‘Is there anything under the stool or do you just want to ogle my bottom when I bend over?’
‘Am I allowed to ogle? I can avert my eyes if you’re shy.’
Clementine put her hands on her hips and glared at him, though the affect was diminished by the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as much by her lovely curves on full display.
Benedick put his hands behind his head and spread his wings a little. They rustled against his sheets. He was just as naked as she.
‘Are you ogling me, Clementine Torres?’
‘I might be.’
‘I like it when you do,’ he confessed. ‘Though usually you’re painting me.’
‘Oh, I can look at you for my own sake too,’ Clementine’s voice dropped low and sultry. She licked her lips, knelt on the end of the bed and began crawling on hands and knees over Benedick’s feet, legs, hips.
Benedick watched the sway of her breasts, her tongue darting out to lick her lips, the gleam in her golden eyes. Is two weeks too short a time to fall in love?
Knees straddling his hips, Clementine leaned down to kiss him. Their lips parted, the kiss deepened. She sucked on his lower lip and drew back to grin wickedly at him before suddenly seizing his wrists to keep his hands pinned behind him on the wall. His wings spread wider in delicious surrender.
‘Are you going to have your way with me again?’ he asked, anticipation pooling pleasantly in his belly, in the points where their bodies met, in his wingtips, which spread and tingled.
‘I am,’ she said. She kissed him again and he arched into her touch, before she drew away again. ‘But not right away because I’m going to be late for this meeting.’
Then, in spite of her words, Clementine slid her arms around his chest and squeezed her knees against his hips and kissed him hungrily. Benedick’s arms and wings both curled around her and he sank into the kiss.
‘Wish I could stay,’ Clementine murmured, drawing reluctantly away again, dotting kisses on the side of his mouth, along his jaw and cheeks.
Benedick hummed agreement, smoothing his palms down her back, resting them on the curve of her bottom.
She kissed the tip of his nose. ‘I suppose I could call the publisher and put them off.’
‘Didn’t you say it took a week to find a day you could all make?’
‘Yes. Jordanie is only in town for a few days. Between festivals, apparently. She can wait.’
‘You mean Poet Laureate Jordanie Hope? Who you said wants to do a book with you? I’m not sure she can wait.’
‘Maybe not.’
Benedick patted her hip. ‘Into the shower, then. I’ll find your pants.’
Clementine pressed a quick kiss onto his forehead and scrambled out of bed.
Benedick fetched her knickers from under the stool, picked up her shirt and trousers too, and put her shoes neatly on the floor nearby. He also placed his robe alongside her clothes. She’d be able to make a quick dash to her apartment to change into fresh clothes and still make the publisher’s meeting in plenty of time.
‘Want me to book a taxi for you?’ he called out.
‘Yes please! Oh, and I have a lunch meeting with Dell after this one. A catch-up on the exhibition. Meet me after?’
He put his head around the bathroom door. Clementine was a foggy shape behind the glass. ‘It would be my absolute pleasure.’
Clementine opened the shower door a fraction, allowing steam to roll out, framing her wet face. ‘Have I told you today that you’re wonderful?’
‘Yes,’ he said. He kissed her nose. ‘And so are you.’
Benedick left her to duck back into the shower while he booked the taxi for her.
I am definitely in love, he decided, though maybe it’s too soon to tell her so.
***
The apartment felt empty without her. Benedick contemplated that for a moment. Short, slight and wingless, yet Clementine always managed to fill up any room she was in. For him, anyway. Perhaps it was the way she filled up his mind with her presence, her ideas, her vivacity.
He went to his window and looked out on the river and the people flying about their business. He no longer felt that pull to step beyond the glass and surrender to the air. The pull he felt now was towards his future.
A return to university was definitely in it, probably a return to the law studies he’d abandoned for policing. Commercial law still held no interest for him, and he wondered if he might be able to be dispassionate enough to pursue criminal law. But where else might legal qualifications lead him? Where might a lawyer who couldn’t fly find a perch?
He’d left law studies for law enforcement after only a year, feeling something direct suited his temperament better. He liked to be hands-on and to make an immediate difference. He had a great operating knowledge of criminal law in that regard, which had seemed useless after the accident.
But maybe he really just had to repurpose his knowledge and find a new way to become useful.
Clementine often spoke about advocacy—using her knowledge, skills and experience to help create wingspan for others in public discourse, but also in public policy.
He’d spent his adult life in service to the law, to the community, to the safety of and justice for his fellow citizens. Advocacy could continue that service, using the knowledge, skills and experience he already had to make wingspan for all through the law. Oh hell, yes.
His phone rang and he grinned to see it was Octavia. Having made a decision about his future, Benedick was keen to tell someone about it. He wanted that someone to be Clementine, though. Maybe he’d keep it to himself for a little longer.
‘Octavia, hi! How are you this sunshiney day?’
‘Fine,’ she said in a tone that meant the opposite.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I think I need to show you. Are you free today?’
‘I’m free right now.’
‘Where’s Clementine?’
‘At a publisher’s meeting. That’s probably wound up by now, and she’ll be on her way to see Dell at the gallery.’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh?’
‘The gallery’s open, isn’t it? Other people will be there?’
‘It opened at ten, and doesn’t close till seven, I think.’
‘Okay. It’s just … I was going over my contact sheets from the opening again, sorting out the ones to print, and I found a sheet of crowd shots I left at home yesterday. I already had so many like them I didn’t bother to bring them to the café, but going over them a final time, I’ve spotted something weird. I’d like your opinion before I take it further.’
Benedick’s old policing instincts kicked in. ‘What’s wrong? What are you seeing?’
‘I don’t really want to say until you’ve seen them. But I don’t think that man you mentioned, Flack, was behind the threats. Or maybe he was in it with someone else. But don’t tell Clementine anything yet. I could be wrong and I don’t want to make trouble if I am. I probably am. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Can we meet at the café by the garden walk, down from the gallery?’
‘Yes, please. That would be good. Just for my peace of mind.’
‘You’ve got it, cuz. Don’t worry. We’ll sort it out.’
***
Dell met with Clementine under Earth-and-Air, the large piece she’d painted at the wetlands, which Verani had restored after the vandalism. The painting was as tall as a person, clustered with spindly trunks, thick ferns, reeds in dark waters through which koi could be seen, with dragonflies flitting above, and the blue wing feather and the curled down feather incorporated in the scenery. Critics had claimed they could almost smell the damp bark and hear the lapping water as they looked on it.
‘Record visitor numbers,’ Dell told Clementine with barely restrained glee, her wings spreading like she wanted to take off for a victory flap around the block. ‘We couldn’t have
bought publicity like that!’ At the look on Clementine’s face, she tried to sober up, settling her speckled white wings into place. ‘Flack’s been fired for negligence. No harm was done,’ she said reassuringly.
‘No?’ Clementine’s chin jerked up. Then she sighed and made herself relax. ‘No-one was hurt, no,’ she agreed. ‘But I’d have preferred it if it hadn’t all been turned into “look at the cripple’s pretty paintings, gosh, isn’t she clever for a crawler”.’
Dell’s shocked expression made Clementine feel equal parts contrite and irritated.
‘Nobody thinks that!’ protested Dell.
Clementine sighed. ‘Good. I’m glad. Look, I’m sorry. It gets exhausting.’
Dell nodded. ‘Tobias Flack is gone, and I took the police’s advice and arranged sensitivity training for everyone, from admin to catering. It won’t happen again, Clem, darling.’
Clementine had to laugh at that. Dell only ever called her clients ‘darling’ when sales had been very good. ‘How many sold?’ she asked.
Dell beamed at her. ‘Apart from the exhibition-only pieces—and believe me, we had plenty of offers—most of your smaller pieces and twelve of the fifteen mid-sized canvasses.’
‘Any of the big ones? The triptychs?’
The gallery manager’s wings began their triumphal spread again. ‘Every. Single. One.’
The anxiety cleared from Clementine’s brow and her gold-brown eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Dell patted her wrist.
‘Pity doesn’t sell art, Clementine. At best it allows a salacious press to focus the public’s fickle attention. Talent, on the other hand, is a guaranteed money-spinner. And don’t get that look on your face. I know you artists—it’s all about the craft.’
‘Actually, I quite like making a living from my art, Dell,’ Clementine corrected her with a smile. ‘It keeps me in canvases, groceries and afternoons at Takahē Café with my boyfriend.’
Those speckled white wings flexed out triumphally again. ‘A boyfriend? That’s new.’
‘It is.’
‘Does he have a name?’
Clementine was tempted to say no, he was found floating on a breeze and never given one, but she was in a good enough mood to let the silly question pass. ‘Benedick Sasaki.’
‘Oh! The neighbour who came with you to the opening. He bought one of your smaller candy moth paintings! Is he related to Octavia Sasaki? She bought your ladybug.’
‘They’re cousins,’ said Clementine. ‘She’s a talented photographer, as it happens.’
‘Ah. That Octavia Sasaki.’
Clementine wasn’t sure what it was about the way Dell spoke that irritated her. An undercurrent of … glee? Avarice? Something calculating.
‘She’s starting to be noticed,’ said Clementine. ‘I’m thinking of asking her about collaborating on a project.’
Dell’s eyes lit up with a definite spark of predatory interest. Clementine supposed she should find that encouraging rather than alarming. It meant that Dell would most likely host any exhibition without the need for the tedious process of submissions.
‘Is that her?’
Clementine looked over her shoulder to see where Dell’s pale blue eyes had lighted upon Benedick and Octavia arriving at the first floor together via the passenger lift. Octavia and Benedick were in close conference, the cousins poring over a handful of pictures. The moment Octavia registered Dell’s presence, her eyes widened and she tried to stuff the prints back into her bag. Benedick flashed Clementine a dark look, shook his head a fraction and transferred his hard glare onto Dell.
‘Your boyfriend appears to be in a mood,’ observed Dell, unimpressed.
Clementine noticed that; and she noticed that Octavia was jumpy. Benedick had reached out to place a hand on the small of Octavia’s back and Octavia’s truncated wings shivered as she clutched her bag. Anyone would think that Octavia was not only distressed but afraid; and that in turn this was making Benedick not only protective but angry.
‘A moment, Clementine,’ Benedick called out to her, his tone ringing with command.
Clementine’s first impulse was to be contrary. ‘Not right now. Dell and I are busy.’
His eyes flashed irritation, but he said, ‘It’s urgent, Clementine. Octavia has something important to show you.’
Octavia, Clementine noted, had one hand in her bag, her fingers clutching nervously at the photographs she had shoved away.
‘What does she have there?’ Dell’s tone was cool and calm—only a shade curious. But Clementine heard something cold under this, too. Like the uncomfortably intense interest in the possibility of another art show, these words had the quality of something hard in them; something not entirely friendly.
‘Photographs from the launch,’ said Clementine warily, waving to Benedick that she’d be with him shortly, ‘Octavia was taking pictures for me that night. We’ve been choosing some for an album.’
‘Oh yes. I remember seeing her with her camera. Quite the shutterbug.’
‘She’s a photographer, like I said.’
‘Indeed. Just a little second.’ Dell’s voice had become distant. Brittle. Clementine began to step away from her, only to find Dell’s hand wrapped around her wrist. ‘Clem, darling, was she taking them all night?’
Benedick had seen Dell take hold of Clementine’s wrist and lengthened his stride, his expression grim. Octavia looked frightened.
‘From when we arrived, yes.’ Clementine tried to wrest her hand back, but Dell’s grip was too tight. ‘Dell, let go.’
‘Your Captain Sasaki has seen the photographs, I take it.’ Dell tugged Clementine backwards, away from Benedick and towards the first floor land-and-launch portal. ‘That’s who he is, isn’t he? Captain Sasaki, formerly of the 54th Airborne?’
Clementine tried to twist away and couldn’t. She felt the light, narrow bones of her wrist shift slightly with the pressure of Dell’s cruel hold. They were almost at the lip of the launch platform now.
‘Dell, let her go.’ Benedick’s voice of authority was more than stern now. He sounded dangerous. ‘It’s a minor matter, as these things go. You haven’t hurt anyone yet.’
‘You are making such a ridiculous fuss,’ Dell replied crossly. ‘Of course nobody was hurt. It was a matter of drawing public attention to the exhibition and it was very effective. Hurting someone would have been exactly the wrong kind of publicity.’
‘Dell, what have you done?’ Clementine, furious, managed at last to wrench her arm free. ‘What in sun-and-storm have you done here?’ She turned to Benedick. ‘What the hell is in those pictures?’
‘Octavia caught Dell in the background in several of them, over next to Moonlight and Me. She’s wearing gloves and sticking a piece of card over the painting’s title card.’
‘Spying little bitch,’ snarled Dell.
‘Octavia didn’t even notice until she was going over the prints to make copies for me and Clementine,’ Benedick corrected her. ‘She enlarged the backgrounds in the key ones to show me. Octavia didn’t think she could possibly be seeing what she thought she was seeing, because if you were responsible for that nasty card, you were probably responsible for the rest. Those vicious letters, and the paint attack before opening night. Which you’ve managed to blame on Tobias Flack.’
‘Flack was a mean-spirited, avianist troublemaker,’ asserted Dell defiantly. ‘The things he used to say about you people. I’ve given him the sack.’
‘You’re really not even hearing yourself are you,’ said Octavia angrily. ‘You people. And I can’t begin to understand a gallery owner vandalising works at her own gallery.’
‘Not vandalism! I was particularly careful not to get paint anywhere it couldn’t be cleaned away,’ Dell protested. ‘I wasn’t trying to permanently damage anything: certainly not the merchandise.’
Clementine finally found her voice. ‘You sent me those death threats?’
‘I hardly meant them, Clem. Darling. You know perfectly well that
I have all the time in the world for you. A tiny stunt like this wouldn’t help at all if you had no talent to hold their attention once I’d drawn it. You’ve always been about controversy, the way you go on about access and respect all the bloody time. You needed to be seen by the public with a bit more sympathy.’
All the time she spoke, Dell edged towards the portal; towards the two-metre lip of platform that protruded from the first floor into the sky.
‘You spray-painted that crap on my work and sent me death threats to make me more sympathetic for public consumption?’ Jaw tight with fury, Clementine stepped towards her former business colleague.
‘Well, of course I did,’ snapped Dell. ‘You make it so hard for fliers to like you; you’re so damned prickly. Honestly, would it kill you to let people be nice to you once in a while?’
‘Oh, you mean “nice” like lying to me and manipulating me and threatening my life for the sake of sympathy I don’t need?’
Their raised voices attracted the attention of gallery workers, staring in amazement at the odd tableau. A security guard began to walk their way.
Benedick had lifted his phone to his ear. ‘Marca? You need to get to the gallery. Yes, Dell-inquent. Yes, now.’
Dell shot him a filthy look. ‘I think I should call on my lawyer.’ With that, Dell bent her knees and launched into the sky.
What she didn’t expect—what nobody expected, least of all Clementine herself—was that Clementine, with a snarl of rage, would launch herself at Dell to pull her back into the gallery.
It didn’t work. Of course it didn’t work. Clementine was petite to begin with, but ridiculously light without the weight of wings on her back. It wasn’t like she didn’t know that, either, but her fury was heavy in her, and she clutched at Dell’s belt and pulled back anyway, intending to finish this confrontation.
Dell, however, had no intention of staying to face her client. She beat down in a strong, fierce sweep of her wings, lifting off the platform and into the air—with Clementine still hanging onto her belt.
Grounded Page 17
