by Ashe Barker
The invitation to dinner will apparently involve a decent quantity of wine, too, so Dan’s brother has suggested we stay the night. Dan assures us he has plenty of room.
Callum scrambles into the tiny back seat, his overnight holdall next to him. Nick and I are sharing a bag, which is stuffed in the boot. I make myself comfortable in the passenger seat, and we’re off.
The journey takes about two hours, down the A65, the Yorkshire Dales to our left, the Lake District and Lancashire to our right. Callum is quiet in the back, content with his earplugs. Conversation between Nick and I is not easy as he doesn’t want to take his eyes off the road, so we pass the journey in companionable silence. We reach the outskirts of Keighley about an hour and a half later, and follow tourist signs for Haworth. It’s a place I’ve never been, so I’m interested in the quaint village, now transformed into a Brontë shrine. It looks suspiciously tinselly and touristy to me, with its tea rooms and gift shops and coach parks. But the village of Stanbury, about two miles beyond Haworth, is very different. Solid, stone-built houses line the narrow road, a tiny village school, two pubs, and just back from the road line the rolling hills of the West Yorkshire moors. I see footpath signs pointing to destinations such as the Brontë Falls and Top Withens, and wonder if we’ll have time to visit any of those places.
Dan has given us detailed instructions to find Greystones, and about three miles past the final cottages of Stanbury we take a right turn, then a left. Now it seems we’re to look out for a vending machine of all things, which will mark the gate into the farm. Sure enough, about three miles along the narrow lane, we spot a sandwich board beside the road proclaiming groceries and dairy products, available twenty-four seven. This must be it.
Nick turns into the gateway, and stops when I tap his arm. I get out of the car, keen to get a proper look at this vending machine. In fact it’s two vending machines, one refrigerated and one not. The refrigerated one contains milk, butter, cheese and bacon, and the other one bread, eggs and potatoes. A neatly typed sign on the front of the machine advises potential shoppers that other groceries are usually available at the farm, and assures them that visitors are welcome as long as they close all gates and keep dogs on leads. Sounds reasonable to me. I open the gate and stand beside it as Nick drives through. He waits, the engine humming softly while I swing the gate shut behind us and clamber back into the car.
Less than a minute later we’re purring into the neat cobbled farmyard at Greystones. The main house is directly ahead of us and a large barn to the left, its huge double doors opening into the yard. Other outbuildings are arranged to the right-hand side, forming an informal third side to the yard. Behind us, as far as I can see, is rolling moorland. It’s not unlike Cumbria in some respects, a similarly wild landscape, though the colours look different to me, more purple and orange rather than the greys and pale lilacs of the western Cumbrian hills. Nick pulls up alongside a sleek black Porsche and a battered Land Rover, both parked close to the house. He kills the engine then gets out of the car, tilting his seat forward to allow Callum to clamber out too. Then he heads around to open my door for me, but there’s no need, I’m already out, standing on the cobbles gazing around. The place is clean, very tidy, well maintained. All the paintwork is a uniform shade of turquoise blue, the whole place exudes an overall air of well-ordered prosperity.
Nick loops an arm across my shoulders, and smiles at Callum. “Right, let’s see if we can find someone then.”
We don’t have to look far—before we can get close to the front door to knock, we hear voices coming from the barn. Turning, we see three men emerge through the huge door. One of them I recognise immediately. Dan. The other two are both stunning, though in entirely different ways. One a dark Vampire, the other a blond Viking. I have an unerring instinct for these matters, and I know that these two are Doms too. All three see us at once.
“Hey, you’re early.” Dan strolls forward, smiling broadly, hugs me then Nick. He smiles at Callum and throws an arm across his shoulders. “Well, you scrubbed up fine…” He returns his attention to Nick. “Find the place all right then?”
Nick nods. “Yeah, no problem.” The Vampire and the Viking catch up with Dan, the Viking’s hand outstretched in greeting. Nick takes it, they shake.
“I’m Tom Shore. Mr Hardisty?”
“Nick, please. And this is Freya.”
I stick out my hand, not entirely sure what the protocol is for meeting new Doms outside a club environment, but deciding that this is essentially a business meeting and I’ll behave accordingly. The Viking, Tom Shore, seems quite happy with this, shakes my hand and says how pleased he is to meet me. I nod and smile, waiting for Nick to make my usual excuses. He doesn’t get the chance. The Viking turns to his companion, the Vampire, who is circling my Vanquish with a distinctly hungry look on his face.
“For Christ’s sake stop drooling over that bloody car. Not that it isn’t lovely of course…” He nods at Nick, assuming the Vanquish is his. “Come and say hello.”
The Vampire reluctantly tears himself away from my car and joins us, hand outstretched.
“Hello, welcome. I’m Nathan Darke. And you’re all coming to dinner at my house this evening, yes?”
Nick smiles. “That’s very kind of you. I hope we’re not putting you to any trouble.”
“No trouble. I don’t often get to meet my little brother’s friends.”
Dan never seemed particularly little to me, but I suppose all things are relative. And suddenly the focus of attention shifts to Callum, who’s managed so far to hang back. Despite all his bravado when goading Nick, he’s actually very shy, unsure of himself. From his reaction I get the impression that Tom Shore has recognised this immediately. “So, Callum, Dan tells me you’re interested in engines. Have you ever ridden a quad bike?”
Callum’s expression is one of pure wonder. Tom has him instantly.
“No, sir.”
Sir? Both Nick and I exchange a look, but keep out of it. Tom Shore’s doing fine.
“Just Tom. Right, I think Dan explained that my farm foreman, Seth Appleyard, actually does all the hiring so he’ll have a chat with you and let me know whether he wants to take you on or not. And you need to impress his wife, too, because you’ll be staying with them while you’re here, at least at first. And it’s worth making an effort—she’s a damn good cook.”
Nick has stiffened at the mention of Callum moving in with the Appleyards—clearly this he hadn’t bargained for. Dan did say that accommodation would be provided, but I think we both assumed some sort of small flat or cottage, perhaps sharing with other farm workers his own age.
Sure enough, “If my son’s going to be living with him, I want to meet Mr Appleyard, too.”
Tom turns to him, smiling. “Naturally. So what I suggest is this. We go inside, grab a coffee or something, and wait for our womenfolk to show up. Should be here any time now—how long can it take to order a cot for God’s sake? Then, me and Callum can go up onto the top pasture to root out Seth. Nick, Dan can take you to the cottage and you can meet Eileen. Mrs Appleyard. She’s expecting you, so there’ll probably be scones and such like. We’ll meet you there.”
Nick seems happy with this arrangement. He knows, as I do, that the interview with Seth is one conversation Callum has to have for himself. It’s up to him to convince the foreman to take him on.
Tom turns to me. “Freya, you’ll be welcome to go with Nick and Dan, but we thought you might prefer to spend the afternoon with Eva and Ashley. It’s up to you.”
The mention of womenfolk has me intrigued. Unless I’ve missed my guess they must be submissives like me. As long as they don’t mind me faffing about with my notepad, I’d quite like an afternoon of girlie chat. I sign that to Nick, but he doesn’t get the chance to relay my wishes to the others before Callum lets out a shriek.
“Shit! What’s that?” Callum’s staring at the barn door.
We all turn, and I can’t help gasping in shock a
t what looks to be a bear lumbering across the cobbles towards us.
Nathan smiles. “That’s Barney. He’s a big old softie, just like Tom. Looks the part, though.” He clicks his tongue and the huge dog picks up his pace marginally, before coming to drop on his haunches next to his master. Nathan tickles his ears, the huge head nuzzling his waist.
“What sort of dog is he? He is a dog?” Callum’s clearly not entirely sure what this creature is, but he’s absolutely fascinated by it.
“Newfoundland, Great Dane, wolfhound. Not sure really.” Nathan shrugs.
“Does he like polo mints?” Callum is tugging a crumpled tube from his pocket, and he has the dog’s undivided attention now.
“Looks like it. Why don’t you two get acquainted while we grab a coffee?” This from Tom, who’s gesturing us towards the farmhouse. We all move off in that direction.
“So, we were saying, Freya…?” Tom picks up the conversation from before we were so rudely interrupted by Barney’s arrival.
Nick continues where he left off, “Freya’d like to meet your…” He hesitates, uncertain himself of how to refer to Eva and Ashley.
“Ashley’s my fiancée, but by this time next week she’ll be my wife.” Tom rescues him, gesturing at Nathan. “He’s still working on Eva, but she’ll see sense. Eventually. Apparently she’s agreed to marry him but he can’t pin her down to a date. So now who’s the big softie?”
With a glance back in the direction of Callum to make sure he’s out of earshot, Nathan mutters, “I ought to cane her more often. That’d do the trick.”
Tom grins as he ushers us into his huge kitchen. “Yeah. Or you could try getting her pregnant again. Worked for me even if it does spoil the fun for a while. You can’t spank pregnant women, can’t get them over your knee properly. They’re all the wrong shape. So, Freya, do you prefer tea, or coffee?”
Wide-eyed, I stare around the room, not certain I’ve heard right. Four pairs of Dom eyes gaze back at me, then I’m laughing, my own brand of soundless giggling. The tension broken, our relationships now clear and overt, Tom fills the kettle and flicks the switch. He’s just got as far as pouring hot water into a row of mugs lined up along his worktop when we hear an engine outside. Tom leans around, looks out of the window.
“At last.” He reaches in the cupboard for two more cups. Moments later the door bursts open and a small girl launches herself through it, straight at Nathan Darke.
“Daddy, Daddy, we got a cot. A yellow one. I chose it.”
Nathan picks her up and hugs her, blowing a raspberry into her neck. “Yellow, eh? Sounds like one mean cot, princess. Now, say hello to our visitors. Do you remember, I told you about Uncle Dan’s friends coming to see us?”
He puts her down, and she shifts shyly from one foot to the other as she regards us carefully. Then, with the tactlessness of youth, “Is this the lady who doesn’t talk?”
Nathan crouches next to her. “Not exactly. Freya talks with her hands. Like Eva showed you. So, say hello.”
The little girl thinks for a moment then frames a perfect BSL “Hello” with her small hands. Both Nick and I are impressed. I sign hello back, and she smiles, the ice now broken. She repeats the sign for Nick, who reciprocates, verbally adding that he’s called Nick.
She abandons signing, her party trick now done. “I’m Rosie. And my baby sister’s called Isabella. She doesn’t talk either. Who’s that outside feeding sweets to Barney?”
Nick answers, “That’s my son, Callum. He’s going to be working here at the farm. We hope.”
Tom smiles and nods. I suspect the decision is already made, but Callum’s being put through his paces. Nick catches the gesture and smiles back. His relief is evident—this clearly means a lot to him. Getting his wayward son settled has taken a weight off his mind.
“Does he like chocolate biscuits?” This from Rosie.
We all look at her, puzzled.
“Collum, does he like chocolate biscuits? Barney does.” She’s already helping herself to a handful of biscuits from a tin on the worktop. I suspect she knows this kitchen as well as her own.
Nathan looks as though he’s about to stop her, but Tom shakes his head. “She’s fine. And Callum might like a biscuit.” He emphasises the first vowel of Callum’s name.
Rosie nods, repeating it to herself as she heads out of the door. “Callum. Callum, Callum.”
There’s a flurry of activity in the doorway as she meets the rest of the ‘womenfolk’ on their way in. Scooting past Eva and Ashley, Rosie heads for the great outdoors to ply Callum with chocolate digestives. From what I know of him, I reckon that’ll work.
Two women enter. Both are small, and in their early twenties. A slim redhead carrying a sleeping baby, presumably Isabella, heads for Nathan, who kisses her before taking the baby. I guess this must be Eva. The other, whom I assume to be Ashley, makes a beeline for Tom. She’s also slim, an olive, Mediterranean-style complexion. Her hip-length hair is jet black and perfectly straight. They’re both stunning in their own ways, and seem perfectly matched to their Doms. I notice Ashley’s thickening waist, suggesting she’s maybe four or five months pregnant. Tom kisses her, pats her tummy, and plonks her in a chair. Whatever jokes he may make about spanking pregnant women, it’s clear he adores the soon-to-be Mrs Shore, and treats her as though she’s made of porcelain. Like Nick did for me, when he first brought me home with my wrist newly plastered.
Eva’s the first of the newcomers to speak, “That’s a lovely car out there. Has he tried to buy it from you yet?” She smiles at Nathan.
He’s perfectly ready to make an offer, it seems. He turns to Nick. “What is it? Aston Martin?”
Nick nods. “Yes, a Vanquish.”
“Mmm, so, what would you take for it? A hundred grand?”
Nick chuckles. “Well, my friend, I’d happily take a hundred grand for it. Trouble is it’s not my car. It belongs to Freya.”
He turns to me, new respect dawning. The sort of respect that only ever attaches itself to a fancy car as far as I can see. “So, Freya, what do I have to do to persuade you to sell it to me? I could lick your toes…?”
Shit, I bet he could. And the rest. Before he gets the chance to elaborate or up his bid Eva nudges him in the ribs. “Pack it in. The car’s not for sale. And you’re scaring our guest.”
Well, not scaring exactly. I glance at Nick, but he seems unmoved by the banter. I guess that means he’s sure of me and sure of himself, so all this flirting is fine. Still, it’s unfamiliar territory to me and I’m not sure how to respond. Sometimes it pays not to be able to speak—allows me time to think, to assess.
And I’m fast coming to the conclusion that these are really nice people, fun people, enjoying a Dom/sub lifestyle but all mingled in with real life. Family, business, friendships. I have no idea whether, or how, either Ashley or Eva was trained in the noble art of submission, but there’s no hint of subservience around this table. Their bedrooms may be a different matter.
The chat is of journeys down here, fast cars, yellow cots and the dangers of feeding chocolate biscuits to dogs as we sip our coffee. I listen, occasionally wishing I could join in more easily, but still I feel included.
Suddenly Ashley turns to me. “What happened to your arm, Freya?”
I start to sign my answer, then stop as I realise all eyes are on my hands, but only Nick has any idea what I’m saying.
“No, go on. Curtains did you say?” This from Eva.
I’m astonished, I thought she probably learnt how to say hello using BSL and taught that to Rosie, but no more. It seems she followed at least some of what I signed.
“You’re a signer too?” Nick asks.
Eva shakes her head. “Oh no, not really, I just…”
“She will be by teatime. Fluent,” Nathan puts in, his arm draped proudly across the back of her chair as he balances the still sleeping Isabella easily across his shoulder. “Eva picks up languages faster than the rest of us can learn a phone
number. How many was it at the last count? Thirty-seven?”
She nudges him with her elbow. “Not that many. Twenty or so, no more.”
“Do you want me to start listing them? Or would that just get boring after a while?” Then he turns to me, “Seriously, though, Eva does pick up new languages fast. So you just sign when you feel like it, she’ll be on it soon enough and translate for the rest of us.” He passes Isabella back to Eva. “Enough chat with you lot. Some of us have real work to do. I need to call in at Moffatts in Haworth, pick up the books to have a look over. I’ll see if Rosie wants to come with me. Shall I take Izzy too? Are you planning to walk back or drive?”
“I fancy a walk. What about you, Ash? Freya?”
I nod. I love walking.
“Walking’s fine. And I need the exercise,” Ashley agrees, too.
“Like hell you do…” Tom seems inclined to argue this point, and if Nick used that tone on me I know I’d just back down. Seems things are done differently here, though. Ashley smiles at him, clearly loving his concern but not about to be smothered by it.
“We’ll take it slow. It’s only a mile and a half. I walked it fine two days ago, and I’ll do it again today. Gentle exercise is good in pregnancy, Gillian told you that.”
“What does she know? She’s only a fucking doctor. I love you…”
Ashley lumbers to her feet. “I know. And I love you too. And I will take things easy, you know that. But it’s not good to spend too much time lying around. I need exercise. And you know I love being out there, on the moors, with my camera. And I need my friends.”
Her glance around the room includes me, and I wonder how and when that happened. Still, I’m not arguing. Since Summer disappeared I’m short on friends, and these two women will do better than fine.
Nathan reaches down to reclaim the baby. “Right, if you ladies are walking back to Black Combe, Izzy’s with me. She may not seem to weigh much, but carrying her a mile and a half across the moors is a tall order. When’s she due a feed?”
