A Dark Beginning: A China Dark Novel

by Paula Hawkes

  “Let’s go for a walk,” Philip said. “Before breakfast.”

  China’s appetite was already hankering after breakfast but she couldn’t deny that a walk down to the secluded beach below was a great idea, especially before everyone else was about.

  Despite the swift Mediterranean dawn, the sun was still relatively low in the sky, casting sharp shadows across the winding, steep path that led down through the lemon groves and rainbow buildings. They walked hand in hand, and relished the heat as each time they were washed with sunlight, and also the delicious chills that made them shiver delightfully in each shadowy corner.

  The pebbled bay was scattered with bright blue and red fishing boats, most not much larger than rowing boats, but distinguishable from pleasure craft by the piles of equipment that stuffed each with rusty metalwork, green and orange nets, and large and rather ancient looking lobster pots. There were only a couple of men working on their boats, all readying either craft or equipment for a morning foray out to sea for the early catch.

  This morning China was wearing Burberry skinny jeans and a simple white blouse. Her curves felt good pressing against the clothes in the light morning breeze, and she couldn’t help noticing that the fishermen kept looking her way. There was nothing subtle about it, if they had been any more blatant they would have been staring. In fact some were staring. Whereas this would have bothered China at one time in her past, a time when she would have been insecure about men looking at her less than perfect body, a time when she might have thought that they were critiquing her, looking for and commenting on her faults, now she loved the idea that her full figure was the object of so much attention. She squeezed Philip’s hand tightly as they stood in silence, listening to the seabirds caw and the hush of waves playing with pebbles. The air was scented with fresh fish and saltwater, and her skin was warming nicely as the sun gained in strength.

  “You know I love you, don’t you?” Philip suddenly said, making China grin broadly.

  “Of course I do. And I love you too.”

  They kissed, and through half open eyes China saw that the fishermen were no longer interested in them, busying themselves with their preparations.

  Breaking off from their kiss Philip looked deep into China’s eyes. He was such a handsome man, she reminded herself, studying every inch of his clean shaven face. If he had been a little taller she had no doubt he could have been a model. She felt lucky to have him. He may be a bit childish at times, with a smattering of arrogance, but he was essentially kind and caring, and a great husband. Hard working, thoughtful most of the time, and really, really good looking.

  “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, China Dark.”

  “I know that,” China said, searching his face for the true meaning of those words. She wasn’t sure why he had said it at that point, but men weren’t always easy to understand, so she suspected he was apologizing in some roundabout way for some transgression he had just remembered and she couldn’t guess. She kissed him again.

  They stood admiring the view for about half an hour and the little bay became busier with locals. The men all showed interest in China, some merely glancing shyly at her from under their dark fringes, some, mostly the older ones, blatantly staring at her. She didn’t mind one bit. She had never felt more comfortable in her own body than she did right now. She knew that she was an attractive woman, she had the man she loved beside her, and she was in the prettiest cinque port on the Italian coast that she could possibly wish for.

  For their first evening in the bar, China deliberated carefully over what to wear. There were no more ‘just throw on the first things that come to hand’ moments in China’s life. She was making the most of these years, her body, her femininity and, yes, now her sexuality. Pulling on a silky little white thong that was uncomfortable to wear but made her feel super sexy, she then selected a mid length Karen Millen dress with a subtle black and silver tribal pattern that appeared to be woven out of scales, but which hugged her body closely. She was happy to see, when checking in the mirror, that the lack of a bra did not detract from the look, everything holding up just nicely. Turning sideways she checked out her profile. Her bum was generous but not saggy, there was the slightest curve to her belly which she was now very comfortable with, and her breasts were large and still firm.

  “Very nice,” said Philip from the bathroom doorway, making her jump. “You look amazing. And no bra,” he added, walking over to her with a glint in his eyes.

  “Not now, bad boy. I’m hungry.”

  “So am I,” he said as his hands found her body. She had to admit that she was tempted but, laughing, she pushed his hands away.

  “Come on, let’s get some dinner first. Maybe later, if you’re good.” She already knew that he didn’t actually have to be good. In fact it might be nice if he wasn’t good at all, but rather bad. She had needs too. But right now her stomach’s needs came first. She had her eye on another pasta dish she had seen on the menu yesterday. She couldn’t remember the name of it but she remembered some of the ingredients, clams, lemon, chilli and garlic.

  The dining room was buzzing nicely when they arrived, with several couples already enjoying the wine and candlelight. They were shown to their table by a portly, moustached waiter with typical Italian flourish. When the food and wine arrived it was delicious again, and the conversation between them flowed easily from one nonsense subject to the next. It was nice to be talking about unimportant stuff, China thought. Nothing heavy, just light, easy subjects that made them both happy.

  Before dessert a loud roar from the car park announced the arrival of an Italian sports car that had all the men in the room looking up. The exhaust note barked as the engine was switched off.

  “Jesus,” Philip said, totally in awe as he spied the car through the large window. “A Venevo.”

  “A what?”

  “A Lamborghini Venevo. That’s a multi million pound car.” Philip knew which aspect of this car would appeal to China. At the mention of its cost she was intrigued. Who could afford a car like that? The car looked like something out of a batman film. Its matte black paint job didn’t seem to reflect any light and starkly contrasted with the huge red brakes easily visible through the futuristic spoke wheels.

  “It looks like some alien penis,” she said, knowing that would annoy Philip.

  “It’s one of the fastest cars ever built, and one of the rarest. I never thought I’d see one in real life. I want one of those.”

  “I bet the man who drives it is also a penis,” China continued to tease, a playful smile on her face.

  When the man got out of the car, rather elegantly China had to admit considering the contortions needed to exit the long low vehicle, she saw that while he may well have been a dick, he was a rather good looking one.

  “I want one of those too,” China said under her breath. Philip didn’t hear as he was too busy drooling over the car. Looking around, China could see that this arrival had caught everyone’s attention. All the men were looking at the car and wishing they were the one driving it, and all the women were studying the tall man and wishing they were driving that. China shook her head in mock disgust. Boys and their toys, she thought, conveniently ignoring the fact that she was no better in her desires.

  The man came into the bar, and while many of the patrons turned back to their meals, feigning disinterest or not want to give the man the pleasure of being centre of attention, some were unable to stop gawking. He was an impressive sight. He was tall, well over six feet, slim, dark olive skin and slick black, perfectly cut hair with a fringe that flopped sideways across half his forehead to part cover one eye. He was craggily handsome, like an Italian model from a perfume advert. His clothes, as would be expected from someone who drove a multi-million pound car, were elegant and expensive, and a huge watch dangled heavily from one wrist.

  Philip took a sharp intake of breath. “A Patek Phillipe. A Sky Moon Tourbillon.” His voice was barely a whisper, it was obvious he was
helplessly lost in admiration.

  She knew how much Philip loved watches, and he was therefore a bit of an expert, so she also knew that this seemingly random collection of syllables must be referring to something rather special.

  “So how much would one of those be?”

  “I have no idea, but more than I make in a few years I suspect.”

  The man wandered over to the bar, ignoring all the looks cast his way, and ordered a drink from the waiter. China wondered if he was a resident or a local. When his drink arrived he turned to face the eating area and his eyes confidently toured the restaurant, totally undaunted by the looks he was receiving. Most of the patrons instantly looked away when his confident eyes met theirs. When the new arrival looked their way, Philip looked down at his plate cowed into submission by sheer alpha-maleness, but China met his gaze with defiance, and she drew her shoulders back, posing for him at the same time as reaching out for Philip’s hand across the table. ‘You want to be looked at otherwise you wouldn’t have made such an entrance, or dressed so ostentatiously’, she thought. ‘You may be rich and handsome, but look at what you haven’t got.’

  Their eyes held each other for a few moments and she squeezed Philip’s hand tighter. The man was smiling. It was a smile of pure poise and coolness that didn’t just border on self-confidence, but leapt right over the line and into a realm of stratospheric arrogance. His eyes were intense and she was the centre of his world. In the whole restaurant it was her that his gaze lingered on.

  ‘Oh no, not the eyes again’, China thought, momentarily thinking of Mark for the first time that day.

  Chapter 29

  Esta was already drunk when she entered the pub. Mark had told her that this was where he worked but he didn't seem to be about. Never mind. She would wait. It had been a good evening, she had made excellent money but now she needed a fuck. The frustration had built up as the evening had gone on. Her body had reacted increasingly to the touches from the punters, feeding off their lust, but she fancied none of them.

  "Is Mark about this evening?" she asked the well-built older barman. He was not bad looking for his age and looked very strong. Maybe he would get lucky if Mark wasn't about. He was too old for her, she scolded herself. She shouldn't let her frustrations get the better of her. Her standards may be a little lax but she should try not to degrade herself purely for a quickie.

  "Not yet, darling. He might be in later though." He did have quite a nice smile, and his arms looked big and very strong. But no. A little self control. A few too many vodkas provided a strong counter argument but she could handle her drink so wouldn't let her alcohol-damaged morality win the evening over. "Can I get you a drink?"

  "A vodka will do nicely." After all, you can never have too much vodka.

  "Straight?"

  "Always," she responded, unable to keep a naughty smirk from her lips.

  She paid from the large wad of notes in her purse. It had been a very profitable evening. Manipulating men for money was a satisfying business. Some might think the sacrifice of dignity too high a price to pay, but she knew better. Her dignity was well and truly intact. It was not her dribbling like an imbecile, panting like a dog and handing over a large percentage of disposable (or in many cases, not so disposable) income. She was an actress who was using her gifts wisely so she deserved a nice little payday from time to time.

  Sensing another person beside her she quickly tucked the money back in her purse and stowed it in her brown leather satchel.

  "Oh, I'm too late. But let me get you the next one." Turning to face the stranger her control wasn't quite quick enough to hide the distaste from her face.

  He either didn't notice her disdain, was too drunk, or too used to it to react, and kept a huge sloppy grin on his chubby face. His forehead shone under the low nicotine tainted light of the bar, and Esta could see actual beads of sweat all over his face and neck. The dirty collar of his shirt looked soaking wet, and she wasn't sure if the thin strands of hair pulled tightly back into a ponytail were wet from being recently washed or just so greasy that they looked permanently wet. She suspected the latter.

  "What do you want?" she slurred, her tolerance low.

  "Just to buy a pretty lady a drink. I've not seen you in here before. You're so pretty I would have remembered." If anything, he sounded more inebriated than her and she relaxed a bit. She was quite capable of dealing with drunken sleaze bags like this.

  "Thank you, but I'm waiting for someone."

  "Lucky someone!"

  "Yes they are," she managed a smile that never reached beyond her mouth.

  "You could be a model you know. I bet you are a model." He was persistent, she would give him that.

  "That's corny. You need to work on this approach."

  "Seriously," he said, leaning in conspiratorially close to spit out a whisper. "I should know. I'm a photographer."

  "Oh yes? I'm sure you are. Do you tell every girl that?"

  "I can prove it." For the first time he looked a bit hurt. Or was it actually anger? Esta was beginning to wonder if she should just leave.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bundle of dog-eared pictures.

  This time Esta did manage to contain her reaction, but only just. A cold finger of fear ran down her back as she recognized several of the girls in the pictures. One was of China, who she had met just a short while ago with Mark, another was of Zilda, including the very photo that she recognized from Mark’s sitting room wall. She was pretty sure that the pictures had been taken by Mark, so why was this man passing them off as his own? There was something very wrong here and it was beginning to scare her.

  “You see how beautiful I make these girls look. I can do the same for you.”

  She laughed nervously, “So, you don’t think I’m beautiful already?”

  “Of course you are. I’ve told you haven’t I? But I can make you look even more beautiful. More elegant. Less… er….” He waved a floppy hand up and down in a dismissive gesture.

  Despite the dread coursing through her, Esta’s temper rose at this oily man’s disrespect. “Less what exactly?”

  “Well,” he said, his own anger rising in defence. “Less tarty. Less like a stripper.”

  Just at that point the barman came over. “Hey, Tony, leave the girl alone.” He obviously didn’t like Tony at all, and Esta suspected that this was not an uncommon feeling. “She’s one of Mark’s friends.” At the mention of Mark, Esta was gratified to see a look of sheer panic cross Tony’s fat face. He went beetroot red and seemed to sweat even more. He quickly stuffed the photographs back into his jacket, muttered something vaguely obscene under his breath and waddled away around the corner of the bar and out of site. “Sorry about Tony. He’s harmless but he is a creep.”

  “That’s ok,” Esta said, although her brain wasn’t really working properly. She was still desperately trying to work out why Tony had the pictures that Mark had taken, let alone why he was trying to pass them off as his own to try and get her to pose for him. If she hadn’t known Mark, hadn’t known the subjects of his photographs, she might have been conned, and so might other girls. But then she reminded herself how physically repulsive the man was and consoled herself that even if girls were fooled by the lines he spun, they’d be unlikely to take him up on his sleazy offer unless they were really stupid or really desperate. Still, it left a nasty taste in her mouth and she suddenly found that she no longer wanted a fuck. She just wanted to get back to the flat she shared with three other girls, and make a call to her husband.

  Half in a dream, thinking about her small but tidy home back in Romania, she left the pub to walk back to her flat.

  Chapter 30

  He saw the young girl walk out of the pub, her fit, petite frame silhouetted sharply against the warm amber glow of the doorway, and kept very still in the shadow of the bus stop. He hoped she wouldn’t walk over to catch a bus, but he thought that highly unlikely. She didn’t live that far away. When he had
followed her home from her place of work before, the first time only a couple of weeks ago, he had made a careful note of the location and his inner map knew the best route to there from anywhere local. He worked well in the dark. He prided himself on an in-built satnav that wouldn’t be fooled by day or night. His eyesight was good, his inner compass steady, his walk silent and his hand strong. He had been blessed with the tools necessary to carry out his mission, which is why he knew he was doing the right thing.

  He didn’t have to rush this. The girl could get a little way ahead. Probably best if she did so that he could follow without any risk of being detected. He knew where best to strike. As long as he was close enough when the time came, that’s all he prayed for.

  Watching at this distance he admired her body. It was an object of beauty. Not far from perfection. Wasted on this faithless slut. As she turned the corner ahead and started to walk up the main road he followed, his pace innocently casual. Nothing to see here, he thought, just a man out for an evening stroll. As he approached the corner she had just turned he saw that she was about a hundred yards ahead. He had judged it just right. He was good at this.

  His pace increased slightly and he tucked his chin into his chest, looking down at the pavement, not needing to look up, knowing where she was at any point. There was only one sensible route from here to her flat, and she would not deviate.

  By the time he reached the next turning he was only twenty yards behind her, but there were enough people about at that hour of the evening that he would not be noticed. This side road she was now in was a little quieter, and quite short. She only had to walk about fifty yards before turning again. He slipped into a side alley that quickly twisted and ran parallel with the road she was walking down. He passed swiftly, silently, down the alley, feet making no sound, until he judged that he was actually ahead of her. Passing between two gardens, up a passageway barely wide enough for his shoulders, he took a deep breath and waited in the shadows. He listened carefully. The only sounds from the street were her lone footsteps, her stripper heels clicking noisily along the pavement.