Masters And Lovers 1-4

Chapter 58

Driving back through the snow and the rapidly falling darkness, Elizabeth is very quiet. I drop a hand to

her knee. “You're thinking very loudly, my Love.”

She drops her hand to mine, squeezing a little. “I was thinking what a different side we're seeing of

James.”

Hmmm...

Marlene?

“Perhaps he's simply letting down the barriers after years of keeping them raised? I think the failure of

his first marriage left him very bitter.”

Elizabeth shoots doubt at me. “His first marriage?”

“You think he isn't married now? In every way that means anything…”

There is a long pause, then, “Yes, of course he is. His devotion to Charlotte… and her to him… are so

obvious. I just wonder how Charlotte manages. I mean… she has the two of them. Michael is lovely but

James…”

“What about James? I thought you liked him.”

“Oh, I do like him. Really, I do. It’s just…” she wriggles fingers. “He would be a bit much for me. He….

he still makes me nervous.”

“James is a good man, my Love. He's proved that. He made the ultimate sacrifice. And both Charlotte

and Michael know that.” This text is © NôvelDrama/.Org.

*****

James

I push a tumbler into Michael’s hand. He sniffs. “Smells good. What is it?”

“That bourbon that Richard and Beth gave you.”

He examines the glass, looking a bit miffed. “So, you opened my Christmas present?”

“You would have shared it with me, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yes, of course.”

“So, what’s the difference?”

Argue with that if you can….

He frowns at me from under his brows, then shrugs with an air of ‘Fuck it’.

Move on….

I tip my glass to him. “You certainly scored full points with your Christmas gift for Charlotte; giving her

that address. I take my hat off to you for keeping it under wraps like that.”

He sips, then swishes around his mouth, before raising eyebrows and looking at the glass. Then, “It

wasn’t just to be as a surprise for Charlotte,” he says. “I kept quiet because the address isn’t the only

thing I found.” He pauses to be sure he has my attention….

He has.

Now what?

“…. I wasn’t sure what to do about it and I didn’t want to raise the subject, with it being so close to

Christmas.” He tilts his glass at me. “I wanted Charlotte to have a good Christmas too.” He sips again

then, “And for that matter, you too.”

I blink back a sudden surge of emotion….

“So…” I swallow the sentiment back, letting the bourbon wash it down….

… but not away…

“… what else did you find?”

Michael takes another sip, Mmmms appreciatively, then stands, reaching for his jacket. From a pocket,

he takes his wallet, extracts something, passes it to me.

A photograph.

It’s a new copy of something that looks much older; yellow-brown edges, creased corners, the colours

out of true. The image is of three people, sitting around a drinks table in what looks like a hotel or club

of some kind. In the background is a tinselled Christmas tree, glitzy decorations on the wall.

The woman in the centre of the image could be Charlotte, were the photo not so old.

Shelley?

Michelle….

Mitch….

It’s a good match to another photo we have. Charlotte keeps a copy in her room, framed and sitting

among her books. But in that photo, her mother looks tired, drained; at the end of her tether. In this

one, she’s smiling and beautiful. She wears a classically styled dress and is elegantly made-up. She’s

wearing a silver necklace, small but tasteful, just right for her outfit.

Seated to her left is a face we know, at least in a much older version; Klempner. He’s well-dressed, in a

good suit, looking prosperous. But despite the apparent party atmosphere, his lips are pressed flat, his

eyes narrowed.

To Mitch’s right sits another figure. With an arm slung around her shoulder is a beefily-built man with an

all-American type smile. Someone has drawn a large arrow in thick red felt-tip pointing to him.

My stomach tightens.

“Frank Conners?”

Michael nods. “Frank Conners.”

*****

Klempner

Under my hands, she arches. My hands on her waist, I stoop, kissing her breasts, tasting the salty

dampness that sheens her skin. She’s flushing…. Her fragrance is rising….

Arousal?

Her thighs part. I want to test her. To know her arousal is genuine. Dropping down, my mouth over her

sex, she’s hot, streaming and pungent. My erection hardens more, and my balls tighten. I ache….

The door clangs and my eyes jolt open.

“Up you get, Larry.”

Jerked from sleep, my eyes fling wide to see a blue guard’s uniform standing over me, Hartland’s

pudgy face at the top of it.

Now what?

I roll off the thin mattress. “What is it this time?”

Hartland pokes at me with his baton, playfully, as though it’s just a joke between friends. “Sutcliffe. Turn

over his cell.”

“Yes, Mr Hartland.” His back turned to Hartland, Sutcliffe rolls his eyes in apology….

“That's the third time this week,” I say. “Why do you need to go through everything again?”

Hartland pokes me again, in the chest and harder. This time the fake playfulness has gone. “You're up

to something, Larry. You might have fooled those idiots and pen-pushers down in Psych Assessment,

but you’re not fooling me.”

“What could I possibly be ‘up to’ from the confines of a six-foot by eight-foot concrete box?”

He muscles up to me, his face in mine. “You mind your mouth, Larry. I’ve got your number and I’m

taking a personal interest in you.” He turns to Sutcliffe. “Get on with it,” he barks, then leaves.

After he exits, Sutcliffe mutters, “Sorry, Mr Klempner.”

“It’s not your fault, Sutcliffe. Do your job.”

“Yes, sir.” He starts to work his way under the mattress and pillows.

Personal?

Fucking right….

*****