sound very medical."
"You know me. I run a mile from anything to do with illness and injuries. I couldn't take in everything they were saying."
"Burying your head in the sand," Christine grimly said.
"I suppose so." Margie sniffed. "You were always much better than I was at dealing with unpleasant things."
Christine took her sister's hand. "You've had more to deal with than I have, I must admit. A difficult birth, a rocky marriage, financial trouble..."
"The list is endless." Margie sniffed again, feeling truly sorry for herself.
"What happened to Toby?"
"I only took my eyes off him for one moment. He dashed into the road and right into the path of a car. The poor driver is shattered. I'm sure he's blaming himself, but it really wasn't his fault. There was nothing he could do."
"Yes, it must make you feel pretty wretched when you knock somebody over - especially a four-year old boy."
"If it was anybody's fault it was mine."
"These things happen so quickly. Can I see Toby?"
"You can go in, but he's been heavily sedated so he's out of it. Also, there are so many bandages wrapped round him you can hardly see anything of the boy."
"All the same, I'd like to see him."
"Of course."
After a brief word to the nurse they were both admitted to the small private room where poor Toby lay. He resembled a mummy and was completely unaware of everything. They stood in silence for a while then quietly left.
"Are you staying in the hospital?" Christine asked.
Margie nodded. "I'd better. I want to be here when he comes round. The poor little mite won't know where he is or why he's hurting and wrapped up."
"I'd better get back to work. I'll ring you later and see how the patient's getting on."
Margie put a hand on her sister's arm, detaining her. "There's..." she hesitated. "There's a big favour I want of you."
"Of course. Anything."
"Don't be too hasty. You won't like this one."
"Don't be silly, love. You need help and I'm here for you."
"Let's sit down."
"Is it that serious?"
"Yes."
They found seats in a large open-area waiting room which already held a number of other people, but there was no-one too close to them. Margie didn't look at her sister as she talked, finding it difficult to broach the subject.
"Since...since Rob left us for that other woman -" she couldn't even call her by name - "it's been a real struggle. Financially I mean."
"I know. Do you need me to help?"
"Yes, but not with money."
"Then what?"
"You won't like this."
"Try me."
"Rob left me with a lot of money problems and I needed to get a job. I don't have much to offer an employer and certainly not one who's going to give me a decent salary."
Christine frowned. "What's all this leading up to?"
"A confession."
"About what?"
"How I make money."
There was a long silence. Christine sat frozen to the seat. Surely her sister wasn't saying...did she mean....? The answers to her questions didn't bear thinking about.
Margie broke the silence. "I have one good asset. Even Rob admitted that. A trim body, nicely rounded boobs and I'm a good fuck."
"That's three assets," Christine distractedly murmured.
"I've put my talents to use, that's all."
"That's all? You've become a prostitute and the best you can say is 'that's all'."
Christine spoke rather loudly and Margie glanced around to see if anybody had heard. There was a man who was looking in their direction. She thought he was grinning.
"Keep your voice down."
"I'm sorry, but it's come as a something of a shock. My instinct is to shout and rave at my younger sister for becoming a whore."
"It isn't quite like that."
Christine raised her eyebrows. "No? Then how is it?"
"I'm not a prostitute. Not really."
"How can you be not really a prostitute? Either you are or you aren't."
Margie sighed. "You see everything in such black and white terms."
"How else?"
"There's also grey."
"Um. I've never been sure about that one."
"You don't know what it's like to struggle; to try and make sense out of a topsy-turvy life. I want stability - for Toby as well as myself. But first I have to get out from under this mound of debt. So I became an escort. There's good money in it."
"An escort? Isn't that the same as being a call girl?"
"Not quite."
"Ah." Christine nodded. "I see. We're in the grey area."
"I'm only an escort. I accompany a man to a function, theatre, concert or dinner. Whatever. I get a pretty good fee for that. A hundred and fifty pounds an hour."
"What!"
The interested man was looking again.
"Sh."
"Sorry," Christine whispered.
"Of course, I don't get it all. I have to give a percentage to the agency."
"And all you do is escort a man?"
"For the fee - yes."
Christine looked suspiciously at her sister. "What does that mean? For the fee?"
"That's all I'm contracted for. Should I decide to offer more intimate and private services then there's an additional negotiable payment. But that's completely up to me. If I fancy him."
"But even though you fancy him, he still pays."
"Yes."
"You're a prostitute."
Margie sighed. "If you will."
"When we started this conversation you mentioned me doing you a big favour. I only hope it's not what I'm thinking."
"I have a booking tonight. It was made minutes before Toby's accident. I can't manage it with him in here, but I can't lose the money."
"My God, Margie. It is what I'm thinking. You can't be serious."
"Look upon it as a blind date."
"You don't get paid to have a blind date," Christine said grimly.
"Actually, you wouldn't be getting paid. The money is for me."
"You're splitting hairs."
"Please, Christine. I know how much you must hate the mere idea, but I really need the money."
"Perhaps if I stayed with Toby," Christine suggested.
"I think he'll want his mother, don't you?" Margie gently replied.
"Yes." Christine sighed in resignation. "All right. I'll do it. But don't expect me to make a habit of it."
Margie searched through her handbag. "I've got the instructions here. I go under the name of MaryAnn, by the way. It helps to protect my real identity." She handed over a piece of paper and hugged her sister. "Thanks. I won't forget this."
"Give my love to Toby when he comes round."
"I will."
They waved as Christine left the room.
*****
It was a long day and Brian was tired. The meeting had been acrimonious after it was revealed that the American parent company was setting new targets; impossible targets, many said. Recently there had been an alarming slump in sales and a good deal of shouting had achieved absolutely nothing. Luckily, he wasn't in the firing line, so he could sit back and indulge himself in feeling sorry for those who were.
He checked into his usual hotel in the heart of the West End. It was nearly five-thirty. He only had an hour before meeting his...what was she? He hated the thought of spending an evening with an escort; companion didn't sound right and she wasn't really a date. Confound it! What had he let himself in for? Andrea must really have got to him.
After a quick shower he dressed and went down to the restaurant.
"Table for one, sir?" enquired the waiter.
"Er, yes."
Perhaps he should have arranged for his escort to have dinner with him, but the thought hadn't occurred to him until just now. On the other hand, it would probably have been a bad idea. Some stranger sitting opposite him instead of Marie. Trying to make polite conversation. No, the less time they had together the better. It would be all right in the darkness of the theatre.
Brian ordered a lasagne and drink. The service was a little slow and he had barely finished the meal when he looked at his watch and found it was time to meet...what was her name, for God's sake? The woman at the other end of the phone had told him when he had made the booking, but he had completely forgotten. What an idiot.
His mobile rang.
"Hello."
"Hello. Mr. Warbrick?"
"Yes."
"This is Chri - Maryann."
"Who?"
"Your escort tonight."
"Oh, yes of course." That was her name. He remembered now.
"I'm on my way. Be there in about ten minutes."
"Erm....right. That's fine."
Christine thought her client - or Maryann's client - or Margie's client - sounded nervous; almost reluctant to talk.
"Where shall we meet?"
"I'll....erm....I'll meet you in the reception area."
"How will I recognise you? Tall, dark and handsome, I suppose?" She gave a little laugh. It sounded hollow.
"Erm....no." There was no lightness in his reply. "I'll stand by the shop selling cameras, jewellery and so on."
"Right. Look forward to it."
Christine clicked off the phone. Um. He didn't sound too promising. Bit dour, at the very least. This was going to be a fun evening. Margie owed her big time for this favour. On the other hand, sisters should look after each other.
The taxi drew up in the forecourt of the hotel. Christine paid the driver and went inside, smiling shyly at the doorman who had opened the cab door. She suspected he probably had a pretty good idea why she was there, but maintained his impartial demeanour, though his eyes feasted on her trim figure as she went through the revolving door. Feeling embarrassed, she quickly entered the hotel lobby.
There was a lot of activity inside, but Christine spotted the shop easily enough; and, sure enough, a man was standing outside. Not over tall, dark hair, neat beard and well dressed. He looked as if he should have belonged in this environment, but somehow seemed awkward and ill-at-ease.
Christine crossed the lobby. "Mr. Warbrick?"
"Erm....yes." The man still sounded as dubious as he had on the phone.
Christine smiled, determined to be pleasant against all odds. "I'm your escort for tonight."
She held out her hand; the client looked at it for a moment, as if wondering what to do with it, then shook it in greeting.
"Yes, of course. Maryann, isn't it?"
"That's me."
"I thought we'd have a drink first. All right with you?"
"Of course, Mr. Warbrick. I'm paid to do what you want." She smiled again, then added: "Up to a point."
"Erm....quite. This way."
She followed him. He made no attempt to take her arm or even try and pretend they were together. Christine inwardly moaned; this was going to be a difficult evening. It was obvious that even polite conversation was beyond this man. Why did she have to get lumbered?
He found a table and sat down, waving his hand at Christine for her to follow suit. It was warm in the bar, so she slipped off her coat, putting it on an adjacent chair. She adjusted her tunic top, which had become slightly ruffled with the coat's removal, then sat down.
"You look...erm...." the client coughed; it was a single, totally artificial and unnecessary cough. "Most attractive."
Good God! A compliment. Dragged out of him, it was true, but nevertheless, a couple of flattering words.
"Thank you, Mr. Warbrick." Christine once again smiled sweetly. This was hard work.
"I don't think you need to be formal. After all, this is supposed to be a social evening." Christine thought that 'supposed' was an appropriate word. "I'm Brian."
"Pleased to meet you, Brian." Christine smiled and once again extended her hand.
"Oh...erm...yes. Likewise, Maryann." They shook hands for a second time.
A waiter appeared by their side.
"What would you like to drink?" Brian enquired.
"Gin and tonic would do nicely."
"Small brandy for me."
"Yes, sir." With a deferential nod of his head, the waiter departed to fulfil the order.
"You know the programme for tonight, do you?"
"No."
Brian frowned. "But I told the agency exactly where I was going and what sort of escort I required."
Christine shrugged. "Sorry. I know nothing about it."
"This is too bad. We're going to the theatre. I asked for someone who was interested. Are you?"
"Oh yes," Christine enthusiastically replied.. "I've seen all the musicals - well, most of them. 'Phantom of the Opera', 'Chicago', 'Mary Poppins'...."
Brian exploded. "Good God! Musicals! 'Mary Poppins'. That's not real theatre."
"It is for me."
"What about straight plays?"
"Non-musical, do you mean?"
"Yes."
Christine shook her head. "I've rarely seen one. A couple of Shakespeare's when I was at school and - something else a few years ago. Can't remember what it was. I wasn't very impressed."
"Oh, Lord." With his elbows on the table, Brian buried his face in his hands.
The waiter chose that moment to return with the drinks. "Are you all right, sir?" He sounded concerned.
"Yes, yes, yes." Brian removed his hands from his face and elbows from the table. "A minor problem, that's all."
The waiter placed the drinks down and presented the bill, which Brian signed, writing his room number. He put a tip - surprisingly generous, Christine noted - on the waiter's tray.
"Thank you, sir."
It was a bad start to the evening, but Christine became an Oscar winning actress and pretended that she was unaffected by Brian's rotten mood. The play, a comedy, was most amusing and she enjoyed it far more than she would have expected. In fact, she laughed so much that the rest of the audience was affected and, after a slow beginning, the whole atmosphere brightened.
After the play they went for another drink: "Before you go home."
That put an end to Christine's worry about the outcome of the evening. Sex was not on the agenda unless she offered it, according to Margie. But what if the man was persistent. Was it a case of giving in to keep him quiet? She wasn't at all sure. Brian Warbrick had just put her mind at rest; he didn't want it anyway. Strangely enough, she felt a little hurt that he should so obviously spurn her.
They went to a crowded and noisy bar not far from the theatre. Shouting, trying to hear each other above the chatter of other punters, was not conducive to conversation, so little was said. After a quarter of an hour they left and Brian hailed a taxi for Christine.
He opened the door. "You enjoyed yourself tonight, I think."
"Yes, I did. The play was really quite funny."
"It was supposed to be. When George Bernard Shaw wrote it I expect he was hoping for a few laughs."
"I've heard of him."
"I should hope so. He wrote 'Pygmalion' as well." There was no reaction. "Perhaps you know it as 'My Fair Lady'."
Christine smiled. "Oh yes, of course."
She stepped into the taxi and Brian slammed the door. Settling back into the seat she gave her address to the driver. As the cab pulled away she looked back through the rear window; Brian was still standing where she'd left him. She thought he looked forlorn and lost.
*****
"We have a problem," Margie announced.
"We do?" queried Christine.
"I have a booking for tomorrow."
"Don't ask. I'm not going to stand in for you again."
"Was is that bad?"
Christine shook her head. "No, it wasn't bad at all. Quite pleasant, in fact. He was a bit quiet and a little off-hand, but not unattractive. A man of few words; at least to me. He did tell me he was a widower. His wife was killed in a road accident - and their unborn child. Two years ago."
"It seems to me that he can't have been as off-hand as you suggested if he told you all that."
"No, maybe not. After an uncertain start we seemed to get on quite well."
"That's good."
"But I'm still not doing it again. I hated the thought of being paid to be charming to a perfect stranger."
"It wouldn't be a stranger tomorrow," Margie informed her sister.
"What do you mean?"
"It's him again."
"You mean Brian?" Christine looked surprised.
"Obviously you made a good impression. He specifically asked for Maryann. Nobody else would do."
"Really?" Christine couldn't help feeling a little pleased.
"That's why we have a problem. As far as he's concerned, you're Maryann."
"Oh dear, whatever can we do?"
"What I suggest is that you keep the appointment and when you get the chance tell him the truth. In future he can book Maryann - me - or someone else."
"He'll be furious at being tricked."
Margie smiled. "I don't think so. You'll explain it all very nicely and he'll fully understand the last minute emergency and how self-sacrificing you were."
"I hope so."
"Does that mean you'll do it?"
"For his sake, not yours."
"Thank you, sis." Margie lightly kissed Christine's cheek.
*****
He was there. Same place, same time. But there was a difference. His greeting was warmer with a hint of a smile. For her part, Christine was glad to be seeing him again. For the past month her thoughts had frequently drifted to their evening together. How long was it? He'd paid for three hours; perhaps it had been a little longer. Even so, a ridiculously short time for him to occupy her mind so much.
He ordered drinks.
"Are we going to the theatre again?" Christine asked.
He nodded. "Marie and I always took advantage of this monthly visit to London. There was usually something we wanted to see."
Christine smiled. "But not a musical."
"No, never."
"You're really a cultural snob, aren't you?"
Brian looked at her. "Do you think so?"
"To dismiss a very popular form of entertainment as nothing but rubbish...."
"I didn't say that," Brian protested.
"As good as. You dismissed it out of hand as not being theatre."
"Yes. I suppose I did."
"Where are we going tonight? Another comedy?"
"Afraid not. This one's a rather serious, weighty play, I'm afraid. 'Death of a Salesman'. Arthur Miller."
"I'll try not to snore."
They looked at each other for a moment then burst out laughing. He put his hand on hers. It was such a simple, unthinking and natural gesture that neither of them thought anything of it.
"It's a long play, that's why I've booked you for four hours."
Christine was brought back to reality with a start. This was not a date; it was a business arrangement. Her time had been paid for and she was nothing more than an escort. Perhaps this was when she should tell him the truth.
On the other hand, it might be better to leave it until the end. This was his night and she didn't want to spoil it. Heaven knows what his reaction might be.
Yes. That was it. Wait until after the play.
*****
Brian was right. It was a long play. And weighty. Nevertheless, Christine was caught up in the power of it and couldn't stop discussing it until they were back at his hotel.
"Can I tempt you with a nightcap?" Brian looked at his watch. "Or maybe not. It seems even four hours wasn't long enough. It's almost half past ten. The witching hour."
"I thought it was midnight when Cinderella turned back into a drudge."
"Is that what you do? Turn into a drudge."
"Not really. I work. It's a nothing very much job in a bank, but it keeps me off the streets."
"Does it?" Brian quietly asked.
Christine realised this was the moment.
"I don't care about the time. I'll have the drink with pleasure."
They made themselves comfortable in the hotel bar and Christine steeled herself to explain the true situation. Before she could open her mouth Brian took away the opportunity.
"I've enjoyed our two evenings with each other. I was totally devastated by the death of Marie. Could barely hold myself together. I tried getting drunk a couple of times to blot everything out, but it didn't work. All I got for my pains were two mighty hangovers. My sister, Andrea urged me to find someone else, but I'm not ready. That's why this escort thing is just right. When I come to London I'm not on my own."
"What about the rest of the time?" Christine enquired.
"I manage. It's a struggle, but I manage. Full of self pity, you see."
"You are rather."
He looked surprised. "You needn't agree with me."
"It's the truth."
"The truth can hurt sometimes."
"Yes. It can." Christine felt her chance had completely slipped away.
"I can't cope with a proper relationship, but a paid escort is the perfect answer. We get on very well together. Extraordinarily well."
"Yes, we do."
"So I'd like to make this a permanent arrangement. I'll give you a list of my dates and you make yourself available. Perhaps - for five hours."
"Only as an escort. No sex."
"Of course. Understood."
Christine sat back in her chair. She should tell him. This was not what she wanted. She wasn't an escort, for heaven's sake. It was her sister who was the escort. This was not what she wanted.
But what did she want? She was totally confused. A few hours in his company and she - she what? She was jealous. Jealous of a dead woman who had claimed all his love for herself. All he had left to give was money.
She should tell him.
And lose him completely.
But what did that matter? Love at first sight was only for silly romantic stories. It didn't happen in real life. You had to get to know somebody; all their idiosyncrasies and quirky little ways; all their foibles, tempers and flaws. Love didn't come out of the blue, just like that.
And yet...
She should tell him.
"Are you still with me?" His voice cut into her thoughts.
"Yes."
"What do you say? Does it present a problem to you?"
"Problem? Yes."
"Maybe you don't want to see me again."
"Oh, that's not the problem."
She should tell him. But the words stuck in her throat. If this was all she could have, at least for now, then she would have to be content.
"I agree."
Brian breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad."
"But don't phone the agency. I'll give you my number." She reached into her bag which, typically, was crammed full. Needless to say, pen and pad were to be found if she dug around long enough. "And Maryann is only the name I use for - for business purposes. My real name is Christine."
"I prefer it."
"Do you?"
"I'm not sure what a Maryann should be like, but somehow, not like you."
"Ah. Here it is." She finally found the pad. "Now all I need is a pen."
"Here." Brian offered her one.
"Thank you." She wrote out her name and telephone number. "I've put my mobile, too."
"I'll give you my card in case you want to get in touch. If I'm not to contact you through the agency what about payment?"
Damn. She hadn't thought of that. She didn't want paying anyway. Could she say this one's on me? No, that would be no good. The whole point was that he needed to pay for her company. It was his policy of non-emotional involvement.
"Give me a cheque."
"Right." He raised his glass. "To a successful arrangement."
Christine gave a weak smile. This was not what she wanted.
*****
"Feeling a little better, are you?" Christine asked.
The small boy, still heavily bandaged but sitting up in bed, managed a slight nod. "A little, Auntie."
She patted his hand. "That's good. Your mummy tells me you should be out of here next week."
"I'll be glad to go home."
"I'm sure you will." Christine bent over and gave Toby a brief kiss on the forehead. "I'll come again tomorrow. Mummy will be in later."
"Right."
Margie was waiting at home with the kettle boiled ready to make a cup of tea.
"I imagine he's looking better." Christine made herself comfortable on a settee. "It's a bit difficult to be certain with all those bandages. It's certainly been a long job."
"Nearly six months." Margie sighed. "I thought I'd lost him a number of times."
"Um. Very worrying."
There was a silence between the two women.
"How is it going?" Margie eventually asked.
"What?"
"You know what. Your punter, Mr. Brian Warbrick."
"He's not my punter."
"The only escort in the business with only one client."
"Leave off, won't you."
"That bad, is it?"
"I love him. He doesn't love me. The oldest story in the world. He thinks he has to pay me to keep him company."
"Tell him the truth."
"I can't. He only wants me as an escort once a month. It's not much, but I don't want to lose even that."
"That sounds pretty pathetic."
Christine sniffed. "I suppose it does."
"Have you taken it further?"
"Made love, you mean? No. We've been to the theatre, had dinner some drinks, but nothing more."
"Have you any idea what to charge if he asks?"
Christine shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I'm not doing it for money."
"You're taking it for escort services. That's only one step up."
"I suppose that's the grey area you talk about."
"Something like that."
"I'm not taking any money at all."
Margie looked surprised. "I thought you were pretending to be a paid escort. How do you do that without taking money?"
"He gives me a cheque, but I don't cash it."
Margie sighed. "What a waste of good money. You could always give it to me if you have a conscience about it."
"No, I couldn't. He would really be paying me for my company then."
"What's the difference? He thinks he's paying anyway."
"But I know he's not."
Margie shook her head in bewilderment. "You've got me, dear sis. Logic goes out of the window."
"Take my word for it; it's different."
"Whatever you say."
All the same, whenever Margie looked at her slim bank balance and thought of the money she could have been earning from Brian Warbrick she felt more than a little annoyed.
*****
Over the months the sessions had become longer. Brian now booked Christine from 6 until midnight.
"Less pressure on time. We can relax more." They were sitting in an up-market restaurant in Soho. "Did you enjoy the play tonight?"
"I found it a little confusing."
"It was a mystery, after all."
"Yes, but that doesn't mean you come away from it still mystified by the plot and characters."
"True. Perhaps we should see a musical next time."
Christine smiled. "Are you going slumming?"
Brian shook his head. "Not quite. 'Sunday In the Park With George' is on. I've seen it before, but would like to compare this new production."
"I don't know it. But, I'll look forward to it."
"It's a Stephen Sondheim piece. I consider him to be a very literate writer and perhaps it's unfair to label his works in the musicals genre. Some of them, anyway."
"You really are a cultural snob, aren't you," said Christine laughing.
"If you say so."
"But I love you all the same."
It was a throwaway line, but as soon as the words came out Christine was shocked to realise the truth of them.
Brian hesitated, his gaze fixed on a wine glass which he slowly twisted. "Forgive me if I've got this wrong, but I always thought that an escort was prepared to offer further services."
"At an agreed extra charge." Christine felt a tight knot of tension in the pit of her stomach. The moment had finally come.
"Naturally. So far you haven't offered. Does that mean you find me too repulsive?"
"Oh no. Not at all."
"Was that going too far? I must admit, I don't consider myself repulsive, but then I'm biased. Perhaps I'm not attractive enough. I lack emotion. Too withdrawn. Even, perhaps, a little cold?"
"Do such things count when sex is exchanged for money?"
"I would have thought not, but you tell me."
Christine knew her face was red with embarrassment. "It isn't that I don't want to. It's just...."
"You were waiting for me to suggest it. After all, I'm doing the paying and maybe one hundred and fifty pounds an hour is my limit. For instance, tonight will have cost me over one thousand pounds if you include theatre tickets, drinks and dinner."
"A lot of money," Christine murmured.
"It would be if I was actually paying."
"Pardon?" Christine was startled.
Brian put his hand over hers. "I've been checking my bank statements."
"Oh?"
"You haven't cashed the cheques."
"Er - no. No, I haven't"
"Not very business-like. Especially for someone who works in a bank. The first one will soon become useless."
"I...I didn't realise it had been so long."
"Don't you need the money?"
"I... Christine struggled to get out the words. This couldn't go on any longer. She had to put a stop to it. "I'm a fake," she finally blurted out.
He looked surprised. "Fake?"
"I'm not - actually - an escort."
There.
It was out.
"I don't understand."
"My sister is the escort. It was her you booked the first time, but her little boy was run over and badly hurt that same day. She didn't want to lose the money so I stood in for her. It was only supposed to be the once. When you asked for her again it became awkward."
"I'm sorry."
"What about?"
"Your sister's little boy. I know what it's like. I'm sorry for putting you in a difficult situation. Probably for making you feel cheap when I paid you for your company."
Christine managed a smile. "Actually, I thought I was pretty expensive."
"There are more pricey escorts." Brian looked and sounded distracted. "I...I didn't want involvement. That's why I paid."
"I know. You told me."
Christine picked up her bag, opened it and took out the cheques. She put them on the table in front of him.
"You'd better have them back. Tear them up yourself." She rose from her chair. "It's me who owes you an apology for deceiving you all this time. I'll be going now. Thank you for - everything."
She left the restaurant, glancing back as she stood in the doorway. Brian was sitting as if frozen to his seat, staring at the cheques in his hand. In the taxi she was barely able to hold back her tears. When she got home the floodgates opened.
She had lost him.
*****
"What's wrong, love?"
Andrea had noticed the change in her brother when he returned from his recent trip to London. For the last few months he had been a new man with a spring in his step and a sparkle in his eyes. He had given no reason for the metamorphosis, but Andrea guessed there was a woman behind it and she was pleased. Now, suddenly, he had reverted to being morose and withdrawn. His shoulders were hunched, his face grey and pinched.
He knew that he was behaving like a callow, love-sick young fool. Unable to concentrate on anything, even work, he found his thoughts constantly returning to Christine. Her deception was perfectly understandable and, anyway, what did it really matter? She said she loved him. Of course, it was spoken in a light-hearted way with no depth of feeling. Still, perhaps she did.
As for him, it was quite clear that he had been more affected by Christine than he cared to admit. Despite only being a paid escort she had got under his skin. His plan to shut himself down and wallow in the memory of his lost love and wife had badly backfired. He didn't quite know how to react to the revelation of Christine's true status. It should be a relief. He should feel happy, but instead he felt profoundly disturbed. He thought his emotions were under control and he had got the balance right; a little feminine company, but no expected commitment. He had been faithful to Marie.
"You got caught, didn't you?"
"Pardon?" Andrea startled him out of his reverie.
"You wanted to shut the world out and wallow in self-pity, but you've met someone, haven't you?"
"Can you tell?"
"All the signs are there. What's happened? Has she turned you down?"
"No, it's nothing like that. It wasn't that kind of relationship."
"What then?"
"I hired an escort."
"You paid a woman for her company?"
"Yes."
"And anything else?"
"No. We haven't had sex."
Andrea was puzzled. "If she's only an escort why so much gloom?"
"I've fallen in love with her."
"Oh."
"And she's not an escort."
"You've lost me."
So Brian explained.
"Let me get this straight. You thought Christine was an escort and looked upon you purely as a meal ticket. It upset you to find you were falling in love with her and then you got even more upset when you found out she isn't an escort at all. She may even love you back."
"Maybe."
There was a slight pause and then Andrea began to laugh. It was infectious. Brian joined her. They laughed until the tears were falling.
"What are we laughing about?" Brian finally managed to ask.
"You."
"I'm glad you find me so amusing."
Andrea held his hand. "Go get her, lad. She'll be good for you. Marie belongs in the past. Leave her there."
*****
"It's Brian. I'll be in London on Tuesday and I've got two tickets for 'Sunday In the Park With George'. I'd love you to be my escort. If you're free that night meet me at the usual place."
He left the message on the machine having deliberately phoned when he knew that Christine would be at work. He was nervously waiting at the bar of the hotel when he saw her come in. She threaded her way between tables and chairs until she stood next to him.
"Mr. Warbrick?"
"Yes."
"I'm Christine. Your escort for tonight. At least, until midnight. After that..."
"Yes?"
"We'll have to negotiate a new price. But I warn you. I don't come cheap."
He took her into his arms.
"You're worth every penny," he murmured.
And they kissed.