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 it

mourning the loss of

panicking over gaining a

Both bereft…

…

What a fucking mess.

has a psychopath for a parent. It’s going

the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing closed for a moment. “I think,” he says, “part of the problem is that not knowing much about him,

father

at the back of his head. “How the hell do we deal with

out of her funk. However…” I raise a forefinger… “… What we might try is

“Like?”

have a

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

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

to

into reality.” James straightens up, plucks at a lip.

in silence, then, “Maybe you’re right.” He stares into nothing for a long second, then, “Come on then. You’d better be there too but stay

Charlotte sits on the couch, hugging her knees, gazing slack-faced

What’s she thinking...?

… Feeling….?

Fear?

Loss?

?

?

Humiliation?

There’s no softness

maintaining her vigil of

folded, “I expect you to look

to

“Come here.”

her self-hug to stand, then shuffles across the room to stand before him. “Yes, Master?” But she doesn’t meet his eyes. Head low, her fingers wind and

Yes… humiliation…

are creased, spotted with what look like tomato stains, and she’s still carrying traces of makeup she

Doesn’t smell great either…

appropriately when we speak. Your face lowered in submission is acceptable. Your head hanging in

Her voice chokes. “Master…”

her, almost shaking her. “Listen to me, Charlotte. Nothing has changed. Nothing. You are

look at him. “But I’m not. I…” The words

Finally crying?

Good…

sake let

what she wanted

auction yourself to the highest bidder; 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 take.” He’s still holding her, jolting her at the shoulders to punctuate

the man 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 has no hold over

of those choices is whether or not she lets

sobs subsiding a

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