The Arrangement

Brian Warbrick gloomily gazed through the train window at the passing countryside. There was nothing new to see; everything was all too familiar as he made this monthly journey. He was a Yorkshireman with all the characteristics associated with the people of that county. His voice was redolent of the north, flat-toned with short vowels, though only slightly accented. He was taciturn and appeared to be dour.

As a department manager in a large American owned manufacturer of bathroom equipment he was in a position of some responsibility. In earlier days, years before he had started work there, the locally owned firm had made boilers, but an American take-over had led to a change of policy. Boilers were out; fancy bathrooms were in.

Once a month there was a departmental meeting held in the London headquarters of the company. There were two more factories in the UK as well as several others in various parts of the world. The American bosses liked to keep an eye on their world-wide organisation and that meant key people gathering to make their reports. Brian couldn't help thinking that computers could do just as good a job without the necessity of meeting face to face.

Nevertheless, until two years earlier the trip had always been welcome as his wife, Marie, accompanied him She spent the day looking around Oxford Street shops, whilst he was in the meeting. In the evening they went to the theatre or a concert. It was a regular interval in the daily routine and both of them looked forward to it.

Brian was twenty when they married, Marie being a year younger, and were close to their twelfth anniversary when tragedy struck. The street was bereft of traffic as Marie began to cross it. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a car screeched towards her at high speed. It was driven by a fourteen year old boy who had 'borrowed' it from his father. Marie didn't stand a chance. She was dead upon arrival at the hospital; so was the baby she was carrying.

The couple had loved each other deeply since their teen years and were inseparable. Losing his wife reduced Brian to a pale, silent shadow who had no interest in work or pleasure, in life itself. If he had contemplated suicide he kept quiet about it, but his friends and relatives believed he was often close to it.

Aged only thirty-four, Brian's hair was greying, there were dark shadows under his eyes, his face was permanently veiled in a sad mask and he walked with hunched shoulders. Although not previously renowned for his gaiety, now he was positively melancholy, refusing all attempts to lighten his load.

"You can't go on like this, Brian." His sister, Andrea, had invited herself to his house.

"Like what?"

"Sitting cooped up in here brooding about what might have been, but will most certainly not be. Not with Marie, anyway."

"You don't have to remind me. I have nightmares about that car and the fourteen year old maniac behind the wheel. Night after night I see Marie being hit and rolling over and over as the wheels go over her - all four of them!" He put his head in his hands.

Andrea gently put her arm round her brother's shoulder. "I'm not saying it's easy to forget, love. I don't suppose you ever will. Something like that's awful; and with the baby, as well. Two lives, just like that. And the boy didn't get more than a wagging finger and a bit of community service. But, let's face it, there's no real way to pay for what he did and nothing's going to change things. What's done is done. You're still here and you've got to get on with your life."

"I am. Best I can."

"No, love." Andrea shook her head. "No. That's just what you're not doing. You're stagnating, not going anywhere and seeing no-one."

"I go to work every day."

"Bet you wouldn't even do that if you didn't need to earn money. If you were a millionaire you'd wrap yourself up in a cocoon and shut out the rest of the world entirely."

"Maybe."

"When you go to London nowadays, what do you do?"

"Attend meetings. Endless meetings."

"But after. You and Marie used to have a night out."

"That was the two of us together. Now I stay in the hotel and go to bed early."

Andrea clucked in disapproval. "It's time you went out again."

"It's only been two years."

"It's time, love." She squeezed his shoulder.

"I don't like going to the theatre by myself."

"Then find someone to go with you."

Brian pulled away from her, walked across the room and looked out of the window. "It's not as easy as that. I don't know how. It was all so natural with Marie. I didn't have to think about it. We met, we fell in love, we decided to get married. I've no idea how it happened; it just did. I....I can't think about trying to make it happen again. Besides, it's too soon. I don't want to forget Marie."

"You don't have to - and you won't. But, she's the past, love, no matter how loud you shout and kick. She's gone; faded into a memory. But she'll always be there as a memory. No matter who you might meet now - even if you love her as much as you loved Marie....."

"Impossible!" Brian retorted.

"No, love," said Andrea, softly. "There's more than one right person for all of us; the snag is finding them. Once, you're lucky; twice is a miracle, but it does happen."

"What the hell do you know about it? You're divorced."

Andrea shrugged. "Nigel wasn't the right one. I've still to find him, but I'll keep on looking until I do, or until I'm too old to try any more." She crossed to him and laid her hand on his. "You keep looking, too."

Disembarking from the train at King's Cross, Brian swiftly made his way to the cab rank and climbed into a waiting taxi ahead of the queue that would inevitably form with the new arrivals. The pavements were crowded with hurrying people of all ages, shapes, sizes and nationalities. Stopped at traffic lights, he studied the young women passing-by; how was he supposed to get to know any of them? After the meeting he could go to a bar, he supposed. But he drank very little and was completely incapable of chatting to a stranger, male or female. He needed time; and time was something he lacked.

He thought about the women he knew, nearly all of them associated with work in one capacity or another. Many of them were around his age and attractive enough, but he never thought of them as anything but colleagues and knew little about them personally. Anyway, he disliked relationships in the work-place; too distracting. No, it was impossible; he could never find someone to take out.

The answer came quite by chance. He suddenly became aware of some litter on the floor of the cab. He bent down and picked it up. It was a business card. A casual glance told him that the business was an escort agency.

Escort.

That could be the solution to his problem. There was a play in town he fancied seeing; it had a good cast and the reviews were excellent. Reading about it in his Sunday paper had whetted his appetite. He could go by himself; many people did. After all, you sit in the theatre and get taken into a different world. You can't talk; it's an anti-social event. On the other hand, it's nice to be with someone; to be able to discuss the play with them; to have a meal; to have.....

"Ridiculous," he said out loud. The taxi driver on the other side of the glass partition didn't hear him.

Ridiculous; but on the other hand he hated the thought of going alone. Paying someone to keep him company seemed a pretty desperate measure and he had a slight feeling of self-loathing, but it was that or nothing.

During the lunch break Brian used his mobile to phone the agency and then to book tickets for the play. He was all set.

*****

"Is Toby all right?" Christine anxiously asked.

"In a bad way," replied her sister, Margie, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Oh, no!"

"But the doctors think he'll pull through all right. Some broken bones and squashed bits."

"That doesn't sound very medical."

"You know me. I run a mile from anything to do with illness and injuries. I couldn't take in everything they were saying."

"Burying your head in the sand," Christine grimly said.

"I suppose so." Margie sniffed. "You were always much better than I was at dealing with unpleasant things."

Christine took her sister's hand. "You've had more to deal with than I have, I must admit. A difficult birth, a rocky marriage, financial trouble..."

"The list is endless." Margie sniffed again, feeling truly sorry for herself.

"What happened to Toby?"

"I only took my eyes off him for one moment. He dashed into the road and right into the path of a car. The poor driver is shattered. I'm sure he's blaming himself, but it really wasn't his fault. There was nothing he could do."

"Yes, it must make you feel pretty wretched when you knock somebody over - especially a four-year old boy."

"If it was anybody's fault it was mine."

"These things happen so quickly. Can I see Toby?"

"You can go in, but he's been heavily sedated so he's out of it. Also, there are so many bandages wrapped round him you can hardly see anything of the boy."

"All the same, I'd like to see him."

"Of course."

After a brief word to the nurse they were both admitted to the small private room where poor Toby lay. He resembled a mummy and was completely unaware of everything. They stood in silence for a while then quietly left.

"Are you staying in the hospital?" Christine asked.

Margie nodded. "I'd better. I want to be here when he comes round. The poor little mite won't know where he is or why he's hurting and wrapped up."

"I'd better get back to work. I'll ring you later and see how the patient's getting on."

Margie put a hand on her sister's arm, detaining her. "There's..." she hesitated. "There's a big favour I want of you."

"Of course. Anything."

"Don't be too hasty. You won't like this one."

"Don't be silly, love. You need help and I'm here for you."

"Let's sit down."

"Is it that serious?"

"Yes."

They found seats in a large open-area waiting room which already held a number of other people, but there was no-one too close to them. Margie didn't look at her sister as she talked, finding it difficult to broach the subject.

"Since...since Rob left us for that other woman -" she couldn't even call her by name - "it's been a real struggle. Financially I mean."

"I know. Do you need me to help?"

"Yes, but not with money."

"Then what?"

"You won't like this."

"Try me."

"Rob left me with a lot of money problems and I needed to get a job. I don't have much to offer an employer and certainly not one who's going to give me a decent salary."

Christine frowned. "What's all this leading up to?"

"A confession."

"About what?"

"How I make money."

There was a long silence. Christine sat frozen to the seat. Surely her sister wasn't saying...did she mean....? The answers to her questions didn't bear thinking about.

Margie broke the silence. "I have one good asset. Even Rob admitted that. A trim body, nicely rounded boobs and I'm a good fuck."

"That's three assets," Christine distractedly murmured.

"I've put my talents to use, that's all."

"That's all? You've become a prostitute and the best you can say is 'that's all'."

Christine spoke rather loudly and Margie glanced around to see if anybody had heard. There was a man who was looking in their direction. She thought he was grinning.

"Keep your voice down."

"I'm sorry, but it's come as a something of a shock. My instinct is to shout and rave at my younger sister for becoming a whore."

"It isn't quite like that."

Christine raised her eyebrows. "No? Then how is it?"

"I'm not a prostitute. Not really."

"How can you be not really a prostitute? Either you are or you aren't."

Margie sighed. "You see everything in such black and white terms."

"How else?"

"There's also grey."

"Um. I've never been sure about that one."

"You don't know what it's like to struggle; to try and make sense out of a topsy-turvy life. I want stability - for Toby as well as myself. But first I have to get out from under this mound of debt. So I became an escort. There's good money in it."

"An escort? Isn't that the same as being a call girl?"

"Not quite."

"Ah." Christine nodded. "I see. We're in the grey area."

"I'm only an escort. I accompany a man to a function, theatre, concert or dinner. Whatever. I get a pretty good fee for that. A hundred and fifty pounds an hour."

"What!"

The interested man was looking again.

"Sh."

"Sorry," Christine whispered.

"Of course, I don't get it all. I have to give a percentage to the agency."

"And all you do is escort a man?"

"For the fee - yes."

Christine looked suspiciously at her sister. "What does that mean? For the fee?"

"That's all I'm contracted for. Should I decide to offer more intimate and private services then there's an additional negotiable payment. But that's completely up to me. If I fancy him."

"But even though you fancy him, he still pays."

"Yes."

"You're a prostitute."

Margie sighed. "If you will."

"When we started this conversation you mentioned me doing you a big favour. I only hope it's not what I'm thinking."

"I have a booking tonight. It was made minutes before Toby's accident. I can't manage it with him in here, but I can't lose the money."

"My God, Margie. It is what I'm thinking. You can't be serious."

"Look upon it as a blind date."

"You don't get paid to have a blind date," Christine said grimly.

"Actually, you wouldn't be getting paid. The money is for me."

"You're splitting hairs."

"Please, Christine. I know how much you must hate the mere idea, but I really need the money."

"Perhaps if I stayed with Toby," Christine suggested.

"I think he'll want his mother, don't you?" Margie gently replied.

"Yes." Christine sighed in resignation. "All right. I'll do it. But don't expect me to make a habit of it."

Margie searched through her handbag. "I've got the instructions here. I go under the name of MaryAnn, by the way. It helps to protect my real identity." She handed over a piece of paper and hugged her sister. "Thanks. I won't forget this."

"Give my love to Toby when he comes round."

"I will."

They waved as Christine left the room.

*****

It was a long day and Brian was tired. The meeting had been acrimonious after it was revealed that the American parent company was setting new targets; impossible targets, many said. Recently there had been an alarming slump in sales and a good deal of shouting had achieved absolutely nothing. Luckily, he wasn't in the firing line, so he could sit back and indulge himself in feeling sorry for those who were.

He checked into his usual hotel in the heart of the West End. It was nearly five-thirty. He only had an hour before meeting his...what was she? He hated the thought of spending an evening with an escort; companion didn't sound right and she wasn't really a date. Confound it! What had he let himself in for? Andrea must really have got to him.

After a quick shower he dressed and went down to the restaurant.

"Table for one, sir?" enquired the waiter.

"Er, yes."

Perhaps he should have arranged for his escort to have dinner with him, but the thought hadn't occurred to him until just now. On the other hand, it would probably have been a bad idea. Some stranger sitting opposite him instead of Marie. Trying to make polite conversation. No, the less time they had together the better. It would be all right in the darkness of the theatre.

Brian ordered a lasagne and drink. The service was a little slow and he had barely finished the meal when he looked at his watch and found it was time to meet...what was her name, for God's sake? The woman at the other end of the phone had told him when he had made the booking, but he had completely forgotten. What an idiot.

His mobile rang.

"Hello."

"Hello. Mr. Warbrick?"

"Yes."

"This is Chri - Maryann."

"Who?"

"Your escort tonight."

"Oh, yes of course." That was her name. He remembered now.

"I'm on my way. Be there in about ten minutes."

"Erm....right. That's fine."

Christine thought her client - or Maryann's client - or Margie's client - sounded nervous; almost reluctant to talk.

"Where shall we meet?"

"I'll....erm....I'll meet you in the reception area."

"How will I recognise you? Tall, dark and handsome, I suppose?" She gave a little laugh. It sounded hollow.

"Erm....no." There was no lightness in his reply. "I'll stand by the shop selling cameras, jewellery and so on."

"Right. Look forward to it."

Christine clicked off the phone. Um. He didn't sound too promising. Bit dour, at the very least. This was going to be a fun evening. Margie owed her big time for this favour. On the other hand, sisters should look after each other.

The taxi drew up in the forecourt of the hotel. Christine paid the driver and went inside, smiling shyly at the doorman who had opened the cab door. She suspected he probably had a pretty good idea why she was there, but maintained his impartial demeanour, though his eyes feasted on her trim figure as she went through the revolving door. Feeling embarrassed, she quickly entered the hotel lobby.

There was a lot of activity inside, but Christine spotted the shop easily enough; and, sure enough, a man was standing outside. Not over tall, dark hair, neat beard and well dressed. He looked as if he should have belonged in this environment, but somehow seemed awkward and ill-at-ease.

Christine crossed the lobby. "Mr. Warbrick?"

"Erm....yes." The man still sounded as dubious as he had on the phone.

Christine smiled, determined to be pleasant against all odds. "I'm your escort for tonight."

She held out her hand; the client looked at it for a moment, as if wondering what to do with it, then shook it in greeting.

"Yes, of course. Maryann, isn't it?"

"That's me."

"I thought we'd have a drink first. All right with you?"

"Of course, Mr. Warbrick. I'm paid to do what you want." She smiled again, then added: "Up to a point."

"Erm....quite. This way."

She followed him. He made no attempt to take her arm or even try and pretend they were together. Christine inwardly moaned; this was going to be a difficult evening. It was obvious that even polite conversation was beyond this man. Why did she have to get lumbered?

He found a table and sat down, waving his hand at Christine for her to follow suit. It was warm in the bar, so she slipped off her coat, putting it on an adjacent chair. She adjusted her tunic top, which had become slightly ruffled with the coat's removal, then sat down.

"You look...erm...." the client coughed; it was a single, totally artificial and unnecessary cough. "Most attractive."

Good God! A compliment. Dragged out of him, it was true, but nevertheless, a couple of flattering words.

"Thank you, Mr. Warbrick." Christine once again smiled sweetly. This was hard work.

"I don't think you need to be formal. After all, this is supposed to be a social evening." Christine thought that 'supposed' was an appropriate word. "I'm Brian."

"Pleased to meet you, Brian." Christine smiled and once again extended her hand.

"Oh...erm...yes. Likewise, Maryann." They shook hands for a second time.

A waiter appeared by their side.

"What would you like to drink?" Brian enquired.

"Gin and tonic would do nicely."

"Small brandy for me."

"Yes, sir." With a deferential nod of his head, the waiter departed to fulfil the order.

"You know the programme for tonight, do you?"

"No."

Brian frowned. "But I told the agency exactly where I was going and what sort of escort I required."

Christine shrugged. "Sorry. I know nothing about it."

"This is too bad. We're going to the theatre. I asked for someone who was interested. Are you?"