TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (7 page)

shrug off her arm and shake my head. This time she has gone too far.

“No. This is the truth,” she implores, with eyes resembling those of a frightened child. “They are all

I have of him, and you are the only person I can share them with. Look at the letters in the bottom. He

always signs his photos when he presents them as a gift.”

“What!”

My brain will not process the information. I’m trembling and sick with an agonising pain that sears

into my chest, making me queasy. She reaches out and softly takes my left hand. I move in slow

motion, fearing my legs will not carry me over to the other photographs. I stare at each one in turn.

They look even more erotic than the others. I see the AS in the bottom right hand corner. Goosebumps

speckle my arms, leaving me with icy, fevered skin.

Dear God. She’s telling the truth!

“There is one for every month, see ...” I turn to my right and there they are: three more photos,

equally as sexual and even more provocative. In one she is bound, blindfolded and gagged. I hold my

hand to my mouth, remembering Ayden’s fixation with silencing me; his words,
‘tonight I’m going to

take away your power of speech’
and me silencing myself, willingly without the need for a gag.

The penultimate photo is less disturbing, I turn to assess Alenka’s reaction. Whilst I’m coming

apart at the seams, she’s smiling, her eyes glossy with private tears. There is no vengeance there, only

a desperate need to confide in someone who understands exactly what she is feeling: undeniable love

for
my
Ayden.

The photograph depicts a scene of total obedience. Alenka is wearing a black leather collar and a

black bikini which accentuates her curves; she is hanging from the bed frame by leather bondage cuffs

and her ankles are attached to what looks like a bar of about four feet in width. She is looking

adoringly into the camera and happy to exhibit herself, craving attention. My insides hurt and my

heart rate is increasing. What’s happening to me?

Before I can leave, I know I have to view the final photograph. From Alenka’s expression she has a

lot of affection for it. I force down a swallow that sticks in my throat like phlegm.

“Are these photographs in order? Is this the last one?”

She nods.

“This means a lot to you?”

“It means everything to me.” She glances up at it wistfully. “This was the last time Ayden laid his

hands on me.”

I’m beginning to feel for her. I know what it’s like to be apart from him; to relive those intimate

moments. How can she endure this suffering with these images as constant reminders?

“Look Alenka, I know you want me to believe Ayden took these photographs of you but A.S. could

be anyone.”

I rest my eyes on the image inside the final frame. My blood is boiling in my veins, entering my

heart then coursing through my body like lava. It’s a long shot from further away, capturing Alenka

lying flat on the bed in all her naked glory; across her eyes is a soft blindfold, her wrists are tied to the

top of the bedframe by a piece of cord, similar to the one having left its mark on my wrists ... a

whimper leaves my mouth.

Holding onto the bed post nearest to the camera is a man’s hand. It’s a strong, powerful hand with

oval shaped nails that are filed short, perfect for probing and exploring. On the middle finger rests a

band of broad platinum that is never removed. I recognise that hand and forget to breathe. Only when I

feel Alenka’s hand on my shoulder am I roused into some kind of realisation. That realisation has me

gasping for air.

“Now you know you must take care. Things are not always what they seem Elizabeth.”

No shit!

I turn slowly until we are face to face; she is barefoot and I’m standing in heels and still she has a

couple of inches on me, but it doesn’t matter. We are no longer combatants but kindred spirits. I can

empathise with her suffering. While she mourns the loss of a lover, I mourn the loss of innocence. I

reach out to shake her hand and she looks down, maybe cloaking tears beneath long eyelashes but, as

my sleeve lifts she catches sight of the pale pink ring around the wrist of my right hand. She lifts up

my left and up-turns my palms, stroking the narrow pink bands gently with her thumbs.

“He has left his mark on you,” she states, forcing me to pull away.

She says no more. Her knowing look is enough. I feel ashamed, not by the temporary scars but by

my own naivety. Her hand slips something into mine. It’s one of her business cards off the table.

“You need not concern yourself. Ayden is a secret I intend to keep in my heart and in this room, but

there is one other who will not allow you to exist in his secret world.” She pauses to scrutinize every

inch of my face.

“I saw how he followed your every move at the book launch, as if he could not bear to be parted

from you. I watched you subdue him with your words, how attentive he was, holding your hand even

though there was not a photographer within range.”

Her eyes don’t leave mine.

“I was there when he took you in his arms at the foot of the Spanish Steps, with a single thought on

his mind: to propose to you.”

I follow her out of the side room and watch her lock the door behind us.

“Don’t judge him too harshly, Elizabeth. Underneath that heart of stone, there is a beautiful boy

waiting to be rescued. But … you know that already, I think.”

“I do.” What else can I say?

We consider the significance of her words and present matching smiles; smiles that reflect a shared

understanding. In a very European gesture of thanks, I kiss her on both cheeks. “Thank you Alenka. I

have a feeling you and I may be seeing a lot more of each other.”

“You can count on it Frances Elizabeth Parker.” She smiles, allowing the perfect skin on her

cheekbones to pucker ever so slightly around her eyes. She seems to have the wisdom of the Gods

hidden beneath those shimmering eyes.

I hear her front door close behind me a single second before I hear someone calling my name.

“Miss Parker.”

I turn to my right and, what the hell, there’s Lester. I can’t hide my surprise. “Lester! What are you

doing here?”

He hands me a phone and walks back to the silver Rolls Royce.

“Hello?”

“Thank Christ! What the fuck have you been doing?” It’s my irate fiancé.

“Ayden?” I answer, making my way over to a wooden bench at the end of the road overlooking a

patch of greenery.

“I returned your call over an hour ago and I’ve been calling you ever since. Why haven’t you picked

up your fucking phone?”

He really needs to calm down.

“I’ve had it on silent.” I take a look at it. I’ve missed six calls. “I didn’t hear it ring.”

“It’s almost ten thirty and I’m about to go to bed. I’ve had a shitty day and I wanted to speak to you

but you’re running around the city with your phone on silent. Who does that?”

“Me apparently,” I answer impudently. If he’s going to talk to me like I’m a naughty child, I’ll act

like one.

“
You had me worried.” I hear him sighing with relief.

“
Did you think I would sit around all day, waiting for your call?” The words leave my lips with

such a force I spit them out like venom. I know why: there are good six reasons why, and any one of

them is justification enough for ending this call right now. “How did you find me?”

“I ... traced your phone,” he states, unsure of my reaction. “Like I said, I was worried. Anyway what

have you been up to?”

Like he doesn’t know.

“You tell me. You know where I am, right?”

“I do.” I have no audible clues as to what he is thinking, but I can guess. “And, from your tone, I

think you saw the photograph in Rome and have confronted Alenka.”

“And you’d be right. I saw her and made a fool out of myself by accusing her of being a stalker.” I

need time to think things through. This is like a game of poker. Neither of us wants to reveal our hand.

“And now you know she isn’t?”

“Yes, I was mistaken.” If he thinks I’m going to spell it out he’s going to have to wait a long, long

time. “It looks like she has an Italian twin who caught your eye as well as mine.”

“I thought it was her too.”

Why are we lying to each other like this? We said we wouldn’t, didn’t we? I hate the deceit; it’s

eating away at my insides like gastric acid. “She wasn’t how I thought she’d be. After our last round

of verbal sparring I expected her to floor me again with more revelations, but ...”

“But what?” He’s taking anxious breaths, sucking the oxygen from the room.

I close my eyes and imagine his perfect face, guarded but unscathed. I picture my own, wrinkled

from excessive frowning and duplicity. “I can’t do this Ayden,” I mutter. “This is bullshit.” I throw

back my head, despairing of my waking nightmare.

“Okay, Beth. I’m listening.” I pick up quiet anticipation.

“She took a call. I got curious and went on a walkabout, came across her personal gallery. She’s

very beautiful and I can appreciate what you see in ...”

“Saw, Beth. S
aw
in her.” He’s quick to point that out.

“
Saw
in her. I wandered into her office and ...”

“Fuck!”

With that involuntary word the air leaves his lungs. I picture his hand finding his neck; he’s never

sounded more tense than right at this very moment. I imagine him pacing, wearing out the carpet in

his five star hotel room.

“At first I was shocked. Who has pictures like that taken of them?” I force a nervous laugh. “By

number four I had convinced myself they were pieces of erotic art, nothing more. Number five and I

spotted the AS in the bottom right hand corner. It hit me, they were gifts you were happy to put your

name to but, even then I was in denial. Along came number six and any doubts I might have had were

gone. It
was
you behind the camera Ayden.”

“Oh, Beth, I’m so sorry.” The pacing stops.

“I’ve not finished.” I feel my anger building to a deafening crescendo “Isn’t it ironic? The one thing

that gave you away happens to be one of the many things I love about you: your fucking hands. The

very same hands you use to caress my face and finger fuck me. Well, you’ve fucked me good and

proper this time Ayden ...” I’m starting to pant.

“Don’t say that Beth, please ... it’s not true.”

“Which part exactly? The caressing or the fucking?” As hard as I try I cannot hold back tears; they

stream down my face like an outpouring of liquid emotion.

“The fucking, of course. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am you found out like this. I’ve been

waiting for the right moment. I wanted us to go to Stone Heath yesterday, so I could tell you and show

you ...”

His words wash over me. “... You know what makes me laugh?” The question is purely rhetorical,

and I don’t bother waiting for a reply. “I actually went to see Alenka to fight for you; to warn her off

and look how that’s turned out. What the hell was I thinking?”

“You were thinking about us Beth,” he asserts, struggling to get the words out

Like a demented fool, I laugh at myself. “Yeah, right. That’s a mistake I won’t make again.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” This is more like it. The man behind the camera speaks.

“It means I don’t need this kind of crap in my life. I thought I needed you. Turns out I don’t

because with you comes a shit load of dark secrets that you haven’t even got the decency to tell me

about. I’ve had enough.”

Every ounce of regret reverberates in his voice. “I think this is a conversation we should save until I

get back.”

“I
bet
you do. And what will happen then? Will you seduce me; fuck me into submission like all the

others ...?”

“You’re upset Beth. You don’t know what you’re saying.” I hear a change in the tenor of his voice;

it’s becoming more baritone, deep and controlling. He’s close to breaking point and so am I.

“I know what I’m saying Ayden and I know who I am. What I don’t know is who the fuck you are!”

“Yes, you do. You know me better than anyone baby.”

The softness in his voice is too much. It tips me over. “I’m not your baby Ayden, or your little

genie …. I’m the one that got away ...” I hold the phone away from my face and try to hold onto a

rational thought.

What did I just say?

“Beth, Beth ...”

“Don’t call me and don’t send me any songs or flowers or gifts.
If
you love me, then let me go.” I

cover my mouth to muffle my sobs.

“No.” He yells, making me jump. “Stop! Put this fucking phone next to your ear right now and

listen to me.”

For reasons best known to my heart, I do as he asks.

“Don’t you dare say
‘if ’
I love you because there is no ‘if’ about it. I love you with every breath I

take. I live for you. I’d do anything for you, only you.”

I continue to sniff and allow him to carry on.

“I’m ashamed of myself for what happened yesterday because you didn’t deserve that, but the

photos you saw were not random acts of cruelty. They were two consenting adults acting out their