Broken White: The Complete Series (All 8 Books), Page 2

  "The game every woman plays with her man," Isabella continues, but I can see from the look in her eyes that her suspicion has been piqued. "Why? What game did you think I meant?"

  "The same," I say unconvincingly.

  "Then who is Mr. White?"

  "He's..." I pause for a moment. "Bob White. He's a guy Mark knows, that's all".

  Before she has a chance to ask any more questions, I hurry to the door and head out into the corridor, and then through to the bar, where I find Mark still deep in conversation with Frank Raynard and some other men. Without saying anything, I settle into a seat next to Mark. I can't help thinking that I should maybe keep my mouth shut for a while, even if that means I have to just sit here and play the role of Mark's dutiful girlfriend. Glancing over at the door, however, I spot Isabella walking back through from the bathroom, and as she rejoins her husband, she fixes me with a determined stare.

  I think I might have said too much.

  Jonathan Pope

  1901

  "What's wrong tonight, Jonathan?" Sarah asks, as she continues to stroke my flaccid penis. Completely naked, she's spent the past few minutes trying to tease an erection from my stubborn manhood, but all her efforts have so far been in vain. "You're not your usual self. Are you getting bored of me?"

  "I'm fine," I reply, forcing myself to smile. "I'm sorry, I just don't feel..." I look down at my soft, useless member, and I realize that there's no chance I'm going to be able to make love tonight. The truth is, my thoughts are far away, and despite Sarah's great beauty and enthusiasm, I cannot rouse my passions sufficiently to make love to her. I have never before had such a failing, but at least I know the root of the problem: something is wrong. I do not know what, or where, or how, but I sense a disturbance. I have never thought myself to be a superstitious man before, but I can feel something nearby. There's a problem, and it will not go away of its own accord.

  "Perhaps you need a little extra stimulation," Sarah says, leaning down to take my manhood in her mouth.

  "No!" I say, a little too keenly.

  She stops and looks at me, and I can see that she's concerned.

  "I'm just tired," I continue. "I'm afraid I'm exhausted from everything that has been happening of late. I wonder, would you be prepared to merely pleasure yourself, and allow me to watch?"

  She bites her bottom lip for a moment, and I can see the look of nervous excitement in her eyes. "Is that what you want?"

  I nod.

  "You're a man of many surprises," she says.

  "Humor me," I reply. "Even if I can't pleasure you, I can still enjoy the sight of a beautiful woman enjoying her own body".

  "I suppose it could be arranged," she continues, settling on her back and opening her legs. "I never thought of you as the kind of man who likes to watch, Jonathan. I always thought you preferred to get involved". Smiling, she starts to gently massage her clitoris, but even this fails to arouse me. I sit up, hoping to improve my circulation, but there's not even the faintest of quivers from my penis. It's as if the thing has died.

  "Keep going," I say.

  "You like it, do you?" she replies, still rubbing herself.

  Staring at her crotch, I realize that the whole exercise is sickening me to the core. The truth is that over the past few months, I have come to detest sexual encounters with all women other than Henrietta. It is as if the game, instead of heightening my sexual desires, has had the opposite effect; Sarah is a beautiful woman, with long, curly blonde hair, and ordinarily I would defy any man in London to hold himself back. The problem here is not hers, but mine.

  "I must go out," I say after a moment.

  "Out?"

  I nod. "I'm sorry, but there is a matter that is demanding my attention, and I cannot focus on anything else until I have been to see..." My voice trails off as I suddenly realize that I can say no more. The last thing I need is for Sarah to know anything about the game; after all, I would have to kill her if she even suspected that this was anything more than a casual affair.

  "Jonathan, won't you wait while I -"

  "I don't have time," I tell her, feeling as if my chest is being crushed. This uncertainty is killing me; I simply have to get out of here.

  "Come on," she replies, her voice sounding tense and breathless as she continues to masturbate. She reaches up and runs a hand over her fine, pert breasts, taking a moment to gently tweak one of her nipples. It's clear that she is filled with desire, but her longing looks of passion are merely further confirmation of the arid desert that exists in my heart. I cannot even begin to contemplate making love to this woman tonight, despite her obvious beauty. "Look at me," she continues. "Don't you want to ravish me? Don't you want to climb on top and stick that thing all the way inside my wet -"

  "I'm sorry," I mutter, climbing off the bed and starting to gather my clothes together. All of a sudden, I'm filled with a burning desire to get out of this house. It's almost as if the walls are starting to close in all around me, and I feel that I might suffocate if I remain here a moment longer. What started as an emotional malady has now, it seems, become something physical. My heart is racing, and I feel as if I might faint at any moment.

  "Jonathan -" she starts to say.

  "Just finish," I say, trying not to sound too impatient. "We'll try again in a few days. I'm afraid I can't possibly perform in my current state".

  "But Jonathan -"

  "Will you just get on with it?" I shout, turning to her. "How hard can it be? Just give it a few flicks, have your fun, and get dressed!"

  She stares at me, with a look of shock on her face. Her hand is still resting in her crotch, but she's no longer pleasuring herself. It's clear that I've ruined the mood. Perhaps I should just get rid of Sarah altogether, rather than trying to preserve the link for another day.

  "I'm sorry," I continue. "I didn't mean to be so harsh, but I really must get going. You're welcome to stay here and finish what you've started, but I'd be most grateful if you could show yourself out once you're finished. I'd prefer it if you refrain from taking a bath, since I only have enough hot water for one person, and I should like to have the option when I come home later".

  "It's fine," she says, getting up and grabbing her clothes. "I'll leave".

  "We'll meet again on Thursday," I reply. "I shall endeavor to make this up to you".

  "No," she says, shaking her head as she steps into her stockings. "I don't think so, Mr. Pope. Whatever game you're playing, I want no further part of the whole thing. Quite apart from today's debacle, I've felt for a couple of weeks now that you struggle to remain interested in me. I'm an attractive lady, and I know how to pleasure a man, so I can only assume that the problem is one entirely of your creation. I hope you'll understand that I have no desire to sit around and wait for you to deign to touch me again".

  Nodding, I finish getting dressed and pause for a moment to check my attire in the mirror.

  "You don't even care, do you?" Sarah continues. "I suppose you think you'll just find another woman when your loins stir again".

  "I suppose I shall," I reply, staring at my reflection.

  "And will you treat her any better?"

  I shrug.

  "Goodbye, Mr. Pope," she says. There's a pause, as if she's waiting for me to say something, and finally she storms out of the room.

  A few minutes later, still filled with a sense of foreboding and concern, I leave my house and step out into the street. It's a cold winter's day and there's more chatter than usual, as Londoners feverishly discuss the latest news about our Queen's health. It seems that old Victoria is on her last legs, so I imagine we'll have a new monarch before too long. Unable to join in with this tireless speculation, I push my way through the crowds. I simply cannot get Lady Red out of my head. Regardless of the game's dictates, I must see her today. I must find out what has gone wrong.

  Elly

  Today

  "You okay?" Mark asks, sidling up to me as I stand by the bar. Once again, I've been lo
st in thought, trying to work out what I should do about Isabella Raynard. That damn woman has been keeping an eye on me since we got back from the bathroom, and I can't stop worrying that I've said way too much.

  "I'm fine," I say, glancing back at Isabella and seeing that she's still watching me. "I was just thinking about London, that's all. When do you think we might go back?"

  "Soon," he replies, seeming a little edgy. "Why? What's the hurry?"

  "Nothing," I say, as the barman brings my drink over.

  "Are you missing home?" Mark asks.

  I shrug. Right now, I don't want to be too committal; after saying too much to Isabella Raynard, I feel as if I should keep my options open and wait to see how things pan out. I keep telling myself that the most likely outcome is that Isabella's going to simply forget about the whole thing, but what if she keep pushing? I'm terrible at thinking on my feet, and I feel as if I might have made a huge mistake. Still, I can't tell Mark what happened; the last thing I want is for him to think that he can't rely on me to keep things secret.

  "We'll just be a couple more hours here, okay?" he continues. "I'm in the middle of a hugely important discussion. You remember the membrane your father was working on? I always knew it had military applications, and now I'm close to signing one of the biggest experimental deals any British company has ever been offered".

  "Go and talk to them," I say, smiling weakly. "Seriously. I'm fine".

  As he turns and heads back over to the others, I'm left alone to stare at my drink. I guess there was a part of me that wanted Mark to recognize that I'm unhappy, and to dig deeper; as things stand, he was content to just ask a few broad questions and then get back to his business deals. I know we're not really dating, exactly; it's more like we're hanging out together while he leads me through this strange game of sexual experimentation. Sometimes, in quiet moments, I find myself wishing for a simpler life.

  "It's not enough, is it?" asks Isabella, who has come over to join me.

  "What?" I ask, immediately on edge.

  "Love". She smiles. "And sex. They're not enough. Sometimes, you just want affection, and that's the hardest thing to get from a man. True, honest affection. A touch on the arm. A kiss when you're not expecting it. A compliment. When the rush of first love is over, your relationship lives and dies on the level of affection that's left behind. That's what love always burns down to, in the end". She pauses for a moment. "So I was hoping we could talk some more".

  "About what?" I ask, trying to come up with a cover story.

  "About that little misunderstanding we had earlier. You clearly thought I was talking about something else. I'm not stupid, Elly. I've heard rumors. Nothing too detailed, but stories. I've heard things about Mark. Some people think he's mixed up in something pretty dark. Something sexual". She glances over at the men for a moment. "I get it," she continues eventually. "Men like Mark need to keep pushing themselves. They need to keep trying new things. Boring old vanilla sex isn't enough, so they want something more extreme, and after a while they have to push further and further and further until..." She pauses, and then she turns back to me. "Until what, Elly? You look sweet and innocent, but I can't help thinking that you know more than you're letting on".

  "Nope," I reply, trying to play it cool. "Sorry".

  "I heard a story once," she continues. "It was a story about three people. For the sake of convenience, let's call them Mr. Blue, Mr. White and Lady Red". She stares at me. "Was that a hint of recognition in your eyes, Elly? Anyway. The story goes that these three individuals are engaged in a rather dark game in London. Now, I'm not one for conspiracy theories, but I've heard fragments of this story in various different places. I'm sure it's been twisted and changed over time, but I've always wondered if there might be something to it. And then you come along with Mark, and you just happen to react in a very strange way when I mention a game".

  "You're totally wrong," I say. "I just -"

  "You specifically mentioned Mr. White," she says, interrupting me. "Very, very specifically. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I just felt as if there was something in your eyes, Elly. It was as if you've been feeling lost, and for a moment you felt like I might be able to help you. And I can, but you're going to have to help me in return".

  "I really -"

  "You don't have to answer right now," she continues. "I just want to get into the game. I'm so bored, Elly. I have a boring husband and I have boring affairs, screwing around with boring guys I meet in boring bars. I was starting to think I'd gone off sex, but the one thing that's always interested me is the game. Not the silly game between men and women that I was talking about earlier, but the real game. The game you're involved with. I've always fantasized about taking part, but I never thought I'd have a chance. And then you came along and..." She pauses, and it's clear that she's filled with excitement; it's almost as if her eyes are sparkling. "I'll help you with the game. In return, you just have to let me get close".

  I shake my head. This has to be a test. It's too much of a coincidence, which means Mark has probably set me up. He must have brought me to Zurich specifically so he could get Isabella Raynard to mess with my mind.

  "Please, Elly," she continues. "It's all I've ever wanted".

  I pause for a moment, trying to work out the best way to handle this situation. "I'm really sorry if I gave you the wrong impression," I say eventually, "but I don't know what you're talking about. I just -"

  "Elly, you -"

  "Let me finish" I say firmly, determined to keep her from interrupting me yet again. "I genuinely, honestly don't know what you're talking about, okay? It's obvious that I've accidentally said something that fits with something you think you've heard, and I'm not saying that all this stuff about some game is wrong. But I don't know anything, okay? I'm just Mark's..." I pause for a moment. "I'm Mark's girlfriend," I say eventually, even though the word feels so strange and wrong. "He invited me to come with him to Zurich because we just got together a few weeks ago, and I've never been to Switzerland, and he thought it'd be fun. But there's no game, at least nothing more than the usual games that go on between two people".

  Isabella stares at me, and I can tell that she's not sure what to believe.

  "I don't think there's anything else I can say to make you change your mind," I continue. "If you're determined to believe that this game thing is real, that's up to you. But I don't have a clue, okay?"

  "Okay," she says, sounding as if she's genuinely deflated by what I've said. She looks down at her drink for a moment, and she seems embarrassed. "Sorry," she mutters, taking a sip. "I guess I got carried away".

  "Don't worry about it," I reply, trying to work out how soon would be too soon to excuse myself and get away from her.

  "I guess I sometimes get a little carried away," she continues. "How old are you, Elly?"

  "I'm twenty-two," I reply. "I had a birthday last week".

  "I'm forty-eight," she says, with tears in her eyes. Her voice seems to be trembling a little. "I'm more than double your age. I'm not saying it's bad to get older, Elly, but if you get to my age and you're lacking..." She pauses, and it's clear that she's struggling to keep from breaking down.

  "It's okay," I reply. "I'm sure your husband loves you".

  "Oh, fuck love!" she spits back at me. "Who needs love? Love's bullshit. I'm talking about affection. Love without affection is just an awful thing". She takes a deep breath and then lets out a long sigh. "Make sure you're with someone who shows you a little affection, Elly. Just a touch, now and then. All the love in the world, and all the sex, won't mean anything if you don't have someone who shows you affection. After all, you don't want to end up like me... I'm just some silly old bitch who gets her plastic tits out in the bathroom at parties. I lied to you earlier. I'm not a lesbian, but I did get a little buzz from seeing you topless. Just promise me one thing. Make sure that when you get to forty-eight, you have some affection in your life. If you don't, you're going to find it so hard".


  "I'll try," I reply, taken aback by this sudden outpouring of emotion.

  Patting my shoulder, she turns and heads back over to her husband, swaying slightly as she goes. I'm left standing by the bar, feeling relieved that I managed to avoid telling her anything about the game, but also feeling incredibly sorry for her. The problem, though, is that I genuinely don't know whether Mark can ever give me affection. He can give me sex, but is that all the game is about? Suddenly, standing in the bar of this exclusive building in the heart of one of the world's richest cities, staring at my billionaire boyfriend as he discusses a massive deal, I feel incredibly lonely.

  Jonathan Pope

  1901

  "Explain something to me," says Darius Wolff, proprietor of the King's Arms, as I sit at the bar. The place is mostly empty, with just a few pieces of human detritus lurking in the farthest corners. "How is it that a man such as yourself, Mr. Pope, who has no discernible use to society, continues to live and breathe, while good men are felled by life's cruel whims? How does that happen, and is it fair?"

  "It's not fair," I say, sipping from my mug of beer. "I'm fully aware that there are many, many men who would make better use of life. I have no idea why a man such as myself seems to have such great luck, but I could say the same about you, Wolff. You're hardly an angel, yet year after year you persist in breathing. How do you manage it?"

  Wolff takes a swig from his own beer. "I thought you were a dead man a few years ago. God knows how you managed to survive after John the Pig performed surgery on you. Even without any injuries, most people wouldn't survive more than a few minutes in that bastard's company. What's so special about you, Pope?" He pauses for a moment. "You know, there are some people who think you're mixed up in something altogether more unusual these days".