Free The Unburied Dead by Douglas Lindsay Page B

had to guess I'd say the music was Mozart, but that's only because I saw Amadeus twenty-five years ago.
    She comes back into the room, rid of the jacket, and clutching a bucket of ice and a bottle of expensive looking French white. Pitches up at the drinks cabinet and sorts out my v&t. Pours herself some wine.
    'No art can compete with life whose sun we cannot look upon,' she says, as I stare at a picture of some old sea battle. Stevenson, I presume, but I don't encourage her by asking her to explain what in the name of all fuck she's talking about.
    She hands over the vodka, raises her glass.
    'Merry Christmas,' she says.
    Raise my glass in reply. 'Right,' is all I can think to say. I'll have to do better than that.
    She wanders over to the comfy seats by the fire, sits down. Her smell is intoxicating. I want to smother her in ice cream and spend hours licking it off. I want to rub chocolate sauce into her breasts and drink vodka from her belly button. I want to swathe her buttocks in cream and thrash them senseless. I want to pour syrup over her pubic hair and vagina, bury my head between her legs and emerge five hours later a sticky, gooey mess.
    'Sit down, Thomas, for God's sake. And relax, you look like you're scared shitless. I'm not going to eat you.'
    Damn.
    I take the hint and sit down on the next available seat. Take a large draw from the vodka, which contains a comforting lack of tonic. Feel the warmth of it descend into my stomach; instantly relaxed.
    I sort of smile at her and then stare into the fire. Hypnotic flame. Relaxed by it and by the smells in the air. Charlotte, burning wood, the real Christmas tree. A fantastic, festive erotic dream.
    Feel her looking at me, but keep staring into the fire. She asked me here, she can make the first move. Take another drink from the vodka and realise I've nearly finished it already. Better slow down or I'll be making a knob of myself.
    'We don't talk much, do we?' she says.
    I drag my eyes away from the flame. Her lips are moist, her nipples are obvious against the satin. I get that weird feeling at the back of my throat again.
    'We're all too shit scared of you,' I say. Not sure about my candour, but it's out there.
    She smiles. Sips her wine. Eyes shine in the light of the fire. 'It's good to get to know one's people a little better,' she says.
    I nod. I want to smother her backside in honey, and drink champagne from her ears.
    'I don't know what sort of things you'll have heard about me, Thomas. I'm sure I must have a reputation.'
    I nod again. I don't really think that about her ears. I'm just rampant and not looking at my crotch because I don't want to know how obvious my erection is.
    No idea what she wants me to say to that. Well, darling, we all think you're in it for the power, and you'll sleep with anyone who'll help you on your way.
    'Well, it's all true,' she says. Finish off the vodka. 'Frank and I have an understanding.' She runs her hand through her hair as she says it. Smiles. Fuck.
    'You sleep around and he doesn't mind?'
    She laughs. 'That's about it, although it's not that one-sided. He's spending the night with some Malaysian tart in Gleneagles.'
    The face betrays something as she says it.
    'Sounds as if it bothers you.'
    She shrugs.
    'Why should it?' Then, 'Well, maybe you're right. It's funny. I do it often enough to him, but sometimes I think he's driven me to it.' Could be about to get the marriage history. Usually I'd take this opportunity to go to the toilet and hope they'd changed the subject by the time I got back; but this I want to hear. She disappoints.
    'Sorry, I won't bore you with that.'
    'I don't mind.' A sensitive, new man.
    'Some other time, Thomas,' she says, shaking her head. 'I want to relax and enjoy myself tonight.'
    The fire crackles, the music trundles along, all string quartets and harpsichords. There is a semi-uncomfortable silence between us. Want to break it, but I haven't the faintest idea what to say to her. Stare once