by Julia Blake
I noticed a fire had been laid in the grate, a basket of logs standing ready on the hearth. Fumbling a match from a box on the mantelpiece, I knelt on the rug and lit the kindling. Tinder dry, it roared through, within minutes I could feel its welcome warmth, held out hands chilled to the bone. Sitting back on the sofa, I dropped my head in my hands, the shockwaves of Annaliese’s announcement still reverberating inside my skull. She was my mother?
Surely, I’d been told Annaliese was incapable of bearing children? Annaliese herself had told me some medical condition prevented her from ever conceiving. I frowned, had she? Or had someone else told me that? I couldn’t remember. Had she lied, or had there been complications following my birth which had rendered her sterile? I rubbed at my forehead wearily, feeling the beginnings of a champagne hangover. I was thirsty, yet had nothing to drink and was reluctant to venture out from the safety of my room.
Memories crowded, thick and fast. Annaliese’s face, so sad and sorrowful, saying she’d once lost someone she’d loved very much, right after that strange statement she’d made to Mimi that sometimes children were taken away and you didn’t know why... had she meant me? I remembered how interested she’d been in the photos of me as a baby, how avidly she’d studied them. Were they poignant pictures of the baby she’d given away growing into a sturdy toddler, a child, a teenager.
Further back still, I remembered the first evening I’d spent with them all, when we’d eaten Chinese and watched videos. A snapshot memory flashed in my mind, Miles and I had been talking about... oh, what had we been talking about, yes, The Woman in White, and Miles had made the comment it was a novel which dealt with secrets, illegitimate children, and Annaliese had dropped her wine. I’d forgotten the incident, yet now could see the glass drop, hear her soft exclamation, her hurried excuses, at the time it had meant nothing, but now...
Other moments in our years together, her enjoyment of the fact shop assistants would take her for my mother. So many incidents and comments, unremarkable at the time, they all now fell into place, like a vast complex puzzle, presented me with a solidly indisputable fact.
Annaliese was my mother. It explained so much. It answered nothing.
I cradled my poor aching head in my arms and closed my eyes. Overriding everything though, all the happy memories of Annaliese caring for me, loving me, was the image of the last time I’d see her. I couldn’t get it out of my head. That brutally shocking vision of her writhing on the bed with Scott, strong arms braced to take his weight, her long nails raking over the tattoo on his shoulder. My eyes flew open, I sat bolt upright on the sofa, hands flying to my mouth in horror. ‘Oh my god,’ I moaned aloud. ‘What have I done?’
I buried my face in my hands, jumped out of my skin at the low knock at the door, for a moment considered ignoring it, but pulled myself together before rising and opening the door. It was Scott. I stared at him, head still whirling with memories and sudden revelations. He looked concerned, half smiled at me.
‘I thought you might like some tea,’ was all he said. Looking down, I saw he held a tray, prettily laid with a lace cloth on which rested a delicately small bone china teapot with two matching cups, saucers and a small jug of milk. Touched at his thoughtfulness, I stepped back to allow him access to the room.
‘Thank you,’ I said as he carefully laid the tray down on the low table beside the sofa. ‘I was thinking how thirsty I felt.’ He smiled, poured out two cups, added a splash of milk the way I liked it, handed me a cup, before sitting in the armchair beside the fire, stretching his long legs appreciatively to its warmth. For a while we didn’t speak, drank our tea in companionable silence. It was hot and fragrant. I drank it gratefully, feeling it revive and refresh me.
‘Where did you go, Eve?’ I looked up at his question; saw the flicker behind the steady gaze of his dark eyes. Not for the first time, I wondered at his powers of self-control. Any other man would surely have raged at me by now, shouted, demanding answers. Scott sat there, coolly and calmly drinking his tea, dropping the question into the silence between us as though merely commenting on the weather.
‘Jamaica,’ I eventually replied. ‘I went to Jamaica.’
‘Of course,’ he said smoothly. ‘I should have remembered how much you liked the place. Have you been there the whole time?’
‘Yes,’ I responded, my voice as controlled at his. ‘I flew back two days ago.’
‘I see,’ he nodded thoughtfully. ‘I searched for you,’ he said, eyes never leaving my face. ‘Questioned your parents, went to Ally and Mike and interrogated them,’ he paused. ‘I even turned Wolverhampton upside down looking for you.’
‘Wolverhampton?’ I enquired puzzled, and he frowned.
‘Yes, the note you sent, a couple of weeks after you left, it was postmarked Wolverhampton.’
‘Oh,’ I exclaimed, remembering. ‘I gave that note to a young couple I met out there on their honeymoon, we spoke a few times, had a couple of drinks together. Before they left, I asked them to post it for me when they got home. I remember now, they came from Wolverhampton.’
‘So you were never there?’ he asked.
‘I’m afraid not,’ I replied. ‘I’ve never been there in my life.’
‘Damn,’ he commented mildly. ‘I took that bloody town apart looking for you.’
‘Sorry,’ I said. He shrugged, and once more the silence descended.
‘Why did you leave?’ he asked slowly. I knew he’d been building up to the question all day, had burnt to ask, ached for an answer, to know, to understand, yet he’d held back, waited for me to volunteer the information. Only now, finally, did his self-control slip enough he had to ask.
So, I told him. I told him everything, right up too and including, that blinding moment of revelation, when I’d stood at the door to Annaliese’s room and had my faith smashed in the blinding glare of a lightning flash.
‘I thought it was you,’ I said, saw him pale under his tan, ‘I thought it was you,’ I said again. ‘And couldn’t bear it, so ran, I couldn’t stay, not after that, not after seeing you and Annaliese.’
‘It wasn’t me,’ he broke in, an edge of despair in his voice. ‘I don’t know what I can say or do to convince you I’m telling the truth and I don’t know who it was, but it wasn’t me.’
‘I know,’ I replied resolutely. ‘I realise that now... the man had a tattoo on his shoulder. I didn’t remember seeing it before; perhaps I’d always feared you and Annaliese... maybe it’s why I was so ready to believe. Being here again, in this house, it’s as if the mist has cleared from my mind and I’ve finally let myself remember... everything. All the things I’d blanked out, wouldn’t even allow myself to think about. All this past year, I’ve tortured myself, but now I know... it wasn’t you.’
I paused, remembered the events of a year ago. My mad heedless flight into the night, the taxi that took me to a hotel, the train that took me to London, to the airport. I remembered sitting in the departure lounge with a one way ticket to Jamaica in my hand, my teeth clenched against an endless scream, how fated it had seemed, the available seat on a flight leaving for the island.
‘But what did you do in Jamaica for a whole year?’ he asked.
‘I wrote a book,’ I replied.
‘Did you?’ he asked, surprised. ‘Is it any good?’
‘Well,’ I smiled at him. ‘Ruth’s agent felt it showed promise, but I think I need to re-write the ending now.’
‘Ruth?’ his smile slipped. ‘You mean Ruth knew where you were? But, she knew how worried I was, how worried we all were...’
‘No,’ I quickly reassured. ‘She knew nothing until I emailed her last week. I sent her the opening chapters and asked for her opinion. I swear, until then, I’d not contacted her. When she emailed back, that was the first time I heard about Annaliese. Until that moment I had no idea, Scott, no idea at all
she was ill. If I had, I’d have come back...’
‘Would you?’ he asked, his gaze steady.
‘Yes,’ I met and matched it. ‘Yes, I would have done.’
He looked down at his hands, his face as unreadable as ever. ‘So, who was he?’ he asked quietly. ‘The man with Annaliese, who was he?’
‘It was Luke,’ I replied, and he sat back in his chair, his face outraged.
‘Luke?’ he exclaimed. ‘But she’d only just met him, he was the son of her oldest friend, she was practically his aunt. For god’s sake Eve, she was old enough to be his mother, why on earth would Annaliese have risked her marriage, her reputation, everything she was, for the sake of a quick roll in the sack with a pretty boy like him?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, couldn’t help smiling at the indignation in his voice. ‘But it was definitely him. I remember now, the first time I saw Luke, I thought how like you he was.’
‘Was he?’ Scott looked affronted, placed his cup and saucer gently back down on the tray. ‘So why did it upset you so much, Eve? When you saw them, thought it was me, why did you leave and go so far away? Even if it had been me, why would you have cared?’
‘Don’t you know?’ I replied, looking steadily at him.
He dropped his eyes first, looked away. I saw his hands close briefly into fists. He stood, seemingly at a loss for words, walked to the door. ‘I’ll let you get some rest,’ he finally said. I felt the quick, hot stab of disappointment. ‘Eve?’ his hand on the door, he paused, glanced back.
‘Yes?’ I answered quickly, hope once more flickering.
‘I understand this is probably the wrong thing to say and probably completely the wrong time to say it, but I was wondering, when you’ve had a chance to settle back in, find your feet, as it were, whether you’d... well, that is, if you’d consider, maybe, going out for dinner with me?’
‘Dinner?’ I looked at him curiously, noticed with interest the twin spots of faint colour which burnt on each cheek. ‘Do you mean on a sort of date?’
‘Erm yes,’ he replied. ‘If you like... yes... a date. Maybe we can start again, you and I, get to know each other from scratch, as it were...’ his voice trailed away. He looked at me, and I realised it was the first time I’d seen him visibly discomfited.
‘No,’ I said carefully. ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Scott...’ I paused, took a deep breath, groping for the right words.
‘Of course,’ he quickly replied. I heard with dismay the coldness in his tone, saw the shutters slam closed behind his eyes. ‘You’re quite right, I’m sorry to have bothered you, Eve.’ He opened the door and was gone, leaving me frozen for a second, before I leapt across the room, threw open the door, rushed after him.
‘Scott, wait!’ I cried. He stopped; his back solid and implacable. I reached him, slipped my arms around his sides, rested my forehead on his broad back, felt his taut resistance. ‘God, Scott, you really should give a girl a chance to finish her sentence,’ I protested. ‘What I meant, what I was trying to say is... don’t you think we’ve wasted enough time, you and I?’ He was silent. I felt his back tense, he needed more, needed me to spell it out for him.
‘I don’t want to start from scratch,’ I said slowly. ‘I don’t want to take the time to get to know you again. I already know you and don’t want to waste another second of our lives apart, not when I can be with you now, not when I can be in your arms and in your bed.’ I stopped and held my breath. I’d played every card in my hand, gambled everything I had he still cared for me, still loved me... it was up to him now.
Slowly he turned. My arms fell to my sides, my gaze remained fixed on the floor. I was afraid to look up, afraid to look into his eyes, afraid of what answer I would find there.
‘Eve,’ he said, and then again, ‘Eve...’
My name. That was all he said. It was enough. I lifted my eyes; saw the answer I’d hoped for. A smile, brazen and arch, slipped onto my lips. ‘I once made you a promise,’ I purred. ‘A promise I now intend to keep.’
‘Oh?’ he murmured, eyes locked on mine. ‘What promise was that?’
‘I promised to seduce you in front of the fire, then take you to bed and do it all over again,’ I replied, saw the heat which leapt into his eyes.
‘I like a woman who keeps her word,’ was all he said, allowed me to lead him, unresisting, back into my room, silently watched as I closed and locked the door behind us, pushed him down onto the sofa and stood before him, slowly undoing the side tie which held my wrap around dress closed, easing it off my shoulders to pool in a black heap around my feet to stand before him, clad only in a black lace corset, thong and stockings.
‘My god, Eve,’ he breathed. ‘Do you always wear such memorable underwear?’
‘You’re not still thinking about those damn socks are you?’ I laughed.
He lifted a brow at me in mock reproach. ‘I’ll have you know, I have very fond memory of those socks,’ he replied archly. ‘Have you still got them?’
‘I threw them away,’ I said. ‘After...’ my voice trailed away and his face clouded slightly, both of us reminded of the horror of Mimi’s attempted suicide. ‘But...’ I moved closer, lowered myself slowly onto his lap. ‘If it’s school girls that really float your boat, I know where I could buy a St. Trinian’s outfit, complete with hockey stick.’ He groaned, ran his hands over the lace of the corset, cupped my waist and pulled me closer.
‘Tease,’ he murmured, teeth nipping gently at my neck. ‘Does it come with the hat as well?’ I murmured an assent, then his mouth was on mine and I was lost to all rational thought, all reasoning, lost in the taste, feel and smell of him. Finally was where I belonged, where I’d dreamed of being for so long. I was home and it felt like heaven.
He feasted hungrily, like a starving man confronted with a banquet. Suddenly, where there’d been tenderness was ferocity, a wildness. I tore at his shirt, felt buttons pop beneath impatient fingers. His hands tugged at my hair, pulled me closer, our mouths hungrily consumed.
‘I’m sorry,’ I gasped, pulling away. ‘I meant to do this slowly, to seduce you, but I want you so much it hurts, I can’t wait, please Scott, help me...’
He lifted me off his lap, fumbled with his zip. Clumsily I tried to help, hands shaking, pulled him free of clothing, moaned with greedy desire as he sprang up, aroused and ready, his thumbs pushing aside the flimsy scrap of black lace now the only barrier between us.
He paused for a heartbeat, then with one glorious swift thrust entered me, twin cries of need and want erupting from our throats, nearly two years of estrangement and separation being the only foreplay necessary.
His hands were everywhere, pushing down the corset to release my breasts, claiming them with his mouth, savagely pulling, suckling, taking me to a knife edge of pleasure so keen, it was borderline pain. Gripping my waist, moved me urgently up and down, rose to meet me at every downward plunge as I ground myself onto him, sobbing with ecstasy.
‘Eve?’ I heard the question, felt my body respond with a quickening of its own.
‘Yes,’ I cried. ‘Now, oh god, now...’
He paused, one still magnificent second, then thrust upwards, so deeply I felt I’d surely split in two, pulsated and throbbed, hot seed exploding into my ripe and ready womb. I trembled on the very edge of my own orgasm, free fell into the chasm, the top of my skull lifting off with the force of climax which sent shockwaves racing through my body. We gasped, cried out together, voices hoarse and guttural at the magnitude and power of the tremors.
I slumped, drained and exhausted, my face resting on his shoulder, feeling his chest heave beneath me, heard his ragged breaths loud in the still room, matched only by my own gasps for air. Finally, I shifted slightly, felt the sticky disgorge between my thighs. ‘I’m afraid we’ve ruined your trousers,’ I murmured. He shrugged in
uncaring dismissal.
‘I’ll buy another pair,’ he muttered back, arms tightening around me. We sat that way for what seemed hours, before finally he slipped from me and we undressed each other properly, fingers tender and loving. Leaving our clothes in a heap by the fire, we slid between the sheets, holding each other close, watching firelight reflect in each others eyes.
‘Eve?’
‘Hm hm?’ I sighed drowsily, waves of contentment lapping over me.
‘Are you going to go away again?’
‘Not unless you come with me,’ I replied, felt his body relax in relief.
‘Only, I really don’t know what I’d do, if I lost you again,’ he replied carefully. I pulled myself up on my elbow to look into his face, seeing anguish there and genuine emotion.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. ‘For rejecting you, but I was in shock. Every time I looked at you I saw us, covered in Mimi’s blood. By the time I came out of the shock, it was too late; you’d made it quite plain you despised me.’
‘But I didn’t,’ he replied. ‘I understood why you’d pushed me away, but didn’t know what to do about it. I talked to Annaliese, she advised waiting, giving you time. I wanted to confront you, but she seemed so sure it was the wrong way to go about it,’ he paused, and I remembered the day I’d come across them talking together in urgent whispers.
‘The thing is,’ he continued, his voice even and calm. ‘It’s always been you, Eve, since the first moment I saw you lying under that tree, all wild child hair and the longest sexiest legs I’d ever seen, it’s always been you. When I tended the blisters on your feet, I thought I’d explode from not touching you, but you were so young, so very young, and you looked at me with those innocent trusting eyes. I’d have felt like a complete bastard if I’d tried anything on.’
‘You’d have been in for a surprise if you had,’ I murmured. ‘I was so churned up with lust, if you’d touched me in that way, I think I’d have thrown you to the floor and had my wicked way with you there and then.’