Offshore (28 page)

She
turned down the heat on the hob. “Call me inquisitive.”

“
Before we do, can I ask you something?” Cameron
said.

“
Sure.”

“
Why do you always me
Mister
Cameron? It’s so
formal. My name’s Duncan.”

“
I know, but it didn’t seem right to use your first name in
front of the others. It might smack of favouritism.”

“
How about a compromise then? Folks usually call me Cam,
short for Camshaft, because I’m a mechanic. Stupid I know, but it
sort of goes with the job.”

Lydia
faced him, “I don’t like nicknames. I think they are demeaning.
I’ll call you Duncan, but only in private, and this is nothing to
do with the job. It’s just us chatting.”

He gave
her a narrow look. “If you’re going to be putting me under the
microscope and scribbling notes like that nosey parker Brewer,
you’ll be wasting your time. I have nothing to tell.”

“
Let’s see shall we? For a start … how long have you been
with Longdrift?”

“
Nine years, for my sins.”

“
Like it?”

“
S’okay. Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.
Pay’s not bad, but some of the bosses can be right royal
wankers.”

A silent
eyebrow rose.

“
Ah, crap, sorry. I meant swines,” he said.

“
I know exactly what you mean. I’ve known my fair share. You
married? Family?”

“
Not for much longer. It’s a tawdry tale. You wouldn’t be
interested.”

He
frowned, and Lydia thought he looked a little sad, regretful even.
“I might, if it’s something you want to talk about,” she
said.

Cameron
shrugged, looked first at his boots and then at the ceiling tiles,
and sighed.

Two minutes later Lydia knew all about
the real reason he was out on
Bravo - it put him well out of reach of his ever complaining, ever
demanding, very soon to be ex-wife and her equally vindictive, cold
as a witch’s tit mother. Thankfully no children were involved.
Okay, so he’d had an affair, if it warranted such a description.
Nothing more than a brief fling months ago, it meant
nothing.

It
passed a few hot and steamy nights in a lonely one horse oil
workers’ shanty town in the depths of the Brazilian rainforest. His
wife wasn’t meant to find out, but she did, from the man occupying
his bed in his absence.

Quid pro quo.

Yet somehow it all seemed to be
his
fault.

She
claimed he had driven her to seek solace in the arms of another.
She wasn’t a nun and she had feelings too. He’d swanned off the
other side of the world and had his fun, abandoning her, neglecting
her needs, could he blame her?

Yes, he could, especially as she gave her lover presents
bought with
his
money.

It all
got very nasty. Accusations flew – as did a lot of crockery and
ornaments and expensive legal bills, all in his
direction.

Her
lawyer advised her to change the locks on the marital home, barring
him entry, and so he, homeless and penniless, sought refuge on an
isolated platform in the North Sea.

“
I wasn’t
all
my fault,” he moaned. “A man’s got to …
you know.” A brave smile. “I finally got that threesome I always
wanted. Both my wife
and
her lawyer fucked me.” He shrugged and looked at
the floor, his face so downcast that Lydia felt compelled to make
him smile again.

She
stood close to him, touched his arm. “You okay?”

He
nodded. “Yeah.”

Lydia
said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stir up bad
memories.”

He
shrugged again. It said a lot.

“
Come here.” Lydia stood on tiptoe and put her arms around
his neck, hugging him tightly. She then kissed him gently on the
cheek. “Life really can be a pile of shite can’t it?” she
said.

Cameron
harrumphed and the corners of his mouth twitched in the parody of a
smile, serving only to enhance a hangdog expression too much for
her to bear. He really did need some cheering up.

“
Come with me,” Lydia said, and took him by the hand and led
him into the pantry at the rear of the kitchen.

“
Is there something else I can do for you? Something you
want off the shelf?”

She
closed the door, shutting them in the small, cramped space. “No,
but I think there might be something I can do for you.”

In the
pitch blackness Cameron could not see his hand in front of his
face, or what Lydia was up to, until he felt the button on his
jeans pop and the zipper being undone.

Small
slender fingers cupped his dick and balls through his boxers,
massaging gently before easing their way past the elasticated
waistband to take a proper hold, skin to skin.

Immediately his heart-rate picked up, and his breathing,
ragged and irregular, sounded inordinately loud in the small space,
and he felt the tell tale prickling in his groin.

“
Miss Ellis – Lydia … I don’t think you should … ooooya
…”

“
Want me to stop,” she said.

“
N-no-no … please don’t …”

She
squeezed gently. “Don’t stop what?”

“
That … don’t stop that … aaaahh!”

She got
down on her knees and tugged at his jeans and underwear, freeing
his rapidly burgeoning erection from its cotton
constraint.

He
reached out for something to hold on to, his fingers clamping onto
the edge of the canned goods shelf while this delicate woman played
with his cock with her fine cool hands and her warm wet
tongue.

“
Jeez Lydia … aaarrgh!” After bringing him to full mast and
its accompanying deep warmth in the pit of his abdomen, she urged
him down onto the pantry floor with her.

There
was hardly room for him to stretch out, he had to keep his knees
bent and pressed his feet flat against the door. It would hold it
closed against intrusion if nothing else.

He lay
there while she performed the perfect fallatio on him, and just
when he though he might explode there and then, he felt himself
encased in wet heat as she slid herself over him and was now riding
him in a graceful undulating motion, her rippling interior
massaging his cock from the inside.

Overwhelming. Intense. Sensations.

“
Oh. My. God!”

She
kissed him full on the lips and then braced herself between the
shelves of bottles and cans. He grasped her thighs, holding her in
place as they fell into a synchronous rhythm, tempo increasing as
mutual excitement mounted.

Faster.
Harder. Deeper.

Bottles
and jars rattled on the shelves.

Then
like a wave it hit. He arched his back as hot pulses raced from
deep within his balls, through his cock, to erupt into
her.

“
Ahhh-haaaaa-haaaaa!”

His
expulsions of pleasure ended in a feeble squeak, every last atom of
air forced from his lungs.

Duncan
inhaled deeply and sank back onto the cold floor, the tingle of
orgasm sparking in his fingers and toes, his limbs turned to
water.

“
Bloo-dy hell!”

Euterich
could smell it on them before he saw them, and it turned his
stomach.

All the
trouble he had gone to, to assimilate with McAllister, to take on
his educated mind and strong muscular body to appeal to Lydia, to
impress her and lure her away from that oaf Capstan, and how did
she repay him? By having sex with that other ignoramus, Duncan
fucking Cameron.

When she
presented him with his plate of sausages and mashed potatoes, it
was all he could do not to throw it back at her, and when Cameron
offered him baked beans and gravy, he felt a cinder of fury burn in
him, the desire to snatch that stainless steel ladle from his hand,
to smash open his skull with it, to scoop out his brains and serve
them up as a side dish smothered in ketchup, almost
irresistible.

He
barely restrained himself from diving over the counter, grabbing
the man by the throat, and slowly and painfully squeezing the very
breath of life from him, treating him to a very up close and
personal death.

No. Not
here. Not now.

Cameron’s time would come soon enough. Instead, Euterich
fixed a benign smile on McAllister’s face and helped himself to a
cup of tea and a slice of bread.

He
carried his tray to the table and took a seat as far from the
others as he could manage. With everyone served and eating, Lydia
and Cameron brought their own meals to the table.

She
chatted with Eddie Capstan, having dragged him away from his
telephone vigil to eat, while Cameron fell into conversation with
Shaw.

Both
acted as if nothing had happened.

Euterich’s hand shook with rage as poked at his mashed
potatoes with a fork.

He
stilled it, transferring his agitation to a rapid pistoning of his
left leg beneath the table.

“ …
Mr McAllister?” He continued to idly push his food around
his plate.

“
Mr McAllister?”

He
looked up, and realised Lydia had stopped talking with Capstan and
was now addressing him, holding him with an expectant gaze,
awaiting a response to a question he had not heard.

“
Sorry. What?”

“
Are you alright, Mr McAllister?”

“
Yeah. Fine. Why?”

“
You’re not eating. Is there something wrong with the
food?”

“
Food’s fine,” he said stiffly, adding a strained yet
polite, “Thanks.” She continued her discourse with Capstan while
Euterich concentrated on the mess of tinned beans, glutinous
potatoes and mechanically recovered meat tubes, all coated in a
tacky brown liquid. It was very far from fine.

He
forced a morsel into his mouth. It tasted like diesel and ash, but
he made a show of working his way through it; stab, chew,
sulk.

As soon
as he practically could he excused himself from the table, slammed
his dirty plate on the servery, and stamped his way to McAllister’s
cabin.

Once
behind the closed door, he allowed his barely pent up anger to
vent. He snatched up the sleeping bag from the bed and as though it
were made of nothing more substantial than wet tissue paper, ripped
it to shreds, scattering its nylon filling over the room like a
fresh fall of snow.

He tore
at every scrap of material until his fingers cramped, all the while
sobbing out the most vehement curses his demented mind could
conjure, calling down all the plagues of hell and damnation onto
Eddie Capstan and Duncan Cameron, who between them had soiled and
corrupted the innocent object of his desire with their foul and
filthy bodily fluids.

Dirty filthy stinking
bastards
!

Time to
make another selection from his now limited options. To wipe out
the bespoilers one at a time before any more damage could be done.
But who first?

An easy
decision.

The next
one who had slightest cause to upset, anger, or cross him. He
dearly hoped it would be Capstan or Cameron.

It was
neither.

He stood
at the hob, idly stirring a stock pot of soup, all the while
watching Brewer and Lydia at work in the mess hall, papers spread
over a table top, notebooks open, pencils poised. What were they
talking about so cosily together, the medic and the nosey parker
psychologist? Birds of a feather flocking together to compare
notes?

Brewer
cast a momentary glance in his direction, leaned forward and said
something to Lydia. She looked over her shoulder, threw him the
briefest of smiles and returned to business. The pair
laughed.

They
were talking about him. Making fun of him. He continued to stare,
willing Brewer to catch his eye one more time and admit his guilt.
When it came, the connection lasted a mere second.

It was
enough. Selection made.

Chapter 31

It
didn’t take Euterich long to work out what he was going to do to
Doctor Brewer, when, and where.

He had
the ideal place in mind. Cool, dark, and with a drainage hole in
the centre of the floor; ideal for disposing of unfortunate
spillages. As for the when, Eddie Capstan himself had handed him
that opportunity on a plate.

A little re-jigging of the schedule due to the
current
staff shortage
, and tomorrow he and Brewer were scheduled for
kitchen duty together. It could not have been more perfect if he’d
worked it out for himself.

When
everyone retired for the evening, he set about gathering the
necessary bits and pieces, and making a few preparations for the
next day’s work.