LOVE'S GHOST (a romance) (12 page)

Was I using Carl Rask? The man who had lost two women who had died by their own hand. And yet, I couldn’t think of him as being a victim. He gave off the appearance of strength.
 

Most men look good in a tuxedo, even those severely out of shape. But Carl looked incredible, helped in no small measure by his perfect posture. I knew that wasn’t much to go on. But it was also the conversations we’d had. He’d always seemed like the one in control of the situation, unlike me.

“Good evening,” Carl said.

“Good evening. How’s the exhibition looking?” I asked. “Did you sort out your disagreement with the curator.”

“Yes. We sat down for twenty minutes, talked about it, and decided I was right.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his cheeky attitude.

The boat cruised along the river. The sun was setting behind the trees on the far bank. We didn’t catch the last of the sun’s rays because the trees cut them off. Instead, a murkiness descended on our boat.

“I heard what you were talking about before I arrived,” he said.

I was slow to catch on. “When?”

“At the Tate.”

I tried to remember what it was that we were talking about. What was it? Then I remembered exactly what it was. It was his wife and girlfriend — the suicides.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It was none of our business.”

“It’s very much your business. It’s everybody’s business. It comes with the job. My life is an open book. The trouble is, once people begin reading it they think they know me.”

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t even presume to know you.”

“Does it scare you?”

I paused before answering. I didn’t want to rush into a glib answer. I didn’t want to say that it didn’t just because that would be the socially acceptable thing to say. He deserved a degree of honesty for such a sensitive topic. But I didn’t know how to approach my true feelings.

“It doesn’t scare me, no. I don’t know what to think of it. Life can be tough sometimes. Tragic things happen.”

“Do you think I might have contributed to their suicides?”

I didn’t wait to answer this one. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Well, you’re wrong. I did.”

I could hear a tone of bafflement enter my voice. “But how?”

“Because of who I am. I think people end up with the people they deserve to be with.”

I didn’t fully understand what he said. It just left me with a general feeling of unease, sadness. But
he
didn’t look sad. The eyes were as irrepressible as ever, even in the gloom.

That gloom didn’t last for long. When we emerged from the bend in the river that brought his house into view, I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was beautiful. Somehow he’d put bamboo screens across the river, around the jetty, screening it from the rest of the river.

As we got closer, I began to see what was behind the screens. The jetty was no longer the only solid structure on the river. There was a platform adjacent to it. It was the most surreal site. On top of this platform was a dining table. A dining table with chairs and a candelabra.

“Is that where we’re having dinner?” I tried not to sound too amazed.

“It is.”

The candles on the table weren’t the only ones. There were floating candles in the river, too. It was the most romantic man-made scene I’d ever witnessed.

Carl cut the engine and let the boat glide alongside the jetty, in-between the gaps in the bamboo screens. The boat acted as a further shield to prevent anybody seeing us.

I now had a better view of the table. It wasn’t a plastic picnic table, either. It was made of solid oak. The platform didn’t wobble in the water. It was secure. A lot of work must have gone into securing it. I could make out the steel rods that descended from the wooden platform into the water.

As Carl tied the boat to the jetty, another man approached us, walking along the pathway in the middle of the lawn. He was dressed like a butler and carrying a bottle of champagne on a silver platter.

“Good evening, miss,” he said, as walked onto the platform and poured the bubbly into two glasses. Then he turned to Carl. “Dinner in twenty minutes, sir?”

“That will be fine, Barton. Thank you.”

Unfailingly polite, Carl again held out his hand to help me off the boat.

“Mind the water on the jetty,” he said.

I wasn’t wearing my highest heels, but I could still feel how slippy it was underfoot. He led me onto the platform and pulled back one of the chairs, ready for me to sit on it. It had a beautifully embroidered seat. It appeared to be a Japanese design, featuring Magnolia trees around a pool of water.

I sat down and looked around me. The table had a centrepiece of red and white roses. The silver candelabra held five candles.

I was overwhelmed by the number of floating candles in the water. As darkness descended, the candles shimmered across the black water, reflections seemingly multiplying their numbers, making them appear to be stars that had fallen into the river.

No detail had been overlooked. A couple of heaters had been planted and their orange glow wrapped us in what felt like an electric blanket.

I took a sip of champagne.

“I hope you like fish,” he said.

“I do.”

“Good. We’re having sea bass.”

I stared at his eyes. I couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d invited me on this second date because he thought I no longer cared for Russell. Or was it just out of embarrassment because he had stumbled into me in the Tate Modern’s café? But all this preparation couldn’t be down to his being embarrassed.

“It’s very kind of you to go to all this effort,” I said.

“It’s not kindness. Kindness is an unselfish act. This isn’t an unselfish act. To be honest, I want you.” The candlelight flickered as a breeze swept across the table.

“Last time we met,” I said, “you told me that you didn’t want me. That I was haunted. That your pleasures couldn’t be — what was the word? — diluted.”

He stared down at the table. “Yes, I did. And it got me thinking. Why wasn’t I haunted by what happened to my wife? And to my girlfriend? What’s lacking in me? My paintings don’t lack emotion. Everybody who sees them, critics and viewers alike, say the paintings are full of emotion. But in life, I seem to be emotionally lacking.”

Barton walked from the house with two plates of sea bass. He served them, poured more champagne into our glasses, then left us.

“But you said you wanted me. That’s an emotion.”

He thought about it for a while, his gaze drifting off to the night sky. “Well, maybe I have limited emotions. Maybe passion is where my emotions begin and end. In my work and in my life.”

“Are you saying you’ve never been in love?”

“No. I’m sure I have.” Then he pointedly averted his eyes from me. “But just in a different way to other people. But that’s just a guess. I don’t know how other people feel love.” There was a pause. Then he spoke again. “What do you think of the sea bass?”

“It’s lovely. Very moist.”

We finished our meal talking about our mutual love of the River Thames. Carl said he’d always lived near water. He didn’t know why, had never examined his reasons for doing so, but just had an urge to set up home next to it.

For dessert we had a lime cheesecake, though it wasn’t an ordinary lime cheesecake. There were all sorts of flavours. And it was presented, like the sea bass, as if it were a work of art.

“Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes, thank you, Barton. You may go.”

Then it was just the two of us. The candles in the water began to die. We were onto coffee liqueurs.

“Shall we go inside?” Carl asked.

I nodded.

He put a hand on my back as we walked up the path to the house. His touch caused a frisson of excitement from the small of my back up to my neck, causing me to jump.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s getting cold.”

We walked in through the kitchen and towards the two sofas in capacious living room. Carl turned on the small wall lights. But it was still dark enough inside to watch the remaining lit candles in the river. I looked around at this amazing room, at the gabled ceiling way up above, and the balcony that led to the bedrooms.

Then I sat down on the sofa. But I hadn't been there long before his hand appeared on my shoulder.

"Come with me," he said.

I took his hand and stood up. We walked away from the sofa down the corridor where there were other rooms. He stopped.

He pointed at one of the doors. "That's a bathroom. In there is a bikini in your size. Put it on and join me in the flotation room. You can’t live your life and not experience this.”

I wasn’t completely sure that I was ready to get semi-naked in front of Carl. And yet, I’d never experienced a flotation room before, so I was keen to try it. And it had been a wonderfully dreamy night so far.

He smiled. His dark, intense, but also kindly, eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But you will kick yourself if you miss out.”

My body took over. I was aroused. Probably not the best state to go into a flotation room. A thousand thoughts sped through my head. Russell appeared in my head, then disappeared. The two suicides ran past also. My own confusion tumbled by. But my body was insistent.

I went into the exquisite bathroom, gold taps and polished granite surfaces, and changed into the simple, classical black bikini. It was my size. I folded my own clothes neatly and put them on a shelf.
 

When I opened the door again, Carl wasn’t there. But the door to the flotation room was open. I slowly walked along the corridor on my bare feet and hovered in front of the door.

“Come in.”

I peered round the door. The dark tiles on the floor reflected the small, dim spotlights. Standing by the small, shallow pool was Carl in his Speedos.

“Don’t be scared,” he said, walking into the sunken flotation pool, then lying down in it. I crept over and watched him for a moment. He was actually floating. I tried not to gawp at his muscly body for too long. He looked so smooth and solid. Not overdeveloped, just taut.

“I can’t start the show until you get in,” he said.

“What show?”

“If you’re brave enough to get in, you’ll see.”

I winced.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s a projected show designed to work with the flotation experience. I designed it myself. Trust me.”

I was already standing there in my bikini, so I might as well keep going, I thought.

I dipped a toe in the pool. It was difficult to think that a few inches of water could hold the weight of a human being. I sat down in the water. There was plenty of room for two.

“Just lie down and relax,” he said in those calm tones of his.

Slowly I lay down in the pool next to Carl. I felt my feet rise up first and the rest of my body followed up to the surface. It was both bizarre and wonderful.

While I was still getting used to the feeling of floating on water, the lights dimmed and the walls of the flotation room became one giant projector. Initially it looked like we were floating through the universe. Stars twinkled in the distance. A distant planet, no more than a speck, hovered.
 
It was a surreal experience. Then the scene changed and there was nothing but an endless ocean surrounding us. The sounds of gently lapping water and distant seagulls encircled us. The flotation pool’s water was warm so it was a convincing effect.

Next, we stayed on water but the horizon changed into mountains and valleys, as if we were floating in a swimming pool overlooking this spectacular scenery. Carl’s hand reached over to touch mine, his little finger lay on top of mine.

Then we went somewhere that wasn’t of this world or
any
world. It was a succession of shapes and colours. Abstract. But so relaxing. I hadn’t felt this relaxed for months, maybe even years.

The relaxation made me bold. I squeezed Carl’s hand. I heard the water disturbed and saw, from his silhouette, that Carl was on his side, no longer floating.
 

His face came closer. I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him closer. It was good to feel his firm body press against mine.

The projections went on. But I was no longer floating — only in my head.

Carl rolled on top of me and I reached up and put my hands around his well-defined back. I didn’t even have to think about what I was doing. It was just natural. He kissed me, his lips moulding themselves to my own, his tongue gently but firmly playing with mine.

I wasn’t sure how far we should go with this. But my argument
against
giving in wasn’t what my body wanted to hear. The flotation tank had relaxed me so much that I couldn’t argue myself out of the passion that was taking over me.

“I want you,” said Carl.

I looked at him. I couldn’t speak, I just nodded.

There was no reason to put the brakes on. I don’t think I could have stopped if I’d wanted to. My legs lost their shyness and parted to accommodate Carl.

The water splashed around us as his urgency increased. I was usually quiet during sex, but not this time. Carl wasn’t quiet, either. His noises, though wordless, were expressive of his actions. And he made me climax three times, just through taking the time to find out what pleased me.

By the time we had finished there was little water left in the flotation tank. We lay there, on almost bare tiles, exhausted.

I WOKE UP in Carl’s bed but he wasn’t there. My bleary eyes flickered a few times before opening fully. There was no sign of him.

I stared at the walls as I tried to wake up. They seemed to be made of the same glossy material as in the other rooms. Perhaps they, too, were screens that could project trips through the universe.

What a magical night.
 

We had moved to the bedroom not long after we’d made love in the flotation room. Then we spent most of the night touching each other, building ourselves into a feverish fervour, then calming down, but not letting the sensuality go off the boil.

Carl explored my body with the inquisitiveness and care of a man who’d just discovered a rare artefact in the desert. There was power and intensity as he grabbed me with those large rough-hewn hands, an artist’s hands. Thinking about that made me smile. Another image came into my head. I was like a sculptor’s clay and he, the artist, had been shaping me with his hands.