The Concubine Affair

by Quig Shelby

  ‘Did you fly?’ Verity asked, as he followed her from the front door.

  ‘I got here as quick as I could,’ he acknowledged, looking up the stairs to the bedroom.

  ‘So soon?’ asked Verity.

  He blushed.

  ‘No I was just looking: I couldn’t honestly; not here, up there,’ he stammered.

  ‘So chivalrous,’ said Verity, with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

  But then again she’d found plenty of souvenirs from Marcus’ distractions over the years, be it in the back of his car, or in his jacket pockets.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ she asked.

  ‘Tea please,’ he said.

  ‘Alright but don’t have a heart attack when I pour myself a gin and tonic.’

  ‘But Verity ...’

  ‘You were the one who got me off the programme.’

  ‘Only at Monks Hill.’

  ‘Well Mr Fontaney you can’t pick and choose.’

  She’d stopped taking the disulfiram, and could take a drink without the headaches and nausea for company; she only needed Alain to give her palpitations.

  ‘Besides, I’m beginning to wonder why you have come,’ she said.

  He looked startled, disappointed even.

  ‘To see you of course,’ he said.

  ‘Well I’m right here, in front of you,’ she said ‘or do you need an audience.’

  He took the glass from her hand, and holding her in a tight embrace kissed as though he would never let go.

  ‘So you are pleased to see me after all,’ said Verity ‘but what a shame you have scruples.’

  ‘If it helps he won’t be back until tonight, unless he’s gone for the rest of the week,’ but Alain still shook his head.

  ‘Alright have it your way. But if you should change your mind I brought the clothes pegs in today,’ she said laughing.

  Was she mocking him? And did he enjoy it? He wasn’t certain on either.

  ‘Unzip me,’ she said.

  ‘Here?’ he asked, and she was still wearing her marital ring.

  ‘Well you won’t go upstairs,’ she said.

  He couldn’t resist Verity’s black basque or seamed stockings, nor did he want to. He was very much her toy, but the pleasure was reciprocal. The heat was too much, and his body melted into hers.

  ‘Never let the passion die,’ said Verity looking deep into his eyes, and she put a finger on his lips before he could answer.

  She liked that; it showed who was in control.

  ‘Zip me back up,’ said Verity ‘Marcus will be back anytime soon.’

  She delighted in his panicked expression.

  ‘Relax, I’m just kidding,’ she said.

  ‘Verity I wish you wouldn’t do that.’

  She smiled coyly.

  ‘Alain you know that I love you don’t you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, so then you know that if I ever hurt you it is out of love.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, and wondering where Verity was heading.

  He didn’t have long to wait, as she removed the thin plastic belt from her dress.

  ‘Have you sinned Alain?’ she asked softly but sternly.

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Only guess?’ she queried.

  ‘I mean yes I have.’

  ‘Then remove your shirt,’ she said, flicking the belt in her hand.

  Afterwards she placed her hand on his shoulder, watching him wince from the wounds she had inflicted with such beautiful relish.

  Time stood still for both of them, as they bathed in a spiritual and bruised love that transcended their respective guilt. They had united in love and suffering.

  ‘Alain you are the first man I have seen truly naked,’ she said. ‘I can see the beauty in your soul.’

  He lay stretched on the sofa, his head in Verity’s lap as she gently stroked his face, and running her fingers through his long dark hair.

  ‘History always repeats itself,’ said Alain thoughtfully.

  ‘Then we were always destined to meet again,’ said Verity.

  ‘But it appears all of our souls have reconnected,’ he said ‘me, you, the Emperor, and Heshen.’

  ‘Marcus an Emperor,’ said Verity ‘he would be pleased.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell him?’ asked Alain.

  ‘And let him have me committed,’ she replied.

  ‘Would you believe me if I said I’d been to the Imperial Court?’ asked Alain.

  ‘Probably not, but tell me more?’

  ‘I have a drug that makes it possible.’

  ‘Alain, no drug can do that.’

  ‘I made one.’

  ‘So my nurse is a chemist.’

  ‘I can prove it.’

  She didn’t doubt the voices he heard; after all she heard them too. And she knew without a doubt that she was Wa Yu the concubine, and Alain was the Jesuit priest she had fallen madly in love with once before. But to actually travel back in time, was that possible?

  ‘I changed something, something very important,’ he said.

  Alain explained; whereas his body remained in situ, his mind could connect to his previous incarnation, wherever it was in time.

  ‘No one ever believed me,’ he said ‘but I’ve proved them all wrong, even Doctor Calder.’

  ‘You told him?’

  She wasn’t sure why, but it worried her.

  ‘Only in passing, he’s so arrogant don’t you think?’ said Alain.

  ‘What did you say though?’ she asked.

  ‘That the soul was immortal, and hallucinations were a connection to previous lives.’

  ‘Did he listen?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ said Verity ‘we’re back together, and they can’t keep us apart this time.’

  Alain smiled, but history was circular, and both the Emperor and Heshen were ominously near them once again.

  Alain relayed the story of Cong Chu Cheng to Verity, and received a kiss for his chivalry. But he knew she would love to see for herself.

  ‘Can I see the vase?’ he asked.

  ‘You know what happened to me the last time,’ said Verity, feeling apprehensive.

  ‘Just open the safe for me,’ he begged.

  Verity poured herself another gin and tonic, as Alain took photos on his phone of all the painted scenes. The fate of Wa Yu, and her illicit lover worried him immensely.

  Verity was standing in front of the fireplace.

  ‘You do know the Chinese carer at Monks Hill was my eunuch,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Alain.

  ‘Don’t you find it strange that we’re all here, together again,’ said Verity. ‘It’s as though we have to meet,’ she added.

  ‘Perhaps we have unfinished business,’ pondered Alain.

  ‘Hungry?’ asked Verity.

  ‘Very, but I can’t eat; I’m fasting today.’

  ‘My you really are a puritan Mr Fontaney.’

  ‘So when are we going to make it happen?’ she asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your CBT of course,’ she said, licking her lips hungrily.

  The phone rang to interrupt them.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s not Marcus,’ said Verity.

  ‘I’m fine honestly, but how have you been keeping?’ asked Verity.

  ‘It’s Milly’s sister,’ whispered Verity ‘I gave her my number at the funeral.’

  ‘Oh you poor dear,’ said Verity down the phone ‘well look why don’t we meet up, I could do with a shoulder to cry on myself.’

  Alain began to play with her dress, and the delectable fles
h beneath, becoming a little more than aroused himself.

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow Ivy, and we’ll go for a bite to eat, if you’re free,’ said Verity. ‘Ciao.’

  ‘You like that do you?’ said Verity slapping Alain’s hand. ‘No wonder you have to keep whipping yourself, and before you ask I’m not phoning my friends for you to get off.’ She paused for a moment.’ Not unless I get to inflict some serious pain first, and I mean serious.’

  Now he really was in the kingdom of heaven for a second time.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Julius,’ said Dr Calder ‘how could you? I was hoping she might provide an interesting case for my research.’

  They were in the doctor’s room at Monks Hill comparing case loads, and Calder had just learnt of Verity Forster’s release.

  ‘I’m sorry Lawrence, I had no idea,’ said Dr Maloney ‘what’s it about?’

  ‘Just some rather splendid idea I had about split personalities, and reincarnation,’ he replied.

  ‘Intriguing, didn’t have you as the religious sort though,’ said Julius.

  ‘I’m not, but I can see a correlation that might be worth a little investigating,’ said Lawrence.

  ‘Not to mention buckets of cash from the pharmaceuticals,’ said Julius grinning.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Must dash,’ said Julius slapping him on the back ‘some poor bugger keeps begging me for another dose of electro therapy.’

  Lawrence decided to phone Marcus Forster at work.

  ‘Look Marcus I’m really sorry about Verity,’ he said.

  ‘Why what’s happened?’ asked Marcus, hoping to hear of some terrible accident.

  ‘You mean you don’t know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘She was released from Monks Hill yesterday,’ said Lawrence.

  Marcus had spent last night in the apartment he rented for Jennifer.

  ‘I thought you said you could keep her in for at least for six months.’

  ‘I was going to, but they had her in the ward review without me knowing, and a colleague let her go.’

  ‘Damn,’ said Marcus ‘and she’s not even informed me.’

  Although neither had he been home.

  ‘Well never mind, it’s too late now,’ said Marcus calming down.

  Besides he had other worries.

  ‘Have you heard anything from Bastille lately?’ asked Marcus.

  ‘Yesterday,’ replied Lawrence.

  Then she had contacted them both.

  ‘And let me guess she wants more money.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Lawrence.

  Bastille was an extortionist who went by the name of the famous French prison. She knew plenty about them, and had followed their careers with interest. But all they knew about Bastille was that she was a woman who somehow knew them from Cambridge University, and their darkest of secrets.

  ‘Look I’ve got to pop in and see Verity this evening,’ said Marcus ‘but why don’t we meet at the club later tonight?’

  ‘Shall we say ten?’ asked Lawrence.

  ‘Fine.’

  They were sat in the opulent restaurant, with Ivy feeling rather conspicuous.

  ‘It’s posh in here,’ she said.

  ‘Marcus used to bring me here all the time in our courting days,’ said Verity.

  ‘It must be really expensive.’

  ‘I never worry about the price; it all goes on Marcus’ card.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Ivy ‘can I change my mind?’ and they both laughed.

  With their meal ordered, Ivy removed a large tattered photo album from the carrier bag by her side.

  ‘This is me and Milly growing up,’ she said proudly.

  Verity flicked through the treasured photos smiling.

  ‘What happened to these?’ she asked looking at four pictures with someone at the side cut out.

  ‘That’s where our stepdad was standing,’ said Ivy.

  Verity didn’t question her, but could see from the look on Ivy’s face that all was not well in the family.

  ‘She was such a beautiful girl,’ said Verity.

  ‘I know much prettier than me,’ said Ivy ‘she used to get all the attention.’

  Although Ivy, like Verity, was a stunner herself.

  ‘So where did you meet Marcus?’ asked Ivy.

  ‘I’d gone skiing in Switzerland with some friends, and he was there on a working holiday selling some artwork or another.’

  ‘And he knocked you off your skis,’ said Ivy.

  ‘Not quite. I thought he was quite boring at the time, but he was staying in the same hotel, and we kept bumping into one another. He kind of grew on me.’

  ‘A holiday romance.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘And what about you, any man in your life?’ asked Verity.

  ‘I’m taking a holiday myself,’ said Ivy.

  At least she hadn’t said ‘all men are bastards,’ thought Verity. A line she might have taken herself if it wasn’t for Alain.

  ‘You know we should make this a regular thing,’ said Verity, happy for some unpretentious girl talk for once.

  Her old friends were now flung far and wide across the globe, from Hong Kong to Dubai.

  ‘Only if you like fish and chips,’ said Ivy.

  ‘I adore them,’ said Verity.

  And they both looked down at their artistic asparagus starter.

  ‘Look let’s go and get them now,’ said Verity lifting up her handbag.

  ‘But we’ve ordered,’ said Ivy.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry; Marcus comes here all the time with his girlfriends. You must know my dear that money talks,’ said Verity.

  Ivy did indeed know. She came from the poor part of town where cola was champagne, and a shower head was a jacuzzi.

  They relaxed in their green leather seats at the Pierrepoint club with a brandy and a cigar. Marcus had his legs outstretched, whilst Lawrence crossed his. The coal fire was ablaze, and they were alone in the small Portland room, after Archie the valet had cut and lit their cigars. The lights were dim, and their dark shadows were cast on the walls, traversing the portraits of old luminaries.

  ‘Damn this Bastille woman,’ said Marcus ‘I almost believed she’d left us alone after the last time.’

  He stubbed his cigar in the ashtray.

  The last time was two years ago, when she’d blackmailed them for another fifty grand each.

  ‘It’s a cross we have to bear,’ said Lawrence resigned. He blew a ring of smoke in the air.

  They’d been crucified since their respective careers began to flourish, by an unknown woman who called herself Bastille.

  ‘And we can’t change the past,’ said Marcus.

  The past, or the unfortunate incident as they referred to it, involved a drunken university party, and a raped first year student. The drowning prevented a hearing, but Bastille had seen them.

  ‘If only we knew who she was,’ said Marcus.

  ‘And kill again?’ asked Lawrence.

  ‘Why ever not? Surely it’s the least she deserves after tormenting us for years.’

  ‘It is a rather pleasant thought,’ said Lawrence.

  Just as it was a discussion they had repeated many times. She’d proved impervious to their traps, untraceable from every drop off point. She could read them like a book; the book of the damned.

  ‘Well it won’t last forever,’ said Marcus ‘we’re all getting older.’

  He rang the copper bell on the table in front.

  ‘Anyway, we can’t change the past,’ said Lawrence, as Archie entered the room to pour them another brandy.

  But he did think to himself, for one delic
ious moment; but if you believed the crazy theories of Alain Fontaney perhaps you could.

  ‘Someone’s put a smile on your face,’ said Marcus.

  ‘Indeed they have,’ said Lawrence, pondering a rather intriguing thought.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The car-park was full but the most important vehicle was missing; Libby’s. And it was too late to cancel his matinee performance at the exotically named Peking Theatre. He’d just have to improvise, but some of his regulars would notice the short change. He swirled his cape, and headed for the entertainer’s door.

  His props were on stage, and the red velvet seats were full; now was the time to see if he really was an escape artist.

  The hypnotism was always improvised, and the cloakroom attendants had gleamed enough from careless pockets for mind reading titillation. But he still had two thirds of the show left. Before the audience took a break at the bar he asked for a volunteer to join him. Three eager hands shot up, and he chose the girl who was on her own; not least because he’d seen her before, and she might remember parts of the routine. Also, she was gorgeous.

  He beckoned her backstage to his rooms. She had dyed red hair, wore fishnets and dark eyeliner. If you looked close enough, and he did, you could see the top of a suspender clip underneath her tartan kilt. Her cleavage burst forth from a tight ribbed t-shirt, and she had long Doc Marten boots up to her knees; if she were a DVD it would be X rated.

  ‘What would you like me to do?’ she asked, before checking her studded tongue in the mirror surrounded by light bulbs.

  ‘You’ve been before, right?’ he asked.

  ‘Many times, I just love magic, and your show seems so sensual, almost creepy in a supernatural way.’

  The escapism was to come, BDSMesque as he and his assistant struggled with ropes, chains, and all manner of restraints. It was dark and fetishist. Artistic like a 1960’s spanking porn mag cover.

  ‘Thanks. What’s your name?’

  ‘Karin, and before you ask I’m 34,’ although she looked much younger, and dressed it too.

  She was four years younger than Orvid, and already zipped up for role play.

  ‘Libby’s costume won’t fit, so we’ll have to go with what you’ve got.’

  Although it did look kind of magical, and his wand was already captivated.

  ‘What happened to the latex cape?’ she asked.