Sebastian - Secrets (7 page)

As I pull away in my car I glance in my rear view mirror at the magnificent house and wonder if I will ever see it again… see him again.

4

On the long drive back my thoughts are filled with Sebastian.  I run through what I recall of our conversation in the kitchen, wishing I hadn’t opened up to him as I did.  My loose tongue will get me in trouble one day, if it hasn’t already.  I feel so stupid.

I stop for lunch at Exeter and browse in the large shopping mall.  In a lingerie shop, I buy myself the smallest, sexiest set of underwear that I have ever possessed.  Not for Alan’s enjoyment or for Simon’s.  I have bought them for me – I am going to be a sexier, more liberated me. You’re changing, Beth - about time too, I tell myself.

Joe runs to greet me as I close the front door.   Putting down my bags, I scoop him in a tight embrace.

“I’ve missed you, little guy,” I tell him.

“Have you brought me a present?” He asks hopefully.

“No Joe.  Mummy hasn’t been on holiday, I’ve been working.”

“Dad says you’ve been off ‘on a jolly’,” Joe huffs.

“Does he now.  Well Dad’s wrong.”

Alan is sat at the computer, under the stairs in the tiny recessed study area, which has space only for a small desk and chair.  His eyes remain fixed on the screen as I breeze past him to the kitchen.

“You’re back then,” he observes brusquely.

“It would seem so.  Yes,” I reply cattily.

“Good time?”

“Not really.  Pretty much as expected – loud women, lots of mud, draughty old house.  How are the kids?”

“Fine.”

So ends another conversation.  I take my bags upstairs, unpack and take the laundry, including Thursday’s gold dress and underwear, to the washing machine.

Deciding on an early night, it seems a good opportunity to talk to Alan about my feeling
s.  We can’t continue as we are - both bitterly unhappy.

“Alan, I’ve been thinking about us.”

“I’m tired, Beth.”  He turns his back to me and pulls the duvet up protectively.

“I’m tired too.  Look, please will you reconsider couples counselling?  Lets at least try and fix our marriage if we can
… before it’s too late?”

“We’ve had this discussion countless times,” he mumbles.  “I’m not going air my dirty laundry with a stranger.”

“So, you don’t want to save our marriage?”

“To be perfectly honest, Beth, no.  It’s too late.”

I feel I’ve tried.  There is little more I can do to help us.  With a heavy heart, I lie in the darkness until the first light of dawn when I drop into a fitful sleep.

It’s Monday morning, at the office. Ruth is on the telephone barking at some unfortunate soul.  I make myself a steaming cup of coffee and sink down onto the couch in my office, feeling weary and reflective.

“Tell me, how did it go
this weekend?” Ruth is standing in doorway.  I beckon for her to sit beside me and recount the events of last forty-eight hours.  She is horrified at the sound of the mud running and the relief that she wasn’t able to take part is clear on Ruth’s face.

“
Oh, and I met a man.”  I drop the bomb and wait for the aftershock.

Ruth raises her eyebrows with a look of mock horror on her face.

“Why am I not surprised?” She sighs, rolling her eyes. 

“He was the most frustrating man I have ever met,” I continue.  “He had this infuriating way of extracting all my deepest, darkest secrets and yet
wouldn’t tell me anything about himself.”

“Ooh, sound
s very intriguing,” says Ruth. “Is he attractive?”

“Ruth, he is seriously gorgeous! Tall, dark hair – greying at the temples – and he has the darkest eyes
. And get this ... he’s a Lord!”

This instantly grabs
her attention, and she lets out a loud ‘whoop!’ 

I quickly put out her flames by adding that, of course, I won’t ever see him again and in an
y case he is allegedly a womaniser.

“Aren’t they all,” she adds and I have to agree with her.
  She takes a long hard look at me, detecting the changes I feel.

“I can’t recall seeing you like this before Beth.” Ruth knows me too well.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you really do like this man.  You seem… different.” 

Ruth is right. I feel different.  I haven’t felt this way for a very long time.  For the first time in 17 years, a man is interested in me.  Not Beth the boss, Beth the wife, Beth the mum, or even Beth the whore, but me.

I want
to see Sebastian again.

“Be careful, Beth,” she warns.  “If you start something with this man, and Alan finds out …”

“Ruth.  It’s nothing, I’m not having an affair but it’s nice to be noticed.  It’s good to feel like a woman instead of a drudge.”

“I know, love.  I know things are bad at home, but just be careful.  You’ve a lot to lose.”

The rest of my week is busy.  My days are filled with meetings and running errands for the kids.  I barely have a moment to myself.  

I’ve heard nothing from Simon since we met last week, and that only serves to confirm that I made a huge mistake in doing what I did and today I deleted my profiles on the uniform dating website and the BDSM site.  I feel neglected and miserable.

It’s Thursday afternoon
, and I am putting on my coat to leave my office when my mobile phone bleeps with a received text message.  I pick it up from my desk and hurriedly check the message, certain that it will be from Bella as I am late collecting her from her dance lesson, secretly hoping it may be from Simon.

Elizabeth I enjoyed our chat.  Meet me for lunch.  Sebastian.

I gasp.  It’s from him!  A sudden tingle traces from my belly and travels downwards.  Lunch! 
Typical man,
I think – he’s in Cornwall and I’m in Dorset and he wants me to meet him for lunch.  Whilst I am relieved that Slave Girl gave him my business card, I am now filled with nervous trepidation at the sight of his text message.

Reading the message again,
I note that there are no pleasantries in the text such as ‘x’ at the end or indeed a cordial invitation to lunch.  It’s a summons to lunch.  I feel resentment building inside me, I am used to being in charge and more than fed up with being taken advantage of.

Dear Sebastian
, thank you for your kind invitation but as you live in Cornwall, which isn’t exactly down the road from me I hardly think I can meet you for lunch?! Beth.

I press ‘send’. 
That told him
, I think smugly.  Then, I am filled with self-doubt, why was I so rude?  Too late, the phone whooshes as it sends my text.  Almost immediately my phone beeps.

How do you know I’m not coming to Dorset on business?

Oh crap! I hadn’t thought of that, in my mind he lazed around his mansion, only leaving his slave girl to go riding each morning.  I text him back.

So, are you in Dorset on business?

Again a swift reply.

No.  Meet me outside your office 1.30pm tomorrow.  Sebastian.

He has my business card.  Of course he knows where my office is.  The calendar on my phone contains my carefully ordered life, and I note that I have an eleven thirty meeting tomorrow, with a new client.  Double crap.  That should be ok though, I realise.  If I wrap the meeting up promptly, it is only twenty minutes away. 

What am I thinking?  How
can I possibly have lunch with that man?  But lunch is just lunch, right?  It’s not as if I’m going to jump into bed with the man.  Though the idea sends that same tingle down my body again.  It is just lunch.

“Hurry up kids, I have a busy day!”  I bellow up the stairs to my children.  It’s eight fifteen already and I need to get going.  My mind is full of thoughts of my lunch today with Sebastian. 

I check my appearance in the mirror in our bedro
om for the umpteenth time.  I’ve tried on three different outfits and settled for the black pencil skirt, white fitted blouse, barely black stockings and black heels.  Very business like but also a little sexy, I note as I see how the skirt and blouse show off my curves.  I’ll do.

Alan eyes me suspiciously as we exchange brief farewells in the kitchen.

“You look dressed up again, going somewhere nice?” he enquires with a discernable hint of sarcasm.

“I have an important meeting with a potential new client,” I tell him, quite honestly.  “ I want to mak
e a good impression, it’s a valuable contract.” 

He doesn’t look convinced. 
“Amazing how many meetings you have recently,” he sneers.

“Alan.  I run my own business.  Of course I attend business meetings.  Stop the crap.”

“Do whatever you fucking want,” he snarls hatefully.

A pang of guilt pricks my conscience as I dash out of the front door, scooping up my briefcase and yelling at the ch
ildren to get into the car, we’re late again.

I reach my office at nine fifteen, having deposited the children at their schools and fought with the rush hour traffic.  Ruth is waiting for me in my office with coffee ready for me.  We discuss today’s meeting and Beth tells me that she will be tied up in interviews today.  I neglect to mention my lunch appointment, knowing that she would be shocked. 

Ruth leaves my office and I sit down at my desk and power up my computer.  I check my emails and reply to any that are urgent.  Then my thoughts wander to Sebastian
.  He seems so ... dominant.

My curiosity wins out
again, and I click on Google Search, typing in the word ‘dominant’ and the words ‘man’ and ‘woman’.

The first search heading “The Truth About Men Dominating Women” leads me to a website which discusses domestic abuse.  I hit the ‘return’ key and select the next link:

Why every woman wants to be dominated by a man

Dominant men exude power, are comfortable in their own skin and with their own identity.  They are never weak and never hesitate nor seek approval from others either in a social situation or in the work place.  Women are attracted to those with power. While most men aim for women with looks, women need a man who is assertive, independent, strong minded and a leader. 

Women have a deep-
rooted instinct that draws them toward dominant males and this inner urge cannot be suppressed – it is a part of their very survival.

My friends and family would consider me to be the leader in my life, upon who so many are reliant, including men.  Yet I can relate to the article, as I’m tired of leading and would dearly love to be led.  To have some of the decision-making taken from me would be, frankly, heaven.  A burden lifted.  A cloud dispersed, and yet to hand over control to another would require complete trust, and I don’t know if I am capable of trusting unquestioningly.

My meeting runs smoothly, but I find it difficult to concentrate.  I have butterflies in my tummy and a growing sense of panic for so many reasons.  I have no idea where we will be going for lunch and, when I get back to my car, I take out my phone and run a search on local restaurants.  I wonder if we shouldn’t be going somewhere further afield – somewhere where there is no risk of being seen by one of Alan’s friends or associates.  That makes me feel more guilt than ever. 
It’s just lunch Beth
, I scold myself.  I decide upon a bistro on the other side of town, which has excellent online reviews.

There is just sufficient
time to dash into my office and reapply my lipstick and a dash of perfume, and use the cloakroom before my watch tells me it’s one thirty. 

I step out of our office building
and rest against the wall.  It’s a cold afternoon - the autumn sunshine takes the chill from the air, but does little to settle the nervousness I feel. My eyes dart from one end of the street to the other and back, scanning the faces of those going about their business, in case Alan is watching me.  It’s irrational but then Alan has seemed irrational and increasingly antagonistic.  Ruth’s warning rings through my head.  Be careful Beth.

Then I see Sebastian
.  He’s walking toward me with a confident swagger, and he’s even more gorgeous than I recall.  He wears a camel, wool overcoat with the collar turned up and his shoulders look so very broad.  He has dark sunglasses on to shield his eyes from the low autumn sun, and I can’t tell if he is looking at me but I sense that he is.  The familiar warmth oozes through my core and my pulse quickens at the sight of him.

“Elizabeth, so good to see you again,” he says as he grips my arms, pulls me closer and kisses me on both cheeks.  I am a quivering wreck now.

“It’s good to see you too Sebastian,” is my lame response, but I mean it.  It is so very good to see him again.  “I thought we could try a French bistro across town,” I suggest.  “The reviews are very good and…”