Feeding the Demons Read Online Free Page A

Too much tummy, she thought. Too much champagne and not enough exercise these days. Too much sitting in nondescript vehicles with tinted windows and the laptop on her knees. The rest of her body was okay, she thought, posing in front of the mirror, pursing her face in the silly look that she and Kit used to assume centuries ago when they were kids playing dress-ups.
    While the bath was running, she sat naked on the bed and looked through her diary. An appointment with Mrs Rose Georgiou at nine, then a few calls to make to the insurance companies who comprised the bulk of her work. She’d been working to build up ‘Mandate’, the latest addition to her operation. For a fee, Gemma could offer suspicious women certain information about any man they might be interested in, particularly if all they’d been given was his mobile telephone number. It cost the woman less than a hundred dollars, and for that, Gemma could establish that the man in question actually was who he said he was, that he lived and worked where he said he did, whether or not he owned property in common with a woman who shared the same surname, and whether he had a major criminal record. These searches could be done by anyone, but Gemma could complete them in twenty-four hours instead of the days it might take an unpractised person. And all client contact could be done over the phone by credit card, if the woman so chose. No need for any embarrassment. If they wanted to discover more about the man in their sights, surveillance was the next step; this didn’t come cheap. Cheating spouses created income for her business as well.
    It was a tiny white bathroom without a fan, and she left the door ajar to let steam out, lowering herself into the dinky little bath. She lathered up between her legs, using her pubic mound as a soaping pad, washing away last night’s man.
    Every now and then, she had to do it; an agitating restlessness drove her to go to some den of iniquity as Kit called the clubs she infrequently attended, get off her face on alcohol and speed, dance like crazy for a few hours and take some nameless man home with her to fuck till morning. In the morning, she’d wonder why she’d done it. She had much better sex with Stevie, who knew what he was doing, cared about her and knew what she liked. She knew well enough that going to bed drunk late at night, with a man who was also drunk, was not a sure-fire way to good sex. It’s just my feral streak, she’d say to her sister. It’s just for fun. But Kit would simply give her that steady look, sometimes shake her head. No, darling, she’d say. It’s not for fun. Not at all. Think about it.
    As she rubbed the washer over her face and ears, the huge secret she was keeping from her sister loomed in her mind, refusing to be banished. She faced it fair and square. It was the biggest issue of her life, she felt. It dominated everything; it was like the sky she lived under. And she was keeping it from Kit, the first secret in nearly thirty-five years. Next week would be her thirty-fifth birthday, bringing the terrible anniversary with it; the death, the hopeless struggle of a slight woman against a big man armed with a hammer. Gemma refused to think about the thirty-year-old memory. Soon she’d tell Kit what she was doing and Kit, her wise and loving sister, would understand. But would she? Gemma put the soap back in its container and splashed warm water up and around her face and neck.
    The bathroom door suddenly slammed shut with a terrific double bang and Gemma jumped in fright. She sat up in the bath, frozen in shock, her heart racing. Why had it happened? She grabbed a towel, wrapped it round her, stepped out of the bath and opened the door. She peeped round. Everything was still. The bedroom was just as she’d left it, tangled bedclothes, a pillow on the floor, the champagne bottle. She went to the doorway between the bedroom and the lounge area and looked over at the entrance door. It was