Eighty Days Red

by Vina Jackson

  ‘I mean that you took my Bailly, the violin that you first saw me play with, and added it to your collection. It’s in your vault. With the other things that you choose not to display. Your other stolen things. In the basement. Where you said you kept your record collection.’

  In for a penny, in for a pound.

  Then Viggo did something that I didn’t expect, even for a moment.

  He began to cry.

  At the sight of his upset, all of the anger went out of me, like rising mist. I’d seen very few grown men cry before, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I leaned forward and gently patted his arm.

  He picked up his drink and took a long gulp of his whisky, draining his glass and gritting his teeth as it went down.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind.’

  ‘You didn’t think I’d mind?’ I replied in amazement. ‘Why on earth didn’t you think I’d mind?’

  ‘You had it with you at the rehearsal in that plain case. I figured that you had no idea what it was, and that it can’t have been that important to you if you’d take it out to any old practice session. One of your rehearsal violins. Or maybe that some sponsor had lent it to you. You probably had a dozen others waiting in the wings. Besides, they say it’s cursed. I might have been doing you a favour, taking it off your hands. And I was only going to look at it sometimes, hold it, not damage it. It would be safe, in my vault, looked after, cared for …’

  He was talking a million miles a minute, like a madman, and his shoulders began to shudder, as if he was about to break down in sobs again. I stole a glance around the bar but no one was paying any attention to us at all; they probably couldn’t even see us, tucked away in the corner booth in the dark.

  ‘Viggo,’ I said, in the most soothing tone that I could muster, as if I was speaking to a child, ‘the violin was a gift. From Dominik. I loved it more than anything in the world. Like I love him,’ I added, the last few words as much a revelation to me as they might be to Viggo.

  He looked up at me again, brushing a length of his dark hair off his face.

  ‘Well then,’ he said, smiling again, despite his red eyes. ‘That’s easily solved. I’ll just give it back to you.’

  ‘That would be wonderful.’ The understatement of the century, if there ever was one, but his offer seemed so fragile, I didn’t want to make any sudden movements in case he changed his mind.

  ‘But …’

  ‘Yes?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘Dominik’s already stolen it back. Or at least, he’s in the middle of stealing it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, shock stopping his tears in their tracks.

  ‘I took your keys,’ I replied. ‘And copied them. I’m sorry, I just wanted it back so badly and I didn’t think you’d give it up so easily …’

  ‘And you brought me and Luba here to get us out of the house, so he could go in?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you don’t know the alarm code to the vault.’

  ‘He thought it would be your birthday. Or something like that. He must be still down there now, there’s no service in your basement. He’s meant to be texting me when he’s either managed to break in, or given up.’

  I’d been sneaking glances at my phone all night, every time Viggo turned his head, just in case I’d somehow missed the beeps that signalled that a text message had arrived.

  Viggo knotted his fingers together and leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands, deep in thought, perhaps tracing the steps that Dominik would need to take in order to succeed in his attempted breakin.

  ‘He’ll never make it. The rest of the house is easy enough, there’s no cameras, no booby traps, nothing like that. The neighbours can’t see who’s coming in through the front door and even if they could, they’d never suspect anything was wrong if they saw someone they didn’t recognise getting in with a key. I’m presuming here that he doesn’t look like the breaking and entering type. You haven’t shacked up with an art thief, have you? Maybe he’s broken in, taken the violin and other stuff, and made a run for it.’

  I shook my head vigorously. ‘Never. Dominik’s a writer … he was doing some research on the subject, for a novel. That’s his only interest in the Bailly. That and me, I suppose. I hope.’

  ‘Trust me, sweetheart, a man doesn’t attempt a felony for a woman that he’s not in love with. He must care about you an awful lot to go to all this trouble.’

  ‘I hope so. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.’ I checked my phone again. The screen was still blank, entirely bereft of any communication.

  ‘We’d better go back and let him in then. He’s not carrying a weapon, is he? I don’t want him to shoot me on sight, if he thinks he’s been caught in the act.’

  ‘Dominik would never—’

  ‘You can’t trust a man in love. Does strange things to the brain. Call him and tell him we’re on our way, and I’m happy to give up the instrument. I’ll even let you pick another, if you like, for compensation. If you won’t report me to the police …’

  ‘I won’t report you. And I don’t need another violin. Just the one is enough for me.’

  ‘Maybe something else then.’

  I fished my phone out of my bag and dialled Dominik’s number hurriedly. His was the only number I knew by heart, the digits burned into my brain.

  It went straight to his message box. The familiar tone of his voice, even on the brief recording, filled me with longing.

  I left a message, explaining that the gig was up, Viggo had confessed, I had confessed, all was well and we were on our way to access the vault, and not to attempt anything silly.

  He probably wouldn’t get the message though, unless he abandoned the breakin and headed to one of the upper floors to get a phone signal. Even then it might take a while for the message to come through. The lack of response from him made me panic a little. I wasn’t superstitious – I scoffed at horoscopes and smiled when a black cat crossed my path – but I’d feel more comfortable when I could see Dominik with my own eyes and knew that nothing had gone wrong, he was just out of service, or maybe he’d forgotten to charge his battery and his phone was dead.

  Luba was in full party mode when we returned to the gallery, with a cocktail glass in each hand, alternating sips from one glass and then the other.

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ Viggo whispered in my ear, ‘I’d rather keep tonight’s adventure between us.’

  We made our excuses to her and left early, on the pretence of a headache. She was chatting to the woman in the yellow dress that we’d seen at the bar earlier, and seemed entirely happy to be left with her new friend.

  Grayson was deep in conversation on the other side of the room. I decided to leave without making my goodbyes. I hadn’t quite recovered from the effect that viewing the cropped pictures had on me, and didn’t know what to say to him.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Viggo said, watching mixed expressions flitting across my face. ‘I’ll pay him extra to take them out of the exhibition, if you like. And lock them in my vault, safe from prying eyes.’

  ‘That’s kind of you,’ I replied. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  We waited in the shadow of a building for one of Viggo’s cars to come and collect him. I’d suggested that he didn’t drive his Buick, to reduce the chances of the three of us being photographed together. He’d thought I was paranoid, but complied.

  The cold night air bit into my skin and I shivered, despite the warmth and weight of Viggo’s jacket draped over my shoulders.

  I pulled my phone out of my bag again, with shaking fingers. Still no response.

  Where was Dominik?

  The more he peered at his watch in the darkness and tried to read the time, the shorter the interval since his last peek was revealed. Time was slowing to a standstill. Dominik knew it was psychological and tried not to panic.

  At first the air quality did not alter, but soon the heat in the closed room began to rise and
he had to unbutton his shirt, and then when his back began to feel damp with sweat he took it off and set it down across the stone floor.

  He tried to remain alert, on the lookout for any sounds coming from the house on the other side of the thick metal door, filtering through to him. But the silence beyond was absolute and all he could hear was the rasping sound of his own breath as he nervously began a mental countdown to some point of no return.

  Alone in a dark place with just his memories.

  Was that what death would feel like?

  Memories of women, of smiles, eyes, torrents of words heard, spoken, written down, all

  flashing by on the journey to the white light.

  Bodies, faces, breasts, scents, the colours, the emotions.

  And regrets. Too many to count or list.

  Things he had done.

  Things he had not done.

  Dominik was squatting on the floor, feeling the heat accumulate, the precious Bailly within

  his reach, orientating himself in the surrounding darkness.

  Was the air now growing thinner or was it just him?

  He was tempted to close his eyes and fall asleep, but knew it was the one thing he should not

  do.

  How would Summer remember him in years to come, once he was no longer around,

  Dominik reflected. As a holy fool who’d messed everything up? He knew that if he was to die

  now, the memories of her would stay him until the very last moment, playing like a loop of film

  on the screen of his mind. He smiled feebly. The best way to go, he felt, with Summer on his

  mind, the image of her body in his eyes, there for eternity.

  His eyelids fluttering, Dominik thought he heard a sound, far away, faint, indistinct. He strained to hear but again there was silence. And then again a remote echo. His name.

  Being called out. He feared briefly this was a hallucination, the sure sign he was on the

  downward path, but then the sound grew nearer. Summer’s voice echoed by another, male one.

  Viggo. Probably walking down the spiral staircase.

  Dominik waited for their voices to reach the lower floor and once the sound of their calls

  reverberated around the low ceiling of the pool area, he finally cried out.

  ‘I’m here. Inside.’

  There was a flurry of steps as they ran to the locked door of the safe room. Then the door finally opened with a wooshhh …

  The light rushed in from outside, momentarily blinding Dominik, since he’d been plunged

  into darkness for a few hours, but he could make out the blurry shape of Summer’s silhouette and

  the pencil-thin gangly form of Viggo standing behind her. Their faces were still indistinct. ‘Dominik!’ cried Summer.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he protested.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

  ‘I am. Just a bit hot under the collar.’ He realised he was shirtless.

  The room’s light came back on, triggered by the door’s timer.

  Summer walked over to him, her eyes full of panic as the realisation of what could have

  happened struck her.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I really am … I never thought …’

  Stepping up behind her and looking around the room and seeing all his collection

  undisturbed, Viggo smiled.

  ‘I think you’ve made a bit of a fool of yourself, haven’t you, mate?’ He was on the edge of

  laughter, the tightness of his skinny jeans and knee-high boots giving him the appearance of a

  scarecrow.

  ‘I most certainly have,’ Dominik agreed.

  ‘Right,’ Viggo said. ‘Look, it’s all my fault anyway. I shouldn’t have arranged for the

  Angelique to be stolen from the green room back at the Academy. It’s just that I saw it and was left dumbfounded. I regret it now. Never thought it would affect Summer so badly … I just

  didn’t think it through …’

  Slipping his shirt back on again, as Summer stood silently between them, Dominik asked,

  ‘So you don’t mind that I broke in to your house?’

  ‘Of course not,’ the musician said. ‘I brought it on myself. Summer has explained it all to me.

  Anyway, who says you broke in?’ He smiled mischievously. ‘You had a key. Consider yourself

  my guest.’

  With a heavy sigh of relief, Dominik stepped past him and began heading towards the pool

  area. Summer followed in his footsteps.

  ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ Viggo called out.

  They both turned their heads.

  Viggo was holding the Bailly and its bow in his extended hands.

  Summer ran back and took them from him, and gave him a gentle peck on the cheek. She walked back to where Dominik was now standing, one foot on the edge of the pool, and

  took his hand in her free one.

  ‘I think the two of you need a shower after all this frantic racing around and the involuntary

  lock-in, no? And relax a little.’ Viggo shouted out at them. ‘Be my guests. Mi casa es su casa . .

  .’

  ‘I think that’s a really good idea,’ Summer said to Dominik as they reached the bottom of the

  spiral staircase. ‘Come,’ she said. ‘There’s a guest suite on the top floor.’ And to Viggo she

  cried out, ‘You won’t mind, will you, Viggo?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Viggo said.

  Summer set the Bailly down on a tall chest of drawers as soon as they walked into the guest room and then stood silently watching it with a dreamy look in her eyes. She passed her fingers

  over the instrument as if caressing it, formally bringing it back to life, back into her life. Closing the door behind them, Dominik observed her. He felt light-headed, a bit empty. He

  knew it was the inevitable anticlimax after the few traumatic hours the two of them had just

  experienced.

  She finally abandoned the retrieved instrument and turned to him.

  ‘Thank you, Dominik. For doing all this. I know you were taking an enormous risk. All for

  me. I’ll always be grateful …’

  ‘Thank you for coming to my rescue,’ he said. ‘I must have looked a bit of a fool, sitting

  there in the dark, all locked up. At least you’ll know next time to employ a professional thief and

  not a bloody amateur like me.’

  Summer smiled.

  Her eyes held an undercurrent of sadness, as they always did, but there was a new gleam

  there. Elation? Relief? Expectation?

  Dominik felt his heartstrings tense.

  ‘I suppose it was all my fault,’ Summer said. ‘I should have been more careful with the

  violin.’

  ‘I suppose it was,’ Dominik replied.

  ‘Maybe I should be punished?’ she suggested, the hint of mischief in her tone telling him

  everything she had in mind.

  ‘Maybe you should. For crass neglect. For reckless acts of a known nature.’ ‘For being me,’ she added.

  ‘For being you.’

  There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘So, punish me,’ Summer said.

  ‘I think we’ll have that shower now.’ Dominik smiled, pulling her forcibly towards the door.

  The showerhead’s cascade was pouring down on Summer’s head, flattening her red curls, lengthening her hair all the way down her back, spreading it like a damp curtain against her wet skin. Dominik watched as the water drowning her mane emerged from the tangled mass, dividing into thinner streams, pearling across the small of her back and dispersing as it passed the delicate ski-jump of her arse.

  ‘Turn,’ he said.

  He soaped his hands and passed them across her breasts. Her nipples were already rock hard. He lowered his head and took them between teeth and tongue and nibbled gently away at them. Summer tensed. He straightened and
returned to washing her front. Her mouth was half open, lips tantalisingly apart, a tempting glance of the white barrier of her teeth behind them.

  He spread the soap suds across her shoulders and the rest of her body, massaging the liquid into her skin, his cock calmly brushing against her in the restricted space of the shower cubicle, water endlessly splashing around them as they twisted and turned. Then, with a thin flannel, he washed the soap away, her skin now glistening as the steam rose around them, idly passing his fingers between her legs, testing her heat, entering her with one finger and then two more, pressing himself inside her. Summer lowered herself ever so slightly to accommodate his long digits, to acknowledge his touch, his investigation of her intimacy, the familiar way he was now taking possession of her again.

  ‘Your turn now,’ Dominik urged, passing her the slippery bar of soap he had been using on her.

  She took hold of it and in turn began to draw the soap across his body, slowly, sensually, studiously; first his chest, then his back as he swivelled around, then his buttocks and the back of his legs. Finally, he turned round to face her again, and she took his erection in her hands and she rubbed the soap across its hardness, feeling it grow under her ministrations, harder, thicker, more imperious. Summer lingered here, orchestrating the trigger of his full arousal, noting every tremor, listening to the halting sound of Dominik’s breath above as she kneeled and massaged him, cleaned him, played with him. Finally, she took the flannel glove and washed the soap away. Dominik’s cock was now standing fully to attention. With a brief glance at him, as if seeking his approval, she neared her mouth and took him inside her, cupping his balls with her hand as she did so.

  Even though she had carefully cleaned it away, he still smelled of soap, the perfumed dampness washing over her senses like a curtain of rain. Her teeth grazed the swelling mass of him, the dizzying smoothness of his exposed glans and the texture of its ridge, and she rolled her tongue along it in a parody of greed and hunger. Dominik now filled her mouth.

  There was a final splash of water rushing down her face as she heard Dominik switch the shower off. His hands moved to her hair and gripped hard, pulling her closer to convert the angle of his penetration so that he could force himself deeper into her throat.