‘Olivia—’ He stopped abruptly.
I shivered.
‘You shouldn’t even be here,’ he muttered, shaking his head.
‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘Have your shower and then you have to leave.’
‘Why do I have to leave?’ I insisted.
‘I can’t.’ He turned away and walked up to a window and stood staring out into the driving rain. His back was rigid with tension.
‘Dr. Kane?’
‘Have your shower, Olivia. Second door on your right,’ he said coldly, without turning around. He did not even want to look at me.
For a few moments there was silence. Then I walked up to him and touched his back. He whirled around, his jaw clenched tight.
‘Please—’ His voice was tortured.
‘I want you.’
The gold went from his eyes. They glowed like wet amber. Wild, ancient, and powerful. Suddenly, as if it was too much to resist, his hand reached out and grabbed a handful of hair from the back of my head. My mouth went dry. I swayed toward him. I could smell him. Soap. Alcohol. At this time of the afternoon? And something else. The smells of his day? Impossible to tell. Intriguing nevertheless.
The other hand, rough with urgency, curled around my waist. Hot, solid and possessive. His lips traveled downwards. It must have been only a second but it seemed to take ages. Breathlessly I waited for his lips to find mine. I felt him inhale before our lips touched. And then all hell broke loose and I lost all sense of time or place.
The brutal warmth of his mouth was incredible. All that was cold and lost inside me went up in flames like kindling on a dry night. I laced my fingers through the lushness of his thick hair and moaned. His tongue was fire. Irresistible. A madness that swept along my lower lip. When he bit the edge of my bottom lip hard enough for me to gasp with a mixture of pain and pleasure, his tongue snaked into my open mouth, muscular, cocky, and tasting indescribably delicious.
A rush of heat flared between my legs. I stood on tiptoes like a child reaching for a treat on a high shelf, and sucked the hot and silky flesh like it was toffee. I could have sucked him forever. The greed that flashed inside me was as shocking as the impatience that poured out of me.
I was starving for him.
My hands moved of their own volition. Sure, they were very sure. They knew exactly what they were doing. They had done this before. Definitely. With whom I had no idea. But definitely my hands knew what they were doing.
They moved to his belt and unfastened it with an expertise that I could never have expected. His zipper slid down the way it was designed to do. My palm was rubbing his bulging erection through cloth. I felt the massive head of his cock jutting out over the waistband of his underwear. My fingers hooked into the top of his briefs.
Abruptly and with a grunt of dismay he pulled away from my restless hands. Holding me firmly by my upper arms he took a long step back. His eyes were glazed. ‘This is fucked up,’ he growled harshly. ‘I can’t do this. It’s wrong.’
The magic shattered. My heart started to ache. ‘I don’t care if it is wrong,’ I cried desperately.
‘I do. I could damage you, Olivia,’ he said harshly.
‘So damage me,’ I challenged.
He looked at me with anguished eyes. He had vowed to abstain… But how he wanted me. He took another step away and I saw something haunted in his eyes. A raw, bare look. Unbearable hurt. The kind of hurt you never recover from. I recognized it because I had seen the same look in the mirror. All broken pieces and jagged edges. Of a lost soul.
‘No,’ he said, his voice coarse with lust. ‘It’s too complicated. You don’t understand.’
‘I’m not an animal or a suspect to be observed and monitored from afar,’ I shouted.
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ he spat at me.
‘Fuck me then,’ I cried.
At the tone of my voice he changed. As if I had slapped him. As if I had made him remember where he was and what he had been about to do. How close he had come to doing something he would regret. He zipped his jeans. ‘You’re soaked through. We need to get you into a hot shower,’ he said in a brisk, businesslike tone.
It was a rejection. He was rejecting me. I started to shiver, my teeth suddenly chattering.
‘Come on,’ he said, taking my arm. He took me to his bathroom, where he switched on the shower, and undressed me. I saw his eyes skim over my scars. When I was naked he stood me under the hot spray. The heat was good. I stopped shivering and looked at him through the water running down my eyes. He stared back wordlessly.
‘I’m going to leave you now,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘There’s a bathrobe behind the door. Use it.’
I listened to his footfalls leave the tiled floor and the door closed. I stood in the steam and the heat for a long time, my silent tears mingling with the water. I felt so empty. So lost. I had offered myself to him and he had turned me down. And then I remembered the look in his eyes when they skimmed my scars, and I had to put my palms against the tiles to support my suddenly weak knees.
God! I’ve been blind. So blind.
11
Marlow
Hearse was playing in the background—bittersweet, gutterfolk songs. Fireworks came on and the twanging sound of an electric guitar filled the air. A man’s voice sang, ‘Gonna be here all night’.
She stood at the door wrapped up in my bathrobe. She had rolled the sleeves up, but it was way too big for her and it trailed on the floor. Her skin was red, her eyes swollen. We stared at each other. She moved her arm and I glimpsed a curve of pale soft skin.
She was naked under my robe! Music swirled around us. Lust raged inside me. That’s what one taste of an obsession does. It makes you a savage. What did she know? Coming here and telling me to go on and damage her. I wanted to open her up and fuck her until she screamed for mercy in that touch-me-not voice of hers. My breath came heavily. Get a grip. My fists clenched. This couldn’t be about me.
‘I’ve made coffee,’ I said.
‘Thank you, but no.’ Her voice sounded strained.
‘Your clothes will be ready soon.’
‘What are you hiding, Dr. Kane?’
I froze. That’s what you do to dogs in heat. Throw a bucket of cold water. You’re left with a boner and no desire. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘You know some secret about me, don’t you?’ she accused.
I felt the cold hand of fear for her.
‘So it’s true,’ she cried, her eyes enormous with shock. ‘You’ve found out something about me that you have not allowed me to remember.’
‘Listen—’
‘How could you? How dare you?’ she gasped in disbelief.
‘Hang on—’ I tried to explain, but she cut me off.
‘I trusted you,’ she whispered, backing away from me.
I moved toward her and she held up a warding hand.
I halted immediately. ‘I was protecting you,’ I explained. Even to my own ears it sounded weak.
‘Protecting me? From what?’ she barked. ‘Here’s an Americanism you’ll understand. Bull-fucking-shit. Just tell me the truth. What is it?’ she shouted, her voice now high and hysterical.
‘Ask yourself why I would have done something like that,’ I said in the most unemotional voice I could reach for.
It stopped her in her tracks, the anger leaving her as suddenly as it had come. She wrapped her arms around herself and frowned with confusion. ‘Why?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘I have nothing to gain from full disclosure, but you have everything to lose. Please, Olivia.’
‘Oh God! What is it?’ she sobbed slapping her hands to her cheeks. Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground. I strode over to her and carried her to the couch. I lay her on it and put some cushions under her head. She stared up at me fearfully. ‘Do my memories have claws?’
‘The problem is not insurmountable. I just need a little time to really help you. Will you
trust me?’
‘I do trust you, Dr. Kane.’
‘Thank you, Olivia.’
She worried her lower lip. ‘Have I done something really wrong?’
My heart skipped a beat. ‘No. You have done nothing wrong.’
‘Has someone done something bad to me?’
I looked her in the eye. ‘It seems that way at the moment.’
‘Is that why I can’t remember?’
‘Maybe. There is no physical reason you cannot remember. Your mind doesn’t want you to.’
She frowned. ‘If it had happened to you, would you want to remember?’
I thought about the burning car, the smell of them burning, and I smiled sadly. ‘No, no, I wouldn’t.’
She nodded. ‘Something bad happened to you, didn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I said and fuck me, I felt tears gather at the backs of my eyes. All these years I had never shed a single tear. I had been frozen with horror and now the tears were threatening. I blinked. More in shock than anything else.
She lifted her hand and ran her thumb along my eyelashes, then put her thumb in her mouth. ‘I ate your tears,’ she said. And she sounded like a child.
Son of a gun, but I think I’m falling for her. I stared incredulously at her, the truth of my situation dawning on me. I was fucking falling for her. Every time we met, a little more. I was already neck deep.
‘Yeah, you ate my tears,’ I said slowly, as another tear rolled down unchecked.
She lifted her body and, coming close to my face, licked my salty cheek.
The action had an undesirable effect on my body. Like a half-trained polecat my cock reared its ugly head. I tried to move away from her, but she grabbed my forearms with both her hands. I looked down at them, so small and delicate and yet surprisingly strong. I looked up again into her eyes.
‘Don’t push me away,’ she begged.
I closed my eyes. The music had stopped and a thick heavy silence hung between us. All the things I wanted to say and the things buried inside her. She knew me not at all. I wanted to crush her in my arms and keep her next to me forever. I never wanted her to leave. There was such a pleasure in her proximity. To feel her breathe, to touch her soft skin, to smell the clean scent of her hair. I clenched my teeth. ‘You have to go. Your clothes must be ready by now.’ The words tumbled out of me, harsh and angry.
She went still. Then her hands slipped away from my arm. The music player clicked on again and Last Mistake came on.
‘While you were sleeping I was drinking,’ a man’s voice crooned.
I stood up and looked down at her. Her hair was wet and stuck to her head, her nose was red and my old bathrobe was a shapeless blob around her, but she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
‘By the way,’ she said listlessly, ‘Ivana has invited you to stay the weekend at Marlborough Hall. You can bring someone if you like.’
Marlborough Hall
12
Marlow
The fish, even in the fisherman’s net, still carries the smell of the sea.
—Mourid Barghouti
Marlborough Hall had been built for one purpose and one purpose only—to dazzle. And to that monumental mission every stone in it was utterly committed. Its vast mass of rusticated granite soared, towered, and sprawled before us as we turned through a pair of imposing stone piers, topped with winged bronze chimera.
‘Oh my God. Look at that!’ Beryl cried as she dramatically fanned herself with her hands.
I stopped the Jag and we sat for a moment looking at the lighted splendor that had been the seat of the Swanson family for the last three hundred years. I thought it an ostentatious fortress and the unfriendliest place I had ever seen, but when I glanced at Beryl, I realized she was as horribly enthralled and fascinated by the naked display of power and wealth, as a rat would be in the face of a striking snake. All I could think of was that somewhere in that hostile pile of stones a pale plant called Olivia was struggling to thrive.
‘OK, I’m ready,’ Beryl said more calmly.
I started the car and we drove down a wide gravel drive. We crunched to a halt next to an antique Rolls-Royce.
‘Isn’t this marvelous?’ Beryl whispered excitedly.
‘That remains to be seen,’ I said dryly.
‘What about the hamper? Do we take it in?’ she asked, referring to the hamper of food she had ordered from Fortnum & Mason. She was convinced it was where posh people got their food.
‘I’m sure someone will come and collect it together with our overnight bags.’
‘Of course, silly me. They have servants, don’t they? I hope I don’t make a total fool of myself tonight,’ Beryl said worriedly.
‘You’ll be fine. If you get nervous just think of them sitting on the toilet.’
Beryl laughed heartily. ‘That’s very useful.’
‘Shall we?’ I asked, my hand on the door handle.
She touched my sleeve. ‘Before we go in, I just want to thank you again for asking me to come with you.’
‘I couldn’t survive it without you, Beryl.’
She beamed with pleasure.
‘Come on,’ I said, putting a foot out of the car. ‘Let’s see how the other half live.’
With impeccable timing the massive doors of the house opened and a liveried footman came out to help us. I refused his offer of help with my overnight case, so he made himself useful by carrying Beryl’s small suitcase and the hamper.
A man in a butler’s uniform complete with spotless white gloves respectfully greeted us in an echoing cold, gray, stone hallway. In a broad Northern accent he informed us that drinks would be served in the Green Saloon in an hour’s time. The footman left the hamper on a stand nearby and led us down a short walkway hung with large tapestries toward a gargantuan, double-storied chamber. It had a balustraded gallery around all four sides and its walls were lined with full-length portraits of the family, no doubt executed by the great masters.
‘Goodness me, I feel quite touched by the golden wand,’ Beryl said in a stage whisper. Her eyes were wide.
‘Hmmm…’
We followed the footman up a grand marble staircase with a red runner carpet, and down a narrow corridor. He stopped outside a door and respectfully said, ‘Here we are.’
He opened it, and upon entering the room, stood back to allow us to fully appreciate our lodgings. It was a large paneled room that had been prepared for our arrival. The lamps were lit, there was a fire roaring in the fireplace and a vase with flowers on a table. It smelt of fresh linen. And on the antique, canopied four-poster bed, towels and bars of soap were laid out.
‘Breakfast will be served from seven until nine, or if you prefer you can ring for it to be brought up.’
Then he opened another door, which revealed a connecting door. He opened that door and Beryl stepped into the room that she had been assigned.
After he had gone Beryl knocked on the connecting door.
‘Come in,’ I called.
‘Isn’t this amazing? Can you believe people actually live like this?’ she asked and sank onto the green brocade sofa.
‘It is an unfair world we live in,’ I said mildly and disappeared into the bathroom.
When I came out with the tooth glass Beryl jumped up.
‘Oh good. A dressing drink? I’ll have one too,’ she said and went off into her room then returned with her tooth glass. I opened my bag and poured us both a healthy slug of whiskey. Beryl didn’t stay long. She wanted to look her best for dinner. I sat on my own watching the logs in the fire burn. Evening fell and brought with it a sense of timelessness. I merged into it together with all those people who had lived there before.
I was feeling mellow and peaceful and could have sat there with only me for company when Beryl knocked on the door forty minutes later.
‘What do you think? Is it too little or too much?’ she asked.
She was wearing a long blue dress that had a slight shimmer to it and a sunburst
necklace with matching colored stones. I knew she bought them especially for that night. I smiled, feeling a great burst of tenderness for her. ‘You look lovely.’
‘You really mean it?’
‘Have you ever known me to say something I didn’t mean?’
‘That’s true.’
I pulled myself out of my chair and shrugged into the jacket I arrived in.
‘Aren’t you going to dress for dinner?’
‘Nope.’
‘You’ll be the only one.’
‘So?’
She widened her eyes. ‘OK, boss.’
13
Marlow
‘They don’t spend much on heating, do they?’ Beryl said with a shiver as we walked along the freezing corridor.
To access the Green Saloon we had to cross the Marble Room. A large room filled with fine French furniture, precious carpets from the Middle East and stuffed full with priceless works of art. It gave the impression of unrivaled luxury, but once again I had the distinct impression that the house was stalked by a frightening loneliness.
A footman—not the one from earlier—held open a set of tall double doors and ushered us into the Green Saloon. It was another opulent room with more works of art and expensive antiques, but it was much warmer here. A waiter stepped forward and asked us what we wanted to drink. Beryl ordered a glass of white wine and I asked for an American size double measure of Jack Daniel’s. The British idea of a double is laughable.
‘Right away, sir,’ he said and disappeared.
There were about twelve to fifteen people milling around, talking in small groups, but at our entrance almost everyone stopped talking, and was either openly or surreptitiously sizing us up. Maybe I’d had more whiskey than I had intended, but all the men appeared to have been dressed by the same tailor.
Almost immediately my gaze tangled with Olivia’s. She was conversing with a middle-aged couple, but she threw a shy smile in my direction. I nodded and looked away, and my eyes fell upon our hostess. Lady Swanson was standing by the super-large marble fireplace listening attentively to a tall, balding man. As I watched she broke away and came toward us, smiling as if seeing us was a dream come true.
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