Chapter Nineteen

 

 

 

Fi is staring at me from behind her science safety glasses with a face that tells me I have her attention. She usually only reserves this face for a new issue of Science Geeks’ Monthly.

“That’s totally incredible!”

“I know.” We both stare at my tablet. The Wi-Fi reception in our school is surprisingly good, considering the building and roof are likely to collapse and if too many toilets flush at once, the water supply stages a protest. Which goes to show what they say about books and covers.

“You’re number one in the erotica chart worldwide. Number one in UK romance. Top of the movers and shakers list.”

“And look at the sales.”

“Three hundred thousand. When are you buying me a gemstone for being a chief consultant?” she asks.

“How about a bag of midget gems between friends? I might even throw a party with cocktails. I’m bloody gobsmacked. Still hasn’t sunk in.”

“When will you get paid?” she asks me.

“I think Omozad pays monthly. I might even afford a new toaster at this rate. Maybe even a six-slice Italian jobbie.”

“It’s gonna be a rather nice payday.”

“Fuck, Fi. Never in a month of Sundays could I have believed this would happen. And I don’t even have the password for Omazod yet. Dibian’s masterminded my publishing coup.”

“It’s bloody marvelous.”

“Did I hear somebody call my name? Marvelous c’est moi! And how’s my cherry lips this morning?” Alan’s head appears and his face falls. “Oh shit, Izzy. Didn’t realize you were here.”

“Thanks.”

Alan’s appearance curtails our discussions. Fi puts the tablet back in its case, and her beau is none the wiser that as of today I am the most in demand erotica author in the country, nay, the world.

Given that I’m wearing a cheesecloth blouse and linen trousers, I’m feeling a tad more Miss Marple than Madame Nipple Clamp.

“See you later?”

“Definitely.”

What a tangled web I weave. One nobody would believe. Only my good news and euphoria are about to be short-lived. There’s something wrong in the state of Denmark and Jack’s about to dish the crap.

 

* * * *

 

“When I got home, I knew something was wrong. My place felt off. Took me a couple of hours and then I realized. The clock was gone—the antique clock in the hallway. There was no tick.”

“Your clock disappeared while you were in hospital? Was there any sign of a break-in?”

Jack’s getting agitated now and I watch as he rubs his temples. “No, Iz, you’re missing the point. This wasn’t a burglar. Dibian’s been in and had a trolley dash, stealing my things. She’s stolen money from my drawer. There’s also my coin collection and some antiques. Jewelry—I’m so gobsmacked. I’ve been with the police all morning.”

Rewind. What the fuck? Hold on a minute, says my brain. All at once.

Jack’s not returned to work since his health issue. Today, he’s come in in his civvy clothes to see me with this crazy news.

“Jack! No way!”

“Yes way. I gave her my keys. She promised to collect pajamas and drop in some washing and collect the post and milk. I said I’d get you to do it but she was most insistent, saying you were too busy.”

“I’m never too busy for you, Jack. She told me she had the hots for you and I should back out and give you both some space.”

“Pish, tush and codswallop. The woman’s a whoring thief!”

“Steady, Jacko. That’s a bit strong.”

“She’s taken my Lilly’s beautiful jewelry. There were heirloom brooches and bracelets.”

I put my fingers to my mouth and gasp. I remember the jewelry. He showed me once, and it was top-notch stuff. The thought of our own head of department going to Jack’s home and going through his possessions to cream off the good stuff—well, it makes me go cold and numb all over with shock.

“These were art deco twenties items she was bequeathed by her mother. Course she won’t have banked on my having photographed and recorded them. I even have serial numbers of the notes she stole from my holiday money drawer. I don’t use banks—never trusted them. Dibian’s made off with about fifty thousand pounds.”

I’m hearing his words but they don’t compute with the Dibian I know. She’s intelligent, kind, compassionate with a warm heart and ready wit. I know she’s had a tough time lately, but stealing? Surely there’s some mistake.

“Jack. Is there any chance you’ve misplaced the money? You’ve been on meds and in hospital.”

“It’s gone. I’m no fool, Izzy. Someone’s rifled my effects and gone over my home with thorough attention. She had my keys and there was no forced entry. Dibian saw a chance and took it.”

I still don’t want to believe it could be true. “Bloody hell, Jack. She told me she had a thieving boyfriend who’d defrauded her. Said he used all her savings and left her in the lurch.”

Jack shakes his head and sighs. “Maybe it’s sent her a bit loopy? Though I’m not sure I’d believe a word she says. Dibian Hicks has sticky fingers and not from eating as many pastries as she does. I willingly gave her my keys and she’s ripped me off. But she won’t win. We’ll get her for this.”

“You need to go to the police,” I tell him. But I’m hoping there will be some saner explanation. Could Jack have a close relative who’s done the dirty and he’s no clue? In my heart I can’t accept that Dibian could knowingly have done this.

“Izzy, love. I’ve already told you. The police dusted for prints earlier. It felt like being in an episode of Taggart—enjoyed it better than a crime bestseller. We don’t need to tell them. They’re already on the case. They probably have her in custody already.”

I suck in a breath. “Dibian’s gone. Rogerson told me she’s caring for a sick aunt but it sounded like a cover.”

Jack’s eyes widen as his mouth falls open. “She’s taken off with my cash—plain and simple.”

I whisper a confession because I don’t want this to be happening or to be true. “She’s got the access to my book’s royalties. I’ve made half a million in sales.”

Jack stares at me. “Bloody Nora, girl! We’ve been had and double crossing Dibian’s not going to come back. I have to go and report these developments to Will Darby as a matter of urgency.”

“Will? Why does he need to know?”

Jack rises to his feet. “Because he’s the one who came to my house to ask me all the questions.”

 

* * * *

 

I rush into Will’s office, about to tell him all that I’ve learned about Dibian, but he shushes me with a full-on kiss, then a stalling finger.

“But…” I begin but his eyes brook no argument.

“I want you to move in with me. At the Grange. This is fucking killing me. I rarely get time to see you. It’s driving me nuts. We’re always ships that pass in the night and lately we’ve been more off than on. Please say you’ll think about it.”

Ruddy hell. Today is all about surprises. Will is staring at me. For an answer. And I can’t quite believe he’s asked me such a big commitment-related question. My Secret Sir is suddenly serious and it’s alliteration a-go-go. Fuck.

“I will think about it. But first I need to ask you what you know about Dibian? Jack says you know where she is and she’s a bloody thief and cash grabber who’s run off with our money. Me and Jack have been scammed by Dibian.”

“I can’t tell you. It’s confidential.”

I boggle and stare as I take that in. “What? You want me to live with you and make big declarations and next you say you can’t tell me anything about Dibian?”

“Exactly that. I’m not at liberty to discuss this.”

“So you do know where she is?”

Will nods. “It’s complicated.”

“Fuck!” I rub my temples. “Today. Is not adding up. Did you know she’s stolen? Do you realize she’s a thief and you’re concealing her whereabouts?”

“Izzy. This isn’t my secret.”

“You can and you will tell me, Will. Dibian’s run off with stolen goods and money. Jack says you know where she is. She’s in the process of defrauding me of rather a lot of money too. And I think she did it on purpose.”

“I can’t give you those details.”

“Fuck. Will. Come on.”

“I’m sorry, Izzy.”

“She’s taken money from me. She’s probably halfway to Spain by now. Or Mexico. Where she can dress up as Carmen Miranda all she likes.”

“She isn’t. But I can’t tell you what I know yet.”

Will sits at his desk while I explain that I’ve written a book, it’s done well and Dibian set the whole thing up. Only she has access to the account and she’s disappeared.

Will grabs his coat. I can see the concern on his face, but I’m totally flummoxed. He stops as he pulls the door open, goes into his pocket and retrieves a key with a small piece of paper.

“Take this.”

“The key to the Bat Cave?”

“And the numeric code.” He nods. “If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t give it to you. But for now, I can’t explain. I’ll see you later. I have work to do.”

“Where are you going? What’s all this about?”

“Later.”

He walks out and I’m none the wiser. Shitting hell. Is this any way to move in with a man?

I stare at the key in my hand.

Well… There might be good reasons to try it out for size given the facilities…

 

* * * *

 

I knock on Annie James’ door. There’s music on in there—Coldplay are singing about a Sky Full of Stars, and I’m pretty sure she thinks they’re singing entirely for her.

“Enter,” she says so I do. Her face falls when she sees me. She is like a walking and talking Lego person without the awesome personality.

“Oh. It’s you. Come to slap my face again?”

“No. Sorry about that. Though you did slap me first.”

“And you did deserve it.”

“Ooh, bitch. Just when I try to forgive you, I realize you’re a hellcat with acid in her veins.”

It’s at times like these I have to boggle that I am a grown-up. After all I’m a qualified professional teacher. Annie is too—allegedly. And she’s a certificated guidance teacher too. Yet here we are having been in a fight in the ladies’ changing rooms and we’re going at it again, like twelve year olds having a rant.

“It’s about Lydia Salter,” I say. “I’m worried about her and she’s in your guidance group.”

I notice she doesn’t tell me to take a seat so I take one anyway, uninvited.

“There are two girls in my class and I keep getting a feeling that they’re not getting on with Lydia but it’s always smoothed over whenever I challenge them.”

“Maybe they don’t want you interfering?”

“Look. We both know how seriously the school takes bullying and how we react at the earliest signs. Something doesn’t sit right with me. Last night I saw them having a dispute in the street but when I challenged them, they denied it. Lydia is looking very gaunt and agitated at times, but she won’t speak with me. I thought it was time to bring this to you. Maybe you could call home?”

“Izzy. I’ll note your concerns. Leave it with me, but your evidence here is distinctly lacking. You’re working on a hunch.”

“Call it intuition.”

There’s something in her expression that tells me Annie’s making the most of putting me down in the same deft way Lydia and the girls did.

“Don’t you have to investigate an allegation? Isn’t it wise to examine things in case?”

“I’ll use my discretion. Leave it with me.”

I get the feeling my concerns are being swept off the priorities tablecloth like stray scone crumbs. I figure I should chat to another guidance teacher for a second opinion or baseline.

“And while you’re here…” says Annie. And I have a sneaking suspicion that this is the chance she’s been waiting for. Bingo.

“I know what you’ve done,” says Annie. “And I intend to tell Will all about it.”

I roll my eyes at her and palm the air. “What have I done now?”

“You’re Raye C. Ryder of Pleasure’s Edge fame. You have a chart-topping book on Omazod. You’re set to make a fortune. And reading between the lines—you’re writing it about Will Darby. I’m not stupid, and I’m going to tell all the people who count, so you will never be taken seriously again.”

I sit back in the seat.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Shit. I always knew Annie was a bitch but I never counted on her having keen intelligence or insight.

She shows me the tablet that’s lying on her desk and flicks through pages. It’s already loaded like she was reading it when I entered.

“‘His emerald eyes glint at me and dark lustrous curls graze my thighs as he settles himself. The muscular veins of his arms grab my attention as he braces his weight. My sex is a coiled ninja awaiting his assault when his tongue meets my clit. My mask and ball-gag won’t permit words! This is a man I can’t say no to!’ What do you have to say about that one?”

“Could be anybody. Why do you think it’s me who wrote that?”

“Dibian told me you did. And that you used Will for research.”

“You should keep taking your tablets—stopping meds gives you strange ideas.”

“I’m going to tell Will.”

“He already knows.” I’m a crap liar but I tough it out.

Damn. I could hit the Omazod delete button but I don’t have permission, thanks to Dibian. I’m sailing shitty creek with a very poopy paddle.

She licks her bottom lip. “I’ll raise the issue with Rogerson. Is this the kind of extracurricular activity a teacher should present to the world?”

“Do you know, Annie, I never liked you, but I never had you down as a nasty-arse bitch. You couldn’t get Will yourself, then you picked the wrong guy in Andy and used it as further reason to hate me. I’d feel sorry for you, because you really don’t deserve to be done over by a tool like Regis. But in trying to spoil and sully and fuck up things for the rest of us you stoop too low. So what if I wrote a book? It’s a fiction, a bit of fun. And it’s been more successful than I ever dreamed. If you want to crap all over that and the fact that me and Will have a shot at a decent love life, then be my guest. I came to ask you about Lydia. I can’t state strongly enough how much I think you should listen to me. If you want to try to balls my life up, go ahead. Why not up the headcount to two? Lydia and me. Do your worst.”

I walk out.

And Coldplay is switched off by the time I’m closing the door.

 

* * * *

 

I’ve been summoned to Rogerson’s office—it smells strongly of wood wax, so clearly Florrie the cleaner’s had a mad buffing episode. Something about it takes me right back to the basement at Will’s with a longing that shocks me and rocks me on my heels. Inside I quiver.

“Izzy. Take a seat.”

He turns to the gazunder behind his desk and brings over a tray with an enormous candle as its centerpiece. It’s multihued and must’ve taken nights of detailed work to create.

“Always wanted to pay my own homage to the leaning tower of Pisa. It’s where my wife and I honeymooned. Anniversary present, thanks to your candle mentoring skills. I’m eternally grateful.”

“Wow. It’s big and beautiful. I know your wife will love it and the time and care you put in.”

I hold back on my view that she’d probably rather have a lily bouquet, Belgian chocolates and a theater weekend pre-booked. But let the man deal with his own domestic bonfire.

I get up to go when he adds, “I asked you here because I need to ask you something personal.”

Immediately I jump to the conclusion that Annie’s already been before me. Bloody hell, that was quick. She’s dobbed me in with the boss for my writing and for Will.

“I need to ask you to please show restraint with Mr. Darby.”

“Sorry?” I’m trying to gauge what he knows, what’s been said, but I can’t.

“I know you and he are on friendly terms. But Mr. Darby is on a very pressing assignment and I’m asking if you could please accommodate me by permitting him space and not asking questions. He’s going to be rather tied up. Please don’t ask about it. Full details will emerge when the time is right.

“I won’t ask. We’re colleagues.”

“Can I rely on you to stay away from him? In the short term and for the sake of the school? I know you spend time together. And that’s fine. But he cannot be disturbed at school right now and your job depends on giving him space to undertake my instructions. Anyway, on another issue, a concerned parent contacted me today, intimating their daughter made an allegation you are taking too much interest in her social life.”

Blimey. Talk about a curveball.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Lydia Salter thinks you bother her. Asking if she is being bullied. Stopping her while she’s with her friends out of school time.”

“Yes. These things are true.”

“You know the boundaries as well as I, Izzy.”

“It’s interested concern only. I wasn’t pushing in my nose.”

“She’s off today. Her mother asks if you can please be mindful that Lydia finds your attention intrusive.” Rogerson steeples his fingers. “I must ask you to consider this your first verbal warning.”

I nod. I’m stunned. I’ve never been given an at-work dressing down or an advisory meeting in my career.

Shit. I’m gobsmacked. And I really must have got it all wrong.

 

* * * *

 

There’s nothing like a back-off warning and a sense of shock and disappointment to carve the way for minimal foreplay and great frantic wild sex. So it must be, when I finally go to Hangley Grange that night for our last night of passion and to let Will know I’ve been officially warned off. I think he’s somewhat stunned.

“The key,” I tell him and thrust my bags at him. “Bring these to the playroom!”

I’ve never been a real dominatrix before. Well, I pretended for the party but tonight I’m taking full control. If I have to stay away from Will and not ask questions then I’m damn well going to go full throttle at all my sex fantasies and lay them bare in one full-on night of epic sex.

He’s obviously been on the treadmill, because he’s in his running shorts and track shoes only. His breathing is still in the exertion zone and there’s a glistening sheen of perspiration on his pecs.

“And be quick about it!” I snap as I walk to our basement lair. He’s beside me opening the door and sorting the keypad, still panting from his workout.

“Don’t you want me to shower first?”

“Nope. You will obey all instructions. There isn’t time. I’ve a lot of stuff to get through. Tonight I’m in charge.”

He’s looking at me oddly. “Okay. Mistress. I think. Go for it.”

“I understand that you have something secret afoot. But I have things I want to do too—tonight’s about my sex fantasies. I want all my boxes ticked.”

The lights are dim in the playroom slash Bat Cave. It’s as I remembered. There’s something about the black fixtures and deep rouge color scheme of the walls that remind me of Moulin Rouge meets opium den in a bordello. I find I like it.

“Open the bags,” I order. “The black glossy one is yours.”

I sweep off my overcoat and watch as Will’s jaw hits the floor.

“Shit,” he says softly. “You’ve gone to effort.”

“Indeed.”

I’m wearing new patent leather thigh-length boots. They’re pretty damn hot. They lace right up the front and right up the back and there’s buckles aplenty. Put it this way—taking them off and putting them on will require three maids and a livery expert. Plus Harry Houdini.

“You like?”

Will comes toward me, as if to prove it. “I like.”

“Wait. Do not touch the goods,” I instruct.

I throw my coat on the leather chair at the door.

I’m wearing a sheer black cloak. If highwaymen wore negligees, then this would get the bonus ball. I’m calling it a cloak but it’s more like a voluminous waistcoat, complete with a large hood. My arms go through it, but there are no sleeves. It’s a sheer as a will o’ the wisp. I think it’s sexy as hell and it shows all the things I’m not wearing beneath. It’s a bit Kylie round the edges but Kylie on a being very bad girl day.

All I am wearing beneath are leather pants. Similarly, the leather pants have a thong and they are covered in tiny buckles and zips. I’ve never worn leather knickers before—I find I like them. Even though I’ve not technically got a penny of my publishing money, I’ve spent a sizeable sum of money in the nearest sex shop tonight—I figure, after what I’ve been through, I deserve the treat. It’s crazy to think I’ve made a million yet I have to be careful because it may never be mine.

I have three other leather and lace outfits. One decidedly dominatrix spandex number. Plus a bra and pants covered in Batman logos. That will be my pièce de résistance.

The bra I am currently wearing has a foundation structure of leather but it’s inset with peekaboo lace, and the cups are pointed and PVC. With shimmering steel pointy bits.

I watch as Will sucks in a breath.

“Holy jeez, babe.”

“Tonight, I’m in charge. You have the knowledge. But I have the power.”

Will’s voice is dry with desire. “I’m getting those signals. Whatever you want, babe.”

“Kneel by the bed,” I order him. “Give me the bag first.”

From the bag I take out my kit—a whip, three crops, a tickly duster thing that caught my eye, nipple clamps—I cheated there, as Janey left them at mine. There are also balls for a certain part of me and a mask. The big sausage-style dildo implement was on special offer and I felt a little sad to leave it behind on its own.

“Christ on a bike. Did you rip off a sex shop?”

“Silence. Aren’t you going to open your gift?”

I watch him, while holding my own first toy of choice. It’s the cane from my forfeit—I’ve still not returned it. And I dearly want it to have some fun before it goes back.

Will looks in the shiny black bag I’ve brought him. “Ah. Okay. Right.”

“What are you waiting for, Batman. Get them off and get those on.”

Dominatrix Izzy. I think I’m going to be good at this.

 

* * * *

 

Will is wearing a leather sex pouch. He suits it very well. He’s also wearing a lot of baby oil and he’s finger-licking good. My very own Will Darby McNugget.

I have him cuffed and chained to the bed—arms and ankles. I also have him blindfolded.

I can see he’s ultra-nervous and I’m loving every delightful, loaded, clock-ticking second. I sense it’s going to be a long night.

I take the lit candle and pour wax upon his chest. It’s very near the nipple but misses. He growls, but does not protest.

“Good boy! You make a very good submissive.”

“What book are you reading now, Mistress? I’d suggest this one’s gone up the scale a notch too far toward loopy loo.”

I snap my crop down across his thighs and hear the jangle of chains and cuffs as he tries to bolt and flinch from the surprise punishment.

“Mistress will be kind if Will is a good boy.”

I kiss him, enjoying the taste and feel of him. Reveling in the moment, I can feel his tension and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like being restrained. He’s a guy who likes to be in control.

“As much as this is okay, I don’t suppose we could have straight vanilla sex now?” he asks.

“You dare to disagree with your Mistress’ orders?”

“Just sayin’.”

Again the candle wax becomes my plaything, only this time it’s close to his stomach and he shouts out with surprise. I reward him with labored attention to his mouth and ardent kisses. He is shaking beneath my touch and I realize this isn’t fair. He isn’t in the zone, he wasn’t prepped and he didn’t ask for this.

“Don’t you like being a sub?”

“It’s okay but—”

“Would you like me to stop?”

“Not if you mind.”

I sigh. Then take off his mask. His eyes are earnest and he looks somewhat relieved. “If it’s important to you—”

I find I’m not that bothered. It started out as a giggle and a chance to try out all the things I’d read about, but, in reality, if he’s not into it, neither am I.

What I am into is the way he makes me super-hot seeing him in those tiny leather pants.

I unlock the cuffs and ankle straps.

“Vanilla sex has its place.”

“Nothing wrong with vanilla. As long as there’s spice on the side,” he answers, and in a deft flick, he’s on top of me. I’d been planning to give him mind-blowing attention to a lower part of the anatomy, but he’s beaten me to it.

“Sir always likes to take the lead.”

“In these tight leather pants, babe,” he answers, “I’m in danger of an embolism. Let’s get this moving, shall we?”