‘Yes,’ persisted Peregrine. ‘She sent you a note. I saw Richard give it to you.’
Emma reached over to her beach bag and fished out the folded paper. She handed it to Peregrine without a word.
He read it swiftly, then handed it back.
‘She loves you,’ he said, lighting a cigarette.
‘I know.’
‘Do you still love her?’
‘I do. I lose sight of it sometimes and think I’m over her, but then something happens, like this, and I know she’d only have to crook her finger. But how can we be together, Peregrine? I’m here now. She won’t be able to leave the UK when she gets out, and I don’t really want to go back, not now.’
He took a long drag, his eyes still fixed on the rutting couple on the poolside.
‘Love finds a way,’ he said. ‘But there’s no need to worry about it now. It’s still at least a year off. And didn’t she say she hoped I was taking care of you? You know what she means by that.’
‘She knows me too well to expect me to live like a nun.’
‘She loves you too much.’
‘Don’t you think it’s weird, though, Perry?’
‘Don’t call me that,’ he almost spat.
‘Sorry. I mean, that she’s fine with us being kinky together. She must trust us a lot.’
‘She trusts you. She knows me. She knows I’ll never settle down. I suppose I’m the safest option. If she doesn’t let you get spanked and the rest by me, you might find someone else, and then that dangerous thing could happen. Love.’
‘You’d never fall in love with me, I suppose?’
‘I’d never fall in love.’
‘You must have done, once.’
‘Once was enough.’
He looked away sharply, as if fascinated by the diminishing contents of his glass.
‘I’m sorry for you.’
‘Don’t be. Be sorry for yourself. I’m going to cane you for calling me Perry. Go and stand in the corner of the living room and wait for me there.’
‘That’s not fair!’
‘I know. But it’ll take your mind off things, won’t it?’
‘And yours.’
‘Perhaps. Go on, then.’
He sent her on her way with a cracking smack to her rear, loud enough to interrupt Tack in his enthusiastic fucking and make him stare, astonished, towards them.
‘Carry on,’ said Peregrine with a wave of his hand, and he did.
Love was a strange thing.
This thought occurred to Poppy, standing on the balcony of her Parisian apartment – the one that obstinately refused to look over the Eiffel Tower or the Seine or anything picturesque or charming. Even when it wasn’t what you thought it might be, it was the best thing imaginable.
For Peregrine, it was too complex and too dangerous to allow. Its theatrical representation was as close as he wanted to get.
For Emma, it meant this half-life, this standing in a corner waiting to be thrashed by a man she liked but didn’t love. Doing it for
her
, making him her avatar.
For Richard, Rob and Lucy it meant happiness, no more, no less.
And for Allyson, in her cell, it was pure torture and yet it was the only thing to get her through the indifferent food, and the boredom, and the endless bickering and jockeying for position and the loneliness, the godawful loneliness. Somewhere at the end of it all was love, and it had to be enough. It just had to be.
I have many people to thank for their hard work and support in the writing of this book. First of all, Gillian, Emily, Hannah and all of the team at Black Lace, plus the imprint itself for being decent enough to rise from its ashes. Many thanks also to all of the wonderful Black Lace authors who have offered advice and inspiration – particular thanks must go to Charlotte Stein and Portia Da Costa, but there are many others who have earned gratitude simply by writing the books that spurred me into action in the first place. Finally, all the friends and family who might not want to be named in an erotic book, but who know who they are.
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First published in 2013 by Black Lace, an imprint of Ebury Publishing
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Copyright © Justine Elyot, 2013
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