‘Well,’ James says as we come to a halt outside the house. ‘Here we are. The Asylum. Shall we go and join the Bedlamites?’
I take a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ I say firmly. And we descend the metal staircase towards the black door below.
Inside, the man I saw before is sitting at the table. He looks as weirdly frightening as I remembered, with dark tattoos swirling over one half of his entire face and over his skull, and with those curiously pale, almost white eyes. He looks up at us as we enter, his gaze going immediately to James. I hope that he’s forgotten the brief visit I made here last time, but just in case, I keep my eyes lowered.
‘Yes?’ he says, his tone unfriendly.
‘Good evening. I’m not a member, unfortunately,’ James said, sounding far more confident than I ever could have, ‘but my friend Cecil Lewis is, and he said he would arrange for us to be welcomed here this evening.’
‘Cecil?’ The doorman cocks his head at us, still frosty but a little less hostile. ‘Of course we all know Cecil. Just a moment.’ He stands up and disappears through a dark doorway off to the left that I guess must lead to vaults underneath the pavement. James and I swap glances, mine worried and his amused, and he raises his hand to show me his crossed fingers. A moment later, the doorman is back. ‘All right, Cecil’s arranged it. I’ll need to issue you with temporary cards and there will be a charge for tonight’s entertainment.’
‘That’s no problem at all,’ James replies smoothly, reaching for his wallet.
‘We don’t do money here,’ the doorman says, as though such a thing would be hopelessly vulgar. ‘You will be invoiced. I’ll need your details in this book. As Cecil is standing for you, you understand that he will charged if you neglect to pay.’
‘Of course. My own club has exactly the same rules,’ James returns, refusing to be ruffled. He bends down, picks up the old-fashioned silver nib pen and dips it into the inkwell. He writes his name and details, the pen scratching over the paper in the silence. ‘There. All done.’
The doorman turns to me. ‘Now you.’
I take the pen obediently and write my name and the address of Celia’s flat, then hand the pen back.
The doorman produces two cards of heavy ivory paper. They are engraved in black script with the words Temporary Member of The Asylum and underneath Your discretion is required. I take mine and clutch it. My entry card to this secret world.
‘You can go in now,’ the doorman says, nodding towards the doorway off to the right. I know where it leads. Into the club itself.
‘Thank you.’ James steps forward and leads the way and we pass through the doorway and into the dark interior that awaits us. As we venture inside, it looks the same as it did the last time I was here but now there is more time to look around. I try not stare, but my eyes are drawn at once to the cages at the back of the room. They are there, but now they hang empty, looking like vast round birdcages. Chains inside hang limply.
‘There were people in those before,’ I hiss quietly to James, nodding towards them. ‘Girls in bondage gear.’
‘I wonder why they’re empty tonight?’ he says. He’s leading the way between the tables and finds us an empty one. ‘Let’s sit down here.’
The room is very dark. The only illumination comes from tiny red glass lanterns on the tables and some heavily shaded wall lights. The atmosphere is very louche. Around us, people are sitting at other tables and waiters dressed in black polo necks and black trousers move between them, serving drinks from their trays. No one seems to be eating. I get the impression that different sorts of appetites are sated here.
A waiter comes up to us and hands us a drinks menu. James peruses it for a moment and says, ‘A bottle of Chateau Pichon Longueville Comtesse de Lalande ’96, please.’
‘Yes, sir. And . . .’ The waiter looks at us impassively. ‘What sort of room will you be requiring later, sir?’
‘Ah . . .’ James seems disconcerted for the first time. ‘Er, well, I’m not sure, actually. We haven’t decided.’
The waiter looks surprised. ‘Really?’
‘That is – we’re temporary members, I’m not sure what’s on offer.’
‘Ah, I see,’ the waiter says, his face clearing. ‘I’ll fetch you the menu, sir, so you can see our range.’
‘Now we’ll find out,’ James murmurs to me as the waiter heads off. I look around at the other people. They seemed normal at first glance, well dressed and relaxed in these unusual surroundings, drinking expensive wine and cocktails, but as I watch, I see that unexpected dynamics are being played out. One table seems to be two women drinking together but I soon realise that one of the women is in fact a man, dressed in women’s clothing and in full make-up. He keeps his eyes lowered at all times and only moves to fill up his companion’s glass or speak when he is spoken to.
‘Look,’ I say to James and he glances over discreetly. ‘Is he a transvestite?’
James whispers back. ‘I don’t think so. But don’t ask me what they’re up to.’
At another table, a woman appears to be drinking alone, but a movement catches my eye and I see that a man is underneath the table, crouching over her feet. It’s then I release that he is assiduously licking her leather boots, as carefully and rhythmically as a cat cleaning its paws.
The waiter reappears with our drinks and the room menu. As he puts the bottle on the table, he says, ‘It’s cabaret night tonight, sir. A great favourite with a certain section of our membership. Afterwards there is usually a high demand for rooms, so it’s best to book early.’
He leaves us with the open bottle of wine and the menu. I take it and read it as best I can in the semi-darkness.
‘The nursery wing,’ I read just loudly enough for James to hear. ‘Two chambers are available, each fully equipped for baby’s every need. The schoolroom: suitable for the education and chastisement of pupils. The throne room: a luxurious chamber fit for a queen. Mount Olympus: a heavenly boudoir, designed for a goddess and her minion but suitable for gods and their slave girls too. The wet room: suitable for all kinds of play. The dungeon: three separate underground chambers superbly supplied with tools, where masters and mistresses can give their slaves the richest of punishments.’ I put the card down, feeling a little faint. ‘Oh my God. What is this place?’
‘Didn’t Dominic tell you about it?’ James asks, one eyebrow raised.
‘He said it was somewhere safe for people to live out fantasies. I just didn’t realise what those fantasies can be.’
James shakes his head. ‘There’s no limit, darling. No limit at all.’
‘But . . . a nursery?’
‘I’ll bet you’ll find the biggest, butchest babies you ever saw in there,’ James remarks with a laugh. ‘But think about it this way. Some Alpha males crave a little time off, when they don’t have to bestride the world, take on the massive responsibility that comes with their jobs or their money, when they can return to the safety of childhood.’
‘I can see that, I suppose,’ I say haltingly. ‘But to dress up as a baby . . . and do they find it sexy too?’
‘You’d be surprised what people can get sexual enjoyment from. I suppose some could even get it from doing their tax return. I did have a friend who got highly aroused every time she did a sudoku puzzle. She kept piles of those puzzle books by her bedside and got in a panic when she ran out of Biros.’ He laughs. ‘I’m exaggerating, but you see what I mean.’
James pours out glasses of the wine. It glints ruby red in the candlelight. ‘I think you’ll like this, it’s rather good,’ he says, admiring the liquid in his glass. He takes a sip. ‘Oh, fabulous.’
I sip as well. He’s right. I don’t know much about wine, but I can tell this is something special, it’s so smooth and delicious.
As we’re enjoying the wine, some lights come up and I notice a small stage at the front of the room for the first time. A pair of pale blue spotlights are trained on the stage and into their cool glare steps a woman. She�
��s beautiful and curvaceous, wearing an exquisite red flared dress and high heels. Her hair and make-up are like a vintage screen goddess’s. Music plays and she starts to sing in a low husky voice about wanting to be loved, just a little. It all seems like ordinary cabaret until she begins slowly to strip away her clothes. The dress comes away in two separate pieces, revealing a corset tied tightly around a tiny waist and thrusting up a large bosom, silken underwear, a garter belt and stockings.
‘She’s a looker all right,’ James murmurs.
It’s a burlesque performance, the kind of thing that’s been popular for a while now. As she sings the sultry nightclub number, the corset comes off revealing a pair of larger than expected breasts. She writhes prettily, swinging her hips and posing delicately in her heels. Then the shoes come off and she peels away the stockings too. Only the silk pants are left, and as the song reaches its climax, the singer unbuttons something at the back and the pants drop away, revealing a large penis nestled up over a pair of shaven balls. There’s a sound from the audience like a gasp mixed with a sigh. The singer tugs on the penis for a moment so that it hangs large and pendulous, then smiles at the audience as though asking for their admiration of her appendage.
‘Oh,’ says James in a surprised voice. ‘Now I wasn’t expecting that.’
I giggle.
Another corseted woman comes out and begins to berate the singer, who puts on a good act of looking astonished, and then ashamed. This woman – who seems like the real thing as far as I can tell – produces a riding crop, which makes the singer cower and pretend to be frightened. She drops to the floor and the other woman starts laying about her with the whip, bring it down with hard smacks across the white back and shoulders, all the time scolding the singer’s outlandish exhibitionism.
The audience are evidently enjoying the show. Perhaps this act is why there seem to be plenty of dominant woman and their vassals here this evening.
‘I’ve no idea what we’re going to say when they ask which room we want,’ James murmurs, pouring some more wine.
‘Perhaps we can just make our excuses,’ I say, still watching the performance onstage. Someone is approaching us through the gloom. ‘I think the waiter’s coming now,’ I mutter to James. ‘Better get the excuse ready.’
But as he nears, I see it is not the waiter at all. It’s Dominic, his face white and set, and his eyes icy cold. My insides clench with a mixture of pleasure and fear, and I’m frozen as he approaches.
‘Beth,’ he says in a low voice, ‘what the hell are you doing here?’ He glances at James, a horrible, hostile look. ‘And who the fuck is this?’
‘Hello, Dominic,’ I say, trying to be cool, though it’s hard with him so near. He’s wearing a black cashmere jumper and dark trousers and looks gorgeous. ‘I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.’
‘Well, I am,’ he says, his voice almost trembling. I can see he’s trying hard to hold in his emotions.
Why is he angry with me? He’s got no right! He doesn’t own me, for Christ’s sake, and as far as he’s concerned, it’s all over.
The thought helps me to be strong.
‘How did you know I’m here?’ I ask boldly.
‘Your names came up on the system,’ is his brief explanation, though I still don’t know how that information reached him. Dominic looks over at James again. ‘Who is this?’ he growls.
‘A friend,’ I say quickly.
Dominic’s black gaze flickers at me. He knows I don’t have friends in London, but he won’t ask me more in front of James. He stares at me for a while, and then says coldly, ‘I don’t want you here.’
The words wound me horribly but I pretend that they bounce off me. ‘I don’t care what you want,’ I reply, my voice cool. ‘I’m a free agent.’
‘Not to come here. This is a private club. I can ask you to leave.’
‘We can leave,’ James breaks in, ‘but do you mind if we finish this bottle? It’s rather good, you see . . .’
Dominic looks at him as though a worm has just spoken, then says, ‘All right. Finish your drink and go.’ He turns to me. ‘Beth, are you all right with this man? I can put you in a taxi home.’
I stiffen my shoulders and raise my chin defiantly. ‘I don’t need your help. I can look after myself.’
Dominic opens his mouth, then closes it again. He stares at me again, one more burning gaze, and then says briefly, ‘All right.’ Then he turns on his heel and strides back across the club. We watch him go as the rest of the audience concentrates on the beating being meted out on stage.
‘Well, there’s one thing I’ll say about that,’ James remarks, lifting his wine glass to his lips. ‘That young man is clearly not over you in any way, shape or form. Quite the reverse, in fact.’ He smiles at me. ‘If you wanted to set the cat among the pigeons, I think you’ve succeeded.’
James and I share a taxi home, even though he’s going in completely different direction.
‘I don’t mind,’ he says, ‘I can take the long way round to Islington. Are you sure you’re going to be all right on your own tonight?’
I nod. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m used to it, and I’ve got De Havilland to keep me company.’ A black cloud of depression has fallen on me and now I can’t really remember what I expected to get out of the whole exercise. If I had thought that Dominic was going to greet me with open arms, then I was sadly mistaken.
‘As long as you’re sure,’ James says, and he gives me a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of the hand as I climb out of the taxi. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. And ring me if you need to.’
‘I will. Goodnight.’
I go upstairs slowly, feeling the full weight of my misery. My experience at the club has made me unsure about everything I thought I’d decided. I wanted to take my own first tentative steps towards Dominic, to see if he might meet me halfway, but I’ve no idea how I can go any further. There’s only so far James can help me, and there’s no one else I can turn to at all.
Unless . . . Vanessa’s face floats before my consciousness. She’s the only other person I know in London, and she must be the only one with that much influence over Dominic. Could she . . . would she help me? It’s unlikely, I suppose, but then again . . . But how will I reach her?
In the flat, I go to the window of the sitting room and look out but of course the flat is in darkness. I know where Dominic is. I remember how I stood here last night, and what I did.
Did I humiliate myself?
I sigh. I have no idea. But it seems that gaining entry to Dominic’s world is going to be harder than I thought.
Chapter Thirteen
The next day is busy at the gallery and James has me stay late to oversee the removal of the current exhibition. The artist comes in to check that all is going well and that his pictures are being treated with the appropriate care, so James opens a bottle of white wine and we end up having a fun evening. This is definitely the kind of career for me, I think. Schmoozing artists and getting a bit tipsy with the boss? Fine with me.
I try not to think about Dominic and instead concentrate on my plan to get hold of Vanessa. The only thing that I can think of is going to back to The Asylum and demanding to see her – but Dominic could well be there, which would ruin that particular plan. I don’t know her surname or anything else about her.
Later that evening, I feel more depressed than ever. I’m approaching halfway through my stay, and time feels as if it’s speeding up. I love my job but how will I be able to do it if I can’t live in Celia’s flat? It doesn’t pay very much and I’ll need to start planning now if I intend to stay in London. Right now, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. The idea of going home is awful. I’ve taken the steps towards a new life and I can’t imagine turning back now.
And then there’s the fact that I haven’t got any further with locating Vanessa.
The only bright spot is that James has invited me out over the weekend. He’s going to take me to the theatre and then on to one
of his favourite restaurants where he’s promised we’ll see someone famous, as there’s always a celebrity or two eating there.
I’m settling down to watch a DVD, which I bought in my lunch hour to watch on my laptop. With no television, I’ve stocked up on some films to entertain me during quiet evenings in the flat, and today I’ve opted for an old favourite, The Lady Eve, a black-and-white movie from the forties with Barbara Stanwyck and Henry Fonda. The razor-sharp dialogue always makes me laugh.
I’ve just settled down and the opening credits are playing when there’s a knock on the door.
Instantly my heart starts pounding. I pause the film and pad over to the front door, hardly able to breathe. I open it, and there he is. He’s in jeans, a pale shirt and a dark grey cashmere sweater, and the smoky colour makes his dark eyes even more intense.
‘Hi, Dominic.’ My voice comes out in a whisper.
‘Hi.’ He looks cold, his eyes flinty. ‘Have you got a few minutes? Can I talk to you?’
I nod and stand back to let him in. ‘Of course.’
He strides through to the sitting room and regards the computer with its frozen frame. ‘Oh. You’re watching something. Sorry to disturb you.’
‘Don’t be silly. You know I’d rather talk to you.’ I go over to the sofa and sit down, wishing I’d known he was coming so I could have brushed my hair and checked my face.
He says nothing but goes over to the window and stares out. His profile is stark against the glass and I admire the long straight line of his nose. I can tell from his mouth that his jaw is clenched. He looks stiff and tense.
Fire After Dark Page 16