by Janey Rosen
The waitress returns, putting down warm shells containing Coquille St Jacques. The aroma of parsley and garlic is divine. Placing my phone down on the table between us, I pop a scallop into my mouth and savor the delicious creamy taste.
My phone pings, signaling a new text message.
Still waiting for your ansa. Let me know when you want my cock ;-) Si
Sebastian sees the message at the same time as I. I curse myself for not changing my settings on my phone so that text messages are invisible until opened. It’s too late he’s seen it. His jaw sets, his lips snarl, his eyes are dark and threatening.
Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
8
“Do you want to try and explain this?” his voice is edgy, cold and menacing. I feel icy cold, panicky. Do I lie? Worth a try …
“Must be a wrong message … I mean sent to the wrong person,” I reply feebly.
“I see.” He picks up my phone and rises. Oh shit, he’s leaving me.
“Wait here. Don’t fucking move.” He holds my frightened stare for several seconds, daring me to move one inch, then turns and strides out of the restaurant. Like a deer caught in the proverbial headlights, I’m consumed with fear. Deciding to defy his instruction, I wait until he’s out of the door and follow.
Sebastian stands on the pavement, his feet apart in an aggressive stance. My phone is clutched to his ear. Crap, he’s calling him.
“I’m going to say this once. Only once. Do. Not. EVER. Contact. This. Number. Again.”
There’s a pause.
“You’re not understanding me. If you ever contact this number again you are a dead man. Now do you understand? Good.” He cuts the call and spins round on his heels. I have never seen him look so angry, his eyes meet mine, and the burning black coals cut through my soul.
“Sebastian … let me explain.”
Slap! The sharp sting to my face, delivered by his large hand drives all the air from my lungs as tears spring to my eyes.
“Sebastian …” I gasp.
He puts his finger to his lips to silence me, and clenches his fists, sighing deeply and at that moment I see the pain in his eyes and it breaks my heart.
“Come with me.” He takes my hand and leads me back into the restaurant. What the hell?
Seated back at our table, the waitress fusses around our table, clearly concerned that we had been ‘dine and dash’ customers.
“Is everything alright with your food?” she asks Sebastian.
“Fine. Yes.” He flicks his hand at her, dismissively and spears a scallop with his fork.
“Talk to me,” I beseech him, my hand rubbing at my smarting cheek.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Elizabeth. You are mine. If you ever do this to me again, it will be the worse day of your fucking life.” His words cut through me like a knife.
“I will never share you. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Good. Now eat.”
He takes me brutally. The loving intimacy of last night is lost in the savagery of his lust tonight. He is reclaiming what is his. I let him do this to me, taking my punishment in the hope that it will restore Sebastian to me. I am his.
9
Two weeks pass and I have spent quality time with my mother who is trying to be upbeat about Cornwall. I can see the pain in her eyes though and know she is going to miss Bella and I terribly when we leave.
It’s the second week of May. Just two weeks until we leave for Penmorrow, and Bella is sitting her final exam on Monday.
Sebastian hasn’t mentioned Simon again but has been cooler and more reserved on the telephone. I’m missing him so. I hope that I can prove my loyalty to him during the summer at Penmorrow, and restore his trust in my fidelity.
Feeling in higher spirits today, I call into the office to surprise Ruth and the team for an impromptu visit. I find a parking space several blocks from the office, but even the long walk doesn’t dampen my mood. I stop at a bakery and buy a large bag of freshly baked donuts for my staff.
Sauntering past the window of Chic Shoes, my attention is drawn to the most beautiful, but painfully high-heeled red shoes. Sebastian would adore these shoes. They are saucy and daring and I simply have to buy them. Staring at the shoes, I notice a reflection in the plate glass. It’s a pale faced woman standing directly behind me, and I turn with a start. The woman appears to be in her late sixties, has limp badly dyed auburn hair with grey roots and is dressed in navy blue trousers, teamed with green loose knit jumper, both bearing stains. She is staring at me, dark shadows beneath her eyes and I presume she’s a vagrant seeking spare change for a meal. I reach for my purse and retrieve two pounds and hand it to her but to my surprise, she regards the proffered money with disdain and shakes her head.
“I know who you are,” she whispers.
“You do? Um… I’m sorry, do I know you?” I ask hesitantly.
“You’re his latest woman.” My eyes widen, and I feel the hairs stand up on my arms and my scalp prickles. For some reason I can’t yet fathom, the woman looks familiar but I can’t place her. I raise an eyebrow enquiringly and take a step back putting a little distance between the woman and myself.
“Elizabeth Dove. No dear, you don’t know me but we have a mutual friend. Scarlett.
“Scarlett at Penmorrow?” I ask, the confusion apparent in my voice. “How do you know Scarlett? And Sebastian?”
She regards me with a cold stare, her lips now twisted into an insolent smile.
“Scarlett was good to my daughter… so kind. She tried to warn me. I didn’t listen to her. If only I’d listened… but it’s not too late for you…” Her eyes take on a wildness darting from me to those around us in the street.
I begin to take her seriously, realizing that she is no longer the vagrant and I’m no longer an arbitrary stranger selected randomly in anticipation of gaining a few coins for a meal.
“How do you know about me?” I need to understand how this woman found me and what her connection to Sebastian is. “How did you find me?”
“Scarlett. She writes to me, you know? She’s a good girl. What that monster has done to her… and to my dear, lost, daughter…I can’t let it happen to you too.” Her eyes have a glassy vacant look now, as though she is lost in deeply dark thoughts and memories and my pulse quickens as I become increasingly anxious.
She continues, “she told me about you. Sent me a photograph she’d found on the internet. Your business, it’s all on the internet dear. I’m too old now to understand these things, but she sent me a copy and a cutting from a newspaper about your dear boy and husband. Oh my dear, it pained me so, to see what he’s done to you already… such a waste, a young life and a man who had already lost you to him.”
“Stop!” I command. I can’t take in all that she’s saying to me. It is too surreal. I feel light headed and my mouth is dry.
“I don’t understand. Are you saying your daughter knows Sebastian?”
“My daughter… was married to that animal.”
Now it makes sense to me. The familiarity of the woman’s face – so alike the photograph of Sebastian’s mad dead wife. The connection enables me to begin to understand this woman’s ranting. Perhaps her madness was hereditary. I’m being unkind, I realize, grief of losing a child can drive a person mad. I share the loss of a child with this stranger and I scold myself for not feeling more empathy for her pain.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know your name?” I ask.
“Christina Travis,” she replies forlornly.
“Look, Christina, I’m so very sorry for your loss. Really I am. Sebastian speaks so fondly of your daughter and… I know they were very happy and in love.”
Her eyes widen and a flicker of anger, or something darker, sparks across her gaze but I continue to try and placate her.
“It was dreadfully sad, tragic, that she passed away but you really mustn’t worry about me. Sebastian has been kind to me, to my family. I’m a good enough judge of
character to know that he’s not malicious or cruel.” Christina puts a hand on my arm, firmly grasping the fabric of my sleeve.
“Why won’t you listen to me? He’s brainwashed you. Just like he brainwashed Scarlett and my precious girl. I’m telling you… he caused the death of my girl. As good as murdered her. Do you understand? She was beautiful and full of life and then she met him and how she changed. Can you imagine what that was like for me, her mother? To watch my vibrant daughter’s life being eroded in the vilest way? Can you?”
Her voice rises to a shrill pitch and her grip on my arm tightens until I wince. I have heard enough. The woman is demented. I pull my arm sharply from her grip and step further back from her, she steps toward me wild-eyed and I turn and run.
10
Throwing open the door to my office building, I check she’s not behind me then lock the door quickly. I stumble to the ladies cloakroom and lock myself in to a cubicle, and sit down onto the toilet seat. My hands are trembling, and my pulse is drumming inside my head and through every vein. Taking deep, slow breaths I gradually avert the panic attack, which is looming and try to begin to rationalize what has just taken place. I decide to call Sebastian for reassurance.
“Elizabeth, darling, how lovely to hear from you,” he says in his gravelly seductive voice which immediately calms me. “How are you?”
“Not good actually” I reply.
He’s silent for a moment and when he next speaks there’s a discernable apprehension in his voice.
“What’s wrong darling?”
“The weirdest thing just happened. I was heading to my office when an older lady stopped me. She looked like a tramp, I tried to give her a couple of pounds. Then… she knew my name.”
“Who was she?” he asks quietly.
“That’s where it gets really weird, Sebastian. She is. Was. Your mother in law.” I hear Sebastian take a sharp intake of breath and he is silent again for several seconds.
“I see. And what did the mad witch say to you?” Goodness, he sounds really angry and I wonder whether I should progress this conversation.
“She… warned me.”
“About?” His tone is sharp and my anxiety returns, fearful of Sebastian’s volatility.
“About you actually.” I say boldly.
“Did she now? What exactly did the poisonous old bat say?” He demands venomously.
“That you… as good as murdered her daughter.” As I diffidently recount the claim to Sebastian I fear the wrath of his response.
“Fuck it, Elizabeth. She’s a senile old woman who is grieving. You, more than most will surely understand how the loss of one’s child can impede one’s rationality. She could never come to terms with Libby’s mental illness, so it tipped her over the edge when Libby killed herself. She’s always blamed me. Hell, I’ve blamed myself enough times. That doesn’t mean I murdered her Elizabeth for Christ’s sake. How about a little loyalty?”
“Oh no. Oh God I didn’t believe her. Please don’t think I doubted you at all. I told her what a good man you are.” Panic rises up from my belly as Sebastian spits the words and turns his anger upon me.
“Of course I understand, she’s just a messed up old lady. What I don’t understand though, is why Scarlett posted a photograph of me to her and a newspaper cutting about Joe and Alan’s accident.”
“Did she? Hmm well I shall be asking her to clarify her intentions in that regard. I’m aware she’s maintained contact with Christina. She was always fond of the old troll.” A giggle escapes my lips at the plethora of insulting names he has for the poor old lady.
“I fail to see the funny side of this conversation Elizabeth,” he admonishes.
“You. You just make me laugh Sebastian. Am I to assume that you didn’t enjoy a close and loving relationship with Libby’s mother?” I ask sardonically.
“I think that’s a fair assumption. How very astute of you,” his reply is sarcastic. I take the cue to change the subject.
“Bella’s so excited you know. It’ll be so therapeutic for us both to have time away with you at Penmorrow. She misses you, Sebastian.”
“And I she,” he replies in a softer tone, his anger abating.
“Oh, and I bought you a present!” I exclaim excitedly trying to further lighten Sebastian’s mood. “I will gift wrap myself in the sexy new lingerie purchased explicitly for your enjoyment Lord De Montfort.” I purr.
“Mmm, thank you darling. What color is it?” His sexy gravelly voice is back and butterflies dance the Nutcracker Suite in my belly.
“You’ll have to wait and see, but I assure you the panties are very sexy and very small. In fact there’s barely anything to them… just a strip of satin.” I tease.
“Do you know how hard you have just made me?” he growls. “Where are you?”
“I’m sat on the toilet at my office, in the ladies cloakroom, believe it or not!” I whisper, conscious suddenly of my surroundings.
“Perfect. What are you wearing?” He sounds confident and seductive and I’m aroused. Sebastian has a natural gift of diverting my attention to more carnal matters.
“I have on a blue shift dress and navy heels. I thought I’d dress up a bit as I was coming to the office.” I reply.
“Take your panties off.” Oh wow.
His instruction makes me blush and I lean forward and unlock the door to the cubicle, checking through the small gap that I am alone in the ladies cloakroom. All’s silent and I lock the door once more.
Standing, I use my free hand to slide my panties down my legs and carefully step out of them, placing my discarded underwear in my handbag on the floor.
“Ok. Panties off.” I hear him suck in his breath and then I hear a zipper being pulled.
“Are you touching your cock?” I whisper. I hear him groan and I close my eyes, imagining his long manly fingers stroking his hardness. My sex is tingling and wet.
“Good girl. Yes I am stroking my hard throbbing cock Elizabeth and you are going to make me come by pleasuring yourself. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Oh yes I understand.” I breathe. Oh gosh. This is a first for me and I feel dirty and seedy and deliciously indulgent as I guide my fingers to the apex of my thighs.
“Good. Now do as I say baby. Hold the phone in your left hand. Take the middle finger of your right hand and run it down from the top of your clitoris, all the way down. Now slide it into your wet pussy. Are you doing it?”
I gasp as I do as he bids. My finger seeks and finds my hot, wet void and I can hear Sebastian’s breathing quicken as his pleasure mounts. “That. Feels. So. Good,” I pant, my sex now on fire as my finger slides upwards to once again tease my sweet spot. I am moaning now as I wait for my lover to guide me.
“Baby, yes, you are so wet. Taste it Elizabeth. Put your finger to your lips and taste your juices with the tip of your tongue.”
I do as I’m told, and the sweet taste lingers on my tongue as my fingers travel south once more.
“Tastes good, hmm? My dirty slut. Now circle your clit until you come, baby. I want to hear you.” I can hear his rasping breath and his deep guttural moan as he builds to climax. And I’m climbing, my sex throbbing as my hastening fingers bring me to the most intense orgasm, leaning back against the cubicle wall, one leg raised on the toilet seat, my hips thrust forward. The delicious warm tide washes over me and I’m vaguely aware of Sebastian crying out, as he too explodes in harmony with me.
As my body comes down from the crescendo, and I become aware of my senses once more I hear the flushing of a toilet.
Oh my God. Someone is in one of the cubicles.
Wracked with embarrassment, I quickly cut the call and place my phone in my bag. Sitting back down on the toilet I wait silently until the woman has washed her hands, and then use the noise of the hand dryer to mask the sound as I tidy myself and put my panties on. I listen for the sound of the cloakroom door closing, before venturing out of my cubicle of sin. As I rinse my hands at the basin I regar
d myself in the mirror above. My cheeks are flushed and, when I’ve dried my hands, I retrieve my powder compact from my handbag and dab a copious application of ivory powder onto my hot skin. A little lip-gloss and spritz of Chanel Number Five perfume completes my transformation from harlot to business woman once more.
Clutching the bag of donuts in my hand, I make my entrance in to our offices. It is good to see my colleagues once more, and their eyes light up greedily when they spy their sugary treats.
Ruth swivels around on her chair and claps her hands together happily when she sees me.
“Beth! Oh my goodness girl, why didn’t you tell me you were calling in? I’d have saved some work for you ha ha!”
It’s so good to see her again, and we hug before walking together to the kitchen to make coffee.
“I have some gossip for you!” she exclaims. “Apparently there was a couple, in the ladies toilet shagging! Can you believe it?”
My embarrassment is excruciating and my cheeks blush a deep hot red.
“Wow. I turn my back on this place for five minutes and all sorts of shenanigans go on!” I laugh. “Do we know who it was?”
“No. Absolutely no idea. Apparently Laura heard them at it. She made a hasty retreat so we are none the wiser as to who the naughty devils are. Lucky sods,” she muses. “So, how are you? You’ve lost weight, girl.”
“Oh you know, good days and bad days. I’m starting to eat more, and at least I can face getting up in the mornings now. Bella seems to be coming out of her shell more, thanks to Sebastian – he’s been a rock to that girl. To both of us.”
The sharp reminder of my loss makes me feel melancholy. Sometimes, just for a short while, I have a brief respite from my grief but then it hits me with such a force it physically winds me, and I feel guilty for living my life. For living. My weekly pilgrimage to the cemetery always renews my heartache, and it will be so painful to neglect the graves whilst we are in Cornwall but my mother has promised to tend the flowers and weed the soil in my absence.
