LITMIR.BIZ

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It reminds me of the ghetto area of Venice where I wandered with my camera last month, thinking of Gustav. Thinking of Manhattan. Thinking it was all over between us.

      The city noises clang and echo in my ears. The tall buildings in this narrow dark street are bending over, intent on crushing us. My fiancé turns his back on me, still clutching his mobile phone, and glares up at the mostly unlit windows in the building above.

      I can no longer escape the series of disasters that has brought us to this narrow dark street. Maybe to the metaphorical end of the road.

      The reason Polly had the incriminating photographs of me and Pierre which so infuriated Gustav was that she had been stalking us. The reunion of her boyfriend with his brother Gustav meant that when Pierre dumped her for no apparent reason after the New Year, Polly thought I could help her. So when Pierre commissioned me to shoot a storyboard at the theatre where he was working, that seemed like the perfect opportunity. Polly asked me to find out what was going on in Pierre’s head and ask him if he would take her back.

      But instead of trusting me to carry out my mission, she decided to spy on Pierre and me in the Gramercy Hotel bar. And if she’d heard how graphic the conversation became she would have pounced on us sooner.

      When I interrogated him about my poor cousin, Pierre decided not only to share but to shock. He laid out his entire sexual history in intimate detail. I was given chapter and verse about the volcanic sex he and Gustav’s ex-wife Margot indulged in after they had run away together, and how ultimately it destroyed him, because when she chewed him up and spat him out six months later, he realised no other woman would ever match up.

      He had spent five years searching for the perfect specimen. Polly looked promising when they met at a magazine shoot. She was sexier than most, prettier, funnier, and English like him. They even shared a flair for fashion and style. But in the end, despite her connection with me and Gustav, she was the latest in a long line of casualties. Women who would never satisfy him.

      Except that then, fired up by my slightly drunken attention, Pierre hinted that someone new might have come close. Me. He helped me into my coat as I prepared to leave, and knowing I was flummoxed by his insinuations he ran his lips across my mouth, and that’s what my cousin saw.

      So Polly took this as hard evidence that I was the reason Pierre had dumped her. His own damaged psyche was too complex to grasp. And when she stormed into our apartment, Gustav chose to believe a couple of grainy photographs over my emphatic professions of innocence.

      That was the night my world caved in. Polly thought I’d gone behind her back with the boyfriend she still wanted. Gustav thought I’d been unfaithful with his own newly returned brother. I was incandescent that the pair of them could have so little faith.

      So I went alone to Venice. Vulnerable. Broken-hearted. The perfect target for Pierre Levi. He came after me, impersonated his brother and got within an inch of penetrating me.

      But I need to focus on what’s happening now.

      I follow Gustav towards the apartment block, but before I reach him I see that parked outside the entrance is a sleek grey Porsche.

      ‘Let’s go home, Gustav. Better still, let’s get that table you booked at La Lanterna before it goes to someone else. We’ve got plans to make! We can just walk away, and you and Pierre can carry on as you were. He got it wrong, that’s all. He’ll be like a cornered animal if we go storming in there. He’ll lash out.’ I tug on Gustav’s sleeve, aware that I’m mewling like a kicked kitten. ‘You won, and he lost! Think how embarrassed he’ll be!’

      Gustav stares at the apartment building, his arm hanging by his side. ‘Embarrassment won’t cut it! He could try shame. Remorse, if it’s true that he tried to take advantage of you. Sorrow, for upsetting and confusing you like this. And as for winning and losing? Serena, this isn’t a competition!’

      ‘It is to him, Gustav! That’s just it! He’s desperate to be your little brother again, but he also wants whatever you’ve got! That’s how it’s always been. He wanted, and took, Margot—’

      ‘She stole him, you mean. She knew exactly how to hurt me the most. He may have been a willing participant, but he was still a kid.’ Gustav’s face is set in a series of hard lines as he takes another step across the pavement. ‘Going after my girlfriend six years later is totally different.’

      Yet again I regret saying anything. I slide my hand up to his face, lay it on his cheek. I can feel the muscles flickering with tension around his clenched jaw.

      ‘We can drop this now. What’s important is that you and he have made up. You’re brothers. So he’s jealous. He looks up to you. He wants what you have. Gustav, you’ve both worked so hard to get back to where you were. Don’t spoil it.’

      ‘He’s the one who’s spoiling it. Just when my life was settled again. Just when I wanted to sit down and start thinking of where and when we might get married. Why does he never learn? Why did he have to mess with you, of all people? Why does he have to trample all over other people’s happiness like that? He had his own chance of romantic bliss with your poor cousin, and he blew it. He can’t have you. No one else will ever have you!’

      We stare at each other out there in the street. The possessive words thrill me, but the new rage in his voice terrifies me, too.

      ‘I thought you were angry with me, Gustav. But if you’re not, let’s just – let’s just get away from here.’

      ‘I’m angry with everyone and everything at the moment. You think your life is finally on track – lovely girl, successful businesses, brotherly love restored, rosy future – and then a feather, of all things, wafts in out of nowhere and turns it all upside down. What you’ve said, or tried to say, has really shaken me up.’ He takes my hand and pulls me after him. ‘But it’s Pierre who has crossed a line.’

      As we pass the Porsche, I touch the bonnet. The metal is still hot.

      Gustav pushes open the big glass-panelled front door of the apartment building. We step out of the dark street into an even darker hallway. But there’s a certain faded grandeur to it, with high ceilings and period cornices. The wall-mounted lights flicker and crackle, making it even gloomier.

      I try once more to stop this.

      ‘Pierre can’t help himself. Margot fatally corrupted him. I was a juicy challenge, just because I’m female. He was arrogant, and I was stupid. Darling, I’m so sorry. Your relationship with Pierre will survive this. No harm’s done. He’ll be hunting some other woman by now.’

      Pierre’s boast comes back to me. Anything with a pulse and a pussy will do.

      ‘You’re not “some other woman”. You’re my woman.’ Gustav pulls me roughly towards him and kisses me. ‘Thank God he didn’t get what he wanted. But if I let it go, all that communication closes off again. Don’t you see? He needs to know he can’t shit on me.’

      Our footsteps ring on the hard floor as we walk to the bottom of the stairs. I peer down. I can just make out the Victorian-style geometric pattern of terracotta blue and white mosaic tiles. Gustav takes the first stair then changes his mind, doubles back and calls the lift instead.

      Panic rises like boiling milk inside me. ‘That feather, Gustav. Maybe it’s not a taunt, or a threat. Maybe it’s an admission of defeat.’ I hop from foot to foot as he punches the buttons on the old-fashioned lift. We hear the thick metallic clunk far above our heads. ‘His way of apologising?’

      ‘You’re not going to deflect me from this conversation, Serena. Pierre and I spent five years not speaking to each other, letting the misunderstandings fester. If we get this out in the open, especially with you here as well, we can clear the air. It’s the only way.’

      Gustav puts his arm round me to usher me into the lift and closes the squeaking scissor gates. The lift creaks upwards, passing landing after deserted landing until we reach the top.

      ‘At least ring the doorbell to warn

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