Neil awoke to a sensation akin to maggots burrowing through his brain. He felt moist, almost sticky, and his eyes refused to function. He lay on his side on something soft, yet not entirely comfortable. The air around him was heavy and aromatic, and he was sure he was sandwiched between a pair of objects. He tried to look down to his chest, but the mire of his mind would not clear enough for his vision to recover to more than vague swirls.
What the hell happened?
Neil tried to go back to his last memory. Wordy coming back from the bar. However, was it the first time? The memory was weird. In one scene, it was just him and Dawn sitting in the booth, but as Wordy arrived back, he was sure Bancombe was sitting to his right. However, Artimus had left to go retrieve Bancombe from the vaults, had he not?
A pain, one that seemed to creep up his spine, drag itself across his skull, and then explode against his temples snarled through him. He let out a growl and tried to drag a hand to his head, but failed. The arm was trapped beneath something, and he had to give it a pair of firm yanks before it would free.
“Ooh, careful.” said a playful, potentially foreign female voice.
Neil squinted through a single eye and tried to discern the shape no more than few inches from him. White, rounded, with flowing hair. He reached out his hand to touch the shape, as a sensual groan issued out at his contact.
“You’re not horny again are you?” the voice whispered, as the naked form at the end of his fingertips writhed to his touch. “You have some stamina, I’ll give you that.”
Neil took stock of his predicament. Was he in bed with someone? If so, who the hell was it?
As he thought, sensations slowly returned. He felt chilled down one side, and could tell he was clearly naked. As if trying to distract him, the figure in front of him wriggled back a few inches, rubbing her exposed buttocks against his crotch and letting out another contented sigh.
Whatever had happened, it was clear he had done a good job of it. However, before his mind could fill with ego-laden pride, he felt an arm reach over his back and drape across him, teasingly slapping the person to his front.
“Jesus you two! Give it a rest. Some of us are trying to sleep.”
As soon as the second voice spoke, every sense Neil possessed jumped into overdrive. His vision returned, his sense of smell became acute, and his hearing began to pick out even the faintest sounds. Almost at the beginnings of shock induced trembling, he turned his head to look over his shoulder. There, snuggling into his back and naked as the day she was born, Dawn Hartley lay.
Neil bolted, smashing his head into something hard only a foot above him and letting out a low groan.
“Watch yourself Neil!” giggled Dawn, bemoaning being disturbed. “The back of this limo doesn’t have that much room.”
Not knowing what was happening, Neil reached up, fumbled for the handle of the door he was next to, and pulled himself out. Staring back into the vehicle, he could see Dawn grab the other girl and drag her close, both laying in the wide foot well in the back of one of Artimus’ limos.
“In or out Neil, but close the door, you’re letting a chill in.” said Dawn, without opening her eyes, gently kissing the neck of the woman who she was now spooning with.
Neil gawped, his experience at a loss as to what to do. Dawn, a woman who was so perfect she made him daydream was sleeping naked with a girl right in front of him. Moreover, it was clear that sexual activity had taken place between them all, a fact backed up by his unmistakably pungent aroma. Embarrassed and overjoyed in equal measure, he reached into the cabin, grabbed his pants, shirt, and shoes from the back seat, and closed the door.
Stood outside, his naked form on the verge of shivering, he dressed as best he could and looked around.
The garage in which the limo was parked was immense. Looking more like a hay barn, it stretch a good fifty meters to either side of the vehicle. The limo sat in a long line of vehicles of every ilk. Bentleys, Rolls Royce’s, Lamborghinis, a couple of classic Jaguars, and one of every type of Aston Martin drew away from him in rows. There must have been twenty million pounds worth.
To the rear of the car, arch-topped, slatted wooden gates allowed meagre threads of sunlight to drift in, casting their dust swirled ambience across the automotive display, and giving the space a semblance of serenity.
If sunlight was coming through, then it was probable for this time of year it was well after seven in the morning. Neil checked his wrist, cursing that his watch was doubtlessly still in the car somewhere.
It was time to seek assistance. If they were in Artimus’ limo, it was fair to assume this was also his residence. It was therefore reasonable to suppose he was around somewhere.
Spying a set of stone steps leading to a door on one edge of the garage, Neil set off.
When he arrived, Neil’s state of physical disrepair was hideously apparent. He felt like he had just completed a marathon. His legs, where thigh met knee, stung like hell and his shoulders were verging on exhaustion. He could feel the sweat dripping from his brow after even this short walk and was sure his buttocks were seconds from cramping. Breathing heavily, he opened the door and strode outside.
Leaving the barn, Neil climbed a slight incline and could see a hillside falling away on all sides. Knowelsley Manor, if that was where he was, sat to the lip of a natural amphitheatre just down the slope to his right. It was truly, astoundingly immense. Probably a good two-hundred meters in length and comprising of five stories, its limestone edifice dominated the vista. Faced by a huge fountain and draped in the dissipating shawl of morning mist filtering down into its resplendent acreage, the manor, if indeed it was not a palace, looked as timelessly aged as Artimus himself.
Neil stared, his mind stilled in awe, as he traced the gravel driveway from the frontage and off across the land before it. Rolling hills, copses of trees, and three lakes, the drive passed them all as it wove its way toward an imposing gate on the periphery of vision; perhaps a good mile and a half away.
As Neil descended the grass verge and crunched his way across gravel, an older man stepped from the entrance to the house and made his way over.
The man was probably in his late sixties, with a balding mop of black hair and an expensive looking tweed jacket. He wore white gloves and patent leather shoes, and his expertly ironed trousers were seamed in a fashion that made Neil smile. It was clearly an attendant; probably the man Artimus said was his head butler.
“Frederick, I assume.” said Neil, walking toward him and extending a hand.
“Indeed.” said Frederick, looking down his nose at the offer. “Would sir like to partake of some form of sanitation after his exploits, before he attempts to smear his dried essences over all and sundry?”
“My my,” said Neil, unable to resist, “I always assumed Artimus’ curt nature was of his own making. It appears it’s a trait of this place.”
“This place, sir,” said Frederick, his voice a soothing, aristocratic, Middle English thrum, “has been my home since I was born. Treat it with respect or you will find my job here extends far beyond pleasantries.”
If the words were given in threat, it was difficult for Neil to tell. Frederick’s features were so stoically expressionless it was as if his face had been bronzed for posterity.
“The guest washrooms are this way. Mister Crane has requested some clothes be laid out for you to change into. I shall have your current attire seen to.”
“Just a light wash will be fine Frederick.” said Neil, striding toward the entrance. “There’s no need to go dry cleaning them.”
“I was thinking more incineration, sir.” said Frederick, following behind.
Half an hour later, dressed in a navy three piece whose woollen manufacture was so skilled he could not even feel a seam on the garment anywhere, Neil was ushered into a grotesquely huge dining room.
A table, a good ten meters of hardwood, stretched from one end of the room to the other. Forty chairs faced the table, and dressers, serving tables,
high backs, and loungers were interspersed round the edges of a room that could easily have contained four such tables including seating spaces, with little effort.
At the far end of the table, a series of silver serving trays lay before Artimus, who resided in the head chair with his back to a massive, roaring fire. In one hand was a china teacup, and in the other he held one edge of a broadsheet. “Come in Detective Townsend. I’m sure you are a hungry young man this morning!” He said, waving him over.
Neil cautiously walked down to Artimus, careful to hide his physical ailments as best he could. Grunting slightly as he sat down, he caught the smirk on Artimus face and sighed. “Get it over with.”
“Get what over with dear boy?” said Artimus, placing the paper to his side. “Yesterday evening I saw a side of you I believe you’ve been holding in for far too long Mister Townsend. It is not I who have had anything to get over with.” He looked at Neil with a calm understanding, before motioning for Frederick to join them at the table. “Full English, with all the trimmings Freddy please. In addition, I assume you are a coffee man Neil, so I have had Freddy prepare two of my rarest examples for you. A Hacienda La Esmeralda Reserva, from Boquete in Panama, and my personal favourite, a Luwak from Indonesia.”
Frederick crossed to a dresser and retrieved two large, silver coffee jugs, placing the pair before Neil. Each must have contained a good three litres of coffee.
“You cannot really prepare these sorts of beans in small amounts, so please feel free to drink as much as you want. Due to their rarity, it would be a shame to waste any more than we have to.” said Artimus, returning to his paper and grabbing a slice of toast.
Neil had seen many coffee shops do some very rare and exotic beans, but he had never even heard of the two Artimus was offering him. As a self-confessed aficionado, his curiosity was piqued. “How rare are we talking?” he asked, pouring a cup from one of the jugs.
“The one you are about to taste,” said Artimus, leaning forward to make sure he was correct, “is four hundred pounds a pound.”
Neil nearly spat his first mouthful out, only his knowledge of cost preventing him doing so. The flavour as he swallowed was incredible. Rich, fragrant, deep, with background hints of honey and guava, it lit up his taste buds and forced him into an involuntary growl of delight.
“It is an impressive coffee.” said Artimus, happy his choice was appreciated. “You should continue on that until you have finished your repast. Then you should have a grapefruit juice to clear your palate before trying the other. Trust me. If you thought the Hacienda was good, the Luwak will blow you away.”
It was not until later, just after his breakfast arrived, Neil noticed the table was only set for two.
“Will the girls not be joining us?” he asked, tucking into the delicious fare brought.
“They are being seen to.” said Artimus, gazing through his reading spectacles over the top edge of his paper. “Don’t be getting sentimental on me, it was only one night of passion; I’m sure you will see at least Dawn again at some point. I’m not so sure about Natasha, but one never can tell with these things.”
“Is that her name?” said Neil, laughing. “I had no idea.”
“Oh, good lord.” said Artimus, dropping the paper and slapping his forehead. “The drink and memory thing. You can’t actually remember last night, can you?”
“Not entirely.” said Neil, not making eye contact.
“You are telling me, you cannot remember an evening of drink-fuelled mayhem the like of which I am proud to have been part of, which culminated in you not only sleeping with the woman of your dreams, but the Latvian stripper who happened to wander into the bar near closing time?” said Artimus, stunned.
Neil did not respond. He continued to eat his food, but somehow all the flavour had disappeared.
“Dear oh dear.” said Artimus, still laughing. “Natasha was an animal as well. Fabulous norks too, to say they were real.”
“What the…” said Neil, nearly chocking on a half-eaten bite of sausage. He grabbed a decanter of water, downing a glass, and waiting for his breath to return. “You..?”
“How do you think I got home Neil?” said Artimus, looking puzzled. “I was in the limo with you.”
“You mean you’ve…” said Neil, looking down at his crotch.
“Seen an erect penis.” said Artimus, shrugging. “Yes my boy, I have. Like I said, I went to Oxford.”
“But you’re like sixty-odd.” said Neil, his brain unable to process the information.
“I may be old, and I may have amazing willpower and control Neil, but I’m not a fucking saint!” said Artimus, throwing his hands in the air theatrically. “Latvian - fucking - stripper Neil!” He walked over to the dresser where Frederick still stood, not even blinking as the story was recounted. “Besides, you didn’t seem too bothered, and neither did Dawn. I did do the honourable thing I might add. As soon as I was spent, I left you three to it. So, it’s not like we all didn’t get our mileage out of the situation, is it?”
“Apart from the fact I can’t remember any of it.” said Neil.
“Well, seeing as how you have a problem with there being another man’s tumescent genitalia up close and personal, I would probably say that was for the best.”
“You didn’t do anything with…” said Neil, suddenly realising there was more than him, Artimus, and Natasha in the limo.
“Never touched her in that way Neil, I promise. I’m way more chivalrous than that.” said Artimus, shooing the question away, then pausing. “I may have spanked her a few…”
“Enough!” shouted Neil, covering his ears.
Almost on cue, Dawn’s head peeked into the room, a smile drawing across her face. “Thanks for the change of clothes Artimus.” she said, striding in.
Neil removed the hands from his ears and just stared.
Dawn was wearing a flowing white dress, with a red cord belt, and matching cotton slips. Her hair was tied into a bun, with fine tendrils from the edge of her fringe left to drift down the sides of her face. Her usually contrasted makeup was gone and the subtler shades of natural beauty left in its place, washing her divine skin in soft, pastel hues.
Drawing her gaze from Artimus to Neil, she smiled sweetly, reaching up and pushing one of the stray lengths from her eyes.
If Neil’s heart could melt, it would have been pooling near his feet.
“Are we ok to join you?” she asked, turning and motioning for Natasha to come in.
“Of course.” said Neil, standing and holding the chair next to him out.
Artimus did not snarl, but it was clear from his huff, his answer would have been in direct opposition to Neil’s. “Oh yes, please. Come and join me in my best dining room why don’t you ladies.” he said, narrowing his eyes as he glared at Neil.
Neil remembered their chat from the other day and hung his head. Even Artimus’ lawyers were not allowed in here. This would probably require an apology of some kind.
As Dawn walked over and took the seat offered, Neil could not help but beam. He was sure it was probably the least cool thing he could do, but he simply did not care.
Surprisingly, as she moved into a better position, it appeared she did not take the doe-eyed look too badly, reaching out and taking his hand in hers.
Artimus watched on, shaking his head at the display of affection taking place.
“Nice castle you have here.” said Natasha, pouring herself a coffee, much to the disgust of Artimus. “When Neil told me you were a billionaire, I thought ‘maybe a rich guy, maybe a millionaire’, but now I see you are a billionaire.” She leant forward, the top buttons of her blouse open and her heaving bosom pointed directly at Artimus. “Do you need a live-in?”
“It’s not a castle, it’s a manor house.” said Artimus, dismissively. “Do you like the coffee?”
“It’s lovely. A girl could get used to this kind of thing.”
“It’s easy for girls to get used to coffee made from
beans that have first passed through the digestive tract of a mongoose, is it?” said Artimus, raising an eyebrow. “It’s the alkalinity picked up in the animal’s lower bowl that supposedly gives Luwak its distinctive flavour.”
Natasha nearly gagged, as she spat coffee out in an arc over the table, spattering the dining cloth in a flower of brown spots.
“Can I ask what the plan is today?” said Neil, trying to distract Artimus, who looked aghast at his best dining room being ruined. “DCI Blackwater is probably wondering where we are.”
“It is Sunday Neil, I’m sure Henry has better things to do than chase you down today.” said Artimus, knowingly. “Until such time as this case is closed however, that cretin knows you and Dawn are working with me.”
Neil nodded. He forgot Dawn was still in the room and Artimus had everyone from their office under suspicion. Asking that question was probably a mistake. He suppressed a frown. That was two errors in a morning. Artimus would not be pleased.
“However, we do have matters to attend to and time is of the essence.” Artimus said, standing. “So ladies, if we can take you anywhere on our way? The Yard? Soho perhaps? Maybe even get you an airplane ticket back to Riga Natasha?”
-
After dropping Natasha at her flat and taking Dawn for a change of clothes, the three drove toward Scotland Yard.
Artimus faced to the rear, flicking through all his notes, as Neil and Dawn shared the wide back seat of the limo and held hands.
Artimus had specifically requested they use the spare limo today, and as they left, Frederick, dressed in what looked like a hazmat suit, began the unenviable task of trying to eliminate the odours and potential stains from the other.
When they arrived, Dawn and Neil had barely spoken a word. He was just happy to hold her, to look into her eyes, and let the world drift by; an occasional giggle, a light kiss, a stroke of a cheek, it was all either could muster until they stepped from the vehicle.
“We’re in your car from here.” said Artimus, nodding to Dawn. “We will ring as soon as we have anything further we need chasing down dear.”
Dawn kissed Neil once more, waving as she stepped inside the building. “Thanks for a great night guys.”
As she disappeared from sight, Neil turned to see Artimus glowering at him. “What’s wrong?”
“I know young love is a flighty, distracting kind of thing.” said Artimus, trying hard to remove the anger from his voice. “However, I need you in the here and now, so I give you this promise. I will respect your wishes and attempt not to be an arsehole,” He gestured quotation marks with his fingers, his frown deepening as he continued, “but only if you give me your absolute maximum effort from now until this is done. If you fail in that in any way, I will make your life a misery, starting with a detailed description of exactly where I touched Dawn last night. Am I making that point memorably enough Neil?”
Neil had no response. Artimus was toying with his elation and he would not allow it. However it had happened, he now had a shot with Dawn. If it kept Artimus quiet to do as he asked, everything else could go away. It simply was not important anymore.
“Fine.” he said, accepting what was to come. “It starts now, though. Right now.”
“Fine.” said Artimus, mocking Neil’s voice. “Let’s get to your car and go pay Noel Grayson a visit. Then we should head back to Hybrid Incorporated.”
Chapter 29
Dwindling Possibilities
Out of Time Page 28
