by Duka Dakarai
The Truth of the Body
Duka Dakarai
Copyright DUKA DAKARAI 2013
Published at Amazon
Copyright DUKA DAKARAI 2013
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and is not intended to cause offence.
Dedication
This work of fiction is dedicated to my lovely husband who endlessly supplied me with coffee and cigarettes into the wee small hours of many a late night. It is also more importantly dedicated to our incredible Armed Forces wherever you are serving our country and keeping us safe. Thank you. x
The Truth of the Body
Chapter One
I look at all their smiling faces one more time before attempting to speak. I do not know if I am gloriously happy or absolutely furious. So I need this small reflection time to think. I shake my head for the third time before finally blurting out:
“I don’t know what to say” It is all I can manage until it has sunk in. Tilly and Mia have arranged my very own Art exhibition. I should be delighted. And I am. But I am also pissed at them.
I want to make it on my own. Being the youngest of the Templer siblings and the only girl has meant I am spoiled, and also rich beyond the dreams of most twenty four year olds. I live in a three bedroomed flat near Marleybone, London valued at around 2.6 million GBP which my brother Drew bought for my twenty – second birthday. I was happy in the bedsit in Peckham. I have a trust fund which accumulates over 3.9 million GBP in interest annually but I don’t know how much I am worth in totality because I rarely dip my fingers in the pot. Much to the frustration of my brothers!
I did not join Templer Industries as was expected of me when I completed my Art Degree at Harvard, instead choosing to try to make it on my own as an artist. Sculpture is my passion. My brother, Drew, is the CEO of Templer Industries while Jake, the middle sibling, is Head of Design Engineering. Templer Industries is the international market leader in construction and building of luxury hotel complexes. My great, great grandfather started the family business in the late 1890’s. And after my degree, I could have walked into the role of Director should I have desired. But I didn’t.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to say” I repeat, giving myself more breathing space.
“It’s too much….I knew it would be.” Tilly throws a nervous look at Mia.
“Of course it isn’t too much! You are so talented….and now everyone will get a chance to see it!” Mia drawls in response, batting a hand at Tilly.
I glance back and forth as they continue to mildly reprimand each other. Tilly is Drew’s fiancé. She is petite, fair and very pretty. She is also an Events Planner for some major charities. And my brother Drew worships her with every breath of his body. I love her almost as much as him.
Mia….well, she is a whirlwind. Mia is one of the world’s most famous Supermodels, actually ex-model as she prefers to be known, and now an up and coming photographer in her own right. She is fiery haired and tempered, and unbelievably beautiful. She is Jake’s fiancée. Previous to Mia, Jake had been a player. Then the ‘whirlwind’ entered his life, via her best friend Tilly, and like a spinning tornedo, he found himself completely captured by her. And I have never seen him so happy. I love her equally as much as Tilly and my brothers.
***
So here I am in my penthouse apartment in Marleybone shaking my head in disbelief. Tilly and Mia have arranged my very own Art exhibition, at Burlington House, of all places. For those of you not familiar in Arty circles, Burlington House is most known to the general public for housing the Royal Academy of Arts and where many a famous Art exhibition has been held. And while I may be starting to make a small name for myself amongst certain Art circles, I know that Mia and Tilly have pulled serious strings to achieve this one.
Jake eyes me seriously. He can read me like a book. “I know you want to do everything your own way. We get it. So will you be happier to know that all the proceeds will be going to two charities?” He throws me his handsome lop-sided smile.
Instantly, I feel the tension leave my shoulders. “That would swing it.” I beam back, the same lop-sided smile. “Which charities do you have in mind?”
Tilly squeals in relief. “I chose them. I hope you don’t mind. One is a small independent charity raising support for Art supplies to schools in Africa and Asia, and the other is The British Forces Foundation. Mia has recently become involved in their work.”
Yes, that swung it.
Chapter Two
Burlington House ~ Art Exhibition
The courtyard of Burlington House is open to the public during the day. The Royal Academy's public Art exhibitions are staged in nineteenth-century additions to the main block which are of little architectural interest. However in 2004 the principal reception rooms on the piano nobile were opened to the public after restoration as the "John Madejski Fine Rooms". They contain many of the principal works in the academy's permanent collection, which predominantly features works by Royal Academicians, and small temporary exhibitions drawn from the collection. The east, west and Piccadilly wings are private.
I have chosen six of my main pieces to be exhibited. At four o’clock this morning I was sick with nerves. Literally. But now as I watch Mia and Tilly, flanked by my handsome brothers, work the rooms a sense of excitement has finally washed over my body. My eyes are drawn to a woman stood deep in thought looking at my Tree of Tears. I watch her fascinated as she tentatively reaches out a hand and strokes the cool surface of the sculpture before recoiling quickly as though she has been caught doing something rather naughty.
“You are allowed to touch the exhibits” I laugh kindly at her.
“Oh!” She flinches, startled, before turning to return my laugh.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Amber Templer. These are my sculptures.” I stretch out a hand to her.
“Dr Alison Rowe.” She shakes my hand. “I love this piece in particular. And I was day dreaming imagining how I could persuade my department to include Art more in my work at the hospital.”
“Please say more…..I’m intrigued.” I move closer to her, indeed, intrigued.
“I’m a consultant psychiatrist at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham in the military managed wing. All of our patients are service men and women who have been injured while on active duty, mostly in Afghanistan. Many as you will know require intensive rehabilitation…..and we are exploring many forms of therapy, in particular, for the benefit of working with those whose physical and psychological effects of war are more complex. Art can be a fascinating in-road to working with complex and vulnerable patients.” She sighs, exhaling a long, deep breath.
“Yes. Art can be used as therapy where other forms have struggled. I saw evidence of that while studying for my degree at Harvard. But you incorporate Art now, don’t you, as I have read?” I cock a questioning look at her, gesturing her to continue.
“Of course. But as yet not sculpture. I don’t suppose you would be interested to talk further……”
***
I snatch one last look in my car rear view mirror before heading into the main entrance of the striking steel and glass oval towers of the Queen Elizabeth Hospital. My long jet black hair frames a face which looks paler with apprehension and nerves. My normally round chocolate eyes now resemble saucers, and I can see a nervous tremble play along my bottom lip.
For the last two months I have worked with Dr Alison Rowe and her team expanding the therapy unit to incorporate sculpture. But today is my first time of working with patients delivering a class. And as I walk through each corrid
or towards the military managed wing, my stomach churns just a little more. I am using all my focus just to breathe in and out.
“Amber! There you are.” Alison squeezes me into a warm hug. “Come into my office for a few minutes before we head down to the unit. I need a quick word.”
Alison gestures me into her office seating herself behind a desk laden with files, text books and medical manuals. Clutter is her middle name. I lower myself through slightly shaky legs into another chair. I watch her flick through a file before she continues.
“Amber, I want to talk to you about a particular patient…a young corporal from 40 Commando of about your age. Aiden Finch. He has temporary blindness resulting from a blast implosion. Although physically he has recovered remarkably, the blindness remains an issue. He is very depressed and suffers bouts of intense mood swings. I have managed to persuade him to join in for today on your class but you will need to tread very carefully. Do you understand?”
I nod, biting my lower lip. “I understand.”
“Good.” Alison smiles gently. “Then let’s get you started. And Amber? My door is always open, ok? This is emotive work and for you to volunteer your time…….I can’t thank you enough.”
We head out into the unit and I am greeted warmly by the patients. Some cheeky ones have wolf whistled before being reprimanded by the staff. In the last single bedded room on our rounds, I find a mousy haired man sat by his bed, his eyes bandaged. By the window with his back to us looking out across the car parks is another man, stood very upright with his tall muscular frame in military fatigues.
“Corporal Finch, it is Alison Rowe, and with me is the artist we discussed, Amber Templer.” Alison touches him slightly on his arm. He nods shyly.
I take his hand in mine, squeezing it gently. “Hi, Corporal Finch, pleased to meet you. I’m Amber.”
As he shakes my hand, I glance across at the man who remains with his back to us still looking out of the window. Slowly, as though he senses me looking at him, he turns to catch my gaze. I straighten my posture, smiling a nod at him aware my mouth has suddenly dried completely.
“Amber, let me introduce you to Major Logan Grant. Major, this is Amber Templer who has kindly volunteered the next six weeks of her time to teach sculpture. She recently held a private exhibition of her work with half the proceeds dedicated towards The British Forces Foundation. We are very lucky to have her here.” Alison smiles towards the Major as he strides towards me.
He comes to a halt just at the threshold my comfort zone and looms over me. Although I am tall at five foot nine, I feel dwarfed by the man. His huge powerful frame towers over me, his face looking directly into mine. He has the most intense blue eyes I have ever seen, set in a chiselled, astonishingly handsome face. His hair is cropped military short with shades of gold and almost white blonde.
He drags his eyes up and down my body before returning his penetrating look at my face. I flush as I feel a breath catch in my throat, heat rushing throughout my body. I have never experienced such instantaneous sexual arousal just by having a man look at me.
I hold out a shaky hand almost hoping he will refuse it as I’m not sure how I will react if he touches me. He envelopes my hand and nods abruptly. I feel tingles of electricity spark up my arm causing me to recoil sharply.
He leans a little closer still studying my face before turning to Alison. “So making sculptures is the treatment for today, is it?” His voice is velvety deep but stern, sarcastic.
“Major….it is a complementary therapy as you well know. And I’m sure Corporal Finch will benefit greatly.” She responds sharply.
He straightens his shoulders gruffly before making a move towards the door. “Corporal….I will look in on you again soon.” And with that he is gone.
I breathe out a long sigh. Corporal Finch releases a small laugh. “Miss Templer, do not be put off by the Major. He is one of the best…..actually he is the best.”
Chapter Three
One Week Later
“Fuck it. I can’t do it!”
Aiden swings an angry arm in the air crashing his clay across the room. Two nurses rush into the room as I shake my head to confirm that I am okay. I pick up the wet clay and begin to place it calmly back onto his work station. I pat his arm reassuringly.
“Yes, you can Aiden. Visualise with your other senses. Feel the clay in your hands.”
“I can’t! I can’t fucking see anything….” He growls, frustrated.
“I know that Aiden. Here, I have an idea.” I wipe the wet sludge from his hands and pat him dry. “We’re going to do a visualisation exercise, ok?” I gently lift one of his hands and place it on top of my head. “Now, I want you to tell me what I look like as you trace your hand around my head and face. Visualise each contour as you tap across my face. Go on, don’t be shy.”
I move in closer to him, sat squarely between his legs. He begins to shakily stroke my hair before running his fingers through the full length. He repeats the action with a small groan parting his lips. “Your hair is really soft and really long.” He sighs.
He moves a hand to reach towards my neck so I lean in closer to enable him. He folds a hand around my throat and slides up towards my jaw, cupping it firmly in his fingers. With his other hand, he begins to trace the outline of my lips, thumbing the lower lip, parting them slightly, the tip of his thumb just breaking entry to my mouth. “Your mouth feels incredible…..it’s full and….”
“Is this an Art class or fucking seduction?” A booming voice from the corridor makes me spring apart from Aiden. I jump to my feet as Alison and Major Grant enter the room. He has a thunderous scowl on his face aimed directly at me. Alison, however, is shaking her head a small smile playing on her lips.
“Amber…..Major Grant seems to think you are seducing the patients. I have tried to assure him that you were doing no such thing. I assume from his description of the scene he encountered that you were merely performing a visualisation exercise?” She throws him a frustrated look before smiling again at me.
“Y-Yes, I was. I was helping Aiden…..Corporal Finch to visualise with his other senses. There was….is no sexual connection to it! It is very useful for creating sculptures.” I glance between Major Grant and Alison. “But we are almost done for today. So I’m free to discuss my techniques with you if you are not happy.” I tilt a defiant chin towards the scowling Major.
He grunts loudly before swiftly turning on his feet marching off down the corridor. Alison releases a small laugh when she knows he is out of earshot. “Don’t worry about Major Grant, Amber. He is not from the modern touchy feely school. He might be around thirty-ish, but I swear his head is from another generation! You are doing fine. The patients love you already.”
***
I stab my finger repeatedly at the elevator button. Despite Alison’s reassurances, I am unsettled that a Commanding Officer may not approve of my being here with the patients. While I wait for the elevator to reach my floor, I rummage in my bag for my mobile. A call to the ever confident Mia will re-focus me. I hear the ping and enter without glancing up, walking into a solid wall of muscle, causing my body to buckle.
Looking up, preparing to make my apologies, I find piercing blue eyes burning intense in my face. A large hand wraps around my lower back to steady me. He holds me there tightly, pressed hard against his chest. I inhale his scent, musky and masculine sending heat coursing through my body.
“Watch yourself” He rumbles deep in his throat before releasing me abruptly.
“I was not paying attention. Sorry. Major Grant, I think you got the wrong idea today…..and I have to say…..”
“What?” He barks, interrupting me.
I feel my fists clench and my jaw tighten in frustration. Anger spills from my mouth. “What have I done that makes you think it is okay to be so fucking rude?” I throw a scowl in his face. My eyes are wide in temper.
“You have got a smart mouth on you, sweetness, I will give you that” He steps in
a little closer, a smirk twitching at his lips.
“I am not sweetness!” I retort as the elevator comes to a halt. I step out purposely marching out of the entrance and in the direction of my car. I am aware of him following closely behind me almost on my heels. I grind to a stop, placing a hand on each hip. “Why are you following so close to me?”
“Because, sweetness, it is late and dark in this fucking car park…..I’m seeing you safely to your car or the bus stop or wherever you are stomping off to!” He barks at me, his jaw and mouth tight.
I throw him another scowl increasing my pace to my car. He matches me stride for stride until my car becomes into view. I pull on the drivers’ door, turning to face him, when suddenly his body is tight against mine. “What do you think…” I spit out at him.
Before I can finish the words, he reaches a hand to cup my jaw, running a singular finger along my bottom lip. He gently parts my lips with the tip of his thumb. His other hand runs through the length of my hair before slowly fisting and pulling my face upwards towards his. He breathes hot against my neck as I feel a whimper escape from my mouth. He groans low in his throat. “Is this visualisation or seduction, sweetness? Because I sure don’t know the difference, do you?”
And as quickly, he releases me before walking away without a backwards glance. I lean against the car to steady myself. I squeeze my thighs together feeling the ache and wetness pulse at my sex.
Chapter Four
I feel the moistness of emotion fill my eyes. I have been working in the unit for two weeks now. Many of the patients are enjoying the sculpture sessions, but none more so than Aiden Finch. Yesterday, the medical team removed his bandages and for a few fleeting moments, he recalled seeing the beginnings of flashes of vision. His mood has lifted three-fold.
And now as tears prick at my eyes, we are both stood before his first ‘creation’. We have named it Recovery. It is a simple sculpture to the untrained critic, circular tubes interconnecting but with no definitive end…meaning recovery is on-going. Aiden saw flickers of it yesterday but again today, his vision has returned to blackness.
