The Pleasure Quartet (37 page)

Noah got wind of an impromptu session by Vök, occurring at an underground bar that doubled as a café where they had earlier grimaced over a shared platter of Icelandic delicacies that included strong-smelling saltfiskur – salt fish – and harðfiskur, a dried fish served with butter. Noah had been surprised to find that he liked them both. They returned at midnight to hear the band play and were ushered downstairs and sipped expensive bottled beers while Noah compared the experimental electronica duo’s sensual, dreamy sound to the more upbeat rhythms produced by the Handsomes and mulled over whether their act might work in the UK. Later he planned to follow up with the band’s manager and find out the terms of their current contract. ‘There’s something about melancholy music and cold climates,’ he told Summer, as they found their way back to their hotel in the dark after first taking a detour past Tjörnin, the pond in the centre of town, where Summer ventured slowly out onto the solid, iced-over surface and played at skating in her flat boots.

On their fourth day they hired a car and took turns driving on the dead-straight flat road to Geysir and Gullfoss. They stopped in Thingvellir to see Lögberg and the world’s oldest parliament and both scoffed at the thought but could not shake the idea that they felt something there, as they stood by the rocky outcrop looking over at the wide plain ahead of them, surrounded by mountains rising in the distance like sleeping giants watching over the land. An indefinable sense of solemnity lingered over the place, the ghost of times past still intact despite the footfall of so many tourists disturbing the peace with their clicking cameras.

Summer delighted in the improbable rainbows leaping from the towering sheet of falling water at Skógafoss, and Noah stopped the car at Kerið to see the volcanic amphitheatre and its crater lake in the centre, on which Björk had once staged a concert from the safety of a floating raft.

They finally stopped and spent the night at an isolated chalet in Vik, after first spending the afternoon exploring the moonscape of the black sand beach, listening to the waves crashing over the puzzle stacks and watching the tiny ink-feathered birds that might have been puffins flashing occasional glimpses of white bellies and bright beaks as they swooped over the basalt columns, hexagonal fingers of rock stacked up like a game of dominoes between the gods. ‘Hours fly by like minutes in this no-man’s-land,’ Noah said, breaking the companionable silence they shared as the sun set and turned sky and sea into mirror images of glowing blue-black obsidian sheen and Summer thought this lonely ash-sanded coastline might be the most beautiful place she had ever set her eyes upon.

The nearby restaurants were closed and, too lazy to venture farther, they visited a service station that displayed bottles of motor oil and anti-freeze alongside a small grocery section. Noah selected a couple of large potatoes and a can of tuna from the minimally stocked shelves, pointing out the rack of ancient CDs on the counter and laughing at the cover of a dusty Elton John greatest hits album.

Summer turned the oven on, dug a roasting tray out from the cupboards and scrubbed the produce while Noah mixed the tinned fish with spring onions and lashings of thick mayonnaise and later stirred in the cooked vegetable’s white flesh and spooned the filling back into the crisp skins. He set each overflowing baked spud onto a plate alongside a handful of limp iceberg lettuce leaves and sprinkled the tops with Cheddar cheese. Conversation was sparse as they shifted into quiet mode, both still awed by the view that stretched out in front of them beyond the glass windows of their log cabin, a blanket of nothingness that made them both feel like insignificant specks in a vast universe.

Later that night they finally witnessed the theatre show of the Northern Lights in all their splendour as a plethora of multi-coloured streaks collided in the heavens above them, while they reclined in the outdoor hot tub until their toes shrivelled up and avoided the inevitable rush of cold awaiting them when they trod barefoot across the iced-over porch to return to the bedroom.

‘I don’t want it to end,’ Summer told Noah.

‘There will be plenty more holidays,’ he promised her, and they talked about all the other countries and cities they would visit, leaving ordinary life behind them and travelling to destinations they both already knew and loved or wanted to share with the other, and new places they could explore side by side too.

She threaded her fingers in his hair and he rested his face in her lap and thought of how he would pleasure her as soon as they got into bed, or better still, right now on the sofa as the clock on the wall ticked a merry meaningless rhythm and the field of snow still visible through the open curtains in front of them never seemed to darken, the moonlight reflecting on the white surface, making the world seem a little brighter.

Aurelia had arranged for them to leave their hire vehicle in Vik. One of the Network’s drivers, a bearded, brusque man of Viking stature with a deep winter tan and a rich baritone voice, collected them in a sleek black 4WD and they drove for several hours through a wilderness of narrow roads. Barren peaks rose up all around them like the jagged back teeth of a humongous prehistoric animal. Two other attendants, each of them meek-mannered and half the size of the driver, had carried away their baggage which they were assured would be forwarded on and stored at the Ball to be returned to them before their transfer back to Keflavik International airport some days hence. They had each packed a small overnight case containing their outfits – an elegant tuxedo for Noah, who hadn’t been able to face the thought of more traditional fetish wear – and a floor-length gown for Summer with an open back and halter neck, made in midnight-blue silk that flowed over her body like water, highlighting every curve and turning the copper red of her hair into a flame that glowed around her shoulders. She planned to wear it with a pair of small, opal studs in her ears that Noah had bought her to mark the occasion, which looked like miniature globes of the world in her lobes, reflecting every shade racing across her body.

A helicopter took them on the final leg of the journey. Conversation was impossible as the buzz of the blades was barely muted by the protective headsets the pilot handed to them as they navigated through grey skies in uncertain weather for miles, until the atmosphere seemed to shift around them and an array of tents, vehicles and microscopic people crawling like ants across the vast floor of the isolated valley beneath them came into view.

Lauralynn and Viggo were waiting at the landing pad for them to disembark.

‘Christ, they must be hypothermic,’ Noah remarked, as the chopper came to a standstill and their friends approached.

Viggo’s lanky form was protected only by a pair of skimpy rubber briefs and a set of tall flat boots that flared out around his bony knees in a cloud of ermine trim.

Noah averted his eyes to Lauralynn, who looked like a Narnian Winter Witch in a striking latex catsuit and a flowing cape in the same faux fur that decorated Viggo’s legs. Her boots were heeled, transparent, and appeared to be made of solid glass, revealing a row of blood-red painted toenails to match the streak of crimson lipstick that coloured her lips.

Latex, Summer had told him, tends to heighten whatever temperature surrounds the wearer, so although she was covered from head to toe Noah expected that Lauralynn must be freezing beneath.

Warm air swept over Noah’s face as he exited the passenger seat and joined Summer in embracing their friends. Despite the season and the sheets of white that dominated the environment around them, the climate was as warm as a spring day.

He blinked. Overhead, he heard a rush of wind like the beating of enormous wings and looked up to see a group of women, nude apart from winged costumes that made them appear half bird, and apparently borne aloft only by invisible currents. One of them held a much younger man in her arms. They were copulating in mid-air. Noah squinted, scanning the sky for signs of hidden fly wires or some other mechanism that enabled the two to hover and wheel above them unsupported.

‘Fuck me,’ he muttered under his breath. His search had revealed nothing but an empty horizon.

‘I know,’ Viggo said. ‘I haven’t figured it out either.’

Noah shrugged. If Viggo, who had been renowned for his dazzling stagecraft during his time as the Holy Criminals front man, couldn’t spot the wizardry responsible for this magic trick, he didn’t have much hope. Not so long ago, Noah would have been shocked, if fascinated, by the spectacle of strangers coupling, but now the sight of others touching or even having sex in front of him seemed absolutely unremarkable.

Four sleds, which had evolved from black dots like pinpricks in the distance, morphed into shape before them. Aurelia was driving one, pulled by a half-dozen husky dogs. She stood on the footboards with a crop in her hand, barefoot and totally nude besides the blanket of tattoos that Noah saw covered every inch of her body and displayed a veritable kaleidoscope of colours and images, from Egyptian hieroglyphs to other unrecognisable runes and symbols, every kind of animal that might be found in the most exotic zoo, and a number of creatures that he believed were totally mythical but would now not have been surprised to see drop out of the sky directly in front of him.

‘Thank god,’ Lauralynn announced. ‘I was worried I couldn’t take another step in these shoes.’

‘You didn’t come by air?’ Summer asked her.

‘No,’ she said, ‘We walked along the mountain trail.’ She pointed to a mighty obsidian crag in the distance. ‘There’s a section of tunnels that lead through the cliff face. And a half-dozen more routes in and out of here besides that, but you’d never spot them without proper guidance.’

Aurelia’s hired mushers packed the group’s luggage into the sled’s cargo beds and they were carted at speed down towards the main concourse. Noah nearly shouted out as they drew frighteningly close to a formless blot that spread out on the ice field like a Rorschach ink splash on a blank canvas, thinking that they were about to hurtle directly into the path of a jagged rock, but the dogs veered away at the last moment and as they slowed to pass the obstacle he realised that it was nothing more than a jet-black fur coat that had been abandoned in the snow.

An invisible fog clouded the Ball’s tents and pavilions, thick with the scent of toffee apples, a smell that reminded Noah of childhood fairs at Clapham Common. Multicoloured bells were strung up on gold threads as thin as strands of hair, joining the circle of elaborate canvas structures. The bells tinkled with each fluttering breath of wind.

Aurelia disappeared to attend to her responsibilities as the Ball’s Mistress and Viggo and Lauralynn strode off to explore the circus-like attractions of the daytime entertainment that was on display around them, leaving Noah and Summer to relax, eat and change out of their travelling clothes. They were ushered into a private yurt, a large teepee that contained a bubbling hot tub filled with mineral water that boiled up directly from the ground beneath them.

‘How is all this possible?’ he asked her, as he bit into a chocolate éclair as light and fluffy as any he had tasted in a Parisian patisserie. The room contained platters of refreshments; miniature cakes that were no more than a mouthful, cold cuts and cheese, slices of fresh tropical fruit, and towers of panna cotta and jellied berries. A series of jugs had been set up alongside the food and held sweet punch, bitingly sour fresh grapefruit juice, chilled white wine, red wine and champagne.

An ice-cold plunge pool stood next to the Jacuzzi, and two over-sized fluffy robes were warming on a towel rail within arm’s reach.

‘If I knew, I would tell you,’ Summer promised him. ‘But I genuinely don’t have the faintest idea. Aurelia, and the Network, the organisation she works for which oversees all of this, are like the sex and sensuality mafia. They have unlimited resources when it comes to throwing these kinds of parties but I have no clue where it all comes from or how they do it.’

‘Nothing for it but to enjoy ourselves then, I suppose,’ he replied, joining her in the warm water. She was gazing at him with that fire he so loved to see in her eyes, submerged up to her waist and resting her elbows on the sides of the tub so that her breasts pointed out of the water, her nipples pink and hard, awaiting his attention.

It was twilight when they emerged, and instead of following the crowds of revellers who were marching towards the opera-size stage that formed the epicentre of their temporary surrounds, Noah led Summer into another tent marked ‘the lair’ where Viggo had informed him that a beehive of booths had been set up into temporary pleasure palaces, equipped with every implement that lovers could hope for with architectural options designed to suit those who sought isolation as well as to indulge those who preferred to enact their fantasies in public or view others in the guise of voyeurism.

The only sounds that later emanated from the private antechamber that Noah had selected was a chorus made up of the thudding flogger he beat against her skin, the slapping of their bodies, skin on skin, Summer’s moans and cries as he manipulated all of her senses to crescendo and back down and up again, and finally the desperate groan that birthed from his throat when he came inside her and collapsed, utterly spent. They did not speak until they had left the tent and the shared experience of a fuck so wonderful it seemed like a sacred thing to them both, and Summer realised that she was almost late for her scheduled performance and had no time to bathe again or dress in the gown that she had planned to wear.

They had missed one of the main shows, a ballet beneath the ice floor that had been televised on giant screens set up on the stage and featured a woman of apparently Brobdingnagian proportions who danced on the points of knives and unsettingly took pleasure from her pain.

Noah could not have cared less.

Had an anonymous bystander observed the audience who were resting on tiered rows of gilded seats within the covered amphitheatre, they would have seen that among the hushed guests who were overwhelmed by the spectacle occurring on the circular dais directly in their centre, only one man’s mind and gaze was fixed elsewhere.