The Man Behind the Mask Read Free

my secretary know that I will accept your calls at any time so long as I’m not in the operating theatre. I’ll see you next time. Goodnight.’
    Almost as if intuiting that his employer’s visitor was about to depart, Eduardo’s valet Ricardo appeared in the doorway, the spots of damp across his jacket’s dark shoulders suggesting he’d already been hard at work outside, clearing some of the ice from the long sweeping drive that led away from the house.
    â€˜Goodnight, Mr Powell…and thank you once again for coming out on such a night. Please drive safely.’
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    In the early hours of that same morning, Eduardo tried his hardest to concentrate on the 1940s black and white comedy playing on the flat state-of-the-art television screen in front of him. But even a scant moment of pleasure or comfort frustratingly eluded him. He had got into the habit of watching movies well into the small hours, simply because he could not settle his mind enough to sleep. Not when it dwelled on one set of terrible events over and over again, like a nightmarish film stuck on rewind. Some nights he couldn’t face even going to his bedroom at all, so he simply pulled a rug over him onone of the comfortable leather sofas in the sitting room and dozed there till morning. Pain… burning and torturous…often shot through his injured leg and hip, adding to his woes.
    Stoically ignoring the all too tempting urge to pour a glass of whisky to drown his sorrows and dull his pain, Eduardo muttered a passionate expletive. Rubbing at his increasingly tense brow as he at tempted to watch the impossibly glamorous characters cavort on the screen before him, he quickly abandoned the whole idea and pressed the ‘off’ button on the remote. Even losing him self in distraction seemed impossible. It was as though he was permanently staring into a black abyss there was no escape from, and all hope of ever seeing daylight or sensing warmth again was lost to him for ever.
    Releasing a bitter sigh, he reflected that even that pretty busker in the street was no doubt far happier with her simple hand-to-mouth existence than he could ever hope to be with his immensely wealthy and privileged one.
    Why did he seem to be fixating on her? he wondered. Impatiently he shook his head. His interest made no sense—especially when she had spoken to him with the offhand brusqueness of in experienced youth, making it more than clear that she obviously disdained his desire to help. But, nonetheless, time and time again in the toolong frosty night at his isolated house, Eduardo found his thoughts returning to the girl, wondering if she really did have a place to stay, if she had made enough moneyto eat that day, and if she was warm on this bitterest of winter nights?
    By the time a reluctant grey dawn had seeped in between the parted velvet drapes the next morning he had more or less decided that the next time he ventured into town he would not ignore her, as he had previously vowed. No…instead he would talk to her, question her about her cir cum stances, and maybe offer to help better her situation. Was he a complete fool for contemplating such a potentially disastrous course of action? It was quite likely that she would laugh in his face or tell him to go and find some other poor down and out to foist his money on!
    Finally, concluding that his desire to be of assistance was being prompted by the idea of his own child struggling in a similar situation, had he or she lived to be the age of this girl, he swallowed down the lump of anguish in his already tight throat and, making himself as comfortable as he was able on the couch, at last drifted off to sleep…

CHAPTER TWO
    M ARIANNE was between songs, sipping café latte from a local coffee shop to warm her up and hope fully restore some heat into her blood again, on yet another day chilly enough to turn solid stone into a block of ice. All of a sudden a shaft of