Pearced (46 page)

“You want to talk about the car?” His pupils dilate and his lips curve in a grin, I recognise that look.  I feel him hard against me, it’s been so long. “Let me show you the drawing room.” And taking my hand leads me to the back through a door I hadn’t noticed before, at the end of a dark corridor.  Inside there’s a piano, and he takes me over and we sit side by side on the stool. He begins playing, something beautiful and soft, a melody I recognise but can’t pin down.  “Undress.” A command I’m happy to oblige. I remove my clothes, peeling the layers off carefully, each piece falls messily to the floor. 

I come back to him and kiss his neck as he plays, he hums in appreciation.  I undo the buttons on his shirt, he plays, I unfasten his jeans, and still he plays on. He’s making me wait, and I’m all the wetter for it.  I feel my way into his pants and run my fingers along the shaft that’s hard and waiting for me. He shuts his eyes, I stroke it harder, and still he plays. I grip around its girth and pull gently, over and over in a steady rhythm, the tempo of the notes increases, the playing gets faster, He touches the keys harder. And still I pump my fist. Moving my hand, my fingers grip the base hard and I jerk him quickly. Finally the playing stops and I have his full attention. Hello.

He grasps my wrist hard and removes it from inside his jeans, kisses my fingers, kisses my face, kisses my neck. He lets me undress him, I appraise him hungrily, and my insides jump around, a trail of fevered nerves dripping its way through my body.  He kisses my tummy, up my chest between my breasts, to my throat, around my neck, its setting me alight, a warm trail washes over me. He moves my hair from my face, looking at me, really looking. His fingers trail my spine to my buttocks, cupping me hard, pulling my body up against him, I can feel him against me, pushing into me, ready.

He wraps my waist with his strong arms and lifts me up onto him, as he enters me smoothly, my slippery sex making it easy, he lowers me to the ground and he’s deep inside me, moving slowly and gently from side to side, bending his knees and moving up into me more and more.  Our bodies in rhythm, I’m standing on tiptoes to achieve the perfect position and friction I need to get off.  He moves into me faster and faster, his breathing laboured and our bodies sweating, I’m climbing, the wonderful journey of orgasm has begun, and its then I realise how much I have missed this.

Daniel binds me in his arm around the waist and we fall to the floor still coupled, still joined, he is over me now, his hair trailing my face as his kisses deepen, our tongues feverish and longing. He moves hard into me, god I’ve longed for this, faster and faster, harder, building, he screws his face he needs this too. I lift my hips toward him as hard as I can, grinding into him, riding his shaft, gliding my cleft along its full slippery wonderful length, every inch of him rubbing into me steady and hard.  Wonderful trails of wetness keeping us moving easily, he pulls out of me to his very tip and hard in again, over and over, we are making love, this feels different, inside.  He groans, and the distance between my pleasure spasms is shortening, harder, faster, deeper and finally we crash, exhausted, and an overwhelming feeling of being loved hits me, and I hold him as close to my body as I can manage, wrap my legs around his waist. He snuggles his face into my neck and hair, and we fall asleep.

It must be the aroma of the dinner that wakes me. I’m alone on the floor, Daniel has laid a blanket over me, and left me to sleep, knowing I haven’t had much lately. Sleep that is. Dressing, I realise I really do love him, what a difference a week has made.  Making my way back to the kitchen, I can hear voices in the living room, I lift the lid of the stew and a sweet smelling steam hits me, delicious. Daniel comes behind me, I can smell him, his cologne his hair, its intoxicating.

He smells the stew over my shoulder, kissing my neck. “Mm, smells fantastic, and you found all this here in the kitchen?” I nod, tasting the broth over a small wooden spoon. Daniel grabs my wrist suddenly, it hurts from where I punched earlier, I take the mild pain with a degree of satisfaction.

His grip tightens, “hey!” I complain, “
What’s that for?” I ask, pulling my hand away and dramatically and unnecessarily rubbing my wrist. Wonder if they’d give me a part in Castle?

“That spoon.”  He fights to speak “my Grandfather made it for my Grandma in his shed.” He whispers, “When she snapped the handle off hers whilst she was cooking.” His hand is shaking, his face a mask of calm.

“Are you sure?” I offer, looking hard at the roughly carved wood, stained and smoothed by use.

“I recognise it, because in a house full of immaculate perfection, and high end stuff, this little spoon still sits in pride of place in my Mums kitchen.” He removes his hand as if he's just noticed
its back around my wrist and the spoon is paused on its way to my lips. “Sorry.” He kisses me.

“Mash the potatoes please Daniel” is all I say.

“Let’s eat.”

Later in chapter thirty-three, Monday
:
4thnovember2013 dinner

We all sit and eat dinner like we're at The Ivy, pouring wine into cut glass fashionable in the 70's, chatting in a friendly fashion ignoring our hostages on the floor by the door. I grilled some aubergines and scored them with a hot poker, and I poured the soup over the slices on the plate, and we all tuck in like we haven’t eaten in a week.  It's very tasty and we dunk crusty bread into the wine infused juice, and are filled with the homely fullness of dumplings, mashed potatoes and wine.

Our captives look over at us feasting, longing for food and loathing us for having some, they haven’t had anything to drink or eat for the hours they've been tied up on this tiled floor. It must be very uncomfortable, what a shame. “More wine anyone?”

Standing up to fill everyone's glasses for the second time, I pour red wine into Daniels glass, and catch him appraising me like an antique he might purchase. But it's the jeans he's looking at, not the ordinary girl wearing them.  He lays his hand on my arse. “There is a back pocket profile stitch.”  Is he talking to himself or us? “A single row of machine thread in black with a strange motif looks vaguely like a bird.”  To himself I conclude, as he twirls me around like I’m on a lazy Susan, “the front tack has the same design, embossed in the metal.” And?

“White copper finish.” I know my metalware.

“It's a sitting bird” he continues.

“…with something in its beak,“ I add, because of course I have studied it too, “and its repeated at the back pocket too,” I spin around again a little unsteadily so everyone can see my arse. Have I had too much wine?

“You’ve had too much wine baby.” Whispers Daniel.

Steffi glares at me because I’m clearly enjoying myself, “give me some water.” She is staring at Daniel, “You can’t leave us tied up like this forever.” She’s right, maybe there's a shed?

Stan was right about the chain of events beginning with me, I realise now, but it has nothing to do with any treasure, this whole thing is because I met Daniel, and Steffi didn’t like that, she didn’t like that at all.  From the moment I walked through the door on my first day, she made a plan so we would fail as a couple.

“Water?” She spits again. So rude and unladylike.

Ignoring her entirely I continue “but the real interesting feature is inside.” I put down the bottle of Rioja, and strip the jeans off my legs.  Our 'guests' eyes wide in shock at how relaxed we all are. Well, when you've spent the night in a cave with a group of people, there's really nothing much left to shock them about is there?  Studying the garment I have just removed makes me wonder how complex this web of puzzles is woven. I hand Daniel the jeans and he lays the garment flat on the table to look at.

“Everything points to this day,” I say, “with a convergence of translation and the correct individuals working as a team.” 

My mind works faster than is normal, warp speed my Dad called it naturally, consequently my sense of time is compressed. It's why I’m so impatient, normal minds appear slow and syrupy, I get easily frustrated. But at times of stress I am able to think clearly and quickly, because being mildly neurotic means I am constantly alert, and my brain keeps idling like a car waiting for the throttle to be stepped on. I really need tea now.

Steffi just sits eyes locked onto Daniel, a sociopath with an obsessive streak, and her target is my gorgeous Daniel

Note to self,
drink more alcohol.

Chapter thirty-four, Monday
:
4thnovember2013 note to self, drink more wine

More, lots more wine later...

I am comfortably standing part naked in this room, I have drunk more wine than anyone and my inhibitions are lower than usual.  Taking the jean from Daniel, I turn the top of the waistband inside out and show him the calico pocket bags, and the handwriting that’s been printed onto one.  An eagle and ship logo has been stamped at the top with a feminine handwriting below.  “What does it say?” Asks Nigel, “is it even in English?” He is wiping his glasses again unnecessarily on a napkin, for the hundredth time. He does it when he’s nervous. Stan is checking the satellite phone is charged, Kurt is rubbing the growing stubble on his chin. Liza is readjusting her ponytail.

I nod at him, “yes, it's English”

I look carefully at the beautiful face of Daniel, staring hard and looking puzzled, “it's like Mum's handwriting.” He looks at Kurt, who nods in agreement. They are clearly thinking of their Mother, so I read, as I think about mine too.

It says:

“to have come so far, and seen so little, to have travelled wide and noticed nothing, to have encountered much and understood not.”  Then underneath in smaller writing, ‘danger lurks, be mindful’

I look up, “that's cryptic.” I say aloud, with a slight nod to where our guests are seated, obviously they have heard everything.

Breaking the silence Liza says “great stew Tharie.” well done her.

Daniel takes my hand in understanding, “come I’ll help you wash up,” he gestures, “Kurt?” And we three pile into the kitchen.  “Well?” Asks Daniel, “what does this all mean?”

“Danger always lurks Danny, but it’s a bit late to be worrying about messages written in jeans, we have the idol already.” He fills the sink with hot steamy and frothy water and begins washing up. He's a 'doer', wonder if he can ride, that'll be a big tick for Liza.

“We were supposed to have read that message already,” Daniel reads my thoughts, “but ignorance has proved bliss, we have the idol.” He's right, we do.

Liza appears in the doorway, “what’s going on?” A little louder than is necessary too.

She looks uncomfortable, and gestures toward the other room.  In a whisper she tells us what's been going on next door.  “They have just told each other, it’ll be OK, we’re too soft and we’ll let them go eventually” in Spanish, “and that we’ll never find the bodies.” She looks at Kurt, “what bodies Kurt?” The boys look at each other silence prevails. “Our bodies?” No, not ours.

“What do we do now?” I ask, drying the clean soapy plates on a tea towel with anniversaries on it, wondering why anyone would wait until being married for 25 years before they bought a ruby? Stop it Tharie, concentrate, there’s a conversation going on, you’re missing it as usual.

“…we can hand it to the museum.” Oh, they’re still talking about the eagle, quite interesting.  “And everyone, except them in there,” Liza points her own head meaning our guests, “will be very happy.”

“They looked surprised we had the idol.” says Daniel, “very surprised, like they didn't know anything about it.” He says, drying up the dishes on a tea towel with a dog breed guide on, his is better, but I carry on.

“Yes, I noticed that too.” I say, “maybe the myth surrounding the treasure appeared just that to them”.

“A story without merit?” Kurt asks to no one in particular, “otherwise, why hasn't anyone found it before us? He has a point, a very good one.

“Because there's a legend warning everyone away, like the one we got earlier?” I offer a reasonable explanation, still drying up. Liza leaves to retrieve a book she’d been reading earlier with Nigel.

“Perhaps.” Daniel sounds less than convinced, and wanders back into the main room.  Liza emerges from the library in the west of the house full of excitement, well I say west, assuming standing at the front door looks north but what I really mean is left, don't I? 

Anyway, back to the story.

“There's some really interesting books in there.” She says hurriedly, “the Professor is in there now, he says there’s an incredible collection of local history, old cultures and stories.”

Slowing her excitable rant and catching her breath to continue, “Some myths so intricately woven into the ancient fabric of this location, told through families for centuries so it’s impossible to determine fantasy from fiction.” She looks up, “which is what they’re for of course.”  We all listen, including our prisoners.

“Let’s take this in there where we can sit comfortably.”  Liza nods enthusiastically, we dry our fingers on a taupe hand towel with a John Lewis label, and we follow her and sit down.  Liza clears her throat for attention, she’s enjoying having the floor and watching Kurt watching her, she continues.  “This house,” she gesticulates around the room, “is built over an old mine shaft,” she looks up, Kurt’s eyes wide, his pupils dilated, his lips curled in a smile. “Tonnes of gold was mined here for at least twenty years in the 1800's.”  She glances quickly at the pages laid in her arms, “there was a small community built here for the Spanish miners and their families.” We all look over at Steffi and her family, trussed on the floor, wondering.