Chapter 17

On the morning of February the fourteenth, feeling quite ill with nerves, I walked into the main branch of City Bank in Sandton to keep the appointment I’d made with Mr Ramsamy of the Home Loans department. I’d dressed up for the occasion, putting on a black jacket and pants. I’d done my hair. I’d taken care with my make-up and I’d applied a generous amount of the perfume Simon had given me. For this meeting, I needed all the confidence I could get.

The upmarket mall and office precinct where the bank was located was undergoing major renovations, with parts of the enormous centre completely boarded off and the sound of hammering and drilling coming from beyond. The mall, and even the boarding itself, sported Valentine-themed decorations in honour of this auspicious day. On the way in, a man in pink overalls gave me a red rosebud and a brochure for a hairdressing salon.

Before joining the client services queue, I made a quick detour via the tellers and deposited yet more cash into the bond account.

I had no idea whether the three payments I had made so far would, for the time being at least, be enough to halt the repossession process. I’d managed to reduce the arrears by twenty per cent. That was a significant achievement – a month ago, I would literally have thought this to be impossible. But there was so much more still to pay.

Only one person could make the final decision, and today my fate rested in his hands.

The five-minute wait between Mr Ramsamy being called by the enquiries secretary and him actually materialising from the depths of the back offices felt like seven lifetimes.

When he saw me, his harassed expression deepened.

‘Good morning,’ he said, before sitting down opposite me in the private cubicle and, in a lower voice, continuing: ‘Thank you for keeping your appointment today. Do you have any further news for me?’

‘I have this,’ I said, showing him the slips, including the largest and most recent payment I’d just made.

‘I see you’ve made another deposit today. That is helpful,’ he murmured, frowning down at the paper. ‘However, this doesn’t bring it anywhere near up to date.’

‘I’m earning an income now, so I should be able to pay a similar amount every month from now on.’

‘Ah. It’s a pity …’ He paused for a moment, as if doing mental arithmetic. ‘It’s a pity you weren’t able to cover the full arrears.’

‘Is this not enough? How much more do you need? I’ll be able to make another payment on Friday.’ I could hear the panic in my voice. There was a tense, tight feeling in my chest. I couldn’t believe how much this mattered. This wasn’t just my own fate at stake – it wasn’t just the fate of those who depended on me. Now, the fate of my new business also hung in the balance.

‘I’ll be able to give you until the end of March to pay up all outstanding monies,’ he said, almost casually. My mouth dropped open.

The end of March – just a month and a half away. Could I do it?

It all depended on who booked into my dungeon, whether they enjoyed my services, whether they were satisfied enough to return. One thing was for sure – I couldn’t afford to lose any of the regular clients I’d managed to get so far. If that meant going and buying a damn strap-on to keep the Judge happy, then so be it. The time for being precious about such things was clearly long gone.

‘If I don’t make the payment by that date?’ I asked in a small voice.

‘Then we’ll be back at square one.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Do you have a letter from your new employer, stating your salary?’

‘Unfortunately I can’t provide that.’

‘You can’t provide proof of employment and salary?’ he asked, and I saw his stressed expression return.

‘You see, I’m working nights as an escort on the corner of Grayston Drive and Alice Lane,’ I said, and watched him gape at me in consternation before I smiled. ‘Only joking. Grayston Drive and Alice Lane don’t intersect.’

Mr Ramsamy gave a nervous laugh.

‘Seriously, I’ve been busy just about around the clock doing work for an advertising agency friend who knows my circumstances, and he’s being kind enough to pay me in cash until I’m back on my feet. But he would rather not have to write a letter saying so.’

‘I understand that. But in that case the payment by the end of March is essential. Please could you phone me as soon as you’ve made the final deposit. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can do.’

He got up and disappeared through the door leading to the back offices.

The balance of the arrears in just six weeks. I felt physically sick.

I looked up as I exited the bank through the double security gates, surprised that I couldn’t actually see the sword of Damocles that was dangling above my head.

Then I looked ahead and there, to my astonishment, was Simon.

He hadn’t noticed me. He was standing next to a half-open access door that led into a boarded-off construction area. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, he was holding several large sheets of paper that I thought could have been a set of plans, and he was having an earnest discussion with four other men, two of whom were in business suits and the others wearing hard hats.

I stopped moving and stood near the bank’s exit door, watching him. I was amazed I’d even recognised him out of the context of my dungeon and in this busy mall. Here he was, hard at work. Which, Detective Caine swiftly deduced, meant that he was Simon Nel, founder and principal partner of the architectural firm, and not the one who owned a security company or a car dealership.

Simon was stabbing his finger onto the paper to emphasise a point, his expression intense, his bearing authoritative, while the others listened, nodded and asked questions. It was fascinating to see him being in charge and giving the orders.

If his firm was handling the renovations and upgrades in one of the country’s most elite shopping and business destinations, I did not doubt he must be shouldering enormous responsibility. I could visualise him having to make tough decisions involving investors’ millions; handling crisis after crisis and, in so doing, building up the head of steam that would ultimately drive him to my dungeon door again, desperate to have his equilibrium restored.

If I listened carefully, I could even hear him speaking over and above the background noise of footsteps and voices.

I was relieved to discover that the stern warnings I’d been inflicting upon myself had finally done their job. Watching Simon now, I was able to observe him objectively and without feeling any emotions except curiosity and interest. I was even able to think about his behind in a more rational way. It was a nice bottom, and I had rested my hand on it for a moment.

There. Easy. Thank goodness I was back to normal again. I’d had myself worried for a while.

I was reluctant to stop observing him, but I certainly didn’t want him to catch me in the act. As the other men were now turning to go back into the construction area and Simon was folding up the plans, I decided it would be wisest if he didn’t know I had been there at all.

I hitched my bag up onto my shoulder and hurried down the narrow corridor that led past the boarded-off section and back to the exit to the car park.

As I walked towards Simon, he looked up and stared directly at me.

For an instant his expression was the same as mine must have been when I noticed him – blank puzzlement at seeing me out of context. And then he smiled. The expression lit up his lean, attractive face and smoothed away the strain and weariness I’d briefly noticed there. His eyes sparkled and for just a moment, gazing at their colour, I was reminded rather embarrassingly of my recent erotic dream.

‘Hello, Emma. I almost didn’t recognise you.’

‘Likewise!’ I hoped my brisk tone would conceal the fact I was temporarily flustered. ‘What a surprise to see you here, Simon.’

‘Are you shopping?’ He asked the rather obvious question with some curiosity, as if he hadn’t thought that I might have a life outside of my dungeon, or what it might involve.

‘Running a few errands,’ I said, a statement that explained my lack of shopping bags and sounded ever so much better than ‘begging the bank not to repossess my home.’

‘Thank you for the gift,’ I added. ‘I’m wearing the perfume now. I love the design of the bottle.’

‘I hoped you would.’

‘Well,’ I said. I’d been going to say, ‘Well, I’d better head home,’ but he started to speak at exactly the same time and our words collided.

‘Go on?’

‘No, no,’ I was suddenly curious to know what he’d been going to say. ‘You first.’

‘I was going to ask if you wanted to join me for a quick breakfast.’ He took his BlackBerry out of his pocket and glanced at its screen. ‘In fact, make that a quick lunch. Where did the morning go? No wonder I’m starving.’

‘I’d love to,’ I found myself saying, and the next moment I was walking briskly through the mall with him, beyond the boarded-off areas, up a staircase, past a counter with a mouth-watering display of cakes and pastries, and into the white-tablecloth environment of the small restaurant beyond.

We sat down, ordered drinks and food, and Simon asked for the bill at the same time. ‘I may have to leave in a hurry,’ he said. ‘It’s been crisis after crisis today. I only hope I managed to postpone the latest one for long enough to grab something to eat.’

He put the folded papers down on the table and placed his phone on top of them.

‘So it looks like you’re working in this mall at the moment. What are you doing?’ I asked, cleverly concealing the fact that I already knew what he did for a living.

‘I’m an architect. One of my firm’s biggest projects at the moment is the refurbishment of this centre.’

I was surprised he hadn’t specifically stated that he owned the firm. There weren’t many men I knew who wouldn’t have gone out of their way to make that fact known right up front.

Confident yet modest. My slave was proving to be full of surprises.

‘When are the renovations going to be finished?’ I asked.

‘The deadline for the first phase is just two weeks away, so it’s crazy here at the moment.’

‘That must be causing you untold stress.’

‘It is.’ He glanced down at the plans and then up again at me, smiling slightly with his eyebrow raised. ‘Luckily I know of ways to help relieve the stress.’

I thought for a shocked moment that he was making a clumsy pass, hinting that I should sleep with him, and I was about to offer a cutting rejection when I realised that he was, of course, referring to his sessions in my dungeon.

Or at least, he probably was. Sometimes, it was difficult to tell exactly what Simon did mean and I was beginning to wonder if he did this on purpose.

‘Indeed there are,’ I said noncommittally, deciding to play him at his own game. ‘But do those methods really give you pleasure?’

Are you as perverse as I think you are? Can you honestly say it’s worth the money you pay to be abused by me while maintaining a raging hard-on that you never touch?

And what is it you want, but won’t tell me?

‘Well, that’s a good question,’ he said, ‘but a better one would be – do they give you pleasure?’

‘Me?’ I said incredulously.

‘Yes, you.’

‘But I – what I get out of it is not the point. Anyway, I asked you first,’ I shot back at him. This was not the Simon I’d seen ten minutes ago in the mall, his presence powerful and intimidating, his mind sharply focused on the purpose of his meeting. Having eased back on the accelerator of his compulsive drive, the man sitting opposite me was now relaxed and surprisingly charming, revelling in our cryptic wordplay and practically encouraging me to try to best him.

The problem was that I was not in the least prepared, nor willing, to be the focus of Simon Nel’s single-minded attention, or to be trapped in the white-hot spotlight of his personality.

‘And I asked you back.’ That infuriating smile was on his lips again.

‘In that case, no, they do not give me pleasure.’ And I could say that with complete confidence. There was an element of satisfaction in the power I felt, of course, and the role-playing was fun because I enjoyed acting. But how – honestly, how on earth could he, or anyone, assume I’d be turned on by any of this?

If he thought administering a beating was an erotic activity then he was one hundred per cent wrong. It was not, and it never would be. Not for me, at any rate.

I offered him a cold stare.

‘You forget that, for me, this is business,’ I added, and watched his smile dissolve.

Before he could respond, our food arrived, together with the bill, which he paid immediately.

For a while we ate in silence. It was finally broken by Simon.

‘You know, Emma, I must apologise. I don’t have a clue what it’s like to be a professional in your field. It’s completely outside of my experience.’

I took another bite of my leek and blue cheese quiche, not wanting to reveal that I had very little of that myself.

‘I’m curious, though,’ he said. ‘Would questions be allowed?’

‘It depends what they are. Trade secrets will not be disclosed. Questions that become too personal will earn you punishment at a later stage.’

‘Well, do you have a normal home life? Married? Kids?’

I took my time answering that, because I didn’t want him to know the truth. It was just too difficult. It complicated things. It would make me appear vulnerable. My clients were buying into the illusion of being dominated by a powerful woman. I could not afford to come across as weak or helpless, especially not now, with my finances still hanging in the balance. If they sensed I was desperate, they would desert me in droves.

It was better for everybody concerned, and more professional-sounding, if I lied by telling them a plausible story – something that they would easily be able to believe.

Originally, I’d come up with two different scenarios. The first was that I was just a bored housewife doing domination in her spare time. I’d been worried though that if I told my clients this story, they might expect an enraged spouse to come storming into the dungeon at any moment, demanding to know what his wife was up to.

So I gave Simon the story I’d decided was infinitely safer.

Forgive me, Mark … I’m telling this lie for both of us.

‘Neither of the above. I’m single, and not seeing anybody at the moment. No kids, no close family in the country. I ran a successful creative agency for years. I sold the business a while ago, and then decided to start doing this to keep me busy.’

The perfect answer, I thought. It painted the picture of me as a strong, self-sufficient, comfortably-off woman who was the mistress of her own destiny.

‘And when did you …’

Simon’s phone started ringing loudly, interrupting his question, and with a quick apology to me he picked up the plans and hurried outside to take the call. I waited a few minutes for him to return, and then I went and checked the area around the entrance to the restaurant, but there was no sign of him.

The crisis he’d been expecting had obviously descended, and a minute later, the beeping of my phone confirmed this. A message from him read: Had 2 run. Look forward 2 seeing u soon. Happy Valentine’s Day! x

I realised he’d only managed to have a few bites of his ham and Camembert croissant. If that was his breakfast and lunch combined, it was no surprise that his bum was so pleasingly lean and firm.

I picked the cherry tomatoes out of my side salad before abandoning my own meal and leaving the restaurant. As I walked back to my car, I couldn’t help thinking that Simon’s questioning, like our lunch, had been interrupted when it had only just begun.