TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy) (36 page)

In slow motion, he
closes the lid of the laptop, still keeping his eyes on me. “So the time we’ve
had together meant nothing to you? You have been playing a part and nothing
more?”

I tip my head to one
side so he might see the sincerity with which I speak. “That’s not true.”

Unimpressed by my
claim, he snatches the bottle of wine off the counter and brushes past me
without so much as a sideways glance. “You reneged on our arrangement.”

The impact of his
chilling declaration is profound. I reach for his arm but my attempt to hold
onto him is useless; he’s too strong and too fast. I have to spin around to see
where he’s going. “No. I didn’t.”

Deep in thought, he
wipes the sticky residue forming at the corners of his mouth with his
forefinger and thumb and positions himself by the floor to ceiling window.
Behind him the plummeting darkness casts a sinister shadow over the city,
mirroring his mood and my deepening despair.

“You have been toying
with me, Mrs. Stone.” he sniggers sardonically, disbelieving that I, a mere
human might have fooled him.

All I can do is
approach him contritely and state my case. “No …”

A lascivious sneer
forms slowly, causing me to squirm in my chair. “Did you think I could be duped
so easily?”

I don’t bother
looking in his direction, I sit awkwardly, fixing my eyes on a single spot on
the table and focusing on it. “It wasn’t like that. You have to let me
explain.”

“There is nothing to
be explained, other than your duplicity. Have you any idea how much
self-discipline I have had to exhibit to appease you?” His brow furrows as he
prepares to elucidate. “Did you think I was unaware or your late night trysts?
I knew you kept a diary of sorts, but I have not been privy to it until now.”

I frown and ask,
“Then, if you knew, why are you making such a big deal about it?”

“Because, my darling,
by your own admission, a meaningful relationship is based on trust, is it not?”

“Yes …”

“Then how can you
explain what you have done? You have betrayed a trust. “
God has given you
one face and you make yourself another.
”

I’m smirking at the
suggestion. “You think?”

“I do.”

I raise my head and
hit him with a contemptuous stare. “We’re here talking about trust and you’re
quoting Hamlet. Let me tell you a thing or two about trust.” With dogged
determination I prepare to enlighten him. “In what seems like a lifetime ago I
married the only man I have ever loved. He was taken from me on our wedding day
and yet, when we were reunited, our bond was stronger than ever. He has lived
in my dreams and my subconscious for most of my life. He’s a prince among men.
You came along and stepped into his shoes demanding lessons in love in exchange
for his safe return. That’s when we began our adventure; an adventure based on
trust.”

I stand fearlessly
and approach him, having to look up at him to make eye-contact. “But let’s come
clean; lay our cards on the table. Once you ‘rescued’ Ayden, trust went out the
window.” I wave my hand in the direction of the enormous glass pane to make a
point. ”This charade has been a test of my ability to please you, to be yours
in every sense of the word; to break my spirit before you initiated your plan
to steal it, as you have everything else I hold dear.” I pause, gauging his
reaction as his handsome features reflect in the glass. “I thought it was about
saving Ayden’s life but it’s not. It has never been about that, has it? It’s
been about my death; sacrificing myself for him to be yours for ever.”

He raises his chin,
acknowledging my accurate assessment of the state of play but offers no
defence. Instead he tips his head assuming I still have more to say. He’s
right.

“You have masked your
true nature beautifully except for that one night when I saw you for the dark
angel you are, devoid of goodness and compassion. You bewitched me, left me
covered in bites; battered and bruised, requiring your magic to heal me.“ I
laugh at myself, sardonically.  “And still I went along with it, allowing you
to access the most intimate of Ayden’s memories, encouraging you to transform
yourself into him. For that I will never forgive myself.”

Feeling suddenly
chilled to the bone, I fold my arms about my body and massage lifeless arms
that have become goose-pimpled and icy to the touch. “I have betrayed my
husband, but worse still I have betrayed myself and become the one thing I hate
most – a fraud.  If I were to end my life I might be able to redeem myself; to
find absolution for my sins.”

“That would be your
choice,” he interjects.

My eyes flare. “What
other choice do I have?”

“To remain here…”

“As a widow?” I
scoff. “That’s not a choice. I would rather live in purgatory than remain here
alone.”

“You need not. You’ve
had a glimpse of my world. It would not be torturous.”

He reaches out to me
but I reject his advance and turn away. I see myself reflected in the glass. I
don’t like what I see. My features have become harsh, unyielding and
unrecognisable.

“I would never hurt
you, Beth. Not now that I know what it is to feel your soft caress, to hear
your laughter and to experience the consummation of love so profoundly
beautiful it touches even my dark soul. If I didn’t love you I would not be
listening to you and I would not be offering you several lifetimes spent in the
arms of someone who can hold back tides, direct the wind, ignite your passion,
turn back time and move heaven and earth  … for you.”

“It’s too much. I
can’t live in a world overflowing with superlatives. The honeymoon is over.” I
turn about, having made my decision. “I’m leaving.”

With dark eyes
narrowing to a squint, he takes my arm. “Superlatives, in what sense?”

I shake free of his
arm. “It’s only now I realise how your pride has governed every decision you’ve
made. You’ve poached Ayden’s memories and bettered them by seeking out the
highest, the biggest, brightest, deepest, longest …” I pause to take breath. “Nothing
you have done has come from the heart. You’ve turned it into a dick measuring
contest, and even went all out to win that too! Why did you do that?”

His chest inflates. I
anticipate those three tell-tale words to fly from his mouth. And they do.

“Because I can!” he
yells in a thunderous roar that has me recoiling.

With trembling hands
I pick up my bag and throw it over my shoulder, casting an eye over the
envelope waiting to be opened on the coffee table. I throw down my bag and tear
it open.

“Aren’t you going to
read this?” I call out, holding it out to him timidly.

He shrugs his
shoulder, disinterested and detached from a woman who had her life taken so
fiendishly.

“You said you wanted
lessons in love. Then let this be my last one.” I clear my throat and begin to
read the final words of Elise Richards:

Dear Ayden,

You reading this can
only mean one thing. I am dead or dying.

I’ve written this
letter hoping you’ll do a couple of things for me that I’ve not had the courage
to do for myself. You’re a man of your word and, even though we have become
distant, I know you loved me once; not as much as I loved you, but what little
love you have shown me has been more than anything I could hope for or deserve.

Firstly, you must
promise me you’ll follow through with my wishes, even though they might cause
you embarrassment. I’m not doing it for that reason, you know that. This is my
last chance to make amends for my sins and to make others accountable for
theirs.

Attached are the
names and addresses of the two men who followed me to my new home when I was
taken away from Bright Hill. They continued to rape me, every month, sometimes
more. They’d come to collect me, pretending to be family members and no
questions were asked, no one wondered why I cried myself to sleep when I
returned, and no one cared. It went on for four years until I became a little
old for their taste and they moved on to younger girls. I was relieved but
hated myself for saying nothing. But I had no one to tell, all I could do was
wait for you.

You never came.

When I was fourteen I
met a boy who was nice to me. Ralph’s mother was ill and he came to stay for
three months. We fooled around. I became pregnant. He left and went back to his
mum. I hid my pregnancy until I was eight months along but started
haemorrhaging and they took me to hospital. I was petrified. The pain was like
nothing I’d ever felt before.

After four hours of
labour I gave up and they delivered my baby boy by caesarean section. (I’ve
included as many details as I can about the time and place.)

I named him Saffir
after you. I don’t know his real name because they took him away from me but I
did get to see him. He was beautiful, Ayden. Every wish I’d ever made came true
with him; he had beautiful blue eyes and a mop of black hair. I wished so hard
for that. I’ve been waiting for the day when he comes looking for me. He’ll be
sixteen soon and I’m praying his parents have taken good care of him and have
not been cruel with their description of me. I didn’t want to let him go but I
was about to be adopted and they said I couldn’t keep him. I was so desperate
to finally have a home I agreed. But I did love him. The eight months he was
inside me I loved him with every beat of my heart. He’s the one thing in my
life I got right.

I need you to find
him, Ayden, and to help him make his way in the world. His father was smart and
funny and he’ll be the same. He may not be the perfect son but someone like you
could put him on the right track. I don’t expect you to shower him with gifts or
anything so I’ve signed the apartment and all my expensive jewellery over to
you in my will. I haven’t touched the monthly allowance you’ve been sending me
so I could give my adoptive mother £5,000 to help with her debts, and give the
rest to Saffir. Maybe you can help him set up a business or show him how to use
the money wisely or for good.  He‘s the same age you were when you were
starting out, so you’ll know what’s best.

I understand if you
don’t want to get involved. All I ask is that you try to find him, Ayden, and
tell him something nice about me. I’m afraid all he will hear are bad things
once my past catches up with me. Tell him I tried to be good but somehow I
seemed to attract the bad.

I hope you remember
me with fondness and think of me now and again.  The times we’ve spent together
have been the happiest days of my life. My mind has been twisted by the shadows
that used to come for me and I know I asked you to do some shameful things. I’m
sorry.

I’m hoping you’ll
remember the fun times we had together a lifetime ago and help me. You are the
only person I have ever loved, and the only one I would trust with the welfare
of my son.

Please be my friend,
Ayden.

All my love,

Elise Richards
(Kilbride)

 Wiping the tears
from my woeful eyes, I take an invigorating breath and prepare to face my once
lover-turned-nemesis. “That’s one hell of a lesson. “ I fold up the letter and
slip it back into its envelop. “So, can you name it?”

“Name what?”

“The emotion?” I
reach for a tissue and wait.

He turns away and
stands face to face with his reflection. “No.”

All I can do is
sneer. “I have taught you nothing.” I pick up my bag. “Then I’ll tell you. What
you
should
be feeling, shall I?” I don’t bother waiting for a reply.
“Compassion.”

I turn to face him,
head bowed, stopping only when I see a vision.  Outside, the clouds have been
chased away and the full moon hangs low and bright in the sky. It may well be
staged but, from where I’m standing and his position by the window, his head is
arced by a circle of white light. I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle my
mournful sobs.

“Beth, it pains me to
see you so distressed.” He holds out his hand.

I won’t take it.

“What if I said I
could tell you what your future holds, would you want to know?”

He piques my interest
with that possibility. “Is this another one of your tricks?”

“No. I have come to
the conclusion that my
tricks,
as you call them, have no relevance at
this point. There is little I can say or do to persuade you that my intentions
are honourable.”

Honourable?

“You have made it
perfectly clear what your intentions are, and honourable is not the word I
would use, quite frankly.” I grab another tissue out of my bag. “But go ahead.
This I’ve got to hear.”

He directs me to the
sofa. We are sitting opposite each other like chess players anticipating each
other’s moves and trying to think ahead before giving anything away. He glances
to his left side, seeming to scroll forward.

My tears are
beginning to dry and my cheeks are smarting from the tidal wave of salt water
they have endured. I’m sitting, waiting, wringing out the paper tissue between
my hands, trying to convince myself that everything he says will be a lie laced
with selfishness and jealousy. Maybe I should just leave now while I have the
willpower?