TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (51 page)

years?”

“That won’t happen and, if it does, I’ll wait for him. He waited 22 years for me.”

She rests her hands on my shoulders. “Whatever you say. You know I’m here for you, right?”

My hand rests on hers. “Yes. I’m lucky to have you here. I’m disappointed obviously Char, but I

still have what matters most – his love.” I smile into the mirror. “So nothing’s changed.”

Jake appears sheepishly, peeping around the door. “Champagne, ladies?”

Charlie bounds over. “Hell yeah. Leave the bottle.”

My loneliness is made bearable by her presence and she does her upmost to ease my suffering. God

love her for that.

Twenty minutes later Sylvia and Patrick arrive and I greet them in the lounge: a bride dressed in

white minus a veil and without shoes, looking like last year’s fairy off the Christmas tree. No-one

seems to care that my hair is down or my lipstick faded; I slap a weak smile on my face and leave it

there until the sympathetic looks vanish and the room empties of voices.

I wander over to my bouquet and lift a drooping flower to my nose; the silky white petals are soft to

touch and singularly beautiful in their aesthetic composition but, one day soon, they’ll fall and die and

be swept away, becoming no more than a memory of something that was once beautiful. Just like my

wedding day …

But I have something tangible to hold onto, I have mementos. I have photos, stills and a video,

capturing that glorious moment when our worlds collided and coupled and nothing and no-one can

take that away from us. Not even MI5.

Rejecting offers of a family dinner, I opt for room service, happy to slip into casual trousers and

one of Ayden’s white shirts, tying it into an untidy knot at my waist. I’m so out of place, traipsing

around barefoot, looking more like a petite beach belle than a bride, but I don’t care. I slot in my iPod

and fall back on old habits, using my music to soak up the emotional overspill flooding my mind. I

push back the enormous glass door and perch on the terrace, looking out across the darkening Nevada

sky. As the clouds fold into themselves, so do I. I’m feeling pensive, reflecting on the day’s event

when …

Out of the darkness, a shuddering roar erupts at ground level and a wall of water begins to dance

and sway below me. It’s the Bellagio Fountains. The music they are dancing to is barely audible, lost

on the wind, but the combination of lights and movement and spectacle is enough to dissolve my

despondent state of mind.

From inside, Newton Faulkner’s voice transcends my introspection. He speaks of
Clouds
and the

lyrics resonate with me. It’s as if Ayden is here; he’s coaxing me out of my melancholy. I’m raising

my chin and closing my eyes, allowing the fine spray to coat my face and wash away my tears …

I stand here a solitary figure but I’m not alone …

I’m woken by a mighty bang! I’m tossing and turning, struggling to find a comfortable spot. This

enormous bed is engulfing me like a winter sky; it’s a cold, vast wasteland of white. Through the voile

curtain I catch a glimpse of another exploding firework; it detonates and fills the Vegas skyline with

satellites that fizzle and die like a scattering of falling stars. Like us, they started out with so much

promise, a celestial celebration of love unbound but have become no more than a smoky cloud of

memories. Lying here deserted, I feel as if I have everything and nothing at one and the same time.

How is that possible?

Instinctively I stretch out a hopeful hand, finding only a vacant space. On my third finger are two

very expensive pieces of jewellery. A platinum engagement ring; a sapphire encrusted with ice white

diamond. As if that isn’t enough. Melded next to it is my wedding ring, still new and unfamiliar; one

half of something that was once whole. I know how that feels.

I sit bolt upright and slide off my wedding ring. It’s a perfect fit. I turn it over and over, round and

round with the fingers of my right hand, peeking through it like an eye through a key hole into my 5

star world until … something catches my eye.

The bedside lamp illuminates the room beautifully but not enough to read what’s written inside it. I

need the cruel florescence of bathroom lighting to read the inscription. Blinking into the light I take a

closer look. As if I didn’t know …

I love you more

Those four little words send a pang of hurt the length and breadth of my body. I know what he has

on his ring … something very similar. I return it to my finger where it sits comfortably; two nestling

pieces of perfect platinum.

Looking up, I catch sight of myself in the enormous mirror. I look so plain. The only sparkle is

coming from my engagement ring as I run my finger through my bed hair. Ayden’s shirt is too big for

me but it feels comforting and his cologne still clings to the material. He’s with me in spirit but, I

recall, he left me with more than that …

In no mood for sleep, I stroll into the lounge in search of my laptop. It boots up quickly. I collect

the miniature memory stick he was so desperate for me to have, feeling more awake than is natural at

3.00 a.m. A row of folders appear. The first is called:

READ ME BETH

There are a series of links pasted into it, numbered one to five. Settling myself on the sofa cross

legged, with the laptop on my knees, I click on number one.

A video appears. It’s Ayden. He’s talking to me.

Not surprisingly my mouth is agape, my eyes wide with anticipation …

“Hello Beth. So you decided it’s time to read this … thank you baby.”

Unflinchingly, he stares into the camera, looking a little drawn but conveying more in those azure

pools of his than can be explained in words.

“When I left you last night it was to do this, knowing I wouldn’t be with you on our wedding night. I

figured you’d need to see me now more than ever …”

He smiles softly and shrugs his shoulders.

He’s right.

“
I won’t pretend things are alright and you have nothing to worry about. Doing that would insult

your intelligence and, besides, I hate having to lie to you.”

He takes a sip of coffee and continues …
“Several months ago, Jake asked if he could oversee a

developmental opportunity involving the MOD in the UK and I took a look at it and said sure, why

not?

Over the past six months our development team has been working on modifying chips to be used in

metal detectors. The current ones are unreliable and we had them look into the possibility of tweaking

the sensitivity and depth capacity, so improving the device. After testing they proved to be 60% more

efficient and 20% more cost effective, so …

It was a good opportunity for diversification; potentially a worldwide venture. Jake done good.” He

smiles at his use of the vernacular. “Well, it looked that way until two nights ago; the first

consignment was intercepted at Riyadh Airport. Don’t ask me by who, I don’t know. But, needless to

say, not the ‘good’ guys.”

He takes another sip of coffee, leans back in his chair
. “So, you’re thinking … what’s the big deal?

Who gives a fuck about chips modified for metal detectors? I asked the same question … Turns out,

they can be radio controlled, with an extended range, keeping army personnel as far away as possible

from IED’s, which is a good thing. But they can be adapted to suit less peaceful uses too.

So … the consignment goes missing and alarms go off at MI5 and, although Jake’s signature is on

the paperwork, ASMI is slapped across the letterhead. That’s me, up front and centre. They insisted I

fly back with them to the UK to be interviewed but I said I wouldn’t until after our wedding. They

agreed, but they’ve been following me around like flies on shit since the incident, making sure I don’t

abscond to Argentina or somewhere I can’t be extradited from. The rest you know …”

He bites his lip nervously.
”I’m not worried about me. This will be sorted out, it just seemed right I

should be the one taking the fall. The buck stops with me after all and Jake has dual UK and US

nationality which would have only exacerbated the situation.”

He looks into the lens, seeing for a hundred miles, piercing my soul as he surveys the scene.
“I’m

worried about you baby …”
He turns from the camera momentarily to compose himself.
“You’re the

one who’ll suffer because of this fuck up and I feel bad about that. But, it’s like you keep reminding me

… I have a family and I take care of my own. I think it’s best you take the jet and fly home with Charlie

and stay with her for a couple of days. Just until you get your bearings.

What I don’t want you doing is retreating into your shell and hiding away again. You’ve seen a

small part of the world Beth this past month and it’s been the best experience of my life to share that

with you, truly, but …”
He purses his lips and thinks hard.
“But … you’re my special genie,

remember? You’re out of the bottle now. Don’t let this fiasco come between us, please …”

I hit pause. Without thinking my fingertips move towards the screen, caressing his angst ridden

face. To think he did this last night, returned to our bed and battled through the day as if he hadn’t a

care in the world. Selflessly, he did that for me.

As with everything he does, he leads by example. Now it’s my turn to live and learn, and love my

husband as best I can. Even from afar.

I let him continue.
“I have a couple of surprises for you. Remember your idea, HeartBeats©, it’s

live. My guys are good! I’ve used it to put some musical messages together for you.”

There’s that gotcha smile I love so much. The one he creates out of nothing but means everything to

me. All at once he’s here, caressing my heart with a smile.

“So, on this, our wedding night, I want you to take me to bed with you and to listen to the latest

additions to the soundtrack to our love. These words from my lips to your heart baby. I love you …”

“I love you more Ayden,” I reply, feeling tiny saltwater droplets falling onto my forearms like

angels’ tears.

For some reason he lingers, as if not wanting to leave. Through the screen we connect and I hit

pause, willing him to stay, unable to let go. Like a heartbeat, involuntary sobs escape from my throat,

filling the room with sorrowful sounds. I have to let him finish.

I wipe my nose with one hand and hit the space bar with the other. He manages to manufacture a

sexy smile out of thin air for my benefit, even though I know he’s hurting. That smile leaves the

confines of his digital world and makes its way into mine. Rather than ending the video he remains

and looks into the camera. As if by magic, time stands still, the way it always does between us. The

way it always has. I gasp, filling my lungs with oxygen and leaving it there to infuse my blood. He

gives me the look, intentionally, mischievously then winks. I’m crying but laughing too. How I love

this man.

“Be bold baby.”
The video ends.

Through happy tears I’m smiling and wrapping my arms around my body, not because I feel chilled

but because I’m glowing with pride. I want that aura to seal itself to my skin so I can wear it like a

bridal gown or a suit of armour; whichever suits the occasion.

Returning to the original file, I click on Item 2. It’s instructions about what to do if I return to Stone

Heath. Essentially, it consists of calling Lester and letting him see to everything.

I forgo the other files and carry the laptop to my bed. I’ve seen all I needed to see. Now I can begin

to formulate a plan to get my husband out of the hands of MI5 and back into my bed. But not before

I’ve listened to Ayden’s musical message.

Settled under the sheets, I hit link number three, and the music starts. I know this song but it’s not

on my iPod playlist. He’s found it. For me. I lay back and listen to Tom Odell sing
Grow Old With Me.

It’s perfect! It’s what I need to hear.

I close down the laptop and snuggle down. The vastness of this bed does not overwhelm me now. It

gives me the freedom I need to spread my wings, to push and stretch myself. After all, rescue plans

don’t formulate themselves. What was it Miss Austen said?
“What is right to be done cannot be done

too soon.”

I know what I have to do, and I’ll begin tomorrow.

There’s a distant hum of activity. It’s 7.a.m. Another Vegas day is beginning, picking up where the

night ended, creating a seemingly continuous flow of human endeavour; just one more throw of the

dice or pull on that slot machine, in the hope of recouping lost savings.

The events of the past 24 hours are a blur. I have a recollection of a ceremony and a song; rings