Saving Nathaniel (11 page)

'
Ladies! You made it.
'
McNeil sprang to his feet. He greeted each of them with a kiss to the cheek and led them over to the table.
'
Nat, I want you to meet some lovely friends of mine.'

Nat stood politely as McNeil introduced the pneumatic brunette.
'
This is Elaine.' They nodded their acquaintance.
'
And this is Irana.
'
She was the blonde.

'
Nice to meet you,
'
said Nat, and lightly shook her hand. She gave him a sweet smile with even, white teeth.

'
Come on ladies, sit yourselves down. I
'
ll get your drinks…the usual?
'

The women squeezed themselves into the booth, Elaine on McNeil's side of the table and Irana sliding in beside Nat, forcing him to shift further into the corner.
McNeil headed towards the bar, leaving Nat alone with the two strangers. He returned a few moments later with a tray laden with glasses and accompanied by the bottle boy. He waited for the lad to clear away the empties before distributing the new drinks respectively.

'Cheers,' he said, holding up his glass. Each of them touched their glass to his with a light
clink
.

'Cheers,' they all said in unison.

The foursome
then exchanged genial small-talk and banter until the two women excused themselves to go to the powder room. When they were out of earshot, McNeil turned to Nat.

'
So?' he asked, his eyebrows raised.

Nat swallowed a mouthful of beer. 'So what?'

'
What do you think?'

'
About what?'

'Jesus man! The girls!'

'
Oh,' Nat said. 'Very nice. Why are they here?'

'Because I thought we both deserved a little
female company, my friend. I don't know about you, but it's been a while for me and I'm about ready to give the little man a bit of exercise, if you know what I mean.' McNeil drained his glass. By now his copious intake was beginning to have an effect.
'So how long has it been since you last dipped your wick, Nat,' he asked. 'I'm guessing at about a year?'

His sex life was not a subject Nat was keen to discuss, particularly in an insalubrious dive like this. 'Something like that. But that's not why I'm here.
I thought it would just be us, catching up.
'

'It was, but now it's more. C
ome on,
relax a little
.
When did you get to be so uptight? Even a monk is allowed to enjoy himself once in a while. They're great ladies, you
'
ll love
'
em. Yours is the blonde by the way - unless you already have one at home you
'
re not telling me about.
'
McNeil exaggerated a wink.

'
Nope,' said Nat.

'
What about that flighty housekeeper of yours, what
'
s her name
…
.
'

Nat almost said
'
Megan
'
but corrected himself in time.
'
Rebecca,' he said.

'
What about her, given her one yet?
'

'
Not a chance.'

'Why the hell not, she's there for the taking.'

'Because she
'
s not my type. And if I did make a move on her she'd cut off my bollocks with a rusty blade!
'

Rebecca would, but what about Megan; what would she do? Probably hold her coat while she did it.

'Whoo-hoo…feisty!'
McNeil guffawed his amusement. '
So, what about it? What have you got to lose?'

Nat,
considered the proposition. He was a man, the woman was available and it had been a long time.

The two women returned and the couples paired off. The drinks continued to flow freely. McNeil and Elaine were soon engaged in each other, and Irana, taking her cue from her friend, cosied up to Nat.

'
Is Nat short for something?
'
she purred with an accent he couldn't quite place.

'
Nathaniel,' he said.

'
That's a lovely name, it sounds so…biblical.'

'
I believe it is. It means something like 'gift of God'.'

She took a delicate sip from her glass. 'And is that what you are, Nathaniel, God's gift?'

'
I've never had any complaints.'

She giggled coyly and put her hand on his knee.
'
Phil told me you would be quite the charmer.'

'Did he now? What else did he say?'

'Not much. He told me you were handsome and pleasant and he also said he thought you might be a little lonely and in need of cheering up.'

'Really?'

'And he also said you don
'
t live too far from here and you haven't had any company for a while. Might we keep each other company?
'

Nat took a mouthful of his drink. 'Phil has had a lot to say for not saying much.'
he said.

She sipped from the glass again.
'Don't you think it's a bit noisy in here? I can hardly hear myself speak. It's hot too. Do you think we might be more comfortable somewhere else?
'

'Where did you have in mind?'

'How about your place?'

The drink may have
had an influence on his decision making, because he suddenly thought getting out of the stuffy, crowded bar might not be such a bad idea.

McNeil was far too occupied with poking his tongue into Elaine's cleavage to give his friend's departure anything more than a cursory wave.

Nat
struggled to put one foot in front of the other as he weaved his drunken way to his car. Irana, clinging to his jacket sleeve, tottered along behind him in her heels. If he had any inkling how far over the legal alcohol limit he was or that he was almost physically incapable of driving, he didn't care. More by good luck than good management, he managed to get both himself and Irana to Struan Lodge without incident.

There was no real conversation on the journey, that would have required some degree of cognitive thought and reasoning, and Nat at the time, possessed neither. Irana had her hand on his leg the whole time and was stroking it provocatively, slowly inching her way toward his crotch.

They were on each other before they were properly through the door; kissing and pawing each other hungrily. A trail of cast off clothes led through the hall and up the stairs and into the first bedroom they reached; the front guest room.

They tore at the remainder of each other's clothing until they were both naked. He took a firm hold of her, pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely. He then lifted and dropped her none too gently onto the bed, falling on top of her.

After next to no foreplay, the sex they indulged in was animal-like in its urgency. Devoid of any desire or passion or emotion, it was a drunken, empty act designed to satisfy purely physical need. Although both climaxed there was no sense of fulfillment or satisfaction for either. Within half an hour, it was all over. They separated and lay on their backs on the bed.

Irana fell into post coital sleep while Nat lay staring at the ceiling. The whole room seemed to be moving and he felt nausea reminiscent of seasickness. Too much drink, the woman's heavy perfume and the exertion of the sex act had all served to turn his stomach. Stumbling into the bathroom, stubbing his toe on the bed leg on the way, he fell to his knees and vomited copiously into the toilet bowl. For a good while he clutched at the cold white porcelain, retching violently, ribbons of spittle hanging from his chin.

As he waited for the queasiness to subside, he suddenly felt very tired indeed. He folded his arms over the bowl, rested his head on them and fell asleep.

Irana, hardly disturbed by his noisome misery, stirred on the bed and turned over.

Chapter 11

Megan swept in through the back door, accompanied by a flurry of snowflakes and a frigid draught
. She closed out the wintry weather and stamped her boots on the stiff coir mat to shift the snow that had gathered in their treads.

'Sorry I'm late,' she said. 'But this snow caught me a bit...'

Too late, Nat tried to block her view into the room, but
she had already seen. 'Unawares...' she finished.

'Megan!' He seemed surprised to see her. 'I...um, thought you weren't coming in today.'

'You know i
t'll take more than a bit of snow to keep me from my duties, Mr Mackie,' she said formally, looking past him to the reason for her propriety, sitting at the head of the table, dressed in his bathrobe and sipping tea from one of the china cups kept for best.

Megan, sensibly she thought, had dressed appropriately for the weather in corduroy trousers and a thick, padded anorak zipped up to her throat. She had rammed a bright yellow bobble hat on her head and pulled it down over her ears. Her feet were encased in heavy waterproof boots, and her nose glowed a fierce red where the cold had nipped at it. Compared to the woman whose understated elegance could not be concealed even by Nat's shapeless bathrobe, she felt positively dowdy. Her instantaneous assessment of the woman also left her with twinge of envy.

She was of average height, although skinny with it. Her face had a fine structure, with a neat, straight nose and full lips. A disheveled mass of bottle blonde curls crowned her head, the dark roots plainly visible and in need of a touch-up, and her thin ring decorated fingers, curled around the teacup, ended in long scarlet talons. Under Megan's scrutiny, she shifted in her seat and Megan made out the outline of breasts which seemed, to her, suspiciously pert for a woman whom she estimated to be somewhere around her own age.

Her
eyes darted back to Nat, silently challenging him for an explanation. He swallowed his unease.

'Erm…this is Irana,' he said, introducing the woman. 'She's an…um, acquaintance. Irana this is Megan, my general
factotum
.'

The two women regarded each other with a palpable coolness.

'
Good morning, ma'am,' said Megan, stiffly. Irana, holding herself erect in her seat, her chin tilted upward, merely nodded a haughty acknowledgement. Both women simultaneously turned their attention on Nat who, feeling tension building between them, looked edgy and ran his fingers through his hair, making an unsuccessful attempt at tidying himself up.

He looked as if he had dressed in a hurry that morning. His shirt was crumpled and he was unshaven, and had dark shadows under his eyes. He blinked a lot and frowned as if the bright light in the kitchen hurt his eyes, signs Megan had seen often enough before to know them for what they were...he had a stinking hangover.

He sidled round the table to Irana and put his hand on her shoulder. 'It's time I took you home,' he said. 'Megan has work to do and we don't want to be in her way. Besides, I don't like the look of this weather. It might worse before it gets better.'

Irana nodded and got to her feet, and Nat, giving Megan a guilty glance over his shoulder, escorted her from the room and upstairs.

What a cow!
Megan thought, pulling a face of revulsion as she unzipped herself from her coat and tugged off her boots.

She poured a cup of tea from the still hot teapot and sipped at it as she planned her chores for the day, all the while listening intently for any sounds from beyond the kitchen door. Hearing nothing significant, she gave up and turned on the radio.

After about twenty minutes, she heard the front door slam. A few moments later, Nat's car started up and drove away. He had ushered Irana through the little used front entrance in order to deliberately avoid her.

Megan's first duty any day was to make up Nat's bed, and change the towels in his en suite; a prime example of his fussiness - he liked fresh linen each and every day.

On entering his bedroom, she discovered his bed had n
o
t been slept in. A quick room by room search determined, however, that the one in the front guest room, had.

Its blue cotton sheet was roughly separated from the mattress and lying in a creased heap in the middle of the bed. The white stains on it told their own undeniable story.

The pillowcases
were smeared with makeup and lipstick, and the whole room reeked of a cloying, cheap perfume. The bathroom didn't smell too fresh either. The toilet seat was up, and the sour odour of stale alcohol and vomit hung in the air.

Despite the deep chill outside, Megan threw open the window to rid the room of the bad air. She gathered up the soiled sheet and pillowcases and pushed them deep into the laundry hamper.