instead, he protected me when he had every right to dismiss me on the spot.
Then, when I got back from France, he wanted to know everything that happened and he kept my report.’
Blake sat forward in his chair.
‘You make Vernon sound like a monster when all he tried to do was help you,’
he said.
‘He’s hiding something, David,’ she said, angrily. ‘John Fraser knew what it was. That’s why he was killed.’
‘Who’s Fraser?’
She explained as much as she knew about the events of the last two days.
‘But if Fraser was killed in a car crash, how could Vernon be involved?’ the writer wanted to know. ‘It was an accident, surely?’
‘He knew about Vernon’s secret.’
Another heavy silence descended, finally broken by Blake.
‘I don’t see how you can suspect Vernon of being involved in Fraser’s death,’
he said.
‘David, he won’t let anyone come between him and this research.’
‘Does that include you?’ Blake asked, cryptically.
It was at that point that the phone rang.
For long moments neither of them moved as the strident ringing filled the room. Then, finally, Kelly got to her feet and walked across to the phone, lifting the receiver tentatively, wondering why she felt so apprehensive.
Blake watched her, noticing the hesitancy in her movements.
‘Hello,’ she said.
No answer.
‘Hello,’ she repeated, looking across at Blake as if seeking reassurance.
Words suddenly came gushing forth from the caller at the other end, some of which she didn’t understand. Not merely due to the speed with which they were uttered but because they were in French.
‘Who is this?’ she asked, holding the phone away from her for a second as a particularly loud crackle of static broke up the line. ‘Hello. Can you hear me? Who’s speaking?’
‘Kelly. It’s Michel Lasalle.’
She relaxed slightly.
‘Listen to me, you must listen,’ he blurted, and Kelly was more than aware of the high-pitched desperation in his voice. His breathing was harsh and irregular, as if he’d been running for a long time. ‘I saw Madelaine,’ he told her, his voice cracking. ‘I saw her.’
‘You had a nightmare, Michel, it’s understandable …’
He interrupted.
‘No, I touched her, felt her,’ he insisted.
‘It was a nightmare,’ she repeated.
‘No. Joubert saw her too.’
Kelly frowned.
‘What do you mean? How was he involved?’ she wanted to know. She felt the tension returning to her muscles.
‘He was there, with me,’ the Frenchman continued, panting loudly. He babbled something in French then laughed dryly. A sound which sent a shiver down Kelly’s spine. ‘He watched me making love to her. She felt cold in my arms but it didn’t matter, she is still mine. I still want her.’
Kelly tried to speak but couldn’t.
‘Joubert has not forgiven me,’ the Frenchman said, softly. ‘I don’t think he ever will.’
‘Forgiven you for what?’ Kelly wanted to know.
‘Writing that article.’
‘Did he speak to you?’ she asked, wondering whether or not she should humour the distraught man.
‘He is always there, Kelly. Always. Watching.’
An uneasy silence fell, broken only by the gentle hiss of static burbling in the lines.
‘Michel, are you still there?’ Kelly finally said.
Silence.
‘Michel, answer me.’
She heard a click and realized that he’d hung up. For long seconds she stared at the receiver then slowly replaced it.
‘What was it?’ Blake asked, seeing the concern on her face.
She walked slowly back towards him and seated herself on the floor once again, reaching for her coffee. It was cold.
‘Kelly, who was that?’ the writer persisted.
‘Lasalle. One of the men from the Metapsychic Centre,’ she told him, then proceeded to relay what the Frenchman had said to her.
‘He’s convinced that it was real,’ she said.
Blake shrugged.
‘Nightmares are usually vivid,’ he said.
Kelly shook her head.
‘But Lasalle won’t accept that he had a nightmare,’ she protested. ‘He’s convinced that what he experienced actually happened.’ She sighed. ‘I hope to God he’s not heading for another breakdown. He had one when his wife died.’
She looked up at Blake. ‘And Joubert, he mentioned that Joubert was present in the nightmare. He sounded frightened of him.’ She lowered her gaze once more.
‘First Fraser, now Lasalle. One man’s dead, another is close to a nervous breakdown and all because of the research I’m engaged in.’
‘You can’t blame yourself, Kelly,’ Blake said, reaching out and gently lifting her head with his right hand.
She gripped that hand, aware of the combination of gentleness and strength in it but more conscious of the warmth which seemed to flow from it, from his entire being. She looked up at him, trying to see his eyes, searching for a glimmer behind the tinted screens which masked them. Kelly kissed his hand and moved closer to him, resting her own right hand on his knee as he slowly stroked the back of her neck beneath her hair. She squirmed beneath his subtle caresses, moving nearer, anxious to touch him fully. His other hand began gently kneading the smooth flesh of her shoulder and she closed her eyes.
‘What if Vernon is responsible for Fraser’s death?’ she said, quietly, enjoying the sensations which were coursing through her.
‘Then he’s a dangerous man,’ Blake said. ‘You should stay away from him.’
‘And Joubert?’
‘Kelly. If there is any possibility that either of them have some kind of psychic power then you’d do best not to let them know you suspect.’
‘But I must know the truth, David,’ she protested, turning to face him.
As she did so, Blake leant forward and kissed her. Their lips brushed gently for a moment then, unhesitatingly, Kelly pressed her mouth to his. Blake responded fiercely, matching her passion with his own desire.
Kelly snaked her hand up around his neck, as if reluctant to break the kiss.
When she finally did, she was panting softly, her eyes riveted to Blake. Her body was burning, as if fire were pouring through her veins. She felt her nipples, now stiff and erect, straining almost painfully against her dress and between her slender legs she felt a glowing moistness. Blake sensed her excitement and she could see that he felt similarly aroused by the contact they had enjoyed. Her hand strayed to the beginnings of bulge in his trousers, massaging and rubbing until Blake himself grunted under his breath.
Kelly moved away from him slightly, lying back on the carpet before him, inviting his attentions. The writer was not slow to respond and he joined her, his hands moving over the thin material of her dress until they came to her breasts. He rubbed gently, feeling the hardened points beneath his palms as she arched her back. Kelly felt as if she were floating, the warm glow between her legs becoming an all-consuming desire which filled every part of her. She took Blake’s left hand and guided it up inside her dress, moaning as his fingers stroked the smooth flesh of her inner thighs, pausing there for agonisingly exquisite seconds before moving higher. She felt his probing digits reach her panties, his forefinger hooked, pulling down the flimsy garment. She lifted her buttocks to allow him to remove them, watching as he first kissed the sodden material before laying it on one side.