The Man in the Mirror

By L. E. Hartley

Over the space of a long weekend, three couples living in Ireland find their paths crossing as each person pursues their own agenda.
A pair of Ukrainian mercenaries, acting on behalf of a Russian Oligarch, add spice to the mix of sex and violence in this erotic page-turner.

The eponymous Man in the Mirror is confronted with changes beyond his wildest imaginings when he encounters a strange woman on a train in London.
It seems that witches still walk the streets, and magic is alive and well, even in the inner city.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781728376509

L. E. Hartley

“Some are born great. Some achieve greatness. Some have greatness thrust upon them.” And some go through life inspiring greatness in others.

Book preview

2022 L. E. Hartley. 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 11/23/2022

ISBN: 978-1-7283-7651-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-7650-9 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

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

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

PROLOGUE

A plume of white smoke rises behind the ancient mound. The waning moon hangs ready to greet the sunrise. She pushes the old bicycle to the top of the hill, stopping to catch her breath before mounting the saddle for the easy free-wheel down to the town. A great bundle of dead branches topples over the wall, landing with a loud crack on the roadside verge. Startled, she slams on her brakes and skids to a halt just as the agile figure of a young man vaults the wall beside her. They look at each other, both equally surprised.

‘Sorry if I frightened you,’ he says.

His long black wavy hair is tied in a thick ponytail. A short, straggly beard outlines his tanned face. Denim-blue eyes smile from under thick brows, long lashes.

‘Just a bit surprised . . .’ She blushes.

He starts to gather the wood into a heap, still looking straight at her. He tightens the rope around the branches, hoists it up to his shoulder.

‘Is that your fire?’ she dares to ask, indicating the drifting smoke with a tilt of her head.

‘It is.’

‘Are you camped in the woods?’

‘I am.’

She rolls the pedal under her foot, preparing to go.

‘Come and have breakfast with me?’ he suggests.

‘I’ll be late for work.’

‘Have dinner with me tonight then.’

Her cheeks are burning now. She silently curses her pale freckled complexion, the way she blushes so easily, betraying her every emotion.

‘What are you having for dinner?’

‘Rabbit.’

‘Rabbit? Have you caught a rabbit?’

‘Not yet.’ His smile shows even white teeth, the pale lines around his eyes disappearing.

‘I have to go.’ She pushes down hard on the pedal, propelling herself forwards.

‘See you later!’ he calls, watching her wobble away. She doesn’t look back.

*    *    *

The golden light of dusk filters through the newly-decked branches overhead. A bright little fire sends up a haze of pale smoke into the clearing. She sees the headless carcass roasting on a makeshift spit, its skin stretched inside a hoop of green willow alongside the woodpile. He emerges from his tent; a lightweight canvas cover on a frame of bent hazel rods. Leaning her bike against a tree trunk, she lifts a wriggling cloth bundle from the basket in front of the handlebars. As they stand either side of the fire, he can see she has been crying.

‘What’s wrong?’ Concern in his voice.

She carefully unwraps the little yellow puppy, holding it close to her neck.

‘I found her this morning. The Tinks must have left her behind.’ Tears are welling up in her eyes; she rubs her cheek against the soft fur. ‘Daddy says I can’t keep her. Another mouth to feed . . .’ She starts to sob.

He reaches out his arms, stepping towards her, engulfing her and the pup in a warm hug. Both respond with quiet whimpering sounds.

‘Sit down.’ He guides her gently towards a log beside the fire. He pours milk from a billy-can into an enamel dish and sets it down in front of her. ‘See if she likes this.’

The pup laps hungrily, drinking it all.

‘Better now?’

They watch in silence as the little creature sniffs around the fire, shuffling through the long grass, crouching beside the track. She wipes the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands, sniffs loudly.

‘Thank you.’

He carefully lifts the roasted rabbit from the fire, digs out potatoes from the embers with a pointed stick. Tips water from a metal canteen into a little pan and sets it in the fire. She hadn’t intended to eat with him, but the barbecued meat and baked potatoes topped with a knob of butter are just too tempting. The cool evening air scented with wild garlic and woodsmoke makes her ravenously hungry, and when he offers her the haunch of rabbit, she accepts it gratefully.

When they have scooped the potato skins clean, and the pup is gnawing and growling at the bones, he sprinkles tea-leaves into the boiling water, and sets the pan aside to brew. They drink black tea from his battered enamel mug, sitting side by side on the log.

He asks her name.

‘Rosemary. What’s yours?’

‘Bex.’

‘Where did you get a name like that?’

‘First day at school.’

She doesn’t know what to say.

‘Walk with me?’

Glancing around, she realises that darkness now totally engulfs them beyond the firelight.

‘Where?’

‘You’ll see.’

He takes her hand, pulling her to her feet.

‘What about . . . ?’ She looks at the pup, curled up asleep beside the glowing embers.

‘She’ll be fine. Come.’

Her steps are unsteady at first, but after a while her eyes become accustomed to the darkness, and she can detect the outline of the mound ahead of them. The trees soon give way to open fields, and before long they are climbing the steep incline to the top of the ancient barrow.

‘You must have been here before?’

‘Not at night.’

‘It’s the best time!’

She is unsure, glad he is still holding her hand.

‘Lie down?’

She hesitates.

‘Alright then.’ He takes her other hand in his. ‘Look up.’

She tips her head back and sees the night sky in all its glory.

‘It’s better to see it lying down.’ He lowers himself to his knees, still holding her hands.

When she is lying full-length, he positions himself so that the crowns of their heads are touching. A gentle breeze blows her long red curls over both their faces. They lie in silence, awed by the multitude of stars, the clear dark vastness of space. A shooting star describes a line of light overhead.

‘Did you see that?’

‘Of course. That was for you. Did you make a wish?’

*    *    *

Back at the fireside, they exchange life-stories.

She tells him she has always lived here, the eldest of eight children. How Grandpa died a few years back, and since then Daddy has been steadily drinking the farm. She had to leave school at fourteen, and for the last five years has been the main breadwinner with her job in the factory. Two of her brothers are working on farms now, bringing in a few extra pounds.

He talks about the island where he grew up, the only child of wealthy parents; a constant disappointment to them. Being enlisted in the army at the age of fifteen, a junior officer, in the mistaken belief that it would make a man of him. Less than two years later he was discharged as being unfit for further military training.

She smiles at the thought of him in a uniform, marching around with a gun to his shoulder.

‘When did you last see your family?’

‘Oh, must be about three years now. After the army, I was offered a place in the family business. When I turned that down, there was nothing for it but to make my own way.’

‘Don’t you miss them?’

‘We were never that kind of family. I was sent away to boarding school at the age of eight. Bullied and battered by teachers and kids alike. Never learnt anything of any value.’

‘What about the army?’

‘They taught me to shoot,’ he says, ‘and run. I was never a team-player; couldn’t understand the attraction of kicking balls around fields, but I was a cross-country runner. I liked the outdoor pursuits side of it. The square-bashing was a nightmare!’

‘So what have you been doing for the past three years?’

‘Dossing about. Odd jobs here and there. Meeting people.’

He smiles at her in the flickering light.

‘Do you have a girlfriend?’

‘Apart from you?’

She feels herself blushing under his steady gaze.

He asks ‘What about you?’

‘There’s a boy I’ve known all my life. I suppose we’ll get married one day.’

‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic.’

‘Sorry. You know how it is.’

A light drizzle starts to fall. He piles more logs on the fire. Smoke fills the clearing, swirling around, blowing in their faces. Soon the flames start to lick around the edges and the blaze breaks through just as the rain becomes heavier. He throws back the canvas door of his bender-tent, inviting her to join him in the shelter. Inside, a layer of bracken is topped with fresh green rushes which rustle and yield when they sit down. Further back, a sleeping bag is unzipped all round to make a big quilt. A black and white checked blanket is rolled to one side. The pup wakes and looks around, whimpering.

‘Here girl,’ he calls her, making a low whistling sound to attract her attention.

‘I was going to call her Cara.’

‘Good name. Here, Cara, good girl!’

‘It means Friend.’

The pup shakes raindrops from her back, and tumbles around the fire to the tent. He scoops her up in his hands, rubbing her dry, before handing her to the girl.

She cuddles the little furry bundle to her neck letting it nuzzle into her hair.

They look out at the pitch-dark night, the dancing f lames spluttering in the pouring rain.

‘Will your parents be worried about you?’

‘They’ll think I’ve gone to spend the night with one of my friends.’

‘Do you want to stay here? Do you work Saturdays?’

‘Usually it’s a half-day, but it’s the Bank Holiday, isn’t it? I don’t have to be back til Tuesday.’

‘We could be married before then.’

She lets her mass of curls fall over her face to hide her blazing cheeks. Why did she tell him that? A stranger. The very kind of man her mother always warned her about. The rain beats a relentless tattoo on the cover but she feels unaccountably safe here.

‘Do you want to take this damp coat off ?’

She shakes her head. He wraps an arm around her, outside her clothes, pulling her closer. Her arms are crossed, cradling the pup between them. She feels his warm breath, sweet as the forest. His silky beard brushes her cheek, sending shivers down her spine. The first kiss on her lips is so gentle she is barely aware of what is happening.

‘Are you alright?’

She nods her head. He kisses her again, slightly harder. She parts her lips, following his lead, melting in his warm embrace. He holds her close. The pup wriggles and squirms free of her clutches, makes her way to the entrance of the tent. She stops for a moment, looking out at the rainy night, then with a little squeak, toddles a short distance away from the fire and crouches in the long grass. As soon as she has finished, she bounds back into the tent and shakes herself til she falls over sideways.

‘Good girl, Cara, good girl!’ they both tell her, letting her rub herself dry on his bedding.

‘What a good little pup,’ he says, watching her curl into a ball just inside the tent-flap.

‘Would you keep her?’ she asks.

‘Would you like me to?’

She shrugs her shoulders, looking out into the night.

‘I’m going to sleep now,’ he says.

He lights a tiny candle hanging in a jam-jar from the middle of the tent, pulls the door-flap closed. She watches him in the dim light peeling off his Levi’s, kicking away his sandals. He pulls his shirt and sweater over his head, bundles them into a pillow-shape. Lying full-length beside her, he gives a little shiver before wrapping his sleeping bag around his naked body.

‘You can use the blanket, if you want to.’

‘Thank you.’

She shakes out the checked bed-roll, slowly removes her shoes, placing them carefully beside her. The rushes squeak and rustle as she lies down, fully clothed, and drapes the blanket over herself.

‘Will I blow the candle out? Are you afraid of the dark?’

‘Yes. No, I’m not afraid.’

He sits up, reaching a hand over the top of the jar, ready to extinguish the meagre light. Casting a look in her direction, he sees her lying on her back, the blanket clutched to her chin, her red curls cascading around her pale face.

‘Are you alright? Warm enough?’

She nods her head, gives him a shy smile.

‘Goodnight, beautiful girl,’ he whispers, then blows the candle out.

Soon she hears his breathing fall into a regular pattern. She curls up into a foetal position and tries to sleep. Some time later she wakes to the sound of the puppy scratching at the canvas door, making a high-pitched whimpering. She untangles herself from the blanket, and carefully pushes back the flap. Cara rolls out of the door onto the wet grass. The rain has stopped, the waning half-moon riding high amongst drifting clouds.

Without waking the man, she puts on her shoes, and steps out into the night. Walking across the camp, she stoops to piss behind the tree where she left her bike. She watches the pup bounding back into the tent, and stands hesitating, undecided. A cloud obscures the moon, leaving her in temporary darkness. When it passes, the night seems brighter than ever. She wipes her saddle with the sleeve of her coat, and cycles away without a backward glance.

He is caught up in a dream of her magnificent hair when the pup wakes him, licking his face. He splutters and laughs, pushing the wet furry creature away. Looking out of the half-open tent-flap he sees her turning her old bike around and pedalling off along the track. He grabs the blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders, and crawls out into the moonlight. He makes his barefoot way across the camp to the tree, and feels the pool of her warm piss between his toes. He points at the trunk and empties his own bladder. Back through the wet grass, and into his bed, throwing the blanket over the sleeping bag. Under the covers, the pup is curled up asleep. He pushes her to the bottom of the bed, and she starts to lick his feet.

*    *    *

From the top of the mound, he can see for miles in every direction. He turns the full circle, admiring the landscape, then sits down on a stone slab. He traces the little stream from beside his camp where it cuts through the land until it joins the fast flowing river snaking north before turning east to flow through the town. Turning his back to the sun, he sees the solitary figure gliding swiftly between the hedgerows, red-gold ringlets billowing about her head. At the start of the hill she dismounts and pushes the old black bike laboriously up the incline. A canvas kit-bag is strapped to the pannier on its back wheel. When he sees her take the woodland track, he whistles to the pup, and makes his way back to the camp.

He is blowing life into the embers of the fire when she arrives. She stands on the track, gripping the handlebars, unsure of what to say. He looks up, smiles at her.

She knows she is blushing when he says ‘You’re just in time.’

‘For what?’

‘Whatever you came here for.’

She bites her bottom lip, willing the colour to leave her cheeks.

‘I just came to see if the pup is alright.’

‘As you can see,’ Cara is jumping around her ankles, tugging at the deep turn-ups on her dark blue jeans, ‘she survived the night.’

Propping the bike against a tree beside the track, she reaches down and scoops the little bundle of fur into her arms.

‘Will you keep her?’

He smiles, asks ‘Are you leaving home?’

‘I told Mammy I’d be having a camp-out with some friends.’

‘And are you?’

‘Maybe.’

He sits the little pan of water atop the blazing sticks.

‘Have you time for a cup of tea?’ he asks. ‘Before you go?’

‘Thank you. I have my own cup.’

‘We’ll make a Traveller of you in no time.’

The pup bounds around the fire, curls up and falls asleep. The girl unties the kit-bag from the back of her bike, and takes out a big blue and white striped mug.

‘Has she been lying there all morning?’

‘No. She’s been out wooding with me, climbed the mound, been all over the place!’

They are drinking tea.

‘So, Rosemary . . . tell me, can you cook?’

‘I suppose. Why?’

‘Well, don’t you owe me a dinner?’

She looks up from the fire, not knowing what is expected of her.

‘I didn’t bring any food, except some oats.’ She apologises.

He takes a soft pouch from the pocket of his leather jacket, pulls the thongs tight before tossing it over to her. She catches it easily.

‘Would you ever go into town and get something nice? Get some biscuits for Cara?’

*    *    *

Time passes.

The setting sun casts long shadows about the camp.

‘Come here to me.’ He pats the log beside him. ‘I must give you something.’

‘What for?’

‘For the pup.’

‘That’s alright. She was never really mine to sell.’

‘I know. It’s not really about buying and selling. The gypsies call it a luck. I’d have no luck with the pup if I don’t give you something in return.’

He reaches into an inside pocket of his jacket, a sleight of hand, he holds both clenched fists before her.

‘Choose one.’

She hesitates. Tentatively touches the knuckles of his right hand. He turns it palm-up and offers her a tiny scrap of metal, half of an old silver threepenny piece. It has been carefully cut with an S-curve into the shape of a teardrop. A small hole punched through close to the edge. He opens his left hand to reveal the other half.

‘This is mine.’ Looking steadily into her eyes. ‘They are yin and yang. So long as we have them, we will always be able to find each other, no matter where we are.’

She takes the gift, holds it carefully between her finger and thumb, turning it. She touches it to her lips, grips it tight in her hand. ‘I’ll keep it, always.’

*    *    *

‘Are you a virgin, Rosemary?’

They are lying on top of the bed made up of her sheets and eiderdown, his blanket and sleeping bag. The candle hanging in the jar, the fire is a pile of glowing embers. Darkness has brought a sea-mist, enveloping them in its cover.

She nods, tipping her mass of golden curls over her face to hide her burning cheeks.

‘What about your boyfriend? What’s his name?’

‘Mikey.’

‘Has he slept with any other girls?’

‘He says he hasn’t. Says we’ll wait til we’re married.’

Bex shakes his head, sighs in disbelief.

‘How can he wait? You are just so beautiful!’

‘We must!’

‘Ok, whatever you say, but . . .’ He traces a finger along her jawline,

‘if you were mine, I’d marry you tomorrow.’

‘And then what?’

‘Whatever you want. What do you want?’

Eventually, she answers, ‘I don’t know.’

She rolls onto her side, facing him, ‘Have you ever been to London?

‘Of course.’

‘What’s it like?’

‘Like any big city. Only bigger! You can’t drink the water, can’t breathe the air. Why do you ask?’

‘Mikey says we’ll go there when we get married.’

‘Is that what you want?’

‘I suppose. It has to be better than staying here.’

His lips part, as though he is about to say something, but he decides against it. They are looking at each other in the flickering light. He moves closer, kisses her cheek, brushes his lips against hers.

‘Did you ever have an orgasm?’ he whispers.

‘I don’t think so; I don’t know.’

I think you’d know if you did. Do you know about masturbation?

‘What boys do?’

‘Girls can do it too.’

‘How?’

‘Would you like me to show you?’

‘Will it hurt?’

‘It shouldn’t. Not if we do it right.’

He is smiling at her, reassuringly.

‘Will I have to get undressed?’

‘It might help.’

He closes the tent-flap and she starts to slowly unbutton her shirt. She pulls at the sleeves of her cardigan, giving a little shiver, the cool night air touching her skin. She lies back, unzipping her jeans and slipping them down her legs. He tugs them free, peels off her socks. She sits with her arms crossed in front of her breasts, still covered in her white cotton bra.

‘Would you like to climb under the covers?’

She quickly slides between the cold sheets, watching him strip naked in the candlelight. With four younger brothers, she is well-aware of male anatomy, but this is the first time she has felt excitement at the sight of a naked man. He is lean and muscular, a covering of dark hair over his legs and forearms, tight black curls reaching up halfway to his navel. He lies beside her, pressing his warm body close to hers. His scent is of woodsmoke, morning dew. He takes her in his arms, holding her gently, firmly until she stops shivering. His hands behind her back unclip her bra, and he lifts the straps from her shoulders, down along her arms.

‘You don’t need a bra,’ he says, bending down to take her tiny nipple between his lips. He sucks hard, pulling it into his mouth. She gives a little squeal, stopping him.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes. Sorry, it just felt strange.’

‘I won’t hurt you, I promise.’

He slides his hand along her ribs, tickling her tummy, running a finger along the top of her knickers.

‘Shall we take these off ?’ he murmurs.

She reaches down the bed, curls her slim legs up and slides out of the panties. He looks down at the patch of pubic hair, red against her pale freckled skin.

‘You really are a most beautiful woman. Let me hold you for a while.’

They lie, face to face, his arms enfolding her. He kisses her softly, she responds. His hand moves down her body, fingertips light against her smooth skin. Follows the curve of