by Matt Rogers
‘What time do you close?’ Klara said finally.
King looked up and noted the patrons beginning to disperse. ‘Soon. I keep the evenings free most nights.’
‘For?’
‘A few different hobbies.’
It wasn’t a lie.
His newfound sedentary life had provided King with the one thing he’d been lacking for most of his adult existence — free time. He’d found the opportunity to branch out and dabble in a number of different fields. Due to the conditions of his past life, certain adrenalin-inducing activities appealed to him more than the finer arts. On days where he kept the bar closed, he made the coast-to-coast trip to the commune of Ghisonaccia, home to the island’s only skydiving dropzone. The fun jumps were definitely a change of pace from the usual circumstances in which he’d flung himself from planes in years prior. He also owned a pair of quad-bikes which he used to circumnavigate the mountains — usually to clear his head. He found the wind against his face calming, a sensation that he couldn’t find in many other places.
Of course, he had a different hobby in mind tonight.
He turned to Klara. ‘You seem awfully interested in the villa.’
‘Like I said…’
He cut her off. ‘Want to see it?’
Her lips parted slightly, as if she were considering responding but thought better of it. She drummed her fingers on the sturdy countertop and met King’s eyes. ‘That’s very forward of you.’
‘Is it?’ King said. ‘I’m just offering a tour to a curious soul.’
‘Oh, I’m sure.’
‘I’m not forcing you to do anything,’ King said. ‘Just putting it out there that I’m not adverse to it. It honestly wouldn’t bother me in the slightest if you turned and waltzed out of here.’
‘Aren’t you above all this?’
‘Above what?’
‘Drinking and chasing women and spending your off days on the beach … it just seems so blasé for someone with the net worth that you obviously have.’
King tapped the countertop. ‘You think I’m a hedonistic douchebag?’
‘Not at all,’ Klara said. ‘In fact, you seem very switched on. That’s why I’m questioning it.’
‘Why, thank you,’ he said. ‘Truth is — I don’t care what people think. I spent ten years in almost constant pain. The amount of stress I’ve had to deal with … it would drive anyone insane. It almost did. I got out before it all caught up to me.’
‘You were a soldier? A killer?’
‘Something like that. But I spent too long at one end of the scale. I waded through mud and dirt and shit in third-world hellholes. I’ve been injured more times than I can count. So now I’m experiencing the opposite end. And I’m loving it. And you can call me shallow, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m happy.’
‘I can see that,’ she said, finishing her beer. ‘You look happy.’
He smiled. ‘What is there to be unhappy about?’
‘Not much at all,’ she admitted. ‘I would love a tour.’
Five minutes later, the last customer of the day exited the bar with a jovial wave. King locked up the till, looped his rucksack over one shoulder and motioned to the door. Klara’s stark blue eyes wandered up and down his frame.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
CHAPTER 4
The eight-cylinder engine of the Mercedes purred as it climbed the hills out of Calvi. Klara sat in the passenger seat, staring out the tinted window at the passing surroundings. King imagined she hadn’t been this far inland during her time on the island. Tourists tended to spend their precious vacation time exclusively in the seaside towns. When you headed further into the mountains, the bustle of civilisation vanished and was replaced by a sense of tranquility. King relished that sort of thing.
It was a pleasant contrast to the commotion of Calvi.
They passed a deep ravine of rock and dead grass dropping away from the side of the road. Klara craned her neck to get a better look at it, to no avail. The sun had dipped below the horizon and making out the various landmarks was difficult in the twilight.
‘You enjoying it here?’ she said.
King gripped the leather steering wheel and spurred the luxury coupe a little faster. ‘I don’t see how I couldn’t be.’
‘Maybe whatever you used to do might be bothering you,’ she said. ‘I don’t know. Hard to tell who’s happy these days.’
‘I’m happy,’ he assured her. ‘I’m thinking about that stuff less and less.’ He paused. ‘Does it bother you?’
‘Huh?’ she said, cocking her head.
‘That I used to do some questionable things. I haven’t given you much detail.’
‘Not really. You seem nice enough.’
‘Is it that simple?’
‘To me it is.’
‘That kind of attitude could get you in trouble.’
‘It’s worked so far. I can tell someone’s intentions the second I meet them. Always have been able to.’
‘And what’s your opinion?’
‘Of you?’
King nodded.
Klara smiled. ‘Well, you definitely want to sleep with me. That much is clear. But you seem like a good guy.’
‘Right on both counts,’ he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.
She turned away to hide a laugh.
The Mercedes ascended the road into Calenzana. It was a tiny picturesque village set against a backdrop of a looming mountain range. In the winter — King had been told — the peaks became snow-capped. He hadn’t been here long enough to experience the sight.
He hoped he would make it that far.
King swept the car through narrow gravel roads and past stunningly beautiful traditional Corsican houses painted the colour of mahogany. They passed through the town in moments and the tyres crawled up a trail leading to a vast gated property. He stopped by an electronic panel on a pole and punched in a security combination through the open driver’s window. The steel gate groaned as it swung open. He took the car through and Klara’s jaw visibly slackened.
So had King’s when he’d first laid eyes on the grounds.
The villa curved in a broad U-shape around a stunning courtyard complete with a fountain and an collection of benches and Phoenix canariensis palm trees. Even though they weren’t discernible from behind the estate, it was clear that the views of the land sloping down towards the Mediterranean Sea would be stunning. Combined with the warm climate of the late evening, it created one of the more beautiful settings King had ever seen.
The decision to purchase the property had been effortless.
Anyone in their right mind who had sufficient funds would have swept it up in a heartbeat after a single tour.
‘It really is something,’ Klara said as King coasted the Mercedes to a stop in the wide driveway. ‘So what’s the bar?’
King looked at her. ‘Huh?’
‘Clearly you don’t make anywhere near enough from the bar to support this lifestyle.’
‘I have enough to support this lifestyle for a long time. The bar keeps me busy. Keeps me grounded.’
She paused for consideration. ‘You meet a lot of women there?’
‘A few,’ he admitted.
She laughed. ‘Living the life, aren’t you?’
‘Now I am. It’s about time…’
Finally within the confines of a private area, they quickly made their way into the house, barely suppressing the sexually-charged atmosphere. Once they both stepped into a large marble lobby and found themselves alone, King couldn’t keep his urges contained any longer. He wheeled Klara around and pressed his lips against hers. She kissed back with a ferocious passion, pressing her body against his. He slid his hands under her paper-thin summer dress, feeling the smoothness of her skin, roaming with his hands.
They didn’t even make it to the bedroom.
Fuelled by a wild excitement that had only surfaced once he’d had the chance to settle down, King scooped Klara up
and walked through to a wide living room complete with a sprawling suede couch. He dumped her down and she giggled uncontrollably.
They sank into the soft material, fixated by each other’s bodies.
King pulled the dress off her with barely any effort at all and pressed his mouth against her full breast. She let out a flutter of pleasure and swung one bare leg over his waist. Increasingly animated, she peeled his clothes away and they settled into a pulsating rhythm.
King kissed her long and hard, wondering just how his life had taken such a drastic turn from the vicious hell of the past.
CHAPTER 5
The evening passed in a blur of physical sensation and emotional joy.
King relished the peace that fell over him when he was with a woman. It kept him in the moment. He couldn’t think about anything he’d done in the past, or dwell on things he might have been able to change. Maybe that was why he’d undergone such a radical transformation during his time in Corsica.
The pursuit of women hadn’t been important before. He quite simply hadn’t had time for it.
Now he found there were benefits to being tall, well-groomed and in impeccable shape. It attracted certain types, which he hadn’t realised he enjoyed so much until recently. He thought he might settle down in the future — maybe find someone to create a long-term relationship with.
But not yet.
He wasn’t ready.
As night fell over the villa, plunging the view of the coast through the floor-to-ceiling windows into darkness, Klara fetched an expensive robe from the guest bedroom and returned to the couch. She sprawled out next to King and draped a thigh over him.
‘They were definitely right,’ she said.
King raised an eyebrow. ‘Who were?’
‘The people I spoke to last night. You’re very good.’
He smiled. ‘That surprises me. Didn’t had much time for this sort of thing before I moved here.’
‘Sex?’
‘Not just that. Any kind of companionship, really. Being intimate. It just wasn’t part of my life.’
‘By choice?’
He shook his head. ‘I was always on the move.’
‘Did you kill people?’
King looked at her. ‘That’s not something I want to get into.’
She nodded understandably. ‘Want me to cook something up for dinner?’
He smiled and kissed her. ‘I’ll do it. By the way — how long are you here for?’
‘Here in your house?’
‘In Corsica.’
‘A couple more days. Tomorrow’s the last day of the photoshoot, then we have a big function at one of the politicians’ mansions. I haven’t caught up on the details yet, but it’s to celebrate the fashion industry. I think they’re happy that the big magazines are coming out here more. Brings more money to the economy. That sort of thing. I think it’s just an excuse for the old bastards to surround themselves with models.’
King motioned to the eighty-inch television mounted on the wall in front of them, which was set to the evening news. On screen, a French man in his mid-fifties with thick white hair and a plump frame was halfway through a passionate speech, its content unknown due to the mute function. A banner under his chest read “Yves Moreau addressing political corruption in Ajaccio”.
‘Him?’ King said.
Klara craned her neck, then shook her head. ‘No — not him. He doesn’t seem like the type to care about his image. It’s probably one of the men he’s talking about.’
‘I’ve heard about him,’ King said, staring at the lined face portrayed in high-definition, full of emotion and enthusiasm. ‘He’s taking a stand against corruption? I don’t think he has much of a chance.’
‘Cleaning up politics,’ Klara scoffed. ‘That’s a joke. Don’t know what he’s hoping to achieve.’
‘Probably trying to get his name out there,’ King said. ‘Last I heard, he’s a minister in the regionalist coalition. Maybe he wants to be Prime Minister some day.’
‘Maybe.’
Despite the overall lack of activity throughout the day, King was tired. The sex had started slow and passionate, but their hormones had come through and it had devolved into an intense, largely enjoyable experience towards the end. The plush material all around him and Klara’s warm body against his made his eyes grow heavy. Before he knew it, both of them had drifted into an undisturbed sleep.
He didn’t dream.
A welcome relief, given his track record.
The day he dreamt of pleasant experiences and feelings of happiness was far off on the horizon. What he’d been through would take more than a couple of months in paradise to wear off.
Because he didn’t close the blinds overnight, the dawn woke them both at close to seven the next morning. King’s eyes fluttered open and he glanced around, noting his unbroken sleep. Usually he found himself awake and sweating in the middle of the night, tossing and turning, full of unrest. Maybe it was Klara’s presence that had kept him calm.
He made a mental note to move “getting into a relationship” to the top of his list of priorities and headed for the shower.
He showered cold, as always. It kick-started his energy for the day. He didn’t know the science behind it — and hadn’t bothered to do his research — but he knew that if the water’s temperature was as close to arctic as possible, it eliminated all feelings of grogginess left over from sleep.
He cooked up a quick breakfast of bacon, eggs and sausages, which he shared with Klara.
‘I wasn’t planning to sleep here,’ she said between a mouthful of toast, grinning wryly.
‘That casual of a fling?!’ he exclaimed in mock surprise.
She laughed. ‘Not for that reason. Estelle will be wondering where I am.’
‘A friend?’
Klara nodded. ‘My best friend. Since childhood. We joined Criterion Management together. Somehow, we always manage to end up getting booked for the same gigs.’
‘She’s protective?’
‘We both are. There’s too many pieces of shit in the world.’
King let the statement hang in the air, flashing back to all the carnage he’d wreaked around the world. ‘There sure are.’
‘I hope it’s not too much to ask for a lift back into Calvi. We need to be on the beach at nine.’
‘Of course.’
She smiled, leant across the table and pressed her lips against his. They were soft, and full. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation. He’d been focusing on that more and more lately. Living in the moment was a new concept.
Usually his mind was fixated on a plethora of threats to his wellbeing.
But not anymore. Not in this paradise.
‘Will I see you again?’ he queried. He let the question fall out on a whim. He wasn’t ordinarily the type to ask such things.
She smiled. ‘Maybe. I have the day off tomorrow. We could see the sights — if you want?’
‘I’d like that,’ King said.
‘Are you free?’
‘I work for myself. I’m free whenever I want to be.’
She took another look around the villa’s gargantuan interior. ‘Must be nice never having to worry about money.’
‘Now it is,’ he admitted. ‘It didn’t come easy though.’
‘I can’t imagine it would have. Shall we go?’
‘Let’s.’
He slipped into the master bedroom and quickly selected a suitable outfit for the day ahead — outrageous floral shorts and a loose-fitting tank top.
The wonders of owning a bar, he thought.
The four-poster king-size bed was immaculately made, untouched from the previous night. He found himself sleeping in it less and less as the days passed. It was almost too comfortable. Time after time he settled down on the couch or in one of the chairs in the living room.
Some habits — like sleeping anywhere available — were harder to shake than others.
As they exited through the same ga
te in the Mercedes, King glanced over at Klara, who was enamoured by the scenic view out the passenger’s window. He noticed how the dress rested gently on her curves, showing off all the right places, and how her long hair spilled over one shoulder carelessly but somehow managed to look like it had been fixed in place with impeccable attention to detail. She was beautiful. He felt something in his chest that he had barely experienced before.
Excitement for what lay ahead.
He didn’t want to reveal that he couldn’t wait to spend the day with her tomorrow. It would make him seem like a teenager fawning over his crush, but that was exactly how he felt. He took the luxury coupe through the tight bends with ease, feeling the balmy wind flow in through the open window. He smiled.
Maybe this was the reason he’d forced himself through so many horrible situations.
Because that’s what it took to really appreciate life afterwards.
As they descended the hills into Calvi, they spoke about work. Klara revealed she was growing sick of the model lifestyle. It was lavish and extravagant, but ultimately empty. She hated being whisked from place to place, never really being able to stop. King silently related to her. He’d felt the exact same way before settling in Corsica. He thought that maybe a future might actually be possible between the two of them, yet he didn’t dare say so. She would almost certainly consider him to be moving too quickly.
Moving fast was the only thing he was used to.
He pulled into the courtyard in front of his bar at three minutes past nine, according to the Rolex on his wrist.
‘You may be slightly late to your shoot,’ he said.
Klara laughed. ‘That’s okay. I’m sure they’ll forgive me.’
This early on a weekday, Benedict and Franc had yet to make an appearance. They were alone in the lot. Klara leant across the centre console and beckoned for King to do the same. He kissed her ferociously, transfixed by how addictive the experience was. Right then and there he wanted nothing more than to give up the bar and villa, head straight for the airport and spend the rest of his days travelling the world with her. But that was a little too much fantasy, even for him.