TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (48 page)

BOOK: TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy)
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early hours of Monday morning. But if you weren’t there then that doesn’t apply to you.”

“Right. Have you spoken with Pat downstairs? She likes to keep an eye on things around here.”

“Yes, we have. She was very helpful.”

“Sorry I can’t tell you anything useful.”

“Not to worry. I’ll be in touch if I need to ask you anything else and if anything does occur to you,

don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

“I won’t.”

“Enjoy your evening Mr. Rizler

“You too Inspector.” Dan ends the call and slides the card into his wallet. There it sits, all cosy like,

nestling between the two ladies in his life. A self-satisfied grin distorts his face. An arrogant air

circulates his mighty frame like a bad smell as he stands by his lookout post. He admires himself; his

eyes reflect, large and sinful in the expanse of darkness but he’s not done yet

Before leaving, just in case, he gathers up the sickening items assembled in his bedroom: the length

of chain, the masking tape and the leash, carelessly tossing them into his rucksack. The satchel sags

with the weight but it’s nothing he can’t handle. As a parting gesture, he straightens out the sheet

across the second hand mattress. To an outsider, there’s nothing indecent going on here; just some guy

settling into a new apartment, making do.

Feeling that familiar sting of disappointment he rubs himself through his jeans, teasing the flaccid

length of unresponsive muscle into life. He’s a weary combatant who’s lost count of his defeats. But,

he won’t stay down for long. A heavy rucksack rests under his chin as he makes his way to his car. To

disguise the noise of a rattling chain he whistles and clutches it to his chest with both arms in a kind of

bear hug. There it sits on the passenger seat, concealing an appalling assortment of items, the cruel

belongings of a sociopath.

He slams the door and pulls away, driving one handed to assess the extent of his carnal craving. The

whistling stops. The grunts begin. By the time he hits Junction 9 for the Baldock turnoff. he’s ready to

explode.

He parks up on the hard shoulder. Other motorists fly past him, unaware the man rocking in his seat

in the parked car directly beneath the pylon is jerking off; one hand fisting a pulsating cock, the other

on the passenger seat, wrapping itself once, twice, three times around a leather leash so tightly, the

sinews in his wrist are contracting and taut like the cables humming above his head.

“I’ve got you now,” he mouths, but his words are eclipsed by the sound of speeding cars.

18

Fresh
faced and beaming, Celine appears at my door, brandishing an enormous holdall and an

effervescent “Bonjour.” It’s 8.05 and I’m showered, shaved and ready for my make-over, still feeling

the after effects of a post orgasmic tremble rippling through my entire body.

I caress the collection of delicate underwear laid out across the bed in the guest bedroom; frothy,

white bundles of lace and silk; the invisible gifts for my husband to cast his eyes upon and unwrap on

our wedding night.

Celine calls me over to select jewellery from a stunning selection. I’m spoilt for choice. I’m spoilt.

Full stop! A platinum necklace with sapphires arranged into a heart shape catches my eye, as do the

earrings that match it. I hold my hand to the ensemble. The colours match my engagement ring

perfectly. I really don’t think it’s accidental.

The entire morning has been organised with the precision of an Apollo rocket launch; every detail

itemised, to be ticked off on a list Celine has attached to the enormous bathroom mirror in front of

which I am sitting, waiting for item one.

Manicure and pedicure, to be followed by make-up and hair, followed by dressing, followed by

jewellery and accessories …

I have ceased to be a person. I have become a project.

Thankfully, by 10.45 a.m. they have done with me. I have not looked in a mirror for an hour and can

barely contain my excitement. Celine is thrilled with the end product. One look at me and she’s

wiping her nose with a tissue. I assume that’s a good sign.

In the lounge I hear unfamiliar voices. I wrinkle my nose and Celine bounds off to investigate.

When she returns she looks seriously worried. “Beth, there is someone here to see you. Do you want

to come to the lounge or should I send him in here?”

“Who is it?”

Nervously, she hands me his card:

Marshall Hayes.
With a row of letters after his name.
Attorney of Law.

“Send him in here, please, Celine. I’m not ready for the big reveal yet.”

She nods and does not return. Instead, Mr Hayes makes an appearance. Has a man ever looked more

uncomfortable? He has a handmade suit and beautifully polished shoes but this is a very ordinary

looking, middle aged man who has worked hard to get where he is. I’m happy to spare him the time.

“Mr Hayes. As you can see, I’m preparing for a wedding. Please make it quick.”

“Of course Miss Parker. I will get straight to the point. May I?” He lays out his briefcase on the

bed, allowing it to flip open like the mouth of a crocodile. Inside there are papers, documents bound

together in tidy plastic folders. He clears his throat.

“I have come here to speak to you privately about a Prenuptial Agreement.”

“A what?”

“It’s a document which is signed by both parties in a marriage, noting ownerships of properties and

assets; essentially agreeing upon who gets what if you should decide to end the marriage.”

“End the marriage? It’s not even started yet!” I state. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “And you’re

telling me that Ayden signed this and wants me to sign it now? Right now?”

“I believe so.”

“What does it say?” I sit on the bed and begin flipping through a copy of the document. It’s full of

legal jargon. First party this and second party that. “Alright. Spell it out to me. What does it say?”

“Well, it states that for every year you are together, in the event of an amicable separation you will

receive one million pounds …”

“Per year?”

“Yes. It also has written into this document that you should receive a lump sum of ten million as a

token of good will. However, this will be rescinded in the event of infidelity on your part.”

What the hell!

“So you’re telling me, I get a ten million bonus if I don’t screw around? Is that right?” He’s picking

up on my indignation. As well he might. This has to be the work of Ayden’s legal team. He has never

said anything to me.

“I believe so Miss Parker. It also stipulates that Mr. Stone’s commercial assets will remain his and

his alone.”

“You mean ASMI?” He nods in the affirmative. “What would I want with Ayden’s business? I

don’t want any of the other stuff either. If we broke up Mr. Hayes, the last thing I would be thinking

about is microchips.”

“Then perhaps you would be kind enough to sign here?” He lifts a pen from his briefcase, clicks it

and passes it to me.

“Can I just say, I’m not happy. Ayden and I haven’t spoken about any of this. Besides, I don’t want

any of his money or his commercial assets. I’m a school teacher Mr. Hayes if I was single again I

would make my own way in the world. I don’t like the idea of measuring our time together in dollars

or pounds.”

“I appreciate that Miss Parker, but Mr. Stone is an extremely wealthy man who has accumulated

that wealth over a number of years. It would be unjust and indeed immoral to expect to get half of that

wealth after a brief period of marriage. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, it would Mr. Hayes, but our marriage will not be brief. I can assure you of that.”

“I’m very pleased to hear that. Nevertheless things can change; people can change and then it can

become increasingly acrimonious.”

“Can it?” I’m not fooled into thinking for one minute this is Ayden’s doing. He will not be happy

when he finds out about this guy approaching me now with such a delicate matter. “Alright. But I want

it amended so I get nothing. I can support myself and I already have money in the bank …”

“Ah, yes, two million pounds as I recall Miss Parker,” he states, making me feel unworthy.

I fix him with a stare. “There’s a lot more than that in my bank account Mr. Hayes.”

“I’m sure there is Miss Parker.” As I sign, he’s tapping on the relevant page, pointing to dotted

lines, licking his thumb to shuffle through the pages. “There. All done.”

I toss the pen into his briefcase. “Anything else I can do for you? A blood sample perhaps?”

Two noisy clicks of his briefcase locks and he’s standing before me, looking like a man who lost a

penny and found a pound. “That will not be necessary. But thank you for volunteering it.”

I wasn’t!


Thank you for your cooperation Miss Parker. I will have these documents authorised and sent to

you when you return to the UK.”

“Make sure you do. I have 14 days to nullify the document and I’ll want a lawyer to look over it.”

“Very wise.” With a single bow he scuttles off back from whence he came, leaving me shell

shocked.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed rationalising what just happened, wondering why Ayden didn’t

mention a pre nup. I’m so naïve. I should have expected it. No self-respecting billionaire is going to

give half their assets to someone they have met just over a month ago! That would be ludicrous. In

fact he could have given me nothing and I would still have married him. I wonder if he would have

married
me
if I hadn’t signed that document today? I should have asked Mr. Hayes.

Before I have time to fill my head with unsettling scenarios, Celine returns saying nothing but

completely aware of my circumstance. “Do you want to see how beautiful you look Beth?”

I respond with a slow nod but before I can seek out the looking glass, a familiar face appears from

around the bedroom door.

“Hey! Where’s the beautiful bride?” I turn to face her. “Holy fuck!” Charlie is reeling, holding onto

the door frame to steady herself.

What a drama queen.

“Are you coming or going Char?” I ask, reaching out a freshly manicured hand to her.

“I’m not sure Beth. I don’t know what to say …”

“Good luck would be nice.” I smile, in need of her blessing.

“You don’t need luck Beth. You’re gorgeous.” Her lower lip wobbles and she begins to cry.

“Please don’t cry Char. You’ll set me off and I don’t think I could go through all this pampering

again.”

She shakes her head, sniffs back tears and takes my hands in hers. “Just look at you.”

“I haven’t been allowed to. Let’s go look together.” In one hand I take hers and with the other I lift

the swirling train caressing my ankles. We walk into the enormous bathroom, illuminated by ten

thousand watts of electricity. I see two women. One I recognise and the other I don’t. In the silence

that ensues, I close my eyes and from somewhere materialises an image of a princess. Maybe it was a

dream or a memory, probably a wish and nothing more.

When I open my eyes the dream remains.

“Do you want to pinch yourself?” Charlie asks, sensing my momentary departure.

“I think I may have to.” I squeeze her hand tight. “I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I Char? “ I turn

to face her, seeking only the truth. “You’d tell me if I wasn’t, wouldn’t you?”

“What do you think?” She squeezes my hand tighter. “You’ve found your Prince Charming Beth

and you’re his beautiful princess. It’s like a fairy tale.”

I take her hand in both of mine. “And this from you …” We laugh at the absurdity of it.

“I must be getting soft …” She’s shrugging her shoulders and taking a step back. “That’s some

friggin’ dress.”

“It’s by Vivienne Westwood. I chose it because I love the fitted bodice and the embroidery. Look, it

even has little pearls and diamante jewels sewn into the material.”

Charlie’s running her fingers across the skirt. “It’s very you Beth; understated, elegant and …” She

stops to compose herself. “Don’t get me started again.”

I give her the lightest of hugs, not wanting to dislodge or smudge anything. “It’s time to go.”

Celine is waiting with my veil and the sight of her there holding it stops me dead. Up until this

point it’s been me in an expensive gown, nothing new. The veil? That’s something else. Sealing my

fate, I walk towards her and lower my head, feeling like I’m being enthroned. It takes every ounce of

self-control I have to hold back the tears. This is such a meaningful moment. I daren’t look in the

mirror. The sound of Charlie sobbing in the corner is assurance enough.

I’m ready!

Trust Ayden to have me arrive at the Chapel in my white charger. The stretch limousine is

outrageously long for the three of us spread out in the back. We could hold a table tennis tournament

in here and still have room for a sack of balls. It’s a 15 minute ride to the Viva Las Vegas Wedding

Chapel on the strip.

Outside are a handful of photographers, one I recognise as Josh from Rome. I give him a cordial

smile and he winks in recognition, giving me the halt sign as I step from the car. He beckons me

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