Sebastian - Secrets

by Janey Rosen

  8

  I open my eyes, sweating, scared. Where am I?

  “Hush, you had a nightmare darling. It’s ok you’re safe, you’re here with me in bed… it’s all over Elizabeth” he soothes.

  I look at him and my eyes start to focus but the face of the woman in black haunts me still. I shudder and sit up, turning on the lamp on my nightstand. Blinking, my eyes adjust to the light and all is as it should be and so I start to calm down. Sebastian is stroking my back, and yet I can’t shake off a feeling of foreboding.

  We nestle under the covers together and a more peaceful sleep comes eventually.

  After a fitful night, the morning brings a languid start to the day. Sebastian brings mugs of coffee and we sit up against our feather filled pillows, drinking and chatting easily and I welcome the domesticity.

  “Hungry?” asks Sebastian.

  “Ravenous” I reply.

  He lifts his eyebrow and I know that wicked glint in his eye.

  “For food. I’m hungry for food,” I laugh.

  We are soon washed and dressed and making our way downstairs to the kitchen.

  When we reach the hall I stop to retrieve my phone from my bag while Sebastian continues to the kitchen. I text my mother, telling her that I’m fine, to kiss the children for me, I’m missing them all. There are no messages from Alan and I make a mental note to text him later, guilt besieging me.

  In the kitchen the hired help is cracking eggs into a bowl, I recognise her as the woman to whom I gave my business card previously. She smiles at me as I enter, but her smile seems disingenuous. The hairs prick on the back of my neck as realisation dawns on me that hers is the face of the woman in my nightmare. Don’t be ridiculous, Beth. She was on your mind, that’s all.

  “You must be Scarlett,” I say with a cheeriness I don’t feel. “We haven’t really been introduced.” I hold out my hand and she shakes it lightly and returns to her eggs. She’s dressed in the black slim fitting dress again I observe, and then I freeze. She’s wearing a black choker around her slim throat. Walking nearer to her so that I can look more closely, it’s apparent that her band isn’t adorned with diamonds but even so, it denotes the same amatory look as mine. Rage and resentment simmer inside me with the realisation that Sebastian dresses his ‘staff’ as he does his lover. It’s bizarre and in my opinion, unacceptable.

  As I sit down on the hard pew opposite Sebastian, my mind tries to make sense of the relationship between them. Seeing her this morning, domestic Goddess in his kitchen cooking breakfast, sharing the intimacy of his gift, just confirms my suspicions about their relationship and a knot deep in my belly tightens with the apparent affirmation that I’m sharing my perfect man. I feel used and stupid.

  Sebastian is studying me and when I look at him, he has a quizzical look on his face. He’s presumably detected my sudden change in mood.

  “Everything ok?” he asks me.

  “Fine. I’m just not hungry suddenly,” I say resolutely, as a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon is placed before me.

  “Eat Elizabeth, then we’ll go for a walk.” He cannot command me, I’m not one of his salaried harlots and I shoot him a frosty glare.

  “I’m not a child, Sebastian,” I rebuke. “If I’m not hungry then I won’t eat.” Sliding the plate away from me, I sit defiantly with arms folded across my chest daring him, with my stare, to push the point further.

  “Very well Elizabeth, we’ll discuss this later. Scarlett, fetch our coats.” He barks his order to the girl, and I see how she immediately does as he bids.

  “Yes Sir.” Scarlett leaves the kitchen to fetch our coats.

  “You’ll learn I hope, Elizabeth, that when I ask you to do something it’s for your own good. By defying me you haven’t achieved anything other than to be very hungry and to make me cross.”

  I stare at him, perplexed. He’s the most infuriating person and yet his imposing manner is appealing, masculine, and contrasts so distinctly to Alan.

  Scarlett returns to the kitchen and passes each of us our coat, which we shrug on. Dressed for the cold winter morning we leave the warmth of Penmorrow and I prepare myself for the confrontation that seems inevitable.

  The cold salty air is bracing and our cheeks blanch from the biting wind. Sebastian proffers a hand, which I take in mine reluctantly, and leads me across the formal gardens and through a wooded area beyond. The trees break to reveal a spectacular rocky precipice and dramatic seascape ahead. We are prevented from nearing the cliff edge by a high barbed wire fence. Standing side by side, we don’t speak as we take in the view of the inky blue sea with foaming surf, below.

  He breaks the silence, “why do you stay with Alan?” I don’t reply but he continues, “It’s quite obvious that you aren’t happy.”

  “I can’t afford to go it alone. The business is doing ok, but if we don’t expand soon we’ll get left behind and competitors will force us out of business. He doesn’t earn much but it keeps us going financially. Mainly though, it’s the children keeping us together. If you had kids you’d understand,” I snap. I know immediately that it was a cruel thing to say and I squeeze Sebastian’s hand, glancing at him and noting with regret his hurt expression.

  “I’m sorry, that was mean. I know you wanted children, what I meant to say was there’s an enormous pressure to play ‘happy families’, when you have kids they become your sole focus, or should do.” I realise as I’m speaking, that I’m not exactly putting my children foremost by being here with Sebastian, leaving my husband and children at home and basing my absence on a lie.

  “I’m not a father, as you point out, but I should think that your children are astute. I imagine that they hear arguments or certainly pick up on the negativity between you?”

  He has a valid point. Alan and I often forget the children are within earshot when we fight, it’s so easy to be entirely wrapped up in ones’ own world and not see the impact it has on others.

  “He used to make me happy, when we first met,” I reflect, “but we’ve grown apart over the years… I guess our differences just became more evident. I feel … I want more. I want him to be assertive, for once I’d like him to take the lead, make decisions … man up and grow a pair!”

  “And if he did that, Elizabeth, would he make you happy? Fulfilled? Or would you still want ‘more’? From what I sense, he can’t give you what you need.”

  “And can you really give me what I need?” I ask shrilly. “Because from what I’ve seen in your house, you are the very last person to give me advice on relationships, mister.”

  He looks startled and takes my hand in his. “Whatever’s gotten into you this morning?”

  I pull away and thrust my hands in the deep pockets of my coat. “I’m just so confused,” I tell him. “I feel like you and I have something… special, but then you go and do things that make me feel cheap. It’s not normal, Sebastian. Not normal to do what you did to me last night. Not normal to give an employee the same sensual choker you gave to me.”

  “I see.” His dark eyes regard me icily and the coldness sends a shiver through me, I pull my coat more tightly around me but it offers little warmth against the chill within.

  “It doesn’t mean anything … she doesn’t mean anything,” he garbles. “You’re overthinking things, Elizabeth. Look, we’re getting to know each other and that takes time and patience. You’ve got to realise, I know what you need and you’ve got to trust me on that.” He takes my hand again and this time I don’t pull away.

  “And what would that be, Sebastian?”

  “You need a dominant man, Elizabeth, one who’ll tell you what you need to do, in all things. That isn’t something Alan can give you, it’s not in his nature from what you’ve told me about him. Not all men are assertive. They rely on their wives - mold them into a replacement mother. Men, like me, are born to dominate. We know what we want and how to get it but we also know what women want and we give it to them, Elizabeth.”

  “It sounds more
like control. Is that what this is about?” I ask weakly.

  “Control yes. I need to be in control and if you don’t relinquish control to me, I can’t help you. You’ll drift along. Stressed. Unhappy. Don’t settle for less … for Alan.”

  I shudder, not just because of the bracing wind whipping across the sea and lashing at our coats; my emotions are stirred by Sebastian’s words, which are so incisive and to which I relate so wholly.

  “Well, we are still married, so I have to make the best of it. Come on. It’s freezing, show me Penmorrow? I’m dying to look around.” I take his hand in mine and we walk back toward the house, taking a different route so that he can show me the walled garden, maze and the old oak where he used to picnic as a child.

  The grounds are beautiful, with the backdrop of the cliff and ocean, it’s the most remarkable place I have ever been and I feel a belonging here. If only my life had turned out differently, I could be happy here. I can change Sebastian.

  We explore the house, there are four formal rooms including the great (dining) hall, study, morning room and library. All are opulent in their own way, in spite of the tapestries looking faded, objet d’art being slightly dusty, there is an ageless charm, which has seen countless generations living amongst these rooms. My mood lifts and the awkwardness of before is forgotten as Sebastian delights in showing off his splendid home. He’s like a young boy, animatedly detailing the provenance of his belongings and the history of his ancestors.

  I squeal like a child when Sebastian shows me a hidden passageway, concealed by a false bookshelf in his study. I can barely contain my excitement, when the heavy door, disguised with painted books, heaves forth. He flicks a light switch on the wall above the first step, takes my hand and leads me through the secret doorway.

  “This is unreal,” I gush. “So these big old houses really do have secret passageways, I thought that was just in movies and books. This is so cool.”

  “Rumour has it, there is a tunnel somewhere under the house, leading to the cliffs, which used to be used by smugglers. They’d haul their loot and ill-gotten gains from small boats and stash it in the cellars, so folklore says.”

  “Wow. Real smugglers,” I am enthralled by the romanticism of his tale.

  The steps lead down and curve round out of sight, and are worn down in the middle of each tread as if Sebastian’s servants or ancestors, or smugglers, have been sneaking around via this passage for centuries. I am guarded in case I brush cobwebs, as an arachnophobe, my eyes dart from side to side above my head as I gingerly take each step behind Sebastian, gripping firmly to the rope handrail. Curiously, there are no cobwebs, the steps look to be free of the dust and debris I expect to see and the walls and ceilings are thankfully missing the spiders I anticipate, clearly this staircase is in regular use.

  We continue downward and to the left with the narrow stairwell, the light becoming dimmer now, my bravery receding as the gloominess encompasses.

  As we reach the final step, Sebastian flicks another switch and the way ahead is illuminated by the bulb hanging from the coarse, grey ceiling of the long corridor before us. The walls are arched and we walk on seemingly ancient flagstones. Sebastian walks without hesitancy, as though he frequents this passage and knows every inch as well as he knows his living quarters above us. I wonder where this leads.

  “Is this where the servants would have worked?” I ask.

  “Yes, this would have been a hive of activity years ago.” He replies as he guides me through a low wooden doorway.

  The room we enter is small, possibly eight or nine square feet. To the right is a black wrought iron framed single bed, neatly made with crisp white sheets and a claret velvet throw folded precisely across the foot. To the left is a small washbasin, a dressing table with mirror and on the wall ahead, a wardrobe.

  I walk over to the dressing table and pick up a half empty bottle of Chanel No.5 perfume, and I feel Sebastian move behind me. He reaches forward and takes the glass bottle from me. I feel a cool damp mist on my neck as he sprays the sensual fragrance on my skin. He doesn’t touch or kiss me but instead he replaces the bottle on the table and leads me from the room.

  “Whose room is that?” I probe, knowing that it is probably Scarlett’s room and hating him for that. Jealousy is such a bitter pill.

  “This is Scarlett’s room,” he confirms nonchalantly. He makes it sound so… normal but I cannot help but wonder what her job description, should one exist, comprise. Is it a prerequisite to share his bed, for example?

  We continue along the passage and Sebastian shows me a further bedroom, comparable to Scarlett’s room and a small utilitarian kitchen.

  Soon, we enter a much larger room which appears to be a lounge; couches nestle against each wall and in the centre, covering the flagstones, lies a huge Persian rug in red, black and inky blue hues. My feet sink into the deep fibres - it’s plush and luxurious pile too good for servants’ quarters. There are two small wooden chests against one wall, upon which are table lamps; their bases are black, shiny naked female forms and each has a fringed red shade.

  A silk robe lies strewn across the arm of a couch, and I glimpse the corner of a magazine protruding beneath it. I pick it up, staring at the glossy cover and am shocked to see a naked man and equally naked female. My eyes are drawn to the whip he is brandishing and the exposed female buttock waiting to be lashed. She wears a blindfold and is licking her blood red lips, as she appears to be pushing her hips back to meet the waiting blow.

  “What the hell’s this?” I am stunned, yet aroused enough to feel the burning in my sex.

  “What do you think it is? Does it turn you on Elizabeth?” He asks in a rasping, sexy voice.

  “My point is, Sebastian, what the hell is Scarlett doing looking at porn in your home?” I ask incredulously, not yet diverting my gaze from the erotic picture.

  “If you’re so shocked why are you still looking at it?” Damn him. He is so infuriatingly right all the time.

  “It seems to me, Elizabeth, that you’re fascinated by that image and…” he moves behind me, his hand reaches around my waist, down my midriff, inside the waistband of my grey woollen skirt, finds the waistband of my tights, his fingers forcing behind the snug elastic. His exploring fingers discover the top of my panties and push them down, aside, and his fingers travel down to my sex. I gasp as his middle finger slips between my labia, into my wetness. As he leans forward, into my back, his finger pushes deeper inside me and I push my hips forward to meet his finger, to take it deeper into me.

  Moaning now, I close my eyes, lost in the glorious sensation as his finger now pulls out, finds my clit and slides and slips again and again over my sweet, throbbing, jewel.

  “…and, yes, you are so turned on aren’t you Elizabeth? Oh my God, you’re dripping. That turns you on hmm?” Still his finger works on me, his other hand now underneath my cotton top, squeezing and pinching at my left nipple through my lace bra.

  “You see the whip, darling? The way she wants it? The way she wants to be punished by him?”

  “Sir! I’m so sorry!” The woman’s voice snaps me out of my forbidden moment.

  Sebastian withdraws his hand sharply and we spin around to face Scarlett. She is regarding us with a disdainful expression, as though she is disgusted to witness our passion and I feel suddenly ashamed. Smoothing down my clothes, conscious of my flushed face and dishevelled appearance, I force a smile and replace the magazine.

  “Scarlett.” He glares at her venomously.

  “I’m sorry to have disturbed you both.” She is looking at the magazine. “I’m sorry you found that. I should have put it away Sir, please forgive me.” She is talking to Sebastian yet she doesn’t catch his gaze instead looking down at her hands, which are nervously playing with the tie at the waist of her black dress.

  “It’s not your fault, we shouldn’t be down here snooping,” I try to reassure the girl who seems to be a bundle of nerves.

  “I’m interrupting,
I’ll leave.” She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow and I see a smile play across her cherry red lips. She knows what I am. Adulterer.

  The entire situation is making me feel uneasy again - the atmosphere between Scarlett and ‘Sir’ is tense. I feel like an intruder and I’m consumed with the desire to get away from here.

  “I’ll go, Sebastian,” I mumble, looking past him, at the door. He grasps my arm roughly, a look of concern on his face now.

  “NO don’t leave,” there is hardness in his voice as he turns to face Scarlett. “Leave us…NOW! And next time you enter a room where I’m clearly with company, you don’t interpose, do you understand?”

  “Yes Sir, I…I’m sorry” she looks remorseful, chin down, she turns and leaves the room.

  “This is crazy,” I tell him. “I feel like a spare prick in a whorehouse…literally!” my voice is full of venom and for a moment he looks aghast, then the coldness once again sets across his eyes.

  I run out of the room and into the gloomy passage, trying to recall which way we had come, I turn left. Disorientated now I slow to a fast walk but it doesn’t look right – I don’t pass the bedroom doors. I can hear his heavy footsteps behind me.

  “Elizabeth!” he calls, “come back, this is ridiculous.”

  I call back to him as I continue on my way, searching for something familiar, the staircase, “sorry Sebastian, it was a mistake coming here, I just need to get home.”

  Ahead of me is a dead end, just a dark wood arched doorway with iron latch blocks my passage. Looking back over my shoulder, I see that he’s close. Reaching out, I press the latch and the ancient ironworks lifts, the door swinging open and I catch a brief glimpse of the room within. I see tools, lots of dark metal implements adorning the walls of what looks to be a cavernous cellar. As I strain my eyes to look more closely at the room, his hand thumps against the door and it slams shut.