《The Lover's Children》 Chapter 1 - A Note From The Author – If you have not met Charlotte and her friends, Kirstie and Ryan Chapter 1 - A Note From The Author ¨C If you have not met Charlotte and her friends, Kirstie and Ryan ''The Lover''s Children'' is the continuing story of Charlotte, her Master, James, and her Lover, Michael. The story is a long one and is still on-going. If you have not met Charlotte, James and Michael before and would like to start with the beginning of the story, here is where to start. You can read how the tale begins, as told from The Virgin, Charlotte, in ''Buying The Virgin''. Or you can start the story as told by The Boys, James and Michael, in ''Mastering The Virgin''. I should also say, that while there is of course, a lot of ovep between these two versions of the story, they are by no means identical. Each contains insights and information that is not present in the other. The are also characters at the beginning of the tale who have stories of their own. You can meet Richard and Beth, and learn how they met, in ''Bought By The Billionaire''. And you can meet Kirstie and Ryan for the first time in ''Choosing Her Lover''. After these alternative versions of the beginning of the story, we have ''Masters and Lovers'' Then ''Hot Revenge'' And now ''The Lover''s Children'' This all soundsplicated I know, but as we start here, with the first part of The Lover''s Children, Winter Wedding, I have tried to write the story so you can enjoy it as a stand-alone piece of HEA, steamy romance. I hope you enjoy the result. Meanwhile, for a quick introduction to the characters, read on. Happy Reading Simone ***** The Characters ¨C Or ¡®What Went Before¡¯ Kirstie and Ryan: Kirstie first met Charlotte while working as concierge at thepany where Charlotte was employed. However, she had previously met Charlotte¡¯s two ¡®husbands¡¯, James and Michael, at a sex club some time previously. The three of them had a fun, no-strings, night as a threesome. Charlotte, James and Michael have remained good friends with Kirstie. Especially after Kirstie was instrumental in saving Charlotte¡¯s life when danger threatened. Now, close to Christmas, Kirstie is to marry Ryan, her Dom, and the Love of her Life. Charlotte and her extended, if entric, family are helping with the wedding. To learn how Kirstie and Ryan met, read ¡®Choosing Her Lover¡¯ Charlotte: Originally known as ¡®Jennifer Conners¡¯ (Jenny) when she was a child. Charlotte had a grim upbringing. Imprisoned in a ¡®Children¡¯s Home¡¯ known as ¡®Blessingmoors¡¯, actually an outlet for human trafficking, she never knew her mother and father, and was destined for a life as ve in the sex market. To escape that life, Charlotte decided to go to university to give herself the education to make it in the world. To raise the funds to do so, she chose to auction herself and her virginity to the highest bidder. James and Michael Charlotte¡¯s ¡®Buyer¡¯ was James, long-term Dom, architect-engineer, divorced and stinging from his first marriage. During a madcap week of wild sexual adventure, James introduced Charlotte to the pleasures of BDSM and m¨¦nage with his old friend Michael, who ¡®loves women¡¯. Blond, and unusually handsome, Michael lived the life of the ¡®Bachelor Free¡¯ for many years until he met Charlotte. Over time, James became Charlotte¡¯s Master. Michael became, first her ¡®Golden Lover¡¯, then her fianc¨¦e, and finally her husband. The three formed a Triad, now travelling through life in a three- cornered marriage. Charlotte now has a baby by James, Cara Mitch: Michelle Kimberley - Charlotte/Jenny¡¯s mother. Driven to escape from a suffocating childhood, Mitch ran away from home at the age of fifteen. She survived by bing a high-ss courtesan, eventually bing involved with: Klempner: Lawrence (Larry) Klemper: ex-mercenary and human trafficker. During an affair with Mitch, before understanding the kind of man he was, she became pregnant by him (by Jenny/Charlotte). When she learned the truth, she ran, going into hiding for over twenty years. But in the tragedy that followed, her baby, Jenny ter Charlotte), was taken from her. After events in which many truths were revealed, Klempner and Mitch were reconciled are now married. They have a second child, baby Victoria (Vicky). Richard and Beth Richard Haswell, billionaire property developer and Dom, owner of a significant proportion of ¡®The City¡¯ and first, James¡¯ employer then his co-director. Elizabeth (Beth): his wife and sub, and ¡®cousin¡¯ to Charlotte. Over time, the couple have be close friends with the Triad, and now are part of a developing polyamorous marriage. Richard and James share their pleasures with Charlotte. Michael is Beth¡¯s N?vel/Dr(a)ma.Org - Content owner. ¡®second husband¡¯. Now read on¡­ Chapter 2 - Winter Wedding #1 Chapter 2 - Winter Wedding #1 KLEMPNER My eyes snap open to darkness¡­ A clicking sound¡­ ws on concrete... Was I awake as I heard it? Or asleep? Scratching and scraping¡­ A skritching noise¡­ Cold sweat soaks the sheet under me. My hand, of its own volition, ms toward the light switch. But before I reach it, something cold and wet shoves at my face: Bear¡¯s nose. My heart gives a mighty m¡­ Christ... ¡­ and I snatch for air. Pull yourself together man... Heartbeat decelerating, I switch on the light anyway. Bear wriggles his backside in an ecstasy of wagging, poking at me with his snout, ws tap-tapping on the hard floor, then muffling as they snag on the bedside rug. Reaching from under the nkets, I scratch an ear, keeping my voice low, trying not to disturb Mitch. ¡°Good boy.¡± He blows air in my face, sweet and a little meaty, gives my hand a perfunctory lick, then huffs, dropping to the rug. Head on paws, he faces the door, eyes drooping. No rat¡¯s going to get past him¡­ A short-cut to snacks¡­ I roll onto my back, staring up, reluctant to switch off themp. Bear¡¯s breathing grows steady and slow. Turn off the light¡­ ¡­ Turn off the fucking light¡­ There¡¯s nothing there in the dark that¡¯s not there in the light¡­ Inhaling, feeling the rise and fall of my chest, the quickening of my heartbeat again, still I hesitate¡­ You¡¯re a grown man¡­ Half the world is scared shitless of you¡­ So, what the fuck¡¯s the matter? ¡­ then flick off the light-switch. Staring into the gloom, I be conscious of the warmth of the body beside mine: warm,forting¡­ Mitch¡­ I roll again, this time to face my wife¡­ My wife¡­ All I ever wished for¡­ She¡¯s watching me, her eyes a green and white glint against the dark, fixed on mine. Drawing close, she contours herself to me. Her hands in my hair, stroking, wordless, she opens her mouth over mine. ***** GEORGIE Leaning in close to the mirror, I apply anotheryer of mascara. My eyes are one of my best features. But byparison, dark as they are, my eyshes look vitamin-deficient if I don¡¯t give them some help. What else? A little more colour on the lips... Poking through my make-up bag, I pick out a dark flesh tone, then hesitate¡­ Something brighter? A strong red? I have the colouring to carry it off, but¡­ Date Number Three Don''t want to look like a menco dancer¡­ I have noints about inheriting my father¡¯s strong, dark appearance. Unlike some of my blonde colleagues, men don¡¯t tend to make assumptions about my intelligence. On the other hand, I prefer not to look as though I should be dancing with a rose between my teeth. I brush on lipstick, apply a touch of gloss, then stand back to survey the result. Not bad¡­ I straighten up, smooth down my dress¡­ Lower heels maybe? No¡­ he¡¯s tall enough not to worry about it¡­ I turn, considering¡­ Hair up? No¡­ Date three¡­ Keep it casual¡­ A nce at the clock¡­ Ten minutes¡­ There¡¯s no point going out yet. I¡¯d only be waiting out in the cold. Still, I put on my warmest coat, pacing the room¡­ It¡¯s a pleasant room, in the Hotel-Guest-Room way of things¡­ I really should move out of here. Can¡¯t keep living here rent-free¡­ Relying on the charity of others¡­ Well¡­ Michael and Charlotte¡­ ¡­ Not back to Mom¡¯s though. Get a ce of my own¡­ Earning enough now¡­ For somewhere basic at least¡­ Wish academics got paid a bit more¡­ Maybe Dad would help? My phone Pings with an iing message. Arrived early? A smile cracks across my mouth¡­ Waiting at the gate? Flipping open my phone, I jab at the screen, bringing up the message. Hi Georgie. Sorry but can¡¯t make it tonight. Something came up at work. Damn! I¡¯d been looking forward to this evening. Matt¡¯s goodpany. And I¡¯d been hoping¡­ Perhaps¡­ Tomorrow instead? Or Friday? Sorry busy at work. Will call u Stabbing at the screen, I close my messenger. ¡®I¡¯ll call you¡­¡¯ Not ¡®Call me¡¯. We all know what that means. Abruptly, despite the heavy coat, I¡¯m cold. Then, unreasonably, I¡¯m hot, my eyes watering. Dear John/Joan¡­ Bastard¡­ Should I reply? Fuck that¡­ Shoving the phone in a pocket, I drop to sit on the bed, hunched on the edge. What does it take? What do I do wrong? I¡¯m not bad looking. Intelligent; I got my brains from my dad. I can hold a conversation about more than thetest movie or what¡¯s in the charts. I can discuss thetest opinions on climate change or politics. Or what just came out of M.I.T. or Oxford. But¡­ Stop judging me¡­ Will you let me get a word in edgeways¡­ Did I ask your opinion? Always, it goes the same way. I can get the dates anytime I want. I can reel ¡®em in no problem. But you can¡¯t keep them¡­ My body wants to sob. To hell with that¡­ Standing again, I slide a finger under my eyes, wiping moisture from the corners. All dressed up¡­ Nowhere to go¡­ I can¡¯t stomach staying in my room. I head out, going¡­ ¡­ Going where? Thick fog swirls, wet on my face: rain without the willpower to drop. Certainly, a far cry from the frost and snow all the movies say we should have so close to Christmas. Where am I going? Aimless, I make for my dad¡¯s ce, at the rear of the hotel, but as ites into view, I hesitate. House lights glow golden. Shapes move beyond the windows, indistinct and silhouetted against the light. Music drifts out. Laughter and chatter too. A Merc is parked outside. Briefly, Charlottees close to the window, holding Cara¡­ My sister¡­ I pull back into a shadow, watching. Dades up behind her, lips moving with words I can¡¯t hear, but he¡¯s offering her a ss, tinted red- gold. He kisses Charlotte¡¯s forehead, and they exchange baby and ss. Holding Cara in his arms, he talks to her as she waves chubby arms towards the darkness outside. Beyond them, Michael is dancing with Mitch¡­ They¡¯re very good¡­ ¡­ and as I angle round, Beth sits by the fire, Adam on her knee, chatting with Richard. Larry sits by, watching it all. I stand at the front door, knuckles poised to knock, but my stomach tightens. My breathing is fast and This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. short. The fog finally gains the will to fall, and rain patters onto the shallow porch roof above me. Why should I be scared? As though they¡¯d not let me in¡­ Not gonna happen¡­ Dad would be thrilled to have me there¡­ But my heart is hammering. All those people¡­ You¡¯re looking good, Georgie¡­ All dressed up¡­ On your way somewhere? ¡°What the fuck am I afraid of?¡± And now I¡¯m talking to myself¡­ But at my muttered words, beyond the door, a dog barks, a short yap. Another joins in; a deep baying. Then, bodies, far more than the two, throw themselves at the door. Kirstie¡¯s voice. ¡°Emma! Meg! Archie! Will you be quiet! You too, Mac.¡± Then, Michael¡¯s voice... ¡°Who on earth¡¯s out on a night like this?¡± ¡­ And approaching footsteps. My fragile courage cracks. Ducking away, I sprint around the corner, hiding from these people who should be my friends and family. The click of a lock... The creak of timber¡­ Golden light nts out. After a moment, Michael steps from the porch, looking one way, then the other. ¡°Hello?¡± Shrinking back, I watch as he turns, palms raised, radiating bafflement. Then he shrugs and goes back inside. As the door closes, ¡°Damn dogs. Barking at nothing again.¡± The light cuts off, then reappears. Larry steps out, his hand on something inside his jacket. He lingers, staring out into the dark, turning slowly. As his gaze revolves toward me, he pauses¡­ He can¡¯t see me¡­ Surely? His head tilts. He looks down, then up again. After a moment, he too shrugs and returns inside. Even if there were anyone to see me in the rain, it would be too dark to see the scald on my cheeks as I trudge back to the hotel parking lot. Chapter 3 - Winter Wedding #2 Chapter 3 - Winter Wedding #2 GEORGIE Shaking down my umbre, I reverse indoors from the porch, trying to deposit the drips beyond the threshold. Then, dumping the brolly in the stand by the door, and checking I¡¯ve not left anything of value in the pockets, hang my dripping coat on a hook. But turning into the cosy wee of the bar, once more, I hesitate. Although it¡¯s early, the crowd is building up: Friday night revellers, allughing and joking; groups of guys, gangs of girls. One set looks like the ¡®Boy¡¯s Christmas Night Out¡¯, the group swilling beer, exchanging football critique and off-colour jokes. Another looks to be a hen party: giggling girls in matching printed tee-shirts¡­ Bridesmaids¡­ Bride¡­ Hangers-on¡­ Here for the booze¡­ ¡­ and red tinsel headbands¡­ Ridiculous¡­ ¡­ the women shriek withughter, knocking back vodka. Couples sit quietly at tables, their heads close. Some talk quietly. Others look over menus. Some just stare out, swaying slightly or tapping fingers on the tabletops to the rhythm of the music. Others are singing along¡­ ¡­. I yed my drum for Him pa-rum pum pum pum I yed my best for Him pa -rum pum pum pum¡­ Then, there¡¯s me¡­ ¡­ dressed in my finery. Alone¡­ I start to back out, but beyond the door, rain hammers onto the sidewalk. So instead, I take a spot at the end of the bar. ¡°What can I get you?¡± The barman gives me obligatory cheap smile, measuring me with his eyes. Party dress¡­ Made-up¡­ No wedding ring¡­ Nice tits¡­ I open my mouth to order a ss of white wine, then¡­ Fuck it¡­ ¡°Whisky.¡± He hesitates, eyes a little narrowed. Then, reaching up to the disy of bottles behind the bar, ¡°Any brand in particr?¡± I scan the choice. ¡°I¡¯ll have a Lagavulin. Arge one.¡± He raises his brows, smiling a little. ¡°Coming up. Ice?¡± ¡°No.¡± Amber fluid sshes into a ss and I cradle it, inhaling the scents of peat and smoke and msses. It sets a trail glowing down my throat, then heats me from the inside. But I know the warmth isn¡¯t real. Alcohol helps, but it¡¯s no substitute for¡­ For what? What am I missing? I don¡¯t know. But something within aches¡­ The whisky should be sipped, but I gulp it down, knowing I¡¯m only masking the empty ce inside. Hunched over the bar, I cup the tumbler in my hands, staring down into the contents. Warmed by its fake heat, I¡¯m vaguely aware that next to me, a couple of guys are chatting over a beer apiece. A little longer and I realise that one, surreptitiously, is looking me over. Just what I need¡­ On the prowl¡­ ss in hand, I turn to face him, square on. As he sees me staring, he turns too, looking at me properly. He¡¯s a handsome man, visually striking; some variety of Scandinavian, with silver-blond hair and eyes that passed through the blue of the sky and settled in the cier. His forehead furrows. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but do we know each other?¡± Oh¡­ God¡­ ¡°That¡¯s a bit of a tired line, isn¡¯t it? I mean, it¡¯s hardly original.¡± He blinks. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t mean¡­ But you seem familiar¡­¡± ¡°Oh, give me a break.¡± His eyes widen. He lets out air. ¡°Well, excuse me¡­¡± I take another gulp of the whisky, then p the empty tumbler onto the bar. Silently, the barman slides the ss away from me. I expect him to ask if I want a refill, but he doesn¡¯t speak. Crap¡­ I shouldn¡¯t have done that¡­ I turn back to the silver-haired man. ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s just¡­¡± But his back is turned to me. Beyond him, his friend meets my eye, raising brows, then also looks away. ***** KLEMPNER Mitch leads the way to breakfast. I follow her, carrying Vicky in her travel-cot. My wife¡­ My daughter¡­ Ahead of us, the kitchen is a cacophony of mour and tter and chatter, echoing down the hall. My mouth is dry¡­ Why? A normal life¡­ I wanted this¡­ James, in jeans and a cable-knit pullover, sleeves rolled up, is at the hob, moving between pans and tes and grill like a conjurer on speed. He shes a smile at Mitch as she enters; nods an acknowledgement to me as I hesitate in the doorway, then pauses, looking fixedly at me for a moment. Mitch takes a seat next to Jenny, pulling up a side-table¡­ My other daughter¡­ ¡­ who is upied with feeding Cara¡­ My grandchild... Seated in a highchair, her face and bib are spattered yellow as Jenny spoons something eggy into her mouth. The tray of the chair swims with God-knows-what. Right next to Cara, Beth feeds Adam bright orange mush. It¡¯s a messy process. His tray too, and the stic mat on the floor, amodating both chairs, is a slush-bespattered disaster zone. Jenny holds back a bright green Mickey Mouse spoon, loaded with egg. ¡°Herees the aerone¡­¡± The spoon makes an arc through the air and Cara, burbling, opens her mouth wide. At thest moment, chubby fingers grab the spoon from Jenny, aiming more-or-less at their owner¡¯s face. A small portion of the food is delivered to her mouth. The remainder slops down face, bib and tray. Cara tries again, jabbing down into the bowl of egg with the spoon, scooping up a little, spilling most. Next to her, Adam has lost interest in his orange slop, stretching out wriggling fingers to Cara¡¯s bowl. Jenny watches with critical eye, then slices toast into finger-sized pieces, giving one to Cara and offering another to Adam. He grabs it, then champs at the end, not so much eating it, as pulverising it. Mitch pats the side-table. ¡°Just pop Vicky down here, would you, Larry.¡± As I set down the cot, she produces her bag of baby-feeding kit. At the other side of the table, Michael is telling some tale to Haswell, illustrating his words with waves of a toast-clutching hand. He breaks off halfway through as Adam raises a wail of protest, pudgy arms still grabbing toward Cara¡¯s bowl. Normal life? Complete fucking chaos¡­ James, poking at a sizzling frying pan, flicks eyes to mine, away to his pan, then back to me, once more holding for a moment. He sweeps the room with his gaze. Returns to me. Head inclining, he smiles slightly and nods me to a seat. ¡°Larry, poached eggs?¡± ¡°Thank you, yes.¡± ¡°Two or three?¡± ¡°Two, please. But I¡¯ll do it. I can see you have your hands full.¡± He wavers, reluctance shining out. ¡°It¡¯s not a problem. I can manage. Take a seat.¡± ¡°I¡¯m happy to help...¡± Still, he hesitates¡­ ¡°I didn¡¯t realise your control issues extended to the kitchen.¡± James¡¯ expression darkens. Mitch coughs andys a hand on my arm. ¡°Larry, it¡¯s James¡¯ kitchen. He¡¯s in charge here.¡± Was that rude of me? Perhaps¡­ Injecting the joke into my voice, ¡°My ns for world domination didn¡¯t include ousting James from his beloved hob. I was just trying to¡­¡± James awards me a dry look, then turns for the fridge. ¡°Poached eggsing up. Let¡¯s all y to our strengths.¡± The toaster clicks and four golden slices pop up. ¡°Help yourself to toast.¡± He regards the toaster critically, sucking in his cheeks. ¡°I need to get a bigger one, don¡¯t I.¡± The doorbell rings. Michael stands, half a slice of toast in hand, still chewing. ¡°I''ll get it. Are we expecting anyone?¡± Mitch looks up from Vicky''s bottle. ¡°I''m giving Kirstie the final fitting for her wedding dress this morning. Ryan¡¯s probably with her.¡± As Michael exits the kitchen, Cara bangs on the tray of her high chair, with her spoon, setting the stic bowl rattling. Vicky burbles and hups. Beside Beth, Adam joins in with Cara, banging his own spoon. Michael returns with a smiling Ryan, a beaming Kirstie. ¡°Kirstie! Ryan!¡± Voices rise. Chairs scrape back from the table to make space as Michael pulls in one extra chair, Haswell another. James cracks eggs into simmering water, then puts the lid on the pan and sets it to one side. ¡°You two joining us for breakfast?¡± Ryan rubs at his arms. ¡°Thanks. Don''t mind if I do, James. It''s cold out there.¡± Mugs and tes tter. Adam and Cara start a mush-throwing contest. Jenny and Beth relieve them of their spoons and bowls, then lift them out of the highchairs, cing them in a ypen set to one side. How do people stand this all the time? Please check at N/?vel(D)rama.Org. Two perfectly poached eggs, nestled on golden toast, are set before me, two more in front of Kirstie and Ryan, and James finally sits down to his own breakfast, actually just a slice of toast and ck coffee. ¡°So, if it¡¯s not world domination today, Larry, what¡¯s on your timetable?¡± I pour myself more coffee, keeping my attention on pot and mug. ¡°Nothing in particr.¡± In truth, the day yawns ahead of me. Boredom is a new experience. What do people do with their time? A normal life¡­ ***** Chapter 4 - Winter Wedding #3 Chapter 4 - Winter Wedding #3 JAMES Michael, one ankle propped up on a knee, cups his mug. ¡°So how are the wedding ns, Kirstie? All in good order?¡± He raises a forefinger. ¡°By the way, I''m picking up my suit tomorrow.¡± The tall, dark girl opens her mouth to speak ¡­ Mitch interrupts. ¡°Have you decided about the honeymoon yet? What your ns are?¡± Kirstie''s smile fades. Ryan¡¯s looks strained, but his tone is off-hand. ¡°We¡¯re going to decideter. We have other priorities just now.¡± He grinds to a halt¡­ More to say? But not speaking¡­ What¡¯s wrong? Kirstie picks up the line. ¡°There''s no point spending money for a few days holiday is there? Getting our home fit to live in is more important.¡± Iy my hand on hers. ¡°Of course, it is.¡± Klempner watches all this in silence. But there¡¯s something around his eyes. Michael sits back in his seat, cradling his cup, watching everything, saying nothing. Richard breaks in, propped by his elbows on the table. ¡°James, I''m seeing the mayor this afternoon. He wants to discusspany sponsorships for new apprentice positions. I was hoping I could have some input from you on what¡¯s needed skills-wise. If you¡¯re not doing anything else that is?¡± Hmmm¡­ ¡°You mean you want me to give you the bullets to fire, so you don¡¯t find yourself paying for training in Medieval fly-fishing or flower-arranging?¡± Richard chuckles. ¡°That''s about the size of it. That sted wife of his thinks we¡¯re a charity. I try to exin that I¡¯m happy to sponsor training inputer sciences, engineering and business studies. Even basic literacy and numeracy. She wants me to fund a music college. I told her my taxes cover that sort of thing, but she doesn¡¯t want to take no for an answer. Anyway, we can talk about it on the drive into the office...¡± He checks his watch. ¡°¡­ Speaking of which¡­¡± He rises from his seat, snagging the jacket hanging over the back. Michael speaks. ¡°Charlotte, in the New Year, do you think you could help out with the keep fit and self- defence sses for a couple of weeks? We''re bound to get a ton of New Year¡¯s resolution sign-ups. Chad could use some extra help. At least until the drop-aways¡­ um¡­ drop away.¡± ¡°Sure, if Mom and Beth will look after Cara while I¡¯m doing it?¡± Charlotte turns, the question lifting her voice. Michael nods down to my egg-covered daughter, currently pulling herself upright against the side of the ypen. ¡°I thought actually, that Cara might like toe with me on my rounds. She¡¯s big enough not to need you on hand all the time.¡± ¡°Um¡­¡± Doubt rings through Charlotte¡¯s voice. Michael throws a smile at Cara. ¡°Want toe and help, Sweetie¡­?¡± Cara burbles eggy approval: a smile lined with tiny pearl-whites, rimmed yellow, babbling and gurgling. ¡°¡­ Of course you do. You cane with me today. We¡¯ll try it out, shall we.¡± Cara beams, but abruptly her face squeezes tight... Then flushes red... She starts wailing. ¡°Whoops! I think someone needs changing.¡± Michael hooks her under the arms, lifting her up and out of the pen. Charlotte makes to stand. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Charlotte. Finish your breakfast. I¡¯ll do it.¡± Michael vanishes out from the kitchen carrying my bawling daughter. Mitch has mischief in her voice. ¡°Will you do the nappy changing too, Ryan? When it¡¯s your turn?¡± His eyes flick to Kirstie and he hesitates. A chasm to the bowels of the earth yawns wide under him. ¡°Let¡¯s take that one step at a time, shall we. We¡¯re not actually married yet.¡± Kirstie decides to join the game of man-tormenting. ¡°How about you, Larry? Do you change nappies?¡± Klempner¡¯s expression doesn¡¯t change, but perhaps a smile lurks behind his eyes. ¡°If you ever need suggestions on how to dodge the authorities or move goods across borders¡­ Perhaps even the organisation of a small revolution¡­ Call me any time. Nappies¡­ No. As James said, let¡¯s all y to our strengths.¡± Michael re-appears, a rolled-up package in one hand, Cara strapped to his chest in a papoose. Arms and legs dangling, her smile sunny, she gurgles her excitement. ¡°That was¡­ interesting... What have you been feeding her, Charlotte?¡± He rinses his hands under the tap, then reims his coffee. Charlotte gives him a hard stare. ¡°I¡¯m trying different things. Seeing what she likes.¡± She stares in space¡­ ¡°Er¡­ She had some grapes yesterday.¡± Mitch chimes in. ¡°And I gave her pureed carrots and cauliflower. She enjoyed them. And it¡¯s good to train babies early to like vegetables.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll give you that,¡±ments Michael. ¡°But I saw the result. Perhaps the brassica experiment should wait until she¡¯s a bit older? Or would you prefer to install some kind of bio-hazardous waste disposal facility?¡± He tosses the package into the fire, the hottest part of the ashes. Briefly, it res brilliant yellow, then curls into ck smoke. Klempner stares down at his te, where the remains of his eggs congeal, vivid yellow, on his te. Too much information? Mitch is unaffected. ¡°Michael, are you going to carry Cara around all day like that? In the hotel? She¡¯s likely to be a handful.¡± ¡°Not a problem. It¡¯ll be good for her to get out and about. Babies should have a lot of variety. And facing forward like this, she can see everything that¡¯s going on.¡± He grins. ¡°Actually, I¡¯m rather looking forward to it. Now she¡¯s old enough not to need Charlotte all the time, we can start doing things together¡­¡± ***** KLEMPNER Something jostles my elbow: Bear. He¡¯s big enough to look down on my abandoned te. He aims his snout down at my leftover egg¡­ Up at me¡­ Down at the egg¡­ Groans¡­ I put my te down on the floor and Bear rasps over the coagted yolk with his tongue. Michael¡¯s mutt dashes in for a share-grab. Bear moves over, iming one side of the te. I shift, ready to boot the thief aside, but then realise Mitch¡¯s stare is fixed on me. Hard. Wide-eyed. Emerald turned to stone. I settle back¡­ Pick up my coffee¡­ Look the other way¡­ Wasn¡¯t going to do a thing¡­ ¡­ But from the corner of my eye, that granite-stare still res. Michael is still rattling out his enthusiasm, Jenny and Beth, goggle-eyed with attention¡­ Talk¡­ Talk¡­ Talk¡­ There can''t be enough air in here for so many people¡­ It¡¯s not as though I¡¯m wearing a tie, but my throat is tight. My face heats and I shift in my seat. Mitch is fussing with Vicky, my misdeeds apparently forgotten¡­ How to make a polite escape? James is watching me. What¡¯s he thinking? Then Mitch, still cradling Vicky, looks to me. The hardness has gone. She blinks slowly, her great green-eyed gaze holding mine and, all but imperceptibly, she raises her chin¡­ ¡­ and I can breathe again¡­ A tter of dishes¡­ Amunal effort to clear the table¡­ fill the dishwasher¡­ wipe away grease and crumbs and baby-food¡­ Michael taps Ryan on the shoulder. ¡°If you give me ten minutes, you cane with me and pick out which tree you¡¯d like¡­¡± James and Haswell pull on jackets, check briefcases, Haswell jangles car keys. James kisses Jenny. Haswell kisses Beth. ¡°Enjoy your wedding plotting.¡± Mitch, giving me ast speechless look, carrying Vicky, leaves the room. Kirstie trails behind, Jenny, and Beth with Adam, following. Momentster, footsteps grow quieter, heading upstairs. Michael throws back thest of his coffee. ¡°C¡¯mon, Ryan. Catch youter, Larry¡­¡± The bang of the kitchen door rattles through the air. Just like that, silence returns. And I¡¯m alone. What now? *****From N?velDrama.Org. Chapter 5 - Winter Wedding #4 Chapter 5 - Winter Wedding #4 MICHAEL Shrugging off my jacket, Ryan following, I enter the lounge. ¡°Ryan¡¯s picked out your tree, Kirstie. It¡¯s a beauty¡­¡± I trail off. Charlotte and Mitch sit together with Kirstie, their heads close¡­ Suspiciously close¡­ What¡¯s cooking? Beth enters, carrying Adam. ¡°Charlotte, I¡­ Oh! Hello. Didn¡¯t realise you two were back. I thought you were out hunting Christmas trees. And I forgot my phone.¡± ¡°It¡¯s in the kitchen,¡± says Charlotte. ¡°On the table.¡± But she says no more. All four women gaze at me with the kind of innocent expressions guaranteed to make a man¡¯s blood run cold. Hmmm¡­ I know plotting when I see it Should I ask? Is there any point? Doubtless, I¡¯ll not learn anything until they¡¯re ready to tell me. ***** ¡°How¡¯s it going, Sally? Everything under control?. I¡¯ll be out and aboutter this morning, so if you need anything, I can call by the cash and carry.¡± My head chef Hmmms, scanning the kitchen. ¡°Another turkey? Or two or three?¡± Sheughs. ¡°I saw from the bookings that you¡¯d squeezed in a couple of extra tables.¡± ¡°Why not? I¡¯ll buy them frozen and if they don¡¯t get used over the holidays, we can serve them up in February after people have recovered from a surfeit of turkey.¡± ¡°Fine¡­ Um¡­ More parsnips if they have them in. They always go down well roasted¡­¡± She stares into space, crossing off some invisible checklist. ¡°There¡¯re plenty of potatoes. Oh, but I¡¯m short on onions. You could bring in a couple of sacks¡­¡± Her gaze drops to my chest. ¡°I see you have a helper. Sally bends at the knee, bringing her face level with Cara¡¯s tickling her under the chin. How''s Daddy''s girl then? Are we helping him at work now?¡± Cara burbles and giggles. ¡°Da¡­ da¡­ da.. da...¡± Sally straightens up, brow wrinkling. ¡°Is thatfortable? Carrying her around in a papoose?¡± ¡°She¡¯s a bit small to let her run around on her own. And it''s good for kiddies to get out and about.¡± ¡°And when she¡¯s bored?¡± ¡°She goes out like a light and doesn¡¯t even know it when I put her back in her cot.¡± ¡°Ga¡­ ga¡­ ga¡­ ga¡­¡± Sally casts around the kitchen. ¡°Are we allowed a treat? A bit of apple, maybe? ¡°Just a bit. So long as there¡¯s not too much sugar in it.¡± ¡°No sugar at all. It¡¯s slices. I just softened them a few minutes ago to start the sauce. They¡¯re nice and squidgy. If they¡¯ve cooled down¡­¡± She reaches into a steamer, then tugs back her fingers. ¡°Just a minute¡­¡± She stabs out a couple of slices with a fork and runs them under the cold tap for a few seconds, then touches them to her wrist¡­ ¡°That¡¯s better. Cara¡­ Want a sweetie? They¡¯re nice¡­¡± She pops one slice into her mouth and offers the other to Cara. Cara grabs the slice and paws it up to her face, chomping at it with tiny pearly-whites. ¡°Ba¡­ ba¡­ ba¡­ ba¡­¡± ***** In reception, Morwenna has everything under control. ¡°Booked up solid, Michael, even with the extra tables. Afternoon and evening sittings.¡± She blows a sigh. ¡°The phone keeps ringing with requests for room bookings and I have to tell them no.¡± ¡°Maybe next Christmas, but not this year. Everyone¡¯s entitled to a holiday and we¡¯ll have our hands full with the wedding we¡¯re helping out with. The restaurant will bring in the cash we need.¡± ¡°It''s going to be a busy few days for you.¡± ¡°So it is, but that''s the right problem to have, isn''t it.¡± On the desk is a jar full of candy, there for any guest to help themselves. The brightly-coloured contents draw Cara¡¯s eyes like a ma. Little hands fling out, trying to grab. ¡°Da da da ma mamamama.¡± N?vel/Dr(a)ma.Org - Content owner. Morwenna watches the performance. ¡°Would Cara like a lollipop?¡± ¡°She''d like one, yes, but she can''t have one. She''ll be having her lunch when I get back.¡± ***** Back in the house, I deliver Cara to Mitch. As predicted, she¡¯s sound asleep and doesn¡¯t even notice as Mitch pulls the covers over her. What now? My muscles are tight. Until I thought about it, I¡¯d not realised I¡¯m tensed up. I could do with some exercise. But the gym is packed out with women in lycra. The swimming pool has a kid¡¯s Christmas party going on and¡­ And¡­ And? I just feel like some in-my-own-head time¡­ Go for a run? But the mist and the chill and, most of all, the underfoot mud, hardly entice me outdoors. Ah, yes¡­ I make my way to the wood-shed. ***** JAMES They¡¯ve not heard meing, too busy talking among themselves, three redheads close together, speaking quietly. And apparently, Kirstie¡¯s in on it too. Something¡¯s cooking¡­ I stand in the doorway, telling myself I¡¯m not eavesdropping. I¡¯m in full view if anyone looks up, but no- one does. Nheless, try as I might, I can¡¯t pick out the words. Damn¡­ I give it another few seconds, then deliberately clear my throat. Three heads of red hair, and one ck, pop up like slices from a toaster. ¡°Good morning. You all seemed very intent on something there. What were you talking about?¡± All four answer together¡­ ¡°Shopping...¡± ¡°The wedding...¡± ¡°Books...¡± ¡°The flowers¡­¡± ¡­ then look at each other. Mitch reaches into the newspaper rack, producing some glossy Sunday periodical¡­ ¡­ How to spend it¡­ ¡­ ¡°As you can see, James. We were looking through a catalogue, helping Kirstie put together her wedding list. We don¡¯t want her to end up with five toasters and no cutlery.¡± Hmmm¡­ I offer Charlotte a long look, but she refuses to meet my eye. From upstairs,es a wail; Cara. Charlotte immediately stands from her seat. ¡°I¡¯ll put some coffee on, shall I.¡± I retreat around the door, waiting in the hall. As Charlotte steps through, I snag her by the wrist, holding tight. ¡°What was all that about?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± She nces up the stairs, Cara¡¯s demands growing louder. ¡°Master, I¡­¡± ¡°Cara¡¯s fine for a moment. I don¡¯t like being lied to, especially not by all four of you. What were you talking about?¡± Colour rises up her neck. Her head hangs. ¡°Master, I was going to talk to you. Butter, when it was just you and me.¡± She looks up, meets my eye once more.¡± I promised Michael that when I felt ready, I would have a second baby, for him.¡± Ahhh¡­ ¡°Do I take it you feel ready now?¡± ¡°Um, yes.¡± Her fingers knot together. ¡°Is that alright?¡± ¡°Of course it is¡­¡± A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. ¡°¡­ We all know what was agreed. You and I have discussed this many times. You only had to say so.¡± ¡°Yes, but it means, um¡­ When we¡­ Er¡­ You and I¡­¡± She dries up, cheeks zing. ¡°You''re off your contraception?¡± ¡°Yes, I am.¡± ¡°That¡¯s fine, then. So long as I know.¡± I kiss her forehead. Now, go see to Cara. It sounds as though she¡¯s hungry.¡± ***** Chapter 6 - Winter Wedding #5 Chapter 6 - Winter Wedding #5 MICHAEL It feels good. There¡¯s something about chopping timber; using the body in a way where muscle-memory does all the heavy lifting. And the woodshed is a good ce, with its homely scents of shavings, pine resin and the hay up in the loft. Even though it¡¯s cold, my bare forearms goosing, exercise warms me from the inside. Muscles loosening with the repeated stretch, swing and Chop of the axe, I ease into my rhythm. It¡¯s mechanical, but in a good way; my body doing what is asked of it with no need for instruction, a familiar task which frees my mind to float. When James wants to let his thoughts roam, he moves into the kitchen. I see him sometimes, slicing onions or tasting some sauce. But behind his eyes, he¡¯s far away. Some might take cuckoo clocks apart. Klempner takes guns apart, then reassembles them. And I¡¯ve seen Mitch, knitting, her fingers counting stitches while she stares into the fire, physically with us, but spiritually, somewhere else entirely. The axe-edge impacts, bites, and the timber b splits; the round cross-section of a pine, six inches deep, eighteen across; two neat halves falling to one side and the other of my tree-stump anvil. Setting one half back atop the stump, I stand clear, swing, and bring my axe down in a clean strike that splits the half to quarters. And again¡­ Rinse and repeat¡­ Only a couple of minutes, and I''m too warm in my sheepskin vest. Cosy warmth turns to sweaty heat, perversely beading perspiration to chill my forehead. Hanging the vest on a nail, I work in my tee-shirt, sweat streaking a cold line down my spine. But on my heating skin, the coolth is wee. Back to my task¡­ The smooth warmth of hickory in my hand¡­ ¡­ the heft and bnce as I swing¡­ ¡­ the momentary stretch¡­ ¡­ the wordless coordination between eye and edge, taking the axe-head in a smooth arc¡­ The de cracks into the pine and once more it splits, dropping with a clunk to the frozen ground. That¡¯s enough. Tossing stove-lengths onto the woodpile, I turn to take the next wood slice and¡­ ¡­ She''s there, watching me: leaning against the doorpost, muffled up against the cold, her breath a blue cloud. ¡°Charlotte, I didn''t see you there.¡± A smile makes a soft dance over her lips. ¡°I was being quiet. I like watching you do that.¡± I twist and throw, spinning the axe through the air. It hits the stump with a clunk, lodging in the timber. Striding across, I take her in my embrace. ¡°You have odd taste in entertainment¡­¡± Her smile widens¡­ Rubbing at her arms and shoulders, ¡°It¡¯s cold. You should be indoors. Go find a movie to watch. I¡¯ll join you in a few minutes.¡± Sliding my arms around her waist, I pull her close. ¡°I¡¯ll bring in plenty of logs. How about we get the fire really zing, then curl up on the couch with a bottle of wine and watch old movies all afternoon? Your mother and Beth will probably join us.¡± She presses close, ¡°I like that, but¡­ I wanted to be with you. Just you¡­¡± ¡­ My stomach tightens and my groin stirs¡­ ¡°¡­ It¡¯s wonderful having everyone here. I love it. But sometimes I want you and me together. Just you and me.¡± I tilt her chin up. ¡°You okay, Babe? I thought you were enjoying having people around you? A big family. I thought it was what you wanted?¡± She nods, her face bright. ¡°Oh, it is, yes. Just¡­ not all the time.¡± She¡¯s moving closer in, stering herself to me, and while I have no problems with where this is clearly going¡­ ¡°James? You want me to¡­?¡± ¡°Just you,¡± she murmurs. Then, her mouth close to my face, she whispers, ¡°Let''s make a baby.¡± Something thumps under my ribs. And again. ¡°Really? Now?¡± Her fingers coil into my hair, nails nipping into my scalp. ¡°Really. Now.¡± This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. My heart jabbers away, doing double-time. My mouth is dry. This is ridiculous¡­ It¡¯s what you¡¯ve wanted¡­ ¡°Charlotte, you¡¯re sure? You really want this?¡± Her grip on my skull rxes and she pulls back. Brow wrinkled, she stares into my face. ¡°Why would I not want it? I thought it was what you wanted?¡± ¡°It is, but¡­ I know you didn¡¯t enjoy being pregnant before, with Cara. You¡¯re right, I do want this, that you and I have a child together too. But¡­ I understand what your reasons were for having Cara; to give James his daughter back. And with everything that happened, with Finchby and Baxter¡­ And Juliana¡­ I¡¯d thought¡­ Maybe¡­¡± She cradles my cheek with her palm. ¡°That it put me off the whole idea? No. That was then. Juliana is dead. We¡¯re all safe. Yes, I needed time to feel like myself again. But it¡¯s been it¡¯s been a year now. And¡­ you think I don¡¯t want to give you what you want? Cara needs a brother or sister, and my Golden Lover wants a baby of his own.¡± Her smile fades. ¡°Why are you arguing about this? Have you changed your mind and you don¡¯t like to say so?¡± ¡°No!¡± I didn¡¯t mean to sound sharp. Moderating my tone, ¡°No, I¡¯ve not changed my mind. It¡¯s just¡­ Charlotte, I know you love James more than me. It''s alright. I''ve always known it. I married you knowing it. The point is, I don¡¯t want you doing this out of some misced sense of duty. It¡¯s too important.¡± ¡°Hah!¡± Nostrils ring, she spins away, swiping a hand through her hair. Then, she calms, turning back. ¡°Michael, that''s not true. We¡­ we keeping back to this¡­¡± Scuffing at the floor with the toe of her boot, ¡°I¡¯ll repeat myself, again. And I truly hope this is thest time.¡± She moves close again, curling her fingers around mine, staring up into my eyes. ¡°I love you too, so much. But it is different¡­ ¡°¡­ With him, it''s¡­ intense.¡± She bites a lip, blinking. ¡°¡­ It¡¯s so intense. When he tells me to kneel, or orders me to¡­ to¡­¡± ¡­ Her arm ils up¡­ ¡°¡­ whatever¡­ sometimes I feel as though my heart will stop. As though the air¡¯s too thick to breathe¡­¡± The thumping in my chest grows to banging, my ribs set to rattle. Charlotte slides her gaze back to mine. ¡°When I¡¯m with you, it¡¯s different. It''s... it''s like I¡¯m living inside a smile. Everything around me is bright and beautiful.¡± She slides a thumb over my lips. ¡°You''re my Golden Lover. My personal sunshine.¡± She looks away again, but when her eyes return to mine, they¡¯re smiling eyes. ¡°I want this. Yes, I chose to have Cara first, and you know why. But now it¡¯s your turn. That was always what I promised you¡­¡± She reaches for my mouth with her own, her lips brushing mine¡­ ¡°And I keep my promises.¡± Fingers slip down my cheek and jaw, trace a line down my neck and chest, then trail out to take my fingers in hers. ¡°Come on¡­¡± Her mouth twitches¡­ ¡°¡­ If I¡¯m going to make a baby, I can¡¯t do it by myself.¡± Chapter 7 - Winter Wedding #6 Chapter 7 - Winter Wedding #6 MICHAEL I can''t help it. A grin takes over my face, spreading from ear to ear, from cheek to cheek. Charlotte grins back. ¡°You look pleased.¡± ¡°Oh, Babe, you have no idea.¡± Mischief gleams in her eye. ¡°It''s my Day Twelve. The next few days¡­¡± ¡°Is that right? No time to waste, then.¡± ¡°... Best get you indoors ASAP.¡± ¡°Here,¡± she whispers. ¡°Here? Charlotte, it''s fucking freezing.¡± ¡°Here. Now. Everyone''s around in the house. I want you to myself. And now.¡± Jade eyes dance upward. ¡°That hay should befortable.¡± ¡°It''ll wait an hour, Sweetheart. Until we can get some privacy indoors.¡± ¡°I took my temperature. Now.¡± ¡°Your temperature? You''re not messing around, are you.¡± ¡°I know it''s what you want. I want it too. And I''m ready. Both up here¡­¡± She taps her temple and¡­ ¡°¡­ She slips her hand back into mine, sliding it over her belly¡­ ¡°¡­ down here.¡± The grin has charge of my face. ¡°Who am I to disappoint ady?¡± ¡°What happened to the caveman in my life?¡± She eye-points upwards¡­. ¡°I thought you¡¯d drag me off by my hair into yourir.¡± ¡°You want a caveman? You''ve got one.¡± I scoop her up, and she shrieks withughter as I fling her over my shoulder. Snagging my jacket en route, I carry her up thedder into the hayloft. ¡°You might regret this. Hayseeds get everywhere.¡± Laying the jacket fur side upwards over the straw, ¡°Lie on this. Keep your top on. Just take off your jeans.¡± She kicks off boots, shoves off jeans, leaving herself with only thick fleecy socks below the waist, then settles her pale, naked rear on the sheepskin, Lying back in the ssic artist¡¯s model pose; a hand behind her head, one knee slightly raised, her eyes lock with mine. I lie alongside, stroking the length of her body, moving close to nibble at an ear. The hay is sweet and fragrant, if a touch bristly. ¡°Charlotte, thank you.¡± Her smile is bright and perfect. ¡°My pleasure.¡± I let fingers drift over her thighs; soft and warm, a hint of firm muscle beneath. Sliding from knee to loin, and back again, I¡¯m conscious that my fingertips are roughened, catching slightly on her smooth skin. She draws in a whisper of air, and I rest my hand over copper-red curls. ¡°Open up,¡± I murmur. Sighing, she eases her knees apart, canting her hips upwards a trifle as I slip my fingers down and in. For a moment I hold, my palm cupping her mound, fingers probing at warm flesh. Oddly, my cock¡¯s slow to respond. By now, I¡¯m usually bulging at my fly and keen to release a bit of pressure. This time¡­ More at stake¡­ More than just lovemaking¡­ ¡°Are you alright?¡± Her words are quiet. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m fine. It just¡­ feels different this time.¡± ¡°It is different¡­¡± She chuckles¡­ ¡°Would you like me to google instructions for you?¡± I burst outughing. ¡°I don¡¯t think that will be necessary¡­ Fuck¡­¡± ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± She semi-sits, propping herself up on her elbows, then giggles as, rolling to one side to lie t on the hay, I do battle with my belt. ¡°Sorry, gimme a mo. Got a sudden congestion problem. It''s getting a bit crowded in here.¡± Wrestling buckle and zipper open, I let my shaft out for air. ¡°God, that''s better. A man needs room to breathe sometimes.¡± She nods down at my waving cock. ¡°I don''t think you breathe through that.¡± ¡°No? You''d better hope I can. Because where I''m going to have my nose and mouth in a minute, air''s in short supply¡­ Now¡­ about that caveman thing¡­¡± Eyes widening to glorious green gems, she giggles again, then gasps as I nt my hand between her breasts, pushing her down. ¡°Silence please,¡± I say. ¡°Artist at work here¡­¡± Grabbing her under the knees, I tug her along, tip her up and, a palm on either thigh, spread her wide. Her perfume blooms, flowing over me in a glorious scented cloud, fragranced and heady. My cock pulses¡­ Gonna take my time over this¡­ My cock disagrees¡­ It doesn¡¯t carry the vote¡­ Hovering over her with my lips, I breathe¡­ letting heated air bathe her, first at loin and inner thigh, then the swelling flesh of her outerbia. ¡°Ahhh... ¡° She flexes, her head flinging back. The copper-red of hair merges with the growing flush of her skin; a flush that flowers over her vulva, spreading to belly and thighs A glinting line at her slit¡­ The gleam of wetness¡­ Her heating sex¡­ Pushing up her sweater, I kiss her navel, her belly. Then, pulling the sweater back over her pimpling skin, slip down to mouthe over the vee of her loins. She¡¯s arching now, rising at the hips to meet me, legs straining wide. My hands opening her, fingers partingbia to expose her glorious, pungently-scented, liquefying pussy, I thumb over her hooded clit. Charlotte groans¡­ ¡°Oh, God¡­¡± Sweeping back the hood with one thumb, with the other, I stroke her bud, probing and pushing at the base, watching it engorge and erge, turning brilliantly scarlet. She bucks, ¡°Michael¡­¡± ¡°Ask me nicely¡­¡± ¡°Please¡­¡± ¡°Gonna have youing two ways today.¡± Charlotte giggles, then gasps, arching as I plunge my face between her thighs. My mouth open wide, her folds are swelling nicely. Sliding my tongue over hot, sulent flesh brings them on a bit more. But I want more than this. Teasing at her swelling sex, stretching the flesh with teeth and lips, brings her on a bit more, her lips puffing up, her entrance opening for me. She smells amazing. My balls crawl with tension and my cock thrumms with pressure, pulsing in time with the banging behind my ears. Tonguing over, Ip over Charlotte¡¯s still-hooded clit. She jolts, groaning and her knees open further. Might as well help that along¡­ I swing her feet over my shoulders, then snap my hands around and under her ass, lifting and helping her to open wider. ¡°Always knew there must be a good reason this is James'' favourite ce to be.¡± She chuckles, angling herself, offering her blooming pussy to my mouth. ¡°Good girl. That''s what we''re looking for.¡± I plunge into her with my tongue and she shrieks, my cupped palms holding her to me as I suck and lick andp at acidic, honeyed juices. I spiral inside, her muscles fluttering. Hands clutch at my skull, nails biting in as Charlotte jerks and jolts and moans. She¡¯s streaming; tangy, musky, briny; her honey all mine to enjoy. My position¡¯s still a little awkward, and my neck is cricking. This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. Easy ess¡­ Winding her jeans into a roll, I shove them under her hips to rece my hands, leaving my fingers free for a bit of exploration. Stretching her open, her pussy is heated; reddening, thebia swelling, and I delve in once more, sucking away her flow. Chapter 8 - Winter Wedding #7 Chapter 8 - Winter Wedding #7 My cock thumps protest, wanting to be inside her, and the roughness as the head and shaft brush over hay isn''t helping. I¡¯m trickling already, but I want to trickle inside¡­ Not yet... Stretching her lips wide, opening her pussy to the full, her bud is exposed, stiff and upright. With my tongue tip, I probe at the base for the sweet spot she has there. Uuurrgghhh¡­ She shudders, quaking against me. Gotcha... Silentlyughing, I probe again, this time swiping around her clit, through her folds and over the tip. She yells, and pussy juices scald over my chin. Wriggling and bucking, she tries to escape but, still stretching her open with my thumbs, I pin her pelvis with palms and fingers. She''s quivering and straining, and with every yell, high voltage jolts across my shaft and balls. I''m hard enough that it aches... I''ll make you yell a different tune in a minute¡­ She smells of sweat and salt and sex, but not yet of me. Her quivering is growing, elerating, building to a shudder. Her flesh pulses, and her hips tremble and strain under my hands. She''s about to blow... Give her a few extra seconds... ...and drawing out the moment, I ease off, tracing the most delicate of lines in spirals around her bud. So gently¡­ So slowly¡­ Her breathing is rapid. Panting. Then my tongue-tip to her clit-tip, I flick the tiny thing¡­ ... This way and that¡­ This way and that¡­ Charlotte bucks, flinging forward, her nails clutching into my shoulders, biting in. Wailing out, she gushes hot, screaming out her climax... ¡°God¡­ No...¡± Releasing her clit, I drop to her pussy, plunging in to tongue-fuck her as I suck up spilling juices. ¡°Red! Red!¡± Instantly, I withdraw, swinging her legs free of my shoulders to kneel upright, watching my quivering, quaking, shaking fox-haired Love. Wherever she is right now, it¡¯s not the same as the rest of us. Eyes squeezed tight closed, teeth bared, fingers curled to ws, spine arched, she bucks and shudders her way through orgasm¡­ ¡­ and eases¡­ ¡­ Still breathing heavily, she rxes back down onto the hay. Her eyes flutter open, first staring straight up, then, green and brilliant, shifting to me. Iy a hand on the vee of her thighs, the skin hot and wet, copper curls gleaming. ¡°Good?¡± She nods, then both hands raised, reaches for me. ¡°I think that makes it your turn.¡± ¡°I think it does.¡± Shimmying my jeans down and off, I kick them to one side then kneel up above her, my shaft pulsing its enthusiasm against my belly. ¡°No doubt we¡¯ll both be picking hayseeds out of our clothes for the next week.¡± Charlotte chuckles, but her eyes fixed on mine, she angles her hips, spreads her thighs. Her smile is wicked. After a moment, her gaze drops to my erection, holds, then rises again. ¡°You going to do something with that, then?¡± ¡°Oh, yes. Hold on tight. You¡¯re not getting out of this withouting again.¡± Surging forward, I seize her at the wrists. She squeals, but I push her arms over her head, then settle myself over her, my cock now resting against her belly. Slipping my arms under her shoulders, I hold her to myself, my cheek against hers. ¡°Comfortable?¡± I murmur. She shifts, twisting her face to mine, her lips meeting mine. ¡°Mmmm¡­¡± She flexes and swings, her legs locking around my waist. ¡°Inside me. I want you inside me. Now.¡± It¡¯s so easy, so smooth; sliding myself down, my cockhead slipping through folds already hot and wet, to her entrance. She¡¯s open, slick and ready for me, and my gradual pration is tight and delicious. She whimpers as I enter, her arms curving down to hold me at the shoulders. A slight withdrawal, then I re-prate until she sheathes me entirely. The temptation is to pound in, fuck her hard and blow my load. My cock says Yes to that, but my head says No. I want her screaming under me, and not just for a few seconds. Winding my hips, pressing in, I spiral my shaft inside her, angling upward. It¡¯s not the easiest of moves, Please check at N/?vel(D)rama.Org. but as I push against her g-spot, she lurches in my arms, hissing air through her teeth¡­ ¡°Oh, God¡­¡± ¡°Like I said, you¡¯re not getting away withouting again, on my cock this time.¡± And I wind another circle inside her, to be rewarded by a ball-tightening groan. My thighs are encouragingly wet. Another circuit and her groan is louder. ¡°Ready for more?¡± ¡°Oh, God, yes. Fuck me, Michael. Fuck me hard.¡± ¡°As my wife wishes¡­¡± And I ram forward, hard enough to swing my balls. She squawks, pitching under me, arms iling. I thrust again, ¡°Come on, Babe. I want you toe again. This doesn¡¯t finish until you do.¡± Another stroke. And another. Filling her with myself each time, withdrawing, then driving in again, full-length, my cock harder with every stroke. ¡°Come for me¡­¡± ¡°Uuurrgghhh¡­¡± Her apparent loss of the power of speech makes me smile, but she¡¯s on the build, her tension mounting. Taking a break from jack-hammering into her, I pause to wind another circle into her, catching that sweet spot inside her again, savouring her answering scream, then once more spearing in¡­ ¡°Come for me¡­¡± But she''s ahead of me, her body convulsing, her hands gripping my shoulders as though she might fall off the edge of the world if she released her hold. I don¡¯t stop, thrusting hard. Her hips jerk and jolt against mine. She¡¯s yelling something. There could be words in there but I¡¯m not sure. It doesn¡¯t matter. I know what she¡¯s saying, and I give her everything I know she wants¡­ Charlotte stiffens under me. For a moment she¡¯s quite still, her eyes blinking open; huge-pupilled, bordered by emeralds. Her face is brilliantly flushed, her copper hair bronzed with sweat. Her heart bangs against mine. Her breathing is jerky, rapid, then pauses altogether... Eyes squeezing tight again, she lurches under me, and her panted yells be one, long, drawn-out wail¡­ Her flush darkens from scarlet to crimson¡­ ¡°Don''t forget to breathe...¡± In mid-climax, her eyes unsqueeze to meet mine and she bursts intoughter, or tries to. The two don''t really go together. Her mouth flung wide, all thates out is the bastard lovechild of a cough and a splutter ¡°Oh God¡­ Don''t¡­ Don¡¯t do that... I...¡± ¡°Do what? This?¡± And I give her another shove at her g-spot to finish her off... ¡°No. Oh... God¡­ No...¡± ¡°No?¡± ¡°It''s delicious, but I can''t stand it.¡± Abruptly, she grabs at my naked ass, holding me to herself. Her cunt, tight and hot around me, clenches and grabs, squeezing at me, one rhythmic pulse after another. Shit! And I blow¡­ As I spurt, she¡¯s still clutching at me¡­ One volley, two¡­ And now, herughter is real. ¡°See how you like it,¡± she chuckles. ¡­ a third, and I¡¯m done, but she¡¯s still mping around me like some psychotic plumber with a blocked drain to clear¡­ Wringing me dry¡­. ¡°Stop, Charlotte. For fuck¡¯s sake, stop¡­¡± Sheughs again, a wicked little chuckle, gives my cock one more squeeze, then rxes, releasing her death-grip on my backside. Limp in body, mind and groin, I drop, my weight huffing the air from her ribs. ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, Michael, you weigh a ton. Roll off, will you.¡± She shoves and, unceremoniously, I drop to one side, blinking back the shooting stars behind my eyes. ¡°Jeez¡­ That was¡­¡± She giggles. ¡°Spectacr...¡± She rolls close, nips my chin between thumb and forefinger steering my face to hers, then presses her lips to me... ¡°¡­ as it should be for our first make-a-baby effort.¡± Abruptly, it¡¯s hard to swallow. Something wells inside me. ¡°Thank you, Charlotte.¡± Tugging up my pants, I realise btedly that she¡¯s still half-naked too. ¡°Get dressed. Don¡¯t get chilled.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll just lie here for five minutes,¡± she says. ¡°Might as well give everything time to head off for the goalposts. Oh, andter, when you¡¯ve caught up on yourself again. We¡¯ll do it again.¡± ***** Chapter 9 - Winter Wedding #8 Chapter 9 - Winter Wedding #8 KLEMPNER A Christmas tree takes up an entire corner of the lounge, the star at the top brushing the ceiling. It¡¯s highly decorated, but not with anything purchased from a store. Mitch and Jenny both go for the Homemade Christmas look. Paper birds folded origami-style dangle from many of the branches. Mitch¡¯s hand shows in a bewildering array of painted and glinting pine cones, acorns, clove-studded oranges and apples. The effect is striking, especially teamed up with the matching tree in the dining room and the monster that rears up in the hall. She and Jenny sit at the table, making yet more of their ornaments. Why? Why do people do this stuff? I¡¯m fooling myself. Mitch loves Christmas. I know that from long ago¡­ Maybe I should take her to Find again? Perhaps next year, when Vicky¡¯s older¡­ Haswell folds up his newspaper, tosses it to one side with a snort, then sits, scowling, hands folded, thumbs orbiting each other. ¡°Here we are, Christmas just around the corner and there¡¯s nothing but bad news being reported. You''d think they coulde up with one feel-good story.¡± ¡°Mind if I take a look?¡± ¡°Help yourself.¡± I unfold the paper, scan the headlines. He has a point. Terrorist attack in Mumbai¡­ Traffic pile-up in winter weather. Police me speeding drivers¡­ sher killer takes third City prostitute¡­ Do you suffer from the winter blues? Haswell looks over his spectacles at me. ¡°See what I mean?¡± ¡°Mmmm¡­ yes.¡± James strides in; clean shirt, suit pressed, shoes polished.¡± Ready?¡± Haswell checks his watch. Sighs. ¡°I suppose. Wish I could duck out of that lunch meeting.¡± From somewhere in the house, a baby starts bawling. Then a second wail rises. Oh God... Michael¡¯s mongrel, Scruffy sits up from his basket by the hearth¡­ Looks like a badly-stitched doormat¡­ ¡­ aims its snout at the ceiling and joins the howl. Lying over my feet, Bear shifts... ¡°Not you...¡± I growl¡­ ... then subsides with a rumble, ears ttening. How do people stand this? ¡­ This¡­ this¡­ domesticity? This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Think I''ll go for a walk.¡± ¡°Perfect timing.¡± Michael stands in the doorway. ¡°Larry, if you¡¯re at a loose end, can you spare me a couple of hours? I could use an extra pair of hands.¡± ¡°What with?¡± ¡°Got a tree to cut.¡± ¡°Another one?¡± He follows my swivelling head to the tree in the corner and grins. ¡°Yeah, but not for us. This one¡¯s for Ryan and Kirstie. I promised I¡¯d provide the tree for their dining room. Want to help?¡± ¡°Why not?¡± It¡¯ll pass an hour or so¡­ ***** Michael wasn¡¯t wrong about the weather. The traditions may say Christmas is all snow and sparkle. But just few days before the event, this is just in Winter. Not cold enough to freeze, but worse in its way. At a couple of degrees above freezing, everything is wet, with a chill that clings and prates. Fog swirls, casting grey over the forest and track. Michael, practically dressed in severalyers of thermals and sweaters, topped by waterproofs and galoshes, stamps over the treacherous ground. Slick with boot-sucking mud, it promises a headlong dive to the ground to anyone who doesn¡¯t watch their footing. mming up the tailgate of his antiquated Toyota tbed, he bangs at the catch until it locks into ce. The tree, a twenty-foot fir, Iies horizontally on the back of the truck. Resin gums up everything in sight, chainsaw, axe and my hands included. Michael secures one end of a coil of rope to his side, then tosses the coil over the tree and across the back. Snagging it mid-air, I yank it down, tensioning it around a side-hook, then return it. How old is this thing? I give one of the tyres an experimental kick and get a sore toe in rpense. ¡°Is this thing legal? The Michael pauses in his knot-tying, giving me a long look. ¡°That must have been a while back. What were you using it for?¡± ¡°Transporting arms and mercenaries over the ruts that pass for roads there.¡± He swings his head, eyes rolling. ¡°I had to ask¡­¡± He turns his attention back to the rope-work. Then, ¡°But that¡¯s the point, isn¡¯t it. These old tbeds, they¡¯re damn near indestructible. They drive forever, hardly break down, and if something does go wrong, any half-wit with a hammer and a spanner can usually fix it.¡± ¡°True. I had to get one restarted myself a couple of times. When the heat had been too much, or if we¡¯d had to cross a river. You¡¯re right. It doesn¡¯t take much to keep them moving Or to get them moving again. Any basic kit will do the job.¡± ¡°Michael pauses. ¡°You can repair engines?¡± ¡°In a basic way. I always made the effort to be able to turn my hand to most things. When you travel some of the ces I have, it helps to be independent if possible.¡± He nods slowly, Hmmming, absorbing that. ¡°So¡­ what else can you ¡®turn your hand to¡¯?¡± ¡°As I say, car repairs. The older ones at least, before the manufacturers opting for building everything into ck boxes. Basic electrics, setting up a generator for example¡­ Um¡­ Apprentice level joinery, plumbing¡­ Practical skills. The kind of thing that makes everyday life morefortable.¡± Michael raises brows. ¡°That¡¯s good to know. I¡¯ll bear it in mind.¡± He loops the rope around his side, again tensioning it, slightly ttening the tree, then tosses it back to me. ¡°Actually, it was my first vehicle. I bought it when I was seventeen.¡± ¡°Did it look any better then?¡± Loop and toss. Michael catches again, loops, tensions, tosses. ¡°Not really, but I paid for it with what I earned from chores and Saturday work.¡± He ps the side. ¡°I¡¯m fond of the old girl, and she¡¯s good for the kind of work where things are liable to get dirty.¡± He surveys the load, gives the tree a shove. It rattles, heaves then settles back. ¡°I think we¡¯re about there. You want to fasten that off now?¡± Knotting the rope on itself, I tie in an alpine butterfly, taking the end of the rope under the sidebar, then back through the loop of the butterfly. Returning it around the hook, I re-tension everything, then tighten it further with a series of half-hitches. Michael pushes at the trunk. ¡°Nope, that¡¯s not going anywhere.¡± He eyes my knotwork. ¡°You¡¯ve done that before too.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve moved a few awkward loads in my time, if that¡¯s what you mean, yes. And knotwork is a useful skill for almost any way of life.¡± I eye the tree. ¡°This dining room of Kirstie¡¯s, how big is it? I know that mill she and Ryan bought is a big ce, but¡­¡± He gives me a good-natured grin. ¡°Perhaps ¡®dining room¡¯ is the wrong phrase. Dining hall would be better. On the side facing the river, they¡¯ve opened up the loading bays and merged them into one giant window. It¡¯s huge. But the view is amazing. And they¡¯ve built around it to scale. The ground floor is one enormous space, and they¡¯ve opened part of it up to the next floor so they get a kind of minstrel gallery effect.¡± ¡°Sounds impressive.¡± ¡°They asked James for his advice on how to convert it. I think he decided to get creative.¡± ¡°I can imagine. But it sounds a bit over-sized for a family home.¡± ¡°It is, but I think their long-term n is to convert one of the out-buildings into their actual home. They have ns to run the main building as a restaurant. But for now, they¡¯re holding their wedding reception there. They¡¯ve got guests flying in from here, there and everywhere.¡± ¡°And you¡¯re providing the tree?¡± ¡°Among other things. They asked us to help with the wedding. We¡¯re helping. C¡¯mon, let¡¯s move before the weather gets any worse.¡± He fumbles in a pocket for keys. ¡°So, you¡¯ve driven one of these before?¡± ¡°Many times.¡± ¡°Good.¡± He tosses me the keys. ¡°I¡¯ll y passenger then.¡± In the driver¡¯s seat, I turn the key, wondering what to expect from Michael¡¯s antiquated vehicle. But the starter turns smoothly and the engine sputters to life, rattling the dashboard. Pulling himself up into the seat next to me, Michael closes his door with a m, clips in his belt, then rxes back, wearing a huge grin. He¡¯s very cheerful¡­ I try the knob on the dash. ¡°Any heating?¡± ¡°Just the blower, I¡¯m afraid. Here¡­¡± He produces a rag of a towel from somewhere near his feet, swipes mist from his side of the windscreen then passes it to me. Tugging his jacket tighter around himself, tunelessly, he hums. Chapter 10 - Winter Wedding #9 Chapter 10 - Winter Wedding #9 MICHAEL Arriving at the mill, we pull in to a sea of mud. It¡¯s not raining right now, but it was five minutes ago, and the clouds are threatening another downpour any time now. The temperature¡¯s falling fast and mist swirls in from the river. Klempner stamps out of the cab. Within a few steps, his boots are heavy with y. He casts around with a doubtful eye, pping his arms around himself. ¡°When is it they¡¯re having this wedding?¡± ¡°December twenty-ninth.¡± ¡°Hmmm.¡± Both face and tone remain neutral. Cold pinches at his face, turning his nose red and his skin ruddy. Although he¡¯s more or less recovered from his underground ordeal, courtesy of that maniac Juliana, he¡¯s not recovered all his weight yet and he¡¯s still gaunt. Despite the blondish beard, there¡¯s a faint hollow to his cheeks and a deep set to his eyes, which gives him the look of Scandinavia''s answer to Christopher Lee. ¡°It¡¯s this way.¡± I lead toward the main door, fronting the river. nking acts as a rough walkway,id out over the sea of sludge. We clunk along, the timber giving under our weight, sucking at the ground underneath. As we round the corner to the terrace, raised voices ring out. Well, one raised voice: Ryan¡¯s. From his tone, pitched-battle threatens. Ryan, in gumboots and waxed jacket, scarlet-faced, stands eyeball-to-eyeball with an older man in workboots and overalls. ¡°Won¡¯t be finished? What d¡¯you mean, not finished? I¡¯m getting married in a fortnight. We¡¯re having our reception here. You¡¯re the foreman. You said¡­¡± Klempner murmurs, ¡°Perhaps we shoulde back?¡± ¡°Perhaps we should¡­¡± ¡­ but the older man has seen us. Ryan follows his gaze, nods a curt Hello, then turns back. Ryan is a striking-looking man and it is easy to see why Kirstie is attracted to him. But today¡­ Shadow-eyed, he sags at the shoulders, his movement is heavy - even allowing for the six inches of ooze gging up his boots The foreman shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mr Dougherty. We¡¯ve done our best, but what with all the time lost, stolen equipment, half the crew down with flu and the weather, we¡¯ve just lost too much time on the project. We¡¯re never going to be able to get the roof on in time.¡± ¡°Hire equipment. Hire more men¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯ve done that, but there¡¯s only so many you can put on the job at once. Especially for a roof. And the forecast is for more rain. And then snow. Even if we got the roof watertight, we¡¯d still have to ster inside, and in this weather, it¡¯d never dry in time. If you slept guests in there, they¡¯d be down with pneumonia by morning. The best I¡¯m going to be able to do is get the roof tarped over and keep it dry inside so we can start on it again in the New Year¡­¡± Ryan¡¯s hands are fisting¡­ ¡°¡­ Maybe you should have decided to get married at a different time of year. You could always put it off ¡®til the Spring.¡± Ryan turns his back on the man, shaking his head in disbelief, now talking to me. He jabs a thumb backwards. ¡°He promised me everything would be ready¡­¡± The foreman shakes his head, his face sour¡­ ¡°¡­ He promised me. Oh, God, Kirstie¡­¡± Ryan rubs at his forehead. ¡°What the hell do I tell her?¡± Klempner, arms folded, looks up, around about, his eye evaluating, brow furrowing. So do I. ¡°Ryan, what exactly is unfinished? Thest I saw, you had the roof fixed up, the door and windows in ce. The electricity is working¡­¡± The great arched window overlooking the river is brightly lit, a warm glow spilling from the inside. ¡°¡­ So, what¡¯s such a problem?¡± ¡°Yes¡­¡± Tension shimmers through his voice¡­ ¡°¡­ all that¡¯s done. But only in the main building. The wheelhouse is being converted into amodation. One day, it¡¯s where Kirstie and I n to live eventually. But for now, we were supposed to be putting up some of the family in there for the wedding. It should have been ready. At least good enough for sleeping. Now Howards there tells me the roof won¡¯t be in ce.¡± ¡°Where are you living now?¡± says Klempner. ¡°Can¡¯t you put your guests in there?¡± Ryan snorts. ¡°Hardly.¡± He jerks a thumb at the battered trailer that he and Kirstie have been living in for most of the year. ¡°You can barely swing a cat in there, even with just the two of us.¡± ¡°How many guests are we talking about?¡± I ask. ¡°All of them?¡± ¡°Um, no.¡± He scrapes a hand through his hair. ¡°Most are booked into hotels in the City. But Kirstie¡¯s got family travelling from God-knows-where. There¡¯s my family flying in from Irnd and some from Italy. They¡¯ve booked tickets. Paid for the flights. They¡¯ll never get amodation this close to the New Year¡­¡± ¡°Ryan, stop pping. How many?¡± ¡°Um¡­¡± He stares upward, counting fingers¡­ ¡°Sixteen¡­ No, eighteen.¡± ¡°Just eighteen? The rest are all booked in elsewhere?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± ¡°End of problem, then. At the end of the evening, theye up to our ce and stay in the hotel.¡± He stares at me. ¡°I thought you said you were booked solid for Christmas and New Year?¡± ¡°In the restaurant, yes. But not the hotel. That¡¯s closed down for the period¡­¡± Relief washes over his face¡­ ¡°¡­ If you recall, we¡¯re all supposed to be helping out at the wedding of some friends of ours.¡± Ryan closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a long breath. The flush cools from his face.¡± ¡°Michael, thank you. I don¡¯t know¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to have the staff to go running after them, but if they¡¯re happy to make their own beds and shift for themselves, then they¡¯re more than wee. Let me have the details. The names. Who shares with who. If anyone needs a family room, a cot or whatever else. I¡¯ll make sure the stuff¡¯s there for them. Now¡­ Are there any more emergencies to deal with before you help me ¡®n Larry here lug your tree inside?¡± ***** Klempner whistles through his teeth as we ush the tree. Ryan wears his ustomed casual smile again. ¡°I¡¯m hoping we can get it up before Kirstie gets back from work.¡± The foreman stands a little distance away. ¡°Can I help you with that?¡± Ryan¡¯s reply is cool. ¡°No thank you, Mr Howards. I wouldn¡¯t dream of putting you to any more trouble.¡± Klempner meets my eye, cocking a brow, but doesn¡¯t speak. It takes the three of us to winch the tree into position, but once in ce, it looks great. Now the centrepiece of the hall, well over twenty feet tall, it stands beside a huge arched window, overlooking the river. Given its size, it needs mounting safely. Between us, we drill out the bottom of the trunk, bolt it to a wide plywood stand and screw in some posts to brace the tree to the base. But in the end, properly upright, it looks good. Bricks and concrete blocks stacked over the base stabilise it nicely. Klempner gives it an experimental shove, then another, harder this time. The top, towering above us, quivers. Fine lower branches rattle, shedding the odd needle. But the tree¡¯s not going anywhere. ¡°So, there¡¯s your Christmas tree,¡± I say. ¡°Once the branches have dropped back into position, it¡¯ll look This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. great. I¡¯ll tell Mitch and Charlotte it¡¯s up. They¡¯re itching to have another tree to decorate. It¡¯s like a production line back home with them churning out Christmas decorations.¡± I stand back to admire our handiwork. ¡°I know you¡¯re having problems, Ryan. But I¡¯ve got to hand it to you. Seeing it now, it¡¯s hard to recognise this room for the old industrial site you bought. ¡°The window was originally a loading bay entrance¡­¡± ¡°Yes, I remember. Served the barges I imagine, when water was the way to transport heavy goods.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. Now it gives us a view over the river itself. And in better weather, we¡¯ll dine outside on the terrace.¡± Ryan¡¯s usual self-assurance shines through. ¡°Thanks so much, Michael. It¡¯ll really cheer up Kirstie. With everything that¡¯s been happening, she¡¯s been a bit blue. And you too, Larry. Thank you.¡± Klempner is strolling around the great open space, Ryan and Kirstie¡¯s dining hall, gazing upwards and around. ¡°You¡¯re wee, Ryan. If it gets you and Kirstie off to a good start, I¡¯m happy to help.¡± His tone ispletely sincere and, in a way I¡¯ve not seen before, quite charming. Well, there¡¯s a thing¡­ He thinks of them as friends¡­ Then he swipes irritably at his hands. ¡°Bloody resin over everything.¡± And now he¡¯s back to normal¡­ Rubbing palms and fingers against his jacket, Klempner continues, ¡°What was that about stolen equipment?¡± Ryan stuffs hands in his pockets, examines his feet. ¡°Would you believe we had a break-in? They cut through the fencing at the side and took a stack of the power tools and other equipment. Materials too.¡± ¡°You can im on the insurance presumably?¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯re covered?¡± He shrugs. ¡°Well, yes, but it takes time doing that. And to get the recements. And meantime there¡¯s men standing by with their hands in their pockets. And¡­ not all of the stuff taken was mine. Some of it belonged to the builders and¡­ quite a bit was equipment Richard let me borrow.¡± Klempner sucks at his teeth. ¡°Got a list of what was stolen?¡± ¡°Sure, I had to put that together for the police and the insurance. Why?¡± ¡°Let me have a look.¡± It only takes Ryan a minute to find his list, a single sheet of paper. Klempner reads it, pulling at his chin. ¡°ssic petty-thief stuff. The kind of thing they can sell cheap on the side to the types who don¡¯t ask questions.¡± Producing his mobile from a pocket, he holds up the sheet. There¡¯s a brief sh and a click. He turns it over, snaps the reverse side and returns the list to its owner. Ryan surveys the tall, sombre man. ¡°What¡¯s on your mind, Larry?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll ask around for you. See what I can find out.¡± Ryan cocks a brow. ¡°Something that the police can¡¯t learn?¡± Klempner disys his teeth. ¡°The police can¡¯t ask in all the ces I can.¡± Chapter 11 - Winter Wedding #10 Chapter 11 - Winter Wedding #10 JAMES Richard and I enter Reception together; suited, booted and briefcased. Kirstie nces up from her desk. ¡°Good morning, Mr Haswell. Good morning, Mr Alexanders.¡± She¡¯s dressed in standard ¡®office-wear¡¯; white blouse, dark jacket and a straight skirt cut to an inch above the knee. Her hair is pinned neatly back and up, and a touch of colour at lips, eyes and cheeks highlight her strong features. ¡°Good morning, Kirstie,¡± I return. Our concierge is always efficient and professional when at work, usually issuing a polite ¡®Meet and Greet¡¯ smile. Today, the smile seems forced. Richard nces around the foyer: the tree, the tinsel and decorations, a four-foot-high stic Labrador wearing a Santa hat and a sign around its neck: A dog is for life. Not just for Christmas. It sits by the waiting area, a charity tin on the coffee table. All Donations To Kirstie¡¯s Canine Christmasses ¡°It''s all looking very festive, Kirstie.¡± He gives the dog a hard stare. ¡°Did you clear the charity box with Mrs Gillis?¡± ¡°I did, sir. I¡­ I hope that¡¯s alright? It¡¯s just, there¡¯s always so many puppies given at Christmas and¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine, Kirstie. It makes a pleasant change from people asking me for money. Still¡­¡± He takes a wallet from his jacket, extracts a note and pushes it, folded, into the money slot. ¡°Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that.¡± ¡°You¡¯re wee¡­¡± Richard looks closer. ¡°Kirstie, are you quite well? She shuffles papers. ¡°I''m fine, sir. Thank you for asking.¡± But I too have seen what Richard has. Close up, Kirstie¡¯s eyes are shadowed, her make-up heavily applied. In the elevator, he Hmmms. ¡°James, did it seem to you then, that Kirstie looked rather tired?¡± ¡°It did, yes.¡± I do a quick re-run of thest few days. ¡°Now I think on it, she¡¯s not seemed herself for the andmented afterwards that she¡¯d not seemed so excited as she should be.¡± ¡°Bride¡¯s nerves?¡± ¡°Maybe.¡± ***** Upstairs, Francis, Richard¡¯s PA, greets us. ¡°Coffee first, Mr Haswell? Or do you want to see your diary for the day?¡± Richard tugs at an ear, grimacing. ¡°I know what¡¯s in it. It¡¯s that damn lunch today, with the Mayor.¡± He looks glum. ¡°No doubt he¡¯ll drag it out for half the afternoon¡­ Sure I can¡¯t persuade you to join me, James?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll leave that particr pleasure to you. I¡¯m the technical man. You don¡¯t need me¡­¡± ¡°I might need your input regarding the works on¡­ ¡° He stalls, floundering. ¡°I¡¯m not fooled, Richard. You¡¯re only trying to tow me along for moral support against that wife of his. She still want you to pay for a music college?¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s a water park now. She wants it including in the renovation works down by the river, but¡­¡± Francis is doing her best not to smile, and not seeding. ¡°Not looking forward to your lunch, Mr Haswell?¡± He snorts. ¡°I¡¯d rather spend the afternoon gnawing my own foot off.¡± ¡°Would you like to receive a phone call, say two o¡¯clock, with some emergency requiring your immediate attention?¡± Richard leans over the desk, kisses her forehead. ¡°What would I do without you, Francis?¡± The inte buzzes. ¡°Francis, it¡¯s Kirstie. I have a parcel for James. I¡¯ve signed for it. The stamp says¡­ L.T.T. Galvanised Components, I think. It¡¯s a bit smudged. Should I put it in the internal mail?¡± I call across. ¡°Thank you, Kirstie. No, I¡¯ve been waiting for it to arrive. Can you bring it up to my office please.¡± ¡°The desk¡­¡± ¡°Mrs Gillis can man the desk for a few minutes.¡± ¡°I¡¯m on my way.¡± The sound clicks off. Richard tilts his head. ¡°What''s so urgent about the package?¡± ¡°Nothing at all. It¡¯s just L.T.T. going for a sales pitch with some samples. No, I wanted an excuse to get Kirstie on her own. As you said in the elevator, did she look to you like a woman should, that''s getting married in a few days time?¡± ¡°No, in fact, she didn¡¯t.¡± Francis pipes up. ¡°Should I put some coffee on?¡± ¡°Thank you, Francis. Yes, do. Bring it into my office when Kirstie arrives¡­¡± The elevator Dings. ¡°That¡¯s probably her now.¡± Kirstie enters, package in hand¡­ ¡°Here you are, James.¡± ¡­ hands it to me, then turns back for the elevator. ¡°No, wait a moment, please, Kirstie. I¡¯d like a word, in my office, please.¡± Her eyes roll¡­ What have I done now? ¡­ I raise palms. ¡°You¡¯re not in any trouble, I assure you. I just wanted a quiet chat.¡± I gesture to my door. ¡°Shall we?¡± Inside, I pull up a chair. ¡°Please, sit down.¡± Francises in with a tray: coffee pot and cups, cream and sugar. She slides a te of cookies across the desk. ¡°Ginger snaps. I happened to have these in. Nice and Christmassy, Kirstie. I thought you¡¯d like them.¡± Then, with a discreet nod to me, she exits, clicking the door closed behind her. Kirstie winds her fingers together. ¡°Alright, what have I done? Was it that delivery boy yesterday? He was so rude and I told him to¡­¡± ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about. If there were problems with a visitor to the building, it would be for Mrs Gillis to handle it. She is your immediate superior.¡± ¡°Ah¡­¡± She exhales slowly, still weaving her fingers. Worry lines crease under her eyes. ¡°Kirstie, what¡¯s wrong?¡± She blinks up to the ceiling, her eyes liquid, then looks away again. It urs to me that I¡¯m looming. Snagging the chair from behind my desk, I pull it up close, sit beside her. ¡°Kirstie, we¡¯re friends, aren¡¯t we? I¡¯m assuming we are. You asked me to help at your wedding. So, tell me. What¡¯s the matter? You should be excited and happy now. Not fighting back tears.¡± A sob breaks loose and she shudders forwards, face pressed into her hands¡­ ¡°Kirstie¡­ What¡¯s so wrong? Is¡­ Is there a problem between you and Ryan?¡± ¡°No¡­ no, nothing like that.¡± She sits up, pulling the back of her hands across her eyes and ying merry hell with her mascara. ¡°No, not Ryan. He¡¯s been wonderful. And he¡¯s trying so hard to make everything right.¡± ¡°What then? So close to your wedding, why does a simple question from a friend set you to tears?¡± ¡°Oh, God¡­¡± She presses a fist to her mouth¡­ ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be so bad if we¡¯d not set the wedding date for December. At the time, it seemed such a good idea; a Christmas wedding. Start the New Year N?vel/Dr(a)ma.Org - Content owner. married¡­¡± ¡°But?¡± ¡°But¡­ all the work on the Mill. We¡¯re trying to get everything ready on time for the reception. But everything¡¯s costing so much. And it''s all taking longer than it should. It should all have been finished, or at least, ready to use, by the end of November. That builder we¡¯re using promised it would be. But with the bad weather, all the work¡¯s slowed down. Some of it they can¡¯t do at all because they can only work inside. Then half the crew went off sick with colds and flu. Then¡­¡± Her voice quavers and she starts crying again¡­ ¡°¡­ to top it all, we''ve been burgled. They cut through the fence in the night. And¡­ and the dogs were all inside because the weather was so foul¡­ And they took half our equipment. Some of it¡¯s not even ours. It belongs to the builder¡­ and¡­ and¡­¡± She¡¯s sobbing hard, eyes and nose streaming into an overused hanky. I pass her a box of tissues then offer up my waste bin. She tosses in the tear-and-snot soaked thing and takes another tissue, blowing into it loudly and gracelessly. Iy a brief hand on her shoulder, then step outside. ¡°Francis, call downstairs would you please. Kirstie¡¯s taking the afternoon off. I¡¯ll be joining her.¡± Wide-eyed, Francis reaches for the desk phone. ¡°What¡¯s wrong, James?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll exinter. Just let Mrs Gillis know she needs to find a stand-in for today.¡± Back in the office, Kirstie is sitting upright again, visibly gathering herself. ¡°Sorry, James. I know it¡¯s horribly unprofessional of me¡­¡± ¡°Forget it. Now, about this theft¡­¡± She blows out air, rubbing at her forehead. ¡°It¡¯s not as though it¡¯s not all receable. And the insurance should cover it all. We can buy new equipment, or hire it in, but it''s all more time and money right now. And with the wedding looming¡­¡± I sit by her again, take her hand between mine. ¡°Kirstie, you need a break, both you and Ryan. You''ve been living in that caravan for months. You''re both tired, and that¡¯s taking all the joy out of the two greatest adventures of your life; your new home and your wedding¡­¡± She sniffs, dabbing at nose and eyes again¡­ ¡°... Why note stay with us for a few days? You¡¯ll be warm andfortable. You can sleep in a proper bedroom. You and Charlotte could enjoy some pamper time at the spa. Maybe Beth and Mitch would join you¡­¡± ¡°What about Ryan?¡± ¡°He can chill out by the fire and watch movies and football all day if he wants to.¡± ¡°James, thank you, but I can¡¯t. The dogs¡­¡± ¡°Bring your dogs along. Then you don¡¯t have to worry about them. Scruffy and Bear will enjoy that too.¡± A faint smile dawns. ¡°It sounds wonderful.¡± ¡°So, say yes. Give yourself some ck. And then we¡¯ll see what can be done about the rest.¡± Chapter 12 - Winter Wedding #11 Chapter 12 - Winter Wedding #11 KLEMPNER We return to the house to find James waiting for us. ¡°I¡¯ve had an interesting morning. Kirstie¡­¡± he begins. Michael interrupts him. ¡°¡­ has been burgled and everything at the mill is a mess. Ryan¡¯s at his wit¡¯s end¡­¡± ¡°¡­ and Kirstie was in tears at work. I¡¯ve invited her and Ryan to stay here for a few days. To give them a break from living in that caravan. Hope that¡¯s okay with you?¡± ¡°Better than okay. You beat me to it. And Larry here has a few ideas about these stolen goods.¡± He plucks at a lip. ¡°I¡¯ll go make up a room for them. Catch youter.¡± He strides away, humming. ¡°He¡¯s walking with a spring in his step,¡± Iment. ¡°It is a wedding,¡± says James. ¡°It¡¯s supposed to be a happy asion.¡± ¡°Looks like more than that to me.¡± James leans in, speaking quietly. ¡°In fact, you¡¯re quite right. He and Charlotte are working on your next grandchild.¡± ¡°Ah... And that¡¯s something he wants? The house isn¡¯t exactly short of babies now.¡± ¡°Yes, well, Michael always said he wanted to fill this house with children.¡± ¡°He¡¯s off to a good start: Cara, Adam, Vicky...¡± James raises brows. ¡°I think it was implicit he''d like some of the children to be his. Out of all of us here, Michael¡¯s the only one here who¡¯s not a parent. That was the deal we made, he and I, when we first set up our Triad. And that, for the sake of the children, he would be the legal father¡­¡± ¡°Including Cara?¡± ¡°Including Cara, yes. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, she is Cara Summerford. At least while she¡¯s still small.¡± This belongs ? N?velDra/ma.Org. ¡°And when she''s older?¡± ¡°When she''s old enough to understand¡­¡± He rocks his hand¡­ ¡°¡­ we''ll see. The important thing right now is that she''s raised, protected and loved.¡± ¡°And you? How do you feel about that?¡± ¡°I shall be Uncle James, to Cara and to any other child Charlotte produces.¡± I ponder. ¡°So what does that make me?¡± Heughs. ¡°We¡¯ve established that, haven¡¯t we. You¡¯re Grandad K.¡± ***** JAMES In the kitchen, I find Klempner. The table cleared of pots and cutlery, he¡¯sid it out with newspaper, set with a variety of brushes, bottles of cleaning fluid and lubricant, old rags and a roll of kitchen paper. A deskmp casts a bright white beam over his work area. The man himself is wearing spectacles frames fitted with what look like jewellers loupes. Peering through, he scrubs at some widget with a toothpick-sized wire brush. He pauses, sprays a little fluid from a bottle onto the brush then, holding brush and widget under the light, continues his work. I know what this means. A rifle leans against the table, three handguns of varying types lie in a neat row on the newspaper. A fourth is in pieces: the barrel, grip, springs, feeds and God-knows-what alsoid in tidy ranks on the paper. On the end of the table lie¡­ ¡­ one¡­ two¡­ six¡­ seven¡­ ¡­ eight knives. The smallest barely qualifies as a penknife. Thergest looks designed for gutting rhinos, and the saw-edged de has the teeth to make short work of the job. They look to have already received their owner''s attention, every de polished, gleaming with a wipe-over of oil. I pull up a chair opposite him. ¡°Larry, why do you need so many knives? ¡°Hello, James.¡± He removes the eyepiece, setting it carefully down on a clean part of the newspaper. ¡°My knives? It depends what I want to do at the time.¡± He picks one up, seemingly at random, examining it as though he¡¯s never seen it before. The surface of the de gleams with oil. The edge glints. ¡°How many knives do you own, James? In your kitchen for example?¡± ¡°Well, um¡­ boning knife, several for paring¡­ a bread knife¡­ There¡¯s nine in the sushi set¡­¡± ¡°Nine?¡± He raises brows. ¡°And all you¡¯re doing is cutting up fish.¡± ¡°No, not really. You choose the knife for the task in hand. A Deba de for example is used for filleting fish. A Fugubiki is a very fine de, for cutting paper-thin slices. A Takobiki is generally used to slice octopus or straight-cut sashimi. But it has a blunt tip for cutting harder food items and obtaining thin slices¡­¡± Klempner¡¯s eyes widen and, elbow on the table, he props his cheek against his fist. It dawns on me that I¡¯m babbling. ¡°Fascinating,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯d no idea. But you made the point very well. You choose the correct tool for the task.¡± ¡°So what¡¯s the correct task for that one¡­ ¡°I rest my forefinger on the waxed-leather hilt of one, perhaps the length of my hand... ¡°¡­ for example?¡± Klempner picks it up, holds it as though testing the weight. ¡°This is a throwing knife. You notice how de and handle both taper?¡± He follows the line of each with a finger-tip, illustrating¡­ ¡°That helps it to spin. You might also notice that there¡¯s not much edge to the de. The tip is the part that needs to be sharp.¡± He sniffs. ¡°Nothing says stealth attack better than a knife spinning silently out of the dark.¡± Hmmm¡­ I tap another one, muchrger, more robust. ¡°How about that one?¡± ¡°Survival knife. Multi-purpose. You can use it for anything from dressing game to digging a hole to eating a meal.¡± ¡°And that?¡± I aim a finger at the saw-tooth monster at the end of the row. His lips quirk. ¡°That one isn¡¯t for using. It¡¯s purely for effect. I¡¯ve never done anything more with it than wave it in the air.¡± I ponder for a moment. ¡°You mean, it¡¯s for scaring the bejeezus out of your target?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got it.¡± He grins. If sharks could sh their brows, it would have the same effect. ¡°James, are you here so we can swap professional tips?¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m not. What¡¯s on your mind?¡± Brow furrowed, ¡°Sorry, James?¡± ¡°Gun maintenance is your aide memoir when you have something to think about. What are you thinking about?¡± He smiles slightly. ¡°Quite right. I was considering Kirstie and Ryan¡¯s little conundrum.¡± ¡°Their stolen equipment?¡± ¡°Just so.¡± He takes the widget he was working on as I arrived, setting it at the end of a neat row of other gizmos, doodads and other death-dealing doohickeys. Picking out another, he holds it up against themplight, examining it closely, first from one side, then the other. ¡°I can¡¯t help with dress-making and catering. And I¡¯m sure that Michael will see that their guests arefortable. But I see no reason not to make my own contribution to seeing that the wedding of the year goes off smoothly.¡± ¡°That¡¯s good of you, considering you barely know them. What have youe up with?¡± ¡°Not much, so far. Except that I need more information.¡± ¡°If I can help, let me know.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll do that.¡± He reces the spectacle-loupes. ¡°Is that everything?¡± ¡°Is that my deskmp?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll rece it when I¡¯m done. Anything else?¡± ¡°Ah¡­ I was looking for Charlotte?¡± ¡°With her mother and Beth, I believe, hatching wedding ns with Kirstie. I think you¡¯ll find them in the dining room.¡± Chapter 13 - Winter Wedding #12 Chapter 13 - Winter Wedding #12 JAMES Laughter and chatter spills through the door. I give a brief tap and walk straight in¡­ ¡°Charlotte, I¡­¡± ¡­ then realise my mistake, halt in mid-step, spinning to leave. ¡°Sorry, bad timing.¡± Kirstie is, not exactly undressed, but not exactly dressed either. Theyers of corsetry and petticoats she¡¯s wearing definitely qualify as undergarments. On the other hand, she¡¯s showing less skin than the Regency heroine of some Austen Romance. I¡¯ve certainly walked in on a woman in her underwear. But I can¡¯t im to have seen anything that wouldn¡¯t be perfectly proper were she seated at her desk in the main foyer of the Haswell offices. ¡°Not at all, James,¡± purrs Mitch. ¡°It¡¯s very good timing. Take a seat. This is Kirstie¡¯s final dress fitting. You can tell us what you think. We could use a male opinion.¡± ¡°Um¡­¡± I hover. ¡°That alright by you, Kirstie? You¡¯re er¡­¡± I wave a hand in the general direction ofyer uponyer of¡­ Of what? Skirts, petticoats, corsetry¡­ Something to the rear, padding her backside¡­ The tall, elegant girl gives me a nervous smile. ¡°That¡¯s fine, James. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever felt so overdressed.¡± Beth Tuts. ¡°It looks beautiful on you, Kirstie. It suits you very well, and the outfit will be a lot warmer than the usual meringue outfit. Let¡¯s just get it on you, then we can all see the full effect.¡± The dress is a poem in creamce and satin. Kirstie is tall and statuesque, not particrly full-figured, but Mitch has¡­ constructed¡­ the dress to make the most of all its wearer¡¯s best features: Kirstie¡¯s height, her long legs, her elegant stance. The bodice, corsetted and beautifully fitted, emphasises her waist and makes more of her modest bosom. But her slender arms and the curve of her lovely swan neck are emphasised. The dress gathers in tiers over theyers underneath and Kirstie¡¯s long, dark hair falls in soft waves under a veil which sweeps over the whole as far as her waist. And as I look more closely, here and there, in the subtlest of effects, butterflies flit throughce and satin, the palest of pale greens against the cream background. I shift left, then right, seeing one, then another as the light catches them. The wings seem to flutter and move. I know it¡¯s optical trickery. I¡¯ve seen Mitch do this before with paint and ster, but I didn¡¯t think it could be done with¡­ With¡­? How the hell does she do that? Embroidery? Hand-worked? It must have taken her days¡­ Weeks? All that time, while she was waiting for Klempner to be found¡­ ¡°Did you make all this, Mitch?¡± ¡°Ah-ha.¡± She stands back, a finger pressed to her lips as she considers the product of herbours. ¡°It¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve tackled anything soplex as this. It took forever to make the corset with the boning.¡± Charlotte says, ¡°Well it¡¯s having the intended effect. I should think boning will be right at the front of Ryan¡¯s mind when he sees Kirstie in it.¡± I throw her a look and Charlotte drops her head and subsides. But there¡¯s no missing the grin stered over her supposedly submissive expression. Kirstie flushes. Mitch straightens up, folds arms. ¡°So, what do you think, James?¡± Kirstie winds her fingers together in that way she has. ¡°You think Ryan will like it? It¡¯s so¡­. borate. I¡¯ve never worn anything like this before.¡± Ye gods¡­ ¡°Kirstie, that¡¯s the point. It¡¯s your wedding day. And I wouldn¡¯t worry about Ryan. You look¡­ astonishing¡­ He won¡¯t know what¡¯s hit him.¡± I wind a finger in the air. ¡°Turn around. Let me see you.¡± Her lips twitch, but obligingly, she turns. ¡°No train?¡± ¡°No,¡± says Mitch. ¡°It didn¡¯t seem sensible, given the time of the year. A second¡¯s inattention and it would be stered in mud.¡± Charlotte mutters to Kirstie. ¡°Y¡¯know, most wedding dresses only get worn once, but it wouldn¡¯t take much to turn yours into great Fet Wear for the clubs afterwards.¡± I quell her with another look, but she has a point. The corset would give any man itchy fingers. The I rub at an ear. ¡°I have to agree. That is one helluva dress. Kirstie, you look devastating. Congrattions, Mitch. You¡¯ve created a masterpiece.¡± ***** Once we¡¯re on our own, Charlotte is rolling eyes¡­ This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. Wondering if I¡¯m going to blister her ass? ¡°I''ve not seen you in a corset recently,¡± I say. ¡°How about it?¡± Her face falls. ¡°Thest one was a bit of a disaster, Juliana reeling me in like that with the corset as bait. I¡­ I couldn¡¯t stand having it around. I threw it away.¡± I feel aplete heel. And my own performance in that shambles was hardly star-quality. ¡°Um, yes. I understand¡­¡± I brush lips over her forehead¡­ ¡°¡­ But that was my fault, not yours. And your father is safe now.¡± ¡°Hmmm, yes.¡± All the wind has gone from her sails. ¡°Charlotte, it wasn¡¯t your fault. And¡­¡± I pat her ass¡­ ¡°You suit a corset just as well as Kirstie.¡± Her face pops up, mischief dancing the tango over her lips. ¡°I never realised. You fancy Kirstie, don''t you?¡± My face heats. ¡°Charlotte, you know how Michael and I first met Kirstie. Long before I knew you.¡± ¡°Yes, I do know. But I''d not realised you still fancy her.¡± Trying to rescue the tatters of my Stern Dom image, ¡°It''s not appropriate. I''m married. I''m her boss. And she belongs to another man.¡± Charlotte dimples. ¡°You can look at any menu you want so long as you eat at home.¡± ¡°I''m pleased you see it that way. Now, about that corset...¡± ***** KLEMPNER The barkeep looks up from where he¡¯s wiping down the bar. ¡°Yes, sir. What can I get you?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have a beer¡­¡± ¡°Coming right up.¡± ¡°¡­ and another for the little one over by the TV.¡± His eyes slide sidelong, then he smiles. ¡°I¡¯m sure Mickey won¡¯t say no to a free beer.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure he won¡¯t¡­?¡± I insert the question mark at the end of my sentence. ¡°Caleb, sir.¡± ¡°Thank you, Caleb. Have one for yourself too.¡± ¡°Thank you, sir. I¡¯ll do that.¡± The smiling Caleb serves my drink, takes my money, depositing some of the change in a jar, then moves to the end of the bar where Mickey Miller stands, bottle in hand, expounding some piece of wisdom to a group of three others. Tipping his head back, he sucks from the neck, then carries on talking, punctuating his speech with flourishes of the bottle. One of hispanions disagrees, making some point himself with a simr bottle. Judging by the game on the TV above them, I¡¯d say the four experts are jointly condemning the referee, rewriting footballing history with the correct strategy for y. Caleb taps him on the shoulder, saying something quiet as he pushes a bottle across the bar. Mickey spins, following the pointing finger. As he sees me, he gawps. For a moment, his jaw hangs, then he breaks into a beaming smile. Snatching up the beer, he barges toward me. ¡°Hey, great to see you¡­ er¡­¡± He pulls up short¡­ ¡°¡­ er¡­ Mr¡­?¡± ¡°Waterman,¡± I say quietly. ¡°Lars Waterman.¡± His eyes widen, and he nods with a touch of Well, how about that¡­ ¡°Would your friends like another beer too?¡± The smile returns. ¡°Sure they would.¡± I nod to Caleb who is standing by in time-honoured barman style, polishing sses and pretending not to hear what¡¯s being said around him. Mickey¡¯s three goons grin and wave as they get their beer. ¡°No girlfriend this time, Mickey?¡± He grimaces. ¡°No. I''m kinda off women after thest one.¡± ¡°I can understand that. Have you fully recovered?¡± ¡°Yeah, they fixed me up in the hospital. I¡¯m fine now.¡± He blinks hard a couple of times. ¡°I heard¡­ They said¡­ Juliana had got you. That you wuz dead, Mr Waterman. They told me after I got out of the hospital.¡± ¡°Is this the same They as in They say ¡®That horse can¡¯t lose¡¯. Or They say ¡®My dog never bites¡¯?¡± He grins. ¡°It could have been them, but no. It was the policemissioner. He came to see me again, to ask me some questions while you wuzn¡¯t around.¡± ¡°Is that right? What did he want to know?¡± ¡°Mainly he wanted to be sure that I wuzn¡¯t lying. That well¡­ that you¡¯d not put the scarers on me not to say anything. And how did I know you?¡± ¡°What did you tell him?¡± ¡°I told him you¡¯d always been fair with me and I just do gofer jobs for you sometimes. Then he said that Juliana had gone to Brazil and you¡¯d followed her.¡± His eyes drop. ¡°Some people said she¡¯d snuffed you. I said I didn¡¯t believe that. Juliana was a nutter, but it¡¯d take more than a nutcase to bring you down.¡± ¡°The rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated, Mickey.¡± ¡°Yeah¡­ I can see that.¡± He nods slowly, sucks at his bottle again, then his head jerks up. He spins on the spot, looking wild. ¡°Juliana¡­¡± ¡°Will trouble you no more.¡± ¡°That so?¡± He calms, then grimacing, presses a hand to his side. ¡°Still aches where she stuck me.¡± ¡°It happens that way sometimes.¡± He looks me up and down. ¡°You okay, Mr¡­ Waterman? You¡¯ve lost some weight.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been dieting. Healthier that way, isn¡¯t it. And call me Larry. That¡¯s easier, I think.¡± ¡°Mmmm¡­ I suppose¡­ S¡¯there something I can do for you¡­ Larry?¡± Spection glitters in his eye as he finishes his beer. ¡°There is. Mickey, where would you go to buy cheap builder¡¯s equipment? Secondhand.¡± His mouth opens and shuts a couple of times. Different from what I normally ask him¡­ He scratches at his scalp. ¡°Um, I dunno, Mr Kle... Larry. Not my thing, building work. What sort of equipment?¡± ¡°A friend of mine has had arge amount of equipment and tools stolen. Kangos, airpressor, generator. That kind of thing. And a lot of smaller equipment too. I''d like to retrieve it for him. Think you could ask around? Garage sales. Secondhand markets. A man in a bar offering to sell stuff cheap. There''s something in it for you if youe up with anything.¡± He brightens. ¡°Yes, sure I can. Where can I get hold of you if I find something?¡± I jot onto a beermat. ¡°Here¡¯s a number where you can reach me. If I don¡¯t answer, leave a message.¡± He grins again. ¡°You¡¯ve never given me a phone number before.¡± ¡°No, but I think you earned it earlier this year.¡± His grin grows wider. ***** My phone tings¡­ James looks briefly up from hisptop, brows raised, but makes noment as I check the message. It¡¯s Mickey. ***** Chapter 14 - Winter Wedding #13 Chapter 14 - Winter Wedding #13 MICHAEL ¡°Where do you want this, Sally?¡± I hover in the door, a cardboard crate in my arms. She peers over the top, poking at the contents, muttering to herself. ¡°Flour¡­ Cooking brandy¡­ Dried fruit¡­ Thanks, Michael. Just put it on the counter over there. Want a coffee while you¡¯re passing through?¡± ¡°I will, yes. Everything under control?¡± She gives me a brisk smile. ¡°No problems at all. We¡¯re fully staffed for the holiday period and my daughter¡¯s on standby to help out if anyonees down with that flu that¡¯s going around.¡± ¡°Great. Is there¡­?¡± The double serving doors bang open and Klempner strides in. ¡°Ah, Michael. They told me I¡¯d find you here. A favour to ask. I wonder if I could borrow that truck of yours?¡± Sally pushes a mug into my hand, cocks a brow at Klempner, who nods. ¡°Please, yes.¡± I take a swig of the coffee. ¡°Sure.¡± Fishing keys from my pocket, I toss them to him. ¡°It¡¯s in the barn. What''s it for?¡± His eyes flick to Sally, then back again. She tuts and hands him a mug. ¡°Just an idea.¡± He gulps, then blows over the mug before gulping again. ¡°You need help with something? If it¡¯s big enough to need the truck, another pair of hands could be useful.¡± He eyes me, sucking in his cheeks¡­ Weighed¡­ Measured¡­ ¡°Perhaps you could. Do you have any ns for the afternoon?¡± ¡­ and found adequate¡­ ¡°Nothing I can''t put off. Are we going for a ride?¡± ¡°If you''re volunteering, yes.¡± ¡°Should I get changed?¡± He looks me up and down again. ¡°No,e as you are.¡± ¡°In my work clothes and boots? You''re wearing a suit.¡± Klempner¡¯s face is straight, but a wolf smile prowls behind his eyes. ¡°I don''t intend to get my hands dirty.¡± ¡°But I will?¡± He tosses back thest of the coffee, then hands back the mug. ¡°Thank you. Much appreciated, Mrs¡­?¡± ¡°Sally.¡± ¡°Thank you, Sally.¡± ***** Strolling through reception side-by-side with Klempner, I call across. ¡°I¡¯m out for the rest of the day, Pauline. If anyone¡¯s asking for me, take a message .¡± ¡°Sure thing, Michael.¡± Klempner pauses by a mirror, checks himself over. Taking ab from his jacket, he swipes it through his hair and beard a couple of times, reces it, then straightens his jacket. The performance looks to have nothing to do with vanity. And now that I think about it, the creases in his trousers would slice bread, his shirt and tie are fresh- pressed and the jacket has been brushed down. I consider my own dress, chosen for a morning of lugging crates and cartons from truck to storeroom. ¡°You¡¯re sure I¡¯m dressed okay?¡± ¡°Jeans, boots and a pullover are perfect.¡± ¡°So, where are we going? What do you want me to do?¡± ¡°Stay close and¡­ um¡­ loom.¡± ¡°Loom? You¡¯re better at looming than me. What d¡¯you need me for?¡± ¡°Think of it as an opportunity to practice your technique.¡± He pauses, looking me up and down, then shakes his head slightly. ¡°It would help if you didn''t look so much like an ad for fresh-mint mouthwash.¡± ***** I drive. Next to me, in the passenger seat, Klempner checks a mapping app. Pointing ahead, ¡°Take that next left, then park up wherever you can.¡± Easing the truck around the corner, I pull in. We¡¯re in the parking lot of some industrialplex. It¡¯s not one I know, but it seems a popr venue. People mill and push. Vans serve fries, burgers and dogs, hot drinks and cans. An oily smell and a thrumming in the air says that a generator is running somewhere close by. ¡°Alright, what are we here for?¡± ¡°That way.¡± He aims a finger toward the heart of the throng. As we make our way through, wee to a series of small industrial units, and a whole mess of stalls, stands and pitches. ¡°A garage sale?¡± ¡°Yup.¡± And the penny drops. ¡°Ryan¡¯s stolen equipment?¡± He clucks. ¡°Perhaps. There¡¯s a good chance.¡± He pats down pockets over jacket and pants, then produces a folded sheet of paper. ¡°Stolen goods list. Come on, let¡¯s take a look.¡± ¡°If we find the stuff, how do we know it¡¯s the right stuff?¡± ¡°I took down the serial numbers too. As it turns out, Ryan keeps good records.¡± He scowls at me. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be the paid muscle. Can you try to look a bit less... corn-fed... It¡¯s bad for my Please check at N/?vel(D)rama.Org. reputation.¡± ¡°Isn''t your reputation that you''re dead?¡± He nts me a look, sniffs then scratches his nose. ¡°Let''s see how that works out.¡± We make our way along the row. I stroll, trying to look casual. Klempner walks as though he¡¯s about to charge rent on the lot. ¡°I don''t know why you feel the need to show off paid muscle. It''s not as though you can''t handle yourself.¡± He replies in lordly fashion. ¡°It''s part of the costume, Michael. To be taken seriously, one must be supported by a retinue of thugs.¡± While I ponder why I volunteered to be part of Larry Klempner¡¯s retinue, or for that matter, part of his costume, we make our way through the flea market. The units are mainly stacked with the big stuff, house clearances by the looks of things. Stalls and tables are set out,id with second-hand jewellery, picture frames, knick-knacks and camping gear. Several stands¡­ well-frequented¡­ sell second-hand kids clothes and toys. Others disy fishing rods, sports gear, antiquatedputers, printers and TVs¡­ ¡°There¡­¡± Klempner aims a finger. ¡°That looks promising.¡± He throws a nce at me. ¡°You happy about following my lead?¡± ¡°It¡¯s your show. Just give me the cue.¡± ¡°Good. For now, we¡¯re just a couple of punters, checking out the stuff.¡± The pitch he¡¯s interested in takes up a corner of the parking lot, the goodsid out in rough order on the ground. Hammers, wrenches and saws; shovels, picks, bolsters and crowbars, lie side by side on a tarp to the fore of the disy. Trestle tables, sturdy, but old and well knocked about, disy electric drills, chainsaws, sanders and routers, nail guns and caulk guns. Klempner wanders in, picking his way through to the rear where therger kit is arrayed: jackhammers, airpressors and generators; a concrete mixer, apactor, a small excavator. Propped against the wall:dders, builders nks and scaffold-board. Even a scaffold tower. I amble behind, thumbs hooked into my pockets. I¡¯m beginning to enjoy myself. Klempner shes a nce toward the individual running the stand - currently upied arguing the price of a battered toolbox - then consults his list, cupped in a palm. Strolling to the concrete mixer, tugging up his trousers at the knee, he squats down, peering close. After only a second or two, he stands again. His voice low. ¡°Matching serial number.¡± Hands in his pockets, scuffing at the ground, he waits while the pitch-holder has finished his dicker over the toolbox. The customer strolls off, a couple of notes are shoved into a leather bum-bag, and the owner pivots to Klempner. ¡°Ah¡­ Is it the mixer you¡¯re interested in, Sor? That¡¯s a fine piece of equipment, so it is. A good price too.¡± He jerks a thumb at me. ¡°Would ya want yabourer ta test it out?¡± Klempner¡¯s mouth twitches and he cocks a brow to me. ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Fine,¡± I mutter. ¡°Got a power cable?¡± Two minutester, I plug into an extension lead and hit the On switch. The motor hums and the barrel say. ¡°Motor sounds okay. Seems fine to me.¡± ¡°Good.¡± Klempner clicks his tongue. ¡°How much are you asking for it?¡± ¡°I couldn¡¯t take less than three hundred.¡± Brows rise. ¡°I could buy a new one at that price.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll say two hundred then, shall we? Shake on it?¡± A grubby hand thrusts forward. Klempner regards the hand, making no move to take it. It wavers, then withdraws. Klempner produces a second list from a jacket pocket; hand-written, crumpled. ¡°I have a list of equipment I¡¯m looking for.¡± He briefly meets my eyes as he hands it to¡­ ¡°What do I call you by the way?¡± Eyes lighting up, ¡°McGuire, Sor. I¡¯m Conner McGuire.¡± He touches his forehead in a sort-of salute. ¡°¡­ But you can call me Conner.¡± ¡°Thank you, Mr McGuire. Now, if you could go over that list for me and let me know what you have that might fit the bill? We can discuss the price when I see what you can offer me.¡± ¡°Certainly, Sor¡­¡± McGuire briefly inspects the list then, ¡°I can help you with most of this. Some of the stuff¡¯s still in the van. I¡¯ll get it brought across for you.¡± He waves a hand across the parking lot to where a lounging youth jerks to attention. ¡°Oy, Jimmy, Open up, will ya.¡± Klempner follows the hand. ¡°Which van is it? I¡¯ll take a look myself, save you the effort.¡± McGuire beams. ¡°Pleasure, Sor. This way.¡± He marches across the lot to a parked van. Klempner strolls behind, jerking his chin at me to follow. Paint chipped and with doubtful tyres, I don¡¯t think I¡¯d want to trust my life to this vehicle. Jimmy unlocks the chained and padlocked roller door. As it rumbles open, Klempner, grabbing the side handle, hauls himself up inside. He stoops over an airpressor, briefly lighting the rear with the torch beam from his phone. He snaps a photo. A table-saw gets a simr inspection. Another photo. And another. And another. Chapter 15 - Winter Wedding #14 Chapter 15 - Winter Wedding #14 MICHAEL Tucking the phone back in his pocket, Klempner jumps down again, brushing his jacket straight as he McGuire beams. ¡°Shall we discuss the price first, Sor?¡± ¡°Get out what you have on that list. Let me see it in decent light.¡± McGuire nods to Jimmy. ¡°You heard the gentleman.¡± Then, ¡°It¡¯ll take a few minutes. Can I get you a coffee, Sor, while you¡¯re waiting?¡± ¡°Thank you. ck, no sugar. My man here will have one too.¡± McGuire awards me the kind of look normally reserved for something with too many legs found living under the kitchen sink. I give him my best smile. ¡°Milk. No sugar.¡± Klempner epts coffee in a paper cup. For all his nd expression, humour lurks behind his eyes as McGuire scribbles on a scrap of paper, chews on the end of his pencil, then scribbles some more. ¡°That¡¯ll be seventeen-fifty with everything. But, for you, Sor, I¡¯ll say fifteen hundred.¡± He thrusts the paper forward for inspection. Klempner surveys the contents. ¡°There¡¯s no welding kit.¡± ¡°Ah, sorry, Sor. If you¡¯d turned up earlier, you could have had it. But I sold what I had earlier this morning. A good quality MIG. Very well looked after.¡± ¡°Could you get another? For next week, say?¡± ¡°I might well do that, yes.¡± ¡°How much?¡± ¡°Shall we say five hundred?¡± ¡°That¡¯s a good price.¡± ¡°It is, Sor. But I always give a good price to a good customer. I charged seven hundred for the one I sold this morning.¡± ¡°Is that right?¡± Klempner scribbles an extra note on his list. ¡°Alright, load it all onto the pick-up.¡± ¡°Jimmy, you heard the man. Now, Sor. It¡¯s cash, I assume?¡± I set my cup down, freeing my hands¡­ Here¡¯s where the fireworks start¡­ ¡°Nope,¡± says Klempner. ¡°Just load up what we¡¯ve agreed. I¡¯ll be on my way.¡± McGuire havers. ¡°I¡¯m not following ya, Sor?¡± ¡°It¡¯s very simple. You load these goods onto the pickup. You can give me the seven hundred paid for the welding kit. I¡¯ll drive away and we¡¯ll say no more about it.¡± Colour rises from McGuire¡¯s cor. ¡°Jimmy, go get Donovan, and be quick,¡± he hisses. The errand boy darts off, vanishing into the crowd. Klempner stands, hands thrust in his pockets, sucking in his cheeks, apparently casual. But something about the way he rocks on the balls of his feet Please check at N/?vel(D)rama.Org. says the nonchnce is feigned. McGuire bullies up close, eye-balling Klempner. ¡°What the fuck you talking about?¡± Spittle arcs from his lips. Klempner leans back a little, tugs a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his face. ¡°It¡¯s very simple, Mr McGuire. These goods have been stolen from friends of mine. I¡¯m here to reim them. You load the equipment onto the truck. I¡¯ll drive away and you¡¯ll hear no more about it.¡± ¡°Now, look here¡­¡± snarls McGuire. ¡°This stuff¡¯s mine. All bought and paid for. Legal like.¡± ¡°That, I doubt. But if it¡¯s so, you¡¯ll have no problem with my calling in the local cops, will you.¡± Klempner produces his mobile from a pocket, ambles around the airpressor, aims, and the camera clicks and whirrs. ¡°I have the list of serial numbers, so there¡¯ll be no difficulty establishing that the goods are legally yours¡­ Will there?¡± McGuire¡¯s chin juts. Klempner continues, his voice mild. ¡°Or if you prefer, I¡¯ll put the photos I just took of your stolen goods up on social media. Hash-tag stolen-goods Hash-tag handcuffs. What do you think?¡± From somewhere in the crowd, Jimmy reappears, swaggering in with apanion. The stranger is short, heavy-set and was born destined to y the part of the heavy with the low forehead. McGuire spits onto the tarmac. ¡°These gentlemen are leaving. Jimmy¡­ Donovan¡­ Escort them to their vehicle, would you. And get the phone off that bastard there.¡± Arms folded, legs akimbo, he stares Klempner in the face¡­ ¡­ or tries to¡­ Klempner¡¯s not looking at him, but at the stranger. His head tilts and he sucks in his cheeks, then delivers a jack-o''ntern grin. ¡°Long time, no see, Donnie. I thought you were working for Vince Caproni? Moved down-market a bit, haven''t you?¡± ¡®Donnie¡¯ double-takes on Klempner, gawks and pales, then mutters something to hispanion, who halts in mid-step. ¡°What the fuck¡¯s wrong with you two?¡± snarls McGuire. ¡°Get this pair of fuckers out of here.¡± Neither moves, instead shuffling their feet. ¡°Get on with it, then.¡± McGuire looks set to foam at the mouth. Still, neither makes a move, but Donnie moves close to his boss, muttering something under his breath. McGuire jolts and blinks, flicking a nce at Klempner. ¡°Youe looking for trouble?¡± ¡°No.¡± Klempner¡¯s voice would oil wheels. ¡°As I exined, I''vee to recover my friends¡¯ goods. Trouble is an optional extra.¡± ¡°I got this stuff legal and above board. I got receipts.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure you have. But you¡¯ll have to discuss that with your supplier. I¡¯m leaving with this equipment. You and your retinue of monkeys are going to load it on the truck. As for my phone, the photos are already saved to the cloud. You stealing my phone wouldn¡¯t stop me posting anywhere that appeals to me. ¡± McGuire''s face passes through red and moves into purple. ¡°I¡¯m out of pocket on this, you know.¡± ¡°I daresay. I suggest that you check the provenance of your stock in future.¡± ¡°This is racism. It¡¯s because I¡¯m Irish, isn¡¯t it?¡± Klempner raises brows, lifts his chin. Without taking his eyes off McGuire, ¡°What d¡®you think of that, Michael?¡± I fight down myughter, keep my face straight. ¡°I think you don¡¯t have a racist bone in your body. You treat all thieving, lying, shites with equal contempt; regardless of race, creed or colour.¡± ¡°I¡¯m d you said that.¡± He gives a small satisfied nod. ¡°In my experience, McGuire, criminality crosses racial boundaries equally. And since the rightful owner of these goods is himself part-Irish, the argument is moot. Now, are you going to load up the truck, or do we move along to that trouble you mentioned?¡± McGuire toes at the ground, grunts, then jerks his chin at Jimmy and Donnie. ¡°Get on with it, then.¡± The pair slide by us to the nearest item, the cement mixer, Donnie angling a wide berth around Klempner. Klempner gives a small satisfied nod. ¡°Michael, could I trouble you to secure the load, please.¡± ¡°Happy to.¡± It takes twenty or thirty minutes, but as each item is loaded up, Klempner makes a show of ticking it off his list. ¡°You can add those and that.¡± He jabs a finger at a toolbox, a mallet, a couple of shovels and a pick-axe. McGuire splutters, ¡°Them came from somewhere else.¡± ¡°Do you still have the ones that came with this batch of equipment? I¡¯d prefer to take those?¡± The Irishman scowls. ¡°Already sold.¡± ¡°In that case, you can supply recements. Donnie, load them on the truck.¡± Donnie scuttles to load up the tools without so much as a nce at McGuire. ¡°I suppose ya¡¯ll want the fucking fillings out o¡¯ ma teeth before ya go?¡± ¡°No. I¡¯m happy to leave that to your orthodontist. But you can hand me that cash-belt you¡¯re wearing.¡± McGuire gapes, clutching at the belt and backing off. Klempner surges forward. Somehow, a knife is already in the other hand, a wicked-looking, saw-edged thing. McGuire shrieks as the de shes out, but Klempner simply snags his hand around the belt, slices and it drops into his hand. ¡°Michael, I¡¯d like a witness. Count out the contents, would you, please.¡± ¡°Sure thing.¡± A grin is fighting for front seat on my face. On a trestle table, in in sight, I count the notes. Klempner stands close by. ¡°You keep a knife like that down the back of your suit pants?¡± I hiss. ¡°Be prepared, Michael, is always my motto,¡± he murmurs. ¡°I¡¯m sure you were yourself once a Boy Scout.¡± ¡°So, I was, but they taught me to use a knife for cutting out turf before I lit a fire.¡± Klempner sucks away a smile, but his eyes are fixed on McGuire. There¡¯s quite a wad inside the belt. ¡°I make that nine hundred and¡­ ten¡­ twenty¡­ twenty-five¡­ twenty-six.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± Klempner scribbles on a sheet of paper, passes it to the apoplectic Irishman. ¡°A receipt for nine hundred and twenty-six. Seven hundred, I think was mentioned as the price you obtained for the welding kit. However, the insurance value on it was nearly two thousand. So, we¡¯ll take this with us and deliver it to the rightful owners of the goods.¡± ***** Driving back, Klempner nts me a look and grins. ¡°That felt more like old times.¡± ¡°Yes, I could see you were enjoying yourself. What would you have done if McGuire¡¯d refused?¡± ¡°Nothing. I believe my understanding with the policemissioner is fragile as yet. If McGuire had resisted, I would have emailed the photos of the equipment and the serial number panels to the police station.¡± ¡°You could have done that anyway.¡± ¡°I could, yes. But if I had, the goods would have been seized as evidence. Ryan and Kirstie would have been no better off, at least for several months. As it is, they can get on with their work again now.¡± ¡°Are you really missing old times?¡± He doesn¡¯t reply, instead pulling a face, and twisting to reach into a pocket. He fumbles for a moment, thenys a knuckle-duster on the dash. ¡°It was digging in,¡± he exins. Chapter 16 - Winter Wedding #15 Chapter 16 - Winter Wedding #15 JAMES Under the shadow of the roofless wheelhouse that will one day be Ryan and Kirstie¡¯s home, we examine ns, my ns, rolled out atop a pallet, a brick pinning each corner. I outline the area of interest with a forefinger. ¡°Since you don¡¯t have the time constraints now, Ryan. I had a couple of ideas about that roof area. It wouldn¡¯t take much to add flooring and windows up there. There¡¯s already the headroom.¡± Despite the mud and the cold, there¡¯s a smile back in Kirstie¡¯s voice. ¡°You mean, we could have a bedroom right at the top? With the views right over the river and the woods?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. And given the state of the works right now, it would cost almost nothing on top of¡­¡± From beyond the fence, something hoots. Then again: a car horn. Or something bigger. Ryan frowns. ¡°Wonder who that is? I don¡¯t think we were expecting anyone, were we?¡± Kirstie shrugs. ¡°No idea. I¡¯ll get the gate.¡± Muffled inyers of sweaters, the mud sucking at her rubber boots, she tramps towards the entrance. Ryan turns back to the ns. ¡°So, James, this window¡­¡± ¡°Windows.¡± ¡°Okay, windows¡­¡± Whatever he was going to say is cut short by a squeal. Then a Whoop! ¡°Oh, my God!¡± And Kirstie, dashing for the gate. ¡°What the hell?¡± Ryan mutters and scowls, then marches across. Kirstie is scrabbling at the lock. The gates swing wide and in rattles Michael¡¯s battered truck, Klempner at the wheel, Michael himself in the passenger seat. As the truck pulls up, Michael leans out of the window. ¡°Got an early Christmas present for you.¡± Klempner doesn¡¯t say a word, simply jumping out, then picking his way through the mire to the back and dropping the tailgate. Nheless, a smile twitches over his lips. Ryan stares in, hands outheld, jaw ck. ¡°How¡­? Where¡­?¡± He spins. ¡°Oh, my God, Michael. Thank you. Thank you.¡± ¡°Don''t thank me. Father Christmas is over there...¡± He nods across to Klempner, trying to disentangle himself from where Kirstie is hanging from his neck, smacking a kiss onto his cheek. ¡°¡­ I was just one of Santa¡¯s little helpers.¡± I peer over the back of the truck. ¡°I don¡¯t think this lot came in from the North Pole.¡± Michael lowers his voice. ¡°Bet you didn''t know Santa keeps a set of brass knuckles in his pocket either?¡± ¡°Er, noooo. I can¡¯t say that thought had crossed my mind. Neither did I know that Santa''s elves came six feet tall and built like a brick outhouse. Can we expect a visit from Will Stanton?¡± Michael is all rxed smiles. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. Santa simply took the toys away from the children on his naughty list and brought them back to the nice ones.¡± Heughs and nods toward Klempner, who returns a nk stare. Doesn''t get it. Don¡¯t suppose Santa ever came down his chimney when he was a kid¡­. Ryan, still looking utterly bbergasted, heaves air, then pping his hands together, breaks into a grin that matches Michael¡¯s. ¡°I can see from here, if you didn¡¯t get all of it, you got most of it.¡± Silently, Klempner reaches into a pocket, producing a roll of notes. ¡°Whatever¡¯s missing, should be covered by this, I think.¡± ¡°You got the money too? How¡­¡± Klempner¡¯s voice is dry. ¡°It wasn¡¯t open to discussion.¡± Ryan spreads palms out wide. ¡°What can I say? This calls for a celebration.¡± ***** Mitch¡¯s hand in decorating the room is obvious. Although the hall itself is still very basic, in stered walls, painted white, everything is festooned with lights and swags and sparkling Christmas paraphernalia. The tree takes centre stage, set to one side of the great arched window, draped with tinsel and streamers, glittering with the ornaments Mitch and Charlotte have been working at. It¡¯spletely OTT, but then, if there¡¯s a time you¡¯re allowed to go OTT, it¡¯s on a Christmas tree. And now that I stand back and take it all in, the tree is set at a very carefully chosen angle. To anyone seated inside the hall, the window showcases the view over the river, but the tree conceals the scaffolding by the old wheelhouse, the tarped-over pallets and the bricks stacked inside the wide covered porch area. You can see the mess and muck of the building work if you look, but not with a This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. casual nce. Michael stands, hand on hips, clicks his tongue. ¡°A real home-made Christmas. I have to hand it to you, Ryan. It looks amazing. I didn¡¯t see how you were going to pull it off in time, but you have.¡± Ryan grimaces. ¡°With a few shortcuts. I really did want¡­¡± Kirstie cuts in. ¡°Ryan, it doesn¡¯t matter. We¡¯ve discussed this. We¡¯re going to have a wonderful Christmas, a wonderful wedding, and a wonderful New Year.¡± He scuffs at the floor. ¡°I wanted it to be perfect for you.¡± ¡°It will be perfect. You and I are getting married.¡± She takes his hands in hers, looking up into his face. ¡°That¡¯s the perfect part. Yes?¡± He manages a smile, raises her hand and kisses the fingers. ¡°Yes.¡± She gives a decisive nod. ¡°d that¡¯s settled.¡± She shivers. ¡°Sorry it¡¯s so cold. In fact, you¡¯ve arrived just in time for me to light the fire for the first time.¡± Michael steps inside the enormous hearth, looking up and in. It¡¯srge enough to lose chimney boys. ¡°You know to keep it small the first few times, while you get the chimney brickwork warmed through?¡± ¡°Of course, yes.¡± Kirstie beams. ¡°And while we¡¯re getting it going, we¡¯ll have that celebration. It¡¯s too cold for champagne. Who¡¯s for mulled wine?¡± ***** KLEMPNER ¡°May I join you?¡± James sits in his favourite armchair, by the hearth, his bad leg propped up on a stool. A brandy ss cupped in his palm, the stem slotted between two fingers, he gently swishes the contents around. ¡°Be my guest, Larry¡­ Sorry, Lars.¡± He gestures to the opposite chair. ¡°Help yourself to a drink.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± I pour myself a malt, then take the chair. James pulls a face. ¡°My apologies. I keep trying to call you by your proper name and it¡¯s giving me trouble. I know you''re Lars Waterman. But the fact is, I knew you for so long as Larry Klempner, that it¡¯s stuck. In my head, you''re still Larry Klempner. I don''t think I''ll ever be able to think of you any other way.¡± I sip the malt. It¡¯s very good, not that James keeps any other kind, be it whisky, brandy or wine. ¡°Then don''t try. I left that identity behind when I was a boy. In my head too, I''m Larry Klempner. So, no apology necessary.¡± I nod down to his leg. ¡°That giving you trouble?¡± He presses the heel of his hand onto the thigh, rubbing, then wincing. ¡°Damn thing always aches in cold weather. The damp makes it worse.¡± He shrugs and waves it away. In a lighter tone, ¡°That was a good thing you did there, helping out Ryan and Kirstie the way you did. Thank you.¡± ¡°You¡¯re wee. But I didn¡¯t do it for you, James.¡± He clicks his tongue. ¡°I know. You did it for Kirstie. Ryan as well. But mainly, Kirstie.¡± He sips the brandy. ¡°I¡¯m fond of her too.¡± ¡°She¡¯s a likeable girl and she deserves better than to be robbed by some small-minded petty criminal. And I owe her for helping Jenny the way she has. I¡¯d like to think I¡¯ve paid off some of that debt. But, if I¡¯m honest, I did it as much for myself as anyone else...¡± His forehead wrinkles¡­ ¡°¡­ I enjoyed myself. I felt much more myself today.¡± James shoots me a dark-eyed nce, then stares into the mes for a few moments. ¡°How are you doing, Larry? Is there something you want to talk about? At breakfast sometimes, it seems to me¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­ There¡¯s something¡­¡± Ah¡­ Crap¡­ Do I really want to talk about this? ? It¡¯s James¡­ Another sip of the malt sets embers glowing in my throat. Yet another sip and the knot of tension in my chest loosens. ¡°I don¡¯t always sleep well. Sometimes, in the night¡­. I¡¯m back¡­ there.¡± He nods slowly, chewing at a lip. ¡°The sewer tunnel? Where we found you?¡± My words aren¡¯t there. My mouth dries up. I give the smallest of nods, sip again, swilling the whiskey around my mouth. Why am I telling you this? He breathes in deeply. Lets out air again, just as slowly. ¡°We all get the night terrors sometimes, when times are bad. Or after some truly devastating experience. It can take a while to get past it¡­¡± Now James too looks pensive. What¡¯s that about? ¡°¡­ I¡¯ve been there too. Granted, on a much smaller scale than you. I had a near-death experience of my own, when Corby shot me. Unlike you, I didn''t have weeks and months to dwell on it. The bullet went in and I dropped like a felled ox, or so they tell me. I woke up some dayster in hospital. Truthfully, at the time, I didn''t understand myself how close I came to dying. Butter, when it sank in¡­¡± His expression turns bleak¡­ ¡°You don''t get past something like that with the snap of the fingers. It takes time.¡± ¡°What happened to you? Afterwards, I mean.¡± ¡°For some while, I had shbacks, dreams. Well¡­ nightmares. I''d wake in the dark in a sweat.¡± ¡°But you''re over it now?¡± ¡°Now, yes, I just have this¡­¡± He ps his thigh¡­ ¡°¡­ as a reminder. But it took a while.¡± He stares into the ashes for a few seconds. ¡°All I can say is, you''re going to have to give it a while. We''re all here for you, but if you wanted to see someone...¡± ¡°A shrink you mean? No.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think so. That being that case, time and a sense of responsibility are probably the best healers. Something productive to do with your time...¡± He smiles slightly¡­ ¡°Like today¡­¡± ¡°Just ying to my strengths.¡± I want to keep talking, but that isn¡¯t one of my strengths. My words evaporate again. James waits, watching me. Then, ¡°Larry, what¡¯s wrong?¡± ¡°I wanted this. Mitch. Vicky. A normal life. I wanted it all. Wished for it so much.¡± He Ahhhs, looks up at the ceiling. Then back again. ¡°As they say, be careful what you wish for. So, you have what you wanted. But what else? What¡¯s missing?¡± ¡°The feeling of purpose perhaps. Today, I felt alive for the first time in weeks.¡± ¡°You want some kind of work? A job? You¡¯re a father now, again. And with a very different agenda this time. That doesn¡¯t give you purpose?¡± ¡°Mitch looks after Vicky. A baby that small needs her mother and not much else. Besides, you¡¯re a father. Haswell too. Even Michael, in a sense. That doesn¡¯t stop any of you working. And it¡¯s clearly work you all enjoy and find rewarding¡­¡± ¡°There¡¯s work around the hotel. Or you could help with the renovations on the outbuildings. There¡¯s still plenty to do.¡± ¡°And I¡¯m happy to help. Just yell when you need the hands. But that¡¯s your work. Or Michael¡¯s.¡± ¡°Okay. I get you. You need something that¡¯s yours.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. I think so anyhow.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve moved on. Changed your life. And I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s going to argue it wasn¡¯t worthwhile. But you¡¯ve not found your own new direction.¡± ¡°No.¡± Chapter 17 - Winter Wedding #16 Chapter 17 - Winter Wedding #16 JAMES Later, when it¡¯s quiet, I talk with Richard. ¡°I wonder if we might have a problem? Or a probleming at least.¡± ¡°Perhaps¡­ You¡¯re not doubting his intentions or motives?¡± ¡°No, not at all. He genuinely wanted Mitch, the baby, the life that goes with all of that. But it''s hard being a parent, even when you¡¯re cut out for it. And Klempner¡¯s lived a life of almost ceaseless work and activity. Even if you don¡¯t like what he was doing, it was his work. His purpose.¡± Richard smiles slightly. ¡°I agree. You don¡¯t want a man like that getting bored. I considered this myself, when you told me he wasing back from Brazil.¡± ¡°The devil finds work¡­¡± ¡°Exactly. It¡¯s been several months now. When he first returned, he was still convalescing from imprisonment and extended starvation. James, he¡¯s recovered. And he has far too much energy to risk him having to look for an outlet. Klempner¡¯s¡­ What? Mid tote fifties? He¡¯s not ready for carpet slippers and the Labrador by the fire.¡± ¡°So, what do we do about him?¡± ***** KLEMPNER At the front of the church, Ryan, wearing his morning suit, shifts from one foot to the other. He stands by another man, enough like him that it¡¯s obvious they¡¯re brothers. On the second row back, James sits by Michael, Cara sitting between them, theoretically at least. So far as I can see, she¡¯s made a grab for Michael¡¯s buttonhole and is pulling off the petals. Georgie, sitting to the other side of James, wears her usual starched misery expression. Music strikes up, the organ reverberating from stone arches. Every head turns as Kirstie makes her way down the aisle, apanied by, I assume, her father. Ryan twists around. His mouth opens and his eyes widen, then he breaks into a beaming smile. Mitch, holding a nket-swaddled Vicky in one arm, is teary. The other grips my fingers. ¡°Oh, doesn''t she look beautiful.¡± ¡°She does, yes. But you¡¯ve seen her like that before. You must have fitted her for the dress a dozen times. ¡± ¡°Yes, but that was different, It was just a fitting. Oh¡­¡± She raises fingers to her lips. ¡°Here¡¯s Jenny ¡°Shush!¡± From behind us, a dark-haired Mediterranean type scowls at us. Mitch subsides, but her eyes are ssy as our elder daughter walks slowly into view, also wearing cream, a bunch of white flowers in her hand. Beth, in matching dress, walks with her. I suppose the bridesmaids are not supposed to outshine the bride, but¡­ ¡­ You do look beautiful¡­ So like your mother¡­ As they parade by, close too¡­ Ah¡­ Mitch¡­ ¡­ I see the butterflies flitting through thece¡­ Vicky burbles, hups and her eyes open. A whimper, then a wail. Mitch jiggles her up and down. ¡°Damn, I hoped she''d sleep through¡­¡± The wail grows louder. Mitch starts to rise. ¡°Give her to me. You enjoy the wedding.¡± Outside, holding my daughter, the air is fresh. Vicky is still crying. Should have brought her bottle¡­ I try jiggling her, the way Mitch did, with no noticeable effect. I bounce her a little harder, then remember Mitch telling me she couldn¡¯t support her own head yet, and the threats of hellfire and doom raining down on me if I forgot. So how do you stop them crying? Some sort of Off switch? From indoors the sound of a second wail. After a few seconds, James appears, Cara toddling by his side, howling, red-faced, and rubbing at her eyes. The moment they step outdoors, she stops crying. Her face creases up into a smile and she breaks into a run¡­ ¡­ Or tries to, pulling up short against the reins she¡¯s wearing. James looks a little sheepish. ¡°Weddings aren¡¯t truly asions for small children.¡± ¡°No¡­¡± Over Vicky¡¯s howls, I¡¯m losing the power of hearing. ¡°Do you eventually go deaf to this racket?¡± ¡°Nope.¡± He shes brows. ¡°Nature carefully constructed babies so that when they start bawling, you can¡¯t ignore the noise.¡± ¡°How do you stop them?¡± I jiggle Vicky again. ¡°I came out here so Mitch could watch the wedding. I¡¯m beginning to regret it.¡± ¡°Here¡­¡± He passes me the reins and Cara charges forward¡­ ¡°Let me. I¡¯ve had more practice at this.¡± He takes his turn at baby-jiggling. Within seconds, Vicky falls silent, then falls asleep. ¡°See how it¡¯s done?¡± ¡°I¡¯d not realised you¡¯re a practitioner in the ck Arts, James.¡± He snorts augh. ¡°Won¡¯t work on that one though.¡± He nods down to where Cara is straining against her harness. ¡°She¡¯s old enough that she wants to explore.¡± ¡°She can¡¯t, can she.¡± I lift and James¡¯ baby daughter hangs, her feet a couple of inches from the ground. Kicking and throwing her fists, such as they are, she screams. Another few seconds and she falls silent, looking up to cast the evil eye at me. I let her down again, and again, she makes a run for it. I lift once more and let her dangle. This time, she¡¯s quiet, so I lower her again. Bottom lip pushing out, she flops to the grass. But at least she¡¯s being quiet. ¡°Seems to be a simple matter of training,¡± Iment. ¡°Hmmm. Yes¡­¡± James regards his daughter, sucking at his teeth. ¡°I¡¯ll remember that technique myself.¡± He looks between baby and toddler. ¡°Since everyone¡¯s quiet again, shall we go back inside?¡± This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°I¡¯ll join you in a minute. I¡¯m enjoying the fresh air.¡± He gives me a slow look. ¡°How are you doing?¡± ¡°Why do you keep asking me that?¡± ¡°Because I''d like to know.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± He inclines his head. ¡°Larry,e inside. Join us.¡± Still on her reins, Cara levers herself onto all fours, then hauls herself up my trouser-leg. I give a little help with a lift from the reins. Arms outstretched, she totters away, heading for the door. ¡°Da Da Da Da¡­.¡± I follow her lead. Inside, a voice echoes from the front. ¡°You may now kiss the bride.¡± ***** JAMES The brand new Mr and Mrs Dougherty arrive at their home, and the venue for their wedding reception, in style, chauffeured by Ross in Richard¡¯s Merc. The weather has taken a turn which, depending on your point of view, could be better, could be worse. Snow falls steadily, settling to cover the wastnd of mud and construction works. Despite everything still going on, the smooth white nket makes equals of the beauties of the river, the ugliness of pallets and crates swaddle-wrapped in stic, the skeleton-treed woond across the water, and the stashed machinery, timber, piping and ducting. Someone has run ahead, clearing the boardwalk for Kirstie. She picks her way over the boards, Beth holding an umbre, keeping the snow from the bride. Charlotte lifts the edge of her dress from the side, Mitch to the rear, keeping the lovely thing clear of the ground.¡± ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be too bad,¡±ments Ryan. ¡°It¡¯s only snow.¡± Mitch¡¯s reply is acerbic. ¡°Have you noticed, Ryan, that if you wear a dark suit, all the dust around you is white. But put on a white shirt, and the dirt miraculously turns ck. Believe me, if the dress trails in the snow, it¡¯ll be filthy.¡± The wind gusts, and Kirstie¡¯s dress lifts in all-the-way style, tugging free from Mitch and Charlotte, and we all get a brief taste of what her ¡®something blue¡¯ is¡­ Nice garter¡­ ¡­ before it is hastily tugged back down where it belongs¡­ Another gust: snowkes swirl, nature¡¯s own confetti. Then, Beth shrieks as the umbre is whisked from her hand and carried away, bobbing up high like some orphan of Mary Poppins, until the breeze drops again and it plops down into the river. The remainder of the short journey to the entrance goes without mishap, but a few yards short, Ryan cups under Kirstie¡¯s elbow. ¡°I have to carry you over the threshold.¡± Kirstie¡¯s mouth opens and closes a couple of times. ¡°Um¡­ you sure about this, Ryan?¡± He straightens his tie, adjusts his cuffs. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure. It¡¯s been made very clear to me that I take second ce today, but this qualifies as Groom¡¯s Prerogative.¡± Behind the pair, nces are exchanged all around. Kirstie is a tall girl and while by no means overweight¡­ With a theatrical bow, Ryan scoops up under his bride, sweeping her up into his arms¡­ ¡­ and staggers¡­ ¡°Fuck, Kirstie. You weigh a ton.¡± ¡°I do not. I lost weight for this dress.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be rude,¡± says Mitch. ¡°That girl hasn¡¯t a spare ounce on her. I know. I fitted her. If you choose a wife nearly the same size you are, you have to expect to make a bit of effort.¡± Ryan¡¯s effort is making a beetroot of his face. Tottering, he takes a step toward the door, then another. Klempner, beside me, murmurs, ¡°Should we offer to help?¡± ¡°Absolutely not,¡± hisses Michael. Richard strides past us. ¡°Let me open that door ahead of you.¡± From somewhere behind us, an Irish ent lilts past. ¡°Ry, yer daft fecker. Get the girl inside ¡®fore she freezes her tits off.¡± ¡°No, not yet.¡± A small figure staggers by, a stedder under one arm, a bag under the other. ¡°We¡¯ll have a photo here, I think.¡± I saw her in the church, up in the pulpit with her camera aimed down, catching both service and highlights from the congregation. With her elevated position, I¡¯d not realised that she¡¯s somewhere under five feet high. ¡°Who''s the photographer?¡± murmurs Michael as she sets up her stedders, climbs up to the third step and starts madly snapping at the purple-faced Ryan. ¡°Belle. She runs a small studio in the City. Just round the corner from Luigi''s.¡± The diminutive woman changes angle, now catching the guests arriving the gathering. ¡°The photographer?¡± huffs Klempner. ¡°I thought she¡¯d dropped off the top of the cake.¡± Chapter 18 - Winter Wedding #17 Chapter 18 - Winter Wedding #17 GEORGIE The hall is set with ranks of dining tables towards the main window, giving everyone a view out over the snow and the river. The head table is about half-way along and a bar has been set up towards the back. Fire zes in an enormous hearth, but the space is huge. They must have some other heating running too for it to be so warm. Perhaps from the vents I can see dotted around. It¡¯s quite a in space really, but with the tree and the ce settings, colourful in red and green, and the flickering light of the fire, casting a glow over everything, you could be fooled into thinking otherwise. It all looks absolutely beautiful. Happy guests. Pretty bridesmaids. Handsome men in suits and hats. Congrattory family and friends. Smiling groom. The clich¨¦d blooming bride. Couples. Husbands and wives. Boyfriends and girlfriends. Families. Friends. And me. What are my options? People mill and surge and mingle. The bar¡¯s packed, people jammed tight, ordering drinks, or collecting what they pre-ordered. I¡¯d like a drink myself, but it¡¯ll take a while to get served. I wander, find my ce setting. I¡¯m well off the main tables. I was only invited because they¡¯re friends with Dad and he didn¡¯t want me left out. I try to catch his eye, but he¡¯s busy, up toward the top end, guiding in the other guests to tables, cloakroom facilities, the bathroom. He doesn¡¯t notice me. So, I make my way to the main window, looking out. Although it¡¯s only mid-afternoon, the lowering cloud dulls the daylight. Snow falls steadily, individual kes picked out in the poor light by the sparkle from the tree and fairy lights strung across the vast window. kes fall, dull and dim, to suddenly glitter bright in red and green, gold and silver, then just as suddenly, fade and fall. It¡¯s entrancing. ¡°Enjoying yourself, Georgie?¡± My father stands beside me, elegantly dressed in his dark suit. Jolted from my reverie, ¡°Um, yes. It¡¯s been lovely.¡± He pauses. ¡°Really? You don¡¯t sound too certain.¡± ¡°Well, er, I¡¯m not really sure what I¡¯m doing here. Kirstie hardly knows me. She¡¯s Charlotte¡¯s friend, isn¡¯t she. And yours. Rather than mine.¡± ¡°You¡¯re here because I asked her to invite you. It¡¯s a happy asion. A reason to celebrate all apart from Christmas and the New Year. I thought you would enjoy yourself.¡± He means well¡­ And I shouldn¡¯t spoil the day for him¡­ Injecting as much enthusiasm as I can into my voice, ¡°I am enjoying myself, Dad.¡± Fake jollityes back at me. ¡°I¡¯ll get you a drink. What would you like?¡± His words are cut short. ¡°Ah, James, there you are¡­¡± It¡¯s Ryan with his lookalike brother in tow. ¡°I didn¡¯t get chance to introduce you properly. Kyle, this is James¡­¡± He looks one way and the other, obviously wanting to talk to me, obliged to talk to someone else. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Dad. I¡¯ll get my own drink. You go look after the guests.¡± He nods, stering his smile into ce, offering his hand. ¡°Kyle, good to meet you. You¡¯ve just flown in¡­?¡± Pushing through to the bar, I find myself standing next to Larry, leaning back, a whisky ss in hand, surveying the crowd. He nces my way¡­ ¡°Hello, Georgie...¡± ¡­ then seems to search for his next words¡­ ¡°Are you enjoying the wedding?¡± Please stop asking me that¡­ ¡°It¡¯s a bit crowded for me,¡± I admit. ¡°I¡¯m not too good at all this social stuff. Doesn¡¯t matter what I do, I always find a way to put my foot in it.¡± Eyes rising to the heavens, he lifts the ss to his mouth. ¡°Tell me about it,¡± he mutters. His face softens. ¡°Can I get you a drink, Georgie? I find a mild alcoholic haze is often helpful in these cases.¡± Truth¡­ ¡°Thanks. Red wine, please.¡± He gs down the barman. ¡°Any particr red wine?¡± ¡°Rioja if they have it. It¡¯s what Dad always used to serve at meals.¡± ¡°He often still does¡­ A Rioja for thedy. Arge ss¡­¡± ¡°Larry¡­¡± A voice calls out from somewhere and he turns, following the sound over the crowd. His gaze sharpens. ¡°You¡¯ll have to excuse me, Georgie. Mitch wants me.¡± He tosses down a few coins, knocks back his drink and vanishes into the throng. Pity¡­ They say Larry isn¡¯t safe to know. But he¡¯s always been fine with me. Oddly, I¡¯ve found I enjoy his slightly taciturnpany. A veryrge ss of wine stands on the bar¡­ Just what I need¡­ ¡­ and I reach for it¡­ A hand knocks mine aside. ¡°I think you¡¯ll find that¡¯s my drink.¡± The voice is sharp. Startled, I snatch my hand back, finding myself looking into a familiar face¡­ ¡­ Sort-of¡­ It¡¯s the blond man I met, oh-so-briefly, at the town bar. His Scandinavian-silver hair is striking enough that there¡¯s no mistake. He scowls. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Someone bought me a drink¡­ I thought¡­¡± I look up and down the bar again, but there¡¯s no other ss. ¡°I think it¡¯s mine. Really.¡± His eyes narrow. ¡°Does ite naturally to you, being this rude all the time to strangers at bars? Or is it something you have to work on?¡± What remains of my confidence crumbles. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± Fighting the heat behind my eyes, I flee through the crowd, making for the door and, despite the weather, the solitude of the outdoors. ***** The storm is gusting, repeatedly dying away to nothing, then squalling up to blow freezing grit against my face. Can¡¯t decide if it¡¯s hail or snow¡­ The gravel-like ice stings my cheeks and eyes, and my pullover, warm and cosy in the still air of the indoors, is from the point of view of the wind, just a collection of loosely connected holes. Biting air whips through the previously cozy fabric, stripping away my body heat, gnawing at fingers and nipping my nose. This isn¡¯t sensible¡­ I should go inside¡­ Find a quiet corner¡­ Stay long enough to be polite¡­ Then go¡­ But as I¡¯m about to retreat to the warmth and shelter of the indoors, the wind drops again and the snow returns to drifting vertically downward like some overblown Christmas card. The clouds open, disying an azure streak and through the gap, sunlight spreads bright fingers. Just like that, the world transforms into a sparkling fairy-tale. Rimed edges at the water slice the light into dazzling des. Snowdrifts, piled against walls and embankments, dazzle the eye. Even the powdering of snow over wind-cleared pathways glitters like the frosting on some enormous Christmas cake. Then, as suddenly as it opened, the gap in the clouds closes, the sunlight is cut short and the world dulls to grey. The wind squalls up again, blustering under my skirt, lifting the filmy fabric and hastily, I brush it down. It might have worked for Marilyn Monroe, but I¡¯m not about to disy my All to the world. Above me, something buzzes. What¡­? I look this way and that, trying to identify the source of the noise. Then I see the cables, taut, humming with the wind. Holding a tarpaulin in ce, they¡¯re stretched out over the roof of a close-by out-house and a scaffolding tower propped against it. Guy-ropes secure tarp and scaffold, vibrating with tension in the gusting wind. Wind whistles through the cables, making them sing like the rigging of a yacht as the tarp billows, and steel tubing creaks and groans. Some of the ropes are anchored on the edge of the tarp. Others span it, resisting the ballooning canvas and the lift of the wind. Some are anchored to the ground, pins knocked into hard earth, or eye-bolts in the wall. Others are tied into the scaffold, itself braced against the wall. The wind drops once more, and the tarpaulin drops with it,id over the roof, ropes ckening. But almost immediately, it gusts again, hard. The sheeting billows up, cables snapping tight again. Something Pops! Then, something else. As I watch, a third brass eye on one corner of the canvas Pops, then Pings, flying loose and impacting Please check at N/?vel(D)rama.Org. the brickwork, which chips and splinters. The wind gusts once more, tough canvas strains, stretches and then, with a ripping sound, tears. With every blow of the wind, the tear grows. It reaches a seam and, stitch by stitch, the tarpaulin rips itself apart, disintegrating as I watch. pping loose, the roof open now to whatever the weather throws at it, the tarp ps from side to side like some deranged g¡­ That¡¯ll piss them off¡­ Gonna be a hell of a clean-up job in there¡­ Another gust, now bodily lifting the tarp, tugging it back and forth. Moment by moment, it loosens, ripping at its fixings. A ground peg tugs free, then another. Ropes spin loose and it dawns on me that this is not a safe spot. Ducking just in time, a whishing cable is a near miss. Another cable snaps loose. If the wind were constant, it might merely tent the canvas, but the repeated gust-and-drop, squall-and-blow rhythm is taking the whole thing apart. Seconds have passed, no more, but the tarp is free of the roof, almost free from the scaffolding, pping loose. And now, the storm has a real hold on it, snapping the canvas one way then the other. Not all the fixings fail. Some hold. Looped around the scaffolding tower, firmly in ce, they grip tight. The tower shudders and vibrates, and as I watch, another squall whips the tarp up high, rocking the tower. The rocking grows, an increasing oscition, the scaffolding bing more unstable by the moment, but still secured to the main wall by anchor ropes. With a pop, a rope snaps,shing toward me. Abruptly aware that I have more to be cautious of than goose-pimples, I step back into the shelter of the porch¡­ Another rope ruptures, and like some kid ying the xylophone, one after another pops loose in a line following the wall. The now free-standing tower, rocks and sways, threatening to spin¡­ Is it going to topple? Chapter 19 - Winter Wedding #18 Chapter 19 - Winter Wedding #18 JAMES The hall looks stunning. Well done, Mitch¡­ Flowers on every table. The ce settings beautifully hand made. The log-stacked fire (Thank you, Michael) roars. The hearth is swagged with holly and mistletoe which I know Charlotte spent hours picking and arranging. Fairy-lights twinkle and glimmer, framing the tree and the vast picture window. I¡¯m rather proud of that window. It¡¯s always good to have an idea, but seeing it be reality is even better. I¡¯ll admit it, at least to myself. I¡¯m feeling smug. For now, the room is mainly taken up with the dining tables. Later, they¡¯ll be cleared and the band will set up for an evening of music and dancing. From the side-door, the caterer raises his hand, catching my eye. Good to go? I give him a thumbs-up, then raise another thumb to Kyle, Ryan¡¯s brother and Best Man. He stands, tapping his ss with a spoon. ¡°Excuse me, everyone. May I have your attention, please. I believe our meal is ready, so if you¡¯d all like to take your seats¡­¡± I don¡¯t sit. Kyle may be Best Man, but I¡¯m here as well, to ensure things run smoothly. Michael and Richard too. One old aunty gets herself lost. I guide her to her ce. Then I reunite a small boy with his mother. I see Michael, clearing the way for a young woman with a toddler in a buggy, pulling out her chair at the table by the window. Richard, at the far end of the same table, is showing a couple with their boy to their seats opposite Klempner and Mitch. Charlotte and Beth are at the head table with the Bride and Groom of course. Charlotte gives me a wave and a grin. Yes, it is going rather well¡­ Ranks of waiters file out from either side of the hall, loaded with tters and dishes. Very professional¡­ A good practice run for Ryan and Kirstie if they really want to open it as a restaurant¡­ More waiters enter, now with the wine¡­ What was it they chose? Oh, yes. Riesling and Merlot... Not my own first choice, but then, it¡¯s not my wedding; two wines that make for easy drinking and suit most ptes. Everyone found their ce? Yup¡­ Satisfied that everything is as it should be, I take my seat, just down from the head table, unfolding the napkin. A waiter sets my starter in front of me. Cold weather: I opted for the soup: broli. A cheese crust bubbles on the top. Savoury steam rises from the bowl. Smells good¡­ Other fragrances drift deliciously in, dill from the salmon, ginger and herbs from the mushroom wellington chosen as the veggie option, garlic from the chicken kiev that was my own choice¡­ ¡­ At the front, by the main window, the door bangs open, bringing the wind with it, along with dust and snow and whatever other crap it¡¯s carrying. Georgie barges into the hall, yelling and waving her arms. What the Hell? I can¡¯t hear what she¡¯s saying, but snow swirls through behind her, the draught whisking up tablecloths and making the tree ornaments bob and glitter and jingle. What¡¯s she ying at? Always the fucking centre of attention¡­ Faces turn. At the head table, Ryan stands, consternation writtenrge. He nces my way, brows raising in question. My temper snaps and I shout over the hall. ¡°Georgie, close the damn door and sit down!¡± She ignores me, bawling out at the top of her voice. ¡°Back! Everybody get back!¡± What? Michael¡¯s eyes meet mine and he shrugs. But there¡¯s anger there. My self-centred daughter has thoroughly overstepped the mark this time. pping my napkin at the side of my te, I rise, picking my way between tables, trying to be discreet about making my way across the room. ¡°Georgie!¡± She¡¯s still shouting. Charging across to the tables near the great window, she nces my way, but only just. ¡°Get away from the window. Move!¡± I shout again. ¡°Georgie, what the Hell do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± She spins, widening her eyes at me, pointing out through the window. ¡°The tower! The scaffolding! Dad, get them back. Tell them!¡± Then, ignoring me again, she bolts along the table aisle. ¡°Get away. Get back.¡± This belongs ? N?velDra/ma.Org. Guests are standing, murmuring among themselves, but no-one moves. The olddy I seated, Georgie all but lifts from her chair. ¡°Move! Get away from here. Get to the back of the room.¡± And now, as I follow where her finger pointed, I see it; the tarpaulin, ragged in the billowing gale, whishing freely with the force of the sails that once took galleons around the world¡­ Christ! The scaffolding tower is rocking, the movement growing moment by moment, the swing of the top Michael follows my gaze and his mouth drops open, frozen for a splintered second. Then he too, yells. ¡°Move! Away from the window. Everyone. Right now.¡± Heads turn, looking out, and the screams start. Panicking people push and shove, fighting to get up from the seats, legs caught between tables and chairs, scrambling to get away from the window. The wind gusts, the tower rocks again, and from beyond the hall, something ps at the ss¡­ The tarp¡­ ¡­ then tters as ropes, trailing metal pegs, sweep an arc through the air like some lunatic b, blunted des impacting the ss. Michael clears a tabletop with a single sweep of his arm, then hurls it to one side, opening a passageway. Young and old alike stampede through, charging for the back of the hall. I see Klempner, clutching Vicky¡¯s carrycot in one hand, shoving another table away, creating a second exit for the milling, panicking crowd. Pushing the cot into Mitch¡¯s arms, he thrusts her through the gap, ahead of himself and away. Cara¡­ Where¡¯s Cara? Mitch had her¡­ I¡¯m barging forward now, but I¡¯m fighting against the flow and people stream past me But outside¡­ Time¡¯s up¡­ The tower shudders then rises, the wind-borne tarp lifting tons of metal bodily. Only by an inch or so, but enough to all but clear the feet from the semi-frozen ground¡­ As though in some movie slow-motion action scene, the tower pivots on a single support, holds for a brief-endless moment, apparently motionless, then spins in toward the window. Even over the wind, the screech of tortured metal screams. Almost gracefully, it tilts, topples and falls, three-inch wide steel tubing impacting, head-on against the great arch, ¡­ punching through¡­ ¡­ and the window explodes into the hall¡­ Time speeds up again. ss shatters inwards, the corner of the tower driving through, twisting as it tumbles. Tangling with a string of fairy lights, as the tower crashes down, the treees with it, smashing onto the tables. tes and serving dishes spin and smash. Cutlery spins away in all directions. People shriek and scatter, their voices mixing with the whistle of the wind that wails through the shattered window. Georgie has some toddler in her arms. I don¡¯t know who the kiddie is, but¡­ Cara¡­ I¡¯m pushing forward, fighting against the crowd. And I¡¯m not alone. Charlotte dashes from the high table at the far side of the hall, creamy gauze skirts lifted to her knees, shrieking. ¡°Cara! Cara!¡± Dodging between the wreckage of tables and flowers and food, plunging through any gap she finds, she forces her way toward me. Another woman I don''t recognise scrabbles by her. ¡°Paulie! Paulie! Where is he?¡± Tears stream down her face, streaking mascara. A man is with her, his previously white shirt sshed with food. The pair run one way and another, calling, scrambling amidst the wreckage of tables and metal and pine branches. ss crunches underfoot, shards like knife-des lodged amid needles and branches. Abruptly, the lights go out and we¡¯re plunged into gloom. Charlotte goes berserk. ¡°Cara! Cara!¡± Chapter 20 - Winter Wedding #19 Chapter 20 - Winter Wedding #19 JAMES despite the darkness, most of the guests are now to the back of the hall. The only people to the front are myself and Charlotte, and the couple calling for their boy. Charlotte halts, almost screeching to a standstill, holding up a hand... ¡°Shhh¡­¡± ¡­ cocking her head to one side. People murmur and mutter. I raise a hand. ¡°Quiet!¡± Somewhere to the rear, Ryan¡¯s voice rises. ¡°Quiet, please everyone. Let them hear.¡± The murmuring subsides. Something bangs close by me, a metallic sound. But not now the scream of falling scaffolding. More of a tinny tter. ¡°We''re here.¡± The ttering again¡­ A spoon banging on metal? Or adle? ¡°What?¡± Charlotte swivels toward the sound. The other woman hasn''t heard it yet, but Charlotte snatches at her wrist, pointing. ¡°We''re here. Under here.¡± The words, shouted but somehow muffled, fizz with irritation. Klempner? I revolve, trying to triangte on the sound. ¡°Larry? Where''s here? Who are you with?¡± ¡°We¡¯re under a table. Near the wall, with the tree jammed over us.¡± ¡°Who''s us? Is anyone hurt?¡± ¡°I''ve got Cara and...¡± ¡­ His voice breaks off, then turns to a low muttering¡­ ¡°¡­ A boy called Paul¡­¡± ¡°Paulie!¡± The strange woman shrieks, dashing forward¡­ ¡°¡­ No-one¡¯s hurt.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine, Mom.¡± The boy¡¯s voice, also muffled, is piping but unworried, sounding more excited than fearful. ¡°I¡¯m with Cara¡¯s Grandad K.¡± Michael appears at my side. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about the electric,¡± he says. ¡°That was me. As soon as it happened I turned off the supply at the mains.¡± ¡°Good thinking.¡± Paul¡¯s mother is very much underfoot. With a quiet word or two, Michael eases her gently out of the way then, stripping off his jacket and tie, moves in. ¡°Larry, keep talking. Where the hell are you?¡± ¡°Under the table that was directly in front of the window. There¡¯s scaffolding to the left of us and the tree square on top.¡± A pause then, ¡°Look down at floor level. I¡¯m waving the torchlight on my phone. Can you see it?¡± Michael drops to his knees, manoeuvring between splinters and shards. ¡°Keep waving, Larry¡­ Ah, yes. Gotcha now. Keep well under shelter. We¡¯re going to have to shift the tree and it¡¯s tangled with lights and scaffolding and God-knows-what.¡± Charlotte presses forward. I p a hand against her chest. ¡°You, stay out of the way, you¡¯re not dressed for this. Any ss would go right through those shoes. Let Michael and the other men handle it.¡± Her eyes are wide. ¡°Cara¡­¡± Klempner¡¯s voice again. ¡°Tell Jenny that Cara¡¯s fine. She¡¯s slept through it all.¡± The tree seemed huge when it was upright. But now, horizontal, entangled with the twisted struts of the tower and the debris of tables, food, cutlery, sses and bottles, it¡¯s a vast, snarled, knotted structure. His feet crunching over a glittering mosaic of broken ss, shattered baubles and scattered pine needles, Ryan appears at my elbow, his arms full. ¡°Here, I¡¯ve got cutting tools, saws, whatever I could put my hands on.¡± His morning suit is stered with mud and snowkes are melting into his hair. ¡°Ryan, your wedding day. I¡¯m so sorry¡­¡± He cuts me short. ¡°Save your sympathy for Kirstie. I¡¯m fine. The main thing is that no-one¡¯s hurt.¡± ¡°Seriously? No-one?¡± ¡°Not so far as I can tell. Except for one of Kirstie¡¯s friends who was hit by some flying debris, there¡¯s nothing more serious than a couple of scratches. Georgie dashing in like that saved the day. God knows what would have happened if the tower hade down with everyone still sitting under the window, but they were already out of the way of the worst.¡± Georgie¡­ And I was set to st her¡­ I turn, scanning the room, to find my daughter¡¯s eyes on me. She lifts her chin, defiance in her eye. I drop her a wink and sunshine shes over her face. My gaze strays further¡­ Kirstie¡­ She must be devastated¡­ Then I see the tall, dark-haired bride, her dress sshed and stained, with a tray of mugs, doling them out to elderly friends and rtives. The younger men among the wedding guests are stripping off ties and jackets, moving in with shears and saws. A branch at a time, the Christmas tree is dismantled, minute by minute bing mere glittering debris. ¡°You still okay under there, Larry?¡± ¡°All good here.¡± I listen carefully for any doubt or waver, but Klempner sounds perfectly calm. Cocking my ear, he¡¯s still speaking, low enough that I can¡¯t pick out the words. ConTEent bel0ngs to N?v(e)lD/rama(.)Org . There¡¯s only space for so many in the rescue zone. A chain has formed, those at the front cutting wood, dismantling metal, passing it back along the line. Concluding that I¡¯m surplus to need, I stand back and let the youngsters handle it. Mitch joins me, Vicky cradled in her arms. ¡°You alright?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine. Larry dropped Vicky in my arms and pushed me out of the way.¡± She watches the rescue party for a few moments. ¡°This is one wedding day they¡¯ll not forget.¡± ¡°That¡¯s true.¡± It¡¯s Kirstie. Her gown is a disaster area. Cheese smears down one side. Red wine has soaked into the bodice. Broli soup drips from the creamy satin. She brushes herself down. ¡°Red, green and white,¡± she huffs. ¡°Very festive.¡± ¡°But you¡¯re not hurt?¡± ¡°No. I think the main casualty is Ryan. He tried so hard to make it perfect and now¡­¡± She lifts palms, blowing air. ¡°We¡¯ve got them!¡± The shoutes from one of the rescuers. The rest part one side and the other as we make our way forward. The tablecloth, once fine white linen, now a resin-streaked rag, lifts, and from underneath a carrycot pushes out. Charlotte darts forward¡­ ¡°Cara!¡± ¡­snatching up our daughter. Coming behind, crawling on hands and knees a small boy emerges, wreathed in smiles. ¡°Paulie! Paulie!¡± His mother sweeps him up, wrapping her arms around him, lifting him from his feet. A man joins her, embracing them both. The boy wears a pumpkin grin, spilling out his enthusiasm. ¡°It was brilliant! Cara''s Grandad K pushed us under the table, then squashed down there with us.¡± Mother and father exchange baffled expressions. ¡°Weren¡¯t you scared?¡± Eyes roll in scorn¡­ ¡°Nah...¡± Then turn to sheepishness¡­ ¡°Well.. Maybe a bit. Just at first. But then Grandad K told me about how he''d been in this much, much worse ce. An¡¯ there was this dead body¡­ and it was all melted and yucky¡­ And there wuz maggots crawling out of her eyeballs.¡± He rattles on¡­ Sitting cross-legged on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees, head stooped under the table, Klempner doesn¡¯t so much exit, as unfold. Long arms and legs emerge in instalments before the tall man is finally able to stand. Rising from the debris like some prop from The Nightmare Before Christmas, he brushes himself down, dislodging tinsel and fragments of bread and cheese. ¡°You okay?¡± He sniffs. ¡°Never better. Mitch and Vicky?¡± ¡°They¡¯re fine. Waiting over there for you.¡± I wave towards the pair. My voice low, I talk out of the corner of my mouth. ¡°Grandad K?¡± His lips quirk. ¡°I believe you gave me the title.¡± ¡°And so you decided to tell a six-year-old boy about Juliana¡¯s corpse?¡± ¡°It kept his interest. Stopped him worrying. Anyway¡­¡± He nods towards the boy¡­ ¡°Look at him. It¡¯s not real for him. Just a story.¡± He shrugs. ¡°We¡¯re going to have to break this habit of you rescuing me from confinement.¡± ***** Kyle, his arm thrown around Ryan¡¯s shoulders, throws a beseeching look my way. Ryan¡¯s expression is distraught. A quick look around for Kirstie¡­ She standing off to one side, her eyes bright and glossy. Winding the gold band around and around her finger. Beth, Charlotte and Mitch are clustered around her, Beth holding her hand. Charlotte, by the look on her face, is cracking some off-colour joke. Mitch trying to make something of the ruined wedding gown. A variety of aunts in silly hats are converging¡­ She¡¯s fine¡­ For now¡­ ¡°Ryan, are you okay? Not hurt?¡± ¡°No¡­ but Kirstie. It¡¯s supposed to be her day. I wanted everything perfect for her. She¡¯ll be devastated¡­¡± I jerk my thumb backwards over the gaggle of women. ¡°Kirstie¡¯s fine. The women are looking after her. Now, before you go fussing over her, get your head together. You¡¯re her husband¡­¡± I lower my voice¡­ ¡°¡­ And her Dom¡­ Cool, calm and collected. Everything is, if not under control, at least being handled.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°Ryan, the Groom has several duties on his wedding day. Dealing with copsed scaffolding isn''t among them. Looking after the Bride is. So, stop pping and handle your end of things. You asked me, Michael and Richard, to help out. So, let us handle our end of things.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± He waves arms over the debris of smashed timber and twisted metal¡­ ¡°It¡¯s a disaster¡­¡± ¡°No. It¡¯s a fucking inconvenience and a mess. It¡¯s not a disaster. Almost no-one¡¯s been hurt. Borje isn¡¯t going to die of a ck eye. The window¡¯s history, yes. But it¡¯s just a window. The insurance will cover you. Now¡­ Take a deep breath¡­ That¡¯s it. And another¡­ And another. Calm down. Plug in your brain.¡± Kirstie¡¯s handsome husband visibly calms, then he huffs augh. ¡°Thanks, James. Sometimes you need your friends to give a bit of perspective.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what friends are for. Now, Ryan. You are going to collect your wife and go with Richard who will take you to the hotel and settle you into a room. Once there, I suggest you have a soothing soak in the jacuzzi that will be waiting for you, a ss of champagne and perhaps an hour or so of what newly- weds are supposed to do with each other.¡± He looks wildly around. ¡°The guests¡­¡± ¡°¡­ will be also transported to the hotel. Richard is handling that side of things too. As for the rest, leave that to us. Now, go to Kirstie and tell her that Cinders will be going to the ball after all. There is simply a change of venue. Yes?¡± He breathes again. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Good man. Now¡­¡± I cup his elbow, and with a nod to his brother, between us, we ease him toward Kirstie. As we approach, she¡¯s already trying to speak. ¡°You¡­¡± Michael points a finger at her¡­ ¡°¡­ and you, Ryan, are going to stay out of the way of all this. Kyle, go among the guests. Calm them down. Let them know there¡¯s a change of venue. Richard¡­¡± He spins, looking¡­ Kirstie blinks, swallows and turns away. Ryan makes to follow then turns back. ¡°Michael, I won¡¯t forget this. I so wanted to give Kirstie¡­¡± Michael cuts him short. ¡°I get it. I wanted to give Charlotte a home too. My wife is helping today. You go look after yours.¡± Beth raises questioning eyes as we approach. Raising my voice, ¡°Ryan¡¯s a bit shocked by it all, Charlotte. Can you help him get Kirstie to Richard¡¯s car. He¡¯s going to drive them to the hotel¡­¡± As the wedding pair are eased out of the way, ¡°Charlotte, take a look around and raid whatever there you can find. Throw something together that can be served hot to all the guests while we get things organised.¡± ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± ¡°We¡¯re moving venue.¡± Chapter 21 - Winter Wedding #20 Chapter 21 - Winter Wedding #20 GEORGIE Astonishingly, almost no-one is hurt. Despite the apparentplete devastation, the only serious damage is to the window itself. Ryan is already brushing off sympathy. ¡°It¡¯s fine. That¡¯s what insurance is for, isn¡¯t it.¡± Larry, radiating bafflement, has a cluster of small children gathered around him, tugging at his trouser leg, demanding attention. In fact, the only significant damage seems to be to the silver-blond man. And I¡¯m the practical type. I always have a small supply of life¡¯s emergency necessities with me. My purse pinned under one elbow, I delve inside for the tissues and band-aids that I know are lurking somewhere at the bottom. ¡°Sit down. Let me look at that for you¡­¡± His eyes roll as he sees it¡¯s me... ¡°I know you don¡¯t like me, but I only want to clean up that cut on your cheek.¡± He¡¯s bleeding freely in the way of injuries to the face, even small ones. ¡°Do you know what hit you?¡± Whatever it was caught him hard enough to leave an impression marked onto his skin running from cheek to temple, rapidly bruising blue. His expression is neutral ¡°It could have been one of the pegs from a guy rope. Might have been something from the tree. Or flying ss maybe. I¡¯m not sure.¡± ¡°Okay. The cut looks like a clean slice, so I don¡¯t think there¡¯ll be too much dirt in there. Just let me¡­¡± Sparkling water isn¡¯t a ssic surgical agent, but it¡¯s what¡¯s to hand. Working from the outside, I dab away the blood. ¡°Could have been a lot worse. It¡¯s caught you on the side of the face. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s making your head ring, but if it had caught you square on, it could have smashed your nose or taken an eye.¡± ¡°Instead, I¡¯m left with the kind of scar duellists used to brag about.¡± He swallows. ¡°I owe you an apology.¡± I pause in my dabbing¡­ ¡°Do you?¡± ¡­ then toss the red-stained tissue into a dish where it soaks up the remains of a cream and mustard sauce. ¡°I think I do...¡± He tries to turn to face me, but I snap out a hand, pinning his chin. ¡°Keep still. It¡¯ll sting if I get the wrong spot.¡± He winces, then lets out air. After several seconds, ¡°Yes, I think I do. You saved the day back there. At the least, I should acknowledge that.¡± I rub at a bit of crusting blood. ¡°I yelled.¡± Then to some random body standing beside me, ¡°Is there any vodka around here?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°You yelled. And everyone moved. No-one else had seen what was happening. Another half a minute and a lot of people would have been in the path of the scaffold and the ss as it came through. Not to mention the tree. You bought them that half-minute.¡± ¡°I suppose I did. But anyone else would have done the same.¡± ¡°Of course they would. But it was you¡­¡± ¡°Here¡­¡± Something is thrust into my hand: half a bottle of vodka¡­ I check thebel; 40% ABV. ¡°Thanks.¡± Upending the bottle over a fresh tissue, I work at the cut¡­ With a better view of the damage, it¡¯s more of a gash. ¡°I¡¯ll dress it for now, but it might need stitches.¡± ¡°Maybe.¡± His tone is nonmittal. ¡°But it¡¯ll wait for now.¡± He¡¯s side-on to me as I work into the wound. The bleeding is slowing but it¡¯s a messy business. Eyes sliding my way, ¡°I have a confession. It was your drink. The barman set me right. Properly right, I might add. He gave me the sharp side of his tongue. I tried to find you, but you¡¯d vanished.¡± ¡°I went outside,¡± I whisper. ¡°Just as well that you did. If you hadn¡¯t a lot of people could have been hurt. As it is, almost no-one was.¡± ¡°Just you.¡± ¡°Yes, just me. And here you are again, putting it right.¡± His hand snaps out, grabbing my wrist and, quite irresistibly, drawing it down from his face. He turns to face me. ¡°Borje.¡± He releases my wrist, extends his hand to shake. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Borje. My name.¡± A bit uncertainly, I take the hand, squeeze it, ¡°Georgie.¡± ConTEent bel0ngs to N?v(e)lD/rama(.)Org . ¡°Nice to meet you, Georgie. Perhaps we got off to a bad start?¡± He smiles, and it¡¯s like the ssh of sunshine on this face. The ice in his eyes shades to sky. Something shifts behind me and a palm drops onto my shoulder. ¡°Georgie, here you are. I¡¯ve been looking for you. Are you alright?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine, Dad. Don¡¯t worry about me.¡± I talk back over my shoulder, but before me, Borje¡¯s face freezes then cracks into a broad grin. ¡°No wonder you looked familiar. You¡¯re James¡¯ daughter, aren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. I¡­ Oh!¡± Realisation dawns. ¡°When you asked if we knew each other¡­¡± ¡°Yes¡­ I wasn¡¯t trying for a cheap chat line. I really thought you seemed familiar. And look at you. The pair of you. Side-by-side¡­¡± He waves his hand between me and my dad, still chuckling. My father¡¯s deep voice is puzzled. ¡°Have I missed something?¡± Borjeughs. ¡°James, your daughter and I first met a few days ago, in a different setting entirely. She thought I was trying for a cheap chat-up line.¡± ¡°Do we look so alike?¡± ¡°James, knock off twenty or thirty years and have a sex change. That¡¯s what I¡¯m looking at standing beside you.¡± His attention shifts back to me. ¡°Look, about that bad start, can I get you a drink or¡­¡± His voice trails off. ¡°Later maybe¡­ somewhere else¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m dousing your face in alcohol. Right now, a drink is thest thing I need. Let¡¯s get the damage cleaned up and dressed¡­¡± I cast around, half-aware that something¡¯s happening. Michael is at the head table, calling out over the room, shouting instructions. ¡°We¡¯re moving on,¡± says Dad. ¡°Kirstie and Ryan just got married. And we¡¯re not letting a bit of bad weather stop them from having their day.¡± ***** JAMES The photographer, neck craned up, prods at Michael. Her arms windmilling over the disaster zone, she babbles something-or-other at him. Michael stoops to listen, looming over the tiny blonde, abruptly breaks into a smile and nods, then marches across to Kirstie. The pair speak to her for a moment. She bursts outughing, also nodding. Michael ps his hands a couple of time. ¡°Can I have your attention everyone. Since the asion has turned out to be truly unique, Belle, the photographer here, is going to call you up in groups for, what I think you will all agree, will be a truly different set of wedding photographs.¡± Heads turn, voices mutter, then rise into chatter¡­. Michael continues. ¡°We¡¯d like the bride''s family first. Kirstie, you stand there, beside the cake but with the tree behind you. Kirstie poses beside the miraculously undamaged cake, gesturing to her mother, who scuttles into ce. Michael gathers in other family members, arranging poses while Belle jams lights into position, battery-powered LEDs, operating them with a hand-controlled panel. Everyone is abruptlyughing and joking. Phones and cameras whirr and snap. The photographer catches my eye, shing brows and grinning. Bless her¡­ Belle mutters something to Michael and he raises his voice over the crowd. ¡°One now please of the Lady of the Hour. Georgie, over here please. Come and stand with Kirstie and Ryan.¡± Georgie, her head ducking, red points at her cheekbones, moves in from offside to take a ce between Bride and Groom. Kirstie slips a hand into hers. Ryan kisses her cheek, murmuring something. An isted hand-p emerges from the crowd, grows to a ripple, then blooms to full-blown apuse. For she¡¯s a jolly good fellow¡­ For she¡¯s a jolly good fellow¡­ And my daughter, my beautiful daughter, stands with brimming eyes, as cameras sh and every person in the room apuds her. The next shot: Belle calls out. ¡°The man who had Paul under the table. Where¡¯s he?¡± Larry, lounging by the bar, jolts to attention, shaking his head. Michael yells out. ¡°You don¡¯t get away that lightly Larry. Take your turn.¡± ¡°I wanna be in the picture!¡± Paulie dashes up, grabs him by the hand, tugging him toward where Kirstie and Ryan stand waiting. ¡°Me too.¡± A small girl skids in from offside. ¡°I wanna photo with Grandad K.¡± ¡°And me!¡± Klempner holds back, trying to retreat into a handy shadow, but every eye is on him. Wearing an expression a small thundercloud would envy, a squadron of small children buzzing at his feet, he takes his stand beside Kirstie and Ryan, rigid as the camera shes. Belle calls out again. ¡°Bridesmaids now, please¡­¡± Charlotte and Beth take their ces¡­ The unorthodox photoshoot has taken on a life of its own and Michael leaves Belle to handle it, strolling across with Ryan to join me. And Ryan is rxing. ¡°Bless that photographer. I''m going to give her a hefty tip for this.¡± ¡°She''s going to enter the photos into some magazinepetition,¡± says Michael, ¡°if you and Kirstie agree. She¡¯ll have some amazing shots.¡± Ryan nods, looking bemused. ¡°Belle did tell me she always wanted to do some newspaper work. Here''s a story for her.¡± He looks around, the smashed window, ¡°Doesn''t ask for much, does she?¡± ¡°You''re just the groom, Ryan. You''re not quite an optional extra for the wedding, but...¡± He gives me a nted grin. ¡°¡­ But it''s Kirstie¡¯s day and she''s smiling again...¡± Chapter 22 - Winter Wedding #21 Chapter 22 - Winter Wedding #21 GEORGIE Michael raises cupped hands to his mouth, bawling out over the milling masses. ¡°Right, listen to me everyone. This wedding is not off¡­¡± Guests move and murmur and shuffle¡­ ¡°¡­I repeat. The reception is going ahead. The bride and groom have been safely married... ¡°He grins¡­ ¡°¡­ That¡¯s the important part as I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll all agree. For the rest, the timetable¡¯s moving along a bit, that¡¯s all¡­¡± The murmuring grows, puzzled nces exchanged. ¡°¡­ For now, can you all please keep to the back of the room and wrap up warm. Kyle and thedies will being round with hot punch while we make arrangements to move everyone¡­¡± ¡­ then I spot Charlotte at the bar, gaily glugging bottles of martini and rum into an enormous pan. Next to her Beth is slicing leftover lemons and tipping them into the devil¡¯s brew. A white-coated caterer appears, dumping a crate on a nearby table, red wine by the look of it. Another sets out a gas-ring, arge scale version of the kind a camper might use. One more shuffles through the door backward with a butane-bottle on a sack-truck. The scents of cloves and cinnamon are already spiking through the air¡­ Gonna be a few hangovers tomorrow¡­ Can¡¯t be helped¡­ This belongs ? N?velDra/ma.Org. Coteral damage¡­ The crowd makes a general surge towards Charlotte¡¯s thrown-together booze stand. Michael appears at my side, Mitch and Georgie following. ¡°James, you¡¯re with me.¡± ¡°Doing what?¡± ¡°Rescuing what we can from here, then getting it back to the hotel. We¡¯re opening up again. We have wedding guests to feed and party. James, you take charge of the kitchen.¡± ¡°Party? Where? You said the restaurant is booked up.¡± ¡°The gym. Rescue whatever¡¯s useable, then get yourself up there. Take Mitch with you. Georgie, I need you to organise getting the tables from here to there. Mitch, you¡¯re in charge of setting out the dining. Get the tablesid out, then find some way of decorating them. The gym itself too if possible. Make it look like we¡¯re having a party.¡± ¡°What are you doing?¡± I ask. Michael shes eyebrows. ¡°First off, I have a coach driver to bribe. There¡¯s at least three of them up at the hotel that have been ferrying in the big office Christmas outings. There¡¯s bound to be someone who¡¯ll turn out if we pay him enough.¡± Georgie¡¯s eyes scour the hall. ¡°How do I get the tables there?¡± ¡°Use the truck.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t drive a truck.¡± Klempner pushes forward, a small boy in his wake. ¡°I can. Georgie, see if you can round up half a dozen men to take the tables down and pack them into the van.¡± Borje drifts in from left-of-field, hand raised. ¡°One volunteer reporting for duty. I¡¯ll pull in some of the other guys too.¡± Michael ps a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Good man. Now, all we have to do is find a way of getting Kirstie and Ryan up to the hotel in style.¡± ¡°I¡¯m here.¡± Richard tugs his waistcoat straight. ¡°Leave that one to me¡­¡± He turns, scanning. ¡°Where¡¯s Ross?¡± Richard¡¯s driver appears as though by magic. ¡°Here, Mr Haswell.¡± ¡°Ah, yes, Ross. Get hold of whoever¡¯s manning the offices today. Tell them to raid the hospitality suites for drinks. Wine, spirits and especially champagne. Anything else that¡¯s there too. Snacks, nuts, chips. Whatever¡¯s to hand.¡± ¡°Yes, Mr Haswell¡­ Um... The roads¡­¡± ¡°Find out who I have to¡­ um¡­ incentivise¡­ to keep that snowplough moving up and down the mountain for the next couple of hours. You can let them know I¡¯ll be very appreciative of their help in keeping that road open.¡± ***** KLEMPNER In the background, the photographer keeps snapping away,ing up with ever more inventive Keeping them entertained¡­ Extracting tables from the mess of splintered wood, smashed ss and broken metal isn¡¯t easy. Sawing at a fir branch, I¡¯m hot. I took my jacket off twenty minutes ago, banging a nail into some woodwork to hang it and protect it from the worst. But still, despite the cold st from the gaping window, I¡¯m overheating with the exercise and my forehead and cheeks are flushed. Perversely, chill sweat trickles down my back. And everything I touch is stuck over with fucking resin. I could have kept this up for hours once. My months of imprisonment took their toll. Lack of exercise apart, without doubt, I survived starvation as long as I did by consuming my own muscle tissue¡­ My saw breaks through, the branch drops in two, and the mess of lights it was tangled into falls away. ¡­ It could have been worse. A least my vital organs didn¡¯t take too bad a hit. Not recovered fully yet¡­ Need to rebuild some muscle. Perhaps I should use a gym? Michael would be happy to let me use his. I clip the wiring apart, disentangle it from the table legs, and the table¡¯s free. As I lift and heave, another pair of hands appears, taking one end: the blond man whose injury Georgie dressed. Half his face is covered with a napkin, band-aided into ce. ¡°Got it,¡± he says. ¡°We¡¯re nearly done now. Why don¡¯t you take a break?¡± Kirstie, in her ramshackle wedding dress, picks her way through to me, tugging at her skirts where they snag on a branch. ¡°Larry, I wanted to say thank you for looking after Paulie like that. I don¡¯t know how I¡¯d ever have faced his mother if¡­¡± She stalls. ¡°You are okay? You weren¡¯t hurt?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine. Never better.¡± Close up, I scan the rips in her trashed wedding gown. ¡°I take it the dress took most of the damage?¡± ¡°Yes, who¡¯d have thought of a boned corset for body armour?¡± ¡°Who indeed?¡± She¡¯s a little sallow, her face sheened. ¡°I thought you were going up to James¡¯ and Michael¡¯s ce with Ryan?¡± ¡°We are. We¡¯re just waiting for Richard. He¡¯s going to drive us, but he¡¯s making some phone calls first.¡± ¡°You¡¯re really alright? You¡¯re not hurt?¡± ¡°No, not hurt, but¡­¡± She hugs herself. ¡°¡­ Um¡­ I¡¯m a bit shaky if I''m honest. I¡¯m¡­ er¡­ I¡¯m trying not to let Ryan see it. It upsets him.¡± I jerk my thumb at the wreckage of tree and tables. ¡°You''ve seen worse than this. I know you have.¡± ¡°Ben you mean...¡± She jolts a nce across at Michael, but his attention is elsewhere as he drags tables out from under the debris, passing them back along the line. A small chain has formed, ferrying out to the truck. Georgie is directing kids of all sizes to the small stuff: undamaged chairs, crockery, floral arrangements, and anything else conceivably usable for a wedding celebration. ¡°Just so. Michael¡¯s brother made everything personal. This isn''t personal. It''s just bad weather. And bad luck.¡± She snorts, rubbing at her bare upper arms. ¡°Mother Nature at her best.¡± ¡°And now you know why they call her a mother.¡± A small smile limps over her lips. ¡°Here¡­¡± I snag my jacket from its nail, draping it over her shoulders, then¡­ ¡°¡¯Scuse me¡­¡± I reach past herced bosom to the inside pocket, fishing out my hipsk and unscrewing the top. ¡°Have some of this.¡± She blinks at the sk, not epting it. ¡°You carry a hipsk at a wedding?¡± ¡°Yes. Sorry, but sweet sherry''s not my thing. Have a couple of swigs.¡± She extends fingers to the sk, pulls back, her eyes flicking one way and another, then takes it. A small swallow: she gulps and blows air. ¡°God, that¡¯s warm¡­¡± ¡°Which will do you good right now.¡± ¡°Dutch courage.¡± ¡°That was James¡¯ment once. However, unlike his case, Dutch courage is all you need here.¡± ¡°James?¡± ¡°Actually, the brandy''s his¡­¡± I wrinkle my nose, rolling my eyes sidelong. The man himself, I notice, one tier of the wedding cake in his arms, is watching the pair of us from across the hall. ¡°¡­but you don''t need to tell him that.¡± Her face finally twitches to a real smile and she takes a longer gulp, then waves across the devastation that was meant to be her wedding day. ¡°It¡¯s got a funny side, hasn¡¯t it.¡± ¡°It has. I¡¯m d you see it. And you¡¯ll have the wedding story of all stories to tell afterwards.¡± She breaks into a grin. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± She takes another swallow, her throat rippling. James, still watching, widens his eyes. Kirstie huffs, then blows. ¡°God, that feels better. Thanks. Just what I needed.¡± She wipes the neck with a grubby palm and offers back the sk. ¡°Thanks. So¡­¡± I take a sip and pass it back¡­ She tilts her head back, throat glugging... ¡°How are you finding married life so far?¡± She coughs out enough brandy to be a fire hazard if we were any closer to the hearth, then cracks out another mouthful of brandy, getting it down her throat this time. ¡°How about you?¡± ¡°Me?¡± ¡°Yes, you. How are you finding married life?¡± ¡°Ahh¡­ Less eventful that I¡¯m ustomed to.¡± She gives me a long look and passes back the sk. ¡°Having trouble adjusting?¡± I like Kirstie. James introduced me to her, with a side warning that she¡¯s apt to shoot off her mouth without engaging her brain first. The flip side of the coin is that she tells it like it is. I can see why he considers her a friend. She¡¯s good to talk to. All the friendship without any emotionalplications. ¡°It''s what I wanted. What I wished for. When I was trapped in that hole in the ground, most of what I thought about was Mitch and getting back to her.¡± ¡°You were there a long time. Months. Surely you were ready for some peace and quiet when James and Michael rescued you?¡± I¡¯m saved from having to answer. The photographer calls out. ¡°Kirstie, could I have you back, please. I¡¯d like some shots of you and Ryan against the window while we still have some daylight.¡± Chapter 23 - Winter Wedding #22 Chapter 23 - Winter Wedding #22 KLEMPNER There¡¯re plenty of hands on the work now. I stand back and watch. James appears at my side. ¡°How much of my brandy did you dose Kirstie with? And yes, I¡¯ve noticed the level in the bottle falling. Now I know where it was going.¡± ¡°To a good cause, I think you¡¯ll agree.¡± ¡°How much has she drunk?¡± I give the sk a shake. It sloshes inside. ¡°Maybe half. Want to help me with the rest?¡± I tip back a small sip then pass him the bottle. He pulls a face, then ncing furtively around. ¡°Oh, fuck it.¡± The sk tips back and empties with a small sucking sound. Ryan appears at my shoulder. ¡°What did you say to Kirstie? Whatever it was¡­¡± He leans forward, sniffing. ¡°Brandy?¡± ¡°Yup. Got a problem with that?¡± ¡°Nope. Look at her¡­¡± To a backdrop of the smashed window and the river, the crashed tree and the scaffolding, the chain of volunteers is rescuing the remains of the rescuable from the debris. In the foreground, a conveyor belt of aged aunts is lining up with small children to take their turn at having their pictures taken with a smiling Kirstie. ¡°It¡¯s going to be a unique photo album,¡±ments James. Ryan ps me on the shoulder. ¡°Thanks, Larry. I can handle this¡­¡± He waves a hand across the devastated dining hall¡­. ¡°¡­ this shite¡­ But I wanted this to be Kirstie¡¯s day and¡­¡± A short kid with a handful of cake and about as much again smeared over his face rushes out of the line and up to me. ¡°You Cara¡¯s Grandad K?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. Why d¡¯you ask?¡± ¡°Is it right about the maggots?¡± Ryan and James exchange nces¡­ Hearing ice creaking under my feet, I reply carefully. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s true.¡± ¡°They wuzing out her eyeballs?¡± ¡°Yeeesss¡­¡± ¡°Just her eyeballs? Or wuz it like her nose and her mouth too?¡± The cake aimed roughly at his mouth, anotheryer of chocte veneer is stered over his face. ¡°Yes. Her mouth and nose too.¡± ¡°That¡¯s totally sick!¡± He breaks into a pumpkin grin. ¡°Hey, can I stand next to you for my photo?¡± The ground shifts under my feet. ¡°I suppose so.¡± ¡°Great!¡± He thrusts a sticky hand at mine. ¡°C¡¯mon¡­ Hey! I¡¯m having my photo with Grandad K!¡± Some elderly harridan in purple stamps forward, a tissue gripped in one hand. Advancing with purpose in her eyes, she snags him by the arm, bringing him screeching to a halt. Stooping to his eye level, she spits on the tissue then uses it to clean away the chocte pebble-dashing his face. The outer doors swing open and Michael enters with Haswell. His voice raised. ¡°Alright everyone, the coaches are here. Everyone on board please.¡± Haswell makes a bow and a flourish of the arm to Kirstie. ¡°Your carriage awaits. Elizabeth, perhaps you could help Kirstie get to the car without wreaking any more damage on Mitch''s workmanship. Ryan, would you like to apany your wife please.¡± ***** JAMES Children cluster around Klempner. His eyes dart, one way and the other, his expression is¡­ hunted¡­ Close by, foot tapping, Mitch watches him. ¡°''lo.¡± Klempner looks around, then down, to where a small figure of indeterminate sex tugs at his trouser leg. It could be a girl. ¡°Paulie sez you was with a maggotydy and I sez that int true. So, is it true? She was all maggoty?¡± Pain flits across his face. ¡°Yes, it''s true.¡± Her mouth opens to an O. ¡°Wicked!¡± She rushes off, arms waving. ¡°It IS true.¡± Do I take pity on him? Making my way through the throng of wedding guests, I stand close by him. My voice low. ¡°What are you looking for?¡± His lips barely move. ¡°A legitimate reason to not be here.¡± I run that through my social trantors¡­ ¡°Legitimate meaning, eptable to Mitch?¡± ¡°That¡¯s about it, yes.¡± I raise my voice, p him on the shoulder. ¡°Larry, I''m shorthanded in the kitchen. Can I borrow you?¡± His eyes widen. ¡°Abso-lutely.¡± Mitch¡¯s eyes narrow as she watches us leave. ***** Sally¡¯s expression is horrified. ¡°How many? I can¡¯t amodate that many covers. James, we¡¯re already fully booked. We don¡¯t have the tables, the staff, the stores¡­¡± ¡°Calm down, Sally. I¡¯m sorry to drop this on you, but there¡¯s no alternative. We¡¯re not going to see Kirstie and Ryan¡¯s wedding day ruined when there¡¯s something we can do about it. We¡¯ll figure something out.¡± Wringing her hands, ¡°James, I¡¯m not trying to be difficult, but we don¡¯t have enough in stock. We¡¯re booked right through the New Year.¡± ¡°If you empty the stocks today, it doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯ll go into the City tomorrow and restock with anything you need.¡± Her mouth quirks. ¡°You mean you¡¯ll send me out with a shopping list to the supermarket. The wholesalers are closed now until January.¡± ¡°Fair enough¡­¡± ¡°Staff?¡± she says. ¡°The kitchen staff are knocking off in an hour. They have homes to go to.¡± ¡°Any that stay will be paid double-time. I¡¯ll be here as long as I¡¯m needed. Larry¡¯s here to help. Now¡­ what do we have plenty of? Her reply is prompt. ¡°Turkey.¡± Of course we do¡­ ¡°Alright, let¡¯s strip those carcasses. I''ll make curry.¡± I turn, scouring the kitchen for ideas. ¡°There¡¯s not the time to oven-roast whole turkeys so¡­¡± Sally folds her arms. ¡°Not everyone likes curry, James. Especially the older ones.¡± Klempner sniffs. ¡°How about the original idea. Kiev?¡± ¡°Turkey Kiev? The breasts are huge.¡± He shrugs. ¡°So cook them in the normal way and serve them sliced.¡± ¡°Good idea.¡± Sally is looking more rxed. ¡°What about the children?¡± ¡°Larry, take the turkey legs, slice them up into finger-sized pieces and we¡¯ll serve them as nuggets for the kids.¡± Sally shouts across the kitchen. ¡°Billy, get that stale bread from therder. Mr Alexanders is going to need breadcrumbs. Then whisk up half a dozen eggs with milk. Then...¡± I return my attention to Klempner. ¡°What are your cooking skills like?¡± This belongs ? N?velDra/ma.Org. ¡°I can feed myself if that''s what you mean, but I''m not up to your standard. Just tell me what you need doing.¡± The door bangs open and Michael marches in. ¡°James, got some more recruits for you. This is Ryan¡¯s Uncle Guido. He¡¯s the chef at Luigi¡¯s restaurant in the City. And this is Ryan¡¯s Aunt Eileen. They¡¯ve both ¡°All volunteers are wee¡­¡± ¡°¡­ and I¡¯d like to take Larry off you. We can use his skills better in the gym. You can rig up the lighting for us, can¡¯t you, Larry?¡± Klempner unravels his apron¡­ ¡°Certainly well enough for an evening.¡± ¡­and Eileen all but snatches it from his hand¡­ ¡°¡­ Lead the way.¡± As the doors swing closed behind them, I hear Klempner¡¯s voice. ¡°Are you on single phase or three-phase out there?¡± I turn to ourtest staff members. ¡°Let me introduce you. This is our head chef, Sally. Given the circumstances, there¡¯s no particr menu. Just cook what you¡¯re good at and that we can turn out quickly for hungry mouths.¡± Guido¡¯s eye sears across the kitchen. He sniffs then, heavily ented, speaks. ¡°What do we have to work with?¡± Eileen pipes up. ¡°Do you have potatoes?¡± Sally¡¯s face clears. ¡°Yes, sacks of them. Out in the roots cer. Billy,¡± she yells. ¡°Take Eileen and Guido through our supplies. Show them what we have.¡± ***** Twenty minutester, I¡¯m more confident we might have a servable meal for our unexpected party. Sally rises to the challenge of having another chef in her kitchen, although I notice that they work as far from each other as space allows. Eileen peers over Guido¡¯s shoulder. ¡°What¡¯s that you have boilin¡¯ away there?¡± He barely looks at her. ¡°Gnhi.¡± Her jaw ckens. ¡°What¡¯s nokki?¡± Guidoes to life. ¡°Gnhi is a delicacy of my home country¡­¡± He raises hands, punctuating his words with chops to the air¡­ ¡°¡­often described as a substitute for pasta, but that does it insufficient justice. Properly served, it is a vehicle for the most¡­¡± He rings thumb and forefinger to his lips¡­ ¡°¡­ delicate of apaniments. Ricotta and spinach are my personal favourites. It may incorporate semolina or polenta¡­¡± His arms are waving like the maddened conductor of some orchestra¡­ ¡°¡­and may be servedyered with butter or a fine quality cheese¡­¡± I cut him off before he delights us with the entire encyclopedia of Italian cuisine. ¡°Eileen, it¡¯s a potato dumpling, served with the sauce of your choice.¡± ¡°Why couldn¡¯t he just say so? I¡¯d have understood right off then.¡± Chapter 24 - Winter Wedding #23 Chapter 24 - Winter Wedding #23 JAMES Since I¡¯m excess to need in the kitchen, I leave them to it. What¡¯s next? Help out in the gym¡­ The sports area is a standard enough example of its type. The main workout room contains treadmills, cycles and rowing machines, along with benches, dumbbells, pull-up frames and the like. Most of the rest is a singlerge space, normally partitioned into sections for dance and yoga sses, ptes, the self-defence sses that Charlotte sometimes oversees, rumba and line-dancing. All that has gone. As I walk in, the partitions have all been opened wide or removed altogether. Tables areid out in rows, Mitch and Beth spreading them with paper table-roll. Another series of tables line one wall, stacked with paper tes, stic cutlery and sses. Richard and Ross are carrying in cardboard boxes and crates of bottles. At one end, the band is setting up. As luck would have it, they¡¯d not even unloaded their van when disaster struck at the mill, so for them, it¡¯s no more than a change of venue. Cabling and spotlights that I recognise as Michael¡¯s exhibition equipment are stacked at one end, Klempner up a stedder fixing it into ce. A battalion of small children is lined up close by, the tallest ones nearest to hisdder¡­ He snaps out orders. ¡°Lift it as high as you can while I get this pinned.¡± The boy who sheltered under the table with him stands on tiptoe, stretched upwards to hold the cable¡­ ¡°That¡¯s it. Now hold it there for just a minute.¡± He aims a finger. ¡°You. What¡¯s your name?¡± The girl of maybe six or seven lisps her reply. ¡°I¡¯m Milly.¡± ¡°Alright, Milly, pass me that drill¡­ No, that one, that¡¯s plugged in. Don¡¯t touch the switch.¡± On celery-stick arms, she lifts the heavy-duty tool, huffing as Klemper stoops to take it from her. ¡°Did she really have maggotsing out of her head? Really and truly?¡± She¡¯s saucer-eyed. Klempner flicks a switch on the drill, the hammer-action I assume, and sets the bit against the wall. ¡°Yes, really and truly. Now move away.¡± Obediently, Milly takes a step or two back, but another small boy, his face etched with suspicion, says, ¡°Where from her head? Just her eyes?¡± ¡°No, out of her nose and mouth too.¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± His mouth and eyes fling wide. ¡°Brilliant!¡± He runs off, arms windmilling. Klempner watches him go, then leans into the wall. The drill whirrs and tters for a few seconds and he backs off again. ¡°Milly, take this and put it over there on the floor. You, Archie, pass me that strip of wall-plugs¡­ No, not the yellow ones, the brown ones.¡± A young woman approaches. ¡°There you are, Milly. Come on. Time for your nap, or you won¡¯t enjoy your evening.¡± Milly¡¯s face crumples to a mask of tragedy. ¡°But I want to help Grandad K.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve already helped him. Now you have to have a nap.¡± She looks to Klempner. ¡°I¡¯m sorry if she was being a nuisance.¡± ¡°Not at all. She was a great help.¡± ¡°I¡¯m pleased to hear that. Now,e along, Milly.¡± She takes the girl¡¯s hand, pulling her towards the door. ¡°Don¡¯t wanna!¡± She digs her heels in. ¡°Don¡¯t wanna go! Wanna stay and watch. Wanna help Grandad K.¡± Still up his stedder, Klempner shouts down. ¡°Hey, you. Milly¡¯s Mom.¡± He points a finger. ¡°There¡¯s a stack of gym mattresses and workout mats over there. Why don¡¯t you put her on one of those andy your coat over her.¡± Milly¡¯s Mom hesitates. ¡°Milly, If we do that, do you promise to be good and have your nap?¡± The tragic mask morphs to cherubic. ¡°Promise, yes.¡± ¡°James¡­¡± Mitch appears at my elbow. ¡°Even with all the paper tes, we¡¯re short of enough to go around.¡± Hmmm¡­ ¡°How about getting the kids to fold up napkins into cones? They can have their nuggets out of those.¡± A chuckle by my ear: Richard. He nods toward Klempner. ¡°Mitch, get Larry to put his team of minions onto it.¡± She snaps her fingers... ¡°Gotcha.¡± ¡­ and strides away. A few moments talk up thedder and Klempner nods. Mitch vanishes, returning only momentster with a box of napkins. Two minutester and children are fighting for the privilege of folding napkins into cups. Richard shakes his head, murmuring, ¡°You¡¯d never thought of Klempner as having a way with kids, would you?¡± ¡°No. I wouldn¡¯t. It¡¯s certainly a unique way.¡± I huff augh. ¡°I think he¡¯s as baffled by it as the rest of us. How¡¯s it all going? Kirstie and Ryan settled in?¡± ¡°They¡¯re fine. All the guests are safely here now. And it¡¯s just as well. The weather¡¯s moving in and it¡¯s This belongs ? N?velDra/ma.Org. getting dark. The snow plough¡¯s heading back for the day.¡± ¡°I¡¯m amazed we had the snowplough here at all. It was a real stroke of luck.¡± ¡°Luck had nothing to do with it. I got onto Vandervoort.¡± ¡°You got the mayor onto organising the snowplough?¡± ¡°I did. You know that donation his wife was looking for? For the water park?¡± ¡°Ah-ha. You telling me she got her donation?¡± ¡°Yup. But we got our snowplough.¡± ¡°I think that technically, that qualifies as bribery and corruption.¡± Richard winces. Rocks his hand. ¡°Possibly. But it¡¯s all in a good cause. And I was going to shoehorn it into the budget anyway. But I¡¯d intended to leave Vandervoort owing me a favour.¡± ¡°Okay, so you called in the favour early. And as you say, it¡¯s all in a good cause... Whoa!¡± Richard ps his hands to his forehead, shielding his eyes against blinding light. So do I. ¡°Sorry about that,¡± Klempner fiddles with a control box and the light dims to a more sensible level, then cycles through red, green and gold. Ovals of light spiral the walls as a glitterball spins. At the far end of the hall, the band are abruptly under the spotlight. Klempner climbs down from his stedder, swipes his hands clean on a rag. calling out to the band. ¡°You should have power now.¡± An electric twang reverberates, followed by a short guitar riff and another twang. ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re good to go.¡± He gives a short satisfied nod and strolls over to join us. ¡°How are we doing?¡± Then his head jerks down. A small hand tugs at his trouser leg. A small face looks up. ¡°I want to hear about the maggots.¡± ***** KIRSTIE Richard wields the key,rge, brass and polished. ¡°So much more appealing than those fiddling little cards they all use these days. Michael has the right of it there.¡± Richard turns the key in the lock and pushes the door open, standing back to let us through. ¡°Mr and Mrs Dougherty, your Bridal Suite.¡± The door is perfectly standard, but it takes the three of us to muscle my dress through the frame, with itsyers of petticoats. But once there¡­ The suite is beautiful. Deep thick carpets¡­ Fresh flowers¡­ Champagne on ice¡­ Some subtle perfume in the air¡­ Or is it simply the scent of fresh linen? Richard gestures across the room. ¡°The bathroom¡¯s through there. I made sure there¡¯s plenty of towels. Anything else you need?¡± Ryan, distress in his voice, ¡°Richard, this is wonderful. Thank you. But, the guests. I should be looking after them. They need to eat.¡± Richard chuckles,ying a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Your guests are downstairs being plied with drinks and snacks, and are all now exchanging stories of how brave they were, and how all of them, each and individually, saved the day¡­¡± ¡°¡­ Ryan, you asked us to help with your wedding. That¡¯s what we¡¯re doing. Your brother is looking after your friends and family. Michael is arranging¡­ something¡­ for the evening. Your duties, as Groom, lie elsewhere¡­¡± He nods toward me and winks. ¡°¡­ As for the food. No one goes hungry with James in charge of the kitchen. I have no idea what''s he''s intending to feed your guests with. And I have no idea either, what the rest of the day will bring. But I guarantee you that hungry guests will not be numbered among the problems.¡± Ryan nods, then scrapes a hand over his face. ¡°I could do to shave.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll find disposable razors and gel in the bathroom. And Elizabeth brought up your cosmetics, shampoo and suchlike, Kirstie.¡± Ryan heaves out air. ¡°I think that¡¯s everything. Thank you, Richard.¡± ¡°I''ll leave you to it, then. Michael tells me they should be ready in a couple of hours. They¡¯ll call you, but take as long as you need.¡± He ps Ryan''s back. ¡°Cheer up, man. It could have been a lot worse. You''re going to dine out on this story for years. Your wedding has been truly memorable. Now, you just got married. Why don¡¯t you go help Kirstie out of that dress?¡± He drops me another wink. ¡°Calm him down, Kirstie. I¡¯m sure you can think of something to soothe his shattered nerves.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure I can.¡± I grab Ryan¡¯s tie, hauling him inside the room, and throwing the words back over my shoulder. ¡°We¡¯ll see you in a while, Richard.¡± He chuckles behind me. ¡°Enjoy yourselves.¡± And the door clicks closed. Chapter 25 - Winter Wedding #24 Chapter 25 - Winter Wedding #24 KIRSTIE ¡°Kirstie, you¡¯re strangling me.¡± Indeed, my new husband is quite pink around the face and I release my hold on his tie. ¡°Thank you.¡± But he¡¯sughing. ¡°Where did you acquire your cavewoman skills?¡± ¡°Just taking my caveman into my caveir.¡± And I¡¯mughing too. He takes me by the shoulders, kisses my forehead. ¡°You¡¯re okay? Really okay?¡± ¡°Yes, really okay. How about you?¡± He grimaces, scratching at the back of his head. ¡°Richard had a point. No-one¡¯s going to forget this wedding.¡± He stands back, looks me down. ¡°¡®Fraid the dress is a bit of a disaster zone.¡± ¡°Hmmm, yes, but I think that¡¯s the end of my aspirations to meringue-hood.¡± ¡°Less of a meringue. More of an Eton Mess. Come on, let¡¯s get you out of it. I have an urge to get my new wife naked.¡± He fiddles with the ties at the back of the corset, loosening them. I sway back and forth as he tugs them loose, then free. ¡°Sorry this is taking a while. The cord¡¯s got sshed with pine resin somehow. It¡¯s all knotted together.¡± ¡°Cut through them.¡± ¡°You sure of that? The dress¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°If you say so. Um¡­¡± He casts around¡­ ¡°Ah, yes. Letter knife.¡± I hear him puffing air behind me as he struggles with the inadequate knife to free me from the corset. ¡°You know, there was a time when, after the wedding, the friends of the bride would undress her and get her into bed and waiting for the husband. And his friends would get him ready for her. I could never understand why. But I¡¯m beginning to now¡­ Hah!¡± The corset abruptly loosens, then falls away. I step out from the massed skirts and petticoats. Ryan tilts his head. ¡°There¡¯s suddenly a lot less of you.¡± He moves close, his hands on my waist, reeling me in. ¡°You know, when I saw youing up the aisle in that dress, part of me was bursting with pride. But¡­¡± His eyes twinkle¡­ ¡°¡­ another part of me was nning to bend you over the bed and fuck you wearing it. Then to shoehorn you out of it. Then tie you to the bed with the cords and fuck you again, spreadeagled.¡± This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. I snuggle into him. ¡°On another asion maybe. How about that bath?¡± ***** The bath is already half-filled, brimming with foam. A battalion of bottles of oils and scents cluster on the side. Champagne sits on ice, set on a silver tray with a single rose and foiled choctes. Candles light the room. Soft music ys from somewhere. Pressing my fingers to my mouth. ¡°Oh, Wow¡­¡± Ryan clicks his tongue. ¡°They did a lot in a hurry.¡± ¡°That''s what friends are for, I suppose.¡± I pick up a bottle and sniff - rose oil - then hold it to Ryan¡¯s nose. ¡°Hmmm. Nice. Use some if you like. What friends are for? Yes, I''m hearing that phrase a lot today.¡± He pops the cork, fills the two flutes with foam, waits a few seconds, then tops up until we have two sses of primrose pale champagne. I tip half the bottle of oil into the bath, swish the water around then turn on the hot tap again. ¡°Don¡¯t make that water too hot.¡± Ryan waggles his eyebrows at me. ¡°I have ns.¡± I waggle back. ¡°All the ingredients for a party all of our own.¡± His grin fades, his eyes gleaming dark. Setting the sses on the tiled edge of the bath, he moves close. His hands resting on the re of my waist to hip, his lips brush over mine. He pulls back, his eyes locking with mine. ¡°Thank you for marrying me. Thank you for today, even if it hasn¡¯t been quite what we intended.¡± ¡°What we intended was that by the end of the day, you and I would be Mr and Mrs Dougherty. Look, we¡¯re only partway through, and we¡¯re already there.¡± His voice is rough, but his eyes dance. ¡°So we are.¡± His hands slide around me, tugging me in closer, pulling me in tighter. One slips up my spine, cupping the back of my head as he presses his mouth to mine, this time forcing me open. Giving his kiss. Taking mine. Pure passion. Pure heat. Pure love. Through the towelling of two robes, his shaft presses to me. I¡¯m growing warm and liquid. ¡°I want my new husband inside me.¡± At least, that¡¯s what I want to say. But his mouth is locked over mine. Speaking isn¡¯t an option. ¡°Hmm mmm mmm.¡± I tug at the belt of his robe, unravelling the knot. Ryan bursts intoughter through the kiss, breaking his death-hold on my mouth. ¡°Aren¡¯t we in a hurry, then.¡± His robe hangs loose but not quite open. I nod down. ¡°You know, that bulge there is spoiling the line of your clothes. His eyes drop to where the evidence of his passion is making its best attempt to join the party. ¡°Ever made love in a bath?¡± His lips curve and his eyes crinkle. ¡°In fact, no. Have you?¡± Ummm¡­ I settle for prevarication. ¡°It''s going to be a day of firsts, isn¡¯t it. Let¡¯s have a water party.¡± He pushes at my robe and it falls open, disying my breasts, my stomach, my loins. His eyes drop, then lift. He slips it back from my shoulders, but pauses, the robe still clinging. ¡°I love you, Kirstie. Having you as my wife has been my dream almost since we met. Now, having this, having you, it¡¯s my Dream Come True.¡± I cup his cheek. ¡°My dream as well. Dreams of White Horses, remember? My Knight.¡± His mouth works. His eyes grow intense. Then he smiles. ¡°Time for that champagne, I think.¡± Water and foam brim now. Ryan holds my hand as I step into the bath. White bubbles wobble their ripples, weaving scented rainbows under the golden light. Sitting up to my chest in warm water, Ryan facing me, we sip champagne. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯d realised¡­¡± he says¡­ ¡°¡­how uptight I was until we got into the water.¡± ¡°Feeling better now?¡± ¡°Much better. You?¡± ¡°Absolutely. Look, I don¡¯t know what they have nned down there¡­¡± ¡°A running buffet in the gym I think¡­¡± ¡°Yes, but it¡¯s still perfect. It¡¯s our day. This is all about you and me.¡± He nods and we sit, in silence, letting music and warmth, champagne and foam, soft light and perfume, and each other, wash away the tension, uncoil taut nerves. Until¡­ ¡­ I¡¯ve had enough of rxing¡­ Setting my ss to one side, I flick scented foam. Ryan swipes bubbles from his cheek. His chin lifts and his eyes crinkle. His ss too is abandoned. ¡°Well?¡± He tilts his head. Getting up in the deep bath turns out to be unexpectedly awkward. The surface is slippery and I can¡¯t get a hold. With an ungainly flop, I twist, then drop, sending a small tsunami of foam sshing over my husband, but I¡¯m where I want to be: kneeling up, facing him. ¡°About that party¡­¡± Shuffling forward on my knees, I travel his outstretched legs until I straddle him. In our few minutes of rxation, his shaft has softened, but that¡¯s rapidly correcting itself, pressure burgeoning against my thigh. His face level with my breasts, he looks up. ¡°Mrs Dougherty, as your Lord and Master, shouldn''t I be the one on top?¡± ¡°I¡¯m the Bride. You¡¯re a mere groom.¡± ¡°And that outweighs everything else, does it?¡± ¡°Today, yes.¡± ¡°Ah, well¡­¡± The rough edge to his voice has faded. Arousal spills through: musical, lyrical¡­ ¡°I''ll just have to live with that then.¡± Surging forward, he grabs for my left breast with a hand, cupping it in his palm. Locking onto the right with his mouth, he teethes at my nipple, tugging gently, stretching, then releasing it. The nipple responds by hardening. Even in the warmth of the bath, the are puckers. He plucks at the nipple with thumb and forefinger, rolling and pinching, his eyes flicking between my breast and my face. Shooting stars sizzle their way to my sex and with each tug, I yelp. ¡°That¡¯s a good noise you¡¯re making there,¡± hements, almost conversationally. ¡°We¡¯d better have some more of it.¡± And switching sides, he locks his mouth over my left breast, thumbing at the right. Teeth gently gripping the nipple, I think he¡¯s swiping over the tip with his tongue. Whatever he¡¯s doing, something is sparking right through me, sending crazy signals to my sex. But it¡¯s the thumb that¡¯s driving me nuts, nudging and pushing at flesh already crinkled plump and hard. Warm though the water is, my pussy is warmer, more fluid, twitching and jumping with every teasing touch. I¡¯ve got to have him inside me¡­ Chapter 26 - Winter Wedding #25 Chapter 26 - Winter Wedding #25 KIRSTIE Steadying myself on Ryan¡¯s shoulders, knees sying, I lower myself, sliding down easily onto him. The head of his cock nudges at my entrance, but as I¡¯m about to take him inside myself¡­ ¡°Ah-ah¡­ No, you don¡¯t. Not yet.¡± ¡°Ryan¡­¡± ¡°You might be on top, but I¡¯m in charge. I¡¯ll fuck you when I¡¯m good and ready. And that¡¯s not yet.¡± ¡°Ryan¡­¡± ¡°No, raise yourself again. I want to see you¡­ No, not like that¡­ Kneel all the way up. Arms up too. Reach for the ceiling.¡± Obediently, I raise my arms. Water and froth stream down my skin, trickling down my neck, through my cleavage, over my belly. Ryan leans back, takes his champagne ss, dewy with chill, and sips. ¡°That¡¯s a handsome sight, I have to say. My beautiful, new, naked wife.¡± He raises the ss. ¡°Want some?¡± ¡°Hmmm, please.¡± He raises it further, to my mouth, tilts the ss, lets me drink. ¡°That¡¯s enough for now. Don¡¯t want to waste it.¡± Puzzled, I look down. ¡°Wha¡­?¡± ¡°As you were, Kirstie. Arms raised.¡± Pussy purrs and clutches. Again, I obey him. Ryan sips from the ss once more, then refills it. Ice clinks as he takes the bottle from the silver bucket, clinks again as he reces it. ¡°You look good like that. Your waist tight. Your breasts raised.¡± His gaze scorches over my body, but stretching out his hand, still holding the ss, he draws it over my breast, tracing a line of iced dew over the nipple. Gasping, I waver, trying to drop¡­ ¡°No! Hold your position¡­ That¡¯s better.¡± Shuddering and quaking, trying to remain upright, I whimper as frozen fire circles my nipple. A droplet trickles down, kissing a line down my breastbone. ¡°You look good, Kirstie. Really good.¡± The ss moves, hovering over my other breast. Ryan¡¯s eyes smoulder dark. He sucks at his lips, then brushes over the skin, twirling the ss in his fingers, swiping a cial kiss over already swollen crinkled nipple. Again, I gasp. ¡°You chose this, Kirstie. You wanted to be on top. Now you have it¡­ Hmmm¡­¡± He takes the ss, looking it over. ¡°It¡¯s losing its chill. Can¡¯t be having that. Let¡¯s try something else.¡± He tips the ss to his mouth, this time taking not a sip, but a gulp. But he doesn¡¯t swallow, instead swishing it around. ¡°That¡¯s my mouth good and cold. But that¡¯s not all of it¡­¡± Holding the flute to the hollow of my neck, he tilts the ss, oh, so carefully, and chilled champagne trickles down my breastbone, through the valley of my breasts and over my belly¡­ I can¡¯t keep it inside. ¡°Aaaahhhh¡­¡± Ryan merely smiles, moving the ss down, then pausing. ¡°It¡¯s empty. But that¡¯s not a problem.¡± Dipping the ss into the ice bucket, he draws it out, filled with ice-water. For good measure, he fishes out an ice cube, plopping it into the ss. ¡°That should do nicely.¡± His right hand holds the ss, hovering over my belly, but his eyes flick sidelong, eye pointing where the left hand dips into the bucket. ¡°I¡¯m sure, Kirstie, that you know where those fingers will be going soon¡­¡± ¡°Oh¡­ God¡­¡± ¡°¡­ but not yet. I¡¯m still enjoying myself. I¡¯d like to lick you out, but I think I¡¯d drown one or other of us if I tried. No matter. This is almost as good. Better in some ways. I have a better view.¡± The ss tilts, tipping cial water over my navel, to flow down my belly, dribbling into the dark curls at the vee of my thighs. ¡°Christ!¡± Lurching forward, my arms fling down and out. ¡°Ryan, I¡­¡± ¡°Back up where you belong, Kirstie...¡± I¡¯m trying to obey, but the chill water is trickling between my thighs, seeping into my swollen folds, with a promise to my pulsing clit. ¡°¡­ Knees further apart, if you please. You know where I want to be now.¡± ¡°Ryan, I can¡¯t hold this position.¡± ¡°Rest your hands on my shoulders, if you must. But you have to stay upright.¡± His eyes gleam¡­ ¡°If there is something that our time together has taught me, Kirstie, it is that there is nothing so delectable as the sight of a woman in sexual torment¡­ You in sexual torment¡­ And I intend to see the benefits of my efforts.¡± ¡°Ryan, I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me.¡± ¡°Oh, I shall. But not yet. Ach¡­¡± He whips his left hand, dripping, out from the bucket, stretching and flexing the fingers. ¡°Y¡¯know, that aches, when it¡¯s a real deep-down chill. You lose all sense of feeling¡­¡± He waves fingers white with cold by my face, briefly touching my cheek and sending another sh of electricity sizzling through to my core. ¡°¡­ but it¡¯s all in a good cause¡­ Now¡­ Let¡¯s find out how you¡¯re doing down there.¡± He draws fingers down over my belly: icicles that make my skin shiver, my flesh quiver and, as he follows a line down between my thighs, my pussy clench. ¡°Ryan, no¡­ I can¡¯t stand it¡­¡± His lips twitch. ¡°Oh, I think you can.¡± The fingers slide inexorably inward, parting swollen lips¡­ Cold. Frigid against my heating folds. The moan that escapes me quavers through the air. ¡°That¡¯s good, Kirstie. So good. You¡¯re hot down there. So hot. So ready for me.¡± He¡¯s not wrong. Two fingers, index and middle, I think, scissor around my swollen clit, making a slow back-and-forth¡­ To-and-fro¡­ Squeezing and releasing¡­ Pinching and rxing. ¡°Thought I¡¯d give you a massage.¡± ConTEent bel0ngs to N?v(e)lD/rama(.)Org . ¡°You call that massage?¡± His touch sears over my pulsing clit. Wet heat scalds down inside my thighs. Hyper-sensitive, teeth gritting, I¡¯m trying for self-control. Thighs quaking, my bones liquefying, I want to drop onto him, take him inside me and fuck myself, and him, senseless. I can¡¯t keep still. All of itself, my pelvis jerks and twitches. Those frozen fingers slide inwardly once more, slipping through flesh throbbing with heat. I buck. Ryan reaches inside the bucket¡­ ¡°If you don¡¯t stay still¡­¡± ¡­ fishes out an ice-cube, holding it up for me to see¡­ ¡°¡­ I¡¯ll use this on you. Would you like that?¡± The ice glints, a candle me refracting through it, somehow burning inside its arctic prison. A bead of water gathers, elongates and drops, falling in slow motion, to be swallowed by a sea of white foam. ¡°I don¡¯t think I could stand it.¡± ¡°Then do as you¡¯re told and stay still.¡± He tosses the ice back into the bucket, then holds up the fingers that held it. ¡°Nice and chilly again. Let¡¯s make the most of that, shall we.¡± In a kind of horrified-rhapsodic fascination I follow the fingers as slowly, inexorably, they move down, between my thighs. I know what¡¯sing. Inside, anticipating, I¡¯m clenching already. It doesn¡¯t feel cold. It doesn¡¯t feel hot. It simply feels. Ryan reaches up and inside, prating me with two, maybe three fingers. His chocte-eyed gaze is locked with mine, but I squeeze my eyes closed. I think he¡¯s twisting around inside me, spiralling against the inner muscle, stretching me open, but it¡¯s hard to be sure. My world is all sensation: intense, freezing, burning, bitter chill, scorching heat¡­ I can¡¯t tell the difference. In the heart of my seething arousal, there is no difference. ¡°You¡¯re too hot, Kirstie. You¡¯re warming my hand. We¡¯d better not take too much time over this, eh?¡± He thrusts up. It¡¯s not much, not hard, but I don¡¯t need much. My self-control fails entirely and I spasm and gush. Liquid heat scalds from me and my belly convulses. Ryan gives a low chuckle. ¡°Now look what you¡¯ve done, Kirstie. All over my hand. It¡¯s as well we¡¯re in the bath.¡± But he¡¯s pumping me now. His thumb joins the party, rubbing over my clit. ¡°That¡¯s it my girl. I want to watch youing on my hand. After that, we¡¯ll see about youing on my cock.¡± He flexes his arm, angling himself. The other handes around me, holding me behind by my wet ass. Holding me to himself, his face pressed sidelong against my stomach, he rubs inside me, my front wall, my g-spot¡­ Orgasm hits me like a freight train. Explosively, I Come. Am I screaming? Maybe¡­ My cunt pulses ecstatically, clenching and clutching at the torturing fingers, spilling hot. My belly pulses and my legs would give way were it not for Ryan¡¯s supporting grip on my hips. ¡°Stop, Ryan. Stop. Please stop.¡± The fingers still, but don¡¯t withdraw. And I¡¯m not out of climax yet, my stomach muscles still fluttering, my thighs not yet willing to support me again. The yammering in my chest subsides and abruptly, I have air again. Chapter 27 - Winter Wedding #26 Chapter 27 - Winter Wedding #26 KIRSTIE ¡°You can let go now if you like,¡±es a voice from somewhere below me, ¡°before I suffocate.¡± The words are muffled for some reason. Peeling my eyelids apart, I look down, I¡®ve been supporting myself by gripping Ryan¡¯s head. His face is pressed into my belly. I release him. ¡°Um, sorry. Did I hurt you?¡± He sits upright,ughing quietly and rubbing at his nose. ¡°No, but I¡¯m not sure my nose will ever be the same shape again.¡± ¡°This isn''t how I imagined us consummating our marriage.¡± ¡°No? What did you imagine then?¡± ¡°I thought you would bend me over the bed and fuck me in my wedding dress.¡± ¡°Believe me, I¡¯d nned on that.¡± His gaze grows intense once more. ¡°My turn now. You can do the work this time.¡± He leans back, lounging against the bath. Lips curving, he eye-points down. ¡°Onto my cock with you, M¡¯Girl.¡± Easing myself over him, for the second time, I straddle his lovely shaft, invisible under the foam, but hardly difficult to find. ¡°The hot water¡¯s not giving you any problems then?¡± ¡°Proof of the pudding¡­ Come on, climb aboard.¡± Pussy¡¯s still twitchy, jumping as I anchor his cockhead to my entrance. Kneeling upright, I pause, taking a breath. Ryan frowns. ¡°You okay?¡± ¡°Just a bit of afterburn.¡± ¡°That¡¯s fine then,¡± he smiles, sliding hands, wet and slippery, over my body, resting over my thighs. ¡°Better than fine. Feels great.¡± Another breath and I slip down, taking my husband inside myself. Ryan blows air. His eyes close and his head falls back. Bubbly waterps over him, a red tide-line over his chest where it warms his skin. ¡°Good?¡± His eyes stay closed. ¡°You have no idea.¡± ¡°Oh, I might.¡± Close-eyed, he smiles. And I move. Slowly at first, taking it easy, I move. Up and down. In and out. His hard flesh glides inside mine, stretching me deliciously. Ryans sighs. His throat ripples and his lips press tight. A little faster, I rise and fall over him. His eyes open, first meeting mine, then dropping to my breasts. He reaches, thumbing at a nipple still hard and taut. Making my movementsrger, with each stroke, I lift clear, then slide down. His eyes follow, watching where his flesh enters mine. A change of pace: settling over him, I twist, revolving my hips, winding my hips in circles above him, taking him with me. Ryan groans. ¡°Christ Jesus¡­¡± His eyes squeeze, lips peeling back¡­ Inside me, his cock spirals, once more rubbing at my g-spot. The heat pulses through me again and I groan too. Ryan¡¯s eyes snap open. His smile is wide and bright. ¡°Like that is it? Keep going.¡± His colour is rising. The red tide-line on his chest flushes upward, partly concealed by the foam. Sweat beads his forehead. His eyes are dark enough to conceal his pupils, but his gaze is fixed, intense. Pitching forward, supporting myself over him with my hands on the back of the bath, I meet his mouth with mine. He wraps one arm over my shoulders, the other hand behind my head. Our kiss is deep and drawn out and all the while I move over him. But now, he¡¯s moving with me, thrusting deep, plunging into me. His grip on me grows tighter. His breathing rasps. Rock-hard and huge, faster he spears up into me. Harder he drives. I¡¯m yelling out. With every stroke, his swollen shaft fills me, stretches me and rips a scream from my throat which fights its way through our locked mouths. It¡¯sing¡­ Once more¡­ The shuddering¡­ The throbbing¡­ The rising ecstasy¡­ And I pulse into orgasm once more, this time with Ryan¡¯s arms around me¡­ He breaks off the kiss. A single gasped word¡­ ¡°Kirstie¡­¡± ¡­ And with a growl, he freezes under me, his body rigid. He¡¯s hard enough that I feel the pulsing of his cock as hees. Grinding against me, his fingers digging into my back, he jerks and shivers his way through climax¡­ ¡­ and with a shudder and a gasp, breaks away, withdrawing. He swipes a palm over his face. ¡°Fuck, but that was good.¡± He blinks once, twice, then lifts his gaze, dark and intense, to mine. ¡°Thank you¡­ Wife.¡± ¡°Thank you, Husband.¡± I press my lips to his. ¡°Feeling more rxed?¡± ¡°Most of me is rxing.¡± Iugh. Indeed, his shaft still presses against my stomach. His face softens. He takes my hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb over my fingers. ¡°I love you, Kirstie.¡± ¡°I love you too, Ryan.¡± We stare at each other. Words are irrelevant. This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. Together¡­ Man and wife¡­ The seconds tick by¡­ A sound¡­ We both jolt, heads turning to follow the sound¡­ It repeats: a knock on a door,ing through from the lounge. And a voice: Michael. ¡°Ryan? Kirstie? We¡¯re good to go.¡± Ryan grins. ¡°We¡¯ll be with you shortly, Michael.¡± ¡°Fine. No hurry.¡± The voice echoes through. ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready.¡± I lift away, sitting back at my end of the bath. ¡°Well, Mrs Dougherty¡­¡± says my new husband¡­ ¡°Shall we go greet our guests?¡± ¡±What do you think we¡¯ll find out there?¡± ¡°I don''t care if we find peanut butter sandwiches and orange squash waiting for us. They''ve turned the day around.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what friends are for.¡± ***** JAMES Michael leans back against our makeshift bar, arms folded, wearing a warm puppy grin. ¡°I¡¯d say we did it.¡± ¡°I¡¯d say we did.¡± A stream of aunts, sisters, cousins, grans, moms and daughters ferry dish after dish from the kitchens. Each one sets down some tter or server then beelines for the bar. Michael raises his voice. ¡°It¡¯s getting kinda noisy don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°The Irish and the Italians? Two of the most famously vocal races in the world. And they¡¯re at a party. Ah¡­¡± I point¡­ ¡°The Happy Couple have joined us atst.¡± Ryan and Kirstie, hand-in-hand, pause in the doorway, gaping, then breaking into delighted grins. I can¡¯t hear a word they¡¯re saying over the racket, but Kirstie ps her hands. Kylees up to his brother and the two shake hands, p shoulders. Kyle gives Kirstie a bearhug and a kiss on the cheek. At the same moment, the band strikes up. In my few distracted seconds, Michael has conjured up two beers. He hands me one, sucks at the other, then swipes foam from his mouth. ¡°Kirstie¡¯s looking a bit mussed.¡± ¡°It¡¯s her wedding day. She¡¯s entitled to a bit of mussing.¡± There must be some kind of announcement. I didn¡¯t hear it, but there¡¯s a general surge towards the food tables. A couple of minutester, Klempner ambles across to us, a paper te in one hand, a stic fork in the other. ¡°Who do I have to assassinate to get a drink around here?¡± ¡°If it were anyone but you asking that, I¡¯d think it was a joke¡­¡± His eyes crease¡­ ¡°As it is, let me get you something. What¡¯s it to be?¡± He waves his fork at my beer. ¡°I¡¯ll have one of those for now.¡± He downs his beer in three swallows. ¡°I was ready for that.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll get you another.¡± A voice rises from somewhere around my knees. ¡°Can I have one, too?¡± Klempner doesn¡¯t even look down. ¡°No, you can¡¯t. You can have an orange squash. Or a lemonade.¡± He meets my eye and shrugs. ¡°She seems to have adopted me.¡± Without really looking, he forks up from his te, chews for a moment then, brow furrowing, does look down, this time at his food. ¡°What am I eating exactly?¡± I scan the contents of his te. ¡°You don¡¯t like it?¡± He chews and swallows. ¡°I do like it. I just haven¡¯t ID¡¯d it.¡± ¡°You are eating what I think is best described as Irish-Italian fusion food. Gnhi with bacon and cabbage.¡± He frowns. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not an obviousbination.¡± ¡°No, it isn¡¯t. Ryan¡¯s Italian chef uncle wanted to use Serrano ham. But his Irish housewife cousin insisted on bacon. I think it works. . Besides¡­¡± I nod toward where Ryan is dancing with Kirstie¡­ ¡°¡­ it¡¯s not the only Irish-Italian fusion that¡¯s a sess today.¡± ***** MICHAEL By any measure, the evening, after its unpromising start, has been a roaring sess. Themunal spirit of All In It Together has certainly helped, but in fact, the sports hall has provided a perfect venue, the drink has flowed freely and the band are unusually good, with a nice mix of original music along with everyone-knows-the-words-to-this-one tracks. The food has been great, if unexpected. That is to say, little remains on the serving tables except for stains and crumbs. A good time has been had, so far as I can see, by all. We¡¯ve reached the point when everyone has eaten enough, drunk plenty and the dancing is shifting to slow tracks. Children have settled in flocks to roost on the stacks of yoga mats. Groups and couples are gathered at tables and some are yawning. But there is one lone figure¡­ Klempner¡­ Propped on an elbow on the end of the bar, an empty tumbler in his hand, he is not exactly staring across the room, but certainly keeping a close eye on something. What¡¯s he looking at? Chapter 28 - Winter Wedding #27 Chapter 28 - Winter Wedding #27 MICHAEL Klempner¡¯s brow a little furrowed, he watches. I try to follow his line-of-sight, but across the dancing crowd, can¡¯t make out where his interest lies. I shift along the bar¡­ James dancing with Mitch? Not something he¡¯s going to worry about¡­ Ryan with Charlotte? Hardly¡­ Curiosity wars with good manners. Curiosity wins. Making my way along to stand next to him, I raise a finger to the barman. ¡°A beer here, please.¡± Then with a nod to the empty ss. ¡°What can I get you, Larry?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have a scotch on the rocks, thanks.¡± Drink in hand, and now with Klempner¡¯s view over the room, ¡°Something bothering you?¡± Whisky ss in one hand, he raises it to his mouth, eyes and forefinger aiming to a table in the far corner. ¡°I was wondering who the blond wolf is, stalking Georgie.¡± And now, although still dancing with Mitch, I see James¡¯ attention too, is fixed on the table. Would he object? This belongs ? N?velDra/ma.Org. Why should he? He was happy enough to let Borje fuck Charlotte¡­ ¡°Borje is no wolf,¡± I say. ¡°He''s a decent man.¡± I watch the pair for a moment¡­ Heads close over the table, her hands, although holding a ss, stretch across to him. And his to hers. And though seating on opposite sides of the small table, they¡¯re as close as space will allow¡­ ¡°They''re looking cosy together, aren''t they.¡± Klempner¡¯s brows draw together. He sips his drink. ¡°That they are. A decent man you say?¡± Concerned about Georgie? ¡°That''s right. He is. Although... If Georgie hooked up with him, she''d be in for a few surprises.¡± The ss halts en route, hovering mid-air. ¡°What does that mean?¡± ¡°It means that Borje is a long-time friend. James and I¡­ Kirstie too for that matter¡­ know him because he uses the clubs. I imagine that¡¯s why he¡¯s on the guest list. Kirstie knows him of old.¡± ¡°Clubs? Oh... Those clubs?¡± ¡°Yes, those clubs.¡± Klempner turns to hold my face, very still, wheels turning behind his eyes, gears clicking. Then, I see the shutters open. His gaze swings to Charlotte¡­ ¡­ still dancing with Ryan; chatting,ughing at some joke... ¡­ then back to me. ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°Yes?¡± His eyes narrow. ¡°Yes. Borje and Charlotte have¡­ known ¡­ each other. In the past.¡± ¡°Known? We¡¯re speaking Biblically?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± ¡°And Jenny was happy with him?¡± ¡°I¡¯d say she enjoyed hispany very much.¡± Klempner doesn¡¯t reply, simply sucking in his cheeks, then gulping his malt. His attention returns to Borje and Georgie. ¡°I wouldn''t worry about Georgie,¡± I say. ¡°She knows how to look after herself.¡± He gives a side-nce. ¡°You think?¡± Not just concerned¡­ Protective towards her? Klempner? Where the hell¡¯s thating from? Perhaps he divines something of my thoughts. ¡°James has done his level best to protect my daughter,¡± he says calmly. ¡°It¡¯s the least I can do to return the favour. So, you don¡¯t think he¡¯s any threat to her?¡± I consider. ¡°Might be good for her.¡± A figure materialises by us, Kirstie, her face flushed and smiling. ¡°I wanted to say thank you to you both.¡± James approaches from behind her, apanied by Mitch. Richard and Beth join us. Ryan appears, Charlotte by his side. Heys his arm over Kirstie¡¯s shoulder. She hooks hers around his waist. ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°What else can we say? To all of you. The day could have been disastrous. Instead, it¡¯s been amazing. From the depths of my heart, thank you, all of you.¡± There¡¯s a silence, the kind where everyone has something to say, but no one wants to push forward. Kirstie breaks it. ¡°We¡¯ve had Christmas. And New Year¡¯s not quite here. But it¡¯s our New Year. Mine and Ryan¡¯s. Our new life. And it¡¯s been made possible for us with so much help from our friends. New friends¡­ ¡°She smiles to Mitch and Klempner¡­ ¡°And old ones¡­¡± She nods to Richard, me and James¡­ ¡°You helped us buy the mill. You looked after us. You made today possible. And¡­ it¡¯s a bit early¡­ But I gave the band a special request, because I don¡¯t know anything more appropriate.¡± She lifts a hand, waves. The singer is watching her, clearly waiting for the signal. At her gesture, the music strikes up. The hubbub dies down. Gathered family and friends pause, then smile and link hands, voices rising¡­ Should auld acquaintance be forgot.. Mixed ages¡­ ¡­ And never brought to mind? Mixed ents¡­ ¡­ Should auld acquaintance be forgot¡­ All singing together¡­ ¡­ And days of auldng syne? ***** THE CITY I stir my coffee, sugar and creamer swirling spirals in my cup. And I sip. And wait¡­ ¡­ ¡­ There you are¡­ I see you¡­ Patrolling your territory. Along with that other one you work with, with her bottle-blonde hair and over- inted chest. The pair of you pace up and down, parading to the passing traffic in your tacky skirts and your too-low tops, disying yourselves¡­ Even whores can be pretty, I suppose. You''re wearing your hair up tonight. You¡¯ve braided it into a coiled knot, sitting high. It looks Some might say it''s ssy, but I prefer it the way you wear it when you''re not working: sometimes in that long ponytail, clipped behind to swing down to your waist. But it¡¯s best of all when you wear your hair loose: a dark waterfall, cascading over your shoulders, flowing almost to your knees, silky and shiny. Beautiful hair. You''ll wear your hair loose for me. When we meet properly. You''ve not seen me yet. Not noticed me. There¡¯s no reason you should notice me. I''ve not introduced myself yet. And to the caf¨¦ staff, I¡¯m simply having a meal and a coffee as I pass through. Just as I always do. Like all the others, the hundreds who pass through the cafe or on the street every day. I¡¯m a face. One amongst the multitude. But I¡¯ve seen you. Every night for thest month. Some of the days too. To your clients, you''re Jez, or Delh, or Vivian. Or whatever you want to call yourself. And when you''re done, you gather with others of your ilk at some bar or other, psychedelic with music, alcohol, lights and drugs. But I''m being unfair. You''re not like those others. I''ve seen the scars, the withered veins where the needles have entered. The drunken frolics where they drink the night''s takings instead of paying the rent. No, you''re not like them: your skin clean and whole, a single ss of wine, where they''re knocking back shot after shot of vodka. You''ve only allowed your self-abuse to go so far. I like that about you. Nice and clean. Nice and healthy. Last week, as you gged down the barman for your drink, you cooed and chatted with him as he poured. He cracked some crap joke and youughed. He called you Emma. Are you fucking him? Emma¡­ A car pulls up at your corner. As the window winds down, you strut across, stooping to talk to the driver. Will you be fucking him next? Yesterday, at the hot dog stand, queuing behind you, I could smell your cheap perfume,peting with frying onions. You shouldn''t use that stuff. It doesn¡¯t suit you. You¡¯re better than that. But the sunshine made a glittering liquid fall of your hair, tracing the curve of your spine to the belt of your jeans, swishing over your hips. Beautiful hair. Your own colour? I think so. No betraying roots. Only a cascade of glinting ck. Almost a blue-ck. Sleek and smooth. A bit of Chinese or Indian in you perhaps? How can something so corrupt be so beautiful? Still, perhaps you¡¯ll pay your way tonight. You straighten up from the car, gesturing to your big-titted blonde friend. It¡¯s her the driver wants. Why would he want her when he could buy you? After half a minute¡¯s dicker, the passenger door swings open. Big-Tits gets in and the car pulls away. So now, you stand alone, facing into the flow of the traffic, still unting yourself to strangers. I wipe down my te with thest of the bread, knock back my coffee, and as the fat waitress clears my table, I drop a few coppers by the check. I pick up my car keys, ¡°Night, Brenda.¡± ¡°G¡¯night, Pat. Sleep well.¡± ¡°Sure I will. See you tomorrow.¡± ***** Chapter 29 – The Idylls of March #1 Chapter 29 ¨C The Idylls of March #1 RICHARD Charlotte''s yell reverberates down the stairs and along the hall, apanied by a wooden thumping. All heads rise, following the sound. Elizabeth''s eyes light withughter. ¡°What¡­ Again? That¡¯s the third time today.¡± ¡°I make it four.¡± James clicks his tongue. ¡°Charlotte wants to be pregnant again. Michael wants her pregnant. Between them, they¡¯re making every opportunity for it to happen.¡± Another wail echoes. I fold arms. Grin to James. Jerk my chin up the stairs. ¡°Don''t you miss the days when you could keep that up? Three, four, five times a day. Come up for air, then go under again.¡± James tugs at an ear. ¡°He¡¯s looking pleased with himself for sure. When Charlotte does find she¡¯s expecting, she''ll remember who¡¯s responsible.¡± The front door clicks open and Klempner enters, Mitch right behind him. ¡°Ah, James, I¡­¡± Another yell reverberates. Klempner halts mid-step, wincing. ¡°Christ, they still at it? She''s going to need a fucking walking frame.¡± Mitch flicks invisible lint from his shoulder. ¡°Larry, perhaps you and I should go out for a few hours. You need a new jacket. I¡¯lle to help you choose.¡± Klempner rumbles. ¡°I don¡¯t need another jacket¡­¡± The thumping grows louder, faster¡­ ¡°Headboard?¡± I suggest. James nods, face nd. ¡°I¡¯d say so, yes.¡± The banging dies away again, but the wails amplify and extend. ¡°Probably grinding into her,¡±ments James. ¡°Aiming for her g-spot.¡± ¡°Sounds like he¡¯s seeding,¡± I nod. ¡°Perhaps I do need a new jacket.¡± Klempner spins and exits. Mitch drops us a long slow wink, then follows him out. And we all burst outughing. ***** JAMES Ground-ns for thetest phase of the work outspread on the dining room table, Richard and I work through our itinerary. Or to be urate, we try to work. Richard consults his notes. ¡°Item sixteen. Where are we with the ground works for F-site? You were hoping to have thempleted by next week as I recall.¡± ¡°We¡¯re still on schedule and¡­¡± I¡¯m cut off by another rendition of Charlotte¡¯s siren song. Richard raises eyes as though he can see through the ceiling to the bedroom above. ¡°Doesn¡¯t that man ever get tired? For that matter, doesn¡¯t she?¡± ¡°Not that I¡¯ve noticed. They¡¯re both young and healthy and determined. I think we simply have to ride it. It can¡¯t be long now before he seeds in getting her pregnant. After that, things should calm down.¡± ¡°I suppose so.¡± Richard blows out his cheeks, pushes spectacles up his nose. ¡°You were saying, James? F-site?¡± I trace a fingertip over the work area, outlining the boundary. ¡°On the north side, we¡¯re all butplete. To the east¡­¡± Another wail echoes along the hall, quickly joined by the percussive headboard apaniment. The chandelier rattles. Beth enters, carrying a tray with coffee pot and mugs. She pauses. "What''s wrong with you two?¡± Richard snatches off his spectacles, ps them down on the table. He jerks a thumb upward. ¡°It''s very difficult, Elizabeth, to think with your head when there''s a woman in the background making sounds like that. The blood that should be powering my brain is all the while headed south." Beth dimples. ¡°Perhaps we should go and do something about it? Maybe Charlotte and Michael need some assistance.¡± Richard throws me a nce. ¡°Thank the lord for understanding wives.¡± I stand, adjusting the fit of my pants. ¡°Amen to that. Richard, would you like to bring your sub with you. I think my sub needs a little subduing.¡± ***** CHARLOTTE Sweaty, red-faced and smiling broadly, Michael lifts himself away from me, lying on his back to stare up at the ceiling. His erection is subsiding, but I¡¯m giving long odds that it won¡¯t be for long. Who knew that the promise of paternity would be such an aphrodisiac? His eyes slide sidelong. ¡°Okay, Babe?¡± ¡°Absolutely.¡± In fact, I¡¯m rather tired. The first time I decided to get pregnant, by my Master, it all happened rather naturally, over a few weeks, albeit with Michael¡¯s hearty co-operation. This time, Michael has taken his role as father-to-be to heart. Non-stop action is the theme of the moment. He rolls back, lying side-on to me, pillowing his head on my breast. He slides a hand down my body, to rest over my belly. ¡°What d¡¯you think? Anything going on inside there yet?¡± I want to giggle, but I don¡¯t. The question soundsical, but it¡¯s so important to him¡­ My Golden Lover¡­ My husband¡­ ¡­ The man agreed to let another man father my first child. He even helped make it happen. ¡°There could be.¡± I slip my hand over his. ¡°We¡¯ll know in a few days.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll tell me?¡± ¡°I¡¯d be due around Thursday or Friday. If I¡¯mte¡­¡± I make airmas¡­ ¡°¡­ you¡¯ll be the first to know. And if it¡¯s not happened yet, we¡¯ll keep working on it.¡± His voice thick, Michael strokes my stomach. ¡°I can¡¯t wait. I mean¡­ Having Cara is great. Adam and Vicky too. They¡¯re all part of the family. But this one¡­¡± ¡°This one will be especially yours.¡± He Hmmms. Sits up. Hugging his legs, he props his chin on his knees. ¡°I¡¯d not thought of it like that. Yes, the others are all sort-of mine, but this one will be especially mine.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± I take his hand, give it a squeeze. Joy dances in his eyes. He leans in, presses his lips to mine. ¡°Charlotte, thank you.¡± His arms slide around me, easing me closer¡­ The door opens and my Master enters. ¡°Ah, Charlotte¡­ I see you¡¯ve been busy¡­¡± Expression nd, his gaze travels my tousled hair, my sweat-sleeked skin. ¡°And how are you now?¡± I grin. ¡°I¡¯m good, Master.¡± ¡°I¡¯m pleased to hear it. Richard and I have been trying to work downstairs. You¡¯ve been disturbing us¡­¡± This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. My face grows warm¡­ Embarrassment? Or anticipation? I¡¯m not sure. ¡°Sorry, Master¡­¡± ¡°¡­ and Richard needs a distraction.¡± Suddenly, I don¡¯t feel tired anymore. I know exactly where this is leading. What a life I have, in my world of love and sex and sensuality; of lovemaking and my Golden Lover and Delectable Doms. What woman could want more? He slides a fingertip between my sweat-slicked breasts. ¡°I want you to take a brief shower. Afterwards, go downstairs. You needn¡¯t bother getting dressed.¡± ¡°Downstairs? You mean¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m not talking about the dining room or the lounge. You will find Richard in the mirrored room. Michael, will you join us?¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t miss it.¡± He springs from the bed, throwing on a robe. ¡°I¡¯ll grab a shower too, then turn on the heating in the basement.¡± ¡°Richard¡¯s already handling that. We¡¯ll see the pair of you down there in a few minutes.¡± ***** Freshly showered, we descend, hand in hand, to the cers. My hair still a little damp, I¡¯m wearing only a towelling bathrobe; Michael, freshly ironed jeans and a shirt in pale, soft linen. As we enter my Master¡¯s domain, Richard and Beth are waiting for us. My breath steams as we pass through the main chamber, but in the beautiful, mirrored room, hunkered down by the hearth, Richard stacks firewood around a hot ze, a quick release of heat from the birch and spruce kindling Michael chops. But already, heavier beech logs are catching for a slow, hot burn. In the mirrors which cover every wall, the mes are reflected a thousand times, melding with the flicker of the candles dotted here and there to give a light which shimmers and ys, burnishing every surface to gold. Beth perches on the edge of the vast bed which takes up most of the chamber, wearing a terry-cloth robe simr to my own. Her Dom, on the other hand, is fully dressed: suit and jacket; sleek grey with a fine pinstripe, a crisp white shirt, a tie in steel-blue silk Beth once picked out for him. As he sees us, Richard stands, straightens his jacket, adjusts his cuffs. ¡°Ah, Michael. Charlotte. Do join us. James will be with us shortly.¡± He gestures toward the bed. ¡°Michael, do make yourselffortable. Perhaps you would care for the use of my sub in a while?¡± ¡°Absolutely.¡± Michael fishes the baby monitor from his pocket, setting on the side-table, then sits, propped against the headboard, legs outstretched, the very image of rxation. Richard stands over Beth, strokes her cheek. ¡°My lovely wife. She¡¯s quite the voyeur. Something I''d not suspected in until we became involved with your Triad. Elizabeth, you will serve Michael today. You may watch while I enjoy your cousin.¡± She nods, her eyes wide, lips a little parted. ¡°Michael, however you choose to amuse yourself with Elizabeth, please don''t allow her to climax.¡± ¡°Anything you say, Richard.¡± Richard continues. ¡°Charlotte,e here¡­¡± I pad closer. His wrist twists to aim a long forefinger down to a spot a few feet away. ¡°¡­ There. And remove those slippers. They may be suitable wear for a wife with her husband in the bedroom. But not for a sub before a Dominant.¡± Obediently, I kick off my footwear. A rug has beenid in front of the fire. I¡¯ve not seen it before but, long, wide, thick, it is warm on my bare feet, a shield against the raw gs of the cer floor. ¡°Elizabeth,e join your cousin¡­¡± Chapter 30 – The Idylls of March #2 Chapter 30 ¨C The Idylls of March #2 CHARLOTTE Beth stands beside me, sucking at her lips, her chest rising and falling under the robe. Richard folds arms, dazzling her with a white and brilliant smile. ¡°My Love? I believe you are forgetting something.¡± Beth ducks her head then, unknotting the belt, slips the robe from her shoulders. She murmurs low to me. ¡°Oh, God. When he looks at me like that, I just want to drop to my knees and beg.¡± I reply equally quietly. ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll have to beg for long.¡± Richard''s smile slides to me, wicked as whipped cream. ¡°Charlotte?¡± ¡°Sir?¡± ¡°Be so good as to remove your robe also.¡± I hesitate. I¡¯ve never undressed for Richard. Not just Richard. Always before it has been at my Master¡¯s bidding. I steal a nce to Michael but he offers no support, simply gazing at me, his face unreadable. Richard¡¯s forehead wrinkles. ¡°Charlotte, I gave you an instruction. An instruction issued, by proxy, from your own Master.¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± I reach for the tie of my robe¡­ ¡­ His voice, from behind me. I didn¡¯t hear him arrive. Didn¡¯t know he was there. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have needed instruction for that, Charlotte. Nor any reminder.¡± I turn to face him. ¡°No, Master. Sorry, Master.¡± He isn''t smiling, but in that secret ce he hides, I know his smile is lurking. He moves close, tilting up my chin with a finger to stare me in the eye. A flogger dangles from his other hand, the tails flicking and twitching. ¡°In future, Charlotte, you will obey Richard as you would obey me. I would have thought that was understood by now.¡± I lower my face. ¡°Yes, Master.¡± ¡°Good.¡± He winds the finger in a circle and obediently, I turn to face Richard. ¡°So¡­¡± Blue eyes hold steady on mine¡­ ¡°Are you going to obey my instruction now?¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± I unravel the tie, let the garment fall away. From behind me, ¡°Richard, do you wish to discipline Charlotte for her disobedience?¡± ¡°I didn''t mean to disobey, Master.¡± A whisper of air¡­ A flicker of movement in my peripheral vision¡­ My gasp at the sting of thesh on the back of my naked thighs¡­ ¡°You hesitated to obey. After I had previously instructed you to ept Richard¡¯s instructions as though they were mine.¡± Unreasonably, Pussy is melting¡­ Liquefying¡­ A trickle scalds down between my thighs. The pain... The pleasure... The Rush... ¡°I don¡¯t think we need discuss punishment, James. Charlotte was merely disying proper deference to her own Dom. And I believe we both know your sub well enough to have a good idea of what she¡¯s thinking right now.¡± He gestures to the bed. ¡°Charlotte, on all fours, please. My wife wants to watch me fuck you. Elizabeth, go join Michael.¡± Beth¡¯s breath catches, but she pads across to Michael who reels her in to sit between his legs. He¡¯s speaking as I take my position on theforter. ¡°You¡¯ll have to excuse me, Beth. I¡¯ve only just finished with Charlotte upstairs. I¡¯ve not had time to recharge. But don¡¯t worry, there¡¯s more than one way to give ady the finish she deserves.¡± On my hands and knees, my head hanging low, hair swinging, Richard guides me by the shoulders. ¡°Turn a little, Charlotte. I want you close to the edge of the bed, parallel to the side.¡± As I shuffle around, ¡°James, will you be joining me?¡± My Master¡¯s voice, dark as bitter chocte, ¡°Thank you, Richard, yes. I¡¯ll watch for a while. Let me know when you require assistance.¡± They¡¯re both going to fuck me¡­ ¡­ But how? Perhaps my uncertainty shows. Richard speaks quietly. ¡°For the avoidance of doubt, Charlotte, I know that right now, it is Michael''s prerogative to finish inside you. I''ll not abuse my privileges. But¡­ I can enjoy you, and all your parts¡­¡± He shes brows¡­ ¡°¡­ in other ways.¡± ¡°Of course, sir¡­¡± Inside me, something ripples and flows.This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. Despite myself, I had worried a little. I twist to see Michael. Beth, moon-eyed, her skin sheening, sits naked on hisp as he murmurs something soft to her. One hand cups a breast, thumbing a nipple. The other rests between her thighs, shiny-fingered, moving rhythmically. But all the while, Michael is watching me. Smiling, he blows me a kiss. A tap on my shoulder. ¡°Charlotte, pay attention.¡± On hands and knees as I am, Richard¡¯s groin is close by my face, his trousers bulging, but with more than a burgeoning erection. Fishing into a pocket, he produces a small something: a silvery steel teardrop, wasp-waisted, the head set with a green gem. ¡°You¡¯ve seen this before.¡± One hand winding into my hair, with the other, he holds the plug by the gem, offering it to my lips. ¡°Open your mouth. You know where it¡¯s going. I¡¯m sure you would prefer it lubricated.¡± Pussy clenches and throbs. Obediently, I lick and suck at the smooth steel shaft, cold against the heat of my mouth. ¡°That¡¯s it...¡± Richard seats himself behind me. ¡°¡­ Spread your knees, Charlotte. I want you fully open. Michael and Elizabeth want to be able to see. Your Master too.¡± As I shuffle my knees apart, the coolth of the air washes between my thighs and over heating flesh. Richard trails the tip of the plug along my spine. From the nape of my neck, a chilled point of sensation travels, a frisson that skitters over my skin and sets a pulse throbbing within. The tip trails down over my ribs, then along the small of my back before holding, a little north of its target. I know what¡¯sing. What Richard is going to do. My lungs heave. My heart pounds. But inside, I¡¯m growing warm and loose. The tip kisses at my rear entrance and involuntarily, I clench. Common sense tells me it¡¯s not truly cold, but against my flushed skin, it could be carved from ice. Richard pauses. ¡°Rx, Charlotte. This jewel was my gift to you some time past. I intend that you wear it. So, take it the easy way.¡± ¡°Sorry, sir.¡± ¡°Take a couple of slow breaths. You¡¯re familiar with this. It won¡¯t hurt so long as you rx.¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± I inhale¡­ ¡­ then let the air drain away¡­ In¡­ Out¡­ Rx¡­ ¡°That¡¯s better.¡± Another pause. The kiss of ice leaves me... A sucking sound¡­ And the chill touch once more¡­ This time, it pushes in¡­ Breaching my entrance¡­ Stretching me¡­ Prating me¡­ Preparing me? Instinctively, I suck in air again¡­ ¡­ And the teardrop settles into position, held in ce by its narrow neck. That odd sensation inside¡­ Filled¡­ A warm palm strokes over me, my ass, cupping the cheeks. ¡°Yes, very bing, Charlotte. When you first wore this for me, I thought it suited you. I still do.¡± Richard¡¯s hand rests, a slight pressure from the heel pressing the plug inward. Fingers dip lower, plucking and rubbing and stroking my hot and fluid flesh. ¡°You¡¯re very wet, Charlotte. I think you¡¯re enjoying this more than you like to admit.¡± The fingers slip inside me, winding idle spirals that tease and tantalize with prating to any great depth. ¡°Charlotte, since I am denied the pleasure of your pussy today, I shall use your mouth. Instead.¡± He stands, taking another something from his pocket, moving to sit by my face. But head lowered, through the waterfall of my hair, I can¡¯t see what he¡¯s holding. ¡°You have been very busy recently, with Michael,¡± says Richard. ¡°The noises James and I have been hearing downstairs were quite distracting. All that wailing and howling. Not that it doesn¡¯t make for a pleasant background, but it¡¯s difficult for a man to work under such conditions. In any case, I¡¯ve decided that if you want to be noisy, then I shall put your range of sounds to good use.¡± He sweeps my hair to one side, brushing it over my shoulder, clearing my vision. Then he shows me the something... Some contraption in metal and stic. ¡°Ever worn one of these before, Charlotte?¡± I have no idea what it is. Inside I twitch. Outside, dumbly, I shake my head. ¡°No?¡± Richard sounds pleased. ¡°That''s good. I can introduce you to something new.¡± As he fiddles with the thing. ¡°James, whilst I upy myself here, perhaps you could entertain yourself at the other end.¡± He passes across something else¡­ How much stuff can one man carry in his pockets? My Master replies in tones of chocte and velvet. ¡°My pleasure, Richard.¡± A movement behind me. The settling of the mattress as he makes himselffortable. I startle at his touch as he strokes over my vulva, then shudder as he draws long fingers over my outer lips¡­ ¡­ through the crease of my thigh¡­ ¡­ then back again. It is the lightest and most fleeting of caresses, but sensation sparks over my skin, sparkles through my flesh. My core heats and throbs. The touch ceases. Behind me again, the rustle of fabric. The mattress under me shifts and I rock a little as my weight shifts with it. A Click! A buzz... A vibe. There¡¯s only one ce that can be going. Chapter 31 – The Idylls of March #3 Chapter 31 ¨C The Idylls of March #3 CHARLOTTE I widen my knees further, allowing my Master as easy ess as I can. Fingers insert themselves, sying me open, stretching me. The vibe hums against my flesh, eases inward, and as my breathing quickens, squeezes past the inner muscle, on and in. Briefly, it thrusts into me: twice, thrice, then it twists and settles, crooning musically. Another click. The rhythm of the vibration quickens. Yet another, it slows again, but now a shudder apanies the vibration. The vibration purrs against my entrance, shivering through to the plug at my rear, quivering through belly and core, rippling against my g-spot. Oh, God¡­ And they¡¯re not going to let mee¡­? Involuntarily, I groan. In the background, Beth moans, her panting growing louder. ¡°Charlotte, open your mouth.¡± Richard fiddles with his gizmo then, inserting it¡­ A gag? ¡­ clips metal grips over my teeth. Something presses down over my tongue. My mouth is held open. He slips a strap around and behind, tighten it, fixing the gag in ce. Richard makes some adjustment and inexorably, my jaws are forced apart. ¡°Is that hurting you?¡± ¡°Ah¡­ Ah¡­¡± I can''t speak. I shake my head instead. Another adjustment and my jaws ease a touch wider. Richard stands back, surveying me, arms folded, admiring his handiwork. ¡°What d¡¯you think, James?¡± My Master stands beside him, then tilts my face to look me square on. His dark eyes crease. ¡°It¡¯s an attractive effect, isn¡¯t it.¡± His voice is conversational. He could be discussing the price of bread. ¡°¡­The mouth wedged open like that. It¡¯s not something I¡¯ve tried previously on Charlotte, but it¡¯s very inviting. The entrance that can¡¯t be closed¡­¡± He slides his forefinger over my upper incisors, tracing the edges. Delving in further, he runs the fingertip over my mrs then, inserting two fingers, he touches my tongue. ¡°Begging to be filled¡­ I see that could easily be a favourite.¡± Beth¡¯s groans are building to a crescendo. Whatever Michael is doing to her, she¡¯s going to climax sometime soon. Abruptly, the sound cuts short save for a gasp. ¡°Sorry, Beth,¡± says Michael. ¡°You don¡¯t have permission from your Master toe yet.¡± I can¡¯t see what¡¯s happening, but the quivering of the mattress is surely Beth quaking, teetering on the edge of orgasm. My Master traces my lips with a fingertip. Swallowing is impossible and saliva pools on my tongue. He sits by me again, twists a hand into my hair, pulling my head backwards. ¡°So, Richard, what did you have in mind now? Or need I ask?¡± ¡°I¡¯d like you to upy Charlotte at the rear. I¡¯m sure you know what to do. Elizabeth,e here. Kneel beside Charlotte.¡± The mattress bounces under me as Beth moves into position. Richard continues. ¡°Elizabeth, you will restrain your cousin. Hold her head back so I can pleasure myself with her. Michael may continue enjoying you. But I repeat, you are not permitted to climax.¡± Beth ravels both hands into my hair, tightening her grip, steering me. Another movement, out of my line of sight. Michael¡¯s voice. ¡°Open up, Beth. I¡¯ve not finished with you yet.¡± Close behind me, Beth hisses and gasps. Richard grips my chin between thumb and forefinger. ¡°Charlotte, like this, you won''t be able to safe word. If what I¡¯m doing bes too much, bang twice on the bed with your hand. You understand me?¡± Words are impossible. I can only produce what passes for a vowel sound. ¡°Ah¡­¡± ¡°Show me.¡± I p my palm twice against the nkets. ¡°Good.¡± He awards me one of his blinding smiles. ¡°I¡¯ve been looking forward to this. Elizabeth, you may watch while I face-fuck your lover¡¯s wife.¡± Behind me, my Master is not idle. The power on the vibe abruptly steps up a notch, increasing the tempo of the music that trembles through my flesh. The shuddering jolt pulses through my stomach and thighs, ying percussion to the melodic hum of the vibration. Already my control is slipping. I¡¯m hot. My melting core throbs and flows. Perspiration trickles from my chest to drip from my swinging breasts. Fingers join the symphony, scissoring around my clit. It¡¯s gentle at first, massaging into the root of the tiny organ, a pleasant counterpoint to the melody. But then, thumbing back the hood, my Master flicks the sensitive tip. Lightning strikes through me, my pussy clenching reflexively. My thigh muscles spasm. I almost copse, but my Master loops an arm under me, keeping me on all fours. I want to scream, but the noise that emerges from my curbed mouth is more of a howl. Richard Hmmms approval. ¡°That¡¯s just what I wanted to hear¡­¡± He unbelts¡­ ¡°And at a time when I can do something about it¡­¡± ¡­ Unzips¡­ ¡°James, feel free to keep her doing that. But don¡¯t let her to my lower lip. ¡°Scream as much as you want to Charlotte. Or are able to. We¡¯re all going to enjoy it.¡± Beside me, Beth¡¯s panting grows louder. She¡¯s moaning again. Her grip on my hair tightens. Michael speaks quietly. ¡°This turning you on, Beth? Helping to control my wife so your husband can push his cock into her mouth? Watching your Master pleasure himself on another sub?¡± Beth whimpers. ¡°I want an answer, Beth. Your Master ordered you to serve me, so answer.¡± ¡°Oh, God¡­ Yes.¡± ¡°Are you trying toe, Beth? You don''t have permission yet.¡± ¡°Michael, please...¡± ¡°It''s not me you have to ask. You know that.¡± ¡°Master...¡± Already hugely erect, Richard fists at his shaft. ¡°I don''t think so, Elizabeth. Not yet. I''m enjoying watching you restrain Charlotte.¡± A bead of precum oozes from the slit and one-handedly he swipes it over my lips, then lubricates himself on the saliva trickling from the corner of my mouth. ¡°I¡¯d tell you to lick me, Charlotte, but since that¡¯s not possible¡­¡± He pushes his cockhead between my jaws, swiping This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. himself over my tongue. And as he plugs my mouth, from behind me, pain¡­ Past Richard¡¯s seeping erection, I scream. Or try to. My clit, hyper-sensitive¡­ A pinch? Richard pumps himself. ¡°Oh, very good, James. Do that again¡­¡± My Master¡¯s voice. ¡°Charlotte, I¡¯m going to pinch you hard. This is going to hurt. Three¡­ Two¡­ One¡­¡± ¡­Richard grabs my chin with his free hand¡­ ¡­ Again, agonizing pain. I jolt and would buck, but Beth¡¯s grip on my head tightens. Hands grip my hips. The pain ripples and blooms and intensifies, setting stars behind my eyes and scalding juices erupting around the vibe to stream down my thighs. Michael¡¯s voice. ¡°Did you enjoy that, Beth? I know Charlotte did.¡± She¡¯s breathy, gasping. ¡°Yes¡­ Oh, God, yes¡­ Ahhh¡­¡± ¡°Want James to do it to her again?¡± ¡°Yes¡­ Again¡­ Ah¡­ Ahh¡­¡± Abruptly, she falls silent save for the heavy gasp of air and a groan, unmistakably of frustration. ¡°Sorry, Beth,¡± says Michael. ¡°I have strict instructions not to let youe.¡± *Panting* The grip on my hair doesn¡¯t decrease, but I find my head swaying in time with the panting. ¡°Charlotte, look at me.¡± I¡¯d not even realised my eyes were closed. I snap open to meet Richard¡¯s intense blue gaze. It¡¯s not Michael¡¯s almost azure blue, more the steel-blue of a honed de. My Master rises, strides out of the room¡­ ¡°Back in a minute.¡± Something else? What the fuck¡­? Something inside me cringes. Something else sings Hallelujahs. Richard eyes flick to follow him, then return to me. ¡°Pay attention when I have my cock in your mouth, Charlotte. I expect you to look at me.¡± I can¡¯t nod. Can¡¯t speak. Can barely grunt. He withdraws, his shaft purple-red, the veins swollen, skin glistening. He swipes at the saliva streaming down my chin, wiping it over the length of his shaft. Then scooping inside my gaping mouth, wets his fingers again, lubricates his shaft again. My Master returns, one hand cupping some small object¡­ Or objects¡­ ¡°I brought you something, Charlotte¡­¡± Lips twitching, he disys it to Richard, who arches brows. ¡°Very appropriate, James. I believe you know and understand Charlotte better than any of us¡­¡± He nods an acknowledgement to Michael behind me¡­ ¡°¡­ at least for this situation.¡± ¡°Thank you, Richard¡­¡± My Master looms tall. ¡°¡­I like to think so. Perhaps you would allow Charlotte to move her head for a moment.¡± Richard withdraws, sits, but in my clear view. Stroking himself, he continues to hold my eye, showing me what he will require my wide-wedged mouth to amodate. Something clicks by my ear, a spiteful Snap-Snap of a sound. My Master speaks in tones like the velveted w of some great cat. ¡°Nipple mps, Charlotte. Richard wants to hear you scream.¡± Chapter 32 – The Idylls of March #4 Chapter 32 ¨C The Idylls of March #4 CHARLOTTE Seating himself by me, my Master disys his toys. ¡°What do you think?¡± Small and wickedly toothed, it¡¯s quite pretty: again made of the silver steel and set with a green gem, it dangles delicate strands of chain. ¡°I find I approve of the jewellery Richard chose for you. I bought these to match, to give you on a suitable asion.¡± He pauses a moment, pointedly testing the mp on the tip of his little finger. Adjusting a tiny screw, he tests again, then repeats the procedure on a second mp, then a third¡­ A third? He smiles slightly. ¡°Come, Charlotte. You know where these are going.¡± My breasts swing, heavy and full, the nipples already stiffly peaked with arousal, plumped and tender. My Master pinches one between thumb and forefinger, rolling it, nipping and squeezing. Slivers of pain spike through to my pussy, which pulses a hot trickle of liquid. As he slips the mp into position, the slivers turn to spears,ncing to my core and a continuous flow leaks down my thighs. He squeezes. The teeth bite, and I gurgle through my gaping throat. ¡°Does that work for you, Richard?¡± ¡°It does indeed. But I¡¯d like to hear more. Are you dressing the other breast now?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± My Master plucks at my other nipple, fitting the second mp, this time snapping it into ce. My Master stands beside Richard to admire the result. ¡°Charlotte, kneel upright. We want to see you.¡± Struggling to rise, in the mirrors, I see myself; Beth still gripping my hair in a rough ponytail, her eyes almost ck with arousal; my skin, gilded by the mes and the candles; the gleam of fox at my loins. My breasts quiver with the palpitation of my chest, the painted aree bronzed by the light. Centred by emerald, the chains dangle, glinting silver-gold. Behind my reflection, Michael watches too, one hand still moving rhythmically behind Beth, the other cupping a breast, ying with the nipple. My Master flicks at a mp. I yelp. ¡°What d¡¯you think, Richard? Michael?¡± Michael¡¯s reflection grins. ¡°I think we all know where that third mp is going.¡± ¡°Quite right.¡± My Master sits again. ¡°Knees further apart, Charlotte.¡± He slides a hand between my thighs, fingering my slick and swollen vulva. My clit aches. Inside, the vibe dances a Devil¡¯s jig. ¡°Flooding, aren¡¯t we. How much are you enjoying this, Charlotte? Let¡¯s find out.¡± He moves slowly, deliberately, to attach the third mp. Making me wait. Fucking with my head. But my head doesn¡¯t have the vote. At the vee of my thighs, he holds, poised as he flicks the jaws of the mp open and closed, a sharp, metallic chatter that shivers down my spine and sets my belly muscles clutching. The fingers of one hand scissor between my pussy lips, opening me, exposing the small shaft of my clit. At thest moment, he snaps the teeth closed. Pain rips through me, harsh as truth, sweet as sin. Screaming, I spurt. But my Master isn¡¯t done. With a twist and a sucking sound, he removes the plug¡­ ***** MICHAEL ... James kneels back, pushes Charlotte back down, and in a smooth sequence of movements, unzippers himself with one hand, swiping the other over Charlotte''s flooding vulva and thighs, slick and shiny with her own honey. The vibe inside her pussy hums a merry tune as, lubing himself up, James twists out the emerald-headed plug, tossing it to one side. He leans over her, almost on all fours himself. Fingers curled around his erection, he takes his time, boring into her. Rocking back and forth, a little deeper with every stroke, he fills her from the rear. Charlotte groans... Head low, his face burning, James groans too. I don¡¯t give him more than two minutes¡­ Beth¡¯s spine pressed to my chest, her arousal builds, a quiver that grew to a shudder as she watched Richard fit Charlotte with the gag. I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s my taste, but Beth¡¯s getting off on it big-time. Regardless of Richard¡¯s instruction not toe, her climax is rising. Watching James ass-fucking Charlotte, in the mirrors, her expression is zed. She¡¯s loving that¡­ ¡­ And with each of Charlotte¡¯s open-mouthed cries, Beth¡¯s pussy grabs at my fingers, spilling heated juices over my hand. James, buried inside Charlotte, breathing heavily, slips a hand forward and squeezes a nipple mp. Her wails increase, perhaps in protest, probably with arousal. James grins and gives the other nipple a squeeze. Charlotte screams and bucks, and he jolts with her¡­ Clenching¡­ ¡­ then, eyes raising ceiling-ward, lips wording silently... Fuck... ¡­ he drops forward over Charlotte, grinding, hips spasming. Beth convulses against me. Richard is watching. Beth¡¯s on a one-way trip and he knows it. His mouth quirks as he speaks. ¡°Elizabeth, you may not climax.¡± Toote... Beth Comes. Jerking behind Charlotte, she ws into her hair, yanking her head back... She¡¯s gonna fucking scalp her... ¡­ but I join in the party, locking an arm around Beth, hand-fucking hard, pressing my free palm against her belly as I scrape at her g-spot. She convulses against me but isn¡¯t going anywhere as she bawls her way through orgasm. James, blowing air, rxes, resting forward on both arms. But as Beth calms too, sagging into my embrace, Charlotte blows. Withdrawingpletely, James chuckles as a scarlet-faced Charlotte howls and spasms. Her belly ripples and abruptly, the vibe pops out¡­ ***** CHARLOTTE My volcanic core convulses, ejecting the vibe into my Master¡¯s waiting hand. Through my searing climax, I hear himugh before he rams his fingers into me, plunging deep, hand-fucking my clutching, clenching cunt. Richard¡¯s voice, ¡°How¡¯s she doing?¡± ¡°About a Richter seven or eight, I¡¯d say.¡± Then, shifting to knead at my g-spot¡­ ¡°Let¡¯s try for a nine.¡± I buck and would drop back to hands and knees, but my Master loops an arm around my waist, pulling me in tight, restraining me as he rubs at my inner walls, ruthlessly drawing out my ecstasy, my agony, my glory and the gurgling wail which is the only sound I can make through my shackled jaws. Too much¡­ Too much. Waving my arm, trying to p down on the bed, I can¡¯t reach the mattress. Instead, I catch my Master¡¯s thigh, thumping down. It¡¯s clumsy, not what I intended, but he immediately withdraws his hand and unclips the mp from my tortured-ecstatic clit. The release is excruciating and unbidden, another scream emerges from my throat. But taking me in his arms, my Master supports me as I drop limply back against him, lungs pumping, heart hammering. He kisses my cheek, takes hold of my wrist. ¡°Your face, Charlotte, is a good match for your hair,¡± he murmurs. Peeling my eyes open, he¡¯s right. In the mirrors, I¡¯m ming. Not just my face. Breasts, belly and thighs, my skin is brilliantly scarlet. His fingers still on my wrist, it dawns on me he¡¯s checking my pulse. After a moment, he releases my hand. ¡°You¡¯re fine, Charlotte. Tell me. When you pped down then, were you amber or red? Do you need to be released? p once for amber, twice for red. Catch your breath if you need to.¡± I inhale¡­ And again¡­ ¡­ then p down. Once. ConTEent bel0ngs to N?v(e)lD/rama(.)Org . He kisses my cheek again. ¡°Good girl. It¡¯s time for you to pleasure your other Master for the evening. Richard, where do you want her?¡± ¡°Kneeling on the floor please, James. By the side of the bed.¡± I¡¯m a bit wobbly, but with my Master guiding me down from one side, Michael helping at the other, I find myself face-to-groin with Richard and his massively erect cock. Purplish now, veins bulge blue. The head is glossy, seeping precum. He towers over me. ¡°Can you handle a deep throat, Charlotte?¡± Michael speaks for me. ¡°It''s not something we''ve done often, Richard. I¡¯m not sure James has ever done that with her.¡± ¡°No, I haven¡¯t.¡± ¡°I understand.¡± Richard palms my cheek. ¡°Are you happy to try, Charlotte? You can support yourself on the bed. If you p the mattress, I''ll withdraw immediately.¡± I want to swallow. I can¡¯t. I settle for drooling and nodding. Breathe... Again... Richard cups the back of my skull, his hold on my head supportive rather than restraining. ¡°The gag looks good on you, Charlotte. Perhaps one time Michael and I will share you and Elizabeth together, your mouths and throats presented like that.¡± He guides himself one-handedly. There¡¯s no nudging at my lips. No persuasion or seduction. My gaping mouth presents as wide a target as he could wish. Huge, hot, hard and soft together, oozing salty-sweet, his cockhead slides over my tongue, presses inward. As it meets the back of my throat, resisting my urge to gag, I force myself to rx, will my throat to open for him. Richard eases forward¡­ ¡­ then back again¡­ ¡°Charlotte, breathe.¡± Chapter 33 – The Idylls of March #5 Chapter 33 ¨C The Idylls of March #5 CHARLOTTE Richard eases forward¡­ ¡­ then back again¡­ ¡°Charlotte, breathe.¡± In¡­ ConTEent bel0ngs to N?v(e)lD/rama(.)Org . Out¡­ ¡°Again. Breathe.¡± His body pierces mine, inch by swollen inch, sinking into me. My mouth is filled, my tongue pressed t. Saliva and tears stream. My nose waters. Deeper he prates, and yet more deeply. The pressure on my throat is intense, but the pain is my gift to him. This man, who has helped me so much, given me so much. And as he moves, easing back and forth, as I rx, the difort retreats. Prating mepletely now, Richard groans. His fingernails clutch into my scalp, pinpricks of pain, a counterpoint to the softness of his ball-sac pressed to my chin, the fuzz of hair at my face. His breathing is loud andboured. A trickle of sweat down his belly adds a briny tang to the musk of his groin as he fathoms me. With a grunt and a loud exhtion, Richard jolts forward, fingers locking around my head, locking me to him as he Comes, pulsing deep into me. But now, unmoving, Richard¡¯s shaft plugs my airways. I can''t swallow. Can''t breathe. Something buzzes, almost louder than the banging of my heartbeat, the hammering pulse behind my ears. It''s too much. Too much. My vision ckening at the edges, I p the bed. And again. And again. But Richard, still in mid-climax, is already pulling out. Deep inside as he is, it takes a few moments to withdraw his long cock. Eternal-brief seconds pass before I am released. Cum pulses hot and sweet over my tongue, and as he exitspletely, spatters over my face and neck. I drop to my hands, coughing and choking, clearing my airways. Hands lift me from all sides, depositing me to sit on the bed. Fingers work at the strap holding the gag in ce, release the curb between my teeth. My Master sits to one side, patting between my shoulder des. ¡°Charlotte?¡± Richard sounds contrite. ¡°Charlotte, have I hurt you?¡± ¡°I''m fine.¡± I cough again, then massage my mercifully freed jaw, working circles into the muscles with my fingertips. ¡°Really, I''m fine.¡± Michael presses a damp cloth into my hand, and I wipe my face and swollen eyes and lips, free of cum and spit and snot and tears, then see I need to clean my chest and breasts. Feeling foolish now, I sit up. A couple of deep lungfuls of air, and my head clears. Michael gives me a ss of water. Fingers pinch at my chin, steering me inexorably to my Master''s face. He stares at me for a moment. ¡°You¡¯re fine.¡± Then in dry tones. ¡°You need another shower, Charlotte.¡± ¡°Yes, Master.¡± ***** GEORGIE For the fifth time, and without meaning to, I lean back a little to catch my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. It¡¯s not easy, only a partial view, blocked by ranked bottles of spirits and liqueurs. Besides, I¡¯ve already checked myself over in the bathroom. I know that my make-up is well applied, my clothes look good and there¡¯s no spinach poking from between my teeth. I started the evening with my hair up, fussing with aplicated knot-work of braids for nearly an hour before I decided it looked just too Casual venue¡­ Trying too hard¡­ ¡­ then spending another twenty minutes withb and tongs smoothing it all out again. Now it drapes over my shoulders, the glossy ck of a raven¡¯s wing, catching highlights from the spots. The door swings, and on autopilot, I lean to see who entered¡­ Just some stranger¡­ One eye on the mirror again, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, hesitate... No, it looked better before¡­ ... then tug it forward again to drape by my cheek. But now, my hair unkempt, I rummage through my bag for my hairbrush, give myself a quick once-over, then stuff the brush back in the bag just as the door opens again¡­ Is it him? The Friday night crowd blocks my view, but above the throng, a head of silver-blond hair moves and twists, one way, then the other. The crowd briefly parts¡­ ¡­ Borje pauses, taking in the room, then spotting me, strides forward, breaking into a star-burst smile. Reflexively, smoothing the skirt over my knees, I check my reflection again, just in time for my date to break through the horde. Hands outheld, he takes me by the shoulders, gives me a peck on the forehead. "Georgie, you look beautiful." My stomach tips. ¡°You¡¯re looking pretty good too.¡± Patting the leather-topped stool next to mine, "I saved you a ce." "Thank you. But in fact, I booked us a table." "You did?" "I did.¡± He nces around. "And it¡¯s just as well. On which point..." Borje raises a forefinger to the barman. "... Table for two. Booked in the name of Anderssen for eight o''clock." "Yes, Mr Anderssen. It''s ready for you." The barman gestures to a waitress. "Marsha will show you. I¡¯ll take your coat." ¡®Marsha¡¯, pink and harassed-looking, leads us to our table: a lovely position by the window, looking across the street over the Friday night bustle and buzz, towards the park. Borje pulls out a chair, seating me. "When I booked, I asked for this spot. Plenty of chances for watching the world go by." Doubt creeps into his voice. ¡°Is this alright for you? I realised after I booked that I¡¯d not even asked if you like Mexican food?¡± ¡°Oh, yes. I don¡¯t have it often, but I like it fine.¡± ¡°Good.¡± He brushes my cheek. "We have the evening ahead of us, and I wanted to share more than a drink with you this time." My face glows and I look away. Ye gods¡­ But you¡¯re handsome¡­ Something flutters behind my ribs¡­ Then pounds¡­ He¡¯s dressed against the chilly evening in a roll-neck sweater and casual pants. His eyes, an almost cial blue, are softened by deeply tanned skin. Scandinavian silver hair spills to his shoulders. If he wore his hair short, he''d look like the guy that ys the Gestapo interrogator in the movies. As it is, it shifts and shimmers like quicksilver. Women would kill for that hair. ¡°Looks like they¡¯re short-staffed,¡± hements. ¡°Hmmm, yes.¡± Across the floor, a long table, upied by what could be a stag party, grows louder. It may still be early, but it seems the party is well underway, the beer flowing freely. Marsha stands over me, half an eye on the rowdies. ¡°What can I get you?¡± I slide a finger down the menu. ¡°I¡¯ll have the pork chile verde.¡± She jots it down, still watching the loudmouths across the room, then to Borje. ¡°And you?¡± ¡°The same. And tortis, please.¡± Marsha nods, muttering to herself as she scribbles onto her pad. ¡°Torti¡­¡± ¡°Georgie? What would you like to drink?¡± ¡°Red wine, please.¡± Borje returns the menus. ¡°We¡¯ll have a bottle of Tempranillo.¡± ¡°Gotcha.¡± The waitress returns in under a minute with the bottle and sses, twisting out the cork with practised skill. ¡°Want to try it first?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure it will be fine.¡± Borje pours for me, then for himself, tries a sip and sighs. ¡°I was ready for that.¡± I sample my wine. It¡¯s smooth and soft, earthy and deeply scented. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s very good. You sound tired. Long week at work?¡± ¡°Always.¡± He sips again. "What is it you do exactly? I don''t think you''ve mentioned." "Oh... Nothing you¡¯d want to hear about." His gaze slides away, then back again. "Never mind me. How was it for you at work today?" "Oh, same old, same old. It doesn''t vary much." "You work in the university library? Do I have that right?" ¡°Some, yes. But mainly the museum.¡± ¡°Ah? What does that involve?¡± ¡°Oh, all sorts. It¡¯s quite varied. Cataloguing specimens. Preparing exhibits. Deciding what to disy and what to keep down in the archives. Sometimes I give tours for school kids and students.¡± His voice is dry. ¡°I imagine that can keep you on your toes.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not wrong there. The questions theye up with...¡± ¡°Such as?¡± ¡°Such as¡­ Oh¡­ Where do we get the fossils made? Do we import them from China?¡± His eyes widen. ¡°Seriously?¡± ¡°Seriously. Kids who¡¯ve spent all their lives in cities and think everythinges from factories in stic wrap. Or the ones who¡¯ve seen the Flintstones and won¡¯t believe that humans and dinosaurs lived seventy million years apart.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°Unbelievable. Is the library work so entertaining?¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯ve amassed quite a collection of items left as bookmarks. Everything from bus tickets to sheet music. Once, a rasher of bacon.¡± Disbelief washes over his face. ¡°So much for respect for learning. And the actual work involved?¡± ¡°It¡¯s good. I enjoy it. I¡¯m pretty much my own boss, so I can do what¡¯s needed without anyone standing over me and telling me what to do.¡± He sobers, his eyes narrow a little. ¡°Plenty of opportunities to meet people, I imagine.¡± Chapter 34 – The Idylls of March #6 Chapter 34 ¨C The Idylls of March #6 GEORGIE "Yes, there are, so long as you don''t mind them all being conversations that start and end with..." I press a finger to my lips... "Shhh..." "I can imagine,¡± heughs. He leans in close, then, for no reason I can see, leans back again. His expression morphs to¡­ paternal¡­ ? ??? ¡°I''ll admit, you''re not the ssic image of the museum curator. Or of a librarian. Aren¡¯t you supposed to be a middle-aged battle-axe with horn-rimmed spectacles and an attitude problem?" I chuckle with him. "That¡¯s the stereotype, isn¡¯t it. But I¡¯m not strictly a curator or a librarian. I do both to bring in some extra cash. My job title is research assistant." He Aahhhs. "Sounds interesting. So, what''s your field? Your qualification?" ¡°PhD in entomology.¡± ¡°Entomology? You study insects? That sounds fairly niche.¡± ¡°It is, but I''m hoping that with it being a small field, I¡¯ll be able to rise to the top quickly. And while it doesn''t pay very much at my level, there are all kinds of opportunities for consultancy in, oh¡­ agriculture¡­ forestry¡­ pharmaceuticals¡­" ¡°Forensics¡­¡± ¡°That too. So, I¡¯m hoping that in a few years, I¡¯ll be earning a lot more. But right now¡­¡± You barely know him¡­ He¡¯ll think you¡¯re scrounging for money¡­ ¡°Quite.¡± Borje nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Academic sries, especially at the lower levels, are notoriously stingy. Is that why you''re living in that hotel your father owns?" "Sort-of¡­¡± My face burns. ¡°It''s not actually Dad¡¯s hotel. His friend Michael owns it. I think Charlotte has a share too. They have some kind of arrangement. Um¡­ You know Michael and Charlotte, don''t you? They were at Kirstie''s wedding." Borje pauses. Caution tiptoes through his voice. "Yes, I know them. I''ve known the three of them for some years." My stomach flips. "Some years? How did you meet them? Dad and Michael and Charlotte?" His expression remains nd. ¡°We have amon friend in Kirstie.¡± "Oh, yes¡­ Of course. Er¡­ Do you know about..." The heat in my cheeks intensifies¡­ His lips twitch. "Yes. I¡¯m aware of the special rtionship between James, Michael and Charlotte. " "Oh!¡± He smiles at my surprise. ¡°And¡­ You''re okay with that?" Borje shrugs. "Yes, I''m okay with it. They make a good team. They''re well-matched." The tightness in my stomach eases. It must show. He takes my hand, strokes a thumb over the fingers. "Rx, Georgie. Your father''s family arrangements are his own business. My interest is in you." But something remains unsaid¡­ He¡¯s not lying¡­ Exactly¡­ Is it me? ¡°You¡¯re sure you¡¯re not upset with me about something?¡± ¡°No.¡± His forehead wrinkles. ¡°Why do you ask?¡± ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­ I always get it wrong, like when you and I met. You didn''t like me at first because I kept doing all the wrong things.¡± He gives me a lop-sided smile. ¡°Georgie, that was at least fifty percent my fault. You have nothing to apologize for.¡± ¡°I was very rude to you.¡± This belongs ? N?velDra/ma.Org. ¡°You had cause.¡± Eyes crinkling, ¡°I imagine attractive women are approached withme pick-up lines all the time.¡± ¡°Yours wasn''t a pick-up line.¡± That cock-eyed smile again. ¡°You weren¡¯t to know that.¡± Without meaning to, I droop my head then, remembering myself, straighten up. ¡°People say I''m bossy. I mean, Dad''s bossy. Everyone says I¡¯m like him, but people take notice of what he says. They just ignore me. Orugh. Or stop talking to me.¡± The fingers holding mine tighten their grip. ¡°You get on well with your father?¡± ¡°I do now, yes. But we... fell out¡­ when he split up with Mom.¡± I tug free of the hand, y with a bit of bread. ¡°If I¡¯m honest, I fell out with him. I believed it was his fault. Mom told me some things Iter found weren''t true. And then¡­ when I met Dad with Charlotte... She''s so young. And she was pregnant. I thought he''d dumped Mom for the younger model. Abandoned her, like some men do.¡± Borje cocks his head. ¡°James isn''t the abandoning kind. And I believe he parted ways with your mother long before he met Charlotte.¡± ¡°I know that now¡­¡± He pauses, then, ¡°You respect your father.¡± It¡¯s not a question. ¡°Oh, God, yes. He''s amazing. I always wanted to be like him.¡± ¡°Really?¡± Borje¡¯s head tilts. ¡°Yes, really. Of course¡­¡± I blow air¡­ ¡°¡­ he''s a hard act to follow.¡± ¡°I can imagine.¡± But he says no more. Waits. A silence stretches¡­ Needs filling. ¡°When I was a little girl¡­¡± I lick dry lips¡­ ¡°¡­ I admired him. So much.¡± Borje¡¯s steady gaze continues. ¡°He was my Daddy. My perfect Daddy. He was so tall and strong. And handsome. And clever. He was so clever. Everyone said so. Even my mother, although she didn¡¯t seem to like it¡­¡± Am I babbling? But Borje waits, showing no sign of impatience or boredom. I sip at the wine. ¡°¡­ I didn''t see as much of him as I wanted. He was always busy. Always working. Mom made excuses for him. But when he was there, he¡¯d make a big fuss of me. y with me. Talk to me. Even when I was too little to understand, he¡¯d tell me about things as though I was all grown up, important things, clever things. He would show me what he was doing. His drawings and his work as an architect. Have you seen his drawings?¡± ¡°No, I haven''t. I''m aware that James is an architect, but I haven''t seen any of his work. Except in the bricks and mortar sense of course.¡± ¡°Yeah¡­ Half the City renovation is down to his work. I so wanted to be just like him.¡± ¡°Just like him?¡± ¡°You know, strong and in charge all the time. I guess I¡¯m not very good at that.¡± His eyelids lower and he nods slowly. ¡°Perhaps. But Georgie. Surely, wanting to be like your father isn¡¯t enough to¡­ Ah¡­ The food¡¯s here.¡± The waitress sets a te in front of me: rice topped with a stew, colourful with peppers and carrots, and spicy enough for the scent to set my stomach growling. A couple of floury tortis perch on the edge of my te. Borje leans forward, inspecting my te, Hmmming approval. I inhale... ¡°Smells good¡­¡± Then, ¡°And my partner¡¯s?¡± ¡°It¡¯sing.¡± Marsha quick-steps towards the kitchen, returning a minute or soter with a huge bowl of soup. cing it before Borje and without waiting for any response, she turns away again. He Ohs! the unexpected dish, leaning in to examine it. I call out. ¡°¡¯Scuse me, this isn¡¯t right.¡± Marsha U-turns, diving into an apron pocket. Whipping out her pad, she flips back a couple of sheets. ¡°Torti soup,¡± she snaps. ¡°No, he asked for what I¡¯m having, with tortis on the side.¡± She scowls at me. ¡°That¡¯s not what it says here.¡± Borje raises a finger. ¡°Actually¡­¡± But I¡¯m still talking. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but you weren¡¯t paying attention. You wrote it down wrong. Could you bring him what he ordered, please.¡± Marsha scowls, muttering something to a passing runner, jerking her head back to the kitchen¡­ But Borjeys a hand on her arm, staying her. ¡°Please wait. Georgie, calm down. It looks great. I¡¯ll keep it.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not what you asked for.¡± ¡°Does it matter? Take a sniff.¡± He has a point. Steam rises from his bowl, fragrant with jpe?os,tro and lime. Brilliant red, the soup is chunky with what could be chicken, dotted gold with sweet corn and set with slices of avocado and lime. ¡°Yes¡­¡± Borje stirs the bowl... ¡°¡­ I¡¯ll have this.¡± The waitress gives a curt nod, glowering at me, then spins toward the next table and the hand gging her down. I inspect Borje¡¯s soup. ¡°Sure you¡¯re happy with it?¡± ¡°Sure I¡¯m sure.¡± He spears a chunk of chicken, bites in... ¡°It¡¯s delicious¡­ And Georgie, you don¡¯t have to fight my battles for me. If I didn¡¯t want it, I¡¯d have said so.¡± Bridling a bit, ¡°So long as you¡¯re happy,¡± I mutter. Then I look away as I realise I¡¯m ring. Borje munches, apparently thinking on something. ¡°You know,¡± hements, ¡°they say that when you make close eye contact with someone, it''s because they¡¯re going to either kiss you or punch you. With you, I¡¯m not sure which it is.¡± My throat tightens and I take refuge behind a forkful of pork and rice. He Hmmms in satisfaction, then helps himself to one of my tortis. Tearing off a strip, he dips it in my bowl, scooping up meat and vegetables. ¡°Yup, that¡¯s good too. Now¡­¡± He reaches, gives my hand a squeeze. ¡°You were telling me about your father¡­¡± ***** It¡¯s a good evening. Borje drives me home at the end. Have I blown it? Again? We pull into the hotel parking lot and Borje opens my door, standing back to let me out. We stand close, but not touching. Won¡¯t you hold me? ¡°Borje¡­¡± I slide a hand over the rough, cable-weaved knit of his sweater. The warmth of his chest perctes through¡­ He rests a palm on my shoulder in an almost-embrace that holds for only seconds. Is there that extra moment that says he wants me¡­? Chapter 35 – The Idylls of March #7 Chapter 35 ¨C The Idylls of March #7 GEORGIE Is there that extra moment that says he wants me¡­? ¡­ but won¡¯t take it further? If there is, it¡¯s brief enough that I¡¯m not sure. Borje¡¯s breath blows blue. His pupils widen, then contract. ¡°I¡¯ll see you to the door.¡± Side by side, we stroll to the hotel entrance. His fingers brush mine, but he makes no attempt to touch me. On the front step of the lobby, ¡°Thank you for a lovely evening, Georgie. I hope we can repeat it.¡± ¡°I¡¯d like that. Um¡­ Would you like toe in for a coffee? They¡¯ll still be serving at the bar.¡± He shuffles, looks down. ¡°Coffee? No, I have an early start tomorrow. But I¡¯ll call you if I may?¡± I can feel the subtext, something unsaid. But I can¡¯t read it. ¡°Borje, is there something wrong? You think my Dad¡¯s going to appear with a shotgun? I''m one of the grown-ups.¡± ¡°Are you?¡± He smiles slightly, leans in, brushes lips over my cheek. The kiss is tender and soft, but so fleeting. ¡°Good night, Georgie.¡± And with that, he strolls back to the car and drives away into the night. ***** THE CITY ¡°Don''t hurt me,¡± she weeps. ¡°I did everything you wanted.¡± ¡°Not yet. Not everything.¡± I¡¯m sick of her whining. So, I pay her. That shuts her up. ***** T¨ºxt belongs to N?velDrama.Org. MICHAEL The tter and chaos of breakfast drifts along the hallway as I descend the stairs. Nature calls and, without thinking, I push open the door to the guest bathroom at the rear end of the hall. It¡¯s already upied¡­ ¡°Oh, sorry. I didn¡¯t mean¡­¡± Then I stall. The upant is Klempner, face and beard foamed, wielding one of the old-fashioned cut-throat razors. ¡°Got a problem in Mitch¡¯s ce? Something wrong with the plumbing?¡± He pauses, a naked stripe of skin visible through the foam, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. ¡°No, no problem. Mitch has been dissolving herself in the bath for thest hour.¡± ¡°Ah¡­ At that ungodly temperature women seem to favour? The ritual usually includes perfume, oils and a lot of steam.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the one. I preferred not to venture out into the world radiating roses andvender. It might give the wrong impression.¡± He draws the de down, then frowns. ¡°I¡¯d not thought I¡¯d be in the way here. I¡¯ll only be a minute or so. I¡¯m nearly done.¡± Don¡¯t hurry yourself. I¡¯d hate you to make a slip with that thing at your throat.¡± He doesn¡¯t reply. Face angled to the mirror, he slips the de up from under his chin, slicing away foam and stubble to a neat line edging his beard. ¡°I can lend you a razor if you need one. Or I¡¯ll get one from the guest supplies in the hotel.¡± Klempnerpletes the stroke before speaking. ¡°Thank you, but I prefer to do it this way.¡± ¡°Why for God''s sake? They invented safety razors to stop us all cutting our own throats.¡± Klempner swills the de clean in the basin, then once more draws it carefully up. before examining his face left and right¡­ ¡°It keeps me in practice for a steady hand.¡± Swiping away the remaining foam with a towel. he slides a hand under his chin and over the top of his neck, he nods in apparent satisfaction, then tosses the towel in aundry basket¡­ ¡°Done. All yours.¡± And he strides past me, out and away, kitchenwards. ***** In the kitchen, the normal breakfast activities are in full swing. Klempner sits at the table, an empty seat beside him. James is at the hob. ¡°Larry? Bacon? Mushrooms? Sausage?¡± ¡°Eggs are fine, thank you.¡± James looks a little crestfallen. ¡°How many?¡± ¡°Three sounds good.¡± ¡°Scrambled? Fried? Boiled? An omelette?¡± ¡°Poached please, if that''s no trouble.¡± ¡°It''s no trouble at all. I just thought you might like a change.¡± ¡°No. Poached eggs are fine. I¡¯ll make more toast.¡± James turns away, muttering. ¡°Never known a man addicted to poached eggs before.¡± Klempner pours coffee from James'' pot of devil¡¯s brew, unruffled. ¡°Fond memories, James. Heavenly memories even.¡± Richard arrives with Beth, hovers between coffee pots, sniffing at first one, then the other. ¡°Not many people have heavenly memories of hospital.¡± Klempner sucks in his cheeks. ¡°I have learned that Heavenes with clean white sheets and is staffed by angels in starched blue uniforms.¡± ¡°Interesting you should mention that¡­¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°Yes, I was following up on your visit there, making sure all the bills were paid and so forth. Apparently, the hospital administration is nning an expansion.¡± Klempner, his face a mask, watches as Richard chooses a coffee pot, then pours. ¡°Is that right?¡± ¡°Yes... An entire new wing after a donation from an anonymous donor.¡± He sips, then grimaces, marches to the sink and tips the cup. Klempner¡¯s lips quirk. ¡°Wrong pot.¡± ***** KLEMPNER What to do today? Aimless, I amble through the house, seeking inspiration. I find the female half of the family in the dining room. Mitch, Beth and Jenny. Cara and Adam sit on the carpet amid a scatter of discarded A4 sheets, each clutching a crayon the size of a banana, gurgling delightedly as theymit hell in red and green. Vicky¡¯s carrycot lies by Mitch¡¯s feet at one end of the long table, but Vicky herself is with Jenny, sucking contentedly from a bottle. My older and younger daughters make unlikely siblings, but both seem happy with the arrangement. Mitch, choosing a pastel from the rainbow in the tin by her side, is working on sketches for something or other. Dolphins and sea horses in improbable colours battle for space with smiling octopuses and what I¡¯d judge to be a blue whale were it not pink. ¡°Since when did octopuses smile?¡± She nces up. ¡°It¡¯s a few ideas for Michael. He¡¯s thinking of getting the cr¨¨che pool tiled to be more child friendly. It¡¯s in white and blue right now and it looks a bit sanitised.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I look over her sketches. ¡°Are sea horses really purple and green?¡± ¡°It¡¯s for a children¡¯s pool.¡± ¡°Can I help?¡± She sets down her pastels. Irritation crackles through her voice. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Larry. Can you help?¡± Hmmm¡­ Beth sits at the other end of the table, tapping into a calctor. Clicking her tongue at the result, she jots down a note. A ledger lies open to her left, a sheet of paper to her right. Columns of figures, written in a careful hand, are annotated with scribbledments on sticky yellow notes. She taps in again and adds another note then, clucking, red pens out an entire column of figures, dropping the paper to the carpet. My granddaughter chortles in delight, grabbing the sheet in pudgy fingers. Wielding her crayon like a cook stirring soup, shepletes the work Beth started with her red pen, babbling somement in Baby-Speak to Adam. He stabs down with a crayon at his current work of art and babbles agreement back. ¡°What¡¯s that you¡¯re doing, Beth?¡± Jenny, milk bottle in hand, gazes over the table at the mess of documentation spread over the dining room table. Beth pencils another note, adds it to one of the sheets, then jots something on what looks like a summary page, so far listing several dozen other simr jottings. ¡°I¡¯m going over the stocktake figures for the hotel.¡± Her pencil hovers over thest note and she adds some further annotation. ¡°I¡¯m not happy about some of the supplies.¡± ¡°Which supplies?¡± ¡°The hand washes, the shampoos and the grooming products. Some go into the rooms for the guests. Others supply the spa section. But it seems to me we¡¯re going through too much. And with what they cost I want to know why. Michael pays for designer brands, and they don¡¯te cheap.¡± Jenny¡¯s forehead wrinkles. ¡°Why on earth are you bothering with that?¡± Beth gives her a cool look. ¡°I¡¯m a shareholder. I¡¯ve an interest. And besides, I don¡¯t like the idea that someone might be ripping us off.¡± Michael, soundless, has materialised behind me. ¡°You think someone has their hand in the till, Beth?¡± ¡°For now, let¡¯s just say I¡¯m looking into the possibility.¡± Propping himself over her, knuckles resting on the tabletop, ¡°Where¡¯s the problem?¡± Beth taps a file with a painted fingernail. ¡°The inputs are fine. I have all the invoices and delivery notes along with the stocktake figures from stores and housekeeping. I¡¯m tying that in with what is likely to be used by guests in the hotel or the spa facilities¡­¡± ¡°But?¡± ¡°But I¡¯m having to make assumptions about how much disappears due to guests who simply rifle the lot. You know, the ones who pocket the mini-shampoos and soaps as freebies. I can¡¯t believe it¡¯s all of them, but that¡¯s what the numbers suggest.¡± Michael straightens up, rubs the back of his neck. ¡°You worked as a hotel maid for a while, didn¡¯t you? You¡¯d have an idea from that surely, of what¡¯s typical.¡± Beth smiles. ¡°That was only for a few days. I encountered Richard and that was the end of my Maiding Career.¡± Jenny pipes up. ¡°It was maybe a third of the guests when I was doing the job.¡± All heads swing her way. ¡°Sorry?¡± says Michael. ¡°When was this?¡± Chapter 36 – The Idylls of March #8 Chapter 36 ¨C The Idylls of March #8 KLEMPNER ¡°I worked as a hotel cleaner for a while¡­¡± Jenny sets the bottle to one side and tucks the now unconscious Vicky into her cot. ¡°¡­ About one in three of the rooms would have all those little shampoos and soaps and stuff stripped out when I went to clean.¡± ¡°Ah¡­¡± Beth nods, crosses out a figure at the head of a page, reces it, tots down the column, tapping with her pencil tip, muttering under her breath as she goes, reces the figure at the bottom and draws a double line under the result. ¡°If we assume that¡¯s typical, we definitely have a discrepancy. Michael, want a look at what I have?¡± ¡°Sure.¡± Michael pulls up a chair. Jenny watches the pair and shudders. ¡°Sounds boring as hell,¡± she mutters. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s why your cousin is apetent businesswoman¡­¡± I say¡­ ¡°¡­ and you¡¯re not.¡± She scowls. ¡°You think I¡¯m notpetent?¡± ¡°I think you¡¯re not a businesswoman.¡± Michael¡¯s head pops up. ¡°Nearly forgot what I came over for. Charlotte, can you take over the self- defence sses this morning? The ten and eleven o¡¯clock sessions in the gym. Chad¡¯s away for a few T¨ºxt belongs to N?velDrama.Org. days.¡± ¡°Sure.¡± She nces at the clock. ¡°I¡¯ll get changed and head across now. Beth, you¡¯ll be okay with Cara?¡± ¡°No problem.¡± Beth regards the mayhem in wax crayon beingmitted on her discarded paperwork. ¡°So long as I can keep them off the wallpaper.¡± Haswell appears at the door, suited, booted and briefcased. ¡°Elizabeth, I¡¯m going now¡­ No¡­¡± He sets a hand on Michael¡¯s shoulder as he starts to rise¡­ ¡°¡­ don¡¯t disturb yourself. I can see you¡¯re busy.¡± He stoops, kisses Beth on the mouth. ¡°I¡¯ll see you this evening, my Love.¡± ¡°Is James going with you?¡± ¡°No, he¡¯s working here today. If you¡¯re looking for him, you¡¯ll find him in the kitchen.¡± He turns, makes for the door but Jenny touches him on the arm. ¡°Richard, your tie¡¯s crooked. Here¡­¡± She reaches up, nudges it to one side, then tuts, unravelling it, adjusting his cor. Haswell looks down at her, mouth twitching at the corners as she reties the knot. She stands back, examines the result. ¡°That¡¯s better.¡± He kisses her on the cheek. ¡°Thank you, Charlotte.¡± He exits and is gone. ¡°I¡¯d better go too.¡± Jenny follows him out. Mitch is lost in her sketching. Beth and Michael, heads close, don¡¯t even seem to realise I¡¯m there. Something¡¯sing from the kitchen area. I amble through. James is there, along with¡­ What¡¯s her name¡­? Sally¡­ ¡­ Michael¡¯s chef. She¡¯s tasting something from a tureen. ¡°More garlic maybe?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you think that might be too much for the non-Spanish pte?¡± ¡°Maybe.¡± They don¡¯t notice me. I suppose I could walk the dog¡­ ***** MICHAEL ¡°Damn!¡± The breeze rises again, threatening to squall, ssic Spring weather. One moment the sunshine is blistering. The next, clouds pile up, to sling down the kind of rain that only falls sideways. The timber-panelled frame bnced against my left shoulder remains upright, but as the air gusts again, the one to my right, precariously propped against me and its partner, flexes, teeters, then in graceful slow-motion, falls¡­ ¡°Ah, fucking hell!¡± ¡­Still gripping the left-hand panel, I snatch out, but toote. The breeze makes another yful flick, tugs the remaining panel from my grip, and it too copses, the two lying t as a pair of Friday night drunks on the grass. The gust dies and the air falls still. Suddenly, it¡¯s mmy. Swirls of gnats rise. Hands sped behind my head, staring up, I vent. Fuck... Fuck¡­ ¡°Fuck!¡± Then I realise I¡¯m not alone. Silently, Klempner watches from the side-line. "Um, sorry. Didn''t see you there." He sucks away a smile. ¡°I didn''t mean to disturb you. Just wanted to see what the racket was.¡± ¡°The racket is that I''m fucking busy.¡± He mutters to his boots. ¡°And vice versa...¡± ¡°What was that?¡± Klempner¡¯s face pops up. ¡°Nothing. Would an extra pair of hands help?¡± ¡°Absolutely. If you can lift that section¡­¡± I aim a finger at one copsed sidewall¡­ ¡°Keep it upright long enough for me to position the other and get a couple of mps fixed¡­¡± ¡°No problem. Where do you want them?¡± ***** Two walls upright, mped, then bolted together, my ire fades. ¡°Thanks.¡± ¡°You¡¯re wee. The other walls next?¡± From the stables, an excited yipping¡­ Iugh. "Sounds like Scruffy''s rat hunting in the stables." ¡°I suppose he has his uses.¡± Klempner looks underwhelmed but nces around. ¡°You¡¯ve not seen Bear, I suppose?" "Down the fieldst I saw of him, his nose pushed down a rabbit hole¡­" The yipping is partnered by a deeper baying, suggestive of Beethoven¡¯s ¡®Overture for T-Rex On The Hunt¡¯. ¡°¡­ although it sounds as though he might have found better sport with Scruffy.¡± Klempner Aaahhhs, still looking unimpressed. He surveys our handiwork. ¡°What''s it going to be?¡± ¡°Chicken shed.¡± ¡°Chickens?¡± His brows arch. ¡°Dogs, horses, and now chickens? I always had you down as a city boy.¡± ¡°Yeah, born and bred. But Charlotte enjoys it. And she knows how to look after them from those years she spent on the farm. She says it¡¯s pretty straightforward. Besides¡­¡± I toe into the dirt¡­ ¡°¡­ I promised her a real home and she''s going to get it.¡± "And a real home includes chickens?" "Yeah¡­¡± I want something to do with my hands, and forck of anything else, shove them into my pockets. ¡°I''ve got this kind of image in my head. Me, strolling round the pen with Cara and Adam. Vicky too and..." A silly grin steals my face. "¡­ the next one... with a basket. Collecting eggs. It seemed the sort of thing you should do with kids." Abruptly, I''m hot. "That sounds ridiculous, doesn''t it.¡± Klempner shuffles his feet. "In fact, no. Now you put it that way, I¡¯d like that for Vicky." He gazes outward, looking¡­ lost¡­ Where is he¡­? Lost in time? "Do you ever think about your own boyhood? "He stiffens, the gaze sharpening again, fixing on me. "No." Barriers m up behind his eyes. I pretend not to notice. "Of course, I tell everyone it''ll keep the restaurant in eggs. You too, since you''ve developed a fetish for the things¡­¡± Klempner rxes, eyes softening. ¡°¡­ Ah, speaking of which, thank you, Sally." My hotel chef beams. "I heard you working, Michael. I thought you''d have built up an appetite by now.¡± She proffers a tray. ¡°I brought a sk of soup too, with the weather being unreliable." Her face falls and she nods an apology at Klempner. "I''m afraid I only brought enough for one." Relieving her of the tray, "One? Sally, if they¡¯d served one of your sandwiches, there¡¯d have been no need for loaves and fishes. We¡¯ll share it." She dimples, bobs and heads back toward the hotel. Sally''s creation is her usual cartwheel-sized roll, spilling bacon, sausages, mushrooms, tomatoes and eggs. Yolk trickles over the te. Fortunately, she''s cut the monster in two. I¡¯d have needed a chainsaw otherwise. Klempner eyes it. "Are you nning to eat that, or incorporate it into the foundations?" "Help yourself. Neither of us will starve." He Hmmphs appreciation takes one half in both hands and bites in. Magically, we havepany. Bear appears, a small molehill perched on his snout. Scruffy shoves in front of him, dropping a limp rat at my feet. I scratch an ear¡­ "Good boy." ¡­ then toss him a rasher of bacon. It vanishes in mid-air with a Snap! Bear rumbles until Klempner donates half a sausage. Chewing on the other half, he regards the dead rodent. Lip curled, "Does that mongrel of yours think the bacon¡¯s a reward for catching the thing? Or does he believe you buy bacon using rats as currency?" ¡°Couldn¡¯t say.¡± I swipe away a smear of escaping yolk and ketchup from my chin. ¡°When he¡¯s cadged what he can off my brunch, he¡¯ll be off with it. Dunno if he buries them or eats what¡¯s left. I suppose from his point of view, rats make good eating.¡± Klempner shudders, his eyes briefly closing. ¡°No.¡± Scruffy groans, eyes and nose triangted on my sandwich. ¡°You¡¯ve had yours. This is mine.¡± Whining despair at my heartlessness, he shuffle-bottoms across, raising beady eyes to Klempner. ¡°Forget it.¡± Scruffy whines, his stub of a tail disturbing a little dust, then with a detritus-scattering shake, he trots off in the direction of the stables. Bear heaves a sigh that would be envied by any Romantic poet, then follows. Klempner polishes off a sausage. ¡°That was half a sandwich? I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll eat again today.¡± ¡°There¡¯s soup left.¡± ¡°I prefer to live ¡®til suppertime.¡± I swipe the yolk off the te with thest of my bread. ¡°Food for body and soul.¡± Then, nodding toward my remaining wall and roof panels. ¡°If you¡¯re at a loose end, I could use some help for an hour or so.¡± His voice is dry. ¡°I have nothing but loose ends.¡± Chapter 37 – The Idylls of March #9 Chapter 37 ¨C The Idylls of March #9 MICHAEL Two hourster, all the walls are up, roughly bolted together, the roof is in ce and I¡¯m busy with my drill and screwdriver. ¡°Thanks. It would have taken me all day by myself.¡± ¡°My pleasure.¡± Klempner gestures toward where the door stands hinged but unattached. ¡°Want me to get that fixed into ce?¡± My reply is cut short by the arrival of Mitch, Vicky bundled in her arms. ¡°Ah, there you are.¡± She smiles brightly at Klempner, and I almost see the light switch on in the man. ¡°Am I interrupting? Larry, I¡¯ve made lunch...¡± ¡°Lunch?¡± Klempner zes over. ¡°I don¡¯t think¡­¡± Mitch shivers then, pulling the wrap tighter around Vicky, tosses her head at the lowering clouds. ¡°I thought something solid inside would be a good idea. You¡¯d be wee to join us, Michael if you¡¯d like to. I¡¯ve made plenty. Chicken casserole. Dumplings too.¡± ¡°Dumplings?¡± Something like despair flits across Klempner¡¯s features, but he injects a ghost of enthusiasm into his tone. ¡°Sounds good.¡± My excuses are easier. ¡°Thanks, Mitch, but no. Charlotte¡¯s expecting me. And we¡¯d not have gotten much more done today. We¡¯ve had the best of the morning. The weather¡¯s on the turn again.¡± The clouds pile up, threatening to swallow the sunshine. ¡°Come inside, Larry. You don¡¯t want it to get cold.¡± I wave them off. ¡°Enjoy your meal.¡± ***** Klempner leaves with Mitch. The overhead sunshine is brilliant, but from the horizon, dark clouds are racing in, heavy with rain and threatening a soaking if I don¡¯t get under cover fast. Even from here, the blur of falling rain is visible, moving my way. In under a minute, the heat of the sun cuts off and the breeze, previously fresh on my face, bites in. March is living up to its In Like A Lion reputation. What¡¯s the rest of it? Oh, yes¡­ In like a lion¡­ ¡­ Out like amb... Maybe it will pass¡­ From the doorway of the chicken-shed-to-be, nursing the back end of Sally¡¯s soup, I watch rain that falls like liquid diamonds. Still recovering from the elephantine lunch, it¡¯s only the heat I want, and I taste sparingly. Briefly, the clouds clear from around the sun, the sky turns a brilliant blue, and sunlight nts down in that breath-taking effect photographers call ¡®The Fingers of God¡¯. The light sparkles through individual raindrops, giving everything the kind of intense, saturated colour you only get with sunshine and rain together. Or maybe sometimes when the morning is clear and dewy. The clouds return. The day darkens and thendscape greys out. From under my makeshift cover, I watch the falling rain. And as happens when a man is doing nothing particr, my mind drifts to other things¡­ Well¡­ Sex¡­ Not that I¡¯m uninterested to begin with, but knowing that Charlotte wants another baby, by me, has set my libido raging. Wonder what she¡¯s doing? The rain falls harder, sshing onto the ground, bouncing back. It¡¯s not as though I can work in this¡­ The clouds pile up, growing darker all the time. Scruffy whines. ¡°Want to make a dash for it?¡± His stumpy tail wags. I knock back thest of my soup, then tugging my jacket over my head, sprint to the house. I make it to the door dripping. I might as well not have bothered with the jacket. Apparently, the local rain can fall upwards. But a wave of heat floods out, the scent of coffee flooding with it. Following my nose, I find the source in the kitchen, Charlotte lifting the pot from the hob. Coming up from behind, I slide a hand around her waist, rest the other just under a breast. ¡°Smells good.¡± I nuzzle into her neck. ¡°You doing anything important?¡± My delectable wife Mmmms. ¡°I was just bringing this out to you.¡± She turns into my embrace, then pulls back, patting at my clothes, ¡°Michael, you¡¯re soaked. For God¡¯s sake, get those clothes off before you go down with something.¡± ¡°Get my clothes off and go down? Pretty much what I had in mind.¡± She chuckles. ¡°Fine, but first¡­¡± ¡°Ah, my apologies. Didn¡¯t mean to interrupt¡­¡± ***** JAMES I¡¯d not meant to walk in on them. Working, I was ready for a break and simply followed the smell of coffee. But as I enter the kitchen, it¡¯s in that Michael is cornering Charlotte¡­ Again¡­ ¡°Ah, my apologies. Didn¡¯t mean to interrupt¡­¡± ¡­ then I realise I shouldn¡¯t even have spoken¡­ Charlotte breaks into augh. ¡°You¡¯re not interrupting. I was telling Michael to get out of his wet ConTEent bel0ngs to N?v(e)lD/rama(.)Org . clothes.¡± The Hmmph escapes me unbidden. ¡°A likely story.¡± But I¡¯mughing inside as I follow the drips on the floor. ¡°Michael, whatever your ns were, get a dry robe on. Charlotte, if that pot of coffee is fresh, you can serve it all round.¡± ¡°Of course, Master. Sit by the fire. I¡¯ll pour you some.¡± By the time Michael returns, now in a robe, hair roughly towelled dry, I¡¯m stacking the fire with extra logs. There¡¯s a look in Michael¡¯s eye¡­ He leans back in his seat, bare feet propped up on the table as he cradles his coffee. He meets my gaze, exchanges Temptation¡¯s nce. ¡°Charlotte, where are your mother and father?¡± ¡°They went out. Mom wanted to get some new things for Vicky.¡± ¡°And Cara and Adam?¡± ¡°They¡¯re in the nursery¡­¡± She waves a hand at the baby monitor, blinking but silent. ¡°They¡¯re asleep. Why¡­?¡± She pauses, mouth hanging open¡­ ¡°Ah¡­¡± ¡­ as she looks to him, then me, then back again. Michael sets his coffee mug down. ¡°Charlotte, your Master expects to be serviced. Strip.¡± A snatch of air¡­ Our shared wife responding¡­ Her breath quickening¡­ Charlotte¡¯s eyes widen with that Rabbit In The Heamps look she gets. Fingers at the buttons of her blouse, she slips them open, sliding the garment back over her shoulders. Already she¡¯s flushing, crimson highlighted against her pale skin, the whitece trim of her bra. Michael slings back his drink. I finish mine. Charlotte stands naked before us. My turn to speak¡­ To Master her¡­ Setting my mug by the hearth, I move to stand over her, eye-pointing the worktop. ¡°Charlotte, lean forward over the counter. Facedown. Legs open. Spread your arms forward.¡± ***** MICHAEL She obeys him, arms outstretched, breasts pressing against the granite surface, her pale ass presented. She¡¯s a lovely sight from behind, the spread of her hips tapering to a waist still taut and narrow after her first child. Her hair fans out, copper-red and silken over the counter. I push her down, my palm between her shoulder des, then shove her ankles apart with my bare feet. As her thighs open, the tang of her arousal billows up. James watches, his normally dark eyes even darker, creasing at the corners. ¡°I think she¡¯s ready for you now, James.¡± ¡°I¡¯d say you''re right.¡± He stands behind her, a cheek cupped in either hand, then runs palms over her, massaging, soothing, sliding from the firm flesh of her rump, up and over her waist, her ribs, her shoulders, then back again, outlining her with his touch as he goes. He has her quivering when, standing back, open-handed, he ps her across the butt. Not hard, but enough to get her attention. Charlotte gasps, jarring with the sting, and would rise. But I pin her, my hand pressing between her shoulders. ¡°No one said you could move.¡± James swats again. He¡¯s still not serious about it. Charlotte inhales sharply but doesn''t move. ¡°That''s better,¡± he says. ¡°Learn to behave yourself. Grip the edge of the counter.¡± He leans over her, his chest against her spine. His face close by hers, ¡°I''m going to make your ass burn. When it''s glowing, Michael''s going to fuck you and you''re going to suck me off. Yes?¡± ¡°Yes, Master.¡± ¡°Michael, why don''t you stand where you can see properly. I''m sure you''d enjoy a good view of where you''ll be sinking your cock.¡± Charlotte''s breath hitches and she doesn''t see the smile tugging James¡¯ lips as he watches her response. She''s already pinking up, the blood rushing to her normally creamy skin, handprints beginning to bloom. Her pussy is pinker, the slit glistening. James ps again, harder. His palm connects with a smack that ripples flesh. He rubs at the reddening spot, then ps again, hard. It has to sting him as much as her. Charlotte huffs and wheezes, but James is already bringing down another stroke. This time, he¡¯s really trying. Charlotte yelps and quivers. James mouths silent curses, shaking his open palm. I hide theugh behind my hand. ¡°What do you say now, Charlotte?¡± ¡°Master?¡± ¡°You heard the first time.¡± A pause¡­ ¡°Master, may I have another?¡± ¡°You may.¡± James swings and ps. Long-limbed as he is, he swings his arm like a hitter going for the strike, and he connects with a Crack! Charlotte howls, but her ass is scarlet and her vulva more so. The flesh is swollen and puffy and a thin stream gleams as it trickles down her thighs. With an air of experiment, James dips in a couple of fingers, withdraws them slick and shiny, sucks them clean. ¡°If you''ll excuse me, Michael, this will be all yours shortly, but I''m not going to pass up an opportunity.¡± He drops to his knees then, a hand either side, peels her folds apart, opening up her pussy. Leaning back, he examines his handiwork, nostrils ring. He inhales, exhales. ¡°Lovely.¡± Moving in, he sucks at her, licks at her, working his way from pussy to clit and back again. Charlotte shudders and shakes¡­ Self-control failing? I move around to help her out, pinning her at the wrists. ¡°Your Master is taking his pleasure¡­¡± Charlotte¡¯s face is almost as flushed as her backside. ¡°¡­ Behave yourself and stay still. Better yet¡­¡± I unbuckle, unbutton my fly and aim my shaft at her face. ¡°Open up. James is going to finish in there, but I¡¯ll start it off.¡± Chapter 38 – The Idylls of March #10 Chapter 38 ¨C The Idylls of March #10 MICHAEL Charlotte obeys, opening her mouth. Emerald eyes roll up to meet mine, the green shade intense, almost iridescent. Grabbing both her wrists into one hand, I shove between her teeth then, easing in and out, enjoy the contrast of the deep red of my shaft rimmed by the pale rose of her lips. I''m streaming, so withdrawing for a moment, I swipe myself over her mouth and face, leaving shiny stripes of pre-cum to glisten on her skin. She¡¯s getting noisier, always a good sign, and I strain to see what James is doing: nibbling on her clit, I think, finger-fucking her as he does so. Even if I didn¡¯t want Charlotte¡¯s mouth open, I doubt it would be closed as she twitches and whimpers. The whimpers grow to moans. The twitching grows to shaking. She gasps and bucks, then with a shriek, spasms into orgasm¡­ That¡¯ll do¡­ ¡­ Fuck¡­ In under two seconds I go from controlled to inevitable. Balls tightening, groin tensing, I shoot, creaming into her still wailing mouth and over her tongue. A little cum escapes to dribble from the corner of her lips. Another shot¡­ And a third¡­ ¡­ And I¡¯m finished¡­ For now¡­ James nces up¡­ ¡°You done?¡± ¡°Yup.¡± ¡­ then swipes over his mouth and chin. ¡°You¡¯re taking both of us, Charlotte.¡± As he rises, he¡¯s already unzipping, releasing his cock. ¡°Open wide.¡± He¡¯s equally trigger-happy. Hands gripping into her hair, he pumps her. Less than a minute and, with a suppressed growl, he blows, withdrawing to spurt onto her face. Done, he stands back, rezippering. ¡°Nothing like a quickie when you¡¯re in the mood.¡± ***** GEORGIE I check my watch. Only fifteen minutes¡­ Maybe the traffic is bad¡­ The barman cocks a brow at my empty ss, and I push it across the counter for a refill. The door swings wide and I crane to see, but it¡¯s not Borje. Only some stranger bringing the chill night air in with him. You wouldn¡¯t stand me up¡­ Would you? Plenty of others have¡­ My arms goose and a frisson shivers through me. The strappy top I¡¯m wearing looks good, showing off my shoulders and neckline, but perhaps wasn¡¯t the best choice for the weather. Sitting alone, bored and waiting, then worried and waiting, perhaps I drink more quickly than I should. I¡¯ve almost emptied my ss again, and now my watch tells me Borje is thirty minutes overdue. The door swings wide and Borje, flush-faced, hair tousled, all but sprints inside. ¡°Georgie, I¡­¡± ¡°You''rete.¡± I snap the words, then could bite off my own tongue¡­ He stalls, his face very nd, voice very calm. ¡°My apologies, Georgie. I was held up at work. It''s been a long day.¡± I brandish my phone. ¡°You might have messaged me.¡± ¡°I tried. But I was on the subway.¡± As though on cue, the mobile vibes in my hand, then Pings. Iing message¡­ sorry held up on my way ¡­ and a timestamp from twenty minutes ago. Borje¡¯s eyes ping pong between the phone and my face. His voice acid, ¡°Believe me now?¡± ¡°Um¡­ Yes. Sorry.¡± I swallow with a throat too dry. Swallow again: a gulp of my too-strong gin ¡®n T¡­ Calm down¡­ The barman slides a bowl of peanuts between us. ¡°Can I get you something, sir?¡± Irritation ripples through Borje¡¯s voice. ¡°No, thank you. I¡­¡± Something like panic rips at me. ¡°Borje, I¡¯m sorry. I spoke out of turn. I shouldn¡¯t have. Please don¡¯t walk out on me.¡± ¡°What makes you think I was nning to walk out?¡± ¡°We¡¯re at a bar. You don¡¯t want a drink.¡± His eyes crinkle. ¡°Ah, yes. I see how that would look.¡± Swiping a hand through his hair, he looks back to me, a smile ghosting at his lips. ¡°What is it that brings out the temper in both of us? Georgie, I repeat, my apologies for beingte. It was absolutely not my intention. Now¡­ Perhaps could we start the evening over?¡± How can I not smile? This beautiful man, asking for mypany. I want you¡­ And I think you want me¡­ I hope. I hope¡­ ¡°Perhaps we should.¡± I slide off my bar stool, tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ¡°Good evening, Borje. It¡¯s lovely to see you.¡± ¡°Good evening, Georgie. And you¡¯re looking lovely too.¡± He gestures to the door. ¡°Shall we?¡± ¡°We¡¯re not staying?¡± ¡°I simply asked you to meet me here. I didn¡¯t want you standing out in the cold in case I¡­ um¡­ ran And feeling like theplete bitch I just showed myself to be, I follow him out. ***** Double doors swing open, and a solo sax purrs its melody over the floor. Borje holds one door aside, standing back to let me through. ¡°I hope you like my choice of venue. I enjoy music, but I also enjoy conversation. I don¡¯t care for the ces where the sound levels st your eardrums and jellify your brain.¡± ¡°Sounds good to me.¡± We¡¯re booked in at the Blue Cat Club for the evening, a venue I know by reputation for live music, but have never visited. A server shows us to a table to the edge of the room, with a good view of the band, but not so close as to be deafened by the music. Borje holds out my seat, sliding it behind me as I sit. ¡°You like jazz?¡± ¡°Yes, sure.¡± Then feeling sheepish, ¡°Some jazz,¡± I admit. ¡°A lot of it sounds to me more like a dozen guys tuning up their instruments.¡± He chuckles. ¡°I get that. I prefer a touch more melody myself.¡± ¡°Youe here a lot?¡± ¡°Fairly regrly. They serve the meal throughout the evening, spreading out the courses so you can mix eating with conversation and dancing.¡± ¡°It sounds as though you¡¯ve brought a few of your girlfriends here?¡± Then, cursing myself, wish I could swallow the words whole. Borje gives me an old look, then, ¡°Ah, here''s the wine. And we''ll order, shall we. They do a lobster bisque to die for. I''ll start with that." "I''ll have that too, then." ***** Borje was right about the food. The bisque smells of heaven in a bowl. Rich and creamy, sulent and savoury, fragrant with some herb¡­ Dill, maybe? The bread is warm, crusty and obviously homemade. And yet, my date seems subdued. Borje picks at his bread, stirs the exquisite soup around the bowl, not eating. And now, sitting close, surreptitiously assessing him, I see the stress lines written into his face. "You look a bit tired. Are you alright?" He shakes himself wide-eyed. "Sorry, I¡¯m being rude, aren¡¯t I. Um... Rough day at work." He makes a show of spooning up some soup. ¡°Must have been. Actually, you don¡¯t look just a bit tired. You look beat. Mice could hide in the shadows under your eyes.¡± He doesn¡¯t seem to know what to say to that¡­ ¡°I¡­ didn¡¯t mean to upset you before. Really, I didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°You haven¡¯t upset me.¡± He gives a shake of the head, sharp with surprise. ¡°Not at all, Georgie. I¡¯ve been looking forward to this evening.¡± The band abruptly changes rhythm, a foot-tapping beat now, fast and furious. I don¡¯t know the piece, but Borje breaks into a smile. ¡°Ah, one of my favourites.¡± His enthusiasm returns and he bites into a bread roll. ***** The waiter clears our soup bowls. ¡°Your main course will be about thirty minutes,¡± he announces. ¡°Can I get you anything while you¡¯re waiting?¡± ¡°No, we¡¯re fine, thank you.¡± Borje gestures out over the floor. ¡°Georgie, would you like to dance?¡± ¡°I¡¯d love to. But I¡¯m not very good.¡± ¡°All the more reason to practice.¡± As we make our way to the dance floor, the melody changes again, now smooth, soft and slow. The subdued golden lighting softens Borje¡¯s grey eyes. Pinwheels in red and blue and green glint and gleam, cavorting across the room, dancing over his frosty hair. We move together, his body near mine, but not too close, one hand barely resting at my waist, the other touching at the narrow strap at my shoulder. His breath kisses my cheek, then my ear; a soft caress that sends heat mming at my chest, racing through my belly, my core. The brief taste of him is raw¡­ Primal¡­ I want more¡­ ¡°I won¡¯t bite.¡± Borje blinks. ¡°Bite?¡± ¡°You barely touch me.¡± He pauses, pulls away a little, enough to meet my eyes. ¡°You haven¡¯t given me permission to touch you.¡± ¡°Permission? You need permission?¡± He clucks. ¡°Yes, I need permission. What kind of men have you dated before, Georgie? The sort who assume that because you agree to share wine and food with them, you have agreed to share everything? The whole of yourself?¡± ¡°Um¡­ I suppose¡­¡± I dry up. Flummoxed, I don¡¯t know what to say. ¡°You have allowed me to dance with you, Georgie. I do not assume that means you have consented to more than that.¡± I¡¯m lost for words. Almost any other date I¡¯ve ever had, by this stage he¡¯d have had one arm wrapped around my waist pulling me in and the other headed south for my ass. And the memories I keep so carefully suppressed, emerge from their squalid depths: unwee guests at any time, certainly now. I never think about it. Never let myself dwell on it, on what happened. Luke¡­ Lucas Baxter¡­ I thought he liked me. He charmed me¡­ By the time I realised the truth, it was toote. This belongs ? N?velDra/ma.Org. Tied¡­ Helpless¡­ Staked out on the bed like a skin spread out to dry in the heat¡­ Pleading for them to release me¡­ They would have raped me¡­ The recollection burns a trail through my thoughts but firmly I push it back where it belongs, into the dark¡­ I resurface. How long? Perhaps a second or two has passed. In any case, Borje hasn¡¯t noticed mypse. ¡°What must you think of the male species, Georgie? To assume that I would behave so.¡± It takes a few seconds for me to work up saliva to speak. ¡°For the avoidance of doubt, you have my permission to touch me.¡± His smile is like a slow bright dawn. ¡°That¡¯s good. Thank you, Georgie.¡± The hand at my waist slides around and tightens. The one at my shoulder shifts to rest, warm and wee, on my skin. A little taller than me, he rests his cheek at my temple. And we move together to the melody. Soft. Smooth. Slow. ¡°You smell good,¡± he murmurs. ¡°So do you.¡± I say it from reflex, then realise it¡¯s not quite true. Borje does smell good, the scent of clean male. A touch of some body ssh with the tang of green tea and pine. But there¡¯s something else. Just a whiff. There... And then gone. What was that? Chapter 39 – The Idylls of March #11 Chapter 39 ¨C The Idylls of March #11 GEORGIE What was that smell? Context. It¡¯s all context. The ghost of a smell. Something that hasn¡¯t quite washed off. That doesn¡¯t belong here in this ce. Alcohol? Disinfectant? Formalin? Should I ask? Excuse me, Borje, but you smell weird. Would you mind telling me what it is? I hold my tongue. The music picks up pace once more, to a rocking rhythm that has us swinging and swaying, swirling over the floor,ughing as we collide with another pair of dancers and exchange smiling apologies. As I grow warm, beginning to perspire, my lightweight topes into its own. Borje too, has a sheen of sweat on his face. And now, all I smell is the clean, musky fragrance of male flesh, heated with exercise. The song ends and the band set down their instruments for half-time. ¡°Thank God for that.¡± Borje swipes hands across cheeks shiny with heat and sweat. ¡°C¡¯mon, let¡¯s sit and cool down.¡± I fan my face with a hand. ¡°Sounds good to me.¡± ***** It¡¯s a lovely evening. A perfect evening. Full ofughter and smiles, Despite my ¡®permission¡¯, Borje doesn¡¯t try to touch more than my hand, just for a moment twining fingers around mine, giving them a squeeze as he looks into my eyes. "You''re so shy, Georgie.¡± His head inclines. ¡°You pretend you¡¯re not. But it¡¯s all an act... Or is it just me you''re shy with?" "I¡­ I''m not very good with people. If I don''t talk, I can''t say the wrong thing. I don¡¯t mean to, but I always seem to try to¡­ to¡­" He¡¯s barely hiding his grin. ¡°To take control?¡± ¡°Yeah¡­ I''m sorry. As I¡¯ve mentioned, and as you spotted Day One, I take after my father. Do you know what that''s like?¡± The grin morphs to a thoughtful expression. ¡°In fact, I do. For what it is worth, I¡¯ll say that while I realise you respect your father. A great deal¡­¡± He blinks, lowering his eyes, then raising them again to mine. "You look like your father''s daughter, but you don''t behave like him. Not truly." "Well, Dad''s kind of... forceful... If you know what I mean." "I do, yes. It goes with the territory." "What territory?" His gaze shears away from mine. After some moments, he says, ¡°I am not dating your father. I¡¯m dating you. And you talk too much about him. You should talk about yourself more.¡± Really? What are you avoiding? ¡°What about me?¡± I didn¡¯t mean to sound testy. Borje lifts hands, palms upward as though weighing the air. ¡°Ah, Christ¡­ Whatever¡­ Your work perhaps. You clearly enjoy it.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t talk about your work¡­¡± The words, bitter and toxic, fall from my lips¡­ ¡°¡­ Except to say that it makes youte.¡± The hands fall. His eyes shift away. Then he cracks a smile, gives me a depreciating shrug. ¡°No. You¡¯re right. I don¡¯t. Look, there¡¯s¡­¡± Something Bings. Whatever Borje was about to say is lost. He breaks off in mid-sentence, smile fading. Reaching into a pocket, he produces a shing phone, stares at the screen for a moment¡­ ¡°Damn¡± ¡­ Rising from his seat, he gs down the waiter. Wallet in hand, he¡¯s already holding up a credit card. After a muttered exchange, "Georgie, I''m very sorry, but I have to go." Words and disappointment tumble from my lips. "What...?" "I can''t apologise enough for this. I don¡¯t want to spoil your evening. You enjoy the music. Finish your meal. I''ve told the waiter that when you''re done, to call you a taxi to get you home. I¡¯ve already paid for it." The waiter returns with his coat. Borje throws it on, gives me a peck on the cheek, then strides away and out. Eyes pricking, I pick at my te, but the food tastes stale and the wine sour. At least I didn''t screw it up myself this time... Did I? "Would you like to choose a dessert, Madam?" "No, I¡¯ve had enough. Could you order my taxi, please.¡± ***** KLEMPNER Despite the chill, a walk in the fresh air feels good. Even a stroll around the garden and the hotel grounds takes me out of the house. A coffee... Maybe raid James¡¯ whiskey... A spot by the fire... This belongs ? N?velDra/ma.Org. ¡­ Will Mitch be busy? A taxi pulls up to the main gate and a familiar figure steps out, Georgie. She¡¯s dressed for the evening. Her long coat looks expensive, going-out-wear, and the bag slung over her shoulder sparkles as she teeters onto the gravel drive in dagger-heeled shoes. Her eyes are heavily kohled, her lips painted some strong colour, probably red but looking almost ck in the harsh floodlit illumination of the entrance drive. The effect is stark on her already strong features. The taxi pulls away, and she stands, watching after it, arms folded, shoulders slumped. Backing into a gloomy corner, I linger. Georgie doesn''t go inside. Instead, she paces up and down, or tries to, stumbling in the unsuitable shoes. Then she sags onto one of the benches dotted around the entrance. I peel away from my shadow. "Georgie?" She startles, twisting to face me... "Oh! ¡­ Oh¡­¡± She makes a failed attempt at a smile. ¡°¡­ It¡¯s you. Hello, Larry." "Hello¡­¡± What the fuck am I supposed to say? ¡°¡­ Georgie?" She hunches, hugging her arms around herself. "I''m fine." Yeah... Right... I shove hands into pockets, amble across, stand beside her. "Nice outfit. You''re looking good. On your way somewhere?" I¡¯m lying. Close up, she looks fucking awful. Some women can pull off Hollywood tears. Georgie looks like someone¡¯s been at her eyes with a balloon pump. She scuffs into the gravel, scraping the shine off the patent finish of her shoes. "No. Just got back actually." I scuff the gravel myself, but it won¡¯t touch my boot leather. What to do? Where¡¯s Mitch when I need her? "Would you like toe back to the house? Your father''s not here, but I was just going to make coffee. Want one?" "Um, yes. I would¡­ Thanks." In the kitchen, I spoon grinds into the pot, but I''m conscious that, furtively, Georgie''s watching me. I set two mugs on the table. Sit. ¡°So what''s the problem? Or shouldn''t I ask?" She cups palms around the mug. Screws up her face. "Just one of those days. Well, one of those evenings actually. I had a date..." "Didn''t work out?¡± ¡°No¡­ Well¡­ It''s not so much that it didn''t work out. It just didn''t happen. He''d booked a nice ce, a club. Much better than I can afford. But we''d been there less than an hour when he left." "Left? You¡­ argued?" "No, nothing like that. Something came up on his phone. And just like that, he left me. Just made some quick apology and left. He paid the bill and he''d ordered a taxi for me, but..." She droops. "Not a great end to an evening, I''ll grant. He didn''t say why he left so suddenly?" "No. Not a word. Just that he had to go." Now what¡­ "Would you prefer something stronger than coffee?" "Your father¡¯s whiskey. Or I can rifle his brandy supply. He thinks I don¡¯t know where he¡¯s hidden it." That produces a pale smile. "I''d like the brandy." Retrieving James'' excellent Armagnac from behind the gallon-sized gon of olive oil in therder, I ssh an inch into two tumblers. As an afterthought, I bring the decanter back to the table, push a tumbler into Georgie¡¯s hand and set the decanter down beside her. "You''re very kind." I pull up a chair opposite her. "Well, that''s new territory. A phrase I''ve never had thrown at me before." She raises swollen eyes. ¡°What is?" "Kind. Never been told that before. Not many would agree." "You''ve always been kind to me." I don''t know what to say to that, so I swish down a mouthful of the brandy and wait for her to start talking. "Why?" She looks up from under darkshes that nheless frame red-rimmed eyes. "Why what?" "Why are you kind to me? You barely know me, but you behave as though we''re friends." "Your father has been very good to me, and for very little reason other than that Jenny... Sorry, Charlotte... is my daughter. Let¡¯s just say I''m returning the favour." "Why do you call her Jenny?" The brandy burns down my gullet. "Long story. It''s the name she was born with." "But she changed it. Why?" I exhale fumes of fire. "I don''t think it''s for me to tell you that. If she decides to, or your father does, you''ll not think so well of me." "Why not?" "Because I''m not kind. Or I haven''t been in the past." "I don''t believe you." "Which part?" "The part about being kind to me just because of my dad. That''s not a good enough reason to say what you just did." "Maybe." I toss back the drink, top up, offer her the decanter and she holds out her ss. "Tell me," she insists. ¡°Tell you what? I thought I¡¯d brought you in here for a shoulder to cry on.¡± She just stares at me. Ah¡­ What the fuck¡­ "I recognize the signs in you. You don''t fit in properly. You want to, but you''re not sure how to." "Like you?" I swill brandy around my mouth, letting it burn away any reply I might make. Chapter 40 – The Idylls of March #12 Chapter 40 ¨C The Idylls of March #12 KLEMPNER Georgie leans forward on her elbows. "But you''re trying though. Trying to fit. To make Charlotte happy. And Mitch. And your new daughter." "Oh, yes." I breathe out glowing fumes. "It''s not easy, but I''m trying." She mirrors me, blowing out her cheeks, staring at the tabletop. "Is it worth it? Are you happy? At least, is it making you happy?" "A wife. My daughters. Old and new. I have never been so happy as I am now." I empty my ss again. Refill it again. "I''ll keep working at it." Her smile dawns. "I suppose that''s alright then." She reaches out, chinks her ss against mine. "If you can do it, so can I." ¡°You never mentioned who your date was with. Is it someone I should know?¡± ¡°Borje.¡± Ahhh¡­ It urs to me that I¡¯d intended to get Georgie talking. Instead¡­ I chink my ss back. "Good luck." ***** I saw them together at Kirstie and Ryan¡¯s wedding, Georgie and Borje. He''s a striking-looking man, with the silver-blond of the Scandinavian. It''s easy to see why a woman would be attracted to him. Certainly, Georgie seems taken by his charms. James appears undisturbed by Borje¡¯s interest in his daughter. Would he say anything? Michael too, seems to think well of him¡­ Even if he did admit that Borje fucked Jenny¡­ Something about Borje set my antennae twitching. I''m not sure what it is. And Georgie is overly naive. ***** ¡°You¡¯re looking very smart, Richard,¡± says Mitch. I follow the line of my wife¡¯s attention. Haswell is dressed in full regalia: shirt and tie, pants, jacket and waistcoat, clearly tailor-made, grey with an understated check. The wristwatch is Cartier and I imagine not the variety of Cartier bought from a street trader at a ¡®bargain price¡¯. ¡°Thank you, Mitch.¡± He straightens the jacket. ¡°Coming from you, I¡¯ll take that as apliment.¡± ¡°You should get a waistcoat, Larry,¡± says Mitch. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with what I¡¯m wearing?¡± ¡°It would suit you. You have the build to carry one well.¡± Shees close, slides a palm down my chest. ¡°I¡¯d like it,¡± she purrs. My cock twitches¡­ Christ¡­ Not here¡­ Haswell checks his cuff links. ¡°I¡¯d be happy to rmend you my tailor.¡± Mitch casts around. ¡°Where is she? I told Jenny to be ready. Larry, go find her would you. And make sure she¡¯s decently dressed.¡± ***** I locate my older daughter lurking in her book-lined office clicking around something on herptop screen. Cara sits on the rug by her feet, trying to decapitate a six-inch, pink elephant. Michael tters with a hammer, installing another bookshelf where you¡¯d not think there was the space for one. ¡°Charlotte, your mother¡¯s waiting for you.¡± Her eyes don¡¯t leave the screen. ¡°Waiting? Why?¡± ¡°She¡¯s going shopping. Richard and Beth are ready to go.¡± She¡¯s still scrolling and clicking. ¡°I told her I didn¡¯t want toe.¡± ¡­ I edge around to see what¡¯s holding her attention. The Fellowship of the Ring¡­ First Edition¡­ ¡°I think she expects you to.¡± Jenny¡¯s eyes lift, green as a snake. ¡°You mean, you¡¯ve been sent to issue a summons?¡± T¨ºxt belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°That¡¯s about the size of it, yes.¡± Michael keeps a straight face, more or less, but Jenny¡¯s expression is sullen. ¡°What kind of shopping?¡± ¡°Knowing your mother, probably clothes.¡± ¡°Shoes maybe,¡± says Michael. His cheek jumps under the effort of containing a grin. ¡°Bags. Hats. Jewellery.¡± Jenny withers him with a look. Or tries to. ¡°I''d rather spend the morning gnawing my foot off. Anyway, I''m working.¡± ¡°Doing what?¡± I ask. She flounders. ¡°The keep-fit ss.¡± ¡°Nope, no need today, Babe.¡± Michael¡¯s not bothering to hide the grin anymore. ¡°Chad¡¯s back. We¡¯re fully manned.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± She detes. ¡°Ah, Jenny¡­¡± Mitch sails in. ¡°¡­ There you are.¡± Her face falls as she casts a gimlet eye over our daughter''s jeans, sneakers and tee shirt. ¡°What were you nning on wearing to go out? You can''t go into a department store dressed like that.¡± ¡°I have before.¡± ¡°But not today. Beth and Richard will be with us.¡± Jenny darts eyes one way the other. ¡°But if Ie too, who''s going to look after the babies?¡± She scoops Cara up onto her knee and my granddaughter gurgles appreciation. ¡°You can¡¯t shop properly with Vicky and Adam. Someone has to stay here.¡± She gives a short, satisfied nod. ¡°You go enjoy yourself with Beth. I¡¯ll babysit.¡± Michael tests his shelf with a level. ¡°No need for that, Babe¡­¡± Jenny¡¯s face falls¡­ ¡°¡­ I''ll look after the Horde¡­¡± He stands back, tilting his head one way, then the other. ¡°Is that straight? Or is it the wall that¡¯s off?¡± Jenny mouths protest¡­ ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°¡­ I was only going to be working in the office today anyway, catching up on some admin. I''ll set up in the nursery with myptop.¡± He lifts Cara up and away from her. ¡°That''d be okay, wouldn''t it, Mitch? Then you can enjoy your shopping trip.¡± Mitch chews a lip. ¡°Vicky''s still very small. I was nning on taking her with us.¡± Nervous? ¡°I¡¯m sure you can leave a bottle,¡± I say. ¡°Michael¡¯s happy to handle feeding and changing her...¡± Mitch frowns. ¡°¡­ And it will be good for Vicky to spend time with a different face.¡± Still, Mitch hesitates. Having trouble letting go? It gnaws at me¡­ I did this¡­ Stealing Jenny from her all those years ago¡­ ¡°Mitch, Michael¡¯s going nowhere. Neither¡¯s Vicky. She¡¯s perfectly safe.¡± Michaelys a hand on her arm. ¡°Mitch, I¡¯ll take care of Vicky as though she were my own.¡± Mitch sucks in her lips, nods. ¡°Besides¡­¡± Michael injects sunshine into his voice¡­ ¡°¡­there¡¯s Cara and Adam too. They¡¯ll all entertain each other. Just give me five minutes to fetch myptop.¡± Jenny is truculent. ¡°Great theory. You think a nursery with two toddlers and a baby is going to be a working environment?¡± Michael awards her a dry look. ¡°Gonna have to be, isn¡¯t it. Especially since we¡¯ll be adding another one to the mix. C¡¯mon, Sweetie¡­¡± He kisses Cara on the forehead. ¡°You can help me with my ounts, can''t you.¡± Cara beams a gummy smile. ¡°Ya... Ya... Ya...¡± Mitch says, ¡°That¡¯s all arranged then. I¡¯ll go fetch Vicky. Jenny, you tell Beth to bring Adam up to the nursery. Then check with Michael that he has everything he needs.¡± Mitch sweeps out. Jenny casts me a despairing look, then slumps after her. I follow the blond man with my granddaughter. Cara in his arms, he swings a leg over the child gate blocking the nursery door, all the while chatting as though she can understand him. ¡°¡­ You ¡®n me can do it together, then you can show Adam how it''s done.¡± She burbles some nonsense reply. As Michael sets her down in the ypen, Cara''s sunny smile turns stormy. But he steps in beside her and the smile returns. Beth arrives with Haswell, carrying their son. Michael reaches out. ¡°Here, give him to me.¡± Adam too breaks into a beaming smile as he joins Cara. ***** JAMES I set the pencil to one side, regarding my sketch, a first draft for proposed apartment blocks down by the canal¡­ What¡¯s missing? The balconies look good¡­ More detail for the roof garden? ¡°I notice you¡¯ve escaped shopping.¡± Charlotte stands in the doorway to my office, chin jutting, her face rebellious. ¡°You can lose that tone of voice when you speak to me,¡± I snap. ¡°Unless you want to be sitting on a cushion this evening¡­¡± She shrinks in on herself¡­ ¡°It won¡¯t hurt you to do something to please your mother once in a while. Besides, I¡¯ll be catching up with youter.¡± She subsides, shifting her expression to something more polite. ¡°You''re sure Michael''s alright with all three of the Littlies? I know he¡¯s being helpful, but¡­¡± I huff augh. ¡°Michael loves being with Cara and the others. He''s not being helpful. He wants to do it. This has given him the excuse he was looking for.¡± Mutiny inches over her face again. ¡°Come on up. See for yourself.¡± I make my way upstairs and Charlotte stomps up behind me. In the nursery, Michael sits inside the ypen, on the carpet. Legs stretched out to take hisptop, Vicky is propped into the crook of one arm, her fuzz of red hair doing a passable imitation of an exploding chrysanthemum. Cara, sandwiched between Michael and theptop, babbles enthusiasm as he guides her hand over the mouse. Adam gurgles protest, grabbing for the mouse with chubby fingers. ¡°That''s doing your book-keeping, is it?¡± says Charlotte. Michael steers Cara¡¯s hand, his expression intense. ¡°This is the part of the ountancy process known as ¡®colouring in dinosaurs¡¯.¡± I amble behind him to see. The sketched outlines of Flintstone-style dinosaurs fill the screen, with a palette of eye-popping colours to choose from. Cara jams a chubby fist down on the mouse and a T- Rex abruptly bursts into an unlikely shade of green. Michael pumps the air with his free arm. ¡°Yay! You did it!¡± ¡°Yay!¡± Cara¡¯s arms fly up with his. Adam squeals his disapproval, crawling close and trying to muscle in on the action. Michael beams. ¡°Ain¡¯t they great.¡± ¡°Yes, they are. I¡¯ll be in my office. Just yell if you have your hands full.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll be fine. Enjoy your shopping trip, Charlotte.¡± She doesn¡¯t quite snarl at him, but something like a growl rumbles in her chest as she exits. Michael, silent, poker-faced, watches her go. As soon as she¡¯s out of earshot, he cracks upughing. ¡°I almost wish I was going too. Do you see Klempner twiddling his thumbs in the waiting area of some department store?¡± ***** KLEMPNER On the too-low seating of the waiting area, I sit, rotating one thumb around the other. The store is expensively fitted out, furnished and stocked with over-priced bling, frequented by customers intent on spending, with the object of being seen to spend. Haswell came prepared, a pink newspaper tucked under one arm. Within moments of Mitch and Beth setting sail for the lingerie department, towing a reluctant Jenny with them, he shook the paper open and now sits, one ankle propped on a knee, reading the financial pages. With each movement of the dressing-room curtains, he nces over the top of his spectacles, then inhales as he returns to his paper. ¡°Are we expected to do much of this?¡± I mutter. His lips twitch. ¡°Not too much, but in your role as husband, yes, it¡¯s expected.¡± ¡°Oh...¡± I wind my left thumb clockwise around the right. After a few circuits, by way of a break in the boredom, I reverse to anti-clockwise. Haswell¡¯s eyes don¡¯t leave his paper as he murmurs, "Make it easy on yourself. Next time, bring something to read." "Next time? I''m supposed to do this again?" Chapter 41 – The Idylls of March #13 Chapter 41 ¨C The Idylls of March #13 KLEMPNER Haswell¡¯s face lifts and behind the lenses, his eye crease. "Yes, you are. Ites with the marriage ritual. What did you think you were signing up for?" I digest this. "How often is this part of the ritual yed out? Exactly?" His lips twitch. ¡°As often as required.¡± "Why the hell am I here at all? Mitch doesn''t need me to choose clothes. She''s dressed herself all her life." "And beautifully too. Mitch¡¯s taste is outstanding. You are here to make Ooh Aah noises on cue and produce your wallet on demand. As luck would have it..." He aims a finger across the floor... "... you won''t be saddled with carrying the bags..." I follow the finger. Haswell''s driver, Ross, sits in an ice cream bar area, perched on a stool, a ss of something frothy on the counter next to him. Pen in hand, he''s intent of what could be a crossword. As I watch, he chews at a lip then, giving a small, satisfied nod, pencils something in. Hmmm... A man who''s done this before... I wind my thumbs again. "Think I''ll go for a stroll." I start to haul myself up out of the seat, apparently designed with dwarves and five-year-olds in mind. Haswell doesn''t look up. His paper rustles as he turns to the next page. "On your head be it." I hover, semi-upright. "Seriously?" "Seriously. When wives say Stay There, what they mean is, Be There When I Come Back." Hmmm¡­ Clockwise again. ¡°How long will they be?¡± ¡°A while...¡± Haswell flips over the page. Share prices. ¡°¡­ But don''t worry. They''ll be out before you lose the will to live.¡± ¡°Oh¡­¡± Anti-clockwise¡­ Husband¡­ Without meaning to, I huff augh under my breath. Haswell¡¯s paper lowers an inch. He regards me over the top of his spectacles. ¡°What¡¯s funny?¡± I shrug. ¡°Being here. Being married. Doing¡­ married things¡­ It¡¯s not a situation I ever expected to find myself in¡­¡± His mouth twitches again¡­ ¡°Sitting in a department store, with you for Christ¡¯s sake. It¡¯s hardly as though we have muchmon ground.¡± He folds the paper onto hisp. ¡°Did you imagine that, in your role as husband, you¡¯d be in charge? That somehow you owned your wife?¡± ¡°No, I didn¡¯t. I don''t own Mitch. I never wanted to¡­¡± Scepticism marches over his features¡­ ¡°Alright, yes, I was a trafficker. I''ve owned more women than you can imagine. But I never wanted to own Mitch. I wanted¡­ I wanted her to want me. To give herself to me.¡± Mitch and Beth appear, ignoring us,paring reflections, nodding and discussing some detail or other. After a few moments, apparently in agreement, they vanish behind the curtains again. Haswell watches the performance. ¡°Perhaps we have moremon ground than you think, Mr Waterman.¡± For a moment I¡¯m confused. The newbel still sits uneasily on my shoulders. Then I remember¡­ Lars Waterman¡­ The name I was born with. But my confusion must have shown. Haswell inclines his head. "Still finding it odd with the change of name?" I shrug. "What''s in a name? Anyone that knows who I am isn''t going to be thrown by it. Anyone who doesn''t simply sees Larry Waterman, respectable businessman." "Respectable?" Haswell grimaces, a caustic expression that sets my teeth on edge. "Respectable enough..." He snorts, then smiles... "... Don''t you find it confusing when your wife calls you Master?" Haswell¡¯s smile withers. "... You think I haven''t heard it? When she thinks you''re in private. Jenny¡¯s the same. She tries to call him James if other people are around, but she doesn''t always remember. For that matter, she''s Jenny to me and Mitch, but Charlotte to everyone else who knows her. Mitch too. She went through a good part of her life known as Shelley." Haswell ponders. Nods. ¡°True enough.¡± "Did they call you Dicky as a kid?" He winces. "Richie actually, until I was old enough to insist on a bit of respect." My tone nd, "You didn''t like Richie?" "Hated it." He folds arms, sits back. "Even when I was small, I would always introduce myself as Richard, but every single adult called me Richie until one day, when I was... oh, seventeen maybe, I threw my dummy out of the pram and insisted on being Richard." "Really¡­?¡± Oneupmanship wars with curiosity¡­ I¡¯ve scored my points¡­ Curiosity wins. ¡°What did you do?" Haswell casts a nce around, lowers his voice. "I was in my father''s office. The secretary called me Richie one time too many that day, and I lost it. Threw the hole punch at the wall and missed. It hit the window, smashed the ss and scared the bejeezus out of the cat sleeping in the rosebed just outside. After that, everyone called me Richard." The great Richard Haswell¡­ ¡­ terrorizing cats¡­ ¡­ and I burst outughing. Heads turn our way. ¡°You should do that more often.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Laugh.¡± What the fuck¡¯s that supposed to mean? But there¡¯s a hint of challenge in Haswell¡¯s eye as he raises his paper again. Chitchat¡¯s not my forte, but I¡¯ve an urge to fill the silence that follows. ¡°By the way, I never gave you my thanks.¡± The paper lowers again, Haswell¡¯s forehead wrinkling. ¡°What for?¡± ¡°I''d assumed, wrongly as it turned out, that it was James who was responsible for persuading the police His tone is dry. ¡°Yes, it was me.¡± ¡°Well¡­ thank you.¡± ¡°You''re wee¡­¡± The paper folds away again. ¡°¡­ And I''ll tell you that it wasn''t easy. Will is an old friend of mine, but he was adamant that you had to pay for... Well... We know what for. I told him you had paid. What with everything Juliana did.¡± ¡°You weren¡¯t there. You don¡¯t know¡­¡± He cuts me short. ¡°In fact, I do. James showed me the footage of where Juliana had you imprisoned¡­¡± Footage? ¡°¡­ I saw your physical condition and I read the medical reports. Yes, you paid.¡± He pauses, plucking at his chin, then continues¡­ ¡°And I know also you have tried, and are still trying, to correct what you were responsible for in the past. I don¡¯t believe you belong in prison. You''re most useful to all concerned, yourself included, out in the world where you can do some good. Not least for Mitch. She deserves some justice. Certainly, better than the cards she¡¯s been dealt most of her life.¡± ¡°Yes, she does. I repeat. Thank you.¡± Haswell meets my eyes. Holds them. ¡°I''ll say it only once, Klempner. Don''t ever make me regret doing it. Ah...¡± His tone lightens¡­ ¡°Your wife and mine are emerging, I believe. Along with your daughter.¡± ***** RICHARD With a shiver of changing-room curtains, the three women emerge. Which is to say, my Elizabeth strolls out, Mitch sashays, Charlotte strides. Klempner and I rise to meet them. Mitch and Elizabeth are wearing... not dissimr... dresses. Both drape smoothly to mid-calf, cut from something silky in shades of deep jade. Elizabeth wears her copper-red hair up, demure,dylike. Mitch''s drapes her shoulders. But sharing the same baster skin, each with the huge, exotically green eyes that are the mark of the Kimberley women, they look so simr. Klempner stands beside me, legs astride, arms folded. "We''re two lucky men, wouldn¡¯t you say," I murmur. He clicks his tongue. There are differences between the two. The age gap is almost meaningless. Mitch has looked after herself, and it shows. But more than that, the sultry beauty stands chin lifted, facing the world, looking it, and Klempner, square in the eye. He respects her strength... My lovely Elizabeth, one of life''s natural submissives, behaves more modestly, her face lowered. Mitch dresses boldly. The dress is cut to emphasise her still-excellent figure, revealing a little cleavage. Elizabeth''s is more suggestive than revealing, although I know well that her chosen outfit, whilst appearing as proper as a Roman matron¡¯s, will have some feature, perhaps a hidden fold in the skirts, to allow me ready ess when I require it of her. In fact, now that I look properly, standing side by side, the dresses are all but identical. It''s the women inside them, their stance and the way they carry them, that are different. Charlotte still wears jeans and a tee shirt. I take my wife by the waist, kiss her cheek. "You look lovely..." I turn to Mitch... "... Both of you." ¡­ Then to the waiting Klempner¡­ "Don''t they, Larry?" The question hangs... He flounders, then, "Yes, you look very¡­ nice. You always do." All the social graces of a halibut. Mitch looks away, suppressing a smile. Klempner measures the pair by eye, pair up and down. "Isn''t there something in the rules about women not being seen wearing the same dress?" T¨ºxt belongs to N?velDrama.Org. "Yes," Mitch chuckles. "But we''ll essorise differently. Wear our hair differently. We won''t look the same. You''ll see." I extend an arm toward the pay desk. ¡°If you¡¯ve finished in here for now, shall we go for some lunch?¡± Charlotte scowls. ¡°For now?¡± Mitch casts her a cool look. ¡°We¡¯ve finished in this department altogether, Richard. Yes, lunch sounds lovely. But first, Beth and I would like to go to buy some lingerie to match our outfits. And Jenny needs something too.¡± ***** Chapter 42 – The Idylls of March #14 Chapter 42 ¨C The Idylls of March #14 JAMES The square is a pleasant setting, if a trifle immature. There¡¯s a reason for that. It wasn¡¯t here until recently. The stonework is clean and unweathered. The trees lining the walkways are mere saplings, full of promise for future years, future generations. In the March sunshine, their burgeoning leaves are a brilliant green, the petals a pink trying to be white. Given time, they¡¯ll help merge the square and the adjacent park into a harmonious whole. To one side, City traffic rumbles, buses wheeze and rattle into the station. And from beyond thates the distant click-ck of trains. But here, the sounds are of the chatter of customers taking tables at the bars and eateries which alternate with art galleries, a small cinema, and the library. A busker, his cap set on the ground, plucks at a guitar, crooning out some melody I knowes from a movie, but can¡¯t quite ce. Close by, a girl on hands and knees chalks onto the gs. She¡¯s good; very good; working freehand to produceically cruel caricatures of politicians, pop stars and wannabe celebrities. A clown has the next pitch. Wearing a wig of wild orange spirals, his painted-on smile stretches halfway to his ears. Surrounded by ogle-eyed children, he juggles an unwieldy collection of eggs, apples, and melons, then as his piece de resistance, tennis balls and footballs. ¡°Ah, there you are, James.¡± Richard, in a light suit and mirrored sunsses, pulls out a chair. ¡°Did you ConTEent bel0ngs to N?v(e)lD/rama(.)Org . get your sketches done?¡± Klempner sits opposite. ¡°I did, yes.¡± I gesture to the sketchpad on my table. ¡°Strolled the park. Got the feel for how it¡¯s all Klempner sniffs. ¡°I¡¯d have thought you¡¯d use CAD software for something like that.¡± ¡°For the engineering and working drawings, I do. But I prefer to work by hand first. Stroll the ground. Nothing substitutes for seeing thendscape for real, getting an idea of how it might all fit together.¡± ¡°So, what¡¯s this for?¡± Klempner seems genuinely interested. ¡°The park¡¯s quite old. It¡¯s part of the original n of the City. Nothing¡¯s been done for years on the infrastructure. There¡¯re some good basics there; thewns, mature trees and such. But the facilities are are¡­ let¡¯s say unpleasant. I¡¯m assembling some ideas that Richard will put in front of the Mayor. We¡¯ll take it from there.¡± A waiter whisks over the table with a tray of beers, wine, nuts and olives. He sets Richard¡¯s red wine down by him. ¡°Will there be anything else?¡± A polite nce. ¡°Not right now. Come back in a few minutes, please. We¡¯re waiting for the rest of our party.¡± ¡°Very good, sir.¡± The waiter nods and makes as though to leave, then pauses, looking Richard in the face. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir, but should I know you?¡± Richard lifts a wine ss to his mouth, nd behind his mirrored shades. ¡°I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met.¡± ¡°Your face seems familiar.¡± The waiter tilts his head, brow wrinkling. ¡°Perhaps you¡¯ve been on the TV?¡± Richard sips at the wine, clucks and smacks his lips. ¡°I¡¯m on the radio asionally, usually on Finance World or City News.¡± ¡°Ah, yes...¡± A knowing nod¡­ ¡°That¡¯s where I recognise you from.¡± He trots away. Klempner snorts augh. ¡°Go figure. You get a lot of that?¡± Richard grimaces. ¡°It happens. I prefer to avoid celebrity status where I can. If I were too widely recognised, I¡¯d not be able to do this...¡± He waves vaguely around the square then sips at his wine. ¡°¡­ or I¡¯d have to be hip deep in bodyguards instead of just having Ross keep an open eye.¡± Then at an approaching sh of red hair, ¡°Ah, heree the women.¡± Richard stands, pulls out a chair for Beth, then as she sits, another for Mitch. Ross, tramps in from the rear,den with bags in green and gold sporting designerbels and department store logos. Red- faced, he gs down the waiter, taking a table some distance away, but with a clear view of our table and party, and I¡¯d say close enough to hear, if not the conversation, at least the tone of it. Mitch casts around the table. ¡°Where''s Jenny?¡± Klempner shrugs. ¡°I thought she was with you.¡± He sucks at his beer. ¡°No, we¡¯ve not seen her.¡± Beth eye-rolls sidelong. Backs it up with a jerked thumb. ¡°Library.¡± Mitch matches her eye-roll, this time upward, then turns on Klempner. ¡°You let Jenny escape into a library.¡± Asperity in his voice, ¡°I told you, we¡¯ve not seen her. I¡¯ve not seen her.¡± Mitch taps a foot. ¡°I''ve bought her something.¡± ¡°So¡­¡± He holds out palms¡­ ¡°¡­ Go find her in the library.¡± Mitch res. Klempner sets his beer ss down on the table. ¡°I¡¯ll go find her, shall I.¡± ¡°Thank you, Larry.¡± Her tone could etch ss. ¡°Have fun,¡± I murmur. Klempner shoots me a sharp nce. Do I know something he doesn¡¯t? But I¡¯mughing inside. ***** KLEMPNER I amble in, expecting to find Jenny perhaps browsing the Fantasy or Science-Fiction sections. She¡¯s not there, so I try the Science, then the Engineering departments¡­ No sign of her. Hmmm¡­ Skulking¡­ Eventually, I locate her in an obscure corner, beyond the shelves sign-posted Dewy Decimal 140, Philosophy, Philosophical schools of thought, and lodged between the shadowed junction of 147 - Pantheism and rted systems and doctrines, and 148 - Dogmatism, eclecticism, liberalism, syncretism, and traditionalism. Reading, she sits cross-legged on the carpet, under a windowsill. While quite hidden from the general passer-by, sunlight nts across her pages. ¡°You know how to lurk, I see.¡± She doesn¡¯t look up. ¡°I wasn''t lurking.¡± ¡°Yes, you were, and rather well. But if you think you can out-lurk me, dream on.¡± Squinting up from ¡®The Children of H¨²rin¡¯, she scowls. ¡°Learned it from the best, didn¡¯t I.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve given up eating kittens for breakfast.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± Resisting the urge to deliver the first answer that urs, ¡°Jenny, Mitch wants you out there.¡± ¡°I''ll be out in a while.¡± ¡°She wants you now.¡± Her eyes narrow to green slits. ¡°You mean she''s bought something to wear and I''m supposed to go out and be a clothes horse.¡± I suck at my teeth. ¡°Something like that.¡± ¡°I''mfortable here.¡± Her chin juts. ¡°We''re both here to please your mother. Why don''t you just put a brave face on it for a couple of hours?¡± ¡°She''s not trying to dress you up like a rag doll.¡± ¡°You think?¡± ¡°You too?¡± Half a smile flickers across her face then evaporates. ¡°Yes, me too.¡± She looks me up and down. ¡°What''s wrong with how you''re dressed?¡± ¡°That was my question too. Are youing?¡± ¡°Like I said, I¡¯ll be there in a while.¡± ¡°Jenny, pleasee outside. For God''s sake, rescue me from small talk.¡± Her lips twitch, but she shows no sign of moving. ¡°Come out with me, sit at the table, wear whatever it is your mother wants to hang on you, and I''ll pay for that first edition Tolkien I saw you mooning over.¡± Her eyes widen, then slit once more. ¡°No shit?¡± ¡°No shit.¡± ¡°Done.¡± She snaps her book closed, rising from her crossed legs like a ballerina. ¡°I¡¯ll see you out there. Just putting this where it belongs.¡± And without a backward look, she strides off toward the Fiction Department. ***** When I return to the table, Jenny hasn¡¯t appeared. Mitch shoots thunderbolts my way. ¡°She said she wasing. What do you expect me to do? Box her up and deliver her by courier?¡± Haswell¡¯s driver, Ross, now with a beer, a newspaper and what could be a ham sandwich, grins behind his paper, then hastily straightens his face. As he sees me watching, he raises his ss, tilts it toward me and takes a swallow. Bastard. But as the arm lifts and moves, I pick up the lie and drape of his jacket: something underneath, concealed. He¡¯s carrying? Haswell follows my gaze, smiles slightly as I question him with a look. ¡°Ross is, among other things, Elizabeth¡¯s security guard.¡± He inhales, lets it out again. ¡°I can¡¯t be with her all the time, and she has been¡­¡± ¡­ Acid enters his voice¡­ ¡°¡­ as you know, abducted twice.¡± James inspects his fingernails. Mitch and Beth exchange mutters over some object in greence they dangle between them, not appearing to have heard the remark. ¡°I wasn¡¯t responsible for the first asion.¡± ¡°Nheless¡­¡± Haswell stiffens¡­ I jerk my thumb toward the driver. ¡°He any good?¡± But before Haswell can reply, Jenny appears. ***** RICHARD Charlotte stalks from the library like the Grim Reaper missing his scythe. Mitch rises, already opening her purse, producing a small velvet bag. ¡°Ah, there you are, Jenny¡­¡± Charlotte res at Mitch¡¯s advance and the glint of silver and green emerging from the bag. Klempner watches, slit-eyed, at the mother and daughter performance. He angles towards James, speaking behind his hand. ¡°Has Jenny always been like this?¡± James sucks in a smile. ¡°As long as I¡¯ve known her. Utterly uninterested in what she¡¯s wearing. For a woman who went to such lengths to raise money, she¡¯spletely non-materialistic.¡± ¡°She''s happy enough to spend my money.¡± ¡°I''d say her early years made Charlotte¡­ careful¡­ with resources.¡± Klempner sparks sidelong at him, eyes widening. I break in¡­ ¡°To answer your question: is Ross a good bodyguard?¡± ¡­ I nod to where the glowering Charlotte, now wearing a ne of pale green-ss gems and matching earrings, sits hunched by Mitch and Beth. ¡°¡­ There was someone better.¡± Klempnerughs, derisive and sour. ¡°Jenny?¡± A bodyguard?¡± My own unbidden rage takes me by surprise. I blurt out the words. ¡°She spirited Elizabeth out of your clutches.¡± I didn¡¯t mean to do it, to say it. James inclines his head, forehead creasing. Klempner¡¯s expression is a study in surprise, then anger, before finally, chagrin shuffles aside to make room for pride. ¡°So she did.¡± He sucks at his cheeks¡­ Chapter 43 – The Idylls of March #15 Chapter 43 ¨C The Idylls of March #15 RICHARD ¡°So she did.¡± Klempner sucks at his cheeks¡­ Choosing his words? ¡°¡­ But I was hoping we¡¯d put that behind us.¡± It¡¯s as close to an apology as I¡¯m ever likely to get. Take the rod from out of your ass¡­ Forcing myself to rx back into my seat, I take another sip from my ss. Sculpting my voice to more mellow tones. ¡°We have, yes.¡± Klempner mirrors my sip then gestures vaguely around the square. ¡°This one of yours, too? Last time I was here, a few years ago, if I¡¯ve got my geography right, it was a truck repair yard.¡± A swift change of topic¡­ ttery? From Klempner? Or simply learning some tact? But I suppress my smile. ¡°You¡¯re right. We moved the repair yard away from the City centre, put it somewhere more appropriate on what was waste ground behind the railway station. This square was Klempner swings his head, nodding as he looks around. ¡°Pretty good. Got an almost Mediterranean feel about it.¡± ¡°The design is James'' work¡­¡± I wave a finger toward my architect and fellow director¡­ ¡°¡­ I think he was hankering for Spain while he was putting pencil to paper.¡± James nods pleased agreement. ¡°If there¡¯s one thing the Spanish understand about city nning, it¡¯s how to use outside space so that everyone benefits¡­¡± His voice trails away as he realises Klempner¡¯s not listening, instead his attention is on the women. Mitch and Elizabeth areparing notes on a trim bra and pantie set. In a shade of the deep jade green both women suit so well, trimmed withce, it looks quite lovely. Mitch holds the set up against Charlotte, who scowls and leans away. James sighs, stands, and strolls around the table. Stooping to ear level, he says something quiet to Charlotte. Her eyes widen and, swallowing, she epts the lingerie set in apparent surrender, but sits, still stiff-backed and belligerent. James strolls back, shaking his head. ¡°You¡¯d think she didn¡¯t need clothes.¡± I¡¯m intrigued. ¡°What did you say?¡± ¡°I told her what I''ll do to her when I find she''s wearing them. And what I¡¯ll do if she doesn¡¯t.¡± Klempner winces and looks away. ¡°That''s my daughter you''re talking about.¡± ¡°It''s my wife I''m talking about.¡± He res, then shrugging, turns to Charlotte. ¡°Which taxidermist assaulted you?¡± he drawls. She looks away, folds her arms. ¡°For what it''s worth to you,¡± he continues, ¡°I didn''t much want to lounge for two hours by the women''s lingerie department either.¡± Her mouth purses. Klempner leans across the table, resting on folded arms. His voice low. ¡°If you don''t put on a good face and start showing some courtesy to your mother, you and I are going to cross swords.¡± Still, Charlotte says nothing, simply lifts her chin, stares him down. James speaks equally quietly. ¡°As will you and I.¡± Charlotte blinks. Her mouth opens and closes before she ducks her head. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll try.¡± James inclines his head. ¡°I¡¯m pleased to hear it.¡± Charlotte¡¯s blink is matched by Klempner¡¯s. Picking up his ss, his gaze flickers between James and his suddenly cooperative daughter. What did Mitch make of all that? But Mitch¡¯s attention is elsewhere. Looking out across the square toward the bus station, sheys a hand on Beth¡¯s arm, muttering something I can¡¯t pick out. Beth nods, replying equally quietly. A girl in a cheap cotton print dress and cheaper shoes hovers in the exit of the station. Barely a teenager, wheeling a suitcase behind her, she gazes first one way, then the other. Runaway? Straight out of the small towns. First time away from home... She looks utterly lost. Mitch drums fingernails on the tabletop in a machine-gun rhythm. ¡°What are you going to do about her?¡± Klempner, ss in hand, swishes beer around his mouth, then realising Mitch is addressing him, jolts to attention. ¡°What?¡± ¡°That girl. What are you going to do about her?¡± T¨ºxt belongs to N?velDrama.Org. Bafflement skips across his face. ¡°Do?¡± ¡°Yes. Do. What are you going to do?¡± Klempner follows her pointing finger. ¡°Why me? And anyway, what d¡¯you expect me to do?¡± Mitch leans close. ¡°Look at her. She has no idea,¡± she hisses. ¡°I¡¯d agree.¡± Klempner muses into his ss. ¡°¡­ but this is my fault, how exactly?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not saying it¡¯s your fault¡­¡± Mitch eye-points a figure on a nearby bench. ¡°¡­ but she''ll be eaten alive.¡± The figure makes a show of breaking up bread and tossing the pieces to an iing squadron of pigeons. But it doesn¡¯t take much to see he¡¯s watching the girl. ¡°Hmmm¡­¡± Klempner nods agreement, takes a mouthful of beer and wipes away a foam moustache with the back of his hand. ¡°¡­ Yes, if she hangs around looking that docile, they¡¯ll have her by evening.¡± Distant thunder rumbles into Mitch¡¯s voice. ¡°Larry...¡± He rubs at his forehead. ¡°Mitch, I''m not a branch of the social services. How am I responsible for the girl? I didn''t put her there. She¡¯s made her own choices about where to be.¡± Mitch¡¯s lips press to a line that would cut ss. Cannonballs would bounce off her expression. ¡°I was hoping for a quiet beer.¡± ¡°Your beer won¡¯t fly away.¡± Klempner huffs air¡­ ps his ss onto the tabletop, where it sshes and slops¡­ ps palms on his knees. ¡°Why me?¡± ¡°Because¡­¡± hisses Mitch, ¡°¡­ thirty years ago, that was me.¡± ¡°Really?¡± Klempner goes very still. His eyes, grey and pale, hold hers. His voice t, ¡°That''s not something you ever mentioned before.¡± Mitch stares him down. ¡°We all have memories we prefer to leave behind.¡± He stares back, then sighs, rubbing at an eye. ¡°I suppose it''s good that I''m not responsible for all of them.¡± Charlotte, thus far silent, ¡°It was me too,¡± she says quietly. Her former stiffness has melted away. Klempner withers her with a nce. ¡°You were never that ingenuous. Besides, I thought I''d just paid for your loyalty?¡± Her face hardens. ¡°That was for something else. Speaking of which...¡± Charlotte snaps fingers at her father. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You owe me. Card please.¡± James¡¯ brows arch as Klempner fishes into a pocket, producing his wallet. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± He arrows a look at Charlotte. Klempner passes the wallet to his daughter. ¡°Just settling a debt,¡± he says drily. ¡°The PIN is¡­¡± ¡°I know the PIN.¡± ¡°Do you, now¡­¡± Klempner¡¯s tone would freeze-dry vinegar. Charlotte smirks, tapping into her phone. Klempner blows out his cheeks, leans toward me. ¡°As though she needed the money,¡± he mutters. He sniffs. ¡°Perhaps I should change the PIN¡­¡± James snorts. ¡°She doesn''t need the money. And don¡ät worry about the PIN. Charlotte wouldn¡¯t steal from you. She just enjoyed skinning you for the cash.¡± ¡°Larry...¡± Mitch shoots lightning bolts. ¡°¡­ The girl.¡± He hauls himself from his seat. ¡°If you insist, Mitch. If you insist.¡± ***** KLEMPNER What the fuck am I supposed to do about the silly little bitch? Haswell watches Mitch¡¯s performance in silence, his lips quirking. I¡¯m not getting any support from James either. He sits, chin propped in the crook of thumb and forefinger, the palm covering his mouth. Jenny nces up from where she¡¯s happily looting my bank ount, her eyes green as a cat¡¯s. She awards me the smile of an angel, then returns her attention to her purchase. Ah¡­ What the Hell¡­ Mitch is right. The girl¡¯s asking for trouble, dawdling around like that. She might as well wave a card. Rollover avable. Apply here. The figure on the bench looks familiar. His face is angled away from me, but the bodynguage says it all. Feeding time in the shark tank¡­ I knock back my beer, then under Mitch¡¯s gimlet stare, amble across the square. I¡¯ve done this before of course, many times. But with different intentions. As she sees meing, the kid¡¯s all eyes. Barely out of the freckles and knobbly-knees phase. She¡¯d bring a good price to a handler who knew what he was doing. Her voice wavers. ¡°Hello.¡± ¡°Hello.¡± I shove my hands in my pockets. ¡°New in town?¡± She drops eyes, cheeks pinking. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°First time away from home, I suppose?¡± ¡°Umm¡­ Yes.¡± ¡°Got somewhere to go?¡± ¡°No... Not yet.¡± ¡°Any money?¡± ¡°A bit.¡± She toes at the ground, then attempts to pull herself together, lifting her face to meet mine. ¡°¡­I can look after myself.¡± She raises her chin. ¡°I¡¯m going to find a job. Get my own ce.¡± ¡°Is that right?¡± I thumb toward the bench and its upant. From here, I have a partial view of his profile. Definitely familiar¡­ Who the hell is he? ¡°You see that man over there? Blue check shirt. Blond curls and beard. Feeding the pigeons. Or pretending to.¡± She rubs a palm over her thigh, then snatches it back again. ¡°Yes. What about him?¡± ¡°He was watching you until I arrived. He still is, but he¡¯s wondering who I am. If you hang around here, he''s going toe and offer to buy you a drink. Or to pay for your lunch, perhaps. He''ll be persistent¡­¡± Her eyes and mouth form Os¡­ ¡°¡­ If you walk away, you¡¯ll find that you identally bump into him again, maybe in a cafe. Or he¡¯ll have your purse and say you dropped it.¡± Her breathing is rapid. She shifts on her feet, her weight moving from left foot to right and back again. I continue. ¡°Once he¡¯s got you talking, he¡¯ll invite you to a party. Or maybe he¡¯ll tell you he knows someone with a room going cheap. Then, when you¡¯ve agreed and gone along with him, you''ll find you''ve been offered that job you were talking about. But it won¡¯t be the one you¡¯re looking for, and he won''t take no for an answer¡­¡± She looks half-catatonic¡­ ¡°Do you understand what I¡¯m telling you?¡± The girl pales, hunching. ¡°Yes,¡± she whispers. Her eyes redden and gloss. ¡°I only want to find some work. Get my own ce. I can¡¯t go back home.¡± Her palm slides down again, this time stroking her belly. ¡°I understand that. We can¡¯t always go back home. Sometimes there¡¯s no home to go back to.¡± She¡¯s trembling. ¡°Do you know where thebour exchange is? Or the jobcentre?¡± I turn, angle a finger back at Haswell, watching me from behind the mirrored sunsses. ¡°You see that man there? Wearing the shy shades. With the smile like a smug cat? He''s an important man in this City. I happen to know he''s hiring trainee secretaries. Go over, introduce yourself. If you make a good impression, you won''t find a better employer.¡± Her breathing shudders. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Yes, really.¡± Chapter 44 – The Idylls of March #16 Chapter 44 ¨C The Idylls of March #16 KLEMPNER The kid takes a step in Haswell¡¯s direction, then halts again. ¡°How do I know you¡¯re not trying to trick me? I don¡¯t know you. Or him.¡± ¡°Now you¡¯re asking the right questions. You don¡¯t, but look him up on your phone, Richard Haswell. Find a photo of him. You¡¯ll see who he is.¡± She bobs, almost curtsies. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°You¡¯re wee. Now, if you''ll excuse me...¡± She toddles away, her cheap case trundling behind. Haswell¡¯s head cocks as he registers she¡¯s heading his way. I resist a grin, instead sauntering across to the bench with its watching wolf. And now, close up, I know who it is. Florence O¡¯Shae. And spoiling for a fight if the set of his shoulders can be judged¡­ The day''s looking up. He''s a nasty bruiser with a bad rep. But with a face like a lived-in shirt, guileless blue eyes and a mass of blond curls, he charms those who don¡¯t know any better. ¡°Long time. No see, Flurry.¡± He jolts, jerks his head around, then turns fully to face me, thering on fake Celtic charm like honey. ¡°Well, if it ain¡¯t the man himself.¡± Irnd ripples through his voice. ¡°I heard a rumour you were dead, Larry¡­¡± ¡°You know what they say about listening to rumours¡­¡± ¡°¡­ Then, I heard you''d left the City...¡± ¡°As you see...¡± ¡°So, you''re back.¡± I show him my teeth. ¡°As you see.¡± He settles back, stretches out legs crossed at the ankles, spreads arms across the back of the bench. ¡°And what can I do for you, Larry?¡± ¡°You can leave that one be for a start.¡± I nod towards Suitcase Girl, now sitting at the table by Mitch, talking animatedly to Haswell¡­ Cut off her hands, she¡¯d be struck dumb¡­ ¡°Oh?¡± He scans around the square. ¡°I''d not seen any of your spotters on her.¡± ¡°You''re not supposed to. Move on.¡± The smile freezes. ¡°What puts you at t¡¯head of the queue? You think you can just breeze in and take over again? Besides, I saw her first.¡± ¡°There¡¯ll be others. There always are.¡± He shrugs. ¡°S¡¯pose. But professionals don¡¯t trespass on each other¡¯s turf.¡± His eyes linger over the table. ¡°Nice looking women there. They yours?¡± ¡°What¡¯s it to you?¡± ¡°Nothing I s¡¯pose.¡± He cocks his head. ¡°Another rumour¡­ I heard you did for that charmer, Finchby.¡± ¡°Finchby had the charm of a blocked nostril. No one¡¯s going to miss him. Why don''t we discuss it over a beer...¡± I offer out a hand toward the nearest bar, let O¡¯Shea lead the way. ¡°There¡¯s a table in the shade over there at the back¡­¡± An alleyway edges the bar, cool and gloomy¡­ ¡­ Beckoning¡­ O¡¯Shea slides along the side of the table. At thest moment, from behind, I grab him by belt and cor, propelling him down the alley¡­ ¡°What the fuck!¡± The alley may be gloomy only, not dark, but against the brilliant sunshine of the square, we¡¯re effectively invisible. And alone¡­ While he¡¯s still mouthing off protests, I m O¡¯Shae, face-first, against the wall. Air Oomphs from his chest as he impacts and the Crack! of his face crashing against brickwork echoes in the confined space. He screams, breaking free of my grip with panic-induced strength, spinning to face me. But the sense is rattled from him and before he gets it together again, I follow up with my right fist into his belly, then finish the job the wall started with the left. Cartge cracks under the impact, blood spurting from both nostrils. He doubles over, clutching at his gut, then drops to the ground, gasping. ¡°Christ Jaysus, Larry. What¡¯cha ying at?¡± I lean over him, deliberately looming, supporting myself with one hand t on the wall, reaching behind to my belt sheath with the other. ¡°It¡¯s Mr Klempner to you. I''m finding you tedious, Flurry. I don''t like tedium. It irritates me. If you continue to irritate me, I''ll slit your throat. If you trespass here again, I''ll slit your throat. What¡¯s mine is mine, and you¡¯ll get the fuck away without asking questions. Got that?¡± He wheezes around his belly, retching at the ground, sshing gore onto nicelyid stone gs. ¡°Got it.¡± ¡°This square¡¯s out of bounds to you and your business. If I see you hanging around here, or any of your This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. cronies, we¡¯ll continue this discussion. And¡­¡± I rest the edge of my knife to the pulse at his neck... ¡°¡­if the next words I hear aren''t, Yes, Mr Klempner, I''ll slice you open here and now.¡± He raises a surrendering hand. ¡°Yes, Mr Klempner.¡± ¡°Good. So long as we understand each other. Kneel up.¡± Eyes wild, he obeys, his nose streaming red down over his shirt. The edge of the knife still pricking at his throat, I fish the other de from my pocket. ¡°Now¡­ don¡¯t move unless you want to wear your smile wider than that clown back there.¡± ¡°What¡­?¡± ¡°I said, stay still.¡± I bring the razor-edge to his face. ¡°You wouldn''t want me to fumble this, would you.¡± ¡°What the fuck¡­?¡± His eyeballs swivel sidelong. Smooth against the skin, I slide the edge down against his left cheek. Blond hair flutters to the ground. O¡¯Shea¡¯s trembling. Violently trembling. More hair slices away from his cheek, spinning into the breeze. ¡°To answer your earlier point, this is my turf, and you will stay the fuck...¡± I nick the skin... ¡°... off it.¡± He flinches, not quite suppressing a shriek. ¡°I did tell you to stay still. Now you¡¯ve cut your face.¡± Blood trickles down his neck, joining the flow from his nose. In the shadow of the alley, the steel edge glints bright next to his cheek. A final stroke of the de and most of the facial hair on the left side of his face has gone. Swiping my de over a clean bit of his shirt wipes away a few stray hairs. O¡¯Shae shudders out of his freeze. ¡°What kind of fucking maniac carries a knife and a cut-throat razor in his pocket?¡± ¡°Guess.¡± Snapping the de close, I shove it back in my pocket. ¡°I¡¯ll see you around, Flurry. But not around here.¡± I straighten my jacket, roll my shoulders, dust down my pants. Back out in the square, the sky is blue. The sun is bright. Above me, saplings burst brilliant green buds. My knuckles sting. Wiping them clean of blood with a tissue, I snap fingers open and closed a couple of times, then crack the joints. Inhaling air sweet with tree blossom, I stroll back to join my wife and daughter. What a beautiful day¡­ ***** JAMES Klempner breezes back. Richard gifts him a look that would shrivel paint¡­ A neat trick from behind mirrored sunsses¡­ ¡°That was a dirty move. I had to invent a training post on the spot.¡± Klempner¡¯s cheeks suck hollow and his eyes crease as he sits. The waiter hovers. ¡°Another beer, sir?¡± ¡°Thank you, yes.¡± Apparently in high good humour, he nces around. ¡°Where¡¯s the kid?¡± ¡°She has a name¡­¡± Richard could be chewing a wasp. ¡°¡­ Lydia. You didn¡¯t take the time to learn that?¡± Klempner¡¯s forehead wrinkles. ¡°Should I have?¡± He flexes and re-flexes the fingers of his left hand. Mitch peers close. ¡°How did you skin your knuckles?¡± ¡°Belt buckle.¡± Richard nods across the square to where Lydia is walking away, her suitcase rattling behind. At the edge of the square, she looks back over her shoulder, shoots a sunny smile at Klempner, then lifts her hand in a wriggle-fingered wave. He stares at her, quite nkly¡­ Freakin¡¯ clueless¡­ Richard continues, ¡°I sent her to The Imperial. Told her she could work there for bed and board until I can get HR to interview her next week. Should you decide to rearrange my staff on another asion, I¡¯d appreciate a little notice.¡± Klempner rocks back onto two chair legs, his tone airy. ¡°I can see the publicity¡­¡± He swipes palms up and over an invisible billboard, then writes headlines in the air with a forefinger. Speaking in orator mode, somehow enunciating capital letters onto each word, ¡°City Billionaire Phnthropist Opens Training Centre For Runaways And Homeless Teenagers¡­¡± Twin mirrors hold on Klempner for a long pause before Richard takes off the sunsses, setting them on the table, then props his chin on a fist, the forefinger pressed to his lips. I inspect the bottom of my coffee cup while I rearrange my features to an expression of polite interest. Klempner hasn¡¯t finished. He jabs a forefinger at Richard. ¡°You are alwaysining there¡¯s not enough practical training around. I¡¯ve heard youment on several asions about job applicants money where your mouth is. If kids like that¡­¡± He aims a finger at Lydia¡¯s retreating back¡­ ¡°¡­ had ready alternatives, it wouldn¡¯t be so easy for the likes of yon¡­¡± He jerks a thumb behind him, to where a figure stands at the end of an alleyway, blood streaking down his shirt, creased double and gasping¡­ ¡°¡­ to get their foot in the door.¡± I focus on the wheezing figure. He¡¯s just too far away for a clear view of his features, but, ¡°What happened to his beard?¡± Klempner gives a wolf-grin. ¡°Bad hair day.¡± Charlotte matches the grin. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be keeping out of trouble. What if he reports you?¡± He huffs and shrugs, gulps at his beer. ¡°O¡¯Shea was stalking a minor. He¡¯ll have a boxer¡¯s nose and razor burn. What¡¯s he going to report me for? Intimidation with intent to inflict a nasty rash?¡± Richard sucks at his teeth, silently, staring into space. Then, ¡°James, what''s the state of y with Finchby¡¯s old rats¡¯ nest?¡± It takes me a moment to focus on his question¡­ Aahhh¡­ Sheer genius¡­ Poetic justice¡­ ¡°The site¡¯s been cleared. Groundworks are about to start. I''d tentatively designated it for apartments, being right by the waterside. But nothing¡¯s set in stone.¡± Richard Hmmms, chewing at his lower lip, then fishes in his pocket for his phone. Tapping in, "Francis? I want you to make me an appointment with Mayor Vandervoort and whoever''s his head of Social Services." He pauses, then, "Also, tell them to have the departmental head from the City Employment and Training Section there." He taps off, sets the phone down, gives a satisfied Hmmph. ¡°I believe there would be a certain justice in recycling that particr venue in that particr way.¡± Beth slips a hand over his. "You know, sometimes, I¡¯m very proud to be your wife." Richard smiles white against tanned skin. "Good business sense. The more of the City poption that¡¯s trained and employed, the more can afford to buy what I build." But I notice that Mitch too has taken Klempner''s hand in hers. ***** Chapter 45 – The Idylls of March #17 Chapter 45 ¨C The Idylls of March #17 KLEMPNER Haswell tops up Beth¡¯s winess, then Mitch¡¯s ¡°So, have you two finished your shopping?¡± The pair exchange nces. ¡°There¡¯s just a few bits and bobs I still want,¡± says Mitch. Her eyes sh wicked. ¡°And I believe Beth wants to buy you a surprise.¡± ¡°A surprise?¡± Haswell¡¯s brows rise. ¡°And what¡­¡± His words are cut off by the rising wail of a siren¡­ Heads turn. People rise from their seats, brows furrowing. Children squawk protests. A police car squeals to a halt at the far side of the square. Then another. And another. Squad cars arrow in. An ambnce is close behind. Police tumble out of the cars, some dashing through the park entrance, others pushing back the crowd. Bords blocking entrance to traffic descend into the sidewalk and the ambnce mee-maws in, pedestrians parting before it. "What the hell''s going on?" mutters Haswell. ¡°To have the police arriving in those sorts of numbers¡­¡± ¡°Bomb scare?¡± suggests James. Haswell shes rm, spins, gesturing Ross over. ¡°Apany Elizabeth back to the car immediately, please. Get her home." The driver cups Beth¡¯s elbow. ¡°Let¡¯s get you out of here, Mrs Haswell.¡± She doesn¡¯t look happy. "But..." Haswell kisses her forehead. "Go. I''ll see youter." Meekly, she turns to follow the driver. Haswell''s judgement is good. I agree with him. "Mitch, I''d like you to go too." She frowns, her lips parting. Haswellys his hand on hers. "Please, Mitch, go with Elizabeth. You''d be doing me a favour. She¡¯s more nervous than you and I¡¯d like her to havepany." Mitch¡¯s mouth purses. She knows she¡¯s being eased out. ¡°And Jenny?¡± James jangles car keys. ¡°I¡¯ll get her back, Mitch.¡± She nods, turns and joins the departing pair. Haswell gives me an apologetic look. "Sorry if I shoved in my oar uninvited there. It seemed the fastest way to avoid arguments. Mitch is..." He hesitates. "Less inclined to take instruction than Beth," I finish. ¡°Quite.¡± ¡°No, you don¡¯t!¡± It¡¯s James, sprinting half a dozen steps to snag Jenny by the elbow. ¡°Whatever¡¯s happening over there, it¡¯s nothing to do with you.¡± She protests, spinning an arm toward the growing activity across the square. ¡°I only wanted to go see what¡­¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care what you wanted. Stay out of it.¡± He steers her back to us. ¡°It¡¯s time to head home anyway. Michael is due a break.¡± ¡°Quite right,¡± says Haswell. ¡°We should all be heading back. Where are you parked, James?¡± ¡°Just around the corner.¡± ***** James takes the driver¡¯s seat, Haswell getting in beside him. I open the rear door for Jenny, close it behind her, then tap on the driver¡¯s window. As it winds down, ¡°I¡¯ll see you in a while.¡± James frowns. ¡°You¡¯re noting with us?¡± ¡°No, I want to see what¡¯s happening back there.¡± Jenny moves to open her door. ¡°I''lle with you.¡± I ignore her. ¡°Get Jenny out of here. It might take you and Haswell together to do it.¡± He nods, pping down the child lock, then against Jenny¡¯s enraged protests, pulling away. ***** Police are everywhere, holding back the crowd, redirecting scowling shoppers. Lights sh blue. Another siren wails in and a squad car muscles through the now-congested traffic and into the park. At the junction, more official vehicles arrive from the opposite direction. People shift and surge, reacting uneasily, too densely packed for me to see through. Women, previously window-shopping, scurry away. Others are streaming away, small children gripped by the wrist, bawling as they are towed from the scene. ¡°Don¡¯t wanna go home. Wanna y. Wanna go on the swings.¡± Some men do the same with the women they apany, drawing them away from the growing chaos. Other couples stand, ck-jawed, gawping. I suppose I¡¯m as practised a gawper as any. After watching a couple of green-coated medics dashing past, I settle for finding a vantage point, stone steps topped by a statue of a mounted figure in uniform the crowd. Up ahead, police are thick on the ground, setting up a cordon. Technicians are raising a screen with urgent speed, concealing whatever is beyond. From off-side, a logo''d van swerves in: City News. Dodging taxis, trucks and unwary pedestrians it screeches to a halt. Within seconds, it disgorges crew, cameras, and a woman I recognise as a breakfast tv reporter. Hair and face immactely groomed, she yells instructions to her crew. Less than a minuteter, another van pulls in, then another:petitor news stations. Reporters and crowd alike m up against the cordon, police pushing back. A familiar face emerges from one of vehicles, his expression grim. The beefy figure of Haswell¡¯s chum Stanton towers over most of those around him as he strides past the cordon and into the tented enclosure. What the hell¡¯s going on? Maybe James was right¡­ The policemissioner doesn''t turn up in person because someone''s had their pocket picked. Microphones aim his way. "Commissioner! Can you confirm reports of another victim of the sher?" "Sir, is this serial killer now running free in the City?" Stanton pushes past, his face visibly red even under his dark skin. "Noment." His eyes sweep the reporters, the crowd, briefly settle on me. His gaze lingers before he gives me a brief nod, then moves on and he vanishes into the enclosure. The City News reporter is thering away to the camera. I can''t hear a word. After a moment, my own stupidity ps me in the face, and I pull up the station on my mobile. The reporter standing ahead of me speaks on-screen above ticker-tape headlines scrolling beneath... Breaking News... "Reports are that that the so-called sher has imed another victim. The remains were found a short time ago by a jogger on his morning run. The identity of the victim has not yet been released, but police confirm the victim is female and was dead when discovered. A reliable source indicates that, behind closed doors, officials are now calling the killer, ¡®The Surgeon¡¯. City News is informed that Police Commissioner William Stanton will be making a statement shortly..." I¡¯m distracted from the report by something¡­ ¡­ catching my eye¡­ ¡­ a sh of something bright¡­ But a quick scan forward doesn¡¯t g up whatever it was caught my peripheral vision¡­ Men in working clothes, or suit, or jeans, trainers, tee-shirts and hoodies, craning and gawping. Women in whatever¡¯s passing for fashion, or tucking kids into their skirts, scurrying away. Groups of gawking teenagers, some pretending bravado¡­ A woman with bleached blonde hair stands beside them¡­ Perhaps that was it. A sh of silver hair. People mill and sway. It¡¯s hard to pick out detail. A couple of faces I recognise mutter together. Tarik and Dawes run a cathouse down by the docks, not far from where Finchby once had his dive, before I started Haswell¡¯s nned demolition works early. Heads close, they talk sidelong to each other¡­ Bad for business¡­ A pair of obvious street hookers cling together, arms wrapped around each others¡¯ waists. What am I looking for? I¡¯m not sure, but internal radar is gging up something that my conscious brain hasn¡¯t caught up with. I¡¯ve learned to listen to my unconscious. It pays more attention sometimes than I do. I scan the scene, quartering the ground with my eyes: Police tent¡­ Cordon¡­ Officers¡­ Reporters¡­ Yelling idiots waving cards¡­ What the fuck good do they think that does? ¡­ Young¡­ Old¡­ Male¡­ Female¡­ White¡­ Brown¡­ ck¡­ And every shade between¡­ It¡¯s as good a slice of humanity as you could see. The lurid details of the murders that have made it to the press have prompted spection, but previous reports had been that the women taken had been found in out of the way spots: alleys, backnes. I recall one was dumped in the river. But to happen here, in this ce, in the beating heart of the City, something like a panic reaction is sparking¡­ None of that answers why my gut is telling me to look at the crowd and not the police scene¡­ I sweep the stage again¡­ Aahhh¡­ A familiar face pushes out from the melee. Borje... What¡¯s he doing here? Middle of the working day¡­ ? Watching the show? He''s flushed, as though he''s been running, and his silver-blond hair is disordered, dark with sweat. He pushes against the fric crowd, I think angling for a better view. Maybe trying to get closer to the cordon. Scanning ahead, his gaze sweeps over and past the throng, then sweeps back, settling on me. Eyes widening, he nods acknowledgement, but then, as a gap opens, he sets off again at a run and I lose him in the chaos. Making my way down the steps I push through, but I¡¯ve lost him. Shit! Weaving through young and old alike, I follow the line of sight I had¡­ ¡°Do you mind!¡± ¡°S¡¯cuse me¡­¡± But he¡¯s gone, vanished as though he¡¯d never been there. ¡°Excuse me, sir. Get back from there.¡± A police officer blocks my way, giving me a meaningful nod. Do I tell James? No¡­ He thinks the man¡¯s a friend¡­ ConTEent bel0ngs to N?v(e)lD/rama(.)Org . And truthfully, what do I know? Nothing. ***** Chapter 46 – The Idylls of March #18 Chapter 46 ¨C The Idylls of March #18 CHARLOTTE I¡¯m still not used to it. Still don¡¯t take it for granted. Shopping bags stashed in a corner, we sit together: me, Mom, Dad, Vicky. My family. One part of it anyway. Family¡­ Mom rocks Vicky, humming. After a few minutes, she puts her into her carrycot. ¡°Keep an eye on her would you, Jenny. I¡¯m going to make some tea. Would you like some?¡± ¡°Sure, Mom. And yes, thanks.¡± ¡°Larry, you want tea?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have a coffee if you¡¯re making it.¡± Mom leaves, my father following her with his eyes as she exits. When she¡¯s gone, his gaze drops to where my little sister lies sleeping, bubbles blowing as she breathes out, deting as her chest rises. Almost never does he smile, and unlike my Master, I know that there is no smile hidden behind his nk face. He sits to one side, expression hooded, but watchful. Nheless, something in that expression is¡­ odd¡­ Always since I¡¯vee to know him¡­ ¡­ to re-know him¡­ ¡­ if Mom is in the room, he watches her. All the time. Even if he¡¯s talking with someone else, his eyes repeatedly flick back to her. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s deliberate. I¡¯m not sure even if he realises he does it. But always, his attention centres on her. But now, Mom¡¯s not here, if only for a few minutes. And instead, he watches Vicky. And I watch him¡­ He doesn¡¯t notice. After half a minute, ¡°What is it?¡± I ask. He blinks. ¡°What¡¯s what?¡± ¡°The way you¡¯re looking at Vicky.¡± He blinks again. Looks away. Doesn¡¯t look back. His voice sounds faraway. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It feels¡­ unfamiliar¡­¡± ¡°What does?¡± His Adam¡¯s apple bobs. ¡°That kid today. I think she¡¯d been thrown out of her home, but she¡¯s someone¡¯s daughter. And there¡¯s some idiot on the loose cutting up women for fun.¡± He stares down again at Vicky. ¡°If anyone tried to hurt her, I''d rip their throat out with my teeth.¡± Iugh. But it¡¯s not a realugh. ¡°I believe you.¡± And now, he looks back to me. ¡°Jenny¡­ I''m sorry. When you were a child¡­¡± ¡°It''s done. It''s past...¡± He nods, looking away again. ¡°¡­You never touch Vicky. You could pick her up. Give her a cuddle.¡± He straightens up, suddenly un-weird again. ¡°I think I''ll leave that to your mother. And you. I might break something. Let¡¯s use the skills we have. Not the ones we don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Skills? Mom does the cuddling? You do the throat ripping-out?¡± He looks me in the eye, grins. ¡°Pretty much, yes.¡± ***** KLEMPNER The deep of the night and it''s the two of us. Just the two of us. Even Vicky, in her cot close by, is asleep. Mitch lies beside me, bathing me with her body heat, her steady breathing calming me. Something writhes and churns inside me, but like this, I know that whatever happens, it¡¯s alright. Really¡­ T¨ºxt belongs to N?velDrama.Org. Everything¡¯s alright. So long as Mitch is here, nothing can go wrong. I spoon up behind, wanting her closer, but stray hairs tickle at my face, making me want to sneeze. Moving carefully, I ease long locks of hair to one side, but almost instantly, the rhythm of her breathing changes and she rolls to face me. ¡°Larry.¡± She smiles, reaches, touches my cheek. ¡°Sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to wake you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m d you did.¡± She moves, contouring herself to me, long graceful arms weaving around my shoulders. She reaches for my mouth with hers and my groin jolts. I smooth over her with my palm: long, soft strokes over her shoulders, the inward arc her waist then, as she lies back, her neck and breasts. She sighs as I stoop to kiss a nipple, her fingers slipping into my hair. There¡¯s no hurry, no urgency. She caresses the back of my head as,ying my cheek in her breast, I continue stroking her. The defined line of a hip. The slight curve of her stomach. Mitch shifts under me, her breath catching. ¡°Mitch?¡± She doesn¡¯t speak. ¡°Mitch, am I doing something wrong?¡± She hesitates then, ¡°No, it¡¯s not you. It¡¯s me.¡± ¡°You?¡± ? ? ¡°Mitch, did I misunderstand you? I¡­ I thought you wanted to make love. If you don¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°I do. It¡¯s¡­¡± Her words dry up. ¡°Tell me. If something¡¯s upsetting you¡­?¡± She Tuts, but it doesn¡¯t sound as though it¡¯s aimed at me. Then, huffing, she sits up, flicking on her sidelight, pulling the sheet around her like armour. I sit up with her. ¡°Something is upsetting you. What is it? Have you quarrelled with Jenny?¡± She turns her face away, eyes closing for a moment, then turns back, resting a hand over her stomach. ¡°It''s the stretch marks. I didn''t get any the first time with Jenny, but this time, my skin¡¯s older. When you touched me there¡­¡± She falters, falls silent. I want to hold her, but I¡¯m not sure if I should. I do it anyway, pulling her to me, her head resting against my chest as I kiss her hair. ¡°Shhh... Don''t be foolish. We''re both older. I''m hardly untouched by the years. And you¡¯re as beautiful as the day I met you.¡± ¡°I thought¡­ I¡­ Larry, you''re not having regrets, are you?¡± ¡°Regrets?¡± I¡¯m baffled. Where has thise from? ¡°¡­ What kind of regrets?¡± ¡°This¡­¡± She sits up again, sweeps a hand across the room. ¡°Vicky. Me. You said you wanted to marry me. You''ve not changed your mind?¡± ¡°No. Of course I haven''t. Why would you even ask that?¡± ¡°You¡­ You never... When we make love...¡± She stutters to a halt again. Wtf? ¡°You don''t like my love making?¡± ¡°No... Yes¡­ No¡­ I mean, yes, you''re a wonderful lover. You always were.¡± ¡°So...?¡± ¡°Larry, you¡­ You never initiate sex. It¡¯s always me. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m not as young as I was. I¡¯m aging and I¡­ wondered if perhaps you didn''t want me anymore. I know you thought you wanted me, but now¡­¡± I cut her short. ¡°Mitch, I spent twenty years looking for you. And now you think I''m bored?¡± Despite myself, I chuckle. Points of colour flush onto her cheeks. ¡°It''s not funny. Don''t mock me.¡± ¡°I''m not mocking you. I¡¯m mocking what you¡¯re saying. It¡¯s ridiculous.¡± How to do this¡­ What would James do? I take her hand, sandwiching it between my own. ¡°Mitch, I want you. I have always wanted you. I still want you.¡± Her voice trembles. ¡°If that¡¯s true, why do you never start our love making?¡± Ah¡­ fuck¡­ ¡°Because if I wait for you to start, I know that you want me.¡± She stares at me¡­ ¡­ then bursts outughing. ***** Later, in the dimness of a single candle, she lies in my arms, her face resting against mine, scented of our lovemaking, and a little of the mint tea she often drinks. She traces a finger over my chest. ¡°Where did you get all your scars?¡± ¡°Oh, here and there. Mainly there.¡± ¡°How about this one?¡± She draws a fingernail over a six-inch white pucker which cuts across my ribs. ¡°That one? Knife wound. Corrupt customs official at the Tanzanian border. Changed his mind about how big a bribe he wanted.¡± ¡°It looks as though it was painful.¡± ¡°Could have been worse. It shed over my ribs instead of going through.¡± ¡°What were you taking across the borders?¡± ¡°You know what I was taking, Mitch. I was a trafficker. I''ve left it behind. Is this something you want to talk about?¡± ¡°But you miss it.¡± It''s not a question. ¡°No. At least, not the trafficking part, if that''s what you mean. It was never more than a trade for me. I didn''t get a kick out if it. But¡­¡± ¡°But?¡± ¡°But... I don''t know. I''m not sure.¡± I kiss the top of her head. Perhaps the conversation will go away. ¡°Larry?¡± ¡°Hmmm?¡± ¡°Talk to me.¡± ¡°What about?¡± ¡°You''re stressed.¡± ¡°Am I?¡± ¡°Yes. What''s bothering you?¡± ¡°Nothing¡¯s bothering me.¡± She twists her face to mine, arches a brow. ¡°Really, there¡¯s nothing. I have everything I ever hoped for. Everything I ever wanted. What could be stressing me?¡± Her breath washes over my skin. ¡°You''re suffocating.¡± I swallow. ¡°Mitch, what are we talking about?¡± She sits up, looks down at me. ¡°I mean it. You''re suffocating. You wanted this life, but you¡¯re not used to living like this. I know you''re trying, but you miss the freedom. You need to breathe.¡± Stomach roiling, I sit up beside her. ¡°What are you saying?¡± ¡°Why don''t you take some time for yourself? Visit the City. Take a walk. Have a drink.¡± ¡°Without you?¡± ¡°Without anyone. Be yourself for a while.¡± ¡°You wouldn''t mind?¡± ¡°Why would I mind?¡± She palms my cheek. ¡°It''s not as though I don''t know you''lle back.¡± My mouth is dry. ¡°I''ll alwayse back, Mitch.¡± ¡°I know¡­¡± She chuckles, low and throaty. Presses her lips to mine. ¡°¡­ I know.¡± What did I do to deserve you? ¡°You came back.¡± ¡°Did I say that out loud?¡± She dimples. ¡°You did. Now, tomorrow, go. Get some air.¡± ***** Chapter 47 – The Idylls of March #19 Chapter 47 ¨C The Idylls of March #19 MICHAEL Logs chopped, I follow my nose and the scent of coffee to the kitchen to find James puttering about, scraping something chopped green into a pot on the hob. On the next ring, the coffee pot hisses and spits. "What''re we having?" "Lamb Rogan Josh." He rinses off the chopping board and stacks it into the drainer. "Good timing." He nods to the pot. "Want one?" "Mmmm, please." Five minutester, legs stretched out by the hearth, coffee in hand and the promise of James'' creation drifting by my nose, life''s looking pretty good, when the door swings wide and Charlotte enters... ... and life''s looking even better. She looks great. Long hair swinging loose by her waist, her eyes are made-up, lips tinted. It''s subtle and lovely and suits her fineplexion perfectly. The skirt and blouse she''s wearing cling and billow in all the right ces, and she moves with grace and a bloom about her that says¡­ My stomach clutches¡­ James, stooping as he slides a tray into the oven, straightens up, measuring her with his eyes. She bobs him a nod and he goes to the fridge, takes out a bottle of bubbly. Charlotte''s smile creases dimples into her cheeks. Sitting up straight, I pat my knee and she sits on my James offers a flute, filled golden, bubbles shooting sparkling lines upward before popping into mist at the surface. But she shakes her head. "No, Master. Thank you, but not wine." His mouth and eyes lift as he pushes the ss into her hand. "Not wine. It¡¯s elderflower cordial." My stomach clutches again, then flips. "You''re off wine?" "Yes." She kisses my cheek, looks me in the face. "I''m off wine for about the next eight months." "Oh, God¡­ You''re pregnant? You''re sure?" "I''m pregnant. And yes, I''m sure." Flinging my arms around her, I squeeze tight and James darts in, snatching the ss from her. "Oh, God¡­ Oh, God¡­ Oh, God¡­ That''s marvellous. That''s brilliant!" Standing, taking Charlotte up with me, I spin, spinning her with me. I''mughing out loud and Charlotte''sughing with me. "That''s absolutely fucking amazing." Pulling her in, an arm around her waist, another cupping her head, I squeeze, then nt a kiss on her mouth. "Isn''t that amazing, James?" "Yes, it is." He prises her from me, kisses her forehead. "Congrattions. Both of you. And I''m sure Cara will enjoy having a younger brother or sister." "What''s happening?" Klempner stands in the doorway, perplexity creasing his forehead. Mitch is close behind him but looks merely expectant. I prise our wife away from her other husband, turning her to face her parents. "Your daughter has just told us she is expecting her second child." Mitch pushes past and I have to surrender Charlotte again, this time as her mother embraces her. "I''m so pleased for you. I know it''s what you wanted." "Yes..." Klempner''s voice is quiet. "Congrattions, Jenny and..." His gaze lingers on me. ¡°¡­ Michael, James. All of you." James produces another bottle from the fridge... "Champagne all round, except..." and he nods Charlotte to her flute of cordial. "What''s the asion?" Richard and Beth now stand framed by the doorway, but Beth''s eyes are bright as they drop to Charlotte''s still t stomach. "Yes?" Charlotte grins. "Yes." "Yay!¡± Beth charges forward, arms flung wide, engulfing Charlotte and Mitch together. Then, she pauses, looking to me, to James, to me again. "Yes?" "Yes," I say. The arms fling again, this time around me. "Congrattions! You did it, the two of you." Klempner''s eyes roll. Richard ps him on the arm. "Take it in your stride, man. It works for them. That''s what''s important." "It''s what I promised to do," says Charlotte. "I''m keeping my promise." ***** T¨ºxt belongs to N?velDrama.Org. KLEMPNER They don¡¯t need me. With celebrations all round, it¡¯s as good a time as any to make myself scarce. Shrugging a jacket from the hook by the door, I head out. Breathe¡­ Driving down the mountain, with no clear idea of where I¡¯m going, I steer on autopilot. Mitch is right. Fuck knows I''ve spent enough of my life alone. And I know that I don¡¯t want that life again. But somehow, with Mitch¡¯s blessing, I can admit to myself that what I¡¯m feeling is the Call of the Wild. In the City, I park up. What to do? I¡¯ve no idea. Aimless, I wander the streets, enjoying the feel of having the swarm around me but not being a part of it. Roaming at random, I follow my feet, seeing what¡¯s to be seen¡­ It feels good. Walking. Just walking. Just me. Watching the crowds. Crowd-watching is always revealing. I''m hardly the sociable type, but you can learn a lot by simply strolling, taking in the mood. The mood''s ugly. The A-board by a newsstand is headlined: sher strikes again. City Police Baffled. Police Commissioner William Stanton pressured to exin¡­ Stanton Out ¨C Demands increase for resignation¡­ Generally, I read James¡¯ and Haswell¡¯s papers. I seldom bother to buy my own. This time, I make an exception. Without really thinking about it, I find myself gravitating back to the square. Both cordon and enclosure are still in ce by the park entrance, but the square itself has recovered some air of normality. It¡¯s a thoroughly agreeable spot. When I first knew this area, it was as good an example of urban decay as you could ask for: factories and warehouses either run-down or abandoned. The old docks, not far away, were deserted and decaying, a ce of rotting masonry and ironwork, the haunt of junkies, crackheads and the long-lost. All that has gone. A promenade, lined either side by sapling trees, leads to an open za, centred by a fountain. Restaurants and bars make up one side of the square, their terraces spilling over the pedestrian areas, set with tables, upied by eaters, drinkers or simple loungers. The adjacent side leads out into the main city, the traffic, stores, theatres and cinemas. The fourth side opens to the park. As James mentioned, the park¡¯s not new. But until recently it was the squalid haunt of pimps and pushers, hookers and the hooked. All credit to Haswell¡¯s cash and James¡¯ design, they¡¯ve cleared that out. What I remember as a ss-and-needle-strewn wastnd is now clipped turf, and trees dating back to the original glory days rear skyward. By the park gates, the chaos of the previous day has died down. The entrance is partly cordoned off to the public, just a narrow walkway cleared to allow ess. The rest is barriered off, a couple of uniformed officers standing guard. Beyond the entrance, the barrier continues, marking off an area around a screened enclosure. Uniformed and badged individuals enter and leave, purposeful, carrying clipboards and unidentifiable equipment. Press vehicles are parked, nose-to-tail, along the road. A van at the end of the line does a brisk trade in fries, Pepsi and ice cream. Doubtless the press and police presence is bringing in extra custom. A tramp sits close by, perhaps hoping for donations. Whatever¡¯s happening, from here I have as good a view as is avable. Why not? I indulge myself. A table in a sunny corner near the park railings but with a view over the entire square, including the gate. ¡°I¡¯ll have Rioja. Bread and olives. Alioli.¡± The waiter frowns. ¡°Alioli, sir?¡± ¡°Garlic mayonnaise.¡± He shrugs, but my bread and alioli arrive, along with the wine. ¡°Leave the bottle.¡± I¡¯d intended to read the newspaper but find I can¡¯t be bothered. So, I sit... And watch... And think¡­ It''s not warm, the breeze brisk. The sun breaks from between the clouds, then lurks again, casting racing lines of light and shade. But my personal sky is blue. Mitch understands. She doesn''t need me all the time. I should get her something¡­ What? I¡¯ve bought her jewellery before¡­ Maybe something for Jenny too. Something to celebrate. People do that, don¡¯t they? The square reminds me a little of parts of S?o Paulo¡­ Antonio''s bar¡­ Wonder how he''s doing? Maybe I should contact him¡­ A couple sit at the next table, a small child in a stroller with them. The woman talks incessantly. The guy wants to read his paper, but she rattles on at him. Her chatter is punctuated by questions. He produces auto-responses, but after five minutes, his shoulders are rigid. Beyond them is a young woman with her kid squawking next to her and a belly testifying to the imminent arrival of the next squawker. On the other side, three old biddies ten years older than God exchange gossip and Christ-knows-what. All speak at the same time, with no apparent pause for breath. But they seem happy enough. I sip my wine... Then, a bite of bread, thered with the alioli. It''s good, although it''s not the same as eating it in a genuine Mediterranean environment. But it washes down well with more of the wine. Rxing, enjoying myself, I assemble my thoughts into some kind of order. What the hell was I thinking yesterday? Just because Borje happened to be here. He stands Georgie up, and out of that I construct... What? A figment¡­ She a grown woman. Can¡¯t protect her from a bad date¡­ Get a grip. I toss a chunk of bread to one of the pigeons making its jerk-headed walk-by. Within seconds, a dozen more feathered raptors swoop in like the freaking Luftwaffe, wrangling over crumbs. One plummets from above, snatches a piece from my te, scattering what¡¯s left to the ground, then makes off again. To the opportunist, the spoils¡­ No matter¡­ I pour another ss of wine. Sample an olive. They¡¯re rather good. I try another¡­ Everyone around me is with someone else. Except one. A single lone figure, male I think. Not at my bar, but seated at a terrace table of another cafe, angled toward the park entrance, toward the enclosure. His face is concealed by a hoodie, but he sips from a beer, watching the gates. There¡¯s an air about him, somehow, indefinably, perky. Cheerful. Something about his bodynguage sets my neck prickling. Why? What do I think I¡¯m seeing? My antennae are twitching. Chapter 48 – The Idylls of March #20 Chapter 48 ¨C The Idylls of March #20 KLEMPNER On the face of it, the figure is doing the same as I am, watching the world go by. But my interest in the activity by the park is casual. His seems more¡­ focused. Arsonists famously get off on watching the fire services deal with the consequences of their handiwork. Several serial killers I can think of got their kicks by making themselves the centre of attention with the police, giving staged appeals for daughters, wives and girlfriends to be returned by alleged kidnappers, when all the while the poor bitch was already buried under the patio. Am I being ridiculous? Letting my imagination run riot? I don¡¯t know. So¡­ I watch him¡­ watching them¡­ After a while, he knocks back his beer, then leaves his table, strolling across to the snacks van. He pauses, then moves along with a cone of fries. Long-legged, in jeans, sneakers and that damn hoodie, he walks with a spring in his step, jaunty, crossing the square to sit on a bench, still facing toward the gate but now viewing from a different angle. He pops a fry into a mouth I can''t see, but he''s still clearly enjoying the police circus. My waiter hovers. ¡°Anything else, sir?¡± ¡°Just my bill. Do you sell cigarettes?¡± ¡°There''s a vending machine in the bar.¡± ¡°Fetch me a pack. Menthols. And a lighter.¡± Cigarette in hand, trying not to inhale the filthy thing, I dawdle along, angling to see the face behind the hood. A couple of police in uniform stand by the gate, moving along any obvious loiterers, so I retreat toward the van. The vendor is hawking donuts coffee and cans of fizz, burgers and dogs, waying the innocent with the waft of frying onions. asionally he casts the evil eye at the tramp, sitting on a sheet of cardboard, a cap, shiny with wear, set down in front of him. Passers-by skirt around both tramp and cap. ConTEent bel0ngs to N?v(e)lD/rama(.)Org . My stomach growls, reminding me of my abbreviated brunch. Eyeing the sizzling wares, I peer over the counter to check out the state of the kitchen... Seems clean enough... Coffee and a hot dog seems a safe enough purchase and gives me an excuse to hang. The vendor scoops bun, sausage and onions together with practised speed... "Mustard and ketchup on the end." ... and I retreat with my steaming cup and napkin to a bench by the rails, shadowed under an overhanging shrub, not exactly hidden, but inconspicuous enough for me to watch unnoticed. Cradling my lunch in its napkin, I bite in... Hmmm... Genuine dog... No wonder they always serve these things with mustard... The tramp''s watching me, fixed on the thing in my hand. "Want it?" He nods, and I pass it down to him, minus one bite... Whatever he did to end up on the street, he doesn''t deserve what''s in that sausage. On an impulse, I toss a couple of coins into his hat. Cradling my coffee, I sip from my prop... ... and watch... Wind gusts, and the hood billows. For a moment I think I''m going to see the face, but Hoodie Man shrugs it back into ce, tosses his empty cardboard cone into a trashcan, and ambles away. He follows the footpath running along the boundary wall of the park. I saunter behind him,gging by a couple of hundred yards, my newspaper tucked under one arm. The path is used by joggers, dog-walkers and women with babies and small children. A teenager with an overweight spaniel pauses while the dog relieves itself, tugging the dog to one side as Hoodie Man passes. A pair of women pushing strollers part, letting him pass between them. A jogger, earphones arcing over his skull, veers around him. Five minutes walking and he reaches the next entrance to the park, crowded with children gathered around an ice cream kiosk. He joins the queue and I halt, lighting another cigarette, smoking it as he works to the front of the line and buys a co. Making a sharp left turn into the entrance, he vanishes through the gate and grinding the butt under my toe, I set off at a smart pace after him. Inside¡­ ¡­ I don¡¯t see him¡­ Damn! I scan open grass and trees. He can¡¯t possibly have wandered out of sight in the short time he had. Kids bat balls with fathers¡­ Teenage girls giggle at a group of boys, unting their doubtful assets¡­ A smartly dressed woman throws a ball for her mongrel¡­ Ah¡­ ¡­ There he is¡­ Hoodie¡¯s leaning against a tree, eating his ice cream. And still, maddeningly, his face is concealed. And his expression. I can read his bodynguage. I want to see his expression. Strolling in a round-about loop, once more, I try to get the angle for a line-of-sight on him. With a yelp, the mongrel skitters after its ball. It¡¯s a scaled-up version of Michael¡¯s mutt, nondescript, with tufts of hair at random angles. Grizzled around the muzzle, it moves on stiff joints, pitching like a rocking horse as it runs. The ballnds by Hoodie¡¯s feet and the mongrel skids to a halt, ball forgotten, angling hopefully up at thest couple of inches of the ice cream cone. Hoodie yells something and the dog cringes and slinks away, tail down. Hoodie tosses the remains of the co into the bushes. His shoulders quiver. Laughing? Because he scared some geriatric mutt? He checks a wristwatch, pushing back the sleeve to look, then hesitates, as though considering something. Stepping out smartly, he follows a path leading up grassy slopes back toward the main gate, the cordon and the screened off area. Once more, I follow. It¡¯s growing busy and a steady stream of people follow the path with me. As I try to keep Hoodie in view, I dodge and weave. He¡¯s gaining on me, almost at the exit. At the gate, partially blocked as it is, the stream of people tightens and I¡¯m jostling and pushing to get through. In the press of people, I catch a glimpse of the back of the grey hood then am blocked by a woman with the arse and apparent temperament of a hippo. I sidestep left, then right, then push past her¡­ ¡°Do you mind!¡± ¡­ but Hoodie¡¯s vanished. Shoving through the packed horde, I muscle my way out of the gate and into the clear space of the square beyond¡­ ¡­ look left¡­ ¡­ right¡­ ¡­ forward¡­ He¡¯s vanished. ***** Fuck! I spin, seeking my target. Past the press vans¡­ across to the station entrance¡­ the terraces of cafes and restaurants¡­ He¡¯s nowhere in sight. At some level, I know I¡¯m not being reasonable, trailing aplete stranger on barely more than a whim. But something about Hoodie has set my rms ring. Could he have gone into the police enclosure? If he did, then my instincts could be altogether askew. He¡¯s surely some sort of official or investigator. But I trust my instincts. They¡¯ve kept me alive so far. I find a spot on a bench where I can weigh up my options. The police have made a major deal of the affair. Day-glo orange and yellow striped tape, Police - Crime Scene - Do Not Pass, flutters between posts, with only the single entrance and a pair of uniformed officers standing sentry: passing some automatically, checking ID on others. Within the cordon is the screened enclosure. The screen rises above eye-level and beyond that is what looks like a tented area or marquee. Although the ess point though the screen isn¡¯t guarded, only police and what look like medical or forensics staff are passing through, some in overshoes and full- body paper coveralls. The press are herded into a corral set between the outer cordon and the screen, thering to cameras and into microphones. One woman taps into her phone, apparently writing some report on the spot. One of the gate officers, a blonde girl, looking barely old enough to legally wear the uniform, passes someone through: a man clutching a tablet, talking non-stop into an ear-mike, wearing apel badge, Glen Burwell: City Inquirer. She gestures him toward the press enclosure. Herpanion, a big bruiser, moves a couple of dawdling busybodies along. A geeky-looking type staggers from one of the press vans, loaded with boxes and cases stacked too high. At the entrance, Bruiser checks his badge then admits him, again waving him to the enclosure. Geeky unloads his stuff and returns to his van, vanishing into the bowels. When he exits again, a minute or soter, he¡¯s loaded with reels of cable. Jostled by the crowd, several loops of cable magically uncoil from their reel, trailing and tangling between his feet¡­ To the opportunist, the spoils¡­ ¡°Here, let me help you.¡± Picking up his escaped cables, I wind them back onto the reel. ¡°Thanks, Man. It¡¯s chaos in there.¡± ¡°I can imagine. What¡¯s happening?¡± ¡°Haven¡¯t you heard? The sher¡¯s got another one, ¡®cept that they¡¯ve changed the name. They¡¯re calling him ¡®The Surgeon¡¯ now.¡± Clutching his cables, ¡°Sorry, gotta go. I¡¯m needed up there. Thanks for your help.¡± He lurches away, to be stopped by the uniform on duty, cursing as he¡¯s not admitted and he realises he¡¯s not wearing his ID. Muttering to himself, he returns to his vehicle, I assume to look for his miid badge. I make for the snacks van. ***** Chapter 49 – The Idylls of March #21 Chapter 49 ¨C The Idylls of March #21 KLEMPNER Tapping on the door of the press vehicle for City TV, I bnce my tray, actually the upturned lid of a carton of soft drinks. As it opens, I brush past an e¡¯d face-scape into the smoky interior. ¡°Hi, wasn¡¯t sure how many I was buying for¡­¡± I present a stuffed box. ¡°Hey, those donuts?¡± Faces spin from screens and control panels. A variety of sweaty bodies crowd round and I try to hold my breath. ¡°Yeah. I got a bit of all sorts. There¡¯s jelly, custard-filled, chocte coated, and sugar dusted and¡­¡± Injecting some apology into my voice. ¡°¡­ I didn¡¯t know if you wanted your caffeine hot or cold so I got half coffees and half Pepsis¡­¡± I let my voice trail off. From the size of the van I was estimating a crew of maybe five or six maximum, so a box of a dozen donuts is plenty. Maybe I underestimated. Hands snatch from all directions. Worse than pigeons¡­ An Asian type, clutching the custard option, looks properly at me. ¡°Sorry, but who¡­?¡± ¡°Central sent me over. They reckoned you¡¯d need an extra pair of hands on this one.¡± ¡°Too right.¡± She bites into a donut and yellow cream squirts backwards. Her mouth full as she speaks, ¡°Hey, can you get these print-outs to Max? It¡¯s what the researchers came up with from the archives on the Boswell Knifer.¡± ¡°Sure. Where¡¯ll I find him?¡± ¡°Over in the Press Enclosure. You got your press pass?¡± ¡°Yeah¡­¡± I tap mypel badge, half-concealing it with my hand in the process. ¡°No, you¡¯ll need the red pass. They¡¯re limiting numbers now. Here, I¡¯ll get you one.¡± Perfect. ***** A stack of files under one arm, I stride toward the enclosure entrance. ¡°I¡¯m looking for Max.¡± Blondie and Bruiser give me a cursory nce and wave me through to the press section. ***** Dumping the files onto the nearest City News rep I can find, I find a corner away from the general melee of preening, narcissism and asional reporting. Muttering into my phone as though dictating some report, I take in the scene. A couple of non-uniformed but obvious cops exit from beyond the screen, then hang by the ess, talking quietly. Through the almost-but-not-quite opaque screen, vague shadows move. Voices murmur, annoyingly almost below the threshold of hearing. How to get inside¡­ Without being arrested¡­ Press can¡¯t go in¡­ Police will be recognised¡­ Forensics too¡­ Brazen it out? From the park entrance, a voice rises. ¡°This is an infringement of citizen¡¯s rights¡­¡± All heads swing toward the excitement. Cameras follow. T¨ºxt belongs to N?velDrama.Org. Theint grows louder. ¡°¡­ We¡¯re living in a fucking police state¡­¡± A leather-d smoothie towers over Blondie. He looks to have seen too much alcohol and not enough soap. His chums are keeping Bruiser upied. ¡°Streets aren¡¯t safe any more. What the fuck are you doing about this? We¡¯ve gotta right to know!¡± The shouting spreads, the crowd surging. Cameras whirr and click. Journalists chatter into microphones. Police officers dash in from all directions¡­ Snatching up a clipboard, I stroll to the ess p and inside¡­ ***** A blur of impressions¡­ A circle of turf, rimmed by the screen¡­ A fold-up table with a scatter of coffee cups, files,belled packets, envelopes and stic containers¡­ Jackets and coats tossed at one end¡­ The marquee¡­ A raised p¡­ Inside¡­ canvas-filtered sunlight on grass¡­ Scattered bloodstains¡­ Pegged markers, numbered¡­ 37a¡­ 37b¡­ 42¡­ 43¡­ 5c¡­ 5d¡­ Men and women moving, taking measurements and photographs. One sketching. Organ bags¡­ A bin containing discarded paper overalls¡­ ¡­ Swing back to the jackets¡­ A grey zip-up hoodie¡­ ¡­ A figure emerges¡­ White-clothed. A pale man. Tall. Long-legged. Silver-haired. Blood bright on his hands Borje¡­ ***** For an instant, he clearly doesn¡¯t recognise me. Then, his eyes widen. ¡°Larry? What the hell¡­¡± I react by instinct, locking a hand to his throat. ¡°What the fuck are you doing here?¡± Jolted back against a supporting post of the marquee, arms iling, he gurgles against the vee of my thumb and fingers. Red-faced, scrabbling at my hand... ¡°Choking me¡­¡± I rx my hold a bit. ¡°What was that?¡± ¡°Doctor. I''m a fucking doctor!¡± ? I release my grip and he drops, gasping, to all fours. ¡°Doctor?¡± ¡°Yes, a doctor.¡± On hands and knees, he coughs and splutters, clearing his airway. ¡°I''m a police pathologist, you fucking¡­ maniac.¡± For a moment, my thoughts freeze¡­ Then my brain kicks in again, collecting the detail my first freaked-out impression missed: The white coverall¡­ The hairted back¡­ And the blood¡­ Not on the hands, but on vinyl gloves that even now Borje is peeling off. A rustle behind me. A figure in space uniform. It goggles. ¡°Doc? You okay?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Borje stands, brushing himself down. ¡°Just...¡± He gives me the evil eye... ¡°Just a misunderstanding.¡± The figure looks doubtful, retreats into the marquee. Secondster and another figure emerges, some cop in uniform. He looks to Borje. Looks to me. ¡°Who are you?¡± Then, sweeping around. Left. Right. Behind me. ¡°Who let you in here? Press pen¡¯s back that way.¡± His arm windmills out, pointing back the way I came. ¡°Out! Now.¡± ¡°I am not aware,¡± hisses Borje, ¡°that this man is with the press.¡± Brows arch. ¡°That right?¡± A finger jabs at my ¡®pass¡¯. ¡°So what¡¯s that? Forged? Stolen?¡± ¡°I¡­ was given it.¡± ¡°Who by?¡± Ah¡­ Crap¡­ The cop gives me an old look. ¡°This way, if you don¡¯t mind. You¡¯ve some exining to do.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no need to¡­¡± ¡°If you prefer to make it formal, I¡¯ll arrest you for assault. Do I gather you know this man, Doctor?¡± Borje, arms folded, chin lifted, ¡°Slightly, yes. His name is Lars, I believe. But everyone calls him Larry.¡± ¡°Larry what?¡± Borje shrugs. Ah¡­ fuck it¡­ ¡°Waterman,¡± I say. The uniform gives me a nod. ¡°You want to press charges, Doctor?¡± Borje rubs at his throat. ¡°No, no charges. But I would like to hear what he has to say.¡± ¡°Would it be convenient for you toe with us to the station?¡± ¡°I can spare you an hour, yes. Give me a minute.¡± Borje strips off his coverall. Underneath, he¡¯s wearing everyday clothes: in dark trousers, roll-neck sweater, ck leather oxford shoes. ¡°Okay, I¡¯m good to go.¡± I nod to the heap of coats. ¡°You forgot your jacket.¡± ¡°So I did.¡± He fishes a lightweight, padded body-warmer from the stack. The grey hoodie remains with the rest. ***** It isn¡¯t as though I¡¯ve not seen the inside of a cell before, but nheless, it¡¯s depressing. Painted in institutional grey, rancid with the stench of vomit, urine and disinfectant, a thin mattress overlies what passes for a bed. After a brief consideration of the stains and the likely ecoculture it houses, I don¡¯t feel much like touching it. Stashing the reeking thing in a corner, I sit on the bare boards, pondering what I¡¯ve learned, trying to separate what I know from what I suspect. Borje¡­ Forensics? Fucked that up, didn¡¯t I¡­ ***** The interview room is equally dreary. The same grey walls. The same cheap floor covering. A bare wooden chair for me. Two simr chairs facing me across the table, one upied by an officer I don¡¯t recognise. The mirror on the wall. The officer shuffles papers¡­ Self-important little prick¡­ ¡°¡­ I¡¯m Lieutenant Gibson. Commissioner Stanton informs me, Mr Waterman, that you are known to the police?¡± I have no idea what Stanton might have told the man. And so far, no one has read me my rights. I settle for sitting back in my seat, folding my arms and biding my time. I¡¯ve not actually done anything¡­ Assault? No charges pressed though¡­ Gibson pauses, then sighs. ¡°If it¡¯s going to be like that¡­ Let¡¯s cut to the chase, Mr Waterman. Where were you between the hours of 6 am and 2 pm yesterday?¡± ¡°At 6 am, I was in bed with my wife. Later, we were on a shopping trip with friends, including Stanton¡¯s pal, Haswell, and his wife.¡± The forehead furrows. ¡°Who?¡± ¡°Haswell. You must have heard of him...¡± A memory surfaces¡­ Jenny, who I didn¡¯t then know was my daughter, who¡¯d set herself up as bait to rescue Haswell¡¯s wife¡­ ¡­ shrieking defiance, facing me down as though I were nothing at all, hurling Haswell¡¯s name at me. I could have done anything I wanted to her. She should have been terrified of me¡­ The hell she was¡­ My Jenny. Suppressing a smile, I steal her words of more than three years ago. ¡°¡­ Richard Haswell¡­ Owns half the fucking City. Your boss knows him if you don¡¯t.¡± Gibson¡¯s stare stretches out. ¡°Richard Haswell? You were on a shopping trip with him and his wife?¡± He flounders. ¡°You can prove this, I suppose?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure Stanton has his phone number¡­¡± I turn to face the pockmarked mirror. ¡°Why don¡¯t you call him? Right now.¡± I¡¯ve scored with my guess. Gibson, looking glum, clocks the mirror, stands, exits. Can¡¯t take more than a minute or two, surely¡­ It doesn¡¯t. In under five minutes, the door ngs open and Stanton erupts into the room, wearing the proverbial face like thunder. Gibson dangles behind, but Stanton waves him off. ¡°Go get a coffee. And don¡¯t drink it next door.¡± Gibson glowers but nods and exits. Stanton takes Gibson¡¯s abandoned seat. ¡°Alright, Mr Waterman. Let¡¯s hear it. What were you doing wandering around a murder scene? If you want to walk out of here anytime soon, it¡¯d better be good.¡± ¡°You spoken to Haswell yet? You¡¯re not pinning this woman¡¯s murder on me if that¡¯s what¡¯s in your mind.¡± Chapter 50 – April’s Tears #1 Chapter 50 ¨C April¡¯s Tears #1 KLEMPNER Stanton blows out his cheeks. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve spoken to Richard. He confirms your story for yesterday. That doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯re off the hook for today¡¯s little performance. Your past record¡­¡± ¡°¡­ has no bearing on any of this. I was there because¡­¡± I falter¡­ Even in my head, it already sounds ridiculous. ¡°I¡¯m waiting,¡± he growls. Now what? Whatever I say, I¡¯m going to sound cracked¡­ I exhale. ¡°I was there because yesterday I saw Borje¡­¡± ¡°Borje?¡± Stanton knits brows. ¡°Borje Anderssen? What about him?¡± ¡°Yes, him. He was running towards your ¡®scene of the crime¡¯.¡± He shrugs. ¡°Hardly a surprise in that, given his position.¡± Stanton stills. ¡°What¡¯s your interest in Doctor Anderssen?¡± ¡°My interest in Borje is his interest in a friend of mine.¡± ¡°Who?¡± ¡°Does it matter?¡± Stanton clicks his tongue. ¡°Oh, I think so, yes. If you want to implicate Borje in something like this, you¡¯d better have a good exnation.¡± ¡°Fair enough. The friend is James Alexanders¡¯ daughter, Georgie. Borje¡­¡± The door ms open. Borje strides in. ¡°What the fuck are you trying to imply, Larry?¡± ¡°Doctor Anderssen!¡± thunders Stanton. ¡°This is an official police interview.¡± He mellows, scrapes out the second chair, stabs a finger at it. ¡°Sit.¡± Borje dithers, scowls, then takes the chair, arms folded, jaw clenched. I eye the mirror. ¡°Were you out there just now?¡± ¡°I was, yes. I learned a thing or two from what I heard.¡± ¡°All of which,¡± growls Stanton, ¡°is confidential. So¡­¡± He swings back to me¡­ ¡°Mr Waterman, the least you¡¯re facing is a charge of interfering with a police investigation. And if you don¡¯t satisfy me, I intend to offer Doctor Andersson here another opportunity to press charges.¡± Borje fixes cial eyes on me. There are times to surrender the battle to win the war. I allow a note of apology to colour my voice. ¡°It¡­ wasn¡¯t my intention to assault him. I was keyed up. I saw the blood on his hands. I reacted without thinking.¡± ¡°What was your intention?¡± ¡°As I said¡­ I saw Borje in the crowd yesterday.¡± The silver man stirs, but Stanton raises a silencing finger. ¡°You might well have done. Doctor Anderssen is on our forensics team. If he was in the neighbourhood when the rm went out, I imagine he would go running in to assist¡­¡± He nces to Borje, who shrugs, nodding agreement. ¡°So, is that it? What¡¯s that to do with you faking your way into the crime scene today?¡± ¡°Today, I¡­ I was in the square. No particr reason. I¡¯d only meant to stop for something to eat¡­ But I saw someone. Something about him was¡­ odd.¡± ¡°Odd?¡± Borje¡¯s stance loosens a touch. ¡°How?¡± He subsides as Stanton silences him with a look, but I answer anyway. ¡°It¡¯s hard to describe. He was entirely too interested in what was happening.¡± Stanton¡¯s head tilts, the anger draining also from his expression. ¡°The City¡¯s full of nutcases. And voyeurs for that matter. What put it into your head to follow this one?¡± ¡°He was behaving suspiciously.¡± Stanton¡¯s forehead creases. ¡°Suspiciously? What does that mean? Who was it?¡± Borje snaps, ¡°You followed him because you believed it was me?¡± Stanton nces sidelong¡­ ¡°Are we still talking about Doctor Anderssen?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t see his face. I don¡¯t know who it was. But he was watching the police enclosure. The activity. Everyone else around was either involved or pretending nothing was there. This man¡­ He was enjoying the show. Spectating. His bodynguage was way off for what you would expect. I tailed him, but I lost him at thest moment. But it was close by yourpound entrance...¡± ¡°And from that, you deduce that he came inside?¡± ¡°I¡­ wondered¡­ And when I got inside, the first familiar face I encountered was Borje again.¡± Borje¡¯s expression hardens again. Stanton sucks in his cheeks, looks between the pair of us. ¡°So, to summarise, you saw our forensic pathologist running in to attend a murder scene. And you stalked ¡®person unknown¡¯ because you didn¡¯t like the way he was behaving?¡± When he puts it like that¡­ I feel an idiot. After a few moments silence, Stanton continues. ¡°For the avoidance of doubt, Mr Waterman, do you believe that Doctor Anderssen here is the individual you were tailing?¡± The word curdles in my mouth. ¡°No.¡± ¡°No? Really? Why not?¡± Borje drips sarcasm. ¡°What¡¯s changed?¡± Stanton looks askance but doesn¡¯t interrupt. ¡°The man I was following was shorter than you. And your clothes are wrong. He was wearing jeans, sneakers and a hoodie. But¡­ I did see a very simr hoodie among the coats outside your marquee.¡± ¡°Half the male poption under thirty wears a hoodie. I don¡¯t. So, what¡¯s your gripe with me?¡± Mouth dry, I drop my face, shake my head slightly. After a few moments, Stanton ps palms down on the tabletop. ¡°Perhaps that concludes the interview. Doctor Anderssen, for the sake of form, do you wish to press charges?¡± ¡°No.¡± The word is curt, chopped off. ¡°In that case, Mr Waterman, you are free to go.¡± ***** JAMES Mitch, humming, works her way through a box containing tiny socks, sweaters and mitts. Bibs and hats rub shoulders with mini-bootees. Some of them were Cara¡¯s, some Adam¡¯s. And Vicky, growing fast in the way of very small infants, has also worn many of them. ¡°Looking forward to being a grandmother again?¡± I ask. She turns a heamp smile on me. ¡°Jenny and Michael both wanted it so much. It¡¯s good to see that their ns are bearing fruit.¡± I chuckle¡­ ¡°In the most literal sense¡­¡± ¡­then nod down to her collection of micro-woollies. ¡°Don¡¯t we have enough of those?¡± Mitch wrinkles her nose. ¡°I¡¯m sorting them into sizes, looking for the ones for a newborn.¡± ¡°It¡¯s going to be a while before you¡¯ll need them.¡± She shrugs and, resuming her humming, continues sorting. Picking out a set of pale blue mittens, she plucks at the wool, sniffs, then tosses the pair into the bin. ¡°Where¡¯s Larry today?¡± I ask. ¡°I¡¯ve not seen him around.¡± She keeps her attention on the box. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. He didn¡¯t say.¡± There¡¯s subtext there, but I¡¯ve no idea what it might be. He¡¯d be pleased about Charlotte¡¯s pregnancy, wouldn¡¯t he? Why would he not be here? Richard''s phone rings. He checks the screen, then answers. "Good afternoon, Will. What can I...?" His voice trails away and he darts a nce at Mitch, then at me. Mitch jolts to attention, her smile fading¡­ The faintest of creases lines Richard¡¯s forehead. "Really? Will, just give me a moment, would you. It''s rather noisy in here." He steps out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. From outside, the sense of his voice carries through without the words, puzzlement, then dismay. Mitch sits in silence, screwing a tiny mitt around and around. Richard, flicking me a warning nce, re-enters. "Mitch, I''m going down to the City.¡± He perches on the chair-arm beside her. ¡°Listen, I don''t want you to panic. I''m pretty sure everything''s alright." The mitt drops from Mitch¡¯s hand. White-faced, tension rippling through her voice, "What''s happened? Is it Larry? Has he been hurt?" ¡°No. No. Nothing like that. Larry¡¯s perfectly well. However...¡± Heys his hand on hers... ¡°¡­he''s being held by the police." Mitch whimpers. ¡°He''s been arrested?" Her face stricken, ¡°What has he done?" The normally unppable Richard is as close to flustered as I¡¯ve ever seen him, trying to calm the panicking woman. "Mitch, I''m not sure he''s actually done anything. I don¡¯t believe he is under arrest, but I don''t have all the facts yet. " Her eyes flood. "He¡¯s not under arrest? But the police are holding him?" "That''s what Will¡¯s telling me. I understand he¡¯s being interviewed. Mitch¡­¡± He squeezes her hand. ¡°¡­ Please don''t worry. I''m going to the station right now. I¡¯ll call you as soon as I know what¡¯s happened. And if Larry needs to be bailed out, I''ll see to it." "But you said he wasn¡¯t under arrest.¡± Mitch¡¯s voice rises in pitch¡­ ¡°Why would he need bail?¡± She rises from her seat. ¡°I¡¯ming with you." "I don''t think you should. Stay here with James. Try to rx. I promise I''ll ring as soon as I know something solid." He heads out to the hall. I follow. "What the hell''s going on?" ¡°James, I''m truly not sure.¡± Richard snags his overcoat from a hook, lowers his voice. ¡°That murder in the City yesterday¡­ Klempner was caught inside the policepound with a fake press pass." My brain turns a somersault. "Well, he''s not responsible for the murder. He was with us all morning. And the day before that." "Of course he was, and that''s what I told Will. But you can¡¯t avoid the question of what the hell he was doing in there. Apparently, he''s being close-mouthed about it." He looks back. "Keep Mitchpany. Get Charlotte too, to help calm her. I''ll call Elizabeth and ask her to join you. See if you can steer the conversation to pregnancy and babies. That always seems to settle Mitch." Car keys jingling¡­ ¡°I¡¯ll be in touch.¡± He exits. In the lounge, Mitch is on me. "What did he tell you that he wouldn''t say to me?" My mouth opens and closes. "Nothing very much." "But?" She slits eyes green as acid. Ah, Christ¡­ "Richard tells me Larry was found on the site of that murder near the square yesterday." "What?" The eyes widen again to great wide ovals. "Why would he be there?" She spins, a palm pressed to her forehead. "The police don''t think...?" "No. Richard has already confirmed¡­¡± Iy palms on her shoulders, steer her to face me¡­ ¡°¡­What. ConTEent bel0ngs to N?v(e)lD/rama(.)Org . We. All. Already. Know. Larry was here, with one or other of us both yesterday and the day before. Whatever has happened, he¡¯s not implicated in the murder. Mitch, when he left this morning, where was he going? What were his ns?¡± She shrinks in on herself. ¡°I¡­ I don''t know.¡± The eyes raise to mine, tear-sheened emeralds. ¡°I told him to take some time for himself. To go enjoy himself. To rx. He''s been feeling...¡± She stalls. ¡°We know how he''s been, Mitch. We¡¯ve all been seeing it. He needed some time out.¡± ¡°There was nothing wrong. If there were, even if he¡¯d not said something, I¡¯m sure I¡¯d have sensed it.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure so, too. Now, listen to me. Richard is by far the best person to talk to Will Stanton. The two of them go way back. Why don¡¯t you carry on with what you were doing. Charlotte and Michael will be relying on you when the babyes. As soon as Richard knows anything at all, I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be in touch.¡± She nods, sits again, picking through the box of clothes. But as she inspects a tiny stretch suit, her hands are shaking. After only moments, she stands again¡­ ¡°Fuck this.¡± ¡­and dashes out. Momentster I hear her calling¡­ ¡°Richard. Wait!¡± ¡­and the closing bang of the front door. ***** Chapter 51 – April’s Tears #2 Chapter 51 ¨C April¡¯s Tears #2 KLEMPNER The novelty of my situation has worn thin. My cellpanions are not inspiringpany. A couple of street hookers share the bench opposite me. Perhaps they¡¯ve been arrested for plying their trade. On the other hand, judging by the state of their veins, they could have been busted for possession. A young idiot flushed with courage and whiskey thought he was tough until he tried it on with me and I demonstrated otherwise. He¡¯s quiet enough now, sitting as far away from me as he can, using up the oxygen as he nurses a couple of cracked ribs. In the next cage, a drunk lies snoring. He¡¯ll cause no one any problems until he wakes up, unless you count whichever poor bastard has to clean up the pool of vomit he donated to the City authorities. The ce stinks. The outer door ngs open and a warden, jangling keys, slouches in. He levels one of the keys at me¡­ ¡°You.¡± ¡­ then unlocks the cage. It swings on smooth silent hinges, just enough to allow my exit before banging closed again. In the corridor outside, the warden shuffles behind me with a nasal whistle: some jingle that makes me want to p his mouth shut. I resist the temptation. ¡°Stop.¡± He stops at a doorway, pushes it open, jerking his head inside. I follow the instruction to find myself in the discharge area. ¡°Waterman. Lars,¡± drawls my minder. The day officer sniffs, retrieves a stic bag from a locker and dumps it on the counter in front of me. ¡°Sign.¡± He thrusts a ballpoint at me. A quick inspection: the bag contains my car keys, wallet, phone and a jangle of change. There¡¯s no need for conversation. I sign. The officer hooks a key from his pocket, unlocks a door: Exit. Then jerks a thumb outward. In the room beyond, two figures await me: Haswell, hands thrust in his pockets, staring at his feet as he scuffs at the floor. He shes me a warning nce, jerking his head sidelong toward the second figure: Mitch. She¡¯s tried to clean herself up, with traces of mascara and liner swiped away from red and swollen eyes. But arms wrapped around herself, she¡¯s trembling. ¡°Larry¡­¡± Her voice rips through me: barbed with terror. I stride forward, enfold her in my arms. ¡°Shhh¡­ It¡¯s fine. It¡¯s fine. Don¡¯t be so upset.¡± Close up, sobbing into my chest, instead of her usual perfume, light and fruity, Mitch reeks, sour with fear. ¡°Why are you here? When Richard told me, I didn¡¯t¡­ I couldn¡¯t¡­¡± Over her head, I nce to Haswell who nods, mouthing silently. ¡°No charge.¡± I rock her a little, swaying one way then the other. ¡°Everything¡¯s alright. It was just¡­ a misunderstanding.¡± Haswell raises brows at that, but when he speaks says only, ¡°My car¡¯s right outside. Let¡¯s get Mitch back home.¡± They must have given Haswell special dispensation. His car is not just ¡®outside¡¯, but parked almost on the threshold. His driver opens a rear door. In the few seconds, we have between Mitch climbing in and me and Haswell following, he hisses, ¡°What the fuck were you ying at Klempner?¡± ¡°I¡­ suppose I thought it was something Mitch would want me to do. She pressured me into that business with the kid at the station.¡± Haswell¡¯s expression nks for a moment, then, ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter now. The point is that didn¡¯t scare the crap out of Mitch. You being held by the police did.¡± ***** Mitch still trembles beside me as the car draws up to the house, speaking in a fair imitation of a normal tone. ¡°Larry, you must be hungry. I¡¯m sure James will have something cooking. And I imagine you could both use a drink?¡± I start to agree. ¡°Good idea. Mitch, you¡¯ll feel better with¡­¡± But she¡¯s already opened her door and, arms hugged around herself, is tramping away toward our small shared home. Haswell watches her retreat. ¡°Perhapster?¡± ¡°I think so.¡± ¡°And then you can tell the rest of us what that was all about.¡± I run to catch up, but Mitch is already at the door and inside. Indoors, although only seconds ahead of me, all the barriers havee down. She¡¯s weeping and sobbing, a storm of tears, hands pressed to her face, her body shaking. And I have no idea what to say. I settle for circling her with my arms again, holding her close. After a while, the storm subsides. The shaking dwindles to shivering¡­ I rub her back and shoulders with my palms, press lips to the top of her head. ¡°Mitch, why the tears? It was just a mix-up. It¡¯s true that I shouldn''t have been where I was, but there''s no harm done. Quite the opposite. I learned what I needed about Borje and¡­¡± Mitch wrenches from my hold, cutting through my words. ¡°I was frightened,¡± she gasps. ¡°I was so scared¡­¡± She raises hands, fingers curling into ws. ¡°I can¡¯t believe this has happened.¡± Her voice is rising. Her colour too. ¡°I wanted you to know that you¡¯re free. I¡¯d told you to take time for yourself. And the very first time you go¡­ The very first time¡­ This happens. You¡¯re away for a few hours and I hear that the police have you. I¡­ didn¡¯t know what to think. In my head¡­¡± Anger and fear and recriminations spill through her words. ¡°I didn¡¯t know what to do. My imagination was helter-skeltering away. If I¡¯d let myself, I¡¯d have thrown up. I was scared, Larry. Not just scared. I was terrified. Of what had happened. Of what you might have done.¡± I don¡¯t know what to say. What might be the right thing to say. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ sorry¡­ I scared you, Mitch. I never meant to. And truly, I didn¡¯t do anything except go somewhere I wasn¡¯t supposed to be.¡± Eyes wild, her chest heaves. ¡°What were you thinking of?¡± Her voice rises to a screech. ¡°Doing what you did.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure what I was thinking. Except that I saw someone who didn¡¯t seem right. I¡¯d seen Borje nearby the previous day. And I knew that Georgie was upset.¡± ¡°What?¡± Mitch¡¯s face screws up. ¡°Georgie? What¡¯s Georgie got to do with it?¡± ¡°I¡­ I like the girl. And she¡¯s James¡¯ daughter. I want to be sure she¡¯s alright.¡± Mitch stiffens. ¡°And our daughters?¡± she snarls. ¡°What about them? Georgie was horrible to Jenny when they first met. And Vicky¡¯s just a baby. She¡­¡± ¡°Mitch, you¡¯re letting your imagination run away with you. Georgie¡¯s fine with Jenny now. She was only being protective of her mother. As Jenny would be¡­¡± I tap my wife¡¯s chest with a finger¡­ ¡°¡­toward you. James has settled that between them. It¡¯s not an issue anymore.¡± She stares at me. She simply stares. Then tears once more flow down her cheeks. Once more, I wrap my arms around her,y my cheek to her hair. ¡°Mitch, when I was in Brazil, when I was Juliana¡¯s prisoner, all I could think about was escaping so I could get back to you. Thenter, when Jenny and James and Michael rescued me, I woke up in that hospital, and I had a lot of time to think¡­ ¡°When Jenny was taken, I knew that no matter what had happened between me and you after we got her back, I was being unfair in connecting your life to mine. I¡¯ve given you so much pain for so much of your life, and I knew I had to cut you free¡­¡± Mitch stirs in my arms¡­ ¡°Larry¡­¡± ¡­ but I hold her still¡­ ¡°No, hear me out¡­¡± She settles again, her silence stark, a visceral thing. I continue. ¡°To give you the chance to have a life of your own. I¡¯d decided that once I was well enough This belongs ? N?velDra/ma.Org. to travel again, I would not return here. I would simply vanish, so that you would be free. I told James this. Because however much I wanted you, as the wife of Lawrence Klempner, you would never have the safe and peaceful life that you deserve. ¡°But¡­ when James told me you were pregnant again, by me, I knew that, whatever my intentions, the connection exists between us. I couldn¡¯t simply walk away from you. Or Vicky. I still wanted to be with you. To make you my wife. And with Vicky here, I thought, I¡¯d have another chance. I¡¯d be able to put right some of what I did with Jenny...¡± My mouth is dry. ¡°¡­I think Jenny understands that.¡± Mitch murmurs, ¡°She does.¡± ¡°So understand, I will never do anything to endanger that. You have my promise.¡± She shudders and heaves against me. ¡°Do you believe me?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Her words are muffled against my chest. ¡°Good. So, don¡¯t be so angry with me. And please, stop crying.¡± She sniffles, swiping under her eyes. ¡°God, I must look a fright.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve seen you better. Mitch, where¡¯s Vicky?¡± ¡°With Jenny, I think.¡± ¡°In that case, we¡¯ll go across now, together and join the others. You¡¯re always better with Vicky on your knee, and when you¡¯re with Jenny and Beth. You can talk clothes and babies with Beth, and Jenny can harangue me with whatever herint of the day is.¡± She looks to the mirror. ¡°I do look a mess.¡± ¡°Yes, you do. So, clean yourself up, then we¡¯ll go.¡± ***** Later, in the darkfort of Mitch¡¯s bed, she nestles her face into the crook of my neck, her breathing ticklish. Blondish hairs on my chest, intermixed with grey, flutter and ripple as she breathes in deep, then slowly exhales again. ¡°You alright?¡± She stirs, sounding sleepy but content. ¡°Mmmm¡­¡± Slipping my arms around her shoulders, I draw her in, basking in the warmth and the press of her body against mine; the taste of her as our mouths meet, her lips against mine, and the scent of the mint tea she drinks. And here, in this safe, secluded ce, I slide my hand over the smoothness of her waist and hip. Mitch purrs and curves, angling up a leg, the skin of her inner thigh hot to my touch as I trace circles over the skin; invisible spirals that wind inward. She sighs, shifts a little, lying back, opening herself to me... Giving herself to me... I draw a fingertip through the crease of her left thigh, tender delicate skin, following the length of the joint from fore to rear; then back again through the right. Under my cheek, her breasts heat and the pressure of my erection against her thigh grows tight. Chapter 52 – April’s Tears #3 Chapter 52 ¨C April¡¯s Tears #3 KLEMPNER Retracing my path, I circle in, tracing circles around her sex. Not prating. Simply stroking¡­ Waiting for her arousal¡­ Willing her arousal¡­ Mitch groans. "God... Larry...¡± My shaft pulses and I move, sliding down the length of her, opening my mouth over the cleft between her breasts, the undtion of rib under skin, the bare swell of her belly. But she tangles fingers into my hair, staying me, ¡°No. It''s wonderful. But I want you inside me.¡± ¡°I wanted to make you climax.¡± She sounds rushy, breathless. ¡°You will.¡± Her touch on me tightens, urging me back. ¡°Please. Inside me. Let me feel you.¡± I kiss the shallow dimple of her navel, the pale lines drawn over her stomach by her second pregnancy with Vicky. I know they trouble her. As though I don¡¯t also carry the marks of the life I¡¯ve led. Drawing lips and tongue over skin tasting a little of salt, and now scented of no more than the perfume of Mitch, I ease my way along until I meet the dip of her cor bone. Rolling atop her, for a bare moment our chests, bellies and loins touch and slide, before I lift myself, taking my weight as I enter her. I watch as I prate, her beautiful face, eyes squeezing closed, lips peeling back. As I''m fully inside, her eyes open, settle on me, and she smiles. And how can I not smile too? She reaches to meet me, her face to mine, the lush warmth of her lips, the wet burn of her tongue, the smooth edge of her teeth¡­ The hardness of my shaft within the yielding softness of her sex as I move inside her, pressing in, drawing out, coaxing her response. Mitch lets her head fall back, eyes closing. ¡°Harder.¡± Rearing over her, I drive in, mming into her hard, revelling in her involuntary gasp as I knock the air from her lungs, and the wild sound wrenched from her throat¡­ Fingers clutch into my shoulders, wing in as she arches, straining under me as we ride together. nting to support myself on an elbow, I cup under her hind end, lifting her to meet me as I drive in. She gurgles, crying out with every thrust¡­ Am I hurting you? ¡­ I falter, checking my rhythm, the power of my stroke, but the nails bite again. Her voice is raw. ¡°Don¡¯t stop¡­¡± Again, I plunge into her: deep, forceful, close to violent. But she wants this, her hips pistoning with mine ConTEent bel0ngs to N?v(e)lD/rama(.)Org . as we move together¡­ The momentes: she arches, stills, and tenses. Trembling and quaking, she throbs within, and her cry of orgasm is hoarse, glorious and triumphant. Mitch clutches at me, within and without. And my own climax is born of hers. It wells inside me: unstoppable, consuming, andplete in the way I never found with any but her. The pleasure takes me and leaves me blind and deaf to anything except the woman who brought me to this. Gasping, sated¡­ ¡­ exhausted¡­ ¡­and my head still ringing, I drop¡­ ¡­ then btedly, at the answering whoof from Mitch, realise I have copsed my weight onto her. ¡°Sorry.¡± I roll away. She chuckles, low and fruity. ¡°That¡¯s okay. I didn¡¯t need a ribcage anyway.¡± I loop an arm around her and she snuggles closer. ¡°Am I forgiven?¡± ¡°Forgiven?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to upset you. It was thest thing on my mind.¡± She doesn¡¯t reply¡­ The silence draws out¡­ ¡°Mitch?¡± ¡°You did wrong to Borje. You should apologise to him.¡± Hmmm¡­ ¡°You think?¡± ¡°Yes, I do.¡± She rolls, stares me in the face, pinches at my chin. ¡°You had nothing on him except unwarranted suspicions.¡± ¡°Not unwarranted. I saw him the day of the murder. And he was at the site.¡± ¡°A forensic pathologist? Borje had a perfectly valid reason for being there.¡± She levels a finger at me. ¡°More so than you. It¡¯s his job.¡± Diplomatic silence seems my best reply. Mitch sits up, plumps a pillow behind herself. ¡°Are you going to apologise to him or not?¡± When I still don¡¯t answer, her face sets. ¡°Why are you so sceptical of him? I can¡¯t see you have any real cause for suspicion. What has he actually done?¡± Her head tilts. ¡°Or have you simply taken an irrational dislike to him?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not irrational, Mitch. I¡­ can¡¯t put my finger on it, but I don¡¯t trust his manner with Georgie, why he behaves the way he does with her.¡± Her mouth twitches. ¡°When did you be an expert on human rtionships?¡± ¡°Alright, ¡°I snap. ¡°Score one for you. But Borje doesn''t behave normally with her¡­¡± ¡°In what way, not normal?¡± ¡°Normal in the way a man behaves with a woman he¡¯s attracted to.¡± ¡°They¡¯ve been seeing each other for a while now.¡± Mitch presses a forefinger to her lips. ¡°Georgie¡¯s never used him of hurting her, has she? Or behaved badly?¡± I sit up beside her, think for a moment. ¡°Not that I¡¯m aware of, no. But¡­ you said it yourself, they¡¯ve been dating for some time. Why haven¡¯t they slept together?¡± Her jaw hangs. ¡°Why is that any business of yours? How would you even know it¡¯s true? Besides, Georgie¡¯s a grown woman. She can¡­¡± ¡°Alright, it¡¯s not any of my business. As for how I know, I see him drop her off by the hotel entrance. He gives her a peck on the cheek and that¡¯s about it. Georgie¡¯s a good-looking woman. She¡¯s clearly attracted to him. If Borje is really attracted to her, why hasn¡¯t he done something about it by now?¡± Mitch hovers, frowning¡­ ¡°¡­ When a man wants a woman, he wants to get physical with her¡­¡± I hold her eye¡­ ¡°Doesn¡¯t he?¡± She huffs augh, bats my chest with the back of her hand. ¡°Point taken. Perhaps Borje just wants friendship? A tonic rtionship with her.¡± Despite myself, I snort. ¡°tonic? Does that feel right to you? And do you think that¡¯s what Georgie wants from him?¡± She swings her head, slowly, looking down. Her long hair sways and ripples with the movement. ¡°No, as you say, it doesn¡¯t feel right.¡± ¡°So, perhaps you can see why I¡¯m concerned for her.¡± ***** JAMES Life is good. One of my favourite parts of the day: the ¡®family¡¯ gathers for breakfast. Humming to myself, I assemble what I need by the stove: bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms¡­ Something missing¡­ ? Oh, yes¡­ Sausages. I retrieve the paper-wrapped package from the fridge. It took me years to get to this ¡®ce¡¯. So much of my life I spent either alone, after my divorce, or before my divorce, effectively alone. It never felt like family. But now, my ¡®wife¡¯ ys ¡®aerone spoons¡¯ with my little daughter, zooming mashed banana in the general direction of her mouth. Cara, with her spiky explosion of hair glinting in that peculiar ginger- ck shade I¡¯ve never seen anywhere else, and a face like aughing marigold, opens wide. Champing on the mush, I¡¯d say it¡¯s about fifty-fifty what goes in and what dribbles down the bib. And I¡¯m at least making progress with my elder daughter. My closest and oldest friendys out the table. Michael pours boiling water over the mint tea Mitch enjoys, setting it beside the two coffee pots already in ce. Fruit, cereals and yoghurt next. Then he slots bread into the toaster. Charlotte has her hands full trying to keep Cara, in ¡®wriggly¡¯ mode, in her high chair. But levering herself up against the stic tray of the chair, the toddler¡¯s not quite made the connection between freedom and the clip-in safety harness at her waist. From above us, movement. More family. A quick check: Richard¡¯s newspaper lies neatly folded by his ce-mat. From out in the hall, the clunk of the front door. Klempner strolls in. ¡°Mitch is right behind me. Said something about fixing her hair.¡± Michael looks up from where he¡¯s rummaging through the cutlery drawer. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with Mitch¡¯s hair?¡± Klempner shrugs. ¡°Damned if I know.¡± I unhook a pan from its peg. ¡°Larry, you¡¯ll be having poached eggs, I suppose?¡± ¡°Thank you, James, yes.¡± ¡°Eggies, Nunky Jammy!¡± Cara bangs down on the stic tray with stic knife and fork. ¡°Eggies!¡± ¡°You want an eggy for breakfast, Cara?¡± My little ck-eyed marigold beams. ¡°Eggy!¡± ¡°Charlotte?¡± ¡°Sounds good. Cara, would you like dippy toast too?¡± More banging. ¡°Dippy! Dippy¡­ Dippy¡­ Dippy¡­¡± I collect another carton from the fridge. ¡°Eggies all round, then.¡± Charlotte slides a couple of slices into the toaster. ¡°Anything special on for today?¡± ¡°Not really. I may bete back from the office. The car needs some work. I asked Benny to do it. Ah, good morning, Mitch.¡± Klempner pours pale green tea into a china cup and saucer, slides it across the table to her. ¡°What¡¯s the problem with your car, James? Want me to take a look?¡± ¡°Some odd noisesing from somewhere below. Could be the suspension. These mountains roads take a heavy toll. You¡¯re wee to look if you¡¯d like to, but Benny¡¯s qualified now and it¡¯ll bolster his confidence. I asked specifically that he be given the job but until he gets back to me, I don¡¯t know when I¡¯ll be mobile again. Ah, Richard, Beth. Good morning. Eggs for you too? And Adam?¡± ¡°I¡¯lle pick you up,¡± says Klempner. ¡°There¡¯s no need to rush your staff.¡± ¡°Thanks, but if I have to leave the car, Richard can bring me back.¡± ¡°Ah-ha.¡± Richard hovers between coffee pots. Shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯ll not be there. Got an afternoon meeting with Mayor Vandervoort and his cronies, about the ns for the teenagers¡¯ refuge¡­¡± He nods an acknowledgement to Klempner¡­ ¡°Your idea¡¯s been very well received. So we¡¯re going through the discussions on what services and facilities will be needed.¡± I scoop eggs onto tes. ¡°You don¡¯t want me along for that?¡± Chapter 53 – April’s Tears #4 Chapter 53 ¨C April¡¯s Tears #4 JAMES Richard clicks his tongue. ¡°Your call, James. We¡¯re at the broad-brush stroke stage so far. And I¡¯m guessing rubbing shoulders with the Head of Social Services would bore you rigid?¡± Hmmm¡­ ¡°You¡¯re not wrong. In that case, yes, thanks, Larry. If it¡¯s convenient for you, I¡¯d appreciate the lift.¡± Klempner shrugs. ¡°I¡¯m taking Mitch into the City anyway. She wants to change something at one of the stores. We can easily time it so I pick you up at the end of the day.¡± ¡°Yah!¡± Cara¡¯s war-cry. She catapults a glob of yolk and egg-white from her chubby fist. Yellow goo sts over trays, teapot and tablecloth. And Adam. Adam retaliates with an answering yell,unching a blue Mickey Mouse spoon at his assant. ¡°Christ!¡± mutters Klempner, fastidiously wiping a napkin over the gunk trickling down hispel. Beth and Charlotte rise as one, Beth whips away bowls, spoons and other weapons of mass destruction. Charlotte snatches up napkins and a washcloth. ¡°Cara Deanna Summerford. You stop that right now!¡± And Klempner bursts into a smile. ***** Michael knocks back his coffee, yawns, stretches, then stands from the breakfast table. ¡°Anyway, busy morning ahead. Got my rounds to do first in the hotel, then I¡¯ll be outside. I¡¯ll catch you all at lunchtime.¡± Richard folds up his newspaper. ¡°What are you working on out there?¡± He wiggles his eyebrows. ¡°Project Chickens.¡± Cara babbles from her high-chair, stretching out her arms. ¡°Wanna¡­Wanna¡­ Wanna¡­¡± He lifts her from the chair, nting a kiss on her cheek. ¡°Want toe with me, Sweetie? You can help me at work today if you like?¡± She gives him a toothy smile. ¡°Ya¡­ Ya¡­ Ya¡­ Help Daddy.¡± ¡°Come on then. We¡¯ll see what we can find for you to do.¡± Charlotte frowns. ¡°You¡¯re sure she won¡¯t be in the way?¡± Michael bounces Cara in his arms. ¡°Nah¡­ She¡¯s fine. It¡¯s good for kids to get out and about. She can meet people in the hotel. It¡¯ll develop her confidence.¡± Klempner pours for himself from my coffee pot. ¡°Need any help with your chicken project?¡± ¡°If you want to. The run and coop are up, but I¡¯m working on making it fox-proof now. If you¡¯re happy to do a bit of digging, then yes, the help will be wee.¡± Mitch speaks in tones of silk and steel. ¡°But not today, of course. We¡¯ll be out shopping.¡± Klempner looks glum. ¡°No, not today.¡± Richard snags his jacket from the back of the chair. ¡°What¡¯s the timescale for these chickens?¡± ¡°ording to what I¡¯ve read, twenty-one days¡­¡± Michael rocks outspread fingers¡­ ¡°Give or take a bit depending on the breed. I¡¯m not sure exactly, as I bought a mix, so they could hatch over a few days. I got some general-purpose breeds, Australorps and Wyandottes, so they¡¯re good for both meat and eggs¡­¡± Michael¡¯s not a big talker. It¡¯s not often we hear him in full flow. But his enthusiasm bubbles. Richard¡¯s eyes widen and he flicks a nce at me. Beth and Mitch hide smiles behind their hands. ¡°¡­ I ordered some Bantams because they make nice pets for the children. Then I thought I¡¯d get some Easter eggers for¡­¡± He pauses, ¡°You¡¯re not actually interested in any of this, are you?¡± Richard¡¯s expression unzes. ¡°Time for me to be off. I have a conference at half nine.¡± He kisses Beth on the cheek, Charlotte on the top of her head. ¡°See youter. James?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be right behind you. I just need to pull my papers together.¡± ***** Where are the damn ns? Annoyed at myself, I sort through drawers and cupboards, poke around forgotten corners of my office¡­ Where the hell are they? I¡¯m already half an hourter than I meant to be¡­ ¡°What are you looking for, Master?¡± Charlotte stands in the doorway. ¡°The ns for the groundworks at F-Site. I¡¯m supposed to be meeting with Sam Caghanter and¡­¡± ¡°A1 ns? Rolled up in a cardboard tube?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. Where¡­?¡± She dimples. ¡°There¡¯s a document tube downstairs by Richard¡¯s desk. Weren¡¯t you going over them with him yesterday?¡± I smack a kiss on her mouth. ¡°You¡¯re a lifesaver. I have to dash. See youter.¡± ns tucked under my arm, I head for the car. My phone buzzes: Michael. He¡¯s a two-minute walk away. Why would he phone me from the hotel? ¡°Hi, what¡¯s¡­?¡± His voice is a sort of hissed whisper. ¡°James, I think you¡¯d bettere over. I¡¯m in the lobby.¡± ¡°What¡­?¡± But he¡¯s rung off. ***** Michael leans back against the reception counter, apparently chatting with the girl manning the desk, but radiating everything¡¯s-okay-but-not really. Cara, strapped in a papoose to his chest, beams and babbles at the receptionist, currently fishing a lollipop from a jar. She says a few words to Michael, who nods permission, and the receptionist¡­ What¡¯s her name? ? Oh, yes¡­ Alyssa¡­ ¡­ Alyssa peels cellophane from the lolly and hands it to my little daughter. It¡¯s a shade of blue never seen in nature, at least not in anything you could eat. God knows what colour her tongue and her insides will be after eating the thing. I stroll across, casual as I can be. As Cara sees me, still clutching her lollipop, her arms and legs starfish and she breaks into a gaping pearl-toothed smile. Bouncing up and down in the papoose, her ginger-dark mop of hair bounces with her. Eyes sparkling, she flings sticky blue hands forward. "Nunky! Nunky Jammy!" I''d dearly love to take my daughter and give her the hug she wants, but suspect it¡¯s not the time. I settle for taking one of the tiny hands and giving it a squeeze. "Hello, Sweetie. Having fun helping Daddy?" The smile grows, if anything, wider. "Ya... Ya... Yahhhh..." Keeping my voice neutral, I turn to Michael. ¡°Problem?¡± He slides eyes sidelong to the seating area, backing it up with a jerk of the head. ¡°Alyssa here says she¡¯s been here over an hour and is refusing to move.¡± I follow his gaze. Ah¡­ Crap¡­ The receptionist babbles more than Cara. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Mr Alexanders. I didn¡¯t mean to cause trouble, but¡­¡± I raise a palm. ¡°Calm down. You¡¯re not the cause of any trouble. Leave this to me.¡± Michaelys his hand on hers, murmurs something which I guess is reassurance. Deliberately still strolling, I take a seat opposite the unwee face. "Marlene. What are you doing here?" My ex-wife¡¯s face sets as she sees me. "I suppose you were bound to turn up. I came to see Georgie. I suppose that is alright, is it?" She drips sarcasm. "To see my own daughter?" Conscious that eyes are on us, I hang on to my neutral tone too. "That''s entirely Georgie''s choice. If she wants to visit you she''s entirely wee to do so." Marlene never pulled off an attractive pout in her life. Less so now that her face has soured with age. ¡­ a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the Devil¡­ N?velDrama.Org: owner of this content. Who said that? ? Undeterred, my umented ex pouts. "I''ve barely seen her for months. What have you said to her?" "Just what I told you I would, Marlene, after your thoughtlessnessst year endangered her, and a lot of other people as well. I set Georgie right on a few truths. Gave her the facts about the circumstances of our divorce." Marlene grows louder, bing shrill. "What did you tell her?" Heads turn in the lobby, hotel guests I assume. At the reception desk, Michael¡¯s expression hardens. "I told her nothing that wasn''t true, Marlene. And I showed her the paperwork to prove it. Now, this isn''t the ce for this discussion..." "How could you?¡± She rises from her seat. ¡°She''s all I have..." Her voice rises further, bing a screech. In the background voices mutter. I rise too. Grabbing her elbow, I steer her close, hissing, "Do you never learn? You¡¯re making a spectacle of yourself." A shadow looms. Michael, Cara still hanging from his chest. ¡°Would you mind lowering your tone, Madam. You¡¯re disturbing the other guests.¡± Marlene spawns a crocodile smile. "What a beautiful child." She tickles Cara under the chin, turning what she imagines is her charm onto Michael. "You''re very lucky to be able to keep your daughter so close." "Yeesss..." He shoots a nce at me. "James, if the two of you want to talk, why don''t you use my office? This isn''t really..." He gestures around the lobby at the pretending-not-to-stare faces. "Thanks. We''ll do that. Marlene..." I hold a hand toward the back office. "... this way." ***** Hands on hips, I face her. "So, Marlene, what do you want?" "I told you, I came to see Georgie. That receptionist wouldn¡¯t give me the key to her room." "Hardly a surprise. That would have been most improper of her, handing out a guest¡¯s key to a me you¡¯ve been here some time, therefore you already know that. So, I have to assume that you came to see me. Now¡­¡± I lean forward, fists on the desktop¡­ ¡°¡­ What do you want?" "I want my daughter back. You have to to tell her toe and see me. Why have you stopped her? You didn''t need to do that." "I haven''t stopped her. What Georgie chooses to do is her own decision. I simplyid out the facts for her to reach that decision." "You''ve stolen my daughter." "Our daughter. And, no, I haven''t stolen her. It was you that stole her from me, all those years ago. And for no better reason that I could ever see, than spite." "You divorced me." "You started it, Marlene. Was I supposed to ignore your infidelity? You wanted the divorce first. You only changed your mind when you realised you were killing the golden goose. By then, I''d had enough of your spendthrift habits and your lies and your constant efforts to keep me away from Georgie. She was my daughter too, and you didn''t like that." Her face screws up. "What was I supposed to do? It was always ¡®Daddy this¡¯ and ¡®Daddy that¡¯. Then