TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy) (33 page)

“Don’t say that.” I
pull him to my breast. “I will worry about you when you leave.”

He laughs quietly and
shakes his head, pushing me backwards into a sitting position. “When I leave …”

“Yes. “ I make myself
comfortable. “Let’s not speak about it now. We have months together to think
about that.”

He smiles
half-heartedly and returns to his seat, turns off his iPad and leans back into
the headrest.

I reach into my bag
for a tissue and blow my nose as discretely as possible. Out of the window I
see an unfamiliar, urban landscape, reminding me that I am so far from home.
Now my happiness rests in the lap of the gods.

We had no need to
disembark at Hong Kong; the aircraft was refuelled and within forty minutes we
were airborne again and en route to Heathrow. Our two cabin crew members, Tony
and Sandy have prepared dinner and are cheerfully setting up as we dress for
dinner in our cabin. I freshen up and apply a little mascara and lip-gloss to
match my pale blue smock dress; Ayden slips into a casual white shirt that
complements his tan. He selects a tie and debates whether to break with
tradition and eat dinner minus a jacket. 

Accustomed as I have
become to faking a smile, this is a feat worthy of an Oscar. I drink more than
I should, and play around with my Veal Scallopini crêpe Suzette, even though
the meal is perfectly delicious. Ayden had the bar stocked months ago so our
palates are treated to the finest wines.  We end with coffee and a glass of
1993 Bas-Armagnac, which we’re taking to our cabin as a nightcap.

I’m tipsy and Ayden
is amused. I kick off my shoes and crawl onto the bed, propping my chin in my
right palm, listening to
Holding Onto Heaven
by Foxes. Ayden is saying
nothing but his wry smile says it all. Sitting with his back to me, he removes
his shoes and hums along. Meanwhile, I’m contemplating every possible scenario
and coming up with the same terrifying conclusion. He’s not bringing Ayden back.

With nothing to lose
I crawl over to him and wrap my arm around his shoulders from behind. I bury my
head in the crook of his neck and whisper softly, “I love you, Ayden”

He bends back his arm
and cradles my head in his right hand. Into my ear he says the four words I
have longed to hear. “I love you more.”

As I sob quietly,
tears fall from my chin and splash onto his trousers in heavy droplets,
dampening his thighs.

He turns into me and
kisses away my tears. “Hush, baby, don’t cry.” He blots away the remaining
tears and damp patches with his tie. “Come, let’s get you ready for bed. I
think you may have overdone the Tempranillo.” He cleans up smeared mascara with
his thumbs and takes my face in his hands.

I rest my hand on
his. “Make love to me.”

He’s shaking his
head, slowly. “I can’t. Not here and not when you’re like this.”

I can’t conceal my
disappointment. “Ayden would.”

He brushes my lips
with his. “But I’m not Ayden, darling.”

What a fearful
reminder. When I look into his eyes, the starlight of the previous night has
departed. I’m looking into the eyes of the boy I fell in love with over 22
years ago, my husband. I see myself reflected in that endless Caribbean Sea,
and despite his assertion, I am reassured.

He’s still here and
there’s still hope.

For what will
probably be my last entry I boot up my laptop and leave Ayden sleeping. My
tears have dried and I’ve made a decision to make our remaining time together a
pleasurable one. I have a feeling my destiny will be determined by the events
of the past 11 days. Maybe I could have behaved differently. Could I have loved
more convincingly, given more and missed Ayden less? I don’t think so…

I’m scrolling through
my digital scrapbook, hovering over photographs, lingering over lines of text
wishing I’d said more.

NOVEMBER #10

“Hear my soul speak:

The very instant that I saw you, did

My heart fly to your service.”

William Shakespeare: The Tempest.

We’re almost home,
Ayden. Usually honeymooners feel unhappy about returning to the humdrum of
daily life after having such a romantic time gazing into each other’s eyes, but
I feel no sadness. We have been to heaven and back this past week; reached for
the sky and touched the bottom of the ocean; travelled from west to east and
beyond … but, for all of the excitement in discovering new places, together,
there’s no place like home, Ayden.

You reminded me not
so long ago that we’d both been lost souls, wandering in circles, opening doors
that lead nowhere, but no more. We’ve come home; found that place we had been
searching for and that place is in each other’s arms.

You
live inside me, Ayden, not as a memory but as a living, breathing piece of me.
My heart is yours to keep and, when the time comes for me to leave this earth,
it’s your name I will be whispering.

Yours
for ever, Beth X

To this final entry I
attach
our
photo, my screensaver and, through tears I promised myself I
would no longer shed, I reach out and stroke his face. The memory of that night
makes me smile.

Goodnight my
beautiful prince.

Whilst
waiting for our bags to be offloaded and taken through to passport control
Ayden calls Lester. There are rumblings of displeasure, which make me wonder
what we’re walking into.

I give Lester the
warmest smile I can muster. “Hello, Lester. How are things back at the ranch?”

He opens the door of
the Rolls and waits for me to step inside. “The ranch is much as you left it,
Mrs. Stone.” Not one for humour, he forces a smile.

Ayden gives him a
cursory nod and slips in beside me. I reach over and take his hand. “What’s
wrong?”

He looks puzzled.
“Why, nothing,” he replies sandwiching his other hand over mine.

“I don’t mean with
us. I mean generally.” I’m focusing on his face, looking for clues. There are
none.

He kisses my cheek as
you might a small child who needs reassurance. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

I pull my hand free
and turn from him. “That’s not an answer. I’m not a child. I don’t need
protecting. If it’s about us, I want to know.” I look out into the 4 a.m. mist
and gloom of our capital city and see myself reflected. My arms are folded and
I’m pouting in a very childlike manner. When I turn to face him, looking up
through mascaraed lashes, I see he’s smirking.

“Beth, I will never
become tired of your antics.” He wraps his arm about my shoulder and clears his
throat to speak. “Our D. I. Bowker has been making a nuisance of himself this
past week, and has arranged to come to our home later to speak with us.”

 “Why? What does he
know?” I ask.

“Everything,” he
states casually. “He’s been very diligent in his investigation.”

I’m shocked by his
reply. “Everything! And you knew?”

“Of course. He seems
to be a man of good moral standing and I assumed he would come to me with any
matters arising out of his investigation.”

“And you didn’t think
to tell me?” I enquire indignantly.

“Why would I? There
was nothing you could do 10,000 miles away.”

I can see his point.
“Well, I know that, but it’s a good idea to talk these things through, even
with someone like me.”

He tightens his grip
on my shoulder. “Someone like you would be the
only
person I’d discuss
this with. You know that, so don’t pout or I’ll have to kiss you to turn it
into smile.”

“Is that a promise?”
I smile into his chest.

He laughs and plants
a kiss on my hair. “Yes, it is.” He lifts me away from him. “We’re here.”

Tea seems the best
way to celebrate our homecoming. Ayden attends to emails and other
correspondence in his study downstairs, and I’m left alone with my thoughts.
Watching the kettle come to the boil, I count the seconds, wasting time, trying
not to address the simple matter of my husband’s return.  I suspect a decision
has been made already. There is nothing I can do to persuade or alter what
amounts to a date with destiny.

With no need of sleep
I descend to the 1st floor carrying two teas and a plate of biscuits, trying to
replicate normality. Before entering Ayden’s office I pause, hearing the harsh
tones of a man used to exuding power and authority with every syllable, but
concealing it behind a façade of civility.

“It’s unfortunate you
feel that way. You should come straight here when you land so we can sort
things out. I appreciate that, but I would suggest you don’t do anything you
might regret, Jake.”

Jake?

I take a step
backwards, reeling at the mention of his name. With the call concluded, I push
open the door with my foot. “I made tea,” I say, smiling. “Where should I put
it?”

For the first time
since our adventure began, Ayden is pacing, rubbing the back of his neck with
his right hand. He points to a small coaster on his desk. “Thank you.”

I reach for his arm.
“What’s happened with Jake? Is it business?”

He’s shaking his
head. “No. It’s pleasure.”

I rest on the edge of
his desk. “Can you tell me?”

“Yes, as
you
seem to have caused this predicament.” His eyes flash in my direction; it might
be the effect of the rising sun peeping through the blind or it might be
suppressed rage. I have no way of knowing.

“What did
I
do?”

Surely he can’t still
be jealous?

Thankfully, he stops
pacing and sits in his swivel chair. He takes a sip of his tea then plants it
down noisily, making me jump. When he lifts his head and his eyes meet mine, I
see he has calmed a little, but the cerulean shimmer I love most of all is
absent. He takes a breath. “You’ve been communicating with Charlie haven’t
you?”

Shit!

I nod. “Yes. Why
would I not? She’s like a sister to me … I …”

“You’ve been sending
her photographs haven’t you?”

Unsure of his line of
questioning I continue. “Yes, that’s what you do on your honeymoon. I wanted
her to see what a wonderful time we were having. There’s nothing wrong with
that.”

His head falls, as if
he understands for the first time what’s happened. “You sent her photographs of
Hong Kong?“ I nod in reply. “You sent her photographs of Heaven’s Gate Mountain
too?”

“Yes, so what?”

“Do you know how far
Heaven’s Gate Mountain is from Hong Kong?” he asks.

“I have no idea,” I
admit, still without a clue.

“It’s a six hour
flight.” He begins to swivel in his chair; left then right, left then right.
“Jake had my itinerary. He knew we didn’t have 12 hours free to go
sightseeing.”

The penny drops. “Oh
crap.”

He laughs and reaches
for his tea. “Oh crap indeed. It gets worse.” Purposely making me wait he sips
his tea. “So on to our honeymoon destination we go and …” He stops, held
steadfast by my open-mouth. I am utterly captivated. “And
, you
tell me
what happened next.”

I wrap both hands
around my mug and relay the details of our excursions and activities. It’s not
until I reach our last night, I raise my wide eyes to his. “We went to the
Sydney Opera House.”

“We did, and what an
enjoyable evening we had.” He smiles, teasing me shamelessly. “I believe you
sent her a photograph of us posing in front of said Opera House.”

Embarrassed by my
stupid mistakes, all I can do is nod. “I didn’t realise. I’m sorry. How long is
the flight to Sydney from Baderra Island, anyway?”

“Not too long, only
around four hours with the transfer to the mainland, but there is the return
flight to consider.”

I shrug my shoulders.
“Well that’s not too bad then.”

“It wouldn’t be except
for the fact that we spoke to Jake in the morning and you sent photos of us out
on a catamaran for most of the day.”

All I can do is sip
my tea quietly and wait for a solution to occur to me. Five minutes later, I’m
still waiting. “What did you tell Jake? He must wonder what the hell’s going
on.”

He does. Particularly
as no flights were going out to the Tienman Mountains because of bad weather …”

“Bad weather you
caused!” I state briskly.

“Precisely.”

I remove my thumbnail
from my teeth to speak. “So what will you tell him when he gets here?”

His broad shoulders
rise and fall. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“You can’t tell him
the truth!” I declare, placing down my cup and standing to straighten my dress.
“He won’t believe you.”

“This is true.”

We both laugh at his
reflexive response.

I take a chance and
launch an emotive question in his direction. Licking my lips I begin, “What if
you weren’t here when he arrived? You wouldn’t have any explaining to do. I
could come up with some kind of plausible explanation, I’m sure.”

“Are you attempting
to negotiate with me, Mrs. Stone?” he asks, finding my attempt to introduce an
exchange of power quite amusing.

“No, just trying to
find a solution that suits everyone.” I pick up my mug and prepare to leave.
“Have you finished with your tea?”

“Not quite. Do I have
time to finish it?” he enquires, making light of my negotiating skills.

I simply shake my
head and walk away. “Yes, you have all the time in the world, Ayden.”

My life has become a
merry-go-round of bad decisions and an affair of the heart that has my head in
a spin. If I don’t find some way to decelerate, this adventure will turn into a
tragedy very quickly.

Now we have a relay
of guests to contend with. First on the list is Detective Inspector Bowker at 9
a.m. I’ve been left in the dark and Ayden’s single declaration about him
knowing “everything” has done little to calm my nerves. With ten minutes to
myself I boot up my laptop, intending to scroll through photographs, deleting
those incriminating reminders of unearthly powers and impossible excursions!

I open up the digital
scrapbook, looking for lines to delete, then the buzzer sounds by the lift,
making me jump several inches high, signalling the arrival of our interrogator.
I move my laptop to the kitchen counter, watch the lift descend and check my
appearance. I’m not sure why I’m so nervous; we’ve done nothing wrong.

I feel a surge of
adrenalin as the lift glides to a halt. D.I Bowker steps out first. A worn out
man of around 40, he looks as if he has aged somewhat since I saw him last at
my apartment.

I move over to greet
him. “Detective Inspector Bowker, how nice to see you again. Please take a
seat. May I take your coat?” He removes his rain coat and I slip away to the
guest bedroom and fold it over a hanger that conveniently hooks over the
bedroom door.

When I return, Ayden
is playing host and pouring coffee.

“You’ve got one hell
of a place here,” he comments, allowing his eyes to skate around the room,
taking everything in.

“Yes, I’ve travelled
quite a bit and picked up some ornaments along the way,” Ayden replies, handing
him a porcelain mug of tea. I push a coaster in his direction and take my cup.

“You’re both looking
tanned and rested after your honeymoon, I see. Where did you go?”

“Thank you,” I respond,
smiling. “We went to Hong Kong and then onto The Great Barrier Reef. It was an
amazing experience.”

“I can imagine.” He
smiles cordially, knowing just how unlikely that is.

Ayden sits next to me
and strikes a familiar king of the castle pose; arm outstretched, right leg
crossed over his left. “So, what can we do for you, Detective Inspector?”

He takes out three
small notepads, places two on the coffee table and begins flicking through what
looks the oldest of the three. All we can see are scribbles but he seems to
know what he’s written down.

“Ah, yes. There are a
few things I would like to go through with you if I may, Mr. Stone; that is if
you wouldn’t …”

Before he can finish
his sentence Ayden holds up his right hand and our guest pauses as if frozen in
time.

“What’s the matter?”
I ask, turning sharply to face him.

“The ring. Take off
the ring. He’ll recognise it and then find it missing from the items listed as
belonging to Mr. Rizler.” He reaches out his hand. “Give it to me for safe
keeping.”

I wriggle it from the
third finger of my right hand. Before handing it to him I offer a thankful
smile. “That was very clever of you to remember it, Ayden. Thank you.”

 “I didn’t. He did.”
He slips it into his breast pocket and taps it lightly. “It’s well hidden now.
Shall we continue?”

“Yes.” I turn to our
guest.

“… mind answering a
couple of questions.” He finishes his sentence and I look on sweetly, glancing
at him and over to Ayden, so composed and quietly confident in a god-like way.
Nothing fazes him; no one will ever be more powerful or a better protector. I
will always be safe with him. I wonder if he’s reading my thoughts …

Are you reading my
thoughts, Mr. Stone?

I turn away and reach
for my coffee, establishing myself as mere decoration. No questions are
directed at me. I have become a steadfast wifely figure who stands by her
husband through hell and high water. Is that me?

Yes, that’s you.

 I hear Ayden’s words
in my head. Yet when I look at him he is conversing with our guest.

You’re reading my
thoughts?

Only when you want me
to.

I want you to now. I
love you. I love you for everything you’ve done and for every experience you
have allowed us to share and I will be for ever indebted to you for your
kindness.

 Ayden doesn’t reply.

“Excuse us for a moment,
would you? I need to speak with my wife about something.” He takes my hand and
we pace quickly down the corridor into the guest bedroom. Once inside the room
he pins me against the wall with his body and seals his mouth over mine,
holding my chin in place with firm hands. I have to respond. I reach for his
hair, drawing him to me until our bodies are a flammable fusion of flesh and
blood. Breathless, he breaks away and shakes his head to clear his mind of
libidinous thoughts.