TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy)

by Sydney Jamesson

  I offer a sympathetic smile. “Go. We’ll be fine.”

  “Right.” He leans into me and kisses me softly. As he pulls away I see a furrowed brow and a flicker of something grievous in his eyes; an uncertainty I haven’t witnessed before. I have no time to speculate why before he leaves and I’m left with my handsome companion.

  “So, how’s the honeymoon going so far?” Jakes asks, patting his mouth with a napkin and throwing back a glass of expensive champagne.

  “It’s not exactly what I’d envisaged but I know Ayden won’t settle until this problem is sorted out.”

  Shit! Why did I say that?

  He’s on it in a flash. “Problem?”

  “Yes, nothing major.” I displace my interest and focus on the selection of food. “This is rather extravagant.”

  “Yes it is, but he can afford it.” Jake reminds me.

  I say nothing and pop a piece of sushi into my mouth.

  Jake lounges back on the sofa, his arms outstretched in an overly casual pose. “After we’ve finished up here do you wanna go into the city? You can do some shopping or something…”

  “Yes. That sounds like fun. But only if you don’t mind.”

  “No. I don’t mind. You’ve come a long way to stay cooped up in this tower like some damsel in distress. The least I can do is come rescue you for a couple of hours.” He laughs out loud and I do the same.

  “I don’t need rescuing, Jake - but thanks for the thought.”

  He nods his head. “I believe you. You’ve been through a lot.”

  “I’m fine. Look! Not a scar to speak of.” For some reason I turn my hands over.

  He smirks. “I can see that.”

  I mustn’t draw attention to myself.

  He places his empty glass on the table. “Ayden loves you, you know.”

  What a surprising thing to say.

  I can’t conceal my astonishment. “I know …”

  “But that doesn’t stop him being a fucking pain in the arse sometimes.”

  I’m laughing at his directness.

  “The thing is, Beth, he listens to you. I’m not saying you can change him overnight, but he’ll get there. He’s been flying solo for a long time.”

  I reach for his hand and give it a squeeze. “Thank you. I think we’ve both been living the single life for some years.”

  He’s shaking his head. “He’s had that fucking Elise to contend with and you had that psycho bastard on your heels. It’s about time you had some R and R.”

  “Yes, but things are a lot quieter now, although Charlie will claim I’m neglecting her. She’s in Brussels on business at the moment, so I suppose we both have things going on in our lives.”

  He’s genuinely interested. “Good for her. She’s a real fire starter.” He tips his head to the side and smirks.

  His comment makes me laugh. “I’ll tell her you said that. She’ll be thrilled.”

  He tops up our glasses. “I bet.” His attention shifts to something else. ” I try to take a break from all this when I can.” He raises his glass to in the direction of Hong Kong Island. “It can get kinda intense, you know what I mean? It’s what I do but not who I am.”

  “Yes. I know what you mean.” I look away then back again. “Then who are you?” I ask, holding him in place with a wide, blue-eyed stare.

  He extends his right hand. “I’m Jake Harrison, Mrs. Stone. Pleased to meet you.”

  Playing along I shake his hand, noticing how he holds my fingers for a couple of seconds longer than is necessary. “So, Jake Harrison, what are your plans for the future?”

  “To make as much money as I can, as fast as I can, and to get out. Maybe buy a ranch and breed horses.”

  His declaration takes me by surprise. “Oh! Not to have your own business?”

  “Been there, Beth. Worked the 18 hour days, had the ulcers. Thanks but no thanks.” He folds his arms then rests his chin upon an upturned palm.

  “Horses?”

  “Yeah. Sounds crazy, right?”

  “No.” I’m smiling at a distant memory. “I used to ride when I was younger. I can see the attraction.”

  He’s suddenly animated. “You ride?”

  “I did. Although I’d need a much bigger horse these days.” The connection between us is palpable.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that. You’re perfect as you are.”

  I hear the compliment and, for the hell of it, decide to run with it. If I can get him to lighten up, who knows, he might shed some light on the illegal dealings involving ASMI. “Thanks. It’s always nice to get a compliment.”

  He’s quick to interject. “If you were mine, I’d shower you with them.”

  I shake my head at the thought. “Shower?”

  He’s a little embarrassed. “Not sure where that came from.”

  “From the heavens,” I declare humorously, suspecting Ayden is watching from above.

  He nods his head and smiles boyishly. “Yeah. Heaven sent.” He takes a sip of Champagne. “Ayd’s a lucky guy.” He reaches for my hand. “Ready for some retail therapy?”

  “Always!”

  We gather our possessions, he checks his phone and asks the bartender to arrange for a car to be waiting 119 floors below. His easy, confident swagger is a visible contrast to Ayden’s upright, self-righteous stance. Ayden exudes power and authority whereas Jake steals it artfully right from under your nose.

  It’s a long way down. Our descent is punctuated with friendly smiles and we mentally count the numbers on the neon blue panel to the right of the door. It seems an awfully small space even though there are only the two of us. Out of nowhere Jake hits the stop button and we come to a standstill. I turn to him for some kind of explanation.

  He clears his throat. “I have to ask you something.”

  I think I know what’s coming …

  “Have you noticed anything kinda strange about Ayden? I can’t put my finger on it but he just seems different somehow.”

  I fabricate a look of surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “Not sure. It’s just a feeling, I guess. Nothing obvious but … something.” He frowns and waits for my reply.

  All I can do is look into his worried eyes and shake my head. “Really?”

  “You haven’t noticed anything … different?”

  Oh, you have no idea …

  “He’s a little stressed about this manufacturing problem but maybe you can help him with that.” I watch for any signs of anxiety.

  He leans back against the mirrored wall. “Something tells me the shit is about to hit the fan again. Only this time it might stick.“ He’s shaking his head and, to worry me further, he runs his hand over his hair as a visual gauge of his unease.

  “Why? What’s happening? Can you tell me?” I touch his arm tenderly.

  He begins to speak … the alarm sounds, the lift jerks into life and we begin to descend.

  Damn!

  “I’ll tell you in the car.”

  We compose ourselves. We don’t want anyone thinking we were doing anything other than talking while the lift was at a standstill.

  Outside, the limousine is waiting and the doorman recognises Jake instantly. We climb inside and head out in the direction of Pacific Place. It comes highly recommended, apparently.

  I’m eager to get back on track with our conversation. “So, you were saying about the shit and the fan …”

  “I may be speaking out of line here but Ayd seems so distant I’m not even sure he wants to hear this from me … or anyone else, for that matter.”

  I turn side-on to face him. “I’m sure he does, Jake.”

  “It’s as if he’s seeing me for the first time. And the way he looks at you - watching how you move and how the words leave your mouth. Crazy shit like that.” He turns away, taking a moment to calm down.

  “Jake. You know what happened with Elise, right?”

  He nods. “It was my car!”

  “I know, that couldn’t be helped
.”

  “I’m not bothered about that. Anyway, it was insured for more than it was worth. I can’t believe he got out alive. It was scrapped.”

  “He was very lucky, thank God.” I hold my hand to my chest to stress the point. “Everyone thinks he bounced back, but it hit him hard. Not just because of the connection they he had as children, but because of what he almost lost: his life. It’s business as usual, and I understand that, but he’s still finding his way back. We both are.”

  I feel his arm around my shoulder and a tight one-handed squeeze “I know, Beth. I get it now.”

  “I think he’ll feel so much better once he’s able to put this Hong Kong business behind him and we can stretch out on a beach and watch the world go by.”

  He’s shaking his head and laughing. “And you seriously think he’ll be able to do that, do you?”

  “I can live in hope.” I smile broadly.

  “I wish you nothing but the best. You know that, right? But don’t be surprised if you have to put your beach party on hold.”

  “Why would we do that?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  “What kind of hunch?”

  “The kind of hunch that tells me someone is trying to pull the wool over our eyes.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small pen drive. “See this? On it are two sets of accounts; one set we’re privy to, and the other the Kowloon plant keeps under wraps. Take one from the other and you’re left with a whole lot of shit to explain.”

  I’m aghast. “Does Ayden know?”

  “I think he suspects something. Why the hell would he take a trip out there today and leave me to play minder? He must have a good reason.”

  I smile knowingly. “Is that where you were this morning? Ayden said you weren’t at the meeting.”

  “Yeah, I paid a guy to get the information out so we’d have proof. Maybe catch these bastards in the act before they embezzle any more money from ASMI.” He slips the pen drive back into his pocket.

  “Are you sure it’s safe in your pocket? What if you lose it?” I ask.

  “I won’t. Besides I’ve already uploaded it to my laptop. This was for Ayd.”

  I rub my hand the length of his bicep. “You’re a good friend Jake. Ayden’s lucky to have you looking out for him.”

  “Sure. Just doing my job,” he murmurs.

  “Even so. You go the extra mile for him.”

  “What else would I do; we’re like brothers, right?” He means every word.

  “Yes. You are.” All I can do is nod in agreement.

  If he only knew …

  “That’s why I can’t get my head around what’s going on with him. He looks at me like I’m an employee he just hired this morning.”

  I feel for him. “The crash was so traumatic, Jake, especially after what happened to me. It’s been rough for him. Give him time to come around.” I kiss his cheek.

  His face breaks out into a wide smile. “You’re right. Brains and beauty. You have it all, Beth.”

  I roll my eyes and fall back onto the seat. “I don’t know about that.”

  Pacific Place nestles in the southern part of the island between polished towers, stretching into the clear blue sky like metallic stalactites. It offers one of those shopping experiences you read about but never get to experience. Yet, here I am with a handsome escort and a Visa card with no limit!

  He seems to know where we’re going and I’m happy to follow. We make our way up to level three, passing by gleaming shop fronts and pillars that seem to stretch up to the very top of the building. All I can do is marvel at the opulence of it all. We come to a double-fronted boutique and he stops. Reaching out, he beckons me inside. It’s Chanel.

  First I’m drawn to the make-up; a beautifully presented assistant applies colours to my hand then wipes them off with a moist tissue. I move on to the perfume, then the bags, then the hats, all the time checking to see if Jake is still around. There’s no sign of impatient pacing; he’s content to check his iPhone and to look up occasionally to acknowledge my gleeful smile.

  I try on hats and he joins me to make suggestions, laughing and shaking his head. It’s a ‘no’ to the one with the floppy brim but the beret is a winner! This is fun.

  For the next hour I try on clothes. I wander out of the dressing room posing and twirling in bare feet. Jake sends one of the assistants off on a mission for matching heels to finish off the look and applauds when the outfit is complete.

  From the corner of my eye I notice a young assistant who is eyeing me with derision; I feel a twinge of embarrassment and watch as she wrings her hands, seemingly incensed by my self-indulgence. How strange.

  I undress in the cubicle, hanging up a ridiculously expensive evening dress the colour of ripe strawberries with an unusual neckline and a structured bodice. Standing only in my underwear I stop to take a mental snapshot of the moment. For the past two hours I’ve felt like my old self, laughing and giggling at the silliest of things. Jake has seen to it that I haven’t been rushed or abandoned; he’s been the perfect minder and companion.

  It’s been over 30 minutes since I last thought of Ayden and I’m shocked by my own admission. But, then again, it’s not Ayden I’m forgetting, it’s a pale imitation: a husband who’s becoming less of a stranger every day. In a split second, my joy melts away like a snowflake on a windowsill, leaving only a glistening droplet as proof it ever existed.

  Realising that puts everything in perspective. I blot a tear from the corner of my eye and pack away my things. Having taken some time to dress, I make my way over to the counter. All my purchases have been wrapped and deposited in half a dozen stylish bags and Jake is handing over his card. I can’t let him do that.

  “Here. Take my Visa card,” I call out. “You don’t have to pay for them.”

  He puts his card back into his wallet. “Too late.” He picks up the bags and moves towards the door, offering the obliging shop assistant a wink as she opens the door, clearly sorry to see him leave.

  I catch hold of his arm. “Seriously Jake, you must let me give you the money for my clothes. I don’t expect you to mind me and pay for my shopping too.”

  He won’t hear of it. “No way. Let’s call it a belated wedding present.” He manhandles the bags. “Do you want to grab a drink or head back?”

  “I think we should head back. We’ve been out for hours.” From somewhere above our heads there is the sound of thunder; it rumbles across the skylights and echoes around the concourse like a train approaching a station. Shoppers are scattering. “What’s happening?”

  He shrugs his shoulders and frowns, unable to offer an answer. “I don’t know. I’ll ask.” He approaches a young girl and asks her, “What’s going on?”

  Using animated gestures, she explains that a very bad storm is coming and people are being evacuated from the mall before the skylights break or the roads become too flooded to get home.

  “Fuck!” Jakes says. “I’ll ring the limo guy to come pick us up where he dropped us off.” I take three of the bags to lighten his load and free up his right hand.

  As we leave Pacific Place a chilling wind takes me in its grasp, stealing the breath from my lungs; it blows from the ocean in gusts. Rain falls vertically in sheets, creating a seemingly impenetrable wall through which we must dash, hand in hand, in the direction of the limousine; bags flapping, hair flying.

  Jake squints and pushes me onto the back seat, resting his hand on my head to prevent me from catching it on the frame. “What the fuck! We’re gonna get drenched.”

  I duck inside, grappling with shopping bags and laughing. “My clothes are sticking to me.” I tug at the lapels on my blazer. “These raindrops are like bullets!” He shakes his head and the water flicks across my face, forcing me to hold up my hands and giggle. “Stop! Stop!”

  He scrapes his hands across his face and over his hair, which I notice has grown an inch or so since I last saw him.

  “Sorry.” He grins, gives the driver instr
uctions and we begin our return journey downhill, back to the hotel.

  I smear the window with my fingertips as it fogs over, checking out the chaotic conduct of unwitting shoppers as they scurry along the pavement, doused by great waves of rainwater created by cars like ours. When I look skyward there is the rumble of more thunder, threatening to puncture the rolling clouds inflated with rain. In view of earlier events, I wonder … is this the work of a tempestuous husband? One so enraged with anger he has caused the sky to erupt so violently we must return to the hotel before the roads are flooded? Surely not!

  ***

  Fuelled by caffeine and corned beef sandwiches, Mack spent most of Wednesday with his head down cross-referencing dates, people and places. When he did lift his eyes it was only to scroll through a computer screen or to pick up the telephone. He amassed information from multiple sources, contacted social services, university administrators, an adoption agency and the Manager of a Children’s Residential Care Home, a pleasant sounding woman called Winifred Osoba. She agreed to speak with him about one of her former dependant, Elise Kilbride.

  It is with that meeting in mind he selects a shirt and a pair of trousers from his limited selection. Since being widowed a year ago, he has bought very few clothes. He doesn’t see the need to ‘dress-up,’ but today is the exception; he may even wear something from his ‘Sunday best’ collection.

  His Sat Nav states the 56-mile Journey to Hove will take around one hour fifteen minutes, but, with the traffic and road works on the M25, it turns into an exercise in perseverance. The excursion takes two hours and concludes with a formal announcement, “You have reached your destination.”

  He looks left and right at the neat row of gardens fronting semi-detached properties, and edges further towards the dead end. There, camouflaged behind naked branches is the sign for Bright Hill.

  He steps from his car, straightens himself up, and presses the intercom. He’s expected. The gate clicks open and he pushes it back, making rarely used hinges grind against one another. The undignified squeaking stops and the lock snaps shut behind him. With the enormous Victorian building in his sights, he takes out Elise’s photograph and holds it up to eyelevel, moving his head left and right and back again to make comparisons.