Autobiography

Margaux woke up slowly, inside a cocoon of slightly itchy warmth. When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on the sofa, covered in an afghan blanket. 

She sat up, pushing it off her, and yawned, stretching out her arms. There were some noises in the kitchen, and something smelled good. She stood, pulling her cardigan back down where it had ridden up in her sleep, and started down the hall.

"Good morning."

Bill was standing at the oven, cooking something on the hob.

"What time is it?"

"Seven."

Margaux sat down at the kitchen table and rubbed her eyes. "What are you making?"

"Pancakes. You want one?"

He shook the pan back and forth, then flicked it upwards, and the paper-thin circle flipped into the air, turning before it came back down. Margaux couldn't help but be impressed.

"When did I fall asleep?"

"About halfway through The Wicker Man, I believe."

"Sorry."

"It was no problem. You don't snore."

The thought that she'd fallen asleep right next to Bill sent a shiver down her spine.

"Didn't I kick you? I usually kick."

"No. You were fairly peaceful." He slid the pancake from the frying pan onto a plate and set it in front of her.

"Thank you."

He went back to the hob to start making another, and Margaux got up to get some cutlery.

"I could never do that right."

"What?"

"Flip pancakes. I just make a mess."

"Do you want me to teach you?"

Margaux eyed him warily. "...I don't know."

"If I wanted to hurt you, Margaux, I would just do it."

"I suppose."

"Come here."

She set the cutlery down on the table and went to stand beside him. He put a hand on her shoulder and moved her between him and the oven.

"Hold the handle firmly, but keep your wrist flexible."

"Alright."

"Now shake the pan to loosen it from the bottom." He laid his hand over hers on the handle, and she tried to ignore how close he was standing -- close enough to smell his aftershave. Was it Fahrenheit? "Flick your wrist."

The pancake flew almost to the ceiling and made a soft sound as it hit the pan once more.

"Easy."

Despite her fear, Margaux laughed.

"You just did all that!"

"I never did."

"You definitely did. I had nothing to do with it."

A hint of a smile turned up one corner of his mouth. "Alright, do the next one."

He stayed where he was, looking down over her shoulder, but took his hand away. Margaux poured more batter into the pan and swirled it into shape.

After a minute or so she started to shake the handle.

"Now... flick."

It didn't go particularly high, but the pancake flipped over neatly.

"See -- you're a natural."

"You're just a good teacher."

"I'm flattered."

He turned away and sat down at the table as Robert came in, looking bleary.

"Morning, all."

"Margaux's made you some breakfast, Robert."

The warmth that had entered his voice was gone again. Margaux sat down and shook lemon juice over her pancake -- it had gone cold -- and quietly ate her breakfast while the two men murmured amongst themselves.

*

She was curled up in the armchair, reading the only book she'd been able to find -- a trashy romance from 1963 -- when Bill strode into the room and shoved something at her. It was her phone, and it was ringing. They stared at each other as the Doctor Who theme rattled off cheerfully.

"Answer it. As if you're at home."

"W-what should I say?"

"You're the writer, Margaux. Make something up."

She took the phone from Bill's outstretched hand and shakily lifted it to her ear, pressing the green key. Bill sat opposite her, taking the gun from his jacket. As if she needed reminding.

"H-hello?"

"Margaux, where the fuck were you today?"

"David. Hi."

"Don't 'hi' me, Margaux. Where were you?"

The publicity meeting. She'd completely forgotten.

"I... I've been in bed with flu. I caught something in Paris."

"Bullshit, Margaux, you just couldn't be fucked, could you? You wanted to make me look like a schmuck!"

"It's not like that, David, I--"

"This is exactly like you. Is it because I asked Sally to marry me?"

"What? No, of course not--"

"It's not enough that you don't want me -- you don't want me to be happy with anyone, do you?"

"I'm sorry, David." Her voice cracked.

"Oh, don't start fucking crying, Margaux. I don't give a shit whether you cry any more."

Margaux handed Bill the phone, and as it passed between them she could still hear David shouting. Bill dropped the call.

"He seemed like a nice chap."

"He's a real charmer." Margaux wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"You're off the grid starting now. The next time you talk to him, he'll know we have you."

He stood and moved to the doorway, his eyes lingering on her for a heartbeat before he turned and left.