He stood up and removed the spoon from between her clenched teeth.
Trudy saw that she had been biting so hard she had left teethmarks imprinted in the wooden handle. She wanted to wipe the saliva from the side of her face but he hadn’t given her permission to move her hands from the tap. She drew a deep breath and tried to find the words for an appropriate response to his remark about secrets. She didn’t know whether or not she was allowed to talk but she thought it was important that he know she hadn’t been deliberately going out of her way to keep something from him.
‘It wasn’t that I was keeping a secret,’ she insisted. The words sounded like a lie but she hoped he could hear the sincerity in her tone. ‘It was just one of those things I never got round to telling you.’
‘Are there any other things that you haven’t got round to telling me?’
From the kitchen window she saw a figure walking towards Aliceon’s cottage. The woman was small and faraway but Trudy recognised the brisk and efficient step of her gait. It was Imogen.
Her stomach folded at the idea of Bill and Aliceon meeting today.
Trudy was enjoying being disciplined and hoped that they would be able to do more intimate things before Bill had to leave. If Imogen decided to pay an impromptu visit, there was little hope of those intimate things happening. Worse, she realised, Bill would think Trudy’s conversations with Imogen were another secret she’d been keeping. And somehow, she didn’t think he would be very forgiving about that secret.
Trudy watched Imogen wait outside Aliceon’s cottage door.
She was relieved when the girl pushed the door open and made her way inside.
‘I suppose there must be lots of other things that I haven’t told you, Mr Hart,’ Trudy told him. ‘But I can’t imagine any of them are particularly important.’
He stepped away and picked up the cane again.
The whistle of the weapon slicing through the air was a chilling sound that made her hungry to experience its vicious kiss. When he slashed it across the plump cheeks of her exposed rear, Trudy wanted to howl with gratitude. She wished the spoon was still between her teeth because there had been something pleasurable about biting into the length of wood.
The blow from the cane was sharp enough to leave her breathless. The sting was punishing enough to bring tears to her eyes. The pleasure was so strong she could feel the climax teetering on the verge of an explosion in her loins.
It only took two more blows to push her body beyond the restraint of holding back. The first was a swift stripe across the top of her buttocks. The second cut lower, slashing across the top of her thighs. Bill delivered both blows swiftly and smartly within seconds of each other.
Trudy came.
The orgasm pulsed hard through her frame. She fell to her knees in a quivering puddle of gratitude. She supposed, if Bill had treated her to the bondage she craved, she would now be dangling limply from the sink with her hands held awkwardly above her head. Again, the idea of being held at his mercy sent a surge of euphoria blistering through her body and she sobbed her way through mumbled words of gratitude.
Bill lifted her from the floor.
He was strong and his large hands were easily able to pick her up. Her placed her hands back on the sink and then held her by the hips. She had no idea when he had unfastened his pants but, as he lifted her up, she discovered his erection was hard and exposed and pressing against her.
He had pulled the crotch of her thong to one side before and now it was easy for him to fill her with one thrust. His length felt firm and thick and perfectly too large.
‘Yes,’ Trudy whispered. ‘Yes, yes, yes.’
The punishment had been good. Having his length inside her was divine. He rode her with the vigour and vitality she would have expected from a man half his age. He seemed to know when she needed him to push deep, and when she wanted to feel the leisurely, languid rocking sensation of his shaft stroking gently in and out of her sopping hole.
He talked constantly.
She could hear a mutter of phrases, praising her beauty and confessing his admiration for her every asset. When he gripped her tight and pulled her hard against his loins she knew they were going to share the blissful explosion of a simultaneous climax.
Bill groaned as he pushed deeper.
‘Mr Hart,’ she exclaimed.
It was all she managed to say before he pulsed into her. She savoured the dynamic throb of his erection thrusting and shivering inside her sex. The force of his ejaculation was strong enough to spark another orgasm to rush through her body. Her muscles clutched greedily around him as the waves of pleasure turned into echoes of delight.
She forced herself not to collapse a second time. She didn’t want him thinking that she was too weak to enjoy a vigorous and demanding session of punishing intimacy.
His spent length spilled from her sex.
He stumbled back, murmuring words of gratitude and satisfaction.
Trudy basked in the pleasure. Every pore in her body tingled from the satisfaction of the climax. If this was punishment, then she should earn a lot more. Her body felt perversely drained and energised: satisfied and spent. Sex with Bill was always an intense experience. She was still savouring the thrill of their shared orgasm and the pleasure that still tingled through her sex, when she noticed further movement outside Aliceon’s cottage.
Imogen was stepping out of the front door.
She walked down the path and looked to be heading in the direction of Bill’s cottage.
Shit, thought Trudy.
To Bill, she asked, ‘Are you going back to the city today?’
‘I’m supposed to take the train and meet Harvey at our hotel,’ he admitted. He glanced at his watch and said, ‘I could probably catch the 4:30 if I left now.’
Trudy began to scrabble for her clothes. Because he hadn’t bothered removing her thong, stockings, bra or heels, it was a simple matter of stepping into her skirt and blouse and she was dressed and ready to leave.
Bill didn’t seem to mind that she was rushing him out of the house.
He watched her call a cab and made no complaint when she told him she’d ride with him to the train station. It was a hurried end to a delightful afternoon. But she thought it was better to have such an abrupt conclusion to matters rather than cause unnecessary upset to Bill or Imogen when neither of them was yet ready to make a move towards a reconciliation.
Fifteen minutes later they were on the train station and she was standing on the platform holding his hand.
‘You got me out of the house pretty quickly then,’ he noted.
She had the good grace to blush. ‘I wanted to make sure you didn’t miss your train,’ she admitted. ‘And you know I’ve got a lot to do before I open your restaurant this evening.’
He seemed to accept the explanation.
‘I’ll be back tomorrow night,’ he told her.
She tried not to look too excited. ‘I’ll have you on a Thursday?’
‘You’ll have me on Thursday, Friday and a Saturday this week.’
It was impossible to contain her excitement. He started to explain that they were taking a week off from filming but Trudy didn’t allow him a chance to finish.
They kissed, a lingering exchange that made her feel guilty for keeping the secret of Imogen from him. Not that Imogen was a secret, Trudy told herself. It was just that Imogen’s working at Boui-Boui was something Bill didn’t yet know and, until Imogen wanted to make a reconciliation with her father, Trudy figured Bill didn’t really need to know.
‘We’ll play more this weekend,’ he promised.
‘I look forward to it.’
‘Perhaps we’ll even find time for those bondage games that you seem to be craving?’
She arched her back and savoured the idea. The prospect was so exciting she could feel her body building with fresh desire for him. It didn’t matter that he had just made her climax repeatedly, or that they were in a busy train station, deafe
ned by the noise of a thousand bustling commuters clamouring beneath station announcements and the roar of incoming trains.
He broke the embrace with another kiss and then climbed aboard his train.
She waved at him through the window, smiling for him until his train departed. Not for the first time since being with Bill, she was stung by the heartache of having to be parted from the man she loved. Blinking more quickly than usual, she stepped away from the platform and started through the station to the nearest taxi rank.
Her head was lowered and she was trying not to feel sorry for herself when she stopped and half turned, sure she had seen something familiar. From the corner of her eye she thought she had seen Charlotte’s features in the window seat of a nearby coffee shop.
Smiling, pleased that she would be able to chat with her friend, Trudy headed towards her. It was only when she saw that Charlotte was not alone that Trudy hesitated.
Was this Charlotte’s mystery boyfriend? If it was, and if Trudy spied on Charlotte and her secret lover, would that be wrong? If she now just casually walked past and saw who it was, how was that different from spying? She wasn’t sure she had properly justified her choices but, she figured, the longer she stood in the middle of the station, the more danger there was of Charlotte noticing her and thinking she was deliberately spying.
Trying hard to be discreet, Trudy stepped into one of the station’s shadows. She placed a hand over her mouth when she saw that Charlotte was sitting opposite Donny.
Chapter 19
Imogen was waiting on the steps of the cottage when Trudy returned. She had been reading a well-thumbed paperback but she stuffed it into the back pocket of her jeans and stood up when Trudy’s taxi pulled onto the forecourt. Her frown was deep and etched with impatience.
‘Where the hell did you go?’ she demanded.
‘Your father was here,’ Trudy explained. ‘Given that you two spend so much time avoiding one another, I didn’t think you’d want to bump into him.’
Imogen seemed to consider this and then nodded reluctant agreement. ‘OK,’ she agreed. ‘And can you tell me where I’ll find Aliceon?’
‘Aliceon? Isn’t she in her cottage?’
‘No. I just checked over there. The place is a tip. She’s tipped a load of papers all over the lounge. Some of them look pretty important. But there’s no sign of her.’
Trudy combed splayed fingers through her hair. ‘She called and said she wasn’t coming in tonight. I didn’t realise she’d gone away somewhere.’ She paid the taxi driver, plucked her house keys from her pocket and tossed them to Imogen. ‘Are you OK to work at Boui-Boui again tonight?’ she asked.
Imogen stiffened. ‘Will he be there?’
‘No.’
She nodded. ‘In that case, I should be able to find a babysitter. Sure.’
Whilst Imogen unlocked the cottage, Trudy used her mobile to call Nikki. She told the waitress that she would again be covering Aliceon’s absence and taking on the role of maître d’.
‘Sweet,’ Nikki said cheerfully. Hurriedly, she added, ‘I mean, it’s sweet if Aliceon is OK. She is OK, isn’t she? She’s not unwell?’
Trudy admitted that she didn’t know the full story about Aliceon’s wellbeing but she thought it would certainly be sweet to see Nikki working in a role that she was managing efficiently.
‘See you shortly,’ she added. She severed the connection and turned to Imogen. ‘How come you’re not working with Finlay this afternoon?’
‘He gave me the afternoon off.’
‘Is he getting generous in his old age?’
‘Not really. He thought I was looking tired after pulling a long shift here last night. He also knew I was worried about Aliceon. Finlay thought it might put my mind at ease if I called round and saw that she was OK.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Look how that plan’s backfired.’
‘Where do you think we’ll find Aliceon?’ asked Trudy.
‘Search me. That’s why I called on you. I thought you or him might have some idea where she was hiding.’
‘I saw her yesterday morning when she said she needed the night off,’ said Trudy. ‘And I thought I saw a light on in her cottage at about half five this morning.’
‘What was she doing up at half five?’
‘I don’t know. I had other things on my mind at the time. And I’ve not seen her since.’ She paused and frowned. ‘Has she done this sort of thing before?’
Imogen smiled weakly and nodded. They walked into the cottage and went through to the kitchen. Instead of bothering with the espresso machine Imogen found a couple of teabags, dropped them into mugs and boiled the kettle.
‘Aliceon had issues when she first came to this country,’ she explained. ‘She came on holiday, overstayed her visa or something, and came close to being deported for being an illegal immigrant. If Dad hadn’t stepped in and married her she would have been sent back to Australia. Even then, with the legitimacy of a marriage, it was apparently touch and go whether she’d be allowed to stay.’
Trudy blinked, surprised by the revelation. ‘Deportation? To Australia? I didn’t think the UK did that any more.’
‘Aliceon’s situation is complicated,’ Imogen admitted. ‘Her father was British. He was visiting Australia. Her mother was an Australian barmaid who didn’t want to cite him as the father on the birth certificate. That’s made it difficult for her to get a passport. Immigration officers won’t accept that she’s got any right to be considered British and it all gets pretty damned messy.’
‘That sounds terrible.’
‘If she’d been happy living in Australia, it would just have been a minor inconvenience. A minor inconvenience that might have become bothersome when she wanted to go on holiday. Because she considers herself to be British and she wants to live over here, it’s the cause of a lot of distress for her.’
‘I had no idea,’ Trudy admitted.
If she was being honest she hadn’t even noticed that Aliceon had an Australian accent. Her speech had seemed like perfect Standard English.
‘It’s not been easy for her,’ Imogen said. She sounded genuinely moved by Aliceon’s plight. ‘Aliceon recently said, since she and Dad separated, she still worries that there’s a chance she’s going to be deported again.’
‘Is that likely?’
Imogen shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Maybe that’s what this is about?’ Trudy suggested. ‘Maybe that’s why she’s missing?’
Imogen conceded it was a possibility. Checking her watch, she exclaimed, ‘Bloody hell! I had no idea it was so late!’
She didn’t bother with the cups of tea she’d been making. She started towards the cottage door. ‘If I’m supposed to be working at Boui-Boui tonight, I need to go home, change clothes, secure a babysitter and settle baby Bill for the night.’
Trudy nodded. ‘If I find out anything about Aliceon I’ll let you know,’ she promised.
Imogen hesitated and turned back. She pulled a crumpled envelope from her pocket and pushed it into Trudy’s hands. ‘You might want to give this to him when you see him.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a card, congratulating him for being the nation’s favourite celebrity chef.’
Trudy tried to hide her smile.
‘It’s not from me,’ Imogen said quickly. ‘It’s from baby Bill.’
‘Is baby Bill able to write?’
‘Hardly,’ Imogen sneered. ‘But just because I’m not talking to the old bastard, it doesn’t mean baby Bill has to ignore him.’
Trudy placed a hand over her mouth to conceal her grin, sure that Imogen would take offence if she saw the smile. Then she picked up her mobile and, using it to hide her face a little, ordered a cab for Imogen. She told her to charge the fare to the restaurant’s account. She put the card by the espresso machine, confident Bill would find it there when he next entered the kitchen.
Imogen slipped quietly out of the house with a quick ‘See you later
’.
Trudy checked her watch. She could understand Imogen’s surprised exclamation. Where the hell had the day gone? It was almost time to start working in the restaurant and it felt like she had done nothing with her day.
If there had been more time she would have started work on the second article for the newspaper column. Harvey had said her deadline was Thursday and she was chilled to think that day was almost upon her. She wasn’t sure whether a Thursday deadline meant the piece was due at 00.01 on a Thursday morning or 23.59 on Thursday night or at some as yet undefined time between. The only thing she knew for sure was that she should have been worrying about more important matters than the production of a stupid newspaper article.
It didn’t help that she had no idea what to write about. Surely she couldn’t simply write a weekly column that was one recipe after another? Who the hell would be interested in that? But what else would anyone expect from someone who worked in a kitchen? Should she call Harvey and ask him what sort of thing was expected for the second article?
She tried to put the article out of her thoughts and focus on the impending night’s work in the kitchens. Bill had taken care of most of the management details while she was at the radio station but she still wanted to make sure everything she required for the evening was where it was needed.
And yet the pressure of a looming deadline weighed heavily on her thoughts. When she had been studying for her degree, she had usually produced her best work when writing to a tight deadline. It wasn’t that she liked leaving things until the last minute. It was just that she found the pressure of having to write something urgently was a huge motivator.
She caught herself thinking about the article as the staff began to appear. She considered and dismissed various ideas while the kitchen began to come to life with the clatter and chaos of the various station chefs commencing work and preparing for the evening. Recipes? Flavours? Techniques?
She was still thinking about what she could write when the evening was properly under way, with the usual confusion of bellowed instructions and bullying exchanges colouring the air in the kitchen.
Turning Up the Heat Page 17