TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (21 page)

“Depends how you look at it.” He grins. “I doubled my investment and the kid got himself another

investor; some local guy with a shop to handle sales and distribution.”

I smile. “Well then I suppose it’s a happy ending all round?”

“Yeah. I suppose so. But it might have been fun to see this kid go from zero to somewhere. He had

the skills and the right attitude to make something of himself.”

“Thanks to you he already has.”

“I’ll check him out next time I’m over there.” Now he can eat.

“And what became of your fact finding visit? Did you open up a manufacturing base?”

“Yes. It’s early days, but we’ll be in the black this time next year.”

“Great.” With story time over I set about my avocado, happy to have been privy to such a

meaningful story.

He plays waiter and serves me a Bannockburn rib steak accompanied by pommes allumettes and

bearnaise sauce, with a side portion of spinach. Our palates are refreshed with a raspberry sorbet that

leaves my taste-buds tingling. It’s a delicious meal.

I throw the plates and cutlery into the dishwasher and carry over two cups of strong black coffee

and settle myself on the sofa, a yard or so from him so I can sit side on, keeping him in full view at all

times; feeling the kind of contentment that comes from being in the company of someone very

special. Like an artist admiring a painting, I examine my handsome dinner date.

He catches me mid-review. “Beth, really, you can’t sit there looking at me like that and say

nothing.” He pats the space between us. “Sit next to me.”

I edge closer to him, watching as his left hand moves across the headrest and disappears, coming to

rest on my cheek; warm fingers massage my neck and brush into my hair – and so begins his sensual

seduction.

“I never eat here. As a rule I go out or have a late lunch. I’m enjoy having you here.”

“I’m enjoying being here. But won’t you get into trouble for playing hooky?” I smile, at my

ludicrous question.

“I hope no-one reports me to the boss. I’ve heard that he’s a real piece of work,” he declares

gleefully.

“He is,” I agree, kissing his cheek and ruffling his hair. “Are we still on for the much publicised

tour?”

His lips twist wryly. “Sure. If you’re up to it?”

“I think so. Besides, there are more locked doors than open ones in this place. I’m curious to know

what’s behind them.”

“Then let’s go and find out.” He stands and reaches out for my hand. “Are you alright to walk or do

you need carrying?”

“No, I’m fine, lead on.
‘Wherever the fates lead us let us follow.’”
I throw that out there, wondering

if he’ll catch it.

He looks at me quizzically. “And who said that?”

“Virgil. A famous Roman poet.”

He kisses my cheek. “I know who Virgil is.”

Of course he does.

“I think we’ll start at the basement and work our way up.” He opens the door for us to enter. “After

you.” I step inside the lift and we descend below his office and the master suite, past ground floor and

down further to the basement. As we step out of the lift the ceiling lights illuminate the corridor. Is

this the road to righteousness, I wonder?

I search his face for clues, but he’s either nervous or being very cagy about this part of the tour. I

can’t decide which. He leads me to the first door on the right, inserts a key and pushes it open. The

room is in darkness. He flicks on the top row of light switches. It’s a gym. Every possible form of

physically challenging, running, rowing and lifting equipment is down here.

I run my hands down his muscular back. “So this is where you keep yourself in shape? I was

beginning to think you had a painting in the attic?”

“Now let me guess. Would that be a Picture of Dorian Gray?”

I’m laughing out loud. I don’t mean to test his literary knowledge but this is turning into book

worm quiz night. “Ten points to you Mr. Stone.”

“Thank you. Should I get a pen and paper to keep score?”

I grab hold of his left bicep with both hands and press myself into him. I do love this man.

He reaches over and flicks down the lower set of switches and the far end of the room is swathed in

warm orange light; the rear dividing wall pulls back and a swimming pool appears from behind it.

Along its sides are two wooden cubicles.

“Now that’s impressive,” I exclaim, clapping my hands and giving him a round of applause.

“You can come down here anytime. You should, it will help your back to heal and tone your

muscles.”

I turn and look at him, indignation written all over my face. “Do my muscles need toning?”

He leans in and kisses my nose. “No. but fantasy fucking may leave you a little, how can I put this

…?”

“Sore?”

“Stiff.”

“Oh okay. Next.”

He closes the door behind us and unlocks the opposite door. Up go the lights and down falls my

jaw. It’s a private cinema. “My God Ayden!” I stroke the Pullman chairs and sit down, wriggling into

the plush, cushioned seat. “Wait until I tell Charlie about this.”

I hear him tutting behind me. “Oh, please, tell me you won’t. The last thing I want is a drama queen

watching drama in my house. I can picture it now; popcorn on the floor, tissues down the sides of

chairs …”

I stand and sashay in the direction of the exit sign. “Sometimes Mr. Stone you are such a grouch.” I

kiss his cheek. “Next.”

A couple of yards down the corridor, there’s a third door. Unlike the other two, it does not have a

lock. Instead there is a keypad at eye-level. I look at Ayden, saying nothing but sharing the same

thought. This is
the
room.

He grabs hold of my right hand and squeezes it tightly. “You ready for this?” Silently I nod yes,

looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes. “When I said I was lost without you, I meant it. I’ve been

lost all my life, just running around in circles but. No-one will ever come here but you.”

“I believe you.” I smile and reach out to caress his anxious face.

“I want you to love being here, Beth. I want to love you in here. Remember, whatever you see is

intended to bring you pleasure. I will
never
hurt you.”

He’s breaking my heart.

“I know Ayden. Just punch in the code.” I feel his lips against mine and close my eyes for no more

than a second.

The heavy door clicks open. He hits a switch and ushers me inside the dimly lit room. I say nothing.

From right to left I take it all in. The walls are decorated with night time pictures of international

locations: New York, London, Sydney Harbour, Hong Kong, L.A. and so on. My eyes come to rest on

the enormous dark wood, four poster bed and my thoughts make me smile.

He coughs, taking me away from my moment of contemplation. “I’ll give you a million to tell me

what you’re thinking
right
now.” I turn to look at him, standing upright a foot away from me, arms

folded, impatient. He lifts his chin and keeps me in his sights with a teal green stare. “What’s made

you smile?”

“The colour. It’s more Kelly Hopper than Marquis de Sade. I thought …”

He’s quick to interject. “You thought there would be chains and whips arranged along the walls?

Now does that sound like my style?”

I do believe he’s laughing at me. “No. But vanilla coloured bedding …? Now, you’ve got to admit,

that’s
ironic.”

Why isn’t he finding this amusing?

“It’s not vanilla Beth. It’s …”

I arch my brows. “Yes …?”

“I don’t know what colour it is but it’s not fucking vanilla. There’ll be no vanilla in here!” He joins

me in a bout of soft laughter. “Not much anyway.”

I sit down on the high level bed and bounce on it: it doesn’t move. I scramble across it and kick off

my shoes and what a mistake that is. Ayden spots my scarred feet.

“Are you still in pain?” He lifts up each foot in turn, inspecting the hardening cuts, tipping me

backwards onto the ‘cream’ coloured comforter.

I claim my feet back and tuck them underneath me. “I’m fine.” I prepare to change the subject and

look up. No mirrors. I’m about to smile again but think better of it. Maybe I’m not giving this exposé

the gravitas it deserves. “What’s with all the cupboards? Is that where you keep your tools?” I regret

using the word as soon as it leaves my mouth.

“Tools?”

I want to take it back, but it’s too late.

“It’s not a bloody workshop Beth! There are only
toys
in here. This is where the magic happens.”

He gives me a playful wink and brings to mind a recollection of our first night together in my

apartment.

I said that then and he answered, “Please …” We share the memory. To the right of the bed is the

first of a series of floor to ceiling cupboards, in gloss white with gold handles. “Is that where you

house the ‘toys?’”

“Some. But maybe we should start with something a little, say, softer …”

“Maybe we shouldn’t.” I look up to him sweetly. “I’m going to see everything; nothing you show

me will shock me. Why not start with door number one?”

Reluctantly he reaches for the double handles and turns them down. The doors open. I gasp. Hung

up and arranged neatly are whips, paddles, canes, floggers and a single metal rod.

“I take it back. I’m shocked.” He is about to close the doors, but I stop him. “Don’t close the doors.

I want to look.” I slide off the bed and reach over and touch each item, one after the other. “And have

you used all of them?” My hand rests on the cool, hard metal.

“Some. Most of them are just window dressing. I would never use the large paddles or the metal

rod. They could cause serious injury.”

“You don’t say.” I close the doors and seat myself on the bed, feeling a little disorientated. I hope

this collection
is
the iceberg and not the tip of it, or I may be forgoing the fantasy fucking.

Sensing my apprehension, he moves onto something less sinister. Behind door number two is the

pharmacy: every painkiller, potion, lubricant, foam, oil, cream and condom you could ever need. On

the bottom shelf is a selection of scented candles, a couple of which are partially burned. A stark

reminder, if any were needed, that two women have been here before me. Not a pleasant thought. I try

to shake my head free of it. This is our time. I refuse to allow any spectres to invade this private space.

“And behind door number three?”

“This.”

Thankfully, it’s the kind of equipment you would find in a ‘normal’ home: an iPod deck, laptop

with Wi-Fi connectivity and, on the top ledge, a video camera and two digital cameras. For a split

second, our eyes meet and our memories appear to land on the same moment in time: that moment

when I saw the photographs Ayden had taken of Alenka. I try to move on but the shape of the posts

around the bed and the comforter reignite
those
erotic images. They are forever etched into my

memory.

On the wall is a six inch square control panel. “What does that do?” I point in its direction.

“This …” He turns a knob and the light fades. “And this …” The colour of the room changes

through the colours of the spectrum, although why anyone would want to be tied up in a blue room

baffles me. He hits default and it resets to its dusky glow.

“That’s cool.”

“Yes, it is.”

“What music do you have?”

I’m met with a flat smile. “I wondered when you would ask me that. I’ve synchronized it with your

iPod library off my iPhone. You can choose something off that or add whatever you want. I’ll leave

that to you.”

“And the last door?” I turn to my ten o’clock, keen to see what lies behind it.

He takes hold of the handle. “Are you ready to see?”

I roll my eyes. “Just open it Ayden.”

“Here goes …” He pushes back the door to reveal a top-of-the-range bathroom, complete with spa

shower and twin basins in a kind of ivory colour. Two bathrobes are hung by the door and cream

coloured, fluffy towels are rolled into a discreet alcove. Instead of looking clinical, it’s soothing and

spacious.

“That’s a pleasant surprise,” I say with my fears allayed.

“I’m glad you approve.” He closes the door and approaches me, the relief visible on his face. “I

must say, you’ve been very accommodating about all this.” He stretches out his arm and arcs it

around the room. “Considering …”

“Considering I’m such a novice?”

He sits down next to me and strokes my arm as if I’m a well behaved child. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to, it’s in your eyes Ayden and they never lie.”

Together we say, “This is true,” and smile on cue.

“Now you’re finishing my sentences for me Beth. You know what I’m thinking.”

“Not always. You still have to tell me. Like … for instance …” I pull my thumb nail to my mouth.

He laughs softly to himself. “You haven’t done that for a while.”

“Done what?”

“Put your thumb nail in your mouth. You know about my ‘tell’ and that’s yours. What’s on your