You Don't Know Me

by Mandy Lee

I watch as he saunters out of the door, leaning down to greet an over-excited Molly along the way. Bloody hell, he really has got a sexy walk. Will I ever tire of gawping at it?

  ‘So, you’re Dan’s girlfriend?’

  I give a start and turn to find Betty’s grey eyes probing me.

  ‘I don’t really know.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ she smiles, placing a glass of water in front of me. ‘And judging by what you’ve got around your neck, I’d say it’s pretty serious.’

  I reach up and touch the pendant, feeling suddenly ridiculous. Betty must know that it belonged to Dan’s mother, and God knows what she must think of me for wearing it.

  ‘It’s alright,’ she reassures me. ‘He told me he was going to give it to you.’

  ‘I just feel …’ I pick up the glass and take a drink.

  ‘Well don’t,’ she soothes me. ‘It’s a good thing to see. It’s about time he had someone special in his life. I’d like to see him settle down and have a family.’ I almost choke on the water. ‘He’d make a good dad.’ She bends down, rummaging through a cupboard. ‘And you two would make beautiful babies.’ It’s a good job her head is still in the cupboard. I’m sure I’m beginning to blush. ‘But he’d have to cut back on the work. It’s all he ever seems to do.’ She straightens up and swings a colander through the air. ‘There’s more to life, Dan, I’ve told him that a thousand times but he never listens to me.’

  She shuffles over to the sink, drains off the potatoes in the colander and makes her way over to the table.

  ‘Does he come here a lot?’ I ask.

  ‘Most weekends. But then he’s at it all the time. Up until all hours.’ She transfers the potatoes into a serving dish. ‘I’ve told him he’ll wear himself out, but he feels the pressure. Old Mr and Mrs Foster left him the business and it’s almost like a duty for him to keep it going. He doesn’t want to let people down. I’ve found him at two in the morning before now, head in hands, agonising over this, that and the other. And it gets to him, the stress. He can get a bit snappy, even I know that. But can’t we all?’ She shuffles back over to the Aga, opens the door and retrieves a tray of chops. ‘There was a time last year when I was really worried about him. He was miserable, just miserable, but he pulled himself out of it eventually.’ Sliding the tray onto a board, she sets about transferring the chops to plates. ‘At the end of the day, he’s done a brilliant job. He keeps that company running and Mr and Mrs Foster would have been proud of that, but they’d also want him to have a life.’ She turns to face me. ‘Maybe he’ll change now he’s got you. Maybe he’ll calm down a bit, take a bit of time off. Maybe he’ll realise there’s more to life than work. He deserves a bit of happiness after all he’s been through.’

  What a strange thing to say. After all he’s been through? As far as I’m aware, he’s led a blessed existence, born into money and raised in a picture perfect country house. She must be talking about losing his parents. I’d ask for a little clarification here, but from the expression on Betty’s face, I’d guess she’s not too keen on saying anything else.

  ‘So, what was he like when he was younger?’

  ‘Oh, he was a good lad.’

  ‘How about when he was a toddler?’

  ‘Oh, just like any other child.’ She waves a hand, as if she’s wafting away my question, and then she turns to examine me. ‘He’s not told you anything then?’

  ‘About what?’

  Betty has no time to answer. Before she can open her mouth, Dan returns to the kitchen, tossing a red rose onto the counter top.

  ‘For you, Betty.’

  ‘You’re still late,’ she snaps. ‘And where’s my idiot of a husband?’

  ‘On his way in. I just caught him talking to his courgettes.’

  She laughs loudly.

  ‘He’s going mad. I swear it. He talks to his vegetable patch, Maya. If you can believe it. I swear I’d go mad if I had him here every day. Thank God Dan keeps him busy up in London.’

  Pretending he hasn’t heard any of that, Dan gets on with the job of searching through a drawer, helping himself to a handful of knives and forks. Circling the table, he lays out the cutlery before dropping onto the seat by my side, cupping his chin in his hands and smiling at me like an idiot.

  ‘Don’t listen to Betty,’ he whispers. ‘She talks bollocks.’

  Molly’s barks herald Norman’s arrival.

  ‘Maya!’ he announces. I look up to find him covered in dirt and taking up almost all of the doorway. As soon as we lock eyes, he breaks into a broad grin. ‘It’s lovely to see you here, my darling.’

  ‘You too, Norman.’

  His eyes dance from my face, to Dan.

  ‘Elbows off the table, Dan. Remember your manners.’

  Immediately, Dan complies.

  ‘And, Maya?’ Norman rolls up his sleeves. ‘Remember that thing I told you about? That thing I was worried about? Back in the office.’

  ‘Yes,’ I murmur. If I’m not too much mistaken, he’s referring to Dan.

  ‘Well, I’m not worried about it any more.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘I just wanted you to know.’

  ‘Okay.’ Almost certain that this is Norman’s way of giving me his blessing, I shoot him a sweet smile. While he wobbles over to the sink and washes his hands, and while Betty busies herself over the gravy, I turn to find Mr Mean and Hot and Moody staring at me, his eyes glinting with intrigue.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he whispers.

  Time for deflection.

  ‘Nothing. And anyway, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Norman’s just ordered you around.’

  He shrugs his shoulders.

  ‘I boss him about at work. He bosses me about here. We both know the deal.’

  He takes a swig of water and watches appreciatively as a plate is deposited under his nose.

  ‘Tuck in,’ Betty announces proudly.

  We take our time over dinner. After Norman tells us what he’s been up to in the garden, reminding us that the vegetables on our plates have been produced by his own fair hands, Betty informs us of all the latest gossip from the local Women’s Institute. Eventually, I’m asked about my family, grilled on my background and probed about my painting. And while I give my answers, Dan listens intently to it all, quietly clearing his plate of every last remnant of food. At last, when everyone’s finished, he offers to help with the washing up, but he’s quickly brushed away. Instead, while Norman and Betty fuss and flap over clearing up, he makes tea for everyone in the most exquisite china cups I’ve ever seen. Handing a cup to me, he takes one of his own and motions for me to follow him.

  Stepping out of the back door, I’m aware that I’m still barefoot. But that’s no issue. Dan isn’t wearing shoes either. The gravel path is narrow here and with a couple of steps, we’re safely onto the grass, walking out across a perfectly mown lawn, through the orchard and towards a gate that I already know leads into the kitchen garden. He pauses by the gate. Holding his saucer in one hand, he raises his cup and takes a sip.

  ‘This keeps Norman busy in the evenings and at weekends,’ he explains. ‘And I keep him occupied during the week.’

  ‘You keep him working at the company so he doesn’t drive his wife mad?’

  ‘That’s part of it,’ he smiles. ‘I also keep him working at the company because he loves the company. He helped my father build it up and when I took over, he was good to me. It was a steep learning curve and Norman helped me out a lot. He doesn’t do that much anymore, but he’s not an idiot. That’s why I put him in charge of Tyneside. I knew he’d do a decent job. He’ll retire when he’s good and ready. I’m not about to take that away from him.’

  ‘Well, that explains a lot,’ I murmur.

  ‘It does,’ he murmurs back. ‘And now I’d like to explain some more. Come on.’

  I follow him through the narrow gateway, and suddenly I’m transported into another world, tra
nsfixed by an onslaught of colours and scents. I halt for a moment, surveying the scene, taking in the mass of raised beds in front of me that are bursting with of every kind of vegetable known to man, the grassed walkways that criss-cross the vegetable patches, the shower of red roses that dominates one of the four walls, and the pink clematis that seems to have run riot down another. I’m touched lightly on the arm, encouraged to follow Dan through the centre of it all to an arbour at the far end, where we settle ourselves down onto a bench.

  ‘This is amazing,’ I gasp.

  ‘All Norman’s work.’

  Dan leans forwards and places his tea cup on the ground. I do the same. As soon as I straighten up, he takes my hand and falls into a contented silence. I’d like to join him there, but I’m not ready yet. My head is still buzzing with questions.

  ‘So, I get why Norman’s in that office,’ I begin. ‘But what’s Jodie doing there?’

  He groans and runs his fingers through his hair.

  ‘Come on, you might as well just own up.’

  ‘She’s Norman’s granddaughter.’

  ‘You’re kidding me.’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘She was a bit of a tearaway at school. Left with no qualifications whatsoever. Last year, she got in with the wrong crowd, got arrested for shoplifting a few times and managed to land herself with a criminal record. I gave her the job with Norman so he could keep an eye on her. I know she does fuck all and I pay her peanuts, believe me. That’s why we need the second secretary in there, just in case Norman actually ever has anything to do. It’s a stop-gap. She’s thinking about a beauty course.’

  ‘Which you’ll fund?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Daniel Foster, you’ve got a soft centre.’

  ‘I have not got a soft fucking centre.’

  ‘You’re rumbled, Mr Foster.’

  ‘Drop it.’

  He turns and gazes at me, obviously trying his best to look pissed off, but he’s not doing very well at all. He’s definitely smiling.

  ‘Well, you’re certainly peeling back a few layers for me today.’

  ‘Would you like another one, Miss Scotton?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘This is my favourite place in the world.’

  Feeling his hand slip away from mine, I glance around at the display of flowers. They cover just about every single inch of the wall.

  ‘Sweet peas.’ I turn back to Dan, only to find him picking a handful.

  ‘My parents used to sit here every night in the summer, for an age. Sometimes they’d talk. Sometimes they’d just sit in silence. Mum loved the smell of these.’

  He offers me the flowers. I take them, gaze down at their delicate petals, and suddenly I understand.

  ‘You,’ I breathe. ‘Those sweet peas on my desk. That was you.’

  He nods.

  ‘I could have picked up the phone and ordered an expensive bouquet from a flower shop.’ He gives me a flash of his eyes. ‘I thought about it, but this is a piece of me. This means more.’

  ‘So, you got Norman to bring them in for you?’

  ‘No. I drove down here and picked them myself. How goofy is that?’

  ‘It’s not goofy. It’s wonderful and I love it.’ I lower my head. I can’t focus on it from here, but I’m wondering about the little, white flower around my neck.

  ‘It’s a sweet pea,’ he smiles. ‘Stylised, but a sweet pea, nevertheless. My dad bought it for my mum because it linked them both to this place.’

  ‘And now you’ve given it to me.’

  He reaches up and touches the pendant.

  ‘I’d like us to stay here tonight,’ he says quietly. ‘Norman and Betty won’t be in the house. They’ll go back to the cottage in a while. Would you do that for me, Maya? Can we stay?’

  I turn the sweet peas in my hand. I’m not going to deny him this. Why wouldn’t I want to stay the night in this beautiful house, with this beautiful man?

  ‘Yes, we can.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I hear him take in a deep breath.

  ‘Dan,’ I whisper.

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘I really could do with knowing what’s going on here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Is this a relationship?’

  I look up to find him staring at me, a quizzical frown etched across his forehead.

  ‘Define relationship for me.’

  ‘Two people spending time together, enjoying each other’s company, having sex and all that.’

  ‘Sounds pretty close.’

  ‘And committing themselves to each other,’ I add.

  ‘Then this is a relationship.’ His hand returns to mine and squeezes tight. ‘I fucking own you and you fucking own me, remember?’

  ‘So, we’re girlfriend and boyfriend?’

  ‘If you like. Although I’m probably a little too old to be classed as a boyfriend. Can’t I just be your man?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ I chew on my lip. ‘And I’m your woman.’

  ‘Well,’ he grins, ‘you’re definitely not a girl.’

  We sit in silence for a while. He keeps a hold of my hand, slowly entwining his fingers through mine while I watch the shadows climb their way up the walls. And before I know it, I’m lost in a day-dream: I’m married to him now, sitting out here every evening in the summer, watching the children as they run wild around the vegetable patches, squealing with delight …

  Snap out of it, woman, my brain screeches at full volume. Jesus! Where the hell did that just come from? I shake my head, reeling from the shock. In actual fact, I have no idea where that stupid notion just came from, but as quickly as it appeared, I bat it straight out of my head. I may well have fallen for the man, hook, line and sinker, and he may well have fallen for me too, but that’s definitely a step too far. After all, he’s a recently reformed womaniser, for God’s sake, a self-confessed kinky weirdo and a dominating, work-obsessed control freak to boot: not exactly the best choice for a husband and a father. And anyway, in spite of everything he said at Seven Dials, I’m not entirely sure that’s he’s interested in popping a ring on my finger and then popping out a clan. And more than that, why the hell am I even thinking about this in the first place?

  ‘Penny for them?’ he whispers.

  ‘They’re not worth that much.’

  ‘I’m sure they are.’ Letting go of my hand, he leans down and picks up the tea cups. ‘It’s getting chilly out here. Time for bed.’

  ***

  Back in the bedroom, I watch as he takes off his T-shirt and slowly removes his jeans. Tugging down his pants, he steps out of them and straightens up, his eyes latching onto mine. My breath falters at the sight of the sharply defined body in front of me. Completely naked, completely unashamed, he begins to move towards me in that self-assured, utterly sexy way of his, and I’m a bundle of nerves, a chaotic wreck of anticipation.

  He comes to a halt in front of me, so close I can feel the warmth of his skin even though he hasn’t touched me yet. He strokes a finger against my cheek, under my chin, across my neck, and then he reaches down. Taking hold of my dress, he lifts it gently over my head, dropping it to the floor. His eyes rove slowly from my breasts down to my stomach, and then back up to my face. Tilting his head to one side, he smiles in appreciation before he reaches round to unfasten my bra, pulling it away slowly, tenderly, watching as the straps glide over my skin.

  And then he sinks to his knees.

  He slots a finger into the top of my knickers, drawing them down my legs and away from my feet. Still kneeling, he runs his hands around my calves, moving upwards, around my thighs. Coming to the front, he probes my clit with both thumbs, gently kneading at the folds. I close my eyes, sucking in a jittery breath, and I begin to sway. He almost has me on the edge when he finally removes his thumbs and gets back up to his feet.

  ‘So, what are you going to do to me tonight?’ I ask, breaking the silence.

  He t
akes a lock of my hair in his fingers and twiddles it.

  ‘I’m going to worship you.’ He captures me with his gaze, holding me there for a few delicious seconds before he adds the rider. ‘And neither of us is going to make a sound.’

  As soon as I open my mouth to complain, he lays an index finger across my lips. ‘No words. No noise at all.’

  Wondering what on Earth he’s playing at now, I nod but remain silent.

  He lets go of my hair, slides one arm around my back and leans down, snaking the other behind my legs. I tingle at the touch of his warm skin as he lifts me and carries me over to the bed where he lays me on the rumpled sheets, positioning himself by my side and propping himself up on one elbow. He begins to trail his fingers lazily across my breasts, watching their steady progress as they travel along my collar bone, down my sternum, further down to my stomach. His fingertips explore every inch of my flesh, again and again, for minutes on end, along my thighs, across my pubic hair, tickling their way around my clitoris. And all I want to do is moan, but I bite back the temptation. All I can hear now is the sound of my own breathing, uneven, catching on itself, quivering at each new sensation.

  And then I realise. If there are no words, there are no commands. And if there are no commands, then he’s relinquished control. I’m free to worship him right back. Reaching out, I touch his chest, amazed that he doesn’t catch hold of my hand or shake his head. Instead, he simply watches as my fingers explore his body. Taking in his contours and his power, I run my palm across his chest, down to his stomach, further down to where I curl my fingers around his hard cock, feeling it twitch in my grip.

  He manoeuvres me onto my back and begins to kiss my skin, lightly, softly, every square inch of it, sucking at my nipples, running his nose along me here, licking me there, tasting me, taking in my scent until he comes to my groin where he pauses, nuzzling against my hair. His big hands take hold of my thighs, gently parting them, and he licks a slow, languid line from my clitoris to my opening and back again. And then he homes in on my clit, taking his time, lapping his tongue against the bundle of nerves, working me up into a fizzing ball of ecstasy. I shiver under his touch, listening to my breath as it begins to flounder. I feel myself tense as the pressure within me builds. He slows the pace of his tongue, extending the pleasure for me, holding me firmly on the outsides of my thighs. At last, after what seems like an age, my muscles tighten for a moment before they falter, giving way to an intense, pulsating orgasm. I whimper with delight and his lips are on mine in an instant, soaking up the sound in a long, deep kiss that reminds me to remain silent.