Читать книгу The Rabbit Hunter - Ларс Кеплер - Страница 7

Sofia sips the champagne. She lets the taste spread through her mouth, hears the bubbles burst in the glass. Something makes her look over towards the windows again. A deer, maybe, she thinks. It’s dark outside. In the reflection she can see the sharp outline of the kitchen and the man’s back.

The man raises his glass again and drinks. His hand is shaking ever so slightly as he gestures towards her.

‘Unbutton your dress a little,’ he says weakly.

Sofia empties her glass, sees the mark of her lipstick on the rim, and puts it down on the table before gently teasing the top button open.

‘You’re wearing a bra,’ he says.

‘Yes,’ she replies, and undoes the second button.

‘What size?’

‘Sixty C.’

The man stays where he is and watches her with a smile, and Sofia feels her armpits prickle as she starts to sweat.

‘What panties are you wearing?’

‘Pale blue, silk.’

‘Can I see?’

She hesitates, and he notices.

‘Sorry,’ he says quickly. ‘Am I being too direct? Is that it?’

‘We should probably handle payment first,’ she says, trying to sound simultaneously firm and casual.

‘I understand,’ he says tersely.

‘It’s best to get it out of the—’

‘You’ll get your money,’ he interrupts with a hint of irritation in his voice.

When she sees her regulars things are usually very straightforward – pleasant, even – but new clients always make her nervous. She worries about things she’s experienced in the past, like the father of two in Täby who bit her on the neck and locked her in his garage.

She advertises on Pink Pages and Stockholmgirls. Almost all the people who contact her are a waste of time. Lots of crude language, promises of wonderful sex, threats of violence and punishment.

She always trusts her gut instinct when she starts to correspond with someone new. This particular message was well-written. It was fairly direct, but not disrespectful. He said his name was Wille, his phone number was blocked, and he lived in a nice area.

In his third email he explained what he wanted to do to her, and how much he was willing to pay.

She took that as a warning.

If it sounds too good to be true, then there’s something wrong. There are no free meal-tickets in this world, and it’s better to miss out on a generous deal than put yourself in danger.

Still, she’s here now.

The man returns and hands her an envelope. She counts the money quickly and puts it in her bag.

‘Is that enough for you to show me your underwear?’ he says.

She smiles warmly, gently takes hold of both sides of her dress and slowly lifts it above her knees. The hem rubs against her nylon tights. She pauses and looks at him.

He doesn’t meet her gaze, just stares down between her legs as she gradually raises the dress to her waist. Her silk underwear shimmers like mother-of-pearl beneath her pale tights.

‘Are you shaved?’ he asks in a slightly hoarser voice.

‘Waxed.’

‘Completely?’

‘Yes,’ she replies.

‘That must hurt?’ he says, sounding genuinely interested.

‘You get used to it,’ she says with a nod.

‘Like a lot of things in life,’ he whispers.

She lets her dress drop again and takes the opportunity to wipe the sweat from her palms as she smooths the fabric over her thighs.

Even though she has the money she’s starting to feel nervous again.

Possibly because he paid so much, five times more than any previous client.

In one of his emails he explained that he was prepared to pay extra for her discretion, and for his specific wishes, but this is way above her normal rate.

When he wrote to tell her what he wanted to do, she didn’t think it sounded that bad.

She remembers one man with worried eyes who dressed up in his mother’s underwear and wanted her to kick him in the crotch. He paid for her to pee on him as he lay on the floor crying in pain, but she couldn’t do it. She just grabbed the money and ran.

‘People get turned on by all sorts of things,’ Wille says with an embarrassed smile. ‘Obviously you can’t force anyone … I mean, you have to pay for some things. I’m not expecting you to actually enjoy what you do.’

‘It depends, but I do sometimes enjoy it if the man’s gentle,’ she lies.

Naturally Sofia promises full discretion in her ad, but she still has one safety measure as a precaution. She keeps a diary at home, where she makes a note of the names and addresses of people she’s arranged to meet, so that someone will be able to find her if she ever goes missing.

Besides, Tamara saw Wille once, just before she stopped working as an escort, got married and moved to Gothenburg. Sofia knows that Tamara would have posted a warning on the sex-workers’ forum if he’d behaved inappropriately.

‘As long as you don’t find me revolting and repulsive,’ the man says, taking a step closer to her. ‘I mean, you’re so beautiful, and I’m … well, I know what I look like. I was OK when I was your age, but …’

‘You look good now,’ she assures him.

Sofia thinks of all the times she’s heard people say that escorts have to be like psychologists, but most of the men she sees never say anything personal.

‘Shall we go up to the bedroom?’ Wille asks lightly.