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

the loss

panicking over gaining

Both bereft…

…

What a fucking mess.

word…” I say. “… Discovering she has a psychopath for a parent. It’s going to take time and support to get her

rubs 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, she’s cooked up some idealised

father who never

back of

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

“Like?”

when did she last have

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?

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

shift to mine. “You

back into reality.” James straightens up, plucks at a lip. “You might like to know,” I add, “that I turned

then, “Come on then. You’d better be there too but stay in the background if you

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

What’s she thinking...?

… Feeling….?

Fear?

Loss?

?

?

Humiliation?

speaks. “Charlotte?” There’s no softness

maintaining her

folded, “I expect you

turns to face

“Come here.”

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

Yes… humiliation…

since 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

Doesn’t smell great either…

will behave appropriately when we speak. Your face

Her voice chokes. “Master…”

me, Charlotte. Nothing has changed. Nothing. You are exactly the same person you were a

she won’t look at him. “But I’m not. I…”

Finally crying?

Good…

sake let it

that is any different is inside your head. You are not Jenny, the child victim. You are Charlotte, the woman who reinvented herself, who knew what she wanted and took on all comers to get it. The woman who took the world by the throat and shook until it gave her

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

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 you unless you give it to him. And you

is whether or not she lets something that

swallows, her sobs subsiding a

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