TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy)

by Sydney Jamesson

  Ayden sighs impatiently. “Yes?”

  “Are you aware of Miss. Richards’s association with Mr. Rizler?”

  I lean back into my seat.

  Shit!

  Ayden shakes his head and sneers. “How could I be? We did not operate in the same social circles and, to my knowledge, Mr. Rizler had no interest in Media at a corporate level.”

  Even I flinch at his reply; it reeks of self-serving arrogance but it’s a sure fire conversation stopper.

  The Inspector slips his right hand into his pocket, preparing to leave. “I think we are both aware that his interests revolved around your wife Mr. Stone, and had done so for some time.”

  “Of that we are in agreement. Anything else?”

  “Not at the moment, thank you.” The Inspector takes a step back, giving Ayden the space he needs to duck into the car but, before we can pull away, he taps on the glass, flips out a notepad and reads from it.

  “Mrs. Stone, can you confirm that you were at Cambridge University between the years 2005 and 2008?”

  Say yes, he knows.

  “Yes. I can.” I sweeten my reply with a smile. “I secured a First Class Degree in English Language and Literature there.”

  He smiles politely. “Well done. Thank you for your time. Do enjoy the rest of your day.”

  Immediately Ayden clicks the button to raise the glass and meets Lester’s eye in the rear view mirror. Smoothly, we edge forward, leaving the mourners behind.

  “That man continues to make a nuisance of himself,” Ayden says incensed by the Inspectors audacity. “Why must he persist in digging up the past?”

  “Because he thinks there’s something worth unearthing,” I explain turning to count headstones upon which faceless names are inscribed. “He’s trying to make a connection between me and Dan Rizler.”

  “Well he will have to keep looking. I won’t have him dragging your name through the mud because some sociopathic misfit has been obsessing over you for the past seven years.”

  I wrap my right hand tightly around his arm. “But what about Elise? What if he traces you both back to Bright Hill?” I let out a weighty sigh as we approach the gates.

  Ayden answers abruptly, “Then I’ll deal with it.” He calls out to Lester. “Stop at the gates.”

  I face him, horror stricken. “What are you doing?”

  “You’ll see. Trust me.” He repositions his tie.

  “I do, but don’t you think it’s best to get away from here as quickly as we can?”

  “No. Already the press are wondering why we’re here. If I don’t give them something to print, they’ll make it up. I can diffuse the situation with a simple statement.”

  My thumbnail finds its way to my mouth. “I’ll stay in the car.”

  “You can’t. We have to present a united front.” He takes my hand and holds it to his lips for a second. “You see darling, in warfare there are four approaches.“ He sticks out the fingers of his right hand and proceeds to count.

  “One, to evade, which I cannot; two, to feign weakness, which I’m not prepared to do; three, to out-manoeuver, which I dare not do for obvious reasons; and four, to launch an attack when least expected. Hence the pre-emptive strike.”

  “Bloody hell, you have been thinking this through.” I shake my head in disbelief. “Is this really necessary? Can’t we just go home, finish packing and catch a flight to Hong Kong and begin our honeymoon?”

  He shakes his head ruefully. ”Only if you want your husband’s integrity and your honour to be in disarray when we return. Our Detective Inspector Bowker is a like a dog with a bone. No matter how one might try to relieve him of it, he would rather bite your hand than let it go. Of that I have no doubt.”

  The car slows and the expectant reporters gather like vultures ready to tear us limb from limb.

  I take an energising breath. ”Alright, what should I do?”

  “Nothing. Stand at my side and be the beautiful woman you are. You need do no more than that to disarm them.”

  I smile confidently. “I can do that.”

  He kisses my cheek. “Ready?” I nod. “Good. Let me put us in the spotlight.”

  I swing my head to the left and see the clouds parting; a beam of light shines down, making me giggle. “That trick will never grow old.”

  “It’s a classic. Take my hand.” Ayden steps from the car and helps me do the same.

  I feel the heat of the sun’s rays on my face and I raise my chin to receive its blessing.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, before we head off on our honeymoon I would like to make a brief statement.” Cameras are rolling. “Elizabeth and I are here today to pay our respects to Elise Richards. As you will recall, she became very unstable a week or so ago and tried to take her own life and mine. Sadly, I could not keep control of the vehicle and we were both involved in a crash that proved to be fatal for Miss. Richards.

  For the record, I was not romantically involved with Miss. Richards, but I think that due to emotional instability she found that hard to accept.”

  He pauses to take a breath. “We met just over a year ago when she assisted in the purchasing and remodelling of my home, having worked at the Estate Agency handling the listing. We became friends. Unfortunately, my relationship with Elizabeth seemed to put a strain on that friendship and she became highly unstable, to the point I became concerned about her mental health. Not wanting to prolong her suffering I terminated our friendship; and it is with much regret that I can look back and see how that added fuel to an already inflamed and unstable temperament. For some reason, Miss. Richards’s family seem to think I’m responsible in some way for her untimely death, but this is not the case. I became embroiled in her fantasy through no fault of my own and was drawn into a suicide pact over which I had little control.

  Elizabeth and I would like nothing more than to start our honeymoon and to leave all this behind us. Our thoughts are with her family and friends at this time of sorrow and loss. Thank you for your patience.”

  With that he leads me back to the car and we are on our way in less than a minute. It’s another three or four minutes before I speak. “You were very good.”

  “Thank you. Now they have something to report, it may stop them looking for more.

  Feeling as if a great weight has been lifted from our shoulders I relax and lean onto Ayden’s arm. Now I have only one question to ask before we arrive back home. “Why did that woman slap you?”

  “She wrongly believed I was responsible for Elise’s death. But I suppose a mother – or stepmother – will clutch at straws at moments like this.” He turns to look at the clouds as they merge, filling the sun-drenched cavity he had opened up. “She wasn’t privy to the facts.”

  “What was she thinking?”

  “That I had abandoned Elise, cast her aside for you, which was not the case.” He places a soft kiss on my head. “Your husband was not romantically involved with her; it was more of a fait accompli. She had her agenda and he was obligated to go along with it.”

  “That’s what I thought. Did he love her?” I ask lifting my head to read his expression.

  He pauses. “You ask me that?”

  I nod, silent and pensive.

  “He felt a great affection for her but not with the over-powering sexual intensity he feels for you; not that way. It was more … familial than sexual.”

  I fall silent again.

  “Does that put your mind at rest?” he asks softly.

  “Yes.” I fiddle with my rings and we sit in silence for the remainder for the journey.

  15

  I’m grateful for Bernie’s help with the packing. Unbeknown to me she used to pack Ayden’s case regularly and has made a point of ensuring his clothes are perfectly matched, as selected for him by his designer. If I’m honest, Ayden could wear a boiler suit and make it look good. Unfortunately, I’m less blessed in that department and must rely on flattering clothes and accessories to complement my look.

 
Thanks to Celine’s keen eye for detail and colour, my task is not so difficult. I leave Bernie to assemble handbags, shoes and everything seems to fall into place.

  Ayden is missing, unwilling to participate in such menial tasks. He has a planet to plunder and no amount of pestering on my part will extricate him from his other job.

  With the packing done, I make my way to the office down the hall. He’s sitting in the plush leather chair with his back to me, wearing no more than a white shirt and suit pants. Pictures from our Roman holiday are appearing one after the other on the digital picture frame and I’m smiling more widely with each recollection.

  “We had a lot of fun in Rome,” I remark, positioning myself behind him. “Do you have a recollection of Miss Magnani?” I place my right hand on his shoulder close enough to allow the scent of his hair to waft over me. “She was your biggest fan, for a day.” I snigger at the thought.

  Concerned at not receiving a reply, I swivel the chair around. “Are you accessing that memory?”

  Ayden cannot reply because he is ‘sleeping.’ I should have known by his regular breaths and the way his chest gently rises and falls. Taking a moment, I settle myself across his knee and wrap my arms around his neck. My nose fits perfectly under his chin.

  As before, he makes a moaning sound and his eyes are flickering; he’s being troubled by images that have him wincing as if in pain. I wrap my palm around his left cheek and nuzzle into his neck. “Hush, baby, I’m here.” As before, he settles and I am left wondering what the hell’s happening. Stifling tears, I thread my fingers through his hair and pull him in tight until my eyes close and I feel myself dozing.

  Strong arms enfold me and I awake to the sensation of a heaving chest. I am not alone. I release my grip and sit upright. Ayden’s hand is at my back keeping me balanced.

  “I fell asleep,” I confess, still feeling a little groggy. “You weren’t here.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I was otherwise occupied.”

  I catch him glancing at the digital picture frame. “Those were taken in Rome.”

  “Mmm. I have a recollection of that.” His mouth twitches at the memory.

  “Why are you smirking?” I ask, curiously.

  “I can recall architecture, food and much happiness, but by far the strongest image is of sexual encounters with you.” His eyes find mine.

  My eyes widen at the thought and I feel my cheeks beginning to glow. Out of embarrassment I giggle and look away.

  A sexy smile forms, one I know so well. The skin around his eyes wrinkles, folds into tiny creases and stays that way until such time as the smile straightens into a pout. “My darling wife, I do believe you’re blushing.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  “Not at all, I’m close to blushing myself and I wasn’t even there.”

  His declaration makes me laugh. “Then you shouldn’t be such a voyeur.”

  He grins at my description. “How else will I be able to engage …”

  “Engage?” I interject. “Is that what you call it? Engaging in someone else’s sexual liaisons?” I’m shaking my head and tutting like a school marm. “And by engage do you mean ‘see’ or ‘experience’?”

  He takes hold of my hand and places it on the bulging mass, straining against his zip. “You tell me.”

  I grasp his erection through the suit material, feeling ridges and sinews protruding through underwear and seams. Fearlessly I look into his eyes. “What are you thinking about? What’s made you so hard?”

  “Harder,” he corrects. “I’m in a permanent state of arousal, remember? It takes an enormous amount of willpower on my part to control it.” He folds his left hand around my face. “Your husband’s virility is a force to be reckoned with. I have never experienced anything quite like this before.”

  “Perhaps you should take a cold shower?”

  He raises a hopeful brow. “Perhaps I should spread you out on this desk? I can tell you’re aroused. ”

  “This is true,” I reply for my own amusement, feeling seriously tempted. “Why bother with the desk?”

  “Why indeed when we have a comfortable bed a few yards down the hall.” He raises an optimistic brow.

  I play with a wayward curl on his forehead. “But we have a plane to catch…”

  “Not for another three hours,” he reminds me. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” I lie.

  As if to set the mood, the sun sets behind the winter clouds as they rush to collide and conspire. Subtle lamplight casts muted colours across the desk, softening the surface with a kaleidoscopic quilt, inviting me to lie upon it. At one and the same time I am at ease and empowered; passionate thoughts abound as a gentle glow rests upon Ayden’s face. I am bewitched by his ethereal beauty. I have been so caught up in his sorcery I have become indifferent; only now am I in awe of his staggering masculinity. How could I ever consider letting him go?

  “You’ve played your part to perfection so far.“ I swaddle his face in my palms. “How can I reward you?”

  His mouth twitches a little on the right. “I seek only one gift.”

  Feeling bashful, I tilt my head and for some reason my thumb finds its way into my mouth. “Would that gift be - sex?” I feel his fingers above my knee, slipping beneath the hem of my dress.

  He shakes his head.

  “What then?” I ask quizzically.

  His face breaks into a tender smile “Your love, Beth.”

  The smoky hues appearing in his eyes are causing my breath to quicken. He takes my hand from my mouth and fixes it against his cheek, almost covering it with his own. Long, dark lashes sweep away any doubt I might have had that I wouldn’t do anything to save this husband of mine.

  I brush my lips against his, savouring the soft freshness of rejuvenated skin. My mouth invites him to taste me, to enter me, body and soul.

  I unbutton his shirt to reveal flexing muscles and downy hair into which I weave my fingers. A moan of pleasure ripples against my lips and I press on with my audacious exploration, becoming more aware of his racing pulse.

  This is the day I will cease to mourn. On this day, of all days, I will make it my sole purpose in life to celebrate love as a woman might, having been reprieved from execution for a crime she did not commit. I have been touched by Death several times, but only now do I understand the simplicity of my task; to love like today is the first day of forever …

  Ayden raises his eyelids having read my thoughts; the glistening iridescence of this universal truth radiates from his eyes like starlight, causing my palpating heart to soar. I smile softly, without fear or foreboding.

  I can do this.

  “I want to make love to you, Ayden,” I whisper.

  In a single movement he raises me off the chair and I’m swept along the corridor to our bedroom. Behind me lights are turned off: the lamp, even the spotlights overhead. It’s as if I am leaving the darkness behind and heading into the light with him.

  Once inside he places me down onto the bed. He closes the door and is confronted by the suit of armour; make-believe metal and chainmail. He cocks his head to the right and fingers the material.

  I put his mind at rest. “It was Ayden’s for Charlie’s fancy dress party; he was busy with work and never got to wear it. Maybe you could wear it?”

  Laughing, he turns to face me. “Do you mean now?”

  I shake my head and mirror his laugher. “No, of course not, we can have a party after our honeymoon and you can wear it then.”

  “Mmm … I could. And you could be my fair maiden.”

  “You could be my knight in shining armour?”

  He gives me a wry smile. “I thought I already was …”

  All I can do is roll my eyes. “We’ll see.” I pat the duvet. “Come and lie next to me Sir Lancelot.”

  He kicks off his shoes and slides across the bed. “Of course my darling, Guinevere.”

  “Bat Girl,” I snigger.”

/>   “Who?”

  “I was Bat Girl. We had fun that night with costumes. Check it out. I’ll put some music on.”

  He falls onto his back, filtering through memories until he comes across the very scene. Music begins but he is undisturbed by it; he’s transported back to that night before we left for Vegas, before he was taken away from me and I was almost taken from him. The music fills the empty space.

  I place my hand on his chest where his shirt is now undone. I feel the thumping of a heart beneath flesh and watch his lungs inflate and deflate, expelling hot breath. He clenches the duvet almost tearing it into shreds.

  He sees us.

  He feels us.

  He turns to me sharply. “Fuck, Beth!”

  His response shocks me. “What? What did you see?”

  “Everything. I felt everything.” He pulls my mouth onto his fiercely.

  I barely have time to catch my breath before I am flattened by his muscular torso. I buckle and fold into the mattress. Forceful hands, hard flesh and a devilish tongue lay siege to my body, causing my senses to stampede towards surrender.

  I break free and come up for air, gasping, calling his name. “Ay-den!” It leaves my mouth in a garbled cry. But so frenzied is his assault upon my senses he cannot hear me. With his mouth on mine and unable to form words, I send out my thought as a plea for salvation.

  Stop! You promised not to hurt me. Stop!

  In a crescendo of movement and an agonising cry, he’s catapulted into the closed door with an almighty thud. The suit of armour comes crashing down onto him.

  Still gasping I sit up, resting my weight on my elbows while my heart rate slows, infinitesimally. Through lips still tingling from his onslaught I ask, “What the hell just happened?”

  Like a man intoxicated by desire he shakes his head free of the chainmail and lascivious thoughts. When the sound of tumbling metal comes to an end he attempts to rediscover some semblance of normality.

  Seeing him like this - this man who can sweep clouds from the sky and silence a room with the click of his fingers - sitting in a mound of silver vestments, breathless, is not a sight to be easily forgotten. I try to hold off on a giggle but I can’t, even though I may suffer his wrath because of it. He sees the laughter in my eyes and, unwilling to endure the indignation of a less than stellar performance, offers a sigh.