A Constant Attraction (Attraction #2) Page 7

  As Stefano ends his slurred speech, he then raises his glass and drinks the remnants of his third glass of scotch. I turn my attention and smile up at Nicholas as he takes the quite hefty tip that we have left for him. I know I have teased and messed about with him this evening, but as soon as he sees the two twenty pound notes and one ten pound note that are inside the leather wallet, I am sure it'll all be forgotten. I watch my husband unsteadily rise from his seat. Getting to his feet, he is having to rely on the table for some stability before standing up straight. I thank the Lord that Mario is on hand this evening.

  Marc

  Isabel is sleeping soundly next to me, as I turn to look at the clock on the bedside table. 11pm is all it says. Both of us drifted off into an exhausted slumber, after what I can only describe as the best night of intimacy I have ever had with a woman. Yeah, I've fucked other women, but that's it, it was just fucking in the end. This evening, the sexual desire and longing, went hand in hand with the sensual one, the loving one. The whole meaning behind it was different. Hearing those last words that we exchanged in my head, is what makes it all the better.

  However, now having been woken from the sound coming from my phone as it vibrated on the wooden table, I am wide awake. Lying on my back, Isabel is on her side, her head snuggled into my neck and shoulder, every breath she exhales runs over my exposed skin. A strand of her soft auburn hair is tickling my chin. An arm is resting heavily over my torso and her hand is sprawled on my chest. I smooth down the silky soft hair, by stroking my hand across the top. My left arm is enveloped around her, in the same position it was when we both fell asleep. I cover my eyes with my free arm releasing a deep controlled breath, waiting for them to adjust slowly to the lack of light in the room. Emelie has left me in an impossible position. She is obviously aware of Isabel's past, as what other reason would she have for bringing it up? A fire is starting to build within my belly, that same fire of hatred I felt in my office earlier today. There is only one way I can smoother the flames of anguish and rage, and that is to face Emelie and Stefano in person. To have them standing in front of me face to face, putting an end to this nightmare once and for all.

  The hushed noise coming from my phone ceased briefly, before it soon restarted again. I couldn't ignore it. Trying not to disturb Isabel too much, I tenderly kiss her on the forehead whilst removing my arm from underneath her and sitting up on the side of the bed, I turn to her as she softly moans, turning over on to her other side. This forces every muscle and organ in my body to contract. Even though she is just a shadow in the darkness, I can still make out the curves and contours of her smooth naked back and body. Her child bearing hips stand out as the soft cotton bed linen adorns them. I love every inch of this woman, every goddam inch and I am determined that no harm will come to her or her family. She's had enough shit to deal with, to last a lifetime. No more!

  I search around on the floor for my jeans and not bothering to look for a pair of boxer briefs, I slide them on. Spotting the grey v-neck sweater, that is hanging on the arm of a chair, I slip it over my head. The only sound to be heard from within the room is the faint noise of traffic travelling along the ring road and Isabel's light breathing as she sleeps soundly.

  I need to make sure I get this done as swiftly and drama free as possible. Complications will only add to the amount of time I am away from Isabel. I ponder as whether I should leave a note in case she wakes. If I do, what do I write? 'I've just nipped out to buy a pint of milk.'

  Running one hand through my hair and resting the other on to my hip, I try desperately to think off the top of my head. I have to move towards the window as tension is slowly starting to build, when I hear Isabel stir.

  “What time is it Marc?” She sleepily rubs her eyes as she clutches the bed linen to her generous chest. I spy a glimpse of her milk white breast, that is peeking out at the side. Her hair has a stunningly beautiful messed up style about it, with the tresses bending and curling around the top half of her voluptuous body.

  Sitting back down on to the bed, I comb my fingers through her locks, before resting my palm against her cheek. She leans into my hand as I see her eyelids getting heavy again.

  “Shhh! It's okay, it's still late. I've woken and I can't get back to sleep again. I'm going down to the lounge to make a call to my father, it'll be dinner time over there, so I know I'll catch him. You go back to sleep.”

  Gradually she lies her head back down on to the thick cotton pillow. Taking a hold of my hand she puts the palm of it against her gorgeous full cheeks once more. I can feel the warmth radiating from them as she smiles before once again drifting off into a deep sleep.

  I know what some might be thinking now. They'll be thinking I have just lied threw my teeth to her. I haven't, I've just avoided telling her the whole truth. I am going to skype my father as soon as I am downstairs, he'll want to know the changes that have happened. What his next move will be, I don't know. I'm sure I'll be as clueless about it, as I have been regarding the rest. I am positive Isabel will understand why I have left out the other details. In any case, I'll be back before she wakes and I can tell her then, when it's done. As I rummage around in the darkness of the room for my wallet, swipe card and passport, I begin to mull over exactly what it is that my father is doing behind the scenes. I will be honest and say, ever since Emelie's threat over the phone this morning, I have been far more vigilant than usual and yet I haven't seen anything unusual or out of place. I suppose that is good in one way, as who's to say if I did spot something, that they worked for him.

  Closing the door quietly behind me, I then make my way to the stairs. Double checking that I picked up my phone, I pat my jeans pocket and am reassured.

  Heading on down to the reception I put the strap of my laptop case over my shoulder.

  Shit! I am leaving Isabel by herself. What if I haven't been as observant as I think I have? What if I am leaving her under dangerous circumstances? Striding over to the reception desk, I approach Paul the duty manager.

  “Good evening Dr Sanders. How may I help you?” His customer service is flawless as his attention is fully on me.

  “Good evening Paul. I need to go out once I have made a call to America. Would you be able to take me to my safe before I leave as I need to get take something from there with me?”

  The young, smartly dressed man doesn't bat an eyelid to this request. I'm guessing he has heard more unusual ones. Like a couple asking to share a room after only knowing each other for a few days for instance! Re-adjusting his blue waistcoat and tie, he smiles broadly at me.

  “Certainly Dr Sanders. Just let me know when you are ready and we'll get you to sign some papers to say you have taken it out. I realise you've been staying with us for a short while, but I am afraid I will still need to see some ID if you don't mind.”

  Fumbling for my passport, I then open it to show him.

  “Thank you Sir, that's all in order. If I am not here when you are ready, just ring the bell.”

  Placing my passport back into the zipped pocket of my case, I turn to go.

  “Oh! One more thing if you don't mind Paul. Ms Chambers is sleeping soundly, so I really don't want her being disturbed. If anyone was to request to talk or see her, could you please have them call me first?”

  “Of course Dr Sanders. Is there anything else I can help you with?” Not once does Paul stop from smiling.

  “No, that's all. Thank you, I appreciate it.”

  Behind me the front doors whoosh open and a blast of cool air makes me shiver. A small group of five, six young women clip clop their way across the tiled floor. All of them walk unsteadily on their stiletto's and killer heels. Each of them, bar one, wear a sash that has the words 'Hen Party' printed on them. The other has a pink 'Bride-to-be' sash and feather boa swathed around her, while flashing on the top of her head is a cheap and tacky, plastic tiara. I shudder even more when I see that at least two of the girls are wearing no more than revealing tops and skirts that could quite
easily be mistaken for belts. That is something else I love about Isabel; she's dresses classically, occasionally showing a fragment of her smooth breast and cleavage.

  “Corr! Tracey. Get a load of this fella. Are you sure you don't want a strippergram, cos he wouldn't be clothed for long once I get my hands on him.”

  I have heard an Essex accent before, but not one that had been spoken so crudely. Tracey and her gang of gaggling girls, that can only be described as being like well...I'm sure you can guess what I'm thinking...shrilly laugh and let out piercing screams to what, I surmise Helen is her name by the high pitched shouts, has just said.

  Rolling my eyes and ignoring the shabby remarks, I walk into the lounge as the hyena style screeching disappears down the corridor. I feel for the guests that will be sleeping in the rooms on either side of them, as I get the idea that the party is nowhere near over, possibly only just starting.

  Laying my laptop down on the rectangular glass table, I sit on the edge of the crème leather couch and empty my pockets, placing the cell phone and wallet on the seat next to me.

  My father informed me that he would always be logged onto Skype, so that it was easier for either myself or Jason, the head of security, to get in touch with him. I just hope that he is within reach of his computer, as I don't really have any time to waste. Looking at my Rolex, I see that 15mins has already past by. Dammit! I have to get a move on. As is always the case, it seems to take an age for me to log on and connect with him.

  Thankfully he answers straight away, in his usual mono toned, taking no shit fashion. He has never been one to beat around the bush with anything or anyone, which is how he manges to get his job done. Those that know him, know not to take it personally. However, there are those that do and therefore aren't exactly on good terms with him. Not that it bothers him, as long as the job he is doing is done well and with the right outcome. Putting all of that aside, hearing him speak, does offer some comfort and relief to know I have someone on my side and in the know.

  “Marc, I know the reason for your call. So I am not going to have you wasting yours or Mrs Acerbi's time in telling me.” Whoa! Hold on a second.

  “What?...How?...I'm sorry Father, how the hell?” I don't hold back on the shock to his revelation.

  “I didn't want you to know all of the background information, as it could jeopardise this already shaky situation.” As I say, I know my Father only too well and it is now if finally sinks in.

  “You have had my phone bugged haven't you?” I can understand his reasoning behind it, but that also means they (and when I say they, I mean his whole fucking security personnel probably) have had access and been listening in to all of my private phone conversations, including the one's with Isabel. This puts a whole new meaning to 'Voyeurism'! For the first time in a long time, if ever, I feel a hot flush spread over my cheeks. My own father has been listening in or probably been given manuscripts of my own private calls.

  “We had to Marc. I'm sorry if you feel I have invaded your privacy, but it had to be done. So with that, we know what Mrs Acerbi has just requested you to do. Do what she has asked. We have men from the British Security Service, on the ground. They have been observing what is going on and are now aware of this rapid, if unexplained change.”

  None of this truly surprises me. Emelie may think that she is the one pulling all of my strings, but my Father is the 'puppeteer' running this show.

  “Just give me a moment will you please.” I need to digest what I have just found out. Rolling around inside, is a mixture of conflicting emotions. I hate the fact that my personal space has been invaded, but again I can see why he's done it. I can also see why he didn't tell me before, as like now, I would have acted in a totally different way. I wouldn't have been myself, I'd have hung back on a lot of things knowing I was being watched and overheard. For fucks sake though, I'm an intelligent enough guy to know that that would raise suspicion in the stupidest of people. Therefore, no way on this earth would it have by passed Emelie. That is the way I have got to look at this. I slowly begin to calm down and rationalise the whole situation. Sitting back down, I take a deep breath before continuing with our conversation.

  “I'm collecting the money as soon as we have finished here. Will I have company on my drive over there?”

  “Yes son. You won't be alone.” The words hit me hard. I try desperately to think back, to remember the last time he spoke to me like that. We would probably have to go as far back as high school, when I made the soft ball team. With a heavy, strong hand he clasped at my shoulder, congratulating me and then shaking me by the hand.

  A few moments after, Mom threw her arms about me, planting several kisses over my face, as I grimaced with the wetness of them. Luckily there were none of my school buddies around to witness it, avoiding the inevitable mock taunting the next day in class. I'd give anything to have those arms around me again though. Even as a grown adult, we still would like to hear our Mom's concerning voice, telling us everything is going to be all right. Taking a brief moment to look towards the heavens, I know in my heart I am not alone and with having Isabel now, I won't be ever be again.

  “I know Dad, I know.”

  With that, we sign off from one another. Closing the laptop and gathering my belongings, I then collect everything I need from the safe. Paul, the manager wishes me a good night, with his 'I can't do enough for you' smile. He does make me laugh at how light hearted he is. I can see him in thirty, forty years still being here with that smile.

  There's very little light as I step outside and a biting chill in the air, with the cloudless night sky and flat landscape that surrounds us. Even though the town is only a mile away, on the opposite side is an expanse of open fields. The sound of slowing engines from a low flying plane passes over head, as the flight path to Stansted Airport is directly above us.

  Heading towards my car, I am reminded of a story Isabel told me as we ate our food at the picnic. She speaks so passionately about the kids and not only verbally, but with her hands as well. She was telling me how when Joseph was two and a half years old and they had not long moved into their home here, he was standing at the very top of his slide out in the garden. It was a beautiful hot summer, so luckily Isabel had the patio doors open at the back. She was just stepping out with a basket of clean laundry to hang out to dry, when Joseph heard the noise coming from above. He shot his arm up to point towards the sky, “Look mummy an aeroplane!” This caused a 'heart in mouth' moment as he very nearly toppled backwards off the slide. Isabel said that she had never sworn so much as she saw it happen in slow motion, dropping the basket on the spot to sprint over to him. Of course, Joseph thought it was hilarious watching his mummy do this whilst pulling funny faces (which were actually of sheer terror) and wasn't aware of the mini heart attack that she'd just had. Isabel certainly has a way with words when talking and re-telling stories, particularly of her past. I think my cheeks were aching from laughing and smiling so much that afternoon. This is what amazes me. The turmoil and hardship they've all been through, she can still reminisce on happier and funnier times. I guess that is a good thing, as the horror from what she has described, is something any sane person would want to blank out and forget.

  Finally reaching the car I unlock it as I approach. The bleep from the alarm echoes around the large car park. There are a few other vehicles parked up, but seeing as the hotel is marginal used by trades men working on the new science park, it appears that there are hardly any patrons staying here.

  Having put all of the baggage on to the rear seats, I climb into the stylish black hire car. The leather is cold against the skin on my back, as I get myself comfortable for the drive. Pressing some of the buttons around the dash, I thank the Lord for heated seats. Starting up the engine, I am then blinded by a set of bright headlights shining directly into the car. Shielding my eyes, I see them flash twice at me. Are these the 'Men on the ground' my Father spoke of? I can only surmise they are, as they follow me some five hundred
feet behind, along the main, road heading towards Cambridge.

  Emelie

  The journey back to the hotel is one that I would much rather forget. I was on tenterhooks for most of the way, as it was hit or miss as to whether Stefano was going to bring back up the contents of his stomach! Getting out of the car, the fresh air hits him like a brick wall. I worry if we'll actually make it up there. However, the fact that Stefano is as intoxicated as he is and having to take two steps back on occasion, it doesn't take us too long to arrive back at our room. This time, rather than the usual connection of me linking arms with him, it is I who is offering most of the support and direction, or else there was no way we'd have got here. Understandably, searching for our key card in my clutch bag, isn't an easy job.

  “Stefano, you're going to have to lean against the wall for a moment.” I almost grunt the words out. Heaving him off me is a challenge, as he is practically a dead weight with not being able to take some of it for himself.

  I may have to re-think some of my plan again. I internally kick myself by the fact, I really should have given this part to it, more thought and have asked for Mario's assistance in getting him to the door at least. Then again, it has been that long since we have spent time together, we usually go our separate ways, to our separate bedrooms. As for sleeping together, I can't remember what it feels like to share a bed with the man. I watch him for a moment as he sways slightly against the wall, his head is drooped and his eyes are heavy. I take in his broad shoulders and wide waist, that are a telling sign of his drinking and fine dining lifestyle. I vividly recall the wiry texture of his now, silver chest hair which then spread sparsely across his shoulders and back. And the noise! The noise from him snoring, despite him now residing in the room next to mine, he could still wake a sleeping baby, had we had one. That is at least something I am grateful for. Neither of us are the loving, parental type, so that is one less worry for me right now.