Shades of Trust

  “I understand,” the two words softly said, were full of meaning. Dr. Volk discretely looked at the clock positioned beside Alistair. Their time was up. But he could not let the session end that way. “You resent things so fiercely because you were not capable of taking care of her as your family always took care of you. And, Heather was the epitome of carelessness. She didn’t take care of you or of your daughter. I would go further and say that she didn’t take care of herself. And you are destroying yourself because you know, deep inside, unconsciously, that you are not omnipotent.”

  Alistair felt as if Dr. Volk had slapped him. He breathed deep and clenched his fists, trying to control his anger.

  “Stop, Alistair. Don’t always be so in control. This is tiring and damaging. Here is the right place to vent all your anger and frustrations.” Dr. Volk waited but Alistair didn’t say a word. “You lost all the women of your life in a short period of time. Your wife, your daughter, and then your mother. People confuse life and death. Life comprises sadness, pain, and death. No one can escape those, and surrendering to those feelings helps healing. The depression—”

  “You want me to succumb to depression as my mother did?” Alistair asked, incredulous. “What good did that do for her? Nae. I’m going to fight against all those debilitating feelings.”

  “I’m not suggesting you become depressed and lose all your strength. Appropriate bereavement is normal, and even healthy, and it will lessen and pass in time, while major depression may not, and requires treatment. Alistair, unresolved grief is worse than the grief itself. Since Nathalie’s death, have you been living a normal, happy, and healthy life? You told me that you lost the ability to trust others, that you avoided relationships and felt emotionally numb. Do you still feel like this?”

  For many seconds, Alistair stayed silent, revisiting the last months. When he answered, his voice was full of awe. “Nae. She came and changed everything.” He closed his eyes and whispered, “As if by magic, Sophia changed everything.”

  “Magic.” Dr. Volk smiled. “If you want to call trusting, caring and feeling, magic, so be it.” The doctor leaned in Alistair’s direction. “Because from what you told me, Sophia isn’t afraid of trusting, caring and feeling. I guess she is just organizing her life to show herself fully to you. Because one cannot invite the other to share one’s life if one is not whole. This, Alistair, is her magic. Unfortunately, our time is over. I have an…assignment for you. I want you to reflect on how you feel now that you are in a steady relationship. What did Sophia do to change your feelings? What about her makes you feel so right? There’s a poem I like very much. Renascence by Edna St. Vincent Millay. I’ll send it to you by email and I want you to read it and tell me your impressions. We will talk about it on Thursday.”

  The City of London Bank Headquarters

  10:17 a.m.

  “Davidoff, good morning. How may I help you?” Alistair’s deep voice sounded tired and despondent even for himself.

  “What have you done to her?” asked Edward, his voice tinged with anger.

  What? “I…” he halted, and looked astonished at his brother, who raised an eyebrow. He put the call on speaker. “I’ve done nothing. Where is she?”

  “She is gone. Nobody knows where she is. She left you a letter,” a heavy breath was exhaled.

  “She is…gone,” he repeated in a murmur, frowning. Gone…where? Why?

  10:29 a.m.

  Alistair strode down the marble corridor that led to the garage like a man possessed. What Edward had just said still echoed in his mind. He remembered Sophia’s civil and distant manner. I am such a fool! It’s all my fault. I should have known she would uncover my darkness. One way or another.

  They entered the car and Alistair informed Garrick, “Leibowitz Oil Building, please. I’m in a hurry.” Why didn’t she call me? Why leave a written message? And with Davidoff, for Christ’s sake? Alistair shoved his sunglasses on his face, impatiently. She is afraid of you, you idiot!

  Alistair felt Tavish’s hand on his shoulder. He wanted to snarl but it was no use taking out his confused feelings on his brother.

  “Calm down, Alistair Connor. You know he’s partially right.”

  He fisted his hands trying to control his jealousy and his rage and turned to look at Tavish. “He thinks too much of himself. He shouldn’t have opened her letter to me. To me! He has feelings for her, Tavish Uilleam.”

  “Who doesn’t like Sophia? She’s sugar-coated. And he’s known her for a long time.”

  “He has other interests at stake. She gave him five percent of Leibowitz Oil.” He thinned his lips.

  “Don’t underestimate Sophia’s ensnaring capacity. He must be worried sick about her. I am. She’s just remembered what happened to her. Months of horror. Can you imagine how confused her mind is right now? You shouldn’t have proposed on Sunday,” Tavish shook his head, “it was tactless of you.”

  Alistair punched his fist on the leather car seat. “Fuck! Do you think that’s why she fled?”

  “Oh, man,” Tavish murmured under his breath and shoved his hand in his ink-black hair, weighing his words. “Alistair Connor. She discovered your preferences. How, I don’t know. Maybe she did the same thing you did. I doubt it though. It doesn’t fit her character. She is too honorable.”

  “What did I do?” Alistair frowned at his brother’s choice of words looking out through the tinted windows at the intense traffic. He glanced at Tavish again, the crease in his forehead deepening, “So, what did I do that was so dishonorable?”

  “You hired a private detective—”

  “A detective. That’s it,” he interrupted brusquely and pulled his cell phone from his breast pocket, dialing a number. “Baptist, good morning, it’s Alistair MacCraig. I need you to find Mrs. Sophia Leibowitz and her daughter. They left London today and I need to know where they’ve gone.” He listened for a split second and rushed in, “Stop everything else you’re doing. I’m doubling your fees. I’ll transfer half of it right now.”

  “Alistair Connor!” Tavish scolded his brother, but Alistair just held up his hand, stopping him while he listened to what Baptist was saying.

  Alistair didn’t even acknowledge Tavish’s outraged gasp as he settled the price. “Done. I’ll deposit half right now and the other half when you find her.”

  “I don’t believe it, Alistair Connor.”

  “Anything for her. Anything,” he whispered the last word.

  Tavish had seen Alistair wield his power to achieve his position at the bank and on the stock market, glorying at other people’s downfall. He had seen his brother seduce many women with sensual elegance and a cold heart, simply to amuse himself.

  Yet the man beside him in the car was broken. Broken by unrequited love. And this love inside him was as dangerous as it was gentle and compelling.

  Tavish understood then that the darkness in Alistair could only be controlled by Sophia. She was the only one who had that power.

  But he didn’t know if Sophia should be envied or pitied.

  Chapter 2

  Leibowitz Oil Building, Sophia’s Office

  10:57 a.m.

  April 06, 2010

  My dear Alistair Connor,

  I hope this letter finds you well.

  I’m sure you’re going to find this—what to call it—confession (?) quite confusing. It is. It just reflects my feelings. I’ve tried to put my thoughts in some sort of order but I’m too overwhelmed by what I remembered and what I discovered this weekend. So, I’m going to do this in parts.

  Let’s start with what I discovered. I think you’ll understand this part better.

  First of all, I have to apologize and say that it wasn’t intentional. I was a bit dizzy yesterday morning probably due to a combination of drugs. I steadied myself on a door in your dressing room and it opened. (I don’t need to say which door or what I saw inside, do I?)

  At first, I thought it was interesting, creative even. I was amazed at finding mysel
f wanting to get you to explain things to me, maybe even try them. But as I opened the next door… Curiosity killed the cat, isn’t that what they say? Well, at first, I didn’t understand what I was seeing. Then I started to put things together. What you told me about Heather—and her perversions—and your sometimes unusual behavior in bed gave me a clue. And I wondered where it would lead us. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. So I did some research. In loco and on line. And still… I don’t understand how or why most of those things are used. I was shocked and felt utterly betrayed. Is that what you meant by a touch of pain and violence? Understatement of the year.

  Some would say that I’m being naïve and prudish. That it’s just a different way of loving. To that I’d answer that I have some sense of self-preservation and that I’m not devoid of self-esteem. I’ve even read that it can bring transcendental gratification and orgasm. How? I wonder… Just for the record, some say that of drugs too. But I digress.

  For me, that’s not sex, that is not love. It’s cruelty, torture. There is no love in pain, in humiliation of the other. This kind of ‘role-play’ or ‘loving’, as some insist on calling it, reminds me of the Spanish Inquisition, slavery, and of some barbaric mutilations that we know are still being done in Africa and who knows where else.

  I can’t abide it. I won’t abide it. It’s not in my nature to quietly accept these kinds of things. And even though I have a very curious mind, I don’t want to learn these things. Now I understand why you told me I was your salvation from the dark abyss. However I can’t redeem you. Only you can help yourself. Unless you seek counseling to help you really get away —be cured (?)—from this strange compulsion, I will not be your salvation. On the contrary, I’ll be your destruction. And you’ll be mine.

  You know what I like in sex and that’s not it. I don’t like pain. I don’t need it to enhance my pleasure. I’ll go further and say that you do not like or need it either. You know how to be gentle, loving and protective. How to be fierce, even savage sometimes - my overbearing Lord Caveman. You’re lovable. You’re not selfish or callous in your relationships. This is a horrible opinion you have of yourself. You have a heart. And it’s not dark.

  I hope you let go of this need to take revenge on yourself.

  Bury your wife. Forever. Let her rot in hell. By herself.

  Give your daughter’s soul some peace. I’m sure she doesn’t blame you for what happened. Some angels are too good to live their entire lives in this inferno. They come to Earth for only a short time because they have a mission. She had completed hers.

  Nothing happens without a reason. It’s not in us to understand them. It’s very difficult to accept some things. I know. It’s human nature to rebel against what we can’t control and what causes us distress. But sometimes rebellion and rage don’t help our cause. Acceptance and love do.

  Now, I must face my part in our wreckage.

  I haven’t been forthcoming with you. I betrayed you when I omitted and lied. And I’m so sorry. I’m not the good, perfect woman you pictured. I did a very shameful and reproachable thing in my past. If regret could kill, I would be dead by now.

  Some say that G-d doesn’t give us more than we can handle. So I must endure it. However, I can’t burden you with more than you already carry.

  Let me be blunt: I committed a crime. A huge one. I wish I could say that I did it because I wasn’t in my right mind but… That would be a lie. Another lie. I’m done with lies.

  To my credit, all I can say is that I’ve been redeeming myself—or, at least, trying to, if there is any possibility of redemption. Nevertheless, I don’t think it would be fair to you if I had accepted your proposal and withheld such a secret from you. Surely, it would fester and corrupt our marriage.

  You told me I could trust you. I do. But I cannot tell you this. You have no idea. And I don’t want you to. And you also wouldn’t want to. Trust me. (Oh. Such an unfair request. But isn’t life?) I have tried to put myself in your place as I wrote this and I’m deeply ashamed of my behavior.

  Thank you for all your patience with me; for all your caring and love toward Gabriela.

  Concerning my lies to you, in my defense, all I can say is that I just can’t destroy the beautiful image you have of me. (Even though it’s a lie.)

  Selfish, you would accuse. And I agree. But… This is how I am. A selfish woman. A liar. A criminal.

  The third part. The conclusion.

  Our relationship is doomed. I wish it wasn’t so but I can’t fool myself anymore. In the long run it’s going to destroy me. You. Us. And I can’t allow it.

  I hope you find happiness in your life. Nothing is more powerful than your own wish. So, wish to love and to be loved. You’ll achieve it.

  I was not as strong and courageous as I should have been. Please, I beg you, don’t be angry, and try to understand.

  I’m so very sorry it has come to this.

  This decision is tearing me apart and I hurt. This isn’t what I planned or imagined but it’s beyond my control. My heart bleeds while I write this letter because I know that I’m leaving a piece of it with you. A big piece.

  So, I wish it wasn’t but this is it: Good-bye.

  Please, don’t call me. I need space to rebuild my life. And Gabriela’s.

  With all my love,

  Sophia

  P.S. - I know it’s very impolite to return gifts but this one had a very important meaning for us.

  So, I’m giving you your heart back and I’m holding you responsible for taking good care of it. Don’t waste it on undeserving women like me.

  S.

  Tavish finished reading the letter and studied his brother’s dejected posture as Alistair caressed the exquisite ruby on the clip, which Sophia had returned. As he gave Alistair back the letter, he said, “I…I doona know what to say.”

  Alistair turned from the window. “Dr. Kent? Have you read Sophia’s letter?”

  “No, Mr. MacCraig, I haven’t. I was waiting for your permission.” She glanced briefly at Edward, who was looking at the ceiling as if it had the answer to all his questions.

  Alistair sighed and handed her the letter. He tilted his head to the side, studying Edward.

  Edward’s anguish was palpable and the white lines around his lips betrayed his concern and his anger.

  “Davidoff—”

  “MacCraig, I have to apologize.” Edward’s voice was dry. “For opening the letter. But I thought, from what I saw on her computer, that matters had gotten out of hand.”

  Mmm. Better. “It’s all right. I’d like to understand what you thought the police would do?”

  “Recently the Leibowitz Foundation helped in a similar case.” Alistair’s frown darkened, but Edward didn’t acknowledge it. “An S&M case where the court ruled that the amount of physical or psychological harm that the law allows between any two people, even married consenting adults in the privacy of their home, is to be determined by the State because of its responsibility to protect people from these injuries. Acts such as the ones Sophia researched online are illegal according to British law, even between consenting adults.”

  Edward ran a hand over his face and stared into Alistair’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that anything had happened. I was only thinking that Sophia might…”

  Alistair nodded his forgiveness. “It really doesn’t matter now, does it? Could you please show me what Sophia Googled?”

  He pointed to Sophia’s computer. “Sure, see for yourself. Her history is still on the screen.”

  Alistair sat on Sophia’s chair and the first thing he noticed were two photos discreetly standing beside her iMac. He was startled and didn’t know if he should be flattered or annoyed by the photos.

  In the first one, Sophia, adorable in her wedding dress, looking enthralled at Gabriel’s face. Their body language spoke for them, shouting loudly, ‘Love! Love! Love!’

  In the other, Alistair saw his own smiling face, holding a lovely, laughing Gabriela in his
arms. Sophia had taken that photo at Stonehenge.

  He remembered that day clearly; the day she had asked him to slow things down. He should have known better. He should never have dragged Sophia into his darkness. His lips curled down and he shook his head sadly at the sequence of events that passed through his head.

  “Jesus. Christ.” Alistair’s shocked mumble made Tavish look away from Dr. Kent’s face to stare at his brother.

  Alistair had been going through Sophia’s searched websites for at least ten minutes. Sitting stiff on her chair, he was ashen, his eyes glued to the screen.

  When he turned to look at them, he seemed unsure of what to do.

  Eventually, he exhaled, discomfited, and let his feet carry him to where the others were seated, and dropped heavily in one of the armchairs. “I never did anything like that.”

  Edward just snorted.

  “With her, I mean. She’s not the kind of woman—”

  “You don’t need to tell me that,” Edward interrupted him. “I know Sophia better than you, MacCraig.”

  Son of a bitch. Alistair narrowed his eyes at Edward. “But you’ll never know her as I do.” Steady, Alistair Connor, steady. You need to bring Davidoff to your side.

  “I was friends with Gabriel for more than fifteen years. And with Sophia for almost a decade. I was at their wedding,” Edward thinned his lips with anger, stopping the hateful words he wanted to say. “And to think, I’m the one responsible for your relationship. I encouraged her. She knew instinctively that you were trouble. Her damned instincts. I should have demanded a background check on you. But it was too late. She was already ensnared and wouldn’t let me. She wanted to build a relationship based in honor and trust.” He moved from his place on the sofa, disgusted with himself and walked to the window. “She was happy, damn you.”