Untouchable Things (30 page)

“It isn’t you I want.” His voice was ugly and his eyes, when they turned to her, were expressionless. She felt her own fill with tears.

“What do you mean?”

“It isn’t you.”

“But…”

“You were there, that’s all.”

That’s a harsh thing to say.

But don’t you see – he didn’t mean it. What happened was real. He just couldn’t cope with his feelings. In a funny way he was trying to protect me.

If you say so, Miss Jarret.

She tried to bring him round but he’d closed up like a clam. She gathered up her stuff, dropping it from arms that still shook. He lit a cigarette and his face relaxed a little. “Hey.” She turned to him, a wisp of hope. “Thank you for today. You saved me from a dark place.” Had she saved him? It didn’t feel like it. “I’m sorry about our walk. But I think I need to be alone right now.”

She swallowed. “I think… it’s often helpful to talk in this situation. Even if you don’t feel like it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Talking isn’t exactly what we were doing just now, if I remember correctly.”

She felt the blush erupt over her cheeks, chin, forehead. He held out a raised hand over her spluttered words.

“Catherine. I just need to be alone.”

He dismissed you.

He was upset.

She scuttled towards the door like a woodlouse in the light, looking for a stone to hide her. Back she went through the sunshine, the cherry blossom, through the groups of chattering students until she was back where she began.

Scene 24

He summoned me.

A text on a sunny April Saturday.
I need to see you
. Rebecca cancelled her plans. She was getting good at cancelling things. She’d turned down the West Yorkshire Playhouse two days ago. Her agent was bewildered. But London was more visible, and if she got the
No Exit
gig she’d be laughing. She’d get it. She had to get it now.

She hotfooted it to Notting Hill, worrying the words of the message over and over. Was he missing her? In trouble? Was there some big thing he needed to tell her?

He greeted her with a hug and a smile but his eyes looked odd, swollen, and she smelt alcohol on his breath.

“Are you all right?”

He led her to the drawing room and she was reminded of that first time, the first group, the way he’d held her hand.

“Not bad, considering I’ve just had a visit from Sister Catherine.”

She laughed as she sat but there was an edge to him. “That bad, eh?”

A gesture like batting away a fly. “Let’s not talk about her. Drink?”

That question from Seth only ever meant alcohol. “Um, I might start slow, just been to the gym for the first time in months. How about one of your coffees?”

“If you insist.”

She stood by the locked patio doors, sniffing out a few molecules of grinding coffee beans from the kitchen. She called loudly to make herself heard over the kettle, “Mind if I let some air in?” The flat felt unusually stuffy and it was criminal to shut out a day like this. She opened the doors and turned her face up to the sun, eyes closed.

“The question is who’s worshipping whom?” She jumped. Seth was lounging by the piano, head tilted as if admiring a painting. “I’d say you were sun-worshipped, rather than worshipper. Your hair is glowing round you like a halo.”

She flicked it away from her face self-consciously. “I feel I should pout, like a model.”

“Be my guest. Strike a pose. You know I love to look at you.”

This was intense, even for Seth. “Is that why I was summoned? So you could look at me?” She felt her breath catch as she crossed one ankle over the other, mimicking his posture, also tipping her head to the side.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not only to look.”

“Then that was a little… presumptuous of you.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“I am.” She felt silly suddenly, a little girl playing a part. She straightened up. “But only for the coffee.”

“Ah, the coffee.” He ran his eyes over her slowly and deliberately. She felt each part warm up as his gaze brushed it. “Well, you’ll have to come and get it.” He stretched out a hand and she saw the mug just behind him on the coffee table. “It’s particularly good today.”

“I bet it is.” She walked past him, taking her time. He moved his head to follow her.

“Thanks.” She put the mug to her lips and inhaled the vapour. “Whoa!”

He smiled. “As I said, a particularly good coffee. Go on, give it a go.”

Typical Seth, lacing her drink. It was good, though. Warming her twice through.

Do you know what he put in your coffee? How did it taste?

Nice! A bit sweet, a bit aromatic.

Go on.

They sat on the sofa. Half of her wanted to suggest a walk, a shot of spring, but she was already warm and fuzzy from the drink and she lolled her head back. He leaned into her slightly and closed his eyes. “You’re wearing it.”

“What?”

“Your Christmas present.”

She’d dabbed the nook of her neck before leaving the house. “Do you like it?”

Bloodshot eyes opened slowly. “I like it rather too much. Almost as much as I like this.” He reached over and took a handful of hair. “Or this.” He stroked the curve from her nose to cheekbone where the freckles were densest. She basked in his touch. “Or this.”

I expect you can guess what happened next.

We tend not to deal in guess work, Miss Laurence. I appreciate it’s a sensitive area but any details, anything above and beyond what we might expect would be appreciated.

The first kiss. She tasted him hesitantly, the edge of his lips, salt and whisky. An edge without a net to catch her, the edge of her need, a precipice on which she was teetering. Hands all over her hair, murmurs and mumbles, while she clung to him only with her lips, hands at her side like a doll’s, forgotten and dumped. Body and soul distilled into a mouth. Tongues twisted and twined, losing her balance, the drop below her yawning rapaciously. She had already surrendered but she wouldn’t let him know yet. She would fall inch by inch like a routed land, letting him plant flags on her throat, breast, thighs.

Did you feel odd in any way, Miss Laurence?

A little. Like I wasn’t connected to myself. And I came round a bit, when…

When?

Well, he got a bit carried away, you know? He was hurting me a bit, not deliberately or anything, but – I knew I needed to get a grip.

Fingers grasping her upper arm so hard that she’d have a handprint of bruises the next day. Kissing her almost beyond breathing point.

“Stop.” He didn’t seem to hear. He was on top of her, suffocating her into velvety folds.

“I said stop.” She struggled upright and shoved at his chest. His eyes were wild and he was panting, they both were. They stared at each other like two boxers who had been dragged apart. Her head pounded.

You had a headache?

Yes. He apologised and got me some water.

Passed it to her with a shaking hand.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you do to me, Rebecca. I can’t control myself.”

She held the hand and squeezed it. It was her moment to say, “Maybe we should take it slowly.” There was something strange about him today, something out of control. Something not very Seth at all.

But she didn’t say that. Instead, when he started to move their joined hands up and down her thigh…

Miss Laurence?

Sorry. This is really difficult for me. I keep wondering if I did the right thing. If, somehow, this caused everything.

Take a moment.

“Not so fast, Ms Laurence. You want slow, you’ll get slow.” It was her rushing him now. Her body had woken up and taken advantage of her still-woozy thought processes. He was kissing her again but delicately, running the tip of his tongue along her teeth. One hand drifted down towards her breast, circling over her T-shirt like it had all the time in the world. She arched her back like a cat, an invitation. A request. A demand. Finally a thumb on her nipple, drifting backwards and forwards, a wire of pleasure down to her navel. Someone lifted her top, maybe her, maybe pulling at his spare hand until the other thumb obliged her too and he was grazing the black lace seams of her bra with his nails. It sent her crazy, of course, writhing on her back like a stranded insect. They stripped her, one of them, both of them, until she was laid out before him in her best underwear.

“So.” He surveyed her, a customer about to make an important purchase, examining all particulars. “You are a sight for very, very sore eyes.” He smiled at a private joke. Fingertips walked from her ankles up the insides of her thighs and skated lightly between her legs.

“Oh.” She bit her lip, trembled.

“You are so wet. So very wet.” Words slow and deliberate, like the fingers skirting the edge of her knickers. “Do we leave them on, or take them off? They are in a bit of a state.” He was still fully clothed but her hands felt leaden again. All she wanted was for him to touch her.

“Please.” A husky plea. He looked amused.

“What a good girl, remembering your pleases and thank yous at a time like this.” His fingers probed. She closed her eyes, waiting for them to slip inside her.

“Or do we try something else?” His voice was low as he bent his mouth and started to kiss her stomach. She splayed her legs, willing him to go down. At last a finger sliding in as his tongue lapped the edge of the lace. Then two fingers and lace pulled taut to one side. Imperceptible licks, flicks, a lazy circling of the area before homing in for the kill. Loss of vision, thought, only currents of excruciating pleasure sparking between her legs. She put a hand on his head and started to rock her hips, thrusting towards him.

“Do something for me.” He had pulled his face away and his voice was rasping. His mouth glistened and she saw her desire smeared over his face. She shuddered and forced herself to breathe deep, stop herself from tipping over.

“What is it?”

“Wear something for me.”

“What?”

“I’ll show you. Just say yes.” He bent his head and ran his tongue lightly over her.

“Oh God. Yes.” Her mind spun. Leather? Basque? Leather basque?

“Wait here.” An erection pushing against his jeans as he got to his feet. She still hadn’t seen him.

She felt drunk as she waited, as if it was the early hours and she was on her second bottle. The world tipped slightly as she closed her eyes. She opened them to see his arms full of white silk as though he were carrying a bride.

“This is it?”

“I know it’s odd but – it would mean a lot if you would wear this. I’ve been imagining you in it.” His voice was husky and he didn’t meet her eyes. “I think you’d look amazing.”

She was turned on then by the thought of his fantasies about her. “Okay.”

He trailed it over her. “Put it on and surprise me. I’ll be waiting in the bedroom.”

She sat up and shook out the garment. It was an old-fashioned negligee, short and strappy. Like wedding underwear. She giggled to herself. Maybe he liked the virginal look.

She stripped off and slipped it on. It smelt old, a bit musty. A hint of mothballs. Had he bought it for her or did he ask all his conquests to wear it? She shook the thought away, fanning out her hair so it flamed down over the white ruffles. She liked how short it was. He would barely need to lift the hem.

She sashayed towards the bedroom, getting into role, enjoying the way it felt. Powerful. Her head was clearing as she took control. She stopped to look at herself in the hall mirror. As she twisted around for the back view she saw Millais’
Ophelia
through the open door to the study and stopped for a second to stare at the translucent skin and swirling hair. And vacant eyes. She shivered and a little of her power drained away.

Did he say any more about this garment and why he wanted you to wear it?

No. It clearly… did something for him.

An immediate and obvious effect when she went in. A naked man lying on the bed can’t hide something like that. She liked what she saw. She wanted to get closer.

“No. Let me look at you first.” His voice was thick with lust. So she preened and posed, turning her back on him and whipping up the edge of the fabric to show her arse. A strangled noise in his throat. She was enjoying herself now, swinging her hips and running her hand over her buttocks. Then she rounded to face him, tongued her teeth, did her sex goddess bit. He stared, mesmerised, and she saw how his breaths pumped his chest in and out. She approached slowly, seductively, until she was kneeling over him on the bed letting him drink her in. Let him slip his hands under the negligee and watch the ripples of silk he made. His cock barged at her thigh and she realised they hadn’t had the condom conversation. Soon. She wanted to touch him, she’d barely touched him yet. Run her hands through a black fuzz of chest hair and feel the strain of the muscles underneath. She shifted down so she could see better.

He pulled her back to him and then they were kissing again, harder now, and he was whispering things she couldn’t hear. Suddenly he threw her onto the bed and pulled the negligee up and tight over her face. She spluttered against its slippery folds as he nuzzled her breasts, playing with the nipples with the edge of his teeth.

“If you can’t see, you feel more.”

Jason had never done this. No one had ever done this. She thrust herself towards him as she gasped in mouthfuls of silk, glad to evade the gaze of the overhead mirror.

Were you frightened?

A little. But not enough.