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?”

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 her system. Instead,

the loss

panicking over

Both bereft…

…

What a fucking mess.

“… Discovering she has a psychopath for a

the problem is that not knowing much about him, she’s cooked up some idealised vision of Conners in her

perfect father

of his head. “How

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

“Like?”

when did she last have a

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

table. “No, I don't think so. Not this time. On this occasion, I think she

shift to

plucks at a lip. “You might like to know,” I add,

long second, then, “Come on

follow him through to the lounge. Charlotte sits on the couch, hugging her knees, gazing slack-faced into the fire. She doesn’t

What’s she thinking...?

… Feeling….?

Fear?

Loss?

?

?

Humiliation?

no

doesn’t turn, maintaining her

you to

hunches, then turns to face him.

“Come here.”

uncrumples from 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 twist

Yes… humiliation…

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

Doesn’t smell great either…

your Master. You will behave appropriately when we speak. Your face lowered

Her voice chokes. “Master…”

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

at him. “But I’m not.

Finally crying?

Good…

sake let it

knew what

James continues. “Charlotte faced down everything life threw at her. I saw you do it. I saw you 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

your sire… I don’t say father… that does not mean he has

is whether or not she lets something that is part of her past control

her sobs subsiding

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