The Tied Man (17 page)

Without any words that might fit, I impulsively reached up to rest my fingers on his arm.  Finn recoiled as if stung. 

‘Don’t.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Fuck it, it’s not you.  But I need to start to go somewhere else, you know?  Places to go, people to be.’  He hugged his arms across his chest and tucked his scarred hands into his armpits.  ‘And to be perfectly honest, it’s somewhere I don’t want you anywhere near.’  With a soft whistle he summoned Bran to his side.  As he got to the rise he turned back and added, ‘I meant to say – thank you.  For this afternoon.  It’s been pretty cool. 
Normal
, you know?’  With a last brief, shy smile he disappeared before I could return the thanks.

I looked down at my sketch book and closed it, already knowing that I’d done enough for the day.

*****

I was back in my studio, idly flicking through one of Henry’s vast collection of men’s style magazines when
Blaine
paid me a visit.  Without a word, she picked up the drawing from that morning and held it up to the window to examine it.  Finally, she passed her verdict.

‘This is beautiful, Lilith.  Look how you’ve got those amazing eyes of his.’  She traced a finger along Finn’s sketched profile.  ‘Just his face, though.  Did you decide against my proposal? Or did he refuse?’ 

I was ready for this.  ‘Neither.  Asthma attack, I’m afraid.  A big one.  Last thing I wanted was to be cooped up inside, so I suggested we spend some time in the gardens – that way I’d make sure the day wasn’t totally wasted.’ I gave what I hoped was a rueful smile.  ‘Even I wouldn’t force someone to spend a Northumbrian afternoon outdoors, stark naked.’

‘You don’t need to be so defensive:  my input this morning was a suggestion, nothing more, and I certainly don’t want any part of this process to damage your health. I’m sure the end result’s bound to be spectacular.’

‘It will be,’ I said, thrown by her apparent compliance.

‘While I’m here, I should say – I’d rather like you to observe some of this evening’s proceedings,’
Blaine
announced. 

‘No.  I don’t think so.’  I didn’t even bother to look up.

‘But it’s an essential part of Albermarle.  How can you expect to capture my home’s spirit without experiencing all of it?’ 

I slapped my magazine shut.  ‘
Blaine
, I am
not
sitting there whilst two people fuck in front of me.’

‘Why ever not?  From what I can see, you’ve made quite a career from it.’

‘That’s different.  Those sittings – they were my friends, happy to have me there.  Tonight one would be a complete stranger, and the other one -’

‘- Is a professional who’d perform at the Albert Hall if I told him to.  For God’s sake, Lilith, Finn’s been part of my after-dinner entertainment at more gatherings than I could count. ’

I was still adamant.  ‘I really have no desire to sit there while some uptight ball-breaker finds a new way to work out her issues.’

Blaine
laughed.  ‘You and Finn have been having an interesting chat, haven’t you?  If it’s any consolation, the first time at least is likely to be pure vanilla – there’s no specialist request that I’m aware of.  And I’ll make sure you’re tucked away in the viewing room for the act itself.’ 

‘
Viewing room
?’

‘A private chamber, connected by two-way mirror to Ms Fenworth’s room,’
Blaine
explained, as if she was describing an ensuite bathroom.  ‘My great-grandfather had it built – he had rather voyeuristic tendencies, by all accounts.  He used to hold the most amazingly libertine parties then retire to his viewing room to observe the aftermath.  It’s a comfortable little place, with plenty of room for you to set out your things.  Then you can make further sketches of Finn without the problems that seem to have arisen this morning.’

‘Look,
Blaine
, this really isn’t how I work.’  I was pleased with my pitch.  Reasonable.  Final.  ‘Trust me.  I’m sure you’ll be more than happy with the final piece.’

‘I understand your brother goes swimming on Thursdays.  According to his teachers, he becomes a different boy when he’s in the water.’
Blaine
returned her gaze to admire my sketch of Finn.  ‘You know, you’ve really caught that peculiar waif-like look my guests seem to find so attractive.’  She reverentially placed the book on the table.  ‘I suppose you can only pray that these trips are adequately chaperoned, can’t you?  It’s amazing the harm that can befall a child when one’s back is turned.’

The vice tightened around my chest once more as she strolled from the room. ‘I’ll expect to see the finished sketches from this evening at our breakfast meeting tomorrow, shall I?’

As she left I reached for my inhaler once more.

Laura Fenworth perched on the edge of one of
Blaine
’s high-backed green leather armchairs.  She had changed into a severe black velvet off-the-shoulder evening dress, and she repeatedly shrugged and pulled the short sleeves back into place.  A few months ago it would have fitted perfectly, but her divorce had dropped pounds off her – I guessed two dress sizes – and she hadn’t found the time to buy a new wardrobe.

The constant drumming of elegant fingernails against the crystal bowl of her half-empty glass played in counterpoint to the staccato rap of a stiletto heel on antique oak floorboards.  Even from my hidden eyrie of the curtained-off minstrel’s gallery, her latent anger was palpable.

‘Laura, darling, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.  You look magnificent.’ 
Blaine
entered the room like a
Hollywood
starlet walking onto the set.  Her hair hung loose over her right shoulder, and her silk gown, corseted to emphasise the generous curve of her breasts, matched the last inch of blood-red wine in her guest’s glass.  She offered a gracious hand, and Laura stood to accept it.  ‘I’m sure you’re about to have a most enjoyable evening – I trust the wine’s to your liking?’

‘It’s excellent.  A Margaux?’  For the first time, I heard the hard, clipped voice of Laura Fenworth, Investment Banker: artificially pitched half an octave lower than its natural range, to prove that she had the biggest balls of anyone in her company.

‘Naturally,’
Blaine
said.  ‘It is your favourite, isn’t it? I’ll make sure Henry keeps your glass filled.’ 

A soft footfall on the stairs that swept down into the room caused both women to turn, and the hostess gave her most beatific smile as she brought her possession forward into a shimmering pool of candlelight.  ‘Laura, may I introduce my companion, Finn Strachan?’

The same script, the same well-cut dinner jacket and extended, elegant hand with its hidden marks, and Finn pale and beautiful and entirely absent.  ‘I’m delighted to meet you.’ The gentle lilt of his refined, ‘working’ accent warming the room.

This time, the meticulous staging had the desired effect.  I watched the hard, cold mask that Laura wore drop away, burned up by a lust that flared the moment she touched her purchase.  I had never seen such open hunger on a woman’s face: in that one awful second Finn ceased to be human and became a convenient and malleable means to an end.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood.  How could she look at him and not
notice
, not feel the delicate bones that lay too close to the surface of his skin, or the scars across his hand?  Did she really dare look into his eyes and think that what she saw there was returned desire? 

There was a sharp crack as the tip of my pencil snapped and splintered across the page.  Neither Laura nor Finn heard, but
Blaine
glanced up to my hiding place before returning to her guest.  ‘So, what do you think?’ she asked.

Laura had not let go of Finn.  ‘He’s absolutely divine.’

*****

Blaine and I stood outside a doorway more suited to
Alice
in Wonderland than a stately home. 

‘You’ll be the first person to use this that didn’t have to bend double.’
Blaine
  opened the door to the chamber.  A musky sweet smell rushed out to envelop us, and we stepped inside a room that belonged to an upmarket Victorian opium den, with its chaise longue, thickly flocked wallpaper and yards of crimson velvet drapes. 

The opposite wall held a gold-framed window that looked out onto a vile rococo guestroom complete with an intricately carved four-poster bed whose mahogany cherubs stared down with disdain. 

‘Hardly subtle, but it’s what most of my guests expect,’
Blaine
explained, as if reading my thoughts.  ‘I’ll leave you on trust, but remember, I expect to see the work based on tonight’s show.’ 

I sat on the chaise longue, pulled my knees to my chest and thought back to
Spain
and long, sun-drenched afternoons spent filled with wine and laughter, relaxing  Rosario and her confident, beautiful girlfriend and knowing that every brushstroke would be done with their blessing. A concept beyond the understanding of a woman for whom ‘permission’ simply meant the shaky signature of a desperate young junkie.

My heart leapt into my throat as Finn walked into the room with his arm around Laura’s shoulders.  Although my window would appear as an ornately framed mirror to them, Finn still seemed to stare straight at me. 

I picked up my sketchpad and pencil and prepared to become the unwilling voyeur.

*****

I had never thought about what made someone a good whore – too close to home, perhaps – but I only needed to watch Finn for moments to see he was skilled at his trade. 

He could have been her attentive, infatuated toyboy as he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her until she slid her arms around his neck and pulled him to her.  I recalled one of my mother’s favourite rants, about how she had never let punters kiss her because of the filth they left behind, and how my father was the first and that was how she had known he was the one.

I guessed Finn was past the stage where he gave a shit.

Candlelight granted Laura a hard beauty that would not exist outside this room, and as she threw her head back in pleasure, artfully streaked blonde curls began to escape from her chignon.  Finn unclipped the silver clasp that held it in place so that the rest of her hair fell loose around her shoulders.

In the time it would have taken me to fuck, shower and consider round two, he drew a path of gentle kisses down Laura’s neck before leading her to the bed, all the while caressing her face and arms and finally letting the tips of his fingers brush her nipples through the velvet of her dress.  From a distance, you could believe this was his chosen life.  From a distance, he made it look like love.

Now it was Laura’s turn.  She undid the buttons on Finn’s shirt and tugged it down his arms like a child unwrapping the first present of Christmas.  She ran her hands across his exposed chest, then she must have asked – ordered – him to undress because he suddenly stepped away from the bed and unfastened his trousers so that they fell to the floor and he stood, lean, smooth-limbed and  naked, before her.  The same candlelight that had given such softness to Laura’s pinched face hid his scars and bathed him in a gentle radiance, and I began to draw. 

Finn became my unwitting mannequin, and every pencil-stroke felt like an intrusion as I captured his image: the long fringe of hair that fell and veiled his face, the concave curve of his belly and soft, golden curls of pubic hair that reached from his navel to his stiffening cock. 

Laura let her dress fall to the floor, kissed him hungrily and entwined her thin hands behind her new lover’s head, holding him close as if he might vanish without her selfish grasp.  I kept drawing as Finn laid her tenderly on the bed and slipped two dampened fingers inside her, gently rubbing her clit with his thumb as she arched her back in pleasure. 

Finally he parted her legs and slid his erection easily into her, moving in long, languorous strokes until she came, greedily pulling him further in with each thrust, and then the performance was over.  Laura released her grip on Finn and he rolled away from her, already reaching for his clothes.

  I dropped the closed sketchpad onto the velvet seat and let my tensed breath out in a long, weary sigh. 

*****

Blaine
let herself into the viewing room, her porcelain face hidden in shadow. ‘So, what did you think?  Do you still assume that Finn’s some poor, disabused ingénue?  Admit it, Lilith, you were impressed.  Maybe you even allowed yourself to become just a little aroused?  Just a little damp between those ascetic, principled thighs?’   She sat down next to me to inspect my work.  ‘These really are superb.    Now, if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll see if I can persuade Laura to be a touch more adventurous.  You can go to bed now if you like – I’d hate to invoke your disapproval after such a rewarding day.’

*****

In the early hours of the morning, I cleaned my bathroom for two hours straight.  I raided Henry’s cupboards for cloths and scourers and disinfectant, and scrubbed every surface until I could see my reflection in the marble, and still sleep refused to come.