It was the next day that Anne came to see Catherine with an invitation Catherine could not resist. It transpired that Michael was keen to strengthen business contact with Brian Cole and had suggested that the two men go out to dinner soon. It would be delightful if female company were included. She leapt at the offer and was surprised that Anne did not seem to resent the invitation being extended to her.
Anne and Michael exchanged occasional silent looks in the front as the sleek Jaguar glided through the night heading for the restaurant. In the back sat Catherine, quietly taking in the patterns of colour on her purple velvet dress as the neon lights of the city centre bathed the car and its occupants in the ever-changing, luminescent glow.
The car pulled up outside Giuseppe’s, the same restaurant where Paul dined Catherine. It was table for four in a quiet corner and Brian Cole was already there nursing a half-empty glass.
He was clearly very pleased to see the ladies and particularly warmed to Catherine. She felt flattered but her mind was on Michael who dazzled at the small talk and whose wit she found scintillating. Suddenly a lull developed and Catherine, keen to contribute, turned to Brian.
‘So you both belong to the same club?’
‘Ah yes, we do.’
‘What club is that?’
He looked at her for a moment, then at Anne, then Michael. Michael cleared his throat.
‘Wippums,’ he said.
Catherine was not quite sure she had heard correctly. Brian and Anne both had a faint smile on their face as they looked at her.
‘W-w-whip 'ems?’ she said, falteringly.
‘Yes,’ said Michael, ‘W-I-P-M-S - Women in Plastic Macs Society.’
She suddenly felt sick. She glanced at Anne who was smirking at her, then at Brian Cole who, eyes down, was drinking his wine. She looked back at Michael who gazed at her with a piercing look.
‘Excuse me,‘ she said, and got up to go to the Ladies.
She looked at her flushed face in the mirror and tried to compose herself. In the reflection, she saw the door behind her open and Anne walk in.
‘Are you OK?’ said Anne, sliding into place beside her at the mirror. She opened her bag and took out a lipstick. Catherine was at a loss for words.
‘What do you think of Brian?’ asked Anne, staring at her in the mirror. ‘Not bad, eh?’
‘Hmm... He seems very pleasant,’ said Catherine, looking back at her in the glass.
‘He likes you. But then he would - wouldn't he?’
‘What do you mean?’ said Catherine.
‘Well, he's into WIPMS, isn't he! You'll do fine for him.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’ said Catherine, turning to look straight at her.
‘You're to wear a mac for him tonight.’
Catherine was taken aback.
‘Mr Cole? I don't think so!’
‘Oh, yes!’ said Anne. ‘It's what Michael wants.’
She was stunned.
‘You're not serious?’ But she already knew the answer.
‘He had me last time,’ said Anne, ‘This time he wants you. He’s really nice, sensitive and he really respects and appreciates women. Go on, you'll enjoy yourself.’
‘I'm not like that... and anyway... I like Michael.’
‘Of course you do,’ said Anne, ‘You'd do anything for Michael, anything he wants.’
‘Not that!’ said Catherine, ‘But he wouldn't want me to anyway.’
Anne laughed. ‘You stupid cow! I know him better than you do. You'll see. Pull yourself together. Come on, we'd better get back to them, or we'll be in trouble.’
The waiter had brought the coffee. Michael looked at Catherine intently. Brian excused himself to go the Gents. Michael leaned forward and grabbed Catherine's hand.
‘Listen and listen carefully. When we get back to the house, you will join Brian in the bedroom, the bedroom two doors down from mine. The door will be open. Do you understand? I've left a mac in there for you.’ She stared back at him, stunned. ‘Don't worry,‘ he said, ‘He won’t screw you. He just wants to be with you in a mac and enjoy your company.’
Catherine recoiled at his words. ‘Michael, you surely don't want me to … to...’
‘You are my slave,’ he said coldly, ‘You will do as you are told, or face the consequences.’
For a moment, his look paralysed her. Like a stone statue, she sat there cold and still, all life drained away in the instant of a heart beat. All hopes, dreams, wishes, memories blown away on his breath. He was talking to her but she heard nothing but the empty silence that filled the cold, black chasm within her, and felt nothing but the deadening sense of a life suddenly slipping away and a ghastly, sickening feeling in her gut.
She saw the smile of the maitre d’ turn rigid as she fled past him at the desk, saw the illuminated green Exit sign and the revolving doors which carried her out into the night. Out through the car park she ran straight into the dark, and far, far away from the searing pain at that table. She ran, each stride tearing her apart as endless street lamps lit her way down into a spiralling nightmare.
She ran till she could run no more and stopped somewhere on waste ground, far from the city centre and away from any habitation. As she struggled to recover her breathing, she realized she was lost and it was beginning to rain. Her pain vanished as a sense of alarm gripped her. She was suddenly frightened. She had no sense of direction and fought to suppress a growing panic as she surveyed her situation and tried to work out which direction she had come from. The rain was coming down harder. She sobbed momentarily as she stood there with no coat in her expensive velvet dress and her elegant heels, her hair already feeling bedraggled and her bare arms glistening wet in the faint glow of the distant street lights.
Slowly - shattered, drained - she picked her way back across the uneven ground, heading towards the street lamps, silently, afraid to be seen all alone in this threatening landscape, her head hung down like some wretched vagrant bowed under the weight of the rain as it now battered her. It seeped right through her thick dress and flooded her shoes as it ricocheted off the ground. She looked up into the stinging torrent, and makeup ran down her face and neck, like the flood of tears on the face of a child racked in pain. She cried openly to the night as she made her way back in the driving rain, back towards the restaurant, and, from near there, slowly, the long walk home.
Morning came up on a cold, grey world. It matched her washed-out feelings after a tortured, sleepless night. She had dreaded seeing him again but had resolved to go into work as usual and was now trying to catalogue some music scores. It was impossible. She had decided there would be no more relations with him. As for the job itself, she did not know what to do.
‘Can I come in?’
His voice was low-key and hesitant, and he stood at the door looking very uncomfortable. He had her bag from last night in both hands. She put down the sheets.
‘If you like.’
He came into the library awkwardly, placing the bag on a pile of manuscripts.
‘I'm so sorry. I'm truly sorry about last night, the misunderstanding...’
‘Misunderstanding!’ her voice was raised. ‘There was no misunderstanding. It was plain to both of us what was being said!’
‘No! No!’ he looked startled by her reaction. ‘I meant … I mean that it was my misunderstanding. It was my fault. It was all my fault and I'm so sorry I hurt you like that.’
‘Your fault?’ she calmed down slightly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘My fault for misjudging you. I forgot who you were, Catherine,’ and he looked away towards the window and the poplars in the distance. ‘My fault for getting carried away. For taking you for granted. It's so easy with someone like you. You give and give, while men like me just take, take it all. Do you know how different things have been since you came? Do you?’
She was looking straight at him. He looked tired. His sun tan made his eyes even darker as they flashed with each gesticulation of his hands a
s he struggled with what it was he was trying to say. She needed him to tell her.
‘It's not a girly thing, this happiness business, you know. I was truly worried about you last night. I tried to find you but you were gone. God knows where you were. I was cruising the streets in the pouring rain, looking for you...but it was hopeless, and that's how I felt too’. He looked at her, that boyish look she had seen often enough, only this time, there was tiredness and strain and sadness in the face.
‘I forgot how different you were,’ he went on, ‘Anne, now she's, well, she has no problem being herself ...’ He stopped, as if not sure which way to go with this. She needed him to say more, say what he really wanted to say to her. ‘I suppose, what I am trying to say, Catherine, is that I, well, I...I value you. I value you more than I realized.’ He cleared his throat, ‘But don't know how to show it and I'm sorry. I understand if you want to leave and move on, I really do. Believe me.’ He stood there, looking down at the floor, then a quick look into her eyes, then he made as if to go.
‘That's OK,’ she said, ‘That's OK,’ as she drastically re-sorted her feelings and tried to catch what her inner voice was trying to tell her. She did not know what to say but she did not want him to go.
‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, ‘I have considered leaving my job here and starting out afresh’ He gulped and nodded and looked crushed. ‘But after a lot of thought,’ she went on, ‘I decided to stay for the sake of my career and see through my goal of building here a proper functional music library,’ and she saw his eyes light up. She told herself she was going to give him a second chance.
‘Look,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘The least I can do is make it up to you, not for just a horrible evening, but for hurting you so much. Next Wednesday, there is a performance of Elgar's Sospiri at the concert hall. It's on a programme that includes Prokofiev, Vivaldi and Delius. Perhaps - maybe - it's entirely up to you, of course, and I would understand if you said no, but perhaps - maybe - you would like to come with me?’
She could not believe he had just said that.
‘Why! Yes! Yes!’, and she could not suppress the wide smile, surpassed only by his.
‘Good! Great!’ He was transformed in an instant. ‘Really good! Right then! OK …hmm …I'm away in Holland and Belgium till Tuesday but I shall see you then and we can talk again.’
‘Yes,’ she said, her voice dancing with joy. ‘I’m looking forward to it!’
‘Excellent! Marvellous! Right then,’ he said, like someone distracted from where he was just a moment ago. ‘OK … OK … hmm … So I’ll see you then! Right then! Take care. Bye-bye!’ and was gone.
Like an excited schoolboy, she thought. She was dancing on air. She returned to the cataloguing and knew she would get that pile done in no time.
Catherine sank into the plush leather upholstery and closed her eyes. She could almost feel the colours of the lights that bathed her face. The car purred like some cat of the night and accelerated, forcing her back more into the exquisite creak of the leather. He was talking to her, as he controlled the big cat, talking about Vivaldi and the concert. His eyes stayed fixed on the road that raced under them both, except now and then to glance at her legs. She had kept it simple. Little black dress and red high heels, with red handbag. The concert was lovely and her head was still full of music. They were going back to Blackthorne, but half of her wanted to stay put and drive on through the night, never wanting the mood to end. The car pulled up at the main entrance, white-yellow in the headlamps. She was entering Blackthorne, for the first time by Michael's side.
‘I'll put some music on, and we can relax,’ he said.
The combination of the music and wine was going to her head but she did not care as she sank down deeper into the soft embrace of the white leather sofa. She wanted to curl up like a kitten and melt in the arms of sleep and into the realms of dream where bliss reigned and Michael adorned the landscape of her needs.
‘You really are very lovely,’ he said. She opened her eyes to see him drink a toast to her. ‘I hope you're not bored.’
She sat up at once.
‘No! Oh no! Absolutely not!’ she said, pulled back into the moment. ‘On the contrary, the music's exquisite. So dreamy.’
‘Perhaps the next piece will heighten the mood,’ and, with that, he pressed the remote control and something new started from the speakers. Gentle at first, then, with the beat picking up, she recognized the tune and the song that followed. It was Steve Higham’s Starlight rode the freeway. He got up and went over to her, smiling.
‘Dancing can be so personal...’
She stood up, raising her hands to meet his for their first dance together. For a moment, his hands touched hers lightly and she was already on the point of swaying gently to the rhythm of the music.
‘So lovely,’ he repeated softly, then turned her round and unzipped her dress at the back.
Surprised, it was a moment or two before she put her hands down and felt the straps gently tumble off her shoulders and the dress fall to the floor. She scarcely felt his hands unhook her bra and barely noticed it drop away in front of her. Her hold-up stockings were next. He knelt down and slipped her back into her stilettos. He was so adept. She had moved effortlessly out of her romantic mood into something altogether more compelling and heart-thrilling. She felt his smooth hands deftly slip down her panties and then fondle gently her breasts as she was pulled backwards into him. He knew how to stroke her and her nipples stiffened. Her breathing quickened. His hands were all over her. The music spurred him on and she felt herself stirring. She wanted to touch herself.
‘Don't move,’ he said, his hands slipping away. She could not help it and her fingers found their mark. ‘Put this on.’ He was back. Her hand fell away and she felt at once her left hand and arm being slipped into something familiar.
‘But Michael, it's not even raining...’
She automatically slipped her right arm into the pink plastic. He snapped the buttons to from behind and fastened the belt and she gazed down at a now familiar sight.
‘I couldn't resist,’ he said. ‘The perfect moment to be romantic.’ She had to smile, and smoothed out the creases. His hand fondled her bottom through the plastic. ‘Shall we dance?’
She did not need asking, and admiring his unique charm, turned to face her seducer. He held her close and moved gently to the music. Effortlessly, she followed his lead and surrendered to the haunting chords of the ballad and, slightly, ever so slightly, nestled her head against his shoulder. In the subdued lighting, her plastic coat took on a deep pink with a slight mother-of-pearl sheen. They swayed gently, silently. Her naked body felt exquisitely soft in the plastic and something stirred in her as she moved against his cool, firm exterior.
Weird, she thought. I'm starkers in a plastic mac, he's all spruced up in a suit. Weird, she thought, but nice. Nice and kinky, came a voice, and she smiled to herself. She had come a long way from the straight-laced reading rooms of the public library. High heels, kinky sex, romantic lover. She felt his hand slide down over her bottom and pull her in close to him. Manhandled came the thought, and she smiled.
Suddenly, she was aware of something and a tiny thrill shot though her. Her reverie ceased at once as she concentrated on, ever so gently, nuzzling her body into his. She swayed her hips slightly, straining every sensory nerve, as she tried, once, twice, three times to rub against him almost imperceptibly. The plastic moved so smoothly against his clothing and she sensed, through his trousers, she had been right. She rubbed harder against him and there was no doubt.
Well, Mr Man, came a long lost voice within, what have you got for this little girlie? and the silent giggle quickly gave way to a sudden need to be pulled in tight to him. To be held hard up against his strong, muscular body. To be felt all over, fondled passionately, caressed till she was delirious with inexhaustible pleasure. He moved slightly away from her. Her excitement stopped abruptly.
The track was a new one
, and she knew it well: Hunny Ryan, The music begins to play, and she melted back into the sweet tenderness of the moment. His hand was now on her back. Gentlemanly conduct. A sigh went through her. Can't a girl get ravished one night a week? That's not too much to ask for, is it? Then she noticed how the plastic was clinging to her with the heat from her naked body. She was getting excited. Romance is lovely, came the thought, but it's only the hors d'oeuvres. She reserved her appetite for the main course and, impulsively, pressed herself up hard against him and looked him straight in the face. Shy, retiring librarian or not, she was in need of some good, hard sex, and in need of it now. His response was immediate as he groped her left buttock roughly through the plastic, and then pulling the plastic down tight with his left hand, slapped it playfully with his right. She smiled. Then another slap. She melted into him as another smack landed.
The music had changed and she was already dancing to his favourite tune. This was more like it, and she kissed him, long and hard, moaning approvingly, and as the strange pas de deux got underway, she hoped fervently that he kept some rope close by.
Chapter 21. The maze
The cool breeze brushed her cheeks as she got out of the car. She shook her head to fluff out her hair. She had slept well, and though she now stood by the car outside Blackthorne, she was, in fact, dancing somewhere out there in the blue beyond where the bright sun shone. It was not just the breeze that was cool. She stood there, a new Catherine. She was dressed in an expensive black leather jacket and skirt, something she had bought specially to impress Michael but not yet worn. To complement this, she was wearing a sky blue silk blouse, black stockings and high heels. She breathed in and felt the freshness of the air and the warmth of the sun on her face, the crunchy gravel beneath her feet and the supple leather round her thighs. She smiled and went in to work.
It was not till late morning that Michael put in an appearance, as she had expected he would. What she had not expected was precisely that - his appearance.
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