by Primula Bond
I pray that Pierre doesn’t tell him, either, somehow put the blame on me when all I was doing was trying to get everything clear in my head about Polly and Margot. And about Pierre himself. I suppose I can’t get hold of him to warn him off, but surely he won’t risk this fragile new relationship by telling Gustav he came on to me. Because Pierre must know, as surely as I do, that if he did lie about it, Gustav would throw him out of his life for good.
I lift my glass to them. ‘You were trying to educate me and, although I declined, it was a privilege. And it’s given me a lot to think about, if I’m honest.’
They nudge each other and nod in unison. ‘Well, if you’re prepared to risk more adventure and debauchery, we’d like you to go to Venice. We thought, after you admired our goblets, that you’d enjoy a visit to our glass supplier in Murano. You can stay at our palazzo both as our guest and as our in-house photographer, because this is the year we want a record of our infamous Carnevale ball. We’ll even buy you a brand-new camera and iPad if you can’t get back your other gear in time for the journey. So then what we want you to do once the ball begins is photograph it in your own inimitable, voyeuristic fashion, all the music and colour and food and debauchery, because there will be tons of that, but also we’d like to see you let your hair down, too. Your pretty little cheeks are going pink at the thought of it, sugar. You fancy it?’
And so by Monday afternoon, when Gustav is expected back from Toronto, I’ve calmed down a little. Even become so used to the solitude that I’m relishing it. I have barely been alone since I left Devon back in October.
All Gustav asks of me is that I love him, and be true. Not so much to ask, is it? And yet I can’t shake off the feeling that if I’d let Pierre kiss me the other night, as well as betraying Gustav I might also have jeopardised the next most important thing in his life: his relationship with his brother.
The weekend has passed with no answer from Pierre’s phone, or Polly’s for that matter, so I have spent the Monday in my home-made studio to take my mind off the simmering unease. I have to keep working. Having my main camera means I have edited, printed and enlarged the best shots from the theatre shoot, and my favourites, the ones that stand out artistically, are drying on the floor. They are still a little slick from the printer, so they need to be laid out flat, but before Gustav arrives I’ll select which ones I want him to see.
I tidy away the pizza boxes I ordered in last night, prepare a supper of salmon in tarragon sauce and my first attempt at New York raspberry cheesecake, and then step into the bathroom to make myself scented and beautiful for Gustav. I pour oils and salts into the Jacuzzi, submerge myself under the bubbling water, staring out at the amber sky turning peachy over in the west, and force down the restlessness. I have to make tonight special, because soon I am flying to Venice and I can’t wait to tell him about the details of the Weinmeyers’ amazing offer. I’ve always wanted to be there for the fiesta time that is Carnevale there. And I want to persuade Gustav to come with me so I can show him the sexiest city on earth and take pictures of him and all the other guests going crazy at the infamous Weinmeyer ball.
As the hot water washes my hair and the jets buff up my skin, I can’t resist touching myself with the soap, teasing it over my stomach and down between my legs. I’m so impatient for Gustav, I need him inside me, and soon I’m floating on the water like the mermaid he called me, my fingers working to pleasure me beneath the bubbles, working to push away all the confusion in my head, draining me of thought and deed and worry, and when at last I come with a single whimper I am calm, and excited.
As I wrap a huge white towel round me I sense, rather than hear, his presence in the flat. He’s early. I haven’t finished my preparations, or cleared my things away properly. Quickly I check my reflection, comb my wet hair straight down my back, no time to dry it, and tie on a pale-violet kimono splashed with waterlilies, cut with a low V-neck and deep slashes to the thigh.
‘Gustav! That you?’
His bags are by the door. His coat and red scarf are draped over the sofa. The fire has been stoked and the candles and lamps lit around the sitting room. He’s even switched on the music, my favourite Miles Davis CD. He’s picked up the mood and run with it. So why doesn’t he answer?
I pad back into our bedroom but he’s not there, and not in the bathroom. Then I hear the thick rustle of photographic paper from the studio, and he’s in there kneeling on the floor, looking at the prints.
Holding the biggest enlargement up in both hands and studying it.
‘You never cease to amaze me, Serena. The brilliance of your pictures. How you give so much of yourself away somehow.’
I freeze in the doorway. Surely I’m imagining that ring of steel in his voice.
‘Aren’t you going to say hello?’
Still holding the enlargement he turns, and his smile doesn’t quite erase something going on in his eyes. Anxiety or displeasure, I can’t tell which. Either way it’s not the unadulterated delight and welcome I expected.
He lays the print down on the table and beckons me to come over to him.
We look down at the large, bold image of his brother. I have played with the shutter speeds and apertures so that while Pierre stands in the middle of the stage with his hands held out from his sides like a showman, looking directly into the camera and in perfect monochrome focus, the dancers whirl around him like a startled flock of birds in perpetual flight, a white blur of movement with flashes of scarlet from a feather or the slash of an open mouth, the hint of outstretched limb or curve of breast.
After what seems an age Gustav’s arm comes out and pulls me to his side.
‘He looks like a circus master, directing everyone around him. It’s brilliant.’
I realise what it looks like. Why he sounded so curt just now. That Pierre Levi is the centre of the universe.
‘Well, talking of circus masters, later, when we’ve had our supper, before we go to bed, there’s something I want you to do.’
I take his face in his hands and kiss him, feel the soft give of his lips as he asks, ‘What’s that?’
‘The film.’ I whisper the first thing that comes into my head, anything to distract him from the awkward subject of his brother. I curl my arms and legs around him. ‘I’ve been so bored and lonely while you’ve been away. I want to see it!’
‘Whoa, what film?’
Gustav stands and guides me down the corridor into the vast sitting room.
‘You secretly filmed me in London, remember? After we’d been to the house in Baker Street and you showed me all the kinky dominatrix films there. That night you took the little nun’s whip to me and showed me how it could liberate me. I’ve been naughty. I want to see it, Gustav.’
He crosses to the other side of the room to fill a big glass of white wine, and as he turns and studies my wet hair, the kimono already coming open over my breasts, the way I’m breathing fast, his black eyes glitter approvingly.
Push his brother out of your mind, Serena.
‘What’s brought this on?’
His voice is still a little cold as he hands me the wine. I take a big gulp of it to calm my breathlessness.
‘I did something at the theatre after you’d gone. It wasn’t part of the job, actually, and now I’m nervous because I think I may have stepped over the boundaries.’
Gustav pushes my hair off my face. Runs his finger thoughtfully under the delicate chain that suspends the golden locket. He turns it over, as if there’s a message on the other side.
‘Back up a moment, Serena. Should I be worried? I’ve only been away a couple of days and already there’s that feverish look in your eye. What have you done? Or what has someone else done?’ He grips my arms tight. ‘It’s that brother of mine. He’s upset you. Was it when you went for that drink together? What’s Pierre been saying?’
Gustav’s fingers are hurting me as they dig into the muscles in my upper arm, but I don’t want to move. I meet his eyes calmly, tip
my chin to make sure he keeps looking at me.
The whisper of unease becomes a roar as I recall Pierre’s eyes burning with this same expression. I take a breath, lift my hands and lay them flat over Gustav’s heart.
He starts to run his hands over my shoulders, my throat, down towards my breasts, which are jumping now with my own heartbeat. He cups them, stares down at them, moulds his fingers round them. My nipples prick up keenly beneath the flimsy kimono.
‘Like I said, something happened at the theatre.’ I keep it very quiet, very low. ‘But also I’m upset because it’s all over between Pierre and Polly.’
Gustav relaxes a little. Perhaps I know more about him than I realised. How to arouse him, how to distract him. How to make him react the way I want, without realising he’s giving in.
He lets go of me, leaving dents in my arms, and pours a glass for himself. He goes to stand by the window overlooking Central Park.
‘And you think watching the whipping film will help you?’
Something tells me to stay where I am. Something in my eyes, if I get too close, will give me away. I go to sit on one of the sofas that face him.
‘The conversation I had with Pierre. It got a bit heated. To explain why he didn’t want to be with Polly, we wound up talking about Margot.’ I decide to risk getting a little more personal. ‘Pierre’s a pretty unsettling person, Gustav. He’s too scarily like you. When I’m with him all I want is to be with you.’
‘Thank God, because all I ever want, wherever I am, whoever I’m with, is to be with you, Serena.’
He holds his arms out to me. I run to him on my bare feet and lean my forehead against his chest so I don’t have to meet his eyes.
‘So that’s it, really. We talked about Margot, how he’s like he is because she got him addicted to her kind of sexual power complex. And although she tossed him aside in the end, she told him she’d ruined him for any other woman, and that’s why he’s constantly searching for a woman who’ll match up. He’s off the scale, Gustav. You should see him with those dancers.’
‘I did.’
‘He takes a different one home with him every night. Polly hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell.’
Gustav leans his chin on the top of my head. ‘I’m glad you’re associating with my brother. Getting on with him, even. But that was a pretty intimate chat.’
‘I don’t want to associate too closely, actually. Turns out it was too intimate.’ I realise my hands are in a praying position as I pull away to gaze up at him. ‘I feel awkward about it. I wanted him to explain why he’s dumped Polly and all he did was boast about his sex life.’ I hear my voice rising into a kind of mew. Is that the sound of a lie being told? ‘And when he said Margot had spoiled him, that other women would never match up, well, could it be the same for you, too?’
‘Don’t insult me, Serena.’ Gustav frowns slightly. ‘At first, maybe even for most of those five years, that may have been true. Until you walked into my life. But I don’t want to talk about Margot. I’m more interested in hearing what else is bothering you. Why you want to see the whipping film.’
‘I went behind your back.’ I push my forehead against his chest. ‘I stayed late at the theatre and these girls persuaded me to – I think I need punishing.’
He sighs and leads me across to the sofa.
‘What have you done, Serena?’
Tell him. Tell him Pierre tried to kiss you. It was only a silly flirtation. If you don’t tell him, someone else could paint a very different picture.
I reach up and touch his beautiful face. It’s so solemn. So reined in, despite the bandit beard that shadows his cheeks. He knows how much I love it when he looks rough and ready. The palm of my hand lets the bristles prickle as I stroke him.
He catches my hand and kisses the palm, then he pulls me hard up against him. I settle myself onto his lap so that the kimono falls open and he can see that I’m naked underneath. Now there’s no mistaking his arousal. The hardness pushes against me.
‘I’m no good without you, Gustav. I do things, I lose things – Anyway, these two dancers. They frog-marched me into making this girlie film but they roped me into the action so in fact it was me they were playing with. I’ve got this on my camera and they’re going to pay me with a dinner out one night. First I thought it could be a nice little welcome-home gift for you. You said you could handle the idea of me trying it with a girl, so long as you could watch. But now I’m worried because I went ahead without you being there.’
Before he can reply I load the DVD player with the film and hope this has deflected any more talk about Pierre.
The flat screen lights up his face and I watch his expression as he watches the film. His mouth relaxes into a smile as he sees me being kissed and fondled by those two gorgeous dancers. The wet sounds of the kissing, the wandering fingers and the growing moans sound very loud in the quiet apartment. I recognise the flush of arousal as he watches it to the end.
He rubs his eyes. ‘I think you may have crossed a boundary we hadn’t thought of here. This was in the theatre? On the stage? Where anyone could have seen you?’
I burn red, not sure what he’s getting at. ‘Well, yes.’
‘So Pierre could have seen this going on?’
‘He’d gone into a meeting. Something about a press release. The place was deserted. The girls were begging me!’ Nevertheless I go cold. Pierre could well have seen the girls and me cavorting. Or he could have seen the video on my camera at the Gramercy when I was in the ladies.
‘I hope you’re right.’ Gustav stares at the blank screen. ‘Getting you closer to Pierre does not include him seeing you naked.’
‘You see? This was supposed to be a gift for you, some kinky lesbian footage to turn you on, but it’s backfired, hasn’t it? I’ve been so reckless. That’s why I need punishing, Gustav!’
Gustav stands up again, lets his fingers trail through my hair. His erection is pushing against his jeans. I reach for him, but there is still a stain of darkness across his eyes, in the sharp angle of his nose and jaw, the tightness returning to his mouth.
‘A good spanking will sort you out, will it?’
I shrug, aware of how adolescent that looks. ‘Maybe just watching the video will do the trick?’
Without another word he puts his glass down beside mine and marches out of the room. I perch on the edge of the seat, shivering with tension.
The darkness smothers the trees and lakes down in the park as I wait, leaving a backdrop of sparkling lights over on the East Side. And then Gustav is beside me again, sitting down on the sofa. He has the disc in his hands. And also the little whip.
‘You sure about this, Serena?’ He pulls my face towards him and kisses me very briefly on the lips, but enough to get my senses prickling up on red alert. ‘You want to watch the film of me whipping you? Making red stripes on you?’
‘I’d rather you showed it to me than it fell into someone else’s hands. After that I want you to destroy it.’ My voice is very quiet in return. ‘And then we can go to bed and I can show you how much I love you.’
‘My girl the voyeur. Now she wants to watch herself.’ A flicker crosses his face. I tense up with fresh anxiety, but I see that he’s biting back a slight smile. ‘I certainly don’t like it that Pierre and Polly’s troubles are getting you all worked up like this. But I’ll have to go along with what you demand and spank the worries out of you instead.’
He slots another disc into the machine. The screen flickers into life.
Gustav’s voice on the screen murmurs, ‘Are you ready?’
I’m the girl in the film, spread-eagled on the huge sofa in his drawing room in London. The girl lying there looks so young, what little I can see of her. Her dress is wrinkled up over her hips, laying her bare. It’s a relief when Gustav drapes a white cloth over her face. I don’t want to see her eyes. I knew nothing then. I barely knew him. All I had was my naivety, a dose of determination and my talent.
; On the screen Gustav takes some pretty little glass and ceramic bottles and pops the corks from them. I remember how that felt, how every touch of those creams set me on fire. My stomach coils with sudden, unbidden fury. Are the ointments Gustav is using in the film the same as Margot used on him once upon a time? Gustav on the screen is smoothing cream over my thighs, into my bottom, up between my legs into all the hidden crevices. Cream that Margot may have swiped her fingers through to smear his body when he was her husband.
I wriggle on the seat as I watch. I have to get that image out of my head. Margot went with Pierre, remember. Margot and Gustav hate each other.
The remembered heat from the creams and the whips is already seeping through my skin, deep into my muscles, getting hotter the deeper it seeps. Gustav sits very close to me on the sofa. The only part of him touching me is the tip of his finger, running up and down my neck under my tangle of hair, hooking into the little chain holding my golden locket.
I have to get that image, Margot’s fingers in the cream, on his body, out of my head.
‘Can you remember how green you were that night? Yet you had already shown me, the world, that behind that cute freckled face was a hard-eyed voyeur. All you needed was to enact what you’d seen other people do. You loved it, you low-down little slut.’
I moan and press myself against him. The sounds on the screen are muted. No words. A whisper of music in the background. The flicker of candlelight. The clink of the ointment bottles.
The Gustav beside me pushes me down onto my stomach. ‘Lie down, Serena. You’re like a cat on tacks. You need calming down. These ointments will do the trick.’
With a low laugh he dangles the silver chain in front of me, then clicks it onto my bracelet, winds it several times round both wrists. He is here with me now, and he’s taking charge. Relieved excitement twists inside me as he attaches the chain to the end of the sofa. I allow my gaze to linger on his long legs. The hard bulge behind his zipper.