A Taste of Passion

by Ashley Lister

  Displaying a confidence she didn’t feel, Trudy guided Charles and Rebecca Collins to sit behind the room’s solitary table. The couple looked as resplendent as ever. Charles carried himself with the same confidence and dignity that made her think of Bill. Rebecca, still going to great pains to look youthful, hung on her husband’s arm.

  The couple faced a projector screen that showed the revised Sweet Temptation logo. The new design was a simple line drawing of a muffin. It was styled in pastel pink ink on a sky-blue background. There was an alternate version of the logo with the colours reversed but, from the samples Charlotte had created, Trudy preferred this one. For some reason she couldn’t understand, the pink muffin reminded her of the ones she had first sampled at Boui-Boui.

  The image was one of a series on random rotation.

  After the revised Sweet Temptation logo the screen showed a picture of Trudy working in the kitchens at Boui-Boui. She was dressed in the uniform of a professional chef, complete with chequerboard pants, double-breasted whites and toque. Both of the latter garments were decorated with appliqués showing a silver spoon dripping golden liquid to form the words Boui-Boui.

  The picture of Trudy working was followed by a graduation day picture showing Charlotte collecting her degree and grinning broadly. Other pictures in the series included photographs of some of Trudy’s culinary creations and screenshots of Charlotte’s revised website pages.

  There was no mention of Donny’s participation or involvement.

  Trudy didn’t think Sweet Temptation looked any less of an attractive business proposition because of that. For those people who knew Donny, she suspected the business proposition probably looked a lot more attractive now he was gone.

  She and Charlotte had enlisted the help of Daryl and Gemma for the presentation. Daryl, looking as slender and sexy as always, busied herself with making sure Rebecca and Charles were both catered for and entertained before the presentation itself began. Trudy had managed to coax the woman into some clothes and Daryl was presenting herself as a reasonable hostess.

  Gemma hadn’t yet arrived at the Hadfield, as she had promised she would, although Trudy supposed the woman had done enough in again securing them free use of the Admiralty Room.

  ‘I feel wrong for doing this,’ Charlotte whispered.

  Trudy took a pair of muffins from the transportation case she’d brought to the hotel. The muffins were her own interpretation of the citrus and blueberry muffins she had first experienced in Boui-Boui. Opening the box, inhaling the cinnamon fragrance of the buns, Trudy felt an unshakeable sense of accomplishment.

  Nothing was going to stop them from succeeding now.

  She handed the muffins to Daryl and told her to serve them to Charles and Rebecca. ‘Explain that these are from Sweet Temptation’s one and only chef.’

  Daryl nodded and took the pastries to the investors.

  Trudy placed an arm around Charlotte’s shoulder and hugged her friend.

  It had been a difficult week. She was missing Bill and even with all her work at Boui-Boui and the effort she had thrown into preparing this presentation, Trudy felt as though her nights had been long and lonely stretches of solitude.

  It didn’t help that, each day when she spoke with Bill, she couldn’t share her plans with him. He was filled with exciting news about his TV shows and all the celebrities he had encountered. He was talking about the excitement of his book launch and the travel plans that were being made for the promotional tour. But, whilst Trudy desperately wanted to tell him what she was plotting with Charlotte, she wanted to explain it when they were face-to-face so she could make him understand.

  Nevertheless, she knew now wasn’t the time to brood on that particular problem. It was more important to reassure Charlotte so that they could get this final stage of their plan completed.

  ‘Stop feeling guilty,’ Trudy told her. ‘We should always have been a partnership – never a trio.’

  Charlotte shook her head.

  ‘That’s not fair. We all contributed equally. Including Donny.’

  ‘No. You created those designs,’ Trudy reminded her, nodding at the revised logos on the screen. ‘And it’s your skill that got the front end of the website operational.’

  ‘I did those bits,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘But they’re only minor details.’

  ‘They’re more than minor details,’ Trudy argued. ‘I’ve done the baking. You’ve done the technical side of things. Together, we’re both capable of running this company on our own. Once, we might have needed Donny to help us focus on the corporate direction but now …’

  ‘But now?’ Donny demanded.

  Trudy stepped back, surprised to see Donny leering over her shoulder.

  He looked untidy. A scrub of beard dirtied his jaw. His hair was in disarray and he wore unwashed jeans with a torn T-shirt. Trudy wasn’t sure if he had elected to go for a grunge style or if he had simply dressed in a hurry in his haste to get down there. Whatever the reason, she knew he did not look like someone worthy of investment. He certainly didn’t look like someone who belonged in the Admiralty Room of the Hadfield Hotel.

  She briefly wondered how he had gained access into the room, and how he had known they were meeting there. Then she saw Gemma standing in the doorway and she understood.

  ‘What the hell is going on here?’ Donny demanded. He nodded his head back towards Charles and Rebecca and asked, ‘Why are the investors here? What are you two bitches scheming?’

  ‘Hi, Donny,’ Daryl called cheerfully. ‘You ought to try these muffins. They look much better than the nasty ones you had me and Gemma make. Look at the pretty pink muffin cases.’

  Donny ignored her.

  Charlotte stood her ground in the face of his wrath.

  Trudy brushed her hands on the narrow hips of her small black minidress. She tried to find the words to tell him that he should leave now before he caused any unforgivable embarrassment. They were not words that sprang easily to mind.

  He smirked at her and seemed to take her momentary silence as acquiescence. Confidently, he reached for a muffin from the transportation box.

  ‘I see you’ve come back to join us, Gertrude. It’s good to see you’re back on board with the winning team. I take it you got tired of working at Jurassic Park?’

  Trudy slapped his knuckles before he could touch any of the pastries she had brought. Donny snatched his hand back in surprise.

  ‘Don’t call me Gertrude, Donald.’

  ‘No, Donny,’ Charlotte broke in. ‘We’re no longer on the same team.’

  His gaze darted from Charlotte to her parents to Daryl and then back to Trudy. His frown deepened when he glanced at the projector screen and saw an image of Charlotte collecting her degree. His eyes had narrowed to suspicious slits by the time he was studying Trudy again.

  ‘We’re not on the same team?’ he asked guardedly. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The investors have made another decision,’ Trudy explained.

  Donny scowled. He looked set to say something in response but the screen chose that moment to shift images. The revised Sweet Temptation logo flooded the room with the company’s new colours of pretty pastel pinks and soft sky blues.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘At the last meeting,’ Charlotte started quietly, ‘the investors said they would only invest if Sweet Temptation had the original pâtissier on staff. Do you remember that?’

  Donny gave an impatient nod. He no longer looked confident or happy. He looked irritable and angry. ‘I remember that.’

  ‘Well, I’m the original pâtissier,’ Trudy explained. ‘And I’m back. But I’ve given the investors my own condition.’

  ‘And what might that be?’

  From the frown on his face, Trudy suspected he already knew the condition.

  ‘Sweet Temptation is now owned by Charlotte and me,’ she said. ‘I’ve registered the name at Companies House so it’s official.’

  His frown dee
pened.

  His lips thinned and curled back from a smile that looked positively vicious.

  ‘We employ Daryl,’ Charlotte added. ‘And we’ve offered Gemma an opportunity to work with us. But we’ve got no need for your input.’ She cocked her head to one side and said, ‘I don’t think we ever had.’

  ‘You pair of bitches,’ he breathed softly. ‘You pair of fucking –’

  ‘I think you should leave now,’ Charlotte said firmly.

  ‘You’re out of the company,’ Trudy told him. She struggled to keep her voice even as she added, ‘Considering all you did to hurt me and Bill, you’re getting off lightly. Please go.’

  Donny’s hands clenched into fists. She could see the tendons in his neck straining and standing out like cords. His eyes bulged bright white in the thunderous darkness of his face. ‘Did the old man put you up to this?’ Donny scowled. ‘Is that what’s happened here? Do I have to thank Grandpa Moses for this turn of events?’

  ‘You should leave now, Donny,’ Charlotte’s father said. Charles Collins placed a hand on Donny’s shoulder. ‘I believe you’ve been asked to leave by my daughter. I believe you’ve also been asked to leave by Trudy. Don’t make me call the hotel security.’

  Donny’s cheeks were purple with rage. He shrugged his shoulder free. He scowled at Charlotte and then fixed Trudy with a glower of pure malice. ‘You’ve not heard the last of this, Gertrude.’

  She held his gaze and said nothing.

  Angrily, Donny snapped his fingers and pointed at Daryl.

  ‘Come with me, slut. We’re out of this shithole.’

  Charles Collins recoiled as though he had been struck by the word. Charlotte and Trudy, used to hearing Donny’s rudeness with Daryl and other women, turned to watch how Daryl would respond.

  Daryl brushed her hands against her painfully slender hips. She cocked her head to one side as she regarded Donny. Her eventual smile was sad but sympathetic. She shook her head.

  ‘Sorry, Donny,’ Daryl sounded sincerely apologetic. ‘You’re good in bed,’ she admitted. ‘You’re adventurous and experimental and all those things are fun. But you’re not so good you can get away with talking to me like that in public.’

  Donny blinked in surprise.

  ‘When you stop objectifying women,’ Daryl went on, ‘perhaps they might be more inclined to spend time in your company. Until then, you should get used to sleeping alone with your tiny cock. You certainly won’t be getting near me again.’

  Trudy chewed on her lower lip to suppress the grin that wanted to erupt.

  Whatever anger Donny had been showing before was now replaced with embarrassment and fury. He turned on his heel and stormed angrily towards the door.

  Gemma fixed them all with an angry glare and then followed him.

  Daryl poured fresh flutes of champagne.

  ‘Well spoken,’ Charles Collins told Daryl. He placed a hand on her arm and said again, ‘You have a wonderful way with words.’

  She blushed and handed him a flute.

  Rebecca took her drink and raised it in the air. She was talking to Charlotte but her words were spoken loudly enough to include everyone there. ‘I suppose we can take it as read that your father will invest the money. Does this mean we should celebrate the launch of Sweet Temptation under its new management?’

  Trudy nodded.

  She raised her glass and tilted it against the ones held by Charlotte, Daryl and Mr and Mrs Collins. ‘To Sweet Temptation.’

  ‘To Sweet Temptation,’ they all echoed. ‘And to the success of your company.’

  ‘Sweet Temptation?’

  Trudy turned and saw Bill standing in the doorway.

  His frown was so deep and thunderous that, for an instant, she thought Donny had returned. His eyes wore the blank expression of a man who looked like he had been slapped.

  ‘Sweet Temptation?’ he repeated numbly. He shook his head.

  ‘Bill,’ Trudy began. ‘I can explain.’

  He sniffed and turned. He was already walking away. ‘You probably can explain,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘But you’d be better saving it for someone who gives a toss.’

  And, before she could say another word, he had left the hotel.

  Chapter 36

  In her imagination, he called on her that evening. In her imagination, he called on her every evening for the following fortnight. He called on her and, before he could say a word, she had led him into the gloomy and miserable depths of the apartment she called Central Station. She shook her head whenever he started to speak and placed a finger over his lips.

  It was important that he wasn’t allowed to talk.

  She needed to apologise before letting him say a word.

  ‘I deserve to be punished,’ she told him.

  She slipped out of the clothes she was wearing and bent over. There was no opportunity for him to admire her nudity even though she’d spent the fortnight working out. Daily visits to the quad killer had done wonders for her physique. Her thighs were more toned than they had ever been. Her stomach and buttock muscles were taut and attractive. The excess of exercise had left her skin clear and smooth and free from any blemishes. When she bent over for him, Trudy was sure she had never looked more desirable.

  But she wouldn’t let him speak.

  There was no prospect of them kissing and reconciling without the brutality of discipline. She immediately assumed the position to receive the punishment she needed from him, bent over in the grubby kitchen of Central Station with her backside held high in the air, and her cheeks quivering with their need for his bare hand.

  He seemed reluctant to comply at first.

  Then, after a moment’s hesitation, his hands caressed her bare buttocks.

  She could feel his callused palms stroking over the smooth, peach-like orbs. His caresses were slow and circular and kept slipping closer to the sensitive flesh at the crease of her sex.

  When his little finger caught the soft blonde curls that covered her secrets, Trudy bristled with the thrill of a pending explosion. When his touch slid purposefully against the centre of her wetness, teasing a pathway between the moist, febrile lips, she stiffened on the precipice of orgasm. When he pulled his hand away, and then landed a brusque slap against her right cheek, she felt as though she was about to explode.

  His hand came down again and again in a lazy flurry of considered blows.

  He struck left and then right, left and then right, in a balanced warming of both cheeks. When she thought she’d had enough, he carried on spanking her rear until it burned with a furious and fantastic heat.

  If she had dared, Trudy knew she could have touched the centre of her sex and savoured a rush of self-induced satisfaction. It would take little more than a casual caress of her clitoris and the orgasm would rush through her body with the force of a tsunami.

  She had tried that once.

  She reached slowly to her sex and clutched the bead of her clitoris between her index finger and her middle finger. The flesh pulsed as though it was trying to slip free from her grip. The skin was so moist it almost managed to elude her. But not before she had squeezed lightly and pushed her body beyond the brink of the orgasm she needed to savour.

  A liquid rush of orgasmic wetness had begged to be wrung from between her legs. When it finally came she panted breathlessly on the bed, needing him to deliver a final caress or a concluding blow. Her muscles ached with the trembling, desperate need that she harboured.

  But that was only in her imagination.

  After a fortnight of crying herself to sleep with the same bittersweet fantasies of satisfying punishment playing through her thoughts, Trudy knew she had to do something. And she knew there was only one thing she could do.

  Chapter 37

  ‘Table for one,’ Trudy insisted. She glared at Aliceon to show she was serious.

  ‘Trudy,’ Aliceon said, with just as much insistence. ‘This isn’t the place and it isn’t the time.’ She gestured around he
rself and the small, economical movement was enough to say so much without the need for a word to be spoken.

  ‘I have a reservation,’ Trudy insisted. She pointed into the ledger. Her finger rested on the entry labelled, S. Maid.

  Charlotte had made the reservation using her parent’s influence.

  Aliceon crossed a line through the name. ‘No. This isn’t the time and it isn’t the place. Bill has left explicit instructions.’

  There was a babble of noise coming from the heart of the busy restaurant. The car park outside the window was a meandering buzz of lethargic movement. Occasional satisfied customers walked past them on their way out of Boui-Boui to the car park.

  Of course this wasn’t the place, Trudy thought. This was front of house and Bill was in the kitchens. He was in a different world to this one. If ever there had been a specific place for this discussion she knew it was somewhere different to here. But she also knew she had to start somewhere.

  And she knew this wasn’t really the time. She had arrived during working hours and Bill was too dedicated to do anything but work during working hours. A part of her feared that this wasn’t the time because the time for reconciliation had passed and now was too late.

  But she refused to be beaten by such a bleak and depressing concept.

  ‘Please,’ Trudy whispered urgently. ‘A table for one. That’s all I’m asking.’

  ‘He doesn’t want to see you.’

  ‘Please,’ Trudy begged. ‘Let me have the table I booked.’

  Aliceon’s shoulders slumped. ‘Table thirteen is waiting for you. Go and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be over shortly.’

  ‘Thank you, Aliceon.’

  She sat at the familiar table and watched the hustle and bustle of the restaurant going on around her. It reminded her of that first night she had spent in Boui-Boui, sharing a table with Charlotte and Donny back in the days before everything had gone wrong.

  The room was filled with a warmth. The chintzy farmhouse chic was homely and, whilst it suggested things from a bygone era it did not suggest anything unpleasant or unwanted.