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?”

knuckled on the kitchen table, head bowed. “The same. Not good. I’d say she’s gotten past denial, but I almost wish she’d cry… Get it out of

loss of

panicking over gaining

Both bereft…

…

What a fucking mess.

probably the right word…” I say. “… Discovering she has a psychopath for a parent.

eyes squeezing closed for a moment. “I think,” he says, “part of the problem

father who never

back of his

it. We simply wait for her to come out of her funk. However…” I raise a forefinger… “… What we

“Like?”

did she last have a bath?

get down her, but first, we have to get her attention.” He

my ankles up on the table. “No, I don't think so. Not this time. On this

to

carrying this one. She needs knocking back 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 on then. You’d better be there

sits on the couch, hugging

What’s she thinking...?

… Feeling….?

Fear?

Loss?

?

?

Humiliation?

“Charlotte?” There’s no softness in his

her vigil of

folded, “I expect you to look at me when

turns to face him.

“Come here.”

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

Yes… humiliation…

God-knows-when, hangs in greasy rat-tails and her face is sallow. Clothes are creased, spotted with what look like tomato stains, and she’s still carrying traces of makeup she put on

Doesn’t smell great either…

You will behave appropriately when we speak. Your face lowered in submission is acceptable. Your

Her voice chokes. “Master…”

her. “Listen to me, Charlotte. Nothing has changed. Nothing. You are exactly the

him. “But I’m not.

Finally crying?

Good…

God’s sake let

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

wanted to go. Even though you knew it was dangerous. Even though your memories must have made that an appalling decision for you to take.” He’s still holding her, jolting her at the shoulders to punctuate his words. And each shake draws

who terrorised your childhood and who threatened you with assault and gang-rape. And just because that man might be, genetically, your sire… I don’t say father… that does not mean he has any power over you. Klempner

is whether or not

her sobs

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