Tag: president

Eventide Love #8/4

Thursday Oct 27

 Joe Webb- ANTARES AND LOVE XI @JoeWebbArt

Joe Webb- ANTARES AND LOVE XI @JoeWebbArt

With a press embargo on the day of voting, Chris suggested we take the day off and go for a drive and have lunch at Marfield House in Gorey, Wexford.

It was a dull day and bitterly cold. I voted at my local polling station and Chris at his. I popped to my house to make sure everything was okay. The place felt so empty since I met Chris, and once again, my husband was away. I was forming an adverse feeling to going home. I had a bag of washing I put in the washing machine, then I went into my walk-in closet, situated off the hallway on the ground floor. I loved fashion and, as a result, had an extensive collection. I pulled a few bits and pieces and packed them into my weekend bag. I packed a Marni dark-green short fitted jacket for the count center the next day. I would wear it with cream fitted trousers, a fitted cream silk top and my signature high platforms.

Chris collected me at around twelve pm from the house. We exited the city, hitting the highway to Gorey. Chris drove with confidence, his grip light on the steering wheel. I watched him adoringly, fascinated with the way he multitasked as he drove, answering his mobile, one eye on his emails and texting. When he needed to text, he asked me to watch the road. It was crazy, but hey, wasn’t that the nature of our relationship? He looked tired and preoccupied. I put my hand on his, asking him if he was okay.

“I need to tell you something,” he replied gently.

My stomach tightened. It sounded ominous. He glanced at me, assessing me.

“Do I really need to know what you are about to tell me?” I asked.

He sighed and said nothing. I waited.

“I love you. You know that?” He went silent, waiting for my response.

“Well, what do you want to tell me?” I asked with trepidation.

“I am only telling you this because you are good at sensing things,” he continued, and I swallowed hard.

“It’s Jen. The young girl I met with you at the Mansion House. Are you fucking her?” I asked, my voice quiet and emotionless.

“See, I told you you’re good at seeing things.”

“Are you fucking her?”

“I did, just one night. It was in the very early stages of being with you.”

I said nothing. I took in his words, wondering why he was telling me this now. And why on a drive, when we couldn’t get away from each other. “Only one night?”

“Yes, I promise. I don’t know why. We had a couple of glasses of wine. She came on to me, and it just happened.”

“Chris, she is a twenty-five years old.”

“I know. I need to tell you something else. I had a relationship with her aunt a couple of years ago. It ended badly.”

“And I need to know that for what reason?”

“We have something really good going on. I don’t want to ruin it by keeping things from each other. I don’t want to lie.”

Now I was confused. Lies?

“What lies?”

He took my hand, and his lips twitched, almost as if he found my confusion funny. I didn’t see the humor, and pulled my hand away.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Chris.”

“I have never told anyone this before.”

“What?” I asked, my mind in turmoil.

“I am not your normal guy.”

“Well, I know that,” I said with a smile.

“I am fifty and single out of choice. I could have been married ten times over. I have never been good at relationships. It’s different with you. I feel for the first time I have met someone I want to live with forever. I feel we have a future together. I don’t want to lose you,” he said with a tinge of loneliness.

With that simple statement he blew me away. My heart was beating. He put his hand on mine, pulling it to his lips. I saw a broken little boy in his eyes, a damaged soul. I longed to fix him, to give him the love he needed. And anyhow, he only fucked her once, and before we became hooked into each other. What difference did that make to us? No difference. As for her aunt—He fucked her aunt, I thought, aghast—well, that was a long time ago. The whole thing sounded sordid. Though reeling from the entire conversation, I somehow believed him. Believed that he loved me with such depth he could trust me with the truth. Believed him when he said I was the first person he wanted to share his life with. We were true soul mates. That was in the past. We were the future.

We both remained relatively quiet for the rest of the drive, simply commenting on the phone calls coming in, or news comments from the radio in the background. Chris took my hand and placed it between his legs, rubbing it against his dick. He held my hand like that for most of the drive. Every now and then I nibbled his ear, kissed his cheek.

An hour and a half later, we pulled up outside the grand Marfield House. As we climbed out of the jeep, Chris suggested we take a little walk around the garden before lunch. We had a gentle, romantic walk, passing an ornamental lake, stunning flower, vegetable and herb gardens. We were in a haven of tranquility, with peacocks, hens, dogs and ponies greeting us along the way. Entering the hotel, we made our way to the restaurant for lunch. It was like walking into someone’s elegantly cozy country home filled with fresh flowers, gleaming antiques, mirrors and period paintings. We sat on a couch in front of a blazing fire. We kissed and talked about us, about how we thought the Candidate would do. We reminisced on the craziness of the whole campaign. We each ordered a light chicken salad and shared a half bottle of white wine. We whiled away the day. We were so relaxed that we would have stayed the night, but Chris was due on a primetime television panel at 9.30 pm to analyze the campaign once the press embargo was over.

I tossed restlessly in bed, hankering for Chris to arrive home and be beside me. I heard the front door open and close and his footsteps coming up to the room. I stretched out on my back, my arms and hands out in anticipation of Chris. He walked in removing his tie and then shook off his jacket.

“You were brilliant on the TV,” I croaked sleepily.

“I love doing it. I want to do more TV. I am good at it,” he said, elated.

He undressed quickly, throwing his clothes on the back of the old brown leather armchair in the corner. I threw my arms around his cold body, hugging him hard. His cock instantly thickened and lengthened.

“I missed you,” I whispered, gently biting on his bottom lip.

“I love you,” he whispered back. He kissed me softly, caressing my back, reaching my shoulder blades, cradling my neck in his hands. I drew him in with my tongue, eager for a more passionate kiss. His softness faded as I sucked his lips. I ran my hand over his shoulder, feeling the tautness of his muscles, then traced his neck and the back of his head, embracing him tightly. He kissed me with the same intensity I felt coursing through my body. He softly moaned as his hand moved slowly down my back, his lips moving across my cheek and neck. I arched my head back as I felt the smacks of his kisses on my throat.

“You feel sooo good, Chris,” I sighed.

“I know. I can sense it.” He dragged his lips along my shoulder blades, moving from one to the other, slowly, deliberately kissing me. My body was enthralled with his mellow loving, shuddering with each kiss.

“You’re amazing.” I could barely get the words out.

He returned his lips to mine.

“Let’s see if I can be more amazing,” he said, softly molding his mouth to mine.

His hand ran sensually down my thigh. I held the back of his head, my lips resting on his, gasping as he then moved my leg over his body, drawing me closer to him. I pressed myself into him as firmly as I could to pacify the ache inside my core. His fingers gently ran along my leg, tracing my calf down to my foot then moving up again along my arched muscles to my back. With his hand pressed against my lower back, holding me firmly in place, his mouth melted into mine, kissing me deeply. I shifted my other leg, urging Chris to lift his body slightly as I wrapped it around him. I now had him cradled between my legs. I squeezed him close, feeling his hard-on against my clit. I craved to have him inside me. I gyrated my hips, encouraging him to enter me. He caught my butt in his hands and I thrust my hips toward him. “Keep still,” he murmured, pinning me with a tender gaze. Then with one hard stroke he was deep inside me. I cried out in pleasured pain.

“Can you feel me?” he groaned.

“Yes. You’re deep, it’s so good,” I said. A teardrop ran down my cheek as I thought how deeply I loved this man.

He pinned me to him using his legs and hips, and I couldn’t see anything. All I could hear was my own rapid breathing and Chris’s swift breath in my ear. He ran his fingers across my body gently so that my body rose and filled with my arousal. My body shuddered and I swore the bed was vibrating as I screamed to fruition. Each thrust took him deeper inside me, hitting the sweet spot again and again. The onslaught was overwhelming. Another climax churned through me like a tidal wave. Chris held me tightly, burying his head in my neck, as his body shuddered and groaned, spurting hotly. There was so much of his liquid, it filled me and slicked my thighs. We swaddled together, lying still, and Chris naturally fell out of me eventually. Our lips gently caressing, we fell asleep.

Next post #8/5 Tuesday 1 September 


We are on the way with Eventide Love; blog to book. A factual fiction, political, psychological, erotic thriller set in Ireland 2011/2012

If you would like to receive a book launch offer especially for all of you as loyal followers and fans, please register below. Your details will not be shared. PROMISE. I am wracked with doubts and insecurity about my writing but am lucky to have a wonderful editor, Amy Scott, holding my hand.

Meet The Author

Eventide Love #8/3

Jessica Esther Hoflick @Artfetch 'Love In Thought'

Jessica Esther Hoflick @Artfetch
‘Love In Thought’

After lunch, Chris went to his office and I drove to my mum’s house. I collected my dog, Jasper, so I could take him for a walk on a long stretch of beach in Sandymount. When we got to the beach, I pulled out the walking boots I kept in my car trunk and put them on. I must have been a sight, walking out onto the expanse of the beach in my bright orange dress, a grey cashmere stole, and my walking boots.

The tide was out and the wet sand shimmered with a milky haze. The onshore breeze brought a chill in the heat of the day. The beach was teeming with people: mothers chasing children, joggers, couples strolling hand in hand sharing an intimate moment in nature. The low-water line runs three kilometers away from the high mark, and it took Jasper and me fifteen minutes to reach the edge of the water. Jasper jumped in the shallow water, his old legs too weak to chase the seagulls anymore. I felt exhilarated. Nothing in life soothed me and nourished my happiness more than being close to the ocean. I stared out over the expanse of glistening water to the horizon.

My thoughts filled with Chris. I was convinced that we were infinite, entering new realms of life with each other, about to go through doors that others would never understand. That’s what I loved; he took me to higher planes. My body tingled thinking about his passion for me. I had never felt anything like it before. Willingly, I was lost in his desire, his love. His words from last night resurfaced in my mind. You are my soul mate. My treasure. His words deepened my love, my adoration of him. Pushed out of my mind in my need for him were the clues to his wavering behavior, his capricious moods.

I dropped Jasper back to mum’s and went home to dress for the fuction at the Mansion House. Just before I left the house to make my way to the even where I had organized to meet Chris, I sent an email to the Candidate with a cc to Mary, the Candidates PA

Dear Candidate,

I regret that as a result of ongoing narrow-minded harassment from Cathal O’Donoghue, I no longer feel comfortable actively working on the campaign. He frustrates the smooth management of the campaign. The money bomb is not going to work if the support system does not kick in to promote and implement it. I have done as much as I can. I will, of course, continue to help you in the background trying to raise funds. I have to be straight up, though, and make you aware that my efforts are not very fruitful. The big issue is the lack of a coherent strategy and the negative press coverage.

I tried to explain on a number of occasions that I cannot operate solo with fundraising. Due to the late entry into the campaign, some imaginative initiatives, which also would have complied with the guidelines, are now proving very difficult to deliver due to Cathal’s ongoing resistance to me.

A decision was made by Cathal and, from my understanding, supported by you, to exclude me from the campaign management meetings. This has had a highly detrimental effect on funding. I respect your decision, however I fail to understand it.

All the best,

Aliki

I arrived at the Mansion House, the home of the Dublin Lord Mayor, a little late. The awards ceremony was taking place in the Round Room, a large circular banquet hall with a fantastic dome ceiling drenched in a black cloth from which shinning stars shone down on us. I entered and stood at the back of the room, trying to spot Chris. Not spotting him, I sent him a text. He texted me back, telling me to look to the left. There he was, standing against a high table, with a blond girl. Fixed on him, I strode through the jovial crowd. He raised his head and looked toward me as he sensed me approaching. The hue of his blue eyes struck me even at a distance. His face remained austerely handsome, yet his gaze softened at the sight of me. He moved around the table, catching me by my elbows, and discreetly kissed me on each cheek.

“Come and meet Jen.”

“Jen, this is the amazing woman I was telling you all about.”

We shook hands.

“I know Jen’s family,” Chris said, explaining the connection.

I thought they appeared quite familiar with each other. She was a pleasant-looking young woman, her bright blond hair and large baby-blue eyes her biggest attraction. Chris explained that she was looking for a job in the hospitality business in London. He thought with my connections I could help.

“Of course, Jen. I would be happy to help. Can you forward your CV to Chris and I will follow up,” I said.

Chris excused us and led me to the campaign table. Mary bristled when she saw me with Chris. Cathal, seated next to the Candidate, looked apoplectic. I gave him a little wave and smile from across the table as I took my seat between Lillian and Chris. The Candidate gave me a muted greeting. Obviously Cathal’s spin against me was working. Tonight the Candidate was receiving an award voted by the public for his human rights achievement. I was taken aback that in such a public place , he was knocking back the wine. His personality always attracted lots of attention and tonight was no exception. He became engrossed in the people coming over to talk to him, be photographed with him or get his autograph. As the evening wore on, the group around our table cloaked the Candidate so thatI could not see the Candidate through the throngs around hi.

lillies-bordelloRelaxed from the couple of glasses of wine we’d had at the event, Chris and I decided to head over to Lillie’s Bordello. Hand in hand, we dodged the soft rain as we hastily made our way to the nearby club. The interior felt like an erotic whorehouse, bathed in red light emanating from crystal chandlers. Gilt-framed paintings of nude women adorned the walls, and sections of the room cordoned off by wrought-iron frames were sumptuously furnished. I started moving to the pounding dance music, though Chris seemed less free, even a little embarrassed to dance. I took his hand and guided him to the sparsely populated dance floor. As I scoped the place out, I was surprised to note how few people were there, especially for a Saturday night. The recession must have been hitting hard. As we hit the dance floor, Chris took control and firmly kept me moving towards the sitting area at the back of the club. I danced around him, teasing him to join, but he resisted. He sunk into a large sultry velvet couch, pulling me down with him. He caught my face in his hands and gave me a long, lingering kiss while a compilation of Bruno Mars played:

When I see your face (face, face…)

There’s not a thing that I would change

‘Cause you’re amazing (amazing)

Just the way you are (are)

What you don’t understand is

I’d catch a grenade for ya

Throw my hand on a blade for ya…

We ordered two Caipirinha from a passing waiter. Chris took me on his knee, and we kissed with abandonment like teenagers in love. The waiter interrupted us with our drinks. As I sipped mine, I swayed to the music, straddling Chris’s knee, arching my back and moving my hips.

“I want to know what goes on up here,” I said, brushing my glass against his temple. “What goes on in that strongly guarded mind of yours?”

He took my free hand, turned it palm up and touched his lips to the tip of each finger.

“You don’t want to know,” he said earnestly. “I have a lot of issues.”

“Oh, babe, we all do,” I replied soothingly.

“I am afraid if I let you in, let you see my fears, my bad moments, I will lose you.”

“I have seen some of it. I am still here. You will never lose me.”

“Why do you love me?”

“Because…”

He pressed a finger to my lips.

“No. On second thought, don’t tell me now. We are just starting our journey together in this lonely world. You don’t know yet. Don’t tell me until you know you mean it.”

“I do know,” I insisted. “Of course I mean it. I wouldn’t tell you I loved you if I didn’t.” Knocking back my drink, I threw out the same question to him.

“Why do you love me?”

He caught my hips and shifted me off his knee while giving me a quick kiss.

“I could murder another drink,” he exclaimed. “I’ll go to the bar and get them.”

I jumped up. “No, let’s dance, I love the Script.”

“I don’t dance,” he replied sheepishly, putting his arm around my waist.

“Come on. You will be beautiful on the dance floor.”

“No, let’s have another drink,” he said. I swung around to face him, jovially singing along:

Shit talking up all night,
Doing things we haven’t for a while,
A while, yeah…

“You’re nuts,” Chris said fondly, as he gently pushed me back into the couch and went to get our drinks.

We arrived back to Chris’s house late and fell into bed tired and drunk.

Sunday October 16

The Sunday papers, as I had anticipated, made no mention of the money bomb launch. We were having an early breakfast at Brown’s Café while scanning the papers. The early hour of nine thirty afforded us respite from the hustle and bustle of families that would invade the place by eleven am. Both of us were nursing a thumping hangover. My mouth dry from one too many Cyprians and my eyes stinging and tired from just a couple of hours’ sleep, I desperately needed my latte to bring some life back into my body.

“Not a mention of the money bomb,” I said, pushing the papers away from me. Buried in the papers, Chris ignored my comment.

“I am going to go to mass today. Take my parents.” Chris looked up from the papers, the rims of his eyes red with tiredness. He was very religious and normally went to mass with his parents every Sunday. The campaign schedule had disrupted his routine.

“Why do you go to mass?” I asked.

He looked at me with slight disdain. “What a stupid question. We have to go to mass.”

“Why do we have to go to mass?”

“If you are a Christian, you are obliged to go to church.”

Chris went back to the papers. I slowly sipped my latte.

“So you believe in God?” I blurted out.

“Yes, of course. And I believe there is a devil.”

“Wow, you go to mass because you are scared of the devil?” I asked disbelievingly.

“Well, it’s as good a reason as any. It also makes me good,” he retorted.

“What? That’s rubbish. So if a rapist goes to mass, you think that makes him good?” Giving me a scornful look, he continued reading the papers. I said nothing more. I spent the rest of the day pondering Chris’s words.

The campaign continued into chaos. I did my best, but amongst all the friction, the backstabbing and the frenzied behavior by the Candidate I was seriously hampered. Each day, his reputation was eroded even further with some new revelation or behavior. The press ran sensational headlines that drove the Candidate nuts. Joe spent most of his time protecting the Candidate, managing a man out of control. The campaign had transcended to absurdity. The Candidate’s three-pillar message was gone with the wind. I was struggling to achieve anything. I detached myself completely from the team. I worked out of Chris’s office and did not engage at all with Cathal. Chris, against the Candidate’s wishes, went on some of the canvassing routes to deal with local press and I accompanied him.

Our one and only major fundraising event, to which a number of high-profile businesspeople and celebrities were coming, was literally a wash out.

It was Monday October 24th, four days before the election, and the night of the big debate on television. All the candidates would have a number of minutes to convince the electorate to vote for them. We planned the event from 7 to 9 pm, followed by the debate on a large screen. But that day, the city experienced torrential rain—one month’s rain fell in that one day. Rivers, such as in South Dublin where we were based, burst their banks, and rising waters subsumed roads around the capital city. Chris drove Lillian and I to the venue, his jeep splashing through the rising water. My mobile was receiving messages by the dozen, all people cancelling. Chris was called away by the Candidate, who was stranded in his house and needed Chris who drove a four-wheel jeep to get him to the TV studio. And then to compound things, the venue developed a leak in its wine cellar and back room. So there we were, along with the staff, helping to collect the water. Not surprisingly, no one turned up. The roads leading to the venue eventually became impassable as the water from the river across the road continued to rise. I could not believe what was happening. Ironically, the Candidate performed very well in the debate. Maybe because he had nothing to lose at this stage, he relaxed and spoke in a calm, collected fashion. The debate’s host sensationally exposed the favorite, the front-runner, as a liar. For a change, the following day’s bad-news headline was focused on someone other than the Candidate.

Except for the rare evening when I was with my husband and Chris with his parents, we spent virtually all our time together, working, socializing, talking and fucking. Our love deepened in the intensity of the hours spent together. Time flew by, and we arrived at the day of voting.

Eventide Love #3/4 to be published Saturday August 22.


We are on the way with Eventide Love; blog to book. If you would like to receive a book launch offer especially for all of you as loyal followers and fans, please register below. Your details will not be shared. PROMISE. I am wracked with doubts and insecurity about my writing but am lucky to have a wonderful editor, Amy Scott, holding my hand.

Eventide Love #8/2 – To Believe in Somebody

Friday Oct 14

My body tensed with my overwhelming lust, my longing, to touch him. Suddenly, his face was so close to mine that I could taste his breath filling my mouth. I was fucking lost. My desire for him was so powerful it ripped open the knot that had tormented me all day. The pain dissipated into the air with his hankering lips, his seductive words. He filled my void for passion so completely, to the point that it was almost stretching it, overwhelming me with infatuation. Every inch of me crumbled with pleasure and relief. Chris once again captured my mind and heart. We looked at each other and we both knew that I would give up everything to have his stares, breaths, kisses, laughs, bodily fluids, touch, affection. I was back fully in love.

Saturday Oct 15

The day of the money bomb launch. Sneaking through a gap in the curtains was a beautiful sunny, warm day. Dublin weather was not predictable, so this was a bonus. What a pity it’s taking place in a pub, I thought. This beautiful weather makes no damn difference. I heard the shower running, so I got up and went to the bathroom, where I balanced my bum on the wicker laundry basket. Through the misted glass of the shower, I watched the rivulets of soapy water that ran down the ridges of Chris’s abdomen and thighs, down his long legs. In his usual systematic fashion, he ran his hands through his hair, down his neck and shoulders, along his flexing arm muscles. I love his body, I thought. I love touching it, tasting it, feeling his weight on me. Turning off the shower, he reached out through the condensation to grab his robe, and I handed it to him.

“I am enjoying the spectacle,” I teased him. The recognizable scent of shower gel stirred my sense of pleasure for a man who drove my body to delirium. I watched him intently as he casually rubbed his robe over his beautiful thick cock. He stood straddled in front of me, his firm legs apart, robe open.

“Take my cock,” he asked with a wry smile.

“You’re incorrigible, “I chuckled. My clit and thighs were still wet from the semen that he had erupted on me just before his shower. I felt so lucky to be the woman who woke up his desire.

“Come on, babe,” he said impatiently, his cock hard with craving.

I stood up and put my hands on my hips. “How would you suggest I do that?”

“Anyway you want.”

I kissed his lips and he responded with fervor. Suddenly, I stopped and stepped toward the door.

“I don’t have enough time to do you justice. I don’t want to have to stop just as you are in a state of ecstasy,” I explained.

He shifted and faced me head on, and his gaze slid over my face like a tangible caress. His face impassive, his stunning soft blue eyes were full of tenderness and love. With a quiet vulnerability he said, “I am all yours.”

I got down on my knees, cupping his cock in my hands. “You are all mine and I am all yours,” I murmured as I took him in my mouth.

With a pang of warmth, I picked up my set of keys to Chris’s house from the kitchen counter. They were a special gift from Chris.

I drove home at speed to dress for the money bomb launch. I slipped on the Michael Kors orange fitted shift dress I had purchased for this event and paired it with high black wedges that lengthened my slender frame. Chris had suggested I wear a black suit, but never being one to conform, I resisted. The strong, deep orange reflected my personality and gave off the exact aura of elegant sexiness I wanted.

The launch was, as I expected, a flop. Lillian and I strutted our stuff up and down the street in an attempt to entice people into a dark, stinking pub on a rare sunny Dublin day. Chris was amazed that I had no problem approaching strangers, offering them free coffee and tea if they came to the launch. Terrified the place would be empty when the press arrived, I had no choice. The band was setting up to sing their song “All I Wanted”, which was the fundraising theme song. Lillian was randomly putting up banners and placing bar mats branded with the money bomb logo and website. I looked around, wondering if I’d missed something. The PR event was being organized like a bingo game in a local community hall. I was shocked.

Moneiba Lemes - Crowds @Artfetch

Moneiba Lemes – Crowds @Artfetch

Chris stood at the back of the sparsely filled room shoulder to shoulder with Cathal. I stood on the stage, concentrating my view on Chris.

I delivered my speech in the dim light and the stench of old beer to a divergent solicited group of people, all of whom looked on in bewilderment as they sipped their refreshments. In my speech, I introduced the management team of the campaign, deliberately leaving Cathal out. I glanced at Cathal  and noticed his face flared in the dimness of the room with fury at my slight. It was one of the most miserable events I had ever participated in or, for that matter, attended. I announced the arrival of the Candidate, who entered in his usual gregarious, bombastic way. He appeared oblivious of the ghastliness of the place and quickly worked his way to the stage, greeting the bodies along the way. He graciously complimented me on how I looked, then proceeded to introduce the money bomb fundraising drive. The band played the theme song while the fundraising video played on a large screen behind them. The event ended as it started, like a damp squid. I looked around for Chris but could not see him. Lillian told me that he and Joe had left urgently.

“Cathal is furious you omitted his name in your speech, so I think he demanded a meeting with the men,” she told me laughing. We both got a real chuckle at the idea of upsetting Cathal. He terrified Lillian. He was always abrupt, brash and downright rude in his interactions with her. Without lingering we departed the stinking, dingy pub, returning to the fresh air and sparkling sunlight.

I walked the few minutes to the campaign office to ensure that our social media was promoting the money bomb and to check my emails. I stopped at the reception for quick pleasantries with Liana.

“You look stunning today,” she kindly complimented me. “And you spoke well.”

I thanked her and climbed the steep stairs to the office space. As I rounded the corner of the last step, which faced the meeting room door, I noticed the “In Use” sign up. I passed quietly to my desk, placing my bag slowly and gently on the desk, and looked behind me, thinking I heard Chris’s voice. I stood for a few seconds intently listening to the slightly raised, frenetic quarreling going on behind the closed door. I tiptoed to the door. I put my hand on the door handle, turned it and pushed the door open, holding it ajar with my outstretched arm. There was instant silence, and there I stood with three sets of eye staring at me. Chris was at the head of the meeting table on one end, and Cathal was at the other end furthest from me. Joe was standing with his back to the window.

“What’s going on?” I expressly directed my question at Chris. His demeanor was subdued. His eyes looked strained. Before Chris could respond, Joe moved over to the door.

“We are having a private discussion.” The coldness of his tone cut through the air as he firmly shut the door against my body with my hand still on the doorknob.

I went back to my desk and turned on the computer to see how the money bomb was performing on Facebook and Twitter.

Incredulously, I couldn’t see any posts on Facebook or Twitter promoting it.

I felt exasperated. How did these idiots think the money bomb was going to work with no presence anywhere across our platforms? I hastily wrote a stinging email cc’d to everyone on the campaign including the Candidate. I caught up on unread emails. Each one brought bad news. Everyone bloody respected the candidate but did not want to offer financial support. To date, I had managed to bring in a mere €20,000 from a couple of uber-wealthy guys I knew well who were helping me out. To compound things, Lillian had forwarded me an email from our contact in London:

Dear Chris and Aliki,

It was good to see you both in London. Unfortunately, I am emailing you with some bad news. Firstly, I have not heard from your office Chris with information we agreed you would forward. Secondly, after some preliminary investigation, I am not getting a good response in relation to supporting the campaign. So I think at this stage, not to waste any of our valuable time, it’s best if we don’t move forward with what we discussed. Will follow with interest.

Sincerely,

Mark

I replied to Lillian, ‘They are falling like flies.’

The only possibility we now had of fundraising was by small donors, powered through the money bomb. No one, especially Chris, seemed to get it. Just as I was about to shut down my computer, thinking the day couldn’t get any worse, an email from Chris came in. I was surprised he was writing to me when he was right next door.

Hi

Please find attached an email from Cathal that he has asked me to forward to you. You let off another one of your grenades with that speech. The Candidate is attending an awards ceremony in Mansion House this evening. He asked me to accompany him, why don’t you come with me?

Chris

Attached was a note from Cathal:

Aliki

Thanks for your email  with instructions on how to manage the campaign. With all due respect unlike you I am extremely experienced in running such campaigns and don’t appreciate comments from a novice. Secondly you are the fundraiser on this campaign, so please get on with your job. It does not appear to me so far that you are doing a good job in that capacity. I want a comprehensive list of funds raised to date and projections. I am at a meeting with Chris and Joe. We agreed that in the you will liaise with Joe, who will in turn relay messages or pass on emails to me. I expect your report by tomorrow five pm. Cathal

I was not angry or taken aback by either the email or the fact that Chris agreed to forward it. I now found the whole scenario comical.

In my usual impulsive fashion, I pinged back a response to Cathal and cc’d it to Chris and Joe.

Cathal,

I am tired of your rude and ignorant attitude.

Firstly I have no intention of answering to you regarding fundraising or any other matters relating to the campaign.

Get on with your job at which you are failing miserably and let everyone else get on with theirs. The low poll yesterday as a result of your unimaginative campaign strategy is detrimental to fundraising. You concentrate on getting the Candidate up in the polls. The only success you have had with this campaign is alienating me and collapsing the Candidate in the polls. Great legacy!!!

Aliki

Just as I pinged it on I thought “This is crazy.”

I swung my chair around. I bounced over to the shut door and thrust it open. Standing right in front of me, about to leave the room, was Cathal.

“Who do you think you are?” I demanded between gritted teeth. Ignoring me, he roughly pushed past me and proceeded downstairs.

As though I were a ghost, Joe turned to Chris in exaltation, “Chris, you were magnificent with Cathal. You forcefully took him over.”

Joe applauded Chris.

Turning to me, Joe said,

“You should have seen Chris perform. As we walked into the room, Chris slammed the door and went for Cathal’s jugular.”

I had no idea what they were talking about.

“What’s going on? What happened?” I asked with bated breath.

“I will take you to lunch and tell you everything,” Chris said, pulling himself up from the chair like a proud peacock.

“Your speech was excellent. I was proud of you,” he said, adding to my confusion.

“Thanks, darling,” I cooed sarcastically.

“I am out of here, leave you lovebirds alone.” Joe gave Chris a smirky smile, collected his briefcase and left.

“Why did you send me that email?”

“Just optics. Keep Cathal happy. He is not too bad.”

“Are you nuts, ‘he is not too bad’. He shafted you, for god’s sake.”

“Well, I am back on the road show. I think it’s your grenades that are causing the problems, babe. So pleeeeeease no more grenades.”

At that moment, I realized that Chris was like a chameleon. He reflected whatever wavelength suited his intentions at that moment. He was like a child, excited that he was, in his mind, liked once again. Cathal, Chris told me over lunch, had nothing but respect for him, and he respected Cathal in turn. Chris believed Cathal when he said that he respected him. Chris was happy, beaming with the developments from the meeting. I did not have the heart to break his bubble and tell him that I believed Cathal was playing a game.

Eventide Love #8 part 3 Thursday 20 August. 


We are on the way with Eventide Love; blog to book. If you would like to receive a book launch offer especially for all of you as loyal followers and fans, please register below. Your details will not be shared. PROMISE. I am wracked with doubts and insecurity about my writing but am lucky to have a wonderful editor, Amy Scott, holding my hand.

Eventide 6 – End of Presidential Campaign

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It was a tumultuous few weeks. The Candidate started at the top of the polls. The support dramatically dropping as each week progressed finally heading into election day with a dismal six percent support in the latest poll. Unsurprisingly the Candidate ended up with just over a hundred thousand first preference votes finishing fifth of the seven candidates. The voting percentage was disastrous for him. It did not qualify him to receive the two hundred and fifty thousand euro rebate against campaign expenses. One significant disadvantage with Cathal hijacking the campaign was a lack of financial transparency. However, I reckoned the spend had to be in excess of three hundred thousand with only twenty thousand funding raised.

Do I feel sorry for him at this moment? The honest answer is No. He enabled the chaos. He would not speak to me, trust me, the only one other than Brian, who had no agenda. I tried to support him. He fervently rejected my effort to liaise with him, his deep dislike for Chris spilling over into his sentiment towards me. His arrogance became his Achilles heel. Detail after detail, the campaign unfolded in disarray. His intuition proved resistant to his brilliant rational evidenced in his Senate debates. It was like bacteria outwitting an antibacterial agent. The man I thought I knew exposed a mercurial nature as integral to him as his name and age.


Chris unlocks the front door holding it open, I move past his body into the dark hall, going straight to turn off the alarm. I am bone weary. We have now been on our feet for virtually twelve hours. A lot of that time bunkered in the count centre at Dublin Castle.

“Let’s go to bed.” In the obscurity of the night Chris takes my hand and pulls me up behind him.

I drag myself upstairs, my body aching.

“Chris I was thinking?”

“Really.” He sounds worn out.

“What happens to us now,” I ask my eyes suddenly welling up in tears. I wearily sit still on the side of the bed. Chris taking of his cloths watches me.

“Are you going to get undressed?” he asks

Tears flow down my face. I sit there motionless overcome with emotion. Without a word Chris now undressed moves over to me. First he takes off my jacket, then lifts my arms hiking my shirt over my head. He raises me from the bed and evocatively runs his hands down the side of my body reaching the band of my skinny pants then unzipping and letting them drop to the floor. I think he wants sex. Not tonight. Could he be so insensitive?

“Take off your shoes,” he whispers into my ear. Now gently crying I obey. He presses his lips soft to my forehead. Gently tracing the outline of my face he wipes away a tear speaking softly.

“What’s wrong cupcake?” his voice full of tenderness.

“It suddenly hit me as we drove home.  It’s all over.” I gulped ” Where do we go from here? We don’t have the campaign anymore.”

“You’re tired. You are worrying about nothing. We are always going to be together. You know we are soul mates.”hugging passion

He climbed into bed patting the sheet for me to lay down beside him. My cheeks still damp from the tears, I cuddle into him. He pulls the duvet over our bodies, cloaking us in warmth. Soothingly, he delicately smothers my face in kisses. His mouth absorbs my dewy lips. His softness is soothing me. My eyes are fluttering shut. He then turns me to my side, away from him, and entwines his hard body around me.

“I love you Chris,” I croakily whisper.

“Shh Aliki go to sleep, love you more.”

I fell into an exhausted and deep sleep enveloped in his hug, consoled by his sensitivity.


Eventide is a Factual Fiction Psychological Thriller; in the course of a year two people intertwine in two tales of passion and survival; duplicity and destruction. We are are on the way with the blog to book.  If you would like to receive a book launch offer especially for  you as a loyal follower and fan, please register below. Your details will not be shared. PROMISE.

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