Rich Promise

by Ashe Barker

  He stops in the doorway and turns back to face me. “One more thing, Summer. I hope you and Dan can sort out this—misunderstanding—regarding your whereabouts today. I think you’ll hear from him soon. But whatever the outcome there, I want you to know your job will not be affected. We never mix business and pleasure. Your personal relationship with my brother has no bearing on your employment with Darke Associates, one way or the other.”

  “I see. Thank you.” I almost call him Sir, but that would be quite inappropriate.

  “I just thought you should know that.” He gives me a curt nod. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Nathan.”

  The outer door clicks shut behind him and I watch Nathan stride across the graveled courtyard below my window, heading back to the peace and calm of Black Combe. I pick up my phone and hit the speed dial for Dan’s number. He answers after two rings.

  “Summer?”

  “Dan, yes, hello. I…”

  “Where are you, Summer?”

  “I’m at home. In my flat.”

  There’s silence at the other end. I feel compelled to fill it, “I am. Truly I am. I just saw Nathan. He told me about Queenie.”

  “I see. Have you spoken to Freya?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first. I’m sorry…”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “For today. I-I wasn’t here…”

  “I know that. Lancaster. Shopping, wasn’t it?”

  “No.” My voice has dropped to a whisper.

  “No? I thought not. Care to tell me where you did go then?” His tone has taken on that cool, formal timbre, the tone I associate with chilly, pissed off Dom.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Can’t? I think you must mean won’t.”

  “Please, Dan…” I don’t know what I’m asking, what I’m pleading for. Of course he’s right, I could tell him, could tell him all of it. But I won’t because then he’d know the whole shabby story and I couldn’t bear that.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Summer. Have the quirt to hand.” It seems he’s done talking, at least for now. And we may not be doing much of it tomorrow either.

  “But…” My bottom clenches defensively. “You can’t intend to… I mean, I don’t think…”

  “I can, and I will. I hadn’t expected it to be quite so soon, though, and I admit I find that disappointing. Until tomorrow then. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Sir.” I whisper the words, then listen for the line to go dead as he ends the call. Somehow I manage to shove thoughts of tomorrow from my mind as I find Freya on my speed dial. I fire off a text.

  Heard about Queenie. I’m so sorry. Are you OK?

  A couple of minutes later my phone pings to signal an incoming text.

  Yes. And no. It was awful. But Nick’s here now.

  That’s good. Do you need anything? Do you want me to come?

  No, not just now. Nick and I need some time together. I’ll skype you tomorrow, or maybe the day after.

  OK. I’m here if you want me. Love you. Xxx

  Xxx

  I drop my phone onto my coffee table and lean back on my couch, aware that if I thought today was a difficult day, tomorrow shows every sign of being a whole lot worse. Shit! How did it come to this?

  * * * *

  The next morning I’m awake early. In truth, I hardly slept at all. My head was just whirling all night, the events of the last couple of days chasing each other, rattling around my skull. The shock of discovering my family gone. The relief and joy at finding them again, and actually seeing my sisters. The certainty that they are all right, happy, well cared for, and probably coming to live with me in a week or so’s time. I haven’t yet spoken to Nathan about this, but his final comments to me as he left my flat yesterday seems to suggest that he won’t interfere with my private, domestic arrangements.

  Which is more than can be said for Dan. He’s sure to have an opinion. And I’ll have to tell him today, even if I don’t share with him the full background. I’m quietly determined that whatever he does with that quirt, I won’t be telling him all my closely guarded secrets, but I’ll still have to explain that Lucy and Maisie will become a permanent fixture. And that will inevitably change things, assuming he still wants me. He said he was disappointed, and that chills me to the bone. I can’t think of anything he could have said that would have made me feel worse about myself, about my deception, about all the shabby background to this mess. Disappointment wouldn’t come close.

  But even if he does forgive me, things will never be the same anymore. I won’t be able to swan off to spend the weekend with him in Keswick or Leeds. When he comes here, we’ll need to be quiet. I guess he could just gag me. That seems to work.

  Except none of that will matter if I can’t convince Dan I’m sorry and get him to forgive me for deceiving him yesterday. The quirt seems to be the route to that, and I know it’s going to hurt. A lot. But when it’s over, we can move on. That’s how this arrangement works. I couldn’t get my head around it at all the first time Freya tried to explain, when she was preparing to meet Nick at the Collared and Tied club in Lancaster, but I completely understand it now.

  As I gnaw on a slice of buttered toast, I contemplate the quirt, lying innocuously on my kitchen worktop. I retrieved it from the drawer in my bedroom, as instructed. I’m not sure when Dan will arrive, so I intend to have it with me, in my bag when I go over to the office at the main house. I doubt he’ll intend to thrash me over the desk with Nathan and Grace, and possibly Eva, looking on, but he’ll expect it to be handy. No point antagonizing him even more.

  Despite what I know the day will bring, I’m still looking forward to seeing Dan again. It’s only been twenty-four hours, but I’ve missed him. I hate that he’s so angry with me, and I know his punishment will be severe, but the make-up sex afterwards… It’s always been superb before, truly mind-blowing.

  I also need to talk to Nathan today, tell him about Sally’s visit on Friday and assure him I won’t let Maisie and Lucy get in his way or make a nuisance of themselves around Black Combe. I’m confident he’ll be fine with it. After all, it’s obvious he loves children, admittedly his own.

  But that conversation with Nathan will have to wait. I must talk to Dan first.

  I arrive in the office earlier than usual. I’m at my desk before eight o’clock, having declined the offer of breakfast in the rowdy Black Combe kitchen. I prefer to shift at least some of yesterday’s backlog of messages and such like, especially as I expect my day to be interrupted. I have no reason at all to think I’ll be sitting at my desk after Dan’s done his worst. I doubt I’ll sit anywhere for a while. I dig in, and I’ve made commendable progress by the time Nathan saunters into the office, back from the school run.

  “You look pale. Bad night?” He pours himself a coffee and offers me a cup.

  I shake my head and fix my attention on the screen of my laptop.

  Nathan is not fooled for a moment. “Did you talk to Dan last night?”

  I nod but say nothing further.

  “When’s he due here?”

  “I’m not sure. Have you spoken to him?” How does Nathan know Dan’s coming today? I didn’t tell him.

  Perceptive as always, Nathan correctly interprets my puzzled expression. “I know my brother. He won’t let this fester. I know you too. You look scared.” He leans against the filing cabinet, regarding me sympathetically.

  I turn to him at last. “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “Probably. Eva’s around later, if you want to talk to her.”

  Afterwards, he means.

  “And she always keeps a stock of arnica handy. I’m sure she’ll be able to spare some.”

  My bottom twitches, in not exactly joyful anticipation of what’s to come. I have every confidence I’ll be taking Eva up on Nathan’s generous offer. I mutter my thanks and return my attention pointedly to the computer screen. Nathan seems to accept my desire to be left alone and makes no furthe
r attempt to engage in conversation, at least not on that matter.

  The rest of the morning passes in business-like silence or work oriented conversation. Do I have a telephone number for the solicitors? Have I had any response yet from this contractor or that supplier? Can I check the flight times from Manchester to Berlin?

  I get on with my work efficiently, determined to make amends for yesterday, despite Nathan’s assurances that it’s all fine. But all the time my ears are attuned to the slightest sound outside, the faintest distant rumble of a motorcycle coming up our lane. There’s nothing, absolute silence.

  The day drags on. We’re productive, but as each hour goes by, I know the inevitable is coming closer. Dan has retribution on his mind. I’m going to feel the full brunt of it. Soon.

  Despite my careful listening he actually manages to slip in undetected. I return from a loo break to find Dan at my desk, his motor cycle boots propped on the bottom drawer, which he’s pulled out. He’s chatting with Nathan, casually, unconcerned. Both men turn to me as I start to enter then stand transfixed in the doorway when I catch sight of Dan.

  Despite my apprehension, Dan has never looked more delicious than at this moment. His dark hair is ruffled from hauling off his helmet, his lean torso beautifully encased in the tight, black leather biker jacket. His gloves, also black leather, are tossed on my desk, along with his crash helmet. He’s wearing faded blue denim jeans today rather than the leather biker’s trousers. I take in the rucksack on the floor beside him. This either means he’s intending to stay overnight—please—or he’s brought more implements with him, perhaps the quirt will not be sufficient after all.

  “Summer, come in. I’ve taken your seat.” Dan makes to stand, clearly about to offer me my chair back.

  “No, no, you’re fine. I’ll just…” I grab one of the spare chairs we keep for our occasional visitors and pull it toward the desk, perch myself awkwardly on it.

  “Excuse me.” Nathan makes no attempt to explain his departure, just stands, nods politely at each of us, then leaves the room. Leaves us to it.

  Long seconds tick past. Neither one of us speaks. Dan seems relaxed, not at all the image of a vengeful, angry Dom I might have imagined, which probably bodes ill for me. I’ve already observed that angry Doms tend not to act on their emotions. At least, not immediately. They wait, and deliver their justice with cold blooded, dispassionate precision.

  “Do you have anything to tell me?” Dan certainly sounds cold blooded and dispassionate.

  I shake my head sharply

  “I see. I’d hoped we might not need to drag this out. The quirt please.”

  “What? Here?” I gape at him stunned.

  “Do you not have it with you? I asked you to keep it to hand.” No inflexion, nothing at all in his tone to suggest we’re discussing anything more significant than a shopping list.

  “I… Yes, I have it in my bag. But I thought…”

  “Yes? What did you think, Summer?”

  “Can’t we go somewhere more private? Please.”

  “Nathan won’t come back. And there’s no one else here right now. This is private enough. Pass me the quirt, then remove your underwear please and lift your skirt. I think your desk should be fine.”

  “My desk…?” I realize I’m sounding woefully dim, but my mind is reeling. I expected to at least be punished in the relative safety and security of my own flat. Not here, in a shared office, among the contracts and filing cabinets. Not here where anyone casually strolling past the huge picture window could glance in and watch my humiliation. He hasn’t even offered to close the blinds, for heaven’s sake.

  Dan seems quite unmoved by my objections. “The quirt. Now, please.”

  I reach under my desk for my bag, retrieve the short crop and hand it to him. He flicks his wrist a couple of times and the leather whistles through the air. Shit!

  “Remove your knickers and get in position over the desk. I’ll explain how this is going to go when you’re ready to start.”

  “I-I…”

  “Yes, Summer? Are you ready to talk to me now?”

  “No, Sir.” I stand, resigned to the whipping I know is coming. But it will soon be done, and afterwards Dan will stop being so cold, so detached. He’ll hold me, as he always has before. Make love to me perhaps. This will be fine. Eventually.

  I step out of my flat court shoes and slip my pants and tights off. For want of somewhere better, I shove them into my bag. I’m wearing a calf length navy skirt, my usual semi-formal office outfit. I lift it above my waist and move to the desk. Dan obligingly shifts his helmet and gloves out of my way, and I lean forward to press my upper body against the cool, flat surface. It’s a position I’ve been in before, but never have I felt so alone, so exposed—so utterly terrified. It’s not the prospect of Nathan disturbing us. I know he won’t. Dan’s right about that. And casual visitors are rare. It’s more the lack of connection with Dan at this moment. He offers me no comfort, no promise for later, no hope that forgiveness is just around the corner. In fact, the hole I’m digging is just getting larger, deeper, blacker.

  “You lied to me yesterday about where you were. That earns you ten strokes. You’ve refused to answer my questions about where you did actually spend the day, and I’ve decided not to punish you for that. But I won’t have secrets between us from here on.”

  I can’t believe I’m getting off so lightly. Just ten strokes then he’ll let this drop.

  “Stay there. Ten strokes. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” As much as I’m ever going to be. I clutch the edge of the desk, my body stiffening as I wait for him to start. “Please, Dan, I love you.”

  “Really? I find that hard to believe when you don’t even trust me.”

  “I do. And you love me, you said so.”

  “I thought I knew you. I now realize I don’t. I loved the woman I thought you were—open, honest, trusting. You are none of those things really, are you? So, ten strokes. Brace yourself.”

  “I… Aah!” I scream as the first stroke lands, sharp and vicious, against my bare bottom, striping the left cheek with a pain so intense it stops my breath. “Please, please, don’t…”

  I scream again, louder this time as he strikes me again, then a third time. By the fourth stroke I’m whimpering, every instinct screaming at me to stand, to turn, to fight. To run. I do none of those, just lie there, try to keep still, absorb the pain as it radiates through me, setting my nervous system alight.

  He continues to deliver the beating, each hard stroke piling on the agony until I feel as though my bottom is literally on fire. I’m no longer making any sound, I’ve stopped writhing on the desk. By the time the tenth blow lands across my flaming backside I’m silent, just desperate for this to be over.

  And now it is. Now we can move on. I start to push myself up with my hands.

  “So, now I ask you again, why all the secrecy yesterday?”

  I sag back down onto the desk, shaking my head.

  “Summer, I’m really not prepared to beat the truth out of you. That’s not what any of this is about. I’ll ask you once more, and I’ll have the truth. Now. If you can’t, or won’t be honest with me, then I see no future for us.” There’s a chill in his voice, he sounds quite arctic.

  I lie still, silent. I have no answers for him—or the answers I could give are buried so deep I couldn’t find them now if I wanted to. And perhaps I do but I’m defeated—by pain, by circumstances, and the by the growing desolation of finding myself alone.

  He sees no future for us. I did not anticipate this, never contemplated any outcome other than that he would exact retribution and we’d move on. Together.

  “Summer?” Dan’s tone is harsh, not prepared to compromise an inch.

  Still I have no answers for him.

  With an exasperated sigh, Dan tosses the quirt onto the desk beside me. His footsteps echo across the room as he strides away from the desk, away from me.

  “You can leave thi
s room whenever you want to. Nathan won’t expect you to continue working today.” His voice is formal, but he sounds tired. Defeated too, like me.

  I turn my face toward the voice, see him picking up his gloves and helmet from the desk Nathan usually uses. He’s leaving. I flatten my hands on the desk and push myself upright. It’s not easy, I hurt everywhere. But—he’s going, leaving me. Dan’s walking out on me, disillusioned, disappointed in me. I can’t bear it.

  “Please don’t go. Please, I’m sorry, can’t you forgive me?”

  “Forgive what? I have no idea what’s happening. No idea at all what I’m supposed to forgive, because you refuse to tell me. I’m imagining all sorts and coming up with nothing that makes sense. I wish you well, Summer, I genuinely do. Your job here is safe, I think you know that. But I don’t see how we can…” He stops, apparently all out of words. He starts for the door. “I’ll just say goodbye to my brother. Take care, Summer.”

  He leaves, his footsteps echoing along the short hallway as he heads toward the kitchen. Away from me. And in that moment I know I can’t let this happen. Whatever the cost to me, to my pride, I have to stop him. I hurl myself across the room and into the hallway after him, just as he reaches the kitchen.

  “They’re in care,” I scream the words across the space between us.

  Dan turns, looks back at me, incredulous. Nathan appears too, framed in the kitchen doorway. I take in two bemused Dom expressions as I lean back on the wall, only to crumple. I slide down the wall as my legs give way at last, my face in my hands as I sob.

  Chapter Eight

  “Here, drink this. And swallow these.”

  I glance up at Nathan who is holding a glass of water in one hand and two white tablets in the other.

  “Paracetamol. Usually helps. We have plenty of arnica too. I think I mentioned that already…” His grin is roguish as he turns to Dan. “Do you want me to leave?”

  I take the water and pills and down them in one.