Masters & Lovers Box Set Three

Chapter 26

Klempner - Twenty-Six Years Ago

The air is glacial, but although the breeze whips through my hair, I’m not cold. Instead, invigorated, I feel strong and ready for anything.

Standing by the frozen sea, I watch the wind drawing snow across the ice in a whirling dervish of frozen granules that lash around my feet. And I think of the last time I did this, here, with her.

Valentine’s Day coming up… I’ll be back in time.

Get her a present…

What would she like?

Something regional? She loved Helsinki…

Some of the local food?

Then I remember her bending over the porcelain, throwing up gravlax and vodka in equal measure…

Maybe not…

Jewellery?

Still persuading her to wear the emeralds I gave her…

A piece of art?

?

?

Perfect.

I head for the town centre, searching for galleries and craft shops, not knowing just what I’m looking for.

But I’ll know it when I see it…

Most are full of the kind of useless knick-knacks that are met with an ‘Oh, how lovely. You shouldn’t have.” greeting, then get pushed to the back of the cupboard: I-Heart-Helsinki fridge-magnets, overpriced chocolates and tee-shirts, dolls in fake Laplander costumes.

Weirdly, some of the gift shops are stocked with mementoes which seem to me completely out of place. Who comes to Helsinki to buy posters of London buses or ‘New York They named it twice’ tee-shirts?

Am I missing something?

Nope…

And then, there it is.

Beautifully painted by some local artist with more Js and Ks in the name than English allows: a scene of the frozen sea, painted from almost where I stood only a couple of hours ago with ice grit-blasting my clothes. A couple stand hand-in-hand looking out over a glinting scene of white and blue, and in the distance, a lone figure sits fishing.

The price, like everything in Helsinki, is horrendous, but who cares? Money is nothing. Mitch is…

… Mitch.

Padded and carefully gift-wrapped, I tuck the package under my arm and head back for the ferry port.

Time to go home…

Home?

When did I ever think of home before?

She’s waiting.

*****

 

Michael

“How is she?”

“The same. Not good. I’d say she’s gotten past denial, but I almost wish she’d cry… Get

loss of

panicking over gaining a

Both bereft…

…

What a fucking mess.

a psychopath for a parent. It’s going to take

closed for a moment. “I think,” he says, “part of the problem is that not knowing much about him, she’s cooked up some

father who never

turns out, yes.” He rubs at the back of his head. “How the hell do we deal

of her funk.

“Like?”

she last have a

a bath since we got back. Just sits there wallowing in pizza boxes and boil-in-a-minute noodles. I’m happy to cook anything we can get down her, but first, we have to get her attention.” He jerks his chin towards the lounge. “You want to get in there again? Give it another try? I think this

up a seat, rock the chair back, cross my ankles up on the table. “No, I don't think so. Not this time. On this occasion, I think she needs what

to mine.

into reality.” James straightens up, plucks at a lip. “You might like

then, “Maybe you’re right.” He stares into nothing for a long second, then, “Come

the couch, hugging her knees, gazing slack-faced into the fire. She doesn’t appear to notice

What’s she thinking...?

… Feeling….?

Fear?

Loss?

?

?

Humiliation?

“Charlotte?” There’s no softness in his

turn, maintaining her vigil of the

straight, his arms folded, “I expect you to look at me when I address

to face him. “Sorry,

“Come here.”

stand before him. “Yes, Master?” But she doesn’t meet his eyes. Head low, her fingers wind and

Yes… humiliation…

hangs in greasy rat-tails and her face is sallow. Clothes are creased, spotted with what look like tomato

Doesn’t smell great either…

to her. “Charlotte, I am your Master. You will behave appropriately when we speak. Your face lowered in submission is acceptable. Your head hanging in shame

Her voice chokes. “Master…”

by the shoulders, pinning her, almost shaking her. “Listen to me, Charlotte. Nothing has changed. Nothing. You are exactly the same

at him. “But I’m not. I…” The words choke into a

Finally crying?

Good…

God’s sake let it

not Jenny, the child victim. You are Charlotte, the woman who reinvented herself, who knew what she wanted and took on

to me; because doing so would take you where you wanted to go. Even though you knew it was dangerous. Even though your memories must have made that an appalling decision for you to

don’t say father… that does not

choices, but Charlotte does. And one of those choices is whether or not she lets something that is part of her past control her present and

her sobs subsiding

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