The Concubine Affair

by Quig Shelby

  Orvid wore a leather hood; the same one Karin had graced the previous night. She knelt in front of the guillotine, her heart pounding.

  Orvid placed a large watermelon under the heavy blade, and it was duly sliced in two, should the audience doubt the shiny machine of death. Karin’s pretty neck was next on the chopping block, and there was another roll of the drums.

  The blade plummeted, and the head was severed into a basket. Someone in the audience screamed, a theatre hand in on the act, and there was a stunned silence as the curtains closed. Orvid slipped through.

  ‘Ladies and gentleman, there has been a slight accident,’ he announced. ‘If you would kindly leave your seats for refreshments,’ he always got a cut from the bar ‘I shall endeavour to rectify the situation, or call the appropriate authorities.’

  They fought their way to the bar in stunned tones.

  ‘Are you OK?’ asked Orvid as he moved the mirror away from the guillotine.

  ‘Fine thanks,’ said Karin.

  ‘So that’s how the girls lose their heads over you,’ she said looking in the basket.

  ‘Ladies and gentleman, thanks to the wonders of modern surgery, I give you Karin,’ announced Orvid, and she took centre stage to rapturous applause.

  ‘You were brilliant,’ Orvid whispered in her ear ‘whatever can I do for you?’

  ‘Too me, would be better,’ she whispered back.

  They headed for his rooms, but any costume play was about to be rudely interrupted. There were two detectives waiting inside.

  ‘Orvid Benedict?’ asked the curly haired one.

  ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Haven’t you seen the posters?’

  ‘No, but we did find the body,’ replied the shadowy grey one.

  Orvid shook his head, and for one sweet tantalising moment the CID officer in the long dark coat, thought he was going to confess.

  ‘I’m not with you,’ said Orvid.

  ‘Libby, your wife,’ said curly mop.

  ‘Yes, I know who she is. We’re separated actually,’ and he quickly sat down before he fainted. ‘She’s dead?’

  The younger officer nodded.

  ‘Glass of water Sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Thank you, but no. I need something a little stronger,’ said Orvid.

  ‘Look I’m sorry Sir, but you’ll have to come to the station to answer a few questions.’

  ‘All routine Sir, unless you’ve got something to hide,’ said the greyer, cynical detective.

  He smiled: A magician who was screwing his assistant, and an estranged wife fighting for half his cash. Nice.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ said Karin to Orvid.

  She wasn’t the slightest bit fazed. Besides she’d already lost her head earlier in the evening.

  Two days later Orvid pulled his show; he was in no mood to continue, and fluffing his lines. The Peking owners were gutted, and threatening court action, but Orvid wasn’t picking up their phone. The police let him go, but he knew from the look in their eyes he was a person of interest; there was no act on the night of the murder.

  ‘We could always escape abroad,’ said Karin.

  ‘But I’m innocent,’ said Orvid.

  ‘So is my sister.’

  ‘They’ve got my passport,’ said Orvid.

  ‘I have friends who deal in fake ID’s.’

  ‘What about Sofia?’

  ‘I was coming to that,’ and she grinned mischievously, from ear to ear.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘Alain I was hoping to bump into you,’ said Dr Calder in the ward’s sterile office. They were alone, and Alain felt uneasy, waiting for some vitriolic barb.

  He’d resigned from Treetops, and was taking his holiday leave as notice. He now worked occasional agency shifts at Monks Hill, giving his research, and Verity, his full attention.

  ‘If you want to work here full time let me know,’ said Calder, almost conspiratorially.

  Alain smiled; he’d always assumed Dr Calder hated him.

  ‘Look I’ve been too busy to say this, but the patients at Treetops always spoke highly of you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Alain surprised. Not at the clients comments, but Lawrence’s praise. Perhaps there was another side to him after all.

  ‘Why don’t we meet in the cafeteria at lunch time? I’d love to pick your brains if you’d let me,’ said Lawrence.

  ‘Sure,’ said Alain, hypnotised by the flattery.

  Although he later wondered, whilst checking a patient’s blood pressure, what was in it for Dr Calder?

  ‘Alain I don’t know how you manage to keep so fit. When I was your age I was already going to seed,’ said Lawrence over their lasagne. Poor Lawrence, even his flattery was beginning to sound creepy.

  ‘I do fifty chin ups every other day, fast on a Tuesday and a Saturday, and take herbal supplements,’ said Alain.

  ‘Wow, in that case, as today is a Wednesday, can I buy you a slice of bakewell tart? It’s delicious.’

  ‘No thanks; I don’t eat cake, biscuits, or crisps.’

  ‘My you are a glutton for punishment,’ said Lawrence.

  Now where had he heard that before?

  Dr Calder, or Lawrence as he now preferred to be called, waffled on about his student days; the avant-garde pioneer, heretic even, and a Beau Brummel. He wanted to discover new treatments, throw everything out and start over. All of a sudden he was interested in Alain’s abstract theories on schizophrenia, auditory hallucinations, and reincarnation.

  But more and more Calder was beginning to look and sound like Heshen.

  ‘Look Alain humour me, I’m you’re student?’ said Lawrence.

  ‘I’m game,’ said Alain.

  ‘The voices that patients hear are from the past,’ said Lawrence.

  Alain paused, and looked around.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not a blabbermouth, we’re just having a philosophical discussion. You won’t get struck off, I promise,’ said Lawrence.

  And Alain did yearn to espouse his theories to someone who could understand: Someone who would shout eureka for him.

  ‘I actually believe auditory hallucinations are ripples from previous lives,’ said Alain.

  ‘Not memories?’

  Even that would be a step too far for some.

  ‘More like echoes,’ said Alain ‘where past and present blur into one.’ Well that’s how it felt for him.

  Lawrence was chomping at the bit. He stirred the sugar in his tea cup causing a whirlpool.

  ‘If there was a formula to connect two lives, could you revisit the past?’ asked Lawrence, thinking ahead of the game.

  Alain smiled. Did the doctor know more than he was letting on? Had Heshen tipped him off?

  ‘Do you have to be schizophrenic?’ he asked.

  ‘Slow down Doctor.’

  ‘Of course Alain, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Anyone, in theory, can connect with a previous life, perhaps even their present life at an earlier time,’ said Alain, watching the wide eyed doctor.

  Lawrence looked like a toad sitting on a lily pad, and Alain knew he was giving too much away.

  ‘In the past could you take a good look around, see things with a new pair of eyes?’ Lawrence mused.

  ‘Why not,’ replied Alain, pushing his chair back from the table.

  Lawrence was hooked. Could he travel back to his university days, discover, uncover, Bastille? The thought was invigorating, rejuvenating, and daring.

  ‘Alain, I have connections. You could make millions with the formula.’

  ‘I’m just hypothesising.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ he said.

  But he was turning as red as the
cherry atop Lawrence’s bakewell tart. Doctor doom suspected he wasn’t being totally honest.

  ‘Then perhaps we could search together?’ asked Lawrence.

  Out of the question thought Alain: Although Wa Yu needed protecting in both lives.

  ‘I have a few notes, nothing definitive you understand, but you may be interested,’ said Alain.

  ‘Oh I’m interested alright. And for this precious insight what would you require?’

  ‘Nothing for myself, but for Yi Peng the care assistant,’ said Alain.

  ‘I know him, go on,’ said Lawrence.

  He couldn’t forget the hospital’s only Chinese carer.

  ‘Can you transfer him to outpatients at the day hospital?’

  ‘Consider it done. But why does he want the move?’ asked Lawrence.

  ‘Let’s just say that’s where his real interest lies.’

  Verity was an outpatient now, and he hoped his instincts were right.

  ‘I never realised you two were friends,’ said Lawrence.

  ‘We go back a long way,’ said Alain ‘a real long way.’

  Verity may have an aversion to needles and antipsychotics, but the thought of her CBT classes gave her the most chills; the one’s with Adam Blake that was. Alain couldn’t stop those yet, but when he left the ward he took a bottle of risperidone with him. Calder wasn’t the only one who could doctor.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘I’m falling in love,’ said Verity.

  ‘Me too,’ said Alain.

  ‘Not with you, with Imperial China,’ she said.

  He looked downhearted.

  ‘But you’re there as well, so I guess I’m falling for you too,’ she added.

  ‘I’ll be ready to catch you,’ he said grinning.

  ‘Oh Alain I don’t think I can go through with it,’ she suddenly blurted out.

  ‘Well don’t go back; but I thought you just said you were enchanted.’

  ‘I am. I mean the injection tomorrow, and then seeing that creepy psychologist.’

  There was a theme in the Monks Hill hierarchy. It was no surprise; they all hired each other. The grime on a feather always sticks together.

  ‘I’m sorry Verity I can’t stop the injections. But I can stop you taking the drug.’

  ‘Alain you’re confusing me.’

  ‘Here me out,’ he said.

  ‘Yi transfers to the day hospital tomorrow, so he can substitute the real drug for a harmless placebo.’

  It wasn’t quite that easy. But first they had to check Alain’s theory, and see if Yi would help, and if he would then why?

  ‘Let me contact Yi,’ said Alain.

  ‘Do you know where he lives?’ asked Verity.

  ‘No. But his flatmate’s the chef at the Chrysanthemum restaurant.’

  ‘Really,’ said Verity.

  ‘Do you know it?’

  ‘Know it. The chef is the one that sold Marcus the Qianlong vase.’

  ‘Then he must know something,’ said Alain. ‘I’ll check it out tonight,’ he said.

  ‘I’m coming too,’ said Verity.

  ‘I miss you,’ said Ivy.

  ‘I’d like another chance to talk as well,’ replied Verity down the phone.

  ‘Not like that,’ said Ivy.

  ‘Then how?’

  She half expected what Ivy was about to say, after all she’d been to an all girl’s boarding school. And there was the way that Ivy looked her up and down.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ said Ivy.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You know I would do anything for you.’

  ‘Anything is a tall order,’ said Verity.

  ‘Name it. I could make you feel wonderful.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘There are things a man will never understand about a woman’s body, and pleasure,’ said Ivy.

  ‘Most men,’ said Verity.

  ‘But would you try it from a woman? From me?’

  ‘Perhaps I already have.’

  ‘I bet you have,’ said Ivy. ‘But can’t you give me a chance too?’ she pleaded.

  ‘I’m quite demanding,’ said Verity.

  ‘I like that.’

  ‘And I’m very selfish,’ said Verity.

  ‘I only want to please you,’ said Ivy.

  ‘I take forever to please.’

  ‘Even better.’

  ‘Well this is out of the blue Ivy.’

  ‘I couldn’t hold back any longer,’ said Ivy.

  ‘You sound short of breath,’ said Verity.

  ‘It’s the affect you have on me.’

  ‘Oh my, am I really that good?’

  ‘Dynamite.’

  ‘I’m not going to be able to put you off then am I?’ said Verity.

  ‘No.’

  ‘OK be at my house first thing in the morning,’ said Verity.

  ‘No men?’

  ‘No men,’ and she put down the phone, leaving Ivy to continue her pleasure.

  ‘You look stunning,’ said Alain, as Verity stepped out of the taxi and approached him.

  She was wearing a green velvet dress with a basque underneath that pushed up her bust. She wore high heels, and her blue stockings were seamed. Verity was practising dress up for Ivy, but for now she would leave Alain in the dark; after all he was a masochist.

  ‘I know you won’t like it, but I’ll have to wear my wedding ring,’ she said. ‘And if anyone asks, but they shouldn’t, we’re just friends.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘In case you’re wondering, this is one of Marcus’ favourite restaurants, and the staff can be such chatterboxes.’

  ‘Ah Mrs Forster, always a pleasure to see you: Would you like your usual table?’ asked the attendant.

  ‘Actually no, I’m not a creature of habit like my husband,’ she said.

  ‘Very good Madam, please follow me.’

  Alain could hardly drag his eyes away from Verity, and onto the menu. His foot reached out to hers under the table. Verity was getting used to the attention; it seemed that lately everyone wanted to pounce on her.

  ‘Do you need to go to the washroom?’ she asked.

  ‘Probably, but I couldn’t do it there,’ he said.

  ‘You poor thing.’

  And she began to play with her chopsticks.

  ‘Hey why don’t you try, I used them last time without even thinking,’ she said.

  Verity was right; apparently Alain Fontaney the nurse was also a master of Chinese cuisine, and the two wooden sticks danced between his fingers.

  ‘Well I never,’ he said, looking at the chopsticks on his plate.

  ‘You just have to let it take over,’ said Verity.

  She asked the waiter if she could see Hui Lin, in Chinese naturally.

  ‘How do you do that?’ asked Alain.

  ‘Like I said, you just let it take over,’ she said, flicking her hair behind her ear.

  ‘Can I be of any assistance Mrs Forster?’ asked Hui.

  ‘Please pull up a chair,’ she said.

  Alain nodded in agreement.

  ‘That vase you sold my husband.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hui.

  ‘Exquisite isn’t it,’ she said.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Wherever did you get it?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s been with me for generations,’ said Hui.

  ‘You mean it’s been in your family for generations,’ said Verity.

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘But didn’t you tell Marcus that a friend gave it to you?’ asked Verity.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Hui smiling.

  There re
ally was much more to this thought Alain.

  ‘You know we were both wondering if we could see Yi,’ said Alain.

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Hui ‘when?’

  ‘Tonight,’ said Verity.

  Hui smiled, and paused in thought.

  ‘Why not,’ he eventually said ‘I think it’s time we spoke. Wait for me outside after we close. Midnight.’

  Verity also sensed something afoot, and couldn’t help but ask.

  ‘Hui do you know the vase is worth more than Marcus paid you?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said ‘who doesn’t know the true value of a Qianlong vase?’ he said smiling ruefully.

  Hui headed back to the kitchens.

  ‘You think he knows about us?’ asked Alain.

  ‘What do you think my priest?’ she replied.

  ‘What are we going to do for four hours?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh I’m sure I can think of something,’ replied Verity.

  Back at his house, Verity had no choice but to scold Alain for his inappropriate ogling and fumbling.

  ‘If you can’t keep it under control, then I’ll just have to keep it locked up,’ she said.

  ‘Mr Lin,’ said Alain ‘I’m parked over there.’

  ‘Please call me Hui. I’ll direct you from here.’

  Hui sat at the front with Alain, whilst Verity had her shoes off on the back.

  ‘You’ve done well to catch him tonight,’ said Hui about Yi.

  ‘He teaches Kung Fu when he’s off work. Thanks for swapping him to the day hospital Mr Fontaney.’

  ‘How did you know my surname?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh Yi mentioned you.’

  ‘Shall we go in?’ asked Hui, outside, and looking up to the top floor of the tower block.

  ‘After you,’ said Alain.

  He looked at Verity. Damn she was gorgeous, and perhaps she was right; he did need locking up. He wondered if he’d bitten off more than he could chew, and hoped he was right. Verity wasn’t the BDSM novice he’d at first imagined. He just wondered what else she got up to on cold and lonely nights.

  The flats looked apocalyptic, but Hui’s interior design was in stark contrast. Verity picked up a small ceremonial teapot from the table.

  ‘It’s exquisite,’ she said.