A Dark Beginning: A China Dark Novel (5 page)

China decided that she would not be chased away from her daily routine. This was her favourite café and she did not see why she should avoid it just because this arrogant, young stranger had taken to daily strolls past her, just at the time when she was taking her regular coffee. Her routine would not change, and he ought to know that. Every day during the rest of that week Mark walked past her table. Some days he would nod and smile, others he might even thunder out a confident ‘Hi’ that almost made her jump and spill her coffee. She would politely nod back, but wouldn’t grace him with any verbal response. His impertinence just would not do. He knew that she was married and she thought she had left him in no doubt of her disinterest in him. She was only nodding back to be civil.

This display held out for almost the whole of the first week, until China felt Mark was sure of where they both stood, and then on that Friday she said “Hello” back to him in a perfectly polite, almost cold voice that belied the turmoil of emotions within. His smile was instant and he again mimed taking a picture.

“Why do you do that?” she asked, unable to stifle her curiosity.

“Whenever there is a special moment in my life I like to capture it. If I haven’t got my trusty Nikon with me, then my mind captures it for ever and stores it away.” His voice growled with a depth and sensuality that made her feel quite weak inside, each word coming out as if part of an ancient Irish protest song.

She tilted her head sideways. “Fair enough. Each to their own.” She cringed inside. She was still totally unable to think of something witty or clever to say. Responding in clichés was not the impression she wanted to make.

Before she could say anything he had sat down in a chair at her table. Devak rushed out. “Are you ok, lady? Is this man bothering you?” He stared unwaveringly at Mark, his long, slender frame almost quivering with indignation and rage, like an angry Dachshund.

“Thank you waiter, I’d like a Cappuccino.” The cockiness in his voice was annoyingly amusing.

Devak’s stare did not falter as he asked China again, “Is this man bothering you?”

Mark smiled a totally non-threatening smile at Devak, and then glanced at her. “Well. Am I?”

“It’s no biggie. If you want a coffee, it’s a free country.”

Devak bristled and then turned to stamp back into the café.

“You don’t suppose he’ll spit in it do you?” Mark asked her.

“Devak is one of the nicest people you could ever know.” This felt like answer enough.

“Well I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“Maybe you’re not a very easy person to like.”

“Ouch. That was harsh.” But he was laughing quietly. “No. Of course, you are right. I’m being an arrogant prick.” He held out his hand to her. “I’m Mark.”

“I know,” she said before she could stop herself.

Mark clapped his hands loudly together, drawing startled glances from people around them. “Aha. So you did read the card then!”

“Yes, I did,” she had to admit, although she was mortified at her careless slip. “Just before I showed it to my husband and threw it away.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. So now you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

This was her opportunity to level the playing field. “I’m China Dark. Mrs China Dark.” She emphasized the ‘Mrs’ into a near hiss.

“Yes, I think we’ve established that you are married. And, wow. Just wow! I love that name.” He was seriously enthusiastic, which made her blush with pleasure.

“My father chose it for me.”

“Well he sure can pick a name, your father.”

“He’s dead,” she spat out. She wanted to bring him down from his arrogant perch although she felt a nasty twang of guilt about using her father for this purpose. However, she thought her father would have approved in this particular case.

Mark’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, shocked. For the first time he seemed lost for words. He stumbled out an apology and then went silent. China suddenly felt sorry for him. When the Cappuccino arrived Mark picked it up, expertly tested the aroma and then sipped it carefully. His sad eyes did not meet China’s.

“That was a cheap shot,” China finally said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Why would you?”

“Well you certainly shut me up for a bit.”

They both laughed and China said, “Shall we start again. I’m China Dark, and you are Mark …?” She left the blank for him to fill as she held out her hand. He took it in his massive hand, as gently and firmly as if he were holding a delicate bird with a broken wing. He didn’t shake her hand he just held it. That first flesh-to-flesh contact, the heat exchange, the slightly rough texture of his palm, paralysed her mind and sent ice and fire running up her arm. His proximity brought with it the smells of citrus and the faint zing of wood smoke, a good masculine aftershave she decided.

“I’m so pleased to finally meet you. And I apologise for the rather unorthodox way I went about engineering a meeting with you. But I did have to meet you.”

This time the flattery seemed less offensive and more sincere. She could forgive him that, even if she had no idea why this stunning man would be interested in her.

“Well, now you have, and I’m sure that it’s not quite what you expected.”

“It’s exactly what I hoped. I’m good at reading people. You have to be in my line of work.”

“Well yes, I can see why a barman would need to be good at that.” Damn, she thought at this second slip. Her big mouth again betraying her.

“How did you know?”

She didn’t answer and, to her relief, after a couple of seconds he let her off the hook. “Well, no, I actually meant my other profession. I’m a photographer. Like it says on my card.” Again, he lifted his hands, framed an imaginary camera and made the audible sound of a shutter with his tongue as he mimed taking a picture.

“A photographer. That is interesting, I’ll give you that. And what do you photograph? Or am I going to regret asking?”

“I photograph everything. But what I make my money from are portraits. Revealing souls. Opening closed books. Letting the world in.” As he spoke of photography he got a far away look in his eyes and his voice filled with passion for his subject. She was left in no doubt whatsoever that he was heartfelt in his love for taking pictures of people.

“Anyway,” she said, startling him out of his reverie. “I’m afraid I do have to get back to work. But it was actually ok meeting you, I suppose.” She was now teasing him and he recognized that. He smiled at her, sending her into another whirlwind of competing emotions. He was almost impossibly handsome when he smiled.

“It was very nice meeting you too,” he said. “And I hope you won’t mind me joining you for coffee again soon.”

“That depends upon how you behave.”

He looked as if he was about to say something else, but then stopped himself, almost imperceptibly shook his head, and just said, “Until the next time then.”

She was proud of the fact that as she walked away she neither glanced back nor tripped over her high heels. Not a bad day all round, she thought. And the encounter wasn’t quite as terrifying as she feared it would be. She felt sure that she could control this situation. As long as he didn’t keep smiling at her. That would make it far more difficult. Then she thought of Philip and wondered whether or not she should, or even could, feel guilty about this innocent chat. Philip was so keen for her to have an affair, so why should she feel bad about just talking to another man? She had no intention of taking it any further, despite what both Mark and Philip might obviously want, so there was no harm in an occasional chat and some minor league flirting with an attractive young man.

The weekend passed without incident and on the following Monday Mark strolled confidently up to her just before lunch and sat down. The conversation was a little easier this time, and as the week rolled on and the daily encounters continued, their discussions became more flowing and wide ranging. China began to feel comfortable that the relationship was less worrying, a form of friendship rather than anything more serious. Whilst she could not forget those first moments when she had been mesmerized by his jewel like eyes, she was falling into the easy habit of looking forward to seeing her new friend each day for coffee. Devak rarely spoke to her now, and she could see his disapproving looks as she sat chatting lightly with Mark. She knew that Devak was a religious man and suspected that his religion did not tolerate open male-female friendships between a married woman and any man other than her husband.

She learnt little of Mark during these liaisons as he mostly wanted to hear about her life, her worries and fears. What did she like to watch, read, and eat? She found herself confiding a little more each day to this charming man. He was easy to talk to. By the middle of that first week Mark knew about her uneasy relationship with her mother, and her remaining sadness at the early loss of her father. After that first encounter they never spoke about China’s marriage, and that seemed a sensible strategy to her. It was dangerous territory that could either end the blossoming friendship or take it to a level that she was not willing to countenance. She didn’t want a lover, despite Philip’s urgings, she just liked having a charming new friend, delicately spiced with some harmless flirting.

In fact, rediscovering her flirting muscles was a revelation to China. Mark’s ready response to her teasing and light-hearted banter made her feel so incredibly good about herself. It could have been any man, she tried to convince herself. She just enjoyed the confidence boost that came with another man wanting to be in her company, hear about her life and laugh at her feeble jokes.

By Thursday the conversation was so easy that they were picking up the end of Wednesday’s chatter as if there hadn’t even been a twenty-four hour interlude.

“Did your mother call last night?”

“Yes of course. After all it was Wednesday so it was nag China time. Right on schedule.”

He laughed kindly. “She means well I’m sure. She just wants you to be happy.”

“No. She wants me to be
her
! Last night she was even telling me what I should wear.”

“She can’t tell you anything in that department. You know exactly what to wear.”

She flushed, but smiled at the easy flattery that came to his lips. It may have been predictable, and maybe, just maybe, she had set it up for him, but it made her happy all the same. “Thank you, but I’m nothing special.”

“Rubbish. You always look great.”

“Maybe if I could lose a few pounds.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. You’re perfect.”

It was a long time since anyone other than Philip had called her perfect. In fact, had anyone else ever called her
perfect
? Certainly not her mother. Then she remembered who else had. Her father.

“Are you ok?” Mark asked. China realized that her eyes had glazed with tears at the thought of her father.

“Yes, I’m just fine. I was just thinking of my father.”

“How long?”

“It was ten years ago last month. I still think of him every day. He was the best dad in the world.” She stopped herself before emotions got the better of her.

Mark reached forward and placed his hand gently on her arm. She suspected that Devak would be frowning from the dark recesses of the coffee shop, but his hand was warm and comforting. She placed her hand over his, tapped it awkwardly a couple of times then withdrew.

“Anyway. Moving swiftly on,” she said. “I know so little about you, Mark.” His name felt right in her mouth now, the single syllable forming easily and feeling good as it resonated from the smooth ‘M’ to the final satisfying click of the ‘k’. When alone she would sometimes say his name out loud, in different ways, testing how it sounded. She wasn’t immune to how madly infatuated that seemed.

“There’s not much to know really. It’s been an unremarkable life so far, but certainly not one to complain about. I love my photography, and being a barman pays the rent.”

“You’re Australian. But you’re here.”

“Very observant,” he teased. “I was born in Ireland, and my parents moved to Australia when I was thirteen. It’s a great country but I wanted to live in London for a bit before I settle over there. So here I am.”

She was aware that he had told her little more than she already knew or could guess for herself. He was obviously determined to remain a man of mystery, which was ok by her. There was no reason for her to know his backstory in any depth. He was, after all, just a friend, an acquaintance to pass ten minutes or so with each day, in idle but pleasant conversation. She looked forward to her daily encounter but she didn’t want to invite any escalation of intimacy. Looking at her watch she realized it was time to go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” she said as she stood up.

“I suspect so. See you soon China Dark.”

It gave her an illicit thrill when he said her whole name like that. She loved how he pronounced it with his geographically unique, strongly male accent. It felt like he was in charge, like a schoolteacher talking down to a pupil, and for some reason that excited her. She was getting used to avoiding the flushing red embarrassment that painted her cheeks every time he said or did something that pleased her, but inwardly she still turned to jelly.

She walked up the street, waving at Mark over her shoulder in a suitably platonic way. All of a sudden her right foot turned sharply, the heel of her shoe slipping under her foot and her ankle twisting painfully. She stumbled and fell to her knees. This time there was no controlling the flush of red that burned her face with discomfort and humiliation, and while the pain was intense, it was the embarrassment that was almost unbearable. Her loss of dignity as the Jimmy Choos let her down felt like a betrayal. A very expensive betrayal, she thought poignantly. She sat there on the hard pavement almost in tears rubbing her very sore ankle, in the forlorn hope that no one had noticed. Quick, heavy footsteps told her that hope was indeed in vain. She prayed it wasn’t Mark, but of course it was.

“Are you ok? Stupid question, of course you’re not. Here, let me take a look at that.” Genuine concern creased his features but failed to reduce his breath-taking good looks she thought. “Here let me help you try to stand.”

He easily lifted her up from the ground, but she could hardly put any weight on her damaged right ankle. He put an arm around her back and under her shoulder, supporting as much of her weight as he could, not easy given how much taller than her he was.

“I don’t think I can walk far,” she cried out with utter frustration. She was going to ask him to help her back to work but then realized that she didn’t want her colleagues seeing her with this man. It would raise too many awkward and unnecessary questions that she wasn’t in the mood to answer. “Help me back to the café please, so I can sit down.”

“Better idea,” he said. “My place is literally just around the corner. I can put a cold compress on it there, to stop it from swelling further.”

She would have protested but the ankle was so painful that she would do almost anything to stop the pain. “Do you have any painkillers?” she asked.

“I have,” he smiled. “Come on, let’s take it slow.”

His place was, as he had promised, not very far at all. It was in the same direction as the pub where he worked but a little closer to the café. As they walked up the path to the large black front door a short, round man exited the building. She could feel Mark’s body stiffen beside her. “Hi, Tony.” There was no warmth in his greeting.

“Mark,” the man acknowledged. “Found a friend?” The question appeared to have undertones that China didn’t want to understand. His face was as round as his body and he didn’t appear to have any chin. His balding head was ringed with lank, greasy hair that was tied back into a stringy ponytail with a dirty looking elastic hair tie. He was sweating profusely and his lips were wet to the point of dribbling.

“This is China, Tony. She’s hurt her ankle so I’m just helping out.”

“I’m sure you are. I’ll leave you to it then, Mark. Enjoy.” And with that Tony waddled down the path and off up the road, glancing back over his shoulders occasionally, leering with unpleasant laughter.

“Well, now you’ve met the landlord,” he joked. But his eyes told her that he didn’t find the joke very funny. Awkwardly opening the door whilst still supporting China’s weight, he took her in and led her upstairs into a small but neat flat. The main room was compact and with minimal furniture or mess. She naturally expected a man’s flat to be in some disarray, but this looked almost unlived in. There were no magazines lying about, no dirty plates from the night before, no take-away cartons or boxes. Nothing predictable. No unpleasant, single-man-living-alone smells, just the faintest aroma of some spicy soap, suggestive with fresh woodland undertones.

He led her to a comfortable looking chair and sat her down. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

As he left the room China looked around for further elusive clues into his personality. There was a single, large, framed black and white photograph on a blank chimneybreast opposite her, a classically posed portrait of a beautiful anonymous woman draped in nothing but a half dropped silk kimono. The girl was in silhouette, and whilst the clinging silk rendered it beautifully erotic there was no explicitness to spoil the artfulness of the image.

On the coffee table in front of her were a couple of large hardback books on photography, and in the corner a large and expensive looking Nikon camera sat on its tripod, the dark eye of its lens facing into the room, all fairly obvious props for a photographer’s home. Next to the coffee table, to China’s left, was a long sofa of completely different material to the chair she was sitting on, indicating that the flat had been economically furnished for letting by someone with little eye for harmonious detail. She suspected that Tony had worked his unique interior design talents here.

The floor was a tired, polished wood, uneven and knotted, upon which there was a single red plain and rather threadbare rug which roughly marked the centre of the room. Strangely, there was no television, or hi-fi. It was difficult to glean any useful information about the inhabitant of such blandly furnished accommodation. The photography accessories were the only objects that spoke of Mark in any way.

When Mark returned he was carrying a small pack of frozen peas wrapped in a red-checked tea towel. He knelt in front of her and said, “You might want to remove those tights.”

She was shocked at the thought of removing any clothes in front of him but realized the obvious common sense in the statement. Very self-consciously she leant forwards and started to tug the tights off, shuffling her bottom and keeping her legs as close together as possible. All the while she was acutely aware that Mark was staring fixedly into her face, watching her squirm with awkwardness. “A gentleman would look away.”

“Then I’ll stay just where I am,” he grinned.

He carried on looking at her for a couple more moments then sighed and turned his head away, allowing her the opportunity for a less elegant but more efficient removal of her tights. She crumpled them up and pressed them into her Louis Vuitton bag, hoping they wouldn’t catch on anything inside. On the sharp corner of the little business card, for example.

“There you go, you can look now,” she said.

He turned back to her and then gently grasped her calf with one hand. China shuddered inwardly as a fresh charge of electric sensation emanated from the point where his hand was in contact with her bare leg. His eyes never left hers as he slowly lifted the leg and softly placed the shockingly cold parcel onto her swollen ankle. She gasped at the sudden cold but maintained eye contact. What could she read in those big green eyes? They were as intense as ever, and he studied her eyes for any sort of response. Then they flared, a slight and momentary widening of the eyelids and pupils, accompanied by the briefest of almost feral grins. She felt herself melt and knew, but didn’t care, that her own flaring pupils were probably giving away far too much detail about how she was feeling. She couldn’t help it, the corners of her own mouth twitched into a smile, and her eyes flicked down to his mouth, noticing the width, the redness of his generous lips. It was a big mouth, made for devouring, she thought and had a sudden flashed image of herself as Red Riding Hood sitting before a wolf in human clothes.

“All the better to eat you with,” he rumbled, and then shook his head as if surprised at what he had just said. Although she was shocked that he appeared to have directly read her very thoughts, she laughed.

“You did just say that out loud you know?”

“Very inappropriate, and unlike me,” he said. Though she doubted that very much. Somehow she thought he would be very inappropriate whenever he felt like it. He lifted her leg further, resting it on his bent knee and kept gentle pressure on the makeshift ice-pack. China pushed her knees together, acutely aware that from his position he could easily see partly up her grey skirt.

Still their eyes remained in contact and China began to lose track of time, swimming in the depths of those sparkling grey seas. She felt like a small boat tossed on a jade, unforgiving ocean, her stomach churning. His irises were animated, she was convinced, with wave after wave of silver, sage and cobalt blues swirling in deep slow motion, and flecks of gold crested each swell providing brief flashes of brilliance. The colour left her cheeks as embarrassment was replaced by breathless rapture.