behind the bike shed days and a part of me feels like stealing the cigarette from him and inhaling. I could really use it about now to steady my nerves. ‘What are you saying? That Kate arranged to meet them? After she booked them?!’
Konstandin nods and shrugs at the same time. It’s a signature gesture of his. ‘The barman said he didn’t remember their names but he knows the name of the agency. He has a friend who worked for them for a time. Another model. To make cash on the side.’
‘How did you get him to tell you all this?’ I ask, wondering if maybe he’s pulling my leg.
Again with the shrug. ‘I told him if he didn’t give me the information I would slam his head against the bar like a raw egg, and then scramble his brains for my breakfast.’
My mouth falls open again. ‘Are you joking?’
‘Yes,’ he says, but there’s a twinkle in his eye and a tiny shadow of a smirk at the edge of his mouth. He takes another slow inhalation of his cigarette.
‘Are you?’ I ask, narrowing my eyes. ‘Because I don’t know.’
‘Look,’ he sighs. ‘I am from Kosovo. I lived through a war. I survived it. I came here as an asylum seeker. I survived that too. You think I could do either if I didn’t know how to get by, convince people to help me, and if I hadn’t learned a few things about human nature along the way?’ He tosses his cigarette butt to the ground, which irritates me. He threatens people and he litters.
‘What’s the name of the escort agency?’ I say, deciding to let it go.
‘Lotus Models.’
I stand there, reeling. It can’t be true. The whole idea is ridiculous.
‘I can’t believe Kate would hire escorts,’ I mutter, starting to walk down the alley at a clip, my arms crossed over my chest. It’s more likely that Kate didn’t realise they were escorts. Maybe, I think, after they had sex they demanded payment and she got angry.
Konstandin strolls after me, catching me up with no trouble.
‘Why is it so hard to believe?’ Konstandin asks.
‘Because,’ I huff. ‘She didn’t need to pay for sex.’
‘Maybe she hired them for you.’
I round on him in disgust. ‘I’m married.’
He gives a one-shouldered shrug, seemingly unperturbed by any of this strangeness. ‘From what I know of marriage, there’s not much sex happening.’
‘Well, that’s not true for me,’ I say, flushing and walking off again down the alley. ‘And Kate wouldn’t do that,’ I argue, albeit weakly because I’m starting to think she very well might have. I can almost see it … Kate giggling at the idea, planning it all out, thinking that our girls’ weekend could be enhanced with some male models for company.
Maybe she only planned on sleeping with them herself, or maybe she figured she’d see if she could entice me too. She would have known that if she told me I wouldn’t have been up for it, so perhaps she did it behind my back, arranged to meet them in the bar – which would explain the hurry to get there and why she walked straight over to their table and sat down so fast; it would also explain why Kate was almost inside Emanuel’s pants just seconds after meeting him. Though it pains to admit it, it would go some way to explaining why Joaquim was so flirtatious with me. I was an idiot to think he actually thought I was attractive. My cheeks flame at what a fool I’ve been.
Honestly, it’s a gut punch and one I have to try to ignore. Now is not exactly the time to get my feelings hurt over the fact a good-looking man only talked and flirted to me because he was being paid to do so.
We reach Konstandin’s car, parked around a corner, illegally I note. He beeps the doors open and I get in before I realise that I’m starting to treat him like a chauffeur.
He gets in and immediately hops on his phone. If he’s from Kosovo does that mean he fought in the war? Is he an ex-soldier? His hands are large and scarred and his face, now I study it, is the face of someone who looks like they’ve been through a lot. It’s craggy, weathered and lined and something in his hooded dark eyes tells me he’s seen some bad stuff.
I can’t remember much about the Kosovo war – but I do remember watching the news