BENEATH THE WATERY MOON a psychological thriller with a stunning twist Read online

  ‘I’m not sure what I want. I mean, one minute we’re friends, the next we’re fucking in a field. It’s complicated.’ He paused and attempted to order his thoughts. ‘I don’t like to jump in feet first . . . I’m not ready for that. But I don’t want anything to be off the table.’

  He sat back and watched me try to make sense of what he’d just said. I knew he realized that he hadn’t clarified anything, but at least he was being straight with me.

  ‘I guess I appreciate your honesty. You’re lovely and you know you are. It’s just I hate uncertainty and I . . .’

  Mid-sentence he leaned in and kissed me. I was taken back, but the spontaneity was erotic, and I went with the moment. It was strange that no one noticed us. It was as if we were invisible.

  ‘Fuck it, let’s go upstairs,’ I said.

  ‘You sure?’ Jude looked at me hopefully.

  ‘Yes, I am, but promise, just promise me no bullshit.’ I stared into his wonderful dark eyes.

  ‘No promises.’ He put his hand on his heart and looked serious. Then he took my hand, kissed the back of it, and led me upstairs.

  * * *

  I blacked out for a minute but I am conscious again. My teeth are chattering. My hands are now numb. I think I’m moving them but I can’t be sure. There is that bitter taste in my mouth again, bile and blood. I need to be sick. Every part of my body is trying to repel this. No wait, fuck, the car is stopping again. Where are we? I listen to the sound of my tapered breath. I cannot hear anything else. I strain harder. What is that sound? Voices? No, music. Yes, that’s it. Music. Is it coming from inside my own mind? I try to calm down. Blood is still in my eyes. All my senses are bombarded with unfamiliar sensations. This is too much to bear — I am going mad. This is not happening, it can’t be. I need to focus on something. I try to hear the music again, listen to the words. The tune, I’m sure I’ve heard it before somewhere. I recognize it, don’t I? And then another sound: footsteps. Yes, definitely footsteps. On gravel, getting closer. Oh fuck, I can hear keys jangle. Someone has stopped. They are about to open the boot. I’m not ready to leave. Don’t open it. I won’t struggle, I’ll stay still and not make a sound, just don’t open it. I need more time. I’m not ready . . .

  Chapter 2

  I awoke the next morning in his bed, completely disorientated. The winter sunlight shone onto his floor through a gap in the curtains. I wondered who else was at home, and if anyone knew we had slept together. At least I’d had the sense to put his T-shirt on. He was fast asleep with his arm around my middle. I felt a sudden twinge of nerves. Should I wake him or slip quietly out? I didn’t know what to do. I watched him sleep for a while. He looked beautiful, and it was surreal to be with him. I wanted to burst into tears. I felt at home and at the same time completely lost.

  The thought of not being able to touch him again sent a pain into the pit of my stomach. Would he be pleased to find me there? The only way I’d ever know would be if I stuck around to find out. I lay utterly still so as not to wake him. I had no idea what the time was. Minutes slipped by as I anticipated the moment his eyes would open. I knew if I could look into his dark deep eyes I would be healed. All of a sudden I desperately needed to smoke a cigarette. I did my best to gently slide away. Just as I thought I could make a break for freedom, I felt his arm tighten around me.

  ‘Where are you going?’ His eyes were still closed but his grip remained firm.

  ‘Just to get a cig.’ I leaned in and rested my chin on his naked chest. The tight hairs glinted like copper. His eyes remained closed and a smile crept across his face. I slipped out of bed and into a pair of his grey linen drawstring trousers. The freezing cold house was silent as I tiptoed downstairs to the living room.

  I found my bag on the living room floor and was relieved to discover a flattened pack of cigarettes, with five left. I pulled one out, placed it between my lips, inhaled deeply. The warm smoke filled my lungs and I instantly felt better.

  I trudged into the kitchen to see if there was any milk left. A trickle remained in the bottom of the carton. I hoped there was enough to stretch to two cups of tea. The kettle whistled in the background. I checked the large clock on the wall. It was ten twenty.

  I made two cups of hot, sweet tea and wandered back upstairs to Jude’s room. As I passed Charlie’s bedroom I saw the door was half open. She wasn’t there. The house felt abandoned. Reaching the top floor, I pushed Jude’s door open using my foot. He was sitting up. I sat on the end of his dishevelled bed and handed him a mug of the tea. I wanted to swim in the warmth. He nodded in appreciation. We sipped our tea in silence, allowing the hot drink to warm us.

  It was his turn to smoke a cigarette. He sat back and closed his eyes, as he smoked. It made me feel awkward, like an unwelcome visitor in his private place. I stretched and placed my empty mug on his chest of drawers.

  ‘Right,’ I yawned, ‘I feel like a mess. I’m going for a bath.’

  ‘Ok.’ Each syllable dragged and he hunkered down under the duvet and turned his face to the wall.

  I left his room with a heavy feeling, wondering what had changed. I stared at my reflection in the mirror as piping hot water gushed from the tap and steam rose. A modest amount of mascara from the previous night lay in a fine line below my lower eyelashes. Watching myself in the way I imagined a ghost might observe its earthly body, I felt tears rise up inside. Perhaps they were a result of the amount I had drunk the night before; perhaps I was reacting to the perceived rejection. I soon found myself in the tub, clasping my knees to my chest and sobbing quietly.

  By the time I’d left the bathroom it was eleven. The house was as quiet as a tomb, and I resigned not to return to Jude’s room. I left his T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms folded neatly outside his door as a signal of acceptance that our encounter was a one off.

  I felt nervy and moody in the house and decided I needed to get out. Fumbling through the vast pile of shoes that cluttered our hallway, I found my pair of old, tattered trainers. I forced my feet into them without undoing the laces and stomped around the living room collecting together my keys, some loose change, and my iPod. My feet felt strangely cold, as if I were standing in a freezing puddle. I slammed the heavy front door behind me.

  The winter sun shone down from a clear, pale sky. I left my cigarettes in Jude’s room and didn’t have the courage to retrieve them, so I walked almost a mile to our local shop to buy myself some more. Pushing open the thick glass door, I headed for the fridge and pulled out a large carton of semi-skimmed milk as well. I knew the Asian man serving behind the counter as I made more or less daily visits to that shop in search of nicotine. Once we had been through the usual niceties, I asked for a twenty-pack of my usual and a lighter. I felt self-conscious, lacking make-up and with my hair hurriedly tied back. I probably looked like a tramp but I had bigger concerns on my mind. I decided to go for a walk along the coast. The fresh air would do me good and help me find clarity.

  I went back to the house to drop off the milk and was surprised to find Jude standing in the kitchen.

  ‘Morning,’ he said.

  I put the milk in the fridge. A scent of rotten food came from the shelves and assaulted my nose. It smelled like death but everything appeared fresh. What the hell was that supposed to mean? We had already seen each other that morning and under far more intimate circumstances. Was that choice of greeting meant to undermine the last twelve hours, I wondered.

  ‘Yeah right, hi.’ I said. ‘I’m going for a walk. I’ll see you later.’ I hurried past him and bolted towards the front door. I felt his concentrated stare burning into my back as I left, deliberately slamming it hard behind me.

  It troubled me. Everything fucking troubled me. All I could focus on was getting to the coast. I felt the texture of the ground change below my feet and relief hit me. My survival had depended on reaching the beach. I started my descent down the gentle slope towards the vast perimeter of my golden sanctuary.

  I walked slowly and delib
erately, observing my feet take each step. I could feel the light on my neck. The crisp air helped clear my head. I knew what I had to do. Needing somehow to hold onto my dignity and remain true to my feelings, I had to confront Jude. Every grain of sand which passed under my feet enabled me to build emotional strength. When I reached the large cluster of sand dunes, I felt as if I had shifted form.

  I stood on a dune overlooking the choppy sea. It was freezing cold, and I was only wearing a thin cotton sweater. It was a beautiful day, though still damp from the heavy rainfall the night before. I found a suitable spot and sat down, lit a cigarette and sucked in the mixture of cold and warm air, holding it in my mouth for a while before exhaling. Taking my iPod from my pocket, I selected a compilation of love songs and listened to the lyrics resonate in my ear.

  A flock of migrating birds crossed the sky above me. I wondered where they were going. I imagined a warm climate and vast empty mountains flooded with sunshine. I longed to be there, away from the romantic entanglements that plagued my insignificant existence.

  I remained sitting on the sand for a long time, looking out over the endless horizon, daydreaming. I was awoken from the fantasy by a sudden feeling of being watched. Turning my head, I saw Jude approaching from the distance. I could have picked him out of a crowd at a football stadium. He was wearing his grey jeans, a dark brown hooded sweater, and he was running one hand through his hair. The other remained in his pocket. I wasn’t surprised to see him. It was as if I had known he was coming all along. I sat on the ground and watched him long enough for him to know I had seen him. I then returned to looking out over the sea and braced myself.

  He sat down next to me. We did not look at each other. We sat in silence, admiring the view. He put his arm around my shoulder and I flinched slightly like someone had just walked over my grave. I removed my headphones and turned to face him. He remained looking out, surveying the ocean. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could say a word he was talking.

  ‘I’d love to be on a hot beach right now. I hate the shitty cold. Somewhere peaceful, watching a sunset, with a big fruity cocktail in my hand.’ He paused. I didn’t know what on earth he was talking about. I felt as if I had missed something. ‘The thing about coming from a rich family is that there are benefits.’ He stopped again. I watched as he ordered his thoughts. ‘I’m going on holiday. I need to get away,’ he said. His face was still turned towards the horizon. I examined his profile: the curve of his mouth, the lashes that framed his eyes. ‘I have just been on the phone to the travel agents. I thought now would be the perfect time.’

  My heart sank but I nodded.

  ‘I want to go to the Thai island of Krabi. It sounds like bloody paradise,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, when are you going?’

  He looked at me. His face became very serious and my stomach knotted.

  ‘That depends on you,’ he said, ‘I want you to join me.’

  My jaw dropped, and I looked at him in disbelief. He broke into a little laugh and leaned in to kiss me. I felt his tongue in my mouth and a surge of desire buzzed through my groin. He swept his hand up my neck and through my hair, pulling me closer. The kiss went on for minutes. We could have made love right there on the cold sand. He pulled away and cupped my head in his hands.

  ‘I fucking love you, ok. Of course I do. I always have. There, I’ve said it, just . . . you . . .’ he gulped, ‘Come here.’

  I sat on his lap, facing him, with my legs wrapped around his back. One of my hands was on his shoulder, the other found its way up to his neck and my fingers stroked his hair. I kissed him again. I could feel the stiffness in his trousers. I pushed my hips down onto him. He pulled his arms around me and guided us down so that I was lying on top of him. I leaned back and looked at him again. Strands of my hair hung down, covering my face. He tucked them behind my ear and I watched his eyes while he did it. His gaze never broke from mine. We stayed like that, taking each other in.

  ‘Jude, I . . . what I mean is I, fucking hell, I love you too.’

  We got up and kissed again, before turning towards home, and setting off hand in hand, fingers intertwined, reminding me of a Russian wedding ring. As we slowly made our way down the hill, I was floating on air.

  ‘You had better get your passport. Meet me at noon at the lake, by the pergola, and we’ll talk about it then.’ he said.

  Later, as we walked towards the bench by the lake, I noticed a large rainbow in the clear blue sky. Swallows darted around above us, and I could feel the warm sun on my face. It didn’t occur to me that it was unusual for December. We basked in our happiness and ambled towards our secret place.

  ‘Christmas is going to be great. It’s the time between now and then that we need to concentrate on,’ he said. He looked at my hand as he stroked it. ‘I’m not sure how you want to deal with it, I mean I haven’t really thought it through myself,’ he said.

  ‘Fuck what everyone else thinks. We know what we’re doing.’ It was my turn to be strong.

  * * *

  Oh no! A key is in the lock. I hear it click. This is it. The boot is going to open any second and I am going to meet my abductor. The boot flips open and immediately a rug is thrown over my head. I wriggle and squirm beneath it. I need to see a face. It’s no use, I can’t move. I buck and twist but my restraints prevent me from freeing myself. I can feel wetness around my ankles where the ropes are cutting in. Blood? I feel hands on my body. Tight and strong, pulling me up and out of the car. My head is pounding. Each time my heart beats, my skull aches. My stomach tightens up again. I am retching. There is nothing left to sick up. I am an empty shell. I am being carried somewhere. Why don’t I scream? Why can’t I call out? I can’t remember any words. I can’t remember how to talk. My mouth hurts. The air is icy on my naked feet. It feels like night. I cannot see but I recognize that chill. A clean breeze is blowing. I am dirty, covered in my vomit, my blood. I can smell something putrid, like burning rubber. There is the crunch of heavy footsteps on gravel. My captor’s footsteps. He is strong, holding my body slung over his shoulder. I can smell him, like wet mud and rotting leaves. I am too petrified to squirm. If I wriggle he will drop me. What does he want with me? I can’t run. He is breathing heavily, grunting like a pig. That is the only sound. I am dizzy again. I am going to be sick. My throat is so dry. I cannot swallow. I need water. It’s deadly quiet. He’s stopped walking. It’s raining. Each drop is like a needle in my skin. I am drowning. Sinking further down into the darkness. The creak of a door opening. Where am I? My head is trapped in a hurricane. I have to let go. Everything is fading faster. Don’t pass out, not now. Just stay awake.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning I snuck into bed with Jude during the early hours. As I crept along the corridor, I realized I had never known the house to be so silent. I froze every time a floorboard creaked beneath my feet. It was exciting, and I felt like a child about to be caught with their hand in the cookie jar. When I reached his room and pushed the door open, he was sitting up in bed waiting for me. We said nothing as I slipped under the covers. The darkness cocooned us and kept our secret safe as we held each other and explored each other’s skin. While the dawn crept up on us, we talked about our adventure. I hung on every word he said.

  I looked around his vast bedroom. It was like a fantasy. The furniture was all solid, antique wood. Thick, golden brocade curtains hung in the windows and dominated the room. They had probably been there since the house was built centuries ago. It was like the boudoir of a king. It was sparsely decorated except for two things: One, a huge mural on the ceiling of the night sky. It was a painting which Leonardo himself would have been proud of. You might not notice it unless you were lying in bed looking up. The ceiling was so high that the fresco managed not to encroach on the rest of the room. The other thing that stood out was a large painting, which hung on the wall opposite the bed. It showed an understated English landscape below a vast powder-blue sky, peppered with silver clouds. As I lay starin
g at it, Jude spoke.

  ‘That is how I’m going to fund our trip.’ He was looking at the painting.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m going to sell it. It’s worth quite a bit.’

  ‘Don’t you like it?’ I was surprised.

  ‘Sure I do. It belonged to my great-great grandparents.’

  ‘Then you mustn’t.’

  ‘It’s wasted here. It should be in a museum or somewhere where it’s appreciated.’ He got out of bed and went over to the painting to examine it more closely.

  ‘Is it by a famous artist?’ I felt rather stupid.

  He wiped a layer of dust from the top of the frame with his thumb.

  ‘It’s a Constable.’

  I stared at the painting in disbelief.

  ‘As in John Constable?’ I looked at the picture more closely.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘You mean to tell me that you’ve had a John bloody Constable painting hanging in your bedroom all this time and you never told us!’

  ‘It’s not the sort of thing you advertise, Belle.’

  The pair of us stared at the masterpiece.

  ‘I should get about twenty,’ he said, turning to face me, stark naked.

  ‘Twenty thousand pounds. Jesus.’ I puffed out my cheeks.

  Jude burst out laughing. ‘No, no,’ he said, ‘twenty million.’

  ‘You are fucking kidding!’ I was blown away. He stopped laughing and raised his eyebrows. I was speechless.

  ‘Holy shit.’ I said, finally. ‘Twenty Million pounds.’ The number sounded strange to my ears. I said it again, trying to get comfortable with the words. Jude got back into bed just as a band of light pushed its way through the curtains.

  ‘I’ll call Christie’s today.’ he said.

  * * *

  A few days later, our holiday had been arranged. We were due to fly out from Heathrow on the morning of December 19, stay for ten nights in the Paradise Resort, and return on the afternoon of the 29th in time to join our friends for the New Year’s Eve celebrations. It was decided that we would stay in one of the airport hotels the night before flying out. The flight was long haul and set off as dawn gave birth to the day. I couldn’t wait.