chapter thirty-three, Monday:4thnovember2013, introduction
It's surprising how the sight of your life flashing before your eyes polarises your thinking, because in that moment, I knew exactly what I had to do. And for a single moment I wasn't thinking about tea or horses.
Tiredness has slowed my reflexes but even a tired second Dan has something most adversaries don’t have, training. As soon as my head catches up with our predicament it reacts in a way that is automatic and not really my doing at all. Nagashi Uke, a sweeping block and the barrel is now pointing at the sky, the owner of which stares in utter disbelief, eyes flung open, wide mouth in a silent scream. Naname Mae okuri Ashi, I step diagonally forward, okuri Ashi, I sweep the assailant onto his back he lands with a heavy thud.
It's then I wonder who this Hispanic man is trying to shoot me, sando zuki, three swift punches to his prone body, he cries out in agony, trying to roll away from me onto his side, tobikomi, I jump forward and plant a foot to his head knocking him clean unconscious. His black greasy hair splayed around his head. Ritzu rei, standing bow. I surprise myself I still remember how to do that.
I suddenly feel unsteady on my feet, it all happens in a matter of seconds. Kurt is immediately at my side and has the shotgun cocked and unloaded in safety mode laid across his arm. “Nice work Tharie” Nodding in appreciation at the show, his broad smile all white teeth and clear eyes. He’s quite enjoyed that. We look down at the fallen man, it’s like a science experiment: method, we know that already: me, we’re all paying close attention to the result, unconsciousness, conclusion? Pointing guns isn’t clever.
The man is tall about 30 years old, or maybe a little older, filthy like he's been living rough out in the desert for weeks. He smells bad too. His brown wide whale corduroy trousers are worn, he wears old and scuffed cowboy boots with metal tipped engraved toe caps, no scurf or scuff marks so he's never been near a saddle. Clues suggest to me he lives a fantasy life and dresses to support his delusion of action and excitement. Well, he doesn’t look like one now, sprawled all over the tile, and corduroy? That's so last season. Odd I find I’m ambivalent about the whole encounter, in an adrenalin induced haze maybe, or maybe he just deserved it. Or and the universe is paying me back with a moment of stillness, enjoy it while you can Tharie. He wears a checked shirt at least a size too small, and a hand tooled brown leather belt with silver cast moulded buckle depicting a mountain and a few grazing mustangs, again part of the illusion. This man has soft hands, clearly not used to hard labour out here, certainly never been near a horse then. Just a normal man, then why would he be in this house? And why hasn’t he bathed in days? And, where's the kettle?
Evil I can almost forgive, slovenly I cannot.
Silence follows the group as we hear a shuffling about inside the house. We step carefully over the figure on the floor, Stan looks at him carefully as he passes saying nothing. I kick him in the ribs for good measure, knowing it’s wrong and instantly feel better. I look over at Daniel, still stunned by what just happened, as he approaches the body and looks carefully, his hand flies to his mouth and gasps. “What?” I lay my hand on his arm. “What Daniel?” Have I gone too far knocking this man out? Or was it the kick I gave him?
“I know that person” he doesn’t take his eyes off the prone figure until I squeeze his arm hard.
Looking down at me, “yes, he has done some driving for us at RANDom” he speaks levelly and calm, quiet and his brain is trying to figure it out, “that’s Emilio,” he whispers to me.
Before I can ask, Stan comes over, “yes” is all Stan says, “He’s Steffi’s boyfriend.” This statement to me means another tick to my mental tab system, listing all the things about that girl I don’t like, my Mum would say she has nice hair though. Typical.
Nigel goes to get some rope from the Landy and we tie Emilio up very carefully, a chief scout master would be properly proud and doubtless give us a badge. Out cold and will be for a while, “we’ll ask him questions when he comes around.” Says Stan, all very Hawaii five-0, and he continues checking and rechecking our equipment. There will be no equipment failure, not on this trip, that's for certain.
Propped up by the front door on the cold tile of the floor Emilio is as far away from our delicate aroma collecting devices, my nose for one, as far away as possible and still be in our line of sight. As I feel I’m unable to cope with this smell for much longer, I happily find a grapefruit candle and lovingly light it, that’s much better. Knowing it's surreal assuming our current situation could get considerably more bizarre, but still, I need to smell something pleasant don't I, I’m a girl after all.
Inside the house a familiar arrangement of light convening mirrors are fixed all around the walls and the place is lit with a bright natural glow. It’s a beautiful home, not lavish but quaintly shabby and boutique’y chic, well matched and mixed. Everything has a sun baked faded colour scheme like a spring season Fired Earth catalogue. Hand woven ancient textiles once bright now pale hang on the rough painted white walls, and the upholstery is a mismatched collection of antique soft cushions and throws.
But the things that impress upon my mind straight away are all the antiquities that are scattered around the place, ceramic pots, stone carvings, wooden pieces all very old, the Professor is in a sweetshop, he’s so happy. He swiftly grazes around the room at the antique pieces muttering almost to himself forgetting to clean his glasses at all in the last ten minutes such is his level of enthusiasm.
PF: “Are hot pants on-trend Tharie?” I dare not ask, but I’m gonna.
TC: “That depends on your accessories” I’m not wrong, and you're figure too.
PF: “Flip-flops and handcuffs, is that OK?” Excuse me for asking.
TC: “Very current season, now you're Hermes cross body bag to finish, and you're good to go” Vogue would be proud.
PF: “Thanks honey Px” I suddenly wish she was here, as I look at our prisoner, she speaks Spanish doesn't she?
Everyone is in now, Daniel and Kurt are picking things up and exchanging glances between them, shaking their heads, and looking confused. I can recognise the mood, its comfort and recognition, unspoken, but clear. This house, is not new to them, yet they’ve never been here before. Picking up another Jo Malone grapefruit 5wick candle and smelling it, it reminds me of home, “this looks like a softer more lived-in version of your own house Daniel.” I offer tossing a cushion around in my hands, it feels so soft and light. The boys shoot quick looks at each other.
“Only, not all white” I giggle. “That reminds me, I’ll make some tea.” And a feint whiff of Chanel no. 5 too, but I keep that to myself for now. Kurt shoots me a quick look, “you’ve been to Danny’s house?” In shock, tilting his head in disbelief, he gives me a more appraising look as if I’m now worth noticing, how rude. Kurt is enjoying using his boy scout knotting badge skills on Steffi’s boyfriend, pulling the rope tighter than reasonably necessary to make the sense of betrayal feel less one way.
“What’s happened to you lately Danny?” Smiling between me and him, “you never take anyone there.” He laughs to himself, but not quite. “Where you allowed to sit on his sofa Tharie?” I laugh loudly, because the illusion of the place is clinical and uncomfortable, and not nearly enough cats for my liking either. But a tick in the yes box for the tea. And there’s always cats at the shelter needing homes.
Note to self, Daniel needs a cat.
That's what's missing: tea.
Daniel softly and thoughtfully answers Kurt’s not too rhetorical question, “she’s not anyone…” and just as he starts to qualify his actions we hear a muffled scream, and a very loud thud from the back of the house.
Maybe someone’s getting impatient for the tea?
Kurt rolls his eyes like what now, then realises who’s not in the room. “Liza, where is Liza?” He gasps, flinging himself toward the kitchen, launching himself toward the sound in as few massive strides as possible. Sauntering behind the scrum of men running to her aid, bless, they haven’t known her too long. I am amused by the scene, she can look after herself, but of course they don’t know that yet do they? At the source of the noise, me the only one who arrives on the scene in mild casual amusement, the boys stand perfectly still, watching, but my smug look was not to last for long.
Kurt looks on in bewilderment clearly happy Liza is fine, but perplexed that she didn’t need the help of big strapping lads, because that’s the way it’s supposed to be isn’t it? Bloody hell no.
Picture the scene if you will, a homely kitchen, well designed, pale cream cabinets, wooden work surface. Plate rack with willow pattern set of dinner plates, a bottle of already open Rioja and Liza standing over a woman's body laid out face down on the kitchen floor.
The washing up is done too, not sure why I notice.
There’s a messy spread of shiny hair everywhere like a firework around her head. Liza rubs her hands together and says “dispatched this bitch” looking at Kurt, because she’s playing a scene. Swishing her ponytail too, which of course puts Kurt into a lather.
“She's going to have a massive headache in the morning” clearly in her element, “and a couple of broken ribs too I hope,” smiling wildly in amusement. “The crazy f*cker thought coming at me brandishing a bread knife would intimidate…me!” Crazy bitch I think, meaning Liza, you wouldn’t know to look at her, she’s weeny, and she's wearing a boob tube as always, a stylish arse-kicker. And before you ask, yes she can do a sitting trot happily in a strapless bra, that's how good her seat is. She's tough.
“Super serration batman,” I say happy at my cartoon reference. Liza chuckles at this and I am so happy she came with us on this trip, Kurt is too, I can see it in his face, like a cold slap in the face, yep, it’s the same look.
“Let’s tie her up” I say decisively, and secretly always thought she deserved being tied up sitting on a cold floor, you know the type don’t you? Really I don’t know what else to do. "Knots first, then tea” I love the new plan, just like the Brownies.
Liza rubs her hands together eye to eye with the one man in the room it was designed to impress, Kurt, “but she picked on the wrong girl,” she shouts at the body lying on the floor and kicks a very large shiny blade away across the orange tiled floor, it spins as it flies. She unties her ponytail with a flourish and flicks her blonde hair like a shampoo advert, retying it for Kurt’s benefit, it has the desired effect, He is only now focused on her, dilated pupils, before he was smitten, but now he has fallen.
Rolling his eyes in mild amusement Daniel flips the unconscious woman over with the point of his boot to reveal the face of the would-be assailant, “Steffi!” He closes his eyes filled with loathing and disappointment “what’s going on here?” Looking at Stan for the answer.
“If my Spidey senses are correct, and they usually are, we have her boyfriend don’t we? Who here didn’t expect her to be here too?” They all look at me, a pattern no one else can see, incredible. I fill up the kettle.
“Makes sense” from Stan, “and she always was a little….” He leaves the word floating in the air unspoken, to avoid any disrespect to his boss. Daniel doesn’t mind at all.
“Stalkerish?” Not a real word, but should do, Daniel finishes Stan’s hanging phrase.
Then I realise I hadn’t told him, “she broke into my computer Daniel,” suddenly remembering some of the mails from Daniel which were certainly for my eyes only. I flick the switch and the kettle is on. “She read my emails” and that’s just rude, and left bloody hand cream all over my keyboard, that’s just disrespectful. “She was trying to find the safe I believe.” I realise out loud, “that’s what she’s was in my studio for.” I put my hands in my pockets, glad of the familiar feeing of denim on me.
I arrange cups on the worktop, in a deliberately haphazard way since Daniel is watching my every move. Daniel shakes his head disappointed, not at my disregard for order over chaos, “are those jeans safe?” Personally I quite like a little chaos, it reminds us you can’t control everything. And anyone who doesn’t believe it, hasn’t ridden a mad Trakehner on a windy day with the Essex Union Hunt galloping past, where they're not allowed to ride, with forty well-behaved hounds to heel. Another true bloody story people.
Daniel looks at me hoping I can give him a positive answer, jeans safe, people? Well none of this trip has been thus far. “They might be important” he says,”what if they’ve got hold of them already?” Clearly agitated he moves around the room like a wild cat at a zoo, I bloody hate zoos.
Taking a deep breath, “they're safe Daniel,” I say emphatically, but of course I know exactly where they are so I can sound sure.
“Positive?” Daniel places lots of emphasis on their importance.
“So long as I'm safe, they are safe, yes.” I tell him. So looking at my legs a little guiltily, I’m not sure how the news will affect the situation. ”I thought wearing them would be the safest place to keep them.” I finally say, and then everyone looks at what I’m wearing, they’re very nice jeans too. Well, I am a denim guru after all.
The kettle clicks off steamily, and I add the boiling water to the massive pot with real leaves, not tea bags, in the bottom. Daniel hugs me and kisses my hair “incredible woman.” He looks over at Kurt with a nod, “see?” He smiles a smile just for me.
It's then I decide a connection might be in order so I send a text:
TC: “How’s the book signing?” She’ll be bored to tears, hope she has her hip-flask with her.
EC: “Thank goodness for alcohol!” Must be bad.
TC: “The book is getting great reviews Mum, I read a critique of it on the plane” I’m so very proud of her, her writing is brilliant, and the illustrations all done by her too.
EC: “These people ask completely the wrong questions Catharine” of course they do.
TC: “About Lawrence?” I hope.
EC: “Kidding? They’re more interested in me, stupid, mediocre….do I need to go on?” Please no.
TC: “Can you believe it, T E Lawrence's life not interesting enough for them? And they want to know about who you're wearing?” What can you say to that?
EC: “True story” did She get that from me?
TC: “There must be some sensible enquiries?” Please let that be true.
EC: “One” and…
TC: “Surely not, don’t they want to know about the dessert or the history or Wadi Rum?” Please say yes.
EC: “And I’ve never even ridden a camel” what’s that got to do with anything? Clearly Mum has gone off on a tangent again…maybe it’s the dry sherry in her hip-flask?
TC: “Hope the book sells well, see you soon” I miss her.
EC: “I’ll send you a photo so you can remember what I look like!” She thinks she’s funny, I wonder where I get that from?
I finish my conversation with my Mum and smile at my phone, I’d really like to see her now. As I return to the present I glance over and Daniel is staring at me.
Another vibration.
T&G: “20% off haircuts this weekend” bloody hell, does everyone speak to my Mother!
Daniel is still watching me, replacing my phone in my pocket.
I add milk to the cups one by one, with fresh already opened semi-skimmed milk from the fridge. Its feels weird poking around in someone else’s home, like stealing. But it’s a tea emergency, I’m sure whoever lives here will understand. Daniel moves closer to me, and I close my eyes expecting a kiss on the head, I hear clinking and clattering as he re arranges the cups, in order alphabetically, with the handles facing toward him, equidistant apart and neat as little toy soldiers.
I’m sure in that instant his feelings for me aren't fleeting, there’s more, he wants tea too. I wonder whether he’ll ever be able to tell me, or will I be forever guessing. Then he breaks the hold with a command, suddenly looking in control, this has an interesting effect on me, firstly it turns me on, secondly I begin to feel very calm. “Tie her ankles up too Kurt” Daniel nods at Steffi’s prone body, his eyes never leaving mine, “tight.” Stan already has rope ready, he likes his jobs like I do, it’s his coping mechanism, to be physically useful.
Looking at me never breaking my gaze, yes, you can tie me up Daniel I try to telepathasise it to him, is a fleeting thought, ill-timed as usual.
“With pleasure,” answers Kurt grabbing a length of rope, “though I usually get a girls permission before I tie her up!” Says Kurt laughing. Liza swings her head toward him in amusement, but of course that's permission.
He thinks he's funny too, must be catching.
Chapter thirty-three, Monday:4thnovember2013, mine
With the two would -be assailants tied securely, remember we’ve all watched too many old Batman cartoons where they always escape, to do a poor job with our prisoners knots, we sit exhausted in silence for a while. They are propped up against a wall sitting together, both still unconscious with very tidy impossible to escape from Boy Scout knots tied by the ex-special forces, and ex-Batman lovers. We search the house to make sure they don’t have any help with them, we probably should have done this before now, but dear reader, we didn’t, we needed tea. Satisfied that we have the situation under control we sit in the living room at high tea. Thankful and still a little in shock from what we just did, we sit in silence sipping like all that’s missing are cucumber sandwiches on a tiered plate rack with a handle. It would be a comedy moment if we didn’t have prisoners sitting in there with us. I suddenly remember seeing such a tiered plate rack in the kitchen, what is this place? And are there fondant fancies in the cupboard? Hope so.
Almost to myself as I sip hot refreshing tea “the house hasn't been slept in.” I dunk a ginger nut biscuit, “wherever these villains are based, it isn’t here.” I top up everyone’s teacups to positive murmurs all-round, “it’s immaculate.” I gesticulate with half a soggy biscuit, “the beds are made there's Jo Malone grapefruit candles everywhere,” my favourite. I buff the cushion I’m sitting against. “The washing up is all done and dry on the wooden rack drainer.” I notice practically. “It's like there were inhabitants, and they just popped out to the shops.”
Maybe they have? Wondering how far away the shops must be, and suddenly worrying there's nowhere for them to buy decent denim, well trust me.
“Biscuit anyone?” I say drinking from a bone china cup with saucer, “and they like their tea,” whoever lives here. “There’s five different blends out there in the kitchen, several teapots and matching china set,” I look down into the swirling steam that’s my tea, “no chipped mugs here.” I notice out loud.
“Ha!” From Kurt almost spitting out some tea, “Mum would be happy, she loathes mugs.” laughs Kurt, and Daniel confirms with a nod, but says nothing.
“I’ll go for a rummage in the library” adds Nigel, “you coming Dr Cartier?” Liza nods an emphatic yes, she clearly can’t wait to get her hands on a project that takes her out of the room, with live bound reminders of our welcome party slouched messily on the floor. And smelling like a wet goat.
It seems important to note here, I have never actually smelled a goat that's been out in the rain, I merely guess that it's like a wet dog, but outdoorsier.
“More tea?” I offer the pot around in mock-tea party poshness. Nodding all-round, “a level of discernment, so rare today.” Daniel giggles extending his little finger out holding his cup in a pastiche of a imagined royal, and suddenly this is the funniest scene in the world.
“This has Dad’s hand all over it you know.” Kurt says drinking deeply from his steaming cup not lifting his eyes to meet Daniels, just lifting his brows. Daniel is looking around the room nodding, exchanging the odd glance with Kurt, like close siblings who can often read each other’s thoughts. He looks comfortable here, perhaps there’s something familiar, a feeling maybe. I can sense it.
Stan comes in from the back of the house, “there’s another Landrover out there” he tells me because he knows I love Landrovers, “the source of the explosive smell.” He wipes his hands on a tea-towel, one with a Delia cupcake recipe on it. “Someone has detonated a device under it and blown it into an almost unrecognisable heap of parts” he pauses. “But Landy's are tough and their official parts are branded and numbered, and the decal endured,” as he wipes, wringing his fingers over and over, “it belonged to your family Daniel” He looks up, “I’ve had the VIN number checked.”
Daniel and Kurt pause mid slurp, paused cups mid-air, thinking, something has clicked in their heads, they are now quiet. “Yes, we know.” whispers Daniel
TC: “Awkward” are you there? Please say yes.
PF: “I’m here, what’s going on?” That was quick.
TC: “I think Liza might be falling for Daniels older Brother” can you imagine the scene around the table at Xmas?
PF: “Have to say, I’m quite enjoying my own Pearce boy right now too” shameful.
TC: “Wish I was, it’s like Pony Club Camp here without the ponies, and too many grown-ups” can you imagine?
PF: “Can't you get him alone for twenty minutes?” If only, change the subject quickly.
TC: “Where the bloody hell are you anyway?” Answer me.
PF: “Messy subject change, we’ll speak about that later, have no idea where we are, but it’s fun” glad for her.
TC: “Every detail please, when we meet” and I mean every detail.
Back in the room there’s mumbling between the brothers, Daniel finally admits, “are you thinking what I’m thinking?” He asks his Brother.
“I’m trying not to Danny.” He rolls his eyes. Silence, if you could hear brains working there’d be a room of gentle ticking noises and soft whirring, as we decrypt the puzzle. They look around the room we sit in.
“That Dad didn’t perish under that mountain,” he pauses for effect, “he escaped and lived here.” Makes sense.
Stan steps forward clearing his throat for effect, “yes, yes, to keep you all away from the harm” he says. “He knew trouble would rain down on you when you discovered what your tattoos meant.” He looks at the two boys, waiting for a reaction to this news, which Stan knew all along.
“This is unbelievable,” from Liza, emerging from the library clutching a heavily bound leather book, reading to herself. Everyone looks up at her, but it’s not her revelation they are wondering about, she's just the focal point for their thinking. She stops just as she’s about to say something and stays still and quiet.
Stan continues, “he knew you’d come searching, people want that idol,” he looks over at the bodies strung up like a joint of beef ready for roasting, I shudder at the thought. “Your Dad was protecting you.” Stan says as if that’s the end of the story nothing more to say, and goes back to checking his equipment like nothing's happened.
“From Steffi and Emilio?” Daniel looks at me questioningly because maybe I could sense the answer.
“From that family, going back years.” Adds Stan kneeling by his rucksack rummaging about in it, is he really looking for something or is it a distraction?
“It all seems so unbelievable,” adds Nigel following Liza from the neatly stuffed bookcases, he fails to sense any conversation in progress, so blasts away with his own discovery. “Such a complex series of puzzle pieces,” he says to the room in general, not looking up from the hefty volume cradled across his forearm with reverence. “What were the chances anyone would have discovered the gold idol?” He shakes his head at the text, his glasses slip to the end of his nose, pushing them back onto his face he adds “zero chance I’d say.” And finally looking up he notices all eyes on him, wondering what he is rattling about.
Sensing he has everyone’s attention finally, and making a point about good comedy he removes his glasses slowly and cleans them on his handkerchief, we now can't wait to hear what he’s going to say, that’s the art of timing, he should have been in the theatre. “This is an old family thing obviously,” he slips his glasses back on his face, blinking a few times to make sure the lenses are clear. “It all started long ago when the original discoverer of the box.” He looks back down at the book, and gently closes it up with a slight ‘poof’ sound of escaping air between the leaves. “Your ancestor Daniel” he sits down, turning his head, “and Kurt,” and next he's dunking a rich tea in his teacup.
Nigel continues, “Kurt,” he makes a point with his biscuit, “he hid the box containing the golden sacred eagle under this mountain,” he sips from his cup, makes a face because it’s luke warm by now. “But another knew where he hid it, and I expect these here,” pointing his tea at the tied bodies, “are from that family or knew the stories of that family.” He takes a large gulp of cold tea just as I offer the pot to top it up, and reaches for a biscuit, “every family has histories and secrets that are passed down.” He lifts his cup to the teapot, “otherwise I’d be out of a job.”
Obvious really.
Taking in what Nigel has said we all pay attention, “my family for example” Nigel says, “has a recipe for bread pudding that’s not allowed outside the family.” We all laugh nervously, but we are calm because bread pudding is very important to some people. “My Mother died with that sweet secret intact.” He smiles to himself obviously remembering his Mum, “it wasn’t even that good” he giggles.
Note to self, get Grandads’ bread pudding recipe from Mum, which really was good.
“So let me get this straight” opens up Kurt. This doesn’t sound like a bread pudding question so I endeavour to pay close attention, until I deem it boring. Then I’ll make more tea. As he slides his weight to perch on the edge of the sofa, his body language receptive and open to dialogue, “the man that came ashore with our ancestor.” He gesticulates with a roll of his hand in the air as if to demonstrate there's a long story to unfold, “he must have followed him into the mountain.” Takes a bite of a dunked ginger nut, “discovered where he hid the treasure?” Jabs the air with the final half-moon of biscuit, “and planted markers so he could find it again?” A question, not a statement.
Just then a crushing sound, and our grapefruit scented air is disturbed by the swift movement of people to the window. We hear a vehicle pulling up and stopping hard into the dirt with a skidding screech of sand and dirt in friction. Shooting a look outside we see what’s emerging from the swirl of disturbed dust, we can hear something happening, a door slamming, a shuffling and a crunching on the path outside. The door flies open and a wide, a dirty looking Spaniard strides in like he owns the place paying more attention to his phone than the room he has entered into.
Yep, I think to myself, bloody phones, they take over your life don't they? Bet it's his Mother!
“Tried calling why....?” His sentence cut off mid-flow by the sight that meets him, he’s slow to react, his eyebrows raise before his voice makes another sound.
Enter at C working trot.
Does he notice us all sitting there drinking tea, like the Queen will make an appearance? It would have been comical if he didn’t have an angry snarling expression, a physique that almost completely fills the doorway and a f*cking massive gun strapped to his belt. He looks down at the unconscious tied forms on the floor, then back at us. Waiting for a reaction, for anything, we're paused, all of us. I take a serene comedy bite from my sandwich like I’m watching a movie and clearly enjoying myself, my eyes fixed at one place, on the face of the man in the doorway. Ugly, big, unclean and tall. What is it with lack of personal hygiene and an aversion to laundry out here?
“He's slow isn't he?” Says Kurt out loud sitting comfortably back on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, his ankle resting over his knee. But just as he does the man reaches for a gun stuffed in the back waistband of his jeans, ignoring the obvious weapon, perhaps that one isn’t loaded? I glance out of the window, at the Jeep parked untidily outside, then back at the man, most unpleasant to look at, wrong car too. He manages after several silent seconds have passed, to take control of himself and utter a question, “what’s going on here?” Shouldn't that be our question?
I am sorely tempted to offer him tea and a sandwich, because it's polite, but restrain myself perhaps now’s not the time for a comedic interlude. Though he deserves the sarcasm I am proud of myself for holding my tongue, it doesn’t happen very often, Mum would be proud. She wouldn't be happy about this scene though, his shirt hasn't been ironed. And she'd certainly have comments about his outfit being tardy and his hair needing cutting. She wouldn’t be wrong either. His eyes betray him, he’s confused and out of control but tries to hide it behind a fistful of steel pointing wildly around the room “who are you?” Jabbing the barrels into the air.
He shoves the gun in our general direction clearly he doesn’t know what to do at this point, unable to think on his feet. Slow minded, he’s trying to decide which of us poses the biggest threat, bet he gets it wrong too. He needs a gang, bet he was a bully at school. His plan to intimidate us, but we're all too tired to play along. I dunk a biscuit into my tea and take a bite as if to ignore his rudeness, disturbing tea time should be a capital offence my head is telling me, and this enrages him further.
He clearly can’t decide which of us gets the pointy end, and to be fair he’d likely get any guess wrong because in this motley group, appearances are most certainly deceptive. But he braves to speak, “what have you done to them?” He demands shouting with a hint of Hispanic accent, points the gun, jabbing it in turn to everyone in the room. Hearing all the commotion Steffi begins to come around and mumbles groggily. We don’t hear what she says, the big man torn between holding us up and helping his fellow comrades.
Then we hear it, “Dad?” Her eyes still shut and a little puffy from the giant slap around the face I gave her as she tried to disturb tea-time with her bad language, well deserved. Through her puffy lip we can hear the words, “what’s going on,” she tilts her head to the side, likely to relieve the tension from being in the same position for some time, again, well deserved. “What’s all the shouting?” She pulls at the ropes binding her not understanding, and flinching at the obvious sharp pain in her side, why her arms and legs won’t respond to her commands, “why can’t I move?” We all sit there motionless, as the man gets more and more angry, his face visibly fills with blood and gets very red. Our collective faces following the conversation from one person to another like a tennis match. Quite entertaining actually.
“Stephanie, you OK?” He hisses.
“Stephanie” I mouth, bloody hell.
“Dad, what took you so long, untie me!” She demands, she’s the boss I conclude, as his expression changes to one of someone doing extreme maths, how do I point a gun, and bend to untie my Daughter? Not good at maths either then?
Looking back at us in exasperation, “my Daughter, what have you done to her?” He screams pointing his weapon angrily, jabbing it at us, looking at our faces for answers. Of course our faces are blank, we've had a long night.
Daniel takes a step forward his cup and saucer still in his hands, “we just popped over for a cup of tea,” reaches for another biscuit from the plate, “and a biscuit.” He runs his fingers through his hair, and suddenly my mood changes. Daniel’s mask is on, and he is calmness itself, “and tied them up like this,” Daniel offers, his expression as still as a pond. “They're welcoming committee was hardly hospitable.” true bloody story.
Kurt stands too, slowly, as tall as the angry man but half his age and fit, making a visual point the man can't fail to recognise. “This is my Father's home”, says Kurt quietly, “we just can't abide that level of rudeness.” Kurt admits.
Liza asks, “Who are you?” The man had barely noticed her standing in the corner of the room so tiny she is. He looks at her and decides she’s nothing to worry about, his lips twitch with look of pleasure that makes my skin crawl as he watches her move closer to Kurt
Regaining his hold on the situation as he sees it he decides to try intimidation. “We're the guys who are gonna bury your broken bodies.” Obviously bluffing, his gun isn’t even held straight, besides none of them look fit enough to dig one hole let alone six! I’m tempted to say that and change my mind, he doesn’t look like he’d have a sense of humour.
“Charming” pipes up Nigel, I nod in complete agreement, “it’s just rude to bust your way into someone’s home uninvited.” he says.
“Tea?” I ask everyone. I hold the teapot loftily and offer a top up all round, amused by this, I am so funny sometimes I say to myself. Daniel shoots a glare at me, he doesn’t agree. Kurt toasts our captives with his cup and saucer, it’s quite amusing, and has the desired effect of enraging our new guest so his hands shake in temper, and Kurt drinks his tea. Of course that was his plan, breaking them apart bit by bit.
Steffi is now fully awake and glares at me in utter hatred, “you!” She spits. Her hair still looks shiny though, I wonder what shampoo she uses, and vow to ask her later.
“Yes, hello Steffi.” I answer in mild amusement, I cross my legs to get comfortable. “Come out here do some sight-seeing…?” I nod toward Daniel, and she looks at him not anger, maybe longing? He hurt her didn’t he? I wonder what happened there, but fail to ask.
“Walk on the beach...?” Adds Daniel.
“Lay by the pool...?” I gesture with a hobnob biscuit, “catch up on some reading?” that's assuming you can read of course. Still pointing the gun at us, the nasty smelling man smiles a bad teeth smile, unsheathes a huge hunting knife from its holster attached to his belt. It emerges looking lethal and shiny, I begin to wonder if we should try to do something, and also, why is this knife the only thing about this man that's clean? Strange how your mind works eh? He bends over not taking his eyes off us all and saws eagerly through Steffi’s bonds with the deceptively not very sharp knife, and hands her the weapon. “Cut him loose.” He orders her gesturing to the other chap, we’d almost forgotten him. Bless.
“Bossy isn’t he your Dad.” This from Daniel as he places his china cup gently onto the coffee table. We watch as Steffi finally manages to get to her feet having been tied up for ages, and cut through the ropes tying the other chap. “You know Steffi”, he continues, in a gentle understanding tone, like a parent telling a child how disappointed he is in them. “This does mean the end of your contract at RANDom.” He moves forward another step slowly, “I really don't see villain and denim developer going hand in hand.” He crosses his arms casually, “and you threatened my girlfriend,” he says shaking his head, “and that's just rude.” I have to agree. And girlfriend!!! I didn’t miss that and my brows shoot up. Daniel continues, he’s on a roll, “and your boyfriend here,” he remains very calm, “Emilio?” Steffi can't look away, transfixed to Daniels face, hearing his words. “Looking at him now I really think you could do better.” So cool under pressure Daniel is smooth and calm, secretly I’m impressed, and turned-on too, what’s bloody wrong with me?
Emilio is very angry now as he gets very slowly to his knees, his legs needing time to gain their strength. He staggers to his feet finally, he's overweight and the strain on his joints a painful reminder to eat less or exercise more. His father hands him the shotgun from his belt. He has no control and shaking like a leaf, bravado over bravery. Stupid boy. Steffi spits like a boy on the floor, disgusting. Her lips in a snarl and her face full of hatred. “He is my brother stupid not my boyfriend!” This to Daniel, she wants him to know. None of us really care and Liza even yawns, which of course infuriates Steffi even further. Well done. “Now where is the gold?” She fakes calm, her hand is trembling, “that’s all we want,” I notice she doesn’t rub her sore wrists now free from the tight bonds and many wraps of rope. I guess it must just be a TV thing.
Note to self, watch less TV
“Just give it to us,” she says out of breath, “and we’ll be out of your hair.” And as if to make her point she flicks her hair out of her face. She jabs the knife into the air to intimidate, but she doesn’t seem in control, and the way she holds the knife too, like someone not used to using one for anything other than slicing lemon for her g&t's methinks.
“You’re hardly in a position to argue about it are you?” From Emilio, but we've all had a long day and it takes extra energy to appear scared, and we just don’t have it in us.
“Gold?” Asks Daniel feigning a mild amusement like this is a scene from crime drama, he reaches down into his backpack for something, the older man watching his every move eyes wide and scared. Finally finding what he wants, “oh you mean this?” He pulls the idol slowly and deliberately out of its covering and the bright clean shiny gold gleams in the sunshine, we all gasp. Us in renewed appreciation of its intricate carvings easy to see now in this light, and them in awe of its rare and exotic beauty, but something else too…surprise?
Daniel turns it in his hands, toward the window for added effect, “this beautiful ancient idol, detailed and crafted with skill.” He's taking his time enjoying himself, everyone in the room stares at the sight of it, transfixed. We haven’t looked at it properly since the cave, his expression has altered, he's hatching a plan, “it’s precious and beautiful, and very, very heavy.” I know what he intends to do. How can I help?
Nobody moves for what seems like ages, but really it is just a few seconds. Steffi still has the knife and whilst I’m lusting after Daniel deliberately with my guard down, she grabs me in a headlock with one surprisingly strong arm. Well, that’ll teach me wont it, my part of the plan hatched? The dull warm blade resting on my neck. Who does this bitch think she's kidding? I ask myself, but decide to wait, Daniel has his plan face on, and I don’t want to interrupt this could be fun. Besides, I can get out of this any-time I want to. I feel the warm steel edge press into my skin, it would be easy to disarm her, she’s not paying attention to me, she’s staring at Daniel, you'd be foolish not to, he's quite simply gorgeous. It’s an obsession, I feel sorry for her actually, but it's a fleeting flawed softness, and doesn't last.
Daniel moves forward as if to try to save me, my hero, it's all fake, he knows he doesn’t have to, I wink at him and hope no one notices. “Don’t move!” Steffi hisses, “or I’ll slice her throat!” Not terribly convincing, but she’s doing her best, that knife would be hard pushed to cut baling twine. “Give me the idol.”
Her fully conscious brother Emilio is steady on his feet now and moving up and down the living room like a lion in a cage, agitated and nervous, he is the weakest link. Too angry to think straight, too agitated to move quickly, too stupid to have a plan anyway.
The large man, Steffi’s Dad hands him another gun holstered at his ankle as a spare “Emilio?” Getting his attention, “here!” He gestures for Emilio to take the weapon, and dropping the unloaded shotgun to the floor, without any encouragement grabs the new weapon. With a gun in his hand he feels powerful and he visibly calms. He must have seen a slight smile on my face, amused by the scene playing itself out like a terrible old cowboy movie, and that makes him quite cross.
“Listen” he hisses, and everyone does and is still, we are listening, but he says nothing, he doesn't have the imagination to tell us anything we don't already know or can guess. So leaves the thinking to Steffi and remains quiet. Good. Opportunists, all of them, and that strategy rarely leaves time for plans, and planning as anyone will tell you, is the key to a successful outcome.
“Don’t move a muscle.” Shouts Steffi. OK, then what? Clearly out of her depth her raised voice betraying how out of control she actually feels, her brain spinning and reeling. She really has no idea what she’s done, how her plan has backfired. I can feel her heartbeat speeding, our bodies are that close, rushing its way to collapse if she doesn’t clam down soon, and she holds tight onto me like a talisman. But that just puts me in a better position, because this close she can’t swing at me, stab, fire or fight, the advantage is mine, but I give Daniel a nod I’m OK and wait.
The man is extremely agitated, “give me the idol!” He shouts finding his voice, its shaky and tense, he’s losing it too, “now, or I’ll shoot you all!” His weapon visibly shaking in his hands. I hate guns, they are for one thing and one thing only, killing. You hold one, you’re prepared to kill, if you’re a coward, a gun will not make you brave, you’re more likely to hurt yourself. My advice? No guns, learn to fight, punches don’t need reloading. I exchange imperceptible glances with Stan and Liza and wink at Daniel who is cradling the golden eagle in his hands in appreciation, he’s weighing it up I decide.
First Kurt looks confused and then understanding hits him between the eyes, Daniels eyes fly open wide, the time has come, and he says: “OK, you win here you go.” Pulling his strong arm back like a rugby player ready to throw the ball, he propels the heavy golden icon hard at the big man, his hurl slamming him square in his stomach and instantly winding him. He doubles over dropping his gun and the gold spins across the floor out of sight, as he tries to catch a lungful of air. Steffi is too slow to react and I bring my arm forward and with all the strength I have ram my elbow hard backward into her chest, breaking a rib I hear it crack. Kurt is at my side and grabs the knife quickly, like we’ve practised it in our minds, Steffi lashes out and I elbow her in the face breaking her nose. Blood everywhere, she is crying about her beautiful face, she might be thank full to be less beautiful in prison. I hold her in a half Nelson with her arm twisted high so it hurts, I’m not sorry.
Note to self, definitely watch less crime drama.
The other man Emilio, raises his gun at Stan with a nasty growl on his face like a wild animal, he obviously loves killing things and a human, well that’s just another little animal that will lose it life for his entertainment and the treasure will be his.
Or so he believes.
Chapter thirty-three, Monday:4thnovember2013 treachery
Finger on the trigger of the small gun, Emilio waves it frantically as he watches his family crumple to the floor in agony as Liza finishes the big guy off with a roundhouse kick her sensei would be proud of, his head her target spinning so fast and hard spittle and blood sprays out like a Catharine wheel. Kurt gives Steffi a fist to the jaw sending her flying across the floor hitting the wall at speed, which must have hurt, she deserves it. After all, she did leave nasty smears of hand cream all over my keyboard remember? I do, bloody hell.
“I’ve always thought she needed putting in her place,” he says breathless, “she’s a piece of work.”
“Another time maybe.” Daniel tells his brother in a warning tone.
Emilio is crazed, and aims his gun at Daniel, level and close, he wouldn't miss from there. We all hear an ear-splitting 'crack' of gunfire, eyes wide in alarm we stare in disbelief as the gun has gone off. It's Stan’s gun that's hit the mark, he stands there solid and calm with his gun still aimed in an outstretched arm. And the man Emilio is on the floor rolling around in sheer agony as part of his gun-wielding shoulder has exploded, albeit a very small sliver actually, but the effect is quite bloody. I wonder if they'll be able to fight now with these injuries, superficial yes, hurts I bet, then decide I don’t care. Emilio tried to kill us for a little golden eagle.
We tie them all up again, using multi layers of tight knots. We stand and stare in disbelief, numb, silent and exhausted. Paused in mid thought we are still, seconds pass, and I need a brew. “Tea anyone?” I ask, scraping my long hair messy from off my face, and tying it up in a pony. Mum is right.
Further note to self, get my haircut.
The response is a screaming cheering clapping laughing as we all begin to relax. Daniel puts the golden eagle back in its place, wrapping it first reverently in an Isle of Wight tea towel from the kitchen, and we sit back down in the living room saying nothing for a long time. “How rude,” says Nigel suddenly, “we didn't offer them any tea.” Wiping his glasses calmly for the twentieth time on his monographed handkerchief, “no wonder they were pissed!” We laugh so much our bellies ache.
“What do we do now?” Asks Liza cutting into a fruitcake she found in the pantry, “call the authorities? Are there any police around here?” She looks questioningly at Stan expecting him to take charge, as she places chunky slices of dark brandy soaked fruit-cake onto plates for everyone, and we all tuck in hungrily. She unties and reties her ponytail yet again with a dramatic flourish, flicking her golden hair through the sunlit air for the best effect. Thoroughly enjoying herself, she hugs Kurt shutting her eyes tight, he picks her up like she’s a doll and swings her around laughing, and they head upstairs for a little lie-down. Indeed.
TC: “Yep, I was right, totally smitten” like me.
PF: “Maybe we could triple date?” Go back to bed.
TC: “Miss you” I lie.
PF: “Liar, but I appreciate the thought” busted.
“That was fun,” says Nigel, munching a second slice of Dundee cake, he has picked off the glazed cherries that decorate the top, me too. Pointless food glacé cherries.
“So? I ask, “What now?”
“More cake?” From Daniel
I agree, cakes doused in brandy, stored a tin, who’d have thought they could be so delicious, but it is Harvey Nichols cake, in-date, why am I not surprised? “We question them.” Stan pulls over a wooden carver and sits down making himself very comfortable, he hasn’t had any cake, he’s too wired. Our prisoners have a defiant hatred in their eyes, maybe they like fruit cake too, well, and they’re not getting any. But they are also scared, it hadn’t occurred to any of them their evil plan once hatched might go wrong. To think on your feet and be adaptable, that’s the mark of a true ‘plan master’, and this sad little group, they are only masters of mayhem.
That's a great name for a band. So is Fiery Rip, where did I hear that from? Stan hasn’t even uttered his first question yet, but they begin to talk nonetheless, “we won’t tell you nothing,” hisses the big man in frustration, “Untie us!” And masters of language they are not.
No, just can’t hold it in, “anything” I say loudly, standing with my beautifully hand painted china plate with a gold rim, not suitable for dishwashers, in my hand, having swallowed a bite of cake, one must never speak with one’s mouthful. “We won’t tell you anything” I flatten my hair, with my free hand in frustration, “I can’t bear terrible grammar,” as if explanation was due, “I get it from my Dad.” Liza winks at me, she’s so proud. And she remembers fondly my Dad correcting us when we were younger.
“OK” says Stan looking at me in mild amusement and understanding, perhaps his Dad did the same to him? “OK, let’s leave them to stew a while.” And he goes back to clean his pistol, like a ritual.
I take that as a queue, “hungry anyone?” I ask, thankful for a task to get me out of this room, and the dirty sweaty smell coming from the big man. I take a bottle of Gucci guilty from my bag and spray it unsparingly round the room, that’s better. Nigel cleans his glasses, and Liza reties her hair. Yep, all's right in the world once more.
I head into the large kitchen, it's light and clean and the cupboards and fridge are stocked with in-date groceries and home grown produce, this is someone’s home. Too hungry to care about how or who, I just invent a meal in my head with a quick glance at the available ingredients, as I do at home, and make a start on dinner. I hear footsteps behind me, “someone's been here recently.” I comment to Daniel and Kurt sitting at the rustic old-country-cottage style wooden kitchen table behind me. “There's plenty of fresh food,” I add opening cupboards as if to demonstrate, “and it's not the kind of fare I’d expect people like that to buy, it's pricey and imported.”
I nod my head toward the living room, “they'd stock cheap, quick stuff for their diabolical trip surely?” I pause to make a point. “This is refined,” hoping they’ll catch up with me, “a gastronomes choice.” I crouch and open the fridge, “and there's Cloudy Bay in here.” I turn paused to face them, “Cloudy Bay Daniel, wrapped in a Harvey Nichols tissue paper.” I’m trying to deal them the cards of my discovery, step by step, in the hope that they can play the hand themselves once inspired to do so.
“Cloudy Bay?” From Kurt, gazing at Daniel, still nothing. My head, it works at connections it’s hard to explain. I stand, with an already opened bottle of Château Neuf Du Pape in my hand.
“This doesn’t feel right.” My 'Spidey' senses are tingling again. “It’s just too civilised.” I raise the bottle in my hand to help demonstrate my point. Please keep up my brain is silently begging.
Daniel and Kurt exchange looks, “our Dad was something of a connoisseur,” Kurt says quietly, as if the very words once spoken would have physicality, “he and Mum used to cook together.”
I tell them both, “This feels very wrong to me.” And I begin dinner, happy with a task to still my popping head. “And where are they then?” Assuming I’m right of course, surely they'd be here somewhere?
From Kurt, “is this Dad's house?” Finally, the correct question.
“What's going on?” Daniel asks deeply frustrated. Daniel strides back into the front room stands before Steffi, “where are the people who live here Steffi?” His voice no more than a hissed whisper, “Who was here when you got here?” She defies him and purses her lips and shakes her head, looks over at her Dad for reassurance and remains stoic. “Tell me what you know,” he appeals to her. She doesn’t bite, but I can tell she wants to. Stay away from him my look is telling her, she looks down at her lap. Good girl.
The older man nervously laughs, he’s in his late fifties I’d judge, lived somewhere without orthodontic expertise or maybe he's scared of the dentist? Strange to think a man who brandishes guns at strangers could be scared of anything, but I guess that’s why they carry weapons, they’re scared of everything! “We say nothing,” from the big man.
Deep breaths grammar police, I clench my teeth and ball my fists, then just as I’m about to melt-down my phone rings.
Wow! It really is a smart phone!
“Hello?” I answer, turning my back on the room for some privacy, “Tharie speaking.” All I can hear is a crackle and some broken words, a loud hiss then silence. I swipe the call ended. The screen had told me the call was out of area, well, it might be smart but that's hardly helpful is it?
Overweight, his khaki stained shirt strains at the buttons, and it has epaulettes at the shoulders, with darker khaki sections from missing decoration, suggesting this once was a military or police. His uniform once had rank pips and chevrons at the shoulder and breast, unpicked now the shadows show how the old garment has faded in the sun. I look at him and wonder whether he is the police, I hope not.
My phone vibrates an incoming message:
HC: “Single has gone gold” a sudden break from the now is very welcome.
TC: “Wow, that’s great news Bro, well done” he’s going to get laid.
HC: “I am so going to get laid” so predictable, my Brother, Mum would be so proud.
TC: “Celebration when I get back” how many bottles of Jack do I have?
Note to self, stock up on Jack Daniels, duty free.
HC: “Forgive me if I start without you…” bloody hell.
TC: “Don’t tell Mum” can you imagine?
HC: “Ha! Can you imagine?” Bye Bro.
I decide cooking for us all would help me stop questions bouncing about up there, and return to the kitchen, chopping and peeling, yes, that’ll help. The rest of the group do their version of waiting, Kurt snoozes on the sofa his feet up on a stool, hasn’t he just had a lie-down? He really is cool isn’t he? Stan checks and rechecks his equipment, weapon, reloads, cleans, always the same thing in the same order. Liza chats with Nigel about symbology yawning periodically, hasn’t she just had a nap too? And they make several trips into the other room where there's a well-stocked library and there they sit discussing under their breaths and in whispers. Fine.
Daniel is outside checking the camel Landrover, I watch him from the kitchen window, he crawls about inside, checking all the storage compartments, the boot, everywhere a clue to its origin might be found. He climbs onto the roof bars, I enjoy watching his body moving about, it’s a welcome seductive distraction. He is using the little ladder attached beside the back door as it was originally fitted from the factory in Birmingham, clever devils. Daniel carefully looks around the items strapped to the roof, finding nothing, the things up there must be exactly as they appear to be, not everything is a fraud. I could have told him, that at least is real.
Watching him makes me hungry, food, that’s what I’ll do, finish making dinner. I can't believe I’ve put myself in charge of cooking, but here I go again. I find fresh vegetables in the fridge and decide to make a stew. Pumpkin, swede, parsnip, sweet potato, carrots and leeks, chopped onions, the kind of autumn soup we'd be eating at home since these are all in season. I add a large glass of red wine I find open already with a couple of glasses missing. I cut some herbs from the garden, sage and oregano I recognise from my own garden, I add them, making it up as I go. I find some potatoes and chop some into small cubes and it all goes into a pot on the Aga. I boil the rest of the red potatoes for a creamy, buttery mash to serve with my stew. I find suet and flour in the cupboard and hand kneed some dumpling mixture into Satsuma sized balls and let them float on the surface of the sweet smelling concoction. In about an hour it'll be ready.
I sense we could all use a little slice of normality so I lay the table in the living room properly, tablecloth and place mats, I sit wine glasses on the coasters and salt and pepper grinders in the centre. I have picked three roses from the garden, I hope the owner doesn’t mind, and a cut crystal vase like one my Grandad used to have, displays them on the table. A bugger to dust too I’ll bet.
I can almost ignore the tied group on the floor, watching me, almost. I open a window a little, just for effect.
The silverware is identical to a set I remember from my own childhood, from a box my Mum and Dad had for their wedding present. I lay the cutlery out, swapping mine around because I eat left handed like Daniel does. There's bread here too, a day old at the most, so I bake it until the smell of warm bread fills the house. I break it into rough chunks and pile it in a basket on the table, with a tray of lightly salted butter. I find two bottles of Saint Julienne and one of Rioja in a wine rack, open two different ones and leave them to breathe on the table.
The back door opens and Daniel appears, wiping his hands on a tea towel, this one has cats on it. “Nothing wrong with that car Tharie, they haven’t sabotaged it, suspect they thought a spare vehicle might be useful?” He looks tenderly at me, like he’s just noticed his object of affection for the first time today. He moves toward me and wraps his strong arms around my waist pulling me toward him, into his body. I can feel his heart beating, it’s slow and calm. I lean into him and tip my face and kiss him gently on the lips. Yes, this feels good.
”...so, you and Liza, friends for years....etcetera...?” a huge grin blossoming on his face, with a hint of mischief.
Seriously? What part of me didn’t think this would come back to bite me?
“Yes, friends for years Daniel, did I tell you she has a horse?” Redirect attempted.
“Yes, I know about her horse...and, exercise classes?” Redirect unsuccessful. I’m starting to sense a pattern, he continues, “being around you,” he gently brushes a stray strand of hair from my face, “you're never what anyone expects, are you baby?” That's a good thing I always think.
OK, rip it off like a plaster, quick and painful, “OK, as we evolved into friends we spent lots of time practising together and,” I scratch an invented itch on my nose, “and…partying too.” I look at Daniel hoping he doesn’t pry further. Not sure why I’m embarrassed, but I am.
“Exercise? You hate organised activity, have you changed so much?” He asks with humour taking my hand.
“No, it was an attempt to avoid a worse type of localised gathering with subsidised liquor, and better than shutting myself in my room.” I qualify.
“And.....are you going to tell me?” He is totally enjoying himself at the moment. How is it he can read me so well? Liza giggles almost noiselessly into her fist in the doorway, clearly remembering her crush on our instructor. He was blonde, her type.
“Karate”, she tells him, “we did karate, obviously.” She sweeps the air swiftly with her fist, “Tharie gave it up after second Dan, but I was regional champion.” She boasts, retying her ponytail, clearly pleased with herself, Kurt enters and bands her tightly around the waist nuzzling into her neck. They look very satisfied, I no longer wonder what they've been up to, lucky swine.
Daniel looks at me, “so basically you kick arse?” He asks in appreciation, looking from my face to Liza's and back.
“Only if absolutely necessary.” Liza laughs.
Daniel winks at me, “turned out to be quite useful, you were right.” I enjoy a relaxed moment with my boyfriend, we could be on holiday with my friend and her man, it's quite a beautiful place, lamas and everything, what’s not to love about lamas, those babies are soooo cute? I glance out of the window, remember what we are doing here.
“It's a great car Daniel,” I tell him looking out at it, “wonder who it belongs to.”
“You want to talk about the car?” His pupils dilate and his lips curve in a grin, I recognise that look. I feel him hard against me, it’s been so long. “Let me show you the drawing room.” And taking my hand leads me to the back through a door I hadn’t noticed before, at the end of a dark corridor. Inside there’s a piano, and he takes me over and we sit side by side on the stool. He begins playing, something beautiful and soft, a melody I recognise but can’t pin down. “Undress.” A command I’m happy to oblige. I remove my clothes, peeling the layers off carefully, each piece falls messily to the floor.
I come back to him and kiss his neck as he plays, he hums in appreciation. I undo the buttons on his shirt, he plays, I unfasten his jeans, and still he plays on. He’s making me wait, and I’m all the wetter for it. I feel my way into his pants and run my fingers along the shaft that’s hard and waiting for me. He shuts his eyes, I stroke it harder, and still he plays. I grip around its girth and pull gently, over and over in a steady rhythm, the tempo of the notes increases, the playing gets faster, He touches the keys harder. And still I pump my fist. Moving my hand, my fingers grip the base hard and I jerk him quickly. Finally the playing stops and I have his full attention. Hello.
He grasps my wrist hard and removes it from inside his jeans, kisses my fingers, kisses my face, kisses my neck. He lets me undress him, I appraise him hungrily, and my insides jump around, a trail of fevered nerves dripping its way through my body. He kisses my tummy, up my chest between my breasts, to my throat, around my neck, its setting me alight, a warm trail washes over me. He moves my hair from my face, looking at me, really looking. His fingers trail my spine to my buttocks, cupping me hard, pulling my body up against him, I can feel him against me, pushing into me, ready.
He wraps my waist with his strong arms and lifts me up onto him, as he enters me smoothly, my slippery sex making it easy, he lowers me to the ground and he’s deep inside me, moving slowly and gently from side to side, bending his knees and moving up into me more and more. Our bodies in rhythm, I’m standing on tiptoes to achieve the perfect position and friction I need to get off. He moves into me faster and faster, his breathing laboured and our bodies sweating, I’m climbing, the wonderful journey of orgasm has begun, and its then I realise how much I have missed this.
Daniel binds me in his arm around the waist and we fall to the floor still coupled, still joined, he is over me now, his hair trailing my face as his kisses deepen, our tongues feverish and longing. He moves hard into me, god I’ve longed for this, faster and faster, harder, building, he screws his face he needs this too. I lift my hips toward him as hard as I can, grinding into him, riding his shaft, gliding my cleft along its full slippery wonderful length, every inch of him rubbing into me steady and hard. Wonderful trails of wetness keeping us moving easily, he pulls out of me to his very tip and hard in again, over and over, we are making love, this feels different, inside. He groans, and the distance between my pleasure spasms is shortening, harder, faster, deeper and finally we crash, exhausted, and an overwhelming feeling of being loved hits me, and I hold him as close to my body as I can manage, wrap my legs around his waist. He snuggles his face into my neck and hair, and we fall asleep.
It must be the aroma of the dinner that wakes me. I’m alone on the floor, Daniel has laid a blanket over me, and left me to sleep, knowing I haven’t had much lately. Sleep that is. Dressing, I realise I really do love him, what a difference a week has made. Making my way back to the kitchen, I can hear voices in the living room, I lift the lid of the stew and a sweet smelling steam hits me, delicious. Daniel comes behind me, I can smell him, his cologne his hair, its intoxicating.
He smells the stew over my shoulder, kissing my neck. “Mm, smells fantastic, and you found all this here in the kitchen?” I nod, tasting the broth over a small wooden spoon. Daniel grabs my wrist suddenly, it hurts from where I punched earlier, I take the mild pain with a degree of satisfaction.
His grip tightens, “hey!” I complain, “What’s that for?” I ask, pulling my hand away and dramatically and unnecessarily rubbing my wrist. Wonder if they’d give me a part in Castle?
“That spoon.” He fights to speak “my Grandfather made it for my Grandma in his shed.” He whispers, “When she snapped the handle off hers whilst she was cooking.” His hand is shaking, his face a mask of calm.
“Are you sure?” I offer, looking hard at the roughly carved wood, stained and smoothed by use.
“I recognise it, because in a house full of immaculate perfection, and high end stuff, this little spoon still sits in pride of place in my Mums kitchen.” He removes his hand as if he's just noticed its back around my wrist and the spoon is paused on its way to my lips. “Sorry.” He kisses me.
“Mash the potatoes please Daniel” is all I say.
“Let’s eat.”
Later in chapter thirty-three, Monday:4thnovember2013 dinner
We all sit and eat dinner like we're at The Ivy, pouring wine into cut glass fashionable in the 70's, chatting in a friendly fashion ignoring our hostages on the floor by the door. I grilled some aubergines and scored them with a hot poker, and I poured the soup over the slices on the plate, and we all tuck in like we haven’t eaten in a week. It's very tasty and we dunk crusty bread into the wine infused juice, and are filled with the homely fullness of dumplings, mashed potatoes and wine.
Our captives look over at us feasting, longing for food and loathing us for having some, they haven’t had anything to drink or eat for the hours they've been tied up on this tiled floor. It must be very uncomfortable, what a shame. “More wine anyone?”
Standing up to fill everyone's glasses for the second time, I pour red wine into Daniels glass, and catch him appraising me like an antique he might purchase. But it's the jeans he's looking at, not the ordinary girl wearing them. He lays his hand on my arse. “There is a back pocket profile stitch.” Is he talking to himself or us? “A single row of machine thread in black with a strange motif looks vaguely like a bird.” To himself I conclude, as he twirls me around like I’m on a lazy Susan, “the front tack has the same design, embossed in the metal.” And?
“White copper finish.” I know my metalware.
“It's a sitting bird” he continues.
“…with something in its beak,“ I add, because of course I have studied it too, “and its repeated at the back pocket too,” I spin around again a little unsteadily so everyone can see my arse. Have I had too much wine?
“You’ve had too much wine baby.” Whispers Daniel.
Steffi glares at me because I’m clearly enjoying myself, “give me some water.” She is staring at Daniel, “You can’t leave us tied up like this forever.” She’s right, maybe there's a shed?
Stan was right about the chain of events beginning with me, I realise now, but it has nothing to do with any treasure, this whole thing is because I met Daniel, and Steffi didn’t like that, she didn’t like that at all. From the moment I walked through the door on my first day, she made a plan so we would fail as a couple.
“Water?” She spits again. So rude and unladylike.
Ignoring her entirely I continue “but the real interesting feature is inside.” I put down the bottle of Rioja, and strip the jeans off my legs. Our 'guests' eyes wide in shock at how relaxed we all are. Well, when you've spent the night in a cave with a group of people, there's really nothing much left to shock them about is there? Studying the garment I have just removed makes me wonder how complex this web of puzzles is woven. I hand Daniel the jeans and he lays the garment flat on the table to look at.
“Everything points to this day,” I say, “with a convergence of translation and the correct individuals working as a team.”
My mind works faster than is normal, warp speed my Dad called it naturally, consequently my sense of time is compressed. It's why I’m so impatient, normal minds appear slow and syrupy, I get easily frustrated. But at times of stress I am able to think clearly and quickly, because being mildly neurotic means I am constantly alert, and my brain keeps idling like a car waiting for the throttle to be stepped on. I really need tea now.
Steffi just sits eyes locked onto Daniel, a sociopath with an obsessive streak, and her target is my gorgeous Daniel
Note to self, drink more alcohol.