Blood Diamonds

Chapter 9

Leila

Rodney could see that I was still in shock from witnessing what had happened at the charity ball. "There, there, dear. Just relax," he quipped as he handed me a seething cup of chamomile tea. "Let's forget these ghastly happenings and move on with our lives."

I sat under the cosy covers of our king-sized bed, wrapped in a warm gown of Egyptian cotton thread, safe. Was I really safe though? I had endured a lot in my lifetime—rape, drug addiction, abandonment, including almost being murdered myself—but nothing could have prepared me for that gruesome sight of Doctor Crowley. That mental image was forever ingrained in my mind like a red stain on my thoughts; his eyes engorged in a painful stare and the subsequent outburst of blood that splattered out. Red was in fact my favourite colour, but at that moment the sight of anything in that shade made me physically sick to the stomach.

I crept closer to my husband who set himself beside me and laid my head on his broad shoulder. "You're safe with me now, Leila," he whispered quietly in my ear, delicately stroking my long hair. "No one will ever harm you. I promise." In that moment I believed him. I had to. I had to believe that he could protect me from the clear dangers surrounding me, lest I went mad in a sea of paranoia, so I kissed his neck in gratitude. He kissed me back on the lips and stared into my eyes with loving sincerity. My husband was the sweetest man, I didn't know what I had done to ever deserve him, besides screw a few guys for money. But that chapter of my life as a 'lady of the night' was over, and so I pushed it deep to the pits of forgotten memories.

"You are beautiful, in body and soul," he whispered with a tender smile. The yellow light of our bedside lamps illuminated his grey hair like an angelic halo. That was enough to ignite my passion, so I kissed him harder. He slipped his hand into the opening of my gown, delicately stroked my thighs, and found his way to my wanting mound.

I moaned at the erotic touch. He was such a gentle lover, unlike the dirty bastards my used-up body was so accustomed to. The events of that evening dissipated in a hazy fog, gladly forgotten, as my husband made love to me that night.

* * * *

Being the wife of a multimillionaire definitely had its perks. For starters, I could indulge in any material craving without giving much thought to its cost, which is what I did on a daily basis. If I wasn't online, shopping for expensive shoes and clothing, I was playing the grand hostess to guests who frequently visited the mansion I shared with my spouse and his estranged mother. Rodney had warned me that, although lavish, his life and business were hectically social, so I happily played along by laughing and chattering to these business moguls and their elitist wives by day, content to be the good wife when called upon—a small price to pay for the great living comforts.

It was a small wonder, then, that I felt incomplete. A restless agitation gnawed at my insides. Was that the root and purpose of my existence? To shop, dance, laugh and soak in the alluring comfort of my husband's riches? Although I relished not having any financial woes, I came to realise very quickly that it did nothing for my personal growth. I could not flourish when there was nothing more to strive for. As you may imagine, the thought was a hopelessly confusing one. I had gotten exactly what I had always wanted, but what more was there to gain. What was the ultimate point of living if I could not strive towards a bigger purpose, even if it was a small glimmer of excitement to remind my soul that that there was still much to learn, to teach, and to give. My husband had his own business agendas (whatever they may have been, I knew almost nothing of it), and I was not content to just sit back and play the pretty doll in house of cards. I needed an agenda of my own.

I was content, yet unfulfilled you might say, so I searched for a means to fill this void over the coming weeks following the ball. I sought out charities of every kind, including small activities and hobbies such as book clubs and aerobics, to refocus my energy. I even went as far as self-help tutorials and spiritual classes to help find some sort of guidance—none of it was me; none of it resonated with my feisty core and fiery, yet compassionate, temperament. I was, am, a fighter. Fighting for survival was what I did during my few years of poverty. It was all I knew how to do, and what I did best, so it came as no surprise to me when I stumbled upon the website of a small, up-and-coming politician claiming to give back as much as he could to the community as he had gained. This little fish in a vast sea of sharks was none other than Henry Eckhart, the enigmatic man who captivated my very essence many weeks prior.

Admittedly, I had given him little thought since that night with all that had happened, but when I saw what he represented and remembered the genuine authenticity with which he approached me, I knew that his political agenda was exactly what I sought—a reason to fight the good fight without the misgivings or pretentious ego of being a wealthy, philanthropic do-gooder. There was a fire within my soul that could not be quenched by merely throwing a few thousands to this or that charity without thought or much proof that my contribution actually meant anything to the individual lives I sought to change. No, I had to fight for something, and Henry Eckhart was just the man to steer me on that long and winding path. This was why, one night out of the blue, while sitting by my lonesome in bed and feeling sorry for myself, I called him to propose a meeting, and possibly a partnership. I was pleasantly surprised to hear Mr Eckhart's voice on the line just a few seconds after leaving a message on his answering machine.

"Hi, Leila?" I heard him asking, breathing a slurred rush of words heavily into the receiver. Either he was drunk or extremely tired. I paid no mind. What he did in his spare time was none of my concern.

"Yes, Mr Eckhart, thanks for calling me back," I replied awkwardly while I nervously took a drag of my cigarette.

"No problem, how can I be of service to you?"

I had no idea how to approach the subject and explain the reason for my call. I knew little of politics and any sane person would have thought my mere enquiry into their business a foolish waste of time. "Uhm, I heard about your campaign and, well, I thought it would be a great exercise for the both of us if I assisted in any way I can. If possible," I blurted out. "I mean, I need the experience, and I've always wanted to help, and I know how the world operates beyond the high walls of these mansions. I could maybe be of some administrative value?"

"Of course! The more allies I have, the better," I surprisingly heard him answer without a moment's hesitation. "Shall we rather meet to discuss this in person?" he asked.

"Great! Yeah, yes, let me know when and where we can meet. I'm not a very busy woman these days, so my schedule is open." As I said this, I noticed that my cigarette, which I had forgotten about, messed ash all over the silk duvet under which I lay. "Oh, shit," I yelped, frantically trying to dust the sheets.

"Leila? Are you alright?" he asked, sounding a little alarmed.

"Yes, sorry, I'm okay. Please repeat that?" I said while smearing the ash deeper into the blanket and only making more of a mess than I anticipated.

"I said I will have my PA schedule a meeting for us and get back to you on the date. Unless you prefer something a little more informal? Say a light lunch?"

I chewed my bottom lip, apprehensively weighing my options. If I chose to see him in the office it might be a bit intimidating for me and I may just chicken out of the entire thing; but if I opted for the "light lunch" (and judging from his previous advances, not to mention my uncanny attraction to him), he might think that I was open to having a relationship that stretched beyond the boundaries of business. "An informal lunch sounds perfect," I decided.

"Great! Expect a call any time from now." He sounded exuberant at the proposal.

"Thank you, Mr Eckhart. I will await your call then. Enjoy your evening," I replied, and cut the call in a rush.

What am I doing, I thought as I sank further into the ash-smeared blankets. I was involving myself with another man. It was all just business, I tried convincing myself. I should have known better though. There was something there, a tiny spark between us, and the more I fuelled it, the brighter it grew. I prayed it did not consume me altogether because I had a good thing going with the Smiths.

Ichecked the time on my cell phone; it was late, and Rodney was still out. Iwondered what time he would return because the night was almost up. I settledmy head comfortably on the luxurious pillow to attempt to fall asleep andheaved a heavy sigh to dispel my excitement. I only managed to further feed themoths already writhing within the pits of my stomach.