Читать книгу Master of the House - Justine Elyot - Страница 9

‘What’s all this about, though, Luce?’

I checked my watch and peered across the Feathers’ garden to the lane beyond. Would he drive or walk? Either way, it was still five minutes until eight o’clock.

‘Can’t a daughter take her mum out for a nice evening drink in the countryside?’

I took a sip of my shandy while mum chugged on her pint of scrumpy and black.

‘I just don’t know why you were so anti bringing Animal along. He’s at a loose end tonight. No gigs, no rehearsals. We were going to have a night in and watch The Lost Boys on DVD.’

‘Gawd, how many times have you watched that film? I bet you could quote the script word for word.’

She grinned. ‘Probably could.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, Jason Patric. Wish he’d come to Tylney.’

‘Perhaps he will one day. Anyway, I just wanted to have a bit of time with you, just us. You worked so hard when I was a kid to get food on the table and I want to say thanks for all you did for me.’

‘Aw, babe. I wasn’t exactly the perfect parent.’

‘Who is?’

She ruffled my hair.

‘It’s good to have you back,’ she said.

That was the moment he sauntered out of the French doors, carrying a tall glass of what I hoped was lemonade.

‘Is that …?’ Mum squinted, leaning forwards.

‘Joss, yeah.’

‘Shit, he’s coming over. Babe, are you all right with this?’

‘Fine, fine,’ I said tersely.

‘’Cos I know there’s history –’

‘Shh!’

He was within hearing range now, making a beeline for us.

He stopped at the table, directed his most charming smile at mum and said, ‘Ms Miles. Would you mind awfully if I joined you?’

Mum looked so thunderstruck I wanted to laugh.

‘What’s all this “Ms Miles”?’ she said, after a moment of stunned silence. ‘You know my name’s Karen. That’s what you always called me.’

‘Yes, but I feel I ought to pay my respects to you, if that doesn’t sound too pompous. May I?’

He waved his hand at the empty seat.

‘Oh. Of course.’ Mum was still thoroughly discombobulated and she kept giving me anxious little glances.

He sat down and took a mouthful of his drink.

‘When life gives you lemons,’ he said, with a covert little half-wink at me.

Yes. Lemonade. I restrained myself from giving him the thumbs-up.

‘Sorry to hear about your dad last year,’ said Mum.

‘Thank you. But I’m the one who ought to be saying sorry.’

‘What, to Lucy?’

‘No, or rather, yes, to Lucy, but also to you.’

He launched into a very sincere-sounding apology for the way he had treated her when she had been his parents’ cleaner. He had spoken to her dismissively, often left messes for her to clear up, made the extent of his privilege and her lowliness abundantly clear in every exchange they had had. I listened, impressed at how fully he detailed his every transgression. I had feared he might try to elude responsibility by invoking his youth or his parents’ influence, but he didn’t. He accepted blame for his own behaviour and begged her forgiveness for it in the most touching terms.

He had to mean it? Didn’t he?

My mother certainly thought so.

‘Oh, look, it was years ago,’ she said warmly. ‘You were just a kid and you didn’t know any better. I thought nothing of it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Joss. ‘But I know it’s always bothered Lucy, and it was important to me that I make my peace with you, and her.’

Mum laughed. ‘Make your peace? I think you’ve got a few years in you yet.’

‘I hope so.’ He laughed back. ‘But you know what I mean, I think.’

‘Yes, I do. You’ve really changed. You’re a really decent bloke now. I hope your dad’d be proud of you.’

His smile wavered then returned to full beam.

‘Thanks.’ He finished the last of the lemonade and stood. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I’m afraid I must be going.’

‘Oh, dear, all ready?’ Mum was in two-pints-down flirtation mode and she batted her eyelashes quite shamelessly.

‘I’m afraid so. Thank you again, Ms Miles, for being so understanding. It means a great deal to me.’

With that, he left. Or rather, with a parting glance at me, the meaning of which was absolutely clear.

I’ve done what you asked. Now it’s your turn.

‘Well,’ said Mum, staring after him. ‘What a turn-up.’

‘Yes. Have you finished that? I’m ready to go.’

‘What? But the night is young.’

‘I know, but I have things I have to do.’

Back in the car on the way to drop mum in Tylney, the expected interrogation began.

‘So, tell me, Luce, you’re not getting involved with him again, are you?’

‘Not in that way.’

‘I bloody well hope not. It’s his fault you buggered off to Hungary for seven years and I only got to see you once in a blue moon.’

‘No, it isn’t. I wanted to work in Hungary.’

‘You wanted to run away from him.’

‘How could I run away from somebody who wasn’t chasing me?’

‘There was more to that than met the eye. I’d put good money on it. I don’t think he wanted to treat you the way he did.’

‘Mum, just because he’s smooth-talked you tonight doesn’t mean you can rewrite history. He treated me like a doll. No two ways about it.’

I needed to calm down a bit. I was well over the speed limit. I relaxed my foot on the pedal and tried to breathe.

‘I bet he was under pressure. Boys from his background can’t just see who they like, you know.’

‘Mum, this is the twenty-first century. Everybody can see exactly who they like. And if they can’t, then they can do the other person the favour of steering well fucking clear.’

Mum sighed and fidgeted with her friendship bands as we passed the ‘Welcome to Tylney: Historic Heart of the Vale’ signpost.

‘I wish you’d told me at the time what was going on,’ she said.

‘He made me keep it a secret. What an idiot I was. As if that didn’t tell me everything I needed to know about our future.’

‘You live, you learn,’ said Mum, but I was in no mood for philosophical insights. I stopped the car in the alleyway behind Tylney Pet Supplies.

‘Aren’t you coming in?’ she asked, halfway out of the door, having noticed that I hadn’t turned off the engine.

‘No. I’ve got to see a man about a dog.’

She gave me a long look.

‘That man wouldn’t happen to be a lord, would he?’

‘Mum, it’s OK. It’s business. He wants to work on a story with me, that’s all.’

That’s all.

I knew, and I think she knew, that there was a lot more to it than that.

But she contented herself with a ‘Be careful’ before shutting the car door and skipping up the fire escape to the flat.

When I parked the car at Willingham Hall, I could see a dark figure sitting on the front steps. He was waiting for me.

He hurried across the gravel and intercepted me before I could change my mind.

‘Was that what you wanted?’ he asked breathlessly. His shirt collar and two top buttons were undone, taunting my efforts to keep a level head.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, it was exactly right. Thank you. I just hope you meant it.’

‘I did. I do,’ he said, leading me to the door. ‘Every word. I know I used to be a dick, Lulu. It’s not pleasant to have to confess to it in public, but it’s no more than I deserve.’

‘I’m glad you see it that way.’

We were inside the house now, standing a little awkwardly in the splendid but dusty reception hall. It needed mum’s touch. Perhaps he could re-hire her.

‘So,’ he said, after a heavy pause. ‘I think we should stay out of the bedroom to begin with. My office?’

‘Where you work? Where Fran works?’

‘OK, perhaps not. The breakfast room isn’t looking too disastrous and there’s plenty of space in there.’

The breakfast room. Where he had bent me over the table and had me until the silver plate rattled on the cloth.

‘Lead on.’

His smile lingered a little too long.

‘Exactly,’ he said.

The morning room was one of my favourites in the whole house, spacious, airy and with a beautiful view out over the back terrace and the gardens beyond. Even in darkness, it had a friendly, cheerful sort of vibe for which I was grateful.

‘You’ve done a bit of research, I know,’ he said, perching his backside on the breakfast table while I took a seat by the windows. ‘So I imagine you’ve read up on submissive training. I don’t think I can proceed in the standard kind of way, though, because I don’t think you’re a submissive.’

‘Don’t you indeed?’ I was fascinated, and slightly offended by this claim. How could he say he knew me that well? ‘And why’s that then?’

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. I think you like most of the aspects of submission. But my guess is, when it comes down to it, you’re a bottom.’

‘Are you calling me an arse?’

‘Lucy,’ he said sternly. ‘I thought you said you’d researched this.’

‘OK, OK, I know what you mean. Joke. Nervous. Weirded out.’

He nodded, the steel core less in evidence. ‘I get that,’ he said. ‘And actually I don’t much care for the term “bottom” in this context. It does sound like, well, as you say …’

We both smiled at each other, conspirators caught out in low-minded thoughts.

‘The difference between the two,’ he continued, ‘is that I have full control over a scene with a submissive. But with a bottom, we have to agree what happens first. Bottoms hate not knowing what’s going to happen – submissives enjoy it. Well, that’s a bit crude, but you see what I’m driving at?’

I nodded, rather relieved by his assessment. I wasn’t ready to just place myself in his hands and let him go to town on me … yet. But if we could negotiate what he would do to me beforehand, then it wasn’t so scary.

‘So, with that in mind, I think what I have to do is go through the sorts of things that would be expected of you at one of His Nibs’ parties and practise them. I’m not going to make you “my submissive” because you don’t want that. Unfortunately.’

He paused, looking sideways at me. I gave him my blankest face.

‘But I’m going to make you able to play the part,’ he continued after a sad-eyed pause.

‘Right. So what’s first?’

‘Positions,’ he said, standing up and snapping his fingers. I was so startled by the sudden change in tone that I stood up too, which seemed to delight him. ‘Posture.’

‘Books on the head?’

‘If necessary, but probably not. There are nine positions that he will expect you to know. Tonight I’m going to teach them to you. It’ll be up to you to practise and learn them before our next session.’

‘Sexual positions?’ I asked warily.

‘No. Just ways of presenting yourself to emphasise your submission.’

‘Right. So …?’

‘So,’ he said, coming closer and giving me a greedy up-and-down inspection. ‘Would you take off your clothes, please?’

‘Really?’

He tilted his head, his eyes boring into me.

‘I’ll put that another way,’ he said. ‘Take off your clothes.’

If I’d thought properly about this, I wouldn’t have worn the skinny biker-style jeans. There was no point fighting it. It was going to happen and, if I was honest with myself, I wanted it to. It was fair and equitable; he had laid himself open and now it was my turn.

Besides, something about the tone of his voice …

I let a door slide in my mind and convinced myself that I was acting under compulsion, powerless to disobey any command he gave. It was easier that way – just to switch off my sentient twenty-first-century feminist self and let the ragged, primitive stuff underneath it have its way.

It was easy enough to slide off my high-heeled pumps and unbutton my sleeveless white shirt. The jeans needed to be peeled though, and I half-turned away from him to do it, my hair hiding my face.

‘No, that won’t do,’ said Joss softly. ‘Stand up straight and look me in the eye.’

I wanted to moan, but I contented myself with shaking my hair out of my eyes in an aggressive manner and keeping my expression stony.

‘His Nibs likes to watch the submissives undress,’ said Joss. ‘And he expects it to be done in a certain spirit. Nothing hidden, everything on display. He considers that respectful. Trying to conceal yourself in any way is against his rules.’

‘I don’t know his rules,’ I remind him.

‘I know. I’ll help you. Look, what you did with the shoes and the shirt was fine, but you have to keep your eyes to the front while you take off the jeans and don’t try to hide anything. There’s more, but we’ll come to that.’

I shrugged and continued pushing the tight denim over my hips. I had to concentrate hard on not pushing my thong down with it, but I managed it somehow.

‘Look,’ I said, once they were at my knees. ‘I have to bend now, to get them off properly. Am I supposed to still keep my head up?’

‘If possible. Try it. And think graceful. Think swanlike.’

I gave a little huff of laughter at that. Swanlike I was not.

I managed to get them around my ankles without falling over, but a fit of mortified giggles was bubbling up inside me and it burst forth when I found myself hopping wildly to one side, contorted like the losing player in a hardcore game of Twister. Not so much swan as reef knot.

Joss rushed forward to catch me before I fell heavily on one side. By that time, I was squealing and cackling like a kid on a rollercoaster. He nudged me upright again. It was the lightest touch, nothing really intimate about it, but it shocked me.

‘Steady, girl,’ he said. One hand was still on my shoulder. ‘These weren’t made for stripteasing in, were they?’

He was close, warm, solid beside me. I felt the way a reformed addict might feel, presented with a handful of their former nemesis. The tiniest movement towards him could change everything …

‘I’m OK now,’ I managed to say. ‘Can we assume I won’t be wearing skinny jeans next time and just let me sit down to get them all the way off?’