by J. A. Kerr
Stronger now, his composure restored, he made his way to the foyer. The receptionist stared at Benedict dumbly, although dishevelled he had never appeared more attractive, the air of vulnerability softened his usually detached expression, the opaque blue eyes softer and less intense. His body was limp as he leaned against the marble desk almost like he needed support.
“Hi, I would like to leave a message for Miss Siena Waters.”
The receptionist continued to gaze at him before realising he was talking to her.
“Sorry, sir, can you repeat that name?”
“Yes, Siena Waters.” Benedict sighed.
“I’m sorry, sir; we do not have a guest registered under that name in the hotel at present,” she said, giving him a brilliant smile.
Surprise registered on Benedict’s face as his eyes started to darken.
“Are you sure? Could you please check again?”
“Of course, sir.” She tapped at the keys once again. “No, I’m sorry, sir, there’s nothing under Waters. Is there anything else I can assist you with?” she asked, batting her eyes and smiling at him warmly.
“No…sorry, my mistake.”
Confused and annoyed, Benedict turned away. He had assumed she was staying at the hotel. Had she followed him here from their earlier meeting? No, she had arrived before him so that wasn’t possible. How did she know his hotel?
“Damn,” he growled, his mood darkening. How to get in touch with her? Good manners was a staple of Benedict’s upbringing, which meant he would never consider standing his dinner date up. Frustrated he returned to his room, slotted his card into the electronic lock, and pushed hard on the door when he froze at the sound of a bell tinkling.
There, hanging on the inside of his door handle, was a silk pouch. He stared at it. He didn’t want to play this game again; in fact, he wouldn’t play this game again. He snatched the pouch from the door, feeling his pulse quicken, the ringing bell making his body shiver with desire. Desire so hot his body shook as he entered his room and slumped on the bed. For the second time, Benedict put his head in his hands.
“What has she done to me?” he whispered. His agitated fingers reached for the bag, which he pulled open to reveal a box. He lifted it out to examine it more carefully. It was cream and exquisitely wrapped up in black ribbon. He placed it on the table as her perfume filled his nose. Leaving it there, he turned to get a drink from the mini bar. He tried to ignore it and drink his beer, but his gaze kept straying to the table, drawn to the box like a moth to a flame. Annoyed with himself, he eventually gave in and took the box in his hands. He untied the ribbon and pulled off the lid.
Inside was a cream card with a black ribbon bow, which he put on the table. Underneath was a blindfold. He recognised it and lifted it gingerly out of the box. He placed it on the bed before returning to the card; lifting it he caught it tinkling. He pressed his fingers over the ribbon and yes, he felt something hard. He looked closer and noticed a red edge on the elaborate ribbon flower and gently pulled. The ribbon flower came apart, revealing a bell tied through the centre of the card. Below the bell, he found a series of dots and ran his fingers lightly over them. He had no idea what they meant, but he’d seen them before, it was most certainly Braille. It took him almost an hour to translate the message. He was so absorbed he missed the knock on his door.
Matt, knowing Benedict was inside, decided to knock harder, saying, “Ben, it’s Matt. Open up.”
Startled by Matt’s voice, Benedict took a moment to react.
“Just a minute, Matt,” he shouted.
He quickly opened his wardrobe and placed the box and the card inside before walking to the door, checking the peephole and opening the door to a grinning Matt.
“That was incredible.”
“I’m glad my love life or lack of it amuses you,” said Benedict coldly, turning away.
Stung, Matt didn’t move into the room. “Why do you think everything is about you?” he said angrily. “I was talking about my massage, for God’s sake. Why do you always do this? Make me the bad guy. I’m disappointed you would think that of me,” he said, turning to leave.
“Matt,” said Benedict, ashamed. “I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s been a difficult day.”
Something in Benedict’s voice made Matt pause. He sounded broken.
“Ben…” he hesitated, seeing the haunted look on his friend’s face, and softened at once.
“Sorry, Matt, please stay.”
Matt entered the room, and Benedict directed him to a small table and chairs in the corner.
“Let’s go outside. Do you want a beer?” Matt asked, his head in the mini fridge.
“Yes, okay,” Benedict replied.
He was wondering how long it would be before Matt mentioned the price, when he shouted, “We’d better enjoy them at that bloody price, the robbers.” He sighed, handing Benedict his beer.
They both sat on the balcony sipping their drinks. Now dark, the pool looked spectacular with lights illuminating the water, making it sparkle. The air was cooler but still warm, and the sound of the crickets was soothing.
Benedict glanced at his watch, surprised to find it was almost seven o’clock. He felt his stomach twist. How could he cancel the dinner without appearing rude? How could he refuse the commission without damaging his reputation?
“Ben,” said Matt. “It’s getting late. What time are you going to Siena’s for dinner?” Matt, knowing Benedict as well as he did, could tell he was stalling.
“Matt?” Benedict began, just as his phone started to ring. He jumped, his face colouring, but he ignored it.
“Aren’t you going to answer?” asked Matt questioningly.
“No,” said Benedict tersely as the rings persisted before at last his voicemail kicked in. The silence in the room was heavy as the phone bleeped to indicate a message. Benedict reached out and switched his phone off, terrified it would ring again.
“Would you do me the biggest favour?”
“What?” Matt warily replied.
“I can’t meet with Siena, it’s…impossible for me. I will explain, Matt, I promise,” said Benedict, running his hands distractedly across his face. “Could you meet Siena tonight and give my apologies? I can’t contact her; I’ve only got her address,” said Benedict pleadingly.
“But isn’t she staying at the hotel?” said Matt.
“No, she isn’t. Would you do this for me, Matt? I can’t meet her…it’s complicated.”
Matt nodded his head, sighing. “Are you sure, Ben? She’s a—”
Benedict cut Matt off. “I know, I know, but it’s not going to work.”
Benedict felt the depression coming now. She had awakened the memories he was struggling to keep at bay.
“Can you do it, Matt, please? I’m going to get an early night, I’m exhausted.”
Matt scanned Benedict’s drawn face and sensed he wouldn’t change his mind.
“Give me the address,” he said resignedly. “What will I tell her?”
“Just that I can’t make it, I’m”—he hesitated—“tell her I’m unwell. I have her address; I can send her flowers tomorrow as an apology.”
“Okay,” said Matt. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’ll text you when it’s over, and I’m on my way back. We can go for drinks, maybe?”
“Thank you, Matt, thank you for doing this, but I can’t face a bar tonight, I’m going to order room service.”
“Oh, would you be ordering lobster, by any chance, along with a nice bottle of Sancerre?” Matt grinned wickedly.
Benedict gaped at him. “But you’re going for dinner already.”
“Always room for lobster,” said Matt, patting his stomach. “I need to keep my strength up.”
“Lobster it is,” said Benedict, smiling at Matt’s never ending appetite.
As Benedict stood in the shower later, his emotions seemed to overwhelm him. He had listened to the message on his phone; it was the sound of a ringing bell and h
e felt torn, his disappointment at not being with Siena most dominant. He had to protect himself; he couldn’t risk returning to that dark time in his life. Still wobbly but more composed, he dressed down in cotton shorts and a t-shirt, checked his watch, surprised by how late it had gotten. He picked up his mobile and saw he had a text from Matt.
Matt: Order room service now, back soon.
Benedict: How did it go?
He picked up the room phone and ordered for both of them. Benedict lay on the bed watching a bit of television as he waited for Matt’s reply. Wakened by a knocking coming from his door, he must have drifted off. Disoriented he stumbled to the door and opened it. Expecting room service but instead, he came face to face with Siena, stunningly beautiful and utterly furious.
Chapter 7
THE BRAILLE CLUB
Braille Club, London, Present Day: Roles within The Braille Club work on a rotational basis. Individual members like to be in control, preferring to be the Patron, other members the Assignee, but Braille keeps it balanced. Members are kept guessing until the last possible minute, allowing tensions and anticipations to build. The arrival of the entry code text to their mobiles elicits either delight or disappointment. The code ends in P (Patron) or A (Assignee). Member games are fiercely competitive, as the rewards for the winner are substantial. For the Patron, the quicker the bells ring the better…for the Assignee the longer they stay silent; the better. The cuffs they wear record their times. Should they achieve the month’s best time, they will receive a complimentary room stay.
Gabriella
Gabriella was looking forward to visiting Elysian. She’d bought the membership as a birthday present for her husband Max, who was so difficult to buy for. What did you buy the man who had everything?
She and Max had been having problems, and their marriage was in serious trouble. Once lovers, they were now virtual strangers. Her friend Alexis was stunned as Gabriella confided in her, aghast at how unhappy she was. As they say, you never know what goes on behind closed doors. Gabriella never once hinted she and Max were having issues.
Always the perfect couple, it was a shock to know it was an elaborate charade. Shaken by these revelations, Alexis had written out a name and number and told Gabriella to trust her. Gabriella had been dubious, as Alexis would not tell her anything other than it was a rather special private members club, and she should call to make an appointment.
“But we’re already members of a health club,” said Gabriella dismissively.
“Trust me, you’ll want to join,” said Alexis. “Buy it as a gift for Max, you won’t be disappointed.”
Gabriella remained unconvinced, but Alexis wouldn’t let it go. Gabriella had saved her life a long time ago, and she had never forgotten her kindness. It seemed like a lifetime ago now, but Alexis at last got a chance to repay Gabriella. Guy was her brother after all, and all rules had exceptions and The Braille Club was no different.
That’s how it started. Although membership was closed, that didn’t necessarily mean they were full. Benedict had the flexibility to approve new members, which he rarely did, until now. By arrangement, Gabriella met Guy, whom she knew, and they chatted comfortably, bringing each other up to date with events in their lives. He hadn’t changed a bit, just as handsome, although going a little grey; she was impressed by his job and efficiency. She and Max were subjected to all sorts of background checks. Numerous legal documents had to be signed, which her lawyer handled, but it was not easy keeping the membership a surprise from her husband. She had received preferential treatment, being granted an E Key Holder membership without her husband’s knowledge.
Forewarned about the lengthy approval system, Gabriella worried she wouldn’t get it in time. But it had arrived last week, and the timing of their first visit would coincide with Max’s fifty-eighth birthday.
As part of the membership, she and Max received three in-house sensory lessons. She booked there and then for herself, knowing her husband would never agree to such a thing.
Max would not be on board. He was an old-fashioned, traditional man who shunned the millionaire lifestyle for a quieter life. He enjoyed the luxuries his wealth brought him but lived his life quietly. In contrast, his wife was often lonely, stuck at home missing her husband while he travelled the country on business.
They would be part of an exclusive set that had entry to Elysian, and this came with a complimentary suite at the club. Anxious the club suites would not be up to her husband’s usual level of style and luxury, she visited the club’s website. She was pleasantly surprised by the interior of the club, although she was unable to view the suites.
Not clever with technology, she didn’t understand she must enter her unique membership number into the drop down box stating E-Suites. Sighing with frustration that she could not open the pictures, she decided to call the contact number on the back of her membership card. A label was attached instructing her how to activate her card.
“Good morning and welcome to Elysian, how can we be of service?” asked the polite and polished voice.
“Hi,” said Gabriella hesitantly. “I have just received my new membership card, and I seem to be having trouble viewing the complimentary E- Suites, and oh yes, I need to activate my card.”
“Can you tell me your membership number please?” said the polite voice again. Gabriella studied her card puzzled; there was only a series of dots. “There is no number on my card,” she said, confused.
“Do you have the cover letter that came with your card?”
“Hang on,” said Gabriella, flustered. She quickly walked to her study, locating the letter and welcome pack. Relieved, she said to the receptionist brightly, “Okay, I’ve got it.”
“Excellent,” she replied. “Do you see at the bottom of the letter there is a small panel that you can pull to reveal a number underneath?”
“Oh yes, I didn’t see that.”
“Could you please read me that number now?” said the voice. Gabriella gave the number as the receptionist typed in the background.
“Welcome, Mrs. Ballantyne. Welcome to The Braille Club,” she said warmly. “We do ask that you keep your membership number protected in a secure facility, do you have one at home?”
Gabriella thought for a moment; she could put it in her jewellery safe. She confirmed with the receptionist that she did indeed have a secure facility.
“Excellent,” said the polite voice again. “The activation process does take some time I’m afraid,” said the receptionist apologetically. “Is it convenient for you to continue?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes, but agreed. What choice did she have? Drumming her fingers on her desk, she listened impatiently but soon began to realise she would need to pay attention. Reaching for a pen and paper, she started taking notes. Almost an hour later, her membership activated, she was giddy with excitement.
She would have her first sensory lesson today at eleven-thirty. As it would last for an hour, she was told to wear something comfortable. She thumbed through her wardrobe, settling on her favourite skinny jeans, a loose fitting red blouse, and matching jewellery. The colour suited her olive skin and green eyes. Her shoulder length brunette hair was skilfully highlighted and already blow-dried. She put the finishing touches to her makeup. She selected a pair of red ballet pumps to finish off her outfit before spraying her favourite perfume, Jo Malone Pomegranate Noir.
Smiling at her reflection, she was ready. Gabriella looked good for her age; most people mistook her for early forties, not her real age of fifty-three. She took care of herself, her body was still slim due to her healthy diet and exercise programme, good genes, and quarterly Botox injections kept her face looking fresh. Unlike some of her friends, Gabriella’s face appeared natural, not a mask devoid of expression.
She had given up flying once married; Max wasn’t the type of man to cook his own meals. He liked his wife at home with him, and compromised when she decided to work part-time, but what was Gabriella qualified to do?<
br />
Her previous job had been taking care of people, ensuring their comfort, dealing with their demands and requests. She had loved it, loved travelling, and now felt there was a hole left in her life. Max was just as demanding, as was refurbishing and restoring their beautiful home but still she wanted to work, to build something of her own. She knew it would have to be home based, and it happened quite by chance.
She came downstairs, popping her car keys in her large, expensive Burberry handbag, and headed through the house towards the connecting garage and her pride and joy. There, in all her splendour, was her beautiful white Range Rover Evoque. Customised to her specification, she adored driving it. Max preferred sporty cars, but they did nothing for her and, being honest, she didn’t even like driving fast.
Unlocking the car and pressing the garage door remote, Gabriella sank into the driver’s seat, fashioned from the softest leather. She put the club’s postcode into her Sat Nav and waited for it to load. She checked her appearance in the mirror as nerves made her stomach turn over. Taking a deep breath, she put the car in gear and pressed down the accelerator.
Chapter 8
THE BRAILLE CLUB
Braille Club, London, Present Day: When signing into The Braille Club, Key Holders must observe the following rules: Keys Must Be Concealed. Blindfolds Must Be Worn. Time Restrictions Apply. Silence is Mandatory. Member Roles are Optional, Rotational, or Random. Non-compliance leads to membership termination. Braille Club, Zones are made up as follows:- X is female, and XY is male. Mono is for singles and Bonded is for couples:
