TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy) (13 page)

“I put you in a kind
of trance so your senses were heightened but you felt no pain. Now I realise
that was wrong.”

“It was shameful. You
could have seriously hurt me.”

“I can heal you …”

“No. Take a long look
at your handy work. You got off on hurting me.”

“That’s not true. I
got off, as you say, on the intimacy we shared. If I’d wanted to hurt you, you
would not be standing here asking me about it.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Of course not.” He’s
shaking his head. “A simple explanation.”

“There’s nothing
simple about it.” I wriggle my hands free. “You only know how to take. Anyone
would think you had never loved …”

He snaps back, “I
have not.”

“But surely you …”

He’s shaking his
head. “No.”

I grab my bathrobe
off the hook. “So what’s this? Another lie?”

“I wish it were.”

“I don’t trust you.
You said you would take care of me, and here I am looking like I’ve been
raped.”

He leans back to
absorb the magnitude of my declaration. “But you have not.”

“No, but if I were to
walk into a hospital right now and say I had been, they would believe me,” I
state frankly.

“That would be a very
foolish thing to do, Beth.”

I rest my hands on my
hips petulantly. “I didn’t say I was going to, just
if
I did.”

“That’s not
necessary. Let me heal you and we can begin again.”

“No. I want you to
see what you’ve done and reflect on how long it takes for these bites and
bruises to fade.”

“Are you attempting
to punish me?” He finds the thought quite amusing.

“Not punish. Teach.”
I pull my hair back into a rough ponytail. “I said I would go through with
this, and I will. But I won’t let you spend six months with me and leave having
not learned anything about love.” I hold my hand against my neck, drawing his
attention to the bite marks. “What emotion is this? Can you tell me?”

He tips his head to
the side, baffled by my question.

“Just so you know,
this is cruelty.” I push him aside. “Now if you’d excuse me, I’d like to
shower.”

He steps to his
right. Only now can I see my husband in all his glory, naked and covered in
perspiration, his hair untidy, his chin darkening with stubble. This is the man
I love, and no amount of bruising will change that.

I toss my bathrobe to
one side, unhook my bra and step out of my panties immodestly. My mottled skin
begins to glow under the steaming spray. I tip back my head, close my eyes,
feeling its full force on my face and the sting of it on my neck and breasts.
In less than five minutes all evidence of my infidelity is washed away.

When I have towelled
myself dry, and some of the steam has cleared from the mirror, I inspect
myself. The bite marks have disappeared; my breasts are untouched and my hips
are smooth to the touch and the colour of tinted alabaster. I am healed and, if
I’m honest, very relieved. Surely I’ve endured more physical and emotional pain
than any one person deserves in a lifetime, haven’t I? To be able to rectify
the former is miraculous but … the latter? That’s a different kind of hurt.
Only I can repair those scars and that process will begin tomorrow.

***

Mack is standing by a
stray dining chair, looking up into a loft opening, assessing whether a woman
of Elise’s size could reach up into it to retrieve three boxes. He climbs onto
the chair and reaches up. The low ceiling makes it possible for him to rest his
elbows on the edge and peer inside. To the right, poking out of a black bin bag
is a large Christmas tree, beside it a box labelled decorations, to the left he
sees two suitcases and nothing more. He sighs, realising Elise had few
mementos. Her past would appear to be contained in three small boxes that have
been hidden away, out of sight. He wonders if that’s a reflection of her life.

Lying around on the
bedroom carpet are discarded clothes - jeans and a white blouse - covered in
more black dust. Wardrobe doors have been flung open and cosmetics thrown into
the sink.

This was a woman in a
hurry, he surmises. ‘But what woman would be in such a hurry to die? Maybe one
who had nothing, or no one left worth living for?’

He leaves her
apartment, slamming the door behind him, more determined than ever to find
answers to questions he has yet to devise. 

Still
stinging from the emotional and physical savaging that was tonight’s encounter,
I resist the temptation to speak softly to Ayden as he sleeps peacefully by my
side. I turn off the bedside lamp, run my fingers through his hair, say
nothing, and leave the room. It’s only 10.30p.m. and there’s something I must
do while left “unsupervised.”

Settling on the sofa,
I boot up my laptop, seeking a private place to hide my heart and to keep my
love alive for my husband.

I download the
software for a digital scrapbook, planning to record the events of the next six
months. If and when he - in all his infinite wisdom - returns Ayden to me I
don’t want him grappling with out-of-focus memories of our first year of
marriage. The thought of being no more than a ghost scares the hell out of me.
I’ll help Ayden to re-live this time; to see it with my eyes through a camera
lens, and through my words and music. It will seem to him that we were never
apart. I listen to Daughter singing
Still
, picturing the night’s events
and reliving the nightmare. Through tears I type and relive our day …

NOVEMBER
#1

“Boldness be my friend.”

Shakespeare: Cymbeline

Today we took a
stroll around The Tower of London. The tour guide tried so hard to entertain
us, but had you rolling your eyes and checking your watch after 30 minutes. Ha!

I dragged you away to
Balthazar’s in Covent Garden and we had a delicious meal. Of course, you
intimidated the hell out of the waiter and took seven long minutes to choose
the wine. But I was happy to wait and watch.

In a couple of days,
you’ll be whisking us off on our honeymoon to Hong Kong, and The Great Barrier
Reef. I can’t wait!! (Pictures to follow!) Having you all to myself for a week
will make up for all the craziness we’ve had to deal with.

I love you Ayden.

Beth. X

To this first entry I
attach a stock photo of the Tower and upload a photo of a menu from Balthazar’s
to add context. I save and shut down; close the laptop lid and lean back,
contemplating my next move.

I’m not accustomed to
duplicity, but that doesn’t mean I can’t exhibit it in one form or another. I
must play my part to perfection and count down the days until my body and my
thoughts become my own. Hopefully, this scrapbook will make serving my time a
little easier. Doing what I must will be the biggest challenge of my life, but
it’s not insurmountable. To save Ayden’s life, I must give the performance of
my
life.

Last night passed
without incident. I’m awake early: it’s only 6 a.m. As I turn, I notice Ayden
is lying on his back. I have my chin propped up on my left palm, caressing him
with my eyes; dark wisps of eyelashes sit motionless on smooth sweeps of skin
beneath his eyes. Sculptured cheekbones catch the light and his mouth … oh how
I long to trace the shape of that perfect pout. I lick my lips reflexively and
close my eyes. When I open them he’s awake, looking back at me quizzically.

I’m no longer
startled by his presence; I half expect it now. “You’re back?”

“I am indeed. Why are
you awake so early?” he asks yawning widely.

“To wake you up. You
have to go to work today,” I remind him.

He huffs, rolling his
eyes with incredulity. “I don’t have to do anything,” he reminds me.

“If you want to be
accepted as Ayden, you have to be him in every sense of the word. That means
running his business, and attending functions – all of it. You’ve picked
yourself a handsome guy who is a media mogul and a well-known face in the
press. You need to keep up appearances or people will think something is
wrong.”

“I don’t see why I
should have to burden myself with that. I’m sure there are better ways to amuse
myself - and you too for, that matter.”

“You mean like
visiting more tourist attractions?” I ask sarcastically.

He gives me a
disapproving look. “Distain does not become you, Beth.”

“I’ll keep that in
mind the next time you try to complicate things more than they already are.” I
jump out of bed, naked, and reach for my bathrobe. “Look. I’ll come with you if
you like, to help out.” I turn to face him. “I can’t say fairer than that.”

“It’s a tempting
offer.” He’s grinning. “On one condition...”

I tighten the belt
around my waist. “And that would be?”

“You wear a business
suit …”

“OK. I can do that
...”

“… but no underwear.”

I feel my face
folding into a frown. “What? Are you serious?”

He’s licking his lips
in such a sensual way I know I’ll have to leave soon, before my neck turns the
colour of steak tatare.

“Absolutely!”

I’m shaking my head.
“Why would you insist on such a thing?” I hold up my hand and beat him to his
answer. “Let me guess. Because you can.”

He laughs quietly. “That’s
correct.”

“If you don’t mind I
would rather not attend a high-powered meeting of media men in suits minus my
panties, thank you very much.”

He turns over and
pulls up the cover to his chin with an exaggerated sigh.

“So that’s it. You’re
going to stay in bed all day because I won’t go and face the world in a state
of undress?” I fold my arms in front of me and tap my foot. “Don’t you think
that’s a little petty? You’ll be bored senseless.”

“Not at all. I won’t
be here,” he mutters.

“Of course you won’t.
You’ll be off gallivanting around the globe with your scythe counting the dead
and collecting souls, while I’ll be making up some implausible excuse about you
having the flu.” I storm out of the bedroom in a huff.

Fifty minutes later
I’m stomping in high heels across a marble floor, throwing my phone into my
handbag, quietly simmering. When I glance up, Ayden is lounging on the white
leather sofa, looking like he’s just stepped out of a photo shoot; his arms are
outstretched into a ‘Titanic’ pose across the headrest, with his right leg
across his left knee. His signature Armani suit clings to his muscular body
like a second skin. Before I can self-edit, I’m thinking,
Wow!

He looks across at
me, supressing his delight but unable to hold back on a wry smile. “You look
sensational too, darling,” he announces. “Are we ready to go?”

I say nothing and
simply nod.

As we descend to
street level, the closeness of his body and the invisible cloud of expensive
cologne works like a charm. “Here, hold this.” I hand him my bag, raise my
skirt and wiggle out of my panties. I swap them for my bag. “There. You’ve got
what you wanted, haven’t you?”

He’s shaking his
head. “Not entirely.”

“What do you mean?”

He peels back my navy
jacket, to reveal a sheer white blouse. “Aren’t we forgetting something?”

“This blouse is
see-through,” I say, indignation plastered across my face.

“And …”

“And … and I don’t
think …”

“You don’t have to
think, Beth. That’s what I’m here for.” He’s spinning my panties around the
forefinger of his left hand like a gunslinger with a lingerie fetish.

As hard as I try I
can’t prevent a giggle from escaping my mouth. “I don’t see what difference it
makes whether I’m wearing a bra or not.” I slip off my jacket and fold it over
his arm. I unhook my bra, slip out of the straps, and pull it down my left arm
until it appears like bunting from a magician’s sleeve.

 “Ta da!” With his
arms full I wrap the bra around his neck. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

Before leaving the
house I quickly don my jacket and fix my skirt; take my lingerie from Ayden’s
hands, and shove it into my bag. The cold air nips at my cheeks and my nipples
as we make a dash for the Rolls.

“Morning, Lester.” I
give him my sweetest smile.

“Good morning, Mrs.
Stone. It’s good to have you back home.”

“Thank you.”

He gives Ayden the
customary nod and slams the rear door. Within the minute he is weaving through
traffic and we’re on our seven-mile journey from Belgravia to Canary Wharf.
There is just enough time to develop an action plan.

I turn to face him,
“Does everyone know we’re coming? Will they be assembled?”

“Yes. I contacted
Charlotte yesterday and asked her to arrange a formal Board meeting at 9 a.m.”

“How will you know
who they are or what to say?” I ask, uncertain about his ability to pull it
off.

Charlotte will be
putting name plates out, for your benefit, and I’m hoping you will be able to
assist me as well.”

“Me? What do I know?
I’ll be the one sitting there without underwear. I’ll be more concerned about
keeping my legs crossed and my jacket fastened,” I remind him in a sulk.

He begins to chuckle
and I catch him smirking.

“I know what you’re
doing!” I shake my head and trace the droplets of rain that are now running
down the window.

“You do?”

“Yes. You’re sifting
through Ayden’s memories again, finding ones that are playful; when he was
amused, when we had fun.” I turn to face him. ”That’s what you’re doing isn’t
it?” I straighten an already smooth skirt. “The underwear thing; you would
never have thought of that. After last night’s assault on my senses, I have a
good idea of what you’re like. Your ability to heal my bruises doesn’t detract
from the fact you were more animal than human. I would have been screaming if
you hadn’t numbed my perception of pain.”

“I have apologised
for that.” He takes my hand. “It will not happen again, Beth.”

“How can I be sure?”
I wait for a reply but none is forthcoming. “I can’t live in fear of you.”
Having said my piece, I look away.

“You won’t have to. I
will not touch you unless you want me to. Is that assurance enough for you?”

When I face him, he’s
gazing straight ahead. “Ayden?”

He offers me a smile.
“Yes, Beth.”

“I can do this. I can
show you love but not if you treat me like that. I will begin to despise you
and fear you. Neither of us wants that.” I take his right hand. “Now about this
meeting. Are you nervous?”

He’s a little
surprised by my question. “Nervous? About what?”

“Facing all these
strangers and faking it.”

“Not at all. I think
it was a good idea. I’m feeling rather excited at the prospect of it.”

“Have you done this
kind of thing before?”

“Never. But I’m not
unfamiliar with the concept of role-play.”

I snatch my hand
away. “This is more than just role play. This is someone’s business you’re
talking about. You don’t want to appear different or confused.”

His quiet laughter
draws my attention. “I can say with total certainty that in all my years I have
never appeared
confused
.”

“I’ll have to take
your word for that. But, like you’ve said, you’ve never had to pretend to be a
successful man with his finger on the pulse of a billion pound media empire,
have you? It’s not like throwing half a dozen souls into a sack and carrying
them off to God knows where.”

He’s laughing out
loud. “Your description of my other job is closer to the mark than you might
think.” His laughter subsides and he places a soft kiss on my left cheek.
“Nevertheless, I will do my very best to keep in character Beth, if only to
please you.”

“Thank you.”

He checks his watch.
“Are you ready for your performance?”

“Why? What do I have
to do other than pretend you’re my husband?” I’m shrugging my shoulders
feigning disinterest.

“You have to meet the
press, darling.” He bolsters his statement with a smile.

“Me!”

“Yes. Your attack and
subsequent escape from the jaws of death made the front page. They are
gathering outside Stone House to see you, not me.”

I’m suddenly feeling
rather uncomfortable. “How long have you known about this?”

“From the moment I
arranged it.” He’s so nonchalant I could slap him.

I’m searching around
in my bag for my panties. “And you didn’t think I might prefer to meet the
press wearing these?” I’m waving them in front of him, but only for second
until I catch Lester’s startled expression in the rear view mirror.

“I thought you might
feel less constrained and more … liberated without them.” He’s laughing, again.

I begin to laugh too.
“You’re becoming more like Ayden every day. This is definitely something he
would do!”

“I’ll take that as a
compliment.”