Knife Edge
Authors: Fergus McNeill
Table of Contents
Eye Contact
Fergus McNeill is the author of
Eye Contact
. As well as writing crime novels, he has been creating computer games since the early eighties, writing his first interactive fiction titles while still at school. Over the years he has designed, directed and illustrated games for all sorts of systems, including the BBC Micro, the Apple iPad, and almost everything in between.
Now running an app development studio, Fergus lives in Hampshire with his wife and teenage son.
You can visit Fergus’s website
www.fergusmcneill.co.uk
, find him on Facebook
www.facebook.com/fergusmcneillauthor
or follow him on Twitter at
twitter.com/fergusmcneill
.
Fergus McNeill
First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Hodder & Stoughton An Hachette UK company
Copyright © Fergus McNeill 2013
The right of Fergus McNeill to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library ISBN 9781444739688
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
London NW1 3BH
For Andrea & John:
friends & family.
It had started as a fleeting suspicion – the ghost of an idea.
Where once the game had been so gratifying, now there was a faint shadow – the vague sense that something might be missing, that somehow it wasn’t so sweet as once it was.
For a long while, he couldn’t put his finger on what was lacking … just a lingering sense of doubt that grew stronger each time, until finally he knew what was troubling him.
Recognition.
At first he had told himself that it didn’t matter – that greatness wasn’t dependent on other people, and he didn’t need them to validate what he did. But more and more, he began to wonder.
He wasn’t an artist – he didn’t put his name to his work, and its worth didn’t come from the perception of others. He didn’t crave recognition from every person he met …
… just from her
.
SUBMISSION
1
Sunday,
25
May
Robert Naysmith padded silently through the unfamiliar cottage to the bedroom. The carpet felt like hotel carpets do, hard-wearing and frequently cleaned, but it was warm beneath his feet where the morning sun had touched it. Yawning, he leaned forward, carefully moving the make-up bag and wristwatch to one side, making space for the mug of coffee, which he placed carefully on the bedside table. Straightening up, he paused to look at Kim as she slept, and wondered if this would be their last day together.
She looked so peaceful, her long dark hair spread out across the oversized pillows, her unconscious face calm, like a porcelain doll. Other women frowned in their sleep, or their faces slackened into dull, vacant expressions, but Kim was serene, her full lips slightly parted, one delicate shoulder showing bare above the duvet.
Let her sleep just a little longer.
He pushed a hand through his short dark hair and walked over to the window. The curtains were tied back – it was the same all through the cottage – but the place was so remote that there was little need for privacy, even in the bedroom. And it was uplifting to wake up and see the rugged coastline outside. There were clouds on the horizon now but the sun was climbing higher in the sky, casting a long glittering reflection across the waves that crashed against the cliffs below. Gulls wheeled over the path that led up along the headland to the old lighthouse, riding the blustery wind that whipped through the coarse grass.
He sighed and stretched, forcing his broad shoulders back as he tensed his muscles, closing his eyes and enjoying the warmth of the sunlight on his chest. Limbering up, loosening his tall frame, shaking off the last of his drowsiness, his body feeling awake, ready.
Ready.
He bowed his head and frowned, one hand reaching up to toy with the simple gold chain around his neck. How had it happened? He’d never meant for things to turn out this way. Kim had always been special, but so were most of the women, at least for a while. He could have enjoyed her and moved on –
should
have done so – but somehow he’d never quite got her out of his mind. And moving in together – the last thing he needed was someone living with him. In his position, that could be a fatal liability. And yet, he’d found himself adapting, making allowances. In some ways, the difficulty of protecting her from the truth had become part of the challenge, part of the game.
But he couldn’t hide the truth from himself: somehow, he’d let down his guard, let her get too close to him. Somewhere along the line, he’d started comparing the other women to her, and found that they weren’t enough. Kim mattered to him, and she was beginning to matter too much.
She’d always had a submissive streak running through her. He’d sensed that from the beginning and had steadily dominated her until she’d abandoned herself to him physically, emotionally, totally. And yet the more she gave in to him, the more he wanted her, needed her. A subtle bond was forming around them and he knew that it would eventually be too strong for him to break.
He turned and gazed across the room at her slender form, curled up in the huge duvet. So fragile, so perfect. He hoped he wouldn’t have to kill her.
The cotton sheets were cool on his skin as he sat down on the bed. He felt her stirring beside him, watched as her small hand reached out and touched his, her brown eyes blinked open and her mouth turned into a sleepy smile.
‘Hey you,’ she murmured.
‘Coffee’s there beside you,’ he pointed, but his eyes stayed on her.
She twisted around, struggling free of the duvet, wriggling backwards to prop herself up against the headboard. He watched her yawn, her small breasts rising and falling as she closed her eyes for a moment, then looked around and reached for her mug.
‘Mmmm, you think of everything.’ She smiled as she raised the drink and inhaled the steam.
Naysmith looked away.
‘I try to,’ he said quietly.
And he had. Careful preparations: taking her mobile phone and the car keys, and hiding them both in the bottom of his bag. The cottage was booked for a week, and it was just as isolated as he’d hoped – no neighbours and no interruptions. Everything was in place, everything was ready.
Ready.
‘Kim …’
‘What is it?’
He looked across at her, naked and vulnerable, her large eyes watching him. He turned away, worried that she might see the conflict that raged inside. Everything was ready except him.
‘Nothing.’ He paused. ‘Let’s go and see about breakfast.’
They went for a walk later that morning, following the faintly worn footpath that meandered along the clifftops and up to the point. Naysmith was quiet, staring out at the sea, while Kim was content to match his pace, linking her arm through his as the wind buffeted them.
‘Thanks for booking this,’ she said as they paused at a place where the path had fallen away, revealing the bay below them. ‘It’s so wild and beautiful here.’
Naysmith glanced up at the clouds, pale grey with bright silver edges, and nodded slowly.
‘It is.’
White water swirled between the rocks, and he could taste the tang of salt on his lips.
‘Rob?’ Kim hesitated, then moved around to look up at his face. ‘Are you happy?’
‘Of course,’ he shrugged. ‘A week away with you, and the cottage is great—’
‘Yes, but I meant …’ She paused, then quietly asked, ‘Are
you
happy?’
Naysmith gazed into her eyes for a moment, watching as the wind blew strands of hair across her upturned face, then turned and looked out past the whitewashed stone lighthouse towards the distant horizon.
‘I have everything I could ever want … why wouldn’t I be happy?’
Kim stared at him thoughtfully, then moved closer, slipping her small hand into his.
‘I don’t know … it’s just that you looked so far away.’ She sighed. ‘I like having you close.’
Naysmith put his arm around her shoulders. They were only a few feet from the cliff edge, and her slight frame was resting against him …
No!
He pushed the thought away, and pulled her close, as the gentle roar of the surf in the rocks drifted up from below.
‘That’s what I want too,’ he whispered, screwing his eyes shut for a moment. ‘For us to be close. As close as two people can be.’
They stood there for a time, watching the endless wash of the waves that crawled in from the grey sea, then turned and made their way back from the precipice.
After lunch, they settled down to watch an old film on the cottage’s one, elderly television set. Kim cuddled up to him on the large sofa while he absently stroked her hair. She had put her hand in his lap when they first sat down, but he’d gently moved it away, putting an arm around her and resting her on his chest so that he could kiss the top of her head, smell the scent that calmed him. Somehow, he couldn’t –
wouldn’t
– take advantage of her. He thought too much of her for that, no matter how things turned out later.
He knew now that he had to tell her. The thought of doing so, once a foolish whim to be dismissed as soon as it arose, had grown in his mind until it drove out everything else.
As close as two people can be.
He couldn’t keep it from her any more. He wanted her to know who he really was, wanted her to understand what he could do. He wanted to take her with him. But was she ready?
Ready.
‘Rob?’
The credits were rolling and Kim was looking up at him, her eyes searching his face for something.
