Charlotte exits the lift and I’m waiting for her. I don’t bother asking James’ permission as I take the girl in a bear-hug and land a smacking kiss on her cheek. “James just gave me the news. Congratulations, Charlotte.”
Francis pushes a flute into her hand. She demurs. “Oh, thanks but I’m not drinking…”
“Sparkling gooseberry cordial,” says Francis.
“Oh! That’s fine then. Thank you.” Charlotte sips at the pale straw-colored drink, wrinkling her nose as bubbles burst and pop.
The doors open again and Elizabeth emerges, Ross close behind her.
She runs to Charlotte, arms outstretched. “Congratulations!” She squeezes the girl, swinging her from one side to the other. Then turning, “Congratulations. I’m so pleased for you, James.” And stretching up, she kisses him on the cheek.
“Thank you, Beth. I appreciate that.” And he stoops, his hand on her shoulder, to return the kiss.
I don’t think they’ve ever touched each other before…
Where’s Michael?
Almost with my thought, the doors open again to disgorge Charlotte’s handsome blond husband. He accepts the glass pushed into his hand but then retires to stand in a corner, away from the limelight, watching the circus. His expression ranges between pride, humor, and bemusement.
Ross turns to him. “You don’t mind do you?”
Michael simply shakes his head, smiling as my driver hugs and kisses Charlotte.
I make my way over, tilt my glass. “Nice work, Michael. You’ve done something to be proud of there.”
He tips his own glass back. “Have I?”
“You have.” Francis nods vigorously. “I… Francis and I, both saw James’ reaction when Georgie cut him off. You’ve given new life to the man.”
“In fairness, it’s Charlotte who…”
“And you helped. Don’t think for one minute I don’t know what it would have taken to do what you’ve done.”
He sips, looking at me over his glass. “And what do you think it took for him to let me be the one to marry Charlotte? I owed him.”
“I can see why you would feel like that…”
Change the subject…
“I’d hoped you might have come with Mitch. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
He shrugs. “Mitch is back at the house. I think she’s still adjusting. She’ll come out of her shell when she’s ready.”
*****
Later, when we are alone, Elizabeth is quiet, thoughtful.
“Master…”
“Yes, my Love?”
“When Charlotte’s baby is born, you know, she doesn’t have any friends who have babies or small children.”
“I’m sure she’ll meet some at…” I rummage through my limited knowledge of babies and the procedures that go with them… “… ante-natal classes and suchlike.”
“I’m sure she will. But don’t you think it would be a good idea for her to have some close friends too, to talk to about it and share babysitting with and things like that.”
I scratch my head. “I don’t think Kirstie’s made up with Ryan and I can’t think she’d choose to be a single mother.”
“I wasn’t talking about, Kirstie.” She drops to her knees, looking up at me, her eyes matching the hawthorn leaves sprouting outside in the spring sunshine. “Master…”
But she doesn’t finish what she’s saying, simply gazing up, waiting.
I’m not bloody telepathic…
?
?
Aahhhh…
I drop to my knees too, meeting her eye-to-eye, “Is that what you want, my Love? You’re sure? Isn’t this all a bit sudden?”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but I wasn’t sure if it was what you wanted too. But with Charlotte… And she said there’d probably be another after this. Don’t you think, their children and ours… growing up together?”
My child…
Our child…
… Children?
And the children of Charlotte, James, and Michael…
Growing up together…
Family…
“Yes, I’d like that too.”
Her face grows soft and so beautiful. “It will take a few days for the contraception to fade, but until then, we could… practice…” Her cheeks dimple.
“What a good idea.”
*****
Klempner – The Present
From beyond the door, footsteps echo on the walkway and I try to ignore the muttering coming through the wall from the next cell.
Could murder a brandy…
In my head, I cradle a balloon glass, swishing an inch or so of golden-amber cognac. Warm fumes curl from the rim, coating my throat and sinuses…
But imagination only goes so far.
Sweat…
Disinfectant…
Stale cigarette smoke…
Through the other wall comes the sound of Krinsky doing his endless fucking press-ups… “… Fourteen… Fifteen… Sixteen…”
How long can I stand this?
“… forty-one… forty-two… forty-three…”
Several weeks of having Krinsky next door has taught me this will go on for hours. I put in an hour or so each day, keeping myself trim…
I’ll need it when the time comes…
… but Krinsky keeps it up for hours at a time.
“Ninety-five… Ninety-six… Ninety-Seven…”
Pause…
Panting…
“… Ninety-eight… Ninety-nine… One hundred!”
Thank fuck for that…
Will he stop?
…
…
“One… Two… Three…”
Christ, No…
Thank God for reading…
There are not too many pleasures in this fucking place, but at least a decent book allows for some vicarious living. Stretched out on what passes for my bed, a narrow pallet with a thin hard mattress, I lose myself in the story.
Something moves by the door. A shadow falls over me. I raise eyes from my reading to the podgy features of the floor’s senior guard. Chubby flesh battles for first impression with a perfectly pressed blue uniform.
“Hartwell.”
He prods me with his baton. “That’s Mr Hartwell to you, Larry. And don’t you forget it.” He stoops, peering at my book cover. “Very suitable reading.”
Keeping my voice deliberately slow and just a smidge away from insolence, “I don’t know what you mean.”
Hartwell stiffens. His head inclines, “Stand up when you’re addressing me, Larry.”
My movements equally slow, I swing legs over the side, pull myself to my feet, then arms folded, find something to look at in the ceiling corner.
Hartwell Harrumphs, pacing around the worn circle of floor paint. At the washstand, he pokes through my toiletries, such as they are, toothbrush and paste, cheap soap, my comb.
“I have some news for you, Larry. You’re leaving.” He moves to face me. I straighten up and his eyes rise to mine.
His chin jutting, “I don’t know how you pulled it off, Larry, but they’re moving you. Some idiot thinks you’re low security.”
Resisting the twitching at the corners of my mouth, keeping my tone all sweetness and light, “And you didn’t set them right?”
“Don’t you fuck with me.” He jams the baton at my chest. “You might have fooled those morons in Psyche, but you don’t fool me. I’ll stop this if I can. You don’t belong anywhere but right here where I can keep an eye on you…”
You think you scare me?
Soon…
“If they’ve assessed me as safe, then I must be safe, mustn’t I? What have I ever done, Mr Hartwell? What have I ever done while I was in your… care… to give you any cause for concern?”
He steps back. “You think because you stay quiet that I can’t spot you for what you are? You’re a certifiable lunatic, Larry. And if I have my way, you’ll not be going anywhere.”
Really?
“I’ll just finish reading my book then, shall I, Mr Hartwell? Will that be all?”
He says nothing, but a vein pulses at his temple. Turning on his heel, he leaves.
Grinning, I pick up my book again and lie down to resume my reading: ‘Darkly Dreaming Dexter’.
*****