During our love making, we were still connected minus visuals but with sound. I hold my hand to my mouth, feeling my cheeks heating but, as the rosiness fades so does my embarrassment. Instead I’m gripped by fear. Listening into our ecstatic moans is bad enough but what did Ayden say, and what did I say? Did we reveal our deepest, darkest secret?
I hear Ayden approaching and close down the laptop, slam the lid down and head for the deck, my heart beating through my T-shirt.
He takes my arm. “All set?”
“Yes,” I reply light-heartedly.
He picks up on my nervous smile. “Everything okay?”
I nod. “I’ll tell you now … I get seasick on long boat rides, especially when it gets rough.”
He takes hold of my hand and kisses my fingers. “Don’t worry. I’ll see to it that the ocean remains like glass for you. Nothing and no one will ruin our day.”
I think something and someone already has…
I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
***
Mack is driving home from work, feeling like he has misread the entire situation. It’s as if he has bestowed goodness upon Elise; goodness that simply was not there. Since finding out about her likely collaboration with Mr. Rizler, the world has become just a little murkier. The darkness that pervaded her childhood seems to have stayed with her like a stain on her heart.
He had been quick to pass judgement on Mr. Stone and to cast Elise in the role of the helpless victim, but now he’s having second thoughts.
Maybe I was wrong…
The sound of his phone ringing breaks his moment of introspection. He rummages through his pocket and grapples with it before it rings off, answers and puts it on speaker.
“Mack, it’s Phil at the morgue. You asked me to give you a call when we’d finished the autopsy.”
He recognises the Pathologist’s voice straight away. “Yeah, so how’s it going, Doc? Any surprises?”
He sniggers. “Maybe? Depends what you call a surprise.”
“Okay, fire away. What did Miss. Richards die of?”
“Well, that’s an easy one. She had a fatal cervical spine injury at craniocervical junction C1…”
“Whoa! Hold on there, Doc. Give me that again in plain English.”
“In simple terms, her neck was broken. The car was hit side-on sending it into a spin, causing a whiplash effect and, as she wasn’t wearing a seat belt, she was catapulted through the windscreen. She has facial injuries, cerebral contusions and multiple micro-haemorrhages.”
“Alright, I get the picture. Are you saying, there was no way she could have survived the accident, even if help arrived sooner?” He has to know.
“No. And even if by some miracle she survived the crash, she would have been paralysed from the neck down and sustained some pretty gruesome facial injuries.”
Mack indicates and pulls up in his drive. “Thanks Doctor Phil. That’s straightforward enough. Send your report through the usual channels and we’ll close the case. I appreciate you letting me know …”
Phil is quick to point out, “There was one thing …”
Mack pulls out the car keys and waits to hear more. “Is this the surprise you were telling me about?”
“I think it might be.” He pauses. “I checked her next of kin and she has a mother listed but no children.”
“That’s because she didn’t have any,” Mack states.
“That’s odd because she has a caesarean scar.”
Mack sits up in his seat. “A what?”
“You know, a caesarean scar? She must have given birth.”
“Now that is a surprise.” He frowns and taps his chin with his car key. “I suppose she could have had a kid. She was married at sixteen, but divorced the guy at 22. Since then…”
Phil jumps in, “No! This is an old scar.”
“How old?”
“I’d say around sixteen years by the type of cut and the scar tissue, maybe more.” He sounds certain.
Mack is shaking his head. “I tell you, the more I hear about this woman the more I’m convinced she’s a bloody mystery. She has more secrets than the KGB.”
Phil sniggers. “She must have been a looker in her day. She has a good bone structure.”
“You’ve not taken a liking to her, have you?” Mack asks laughing softly.
“No but I can tell by the scars across her chest and her back that she’s had it rough.”
“Scars? What scars?” Mack asks, sounding shocked, but reminded of the video he watched.
“Some were recent but most of them were old, consistent with her being beaten. Maybe she was into some kind of sex games. Looks that way. But that wasn’t my brief. All I’m concerned with is cause of death. No need to drag her name through the mud. But I tell you Mack, the press would have a field day with this one.”
Considering who was driving the vehicle, Mack agrees wholeheartedly. ”I can imagine.” He lets out a deafening sigh. “Thanks, Phil. I owe you one.”
“It’s on the house. See you, Mack.”
“Ha! That’s what they all say, and then I get an enormous bill at the end of the month. Bye Phil.” Mack is laughing but it’s sour laughter. What he’s learned is messing with his detective’s mind.
What happened to the baby and why was she adopted the same year?
***
Still tingling from a mixture of salt water and sun on my skin, I wriggle into my red Chanel evening dress. We have both acquired a healthy glow, thanks to days resting outdoors and hours spent out on the ocean today on a catamaran. Little make-up is required; tinted moisturiser, a dash of mascara and matching lip-gloss is all I need. I place my platinum and sapphire bracelet in the safe and lock it away as I have done everything I value most in my life. My most precious of possessions are safely tucked away out of reach, but not out of mind.
My heels clip-clop noisily on the wooden floor and announce my arrival seconds before I actually appear. Outside on the deck photographic equipment has been assembled and inside Ayden is chatting with a familiar young gentleman. Ayden looks so distinguished in his dinner suit and bow tie. He dressed before I could return to our bedroom and I’m unprepared for this vision of masculine beauty. He winks and gives me the kind of smile that tells me I look good, causing me to smile appreciatively in return. For a second or two I’m gripped by the memory of another time and place; a terrace in Rome, beneath the stars, bewitched by poetry and beloved by the man of my dreams: my prince. Where is he now, I wonder? Why, he’s six yards in front of me.
Ayden reaches out a hand. “And here’s the lady in question,” he says proudly.
I acknowledge Josh’s presence. “Hello Josh. What brings you to this part of the world?”
“A long-haul flight and a boat ride, Mrs. Stone,” he says smiling. “This place is amazing. You two are living like castaways; well sort of …” He scans the room, taking in its unique style and beauty. “This is an awesome place.”
“Yes it is. “ I take hold of Ayden’s arm. “So where do you want us, Josh?”
“I’d like a couple of you in here and then some outside, if that’s okay.”
“Sure. You’re the expert, you just tell us what to do.”
Josh places down his beer and positions us on the sofa, then snaps another photo of us standing by the doorway. He makes his way outside and we follow.
Ayden unfolds my hand from his arm and holds it against his lips. “Beth, you look ravishing.”
I raise my brows. “I do?” His eyes seem to have that scintillating sparkle I have come to adore. “This is one of the dresses Jake bought for me in Hong Kong. I’m glad you approve.”
With my hair wrapped up into a neat chignon he is able to nuzzle into my ear. “I don’t approve of the fact he bought it for you but I do approve of the dress. Remind me to reimburse him.”
I pick up the dress to step out onto the deck. “No need, it was a belated wedding present.”
“It w
as?” he remarks, smirking even before his next comment leaves his lips. “And what did I get?”
I hold my head high and floor him with my most seductive of look. “You get to unzip me out of it later.”
He sniggers. “In that case, I’m indebted to him for his thoughtful gift. “ He slides a hand in place against the small of my back. “Remind me to thank him when we get back.”
All I can do is laugh softly.
Josh has everything organised. His camera buzzes and clicks. We shift position: we stand, we sit, we laugh; we look longingly into each other’s eyes; we kiss, and it all feels very organic, instinctive. These photographs will be the cherry on the top of what has been the sweetest of subterfuges.
“I’ll call the desk and have someone help you load your stuff into the boat,” Ayden announces, scooting back inside.
Josh turns to me to speak. “I think you’ll be pleased with the photographs, Mrs. Stone. You make a very handsome couple.”
Feeling a little embarrassed I offer an amiable smile. “Thank you. I loved the ones you did for our engagement and the wedding.”
“Thanks. You make my job easy.” He slams a large equipment case shut. “I was wondering If you could give me a couple of quotes to go with the pictures … like what word you’d use to describe your honeymoon.”
Taken aback I stop to think through my answer. Only one word comes to mind. I turn to face him squarely. “Magical,” I announce confidently.
He grins once again. “That’s a great word.”
I reach out to shake his hand. “I think so. Would you mind taking some of the villa?”
“Already did while you were getting ready. Mr. Stone thought you’d like to have them as a reminder of the time you spent here.”
“Yes, that’s right…I would.” Unsettled by his response I move inside, leaving him to assemble his equipment to be loaded onto the boat waiting on the jetty. Ayden is returning from his office and I have to quickly steady my nerves. The thought of these photos becoming my only memento of our time here troubles me. Surely, I’ll have my husband to share the recollections with, won’t I?
22
We wave Josh off and return to the comfort of the villa, my mind still in turmoil. I tuck carefree strands of hair that were captured by the sea breeze behind my ears and turn to face Ayden, scattering my thoughts before he has time to piece together the cluster of uncertainties taking root there. He hands me a champagne flute and fills it with our favourite golden liquid, but before it touches my lips he proposes a toast.
“To our memorable days and unforgettable nights,” he says, claiming the words as his own.
Sensing my hesitation he asks, “You don’t like me using those words do you?”
They’re only words …
“I don’t mind. Every day of our honeymoon has been memorable and every night has been unforgettable.” I raise my glass. “I’m happy to celebrate those occasions. We have memories that will stay with us both for ever.”
He smiles softly. “This is true. And we’re about to experience one more.” He takes the glass from my hand, places it on the coffee table and passes me my clutch. “Come.” Placing his hand in mine he leads me out onto the deck, allowing the delicate fragrance of wild flowers and the sea to work its magic; I close my eyes to absorb nature’s heady scent and feel Ayden’s arms enfolding me.
He whispers into my left ear. “Keep your eyes closed, Beth. I have a surprise for you.”
I do as he asks and feel a little faint. The familiar gust of air on my face reassures me that this is something we have done before and I can’t help but feel exhilarated at the prospect of being transported to another place. Even before I open my eyes I’m aware of unfamiliar sounds. The sea has been replaced by the sound of voices, and the chill of the night air prompts the appearance of goose-bumps on my skin.
He releases me from his embrace. “You can open your eyes.”
When I do as he says, I see him standing before me, his hands resting on my bare shoulders. His eyes are luminous, alive with desire and amusement; he’s a man with a plan that he seems to have been devising for some time. Now that it has come to fruition, he looks mighty pleased with himself.
“Where are we?” I ask, unable to tear my eyes away from his.
“You tell me.” He turns me around.
I gasp, knowing exactly where we are: it’s Sydney Harbour. “Oh my God! I’ve always wanted to come here,” I confess, sliding my hand around his waist. “How did you know?”
He wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me to him. “I didn’t. It was a wild guess.”
I’m trembling with excitement. “Well, you guessed right.” I tip up my head and kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t seen the opera.” He checks his watch and takes my hand. “Come on we’d better get inside.”
Like a pair of young lovers we appear out of the shadows and mount the steps leading to the foyer. I lift the hem of my dress to try and keep up as he leads the way. “Have you been here before?” I ask, becoming increasingly breathless.
He swerves left then right, finding a passage through the crowd. “Yes, but I haven’t seen Madame Butterfly here.”
“I’ve not seen it either,” I reply, pulling him to a dead stop. “Wow! There’s the bridge.” To my left is the iconic Harbour Bridge, an enormous stretch of steel with an arc of zigzag metal above it. Boats are passing beneath it, dispersing the lights reflected in the water. “It’s so much bigger than I imagined it to be. “
“Yes, it’s quite a landmark,” Ayden agrees. “We’ll take a closer look after the opera.”
I nod and begin the trek again, dodging tourists - ladies in summer dresses, men in formal evening wear but none as handsome as my impatient escort.
We mount more steps and keep going, higher and higher until I tumble onto Ayden breathless, barely able to speak. “Why couldn’t you have us magically appear in our seats? That would have saved us so much time and energy,” I ask, fanning my face with my clutch.
“Is that a serious question?” he asks, raising a thoughtful brow. “How would it be if we just appeared? That would take some explaining.” He shakes his head. “It’s not far now.“ He takes my hand. “We really must work on your physical fitness.”
I release my hand. “There’s nothing wrong with my physical fitness. I’m only human, unlike others I might mention who seem to act as if flying around the planet is a walk in the park.”
He’s laughing. “Perhaps we should have taken the lift?”
“What?” I cry. “There’s a lift and you’ve had me climb two enormous flights of stairs?”
“They can hardly be classed as enormous, Beth,” he maintains, slipping our tickets out of his inside breast pocket and showing them to a smartly dressed staff member positioned by a door way. The concert hall is right behind him.
Once inside the theatre, I start at my left, rotating my head clockwise, taking in the ornate wooden panelling and the cathedral configuration. The vaulted ceiling, the tiered seating, and the opulence gives me the overwhelming feeling of being somewhere exceptionally beautiful. I slide my fingers through Ayden’s.
“This place is amazing,” I declare, edging closer to our seats on Platform E, numbers one and two, overlooking the stage.
“I knew you’d love it,” he says, seeing my joy mounting and revealing itself as a broad smile. “I think you’ll love this opera too.”
We take our seats. He calls an employee over and asks her to bring him a programme. Ten minutes later she returns; he rewards her with a generous tip and a smile.
I scan through the pages, commenting on costumes, looking down at the stage and marvelling at the wonder of it all. Thirty minutes ago we were standing by the ocean having our photographs taken, and now look where we are.
He catches me staring at him. “Are you assessing me, Mrs. Stone?” he asks, taking me by surprise.
Without a second thought, I ans
wer, “Not assessing Mr. Stone, enjoying. Always enjoying.” Before I can rethink my instinctive behaviour the lights dim, the orchestra finishes tuning their instruments and an expectant silence follows.
The first of three acts begins with muted lighting. Two women are huddled together under a tree, surrounded by cherry blossoms. Puccini’s haunting melodies rise to the vaulted ceiling and resonate off the rafters that enclose this colossal space; melodic voices tear at the heartstrings. In the three hours that follow, every emotion is laid bare for the delectation of a grateful audience.
As the final act draws to a close I grip Ayden’s arm, knowing what’s coming but wishing for a less tragic resolution. Surrounded by scarlet rose petals, Butterfly, the abandoned bride, bids a sorrowful farewell to her son and takes her own life. The lights fade to black and the music dies away until there is only the hushed sound of snivelling.
I turn to Ayden, my eyes glossy with tears. I’ve been so moved by the experience, I can barely speak. He respects my need for time to arrange my thoughts before we show our appreciation for the magnificent performance with applause while the cast hold hands and bow repeatedly.
Taking our time, we leave the theatre hand in hand. Many of the guests have found their voices and are speaking enthusiastically about the set and the music. I’m still processing what I’ve seen and heard in this chapter of our unbelievable adventure. There’s little left to experience, surely …
We took a leisurely stroll around the harbour. I felt over-dressed and Ayden removed his tie, draping it loosely around his open collar. Now we’re sitting by the window in Aria Restaurant, having enjoyed roasted Holmbrae duck breast with black figs and macadamia nuts. I’m spooning Valrhona caramélia chocolate into Ayden’s mouth, and he’s sharing his coconut ice-cream. Madame Butterfly’s tragic demise has been forgotten and I fear the Clare Valley 1996 Aberfeldy Shiraz that Ayden took so long selecting is making me tipsy.
TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy) Page 28