TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy) (15 page)

Stephen is struggling
to find the right words. 

“Come on man, spit it
out. Let’s hear it.”

“I’m afraid there
seems to have been some confusion about the legality of your marriage to … to
Miss Parker.”

Ayden and I look at
each other in surprise. Then - with every other head in the room   - we turn to
face Stephen, and look back at Ayden as if we’re watching the set point being
played in a Wimbledon final.

Did you know?

Not until five
minutes ago.

“That
is
disappointing news. And how do you propose we deal with this revelation,
Stephen?”

All eyes are now on
Stephen. Even Jake puts down his coffee; he’s riveted to the spot.

“As I see it, we have
three options.” He clears his throat. “One. You leave things as they are and
remain unwed. The Vegas ceremony will be invalid and thus annulled...”

All eyes turn to
Ayden. “Two.”

“Two. I arrange for
the documents to be faxed over so you can read through and sign them. Thus
legalising the marriage …”

“And three?”

“Three. You make
arrangements to be re-married here and you take it from there.” His last word
trails off and he sits down, visibly relieved to have communicated the bad news
and managed to keep his job.

Ayden rubs his chin
thoughtfully. “I see. We do seem to have a problem on our hands, don’t we?” He
turns to me. “What do you propose we do, Beth? How might we resolve our
predicament? Will you be my wife in all respects, including name?”

What can I say to
that? “I thought I was!”

“As did I, darling.
You decide.”

I’m shaking my head.
When I look around the room, all eyes are on me. “I think we should sign on the
dotted line, Ayden, and make it legal.”

Straightening his
jacket and fastening the button, Ayden signals his agreement. “Then that’s what
we’ll do.” He looks back at Stephen. “Have the documents ready to be signed by
lunchtime. We’ll be leaving for our honeymoon tomorrow and we will do so as man
and wife. Now, anything else?”

The gathering begins
to disperse, with only Jake and I remaining seated!

Once the Board
Members have left, Jake stands. ”What the fuck! Didn’t you two sign anything in
Vegas?”

I try to explain, “No
we didn’t. The MI5 agents were so eager to get their hands on Ayden, we didn’t
have time.”

Jake lowers his head,
realising his accountability. “Yeah. Sorry. It was my fuck-up that caused
that.”

Tell him the truth
Ayden!

Ayden reaches out to
shake his hand. “No harm done.”

“What?” I exclaim.
“Tell him Ayden. You can’t let him think it was
all
his fault.”

Jake looks repentant.
“It’s alright, Beth. No need to defend me I know I fucked-up.”

“But you didn’t.” I
take Ayden’s arm. “Tell him, or I will.”

I don’t know what you
want me to tell him?

It occurs to me that
Ayden doesn’t actually know and I’ve put him on the spot. I have to make a
quick recovery. “I know how bad Ayden feels about this, so I’ll tell you.” I
take hold of Jake’s arm and lead him over to the enormous window. “You didn’t
fuck-up. It was a sting operation set up by MI5. It was arranged months ago and
Ayden couldn’t get out of it. For the sake of making it look real, he had to
string you along. He feels terrible about it.”

Ayden sits poised and
unruffled, massaging his chin the way he does when he’s thinking things
through.

Tell him you’re
sorry.

Jake turns to him.
“Is this true? All this was going on and you didn’t tell me? You let me feel
like shit because I thought I’d let you down?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.
Sorry about that.”

Jake begins to laugh.
“You bastard!” His gaze shifts to me. “And did
you
know?”

I shake my head. “No.
Not until I went over to see him in MI5’s HQ.” I have to diffuse this before it
blows up in Ayden’s face. “You think
you
were deceived and hung out to
dry? I’ve ended up with a non-existent marriage because of it!”

Jake looks to Ayden.
“You fooled us all, Ayd.”

“I had no choice.”

“I get that. Business
is business right?”

I interrupt. “That’s
not how it was Jake. It wasn’t about business. It was about something more
important than that. It was about the chips being intercepted and used for
weaponry like rockets and missiles. That’s why Ayden got involved.”

Ayden defends
himself, finally. “I should have told you but the fewer people who knew the
more credible it was.”

“Well, it worked.”

“It did and the
British Secret Services are working with the Saudi Arabian government to arrest
and detain undesirables, as they call them.”

“That’s good news, I
guess.” He huffs away a thought. “So when were you going to tell me?”

“When the time was
right,” Ayden states.

Jake leans in and
kisses me on my cheek. “You’re a good person Beth. I hope some of your goodness
rubs off on our Ayden here.” He walks across the room, stopping to pat Ayden on
the shoulder as he remains seated. “I’ll go check on that report and meet you
for lunch, right?

“I’ll have Charlotte
tell you where we’re going.”

He leaves the room in
a dash and I can feel his disappointment wafting over us like a backdraft.

“What was that all
about?” Ayden asks.

I stomp over to him.
“It was about you not trusting your best friend.”

“I don’t see why …”

I hold up my hand to
quiet him. “You will.”

***

D. I. Bowker is
sitting in a plush waiting room on the top floor of the Stone Building. He’s
reading through notes and recalling yesterday’s visit to Hatch End, feeling
fascinated and benevolent; if ever there was a victim who needed his help it’s
Elise Richards. Contemptuously, he glances around at the white leather
furniture, the accolades proudly displayed in gilded frames, the scented water.
Before he can rationalise his disdain the door opens and a smart, mature lady
moves towards him.

“Detective Inspector
Bowker, please come with me. Mr. Stone will see you now.”

He follows her along
a brightly lit corridor decorated with photographs of capital cities; every one
he recognises, none he’s ever visited. He turns away and faces forward,
refusing to be taken in by big business branding. 

He enters the lion’s
den and sees Ayden Stone reclining in a high-backed leather chair that swivels
left and right. He’s dressed immaculately in a navy suit and tie. His features
appear chiselled, his smile charming in the extreme. Behind him is the London
skyline; familiar landmarks dwarfed by his monument to materialism: The Stone Building.
Mack envisions King Canute, holding back the tides, and struggles to suppress a
smile. Instead, he reshapes it into a polite greeting.

“Good afternoon Mr.
Stone,” he says, reaching out to shake his hand. Thank you for seeing me. “I
must say you’re looking incredibly well after your date with death.”

Mr. Stone gives him a
wry smile and meets his handshake a little more forcefully. “Thank you
Detective Inspector. It’s amazing what they can do with modern medicine these
days. Please take a seat.”

Mack nods,
incredulously. “I wouldn’t know. I doubt you could get what you’ve had on the
National Health though.”

Mr. Stone will not be
baited. “I’m sure it’s universally available. No secret potions have been
used.” He laughs quietly. “What can I do for you? I have already been
interviewed by one of your colleagues and I explained fully what happened.”

“Yes you did and I
thank you for that, but certain details have come to light in the past couple
of days which I’d like clear up, if that’s alright?” He’s playing his cards
close to his chest.

“Of course. Fire
away.”

“Can you confirm you
knew Miss. Richards?” He’s starting with the easy questions first.

“Yes, we were
friends. She worked at the Estate Agents and was very helpful in the purchase
of my home.” Mr. Stone leans a little further back into his chair.

That’s nothing he
didn’t already know. “And would you say you became close?”

“Close? Define
close.”

Mack recognises a
smart arse when he meets one and realises Mr. Stone will not be easily pinned
down. “By close, I mean were you engaged in sexual relations with Miss.
Richards?”

“No I was not,” Mr.
Stone replies, indignantly. “She wasn’t my type.” He turns a photo of Elizabeth
Stone around on his desk. “That’s my type.”

Mack recognises her
as the small girl in the photograph, all grown up; an ugly duckling transformed
into a swan. “Your wife is very beautiful, Mr. Stone, but you are newlyweds as
I recall, after a whirlwind romance. It’s the time before you met your charming
wife I’m concerned with.” He waits for an unhelpful response.

“I see. Then, once
again, I would have to confess, Miss. Richards was not my type. I’m sure she
was a very charming woman but we were only friends and I am still struggling to
comprehend why she decided to hold a knife to my ribs and tried to kill us
both. She was fixated on me for some reason. I feared for my life when she
grabbed at the steering wheel.”

Mack doesn’t believe
a word of it but three photographs do not make a case. “Yes, I can appreciate
that. But what possessed her to consider suicide, do you think?”

Mr. Stone begins to
turn left and right in his chair as if he hasn’t a care in the world. “I was
recently married, and all I can assume is that she felt betrayed in some way.
Which, of course, was not the case.”

Tiring of his
farcical performance Mack opts for a more direct approach. “One possible
scenario might be that she was blackmailing you, Mr. Stone. Was she?”

“Of course not. What
a ridiculous idea,” Mr. Stone scoffs. “What could she possible use to blackmail
me? I have nothing to hide.” He checks his watch.

“I just wondered if
perhaps she had known you in the past …”

Mr. Stone’s brows
arch in astonishment. “The past? What are you insinuating, that we were
business partners of some sort?”

Mack won’t be
deterred. “Not necessarily …”

“Well, what then?”

“I was merely
enquiring as to the possibility that you might have known each other in a
different capacity or at an earlier stage in your life when you were less…” He
struggles to find the right word; he wants to say
connected
or
rich
but some careful editing transposes it into, “…well known.”

Mr. Stone looks
around at the grandiosity of his office - the six TV screens, the artwork, the
door leading to an en-suite bathroom and dressing room. He turns around and
directs his accuser to the view. “I have been
well known
for some time
Detective Inspector Bowker. How far back are you prepared to go?” he asks.
Undaunted by his insinuation he turns to face him.

Recognising a veiled
threat when he hears it, Mack prepares to back off. This is one battle he has
neither the manpower nor the brainpower to win. He has been out- manoeuvred by
a master. He feels out of his depth but more determined than ever to scratch
away at the veneer of this man; to dig down deep with his bare hands if
necessary, until he can look himself in the eye and say with confidence what
happened in the past and why Elise Richards tried to sacrifice them both for
the sake of a secret.

“Is there anything
else I can help you with?” Mr. Stone asks, politely.

Mack stands and
straightens trousers that have become creased while sitting. “No, nothing else.
You’ve been very helpful Mr. Stone. Thank you for your time,” he says briskly.

“Not at all. I’ll
have Charlotte show you out.” He presses a button under his desk and revolves
in his chair. “I hope you’ve not parked too far away. It looks as though it’s
going to rain.”

Mack doesn’t bother
answering, and leaves Mr. Stone’s office without a backward glance. He makes
the long descent to the lobby, steps out onto the pavement and closes his eyes,
feeling the refreshing trickle of raindrops on his face. When he opens them the
rain has stopped. He reads it as a good omen and crosses the road to where his
car is parked, dodging professional looking people in designer suits who are
talking on phones - doing deals with the Devil to make their next million. He
wants no part of it. All he has is his sixth sense and a self-satisfied smile,
and that’s enough.

Having
stepped out of our business clothes we are relaxing in casual attire. I’m
wearing a button-down khaki dress; he’s dressed in black jeans and a pale blue
T-shirt that accentuates the sapphire streaks in his eyes. Ayden is pouring
champagne into two tall flutes. Ambient music is playing through the sound
system in our home and we are celebrating the fact we are now officially man
and wife, with the documents to prove it.

Bernie has prepared a
meal for us. The aroma of onions and rich sauce is filling the lounge with
memories of home cooking and we are relaxed in each other’s company.

The table is set and
the casserole is bubbling on the table. Thankfully the glass has been covered
with a tablecloth, so no traces of my fingerprints remain; only the memory of a
sexual encounter that has me squirming in my chair.

Ayden sits across
from me, poised and justifiably proud of his accomplishments today. He fooled
everyone. For a moment even I believed him, but that was wishful thinking: I’m
still caught up in this ‘adventure.’

I stop eating to
speak. “You’re very quiet.”

“I’m reviewing the
day’s events.”

“Really? You did
well, although turning the heating up was naughty of you.”

He begins to laugh
roguishly. “I was thinking about what your husband would do and that came to
mind.”

I’m laughing too. “I
must have lost three pounds in perspiration. I’ve had to throw the blouse away
and the suit will need dry cleaning – twice!”

“I enjoyed the
experience although there were times when I had to suppress emotional
responses.”

“Such as …?” I take a
sip of wine.

“The way I felt when
Jake looked at you.”

“Well who’s fault was
it my blouse had become transparent? If I’d been wearing a bra there would have
been nothing for him to look at. And, anyway, what did he mean when he said you
were ‘up to your old tricks?’”

He’s shaking his
head. “I don’t know.”

I think I do.

Silently, I put down
the glass. “So how do you explain that feeling?”

“I haven’t the
faintest idea.”

“I do; let’s call it
jealousy.” I look away and return to the beef bourguignon.

“I’ve not experienced
it before. You could be right.” He nods, accepting the explanation.

“It’s like I’ve said
before; we humans feel everything, good
and
bad. That’s what makes us
what we are.”

“I’m beginning to
appreciate that. It would explain why I find myself in a permanent state of
arousal.” He just throws that out there.

My eyes widen at the
thought. “You do?”

He places down his
fork. “Yes.”

I raise my eyes to
his and the darkness of his irises makes me catch my breath. “I see that.”

“You seem to have a
profound effect upon this body. Some kind of intangible force of will draws me
to you, sexually.”

“Well, we
are
husband and wife.” It’s the only answer I can think of at the moment.

He is motionless. “Do
you feel the same way about me?”

I take a sip of wine.
“Yes. I want my husband so badly I could weep. I miss his soft words and his
caress …” I close my eyes. “The way he kisses me as if it’s our last embrace
and the feel of him inside me as though we’re inseparable.” I open my eyes. “So
yes, I feel the same way.” I pick up my fork and continue eating.

His hand reaches for
mine across the table. “Let me make love to you, Beth.”

I’m sniggering. “I
would say yes, but I don’t think you’re capable of it. You’ve lived so long,
taking and giving nothing in return, I’m not convinced you even know how to make
love.” I pat my lips with my napkin. “You rely on your tricks and demand that
everything is just so …with little regard for others. A good lover doesn’t do
that.”

“Then I will learn
how to love. You will teach me.”

I smile at the
absurdity of it. “See, there you go. Telling not asking.”

“Have you finished
eating?”

I nod my head.

“Give me your hand. I
need to diffuse some of this sexual energy before I explode.”

“If that’s your idea
of a pick-up line, it’s not very good.”

“Darling, I wouldn’t
know a pick-up line if it landed on my plate.”

We walk hand in hand
to the lift.

“They rarely land
there, anyway.”

“Then that’s just as
well.”

Before we enter the
lift I pull him back. “You promise there will be no hypnotic music or putting
me in a trance …?”

“I do.”

“Cross your heart and
hope to die?”

“Certainly not!”

I’m giggling. “It’s
only something we say …”

“In that case I will
object on the grounds that I have a vested interest.” He kisses my hair. “Come
to bed.”

When we enter the
master bedroom, I’m taken aback. There are crimson rose petals on the bed,
candles on every surface and an ice bucket by the bed with an unopened bottle
of champagne.

“When did you do
this?” I ask curiously.

“Five minutes ago. Do
you approve?”

“Yes, it’s
wonderful.” I lift a handful of petals off the bed and hold them to my nose.

He’s beaming. “If you
consider today’s events, this is our wedding night.”

What an unsettling
thought.

“Yes.” I turn to face
him, taking his beautiful face in my hands, preparing to do as I said I would;
to give the performance of my life, to save the life of another. “I love you,
Ayden.”

“I love you more,
Beth.”

I’m momentarily
wounded by his reply; although why should I be? He’s been accessing Ayden’s
thoughts all day. This is just one more to add to the long list of daily
adjustments I’m having to make.

His nose brushes
against mine as I tilt my face up to him like a sacrificial offering. There’s
no disguising his arousal; it’s apparent in the deepest, darkest blue of his
eyes and in the rigid mass pressing into my hip. We are physically attracted to
one another, that’s undeniable; but there’s more. It’s a pull, a yearning to
touch and be touched.

I’m aching inside for
him; I miss him, my body misses him.

We kiss.

He runs his tongue
along my bottom lip, coating it in moisture. Sensing my need, he enters my
mouth and I allow our tongues to dance and swirl to a sensual rhythm.

I throw back my head
and shiver a little as his kisses tickle my throat and tease the skin beneath
my ear. I make that noise I know Ayden loves to hear and suppress a whimper,
knowing it will go unheard. But … I dare not allow that thought to linger. I
have to find the strength from somewhere to surrender myself and my body or …

He murmurs into my
neck, “Tell me what you need. I can give you anything.”

I’m breathless and
can’t speak.

“Come on Beth. Be
bold, baby …”

I gasp at those three
words. There are no secrets between us now. He knows everything, sees
everything, hears everything, feels everything.

He’s becoming Ayden.

With that thought, I
let go and throw myself at his mercy; I pull his T-shirt over his head so I can
feel the warmth of his overheated body against mine. I pull him to me, dizzy
with desire, and he spins us around until my back is against the wall. I am
pinned with no means of escape but too entangled in a myriad of emotions to
care.  

When I pull back to
catch my breath, I look into those depthless pools and see misty clouds of
grey. Detecting a tenderness I haven’t seen before from him; my fear
dissipates. The nebulous hues are a reminder of the distance in time and space
he has crossed to be here with me - to offer me this chance to love and be
loved.

He speaks in a
whisper,

And
in Life's noisiest hour,

There
whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,

The
heart's Self-solace and soliloquy.

You
mould my Hopes, you fashion me within;

And
to the leading Love-throb in the Heart

Thro'
all my Being, thro' my pulse's beat;

You
lie in all my many Thoughts, like Light,

Like
the fair light of Dawn, or summer Eve

On
rippling Stream, or cloud-reflecting Lake.

And
looking to the Heaven, that bends above you,

How
oft! I bless the Lot that made me love you.

The
Presence of Love

Samuel
Taylor Coleridge

“I have travelled all
over the universe to find you, Beth. Let me love you.”

In this moment I
realise how our lives have been inexplicably linked for decades; Death has
found me wandering like a lost child so many times and now, as a woman, it has
come to this one defining moment.

I can think of only
one word. “Yes.”

With dexterous hands,
he leans back and unbuttons my dress; it falls from my arms and flutters to the
carpet like falling leaves. I’m standing without shoes; flimsy underwear is all
that lies between my modesty and my nakedness.

He lowers my hands
from his chest to his hips and then places them on his belt, inviting me to
relieve him of his trousers, all the time kissing and nibbling the skin beneath
my ear.

I quickly unfasten
the belt and release the buttons so the zipper comes down almost of its own
accord. With my eyes closed I slide my hand down his jeans, over muscle and
through pubic hair until I have him wrapped in one hand. He groans into my neck
and the heat of his desire scorches my skin, urging me to tighten my grip and
feel the pulse of a rigid cock rippling in my hand. He’s dipping and
shuddering, making the kind of noises that have me clenching and so aroused I
can barely stand.

With steaming breath
he whispers, “Show me how to love you, Beth.”

With my free hand I
move his hand to my left shoulder and ease down my bra strap. He follows
through, left and right and leans into me to unclip it before it falls and
dangles off my right wrist. I begin to pull out my hand.

“Leave it where it
is,” he says with a smile and then proceeds to snap the strap and toss it
across the room. With it discarded, I am captured in candlelight. This is the
first time he has seen my naked breasts. Before, there was only the glow of
moonlight. Now there are shadows and the flickering light cast by 20 candles. I
feel exposed and lower my head, embarrassed by his stare.

“Look at me!”

I raise my eyes to
meet his. “Don’t ever be shy about who you are. You are beauty personified. I
have lived many lifetimes, travelled through space and time; read a thousand
books and recited a hundred poems, but even I cannot find the words to describe
you.” He rests his palms on my breasts and strokes my nipples with the pad of
his thumbs, making my body tremble.

“See how you respond?
Your body recognises the touch of these hands and no other. These hands are the
key to untold pleasures.”

I throw my head back
as I feel his erection growing, forcing its way through material, seeking
freedom from containment. With both hands I lower his jeans and boxers,
allowing it to spring free. When I see it, I gasp. It’s bigger than I
remembered, standing long and thick without support. I’m aroused further by its
magnificence.

“Give me your hand.”

I lift up my right
hand. Enfolding it with his own, he places it around the skin coated rod of
iron and begins to move my fingers and thumb up and down the length of it;
rolling my thumb back and forth on the upward motion.

With a throaty voice
he urges me to give him my other hand. I do.

He places it between
my legs, his hand over mine, his firm fingers sliding between my own until they
are wet and soaked. With our hands moving rhythmically he begins to fuck my
mouth with his tongue. He moans into me, stimulating me even more, and I gasp,
caught up in a sexual frenzy that has us both teetering on the edge of an
orgasmic high.

Like a woman
possessed, I throw my head back and give in to the blistering heat of an orgasm
that sears through my stomach muscles; it comes to rest in my groin with the
force of an earth-shattering explosion.

I call out, ”Ay-den”
and struggle to remain standing, realising I still have him in my grasp.
Without thinking, I fall to my knees and use both hands to pleasure him. When I
look up, he’s towering above me: an Adonis carved out of gleaming bronze, the
perfect male specimen. I watch as the muscles on his chest rise and fall and
his taut abdomen quivers under my instruction. His compliance gives me the
confidence I need to do what I long to do; to take him in my mouth and rejoice
in his gratification.