The Boleyn Effect (The Boorman Ending) Page 4

  She gives me another big hug and the leaves me alone. I look around for George and see that he's disappeared. He's no doubt found some pretty neighbour to play with and I know just the girl. Megan is just a little younger than me and she has always had the most intense crush on George since—well—forever. But George being George uses her. She happily opens her legs for him in the hope that one day he will fall in love with her, and he doesn't care as long as he's getting something.

  I feel sorry for the poor girl, but also a little pissed at her for being so gullible. She should show some self-respect, but I am most certainly not the person to talk to her. In her eyes I am the bitch from hell, because she knows that I have the George that she's desperate for.

  Grabbing a beer, I decide the best thing I can do is hide somewhere out of the way until he's finished. I find a seat a little away from the party and enjoy people watching. Because of what I do it's a natural habit.

  On one table, I spy George's grandparents from both sides, huddled together, probably talking about the good old days when they held power.

  His grandmother on the Gaskill side is one of my biggest fans. She loves me to death, which I find funny considering her son's aversion. She is the sort of woman that takes no bullshit and she knows well what George is like and respects the fact that I have never fallen victim to his charms.

  'He's a man whore,' she once said to me causing me to nearly choke on my drink. 'You, young lady must never end up as a notch.'

  There is also the friends/business contacts all crowded around the outdoor mini-bar and Katherine is amongst them. Talking and laughing and I find myself watching her closely. Moving with great self-confidence she has so much grace. Even in the way she holds a wine glass.

  A small surge of jealousy runs through me. I just wish I held natural grace. Instead of rushing headlong into things. That's why she is where she is and I'm struggling to make ends meet in the centre of York. The thought of the pub is slowly becoming ever so appealing and I wonder if I should just slip away and text George to meet me there.

  'You're not contemplating hanging off the rafters today?'

  I look up and squint as the sunlight hides the speakers face. Not that I don't know who it is. The only person to know about my daredevil experience. Today, he's in a cream linen shirt that hangs loose over jeans. With a hand hooked in his pocket and the other holding a beer bottle, he looks even more casual then he did in the library. All clean shaven and a full head of blond curly hair he certainly is young looking, with only a few lines around his eyes.

  How can this man be in charge of a university, he looks like he's never lived? And he's taller than I remember. I'd probably touch his shoulder come to think of it. But then I already have. My frightened face buried in the warm crook of his neck.

  The thought makes goose-bumps rise on my skin and I mentally shake myself. I've just met his wife. This can't happen. More importantly I don't want it to happen. A decision already made after the library. This man will not be seduced by me no matter what George offers.

  'I don't think Gaskill will appreciate it,' I answer with a smile.

  'Gaskill eh? Not a family friend?' Harry asks sitting down beside me.

  'Not exactly I’m the gold digging best friend of his son.'

  'And how's that working for you?'

  'I'm still working for my supper, so maybe not that good,' I laugh.

  'Maybe you should take some tips from some of my wife's friends,' he offers.

  I note that he's not really looking at me, but nervously peeling the label of his beer bottle. I try to stop myself over analysing it, but there is something small and subtle between us. Just a small flirtation, but surely it can't be that easy. He's got to be much harder to get than this. Jesus, I'm often harder to get than this.

  'Thanks for the offer,' I answer. 'But it's not the sort of life for me.'

  'And what is?'

  Now he looks at me directly and I notice just how blue his eyes are in the summer sun and how large his pupils are as they look into mine. I am the first to look away as I offer a shrug.

  'It may sound strange to you, but I want to be known for my own talents and not what my husband does or earns.'

  'It doesn't sound strange. My wife is her own woman who runs her own business. Some might say that it's I that's the gold digger.'

  I catch his smile and respond. No-one has ever asked me about what I want before, not even George and yet here with this man who I barely know, I feel I can tell him anything. It must be why he does what he does. He needs to have appeal and very good people skills. He seems to ooze that sort of confidence and ease.

  'Well we can both be gold diggers together in our little corner,' I say.

  'Maybe we can, Leigh-Anne.'

  I feel myself shudder at the use of my full name. Normally the name would make me inwardly cringe, but for some reason coming from his lips seems more natural.

  'Leigh, you ready.'

  My insides jump uneasily at George's voice as I turn to see him looking down at us. His face is stone still and I wish to god he wasn't wearing shades. Not that I can't already tell he's pissed.

  His T-shirt and cargo shorts are crumpled. A tell-tale sign of where and what he's been doing and I make a mental note to chastise him about using Megan yet again. Both Harry and I get to our feet and the men size the other up evenly, with me at its centre.

  'George,' Harry says. 'How's the study going?'

  'Fine, sir,' George answers. 'We'd better go,' he says pointedly at me grabbing my hand.

  'It was nice to meet you again, Leigh,' Harry says taking my other hand and instinctively I take a step closer, but George is forcing me his way. I do not want to be the possession that each one wants to take, but my body is giving me away and George knows it.

  'You too Harry,' I answer.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The pub is off the agenda. Instead, it's a silent car journey home where you could slice the atmosphere with a butcher knife. I've tried small talk and a few jokes, but I've been shot down with a cold glare and the music turned up loud.

  I know what this is about. George wanted to control this and it didn't happen his way. Well tough. Life is unpredictable. Finally, we reach my flat and following me up, he slams the door behind us and I prepare for another argument.

  'So first name terms with the Dean? You fucking him already?' George snaps.

  'Oh are we talking now? I figured you didn't want to hear anything I have to say,' I throw back. 'And for your information I'm fucking no-one not that it'd be any of your business.'

  'So how did he know you're name?'

  'He asked me. Jesus Christ George. Look, I met him in the library that day I was with you. He near on killed me and the reason I didn't say anything was because he seems like a nice guy and meeting his wife today...well she is nice too and most definitely doesn't look like an unhappy wife. I just don't think it's fair to play games with their lives just for you to get a distinction.'

  'Nice guy, yeah right! But you're right about Katherine, she is one hell of a woman and hot. I doubt that you would even stand a chance. Plus rumour has it that he prefers blondes. That sort of counts you out,' he smarts.

  How bloody dare he speak to me like that. I may not be blonde, but I am one hell of a looker. I can catch any man's eye. I've held George's attention for long enough.

  'You know what? Fuck off,' I shout.

  'Hit a nerve did I?' he smirks.

  'Well at least I don't screw around with desperate young women. How many more times does Megan have to open her legs for you to start to give a damn?'

  His face pales with anger. 'At least, she thinks I'm good enough to be there. Unlike some,' He throws back.

  'Oh and we are right back there again. Jesus Christ George, maybe if you learned to grow up then I might think about, but I doubt that will happen soon.'

  'You're a fucking bitch,' he snaps, before he slams his way out of my flat.

  I stare at the
door in disbelief. I cannot quite believe that he's said that to me. After all the compliments he showers me with, he goes and says that I can't compete with some blonde or even Harry's wife. I have eyes and I know I am damn beautiful. I have long glossy brown hair, dark wide eyes and pale skin. My figure is fucking good and I know I can pull off any item of clothing. I am not some wilting flower. I am the whole fucking bunch.

  Flopping down on the sofa, I pick up my phone, drop it and then pick it up. I hate fighting with George. I find it unsettling when we’re not getting along. I sometimes wish that he'd not come along when he did and helped me out of my shit, because, even though it's never mentioned it's like a time bomb ticking away between us.

  He gets away with so much and it's because I feel I need him. Maybe deep down he's my back up, just in case I end up old and alone. We have a sick and twisted friendship that little would understand, but you know what, it's our fucked up friendship and I can't live without it. Picking the phone up once more I start to punch in my message.

  'For your information I did get his attention. Not bad for a non-blonde'

  I wait for a moment and then it beeps a reply.

  'I'm a dick. I saw you got his attention. I just don't want to push you into anything and I want to keep you safe'

  'I trust you. Let me sleep on it and we'll talk tomorrow'

  I smile. He's driven off his temper and calmed down. He doesn't want to fight either. I do need to sleep on this, because he's right, I could get seriously hurt. Seducing a man is the easy part, its keeping your head that's the hardest. I have to really think whether I have the gall and the strength to come out and win this unscathed.

  Grabbing my laptop, I decide to do my own research and typing Harry Cobain in the search engine sends me to a newspaper article and the university website. I open the article first and I'm greeted by a large picture of both Harry and Katherine stood arm in arm. They look so happy and perfect.

  I scroll down and read about how Harry Cobain at forty-six is the youngest Dean the university has ever had. After gaining his PhD in the Social Sciences he continued to work his way through university while producing journals and papers. So he's some sort of prodigy. I get it already. Harry was right about one thing, it's his wife who is the business woman.

  Katherine Cobain owns a fleet of estate agents that were started by her father as a young man. He began with one shop and soon it grew into an empire. Come to think of it, there are plenty of signs with Aire emblem emblazoned on them all around town. Katherine inherited her father's business ten years ago at his death and gone from strength to strength. She seems like one hell of a woman.

  Apparently she and Harry met while both at university and though it was love at first sight they did not get together for another year when they met again. They married after eight weeks of being together and the rest is history. I note that there is no mention of children, but I wonder if they are the sort of couple where work has always comes first.

  I intend on closing the laptop down, but I find myself staring at the picture of them. It's taken with some trees behind them. Maybe somewhere on the university grounds. Their bodies turned to each other, even though their eyes are on the camera. They look happy and loved up. Can I really do this to them? Or has Harry already done the damage, because according to George, he's been rocking the boat within his marriage already.

  Why does he cheat on her? What doesn't she have to keep him faithful? Because for the life of me I can't see what the problem is.

  Maybe Katherine does need a way out. The problem could well be his and not hers. I look at the picture. I could do this. Seduce him and give his wife her freedom and I will also get mine. This thing between me and George in reality is a dead weight around my neck and I need to get rid of it. I make a snap decision and open my mailbox.

  'If we are going to do this then I want to make him work hard. I don't want to become like the discarded blondes. I'm a brunette and we have much more substance.'

  There is no instant reply, but I already know that George is mulling it over. He wants this to be prefect and I have to trust him. If things got too serious then he would pull me out. It is after all just a game where I will finally gain my freedom.

  CHAPTER NINE

  'These are really good,' Katherine gushes over my portfolio.

  After leaving a few messages, I have no choice but to arrange her visit. I need the money and I'm sure she'll pay over the odds for good pictures. Plus I haven't done anything wrong yet. It's all been talk, nothing more. Apparently, pinning Harry Cobain down is a tall order, according to George anyway. So, I've yet to put my seduction technique to work.

  'Thanks, like I said I'm not used to doing the shots you are wanting,' I answer.

  Katherine looks at me with her dark piercing eyes which are full of mischief. In tight jeans and a gypsy top she really is gut wrenchingly beautiful. Very much like Harry, she has a very strong presence. One that is warming and trusting.

  'I'm sure that two women like us know what men like and you have a good eye. A very good eye. Look at this one. It's stunning.'

  I swallow hard as she pulls out the picture that I took in the library. The one where I was in the arms of her husband after he near on killed me.

  'I'll do you a copy,' I find myself saying.

  'You'd do that?' she asks in surprise.

  'Yes, it's no problem. Ok let's see if we can decide what we are going to do.'

  We spend the afternoon talking and negotiating her anniversary gift and eventually she leaves happy and full of my praises. She seems so very trusting and I feel a little sorry for her. I wonder how many real friends she actually has. How many just hang on to her because of who she is and what she can give? And if she is unhappy in her marriage then she must be lonely. It goes to show that money and status doesn't mean a thing in the grand scheme of things.

  When she leaves, she asks if we could meet again and I tell I would call. It's an empty promise. I can't really be this woman's friend, not when I am going to try and seduce her husband. The less emotionally involved I am the better it will be all round.

  Exhausted and a little drained, I decide to take my camera and go for a walk into the nearby Museum Gardens. A walk in the Gardens always allows my head to settle and gives me time to think. I love being near the ruins of the ancient Abbey and the old stone work always gives me great pictures that I can sell on to the tourists.

  As I walk, the setting sun is staining everything in gold and pinks and so I use the opportunity to snap a few close ups of blooming flowers and knotted trees.

  A couple are engrossed in one another on a bench and moving behind them I take a few shots with the stonework as a backdrop. Living in York is a photographers dream. There's always something interesting to look at and a few hidden treasures that people just pass by.

  Finally, I reach the rear part of the Abbey and I take in the scene in front of me deciding what shots I am about to take. The city around me is starting to spring to life as twilight descends. Even though the gardens are in the city centre the quiet here is eerie, but beautiful. It's almost like it's cocooned from the outside world. No wonder the monks settled here.

  Twilight is my favourite time, not quite day or night and everything always looks interesting especially through a lens. Getting on my belly, I decide to go for some low ones. Lining the Abbey walls through the lens, I push the button just as a dog runs into shot.

  'For fucks sake,' I curse as I check back the picture with a blurred dog-shaped smudge on.

  Ok, not a problem just do it again, but no matter where I lay or move to the dog seems content on following me around before deciding that I'm more interesting and starts to sniff around.

  Sighing, I sit up and pet my chocolate brown intruder on the head, before roughly running my fingers in its collar. Getting to my feet, my new friend looks up at me expectantly.

  'So, who do you belong to?' I ask.

  'He's mine.'

  I jump at the v
oice behind me and swing round to be face to face with Harry Cobain. Jesus, this is just far too cliché.

  'Well, he's just ruined my shot,' I half chastise.

  'What can I say? He's drawn to pretty ladies, who lay in the grass,' he smirks.

  'Does that line work a lot,' I laugh.

  He shrugs. 'Well it clearly amuses you. I am sorry that he ruined your picture. Hope it wasn't important.'

  His face looks suddenly serious and concerned as he calls the dog to his side and puts its leash on.

  'Just personal pictures. Nothing really,' I reassure, reaching for the dog again.

  A smile warms Harry's face and he looks relieved.

  'There's a pub just at the end of the gardens, can I buy you a drink to say sorry?'

  I glance at my watch and contemplate for a second. It's all for show, because I already know the answer. Play it cool, George would instruct if he were here. Not too eager. Anne Boleyn played coy when it came to Henry. I must do the same.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Go on and I’m no expert, but you are losing light,’ he smirks.

  I can’t help but smile. He does have a point and he knows it.

  'Yeah, I can stop for one,' I answer.

  'Great. This is Monty by the way,' he introduces the dog as we walk down the hill.

  At the pub, I sit outside with Monty while his master brings us refreshment. The night air is still warm and because of my furry friend we have to utilize the beer garden. The smell of the River Ouse is almost pungent in the warm summer air, bringing with it unwelcomed winged guests that I have to wave away. Harry returns quickly and places my Crabbies down in front of me, before sitting opposite with his pint of Bitter.

  I'm a little surprise at the Undertone's T-shirt he's wearing, indicating a definite rebel behind the smart clothes. His jeans are worn and tired looking. This is dress down Harry. The Harry that takes his dog out for a walk in parks and probably comes to this pub for a drink before going home.

  'Nice shirt,' I comment.