A Dark Beginning: A China Dark Novel (2 page)

10:20: HornEnvy : well… what did you think of her?

10:20: HornEnvy : will she do?

10:21: Tarb4u : haha, she was very nice

10:21: Tarb4u : very … tasty

10:21: HornEnvy : I think so too, what’s next?

10:21: Tarb4u : don’t worry, it’s started

10:21: HornEnvy : Really?? How?

10:23: Tarb4u : Don’t worry, I’m in control

10:23: HornEnvy : I hope so

10:24: Tarb4u : We’ll have her just where we want her very soon

The City was not quite surging with lunchtime crowds yet as China sat on a hard, lilac-metal, latticework chair in the hazy sunshine outside her favourite café. She managed to tune out the city sounds that dominated the backing track to her daily life. Finally able to concentrate on her new book she was barely aware as Devak brought up her skinny Latte and placed it gently on the table. At the last minute her consciousness registered the clink of china on glass beside her and she looked up at Devak. She became aware of the dark aroma of the coffee intermingling with the fresh Freesias in the small purple, bubbled-glass vase on the table, smells that calmed her and made her happy.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re always welcome, lady.” His voice was soothing. China could listen to Devak all day and she wondered if he’d ever considered recording meditation tapes. “You seem to be enjoying your book.”

Devak hovered, looking almost nervous as he waited next to the table. His kind brown eyes softly explored hers and the look of hope in his face was obvious. China sighed inwardly, feeling that she might never get into this book.

“It’s a very good book. So far,” she said, and then instantly regretted the added ‘so far’ in case Devak took that as a hint that she was being sarcastic and would appreciate being left in peace. She rushed on, “It’s about a painting that is stolen by a young boy during a terrorist attack on an art museum. He’s about to find out that his mother died in that same attack.”

“That sounds very sad, lady. Does that not make you sad?”

“Yes it does, but sadness is necessary sometimes. We read to feel sad. We listen to music and watch films, often just to feel sad. It depends on our mood, but we all need to feel sadness as well as happiness.”

“That is true, lady, but isn’t there sufficient sadness in the world that you do not need to seek it?”

China thought about that for a bit. Her life was good, she thought, there was certainly no surplus of sadness in it. Some irritation was occasionally present, whenever her mother opened her mouth for example, and there was no denying that there was some rare anger when her and Philip would fall out. But true sadness would only visit occasionally, usually when she thought about her father. He had been dead almost ten years now and she still could not resist a tear when she thought of the wonderful man that had selected her name, taught her more about the world than any of her teachers, and instilled in her the values that she held most important in life.

“Now I have made you sad, lady, I am so sorry.” Devak looked very worried, and his body seemed to flutter with concern as he reached into his waistcoat pocket for a crisp, clean white handkerchief. He offered it to her. She took it, noticing the smell of mint and warm spices, and wiped one cheek that was cooling with a single salty tear that had escaped.

“I’m ok, Devak, I was just thinking of my father. And yes, you are probably right, why look for sadness.”

“Indeed, why seek sadness when sadness so readily seeks you?”

“But then, after the sadness any happiness seems so much sweeter.”

Devak beamed down at China, “Such wisdom, lady.” He retrieved his handkerchief, now damp with China’s tears, and bowed gracefully with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Now you’re teasing me, Devak.” She laughed.

“Maybe a little, lady, but if that teasing brings a smile to a beautiful face where tears recently flowed, then it is no bad thing. Now I shall leave you in peace to read your sad, sad book without interruption.” He left with a crafty smile on his face.

China knew then that Devak had not missed the extra ‘so far’ that she had subconsciously slipped into her earlier statement. He was far too intelligent for that she realized. She didn’t have time to tell him that, whilst her book was starting out with much sadness she had high hopes that it would have been skilfully written to take her on an uplifting journey through more than just the emotion of sadness. Devak was already retreating into the shaded interior of the café.

She looked around her and noticed that the lunchtime crowd was starting to pick up. A few tables around her were occupied and more people were bustling past. The breeze that ruffled her hair and cooled her face did not affect the pleasant warmth of early summer.

Her eyes were irresistibly drawn to the broad muscular shoulders of a tall man walking on the other side of the street, wearing a tight plain white t-shirt, and perfectly fitting Levis. He was slightly turned away from her but she just knew that he would be handsome without seeing his face. And she also knew the colour of his eyes. She could almost feel herself quivering with excitement just looking at the way he walked, so strong, so fit, so very confident. And then he turned his head slightly as he crossed the road and her heart almost stopped. The flash of emerald from under the jet-black fringe of hair. It was indeed the man she had seen on the tube yesterday. She forgot to breathe out for a while and her heart hammered insistently in her chest. He hadn’t seen her, that much was obvious, as he quickly crossed the road and walked on round the next corner.

China sat confused. What was going on with her? This man could make her pulse race just by walking past, without even making contact with those cold, unflinching eyes. Flustered she threw the Kindle into her bag and jumped up leaving her coffee untouched. “What are you doing, China Dark?” she asked herself out loud as she strode swiftly across the street, not looking for traffic and drawing an angry response from a bike that nearly collided with her. She waved a half-hearted apology in the cyclist’s direction, ignoring the choice language that came from behind her, and rushed up to the corner that the stranger had just turned.

She slowed down as soon as she reached that same corner and actually sighed with relief that he was still in sight. She felt like she was looking down a tunnel where only he was visible in the distance. Her eyes focused on every movement of his body as he strolled along the pavement. The slight swagger in his shoulders, the clearly defined flex of each buttock as he walked. She flushed and her cheeks felt hot as she realized she was staring at his bum. And yet she couldn’t stop herself from cautiously following him, she was mesmerized, a vixen following the scent of a male, unable to think of anything else but the magnificent vision before her.

She kept a reasonable distance between them, not wanting the acute embarrassment of him turning around and seeing her. It was bad enough, no, simply mad, that she was following this young man like some kind of stalker. She convinced herself this was harmless but she knew that wasn’t the case. She was a married woman and here she was obsessing over, and insanely following, a man who wasn’t her husband. “Look, China, you just need to get this out of your system. Just see where he goes and that’s it, you’ll know enough about him to move on.”

It was almost as if not knowing about this man would make him more desirable, more of an enigma, and therefore more likely to be a draw for her imagination. At least if she knew more about him she could tell herself that the enigma would be dispersed and then the draw of the unknown would just go away.

A few minutes later the man turned into a public house called the Dog and Duck, on the corner of a quiet crossroads. China hesitated for a few moments before walking slowly past the pub windows. Glancing briefly sideways she saw the man she had followed standing behind the bar, happily talking to a customer. So he was a barman. Not very glamorous at all, she tried to convince herself.

Suddenly rather embarrassed at her behaviour China flushed red and walked quickly back to the café. She hadn’t paid her bill, and although she knew Devak would be fine with her paying the next time she visited as she was there most days, she wanted to put this episode behind her and paying for her coffee felt like a way of making the recent interlude fade, as if it had never happened.

When she took some money from her purse to give to Devak he gave her a concerned look, “Are you ok, sweet lady?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said.

“When a woman says she is fine, she is anything but,” he almost scolded, but there was that mischievous twinkle in his eyes again and she couldn’t help a small smile from emerging. Somehow Devak had made those recent minutes all but disappear and she relaxed a little. She was back on track. Looking at her watch she sighed as it was time to get back to work and forget about this lunchtime for good.

That evening, Philip and China shared a bottle of chilled Meursault while watching a movie. Philip used the fact that he had just closed a particularly lucrative headhunting deal that day, which would pay for a very nice holiday later in the year, as an excuse to celebrate. They discussed whether to go to the Caribbean for a relaxing beach holiday, or Costa Rica to tour the jungles and volcanoes. Both sounded good to China but she admitted to being more excited by the Costa Rica trip. They could sit on a beach when they were old, she told him.

“True, and at least this way you’ll see the Indiana Jones side of me,” he said. He stood and exaggeratedly mimed hacking the jungle undergrowth. She laughed.

“We’d be going on a well trodden tourist trail through some relatively tame jungle, Philip, not hacking our way to an unknown tribe in the deepest Congo.”

“I’m sure there’ll be danger,” he teased, cracking an imaginary whip and then jumping on the sofa and leaning over her. “White slave traders to protect you from. Giant poisonous spiders.” The thought of spiders made her shudder more than the slave-traders. He tickled her making her spill her wine.

“They’d be dropping on you from the trees,” he continued to tickle. “And that’s just the slave-traders. I don’t know about the spiders.”

They laughed, both slightly inebriated as they didn’t usually drink much mid-week. Philip dropped down beside her and hugged her clumsily. He kissed her neck, just where he knew she liked it, sending a shiver down her back. She pressed the side of her head into his and then turned slightly, wine damp lips touching his, tasting the wine for a second time. “Let’s go to bed,” she said. He smiled, looking almost boyishly grateful and nodded, jumping up and eagerly dragging her off the sofa.

Laying in bed, waiting for Philip to come in from the en-suite, she actually felt in the mood for some intimacy for a change. The wine was a definite factor, a few glasses always loosened her up a bit, but there was something else that was making her quiver, making her want Philip more than she had in some time. She tried to think of when they had last made love. It was probably at least three weeks ago. Nowadays, a monthly romp usually felt like just the right amount to her. Although she loved the sex when it happened, she only felt like initiating it herself once or twice a month. Philip would try and start something more often than that, but she had many techniques for stalling any unwanted activity, although she sometimes relented out of a sense of duty. Once they were making love she enjoyed it, there was no doubt about that, but the thought of starting it felt like a chore sometimes. It was like a good steak. She’d rarely feel like asking for one at a restaurant, preferring the self-induced discipline of a salad, but when she ate steak she did enjoy it. She just never felt like asking for one.

When Philip returned he was wearing just a pair of boxers. It was at times like this that she really appreciated all the hard work he would put in at the gym. His body was very fit, a nice six pack, and a decent sized chest and arms. “All very acceptable,” she said smiling and pulling the covers back. “You may join me.”

Philip jumped in on top of her, and pressed her down into the mattress.

As Philip slowly made love to her, relishing every precious moment, China’s mind drifted, thinking about the barman who had given her his card. It scared her that she had no control over her thoughts, and she felt intensely guilty each time her thoughts fixed upon the stranger’s broad torso instead of Philip’s.

“Tell me you need more than just me,” Philip interrupted her thoughts with a breathless request. China sighed and felt instantly less amorous. This was a game that Philip liked to play, and always made her feel rather uncomfortable. His submissive yearning for humiliation was a fantasy she had never shared.

“Why would I need more than you, darling?” she responded. His movements halted for a second and his head dipped slightly besides hers. He was disappointed she could tell, but he should be used to that by now. She felt a little sorry for him, partly inspired by the shame she was feeling. “You wouldn’t really want me to say that.” She tried to make up for his disappointment by stating what she honestly thought of as the truth.

“I would, honestly. You’re so beautiful…”

“I’m not beautiful,” she interrupted. “My chin is too fat, my nose is too big.”

“You are beautiful. I’m always seeing men look at you.”

This brought her mind back to the dangerous business card stowed away in her bag, its sparse black text proclaiming her admirers name, ‘Mark’. She couldn’t deny that this stranger had obviously found her attractive, or at least worthy of staring at for some reason.

“Not just beautiful,” he added. “You’re attractive, which is even better. All men fancy you.” He sounded desperate now and she knew from previous events where his thoughts were going. “I can’t be enough for you when there are so many men who would love to have you.”

She wasn’t sure if the anger she was beginning to feel was related to the bringing up of an old subject, one of Philip’s perennial fantasies, or due to the guiltiness she was feeling because she had indeed been thinking of another man as they were making love. “Just leave it, Philip, you’d hate it if I even so much as looked at another man. You were always so jealous.”

“I know I was. And no I would not. Not now. It turns me on. The thought of you with another man. I don’t know why, but it just does. And I really would let you. If you wanted to.”

“Which I don’t,” she added. “And you know I hate talking dirty. I’m no good at it. It just embarrasses me.”

He sighed again, but he resumed the slow rhythm. He hadn’t softened, if anything he felt more rigid, more solid than ever. She allowed him to continue although, for her at least, any lustful thoughts had dissipated. At least when he did start these conversations it did seem to turn him on, despite her continued non-participation. She did want him to be happy, to enjoy himself, but there were limits to how far she would actively go to assist.