by Ian Harwood
“I don’t know. When the time’s right I guess.”
“In all the years I’ve known you, I don’t think you’ve ever exploded like that. You’re quite the little tigress, aren’t you?”
She chuckles. “Some people just grate on me. And that accent does it every single time. It’s like she’s running her nails down a chalkboard then decides to test a microphone. The moment she utters one word, that’s it. I’m agitated.”
“I wonder how many people she affects like that?”
“Everybody. But she’s been smart. She knows the right people and that keeps her safe.”
“Not for long, if you have your way though, eh?”
My comment has her humming with pleasure. “Exactly.”
Laughing at the satisfaction in her voice, I lean down and rest my chin on her shoulder.
“What are you doing, Joe?”
“What does it seem like to you?”
Her bum wiggles against my hips and my dick does the honour of making its presence felt. “Oh, I can hazard a guess.”
“And you’re not averse to anything that guess might contain?”
“To a point.”
“Where does that point come to an end?”
“Outside my bedroom door.”
“Ah.” Disappointment runs through me.
“I’m not Bo. She’s my sister and I love her, but I don’t approve of how she determined she was gay. I have no problem with her sexuality. Her promiscuity is another thing. She embarrassed daddy, when she started fucking everyone in sight. I’m determined that I’d never be like that.”
“And until then, you wear a chastity belt?”
She snorts. “Don’t be stupid. I just want to wait that’s all.”
“For marriage?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’ll figure it out, when the time comes. But whatever I do do, it has to mean something. It has to count. I won’t be some easy lay.”
“Did I say that you would be?” My own annoyance bleeds into my words.
“No. But I know how men work.”
“I doubt that,” I retort, once again irritated by the ferocity of her declaration. She has principles, I can admire. After Sandra, someone who practices caution can’t be anything but a good thing. But that doesn’t mean to say I appreciate being lumped in with the rest of the male sex.
Her throwaway statement of how men work really grates on my nerves.
“Come with me. I’ll show you exactly what I mean.” Her grip on my hand is tight as she pulls me out from between the bushes and up the gentle slopes of the front lawn. We veer away from the party and head to the front entrance of the manor house.
As beautiful as it is, it’s not my cup of tea. At some point, Bernard has had a decorator in and once where tradition reigned, the Georgian house is now a slave to modernity. Stark, white walls, where once, rich wooden panels would have rested. Freakishly formed furniture in shapes that boggle the mind, where a Chesterfield would have sat before a carved fireplace. I can easily imagine two enormous Irish wolfhounds slumbering there, but not anymore. Now, it’s as clinical as a hospital and the look isn’t appealing. I’m not a traditionalist, but I’d prefer the hunting lodge look to a contemporary museum for a home.
She drags me from the front of the house, past the lounge and the salon; she ignores the dining room and heads to the back half of the manor to an area I’ve never been. The back of the house has always been considered private and I’ve always abided by that. In a white hallway with a large metal statue that looks like a sacrifice to an ancient God, there are five doors running along one side.
She stops there, her heels sinking into the white carpet, meaning that I have to support her and provide her with stability.
“I love my daddy, Joe. Don’t think I don’t. But I know what men want and what they’re like. He might as well have killed mummy. I was young, when she died, but I can remember some parts. I can remember the arguments and the screaming and the bursts of sobbing. I can remember daddy working all hours Godsend, either here or at the office. Being barked at, when I dared to open his office door. Mummy hugging me, telling me that he loved me but work was more important…” Her smile’s sombre, as she walks to the first door and cracks it open. She peers through the crack and pushes it wide open. “This is what men are like, Joe.”
From my position, I could look straight into the study.
Through the now enlarged door gap what I was seeing truly amazed me. There were two people. A woman sitting on the edge of a large oak table with her legs wide apart, on the floor a pair of red shoes and beside them, a pair of discarded silk knickers. The man had his back to us but we could clearly see that his trousers were only being supported by one of his legs around the ankle.
My vision faded as it was taken over by the sounds joined by the sight of the couple lost in there frenzy of fucking, her begging through panting words for the thrusting to get, ‘Faster, faster. ’
Then the pair of them let out an animal like groan and grunt each with a different sound but resulting to the same ending.
I stood in silence, overwhelmed not because of what I had just witnessed, but the shock of now recognising the couple, Bernard Rustin and Cassandra. The way Cass and Bernard were locked together… there’s no way I could paint this as anything but a sexual picture.
A part of me marvels that Bernard still has it in him.
He’s long past retiring age and his ticker is dickey at best.
My boss’ voice is hoarse as he shouts in a voice that suddenly seems very Polish, “Close that damned door, Juliet. What do you think you are doing? How dare you do this?”
“How dare you break away from your guests just to fuck your slut of a PA?” Juliet yells in return.
“Don’t dictate to me what I can and cannot do!”
“You’re married, but I guess that means nothing to you, does it, dad? It never did before.” There are tears in her voice that clog her words and before she could say or do anything else, I lean forward, making sure that my eyes are averted from the sight of my boss with his pants around his ankles and his PA, with her legs spread and her skirt raised. Closing the door, I grab Juliet to me and while I want to shake her, rail at her for putting me in an impossible position, I do nothing of the sort.
I can feel her misery. Literally feel it and it tugs at me, makes me hurt for her.
With a sigh, I wrap my arms around her and as a storm of emotion explodes through her, I hold her and give her what comfort I can.
I’m not unaware that this is a turning point; I just don’t know where it will take us.
Because quite suddenly, it seems highly likely that there might be an us.
And God help me, I can’t be anything but happy about that.
Chapter Three
It pains me to admit it, even to myself, but I’m as nervous as hell.
Why? Because I’m standing outside Juliet’s Kensington apartment, trying to build up the courage to press the bloody doorbell.
Feeling like a horny teenager doesn’t really do much for my mood and considering the day I’ve had, my mood isn’t all that brilliant anyway.
The last week has been an exercise in torture. Bernard, Cassandra and I have all been stepping on eggshells around each other. That stopped today, when Bernard called me in for a little chat, but prior to that excruciating conversation, Monday through Thursday has been a nightmare.
Thank Christ; I’ve been out every day finishing up some assignments for my old post and readying the position up for another member of staff. I think if I’d had to endure a full working day ducking and diving to avoid my boss and his PA, it would have slowly driven me around the bend.
I’m ordinarily a fairly confrontational person. Can’t stand bullshit and backstabbing, but nothing in my life has ever prepared me for the sight of a man I respect fucking his PA.
What am I supposed to do with that?
Forget it? Ignore it and pretend nothing ever happened? Disc
uss it with Bernard? What?
I’d chosen the middle option mostly because even my thirty-two year old self blushes at the idea of discussing my discovery with the man I consider my mentor.
Bernard and I are cut from the same cloth, where business is concerned; handy really, considering the industry we’re in, but sometimes, like today, it causes nothing but problems. Bernard had grown tired of feeling discomforted and confronted me about it.
Actually had the audacity to demand that I keep it private. Between the four of us.
Bloody cheek!
For sixteen years, as I’ve crawled my way to the top of this company, Bernard has had my loyalty and my discretion. But now this has happened, he sees fit to disregard that?
More than anything, the conversation we had, pissed me off. It started off with him seated behind his desk and me opposite him. Bernard’s chair is like a throne. An ergonomic one, but a throne nonetheless. It’s huge and the visitor’s chairs aren’t. I felt like a little boy in front of the headmaster; something I didn’t appreciate.
With my back up, as soon as Bernard muttered the words, “I want this to go no further,” I exploded.
A part of me is slightly embarrassed by my reaction, but hell, the man hurt my feelings! I do have them, which is something most people would argue against, but where this man is concerned, I’ve always thought we were like kin. Or at least, that we shared the same brainwaves.
Apparently not.
“Who came to you with the news that Bo was shagging her way through the Essex factory?” I’d demanded, every part of me bristling at being questioned like a suspect in some lousy detective novel.
Bernard had grimaced. “You.”
“And did the rumour mill ever pick up on that? Did the head office ever have even a whisper of that floating about?”
“No.”
“Why?” I’d bitten out. “Because I made sure it didn’t get out. That’s why! Just like I’ll always cover your arse, when the time comes to it. What happened was embarrassing. For all of us. I didn’t expect to see my boss fucking his PA, nor did I realize that thanks to that, Cass is now in a very important position. When I go to Italy, I have to work with her. I thought she’d be there as your eyes and ears, now I know differently. She’s like my second boss.”
“That isn’t the case at all,” Bernard had gritted out, but I’d ignored him.
“Rubbish. Of course, she is. But that isn’t my problem; it’s not even my concern. I’ve had a lot of bosses and I’ll cope with one more, what pisses me off is this lack of trust. Who are you to question my loyalty? I’m not the married man. I’m not the man whose daughter knows about his adultery.”
At that point, my suit had felt constraining. I wasn’t born in nine hundred quid jackets and even though they were tailored for me, they still felt imprisoning even after all the years I’ve been forced to wear them. Of course, that meant there was a lot of shrugging on my part and Bernard had been eyeing me oddly, as though expecting me to hit him.
Almost in a surrender, he’d raised his hands and said, “Calm down, Joseph. I didn’t mean to question your loyalty. But I needed to ensure that this news would go no further. As well, I needed to confront the issue. You’ve had reason to be out of the office, but you are usually in here discussing situations with me at least once a day. I haven’t seen you this week; any embarrassment you feel is shared, but it can’t get in the way of business. Do you understand me?”
“Of course. Had I needed to come and discuss anything with you, I would have asked for an appointment. I’ve been clearing my desk and reading up on the new Italian project.”
Bernard had narrowed his eyes. “I won’t say anymore on the matter, but we both know you’ve been avoiding me. I won’t have it. One of the reasons you are where you are, is because you listened to me, Joseph. Because you weren’t afraid to come and discuss situations with me; to keep me in the know. This is an uncomfortable position, something that I blame my daughter for, but we will deal with it and in time, we will forget it. I apologize if you think I was questioning you. My faith in you is as strong as ever.”
Even that hadn’t mollified me, but I’d played at it and escaped as soon as I could. In theory, I should have had enough of the Rustin’s. They’d caused me nothing but trouble this last week and in all honesty, I’m tired. Not because of too many late nights, simply because of the sheer mass of information I have to absorb to understand the technicalities and legalities of Bernard’s new project. Expanding into Europe is a huge deal for the company and there are a few on-going concerns that Bernard’s scouts have discovered. It’s one of my jobs to make the ultimate decision. Pretty soon, I’ll be heading out to Milan and before that happens; I want to talk to Juliet.
If she deigns to talk to me, that is.
Irritation more than courage enables me to press the doorbell. The loud screech that comes from the force I use has me gritting my teeth. From spineless to aggressive in one fell swoop, not the best of mentalities to have when I’m about to enter the lioness’ den. Juliet will be itching for a fight. She always is.
Strangely enough, the thought doesn’t exhaust me. It energizes me and it makes me all the more sure that I’m going in. If I have to scale four floors to do it, I’ll see Juliet tonight and get this next confrontation over and done with. I’m sick of her disconnecting my calls and ignoring my texts and emails.
Enough is enough.
“Hello?”
Juliet’s voice hovers over the sound waves and I grit out, “Open the door, Juliet. It’s me. Joe.”
“It’s late. You should have called first. I’m going to bed.”
“Bullshit. You’re just trying to avoid me. Well, I won’t have it anymore. You’ve been ignoring my calls all week. Let me in.”
“You can’t boss me about. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m the man you chose to humiliate last Friday. I’m the man you chose to give an insight into your father’s private life. You put me in a real crappy position, Juliet. I’m not sure whether to be offended or to think of it as a compliment. Yeah, you’ve fucked up my relationship with two people I used to enjoy working with, but you opened up to me. That’s progress, isn’t it?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
Her stony voice should put me off, but it doesn’t. It just urges me on. “Tough. You started this, we can end it tonight. Let. Me. In.”
“I never realized you were a bully!” she spat, but the door buzzed open and feeling triumphant, I tugged the door open and strode into the reception area of her building.
Bernard funded the pied a terre in London with ill grace. He’d wanted Juliet to commute from the family’s country digs as she worked on her degree at the LSE, but the argument had travelled from Bernard’s office down to my own the day she’d popped in and made her demands.
It was no wonder Bernard’s relationships with his daughters were all screwed up. Whenever they wanted to tell him anything, anything important, they always had to visit the office. Usually, it would cause the old man to explode and the entire top floor would be privy to everything that went on in Juliet and Bo’s private life.
A pretty shitty way to parent anyone. At least, I think so. And that isn’t bias, because I want into Juliet’s knickers. It’s the truth.
My dad might have only been a wheeler-dealer, but he’d had time for me. When I’d gone to him with news that I’d managed to fuck up my life and get my girlfriend pregnant at 15, he’d been there for me. Supported me and my decisions. What did Bernard do? Either ignored his daughters or made them fight for anything they wanted.
He’d wanted Juliet to attend a finishing school in Switzerland. She’d refused. There’d been an argument. When Bo had discovered she was a bloody good artist and wanted to turn some of the rooms in her cottage on the estate into a studio, there’d been an argument… And so it went on.
Ignoring the lift, I ran up the stairs to the third floor and within thirty se
conds, I was outside her door and knocking the cast iron, lion’s head.
It’s the first time I’ve been to Juliet’s flat. I only know about it, because of Bernard broadcasting it to the world, when she’d asked him to find her some digs in London. He’d set me on the task of finding one for her. As such, I’d seen it as an empty shell and now I’ll see it as the home Juliet has made it. Why he asked me to find her an apartment, I don’t know. That kind of thing he usually passed off on to Cass. I’m just glad he did now. Even though at the time, I’d bitched about it.
Juliet opened the door and stood there in a pair of pyjamas. They shouldn’t have had my blood pressure soaring, but Christ, what she did to a pair of ratty PJs should have been illegal. A small vest top cupped her braless tits and allowed me to see the peaks of her nipples. She might not have been happy to see me, but her body gave her away. The nubbins hardened and became fully delineated against the ribbed cotton of the vest.
The bottoms were loose around her ankles, but they hugged her hips, thighs and as soon as she turned around, her arse.
Grown men shouldn’t drool. But at the same time, a man only has some limits to his control.
The limitations of her greeting were opening the door, shooting me a glare and then, without a word, disappearing down the hall, leaving me to lock up behind her.
Following her arse down the corridor, she led me into a living room. Before, it had been a mass of white walls with a nice period, cast iron fireplace. The block of flats had once been a mansion and so, there were pretty details that back when I’d been flat-hunting, I’d known Juliet would appreciate. Cornices and dado rails that were moulded and formed into gracious swirls were just some of the old-fashioned features. And as I stood there now, I could see how Juliet had made the place into her home.
This wasn’t about flash. It was about comfort. The walls were like a very milky coffee, with the period features still in that blinding shade of white. A TV that was almost as large as my own 56” screen sat perched beside the fireplace, which she’d lit as the night was pretty cold. But then, when wasn’t it in London? Angled opposite the fire and the TV set, there were two enormous couches. Squashy corduroy that I knew would be comfortable to sink into after a shitty day at the office.
