by Jaye Peaches
“Oh, yes. I think that works. Don’t you?”
Gemma gave a firm nod.
Andrea ducked back into the closet.
“No. Not you, Andrea.” Gemma shook her head at the latest outfit.
The brisk pace continued while Lubinsky hovered outside in the dying heat of the day.
“This is plenty, Gemma. Truly. Please don’t spend any more on me,” pleaded Andrea.
“Shoes?” remarked Gemma. “I think we’ve got enough time.”
Andrea gaped, and Gemma burst into laughter. “My darling soon-to-be-sister-in-law, I know you find it hard comprehend, but all this barely touches my purse strings.”
Calling over a shop assistant, she rattled off a string of instructions regarding delivery of their purchases to Sublime. Gemma didn’t want to be late to the restaurant.
***
“This is delicious.” John smacked his lips. “Not quite our usual night-out meal, is it, Andi?”
“Pizza Hut or something similar,” muttered Andrea.
Gemma couldn’t resist the small utterance of “pizza!” with relish. Jason rewarded her with one of his discreet thigh pinches under the table. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, suppressing a pained expression.
“Are you all right, Gemma?” asked John.
“Sure. Bit my tongue.” She exhaled as Jason let go.
“Have to watch your tongue,” said Jason giving her leg a pat.
“How are the wedding preparations going?”
“The wedding dress I can’t describe, as I don’t want John to know. A secret.” Andrea leant towards Gemma and whispered, “Ivory.”
Gemma put a finger to her lips.
“Andrea is being very traditional,” commented John. “Church wedding, the works. Her parents have given up on her older sister ever marrying her long-term partner and pulled out all the stops for Andi.” He sniffed the glass of white wine then picked up the bottle from the ice bucket to examine the label.
Gemma’s fork hovered in front of her mouth. “Church wedding. That will please Mum and Dad.”
“Yes. Our local parish church. We’ve had to go to the odd service. Grin and bear the boring sermons, chuck money into the collection, shake hands, and that kind of stuff. The vicar is old school.” John frowned.
Andrea glared at him from across the table. “You may not have any faith, but I do.”
“Our parents didn’t push it on us, did they, Gem?” He cocked his head.
“No. Sunday school for a while, and then I insisted on tennis lessons on Sunday mornings, and that was the end of religion. John rebelled the moment the vicar called him a sweet, angelic boy!” Gemma laughed.
“Did it for me, that. Calling me an angel. I was embarrassed, especially when Mum blurted it out in front of all my mates in the playground.” He joined in Gemma’s laughter.
“She did it on purpose, you know. You’d given her a mouthful that morning over breakfast.”
“You and your memory. You could only have been six or seven!” John glowered. “Gemma and Dad could recount reams of football scores; impressed my mates no end.” He poked at his pasta, shaking his head.
Jason refilled John’s empty wine glass. “It’s not a great surprise. Good memory runs in your family. But, Gemma’s never been one for football.” He raised an eyebrow.
“She didn’t watch the games. Just the final score programme. She would reel off the scores at school to impress the boys. You were thirteen or something? I was in sixth form by then, preparing to go to college.”
Gemma blushed. She hadn’t realised John had guessed at her little game of attention seeking.
“Standing there, surrounded by your troop of admirers, with your waistband turned over to make your skirt shorter!” He flashed her a grin.
“John.” She cringed, flushing.
Her brother waved his knife in the air, forming the shape of a curvy female. “She was a looker from the moment she hit puberty, Jason. Mum wanted to lock her in her bedroom at night. I told her I would look out for you, didn’t I, Gem?”
She sighed. He certainly had done. Until he left home, she hadn’t been allowed to go to parties without him or discos, not even the school-hosted events. She had resented his role as watchful chaperone terribly. Her friends called him her nighthawk, and teased her remorselessly. She tried to escape him and gone to great lengths on certain occasions. Telling her mum she was going around to her friend’s house then sneaking off to sit on the swings in the local park where the boys gathered with their girlfriends. Her first kisses happened in that playground, with her back against a tree and arms looped about a sweaty teenage neck. A disappointing affair.
To her despair and ignoring the frantic shakes of her head, he continued to unveil her past “You would sneak out. Even told Mum you were going to see Gran once and headed off to the park instead. Mum rang Gran to tell Gemma to come home and found out she wasn’t there. Caught her red handed. Grounded you for a month. Another time, you did something similar. She docked your pocket money.” John chortled.
Gemma pushed her plate back, her appetite gone. Throughout the humiliating recounting, Jason had listened intently.
Andrea giggled. “Gemma, you naughty girl! Can’t say I was any better.” She pursed her lips. “Use to tell my mum I was at my aunt’s house. She was so trusting, and I got away with it for weeks before she sussed out I was at my boyfriend’s.”
“And it’s us boys who get the bad reputation!” John finished his last mouthful. “Really yummy, this. Time for dessert?”
“You boys aren’t expected to be chaste, though, are you!” Gemma pointed out.
Jason waved a waiter over. “Dessert menu and more wine,” he said in his perfunctory fashion.
“Mum worried about you, Gem. She always did and always will. She made me feel really guilty if I didn’t keep an eye out for you. Told me I was a bad brother for letting you run off with the local boys.”
“I know. I overheard the conversations, John.” Gemma sighed. “It was futile, though. You went off to horticultural college, and I had my freedom. Dad didn’t mind; he didn’t worry. In fact, he would drop me off at parties on the way to his Friday night bridge club. He didn’t tell Mum; gave me money for taxis or buses home.” Gemma pretended to read the menu as she realised she had revealed, too.
“I didn’t know that! You two were always in cahoots. Sly girl.”
“If I promised not to get drunk and to stick to my curfew, he would let me.” She shrugged. “He trusted me.”
“Mum did, too. You didn’t give her a chance. She envied you, you know that?”
Gemma didn’t want to talk about it. She stared at her place mat, trying to blank out emerging memories of conversations with her mother. Next to her, Jason stirred.
“Why?” asked Jason.
“Mum was bright,” explained John. “Her family wasn’t bothered with education. If she had gone to better schools, she could have gone to Uni and found a real career. Mum never had been ambitious for herself, but she was determined Gemma shouldn’t waste her education. Useful, practical qualifications.”
“Well, I did what she wanted, didn’t I?” Gemma slouched in her chair. “I didn’t get to do fine art. She made me choose vocational courses.” Bottled-up anger rose in her blood. “And she had been an artist, too. You saw the pictures she drew. Remember, we found them hidden in the attic when Dad did his back in and sent us there to fetch something. We both get our creativity from her. And yet, she wouldn’t let me study art because she couldn’t!”
“Enough!” Jason’s tone froze her. She had overstepped the respect line, even if the insolence was directed at her mother and not him.
***
Jason saw Andrea shift awkwardly in her seat, her gaze wandering about. It came as no surprise that families were complicated and layered with hidden secrets. He knew Gemma had kept many from her parents and John. If her brother were to know about the rape, he would be filled with fury and impotence, unable to protect her any l
onger and incapable of taking revenge on the dead perpetrator. Jason had much empathy with him with regard to being Gemma’s protector; it was a sentiment he shared.
To return the evening’s pleasant tone, he brought up another subject and then pondered what he had learnt about his wife’s family history. What had it revealed about his wife’s inherent behaviour and mannerisms?
Did John really understand the nature of his and Gemma’s relationship? Unlikely. According to Andrea, John had never said a word about it since the evening when he had witnessed Gemma kneel at Jason’s feet and reveal the fact she was his submissive. No curiosity or fact-finding mission followed on his part, unlike Andrea who regularly e-mailed Gemma and asked after them in terms clearly meant to prise open their relationship further. Jason ensured she kept the information to a minimum.
Hearing Gemma describe John as her childhood chaperone, the issue was clear to Jason: how could John protect a sister who wasn’t his to protect? His brother-in-law, conditioned by his mother, could no longer perform his given role. But was he capable of letting the sentiment go?
It explained why Gemma had kept her distance from John. From all of her family. He understood better why she struggled to tolerate the presence of her protection officers, her innate need to run away and be by herself. Her bodyguards reinstated the constraints imposed upon her as a rebellious teenager.
Jason’s childhood hadn’t been about escaping but taking the diversions offered to him and using them to help control his authoritarian personality. He’d devoured competitive sports with gusto. His athletic physique demanded regular exercise, and his leadership skills tuned his thoughts, stopping him going astray into a world of unruly, mutinous self-destruction.
Gemma’s mother had been the passive, controlling force in her life. Understated and slightly underhanded, his mother-in-law had kept her daughter on a tight leash until she could no longer keep hold of it. The moment the girl left home, Gemma was no longer hers to control. Others did that for her. Men like Jason.
Jason could see the resentment in Gemma’s emotional display. Not only because her education had been defined by her mother, but also because, instead of enjoying a mother-daughter relationship based on friendship and intimacy, Gemma had ended up keeping a distance from her mother. The excuse of her parents’ prudish behaviour had been half of the picture. Gemma’s secret sexual life—the rape and the nature of her relationship with Jason—none of it would be imparted to her mother because she wouldn’t have her mother dictate to her or contrive others to direct her. Yet, it was obvious Gemma needed that kind of person in her life. After all, she had handed control straight to him. His rule over her was even tighter than her mother’s had been.
One thing wasn’t a new revelation: his wife was a consummate attention seeker. The shortening of her skirts, hanging about with boys, and even defying her parents had given her results, made her the centre of their attention. John, the obedient brother, had been tasked with guarding her while her sexually awakening thrived. She had resented her guardian, but she never snubbed his company or sought to fully take on the mantle of a rebellious adolescent child. She hadn’t run away or refused to cooperate with the disciplinary measures inflicted on her. She was a submissive to everyone about her, and she milked the sentiment for all it was worth.
Ordering dessert interrupted a protracted period of silence. By the time fresh wine had been poured by the hovering waiter, Gemma had regained her composure—her trembling fingers quelled and her breathing slower. “What are the plans for tomorrow, Jason?” she tactfully asked.
“Head south. I thought you two girls might enjoy the sun while John and I try out the powerboat. Leo Lubinsky is something of an expert at handling fast boats.”
John’s face lit up at the suggestion.
The evening meal ended, they returned to Sublime. Exchanging pleasantries, they parted company, and Jason led his wife up the private staircase.
***
“What did I tell you about being respectful, Gemma?” Jason asked as they entered their stateroom.
Her knees bent automatically, and she dropped to the floor.
“Well?”
“I didn’t realise it extended to those not present, Sir,” Her tone held a modicum of annoyance, daring under the circumstances.
“Parents always deserve respect, especially when they dote on their children. Your mother loves you very much, and she feared for you as a young woman. She had every right to, as well, didn’t she?” Jason stood over her, arms folded, legs astride. Typically one of his more daunting poses, and yet, it only seemed to inflame her own anger.
“Are you saying if I had let my mother keep me shut up in my bedroom, I wouldn’t have been abused? That I should be grateful she kept me a virtual prisoner in my house?”
Gemma attempted to rise to her feet. She didn’t feel very submissive.
“Don’t be obtuse. She recognised your vulnerabilities, your flaws. The need you have to be wanted and desired by others. The rape was criminal, but your path towards it put you at risk.”
She sprang to her feet and charged at him. “You don’t get to say it’s my fault! You don’t say I’m to blame. You don’t judge me!” She pummelled his chest with her fists until he grabbed them and held them tight.
“I don’t. But neither do you!” He pulled her into a tight embrace. “You don’t blame anyone, Gem, but one person. The man who did it to you. Stop seeking retribution from those who don’t deserve it. That includes yourself. You’re so precious to those who love you. I, your parents, your brother will always want to protect you.”
“I’m not a pathetic victim. I won’t be cast as a casualty of life, Jason. I’m strong, aren’t I?” Her hot face streaked with angry tears.
“You’re strong, babe. I’m not saying you are a weak person. You’re beautiful and tantalising, like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. Men will want you, and I cannot bear anything happening to you. I love you so much. Hearing about your childhood, things you have never spoken about, has made me understand you better. John is ignorant of how you live your life and the risks you have taken in the past to service your needs. Now you are safe, and I will protect you. He will understand, one day, and your mother will hopefully be reassured, too.”
“I can’t tell her. I can’t. She would blame herself, not me, and then I would feel so guilty and—”
“Enough. There is no need for her to know. It would serve no purpose. But you must stop resenting the way she took care of you, the protective cocoon she placed about you. For your whole childhood, you were safe and well looked after. Should you not be grateful?” He wiped her tears with his fingers.
Gemma nodded. Her body relaxed against his, she listened to his heartbeat. For several minutes, she remained in her husband’s protective cocoon.
“Thank you,” she finally whispered. “I have buried those feeling towards Mum for many years. My subconscious is very adept at keeping my worse emotions tucked away. John thinks I have an excellent memory. He doesn’t know it is very selective.”
“I know, babe.”
Chapter 15. Ironing and Poetry
Day Eight
The staff laid out a breakfast feast in honour of their guests.
“There are only four of us aren’t there? There is enough to feed an army.” John lifted a lid on a covered dish to reveal scrambled eggs. “Andi is comatose in bed still. Not a morning person.”
“Like me, you mean.” Gemma helped herself to fruit punch. “Jason, on the other hand, is definitely a morning person. He’s in the gym. Up at the crack of dawn, checking his e-mails. Work is a swine at the moment for him.” She took a seat at the table. “I have something I have to do this morning. You should chill out or use the lower pool for a swim.
“I might try out the gym.” John heaped a pile of eggs on his plate. “Please, tell me there is smoked salmon in one of these.” He lifted another lid and scowled at the tomatoes.
Gemma pointed at a dish. “He
re. I’m sure Jason would love the company. Don’t let him turn it into a competition, though. Don’t want to have to bring you out in a wheelchair!”
For a brief time, they chatted on their own. The main topic of conversation, her parents. The long hours her father worked and how little leisure time he had. Her mother and her numerous positions on various local committees.
“She’s taken up art classes.” John sliced through his salmon. “Saturday mornings. She says it’s too late. Never too late, though, is it?”
She hadn’t known. Her mother hadn’t told her about art classes. She swallowed back a terse remark about being the last to know anything. However, it seemed unfair to blame John. Perhaps she’d become so wrapped up in her own life to notice the changes in her mum’s. She cleared her throat, turned to her brother, and smiled.
“Of course not. That’s the nice thing about art, you can do it at any age. I’m glad, really.” Gemma picked at her food. “I have to go.” She would have her massage and try to shrug off the urge to feel jealous about her mother’s artistic activities. She’d done nothing to further her own ambitions except donate the odd picture to a charity auction.
Following her massage, somewhat rejuvenated, Gemma found her guests relaxing in the lower pool, petting each other. They swam closer as she approached.
“Hi, you guys. Happy?” she asked.
“Blissfully. Thanks.” John tucked Andrea close to him in the aqua water.
Gemma smiled at them. “Andrea, would you like a fantastic massage? Maria is more than happy to give you one.”
“Oh, yes.” Andrea climbed out and wrapped an oversized towel around her. “Where can I find her?”
“She’s in the spa room.” Gemma watched Andrea head inside, out of the intensifying sun. “No gym?”
“No. By the time Andi and I finished breakfast, Jason had left, and I lost the inspiration. Pool called.” He splashed water up at her, and she jumped back with a shriek.
Leaving her brother to his swim, she wandered into the salon where Jason sat alone, eating a hearty breakfast. Gemma slipped into the seat next to him and helped herself to coffee.
