Sublime Trust

by Jaye Peaches

  “Sorry about this morning. I was a grouch.”

  “Apology accepted. Now you can have your orgasm, babe. Be quick. If you’ve not done it by the time we’ve reached the main road, you’ll have to skip it.”

  I twirled my fingers around my clitoris and pinched my nipples. I put on a show, but Jason glued his eyes to the road ahead and ignored me. I managed to come with a mile to spare. I performed a rather spectacular screech, which echoed about the car, and I created a damp spot on the leather seat. I rearranged my clothes before we re-joined the highway.

  For the rest of the journey, I stared out of the window and hummed nursery rhymes to my sleeping son.

  Once I’d tucked Joshua up in bed at the White House, Jason kept me naked and at his feet for the rest of the evening. Such was my state of submissiveness, when he fucked me tied to the bed, I slipped into subspace and remained there, reposed and content.

  Chapter 6. A Cry for Help

  On a quiet weekday in the midst of April, my sister-in-law, Gillian, rang to ask if she could meet me for lunch. Out of Jason’s three siblings, Anthony was the one I saw the least and with whom I’d fewest telephone conversations. I liked Gillian. On her own she was a great deal more fun than when her somewhat morose husband accompanied her.

  She was in the city on an unknown pretext and, to accommodate her wish to meet, I handed over Joshua to Clara. The unplanned rendezvous required a text to Jason to explain my excursion. Anything not routine, a semi-regular fixture or a typical location, required me to inform him prior to departure. It wasn’t necessarily about gaining permission, merely giving him the comfort of knowing I wasn’t out of his reach.

  : Meeting Gillian for lunch at Covent Garden.

  : Give her my regards.

  We met by the entrance of the Royal Opera House and dined in the restaurant. Gillian appeared flustered, her hair unruly and eyes framed by dark shadows. She lacked her usual refined appearance and fidgeted with her hair, and I struggled to engage her in conversation. She answered simple enquiries about her children in a curt and dismissive fashion. They were fine, doing well at school, and the dialogue dried up. She picked at her food with an expression of misery.

  “What’s wrong, Gillian? You didn’t come for a girly chat did you?”

  “No, sorry, but I’ve a lot on my mind. Worries.” She sipped on her orange juice. “Big worries.”

  Why approach me? We weren’t close, and she had her own sister. “What about?” I put down my cutlery and reached over to give her a reassuring pat on her arm. “Please tell me.”

  “Anthony. It’s all going to shit. His business is going down the pan. Our marriage is hitting the rocks because he’s stopped talking to me, and I worry his health is going to suffer. He looks so stressed and he’s terrible for bottling his problems up inside.” Her voice wobbled as if she wanted to cry but the public surroundings inhibited her. I regretted the location and wished for greater privacy.

  I recollected conversation with my mother-in-law. “I know from Audrey things have been difficult—”

  “Difficult!” She spat the word out. “We’re reaching the point of no return. Going bust. He won’t give me the details. Something to do with a critical supplier refusing to do business with him, squabbles over pricing models, and it has turned into a full-scale war. He claims he doesn’t have an alternative. At least not to the right specifications or whatever. I can’t tell if he’s boxed himself into a corner and his stupid pride is letting him down, or if there is a real intractable problem indicating the end is nigh for us. I mean his company. Though, to be honest it feels like us, too.”

  She halted her rambling and intercepted a tear from her lashes with a flick of her finger.

  I understood her distress but still couldn’t understand what I could do for her other than to provide a shoulder for her to cry on. “Oh, Gillian, I’m so sorry. This all sounds terrible. There has to be a solution to his supplier problem?”

  “I can’t work it out. He always used to talk things through. This time he’s clammed up, and I’m an interfering busybody who knows jack shit about his company, even though I own shares!” A bloom of red filled her angry cheeks, and she stabbed the table with a finger. How many of their conversations ended with heated arguments and nothing resolved?

  Jason forbade me to lose my temper with him. I could have a minimalist rant of discontent, but an all-out shouting match happened rarely. Defiance and counterproductive emotions were not for display, according to my rules. I cherished his advice and support to such an extent I seldom disagreed with his suggestions anyway, mostly…. I parked my opinion about his restrictions on social media usage and Saturday afternoons.

  I poked at my food. “Dare I ask if Jason knows about any of this?”

  I suspected this was the real reason she wanted to meet me: asking Jason to help them out of the crisis. The rest of the family knew the relationship between Jason and his nearest sibling to be awkward to the point of antagonistic. A mutually acknowledged personality clash left for years unaltered and undiscussed by either brother. The discovery of our kinky lifestyle had increased the distance between Jason and Anthony, although Gillian remained friendly and curious. She knew about my rape, and she had witnessed the nature of Jason’s hold over me. Anthony didn’t know, but Gillian did, that Jason was an innately caring man who kept the sentiment well concealed.

  “Far as I’m aware, the only person Anthony has spoken to is Clive.” Gillian referred to our mutual father-in-law.

  My mind flashed back to several weeks earlier—Clive’s unannounced visit to the White House and Jason’s dismissal of his conversation with his father as not for my ears. Jason probably knew something, assuming it had been the topic of their conversation.

  I relayed my recollection to Gillian. She looked surprised, eyes widening, then her lips turned down. “Jason hasn’t contacted Anthony or done anything. He sits there in his ivory tower with all that money and does nothing!” She’d leant across the table, lowering her voice, but the anger remained in her tone.

  I shifted back in my seat, creating distance. Gillian had attacked my husband’s integrity, and her ire made me uncomfortable—should I defend him? “Gillian, we don’t know what has been said. It’s speculation. I don’t think Jason would ever hold back from helping Anthony, but would Anthony accept his help whether financial or even advice? Be honest. Anthony would despise Jason for suggesting the idea.”

  “A few months back, maybe, but things haven’t gotten so bad, I think he might consider help from any quarter. If I mention the kids, he looks like he’s going to break down. It’s heart-breaking to see. I love him including his faults, but he shouts at them every day and the tension in the house is unbearable.”

  She extracted a tissue from her handbag, and I called for the bill. A restaurant wasn’t the place to handle the emotional outpouring.

  “I can’t help. I don’t have the expertise or resources. We’ll go see Jason and bring him up to date. Let’s not beat about the bush any longer. If you want to shout for help, let’s do it properly.”

  She nodded in agreement, and I fished out my mobile.

  Carla didn’t answer and being lunchtime she had escaped her duties for a break. Her deputy, Melissa, kept Jason’s diary for the duration.

  “Melissa, it’s Mrs Lucas. I need to see my husband. Is there a gap in his diary this afternoon?” I began with the cooperative approach.

  “Oh, Mrs Lucas, let me see. Very busy today,” she muttered, clicking her mouse in the background. “There is half an hour at 3 p.m. when he’s not in a meeting. Unfortunately, it has been earmarked as untouchable. You know, nobody gets in the door. He’s probably making calls.”

  I didn’t think he’d ignore me if I camped outside his door. “Well, I will be. Put me down then.”

  “Mrs Lucas, I shouldn’t really—”

  “You shouldn’t, but I can. So please let him know I will be there outside his door at 3 p.m. Politely, Melissa.”
>
  I hung up before she could express any further resistance. Gillian scrunched her napkin into a ball in a display of apprehension. “Are you in trouble for this?”

  “Oh, probably. Don’t worry. I can handle being in trouble. It has its fringe benefits.” Her cheeks turned crimson. Unfair of me to allude to our kinky ways, but I needed a moment of light relief.

  I hadn’t realised until we pulled up outside the entrance Gillian had never been to Jason’s headquarters—a multi-storeyed building in the heart of the financial sector complete with glazed walls and logos adoring the outside. Her own husband’s manufacturing business consisted of a small-scale set-up, which made them a comfortable living: a decent-sized detached house, holidays abroad, new cars every few years, and the conveniences of a thoroughly modern family. It didn’t extend to oodles of spare cash or big investments stashed away for a rainy day. According to Gillian, they had wiped out their savings, their house was threatened with re-mortgaging and worse, the possible sell-off of the company.

  Seeing the epicentre of Jason’s empire put Anthony’s business in the realms of small fry—a drop in the ocean and something Jason’s money could easily sticky tape together. However, Jason wouldn’t throw money at a problem without there being a long-lasting solution to Anthony’s difficult supplier.

  We breezed past the security desk at reception and the, “Good afternoon, Mrs Lucas,” from the duty officer.

  Gillian paused before the elevator door, gawping at the fine gilt trim and marble flooring. “Anthony has a secretary and a small office area in the corner of the building.” Inside the lift, we shot up to the top floor.

  I remembered when I first visited the penthouse office, my heels had clicked on the polished floor and the vast openness of the premium office space, along with the pristine furnishings and décor, had overwhelmed. Today, I trotted up to Carla’s desk with my sister-in-law peeping behind me like a dormouse. So unlike her, but my husband’s dominion had that effect on some people. The double oak door to Jason’s office was shut.

  “Mrs Lucas.” Carla rose from her seat. “He’s been told you are coming and said he would be available if you waited. He has phone calls to make, you see.”

  Carla spoke with an awkward shrug of her shoulders. Five years ago, when I had worked for the company as a lowly intern, she would have snapped her responses, making me shrivel.

  “We’ll wait. Please would you bring some coffee for my sister Gillian and myself.” I pursed my lips with frustration at the delay. However, I could do little until Jason emerged.

  We sat in the waiting area and watched Jason’s trio of personal assistants beaver away. The skinny Melissa kept dashing back and forth to the photocopier, chewing gum incessantly, and she gave us little smiles of acknowledgement each time. Oliver, Jason’s researcher, was reading off the screen with a glum look. Carla brought over two small coffees with a jug of cream on a tray and placed it on the low glass-topped table. I had sent a text to Clara, explaining the delay.

  Minutes ticked by before it dawned on me Jason didn’t know I was outside his office with his sister-in-law. He would be expecting me and to keep me waiting would be acceptable in his mind. However, he wouldn’t have kept Gillian sitting outside his office. I should have been more precise with Melissa when I made the appointment. Whoops.

  “Your kids, how will they be getting home from school?” I hadn’t thought about Gillian’s schedule either.

  “Not a problem today. They go to the childminder. I took a flexi day.” Gillian worked for a publishing agency part-time as a copy proofer, a job offering the advantage of being able to do much of her work from home.

  Clara’s phone buzzed. “Yes, will do.” She turned to me. “You can go in, Mrs Lucas.”

  A quarter past three, and Jason was scheduled for another appointment in fifteen minutes leaving a frugal amount of time to deal with Anthony’s collapsing business.

  Jason wasn’t at his desk. He sat by the large meeting table with the cordless telephone headset glued to one ear and his feet resting on another chair. With his jacket and tie discarded, the top button of his shirt undone, and sleeves rolled up, he had an air of a man who wanted to be by himself and undisturbed. To me, he was the sexiest man alive, with or without his formal trappings. The beginnings of a frown dissolved when he saw Gillian behind me. Rising gracefully, he came over to greet his sister-in-law with a charming face of welcome and a kiss on the cheek.

  “Gillian, what a pleasant surprise.” He turned to look over his shoulder at me and flashed me the I’m-pissed-with-you glare for a fleeting second.

  I hunched my shoulders, making myself smaller. “Sor-ry,” I sang. “I should have mentioned to Melissa about Gillian being with me. It’s Gillian who needs to talk to you.”

  He indicated to the chairs around the table. “I apologise, Gillian,” he said, sitting back down, “for keeping you waiting.”

  He addressed his apology to my sister-in-law. I presumed my inability to communicate effectively would be readdressed later in the day.

  Gillian had all the appearance of somebody who wanted to be miles away from the intimidating office of a chief executive. Her usual confident manner had faded into nonexistence. The room, with its vast dimensions and modern furnishings gave no comfort to a woman who wanted to tell her brother-in-law her world collapsed in on itself. She opened her mouth and nothing came out, while her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

  Jason drew in a deep breath. “Let me make a guess. Anthony’s company is about to go tits up and you’re here because I’m your last resort?”

  She nodded a fraction.

  “I take it he doesn’t know you’re here?”

  A shake this time. “You knew?”

  “About his finances, the problems with suppliers? Yes, I knew. Dad told me a while back.”

  “You’ve done nothing to help him!”

  “He hasn’t asked me to, Gillian. You know our history. I can’t foist myself on him and in any case, he won’t let me. Dad tried speaking to him about seeing me, but he resisted. I assume things have reached a tipping point.”

  “You could say so. The house, everything is at risk. He’ll never come and knock on this door. Never.” The sharpness in her voice stunned me. What caused the bad blood between Anthony and Jason? It had to be something more than Jason’s kinky lifestyle choices.

  “Never is a big word.” My husband’s shrug seemed to lack any sympathy, almost dismissing Gillian’s concerns. My stupid tendency to weigh in and add my own pleas hovered, and I focused my attention on my hands and sealed my lips tight. Couldn’t he give Gillian money, make the loan out to her?

  “What about Audrey? Can’t she persuade him?” Gillian mentioned Jason’s mother with unbridled exasperation.

  “Anthony’s attitude to Mum is similar to the one he holds for me. He thinks we’re conjoined and set against him.”

  “Won’t you help us, Jason?” Her voice broke, and tears tipped over her long lashes, dribbling down cheeks. She wasn’t a woman who cried easily, I suspected, not like me who blubbered at the drop of a hat. With a sigh, Jason rose and returned to his desk. He hit a button on his intercom.

  “Mr Lucas?” Carla’s voice boomed across the room.

  “Cancel my next meeting.”

  Jason picked up a tissue box and placed it on the table next to Gillian. She grabbed one and mopped up her face, apologising for her emotional display.

  “Don’t worry about the tears, Gillian. I have a reputation to reducing people to tears in this room. It will add to the myth.”

  My tears didn’t count obviously. Mine were not an illusion—I’d bawled buckets spanked over his lap all those years ago.

  The phone rang, and Jason leaned over picking up his headset. “Eliza. Hi. I will have to call you back. Thanks.” Jason returned to his desk and thumped his intercom again.

  “Carla, no calls please.”

  Gillian’s mortification grew rather than diminished. “I’m so sorry
, Jason. I’m interrupting your day. If there is nothing you can do, I should go home. I’ve missed my train and—”

  “Hold up. I didn’t say there was nothing I could do.” Jason remained stood behind his desk. “He needs to talk to me. The problem has to do with more than money. There are contractual issues with suppliers. This is bread and butter stuff for me, Gillian. It’s infuriating having to sit and watch him bury his head in the sand because he thinks I want to own his company.”

  Gillian gaped at Jason.

  “He never told you, I guess.” Jason puffed out his cheeks and looked up at the ceiling, as if to weigh up the situation.

  “Told me what?” Gillian’s frown deepened.

  Jason dragged a chair closer to the table, sat down, and leaned forward on his elbows, addressing the pair of us on the other side.

  “When Anthony set up his business, making bespoke lampshades, and not long before he met you, Gillian, it ran into unforeseen problems. We were both young businessmen. My company had gone from strength to strength, making heaps, and Anthony made some bad decisions and got into debt. I confess I was indelicate when it came to dealing with his problem. He came for help, and I did what I did best. I bought the company out from him, restructured and refinanced it, then sold it back to Anthony on the cheap. All done and dusted in a short space of time. I made no money whatsoever from the process. I did it for Anthony’s sake and more so for my parents.”

  I imagined the guilt that must have consumed Anthony—taking his brother’s money, plus, the humiliation of having Jason salvage his business while Jason’s thrived. The Jason back then in his early twenties would have been the young Dominant learning to contain his natural instincts. Massaging his prevalent personal trait from forceful domineering to responsible domination—taking charge and leading. His brother had probably been victim to Jason’s ruthless approach to problem solving, which centred on the ethos of deal with it then move on to the next issue.