He moved stealthily across the floor and stood very close to me. The surging and pounding of his blood was loud in my ears. Being only a few inches short of seven foot he towered over me but I didn’t feel under threat.
I could no longer see into the captain’s mind because he was concentrating so fiercely upon me. He appeared to be breathing me in and claiming me. I yearned to run my hands up under his pirate’s shirt and all over his body. I felt completely transparent and blushed more deeply than I’d ever blushed before. My interest in him was far too obvious.
Captain Dasher smiled knowingly and turned to Dolores, ‘I apologise for my outburst. I’ve been in port for four days and I have been drinking heavily the whole time. I had one hell of a voyage. My closest friend drowned when he was washed overboard during a wild storm. Two of my crew were stabbed to death in a brutal skirmish and five of my men died from typhoid.’
She leant towards him with a compassionate face but said nothing.
‘Dolores, I’m inconsolable. But this does not excuse my vulgarity nor the crude and ugly manner in which I spoke to you. You’d be quite within your rights to have me publicly horsewhipped. But please believe me, when I say from the bottom of my heart, I am so very sorry.’
When he smiled down at Dolores she not only softened, she visibly melted. I’d never seen her so malleable. The man was dangerous. She gazed up at him, her pretty face dimpling, and answered in a cut-glass tone, ‘I do understand, Captain Dasher.’
Princess accepting tribute from her liege. It was bizarre.
Adam shifted his gaze back to me. He studied me at leisure, giving me the impression he was about to devour my soul. And frankly I was more than ready to hand it over. My legs went weak at the knees and my brain seized up. Although he was heartily dishevelled and in need of both haircut and shave, nothing could disguise the fact that Captain Dasher was very easy on the eye. He was as dark as his brother was fair. Tanned skin, black curls and eyes of mismatched colours; the left eye almost gold and the right a piercing green shade.
He disconcerted me because I sensed he was looking straight into my mind and back out the other side. When I’d first met him as a young lad, he’d been complacently handsome but a scar now dissected both eyebrow and cheek and his skin had darkened. The scars served to emphasise the strong character of his face. Clearly he’d seen a lot at sea, tragedy had bitten deep and his eyes possessed the distant focus that often marks seafarers. It could have been a hard face but when he grinned at me, the corners of his eyes crinkled and his good humour softened his expression. Did his charm offensive work? You bet it did. I wanted to stroke him all over, lie skin to skin with him and feel his heart beating against mine.
To Dolores’s consternation we stood there silently gazing at each other. Words cannot express what happened in those first few seconds. It was a passionate, rapturous meeting of souls. He knew it and I knew it. Blinding, instant and devoid of all rationality. It was ecstasy, as in ex stasis meaning out of mind.
The captain asked me just one question, ‘Your private rooms?’
‘The third floor.’
‘Good. I want you.’
Statement not question. I remained rooted to the spot. Dolores hopped from foot to foot, unsure as to whether she should run for help or not.
The captain stepped forward and swung me up into his arms. Yes, dear reader, he took to the stairs with me hanging over his shoulder. It must have been a hereditary Dasher trait, passed down from father to sons. Men of ascension, men of stairs. It struck me as comedic to be travelling with my derriere raised high in the air and I burst out laughing. Dolores hovered uncertainly at the foot of the stairs with mouth agape. She said later, ‘When Captain Dasher picked you up like that and you just laughed, I said to meself, what the fuck is going on here, eh? Has Sasha completely lost her mind?’
I had.
As we ascended my senses switched back to alert. There is no way of putting this delicately, Captain Dasher smelt of brandy but he also smelt of essence of woman. Specifically he smelt of Miss Marietta Zendik. My instincts told me it was her because I recognised her perfume, created exclusively for her in Paris and shipped halfway around the world. When Marietta entered the patisserie her personal scent lingered long after she’d gone. And now I could smell her signature perfume in Captain Dasher’s hair, clothes and general being.
Miss Zendik was exceptionally well formed. She was a Creole with a heavenly coffee and cream complexion, dark flashing eyes and a sultry low voice. That woman could turn a pedestrian stroll into a riveting performance, for when she perambulated, the whole of Main Street came to a grinding halt. She’d learnt her art in Marseilles, graduating swiftly from a pavement angel to a grande horizontale of the first rank.
Marietta had no need to work in brothels, as her protectors came from the ranks of wealthy men furiously bidding to steep her in magnificence. She’d escaped to Tasmania following the death of her lover, an Italian aristocrat, in Monte Carlo. It was whispered he’d died of ecstasy on top of her and her rival courtesans promptly spread the ugly rumour that she’d murdered him. No surprises there, it happens to the best of us. Rumours gained substance when it was revealed that Marietta dabbled in the occult. Apparently she’d picked up some handy home hints in Martinique, mostly related to voodoo and love potions.
I was pleased to discover Marietta was Adam’s current mistress. For a man such as Captain Dasher would never be without a lover. And if fate forced a rival on me, I wanted her to be worthy of his love. Marietta was a ferocious femme fatale and I’d always admired her stunning beauty, personal style and audaciousness.
When Captain Dasher reached my door on the third landing, he kicked it wide open. ‘I’ll not lie to you, Sasha. For the past four days and five nights, I’ve been receiving the undivided attentions of one of the most accomplished courtesans in the southern hemisphere.’
‘Miss Zendik. I assume the coeur de la crèmes were for her?’
‘Ah, how well you know me already.’
‘You must never insult my intelligence, Captain Dasher.’
He kicked the door shut and planted me feet down on the carpet. ‘My body is wrecked, sucked out and laid to waste. Total desecration. Smouldering ruins of depravity. I’m well beyond exhaustion for Marietta’s vitality grew as mine diminished. She’s a rabid insomniac and firmly believes only your coeur de la crèmes can successfully knock her out.’
‘I take it that you hoped to purchase the antidote from my patisserie?’
‘Yes, I was at my fucking wit’s end and clutching at straws.’
‘Tell me, is losing your temper a common occurrence?’
‘No. I’ve learnt to control my emotions but Marietta knows how to drive a man insane.’
‘So I hear.’
‘Sasha, please let me sit with you for just an hour. I don’t deserve it but I’d greatly appreciate the opportunity to present myself in a better light.’
So we sat decorously at either end of the sofa and talked. We talked until the light faded and I lit the lamps. We talked until we were hoarse and then talked some more. He steadily drank his way through several jugs of water. His body was dehydrated and poisoned from all the brandy. What did we speak about that first day? He told me about the world beyond Wolfftown and I told him virtually everything I’ve already imparted to you.
Adam described beauty so great it was terrifying. Of rose-tinted morning light stealthily creeping up over the Himalayas and the sensation of high-altitude air slicing into his lungs. Of India’s holy men anointing themselves in the Ganges River and human corpses spread with ghee to attract flesh-eating birds. He spoke of Eastern women throwing themselves onto the burning pyres of their dead husbands. He described the sound of water lapping the palazzos in Venice and of professional beauties bare breasted and masked for the Venetian carnivals. With discretion he drew a curtain over his part in the Venetians’ sexual romps. Adam gave detailed descriptions of Byronic Turkish harems and described the
taste of goat’s cheese. He led me through ruined Roman villas in the moonlight and encouraged me to touch the cool marble of Michelangelo’s sculptures.
St. Petersburg and Versailles became real for the first time, as we strolled through the gold-leaf-embossed rooms, catching glimpses of the ghosts of Catherine the Great and Marie Antoinette. The Sphinx peered down on us as Adam marvelled over the ancient Egyptian pyramids and detailed the indiscretions of Cleopatra’s ardent but foolish lovers. He also told me about early-morning duels in Moscow, when the combatants were too drunk to stand, let alone take aim. I intuitively knew he’d been the instigator and that he was a man who relished the opportunity of defending his honour.
With his gift for storytelling Captain Dasher allowed me to feel the power, depth and magnitude of the world. He also sowed the seeds of my discontent with life in small town Tasmania.
On his many sojourns in Europe, Adam frequently joined the aristocracy at play in London. ‘It affords an insight into my family’s sexual proclivities. Undoubtedly you’re aware that nobody in my immediate family gives a toss about conventional morality. English aristocrats are a breed apart, eccentric being too kind a word. One of my ancestors was a hellraiser, whoremonger and rake. Over a hundred years ago he established a private gentlemen’s club. I visited the decaying catacombs he’d built, under a hill in West Wycombe.’ Adam poured more water and drained the glass. ‘Even though he ridiculed Catholicism he built a chapel, where his cronies engaged in satanic black masses, raised the devil and had group sexual congress with courtesans disguised as nuns. At one stage: the King, the First Lord of the Admiralty, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Lord Mayor of London and the Prime Minister were all members, along with artists, poets, writers and the Prince of Wales.’ He laughed. ‘It makes my mother’s love affairs seem rather tame, don’t you agree, Sasha?’
Later that night, my captain insisted on knowing exactly what had happened between his brother and I. I spared him nothing. He didn’t flinch and he didn’t judge me but at one point he clenched a glass so tightly it broke in his fist and bloodied his fingers. He looked me straight in the eye when he said, ‘The telling of this ugly tale took guts. I’m stunned at what that bastard did to you but I admire your honesty and your refusal to let the experience embitter you. Sasha, if you’d like me to punish my brother on your behalf, just say so and I will discreetly sort the matter. Nobody will be any the wiser. And if anything gets out, I will deal with those responsible to ensure your reputation is not tarnished.’
‘Thank you but no. My reputation is somewhat lacklustre already. I’m largely indifferent to Roger. Please, let us talk of something else.’
At midnight there was knocking on my door. Snuff stood in the doorway gripping a heavy copper lamp. His grim expression indicated he was planning on using the lamp as a weapon. I swung the door wide open so he could see Captain Dasher seated on my sofa, holding nothing more than a glass of water.
Snuff seemed relieved to find us both fully dressed. ‘Dolores and Maggie suggested I pop up and see if everything was –’
I gave him a wink. ‘I’m fine, Snuff. Thank you.’
I glimpsed Dolores and Maggie giggling as they peered up from the second landing.
Snuff made a point of staring directly at Adam. ‘Well then, Sasha, I’ll shove off. Is there anything you might require?’
‘Please have the girls bring us up some supper. I’m ravenous. Just whatever we have left in the pantry along with a bottle of Taittinger, a pot of coffee and a few bombes amandés or whatever pastries we have on hand. I also require a cut-throat razor.’
I could hear Dolores repeating my request in a horrified tone. ‘A cut-throat razor!’
Snuff’s eyes narrowed. ‘Dolores and Maggie are anxious about your safety.’
‘Tell them everything is fine, Snuff. The razor will only be used to trim Captain Dasher’s beard.’
Snuff threw the captain a contemptuous look. ‘Ah, but of course. No man wants to behave and look like a fucking barbarian, does he now?’
As Snuff intended, Adam heard him.
Snuff personally delivered the laden trays and seized the chance to quietly hiss something in Captain Dasher’s ear. When the door closed behind him, I looked Adam straight in the eye. ‘Own up, what did Snuff say to you?’
‘Let’s just say that Mr Rogers put me in my place in no uncertain terms. But we both know I well and truly deserved it. I’d be doing exactly the same thing if I was in his position right now.’
I smiled at Adam. Obviously it had been some sort of threat.
We fell upon the trays like starving dogs, picnicked on the hearth rug and damn near licked the platters clean. The captain and I devoured cold chicken, salads, bread and cheeses and tore into the lot with our bare hands and spoke with our mouths full. Adam tossed a coin for the last brioche and even though I won, I gave it to him.
The night was warm and sultry. We sipped champagne as we sat on the balcony, watching the night sky and the port. It had never looked lovelier. The water lay smooth, black and sleepless and anchor chains jangled in the slight breeze. The lighthouse beacon fanned the water, the rocks and the steep cliffs. The sky was pierced with small points of white light that vanished between each sweep of the beacon.
Adam told me, ‘Water covers most of the earth yet we barely comprehend its depths. Giant squid live thousands of fathoms down and whole civilisations have been wiped out by waves as tall as mountains. The sea is a hostile world, yet only drowning men understand it. At heart the ocean is cold-hearted and treacherous and you shouldn’t turn your back on it for a moment. It can be sullen one moment and tempestuous the next.’
He hadn’t slept for days. ‘Eventually Marietta relinquished me but every time I nodded off I saw Jim, clinging to a broken mast. It was a pitch black night. Jim was very nearly in my grasp when a killer wave swamped us and he was gone. I swam in circles bellowing like a mad man, until the first mate dragged me out of the water. When we made port I rode hard to break the news to Jim’s wife. They’d only been married a few months. The shock of his death sent her into early labour and she lost their babe.’
Adam’s face was stricken as he struggled to master the distress that was still raw and bloody. I realised then just how heavily invested he was in appearing stoic and battle hardened. And my heart went out to him.
At three in the morning, I filled up my bathtub and insisted Adam get in. I sensed his reserves were low. He resisted me but eventually gave in to his exhaustion and let me have my way. I was merciless as I scoured him all over, soaping, sponging and rinsing. I was a laundress, a scrubber, a Turkish washerwoman hellbent on removing all traces of Marietta. I was fierce in my intent and had I been able to scrub his heart clean, I would have done so. Adam rebelled and he toppled me over into the tub. When he held me against his broad chest his gaze was questioning as if he knew what I was up to. I tried to escape and water slopped over the sides as we slithered around. My favourite satin boots were ruined and my crêpe dress began to shrink but I didn’t give a shite. He effortlessly stripped off my wet clothes and flung them on the floor. Naked, I quailed under the water, feeling far too exposed.
Because my shyness contradicted my initial boldness Adam knew he’d successfully turned the tables on me. To cover my embarrassment he set to shaving his beard, expertly wielding the cut throat razor across his chin without the use of a mirror.
As he shaved, he spoke of the tattoos covering his back. ‘These tattoos were done by Roshi Toyokuni in Tokyo. I was luckier than the ship’s cook. Bernie woke up one morning wearing a real dog’s breakfast. He’d insulted the tattooist who’d then retaliated by scripting the wrong girl’s name across Bernie’s chest. Complete with arrows piercing a plump bleeding heart. When Bernie’s fiancée saw the tattoo she ditched him and took up with another bloke.’
Adam’s tattoos were magnificent, similar in style to Japanese coloured woodblocks. In fine sweeps of colour a ferocious fork-tongued dragon wa
s engaged in mortal combat with a Japanese samurai. Trapped by an incoming typhoon, the warrior was pictured at the most crucial moment of battle, with his kimono swept back. A carp thrashed in the rising waters and magnificent peonies covered both of Adam’s shoulders. Swirling waters and leonine creatures raced across his back and down over his buttocks. The tattoos were tinted in shades of reds, mauves, greens and oranges. When Adam lifted his arms above his head both samurai and serpent came alive. Surreptitiously I checked to see if there were any girls’ names tattooed across his pectorals or biceps. And was relieved to find there were none.
We collapsed onto the bed shortly before the sun rose. Adam made no attempt to ravish me, he just lightly feathered me from top to toe and I felt no shame. Cocooned and nurtured I fell into a deep sleep and had pleasant dreams. Since I’d been under the influence of the elixir my deepest fears intensified in the midnight hours. I’d started experiencing what could best be described as a frozen sleep. When I was in this state I thought there was an ugly dark being sitting on my chest. I couldn’t shove him off because my limbs were paralysed and if I tried to scream no sound came out of my mouth. I had no choice but to sweat it out until I awoke and could move my limbs again. Every time it happened I swore that I’d wean myself off the filthy elixir. But of course I was deluding myself. I didn’t want to admit that I was trapped in something I was unable to control. But for some reason, the first night I slept with Adam, my old self returned and I was able to briefly experience a nourishing sleep. This probably had something to do with the fact that as I slept, I sensed Adam’s protective presence.
In my dreams I flew up to the ceiling and looked down at the naked couple. A breeze lifted the translucent white curtains and shadows shifted across the walls. The woman was curved against the man’s ribs and her long red hair flamed the white pillows. The man stayed wide awake and he held her close. The sounds of the port drifted up to him and eventually his eyes closed also.
My captain left early the next morning. He didn’t say where he was going and I didn’t ask. By necessity ours had to be a relationship of trust. But I will admit that I was terribly disappointed when he failed to show by evening.
The Scandalous Life of Sasha Torte Page 23
