Darker (13 page)

“Okay, I could teach. I need to get a teaching qualification to work in a school, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Like I say, qualifications come easy to me. Or I could do more private tuition—maths, music, languages. Or I could do translations.”

Rolling onto his back, one arm around me, the other behind his head, he’s obviously thinking about my prospects. “Hmm, I don’t know about the teaching stuff, not my field, but I’d say there’s a market for interpretation and translation in business, especially if your mathematics skills can be applied to commercial accountancy and finance. I’d employ you.”

“You’d just spend all your time fucking me in your office, or bending me over your conference table if I got my sums wrong. I’m not working for you!”

His low chuckle and gentle caress across my breasts suggest to me I’m right not to contemplate joining Darke Associates as a serious career move, but maybe there’s a niche in the business world I could fill. It’s a new direction for me, but might be worth considering…

He tips my chin up with his finger to hold my gaze, serious again. “Well I’ve got a use for your Turkish as we’ve already established. But apart from helping out me and Ahmet, I suspect there’s not a great deal of demand for Turkish. Do you speak any other languages, Eva?”

“Yes, one or two.” My guarded tone seems to have caught his interest and he’s probing.

“Well, which is it? One? Or two? Or more, perhaps?” My dropped gaze gives me away—he knows I’m evading and he’s on it straight away. “More then. It
is
more, isn’t it? Which languages do you speak? Come on, Eva, spill.”

“French. And German.” He says nothing, just waiting. He knows there’s more. “Turkish, obviously. And Russian.”

“Russian? Interesting choice. Any more? Eva?”

Resigned I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. “Fluently? Those I mentioned already, plus Mandarin Chinese, Spanish, Arabic, Polish, Italian and Greek. I’m also reasonably proficient in Latin and Ancient Greek. And I can get by in probably a couple of dozen other languages, if I have to.”

The silence in the room is deafening, broken at last by a low whistle. “Shit, that’s some repertoire, Miss Byrne.” Now he’s the one leaning up on one elbow, looking down at me, and he waits until I turn my head to meet his gaze. “How’d you ever get the time to learn all those? And why bother?”

“Why? Because I just can. And it doesn’t take long. I just have an aptitude for it, I suppose, it comes naturally, very little effort required. And some languages are very similar to others—French, Italian, Spanish, for example. You learn one, you learn ‘em all.”

“I think you undersell your skills, Miss Byrne. You just rattled off—what was it nine, ten different languages you claim to be fluent in? As well as English.”

“What do you mean ‘claim’? I bloody well am!”

“I know, I know, don’t get your knickers in a twist. So to speak…”

More stroking and patting my bare bum and I let my hackles settle back down again.

He continues, his tone serious now. “I didn’t mean that. I know you’re bloody brilliant and I believe you can do anything you set your mind to, quite frankly. So, what’s your method for learning languages? Do you join a class? Go live abroad for a while? What?”

“Both. I learnt French and German at school originally, but only really became fluent by going to those countries. I learnt Greek and Turkish by spending a month in Cyprus.”

“A month? You mastered two separate languages in a month?”

“Like I said. Aptitude. I developed verbal fluency first, then literacy. Turkish and Greek both use different alphabets from English so it’s more complicated. Same goes for Russian and Mandarin. And Arabic, obviously. For me it’s always verbal first, then the written form.” I stop, peeping up at him to see how he’s taking all this. His face is a mask of wonder. He shakes his head slowly, but still says nothing. Suddenly it’s important to me that I try to explain, make him understand.

“When I’m starting from scratch, a completely new language like, say, Urdu would be to me, I start by reading up on the grammatical rules, the syntax, so I know the theory of it. Then I sort of collect the vocabulary, usually through the international media. I think of it as harvesting. I find listening to native speakers is much better than formal language training, at least for me. Once I get the first few words and phrases sorted out the rest is easy. I start to build my frame of reference and it just falls into place from there. I fill in the gaps from what I hear, and as my vocabulary builds up I apply the grammatical rules I learnt at the beginning of the process.”

“But if you don’t understand any of it, how do you start? And how can you remember all the grammar right from the beginning. And apply it correctly? Don’t you need a teacher, someone to practise on?” He is frowning, bewildered, and in fairness to me it really is very difficult to explain all this to someone with no linguistic training. But I’m determined to try.

“There are some words that are more or less universal. That means they appear in just about every language in more or less unchanged form. Often they’re technical words such as ‘telephone’, ‘airport’, or maybe to do with travel and tourism such as ‘taxi’, and ‘hotel’. Those words always leap out at me, and from them, well, the phrases they appear in really—I can usually identify the definite and indefinite articles. That’s ‘the’ and ‘a’ in English, and the conjunctives such as ‘but’, and ‘and’.”

I realise I’m getting technical and stop, chewing my lip nervously. Trust me to go off on one and get boring. It’s the stargazing night all over again.

“Go on, Eva. I think I’m following you so far.” I risk a peep, and his eyes certainly don’t have that bored, glazed look I’m so used to seeing when I try to explain my ‘talent’. “How do you get from there to being a fluent speaker? And can you always do it in a month?”

“Easily, if I don’t have any distractions. And it’s not just speaking. I do reading and writing too as a rule. I just tune my TV, radio or whatever into the right broadcaster and listen in, absorbing the vocabulary and usage. It helps if I don’t hear or need to use any other language during that period, if I can focus my undivided attention. Within a few hours it starts dropping into place, and within days I’m there. And when I’ve mastered the verbal fluency I usually tackle the written form. But really, once you know a language, reading it is just a matter of decoding print. An unfamiliar alphabet is a challenge, but it’s just a matter of learning it, assigning sounds to symbols. Simple phonetics really.”

“Doesn’t sound remotely simple to me. It’s bloody amazing. And something tells me you’ve done this little caper of yours a lot more than just ten times to have got it to such a fine art. So, honestly now, Eva—how many languages do you have? Not fluent necessarily, but workable, a functioning ability?”

“I don’t know.” At his grunt of exasperated disbelief I rush on. I want him to believe me. “Really, I don’t. I don’t bother to count. But, I suppose it’s loads. Dozens.” My voice small, I hesitate, wondering what he’s going to make of this, of me, now. “So there you have it—I’m the nerdy little specky four-eyed creep who sits at the back of the class. The one whose homework always gets copied but no one invites home for tea, who never gets invited to birthday parties.”

“Loads. Yeah, I’ll bet it’s loads. And I prefer to describe you as my sexy little boffin. You know, Eva, clever women are a real turn-on for most men. Definitely for this one. And you’re one seriously clever woman so stop hiding down there, blushing like the little virgin we both know you’re not. Well, not any longer anyway. Hold your head up and be proud of what you can do.” Sitting up, he pulls me up to kneel in front of him, and reaching for a box of tissues beside the bed he wipes my face. “Stop crying, love, there’s no need to cry. Not over this anyway. And just for the record, I reckon you’ll have no trouble at all making a living, here in Yorkshire or anywhere else in the world. You’re an international superstar. A human Babel fish.”

“A what?”

“Ah, your not too classical education didn’t stretch to
The Hitchhiker’s Guide
then? I’ll lend you my copy. But seriously, from what you say, you could go anywhere in the world, anywhere at all, and within hours be understanding the language and start to make yourself understood. This ‘gift’ of yours is gold dust. It really is. Not just because of the commercial applications—what about the military uses, and international diplomacy. You, young lady, are a highly merchantable commodity.”

I’m not convinced. “I’m a freak. Some sort of curiosity. In the old days I’d have been in a circus, or burnt as a witch.”

“Well, think yourself lucky this is the twenty-first century then. We’re enlightened.” Then, in one of his mercurial mood changes, he drops back down to make himself comfortable against the pillows. “And just because you’re such a boffin, and I’m such an enlightened child of the twenty-first century, don’t think you’re getting out of making the tea. It’s your turn. I take one sugar. And don’t forget the Bourbons.”

“Chauvinist…” I dump the box of tissues on his chest as I grin and slide off the bed starting to hunt around for my clothes.

“Naked, Eva. We both stay naked, remember. We’re not done talking yet. So do be careful not to splash.”

So, gloriously, unashamedly nude, I go to put the kettle on.

* * * *

“Can I ask you something?”

We’re both sitting cross-legged on the bed, a tray of tea and biscuits between us on the duvet. It seems totally natural to be chatting to Nathan while he rakes his appreciative gaze across my naked breasts, my belly, my smooth, hairless and highly visible pussy. I’m doing my own share of admiring too—he really does have an amazing body. Hard, sculpted, athletic, finely honed pectorals and a six-pack to match. His erection is jutting at me and I long to take it in my hands, or maybe my mouth, stroke his shaft, cup his balls… I know it won’t be long before we make love again, but first, I’d like to satisfy my curiosity. And feed my insecurities.

He glances at me, quickly swallows the last of his Bourbon biscuit before mumbling his reply, “Mmm, what?”

“Can I ask you about your wife?”

“My wife? What wife?”

“Your wife. Rosie’s mother. I suppose…” I take a deep breath. “I suppose you must have loved her very much…”

He hesitates. At first I think he’s going to refuse to answer me at all. Then, “No. Not really.”

“But she was your wife. You were married to her. You must have loved her.”

“She—Louisa—
was
my wife, briefly. I liked her. I cared about her. I was sorry when she died. But I didn’t love her.”

This is beyond me. “But you adopted her child. I don’t understand…”

“I loved Rosie. I always have. Adopting her was a no-brainer when Louisa died.”

“But…”

“It’s complicated, Eva.”

“So is my linguistic ability, but I tried to explain it to you. I’m beginning to think this disclosure thing is very one-way.”

“Fair point, I suppose, but this is personal, Eva. Private.”

I arch an unimpressed eyebrow. “Oh really, like that ever stops you…!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you about Louisa. But this is confidential, sensitive. Rosie knows some of it but not all. You’ll understand why soon enough. I need you to promise me you’ll respect my wishes on this, love.”

I nod, and after carefully placing the tray on the floor beside the bed I lie down next to Nathan who is arranging the pillows behind us. He holds out an arm and I snuggle into him.

“Louisa was my sub. Occasionally.”

I couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d told me his dead wife was Mother Teresa and Princess Diana rolled into one. “Your sub. A sub—like me? You married a sub!”

“Well, not quite like you. Louisa was a damned good sub and you, sweetheart, are simply not. You’re sexy and exciting and bloody lovely. Most of the time. But submissive—hardly. You do try hard, though, and you have other obvious attractions so I put up with you.” He tips my chin up to plant a quick kiss on my mouth, his tender smile and warm gaze emphasising the irony of his words, before he continues drily, “And you do get full marks for effort.”

I can’t help smiling back, but I’m not being sidetracked by compliments. “You married a sub? How? Why?”

With a sigh, he rolls me onto my back and kisses me again, properly this time. His tongue swoops into my mouth and after a few moments I stop resisting and let him have his way. For now. He deepens the kiss, sliding his hands over my body. He circles my nipples with his fingers, swallowing my gasps as arousal starts to spike. He lifts his head, gazing down into my eyes. “Like I said, sexy, exciting and bloody lovely. Now, are you going to shut up and listen, at least pretend to be a half-decent sub?”

I nod, smiling, and he rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Louisa liked it rough. Very rough. She loved to be beaten. Hard, and for a long, long time. She was exhausting. Stamina like an ox, and I guess a hide like one as well.” And with a nudge to my ribs, he continues, “She never fainted when I caned her, and I don’t recall she ever safe worded either.”

“Good for her,” I mutter.

“What was that, Miss Byrne?”

“Nothing. Go on.”

“Thank you, Miss Byrne. As I was saying, I first met Louisa when she was about seven months pregnant with Rosie. Her usual Dom wasn’t interested in anything not involving bondage, and even Louisa realised that being strapped down and whipped when heavily pregnant was not a wise move. As she couldn’t manage to get her usual supplier to engage in anything even remotely vanilla she’d been doing without sex for a while. She was frustrated and desperate when she contacted me through an online contacts agency and suggested we get together for some not-so-gentle fucking. As you might have noticed, my tastes are a little more…flexible and I could deliver the intensity Louisa was after without the brutality. We spent a very enjoyable afternoon and evening together, and after her baby—Rosie—was born she took up where she’d left off with her usual guy. I didn’t see her again for months.”