To Murder Matt

by Viveca Benoir

  “I’ll need you to do all the paperwork and I will sign it. If you can get the contract to me tomorrow say, then I can start on other deals you might be able to help me on.”

  Dean nodded, and then waited a moment as the waiter brought their starters. When the waiter had left he said, “I’ll fax and email a copy, but I’ll need to send you the originals by registered courier. If you can, sign those and return them to the courier? It can all be sorted by end of tomorrow.”

  “Good, I like to do business with decisive people. I can’t stand working with ditherers.”

  The conversation drifted from topic to topic and covered a wide range of interesting subjects.

  Dean watched Matt closely. The more he spoke, the more Dean decided that he didn’t like him at all. He was a brash guy, and the way he discussed a woman he had recently met, told him he was not a gentleman. He had told Dean that he planned to use her to advance his career. She was from a wealthy family and that this was all he was interested in. Dean added Matt’s awful confession to his list of mental dislikes about Matt. He hardly knew the man and yet here he was, talking to him as though the poor woman was a possession and not a person. It almost seemed as though Matt needed to share his sordid little conquest. He totally lacked discretion and Dean felt sorry for the woman, whoever she was.

  After lunch, Dean made his way to pick Ellen up from work. He had been to her general offices on numerous occasions, but had never seen her own new larger office within the building since she had been promoted. He whistled as he walked around her impressive desk towards her. She stood up and smiled as he leant forward for a polite hello kiss. Despite the fact he had known her all his life, his eyes still travelled over her body and admired the view. He inhaled her light fragrance as her cheek brushed his and felt a sudden surge of emotion.

  “You are looking more gorgeous every time I meet you, young lady.” She smiled coyly at first and then a broad grin spread across her face.

  “Is that a compliment, or are you telling me I normally look dreadful?”

  “No, of course not. I didn’t mean it like that! It was a simple compliment.” He looked momentarily out of his depth and uncomfortable in her presence. She was still smiling which didn’t help.

  “Are you ready or shall I wait?” He said quickly, wanting to change the topic and ease his discomfort. He walked across the room and stared fixedly at a painting on the wall whilst his embarrassment faded. Ellen softened, and walked across the room towards him.

  “Nope, I’m ready. I brought my clothes with me.” She motioned to a small case over in the corner of the room. He picked it up as she put her coat on and they headed through the door silently.

  In the car, as one of his favourite CDs was playing, he allowed himself to relax into driving and the music. Classical always soothed him when he drove. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she pressed the button and the seat lowered her into a comfortable position. She closed her eyes and lay quietly as he drove through the twisty and packed streets of London. For the first time ever, Dean had the almost uncontrollable urge to kiss her. If he wasn’t British, he thought, he would have done. She opened her eyes and caught him looking at her, and he hurriedly looked away.

  “I thought you were asleep. I was just checking you were all right.” He looked back to the road.

  “No, just relaxing,” she said.

  “Good, that’s what we want.” He smiled and she closed her eyes again. They travelled the rest of the way in a comfortable silence and eventually Ellen had fallen into a deep sleep. Once or twice, Dean’s hand had brushed her leg as he changed gear, but she had not stirred. She awoke just as they were pulling into his driveway and he was stopping.

  “Oh my God, I slept all the way! I’m sorry Dean!”

  “No worries. You obviously needed it.”

  She stepped out of the car, as he got her small case from the boot. They walked up to the door together and just as they reached the top step, the door swung open, held open by Anne, the housekeeper. She stood aside and let them enter.

  “Evening Anne.”

  “Evening Sir. Hello again, Miss Ellen.”

  “Hello Anne, nice to see you again, it’s been a while.”

  “Yes Miss.”

  “Anne, could you kindly show Miss Woodward to her room please?”

  “Yes sir, I prepared the Jewel room. I’ll arrange for George to bring up the luggage.”

  “Good.” Dean turned to Ellen “I hope you’ll like it, I’ve had it decorated since you were last here, don’t be put off by the name. It was done by one of London’s leading interior designers or so they tell me. A room is a room to me I’m afraid. If you wish to freshen up before dinner, feel free. I thought we could go for a drink in the local. If you fancy it?”

  “Oh yes, that would be lovely.” She turned and followed Anne up the stairs.

  Dean watched her. Her hips swayed provocatively under the jersey silk of her dress. Dean turned away. What was happening to him? He’d known her for years. All of a sudden it was as if he was seeing her for the first time. He was seeing her naked with her hair tousled after hours of passionate lovemaking, her face a delicate pink from the aftermath of sexual excitement, her lips parted and waiting for his repeated kisses. He turned and walked into his study, poured himself a whiskey, raised the glass to his lips and drank it in one gulp. It warmed as it touched the sides of his throat. He poured another. The door opened and Ellen stood, the light framing her body, making her dress appear sheer. He raised the glass and drank again.

  “Anything the matter?”

  “No, not at all. Ready?” He said gruffly.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought we would go to my local, it has a lovely ambience. Real ale with a pull handle.” She laughed.

  “I would rather a glass of wine.”

  “Of course.” He relaxed a little as the whiskey mellowed him. “It’s only a short stroll.”

  On the way to the pub, Ellen slipped her arm in his. His pulse quickened and thudded in his groin. She was unaware of the effect she was having on him and chatted away happily. He could only murmur and nod in agreement in between the pauses.

  Sat in the quiet olde world pub, she continued to talk animatedly, her hands emphasizing various points of the conversation. He wanted to silence her with kisses, to feel his lips upon hers, to feel his hand sliding down the material of her dress and feel the silky smoothness of her warm skin.

  “Are you alright?” She interrupted his thoughts. “You’re awfully quiet. Am I boring you?”

  “No I was listening.” He was glad she hadn’t asked for his opinion, as he hadn’t heard a word. His thoughts had certainly not been on her conversation. His thoughts returned to her skin, it would be pale pink, soft and inviting to his touch. Her nipples would be a dusky pink and the tips would harden the moment he touched her. He would take one in his mouth and lightly tickle its tip with his tongue. She would moan and pull him closer to her. He would-

  “Are you sure you’re ok?”

  “Yes why?”

  “You looked miles away.”

  “I was, sorry.” She looked momentarily hurt as he spoke, “I’m sorry, I haven’t been very good company, have I? Maybe we should go back?”

  “Ok.” She finished her drink and stood up. He followed her, ensuring that he avoided looking at her swaying hips. Near the house, he felt compelled to take her arm. She turned and looked up at him. Moonlight shone on her hair.

  “Look Ellie, there was a specific reason for me inviting you down this weekend.”

  “Oh?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about something, but I don’t think this is the right time.” He looked around, “or place.” They were standing in a dark empty road. A cloud moved over the moon and took away the remaining light leaving them as two dark figures in the pitch black. A car came around the corner and the headlights temporarily blinded them. He pulled her to him as the car sped by, its horn beeping. They were left
once more in the darkness. He looked down at her, as the cloud moved away from the moon and she was once again bathed in its silvery light. He saw her face turned up towards him in fright. He lowered his head and kissed her full on the lips, she trembled and pulled back sharply.

  “Dean! What are you doing?” She pulled herself away.

  “Sorry, it was an impulse.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Try and control your impulses in future! You can’t go around kissing everybody like that!”

  ‘I don’t want to kiss everybody like that, just you!’ His thoughts answered.

  “No.” he answered soberly. He started walking and she followed.

  The house was quiet when they returned. Both Anne and George had retired for the evening and in their own quarters.

  “Would you like to join me for a drink in the study? I would like to talk to you.”

  Ellen hesitated.

  “No, if you don’t mind, I would rather go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight Dean.”

  Dean knew that he was being gently chastised for his earlier actions, and so did not push her further, and went into his study alone. The whiskey decanter glinted in the light of the lamp, rainbow lights from the crystal, sending beams of momentary colour as he walked towards it. The amber liquid invited him to drink it. He poured himself a generous glass. What on earth had he been thinking? He could have jeopardised everything. What if she didn’t return his affections? He could lose her friendship. He could lose her entirely.

  He went to take a sip from his glass and was surprised to find his glass empty. He poured another drink and took the bottle back to his seat by the fire. How was he going to be close to her, without touching her, without telling her?

  Her laughing face filled his mind, her wispy chestnut hair catching the breeze as she laughed and her emerald green eyes sparkling with joy. He drank the contents of his glass and refilled it. Now she was lying on the bed, holding her arms out to him, inviting him to join her, begging him. He stood up and the vision in his mind’s eye vanished. He was aching with longing, and in anger and frustration, he threw his glass into the fireplace where it shattered into small pieces. Staggering back into the hallway, he switched off the light and stumbled up the wide staircase. At the top, he could see light emanating from her room. She had not closed her door properly and it was shining across the landing. He stood outside and looked into the gap. Her room was empty, and as he opened the door wider, he heard the sound of running water coming from the ensuite bathroom. Unable to stop himself he crept into her room. He stood with his back against the wall and leant forward. Her back was towards him, she was naked. Her hair was tied up and wisps had escaped and fell to her shoulders. She was just stepping into the shower. She groaned as the warm jets of water splashed over her. Dean held his breath for fear of making a sound. His heart thudded throughout his body.

  She started to soap herself, her hands smoothing the soap lather all over her skin. ‘Oh how he wanted to do that for her. How he would love to feel her in his hands, her skin against his.’ She began to wash her breasts, a circular almost massaging movement. Rivulets of water ran between them and as she washed her nipples, Dean had to stop watching. He backed away and left her room. Outside he took a deep breath. She had turned him into a voyeur, a ‘peeping Tom’ in his own house. He went to his room, prepared for bed and lay there replaying the scene, over and over again in his mind. Every time, he imagined a different scene involving her with him and his fantasies. He climaxed several times alone, but each time, he called her name as he came.

  Dean had spent most of the night awake; he had been so aroused that it was impossible for him to sleep. Her room was only paces away. He had imagined her, lying in sweet scented nakedness between the sheets, only a few feet from him. He knew that only walls and family traditions consisting of honour, duty and valour, separated them.

  In the morning, the sun shone into his room through a gap in the heavy burgundy velvet curtains and lit up the dark wood panelling that lined the wall. He got out of bed and walked over to the window. He opened the curtains. Clear blue skies told him it would be a fabulous day for sailing. He thought of his yacht and having Ellie with him; the mere thought of her gave him an erection and he had to wait a few moments before he could go to the toilet. He showered and dressed, and went downstairs to the breakfast room. Anne had prepared the normal full breakfast, which was placed in the usual silver trays on the side. He helped himself to salmon and soufflé scrambled eggs. He heard the door open and looked over to see Ellen entering. She was wearing a pale green silk dress that draped over her curves. He felt an erection forming and mentally went through the seventeen times table, and felt it subside.

  “Morning.”

  “Morning,” she responded.

  “Help yourself to whatever.” He gestured towards the silver trays. “Anne will be through in a minute, so if there is anything you want, but don’t see, just ask her. I’m sure she will be happy to make it for you.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled and Dean went to sit at the head of the table. The sun was shining through the window and fell across the table, highlighting the flowers in the centre that were opening their blossoms and were releasing a heady perfume, which filled the room. He was reminded of the scent of Ellen’s shower gel the night before. He glanced up at her as she was just taking her food and putting it on her plate. Her back was to him and her hair was down and as she was moving, her hair fell in gentle shiny layers, layers that he wanted to crush in his hands and inhale her scent from. His eyes dropped to her bottom. A few hours ago, he had seen their naked firmness in the shower, the water running over the smooth roundness. He felt another erection forming and coughed. She turned around and he quickly looked down at his scrambled eggs. She came and sat next to him.

  “I thought we could go sailing today.” She smiled as he spoke.

  “Do I need to change?”

  He made the pretence of looking at her clothes as though he hadn’t noticed them before.

  “No, what you are wearing is fine. I shan’t expect you to do anything, but relax.” He drank his coffee and stood up to leave. “I’ll see you in the entrance hall in say, an hour? Is that long enough to do whatever you need?”

  “Yes fine, thanks.”

  At the marina, she waited on the docks by his yacht as he spoke to a neighbouring yacht owner. He realized she was waiting and turned to her.

  “Go on board, Jose will help you. Oh, no, I gave him the day off. Just a minute.” He turned back to the man, said his polite goodbyes and then stepped onto the gently bobbing yacht. He turned back and reached out his hand for her. She reached out her hand and, as he felt her hand touch his, he felt an electric bolt travel up his arm. In his surprise, his arm involuntarily jerked back and she almost let go and lost her balance, but he caught her. His arms were now holding her and their faces were close. Her eyes were looking at him so deeply, that he was locked into her gaze. It was as though time had stopped for that instant. Above them, a seagull swooped down screeching noisily. He relaxed his grip, and she moved away looking as confused as he felt.

  The yacht started to move gracefully through the water. Outside the harbour, Dean opened the throttle of the onboard engine. Ellen stood by him as the boat started to increase her speed, the bow cutting through the waves, the beautiful ocean parting for their passage. Ellen’s hair trailed behind her and was flicked up with the breeze. Dean was in wonder at her; she looked splendid, so natural by his side. It was exhilarating to watch her happiness.

  At the same time, Dean was unaware that she had been looking at him, watching the wind ruffling his hair, and that she had also looked at his blue eyes squinting against the horizon. Her thoughts were solely about how handsome he was and how she admired him. He always looked so alive at the helm. He belonged there. He was meant to be the man of the sea. Him united with his true love. He looked and smiled at her, said something, but the wind whisked away his words. He laughed and sh
ook his head, signalling they would speak later.

  Without warning the boat engine suddenly stopped. Dean had slowed the throttle and the yacht slowed to a gentle bobbing as he cut the motor. The only sound, was the relaxing lapping of the waves against the sides of the boat.

  “The whole point of sailing is to enjoy the peace and quiet.” He flicked the hair out of his eyes. “This way.”

  Ellen followed him inside the cabin. Inside it was deceptively spacious. Nearest the door was the galley, consisting of all mod cons and cupboards of polished mahogany. The floor was polished to a gleam and brass fitments shone from around the cabin complimenting the luxurious interior décor.

  “Would you like a drink? How about a G & T?”

  Ellie sank into a thick comfortable chair and nodded. He turned towards the cabinet in the wall and pulled out a couple of glasses that had been secured inside. He poured a large measure into them, a splash of tonic and a few ice cubes. He smiled as he thought that the splash should really be called a sniff of tonic.

  He sat down beside her and passed her the gin. She sipped and went beet red.

  “You were saying you wanted to talk to me Dean. What did you want to discuss?”

  “Ah. I wanted to offer you a job working with me. I am thinking of expanding and diversifying my operations.”

  “But I am not even in your line of business Dean. Did you want me to publish a magazine for your company, or give you contacts to prepare your brochures, or something? That I can do, but you wouldn’t need me to do it for you on a permanent basis, because once you have your marketing collaterals in place, they can last for years, if done properly.”

  “No, no, not that at all. I have people for that. I have an agency that handles all that side of the business. I have a specific role in mind for you.”

  “Oh? What?”

  “Well, it depends...”

  “On what?” Ellen was perplexed.

  “On you.”

  “On me?”

  “Of course, what you would want to earn and do; that sort of thing.”