by Jaye Peaches
The lowest point by far had occurred just two weeks after she had obtained her degree. Applying for jobs, she had been determined to stand on her own two feet and not rely on her trust fund. Since turning twenty-one, she was finally free of her father’s allowance and had her own income from the estate, a guaranteed source of money. Her plans fell to the wayside when it quickly became apparent that years of chain smoking had left her father incurable and dying of emphysema.
It was the main reason she had never taken up the popular habit. Puffing away like a chimney, starting with the first one in bed in the morning to his final cigar at bedtime, her father had not been able to curtail his addiction, even though the doctors told him it would kill him. His demise had come rapidly and traumatised Leah. One minute he was head of his empire, turning the handle to make the money, the next struggling for breath in a private hospital. Holding his hand in his last hours, Leah had been struck dumb and later regretted not saying more words of comfort.
“Shock,” her mother had told her upon her arrival for the funeral, wrapping her arms about Leah and offering words of condolence. Leah had been surprised by her mother’s appearance and grateful that Gregor had not come to upset her aunts and uncles. However, it quickly had become apparent that her mother had her own agenda to fulfil. Within days, she had seen her solicitor and ensured that when probate was complete, the family home would be back in her possession. Once it was, she had promptly put it on the market and sold it to a competitor of Leah’s father.
The loss of the family home brought about another thunderous down for Leah. She had argued with her mother to no avail. Her absent parent had already returned to Italy, having no desire to live in the house and could not understand why Leah would want to either.
“It takes so much money to maintain, darling. I should know,” her mother had said. “I’ve saved you the responsibility.”
Leah had her own house by then. She had used her trust fund to purchase a newly built detached house in Blundellsands to the north of Liverpool. She could have afforded a grander house, but she was glad that she kept her ambitions small. However, there lay the problem with losing her licence. It was a commute into the city centre to her job at Littlewoods. She had started out at the company as a proofreader for the clothing catalogue. Praised by her supervisor, she had been promoted to work on the new season’s impending issue—writing the descriptions and working with the editors on the layout.
Much of her inheritance went to the taxman, and the rest was tied up in shares in the company. Now that she was a nominal non-executive on the board, she occasionally had to take an interest in her father’s massive company. Most of the discussions and decisions went over her head and she left the running of her father’s legacy to the board, grateful for their expertise and integrity.
As a board member, she had the benefit of using company facilities and that included a certain secretary who came in handy for sorting out mini-crises.
“I need a driver,” she explained down the telephone. “By tomorrow.”
The secretary didn’t question the reason why. “How long for?”
“Six months,” cringed Leah, embarrassed. She couldn’t even give the excuse her nifty little soft-topped sports car had been taken into a repair garage. There was no problem that couldn’t be fixed within six months.
“I’m sure we can rustle up somebody. I’ll ring the agency.”
Leah sighed in relief. No reason had been necessary. She tossed the soggy document in the kitchen bin, determined to move on; an attitude she had tried to apply to many areas of her life and not always with success.
She put down her reckless behaviour to grief. She had hidden it well from her friends and work colleagues, but it gnawed at her in the solitude of her house. A homely construction with modern features, but too large for one person, she had assumed she would fill it with parties and further attempts at finding the perfect mate. All her previous liaisons had failed dismally. She had discovered sex; that had been advantageous and rather enjoyable, but not love. That aspect of the bedroom had circumvented her repeatedly.
Her work for the last few months during the turbulent days of bereavement had been her salvation. It had been in the last few weeks her world had begun to fall apart at the edges. The deep-seated feelings of loss bubbled to the surface. She drank too much at parties, turned up late for work, and lost the respect of her friends. At the last minute, her mother had cancelled Leah’s planned Christmas visit, opting to go skiing and there was no room at the chalet for her daughter.
After spending the vacation with her rather indifferent aunt and uncle, December had become January and her lack of self-preservation had begun to manifest itself. Pulled over by the police for speeding up the coastal road, Leah had been caught not once, but three times by February. She had sobbed a pathetic story at the officers, but they had showed no sympathy for a rich heiress in her snazzy car. That little Midget MG had now cost her the freedom to drive.
Waking up the next morning, she waited in the hallway for the chauffeur car to pick her up and take her to work.
The doorbell rang, making her jump slightly. The driver arrived at spot on eight-thirty and she opened the door in response to his summons.
The man stood back, hands clasped behind his back, and she almost stumbled over the threshold with surprise.
“Rick!” she gasped.
* * *
She had changed. He could see it immediately. The face fuller, even more beautiful and less girlish. The hair much longer, cascading down straight and dark, while above her eyebrows a neat fringe framed her face. Across the bridge of the nose were a few speckles, but under her eyes, a line of darkness that told him she still kept late hours.
He couldn’t help letting his eyes drift downwards. Around her neck, a pearl necklace, each one a shimmer of whiteness and not fake. The straight neckline of her floral dress, brightly coloured and ending above the knee, was eye catching: she still favoured the shorter styled skirt. Keeping her warm on the winter morning, a large lapelled jacket, with double-breasted buttons. Her sheer nylons were almost invisible and on her feet, sensible slip-on shoes for work.
Her clothing had the presence of a stylish fashion-conscious follower, not something he had seen before from her; it made for a promising start.
Rick smiled, a cautious but genuine smile, especially when she said his name. Shocked and pleased, he could see both expressions blurred into one—at least she hadn’t slammed the door on his face.
“Hello. I’m back,” he said simply, cocking his head over his shoulder. “And so is the Mercedes.”
The car looked identical, except it was the latest model and registration. “Full of memories, like you said,” he added a little nervously.
The crocodile handbag in her hand swung back and forth as she swayed on her feet, her mouth opening and shutting.
“You’re my driver?” she said after a few seconds.
Rick laughed, trying to inject humour into the tense atmosphere. “What else!”
“But… Switzerland?”
“Job done. I came back for a little… respite.” He took her elbow, a little pinch between his finger and thumb, since her feet seemed unable to move. “I’ve got to get you to work, haven’t I? Littlewoods, off Edge Lane. Amazing building, don’t you think?”
He led her to the car door, and she climbed in. “I can’t believe it really is you.” For the first time she beamed a smile at him and then it reverted to a frown. “Nothing. For three years, you didn’t write… or call…”
Rick settled into the driver’s seat, adjusted the mirror so he could see her indignant face, and turned the ignition. “It was for the best. Look at you now. Own house in an up-and-coming area, a job. I’m sorry about your father. That must have been tough.”
Now the frown transformed into a picture of sadness. It explained the lines under her eyes. “Yes. Very hard. The house went back to Mum and she sold it, just like I knew she would. The busines
s… it’s not mine to run, but I benefit financially. The rest went in taxes, and to other members of the family.”
“And you, Miss Leah, how have you being doing?” He used the formal address and it pulled her up in her seat; she hadn’t expected it.
“Good… And not so good.”
Rick didn’t push her to explain, not while she overcame the shock of seeing him again. The car headed towards the Crosby road, then on to Bootle and the city centre. An awkwardness had descended between driver and passenger, and Rick concentrated on the morning traffic, weaving between pedestrians and mopeds.
Eventually, he had to ask the question, to begin to unravel the reason for the dark lines and suppressed melancholy. “Why aren’t you driving?”
“Um,” she said, flustered. “Can we talk about this later? When you pick me up at five? In any case, you haven’t told me why you’re back either.” She deflected his query and she wasn’t the only one who wanted to avoid awkward questions. Rick sealed his lips. He had no idea how to explain his circumstances: they weren’t all to do with Leah, which made him unsettled.
Watching her join the throng entering the huge white building, Rick inhaled deeply. It was proving much harder than he had imagined. Leah had blossomed in his absence, developed into a full-fledged woman. Older in appearance, consumed by bereavement and hurt by a careless mother, she was wiser but not necessarily coping. There was nobody now in her life to guide her. It was obvious that since the demise of her father, she had lost her way again and her mannerisms, the fidgeting, and lack of eye contact she exhibited in the back of the car spoke reams to Rick.
Financially she appeared to be stable, but he suspected there was bad news behind the lack of car, the need for a chauffeur again. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had taken to an excessive nightlife too.
Rick drove about the city while Leah worked. He familiarised himself with the streets, the changes to the city’s fortunes. Gone was his favoured eatery—boarded up—and he had to seek out an alternative. It didn’t feel the same to him; the food tasted different and bland.
He spent some time watching the ships loading at the wharfs, the huge freight carrying cargo vessels that navigated the Mersey, then out into the oceans, bringing goods from all around the world. It was hypnotic, a slow repetitious movement of a giant crane as it serviced the ship in the berth. When the weather improved, he walked along the waterfront, past the Liver Building while the seagulls dive-bombed over the Mersey. The ferries plied their course across the estuary between the two banks of the river and he stood for some time, resting his hands on the rail, trying hard to ignore the bracing wind. Rick had become quite accustomed to occupying his thoughts during the day and they were very much focussed on a dark-haired woman with long legs and a beautiful face.
“Good day?” he asked when she clambered into the car.
“Yes. I like my job. I might be moving into promotions soon. Writing advertisements,” said Leah.
“So, Miss Leah, tell me about the car? Did you have an accident or something?” He picked up the discarded conversation from the morning.
She immediately began to jiggle on her seat, running her fingers through her hair. “Not quite.”
“I didn’t think so. The agency said you needed somebody for six months.” He heard her curse under her breath and he shook his head.
“I lost my licence,” she said almost inaudibly over the noise of the traffic.
“How?” he said sharply.
“Speeding.”
“You don’t get a ban from one speeding ticket.”
“You do if you get three,” said Leah, grimacing in his mirror.
“Three!” he exclaimed. “What were you driving?”
“My MG. I got a little carried away the third time and they said I was reckless, or something. The magistrate banned me for six months.”
“Reckless endangerment!” Rick glared at her. “You risked your safety to drive fast. Don’t you know how to drive a sports car, I mean, did you have lessons first?”
“No. I just bought it and…”
“You should have had somebody teach you drive it properly,” said Rick, annoyed at her lack of common sense.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Dad had gone… and nobody…” She began to snivel. “If you had been here, spanked me the first time, it would never had happened.”
“True. Well, it’s not too late to spank you, is it?” he said, changing lanes.
“No,” she said. “Are you going to spank me?” Her voice trembled as she asked.
Rick calmed his anger; she sounded contrite about her bad driving and speeding tickets. There was one way he could find out and he didn’t see any point in wasting time. The threads of their lives had diverged for three years; Rick was keen to intertwine them once again.
Chapter Four
Leah thought she was familiar with the layout of the city, but Rick took off in the direction of the docks and quickly lost her in the side streets behind the major quays.
“Where are we going?” she asked nervously.
Darkness had descended, the evening light quickly gone and the foreboding warehouses rose up out of the streets, hiding the moonlight. Red-bricked monoliths with row upon row of small windows. The structures had much similarity to a prison or workhouse.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said from the front seat.
“I’m not,” she said curtly, but it was a lie. She did feel a little scared by the detour.
Leah had a whole day at work to assimilate the re-emergence of Rick. A hundred questions thundered through her mind from the moment she clocked in, continuing unabated until Rick picked her up. While her fingers had held swatches of fabrics, matching them to colour descriptions, her colleagues had repeated instructions, nudged her arm or scolded her for being tardy. Once the surprise had dissipated, she had gone back in time, reminded herself of Rick, the man and his impact on her life.
After confessing to her near criminal driving habits, his manner of addressing her had immediately put Leah back three years and the image of her bottom spanked to a fiery red had emerged unfettered. Blurting out her need for accountability, she had not expected him to take it so seriously, so quickly. Here they were, hours after meeting again and she knew he had something planned and it would involve them picking up right where they had left off. Her heart boomed in her chest, her toes curled up in her shoes. She could tell him to turn around, insist they went home, but she didn’t. Her lips remained tightly sealed. No, she wasn’t afraid—she felt excited. She was about to rediscover her forgotten desires and awaken many neglected emotions.
Behind the back of one great warehouse were lesser ones, surrounding a small docking area. It was eerily quiet and unattended. Rick stopped the car, turned off the engine, and opened his door.
His hand, which she eagerly took for comfort’s sake, was cool and calming. Helping her to her feet, he locked the car behind them and led her towards a doorway.
“These have been recently abandoned. Times are changing, the docks too. Liverpool is passing into history, at least, when it comes to some things,” said Rick, still holding her hand, leading her into the warehouse.
Leah’s shoes clattered on the boarding. The streetlights hadn’t reached into the building, and she screwed up her eyes, peering into the pitch-black space.
Lights flickered, at first uncertain whether to stay on or give up, then they fired into action. Long strip lights came up overhead and lit up the vast storage room.
“Electricity still on,” remarked Rick. “Good. This would be difficult to do in the dark.” His voice sounded almost jovial to Leah.
About them, either in rows or scattered randomly, were crates, tea chests, and sacking cloths. All the paraphernalia of long-term storage, left unused in the workers’ haste to be gone. The floor was dusty, the air musty but not unpleasant in aroma. Leah thought she could smell spices, or perhaps even coffee beans. A legacy of previous bustling days when tonnes of goods had
been shipped in and out.
Rick walked up to an upended tea chest. “This will do,” he said, patting the top.
“For what?” she asked.
“To bend over. For your spanking.”
“What if somebody comes?” She turned around, listening for sounds of footsteps or voices. There were none.
“Nobody will come here. It’s deserted,” said Rick confidently. “Now come over here.”
A familiar sensation came over Leah. She hadn’t felt it this strongly for three years and now it was back. The tingle, the rush of energy to her sex, the complete awareness of her clitoris and its purpose. She swallowed hard and stared at Rick. Much time had passed—could she still trust him?
He had changed in appearance; that was obvious. His chocolate hair darker, richer, and longer. Not quite the mop style, but it was no longer the military crew-cut. The ends of his trousers flared, not bell-bottomed or excessive, just a hint of fashion to his clothing. A brown suede jacket with pointed lapels and his patent black shoes, brightly polished as she recalled from their first encounter. By keeping to the fringes of the latest styles, he had made himself extremely appealing and sexy.
His fingers drummed on the top of the tea chest while he waited patiently for her to move. A shuffling walk, a few feet at a time, until she stood a yard away from the box, clutching her handbag.
“Put that down,” he said, pointing at the bag.
Leah propped it on the other side of the chest, then stood hands clasped at her front—waiting, unsure, and nervous.
“I want you to take off your knickers. For three speeding tickets, I think you deserve a bare bottom spanking,” said Rick smoothly.
“What are you going to spank me with?” She knew his trousers had no belt; the hipster style did not need one.
“That is for me to decide. Now, please take off those knickers. Your tights too, naturally.” His tone would brook no more delays.
