Ivoria by Tanith Lee (uplifting novels .txt) 📕

danger of these carefully choreographed rapes, enhancing unbearably the irresistible torrent of pleasure.

They began (inevitably?) during oases of calm, to plan an elopement together, a flight from England, from Laurence’s debts and Angela, and Qirri’s inquisitive grandmother. In curious adagios of deep tenderness, they wept in each other’s arms. Each had a storehouse of mental grudges and resentments, which they confessed, comforting each other. On the night she informed him she was his half-sister, the result of Claudia’s last adventure, Laurence beat her so severely that even Qirri was laid up for a day or two. When on her feet again, and during her last visit to Serena, it was this beating that had made Qirri throw up, made her look ill. When Laurence had grown scared at the effect of his assault, Qirri however had only laughed at him.

And of course, aside from their games, their fore-and-after-play, he did not give a fuck for the incest. He said he had wanted to fuck Serena once, when she was growing up. When Qirri also told him, post-coitus, she had fucked Serena, he burst out laughing, rolling around on the bed like a kid of fourteen.

Laurence informed Qirri during that particular night, of Claudia’s two long absences in the late ’70’s. Laurence had been about fourteen, Nick a baby, a “squalling tiny red pig” of one? - two? She had been doing theatre - was it in Sweden? Then she came back, sulky and nervy. And then abruptly she left again. What had their father thought of this? Oh, he took very slight interest by then in her work. He had not even attended her London First Nights for years; she was seldom any more the lead. And Joss had his business empire to canoodle with. Christ knew what Dad did himself, away from home. But Claudia, obviously, had done two things during that era. She had got pregnant with, and then given birth to, Qirri. And none of the family, (“Fucking morons. Me as well, but I knew nothing then”) guessed a thing. Even that sullen month Claudia had later spent in bed, weeping, or else drugged senseless, had only been the aftermath to forcing Qirri into the world, and then leaving her as negligently as a laptop on a train.

Laurence and Qirri. Qirri and Laurence. The two of them against the stupid hating world.

Laurence helped her hunt and bring Nick down. Laurence, by then, seemed to know everything.

Armed with so many facts, even before she met Nick she showed Laurence the critical letter she had already written, evaluating Nick’s professional abilities, and due to be sent him after they had been to bed. “I might call him up then too. Late at night is often best. But I’ll let the letter do most of it - it’s good, don’t you think?” She would send it via the BBC, through another girl Qirri still kept up with there in case she might still be useful; just like Sonia Daforian. Laurence agreed the letter was good. He liked it. “Little prick,” said Laurence. “Nick the Prick.”

“Oh,” said Qirri, “I’m sure his prick’s really great. Bigger than yours, not that it would be difficult…”

Laurence bought Qirri a gold wedding ring. He told her over the phone from Coreley. He said he had found something there too, one night on his own, prowling the dig, and well clear of the security cameras. It could be worth a fortune, Roman ivory, probably legionary in origin, and from the coast of Africa.

But on his return to London, when he drove over to Jonquil’s flat where Qirri had arranged that time to meet him, he did not bring the ivory. Instead he told Qirri he had lied, knowing how mercenary she was, and handed her an ivory-coloured square she thought was plastic. They had the designer argument in the hall (fairly quietly, the walls here were not so reliable soundwise, and once the door was shut). There wasn’t much time, he meant to get home before it grew too late. The beating was not the finest she had had from him, but they still enjoyed it, and the harsh sex, thrusting against Jonquil’s wall.

It would be their last session for a short while. He had told her they had better abstain, even from calls or texts, in case. Angela seemed extra suspicious and stroppy. He did not want her interfering - he and Qirri would be going away so soon, nothing must spoil their plan. An interim too would give him the chance to clear up the last details, obtain his last available funds. And she could finish her own last scheme with bloody Nick. “You’d better not like it.” Sex was over for now, she answered, “There’s only you, now. Ever and always.” Then he put the golden ring on her thumb. “It’s too big for your finger. It’s still a wedding band.” The savagery of their union always, involuntarily, freed them to indulge romance.

They kissed, crazed lovers, writhing behind the narrow stained glass panel of the door. And then he went out into the night. Out into the night which, as she did not then know, contained plotting Mr Pond and murderous Angela, and the assassin known only as The Man, and the walk up the hill above Richmond Park, to the place of death under the indifferent moon.

Qirri heard of Laurence’s death on the radio. She instantly went out and got very drunk. She wanted to kill people on the street, but never herself. She wanted to kill Laurence, for dying.

By the time her equilibrium had righted itself, Qirri, the beautiful survivor, had located the ultimate Lewis, Joss. His being in Greece incentivised, as they said, her option to go to him.

She did not try to seduce Joss. She only told him that she was Claudia’s daughter, and had wanted to meet Joss who, if her fate had been kinder, might have been Qirri’s father, rather than the disgusting crook who had