The Gift

By Anthony J. Beck

Dan Phillips. A good man manipulated by circumstance.

A story of love and sensual erotic passion, of violence and death.

A heady mix of emotion and caring. A metaphorical journey of a man and those who join him.

Follow him and see where his journey takes you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477230909

Anthony J. Beck

I have always been interested in people; why they do the things they do, what motivates them and so on. I look at the way they behave and listen to their words to see if they match their actions. I simply observe. It's all there, one simply writes it down. I have lived quite few years now, and I've probably made every mistake an average man can make. Because I've made mistakes I can see others making the same or similar errors. I don't interfere, it's not my place to, but I do try, sometimes, to hint at a better way. You never know. I say this. It is ok to make mistakes when you're 20. Just don't be making them when you're 50. I am happily married to Diana. I live a a quiet village in Warwickshire. I am retired from the Civil Service. I play the Blues guitar (Electric) and I still enjoy singing. I own 5 really nice guitars. My favourite guitarists are Eric Clapton. Gary Moore and early Peter Green. I enjoy reading and listening to Radio 4. Anything else about me I'd rather keep to myself in case anybody is looking.

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© 2012 by Anthony J. Beck. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/25/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3089-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3090-9 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Authors forEwOrd notes

Part one

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Part two

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Part ten

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Part eleven

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Authors forEwOrd notes

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This is my second novel, although the first one published. I have taken advice from my friend ‘Rench’ regarding police procedure and methodology, but I have left that part of the story fairly loose. It isn’t a crime story as such, but it does have elements of crime and violence in it. I don’t want to warn you off reading my book, I consider it to be a love story in essence, but I think it is only right to say that some of the violence is quite nasty. Also, within the pages you will find some paragraphs that are written in italics. They are not a part of the story and have no influence whatsoever on the outcome. So, if you don’t like what you read within these lines you can ignore them.

I would like to thank Martin ‘Rench’ for his help and advice, and I want to express a special thanks to a lady in Australia called ‘Nik’ who goes under the name of (fluffy) I have never met her, but her kind comments and remarks about the short stories I had posted on the internet encouraged me to start publishing.

I hope you enjoy the story.

Tony.

Part one

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1

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Mommy, who’s that scruffy man getting out of daddies car?"

Marsha Phillips stood up and joined her daughter at the window.

Pleasant early year sunshine worked its way through the glass barrier; a welcome break in a spell of otherwise poor weather. It did nothing though to soften the woman’s brittle edge.

Christ, she muttered to herself. She hated it when Dan brought his work home.

He’s obviously one of your father’s lame ducks darling, but I don’t know why he’s bringing him here I’m sure.

She ushered the young girl, who was decked out in jodhpurs, riding boots and a high necked white blouse, towards the hallway. Come on, she said, not bothering to hide her irritation at what she considered to be her husband’s lack of consideration. Go and get your jacket; I’ll drive you over to the stables.

Ok, the girl said and dashed upstairs; she was glad to be getting on her way.

Marsha went to the front door and opened it before her husband had a chance to use his key.

What the hell is he doing here? She demanded to know; not caring that the man could obviously hear her.

Well at least let me get into the house first. Dan Phillips smiled at his wife, even though he knew it might be a waste of time.

She caught him by the arm and pulled him into the kitchen. She shut the door to leave the man alone in the hallway.

What have I told you about bringing his type to this house? Have you no regard for your daughter’s safety? Don’t you ever learn Dan? The irate woman put her fists on her hips and struck an aggressive pose. Well? She snapped.

Look Marsha, he won’t be here long. I can bed him down in the spare back bedroom; I’ll find him somewhere permanent to live on Monday. He tried another swift smile. And anyway darling, he’s alright; a nice chap if you get to know him.

"You want him to stop here! Do you know what you are saying?"

It’s just for a night or two darling; a couple of days is all. It’s like I said, I’ll find him a proper place with no trouble . . . . I’ll make sure he’s no bother. It’s the weekend you see; you know what it’s like . . . . .

"No Dan! And that is my final word. I am not prepared to discuss it any further. I’m bloody sick and tired of if it, so I’m telling you, just get rid of him."

She pointed a red nailed finger at him. You’re a gullible, easy touch fool, that’s your trouble. You let everybody take advantage of you and you’re too soft and stupid to do anything about it. She waved a dismissive hand in his direction. If it wasn’t for me we wouldn’t have a decent home at all.

Hey, come on. We’ve got a lovely home here, and you know I make an equal contribution towards its upkeep. You’re just being unfair and unkind. He looked sadly at this spiteful woman; this wife of his.

There’s never any harm in being kind or considerate to others you know. Everyone needs a little help now and then, and you know damned well I wouldn’t put you or Jilly at risk. He reached out a hand towards her. Come on love, let him stay; I promise I won’t bring anybody else again.

"No!! She said emphatically. Avoiding his placatory hand, she flung open the door. You! She snarled at the disconcerted guest. You get out of my house right now; you’re not welcome here, and you’re not staying."

She pushed at the man, driving him towards the still open front door. Get out now; go on, I don’t want your sort in my home . . . your sort are a drain on society.

The pale skinned man brushed her away from him with just enough force to do the job. He smiled at her to show a mouthful of yellow stained teeth.

Alright lady, his voice had just a touch of contempt in its tone. I may not be welcome, but I’m not stupid, I can find my own way out thank you. He turned and walked slowly but confidently back towards Dan’s car.

Phillips caught hold of his wife’s shoulder and spun her around.

How could you be so cruel and heartless? You know nothing about that man, or his circumstances. He let her go, sickened by her careless attitude. Always remember Marsha, what goes around comes around. He hurried out of the house to catch up with the man who was in his charge. Michael, hold on there, wait for me . . .

They drove away in the direction they had come from; back towards town.

Michael, I can’t find the words to say how sorry I am about the way my wife spoke to you. It was really unconscionable.

Hey, don’t worry; I’ve had to put up with much worse than that over the years. The man smiled ruefully. At least I won’t be seeing her again, not like you Mr. Phillips.

It was a biting remark, but the truth it suggested couldn’t be denied.

Over the years, and for no obvious reason, Marsha had slowly turned into a badmouthing shrew.

Never mind Michael, we all have our crosses to bear. He chuckled to cover his perturbation. Maybe it’s her age or something.

He had to concentrate on his driving for a moment or two. He needed to get into the correct lane or risk missing the turn he wanted. It was a timely and welcome diversion.

I hope you don’t mind Michael, he said, after he had made his turn. But I’m going to put you up in a small hotel I know for the next couple of days. I’ll try and get you more permanently placed on Monday.

You know I haven’t got any money don’t you, Michael said tersely.

That’s alright, leave it to me, it’s my problem not yours.

They pulled to a stop outside a large tidy looking building not far from the centre of town. Its front door was painted a deep blue gloss; it shone like polished glass. A sign that hung alongside the classy entrance stated that all rooms were en suite and all boasted satellite TV.

Dan Phillips pulled on the hand brake and killed the engine; there was a hint of resignation in his action; and just a touch of sadness. Let me go and have a quick word with Ms. Chatterly; she’s a nice woman, and if I recommend you, she won’t press you to say too much. He took out his wallet and freed a couple of notes. Here, just in case you want a few beers or need some tobacco.

Michael Boucher took the money and shoved it into his coat pocket. You’re a good man Mr. Phillips . . . I won’t forget this.

I’m only doing my job Michael, anyone would do the same.

Boucher produced a twisted smile. That’s bollocks Mr. Phillips and you know it. You actually care about my welfare, and that’s the difference between you and the rest.

He turned in his seat and looked Dan in the face. In this life I’ve learned that nobody gives a fuck about you, not unless you’ve got some kind of hold over them.

His voice had a hard bite to it; his eyes were like black rock. Thing is, I haven’t got anything over you, so that makes you different don’t it . . .

He’s right though isn’t he, that chap. How many people do you ever meet who actually give a damn. They’re either totally selfish or too focused on their own shitty little requirements. Mostly though, they just haven’t got the capacity to care; they can’t see over the parapet. Do you know? Most people never come to realise that others have lives as well. They never come to understand that a little care, a bit of good natured interaction, would result in the world being a better place. Still, that Dan fellow, he seems to be pretty decent. The trouble is, the good ones seem to get shit on . . . . and another thing that’s worth bearing in mind is this: A lot of women, well most of them really, they see kindness and genuine concern for others as a form of weakness, especially from a man. Women don’t like weak men.

2

Marsha parked up on the paved area alongside the high stone wall that circled the ‘Sweet meadows’ riding school.

It was an expensive here, but it was the best; there was no mixing with riff raff to be endured. Also, for her, there were other benefits to be had besides her daughter’s pleasure and enjoyment.

Jilly jumped out of the car and opened the rear hatch to retrieve her hard hat and crop. This was her favourite thing in the whole world; she would ride every day if she were allowed. Close the back mommy, she shouted, before hurrying through the wide gateway. Time was too precious to be wasted; she was nearly late.

Marsha took a quick look in the rear view mirror to check her appearance. A bearing of her teeth confirmed the absence of debris; looking foolish wasn’t part of her repertoire. She got out, closed the rear hatch and secured the car with the ubiquitous beep. She struck an air of casual composure and following her daughter into the busy yard.

Hello. An attractive woman wearing soiled riding gear strode purposefully towards her. You’ve only just made it. The woman’s voice was strong and purposeful. Healthy good looks belied her fifty odd years.

Hello Marge, Marsha reciprocated. Yes, things to do, you know how it is . . . nice day though isn’t it?

Yes. It won’t last, but every day is a good day if you keep smiling. The stable owner laughed as if she was unsure of the truth in the maxim. How are you anyway? I haven’t seen you for ages.

Oh, you know, so so; can’t complain I suppose. It was an unconvincing response.

You ought to take up riding Marsha. Get into the fresh air with us . . . you’d enjoy it.

She shook her head. No, it’s not for me. Horses are too smelly; and all of that grooming and work in the tack room, she grimaced. No, it’s not my kind of thing thank you.

Despite their seemingly friendly banter, the two women had an antipathetic attitude towards each other. It was an unacknowledged situation, but it was there nevertheless. It was as if they were potential antagonists, merely awaiting a worthwhile cause to go into battle over.

Their edgy conversation was brought to an end by the clattering of impatient hooves at the other end of the yard. A dozen young riders, including Jilly, were mounted and eager to get going.

Marge smiled gratefully for the timely interruption. Ah well, duty calls. Maybe I’ll see you later. With that she walked briskly away.

Marsha looked on as the group rode by. Marge gave her a little wave as she passed, turning to lead the way down the quiet lane. They looked a happy bunch; some of the youngsters chatted with excited animation. They were like trainee cowboys riding out; eager to learn their trade. Jilly waved as she rode passed. I’ll see you later, she called out, her face radiant with happiness. And why not; didn’t she have everything she asked for? She was a lucky, and pampered young lady.

When the riders disappeared around the first bend, Marsha turned and made her way quickly along the paved perimeter to a gateless archway that led to the Stables private residence. She half walked, half ran along the path and knocked urgently on the door; her teeth gnawing nervously at her bottom lip. She hoped he was in.

The door was opened by a large middle aged man. His sour looking face was slightly florid with a puffiness around the eyes.

He wore a thick checked shirt and cord trousers; a stout leather belt was cinched tightly around his waist. His expression clearly showed that he was in no mood to welcome visitors.

I thought I told you to stay away from here for a while, he said, when he saw who it was. His tone was cold and challenging.

I know Eddie, but I can’t keep it up. I really need you. Marsha’s shoulders slumped forward, her hands turned into claws as she reached out to him. "Please Eddie, don’t send me away . . . I’m desperate. Just give me something to keep me going for a while . . . please. She grabbed his muscular arm. And I need to speak to you about something. I’ve got something to tell you."

The man, Eddie, pulled a face, it was almost a sneer; this was someone who didn’t like to be crossed.

You women, you’re all the same. You’re always wanting to suck the best out of a man; always thinking of yourselves. He hooked a meaty hand around her neck and pulled her into the hallway. Just this once, and then you keep away from me for a couple of months, do you hear? He shook her like a rag doll. I’ve got a position to maintain here, you know that. Marge is beginning to look a bit funny in my direction, and I can do without the hassle.

He shook her again. Anyway, I thought we had an agreement; just a few fucks and that would be it.

Sorry Eddie, I know . . . and I’ll do whatever you say, just be nice to me first . . . alright?

The big man shook his head in distain; an indication of resignation in his demeanor.

Oh thanks Eddie . . . thanks. She looked at him with grateful doe-like eyes; a good step away from the hard edged, forthright woman, she’d been only half an hour before. Where do you want me?

Here will do as good as anywhere. He began to unbuckle his belt. I’m not fussed over fancy time.

Marsha unzipped her slacks and pushed them down to her ankles; she kicked them off along with her shoes. Her panties were discarded with a haste driven by requirement.

There. Eddie indicated the stairway. Lean against them.

Marsha did as she was told. She put her hands on the forth tread and dropped her head between her stiff outstretched arms; her taut, white skinned buttocks jutting out proudly. "Now Eddie . . . now." Her eyes were shut, her voice constricted in her throat.

The thick belt whistled through the air before biting into her tensed awaiting arse. Its stinging attack caused white pain to flare through her rump and up to the receiving centre in her brain. "Jeesus, she called out before sucking desperate air into her lungs. Jesus fucking Christ!!" She arched her back to make her rear end even more prominent.

Eddie struck again. This time the belt caught her lower down, slicing across her protruding fanny. Serious pain burned down the core of her vagina to explode deep inside her viscera; it was almost unbearable. "Oh god . . . oh god . . . that’s . . ."

Once more the belt cut through the air. Eddie was putting his best effort into it. He was hard now, and wanted to be getting on with it. This last blow bit into the back of her thighs, stinging into her tender flesh to elicit a genuine scream of agony. "Yes yes Eddie," she sobbed, "fuck me now . . . now!!"

He obliged, easily pushing his hard cock into her readily accessible port. She was sopping wet and well ready for it.

"Arrrgh, she cried out in pain and mingled pleasure. Her vagina tightened its grip around his thrusting cock. I’m coming Eddie. Eddie I’m commiiing . . . oh Eddie, if you only knew . . ."

Well, what a bitch. You can’t get your breath can you? There she was, giving stick to her old man for being so weak; and now, here she is, opening her legs for a chap who obviously doesn’t give a toss about her. What’s more, she’s begging for it like some wimpish little housewife, only too pleased to get what she can . . . a beggar groveling at the feet of some reluctant benefactor. The tart wants a good slapping. Trouble is, she’d probably enjoy it . . . do an Oliver, ask for more.

Strange isn’t it, how some people like pain. Never met one myself, but I wouldn’t mind. I mean, you could knock her about a bit; not too hard if you know what I mean, don’t want to spoil the goods. Then, when she’s begging for you to stop you could give her a good shafting . . . get her to thank you for your donation so to speak. Not that I’m likely to get the chance, but there’s no harm in dreaming is there? No harm in dreaming . . .

3

Dan was working in his office when Marsha and Jilly returned home.

The ‘office’ was a room that was converted from the smallest of the five bedrooms the house contained; it had never been used for its original purpose. He had once hoped it would have been a nursery, but the way things had gone . . .

He thought about Marsha, and a wave of sadness washed over him. Things used to be good between them; at least, that had been his impression. Then, a few of years ago, and for no apparent reason, she had changed. It was just about the time Jilly began to grow up; when she started going out more: dancing, brownies, and now the riding. But for the life of him he couldn’t really see a connection.

Whatever the reason, Marsha had certainly altered; she had become bitter. And their personal interaction had faltered too. They hadn’t made love for nearly two years. When he periodically pressed her on the matter, she would either offer up vague excuses, or lose her temper and spit verbal venom at him; the latter being the most common response.

If things didn’t soon take a turn for the better, he’d end up like a camel with a hump on his back.

It had been the same this afternoon. Poor Michael Boucher must have felt wretched at Marsha’s outburst. It had been both unnecessary and embarrassing. What was worse, he felt he hadn’t been firm enough; he’d let her prevail without putting up much of a fight.

He had to do something. It couldn’t be allowed to go on indefinitely; he was only forty after all, too young to become a eunuch. He would try again. Talk to her; try and see what the problem was. Maybe she was ill. It was something he hadn’t considered before. It was conceivable though. Or perhaps it was just him. Maybe he had changed. Still, whatever it was, he’d left it alone for long enough . . . he’d speak to her after Jilly had gone to bed.

Would you like a drink? He stood just inside the lounge doorway. He had kept his tone noncommittal . . . on an even keel. He didn’t want to reinstate the earlier acrimonious situation.

I’ll have a Scotch on the rocks. Marsha didn’t even glance up at him.

I was actually thinking of a hot drink . . . tea or coffee. As soon as the words came out of his mouth Dan knew he’d made a mistake.

Well I’m thinking of Whiskey! She stood up and crossed to the drinks cabinet. You can have what you want Dan, and I will have what I bloody well want.

He noticed that she had winced when she’d got to her feet; she was obviously suffering some sort of discomfort.

Are you alright love? He stepped quickly towards her.

Marsha smiled at him oddly. Her hand held out to stop his approach. No. I’m alright. She smiled again, something was clearly amusing her. It’s only my back, just a twinge that’s all. She busied herself with making her drink.

Dan checked his watch. It was well past ten, plenty of time for young ladies to have gone to sleep. Marsha . . . can we talk? There was hesitation in there. These things had to be broached with care.

About what?

About us.

Marsha returned to her seat, drink in hand. Talk away Dan. I’m prepared to listen to anything . . . I suppose.

Ok. He moved into the room and sat down opposite her, his body leaning slightly forward, hands pressed together.

I’ll start off by telling you I don’t want a row, we’ve had enough of those lately.

Marsha raised an eyebrow, but made no comment.

It’s just that . . . well it’s plain to see that we haven’t been getting on for quite some time; not for a few of years if we told the truth, and I was wondering if we could try and sort it out, you know . . . put our cards on the table.

He smiled at her in a—let’s keep it friendly—kind of way. If I’ve upset you, or offended you in some way, then tell me. Or if you’re unwell or a bit depressed about something . . . then maybe I can help.

"Ha, Marsha hacked out, nearly spilling her drink. You’re always the same aren’t you Dan: weak and compliant. You let people walk all over you, and you wonder if it might be your fault. You’ve always been like it. I often wonder why I married you. In fact it’s a miracle you ever found the nerve to ask me in the first place."

Her words were sharp. She had that way of putting him down; a way of hurting him without hardly trying.

Dan stood up. He knew he was wasting his time. Right then, he said as if they had reached some kind of accommodation. You’ve left me with a lot to think about.

He raised a distracted hand and massaged his forehead. Next week, when I’ve sorted Michael out, I’m going to Birmingham for a couple of days; a seminar. He took a deep breath. While I’m gone I want you to think about our relationship. If you don’t love me anymore, and you clearly don’t; then I think we should consider a divorce . . . I can’t go on like this, it upsets me too much.

Divorce Dan? That’s strong talk coming from you I must say. But what makes you think I might consider such a step?

Our relationship that’s what. We haven’t made love for a couple of years or there abouts; you obviously don’t want me anywhere near you . . . you’ve made that plain.

Well you’re right on that score, I don’t. But I certainly don’t want to divorce you. I’m entirely happy with the way things are . . . entirely happy.

Dan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This explicit disregard for his feelings shook him to the core.

"You’re saying then, that you don’t want to have sex with me again . . . ever!"

That’s exactly what I’m saying Dan. I’ve had enough of your—mamby pamby, I don’t want to hurt you—fumblings to last me a bloody lifetime. You’ll have to start giving yourself some hand relief; if you’re not already. I won’t mind, just as long as it’s not in my presence of course.

What could he say? It was as if she was discarding him like some unwanted plaything; relegation to the rubbish bin.

Her callousness left him stunned and extremely sad. He fell back on the only response he thought appropriate. You may not wish a divorce Marsha, but I think I do. I shall be seeking advice from a solicitor as soon as I get back.

Marsha downed her drink in one. If you do try to divorce me Dan, she wiped her lips dry with the tips of her fingers. Never mind our sex life, or how badly I treat you, I swear to god I’ll take you to the cleaners and have you stripped naked; you will be lucky to come out the other side with two pennies to rub together. Remember this Dan, she spat out. A woman who has been beaten and mistreated receives a lot of sympathy from the courts. And another thing, she pointed at him for emphasis. I’ve got the money to hire the best lawyers, and you haven’t.

Again, he couldn’t believe his ears or her spite. I’ve never laid a finger on you! How could you even hint at such a thing?

Well now, she smirked. You know that it’s not true, and I know it’s not true, but the reality is Dan, that outsiders never really know what goes on behind other peoples closed doors do they? And Jilly, she added gleefully. She’ll support me. She will say whatever I tell her to say.

She crossed her legs and flinched again. I can produce photos as well Dan; bruising and welts. What do you think of that?

Dan was stunned. Marsha’s outrageous arrogance was beyond belief. And now it seemed she had polluted his daughters mind against him. And what were these photos she was talking about? Why was she being so spiteful? What was the point of it? She never used to be this way. Not at the beginning. They had been blissfully happy; or at least he had thought so. Something had changed her, especially lately; she was hardly the same woman.

He walked to the door. I can see I’m wasting my time trying to reason with you. I don’t understand why you’ve become so embittered and nasty, but this situation cannot go on indefinitely, despite all of your threats.

He stood there, looking at her for a second or two, it was as if he didn’t know how to conclude this distasteful episode.

I’m going to bed, he said, for the want of something better to say. I’m going to use one of the spare rooms for now; I think it’s for the best.

Marsha chuckled victoriously. She curled her hand into a loose fist and moved it up and down in an obscenely suggestive manner.

Enjoy Dan . . . enjoy.

I must say, I think she’s a bitch. Even if you accept that her husband’s a bit of a softy, I think she went too far. I mean, if she wants it a bit rough; a bit of slapping around, then why doesn’t she say, instead of giving him the cold shoulder. Still though, I bet if she did say, he wouldn’t do it; not for real anyway. I think you’ve got to be born with the desire and ability to do that kind of stuff. It’s a bit like being a good singer or artist, something like that . . . and if you ain’t got it, you’re soon found out. It’s not nice though is it? When you see a decent chap made a cuckold. Not unless you’re the one who is shagging the wife of course. I suppose it would be alright then.

4

I like it when the weather is nice Mr. Phillips; it reminds me of when I was a kid. I was happy then . . . when I was a kid.

You’re saying you haven’t been happy since then?

Oh, I’ve had my few good times just like everybody does, but they’ve been few and far between.

It was Sunday morning. The two men were drinking tea in a café not far from Margaret Chatterley’s hotel.

Outside the sun shone pleasantly. It had done so for the past few days; a promise perhaps, for a good summer.

I’m sorry to hear that Michael. Everybody ought to be happy; life’s too short not to be.

Boucher nodded his head but he said nothing in reply. His mind seemed to be elsewhere.

Then he said. I was just thinking Mr. Phillips. If it’s ok with you, I’ll go and stop with my sister. I phoned her yesterday . . . she said it was alright, her being a recent widow and all. It’ll save you finding me a place as well.

She’s up in Scotland isn’t she? He asked. And I’ve told you before . . . call me Dan.

Thanks Dan . . . yes, she lives in Glasgow.

I can’t really see a problem. I don’t suppose it matters where you live. You’ve served your full sentence . . . I think you ought to continue seeing a social worker though; just in case you have any problems. When are you thinking of going?

"As soon as I can. She’s sending me the money, so I thought I’d go Wednesday or Thursday. I’ve been away from my home for too long, and just lately