She fought her way, pushing and struggling, past the car, then strode off towards the village street picking goosegrass off her pale green linen Oxford bags. She thought of calling in at the Red Lion. They were a jolly crew there. Very friendly, always letting fly some merry banter as she strode by with the Pekes.
On the other hand there might be a fair bit of chat about who was or wasn’t safe to drive. Who could spare the time. And who would be perfect if only he wasn’t over Aylesbury way visiting his mother. In other words, delay.
Evadne was anxious to get the matter sorted so she could return home and prepare the Pekes’ lunch. Mazeppa liked her warm jelly starter out of the marrow bone and onto a nice bit of fresh toast by midday or her digestion, always delicate, became positively flimsy.
And then Evadne thought of Valentine Fainlight. Of how kind he had been when he had come across Hetty stumbling around with her injured burden. He would help. In fact he would probably be glad to have the opportunity to call at the bungalow and see how Candy was getting along.
Valentine was only pretending to work. He had been messing about - cleaning brushes, half sketching illustrations for scenes as yet unwritten that would in all likelihood remain so - all morning. And when the mysterious echo of door chimes shivered around the glass walls, his brain was so crammed with erotic images that he heard nothing. Electrically charged sights and sounds and sensations and smells from the previous night ran constantly over and through his mind.
Mingled with these thrilling reflections were memories of the first time Jax had let him into the flat. This had been nearly four months ago. Until that evening they had barely spoken and then only to exchange the banal courtesies of strangers. But they had also exchanged looks which had left Valentine, entranced by the man’s beauty, in an agony of calculation as to when and where and how it might happen.
When it did, when the blue door was finally left open, he had set one foot carefully on the staircase bearing with him the anticipation of weeks, believing yet not quite believing, half expecting still that the interior door would be locked.
It wasn’t. He had entered the room and stood, hesitant and trembling with emotion, on the threshold. He called quietly ‘Hello?’ and sensed a movement behind him. A strong smooth arm slid across his chest, gripping him tight, pulling him backwards. Warm lips burned the back of his neck, a tongue outlined his ear then slid, flickering like a snake’s, deeply inside. Very slowly his shirt was pulled free and unbuttoned.
Valentine, suddenly and blindingly happy, tried to turn round. To embrace the other’s firm sweating flesh, to speak, but the naked arm tightened and he could not move. No longer wished to move.
Jax started to whisper, pouring a stream of filth into his captive’s ear, then moved savagely and suddenly inside him. Valentine, gasping and sobbing for breath, descended into a nightmare of excitement and pain.
Why had he thought there might be kindness? Watching Jax wander over to the bathroom, listening to the shower running, slowly putting on his own clothes, Valentine asked the question then despised himself for a weakling. What had he expected? It had been a thrilling experience, joy and alarm in equal proportions - anyone up for casual sex should be so lucky.
Jax came out wearing a robe and a conqueror’s smile. He was tired and had to rest now so Val must excuse him. Valentine, concealing his disappointment that post-coital ciggies were not on the menu, hesitated. He had brought money even while hoping it would prove to be unnecessary. Not because he was mean but because he was looking for something money could not buy. But he had to be sure he would be welcome again.
‘I wonder . . .’ He opened his jacket. The outline of the well-filled wallet in the inside breast pocket was plain to see. ‘That is . . .’
‘Very good of you, Val.’
‘I wouldn’t wish.’
‘I’ll be honest. Money’s too tight to mention at the moment.’
‘Perhaps I can.’
‘The Giro goes nowhere.’
Val simply removed all the notes from the wallet and placed them carefully on the coffee table. Jax, calm and relaxed, did not even glance their way. And though he said goodnight, he did not say thank you.
After barely twenty-four hours, Val had been desperate to get into the garage flat again. And so it had continued.
Valentine had never thought of himself as masochistic. Had never sought or enjoyed pain. But he soon recognised, with a little thrill of horror, that this man could do anything to him, anything at all, and he would not resist. Would even welcome whatever situation developed between them.
Finally the sound of the bell penetrated this dense fog of recollection. Louise would not ring. She had a key. It must be him! Valentine jumped up from his desk, flew down the barley-sugar-stick spiral staircase and flung open the front door.