《Hot Revenge Box Set 2》 Chapter 1 Chapter 1 This Book Is Dedicated To ¡®Him¡¯ ¡°James¡¯ Poem¡± Was, In Real Life, Written By ¡®Him¡¯ For His Own Grandson Hostage Richard N?velDrama.Org (C) content. I watch them drive away, taillights receding into the dark. Depressed beyond measure, I let the curtains fall back, turning to deal with the two women now in my care. Mitch, calmer than I''ve seen her for days, returns from the kitchen, tray in hand. She pours peppermint tea for herself, then two more cups. She slides one across the table to Elizabeth, then brings one to me. ¡°Thank you, Mitch, but I don''t really care for it.¡± She holds still, hand and cup outstretched. ¡°It will calm you down.¡± ¡°I''m perfectly calm, thank you.¡± ¡°Is that why you''re wearing a hole in the carpet?¡± Elizabeth turns her face away, but not before I see the smile she''s hiding behind her own cup. Then her smile fades. ¡°My apologies, Mitch. This goes against the grain for me. It really, really goes against the grain. Charlotte in trouble. James and Michael¡­ Even Lawrence Klempner¡­ of all people¡­ riding to the rescue, while I...¡± I hold up palms, sick with helplessness and self-disgust. Mitch¡¯s voice is calm. ¡°James and Michael are both husbands to Charlotte. Larry is her father. Your first responsibility is to Beth. Your pregnant wife.¡± ¡°Believe me, Mitch, I know it. Nothing else would have kept me here at a time like this.¡± Elizabeth sips at the tea. She''s pale. Too pale. I take her by the shoulders, kiss her hair. ¡°My Love, you''re tired. Why don''t you go to bed for a while? Get some sleep.¡± She swallows, blinking hard. ¡°I wouldn''t feel right.¡± Mitch sits on the chair arm by her. ¡°Nothing''s going to happen for the next hour at least. Go upstairs. Snatch a catnap at least. When anything starts to happen, I''lle wake you.¡± Elizabeth shakes her head, then stifles a yawn behind her hand. And I¡¯ve had enough. You¡¯ll make yourself ill¡­ ¡°Mitch is right. Let me help you up to bed. We¡¯ll not let you sleep through. But you do need to rest. Your first responsibility is here.¡± I pat her stomach. Under my palm, something pats back and, startled, I snatch my hand away before,ughing, I rest my hand back on the spot. Elizabeth dimples. ¡°Looks like I¡¯m outvoted. Even Adam agrees with you.¡± ¡°So he does.¡± I offer my hand, helping her to stand. We climb the stairs slowly. She leans heavily on me, rubbing at the base of her spine. ¡°Elizabeth, are you feeling well?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine. I''m just tired, Master.¡± ¡°And upset.¡± ¡°Of course I¡¯m upset. Seeing Charlotte like that¡­¡± Her face drops, eyes squeezing closed. ¡°If anyone can get her back, can you think of three better people?¡± ¡°No, Master.¡± I help her undress and put her to bed. Sitting by her, I lean in, kiss her cheek. ¡°Sleep well, my Love.¡± ***** James Klempner drives, and despite the urgency of our journey, does so carefully, steering around iced puddles and the switchback corners of the road descending from our mountain home. Both he and Michael loaded their gear, a lot of it, into the trunk, but I have very little beyond what I¡¯m wearing. My baggage is waiting for me. I twist around from my seat in the front, jerking my chin at Michael¡¯s bulging rucksack. Despite being packed tight, when he hefted it, it seemed oddly light. ¡°What¡¯s in the bag?¡± He looks grim. ¡°Anything I could think of that Charlotte might need. Warm nkets, towels and a wrap. A ground roll. A sk of soup. Chain cutters. Baby wipes. Antiseptic. Surgical gloves, mps and scissors.¡± ¡°Scissors?¡± ¡°To cut the cord if I need to.¡± Klempner, I think watching Michael in the rear-view, tightens his grip on the wheel. ¡°You¡¯re well- prepared.¡± ¡°Charlotte¡¯s ufortable with hospitals and doctors. I¡¯ve thought for months we might have a home delivery. I made sure I was ready for it.¡± ***** On the edge of the City, he¡¯s there, waiting as promised: Ross leans back against the car he chauffeurs for Richard, arms folded, staring at the ground. He straightens up as he sees us. Klempner winds down his window. ¡°You have it?¡± Ross jerks his head to the rear seat. ¡°It¡¯s in the back.¡± As Klempner, Michael and I exit our own vehicle, Ross opens up his. ¡°Mr Haswell had the cash drawn inrge denomination notes, otherwise you¡¯d never be able to carry it.¡± He hefts a very ordinary-looking sports-bag across to me. ¡°Even so, it¡¯s no lightweight. It¡¯s got to weigh over twenty pounds.¡± He fishes in his pockets. ¡°James, I¡¯ve been speaking with Mr Haswell while you were on your way here. I have a couple of other things for you.¡± He offers something in his hand. ¡°A phone?¡± ¡°It¡¯s my phone. I¡¯ve set up the tracker app and I¡¯ll be watching you on a live feed from the car.¡± He nods back to where, I now see, is a tablet and dongle. ¡°Keep the phone in your pocket.¡± ¡°They¡¯ll likely take it off me as soon as I meet them.¡± He nods, looking unhappy. ¡°Yes, but in that case, we¡¯ll at least know where you werest seen. I¡¯ll be rying it back of course, to Mr Haswell...¡± His eyes rise to mine. ¡°He¡¯s not very happy at being left behind.¡± He rummages again then passes me something else. ¡°There¡¯s this too. It¡¯s the smallest, most discreet one I could find in the time. Keep talking as you¡¯re moving. Keep us up to date with where you¡¯re headed. And anything that happens.¡± As I fiddle with the earpiece, fitting it into ce, Michael ps me on the shoulder. ¡°Take care. And remember to duck.¡± ¡°You too. But get her back.¡± ¡°We will.¡± Ross¡¯ voice in my ear. ¡°Can you hear me, James?¡± ¡°Yes, I can hear you.¡± His eyes scouring the dark streets, Klempner produces his hip sk, takes a swig and almost absent- mindedly, offers it to me. ¡°I told you before, I don¡¯t need Dutch courage.¡± ¡°And as I told you before, I prefer Dutch anger.¡± He wrinkles his nose, rocking the sk in his hand at me, as he did before¡­ Who would have believed Klempner would be the deliverer of courage and cheer? He doesn¡¯t believe I¡¯m going to live through this¡­ I take the sk, tipping it to my mouth, expecting the harsh bite of the rough whiskey he gave me before. Instead, smooth heat flows over my tongue, ripples down my throat and radiates through my belly. I stare at the bottle, then at Klempner. ¡°You tossed my fifteen-year-old Armagnac into a hip sk?¡± He grins, entirely unembarrassed. ¡°It¡¯s a cold night, James. I thought we might as well have the benefit.¡± I grin back. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± I take another swig, then offer it to Michael. He epts it, pasting on a facsimile of a ¡®Michael smile¡¯, but it¡¯s not there in his eyes. ¡°Michael¡­¡± He swallows and takes another sip. ¡°Hmmm?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll get her out of there? And Cara?¡± ¡°You know I will.¡± ¡°If¡­¡± My throat tightens¡­ ¡°If¡­ After tonight¡­ You¡¯ll¡­. You¡¯ll be Cara¡¯s father?¡± His smile falters then brightens and now settles on his eyes. ¡°The question doesn¡¯t arise. It was always the deal that I¡¯d be Cara¡¯s official father. Nothing¡¯s changed.¡± He offers back the sk. ¡°Tell her¡­ Tell her from me¡­¡± ¡°She knows, James.¡± Klempner speaks quietly. ¡°Michael, time¡¯s moving on. You and I have work to do.¡± He squats down, takes something from his rucksack, pressing it into my hand. ¡°I know you said you didn¡¯t want to carry one but humour me. It¡¯s a cert that whoever you meet will be carrying and I¡¯ll be happier if you have something you can use to at least make them duck. And it¡¯s not bulky so it won¡¯t slow you down.¡± I look at the gun lying in my palm, then stow it into a pocket. He nods, ps me on the shoulder and gets into the car. From the driver¡¯s seat, ¡°Take care, James. Remember what I said. That vest will help, but you¡¯re not invulnerable.¡± ***** Chapter 2 Chapter 2 The car drives into the night, taillights, glowing gold through the exhaust. Ross stands silently by. ¡°Time for me to go too.¡± ¡°Good luck, James. I¡¯ll be listening.¡± He offers his hand and I shake. Then, bag in hand, I set off down the dark streets. ***** Michael The night is icy, the ground slick with frost and a breeze, slight though it is, bites at fingers and ears, even through the gloves and the woollen caps both Klempner and I are wearing. Slipping from one shadow to another, we skirt the luridly lit front entrance of Club Electric, moving around the side. ¡°Don¡¯t slip on the ice,¡± mutters Klempner. ¡°You¡¯d end up in the canal.¡± The water, ck and unweing, ripples sluggishly, assorted unsavoury-looking objects bobbing at the surface. ¡°No, thanks¡­ How are you nning on getting inside? I¡¯m assuming you weren¡¯t nning on the front door.¡± ¡°No. He probably has the back covered too.¡± ¡°Fire escape?¡± Klempner shrugs, nomittally. ¡°Maybe.¡± ¡°So, what then?¡± He brandishes the wooden carrycase he¡¯s been toting since he first arrived with his armoury. ¡°And that is¡­?¡± He kneels, unclipping the case. It opens into two halves, lying t, to reveal inside what looks like a gun, sort of, and variousponents, nested into hollows in packing foam. ¡°A harpoon gun? And you n to use that how exactly? I know James talked about hunting whales. Not that I wouldn¡¯t be happy to see Finchby with one of those through his chest, but¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s a line thrower.¡± Klempner raises eyes to high above. There, above what would once have been loading ess for, what was then, a warehouse, a mix of silhouettes and dull glints mark the rusted remains of ancient winch and pulley systems jutting from the wall. Klempner strolls to and fro, apparently measuring height or angle by eye. ¡°What are you like at climbing? Ever done any?¡± ¡°Klempner, that¡¯s got to be, sixty¡­ seventy feet¡­¡± ¡°Yes. Have you done any climbing?¡± ¡°A bit of rock-climbing when I was a teenager and of course some rope work in the gym. But nothing like¡­¡± I let my eyes slide upward: a solid wall of smoothly constructed brickwork, damp in the night air, slick in the winter freeze. ¡°¡­ nothing like that.¡± ¡°If you can climb a rope in a gym, you can do this. It¡¯s just a longer stretch.¡± He cranes his neck, looking up. ¡°Which of those looks the most secure, would you say?¡± ¡°You have got to be kidding. Trust our weight to one of those? They¡¯re decades old. There can¡¯t be more than rust and hope holding them together.¡± ¡°You want to get inside or not? We can¡¯t use the entrances. There¡¯s no windows at all for the first two stories and the ones above that are barred. Oh, and for the avoidance of doubt, we¡¯ll be trusting my weight to it, not yours.¡± ¡°Your weight? Why yours?¡± ¡°You''re heavier than me, by quite a bit. I''ll go up first, get the rope anchored to whatever else I can find up there. Then you can follow.¡± ¡°Klempner, that¡¯s just not¡­¡± ¡°Got any better ideas?¡± ¡°Since you ask, no.¡± ¡°Well then.¡± ¡°What¡¯s your idea from there? Hoping there¡¯s ess from the roof?¡± He shrugs. ¡°There usually is for these ces. Services shafts, venttion¡­ Whatever. And if there isn¡¯t any ready-made, we might make an ess. Through the roof tiles perhaps.¡± He looks up again, sucking at his teeth. ¡°If we¡¯re pushed, I suppose we could tackle the bars on those upper windows, but I don¡¯t much like the idea of dangling sixty feet up for the length of time that would take. Even in the dark, we¡¯d be too visible if anyone came round.¡± He extracts the ¡®gun¡¯ from the packing, assembling parts. It could be a shotgun except for the unusually short barrel and strapped below the barrel, a canister, loaded with coiled cord. Then a long brass pole, with a loop to one end¡­ He nces up. ¡°The projectile¡­¡± he exins, without waiting for my question. I watch in some fascination. ¡°You¡¯ve done this before.¡± He huffs. ¡°Once or twice.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve led an interesting life, haven¡¯t you?¡± ¡°You could say so.¡± He fiddles with the cord, smoothing over a kink. Then knotting cord to the loop, he loads the projectile into the front of the barrel where it protrudes, dangling the cord, then snaps fingers at me. ¡°Pass me one of those cartridges.¡± I ease one from its slot. ¡°What is it the Chinese say? May you live in interesting times?¡± ¡°There¡¯s that...¡± He pushes the cartridge into the breech, clicking it home. ¡°¡­ But it¡¯s not as though I¡¯m cut out for afternoon tea with the vicar.¡± ¡°True.¡± His eyes rise to mine. ¡°You going to tell me what the deal is with you and the Haswell woman? You¡¯re supposed to be Jenny¡¯s husband.¡± ¡°One of them.¡± ¡°Alright, one of them. But what¡¯s with you and Beth Haswell? You seem pretty chummy with her, but no- one blinked. Not even her own husband. And I¡¯d not have thought Richard Haswell was the type to sit back while his wife¡­¡± ¡°Richard offered it. Charlotte has two husbands. I have two wives. We¡¯re a five-cornered family.¡± He says nothing for long seconds. Then, ¡°And Jenny¡¯s happy with that?¡± ¡°She was one of the instigators.¡± Klempner snaps the gun closed. ¡°Stand back. Just because it spits line instead of bullets it¡¯s no less a firearm and it¡¯s going to be fiddly.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because this isn¡¯t really the job it was designed for. It¡¯s a line-thrower but it¡¯s intended to be fired horizontally; for sea rescue and simr. I have to get it up and over one of those brackets so the line will catch. Then we can follow on with a rope to take real weight. This stuff¡¯s good to one-twenty pounds. Not enough to take me and certainly not enough for you.¡± ¡°Why just one of the brackets? Why not aim to straddle two or more if you can, then there¡¯s more than a single support if one of them fails?¡± Klempner sniffs. ¡°I like that idea.¡± He aims upwards, sighting along the length of the shaft, then fires. The brass projectile streaks upwards, trailing its cord. As it approaches its target it flies straight as an arrow, but then overshooting, rises above the roof and abruptly veers off-course, taking the cord with it. ¡°Fuck¡­¡± Klempner cranes to see. ¡°Must be a wind blowing up there.¡± As it falls back, the cord misses the brackets and the projectile tters onto the concrete. In my peripheral vision, something shifts¡­ a brighter patch in the darkness. ¡°Someone¡¯sing.¡± Freezing hard back against the wall, at thest moment, we turn faces away from the betraying beam as a figurees around the corner¡­ Two figures¡­ Matched silhouettes, behind the re of a torch, apanied by floating red embers and the scent of cigarette smoke. ¡°What d¡¯you think it was? I didn¡¯t hear anything¡­¡± ¡°Well, I did. Some sort of nging noise.¡± ¡°Probably kids or crack-heads.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what they pay us to find out isn¡¯t it.¡± The beam swings through the darkness, frozen fog a-glitter in the air as it moves, then passes over the trash bins. With a yowl, a cat streaks out from between the bins, knocking one of the cans flying as it goes. Then darting between the legs of the recoiling guards, it vanishes into the night. ¡°Fucking vermin. I¡¯ll tell Finchby he needs to put down some poison.¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be better to poison the rats instead?¡± ¡°Well that¡¯ll take the cats too, won¡¯t it.¡± He tosses his cigarette butt at the trash, a small red ember arcing through the darkness to fall glowing to the ground by the bins. ¡°C¡¯mon, I¡¯m fucking freezing.¡± As the bootsteps recede, I draw breath and then realise I''d been holding it. There¡¯s a distant clunk and all falls quiet again. ¡°Want to give it another try?¡± Klempner is already reloading: a fresh canister of cord; a fresh cartridge. He stands where he stood before, then eyeing upwards, repositions himself, aims and fires. Again, the projectile whistles upwards, the cord unravelling to follow behind. At the top of its arc, it hangs, glittering, then falls¡­ ¡­ and this time drops squarely over one of the brackets. ¡°Not two?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t have everything.¡± Klempner is already taking a coil of rope from his pack. As cord and projectile touch ground, he¡¯s already knotting one end of the cord to the rope, then hauling on the other, up and over the ancient bracket, then down again. In under two minutes, our climbing rope is in ce. Klempner tugs experimentally, then hoists himself, his full weight on it. Nothing much happens. ¡°Off we go,¡± he mutters. ¡°I¡¯ll go up first. Once I¡¯m up, I¡¯ll re-anchor, then you send the bags up next. Then youest.¡± ¡°Fine. Be careful. With the freeze, it¡¯s probably icy.¡± He sniffs and nods, then, one hand over the other, feet propped against the brickwork, ¡®walks¡¯ up the rope. I watch as he ascends. How old are you? Old enough to be Charlotte¡¯s father¡­ And you climb that wall like a monkey¡­ The dangling end falls still, then jerks. Quickly I attach Klempner¡¯s bag of tricks and tug. In a series of jerks, it rises, vanishes into darkness, then the rope falls back. My bag next. That too is hauled upwards and the end of the rope drops back. It''s been a while since Ist did any climbing, several years in fact. The rope feels unfamiliar in my hands as I haul myself upwards. And as I crane upwards, the wall, sheer, vertical, smooth, looms vertiginously above me. Crap¡­ Klempner¡¯s voice hisses down. ¡°Michael, move your ass. We don¡¯t have all night.¡± He did it¡­ So can I¡­ My pride stinging, I grab at the rope. Feet propped up against the wall, knees flexing as I ¡®walk¡¯ up, hauling myself, arm-over-arm up and ever up the brick surface. At about the half-way point, biceps beginning to burn, I stop for breath. Klempner¡¯s voice hisses down from above. ¡°Michael, what the fuck are you doing down there? This isn¡¯t a sight-seeing tour.¡± Smart bastard¡­ And, filling my lungs again, I pull up from my right arm, reaching, and pushing up from the feet again¡­ ¡­ and my feet skid... I don¡¯t know if the brickwork is iced or just sheened in condensation, but the soles of my boots slide like some old slips-on-the-banana-skin joke, lose contact with the wall and abruptly, I''m dangling¡­ Caught in mid-movement, my left arm reaching up, my entire weight drops onto my single right hand. For a heart-stopping second, the rope slides, the leather of the glove hot against my palm and myContent ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. heartbeat elerates from andante to allegro in the space of a couple of beats before I snap my left hand into ce and regain my grip. Christ! For a moment, all I can do is dangle, spinning. The darkness below me, which I had taken to be a kind of uniformly ck pit, is revealed as a mosaic of light and dark and grey which swirls under me rmingly. All around, the lights of the City draw streaks of red and amber and white across my vision... ¡°Michael!¡± The voice is a hiss from the darkness above. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± ¡°Wall¡¯s iced. Gimme a minute.¡± ¡°I¡¯ming down¡­¡± ¡°No, just give me a second¡­¡± ¡°You alright?¡± ¡°Got a stick handy?¡± ¡°A stick?¡± ¡°To push my heart back down my throat.¡± A snort, then, ¡°Youing or not?¡± ¡°I''ming.¡± And with that, shifting my grip¡­ Thank the fuck for gloves¡­ ¡­ I swing my feet back to the wall propping myself once, continuing my ascent. And this time, instead of arm over arm, I inch my way up, first my left hand, then my right, both hands on the rope all the time. The metal prop emerges from the darkness¡­ No Klempner¡­ ¡°Where are you?¡± ¡°Here.¡± From a couple of feet above me, he reaches down, offering his hand. I take it, and as he hauls me up, my other hand snaps reflexively onto the edge of the roof. ¡°Swing up and over. You can stand on the other side.¡± Hooking my heel up over the edge never felt so good. I find myself on the inside of a small wall and standing upright. ¡°We¡¯re in luck,¡± says Klempner. ¡°Walkable roof and what looks like ready-made ess¡­¡± He follows my downward gaze. ¡°You weren¡¯t supposed to stop to admire the view you know.¡± Smart-ass¡­ He crooks his arm, winding the rope around between hand and elbow in a neat coil then stows it back in his rucksack. ¡°Of course, it¡¯s harder for you. You have at least thirty pounds on me.¡± My teeth ungrit¡­ ¡°On the other hand,¡± he continues, a spark in his eye, ¡°¡­ You also have twenty years on me.¡± ¡°Klempner, if it had been James with you instead of me, would you spend your time needling him like this?¡± He seems to consider. ¡°No,¡± he says at length. ¡°But then I don¡¯t think James would have made it up that wall. He was right, that leg of his would have disabled him for this.¡± My ire rises again. ¡°That leg as you put it¡­¡± ¡°¡­ was a wound honourably received. But he needs to be more careful. I¡¯ve been in far more gun battles than he has, but I spend my time dodging bullets. Not putting myself in the way of them.¡± There¡¯s no moon and only the crystal glitter of winter stars above. Below us, the odd cracked streemp reflects orange from the canal before vanishing behind other simr warehouses, mainly derelict. And beyond, the City lies, in a sparkling mosaic of buildings and moving traffic. But up here, it¡¯s dark. The footing beneath us is slick with more than just ice. In the torchlight, moss or algae coats lead and te, a sheen of slime under the boots. Klempner¡¯s ¡®ess¡¯ is a straightforward dormer door, built-in between tes and lead shing. The door¡¯s pretty solid. Reinforced steel and with the kind of lock that says visitors aren''t wee. Even if he didn''t expect burrs up here, he was prepared for them. Barred from the inside at the very least. ¡°Can you hear anything?¡± ¡°No. Does Finchby have anything on this top level?¡± ¡°Not that I¡¯m aware of, but as I said, I can¡¯t im to know the ce well. My visits were limited. But how many would try to escape this way? What would they do? Fly?¡± Klempner kneels, fishing in his rucksack. ¡°What are you looking for?¡± ¡°Semtex. Blow the lock out.¡± ¡°That''s likely to make quite a bang, and it''ll be inside the building. They won''t mistake that for a cat and a trash can. Can¡¯t you shoot it out?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve watched too many movies. Firing a gun at a metal lock¡¯s just a good way of getting a bullet bounce back in your face.¡± Klempner starts fiddling at the door. ¡°It¡¯s only a small charge and he¡¯s on the lower levels. We''ll have to risk it.¡± I cast my eyes over the surrounding roof section. ¡°Klempner, wait a minute.¡± He straightens up. ¡°What for?¡± Sometimes people don''t see the obvious. Unslinging the axe from my shoulders, I slip the edge of the de under the end of a tile, then ease in and twist. And the whole thing lifts, pivoting on a single nail on the top edge. And below, there''s not so much as under-drawing. I''m looking directly down to an empty space. Klempner chuckles. ¡°Well, fuck me. They fit a door like that and¡­¡± ¡°¡­ and It doesn''t ur to them that a te roof is essentially a series of ovepping ps. Get your rope out again.¡± Chapter 3 Chapter 3 ***** James The message from Charlotte¡¯s abductors¡­ Finchby¡­ Baxter¡­ ¡­ reys in my head¡­ Marsh Street under Barnbridge Road overpass 9pm Bring the money No police. No other people or she dies Ifte she dies. So does the baby Brandy and rage burn inside me. The bag containing the ransom money swings heavy in my hand. I''m the decoy and at some level, I know I may note out of this alive. Klempner''s Ker vest gives me a littlefort, but it¡¯s the fury inside that warms me against fast falling temperatures. I should be afraid¡­ But I¡¯m not. Jade-Eyes¡­ My beautiful Jade-Eyes¡­ And Cara¡­ Your gift to me¡­ Since the day I met Charlotte, my Virgin, we have helter-skeltered from one crisis to another¡­ Her past has constantly pursued her, ruling her, robbed her of what she deserves. None of it her fault, she has simply been the survivor of everything life has dealt her. Would I change any of it? No. Nothing. Content is ? 2024 N?velDrama.Org. Charlotte¡¯s past is what has made her what she is. Strong. Fearless. Resourceful. Even in the dire situation she¡¯s in, imprisoned in her cell, racked with pain, coughing up green slime, she found the way to tell us where she is. They¡¯reing for you, Jade-Eyes¡­ And me? I¡¯m the decoy. The night is dark, icy and with the merest hush of a breeze. High cloud makes a haze of the stars but does little to nket in what passed for the heat of the day. The streets are zed to a hoared sheen, except for where streemps re yellow over the frost. I have a trek of perhaps half a mile to reach the rendezvous point, near enough to get there quickly. Far enough that, hopefully, they won¡¯t spot Ross. I walk briskly, my footsteps click-clicking down empty streets. It¡¯s not thatte, but the cold is keeping people indoors and, after all, Christmas ising. Most folks will be with friends, at parties or simply at home in the warm. I pass windows brightly lit, glowing with warmth and wee, sparkling with fairy lights, dressed with spray-on snow and Santa, Please Stop Here signs. In my own home, we never finished the trimming up. Charlotte¡¯s abduction killed off any thoughts of celebration and our tree stands half-decorated and dismal. I pass by. In only a few minutes I¡¯m leaving the rtive safety of the residential zone and passing into more uncertain territory. This end of Marsh Street is not a good area. Edging what was once the boundary of the City, it was built before the main highways were developed, a remnant of the old town, under the overpass which carries the modern road to Barnbridge. It''s a risky spot for the unwary, noted for assaults and random robberies. The police here travel at least in pairs and the other emergency services are cautious. The area is noted for hoax calls of fire or medical emergency followed by muggings for cash and drugs, and attacks on medics and fire officers for the sheer hell of it. I''ll admit, I''m feeling windy about being here. Better than the alternative. Someone has to do this¡­ I reach my destination. The road lies straddled by two great concrete supports for the overpass, dim under inadequate sodium lighting. From the road above, moisture trickles down, streaking stark concrete walls white before settling to iced sculptures over ground-level graffiti. Over me, on the overpass,te evening traffic grumbles past. But here below, all is quiet. ¡°Hello?¡± My voice echoes briefly, then dies away. ¡°I''m here.¡± I pace, circling, looking. Nothing¡­ Zip¡­ Nada¡­ In my ear, Ross'' voice. "James? You alright?" I try to speak without moving my lips. "I¡¯m fine. There¡¯s no-one here." I walk around to dispel the chill striking up through my shoes, even through thick socks and boots. After five minutes, I¡¯ve not seen a single vehicle. A pair of joggers cut across the road a couple of hundred yards away, probably taking the short cut to the park. They''re followed by a woman with arge dog, the kind owned by people who either think it''s ''tough'' to have a big dog or who actually need one for safety''s sake. Then I spot it. Taped to one of the great concrete supports, an envelope. My chest tightens. Abruptly, my mouth is dry. With fingers stiff from cold, I fumble and the envelope resists opening. I shake my hands, rattle some blood back into my fingertips and try again. Corner of Birch Square by Waverley Moorings. 9.20. Don¡¯t bete. Checking my watch¡­ Fuck! That''s less than ten minutes away¡­ I¡¯ve wasted time. It''s got to be a mile at least. My breath catching, I set off at a sprint. ¡°James, is everything alright?¡± ¡°Ross. Birch Square by Waverly Moorings. I¡¯m runningte. Can¡¯t talk.¡± ¡°Okay, James. I¡¯m tracking you.¡± Chapter 4 Chapter 4 ***** Michael Removing two dozen tes makes a gapfortably big enough to take a man and incidentally exposes the timbers. There¡¯s no question of how to anchor the rope this time. ¡°You realise we¡¯re probably invalidating Finchby¡¯s building insurance.¡± Klempner whistles in. ¡°What a shame.¡± We peer down into Stygian darkness. ¡°How far down you think? Twenty-five¡­ Thirty feet?¡± ¡°It can¡¯t be more than that if the windows outside are anything to go by.¡± This time on the rope, I''m much more in control. It¡¯s a straightforward climb down, the rope snagged by hand, thighs and crooked around one foot, and my body mass working for me rather than against, hand over hand, I descend into gloom. As my feet touch floor, the slight noise reverbs with the feel of arge empty space. Blind-sighted in the darkness, the faint lines of external light seep through eaves. Almost as Ind, the rope shivers in my hand as Klempner also descends,ing at speed and I step smartly to one side as I realise he''s all but on top of me. Hends lightly. ¡°Can''t believe it''s all going to be this easy.¡± The air smells, not exactly stale, but unused. Revolving through three-sixty, the only light is the faintest of gleams, a fine line marking the eaves. Also from above, a slight rustling¡­ Roosting birds? From below, the floor vibrates to the bass thump of overloud music. ¡°Still got Beethoven¡¯s Fifth Racket ying,¡± mutters Klempner from the gloom beside me. ¡°Useful for us though. He¡¯ll not hear using with that going on.¡± ¡°Too right. I think we can risk a little light.¡± With a click, the narrow beam of an LED shlight cuts through the air, producing a startled pping from above. To one side of us, the cracked ster and paint of a wall, the beam painting threads and dots of light over webs and dust. But as the beam swings, it illuminates receding ster then vanishes into darkness. ¡°A single open space?¡± ¡°It is a warehouse. Or was.¡± Klempner gestures with the light. ¡°That way is the front of the building, the main entrance and stairwell.¡± He swings the beam the opposite way. ¡°So, let''s follow the wall that way and see if we can find another stairwell. A ce this size must have more than one.¡± The torchlight aimed at the floor, we follow the line of the wall, stepping over the remains of ancient birds¡¯ nests and small heaped cones of guano. All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. Almost immediately wee to a in timber door; no lock, noplications beyond the weavings of the local spiders over the handle. On the wall beside it, a metal que in what might be brass under the patina. ''C-Bay''. The handle resists turning, but only with the groan of long disuse. And the hingesin as the door swings slowly open to reveal a small room beyond... ¡­ then stepping through, stairs leading both up and down. Klempner aims the torch upwards. ¡°Presumably our roof ess door is at the top. Wait here. I''ll check. If we need to make a fast exit that way, it''ll be nice to know what''s there.¡± He disappears up into shadow, the sound of his booted feet surprising quiet. For a tall man, he walks lightly. From downstairs, the bass thump is louder. Within a minute, Klempner descends again. ¡°It can be opened from the inside. Simple turn-key and bars. But the bars are padlocked.¡± He swings the rucksack from his shoulder, takes out his weapon, a machine gun. ¡°Keep that axe of yours handy.¡± ¡°Why did you ask me to bring the axe? It''s not exactly amon assault weapon.¡± ¡°I''m not sure how good you are with a gun. But I''ve seen you handle that axe¡­¡± His voice turns dry¡­ ¡°¡­ and I know what you did to two of my men with one a couple of years back.¡± ¡°Am I supposed to apologise? You¡¯d sent them after Charlotte. It was December. We had to escape into the snow. I was fucking naked barring my boots.¡± Klempner blinks. ¡°Naked? I didn¡¯t know that.¡± He slides to a half-smile, looking sheepish. ¡°Sorry about that.¡± You might be a psycho¡­ ¡­ but you¡¯vee a long way¡­ ¡°You realise that was two years ago¡­ Almost to the day? And here we are, you and I, fighting on the same side.¡± Klempner snorts. ¡°There''s irony for you. Let''s head down. Ready?¡± ***** We descend two flights then reach anding; stairs up, stairs down, and a corridor off to either side. ¡°Shhh...¡± Klempner halts in mid-stride, pressing a finger to his lips¡­ ¡°Listen.¡± He cups an ear, head turning, first one way then the other. A low murmur of sound¡­ Voices speaking from some distance away, just audible over the thumping of the music, emerge from¡­ somewhere¡­ ¡°There...¡± Klempner aims a long forefinger along the corridor, then moving quietly, he follows the sound. I pad along behind, axe in hand, ready to swing. ¡°Any idea where we are?¡± In a low murmur, ¡°I think we¡¯re heading for Finchby¡¯s office.¡± ¡°So, there¡¯s likely to be people nearby?¡± ¡°Not sure. We¡¯re approaching from the rear. Normally I¡¯d have entered from the front, via the bar area.¡± ¡°His office got a rear entrance?¡± ¡°There was a kitchte area to the back, I think. I was never in there, but he¡¯d send someone through that way when he wanted coffee.¡± The voices are growing louder. As we turn into a door, abruptly, we must be all but on top of them. As Klempner predicted, we¡¯re in a small kitchen area. The scent of garbagepetes with stale tobo. Flies hum over an overflowing trash can, crawling over a slick brown stain on the lid. The steel of the sink might be ¡®stainless¡¯ but nheless, it¡¯s coated in grime. On the counter, a packet of biscuits lies open, spilt crumbs being investigated by bottle-green buzzers. A half-empty jar of coffee is about the cleanest thing in sight. Klempner eyes the trash, his Adam¡¯s apple working as he recoils from arge bluebottle strafing him. ¡°How does he keep this ce open?¡± I mutter. ¡°You''d think the City authorities would shut him down for something. Poisoning his clients with the food at least.¡± Klempner cocks a brow at me ¡°You only need one or two of the great and good in your pocket to get past that kind of problem.¡± ¡°As you would know.¡± He is unabashed. ¡°Yes. As I would know.¡± A door stands ajar, across from where we entered. The voices are just on the other side. ¡°You''ve done well, Lena¡­¡± Klempner¡¯s lips press at the words. I paint the question on my face and he mouths silently to me. Finchby. A woman¡¯s voice whines. ¡°You are going to pay me, aren''t you?¡± ¡°Course I am, Lena. We had an agreement didn''t we¡­¡± Klempner edges to the door, inching around to see. After a second, he motions me to join him. The pair are seated at a desk piled high with papers. A half-full bottle of cheap whiskey sits beside an empty tumbler. An openptop casts a glow brighter than the daylight which struggles through a barred window and ss clouded with dust and webs. Finchby taps a butt into an overflowing ashtray, extracts a cigarette from a packet then offers one to the pregnant woman sitting opposite. She epts both cigarette and the offered me, inhales, blows blue smoke, then sits with the cigarette poised between two fingers. And yes, it¡¯s the woman Beth spotted on the video footage, watching James and Charlotte at the hospital. Finchby leans forward, counting out from a wad of notes. ¡°Here you are, Lena. Five thousand, like we agreed. You can start again, just as you wanted. New start. New life¡­¡± Abruptly, another figure moves into view and both Klempner and I jerk away before moving cautiously back. Once more, I recognise the face: Baxter. We met when he was driving for Klempner when we were rescuing Mitch and Charlotte from Ben¡­ Ben¡­ Heat blisters at my cheeks then morphs to a chill sweat. I couldn¡¯t have brought myself to kill my brother. Klempner did what he had to. And now, he¡¯s doing it again¡­ Finchby¡¯s still talking. ¡°There''s enough there, Lena, for the deposit on the rent for a nice ce. Get yourself some decent furniture, decorate. Maybe even a job.¡± Her chin lifts. ¡°Got a job.¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± He disys yellow teeth. ¡°What doing?¡± ¡°Job in a flower shop. Nice work. Nice people.¡± In the background, Baxter raises a brow. Finchby notices but Lena doesn¡¯t. ¡°That''s great, Lena. You see¡­ It''s all going your way now. And all because you did me one little favour.¡± She leans forward. ¡°You got him? Klempner?¡± ¡°We''ll have him very soon. We''re just giving him a bit of exercise before we pull him in.¡± She inhales from her cigarette. ¡°You got his bitch daughter too?¡± ¡°Oh, yes. We have her too.¡± She sniggers. ¡°Let''s see how he likes it when it''s his turn.¡± ¡°Couldn¡¯t agree more. You¡¯ve properly got your back on him this time¡­¡± ¡°¡­Come on, Lena.¡± Finchby stands, making a mock bow towards the door. ¡°You¡¯re celebrating. I¡¯ll take you through to the bar. It¡¯s on the house for you tonight.¡± He opens the door for her, cacophonous music thudding in, then stands back, waving her through. She beams as she leaves. ¡°Gee, thanks Boss.¡± Finchby exits behind her, grinning and shing brows at Baxter. Baxter, arms folded, sucking in his cheeks, waits. Beside me, Klempner shifts, his voice low. ¡°While those two are busy up here, we should head down by the back stairs.¡± ¡°Not yet. Look...¡± ¡°What? ¡°Theptop screen.¡± It¡¯s at an angle, the detail impossible to make out from where we¡¯re standing. But the screen is split into four; monochrome images flickering from one view to another. ¡°Well spotted, that man,¡± mutters Klempner. ¡°The security feed.¡± Finchby returns only a minute or soter. Baxter jerks a thumb out of the door. ¡°A flower shop? That one? Who¡¯s she think she is? Fucking Eliza Doolittle?¡± Finchby¡¯s face goes ck. ¡°Eliza who?¡± ¡°Doolittle. My Fair Lady.¡± ¡°Oh, that old crap.¡± Finchby snickers. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t think she had a crack habit.¡± Baxter folds his arms, shaking his head. ¡°You''re going to let her go? Just like that?¡± Finchby adopts an angelic expression. ¡°Kept my end of the bargain, didn''t I?¡± He sucks in smoke, holds it, then streams it out from his nose. ¡°But I''ll make a prediction. Lena¡¯ll get tanked up on free vodka tonight, then she¡¯ll go looking for her next fix. Which of course she¡¯ll buy from me at full price.¡± Baxter huffs and chuckles. Finchby continues. ¡°That five thou¡­ She¡®ll blow the lot on crack, booze and cigarettes, most of it spent with me. And by the end of the month, she¡¯ll be back on the doorstep begging to work for me again. And begging to sell that brat she''s carrying.¡± He draws again, inhales. ¡°And that''s if I don''t get the call to bail her out for possession or for knocking off some old dear for her pension. And then she''ll owe me.¡± Baxter leans back against the wall, grinning. ¡°Got it all worked out, haven''t you.¡± Finchby grins back. ¡°I know Lena. Useless little bitch. All big ideas and no carry through. Anyway¡­¡± He ps Baxter on the shoulder. ¡°¡­ We have some celebrating of our own to do tonight. Shall we go and see how the party¡¯s going?¡± ¡°Sure. Where are we at so far? Everything looking okay?¡± ¡°He¡¯s there with a bag. The size looks about right. Got your Hickman giving him the run-around right now. But it¡¯s not Klempner. Our delivery boy has a limp.¡± Baxter¡¯s head twists. ¡°That''s Alexanders. Where¡¯s Klempner then?¡± ¡°Alexanders is wearing some kind of earpiece. It¡¯s small, but you see him touch it sometimes, when he¡¯s figuring where he¡¯s going. I¡¯m guessing Klempner¡¯s on the other end of it.¡± Finchby grows agitated. He sucks smoke again. ¡°That bastard could shoot the balls off a flea at a hundred yards. He¡¯ll hang around in the background, shadowing Alexanders and wait for us to appear. Then he¡¯ll try to pick us off.¡± Baxter huffs, but looks askance at Finchby. ¡°Don''t worry. No one¡¯s going to ask you to risk a hair of your precious little head. Still¡­ it sounds about right. Leaving some other poor bastard in the line of fire while he stays safely out of sight¡­¡± Beside me, Klempner sucks air between his teeth, head shaking slightly, brow furrowed¡­ ¡°Poor bastard nothing¡­¡± snaps Finchby. ¡°¡­ Alexanders and that ginger bitch of his cost me a lot and left me making apologies where I shouldn¡¯t have had to. At any rate, we need to get that headset off him. Come on.¡± Chapter 5 Chapter 5 James Despite the cold, my heated face streams sweat which soaks down my neck and into my clothes. Slow down, Man¡­ You can¡¯t sprint for a mile¡­ I drop to a trot and my heartbeat decelerates to something more sustainable. The banging behind my ears subsides. Don¡¯t panic¡­ The kidnappers may say Don¡¯t bete, but their priority is the money. Irony ps me around the cheeks. Here I am, in an area I wouldn¡¯t normally consider walking at night, certainly not alone. And I¡¯m running through it, toting a bag containing a cool million in cash. The steady rhythm of my jogging sets a metronome ticking in my head, clearing my thoughts. How fast is a jog? Six miles an hour? So, I should cover my mile in the ten minutes I have. Calm down¡­ Nheless, I find myself counting paces; eating up distance with each one¡­ They must be watching me¡­ Where are they watching from? A parked car? Some alley I pass, where they can lurk in the darkness? Could be anywhere. There¡­ ahead of me¡­ Waverly Moorings¡­ A series of berths alongside the river. Once an attractive ce for pleasure boats and day-trippers; now derelict, the jetties and piers rotted and broken. Birch Square is at the far end from me; an attractive name for the edge of the more reputable parts of town. As the name suggests, it consists of four blocks of houses and shops set around a central quad. I draw closer, seeing the silhouettes of trees, up-lit by floodlights set in grassywns. The fountain, also floodlit, dances and sparkles by the central Christmas tree which stands tall, proiming Goodwill To All Men¡­ Just now, I can think of one or two exceptions to that sentiment. In the Square, for a moment I drop, hands resting on knees as I regain my breath, then, straightening up, look for¡­ For what? I pace, scanning my surroundings¡­ Am I in the right ce? ¡°James?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve arrived, Ross, but I don¡¯t see anything.¡± ¡°What did the message say, exactly?¡± I check the note, reading aloud. ¡°Corner of Birch Square by Waverley Moorings¡± ¡°The Moorings extend right along behind the western side of the square. Perhaps it¡¯s the other corner?¡± Stupid¡­ Stupid¡­ ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯ll go look.¡± ¡°Calm down, James. Keep your thinking clear.¡± I don¡¯t reply. He¡¯s right, but I don¡¯t need reminding of it. I follow the line of houses; handsome red-bricks built on three stories ending in a small parade of designer stores. Still nothing. All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. Wandering up and down, my breathing tightens again as I look for whatever the next contact is. Doorways¡­ Store windows¡­ A mailbox¡­ Nothing¡­ Why would they make it hard to find? Anxiety begins to bubble inside me. My watch tells me I¡¯m two minutes over time¡­ They must be watching me¡­ They must know I¡¯m looking¡­ But my heart is pumping, sending panicky messages whirling around my brain¡­ I dash along the block, then back again, the bag swinging in my hand, weighing on me. Calm down¡­ Think¡­ Look¡­ Across the road, a simple park bench, angled to view right along the parade, timber ts set into wrought ironwork. On the uppermost t, a small brass sign with engraved lettering. Once ¡®Harry and Nancy loved this ce¡¯. Now, some lowlife has sprayed the bench¡­ No a los fascistas capitalistas¡­ They might do better not despoiling what said capitalists have provided for them¡­ Deliberately taking a deep breath, then another, I sit, scanning out and around¡­ Houses... Apartments... Parked cars... Dental surgery¡­ Greengrocer¡­ Pharmacy¡­ Children''s wear store¡­ Then as I look to my left, I feel like aplete idiot. Laid on the seat, an envelope. And inside¡­ Bad Boy! Ditch the headphone. Ditch the phone. Leave them here on the bench¡­ Next go to Saint Mary¡¯s church, by Quay Street. Any sign of the phone, she dies. ¡°Ross,¡± I mutter. ¡°They¡¯ve told me to get rid of your mobile and the earpiece.¡± ¡°Oh, crap. Where are they sending you next?¡± ¡°Saint Mary¡¯s church. Quay Street.¡± ¡°That¡¯s back into the rough areas. You¡¯re on your own. Good luck, James. I¡¯m rooting for you.¡± ¡°Thanks.¡± I set the phone down on the bench, peel out the earphone and set it down too, then once more, I set off. Chapter 6 Chapter 6 ***** Richard My mobile rings. I snatch it up. ¡°Yes, Ross?¡± ¡°I''ve lost contact with James. They''ve made him leave the phone behind when they sent him on the next leg¡­¡± N?velDrama.Org (C) content. Fuck¡­ How do we help him now? ¡°¡­ And the earpiece. And¡­¡± Ross¡¯ voice is shaky¡­ ¡°Richard... They¡­ the kidnappers I mean¡­ they spoke to me via the connection. I recorded it all. I''m ying it back to you.¡± Klempner. You know who this is. Just like you to let this tired old bastard run the gauntlet. But that''s just you all over isn''t it. Letting someone else take the heat. We''ll have the money very shortly. And believe me, it had better be all the money in that bag. But the deal¡¯s not sealed until we have you too. Until then, that darling daughter of yours is going nowhere. The voice snaps off. There¡¯s a moment¡¯s hiss then Ross speaks again. ¡°Richard, what do you want me to do? Should I call the police?¡± ¡°No¡­ don¡¯t do that. If they think the police are involved, they¡¯ll almost certainly murder Charlotte¡­ and her baby¡­ before Michael and Klempner can get to her.¡± ¡°What then?¡± What indeed? Should I go? Leave Mitch to look after Elizabeth? ***** How do I tell her this? Wearily, I climb the stairs to find my sleeping wife. But she¡¯s not sleeping. ¡°Elizabeth¡­ There¡¯s been a development. Ross has¡­¡± I stop, mid-sentence. ¡°Elizabeth?¡± From the pillow, she stares up at me, wide-eyed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Master¡­¡± ¡°Sorry? Elizabeth, what¡¯s wrong?¡± She groans, her breathing shaky¡­ Then, ¡°They¡¯re still about fifteen minutes apart. I didn¡¯t want to disturb you until I was sure, but¡­ I am sure now.¡± Oh, God¡­ ¡°Elizabeth, are you going intobour?¡± She nods. ¡°I think so, Master. It¡¯s too early I know, but I think so¡­¡± ¡°Too early? It¡¯s way too early.¡± ¡°I know, Master. But, I¡¯m pretty sure¡­¡± ¡°Elizabeth, stay calm. I¡¯m just going to talk to Mitch.¡± Calm¡­ Stay calm¡­ ***** I find Mitch in the kitchen, screwing the top onto a sk. ¡°Hot coffee,¡± she says. ¡°And I¡¯ve packed sandwiches for you and¡­¡± Her voice trails off as she sees my face. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I think Elizabeth is going intobour.¡± She raises a hand to her mouth. ¡°She¡¯s not due for another¡­ what, ten weeks?¡± ¡°Twelve weeks. Mitch, there¡¯s no way I can leave her.¡± ¡°Of course, you can¡¯t. Call your clinic. Tell them you¡¯re on your way with her. I¡¯ll bring your car to the front, get the engine turning over, then it¡¯s warm when you set off.¡± ***** Michael Finchby and Baxter exit, and after a cautious moment, Klempner and I enter the office. The air is stale, musty with cigarette smoke, the walls and ceiling perhaps once white but now yellowed and draped with dusty cobwebs. I take the chair recently upied by Finchby, trying hard not to actually touch anything. ¡°You''d think he could afford a cleaner.¡± ¡°Finchby¡¯s staff are employed differently,¡± mutters Klempner. But he regards the hovel of a room, lip curling. I pull theptop closer. ¡°Okay, so he runs the women as prostitutes, but he must be worth plenty. What''s the point in being wealthy if you live like this?¡± Klempner nods but says nothing, simply pulling up the other seat by me, watching the screen with half an eye, the door with the other. The quartered screen flicks between shots of what looks like an entrance lobby, then a dance floor, various corridors... Each quarter disys a small insert: L2 lobby, L3 Bar, I try tapping the return, but the feed is unresponsive, moving at its own pace. ¡°He¡¯s got plenty of cameras around the ce.¡± Klempner nods slowly, chewing on his lower lip. ¡°Nothing from the basement so far though.¡± The views shift to one room after another of couples, triples and more; rooms where girls ¡®entertain¡¯ their clients. L4a, L4b, L4c¡­ ¡°Wonder if the clients know they''re on camera?¡± I mutter. Klempner taps a fingernail at the screen. ¡°Some of the City High and Mighty there. Good ckmail material if he ever has any problems with the authorities.¡± The view flickers again: a corridor lined by a series of barred and padlocked doors. Each door has a small viewing window. L2C1 ¡°Those doors say ¡®cells¡¯ to me,¡± I mutter Klempner grunts agreement. ¡°Yes¡­ Finchby tends to keep them either working or locked up until he¡¯s sure he has them under control.¡± You used to supply him¡­ I¡¯m lost for words, finding myself simply staring at him, leaning in, intent on the screen. After a moment Klempner realises I¡¯m watching him. He doesn¡¯t turn from the screen. ¡°Michael, you know my past. I¡¯m not going to spend every waking moment apologising for it. Now¡­ shall we get on with the task in hand?¡± And of course, he¡¯s right. The image shifts once more¡­ L1k And there, in a corner of the screen, it¡¯s Charlotte. My gorge rises. ¡°Oh, Christ¡­¡± Filthy, half-naked in her blood-stained hospital gown, she¡¯s on what¡¯s left of the cardboard we saw on the ransom video. It¡¯s all but disintegrated and she''s more or less kneeling on the bare concrete. The disy, still grainy, in ck and white, is wider on this version. Perhaps they cropped the image as we saw it before. But now, more of the detail to either side is visible. She¡¯s in some sort of storeroom, a stack of cardboard boxes to one side and some distance from her. Charlotte once more is on all fours, coughing and straining. To the other side of her, a stone basin drips from a leaking faucet into a stic jug, half-filled now. Several bottles,belled for whiskey, gin and rum, are also part-filled with water. As we watch, Charlotte stretches out, straining to reach against her manacled ankle. She just snags the handle of the jug with outstretched fingers, pulling it closer, then carefully decants the contents into one of the bottles before recing the jug under the drip. Tearing off a dryish corner of the cardboard, she pours a little water over it, then uses it as a washrag over her soiled loins and thighs. As we watch, she swills a little more of the water over the floor behind herself. A thin stream of blood and filth trickles to the drain. Then she creases up, crying out as another contraction racks her body. Shuddering with the pain, she coughs, spitting out towards the drain. Beside me, Klempner snarls quietly. ¡°I''ll second that.¡± His eyes flick to mine. ¡°Let''s get going.¡± ¡°Give me a second.¡± I mouse into the ¡®Apps and Programs¡¯ section of theptop settings. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°Deleting the camera app. It''ll blind them and if we''re lucky, maybe they won''t realise at first.¡± As I watch the whirling Uninstall cursor, Klempner goes through cupboards and drawers, moving quickly. ¡°What are you looking for?¡± ¡°Keyring. Keypress. Something with a lot of padlock keys.¡± ¡°For¡­?¡± He¡¯s rummaging through a desk drawer. His eyes rise to mine. ¡°There¡¯s a dozen cells at least, each presumably containing one or more women. A dozen or more escaping panicking women should give us a good distraction while we¡¯re getting out, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± His gaze is nd, eyes daring me to comment. I keep my face straight. ¡°You know, you don¡¯t have to apologise for doing the right thing now either.¡± He says nothing, moving to the next drawer down. ¡°Hah!¡± He snatches out a hefty key bunch which jingles in his hand as he holds it up, disying it to me. Then, nodding down to theptop, ¡°You done there?¡± ¡°Yes, done.¡± ¡°Come on then. Let¡¯s move.¡± He heads for the door, then stops in mid-stride. ¡°Well, lookee here.¡± From the top of a filing cab, he picks up a carton of phials, disying them to me. ¡°The kidnapper¡¯s favourite friend.¡± Then, another box next to it, this one containing syringes and hypodermic needles in sealed packets. ¡°Now we know what they pumped her with.¡± ¡°Give me one of those. I¡¯ll show it to the doctors when we get her back.¡± He nods, passing me a phial which I slip into a pocket. ***** Chapter 7 Chapter 7 James It¡¯s weird how adaptable the human brain is. How capable of epting new levels of what is ¡®ordinary¡¯. Despite knowing that I am nowpletely alone, I settle into a kind of routine. Read¡­ Run¡­ Carry¡­ East Portside Road¡­ El Valderado Bar¡­ I have my second wind, breathing easily. Even my leg isn¡¯t giving me the trouble I thought it might. My muscles thoroughly warmed through now, I jog along, heading for my next destination. Read¡­ Run¡­ Carry¡­ Parkmoor Bridge over West Marine Rise¡­ Pacing myself, pacing my breathing to match my easy trot, I survey dark windows¡­ Where are they? ¡­ Parked cars¡­ Alleyways¡­ Cafes and kiosks¡­ Then passing through shadier areas; roof lights, warehouse windows, disused garages¡­ I skid to a halt. Ahead of me, blocking my route¡­ All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. Under the re of a streemp, a group of youngsters, swilling back beer, yelling, pushing and shoving¡­ Look again¡­ No, not kids. Young men. Crap¡­ I have to pass them. And they look entirely too rowdy forfort. Should I cross the street? No. That would g up as fear¡­ I stroll on, all nonchnce. That¡¯s the theory anyway¡­ Fucking limp¡­ As I draw closer, one of the group, head tipped back, bottle tipped up, notices me. Elbowing the next, he jerks his chin my way and almost as one, the group turn to face me. One, the tallest, leather-jacketed and wearing baggy jeans slung low at the belt, steps forward from the group. Are they Finchby''s? ? No¡­ ¡­ just louts on the lookout for an opportunity¡­ What do they see? Old man¡­ Limping¡­ Disabled? Interesting looking bag¡­ ¡°Evening,¡± he says. ¡°Good evening.¡± ¡°Bitte to be out for a stroll. Chilly night. Could get a nasty cold on your chest.¡± He nods downwards. ¡°What you got there?¡± ¡°Nothing of yours.¡± He eyes the bag. ¡°Coming back from the gym? Sports kit, eh? Looks heavy.¡± ¡°Let me past.¡± I make to step forward, through the group, but they close ranks ahead of me. Tall-Boy clicks his tongue, reaches inside his jacket. ¡°Hand it over.¡± He holds up a knife, the neon orange of the streemp glinting on the edge. ¡°I used to have a bag like that. Let¡¯s see if I think this is it. Could be lost property.¡± He turns, grinning around to the group who, right on cue,ugh and nod. Moron¡­ ¡°Yeah¡­ lost.¡± ¡°Could be a finder¡¯s fee.¡± Then he turns back to me and his grins drops. He rocks his hand, the de held up by his own face, disyed. ¡°Like the movie says. This is a knife.¡± And I''m simply not in the mood for this. Jade¡­ ¡°Here, take it.¡± I swing the bag at him, hard, fast, putting my shoulders behind it and tightening my grip as it arcs towards him. He reaches, trying to snatch, misses, fumbles and drops the knife. I kick it and it skitters over the road. And without thinking, I find the gun Klempner gave me is in my hand. ¡°You¡¯re right, that''s a knife, but like the other movie says¡­¡± I give him my best smile, disying my teeth and praying my hand¡¯s not shaking. ¡°¡­ Do you feel lucky?¡± Tall-Boy¡¯s grin has gone AWOL. Hard-eyed, mouth pursed, he holds one hand in the other, cracking his knuckles. After a long moment, he caves, shrugging at the group. He sniffs, backing off and I nudge the muzzle this way and that. The group parts ways, opening a gap. As I pass through, I turn, walking backwards and away from them until, away from the re of the streemp, I dip into theforting shadow of a side-street. Sucking short lungfuls of frigid air, I lean back against the wall. How much time did that cost? Too much. My watch gives me a message I don¡¯t like. Runningte¡­ Christ! My confidence has evaporated, and my heart is hammering again, nausea snatching at my gut. I step up my pace, trying to ignore the stabbing in my thigh, hoping that adrenaline will take the pain away¡­ At least for now¡­ Paybackter¡­ Throwing caution to the wind, I sprint. Over iced gs and zed tarmac, I run, full pelt, trying to reach my target on time. My foot slides on the ice and my bad leg betrays me. Momentum carrying my body one way, my feet skid the other and I fall,nding heavily, knocking already scant breath from my lungs. For a moment I simply lie there as white pain resonates through knee and hip. As I try to pull myself up, my hand screams protest from a wrenched wrist and a skinned palm. I sit, winded, staring stupidly into the dark. Chapter 8 Chapter 8 ***** Michael Back on the rear stairwell, we descend one level¡­ Anothernding, again with a corridor to both sides, nked by the ¡®cells¡¯ we saw on the security feed. ¡°Next one down,¡± murmurs Klempner. ¡°This should be it.¡± We pass under a single camera at the top of the next staircase, but it remains reassuringly off, its indicator light dark. Still, it¡¯s unsettling to have the empty ck eye follow us as we descend into the dank scent of basements everywhere. At the bottom, the same single corridor, running right and left, doors off either side. Underfoot, b floors are slippery with damp. Content is ? 2024 N?velDrama.Org. There¡¯s no sound other than our own footsteps and, as I realise after a moment, my own heartbeat pulsing behind my ears. Down here, even the bass thump of the music doesn¡¯t carry. It¡¯s cold. Not the iced night of outdoors, but a moist chill that creeps into lungs and turns breath to grey mist. Klempner draws a fingertip through droplets hanging onto the brickwork, making a shining trail that trickles from the base, trailing fingers of water to the ground. ¡°Looks like we''re down to the river level.¡± ¡°Below it, I¡¯d say. It''s canalised here.¡± I try to get bearings in my head. ¡°Could be it''s just on the other side of that wall.¡± And this is where they¡¯ve kept her¡­ Klempner thumbs left along the corridor. ¡°You try the doors that way. I¡¯ll try these.¡± He turns right, trying one door after another. None are locked and as doors open then close, the sound creaks, nks then echoes away. At the first room I try, rusted hingesin as I turn the handle, then push. Resisting me all the way, the door opens. I already know she¡¯s not here. This door¡¯s not been opened since god-knows-when. Inside, all I find are stacks and files of papers; many mildewed, all yellowed, curling in the damp; battered ledgers, and ancient floppy discs, aged well past any possibility of there being a drive able to read them. Finchby¡¯s old business records? The legal stuff presumably. He¡¯s not going to keep hard copies of the kind of dealings he has¡­ ¡­ is he? I pick up a ledger at random, checking the title. Winsbury Mill Inc. Purchase Ledger Y/E Dec ¡®83 Not even cleaned the ce out from the previous owners¡­ I enter the second room more easily. The door hinges are corroded, squeaking a protest as I enter. It¡¯s a paint store: shelves stacked with tins and cans, brushes, bottles of cleaner and solvent, stedders leaning against the wall. The walls run with damp and many of the tins are rusty or leaking. As I back out, Klempner¡¯s with me again. ¡°She¡¯s not down that way.¡± ¡°Only one door left, then.¡± It¡¯s solid. Nothing like the previous rotting remnants of a bygone time, this is new: bolts drawn at top and bottom, constructed in steel, set heavy into the wall, and with a high-grade security lock. I run fingers over hinges and locks. ¡°They weren¡¯t taking any chances with her getting out.¡± Klempner scratches at his scalp. ¡°That may be my fault. I did mention to Baxter one time that Jenny had a talent for escape when she was younger.¡± What do I say to that? I have no idea. So, I say nothing. The bolts draw smoothly, and I try the handle, just on the off chance. Of course, it doesn¡¯t open. ¡°Got those keys?¡± But they¡¯re in his hand already, offered out to me. ¡°I think you should be the one to go in first. That she sees first.¡± The keyring is heavy, jingling as I work my way through Yales, skeleton keys, what could be filing cab or padlock keys, brass deadlock actions¡­ and¡­ That¡¯s the one¡­ I insert, turn, then turn again as the internal levers clunk. Then I try the handle once more. Without a sound, the door swings smoothly open. I thought I was ready for it. I saw the ransom video. I saw the security feed in Finchby¡¯s office. I thought I was ready. I¡¯m not. The stench hits me like an assault; a reek of damp and rot and filth left unattended; the stink of drains and raw sewers and that sickly-sweet smell of rotten blood and flesh. All unmeaning, I recoil. Don¡¯t be a fool¡­ And she''s there, Charlotte: kneeling up from the concrete floor, supporting herself against the bare brickwork with her hands, without so much as a nket or a towel. Her manacled ankle is swollen red, the flesh puffed and shiny where the metal cuff bites. Her beautiful hair is dark with Christ-knows-what, hanging in rank rats-tails to her waist. The cardboard she¡¯d used to protect herself is a foul mush which she¡¯s pushed towards the drain where it seeps green-brown. I¡¯m fighting the urge to gag. Beside me, Klempner hisses. Face twisting to us as we enter, tear-streaked, eyes swollen, Charlotte¡¯s foetid hospital robe is pulled up around her waist as she screams through a contraction. ¡°Oh, God it''s you. Michael¡­ Oh, God¡­ It¡¯s you.¡± Her gaze passes to Klempner. Her eyes widen, then, her voice rising in pitch. ¡°They left me here. Left me alone. Just dumped me in here. And the baby''s coming.¡± Klempner nudges me. ¡°I¡¯ll watch the corridor. You see to her.¡± He casts an eye above the door to where a camera sits dead and ck, then semi-turns away, standing in the doorway, looking out. I barge forward, swinging the pack from my shoulders, tugging out nkets and towels. I drop to my knees beside her, cradling her in my arms. ¡°Oh, God, Babe, I''m so sorry. I''m so sorry.¡± Then cupping her cheeks in my palms, pressing my lips to hers. ¡°Let¡¯s get you off the ground and into something warm before we do anything else.¡± ¡°I knew you''de.¡± Then her eyes flick to Klempner. ¡°Father? How¡­?¡± His answering nod is brief, as he looks at her ¡®without looking¡¯ at her semi-nakedness. ¡°Jenny.¡± She creases up again, gasping and clutching at her stomach. Reflexively I support her at the shoulders, holding her as close as I can while the contraction passes, then tugging at the putrid robe, ¡°Let¡¯s get this off you for a start. We¡¯ll clean you upter. Let¡¯s get you warmed up for now.¡± I pull the disgusting thing away, tossing into the far corner Charlotte snatches at the fleece nket I bundle around her shoulders, tightening it around herself. Then I wrap a space nket around that; the silvery surface reflecting oddly in the light. ¡°Here, drink some of this. It¡¯ll help warm you up.¡± I was careful to heat the soup enough to warm, but not to boiling, and she gulps it down. What has she eaten? Anything? Around her on the floor, a scatter of empty packets: peanuts, jerky, chips¡­ Bar crap that¡¯s fine as a snack with a beer, but as food for a pregnant woman at term? And to one side, the collection of bottles we saw her filling from the dripping faucet. Standing by the door, Klempner looks outward, constantly ncing up to where the security camera indicator remains a dull ck. ¡°We need to get out of here. And fast. It¡¯s only a matter of time before they notice the dead feed.¡± Charlotte¡¯s more or less covered now, ¡®decent¡¯ as they say¡­ Who¡¯s the indecent one here? Not her¡­ ¡­ and Klempner, gun in hand, watching through the half-open door, looks back, taking her in properly this time. His face is a carefully schooled nk. ¡°Jenny, can you stand? Can you walk?¡± Nodding vigorously. ¡°I''ll try.¡± She struggles to rise, and I help her upright, a hand under each armpit. She tries to step, then cries out, copsing on herself. ¡°I can''t. I''m sorry. I¡¯m sorry. I can''t.¡± I catch her, helping her down again. ¡°Shh¡­ It''s alright. It''s alright. We''re here now. It''ll be fine¡­¡± ¡°Why are they doing this? Why do they want to hurt me and Cara?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not you they want. It¡¯s your father they¡¯re after. They took you as bait. They demanded ransom, but it¡¯s him they want.¡± Her eyes pass beyond Klempner and out. ¡°Where¡¯s¡­?¡± I press a finger to her lips, speaking softly. ¡°Shhh¡­ I¡¯ll tell you everythingter¡­¡± I roll eyes up to the camera, still cked-out¡­ ¡°James had to do something else. We¡¯vee to get you out of here.¡± A contraction ripples over Charlotte''s belly. She tries to suppress the groan, then breaks into a hacking cough. I gesture Klempner over. ¡°Hold her upright, would you. Support her for a moment.¡± He grunts, taking her from my arms, supporting her against himself. Charlotte¡¯s expression is non- committal as I unpack the bubble-wrap from my pack then, choosing a dry area, well off the reeking drain, unroll it to the floor. ¡°It¡¯s not luxury amodation Babe, but it gets you off the ground.¡± A nket over the stic and she should be rtivelyfortable¡­ Rtively¡­ Next¡­ ¡°Klempner, Hold her away from the wall, as far as you can. Pull that chain tight against the ground.¡± Charlotte, in her father¡¯s embrace for the first time in her life, ¡°What are you going to do?¡± Axe in hand, ¡°Stand clear. Turn your face away.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t flinch.¡± ¡°I know you won¡¯t. But there might be flying splinters.¡± Klempner turns her face into his chest, cupping rank and filthy hair with a palm, then nudges at her foot with his boot, drawing the chain tight. How close can I go? I want as much of the chain as possible removed from her. With a brief practice swing, I check my clearance overhead, test my striking point and settle on the fourth link away from her ankle. Settled t to the ground, the concrete floor is my anvil. Then swinging for real, I bring the axe-head in a smooth arc down on the link. With a sharp Crack! it splits into two, the shattered halves skidding across the concrete to bounce from the walls with a ping. Charlotte stoops, trying to rub at her leg, but can¡¯t bend properly. ¡°That¡¯s all I can do for now, Babe. We¡¯ll get that cuff off you once we¡¯re out of here. Now, lie down again. Let''s take a look at how you¡¯re doing.¡± Klempner helps. Between us, we lie her down onto the ¡®bed¡¯ Iid out for her. Then he resumes his watch over corridor and camera. Charlotte tries to lie t but then curls up in on herself again as another contraction ripples across her stomach. And all I can do is hold her until it passes. After a minute or so, she rxes, lying back. ¡°Charlotte, Babe¡­ Open up. I need to see what¡¯s happening.¡± She parts her knees, giving me a view. Klempner, his gaze shifting between the corridor and up to the camera, says, ¡°I don''t want to seem unsympathetic, but is there any chance this can be speeded up? We''re sitting ducks if we stay here.¡± I kneel up again, then back on my thighs, exhaling. ¡°I¡¯d say that¡¯s a No. We¡¯re going to have to stay here.¡± Klempner holds up hands, his expression disbelieving. ¡°Here? You¡¯re sure?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure. I¡¯m looking at the top of a baby¡¯s head. Cara''s on her way.¡± Klempner jerks a nce at me, then down at Charlotte. ¡°You have got to be fucking kidding.¡± He rubs at his forehead. Blows air. ¡°Right¡­ If that¡¯s what we have¡­¡± Machine gun in hand, poised, he resumes his vigil. Charlotte¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°Father¡­¡± He turns back to her, his gaze level. ¡°Let me worry about this end of things. You have a job to do.¡± His lips twitch. And briefly, so do hers. Then her face crumples as the next contraction takes her. Screaming and crying, it¡¯s more than just the pain. I know Charlotte can handle pain. And she¡¯s hard to frighten¡­ But she¡¯s hard-pressed to cope with feeling helpless. Panic marches over her face. ¡°Oh, God¡­ Michael, Father. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry. You¡¯re both in danger because of me¡­ What are we going to do? I can¡¯t¡­¡± Klempner watches, apparently impassive, then striding over, he hunkers down beside her Gripping her chin, he forces her face to his. ¡°Jenny, this isn¡¯t you speaking. This isn¡¯t Jennifer. I¡¯ve known you all your life, even when you didn¡¯t know me. And I¡¯ve seen you in action...¡± He jolts her chin between his fingers. It¡¯s gentle, but it¡¯s a jolt. ¡°¡­ You don¡¯t give in to pain or fear. You never have. You¡¯re not going to start now¡­¡± Her eyes, green and wide, stay locked on his, pupils shrinking then dting¡­ ¡°If you¡¯re afraid¡­¡± He jerks her chin once more¡­ ¡°¡­ then use the adrenaline. If you¡¯re in pain, then make the pain work for you. We¡¯re here now. Our task, mine and¡­¡± He thumbs to me. ¡°¡­ your Michael¡¯s, is to protect you and your baby. Your task is to get her out into the world. And after that¡­¡± He releases her and stands, looking down¡­¡± ¡­ After that, whatever Baxter or Finchby might think, we will be leaving. You understand me?¡± Charlotte heaves breath, her gaze still locked to his. ¡°You understand me?¡± he repeats. She nods. Her breathing is rapid, her face streaming sweat. Her eyes shift to meet mine then squeeze closed as a muscr ripple flows over her stomach. Lips peeling back, teeth bared, face flushing scarlet, she grips me, groaning, fingers biting into my arm. But the fear has left her face. Chapter 9 Chapter 9 ***** She wails, straining against me, but at least now she¡¯s warm. She¡¯s lost that deadly chill, the mminess to her flesh she had when we first found her. And I think hope has eased the pain for her. She still screams as her body spasms, but now she sounds more like ¡®my Charlotte¡¯. The screams are of defiance and determination, not of hopelessness and fear. And she¡¯s mad¡­ Angry as hell¡­ I sit, leaning back against the wall, Charlotte cradled in my arms. She, lying between my knees, is supported against my chest. Her rib cage pressed to mine, her heartbeat thumps through me. And the breath in her saturated lungs rattles as she breathes. When it reallyes down to it, what can I do to help her? Other than keep her warm? Help her feel safe? While she gets on with doing what women have done as long as there have been women; delivering our children. She rxes back against me, panting as her most recent contraction eases. I curve around, kiss her cheek. ¡°How do you feel now?¡± Klempner nces back. She struggles to turn, head twisting round as far as she can towards mine. ¡°Feel?¡± she screeches. ¡°How the fuck do you think I feel? It¡¯s like someone''s trying to scoop out my fucking vagina with a fucking soupdle!¡± Klempner chuckles and turns away. ¡°That¡¯s my girl.¡± ***** Klempner stirs. ¡°Michael, time''s up.¡± He jerks his chin up to where the indicator on the camera is blinking red. Crap¡­ ¡°Got my hands full here. You''re just going to have to hold them off.¡± ¡°Wonderful.¡± He leans cautiously out, then yanks back as from outside, the sound of a shot ricochets along the corridor. Content is ? 2024 N?velDrama.Org. He exchanges nces with Charlotte. ¡°Jenny, this is a good time to keep doing what you¡¯re doing.¡± I squeeze her in my arms, whisper close by her. ¡°Babe, push. Push as hard as you can.¡± ¡°I am fucking pushing¡­¡± ***** Richard At the clinic, Elizabeth receives the red-carpet treatment. And the doctor isforting in his brisk efficiency, taking away the need to think. ¡°I understand your concern, Mr Haswell, but be assured, your wife is in the best possible hands. We will try first to control the contractions; to see if we can halt the prematurebour¡­¡± ¡°But what¡­?¡± He cuts in, shuts me up. ¡°At this stage, even a few days dy in delivery can make life more comfortable for the baby. But¡­¡± He brandishes a forefinger¡­ ¡°If that proves impossible, the baby still has a very good chance indeed. Babies born preterm at this age have a 95% survival rate¡­¡± Elizabeth¡­ In her room, in dressing gown and slippers, Elizabeth sits in an armchair, gulping down a ss of water as a nurse stands over her. ¡°Drink it down, Mrs Haswell. The Nifedipine should reduce the contractions. If we¡¯re lucky, it will stop them altogether. In any case, drink plenty of water. ***** James Limping heavily, painfully, I arrive at my destination. A parking lot: half-upied at one end with trucks and wagons camping overnight; the other end with cars and a couple of skinny cats squabbling over something they¡¯re trying to peel from the tarmac. It¡¯s not a bad ce; in the normal scheme of things; a simple facility for shoppers and visitors to the local restaurants, bowling alley and cinemas. It could use a little maintenance on a couple of potholes, but that¡¯s all. But right now, it¡¯s almost silent save for the distant rumble of traffic, my footsteps echo into the gloom. In the iced night, my breath blows blue clouds. The temperature¡¯s still falling¡­ Are you cold, Jade-Eyes? They¡¯reing for you¡­ And Cara¡­ And I¡¯m buying them time to get to you¡­ I pace, searching for my next instructions. Almost immediately, I think I¡¯ve found it; a slip of paper tucked under the wiper of the nearest car. Want to sell your car? We pay $$$$ Disgusted, I screw it up, tossing it away. Then I scan the rank; a dozen or fifteen cars, and every fucking windscreen has a note. Cursing, I hobble along, working my way through them, looking for the one intended for me¡­ I lose count. twenty, thirty, forty of the friggin¡¯ things¡­ Pain spears through my thigh,bining forces with the bruises at knee and hip and I whistle in air¡­ And ites to me¡­ ¡­ I¡¯m not alone. It¡¯s the gang again. My back turned, they¡¯re all around, encircling me. Tall-Boy steps forward, his grin back in ce. The knife too. And as I reach for the gun, two of them are behind me, gripping my arms. One grabs my damaged wrist, twisting and sending sparks flying behind my eyes. ¡°Get the bag off him...¡± A million is snatched from my hand¡­ ¡°¡­ Let¡¯s see what¡¯s so interesting¡­¡± The bag is dumped down. Tall-Boy stoops and unzips¡­ Then leans forward, staring. ¡°Fuck me¡­¡± From two ranks away, tires squeal and headlights swing. A gunshot sounds, then another. One round impacts the car I was checking, holing the wheel arch and the gang scatter, yelling and diving for cover. The next punches through the windscreen, a spider¡¯s web of crazed ss. And as I¡¯m spinning, ducking for cover, a third shot fires and a rhino charges me, smashing into my ribs. I drop, my back to the car, gasping for air Tall-Boy grabs the bag, starts running, but the headlights swing again, squaring onto him. And he reacts the way every panicking, unthinking animal does but which for humans, it should be screamingly obvious is the fatal move¡­ He tries to outrun the headlights¡­ The car screeches up behind him, engine revving¡­ Cupping hands around my mouth, I yell out, ¡°Drop the bag. It¡¯s the bag they want.¡± Then I clutch my ribcage¡­ Fuck, that hurts¡­ But either he doesn¡¯t hear me, or he simply ignores me¡­ He runs, head twisting back to see, his fear naked¡­ ¡­ and he¡¯s still looking as the car ploughs over him. I jerk my head away as he goes under, a screaming, twisted thing. The vehicle rides over him, then screeches through a U-turn and stops, pinning me in the beam. A figure gets out, picks up the bag and dumps it in the car. Then silhouetted, the light a bright corona around him, the figure approaches me. Then two more, heavily-set, beside him. ¡°Hello, James.¡± And I know that voice. Finchby. ¡°Get him in. Don¡¯t be gentle.¡± ***** Chapter 10 Chapter 10 Klempner A voice echoes from outside the room. ¡°Larry, what d¡¯you think you¡¯re doing in there? You really think you have a chance?¡± ¡°I might ask you the same question, Baxter.¡± ¡°Do you seriously think you can get out of there? You¡¯re covered from all angles in a dead-end corridor. You¡¯ve nowhere to go. Put the gun down ande out with your hands raised. ¡°Fuck you!¡± There is a pause and the sound of movement and muttering, then, ¡°If you don¡¯t drop the weapon then we might have to take alternative action. We have a friend of yours with us. And to be fair, we have the money too.¡± James¡­ A bluff? Probably not¡­ ¡°You going to take a look? He¡¯s been missing you¡­¡± Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. And in the background, cursing; another voice I recognise. Darting forward, then back, I risk a check around the door and down the corridor. And yes, it¡¯s James, battered and bruised but definitely not out of the game. He looks fucking furious¡­ One eye is swollen almost shut, bruised to a shade of blue-crimson, the orb, a ball of blood. His head is raised against the muzzle pushing up at his chin to one side, the knife at his throat to the other. And I think his hands are cuffed behind him. Standing to one side, Finchby, carrying something¡­ The money? No¡­ some kind of box¡­ More like a fisherman¡¯s tackle box¡­ His grin is beyond irritating. To the other side of James, Baxter cradles a handgun, the muzzle semi-aimed at him. I yell down. ¡°Nice to see you, James. I wondered if you¡¯d be joining the party. How¡¯re you doing?¡± He growls, ¡°I¡¯ve had better days.¡± From behind me, Jenny¡¯s voice. ¡°Is that him? They have him? Is he hurt?¡± Then she breaks into a groan. Michael stills. His eyes meet mine then drop to Charlotte. ¡°You can¡¯t let them kill him. You can¡¯t.¡± She whimpers, then strains again. From between her legs, a head is emerging. Bloodied, with a scrape of dark hair stered over the scalp. She leans forward, trying to see over her distended belly then looks up to me. ¡°Please, Father¡­ Have they hurt him?¡± ¡°He looks beaten up, but mad as hell.¡± She drops back against Michael, her face contorted. ¡°Don¡¯t let them hurt him. Oh, God. Don¡¯t let them hurt him.¡± Baxter¡¯s voice again. ¡°Drop the gun, Larry. We¡¯reing in like it or not, and I imagine your little girl in there would prefer this one stays in one piece.¡± James¡¯ voice is a snarl. ¡°Fuck you. You¡¯re not using me to¡­¡± There¡¯s a crunch and a grunt. As I risk a look outside, James is on the ground, Finchby nting a boot in his gut. Jenny again, on a note of rising panic. ¡°What are they doing? What are they doing to him?¡± ¡°Larry, throw out the weapon. Kick it into the corridor. Or we finish him. It¡¯ll be slow and it¡¯ll be noisy and she¡¯ll hear every second of it.¡± Finchby punctuates the end of the sentence with another kick. To James¡¯ credit, the only sound he makes is a huff of expelled breath. ¡°What are they doing? Don¡¯t let them hurt him. Stop them. Oh, God, Father, please stop them. I¡¯ve never asked you for anything¡­¡± I turn. ¡°Jenny¡­¡± She¡¯s streaming tears. ¡°Jenny, this isn¡¯t sensible.¡± Michael kisses her cheek, then to me, ¡°We can¡¯t get out right now anyway. And do you think we can fight our way past gunfire with Jenny and a new-born baby? At least this way, James is here with Charlotte and they¡¯ll not do him any more damage¡­¡± For now¡­ He has a point though¡­ But I don¡¯t have to like it. The voice from outside again. ¡°Throw out the weapon, Klempner. And remember we can see you on the camera.¡± Not quite true¡­ I¡¯m below the camera¡­ I suck air, run a quick mental inventory, then toss the gun out into the corridor. ¡°Step outside, Larry. Hands up.¡± Will they shoot me on the spot? No¡­ Finchby¡¯s a gloater¡­ Jenny, her face screwed up as she groans through another contraction, looks up at me. ¡°Father¡­ I¡­¡± I wink and click my tongue at her. Pointing a finger, ¡°You handle your end of it.¡± She nods, panting, and I step out, arms raised. True to form, it¡¯s not Finchby or Baxter who approach me. They stay safely at the far end of the corridor, standing over the still-prone James. If ever I saw a man with murder in his eyes¡­ Baxter nods his two heavies towards me. ¡°Search him. He¡¯ll have other weapons.¡± And there¡¯s a face I recognise. Baxter¡¯s sidekick from when he sprang me from the prison van. ¡°Good to see you again, Hickman. Just like old times.¡± He grunts, frisking me. My Glock goes first, from the belt holster. Then the knife tucked in the back of my belt. Then the other knife in the top of my left boot. Then the Ruger in my right boot holster. ¡°Take his belt too,¡± says Baxter. ¡°And check his pockets for a pper or a cosh.¡± I¡¯ve known that bastard far too long¡­ ¡°Up his sleeves too,¡± says Finchby. Him too¡­ Once they¡¯re happy I¡¯m ¡®naked¡¯, the happy pair wrench James up onto his feet and make their way to me. James¡¯ meets my gaze. With his one open eye and the expression he¡¯s wearing, it could be Odin dering Ragnar?k. Baxter strolls along, gun in hand, all nonchnce, smiling pleasantly. ¡°Good to see you, Larry.¡± ¡°Baxter.¡± ¡°I''ll admit, I expected we''d meet earlier.¡± He jerks his head to James. ¡°Just like you to send someone else to do your dirty work... Now¡­ ¡°He points inside with the muzzle of his gun¡­ ¡°In you go. Let¡¯s see how the happy event¡¯s progressing.¡± Once inside, he continues. ¡°Bring him in. Let''s get the three musketeers together, shall we.¡± He ps his hands together, rubs palms ¡°What a good day. I''ll be settling the bill with you, Klempner, and getting well paid for it at the same time.¡± Finchby strolls in, still carrying the box. James is pushed into the cell behind him, his movements stiff. Close to, he¡¯s no prettier. His eyes settle on the straining Jenny. ¡®Mad as hell¡¯ does not describe him. As he sees Jenny, his expression is apocalyptic. ¡°You bastards!¡± he hisses. ¡°You do this to a woman who¡¯s innocent of any wrong to you? What possible justification do you have for¡­?¡± Michael cuts him short. ¡°She¡¯s okay. It¡¯s going normally.¡± Then to Finchby, ¡°Suppose you let him take my ce, then I can take a look at how she¡¯s doing?¡± Finchby looks to Baxter, who shrugs. ¡°Go on then,¡± sneers Finchby. ¡°Go help the little girl.¡± James¡¯ voice is t. ¡°If I¡¯m going to support her, you¡¯ll have to free my hands.¡± Finchby wavers then jerks his chin at Hickman. ¡°Take his cuffs off. Stannis, keep them covered. Larry, you over there¡­¡± He points to the far corner of the cell. Perfect¡­ A wall behind me and room to move. But, as I meet James¡¯ one eye, I keep my face nd. Chapter 11 Chapter 11 ***** Michael I recognise the face of James¡¯ guard, the one they¡¯re calling Hickman. I¡¯ve seen it before in the photo Klempner identified; Baxter¡¯s henchman. He shoves James towards us, James shooting him a look that would knock flies from the air, before squatting down by Charlotte. He runs a finger over her cheek. ¡°Sorry we took so long to get here.¡± She returns the gesture. ¡°They¡¯ve hurt you.¡± James¡¯ brows rise. His head tilts. ¡°They¡¯ve hurt me?¡± I struggle out from behind her. ¡°James, take my ce, support her. I need a look at what¡¯s happening.¡± He manoeuvres to sit behind Charlotte, his back against the wall, kissing her rank hair as he supports her against himself. And now, kneeling between her open legs and with a decent view, I can see Cara¡¯s head is all but out. ¡°I think one more good push will do it, Babe.¡± Baxter waves the barrel of his pistol at Klempner. ¡°On your knees. Hands behind your head.¡± Klempner gives him a slow look then drops to the ground, fingers sped at the back of his neck. ¡°Stannis, you keep him there.¡± Baxter jabs a finger at the other guard who moves to stand by Klempner, gun muzzle pressed to his temple. Then he nods Hickman to my bag and Klempner¡¯s. ¡°Check them out. See what¡¯s inside.¡± He tips out Klempner¡¯s first; his mobile armoury tumbling to the floor with a tter. Baxter kicks guns, knives and rope to the far side of the cell, out of Klempner¡¯s range. Then he looks him up and down. ¡°Larry, have you put on weight?¡± Klempner adopts a pained expression. ¡°I¡¯m wearing rather more clothes than usual.¡± Baxter cocks a brow. ¡°I''m not sure about that outfit as a sartorial statement.¡± Lips pressed tight, Klempner casts eyes sidelong, then back again. ¡°What''s your gripe with me, Baxter?¡± ¡°You have to ask? More than twenty years I worked for you, and you left me behind like I didn¡¯t matter. Abandoned me to the cops like some piece of rubbish.¡± ¡°The police wereing. I had about a minute to get out of sight. When Ist saw you, you were unconscious after you''d let aplete amateur take you out. As I left, you were nowhere to be seen. What was I supposed to think? You¡¯d gone. I assumed you¡¯d run for it.¡± ¡°No. I hadn¡¯t. I¡¯d just crawled into the shadows while I got my head back. You didn¡¯t even look. You walked out and you kept walking.¡± ¡°Yes, because I didn¡¯t know you were there. You couldn¡¯t have called out or something? I could see blue lights shing. What was I supposed to do? Mount a search? As far as I was concerned, you¡¯d gone.¡± Baxter sneers. ¡°Make your excuses, Larry. You owe me. You¡¯re going to pay.¡± ¡°I owe you nothing. I never did. And besides, you have the money.¡± Baxter rocks on his heels. ¡°Money¡¯s not everything, Larry. Money¡¯s not everything.¡± He turns from Klempner, dismissing him, nods to Hickman, then to my rucksack. ¡°Turn it out. Let¡¯s see what¡¯s in his bag of tricks.¡± I try to interrupt, to stop what I can already see happening¡­ ¡°No¡­ don¡¯t¡­¡± But it¡¯s toote. Clean towels and wraps tumble out, dropping into the slops on the floor, no longer fresh and sweet-smelling but wet and fouled. ¡°Was that necessary?¡± Baxter smirks, poking through the heap with the end of a boot, wiping them further into the dirt. ¡°Can¡¯t be too careful, can we. Who knows what you have in there?¡± ¡°What I had in there were the basics for a young woman to safely deliver her baby. Now¡­¡± I poke through the pile, trying to find something useable¡­ Christ¡­ ¡°¡­ What the hell am I supposed to do with this lot?¡± Baxter stoops, picking something from the floor, shaking off drops of gunk, then showing it to me. ¡°What¡¯re these for? They don¡¯t look much use in a fight.¡± ¡°Surgical scissors. In case I have to cut the cord. And it looks as though I will have to cut the cord.¡± Baxter shoves them into a pocket. ¡°Did no-one tell you at school that scissors are dangerous?¡± Charlotte abruptly pitches again, arching back against James. Straining, mouth flung wide, she pants and heaves, and then, scarlet-faced, with a shriek of triumph, she pushes once more¡­ ¡­ I move fast¡­ ¡­ and a small bloody package drops into my hands then starts squalling loudly as Cara protests her rude entry into the world. Finchby recoils, heading for the door. ¡°I¡¯ll catch youter. Enjoy your fun.¡± Baxter looks surprised. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? You¡¯re not bothered by a little blood, surely?¡± Finchby curls a lip at the mess on the ground. ¡°You handle it.¡± Shuddering, he exits. Baxter huffs. ¡°So that¡¯s what he¡¯s made of¡­¡± ¡°Is she alright?¡± Charlotte levers herself forward. ¡°Is Cara alright?¡± I give the briefest of inspections: head, arms, legs¡­ Eyes, toes, fingers¡­ ¡°She¡¯s fine. Everything where it should be.¡± Charlotte¡¯s reaching out, hands outstretched. ¡°Give her to me.¡± ¡°Just a second.¡± I¡¯m casting around, looking for the cover I brought for Cara¡­ Crap! The nket I brought, which was soft and fine and warm, is now wet; cold and stinking. I pick it up, hoping¡­ But it simply drips muck back onto the floor. ¡°Fuck!¡± I hurl the useless thing into the corner. ¡°What''s wrong?¡± says Baxter. ¡°The baby¡¯s healthy, isn¡¯t it? It¡¯s making enough noise.¡± ¡°I''ve nothing to wrap her in. You and your monkey there just soaked the wrap I brought for her.¡± Klempner shifts, eyeing the gun muzzle at his temple. ¡°Here, use this.¡± From his kneeling position, he tugs the hem of the fleece he¡¯s wearing¡­ my fleece¡­ up and over his head. He tosses it to me, then shivers. ¡°What happened to youing from thirty-five degrees and sixty per cent humidity?¡± His voice is dry. ¡°It¡¯s thirty-seven degrees and a hundred per cent humidity where she¡¯s juste from.¡± Vastly out sized as the garment is, I wrap the squalling, protesting Cara in it, tying the sleeves around her small body, then pass the bundled baby to Charlotte. And despite everything, despite the cold and the filth and the gunmen standing guard over us, Charlotte''s face lights up. I see it. That transformation that happens with a woman, when after hours of gruelling pain and utter exhaustion, the baby is ced in her arms and her face illuminates. Young or old, in or pretty, in that moment, every woman bes beautiful. A smile spreads like a rainbow over her face. Taking the fleece-enveloped Cara, she stares, as though not believing what she¡¯s seeing. She twists back to James, still cradling her, holding up the small be-wrapped squaller. ¡°I did it, Mas... James. I gave you your daughter back.¡± He smiles back at her, reaching around to kiss her, his lips cracking open, bleeding with the gesture. ¡°So you did.¡± He touches his daughter¡¯s face, stroking with a fingertip. ¡°Hello, Cara.¡± Abruptly, Charlotte shudders¡­ James, even through his swollen face, looks panic-stricken. ¡°What?¡± I hold up a palm. ¡°It¡¯s okay. It¡¯s just the centa being ejected.¡± Snapping fingers up at Baxter. ¡°Give me the scissors.¡± ¡°Not a chance.¡± ¡°I have to have something to cut the cord with.¡± ¡°Improvise.¡± Bastard¡­ ¡°Are you at least going to let me have the mps and the surgical spirit?¡± Baxter rocks head and hand back and forth, as though deciding, then smirks. ¡°Why not?¡± In my hands the cord, hot to the touch, a strange braided alien-looking thing; thick, meaty and blue, pulsates in my hand, the pulse dying away by the moment. I aim a finger through the heap of towels and nkets stewing in the muck. ¡°I need that bag.¡± Baxter shifts. ¡°What for?¡± ¡°That¡¯s where the mp and the surgical spirit are.¡± He hesitates, eyes t, ¡°Take what you need. No stupid moves.¡± ¡°How fucking stupid do you think I¡¯m likely to be with a new-born baby in my hands?¡± Baxter jerks his chin at Hickman who moves to stand over me as I open the transparent stic bag containing mps, gauze and the bottle of spirit. The bag is still sealed, as I packed it, and the contents are probably the only clean things in the room. Sshing surgical spirit over my hands, and then the mps, I run a quick mental re-run to the How-To videos I watched, then carefully fix the first mp in ce, over the cord close by Cara. Then, just as carefully, I clip the second one towards the centa. Holding the cord in both hands, I pull it tight and bite. Part of me wants to heave. Another part tells me not to be so damn stupid. It¡¯s just meat¡­ It¡¯s not afortable process. My head knows that there are no nerves in the cord, nothing to cause pain to either Charlotte or Cara. But I¡¯m chewing through living flesh and my stomach tightens. It¡¯s not easy. The cord; over an inch thick, with a gristly texture and slippery in my hands; resists. I¡¯m almost sawing through the thing with my teeth. But there¡¯s not too much mess. I waited long enough for the blood to leave the centa, to enter Cara. And it¡¯s through¡­ The cord drops in two parts; a blue stub on Cara and the trailing tail still attached to the centa as I swipe blood from my mouth with the back of my hand. Charlotte, her eyes alight, ces Cara on her belly, naked skin to naked skin, caressing her, stroking her, murmuring to her. James, still supporting Charlotte from behind, is unreadable. It¡¯s hardly surprising. The magic of seeing your child born. The sheer savagery of the moment we¡¯re in. Baxter stands back, leaning against the wall, smirking. The bloody mass of the afterbirth slops to the floor and I scoop it up, about to toss it towards the drain. ¡°Don''t do that.¡± Baxter speaks quickly. ¡°Hickman, get the centa. Put it in the cool box. What the hell¡­? James echoes my thoughts. ¡°What the fuck do you want with that?¡± ¡°Not me.¡± He smiles pleasantly. ¡°Finchby wants it. Apparently, you can get a good price for one of those. Surprising what you can sell these days, isn''t it?¡± He pauses, as though for effect. And in my gut, suspicion grows. Where¡¯s this going? Despite everything, despite the dire circumstances, despite the danger, despite her exhaustion, Charlotte¡¯s eyes are shining. Baxter jerks his head at Hickman, then at Cara. ¡°Alright, take it away.¡± ¡°What?¡± Charlotte jolts back to reality. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Baxter shes brows. ¡°What I said. Hickman¡­ the baby. Take it to Finchby.¡± Then to Charlotte. ¡°Finchby''s having you. I don''t know what he has in mind. That¡¯s his business. Although I imagine he has a client list lined up for you. And he''s taking the baby too.¡± Charlotte clutches Cara to her chest. ¡°No!¡± ¡°Who asked you?¡± Baxter turns to Hickman. ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± Violence shimmers through James¡¯ voice. ¡°What does Finchby want with a new-born baby?¡± Baxter shrugs. ¡°I dunno. Adoption maybe. Organs? Who gives a shit? He''s got a buyer.¡± He folds his arms, smirking at James. ¡°That was the deal. Finchby gets the woman, the baby and you. I get Klempner.¡± Hickman hovers. ¡°Hey, Mr Baxter, I''m not toofortable about this. Organs?¡± He jerks a thumb down at Klempner. ¡°It¡¯s one thing taking this bastard down. Even those two...¡± He nods at me and James. ¡°But a baby¡­¡± ¡°No-one asked you to like it. Just do what you¡¯re paid for. Now take the brat to Finchby.¡± Hickman shifts on his feet but doesn¡¯t move. ¡°Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake.¡± Baxter snarls. ¡°Stannis, you do it. Hickman, cover Klempner.¡± Stannis doesn¡¯t hesitate, passing his weapon to Hickman then striding across to Charlotte. She shuffles backwards, retreating against James, clutching Cara close. ¡°You''re not having my baby,¡± she hisses. ¡°Don''t youe any closer. Don''t you daree any closer.¡± Stannis ignores her, steps closer, reaching out and down, and at that moment, Charlotte reacts. Screaming defiance, Cara clutched close against her chest with one hand, she lurches sideways, snatching up one of the whiskey bottles with the other¡­ Stannis is already stooping, hands outstretched¡­ ¡°C¡¯mon. Hand it over¡­¡± ¡­ but as he stoops, Charlotte swings left with the bottle, smashing it against the brickwork, and in the same movement, with the sound of shattering ss still in the air, swings right and up, thrusting the jagged half-bottle at Stannis¡¯ face. Shrieking, hands scrabbling at his face, blood spurts through his fingers from a shard of ss, a four- inch dagger sticking out from one eye. Baxter gapes, staggering back, but Klempner moves like a striking snake, punching upwards into Hickman¡¯s throat. Gargling and clutching his windpipe, Hickman copses back to the wall, choking and fighting for air. And as he does so, Klempner leaps to his feet, then for his scattered weaponry. Btedly, Baxter seems to realise his peril, moving to stop him, but toote. Klempner is ahead of him, snatching at the nearest weapon. Still moving, and now with a rifle in his hand, he fires. Baxter jolts, yells and curses, mps a hand to his arm and bolts out, abandoning Hickman and Stannis. Chest heaving, eyes wild, her jagged half-bottle still clutched in one hand, Charlotte could be some Viking warrior queen on the eve of battle. Cara still mped close, she offers me her hand and I haul my green-eyed war goddess to her feet, then James after her. Klempner jerks a nod to Charlotte, nts a half-smile. ¡°Nicely done. Now, can you walk?¡± Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. The fight flows out of her. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll try.¡± In the background, Hickman coughs. Barrel aimed, Klempner tilts his head. Hickman straightens up, looks him in the eye and shrugs. Klempner nods then crashes the butt of his own weapon against the side of Hickman¡¯s head. The man drops like a sack of potatoes, falling to his hands and knees, face down. ¡°I didn¡¯t sign up for this. I don''t want anything to do with murdering babies.¡± Klempner¡¯s gun to his temple. ¡°Then I suggest you stay down.¡± Hickman is pale, his face sheened. He doesn''t look up, simply blinks and nods. Klempner gives Hickman¡¯s weapon a quick once-over, then turns to Charlotte, passing it to her. ¡°Magazine''s full. Anyonees near you that isn''t one of us, you point and pull the trigger. Can you do that?¡± She clutches Cara close. ¡°Watch me.¡± ¡°Good. Time to go.¡± ***** Chapter 12 Chapter 12 James Michael looks me up and down. ¡°You fit to walk?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll manage.¡± He gives a short jerk of his head and turns to Charlotte, arms outstretched. ¡°You walk. I¡¯ll carry Cara for you.¡± She retreats, clutching Cara to herself, shrieking. ¡°No!¡± Michael steps back, holding up his palms. ¡°Whoa¡­ Calm down. It¡¯s me. What do you think I¡¯m going to do?¡± She bursts into tears. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± He takes a step closer, moving carefully. ¡°Charlotte, we have to leave. I¡¯m not sure you can carry Cara and walk too.¡± ¡°No.¡± She swings her head in denial, tries to step out, then totters, Cara still tight to her chest. Michael exchanges a look with me, shaking his head, then he moves in¡­ ¡°Hold on to Cara.¡± ¡­. sweeping her up. His voice changes to a kind of fake yokel ent. ¡°Come, Mr Frodo!¡± he says. ¡°I can''t carry it for you, but I can carry you.¡± Content is ? 2024 N?velDrama.Org. She gives him a watery smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Stop saying that. You¡¯ll be fine when we¡¯ve got you home and rested up for a few days.¡± Klempner shoves a knife into his belt. Another into the top of his boot. A handgun into a pocket. Then, picking up his SMG, ¡°We need to get moving. I''ll go to the front. Michael, you with Jenny in between. James, cover our backs.¡± ***** Michael My arms full of Charlotte, we clear the first flight of stairs to the corridor of ¡®cells¡¯. ¡°Klempner, we should release the other women.¡± James double-takes at me, then looking along the passage and its barred doorways, nods understanding. Klempner gives me a startled look. ¡°Michael, we don''t have time for that. Once we''re out, you can sing to the world about what''s in here, but until then...¡± I cut him short. ¡°By that time Finchby and Baxter could have murdered all the witnesses. Gotten rid of the evidence.¡± ¡°Finchby won¡¯t. Whoever¡¯s in those cells represents his working stock. His property. He¡¯ll not be eager to get rid of them. What¡¯s your priority, Michael? We have to get out of here.¡± ¡°So, you don¡¯t think a lot of screaming, panicking women, running around the ce, creating chaos, trying to escape, is likely to make our job easier?¡± Klempner pauses, shoots me a calcting look. ¡°Sold to the man with the highest bid. Get on with it then. You got those keys?¡± ¡°Nope. They¡¯re downstairs somewhere. But I do have my axe. James, can you take Charlotte from me.¡± I pass her to him, clinging to his Cara with one hand, waving a gun in the other. Then striding ahead, unslinging the axe from my shoulders, I aim¡­ swing¡­ and strike at the first padlock. The angle¡¯s a little wrong. The de bites in, but the lock doesn¡¯t break. I adjust my aim, this time striking square on. And this time, the de cuts through. The lock springs open and after a brief struggle with the bolt, I open the door to a dim cell. A woman cringes back, babbling something at me. Dark-haired and eyed, fair-skinned, she would be beautiful if she weren¡¯t so obviously terrified. I gesture her, ¡°Quick, out.¡± She backs away, then sees James with Charlotte and Cara. Wide-eyed, tearful, she jabbers at me, hands outstretched, pleading. Klempner pokes his head around the door. ¡°Voc¨º quer partir? Venha conosco.¡± He throws a nce to me. ¡°Portuguese.¡± She draws a breath, then scrabbling up, dashes out, joining us, babbling at Klempner. He¡¯s short with her. ¡°N¨®s estamos indo embora. Voc¨º quer ajudar?¡± He jabs a finger to me¡­ ¡°Ajudem- no.¡± Then he stands back, plucking at his lip. She nods, and this time, as I crash open the padlock, she darts inside, gesturing me on to the next. Half a minuteter, she exits, now with another two women, one looking barely old enough to drive legally. But I¡¯m already working on the next. Klempner taps me on the shoulder. ¡°Keep at it. I¡¯ll see if I can find those keys. Back in a minute.¡± Three cells, four, five. I lose count. The crowd of women grows; ck-skinned, white-skinned, coffee- skinned. Asian, Caucasian, Afro. Few seem to share anguage, but alle bursting from their grim prisons, flooding down the cells. A couple of boys emerge from one cell, ten, maybe eleven years old. Another, with eyes like blue ice and hair of Scandinavian tinum, is maybe sixteen. Klempner reappears, now with the keys, thrusting them into the hands of the first woman we released. ¡°Abre as portas.¡± She tugs at his sleeve. ¡°Onde vamos?¡± ¡°Eu n?o sei. Em toda parte. Eles n?o podem encontrar todos voc¨ºs.¡± ¡°What are you saying?¡± ¡°I¡¯m telling them to scatter. Finchby can¡¯t catch all of them and Baxter probably won¡¯t try.¡± As the final door opens, disgorging its prisoner¡­ Gunshots¡­ Something screams by me, ricocheting from the wall and spitting brick-dust. I duck, and screaming and shouting, chaotically, the women scatter. Splitting and flowing one way and the other; maybe thirty of them, running as if the devil rides behind them. Klempner yells, ¡°Suba as escadas.¡± James¡¯ limp is heavier, more pronounced. He must already have been exhausted as he arrived at the cell and he¡¯d taken a beating. He may not want to admit it, but he¡¯s struggling with Charlotte¡¯s weight. ¡°James, give her to me. Klempner needs you with a gun in your hand. Charlotte, give James yours. Arm around my neck. I need you to hang on tight.¡± James gives me a dry look¡­ Ever the diplomat¡­ ¡­ but hands Charlotte over¡­ ***** Richard The doctor speaks quietly, nodding towards Elizabeth, now sleeping. ¡°It appears, Mr Haswell, that we have been sessful, and your wife¡¯s premature contractions have ceased. We would like to keep her here for a few hours to be sure. But meanwhile, please try to stop worrying and get some sleep yourself. We¡¯ll wake you if anything changes.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll do that, yes.¡± Feeling wrung out, I sit in the armchair¡­ James¡­ Michael¡­ Charlotte¡­ Mitch¡­ At least I can call Mitch. Let her know that this part of events is back under control. I tap in her number. It rings, but there¡¯s no reply. Why would she not answer? At a time like this? I check the number. Try again. Still no reply. Where is she? ***** Chapter 13 Chapter 13 James Klempner pauses, sucking at his teeth, eyes vacant for a moment. Then he head-jerks up the stairs. ¡°Keep going. I¡¯ll be right behind you.¡± Then he reverses and, to the sound of running footsteps vanishes back the way we came. ¡°Klempner¡­ where¡­?¡± But he¡¯s gone. Michael meets my eyes but doesn¡¯tment, simply heading upwards, Charlotte clinging to his neck with one arm, and to Cara with the other. I follow. ¡°You know the way out?¡± He talks back over his shoulder. ¡°Not sure. Finchby¡¯s office is just up here.¡± ¡°Great. From there, out through the pool room, across the dance floor and out down the stairs.¡± He grunts acknowledgement, stepping up his pace. At the top of the stairs, now on the level, Charlotte and Cara in his arms, Michael goes through the office and past the pool room bar at speed. Ahead of us, women mill. ¡°Downstairs,¡± I yell, but none of them seems to understand English. The multi-coloured re of the dance-floor lights illuminatesplete chaos. Customers are looking wildly in all directions, pulling their pants on, dashing for the exit¡­ Thinking it¡¯s a police raid maybe? Michael pauses, looking around. ¡°Which way?¡± ¡°There.¡± I point towards the stairs I entered by the first time I came here with Klempner. ¡°Through that door then two floors down to the front exit. Go.¡± He sets off at a run, leaving me hanging and wondering what Klempner¡¯s doing. Should I go back for him? Above the cacophony of the dance music, an rm rings. The steady tone of a fire bell. Klempner emerges from Finchby¡¯s office. ¡°Your attention, please,¡± he shouts. Everybody out! This is not a drill. Evacuate the building¡­ Evacuar o edif¨ªcio!¡± Women¡­ some of them the prisoners, others Finchby¡¯s workers, scream and scatter, clutching what passes for their clothes. Clients too, some half-dressed, others holding up their pants at the belt. They at least know the way out, dashing for the exit. The women don¡¯t, some heading for the back rooms. Klempner snags one by the arm, whirling her around, then pointing to the stairs. ¡°I said out!¡± She cringes, then runs, this time the right way. ¡°Klempner, what¡¯s going on?¡± N?velDrama.Org (C) content. ¡°James, get everyone out. And quickly.¡± He nces at his watch. ¡°Within seven minutes to be precise.¡± ??? ¡°What the fuck have you done?¡± ¡°Never mind. Get them out. Have you seen Finchby or Baxter?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°We need to find them, or we¡¯re back to square one.¡± ***** Michael Charlotte hanging to me, clinging to a wailing Cara, I run out into the dark. I don¡¯t know where we¡¯re going, just out. Something shrieks by me, hammering into the ground a few feet ahead and my brain catches up with the fact that shots are being fired at us. Behind me, there¡¯s the rat-tat of gunfire. Ahead of me, a car¡­ Crap¡­ In my breathless, headlong charge, for a moment I don¡¯t recognise it, but then I see the face. Richard at the windscreen, screeching in, almost on two wheels as, rubber burning, he skids to a halt in front of me. The central locking clunks open and Ross leaps out from the other side. ¡°Get her in the back!¡± he yells, opening the doors ahead of me, pulling Charlotte through from one side as I push her in from the other. Richard yells from the driver¡¯s seat. ¡°Michael. Get in.¡± I mber in beside Charlotte. She¡¯s trembling violently, Cara clutched to her chest. She doesn¡¯t seem to have realised that James isn¡¯t with us. I pull her into my arms. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Babe. You¡¯re safe now. So¡¯s Cara.¡± She nods, face pressed into my chest, then explodes into weeping. Ross twists back to look. Richard meets my eyes in the mirror then nods to Ross. ¡°Call Elizabeth. Tell her to let Mitch know we have them.¡± Ross taps in, talking quietly into his mobile. After a few moments, he turns back again. ¡°Your mother¡¯s waiting for you Charlotte. She wants to meet her grand-daughter.¡± Charlotte jolts in my arms. ¡°You¡¯re not taking me to the hospital, are you?¡± Her voice is rising in pitch, panic in every word. ¡°Not the hospital. I don¡¯t want¡­¡± Richard cuts her short. ¡°No, not the hospital Charlotte. I thought you¡¯d feel like that about it. I¡¯ve made other arrangements. I¡¯m taking you home.¡± Through her tears, Charlotte¡¯s brow puckers. ¡°Arrangements?¡± ¡°Home?¡± I lean forward, hissing by his ear. ¡°Richard, she needs medical help. Cara too. The conditions they were keeping her in¡­¡± Richard ignores me. ¡°I wasn¡¯t able to be part of your rescue, Charlotte. But I¡¯ve not been sitting on my hands while all that was going on.¡± James¡­ Flooding from the doors now, women and men alike stream out. I tap Richard on the shoulder. ¡°Get her out of here.¡± He twists back. ¡°What? What about you.¡± ¡°James¡­ He¡¯s in there somewhere. So¡¯s Klempner.¡± I kiss Charlotte. ¡°See you soon.¡± ¡°No!¡± She¡¯s scrabbling after me as I get out. But behind me, I hear the clunk of the locks re-engaging as Richard pulls away. ***** Chapter 14 Chapter 14 James The ¡®music¡¯ is still ying, and I don¡¯t hear the sound, but beside me, a half-empty cocktail ss shatters and Klempner, snatching at my arm, tugs me to one side. Crouching behind the bar, ¡°That¡¯s Finchby.¡± ¡°How d¡¯you know it¡¯s Finchby?¡± ¡°Because he¡¯s a fucking lousy shot.¡± ¡°So, where¡¯s Baxter?¡± Above us, in a line on the shelves above us, the top rank of bottles shatter, exploding their contents in a multi-hued shower of liquid and shattered ss. ¡°That¡¯s Baxter.¡± Abruptly, the music cuts out¡­ ¡°Thank fuck for that,¡± mutters Klempner beside me, inching up to look over the bar. Another line of fire, lower this time¡­ Finchby¡¯s voice. ¡°That¡¯s my stock you¡¯re shooting up, Baxter¡­¡± Klempner grins. ¡°C¡¯mon¡­ They¡¯re in the office.¡± His head swings. ¡°Where¡¯s Jenny?¡± ¡°Down the stairs. Hopefully, Michael already has her out.¡± ¡°Good. That gives us a free hand.¡± He checks his watch. ¡°Right, with me¡­ One, two, three¡­¡± His rifle over the bar, Klempner fires blind towards the office door. It chatters then falls silent. He curses¡­ Out of ammo? Jammed? ¡­ then tugs a handgun from his pocket and fires. ¡°Run¡­¡± ***** Klempner A group of half a dozen of the women mill around, seeming not to know what to do without someone telling them... Natural ves... The Glock raised in my hand, ¡°Get out!¡± One thers at me, runs up pleading, then her eyes fix on my pistol. ¡°Out!¡± I yell, pointing to the door. ¡°Saia! Ir!¡± Still they don''t get the message. Another runs up, weeping mascara, at me. Too stupid to live¡­ Setting down the Glock, I cup my paired hands, then... ¡°Boom...¡± I open them up. ¡°Out!¡± And finally, they get it. Eyes widen. Screaming, they go¡­ ¡­. two running the wrong way. Fuck¡­ I make after them, and there, running ahead of them¡­ Finchby¡­ Gotcha! His eyes widen as he sees meing and he brings up his pistol. He¡¯s way too slow, yelping as I p the hand to one side, banging the fingers against the wall. ¡°Hey, Larry¡­¡± He¡¯s red-faced, spluttering, panicking¡­ I nt my fist in his face and he drops. Got the bastard! I haul him onto his feet. ¡°Now move.¡± Dangling in my grip, half his weight pressed against the cor at the front of his neck, it¡¯s got to be cutting off his air. James catches up with me. ¡°Want a hand there?¡± ¡°Absolutely. Our friend here is being uncooperative.¡± It¡¯s an understatement. Finchby¡¯s squealing like a piglet that knows it¡¯s bacon time¡­ Which it is¡­ ¡°Shut the fuck up, Finchby. I¡¯ve not done anything to you yet. If you annoy me now, we might move on to that part of proceedings early.¡± N?velDrama.Org (C) content. James tugs his head back by the hair, examining his face. ¡°If you want him able to speak, you¡¯d better not strangle him. You¡¯re crushing his windpipe.¡± Ever the pragmatist¡­ ¡°What a shame.¡± I release him, top and bottom, and Finchby drops to the ground,nding heavily and on his face. ¡°You want to carry him away? Knowing I''d have thought you would have...¡± James points two fingers at the little runt, pulling an air-trigger. I nod. ¡°You''re right. I would. But Baxter''s not here and I need to know where he is. I¡¯m sure our friend here will be able to tell us where to find him, eh, Finchby?¡± Between us, gripping him by arms and legs, bodily, James and I drag him towards the door, kicking and struggling all the way. And there, blocking our way to the stairs, Hickman, apparently on his way out, but as he sees me, he pauses, eyes dropping to Finchby. Still keeping my grip on Finchby, I straighten up. Finchby takes the opportunity to kick out and James cuffs him on the face. But Hickman holds hands up and away from his torso. ¡°Hey, I''m not looking for trouble. Like I said¡­¡± He looks down to Finchby again, his mouth pinching¡­ ¡°I don''t want nothing to do with cutting up babies for parts.¡± Finchby bawls¡­ ¡°You bastard, Hickman. You were being paid¡­¡± ¡°Not for that, I wasn¡¯t. You told me I was to help you with¡­¡± He meets my eye, shrugs. ¡°Sorry, Mr Klempner. It wasn¡¯t personal.¡± ¡°Yes, I get that. Hickman, it seems to me that you''re out of a job.¡± He nods glumly. ¡°I''d say you''re right.¡± ¡°How do you feel about a new employer?¡± His eyes spark, head inclining. ¡°You?¡± ¡°Yes, me.¡± ¡°Yes, Mr Klempner.¡± He straightens up, almost to attention. ¡°What would you like me to do?¡± ¡°Find me rope, tape, string, anything you cany your hands on to get this bastard secured.¡± He nods, thinks, then, ¡°I''ll try his office. Be right back.¡± James pipes up. ¡°While you''re there pick up hisptop and phone if it''s there. Hickman pauses, microscopically, looking to me. ¡°While you''re working for me, you take orders from him too.¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± ¡°And don''t hang around.¡± I check my watch. ¡°We only have six minutes.¡± Hickman gives me a startled look then sets off at a run. Finchby jerks under my hand. ¡°Six minutes? What the fuck are you talking about?¡± ¡°I have news for you Finchby. You¡¯re closing down for business.¡± Hickman returns in under two minutes, reels of electrical tape in one hand and aptop tucked under one arm. ¡°Got his phone in my pocket, sir, along with a couple of data keys I saw lying loose. And, um¡­¡± He holds up a bag¡­ The bag¡­ ¡°I¡¯m not sure all the money¡¯s here, sir. I think they may have already divided it up.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure our Mr Haswell will be pleased to see it back.¡± Hickman fishes in a pocket. ¡°There¡¯s this too.¡± He offers out a palm containing one of the phials of anaesthetic. ¡°I grabbed a handful along with the hypos.¡± He drops eyes to Finchby. ¡°Perfect. Fill the syringe and we¡¯ll quieten down our friend here. I believe you know the dose.¡± I check my watch again. ¡°Four minutes.¡± Hickman disys a filled syringe. ¡°It¡¯s ready, sir.¡± ¡°Good. Hickman, hold him down.¡± I depress the plunger, and after a few seconds, Finchby goes ck. ¡°James, Hickman. Get him out. I¡¯m going to check everyone else is out.¡± ¡°And Baxter?¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯m looking for him too.¡± ***** Michael Running against the flow of fleeing women, I head for the entrance again. James is there¡­ Withpany¡­ Hickman? ¡­ but the two seem to be working together, carrying a body. It''s Finchby, eyes closed, head lolling, trussed with cable ties at wrists, ankles and knees, and what looks like electrical tape over his mouth. James and Hickman are half-carrying, half-dragging him along, one hand hooked into his belt at the back, the other hanging onto the cors of shirt and waistcoat. James spots me. ¡°Charlotte?¡± ¡°Richard has her.¡± ¡°Do we have a car?¡± ¡°Not sure, but once we¡¯re outside I imagine we¡¯ll have one in very short order. Richard was obviously on the ball out there. I¡¯m sure there¡¯ll be some transport.¡± I jerk my chin at Hickman. ¡°Anything you want to tell me?¡± ¡°Mr Hickman here has new employment.¡± He thumbs at unconscious Finchby. ¡°Head end or foot end?¡± ***** Chapter 15 Chapter 15 Klempner Although I can hear chaos from down the stairs, up here now, it¡¯s quiet. There¡¯s no-one in the dance room. In the pool room, the only sound is the crunching of ss under my boots. I carry on to Finchby¡¯s office. All empty? It seems so. The time? Time to go. Except¡­ as I¡¯m about to turn and leave a girl, I see her; barely a teenager, some variety of Asian, Indian perhaps. Streaming tears, she skitters out from behind the desk, making for the kitchen. I follow her and she cringes back into the corner. I offer my hand. ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you. You have to leave.¡± She babbles at me in I¡¯ve-no-idea-whatnguage, then abruptly, her face swings up to mine and fingers outstretched, leaps up at me, wing at my face. Reflexively, I jerk back, and she bolts past me and out, back the way I came. Fuck! I dash after her, but in the few seconds, she¡¯s gone, vanished. Where did she go? Out? Or somewhere deeper inside? I check my watch¡­ Three minutes¡­ Christ! I have to find her¡­ If she¡¯s on the stairwell, perhaps I¡¯ll hear her. I turn for the bar, heading for the stairs up and down, and there¡­ Fuck. Baxter. I reach for my Glock¡­ And it¡¯s not there. Damn¡­ When did I put it down? Baxter shes brows. And the knife in his hand. ¡°Going somewhere?¡± ¡°I was nning on leaving.¡± I slip the knife from my belt. ¡°Your friend Finchby has already left the building. I believe the money may be with him.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to weep over Finchby. And I didn''t do it for the cash. Well¡­ mainly not for the cash. And I have my half anyway.¡± We circle, eyeball to eyeball. Make the first move? Wait for him? I move slowly, watching for the twitch of the hand. The nudge of the shoulder. The tell that he''s going to stop talking and... He shes out¡­ moves fast¡­ But it¡¯s a feint and we both know it, calcted to draw a reaction from me. Testing me¡­ My speed¡­ My reactions¡­ Younger than me... How much by? Ten years? His knife... de maybe eight inches. Well cared for. Well used¡­ Left-handed¡­ ¡­ Thinks that gives him an advantage. Most practice against right-handers. I''ve done both. He stabs out. Hard. Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils pricked. I jerk back and he follows through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His de to my throat. My hand locked to his wrist. So close, I smell him. Sweat. Sour. The sour scent of fear. Not excitement. Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. Fear. He breaks away, dancing back from me and suddenly I''m overreaching¡­ off-bnce¡­ and I pull back recovering my stance. He grins, then grunts as Ish for his neck but as he swings away, my fistnds in his gut. And following up on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching for his de, shing out with my own¡­ I sh at his chest with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he doesn''t see... The other knife... Ambidextrous? No, I¡¯m not. Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my right hand, my left hand ising up... Under the rib cage and up¡­ Got you, you bastard¡­ And it¡¯s her. The Indian girl. Coming out of nowhere, pelting for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between us and I twist away to avoid slicing the silly bitch... And staggering back, my foot skids on something¡­ Drinks slops? Blood? In slow motion... ¡­ my arms wind-milling for bnce¡­ I go down... And Baxter¡¯s on top of me¡­ ¡­ ¡­ My gasp as his de slices across me¡­ ¡­ The rasp of shredding fabric¡­ ¡­ The metallic tang of blood¡­ Whose? Mine¡­ Straddling me, grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised at my throat. The point nipping at the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he takes out a Glock¡­ My Glock? ¡­ and aiming for my forehead, he backs off. Why not use the knife? Not got the balls for close-up? Propping up on my elbows I swing round wildly, one way or the other, searching for options. There are none. Looking up, I¡¯m staring straight up the barrel of my own fucking gun and to Baxter¡¯s crocodile smile. Is this it? After all this time¡­ this is how I go? Chagrin wars with irritation. Of all the ways I could have died over the years, I¡¯m taken out by a shite like Baxter? And for something I didn¡¯t actually do? Live by the sword¡­ Funny how the mind works at these moments. The brain does odd things under extreme stress. I don¡¯t think I¡¯m afraid¡­ ¡­ but the muzzle of the gun looms close and huge. The rest of the world vanishes around me. My peripheral vision grows dark¡­ My throat tightens¡­ ¡°Well, aren''t you just the real man.¡± The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure¡­ ¡°A hero with a gun and a knife against an unarmed man. And he¡¯s down.¡± And I know that voice. My eyes swing to its owner. So do Baxter¡¯s. Leather thigh boots set her close to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest hugs a narrow waist and full breasts. Red hair tumbles gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with emerald eyes painted Goth-dark and fuck-me lipstick. ¡°Mitch?¡± I''ll admit it. I gape. So does Baxter. This might be a brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all. But nothingpares to Mitch in all her glory. And I have never seen her dressed like this, not even in her ¡®professional¡¯ days. She stands tall, chin lifted, one leg a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter that dares him to do his worst. The zipper tag dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth, slides the tag down. And the vest falls open. As her breasts swing free, I move. Knocking the muzzle to one side, to Baxter¡¯s gawk-eyed rm, I roll, kicking up hard, ramming a boot at the hand above me. He yelps, clutching his wrist, dropping the weapon¡­ My weapon¡­ I snatch it up, firing¡­ I¡¯m moving and my aim¡¯s off and low¡­ targeting his torso, I catch his leg ¡­ but he¡¯s disarmed and he¡¯s running¡­ Diving for cover¡­ Springing up, I¡¯m back on his feet. Mitch grins. ¡°Hi, Larry.¡± Grabbing her by the wrist. ¡°Didn''t I tell you to stay at home?¡± I tow her along. ¡°Come on¡­¡± ¡°And you thought I would?¡± She takes a second to zip herself back together. ¡°No time for that. Come on.¡± A sharp retort and a bullet whistles past, skids off the wall and ricochets away. So much for disarming the bastard¡­ I check my watch. ¡°Run!¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you going after him?¡± ¡°No, there''s less than a minute to go.¡± Mitch¡¯s eyes narrow, then, taking a moment to tug the spiked shoes off her feet, we set off at a sprint. Hammering down the stairs, I see ahead of us, James and Hickman already outside, carrying Finchby between them. Michael¡¯s with them too. We burst from the door and out and as we break into clean air, I feel rather than hear it. ¡°Keep running,¡± I yell. Then at the rumble behind us, ¡°Down!¡± Hickman''s eyes widen as he gets it and James and Michael are ahead of him, throwing themselves face down to the ground as the st hits. Everywhere around us, bodies hit the deck. I pull Mitch with me, rolling on top of her, caging her with my body. The door explodes outwards, sending ss, shards of stone, metal and timber in all directions and smoke, ck and acrid blooming up. Scrambling up, I grab Mitch along, towing her out of range. Looking back, already mes are licking upwards and sparks weave a path to the clouds. Behind the shelter of the car park wall, I stop for breath. James, Michael and Hickman catch up with us, still with the unconscious Finchby. Michael scours me with his voice. ¡°What the hell did you do, Klempner?¡± ¡°Remember the Semtex?¡± He rolls eyes upwards, following the column of smoke and sparks. ¡°I set it in that paint and solvents store in the basement. Some to the roof to bring it down. Some on the river side of the wall.¡± Mitch sweeps hair back from her face. ¡°Won''t the water douse the mes?¡± ¡°At the basement level, yes, but I''m hoping it''ll have done enough damage with the st through the heart of the building to make it unusable.¡± Then at James¡¯ expression of outrage, ¡°You did say you were looking forward to demolishing it. Think of the money I''ve saved your pal, Haswell.¡± Mitch chuckles. I look her up and down. ¡°Nice outfit. I usually prefer your normal choice, but you picked a good moment for a change in fashion.¡± She shes eyes at me. ¡°How else was I going to get inside a brothel?¡± ¡°Where d¡¯you get the clothes?¡± She jerks a thumb to the milling crowd of women. ¡°I picked one who looked about the right size and shoved money at her until she sold me what she was wearing.¡± James casts her a look. ¡°And where did you get the money?¡± She flushes, reaching into her ¡®bosom¡¯ and extracting a card. ¡°You¡¯d better have this back.¡± He eyes it and sighs. ¡°No. I gave it to you to use as you saw fit. You¡¯ve certainly done that so far.¡± In the distance, sirens are wailing and a shimmer of blue shes out of the darkness. ¡°I think, gentlemen, that if we wish to make enquiries of Mr Finchby here¡­¡± I kick his unconscious leg¡­ ¡°We¡¯d better get him out of sight. In any event, I need to get out of sight.¡± ¡°Me too, Mr Klempner.¡± ¡°Oh, yes, Hickman. Give me a contact for you.¡± As he scribbles a note, I delve into the bag containing ¡®Finchby¡¯s half¡¯ of Haswell¡¯s money. I take a couple of bank-bound wads and hand them to him. ¡°I¡¯ll be in touch to sort out something more formal.¡± The sirens and the shing are getting closer. I look around. ¡°Do we have transport?¡± ¡°Right over there¡± Mitch waves towards the canal track. ¡°Good. Let¡¯s get out of here before someone tries to buy what you appear to be selling.¡± ***** Chapter 16 Chapter 16 Michael Mitch drives home. I¡¯m exhausted. James and Klempner don¡¯t look much different. From the back, it sounds as though Finchby has woken up. If he were still out, I don¡¯t think he¡¯d be squealing like a stuck pig. After a while, Klempner speaks. ¡°I need a little chat with Finchby there. Where would you like me to conduct his interview?¡± There¡¯s a thump from the trunk and he looks back then to Mitch. ¡°It needs to be somewhere the women won¡¯t hear. Is there one of your outbuildings I can use perhaps?¡± Mitch nces sidelong. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about upsetting me. I¡¯ll hold your coat.¡± James, his expression savage, breaks in before I can reply. ¡°We can do better than that.¡± ¡°Where?¡± ¡°Downstairs.¡± It takes a moment for James¡¯ meaning to sink in. ¡°Downstairs? You mean¡­?¡± ¡°Yes. That¡¯s what I mean.¡± As we crunch onto the drive, Klempner produces another of the phial and syringe sets, pursing his lips as he draws the drug into the chamber, then tapping it. ¡°James, Michael. Open the trunk and I¡¯ll get him quiet again before we take him through your home.¡± The trunk clicks open and the needle plunges into Finchby¡¯s arm. The tape-masked shriek dies in his throat and¡­ ¡°Give me a second,¡± I say. ¡°Richard hinted he¡¯d been up to somethingst night. Let me go see what¡¯s happening.¡± It¡¯s as well I did. A blue-uniformed nurse is in the hall, discussing something on a clipboard with Richard. As he sees me, he steps smartly forward¡­ ¡°Ah¡­ Michael¡­¡± He cups my elbow, easing me out of the door again. ¡°Is everyone¡­?¡± The question dies on his lips. ¡°James. Klempner. I¡¯m pleased to see you.¡± His gaze lingers on James damaged eyes, the sh, leaking red, on Klempner¡¯s chest, then moves to the bound and unconscious Finchby. ¡°Is that one of them?¡± ¡°Yes¡­¡± James heaves breath, then. ¡°He was nning on prostituting Charlotte and selling Cara for organs. We need to ask him about where to find the other one. We¡¯re taking him downstairs.¡± Richard inhales. ¡°You¡¯d better bring him in around the back. We have a houseful here.¡± Klempner reacts. ¡°Police?¡± ¡°No. Medics. Doctors. Nurses. For both Charlotte and Elizabeth¡­. I¡­ I had an eventful night too.¡± ¡°Is everything alright? Charlotte?¡± ¡°Yes, she¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll tell youter. Right now, she¡¯s sleeping and I¡¯d say likely to stay that way for some while yet. I have a nurse watching her and Cara while she sleeps herself out.¡± He nces back to the door, holding up a palm. ¡°Give me two minutes to clear the hall, thene in through the back. Go straight down.¡± He goes inside. ¡°Ah, Doctor Polinski. Could I have a word, please. You too, nurse. Now, about my wife¡­¡± Mitch brushes past. ¡°I¡¯m going to go see Jenny and the baby.¡± And she follows him in. The door closes behind him and we heft Finchby around the side of the house, in and down. ***** Klempner We tote him down the cer steps and along a basement passageway, rooms off to either side. ¡°I¡¯d not realised it was such arge ce you have here.¡± ¡°This is it.¡± James opens the door ahead of us. Michael, supporting Finchby at the shoulders, says, ¡°You sure about this, James?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure. Can you think of a better ce?¡± ¡°No¡­¡± He exhales. ¡°But fuck¡¯s sake, don¡¯t ever tell Charlotte.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t. I don¡¯t want her knowing about any of this.¡± ¡°Suits me.¡± Between us, Michael and I heft the unconscious Finchby through the door and into¡­ Fuck me¡­ Don¡¯t show surprise¡­ Michael meets my eye. So does James. His mouth quirks and he drops me a wink. It¡¯s a torture chamber. At least at first sight. Of course it isn¡¯t¡­ The first impression is a blur of manacles, racks, whips and chains; stone walls, a vaulted roof, a cold g floor. The second impression takes in a hearth, the ashes cold; a ss-fronted cooler containing wine and beer, and a huge bed at the far end of the room. It¡¯s a yroom, but of a very particr kind. I¡¯d realised in a casual kind of way what kind of rtionship my Jenny has with James, but I¡¯d really not thought it through. Until now. Keep your cool¡­ Michael halts. ¡°Where?¡± James extends a finger. ¡°That will do for a start. Take his waistcoat off. Leave the shirt.¡± The indicated spot is a chain, suspended from the ceiling a kind of winch and pulley arrangement. While Michael and I manhandle the unconscious Finchby into position, James takes something from a shelf; a steel bar, extendable, with leather, fur-lined wrist-cuffs attached to either end. ¡°I¡¯ll just be a moment,¡± he says, rummaging through a drawer, emerging with a second set of cuffs; these the real McCoy in steel. He fiddles with the bar for a moment, recing y-cuffs with the genuine article. Michael and I restrain Finchby while James snaps the cuffs around his wrists, then clips a carabiner between bar and chain. A few winds of the pulley draws the chain tight. Stretched upright, arms over his head, Finchby¡¯s going nowhere. James inspects our catch. ¡°That do for you, Klempner?¡± ¡°That¡¯s quite satisfactory, James. I¡¯ll admit, I¡¯m looking forward to seeing his expression when he comes round.¡± Grim humour creases his eyes. ¡°I¡¯d had the same thought myself. Excuse me a moment.¡± He makes for the door, pauses and turns. ¡°Michael, set up a table where Finchby can see it. And another one behind him where he can¡¯t.¡± He turns back and leaves the room, the sound of footsteps receding down the outer corridor. Michael taps me on the arm. ¡°Give me a hand with this.¡± From a spot by the wall, between us, we carry a small table, cing it as James asked, squarely in front of Finchby. Then another behind him. Michael stalls, pondering, then shifts the front table off to the side a little and drags over a couple of chairs. What the fuck? I¡¯d taken James and Michael to be fairly ¡®everyday¡¯ guys, even if they do have unusual family arrangements. I¡¯m seeing a different side to them now. But then¡­ How would I have reacted had it been Mitch that was taken? I position myself, standing where I can watch Finchby¡¯s face. How long before he wakes up? And Michael is watching me, his face deadpan. Waiting forment? ¡°Can anyone hear us from down here?¡± I ask. Content is ? 2024 N?velDrama.Org. ¡°No. That¡¯s why we use this room. Charlotte can be as noisy as she wants without it carrying to the hotel.¡± ¡°She¡­ enjoys this? The room is¡­¡± I wave a hand around bleak stone walls, dark corners and forbidding apparatus¡­ ¡°It looks rather different with the fire zing and the candles lit. A different effect entirely.¡± He nces at Finchby, hanging by his wrists. ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll bother with that for this one.¡± ¡°What does James intend?¡± ¡°Intend?¡± His brows rise. ¡°I think he intends to scare the shit out of Finchby. As you say, we need information. We need to know where Baxter is. Or at least where he¡¯ll make for.¡± ¡°How far do you think he¡¯ll go?¡± He inhales. ¡°For Charlotte? It¡¯s anyone¡¯s guess.¡± His head inclines. ¡°Klempner, understand. James is a Dom. And a good one. And if there''s one thing that any Dom worth his salt understands, it''s the Mind- Fuck.¡± ¡°He''s¡­ skilled¡­ at what he does?¡± Humour quirks over his lips. ¡°James is Charlotte¡¯s Dom. What do you think it takes to be the Dominant to the daughter of Mitch Kimberley and Larry Klempner?¡± What do I make of that? I swallow, then swallow again, jerking my chin to the hanging Finchby. ¡°He does that with Jenny?¡± ¡°Oh, yes. But she knows James won''t harm her. What do you imagine Finchby will think when he wakes up and sees this?¡± I turn, rotate, taking in my surroundings. I¡¯m not sure what I think myself. ***** Chapter 17 Chapter 17 Michael The Ahhh marches across Klempner''s face. Footsteps sound outside, drawing closer and James re-enters. In a few minutes, he¡¯s changed. From the winter woollens, heavy jeans and boots he was wearing before, he changed into a fresh shirt, suit and polished shoes. His face is clean, barring the swollen eye, and he¡¯sbed his hair. And under one arm, he¡¯s carrying a wooden box. For a second, I can¡¯t think what it is. Then I realise¡­ To me, this is just my old friend James. But what will Finchby see? He shes a nce at the still unconscious man. ¡°How long before he wakes up?¡± Klempner rocks a hand. ¡°I didn¡¯t give him much. Anytime now. Within the next few minutes certainly.¡± ¡°Good. Michael¡­¡± He snaps fingers towards the cooler. ¡°Ice bucket.¡± Then he aims a finger towards the table behind our dangling houseguest. And now I know what he has in mind. I grin. ¡°My pleasure.¡± Klempner, obviously bemused, watches in silence as I scoop ice into the bucket and add water. I ce it on the table and James drops in his toys into the chinking mix. A groan¡­ Finchby stirs. ¡°What¡­?¡± I eye-point Klempner to a chair. He¡¯s sucking in a smile as he takes his ce in the ¡®viewing gallery¡¯. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Finchby¡¯s eyes blink open, hazy and unfocussed, then his face sharpens as realisation prates. His eyes fling wide, showing the whites. ¡°Christ¡­¡± Struggling against the restraints, he writhes and twists. But he¡¯s going nowhere. His eyes settle on Klempner. ¡°Hey¡­ Larry¡­¡± He tries for a cheesy grin but fails. Is he going to piss himself? Klempner smiles pleasantly. ¡°Afternoon, Finchby. Good to see you¡¯re back with us. Comfortable?¡± The man is pasty, his breath short and quick. ¡°Hey, Larry, what are you ying at? It wasn''t personal. It was business. You know how it is.¡± Klempner lifts his chin, eyes narrowing. Standing, he stalks a few paces to stand by Finchby, speaking to the side of his face. ¡°Yes, I do know how it is. And foring after me, I''d have simply slit your throat and called it evens¡­¡± Finchby¡¯s breathing shudders¡­ ¡°¡­ But it stopped being business the moment you took my daughter and chained her up in your dungeon of a cell. You imprisoned her in conditions calcted to make her sick and to risk her child. You made it your business to demean and humiliate her¡­¡± He draws breath. Any trace ofpassion slides from his expression. For the first time, the fury shows. His voice morphs to a hiss. ¡°¡­ And you nned to sell my granddaughter for parts? This stopped being business some while ago, Finchby. This is very definitely personal.¡± Finchby hangs, lungs jerking and juddering. He blinks rapidly, moisture gleaming at the corners of his eyes. He tries to speak, his throat working, then tries again. ¡°What are you going to do, Larry?¡± Abruptly, Klempner¡¯s pleasant expression pastes back into ce. ¡°Nothing. Nothing at all¡­¡± Finchby pants, quick shallow breaths, eyes darting here and there¡­ ¡°¡­ I''m going to sit back and watch what he does.¡± Klempner jerks his chin to James, currently lounging against a wall, arms and ankles crossed. ¡°I''ll admit, I''m quite intrigued to see what he has in mind for you.¡± Finchby breaks. Weeping and shaking. ¡°Oh, God¡­ Larry¡­¡± Klempner speaks softly by his ear. ¡°You kidnapped his pregnant wife. Tortured her. Humiliated her. Intended to use her. And you nned to sell his daughter for organs. Call me a sceptic, Finchby, but it¡¯s my guess he doesn¡¯t like you very much.¡± The door creaks open. ¡°James, is everything¡­¡± It¡¯s Mitch. Her words stall as she takes in the scene. She moves to Finchby, standing close, very close; staring him in the face. The vein at her neck throbs. ¡°What are you going to do to him?¡± Klempner strides across, seizing her by an arm, propelling her back towards the door. ¡°Mitch, out.¡± She resists. ¡°I want to stay.¡± ¡°Out!¡± Gripping her at both shoulders, ¡°I can''t tell you what to do with your life, but I can tell you what you''re not doing. And you''re not staying here. Not for this. I''ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs if I have to.¡± Mitch hovers, then dimples. Her eyes cast between me and James. ¡°Larry, I do believe these two are rubbing off on you.¡± She jerks free, strolls back to Finchby, then scratches him under the chin with a finger. ¡°You won''t wake the baby, will you. I''ve just got her to sleep.¡± A quick pat on the cheek, then she sashays out of the door, throwing ament back over her shoulder. ¡°Have fun, boys.¡± Klempner follows her with his eyes, then closes the door behind her. I wave him to one of the chairs, then head for the cooler. Speaking loudly, ¡°Want a beer, Larry? Or there''s wine if you''d prefer it?¡± He sits, slinging his feet, ankles crossed, up on the table. ¡°Beer''s good for me.¡± Holding up a couple of bags, ¡°Cashews or potato chips?¡± ¡°Whatever you¡¯re opening.¡± ¡°Why choose?¡± I rip both bags, tipping the contents into a couple of bowls, then stack everything onto a tray. ¡°James? A beer? I imagine you''ll be working up a sweat.¡± He''s standing at the table where Finchby can see him. ncing up from where he is opening up his box, ¡°Thank you, Michael, yes. A beer would be good.¡± I set the tray on the table beside James¡¯ ¡®work area¡¯, passing around the bottles and the opener. James works through the contents of his box: a set of knives: stainless steel, polished, they glint under the harsh lighting. One by one, he inspects the edges, testing them with his thumb. He chooses one, but apparently unsatisfied, takes a steel from its slot, drawing the de along, sharpening it. Opening another bottle, I set it on the table by James, then take my seat next to Klempner, knocking back a glug of beer. Then I toss back a handful of nuts before passing the bowl to Klempner. Klempner sips his drink. ¡°That''s a wicked-looking set of knives, James. Well cared for, I can see. But they look a little delicate for heavy work.¡± James holds the de up to the light, inspecting the serrated de. ¡°That''s because these are my sushi knives. I brought them down from the kitchen for the asion.¡± I punctuate my speech with the bottle in my hand, waving it in the air as I speak. ¡°You like sushi, Larry?¡± ¡°I do yes, although I''ve not had any for a while.¡± ¡°Really? James, you must make some for Larry while he''s staying with us.¡± I turn back to Klempner, keeping my voice loud. ¡°You know, forget these Japanese chefs. James here makes the best sushi. That knife he''s sharpening... A couple of weeks back, he was slicing up... What was it, James?¡± ¡°Tuna.¡± ¡°Oh, yes, tuna. It couldn''t have been more than an inch thick when he started, but you know he sliced it so fine. Four slices, was it? ¡°Six.¡± James turns to the violently trembling Finchby, the sushi knife held, apparently casually, between his fingers. ¡°So, Klempner, what exactly did you want to ask our guest?¡± Klempner beer in hand, stands, moving closer to Finchby. In a low voice, ¡°Your building is a write-off. And the police will be all over it now. So, where''s Baxter gone?¡± ¡°I don''t know, Larry.¡± He¡¯s babbling, his gaze fixed on the knife in James¡¯ hand. ¡°Really, I don''t. Maybe he ran. Maybe he¡¯s just dumped me. Like he used you of doing. He''s done it himself to me. But I don¡¯t know where he¡¯d go.¡± Klempner shakes his head and takes his seat again. ¡°All yours, James.¡± James, face impassive, ces the knife on the table then chooses another. Not one of his ¡®specials¡¯, this one is jagged-edged; wicked-looking. Moving slowly, taking his time, he eases the de under the top button of Finchby¡¯s shirt, then slices. The button pops off and he moves down to the next. One at a time, he removes the buttons until the shirt dangles open. Finchby sobs. ¡°Larry, please. I don''t know where he is.¡± ¡°You can do better than that. And if you really don¡¯t know where we can find him, well¡­ what use are you to us? I don¡¯t see either of these two paying for your keep.¡± James saws his way up the inside sleeve of one arm, then the other. A sh across the shoulders and the shirt falls apart, so much waste fabric. He tugs it away, tossing it to one side, leaving Finchby naked to the waist. He pauses, knife in hand, looks to Klempner. ¡°How''s your memorying on, Finchby?¡± ¡°Larry, I don''t know.¡± ¡°Pity. James...¡± He waves in a carry-on gesture. James puts down the saw-tooth knife, picking up his original. Face impassive, standing square on, he sets the point to the hollow in Finchby''s neck¡­ ¡°No!¡± ¡°Stay still. Don''t move. You wouldn''t want to jolt my hand, would you?¡± ¡­ then slowly¡­ very, very slowly¡­ he draws the de downward, scoring the skin. It''s the finest of cuts. The most delicate of lines, drawn from the vicle, centred down the breastbone and stopping at the navel. A thin trickle of blood dribbles down through scattered body hair drawing a thin trail to the belt. The knife is too sharp, the cut too fine, to really hurt, but Finchby shrieks. ¡°Anything to say?¡± asks Klempner. ¡°Larry, I don''t know. I don''t know.¡± ¡°I don''t believe you, Finchby.¡± Klempner waves his bottle at me. ¡°Do you believe him, Michael?¡± ¡°Nope. Carry on, James.¡± James moves behind the screaming, panicking, shuddering man. ¡°I told you. Don''t move.¡± He meets my eye, holding it for a second then, putting down the knife, draws his next tool from the ice bucket. In long slow gestures, he draws it down the back of the shrieking Finchby, following the line of the spine. As he moves, slowly, deliberately, Finchby¡¯s face raises, his mouth flinging wide. James repeats the motion, this time to one side; a parallel line to the first, drawn over Finchby¡¯s flesh. And again. And again. James sniffs, stands back, examining his handiwork, then adjusting his stance, head tilted, and, re- angling, he draws horizontal lines, squared against the originals. Klempner, fingers covering his mouth, murmurs beside me, ¡°You know, I really didn''t think he had it in him.¡± My own voice equally low. ¡°He doesn''t. Look carefully, at what you¡¯re seeing. Not what you think you¡¯re seeing.¡± Klempner looks, then double-takes. ¡°There''s no blood.¡± I suppress my smile. ¡°Give that man a cookie.¡± ¡°So what the fuck¡¯s he doing to him?¡± ¡°Blunt edge but iced. Hurts like fuck, especially with the imagination doing the heavy lifting. But there''s no actual damage.¡± I slide eyes side-long. ¡°I told you. Master of the Mind-Fuck.¡± Klempner takes in air. ¡°Does he do this to Jenny?¡± ¡°No. Not this. Those two y other games.¡± Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. ¡°I''m pleased to hear it.¡± James stands back, brows arched, disying the round-ended spoon handle to me and Klempner. Then dumping it in the ice bucket, he takes out another, holding it by the scooped end. ¡°Anything to say yet?¡± growls Klempner. ¡°Larry. I can''t. I can''t. Baxter''ll kill me if I tell you. You know he will.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Klempner smiles pleasantly. ¡°Jogged your memory atst, have we.¡± He stands again, his eyes flicking over the shoulder of our prisoner to where James stands poised with his spoon handle. ¡°At the risk of pointing out the obvious, Baxter isn''t here. We are. Who would you say is more the risk to your poxy little life right now?¡± Finchby simply hangs there, quivering. Klempner draws a sigh. ¡°Ah, well¡­ James, off you go again. Have your fun.¡± ¡°A change of pace, I think,¡± says James. He moves to the front, sorting through the box and, with some appearance of thought, chooses a different knife. He holds it to Finchby. ¡°A shorter, more rigid de. Designed to cut more deeply.¡± Panic ripples through Finchby¡¯s expression. He speaks quickly. ¡°Baxter¡­ he has a base in South America.¡± James exchanges nces with Klempner, raises questioning brows. Klempner presses a finger to his lips. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound unreasonable. He ran the South American operation for me for some years. I imagine he has good connections down there. But¡­¡± He draws closer to Finchby¡­ ¡°South America¡¯s a big ce. You¡¯re going to have to narrow it down a bit more than that.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, Larry¡­¡± ¡°You said you didn¡¯t know anything before. Obviously, you do. Tell us about what Baxter had to say. When the two of you were chatting.¡± ¡°He didn¡¯t say much. Mainly he talked about you.¡± ¡°That¡¯s ttering, but not really what we¡¯re looking for. What were his ns for after you had murdered me and James, butchered my grandchild and enved my daughter?¡± ¡°He¡­ he was going it alone. Said he knew all the connections. Where to get the goods. How to handle the shipments. He said¡­ He didn¡¯t need you if I would buy from him. And the ransom money¡­ his share of it¡­ would get him started.¡± ¡°And where did he intend to start?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, Larry. Honestly, I don¡¯t know. I can¡¯t tell you more than that.¡± Klempner inhales. ¡°James, Michael. It was a long night and I find I¡¯ve built up an appetite. Would you mind if we took a break for a meal? Finchby here won¡¯t mind waiting for us.¡± James ces the knife back in its box. ¡°Sounds good to me. Tell me, Klempner, you mentioned Thand. Do you enjoy spicy food?¡± ¡°Absolutely. I¡¯ll admit, I¡¯ve missed it since I came back.¡± ¡°Good¡­ Prawns¡­ Garlic¡­ Chillies¡­ I should have Basmati rice in the store. Let¡¯s talk over a good meal.¡± Closing the door carefully behind us, we leave Finchby dangling. ***** Chapter 18 Chapter 18 James And now, for the first time, I push the door, quiet as I can, looking in. Mitch is there, a pad on herp, sketching. She sits by Charlotte; sleeping, so pale. No, not pale; pallid. What they did to you¡­ But she¡¯s clean and warm andfortable. And by the side of the bed, within touching distance, also sleeping¡­ Cara¡­ My daughter¡­ And in a chair by the window, a hawk-eyed nurse. What¡¯s been happening? Mitch smiles, holding up her pad: a half-drawn sketch, in pastels, of mother and baby. Then she looks me up and down, pulling a face. ? I mouth silently. ¡°What?¡± She nods me to the mirror and I see myself. Oh, My God¡­ Even though I changed, brushed my hair, I can¡¯t let Charlotte wake up to see me like this. Or Cara¡­ The eye is not a pretty sight. It¡¯s not so swollen now and it¡¯s beginning to open again, but the colour, a kind of reverse rainbow in blue, green and sickly yellow, is enough to put anyone off their¡­ milk¡­ There¡¯s not too much I can do about the bruising, but at the least, I should clean myself up. I stoop, kiss Charlotte¡¯s cheek. She stirs, mumbling something soft. I can¡¯t make out the words, but sleeping, her lips are curving. I stroke Cara¡¯s tiny face, and eyes-closed, she blows a bubble. Then, with a nod to Mitch, I turn to leave. And Michael¡¯s there. He too holds the pair in his gaze, then with a tap to my chest. ¡°Let¡¯s let them sleep.¡± Mitch follows us out, picking up a baby monitor en route and popping it in her pocket. ***** A hot shower and I feel more myself. Then Richard snags me, bullying me through to where the doctor I saw is waiting. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ What¡¯s happening?¡± ¡°What¡¯s happened is thatst night, Elizabeth went into prematurebour.¡± He holds up palms¡­ ¡°It¡¯s settled and she¡¯s fine, but under the circumstances, for the sakes of both Elizabeth and Charlotte, and considering Charlotte¡¯s feelings regarding hospitals right now, I have assembled a team for us, James¡­¡± He hovers, as though waiting for me to argue. I don¡¯t. ¡°They are staying in the hotel for the next few weeks and are on 24/7 call should we need them. Meanwhile you¡­¡± He levels a finger at me¡­ ¡°¡­are going to let Doctor Polinski examine that eye. Along with any other damage you might have takenst night. I can see for myself that you are limping badly¡­¡± ***** In the kitchen, I pull my ingredients together. Prawns, ginger, chillis¡­ Michaeles in, inspects my work area and Hmmms, then grins as he gets a look at me. ¡°Well, if it ain¡¯t my old friend Capt¡¯n Bluebeard.¡± He elbows me in the ribs. ¡°Oohhh, Aaarrr!¡± Then, ps his forehead as I wince. ¡°Sorry, James. I forgot.¡± ¡°Please don¡¯t.¡± Mitch sucks in a smile from her ce at the table. ¡°It suits you. Kind of¡­ distinguished.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be d when I can take the bloody thing off.¡± The tang of onions rides up my sinuses and I try to rub my nose, then realise my damn eye is watering under the patch. Klempner looks over my shoulder. ¡°You don¡¯t have to cook for me, James. I¡¯ll be happy with a cheese roll.¡± ¡°I enjoy cooking. It helps me rx. I could do with some rxation right now.¡± ¡°Fair enough.¡± Klempner turns, grunting as he moves. Mitch pins him with her eyes. ¡°Larry, why are you moving like that?¡± She looks closer. ¡°You''re bleeding. Did Baxter get you?¡± Klempner looks down at himself, seeming surprised. ¡°Oh! Must have done. Um, yes, he did, now I think about it.¡± Mitch is incredulous. ¡°And you forgot something like that. Let me look¡­¡± She plucks at the top he''s wearing, Michael''s, and the fabric gapes open at a clean slice. Mine is underneath and it''s not much better. ¡°Jesus, Larry, these are soaked through with blood.¡± Mitch has a trace of panic on her face. Klempner watches her, apparently unconcerned by the damage to himself. Quite the opposite. He seems gratified by her attention, eyes crinkling as she fusses at him. ¡°Get these off,¡± she says. ¡°Let me have a proper look.¡± He reaches to pull them up, fingers tugging at the bottom hem, then hisses, eyes rising to the ceiling. Content is ? 2024 N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Let me.¡± Mitch hooks fingers under, then lifts. Klempner squeezes eyes, grimacing, as the sodden fabric peels away from the gash underneath; a wicked slice, six inches long, scored from shoulder to chest. At the edges, blood crisped dry resists, plucking at the wound as she peels away the garment. But liquid blood, dark and red, dribbles from the slit flesh. Michael takes the briefest of looks. ¡°That needs a doctor. I¡¯ll go get him¡­¡± He makes as though to leave. ¡°No! No doctors, thank you.¡± Klempner calms, then apologising with his eyes, says, ¡°They have an annoying habit of wanting to know who you are. Just dress it. I¡¯ll heal.¡± Michael shakes his head then runs warm water into a bowl, dumping bowl, soap, clean rags and a tube of antiseptic cream on the table. Then he rummages through drawers before producing gauze, bandage and tape. The bloody tops removed, Klempner''s naked chest is smeared in blood, red by the wound, ck at the edges. He looks down at himself. ¡°It looks worse than it is,¡± hements. ¡°My clothes... Sorry... Your clothes... soaked up the blood and spread it across. Mitch gives him a look calcted to swat flies then, starting at the outer edge, working in, she wipes and cleans, squeezing the cloth into the bowl which swirls red. After only a minute or two, silently, Michael fills another bowl with fresh water and reces the first. The worst of the blood cleaned, the wound can be seen as a clean slit, starting shallow, but slicing deeper. Mitch ps a pad of clean cotton over the top, pressing it in ce with her hand. ¡°It needs stitches.¡± Klempner removes her hand, recing it with his own, face stony. Mitch sits back, a set to her eye. ¡°You behave as though you''ve done this before¡­¡± She halts in mid- sentence, staring at his chest. ¡°Good God, Larry. What have you been doing thest few years? You look as if someone''s been using you as a tic-tac-toe board.¡± Michael weighs in. ¡°Or darts.¡± On a physique bare of any trace of b, apparently constructed from whipcord and leather, Klempner¡¯s chest is crisscrossed with scars, slices and punctures. Some deep and red, some fine white lines. Trying not to be obvious about it, I steal a look to the rear. His back is not much different. Klempner growls. ¡°I''m not a bloody circus show. Mitch, just dress it and then I can get some clothes on again. I¡¯m bloody freezing here.¡± I pick up what¡¯s left of my fleece. ¡°Not in these clothes, you won''t. I''ll get you something else.¡± ¡°It needs stitches,¡± insists Mitch. Michael leans in, peels the cotton pad from Klempner¡¯s reluctant fingers and peers close. ¡°Stopped by the breastbone from going any deeper. It does need stitching, yes.¡± He presses pad and fingers back into ce. ¡°Back in a minute.¡± Klempner scratches at his forehead. ¡°You telling me he keeps sutures in the house?¡± I shrug. Michael returns with a small tube; hands it to Mitch. ¡°Superglue. Use a dot wherever you would stitch but keep to the edges. If it gets onto raw flesh, it''ll hurt like fuck.¡± Mitch looks at the wound. Looks at the tube. Bites a lip. ¡°Can you help.¡± ¡°Course I can. Let me just wash my hands. You get it cleaned out.¡± Michael scrubs soap at his hands under the running tap. Klempner watches him nt-eyed. ¡°You¡¯ve done this before?¡± ¡°Nope. Read about the technique.¡± ¡°Ah, that¡¯sforting. A text-book expert.¡± Michael takes a seat by him. ¡°And where else would I get the practical experience? Except by knowing someone like you.¡± He smiles brightly. ¡°Mitch, you hold the wound closed¡­ Ease the edges together¡­ That¡¯s it¡­¡± Sitting close, his tongue-tip protruding, Michael dots the glue at quarter-inch intervals along the gash... ¡°You can take your hands away now, Mitch. Klempner, move your arm¡­ carefully.¡± Klempner lifts the arm, horizontally, then vertically, teeth gritting as the muscle flexes. Michael, tube still in hand, ¡°Okay, drop the arm. Stay still.¡± Then carefully, he applies more of the glue, dotting between the original spots. He sits back, examines his handiwork. ¡°Okay, Mitch. You can dress it now.¡± Mitch applies cream and gauze then tapes a dressing over the top. ¡°Your scars, Larry¡­¡± Her voice is wondering. She runs fingers over the tracery over his body. ¡°You''ve led a violent life.¡± His voice level, ¡°Stood us in good stead thest day or two though, hasn¡¯t it.¡± Klempner gives the arm another experimental stretch. ¡°Thank you, Michael.¡± The water runs red where Michael rinses his hands. ¡°Just returning the favour.¡± Klempner quirks a smile. ¡°How is your bullet wound now?¡± ¡°Don''t even notice it anymore. I was luckier than James.¡± He jerks his chin to the ruined clothes. ¡°James, could you let him have a fresh tee-shirt and sweater.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± I stand, turning for the door¡­ ¡­ and she¡¯s there. In a long nnel nightie, barefoot, hair loose; she¡¯s pale, but not with the pallor she had before. And she¡¯s carrying the bundled Cara in her arms, turned into her chest. ¡°Charlotte, I thought you were asleep.¡± ¡°I was, but I woke up. No-one was there¡­ Well, just the nurse¡­ I was alone.¡± Her grip around Cara tightens. ¡°You¡¯ll get cold. You should be in bed¡­¡± But she¡¯s not looking at me. Her attention is on Klempner; her eyes travelling the dressed wound, his scarred body. Neither seems to know what to say. Break the impasse¡­ ¡°Hey, Klempner. Would you like to meet your granddaughter?¡± He blinks, stands, walks across. Charlotte shifts, turning Cara for him to see, but keeping a tight hold on her. Klempner holds her eyes, then his gaze drops to the red-faced bundle¡­ His expression¡­ ¡°Well, there¡¯s a raison d¡¯etre for a man.¡± ***** Chapter 19 Chapter 19 Richard James and Klempner, heads close, voices low; they stand together at the end of the hall discussing something¡­ I assume Finchby¡­ The bell rings. I don¡¯t feel quitefortable answering the door in someone else¡¯s home, but James waves me on, his eyes flicking between me and Klempner. I open the door to find myself face to thunderous face with Will Stanton. For a second or two, I hesitate, blocking the view down the hall. Deliberately raising my voice, ¡°Will¡­ Good to see you.¡± I nce back. Klempner exchanges an rmed look with James. ¡°Richard...¡± Will Stanton''s voice booms through the house. ¡°May Ie in?¡± In the hallway, Will stands, legs akimbo, hands sped before him, holding his hat, eyes darting in all directions. James, all casual good manners, strolls down, hand proffered. ¡°Will, thank you for calling by. What can we do for you?¡± Will awards him an old look. ¡°Nice eye patch, James. How did youe by it?¡± James sucks at his teeth. ¡°Why don¡¯t youe into the lounge. We can talk there.¡± James takes his armchair. Will epts the seat offered him on the couch, but his face is set. ¡°The eye, James. What happened?¡± ¡°We received a ransom demand for Charlotte. Richard here provided the money. I delivered it. The kidnappers weren¡¯t gentle in their handling of me.¡± Will absorbs this. ¡°You have Charlotte back?¡± ¡°Yes. She¡¯s safe upstairs, along with my new daughter.¡± ¡°Congrattions.¡± It¡¯s a happy word, but thunder rolls over Will¡¯s upper reaches. He turns to me. ¡°And what were you doingst night, Richard? While this was going on.¡± ¡°I had my own difficulties. Elizabeth went into prematurebour¡­ The upset, you know. The stress. She and Charlotte are very close.¡± ¡°Ahhh¡­¡± Will nods slowly, scratching at an ear. ¡°Is everything¡­?¡± ¡°Elizabeth is fine now. The doctors halted the contractions. But she is resting. I trust you are not going to ask me to disturb her? The doctors were very clear that she must be free from stress over the next few weeks. Would you like some coffee? Tea?¡± ¡°No, thank you, Richard.¡± He sps his hands, winding thumbs one around another. ¡°I have to ask you both what you know about events at one Club Electricst night. Down by the old docks.¡± James takes a moment to reply. ¡°Charlotte¡¯s kidnapper was the owner of that establishment; Finchby.¡± ¡°Is that right? And you went there¡­ Why?¡± ¡°To deliver the ransom money and get Charlotte back.¡± ¡°You realise that I cannot condone paying ransom. It¡¯s ying into the hands of¡­¡± Fire zes in James¡¯ eyes. ¡°I do understand that. It wasn¡¯t your wife inbour and puking her guts up¡­¡± Abruptly, as if by the flick of a switch, his calm returns. ¡°As it emerged, they had no intention of releasing Charlotte. And they were nning to sell the baby for organs¡­¡± Will¡¯s mouth works. He swallows. In a calmer tone, ¡°You said they, not he. Was Finchby working with someone else?¡± ¡°Yes. A man called Baxter.¡± ¡°So, what can you tell me about the fire which has gutted the building and the escape of some forty or so apparently trafficked women and boys from the premises?¡± James¡¯ expression switches to ¡®nd¡¯. So does his voice. ¡°Forty? As many as that?¡± ¡°Yes, I don¡¯t have all the details. Most of them speak no English. What happened?¡± ¡°While we were escaping with Charlotte, Michael and I released the others we found imprisoned. Given Charlotte¡¯s background, I¡¯m sure you understand where we, both of us, stand on the subject of human trafficking and very. As to the fire¡­ I don¡¯t imagine Finchby had too many friends in therest night.¡± ¡°So, Michael was with you too?¡± ¡°He was.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t mention that before.¡± ¡°We¡¯d not reached that point of the conversation before.¡± ¡°Anyone else with you?¡± ¡°Such as?¡± ¡°I couldn¡¯t say.¡± James wears a face as nk of expression as an egg. Wonder if he ever ys poker? Will stares at him hard. James holds the stare and returns it. Must have been a cat in a previous life¡­ Will cracks first. ¡°You should know James¡­. You too Richard¡­ The Mayor is giving me hell. That end of town does not have a good reputation, even at the best of times. After this¡­¡± James cuts in. ¡°Why should Vandervoort give you a hard time? A most disreputable establishment has been very effectively closed down. An organised crime ring has been taken apart. I would have thought Mayor Vandervoort would be delighted about it all. Certainly, he¡¯ll be able to im credit for it. Surely all that has to be good for votes?¡± Will sucks at his cheeks, but the ghost of a smile haunts there. ¡°I''ll suggest that to him.¡± ¡°And of course¡­¡± continues James¡­. ¡°I''ll be happy to give a statement to that effect. Perhaps even to the press¡­¡± He rocks a hand¡­ ¡°Strong policies. Powerful policing¡­ Leadership at the top.¡± His voice trails away. He sits back in his armchair, eyes steady on Will, forefinger pressed to his lips. Will sits back too, inhales deeply, then harrumphs. ¡°Richard, on aplete change of subject, you asked me to look into the situation in Thand, with a view to a holiday there I believe? With Beth, once the baby is born.¡± Oh, Good Lord¡­ Now what? ¡°That''s right.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll admit¡­¡± Will rubs a finger across his chin¡­ ¡°¡­ when you first mentioned this to me, I had concerns. Young wife. Young baby. Thand has a reputation after all.¡± ¡°So it does.¡± ¡°So, as you requested, I made some enquiries for you.¡± A smile ghosts over his face ¡°And¡­?¡± ¡°From what I''m being told by my opposite number over there, Thand has been a busy ce over the last several months.¡± That smile isn¡¯t a ghost anymore. It swims around his eyes. ¡°Busy? In what way?¡± ¡°It appears that someone hasunched a crusade against organised crime over there¡­ The syndicates. The families¡­¡± James leans forward, intent. ¡°¡­ Specifically¡­ this crusade has been against the traders in human traffic. Although it''s in the nature of things that the trade in illegal drugs, protection rackets and suchlike has also been affected.¡± Will is trying hard to keep his face straight. James makes a winding motion with his fingers. ¡°Do go on.¡± Will shifts in his seat. ¡°It began with a number of¡­ of the more unpleasant variety of tourist turning up dead there¡­¡± ¡°The kind looking for the sort of entertainment they can¡¯t legally get elsewhere?¡± ¡°Exactly that kind. ¡­ In each case, the bodies were deposited in some highly public ce, in one case on the frontage to a noted national newspaper." I nce to the side-table where my ¡®City International¡¯ lies folded, waiting to be read. "I don''t recall seeing anything about this in the papers or on the news.¡± ¡°Here, no. You know what they¡¯re like with foreign news. But in Thand and the area, it made the headlines.¡± Will steeples fingers, face intent. ¡°On the first asion, it was treated as a simple robbery with murder. But after the third such incident, the ripples were damaging the trade. It was bing known that a visit to the country might result in more than a simple trip to the brothels¡­¡± He pauses, apparently collecting his thoughts, then, ¡°At that point, our... vignte... turned his attention away from the customers and onto the suppliers.¡± James exchanges nces with me. ¡°Really? Don¡¯t stop there. This is fascinating.¡± ¡°Isn''t it.¡± Will is making no attempt now to hide his grin. ¡°Over a period of months, the heads of several of the criminal families and rings have been assassinated. We can identify at least twelve such cases. There may be more. Whoever our assassin is¡­¡± He pauses again, holding eyes with James¡­ ¡°¡­ he started with the big fish, then worked his way down the food chain¡­ ¡°Piece by piece, and systematically, someone has dismantled the Thai infrastructure in human trafficking.¡± ¡°No doubt¡­¡± I say¡­ ¡°¡­ others will step up to rece those removed.¡± ¡°In time, no doubt, but right now, there is an odd reluctance to do so. With the Garcias family for example, first, the father was executed¡­ in his own vi¡­ by a marksman from a range of over a mile...¡± James leans forward. ¡°A mile?¡± ¡°A mile.¡± Will pauses, lets that sink in. ¡°After that, his eldest son, Chakan, took up the reins. He survived a week. What was left of him was found garrotted in his own bathroom. And then, the second son, Ananada reced him. He vanished three dayster and hasn''t been seen since. So, volunteers for the top jobs are in short supply.¡± Content is ? 2024 N?velDrama.Org. ¡°And no one knows who is responsible for all of this?¡± Will straightens up again, leaning back in his seat. ¡°No one has been identified, no. However, the Thai authorities are of the opinion that, whoever it is, with the knowledge disyed, the pinpoint targeting, it has to be someone who already knew the trade, knew the connections and understood how the network held together.¡± James sucks in his cheeks. ¡°Kind of poacher turned gamekeeper?¡± ¡°You could say that.¡± Will turns brisk again. ¡°For the moment at least, the Thai police find themselves upied dealing with traffic vitions and quarrels between neighbours over whose dog shat in the lawn.¡± James plucks at this chin. ¡°Did your contact have anyment on all of this?¡± Will is deadpan. ¡°Remarkably little in fact.¡± James stares into space, wheels clicking behind his eyes. ¡°Will, why was Finchby¡¯s ce never closed down before? With everything that was going on there and his reputation¡­¡± Will¡¯s mouth presses t. ¡°We tried, several times. Every time, Finchbywyered-up on the spot and¡­¡± His eyes sh the whites¡­ ¡°¡­ friends in high ces put a stop to further investigation.¡± ¡°Hmmm¡­¡± James stands, moves to toast his back with the fire. ¡°Would one of those friends be Diarmuid Powell?¡± Eyes narrowing, ¡°In fact, yes. Why do you ask?¡± ¡°I visited Club Electric two nights ago. Powell was there being entertained by some of Finchby¡¯s workers.¡± Will¡¯s mouth quirks. ¡°Is that a fact? Did he see you?¡± ¡°No, I kept my head down.¡± ¡°Can you prove it then?¡± ¡°Finchby¡¯s security footage will show it. He had cameras everywhere.¡± ¡°In fact,¡± says Will, his words turning slow, ¡°Forensics have been trying to find the security records. So far, they¡¯ve not turned anything up¡­ You wouldn¡¯t know anything about that?¡± James shifts, looking uneasy¡­ Caught on the hop¡­ ¡°I saw aptop in his office. I¡¯m not sure what happened to it.¡± Will holds him, hard-eyed, then me. ¡°Should anything ur to you, either of you about the whereabouts of thatputer, I¡¯ll expect to hear about it.¡± He heaves himself up from the couch. ¡°Anyway, Richard, I''ve taken up enough of your time. I''m sure you''ll be wanting to attend your wife. Do give my best to Beth.¡± Hat in hand, he nods to each of us. ¡°I hope it all goes smoothly for you both.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll see you out.¡± Closing the door behind him, I find James and Michael watching me from along the hall. ¡°Did you hear that, Michael?¡± ¡°I was standing right by the door. I heard everything.¡± ¡°Where is he?¡± ¡°Made himself scarce. Downstairs. I¡¯ll go check what he¡¯s doing. You stay here in case Willes back.¡± ***** Chapter 20 Chapter 20 James But downstairs in my yroom, Klempner is nowhere to be seen. Neither is he in theundry, the boiler room or anywhere else. Finchby has vanished too. Michael regards the empty spot. Clicking a thumbnail against his teeth. ¡°There¡¯s only one way he could have gotten out.¡± ¡°Yes, there is. Michael, Klempner knew the tunnel existed. How long d''you think it would have taken him to find it if he was seriously looking?¡± Hissing through his teeth, he marches across to the hidden exit at the far end of the chamber. A click, the concealed door opens and he vanishes inside. Re-emerging a minuteter. ¡°There¡¯re drag marks where the floor turns to earth. You want to follow them?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think I do. I¡¯m not sure I want to be responsible for whatever happens to Finchby. Besides, I have more immediate things to do.¡± ¡°Such as?¡± ¡°I have a hard drive to clean up before I deliver it to the police.¡± Michael scratches at forty-eight-hour stubble. ¡°I suspect Finchby may not be our problem anymore.¡± ¡°I suspect you¡¯re right. Klempner wanted to question him some more. I doubt he¡¯ll survive the experience.¡± ¡°And Klempner?¡± ¡°He''ll be back.¡± ¡°You think?¡± ¡°Mitch.¡± ***** The following evening, the front door opens and Klempner breezes in as if he had not a care in the world. ¡°James, Michael, sorry to leave you so precipitously. I''m sure you understand why.¡± He¡¯s changed, wearing fresh clothes which look new and fit him well; trousers, a roll-top sweater, jacket and shoes. And he carries a pair of bags, offering one to me. ¡°Yours. Thank you for the loan. I had themundered of course.¡± ¡°Finchby?¡± I ask, cautiously. ¡°... Will trouble you no more.¡± His gaze is direct. ¡°Or for that matter, anyone else.¡± ¡°What did you do with him?¡± His head inclines. He regards me from under his brows. ¡°You really want to know?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°I slit his throat. After he¡¯d told me what I needed.¡± ¡°Buried him in the woods?¡± ¡°No, I want what¡¯s left of him found.¡± His tone turns savage. ¡°I want it known what will happen to anyone who makes any move against my family.¡± He turns calmer again, his smile sunny. ¡°If someone has a quarrel with me, they can discuss it with me.¡± This is Klempner¡­ And I know what he¡¯s done to some of the people who seriously upset him. ¡°I''m surprised you stopped at cutting his throat.¡± He mellows again. Heaves air. ¡°I didn''t want Jenny or Mitch reading something like that in the papers and deciding they were somehow responsible.¡± Footsteps at the end of the hall: Richard, watching, silent. Klempner regards him. ¡°And how is your friend? Commissioner Stanton?¡± ¡°Conflicted, I would say. He blistered my ears before he settled down.¡± Klempner scratches his nose. ¡°I can imagine. Here¡­¡± He proffers the second bag. ¡°I should have given you this before, but we were rather busy. It¡¯s Finchby¡¯s half of the money. I think most of it¡¯s there, minus a¡­ um¡­ finder¡¯s fee to Hickman. I thought that was appropriate. I¡¯ve not recovered Baxter¡¯s half, I¡¯m afraid, yet.¡± Richard stares at the bag. ¡°I assumed I¡¯d never see that again.¡± ¡°No?¡± Klempner cocks his head. ¡°You know what they say about assumptions.¡± *****N?velDrama.Org (C) content. Klempner James and Michael head upstairs. They want to see Jenny of course. Spend some time with her. And the baby¡­ Of course¡­ Haswell¡¯s vanished too. To see his Beth, I suppose. Alone now, I pace the lounge. In one corner, a Christmas tree stands, half-decorated. Close by, a cardboard box overflows with tinsel and paper decorations. Through the window, fog swirls and inside, winter prates. The air is damp with chill, so, forck of anything else to do, I make up the fire. It¡¯s not difficult. A wicker basket contains paper, matches and kindling; the hearth is stacked with logs and there¡¯s already a good bed of ashes, albeit cold ashes. A couple of minutes¡¯ effort produces a bright me and I stack thinnish stove-lengths then thicker logs over it, building it high. A good burn will heat the stonework and then the room. From upstairs, the sound ofughter and chatter drifts. I can pick out Jenny¡¯s voice, excited and happy¡­ Showing off her new baby? James¡¯ much deeper tones rumble down too and asionally the nurse trots past the door, uniform crisp, hat starched. I stand, back to the fire, letting the heat bathe me. The fizz of activity, the buzz of excitement fades. And depression settles over me. Now what? Perhaps I should go? Let them y Happy Families¡­ I should be tracking Baxter¡­ I turn to stand over the fire, leaning with both hands on the mantle, staring down into the mes and where now, wood begins to drop into glowing ashes. ¡°Larry?¡± The voice is soft, mellow¡­ beautiful. I turn. ¡°Mitch, is Jenny alright? And the baby?¡± ¡°Jenny¡¯s fine. She¡¯s caught up on her sleep and she¡¯s having a bath, cleaning herself up properly now. They¡¯ve put Cara in an incubator, but it¡¯s just a precaution while they make sure everything¡¯s working as it should.¡± ¡°An incubator? Here?¡± She smiles. ¡°Richard was busy while he was here. There¡¯s half a medical facility up there. If they needed to, everyone could be whisked away to a clinic or hospital, but unless it¡¯s an emergency¡­¡± She shrugs. ¡°I think he just kept shoving money at them until they agreed to set up here for the meantime.¡± ¡°The joys of having one of the super-rich for a friend¡­ I¡¯m d everything¡¯s alright.¡± It sounds trite, but I don¡¯t know what else to say. She looks at me long, then moving slowly, shees close, raising her hand to my cheek. ¡°Thank you for everything you did.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not finished yet, Mitch.¡± ¡°I know. But thank you anyway.¡± She steps back, holds out her hand. ¡°Come with me.¡± I take it, following her. ¡°Where are we going?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡± She leads me from the house, around to the rear and across a courtyard with what look like stables at one end. To the side of the stables, white-painted walls, set with trellis and roses sprouting at the base. A door, new and freshly painted, furnished with brass handle and knocker, both polished and bright. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± ¡°This is where I live.¡± ¡°Here? I thought¡­¡± ¡°They need their privacy¡­¡± She opens the door, leading me inside¡­ ¡°¡­ And now, so do I.¡± She closes the door behind me, then moves close, stands close, rests her palms on my chest. After a moment she chuckles, pressing her right hand hard against me. ¡°I can feel your heartbeat.¡± ¡°I imagine you can. I¡¯m wondering what¡­¡± She surges closer to me, her arms rising, hooking up behind my neck, seeking my mouth with hers. How could I refuse? And why would I ever want to? The moment is the sweetest I¡¯ve known since¡­ ¡­ since before Jenny was born¡­ Her lips are soft and warm and weing, opening under mine as I slide my arms around her, stoop to meet her. My heart may be banging, but so is hers; hammering through rib and flesh and breast. She breaks away, her eyes on mine. ¡°Twenty years is too long.¡± ¡°Yes, it is.¡± I look around, take in my surroundings; ssic ¡®Mitch¡¯: walls in pale cream painted with flowers, trailing vines, overhanging trees and of course, butterflies. I eye-point a door. ¡°Where does that lead?¡± ¡°The kitchen.¡± Her mouth twitches, then she dimples, turning and aiming a finger. ¡°But that one leads to the bedroom.¡± ¡°You know, I never did see inside your bedroom.¡± ¡°No, you didn¡¯t, did you.¡± She takes my hand again. ¡°Let¡¯s put that right.¡± ***** Chapter 21 Chapter 21 The fog swirls outside the window; the light is already dim. Nheless, she draws curtains, lights a candle. Then another. The light shimmers over her hair, dances in her eyes. Her hands on my chest once more, ¡°You want this?¡± ¡°Mitch, I¡¯ve never wanted anything else.¡± ¡°Good,¡± she murmurs. She tugs at my jacket. ¡°Why don¡¯t you take this off?¡± She slides it from my shoulders, hanging it neatly from a hook on the back of the door. ¡°That too.¡± She nods to my pullover. I strip it off along with the undershirt below, moving carefully to avoid straining the wound. Then I stand, skin goosing, hoping that... Mitch chuckles. ¡°Why don¡¯t we just get ourselves where it¡¯s warm?¡± She reaches under the bed, and something clicks. She wrinkles her nose at me. ¡°Electric nket.¡± Despite everything; the years, the waiting, the wanting¡­ something like bashfulness takes me. I¡¯ve not been celibate in the years between. I¡¯ve scratched the itch when I needed to. But that¡¯s all it was; satisfying an asional physical need. I¡¯ve never made love since¡­ ¡°It feels like Helsinki, doesn¡¯t it,¡± she says. ¡°Yes, it does. Mitch¡­¡± Her eyes twinkle. ¡°No pyjamas though¡­¡± ¡°Are we going to need pyjamas?¡± She strokes my hair. ¡°Get undressed. Get into bed. I¡¯ll do the same. Let¡¯s find each other again.¡± Turning my back to her, I strip off. As I turn, climb between the sheets and under the thick duvet, she¡¯s unclipping her bra, slipping off panties. Naked, her heavy breasts swinging, she slips in beside me. And there we lie, face to face, enfolded in the growing warmth of Mitch¡¯s bed. ¡°So¡­¡± she says, ¡°Where do we begin?¡± ¡°Mitch¡­ I¡¯m not going to keep saying this, but it needs to be said once. All those years ago¡­ I¡¯m sorry I frightened you. I¡¯m sorry I¡­ hunted you¡­ I¡¯m sorry for robbing you of Jenny.¡± Her eyes fall¡­ then rise again, something quirking over her mouth. ¡°You¡¯re not sorry about Frank though, are you?¡± I inhale. ¡°Um¡­ no. If I¡¯m truthful, I¡¯m not at all sorry about that. Thest time I saw Frank, I scared the shit out of him, deliberately so. And no, I don¡¯t regret it at all.¡± ¡°Good,¡± she murmurs. Then, ¡°Larry¡­¡± She curls fingers around my hand, pulling it towards herself, sliding my palm over her breast. My chest tightens but my cock nudges awake. Cupping my hand over the breast, smooth and warm against my skin, with the thumb, I stroke at the nipple. Ites alive under my touch, nubbing. My lips brushing against hers, with the other arm I curve around her waist, pulling her closer. She eases up against me, pressing herself against my burgeoning erection. ¡°Are you warm enough?¡± she murmurs. Owned by N?velDrama.Org. ¡°It¡¯s the warmest I¡¯ve been in days.¡± My fingers still on the one breast, I drop my lips over the other, mouthing at pale skin, fragrant with her scent, nibbling at the nipple, then tugging at it as it crinkles hard between my teeth. That fragrance. Her fragrance. I¡¯ve never forgotten it. She¡¯s breathy, the air escaping her throat in a sound somewhere between a sigh and augh. And at that, my shaft surges, sending waves of pressure through my groin and balls. ¡°Mitch?¡± ¡°I want you inside me.¡± She rolls back, taking me with her and I settle with her thighs parting under me, my harder flesh crowning hers. My erection pressed against her growing heat, her growing wetness¡­ I¡¯m here¡­ She¡¯s here¡­ I don¡¯t want simply to plunge into her. I could. I could open her with fingers, hilt myself and lose myself in her depths. But no, I don¡¯t want that. I¡¯ve waited too long for this. I want to extend the moment. I want her toe for me. I want to hear her as she orgasms, that song she first sang for me so long ago. I disengage¡­ She shifts, protesting¡­ ¡°Larry¡­¡± ¡°Shhh¡­¡± And I slide down her body; her beautiful body. You¡¯ve barely aged¡­ Skin still smooth. Muscle still firm. The breasts perhaps are a little softer than I remember¡­ But of course¡­ you¡¯re a mother¡­ ¡­ and they vibrate with thebined rhythms of her panting and her pounding heartbeat. Gliding slowly south, I trace her outline, my hands curving over the line of a still-narrow waist and broad hips. Her belly is still t. A pale line marks a touch of stretching, but it¡¯s faded, barely visible. I kiss it, then the indent of her navel. And further down, so close, amid the gleaming copper at her loins, threads of silver. She¡¯s scented of a warm musk which clings to my lips as I mouth over her, then continue my journey. She moans as I find her bud, still sheathed, waiting for me. The unfurling seam of her pussy glistens, the flesh swelling, and as I draw my lips over hers, she shivers and gasps. Her thighs are already parted, but now she strains wider, raising herself on the soles of her feet, arching to meet me. Her panting turns to gasping. She¡¯s liquid and liquifying. Hot and heating further. And, already fragrant, her perfume grows stronger by the moment. And I don¡¯t want to wait any longer. Parting her lips with paired thumbs, I open her and plunging my tongue in deep, I revel in the taste of her, the scent of her, the glory of her. Somewhere above me, she¡¯s wailing; a note rising in pitch and volume with every swipe of my tongue, every suck of my lips. She grows louder, the shiver of her flesh growing to a tremble, then a shudder. Her hands are grasping the back of my head, and as I return to her clit, the nails dig into my scalp¡­ ¡°Oh¡­ God¡­¡± Easing back the sheath with a fingertip, exposing the tiny thing, I take it between my lips, pressing with the lightest of touches. She jolts, crying out, and slowly, methodically, opening my mouth over her, I wind the tip of my tongue around her pearl; tiny circles that nudge and knead as, all the while, the tremble of her flesh grows wilder and more uncontrolled. Her pelvis shudders against me, and I nt my hands under her hips, pinning her as I pleasure her. Mitch falls quiet, her body stilling against me, save for a pulsating resonance that grows by the second until¡­ She howls¡­ Her arched thighs and hips and spine, taut and tense¡­ ¡­ her climax gallops through muscle and bone, spilling against my chin and neck and sshing hot over my wrists. I don¡¯t stop. Working her, willing her response, I tease at her sweet spot, extending her pleasure and the moment as long as¡­ ¡°Stop! Oh, Stop¡­¡± She¡¯s calling andughing¡­ ¡°Enough, Larry. Oh, God. Enough!¡± I pull away, kneeling up, resting my hands on her inner thighs. Her smile is broad, her eyes¡­ those wonderful green eyes¡­ wide, and her skin is dewy with perspiration. ¡°Good?¡± I ask. ¡°Oh, God, yes.¡± Her smile turns impish. ¡°I think that makes it your turn.¡± ¡°Indeed it does. But it can be our turn too. Lie back.¡± The smile fades, her eyes fixing on me as I move to cover her, as she moves to take me. Resting on my elbows, my palms cupped behind her shoulders, I ease to her, and against her, and into her. Lips parted, panting a little, she remains, eyes locked with mine until, fully within her, I hold¡­ ¡°Ready?¡± Her lips curve. ¡°Ready.¡± I lower myself, press my lips to hers, then raise myself once more. And I move. Slowly¡­ Very slowly¡­ Easing out, then sinking back into her. And out again. Anchored to her entrance, my shaft throbs, begging for more. For faster. For harder. But not yet¡­ Soon¡­ I push in once more, prating slowly, filling her, my flesh in hers, letting her sheath me. And I withdraw. She¡¯s trembling. ¡°Larry¡­ Please.¡± Again, I lower myself to meet her, brushing my mouth over hers. She opens to take me, a hand to the back of my head, holding me there. And now, our mouths locked, I thrust a little harder and her chest heaves under me. And again, I thrust, harder still, fathoming her as she moans into my open mouth. I move, building a rhythm, building speed and power. Her hips angle and she swings her legs up and around me, tight about my waist. Forcefully now, I plunge into her, ramming home. She¡¯s crying out, moving with me, her body rocking with mine, drawing me in deeper, harder, faster. Spearing her, I drive home, my balls banging against her with every stroke. The rising pressure in my groin electrifies skin and muscle and sinew. Electricity sparkles on the edges of my vision and sweat soaks into my hair, gathers on my forehead. And¡­ It¡¯sing¡­ With a groan, I shoot, my release wracking me in those brief-eternal moments of sheer intensity. Spilling into her, I pulse once, twice, thrice¡­ And with a gasp, I drop my face to rest between her breasts as my heart pounds and my blood hums. We lie together, she with her arms sped around my shoulders, her legs around my waist. At length, as my breathing settles to normal, I roll, taking her with me until we lie side by side. And then, Mitch wrapped in my embrace, I let sleep take me. ***** Chapter 22 Chapter 22 James Breakfast time. Charlotte is up and about, refusing to stay in bed. And, while she is still tired, I see no reason to insist on bedrest. Right now, she will do far better for being back at home and enjoying ¡®family life¡¯. Nheless, I¡¯ve encouraged her to wear a woolly housecoat over the nightie, slippers and bed socks. Hopefully, that will prevent her trying to go outdoors. The fog outside hasn¡¯t cleared yet and I don¡¯t want the damp settling on her chest. She''s too pale. At least, she''s always pale, but that''s her natural colouring. Right now, there''s still that pallid edge to herplexion that I don''t care for. Almost a week of being chained in her own shit. Living on crap junk food. Scared half mindless¡­ Blood loss from the birth... Hmmm... Charlotte sits with Cara on herp, providing her breakfast and Beth sits close by making cooing noises. She¡¯ll enjoy a good breakfast¡­ And with that in mind, I¡¯m at the hob with bacon, fried and scrambled eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, ck pudding and fried bread. I rummage through the fridge, seeking inspiration. It''s barely stocked. We''ve spent thest few days living on food from the freezer. Michael ambles into the kitchen. Freshly showered, clean white tee-shirt, jeans and trainers and looking exactly not as though he spent thest week under horrendous stress, he scans over my cooking area. ¡°Can I help?¡± ¡°Fridge. See what we have to make up a fruit sd. I''d like to get some inside Charlotte.¡± ¡°Good idea.¡± He looks inside then, ¡°It¡¯s like Mother Hubbard¡¯s cupboard in there. I''ll pop across to the hotel. Raid their supplies. Anything besides fruit?¡± ¡°Leafy greens. Spinach. Watercress. Anything like that.¡± ¡°Give me five. I''ll be right back.¡± He returns with an overflowing basket, setting containers one after another on the counter. ¡°Raspberries, blueberries, strawberries. There were oranges too, but Sally tells me she shouldn''t have citrus fruits while she¡¯s breastfeeding. Oh, and this¡­¡± He brandishes a jar. ¡°Some kind of chutney. Apparently, it¡¯s from thest of the green tomatoes a few months back and Sally says she needs guinea pigs for the recipe.¡± ¡°Tell Sally I¡¯ve no guinea pigs in therder and I¡¯d prefer she uses mutton next time.¡± Michael rolls eyes at me then pulls up a chair,paring notes with Richard of the events of the previous days. The coffee pot is producing fragrant steam. I eye the table¡­ Butter, marmde, strawberry jam, milk, cream, muesli, yoghurt, fruit bowl¡­ ¡°How are you doing, Charlotte? I¡¯m nearly ready here.¡± ¡°Done here as well, Master.¡± She ¡®unhooks¡¯ Cara from the breast¡­ ¡°Are you sure this is alright? With the antibiotics?¡± ¡°I was very careful to check they¡¯re giving you something suitable. You need to take them until that chest infection clears, and they¡¯ll do Cara no harm.¡± I set the cooked food on the table. ¡°There you go, everyone. Help yourselves.¡± Everyone pulls up chairs. Michael scoops scrambled eggs onto Charlotte¡¯s te, then tomatoes and bacon. ¡°We should be finishing decorating the tree today and getting up the rest of the decorations. What d¡¯you say?¡± Her answering smile is broad and bright. ¡°I¡¯d love that.¡± Beth taps a long nail on the table. ¡°Charlotte, will you show me how you make those little paper birds.¡± ¡°Course I will. I¡¯ll just need some glossy magazines, something with lots of colour.¡± ¡°Plenty of those in the hotel,¡± says Michael. ¡°I¡¯ll see what¡¯s out of date in Reception¡­¡± He trails off, eyes passing over the table. Heads turn, following his gaze¡­ Mitch stands there, hand-in-hand with Klempner. Both are freshly showered and very obviously, together. Klempner shifts from one foot to the other. Mitch sucks at her lips. ¡°May we join you?¡± For a moment, there is silence, then I stand. ¡°Of course you may. Charlotte, where are your manners? Budge up, make some space for your parents. Michael, set two extra ces, please. Larry, tea or coffee?¡± ***** Mitch barely eats, and what she does eat is one-handedly with fork or spoon. The other hand is below the table, I think, holding Klempner¡¯s. Beside me, Charlotte seems struck dumb. I move close to her, speaking quietly. ¡°So, Jade-Eyes, are you happy? All of your family around you now?¡± She¡¯s blinking, eyes watering. ¡°I¡­ yes¡­ I mean¡­¡± Her face drops. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m very happy. It¡¯s just a bit¡­¡± ¡°Overwhelming?¡± ¡°Yes, that¡¯s it.¡± I kiss her cheek. ¡°You¡¯ll get used to the idea. But you¡¯re not the only one who has to adjust, you know.¡± Her forehead wrinkles. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Your father¡­ Look at him.¡± Klempner sits, sipping coffee, chewing toast, not joining the conversation, looking¡­ lost. One of the most dangerous men in the world, and yet in this simple situation, a family breakfast, Lawrence Klempner doesn¡¯t know what to do. How to fit in. Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. How old were you when your mother was murdered? I lean close to Charlotte again. ¡°Does it ur to you that he may never have done this before? May never have been able to do this before?¡± Charlotte pokes a mushroom through a pool of ketchup. ¡°I¡¯d not thought of it like that.¡± I push the coffee pot across the table. ¡°Larry, I know you have ns, things you need to do, but will you join us for Christmas?¡± ***** Chapter 23 Chapter 23 After clearing up the breakfast dishes, I go looking for Klempner. I find him outside, on the terrace. The fog is clearing and leaning with both hands on the wall, he stares out over the valley, watching wreaths of silver mist twine over theke. I take a ce beside him. ¡°You okay?¡± He turns. ¡°Yes,¡± he smiles, ¡°I''m extraordinarily okay.¡± He looks away, then looks back, meeting my eye. ¡°But we both know I fit in there like a giraffe in a wet suit. However, my thanks for the invitation. I appreciate it. I really do...¡± He picks at a bit of lichen growing on the stonework. ¡°But you''re not ready to settle down with the carpet slippers and the chocte Labrador by the hearth?¡± ¡°No. And as you said, there are things I need to do, dealing with Baxter being the priority.¡± He blows air. ¡°Do you think Mitch will handle that? For some fairly obvious reasons, I can''t stay here long. But even if I could stay, it wouldn¡¯t work. Not long term.¡± ¡°I think you should ask her yourself¡­¡± ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°¡­ But¡­ I suspect that for both of you, simply knowing that the other is there will count for a lot. And besides, if you''re careful, you can visit from time to time. See your daughter, your grand-daughter.¡± He looks at his feet, scuffing at the ground. ¡°I suppose.¡± ¡°Does it ur to you that for Mitch, a¡­ um¡­ part-time rtionship, might appeal?¡± His forehead furrows. ¡°Run that by me again.¡± ¡°Mitch has had men controlling her all her life. Or trying to. She¡¯s enjoying her freedom, especially now she¡¯s earning money¡­ Real money¡­ in her own right. Living a life of her own but having a partner¡­ you¡­ there asionally might just work, for both of you. The two of you would simply spend quality time together.¡± He rubs the back of his neck. ¡°Would that work?¡± ¡°It might. It wouldn¡¯t be for everyone. But for Mitch¡­ And for you¡­ Who knows? Wouldn¡¯t it be worth a try?¡± His head sways, slowly, up and down. ¡°Do you think Jenny will want to see me?¡± ¡°I think so, yes. It might be a bit of a rocky road for a while, but it will be good for her.¡± ¡°And you? Will I be wee here?¡± ¡°For me, yes, you¡¯ll be wee. But for now, will you stay for Christmas? I¡¯m sure Mitch would like that.¡± ¡°Yes¡­¡± He scuffs at the ground. ¡°I think I will. In any case, there are things I need to do here too.¡± ¡°And after that? Back to Thand?¡± He shes me a startled nce, then his smile twists into humour. ¡°Um... Nooo¡­ Not Thand. It''s not a very healthy environment for me just now. No, it¡¯s South America for me next.¡± ¡°Will you keep me informed on that? Anything you learn.¡± ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll set something up so we can stay in contact this time¡­ without you having to rig up my old wiretap again.¡± ***** Klempner At the door, standing ajar, I hesitate, my stomach suddenly dropping away. Have I done enough? With muscles oddly reluctant to move, I tap on the door, very quietly. ¡°It¡¯s open.¡± I push, and too slowly, the door swings wider. Jenny¡¯s sitting in a rocking chair by the window. Her hair, so like her mother¡¯s spills over a thick shawl pulled around her shoulders. A warm nket covers herp. And her face, while pale, has lost that sheen she had when Michael and I found her. And held in her arms, wrapped inyers of knitted woollens¡­ Cara¡­ Your daughter. My granddaughter. I want to say something. Something appropriate, but I¡¯m not sure what it should be. I abused you¡­ Mistreated you¡­ Took my revenge on you¡­ For something you had no involvement in. And as your gaze rises to me, you smile¡­ ¡°Father¡­¡± When did I ever think to see you smile at me? ¡°May Ie in?¡± ¡°Of course you can.¡± She adjusts her position, fiddles with theyers of nkets and then, in a cheek-scalding moment, I realise¡­ Oh, God¡­ She¡¯s feeding her¡­ I don¡¯t know where to look. ¡°My apologies. I didn¡¯t intend to interrupt my granddaughter''s lunch.¡± Female flesh isn¡¯t exactly new to me. Even seeing Jenny giving birth to the baby in her arms was just¡­ biology¡­ But¡­ Breast-feeding? Too personal¡­ Hot around the neck, I spin, trying to find somewhere else¡­ Anywhere else¡­ ¡­ for my eyes to rest¡­ There¡¯s plenty to look at: unicorns charge around the walls in a multicoloured herd apanied by a kind of rainbowed Pegasus above them. A mermaid and frog sit in conversation¡­ I find myself easing one way then the other, trying to get perspective on the frog. It moves¡­ ¡°I see someone let your mother loose with a paintbrush in here.¡± ¡°You recognise it? Her work?¡± ¡°I can spot her touch, yes. She''s still using that trick I see. Making them move.¡± She smiles. It¡¯s almost the loveliest smile I¡¯ve ever seen. ¡°You''ve seen it before.¡± ¡°Hmmm, yes.¡± I shift again watching the thing nod in agreement with the mermaid. ¡°It was a butterfly the first time I saw the trick.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know how she does it.¡± ¡°She told me she¡¯d seen something about cave paintings; how they were intended to be seen by firelight, to give the illusion of moving.¡± Her mouth opens a little. ¡°Will you tell me more like that?¡± ¡°Like what?¡± ¡°About you and Mom. How you met. How you got to know each other.¡± The Past gnaws at me. ¡°You¡¯re sure you want to know?¡± ¡°I think so, yes.¡± But I¡¯ve run out of things to say. Small talk has never been my strong suit, and now, here; in this ce, this situation¡­ I pace the room. She watches me, calm, unspeaking. ¡°Jenny¡­ I¡­ I wish I could change what¡¯s past. I wish¡­¡± She interrupts me. ¡°You can¡¯t change the past. What¡¯s happened, has happened. But you can change the future¡­¡± She tilts her chin. ¡°You¡¯ve already changed the present.¡± And still, I don¡¯t know what to say. Inside I¡¯m tight, cold, but heat rises up my chest and neck. Long seconds pass. Jenny shifts, adjusting the nkets and her clothes as the rocker moves slightly, to and fro. Absently, I notice that the chair also has received the ¡®Mitch treatment¡¯, painted cream, ferns twine up and around the posts and seat. Then she stands, takes a step or two towards me, the baby still in her arms. ¡°Would you like to hold her?¡± Something inside me jolts. ¡°Hold her?¡± ¡°Yes, hold her. She¡¯s your granddaughter. Don¡¯t you want to say hello?¡± My mouth is dry and the heat in my chest disperses to chill. Jenny simply stands there, offering me the cooing, gurgling nket-wrapped bundle. Then her eyes slide past me and I turn to see James, Michael and Mitch, all gathered in the doorway. Uncertain, I look to James. He raises brows, lips twitching. ¡°She¡¯s the mother. It¡¯s her call.¡± Jenny weaves a little as she moves, but Michael steps forward, a hand under her arm. ¡°Take it easy, Babe.¡± And she steps closer, offering her baby to me. My granddaughter¡­ The miniature face is red and wrinkled, as though protesting the indignity of the world. The features are soft and unformed. A drop of milk dribbles from her mouth¡­ She smells milky too, a kind of musty sweetness. Now what do I do? What¡¯s expected? Tentatively, I extend a finger into the bundle¡­ Almost as I touch, another hand, smaller than the end of my thumb, takes hold of my finger, gripping hard. Such tiny fingernails. Jenny presses her to me. ¡°You want to. I can see that. Take her.¡± I¡¯m clumsy. I¡¯ve never done this before, but carefully¡­ For fuck¡¯s sake don¡¯t drop her¡­ ¡­ I cradle her in my arms. Mitch moves close. ¡°Like this.¡± She takes my hand, slipping it under the head. ¡°Her neck muscles aren¡¯t developed yet. She needs support.¡± Then she steps away. The tiny eyes are dark, hazy and, I think not quite focussed on me. A wisp of hair spirals the skull¡­ Dark-haired like her father? Is there a touch of red in there? ¡­ What to say? ¡°Hello, Cara.¡± Jenny says, ¡°It¡¯s not Cara.¡± Crap¡­ How many fucking times can I fucking fuck it up? Can¡¯t even get the name right¡­ ¡°It¡¯s not? I thought¡­¡± Michaeles close, a hand on her arm ¡°Charlotte? I thought¡­¡± There¡¯s hurt in his voice. And confusion. ¡°I thought it was decided? She was going to be named for my mother?¡± Even James is frowning. But Jenny chuckles. ¡°It¡¯s not just Cara.¡± Mitch, a touch of impatience in her tone, ¡°Jenny, you¡¯re not being very clear. None of us¡­¡± ¡°Her name is Cara Deanna.¡± My stomach drops. I take a breath, then another. Michael looks bemused but not unhappy. James looks down, but he¡¯s not hiding his smile. ¡°A good choice, Charlotte,memorating the brave woman who died defending her little boy.¡± ¡­ Her smile¡­ arms outstretched to me. ¡°Larry¡­ Sweetheart¡­¡± ¡°Mommy¡­¡± ¡­ Owned by N?velDrama.Org. And Him¡­ ¡®She''s gone. She¡¯s left. Don¡¯t you get it you stupid little turd? She''s sick of you¡­¡¯ ¡­ ¡­ ¡­ The face, dead¡­ bloated ck¡­ the flies¡­ ¡°Mommy?¡± ¡­ ¡­ ¡°Klempner!¡± It¡¯s James. Shocked, I hurtle back to the present. My heart thumps and the breath shudders in my throat. ¡°You knew about this? The name. Jenny told you?¡± James smiles. ¡°Until now, no. But I do think it is very well chosen. And I for one am proud to have my daughter named for your mother.¡± ***** James Cara¡­ My baby girl¡­ I want to put my thoughts¡­ No¡­ My feelings into words. And I¡¯m struggling. I¡¯m no kind of poet. As an engineer-cum-architect, I have always focussed very much on the here-and- now. Even when Georgie was a baby, I was too busy working to pay the bills to have time for being philosophical. It¡¯s different this time. There¡¯s something I want to say and I¡¯m trying to get it down on paper. I examine my attempt so far¡­ There was a time When I was But you were not And then I was And so were you Until you were But I was not Except a memory Your memory The door clicks open. ¡°Master? ¡°Charlotte.¡± I turn, smiling at my lovely Jade-Eyes, my daughter cradled in her arms. ¡°I¡¯m putting her to bed. I thought you might want to say goodnight first.¡± And quickly, opening the top drawer of my desk, then just as quickly closing it, I hide my attempt at poetry. ***** The Story Continues (For a bit of light relief lol! Simone) In ¡®Kirstie¡¯s Christmas¡¯ And Then In ¡®Predator¡¯ Chapter 24 Kirstie鈥檚 Christmas Chapter 24 Kirstie¡¯s Christmas Three Days Before Christmas The clouds, low, dull and grey, match my mood, and I stare out of the passenger window, not wanting to show my disappointment. Sleet spikes down, spitting onto the windscreen and the wipers squeak, leaving white streaks as they arc across the ss. Ryan, from the driver¡¯s seat,ys a hand on my thigh. ¡°Cheer up. There¡¯ll be others.¡± ¡°I know¡­¡± My throat is unreasonably tight. ¡°It just looked so good in the ad. I¡¯d thought maybe¡­¡± He cuts in, but the cheerful tone to his voice sounds forced. ¡°Vendors are always going to overegg the cake. It did say, Needs Renovation.¡± I huff. ¡°Needsplete demolition and rebuilding would have been nearer the mark.¡± Then, at his answering silence, I realise how waspish I must have just sounded. ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t mean it toe out like that. It wasn¡¯t aimed at you.¡± He squeezes my knee. ¡°I know. Hey, tell you what. We¡¯re not far away. Let¡¯s go say Hi to the happy family. You can deliver your balloon and your card and whatever else it is you have stashed in the back. They¡¯ll dose you with wine and mince pies and we¡¯ll all get into the Christmas spirit.¡± I hesitate. Do they really want my gloomy mood there? Right now? ¡°I¡¯d like that, but...¡± Ryan persists. ¡°We¡¯ll be looking at properties again in the New Year. Who knows what we¡¯ll find then? There¡¯ll be something.¡± I paint on a smile, conscious that it¡¯s a bit watery, but also that Ryan is doing his best¡­ I love you¡­ ¡°You¡¯re right, it would be nice to see them. Charlotte will want to show off her new baby.¡± ¡°Of course she will.¡± My thigh gets another squeeze. ¡°And she¡¯ll want to see you, I¡¯m sure.¡± He releases my leg to steer; towards a turn-off that will take us to the home of James, Michael and Charlotte. As he drives, he casts around, craning upwards through the windscreen. ¡°Looks like it¡¯s going to be a proper white Christmas.¡± ¡°Up the mountain near their house, yes, I should think so.¡± Even here on the low ground the road is sheened white and ck. ¡°You sure that driving will be safe?¡± ¡°If it isn¡¯t, I¡¯ll turn around, but the salt truck should have done its work up there by now.¡± Ryan drives carefully, taking the corners slowly on the zig-zag mountain road. When we left the City this morning, it was already cold, with the tang of frost in the air. Now, ascending all the time, the temperature is falling despite the lowering clouds. The air is frigid, and frozen mist hangs low over the fields. At ground level, the grass and shrubs are thick with rime. But it is stunningly beautiful. Frost picks out individual twigs and stalks, like some spectacr cake icing, and as we climb, grows denser and whiter. After a while Ryan says, ¡°What have they called her? The baby. D¡¯you know?¡± ¡°It was going to be just Cara. But when I rang and asked Beth, she said that at thest minute, Charlotte changed it to ¡®Cara Deanna¡¯, to name her after her grandmother¡­ Her father¡¯s mother that is.¡±Owned by N?velDrama.Org. Ryan lets out air. ¡°That sounds like one family reconciliation that¡¯s reallying together.¡± We turn the final corner and Michael¡¯s spa hotel swings into view: Life and Beauty. Ryan guides the wheels carefully over the iced road surface, curving slowly in through the gates and past a parking lot upied by top-end models. ¡°It¡¯s looking good,¡± hements. ¡°It is indeed. Michael¡¯s making a real sess of it. Mind you, I think he had a head-start with being able to call on Beth Haswell¡¯s rich buddies to get it kicked off.¡± Ryan shes brows. ¡°What it is to be friends with the City High and Mighty.¡± He drives past the hotel and to the rear, pulling up to the side of another vehicle parked in front of the Threesome¡¯s home. ¡°Isn¡¯t that the Haswells¡¯ car?¡± ¡°Yes, it is. I think Richard and Beth are here more or less permanently now. Michael said that Beth and Charlotte keep each otherpany and Richard¡¯s happier that way because it keeps Beth calm. After she almost lost their baby, he¡¯s keeping her where she¡¯s among friends.¡± Ryan sniffs. ¡°Don¡¯t me him. But she¡¯s okay now?¡± ¡°As far as I know, yes.¡± He gets out, stamping at the ground as he walks around the car, then opens my door. I¡¯m still not used to this; being with a man who specialises in old-fashioned courtesy, but it¡¯s nice to ept his hand as he helps me up and out. Opening up the trunk, ¡°Whoops!¡± He snatches at the air, snagging the string of the silvery heli-balloon as it rises out of the trunk, aiming for the moon. ¡°Don¡¯t forget this.¡± He passes me our brightly wrapped Congrattions! It¡¯s A Girl! bag. As he clicks the back of the car closed, ¡°By the way¡­¡± he says, ¡°¡­ Before I put my foot in it, do we know who the father actually is? Or whether it matters?¡± I suck air through my teeth, considering what I know. ¡°Charlotte was never really very forting about that. I think it''s James. And it was James attending the clinic with her while she was pregnant. But I''m not a hundred per cent sure.¡± I shrug. ¡°I really don¡¯t think it matters. If it did, I am sure one of them would have said something. As it is, they have it set up between themselves and everyone seems quite happy.¡± Ryan nods then shivers, wrapping arms around himself. ¡°Hope they¡¯ve got a good fire going inside.¡± Stepping carefully to avoid the iced edges of puddles, at the door I manoeuvre my knuckles under the prickly leaves of a holly wreath to reach the brass knocker underneath. After a few moments, the door opens to the blond, blue-eyed Michael. ¡°Kirstie! Ryan! Great to see you.¡± He steps back, holding the door wide, aiming an arm inward. ¡°Come on in before you freeze.¡± From somewhere inside drifts the sound of a choir singing Silent Night. I hover. ¡°Michael, is it a good time? We were just passing by and¡­¡± He breaks into a broad smile. ¡°It¡¯s an excellent time. Charlotte will be thrilled to see you. She¡¯s showing off Cara to everyone thates by. And¡­¡± He looks quickly back over his shoulder, lowering his voice, ¡°¡­ after everything that happened, we¡¯re doing our best to inject some Christmas spirit. The more the merrier. Now get yourselves inside before any more heat escapes. Here, let me take your coats.¡± He waves us along the hall, heading upstairs himself. ¡°Make yourselves at home in the lounge. I¡¯ll go tell everyone you¡¯re here.¡± Chapter 25 Chapter 25 Michael wasn¡¯t joking about the Christmas spirit. Clearly, we have arrived in the middle of the Threesome¡¯s interrupted festivities. The tiles of the long, wide hallway, running right through the house, are heaped with stacks of holly, ivy and mistletoe. A fir tree, all of ten feet high, its branches tied with string, rests by one wall alongside bricks and a bucket of sand. Another one is already standing at the end of the hallway, framing the staircase and waiting to be decorated. As we enter the lounge, James, looking rakish in an eyepatch, stands on a small set of steps, trailing fairy-lights over the star at the top of yet another tree. ¡°Kirstie! Ryan! Good to see you. We¡¯ll be right with you.¡± He circles the star with the lights and passes them down to the waiting Richard who, on the other side of the tree, loops them once more through the branches. On a side-table are all the signs of Christmas ¡®in action¡¯. Boxes overflow with tinsel and more lights. Glossy magazines are stacked beside another box filled with brightly coloured ornaments. The sideboard is stacked with bottles, choctes and candied fruit, and Congrattions On Your New Baby cards. Arge pink and beige rabbit flops enormous ears over a Wee Cara! tag. ¡°We came to give our Congrattions,¡± I say, nodding towards the disy of cards. ¡°It looks like we weren¡¯t the first.¡± ¡°And to wish you all a Merry Christmas,¡± adds Ryan. James beams. ¡°And both are very wee. Just give us a moment. We¡¯re all but done here.¡± Richard passes the loop of lights back around the tree. ¡°Indeed, they are¡­ That¡¯s thest of this string, James.¡± James grunts, leaning back, surveying his handiwork then, adjusting the star, ¡°Is that on straight?¡± ¡°Yes, it is,¡± says Ryan, epting Richard¡¯s outstretched hand as he disentangles himself from behind the tree. ¡°Merry Christmas.¡± ¡°You too, Ryan.¡± Richard takes me at the shoulders and kisses my cheek. ¡°Happy Christmas, Kirstie. Elizabeth and Charlotte have both been asking if you had been in touch. They¡¯re looking forward to seeing you.¡± My balloon, bobbing on its string, bounces against his face. He chuckles, batting it away. ¡°And I imagine one more balloon will find a home.¡± I stand back, looking square into his face. ¡°How is Beth?¡± A smile folds up into his eyes. ¡°Elizabeth is fine. And so¡¯s Adam, despite his attempt at an early arrival. Right now, she¡¯s spending most of her time with Charlotte, cooing over Cara. And Mitch keeps an eye on both of them.¡± Ryan stands over the fire, rubbing his hands together, then spreads his palms, bathing them in the heat. ¡°It¡¯s good to be with friends when you need some support.¡± ¡°So it is,¡± says James. Charlotte¡¯s tall, dark dom descends thedder, moving carefully, as though he is a little stiff. ¡°I¡¯ll set Charlotte and Mitch loose with the rest of the decorations, now.¡± Then he eyes the still-shivering Ryan up and down. ¡°Hot drink? Coffee? Chocte? Mulled wine?¡± Ryan blows air. ¡°Mulled wine sounds a great idea.¡± ¡°Coming right up.¡± James stoops, cing a poker in the embers at the base of the burning logs. ¡°Sit yourselves down. Make yourselves at home. I¡¯ll be back in a minute.¡± From out in the halles the babble of voices, then the door swings open. Charlotte appears, hugging a nket-wrapped bundle. Then Mitch, followed by the hugely pregnant Beth with Michael supporting her. There is something about the way he touches her¡­ one hand at the elbow, another at the small of her back¡­ What¡¯s happening there? Then I see Richard¡¯s grey-eyed gaze on me. I tilt my head, just enough to ¡®ask without asking¡¯. He smiles and nods slightly. So¡­ A Fivesome now¡­ Quite a family¡­ Michael breaks from Beth to help Charlotte, easing the ¡®bundle¡¯ from her arms as, moving slowly and with care, she takes her seat on the couch. I watch her, trying not to be obvious about it, wanting to get a measure of how she really is. Usually Charlotte vibrates with energy. But just now, there¡¯s a pallid edge to her colouring and she moves as if tired. Close up, her eyes are shadowed. What did they do to her? Beyond her, Michael is watching me, watching her, his face impassive as he passes the bundle back to his wife. She¡¯s safe now¡­ Christmas¡­ Friends¡­ Seating myself beside her, I inject as much enthusiasm as I know how into my voice, ¡°Is this Cara then? Can I see her?¡± Charlotte beams¡­ The chance to show off... And, her face lighting up, quite suddenly, she looks much more herself, her green eyes brilliant with enthusiasm. ¡°Course you can.¡± She flips back a corner of the nket to reveal the tiny few-days-old Cara. Transfixed on her baby, ¡°She¡¯s so beautiful¡­¡± she murmurs. ¡°I still can¡¯t believe she¡¯s real.¡± Her face rises to mine. ¡°Don¡¯t you think she¡¯s beautiful?¡± I regard Charlotte¡¯s baby daughter. Only a few days old, red-faced and with a thin swirl of dark hair, her dark eyes are vague and she blows small bubbles from her mouth. ¡°If I¡¯m truthful, no, I don¡¯t think she¡¯s beautiful¡­¡± Charlotte¡¯s jaw falls ck¡­ Then looking around, I realise everyone is staring at me. Oh, crap¡­ ¡°¡­ but I do think she¡¯spletely adorable...¡± I keep talking, trying to rescue myself from my faux pas¡­ ¡°¡­ Like a puppy that you know is one day going to be all silky fur and sleek muscles. But when they¡¯re just born, they all look like a furry sausage with a leg at each corner.¡± Richard bursts outughing. ¡°But people-puppies are never as cute as the real thing? Is that it, Kirstie?¡± ¡°Um¡­¡± I mumble. ¡°Something like that.¡± My embarrassment is interrupted by James returning, carrying a huge tray. He sets it down on the coffee table. ¡°Help yourselves, folks.¡± ¡°Shall I be Mother?¡± Richard shoos off Scruffy, resting a hopeful snout on the edge of the table, then takes a knife to what looks like arge ptone loaf, snowy with powdered sugar. Examining a slice, he takes a sniff. ¡°Smells good.¡± James shes him a smile. ¡°Always one of my favourite Christmas treats when I was a boy.¡± Then, taking the poker from the ashes, he plunges it into a jug. Steam hisses and deep red bubbles froth up, carrying with them the fragrance of cinnamon, cloves and oranges. James sloshes a measure into a mug, passing it to Ryan, then another to me. ¡°Plenty more where that came from,¡± he says. ¡°Help yourselves.¡± Ryan inhales, gulps, then clicks his tongue. ¡°I¡¯d better stick with just the one. I¡¯ll be driving in a while.¡± ¡°You¡¯d be wee to stay over if you¡¯d like to.¡± James aims a finger at the darkening windows. ¡°It¡¯s not as though there¡¯s much daylight left.¡± Ryan exchanges a look with me then, ¡°Thanks, James, but we don¡¯t have a change of clothes or anything. And I think Kirstie will want to be at home.¡± James nces at me, his forehead furrowing. ¡°Of course¡­¡± His gaze lingers. ¡°Is¡­ something wrong?¡± ¡°No, of course not.¡± But Ryan speaks quickly, and the furrows deepen. My blush is rising again, and I retreat from the conversation, turning back to Charlotte. ¡°Sorry if I sounded rude before¡­¡± But her answering smile is sunny. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s fine. Don¡¯t worry about it. Don¡¯t they always say every mother thinks her own baby is the most beautiful thing in the world?¡± But Richard interrupts us. ¡°Kirstie, you look a little tired. Are you quite well? I know you¡¯ve been out of hospital for a while now but¡­¡± His question is loaded and we both know it. ¡°I''m fine, Mr Haswell.¡± He sniffs and rubs his nose. ¡°We¡¯re not in work, Kirstie. It¡¯s Richard.¡± ¡°Richard. I''m fine, really. But you''re right, I am a bit tired. Ryan and I have been out and about quite a lot recently¡­¡± Michael breaks in. ¡°Kirstie, when you said you were passing by¡­ We¡¯re half-way up a mountain. The only ce you would pass by to would be a ski slope. You don¡¯t have to make up excuses, you know. You¡¯re wee to drop in any time you want to.¡± ¡°Oh, I wasn¡¯t just being polite.¡± I¡¯m floundering. ¡°We really were in the area.¡± Should I have said that? Michael regards me, sucking in his cheeks. I look to Ryan, but he just smiles and shes his eyebrows. Here we go¡­ ¡°The fact is,¡± I say, ¡°¡­ Ryan and I¡­ ¡°We were looking at a property together. It¡¯s not too far away. An old farm¡­¡± Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. All heads swivel my way¡­ ¡°¡­ We¡¯re¡­ we¡¯re looking to buy a ce. Ryan and I are moving in together.¡± ¡°Yay!¡± Michael holds out his arms. ¡°Congrattions!¡± Richard pumps the air with a fist. James looks utterly delighted, as do Charlotte, Mitch and Beth. James stands, heading for the door. ¡°Mulled wine be damned. This deserves champagne.¡± ¡°So¡­¡± Richard props his face against his fist, keen interest writrge. ¡°¡­what kind of ce are you looking for?¡± Spot the property developer¡­ Ryan blows air, shuffling his feet. ¡°So far, the kind we either can''t afford or can''t find. We¡¯d like somewhere with plenty of room for everything. Thinking long-term that is. Kirstie¡¯s apartment is small. And mine was only ever supposed to be temporary¡­¡± His eyes slide my way¡­ ¡°¡­. while we were getting to know each other. So, we¡¯re looking for a minimum of space for two, an office for me and room outdoors for Kirstie''s dogs.¡± Michael, leaning forward onto his knees, alternates between scratching Scruffy¡¯s ear, and feeding him bits of fruit bread. ¡°How do you manage at the moment? In your apartment with four dogs?¡± ¡°I don''t,¡± I say. ¡°I rent a small plot behind the building. I have kennels there for my Gang. And a run so they can get outside while I¡¯m at work. But I''d much rather be able to keep them the way you did when you were looking after them for me. When I saw how happy they were, living here¡­ All that outside space¡­ They could just run in and out whenever they wanted. I¡¯d like to do that for them all the time.¡± Ryan pipes up. ¡°We''ll never afford what we want if we try to buy it outright or in good condition. So, we''re looking for something we could renovate. A project. Perhaps an old farmhouse or a run-down restaurant, like you did. Maybe even one of the old warehouses down by the canal.¡± ¡°That area¡¯s about to be demolished,¡± says Richard. ¡°I wouldn''t aim down there if I were you.¡± Ryan arches brows. ¡°It is?¡± ¡°It is.¡± Richard takes another thin slice of bread, offering it first to Beth. ¡°After recent events, James and I have adjusted the work schedules. We¡¯ve moved that part of the City project right to the head of the queue.¡± ¡°Burning out the rat holes¡­¡± says James¡­ ¡°¡­Ousting the rats.¡± His dark eyes are almost ck. ¡°We¡¯ll get rid of the Finchbys of the world. At least from our part of it.¡± ¡°Speaking of Finchby,¡± says Ryan. ¡°What¡¯s happened to him? Where is he?¡± He looks between the men and falters. James speaks slowly. ¡°You needn¡¯t worry. Finchby won¡¯t be troubling anyone anymore. But I would prefer that you don¡¯t ask how I know that.¡± A short pause¡­ A silence¡­ ¡°Ah¡­¡± Ryan¡¯s head swings around the room. ¡°Um, where is Charlotte¡¯s father? Is Klempner still with you?¡± ¡°Hees and goes.¡± James speaks briskly. ¡°Frankly, I prefer not to know exactly what he¡¯s doing.¡± ¡°James¡­¡± I tap at my eye. Nod to his. ¡°How are you? Not just the eye. I can see you¡¯re not moving properly.¡± James masks over. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± The silence stretches out, growing ufortable. Then I be aware that my billionaire friend and employer is staring out of the window. ¡°Richard?¡± He swings to me, then Ryan, looking thoughtful. ¡°This project you would like to buy¡­ How would you feel about a watermill? Very dpidated. In need ofplete refurbishment. And I do meanplete. But where it is¡­ the setting¡­ is to die for.¡± Ryanys a hand over mine. We don¡¯t need to exchange words. ¡°A watermill?¡± he says. ¡°It sounds marvellous. But where? If there was something like that on the market, I¡¯m sure I would have spotted it by now.¡± Richard sucks in a smile, shoving hands in his pockets and pacing the room. ¡°It¡¯s not on the market, officially anyway. The point is, would you be interested?¡± ¡°Well¡­ I¡¯d certainly like to know more. Where is it?¡± Richard¡¯s eyes twinkle. ¡°It¡¯s not far from here. Want to take a look?¡± Ryan exchanges nce with me. ¡°We both would.¡± ¡°Good.¡± He ponders, then reaches into a pocket, jingling keys. ¡°I¡¯ll drive. Wrap up warm.¡± ***** Chapter 26 Chapter 26 James joins us, stretching out his legs in the passenger seat as Richard takes us down the mountain and back onto the main highway. Then, he curves around the base of the mountain before turning off to follow first a side-road; then a narrow countryne. We pass frozen fields, frigid and sparkling, lined by hedgerows of hawthorn and crab apples, bare of leaves but bright with winter fruit. The fields give way to woond, the trees stretching naked branches towards the thin sunlight filtering under the grey sky. Crossing a humped stone bridge, we cross rushing water; the road narrow enough that Richard slows down, steering carefully to avoid scraping the sides of his car. Then, as we turn a corner, the woond opens up to reveal a huge building; neglected and abandoned, four storeys high, built from brick and stone. Even from here, I can see that the windows are barred, much of the ss broken. ¡°This is it.¡± Richard draws in towards tall steel-bar gates, razor wire looping over the top. One faded sign deres that Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted. Another, the paint peeling from a security camera icon warns, This Area Is Under 24 Hour Surveince. A blue-uniformed guard stands waiting then, as he sees us, pushes the gates open. Richard winds down his window. ¡°All unlocked?¡± ¡°Yes, sir. I opened up all the doors. Would you like me to apany you and your party?¡± ¡°No, that¡¯s fine. We can manage.¡± He drives through, pulling up onto cracked tarmac which vanishes undertles and briars at the edges. What parts of the surface aren¡¯t potholed, are carpeted in lush green moss. Stepping with care to avoid slipping on icy ground, I raise hands to my cheeks, ¡°Oh. My. God.¡± Ryan swings his head, slowly from left to right and back again, turning on the spot through three-sixty degrees. ¡°I¡¯ll give you that one.¡± Standing side by side, our fingersce together as we survey the ramshackle building and thend it dominates. The mill looms above us; the brickwork dark with soot, green-streaked from the guttering. Small trees sprout from cracks and crevices. Ivy both scrambles up from the ground and, perversely, drapes over the wall from the roof. What might once have been a gpole juts out, rusty and bare. Pigeons emerge from broken, grey-ssed windows, to perch on cracked sills. The building is ugly now, but my imagination dances at the thoughts of what it might be. Richard and James remain silent, eyes creasing at our reaction. Once of a day, this was an industrialndscape, but manufacturing andmerce abandoned it long ago, and this vast, sad, beautiful, shabby, amazing ce has all but returned to nature. ¡°It¡¯s huge,¡± I breathe. ¡°About ten thousand square feet in all¡­¡± says Richard. His voice is matter-of-fact. ¡°¡­ when you include all the outbuildings. Plenty of space for anything you¡¯re likely to want to do. Live. Work. Run a restaurant¡­ Hotel¡­ Holiday retreat¡­¡± Ryan toes at turf, scraping it to one side to reveal the round domes of old cobbles underneath. He turns to Richard, arms outspread. ¡°This? All of it? The building and the grounds?¡± Richard, hands deep in the pocket of his long overcoat, nods. ¡°Ah-ha. The mill, the sheds and annexes. About two acres of grounds in total and the river frontage.¡± ¡°Plus¡­¡± adds James, turning up his cor¡­ ¡°¡­ a lot of work.¡± Richard¡¯s mouth quirks. ¡°Go take a look around. There¡¯s a couple of areas that aren¡¯t safe, such as the old pulping pits. And some of the outbuildings are structurally unsound. But all such areas are either locked up or fenced off. So, if you can get to it, it¡¯s safe to enter.¡± Ryan sucks at his teeth. ¡°Pulping pits? What did they do here?¡± Richard shrugs. ¡°It was a papermill originally.¡± He aims a finger towards a corner¡­ ¡°¡­That¡¯s the old wheelhouse¡­ We¡¯re by the side of the river¡­ It¡¯s a mill¡­ ¡­ Of course we¡¯re by the river¡­ ¡°¡­ The wheel provided power at first, then electricity took over and the wheel fell into disrepair. The site was closed when the environmental pollution regtions forced the owners to clean up their act and stop spilling God-knows-what into the water. So now¡­¡± He waves an arm over the glorious ruins¡­ ¡°¡­ Now we have this left. No-one wanted it.¡± He reaches out, grinning, lifting my jaw with a finger. ¡°Mouth closed suits you better, Kirstie.¡± Then, gesturing all around, ¡°Have a wander around, the pair of you. Take a look. See what you think.¡± Hands linked, Ryan and I head for the wheelhouse. We find ourselves on a small terrace area by the water, next to arge brick chamber reaching up twenty feet, and down below the river level. The wheel itself has gone, but the remains of gears and mechanisms remain. Ryan regards the mess of metal and rust, chewing at a lip. Despite the time of year, birdsong echoes around us,peting with the rush of the waters. Ancient willows stoop by the opposite bank, trailing whippy boughs. Beyond that, the trees thicken to woond and the noisy chaos of a rookery. Close by, a squirrel scrabbles at frost-whitened turf, unearthing something, an acorn perhaps. Holding it between paws, he pauses to inspect his unexpected visitors, chitters at us indignantly, then dashes up a tree. Ryan shoves hand into pockets. ¡°What¡¯s your first impression?¡± ¡°I¡¯m¡­ stunned. It¡¯s¡­¡± I swing, waving arms out over the river. ¡°It¡¯s amazing.¡± ¡°But would you want to do it?¡± he insists. ¡°Would you want to live here if we took the plunge?¡± ¡°Are you kidding?¡± I gaze around me at this neglected and forgotten Garden of Eden. ¡°This is my idea of paradise. You. Me. The dogs. In a ce like this? It¡¯s heaven on earth.¡± Ryan smiles his teeth very bright against his light tan and dark eyes. Taking my hand, ¡°Come on, let¡¯s take a better look around. The main entrance is around the other side.¡± Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. ***** Chapter 27 Chapter 27 Chains and padlocks dangle loose from double-doors standing wide. The space inside is dim, beckoning us inside. We enter, stepping between cones of bird droppings into a single open space, taking up what looks like the whole of the ground floor. Daylight filters through clouded ss and cobwebs from the far side. Pigeons scatter as we enter then resettle, cooing protest at our invasion of their private space. Their calls echo with our footsteps as, without speaking a word, we cross the open floor to the murky windows. A quick search through my bag produces a tissue, and I swipe over dust to clear a small viewing hole through the grime, just big enough to peer out and over the river. ¡°We can do better than that,¡±es Ryan¡¯s voice from a few feet away. He¡¯s standing by another set of steel double-doors. Again, a chain dangles free from between the handles and he lifts a locking bar, then swings the doors open. Pale sunlight spills inside, and dust motes sparkle brilliantly in the beams casting to the concrete floor. He wriggles fingers at me. ¡°Together.¡± Hand in hand, we step outside to find ourselves on a stone-gged walkway, edging the water, perhaps twenty feet wide, stretching to the far end of the building one way and to the wheelhouse the other. Beyond the edge, the weir stretches over the river, curving across the water in a smooth arc, a good fifty feet across from one bank to the other. Above the weir, the water is a smooth green pool. Then, in a fall of ten feet of so, it froths and rushes, boiling down to the next level before continuing its journey to the sea. My heart pounds. ¡°This ce must be worth a fortune. How could we possibly afford it?¡± Ryan heaves in air. ¡°It¡¯s only worth a fortune if someone is willing to put in the work. And¡­¡± He swipes a hand through his hair¡­ ¡°I don¡¯t think Richard would have brought us here if he thought it was out of our reach.¡± Footsteps clip behind us: James and Richard, talking quietly as they walk around from the side. James aims a long arm upwards towards some feature, I think, measuring a wall by eye. ¡°How are you doing?¡± he asks as they join us. ¡°What do think?¡± says Ryan. ¡°Could it be rescued?¡± James seems quite rxed. ¡°Oh, yes. The walls are sound. There¡¯s no sign of subsidence I can see.¡± His eye roams upwards to the squabbling pigeons. ¡°I imagine you¡¯d need new timbers throughout and almost certainly a new roof. And you¡¯d want to have the ground checked over for pollutants. I don¡¯t know off-hand what contamination you might have from the paper industry, but we can find out easily enough. The question is¡­¡± He inhales¡­ ¡°How big a project are you willing to take on?¡± His eye travels to me¡­ ¡°And if you have to live here while the work¡¯s on-going, are you willing to rough it for a while?¡± Ryan nods slowly, then turns to me too. ¡°Kirstie, what do you think? Really? Would you be willing to live on what was effectively a building site for a while? And it could be a while. Certainly, several months. Probably longer. This would be a long-term undertaking. It wouldn¡¯t happen overnight.¡± ¡°Yes! I¡¯d do it.¡± I whirl on the spot, hands outstretched. ¡°I love it. I love everything about it.¡± Ryan hooks an arm into mine, then nods to the two men. Excitement ripples behind his voice, blending into apology. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to be rude, but please excuse us for a few minutes. Kirstie and I need to talk.¡± Richard¡¯s lips twitch. ¡°Of course.¡± N?velDrama.Org copyrighted ? content. Ryan tugs me away from the others, then takes me by the shoulders, pulling me around to face him. ¡°Kirstie, no-one¡¯s going to hold you to this at this stage, but are you sure? Really? Are you sure? We¡¯d be almost camping here at first. If we sign up to buy this ce, we¡¯ll not be able to afford to waste money on rent for somewhere else. We¡¯ll have to live here. Like this. And for quite a long time.¡± I set a hand on his, squeezing. ¡°Ryan, I¡¯d stay here in a tent, living on jam sandwiches and weak tea if it meant we could buy the ce.¡± His smile takes his whole face. He kisses my forehead. ¡°That¡¯s my girl.¡± I look up. ¡°Let¡¯s go to the top. I want to see what¡¯s around us.¡± ***** Four floors up, we stand together by an old loading bay. In a house, this might be called a balcony. Here, iron railings are all that stand between us and a sixty-foot drop. Ryan pokes at the rusty bars. ¡°I think we¡¯ll improve on these.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure we will. But look at the view.¡± As far as the eye can see, we look over green fields and treetops, iced silver. One way, the river continues its path to the city and beyond that, to the sea. The other, thend rises inexorably towards the mountain. ¡°You¡¯re really sure?¡± says Ryan. ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s go talk money.¡± ***** We rejoin James and Richard. Both men wait, quiet, but their eyes questioning. ¡°So, who¡¯s the owner?¡± begins Ryan. ¡°And how much do they want for it? You said it¡¯s not actually up for sale.¡± Richard¡¯s eyes twinkle and the obvious strikes me. ¡°It¡¯s yours, isn¡¯t it?¡± I say. ¡°You own it?¡± He chuckles. ¡°Not exactly. But I have been offered the property. The owner is an old friend of mine. Emphasis on old. He¡¯s retired and wants to liquidate his assets. I rather think he sees his remaining time being spent on a beach somewhere rather warmer than this. He asked me if I was interested but I don¡¯t have an immediate use for such a ce. However¡­¡± He blows air. ¡°If you two are interested, I¡¯m happy to act as intermediary for you.¡± ¡°Could you call him, please. Find out what price he¡¯s asking.¡± Richard holds up his mobile. ¡°Already done. He said he¡¯d get back to me within the hour.¡± ***** Back at the Threesome¡¯s home, Michael serves up coffee and cake in the lounge then piles logs onto the fire. Richard¡¯s phone buzzes. He holds up a forefinger and everyone falls silent. ¡°Yes? Ah, Brian, thank you for getting back so quickly¡­¡± His eyes pass to mine. ¡°Yes, I have them with me¡­ Yes? As per the original asking price? Ah¡­ I understand. Yes, I¡¯ll get back to you.¡± He snaps the lid down on his mobile. ¡°That was my old friend, the owner of the mill. He is hesitating because hiswyer has been approached by a third party who has offered him a better price.¡± The cake congeals in my mouth. Ryan sags. ¡°Oh¡­ That¡¯s that then. We can¡¯t get into a bidding war. As it is, we¡¯d be way out on a limb financially¡­¡± Richard Harrumphs, then sniffs. ¡°Not necessarily. There¡¯s more to any offer than the price.¡± I swallow hard, trying to free my mouth of cake. ¡°I¡¯m not with you. What else is there?¡± ¡°Oh¡­¡± Richard lifts arms, opens his palms¡­ ¡°Intended end-use. Reputation of the buyer. Proof of funds¡­¡± My mind whizzes in all directions. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t understand any of that.¡± Richard perches on the end of the couch arm. ¡°As I mentioned, Brian is an old friend of mine. If he genuinely didn¡¯t care what happened to the site, he could have sold the mill long ago¡­ ¡°But he does care. He doesn¡¯t want to see either site or area abused. He prefers not to see the building torn down and reced by ten storeys of boxy white apartments. He does not want to see the site levelled for a shopping centre and the wildlife ousted¡­¡± He takes a mouthful of coffee, apparently considering his words. ¡°And¡­ from the financial angle, he needs proof that any offer is both genuine and realistic: that the buyer can actually back up their offer with either funds in the bank or a mortgage offer from a reputable source¡­¡± He opens his mouth to continue, but his phone rings again. He checks the screen then shes brows at me and raises a finger to his lips. ¡°Yes, what did he say? Right¡­ Okay, that¡¯s not a problem¡­ Yes? When? Alright, I¡¯ll get back to you.¡± He taps off, tapping a forefinger to his chin. Then, jerking his head at the door, ¡°James, could I have a word please.¡± James inclines his head, brow wrinkling, but apanies him out. My eyes meet with Ryan¡¯s, but the moment is broken by Michael standing from his seat. ¡°Eggnog!¡± he announces. ¡°And would you like some more cake? Can¡¯t have Christmas without plenty of both of those.¡± As he exits, the door swings wide behind him and I see Richard and James, their heads close, talking and nodding. ***** Chapter 28 Chapter 28 James and Richard return, both smiling. ¡°So,¡± says Richard. ¡°Here¡¯s where we are. My old associate is keen to get his cash. He¡¯d like more, but he¡¯ll settle for fast. Which means that if you two seriously would like to buy the mill, we¡¯d better get the wheels turning before he has time to change his mind.¡± He looks between us. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°Yes,¡± says Ryan. ¡°But we¡¯re all but on top of Christmas and I¡¯ll need to set up an appointment with my bank to discuss a mortgage. They¡¯ll no doubt want cash projections, surveys and who-knows-what else¡­¡± Richard cuts him short. ¡°Yes, of course they will. Which is why this is my suggestion instead. Let me push this through for you. I just wanted a chat with James here for an idea of how much work is going to be passing from mypany to yours over the next year or so. That gives me something to work with to get a loan fast-tracked for you¡­¡± ¡°But¡­¡± Richard breaks him off again. ¡°Not to put too fine a point on it, if you go through normal channels, your case will be assessed by clerks andputers. The banks will demand so many checks and measures on you that they¡¯ll effectively cripple you for the next five years. If I step in, I¡¯ll side-step the¡­ um¡­ lower echelons¡­ and get an answer for you from the top. You¡¯ll get a better deal and faster. What do you think?¡± Michael cuts in. ¡°Kirstie, Ryan. Why don¡¯t the two of you join us for Christmas?¡± Ryan blinks. I think I do too, at the apparent change in subject. ¡°For Christmas dinner you mean?¡± ¡°That too,¡± smiles the big, blond man, ¡°But what I meant was, stay over the holiday. Go home now, pack yourself a suitcase for a few nights, then stay with us over the period. That way you get a good holiday and you¡¯re right where you need to be if you need to talk with Richard. Or if he needs to talk to you.¡± I¡¯m torn between excitement and reality. ¡°I can¡¯t do that, Michael. It would be great, but I can¡¯t just leave my dogs.¡± Michael waves airily. ¡°Oh, bring the dogs along¡­¡± James¡¯ head swivels his way. Michael ignores it. ¡°As you said, they loved it here. And Scruffy will enjoy thepany too.¡± ***** Two Days Before Christmas For the second time in two days we pull up at the Threesome¡¯s¡­ Fivesome¡¯s? ¡­ home, this time with my Gang of Four in the back, howling enthusiasm as they realise where they are; yapping, barking and baying demands to be let out right now. The door opens to Michael... ¡°Ah, that¡¯s great,¡± he says. ¡°You made it¡­¡± Then he stands back hastily as my Gang barge past him in a hairy, slobbering crowd into their old ¡®home¡¯. ¡°Looks like they remember where they are¡­¡± heughs. ¡°And are pleased to be here too.¡± I kiss his cheek. ¡°And thank you so much for this.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure, Kirstie, to be able to help. And you too Ryan. We were worrying you might be beaten by the snow.¡± He cranes out, scanning the sky. ¡°You got here just in time, I¡¯d say. The forecast says there¡¯s going to be a heavy fall tonight and by the look of those clouds, it¡¯s on the way.¡± Even as he speaks, a fat snowke drifts down, lying on the cold ground like the most delicate ofce. A momentter it is joined by another. And another. ¡°Get yourselves inside,¡± continues Michael. ¡°I¡¯ll show you your room and you can get settled in.¡± ¡°Where do you want these?¡± Ryan hefts his armful of parcels. I disy my bags of bottles, cake and a hastily purchased party-pack for a dozen people. ¡°Just put them on the side for now. We¡¯re still in mid-decorate. The parcels can go under the treeter when we¡¯ve got it all together.¡± He leads us upstairs. ¡°I made up the Green Room for you.¡± His face is suspiciously straight as he opens the door, then steps back, letting us enter first. Oh, my God... The room is lovely; brightly lit from wide windows which overlook the slopes down the mountain. A fire burns in the red-tiled hearth, throwing out a radiant glow as logs drop to ashes. But inexorably, I am drawn to what takes up most of the room: an enormous four-poster bed. Ryan''s eye dance. What a Merry Christmas¡­ Michael¡¯s voice is nd, but behind the facade,ughter bubbles as he points across to another door. ¡°That¡¯s the en-suite through there. I believe James will beying out a buffet in a couple of hours. So, take your time, freshen up and¡­¡± His eyes twinkle¡­ ¡°¡­get yourselvesfortable. We¡¯ll see you downstairs when you¡¯re ready.¡± As he exits, he drops me a wink. Ryan stands by the bed, tracing fingers over the posts, dark timber, carved into heavy twists. His gaze shifts sidelong to mine. ¡°I don''t know about you, but I call that hospitality.¡± ¡°So do I.¡± Before my eyes, he shifts from Lover to Dom. Chin lifting, he takes off his jacket. Despite the travel, his shirt is still crisp, the linen unwrinkled. His hands apparently working independently of his eyes, he slides his tie from the cor, holding it loosely in his hands. The ends dangle, swaying with his breathing. ¡°Kirstie, I wish you to remove your clothes.¡± I see it in his eyes. In his mind, I am already naked for him. The action merely underlines his thoughts. I slip off my boots then turn to face away, sweeping my hair to one side, allowing him ess. Between my shoulders, the fabric tugs as he slips the single top button open then slides down the tab of the zipper. He doesn¡¯t hurry, my Lover, my Master; gliding down, inch by inch, tooth by tooth, until the dress falls open and he slides it over my hips and down. Stepping out of it, I hear the soft rustle as he picks it up, folding it neatly to lie over a chair. Standing straight, knowing what he enjoys, what he wishes from me, I wait until I feel the tug and pull of his touch on the catch of my bra. As it unfastens, he slips the straps from my shoulders, leaving me in nothing but my panties. ¡°Turn around and give me your wrists.¡± As I face him, he is already holding up his tie. ¡°Do I bind you to the bar¡­¡± His eyes cast up to the top post of the bed¡­ ¡°Or will you hold it yourself?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll hold it.¡± My arms raised, fingers curled around the top bar, I stand, wearing nothing but the ckce and silk panties. Despite the heat radiating from the fire, my skin prickles. Ryan moves close behind me, the fabric of his shirt and jacket tickling over my naked spine. One palm resting on my shoulder, he brushes my hair away with the other, opening his mouth over the crook of my neck to shoulder, biting softly. His palms curve around my waist, to right and left, stroking over the slight curve of my stomach. Then gliding down, they ease into the crease of stomach to thigh. Fingertips slide under the flimsy fabric of my panties, smoothing over the skin. Tangling into my curls, circling and spiralling, the fingers coil into the hair which grows warmer and damper by the moment. My lungs shudder and behind my ribs, my heart thumps faster. He presses tight against me to the rear, his shaft hard through his clothes, pushing against me. My pussy flutters, growing warm and fluid¡­ I want you¡­ I want you inside me¡­ The fingers slide down and inwards. He whispers, ¡°Open your legs further.¡± Obediently, I shuffle my feet wider, cool air flowing over my exposed sex as I do so. Your fingers over my clit¡­ Rubbing and teasing¡­ N?velDrama.Org (C) content. Prating me¡­ But he doesn¡¯t prate me. He doesn¡¯t do any of that. His fingertips slide between my thighs, teasing around my sex but not touching. He strokes over mybia with a fingertip. ¡°You want me to finger-fuck you?¡± Then, shifting the fingertip, he grazes over the tip of my clit. Electricity sparkles through me and I jolt, but the finger has gone. I swallow. ¡°Yes, I do.¡± He nuzzles into my neck. ¡°I¡¯m not going to, Kirstie. Not yet.¡± The fingers return, rubbing over hot slippery skin and I pulse inside, but they approach no closer than the fine soft skin of my inner thigh where it folds towards my lips ¡°Oh, God¡­ Ryan¡­ Master¡­¡± ¡°Shhh¡­ I''m not going to fuck you now.¡± He withdraws one hand entirely, trailing a fingertip between my breasts. ¡°You must wait.¡± Finger and thumb tweak at a nipple and arousal skitters down through me. ¡°I know what you want. But you will appreciate it all the more when you have had the opportunity to think on it for a few hours.¡± He squeezes at the nipple, then twists, to the point of pain. ¡°Later, I will bend you over the bed, push my cock inside you and shaft you ¡®til you scream¡­¡± My pussy gushes, pumping hot down my thighs¡­ ¡°¡­ but for now, it remains inside your head¡­ And mine.¡± I¡¯m shuddering uncontrobly, my knees buckling, and I grip the rail just to remain upright. ¡°Ryan, you can''t do this to me.¡± He chuckles. ¡°Oh, but I can, Kirstie. We both know that by now. I can do whatever I want with you. And always, you will enjoy it.¡± Abruptly, he steps away from me, leaving chill air wafting over my spine and buttocks. ¡°You may take a shower now. And change into somefortable clothes.¡± ***** Chapter 29 Chapter 29 Coming down the stairs, my face heating, I brush by Michael. He inhales, eyes crinkling, but he doesn''t look at me, instead, suppressing a smile as he heads up. In the dining room, I find Charlotte and Mitch. Charlotte sits by the fire in an armchair, humming to herself, cradling Cara as though she''ll never let go. Mitch has brush and twigsid out on the table, knotted and intertwined into a tightly woven whole, six or eight feet long. She winds in sprigs of pine, ivy, and holly, glossy and green, and brightly berried. Then she loops in ribbons of red and gold and tartan, twisting and knotting them with a practiced hand into coils and bows. She looks up, eyes brightening. ¡°Ah, Kirstie. Good timing. Can help me with the swags, please.¡± ¡°You look as though you''re almost done.¡± ¡°I am¡­¡± She twists wire through one end, then the other, ¡°¡­ but it takes two to hang them up. You take that end, I''ll take this. Onto the stedders and we''ll snag them onto those hooks over the fire. The swag drapes over the hearth atop the mirror. It smells of resin and winter and¡­ and¡­ Does green have a smell? It does. Green smells like that swag. It smells of the Winter festival when, for as long as people have gathered in the dark of the year, they have brought nature and the Spring indoors as a reminder that soon, the light will return. Green smells of cinnamon and oranges and brandy and apples and cloves. For as long as I live, green will smell of this Christmas. In a final flourish, Mitch winds in a twist of mistletoe, then turning, arches a brow at me and drops a wink. Michael pokes his head around the door. ¡°Ah, there you all are.¡± James enters behind him, carrying a tray, loaded with sandwiches and slices of what looks like fruit bread. Michael perches on the arm of the chair, holding a te while Charlotte takes a bite from a sandwich. His voice is gentle. ¡°How are you doing, Babe?¡± She raises eyes, her green to his blue. ¡°I''m much better today. I''ve barely coughed at all.¡± I¡¯m beginning to feel like a spare part. ¡°Can I help?¡± ¡°Thank you, Kirstie.¡± James unloads his tray onto the table. ¡°Yes, there¡¯s more to bring in.¡± In the kitchen, a pot of tea, steaming peppermint, sits waiting beside a coffeepot. ¡°Crackers are in the cupboard over there,¡± says James, ¡°I¡¯ll get the cheeses.¡± But as I arrange crackers onto a te, James¡¯ mobile rings. He checks the screen then, as he taps in, his eyes flicking to mine, lifts a finger to his lips. Shameless with intrigue, I follow him out to the hallway, remaining silent as he briefly nces into the lounge, then turns away, ambling to the far end of the hallway. Lurking by the door, I eavesdrop. ¡°Ah Eleanor, thank you for getting back to me so quickly¡­ ¡°...Yes, my apologies. I realise it''s somewhat of an imposition at this time of year, but you would be doing me a huge favour... Ah, that¡¯s wonderful¡­ ¡°¡­ Tomorrow then? Christmas Eve? That would be perfect. I¡¯m in your debt. Thank you¡­¡± He pauses, listening again. ¡°Ah, yes. Chad. An excellent idea. It will help settle her in to see a familiar face.¡± N?velDrama.Org (C) content. As he taps off, his eyes crinkle. Pressing the finger to his lips once more, he nods me towards the lounge. I whisper, ¡°What¡¯s that all about? Or shouldn¡¯t I ask?¡± ¡°Charlotte¡¯s Christmas present from me and Michael,¡± he says in a low voice. ¡°We were going to wait until the Spring, but with everything that¡¯s happened, we thought we¡¯d move things forward a little. Give Charlotte something else to think about.¡± ¡°What? Besides having a brand-new daughter?¡± Rocking his hand, ¡°Let¡¯s say, something else to encourage her back onto her feet and get her back in good physical condition. Having just Cara, so tiny and in the middle of Winter, might tempt her to spend too much time indoors sitting down.¡± Time to take the bull by the horns¡­ ¡°James, while it¡¯s just you and me, I wanted to ask, how is Charlotte? Really? What did they do to her? What do the doctors say?¡± He looks to the lounge door then cups a palm under my elbow, steering me away from the lounge door. Then, dropping his voice even further. ¡°She¡¯s going to be fine, but she was in the most appalling condition by the time we reached her.¡± His face tightens. ¡°Even before she was abducted, Charlotte was worrying about the birth. She was very nervous about what wasing. But then, when they took her¡­ The conditions they were keeping her in¡­¡± His voice cracks and he presses fingers to his forehead¡­ ¡°James?¡± The distress in him is palpable. He draws a breath. ¡°They¡¯d chained her to a wall, left her lying on concrete. She was inbour, in the cold and the damp, quite alone.¡± His throat ripples. ¡°Charlotte hasn¡¯t had an easy life. She knows what it is to suffer. But it¡¯s hard to imagine anything worse that could have been inflicted on her. She¡¯s not talking much about it, but she must have been terrified.¡± James¡¯ expression turns bleak. ¡°It¡¯s not something I want to say to Michael, but if Charlotte didn''t want to have another child, I could hardly hold it against her¡­¡± There¡¯s still something¡­ Something more¡­ ¡°James, is that all of it? All that¡¯s bothering you?¡± He swings his head. ¡°No¡­¡± He breathes in. Breathes out. ¡°Of the two men responsible, Finchby¡­¡± He stalls. ¡°Yes? Finchby?¡± ¡°Finchby¡¯s dead.¡± His eyes flick to mine. ¡°And good riddance,¡± I say. Relief washes over his stern, handsome features. ¡°What about the other one?¡± The relief melts away. ¡°Baxter¡¯s still out there. And, so far as we can tell, hell-bent on revenge.¡± What the fuck do I say to that? ¡°Oh¡­¡± The indomitable James¡­ It cuts deep, seeing this man, this powerful, unyielding man, who I have always so respected, so deeply upset. Afraid? No¡­ Not for himself at least¡­ Upset¡­ For Charlotte¡­ He recovers himself. ¡°My apologies, Kirstie. I didn¡¯t intend¡­¡± Iy a hand on his arm. ¡°James, is there anything I can do?¡± He takes the hand, squeezes the fingers. ¡°Be there, Kirstie. Be there for Charlotte. She''s spent most of her life alone. Not having anyone else to turn to. She needs to know there are people here for her.¡± The lounge door opens and Michael exits, giving us a curious look. As though nothing had been said, James, the hand cupping my elbow again, steers me past him and inside. ¡°Kirstie, would you care for some eggnog? Please say yes. Michael¡¯s made enough to float a submarine.¡± ***** Chapter 30 Chapter 30 Ryan takes the winess from my fingers, setting it down on the table. There¡¯s that look in his eye. ¡°Time to retire, I think.¡± I take a shot at demure¡­ ¡°I think so, yes.¡± ¡­ But as his nostrils re, realise I have failed miserably. He presses against my thigh, oh, so lightly¡­ And my already warm pussy purrs. Several hours of waiting and the promise of the kind of incandescent sex Ryan offers, have me teetering on the brink. Which was of course entirely his intention with the day¡¯s earlier performance. ¡°We¡¯re going to bed,¡± announces Ryan. ¡°It¡¯s been a long day for us.¡± Voices call around us. Heads nod. ¡°Of course. Goodnight.¡± ¡°See you in the morning.¡± ¡°Sleep well.¡± I don¡¯t believe I¡¯ll be sleeping for a while yet. As we exit, Michael, eyes creasing, waves towards the tray of drinks on the sideboard. ¡°Take a bottle up with you and a couple of sses.¡± Ryan chooses a bottle of Rioja. ¡°Very civilised of him,¡± he murmurs as we make our way up the stairs. In the bedroom, he closes the door, pushing until the lock clicks. He runs eyes over me. ¡°You may undress, Kirstie.¡± Heat rises in my cheeks. Even as I tug the thick sweater off over my head and my skin gooses, my neck and face are warm. Ryan makes no attempt to remove his own clothes. Instead, he adds a couple of logs to the fire, using bellows and a poker to rouse the mes, then he turns off the ceiling light, leaving us bathed in the firelight. He pours wine red as a holly berry into the two sses then, resting a hip on the end of the bed, sips from one of the sses, watching as I undress. Fire flickers and dances over the slight wave of his hair, raising highlights in amber and gold. His face is calm, almost tranquil, but his chocte eyes too, reflect the mes which glimmer against the dark centres. My beautiful Lover. My Dom. My Master. What do I feel for him? Arousal? Desire? Lust? Love? I shimmy out of my jeans, then kick off thick furry socks. My bra, ck satin andce, I chose because I know Ryan likes the style, which enhances my not-overgenerous breasts. The panties too, high-cut at the thighs to make the best of my long legs, and now damp and fragrant with my own arousal, I chose because I know he likes them. Ryan watches in silence as I hook fingers into the sideces, sliding them down over thighs and calves to leave myself naked save the velvet choker at my neck; his gift to me, the symbol of what binds us. He crooks a finger, beckoning me. Already, my heart beats faster. Moving closer, I stand over him where he sits on the end of the bed. He sips his wine again, then offers it to me. Smooth and dark and heady, it caresses my tongue and throat as I swallow, then pools warm in my stomach. He takes the goblet back from me, then looking up, trails it, cool and smooth, over the line of my chin and neck. My skin prickles and my pulse begins to race. Down to the dip of my cor bone, he runs the ss over my chest, then recing it with a fingernail, descends through the valley of my breasts. The nail strays further, tracing a tight, sharp path over my breasts to a nipple, stiffening now in a combination of cool air and arousal. Ryan pauses, sips more wine, swishing it around his mouth, then setting the ss down, leans in, wrapping his lips around the nipple. My breath jolts at the hot-flesh-chill-wine on my skin. As he cups the breast with a palm, suckling gently, the nipple puckers, hardening further and I hiss at electricity jangling through me. Biting gently, he teases at me with his teeth, plucking and tugging, drawing out my flesh. His free hand glides south, fingertips sliding through the dark hair at the vee of my thighs. The sound of pleasure rumbles from his chest. ¡°Already wet for me, Kirstie. But then, I think you have been wet for much of the day. That¡¯s very good. I like that. It makes it easier for me to decide if I will let youe¡­¡± Oh, God¡­ ¡°Ryan¡­ Master¡­ Please let mee. I¡¯ve been waiting for hours.¡± He rumbles again. ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡± Rising, he releases my breast, but the fingers of his other hand still curl into my loins. He touches the pearl which dangles from the choker. ¡°This¡­ says that I get to decide when and if you wille¡­¡± My knees threaten to buckle, and a hot trickle makes its way down inside my thighs. ¡°Face the bed,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Close your eyes. Spread your arms. Hold tight.¡± I turn, reaching out to grip the bedposts. Behind me, he¡¯s standing close, his body heat on my skin, my naked spine. His clothes brush against me, the woollen fibres of his sweater tickling, the fabric of his jeans scratching my skin. Sweeping up into my hair, he gathers it in, raising it and exposing my neck. Then with a twist, he pins it up. Laying hands on my shoulders, his breath washes over me,ving me in his heat. I quiver at the softness of his lips brushing over me, then the wet heat, and the soft gnawing of his teeth as he mouths over my shoulders, biting gently. My pussy purrs then liquifies. I semi-turn, wanting to return the kiss, but his grip on my shoulders tightens. ¡°You may not move. I have not given you permission.¡± He nips at me, the bite on my neck sharp enough for pain, and I jolt. ¡°I can smell your arousal. I know you are growing ready for me. But you must wait.¡± Wet heat moves down from the nape of my neck to the top of my spine; the soft bite of his teeth, nipping. His hands follow, palming and smoothing over my arms then moving over my breasts and down to my ribs. His palms caress me, but his thumbs dig in, the nails short and blunt, pressing at my skin, sending pinpricks of pain cascading down to ravish my core. ¡°Ryan¡­ Please¡­¡± ¡°Very well.¡± Without warning, he pushes me, t-handed, between the shoulders, pressing me forward and down. Losing my grip on the bedposts, I all but copse, face-down and gasping, onto the mattress. From behind, hands clutch me at the hips, pulling my ass up. In the same movement, boots shove between my ankles, forcing my feet apart. At the rasping of a zipper, my cunt goes into melt-down and I cry out as he plunges into me, ramming home¡­ ¡°Yes, I knew you were ready¡­¡± Full-length, he pistons in. No opening me. No gradual waking of the flesh. I was ready for him hours ago and now, as he fills my body with his, I yelp and cry and howl in a rhythm to match his as my Lover¡­ ¡­ My Master¡­ ¡­ fucks me hard. A hand knots into my hair, pulling back my head, straining me against the other hand nted between my shoulder des. My pussy wells and flows, making a scalding fluid trail down my thighs. And now, the throbbinges, the start of it. ¡°You may Come for me, Kirstie.¡± And released, I ricochet into orgasm, screaming out my rhapsody as repeatedly and again, Ryan sheathes himself deep inside me. Bucking and writhing, I pulse and jerk and quiver my way through climax, only just aware that Ryan has dropped down on top of me, arms clutched around my body as, grinding his hips against mine, he groans and shivers. At length, our heartbeats banging a joint crescendo, each through to the other, we lie, sated and sweating. He nips my earlobe with his teeth. ¡°I call that a good start to Christmas.¡± ***** Christmas Eve Michael strides in, muffled up in a thick roll-neck sweater and a scarf, loaded with firewood. Stacking it by the hearth, he swipes off kes of snow, which promptly thaw and puddle onto the tiles. ¡°I reckon that¡¯s a good two feet of snow that dropped overnight.¡± Beside me, Ryan inhales. ¡°Are we snowed in?¡± ¡°Right now, probably, yes...¡± Michael nudges with the toe of his boot at the heap of dogs lolling in front of the mes. ¡°Budge up you lot.¡± Grumbling, they shift to make room for him. Scruffy yaps protest. Michael grins, bending down to rub his face then, blowing into his palms, holds them over the fire. ¡°¡­ But the snowplough will be along in a while. And in any case, when James stocked up the kitchen, I think he was nning for the arrival of the Mongol hordes. There¡¯s enough in the house to see us through to the New Year. No-one¡¯s going to go hungry.¡± Close by, Charlotte and Mitch sit next to each other at the table, happily making Christmas tree ornaments. Mitch flips through a glossy magazine, admires the photo of a red dress, then rips out the page, folding the paper with practised ease into a multicoloured angel. Charlotte¡¯s father has appeared overnight. No-one seems inclined to mention Klempner¡¯s arrival or discuss where he might have been, so I hold my tongue. He sits at the back of the room, a whiskey ss in one hand, not drinking, just silently watching the two women. No¡­ not both of them¡­ Mitch¡­ His eyes never leave her except briefly to flick one way or another if someone speaks, but always his gaze shifts back to Mitch. There is something in his expression as he watches her, something hard tobel or categorise¡­ Love¡­ Infatuation¡­ Devotion¡­ Obsession¡­ Whatever you want to call it, Klempner watches Mitch as though nothing else exists in the world. Her fingers are deft. One after another, she tears out multi-coloured pages from glossy magazines, advertising perfume, jewellery and expensive bling. Quickly, she folds paper, sharpens creases and tucks in ps, producing miniature sculptures in seconds; little paper birds, angels and unicorns. Charlotte is almost as fast, adding in kaleidoscopic stars and icicles. Beth sits close by, hands sped over her distended belly, watching Mitch and Charlotte. In his turn, Richard, eyes soft, sits next to her, working through some multi-page document¡­. The Mill? ¡­ Pen poised in one hand, he makes small corrections and annotations. The other hand rests on Beth¡¯s, absently stroking her fingers, only breaking away to flick to the next sheet. Making sure she¡¯s calm¡­. She almost lost her baby¡­ Their baby¡­ He straightens up, casts across to me and Ryan. ¡°Nearly done here.¡± Then he eyes the growing pile of origami¡¯d ornaments. ¡°Aren¡¯t you making rather a lot of those?¡± ¡°Three trees to decorate,¡± says Mitch, her voice brisk. ¡°And none of them are small.¡± She waves a roll of gold ribbon at Beth. ¡°Would you like to give us some help here.¡± ¡°Sure. What would you like me to do?¡± ¡°Attach loops of ribbon to hang these on the trees.¡± She points across the table. ¡°You¡¯ll find pins, needle and thread, glue and stapler over there. Use whatever works.¡± Something jolts onto my shoulder, Michael¡¯s huge hand, and I startle. ¡°Kirstie¡­¡± His voice booms by my ear. ¡°How do you feel about some fresh air and helping me get some more holly for the dining room? We¡¯ve run out.¡± ¡°Absolutely. Coming Ryan?¡± He grins. ¡°Great idea. I¡¯ll just get my boots on.¡± Michael turns to Klempner. ¡°You joining us, Larry?¡± The tall, withdrawn man blinks, then nces to Mitch. She shes brows and jerks her head to the door. ¡°Go on, then.¡± I stand and pat my thigh. ¡°Walkies.¡± N?velDrama.Org (C) content. Chaos erupts from the hearth as a kind of Gordian Knot of dogs unravels itself from the rug to leap, howling and squealing, for the door. ***** Chapter 31 Chapter 31 Bitter cold though it is, the outdoors are a joy. We¡¯re high up a mountain of course, so the chances of perfect Christmas weather are good in any case, but the scene outside could have been scripted in from some Dickensian novel. Snow lies, as they say, deep and crisp and even, well up to the knees. Over field and road and garden, it lies drifted up against walls and seats. Air catches in my throat, the chill inting my sinuses, and my breath blows out in blue clouds, then hangs in the air, glinting. The dogs race around, excited and enthusiastic, panting despite the cold. Poor Meg, low-slung and woolly as she is, collects snow on her underside. It balls up to dangle in blobs from her tummy and I keep having to pull them off her. Wonder what it¡¯s like down by the Mill? White water rushing with white foam by even whiter snow¡­ Together we stroll; me, Michael and Ryan, with Charlotte¡¯s father bringing up the rear; around the back of the house and across the courtyard towards the woods. Lucid with cold; the day is blessed with that clear unsullied light you only get when the temperature is well below zero. The sky is a brilliant azure overhead, fading to opal at the horizon. Michael leads us past white hummocks which I know, under the surface, are Charlotte¡¯s vegetable garden. A few tattered greenish spikes stick up out from under the snow. ¡°Remind me on the way back to take in some sprouts,¡± he says. ¡°James was asking for them.¡± The thick nket of snow that fell overnight has frozen until the surface snaps like the iced top of a Christmas cake, and like the best such cakes, its brilliant white crust is highlighted by the dense green of a holly tree with its scarlet berries. ¡°I don¡¯t remember seeing that tree there before,¡± Iment. Michael huffs. ¡°That¡¯s because it was hidden by brambles until earlier this Summer. They¡¯d scrambled up and all but swallowed it. I cleared the space around the tree and it¡¯s paying dividends now.¡± Klempner frowns. ¡°So, why not pick your holly from there?¡± Michael gives him a dry look. ¡°Because I enjoy looking at it. So does Mitch. She can see it from her window and watch the birds eating the berries.¡± Sure enough, when I look again, the tree dangles half-coconuts and fat-balls from its lower branches. A bird table close by homes a storm of small riotous birds. We stomp through the snow, having to lift our feet between steps. ¡°I¡¯ll clear thister,¡± says Michael. ¡°Give Mitch an easier walk back to her ce.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll help with that,¡± says Ryan. ¡°You¡¯re on.¡± Michael points forward and towards the treeline, sweeping out towards the meadows which stretch down the mountain. ¡°There¡¯re several hollies in the hedgerow at the edge of the woond and one really spectacr tree. It¡¯s covered in berries¡­ at least if we beat the birds to it.¡± With each step, the iced surface of the snow snaps, my feet sinking through. It¡¯s like walking on a cross-trainer and my thighs are aching by the time we cross the few hundred yards to Michael¡¯s tree. He¡¯s right though. It is spectacr. Deep green leaves reflect the bright sunshine. Glossy blobs of ice twinkle at the prickles and the branches are brilliant with berries. As we draw closer the sound of squabbling birds rattles over the snow and pping, squawking shapes rise into the air, protesting our presence. Ryan chuckles, ¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯re very happy about us stealing their breakfast.¡± They¡¯re even less happy when the dogs spot them and tear across, barking loudly to chase them off. Stooping, I scoop up a handful of snow, cracking through the crisp surface to get to the softer stuff underneath, then packing it into a hard ball. ¡°Come on you lot!¡± I toss the snowball and it arcs through the air, bursting into icy shrapnel as itnds. The dogs charge after it, a howling, bouncing hairy mass, not looking where they¡¯re going. Michael scrapes up a handful of snow, packing it in his hand to a ball, but as he swings back to throw, the dogs leap. Emma collides squarely with both snowball and Michael''s chest¡­. ¡°Whoa...¡± His arms windmill as he tips back and vanishes under a snowdrift. I''m all but wetting myself withughter. The dogs explode off in all directions, all except for Mac, who runs under the snow with only a moving bulge on the surface and his waving tail to mark his path. ***** All of usden with holly, we return to the house. Klempner looks Michael up and down. ¡°A change of clothes maybe?¡± ¡°No maybe about it. I¡¯m fucking frozen.¡± But the big, handsome blond man isughing. We pass the vegetable garden again. ¡°Sprouts?¡± I say. ¡°Ah, thanks for the reminder.¡± He scans the snow-capped stalks, chooses one and tugs it up whole, by the roots. Then another. This one resists, its feet rooted in the frozen ground. Michael tries again, but when it doesn¡¯te free, produces his pruning saw. He brandishes the cut stalk. ¡°That¡¯s one part of Christmas dinner sorted out.¡± ***** We return to find Richard stapling sheets together, several copies of the same document. Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. James pushes a mug of hot wine into my hands, steaming and spicy. Another into Ryan¡¯s. I suck at it and a warm glow shimmers down through my stomach to fingers and toes. Richard hands me a document; another copy to Ryan. ¡°Here you are. All done. Your purchase contract for the Mill. Read it at your leisure. Take your time, both of you. To expedite matters, I¡¯ve arranged matters so that you would be buying the property from me. Be sure it¡¯s what you want to do. Read it thoroughly and bring me the signed copies.¡± My hands tremble as I take the contract from him. ¡°We buy it from you? But I thought your friend was the owner?¡± He smiles slightly. ¡°If you decide to do this, Kirstie, I will take up my option to buy the property, then you will buy it from me. In practice the two sales will take ce concurrently.¡± ¡°It sounds veryplicated.¡± ¡°Perhaps to you, but I do this kind of thing all the time. I¡¯ve made myself a rich man this way. But, on this asion, it means the two of you get what you want for a far better price.¡± ¡°My office is free,¡± says James. ¡°You¡¯ll be quiet in there if you¡¯d like that.¡± The dogs tumble after us as we head through. Ryan takes a tall leather armchair to read his copy. I commandeer James¡¯ desk. Flipping through the sheets, I speed-read dense paragraphs of legalese. ¡­ where hereby Richard Charles Haswell (hereafter known as ¡®The Vendor¡¯) will sell to Kirstie Jamieson and Ryan Dougherty (hereafter known as ¡®The Buyers¡¯) the property known as ¡®The Mill¡¯ along with suchnds as are marked within the red boundary on the apanying n¡­ My excitement mounting, my stomach flutters and my cheeks are growing warm. I keep reading, scanning quickly, over the pages. The Mill, its contents and environs will be sold for the consideration of¡­ I stare at the sale price¡­ ¡­ And something inside me freezes over. It¡¯s not as though I didn¡¯t know the figure, but somehow, when it was spoken, it didn''t sound so much. The words spilled out, fast and unimportant. Now that I see it in print... Oh, my God... My gut plunges¡­ What am Imitting myself to? The glow in my cheeks turns to a hot flush. But my hands are cold. I gulp at my wine, trying to quell the uneasiness in my belly. Chapter 32 Chapter 32 The Gang picks up my mood, milling around. Archie bounces about, yapping excitedly until Meg snaps at him and he sheers off. Then as the four y at rough-and-tumble under the table, Scruffy joins them and I snap. ¡°Quiet! All of you!¡± The dogs subside and assemble under the desk, panting. Ryan stares at me. ¡°Kirstie?¡± I shouldn¡¯t have done that. They¡¯re only enjoying themselves¡­ Too much wine... That¡¯s what I tell myself anyway. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in a while. I¡¯m taking the dogs out.¡± He starts to rise from the chair. ¡°I¡¯ll keep youpany.¡± I shake my head. ¡°No, it¡¯s alright.¡± He stares after me as I exit the study. Wrapping a thick scarf around my neck and tugging mittens onto hands, I call the dogs and once more they bounce jubntly after me as I head outdoors. I gasp at the frigid wall of air as I open the door. The Gang don¡¯t seem to notice, tumbling out into the snow as I carefully pull the door closed behind me. The icy air and brilliant sunshine are an instant antidote to my ill mood. Around me lies a vast sparkling snowscape, covering grass and shrub and tree, rolling down the mountain to where even theke lies as a single glistening sheet. What do I have to be miserable about? Really? I pace up and down in the snow, watching the dogs ying, racing around in silly circles, barking joyously. What¡¯s wrong with me? Just nerves? Self-analysis isn¡¯t easy. Sometimes one must face unpleasant truths. Is it just nerves? Just anxiety about the biggest purchase I¡¯m ever likely to make? Or is it more? Ryan¡­ I was single for years. Happily so. And then Ryan appeared in my life. I love you. But do I want to be bound to you? Mac digs into the snow, his paws a blur as he excavates a hole, spraying snow backwards and covering Meg and Archie. They¡¯re so happy. Why can¡¯t I catch that mood from them? Something prickles at the back of my neck and I jolt to a stop. I¡¯m being watched¡­ ¡­ Don¡¯t be ridiculous¡­ Cautiously, I scan around. James said Baxter is still out there¡­ Is he watching us? Then the freakingly fucking obvious strikes me. That¡¯s why Klempner¡¯s still here¡­ Something shifts on the edges of my vision and I whirl¡­ And there, silently watching me, is Charlotte¡¯s father. His face impassive, Klempner stands at the back of the terrace, leaning against the wall, cradling a steaming mug as he watches the canine tomfoolery. I feel aplete idiot. ¡°Oh, sorry. I didn''t mean to disturb you.¡± He smiles pleasantly. ¡°You''re not disturbing me. I just wanted some air.¡± ¡°Yes, me too. It¡¯s all a bit¡­¡± I wave my hands uselessly, not knowing how to express my¡­ My what? I don¡¯t know. He regards me for a moment then, ¡°Is something wrong?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine. Just a bit¡­ out of sorts.¡± His brows rise, as though waiting for me to keep speaking. For some reason, I want to fill the silence. ¡°There¡¯s a lot happening all of a sudden.¡± He nods slowly, pursing his lips. ¡°So there is.¡± It dawns on me that perhaps there¡¯s a reason I¡¯m not the only one outside in the bitter cold. Why is he out here by himself? ¡°Are you alright?¡± He shrugs, his smile depreciating, scuffing into the snow with the end of a boot. ¡°Yes, I''m fine too.¡± Then he straightens up, his smile turning brighter. ¡°No, I''m good. It''s just that when I epted the invitation to Christmas, I didn''t really know what to expect. I thought all that¡­¡± He waves back in towards the house¡­ ¡°¡­ stuff just came out of movies. Holly and trees and mulled wine¡­ I never believed it was real.¡± He sips at his drink. ¡°The whole Christmas family thing¡­ is wonderful and they''re making me very wee, but it''s all rather new to me. He sips again. ¡°To tell the truth, I find it all a bit baffling.¡± ¡°Christmas is important,¡± I say. ¡°It''s important to Charlotte, certainly. I don''t think she''s had very many good Christmases.¡± He stares down into his mug. ¡°No, she hasn''t.¡± And I remember who I''m talking to. That this solitary, silent man, is Lawrence Klempner: murderer, terrorist, ver. Charlotte''s terrifying father. Still, he seems civilised enough. And he¡¯s someone to talk to. Someone who¡¯s not too close¡­ ¡°What happened?¡± I ask. He blinks. ¡°James invited me to stay for Christmas. You have a problem with that?¡± ¡°No, of course not. It''s their home. They can invite whoever they want. But it''s not what I meant. I meant, what happened to you? I mean, you¡¯re Lawrence Klempner¡­¡± His lips quirk¡­ ¡°¡­ And yet here you are helping to decorate a tree with Christmas bunnies. You don''t seem like...¡± I stall as I realise both the gross ill-manners of my question and the possible consequences of my asking it¡­ But I¡¯ve started, so I finish¡­ ¡°¡­like what I expected.¡± His voice is mild, tinged with amusement. ¡°What you expected? Yes, in fact I do only have the one head.¡± My cheeks burn¡­ He huffs augh. ¡°James did mention that you''re apt to let your mouth run away with you.¡± Oh¡­ Jeez¡­ ¡°Okay, he''s right. I''m sorry. It was rude of me to speak like that.¡± He sighs, staring out over the snow. ¡°Ask Jenny. She can tell you what happened between us. And you can tell her I gave permission for her to say.¡± His eyes rise to mine. ¡°I¡¯m not about to take offence. What you imply is perfectly true.¡± ¡°Oh¡­ Are you going to tell me your bark is worse than your bite?¡± ¡°Ah... no¡­¡± He inhales, but the amusement is back in his eyes. ¡°I think you''ll find my bite is very much worse than my bark. But it''s not aimed at you, Kirstie. You went out of your way to help Jenny. That''s all I need to know.¡± He rubs his chin, then, ¡°I wanted to thank you for your part in everything that¡¯s happened. Not just the recent events. But before, when you raised the rm with Ben.¡± ¡°Charlotte''s my friend. James and Michael too. Of course I helped.¡± He Hmmms, then, ¡°Is it right that Ben was your boyfriend for a while?¡± I blow air. ¡°Boyfriend? No, not really. I dated him a couple of times, but it was never going to be a long- term thing. And besides, the man had a screw loose.¡± N?velDrama.Org copyrighted ? content. He raises eyes to the blue above. ¡°Can¡¯t disagree with you there.¡± He nods towards my bounding, barking excited pack. ¡°Why so many dogs? If you don¡¯t mind my asking?¡± Iugh. ¡°Why indeed? I never meant to end up with four. But they¡¯re all rescues. They turned up one at a time in different ways. And I¡¯ve always felt that if I help where I can, when it''s my turn to need help, I''ll be able to ask for it.¡± He sucks in his cheeks, setting his mug down on a side wall. ¡°Life doesn''t make those kinds of deals.¡± ¡°I know that. But in my head it''s real, and that''s what counts.¡± He nods; slowly, as though thinking. Then, ¡°Y¡¯know, I¡¯m standing out here in the cold because I¡¯m not naturally very social. What¡¯s your excuse? Why are you out here, when it''s all going on...¡± He jerks a thumb indoors¡­ ¡°¡­in there?¡± ¡°Like I said, I needed some air¡­¡± And as if he¡¯d given me the cue¡­ ¡­ No¡­ the permission¡­ to speak, it alles spilling out¡­ ¡°¡­ Everything that¡¯s happening,¡± I say. ¡°It''s all a bit overwhelming. I mean, the Mill¡­ It¡¯s an amazing ce. It¡¯s absolutely stunning. But I''m signing up to a huge mortgage. And I¡¯m scared I can¡¯t afford it. And even if I can, there¡¯s years of work. What if I''m wrong? Suppose it doesn''t work out?¡± ¡°Work out?¡± Klempner frowns, folding his arms. ¡°With your Ryan you mean? You say you are signing up to a mortgage¡­ But surely it¡¯s the pair of you?¡± ¡°Well¡­ yes¡­ but it¡¯s still the same. What if it doesn¡¯t work?¡± His lips quirk. ¡°You realise I am possibly the worst person in the world for you to ask that question?¡± Of course, he¡¯s right. I don¡¯t know what to say. I inspect my own footprints. There¡¯s a crack showing in one of them¡­ After a pause, Klempner says, ¡°You want him, don¡¯t you? Ryan?¡± ¡°Of course I do.¡± ¡°And you want a ce of your own? Something you can make your own?¡± I nod against half-frozen face muscles. ¡°Oh, yes. I do.¡± ¡°So¡­¡± He raises palms and eyes to heaven¡­ ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡± A fair question¡­ What is the problem? Chapter 33 Chapter 33 I scrutinize that crack in my footprint. Need to get new boots soon¡­ Or I¡¯ll have wet feet¡­ ¡°I''m scared,¡± I admit. His voice is soft. ¡°Of what? Committing? To him?¡± ¡°No, not exactly. What if it all went wrong?¡± I know that I sound like some spoiled child,ining about homework or the wrong cookies with my milk, but the words keeping¡­ ¡°What if I lost my job? Or Ryan was doing badly? If we couldn¡¯t pay, we could lose everything.¡± Klempner shrugs. ¡°So, what¡¯s the difference with that to paying rent for the rest of your life? That¡¯s always going to be money down the drain. If you¡¯re on a mortgage, you¡¯re building it up.¡± He sniffs, scratches his nose. ¡°It seems to me, that you need to sort out your priorities; to decide what it is you really want¡­¡± He¡¯s making a lot of sense¡­ But he keeps talking. ¡°¡­ Too many people go through life making do. If you fuck up what you really want, you could spend the next twenty years of your life regretting it, before you get another chance.¡± ¡°Like you did?¡± His gaze goes distant, staring off down at theke. ¡°Like I did.¡± Why are you talking to me like this? Lawrence Klempner in the role of agony aunt¡­ However, my good sense rules and I keep that thought firmly inside my head where it belongs. But I do keep speaking. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ it¡¯s such a huge amount of money. I¡¯m really worried we can¡¯t afford it.¡± Klempner sucks at his cheeks. ¡°You work for Haswell? Do I have that right? And he¡¯s arranging the purchase for this Mill you want to buy?¡± ¡°Yes, that''s right.¡± ¡°And your Ryan, what does he do?¡± ¡°He owns his ownpany. They make heating and venttion systems. He''s doing a lot of contract work right now for James and Richard.¡± ¡°He¡¯s thepany director?¡± ¡°He is, yes.¡± ¡°So¡­ his files are a matter of public record. Haswell probably has a very good idea of what he''s worth too. And he knows what size of orders Ryan¡¯spany is likely to pull in over the next few years?¡± ¡°I suppose so.¡± Klempner huffs. ¡°There¡¯s no suppose about it. You don''t get into Haswell¡¯s position without having a knack for putting a value on people.¡± He levels a finger at me. ¡°If he thinks you can afford it, you can afford it. And he¡¯s the one offering you the sale and setting the price.¡± Still I hesitate. He lets out air. ¡°Kirstie, you do realise that Haswell''s selling it to you under value?¡± He is? ¡°Richard said he was selling it on at the same price he paid for it.¡± ¡°Perhaps so. But I heard what he¡¯s offering you. With the terms of payment, the agreed interest rate and the time period¡­ he''s¡­ well, if he''s not losing money, he could have made a lot more by following his original ns for the site.¡± ¡°He said he didn¡¯t have any ns for it.¡± He arches brows, tilts his head. ¡°Really? So why do you imagine he had an option on the ce? He heads a multipany international corporation, not a charity for retired friends and impecunious secretaries.¡± My hackles rise. ¡°I¡¯m not a secretary.¡± Then what¡¯s he¡¯s saying to me sinks in. My mind races. ¡°But why would he do that? He¡¯s an important man. He doesn¡¯t have to help me.¡± Klempner shrugs, pursing his lips. ¡°I¡¯ve not truly worked out what¡¯s going on with them all in there¡­¡± He thumbs back into the house¡­ ¡°Jenny, James, Haswell and his wife¡­ But they¡¯re clearly all looking out for each other¡­ Haswell seems a decent enough man. But you can be sure that to be where he is, he¡¯s been ying the game at the edge. Still, he pays his debts¡­¡± I turn his words over in my head. Lawrence Klempner¡­ How much does he know about Richard? And the rest of us? ¡°You talk as though you''ve looked?¡± ¡°Oh, I did.¡± He eye-shes me, suppressing a smile. ¡°Once¡­ in my previous life¡­ I went looking for skeletons on Haswell and I couldn¡¯t find any. So far as I can see, he''s as honourable as big business ever allows.¡± He aims a finger at me. ¡°You helped to protect Jenny, so he''s trying to protect you.¡± He sniffs. ¡°I¡¯d say you¡¯ve been pulled under the collective family wing. Haswell¡¯s making his best effort to do you a favour. A big favour. No offence meant, Kirstie, but there''re not too many women in your position who would be made an offer like that by a man like him; a billionaire, one of the super-rich.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t do that much¡­¡± ¡°You raised the rm when Ben might have murdered Jenny and Mitch. And you identified Baxter as Jenny¡¯s kidnapper.¡± He muses then smiles. ¡°Haswell aside, I¡¯ll not forget that. If you ever need my help, Kirstie, you can remember that I pay my debts too¡­¡± His gaze turns distant again¡­ ¡°¡­ or I¡¯m trying to.¡± Then I realise that he¡¯s not simply staring into space. He really is looking into the distance, scanning over field andke and wood and road. ¡°You¡¯re not just taking the air, are you? You¡¯re watching for something.¡± Klempner nts sidelong at me. ¡°Baxter¡¯s still out there.¡± ¡°You¡¯re worried about him? I thought¡­¡± ¡°Of course I¡¯m worried about him. He¡¯s tried his best to hurt my family, in the worst possible way, as a way ofing back at me.¡± His eyes sh fury. ¡°I have no reason to believe he¡¯s given up on that.¡± He chews his lower lip, staring out and down over the frozen hillside. My mouth drying, ¡°You think he''lle here?¡± ¡°Almost certainly not. He knows I''ll be looking. But...¡± He rocks his hand back and forth... ¡°Just in case...¡± His words hang, half-said¡­ ¡°There¡¯s something else though,¡± I say, ¡°Isn¡¯t there?¡± He curses under his breath, then breathes in, lets it out. He paces, circles, then meets my eyes. ¡°Since we¡¯re sharing problems, Kirstie, alright¡­¡± He swipes a hand back over his head. ¡°Baxter insisted that I betrayed him, and I still don''t understand why. He said I¡¯d abandoned him. Left him for the police. We''ve known each other a long time. He knows I wouldn''t behave like that. Or he ought to.¡± ¡°The two of you were friends?¡± ¡°Not friends exactly, but long-term colleagues. We knew each other well.¡± ¡°Perhaps it''s someone else, then?¡± He blinks, his head inclining. ¡°Like who?¡± ¡°Someone who knows him better than you, perhaps? A partner? A brother? A lover? Someone close enough to get inside his head¡­ Is Baxter married? Is there a wife?¡± Klempner sucks at his teeth. ¡°Not that I¡¯m aware of. But I¡¯ll think about what you say.¡± Hepses into silence and I begin to feel awkward. ¡°You didn¡¯t mention Michael,¡± I say. He shakes his head, jolting slightly. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You talked about everyone else; James, Richard, Beth, Charlotte. You didn''t mention Michael.¡± Larry snorts, but his eyes are cracking augh. ¡°I understand why my daughter is married to Eye- Candy there.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t like Michael? Everyone likes Michael.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t say I don¡¯t like him. I simply don¡¯t think it¡¯s a meeting of minds Jenny was opting for when she married him. It¡¯s not as though he¡¯s the brains of the operation is it?¡± ¡°You¡¯re not being fair on him.¡± He cocks a brow. ¡°You think not?¡± ¡°James may be the one with all the academic qualifications, the letters after his name, but whatever he feels inside, James isn¡¯t good at expressing it well. And he doesn¡¯t always read people properly. But Michael...¡± ¡°Michael¡­ what?¡± Klempner seems genuinely interested. ¡°Michael¡­ has emotional intelligence.¡± The brow rises further. ¡°Emotional intelligence? Really? That''s an idea I have trouble with.¡± ver... Trafficker¡­ Murderer¡­ ¡°I realise that. It doesn''t mean it''s not real.¡± ¡°Yes, I realise that too.¡± He muses. ¡°It''s something Mitch is strong on. Reading people.¡± ¡°Because she was a hooker? I suppose if you can read people it''s got to make you better at the job¡­¡± Then I choke on my own words. ¡°Oh, God¡­ I¡¯m sorry¡­ I didn¡¯t mean¡­¡± But he doesn¡¯t seem offended. More amused. ¡°Perhaps. Still¡­ she didn''t read me right.¡± ¡°You sure of that?¡± Klempner gives me a long, slow look, but doesn¡¯t reply. Am I ying with fire? I opt for cowardice. ¡°In any case, whatever you want to call it; emotional intelligence, empathy¡­ even tact, maybe. It¡¯s not an area of strength for James. The fact is, many people find him a bit¡­¡± I hover over my choice of word. ¡°¡­ scary.¡± Klempner blinks. ¡°They do? James doesn''t seem¡­ scary¡­ to me.¡± Iugh. ¡°I said people, not you.¡± Then the heat rises up my neck. Oh, crap¡­ He remains unoffended. ¡°You do have a big mouth, don''t you, Kirstie. Ever considered engaging your brain before you speak?¡± I sag. ¡°Sorry.¡± He shrugs away my apology. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. I¡¯ll admit, it¡¯s a refreshing change to speak with someone who actually speaks their mind.¡± ¡°Alright then. We¡¯re both out here, standing in the snow. What¡¯s really bothering you? Is it Charlotte? Or Mitch?¡± He heaves in air, gets that distant look again. ¡°I''m unsettled by Jenny''s domestic arrangements, yes.¡± But there¡¯s something else in his eyes. He¡¯s avoiding something. ¡°Why? Because she has two husbands or because James is her Dom?¡± He doesn¡¯t reply. Instead, his eyes slide my way. ¡°Your Ryan¡­¡± ¡°He¡¯s my Dom, yes.¡± His eyes roll further. ¡°Doesn''t anyone around here have a normal rtionship?¡± he mutters. ¡°Like yourself, for example?¡± He huffs augh, but there¡¯s a bitter edge there. ¡°I suppose I have to take that one on the chin.¡± I persist. ¡°Anyway, what''s the problem? What does normal mean? The only real difference between a normal rtionship and a D/s is that between a sub and a Dom, the boundaries of what is eptable are discussed and agreed. Normal couples make it up as they go along and that can lead to all kinds of chaos.¡± He squares on to me, folds his arms. ¡°Are you trying to argue that a¡­ what did you call it?¡± ¡°A D/s rtionship.¡± N?velDrama.Org (C) content. ¡°Alright¡­ a D/s rtionship, is more stable than the standard kind?¡± ¡°It can be, once the parameters are agreed. Trust and honesty are at the core of a D/s rtionship. It''s vital that the Dom understands what the sub can handle. And equally vital that the sub trusts the Dom. But would it be a bad thing to have that at the heart of any so-called normal rtionship?¡± He ponders that. ¡°Are you trying to say that you and Ryan can¡¯t disagree or quarrel?¡± ¡°No, of course not. But I am saying that if we did, it would have to be because we¡¯d not agreed on what could happen between us¡­ I think maybe something like that happened between James and Charlotte in their early days.¡± His head jerks my way, something dangerous in his eyes. ¡°What do you mean? Are you telling me he hurt her?¡± Meg appears at my feet with a stick and drops it at my feet. I ignore her. ¡°No, I¡¯m not telling you that. I don¡¯t know what happened, except that somehow James overstepped the mark. Charlotte left him, but they made it up again.¡± Klempner settles again. ¡°I¡¯m d about that. I¡­ think of James as a friend.¡± Wonder if James feels the same? Meg picks up her stick and with a throaty grumble, shoves it at my knees. ¡°I get that,¡± I say. ¡°You and he have things inmon. To love someone beyond all reason and sense. James would do anything to protect Charlotte. Come to that, I¡¯m sure Michael would too. How would you react if Mitch was threatened?¡± He swings his gaze on me and I step back from the glow in his eyes¡­ Chapter 34 Chapter 34 Meg drops her stick, curls back her lips to disy teeth, bristling and growling. Klempner frowns¡­ ¡°Shhh¡­ It¡¯s alright.¡± I scratch her ears, calm her down. ¡°As I said, she''s a shelter dog,¡± I exin. ¡°A rescue. And they know, more than almost anyone else, that there are monsters in the world...¡± His eyes dart between me and Meg¡­ Dare I say it? ¡°¡­ And some of those monsters walk around looking just like real people.¡± I stoop, pick up Meg¡¯s stick and throw it overarm as far as I can. She races after it, scattering snow behind her, the rest of the dogs in her wake. Klempner rxes, drooping his eyelids, head shaking so slightly. Apology? ¡°Self-knowledge can be unsettling, can it not?¡± hements. But his voice is mild. ¡°So¡­ given that you im to have the answer to the perfect rtionship, returning to the start of our conversation, why are you out here? Agonising over the right thing to do with your Ryan?¡± I don¡¯t have an answer. I settle for prevarication. ¡°Why are you out here?¡± ¡°If you insist, I¡¯m trying to decide how to go forward with Mitch.¡± That was settled¡­ ¡­ Wasn¡¯t it? ¡°You don''t know? I thought you and she were¡­¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t know. You¡¯re right. Mitch was a hooker. But what I wanted from her was never for sale. Not until the day Jenny was in danger. Then she offered herself to me.¡± ¡°And...?¡± ¡°And... I didn''t ept. I didn''t want her on that basis.¡± Enthralled by the revtionsing from this dangerous, fascinating man, ¡°What did you want?¡± ¡°I wanted her to want me. That''s all I ever wanted.¡± Meg returns, carrying her stick, to drop it at Klempner¡¯s feet. He ignores her and she yaps,shing her tail. ¡°So, what¡¯s your problem now?¡± I ask. ¡°The pair of you looked pretty chummy to me when we were inside.¡± He grimaces. ¡°I¡­ never expected to get this far. I¡¯m not sure whates next.¡± He grins, quite disarmingly, then, ¡°Why are you talking to me like this, Kirstie?¡± ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not as though we know each other. Yet you seem prepared to trust me with¡­ personal stuff¡­ And to think about mine.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Why?¡± I nod down to Meg, her toothy grin as she pushes her stick at him again. ¡°Because they do.¡± He casts startled eyes down at my barrel-bodied little girl, then around at the other dogs, cavorting in the snow. ¡°Anyway, I could ask you the same question. Why are you talking to me like this? He considers, then, ¡°James thinks well of you. That suggested to me that you''re worth getting to know. And considering what Haswell is trying hard to put your way, James isn¡¯t the only one to hold you in high regard.¡± ***** Back indoors, energies apparently exhausted, the dogs copse in a heap and peace reigns. Mac, having imed prize ce in front of the fire, lies eyes closed, upside down, all four legs in the air; doing his best ¡®Dead Bluebottle¡¯ impression. Archie nudges up beside him trying, unsessfully, to ease him to one side. Richard regards the pair, expression neutral. ¡°Is that a natural position for a dog?¡± ¡°It¡¯s his favourite,¡± I say. ¡°When he¡¯s chilled out.¡± Mac¡¯s tail twitches and his lips pull back in an up-side- down canine grin. ¡°Will he stay in that position long?¡± ¡°Just until someone offers him food or another¡­¡± I mouth the word silently¡­ ¡°¡­ Walk¡­¡± I sit beside Ryan, kiss him on the cheek. Subdued, he returns the kiss, but his voice is slow. ¡°Is everything alright, Kirstie? You were outside a long time talking with¡­¡± He jerks his head towards Klempner, returned to his seat at the back of the room. ¡°It¡¯s fine. We were just talking¡­¡± ¡°Damn!¡± Michael, on top of a stedder, ces a final branch of holly on the bookshelf. Beth looks up from her paper-folding. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve run out. I was sure we¡¯d picked enough.¡± I reach for my gloves, Archie pricking up his ears as I do so. ¡°I¡¯ll go get some more. The dogs would enjoy another walk.¡± As I utter the W-Word, Mac revolves through one-eighty into an upright position and is back on his feet, tail swishing. Michael blinks, then sucks in a smile. ¡°Thanks, Kirstie. I¡¯ve still not defrosted after thest trip out.¡± Klempner stirs. ¡°Mind if I join you?¡± ¡°Um¡­ sure. If you¡¯d like to. You can reach higher branches than me.¡± As I wind the scarf around my neck, Archie starts yapping and Scruffy, Meg and Emma appear from nowhere. ¡°Ryan?¡± He stares into the fire. ¡°No, I think I¡¯ll stay here.¡± The canine tornado barges past me to the door, blocking my way to the hall. ¡°Let me past, you silly lot.¡± ***** ¡°How about that branch there?¡± I point up at a bough, glossy green with leaves, cheerful and Christmassy with berries. Klempner reaches up past me, snipping at the branch and passing it back down. Iy it on the stack in my basket, then aim upwards again. ¡°Now, that one.¡± The dogs snuffle and scratch, getting under my feet and making a nuisance of themselves. Until, with a sharp yap, Archie announces, Squirrel! And the troop of five bolt off, howling and yelping to the base of a pine. From the safety of thirty feet or so, the squirrel chitters down, spitting insults, then leaps to the next tree and away. The dogs give chase, their howls fading into the distance as they high tail it after their quarry. Klempner eyes the performance. ¡°Is it always like this?¡± N?velDrama.Org (C) content. ¡°Pretty much, yes¡­ That branch there would be a good one. It¡¯s covered with berries.¡± He stretches out with the secateurs, then freezes. ¡°Something wrong?¡± He doesn¡¯t reply, but his eyes are scanning the area behind me. ¡°Larry? What is it?¡± His expression is savage, and something bites in my gut. Baxter¡­ He shoves the secateurs into a pocket. ¡°Get back.¡± Reaching out, he grabs me by the wrist and tugs, pulling me backwards, cing himself between me and¡­ whatever it is¡­ At his words, from behind me, there''s a Crack! Then a muffled rustling from the undergrowth. Klempner¡¯s eyes snap towards the sound and he stares, intent in the spot. Leaves quiver, shedding their load of snow. Reaching into his jacket, he takes out a gun, aiming for the thicket. ¡°You brought that here?¡± I hiss. He tilts his chin up, eyes intent. ¡°That bastard''s still on the loose,¡± he mutters. Then, gun levelled, he stalks to within a few feet of the bush. ¡°Out! Right now. Hands raised.¡± The only response is another shiver of the bush. It¡¯s too low¡­ The movement is only a couple of feet from the ground. ¡°It¡¯s not a man,¡± I say. He jerks a look at me, not dropping his aim Something rumbles from the thicket¡­ A growl? Klempner tilts his head, frowning as the sound repeats. Definitely a growl. ¡°It''s a dog,¡± I say. ¡°Put the gun away and back off.¡± He doesn¡¯t move, so this time, I take him by the arm, easing him backwards. The pitch is low. Whatever¡¯s producing the sound is big. As we retreat a few steps, the owner of the sound emerges. And he¡¯s a whopper. ck, with ginger face markings and eyebrows, this dog could be cast as ¡®Hellhound of the Year¡¯. A Rottweiler, he crouches, body hanging low, earsid t back. His eyes are white-rimmed and his lips pulled back to disy ranks of pristine teeth. He¡¯s terrified. ¡°Keep back,¡± I say. ¡°Let me handle this. And put the gun down. You think he can¡¯t tell a threat when he sees one?¡± ¡°Kirstie, that dog¡¯s not safe. He¡¯s got to weigh above a hundred pounds.¡± ¡°He''s scared stupid. That''s fear-aggression.¡± Klempner keeps his hand on the gun. ¡°That animal could fillet you if he''s of a mind.¡± I keep my voice soft and low. ¡°He won''t. We can''t leave him here. He''d freeze, and besides you get kids around here. The walker¡¯s trail is only a couple of hundred yards up the hill. Now¡­ get back out of his range.¡± I wave him away, trying to make my movements rxed for the dog but urgent enough that Larry pays heed. ¡°Go on. And don¡¯t look straight at him. Move slowly and casually. Nothing¡¯s happening here. There¡¯s nothing important. We¡¯re not threatening him. And put the fucking gun away.¡± This time he does as I ask, tucking the weapon into a pocket, but, I notice, keeping his hand poised close by. ¡°What about you?¡± ¡°I''m female.¡± He screws up his face. ¡°What''s that to do with anything?¡± ¡°As often as not, when an animal¡¯s been abused, it''s a man that did it. Sounds awful I know, but you''ll often find rescues are more scared of men than women.¡± Larry¡¯s brows rise. He doesn''tment but retires a little distance, just in time for the Gang and Scruffy to return from their squirrel hunt. Bursting into the clearing, they swarm in, waggy and panting, over the stranger¡­ who visibly rxes. My Gang rush back and forth, excited and exuberant. Archie is a little unsure, but then he always is if any other male dog shows interest in Emma. Still, he behaves himself, settling for cing himself between Emma and the stranger. The stranger is much more interested in the other dogs than me, whining as they duck back and forth introducing themselves. I wander closer, babbling gibberish at the dogs just to keep talking, looking for somewhere I could sit. There¡¯s an old stump, snow-covered, but I brush it clear with my hand to perch on the edge. Archie and Meg immediately rush up to im my attention and the stranger stands, sort-of following, angling nearer. I talk¡­ Chapter 35 Chapter 35 And I keep talking. ¡°What a nice lot of boys and girls. All these doggies... What a lot of lovely doggies¡­¡± Nonsense words. Not meaning anything. Just a vehicle for a calm voice. Intended to soothe. Designed to disarm. I keep speaking and the stranger brushes by, trying to introduce himself to Scruffy, ignoring me. As he comes close, I let my hand trail over his fur. ¡°ckie. What a nice boy. What a good boy ckie is.¡± His ears are pricking us, and he brushes by again, now exchanging sniffs with Emma. Archie grumbles low and ckie cows, dropping to his stomach. Archie prances up, fur bristling, tail upright and ckie whines then sits by me. His eyes softening by the moment, he pants heavily. Still moving carefully, I take off my belt then make a loop of the end. Holding it loosely in my hand, I let it dangle, very casually, then trail the other hand over his fur. ¡°What a nice boy. What a good boy ckie is. ckie¡¯s far too nice to be nasty.¡± He rxespletely. And as I show him the belt, doesn¡¯t react at all. Moving carefully, I loop it over his head and then slowly stand. ¡°Heel.¡± And he curves around behind me to stand by my right side. ¡°So,¡± says Klempner, from his spot a few yards away, ¡°What now?¡± ¡°I just want to check something.¡± He follows silently as, ckie on his ¡®lead¡¯, I skirt the thicket he was sheltering in. ¡°There¡­¡± I point. ¡°See?¡± ¡°Pawprints?¡± ¡°Pawprints running both ways. Lots of them. He¡¯s been dashing up and down trying to find someone. He¡¯s been dumped. Some bastard¡¯s just left him here and he¡¯s been trying to find them. How does a dog understand that the people he loves would just abandon him?¡± Klempner looks down at ckie, his expression thoughtful. ***** Heads swivel as we walk in. James, Michael and Richard exchange looks. ¡°I¡¯m almost certain¡­¡± says Richard¡­ ¡°¡­ that you left here with five dogs.¡± N?velDrama.Org copyrighted ? content. ¡°And I¡¯vee back with six. Yes, I know. I couldn¡¯t leave him. Someone¡¯s dumped him.¡± Michael looks him over. ¡°He¡¯s a good-looking animal. You think he¡¯s been abandoned?¡± ¡°Happens all the time. He looks about a year old to me. He¡¯s big, but he¡¯s still a bit gangly. Not grown into his paws yet. He was probably thrown out to make way for the Christmas puppy.¡± Charlotte¡¯s voice hisses from the lounge door. ¡°Bastards!¡± ¡°Yup,¡± I reply. ¡°There¡¯s a special ce in Hell for them. I hope they rot.¡± ¡°Where d¡¯you want this lot?¡± asks Larry, wincing away from where a holly branch prickles at his chin. James thumbs him through to the dining room. ¡°In there.¡± He marches through then without ceremony, dumps his load of holly on the tiles. Standing with his back to the fire, ¡°Is there anything hot to drink? I¡¯m fucking freezing.¡± James offers up a whiskey bottle. ¡°Coffee with a ssh?¡± ¡°Perfect.¡± ***** Cradling sses of Irish coffee, Larry and I sit by the hearth. Ryan pulls up a chair. His earlier tension looks to have dissolved, reced by a kind of softness in his eye. He kisses my cheek. ¡°Good for you. But what on earth are you going to do with him?¡± ¡°Blowed if I know.¡± The pack are squirming for position on the rug. ckie circles a bit then sits close, leaning against my leg. Larry regards him, lips pursed. ¡°That was an interesting performance. You¡¯ve done this before? Picked up a strange dog?¡± ¡°Oh, yes.¡± He sips at coffee through a thickyer of floating cream. ¡°That¡¯s a dangerous hobby.¡± I sip at my drink too, then recoil at the burn of the brandying through the cream. ¡°Not so much as you might think. You just have to put yourself inside their heads. You see it a lot with mistreated dogs. They¡¯ve had their trust shattered. They don¡¯t know who they can rely on. They certainly don¡¯t understand why the people who should have loved them treated them that way¡­¡± Meges barrelling in, all authority and bluster. ckie drops and whines. Klempner stares. ¡°That dog could swallow her in two bites.¡± I shrug. ¡°Size is almost irrelevant with dogs. It¡¯s all about dominance and the pecking order. And democracy is a human concept. Not a canine one.¡± I sip more of my coffee, more carefully this time. Caffeine and alcohol sizzle a trail down my throat and my earlobes begin to glow¡­ ¡°¡­ When they¡¯ve been mistreated, they''re scared stupid and they don''t know how to cope. So, theysh out at whoever''s near. That¡¯s how you create a really dangerous animal. But if you make them feel safe¡­ Wanted... Loved... It turns them around. They be what nature always intended them to be. A warm, willing, friendly animal. Part of their group. Fulfilled and happy¡­¡± I gulp at my drink, then aim a finger at my Gang, jostling for position in front of the fire. ¡°Meg there... She was condemned as irredeemably dangerous. They had her on Death Row in the shelter. But once she had the love and care she needed, and she knew she was safe, she changedpletely. She was fine.¡± Klempner sits silently regarding each dog in turn, his eyelids drooping. James appears with a tray. ¡°Works on people too,¡± he says, as though in passing. ¡°Sandwich anyone? Beef and horseradish.¡± As the tray of sandwiches passes overhead, the Gang stir. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of fatty off-cuts in the kitchen,¡± says James. ¡°Can they have them?¡± ¡°Try to stop them,¡± I chuckle. He taps his thigh and the Gang tumble after him. Beside me, ckie lifts his nose, snuffling at the air. Larry casts an enquiring eye at me, half a sandwich hovering in his hand. ¡°Don''t go to him, ¡°I say. ¡°Let hime to you. Then the contact is his idea and made by his choice.¡± He leans forward, as though to offer the treat. ¡°Don''t try to make him take it from your hand,¡± I say. ¡°And no... Don''t toss it at him either. He may have had things thrown at him. Just put it in the floor a little distance away from yourself.¡± He nods slightly, cing the sandwich on the floor. ckie stares at it, then belly to the carpet, he slinks across and wolfs down the offering. Klempner watches the performance, his face unreadable. ¡°Poor bastard. He¡¯s been punished for epting food, hasn¡¯t he.¡± ¡°I¡¯d say so, yes.¡± He tears another chunk from his sandwich, putting it down on the floor, a little closer this time. ckie promptly wolfs it down, then with a groan, sits up against Klempner andys his head on hisp. ***** Chapter 36 Chapter 36 Mitch sits in an armchair by the fire, knitting something small and stripy in rose pink, apple green and primrose yellow. Tucked down beside her, kinda out-of-sight behind the chair, is a huge canvas bag, stuffed tight, balls of green and red wool poking out of the top. ¡°What is it?¡± I ask. ¡°A winter hat for Cara,¡± she smiles. ¡°Another one?¡± says Richard. ¡°How many hats does one baby need?¡± Mitch sucks in her cheeks. ¡°You might be surprised. And besides¡­¡± She gestures toward Beth, her hands neatly folded over her bulging stomach, with the ends of her knitting needles¡­ ¡°It isn¡¯t just one baby is it?¡± Cara, lying in her carrycot, starts crying. Charlotte immediately rises, lifting her out, holding her close, rocking gently and murmuring something quiet. From somewhere outside, there¡¯s a rumble and a tter, perhaps of a vehicle. Michael makes for the window, twitching back a curtain. Charlotte rocks the little girl, trying to soothe her back to sleep. ¡°Who is it?¡± ¡°Just a delivery vane to the wrong ce. I¡¯ll just go redirect them back to the hotel. Sally will be wanting the kitchen properly stocked.¡± But his eyes meet with James, then with Richard¡­ A smooth lie there¡­ upied with Cara, Charlotte doesn¡¯t notice their nce, but the three men make for the door and James gives me the smallest of eye-rolls to join them. Outside, in the hall, he speaks in a low voice. ¡°Kirstie, do me a favour would you. Keep Charlotte upied for a few minutes. There''s something Michael, Richard and I need to do.¡± ¡°Of course I will. You want me to keep her in the lounge?¡± ¡°Upstairs would be better if you can manage it.¡± Back with Beth, Mitch and Charlotte, Cara is still fussing. ¡°Perhaps she¡¯d be better in her bed in the nursery,¡± I suggest. ¡°It¡¯s quieter there and she likes that mobile above her cot.¡± Mitch cranes her neck to the door, then setting the half-finished baby cap to one side, pulls something else, muchrger, out of her knitting bag. It flops, shapeless, over herp in holly green and Santa red. ¡°You could y some music for her too,¡± she says. ¡°Have you noticed that she always calms down when James ys some of that soft ssical?¡± ***** Christmas Day The heap of gifts stacked under the tree is bright with coloured wrap and ribbons. James waves an arm down at the stack. ¡°You¡¯re closest, Michael. You¡¯re in charge.¡± Michael takes a small gilt-wrapped package from the top, checks thebel then offers it out to Beth. ¡°For you.¡± Beth peels off foil and ribbons to reveal what is very obviously, a perfume bottle. She opens it, then smiles brightly at Richard. ¡°It¡¯s lovely, thank you. The old one has almost run out.¡± Michael is already reading thebel on another gaudy parcel, bulky and soft, in the kind of economy wrapping paper you might find in a supermarket or newsagent. ¡°This one¡¯s for you, James.¡± He epts it, raising brows and looking to Charlotte, but she shakes her head. ¡°It¡¯s not from me.¡± He turns over the tag, jagged-edged, perhaps pinked from an old birthday card or simr. His head inclines. ¡°Why, Mitch, thank you. You shouldn¡¯t have. You¡¯re only just getting back on your financial feet¡­¡± Klempner frowns... But she chuckles. It''s a low sound, deep and throaty. ¡°You¡¯d better not thank me yet. You haven¡¯t seen what¡¯s inside.¡± James pauses, suspicion flitting across his features, then slides fingers under tape, easing the parcel apart to reveal somethingrge and brilliantly coloured which flops over hisp. Lifting it, he disys it for inspection. And biting my lip, I turn away while I get my smile under control¡­ That¡¯s what all the knitting was about¡­ Dead-pan, James regards the Christmas themed pullover dangling from his fingers. In fact, it is a particrly fine example of the type. A knitted Rudolph head looks out from the chest. His red nose is a stitched-on, glittery stic bead. I shift, angling to get a better view¡­ Is Rudolph cross-eyed? Yup¡­ Michael meanwhile, is holding another simr parcel. And now that I look, I can see more on the heap of the same kind. Mitch¡¯s eyes crinkle as they meet mine. I can¡¯t resist. ¡°You have to wear it, James. It¡¯s a present. I can see it¡¯s hand-knitted. It must have taken Mitch ages to make.¡± James casts me a look then nods across to Michael and the parcel he¡¯s holding. His voice neutral. ¡°Let¡¯s see what¡¯s in yours.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not mine.¡± His voice equally dead pan, Michael offers the package to Richard, who eyes it like a live snake. Jamesys Rudolph out, smoothing down the front to disy the cross-eyes to best effect. ¡°So, let¡¯s see yours, Richard.¡± Charlotte has found some excuse to turn away and is busy fussing over Cara. Nheless, her eyes flick to where Richard opens his gift. Santa looks out from a frame of holly leaves. His nose is as shiny as Rudolph¡¯s, and again, is a sewn-on extra. Ryan sits beside me, his hand partly concealing his face. ¡°They look very well made.¡± He casts eyes over the base of the tree. ¡°How many more are there like that?¡± Michael looks glum, holding another parcel. ¡°Just the one¡­¡± Mitch frowns¡­ Then he brightens. ¡°Oh, no. Two. Here¡­¡± He grins as he passes a package wrapped in snowman paper to Larry. The pullover is in navy blue. On the front, a grey and white penguin with ck button-eyes wears a stripy, multi-coloured bobble hat. The logo deres that Winter is Coming¡­ Larry holds the offering with all the care of a grenade with the pin pulled out, then his gaze shifts to Michael. ¡°Let¡¯s see yours then.¡± The blond man¡¯s face falls. He opens the final parcel with the air of oneying out his own funeral shroud; another woollen offering, this one muchrger than the previous three, flops out. The festive theme continues with a snowman on a blue-covered background. Hand-sized snowkes with little diamante centres twinkle around him. ¡°You have to try them on,¡± I say, turning to Ryan for support. ¡°They look very well made.¡± Charlotte pipes in. ¡°Yes, a gift from my Mom. Her first Christmas with us. You have to put them on. All of you.¡± Richard turns to Beth, his eyes beseeching, but she simply says, ¡°It would be very rude not to wear them.¡± Then, ¡°You¡¯re so clever, Mitch, doing all that. And without any of us noticing a thing.¡±. Her expression is innocence itself, but Richard casts her a sharp look.N?velDrama.Org copyrighted ? content. Chapter 37 Chapter 37 The four men exchange wary expressions, none of them exactly moving, but all shifting in their seats. Michael caves first. He fills his lungs then, pulling the creation over his head, tugs it into ce. The pullover is a perfect fit on chest and arm and only the Let It Snow logo looks in any way out of ce. As he moves, James, Richard and Larry unfreeze, donning their joke-wear. All sit, refusing to meet each other¡¯s eyes. Finally, Richard says, ¡°Well, at least we know the worst is over.¡± Mitch¡¯s mouth twitches and she whips something from her pocket, aiming at him: a small control panel. She squeezes a button and Santa¡¯s nose starts shing in time to the tune of Deck The Halls With Boughs Of Holly¡­ Charlotte and Beth both crease upughing. Mitch extends the controls again to James and his sweater bleeps out Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer, then Michael¡¯s bursts into Frosty The Snowman¡­ Larry turns, raising a finger¡­ ¡°No¡­¡± But it¡¯s toote. His own woollyunches into Let It Snow¡­ James erupts from his seat. ¡°Absolutely not!¡± He makes to take off Rudolph, but Mitch clicks again, and the jingle stops. Then she paints on an expression of fake contrition. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Ryan. If I¡¯d known you¡¯d be here, I¡¯d have made one for you too.¡± Ryan inhales. ¡°I¡¯ll live.¡± ***** ¡°What else have we then?¡± Michael delves into the heap of gifts, this time extracting another small neat package. He nces at the tag then offers it to Mitch. She, in turn, looks at thebel then turns eyes on Larry. His voice neutral, ¡°I hope you like it.¡± She slips open the wrap, lifts the lid of the box inside. ¡°Oh, Larry, they¡¯re beautiful. Thank you.¡± She takes out some small object then starts fiddling with her hair. It¡¯s ab, made in silver¡­ tinum? ¡­ set with green gems, made in the pattern of a butterfly. It fixes into her hair on one side, pinning back long red tresses; a match to the silver and emerald cor she is already wearing. She sets its partner in her hair on the other side. Beth peers close. ¡°They¡¯re very unusual. Where did you find them, Larry?¡± ¡°I had them made. I knew what I wanted but couldn¡¯t find it. So, I found a talented jewel-smith instead.¡± Wonder what he¡¯s given Charlotte? ***** I poke my head around the kitchen door. James is there ahead of me at his workspace, be-aproned, sleeves rolled up on the Christmas sweater, trimming the rind from bacon. At the table, Charlotte sits peeling carrots. Beside her, Mitch wraps bacon around sausages. Between them on a thick furry nket, Cara burbles and blows bubbles. ¡°Can I help?¡± I say. James looks up, smiling. ¡°Absolutely you can help. You can peel the chestnuts for the stuffing.¡± N?velDrama.Org (C) content. I eye the contents of a bowl close by, already containing onions, breadcrumbs and judging by the smell, garlic. ¡°Isn¡¯t that the stuffing?¡± ¡°Yes, it is, but since this is a special asion and we have plenty of people here to eat the results, I thought we would have more than one kind. This is going to be sage and onion. Those are for the chestnut and cranberry.¡± He waves across to a cupboard. ¡°Aprons in there. Find something that fits.¡± As I tie the bow on my apron, ¡°I see you have another helper already?¡± James looks nk for a moment until I drop my eyes below his worktop. Archie wags his tail and gives an ingratiating grin, disying more teeth than should reasonably be imed by a shark. ¡°Ah, yes¡­ That helper. He volunteered his services around the time I took the bacon from the fridge.¡± Archie turns beady eyes on me then shuffles his position a little to sit directly under James¡¯ cutting board, nose up ¡°Is he being a nuisance? I¡¯ll get him out if you want.¡± ¡°No, we set up a bit of a rapport when your tribe stayed with us before. He knows how to stay out of the way and still get what he wants.¡± Michael appears, takes a step inside the kitchen, takes one look and tries to reverse out again. ¡°No, you don¡¯t,¡± says James. ¡°Grab yourself a peeler. You can help too. Parsnips, potatoes, sprouts. Take your pick. We want plenty so I don¡¯t have to cook again tomorrow.¡± Something like a grumble emanates from deep inside Michael. ¡°I was nning on¡­ um¡­¡± ¡°On what?¡± James¡¯ face is ndly enquiring, but he doesn¡¯t look away. ¡°On¡­ um¡­ clearing snow from the front path.¡± James¡¯ eyes narrow, but apparently, he can¡¯t find anything in the words that doesn¡¯t qualify as a reasonable excuse. ¡°Okay¡­¡± He brandishes scissors in Michael¡¯s direction¡­ ¡°But back in here afterwards.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll clear a path for Mitch across the yard too¡­¡± And in a sweep of aftershave, he¡¯s gone. As I set myself up with chestnuts and knife, Ryan appears, thumbing back out to the hall. ¡°Michael seemed in a hurry. Is everything¡­?¡± James snips at a rasher, trimming away the skin. ¡°Just a nasty attack of avoiding the inevitable.¡± A fragment drops to the work surface and from somewhere underneathes a canine groan. James angles, eyeing downwards, sighs, shakes his head then simply scrapes fat and skin off the board and lets it fall. Not a morsel reaches the tiles. Ryan stands, looking a bit helpless. ¡°I came to see if I could help. And since the kitchen seems to be where it¡¯s at right now¡­¡± James nods him to the veggie cupboard, points to a drawer. ¡°Parsnips. Peeler.¡± As he reaches for thest slice of bacon, James leans backwards, shifting his head one way then the other, as though triangting on his workspace. Then, ¡°Fuck this.¡± He rips off the eye patch and tosses it into the bin. He passes his te of bacon slices to Mitch. ¡°I think you¡¯ll find there¡¯s enough there.¡± Then he heads for the fridge, rummaging inside. ¡°A choice of starters,¡± he announces. ¡°Melon, soup or smoked salmon.¡± He exhibits a cantaloupe with its greeny-grey mosaic¡¯d rind, ces it on the table, then returns to the fridge, producing a paper-wrapped parcel ¡°No one''s tied to their choice now, but if I have an idea of numbers...¡± He unwraps the parcel; smoked salmon lying in thin pinky-orange slivers. Mitch shudders. ¡°Melon for me.¡± There¡¯s something visceral about her reaction. James¡¯ brow crinkles. ¡°You don''t like smoked salmon?¡± ¡°Can''t bear anything like that. It''s raw isn¡¯t it.¡± He rocks his hand. ¡°Well, not raw exactly. It¡¯s smoked. In effect, it¡¯s pickled by the smoke.¡± She grimaces, shaking her head. ¡°Melon.¡± ***** Chapter 38 Chapter 38 Cara, quiet in her carrycot, begins to fuss. James casts an eye across. ¡°I¡¯ll take over those carrots, Charlotte.¡± ¡°I thought you wanted help making the meal?¡± He takes a carrot from her hand, prises the peeler from the other. ¡°There are plenty of us here to help with lunch. Only you can provide Cara''s. And besides, we¡¯re nearly done here. I¡¯m going for a shower in a minute. Why don¡¯t you take Cara up to the nursery? You¡¯ll be warm and quiet there.¡± He stoops, lifting the tiny girl out from her nkets. She barely fills his hands as, supporting her head in one palm, he cradles her to his chest. ¡°Kirstie, would you go with Charlotte, please. Keep herpany while she gives Cara her feed.¡± N?velDrama.Org (C) content. But I¡¯m barely listening to his words. The expression on James¡¯ face as he holds Cara¡­ Love¡­ Adoration¡­ Utter devotion¡­ The expression seemspletely out of keeping with the front James projects; the stern-faced Dom. But I know him well enough to know that front conceals a man of strong passions and utter loyalty. God help anyone that threatens her¡­ Cara¡¯s fussing grows louder. Abandoning my chestnuts, ¡°Can I hold her? I¡¯ll carry her upstairs for you.¡± Charlotte eases up out of her seat and grins, looking much more herself. ¡°Sure. She¡¯s getting used to having a lot of people around her.¡± With only the slightest hesitation, James releases Cara to me. ¡°It¡¯s good for her; learning there¡¯s a lot of people she can trust.¡± Although still so small, Cara is heavier than I¡¯d expected and I hold her carefully, supporting her head in the way I saw James doing. Her face, already red, is colouring up further and her fussing is turning to a wail. ¡°Definitely ready for her lunch, I think.¡± Maybe it would be nice to have one of these of my own¡­ Then I realise that from across the kitchen, Ryan, peeling parsnips, is watching me. ***** I sit with Charlotte and Cara in the nursery, taking in the mass of murals, colourful and bright, upying the walls. Mobiles hang from the ceiling, dangling birds and horses and little bells which sway and tinkle with the slightest movement. From outsidees the m of a car door. More visitors? Charlotte, feeding Cara, is still pale but a touch of pink blushes over her cheeks. Recovering a day at a time¡­ Uncertain as to how I approach the subject, I speak carefully. ¡°How are you feeling now?¡± But she simply smiles slightly. ¡°I¡¯m getting better. I¡¯m not coughing much now.¡± She strokes Cara¡¯s face, very gently, not disturbing her daughter from her meal. ¡°The important thing is that Cara is healthy. When they had me prisoner in there, yes, it was awful, but the main thing I was thinking about all the time was whether they¡¯d damaged her by drugging me. Or whether it was doing her any harm because I wasn¡¯t well¡­¡± She seems set to keep talking but is interrupted by a tap on the door. ¡°May Ie in?¡± Charlotte adjusts her clothes, turning slightly, ¡°The door¡¯s open, Father.¡± Not ¡®Dad¡¯¡­ Not yet¡­ How much more healing to do yet? The door swings and Larry Klempner enters, then stalls as he sees me. ¡°Oh... I didn¡¯t mean to interrupt¡­¡± He has something in his hand; small, but bright with gilt and ribbons. ¡°You¡¯re not interrupting,¡± smiles Charlotte. ¡°We were just talking.¡± I start to rise from my seat. ¡°I¡¯ll just¡­¡± ¡­ But Charlotte waves me down. ¡°It¡¯s fine, Kirstie.¡± She waves across the room to another chair. ¡°Pull up a seat. Join us.¡± Klempner shuffles, his eyes darting to mine, then, ¡°I, um, I have something for you. A Christmas gift¡­¡± He stares at his feet, then looks up again. ¡°¡­ I had no idea what it should be; what would be appropriate. You already seem to have everything in your life. A home. Money. All the things you want.¡± Awkwardly, he offers the package to Charlotte. ¡°Anyway¡­ I bought you this.¡± The package is small, square and t. A CD? Odd choice¡­ The long-estranged daughter and father¡­ And judging by Charlotte¡¯s baffled expression, I¡¯m not the only one to think so. Carefully, she detaches Cara, wrapping the shawl around her. ¡°Could you take her for a moment, Kirstie.¡± She blinks as she reaches to ept Klempner¡¯s gift, then slides the ribbons to one side and peels aside the wrap. And yes, it¡¯s a music CD. ¡°Oh!¡± Charlotte presses a knuckle to her mouth, raising her gaze to her father. I¡¯m baffled by her reaction. ¡°What is it, Charlotte?¡± She¡¯s shiny-eyed. ¡°Scheherazade.¡± Klempner shifts as though the ice is cracking under him. ¡°I had no idea what to give you, Jenny. But I did want to give you something, even if it was only¡­ acknowledgement.¡± Charlotte bursts into tears. Falling forward onto her ownp, she drops her face into her hands, gasping and sobbing. I want to hug her, to ask her what¡¯s wrong, but I have Cara in my arms. Klempner simply stands, looking helpless, almost stricken. From the hall outside, the bang of a door, the thumping of feet, and our own door crashes open, James charging in. Barefoot and bare-chested, traces of foam fleck his half-shaved face. A series of vicious-looking circr bruises are centred over his ribs, like the worst squash-ball impact you ever saw. They¡¯re a good match to the purple-red bruising on his eye. He looks more as though he just emerged the battlefield than a kitchen¡­ Perhaps he did¡­ He takes one look at Charlotte, shaking and crying, tears streaming down her face. Snarling, he ces himself between Charlotte and Klempner, bullying up close, eyeballing him. ¡°What happened?¡± he demands. ¡°What did you do?¡± Klempner stands there, blinking rapidly, palms raised to protest his innocence, but I interrupt. ¡°He didn''t do anything, James. He just came in and gave Charlotte a Christmas present. Then she burst into tears.¡± James shes me a nce. ¡°Really,¡± I say. ¡°That¡¯s all that happened. I don¡¯t know why Charlotte¡¯s crying, but it¡¯s nothing Larry did. At least, not deliberately.¡± Charlotte, still clutching the CD, speaks through her sobs. ¡°I¡¯m okay. Really, I¡¯m okay.¡± Visibly, she¡¯s trying to pull herself together. Beside me, if anything, Klempner is the one looking upset. Or perhaps bewildered would be closer. James, calming a little, squats down by Charlotte, holding her by one shoulder, steering her face to his by the chin. ¡°So why are you crying? What¡¯s wrong?¡± ¡°Nothing''s wrong.¡± She gulps and gasps, pulling the back of her hands over streaming eyes. ¡°That''s just it. Nothing''s wrong. Everything¡¯s alright. I¡¯ve got Cara. Mom''s here. You''re here. And Michael. And Beth and Richard. Kirstie and Ryan are here. And even¡­¡± She raises teary eyes to Klempner¡­ ¡°Even you¡¯re here.¡± She gulps again. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m being silly, I know. Everything¡¯s perfect. It¡¯s just¡­¡± She holds up the CD and bursts into tears again. James lets out air, sweeping a hand over the top of his head, then straightens up, releasing Charlotte. He turns to Klempner. ¡°My apologies. I assumed...¡± ¡°Forget it. You think I''m going to hold it against you that you want to protect Jenny?¡± Tentatively, Klempner reaches out, squeezing Charlotte¡¯s shoulder. She gives her father a watery smile, biting at her lip. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he says. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to upset you.¡± From outsidees the ttering of feet on stairs and Michael, shedding snow from his boots, bursts in, then stalls. His head swings as he takes in the tableau. ¡°What''s going on? I heard...¡± Then his gaze drops to Charlotte. ¡°Babe? What¡¯s¡­¡± But James interrupts. ¡°Nothing''s going on. Charlotte''s just a bit emotional.¡± He jerks his head at the big blond man and down to her. Michael hunkers down close, then wraps his arms around her, almost enveloping her. ¡°Still flooded with hormones, Babe? Try to stay calm, eh. It¡¯s Christmas and everyone¡¯s here for you.¡± As he speaks, James reaches for the CD, easing it from her fingers. He examines it then clicks his tongue. Charlotte sniffles. ¡°I know. That¡¯s what started me off.¡± She squeezes Michael¡¯s arm. ¡°And you¡¯re right, I¡¯m not thinking like myself.¡± Then her smile blossoms. ¡°I hope I¡¯m better than this the next time,¡± she says, ¡°when it''s yours.¡± Klempner cocks a brow¡­ Chapter 39 Chapter 39 Michael kisses her forehead. ¡°No hurry, Babe. Not until you¡¯re ready. And that''s not yet.¡± James, forehead puckered, brandishes the CD. ¡°Scheherazade? Will someone please tell me what the hell that¡¯s all about? You used the word as some kind of code when Baxter and Finchby had you prisoner.¡± Charlotte flushes, looking up at her father. But Klempner¡¯s voice is soft with regret. ¡°It didn¡¯t take much to work out who the Wicked King was. But I¡¯ll admit, I¡¯d like to know too what the story is behind it.¡± Charlotte¡¯s mouth works. She starts to speak, then grinds to a halt. ¡°Michael, you tell them.¡± And now he flushes. ¡°It¡¯s kind of embarrassing, Babe.¡± ¡°Is it?¡± Her gaze turns cloudy. ¡°Alright¡­¡± She shrugs. ¡°Fair enough.¡± ¡°No, it isn¡¯t,¡± says James. ¡°I want to know.¡± Michael turns his face away, but I see him swear silently to himself. Then, ¡°Alright, it¡¯s like this. When James and I first got to know Charlotte¡­¡± He stops, rubbing fingers at his forehead, then starts again¡­ ¡°Charlotte fell for James first. I¡­ I didn¡¯t handle that well. I was jealous¡­¡± He nods to James. ¡°You remember? That New Year¡¯s Eve?¡± James¡¯ voice is dry. ¡°How could I forget? I thought you were going to punch my lights out.¡± Owned by N?velDrama.Org. Charlotte¡¯s jaw drops. ¡°You¡¯ve never told me any of this. Either of you.¡± Michael stares up at the ceiling. ¡°It wasn¡¯t one of my greater moments. Anyway, when we were alone, I asked Charlotte to tell me something personal. Something that no-one else knew. That would be just mine. She told me¡­¡± He hesitates, looking between Charlotte and her father¡­ ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± she says. ¡°You can say it.¡± He takes in air, then, ¡°Charlotte told me that when she was a little girl, she read the stories of the Thousand and One Nights. She fantasised about being Scheherazade, who told the tales. About being in the power of the wicked king...¡± Klempner¡¯s face drops¡­ ¡°¡­ And about being brave enough and clever enough to escape and be free. At the time I didn¡¯t know what to make of it. It was only muchter that I came to understand¡­¡± His words die away and he grinds to a halt. It sounds trite to say you can hear a pin drop, but the silence could be sliced. Klempner speaks first. ¡°Jenny¡­¡± And James cuts him short. ¡°So, you asked for something personal. That¡¯s about as personal as it gets. But¡­¡± He looks between man and daughter. ¡°¡­ can we all agree, it¡¯s behind us?¡± But Charlotte turns to Michael. ¡°You were jealous?¡± Scarlet-faced, he nods. ¡°You never told me.¡± He shrugs, seeming lost for words. ¡°But I married you.¡± James takes her by the hand, pulling her up from her seat into his arms. ¡°That came some timeter.¡± He nts a kiss on her forehead, then spins her to face the still-squirming Michael. She wriggles into his arms, reaching up to kiss. ¡°You were jealous. A¡­ that¡¯s so sweet.¡± Then she pulls back again, thumbing at James. ¡°You were going to punch him?¡± James cracks out a smile, quickly masked. ¡°But he didn¡¯t. Now, can we agree, whatever is in the past, it is behind us? I made mistakes too. We have all made mistakes with each other. From here on, whatever happens, we¡¯re going forward. All of us.¡± He meets Michael¡¯s gaze, eye-pointing Klempner. Michael nods, presses his lips to Charlotte¡¯s, then turns her by the shoulders to face her father. James repeats, a touch of steel in his voice. ¡°All of us.¡± Charlotte hesitates, looking down, then up again. Then she breaks into a smile and sucking her lips, nods. Taking two steps towards Klempner, she says, ¡°Happy Christmas, Father¡­¡± She swallows. ¡°¡­ Dad. Thank you for the gift.¡± For the space of a heartbeat¡­ two¡­ three¡­ time stops¡­ Then Klempner wraps his arms around Charlotte and kisses the top of her head. ¡°Happy Christmas, Jenny.¡± She rests her head against his shoulder for a long moment, then pulls free and jabs a finger at his chest. ¡°But you have to wear the sweater today.¡± She turns to James, then Michael. ¡°You two as well.¡± James snatches at dignity. ¡°I was nning on wearing my best suit for dinner.¡± Michael almost gabbles. ¡°And I was going to wear that new shirt and pants. The ones you said you liked in the shop.¡± ¡°Ah-Ah¡­¡± She shakes her head. ¡°Mom went to all that trouble to knit them. They¡¯re presents. You have to wear them.¡± She pins her gaze on her father. Something like despair flits over Klempner¡¯s face. ¡°All day?¡± She havers. ¡°Well¡­ For Christmas dinner at least.¡± ***** Sumptuous smells are drifting in from the kitchen. James refuses any more assistance from me, instead pouring me an egg-nog, and another for Ryan, then ambling through to the lounge with me to take his ustomed armchair by the fire. Most of the Christmas household are there ahead of us. Michael, Beth and Richard are ying a board game. Ryan sits behind Michael, apparently in the role of ¡®Chief Criticiser¡¯ of his moves. Mitch, sitting with Larry on the couch, has the bundled Cara in her arms. Eyes closed, the baby sucks contently at a bottle. A bit startled by the sight, ¡°Where''s Charlotte?¡± ¡°Getting changed for dinner. I said I¡¯d finish Cara¡¯s feed.¡± Mitch follows my eye to the bottle. ¡°It''s Jenny¡¯s milk, expressed. I told her early she''ll have an easier time if Cara can be fed by anyone.¡± ¡°Damn!¡± Michael tosses dice to one side. ¡°Told you,¡± says Ryan. ¡°You should have put a hotel on the square while you still had the cash.¡± Richard hums, sweeping up miniature stic buildings and game money. ¡°Another?¡± Michael reaches for a bottle of malt. ¡°No, thanks. I know when I¡¯m out-matched.¡± He holds up the bottle to Ryan, rocking it one way then another. ¡°Top-up?¡± ¡°Thanks, yes.¡± Ryan offers his tumbler, the crystal glinting green and gold and red from the tree-lights. Charlotte appears at the door, clutching the top half of a dress to her front. ¡°Mom, could you help me here. I can''t get my zip up.¡± James rises like a jack-in-a-box, arms outstretched towards Cara. ¡°Here, give her to me.¡± Just looking for an excuse... Mitch smiles slightly as the stern-faced, dark Dom takes Cara, settling back into his armchair with her in his arms, bottle poised. The baby shows no sign of objecting to her change in position or of even noticing, as James offers her the teat, and shetches on to continue her briefly interrupted lunch. Something beeps. James mutters and pulls out his phone. ¡°Timer for the pork-roast,¡± he mutters. Michael steps in, reaching for their daughter. ¡°Here, I''ll take a turn.¡± Larry, nursing a ss in cupped palms, watches the performance in silence, his expression indecipherable. Beside me, Ryan murmurs, ¡°Who''d have thought a baby could have so many parents?¡± Larry¡¯s eyes flick to his, and momentarily, he lowers his lids in the smallest of acknowledgements. He looks... sad... What''s his story? I must ask Charlotte... At the right moment... ***** Chapter 40 Chapter 40 Still steaming from my shower, my hair turbaned into a towel, I examine the two dresses I brought with me. I¡¯m not sure how formal the Threesome are with dinner, so I packed choices. I hold them up to Ryan. ¡°Which dress do you think I should wear? Christmas red with sparkly bits, or ssic ¡®little ck dress¡¯?¡± ¡°Not the red,¡± says Ryan. ¡°That satin will show every mark.¡± ¡°Why should it get marked? We''re only having dinner.¡± He sits on the edge of the bed, tugging off his boots and smiling away from me. ¡°I¡¯m going for my shower.¡± ? Mmmm¡­ Standing in front of the mirror, I switch on the hair-drier, brushing through my long locks, easing them to lie as I want, slightly covering my left cheek. Ryanes up close behind me. Taking me by the shoulders, he presses lips to the cheek, then in the mirror, his eyes meet mine. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be so self-conscious about it. It barely shows. And in any case, you are still a beautiful woman; the most beautiful I know.¡± ¡°I¡­ I still prefer to cover it if I can,¡± I stutter. I angle my face to the mirror, tracing a fingertip down the jagged red scar down the side of my face. After my time in hospital, my months invalided, all my other injuries healed, but this¡­ An extrayer of foundation¡­ And some blusher¡­ Then no-one will see it¡­ ***** ¡°Dinner is served!¡± James¡¯ voice reverberates from the kitchen. We head for the dining room. Out in the hall, Charlotte and Mitch descend the stairs, Mitch carrying Cara. Mitch looks amazing. In a dress of jade, her hair is set in an borately up-style and at her neck she wears the silver and emerald ne. The matchingbs glint green against her copper-red hair. Charlotte looks equally good. Although she still has much of her ¡®pregnant shape¡¯, the gown she wears emphasises her height and her much-expanded bosom but drapes smoothly over her expanded stomach. Michael and Larry enter together, wearing their sweaters in a kind of protective fraternity, Rudolph side by side with the penguin, each refusing to meet each other¡¯s eyes. Charlotte and Mitch exchange giggles as their men sit beside them. Richard and Beth join us, she leaning on his arm, waddling a bit as he guides her to sit next to Charlotte. But Beth too, for all her advanced pregnancy, looks spectacr, in a dress chosen to make the best of her inted stomach and bosom. Michael aims a finger at Richard. ¡°If you think you¡¯re getting away with the suit and shirt, you¡¯re mistaken. If the rest of us have to dress like idiots, so do you.¡± Mitch turns to him, her voice all innocence. ¡°Idiots, Michael?¡± He turns to her, bowing borately. ¡°My apologies, Mitch. If the rest of us have to meet your high sartorial standards, so does Richard.¡± He turns back to Beth¡¯s elegantly dressed husband. ¡°Go and change.¡± James enters carrying a tter of smoked salmon, bedded on a green sd and dressed with sliced lemons. Richard demurs, smirking¡­. ¡°The meal¡¯s arrived. If I take the time to change, the food will be cold.¡± Michael takes on a quite untypical heartless tone. ¡°Smoked salmon doesn¡¯t go cold. Neither does melon. We¡¯ll wait.¡± James, Rudolph staring out from his chest, sets down the tter. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in in a sec with the soup. It¡¯s just under the grill now.¡± Hope lights up Richard¡¯s face but Michael interrupts, ¡°Just hold the soup for five minutes will you, James. Richard wants to change into something more appropriate. We don¡¯t want his starter to go cold.¡± James measures the billionaire¡¯s perfectly cut, hand-stitched suit with his eye and his face stone-walls. ¡°Yes, quite right. We¡¯ll wait for you, Richard.¡± Next to me Ryan, in his silk shirt and tie, lets out a slow release of air. ¡°Just realising what a narrow escape you had?¡± I murmur. He scratches his nose and sniffs. ¡°Mmmph¡­¡± With the sound of Richard ttering back down the stairs, James gives a satisfied chuckle and vanishes from the dining room. Five minutester, at the sound of downing steps, he returns with a tureen, bubbling a crust of toasted cheese. He sets it down, centre-table then takes his ce, then nces up. ¡°It suits you very well, Richard.¡± Richard Harrumphs, his face almost as red as Santa¡¯s. Michael offers up a bottle. ¡°Red or white, Kirstie?¡± ¡°Red for me, please.¡± He moves around the table, pouring wine all round. James serves the food. ¡°Larry, French onion soup, melon or smoked salmon?¡± Charlotte¡¯s father shifts his gaze from Mitch¡­ He¡¯s always watching her¡­ ¡°Salmon for me,¡± he says, epting the tter, radiating good humour as he serves himself a generous helping, squeezing lemon juice over the fish with obvious relish. Mitch, sitting beside him, looks down sidelong at his te, her mouth twisting. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you can stomach that stuff.¡± James opens his mouth to protest but Larry, eyes crinkling, drawls, ¡°Mitch is sensitive to anything of this sort. She didn¡¯t do well with Scandinavian food either.¡± Ryan slices at his melon. ¡°You¡¯ve visited Scandinavia, Larry? Whereabouts?¡± ¡°Oh, most of it¡­¡± replies Larry¡­ ¡°¡­ at one time or another. In fact¡­¡± His eye crosses the table to Richard¡¯s sweater, then he twists side-on to face Mitch. ¡°Did I ever tell you about the Swedish Father Christmases?¡± Owned by N?velDrama.Org. Mitch sucks at her teeth, then props her chin on a fist. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think you did.¡± Larry scoops up a sliver of salmon, chews and swallows, then sits back in his chair, punctuating his words with his fork. ¡°Well, you see, in Sweden, they have much the same idea as here about Santa us. Over there, they call him Jultomten. Or just Tomten¡­ Anyway, Tomten gives presents to all the¡­¡± He makes airmas with paired fingers¡­ ¡°¡­ good little boys and girls, but whereas Father Christmas herees in the night down the chimney and leaves the presents under the tree, in Sweden, they do it differently¡­¡± Charlotte is staring at her father as though she has never seen him before¡­ Wonder how often Santa ever visited her as a kid? ¡­ Or him? Larry is still speaking¡­ ¡°There, you see, Tomten visits the house on Christmas Eve to meet the children. So¡­¡± He stabs at another slice of salmon¡­ ¡°This is excellent, James...¡± He swallows the salmon, washing it down with a gulp of wine. ¡°Where was I? Oh, yes. Tomten, with a sackful of gifts, knocks on the door and asks, ¡®Are there any good children here? Of course, all the kids say, ¡®Yes¡¯. So, then he¡¯ll sit them on his knee¡­¡± Larry shifts to a fake and slightlyic Swedish ent¡­ ¡°So, Inga¡­ You have been a good little girl? Or¡­ Gunnar, so you have been a good little boy? Here is your present¡­¡± He takes another mouthful of wine. ¡°And of course, it would be rude not to offer Tomten hospitality, so the parents will give him a slice of cake or stollen, and a ss of schnapps. And then he¡¯ll go on his way¡­¡± ¡°Sounds good so far¡­¡± says Mitch, her face deadpan. ¡°Yes, it does¡­¡± He grins and takes another swig of wine¡­ Is he setting out to get drunk? Or just trying to rx? Or¡­ actually, genuinely, rxing? ¡°¡­ The thing is, because Tomten actually visits the home and the children see him, traditionally a family member will dress up to y the part. But¡­ there are also what you might call professional Father Christmases. The parents book them beforehand, tell them a bit about the kids and what they¡¯ve done that year, give them the presents to hand out and pay them a small fee¡­¡± James sits back, chuckling as he cradles his ss in paired hands. ¡°I¡¯m beginning to see where this is going¡­¡± Larry nods a grin at him. ¡°So, if Tomten has, say, twenty bookings on Christmas Eve, by the end of the afternoon, he¡¯s visited twenty houses, handed out twenty sets of gifts, eaten twenty slices of stollen and¡­¡± Mitch burst outughing, throwing out a finger at him¡­¡± ¡­ and drunk twenty shots of schnapps!¡± Larry raises a palm to the ceiling. ¡°Correct! So, on Christmas Eve night, it¡¯s not that umon to visit the town centre in Sweden to find two dozen Father Christmases,plete with red outfit, beards and boots,pletely pissed, and having the biggest punch-up you¡¯ve ever seen.¡± We all burst outughing. Mitch gets a fit of the giggles. ¡°So, have you ever been to Sweden, Mitch?¡± I ask. She wipes tears from her eyes. ¡°Sweden no. But Larry took me to Find a lot of years ago.¡± ¡°Really? That sounds marvellous.¡± She looks long at Larry. ¡°It was marvellous, yes.¡± She speaks slowly. ¡°One of the best weeks I¡¯ve ever had. That was at Christmas too.¡± James reaches over the table, topping up her ss. ¡°But you didn¡¯t take to the local food?¡± She rolls eyes. ¡°Oh, some of it I liked. I remember there was a tiny little cafe. It only had a couple of chairs and those were outside on the street. There must have been two feet of snow, but they did a hot salmon soup. The temperature was way below zero, but the soup smelled amazing. Larry and I had some together sitting out in the snow.¡± Her eyes slide sidelong to the tall, fair-haired man next to her, and her fingers curl around his. ¡°It was wonderful.¡± Charlotte is very still, watching her parents, all but mesmerised¡­ Mitch is still speaking. ¡°¡­So, yes, the salmon soup was great. But the rest of it¡­¡± A shiver runs through her. Next to her, Larry is suppressing a smile. ¡°In fact¡­¡± he says¡­ ¡°¡­ If I am not much mistaken...¡± He hesitates, nces at Charlotte, and then very obviously, closes his mouth, swallowing his words. Mitch flushes scarlet, casting eyes to him, then down to her te. Blinking, she sips at her wine. ¡°Yes,¡± she mumbles. It sounds like a confession. ¡°How¡­?¡± Larry¡¯s eyes are soft and his mouth twitches as he looks between Charlotte and Mitch. ¡°I worked it out. Not at the time obviously¡­¡± His voice turns dry¡­ ¡°¡­ I was missing certain crucial information then. It was only muchter that I figured what had happened.¡± Charlotte, James and Michael exchange baffled expressions. ¡°Am I missing something?¡± says Michael. ¡°Mom, what are you both talking about?¡± Charlotte looks to her father, but he shakes his head. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have said anything. It¡¯s not for me to speak unless your mother isfortable with it.¡± Charlotte¡¯s lips tten and she gets that look she has when she¡¯s not happy about something. ¡°Whatever it is, it sounds important.¡± Her words shift to a hiss. ¡°You can¡¯t just leave it like that.¡± In her arms, Cara whimpers and fusses. Larry winces and looks away. Wishing he¡¯d not spoken? Michaelys a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Calm down, Babe. Sometimes people have private stuff between them. You know that. And Cara¡¯s picking up your vibes.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s alright.¡± Mitch is still blushing. ¡°I don¡¯t mind. It¡¯s just a bit¡­ er¡­ Larry¡­ You tell them.¡± Larry looks to Michael. ¡°Since it¡¯s a day for embarrassing confessions¡­¡± Then he turns, aiming his words at Charlotte. ¡°Twenty-six years ago, I took your mother to Helsinki¡­¡± Her eyes grow round. ¡°Why did you choose Helsinki?¡± He raises hands to heaven. ¡°It was Christmas. She wanted snow¡­¡± Everyone chuckles. He continues, ¡°¡­ I¡¯ve travelled a lot in my life. It¡¯s something I enjoy. Your mother always wanted to travel too but hadn¡¯t had the opportunity. So, I took her to Helsinki for Christmas. Everything was new to her and at first, meals-wise, she stayed with what was familiar; porridge and fruit for breakfast. That kind of thing. But after a few days of ying safe, she decided to get adventurous and, unwisely as it turned out, to try the local food¡­¡± James breaks in. ¡°Grax and a hundred variations on the theme of pickled herring?¡± Larry shes brows. ¡°Exactly. Anyhow, Mitch here ate quite a lot of it. Then, afterwards, was violently ill and brought back the lot.¡± Michael breaks in. ¡°The technicolour yawn down the porcin?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got it.¡± Larry pauses, as though waiting¡­ James raises eyes to the ceiling¡­ ¡°Ahhh¡­¡± Then he bursts outughing. ¡°Mitch, I¡¯m sorry. I never liked to ask.¡± Richard too is rubbing at the bridge of his nose, his shoulders shaking with containedughter. Charlotte looks baffled, ¡°Ask what?¡± She scowls, eyes shing. ¡°So, Mom had a bad stomach once, twenty-odd years ago. So what?¡± ¡°Calm down, Charlotte,¡± snaps James. ¡°Remember your manners.¡± Then as she ducks her head, he chuckles. ¡°Think it through. Your birthday is the end of October. When would you have been conceived? Take your socks off if it helps you with the numbers.¡± Charlotte blinks. ¡°Mom? You threw up? And your pill went with it? So, for the next few weeks¡­¡± Her mouth opens and closes, but no words emerge. Mitch nods, looking sheepish. ¡°I¡¯d always been careful, but¡­¡± ¡°You mean¡­ I was born because¡­ you don¡¯t like fish?¡± ¡°Raw fish. I¡¯m fine with cooked fish.¡± Richard copses into gales ofughter, wagging his finger helplessly at her. ¡°Oh, God, talk about the bestid-ns¡­¡± James ps palms down onto the worktop. ¡°Right. Melon it is for Mitch. I suspect none of us is looking for a repeat of that episode.¡± Klempner rolls eyes. ¡°I only made the connection myself when Jenny told me her birthday and I realised she was mine¡­¡± Ryanughs into his wine. ¡°As if there was any doubt.¡± Larry swivels to him, the smile vanishing. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± Everyone falls quiet. Ryan looks around the table. ¡°Surely I''m not the only one who sees it?¡± Charlotte furrows brows. Everyone else exchanges baffled nces. Klempner, eyes showing white, lifts his chin. Mitch is turning pale, and abruptly, I feel I would be safer swimming in a shark tank than sharing a table with this man; the jovial dinner guest of only a few moments ago; Lawrence Klempner. Ryan ploughs on. ¡°That expression you¡¯re wearing, Larry. Right now¡­¡± He jabs a finger at Larry¡¯s face¡­ ¡°When Charlotte¡¯s annoyed, like she was a minute ago¡­ That¡¯s the expression she wears too.¡± Ryan¡¯s finger swings to her. ¡°You might look like your mother, but you carry yourself like your father. That wild expression you have when you''re angry¡­¡± Charlotte¡¯s eyes are slitting, her face turning wild and feral¡­ ¡°Yes¡­¡± says Ryan, apparently oblivious to the effect he¡¯s having. ¡°¡­ That''s the one. And that mad expression you have when you look at James. Larry¡¯s just the same when he looks at Mitch.¡± He gulps at his wine. ¡°Talk about, like father, like daughter.¡± There is an awkward silence. Ryan looks around the table, blinks, then sets his ss down. ¡°My apologies. Perhaps I''ve had too much to drink. I shouldn''t have spoken like that.¡± Then Larry bursts into a beaming smile. ¡°No. Thank you, Ryan, for ¡®speaking like that¡¯. You¡¯re right. I¡¯d never seen it¡­¡± And just like that, the tension dissolves. Michaelughs. ¡°¡­ but as soon as you said it, it was blindingly obvious. You¡¯re right, Ryan. Charlotte does look like her father.¡± Charlotte is very still, staring down at her te, chewing her lower lip. What¡¯s wrong? Upset that she takes after her father? Or something else? Michael takes her hand, raises to his lips. ¡°Babe¡­¡± ¡­ that mad look you wear when you look at James¡­ And he suffered jealousy over that¡­ He kisses her fingers. ¡°You married me, Charlotte. And marriage is a statement of intent.¡± She raises ssy eyes to his¡­ Cara starts squalling and all heads turn her way. ¡­ and Charlotte breaks into a beaming smile. ¡°So, when are we going to arrange a brother or sister for her?¡± ¡°As soon as you¡¯re ready, Babe. Just say the word.¡± ***** Chapter 41 Chapter 41 ¡°Crackers!¡± Michael holds up his; red and green crepe paper wrapped with silver foil. He leans across the table, arm outstretched, shing eyebrows. ¡°Pull a cracker with me, Mitch.¡± James picks up his from the side of his te, sounding piqued. ¡°They''re nothing like the one we had last year, I''m afraid.¡± Michael shrugs, unperturbed. ¡°So there was no time to arrange your fancy hand-made affairs. They''re just the first packet I could grab off the supermarket shelves. It''s anyone''s guess what''s inside. It doesn¡¯t matter. It¡¯s Christmas. That¡¯s what it¡¯s about.¡± ¡°Oh, stop fussing, James.¡± Mitch makes a grab for the cracker. ¡°So long as they have a paper hat inside and a bad joke, they''ll be fine.¡± She tugs, and with a Snap! the cracker splits and multi-coloured shrapnel confetti¡¯s out. With a grin, she unrolls a vivid green elf-hat, slipping it atop her immacte red up-do. Craning up to the mirror above the hearth, she checks her reflection. Mmmming, she takes off the hat, folds down the pointy end to a jaunty angle, then puts it back on. Larry¡¯s voice is dry. ¡°Very fetching, Mitch.¡± Her eyes sparkle. ¡°Yes, I thought so.¡± She unrolls a curl of paper. ¡°What is the best kind of Christmas shopping?¡± N?velDrama.Org copyrighted ? content. ¡°Elf service!¡± Then she examines the small stic packet which popped out with it, opens it and tips the contents onto the table-top; a jewellery set; bead bracelet in gaudy colours, ne and a matching ring in cheap gilt. Larry inclines his head. ¡°That would probably turn your skin green if you wore it.¡± She touches the silver and emerald ne she already wears. ¡°I think I prefer this.¡± Then she nudges him, eyeing him towards Charlotte. Larry¡¯s face goes ck, forehead creasing. Mitch nods down to the cracker by his te, then back to Charlotte, and his brow unfurrows. Tentatively, Larry leans forward, offering the cracker. ¡°Jenny?¡± She stares at it, then takes the end. Never was there such a slow, drawn-out pull of a Christmas cracker. She tugs and he rxes, the cracker following her hand. Then Larry seems to realise he¡¯s supposed to pull too. And this time the cracker follows him. Richard speaks, a touch of asperity in his voice. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to pull together, in opposite directions.¡± Finally, the two assemble the required hand-eye coordination and teamwork to pull the wretched thing and the cracker flies in two with a shower of curly pink paper fizz. Charlotte sets a two-inch stic snowman to one side. ¡°Perhaps for the cake,¡± she says. ¡°And now,¡± says Beth, ¡°¡­ you''re supposed to read out the joke.¡± Larry blinks, reaching for the slip of paper. As he opens his mouth to speak, Charlotte¡¯s lips twitch. ¡°But you have to wear the hat.¡± His face hardens again. Her eyes sparkle with mischief but then soften. ¡°Last year was my first Real Christmas. This is yours.¡± Then the devil is back in her eye. ¡°So, you have to wear the hat.¡± Michael stares at the ceiling. James is sucking in a smile. Richard props his chin on a fist. Revenge takes many forms¡­ Larry¡¯s eyes narrow and he looks to Mitch. She nods, her face smooth and innocent. ¡°That¡¯s right. You have to wear the hat.¡± He scratches his nose, then unfolds a Barbie-pink paper hat, cing it carefully on his head. Then, uncurling a sliver of paper, holding it at arm¡¯s length and against the light, he reads. ¡°What do you get if¡­¡± He winces¡­ ¡°¡­you cross Santa with a duck?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± we all chorus¡­ ¡°¡­ What do you get if you cross Santa with a duck?¡± ¡°A Christmas quacker.¡± Larry¡¯s grimace deepens, then he huffs augh, screws up the paper and tosses it over his shoulder. James grins. So does Richard. Charlotte offers her cracker to James. ¡°We need to pull the rest of the crackers. You need a hat too.¡± His grin dissolves. So does Richard¡¯s as Beth turns, bearing on him, with a 50mm calibre cracker. Richard sighs, apparently surrendering to the inevitable, but then swings on Ryan. ¡°You too. We can¡¯t have the house guests not in the party spirit.¡± ***** James, wearing a neon-green pirate hat, enters with another loaded tter, Meg and Archie trotting in his wake. He turns, aiming a finger back out to the hall. ¡°Out,¡± he says, then clicks the door firmly closed behind himself. ¡°We have a sd course next,¡± he announces. ¡°Just a bit of something light pending the main meal.¡± Klempner, his pink paper hat askew, heaps sd and prawns onto his te then scans the table. ¡°Is there any dressing?¡± James slides across a condiments tray loaded with jars and bottles, indicating one bottle after another. ¡°Thousand Ind¡­ Extra virgin olive oil or balsamic.¡± Klempner snaps his fingers at the final bottle. ¡°I prefer my oil experienced.¡± Charlotte coughs¡­ Her eyes across to her father¡¯s Revenge is sweet¡­ Who wants to think about their parents having sex? Mitch pays strict attention to her meal, shaking her head. Is this setting the tone for the rtionship they¡¯re going to have? Ryan nudges me. In a low voice he says, ¡°Do you think those two are going to spend all their time needling each other?¡± I chuckle. ¡°You took the words out of my mouth. But think of it this way. If the energies of Larry Klempner, one of the world''s most dangerous men, are diverted into a bit of harmless bickering, I''d say that''s a win all round. Wouldn¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t argue there.¡± ***** Chapter 42 Chapter 42 Larry slices into something, chews, then says, ¡°This is excellent. What am I eating here?¡± James looks across to his te. ¡°Prune-stuffed pork. Regional speciality where I grew up, usually made for special asions.¡± Larry¡¯s brows arch. Under the table, I be aware of a hand on my thigh. Ryan appears to be listening to the conversation, but ¡®below stairs¡¯ he eases between my knees, pushing them apart. Very quietly, he murmurs, ¡°Open up.¡± James and Larry are still talking. ¡°Where was that? That you grew up, I mean?¡± ¡°Spain.¡± ¡°Really? What part?¡± ¡°Valencia Province. You know it?¡± ¡°Not well. I''ve visited Valencia city, but I didn''t get further afield than that. So, you''re Spanish?¡± ¡°My mother was Spanish. My father English.¡± Ryan eases a finger down and in, tracing a line over my skin that makes my pussy warm and twitch. He speaks without moving his lips. ¡°Wider.¡± I¡¯m trying to chew my food, but it¡¯s not easy. Finger and thumb pluck at my panties. ¡°Off.¡± ¡°Ryan¡­¡± My voice is a hiss. ¡°Off, I said.¡± All eyes are on James and Larry. Nheless, I¡¯m happy that, my face made-up, my flush is concealed as I raise myself from my seat just enough for Ryan to hook fingers into my panties and tug down. ¡°Finish the job,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Take them off and give them to me.¡± Christ¡­ I nce around the table, everyone talking to everyone else¡­ ¡°Oh!¡± I drop my fork, then, pasting on a sheepish smile, duck under the table to ¡®retrieve it¡¯. In the five seconds I have to work with, I slide the panties down and over my ankles, pressing them into Ryan¡¯s waiting hand, snatch up the fork and return to the upper world, wearing my best princess smile. ¡°Clean fork, Kirstie?¡± James is already half-standing from his seat. ¡°No, it¡¯s fine.¡± I wipe it down on my napkin. ¡°Good girl.¡± Again, Ryan¡¯s lips don¡¯t move. But his hand does, pushing between my thighs. It is astonishingly difficult to chew turkey while having your pussy stroked. ***** Beth shifts uneasily in her seat. Richard murmurs something quiet to her, and she nods, grimacing. Then, ¡°Can you excuse me, please. I¡¯ll be back in a minute.¡± Charlotte pipes up. ¡°dder?¡± Beth blushes. ¡°Um, yes, actually.¡± Charlotte sets down her knife and fork. ¡°I¡¯lle with you if you like. Give you a hand. I know what it¡¯s like when you¡¯re that size and you¡¯re trying to manage with your dress and everything.¡± Beth gives her a grateful smile as Richard stands, sliding her chair out as she heaves herself upright. But Charlotte is struggling herself to get up from her seat and Mitch rises too. ¡°I think you both still need help in that area,¡± she says. I could do with afort break myself, but with Ryan¡¯s finger working spirals between my pussy lips, I¡¯m conscious of the dampness under me¡­ ck dress, not red¡­ Hmmm¡­ As the three women exit, Ryan taps me on the shoulder. ¡°Kirstie, why do women go to the toilet in groups?¡± I turn an austere expression on him¡­ Michael pipes up. ¡°Actually, I¡¯ve always wondered that too¡­¡± James and Richard nod agreement. ¡°We do it,¡± I say, ¡°Because it is an ideal opportunity topare notes about men.¡± Michael plucks at his lip. ¡°I had to ask¡­¡± N?velDrama.Org copyrighted ? content. As the footsteps recede down the hall, James cocks his head, listening, then stands and clicks the door open. A tide of dogs flows into the room, tails wagging, noses raised towards table level, or in Emma¡¯s case, above table level, giving her a direct line of sight on the turkey. James whips off his pirate hat, then snatching up a pig-in-nket, he smears bacon fat all along the length of the paper. He snaps his fingers under the table, waving the greasy paper. ¡°Hey, Scruffy. Here, Scruffy.¡± Michael¡¯s rat-faced mongrel streaks across the floor, snatches at the hat then speeds away with it, trailing oily tissue behind him. The rest of the dogs follow him in a cloud of hair and outrage, but Ryan, Michael, Richard and Larry exchange inspired nces, snatching off their own hats. Michael wipes his down with a bit of turkey skin, then clicking fingers and tongue. ¡°Archie. C¡¯mon Archie.¡± The Gang return like the Four Horsemen learning they arete for the Apocalypse. Meg, in her best rendition of the role of Famine, sits at Richard¡¯s feet, raising limpid brown eyes to him, then as she is presented with turkey-voured tissue, descends on it like a wolf ravening from the winter mountains. Meg gets the remains of Ryan¡¯s paper crown to herself and makes away, trailing purple tissue behind her, like one of those show gymnasts, trailing coloured ribbons as they prance around the ring making the rest of us feel inadequate. Larry uses a sausage to anoint his hat, then waves the tattered crown under the table. He speaks softly. ¡°ckie¡­¡± The big ck neer hesitates, then delicately, epts the sausagey paper from his hand. Larry blinks rapidly, his head tilted. Beside me, Ryan says quietly, ¡°If you breathe a word¡­¡± ¡°My lips are sealed.¡± Beth waddles back in, surveying a scene of flying confetti and grease-ridden streamers draped over the hearth. Mitch follows her in. Then Charlotte. ¡°What happened¡­¡± Her eyes narrow¡­ ¡°¡­ to your hats?¡± ¡°Sorry, Charlotte,¡± says Michael, in a voice of syrup and honey. ¡°Dropped mine. The dogs went mad for it.¡± That''s not actually a lie... ... as such... ¡°Mine too.¡± ¡°And mine.¡± The men sit in reinforced brotherhood, faces all carefully crafted nks. Charlotte''s eyes slit as Mac¡¯s tongue winds around a trailing shred of purple, sucking it back into his mouth. Then she smiles brightly. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s alright. It doesn''t matter. We''ve got Kirstie''s party pack.¡± Beaming, she unwraps five sets of reindeer antlers, winking at me as her back turns to the men. ¡°Plenty for everyone,¡± I say. ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure how many would be here so there¡¯s enough for tweIve.¡± But I keep my face rigidly straight. ***** Chapter 43 Chapter 43 James returns with a tray, setting it on the table. ¡°Who¡¯s for coffee?¡± Richard shudders. ¡°Not for me James.¡± ¡°You can share mine,¡± offers Mitch, reaching for her teapot. Richard scowls at the peppermint-scented steam. James pours into a cup and saucer then offers it up. ¡°Ryan?¡± ¡°Thank you, yes.¡± Ryan sips at the coffee then freezes, staring at the tablecloth. ¡°Fuck me. Is this what he drinks?¡± ¡°¡¯fraid so.¡± He res. ¡°You could have warned me. It¡¯s like fucking refrigerator cont.¡± Across the table, Mitch looks up to the mistletoe above the hearth. ¡°Larry?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± He looks in the right general direction, but nothing registers in his expression. Clueless¡­ She casts eyes upward again, this time definitely eye-pointing. He shuffles in his seat. ¡°Mitch, this isn''t really...¡± Mitch stands, cing herself squarely under the mistletoe, pats her lips with a forefinger. ¡°I''m going to insist.¡± Larry¡¯s mouth works and a flush rises up his neck¡­ Way outside hisfort zone¡­ ¡­ nheless, he stands, loops an arm around the lovely woman and kisses her lightly on the lips¡­ ¡­ then grunts as shetches on like a limpet and pulls him in. Finally, he surrenders to the inevitable, and opens his mouth over hers in a real kiss. His embrace around her tightens¡­ Famous film kisses¡­ Rhett and Scarlet¡­ Kate and Leonardo¡­ They had nothing. Ryan watches them, his face indecipherable. Under the table, I slip fingers into his. ¡°It¡¯s something special they have, isn¡¯t it.¡± Ryan nods slowly. He¡¯s holding something in his other hand, turning it over and over in his fingers. ¡°Marry me.¡± I must have misheard him. ¡°Sorry, what was that?¡± He turns, his face alight, offering the something. ¡°Marry me.¡± In his outstretched hand is the ring from Mitch¡¯s cracker. ¡°I¡¯ll get you a real one, but for now¡­¡± N?velDrama.Org (C) content. I swallow hard. ¡°Kirstie, please take it.¡± He offers the ring to my left hand. All around me, silence has fallen. Every face is staring my way. I can¡¯t get enough air. ¡°Can I¡­ think about it?¡± The light fades from his face. ¡°Of course, you can.¡± He presses the ring into my palm, curling my fingers around it. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I shouldn¡¯t have tried to rush you.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s for cheese and liqueurs?¡± It¡¯s James voice, bright and cheerful. Gratefully, I turn to him. ¡°Kirstie, what would you like?¡± He holds up a bottle in either hand. ¡°Brandy? Or port perhaps?¡± ***** Ryan swishes brandy in his ss. ¡°So, what has Santa brought you, Charlotte?¡± He speaks cheerfully, but it sounds forced. ¡°I don¡¯t see any new jewellery. I don¡¯t smell perfume and you don¡¯t have your nose stuck in a book.¡± Charlotte picks at a fingernail. ¡°Um, with everything that happened, I don¡¯t think¡­¡± But she¡¯s cut short by Michael¡¯s grin. Her lips part. James raises a forefinger. ¡°I thought we woulde to that fairly soon. Charlotte, if you would like to release your death-grip on Cara for five minutes, Michael and I will show you your Christmas present. Your present from Richard and Beth too.¡± Her forehead crinkles. Michael kisses the top of her head. ¡°It¡¯s from all of us, Babe. Go put on some warm clothes. And boots and socks. Get yourself well wrapped.¡± Her eyes widen. ¡°My boots?¡± ¡°Plus thick woollens, scarf and gloves and a warm jacket,¡± says James. ¡°But Cara¡­¡± Beth offers out her arms. ¡°I¡¯ll take her,¡± she says. She grins too, impishly. ¡°It will be good practice for me.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t youing?¡± Richardys a hand on Beth¡¯s thigh. ¡°I would prefer that Elizabeth stay warm and quiet indoors.¡± Charlotte¡¯s head swings. ¡°Is everyone in on the secret but me?¡± Her father shakes his head. ¡°Not me. I¡¯ll admit, I¡¯m intrigued to know what you have given Jenny for Christmas.¡± Michael¡¯s smile widens. ¡°Come and see, then. Ryan? Kirstie?¡± Ryan knocks back his ss and stands. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t miss it.¡± He strides out to the hall, returning a momentter shrugging on his coat and carrying mine. ¡°Get your jacket on, Kirstie.¡± He helps me on with it, offering it up from behind, and as I button up tightly, I slip the ring, still clutched in my hand, into my pocket. ***** We make our way to the courtyard at the back of the house. A path cuts through, shovelled and cleared from the first fall of snow. Nheless, there is still a covering of a couple of inches over the ground and snowkes fall around us, brushing my nose like iced feathers. Michael grumbles, ¡°I¡¯m going to have to bloody well do this again, aren¡¯t I¡­¡± ¡°Yes, you are,¡± says James blithely. ¡°But you opted for that instead of peeling vegetables, didn¡¯t you.¡± Michael tugs his jacket around himself, scowling. We follow the path to an outbuilding. Mitch¡¯s ¡®apartment¡¯ is next door, but this is¡­ Charlotte¡¯s face lights up. ¡°The stable?¡± She spins on her two husbands, mittened palms raised to her cheeks. ¡°Oh¡­ You haven¡¯t¡­¡± Richard clicks his tongue. ¡°Oh, yes, they have.¡± From beyond the stable doores a nicker. I¡¯ve never had much to do with horses, but I know animals well enough to recognise the sound of wee when I hear it. Charlotte dashes for the doorway, flinging back the bolts, hurling the top half-door back on its hinges. The horse inside pushes forward, shoving her head out and nosing against Charlotte. ¡°Charlie! Oh, it''s Charlie! I thought she wasn''ting until the Spring.¡± Charlotte¡¯s eyes are alight. ¡°Thank you. Thank you!¡± James¡¯ eyes are soft in a way I know is only for her. ¡°We thought we''d move things up a bit for you. Merry Christmas, Green Eyes.¡± ¡°Merry Christmas, Babe.¡± Larry sniffs, muttering. ¡°Riding? Just after she''s had a baby?¡± Chapter 44 Chapter 44 James nods acknowledgement. ¡°Yes, it needs care. But I''ll go with her every time. And Eleanor sent a side-saddle for Charlotte to use for a while, until she''s back in shape again.¡± Charlotte turns a puzzled frown on him. ¡°You¡¯lle with me? But¡­¡± ¡°Go inside.¡± Michael nods her indoors. ¡°You¡¯ve not seen it all yet.¡± Charlotte unbolts the lower half of the door, clicking her tongue. ¡°Back-up, Charlie.¡± The bay-roan mare reverses, letting everyone through, but shoves her nose firmly against Charlotte¡¯s chest. And there, at the back of the stable, up to his knees in clean straw, is another horse, a white gelding; much bigger than Charlie, heavily-built, but with a mild eye and manner. He snickers as we enter, his ears pricking forward. Charlotte blinks. James produces a carrot, then another, passing one to Charlotte. His own he offers to the gelding. ¡°Meet Oliver. He¡¯s Charlie¡¯s son. He¡¯s here to keep Charliepany and for me to ride with you.¡± Charlotte¡¯s jaw drops. There is something about seeing joy in another person. It¡¯s infectious. It rubs off. Next to me, Ryan is smiling broadly. Richard is positively beaming. ¡°By the way, Charlotte, your Christmas gift from me and Elizabeth is the saddle and tack¡­¡± She throws herself at him, streaming tears. Richard wraps arms around her, patting her back. He kisses her cheek. ¡°Happy Christmas, Charlotte. You deserve it.¡± Ryan, standing close behind me, winds an arm around my waist, pulling me in close, then slips his gloved hand into mine. His cheek resting by mine, he murmurs, ¡°So Charlotte has her white horse then?¡± For a moment I don¡¯t understand him, then I remember¡­ That conversation we had, the very first night we met. ¡°So, no dreams of white horses then?¡± ¡°White horses?¡± ¡°Bearing princes in shining armour,e to carry you off for happily-ever-afters in some faraway kingdom?¡± Iugh. ¡°Not me.¡± I lean back into his embrace, resting my head against his. ¡°My knight on his white charger,e to carry me away. Yes, he was there all the time, wasn¡¯t he? I just didn¡¯t realise at first.¡± And there, watching Charlotte,ughing and crying and smiling and tearful and joyful¡­ surrounded by those who love her, ites to me. Finally, withplete rity, I see it. I twist around, turning to face Ryan. His forehead wrinkles as I hook arms up around his neck, reaching for his lips with mine. I kiss him. ¡°My Prince,¡± I say. Then fumbling off my gloves to release stiff fingers, I grope into my pocket, seeking what I know is there. For a moment, I simply look at it in my palm: a small stic ring. Cheap and tawdry, gilt and paint. But he offered it to me, with everything else that implies. Ryan seems not to be breathing. His fingertips touch mine. ¡°Kirstie?¡± I slip the ring onto my left hand, fourth finger. ¡°Yes, I will marry you.¡± This content is ? N?velDrama.Org. Ryan¡¯s face lights up, his smile spreading wide and white. ¡°You will?¡± ¡°I will.¡± ¡°Yay!¡± Michael¡¯s voice. I turn to see him punching the air. ¡°Congrattions! Both of you.¡± Charlotte shrieks excitement, to Charlie¡¯s nickered protest. She runs to me, flinging her arms around my neck. ¡°That¡¯s wonderful! Congrattions!¡± Richard and James both stride forward, arms outstretched,peting to be the first to hug me. Even Larry wears a slight smile. ¡°Congrattions, Kirstie,¡± he says in a quiet voice. ¡°I¡¯m pleased for you.¡± ¡°What about you?¡± His lips quirk. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m pleased for me, too.¡± ¡°We have to go back in!¡± bursts Charlotte. ¡°We have to tell Beth and Mom.¡± She scuttles back to her horse, hugging her head and kissing her on the nose. ¡°I¡¯ll be back soon, Charlie.¡± ***** Back in the house, Mitch greets the news with the same enthusiasm as everyone else, giving me a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. Beth hauls herself from her armchair, swatting at Richard¡¯s hand when he tries to stop her. ¡°I can stand,¡± she mutters. ¡°James, Michael. Crack the champagne. And some of that elderflower fizz for me.¡± ¡°Coming right up.¡± I¡¯m surrounded by, almost immersed in, joyous chaos. But¡­ I want to be alone. Just for a minute, I want to be alone. I tug free of Ryan¡¯s hand. ¡°Won¡¯t be long.¡± He releases me, but I see his frown as I head for the dining room. He shifts as though to follow me, but James nudges him, saying something quiet and Ryan subsides, looking unhappy as I close the door behind me. I pace. Up and down the length of the room, I pace, thinking. On the dresser sits the envelope containing the sale agreement for the Mill. I open it, reread the document inside. Then, my mind made up, I cast around for a pen. Damn! Behind me, the door clicks open. ¡°Kirstie?¡± Ryan stands there, his dark eyes liquid with concern. ¡°Got a pen?¡± His brows puckers, but he reaches into a pocket and produces a biro. I flick through the agreement to thest page, sign and date the document and hand it to him. ¡°Done!¡± I say. The smile blooms over his face. He sets it down and adds his signature to mine. ¡°Done.¡± I move close, snuggling into his embrace. Dreams Of White Horses¡­ ***** The Story Continues In Predator The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!