It was then she awoke.
Marcus stirred as he felt cold fingers tracing an icy line down his back. He was instantly aroused. It was weeks since he and Cassie had made love and his body was ready for sexual release. He rolled over and straddled the supine body, gasping as hungry lips met his own, tongue probing with a passion all but forgotten. He responded in kind, giving himself up to the moment, hands reaching up to caress small hard breasts. Penetration was easy and effortless and soon he was rocking to the motion of intercourse as legs curled themselves around his back pulling him in deeper. Sharp nails raked his back, the pain making him cry out and plunge deeper still. As he approached his climax his body shook, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh at the base of her throat.
Cassie was shaking. The dream had been so vivid, so real. She looked down at her body, expecting to see the cuts and scratches inflicted by the trees, almost willing herself to see mud-caked feet. But there were no marks, no damage to her body at all. She heard a noise from the bedroom – Marcus crying out in his sleep.
She shook the dream away and pushed herself from the couch, standing on trembling, unsteady legs.
It was then she realised the crystal head had gone, the small glass coffee table in the corner of the room bare. She pummelled her eyes with balled up fists and looked again. The table remained empty, yet she was sure the head had been there when she’d emerged from the bedroom earlier. In fact she knew it had been there as she had felt herself flinch under the head’s unremitting glassy stare. Puzzled, she went back to the bedroom.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
The bed was heaving as Marcus moved under the sheets, bucking and thrusting as if engaged in passionate lovemaking. She reached out and snapped on the light, taking in the twisted sheets, the damp stains and Marcus’s deeply confused expression.
On the pillow, on her pillow lay the crystal head, staring blindly up at the ceiling, the enigmatic smile deeper than she remembered it, satisfied, almost triumphant.
‘But I... You were...’
Cassie gave him a look of disgust, switched off the light and walked from the room, slamming the door behind her.
‘We’ve got to talk about this, Cas,’ he said to her. He’d followed her into the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bidet as she went through the motions of applying mascara to her eye-lashes.
She ignored him, wishing she’d locked the door. In her opinion there was nothing to talk about. She couldn’t have found the right words even had she wanted to. Later she would find a letting agent and instruct them to find her a flat, as far away from Clerkenwell as was practicable.
‘Please,’ he said.
She smeared lipstick onto her mouth in quick, irritated movements. ‘I’ll be back in a few days to collect my stuff,’ she said, clicked her make-up case shut and left the bathroom. He heard the front door slam. ‘Shit!’ he said quietly.
He went through to the bedroom, took the crystal head from Cassie’s pillow and carried it back to the lounge. The couch still carried the indent of Cassie’s body. He flopped down into the depression, holding the head in his hands, the thoughts of passionate sex still fresh in is mind.
He stared into the crystal eyes, his fingers tracing the contours of the delicate face. His mind searched for answers, but in truth he didn’t want to discover them. For the moment he was content to bask in the events of the night. Answers could come later.
‘I might have just the thing,’ the letting agent said helpfully. He was young, attractive and he’d made it obvious he was going to do everything in his power to help Cassie, or at least to keep her in the office as long as possible. ‘How does Clapham sound?’
Cassie frowned. She didn’t know south London at all. Her only excursions across the river had been the odd concert at the Royal Festival Hall, and the occasional movie at the National Film Theatre. Other than that the other side of the river was an alien land to her. ‘Sounds good,’ she said at last.
The agent clapped his hands together in delight and handed her the details. ‘The property is a two bedroomed duplex apartment on the upper floors of a new development. So new in fact only three of the other apartments have been let. It has views across the common, a luxury kitchen and bathroom and a shared garden, but I should add the garden has a swimming pool for exclusive use of the residents. It really is a desirable property.’
Cassie turned the glossy brochure over and scanned the charges. It wasn’t cheap, but then she didn’t expect it would be. She could afford it – just – but the most important thing was its location; far enough away from Marcus to make a casual meeting with him impossible, and yet close enough to the centre of London where she worked. ‘And when could I move in?’ she said.
‘Today if you like. Just a few forms to fill in and the usual checks.’ The agent grinned at her.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll take it.’
‘Just like that? You don’t want to see it first? I could take you over there if you like.’
Swish.
Cassie jerked around in her seat. The sound had come from behind her. She’d felt a soft breeze on her neck.
The agent stared at her concerned. ‘Is everything all right?’
Cassie turned back to face him; something like fear in her eyes. ‘Did you hear that?’ she said.
‘Hear what’
She studied his face, looking for the lie but finding none. He seemed genuinely puzzled. She shook her head. ‘Nothing... it’s nothing. What were you saying?’
He relaxed, switching on the charm again. ‘I was saying I could take you over there. Give you a chance to look around. Find out if you really like it.’
Swish.
She started again but fought hard to retain her composure. She didn’t want to be here. She needed to put some distance between herself and the hangover from the dream. ‘Very well,’ she said, thankful now she had phoned in sick this morning. She prayed the apartment would be okay. Suddenly she felt she needed a bolthole.
Marcus left the flat and walked down St John Street. It was mid-morning and the early commuter rush had stalled. It would resume later in the afternoon, but for now the street was quiet, almost somnolent. A few of the tables outside the various restaurants were occupied with bright young things sipping cappuccinos and eating bagels filled with cream cheese and smoked salmon. He gave them barely a glance as he walked along.
He came upon the alleyway and turned down it, shivering as the autumn sun disappeared and he was plunged into shadow. He walked across the tree-lined square and down the narrow cobbled street. He passed the tailor’s, the grocer’s and the wool shop, but sighed in disappointment when he saw the iron grille padlocked to the front of Magellan’s shop.
He put his face to the grille and peered in through the front door. The place was as cluttered as it had been yesterday, but of the proprietor, of Magellan, there was no sign at all.
Next to the antique shop was a newsagent. He stepped inside, bought some cigarettes and asked the young woman who served him, if she knew the shop next door’s opening times.
She gave him a vacant look. ‘Opening times? The place has been closed up for the past four months.’
‘No, sorry, you’ve made a mistake. I was in there yesterday. I bought something. A man served me. Overweight, greasy hair. Magellan I think it was.’
She stared at him disinterestedly, saying nothing, waiting for him to leave so she could get back to doing her crossword.
‘Magellan,’ he said. ‘Ring any bells?’
‘Plenty,’ she said. ‘Last I heard he was inside for receiving. Didn’t know he was out; news to me if he is. I certainly haven’t seen him, and the shop hasn’t been open. You must be mistaken.’
Marcus shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
The girl shrugged and turned away, picking up her magazine and settling back down on the chair behind the counter. As Marcus walked from the shop she watched him go with suspicious eyes, then the draw of her crossw
ord proved too much and she forgot him.
He peered through the grille one last time before heading back to the flat. In a way he was relieved. Had he seen Magellan he would have felt obliged to ask him the origin of the head, how the man had come by it, who had carved it; all questions that were buzzing around his mind. But circumstances now dictated that the crystal head remain a mystery, an enigma like the smile that played on the carved lips. And the mystery was delicious; another aspect of the piece to savour. He quickened his pace, anxious to get home.
As he emerged from the alleyway his cell phone rang. It was Jeremy from the office.
‘Where the hell are you?’ his friend said. ‘Digicom were on the phone this morning. They’re coming back for another meeting with you today. Clayton’s hopping about like he’s been stung.’
Clayton was their boss, the head of the company. Marcus thought about the choice of phraseology and chuckled. There was only one head he was interested in today.
‘What’s so bloody funny?’ Jeremy said accusingly.
Marcus checked himself. ‘Nothing, sorry. Listen, Jerry, you’ll have to take the meeting. I’m not feeling so good today.’
There was a short silence on the other end of the phone. Finally his friend said, ‘You’re kidding me, right? You do know how important this contract is? Clayton is going to go spare.’
Marcus considered his next response as he walked. He could see his apartment block now, could almost feel the coldness of the crystal head in his hands. ‘Tell Clayton to shove his job,’ he said and switched off the phone, dropping it back into his pocket.
He stepped into the lift and hit the button for the top floor, nervous energy making him shift his weight from foot to foot as he ascended. He felt excited, liberated. For the first time in years he felt free of the shackles that bound him to his mundane life. Cassie’s leaving was another mark of that freedom, another responsibility he no longer had to think about. He hoped she wouldn’t be coming back.
He paused at his door, key poised to turn the lock. From inside the apartment he could hear a voice, singing softly; a beautiful voice, breathy and sensuous, unbelievably erotic. He twisted the key sharply and pushed open the door. ‘I’m home,’ he called.
Cassie walked around the duplex, feigning interest in the agent’s spiel. She was well aware he found her attractive and was quite prepared to use the fact to get herself the best deal possible on the apartment. But anything more than that he could forget. Living with Marcus had soured her feelings towards men in general, and although she didn’t believe anyone could be as self-absorbed as he was, she wasn’t willing to contemplate entering into another relationship; at least not yet.
‘Well,’ the agent said. ‘What do you think?’
She was looking out of the window at couples walking hand in hand on the common, the wide expanse of green that was one of the few attractive features she had so far seen in this part of London. ‘Yes,’ she said distractedly. ‘I’ll take it.’
The agent snapped his clipboard shut, closing the deal. ‘Great,’ he said. ‘So it’s just a matter of the deposit.’
Something in the distance caught her attention. She squinted her eyes to get a better view, but it didn’t help. It looked like a figure, standing just in front of a row of lime trees. In her mind’s eye she was dressing the figure in heavy hiking boots, worn cord trousers and leather jerkin. And was the face heavily bearded? She shuddered.
‘I’m sorry. I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Pardon?’ the agent said.
She wheeled away from the window, the image of the man crowding out all rational thought. ‘I don’t want to live here,’ she said, walking to the door. ‘Perhaps you could take me back now.’
The agent stared at her in confusion. ‘But of course, he said. ‘Do you need more time to think about it?’ he added, trying desperately to salvage the situation.
‘No,’ she said bluntly. ‘I couldn’t possibly live here.’ She opened the door and he had to jog to keep up with her as she descended the stairs.
As she climbed into the agent’s car she stole a glance back towards the stand of limes. The figure had gone.
Swish.
She slammed the car door, tapping anxiously on the dashboard with her fingernails as the agent sat down beside her and started the engine.
‘Hello, stranger,’ her mother said as she greeted Cassie at the door of her three bedroomed semi-detached. ‘What brings you to this neck of the woods?’ She ushered her daughter inside and went through to the kitchen to put the kettle on. If she was uncertain about any situation she made tea. Cassie had never been able to fathom if it was the beverage itself that gave her mother comfort, or the simple act of making it. Either way it seemed to help.
She hadn’t seen her mother in months and the last meeting with her had ended acrimoniously after their usual argument about marriage and babies. ‘I was wondering if I could stay for a few days,’ she said, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her mother making a fuss of putting tea bags in the pot and arranging the mugs on the work-surface.
‘How’s Marcus?’ her mother said, not looking round at her daughter and pointedly ignoring her question.
‘We’ve split up.’
Her mother froze, a spoonful of sugar poised above the awaiting mug. Cassie watched her shoulders sag slightly. She turned, spilling sugar on the work-surface. ‘Oh, Cassandra. How could you? Marcus is a lovely boy. Your father and I had such high hopes for you two.’
The truth of it was that Cassie’s mother was impressed by Marcus’s job and the salary he was earning. Her parents had only met him once and then only briefly. Marcus had been charming, of course, and her mother especially was impressed by such shallow, surface details.
‘It wasn’t my choice,’ Cassie said, feeling the need to absolve herself from any blame. It was a response learned in childhood; a way to side step the harsh criticism her mother seemed all too willing to heap upon her.
‘Well you must have done something to drive him away. These things are never one sided.’
Cassie flinched. She was very close to tears. It had been a hell of a day, and the last thing she needed now was another argument. ‘Do you mind if we drop the subject? I’m still a little raw.’ A single tear escaped from her eye and trickled down her cheek.
In a rare show of compassion her mother dropped the spoon she’d been holding into one of the mugs and rushed across to embrace her daughter. Feeling her mother’s arms around her broke down the dam holding the tears at bay and she began to sob uncontrollably.
Her mother stroked her hair. ‘There, dear, there. Of course you can stay... for as long as you like. Father won’t mind. He’ll be pleased to have his little girl living under his roof again. And you never know, after a few days Marcus might feel differently – you know what they say about absence – and take you back. Time’s a great healer.’
Cassie sobbed, taking small comfort in her mother’s litany of platitudes, but there was comfort to be found in having a pair of loving arms around her, and right now it was all she needed.
Jeremy Dymott leaned hard against the intercom button of Marcus’s apartment. ‘Come on, you stupid bastard, answer.’
He’d spent the day dealing with an irate Adrian Clayton, defending his friend’s absence, even in the face of the Digicom contract going down the pan. Clayton had made it clear that Marcus’s job was hanging in the balance. Determined to discover the real reason behind Marcus’s odd behaviour, he shouted into the speaker of the intercom. ‘Come on, Marcus, open up. I know you’re there.’ He’d checked out the apartment from the other side of the street. The curtains were closed, but there was a light on, and he could see a shadow of movement. He pressed again and waited.
Nothing.
He was seriously worried by the morning’s phone call to his friend. He’d never known Marcus to miss a day at the office. Even when he was suffering from a bad bout of the flu Marcus had hauled himself in and done a f
ull day’s work; such was his ambition and passion for the job. Taking a day out, for such a spurious reason went totally against his character.
He tried the intercom one last time to the same result, and gave up. He would come back in the morning, and if Marcus didn’t answer then he could go to hell. There was a limit to friendship and Jeremy cared too much about his own career to let it be tainted by his close association with Marcus.
In the Clerkenwell apartment Marcus lay on the bed, the crystal head on the pillow beside him. His fingers traced the contours of the face lovingly, willing the cold stone to become flesh. He could hear the persistent buzzing of the intercom, but sound was buried deep in the back of his mind. It could have been a fly buzzing about the room for all the attention he paid it. He knew that whoever it was would soon lose patience and give up. He certainly wouldn’t answer it.
He’d spent the day alone in the apartment, mostly sitting on the couch, holding the head in his hands, staring into the crystal, becoming lost in the swirl of feathery inclusions. He’d let his mind drift, remembering the passion of the night before, willing the scenario to repeat itself. Never had he experienced such overwhelming emotions. Never before had the simple act of sex had such a profound effect on him. With Cassie sex was a pleasant diversion, fulfilling him physically, but rarely touching his mind. Often, during their lovemaking he’d found himself thinking about work, about life, about anything other than the act he was engaged in.
Last night was different. He’d found himself swept away by the passion of the moment, his body and mind caught up in the unbelievably erotic sensations, giving himself up totally to the experience and letting himself be carried away, transported to a place where the only thing that mattered was the union of two bodies, hungry for each other, desperate for fulfilment.
Falling Into Heaven Page 14