‘But . . . he lives here.’
‘He lives wherever is necessary. And if he needs to be elsewhere, there is plenty to keep him busy.’ She is walking around the room, collecting bits and pieces and putting them in a canvas bag. ‘So I’m afraid it looks as though your little holiday romance is at an end.’
I stare at her, still uncomprehending. How much does she know about what’s gone on? I know that she and Dominic are close, but are they so close that he’s confided in her about our intimate relationship?
Vanessa stops walking about and turns to face me. Her face is stony as she puts one hand on her hip. ‘I think you’re a fool, if you must know. He was willing to do more for you than he ever has for anyone else. He was willing to try and change. And you threw it away.’
‘But it’s a mistake,’ I say breathlessly, finding my voice at last. ‘He thinks I’m with Adam, but I’m not. And I was meant to see him last night but I didn’t get the note until just now.’
Vanessa shrugs as if all this detail is too tedious for words. ‘Whatever the reason, you’ve missed your chance.’ She smiles grimly. ‘That little bird has well and truly flown. Most women would have done anything to have Dominic, no matter what little foibles he might enjoy. I don’t think you’ll get a second chance.’
Her words pierce me painfully. Have I really been so stupid?
Suddenly, she leans towards me, her expression almost kind. Her eyes soften and she says, ‘Go home and forget about him. It’s for the best, really. It wasn’t meant to be, that much is obvious. You’ve had your fun. Go back to where you belong.’
As I stare at her, the fight suddenly goes out of me. She must be right. She knows Dominic better than anyone. If we were meant to be together, then we would not have made such a royal mess of it. The way the note was lost . . . it must be fate. What’s the point of fighting it, now that he’s gone?
‘All right,’ I say quietly. ‘I understand. Will you tell him… Tell him that I wish it could have been different for us. And that I’ll never be sorry that I met him. What we shared meant so much to me.’
‘Of course.’ She smiles at me, as if glad our little interview is at an end. ‘Goodbye, Beth.’
‘Goodbye.’ I turn and walk out of Dominic’s apartment for what I suspect will be the last time.
Celia is listening to Handel and sipping a glass of white wine as she reads a book when I come in. As soon as she sees my face, she pours another and hands it to me.
‘Poor Beth,’ she says sympathetically. ‘Life can be miserable, can’t it? I take it it’s to do with love.’
I nod, still shell-shocked as it starts to sink in that Dominic has gone.
‘You don’t have to tell me anything, my dear, but I’m here if you need me.’
I sit down and take a gulp of the white wine. Its cold flintiness brings me back to myself a little. ‘I thought . . . I thought I was going to be with someone, but it hasn’t worked out. He’s left.’
Celia shakes her head. ‘Oh dear. Is it all based on a misunderstanding?’
I nod again, and my eyes sting. I do all I can to damp down my emotion. I don’t want to lose control, I’m not sure how I’d ever regain it. ‘I think so,’ I say. ‘I’m not even sure any more. I thought it was too painful to be with him, but now I don’t know how I’ll manage without him.’
‘Oh dear.’ Celia sighs. ‘Yes, that sounds like it.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like love, my dear. Many people prefer to shun love. They settle for something easier, less all consuming, less dangerous. Because, as Shakespeare observed, violent delights have violent ends. Great passion brings pain with it. But to live without it . . . well, is it worth it?’ She fixes me with a bright look. ‘I’m not sure. Not all of us are granted the chance to feel that sublime passion for someone else, or the agony that comes with it. I was lucky to know it more than once, and that’s why I live happily alone now. Knowing I’ve tasted at that magnificent cup, I’d rather survive on the memory than accept anything less.’
I stare at her, imagining that young Celia, lost in rapture with her lover, living, as I have lately, on a knife edge of delight and despair.
‘It was all a very long time ago,’ she says with a twinkling smile, ‘and I expect it’s hard to believe that an old woman like me ever felt what you’re feeling.’
‘Oh no, of course not,’ I say quickly.
‘I have just a little wisdom to pass on to you.’ She leans towards me. ‘Don’t be satisfied with a quiet life. Youth slips away more quickly than you can ever guess. Take your strength, your vigour, and all the life within you, seize it, enjoy it, feel it. Even the pain reminds you that you’re alive and without it we wouldn’t know what pleasure is. Don’t forget that golden lads and girls all must, as chimney sweepers, come to dust. We shall be a very long time dead.’
Her words stir something within me.
She’s right, I know it. The idea that I’d ever wanted to reject Dominic and all he’d given me and made me feel was absurd. He went too far but I know with absolute certainty that he would never have let it happen again. He was prepared to listen to me, and to compromise. I can see that now. But my chance has slipped through my fingers. He’s gone.
There isn’t pleasure without pain. There isn’t passion without suffering. I’d rather feel alive than safe.
Dominic – where the hell are you?
It’s only when, much later, I’m curled up on the sofa and trying to sleep that I remember what Dominic wrote about the boudoir. The key is in the pocket of Celia’s trench coat and I slip into the hall and retrieve it. It sits in my hand, smooth and cold.
Apparently it’s now mine for as long as I want it.
It’s an extraordinary gesture that I can’t really take in. It means, I realise, that my accommodation problem is solved. I can go there whenever I want. Now, if I want to.
The problem is that it’s all too raw. I can’t go there at the moment, knowing it’s the last place I saw Dominic and recalling all the things we did. Is all the stuff still there? The underwear, the toys, the seat? I don’t know if I can bear to see them. I tuck the key away safely. I’ll decide later what to do.
The next day, the storm breaks over London and the rain crashes down, accompanied by great rolls of thunder and the crack and flash of lightning. It’s been building for days and now the pressure is released in torrents.
I stay inside watching the rain coming down and wondering about the boudoir. I’ll have to tell Celia about it, and she’s bound to question how I came to have sole access to a flat in her building. She’ll probably tell my parents and that will lead to yet more tricky questions. But I don’t want to lie to her, either.
When my phone rings, I rush to it, hoping that it’s Dominic but it’s James.
‘Hello, darling, forgive me bothering you at the weekend, but something’s come up that I thought you should know about. Can you meet me?’
‘Yes – is everything all right?’
‘Everything’s fine, but I’d like to see you if I can. Meet me at the Patisserie Valerie on Piccadilly in an hour.’
I go out with an umbrella, sploshing my way through the shiny streets on my way to Piccadilly. It only takes a few minutes to walk there and I enjoy the distinct Sunday feeling in the air. It might still be busy but it’s down a gear from the usual weekday madness.
James is waiting for me when I arrive, his nose buried in a newspaper, an espresso steaming gently beside him. He looks up when I get there and smiles.
‘Ah, you made it. Splendid. Let me get you some coffee.’
When I’m settled with a latte and a pain au chocolat to dip into it, he says, ‘I know this is strange, but I simply had to see you. I had a breakfast meeting this morning with a particularly interesting client of mine. His name is Mark Palliser and he happens to the personal art dealer for a very rich man indeed. Mark had some things to discuss with me, and as he is a busy man who occasionally spends a great deal of mone
y at my gallery, I naturally made myself available to him.’
I dip my pain au chocolat in the coffee and nibble at it, letting the pastry melt on my tongue. So far, I can’t quite understand what this has to do with me.
‘We had our charming breakfast in the morning room of his Belgravia house. Mark, as you’d expect, has exquisite taste. Incidentally, he’s looking for an assistant and I mentioned your name to him. He would be an excellent man to work for, you’d learn a lot.’
‘Really?’ That’s interesting – a possible job is good news. But is that why he wanted to see me? It couldn’t wait until Monday?
James goes on, ‘We were just discussing some business when another visitor arrived and Mark asked me to wait in the sitting room for a few minutes. Well, his sitting room is connected to the breakfast room by a rather pretty arch, so I was able to see who his visitor was and hear everything that they said.’ He looks straight at me. ‘It was Dominic.’
I gasp. ‘Dominic? But it can’t be – he’s left. He’s gone to Russia.’
‘Not yet,’ James says. ‘I believe he’s going this evening. A private jet is flying him there. From what he and Mark discussed, he’s going to be away some time.’
My heart is pounding and my breathing quickens. ‘I thought he’d left. That’s what Vanessa said.’
‘I wondered if you knew. I got the feeling from the general atmosphere of black misery that surrounded him this morning that you might not.’ James smiles at me. ‘Beth, I thought long and hard before I told you about this. You know I’ve got reservations about whether Dominic is playing by the BDSM rules. But I also know that you don’t need me making decisions about what you should or shouldn’t know. You love him, I can see that, and I had to tell you what I found out and give you the choice about what to do. I still want you to be careful though. Do you understand?’
‘Of course I do, and thank you for telling me. I appreciate your concern so much. But didn’t he see you?’
James shakes his head. ‘I don’t think so. I have a feeling that he wasn’t aware that there was anyone in the next room, and anyway, a giant Chinese vase stood rather conveniently in his eye line. At least, I made sure it did.’
I pull in a long breath, my eyes wide. ‘But, James, what am I going to do?’
‘Do you want to see him before he leaves?’
I nod, my eyes filling with tears. The idea that I might have a chance to see Dominic, to tell him how I feel and that I made a mistake leaving him the other night, makes my heart swell, and adrenalin surges through me.
James leans forward. ‘I don’t know if it helps, but he happened to mention that he’s returning to his flat at three o’clock today. He’s being collected from there by his driver to take him to the airport.’
Excitement explodes in my chest. ‘Thank you, James! Thank you so much.’
‘You’re welcome. I wanted to see your face when I told you the news. Now, go and see if you can make that naughty leopard change his spots.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
I hurry back to Randolph Gardens, stopping at a stationery shop on the way back to buy some cream card and an envelope. I don’t have a great deal of time to put my plan into action.
The rain doesn’t seem so bleak and depressing any more. Instead, I splash joyously through the puddles, not caring that I’m getting soaked because I haven’t bothered to put up the umbrella. No matter what happens, I’ve got the chance to see Dominic again, to steal a few moments with him and tell him what I so desperately need him to hear.
I knock on the door of Dominic’s apartment but no one answers, to my relief. Vanessa must have gone.
I wonder why she felt she had to lie to me, and why she so obviously wants me off the scent,but I don’t have time to dwell on that now. Instead, I hurry upstairs to the boudoir. It feels strange to be unlocking it, knowing that there is no one inside. I switch on the light. The hall looks the same as it did before, plain and bare. I walk across to the bedroom and put that light on too. The room is different. The leather seat has gone, and the cabinet is locked. In the wardrobe, the bondage gear is gone, but the lacy lingerie and the negligee remain. He has removed anything that might shed a light on the more unusual activities we got up to in here, but he’s left the things he supposes I might still like.
Hmmm. Well, there are still things that can be done . . . After all, exquisite custom-made bondage gear isn’t the only option . . .
Before I do anything, I write my note to Dominic. It says simply:
Come to the boudoir at once. It is urgent.
B
That should be enough, I think, and take it downstairs. I slide it under the door, and then return to the boudoir to start getting ready.
At three o’clock, I’m a mass of nerves, pacing around the boudoir. I’ve had a chance to look around now, and it’s a plainly furnished but very serviceable flat, smaller than the ones on the lower floors but plenty big enough for one. Is this really mine to use as I want?
I’ll try and remember to ask Dominic, but I’m too shivery with anticipation to keep my mind on any one thing. I’m wearing some of the beautiful black underwear from the wardrobe, the pair of stilettos from my second night here, and the trench coat, which I borrowed to wear to meet James. I’ve put my hair up and done my best to enhance my face considering I’ve only got a lip gloss and a compact in my pocket.
In the bathroom mirror, I look all right, considering. My eyes are bright and excited and my cheeks have little spots of pink – nature’s blusher. I stare at my reflection and then say, ‘Good luck.’
At ten minutes past three, I hear a loud rap on the front door. I jump wildly and gasp. So he’s come. He’s here. It’s my last chance. Whatever happens, I must get this right.
I take a deep breath, do my best to quell the nervous riot in my stomach, and walk to the front door. I open it and Dominic is standing there, looking heart-breaking in a beautiful black suit, his dark hair ruffled and his eyes anxious.
‘Beth? Are you all right? I got your note.’ I can hear the worry in his voice.
‘Come in,’ I say, my voice firm but neutral.
He steps inside, frowning. ‘What’s this about? Just tell me you’re okay . . .’
I push the door shut behind him and lean against it in the darkness. ‘There is something wrong,’ I say, my voice low.
‘What? What is it?’
I speak again, putting a steel edge into my voice. ‘I’m very . . . very . . . angry with you.’
‘What?’ He’s puzzled, I can tell. ‘But . . . Beth, I—’
‘Be quiet,’ I rap out. ‘Don’t say another word. I’m furious with you because you were planning to leave without telling me. I know exactly what you’re about to do. You’re going to be collected in a short while, taken to the airport and from there you’ll travel by private jet to Russia.’
‘How on earth do you know that?’ Now he’s surprised. I’m wrong footing him at every step.
‘Don’t ask questions. The point is, you are running away without permission and that makes me very, very cross.’ I lean forward and I can see that realisation is dawning in his eyes. ‘And now I’m going to make sure you remember that you must never never do such a thing again. Do you understand?’
He stares at me for a moment and then says in a low voice, ‘Yes, I understand.’
‘Good. Now follow me.’ I walk ahead of him into the bedroom where the blinds are drawn and the lamp is set low. Then I turn, and slowly slip the trench coat from my shoulders, revealing my underwear. He draws in a breath as his eyes travel down from my full breasts encased in black silk down my hips and over my belly to the silken knickers. ‘Do you like it, Dominic?’
He nods slowly, looking me straight in the eye.
‘Excellent. Now. Take your clothes off.’
‘Beth . . .’
‘You heard me. Do it.’
He looks as though he is going to protest but then he stops, pauses for a moment and obeys me
. He takes off his jacket and trousers and everything underneath until he is standing in just his boxers. I can see that his penis is already pushing at the cotton as his erection begins to swell.
‘Oh dear. Didn’t I tell you to take your clothes off? Are your boxer shorts not part of that?’
He nods.
‘Then take them off now.’
He slides them down and takes them off. Now he’s revealed to me in all his glory, the broad chest, flat belly and long, muscular legs. His erection is now hard and strong as his hot gaze rakes me.
‘And now, you’ll have to understand what it means when your mistress is cross with you. Go to the bed.’
He turns away from me and I nearly gasp out loud. His back is a mass of red stripes that have only just begun to heal. I want to run to him and kiss his wounds, the ones that I inflicted, smooth them with cool cream and make them better. But that isn’t my plan, not right now. I want to show him that I can inflict a different kind of torment.
‘Lie on your back,’ I order, hoping he will tell me if that’s too painful. But he says nothing and doesn’t appear to be in pain as he lies down. I come to the bed with the silken belt from the negligee, take his wrists and wrap them together, then tie the belt to the bars of the bedstead.
He watches, his gaze becoming more intense as he feels his power being surrendered.
I lie down beside him on the bed and touch him gently, running my fingers over his chest, circling his nipples and down his belly. I can smell him now, that musky sweet scent with the citrus tang. Oh, it’s beautiful. It’s making liquid desire pour through my core, hot and delicious.
‘I want to punish you with my own kind of torture,’ I whisper, ‘so that you think twice before leaving me again.’
Then I devote myself to his body, kissing every inch of it, working my way down to his feet, where I suck and nibble his toes, and back up, leaving the swelling erection entirely alone as I stroke and caress the rest of his body, gently tickling where he is most sensitive, licking and tugging on his nipples as his breathing grows heavier. When he is ready for a little more, I raise myself and straddle his stomach, then slowly I unclasp my bra, let it fall away and lower my breasts for the attention of his mouth. He is eager for them, pulling each nipple into his mouth and sucking hard, grazing them with his teeth until they are stiff and rosy. Then I spend long, lazy minutes kissing his neck and jaw, biting on his earlobes and tantalising him with my mouth until he is desperate for my kiss, which eventually I let him have, so that he can slake his thirst for me at last.
Fire After Dark Page 27