by John Moralee
Blue Ice
Three Short Stories
By
John Moralee ©
2012
The moral right of John Moralee to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without the permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.
CONTENTS
An English Rose With Thorns
(first published in Crimewave Issue #1 © 1999)
Blue Ice
The Package Deal
Afterword
An English Rose With Thorns
Candid photographs, spread out in a fan. They were on the coffee table when Natalie came home. The man who had taken them sat on the leather couch, one hand holding a cellular phone, the green light blinking. It was Kyle Rampton, her husband’s business partner and supposedly his best friend. He grinned, exposing more teeth than appeared natural. His light grey eyes shone like mirrors. He looked at the photographs and shook his head.
“Guess who’s been a naughty girl?” he said
Natalie felt light-headed and sick. She slumped on the nearest chair, looking alternatively at the accusatory pictures and Kyle Rampton.
Why did I do it? Why did I have a stupid one-night stand with a guy I’d just met? She had never been unfaithful before, but recently she had been so bored with her life that it had just seemed like a change, a little buzz of excitement. And now that night had returned, like all mistakes did.
“Guilt is a wonderful thing,” Rampton said. “You do know Richard will leave you if he ever found out about this?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Maybe I should call him?” His hands hovered over the phone.
“No,” she said. “What do you want?”
“Why, you make me sound like a blackmailer, just because I happened to be opposite the motel room with a telephoto lens.”
So he had sent the man to seduce her. What a cold, ruthless man he was. Rampton had known her marriage was in difficulty, and had used that as leverage. No wonder he was quite brilliant at business. Richard, on the other hand, was the creative partner, the ideas man, the dreamer. Natalie realised something awful: Rampton was jealous of Richard. To have control over his wife would be a victory; it would prove he was better than Richard was.
This wasn’t really about her.
It was a power struggle.
“What do you want?” she repeated.
“I want you to convince Richard to retire,” he said. “Get him to sell his share of the business to me. I am willing to pay a reasonable price. Say half the value of the shares. Then the pictures will go away.”
Could she believe him? “What’s stopping you using the pictures later?”
“For what purpose? I only want the company.”
Natalie considered her options. She could refuse, but then her marriage would be over. Alternatively, she could accept Rampton’s terms, but that thought twisted her stomach. She knew she could persuade Richard to give up the business for the sake of their marriage, but she also knew that to do so would ruin her husband. He loved his work. To take it away would be cruel. He was too young to retire, just when he was being so successful.
“I need a drink,” she said. “I can’t give you an answer just yet, Kyle.”
“Sure. Take your time.” A smug smile flashed. “You have ten minutes to say yes.”
Natalie entered the kitchen. Rampton swaggered in behind her, putting his hot hands on her bottom.
“Don’t touch me,” she said.
“Come on, I know you like this. I’ve seen you, remember?”
“Don’t touch me.” She pulled away.
He laughed. “Suddenly you’re a virgin. Oh, well, please yourself.”
Natalie’s hands shook as she searched the drinks cabinet for something to release her nerves. A fog had come over her thoughts; she could not remember where her favourite drink was kept. She prayed Rampton would leave her alone, but he was watching her, leering.
“Anyway,” he said, “I’ll have a beer to celebrate our forthcoming deal.”
“Get it yourself. They’re in the fridge.”
“From now on you’ll show me the respect I deserve, understand?” He opened the door. White light and cold mist poured out. He hunched down, reaching inside, telling her with a sneer how agreeing to his demands was in Richard’s best interest. She nearly believed him. But he was a liar. He would never let it rest. Seeing him crouched down, his back to her, she had never hated anyone so much. For the first time, she noticed he had a bald patch the size of a coin on his crown, like a bull’s eye.
The rolling pin was in her hands with no recollection of picking it up.
It swung at his head, making a painful thud.
He fell down.
Dead.
*
“You look tired out,” Richard said. “What have you been doing today?”
“Nothing important,” she said. “I’ve been doing some aerobic exercises off that Jane Fonda video you bought me for Christmas.”
He looked at her strangely.
“What?” she said.
“There’s dirt on your chin.”
“Oh, I did some gardening, too.”
“You hate gardening.”
“I fancied a change.”
Richard turned around. He was heading for the door that led onto the patio, and the garden. “Tell you what, I’ll give you my humble opinion.”
“That’s okay, forget it.”
“Forget it? Don’t be silly. I want to see what you’ve done.”
He went outside.
Panicking, she followed. She caught up with him near the greenhouses. She could smell the fresh earth. Taking his arm, she tried to redirect him back into the house. “There’s no need to look; it’s nothing.”
“Nonsense,” he said. Already, he was standing beside the freshly-planted plot of rose bushes. He studied the flowers she’d planted. The soil was a rich, dark coffee colour. The plants were just cuttings at the moment, but they would grow into large bushes given time. Richard got down on his knees and stared. She could not read his expression.
“Hmmm …”
“What?”
“I like it. In the summer it’ll look fantastic.”
She breathed again.
He stood up, brushing off the dirt. “You haven’t seen Kyle, have you?”
“No, why?”
“He said he’d come over. Some business.”
“He probably forgot. You know Kyle.”
“Well, I’ll call him.” Richard pulled out his phone.
“Let’s go inside,” Natalie said.
Richard dialled Kyle’s number as she led him towards the house. “There,” he said. “It’s ringing.”
Natalie could hear it.
Richard looked at her. “Natalie, why is the ground ringing?”
Sweat dripped down her face.
“I can explain,” she said.
But, somehow, she doubted it.
Blue Ice
Nobody would have died later if I had not answered Stephen’s call. Unfortunately, when he left a mysterious message on my machine, I had not heard from him in ten years, so curiosity made me call him back. He sounded incredibly pleased to hear
my voice and, before I knew what had happened, he started reminiscing about the good times we’d had at Oxford, times I remembered differently.
We had been Oxford Blues in a year when Cambridge won the boat race by six boat lengths, a humiliation I’d tried to forget. Stephen and I had trained together for several months, but I had never really considered him a friend because our backgrounds were too different. Like many of the crew that year, he had been born rich and had gone to private schools, but I had earned my university place by studying hard at a comprehensive school where you were lucky to avoid the drug dealers lurking outside the school’s gates. The only things we’d had in common back then was the ability to row like maniacs and drink twelve pints without throwing up, a feat that had impressed the female students more than the rowing. Stephen fondly recalled our student days as though they’d just happened yesterday. He made them sound much more exciting than they’d really been. I mostly remembered my student debts had been over £15,000 when I graduated. He had probably spent that on booze in one term.
I should have known the nostalgia was leading up to something else, but I didn’t suspect a thing when Stephen invited me to lunch while he was in London attending a science conference. He had something important to discuss, but he would not say what on the phone.
“Naturally lunch will be on me,” he added, when he sensed my reluctance. “Don’t turn me down. I haven’t seen you in ten years, old chap.”
Old chap? I hated it when he called me that. He lived in another century. He was lucky he couldn’t see my face.
“Will you come?” he said.
I thought of the free lunch.
“Okay,” I said. I could put up with him for an hour. I did want to know why he wanted to see me so urgently.
I met him in the restaurant of a hotel where I wouldn’t have been able to afford a glass of water. He was sporting an expensively tailored suit and an old school tie. He ordered lunch, including a £400 bottle of wine. Stephen told me he had become the Head of Geology at his old college. Eventually, he got around to telling me the reason for his call. He explained he needed people willing to spend up to two years on a well-funded international research project. They needed a doctor for practical and insurance reasons, but he had been unable to find a qualified volunteer among his peers. Then he had remembered me.
“It’s the opportunity of a lifetime,” he said.
“What’s the catch?”
“There’s only one – it’s in Antarctica.”
“Antarctica?”
“Don’t panic. We’ll be living in a state-of-the-art base. We’ll be going off on scientific expeditions equipped with the very latest technology. If you accept my offer, you’ll be specially trained in skills such as rock climbing and skiing as well as be given crash courses in a wide range of sciences. Naturally, my sponsors will pay all expenses. Your salary will be generous, old chap.”
It sounded like a paid holiday. All I had to do was say yes.
I was reluctant to give up my practice for two years – but Stephen persuaded me with his boundless enthusiasm. My life had become boring and lonely since my divorce from Kate. I was stuck in a rut. I needed a challenge.
I said yes.
*
Eight days later, I flew to New York to meet my American comrades, who included a married couple called Laurence and Allison Edwards. They both welcomed me into the group, thanking me for replacing Dr Maloni on such short notice. Seeing my puzzlement, they explained that Dr Maloni had been my predecessor until he had a climbing accident resulting in a broken leg. They’d needed a quick replacement for him, which was news to me. Stephen had led me to believe I was not his last resort. I soon learnt that everyone else knew each other well, which made me feel like an interloper. Stephen had shanghaied me and it was too late to back out.
Luckily, I made friends with Laurence and Allison during our cold-weather survival training in Alaska. Laurence had an IQ of 185 and liked showing off his intellect. The man knew everything about everything. He had more degrees than a circle. He was a rangy mid-Westerner with craggy features and an abundance of snow-white hair. His wife had been his teaching assistant until they married last summer in Hawaii. She was of average height, but she looked like a child in comparison. Her green eyes sparkled with intelligence behind small-framed glasses, making her look like a sexy librarian. There was at least a twenty-year age difference, but they seemed very much in love, holding hands like newlyweds.
A retired SAS captain called Tom McGuire taught the survival course. Tom’s gruff face was set in a perpetual scowl, even when he was in a good mood, which was rare. He was coming on the Antarctic expedition and expected everyone to pull their own weight. He gave everybody a grim book to read about Captain Scott and his tragic expedition to the South Pole. For two weeks, we learnt how to pitch tents, make fires and dig emergency igloos. Tom constantly warned the real thing could be a hundred times tougher. Three people failed the fitness tests, losing their positions on the research team, but I passed.
A week later, I found myself on a helicopter bound for Antarctica, half-wondering if I had lost my mind. When the doors opened, revealing my first sight of the research base, I knew I had.
I saw plenty of snow and ice as I had expected, but the pristine Antarctica of my imagination was spoiled in reality by ugly corrugated metal buildings, prefabricated outhouses and the overpowering stench of kerosene. The base looked like modern art: lots of weirdly shaped objects bristling with strange protuberances. They were satellite receivers and transmitters.
Stephen had not lied about the base being state-of-the-art, but he had definitely not prepared me for the spartan accommodation. My room was as small as a prison cell, windowless, with none of the luxuries normally afforded inmates. There wasn’t even a TV. A military contractor had provided everything necessary to live for years without contact with the outside world, but few of the comforts of home. A tiny recreation room contained a well-worn pool table, dartboard and ancient pinball machine – to be shared between a hundred people. The place reminded me of a grimly cheerful holiday camp.
I soon discovered my duties would keep me on the base, rendering my outdoor survival training superfluous. I’d rarely be allowed further than the helicopter pad delivering supplies from McMurdo. Every day, I watched the others go out on snowmobiles wishing I could join them. At first I suspected Stephen was holding a grudge for something - but it was just how it was done. As the doctor, I was needed on the base for treating the regular but minor injuries sustained as a natural result of working in a hostile environment.
Initially, it was interesting work. In my general practice, I had never treated any cases of frostbite or hypothermia. Here I treated several patients in my first week. But it quickly lost its originality. Over time, I became so proficient at treating my patients my daily case load barely filled an hour. (Not a problem I’d had when I was a GP.) There were weeks and weeks when the worst I had to deal with was a bad cold. I had too much free time and little to do. The boredom was endless. I daydreamed of leaving, but knew my contract imprisoned me.
Then everything changed.
One day, Allison Edwards limped into my surgery with a suspected broken ankle.
“I twisted the stupid thing coming off my skis,” she said. “It’s really hurting. Will I need to go back to civilisation, Doc?”
She sounded as if she wanted that more than I did. But on X-raying her foot, I saw it wasn’t broken.
“Fortunately it’s just badly sprained.”
“Unfortunately, you mean. I was kind of hoping I could have some time off on a sunny beach. I’m originally from San Diego. I miss the weather. Where did you say you’re from?”
“London. Rain capital of the world. I don’t miss that weather.”
She smiled and I marvelled at the quality of American dentistry. Her teeth were perfectly aligned, unlike my own British teeth. “So ... what do I do about my ankle?”
“Keep your weight off i
t and put ice on the swelling.”
“Ice, huh? No shortage of that around here.”
I unlocked the medicine cabinet and took out some painkillers. “These are strong stuff. Just take two every four hours. Don’t operate any heavy machinery.”
“Yeah, right. Like my husband would let me do anything exciting.” She was grimacing with the effort of standing up on her good leg. “You know what?”
“What?” I said.
“I wish I hadn’t come here. Antarctica was my husband’s dream. Laurence wanted me to join him, so I did. Two years apart seemed too long. But ever since we got here, he’s done nothing but criticise me. He’s always telling me to hurry up – which was why I hurt my ankle today, trying to keep up with him, the expert skier. Nothing I do is ever good enough for ‘The Professor’. I used to admire his brilliant mind, but it’s a burden being married to a genius. He wants everything perfect, but I’m not. I forget things and made mistakes. Unlike him. Sometimes I wish we’d never ...”
She did not finish the sentence, but I saw the sadness in her eyes. She looked close to tears.
“Uh, Allison, I’m free this afternoon. We could have a laugh at a DVD?”
“I’d like that,” she said.
*
During Allison’s recovery, her husband left on a two-week expedition. It was the first time she had been out of his company for longer than a day since their wedding. We spent a lot of time getting to know each other better. Our time together did me as much good as it did Allison. I had been feeling depressed and lonely, but she made me feel alive again. I enjoyed her company so much I missed her when I was working. I thought about her obsessively, imagining us together. I knew it was a mistake thinking like that because she was married - but I could not help myself. I was falling in love against my will.
