Chapter 20

Charlotte

“Toast, Master?” I offer the rack, stacked with crisp, golden and gently steaming slices. He’s sitting part-
dressed to head for work, in a clean white shirt. A curl of dark hair shows where the top button is open.

He’s not paying attention. His gaze is so far away. Wherever he is, he’s not with me or Michael in our
beautiful mountain home.

“Master? Would you like some toast?”

His eyes refocus, swinging to me. He smiles, but the smile is pale and wan. “No, thank you, Charlotte.
Just coffee is fine.”

“More coffee then? I’ll make another pot.”

“Thank you, yes.” And he looks away again.

He looks…. lost….

I make the coffee, grinding extra beans so it’s strong, the way he likes it. As I return to the table,
Michael is saying, “So, what’s it today, James? Anything interesting?” He seems not to hear. “James?”

He turns to Michael. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

“Anything interesting happening today? You’re usually full of whatever’s happening down on that City
Project. What’s the excitement at the moment?”

He sips coffee, cradling the mug. “Um, not sure. I may need to go on-site to see the progress of the
groundworks on D-site.”



I inject some enthusiasm into my tone. “You said I could tag along, Master. Perhaps get some practice
in, helping with the survey work.”

“Did I? Then of course you can come.” But my enthusiasm isn’t mirrored. There’s no zest in his voice.

*****

In the hall, he stands at the mirror, looping his tie. He fumbles at the knot, curses quietly and starts
over. Again, he botches the job. This time his swearing is louder.

“Here, let me do it, Master.”

He turns to face me and I square him a little by the shoulders, then slip the tie back around the neck of
his shirt and knot it for him. Then I turn him back again to face the mirror. “Alright?”

His reflection speaks to mine. “Perfect. Thank you, Charlotte.”

“Master…”

His head tilts. “Yes?”

“Master… you are loved. You know that don’t you? I love you. Michael loves you too. Differently of
course, but he does. And I’d say that Richard and Beth love you too.”

The reflection colours up and the eyes drop. The Adam’s apple bobs. He looks up again, a faint spectre
of humour in his eyes. “You know, that may be the first time you’ve ever said that to me.”

“Times and places, Master. Times and places.”

He turns, his face close to mine, the sweetness of his breath on my skin. His lids lowering, he leans in
close, pressing his lips against mine. Then, “And you too are loved. Wholly, and always.”



“I know that, Master.”

*****

 

Klempner - Twenty-Six Years Ago

I stand on deck, dressed against temperatures still well below zero, watching a sea of olive, sage and
blue metal. On the cobalt horizon, container ships like floating cities fall over the edge of the world.

The calm waters ripple where a gull snatches at the surface, its throat bobbing as it flaps and rises.
Low cloud hangs in veils of grey and blue but over the headland it thins, sunlight painting pale fingers
over mountains that fade through grey shrouds before vanishing into opaque horizons.

What does it take?

What do I offer her?

Not money…

What does she want?

?

Freedom…

…

What does that even mean?

…



…

All those books…

She wants to travel…

…

…

What would I do?

…

I’ve seen plenty…

Maybe I could make my living as a journalist?

Always could get my point across...

… Roving reporter....

See the world...

… with her

Like she’s always wanted...

She'd love it...

…

Blessingmoors?



…

Could it really be a shelter…?

… do what it says on the tin…

…

Go the same places…

Do the same things…

War zones…

Refugees…

Always plenty out there needing help…

…

Would she like that?

… Helping to give freedom to others?

?

Bech?

Bech…

…



… He’ll do as he’s fucking told…

*****

She sits across the coffee table from me, hands folded on her lap, legs crossed at the ankles, her gaze
attentive. Neatly dressed in a suit that wouldn’t look out of place in any office between New York,
London and Sydney, long hair in a complicated up-do, she is the image of the perfect employee.

I speak with the slightly clipped, well-enunciated tone I use with those for whom English is not the first
language. “Your English is very good, Annikki.” I make a show of scribbling a note on my clipboard.

Her answering smile is polite. “Always sir, I have wished to come to the west. Now I can.”

“Yes, you can. And what kind of work are you looking for? My agency has contacts with a variety of
employers. It is important we have a good match.”

“I am happy to make many kinds of work, sir. I will work hard. I have the languages. I am good with
children…” She drones on…

Pretty…

Finchby’d take her, no problem…

Should be a good price too.

…

She’d look good undressed…

… Crying…

Forced…



“Do you have a family, Annikki? A boyfriend?”

“Yes, sir. I have fiancé. He wishes also to find work. Perhaps you wish to meet him?”

“Perhaps.”

I sip the coffee, strong and bitter as the Finns serve it. It bites at my throat, settling uneasily in my
stomach.

I snap my clipboard shut. “I don't think you're suitable, Annikki.”

“But, sir…” Her mouth is an ‘O’; all protest. Her eyes are just as round, swimming and bright.

“This isn’t for you. Go home.”

“Sir, I will be a good worker. My promise. I will pay for my own travel. I…”

“I don’t have anything for you, Annikki.” I stand, turn and head for the exit, while behind me I hear sobs.
Casting a look back from the revolving doors, I see her face dropped into her hands, her shoulders
shaking.

*****


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