Chase (31 page)

He’s at some kind of crisis.
One wrong move and anything could happen.

As it is my tightly clamped hands are still sliding over him, up and down, up and down … As I do it the cuffs clank against me, beating out the rhythm in an urgent, angry bass line.

He glances down at me but in his eyes I see no recognition, only a flicker of pain. My fingers slide easily, rhythmically over his engorgement, so big and so hot I can almost feel its ache. Down below I’m burning up.

He stares at me, his eyes wild. ‘That night … in the garage …’ He tails off with a shudder.

Does he even know who I am?
‘Go on.’ I’m barely breathing.
Something’s coming back.

He’s staring ahead now, his lips parted. ‘It’s late, real late. It’s dark. I’ve come back here. He’s still sitting here, in the car …’ His chest starts to rise and fall like he’s been running. I feel a spike of alarm and with it a surge of excitement.
He’s remembering
…

‘There’s somebody else in here …’

I hold very still and gently slide my hands off his erection, hot and proud and barely seconds from release. ‘
Who is it?
’ I whisper.

He’s still staring ahead, not seeing me. He’s frowning. When he speaks his voice seems to come from a long way away. ‘
What the –? What’s she doing in here?
’

All at once I feel a stab of fear. If he’s losing it
I’m in danger.
I’m still trapped in the cuffs.

I know what’s coming. I’ve longed for this moment ever since talking to Freda.

But I have to stay practical. If he freaks – or, worse, passes out – I can’t get out of these. I take a deep breath and raise my voice, batting the free end of the cuffs hard against his leg to get his attention. ‘Darnley?
Darnley?
Take these things off me.’

For a full second nothing happens and then he stares down at me, his expression blank, like he’s seeing a ghost. ‘
Ella?
’

All at once he leans over to reach for the key, slips it into the cuffs and springs them open. ‘
Shit
, Ella.’ He captures my wrists in his hands and holds them up to his face, inspecting the marks carefully. His voice lowers to a whisper. ‘What have I done?’

And now he starts to kiss my wrists, turning them over slowly in his hands and touching them with his fingertip like I’m fine porcelain. Slowly I kneel up and pull him down onto the bed beside me. His erection springs between us, larger than ever, hot and gleaming, utterly neglected.

‘Ella?’

‘I’m here.’ I wind my leg over him and pull him close.

He shifts in my arms and looks at me with eyes full of pain. ‘Can I come inside? I want you so much …’

I move against him, inviting him in, but to my surprise he hangs back. I can feel his body rammed against me, his muscles rigid and quivering. But still he holds off.

‘It’s fine. I’m here,’ I whisper. ‘It’s OK. Truly. You can come in now.’ I touch a fingertip to his upthrust shaft where it strains against me, crushed against my soft, eager belly. His face is glazed with sweat as he gazes into my eyes. I can almost taste his hunger, but he’s still hanging back.

‘I’m not sure … I may hurt you …’

His eyes scare me now. They’re full of pain. And worse, a touch of fear.

Now I’m afraid too. He still thinks he’s a monster.

‘Darnley? Speak to me.’ I wind my arms around his neck and
start to kiss him with small, soft touches of my lips all over his tense, sweat-soaked face. I see his eyes flicker and he slides in all the way, keeping his eyes fixed on mine.

He speeds up as I clamp my thighs round his waist. I hold him tight as he thrusts, my heels locked at the small of his back, pulling him into me with every ounce of my strength, greedy for pleasure as he rides to completion. Moments later my own climax crashes through me as his final thrusts batter my sex.

His head sinks into the curve of my shoulder and he breathes out a long, juddering sigh in the fold of my neck, his body still heaving.

‘Are you OK?’ I’m furious with myself. He was just starting to remember, and I had to break in to unlock the damn cuffs. Goodness knows when he’ll recall that again, if ever.

He’s panting now, out of breath. A trickle of sweat runs down his jaw and slips along my cheek. ‘I’m good. Ella?’

Riven with disappointment, I lean against his cheek and nestle deeper in his arms. ‘I’m here.’

‘Freda. It was Freda. In the garage.’

I stop breathing for a second, hardly daring to believe my luck.

He’s muttering against my skin, his lips barely moving. ‘I remember now. She was in there too. When I walked in she was leaning over him. He was still sitting in the car where I’d left him, in the cuffs. He was breathing, but he looked like he’d fainted or something. I shouted at her, told her to get the fuck out of there. I think I pushed her away and then dragged her out.’

I pull him close, dizzy with relief. ‘Go on. Anything else?’

‘It’s weird … I felt her tug at my arm, hanging back. We struggled. I was still shouting.
It’s hazy but I’m pretty sure I yanked her out and dragged her up the driveway to the house. We met Lydia. She didn’t say anything, just pushed past us. That’s it. That’s all I remember.’

There’s a long pause, while he breathes softly against my ear. ‘Ella?’

Once more I hold my breath, scared to break the spell.

‘There were other people around that night. After me, there was Freda, then Lydia. Security people. There was a party, dancing. People all over.’

I can feel the tears sting, but I press them back. ‘Yes. There were.’

‘He was shouting. Other people must have known. Other people could have saved him.’

‘Yes, Darnley. Other people could have.’ I hug him close and kiss his ear. ‘But nobody did.’

Seconds later his soft, steady breathing tells me he’s asleep. I lie in his arms in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, as tears of joy run down my face and trickle into the pillow.

He’s healing. At last.

‘Ella? Wake up.’

I must have fallen asleep. The next thing I know he’s shaking me awake.

It’s morning now. He’s already fully dressed, his suit and tie a shock in the early light. I smile up unto his face and hold out my arms. ‘Going somewhere?’ But as my sleepy brain takes him in I realise he’s not smiling. I feel a twinge of alarm. ‘Something the matter?’

‘Yes. Me. I’m leaving.’

I stare at him, my stomach tied in a sudden knot. ‘What, now?’

‘Now. I told you I’d be going away soon? I brought it forward.’

I sit up, my feelings in free-fall. It’s not what he’s saying, it’s the way that he’s saying it. His voice is harsh, his eyes stern, focused.

‘Last night I lost it again. I can’t risk that happening when I’m with you. I don’t trust myself.’

But he’s just remembered what happened that night
. Surely he’ll feel better now? ’But after last night I thought –’

‘Last night scared me. If I can only deal with the past by putting you at risk then I’d better go and do it somewhere else for a while. I’m sorry, but it has to be this way. I have to think about things.’

He leans over and kisses me, his eyes full of pain.

Seconds later he’s gone.

I’m still thick with sleep and my lover has just walked out of my life.

I thought he’d found himself. I thought I’d helped. And, fool that I am, I thought that brought us closer.

Now, horrified, I see that for him it means something very different.

Finding himself means he has to lose me.

My sleepy brain jolts into action. I scramble out of bed and race to the head of the stairs, only to hear the front door slam and a car driving off.

And now I’m alone.

Stunned, I go on auto-pilot. Everywhere I go I see excited children, happy adults and Christmas cheer. Inside my heart’s all ice.

How could he do it?
Leave me so soon, just as he was coming back to life?

But a small, bitter part of me understands only too well.
He thinks I’m at risk
. How can fate be so cruel?

Aaron and Lydia are now in Florida. Billy texts me from Paris. My colleagues are home for the holiday. Even my parents call me, eager to know if I’ll be home for Christmas. His mother Savoy calls me from Buenos Aires and Lydia calls me from Key West. They pump me for information. Sadly, I’ve nothing to tell them.

My parents are philosophical. His mother and stepmother are both mad at me. Savoy simply signs off, her tone icy.

Lydia sounds irritable. ‘But you must know. You know him better than anybody.’ She made Aaron help him as a favour to me and now she thinks I’m back in my shell and letting her down.

I’ve no idea where he is or when he’ll be back.

All I know is, it’s all my fault. He’s had to leave, to keep me safe.

He could even be in danger.

I lie in bed late into the night and imagine all manner of horrors are happening to him. I dream he’s gagged and bound, sweating and bloody, holed up in some shack in the rainforest or lying at the side of the road, set about by bandits and left for dead.

At last it’s Christmas week. The horrors playing out in my head form a weird backdrop to the jingle bells and fun in the streets. I check on Billy’s empty apartment, wish the staff Merry Christmas and finally I do what I always do this time of year, when I’m weary, lonely or just plain sick at heart.

I go home.

My trip home is like travelling through a giant Christmas card. I take the train, nervous of driving on the snowy roads in my little car. I gaze out into the endless Maine woods where the snows lie thick, too bright to soothe, too cold to heal but crisp and antiseptic.

Thoughts of Darnley consume me. Is he safe?
Will I ever see him again?

At my parents’ home a stray Christmas card is waiting for me. It’s from Ryan, my ex
.

I see from the postmark that he’s now in Vegas

Inside he’s scrawled a message. ‘
Hi El, Happy New Year. Enjoy it while it lasts.
’

I put it in the trash. Next morning trash is scattered up the path. Dad says it’s a skunk. He’s closer than he knows.

Christmas Eve dawns bright and sharp and I’ve still heard nothing from Darnley. Is no news good news? Maybe not. Wearily I resign myself to a quiet, homely yuletide with just my parents and a few neighbours for company. For a busy teacher it’s usually enough.

Not this year.

I pace the house, stride briskly through the woods or stand and gaze at the endless breakers pounding on the shore, grey and forbidding. I watch them until my cheeks grow numb in the wind and my scarf freezes to my lip and then I stomp back indoors to thaw out by the fire and nibble roast chestnuts.

I try to take it easy and join in the homely fun but with so much on my mind it’s hard.

My parents try to be kind but they sense I’m troubled. They ask after Darnley, but Dad’s a mild-mannered country physician and Mom bakes cookies for the church sale to raise money for African orphans. How do I tell them my multi-millionaire boyfriend is a borderline psycho with a family to match and may right this minute be lying dead in some tropical swamp?

Worse, that he may no longer even be my boyfriend?

I smile and say he’s busy.

At midnight I take a short walk with my parents up the hill to their little Episcopalian church, lit up with light streaming through the stained-glass windows, painting the snow with splashes of colour.

It’s a lovely, traditional scene, homely and bright, normal as pie. Our little community gathers here every year to sing all the carols, and the Christmas midnight service is my all-time favourite.

Maybe the singing will help. Maybe it’ll burn off my blues, letting rip among all these good, happy people as they open their hearts and sing out their souls. The old tunes fill my heart, singing them an exercise as good as tonic.

Near the end of the service we start on
‘Hark the herald angels’, one of my favourites
.
It always gives me a lift.

Slowly I realise there’s a new male voice coming from the pew behind me. It’s a lovely baritone, rich and deep. We have a real singer in our little community? I suppose it’s possible. I glance at my parents but for some reason they’re taking no notice so I turn round to peek.

I must be dreaming.

It’s Darnley.
Tall and tanned and large as life.

I step quickly past my smiling parents and join him in the aisle. He seizes my hand and we slip out of a side door into the pretty patchwork-coloured snow.

My heart leapt at the sight of him. Now I sink slowly into despair at his tense, troubled look.
He left it till now to tell me?

I steel myself for what he’s going to say. If he took the trouble to come all the way up here to say it then at least I should listen.

‘So? You thought about things?’ My voice quivers a little, but I do still have one.

‘Yes.’

It’s so long since I’ve heard him speak I close my eyes for a moment to let his rich tone seep onto my bones. ‘And?’

‘Hey.’ He’s frowning, scanning my face. ‘You’re forgetting something.’ He pulls me close and all at once his mouth’s on mine and his arms enfold me and I’m in instant heaven. It lasts a few glorious seconds and then he pulls away, his expression still veiled.

He reaches into his pocket, takes out a small box and flips the lid. ‘I’m not sure of the fit.’

I stare, dazzled by the diamond solitaire flashing like a star in the light reflected off the snow. It’s a ring. Not just any ring – it’s a perfect match to the bracelets, satin-finish white gold.

‘Will you marry me, Ella?’

Joy sings in my ears, far louder than the music from the congregation. I swallow. ‘It’s a symbol, right? Like the bracelets?’

His voice is low but his eyes are dancing. ‘Way more important than the bracelets. This one’s for life.’

I lower my lashes, playful now, heady with love. ‘And – were you planning to ask my parents about this?’ I’m only kidding, but now he surprises me.

‘I already did.’