He cannot supress a moan. His hand jerks to the rhythm of a heartbeat that flutters, causing his legs
to quiver and tense. Her pale fragility has him hard and overheated, racing towards ejaculation. Unable
to help himself, he squirts out warm, milky liquid into his boxers calling out. “Oh yeah, that’s my girl
…” With nothing close to hand, he reaches for the tea towel off the table, grinning roguishly. “You’re
such a tease. Now look what you made me do.”
19
The return journey to the hotel is a silent affair and for that I’m thankful. Jake is sitting beside me
fidgeting, mentally counting every yard back to The Cosmopolitan. He’s looking out of the window
left, I’m looking right. I’m not sure why he’s finding this so gruelling. Usually he exudes confidence.
Right now he’s the proverbial schoolboy on his way home from a visit to the Headmaster’s office.
He’s opening doors and we’re exchanging horizontal movement for a vertical climb up to the 21st
floor. It’s a number counting exercise; a white light flashes through floors until we reach ours. Jake
steps out and slides in the door card, stretching out a gentlemanly arm for me to enter my lonesome
suite.
On the breakfast bar is an enormous bouquet of flowers, pale in colour, nothing brash, simple and
exquisite. Beside it is a bottle of champagne.
“That’s a nice gesture,” I remark, taking a small card out of an envelope, assuming they are a gift
from the hotel.
The card is a hand written note from Ayden. On it is a single word and two letters: ‘Sorry. AS’ On
the left hand corner is a solitary kiss. Instinctively I hold the card to my lips and close my eyes,
willing him to appear. When I place it back onto the counter, I see my lips swallowing up his word,
taking it to heart.
I lift the magnum of champagne in both hands. “Moet Chandon 1976. A good year.” I turn to Jake.
“Will you do the honours?”
Reluctantly, he takes the bottle. “Are you sure?”
“No, but open it anyway. I need a glass of something potent to wash down this lump in my throat.
I’m going to change.”
From down the corridor I hear the sound of a cork popping and voices. It’s Charlie. She’s ten
strides away from my bedroom door. There’s the knock.
“Come in.” I’m removing the veil from my hair, placing clips on the dressing table and lining them
up in a row, like slender soldiers on parade.
“Hi Beth.” She throws her bouquet onto the bed and approaches me. “Here, let me do that for you.”
She looks stunning reflected in the mirror, her red hair aflame and her eyes glossy with leftover
tears. “Thanks Char.”
“It’s the least I can do … what a fucking disaster!”
“It wasn’t a total disaster. The ceremony was beautiful. The day … up to the point when it stopped
being so, was wonderful.”
She tips her head. “Who’s this person sitting in front of me? And where’s Beth?”
I’m tipping down my head and sniggering. “I’m right here.”
“Why aren’t you weeping and throwing things, after what he’s put you through? That’s what I’d be
doing.”
“Because I know everything will be alright. This is a small bump in the road. We’ll get over…”
“A small bump! It’s more like a bloody mountain! What if he’s arrested? What if he’s put away for
years?”
“That won’t happen and, if it does, I’ll wait for him. He waited 22 years for me.”
She rests her hands on my shoulders. “Whatever you say. You know I’m here for you, right?”
My hand rests on hers. “Yes. I’m lucky to have you here. I’m disappointed obviously Char, but I
still have what matters most – his love.” I smile into the mirror. “So nothing’s changed.”
Jake appears sheepishly, peeping around the door. “Champagne, ladies?”
Charlie bounds over. “Hell yeah. Leave the bottle.”
My loneliness is made bearable by her presence and she does her upmost to ease my suffering. God
love her for that.
Twenty minutes later Sylvia and Patrick arrive and I greet them in the lounge: a bride dressed in
white minus a veil and without shoes, looking like last year’s fairy off the Christmas tree. No-one
seems to care that my hair is down or my lipstick faded; I slap a weak smile on my face and leave it
there until the sympathetic looks vanish and the room empties of voices.
I wander over to my bouquet and lift a drooping flower to my nose; the silky white petals are soft to
touch and singularly beautiful in their aesthetic composition but, one day soon, they’ll fall and die and
be swept away, becoming no more than a memory of something that was once beautiful. Just like my
wedding day …
But I have something tangible to hold onto, I have mementos. I have photos, stills and a video,
capturing that glorious moment when our worlds collided and coupled and nothing and no-one can
take that away from us. Not even MI5.
Rejecting offers of a family dinner, I opt for room service, happy to slip into casual trousers and
one of Ayden’s white shirts, tying it into an untidy knot at my waist. I’m so out of place, traipsing
around barefoot, looking more like a petite beach belle than a bride, but I don’t care. I slot in my iPod
and fall back on old habits, using my music to soak up the emotional overspill flooding my mind. I
push back the enormous glass door and perch on the terrace, looking out across the darkening Nevada
sky. As the clouds fold into themselves, so do I. I’m feeling pensive, reflecting on the day’s event
when …
Out of the darkness, a shuddering roar erupts at ground level and a wall of water begins to dance
and sway below me. It’s the Bellagio Fountains. The music they are dancing to is barely audible, lost
on the wind, but the combination of lights and movement and spectacle is enough to dissolve my
despondent state of mind.
From inside, Newton Faulkner’s voice transcends my introspection. He speaks of Clouds and the
lyrics resonate with me. It’s as if Ayden is here; he’s coaxing me out of my melancholy. I’m raising
my chin and closing my eyes, allowing the fine spray to coat my face and wash away my tears …
I stand here a solitary figure but I’m not alone …
I’m woken by a mighty bang! I’m tossing and turning, struggling to find a comfortable spot. This
enormous bed is engulfing me like a winter sky; it’s a cold, vast wasteland of white. Through the voile
curtain I catch a glimpse of another exploding firework; it detonates and fills the Vegas skyline with
satellites that fizzle and die like a scattering of falling stars. Like us, they started out with so much
promise, a celestial celebration of love unbound but have become no more than a smoky cloud of
memories. Lying here deserted, I feel as if I have everything and nothing at one and the same time.
How is that possible?
Instinctively I stretch out a hopeful hand, finding only a vacant space. On my third finger are two
very expensive pieces of jewellery. A platinum engagement ring; a sapphire encrusted with ice white
diamond. As if that isn’t enough. Melded next to it is my wedding ring, still new and unfamiliar; one
half of something that was once whole. I know how that feels.
I sit bolt upright and slide off my wedding ring. It’s a perfect fit. I turn it over and over,
round and
round with the fingers of my right hand, peeking through it like an eye through a key hole into my 5
star world until … something catches my eye.
The bedside lamp illuminates the room beautifully but not enough to read what’s written inside it. I
need the cruel florescence of bathroom lighting to read the inscription. Blinking into the light I take a
closer look. As if I didn’t know …
I love you more
Those four little words send a pang of hurt the length and breadth of my body. I know what he has
on his ring … something very similar. I return it to my finger where it sits comfortably; two nestling
pieces of perfect platinum.
Looking up, I catch sight of myself in the enormous mirror. I look so plain. The only sparkle is
coming from my engagement ring as I run my finger through my bed hair. Ayden’s shirt is too big for
me but it feels comforting and his cologne still clings to the material. He’s with me in spirit but, I
recall, he left me with more than that …
In no mood for sleep, I stroll into the lounge in search of my laptop. It boots up quickly. I collect
the miniature memory stick he was so desperate for me to have, feeling more awake than is natural at
3.00 a.m. A row of folders appear. The first is called:
READ ME BETH
There are a series of links pasted into it, numbered one to five. Settling myself on the sofa cross
legged, with the laptop on my knees, I click on number one.
A video appears. It’s Ayden. He’s talking to me.
Not surprisingly my mouth is agape, my eyes wide with anticipation …
“Hello Beth. So you decided it’s time to read this … thank you baby.”
Unflinchingly, he stares into the camera, looking a little drawn but conveying more in those azure
pools of his than can be explained in words.
“When I left you last night it was to do this, knowing I wouldn’t be with you on our wedding night. I
figured you’d need to see me now more than ever …”
He smiles softly and shrugs his shoulders.
He’s right.
“I won’t pretend things are alright and you have nothing to worry about. Doing that would insult
your intelligence and, besides, I hate having to lie to you.”
He takes a sip of coffee and continues … “Several months ago, Jake asked if he could oversee a
developmental opportunity involving the MOD in the UK and I took a look at it and said sure, why
not?
Over the past six months our development team has been working on modifying chips to be used in
metal detectors. The current ones are unreliable and we had them look into the possibility of tweaking
the sensitivity and depth capacity, so improving the device. After testing they proved to be 60% more
efficient and 20% more cost effective, so …
It was a good opportunity for diversification; potentially a worldwide venture. Jake done good.” He
smiles at his use of the vernacular. “Well, it looked that way until two nights ago; the first
consignment was intercepted at Riyadh Airport. Don’t ask me by who, I don’t know. But, needless to
say, not the ‘good’ guys.”
He takes another sip of coffee, leans back in his chair . “So, you’re thinking … what’s the big deal?
Who gives a fuck about chips modified for metal detectors? I asked the same question … Turns out,
they can be radio controlled, with an extended range, keeping army personnel as far away as possible
from IED’s, which is a good thing. But they can be adapted to suit less peaceful uses too.
So … the consignment goes missing and alarms go off at MI5 and, although Jake’s signature is on
the paperwork, ASMI is slapped across the letterhead. That’s me, up front and centre. They insisted I
fly back with them to the UK to be interviewed but I said I wouldn’t until after our wedding. They
agreed, but they’ve been following me around like flies on shit since the incident, making sure I don’t
abscond to Argentina or somewhere I can’t be extradited from. The rest you know …”
He bites his lip nervously. ”I’m not worried about me. This will be sorted out, it just seemed right I
should be the one taking the fall. The buck stops with me after all and Jake has dual UK and US
nationality which would have only exacerbated the situation.”
He looks into the lens, seeing for a hundred miles, piercing my soul as he surveys the scene. “I’m
worried about you baby …” He turns from the camera momentarily to compose himself. “You’re the
one who’ll suffer because of this fuck up and I feel bad about that. But, it’s like you keep reminding me
… I have a family and I take care of my own. I think it’s best you take the jet and fly home with Charlie
and stay with her for a couple of days. Just until you get your bearings.
What I don’t want you doing is retreating into your shell and hiding away again. You’ve seen a
small part of the world Beth this past month and it’s been the best experience of my life to share that
with you, truly, but …” He purses his lips and thinks hard. “But … you’re my special genie,
remember? You’re out of the bottle now. Don’t let this fiasco come between us, please …”
I hit pause. Without thinking my fingertips move towards the screen, caressing his angst ridden
face. To think he did this last night, returned to our bed and battled through the day as if he hadn’t a
care in the world. Selflessly, he did that for me.
As with everything he does, he leads by example. Now it’s my turn to live and learn, and love my
husband as best I can. Even from afar.
I let him continue. “I have a couple of surprises for you. Remember your idea, HeartBeats©, it’s
live. My guys are good! I’ve used it to put some musical messages together for you.”
There’s that gotcha smile I love so much. The one he creates out of nothing but means everything to
me. All at once he’s here, caressing my heart with a smile.
“So, on this, our wedding night, I want you to take me to bed with you and to listen to the latest
additions to the soundtrack to our love. These words from my lips to your heart baby. I love you …”
“I love you more Ayden,” I reply, feeling tiny saltwater droplets falling onto my forearms like
angels’ tears.
For some reason he lingers, as if not wanting to leave. Through the screen we connect and I hit
pause, willing him to stay, unable to let go. Like a heartbeat, involuntary sobs escape from my throat,
filling the room with sorrowful sounds. I have to let him finish.
I wipe my nose with one hand and hit the space bar with the other. He manages to manufacture a
sexy smile out of thin air for my benefit, even though I know he’s hurting. That smile leaves the
confines of his digital world and makes its way into mine. Rather than ending the video he remains
and looks into the camera. As if by magic, time stands still, the way it always does between us. The
way it always has. I gasp, filling my lungs with oxygen and leaving it there to infuse my blood. He
gives me the look, intentionally, mischievously then winks. I’m crying but laughing too. How I love
this man.
“Be bold baby.” The video ends.
Through happy tears I’m smiling and wrapping my arms around my body, not because I feel chilled
but because I’m glowing with pride. I want that aura to seal itself to my skin so I can wear it like a
brid
al gown or a suit of armour; whichever suits the occasion.
Returning to the original file, I click on Item 2. It’s instructions about what to do if I return to Stone
Heath. Essentially, it consists of calling Lester and letting him see to everything.
I forgo the other files and carry the laptop to my bed. I’ve seen all I needed to see. Now I can begin
to formulate a plan to get my husband out of the hands of MI5 and back into my bed. But not before
I’ve listened to Ayden’s musical message.
Settled under the sheets, I hit link number three, and the music starts. I know this song but it’s not
on my iPod playlist. He’s found it. For me. I lay back and listen to Tom Odell sing Grow Old With Me.
It’s perfect! It’s what I need to hear.
I close down the laptop and snuggle down. The vastness of this bed does not overwhelm me now. It
gives me the freedom I need to spread my wings, to push and stretch myself. After all, rescue plans
don’t formulate themselves. What was it Miss Austen said? “What is right to be done cannot be done
too soon.”
I know what I have to do, and I’ll begin tomorrow.
There’s a distant hum of activity. It’s 7.a.m. Another Vegas day is beginning, picking up where the
night ended, creating a seemingly continuous flow of human endeavour; just one more throw of the
dice or pull on that slot machine, in the hope of recouping lost savings.
The events of the past 24 hours are a blur. I have a recollection of a ceremony and a song; rings
exchanged and vows spoken but Ayden’s face, as he stood by that black car, will stay with me forever.
Last night’s video was inspirational; Ayden knows me better than I know myself. He’s afraid I’ll
retreat into my shell, fall back on my music or hide myself away from the world. I won’t do that. I
have enough strength of character to forge ahead and getting hold of his P.A. Charlotte, is the first job
on my to-do list.
Before scrolling down my contacts, I boot up the laptop resting silently on the bed next to me.
Quickly I click on the READ ME BETH folder and open the fourth link. Another video appears.
Before the first lyric is spoken, I’m smiling. This husband of mine has a sense of humour and he’s
TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) Page 40