Chapter 4

 

 

They were cruising smoothly at eighty along the M40. A wintry sun shone on a landscape whitened by rime. Her side of James’ large saloon was as warm as toast, and a gentle heat from the cream leather seat soothed her convalescent bottom. On his side of the car the climate control was set much cooler, but Nicola could luxuriate in her own cosy space. James drove sensibly, but it was pretty clear that the Audi accelerated twice as quickly as the draughty sports car of which her ex had been so pathetically proud.

She smiled to herself, recalling how James’ eyes had surreptitiously followed her around the study that morning as she filed away books and papers. Tuesday had found her energetic and businesslike. He, in contrast, had seemed a little lethargic, but fortunately a call from a dealer in London galvanised him. The dealer had acquired a rare painting which he thought James would like; he expected a lot of interest in the work and recommended James to come to the gallery as soon as possible to see it. So James decided to drive up that afternoon and stay overnight, rather than struggle home through the evening rush hour.

He had asked Nicola to book him a suite at Claridge’s. If he was interested in the painting he said he would view it again the following morning before he left, so he might not be back until the afternoon. But as he was about to return to his study he stopped. She’d looked up from her desk expecting further instructions, but James shyly asked her if she would like to accompany him, almost as if asking her for a date. He said she could take dictation in the car, so it would really save him some time. They could do a little sightseeing and then have dinner. Or if she preferred she could do some late night Christmas shopping on her own. Surprised, she had flushed and accepted like an excited schoolgirl.

‘Good. Well, book an extra room then. We’ll stop at your flat on the way for your overnight bag.’ Nicola was pleased. She knew that stuff about dictation was a fib. He had a dictaphone he used in his car often enough and she could have been doing work at the office as well. Not much time saving there, then.

Anyway, a short stint at dictation was over and she could relax for the remainder of the journey. Rather sheepishly he said, ‘I’m glad you seem so well today. I wasn’t sure if we should go ahead tomorrow if you were...’

‘I feel great. No lasting damage.’ He looked so relieved she could have kissed him. ‘Would you like to see?’ she added cheekily, then laughed at this dry response.

‘Better keep my eyes on the road. Maybe later.’

After this intimacy she felt able to push their relationship along a little. She looked across at the sensitive lines of his profile as he concentrated on the road ahead.

‘Could I call you James from now on?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘Sir James is a bit formal.’

He seemed surprised but replied eagerly enough. ‘Of course, yes. You must.’

‘And my friends call me Nick,’ she went on, wondering if he would think her too forward, presuming on his friendship.

‘Is that because you’re a little devil, Nick?’

‘Perhaps. But you’re beating the devil out of me, aren’t you, James?’

‘Well, fortunately today’s a rest day, so the discreet hush of Claridge’s won’t be broken by the thwack of my strap hitting your lovely backside.’

She regretted a little changing out of her miniskirt at the flat. A good show of leg now might have produced an interesting result. She knew James thought her clothes too skimpy at work; that was partly why she wore them. But she hadn’t wanted to embarrass him at a posh hotel. Like many older men he probably felt uncomfortable with girls who showed too much bare flesh in public, even though they liked it well enough behind closed doors. Still, she could see that she’d impressed him by changing into a dark grey skirt suit. The skirt came not too far above the knee but was still close-fitting and sexy. Beneath it she wore natural sheer tights.

In her warm cocoon Nicola soon fell asleep and dreamt that she was proudly introducing James to her former boyfriends. One of them, Kevin, asked if James was her father and she slapped his face. Then James fenced against all the boys and she cheered him on. Instead of swords they used school canes. In her dream James was an expert fencer. She felt horny just watching him. He lopped the top of Kevin’s silly spiky haircut and left all their boyish faces with welts and bruises. They slunk off and left James kneeling over her, asking if she wanted him today.

She awoke with a start as they turned off Park Lane onto Upper Brook Street. James was glancing down a little anxiously, repeating, ‘Are you okay?’ He said that she seemed to have been having a pretty wild dream. She was lying back in her seat, but straightened up with a horrified squeak when she found her skirt had ridden up. She had a worrying feeling, too, that her hand had been between her legs while she dreamed. What would he think? She blushed, fumbling at the side of the seat for the electric buttons which raised it upright. She barely had time to straighten her skirt and regain her composure before they were drawing up in front of the hotel and a top-hatted doorman was opening the car door for her.

With his hand in the small of her back, James gently guided her through the main doors. Now she had recovered he seemed amused rather than annoyed with her.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘that may have been my fault. I put the seat right back to help you sleep more comfortably, and you just seemed to slide down and catch your skirt somehow. Can be very slippery, this leather.’

‘I’m sorry I dozed off at all while I was supposed to be working.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. Cold weather and a warm car always make me sleepy, too. That’s why I like to keep my side cool when I drive.’ He was being very nice about it, adding, ‘Wherever you were, I wish I could have joined you. It sounded like fun.’

She didn’t have time to reflect on the meaning of this cryptic remark before they arrived at the reception desk, where James was treated like minor royalty. After the receptionist had checked them in the duty manager led them first to Nicola’s room. On the way he smiled politely at her, whilst asking James if his welcome return to the hotel was for business or pleasure. James said he expected it would be both, since staying at the hotel was always a pleasure. It seemed to be a big day for ambiguity.

Half an hour later James came to collect her and they left for the gallery. Darkness had fallen and the late afternoon streets were filling, as the home time exodus began to spill out into crowds of Christmas shoppers. The gallery was just off New Bond Street, a few minutes’ walk from the hotel. Its plush, dimly lit interior could be seen from the street, somehow managing to be both inviting to those with money and forbidding to those without.

The dealer greeted James unctuously and led them to a secluded alcove where a solitary picture hung on the wall. It was believed to be thirteenth century Italian, probably Florentine school, possibly by Cimabue. Apparently that was as exact as the dealer cared to be. Nicola had not heard of Cimabue, or of the Florentine school for that matter, and on this showing she didn’t regret it. The painting looked every one of its seven hundred years of age. Against a gold background Mary sat in a black robe. Nicola took the grimy, doll-like figure climbing on her lap to be the infant Jesus. What remained of two angels looked on demurely from the corners.

Nicola could sense James was interested, so she left the two men to talk in serious undertones while she looked at the other paintings hanging in golden frames on the olive-green walls. The place had dark furnishings and an oppressive air.

Eventually James concluded his business and they were back on the street.

‘Well, did you buy it?’ she asked with interest.

‘No. I said I’d think about it. I’m not happy about the attribution.’

‘How much was it?’

‘Likely to be twenty to twenty-five thousand.’

‘No! But it’s damaged!’ She couldn’t believe that he would even consider spending so much on that tatty piece of wood.

‘If it were in decent condition it would be in a major museum somewhere.’

Another aspect of the money occurred to her. ‘That’s about the same as...’

He didn’t reply, and after a moment she asked, ‘You didn’t not buy it because I lost you that money?’

‘Don’t be daft, Nick. And speak English.’

She was being daft; from her work as his secretary she knew he had considerable wealth. But somehow she liked the familiar, casual way he reproached her. It made her feel less like an employee, more like a friend, or even a daughter.

They walked in companionable silence in the direction of Piccadilly, passing the expensive jewellers and fashion shops of New Bond Street. The warm glitter of gold and diamonds was enticing in the dark winter afternoon.

James hailed a black cab. ‘I can see you’re not impressed by Italian Primitives,’ he said. ‘It may be best to start with something more accessible.’ She had no idea what he meant, but as he climbed in the taxi after her he told the driver, ‘The National Gallery, please.’

 

They entered the Gallery from Trafalgar Square and turned right into the East Wing. James walked quickly through the rooms with Nicola in his wake. One or two of the paintings they passed she recognised from greetings cards or posters, but James did not stop for them. As they passed Van Gogh’s Sunflowers at a brisk pace she was beginning to call out, ‘Oh, I’ve seen that one,’ but he was already past it and into the next room. It seemed he was more interested in the ones she hadn’t seen.

At last he began to walk more slowly and stop in front of particular paintings. They would admire them together for a minute or two and then move on to another room. She realised he did not want to look vaguely at every picture in every room but specifically at a few he loved, for it was soon evident to her that he did love them; the intensity in his eyes and his straightforward but revealing comments told her that. She looked at these pictures with heightened curiosity because of it.

Her work for James had brought Nicola into contact with small works of art, but here was something of a higher order. For a start, she hadn’t realised that many paintings were so enormous or in such vibrant colours. James did not say a great deal; the occasional comment about the artist’s life; the look he’d captured on his sitter’s face; the meaning of a small detail in the scene that Nicola might not have noticed. At some paintings he said nothing at all, leaving her to read the cards at the side and absorb them.

An hour passed very quickly as they moved through the East and North Wings. Amongst others, they had stopped at a marvellous reclining nude Venus, at a moving self-portrait of Rembrandt as a sad old man, and at a haughty pair of young Cavaliers dressed in satin and lace so lifelike she could almost feel the touch it. Nicola was starting to have an inkling of why people thought paintings were so worthwhile.

From their teenage years, Nicola and her friends had shown a healthy lack of respect for art as one of the grand totems of the world of their elders; whatever was shown them they acted as if they’d seen it all before. But here, forced to confront so much awesome beauty, she realised that she had not really seen art before. Her eyes had never lingered long enough to make the connection with the painting. Now she felt as though she were acquiring a new skill, or had awakened a part of her brain that had been dormant.

In the excitement of her discovery she began to make James stop at paintings that took her eye. To her great surprise he knew a lot about those as well. A deeper feeling for him was dawning in her. She had been sexually attracted by James the mature, assertive and wealthy man; now she could see something of his emotional character.

Nicola craved some physical contact to give expression to this newfound empathy. In the West Wing she noticed the unselfconscious way in which a student in torn jeans hugged his pretty girlfriend, while she giggled at yet another sexy portrait of Venus. But she had learned from her guardian that the code for public displays of affection was stricter for those of James’ background. The large open rooms offered no privacy for them.

Their route seemed to be taking them back in time. Having walked along a passageway and past a wide staircase they entered the Sainsbury Wing. This, the newest part of the Gallery, housed the oldest paintings. She gazed at two small complementary portraits of a middle-aged burgher and his younger wife. They could almost be James and her, she thought, amazed that the brushwork just inches away had been set down nearly six centuries before.

She suddenly noticed that James was looking at her, not at the painting. He smiled and said, ‘You don’t need any special education to appreciate art; just intelligence and imagination. I think you’ve got plenty of both.’

She blushed at his compliment. Today he had made her feel a strange combination of innocent little girl learning afresh about the world, and perceptive adult able to think for herself, and she was grateful.

The rooms were now relatively empty and she looked at her watch to find it was almost ten to six. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘we’ve nearly finished, but we shouldn’t miss the Leonardos.’ He led her back the way they had come. The Virgin of the Rocks hung in a room near the entrance to the wing. He said very little about it, for it was plain that, in spite of looking highly anaemic, the faces had a timeless beauty, like that of no other artist.

Nicola was surprised to find that the second Leonardo wasn’t a painting at all and was kept in a dark and tiny room behind the first. With so few people left in the Gallery she realised with a quiver of pleasure that, in this secluded space, she would finally be able to kiss him. Deliberately loitering until the other occupants had left the little room, she turned suddenly to face him.

‘James, I want to thank you for today.’ She put her arms round his neck and pulled him to her. He was surprised, but he responded affectionately and they kissed. Then she turned and backed into him, taking his arms and making him pull her close while she looked at the charcoal drawing. She felt his cheek resting against her hair. After a few minutes an elderly man entered and looked a little embarrassed to see them, so they left.

In the taxi back to the hotel she sat close to him and held his hand. She planned to make love to him that night and was wondering how best to bring it about.

 

That evening they dined in the restaurant at the hotel. Nicola was intimidated by the formal service, but the restaurant was so busy she could feel part of the crowd and need not be worried that people would look at her and think she was out of place. On the other hand the atmosphere was far from suitable for the intimate one-to-one she wanted.

The food was immaculately prepared and presented. The wine was lovely; the name on the label vaguely familiar and she guessed it was astronomically expensive. James was attentive and told her some amusing tales about the art world, but in a slightly distant way. Nicola suspected that he was thinking of Rebecca and feeling guilty about their embrace at the Gallery.

After dinner she asked to see his suite, on the pretext that this was her first visit to Claridge’s. Alone with her he seemed a little nervous of a repetition of the earlier intimacy. He avoided touching her as he briefly showed her the rooms, which were furnished in the Art Deco style.

‘May I stay awhile?’ she asked. ‘It’s still too early to go to bed.’

‘Shall we go out for a drink?’ he suggested.

Perhaps he was looking for an escape route, but that was not her plan. ‘No, I like it here. It’s peaceful after the bustle of London. I’d like a drink though.’

While James rummaged through the contents of the mini-bar Nicola took off her grey jacket and sat primly on the sofa. She sat with her knees together and hands in her lap, and rather gave the impression of a young schoolteacher in her grey skirt and white blouse. James poured brandies for them both, but instead of joining her on the sofa he chose to sit in the armchair. Given his coolness she was not sure how to proceed. Should she ask to use the bathroom and return dressed only in her underwear? The problem was, if he rejected her then she would ruin their growing intimacy and it would be impossible ever to try again. She decided to feel her way a step at a time.

‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you in the Gallery.’

‘It’s okay. You didn’t.’

‘I just wanted to show my appreciation. It just happened, really.’

He did not reply, just continued to look at her with grey, thoughtful eyes.

‘Do you find me attractive, James?’

‘You don’t need me to tell you you’re beautiful,’ he replied evasively.

Beautiful, she thought. She liked that word.

‘Since Uncle Edward died,’ she ventured, ‘I sometimes feel I need someone to turn to for guidance. It’s easy to drift when you’re young, isn’t it? You know, just go with the crowd, have a good time, but not do anything very worthwhile.’

‘Yes, I know. I did a little drifting myself at your age.’

‘That’s why I think that this...’ she paused, ‘this punishment will do me good. Help me focus on my job more; be a better PA for you.’

‘Mm. Well you arrived early this morning - that’s a first,’ he said dryly.

Nicola laughed. ‘It just shows how effective the cane is as a management tool.’

For a time they sipped their drinks in silence. Then, casually, Nicola said, ‘Maybe you ought to check my bottom has recovered enough for tomorrow’s session. This morning you said you would.’

‘Did I? I thought you said it was fine.’

‘It feels fine. But you’ve probably got more experience to judge.’

He coloured a little at that, and then replied, ‘It would make more sense to look tomorrow evening.’ This was so obviously correct that Nicola could only agree.

‘I suppose it would.’

At least she had caught a glimpse of movement beneath his trousers, so some progress was being made. She just needed a little more time. ‘It’s warm in here. Aren’t you hot in your jacket and tie, James?’

‘A little. I was going to take them off when you left.’

If that was a hint to go she was going to ignore it. ‘I don’t mind. I’d be sorry if you felt you couldn’t relax with me.’

‘You’re right. I shouldn’t stand on ceremony; Rebecca says it’s a weakness of mine.’ He got up and took off jacket and tie. Nicola glanced quickly towards his groin.

Yes, definite signs of life, she thought, and if the mention of his fiancée was another hint to back off she was going to ignore that, too.

They sipped their drinks in silence again.

‘Actually, James...’ Nicola hesitated and he looked at her expectantly. She continued slowly, eyes fixed on the table. ‘I would prefer to know tonight whether the next punishment will be tomorrow. It’s just that...’ another pause. ‘It’s just that, if it isn’t, I’ll probably go out with some friends and I need to let them know.’ She was still not looking at James but she could sense a tension in him. Nice one, she thought, that was a pretty good excuse on the spur of the moment. For the clincher she turned her hazel eyes on him, limpid with unshed tears.

James did not reply at once; he seemed to be struggling with himself. Perhaps he had seen through her; after all, he was an experienced man. Yet she knew that most men could be fooled by female tears, especially those that led them where they wanted to go anyway.

‘I understand. Yes, of course. I should really have thought of that.’ Usually so confident he was stumbling a bit now.

She waited, looking at the table again.

‘Maybe I had better take a look now,’ he said at last.

‘Thanks, that would be great. I’ll just use the bathroom to take my skirt off; I don’t want to get it creased again.’

‘Call the valet service; they’ll have it pressed for you.’

Valet service? Nicola thought. This was getting exasperating. Why the hell couldn’t he just let her seduce him without throwing out all these diversions?

‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll call them later from my room.’ She smiled sweetly and rushed to the bathroom before he could think of any more suggestions.

When she returned James was still in his chair but he had topped up the drinks - definitely a good sign. Nicola held her arms in front of her breasts, hands on shoulders. ‘I don’t want to embarrass you but I took off my bra too. Yesterday you made me take it off so I thought...’

He didn’t reply.

‘Is that okay?’ she asked. He nodded. They were watching each other closely now. She saw his eyes fall to her breasts as she took her arms away. She glanced down too, at a large erection in his trousers. Going good.

Nicola had a sip from her drink then took something from her bag and moved over to James’ chair. She stood with her back to him, legs firmly together. This evening rather than a thong she was wearing knickers of white lace which nearly covered her bottom cheeks; and she had left her tights on. To see her bottom properly James would have to take down both.

After a slight pause she felt his fingers hook into the waistband of the tights and firmly pull them halfway down her thighs. But instead of sliding her panties down he held aside the lacy material, revealing one buttock at a time. She felt his fingertips run over the surface of the cheeks. He squeezed and patted them gently. The welts had gone completely; just the odd red blotch and one or two tiny bruises remained. His fingers moved down to examine the tops of her legs. Ever so slightly she changed her stance to part her legs. His fingers probed between them and lingered on the crotch of her panties. He must have felt the wetness there, but he just straightened the knickers and brought her tights up again.

‘Seems fine,’ he said, giving her bottom a sharp slap.

‘Ow!’ exclaimed Nicola. ‘It’s still a little sore,’ she said. ‘I’ve been rubbing cream into it.’ She turned and held out a tube of lotion. ‘Could you rub some in for me? It’s easier if you do it.’

He looked her in the eye for a moment, but before he replied she said in a businesslike way, ‘It would be better on the sofa. Then I could lie across your lap more comfortably.’

For an instant she thought he was not going to buy it, but he did. He moved across to the sofa and she immediately went over his lap.

‘Oops, I’ve still got my tights on,’ she said, pushing herself up. But instead of rising and taking them off she moved one hand to his erection and held it through his trousers. James said nothing, but he was breathing more quickly. Nicola unzipped him and pulled his stiff penis out over the top of his white boxer shorts. It was not the largest she had seen, but it was large enough. She slid a little off his legs and dropped her head to his lap. She licked the length of the rigid penis with the tip of her tongue.

‘You really are a little devil, Nicola.’ He spoke angrily, but that did not worry her at all; she knew he wanted sex with her. Her tightly clad bottom still rested within reach on the sofa and he gave it a stinging slap.

‘Yes,’ she gasped in pleasure. ‘Spank me, James; you still owe me that from last night.’ She took his penis into her mouth, her head bobbing as she vigorously ran her lips up and down its length. The thrill made his spanks haphazard, but they were heavy and frequent. Nicola gasped and bucked with each blow but she kept her mouth around him. James was close to orgasm and the spanking stopped, he gripped the seat of the sofa. Out of breath Nicola hurriedly rose and pushed down her tights and knickers. She bent forward over the chair seat with her legs apart and her bottom in the air.

As James rose and moved behind her his mobile phone rang. They could tell from the ringtone that it was Rebecca. Nicola begged him not to answer, but after a moment of indecision he did. Rebecca must have been able to hear he was still breathing heavily.

‘I’ve just come up the stairs,’ he said into the phone, standing with trousers round his ankles.

All that good work for nothing, thought Nicola, slumping in the chair with a muffled groan. With a look he signalled her to keep quiet, and she listened to his side of the conversation. It was pretty monosyllabic and he didn’t ask much about what Rebecca had been doing. All in all Nicola thought Rebecca would guess that something was wrong, and she was not surprised to hear him say, ‘Yes, actually I’m with Nicola.’

He handed the phone to her, and she sat up in surprise.

‘Rebecca would like to talk to you.’ She looked at him in puzzlement, but she took the phone and tried to sound as bright as possible.

‘Hello, Rebecca. How’s the skiing?’

Nicola listed attentively for a few minutes, with the odd word of assent, and then handed the phone back to James. While he spoke with Rebecca his eyes were hungrily following Nicola as she dressed. Before the call ended she kissed him on the cheek and left to go to her own room without a word.