TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy) (29 page)

Ayden reaches out a
hand. “And here’s the lady in question,” he says proudly.

I acknowledge Josh’s
presence. “Hello Josh. What brings you to this part of the world?”

“A long-haul flight
and a boat ride, Mrs. Stone,” he says smiling. “This place is amazing. You two
are living like castaways; well sort of …” He scans the room, taking in its
unique style and beauty. “This is an awesome place.”

“Yes it is. “ I take
hold of Ayden’s arm. “So where do you want us, Josh?”

“I’d like a couple of
you in here and then some outside, if that’s okay.”

“Sure. You’re the
expert, you just tell us what to do.”

Josh places down his
beer and positions us on the sofa, then snaps another photo of us standing by
the doorway. He makes his way outside and we follow.

Ayden unfolds my hand
from his arm and holds it against his lips. “Beth, you look ravishing.”

I raise my brows. “I
do?” His eyes seem to have that scintillating sparkle I have come to adore.
“This is one of the dresses Jake bought for me in Hong Kong. I’m glad you
approve.”

With my hair wrapped
up into a neat chignon he is able to nuzzle into my ear.  “I don’t approve of
the fact he bought it for you but I do approve of the dress. Remind me to
reimburse him.”

I pick up the dress
to step out onto the deck. “No need, it was a belated wedding present.”

“It was?” he remarks,
smirking even before his next comment leaves his lips. “And what did I get?”

I hold my head high
and floor him with my most seductive of look. “You get to unzip me out of it
later.”

He sniggers. “In that
case, I’m indebted to him for his thoughtful gift. “ He slides a hand in place
against the small of my back. “Remind me to thank him when we get back.”

All I can do is laugh
softly.

Josh has everything
organised. His camera buzzes and clicks. We shift position: we stand, we sit,
we laugh; we look longingly into each other’s eyes; we kiss, and it all feels
very organic, instinctive. These photographs will be the cherry on the top of
what has been the sweetest of subterfuges.

“I’ll call the desk
and have someone help you load your stuff into the boat,” Ayden announces,
scooting back inside.

Josh turns to me to
speak. “I think you’ll be pleased with the photographs, Mrs. Stone. You make a
very handsome couple.”

Feeling a little
embarrassed I offer an amiable smile. “Thank you. I loved the ones you did for
our engagement and the wedding.”

“Thanks. You make my
job easy.” He slams a large equipment case shut. “I was wondering If you could
give me a couple of quotes to go with the pictures … like what word you’d use
to describe your honeymoon.”

Taken aback I stop to
think through my answer. Only one word comes to mind. I turn to face him
squarely. “Magical,” I announce confidently.

He grins once again.
“That’s a great word.”

I reach out to shake
his hand. “I think so. Would you mind taking some of the villa?”

“Already did while
you were getting ready. Mr. Stone thought you’d like to have them as a reminder
of the time you spent here.”

“Yes, that’s right…I
would.” Unsettled by his response I move inside, leaving him to assemble his
equipment to be loaded onto the boat waiting on the jetty. Ayden is returning
from his office and I have to quickly steady my nerves. The thought of these
photos becoming my only memento of our time here troubles me.  Surely, I’ll
have my husband to share the recollections with, won’t I?

We
wave Josh off and return to the comfort of the villa, my mind still in turmoil.
I tuck carefree strands of hair that were captured by the sea breeze behind my
ears and turn to face Ayden, scattering my thoughts before he has time to piece
together the cluster of uncertainties taking root there. He hands me a
champagne flute and fills it with our favourite golden liquid, but before it
touches my lips he proposes a toast.

“To our memorable
days and unforgettable nights,” he says, claiming the words as his own.

Sensing my hesitation
he asks, “You don’t like me using
those
words do you?”

They’re only words …

“I don’t mind. Every
day of our honeymoon has been memorable and every night has been
unforgettable.” I raise my glass. “I’m happy to celebrate those occasions. We
have memories that will stay with us both for ever.”

He smiles softly.
“This is true. And we’re about to experience one more.” He takes the glass from
my hand, places it on the coffee table and passes me my clutch. “Come.” Placing
his hand in mine he leads me out onto the deck, allowing the delicate fragrance
of wild flowers and the sea to work its magic; I close my eyes to absorb
nature’s heady scent and feel Ayden’s arms enfolding me.

He whispers into my
left ear. “Keep your eyes closed, Beth. I have a surprise for you.”

I do as he asks and
feel a little faint. The familiar gust of air on my face reassures me that this
is something we have done before and I can’t help but feel exhilarated at the
prospect of being transported to another place. Even before I open my eyes I’m
aware of unfamiliar sounds. The sea has been replaced by the sound of voices,
and the chill of the night air prompts the appearance of goose-bumps on my
skin.

He releases me from
his embrace. “You can open your eyes.”

When I do as he says,
I see him standing before me, his hands resting on my bare shoulders. His eyes
are luminous, alive with desire and amusement; he’s a man with a plan that he
seems to have been devising for some time. Now that it has come to fruition, he
looks mighty pleased with himself.

“Where are we?” I
ask, unable to tear my eyes away from his.

“You tell me.” He
turns me around.

I gasp, knowing
exactly where we are: it’s Sydney Harbour. “Oh my God! I’ve always wanted to
come here,” I confess, sliding my hand around his waist. “How did you know?”

He wraps his arm
around my shoulder and pulls me to him. “I didn’t. It was a wild guess.”

I’m trembling with
excitement. “Well, you guessed right.” I tip up my head and kiss his cheek.
“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,
you haven’t seen the opera.” He checks his watch and takes my hand. “Come on
we’d better get inside.”

Like a pair of young
lovers we appear out of the shadows and mount the steps leading to the foyer. I
lift the hem of my dress to try and keep up as he leads the way. “Have you been
here before?” I ask, becoming increasingly breathless.

He swerves left then
right, finding a passage through the crowd. “Yes, but I haven’t seen Madame
Butterfly here.”

“I’ve not seen it
either,” I reply, pulling him to a dead stop. “Wow! There’s the bridge.” To my
left is the iconic Harbour Bridge, an enormous stretch of steel with an arc of
zigzag metal above it. Boats are passing beneath it, dispersing the lights
reflected in the water. “It’s so much bigger than I imagined it to be. “

“Yes, it’s quite a
landmark,” Ayden agrees. “We’ll take a closer look after the opera.”

I nod and begin the
trek again, dodging tourists - ladies in summer dresses, men in formal evening
wear but none as handsome as my impatient escort.

We mount more steps
and keep going, higher and higher until I tumble onto Ayden breathless, barely
able to speak. “Why couldn’t you have us magically appear in our seats? That
would have saved us so much time and energy,” I ask, fanning my face with my
clutch.

“Is that a serious
question?” he asks, raising a thoughtful brow. “How would it be if we just
appeared?
 That would take some explaining.” He shakes his head. “It’s not far now.“
He takes my hand. “We really must work on your physical fitness.”

I release my hand.
“There’s nothing wrong with my physical fitness. I’m only human, unlike others
I might mention who seem to act as if flying around the planet is a walk in the
park.”

He’s laughing.
“Perhaps we should have taken the lift?”

“What?” I cry.
“There’s a lift and you’ve had me climb two enormous flights of stairs?”

“They can hardly be
classed as enormous, Beth,” he maintains, slipping our tickets out of his
inside breast pocket and showing them to a smartly dressed staff member
positioned by a door way. The concert hall is right behind him.

Once inside the
theatre, I start at my left, rotating my head clockwise, taking in the ornate
wooden panelling and the cathedral configuration. The vaulted ceiling, the
tiered seating, and the opulence gives me the overwhelming feeling of being
somewhere exceptionally beautiful. I slide my fingers through Ayden’s.

“This place is
amazing,” I declare, edging closer to our seats on Platform E, numbers one and
two, overlooking the stage.

“I knew you’d love
it,” he says, seeing my joy mounting and revealing itself as a broad smile. “I
think you’ll love this opera too.”

We take our seats. He
calls an employee over and asks her to bring him a programme.  Ten minutes
later she returns; he rewards her with a generous tip and a smile.

I scan through the
pages, commenting on costumes, looking down at the stage and marvelling at the
wonder of it all. Thirty minutes ago we were standing by the ocean having our
photographs taken, and now look where we are.

He catches me staring
at him. “Are you assessing me, Mrs. Stone?” he asks, taking me by surprise.

Without a second
thought, I answer, “Not assessing Mr. Stone, enjoying. Always enjoying.” Before
I can rethink my instinctive behaviour the lights dim, the orchestra finishes
tuning their instruments and an expectant silence follows.

The first of three
acts begins with muted lighting. Two women are huddled together under a tree,
surrounded by cherry blossoms. Puccini’s haunting melodies rise to the vaulted
ceiling and resonate off the rafters that enclose this colossal space; melodic
voices tear at the heartstrings. In   the three hours that follow, every
emotion is laid bare for the delectation of a grateful audience.

As the final act
draws to a close I grip Ayden’s arm, knowing what’s coming but wishing for a
less tragic resolution. Surrounded by scarlet rose petals, Butterfly, the
abandoned bride, bids a sorrowful farewell to her son and takes her own life.
The lights fade to black and the music dies away until there is only the hushed
sound of snivelling.

I turn to Ayden, my
eyes glossy with tears. I’ve been so moved by the experience, I can barely
speak. He respects my need for time to arrange my thoughts before we show our
appreciation for the magnificent performance with applause while the cast hold
hands and bow repeatedly.

Taking our time, we
leave the theatre hand in hand. Many of the guests have found their voices and
are speaking enthusiastically about the set and the music. I’m still processing
what I’ve seen and heard in this chapter of our unbelievable adventure. There’s
little left to experience, surely …

We took a leisurely
stroll around the harbour. I felt over-dressed and Ayden removed his tie,
draping it loosely around his open collar. Now we’re sitting by the window in
Aria Restaurant, having enjoyed roasted Holmbrae duck breast with black figs
and macadamia nuts. I’m spooning Valrhona caramélia chocolate into Ayden’s
mouth, and he’s sharing his coconut ice-cream. Madame Butterfly’s tragic demise
has been forgotten and I fear the Clare Valley 1996 Aberfeldy Shiraz that Ayden
took so long selecting is making me tipsy.

The picture-postcard
view across the harbour holds my attention and it takes a gentle squeeze from
Ayden’s hand across the table to remind me that this is real, I am here and …

“You’re lost in
thought,” he remarks. “Anything you want to share?”

“Since when did you
need my permission to know what I’m thinking?” I ask, made bold by the wine.

He gives my hand
another squeeze. “Since you learned how to shut me out.”

I laugh to conceal my
embarrassment. “I didn’t know I could do that.”

He reaches for his
wallet. “You can do many things, my darling, most of which you’re blissfully
unaware of.” He signals for the waiter to bring the bill.

“Really? Like what?”
I rest my chin on my right palm and wait, wide-eyed, to hear more.

“Let’s pay the bill,
return home and discuss this further,” he says, smiling seductively at the
prospect of us being alone. I reach into my clutch for lip-gloss and take out
my camera. The waiter offers to take our photo and we gaze into the camera, but
the harbour is a blur behind us.

Standing outside the
restaurant, I have the waiter taking several shots of us with the iconic
backdrop. I take a couple of snaps myself and Ayden pulls me close for the
classic arm-outstretched shot I have come to love. All I can do is take one
last look, wrap myself around him and close my eyes.

“Let’s go home.”

***

Mackenzie Bowker has
spent the best part of a week investigating a road traffic accident and he has
a heap of information to write up, but before he does, he has scheduled a
meeting with his superior officer, Chief Inspector Malcom Royle. They have been
colleagues and friends for nearly twenty years, and there has always been a
bond of trust between them. Mack will not be happy until he has discovered
every detail of the crash. and if that means unearthing secrets that have
remained buried for decades so be it.

He straightens his
tie and enters the Chief’s office. It’s located on the sunny side of the
building and the Chief is little more than a silhouette sitting behind a desk
in a high backed chair. Mack doesn’t wait to be asked to sit, he simply drops
into a chair and begins …

“How’s the wife Malc,
is she still breeding Shih Tzus?”

“Course she is!
Obsessed with the little buggers. We’ve had an extension built to keep them out
of the bloody house,” the Chief replies, shaking his head.

“Could be worse. They
could be Great Danes.” Mack laughs at his own joke.

“I suppose so.” He
laughs and leans forward. “So are we going to talk about dogs or is there
something more important you’d like to discuss? Word is you’ve been putting in
some hours with this Richards case.”

“Yeah. It’s had more
twists and turns than Brands Hatch.” He takes out his notebook.

The Chief is
chuckling. “Don’t tell me you’re still using bloody notebooks! What happened to
your iPad?”

“I couldn’t be
bothered with all that finger pointing. By the time I’d set it up I’d forgotten
what I wanted to write. These books have everything I need in them.” He licks
his thumb and turns back to the start of his investigation.

“OK, let’s have it!”

Mack clears his
throat, readying himself for what he knows will be a long winded explanation.
“Well, I became curious when I discovered Miss. Richards was connected to Dan
Rizler. Remember … that guy who attacked Mrs. Stone in the school …”

The chief nods and
purses his lips unsure of what’s coming next.

“Turns out Mr. Stone,
who was driving the car, had known both his wife and Miss. Richards for a
couple of decades, and he …”

The chief holds up
his right hand. “Hold on. I thought forensics and the crash investigators had
proven she tried to kill them both. She had a knife and she took the wheel …”

“Yes, she did but …”

“So why the fuck are
you dragging Ayden Stone into this? He’s the victim, right?”

Mack is surprised by
the adjustment in his demeanour. “Yes … but …”

“There’s no ‘but’s’
about it. Have you found out anything to suggest that anyone other than two
dead, crazy bastards were responsible for bringing about their own deaths?”

Mack backs off. “No.”

“Then the job’s
finished. No harm done. Mrs. Stone lives to fight another day, and Ayden Stone
gets to keep his throne and remain king of the castle.”

What?

Mack sits back in his
chair, dumbstruck, sucker punched by police politics. He folds over the front
cover of his note book and arranges his thoughts. “So, I’m done. We can all
rest safe in our beds at night knowing they’re both six feet under. The fact
that Elise Richards was repeatedly raped as a child, and Rizler attacked and
probably assaulted untold numbers of female students is no concern of mine,
right?”

“I didn’t say that,
Mack.” He takes a breath. “Look, there are people who would rather this whole
thing just went away. You know what I mean?”