‘I have to take this,’ she apologised.
He raised an eyebrow.
‘I haven’t heard from this friend all day,’ she explained. ‘I’ve been worried about her and –’
‘I have to take this call, Mr Hart,’ he corrected.
‘Mr Hart,’ she agreed, smiling.
He nodded and she picked up the phone.
Chapter 19
‘Charlotte? Are you OK?’
‘Where are you, Trudy?’
‘I’m with –’
She paused, only just stopping herself from calling him Mr Hart. The habit was already becoming ingrained and she did enjoy the way the words sounded on her lips. Referring to him with such formality felt like a public act of sexual submission. That concept thrilled her more than she even liked to admit to herself. The inner muscles of her sex tightened and her breathing became lightly laboured. However, she knew this was neither the time nor the place to share that aspect of her new relationship. There were more important matters that needed to be addressed and she was anxious to find out what was wrong with Charlotte.
‘I’m with Bill,’ she said carefully. ‘Where are you?’
‘Bill seems nice.’
Trudy went to sit on one of the kitchen seats. Her backside bristled with discomfort from where Bill had repeatedly struck her with his belt. She suspected there would be marks that were likely to last a day or two. They would probably be red and some might bruise and the delicious discomfort would likely last a while. It took her a moment to find a way of settling on the seat without igniting fresh pinpricks through her rear. Every minor tremor fuelled a dull thrill of pleasure – like an echo of all the joy they had just shared. Trudy shut those thoughts from her mind, fearful that the lingering excitement would be heard in her voice.
‘Yes,’ she told Charlotte, keeping her words bald and matter-of-fact. ‘Bill’s just wonderful. Where have you been all day?’
There was a pause. Eventually, in a small voice, Charlotte said, ‘Hell and back.’
She said nothing more. The silence threatened to stretch between them. Trudy did not like the desolate tone she could hear underscoring Charlotte’s words.
‘Where were you last night?’
‘You don’t want to know, hon. You don’t want to know.’
Trudy could feel a spike of unease tearing through her gut. She didn’t want to be back in the same house as Donny but she dearly wanted to be with Charlotte so she could console her friend and offer the companionship and reassurances that she knew the woman needed. Charlotte had done as much and more for her during their years of studying together. Trudy knew it was long since past the time when she should start repaying those favours. She flexed her fingers impotently and adjusted her position on the seat so another inadvertent reminder of the belt’s bite shivered up her rear.
‘What’s wrong, Charlie? Spill everything.’
‘Nothing. Everything. Too many things. Donny tells me you’re not a part of Sweet Temptation anymore. Say that isn’t so, hon? Say that isn’t so.’
Trudy blushed. Her voice dropped to an apology. She wanted to say that Donny had made it clear that she was surplus to requirements but she couldn’t bring herself to put all the blame on him. There were always two sides to an argument and she felt sure that Donny would feel that his decision to exclude her from Sweet Temptation was justified. She had made contact with William Hart, consultant to the investors, and she had failed to exploit that connection to their advantage. If she lacked such basic business acumen, perhaps Donny was right and she didn’t deserve to be a part of Sweet Temptation?
‘I’m no longer a part of Sweet Temptation,’ she said. She took the time and the effort to keep the words neutral.
Hart turned to look at her. He had one eyebrow raised and his lips were pursed into a question. She could read the question without needing to hear it. You’re no longer a part of Sweet Temptation? A smile twitched at the corner of his lips. Does this mean you’re going to accept –?
She turned her face away from him before she could read all of the unspoken question. The movement made her shift on her seat and a spike of fresh pain flourished through her rear. She caught a breath that sounded so loud she had to ask Charlotte to repeat her response.
‘You think it’s a shame? Why?’
‘We gave another presentation today.’
‘Who to?’
‘My parents.’
‘Mr – I mean, Bill – he didn’t say anything about that.’
‘Bill wasn’t invited.’
‘Oh!’
It was all that Trudy could think to say. There seemed little point in asking why a consultant had been excluded from a repeat presentation when, the previous day, he had expressed an opinion that Sweet Temptation didn’t merit investment. The reason Bill had been excluded was simply because Charlotte and Donny, most particularly Donny, she thought darkly, did not want Bill’s opinion to prejudice the decision of the investors for a second time.
‘Did it go better this time?’
There was a moment’s silence and Trudy could almost hear her friend striving to be diplomatic and tactful. ‘Some parts went better. Some parts weren’t quite so good. Gemma and Daryl were in charge of preparing muffins.’
‘Jesus,’ Trudy gasped. ‘I wouldn’t trust Daryl to open a bottle of mineral water.’
‘No,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘She’s not a great asset in the kitchen. Gemma’s not much better. The food they produced tasted crappy. I think there might have been a pube in one of the buns.’
Trudy slapped a hand over her mouth. She didn’t know if she was containing a shriek of dismay, a gag reflex, or a squeal of horrified laughter. ‘You’re kidding me.’
‘I wish I was. The food was lousy. The presentation was exactly the same as the one Donny gave yesterday. Gemma and Daryl were both dressed like a pair of tacky sluts. God knows where they’d found such cheap-looking-prostitute outfits. And still my parents thought I needed bailing out. They thought I needed a pity payout of their financial investment.’
She began to sob.
Trudy didn’t know what to say. She wished she was there to wrap a consoling arm around her friend and tell her that everything was going to be all right. Sitting ten miles away, in William Hart’s kitchen, Trudy felt useless.
‘Don’t cry,’ she whispered.
If Charlotte heard the words, she didn’t respond to them. Her tears came in soft, defeated sobs.
Charlotte’s problem, Trudy thought, was that the woman was painfully independent. She took help from her parents whenever it was necessary but she also went to great lengths to be sure that she didn’t exploit them. She had been the same throughout her college years, working part-time as a waitress so she could gain experience of commercial kitchens and contribute towards her own financial independence. Whilst the option had been available, she had not done as so many others did: sending a text message home and asking for a PayPal money transfer every time a bill arrived. Charlotte took pride from the fact that she was independent and in control of her finances and the direction of her career.
Trudy guessed that yesterday’s presentation had changed all that.
After Hart had advised against the investment, it seemed obvious Charlotte’s parents were only putting money into Sweet Temptation because they believed it was what their daughter needed. And, whilst Trudy thought well of them for their charitable efforts, she also thought that Charlotte had never before been one to accept any form of charity.
She wondered what had changed.
‘Do you want me to come over there?’ Trudy asked. She wasn’t sure where ‘there’ was. She assumed Charlotte was back at Eldorado, and would have been willing to return there if it meant she could console her friend. That said, she would have willingly gone anywhere to give Charlotte the comfort she needed.
‘No,’ Charlotte sniffled. ‘I have things to do tonight.’
Her sobs didn’t have the desperate edge that Trudy
had first noticed but it remained uncomfortable listening to her friend’s unhappiness.
‘Besides, it’s complicated here.’
‘Complicated how?’ Trudy asked. ‘Where are you?’
‘One day, when I’m really drunk, or really low, I might tell you about this complication. For now accept that I can’t see you tonight.’ She drew a quavering breath and added, ‘You should be thankful that you’re in a wholesome relationship. You’re with someone who clearly loves and respects you –’
Trudy wanted to interrupt and remind Charlotte that she still barely knew William Hart and it was too early to tell whether they loved or respected each other. Considering the way her backside seared each time she shifted punished skin against the hard plastic of the kitchen chair, Trudy also figured that the word ‘wholesome’ might be something of a misnomer in this context. But this was more information than she wanted to share with anyone. Trudy reminded herself that the focus for now needed to be on addressing Charlotte’s worries.
‘– and you’re a very talented and well-loved chef.’
Trudy was grateful that Charlotte couldn’t see her blushing. ‘Can we meet up for coffees tomorrow morning?’ Trudy asked. ‘In the market, maybe? Perhaps you could bring me a bag of my toiletries and some essentials from my wardrobe?’ She thought of adding, if Gemma or Daryl haven’t ‘borrowed’ everything that’s not nailed down, then realised that would probably sound like a bitchy comment so she kept it to herself.
‘Does that sound workable?’
‘That’s a great idea, hon,’ Charlotte said.
She sounded a little more like her usual self. If there were tears in her voice she was doing a good job of hiding them.
‘I need to talk with you,’ Charlotte went on. ‘There was one condition to Sweet Temptation being granted an investment. You’ll be able to help with that.’
‘A condition?’ Trudy was intrigued. ‘How do you think I’ll be able to help?’
‘You are the condition, hon,’ Charlotte explained. ‘Rebecca says that the investment will only happen if we manage to get the original pâtissier back in our kitchen.’
‘The original pâtissier?’ Trudy frowned. She wasn’t sure she understood what the words meant in this context.
‘You,’ Charlotte said quietly. ‘We need you back working with Sweet Temptation.’
Chapter 20
Trudy woke early and went for a run around Boui-Boui’s estate. It wasn’t as challenging as the quad killer. This was flat landscaped greenery broken into areas for chickens to strut. There was a coarsely gravelled car park area around the main building and meandering pathways that led from ponds to herb gardens to vegetable plots. There were no gruelling inclines, treacherous tracks or insurmountable tors. There were no gnarled roots from ageing oaks or pernicious potholes lurking beneath a camouflage of mulch. Nevertheless, desperate to start the day with some aspect of her familiar routine, she invested an extra surge of energy into the exercise and made a personal vow to stretch her boundaries.
As she passed the archway she considered using the handholds to do pull-ups but that idea didn’t seem appropriate. Not only would pull-ups be an upper body workout when the morning run was meant to be lower body and cardiovascular but, after the events of the previous day, she knew that using the archway would have seemed like a solitary sexual act.
She pushed herself to run harder and faster, determined to do a full circuit of Hart’s property. One of the things she had always promised herself was that she would exercise every morning whenever it was possible and always stretch her personal boundaries. She loved working in a kitchen and she adored sampling the delicacies that she was able to prepare.
But she refused to let her weight be controlled by those passions.
Spending an hour each morning running or exercising or simply punishing her body in some other way was enough to make sure that the excesses of her physical appetites didn’t take their toll on her physique.
Some days it was hard to remain true to that promise. But every day that she did manage it, Trudy felt as though she had made a small but important triumph in the way she was living her life.
The run around Boui-Boui’s estate proved to be sufficient. She felt exercised and exhausted by the time she’d finished. It took more than three-quarters of an hour to get to the end of Boui-Boui’s driveway. She headed west to follow the walls and fencing that secured the property. Then she returned to the driveway from the east. She kept glancing into the property, smiling at the vastness of Hart’s meticulous empire and marvelling that it seemed to go on and on and on.
Boui-Boui was in the centre of the estate, annexed by Hart’s country cottage home. There were stables and the odd-shaped building she had identified as chicken coops. There was also the small solitary cottage on the edge of the estate that she had seen from the kitchen window on the previous day. Charlotte guessed this probably belonged to a groundskeeper or someone else in Hart’s employ. She saw a girly-pink supermini parked outside the cottage and a thin stream of smoke drawling from the chimney. If the run had taken her closer to the cottage Trudy knew that curiosity would have made her give the building a closer inspection. But, maddeningly, her run didn’t take her particularly close and the solitary cottage was too remote for her to see anything other than curtains at the bedroom window which were twitching each time she glanced over.
* * *
She returned to Hart’s cottage drained and aching in all the right places. The run had been nothing like the quad killer but the dull protest in her muscles had been demanding and left her feeling as though she had once again honoured the bargain she kept with her body.
She washed and showered, and then wrote a small note on the kitchen counter. She briefly considered waking Bill but discounted that idea. They had been working hard together in the kitchen the previous night. Once again Hart had asked her to act as his sous, this time working with Damien, the boucher. She had helped Damien to improve on the sirloins being sent out and he had shown her a couple of new ways to prepare steak that her university education hadn’t covered. After finishing another gruelling shift in Boui-Boui, she and Bill had returned to the cottage and the pair of them had collapsed together into a fitful sleep.
Trudy didn’t want to wake him simply to say she was going out.
And, whilst the idea of doing more than waking him held a delicious appeal, she felt sure that would take up too much of their morning and not leave time for the important things she needed to do with her day.
She smiled as she put pen to paper, pleased with the eloquently chosen words that came to mind. It was also pleasing to write the note because that meant she was bending over the kitchen counter where Hart had already taken her to such heights of ecstasy. After checking through the letter for spelling mistakes and grammar errors, she folded the page and placed it in an envelope which she rested by the espresso machine. Knowing Bill, as she already suspected she knew him, Trudy figured the espresso machine would be his first port of call on waking.
Dressed, and still tingling from the endorphin rush of her exercise, she headed down to the market. The market was a twenty minute walk from Bill’s cottage behind Boui-Boui. The distance was the same as when she was travelling there from Eldorado.
The day was bright and clear with an obvious prospect of sunshine ahead.
If she had felt any happier, Trudy knew she would have been whistling. Her lips were stretched by the memory of too many deliciously scratchy kisses from Bill and the unquenchable act of smiling too broadly.
It was a day, she thought, when nothing could possibly go wrong.
* * *
Charlotte sat outside an anonymous coffee shop near the front of the market. She wore dark glasses, sipped a tall cappuccino, and fidgeted nervously in her seat. As Trudy approached she was surprised to see Charlotte light a cigarette.
Charlotte was smoking? What the hell had happened to make her take up cigarettes again? Charlotte had smoked dur
ing her first year of university. Then she had quit the nasty habit at Trudy’s insistence. Trudy had no idea how bad things had been for her friend over the past couple of days. But she couldn’t believe they’d been so bad that they’d got Charlotte back on cigarettes.
From the corner of her eye she thought she saw Donny.
She turned and squinted but decided she’d been mistaken.
There was a rival coffee shop across the road from the café where Charlotte sat. It was one of the big name franchises, although Trudy didn’t notice which. She was more intent on trying to work out if it was Donny sitting across the road. She could only see a vaguely familiar shape with the face hidden by the impenetrable shadows of a baseball cap.
On reflection she decided it wasn’t Donny. Donny was too fashionable to be seen dead wearing a baseball cap. But she had thought it was him.
Or someone she knew equally well.
When the guy in the baseball cap turned away, and pulled the brim lower with blue-plastered fingers, Trudy shrugged the matter off and walked over to Charlotte.
‘Why the hell are you smoking?’
‘Hi, hon,’ Charlotte beamed. ‘It’s good to see you.’
‘It’s good to see you,’ Trudy admitted. She took a seat, unmindful of the discomfort that still lingered in her rear. She made a wilful effort not to wrinkle her nose in disdain at the stink of the cigarette smoke. ‘I was worried about you yesterday. You didn’t return my calls. I had no idea what had become of you.’
Charlotte grimaced and flicked agitatedly at the end of her cigarette. Her fingertips trembled. Her nails looked ragged and chewed. ‘I’ve just been finding out things about myself,’ she explained. ‘That’s not always fun.’
‘What sort of things?’
Charlotte shook her head. She sucked on the cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke before asking, ‘Did you give our discussion last night any more thought?’
‘Discussion? You mean my returning to Sweet Temptation?’
Charlotte turned away.
A Taste of Passion Page 13