Capture

by Flora Dain

  It’s a commercial with a message from one of tonight’s sponsors –‘Korn’ Kraik popcorn. Onscreen a grinning housewife with blond ponytail, dressed in homely red-and-white gingham, is holding up two packs of corn. ‘And shucks, everybody knew how great Fletcher Kraik was with kids. He was a terrific guy – and his popcorn’s terrific too. Just pop it and see …’

  In the distance I can see Darnley staring up at her, his jaw rigid.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Frantic now, I plunge into the crowd after him. Soon I’m attracting attention, my gown and my jewels a-glitter among the parkas and anoraks. People turn and stare. I push forward but I’m icy now and cut off from the car.

  Worse, I’ve lost sight of Darnley.

  All at once the crowd parts around me. Darnley’s men. The burly, seasoned professionals quickly cordon me off. One of them hisses low, ‘Hurry, ma’am. Get in the car.’

  News travels fast. More heads turn. Now they think I’m a celeb. Faces peer into mine but I’m straining forward, trying with all my might to reach Darnley. ‘Come back. Wait for me.’ Like I’m in a bad dream, a dozen pairs of hands clutch at me. Frantically I fight them off. Where’s he going?

  I’m getting nowhere while he’s further and further away, swallowed up in a sea of people. I have to be with him. He needs me.

  Somebody makes a grab for my necklace. I scream. Now there are hands all over me as the crowd closes in. All at once I sense bodies being hauled off me. Sickening blows ring out close to my ear, like wood thumping fruit. People fall back.

  It’s Darnley. He’s here and he’s gone crazy. He’s dragging people off me, punching wildly. The blows are fast and furious, the sickening crunch of bone on bone each time his fist connects. There are shouts as tempers fly and others join in.

  ‘Ella. You OK?’ For a second he towers over me, his eyes wild, his face smeared with blood. He grabs me with one arm and fends off the crowd with the other. His fist flails, still making contact. I feel the force of each blow judder though his ribcage. My body jerks as each punch connects.

  Now a helicopter hovers way overhead, the roar of its engine pierced by wailing sirens. For agonising seconds he locks me to him, his fury clearing a space around us like a force field. I feel the pound of his heartbeat hard on my back. He seems to hold the crowd at bay through sheer ferocity.

  Now more noise ripples through the crowd as police push towards us.

  Darnley rasps in my ear. ‘Go with Bullen. Get in the car. Now.’

  ‘No. I’m staying with you.’ I’m drowned out by the sirens. I cling to him but it’s too late. Police are pushing the crowd away, breaking up the fight. They haul us apart, tearing me out of his arms.

  In seconds his driver grabs me, drags me back to the car and bundles me inside.

  As I look back the police have finally wrestled Darnley to the ground.

  * * *

  ‘My orders are to drive you back to the apartment, ma’am.’

  But Bullen’s not talking to me. He’s met his match. In the back of the car I look on, still panting, while Darnley’s mother takes charge.

  ‘Nonsense, Bullen. She’ll stay the night at my hotel. She can’t possibly spend the night alone. We’ll deal with this in the morning.’ To judge from Bullen’s baffled expression, her regal air is a powerful counterweight to Darnley’s parting instructions.

  The others have been scooped up into another car and driven away. Savoy sits alone, calm and upright, taking charge by sheer force of will. She ignores the gawping faces rammed against the rear window and peering in the sides. We could be driving through the park.

  Bullen hesitates. I’m still in shock. She wins the day.

  When we reach her hotel she ushers me into a spare room in her suite, summons me a hot drink and after kissing me on the cheek she leaves me in peace.

  ‘You get some sleep.’ Her steely gaze softens a fraction. ‘Don’t fret. He’ll be fine. We’ll call the police in the morning.’

  She says nothing else – not about the opera, or her son’s magnificent last stand, or why she abandoned him all those years ago. I seethe to know, but I guess it’ll wait. So after a scrappy shower I nestle in the generous hotel bathrobe, curl up on the bed and stare into darkness while I think about all these things.

  In the morning we meet at breakfast. Her piercing gaze takes me in over the rim of her coffee cup.

  I ignore her polite greeting. ‘How is he? Have you heard?’

  ‘Still in the cells. I gather he’s being difficult.’ She smiles faintly, her tone calm. She leaves out the detail so my mind floods instantly with vivid, violent images.

  Like she knows this she stares me down sternly. ‘Eat something. You’re very pale. Enjoy the opera?’

  Rattled, I finally lose it. ‘“Apart from that, Mrs Lincoln, did you enjoy the play?” I’d have preferred it without the finale. You?’ I take a deep breath and fight for control. ‘I’m sorry. You’ve been very kind. How is Darnley, really? Have you spoken to him? When can I see him?’

  Her clear, untroubled gaze softens. ‘That’s better. I like your spirit. He’ll be fine. He’s tough. You of all people should know that by now. Here.’ She passes me a basket of pastries. ‘Take a Danish and try some of our home-grown coffee. We export it from the ranch. The hotel stocks it especially for me when I’m in town. This morning we’re going on a visit. Lydia’s arranged a little diversion for us.’

  My heart sinks.

  * * *

  ‘… And now we come to the Hawaiian option. Very popular with our elite customers who own private islands. Parades of hula girls, lei for all the guests, and soothing, moving music all through the vows by a bevy of dusky beauties moving in soft seashore rhythms …’ The woman facing us has sharp eyes and a wide mouth and I swear she’s new at this.

  She looks nervous and keeps clearing her throat. She’s been talking a while but no one’s paying much attention.

  ‘Go on, dear.’ Lydia grins round at the rest of us with a bright smile. ‘You’re doing very well.’ She glances at me and then away again. ‘I’m guessing this is Ella’s first meeting with a wedding planner.’

  I’m with Savoy and Cola and we’re in Lydia’s bright, sunlit apartment. We’re perched on little gilt chairs in her sitting room.

  All around us, on the arms and backs of sofas and armchairs, are swatches of fabric, one or two puffball gowns and posters of grinning couples in glitzy locations. The sharp-looking young woman making the presentation has a faint Spanish accent and glances repeatedly at her watch, like she’s waiting for something.

  I have my own ideas about weddings and hula girls are not included. We’ve been here nearly an hour and I’m going crazy. All I can think about is Darnley. I phoned all morning. He’s still in the cells.

  What must he be going through?

  While the woman passes me swatches of pastel-coloured silks and satins I smile politely and relive that awful scene in the icy cold of Times Square, his blood-smeared face peering down at me, livid under the bright neon, his rasping breath as he fought off my attackers, the feel of his fists clutching at me as Bullen and the police tore us apart.

  And this morning all anyone wants to talk about is wedding cake and bridesmaids.

  I know she’s trying to be kind, but my wedding’s really not her business. I’m about to say so when the door crashes open and Darnley walks in, cutting off the woman mid-sentence.

  He looks ghastly. I hurl myself at him and he pulls me close as the others spring to their feet. I peer up at him, my eyes stinging with tears. He’s cut over one eye and has sticking plaster on his hand. But he’s not looking at me. He’s staring at the woman.

  ‘Who’s this?’

  I see a new gleam in her eyes. Lydia steps between us and swiftly explains, but he looks past her, his eyes still locked on the woman. ‘She’s planning a wedding? Not mine, I hope?’ All at once he addresses the woman in rapid Spanish.

  Her reply sounds shifty. Cola and Savoy,
the other Spanish-speakers here, exchange a look.

  Lydia looks startled as the woman’s hand steals to her pocket but Darnley seizes her arm.

  ‘Hey. Cut that out.’ In the startled silence he glares at Lydia. ‘This woman says she’s met you in three restaurants that don’t exist.’ Slowly he lifts her arm and prises a small gadget out of her balled fist. ‘She’s taping everything. She’s a reporter. Get rid of her.’

  He pushes her roughly towards the door, still talking, his voice low and angry as he tells her she’ll have to sign papers on the way out and if not he’ll sue the ass off her editor.

  She teeters towards the elevator, a security man following behind. At that moment Aaron strides in, his face contorted with fury.

  At the sight of him Savoy sweeps out of the room, Cola in her wake. I sense the rift between Aaron and his first wife is still raw.

  But he hardly looks at her. As the door closes behind her he’s glaring at his son. ‘What in hell’s name’s going on? The hallway’s full of reporters. What do you think you’re doing, Darnley? You want to ruin us all?’

  ‘Aaron, for goodness sake –’ Lydia reaches for his hand.

  Angrily he shakes her off and yells at Darnley. ‘Joel just called. That statement you made? About the way Fletcher Kraik treated you when you were a kid? All that stuff about being handcuffed to his car and him scaring you shitless? It’s all over the damn Internet. It’s gone viral. Everybody knows about us now. What if the police start asking damn fool questions? Kraik’s been dead and buried for years – and now this? After all I’ve done to protect the family?’

  I see Darnley’s fists clench. His eyes blaze. ‘You protect the family? Like when, exactly? Like when you let Kraik into our lives and watched him walk all over us? By staying late at the office every time he came round our house to screw your wife and mess with your kids? By letting him take over our lives, choose our schools, send me to boot camp to toughen me up? I was twelve, for Chrissake. He made me go there at twelve and you let him? What do you think they do there, Dad? They don’t teach needlework, that’s for sure.’

  Aaron licks his lips. ‘That’s enough, young man. There are ladies present –’

  Darnley cuts in, his voice low and dangerous. ‘It’s me who protects everybody, not you. It’s me who’s spent a lifetime developing systems to keep us safe.’

  Aaron rounds on him. ‘Safe? You call this keeping us safe? You said those tapes self-destruct. Looks like we will too. What kind of protection is that, I’d like to know? Who else had a copy? Joel had one. We had one. They’re locked away, still in the safe. I checked. Who the hell else had one?’

  ‘I did.’ My voice sounds husky. Everybody turns to look at me. I feel my cheeks burn. ‘But I’ve no idea where it is now.’ I tail off at Darnley’s expression.

  Aaron rounds on me. ‘So what happened to it? You did this?’

  ‘Dad, that’s enough. Don’t you dare accuse Ella.’

  I step quickly between them. ‘Maybe there’s a simpler explanation,’ I say quietly. ‘Maybe one of the tapes was faulty. Maybe it stayed intact and somebody found it.’ And why, oh, why, did it have to be mine?

  There’s a stunned silence.

  Now what have I said? Maybe a faulty product’s even worse than a security lapse. And all at once it hits me – this must be a terrible moment for Darnley. And I’ve just made it a million times worse. Because in the heart of his family, when it matters most, his security broke down. The system he’d sworn would protect them has failed.

  Darnley’s still looking at me, his expression blank. ‘There you go, Dad. Maybe a disc was faulty. Happy now?’

  All at once I feel heady with relief as his arm unexpectedly steals round my shoulders and he pulls me close.

  Aaron glares at us both. ‘We never talk about Kraik, ever. We had an agreement, son. And you just broke it. If they start snooping around after all these years we’re all screwed. You can go to hell, my boy, but I’m damned if we’re going with you. You’re no son of mine. Now you can both get out of here.’

  Lydia claps her hand to her mouth as Darnley pulls me closer. With his eyes still locked on his father’s he uses his free hand to snatch up his cell. He keys in a number and switches it to speaker. ‘Eldon?’

  ‘Hi, bro. How’d things go at the Met? The Don rock or suck?’

  ‘Both. Been online yet this morning?’ Darnley keeps his eyes fixed on Aaron while Lydia looks on, stunned.

  ‘Yep. Sure did. Bummer.’

  Darnley’s voice could slice steel. ‘Tell me about it. Mom and Dad just threw me out.’

  ‘Whoa. Really?’

  ‘The thing is, Ella and I are in your apartment. You want us out too?’ The faint lift of his chin is the only sign of the effort it costs him to say this.

  I feel my stomach clench. His father’s turned him away, his world’s collapsed. Now he’s losing his brother?

  There’s an explosion at the other end. ‘What? No way, dude. You stay put. We’re staying around for the Oscars then we’re off to Mexico. Stay as long as you like, man.’

  Darnley swallows, his gaze still locked on his father. ‘Thanks, Eldon. Appreciate it.’

  ‘No sweat, dude. And easy on the emotion. For a minute there I thought you were turning human.’

  Darnley cuts the call and glances down at me, his expression blank. ‘You think I’m human, Ella?’

  ‘Nope.’ I kiss his cheek.

  The corner of his mouth twitches. ‘Good. Let’s get out of here.’

  As the door slams behind us we can hear Lydia’s voice rising to a wail.

  ‘There you go again, Aaron. Always losing your temper. And now you’ve lost us both our boys …’

  * * *

  In the back of the car I cling to Darnley, sniffling slightly into his lapels as he holds me tight with one arm. I’m still shaken. For him this is a life-changer but at least he’s safe, and he’s here.

  Now he’s stroking my hair. ‘Seriously, Ella. Do you want out?’

  I sit up. ‘What? Why?’

  He runs the back of his finger down my cheek. ‘Just checking.’

  Back in the apartment there’s no time for questions or explanations. We tear at our clothes as he finds my mouth, his lips urgent, his tongue impatient as we sink onto Eldon’s stylish leather sofa and scatter the cushions.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you too.’ He runs his hand over my arching ribcage as I lean up to meet his touch.

  ‘Never,’ I whisper. My soft response is half stifled by his kiss. I search out his swelling manhood with cool, eager fingers and he stretches out beside me with an impatient sigh.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  On his face pain flickers again but he guides my hand gently along his flies, folding his own warm hand round it as my fingers reach for his zipper. I thrill to the feel of him, hot and swelling, sturdy and responsive to my eager grasp. I see his eyelids lower.

  ‘Only inside. Not when I’m with you.’

  I meant from the tape, and this sudden explosion from his past. But I sense he’s still in shock. Kraik’s poison is still out there, and it’s just dealt him a sideswipe. My first task is to help to heal. We can talk later.

  ‘Lie back.’ I kneel up beside him and examine him slowly, my soft fingers pressing gently as I search his face for any reaction. He’s got some bruises but he only flinches once, when I touch his side.

  ‘Ouch.’ His rueful smile scares me but he kisses my fingers. ‘Hey, no biggie. I was enjoying that.’

  ‘You should see a doctor,’ I scold. ‘You need painkillers, an X-ray maybe …’

  He pulls me down to kiss him, finding my mouth with an urgency that stops my breath as his hand closes around the nape of my neck, his fingers threading into my hair. ‘Hey. You’re better than a medic. Fix me a Scotch and then get your luscious little ass back over here.’

  When I bring his drink and set it on a low table for him to reach he’s stretched out full length, watching me with
a lazy smile. I kneel over his hips, loosen my hair and let it trail over his chest. I lean forward to taste one tight, hard nipple with the tip of my tongue and move over his broad chest to the other. The way his pecs ripple as I do this makes me burn, so I do it some more and then straighten up and reach for his Scotch.

  ‘Hey. That’s mine.’

  ‘I know.’ I grin as I dip my finger into his drink and circle the rim of his glass. As it starts to make a low, ringing hum I put my finger in my mouth and suck it slowly. ‘And now you’re going to get it. But I’m going to serve it.’

  He looks on with his hands behind his head as I dip each breast in turn into his drink and present them to him to lick it off. He responds so willingly I’m soon swollen and aching from his urgent, hungry mouth. Every suck on my rosy, swelling aureoles makes me tremble, every nip and kiss on my tight, near-numb nipples makes me shudder.

  I get busy with my free hand, fondling his package with loving sweeps of my palm, letting my fingers slide over his swelling, silky skin and riding slowly and deliberately along his length, lingering at the crown with the soft pad of my thumb and then speeding up a little. Every now and then I make a sortie around his root, easing into the springy, bristling hairs and teasing his cool, hardening sac.

  He starts to groan, his arousal fuelling mine. The rise and fall of his chest is my only guide to what hurts and what pleases. Soon I’m burning up too, moaning with my own fierce arousal as the familiar flame flares up and settles into a low, throbbing ache.

  ‘What’s up? Scared I’ll bite?’ Instantly he does so. I yelp as he nips my pebble-hard nipple, making it stiffen even more.

  ‘I’m scared I’ll hurt you,’ I whisper, licking around first one and then the other of his tight, hard nubs. He tilts up my chin, his face serious. ‘There’s only one way you’d do that,’ he says softly. ‘That’s if you left.’

  Tears spring at the very thought. Leave him now, when he needs me so much? ‘No way. I’m staying right here.’

  ‘That’s good.’ His slow smile darkens with a new gleam. ‘Then you’d better get busy.’