Darker (4 page)

“I love the opera. Maybe we could…”

Even before I finish he has the iPad fired up again, and is tapping the screen briskly.

“Well, we’ve got Opera North at the Leeds Grand this evening. How does
Don Giovanni
sound?”

“
Don Giovanni
. Wonderful. But would we be able to get tickets at short notice?”

“James’ll sort that. We all have our particular skills, Miss Byrne—sorry, Dr Bryne—and that’s his speciality.” Still tapping he comes up with more cultural delights. “And tomorrow we’ve got good old Tennessee Williams at the West Yorkshire Playhouse.
Cat On A Hot Tin Roof.
Would you fancy that?”

I nod, dazed.

“Great. Now what about the ballet? Ah yes, Northern Ballet are doing
The Nutcracker
. But that’s in Bradford. We could catch it on Sunday, though, on our way home to Black Combe. Shall I get James to hunt down the tickets for us before he goes home?”

“You want to do all those things, go on all those dates… With me? You want to spend the weekend with me?”

“By the sound of it, it’s gonna take us all weekend, sweetheart, at least, to rake through your legendary car wreck. And we’ll need lots of light relief. And lots of gentle fucking. Yes?”

I nod, enthusiastic, my face split by a beaming, goofy smile.

“And some not so gentle fucking once I’ve worked out how to manage your overly masochistic tendencies. So yes, Eva. I want to spend the weekend with you. And then we go back to Black Combe and you take up your previous post as violin tutor. You up for all that?”

“So I’m not fired. Or dumped?”

He shakes his head, smiling. “No, not fired, and not dumped. Okay? Will you stay with me for the weekend?”

“Yes. Yes. Please.”

Laughing, he hits the intercom. “James, have you a moment? We need you in here…”

Chapter Two

The weekend was wonderful. I have never enjoyed anything as much as I enjoyed Nathan over those two days. Not just the sex, though that was off the scale. Inventive. Frequent. Intense. But also his humour, his kindness, his light teasing as he drew my story out of me. At the same time he was relentless, leaving me no secrets, nowhere to hide. He has an unerring talent for precision-bombing my least defended areas with his insightful, probing questions, and he extracted the details of my emotional car crash, little by little, gently, firmly, fully.

In deference to my insistent, growling stomach we started at Pizza Express, a few minutes’ walk from Nathan’s office. We left James with a list of our planned itinerary, chasing up tickets, while we headed for food. I was starving. Absolutely ravenous. Nathan watched, amused, as I guzzled my way through a twelve-inch Hawaiian with extra cheese then waded through a huge slice of chocolate fudge cake. We did ask for two spoons, though, so I told myself that was okay. Not too greedy.

“What a hungry little thing you are, Miss Byrne. You do seem to have worked up quite an appetite. Perhaps I should beat you unconscious more often. Or would you just put on weight?”

I glance up, to catch his wide grin. I smile back, before digging my spoon into the sticky fudge cake once more.

“Not if I get plenty of exercise?”

He laughs out loud at that. “Ah yes, of course, Miss Byrne. Best to keep active. And I can definitely help you with that. Eat up.”

Nathan’s mobile interrupts our dessert. It’s James, his mission accomplished, with instructions for picking up opera tickets at the Leeds Grand box office. The other tickets, for the Playhouse and the ballet in Bradford, will be emailed to Nathan.

“Thanks, James, brilliant job, much appreciated. And thanks for staying late. See you next week. Have a nice weekend.” Hanging up, Nathan turns to me, his gorgeous face lit by a sexy smile, his now loose hair flopping around his collar. “We’ve a couple of hours before we need to be at the theatre. Fancy a walk…by way of keeping active?”

I expected to find myself back in his apartment within minutes, naked, and very thoroughly fucked. So it’s come as something of a surprise to be just strolling along the Leeds waterfront, hand in hand, enjoying the balmy warmth of a late summer afternoon. And for once, it’s dry. Nathan’s still wearing his dark grey suit pants and smart white shirt, meticulously ironed—
I wonder who does that for him?—
but the tie’s gone and his jacket is looped over his shoulder. His usual businesslike severity has been switched off with the loosening of his long hair, now brushing his collar, ruffled by the slight breeze. He looks more relaxed, carefree. Softer.

My hair is caught up into a loose plait between my shoulder blades, the best I could do quickly in my hurry to get ready after my shower in Nathan’s apartment. I didn’t bring a jacket with me when I went down to my ‘appointment’ at Darke Associates, so I might be cold later. But for now I’m floating. Every few yards I find something interesting to examine and, curious as always, I stop, fish my glasses from my bag and peer at some little touristy plaque commemorating this or that. Nathan just watches me, a strange smile on his mouth. I suspect there’s some private joke going on in his head, and it can stay there. I’m doing nothing, saying nothing, asking no questions that might break this mood. Shatter this happy bubble.

I’m happy. Consciously, gloriously happy. Happy now, in this moment. Not, as is more usual for me, in retrospect, looking back, realising afterwards that I was happy
then.
That I used to be happy, whenever. And I also know that my remembered happinesses are few and far between, far too infrequent. I make a mental note to read up on happiness—the psychologists must have done studies. Maybe this is how other people feel. Maybe I could do a course in being happy… How come I never thought of that before? Probably because I didn’t realise I wasn’t happy, not in the past. I was just getting on with stuff, getting by. Now, I know different.

Apart from a few office types scurrying in the direction of Leeds city station for their Friday evening commute home we have the dock to ourselves. We grab a couple of takeaway Costa lattes and are soon sitting, facing each other across a picnic table on a patio outside the Royal Armouries building. We sip our coffees quietly. Calm. Companionable. Enjoying an interlude of peace and quiet. The perfect opportunity it seems for Nathan to start his campaign to strip me bare.

“So, I’m curious, Eva. ‘Profoundly gifted’ I think you said… Is that right?” He slants a glance at me before returning to idly stir his latte. He doesn’t wait for my answer, not that anything springs immediately to mind. “And I’ve seen for myself how talented you are. Your academic accomplishments are obvious, your credentials impeccable. A successful academic career as far as I can tell, at some of the best universities in the country.” He stops again, glancing at me, waits a moment before continuing, as though expecting me to interrupt. No way that’s happening. He shrugs. “And as if that’s not enough, you’re beautiful too, sexy, fun to be around. You’ve got it all going on, girl.” And now I know he’s kidding. Taking the piss. Or got me mixed up with some other sub…

“So, with all that going for you, how come you’re scratching out a living temping as a music tutor? How come you’ll drive for God knows how many hours in enough rain to drown Noah, arriving in the middle of the fucking night at a perfect stranger’s home, to take up a crappy job teaching a little kid to play the violin? And even after I wreck your car and treat you like something I found under my shoe, you still want to stay? In fact, you’re desperate to stay. What’s all that about, Eva?”

What indeed? The silence stretches between us as I do my usual rabbit-in-headlights impersonation. In truth, there’s no explanation I’m prepared to offer. If I understood myself, if I had any real way of coping with the stress of my old life, I wouldn’t be sitting here now. His gaze is steady, his words deceptively gentle. I am in no doubt about the steel beneath and I dread the pressure he could exert if he chose. But on this occasion he’s content, it would seem, to let all that lie for now. It’s registered, recorded. To be continued. He sips his coffee, regarding me intently over the rim.

“Your coffee’s going cold.” He shoves my paper cup towards me and I pick it up obediently. The subject’s safely dropped and we can both enjoy our coffee, back to companionable silence again.

Then, “So, car crash, is it? What did you crash in to Eva?”

Whoa! Where did that come from? Caught off balance again I splash hot coffee onto my hand. Taking my palm in both of his he blows on my skin to cool it, then kisses each of my fingers gently, in turn. “Tell me, Eva. What’s in that pile of wreckage of yours?”

Sensing I won’t be let off the hook this time, I retreat immediately into my default position of defensiveness and denial. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know where to start. Lots of things. Nothing important. It can wait.” I’m reluctant, shy suddenly, and desperate to hide. I don’t want to spoil this lovely evening, burst my happiness bubble, intrude on it with talk of my screwed up past.

“All right. Shall I start then?” At my look of surprise he smiles, goes on. “Shall I tell you what I know about you already? What I’ve seen? You can tell me if I’m right. Okay?”

I nod. “Okay,” I whisper, grateful that he’s still holding my hand, stroking it lightly. I can concentrate on watching his hands on mine and not have to meet his eyes.

“I think you like to be looked after, pampered. You like having your hair dried, or your back washed in the shower, but I think you’re not used to it. Am I right so far?”

That’s not what I expected him to home in on, but it seems safe enough, I’ve got worse secrets. I nod. He goes on. My sense of safety evaporates. Precision bombing.

“But you jumped two feet in the air when I wrapped the towel round your hair, that first morning, in Grace’s kitchen. I thought you were going to bolt. I forced you back into your chair. Do you remember?”

Christ, yes!

He continues, his tone deceptively low as his words hit their target. Dead centre. “You were—scared? Were you scared of me even then, Eva?”

I can only stare at our hands, my mind whirling as I desperately grope around for words, for an answer, any response that might deflect him. He’s not having it. Gently squeezing my hand he lifts it again, kisses it, before reaching across the table. Taking my chin in his fingers he tips my face up, forcing eye contact. His dark chocolate eyes are soft, kind, compassionate. “Talk to me, Eva. I’m listening. Were you scared of me?”

I take a deep breath, and jump off the cliff.

“Not you. Well yes, you. But generally, not just because of the towel.”

“You were scared of me? And you hadn’t even seen my whip collection then.”

I laugh, appreciating his dark humour. “I’m scared of everyone. Well, all men. Please don’t take it personally. No offence.”

“None taken, love. And now? Are you still scared? Of me? Or of all men?”

Again studying our linked hands my reply is quiet, but stronger, more certain. It’s getting easier to share this stuff. With Nathan.

“Men—yes, probably. I think I always will be. I’m sort of—inhibited—I suppose you’d say. I’m very shy. Usually.”

“I know you’re shy, love. You blush a lot. It’s one of the things I first noticed about you. Because you’re so pretty when you blush, it makes me hard, makes me want to fuck you. And it brings out the worst in me, I’m afraid. It makes me want to talk very dirty to you just to make you blush more.”

I look up, startled at the unexpected sexual compliment. I feel myself starting to become wet, just anticipating the aforementioned fucking. He’s not done, though.

“But we were talking about being scared as well as shy. Are you still scared of me?”

I think for a moment, then answer him honestly, “Yes, definitely. Sometimes. And sometimes not. And sometimes there are times when you scare me so much I think I might just die of it. Is it possible to die of fear?”

“No. Maybe. I’m not sure. You won’t die of fear, though, not with me. Because you know, in your heart you do know, I won’t ever hurt you. Do you believe that, Eva?”

“Yes,” I whisper, so softly he has to lean forward to catch it. But he does. Now he knows. I do trust him. And now I know it too.

Suddenly something else bursts out, before even I know what I’m about to say. “I don’t like to be touched. No one ever touches me. I don’t allow it.” I pull my hand away, to prove my point. I stare at the table top, half expecting to see my words wriggling there, like black, ugly worms.

I hate worms—just one more of my many, many hang-ups. And I hate no longer being able to keep my secrets safe. My dam is breaking. I’m terrified of what might escape next.

Unruffled, Nathan reaches across, takes my hand back. Calm. Gentle. Firm. “I’ve done nothing but touch you since the night you arrived at my house, Eva. And I know for a fact you liked it. Mostly.”

I babble. In my bewildered, chaotic state I just pour out my confusion. Tip more wriggling worms onto the table. Let him sort them out. Make sense of it if he can.

“But that’s just it. Only you. No one else. Ever. Not even my mum. But I sat still and let you dry my hair. And I let you kiss me, on the lane when we were stargazing.” I am looking at him now, wide-eyed, baffled. His head cocked to one side he listens, saying nothing, letting me continue. “It felt different when you did it. It was nice. It felt right. I think. Sort of. I was so surprised, so delighted, I don’t know how it happened. I just wanted more. I wanted you to never stop touching me.” Embarrassed, I fall silent.

“Is that why you agreed to come to Leeds with me then? To let me touch you some more?”

It would be easy to just agree, leave it at that, but my relentless honesty is in full flow now. I want to tell it like it is. “No. I agreed because you had me flat on my back, topless, on Mrs Richardson’s kitchen table. I was so close to my first orgasm, I needed it, so much. And you kept on at me. Bullying me. I was desperate, scared you’d just stop if I didn’t do as you wanted, just dump me, leave me hanging.” My voice faltering, I stumble on, whispering now, uncomfortable and vulnerable. “I’ve been close before, once or twice, but never managed to…you know…finish.”