TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (53 page)

hold, thinking they had something.”

“Didn’t they?”

“Yeah. A fuck-fest …” He stops laughing the minute he catches my expression. “I mean, they got it

on together, but not like you two …”

“Naturally. And what about the basement?” I’m on a roll.

He looks like a mouse caught in a trap again. “The basement? He told you about that?”

“Sure.” I plaster an indifferent look on my face.

This conversation is making him uncomfortable. “Have you been in there?”

“Yes, it’s not like a dungeon or anything. It’s quite cosy. A private space.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s private alright.” He gives me a knowing look which I find unsettling.

I go for broke. “And what about Elise? How does she fit into the grand scheme of things?”

“She doesn’t. Not anymore.”

The guarded look on his face tells me there’s more. I dig a little deeper. “And before?”

“Before. She was a part of his life. Well before we met.”

“But you’ve met her?”

He’s unsure of himself, suddenly. “Yeah, I’ve met her.”

I manufacture a sweet smile to throw him off the scent. “What’s she like?”

He shrugs his shoulders and looks out of the window, pretending to be unconcerned about my

question. “She’s … ordinary, I guess.”

“And yet Ayden fucked her.”

He turns his head sharply to face me. “He told you that?”

“No but …”

“Then you’d have to ask him about it. I don’t know all the details of his private life. Like I said, he

doesn’t confide in me about everything.” Now he’s walking away.

“Don’t worry. I’ll ask him.”

“You do that.” This line of enquiry has got him spooked; he’s running his hand across his hair.

“Look, Beth, I know why you had us fly back together, so you could get me to open up about

Ayden. Believe me when I say, he loves you. Hand on heart, I confess I didn’t get it, didn’t take to you

at first. Shit! I even tried to buy you off. And the thing at the party, that’s something between me and

Ayden: I always wanted what he had and that’ll never change. Sometimes we’d even share …” He

decides against elaborating.

“But I’ve seen you two up close and I’ve never seen two people more connected. There will be

times when he’ll drive you crazy and you’ll want to walk away. God knows he’s not the easiest guy to

live with. But, all I’m saying is, take a step back and think it through because he deserves that.”

I reach over to him and wrap my arms around his neck. I need to feel close to someone and he’s the

next best thing to Ayden.

“Thank you. You’re a loyal friend but the fact remains, Ayden is in the hands of the British Secret

Service.”

He takes a step back and bows ever so slightly. “Message understood Mrs. Stone. Leave it with me.

I’ll have him back in your arms before you can say Viva Las Vegas.”

Waking up a winner is so much better than waking up knowing you’re failing at almost everything.

Having passed on the information about Stone’s consignment to Jack Simpson, Dan feels like a

man who has been given a second chance. Wearing no more than yesterday’s boxers, he fumbles for

the remote and switches on Sunday morning breakfast T.V, ecstatic at the thought of Stone being out

of circulation for a couple of days. He had his window and it’s about to be swung wide open.

He’s pouring cereal into a cracked bowl while Honey meows around his ankles, anticipating the

leftover drops of milk from yesterday’s carton. He’s keeping one eye on the time and one on the news,

hoping to hear of Stone’s arrest. He’s not disappointed. At 0830hrs the newsreader talks about the

coming together of world leaders to form a collision against international terrorism; there’s a report

on a hurricane gaining momentum somewhere out in the Pacific. His interest wavers until he hears the

name Ayden Stone. He turns up the volume.

“
Following on from an investigation by MI5, the founder and M.D. of ASMI, billionaire

businessman Ayden Stone has been taken into custody. Sources say he is helping with enquiries and no

formal proceedings are underway to arrest him at this time.”

“It’s only a matter of time Stone. Hope you packed a bag and kissed my girl goodbye.” With a

single thought in mind, he throws the bowl into the sink with a clatter and the empty carton lands in

the bin by the door. Giving her no more than a cursory glance, he watches as Honey makes her escape

through the cat flap; he has more pressing matters to attend to than a hungry cat.

20

The
11 hour flight from Las Vegas to Heathrow passed quickly. Following orders, Jake kept a

watchful eye on me. I managed to endure the flight without the need for a comforting lap to sit on or

an impromptu visit to the bathroom. I wanted for nothing other than information, and he went some

way towards giving me that. To his credit, he did give me an insight into youthful Ayden but little

about that pervading spectre that is Elise.

Jake has jumped into a taxi, leaving me homebound in the silver Rolls. Lester looks to me

expectantly, unsure of my intentions. He seems to be aware of what’s happened but says nothing.

“Where to, Mrs. Stone?”

I’m taken aback by my new title, having had no time at all to get used to it; it wraps itself around

me like a “
borrowed robe.”
Where
am
I going? I can’t go back to Elm Gardens. I am a married

woman, after all.

“Stone Heath, Lester.”

Seeming a little relieved, he turns the car in an easterly direction to Belgravia, leaving me to my

thoughts and the prospect of London drizzle; hardly a good omen.

On arrival he switches off the alarm, carries our bags to the lift and ushers me inside. It’s a little

claustrophobic but only momentary as we ascend in silence, before it glides to a halt on the second

floor. He opens the door onto the lounge area.

After reaching into a pocket, he holds out a set of keys. “Mr. Stone mentioned locked doors and

wanted you to have these, in case you feel the need to … to explore.” He chooses the word carefully,

not wanting to offend. I think I see his mouth twitch nervously.

The bunch of keys settle in my palm like a handful of iron filings; sharp and differing in size and

colour. “Thank you Lester.”

With an outstretched right arm he ushers me towards the kitchen. “My daughter has stocked the

fridge, but if you want anything you can either use the intercom or ring the bell onto the adjoining

apartment.”

I respond to his brief explanation with a frown.

“This door here.” We return to the lift and the door at the left side of it. He inserts a key and it

opens inwards. He does the same and another door opens outwards, out into a cosy apartment. “We

live here, so you won’t be alone in the building Mrs. Stone.”

I reward his assurance with an amiable smile and a nod. Ensuring privacy for all concerned, he

locks both doors.

“What about this door?” I enquire, pressing down on a locked handle to my left.

“This leads to the terrace on the roof and behind that door are the stairs to all floors, in case the lift

isn’t functioning.” I see him thawing a little, clearly taken with my curiosity. I wonder if he’s had

occasion to give a tour before.

“This is a large house Mrs. Stone. It will take some getting used to.”

I snigger and respond. “Yes, it will.”

Seeing no humour in my comment, he presses on. “If, for any reason, you require assistance you

can press zero on the intercom here.” He reaches out to the box on the wall, the size of a hardback

book. “See? Like this.”

In no more than twenty seconds, a disembodied voice comes from the box. “Yes? What can I do for

you Mrs. Stone?”

I turn to Lester for a response.

“I’m showing Mrs. Stone how to operate the intercom Bernie.”

“But thank you,” I add.

“You’re welcome Mrs. Stone. Congratulations, by the way, on your wedding.”

I lean into the mouthpiece. “Thank you Bernice. It was wonderful.” I’m tempted to add, while it

lasted, but don’t.

“We’re here if you need us for anything.”

“Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

Having no time for pleasantries Lester takes his finger off the button, ending the conversation,

breaking the silence with the sound of his footsteps across the marble floor. He presses buttons,

lowering shutters and switching on lamps, after all, it’s three in the morning here.

“Would you like the suitcases in the master bedroom Mrs. Stone? I can have Bernie unpack them

for you.”

“Thank you, that’s a good idea. Only, I’ll unpack. It will give me something to do.” I smile warmly.

He leaves me to my duties and my solitude in the master-less suite. Our suitcases are open on the

duvet, like dead weights. I hardly have the willpower to unpack.

Forty minutes later, clean clothes have been hung and dirty clothes placed in the wash basket; cases

have been stowed and order has been restored to the suite. It’s as if we never left, as if we never wed.

If it wasn’t for the wedding ring on my finger, I might believe it all to have been no more than a

dream. Needing some sort of reassurance, I make my way along the corridor to Ayden’s study, in

search of a single object: his digital photo frame.

With an eager hand I pick it up, but stop short of leaving when I spot a folder on his desk.

Feeling like an undercover agent, I flick through the pages … skimming and beginning to join up

the dots until a shape emerges. The document corroborates everything Ayden said about the covert

shipment to Riyadh airport. That reassures me no end.

For safe keeping, I slip it into the top drawer and trundle back to my bedroom with the photo frame

flashing into life. Having Ayden here digitally eases my loneliness. Comforted by images of our visit

to the Eternal City, I lie back on the bed, resting my head on the pillow.

There’s no trace of Ayden’s familiar cologne to ease me into a comforting repose. Wrapping

myself in Egyptian cotton sheets is fine, but they cannot embrace me with the warmth of my

husband’s arms. The digital picture frame offers some comfort and memories of Rome supersede

those of one night not so long ago, when only a few lengths of wood and my determination stood

between me and my demon. In spite of the silence and the empty space, I feel safe here. At home.

My last job is to put away our ‘toys’ in the bedside cabinet; close to hand. As I’m about to slide the

drawer shut, I spot a small item in the right hand corner. It’s an SD card.

I wonder …

Did Ayden know his detainment was imminent? Is this another one of his surprises? There’s only

one way to find out. Barefoot, I head upstairs where my laptop sits on the coffee table. This I’ve

simply got to see.

It boots up quickly and recognises the storage device. There’s only one file. It looks promising. I

adjust the screen and prepare myself for more reassurances but instead …

The video plays out; a flickering display, capturing the cruellest form of lovemaking, tainting this

pristine setting with dark, moving images. Up until a minute ago I was warm and comfortable. Now I

am freezing and numb, unsure of what I’m feeling.

The flickering candle light would be romantic in any other context, but not here. It’s doing no more

than creating shadows that move with the performers, like partners in crime. He said he’d had two

women in the basement and she sure as hell isn’t Alenka.

That leaves only one other. Her name leaves my lips in a hiss: Elise.

Like a scene from the crucifixion, she is standing upright, her back to the camera, blindfolded. Her

limbs are stretched and tied to the upper and lower corners of the bed frame. She is naked except for a

pair of black leather panties that appear at least one, maybe two sizes too small for her ample derriere.

Across her back are red lines, crisscrossed like a crazy road map leading to a dead end, whichever

route you take.

There is the sound of a whip slashing skin. I call out and lean back in horror, not wanting to believe

my eyes.

“Enough?” A man asks.

“No. More.”

The crack of the whip makes me jump. Still I watch and wait for the voice, my mouth agape, my

eyes on stalks.

“That’s enough, Elise.” Hearing Ayden say her name has me reeling. There I was thinking this gem

of a find was a comforting gift from Ayden. How wrong was I?

I watch as Ayden unties her hands and rubs the grazed skin with his thumbs then kneels to release

her ankles, seeming utterly repentant. Freed from her shackles, she crawls onto the vanilla bedspread

and rolls onto her back, still blindfolded, waves of hot air leaving her mouth in breathless pants.

Still the camera rolls …

A muscular shadow mounts her, straddles her hips and leans across to attach her hands to the

bedhead with unhurried movements, almost lovingly.

She is writhing on the bed, so needy for sex I can smell it in the air.