The telephone rang. He wanted to leave it unanswered, but it wasn't stopping, so he struggled down the hallway and picked up the receiver.
“Hello,” he spat, hoping he sounded sufficiently pissed off to warn the caller not to prolong the conversation needlessly.
“Hello Larry.”
He knew the voice, without having to ask. Inside he raged, but managed to keep his voice calm. “What do you want?”
“I don't suppose she's there, is she?” asked David, sounding uncertain, a little nervous. There was a pause before he started again, “Only I—”
“No, she's not here. Now what do you want?”
A longer pause when all Larry could hear was breathing. He was about to erupt when David very quietly said, “I think we have a bit of a problem…”
She'd told him she had to go out, that she'd be back. There had been a telephone call and she seemed changed afterwards. Disturbed, pensive. striding up and down in the lounge, chewing her fingernails. David watched her with growing concern. Then the announcement and she'd rushed out. Since then, nothing. He'd telephoned the home, spoken to Jed. But she wasn't there. A whole night with no word, what was he supposed to do, what was he supposed to think?
“I've just got in from the hospital. There was a note, from Jed. He's gone to Scotland, with Matthew.”
“Scotland…Why would he go there? I don't understand what's going on. Where is Mary?”
“I don't know. Listen, you have a car. I want to you to get over here, as fast as you can.”
“Over there? But what's going on, Larry? You're not making any sense.”
“It's very simple, David. You're going to take me up to Scotland.”
“But…why?”
“Because, that is where Mary is.”
33
He waited on the corner, holding onto the wall with one hand, the crutch propped up next to him. Squeezing his groin with his free hand, the agony caused him to double-up. This was stupid; no strain, the doctor had said. Why the hell couldn't he just wait?
But Larry was past waiting; he no longer had the patience. He'd sat around for fifteen minutes, waiting for David to come and that was fifteen minutes too long. He needed answers now, so he'd made the decision and staggered around to Hannah's house. She was the only person who could have sent Mary the photographs. Either her, or her wastrel of a son. Whoever it was, Larry needed to know why. Hannah had made it abundantly clear that she wanted nothing more to do with him and he had tried, successfully, to get her out of his mind, so what was she playing at? Causing pain and anguish for their own sake? Or was there something more, something he was missing in all of this? He had to find out and now, here he was, like a pathetic, crippled old man, clinging onto a wall for support, out of breath and feeling like shit. He should wait, wait for David.
He took a breath and moved on.
There was a white Viva parked outside Hannah's house. He didn't remember her having a car; perhaps she had visitors. Well, that wouldn't change anything. Perhaps she would be so reluctant to tell him what was going on with others there. Witnesses. Hammering on the door, not bothering with the bell, he leaned back on his crutch and waited.
A shadow loomed up behind the door's frosted glass and he held his breath, heart thumping. This was it.
The door opened.
She looked stunning.
For a moment, he was lost for words and they stood, the two of them, staring at one another. She flicked hair from her face and smiled. “Hello Larry.” Then she noticed the crutch and concern crossed her features. “My God, what happened to you?”
“Accident. At work. Can I come in, or are you busy?”
A moment's hesitation. Was that a nervous look fluttering over her lovely face, her eyes darting towards the ground, or was that just his imagination? Wishful thinking.
“No,” she said at last, stepping aside. “No, I'm not busy. Come on in.”
She led him into the dining room. a large room, very cold. The carpet was plush and the furniture antique. Very grand, very unexpected. He always thought of her as a modern woman, with a real sense of fashion, but this room seemed trapped in turn of the century mode. He hadn't seen it on his last visit, but then he hadn't seen very much, his one concern to get between her legs as quickly as possible.
“Cup of tea, Larry?”
“No. Thanks.” She smiled, he didn't. “This isn't a social call.”
She nodded once, mouth becoming hard. “You'd better sit down then.”
He did, wincing as he gently lowered himself into the chair and watched her as she sat down opposite. He noted she didn't cross her legs this time, not wanting him to catch a glimpse of her bronzed legs. He was pleased about that, not wanting any distractions.
“You sent photographs to my wife,” he said without preamble. “I want to know why you did that.”
“Photographs?” She shrugged, “Larry, I—”
“I know you sent them, you're the only that could have. I just want to know what the reason was. You have no interest in me, Hannah. I know we had some time together, but you made it clear you didn't want anything else. So why? Why did you do it?”
“God, you're so angry.” She spread her hands, “Larry, it was just a fling, for Christ's sake! I thought you understood that.”
“Aren't you listening? I'm not interested in you, or any of that! The photographs. Of us. You and me. I want to know two things – who took them and why you sent them to Mary?”
“I didn't. And as to who took them…” she shrugged. “Isn't it obvious?”
“No, it isn't. Was it planned; it must have been planned. You lured me in, didn't you? The whole thing – you tried to hurt me and, when you realized that I didn't really give a damn, you decided to include Mary in your spiteful little scheme.” His breathing grew strained, the pain in his lower abdomen like sin. He gritted his teeth. “What have I ever done to you?”
She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “You? Why does everything have to revolve around you? What the hell are you, Larry? Just a pathetic little man, with nothing to show for his life except for the paint underneath your fingernails! God, it was so easy to seduce you, you were so desperate for it! And don't kid yourself that you haven't thought about me every night since, because you have. I know you have. You've relived that afternoon over and over, haven't you? I reckon you've jerked yourself silly over it. Tell me it's not true, Larry. Tell me that you still don't want me so much it hurts?”
His eyes bulged in his head, his temples throbbing. Her words cut like knives, severing any vestiges of self-respect he may have had.
She slid onto her knees and moved over to him. He watched her, transfixed, her superbly manicured fingers running up his legs, reaching his crotch.
Her voice was thick with desire, “You want me so much, don't you Larry.”
Without realizing what he was doing, his hand ran through her hair as her fingers played with the zip of his trousers.
“Say it, Larry.” Her voice so low, so soft.
“Oh God, Hannah.”
“Say it.”
Her mouth came up towards his and his eyes closed, the anticipation of tasting her sweet lips sending him into a whirlwind of uncontrolled, mindless longing. Nothing else mattered except the touch of her, the feel of her, the need of her. “God.”
“Just say it,” her lips so close, brushing against his. Like cream, smooth as silk. Yielding.
“I love you.”
Her lips closed on his and he was lost.
No strain, the doctor had said. Was sex included in that, he wondered. He lay on the carpet, trousers ripped away, dishevelled, abandoned, completely satiated. Hannah made tea in the kitchen, humming a song. Clawing at his hair, he groaned, dismayed. He needed more than tea, he wanted his head testing. But what was he supposed to do, with her hands and her mouth doing those things to him. She rode him so gently, so slowly, straddling him, her feet planted on the floor either side of him, sliding up and down on his h
ardness. Treating him with such concern, such care, she urged him to come, to give himself totally to her. Nothing else. So unselfish, so utterly irresistible.
He'd called round to have it out with her, to get to the bottom of the photographs, to find out what the hell was going on. Instead, he'd ended up having the most amazing sex of his life. He felt ashamed at his own weakness. Hadn't he put her out of his mind, hadn't he fought the demons and emerged victorious? What folly that was, what self-deceit. Wasn't it best for him to accept he was totally besotted with her? Love. That was another thing. He'd said he loved her, not once, a dozen times as she moved up and down on him, but that was in the throes of passion. Wasn't it? Surely…
Sitting up, he gingerly pulled on his trousers, stopping to examine the dressing across his stomach. There was a slight stain, like olive oil. Very carefully, he pulled the bandage away and peered at the stitches. One or two had puffed up significantly. There was blood. Nothing major, he didn't think. Nothing to be too worried about. He'd have to be careful. No strain. He closed his eyes, cursing himself again for being so weak.
He heard Hannah clattering tea cups, so he hurriedly patted the dressing back into place, and hitched up his trousers. He was still fumbling with his belt as she came through the door, carrying a tray with a pot of tea. She paused in the doorway, head tilted to one side, pursing her lips, looking hurt. “Ah, don't tell me you don't want seconds?”
Larry stared at her, incredulous. She smiled, put the tray down on the dining room table, and came over to him. She had pulled on her skirt and blouse, but her underwear was still lying where she had thrown it. She shook her head in mock disappointment. “Honestly, Larry, and I thought you'd missed me…” She licked her lips and squatted down next to him, already reaching for his zip. “Let's see if I can't make you change your mind.”
Five minutes later, perhaps less, she poured the tea, humming to herself. Larry, in contrast, was slumped in his chair, sweat beading across his brow, totally drained. She'd brought him off with her mouth, relentlessly moving her lips over him, making him so hard he thought he would explode. He'd called out her name when he orgasmed; not so much called as shrieked, lost in the passion, the all-consuming, glorious wrongness of it all. She had conquered him, completely. She was his mistress, his controller, his entire world. Nothing else mattered. He didn't care a sot about Jed, Mary, or anyone else. All he knew was that when he was with Hannah, the whole world could fall down around him and he wouldn't care. She was everything.
She sat down next to him and gave him his tea. He pushed himself upright, wincing a little as a twinge of pain lanced across his groin. “You shouldn't exert yourself so much,” she said, raising the tea cup to her lips, winking at him.
He laughed. “Does this mean…you know…us…”
Hannah put down her teacup and chewed at the inside of her lip for a moment. “I have to admit, Larry, you are quite something.” She absently ran a finger along the front of his trousers. “Really, you are rather good. I think we should take it slowly, maybe you calling around once or twice a week…” She winked again, “Or perhaps three times?” Another sip of tea. “But, I want you to understand one little thing.” She looked him straight in the eye. He was mesmerised. “I have quite large needs, Larry. I have…others who like to visit me. You understand what I'm saying?” He nodded limply. “I don't want any of that silly, petty jealousy. We'll have our evenings, and that is that. The rest of the time, we have no contact. Not unless I say so, that is. Is that clear?” She drank her tea and stood up. His eyes never left her. “You fill a need, Larry. I love to dominate, I'm sure you've noticed. My other gentlemen, well…they tend to dominate me! Variety, as they say…” She smoothed down the front of her skirt. “You can go now. I'll see you on Friday evening, seven o'clock.”
A puppy dog, that's what I've become, he thought to himself. He obediently got to his feet, put the teacup down on the tray and limped out of the house without another word. She closed the door behind him and he stood, on the path, feeling like a man who had just won a million pounds. The pain in his groin was a mere memory now and he believed he could throw away the crutch and skip back to his house, everything forgotten; his anger, his decision to find out about the photographs…they were nothing now. Trivial. So what if she had sent them. She had actually been jealous, that's what it was. She must have seen Mary returning to the house and become distressed, thinking that his wife had come back permanently. So, she'd acted, in the only way a scorned woman would act. It was a natural reaction and he should have thought about it a lot more before he'd gone steaming round there. But then, if he hadn't…He grinned to himself, reliving the moment. God, she was everything. Everything.
A stab of pain and he fell against the wall, hissing through his teeth.
“Larry.”
He looked up suddenly at the sound of the man's voice. In that moment, the real world came flooding back in the shape of his wife's lover, David.
“I had to tie some loose ends up before I came over. I hope you haven't been waiting too long.”
“I had some business. Sorry. It's all done now.”
“Are you all right – you seem to be in a lot of discomfort.”
Larry patted his abdomen lightly. “I'm fine.”
“Well, no matter…Are you ready?”
“Ready? Ready for what?”
“Scotland! Remember, that's why you told me to come down here. Scotland, to find Mary.”
Larry closed his eyes, shoulders slumping . Yes, of course, he did remember. Some of it. The Scotland bit certainly. He chuckled, “God…sorry, I completely – look, come in for a moment and…”
But then another voice made them both turn at that point. A voice of anger, shouting loudly, almost to the point of hysteria. Larry groaned inwardly as he saw the shape of Brian Randall powering towards them, fists clenched, face puffed up like a beach ball, distressed and furious. Larry leaned on his crutch, shaking his head, feeling a little self-conscious. “Brian, please don't think I—”
From nowhere, the fist exploded into the side of his face, sending him reeling backwards, floundering, grasping at the wall for support. He was more shocked than hurt, and his legs wouldn't work. He went down hard, planting his buttocks on the solid concrete with a grunt. Through a swirling mist he saw Brian moving over him, snarling, preparing to strike again. But nothing happened, and that was because of David.
“Pack it in!”
Brian span round, dashing away David's uplifted hand. He didn't know who David was, but his rage was out of control. “I'm going to kick this bastard's head all over the street, and no one is going to stop me – understand?”
“I'm warning you,” said David, his voice full of menace.
“Fuck off, grease-monkey! Unless you want a kicking too.”
But David was no grease monkey. Brian should have guessed, by the quiet, assured way David stood, unblinking, feet slightly apart. He should have noticed how well balanced David was, how fit, the bulges beneath the jacket a clue to his strength. But he didn't and when he tried to launch another assault, David parried the blow, turning him, pushing him away with the heel of his palm.
Brian grunted in pain, rubbing at his chest, confusion crossing his features. It should have been enough, enough to give him some insight as to the sort of man he was up against, but Brian no longer cared. He swung hard, but his punch hit fresh-air. As did the next, David bobbing and weaving. Then David hit him. Once, twice, three times and there was nothing else for Brian to worry about because Brian was on the ground, unconscious, not worrying or thinking about anything.
“How the hell…” Larry groaned as David helped him to his feet. He couldn't take his eyes from Brian's inert form, lying there, stretched out. “That was amazing.”
“Who the hell is he?”
“Don't ask.”
“I just have. I think you need to tell me what's going on.”
Larry shook his head, trying to clear the fog. It wasn't work
ing. But he knew one thing, very clearly; he was thankful he had never turned his anger and frustration out on David. If he had, it would be him that was lying on the ground, not Brian. “David…I don't know.” And the simple truth was, he didn't know what was happening. The blow on his head had shaken him awake, in an ironic sort of way. He knew he'd been to see Hannah, but what had happened there, what they had spoken about, he didn't have a single clue. He pinched the bridge of his nose before tenderly lifting up his shirt. The patch on the dressing appeared darker now and larger. “Shit. I think I might have burst some of the stitches.” He shook his head, blowing out his cheeks. “I feel like I've been drugged.”
Hannah, watching from her bedroom window, cursed when she saw David felling her son. She turned and looked across to her bed and the man lying there. “I think we're going to have to move to Plan B,” she said, a little sadly. “I had been quite looking forward to seducing Larry Meres again. Now, I'll have to wait a little longer for some further fun.”
“You're an insatiable bitch,” said Sullivan, throwing back the covers, Stepping out of bed, he ran his fingers through his hair. Hannah's encounter with Larry had excited him and the all-in wrestling he had experienced afterwards with this incredible woman left him emotionally and physically sated. He stood next to her and looked across the street. “I'll phone the station,” he said. “I'll get a patrol car to come round, take them in for questioning.”
“And an ambulance, perhaps.”
He smirked. “For Meres, or your precious son?” He didn't give a fig about Brian. Why he ever recruited him was beyond reason. Useless and moronic. Still, he was her son. “Yes. An ambulance too.”
“Larry mentioned Scotland.”
“Mmm…” He rubbed his chin. “I'll give Matthew a call as well. Seems like things could come together quite nicely after all.”
34
Jed stood in the hallway watching the rain. Matthew gently replaced the telephone receiver and stood next to his brother. He shivered slightly. “Horrible day.”
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