I have been a very poor friend of late. So many of you all have shown your love and concern and, frankly, I have backed away from you. I have had problems since what happened in New Orleans but I am not completely away with the fairies, as some people seem to think. Thought I had better set the record straight and be honest about how I feel.

I know I seemed like I was coping but, to be truthful, I wasn't. In the immediate aftermath of the events, I had felt great - full of a euphoria that I was alive and in love with the most wonderful man in the world; that he was alive and that he loved me and that neither of us had to hide or pretend anymore. Nothing lay between us - we had been through the fire and walked out unscathed. I should have realized that my initial high was as false as if I had collapsed in a heap. The real kick of trauma comes later.

Terry knew that and he was rocklike those first few weeks. We flew back to London and I threw myself into house hunting whilst he put in the same hours at the office. At night, we came together and stayed mostly at home; I had little desire for the bright lights, nor had he. After a home-cooked meal, we would clear up together, watch TV, a DVD or play some cool jazz, mostly talk or I would lie sprawled on him, my head in his lap, the silence as comforting as the words. Occasionally I would catch him looking over, appraising me- in that detached professional way he has. I knew what he was thinking - I was a traumatized kidnap victim and he was expecting fallout.

But I held on. I mean we talked it out, of course we did, but there was a level upon which I wouldn't open up; a can of worms so foul that it made me sick even to think of it. I know he read between the lines but he never forced the issue- gave me openings and then stepped back, waiting, patient.

It is a strange feeling when you are sitting on the powder keg of your emotions and a smouldering taper seems to be edging nearer. Sometimes it feels as though the awesome strength of what you have hidden will blow you away but at others, you feel quite numb, removed as if it had happened to someone else. In a way it had. There was this other woman whom I used to be- a witty, bright, devil-may-care, optimistic, occasionally guilt- ridden but not madly obsessive, instinctive, happy person. She had breezed through an adventure of great danger to triumph over all the odds. And then disappeared. All that was left was an outline, like a paper doll, one dimensional and fragile, hiding from her shadow. It isn't death that necessarily kills you. I was alive and breathing but my spirit had evaporated; Raul was dead and stalking me as much as the day I shot him. Can you explain that?

It isn't that I didn't realize how important it was to speak of these things. I have read the magazines just like everyone else. But who could I speak to? Terry? No - don't even ask me to explain. The other men, all of whom had expressed their love, concern and wish to do anything they could for me? ...No - don't ask me why- perhaps simply  because they were men. My girlfriends, then? Who better than these women to whom I feel the closest bond? No...they must not be dragged into this dark hole with me. But there was one whom I could talk to...a little...she knew. How I wished that I could be like her- so able to cope, so matter-of-fact, so fatalistic, just like Jack. It happened and now it's over.

I spoke to Ann almost every day, even if for a few minutes. The sound of her voice made me feel safe; I still remember her hand steal over mine as if she were still sitting next to me.

 

 

How's Terry? How indeed? I am ashamed to say, I don't really know. I mean...he acts like Terry but I'm not so sure. He's quieter and gentler, tolerant and easy with me. I wish he would shake me hard or slap my face. Why did I say that? I have this recurring fantasy that he loses his temper and hits me hard, my face is bloody and bruised, lip split and eye closed. It is a shameful thing to think of; he would never, ever, lay violent hands on me, or any woman, and yet I feel some sort of thrill and empowerment through it. That is so sick, isn't it? I don't understand and I could never tell him...could you imagine how upset it would make him feel?

All in all life is good. I have everything a woman needs. The man of my dreams, friends whom I cherish, an exciting lifestyle, a warm family, health, wealth...the total package. I am eternally grateful. Is there a downside? Not really. I am blessed above all women. I just feel...well, you know. Bound to really, after what has happened...it takes time, I'll feel better soon...Rome wasn't built in a day...all things come to her who waits...how many bloody platitudes can a girl take?

I feel a bit guilty about the Game. I have been a very poor friend recently. I just haven't had the time. This morning I checked my mails- over 50 unopened ones. The girls had sent me loads, so had some of the boys. I flicked through and chose the obvious.

 

 

 

 

I closed down and left the others unopened. I had no energy left to try to form anodyne comments to pacify Jeff and Bud or any of the others. Grabbing my bag, I left the apartment and began the day's appointments, grateful again for the anonymity of the streets and the comfort of strangers. In a crowd, I feel so much safer.

As I exited the apartment block, I caught sight of myself in the large glass doors, so highly polished that they gleamed like mirrors. For a second I did not recognize myself. I was dressed in faded jeans and a khaki vest top, my hair now tousled and dark brown again. Did I mention that I have dyed it back? I have had enough of being blonde- enough fun for one girl, methinks- and I am growing it but it is at the messy stage - I want to do this for Terry, you know how he never really liked the other style.

I have lost weight and the tan is fading- actually I look a bit of a state these days. It's quite reassuring actually. I walk down a street and no one looks at me. I am neither worthy of exciting the glances and whistles of men, the sly appraisal of women nor do I look dowdy enough to be a source of derisive comment. Just a nondescript woman who would never be taken for a high- class hooker or the partner of a rich and successful world traveler. Suits me fine. I'll bet if a new Brother saw me now he would walk right past without a single look.

There is a problem looming, however, and it is beginning to dominate all my other neuroses- oh yes, I do admit to some. Terry has to go overseas. It is a really important case- ' pro bono', the sort of thing that he really wanted to set the company up to do. This is the real stuff of heroes in my mind and I would do nothing to try and dissuade him from this assignment. He has been researching cases of kidnap that are not given attention- people who have been held for years in some cases and whose chance of freedom is slim, if they are still alive. These are the people who are the casual byproducts of the ransom trade, taken with the higher profile targets either because they were part of his staff, a driver, a witness or in some cases one of a haphazard bunch of local people taken on the vague chance that they might be worth money.

Would you believe how many hundreds of people are kidnapped in this way whose families have no means to pay? Ransom might be a lucrative business (and as Terry has pointed out many times, it has kept him in Armani and first class travel) but there is still a cachet for the hostage takers in merely establishing fear amongst the weak of their own communities to discourage any help to be given to the government forces who seek to root them out. The Philippines is rife with such cases and Terry had homed in on a number where recent sightings suggested the victims were still alive, negotiation was a possibility- offering food or amnesty more than cash in return- or organizing raids to secure their release.

These were long term negotiations and Terry does not intend to run them himself, initially setting up a team recruited from local contacts, reliable government agencies and a few of the hand picked operatives that he had been gathering over the past few months. He expects to be back and forth until they were ready to act- but then he would take over and make the final decisions.

To enable Dino and him to travel freely back and forth, the company had acquired a private jet, a Gulfstream, and it had been an obvious next step to ask Lachlan to pilot it. Our flyboy jumped at the chance and has been familiarising himself with it and doing a few test flights in the States over the past few weeks. Terry was keeping me informed of the progress of the arrangements and I was trying my best to keep my cool; but as his departure loomed closer, my anxiety mounted. It was imperative that I did not let him see how I felt; he was uneasy enough about leaving me as it was.

"Who's the next lucky boy on the list?" Terry joked one night as I was preparing dinner. He was leaning on the counter top, drinking from a bottle of San Miguel, still wearing his suit, the tie off and his shirt unfastened, looking drawn and a little tired, beginning to lose the healthy tan from earlier in the summer.

"Haven't asked anyone. Too busy." I carried on chopping vegetables for a salad, my back turned.

"You need to see someone. It's good for you. I work such long hours..."

"Terry...I'm not having anyone slipping in here while you're at the office- for Christ's sake!" I snapped.

He cleared his throat. "I didn't mean creeping around like that, either. Look, love, you know I've got a trip next week...I really don't want you to be left alone... Check the calendar...call one of the boys. See if Max is free...Bud maybe? One of them would come over, you know they would...you could have a bit of fun...you know you haven't been out much recently."

I spun round; he was staring into space, a slight frown on his face. "I don't want to see anyone but you. Yet."

"I know. I pretty much thought that was the problem." He turned to look at me and his eyes were reading me again. I am not a client. I am not a piece of rescued cargo!

"It is not a problem. You haven't seen anyone, either."

"That's different." He set his jaw in his 'we are not going to argue about this' face.

"Why? Why is that different?"

He looked down at his feet and swirled the drink in the bottle. "Because I am not on the edge of a breakdown. You are."

We stared at each other. "So - you are refusing invitations so that you can look after me, is that it? Am I the invalid now?"

"Don't be so fucking ridiculous! And don't start your word games, either! Uma...believe me, you need to step back and take time. You have to understand that." He walked over and took the knife from me, laying it down gently and pulling me against him, his hand ruffling up my hair and his chin resting on my head. "I just want you to be happy and strong again. But I can't quite reach you...let me in, baby. Please."

I felt his strength and wished I knew where to start. I wasn't trying to conceal anything. I just couldn't open that place that needed purging. "I just can't talk about it...I just can't...even to you...I'm so sorry..."

He nodded. "When you are ready. Promise?" I smiled and brushed his cheek, the dark shadow already forming. His eyes were so liquid, so brimming- that gentle contrast to his rugged face. 

"Kiss me better," I whispered and he bent his head and took me in- for a long moment peace settled on my heart.

 

*

 

He made another attempt the following evening. "I was talking to one of our security firms today; they've provided men on occasions for jobs I've been coordinating."

"Men? What kind of men?" I asked flicking through a magazine as I lay on the floor in front of the TV.

"Security. It occurred to me that perhaps I could get one of them for you while I'm away." He rubbed at his face, ran his hand through his hair and then started playing with his scar. Terry was anxious about something.

"Are you telling me that you want to get me a bodyguard? Are you crazy? Some ex- copper moving in here when you're away?" He grimaced.

"It's just to make you feel safe. There's no danger, Uma, but you'll feel better if there is a man here all the time. I'll feel better, too. Please, honey...don't be unreasonable."

"It is ludicrous! There is nothing wrong with me. If I can't spend a couple of weeks alone here, in this highly secure apartment- how the hell am I ever going to be able to live in a rambling old house? I have to deal with this, Terry, not hide from it."

He sighed and raised his eyes, looking for some divine inspiration. "But you are not dealing with it, Uma. That's kind of my point. Look at yourself...baby...it doesn't matter to me but...look at yourself! You never even try anymore. I walk into the room when you don't expect me- you jump and shake like a nervous fawn. The phone rings- you don't answer it. You spend most of the night walking the boards smoking, you pretend to eat but mostly play with your food. You're drinking too much and I suspect you've been on the happy pills occasionally. And that's just for starters. You're a nervous wreck and it is no surprise- you have a right to be. I just want you to face up to it and let us help you..."

"Us? The Scooby Gang? How reassuring. It's my business and I can do without the do-gooders fussing around and running my life like a helpless child." I stormed into the kitchen and poured myself another glass of red wine, thumping the granite counter in temper. I felt rather than saw his presence standing by the kitchen door, watching me again, saying nothing.

"Stop looking at me like that!" I hissed and swigged back the wine, scrabbling for a packet of cigarettes in a drawer. He walked up and lit it for me; I tried to avoid his eyes- he jerked up my chin and made me look at him.

"Like this? You don't like me looking at you like this? Why?"

"I don't know what you mean," I shrugged his hand away and turned my back.

"I think you do, Tink. Until you let another human being inside your head then you will never be able to drive the demons out," he spoke quietly but there was a warning there that was quite clear- I had to make the first step or I might never dig myself out of this trough of despond.

I looked at him. "Thought you were the expert at keeping people at a distance. Isn't building walls around yourself what you're known for?"

He groaned and ran his hand down his face. He held his arms out in frustration. "All the more reason to intervene then- you want to turn out like me? A mechanical wind up man who couldn't even feel the ache that was cleaving him apart?  I am not letting you go down over this...do you understand me? I will not let you disappear. You are my lifeline, too."

I think the mists began to clear a little then; he was struggling too. Had I ever stopped to wonder at how much it had all cost him?   

 

*

 

During the day I toured the estate agents in the chosen areas, Maida Vale, Chelsea, St John's Wood- saw dozens of properties until I could barely remember one from the other. One day I looked at my watch and realized that I had lost two hours - must have walked around in a fucking dream world- it felt like I had dislocated from time. Back home at the service apartment we were renting on Hyde Park, I stood by the large windows overlooking the Corner and watched the world go by. What was the matter with me? Did I really need professional help?

A door clicked somewhere and I jumped, my heart pounding. It happens every time I hear an unexplained noise. I am scared of everything. Afraid. In fear. He has taken away the little shreds of confidence I had. I hate him for that but still I fear him - fear a dead man. The man I had killed, who haunts my waking moments and the little sleep I get.

I hated the apartment, too. It was beautiful, luxurious, the best address, phenomenally expensive, but it seemed so cold and sterile, like a hotel but even larger and more impersonal- there was even less contact here with the outside world. I should have gone back to my own home in the north, stayed with my parents perhaps but I couldn't leave Terry. He was the lifeline, the anchor upon which sanity seemed to rest. I wasn't sure how I could pass a night without his body next to mine, his rhythmic breathing, his warmth and the comfort of his flesh.

I still had a desperate need for sex, a hunger for him that seemed insatiable. I knew that it was different from before- I was using him in some therapeutic way which seemed unfair and a little sordid. He never commented. Just loved me and calmed when I became too aggressive or asked for pain...because sometimes I did...he just said, 'No', quietly, and made me come in a gentler way, ignoring how I clawed his back until it bled. One day, I will be able to tell him how he saved me. But I can't even do that yet.

I found a house. Can you believe that? The perfect house: an old vicarage, rambling, high ceilings, still with all the features from the 1890s when it had been built. There were open fires, servants' bells, original plaster ceilings, authentic Victorian tiles, attic, wooden floors...the lot. It needed massive renovations but it was what I most wanted, even down to the overgrown and woody garden. Terry laughed, groaned, and said he'd buy me a paint brush, this is your baby...but I know he loved it, too. This was something we could build together- not a hermetically-sealed perfect hotel room without perceptible character or flaws to make us forget us where we really were. Our house would have pipes that leaked and rumbled in the night, floorboards that squeaked, good ghosts of happy families long gone to surround us- we had both been too long in an unreal world.

"Lachlan's flying me on Monday...he's already at Luton...why don't you come with us? I know I don't really like you there when I'm working but..." We were lying in bed on Saturday morning, reading the newspapers and eating breakfast.

"No! Anyway I'm too busy. I want to sign everything and see the architect. There are thousands of things to do...I will be so busy...don't worry...honest...I won't even notice you've gone..." He glanced up from the sports' page with one eyebrow cocked. I picked up the supplement and acted vague but he wasn't fooled.

"You are not good alone, Uma...face it... Go to your Mum's. See some friends. I don't want you here in solitary. You jump at every shadow, baby."

Nor were others fooled. They kept ringing me and I kept putting them off. I even went so far as to encourage some of the others to ask for him. See if anyone fancies a trip to Manila. "Maybe you would like to go? He's working hard and he's lonely. He needs a breath of fresh air, he needs to forget for a while."

And then I would get off the phone and cry. I had put the first step in motion but I was scared of the momentum now that it was here. But some things are right and must be done. If only he was not so loyal and so inclined to do his duty; if he were like other men who are easily swayed by a beautiful face and a willing body. But he loved the others and they could reach him- perhaps in places that I am unable to do so.

He left on an early evening; it was a rather dull and rainy day, muggy and close, as a wet July day can be. I stood at the window of our room as he was putting the finishing touches to his packing and taking a shower. I stared out onto the rainy streets, watched the beginning of the rush hour as the traffic built up- Piccadilly was already at a crawl. It should be a hot evening, there should be office workers sunbathing in the Park with cans of beer and girls showing off their underwear, as crazy Brits are wont to do when the sun finally comes out. But, typically, it was bleak and dreary, reflective of my heart, tears crying where there should be light.

In my mind, I saw myself strip off and join him in the shower as I would have done in the past, wriggling against him, soaping and seducing him, laughing, teasing, joyful - or even weeping a little that he was going away. We would start off a mock-fight and then we would find ourselves serious, passion sweeping us again and frantic lovemaking against the cool tiles. That was the mind play. In actual fact, I stood with my arms wrapped round my own body and a cold stone settling in my gut. I didn't even want to see him.

He was dressing quietly, moving in his efficient, business-like way, almost ready. "That's me, then. I'll have to be off soon, the traffic is horrendous at this time...Tink..." He walked over to the window and placed his hands on my shoulders. "I will only be about two weeks. Call me anytime of the day or night if you need me. I...don't want to go...maybe I should call Dino and..."

"NO! Go...I am fine," I remembered to breathe and aimed for his gut. That way I would hurt him somewhere. "I think I need a break, Terry. You are crowding me too much."

I saw the flicker in his eyes; I'd hit dead central but I also saw his cool, rational mind take over. "You don't mean that." He dragged me against him and held my head in one hand, his other caressing my hair and raising my face to his. We looked at each other and I knew he read something in my eyes that my mouth could not say - kissed me gently and then more forcefully, a hint of brutality, a shock wave to my numbness. I felt it and responded; he reacted instinctively, not in his usual tender understanding way but at last with the fire that I knew was in his belly, too.

I remember thinking it out in my head, each move carefully selected, my intimate knowledge of him used against him as a martial arts expert turns his opponent's momentum into his own attack. My hands went to his tie, so neatly fastened and I ripped it off, dragging as his shirt to expose his chest, covering him in my rough, biting kisses as I knelt before him and tore at his pants to open them. He vainly attempted to stop me but his manner told me he was unable to fight his own desperate urge.

I gave him head. He moaned and held my hair, swearing crudely, either at me or himself for his weakness, I'm not sure which. Suddenly he dragged me from my knees and threw me back on the bed, I crawled away and he caught my ankle, knocked me onto my front and ripped off my jeans. I wanted to relent; I was already wet and hot for him, but that voice in my head told me I was close...I could push him, so I raised my elbow and swung it back, felt it hit him square in the solar plexus, heard his grunt of temper. He wedged my hands beneath my body and lay on me, using his knee to part my legs and I felt him thrust, miss, hurt me. I laughed. It rang cruel and mocking in my ears- how must it have sounded to him?

My mistake. He pulled away and I saw his face; shock at what he had so nearly done, hurt that I could twist him in this way. His eyes were moist and I saw tears forming there, helplessness possessing him. Terry could not cope. What he could do for countless people who meant nothing to him, he was unable to do for me. I was adding to the list of failures in his life.

He turned me over and put his head on my breast, curling round me and holding me close. He whispered, "I cannot do this. I will not do this." We lay there as close as man and woman could be in body, but our spirits wandering in a wilderness unable to find their way back.

"I'm sorry, Terry. This is not what I want to say," I murmured as I stroked his hair.

"I know...I know," was his reply. He took a few more breaths and then he returned to me, placed my fingers round his now-softening cock, and kissed me as a lover, while I touched him with gentleness until he was ready for me. I wrapped my legs around his head as he tended to my weeping sex, kissed me until I could take no more and then he gave me his love, on his terms, refusing to pander to my need for punishment. My anguished cry as I came was for us both. He deserves so much better than I can give him.

Neither of us said much as he dressed. I walked with him to the door, but he told me not to come down. "I want you to see a doctor and get some help, Tink. I think this is bigger than both of us. Please ...do it for me, even if you think I'm being a pain. But whatever you do or say, I am not going to let you down. You hear me? Never." One last kiss, deep, wild and full of the twin pinnacles of hope and despair and I stepped back; he picked up his bags and strode off, the set of his shoulders as fake as the smile I gave him as he turned to the elevator door.

So, as you can see...I am finding life a little trying these days. But I am aware of my problems. I have seen a doctor and I have sleeping pills and Prozac. Happy, happy me. It will take time but I will get there. I am strong and determined and I have Terry at my side. Don't worry about me. I'll be in touch soon.

 

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