Where There's Smoke

Kate felt the old guilt working. Beating him hadn’t given her the lift she’d expected, but she couldn’t deny it had been an incentive. The strength of her desire to apologise, to say he was right, maddened her. “What makes you think you’re important enough for me to be bothered?”

He grinned, pleased to have provoked her. “Because I know you. I know what you’re like. Christ, I should do, I lived with you long enough.” The thin veneer over his anger was beginning to crack. “God, look at you. Miss Superior. You think you’re it, don’t you? Well, you’re not. You’re nothing. If not for me you’d still be peddling shitty little accounts!”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

“No? Who gave you your first fucking break, then?”

The retort came before she could stop it. “And that wasn’t all you gave me, was it?”

He stared at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kate looked away. “Look, Paul, this is pointless. I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but—”

“Disappointed? Why the fuck should I be disappointed? Just because some conniving bitch screws me out of an account I’ve been working my balls off for?”

“I didn’t screw you out of anything.”

“No? Who did you screw, then? Was it the whole board, or just Redwood?”

She held open the door. “I want you to go. Now.”

He laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Come on, Kate, you can tell me. Did he touch your spot like I used to?”

“Get out! Now!”

He was up off the sofa before she could move. He grabbed her around the throat with one hand. The other pressed against her chin, forcing her head back.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!”

Kate felt his spittle fleck her face. His breath was thick with alcohol. She tried to prise his hands from her, but he was too strong. His face worked.

“You bitch! You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?”

He jammed her back against the door. The handle dug painfully into her spine. Then she saw the expression in his eyes alter, and suddenly she knew what was going to happen next. As though the thought had prompted the action, he dropped one of his hands and wrenched aside the bathrobe, ignoring her struggles as he grabbed her breast. He dug his fingers into her.

“Paul — No!”

The hand on her throat choked her, stopping her from screaming. His leg went between hers, forcing them apart, pinning her. There was no space to kick or knee him. She tore at his wrist. Tiny points of light began to spark her vision. She felt his hand at her waist, yanking at the belt that still held the robe closed. No! God, no! Abruptly, she stopped struggling. Feeling the lack of resistance, Paul looked up. She forced herself to smile at him over his hand.

“Bedroom...” she croaked.

For a moment he didn’t move, and she thought he was too far gone to listen to her. Then a grin touched his mouth. He stepped back, and as the pressure on her throat relaxed and his leg slid from between hers, she shot her knee up at his groin and pushed out as hard as she could.

It was too soon. Her knee skidded off his thigh, and even as he reeled away, he was already grabbing for her again.

She lunged through the doorway, feeling him close behind her as she stumbled down the hall. He caught hold of her bathrobe as she reached the top of the stairs, checking her, dragging her back in an unequal tug of war. She could see the door standing open at the bottom, and in desperation spun round and wrenched the robe from his fingers.

She pitched back against the wall as it ripped free, her teeth snapping together painfully. Paul toppled the opposite way, into the open stairwell. He caromed off the banister and tumbled untidily to the bottom, crashing into the door and knocking it back against the wall before sprawling onto the black and white tiles of the entrance hall.

Breathless, Kate ran down after him. His eyes were screwed shut, mouth frozen in a pained “O” as she stepped over his legs and opened the front door. Dazed, he didn’t resist as she tucked her hands under his arms and began dragging him backwards. He was heavy, but there wasn’t far to go.

It was only when his hips bumped down off the porch that he seemed to realise what was happening. “Whoa—” he said, stiffening, and Kate let him drop.

His head cracked onto the concrete path, but even as the “Ow/” was forced from him, she was already running back inside. She banged the front door shut and leaned against it, panting. Her back and shoulders ached from the effort.

For a few seconds there was silence outside, then she heard him grunt and curse as he scraped to his feet. “Fuck!” Another groan. “Bitch!”

She heard him take a step towards the porch. “If you’re still there when I get upstairs, I’m calling the police!” she shouted. She turned to find Miss Willoughby standing in the doorway behind her. Below the wig the old lady’s face was shocked.

“Is everything all right?”

Kate saw her bathrobe was flapping open. She pulled it around her, trying to compose herself. “Yes. I’m sorry, it’s...” An explanation defeated her. “Everything’s fine.”