Belonging: Two hearts, two continents, one all-consuming passion. (Victoria in Love Book 1)

by Isabella Wiles

  “I’ve been thinking. The lease is almost up on the house in Wootton Basset, and I think Mel wants to move on. We’re not as close as we used to be, at least not since you and I got together. I don’t think the past year has been particularly easy on her. Think about it. Her little brother shows up, ends up shagging her roommate… and then they all live happily ever after. I think she’s had enough of us all living under one roof, and I don’t blame her. In the past when I would have turned to her for companionship and support, I obviously turn to you now and she’s fiercely independent. I sense she’s looking for a get-out clause and wants to try another city - make her next move.”

  “OK, I’m listening. So what do you suggest?”

  “Three things actually, but it kinda depends on what you think.”

  “Go on,” I encourage.

  “Well, with my skills and the experience I now have in business travel, I reckon I could more or less walk into any job in the sector. I was thinking we should move up to London. I would look for another, more senior role on hopefully more money. I don’t think I’ll have to change companies, we have plenty of accounts in the capital. I was thinking I’ll need to pop home when I get back anyway and then I can borrow mum’s computer and put my CV together, then I’ll have a chat with Human Resources, see what opportunities maybe kicking about. And if there’s nothing suitable then I’ll look for ways to register with some recruitment agencies.”

  “OK, sounds sensible. So that’s point one.”

  “Being based in London would be easier for you to get trains and stuff as you zip about the country hunting out cars - if that’s what you decide to keep doing. It would mean we need to find somewhere where to live, just you and me.”

  “Like a proper old married couple,” I say, my heart flipping over at the thought of having Vicky all to myself all day – every day.

  “Like we aren’t one already!” she says smiling. “I was thinking I would ask Michelle if I could lodge with her in the short-term, until you get back to the UK, whenever that is, and then we can look for somewhere to live together. But it’s a big ask with the baby coming. However, she’s got a good four or five months to go before the baby is born, so that should give you enough time to get back to Blighty, me enough time to find a transfer at work and then enough time for us both to find somewhere new to live… which brings me onto point two. When you get back I think we should open a joint bank account. I’ve been looking into the options for residency.”

  “Have you?” I sit up in pleasant surprise at this new information. Before now, we’ve never discussed the possibility of Vicky coming to live in New Zealand permanently - for all the reasons she’s just stated, although it’s obviously been hanging in the air between us. So to learn that she’s independently been researching this possibility is fantastic news.

  “Yes, I sent off for an information pack from New Zealand House just before I came out here. Now don’t be getting ahead of yourself, Chris,” she warns gently, tempering my enthusiasm, “there’s still a mountain of obstacles to overcome before I would ever consider moving here permanently - not least the distance it would put between me and my family. You have to appreciate your family is bigger and used to being spread all around the world. It’s hard enough that I’ve moved from the north of the UK to the south but if there ever comes a point that we need to prove the length of our relationship, we’ll need hard documentation, and bank statements are a good starting point.”

  “I know. Good idea.”

  “Yes, I’m not sure how I feel about actually living in London though. It’s a bit like coming here. Great for a visit, but I have no idea how it will be living and working there permanently. I suspect very, very different and very, very expensive. And other than Tim and your sister we don’t know anyone.”

  “Well that doesn’t worry me. I’m used to travelling and meeting new people all the time.”

  “Yes, but meeting people in London is different - it’s not a friendly place, Chris. I think I could be quite lonely and I have a feeling the lack of space will get to us both - but if we don’t try we’ll never know.”

  “Indeed,” I say in reply. My mind attempts to form a picture of what it would be like to live in amongst the noise and chaos of London. I suspect challenging. I’m an outdoor person and Vicky grew up in a small village with lots of space all around. Lying now together in the undulating dunes, the only people for miles around, one of my hands stroking the soft cool sand beside me, the other wrapped protectively around Vicky, the sound of the waves perforating the blackness and the uninterrupted view of the black star studded sky above, it’s almost impossible to imagine what it will be like for both of us to be living in the massive metropolis on the other side of the world, where car horns and sirens blare all day and night long. Auckland’s population of around 800,000 feels overcrowded to me, so my brain simply can’t comprehend how it would be to live alongside 8.5 million people. However, everything Vicky has suggested seems to be the most logical plan for us at the moment. “So what was your third point?” I ask.

  “Well, I’ve always wanted to visit the states. And when I mean ‘the states’, I don’t mean go and see Mickey Mouse at Disney in Florida or a long weekend city break to New York. I’ve always wanted to see the country properly by driving along Route 66 from one coast to the other. It’s been a big dream of mine for a long time - and I wondered how that idea appeals to you?”

  I don’t have to think long before I answer - the restless soul within me jumps for joy. “I think that sounds like a fantastic idea, Vicky.”

  “Well I was thinking. If I can take another step up the career ladder when I go back. I’ll need to give it at least eighteen months to two years in that new role, otherwise it’ll look bad on my CV if I keep hopping from one job to the next. It’ll make me look unreliable. But - and this is the question I have for you - do you think you could make enough income dealing cars for the next year or so to live off AND to save for this trip. We could take off for six months and make the trip of a lifetime - by which time we’ll have at least two years’ worth of ‘evidence’ to prove the length of our relationship, allowing me to apply for residency, if that’s what we decide to do after that.”

  “Well I think it’s a brilliant idea, and yes I will find a way to make enough dough back in the UK - whatever it takes for us to be together, Vicky.”

  She rolls over to look directly at me. I lose myself in the deep emerald green of her eyes that are twinkling widely at the excitement and potential future we’ve just discussed. Her chin resting on my chest, I lean forward and stroke her hair tenderly.

  “No one has ever been as important in my life as you Victoria - I hope you know that. I may not show it all the time and I know I can be a moody bastard at times, but I do love you.”

  “I know, Chris, and I know I can be insecure and needy, but I love you too,” she replies reaching up to kiss me. Our lips connecting, our hot hungry tongues searching each other’s mouths for each other’s passion. She expertly reaches her right hand down the side of my body, her hand sliding back up my inner thigh and inside my shorts, her firm touch seeking out what she desires. I grow rock hard instantly at the anticipation of what’s coming next.

  ***

  The following day after waking at sunrise, unzipping our tent to watch the colours burst across the morning sky whilst snuggled together on the airbed, we pack up our gear and hit the road. The sound of the car radio punctuated only by the rhythmic squeak of the car’s wipers as they struggle to keep up with the rain that bounces off the windscreen, the ‘wet coat’ of the South Island living up to its nickname.

  The west coast is so very different from anywhere else in the country. Lusciously green, covered with a dense thick rainforest and it’s very, very wet. Strong westerly winds laden with moisture from the Tasman Sea are forced to rise up the side of the Southern Alps that run down the spine of the island, causing the heavy vapour to condense into rain, which is measured in this
part of the country not in millimetres but metres! At higher altitudes the rain falls as snow, filling alpine basins and forming glaciers, which is where we’re heading now.

  The rain clears as we park up at Fox’s Glacier visitors’ stop and prepare to tramp the couple or so kilometres from the car park up to the dynamic face of the glacier. The air is crisp and sharply cold, as Vicky and I wrap up extra warm, sitting on the back of the tailgate to put on our walking boots.

  “So does the name of this place have anything to do with the famous mint sweets?” Vicky asks.

  “Err no,” I can’t help but laugh in response, “I think you’ll find it is named after one of our early Prime Ministers, when New Zealand was still a British colony. I can’t say I paid much attention to this type of stuff at school, but I seem to remember he was called Sir William Fox, and I believe he came originally from your neck of the woods.” The fuzzy details surfacing from somewhere deep in my brain. The relevance of the facts only now connecting together. “Yeah, born somewhere in the north east of England and educated at Durham School and then Oxford, I think.”

  “Durham School!” she exclaims, “that was the boys’ school just around the corner from where I went to school. God it’s amazing how connected the world all is. Who’d have thought it? I’m about to go and walk on a glacier on one side of the world, named after a bloke who was born in my part of the world. That’s completely bonkers!”

  It takes us a couple of hours to make the rugged walk from the car park to the mouth of the glacier. The depth of the landscape is unbelievably deceptive. The perfect crystal formation of the slowly moving slab of blue/grey ice that travels the twelve or so kilometres on its journey from the summit in the alps, carving its route into the hard rock and down to the rainforest below, causes a constant trick of the eye. Stepping carefully across the boulders and scree of the lunar-like landscape, the glacier beckons you forward, making you believe she’s only a few hundred or so paces in front of you, when in fact she remains kilometres away. Only when we eventually reach the cave opening of the Fox river that flows out from the mouth of this ice-giant, are you able to appreciate the size and magnitude of this dramatic pre-historic ice flow.

  “Wow,” is all Vicky can say when we finally reach the glacier face. “I can honestly say I’ve never been anywhere like this before. It’s unbelievable.”

  “I know. It makes you appreciate that we really are tiny insignificant ants that crawl the surface of the earth… and that Mother Nature is the real master of our all our destinies.”

  “Well that’s if we don’t destroy the planet first,” she says honestly.

  “I know. But I think it’s fair to say that this beast will still be here,” I say pointing to the majestic glacier in front of us, “long after we’ve both left this earth.”

  Another half hour drive up Highway 6, lies the second major glacier in the Westland national park, the Franz Josef glacier. Rather than make another three-hour round trip to hike to its mouth we park up and I lead Vicky through the damp dense ferns to the Peter’s Pool vantage point. This small lake, circumnavigated by tall yellow reeds, opens out onto a specular view of the U-shaped valley beyond, the glacier just visible in the distance as it snakes its way down from the heavens. I stand behind Vicky, my arms wrapped around her waist, my chin resting on her left shoulder as I admire the view beyond.

  “I feel like I’m running out of superlatives, Chris. If I was given a finite number each morning I would have used them all up lunchtime. I’ve never visited a country anywhere in the world that is so stunning… and so diverse.”

  Listening to her share her continued wonder at my homeland, I bend forward and kiss the top of her shoulder as I share in her admiration.

  “Your cities, well, I can only comment on Christchurch, obviously, are so quintessentially English, surrounded by acres and acres of arable farming, but the minute you get out of the city everything is so dramatic… and big… and deserted. There’s nobody here. It’s very humbling. It definitely feels like you are a tiny speck on the surface of this massive landscape. I can understand why the Māori have such respect for the land.”

  It’s true, hardly anybody lives on the South Island, so it’s not hard to get off the beaten track and Vicky’s right, there is no one around. I sense my opportunity and seize the moment.

  “There’s only one thing that would make this moment more perfect,” I say, nibbling Vicky’s left ear, my hand reaching round inside her fleece to gently cup her soft breast, my thumb brushing her nipple, which tightens instantly at my touch.

  “You cannot be serious, Chris. Out here? In the open? What if someone catches us?” she protests, although I notice she allows my hand to stay exactly where it is, softly caressing her firm nipple.

  “Then they’ll be jealous,” I say urgently.

  Before she has time to object I bend her forward over the large boulder that is in front us and pull down her shorts, revealing her milky white bottom to the elements.

  “Oh my God, Chris. What are you doing? We can’t do it here!”

  “Oh yes we can,” I say ignoring her protests whilst simultaneously unzipping my fly. I hear her audible gasp as I enter her quickly from behind, my thrusts coming thick and fast as my need to possess her overrides any logic or reason.

  “Oh my God.” I hear the quickening of her breath and the desire in her voice which contradicts what she’s saying. “Chris, we shouldn’t be doing this here. Stop please.”

  Although I can hear Vicky’s objection I’m powerless to stop myself, my need for her is just all consuming.

  “Chris! STOP!” She insists more firmly but still I ignore her. “Chris, there’s someone coming.”

  “I can’t,” I say quickly, “I’m about to come.”

  My climax releases as quickly as my need was to consume her only moments earlier. I pull out of her as quickly as I entered her, just as a line of Japanese tourists, heavy cameras swinging like clock pendants from their necks, break through the heavy ferns to reach the same vantage point.

  Grabbing her hand, we run for cover on the opposite side of the trail. Running away, our clothes dishevelled. I re-zip my shorts as Vicky attempts to run and pull up her pants at the same time. Once out of sight of the tourists she turns to me, half shocked, half laughing.

  “What on earth were you thinking, Chris… you absolute lunatic?”

  “I know. But it was fun, wasn’t it?”

  “For one of us maybe,” she says, one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows raised truthfully.

  I know I’ve overstepped the mark, but I’m not sorry. Vicky belongs to me now, and I can’t help the passion for her that controls me. She should be flattered that my love and passion for her is so uncontrollable.

  ***

  Our faces are so close, I can feel her shallow urgent breath on my skin, her cheeks flushing as her passion rises in aching impatience. It’s our last night together in New Zealand. Vicky’s flight is scheduled to leave early tomorrow morning and we’re doing anything and everything to draw out these last few tender hours together. We’ve not ventured from my bedroom for the past 24 hours, having spent all that time talking, making love, lying in each other’s arms and then making love some more.

  An empty pizza box lies discarded on the side next to our half-drunk glasses of iced water, as we’re wrapped in the crisp cotton sheets off my bed that keep us warm against the cool night air.

  Vicky tilts her head to kiss me greedily, nibbling my bottom lip, insisting I give her tongue access so she can kiss me deeper. Instinctively we kneel up, eagerly closing the gap between us, pressing our hot torsos together, my hard cockhead nudging against her silky moist entrance. Still kissing me she reaches her hands behind me and in one swift movement strips away the cool crisp cotton sheet from my back. I hear her breathe in sharply as her rosy buds grow taut against my chest from the rush of cold air that wraps around us.

  Somewhere in the background I can hear the melody of the massive hit
Pray from the British boyband, Take That, playing on the radio, the gravity of their lyrics spearing my heart. It feels like this song was written for us, it’s meaning resonating so strongly that I wrap my arms even more tightly around my love, as she continues to kiss me. Her tongue exploring my mouth as she devours my passion. The sting of tears prickle at the back of my eyes. Tears of regret, tears of remorse and tears of sadness at yet another imminent separation.

  “All I do each night is pray

  Hopin' that I'll be a part of you again someday.”

  ‘If you can't forgive the past, I'll understand that

  Can't understand why I did this to you

  And all of the days and the nights, oh I'll regret it

  I never showed you my love.’

  Vicky must sense my momentary distraction, my mind having wandered, because she reaches up to my shoulder blades before running her fingernails sharply down my back, pulling me instantly back into the moment. I gasp at the sharpness of the sensation which contrasts so vividly from the softness of her feminine form pressed up against me. All the while the throbbing in my groin intensifies as my passion continues to deepen in my body.

  “Oh Vicky, I love you,” I almost shout. My emotions rushing up from deep within me.

  “I love you too, Chris,” she says leaning her cheek against my chest, finally breaking our kiss momentarily. I run my fingers through her long blonde hair that flows over her slender shoulders and down the pale white skin of her back, releasing a clean smell of strawberries and coconut which I inhale deeply, wanting to commit this smell along with every other detail to memory. I must imprint every intricacy of her in my mind, so I can recall these memories on the long lonely nights that stretch out in front of us like a dark never-ending tunnel.

  She reaches for me again, her hand gently stroking up the inside of my thigh coming to rest between my legs, tenderly fondling me before grasping my shaft enthusiastically. I grow firmer still in response to her eager touch, the pleasure and pulsations rising higher and higher. She pushes me firmly this time, back onto the sheets behind me, leaving a trail of tender kisses down my chest, running her tongue down over the flat ‘v’ of my taut stomach.