Butterfly of Venus

by Susan F. MacKay

  The bridge Elizabeth waited on was festooned with thousands of locks glittering gold in the sunlight. Lovers and tourists had attached them over many years. Symbols of love. Symbols of romance. Elizabeth looked back at the cathedral and the grey-green Seine. In a couple of hours, she and Declan would be jetting away. It would all be over.

  Declan ran nimbly up, holding out a golden padlock on which were written their names and the date. Triumphantly, he locked it onto the wire mesh of the bridge and handed her the key. “There,” he said. “Now part of us will remain in Paris forever.”

  Elizabeth was touched. He was clearly a romantic, but was she?

  * * *

  Elizabeth stood at the top of the Eiffel Tower, gazing down on the splendour of Paris. She felt wonderful, free and alive. But then, from the shadows, stepped a vaguely threatening man. She couldn’t tell who it was. Was it Sampson? Was it Declan? Strong arms gripped her shoulders, then lifted her up into the air. Oh God. He was throwing her over the railing. Her heart raced. Oh no. Could she do it? Could she fly? Could she will herself to fly?

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the plane will be landing in Toronto in approximately ten minutes.”

  The pilot’s announcement woke Elizabeth with a start. Declan was shaking her gently.

  “That must’ve been some dream you were having.”

  “What? Er, yes. I was flying off the Eiffel Tower.”

  “Sampson must have been there as well. You said his name several times.”

  “Did I? There’s no accounting for the subconscious.”

  Declan leaned down and gave her a kiss. “The least you could do is dream about me.”

  “Mmm. I prefer the real thing.”

  An image of the two of them fucking naked on the balcony rushed back to Elizabeth. It stirred her insides. How had he done that to her? How had she let herself engage in such behaviour? It was preposterous, adolescent, exciting as hell. She felt warmth between her legs as Declan slipped his hand under the blanket and fondled her. Oh no. This was too much.

  “Fasten your seatbelt, sir. We’ll be landing shortly.” The male flight attendant gave Declan a look as if to say, “Oh, no, you don’t. Not on my flight.”

  Declan shot Elizabeth a cheeky grin. “That ‘real thing’ you’re talking about? We’ll work on it.”

  The plane landed smoothly. Elizabeth didn’t mind flying but was happy when the final thrust of the jets stopped and the taxiing began.

  When they reached customs, a stony-faced female agent examined their declaration forms. “You travelling together?”

  “Yes.”

  “One form says business. The other says pleasure.” She glanced from Declan to Elizabeth. “Which is it?”

  Elizabeth felt her face flush. Declan stepped in.

  “It was business for Ms. Harding. I simply accompanied her for the pleasurable side of things.”

  The agent harrumphed and stamped each form with unnecessary force. “Welcome back.”

  Elizabeth spotted Eddie, her driver, waiting in the crowd for arrivals. Her plan was to drop Declan off at his apartment before going to the office. She would check on a few business details, then go home to recover from jet lag and a soreness between her legs she hadn’t felt in months—or was it years? She felt as if she was glowing. Last night had been incredibly exciting. Paris. The full moon. The Eiffel Tower. And Declan. Young, strong, gorgeous Declan pushing his way into her. Past her objections, past her sexual lie. He realized what no other man had: that she faked orgasm. It was different when she was alone. With no one to please but herself, she entered the fertile territory of her imagination, a realm she’d never shared with anyone. Could she share it with Declan? Definitely not. It was a dark and private area, and much too personal.

  A frisson of pleasure suffused her when she thought of Declan naked in her arms. But now that they were back in Toronto, it was over. What had he said about the real thing? They would work on it? Tempting as the idea was, she couldn’t allow it to happen again.

  Elizabeth caught Eddie’s eye and smiled. As he stepped forward to take her bag, a whirl of dark hair and perfume pushed past Elizabeth. Natasha! Natasha flung herself at Declan, practically knocking him off his feet. She slathered his face with kisses and pressed hard against him.

  “Whoa. Whoa. Hi, Natasha. Nice to see you too.” Declan disengaged himself from her. “You remember Elizabeth?”

  Natasha didn’t bother to look in Elizabeth’s direction, although she managed a perfunctory “Hi” before saying, “Hey, Decky, I borrowed my bro’s car. Thought you might like a little ride.”

  At the word “ride,” Natasha parted her legs and swivelled her hips against Declan’s legs.

  Could she be any more obvious? thought Elizabeth.

  “Sorry,” Declan said to Elizabeth, with an apologetic shrug. “Seems like I’ve been picked up.”

  Natasha giggled.

  Elizabeth pulled herself together as best she could. “No problem, Declan. We’ll be in touch.”

  Eddie took charge of Elizabeth’s bag, wheeling it away. Elizabeth followed without looking back. She was sure she heard Declan and Natasha laughing. She refused to turn around. Damn them, anyway. Natasha was not a problem as long as Elizabeth distanced herself from Declan. And that’s what she intended to do. Paris was a dream. Back in the real world, intimate contact with Declan Thomas was strictly off limits.

  Chapter Seven

  Declan left several messages on Elizabeth’s cellphone. She didn’t return the calls. She did return yet another call from Sampson and agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to meet him for lunch at the King Edward Hotel’s Consort Bar. Elizabeth loved the hotel’s Old World charm and history. Back in the day, before Toronto had been populated with upstart modern hotels of sleek glass and chrome, the King Eddy had been the luxury hotel of choice. The Beatles once occupied its royal suite, and Frank Sinatra had played its Crystal Ballroom. Newly refurbished, the ballroom was to be the site of her upcoming annual charity ball, a big-ticket event that got a lot of publicity and raised millions for several charities.

  Elizabeth was a regular client at the hotel. She used it when she had to put up guests. The staff knew her name and went out of their way to make her feel welcome, especially when she dined alone.

  A pretty young server greeted her and asked if she would like to sit at her usual table by the window. Elizabeth said she would. As the server led her across the thickly carpeted floor, Elizabeth took in clusters of businessmen in expensive suits. They, in turn, noticed the auburn-haired beauty, elegant as a swan, being led to her table.

  Elizabeth ordered a San Pellegrino. She had no need to look at the menu. She knew it by heart and had already decided on a lobster club sandwich. She settled into a leather couch and looked out the window onto King Street. A fine spring rain had begun to fall. Droplets ran down the window like tears.

  She thought of Declan and wondered what he was doing. A week had passed since they’d returned from Paris. Now it seemed like a dream. Her muscles clenched as she thought of him on the balcony, of the force and power with which he’d taken her. How on earth had he known that she’d faked an orgasm? She’d only done it to please him, and he’d been angry with her. Now he was in the clutches of Natasha.

  Elizabeth sighed. She wondered if turning forty had brought on a midlife crisis. Men certainly had them. Middle-aged accountants suddenly bought Harley-Davidsons to ride on weekends, or grew ponytails around their balding pates, or cheated on their wives. Men just like Sampson took off with younger women all the time. It was a biological cliché. But she wasn’t the younger woman anymore. She was the older woman. Oh God, had she made a fool of herself? Was she turning into a sad joke?

  Elizabeth glanced away from the window to see Sampson striding across the room. He stopped at a couple of tables to say hello, glad-handing and slapping a couple of men on the bac
k. Sampson was a schmoozer, and good at it. She wondered idly whether he could be considered oily. He certainly knew how to turn on the charm when he wanted. She had fallen prey to it.

  “Elizabeth, darling.” Sampson leaned over and kissed her on both cheeks. “Beautiful as ever.”

  “Hello, Sampson. Full of bullshit as ever.”

  Sampson smiled and sat down. He ordered a double Scotch on the rocks. That was strange, thought Elizabeth. Sampson never drank during the day. Something must be up. He still looked good, although Elizabeth noticed a slight paunch around the middle of his suit jacket. He’d let his silver hair grow slightly longer and now wore it slicked back. His dark brown eyes, set in a slightly fleshy face, were still compelling. They seemed unusually bright. Were those tears?

  “What’s up, Sampson?”

  “It’s Shalene. She’s left me.”

  Did he really expect her to be sympathetic?

  “Sorry to hear that.” She couldn’t help adding, “Now you know how it feels.”

  He grimaced slightly. “Biggest mistake of my life. I wish I could go back. Back to you.”

  “Not going to happen. You know the old saying: ‘You can’t go home again.’”

  Sampson took a gulp of his Scotch and sighed deeply. “Are you sure, Elizabeth? You were—you are—the love of my life.”

  “Until you see the next young girl your dick can’t resist.”

  Elizabeth was aware of how bitter she sounded.

  Sampson looked crestfallen. “I know I’ve been a fool.”

  Elizabeth agreed. “Yes, you have. We had it all. A beautiful home. A great lifestyle. An okay sex life.”

  Sampson’s eyebrows shot up. “Just okay?”

  “Let’s put it this way. Good for you. Not so good for me.”

  “You never said anything.”

  “No, I didn’t. As long as you were happy, I could go along with it. Shalene did me a favour, although I certainly didn’t think so at the time.”

  “That girl is cruel,” said Sampson.

  Elizabeth’s curiosity got the better of her. “What happened?”

  Sampson looked abashed. “She found my Viagra.”

  “Since when did you need Viagra? You certainly didn’t need it when we were together.”

  “Ha. You try keeping up with a twenty-two-year-old.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t help smiling to herself. “Well, so what? You were taking Viagra. What’s so bad about that?”

  “She was insulted. She took it to mean I didn’t find her attractive enough.” Sampson winced at the memory. “I believe the term she used was ‘chemical fuck.’”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, so that’s that. She left.”

  “How long since you split up?”

  “A month.”

  “One month? And you’re already sniffing around, trying to get back into my good graces?”

  “She’s taking me for half of everything.”

  “I’d probably do the same in her situation. You were just lucky I didn’t need your money.”

  Sampson signalled the server for another drink. Elizabeth’s lobster sandwich arrived. Sampson wasn’t eating and would soon be drunk. He stared at her.

  “Have you met someone? Can’t imagine a beautiful woman like you staying on her own.”

  “None of your business.”

  “So you have met someone.”

  Elizabeth didn’t answer. She finished her food without speaking as Sampson regaled her with stories of Shalene’s immaturity and selfishness. What a nerve he had, expecting her, of all people, to offer tea—or, in this case, Scotch—and sympathy. His relationship wasn’t over for a nanosecond and here he was, looking for another one. Men can’t stay alone for a single minute, she decided. They’d rather have a bad relationship than no relationship at all.

  Sampson looked contrite as he finished his drink. He wanted a sympathetic ear for his tale of desertion. Elizabeth decided she was not good at being sympathetic to a man who had cheated on her.

  “Anything else I can do for you, Sampson? New car? Caribbean vacation? Blow job? Anything?”

  Clearly drunk now, Sampson leered. “I’ll take the blow job.”

  “I’m sure you would. From me or anyone else who offered.”

  “Never look a blow job in the mouth,” slurred Sampson. “That’s my motto.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t help laughing. Sampson was often funny.

  “Okay, Sampson. Time’s up. I’ve got work to do. Let’s go.”

  The concierge held the door open for them as they exited onto King Street.

  Sampson turned Elizabeth towards him and held her by the shoulders. “I’ll always love you. Always. Always.”

  “Okay, Sampson. Goodbye.”

  Sampson leaned in to kiss her. She smelled the alcohol on his breath. Her mouth remembered the feel of his lips, familiar and oddly comforting. Then, of all the nerve, Sampson tried to put his tongue into her mouth. It was not going to happen. She jerked her head back in disgust, but Sampson’s arms encircled her in a bear hug. He reached to stroke her hair.

  “Elizabeth, my darling girl.”

  “Cut it out, Sampson!”

  Elizabeth was so busy trying to extricate herself from Sampson’s unwanted attentions that she didn’t notice Declan crossing the street towards them.

  “Hello, Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth started at the familiar, slightly husky voice tinged with anger. Declan was carrying his guitar, on the way to a rehearsal. His jaw was tensely set. His handsome features seemed etched in stone. His eyes glowered a threatening navy blue.

  Elizabeth pushed Sampson away and took a step backwards. “No, no,” she wanted to tell Declan. “It isn’t what you think.” Flustered, she reluctantly introduced the two men. “Hi, Declan. This is Sampson Wheeler. Sampson, this is one of my clients, Declan Thomas.”

  The two men grudgingly shook hands.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” said Declan grimly.

  “Oh?”

  Sampson looked inquiringly at Elizabeth, then back to Declan. “I’ve heard nothing about you.”

  It was Declan’s turn to stare first at Elizabeth, then back to Sampson. “You will, man. You’ll hear a lot about me. I can promise you that.”

  Clearly angered, Declan strode away. Elizabeth hailed a taxi and hustled Sampson inside. He wagged a finger at her.

  “That boy—that kid—he’s got the hots for you.” As the truth dawned on Sampson, he raised his eyebrows. “That’s who it is, isn’t it? Oh my God, Elizabeth. He’s a kid. What are you doing?”

  “Goodbye, Sampson.”

  Elizabeth slammed the cab door shut and took off down the street. She could still make out Declan’s tall figure, half a block away.

  “Declan! Wait. Wait!”

  It was difficult to run in heels, but she eventually caught up with him. Declan stopped and glared at her.

  “You seem to have your hands full, or rather Sampson does.”

  “It was nothing. He was drunk.”

  “That an excuse?”

  “No, it’s not an excuse. His girlfriend left him. He wanted to talk.”

  “How many times have I called you? How many messages have I left? I’m beginning to think ATM isn’t such a good idea.”

  “Who were you calling? ATM or me?”

  “One and the same, aren’t they?”

  It was Elizabeth’s turn to be annoyed. “And how is your girlfriend?”

  “What girlfriend?”

  “The one who picked you up at the airport and practically fucked you on the spot?”

  “Natasha? What was I supposed to do? She’d borrowed her brother’s car. Was I supposed to say, ‘Sorry, I’m going with Ms. Harding. She owns me now’?”

  Elizabeth fe
lt suddenly ashamed. “I’m sorry, Declan. You’re right, of course. There was nothing you could do.”

  Declan seemed to accept the apology. His features softened.

  Elizabeth heard her own voice, sounding small and annoyingly vulnerable, ask, “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “No, no and no. I told you. For one very good reason. If she was my girlfriend, I certainly wouldn’t be cheating on her with a gorgeous, sexy redhead, no matter how much I might want to.”

  “She must have been your girlfriend once.”

  “We had a thing, yes, ages ago. She’s possessive and has a hard time letting go. I like her. I get a kick out of her. But that’s it. For your info, she wanted to come up to my place but I wouldn’t let her. She drove off pissed. I’ll probably never see her again. End of story.”

  Elizabeth felt chastened. “So where do we go from here?” she asked.

  “My place?

  The idea of going to Declan’s place was tempting on many levels. In spite of her decision not to be with him again, what could be the harm? She was curious to see how and where he lived. If she was honest with herself, she couldn’t wait to have him naked in her arms again.

  She looked at her watch. It was two thirty. She needed to go back to the office. “Afraid I can’t right now.”

  “This evening? Don’t forget, I owe you something.”

  Elizabeth wavered. She really, really shouldn’t. But she really, really wanted to. Like an addict, she told herself just one more time, then she’d quit for good. “This evening it is. Seven thirty?”

  Declan used his old-fashioned fountain pen to scribble down an address.

  “That’s a lovely pen.”

  Declan put the top back on. “My father’s.”

  He kissed Elizabeth on the mouth. His tongue briefly met hers before he pulled away. He whispered in her ear. “Tonight will be the real thing. Tonight you will be mine.”

  How could he say these things to her with such confidence and assurance? Elizabeth’s knees trembled. What lay ahead for her? Could she have an orgasm with him? She could achieve one on her own as long as she indulged in fantasies, but that was her secret.