To Seek a Master

by Monica Belle

  On the Thursday morning she could not have been happier, leaving Charles at the station with a goodbye kiss and walking into EAS with her head full of erotic and romantic fantasies. Even the sight of Brian and Dave in the lobby didn’t dent her mood, and she greeted Mr Henderson with a cheerful good morning, only to realise that there was a yellow file on the desk, the colour used for disciplinary procedures, while the expression on his face was far from agreeable.

  ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘Yes. I regret to say that a complaint has been made against you, Laura, by Christopher Drake at Maxwell-Boyce, and a very serious one. He claims that you offered sex in return for a better price on our 36,000 volt units.’

  ‘I did not!’

  ‘He claims you did.’

  ‘Well it’s not true!’

  ‘He claims otherwise, that you encouraged him to get drunk at the Horseshoes in Abbots Ripton and made it very clear that sex was available if he agreed to your terms.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Think carefully, Laura.’

  ‘It’s not true.’

  Mr Henderson gave a weary sigh.

  ‘He expected you to deny it, and therefore sent this. I do not approve of his actions, needless to say, but I do think you have some explaining to do.’

  As he spoke he took something from the yellow file and pushed it forward across the desk, one of the photos taken in Sheringham. It was the very rudest, showing her posing against the cliff. Her bottom was pushed out with most of her cheeks bulging from the sides of her tiny bikini bottoms, the swell of her sex barely concealed beneath a minute triangle of scarlet material, the top pulled open to show off her breasts, her nipples stiff, her lips pouted in an insolent kiss.

  ‘The utter bastard!’

  Mr Henderson gave her a moment for the full horror of her situation to sink in before he went on.

  ‘Do you still deny that you had sex with him?’

  ‘No, but … OK, I had an affair with him, but I wasn’t trying to bribe him. Anyway, that photo was taken on Sheringham beach, not at Abbots Ripton.’

  ‘Answer me truthfully, Laura. Did you offer sex to Christopher Drake when you met him at the Horseshoes?’

  Laura hung her head.

  ‘Yes, we had sex, but it wasn’t a bribe.’

  ‘But you did have sex, with a client, on company time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Even leaving aside the issue of bribery, Laura, that would be grounds for dismissal, while I need scarcely remind you that you are already on a formal warning. I’m sorry, Laura, but I’m going to have to let you go. You can of course appeal, but Mrs Jeffries supports my decision. I doubt you would find much sympathy from a tribunal.’

  ‘But … please, wait a minute. He can’t … and anyway, what about him?’

  ‘That’s not our concern, and he indicates that if you are dismissed the matter need go no further.’

  ‘He can’t do that! That’s completely unfair.’

  ‘Fair doesn’t come into it, Laura. Look, off the record, this is all to do with company politics. The Maxwell-Boyce account is worth a great deal of money, and Christopher Drake is something of a golden boy with them, not to mention being the nephew of their CEO. You’ve been an excellent PA, but I really have no choice, because if we keep you on we will be obliged to contest his accusation, which will mean losing the account and a costly court case, not to mention becoming the laughing stock of the entire industry. Therefore, as I’m sure you would understand if you weren’t personally involved, you have to go. If you want to pursue the matter privately, of course, it is up to you, but I advise very strongly against it. I don’t know why Drake has chosen to make this allegation, or why he has waited so long to do so, but …’

  ‘I do. It’s his excuse so that he can keep his vicious bitch of a girlfriend!’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Hazel Manston-Jones. She caught us at it in Sheringham, and this way it makes him look as if I’m the one who tried it on, although if she believes him she’s a stupid bitch.’

  ‘Calm down, Laura.’

  ‘But don’t you see what’s happened? He’d been trying to sweet talk her out of dumping him because he was seeing me, and she’s stuck the knife in to make sure I get the sack.’

  ‘Can you prove this?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  Mr Henderson sat back in his chair, his hands spread in a helpless gesture.

  ‘I’ve been sacked.’

  Charles didn’t answer, but immediately took her into his arms, indifferent to the commuters streaming past them towards the waiting train. Laura burst into tears, letting out all the emotions she had struggled to hold back during her interview with Mr Henderson and for the rest of the day as she tidied up her work, cleared her desk and as a final act engaged a temp from the very same agency who had put her forward for the job four years before.

  Only when the train had started did Charles ease her gently down into a seat, directly opposite Darcy, whose presence was enough to embarrass her into digging into her bag for tissues. Charles waited until she had had a chance to tidy herself up before speaking.

  ‘Do you have to go into work tomorrow?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then come home with me.’

  ‘I can’t. Smudge …’

  ‘Then I’ll come home with you.’

  ‘OK. Thank you.’

  Laura went quiet, resting her head on Charles’ shoulder and staring morosely out of the window at the passing countryside. With so many people around them, there was nothing to be said, but as the train picked up to full speed she was earnestly wishing that she had some way of magically transferring Christopher Drake to the rails in front of it. It was bad enough to have seduced her behind his girlfriend’s back, but surely he should have had the decency to let things be, instead of getting her sacked in order to try and patch up the relationship he had been so willing to risk for a bit of variety in bed. The thoughts remained with her, but only when they were back in King’s Lynn and walking by the river with Smudge bounding ahead did she admit to them, now more resentful than furious as she finished her explanation of what had happened that morning.

  ‘I want to kill the bastard. Not literally, but you know what I mean.’

  ‘Rise above it, that’s my advice.’

  ‘You said the same about Brian, but it was much more fun tipping paint over him. I’ll cherish the memory forever too, but if I’d let him get away with it I’d always feel bad. I’m not as strong as you, Charles, and I’m no good at all at putting bad things behind me. For Christ’s sake, I still resent Charlotte West for not inviting me to her fifth birthday party!’

  ‘You are a very sensitive girl, but please, take my advice. Be proud and rise above it.’

  ‘I can’t, and I’ll tell you what’s worse. I told you Hazel Manston-Jones spanked me, didn’t I, and how many times I’ve come over the memory? How do you think that feels, now she’s cost me my job?’

  ‘Is she necessarily to blame? It strikes me that the responsibility lies entirely with Mr Drake, who has obviously lied to her just as he lied to you.’

  ‘Do you think so? I reckon she put him up to it, just to get back at me.’

  ‘I admit that is possible, but I don’t think it’s very likely. I think it much more likely that he instigated the demand for your dismissal in order to impress her with the supposed truth of his story.’

  ‘He still cheated on her though.’

  ‘Yes, but as you were caught in flagrante delicto he can hardly claim that nothing happened, so that trying to blame you becomes his best option while he may well have painted himself into a corner, so to speak, and therefore found it necessary to make his claims formal. Lies, after all, have a nasty habit of needing fresh lies to support them.’

  ‘That’s true. Oh well, maybe she won’t believe him anyway.’

  ‘That’s always possible, or she might believe him but reject him anyway.’
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br />   ‘Or take him back but use what happened to keep him in line. He would not like that.’

  ‘In any event, their relationship is almost certainly doomed to failure.’

  ‘Good.’

  23

  CHARLES LEFT IN the morning, on the same train Laura had taken day after day for so long, failing to catch it on only a handful of occasions and staying in bed only during rare bouts of illness. It felt strange to be lying there with the sun on her face and Smudge sitting in the corner with his lead in his mouth, looking hopeful, exactly as if it had been the weekend. She felt curiously numb, despite the occasional instinctive flicker of panic at the thought that it was a Friday and she was still in bed when she should have been at work.

  At last she got up, but only to potter around the house doing minor and largely unnecessary jobs. Again and again she thought of Christopher Drake, cursing him and wondering what chance she had of getting another job after what had happened. The UK switchgear industry was far too small for her to avoid becoming the girl who’d offered sex to seal a contract, even if anybody did take her on, while in any other industry she would have problems without specialist knowledge or a track record, to say nothing of the difficulty of getting references.

  Charles had suggested selling up and moving in with him, so casually that he had made it seem the obvious solution. She could see the appeal, but while sacrificing her sexual independence was as desirable as it was exciting, it was harder to let go of her financial independence. If she did, and signed her contract, she would be his completely, all day and every day, making her surrender to him an immediate reality.

  She had said she needed time to think before she could give an answer, which he had accepted with the same level-headed calm he brought to everything. Now, with nothing to do but think, she found it impossible to separate her emotional needs from the cold practicalities of her situation. She had built up enough equity in her flat to leave her with money in the bank, but that didn’t seem to matter, nor the clause in her contract allowing her to manage her own work affairs, because she knew that once she had signed, the last thing she would want was a job, let alone one in which any man other than Charles had authority over her.

  In an effort to cheer herself up, she tried to think about the coming weekend, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to recapture the sense of absolute freedom she had enjoyed so much, nor fully enjoy Charles until she had managed to clear her head of what Christopher Drake had done. She was also taking Smudge, Mrs Phipps having dropped a heavy hint that four weekends of dog sitting in a row would be stretching what could be expected of good neighbours. Despite Charles’ affinity with animals, Laura wasn’t at all sure he would be able to spank her in Smudge’s presence without alarming consequences.

  That put a smile on her face, but only briefly. She had soon begun to brood again, and picked up Brigands of Barbary in the hope of losing herself in the wilds of North Africa and the travails of the heroine, Olivia Silverthorn. Olivia had a bit more spirit than Evangeline Tarrington, and rather than simply feeling proud and resentful while waiting for the hero to turn up, actually did something about it for herself. On the other hand the hero, Daniel Lock, seemed a bit of a dead loss. Despite considerable provocation he had failed to put Olivia across his knee once in nearly a hundred pages. Nor had the Arab slave traders proved any better, more concerned with the quality of her skin and teeth than with tying her up or smacking her bottom. However, now that Olivia had been sold for three camels and a goat it seemed entirely possible that her new owner, Hasan Hasan, would know how the heroine of an adventure romance ought to be treated.

  … beside his single remaining goat stood Hasan Hansan, his physical aspect alone enough to cause Olivia to place one dainty hand to the rosebud of her mouth. Six feet six he stood, crabbed and gaunt, his body wiry from the deprivations of the desert and scarred by the knives of old enemies long since fallen. A meagre loincloth shrouded his scrawny shanks, his sole garment save for sandals, crossed dagger belts and a cloak of rich peacock blue he must have stolen, probably from the body of some luckless merchant. His visage was more alarming still: a nose like the beak of a monstrous hawk, eyes like those of a slinking, predatory cat, a mouth like the slit of some horrid hell barred by teeth like broken tombstones. To make matters worse, his expression was a crapulent leer as he spoke.

  ‘So, my pale petal of the chilly north,’ he drawled dirtily, in, to Olivia’s considerable surprise, remarkably good English, ‘what has my purchase bought me? Come, I wish to see you – naked!’

  Olivia Silverthorn screamed in horror and shame for the thought of having to disrobe for this repulsive specimen, and, without thinking, lashed out one dainty foot at the tip of a long, dancer’s leg. Hasan Hasan, caught squarely in the wind, vanished over the precipice, along with his goat.

  Laura pursed her lips with a touch of irritation. She had been hoping for more from Hasan Hasan and his goat, but after dropping over the edge of a precipice described as – ‘… a wall of naked rock higher than the topmost topaz of some ancient tower’ – it didn’t seem likely that they’d be up to much, while Olivia was now alone in the Atlas Mountains, not even at anybody’s mercy, never mind in imminent danger of having her bottom compromised. Nevertheless, there was a certain satisfaction to the scene.

  Olivia, Laura was sure, would not have meekly resigned herself to being pushed out of her job by some lying little bastard. Had Christopher Drake turned up in Brigands of Barbary he would have been some unprincipled rake and seducer, and with any luck have ended up at the bottom of the precipice with Hasan Hasan and the goat. It was just a shame that reality always had to get in the way, or she might have taken a leaf out of Olivia’s book herself.

  She went back to brooding on Christopher Drake, the book held limp in her hands. The more she thought about him, the less she felt able to enjoy the prospect of the weekend. To submit herself sexually to Charles she needed to feel good, confident and feminine, not crushed, and yet it was appalling to think of Christopher Drake spoiling her relationship with Charles as well as getting her the sack. Something had to be done, even if it was only to tell the bastard what she thought of him to his face.

  Laura swung her legs off the sofa, determined to confront him. She knew the address of the Maxwell-Boyce plant off by heart, and if she drove fast she could catch him before lunch, or better still, in the works canteen where she could show him up in front of his colleagues. It had to be done, before common sense could get the better of her, and she had gone into automatic as she grabbed her bag and left the house.

  She drove fast, with the radio turned up in an effort to keep her emotions high as she thought of all the things she could say to him. The list was long enough for a sizeable speech by the time she reached Peterborough and her nerve held as she parked the car and started towards the plant. Only as she approached reception did she begin to falter, realising that her plan of marching straight in and asking some random employee for his office was impractical. A smart, blonde-haired receptionist sat behind the desk, looking horribly efficient, while two large security guards flanked the doors. They had seen her, and it was too late to back down. Walking at her most businesslike clip, she approached the desk.

  ‘Good morning. I am Miss Silverthorn. I wish to see Mr Drake, in purchasing.’

  ‘Good morning, Miss Silverthorn. Mr Drake is out of the office at present. Did you have an appointment?’

  Laura hesitated, all her stubborn determination gone on the instant.

  ‘Um … no, that is …’

  ‘Ah, here is his personal assistant. Perhaps she’ll be able to help you?’

  Laura turned sharply, to find Hazel Manston-Jones stepping out of a lift, just yards away, as tall and cool and elegant as ever. It was too late to avoid eye contact, while the receptionist was already speaking.

  ‘Hazel. This is Miss Silverthorn. She was hoping to have a word with Mr Drake.’

  Hazel had stopped, and to Laura’s astonishm
ent looked neither angry nor cold, but worried, while there was something close to panic in her voice as she gave a hasty response to the receptionist.

  ‘Yes, I’ll deal with this, thank you, Amanda. Laura, I think I … look, can we step outside?’

  Laura nodded, cautious, but there was nothing in the other woman’s manner to suggest hostility. Outside the main doors, Hazel ran a hand across her brow, speaking quickly but in little more than a whisper.

  ‘I owe you an apology, I know. I was angry and I shouldn’t have done it, and I know Chris hadn’t told you about us, but … anyway, I did it and I’d like to say sorry.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Hazel had been about to speak again, but stopped. Laura went on, her confidence rising in the face of Hazel’s obvious alarm.

  ‘Sorry for what, for spanking me or for costing me my job?’

  ‘Costing you your job?’

  ‘Yes, my job. What do you think happened when my boss got your bastard boyfriend’s complaint?’

  ‘He didn’t send that, did he?’

  ‘He did. I got sacked.’

  ‘Oh hell. I am sorry, Laura. I told him not to, but … look, could we talk somewhere else? There are too many ears flapping around here.’

  Laura sipped at her gin and tonic, listening as Hazel struggled to explain her situation. They were in the back bar of a small pub, once isolated, now swallowed by the industrial estate on which the Maxwell-Boyce plant was built. With some time yet to go before the lunch hour, they had the tiny room to themselves.

  ‘… but it’s not as simple as that. His uncle is our CEO, and Daddy’s on the Board. They’ve been friends since school, they both think the sun shines out of his backside and that we make the perfect couple. We’re supposed to be getting married in June, the Full Monty, in the cathedral with half-a-dozen bridesmaids and flower girls and bishops and … you get the picture. I wouldn’t mind. I always wanted a big wedding, but not to Chris Drake.’

  ‘Why are you still together then?’