Chpater 12

“So… Charlotte… What’s in the future for your mother?” asks Ryan. “Happily single? Or is she looking for a man in her life?”

Charlotte chews slowly. “I don’t think so. I think she’s enjoying taking control of her own life again. She spent so long, so many years, having no control… Events spinning around her. One man or another telling her what she had to do, or manipulating her into it… Whether she liked it or not… Stephen, my father, Frank…”

Ryan pushes food around his plate. “It’s about understanding the limits isn’t it,” he says after a while. “About what’s agreed between people. What is consented to. ‘No’ means ‘No’. Would you agree, James?”

James’ expression is solemn, but his words are smooth. “I would agree, yes. ‘No’ does mean ‘No’.”

“Yes… consent is the key to the bond between a couple…” Ryan appears to be replying to James, but his eyes are on Kirstie.

“Yes,” she whispers. “Consent is the key.” And a smile whispers over her lips.

*****

Dessert when it arrives, is a fairyland confection of fruit and spun sugar with enough whipped cream to lay a ski slope.

Ryan huffs and leans back, abandoning his spoon to hold his middle. “Absolutely delicious. Superb.”

“There’s plenty more,” says James.

“Couldn’t eat another thing. You’ve surpassed yourself, James.” He twists around. “You too, Ross. Amazing.”

Kirstie dabs at her mouth with a napkin. “Yes, I’d no idea that testosterone is such a well-developed flavour.”

Richard explodes into a fit of coughing. After a few seconds, he straightens up again, wiping at his eyes. “Sorry about that. Bone got stuck in my throat.”

James picks a morsel of fruit from between his teeth with a fingernail. “Yes, do watch out for bones everyone. You can’t be too careful with rhubarb.” But there’s a twinkle in his eyes for Kirstie.

“That was great.” Charlotte stands, “But sorry, I gotta pee.”

*****

You're staying overnight I hope? says Richard.

Well... Kirstie sucks at her lips, then looks down. Ryan looks away.

“There's plenty of room,” says Beth. “We have several spare bedrooms and I had them all made up in case we had extra visitors...”

Are they sleeping together?

“... So you can choose where you would like to sleep.” She waves a vague hand upwards. “The Green room, that's a twin, has a stunning view in the morning. It's angled so you get the dawn over the dunes. It's my favourite when I'm here without Richard.”

Richard blinks. “You don't sleep in our bed when I'm not here?

“No, my Love. When you're not with me, I have other things in my life. “

He blinks some more, shifting in his seat, then forehead creasing, takes a sip of his brandy.

*****

James murmurs, “Well, will you look at that…”

“What?”

He pulls the curtain back, pressing a finger to his lips and nodding out.

In the background, soft music is playing, drifting through open windows out to the soft, slow, summer evening over the terrace and beach. And there, out by the strandline, are Kirstie and Ryan.

He’s sitting on the sand, knees tucked up into his arms, barely smiling but his eyes locked on her as she dances for him

She’s a tall girl, lithe and lean. Her long dark hair emphasises her height, and rippling in the wind as she moves, her grace too. She sways and shimmies with the music, her loose dress fluttering in the slight breeze, shifting with her motion.

As the track finishes, she stills, outstretches a hand, an invitation.

His head tilts back, his mouth opening a little, then their hands meet as she draws him up off the sands.

He hesitates, but as she gazes him full in the face, he moves closer, then an arm around her waist, pulls her in tight.

“Think they’re going to get back together?”

“It’s looking promising isn’t it. It would be a shame if they didn’t. They make a good couple.”

“They do. Let’s get that mood going for them again.”

Turning off the light so as not to be backlit, I hover over my choice...

Music to dance by...

Music to dance together by...

Unchained Melody… Perhaps the most beautiful song ever written for lovers.

As the new piece starts, Kirstie moves again, swaying to the rhythm, now in Ryan’s arms. And as the wistful tones of the Righteous Brothers drift over the sands, the two dance together, body to body, cheek to cheek.

“Ah, that's lovely...”

I jolt back to reality. I'd not heard Charlotte enter.

“... I do hope they'll get back together.”

*****

In the deep of the night, I rouse, blinking into darkness. Charlotte rests her face on my chest. James is spooned up behind her.

What woke me?

And there, from somewhere in the darkness… muted but unmistakable, the cry of a woman in climax.

I listen and the sound cuts off short, but I roll back to sleep with a smile.

*****

Over the clatter of breakfast plates, the sound of a door opening. Kirstie and Ryan, hand-in-hand, and very obviously together.

And at her throat, from a fine velvet choker, dangles a pearl.

Kirstie's eyes meet mine for a moment. She smiles and with an all but imperceptible movement, she nods.

Good morning. I hope you slept well?

Assuming they slept at all.

*****

Klempner - Thailand

Is that him?

Pushing the spectacles up my nose, across the dining room, I survey the entrance lobby and the group just entering. Three men, all Hispanic types plus a blowsy-looking female cramming a size-sixteen body into a size-twelve dress.

No. He’d never be with a woman looking like that.

The hotel is classy-looking, expensive. It should be considering what I paid.

Air-con whispers over the assembled diners. They murmur, telling themselves they’re enjoying the high life as they eat over-priced meals. The food’s good but considering some of the slums not so far away, and the money some of the locals get by on, the prices are offensive.

Odd… There was a time that wouldn’t have occurred to me…

I sit reading my tablet, propped up by a jug of oil and another of chilli sauce. Occasionally, I fork up prawns and rice in a vivid green sauce. Fragrant with garlic, limes and cilantro, it should be stirring my appetite, but my attention is elsewhere.

This beard is driving me nuts…

… But I resist the urge to scratch. It wouldn’t fit with the persona. While I have to meld with the bourgeoisie at play, I need to maintain the front.

If I have it right, all anyone else will see is a prosperous businessman: well-groomed, the suit casual but expensively cut, in a pale linen which suits the climate and merges nicely with the others around me. I see occasional glances, weighing up the cut, the cost and perhaps the tailor, but that’s perfectly normal for this crowd where everything is measured by your wealth…

… apparent wealth at any rate…

But the moment I have the chance, the beard’s coming off.

Thank God for air-con…

So, I ignore the infernal itching, trying to lose myself in my research.

How did we manage before the internet?

And satellite mapping?

My table-companion picks at her food. She's young, blond and sultry-eyed, and beautiful in an obvious, off-the-conveyor-belt kind of way. She would win many a Miss-Beauty-Contest competition and practices a pout she imagines is attractive.

She keeps trying to catch my eye, pushing bok choy around her plate. “Can we talk about something?”

Don’t strain your brain…

Could I manage without her?

No… A single man would be noticed.

My eyes fixed on my screen. “You’re not being paid to talk.”

“Oh.” Subdued, she turns what passes for her attention back to her meal. “I just wondered, why I’m here. You don’t seem very…”

“You’re here because I’m paying you. I’m asking very little for what you’re earning. Now, eat your meal and try to look as though you’re enjoying yourself.”

She shuts up, and I take the opportunity to scan outwards…

Any sign of him?

…looking through to the glass screens to the hotel entrance, and beyond; the frontage out to swimming pools, manicured lawns and the beach.

No, not yet…

I scroll through satellite images, searching for my target…

There you are…

The detail’s pretty good.

Now, how to get there…

And get out again…

The routes through the local forests are varied, not all of them are easy and some are close to impossible.

It penetrates that Airhead’s talking again, wittering on…

Her eyes on her plate. “…I mean… It’s been four days now. And I’m bored with sitting by pools and bars and… Can’t we go out somewhere?” She straightens up, breathing in, giving me the benefit of her cleavage.

“No. You can do whatever you want, just so long as it’s done quietly and here.”

“But I’m so bored.”

“So read your magazine.”

“I’ve read it.”

“There’s plenty in the lobby, written in English.”

“Reading’s boring.”

Only boring people get bored…

My eyes rise briefly to hers and then down again to my tablet.

Give me strength…

“Can I go for a swim?”

“Later.”

“Can I have another cocktail?”

For fuck’s sake, shut up…

“Order whatever you want.”

A waiter appears by some magic over her shoulder. “Yes, madam?”

“I’d like a cocktail, something local… Um…”

I scissor in on an opening in the forest canopy. “Try a Siam Mary.”

Is that a trail?

It’s not on the tourist maps…

Something like curiosity piques her tone. “What’s that?”

“Like a Bloody Mary, but regional ingredients.”

She squeaks up to the waiter, “I’ll have one of those.”

“And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have a sparkling water: ice and lime. Room number 317. Name of Plumber.”

There’s movement by the entrance.

Keeping my face fixed on my tablet, I look from under my brows to the two dark-suited men entering the hotel. Big bruisers, with the kinds of faces only a mother could love and with a manner that says they get all their ‘authority’ from someone else. Obvious heavies.

Ah-haaaa…

Shifting in my seat, I shift to watch… directly to the door… from over my tablet

Bullying their way through the bustling holiday makers, the two clear the way for the man behind them.

Garcias…

He strolls in; his loose linen jacket immaculate despite the heat and the humidity. A woman accompanies him, strolling with a swing to her hips. Tall, blonde, elegant, beautiful. She reeks of money, designer clothes and the kind of education that teaches a woman how to behave. But there’s no pleasure there; nothing about her that says she’s enjoying being with the man beside her.

Once, I wouldn’t have noticed that either.

Garcias holds out a polite hand, gesturing her to the restaurant, but the gesture has the air of rote; of something one does. There is no smile to his eyes. No affection for his partner. The woman is window-dressing.

As the four enter the restaurant, the maître de steps smartly forward, gesturing the couple through, his manner obsequious, ignoring the heavies. “We have of course reserved your table, Mr Garcias.”

He snaps his fingers and a waiter comes dashing over with a bottle, ice-bucket and stand. “I had your usual Bollinger ready for you, but of course if you prefer something else…”

Garcias grunts a ‘No,’ and the headwaiter bows and scrapes them to the table. The bodyguards stand back, looming over the other table guests, who pointedly look away.

I fork up some more of the excellent prawns.

Just the right amount of ginger and chilli…

And I wait.

*****