TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy) (20 page)

I lighten the mood.
“I’m not a screamer.”

He taps my nose. “I
didn’t mean it literally.”

“So you have seen
thousands and thousands of people pass over. Do you remember them all?”

“Not all, but I do
have my favourites. Some I was unhappy to become acquainted with, in a
professional capacity.”

“You make it sound as
if you cared.”

“It’s still possible
to collect a soul and to care. There have been incredible thinkers, warriors,
artists, inventors, philanthropists and poets who I have come to admire long
after their departure from this earth.”

“Anyone I might have
heard of …”

“There are so many.”
He arches a brow. “Mr. Shakespeare was an outrageously bad actor but a
wordsmith of the highest order.”

“You knew him?” I ask
incredulously.

“To say I knew him
would be an exaggeration. I did meet him several times and, of course, I was
with him at the end.”

“So you can recite a
sonnet then?”

“Several … would you
like me to regale you with my recital skills?” He’s grinning.

“Why of course …”

He clears his throat:

“Shall I
compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more
lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do
shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's
lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too
hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is
his gold complexion dimmed;

And every fair
from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or
nature's changing course, untrimmed;

But thy
eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose
possession of that fair thou ow'st,

Nor shall
death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,

When in
eternal lines to Time thou grow'st …”

I look away and he
stops reciting. Realising there’s something wrong, he stretches forward and
gently kisses my forehead. It’s a paternal gesture that moves me to tears;
tears for the loved ones I have lost and the lover who recited that very poem
on our very first meeting. I pull my arms in close and snuggle into him for
warmth and comfort.

“Why are you saddened
by it?” he asks quietly.

“I was teaching that
poem when Ayden found me.”

“I see.”

“You wouldn’t have
known.”

He pulls up the sheet
around me and rests his chin on top of my head. But for the hum of the turbines
there is only the sound of our breathing. I fight to contain my thoughts, not
to send them out or to share them. I want to suffer in silence. His chest rises
and falls in even breaths against my cheek.

“Ayden,” I whisper.

“Yes,” he answers.
“I’m still here.”

“You’re very quiet.”

“I’m scrolling
through,” he says as if it’s a perfectly natural thing to do. “I need to know
everything if I’m to be the husband you deserve and that means going back to …”
He pauses. “…Back to school.”

“It seems the logical
place to start.”

“It does indeed. I
should have done this days ago,” he confesses.

Leaving him to his
flashbacks I begin to snooze, thinking only of Hong Kong nights and sun soaked
days spent stretched out on golden sand; a veritable feast of sweet and sour
moments. My eyelids begin to flutter…

I am roused from my
slumber by the shocking realisation that I’m not in my own bed. The steady
rumbling of this fragile piece of metal forcing its way through turbulent air
is enough to wake me with a start. Ayden is sleeping next to me and so princely
is he in his majestic pose, I dare not wake him. I peel myself from his heated
skin and move slowly from the bed to the bathroom, using the glow from the
mirror as a guiding light. The bathrobe is fluffy against my skin, keeping me
snug as I tip-toe over to my laptop that’s quietly hibernating on the table by
the window. I lift up the shutter and look out at the night sky, wrapping my hands
around my face and touching the glass with my nose, but all I see is a blanket
of blackness dotted with stars.

Refusing to dwell on
my screensaver, I open the scrapbook page.

November #3

“Such is my love, to thee I so belong,

That for thy right myself will bear
all wrong.”

William Shakespeare: Sonnet 88

Today has been one of
those days when my emotions have been thrown this way and that. It started with
Elise’s funeral this morning. Jake met us at the crematorium and we sat through
a service interrupted by her mother’s mournful cries. Before we could leave she
vented some of her anger on you; it was uncalled for and your cheek took the
brunt of her despair. I’m sorry you had to experience that, Ayden. No one knows
the lengths you’ve gone to protecting Elise as a child and as a grown woman.

Being the media savvy
man you are, you suggested we meet the press.  (Video below) Now they have
something to write about. I’m not sure Bowker will be deterred quite as easily;
he seems to have it in for both of us.

We had fun with your
Lancelot costume this afternoon!! (Laughing) The handcuffs fit quite nicely
around your wrists …

I stop typing to dust
away tears; they formed silently, leaving me with damp cheeks. Once again I
slip in the earphones and play back his announcement to the press. He’s every
inch the man I married, confident and cultured. His refined English accent
transcends the realms of the ordinary, hypnotising me, taking me back to
happier days.

I’m astounded by my
performance too. I actually look as if I belong by his side; I appear confident
and poised in my role. We actually complement each other in a dark and dainty
kind of way. I listen to Katy Be and feel somewhat reassured as she sings, I’m
Crying
For No Reason.

I return to my entry.

Right now we’re on
our way to Hong Kong in your enormous jet. Yes, you know the one you didn’t
tell me about. (Tutting!) I think I might just have it refuelled and spend the
rest of my life in it, up here in the clouds, alone with you.

You’re making my
every dream come true, Ayden, and not a day goes by when I don’t thank my lucky
stars for you. We belong to each other, baby. I love you so much.

Yours, Beth. X

 I save and shutdown;
return to bed and fold my body into Ayden’s, dragging his lifeless left arm across
me like a seatbelt. I hold onto it for dear life, close my watery eyes to shut
out the memories and prepare for a hard landing.

***

Under the glare of
fluorescent lights, D.I. Bowker is inspecting the contents of a safety deposit
box belonging to Elise Richards. Mr. Taylor stands quietly overseeing his
inspection, curious as to the actual contents.

As described in her
file there is a large brown envelope; inside it are documents pertaining to the
purchase of her apartment in Hatch End. There is nothing strange about that:
the name of the vendor is documented and Miss. Richards is named as the buyer.
What strikes Mack as odd is the fact there is no reference to a mortgage. From
the legal document pertaining to the transaction, it appears that the property
was paid for in cash. The purchase price was £465,000.

Mack is writing down
information in shorthand, but even the smallest letters and figures can’t
diminish the impact of this discovery.

Next he flips through
four valuations for two rings, a bracelet and a necklace amounting to £11,000.
Once again, this is a significant amount of money for a woman of her standing.

Keeping his thoughts
to himself he takes out the envelope upon which is typed:

THE LAST WILL AND
TESTAMENT OF ELISE RICHARDS

He holds it up
against the light, spying the formal print of letter headed stationery but
returns it to the box, preparing to leave it to the scrutiny of her family’s
solicitor. Just as he’s about to close the lid, he notices a two small white
envelopes. Feeling a flurry of excitement, he lifts out the first between his
finger and thumb, turns it over and reads the name written upon it;

Mr. Ayden Stone.

MOD ASMI

The envelope sits on
the metal table like a sheet of ice, its contents a mystery but its addressee
well-known to Mackenzie Bowker.

Finally he delves
into the bottom of the empty box and lifts out an envelope that is not new and
not sealed. As he lifts it out, the contents fall. He picks up the formal
looking document, dismissing the suggestion that he might be acting
inappropriately. What he sees surprises him. Saying nothing, he jots down some
names and the date of Miss. Richards’s adoption sixteen years ago, when she was
fourteen years old and her maiden name was Kilbride. 

He prepares to close
the lid on her past but something small and easy to miss catches his eye. He
chases it around the bottom of the metal case with fat fingers, flips it up and
lifts it out between his finger and thumb. It’s an SD card in a small
transparent case, not much bigger than a postage stamp.

“I’ll take these two
items and make sure they get to the right people,” he assures his witness,
holding up the SD card and the envelope addresses to Mr. Stone. Once they are
nestled snugly against the notebook in his breast pocket, he reaches out to
shake Mr. Taylor’s hand. “I’ll pass on the information I’ve uncovered today to
the family’s solicitor. They’ll be in touch in due course, no doubt.”

“I’m sure they will,
Detective. Good luck with your enquiries. I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of
this sordid affair.”

Mack will not allow
him to speak disparagingly of the dead.  “There’s nothing sordid about love,
Mr. Taylor,” he declares. “Not when it results in the tragic death of a
troubled young woman. Thank you for your cooperation. Good day.”

We
weave our way through a web of flashing lights and masonry, crossing
intersections and bridges as if on a magical mystery tour. Hong Kong harbour is
a myriad of buildings vying for position on the skyline. I have never seen
anything like it.

I turn away from
Ayden and edge across the leather seat in the limousine to get a closer look.
“Ayden look! It’s spectacular!”

He’s nodding, taken
with my enthusiasm. “Wait until we reach our hotel. You’ll have a better view
from there.”

It’s almost midnight
here but I feel as if I have just awakened; how will I ever sleep?

We arrive at our
destination. I step from the car, feeling miniscule and insignificant beneath
the International Commerce Building. The gold capital lettering across the entrance
catches my eye: The Ritz Carlton. I turn to look out across the bay in one
long, drawn out sweep, taking in the panorama, saying nothing.

Ayden reaches for my
hand. “Shall we go inside?”

Excitedly, I nod and
take his hand, tilting my head to take in the magnificence of this wondrous
building.

As if he has done it
a hundred times before, he hands a business card to the petite young lady in a
back suit who comes to greet us. She reads it, checks him out and immediately
responds. “Mr. and Mrs. Stone, please come this way; the Presidential Suite has
been prepared for you.”

I tug at his hand.
”Presidential Suite?”

“Why not? It’s all
tax deductible,” he states, shrugging his shoulders. “I told Charlotte the
highest and the most expensive suite there is, and …” He holds out his right
hand for me to enter the lift. “This is it.”

In the confined space
of the lift, I stand on my tiptoes and whisper, “But why …”

He pushes back my
hair and nuzzles into my right ear. The sensation of his hot breath on my skin
makes me feel a twinge of something sensual. I can’t help myself; I tip my head
into him and sway a little.

“Because I can,
darling,” he mutters a split second before placing a soft kiss beneath my ear.

All I can do is lick
the lip-gloss from my lips, maintain my equilibrium, and watch the blue
luminous buttons click through the floors. We stop at 117.

The key card slides
into the slot and the green light releases the door but I’m totally unprepared
for what I see.

“Welcome to the
Presidential Suite Mr. and Mrs. Stone,” our escort announces, opening the door
into Wonderland. If ever there was a time to feel small and overwhelmed, that
time is now. I take my time moving forward, feigning indifference when all I
want to do is scream, take my camera and start clicking away.

On my left is a huge
dining table in mahogany and reflected in it is an enormous chandelier, simply
hanging there like a billowing cloud of light. On my right is the lounge,
decorated in rich ebony shades; beneath my feet is a beautifully crafted floor,
the colour of a sandy beach daubed with streaks of the bluest ocean. But all
that pales into insignificance once I become aware of the view. Victoria
Harbour is visible through the enormous glass windows. My jaw drops. I cannot
speak.

“Beth … Beth!”

Somewhere behind me
Ayden is calling my name but I’m so transfixed I can’t tear myself away. I feel
his presence behind me and take in his provocative scent.

“Let’s take a look
around.” His hand slips into mine and he lifts it to his mouth. “The view will
still be here in five minutes time.”

Hand in hand we
continue to explore an unpretentious bedroom with a king sized bed and sofas in
a kind of muted grey; the walls are adorned with mother of pearl inlay.
Gorgeous.

Next we make our way
to the bathroom where a sunken, square bath takes pride of place; turquoise
bubbles cling to the far wall, ready to burst. Luxury toiletries wait to be
sampled on the vanity unit, a compendium of polished wooden surfaces with gold
trim.

All I can do is shake
my head. “Ayden, this is too much.”

“There’s more,” he
says, arching a brow.

“I feel as if I’ve
fallen into a treasure chest; the ornaments, the furniture … everything.”

I follow him into the
fully equipped office, past a sauna, into another en-suite bedroom and a
kitchen.

“We can have a
private dinner for two prepared right here then sit and watch the sunrise. What
do you think?”

Is he after my
approval?

“I think it’s all
very beautiful but much too extravagant. I don’t need to experience all this to
feel loved.” I turn and make my way to the lounge, back to my view.

In a matter of
seconds he’s behind me. He turns me around to face him, trying unsuccessfully
to conceal his disapproval. “You may not need to experience all of this because
you have the rest of your life to do it. I do not.” Stalling, he brushes away
an invisible strand of hair from my cheek and takes a moment to regulate the
tenor of his voice. “I choose to do this, first because I can and second
because I choose to experience it with you. Is that so difficult for you to
understand?”

He’s seeking
validation.

 “Last night while
you were sleeping and we were airborne, I went back to school; to the theatre,
to Rome, and all those private places in between. I discovered many things, not
the least of which was your love of music and of your desire to fly; to escape
the confines of your daily life and to soar…” He tips his head to the right,
contemplating his next sentence. “We will reach great heights together, my
darling. Just you wait and see.”

Bewitched by his
sincerity I gaze longingly into his eyes; the midnight sky is besieged by
slivers of colour and lights reflecting the landscape. It seems as if the man
behind those eyes is lost in that myriad of colour.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t
understand the reason for us coming here.” I take his face in my hands and
brush away the lines forming above his cheekbones with my thumbs. “I didn’t
mean to sound unappreciative; I can’t begin to imagine the things you’ve seen
and done in your lifetime.” I tilt up my head until our noses are touching and
place the softest of kisses on his lips. “Tell me why we’re here.”

He inhales deeply,
raises his eyes to the ceiling and returns his focus to me. Sensing the shift
in mood, he clicks his fingers and light gradually returns to the room, filling
the glass wall with a mirror image of the furnishings and us. “Do you want the
sugar-coated version or the truth?”

I take a couple of
seconds to consider my answer. “The truth.
Always
the truth,” I assert
curiously.

“Very well. This is
the highest hotel in the world; it provides us with a vantage point to look
down upon humanity in all its glory, in comfort. It’s also a reputable hotel
where I have stayed several times.”

I move away from the
window and sit on the sofa. “I know that.”

“Yes, but what you
don’t know is my secondary reason for being here. Funds from ASMI are being
embezzled. It would be remiss of me to discover that and not to do something
about it.”

Shit!

He has me riveted to
the spot. “What does that mean exactly?”

“It means someone in
a position of trust is misappropriating funds.”

“You mean stealing
from the company?”

He’s nodding. ”That’s
what I just said.”

“How do you know?” I
ask eager to hear every sordid detail.

He sits down next to
me, lifts up his right leg and rests it on his left knee seeming totally at
home in this palace in the sky. “Purely by accident. When we were in the
boardroom I read Mr. Cheung’s thoughts and tucked behind the things he wanted
to tell me, were things he assumed I knew nothing about.”

“Have you told Jake?”

“No,” he answers
sharply.

“Why not?

“Because he may be
masterminding it,” he states coolly.

I am almost too
shocked to speak. “What … what? Jake wouldn’t steal from the company. He just
wouldn’t.” I fall back onto the cushion, trying to take it all in.

“He just returned
from negotiating a manufacturing agreement over here and it seems very odd that
he didn’t pick up on some irregularities.”

I offer some kind of
excuse for Jake’s ineptitude. “Maybe they were hidden from him. He doesn’t
speak Chinese.”

He’s laughing at me.
“I believe negotiations are carried out in English, Beth. Jake’s inability to
speak the indigenous language is irrelevant.”

I give him an
indignant stare, “Well, I wasn’t aware of that.”

He leans across to
stroke my hair like a wayward child in need of reassurance. “No you weren’t,
darling. But I wouldn’t be so eager to lend Jake your support just yet.”

“Maybe you’re right.
How will you sort it out?” I ask, not doubting for a moment he will.

“I plan on calling a
meeting tomorrow to ascertain who is responsible. “

“And do you think
they’ll just come out and spill the beans.”

He shakes his head
disconsolately. “No, I will have to listen to their thoughts. Unwittingly, they
will tell me what I need to know.”

I stand and straighten
out my skirt. “And what about Jake?”

“He will too,” he
states calmly. “All this will be sorted out before we leave for Australia in
two days time.” His eyes follow me around the room. “Where are you going?”

“To change for
dinner. If this room and the view is anything to go by, the food must be
spectacularly good.”

He concurs. “It is.”

I leave the room with
Ayden’s words ringing in my ears and the possibility of Jake’s betrayal still
invading my thoughts. This is not the way I saw my honeymoon playing out.

Like a moving shadow
Ayden appears at the bedroom door, holding a hotel brochure.

“There’s a
fashionable bar upstairs,” he remarks reading from the text. “It called Ozone
Bar of all things. Would you like to pay it a visit?”

I’m taken by surprise
that he would even make the suggestion. “Sure. I can’t believe there’s an
upstairs.”

He smiles broadly.
“Apparently, there is.”

“Give me a couple of
minutes to change and I’ll be right out.” I’m grinning. “Aren’t you going to
change?”

“Into what?”

“A shirt and some
dress pants,” I suggest, busying myself with my case.

He shrugs his
shoulder. “Is that necessary?”

For some reason my
hand finds its way to my hip. “It’s not necessary. I just thought you might
like to … dress up.”

“Ah.” Is all he says.

“But you don’t have
to. It’s up to you … but I am.”

He moves over to me,
pulls me close and places a soft kiss on my head. “Then so shall I, darling. I
will follow your lead.” He leaves the room. “But first I’ll ring ahead and
organise a table.”

“Good idea.” With him
out of the way, I select a smart dress by Jasper Conran; it has a black grid
print and the tailored fit adds just the right amount of sophistication for
this kind of outing. While he dresses, I slot my iPod into the dock and select
Skyscraper
by Demi Lovato.  The song might well have been written for me.

In the throes of an
animated striptease, he returns, flinging his sweater down onto the bed on his
way to the bathroom. To save time I select one of his made-to-measure shirts in
white, a tie to complement my dress and lay it out on the bed. I pick up his
sweater and begin pulling out the sleeves, only to be captured unawares by the
scent of his cologne. Obsession rouses my senses. Instinctively I bundle up the
collar between my hands and hold it to my nose. With my eyes closed I picture
him by my side, above me, all around me. My reaction is so profound I have to
turn my head away to seek out less evocative air. I fold it up neatly and place
it in one of the drawers nearest the bed. The sound of approaching footsteps
breaks the spell.

Still reeling from
the potency of his scent, I gather my bag and lip-gloss. When I raise my head,
he’s unbuttoning his casual black shirt, exposing a little more chest hair and
muscle with each button he releases.

Don’t look …

 I offer a brief
smile and scoot past him, redirecting my eyes and my thoughts to less
suggestive images as I pass. I’m in the bathroom, standing with both hands
gripping either side of the sink, trying to compose myself. All this talk of
Titanic moments, tantalising smells and treachery has my nerves jangling to the
beat of a racing heart. I clip up my hair and tidy my make-up, daub my lips
with a lush pink layer of gloss and take a deep breath.

When I return to the
bedroom he’s dressed and ready. Before I can contain my first thought, I let it
fly.

My God you’re such a
handsome man…

He is about to say
“Thank you …”