TABOO TALES(erotica)

Detective Howard leaned over the table, the empty coffee cups between them. His voice was low, mindful of the other customers in the cafe.

“Do you know where she keeps this material?”

Ben shook his head. “No. She might not even have it… it could be a bluff.”

The Detective shook his head. “I doubt it – not if it was on your computer…. she must have looked at it to say what she said.” He regarded Ben with frank eyes. “Is it that sensitive?”

“Absolutely. I simply can’t risk it being leaked to anyone.”

“Have you removed it from your computer now?”

“Yes.”

“And you want me to – ah – borrow the hard copies back from Sophie?”

Ben was in no mood for the subtlety of his words. “I want you to take them from her.”

The Detective shook his head again. “I don’t think that is practicable.” He leaned forward a little further. “Look – she’s aware that this material is the only hold she has over you… she’s unlikely to leave it lying around. It could be in a bank vault, a safety deposit box, with a friend or just stashed somewhere.” He regarded Ben. “I could try, but it would be very expensive and with little chance of success.”Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

“So there’s nothing to be done.”

“I didn’t say that.” He thought for a moment. “How far are you prepared to go to get it back?”

“Short of murder – as far as it takes.”

The Detective smiled. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” He hitched his chair forward, so their heads were almost touching. “There is one way,” he said quietly, “but it carries some risk.”

“What is it?”

Ben listened carefully as the Detective spoke.

*****

Later that night Ben Rogers sat in his office. The drapes were drawn back, revealing a stunning panorama that included the distinctive arch of the Harbour Bridge, but his eyes were unseeing as he thought of what he was about to do. He had phoned Sophie earlier that day, pleading with her to resolve the situation, but she had laughed at him.

“A little nervous, are we, Ben? Well, you should be. I had another read of your letters today – my, my, what a naughty boy you were!” Her voice hardened. “And you thought you could judge my morality, you supercilious little prick! Well, don’t ever forget who’s calling the tune here!”

“Don’t do this Sophie – each of us can walk away -”

She laughed again, a bitter angry sound in his ear. “And move me out of this nice apartment, Ben? I don’t think so! Not until your daughter is old enough to earn her own living.” She giggled. “You might want to do some business with her then, seeing as how you like to keep your dick in the family, so to speak.”

“Sophie -”

“No! Listen to me, you whining fuck! I stay here, and you pay the rent – and whatever else I need. And if I hear any more from you I might just put the squeeze on Chelsea too.”

He’d capitulated then, placing the handset in the receiver slowly, his heart heavy. He knew that she would never stop – that the demands would go on and on, and that it would be a constant shadow in his life.

He reached forward and picked up the phone and dialed a number, hearing the click of the router and then the soft burr of the ringing tone. It was answered on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Mr Hussein – Mr Ramal Hussein?”

The voice was soft in his ear. “Who is this?”

“A friend.”

“I don’t know you.”

“No sir, you don’t, but I’m a friend anyway. I have a little information for you.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Nothing. I want nothing from you.”

There was a pause. Ben could imagine Hussein’s conflict – the desire for information and his fear of a scam. “What is it?”

“You are acquainted with Sophia Delaney, I believe. Sometimes she calls herself Sophie McGraw, or perhaps Donatella Sassounioun -”

“Go on.”

“She keeps a diary in which you feature in detail – both your private and business lives.”

“She knows nothing of either.”

“She knows a great deal about you and her other clients. She writes about each of you when you meet her – what you do together, what you say. She keeps a score -”

Hussein’s voice cut him off. “Where is this diary?”

“She keeps it close.”

“Have you read it?”

“Enough to know that you would not wish to have it revealed. It would be very damaging to you.”

“If you have seen it then you are also a threat, if it is as you say.”

Ben shook his head. “No sir, I am not. I have neither the desire nor the means to harm you.”

“What is it you want me to do?”

“I believe that she will use this information one day – perhaps soon, perhaps in a few years.” Ben paused. “But what action you take is your decision alone.”

There was a long silence, and then Hussein spoke, his voice a sibilant whisper. “Very well – but if you think to harm me -”

Ben cut in. “I will not. You will not hear from me again.”

The line went dead and Ben gently replaced the phone on its handset. He thought about what the Detective had said at their last meeting, leaning close to him, his voice quiet. ‘They always keep a Diary, Ben, and it is always dynamite. Use the people that she has betrayed you with. Turn them onto her, and let them do the work.’

*****

Chelsea Rogers sat quietly in the west wing of the Church and watched the guests being ushered to their seats. She had arrived early so she could sit away from the main body of the church, so she could watch the ceremony and then slip away before the Reception. The Transept was narrow and poorly lit, its entrance partly obstructed by the massive pipes of the organ to one side of the Nave, and she felt sure that no one would see her there.

It was a beautiful Spring day, and the sun streamed through the high stained glass windows of the church, casting a dappled spectrum of light over the congregation. She could see the sunbeams cutting through the dust motes in the air, giving an ethereal feel to the scene; and she could hear the low hubbub of conversation above the solemn notes of an aria played by the ancient organist.

The stream of people entering the church gradually thinned and the murmur of voices died away. There was a hush over the congregation, and then the organist struck up the wedding march, the great pipes of the organ thundering in majesty and the music filling the whole church in a statement of celebration and joy. She could see her father near the altar in a new suit, his head turned to look at his bride approaching, and Chelsea watched as she walked towards him, slim and elegant, her face radiant with happiness.

A single figure slipped along the side of the church and stood at the corner of the Transept, six or seven rows in front of where she sat. He was obviously late and did not want to disturb the other guests, Chelsea thought – and then with a shock she recognised him, and her heart twisted in pain. It was Ben, and some quirk of fate had put them together in the same part of the church, although he was not aware of her yet.

For a while she regarded him. He was still slim, his body lean and hard beneath his clothes. He looked prosperous, too – the cut of his jacket was expensive, and gold links gleamed in the crisp white cuffs of his shirt. His hair was still thick, the chestnut colour unmarked with grey, but he looked older than when she had last seen him. She thought that his face was thinner and carrying lines of worry that had not been there before – but the brightness of his gaze was undiminished as he stared towards the altar, and a small smile of pride for his father lay upon his lips.

The wedding march ended with a flare of sound, the echoes reverberating around the church, and a hush settled over the crowd. Chelsea heard the Ministers voice welcoming the congregation, his words as timeless as the ceremony they had come to witness. We are here today to encourage, celebrate and support the covenant that James and Melanie now make, and to share in their joy as they pledge their love and commitment to each other…

The words resonated as she watched her brother. Their love and commitment to each another. She remembered their love, the sheer joy of being together, wrenched apart by doubt and uncertainty… but was it dead? She could see Ben smiling as he watched the union, his lips full and soft as she remembered them, laughter lines crinkling his eyes. She could hear the Minister’s words, his voice solemn as addressed the congregation, the words ringing in her head like a bell ‘… He will look to you for comfort, for support, for love, for understanding, for encouragement, and for protection. You must never take him for granted, and always stand by him for good or ill’.

And in that moment Ben turned and looked at her, as if he had known she would be there all along. It was a look filled with regret for what had he had lost, and of love and longing and hope for forgiveness. She could sense the aura of sadness he wore like an invisible cloak, and the tension of his body in the set of his mouth and the grip of his hands. She observed the marvelous blue of his eyes as they looked into hers, his gaze steady. The sounds and colours of their surroundings leached away to nothing and the congregation faded so that there was only the two of them, their eyes locked together. For a long moment they stared at each other and he smiled slightly, a tentative invitation for forgiveness, and she found herself smiling back. And then the moment was past, and as the end of a solar eclipse brings back the light of day, so the colours and bustle of the day returned and he turned away to watch the ceremony.

They found a quiet corner at the reception and sat together, pushing aside the debris on the table to give some room. Chelsea regarded him for a moment.

“You look well, Ben.”

He shrugged slightly. “I can’t complain.”