Fragile Crystal: Rubies and Rivalries (The Crystal Fragments Trilogy) (20 page)

“I don’t care about the money.”

This made Maria scoff openly. “That’s what they all say. You wouldn’t look twice at Daniel if he wasn’t so rich.

Kris thought of Comrie, of Daniel Logan scruffy, bearded, alone. That, however, was not for discussion with Maria—nor for anyone. “Just answer the question.”

Maria sat back and placed her fingertips together beneath her chin. Her red lips were curled in a cruel smile and before answering she was scrutinising Kris, weighing her up with a legalistic mind.

“He’s not going to run dry soon,” she said at last. “But Daniel swims with sharks—he
is
a shark. And do you know the secret about sharks?” As she asked this, she leaned forward, her voice dropping.

Kris shook her head.

“They have to always keep swimming, always feeding. If they stop, even for a moment—boom!” Maria had pushed herself backwards and slapped her hands together for dramatic effect. “The others close in for the kill.”

Kris sat there, silently. “You’d like to see them close in, wouldn’t you?” she asked at last, slow realisation dawning now. “This isn’t about me, is it? None of this. It’s still all about him, and your revenge.”

Maria frowned and opened her mouth to speak, but Kris was already standing, pulling her bag up and starting to walk towards the door. “Don’t get up,” she called back over her shoulder. “I’ve heard all I need to know.”

She did not look back as she walked out into the street, but before the door slammed behind her she heard Maria shouting after her: “You’ll need to know more. You’ll need me—at the end!”

Chapter Seventeen

The canvas was blank. It had been blank all morning and was unlikely to change soon.

On the table, among the palettes, paints and oils was her phone. That was also, in its own way, as blank as the canvas. She had sent a message to Daniel, tried to call, but there was no reply. At least Maria now was leaving her alone. There had been messages on the train from Paris to Lisbon, but after the last she had finally blocked her.
You’re just his whore. There have been plenty before, and there will be plenty after. Daniel Stone always takes what he wants
.

“And what do you want, Daniel?” she asked. The final day she had seen him she had been genuinely frightened of him—of
him
. That was something very different. It had happened once before, but since that day he had always been a rock to her: she was the one who faltered, who shimmered like sunlight on water when the clouds are passing overhead.

It was the booze of course. But that, while explaining everything, explained nothing. She had never seen him drink—
never
. She understood why, of course: the driver who had killed his wife in a car crash had been over the limit, and from that day forth, so Daniel had told her, he avoided all alcohol. The death of Karen had been a trauma, certainly, the immediate cause of his decision, but Kris suspected there was more to it than that: Daniel Stone never wished to lose control.

Other words of Maria’s came back to her, and she smiled wryly as she stared at the white fabric before her, brush resting in her hand.
He’s a shark. And do you know the secret about sharks? They have to always keep swimming, always feeding. If they stop, even for a moment, the others close in for the kill
.

She could feel them circling him, closing in. But who were they? She suspected Felix, but there were doubtless many others, leviathans of whom she knew nothing. Not Maria. That made Kris smirk. Maria was a minnow, just like her.

But perhaps that was the problem. She had led Daniel to some calmer place, to somewhere that tempted him to rest, to stop swimming. He may have been a rock to her, but she was a weakness to him.

Was this it? She wondered. Had he realised his weakness? Was it really over now? Questions circled through her mind, distracting her, preventing her from concentrating. She imagined his hand on her shoulders, not harsh and cruel like the last time he had touched her, but warm, firm—disciplined, both for him and her.

He had gone before, but she had soon learned that the departure was a test—as much one for him as it had been for her. Daniel Stone had constructed defences around him as worthy as his name, a fortress that no man—nor, more importantly, any
woman
—could penetrate. But she had not met him as Daniel Stone. There was always part of him that would be Daniel Logan to her, just as, she realised with some sadness, there was always part of her that was Karen to him.

She was lost in her reveries, both phone and canvas resolutely blank, when there was a knock at the door to her apartment. Going to answer it, she was astonished to see Jorge standing there.

“Jorge!” she exclaimed, not entirely sure how she felt about him being here in Alfama. His easygoing nature had reminded her in part of her father, but at the same time the fact that Maria had taken him into her confidence meant she was not sure whether to treat him as an ally or an enemy.

“Senhora Avelar,” he said in Portuguese, not smiling but watching her with eyes that were not unkind. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but Senhor Stone sent me.”

“Is there anything wrong? Has something happened?” A panic began to rise inside her. That was why he had not contacted her for so long.

Jorge, however, shook his head. “No, Senhora. It’s just that he wishes you to come with me.”

“Yes, of course! Let’s go.”

“You should bring your passport, and some clothes—something warm.”

Kris frowned at this. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Not we, you Senhora. New York. Senhor Stone is still there.”

This was a shock to Kris, but she still went and collected her things. If she could endure several hours on a train to see Maria Gosselin, then she would endure ten times the time and distance, a hundred times, to find out what had happened to Daniel.

As they drove to the airport, Jorge was friendly enough but much quieter than normal. He asked her how her leg was feeling now, to which she admitted that she had the occasional twinge but that it was back to normal. She in turn asked how Daniel was, but Jorge replied that he had not spoken to him. The message, along with tickets booked for a flight within the next two hours, had come via an email to Anna.

When she had checked in and was led to her seat in first class, Kris was a bundle of nerves. Obviously Daniel had not been able to return from the last trip, but why send for her like this? What if he did not want her to be in New York, but was just ostentatiously demonstrating his power over her so that she would feel it more keenly when he dismissed her? Not that any of this mattered. She would have taken the most dismal train to New York had it run under the sea, and even if it had taken weeks to cross. She had to see him—it was
him
she wanted.

The flight seemed to take an eternity. She was tired but couldn’t sleep properly, though once or twice she dozed fitfully. She picked at the food placed in front of her, half watched the movies that prattled on the screen in her luxurious seat. None of it mattered. She wanted to be
there
, to see him.

When she landed at JFK and passed through customs, her heart leaped up to see Daniel standing in the concourse, waiting for her. She would have recognised him anywhere. He was dressed in a thick overcoat and dark trousers, gloves covering his hands. His face looked pale and tired, his nose pink from the cold outside she presumed, and his scars more evident on his face. He looked much older than when she had last seen him, but when he saw her a soft smile spread across his face, sad but pleased to see her. In his eyes, his strange, asymmetrical eyes, she could see him searching her features, looking for a sign, a token.

She gave it to him immediately. Dropping her bag, she ran across to him and threw her arms around him, squeezing him as close to her as she could. He placed his hands on her shoulders, returning her embrace, but when he finally released her she stood back and stared at him, then lifted her hand and slapped him—hard across the face.

His head rolled with the blow and he looked away for a moment, staring into the middle distance. When he returned his gaze to hers, there was a look of amusement in his eyes.

“I guess I deserved that,” he said.

“Yes, you did. Why didn’t you reply? Tell me how things were going? I was worried sick about you.”

“I’ve never been a man who can say sorry easily, but I am. Very sorry. I don’t think you realise how much.”

She shook her head and then reached up again. He flinched slightly, which made her laugh, but this time she grasped hold of the side of his head so that she could kiss him, her tongue sliding into his mouth, her breath sucking the air from his lungs. His hands came to her waist and lifted her up so that she was balanced on her toes against him.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she told him.

“I won’t. It’s been difficult.”

“I know. That’s not an excuse, but I do realise that something’s going on. You have to trust me, Daniel. You have to share.”

He nodded and, once he had retrieved her bag, he led her out into the freezing night air. The temperature hit Kris immediately, and she thought she was going to die.

“Shit,” she groaned. “I’ve been made soft by all those Mediterranean countries. I’m going to die here!”

Snow lay on the pavements, and a limousine was waiting not far from the door. When he saw them coming, the driver got out of the seat, his breath forming clouds before his face, and came to grab hold of Kris’s bag.

“This is nothing,” Daniel told her. “Within a month the snow will be three foot deep. Isn’t that right, Frank?”

“Certainly is, Mister Stone,” the driver replied, holding the door open and shivering slightly as he stood waiting for the two of them to climb in. “Nothing like a New York winter to freeze off your balls.”

“Frank’s a little crude,” Daniel told her as he sat next to her, “but he’s the one I trust most to take me from place to place.” Kris smiled at this and placed her hand on his when he removed his glove. Even in a few moments she noticed that her knuckles and fingers had started to turn blue, but at least the limousine was warm. “I can see I’m going to have to get a suitable wardrobe,” she said somewhat forlornly.

“We’ll see to that, don’t you worry.”

The hotel was the Plaza, an immense, twenty-storey building across from Central Park. Anywhere else it would have dominated the landscape, but here in Manhattan it was surrounded by skyscrapers that dwarfed its elegant grey-white features. The room where they were taken to was equally elegant, though not as extensive a suite as that in Monaco. Rather it consisted of a bedroom and a living-working area with a desk.

Kris was a little surprised. “I always thought you had an apartment in Manhattan,” she told him.

“I did, but I sold it.”

“And yet you seem to spend more time in New York now than anywhere else.”

Daniel paused and went to the mini bar. “Even I get it wrong sometimes. Would you like a drink?”

Kris felt uncomfortable as he asked this, wondering if the incident in Monaco was just going to be the first. “Just a tomato juice,” she said. Her relief must have been evident when she saw him returning with a glass of water alongside her juice. He looked at the water wryly.

“I cannot even begin to tell you how sorry I am.” His voice was quiet, sombre.

“It’s okay,” she told him. “I forgive you. I shouldn’t—I should beat you black and blue. But... actually, that wasn’t the worst thing. Why didn’t you send me a message?”

He smiled but did not look her in the eyes. “I was ashamed.”

“Of me?”

His head snapped up at this. His eyes were twisted and bitter for a moment, but she realised immediately that these were emotions directed at himself. “How can you even ask that?”

“Well, you sometimes get it wrong, don’t you, and I wonder if you’ve got it wrong about me.”

He placed his glass on the table and moved towards her with a speed that made her tremble, less with fear and more with desire. As his arms scooped her up and his mouth descended towards hers, she slid her hands around his back, one reaching up to his neck, pulling him closer to her, dragging him into her.

She was off the floor and could barely breathe, his arms holding her so tightly, but she didn’t care. Instead, as her head became lighter and lighter, she moved her mouth from side to side, eating him as his tongue explored her, breathing him and sucking him inside. Her fingers came to the front of him, to his shirt, pulling at the buttons, sliding in against his warm flesh, nails digging into his skin.

At last he released her, letting her fall gently to the floor, and she kissed his chest where she had just raked it.

“We both made a mistake, didn’t we.” Her words were a statement rather than a question.

He nodded his head. His guilt was clear, but that was not what she wanted to know at this moment. Indeed, for a second her mind flashed back to another hotel room, another person. She didn’t want her guilt either—she wanted it purged.

“I’ve made a mistake too,” she told him, looking up. “I’m not one of your
things
, Daniel. I’m not a necklace, nor a brooch, nor a... ring. I’m me, but I’ve made mistakes. I think we’ve got everything upside down, what we want most. I’ve topped you a few times.”

He frowned at this, his eyes moving from side to side as he looked at her.

“What do you mean?” he asked, a few times.

“I wanted freedom with you—from you, even. But... I know what it was that bound us together.” She wanted that again, and she wanted the guilt purged from her, to be cleansed by him.

She led him by the hand into the bedroom. She had been dressed in jeans and a sweater, and she removed them, standing in front of him naked, her breasts firm on her rib cage, her hips swelling out slightly, her thighs still young and tender. He went to undress himself, but she came forward and placed a hand on his as it rested on his buttons. “Not yet,” she whispered, kissing his fingers. “I’ve been bad, sir. I need to be punished.”