by Maya Hess
And, better than cradling my confused head, Connor drove us the short distance back to his home.
* * *
Being within the thick stone walls of a traditional Manx cottage soon soothed my befuddled head and I immediately felt comfortable as Connor invited – no, instructed – me to sit in the oversized sofa that virtually filled the snug sitting room.
‘We’ll have complete privacy here.’ He didn’t attempt to conceal what this statement implied and I couldn’t imagine what else, apart from something very intimate, would require so much solitude. ‘You can cry all you like.’
‘Don’t worry. I’m not about to break down like a helpless female and sob the afternoon away.’ I looked up at him as he stood in front of the wood-burning stove, holding his hands behind his back to soak up the heat. ‘You must think I’m pathetic.’
‘I never have and I never will.’ There was something timeless about his remark. I believed him.
‘I had a bit of a shock earlier, at Creg-ny-Varn, and it stirred up some other feelings that I’ve been trying to make sense of.’
‘What kind of a shock?’
I paused. Did I really want to string Dominic up in the feelings that spun like spider silk between Connor and me? The fragile cobweb of trust, respect and something way deeper that could so easily be swiped away? I didn’t entirely trust myself not to lash out with a denying hand and dust down our emotions. I took a deep breath.
‘I wanted to clean the library, you know, where my father used to work. Well, it was locked and I was so intrigued by what Ethan Kinrade might be hiding that I decided to get in from the basement. Do you remember the tunnels under the house?’
Connor loosened at the memory, grinning and nodding, his silence urging me to continue. I faltered for a moment though enchanted by the fire that lit up his powerful features, making him appear god-like, with an orange corona burning behind him.
‘I never even got as far as going into the library. All I did was poke my head up through the trap door.’ My heart began to skip and jump as I recalled what I’d seen.
‘And?’ said Connor impatiently.
‘It was indescribable. Like a scene from one of those kinky movies.’ I felt tiny prickles of perspiration on my back. It was so warm in the cottage, quite unlike my temporary beach home, and the recollection of the transformed library made me even hotter.
‘People were having sex in there?’
‘Not exactly. I’ve never seen so much leather and metal and other quite incomprehensible bondage equipment. The library looked nothing like it did when we were kids. I couldn’t even see any books as all the walls had been draped with red and black fabric.’
‘Are you sure it’s just not Mr Kinrade’s attempt at unusual interior design? Perhaps a project that went wrong.’ Connor’s defence surprised me but then I noticed the slight smile, the quiver in his voice.
‘There was even…’ I paused, secretly thrilled by what it meant. ‘There was even a cage suspended from the ceiling.’
‘Perhaps he has a bird.’
‘It was big enough for a human and that’s what worries me. Who is he planning to lock up?’
Connor sighed and sat down beside me. ‘Is this what’s caused you to be in such a state?’
‘Oh, no. My biggest shock came when the gardener caught me red-handed. Again.’
Surprisingly, Connor said nothing but instead retreated to the kitchen, shaking his head, and I soon heard pots and pans clattering. It wasn’t clear whether he had left the room ashamed of my behaviour – for taking the demeaning job in the first place and then getting caught snooping around – or if he retreated in quiet thought to help me form a plan. Connor had always been secretive about his feelings and even now, with the pair of us grown up and mature and worldly-wise with the freedom to say what we believed, that was still the case.
‘What are you doing?’ I joined him in the small kitchen, just in time to see him sliding a terracotta dish into the oven.
‘You look like you haven’t eaten properly for weeks. I’m making you a meal.’ Connor wiped his hands on a tea-towel and, when he locked me against a wooden bench with his arms pinned either side of me, I truly believed he was going to kiss me. An involuntary gasp caused my chest to rise and I briefly closed my eyes, waiting for the initial contact.
‘And I’m not keen on you staying down at the beach cottage by yourself. It’s so remote and you don’t even have running water.’
My eyes burst open and I was thankful that he couldn’t see the tingling in my expectant lips. I blushed, having no choice but to stare directly into his face. I saw day-old stubble littering his jaw as I noticed the single swallow he made when he realised my thoughts. But the moment was gone.
‘I like being down there. There’s something about the seclusion, the nearness of the sea.’
Connor shrugged and stepped away. ‘You always contested everything I said. Why did I think you’d have changed?’ He offered a glimmer of a smile, indicating that he wasn’t angry with me for being so stubborn. ‘I was going to suggest that you could stay here. At least you’d have a bathroom and a proper bed.’
The tingling began again at the thought of being so close to Connor when I was bathing or he was undressing at night. We would perhaps meet on the landing, each requiring the bathroom, our toothbrushes together on the basin, our discarded towels mingled together on the floor. A tight feeling knotted my stomach and I wasn’t sure if it was from hunger or fear or a signal of how much I wanted Connor.
‘I’ll be OK where I am. But…’ – perhaps I was being cheeky, perhaps it was a hidden invitation – ‘but I wouldn’t mind taking a hot bath now. If you don’t mind.’
Connor held up his hands. ‘Be my guest. There are fresh towels in the cupboard on the landing and help yourself to anything else you need.’
We were both silent, trying to guess what the other was thinking. I wanted to reach out and hold his hand, even brush my fingers down his stubbly cheek.
‘Maybe then you’ll be able to tell me exactly what’s on your mind and why Ethan Kinrade has got to you so much.’
‘Deal,’ I said, knowing that it would take more than a soak in a bath to purge my mind.
* * *
I allowed my hands to drift from my breasts, across my half-submerged stomach, down my thighs and back up again, each slow stroke of my bubble-covered body a sheer delight. It had been nearly two weeks since I had taken a bath, although I’d been able to keep myself clean by taking showers and by makeshift washing in the beach cottage.
Submerged up to my neck with my long hair pinned up loosely, I was reminded of the first time I’d met Marco. I’d been in the bath then and splashed about like a cat thrown into water as he burst into the bathroom in search of soap. He’d been fixing my mother’s ancient car and needed to wash his hands. His expression, when he saw me in the bath, was tattooed irrevocably on my mind just as his needy love-making was later stitched into my body. For many years, Marco was integral to my life, the selfish link that held us together as much a part of me as him.
As I fished for the soap in Connor’s bath, I smiled and I remembered how I’d naughtily told Marco that if he wanted the soap he’d have to find it. He never did locate the bar but he did find his way from my ankles to the top of my legs and beyond, his dark and grimy hands a contrast to my much paler skin. It didn’t take him long either, to strip and join me in the tub, the already high water level sloshing onto the tiled floor as he lay on top of me, grinding himself into me and bringing the tepid water back to near boiling point.
It was like that with Marco. We rarely had sex in bed at night. If he could hitch up my dress in the alley behind the tapas bar or bend me over the misshapen trunk of an ancient olive tree in the heat of the summer, then he would. Once, on the walk back to my house from the town, we overtook a bus-load of German tourists who were hiking in the sweltering valley. Marco virtually dragged me up the hill to get five minutes ahead of the crowd.
Without a word about his intentions, he tore my flimsy panties from beneath my wrap skirt and leaned me over the rough stone of a baking-hot wall, the thrill of the approaching foreigners fuelling his need for risky games. The softness of his mouth on my pussy and the late afternoon breeze cooling my flustered skin brought me to a helpless climax just as the first tourist came into sight.
Marco wiped his mouth, hauled me upright and clamped an arm around my waist as if we were sweethearts admiring the view. Men and women, panting from the incline, nodded and smiled at us, while Marco’s huge erection strained beneath his clothes. When they had passed, he put me back into position and satisfied himself by pumping me greedily from behind. I’m surprised that he even bothered to conceal his lust or my exposed body from the tourists.
I decided I might as well take the opportunity to wash my hair and so unleashed my tresses into the sudsy water. I pressed my fingers against my ears – I’d never liked the feeling of water gurgling in my head – and slipped further down the bath and tipped back my head so that my hair got a good wetting.
I know I heard something because the sound reverberated underwater but registered only as a dull noise. I paused, still submerged, and then continued to soak my hair until I heard it again. It was Connor calling up to me, most likely to tell me that food was ready and, not wanting to cut short the chance to get really clean, I yelled out from beneath the water.
‘Yes, OK.’ Without full hearing, it was difficult to know how loud I had shouted but it was obviously loud enough, although undeniably the wrong reply, as I felt a sudden draught of cold air across my exposed breasts.
I pulled myself out of the water into a semi-sitting position in time to see Connor standing in the doorway, unsure if he was delighted or shocked at what he saw.
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ He was motionless, his hand still on the door knob, and I half expected him to ask for the soap as Marco had done years before. ‘I asked if I could come in and you said “Yes, OK”.’ Connor bowed his head and looked to the side but didn’t leave the small, steam-filled bathroom.
I clamped my hands around the hillocks of my wet, bubble-covered breasts, concealing them easily in my palms, but my sopping hair dumped all over my face and I could barely breathe let alone speak. I risked exposure again to clear my face and, as if his eyes had thoughts of their own, Connor snatched an ill-timed glance at my body.
‘I didn’t mean to –’
‘Can you pass me a towel?’ I made no attempt now to conceal my nakedness. In fact, I wanted Connor to see me. That he hadn’t made a move on me, or even hinted that he found me attractive since my return to the island as an available woman, cut deeper than I wanted to admit. I could let him off his teenage shyness and clumsy attempts at compliments as we chased each other and tumbled around Creg-ny-Varn as kids. I could even allow for temporary shock following my unexpected return, and of course there was the possibility that Connor was involved with someone else. But even if that was the case, he could have still offered a token advance or ambiguous comment to let me know what might have been. Or perhaps I was too dumb to see it.
‘Thanks.’ I took the towel from his outstretched arm and stood up, making no attempt to wrap it around my body. Water flowed from my elbows and drizzled down my back and buttocks as I stood in the bath with the soft towel pressed to my face. When wet, my hair was longer by an inch or so and I could feel the damp tendrils reaching down to my nipples, which had risen from the draught and Connor’s presence. I wondered: if I hadn’t been thinking of Marco when Connor burst in, would I be feeling like this? I answered immediately, almost audibly. Yes.
‘Connor, look at me.’ My body shuddered, as if I had absorbed the spirit of someone determined, sexy and unconcerned with respectability. There was no going back. ‘Connor?’ What did he want me to do, physically turn his head in my direction? I noticed how his chest deepened and his fists balled at his side, as if he was fighting something unfathomable. ‘I want you to look at me.’
Very briefly, although the moment seemed like a lifetime, Connor allowed himself a glance at my nakedness. His jaw tightened, his pupils dilated and there was that swallow again, as if he was forcing his feelings back down inside. Several slow blinks marked his sweeping appraisal and his gaze left my body where it had begun – just below my navel, where the tiniest of curves dropped away to the small, dark triangle that I knew would be glossy from the bath.
‘Is that it? Can’t you bear to look at me any longer?’ Disappointment drenched me as quickly as the water spiralled down the waste pipe. I tossed the towel on the floor, my body studded with water droplets. ‘Do you think I’m beautiful?’ I felt as if I was asking for a Christmas present or demanding a piece of jewellery for my birthday. What was wrong with the man? I was standing naked and wet in his bathroom, begging him to look at me, and all he could do was maintain a steady gaze at the toilet seat.
‘Ailey, don’t. You’re shocked and distressed.’ Again, as if he’d done a quick deal with the devil, Connor stole a look at me. As his eyes drew level with my breasts, I noticed the slight parting of his lips and the way he had to wipe his fingers over his top lips to rid himself of the perspiration that collected there. ‘I’ve always thought that you’re beautiful. Even when I believed you were lost for ever.’ He paused, refuelling with a deep breath. ‘If I look at you, properly, and then lose you again…’ He couldn’t find the words and so to end the sentence he left the bathroom, telling me not to take long because the food was nearly ready to eat. I towelled myself dry, pulled Connor’s robe off a hook and wrapped my body in it. It seemed like the only way to get close to him. I trod the creaky stairs like a skulking cat and padded into the kitchen where he was serving roasted vegetables and salmon.
‘Feel better now?’ He spoke brightly, as if nothing had happened, and I nodded, stealing a bursting cherry tomato.
‘Ouch!’
‘What did you expect? It’s come from the oven.’
What I actually expected obviously hadn’t entered Connor’s thoughts and so I pulled a mask over my mind and began the process of denial – something I had become expert at over the years. Don’t like it? Then pretend it didn’t happen. Simple as that.
‘You’re good to me,’ I said, wishing that he would be.
We ate with trays balanced on our knees and our conversation was spiked with apprehension, despite my efforts to obliterate the moment in the bathroom. I actually felt relief when Connor brought up the subject of my earlier shock at Creg-ny-Varn.
‘I’m a bit confused about what happened. Explain again.’ Fortunately, he was smiling and I’m not sure he knew it but the descending sun set a glint in his pale-grey eyes that gave him the look of a man intent on whipping up mischief.
‘It was simply awful. To see what that despicable Kinrade has done to my father’s library. If the wretched gardener hadn’t come snooping and caught me, I’d have gone in and resurrected the room.’
I replayed the words privately in my head, just to make sure I hadn’t really said: As punishment, I shackled the gardener to the wall and worked him to a frenzy with my mouth before leaving him dangling, spent, satisfied. No part of me could admit to Connor that my pulse had quickened at the sight of the library’s unusual contents. I hadn’t got a clue what most of it was for but my immediate thought was: I’d like to learn.
‘To be honest, I wasn’t even aware that Kinrade had hired a gardener. I don’t tend to have much to do with the running of the house. All my time is taken up with the distillery.’
‘The man’s everywhere at once,’ I said, meaning Dominic. ‘I can’t seem to find out anything useful about Ethan Kinrade and if I’m to make a case against him, to get back my home, then Lewis needs something concrete to work from.’
‘Lewis?’
‘My advocate.’
‘Which firm?’
I shrugged, realising that I didn’t even know Lewis’s surname. I’d got more knowledge about his body and the sexual preferences
of his wife than I had of his professional qualifications. Suddenly, my stupidity tugged me back to the root of my emotions. There was no getting away from the rush that swelled inside and, really, it was appropriate that Connor help me sift through my feelings. I was doubtful about his willingness to become involved with me so, much as I hated to admit that this bothered me, I didn’t see that I had anything to lose by confessing.
‘I’ve been having fantasies, Connor.’ I was completely changing the subject and to punctuate this, I put my knife and fork together and slid my plate onto a side table. A sudden gust of wind, heralding the onset of another bout of westerly low pressure, buffeted the side of the house, rattling the small-paned window. The fire flared within the stove as the current disturbed the draw.
‘That’s normal.’ Connor mirrored my action, his appetite obviously sated by my confession.
‘You know what you were saying about my diary? Well, I believe you’re right. And now that it’s lost, I’m choosing reality rather than fantasy.’ I fiddled with Connor’s gown. It smelled of sleep and cologne I didn’t recognise. ‘Something’s happening to me.’
‘I asked at the ferry company, by the way, and no one’s handed in your journal.’
I wanted to tell him that I already knew that; that somehow, as long as my thoughts were roaming free in the universe, my desires would continue to materialise, as indeed they were. It was a kind of karmic accident, in which need and probability had combined in the most unlikely of ways on the most unsuspecting of people.
‘I have to get it back. The last year of my life is in that diary. It’s a part of me.’
‘I understand,’ Connor said. For a moment, he sounded fatherly. ‘I’ll do what I can but first, it sounds like you have a more immediate problem in the form of Ethan Kinrade and his over-protective gardener. Have you thought of just confronting the man, stating your intentions?’
‘What, and give him time to defend himself?’ I realised that I sounded naïve and I’d never felt so lost or helpless but I knew for certain that laying my cards on the table in front of Kinrade would be the hardest thing I’d ever done. ‘I should probably just go back to Spain and forget about it.’