Scoring With Sir

by Judy Jarvie

  “Control freak. Check. You want a rundown of my life or will a tick list filled in daily float your boat?” Shit. I’m skating on the wafer’s edge of the ice here but I’m fired and I can’t help myself. He’s acting a touch scary sex-pestish. Doesn’t matter that I’m up for his adorable and earth-moving brand of pest sex.

  Will strides to me. He clasps my face between strong palms.

  “I saw you slap Annie in the changing rooms. Fuck.”

  “And how the hell did you do that? A bendy telescope?”

  “I was bloody well in there in a cubicle. Waiting for you until she came in. I intended to screw you and have angry making-up sex in a new place.”

  I can’t answer. I’m utterly agog.

  “Nice job with the slap by the way. She’s had it coming.”

  “Shit, Will. You do have a stalker side, you know that? First the cemetery, now you’re sneaking in on my showers.”

  “I’m reacting to extenuating circumstances. First you go weird. Then you go out with Dweeb Dick the Lens Leech. The cemetery thing has still got me mad too.”

  “And what the hell did I do wrong by visiting my dad’s grave on his birthday?”

  I’m standing with my hands on my hips. His hands are still on my face and he pulls me close. Kisses my lips like they are coated in rare Madeira wine and he’s an alcoholic with a raging thirst curse. He tongue teases mine, his mouth demanding. I return with open-mouthed fervor. His hands hold me so gently but firmly, an ache deep within me rises. I think he may have it bad—this man clearly has issues. With me. Ouch.

  “Get this. You matter. You matter to me a lot. And yesterday you barely ate. I watched you. You raced around doing things for people and you didn’t eat. No dinner. Barely any lunch. Then you go out and let an arsehole feed you and try to get you rat-arsed to get into your lingerie. Now do you know why I was mad fit to burst?”

  “Yes. I think so. You want to be my nanny or my footman. If it means you do the cooking, the job’s yours, no contest. Sign here.”

  “Be fucking serious!” he yells at me. “I want you to behave. To treat yourself with care. And to be my woman for good.”

  Wow. Now that’s a statement.

  With that, he pulls me into his gym cupboard but I’m not complaining. I won’t even point out that I kinda saw this coming and I’ve gone commando in the hope. I’m braless too. I throw down my bags and yank my Lycra blouse over my head. I don’t care if he twigs. I’ve come prepared as my boobs spring free, ready to be sucked and teased.

  “You’ve been heinously in error. But I’m a forgiving master.”

  I throw myself on his cock and release it from his trousers and boxers.

  “I am not worthy of Sir’s attentions. I beg your mercy.”

  He scrambles to lock the door, remembering we’re in a cupboard in school and discretion does have both our contracts by the balls.

  “I want to screw you. I want to possess you. And I want to do it now.”

  “Some would call it detention. I prefer to call it…dessert.”

  At least he’s smiling again. And so am I. But if there’s a CCTV cam that guards gym supplies we’re buggered and in a whole stack of poop.

  * * * *

  I have a coaching session set up with Ben tonight. He says I’m improving a lot and I can not only head the ball about five times in a row but I can keep it up on my knee and I’ve managed a few flicks, when luck is on the rise and the wind is in the right direction. I’m very fortunate to have confidential allies in both Janey and Ben. I don’t view my prep as cheating—more like home study.

  It’s only as I’m going to my car and because I’m late that I see them. I’m driving home and there they are—my English mentees. Sophie, Ellen and Lydia.

  They’re arguing. It’s intense. Not fighting and throwing punches intense but full on, like a scene from a soap drama where there’s deep words that reverberate and change the rest of the plot.

  I find myself pulling into a lay-by and getting out of the car, walking back. But when I get there, they’re laughing.

  Did I imagine the argument? Am I being paranoid Patsy here?

  “Miss, what are you doing here?”

  “I thought you were having a fallout.”

  “Us?” says Ellen with a mocking expression like I’ve made a major gaffe.

  I nod. Lydia looks unfazed. In fact she pulls a ‘what’s with her face’ right at Ellen and Sophie. Suddenly I feel like I’m the idiot or the victim. And I’m kinda bitch-slapped by the move.

  “It’s real nice that you care so much, miss, but maybe you need to get a life of your own? This is kinda turning stalker teacher.”

  I reel at the comment but I don’t argue. I look at my watch to hide my reddening face. “It’s late. Any of you guys need a lift?”

  They decline. “Nah, thanks, miss. We are allowed out of the house on our own. We’re legal.”

  Ellen adds, “We’re meeting some guys. And they’re hot. A chaperone might spoil the party.”

  As I walk back to the car, I rewind mentally what I saw, doubting myself, wondering how I could get it so mixed. I see clearly in my mind’s eye that Ellen was having a go, talking to Lydia as if she was telling her off and Lydia standing there, taking it. Yet she’s denying it vehemently.

  Am I right to worry? Are they pulling me a line?

  I vow to burrow deeper. But for now… There’s nothing I can do but let it go. Maybe they’re right and I’m seeing things that aren’t there—ghosts from my past. Specter shadows from my imagination, but I can’t shake the unease.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Fi is staring at me from behind her science safety glasses with a face that tells me I have her attention. She usually only reserves this face for a new issue of Science Geeks’ Monthly.

  “That’s totally incredible!”

  “I know.” We both stare at my tablet. The Wi-Fi reception in our school is surprisingly good, considering the building and roof are likely to collapse and if too many toilets flush at once, the water supply stages a protest. Which goes to show what they say about books and covers.

  “You’re number one in the erotica chart worldwide. Number one in UK romance. Top of the movers and shakers list.”

  “And look at the sales.”

  “Three hundred thousand. When are you buying me a gemstone for being a chief consultant?” she asks.

  “How about a bag of midget gems between friends? I might even throw a party with cocktails. I’m bloody gobsmacked. Still hasn’t sunk in.”

  “When will you get paid?” she asks me.

  “I think Omozad pays monthly. I might even afford a new toaster at this rate. Maybe even a six-slice Italian jobbie.”

  “It’s gonna be a rather nice payday.”

  “Fuck, Fi. Never in a month of Sundays could I have believed this would happen. And I don’t even have the password for Omazod yet. Dibian’s masterminded my publishing coup.”

  “It’s bloody marvelous.”

  “Did I hear somebody call my name? Marvelous c’est moi! And how’s my cherry lips this morning?” Alan’s head appears and his face falls. “Oh shit, Izzy. Didn’t realize you were here.”

  “Thanks.”

  Alan’s appearance curtails our discussions. Fi puts the tablet back in its case, and her beau is none the wiser that as of today I am the most in demand erotica author in the country, nay, the world.

  Given that I’m wearing a cheesecloth blouse and linen trousers, I’m feeling a tad more Miss Marple than Madame Nipple Clamp.

  “See you later?”

  “Definitely.”

  What a tangled web I weave. One nobody would believe. Only my good news and euphoria are about to be short-lived. There’s something wrong in the state of Denmark and Jack’s about to dish the crap.

  * * * *

  “When I got home, I knew something was wrong. My place felt off. Took me a couple of hours and then I realized. The clock was gone—the antique clock in the h
allway. There was no tick.”

  “Your clock disappeared while you were in hospital? Was there any sign of a break-in?”

  Jack’s getting agitated now and I watch as he rubs his temples. “No, Iz, you’re missing the point. This wasn’t a burglar. Dibian’s been in and had a trolley dash, stealing my things. She’s stolen money from my drawer. There’s also my coin collection and some antiques. Jewelry—I’m so gobsmacked. I’ve been with the police all morning.”

  Rewind. What the fuck? Hold on a minute, says my brain. All at once.

  Jack’s not returned to work since his health issue. Today, he’s come in in his civvy clothes to see me with this crazy news.

  “Jack! No way!”

  “Yes way. I gave her my keys. She promised to collect pajamas and drop in some washing and collect the post and milk. I said I’d get you to do it but she was most insistent, saying you were too busy.”

  “I’m never too busy for you, Jack. She told me she had the hots for you and I should back out and give you both some space.”

  “Pish, tush and codswallop. The woman’s a whoring thief!”

  “Steady, Jacko. That’s a bit strong.”

  “She’s taken my Lilly’s beautiful jewelry. There were heirloom brooches and bracelets.”

  I put my fingers to my mouth and gasp. I remember the jewelry. He showed me once, and it was top-notch stuff. The thought of our own head of department going to Jack’s home and going through his possessions to cream off the good stuff—well, it makes me go cold and numb all over with shock.

  “These were art deco twenties items she was bequeathed by her mother. Course she won’t have banked on my having photographed and recorded them. I even have serial numbers of the notes she stole from my holiday money drawer. I don’t use banks—never trusted them. Dibian’s made off with about fifty thousand pounds.”

  I’m hearing his words but they don’t compute with the Dibian I know. She’s intelligent, kind, compassionate with a warm heart and ready wit. I know she’s had a tough time lately, but stealing? Surely there’s some mistake.

  “Jack. Is there any chance you’ve misplaced the money? You’ve been on meds and in hospital.”

  “It’s gone. I’m no fool, Izzy. Someone’s rifled my effects and gone over my home with thorough attention. She had my keys and there was no forced entry. Dibian saw a chance and took it.”

  I still don’t want to believe it could be true. “Bloody hell, Jack. She told me she had a thieving boyfriend who’d defrauded her. Said he used all her savings and left her in the lurch.”

  Jack shakes his head and sighs. “Maybe it’s sent her a bit loopy? Though I’m not sure I’d believe a word she says. Dibian Hicks has sticky fingers and not from eating as many pastries as she does. I willingly gave her my keys and she’s ripped me off. But she won’t win. We’ll get her for this.”

  “You need to go to the police,” I tell him. But I’m hoping there will be some saner explanation. Could Jack have a close relative who’s done the dirty and he’s no clue? In my heart I can’t accept that Dibian could knowingly have done this.

  “Izzy, love. I’ve already told you. The police dusted for prints earlier. It felt like being in an episode of Taggart—enjoyed it better than a crime bestseller. We don’t need to tell them. They’re already on the case. They probably have her in custody already.”

  I suck in a breath. “Dibian’s gone. Rogerson told me she’s caring for a sick aunt but it sounded like a cover.”

  Jack’s eyes widen as his mouth falls open. “She’s taken off with my cash—plain and simple.”

  I whisper a confession because I don’t want this to be happening or to be true. “She’s got the access to my book’s royalties. I’ve made half a million in sales.”

  Jack stares at me. “Bloody Nora, girl! We’ve been had and double crossing Dibian’s not going to come back. I have to go and report these developments to Will Darby as a matter of urgency.”

  “Will? Why does he need to know?”

  Jack rises to his feet. “Because he’s the one who came to my house to ask me all the questions.”

  * * * *

  I rush into Will’s office, about to tell him all that I’ve learned about Dibian, but he shushes me with a full-on kiss, then a stalling finger.

  “But…” I begin but his eyes brook no argument.

  “I want you to move in with me. At the Grange. This is fucking killing me. I rarely get time to see you. It’s driving me nuts. We’re always ships that pass in the night and lately we’ve been more off than on. Please say you’ll think about it.”

  Ruddy hell. Today is all about surprises. Will is staring at me. For an answer. And I can’t quite believe he’s asked me such a big commitment-related question. My Secret Sir is suddenly serious and it’s alliteration a-go-go. Fuck.

  “I will think about it. But first I need to ask you what you know about Dibian? Jack says you know where she is and she’s a bloody thief and cash grabber who’s run off with our money. Me and Jack have been scammed by Dibian.”

  “I can’t tell you. It’s confidential.”

  I boggle and stare as I take that in. “What? You want me to live with you and make big declarations and next you say you can’t tell me anything about Dibian?”

  “Exactly that. I’m not at liberty to discuss this.”

  “So you do know where she is?”

  Will nods. “It’s complicated.”

  “Fuck!” I rub my temples. “Today. Is not adding up. Did you know she’s stolen? Do you realize she’s a thief and you’re concealing her whereabouts?”

  “Izzy. This isn’t my secret.”

  “You can and you will tell me, Will. Dibian’s run off with stolen goods and money. Jack says you know where she is. She’s in the process of defrauding me of rather a lot of money too. And I think she did it on purpose.”

  “I can’t give you those details.”

  “Fuck. Will. Come on.”

  “I’m sorry, Izzy.”

  “She’s taken money from me. She’s probably halfway to Spain by now. Or Mexico. Where she can dress up as Carmen Miranda all she likes.”

  “She isn’t. But I can’t tell you what I know yet.”

  Will sits at his desk while I explain that I’ve written a book, it’s done well and Dibian set the whole thing up. Only she has access to the account and she’s disappeared.

  Will grabs his coat. I can see the concern on his face, but I’m totally flummoxed. He stops as he pulls the door open, goes into his pocket and retrieves a key with a small piece of paper.

  “Take this.”

  “The key to the Bat Cave?”

  “And the numeric code.” He nods. “If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t give it to you. But for now, I can’t explain. I’ll see you later. I have work to do.”

  “Where are you going? What’s all this about?”

  “Later.”

  He walks out and I’m none the wiser. Shitting hell. Is this any way to move in with a man?

  I stare at the key in my hand.

  Well… There might be good reasons to try it out for size given the facilities…

  * * * *

  I knock on Annie James’ door. There’s music on in there—Coldplay are singing about a Sky Full of Stars, and I’m pretty sure she thinks they’re singing entirely for her.

  “Enter,” she says so I do. Her face falls when she sees me. She is like a walking and talking Lego person without the awesome personality.

  “Oh. It’s you. Come to slap my face again?”

  “No. Sorry about that. Though you did slap me first.”

  “And you did deserve it.”

  “Ooh, bitch. Just when I try to forgive you, I realize you’re a hellcat with acid in her veins.”

  It’s at times like these I have to boggle that I am a grown-up. After all I’m a qualified professional teacher. Annie is too—allegedly. And she’s a certificated guidance teacher too. Yet here we are having been in a fight in the
ladies’ changing rooms and we’re going at it again, like twelve year olds having a rant.

  “It’s about Lydia Salter,” I say. “I’m worried about her and she’s in your guidance group.”

  I notice she doesn’t tell me to take a seat so I take one anyway, uninvited.

  “There are two girls in my class and I keep getting a feeling that they’re not getting on with Lydia but it’s always smoothed over whenever I challenge them.”

  “Maybe they don’t want you interfering?”

  “Look. We both know how seriously the school takes bullying and how we react at the earliest signs. Something doesn’t sit right with me. Last night I saw them having a dispute in the street but when I challenged them, they denied it. Lydia is looking very gaunt and agitated at times, but she won’t speak with me. I thought it was time to bring this to you. Maybe you could call home?”

  “Izzy. I’ll note your concerns. Leave it with me, but your evidence here is distinctly lacking. You’re working on a hunch.”

  “Call it intuition.”

  There’s something in her expression that tells me Annie’s making the most of putting me down in the same deft way Lydia and the girls did.

  “Don’t you have to investigate an allegation? Isn’t it wise to examine things in case?”

  “I’ll use my discretion. Leave it with me.”

  I get the feeling my concerns are being swept off the priorities tablecloth like stray scone crumbs. I figure I should chat to another guidance teacher for a second opinion or baseline.

  “And while you’re here…” says Annie. And I have a sneaking suspicion that this is the chance she’s been waiting for. Bingo.

  “I know what you’ve done,” says Annie. “And I intend to tell Will all about it.”

  I roll my eyes at her and palm the air. “What have I done now?”