by Flora Dain
‘I doubt that, after their fight yesterday. It was pretty bad.’
Now Eldon chips in. ‘Hi, Ella. No harm rubbing the old man’s nose in it. He owes Darnley, big time. We all do. Give him our love.’
From Eldon that’s really something. I whisper a heartfelt thank-you and feel tears prickle as the pair cut the call.
But repeated calls to the police department get me nowhere.
Yes, he’s still being questioned. No, he’s not allowed visitors. Will he be out soon? Not till he calms down.
What are they doing to him? Surely they can’t pin random sex attacks – or whatever these things are – on a man like him …
By the time I face my first students of the day it’s barely nine and I’m exhausted.
For the new intake all my sessions are timetabled for the morning so I put off an afternoon shopping trip to Healdsburg and head back. After a spot of lunch I carry on with the calls, but the police department’s still tight-lipped and Freda’s off-line.
Finally I’m curling up on the sofa with a belated cup of coffee when I get a call from my Mom.
‘How are you, dear? It seems ages since we talked. I just wanted to ask about your plans for the wedding?’
She knows me well, so she’s harder to convince than Lydia but I manage to hint that wedding plans are on hold. I leave out the parts about the groom facing jail and possible ruin, and his fiancée wondering if she’s gone crazy or if it’s simply the rest of the world.
Mom’s never been one to snoop. Maybe she thinks Darnley and I have issues. If so she’s too diplomatic to say so. ‘You sound tired, dear. All that sea air. Get into the kitchen. Bake a cake. Works for me every time.’
After she rings off I have to smile. Sea air, indeed. I grew up by the sea. It’s not sea air that gets to me, it’s all the other stuff – Darnley, Ryan, a mystery stalker with a lewd taste in artwork and a possible cave troll, funny in the morning but a different matter late at night.
And that’s before it starts messing with your love life …
This is California, the land of make-believe, where they make the movies. I seem to have walked right into one – and now it’s turning scary.
But maybe she’s right about the kitchen. Tonight’s the chef’s night off, and it looks like I’ll be dining alone …
* * *
When Darnley finally walks in, the kitchen’s filled with the delicious aroma of baking. I’m waiting for the second batch to finish and just whipping up some frostings, tasting as I go. I’m also seriously under-dressed to greet a troubled, fresh-from-the pages-of-a-magazine multi-millionaire – my face clean of make-up, my hair in bunches and my tight shorts and stretchy singlet generously daubed with patches of brightly coloured frosting.
I stare at him, wooden spoon part way to my mouth. ‘Hi,’ I say, like an idiot. ‘I’m making cupcakes.’
He lifts an eyebrow as he takes in the wrecked kitchen. ‘Is that what it is? For a moment I thought war had broken out.’
I fling down the spoon, fly across the room and throw my arms around him. ‘How are you? What did they say? Are you OK?’
‘Hey. One at a time. I’m fine. First let’s talk about you. This how you spend your time when I’m in jail? Spraying frosting all over the place?’ Gently he unwinds my arms and eases me away from him, leaning down to lick my cheek. ‘Chocolate?’
He’s here. And he’s fine. And all at once I’m so happy I could cry. Maybe I will cry.
‘Mocha,’ I murmur. ‘Coffee and chocolate mixed. And the pink is strawberry. Real fruit,’ I add weakly, as he peels up my tight stretch-rib, snatches the spoon and smears a generous dollop of pink frosting all over one breast.
He glances at me and then stoops to taste, his tongue unearthing my twitching nipple from under the frosting while he savours the flavour. ‘Mm. Strawberry? With a touch of vanilla, I’d say. What’s this one?’
I stand very still as he dips his finger in a small bowl filled with light green cream-like frosting and smears a generously laden finger across the other nipple, making me arch.
‘Pistachio,’ I whisper, as his mouth fastens on my breast and he sucks on my aureole, his tongue chasing every trace of sugar before he slowly releases me, trails light, sweetened kisses all along my arched, rigid throat and finally reaches my mouth.
He folds his arms around me, crushing me to him as his tongue searches my mouth, swooping deep as we reunite after twenty long hours apart.
‘You taste delicious,’ he murmurs, as he pushes at the waistband of my tight, thin shorts. ‘What’s for supper? I’m starving.’
* * *
My kitchen efforts meet with mixed success. With Darnley’s help I manage to burn the second batch of cakes while he tests the remaining flavours, which is just as well because I’ve made far too much for just one batch. It seems a sin to waste it so he makes me strip off and do the rest naked.
Now I have to decorate the cakes with his hands all over me, his tongue in all the places I like it and with frosting being eagerly licked off places that make my hand shake too much to make pretty patterns, so some of the frosting petals go off-centre while I squirm in his arms.
‘And now look,’ he grins, as I finish the last one with a flourish and place a silver ball on the top. ‘You’re all over frosting. Me too,’ he adds, and I see to my horror he has smears of colour all over his costly jacket and sharp designer jeans.
His eyes narrow as he fingers one of my bunches. ‘And here you go again, dressing up like a strip-a-gram while I’m out of reach. Disgraceful.’
I’m burning up with the excitement of seeing him, not to mention all the licking. As he leads me upstairs his dark look could melt more than frosting as our sticky hands clasp and my breasts swing free, rosy from all the hot action they’ve been through. I still have smears of chocolate down one thigh where he missed some in his hurry to reach the riches further in, and my feet are leaving a trail of pastel smudges all up the stairs.
‘What happened?’ I’m desperate to know why he was questioned.
His eyes narrow as he ushers me into the shower and reaches for the faucet. ‘Hold still. I’ll clean you up first.’
In the shower he holds my gaze and fires my flames with long, slow strokes of his gel-laden fingers. He keeps his voice low, but what he tells me is genuinely weird.
‘They asked me repeatedly about where I’d been and when. If I ever rode motorcycles, if I was gay.’
‘Gay?’ I gasp. ‘Why?’ Just then he aims the spray right between my thighs and makes me shriek. I cling to him.
He pulls me close and wipes stray tendrils of wet hair out of my eyes and then kisses me lightly on the tip of my nose.
‘Seems the attacks are all on young men. Somebody comes up behind them, cuffs their wrists with toy handcuffs and makes revving-up noises. It’s thought the attacker jerks off in his jeans or something and then runs off. That’s all he does.’
‘Is that even serious enough to be called an attack?’
‘It’s scary for the victims, like it once was for me. The guy needs help, obviously. But they have to catch him first. So far I’m their only lead. And now you’re going to bend right over so we can shower your back and your luscious little backside.’
Eagerly I obey, partly because I love the feel of his hands caressing my rear, and partly from sheer relief. The attacks sound more comical than anything. But I guess they’re still attacks. And even though they’ve clearly got the wrong man, the police instincts may be right – it does sound Kraik-related.
His evil is still out there. But to my surprise, Darnley seems surprisingly casual over this. He must be healing.
After I wash him off I slide sinuously down his body to give him a welcome-home treat, thrilling to the scent of his fresh-washed thighs as I rinse away the lingering odours of the cells of San Francisco. As I lean over to swirl my tongue around his purplish, burning erection I smile up into his eyes, eager to make this really special and bring some
tenderness back into his life.
Cupcakes may be fun, but this will do the trick.
After the trauma of the last few days I thought he’d freak. But his calm, loving smile tells me he’s fine – and he’s mine. As I take him deep and the tendons stand out like rods on his neck I also know that in a few blissful seconds from now he’ll be finer than ever.
* * *
Later we curl up on the sofa, still in our robes, and eat a chicken salad I rustle up for our meal, followed by sliced avocado with a spicy tomato dressing and cupcakes for dessert. We wash it all down with some light, crisp local fizz.
As he folds his arm around me and pulls me close I sip the last of my wine and kiss his jaw. ‘So what changed their minds?’
He grins. ‘The attacker struck again while I was being questioned.’
‘Really? That’s wonderful.’ I throw my arms around him and hug him tight.
Gently he pushes me away, his face stern. ‘And now I want compensation for those bunches. Get over my knee, you naughty girl.’
‘Now?’ I feel a twinge of alarm.
‘That was a command,’ he says softly. ‘Both legs up here, round my waist. Open wide. And lean on the floor with your elbows. I think this should be a two-hander.’
What follows is so intense I almost wish I’d said no, but that could have made it worse. His hands land so fast and so hard I’m gasping and, I suspect, very pink when he finally grins and hauls me up by the hips. By then my bottom is on fire and so am I. He gathers me onto his lap, facing away from him as he leans against me.
‘Mm, lap dance. Nice.’ We both shed our robes and now I lean back against him as his burning erection juts into my back, making me long to touch it. I arch like a cat as he reaches round to feel me, his fingers driving me wild.
‘Are you ready, Ella?’ His low murmur sends tremors though me as he presses harder, and now I’m poised on some brink, high and dry while his finger hovers, poised for the finish. ‘Are you going to come for me?’
At that moment there’s an upheaval below me as he lifts me and thrusts inside, impaling me again and again, and the jolt against my softest part shoots through me like electricity as I tumble over the edge and writhe in his lap, imprisoned in an eruption of pleasure as he rides me mercilessly from below. When he comes as well he holds me close while I lean back on his shoulder, warm, clean and content.
At last we stretch out along the sofa. All at once he glances at his watch.
‘Hey. I have to go make a call.’
‘Can’t it wait?’ And can’t he do it here? He often makes calls in front of me …
He touches a finger to my lips. ‘Just business. Two minutes, I promise.’ His parting kiss is almost a salute as he fondles my upthrust breasts, my nipples already stiffening with hunger and desire.
I wait two minutes, and then another two. After two more I hear him call out. ‘Ella?’
I smile, still relaxed and sprawling, comfortably lazy. After a second, though, something in his tone strikes me as odd. I sit up slowly as he calls again.
‘Ella.’
Startled, I snatch up my robe and run down to the entrance area. As I see Darnley I pull up short.
He’s standing very still, staring up at the wall. He walked away from me naked. As I catch sight of him I stare at him for a full moment. He looks stunning – pagan and beautiful. But something in his stillness scares me.
Then I turn my head to see what he’s looking at.
His NewsPeak portrait, that I spent so much time and loving care to have framed and installed, is slashed to pieces. Shards of it hang like ribbons and dangle over the edge of the frame. There are small pieces of it ripped to shreds on the floor, which is a glittering mass of broken glass.
Slowly Darnley turns to me, his face gaunt, his eyes burning.
‘Ella?’ This time his voice is barely a whisper.
But I freeze as I lower my eyes.
He’s holding a knife.
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘Darnley?’ He’s flipped. It’s the only explanation. And all this time I thought he was OK … ‘Give me the knife.’ My mouth feels dry. My words are just a strangled whisper. I hold out my hand, keeping my gaze locked on his.
‘Knife?’ He looks lost for a moment, and then looks slowly down at his hand. ‘The picture …’ He frowns at me.
Does he even know who I am?
‘Did you do that, Ella?’
Shit. Now I know for sure he’s flipped. I try to keep my voice steady. ‘Me? No. The knife, Darnley.’
I sound a lot firmer than I feel. Sometimes drama teaching has its uses.
He’s staring at it like he’s never seen it before. ‘It was on the floor. I picked it up …’ He sounds bewildered. He looks down at himself, startled. ‘Where the fuck are my clothes?’
Carefully I ignore the glories of his tense, naked torso and try not to panic that he’s having some kind of blackout. Keeping my eyes firmly on his I prise the knife carefully out of his hand. His fingers are gripping it so tight it takes a moment. And he’s very cold. As soon as I wrench the knife free of his clinging fingers I fling it across the room and take his hand in mine. ‘We were making love. Don’t you remember?’
His eyes narrow. ‘For a second there, I thought …’ He breaks off and takes a deep breath. ‘Sorry, Ella. I’m fine. It’s just …’ He frowns and draws me to him, his arm still cold. I see him swallow. And to my dismay his forehead is sheened with sweat.
All at once he snatches his hand away. ‘Get dressed. I’ll talk to the staff.’
‘Now? Can’t it wait?’
His eyes flash. ‘Wait? Fuck no. I want to know who did this.’
‘Ask them in the morning. It’s late. They’ll be in bed …’
‘I don’t give a shit if they’re in Timbuktu. I want them in here now. Make yourself decent.’
I race upstairs and haul on slim pants and a loose top and then wind up my hair.
As I head for the door my phone signals. I snatch it up and then pause.
It’s Freda. ‘Hi. Darnley back yet?’
Briefly I fill her in. ‘… and he seems fine.’
She snorts. ‘Oh, yeah? Don’t be too sure of that. Did they cuff him?’
My stomach shrinks. ‘Yes. What about Chet?’
‘He’s still too scared to talk clearly.’
‘OK. Let me know about Chet. And – thanks, Freda.’
She snorts again. ‘Chill, sister. We’re not on a date. And keep an eye on Darnley. He may be tougher than he looks but he’s deeper than you think.’
When I get back downstairs Darnley’s already dressed and talking to the staff. He looks taut and tough in a black T-shirt, jeans and a leather belt with a silver wolf’s-head logo for a buckle.
As I walk in more people are arriving. When they catch sight of the picture they look shocked. As I join him he gives me a swift downward glance. Something in his look makes me shiver.
At last he looks round at the group. ‘So, you can all see what’s happened. Who did this?’
There’s an uneasy silence. As the moments pass it deepens.
‘I don’t have to tell you that security here is light but effective. Nobody gets in or out without clearance. So somebody here did this and I need to know who it was. Now.’
One of the men from the control room clears his throat. ‘Sir? There’s no indication it was anybody here. There’s no disturbance in the frequencies for this room. So there could be – some kind of glitch.’
Now faces express real shock. For some reason this is a far bigger deal than the frenzied attack on his picture.
Darnley frowns. When he speaks again his voice is low. ‘OK, this may be complicated. Whoever did this can tell me in private and we’ll talk about it. But if anybody here has noticed anything unusual, anything out of the ordinary – anything at all – the boys and I want to know about it. And if we’ve heard nothing by morning I’ll fire the whole lot of you. And I’ll make damn sure yo
u don’t get work anywhere else for a long while. Dismiss.’
As they file out I stare after them appalled, and then clutch his arm. ‘Why did you threaten them like that? Maybe it’s an intruder.’
He rounds on me, furious. ‘Intruder? Shit, Ella, weren’t you listening? Our surveillance is foolproof. Nobody gets in or out. So it has to be one of us.’
I stare at him. ‘But we walk in and out freely. So do the staff. Surely it could be anybody?’
He shakes his head as the ghost of a grin softens the taut line of his mouth. ‘When you first walked in here you touched a fingerprint sensor, and then you touched a keypad. After that the system knows who you are and lets you pass. Here, I’ll show you.’
He snatches up a remote and jabs a button. Instantly the room fills with thin red streaks, like something out of Ocean’s Eleven – or maybe Twelve. I don’t do the math.
Instead I shriek, ‘Turn that off.’
Instantly the streaks vanish. I stare at him, panting and faintly nauseous. I can feel sweat on my upper lip.
‘Ella? What’s up?’ He’s frowning, his eyes filled with concern.
‘That’s terrifying. That has to be on all the time?’
‘Not all the time. Random. Mostly at night. We’re very exposed here. The walls are mostly glass, we’ve no fences, no gates. You’d sooner have guard dogs and padlocks? We’re in the twenty-first century. Calm down, Ella. The rays are harmless. They keep you safe.’
‘They look lethal. And what about that paint, on our first day here? They missed whoever did that.’
He shrugs. ‘That was outside. We’ve stepped up our outdoor surveillance since then. This is different. It’s indoors.’ He’s eyeing me steadily, his expression intent.
I swallow. ‘I was putting off telling you this, but if you’re firing people over it …’ As I tell him about the lipstick on my mirror and in my car, and the ripped gown in my suitcase, he listens in silence.
‘But your car was outside on the drive.’
‘They took the key from my dressing room. They even scattered my make-up.’
‘Christ, Ella. You could have told me this sooner.’ His eyes narrow. ‘If I’d known right away we could have set up extra cover, maybe even used long-range cameras to get a clear shot of them. Now it may be too late, if the system’s already breached.’ He turns away, thoughtful. ‘Or else – no, surely not. Not after all this time …’