The Angels' Share

by Maya Hess

  ‘If you mess the bed, I’ll have to beat you again.’ I was using language that I’d only ever dared use in my journal and the tightness that braced my chest felt exactly the same as when I’d scrawled a similar imaginary scene in desperation to experience something sexy and wild. Dominic moaned and ground against my firm hand. ‘I’m warning you –’ But it was too late. I felt the warm viscous honey spreading between my fingers as Dominic was unable to control his body. He immediately went limp.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ His body fell forward onto the bed and I couldn’t have been more outraged.

  ‘I don’t make false threats,’ I said. ‘But before I give you ten lashings, you can clean up this mess. I pushed my wet hand in front of his face and Dominic stared at me with dark, eager eyes. Rather than offering him punishment, it seemed I was giving him a treat. His tongue came out and began lapping at my palm, weaving between my fingers and around the silver ring that was a gift from Marco, as if it had no limit to its length. So sensual were the strokes that I couldn’t help feeling aroused in my knickers and wishing that he hadn’t already come.

  Dominic finished by drawing tiny wet circles on the inside of my wrist, quickening the pulse that lay beneath, before I pushed him back on the bed for his promised spanking. He took it like a man, strawberry-coloured welts rising across his trim buttocks, and, as I watched him silently fastening his jeans afterwards, I wished I’d had the courage to make him try on the cock harness, which would have looked both stunning and dangerous on his once again erect cock. The thought of it nestled within his jeans would have added sparkle to my cleaning duties.

  Dominic retreated to the doorway, wearing the same disapproving expression that he had entered with, and spoke seriously, unable to look at me directly. ‘Like I said, please arrange the cut foliage.’

  ‘In case Mr Kinrade returns?’ I was hopeful for information. ‘Although I’ve heard that he’s back already.’

  ‘Mr Kinrade is a very private man.’ Dominic trod the plush carpet on the landing, barely making a sound as he descended the ornate staircase, leaving me desperate for both knowledge and sex in equal measures.

  * * *

  I made a point of replacing the items in the chest of drawers exactly as I had found them. I cleaned and aired Kinrade’s bedroom with the detail of a maid at a five-star hotel and swiftly worked my domestic magic on other rooms of the house. My enthusiastic cleaning came not from a desire to hold down my temporary job but rather as a way of masking what I had just done to Dominic. I couldn’t rid my mind of the sight of his bare bottom quivering helplessly beneath the leather. The ass of such a formidable man, too.

  In fact, it was that particular thought that lingered more than anything else: I had brought him down from a towering figure of masculinity to a quivering apologetic specimen, only to have him rise once again and return to his original, indomitable stature. I spent the rest of the day wondering if it was me, the leather or a combination of both that had caused the event. Either way, it made me smile through my duties.

  I didn’t see Dominic again that morning, apart from when I spied him trudging across the lawn pushing a barrow of compost through the skim of mist that had collected underneath the sunshine. The two Labradors trotted faithfully beside him, unaware of what their temporary master had recently been up to, while he deposited piles of leaf mould at the base of pruned shrubs. I watched for several minutes, studying his hefty shoulders and supple back as he shovelled the crumbly soil onto the beds.

  And then it occurred to me. Dominic was masterful. Of himself mostly, in the way that he carried himself with sustained importance and an air of superiority. He was masterful of his domain – the beautifully kept gardens and well-managed land were a credit to his position as devoted estate manager and, when Ethan Kinrade was away from home, Dominic was in charge of Creg-ny-Varn entirely. But the most masterful trait about the man was, ironically, his ability to lose control and become the victim of his own imperious actions. Dominic knew exactly what he wanted. I wasn’t sure that I did.

  By lunchtime, I’d found very little to convince myself that anyone actually lived in Creg-ny-Varn. Fourteen years had been well preserved beneath the dust sheets that shrouded the house, and little but spiders and occasional inspections by Dominic had disturbed its history. Every piece of furniture, each heavy drape and richly woven rug remained in the same position as my fragile memory allowed me to recall. I almost expected to see ancient relics of out-of-date food in the pantry when I searched for something to eat, and was surprised to find a small stash of foods typically bought at a delicatessen. Several tins of lobster bisque and turtle consommé were racked up behind a box of water crackers. Dried pulses and beans were arranged neatly in sealed packets beside sundried tomatoes, anchovies and black olive pesto. My hungry eyes scoured the other ingredients, concerned that if I ate anything from the carefully arranged store, Kinrade would know I’d been helping myself. Aside from his kinky bedroom habits, the man was obviously a lover of fine food.

  The picture I was building of Ethan Kinrade was certainly an interesting one, if not highly unusual and perhaps – I hated to admit – somewhat alluring. I had searched comprehensively and was unable to locate a photograph of him or indeed any clue as to his appearance. My best source for that, I decided, would be Connor, although I already knew he would not want to talk about his elusive boss. He seemed more intent on securing his place in my future than on furthering my desire to overthrow Kinrade.

  ‘Looks like it’ll have to be cheese.’ I peeked in the small refrigerator and, surprised to see that everything was still within its use-by date, retrieved a piece of Manx cheddar. ‘You can’t have been gone that long then, if your food’s still edible.’ Again, I found myself conjuring an imaginary Kinrade as I tucked into the cheese while wiping an apple on my sleeve. It appeared home-grown with its unwaxed skin and several fresh leaves still attached to the stalk. ‘Thanks,’ I said, showing him that I had only taken a small amount of food. ‘I’m starving after all my hard work. Surely you don’t mind?’

  My make-believe Kinrade shook his head and grinned. He was better looking than I’d given him credit for – tall with slightly messy, Viking-blonde hair and pushed-up sleeves revealing strong forearms with just the right amount of hair. His teeth were straight and sparkled and his trousers hung from slim hips, just skimming the gentle curve of his groin. When he spoke, his voice filled the room but not in the domineering way I had expected. Ethan Kinrade was welcoming me, telling me to help myself to as much food as I wished.

  ‘My home is your home,’ he said.

  ‘Damned right it is!’ I crunched the apple and walked around Kinrade, thoughtfully assessing how much of a threat he presented.

  A large one, I finally decided, as my imaginary adversary dissolved into thin air. He looked like the type to take a fight to the end and I didn’t like it one bit that he blew me a kiss as I forced his image from my head.

  I’d been saving the best until last. I decided to finish up for the day, after an extremely unproductive start to my mission, by flicking a duster around what was once my father’s library, where I remember him keeping all his papers and estate documents. If I didn’t locate anything of use in there, then I was not only baffled by the lack of information but also completely stuck. I needed something, anything, to help Lewis put together a case for me. It was all beginning to appear rather hopeless.

  I carried a tin of beeswax and a soft cloth, along with the vacuum cleaner and the set of keys left for me by Dominic in case the room was locked, as was usually the case when I was a child. My body ached from cleaning and carrying basket-loads of wood for the fires so I didn’t really intend to spend much time in the library other than from to locate vital information. I turned the brass door handle and, as I had suspected, it was locked. I tried key after key in the old lock but none of them slid home and allowed me entry. Puzzled, I tried the entire set again in case I had missed one but the result was the same.
/>   I recalled Dominic’s warning: If the door’s locked and there isn’t a key that fits, then keep out.

  My heart skipped. Ethan Kinrade had something to hide and Dominic had been instructed to see the library remained secure in his absence. My hands trembled as I withdrew the last key, wishing I knew how to pick a lock. I bent down to take a peek through the keyhole but something was blocking my view – most likely the key in the other side.

  ‘Well, Mr Kinrade. Don’t expect me to give up easily. You’ve shown me you have something to hide and I’m going to find out what it is.’ My words skittled unheard down the corridor, echoing amongst the remains of my childhood memories. Instead of Kinrade’s image haunting my thoughts, I was suddenly filled with recollections of happy times when Connor and I had charged around the house playing tag and hide and seek and anything else noisy that we could get away with.

  ‘You’re on!’ I squealed to Connor, who darted as skilfully as the shoals of mackerel we used to catch. I turned to flee, steaming down this very corridor before bursting into my father’s library, breathless and dizzy with excitement. I slammed the door, panting against it for barely a second before I realised that my father was working at his leather-topped desk. I prepared for a telling-off.

  ‘Looking for a place to hide?’ he whispered, a mischievous grin expanding from his usually tight mouth. I nodded, desperate at nine years old to beat Connor at something. To my surprise, my father peeled back a small rug a few feet away from the bay window and plucked a metal ring from the floorboards. Before I knew what was happening, I was being packed down creaky wooden steps beneath a trap-door hatch which, from the chink of light available, seemed to lead into a pitch-black chamber.

  ‘Don’t make a sound,’ he instructed, allowing the trap door to fall shut. I was terrified but exhilarated and hardly dared to breathe the fusty, cold air but rejoiced when fifteen minutes later I heard Connor’s bored voice admitting that he gave up. I sprang from the hidden cavern like a jack-in-the-box, revealing myself to Connor with a grin, and, as we sloped off down the corridor again, I told him about the secret place beneath the library floor.

  I laughed as I stowed the vacuum cleaner and polish back in the store cupboard but then stopped motionless, my hands strung with cable, as the memory came back. Several days after I’d hidden beneath the library, when my father had become bedridden with flu, Connor and I ventured where we knew we shouldn’t. We even packed a bag of food and an extra sweater along with all the candles I could lay my hands on.

  We set out on our journey beneath the floorboards like a couple of adventurers and spent a good few hours exploring the tunnels and cave-like rooms that networked beneath Creg-ny-Varn. Looking back, it was the point at which I learned to see Connor differently. However young we were, the way he took control, the determined look that set into his face, made me feel safe and secure – that he would protect me from whatever monsters we might meet along the way.

  I hastily shoved the cleaning stuff in the cupboard and grabbed a torch, thankful it contained live batteries. ‘Right, Kinrade. Think you can beat me in my own house?’ I paused as if he might reply. ‘Well, you can’t. I bet you don’t even know anything about the tunnels.’

  Remembering every thrilling moment of that morning with Connor, our sheer delight as we surfaced among rakes and pitchforks and strings of crispy onions in the gardener’s hut, my mind was made up. I flicked off the house lights and picked my way cautiously through the kitchen garden to Dominic’s shed. As long as he wasn’t present, I would enter the coal chute inside the lean-to shed and make my way into the library that way. Then I would find out exactly what it was that Kinrade was trying to hide.

  I clamped my arms around my body. It was cold and I’d left my jacket in the house. Even at this hour, only a few minutes before two o’clock, the light fell on the island as if a heavy shawl had been draped over the low winter sun. I approached the shed, half expecting Dominic to slap a hand on my shoulder and arrest me as he had done several days before. But there was no sign of him or the dogs, who would have certainly noticed me skulking. I turned the handle of the old door and sighed with relief as it gave and allowed me entry to the gardener’s domain. Knowing I would have to be quick – Dominic would most likely return for a forgotten implement or his flask of whisky-stoked coffee – the urgency made my heart jump and skip with the sheer thrill of getting one up on Ethan Kinrade.

  I moved sacks of apples and onions and shifted aside an old chair, finally revealing the secret entrance to the tunnel, and pulled back the wooden doors of the coal chute. Fortunately, it was empty although I remember returning to the house as a child looking like a coal miner from crawling across the heap of fuel that was used in the ancient boiler rumbling beneath our feet every winter.

  Finally, I was in and walking by torchlight towards the library. I had to stoop to avoid the floor joists above, reminding me just how much time had elapsed since Connor and I made the same passage as children without the need to duck. Brushing cobwebs from my face, I located the wooden steps easily. Strange, how the magical network of tunnels now seemed nothing more than a dull basement.

  I gripped the torch against my shoulder like a telephone and pushed up on the trap door. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the low sun that spilled across the floor but when I was able to see clearly, when the shimmering dust motes had settled and I had taken a sweeping glance around the library, I wasn’t entirely sure if my scream was prompted by what I saw or by the hand that clamped around my arm.

  6

  I ran across the courtyard, following my nose, following my senses. I held back the tears – mostly from frustration – as I burst through the door of Connor’s office, praying that he would be somewhere within the Glen Broath distillery. I breathed in deeply, trying to settle my racing heart as the sweet aroma of maturing whisky, malt and peat fires caught in my throat. It took me a moment to realise that Connor wasn’t in his office so I began to search the distillery, desperate for his comfort and understanding.

  Several workers eyed me suspiciously as I walked briskly past but none challenged my presence. I was just about to approach a female worker, the lines of whose rough brown boiler suit flared gently over her curvy buttocks and hips, when I saw Connor striding along a metal walkway about fifteen feet above.

  ‘Connor, down here.’ I stuck up my arm and sighed with relief when his face widened into a grin.

  ‘This is a nice surprise,’ he said as we sat in his office. ‘But you look anxious.’ Connor wiped his hands down his thighs, pulling the canvas of his work trousers taut around his groin for a moment. As I watched him pour two shots of Glen Broath’s finest, it struck me again just how much time had been lost between us. It would be easy for me to succumb and catch up – and I knew that Connor was willing for that exploration to occur, both mentally and physically – but I wasn’t sure if I was. To me, maintaining a steady course and securing my inheritance were paramount and if I analysed it truthfully, any involvement with Connor would throw me off-track. It was easy to justify my out-of-character actions with Dominic and Lewis and Liz. They were casual flings and a source of experimentation and release, although my involvement with Dominic smacked of something more sinister. It was true to say, too, that I believed Connor was right: by giving life to my sexual desires in my journal and subsequently losing it, I had effectively made my dreams come true. A kind of sexual magic spell.

  Why, then, was I sitting in Connor’s office, sipping his whisky and wanting nothing more than to bury my face in the warm crook between his neck and shoulder until he felt compelled to stroke my back and neck, push his fingers through my hair and tilt my face to his for a lasting kiss?

  ‘Thanks.’ I raised my glass. ‘I’m sorry to have interrupted your work.’

  ‘I don’t count a visit from you as an interruption.’ Connor perched on the corner of his desk, tapping his foot and eyeing me thoughtfully. ‘Gut instinct tells me there’s something you want to ge
t off your chest.’

  I nodded, then wished I hadn’t. I didn’t know where to begin or even where to end. My eyes were still smarting from what I had just seen in the library and my arm was still burning from Dominic’s tight grip. And, if I got past all that successfully, would I be able to continue with tales of how I’d left pink stripes on the estate gardener’s buttocks or tied him to Ethan Kinrade’s bed and ridden him in return for what proved to be useless information? And then there was the tale of Lewis and Liz, jangling in my mind like the promise of delicious candy.

  ‘I don’t know what’s happening to me, Connor.’ I closed my eyes, partly punctuating the beginning of my confession and partly to prevent him noticing my welling tears. ‘Since I came back to the island, well, it’s like I’ve been…’ I paused. There wasn’t a word for how I felt.

  ‘Transformed?’ Connor suggested. ‘Released?’

  ‘Kind of.’ He was close but hadn’t quite caught the essence of my emotions. ‘I thought that I’d only ever loved one man.’ I couldn’t look at him while I spoke. I wasn’t sure where this was leading or what at all it had to do with the shocking goings-on in the library.

  ‘Marco?’

  ‘Yes, although I somehow always knew it wouldn’t be forever. It’s like I’ve been in transit.’ I messed with my hair, hoping that chunks of it would fall over my face, allowing me some relief from the pain of speaking so honestly.

  ‘But you’ve been with Marco for years. It’s been a long transit, don’t you think?’

  ‘Exactly. And that’s why all this is happening.’ I was even confusing myself and was unable to prevent several tears spilling onto my cheek. Connor approached me and I honestly thought he was going to wrap my head and shoulders in his arms and rock me gently. All he did was remove the empty whisky glass from my hand.

  ‘Don’t say another word. Just get in the Land Rover.’