Trust Me to Know You

by Jaye Peaches

  He had a complete silverware set at both houses. Such extravagance and I wondered how much entertaining he did. I could not help opening up the cutlery canteen and admiring the quality of its contents. My knives and forks had come from Argos and his probably from Harrods. There were silver tea and coffee pots, platters, condiment sets, napkin rings and candlesticks. Unintentionally I left smudges on the silver plate. I grimaced at my grubby marks and went to find the silver polish in the utility area.

  By the time Jason came home on the Wednesday evening, I had the kitchen table covered in old newspaper, cloths, a bottle of cleaning fluid and his silverware. Most of it had been made sparkling bright by the time he was home. He stood in the kitchen doorway staring at me.

  “What are you doing, Gemma?” he asked with a faintly amused expression.

  “Polishing,” I said carefully checking over the platter for my fingerprints.

  “I can see that, but why? Brooks has the house cleaned for me, including the silverware.”

  “I thought they could do with an extra buffing up,” I said with a shrug. “I like polishing. Cleaning is tedious, but polishing is much more satisfactory. All the shiny surfaces reflecting....” I stopped speaking, too much information which did not interest him in the slightest.

  “Were you that bored today?” He put his briefcase down on the floor, as there was no space on the table.

  “I’m making myself at home.”

  “By polishing my rather well polished silver?”

  “I left a smudge on something and it kind of snowballed into a whole polishing everything. They look good don’t they?” I said waving my blackened hands over the table.

  “What about painting, sketching thing you claim you like to do?”

  Good point. Why had I not simply taken the time to draw? “Nothing to draw here. Sorry, but this house is pretty dull subject matter....”

  He interrupted me. “Go out then. You can buy what you like and Johnson can take you wherever,” he reminded me of his generosity.

  “I know, thank you. I suppose I’m trying to make myself at home. I’ve got two homes to get use to.”

  “You’re going to polish the silver at Blythewood too then? Poor Mrs Harris will be out of a job,” he said going to the put the kettle on.

  “Oh, I don’t want to get in her way....”

  “Joking! But I think you can find a better way to make yourself at home. Perhaps making me some dinner?” he said staring at the empty kitchen worktops.

  Whoops! Time had flown by, helped by my iPod and headphones.

  “I’ll just tidy up and I’m sure I can rustle up something quick for you, sir.”

  I scrambled to my feet.

  “I know you’re keen for a proper job, but there are better ways to impress upon me that need than stinking my kitchen out with polishing fluid,” his tone had changed and I recognised it. My ears were becoming accustomed to his vocal inflections.

  “I apologise, sir, I thought I was....”

  “Gemma, you don’t have to clean, polish or scrub the floors. I’ve told you before. You please me in other ways. So make me tea and then you can keep me company in the study by sitting quietly and reading, or whatever you do when you’re being unobtrusive. Understood?”

  He came over to me, and without touching my filthy hands, lent forward to give me a tender kiss on the lips.

  “The only thing I want clean in this house, is you and for obvious reasons.”

  My legs shook like jelly when he said those words.

  ***

  I splashed out on Thursday shopping for clothes. By then Jason’s instruction for me to have a female escort had worked its way through the system. Gibson, as she was known to me – what happened to first names? – drove me to the shops, the kind I would have never dreamed of shopping in a few weeks earlier. Trying on clothes, I discovered Gibson may be my security escort but she was not going to take on the role of personal shopper. I was left indecisive and unsure of what to buy.

  I wandered up and down the aisles, picking up hangers and holding clothing against my body without a clue as to what worked or did not. In Harvey Nichols, I saw the names of designers who normally I would only read about in fashion magazines: Vivienne Westwood, Alexander McQueen, Donna Karan…. The prices were exorbitant and made me gasp. Everything was so gorgeous and stylish and I could not imagine wearing any of it.

  Colours I could manage to judge for myself. I had my own particular way of handling shades and my artistic brain helped. It was the styles, the cut and fabric, which lost me. I gave up on the high and mighty end of the clothing market and tried Top Shop. The prices were not as shocking but still I had no idea how to change my image. Did I want to though? Was the real reason I was not succeeding due to my humble origins?

  My mum and I had always shopped together and Marks and Spencer’s was a typical store or other common high street brands. Much of the time, we had ended up at the local supermarket buying anything on offer or on sale. We did not go to high-class functions and it had been easy to pick clothes for work or leisure. Nothing I chose made me feel out of place or lowly.

  Being with Jason things were going to be different. His suits came from Savile Row and were tailor made. His buffed leather shoes were elegant, his watches were the brands advertised by Hollywood stars and he even made a pair of jeans voguish.

  I was faced with the reality of being inept at changing or refining my appearance. Whatever Jason wanted on his arm was unknown to me for the simple fact we had never gone anywhere posh together. My dreams of evenings spent at fancy restaurants, box seats in theatres or lavish social occasions had all come to nothing. I gave up after four shops and returned to the house with less bought than I had anticipated.

  I briefly summarised my day to Jason over dessert. He was less distracted and seemed happy to communicate.

  “I’m crap at buying clothes,” I slumped in my seat, playing with my spoon. “It’s alright for you, just shirts and suits,” I grumbled.

  Jason smiled at me. The first time he had smiled since showing me around the house.

  “Silly girl. Go up to an assistant and ask for help. They get a commission for helping you. I’m surprise they weren’t falling all over you in. Or hire a personal shopper.”

  “Well I suppose I don’t look the part. It is a vicious circle until I look the part they won’t wait on me,” I shrugged my shoulders in mock despair.

  “Assert yourself, Gemma. You’re going to be on show soon, you need to play the part well. I’m not a Professor Higgins. You’ll have to sort this out yourself.”

  I grinned at Jason’s reference to Pygmalion. “On show?” I gawped.

  “Yes. This weekend. We’re having lunch with my parents. We’ll drive over on Saturday.”

  My mouth dropped into an O shape. That expression made him smile in amusement.

  Already! Well I had been asking for signs of commitment.

  “You’re right I can’t keep you cooped up indoors indefinitely. You’ll get up to mischief eventually and slip out unattended, I can see it coming.” He picked out an apple from the fruit bowl.

  “What about my parents? They have a right to know I’m involved with someone.” I watched as he tossed the apple up and down in his hand.

  “Would they be about on Sunday? Have them over for lunch?”

  Wow, that would be amazing. They would be impressed and gobsmacked with Blythewood House.

  “I’m sure they’d be about, they’re not much for going away at weekends. I’ll give them a call,” I beamed. “I have to tell them I have a boyfriend!” That was going to be one interesting conversation.

  “Good, it is decided then,” he rose and headed for the door.

  “What about your golf?” I remembered his weekly Sunday golf session.

  Jason paused in the doorway. “I can survive a week without golf, the weather hasn’t exactly been kind recently,” he grinned as he bit down
into the apple.

  “Hi, mum!” I said biting down on my lip. I glanced over to Jason, who was sitting reading the newspaper on the sofa.

  Mum’s voice always seemed to have a degree of nervousness about it, as if I was going to say something terrible.

  “How are you both?” I asked. The usual pleasantries were exchanged. “I thought you ought to know, I’ve moved,” I braced myself for the gasp.

  “First you quit a good job and now you’ve moved! What are doing darling?” Her blood pressure was probably rising with her voice.

  “It’s OK, mum. I’ve moved in with my... boyfriend,” I cringed as I heard her practically swoon on the other end of the phone.

  “Boyfriend! When did you get a boyfriend?” she replied.

  “A few weeks back.”

  “You moved in with him already?” Mum’s voice was transforming from shocked parent to concerned parent. “That sounds very committed, darling, and quick. We haven’t even met him. What is his name for goodness sake?”

  I rolled my eyes and tried hard not to look at Jason. “Jason. His name is Jason Lucas.”

  The name meant nothing to my parents.

  “I moved in at the weekend. Well, into one of his houses, now I’m at his other house.” I rattled off the complicated accommodation arrangements.

  “I’m sorry. Houses? I don’t understand, love,” she was flustered.

  “He’s rich, mum,” I whispered uncomfortably. “Two houses, one in town and one in the country. We weekend at the country house called Blythewood House and use the townhouse Piedmont on weekdays for commuting to work. Well, I will once I get a new job.”

  “When will you get a new job? You can’t be without work these days,” she lectured. My mother always obsessed about me having a decent career.

  “Soon, mum. There is no urgency. Jason looks after me.” I tried hard to reassure her.

  There was a pause. “So do we get to meet this boyfriend?” my mum sounded uppity. All these changes and I had not told her until now. She was annoyed with me.

  “If you like, you can come to Blythewood this Sunday for lunch.” I played my ace. “Would you and dad like that?”

  Of course she did, and we quickly sorted out the arrangements, providing the address and the time for their arrival. She was lapping up my situation, desperate to see my new boyfriend and me. I said my goodbyes and flopped back in the chair with relief. Jason tossed the newspaper down and revealed he had been silently chortling like crazy behind it. I frowned at his amusement.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “Babe, you and your mum sounded like you were quoting the ‘Importance of Being Earnest’. You know, town and country,” he laughed.

  I threw a cushion at him and he caught it with ease.

  “Very funny. I suppose you were expecting me to say you were found in a handbag or something. I’m just glad that it’s done.” I ran my hands down my face. “She has been waiting years for that call. A boyfriend and me. I’m going to have to come up with some juicy tip bits to feed her with for the next few calls or else she is going to be impossible.”

  “As long as they don’t involve our sex life.” Jason wagged a finger at me.

  “Good grief. No fear of that. I shall sell the houses and the huge garden. She is going to love the garden.” I had found my juicy tip bits.

  ***

  I flicked aimless through a tattered magazine while I waited for my name to be called. Finally, I had arranged an appointment with my GP. I was cutting it fine as I had only a few pills left. Gibson was parked outside. She escorted me and checked out the busy waiting room before satisfying herself that I was in no danger.

  My name was called and I headed into see my doctor. She was a specialist in women’s health and family planning – not that I had been planning a family. She had a blunt approach and during my early appointments with her, she had come across as somewhat unwelcoming.

  I sat down opposite her as she checked through my notes. Her long greying hair was tied back and she had an appearance of a headmistress rather than a family GP.

  “You’ve not been so see me for a while. You can’t have many pills left,” her voice was edged with criticism.

  “Been busy,” I replied shortly.

  “Well let’s check you over and then review your situation.”

  She gave me a reassuring smile reaching for the sphygmomanometer.

  I was reminded of my first encounter with her, not long after my twenty-first birthday. I had been incredibly nervous and she had not put me at ease as I had hoped. I had been on and off the pill since I left my parents’ house and started university. I had been in a relationship quite different from any I had previously. I had been sent to the doctors under the instruction to ‘get myself sorted.’

  She had conducted my examination with cool detachment and without comment. Afterwards I had redressed and sat down, fiddling nervously with my cuffs.

  “Everything looks good,” she had glanced up over her reading glasses. “Is there anything you want to tell me?” her voice had been clipped.

  “Uh, no...” I had started to blush.

  “From time to time I encounter women passing through these doors that outwardly look fine but are in reality involved in an abuse and sometimes violent relationship.” Her eyes had fixed on me watching my reaction. “I don’t see many women though with immaculately shaved parts and fading whip marks on their buttocks.”

  Oh God! I had wanted to be swallowed up and to disappear into the floor. I must have been crimson.

  Her voice had changed tone and she leant forward and practically whispered at me. “Are you in a BDSM relationship, Gemma?”

  I had nodded. I could not talk from the shock of such an intimate question.

  “Well it helps for me to know, that way we can look after you appropriately and chose the right birth control. You’re not been forced to do anything you don’t want to?”

  “No. It is all consensual. I chose this lifestyle, I’m OK with it.” I had managed to find my stunned voice and started to relax. She was not judging me.

  She had suggested regular six monthly appointments and that turned out to be a successful arrangement, as on a few occasions I had the opportunity to ask about intimate health matters.

  “He wants to do body piercing on me, you know, and I’m not talking earlobes,” I had told her on one visit.

  “Well, it is not a good idea. The risk of infection can be quite high and they can remain painful for some time. The question really is do you want to be pierced?”

  She had been right, I did not want it and I never took up the offer.

  Now I was back and things were different. The doctor handed me my prescription.

  “There you go. Are you in a new relationship?” she asked in her abrupt fashion.

  My doctor did not know about my assault. I could not face telling her, she might had had a told-you-so look about her. I was being unfair as she had never openly criticised my lifestyle.

  “Yes, it is going well. I’m very happy. I’ve moved in with him. I’ve not done that before.”

  Her response was typically blunt. “Look after yourself.”

  The visit was over and I headed out to find Gibson.

  ***

  The cold, frosty night unfolded before us as we headed to Blythewood. It was Friday and Jason collected me on the way back from the office. My Friday shopping session had been much more successful. Taking up Jason’s tip, I ventured up to a shop assistant in Harvey Nicols and asked for advice. Once she saw my eagerness and lack of concern over the ridiculous prices, she preceded to fawn all over me. I had a jolly good time. The clothes were all in bags in the boot of the car, waiting to impress two sets of parents.

  Jason was busy talking on the phone to Philip, his number two. It was a very impersonal relationship and Jason talked rapidly and directly, not wasting time on details or unnecessary waffle. I would try to communicat
e with Jason in a similar candid fashion as it seemed to hold his attention better.

  I stacked the dishwasher and he was standing behind me. Dinner was over and the lack of conversation over the meal had been noticeable. Now he watched as I pushed the dishwasher door shut with my hip. Hands on my waist, Jason whispered in my ear.

  “I want what’s mine.”

  “I know, sir,” I whispered back tingling at the word ‘mine’.

  Ten minutes later, I knelt naked, waiting for him to arrive. I ran my hands up and down my thighs, the expectations growing stronger with every second. Then he was here and his feet pattered on the dark wooden boards. I could see him out of the corner of my eyes. Dressed only his black jeans, his muscular pectorals on full display. He looked twenty-five not thirty-one, quite the hunk. Over he went to the chest of drawers and he opened one and removed something from inside the drawer. I caught a glimpse of it causing my skin to tingle and my tummy started to do flip-flops. I had been waiting all week for this evening, almost with desperation. I wondered if he had been eager too. Shutting my eyes, I awaited his instructions with glee.

  ***

  Relaxing in the luxury of the Austin Martin, Jason and I were side by side and I had to admire his driving skills. The car might have behaved skittishly for an inexperienced driver but Jason was the master of it with the same confidence he controlled my waking life. He drove fast when he could, using the power of the engine to accelerate, overtake or simply cruise. When in traffic, he eased back and was happy to join the flow of traffic.

  Occasionally fingers would point at us as the car was observed by passer-bys. An envious man’s gesture or a child’s wave from the back seat of the car in front, then the swoon of a woman’s eyes as she wondered if a film star or footballer was at the wheel. We were none of those - the driver was an anonymous businessman and my boyfriend.