A Taste of Passion

by Ashley Lister

  ‘What a pleasure it is to see you,’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘Trudy?’ Gemma grinned as she sat back. ‘I didn’t expect to see you.’

  It was only when Gemma moved away that Trudy realised the naked brunette laid on the bed was Charlotte.

  ‘Jesus,’ Trudy gasped.

  Chapter 27

  Donny caught up with her before she could leave the house. He grabbed her by the arm and pushed her against one wall. He was naked and angry. It was frightening to be held by such a figure.

  ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’

  ‘I’m going back to Boui-Boui.’

  It was a lie. She had no idea where she could go but she knew she couldn’t stay in Eldorado any longer. She had seen things that she had never imagined she would see: things she hadn’t wanted to see. She made to take another step towards the door.

  Donny tightened his grip on her arm and pushed her towards the settee.

  She landed heavily and glared unhappily up at him. Sitting on the settee meant she was on eye-level with his semi-stiff penis. It was long and thick and glossy with wetness from being inside Charlotte.

  This was not an aspect of Donny she wanted to see in such detail.

  She levered herself from the settee and, with renewed determination, she made another attempt to get past him on her way out of the door.

  He put a hand on her arm.

  His grip was firm and unrelenting. There was steel in his eyes as though he was not going to back down from this challenge. His hold was inescapable and, if she was honest with herself, it was tight enough to hurt. She refused to let her discomfort show in her face.

  ‘You’ve got no business going back to the old man’s restaurant,’ Donny insisted. ‘You should be working for Sweet Temptation.’

  ‘Stop calling him the old man.’

  ‘Why? Does the truth hurt?’

  She glared at him. She could have told him that there were quite a few things that had hurt her over the past few days. Treachery, backstabbing and lack of consideration were some of the larger issues. It hurt that a close friend had destroyed her dream of being a partner in a catering company. It hurt that Donny and Charlotte had closed ranks against her and forced her out of Sweet Temptation. It hurt that neither of them seemed to trust her decision to be with Bill.

  Compared with those pains, she supposed, name calling didn’t hurt that much. Nevertheless, she didn’t like the way Donny continually defined Bill by the man’s age. She could see the smirk on Donny’s lips and knew there would be no point in arguing about the matter. Instead, it was easier to address the other point he had made.

  ‘How could I come back to work for Sweet Temptation?’ she demanded. ‘You told me the company was dead.’

  ‘I resurrected it.’

  She tried to pull away but he continued to hold her arm.

  ‘You can finish the resurrection without my help.’

  ‘I can do that,’ he agreed. ‘I’ve got staff –’ He paused and frowned, ‘Well, I’ve got these three worthless bitches. But they can follow a simple cake recipe and I’m sure, with a bit of effort, and maybe some rudimentary depilation, they can produce the same sort of crap you were peddling before.’

  Trudy bristled at the idea of her food being called crap. She had never produced anything that deserved such a damning label. Knowing this was not the time or the place for that argument, she refused to let herself get drawn into the pointless debate.

  Movement at the top of the stairs made her look up.

  She could see Charlotte with tears staining her mascara as she looked down. Trudy couldn’t bring herself to look at the unhappiness in her friend’s face. The misery was so obvious and profound she wanted to rush up the stairs and console her.

  Donny’s grip on Trudy’s arm tightened to a painful pinch.

  She lowered her gaze to glare at him. He had just been telling her that he had staff at his disposal who would be able to produce crap in the kitchen. Crap that was up to his perceived standard of the food she cooked. Her need to go and console Charlotte evaporated as though it had never been there.

  ‘You do that,’ she agreed. ‘You go and get your staff to produce the same sort of rudimentary crap that I’ve been producing. And, if you’ll let go of my arm, I’ll go and get on with my life.’

  He didn’t release his hold on her.

  He was nodding. ‘I could do that. I could let you go and I could get these bitches to do the catering. But it will mean lying to the investors. And I don’t really want to lie to the investors. I’ve been responsible for enough lies over the past day or so.’

  She didn’t like the way he said the words.

  He smirked as though he had said something that was somehow inappropriate or offensive or privately amusing. When he realised she was studying him quizzically, Donny finally let go of her arm and gestured towards the door.

  Trudy didn’t move.

  ‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘You were in such a hurry to get out of here. You might as well go. There’s obviously nothing more you want from here.’

  ‘What lies have you been telling, Donny?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

  She had a disquieting feeling that she didn’t really want to know. She could sense that, behind the faltering strength of his false smile, Donny knew that he had gone too far this time. She stepped towards him, not caring that he was naked, and she repeated the question.

  ‘What lies have you been telling, Donny?’

  He grinned defiantly. He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head back to a cocky angle. ‘I believe the old man got put in jail for a couple of hours last night. Do you know how easy it is to bribe arresting officers?’

  Her jaw worked soundlessly for a moment.

  Her eyes grew wide.

  Understanding washed over her in a sickening rush.

  ‘I’d paid a guy to close his kitchen,’ Donny grumbled sourly. ‘There was supposed to be a knife fight. But you can’t buy a decent criminal nowadays.’ He shook his head and, for an instant, Trudy thought he looked like he was talking to himself.

  ‘For fuck’s sake! How difficult could it be for someone to find a knife in a kitchen? And you’d think, for five hundred notes, it wouldn’t have been that hard to pick an argument with the old man, would you? My guy could have said that, back in the olden days, ration books weren’t better, or it was great to be able to smoke and have lead in your paint –’

  ‘You were responsible for last night?’

  He broke off from his musings.

  ‘Yes. I was responsible for last night. And I’ll be responsible for a lot worse if you don’t agree to cook for Sweet Temptation.’ He shook his head and said, ‘Grandad Spanky spent a night in the cells because of my actions. Seriously, Gertrude. I’m capable of that much, and one hell of a lot more.’

  Above him, over his shoulder, she saw Charlotte shrugging herself into a dressing gown. She was shamefacedly making her way down the stairs and trying to avoid eye contact with Trudy. Her shoulders were slumped and trembling with the echo of unheard tears. Trudy couldn’t recall seeing her friend ever looking more miserable. She felt a pang of the woman’s upset and wanted to push past Donny and embrace Charlotte.

  ‘Work for us,’ Donny said. His smile was cruel and predatory. ‘You do that and Hart won’t suffer any more business problems. At his age I don’t think he can suffer many more problems without it having serious repercussions on his health.’

  ‘You unconscionable bastard,’ Trudy whispered. She wanted to call him worse but she didn’t think there were words to describe her upset, her outrage and the enormity of her disgust. ‘You absolute, unconscionable bastard.’

  He shrugged. ‘Yeah. Sticks and stones. Give me your answer. Will you come and work for Sweet Temptation?’

  ‘I’ll give you my answer,’ she decided. She walked straight up to him and punched him hard on the nose. Whilst he was still shouting from the pain, T
rudy marched out of the door.

  Chapter 28

  She went to the letting agent and took the keys for Central Station. It was a poor solution to her problems and, although Trudy was telling herself that it wasn’t a permanent change, she knew it was the only option available at that moment. She made a down payment and stayed in the flat long enough to realise she needed to get out of there and buy some essentials.

  The walls rattled with every passing train.

  The smell of mustiness was subtle but invasive.

  From the adjoining apartments she could hear the muffled sound of voices engaged in happy and fulfilled lives. She glumly acknowledged that the sound of voices meant her neighbours were involved in conversations rather than sitting alone in an otherwise empty apartment.

  There was a TV set in one dusty corner. The volume needed to be set loud to compete with the rattle of the walls each time a train trundled past. The previous evening she had been the sous in a Michelin-starred kitchen. Now she was nothing.

  She was a person who didn’t dare go back to her previous accommodation to retrieve her personal possessions. She was scared to brave breaking the ranks of the media to return to her boyfriend’s cottage so she could retrieve her phone. She wasn’t sure that she still had a job. And none of those people she thought might still be her friends knew where she was now living. Trudy managed to avoid the necessity of going out for ten full minutes before conceding that she had to buy clothes, toiletries and other important things.

  It was the most miserable shopping trip she could ever recall enduring.

  Even though the weather remained warm and clement, every detail about the day struck her with the memory of an unhappy association.

  She passed the imposing frontage of the Hadfield Hotel and thought of the disastrous presentation they had put on for Charlotte’s parents.

  She saw the coffee shop where she had glimpsed Donny and the Smurf. In retrospect it seemed obvious that Donny had been talking with the Smurf and she knew she should have guessed that the pair were planning something unpleasant. She hurried past, fearful of encountering either of those men or glimpsing them involved in another nefarious plot.

  Every newspaper headline carried something about the story of Bill striking one of his employees, as though there had been no real news in the world that day: only the irrelevance of a minor fracas in a local diner.

  She rushed through the market picking up a pack of spoons, a cheap kettle and a jar of expensive coffee. She considered buying ingredients to bake, knowing how baking could always lift her spirits. But the idea had no appeal whatsoever. The thought of struggling to learn the nuances of the grimy oven in Central Station was so bleak it made her want to sob. She picked up another couple of items, quietly cursing the fact that her phone was still at Bill’s cottage and trying not to think that she had to find a way of retrieving that at some point soon. That was another encounter that she expected would be as acrimonious as the one she had just endured with Donny.

  Her chest tightened.

  The backs of her eyes prickled with the threat of tears. She wondered how many more trials she was likely to suffer before the nightmare ended.

  ‘Trudy? Trudy McLaughlin?’

  She turned around as her name was shouted. It took a moment before she recognised the woman with the baby. Youthful and smiling, she was somehow a familiar stranger. Recognition came in a blink.

  The woman had been serving behind the counter at Finlay West’s spice shop on the morning when she and Bill had purchased Sri Lankan cinnamon. That had been the morning after she’d first met Bill. The morning after she’d fucked him in the chef’s office at Boui-Boui.

  Trudy shut that memory from her thoughts.

  Instead, she chose to remember the woman’s peculiar behaviour towards Bill. At the time she had assumed it was some foible related to his celebrity. Now she wondered if it could be something more.

  ‘Imogen,’ Trudy remembered as she stepped closer to admire the baby. She had no idea why the name came back to her. She seemed to recall hearing someone else discussing a woman named Imogen recently, although she couldn’t recall where that had been. She didn’t dwell on the detail. Instead she leant closer to admire the baby.

  ‘Isn’t he handsome,’ Trudy cooed.

  The baby was dressed in sailor-suit blues and bundled over-protectively in a tight blanket. His face was ruddy-cheeked from a recent crying jag but his cheeks were plump with good health and his eyes shone wide with intelligent curiosity.

  He reached out to grab at Trudy, his toothless grin gaping for her.

  ‘It’s good to see you again,’ Trudy smiled glancing at Imogen. ‘Is this your son?’

  Imogen grinned, seeming pleased that Trudy had remembered her. ‘Yes,’ she laughed. ‘His majesty here is the reason why I haven’t slept for the past six months. Who’d have thought kids could have such impressive lungs?’

  ‘He looks like he’s worth it,’ Trudy said, allowing the baby to curl tiny, delicate fingers against the cuff of her jacket. His gaze fixed on her. His eyes were large and the sort of soft blue that reminded her of the steel in Bill’s eyes.

  ‘He’s more than worth it.’ Imogen looked momentarily serious. She shook her head and laughed. ‘I’m sorry if I appeared rude in the shop earlier this week.’

  Had that been so recently?

  Trudy shrugged. ‘I didn’t notice.’

  ‘You’re too kind,’ Imogen smiled through thin lips. She hugged the baby tighter and then seemed to see something in Trudy’s eyes. Her smile disappeared and she asked, ‘Are you OK?’

  The woman’s interest sounded genuine.

  Trudy refused to be moved by the concern even though it felt like the first word of genuine kindness she had heard all day. She nodded stiffly and kept her smile fixed. ‘I’m more than OK,’ she said softly. ‘I’m golden.’

  Imogen smiled as though she understood. ‘Sometimes he can be so infuriating, don’t you think?’

  Trudy shook her head. She was trying to work out who Imogen meant. Was the woman referring to Bill, Finlay West, or the baby? She tried to think of a way to ask the question without seeming stupid or like a person who hadn’t been following the conversation.

  ‘Infuriating?’

  ‘Infuriating,’ Imogen repeated. ‘Or perhaps he’s just pigheaded. He can’t bring himself to speak with me and I’m loathe to talk to him.’

  Trudy hesitated before responding.

  Imogen shook her head. ‘I know. It’s not my place to say. Pretend I said nothing.’ She shook her head again and said, ‘Besides, his majesty here is due for his feed.’ Purposefully, she started away.

  Trudy was curious to know what the woman was talking about. It had almost sounded as though Imogen was giving her a thinly veiled warning. But, as much as she wanted to know more about what the woman was saying, Trudy also realised she had more pressing matters to address. She watched Imogen take the baby away and hurry towards the depths of the market.

  ‘Goodbye,’ Trudy called. ‘Goodbye, Imogen. Goodbye, baby …’

  She paused, not sure what the baby was called. For some reason she felt as though she should already know the child’s name.

  ‘What’s your baby called?’ she shouted.

  ‘Baby Bill,’ Imogen called back. ‘It’s baby Bill.’

  After leaving that enigma she had disappeared. Trudy realised it was time to go back to the absence of comfort she had already begun to associate with Central Station.

  Her shoulders slumped.

  Every footstep of the return journey was an arduous trek. It didn’t help that the weather was pleasant and so many people seemed to be smiling. Those details reinforced the idea that she was in the wrong for being miserable.

  Bill’s face was beneath the headline of every newspaper hoarding. As a local celebrity he was always big news in the local paper. His image was also on the TV sets in the shop fronts she passed.

  Later that evening, sitting miser
ably before the dusty TV screen in her new apartment, Trudy watched Bill on the news. A group of reporters were following him across a location she didn’t recognise. There were flashing lights and some name calling that was just beyond the range of the TV’s speakers.

  Bill turned without warning.

  He knocked a camera from the hands of one reporter and grabbed the man by the lapels of his jacket. Pushing him up against a wall, Bill pressed his face close to the photographer. A pair of adjacent reporters pushed into the fray and began to pull Bill away.

  The camera filming the event was obscured by a woman’s hand. Trudy got a moment to recognise Aliceon’s face behind the hand. Then the news story had cut back to the studio and the smirking reporter was talking about Bill’s case and describing him as the chef with the hot and fiery temper.

  In that moment, Trudy knew what she had to do.

  Chapter 29

  ‘I want to make love,’ she told him.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Make love,’ she insisted. ‘No spanking. No discipline. No power play. I just want to make love.’

  ‘That sounds like it might be dull,’ he said. ‘But I’ll see what I can do.’

  He escorted her into his cottage.

  ‘The restaurant’s closed,’ she noticed.

  He shrugged. ‘My agent said it would seem as though I don’t care about the man I injured if I opened the restaurant this evening.’

  ‘Do you care about him?’

  He looked set to respond and she could tell that his remark would have been caustic. But he stopped himself. His smile was rueful as he shook his head and encouraged her towards the cottage’s kitchen.

  It was a direction she already knew too well.

  ‘If we’re going to make love, perhaps we should be drinking wine,’ he suggested. ‘Chivas Regal is more suited for intense passion rather than an aperitif for vanilla indulgences.’

  Trudy considered this and then nodded. She wasn’t sure that she agreed that their making love was going to be a vanilla experience. But she supposed, if the experience was going to be drastically different from what they had done together so far, it would be appropriate to have a drink that was drastically different from their usual indulgence.