TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy)

by Jamesson, Sydney

  punching above her weight but she’s got fighting spirit and he’s got to give her that.

  The inclement weather keeps shifting from wet to windy and back again, making it impossible for

  him to attend to outside jobs and Ernie, still conscious of his physical impediment, is ticking off

  duties requiring a one-handed approach.

  “Perfect, just bloody perfect,” Ernie declares, setting his sights on Item 4 on the Jobs’ List. “We’re

  to clear out furniture in the main offices, ready for decorating.”

  “Why not? They like their comfort over there, don’t they?” Dan is not about to object. It’s light

  work; the likes of which even a one-handed man can tackle. They are carrying computer screens and

  moving desks across corridors into unused rooms and stacking chairs, creating space to erect ladders

  and platforms. To the untrained eye they look busy but Dan knows this is Ernie’s way of filling time

  until his hand heals and he’s grateful.

  By lunchtime the first office has been given a lick of paint; cracks have been painted over and

  cream walls have been brightened, creating a sterile looking working environment.

  “Time to grab a bite to eat champ,” Ernie says, stepping out of his white overalls. “I could murder a

  cuppa.”

  “I could wet my whistle,” Dan agrees, accepting minimal help in removing his extra-large overalls.

  “My stomach feels like my throat’s been cut.” He follows Ernie in the direction of the canteen.

  Making the most of the free lunch, Dan sits himself down behind a mound of steaming shepherd’s

  pie and peas. Also arranged on his tray, is a mug of tea, a bowl of soup and a sponge pudding

  drowning in a sea of custard.

  Ernie starts to laugh. “Good to see you’ve found your appetite.” He flicks over his newspaper to the

  back page to check the sports news. “You’ve been a right bloody misery lately, I don’t mind telling

  you. Good to have you back.”

  With a partially empty mouth Dan engages in the banter. “I’ve been feeling under the weather.

  Things haven’t been going my way, but I’m on the mend now.” Preoccupied with the contents of his

  plate, Dan ends the conversation.

  Ernie lowers his newspaper. “What’s not been going your way? You and your lady friend? Is she

  back in your good books now?”

  Dan stops eating and looks across the table at him. No-one has ever asked him about his ‘lady

  friend’ before. He’s taken aback, but not so much he can’t manufacture some sort of lie. Thinking on

  his feet he explains. “Yes, you could say that. We had a disagreement. She wanted one thing and I

  wanted another, but the time wasn’t right. We’ll work it out.” On the far side of the canteen Blue Jeans

  catches Dan’s eye. “I think my luck’s about to change …” Dan doesn’t complete the sentence. Internal

  rage resurfaces and sits there as a layer of perspiration on his skin. He has to look away eventually, but

  not first and not until he’s backed-down.

  Ernie follows his line of sight. “It’s not worth it champ. Don’t let him reel you in. He’d love

  nothing more than to get a rise out of you. Now you finish your lunch, we’ve got a couple of hours of

  hard graft ahead of us and it looks like the sun’s coming out.”

  10

  As with everything else in the life of Ayden Stone, dinner is no small affair. I’ve made myself

  presentable; styled my hair and applied a little tinted moisturiser and lip gloss. A Ralph Lauren silk

  shirt dress in a flattering mocha colour seems the most appropriate. Besides, it’s the only dress I have

  that will look less than ridiculous with flats.

  Fizzing with anticipation I make my entrance, stopping to take in the spectacle of Ayden sitting on

  the enormous white sofa, arms outstretched across the back of the headrest, right leg across his left

  knee. He’s wearing deck shoes minus socks, another hot button of mine. His dark blue jeans grip his

  thighs and calves like a second skin and the black V neck T-shirt, well … that’s clingy too. Now

  here’s a man who knows how to dress to impress; whether he’s relaxing or ‘ruling the fucking world,’

  as he would say. I know I should be used to looking at him, but I doubt that will ever happen; even the

  under-floor heating could not prevent a shiver of excitement from running through me now. There he

  sits, master of all he purveys and, the moment our eyes meet, I know that includes me.

  “Hey, I didn’t recognise you with your grown-up clothes on,” he chuckles, beckoning me over.

  “I’ve poured us an aperitif.”

  I saunter over, trying for nonchalance but really wanting to skip. “Thank you.” The sparkling wine

  glass slips from his hand to mine and I glance over at the dining table set with cutlery, crockery and

  candles. The aroma of well-seasoned food has me salivating.

  “You’ve been busy. Have you rustled up beans on toast for us?”

  He shrugs, pleasure emanating from an emerald stare and a broad smile. “Not quite. I had The Ivy

  send food over. I chose for you. Is that okay?”

  “Yes. I know you’ve got good taste in everything so …”

  “I like to think so,” he says, giving me the once over. “Come on, I’m starving.”

  Before eating my shellfish and avocado cocktail, I take a minute to get my bearings. “I don’t know

  why you said I wouldn’t like it here Ayden. You have a beautiful home. You have some remarkable

  artwork and objet d’art.”

  “I’ve collected lots of things on my travels, they each tell a story …”

  I hold the delicious piece of crab meat on my fork before popping it into my mouth. “I love stories

  …”

  He pours out the white wine into our second glass and prepares to regale me with tales from exotic

  territories. “See that Indian tapestry over there on the wall?”

  I cast my eyes to the far side of the room where a striking piece of wall art takes pride of place. It’s

  a complex pattern combining textures and colours ranging from blues, purples, sea greens and even

  gold, embroidered with beads, sequins and pearls. I‘ve never seen anything like it. “It’s stunning

  Ayden. Where did you get it?”

  “I was out on a fact finding trip with a couple of investors out in Jaipur, north west India. We were

  looking at a possible location for a manufacturing unit and the road, or should I say dirt track

  disappeared on us. Even our four wheel drive couldn’t tackle the terrain so we got out and walked for

  about a quarter of a mile. On the way, there were these shanty homes, you know, poor people

  scratching around trying to make a living; kids running around holding out their hands begging. You

  get the picture?”

  I’ve stopped eating and he nods for me to continue while he speaks. I stab at a prawn.

  “So, I take a look around, see if they have anything worth buying. I’ve got some money in my

  pocket, why not?” Forgetting about the meal completely, he places down his cutlery. “And inside this

  small hut I see this kid, around ten or eleven with this enormous tapestry across his legs, and he’s

  sewing on beads and sequins and …” He points over to the wall art. “All that stuff. So I decide to take

  a look and I’m amazed. I mean, who wouldn’t be, right?”

  I’m nodding and totally enraptured by his recount. “So what did you do?”

  “The only thing I could do. Ask him how much he wanted for it.”
r />   “And what did he say?”

  “I can’t remember exactly but it was a pittance. Can you imagine how much you would have to pay

  for a handmade, silk tapestry like that in Selfridges?”

  “No.” I have absolutely no idea.

  “Well, twenty times what he was asking for it.” He picks up his fork and begins eating hurriedly,

  itching to finish his story. “But … this kid is so proud of what he’s produced that he won’t sell it to

  me …”

  “Why not?”

  “It wasn’t finished.” He throws back a couple of mouthfuls of wine. “I tell him, look, I’ve got

  money, even get it out and flash the cash but he’s adamant and I like that. What I was offering him

  would keep his family in food for a year and yet he wouldn’t hand it over.”

  I pick up my wine and hold it in the air in front of my face. “So did you persuade him to sell it to

  you?”

  Well, obviously …

  “I got the translator to make a deal with him on my behalf. I said I would give him half the money

  up front and in two days, when he said it would be finished, he was to bring it to my hotel and I’d give

  him the difference. I gave him my card so he could show it to the concierge.”

  “And he did.”

  “Yes. Turned up two days later with it wrapped in an old blanket. I had the guy on reception bring

  him up to my room so I could check it out and hand over the money personally.” He shakes his head

  from side to side, moved by the recollection. “Poor kid was knackered, what with the heat and the

  weight of it. I poured him out a glass of water and he was so fucking grateful.”

  “That’s a good story Ayden.” I smile and give his hand a squeeze across the table.

  “Oh, I’m not done, there’s more. Turns out this kid was a bit of an entrepreneur, reminded me of

  myself. Always looking for ways to make money and get ahead.” He’s laughing at himself and it’s so

  endearing. I tip my head to one side and watch him, riveted.

  “He’d got hold of cast offs from sweat shops and scraps of material from old wedding saris. In

  terms of raw materials, it cost virtually nothing. The value was in the labour and his workmanship.”

  “Well it’s a masterpiece.”

  “I like it and I liked the kid. I paid him what I owed him and gave him some investment money. I

  said, if he could double my money in six months, I’d set him up in his own business.”

  Will this man ever fail to surprise me?

  “And tell me, does this story have a happy ending?” I look expectantly to him for an answer.

  “Depends how you look at it.” He grins. “I doubled my investment and the kid got himself another

  investor; some local guy with a shop to handle sales and distribution.”

  I smile. “Well then I suppose it’s a happy ending all round?”

  “Yeah. I suppose so. But it might have been fun to see this kid go from zero to somewhere. He had

  the skills and the right attitude to make something of himself.”

  “Thanks to you he already has.”

  “I’ll check him out next time I’m over there.” Now he can eat.

  “And what became of your fact finding visit? Did you open up a manufacturing base?”

  “Yes. It’s early days, but we’ll be in the black this time next year.”

  “Great.” With story time over I set about my avocado, happy to have been privy to such a

  meaningful story.

  He plays waiter and serves me a Bannockburn rib steak accompanied by pommes allumettes and

  bearnaise sauce, with a side portion of spinach. Our palates are refreshed with a raspberry sorbet that

  leaves my taste-buds tingling. It’s a delicious meal.

  I throw the plates and cutlery into the dishwasher and carry over two cups of strong black coffee

  and settle myself on the sofa, a yard or so from him so I can sit side on, keeping him in full view at all

  times; feeling the kind of contentment that comes from being in the company of someone very

  special. Like an artist admiring a painting, I examine my handsome dinner date.

  He catches me mid-review. “Beth, really, you can’t sit there looking at me like that and say

  nothing.” He pats the space between us. “Sit next to me.”

  I edge closer to him, watching as his left hand moves across the headrest and disappears, coming to

  rest on my cheek; warm fingers massage my neck and brush into my hair – and so begins his sensual

  seduction.

  “I never eat here. As a rule I go out or have a late lunch. I’m enjoy having you here.”

  “I’m enjoying being here. But won’t you get into trouble for playing hooky?” I smile, at my

  ludicrous question.

  “I hope no-one reports me to the boss. I’ve heard that he’s a real piece of work,” he declares

  gleefully.

  “He is,” I agree, kissing his cheek and ruffling his hair. “Are we still on for the much publicised

  tour?”

  His lips twist wryly. “Sure. If you’re up to it?”

  “I think so. Besides, there are more locked doors than open ones in this place. I’m curious to know

  what’s behind them.”

  “Then let’s go and find out.” He stands and reaches out for my hand. “Are you alright to walk or do

  you need carrying?”

  “No, I’m fine, lead on. ‘Wherever the fates lead us let us follow.’” I throw that out there, wondering

  if he’ll catch it.

  He looks at me quizzically. “And who said that?”

  “Virgil. A famous Roman poet.”

  He kisses my cheek. “I know who Virgil is.”

  Of course he does.

  “I think we’ll start at the basement and work our way up.” He opens the door for us to enter. “After

  you.” I step inside the lift and we descend below his office and the master suite, past ground floor and

  down further to the basement. As we step out of the lift the ceiling lights illuminate the corridor. Is

  this the road to righteousness, I wonder?

  I search his face for clues, but he’s either nervous or being very cagy about this part of the tour. I

  can’t decide which. He leads me to the first door on the right, inserts a key and pushes it open. The

  room is in darkness. He flicks on the top row of light switches. It’s a gym. Every possible form of

  physically challenging, running, rowing and lifting equipment is down here.

  I run my hands down his muscular back. “So this is where you keep yourself in shape? I was

  beginning to think you had a painting in the attic?”

  “Now let me guess. Would that be a Picture of Dorian Gray?”

  I’m laughing out loud. I don’t mean to test his literary knowledge but this is turning into book

  worm quiz night. “Ten points to you Mr. Stone.”

  “Thank you. Should I get a pen and paper to keep score?”

  I grab hold of his left bicep with both hands and press myself into him. I do love this man.

  He reaches over and flicks down the lower set of switches and the far end of the room is swathed in

  warm orange light; the rear dividing wall pulls back and a swimming pool appears from behind it.

  Along its sides are two wooden cubicles.

  “Now that’s impressive,” I exclaim, clapping my hands and giving him a round of applause.

  “You can come down here anytime. You should, it will help your back to heal and tone your

  muscles.”

  I turn and look at him, indignation written all over my face. “Do my muscles need toning?”

  He leans in and kisses my nose
. “No. but fantasy fucking may leave you a little, how can I put this

  …?”

  “Sore?”

  “Stiff.”

  “Oh okay. Next.”

  He closes the door behind us and unlocks the opposite door. Up go the lights and down falls my

  jaw. It’s a private cinema. “My God Ayden!” I stroke the Pullman chairs and sit down, wriggling into

  the plush, cushioned seat. “Wait until I tell Charlie about this.”

  I hear him tutting behind me. “Oh, please, tell me you won’t. The last thing I want is a drama queen

  watching drama in my house. I can picture it now; popcorn on the floor, tissues down the sides of

  chairs …”

  I stand and sashay in the direction of the exit sign. “Sometimes Mr. Stone you are such a grouch.” I

  kiss his cheek. “Next.”

  A couple of yards down the corridor, there’s a third door. Unlike the other two, it does not have a

  lock. Instead there is a keypad at eye-level. I look at Ayden, saying nothing but sharing the same

  thought. This is the room.

  He grabs hold of my right hand and squeezes it tightly. “You ready for this?” Silently I nod yes,

  looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes. “When I said I was lost without you, I meant it. I’ve been

  lost all my life, just running around in circles but. No-one will ever come here but you.”

  “I believe you.” I smile and reach out to caress his anxious face.

  “I want you to love being here, Beth. I want to love you in here. Remember, whatever you see is

  intended to bring you pleasure. I will never hurt you.”

  He’s breaking my heart.

  “I know Ayden. Just punch in the code.” I feel his lips against mine and close my eyes for no more

  than a second.

  The heavy door clicks open. He hits a switch and ushers me inside the dimly lit room. I say nothing.

  From right to left I take it all in. The walls are decorated with night time pictures of international

  locations: New York, London, Sydney Harbour, Hong Kong, L.A. and so on. My eyes come to rest on

  the enormous dark wood, four poster bed and my thoughts make me smile.

  He coughs, taking me away from my moment of contemplation. “I’ll give you a million to tell me

  what you’re thinking right now.” I turn to look at him, standing upright a foot away from me, arms