Broken Blue: The Complete Series Read online

  I hurry through to the hallway and go to the front door. I guess it's inevitable that we're going to get a ton of visitors over the next few days, since my father has always been a popular kind of guy, and I suppose my job is basically to be polite and nice while all these fucking people traipse in and out of the house and say the same pointless things about my father and how sorry they are that he's dead. Taking a deep breath, I open the door, expecting to be confronted by some of my parents' friends. Instead, I find myself face to face with the most handsome guy I've ever seen in my life. Reaching up, I manage to grab the front of my towel just in time to stop it from falling down.

  Five

  1895

  "So tell me about this Sophia Marchant girl," says Mr. White, as he and I walk along Praed Street. Leaning heavily on his cane, Mr. White is fully thirty years older than me, and of late his age has begun to show a little more. I fear he is approaching the point at which he will have to leave the game and be replaced. Retirement, of course, is not an option; there is only one way in which anyone can leave the game, and it is absolutely final. "How did she measure up?" he continues. "Could she be a long-term proposition, or is she just another one for the pile?"

  "I do not wish to be unduly confident," I reply, "but I have high hopes for her. I know it's early days, but so far she is showing some very admirable qualities. I intend to push her a little further tonight and see how she reacts. Even if she cannot go all the way, I feel certain she will last a lot longer than most of the others".

  "You surprise me," he replies, smiling as he glances over at me. "I thought you'd learned your lesson about hyperbole. A girl who appears strong can suddenly snap when a little more pressure is applied. In my experience, it is often better if they bend a little first".

  "You haven't met her," I say. "There's something different about her". I look over at him and see a mocking smile on his lips. "I know what I'm talking about," I protest. "There is a real fire in her soul. I'm not saying she's certain to win, but I genuinely believe that she will go further than most. Perhaps even all the way".

  "I look forward to meeting her," he says. "I mean, you've bedded a lot of girls over the past year and a half, Mr. Blue. You know not to get drawn into their false confidence, and yet you seem to have had faith in this particular girl. What is it that makes you think she is going to be different?"

  "I can't explain it," I say. "There is something in her eyes, and maybe something about the way she presents herself. I remember when she opened the door to her father's home and I saw her for the first time. She just seemed so self-assured, as if she had an advantage over all the others. I suppose I was just easily seduced, but I still believe she is different. We shall not be writing her name in the book just yet, I can assure you".

  "And her body is good?" he asks as we reach the corner of Spring Street and pause to look up at the vastness of Paddington Rail Station, which is currently being rebuilt.

  "Her body is exceptional," I reply. "Tight and wet, although she doesn't really know how to please a man. She tried, but it was rather a case of trial and error. I even let her sit on top of me for a while, but it was rather saddening to watch as she desperately attempted to work out what to do. By the end of the session, she was rather forlorn. I think she understood that she had failed, but there were signs that she might improve. It is her capacity to learn, perhaps, that excites me the most".

  "Look at this bloody place," Mr. White says, his attention apparently having wandered as he stares up at the imposing edifice of the railway station. "How big do you suppose these railway stations need to become? It seems like every year, some fool is proposing to add to one of them". He turns to me. "I cannot fathom this constant need to be on the move. Why can't people pick a place and stay there? I don't like it, Edward; I really don't like it at all. The world is changing too fast. Everyone's always in a hurry. I fear the game will have to change in order to keep with the times".

  We stand in silence for a moment, watching as workmen scurry like ants around the railway station. Such frenetic activity, all dedicated to expanding a building that helps people move from one place to another. I can't help feel, though, that Mr. White is rather old-fashioned in his views. For me, the railway network is an exciting development that signifies a new, more modern age. Still, I don't suppose there is much point arguing with him. Old men get stuck in their ways and dismiss the views of the next generation. Perhaps I, myself, will one day feel the same way about the world.

  "Do you ever wonder," I say finally, "if the game is impossible to win?" I turn to him. "There have been so many girls now, and still there is no sign of any real advance. Don't you think that if all these girls are failing, then perhaps we should look again at the rules of the game?"

  Mr. White stares at me for a moment. "Don't let Lady Red hear you talk like that," he says eventually. "The game is the game. It does not change just because a succession of young ladies cannot meet the high standards we expect of them. Mark my words, one day there will be a girl who does manage to perform well in the game. It might be after our lifetimes, it might not be for hundreds of years, but one day it will happen. There will be some other Mr. White standing and talking to some other Mr. Blue, and they will realize that they have finally found the girl who has eluded their predecessors. That, my dear fellow, is the beauty of the game. We are just temporary players in something much grander than we can possibly imagine". He smiles. "You must remember that the game is more important than any of us. There will be a girl one day who will rise to the challenge". He pauses. "Perhaps it will be your Sophia Marchant. Perhaps not. I await your next update with interest".

  "As do I," I reply.

  "Just don't start getting attached," he says. "The girls have their role in the game, but the game demands that we move on. No fear, no regrets, no sympathies. Just keep moving on. Focus on the next girl. You never know when you might be about to stumble upon one who can actually withstand the game".

  We walk on in silence. Mr. White is quite correct, of course. Sophia is beautiful and intelligent, and for a beginner she is reasonably pleasing in the bedroom. It would be very easy for me to get caught up in the idea that she is somehow special, and I am usually very careful to keep from jumping to conclusions. Nevertheless, I see something special in her character and I am certain that she has potential. I know Mr. White has his doubts, but I feel confident that one day he will see that I'm right. Either way, the game must go on and we, the players, must remember our roles. If Sophia does not fulfill her potential, the game will still be being played long after all of us are dead and cold. Why, I'm quite sure that one day, long ago, another Mr. Blue and another Mr. White have had this very conversation before, and perhaps in a hundred years from now, the game will still be rumbling along. It is in this way that the game, bigger than all of us, survives through the ages.

  Six

  Today

  "Hi," says the guy, looking about as surprised to see me as I am to see him. "You must be... Elly?"

  "Yeah," I say, feeling kind of dumbstruck. It's not every day that you open the door to find such a good-looking guy waiting for you. He looks to be a few years older than me, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, and he's wearing an absolutely immaculate, perfectly-fitted business suit. He's also tall, with dark hair and just a hint of stubble. Then there are his eyes: ice-blue and with a hint of playfulness, they seem to be staring straight into my soul. "Who are you?" I ask, immediately realizing that I must sound totally rude.

  "My name is -"

  "Mark!" my mother shouts from behind me. I cringe as she rushes over and almost knocks me out of the way in her haste to greet the visitor. I guess this Mark guy must be important. "Elly, you must invite people in, not keep them standing on the doorstep. Please, Mark, won't you come inside?" She glances at me. "Go and put some clothes on," she snaps at me. "I'm so sorry, Mark. I'm afraid you've caught us at a bad time".

  "I completely understand," Mark says, stepping insi
de. "To be honest, I was hesitant to come at all, but felt I should pay my condolences in person. I can't tell you how shocked I was when I heard the news".

  I glance down at the towel I've got wrapped around my body, and I see with alarm that I'm showing a hint of cleavage.

  "Please, come through," my mother says, ushering him toward the lounge before turning back to me. "Elly!" she hisses. "For God's sake, get dressed and make a pot of coffee".

  "Who is he?" I whisper.

  "Your father's business partner," she replies. "Go! Hurry up!"

  Sighing, I turn and run upstairs. It only takes me a few minutes to get dressed, and soon I'm down in the kitchen, boiling up a pot of coffee. Usually, I'd spend much longer drying my hair and generally sorting myself out after a shower, but with my mother on my case all the time I feel like I just need to get everything done as fast as possible. The last thing I need is to have her lecturing me in front of visitors, especially when they're as hot as Mark. It's not like I think for a moment that a guy like him would be interested in someone like me, but I still feel kind of on edge and I figure I might as well try to make the best impression possible.

  "Elly, dear!" my mother calls out from the lounge, "how's the coffee coming along?"

  "Just a few minutes!" I shout back. Great: I'm pretty sure I'll be spending most of the next few days as a servant, making massive quantities of coffee for the endless parade of friends and family who are going to come to the house. Wherever my father is right now, I hope he can see me and I hope he knows how much trouble he's putting me through. As the coffee pot finishes boiling, I can't help but smile as I think about my father's reaction to all this fuss. Unlike my mother, he was always a totally down-to-earth kind of guy and, as such, he liked everything to stay calm and relaxed. I swear to God, I don't know how he managed to put up with my mother for so long. I mean, I'm her daughter, so I'm kind of stuck with her, but he was just married to her. For whatever fucked-up reason, he always seemed devoted to her, as if he saw something in her that she kept hidden from the rest of the world.

  I carry the coffee pot through to the lounge, where I find Mark and my mother deep in conversation.

  "Thank you, dear," my mother says. "Mark was just telling me about the work he and your father were doing".

  I take seat, feeling pretty awkward.

  "Skin," Mark says.

  I stare at him. "Sorry?"

  "Skin," he says again. "Your father and I were working on creating a new type of skin. A kind of membrane. For aircraft".

  "Mark invested one and a half million pounds in the project," my mother butts in.

  "Really," Mark replies, "it was nothing. If your father's work pays off, the savings for global business will run to billions. I remain fully committed to pushing his ideas forward, even if he's not around to see the results".

  "Thank you," my mother says, putting on her most polite voice. She's such a god-damned fake, acting like this demure woman when she's actually hard as nails. She's always been a bit of a snob, though, and I guess a hot, rich younger guy pushes all the right buttons. I can't say I disagree with her; Mark is disgustingly attractive, and I find it hard to stop staring at him.

  "I want you to rest assured that all the money that was due to your husband will now be paid to your family," Mark continues. "There's no question that you'll benefit from his brilliance. Without him, the project wouldn't even exist. I know he'd want his work to benefit his family, and I intend to make sure that you get every penny". He pauses for a moment. "The project is going forward. It'll be harder now that he's not with us, but I'm confident that his original ideas will be shown to be correct".

  "That's very kind of you," my mother says, before turning to me. "Isn't it kind, Elly?" she says, clearly prompting me to agree.

  "Sure," I say. "Thanks".

  "He talked about you a lot," Mark continues, turning to me. "He was very proud of you for going off to Bristol and pursuing your studies. I don't think I've ever met a parent who was more proud of his daughter".

  "Thanks," I say again, kind of hoping he'll shut up. I understand that he wants to make a good impression, but he's piling on the compliments a little thick.

  "Your father's work was very important," my mother says, with a patronizing tone in her voice. "He was respected by a lot of people".

  "Great," I say.

  "The skin he was developing for aircraft is likely to revolutionize the industry," Mark continues. "Without going into too much detail, I can assure you that the fruits of his experiments will inform engineering work for generations to come. In many ways, he was quite revolutionary in his field".

  "I bet you didn't know that, did you?" my mother says to me. "Your father was a pioneer. He was working on some very important projects".

  "I get it," I say. "He was doing okay".

  "When I heard of his unfortunate death," Mark continues, "my first thought was naturally for his family. He was very careful to ensure that there was a smooth process in place for a transition once he was gone. Obviously he didn't expect anything to happen to him just yet, but he put measures in place to ensure that his work wouldn't die with him. For that, the whole scientific community must be extremely grateful".

  "Do you hear that?" my mother says. "Your father was important!"

  "Apparently so," I mutter, feeling like this whole conversation is pretty crazy. I mean, my father was a great man, but he wasn't exactly a saint. The way my mother and Mark are talking, you'd think everything my father touched was a success. In truth, he spent his whole life struggling to make a mark in the world, but now it seems that he only succeeded as he died. If only he could come back and see the fruits of his work; I'm sure he'd be pretty proud, but none of that can happen. He's dead, and that's the end of his story.

  "Mark would like you to go with him to help sort through your father's belongings," my mother says suddenly. "It seems your father left a great number of personal items on his desk".

  "Me?" I say, shocked by her request. I honestly didn't think she'd entrust me with that kind of thing, especially since she seems to think that I'm some kind of dumb girl who needs to be constantly following orders. Normally, I'd fight against her demands, but I feel like on this occasion I need to just keep my mouth shut and get on with things.

  "There's no rush," Mark adds, as if he senses my discomfort. "Perhaps it would be better to wait until -"

  "Nonsense," my mother says, flashing me a stare that lets me know I'd better to what she says. "There are so many things to get done over the next week before Elly has to go back to Bristol. We might as well get started. I'm going to spend the afternoon going through Graham's old clothes so we can take them to a charity shop. Elly doesn't mind helping out, do you?"

  "No," I say after a brief pause. "Sure".

  My mother smiles, clearly satisfied that she's managed to bend me to her will. Mark, meanwhile, looks pretty awkward. After all, he's clearly a very rich, very successful guy who probably has much better things to do than chaperone some random girl to an office. I guess this is his way of 'helping out' at a time of crisis. Smiling awkwardly, I realize with a heavy heart that Mark and my mother are waiting for me to go and get my shoes on so we can get going. As I hurry through to the hallway and start getting ready, I glance at myself in the mirror and see that I look like a mess.

  "I'm sorry about my daughter," I hear my mother say in the next room. "You know what children are like. She's a little all over the place at the moment".

  Sighing, I feel like that word 'children' has cut straight through to my soul. I'm twenty-one years old, but she talks about me as if I'm still a baby. Deciding I'd rather wait outside, I open the door and wander down the driveway, until finally I spot Mark's car. It's this long, low sports vehicle that looks like it belongs in a Bond movie. Seriously, the thing looks like it must have cost a million dollars, and I feel a slight thrill at the thought that I'm going to get to ride in the damn thing.

  "Allow me," Mark says suddenly,
having come out of the house behind me. He walks to the car and activates a button on his key-fob, which causes the car's doors to slide smoothly to one side. Almost a little nervous to go near the thing, I walk over and sit in the passenger seat. Once Mark is inside, the doors slide shut and I feel as if we're cocooned in a completely different world. I turn and look back at the house, and I see my mother watching us from the doorway. The car's windows are tinted blue, though, which only enhances the feeling that I've entered some kind of alternate universe. Looking out the front, I feel as if I'm totally separate from everything else. It's as if the whole world is distant and blue.

  Seven

  1895

  "Edward!" she calls out, as soon as I walk through the door and enter my hotel room. "Edward!" I can immediately tell that she's in the bedroom. Poor Sophia; she has probably been waiting all day for me to return, and I can only imagine what plans she has concocted. She has proven to be a spirited player so far, and I wouldn't put it past her to come up with something truly unexpected. Still, I mustn't get carried away; she has great potential, but there is still a long way to go before she I can be sure that she will really deliver.

  "Edward!" she calls again, a hint of desperation in her voice.

  "Just a moment!" I reply, removing my coat and shoes. The thought of spending another night in bed with Sophia fills me with excitement, but I am also a little apprehensive. What if all her promise falls to nothing? What if I discover I was wrong about her? Perhaps I should not have been so enthusiastic when I spoke to Mr. White this afternoon; after all, I made some grand promises about the girl and there is a danger now that I will be exposed as a fool if she disappoints.