by This is the first chapter of my upcoming novel CARLTON HILL. It’ll be avbailable on Amazon for kindle or as a paperback on August 22.
Blurb
WHAT WILL BECOME OF YOU AND THE PEOPLE WHOSE LIVES YOU’RE DRIFTING IN AND OUT OF LIKE A SHADOW ON THE WALL? WILL YOUR GOOD-LOOKS SAVE YOU AGAIN? OR WILL THERE BE HELL TO PAY…
Meet Duke Arrowsmith – part gentleman, part British eccentric, having worked his way up from the docks and housing projects of Leith to the finest neighborhoods of Edinburgh. These days, he’s only serving the most solvent upper crust customers, rolling through town in his signature red 92 Lotus Excel SE. Duke is a drifter and a mystery. And when he meets Emily, a girl to die for, his world is starting to fall apart around him instead of taking a turn for the better.
A young woman has gone missing, her bedroom bearing the evidence of a nightmare – and Duke is becoming the prime suspect of this gruesome crime. It is his lifestyle, the things he’d been willing to do to get to the top and all the ramifications of his connections that eventually pinned a bullseye to his back.
Attempting to clear his name without losing Emily, Duke goes into hiding. To keep out of the line of fire. But also to somehow keep his world from falling apart. But his past is haunting him wherever he goes. And he has to learn there’s a price to pay for all the sins he committed while invading the lives of too many people in search of himself.
CHAPTER 1
The evening light tinted her features in the most beautiful red, yellow and orange. Lying behind her, he looked at her back, her legs, not slim but not beefy either, the dark blonde hair, falling like waves breaking on cliff. The shape was reminiscent to Arthur’s Seat, at least to his eyes. But not the rough, rocky contours, formed by force and time. When he looked at her, he was reminded of one cold but beautiful day in winter, some years back, and the snow-capped Arthur’s Seat’s appearance from the lake at Holyrood Park.
From Waverley Hotel, you had a nice view over Old Town, hanging to the hills in levels. But you could also see Arthur’s Seat to the left. And Carlton Hill, in the corner of your left eye. Almost like an afterthought. She yawned, the beautiful thing, breaking whatever thought had crossed his mind when he looked at the town that was home to so many memories, both his and others’.
“Are you tired?” Duke Arrowsmith asked, stroking her temple, running his fingers through her hair like he would through patches of golden wheat in summer. Eyes closed, he could smell it, too. The scent of harvesting season, producing the best wheat and barley for beer and whiskey. But in February, harvesting season seemed like it was an eternity away.
“What were you looking at?” Rachel asked back, discarding his question before she pulled a deep breath, probably fighting the urge to yawn.
“At you, gorgeous,” Duke said and kissed her neck. Gently, but also forcefully, protracting the process. It was one of his specialties. Rachel moaned. And even though he could still only see the back of her head, he knew she was closing her eyes, holding her breath firmly.
“Liar. Think I’ll tip you generously just for bluntly lying to me?”
“Well, I was hoping for it.”
“Well, then you’re wrong, little schoolboy,” she went and turned around, looking right into his eyes, drowning.
“You’re beautiful,” he said and meant it.
“You’re more beautiful. So beautiful and still youthful.”
“I’m a full-grown man.”
“Yes, you are.”
She ran a hand down his belly, tight with hints of a six-pack but not excessively muscular, down further, solidifying her grip.
“All the girls are jealous of you.”
“For knowing how to keep you around?”
“For your beauty. You don’t look your age.”
“And yet, I am my age.”
“You don’t look a day older than thirty-five.”
“Thirty-five?” she asked in good fun, raising an eyebrow. “I should give you a good whippin’ for saying that.”
“Please go ahead.”
Their eyes met. They stopped. Both of them. Whatever it was between them was strong and fragile and all at the same time. As much as neither of the two would ever say it, they were both aware of it.
“There’s something I dislike about seeing you this way,” Rachel said with a smack of disappointment swinging in her voice.
“It figures.”
“You know what it is?”
“I have my theory. But please, tell me.”
“It’s the fact of the matter. The realization that all we’ve had, that we’ve shared for these sweet hours, was only a fleeting apparition.”
“Like a sparrow in an apple tree.”
“You could never have it. Nobody could.”
“To hell with those that ever tried.”
“It’s a– “
“Crime?”
“Pity,” Rachel replied after a moment’s consideration.
“And yet, I prefer a fleeting apparition over the dull, gray bleakness of our existence.”
“No wonder. You built a career on it.”
“Hm.”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said and rolled over to the edge of the bed, breaking free from Duke’s embrace.
“You don’t need to.”
“But I had no right saying that,” she calmly explained. Whatever remorse she felt, it wasn’t tormenting her, at least not to the surface she’d turned to the outside world. No, Rachel had been through plenty of regretful encounters, situations and human relationships, so she was simply too experienced to show how she took it to heart.
As she sat on the edge of the bed, slipping on her stockings, she still looked gorgeous. Duke blinked twice. The sight of her aroused, yet also appalled him. It was something he still had to come to terms with.
“You can say whatever you want,” Duke said and embraced her from behind, making sure he could smell her hair. Rachel took his right hand and put it to her cheek.
“There’s no way to be mad at anything for too long in your presence. How do you do that?”
“Chemistry, I supposed when I was younger.”
“What would you suppose now?”
“Magic.”
That had her smiling.
“I’d call you Magic but I’m afraid that nickname is already taken.”
“More than once, certainly.”
“You’re smart.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Anyway, I think you’re smart. It’s a sign of intelligence to know who you are, what you’re good at and what you’re bad at. A quality I know nothing about.”
“Care for coffee?”
“Hm,“ she began and Duke knew the answer.
Ever since they first met, he’d continuously asked the very same question, disregarding society’s daytime restrictions on drinking coffee. And even though it was about the best time to go for coffee and soak up the last light of day, Duke knew the answer already.
“Maybe next time,” he answered to himself and jumped out of bed.
That ended it. A simple act but it felt like turning off the tap. The flow had stopped.
Silent at first, they both dressed, straightened the clothes so carelessly stripped and tossed to the thick-carpeted floor, arranged their hair. To look presentable and innocent as well. After a while, when Duke wound up his wristwatch and Rachel replaced the red lipstick she’d smeared over both of them, they fell back to the business-like small talk no intelligent human being could ever find enjoyable.
“If that watch didn’t look so stylish on you,” Rachel repeated a comment made already months back, “I’d advise you to get a new one. Why’d anyone go at such length these days and remember winding up a wristwatch?”
“Because it’s a pleasure. I like mechanical things.”
“For their simplicity?”
“Nothing’s simple about mechanics. It’s because they have a tendency of working splendidly for decades without ever giving me a headache.”
“That’s nice,” she replied. Duke could tell from the undertone that she wasn’t really interested anymore. He could relate. For Rachel, reality hit much harder than it should’ve every time their pleasures came to an end.
“So, what’re your plans for the evening?” he asked to change the subject. “Any appointments?”
“Dinner with my daughter.”
“What about Charles?”
“Charles will join us. If work permits.”
“I see.”
“No,” she said and finished a delicate line under her left eye to accentuate the tasteful makeup she’d applied. “No, you don’t.”
When they left the room, it looked like nobody had ever been there. Only the bed was deranged, but someone would take care of that. Someone always did. Some person with no voice, no face, no identity in society. Making sure the cogwheels of this enormous machinery would keep spinning and clicking in place. Only the slightest disturbance would bring it all down in a tumble, Duke thought when he peered into the room, then pulled the door shut. Another clicking of the machinery.
They wouldn’t talk much on their way down to the parking garage, moving swiftly and casually, raising no suspicion. Nobody really took notice of them. But it seemed that Duke turned more heads.
“You must’ve been so cocky back in school, Rachel,” Duke said very charmingly.
“I was. But so were you. Obviously.”
“Don’t give me that, I lacked all confidence and was a pitiable mess back in school, routine.”
“It was worse than that.”
“You’re still driving that old thing?” she asked when she spotted Duke’s car, parked right next to her brand-new Jaguar.
“It’s got class and I like the feel of it.”
“That’s not what cars are about. It doesn’t suit you.”
“It’s all I have,” Duke said and ran a hand along the subtle rear wing.
The car was a Lotus Excel SE, built in 92, running the 2.2-liter Lotus 912 engine. Red paintjob, red interior, a rare combination for sure. Duke kept it in pristine condition. To him, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. What he appreciated the most was how much he felt connected to the road through the car. With its thin glass-fiber body, Duke felt sure he’d get killed instantly, should he ever hit a tree in it.
“You got a lot more than that,” Rachel said, threw her arms around him, then pressed her lips on his’.
“Mind your makeup,” Duke reminded her but she didn’t reply. Neither did she care.
“Why do you make me feel that way?”
“Ask God.”
“God is dead.”
“Ask a scientist, then.”
“I don’t know any scientists,” she said enjoying one last kiss to the fullest before slipping an envelope in Duke’s coat pocket.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Arrowsmith.”
Without saying goodbye, she got into the car, backed it up and rolled off without ever looking back at Duke. She always did that. What got him was the smell of the car. Or lack thereof. It was a hybrid, making a buzzing sound instead of explosions.
When he started the car, he reached for the seatbelt, then changed his mind and got back out. Exhaust fumes were rising like cigarette smoke from the back of the car. They smelled just right. The engine was humming its typical, carbureted sound. A fire door banged shut, spoiling the mirage. But Duke had had plenty. As he sped up the ramp, he rolled down the window, listening to the stainless-steel, iron and aluminum orchestra.
Behind the wheel of the Lotus, the 912 buzzing like a bumblebee at work, Duke never felt any hurry. Nothing ever worried him. The world even looked brighter through the windows, so he barely ever rolled them down. Edinburgh looked like it hadn’t changed in the past three-hundred years when you walked down the street. But whenever Duke took the Excel out on a stroll, it looked a bit better. Like anything he could ever imagine.
The asphalt was glistering, a sign of cold rolling in from the ocean. It had been a while since he’d been out there, standing at the pier, scent of salt in his nose, soon getting him hungry and yearning for fish and chips and a cold beer on a chilly day. Before he knew, he was in Stockbridge, where he was familiar with every street and alley. A couple of years back, people would’ve watched and turned their heads when a handsome man in a car like that drove by. But those times were past and gone. Behind the wheel of the red Excel, Duke wouldn’t leave no impression on the world.
In front of a small café, he spotted a parking spot and effortlessly backed the car into it. Nobody took notice. Only the girl behind the counter was eyeballing him through as he crossed the sidewalk.
She was a real treat to the eyes. Tall, slender and beautiful. From the sidewalk, through the fogged-up window, her hair looked a shade or two too dark. From up close, you could tell it was the sweetest of honey blonde. The leather apron they made her wear like anyone else working at the café did nothing to diminish her attractiveness.
“Hi there,” she went to greet Duke, trying in vain to make it sound casual.
“Good afternoon.”
“Is it that late already?”
“Uh-huh. The weather’s playing tricks on your perception that time of year.”
“Had someone asked me, I’d have sworn it wasn’t much past midday.”
“Working long hours?”
She smiled as she poured foamed milk into thick espresso, attempting to put a leaf on top but failing miserably.
“What can you do? I’m strapped for cash.”
“Most are.”
“Not all of us,” she said and stopped before saying anything further. Duke smiled.
“What’s your specialty?”
“Barely not flunking out of college?”
“Funny.”
“Why aren’t you laughing, then?” she asked and handed the cappuccino to an overweight waitress, huffing and puffing, making her way across the small shop floor.
“I don’t look good when I’m laughing.”
“Bad liar, eh?” she said blinking for emphasis.
“Keep hearing that.”
“Maybe it’s true, then. My specialty is what they call Angel Stain.”
“What’s that?” Duke asked even though he knew.
And she went at some length explaining how Angel Stain, in essence, was the thickest of espressos, wrung from the most aromatic beans, roasted to perfection, how it was invented in Japan and caught on in small cafés all the way across the globe, and how she’d never been there, yet wished to go to Osaka someday.
“So,” she said in closing, checking that nobody was impatiently waiting on coffee while she was chatting, “that’s my specialty. Even though I, technically, don’t know what it’s supposed to taste like.”
“Because you’ve never been there.”
“Right.”
“But you wish to go.”
“I do.”
“At some point, when there’s no courses you’re trying not to flunk.”
Using his coy smile on her, Duke got her blushing just some. It put off a stud well in his thirties, sitting at a small table with his back to the brick wall so he could watch her while mustering the courage his career and paycheck should’ve provided him with and finally hit on her.
“That’s a long shot, still,” she said and some deeper emotion appeared around the lines of her eyes. It looked like grief but there was no definitiveness in telling what other people were feeling.
“What about that Angel Stain?”
“I’ll get you one.”
“Wonderful. I’ll sit over there.”
Duke pointed at the table facing to the street, closest to the salaryman looking for his own courage. When Duke walked back there, their eyes met but the poor slob looked away. Another faux lion, Duke thought with some amusement, who should rather go see the Wizard of Oz.
There was the always pressing urge to check his phone as he waited, a very post-post-modern angst Duke could relate to but still held in check. Just peering at life going on in the streets outside of the café felt more compelling. With his face so close to the fogged window, it seemed like a zoo. Only he couldn’t tell if he was within or without the enclosure.
“There you go,” gorgeous blonde said and placed the world’s smallest cup in front of him, turning it slightly so it was positioned perfectly. The cups and saucers were beautiful, art déco and much too tasteful for a contemporary café, cranking out almond milk latté like it was the end of the world by midnight.
“What a scent,” Duke said, inhaling some more, wishing it was burning high-octane fuel.
“Go ahead, try it.”
“Can’t curb your curiosity?”
“Taste it already,” she told him and smiled her million-dollar smile.
The scent was more intense and as thick as the texture of the coffee as Duke lifted it to his nose. He could’ve gulped it all down at once it was such a small shot. But he remembered good manners and took a tiny sip.
“It’s amazing,” he lied.
“Aw, thank you.”
“Nice flavors of dark chocolate for starters, then a hint of Madagascan vanilla, raisins to wrap it up.”
“I knew you’d like it.”
“Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome. It’s on me this time.”
“Lovely,” Duke said instead of insisting on paying and tipping her generously and sneakily. “Are you applying the drug-dealer marketing scheme?”
“Like giving out free trials and getting people addicted? Got me.”
“I call it dedication.”
She blinked at him, then turned to start off. Duke stopped her, gently taking her wrist.
“Say, you mind if I make it up to you some time?”
You could tell she was hooked when she paused for a moment’s consideration. Just for good measure.
“Sure, why not?”
“Will you be back at university some time tonight?”
“I’ll be down there soon, once I wrap up my shift.”
“I’ll have some business to attend to at the Meadows. You care to meet me there at, say, nine?”
“I can do nine.”
“It’s decided then. I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Duke.”
“Emily,” she said and shook his hand, not checking if Duke was a legal first name, nickname, or alias to a wanted criminal. Her eyes were fixed on his’.
“It was really nice meeting you, Emily.”
“It’s been a pleasure.”
“I gotta run now.”
“Where will we meet? Meadows is huge.”
“You’ll find me hanging with my kind. Maybe on top of the Range Rover.”
Emily nodded and laughed, wishing him a fine afternoon. This time, it was Duke blinking at her as he walked out. In the corner of his eye, he spotted the gutless lion in the back of the place, eating his heart out, probably cursing a man going by the name of Duke.
