The Angels' Share

by Maya Hess

  ‘Yes,’ I answered as I viewed Liz trailing her finger in the same way Lewis was teasing me. Liz was leaning forward slightly with one arm supporting her on the window frame. Her head was bowed and her knees bent a little so she could watch her lips spread as her fingers worked between the folds. Her sex was covered with a light spray of blonde hair, such a contrast to the cherry-red tips of her fingernails. ‘She’s doing just what you’re doing to me.’

  ‘And would you like to do this to Liz? Would you like to feel the softness and sweetness of her pussy?’ Lewis’s words contained a rhythm, as if he was already pounding me in his mind.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I whispered. ‘I would give anything to touch her there.’

  ‘So if I promised that you could have Liz, that you could do to her whatever pleased you, would you let me fuck you right now, here, with Liz above us on the cliff top?’ The beat and tempo of his voice increased and it seemed that if I didn’t agree, he would have some kind of verbal orgasm just to satisfy the image he had created in his head of Liz and me writhing in tangle of legs and breasts while he watched.

  ‘Yes, I want that. You can have me, if I can make love to your beautiful wife.’ Barely before the agreement was complete and certainly before I was able to comprehend that I had been promised the body of a woman all for myself, I felt Lewis grappling with my clothing. In an instant, he had removed my boots and jeans and for the second time in a matter of hours I was standing naked before a virtual stranger. How I was beginning to love the quest for my inheritance!

  ‘Oh, Liz will adore you. You have just the figure she craves.’ Lewis knelt in front of me and swept his large hands from my shoulders, across the small buds of my nipples, down my flat belly and into the space between my legs. ‘I want you to watch her while I taste you.’

  I reached for the binoculars again but nearly dropped them as Lewis’s tongue pushed warmly into my furrow. He nuzzled and licked me with the skill that only an older man would possess, knowing exactly when to slow and tease, and to my absolute delight, when I spied on Liz again, I saw that she was pleasuring herself with an unfeasibly large vibrator. I told Lewis.

  ‘You can do that to each other,’ he promised. ‘But first, I have you to deal with.’

  Before I knew what was happening, Lewis had me on my back in the chair with my legs spread open over the cushioned arms. He shed his jeans and entered me so swiftly that I barely had a chance to notice what his erect cock looked like. In several accomplished strokes, Lewis had inserted himself deep within me, leaving me to guess at his length and colour and taste. As he dragged himself up and down my body, devouring the feeling of my sex gripping his shaft, I imagined Liz doing the same with the vibrator and longed for the time, however nervous I would be, that I could help her.

  When Lewis came, he unwittingly catapulted me into an orgasm that made me forget what an extremely bad girl I was for having two lovers in the same day. He caused all the worries about my lost journal and Ethan Kinrade and my stolen inheritance to roll up into a neat ball and be tossed onto the fire along with the absolute wickedness of having sex with someone else’s husband, whether they minded or not. I dug my fingers into his tense shoulder muscles and felt the fibres of his body slowly unravel.

  ‘Oh,’ I gasped, rather pointlessly. Perhaps a token breath of guilt although laced with an undeniable amount of relief and pleasure. ‘That was nice.’

  ‘Mmm. Very.’ Lewis withdrew from me and hoisted me onto his lap while he sat in the chair. ‘Liz will be delighted with my choice. I saw the way she was eyeing you up all evening. I think she’s already decided herself that you’re the one.’ He gave my small breast a gentle lick and cradled his arms around my body when he noticed my shiver. ‘Quite a productive evening for you then, Miss. You’ve got yourself a lawyer and a willing partner to satisfy your naughty little fantasies.’

  ‘You’ll really help me fight to get my home back?’

  Briefly, I felt angry with myself that on the first day of my mission I had been swayed so far off course. I was a lightweight dinghy cut loose in the raging sea. However freed I felt, perhaps because I had exchanged the usual routine of daily life for dangerous and unknown waters, it was imperative that I remain on course to launch a wholehearted assault on Kinrade.

  Lewis nodded and I kissed him tenderly on the neck. He left to walk back to his wife and within minutes I slipped into a deep sleep.

  4

  I recognised him immediately, from behind, stooped over counting eggs into a basket, his back and head swathed by a dark green waterproof jacket. It could have been anyone but it wasn’t. I knew it was him. It was the voice, the rich tones that were as earthy as mountain water filtering through peat, that caused tiny goose-bumps all over my body. I caught a whiff of whisky mash, barley, yeast and smoke, reminding me of the smell he always wore after visiting his father at work deep inside the Glen Broath Distillery. Connor stood up straight and carefully placed his chosen eggs on the counter and it was then that I could see he was now a man, not the teenager I still cradled in my head.

  I stood only three feet behind him as he placed his groceries in a bag. Idle conversation with the shopkeeper provided a constant and evocative flow of his voice, filling me with memories of days spent tumbling together in the springy, moss-covered fields and weekends clambering over slippery rocks on the beach. We were happy children, would perhaps have become lovers, maybe married, if it hadn’t all ended. I swallowed and blinked back awash with tears. Connor turned to leave and walked straight into me.

  ‘So sorry,’ he said and began to sidestep around me before stopping and studying my face.

  ‘That’s OK.’ I bowed my head, a part of me desperate for him to recognise me but the sensible side of me screaming that enough people already knew of my presence on the island and one more could undermine my mission.

  ‘Ailey?’ he said. ‘Ailey Callister, is that you?’ Connor leaned back as if to get a better view of the unlikely person he saw standing before him. ‘It’s been years!’ His final declaration told me that he had deduced that it was definitely me.

  ‘Yes, hi,’ I said meekly. The shopkeeper was tuning into events, ready to pass on juicy titbits to the next customer – the parochial equivalent of a buy-one-getone-free. ‘Fourteen years, to be precise.’

  ‘Where have you been?’

  I slowly looked up at Connor. His face had widened; it was no longer that of an eager, skinny youth. His bones had thickened into those of a man used to heavy work and the skin on his face had roughened from a smooth palette of tentative, boyish freckles into a ruddy, experienced expression.

  ‘Away,’ I replied.

  ‘Well, where away?’ Connor reached out a large, lightly-haired hand and touched my shoulder. All those giddy feelings that once kicked up in the pit of my belly as a young girl came swirling through my body again although this time with the honesty and power of a woman. ‘Look, are you free? How about coming back to Glen Broath for a bit of a warm up? You can fill me in on all the missing time.’

  It was better than standing in the shop broadcasting my private life to the village via the shopkeeper. I nodded and flung the few groceries that I needed onto the counter. Besides, Connor would most likely have come by car and I wasn’t keen on the walk back along the coast road in the twilight and drizzle. I paid and joined Connor outside the shop. He was holding open the door to a beat-up Land Rover and took my bag of shopping as I climbed in.

  ‘It’s all tins,’ he said with a laugh as he dumped the bag at my feet. ‘Your mother was always fanatical about healthy eating.’ He grinned and yanked the stubborn gear lever into first. He glanced at me quickly before looking back and pulling out. ‘So what’s your story, Ailey Callister? Why’d you disappear on me?’

  I wanted to reach out to the strong hand that gripped the wheel. I wanted to touch his neck, where his black scarf had come loose. I wanted to take time back fourteen years and make deep holes in the sand and catch mackerel on Peel Harbou
r wall.

  ‘My parents got divorced. My Mum moved away and took me with her. That’s it really.’ He’d either know the shameful truth about my mother or not. I was taking a risk.

  ‘You could have written to me. Let me know you were OK at least.’

  ‘We ended up living in Spain. I went to university in Granada.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought to look there.’ He glanced at me again and smiled, but only as long as the winding coastal road would allow. ‘I missed you.’

  We drove in silence for several minutes, the usually interminable walk flashing by in the bumpy Land Rover. It was my third visit to the local grocery shop since my arrival on the island. I’d been lying low after my evening with Lewis and Liz, mostly because I wanted to allow my presence to die down but also because I was nervous of repercussions from the evening’s rather unusual end with Lewis at the beach cottage. I only had Lewis’s word that Liz would approve of our antics. With that in mind and the striking teen-to-man transformation of Connor sitting beside me, my mind was in a spin once again. I was beginning to think there was something in the mountain water.

  ‘And I missed you,’ I replied but too late so that the mutual impact was lost. Connor sighed and swung the vehicle through Creg-ny-Varn’s imposing gates and headed up the driveway, past the magnificent façade of the main house and into the separate courtyard of the Glen Broath Distillery. I didn’t need to ask if he had taken over the running of the business from his father. He had grown up knowing how to malt barley, mash the grist, manage the fermentation vessels and procure the finest barrels for ageing. It was logical that he would take over as manager of Glen Broath. No, it was imperative. Connor would never have been able to do anything else and he’d known that since we were kids.

  ‘Nothing much has changed.’ I scanned around the courtyard at the L-shaped grey slate buildings. Somehow they managed to blend into the heavy, low sky. Even on a sunny day, I remembered, the single tall chimney would reach up to tie land and air together. Glen Broath was as integral to the Isle of Man as Snaefell or the Laxey Wheel.

  ‘Oh, yes, it has. I’ve dragged the business into the modern world.’ Connor grinned and led me across the courtyard, a patchwork of cobbles and flagstones glistening from the fine mist that was part cloud and part rain. ‘In here.’ He guided me into what used to be my father’s tasting room but now looked more like an office and wasted no time in reaching for one of the amber bottles that ran the circumference of the room on a high shelf. He studied it briefly and then poured two measures. ‘Enjoy,’ he said. ‘Fifteen-year-old single malt aged in barrels from Armagnac. Most of this goes to the US market.’

  ‘You export to the States?’ I sipped and raised my eyebrows. Glen Broath certainly had been dragged into the modern business world. My father and Connor’s father would never have considered shipping their whisky overseas. If they want it, let them come and get it, they would have said. Marketing was not their forte.

  ‘Exports make up about eighty per cent of our business.’ Despite his hands-on appearance, Connor was obviously a shrewd businessman. ‘Sit,’ he said and pulled out a beat-up wooden stool from under his desk. He sat on the other side so that it suddenly felt as if I had come for a job interview.

  ‘So where are you living now?’ I asked.

  ‘In the estate cottage, where my dad used to live.’ Connor viewed me from over the rim of his glass as he thoughtfully drew in the whisky between his lips. I wasn’t sure if he was enjoying the flavour or sizing me up as I sat nervously rotating the glass between my fingers. ‘Dad’s in Peel now. In a home.’ There was a tinge of remorse, as if he had given up on the old man, but also gratitude that at least his father was still alive. ‘I’m so sorry about Patrick. It was a shock to us all.’ Connor bowed his head briefly.

  ‘I only found out recently.’ I knocked back half of my whisky. How much further should I go? ‘By accident.’

  ‘No one told you that your father had died?’ Connor frowned, causing several gentle furrows to appear at the top of his nose. A few freckles still remained on his forehead, allowing me a glimpse of the boy that used to chase me around the copper mash tuns.

  ‘I read the obituary.’ Again, I was being drawn into revealing too much. But then I had put myself in a situation where questions would be asked. Short of wearing a disguise and remaining a recluse at the beach cottage, I had to be prepared to reveal my story with whatever level of honesty I felt appropriate.

  ‘Well, I do hope that Mr Kinrade has made you welcome. It must be strange being a guest in what was once your home.’ That same intent stare again, to gauge my reaction as he refilled our glasses. It was distraction enough for me.

  ‘Whoa, or I’ll be in no fit state.’ I made a futile attempt to cover my glass but allowed the whisky to cascade from the bottle. I was clearly going to need all my courage. ‘This really is a fine malt. It’s strange to think that it began life just before I left the island.’ Somehow, talking about the past seemed safer.

  ‘I’m relieved that you’ve returned to taste it.’ Connor removed his jacket even though the temperature in the small room wasn’t much above that of outside. A black, long-sleeved T-shirt with a frayed hem was revealed and he pushed up the sleeves to show forearms that appeared very different to the ones I remembered. He noticed me looking. ‘You’ve changed too,’ he remarked. ‘You’re thinner and your face, it’s…’ He squinted and gave me a look that I would expect if he was about to kiss me. ‘Well, you’re a woman now. A beautiful one. I feel like I’ve lost a part of you.’

  ‘Lost?’ I said. I didn’t understand. I was here, wasn’t I, in his office, feeling as if he had touched my breast for the first time, as if we were awkward adolescents?

  ‘Lost as in the last fourteen years. It’s not just the physical you that I’ve missed, Ailey. It’s all your thoughts, dreams, your hopes, our hopes. Do you remember how badly we wanted to be king and queen of the island?’

  I laughed. ‘We would have done anything. My mother never did find out what happened to the velvet curtains that I made our royal gowns from.’

  ‘They’re probably still down in the beach cottage where we used to reign.’

  ‘I’ve not seen them there.’ Then I stopped, realising what I’d said.

  ‘You’ve been to the beach cottage?’ Connor leaned forward on his hands.

  ‘I’m living down there,’ I whispered. There. It had been said. Now the questions would follow and I would attempt to explain.

  * * *

  The fire had gone out and an extra-high tide had deposited weed and froth virtually on my doorstep. The brisk westerly stung my cheeks and my boots were wet from slipping into a rock pool on the scramble across the beach. Connor had grabbed my wrist, as he would have done when we were younger, but he was too late to save me from plunging ankle-deep in seawater.

  ‘Yuk,’ I said, pulling a face. I took off my boots, emptied the water from them and wrapped my feet in a towel. ‘I’ll get the fire going then we can have tea. Oh, and I do the best seared mussels around.’ I grinned up at Connor who was already stacking the fireplace with kindling. ‘Thanks,’ I said to his back, wishing we had lived here together since we were kids.

  ‘You’ll be warm in no time.’ Connor sat next to me. ‘Just like old times, eh?’ There was a look, a connection of understanding that if one of us moved, tilted forwards by just an inch, there would be a kiss; a slow, time-defying kiss that would erase the void of the last fourteen years and transport us back to where we left off.

  I stood. ‘Wait here. I’m going to fetch something.’ I couldn’t afford to complicate my mission further. Getting involved with Connor, however much I was drawn to him, would not be wise. I skipped from the room, my feet chilling once again on the bare stone floor, and went into the room at the rear of the cottage. I rummaged through the wooden chest that contained my father’s old fishing sweaters and summer table linen from when my mother brought picnics down to the beach and insisted that
we eat at a table, not on the sand. Finally, buried beneath memories and a strong smell of damp and the ocean, I found them. Folded and faded at the edges, I took our robes to show Connor.

  ‘Hard to believe they were ours,’ he said, reaching out and touching one as if we might be transported back in time. I could almost hear our childish songs as we danced about in fancy dress. ‘Look how short they are.’ Connor held one of the robes up against his body. ‘I’ve grown about two feet!’ It was true. Connor was a tall man and he towered above me as he handed back the robe, pressing it against my body. ‘Good times,’ he said. ‘Now, sit and tell me about yourself. I want to know everything.’

  The evening curled itself around the cottage as if a blanket was being tucked under the eaves. We sat and talked, occasionally rising to stoke the fire, to make some tea to accompany the whisky Connor had brought, or to unpack the groceries when the conversation became tricky. One part of me wanted him to know everything about my life, while the other part was determined to keep quiet, at least until I had found out more about Ethan Kinrade. While I didn’t want to use him, I knew that Connor would most likely be able to answer my questions about the wretched man.

  ‘Do you see him much around the estate?’ I cupped my mug of hot tea between my hands.

  ‘Kinrade? Hardly ever.’ Connor leaned forward and sighed. ‘He’s only visited the distillery about three times since he took over the estate and one of those was to stock up on whisky. I do think that a man with his responsibilities should get more involved with the day-to-day running.’

  I thought carefully about what he had said. Already a picture of Kinrade was forming in my mind. Not a physical image but an impression of his character. Ethan Kinrade was supercilious, aloof, ungrateful, scheming, smug and, worst of all, undeserving. I felt the muscles in my neck contract and tighten around my bones, causing lines of pain to stretch between my shoulders. I must have unconsciously expressed my discomfort because Connor’s arm slipped casually along the back of the chair and his fingers began to stroke my tense muscles. He had never quite found the confidence to do this as a teenager.