TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy) (19 page)

On opening my eyes, I
see only Ayden. He’s here; eyes dark like a cloudless sky at midnight; words
reaching out to my very soul, his undying love touching my heart.

Be bold, baby.

Thinking only of him,
I arch my back, press my body down hard and fuck him so ferociously he takes
hold of my hips, trying to hold me off. The noises he makes are barely human;
the roars of pure ecstasy are ricocheting off the walls. When I can take no
more, I lean into him and graze his left ear with my mouth whispering, “It’s
time. Come for me, baby.”

Immediately, I feel a
jerking motion and a pulsating ejaculation so strong, it triggers a chain
reaction in me. Whimpering, I shudder and moan my way through an earth-shaking,
bone-rattling orgasm, the culmination of forty minutes of hot and hard sex.

Ten minutes later,
still dizzy from our sexual exploits, we clamber from the floor a soaking mass
of body fluids and perspiration. He seems stunned. I feel victorious. I think I
know what’s happening now …

Wherever Ayden is
‘sleeping’, he won’t let go of life; he is holding on, fighting for his
existence. If I can keep our love strong then we’ll be able to endure anything
– even this.

***

With one part of the
puzzle partially solved, Mack leaves the confines of his stuffy side office for
the slightly fresher air of Harrow town centre.  Tuesday morning shoppers are
seeking out parking spaces and delivery vans are holding up traffic; just another
typical day in an English market town.

He strolls into the
HSBC branch and makes for the smartly dressed bank clerk counting cheques
behind a glass partition. Not immediately taken with his ordinariness, she
becomes more animated when he introduces himself and quickly goes in search of
the Bank Manager.

A suited gentleman
appears from behind a side door and shakes Mack’s hand. He’s Mr. Taylor, the
man in charge, just the person he’s looking for. They seat themselves across a
desk from each other, away from the prying eyes of employees and customers.
What Mack has to say is private and has required a Court Order to access the
information he needs to proceed with his investigation.

“Good morning
Detective Inspector Bowker,” Mr. Taylor says, reading his card and placing it
neatly on the desk in front of him.  “What can I do for you? Are you here in a
personal or professional capacity?”

Mack leans back into
the chair, preparing himself for what he expects will be a lengthy
conversation. “I’m here to have a look at the banking details of a Miss Elise
Richards. She’s a former customer of yours.” He takes the Court Order out of
his inside breast pocket.  “I think you may want to take a look at this.”

Mr. Taylor opens the
document and reads through it; he’s seen one before and the official jargon
assures him of its legality. D.I. Bowker has come prepared.

“Thank you. May I ask
why?”

“I can’t say too much
other than Miss. Richards is deceased, having been involved in a fatal traffic
accident. There‘s a couple of points I’d like to clear up before releasing her
funds to her family and their solicitor.”

“I see. Well,
everything seems to be in order. I’m sure we can accommodate you.” He offers a
perfunctory smile, cracks the knuckles on each hand, rests his fingers on the
keyboard and focuses his attention on the computer screen in front of him. “Can
you confirm Miss. Richards’s home address, please?”

“4c The Oaks, Hatch
End,” Mack says not needing to consult his notes.

“Ah yes. Miss.
Richards has two accounts with us: a current account for her everyday banking,
and a savings account.”

“Can you let me see
last month’s transactions, please?”

Mr. Taylor turns the
screen around and Mack scrolls through. The only figure of any significance is
a monthly payment made by her employer Taylor and Maine. She has a balance of
£2,144; nothing out of the ordinary there. He turns the screen around. “And
what about the savings account?”

“Ah …”

“What’s the ‘
ah’
for?” Mack enquires. “Has she got herself a nice little nest egg?”

The Manager nods.
“You could say that. She has £50,000.”

“Nice.”

“Indeed. It’s
primarily due to the fact that she has been receiving a payment of £5,000 on
the first of each month, going back for … the past ten months.”

With his interest
piqued, Mack leans forward to rest his forearms on the desk; his sixth sense
stimulated and prickling at the prospect of having stumbled across another part
of the puzzle. “I’ll need a print out of this, going back 12 months.” He takes
out his notepad, licks his right thumb and flicks over his notes until he comes
to a clean page. “Okay, so tell me where the five grand is coming from each
month.”

Mr. Taylor, pauses,
bites his lip and says nothing.

Mack takes it a bad
sign. “Whenever you’re ready…”

He prepares to break
the bad news. “It would appear your Miss. Richards has a benefactor.”

Mack’s eyes widen. “A
what!”

“A benefactor, an
anonymous sponsor.”

He’s shaking his
head. “That’s a bit antiquated, isn’t it? Who has a
benefactor
these
days?”

“You’d be surprised,”
Mr. Taylor points out. “Some young people have wealthy parents who deposit a
set amount into their account each month …”

“Yeah, but Miss.
Richards wasn’t a kid and she didn’t have parents who were rolling in it. He
prepares to jot down notes like a bobby on the beat. “You’d better give me the
name of this benefactor so I can go and have a chat with them. See what kind of
relationship they have with the deceased.” He waits, pen poised. Forced to
question Mr. Taylor’s hesitance, he asks, “I assume you
can
tell
me
their name. I don’t want to have to come back here again with more legal
paraphernalia.”

“I’d be quite happy
to tell you, Sir, but it’s a sealed account. All I can tell you is that it is
from a Swiss bank.” He meets Mack’s disbelieving stare with indifference.

“You can’t tell me
who’s sending her the money? She could have been involved in some kind of money
laundering scam for all you know.”

Mr. Taylor rocks back
in his chair; his nonchalance reminds Mack of a certain Mr. Stone.

“I can assure you
there is nothing untoward going on here. The money has not been removed from
the account in the ten months since the first payment went in. If large sums
had been deducted, we would have investigated the account
and
Miss.
Richards. It would appear she has a kindly sponsor.” He reconsiders his
observation and speculates further. “Either that or …”

In no mood for his
speculation, Mack asks. “Or what?”

“…Or she had a
business venture of some sort that guaranteed her an income each month. There
will be a straight forward explanation; nothing requiring you to apply your
detective skills, I’m sure.” He laughs smugly.

Smart arse …

“I think I’ve been
doing this job long enough to know when something doesn’t feel right, Mr.
Taylor,” Mack says, asserting his authority for the first time today. “I’ll
have the boys handling financial forensics to take a look. Maybe they will be
able to do some digging.”

Realising he may have
overstepped the mark, Mr. Taylor steps down. “Of course. I’ll have Miss.
Richards’s account details printed out for you.”

“Right. Is that it
then? There’s nothing else?”

“I don’t think so … “
He stops mid-sentence.

Mack waits to hear
more.

“It would appear we
are holding certain documents for Miss. Richards here at the bank.”

Mack feels that
prickling sensation again. “What kind of documents?”

“Deeds to her
apartment in Hatch End, valuations for a collection of expensive jewellery, a
Life Insurance Policy, and … her Will.”

Mack slumps back into
the chair. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He scratches at overnight stubble with
his forefinger and thumb. “So, ballpark, what are we talking here?”

“Her assets are in
the region of £476,500,” Mr. Taylor declares, somewhat bewildered by the
discovery.

The numbers appear on
Mack’s notepad like code. “That’s one hell of a nest egg for someone working
nine ‘till five for an estate agent, don’t you think?”

“I do indeed.”

Mack exhales loudly,
creating a tangible gust that hits the man across the table from him like a
blast of bad news. “When can I take a look at the document?” he asks, preparing
to leave the room.

Looking like a man
perched on the edge of a cliff, Mr. Taylor replies. “Now is as good a time as
any, I suppose.”

“I couldn’t agree
more.”

The two men leave the
office, single file, one a little rough around the edges, the other smartly
suited for the role, but only one has a spring in his step.

Lester
has loaded the Rolls and we are airport bound. It’s almost 10 p.m. and we’re
freshly showered and ready to embark upon the next chapter in our adventure.

We have spoken very
little since clambering from the bedroom carpet, and yet it’s as if an
understanding has formed between us … a kind of symbiosis. No matter how you
look at it, we need each other; knowing that makes this tour of duty a little
easier to bear.

Heathrow is humming
with the sound of happy travellers leaping from taxis and mini-busses like
lemmings.  A familiar face is waiting to greet us; the suited brunette who took
charge of our passports and luggage en route to Rome is offering a friendly
smile. Unaccustomed to life’s little pleasantries, Ayden holds out his hand for
her to lead the way, assuming we will be bypassing the masses. He’s a natural
when it comes to pomposity, but money talks and he has plenty of it.

She attempts to make
polite conversation. “Mr. and Mrs. Stone your jet is fuelled and ready. You
have a slot for 11.15 p.m. May I take your passports? I will also make the
necessary arrangements for your luggage.”

He gives her a
disinterested nod of recognition and, with his hand positioned at the base of
my spine, gently ushers me towards our connecting limousine parked a couple of
yards from the external door. As we leave the comfort of the heated VIP lounge,
we are buffeted by a crosswind that takes hold of my hair, wrapping it around
my face like a balaclava. With my vision impaired, I take hold of his jacket
and fold myself into his chest. As naturally as breathing, he shelters me from
the gust with his arm. In a disorderly tangle of hair and clothes I scramble
onto the back seat.

“Where the hell did
that come from? I feel like a scarecrow.” I pull back my hair into a make-shift
pony tail. “Couldn’t you have done something about that wind?”

He leans across,
attempting to flatten my hair with his left hand and sniggers. “So now you want
me to use my
skills
to ensure your hair is kept neat and tidy?”

“Well wind is a
natural element, isn’t it?” I ask innocently.

“It is but far be it
for me to intervene ad hoc.”

“Ad hoc?” I huff.
“This from someone who cancelled out the sound of people talking in a
restaurant because they were a little noisy!”

“That’s different.”

I will not be
deterred. “How? Do you mean that it’s alright for you to use you special
skills
for yourself but not for me?”

“Not at all. Tell me
what you want and, if I can, I will make it happen for you.” He places a soft
kiss on my forehead. “And who knows, it might be significantly more impressive
than ensuring your hair remains unruffled.” He tips up his head. “We’re here.
Are you ready?”

“What for? More
wind?”

“No, for spending the
night on the company jet. It’s a 13 hour flight to Hong Kong.”

I face him squarely.
“I’ve been on the jet before, Ayden.”

The softest of smile
brushes against his lips. “Ah, yes. I’d forgotten.”

Keeping a firm grip
on my coat, I step out of the car but there is no need. The wind has dropped
and I do believe the night air is positively balmy. “You warmed things up a
bit.” I remark.

He shakes his head
and chuckles. “Actually no, the heat is coming off the turbines.“ He points to
the enormous aeroplane directly in front of us.

I open my mouth to
speak and pause. “That’s a
real
aeroplane! Where’s the mini-jet?”

“I think Jake is
making use of the mini-jet. Charlotte made all the arrangements and said
something about it being a long-haul flight.” He takes my right elbow. “Let’s
get on board before the wind starts up.”

I kiss his cheek.
“Something tells me that’s highly unlikely.”

Single file we ascend
this Airbus ACJ319. Along the side is the familiar navy blue stripe and ‘AS
Media International’. The cabin crew are waiting at the top of the steps to
greet us: a smartly dressed woman of around 30, wearing a navy blue suit and a
smile; and an equally smart gentleman of a similar age holding a tray aloft
with two glasses of champagne on it.

“Welcome aboard Mr.
and Mrs. Stone. I’m Tony and this is Sandy. It’s our pleasure to be flying with
you this evening.”

I glance across to
them and smile appreciatively. “Thank you. Happy to be here.” I turn to my left
and rock backwards, awestruck. “Whoa!”

It’s more than I
could have imagined: a sumptuous ivory interior; plush leather chairs facing
each other, a dining table that seats six, perfectly set with glistening china
and crystal wine glasses atop a crisp white tablecloth. Ambient lighting
diffuses from a domed ceiling, drenching the whole space in a kind of unearthly
glow. Seconds pass and still I’m rooted to the spot.

“May I show you to
your cabin?” Sandy asks.

“Please do,” I reply,
reaching for the champagne flute. “I’ll take this with me.”

She’s smiles warmly.
“Of course.”

Leaving the front
lounge behind and bypassing the dining table we head towards the rear of the
plane. To the left and right of me the walls are finished with highly polished
wood, into which my effervescent drink reflects like a golden chalice.

Sandy slides back a
door on the right. “This is your en-suite bedroom, Mrs. Stone.”

To my utter
amazement, she’s right. There’s a king sized bed; its opaque green sheets have
a dusting of cherry coloured rose petals that perfectly match my blouse. It’s
too much to take in. I tip back the champagne flute, feeling its contents
sizzle on my tongue, and hold onto my thoughts, trying not to let them fly.

Thank you, Ayden.

This is what he had
planned for us. Now an imposter has hijacked his body and his aeroplane; but I
can’t think about that now … I step inside. “It’s lovely.”

She nods in
agreement. “I’ll have Tony bring your luggage in as soon as it arrives.”

Leaving me to my
daydream, she bows out. I ruffle the rose petals with my free hand, noticing how
every burnished surface is reflected in the elongated mirror above the dressing
table. Only one thing looks out of place: me. Without Ayden’s radiance, I feel
no more than a pale imitation of what a wife should be. Thankfully he isn’t
here to witness my woeful impersonation.

The man in question
appears at the door. “This is impressive,” he remarks, nodding approvingly. “I
think we’ll have a pleasant flight, don’t you?”

I simply nod in
agreement. One at a time I release the petals, allowing them to fall into a
scented mound. When I hold my hand to my nose, the fragrance reminds me that
they were once a perfect rose; and now, having become unattached, they’re
purely decorative.  Having served their purpose, I brush them off the bed
making a mental note of where they land, not wanting to step on them as I leave
the room.

I wrap my right hand
around Ayden’s arm.  “Show me the rest of this awesome aircraft.”

After the tour, Tony
spoils us with a selection of canapés and decaffeinated coffee while Sandy
turns down the bed and readies our cabin for the night. When we retire, the
flat screen TV is on, bedside lamps are lit and anyone walking into this
perfect space could be fooled into thinking they were on terra firma - not
above the clouds travelling at 500 miles an hour.

I dive onto the bed,
face first. “My God! This is life in the fast lane for sure.”

Ayden pulls his
sweater over his head and yawns. His chin and then his mouth appear from
beneath the collar with an exaggerated “Ah …”

Seeing how weary he
is I scamper up and help him remove it. His eyes are screwed up tight and he’s
obviously exhausted.

“I think you need to
get yourself washed and into bed. We can watch TV for a while and fall asleep.
It’s 1.30 a.m.”

He enfolds my face in
his powerful hands, caressing it, until it becomes no more than a tiny bud.
“That sounds like a good idea. You have worn this body out, my darling.” He
smirks, planting a soft kiss on my forehead. “I won’t be a moment.”

I watch him head for
the en-suite bathroom. “Don’t rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

With him out of the
way, I open my laptop, checking to see if I have access to the internet. It
takes a minute, giving me time to strip out of my clothes and hang them up in
the wardrobe. My nightdress is cool on my skin and the silken material floats
over my curves like a sheet of fine tissue paper.

“Yes!” I utter. I
have internet access! When he is ‘sleeping,’ I’ll make my next entry in my
digital scrapbook, away from prying eyes. I take a moment to return to the
world I once knew, needing no more than our first-ever photograph together as a
conduit.

Ayden returns to our
honeymoon suite in the sky, wearing boxers and a radiant smile. His provocative
fragrance finds its way across the room and rouses an already restless heart.
Even though it’s an opulent space it is, nevertheless, confinement of sorts.
What I have experienced over the past five days is monumental, unbelievable,
but my secret. He’s pretending to read the newspaper and says nothing at all,
other than, “Your turn.”

With my nightly
routine out of the way I slither under the softest of sheets and rest my head
beneath his right arm with my cheek pressed against his deliciously scented
chest hair.

“Do you want to
sleep, or can we talk?” I ask shyly.

He wraps his right
arm around me and folds his fingers together, resting them on my lower back.
“We can talk until you fall asleep.” He sighs contentedly. “Do you want to talk
about anything in particular?”

I stretch my arm
across his abdomen, feeling the need for intimacy after our sexual escapade
earlier. “I may have trouble sleeping. I’m not a good flier.”

“I didn’t know that.
You hide your fear well.” He kisses my hair and tightens his grip around me.
“You have nothing to fear. You’re perfectly safe.”

“How can you be
sure?” There’s that familiar rumble beneath my ear.

 “You ask me that?

“Sorry,” I snigger.
”I didn’t think that through.”

“Do you think I would
be here if this flight was doomed?”

I place a soft kiss
on a flexing pectoral muscle. “I suppose not. What would happen to you if
something untoward happened?”

“Nothing, I would
move on.”

Troubled by his
nonchalance, I raise my head to see the flickering hues in his eyes. “To
where?”

“Anywhere,
everywhere, it’s of no consequence to me.”

I settle back down.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get my head around this. You said you’re light, right?
Aren’t you the light people speak of during near-death experiences?”

“He nods. ”I’m part
of it.”

“But isn’t that
supposed to lead to the gateway to heaven?”

“You really are in a
talkative mood.” He’s shaking his head. “What would you like me to say? I take
departing souls by the hand and lead them to the light or the flames depending
on how they have lived their lives?”

I shrug my left
shoulder into the crook of his arm. “Don’t they go to heaven or hell??”

Meeting my gaze
squarely, he explains. “It’s not that clear cut. They wait to be selected.”

I feel my face
folding into a frown. “Selected? So you’re telling me the souls of the departed
are sitting around in an enormous waiting room in the sky?”

He smiles broadly and
it’s so contagious I match it. “It’s not so much a waiting room as a … a
two-star hotel.”

My eyes widen at the
thought. “Oh no! And is that where Ayden is?”

“At the moment, yes.”

“Shit!” I sit up
until I have both arms folded across his chest. “He’ll be a pain in the arse;
complaining, sending food back, asking to see the manager.” I giggle at the
absurdity of it.

“It’s a brief stay
for most. They move on and find eternal rest while others … do not.” He smiles
resignedly.

“It’s all very
biblical.”

He thinks through his
response. “This is true.”

Those three words
crucify me but I swallow hard and carry on. “Can’t any of the ‘hotel’ guests
come back?”

“Not if their earthly
forms have been … dealt with.”

I’m quick to
interject. “By ‘dealt with’ you mean buried or cremated?”

“I do.”

“So is that why
you’re occupying Ayden’s body, to keep him in transit up there and alive down
here?”

He nods and presents
a tight-lipped smile.

“Why haven’t you
explained this to me before?”

I feel his hand
caressing my hair. “Because darling, you weren’t ready to hear it.”

I nod in agreement
then face him squarely “And you think I am now?”

“You’ve rationalised
what’s happened and can process the information. Before, you would have broken
down and run away screaming.”