| |
When Monique was shown up to the Pink Room by one of the maids, Chantelle was waiting, having showered, dried and moisturized her body.
“Wow, this room is beautiful.”
“Thanks, but Dominic and his nieces deserve the praise, not me.”
The Pink Room was for his nieces when they stayed over...and where one or both of her sisters would sleep when they came to visit from Jamaica. It was utterly feminine with its large four-poster bed, hand-stitched powder-pink linen sheets and abundance of lace. Chantelle found it so endearing that Dominic would let his nieces work with his interior designer to come up with a room that was fun for them whenever they visited, although they didn’t stay over that often. His nephews hadn’t been able to agree on anything for the Blue Room except the black and red Ferrari beds, so instead of one game console, there were three: Xbox 360, PS3 and Nintendo Wii, and hundreds of games to play on them.
“Oh, these are perfect. They’ll make a statement but won’t outshine the dress. I want that to be the point of focus.” The stylist ran her finger over the studs and then picked up the eternity bracelet. She laid it against her palm and let it catch the light before she replaced it and turned to Chantelle and said in a businesslike manner, “Right, how much time do we have to make you the most beautiful woman there tonight?”
“That would take a lifetime,” Chantelle replied. “But you have an hour to make me passably attractive.”
“Don’t fish for compliments!” Monique retorted. “You’re gorgeous and you know it!”
“Gorgeous?” Cerise was gorgeous. She was attractive and had a good figure. “I think you need glasses.”
“I have 20-20 vision, if you must know.” The woman put her hands on her slim hips and ordered, “Now sit your butt down and let me style your hair!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Chantelle sat obediently and the woman immediately pulled the strands of her hair upwards and checked the mirror to see the effect.
“Can your neck be any longer?” The woman asked with what sounded like just a hint of jealousy.
“I’m tall. My neck is perfect for my height.” Her neck was still a touchy subject. Another child of West Indian parentage had called her ‘a gaulin’ when she was about nine and the name had stuck with the other children in the class. It was a bird from the heron family that had a long neck and was not particularly pretty. She had always wished that he’d called her ‘a swan’ instead. It took her a long time to see her long neck as attractive. She still never wore her hair up if she could help it.
“Your neck is perfect, full stop. Which I’m sure Dominic tells you all the time.”
He had never complimented her about her neck, but he spent an inordinate amount of time nibbling on it.
Chantelle sat quietly, facing away from the mirror as the woman piled her hair up and secured it with what felt like dozens of pins, and then applied makeup.
“Is this a special occasion or screening?”
“I don’t think so. Dominic said that it was the only day he could get the seats he wanted.”
“I can’t imagine him not getting any seats he wants.” Monique sounded puzzled.
Chantelle had been for a while too, then she remembered that even with his wealth, Dominic didn’t have the clout of royalty and members of the aristocracy. Perhaps one or more had made plans to attend the show on those evenings.
“All done!” The woman swung the generously-padded stool around and Chantelle got the first glimpse of her perfectly made up face.
Her eyes, her cheekbones and lips had been accentuated, while her nose had been subtly played down. She looked almost like a black Barbie doll!
“Did you deliberately try to make my nose look smaller?”
“I’m not trying to turn you into a white girl!” Monique laughed at Chantelle’s suspicious expression. “The nose is the closest to the camera, so it tends to get exaggerated. All I’ve done is apply makeup so that it catches the light differently.”
“I don’t know if I like the effect.” It was flattering, but Chantelle didn’t want to start down that slippery slope of thinking her African features were not suited to the camera. Next it would be her lips or...her behind. “It looks like I’ve had plastic surgery.”
“It does not! Girlfriend, have you seen some celebrities without makeup?” Monique shuddered thematically. “Trust me on this. Tomorrow when you see yourself in the newspaper, your nose will look regular sized.”
“You’re sure about that?” Chantelle narrowed her eyes and viewed the woman in the mirror.
“I’ve been doing this a long time,” the woman reassured her and then chuckled. “And don’t worry...your big nose is still under there!”
A burst of laughter erupted from Chantelle.
“Don’t ruin my hard work, now,” Monique warned as Chantelle instinctively raised her hand to stifle it. The stylist glanced at the slimline Rolex on her wrist. “We have less than fifteen minutes to get you dressed and ready for your prince.”
***
DOMINIC’S EXPRESSION as he caught sight of her framed in the bedroom doorway was priceless. He fastened the cufflink he’d been holding without taking his eyes off her as he walked towards her.
“God, you look beautiful.”
“You look good yourself.”
He was immaculate in a light blue shirt opened at the throat to reveal a tantalizing ‘V’ of his smooth chest. Even if she didn’t know that his clothes were made by bespoke tailors Thom Sweeny of Mayfair, she would have known that the light grey jacket and matching waistcoat were cut to his exact measurements. With his broad shoulders and trim waist, his proportions were such that he couldn’t walk into a store and pick up anything off the shelf. The darker grey trousers which hinted at the muscles of his strong thighs added formality to the other garments. Completing his look were brown, laced up shoes which were polished to a high shine but looked previously worn and comfortable. The light color of the shirt emphasized his tanned skin and the darkness of his hair. He looked sexy, handsome, debonair and slightly dangerous...like a brown-eyed David Gandy, only bulkier in the shoulder.
Chantelle was glad that she’d made a special effort.
“Ready?” His smile was wicked and she knew what he was thinking before he bent and whispered in her ear, “We better leave before I change my mind, rip that dress off and take you right here.”
He was such a caveman sometimes...but he was her caveman.
He had ensured that they left with plenty of time to spare, so they were unperturbed by the occasional traffic jam they encountered as the limousine traversed through London’s narrow streets.
Small groups of people were milling around the entrance when they got to the Queen’s Theatre. Some had probably arrived earlier than anticipated; others were perhaps waiting for friends, relatives or partners to arrive. The atmosphere was electric and Chantelle felt her excitement build.
She had been to Stratford Theatre Royal once with a group of school friends, but it had none of the magnificence of this venue.
They were ushered up to the Dress Circle, or Royal Circle as it was also called. When they got to the third row from the front, Dominic turned and asked her, “Where would you like to sit?”
“Aren’t the seats numbered?”
“Yes, but we can sit anywhere in these three rows.”
“Somewhere near the middle aisle so that I can go powder my nose, if I need to.”
“Okay.”
The significance of Dominic’s words didn’t dawn on her until the intermission after Act I.
***
THE MUSICAL DREW HER in and within minutes of the start she was lost in the story which centered around lead Jean Valjean who returned after doing hard time for stealing bread. The story touched on many of society’s problems including sex trafficking, inadequate healthcare, student protests, prison reform, unscrupulous landlords and child abuse to name a few. Yet it was one of self sacrifice and love.
The heart-wrenching poignancy of the story gripped Chantelle. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and yet more often than not there was a smile on her face.
By the end of Act I she felt as though she’d gone through an emotional wringer.
“Would you like something to eat or drink?”
“A drink, perhaps.” Her stomach felt tender and a little queasy from holding her breath at some many fraught moments.
“Champagne.” It was only when Dominic gave the order that she noticed the young man standing next to him waiting for their order.
“Why is no one else sitting here?” she asked in surprise as she looked around them. Most of the audience had gone to the bar or the bathroom, but many had stayed in their seats. The entire block of the row she and Dominic occupied was empty, so were the one in front and the one behind them.
“Because I booked the seats.”
“All of them?” Chantelle turned and noticed for the first time that several pairs of eyes were trained on her and Dominic curiously.
“I didn’t want anyone blocking your view, or breathing down your neck or asking to squeeze by you.”
He’d paid for almost seventy seats, just so that she had an unobstructed view of the stage? Just when she was getting comfortable with the comfort and luxury being his girlfriend entailed, he’d taken it to another level!
When the champagne arrived she sipped it self consciously, feeling more eyes boring into her from the back as the people returned and settled in for the second act.
“Are you okay?” he leaned closer and kissed her behind her left ear.
“I thought you said you didn’t want anyone breathing down my neck,” she teased.
“Anyone but me,” he clarified. “Why do you hide this beautiful neck all the time?”
The music re-started and within a minute she was again engrossed in the story,
The musical was longer than most with a running time of 2 hours 50 minutes, yet Chantelle felt bereft as she stood up and joined the rest of the audience in a round of rapturous applause. She could sit and watch the entire performance again.
“This way, sir.” A man dressed in severe black and white stood with his hand extended in the opposite direction to which the other theatergoers were headed.
Dominic wrapped his hand around Chantelle’s wrist and preceded the man to where a door magically opened as they approached.
“Thank you.” Dominic shook the man’s hand and then placed his hand at Chantelle’s waist to walk her towards the limousine where Alvin was waiting with the back door already opened.
“Mr. O’Brien, who’s your companion tonight?”
A flashbulb went off in Chantelle’s face and for a minute she was totally blinded. Dominic ignored the question, immediately tightening his hand and striding ahead of her to partially block her from view.
The photographer continued snapping away at them relentlessly, knowing that he had an exclusive and wanting to take the perfect picture.
Still blinded, Chantelle followed where Dominic led, sighing in relief when he helped her into the vehicle and yelled at the photographer, “Okay, back off now!”
The man managed to get another two snaps before Alvin gunned the engine and raced them away.
“Are you okay?” Dominic pulled her closer to him.
“I’m fine.” Her heart was beating triple time. She would get used to it eventually she was sure—Dominic looked totally unfazed—but thank God, it had only been one photographer this time.
“It was good to see you cry, my love.”
“Good?” she questioned.
“I knew Les Mis would move you, but I think you enjoyed it more than I anticipated.”
“You thought it would make me cry, so you took me to it deliberately?”
“You refuse to see Dr Demarco.”
“Dominic, I don’t need therapy,” she told him for about the sixth time.
“You do, my love.” He kissed her neck. “Your father leaving the way he did left a scar you’ve covered over but is still bleeding inside. Talking to a professional will help.”
“I’ll think about it,” she promised him, just to let the matter lie.
She couldn’t imagine anything more embarrassing than to lie on a couch and cry as she told a stranger about her past.
And it wasn’t as if healing hadn’t already begun. Each day she woke feeling better than the one before. Dominic’s love was giving her the security she’d lacked in the last years.
***
THE MINUTE SHE WALKED into the office the next morning she knew that the photographer hadn’t waited to capitalize on his exclusive photographs. She’d known that it had to happen some time, but she’d hoped that she would have a few more days of obscurity.
Lauren was the only one bold enough to approach just after the midmorning tea break. The older woman smiled as she tossed one of the more popular tabloid newspapers on Chantelle’s desk and said, “You and Dominic look great together.”
“Thank you.” What else could she say? Chantelle picked up the newspaper and looked at the photograph that had made their headlines with the title stolen from the Madonna song and movie, Who’s That Girl?”
She looked okay, but a little like a deer caught in headlights. She had to remember to keep her face composed the next time. The flash had gone off in Dominic’s face too, but he didn’t seem to have reacted to it. It was probably a skill you develop.
And as Monique had assured her it would do, her nose looked normal.
“Dominic and I had met once before, briefly,” she felt the need to explain. “We hadn’t been formally introduced so I had no idea that this was his...his father’s company.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Chantelle.” The woman smiled. “Dominic could have stayed on the interview panel, but he did the decent thing and excused himself. Mark and I made an unbiased selection, which you have justified since your first day here.”
“Thanks for saying that, Lauren.”
“You’re welcome.” Then the woman winked. “Plus Dominic is just too damn sexy for his own good. How could you have resisted him?”
Chantelle chuckled as the woman walked away, leaving the newspaper behind.
By lunchtime she had seventy-six notifications from Facebook in her inbox, if her phone was correct. Curious, she logged on to her account and found that sixty-one of them were ‘friends’ requests, most of them from women who had attended her former secondary school. She sat back on her chair and laughed at the irony.
When Facebook had thrown open its platform to anyone over the age of thirteen in 2006, she had excitedly created a page and sent ‘friends’ requests to the entire class of twenty one. Gail and one other girl had accepted. The next days her classmates had taking great delight in laughing over her profile picture and the fact that they had deleted her requests. To add insult to injury, the other girl promptly deleted her as a friend later that day.
Now most of them, and several more who had ignored Chantelle the entire seven years of secondary school wanted to be ‘friends’.
She could have given them a taste of their own medicine and either ignored or deleted the requests, but instead she smiled as she confirmed all.
If they thought she would post details of her relationship with Dominic they were sadly mistaken.
At university, among more academically-inclined and mature peers, she had been given a clean slate. She had reinvented herself somewhat, but had still been constrained by the lack of funds. So, though they had considered her ‘studious’ for not wanting to go out and get ‘legless’ as most of them regularly did, she had made several friends. Her FB friends had swollen to a respectable forty-seven, but that first humiliating experience had put her off. While some people seemed to think that they couldn’t live without the networking site, she barely logged in once a month.
At sixteen, she’d desperately wanted those FB friends to feel accepted. Now she didn’t need them, they had more than doubled in a day!
Wasn’t that life, though? You could rarely find a friend when you needed one and yet they buzzed around you like flies when you needed them least.
***
WHEN SHE GOT HOME, Dominic handed her a still-film wrapped DVD. “You enjoyed Les Mis so much I got you a copy of the 25th Anniversary Concert which was held at The O2 two years ago.”
“Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. She had been thinking that she would have wrung his arm to take her for a repeat performance—if he hadn’t bought out all the damn seats in the theatre. This would do nicely instead. “I’ll thank you again later.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” His voice sounded regretful. “I have a meeting after dinner.”
“Okay.”
No details? He was being very secretive, but she wouldn’t ask why.
Unusually, he brought his mobile phone to dinner when they sat down to a meal of Olive Oil Roasted Salmon Steak with Orzo Pasta and fresh herbs. He had a PA service which picked up all his business calls and only forwarded the more important and complex queries to him.
The phone rang just before their after-dinner coffees were served.
“I have a late meeting, baby. Don’t wait up for me.” Dominic kissed her neck lingeringly before lifting his head. “Rogers, have Alvin bring the Lamborghini around. And don’t you wait up for me either.”
“I’m not at all tired, sir.”
“That’s an order, Rogers.”
“Very good, sir.”
They both knew that Rogers would probably still be up when Dominic came home, no matter how late. Chantelle hoped he wouldn’t be too late, because she doubted that she would sleep either. What worried her was the fact that he’d asked for one of the two cars he drove himself to be brought around to the front and not the limousine. He was going alone to meet with whomever he had the assignation.
“As the master is not here, would you like to try something different tonight?” Rogers suggested.
“Okay.”
“Go on through to the living room. I will be there shortly.”
Chantelle made her way to the other room and curled up in the corner of the L-shaped settee.
Rogers entered within a few minutes with a small silver serving tray bearing a martini glass with a chocolate-colored liquid and garnished with a square of mint chocolate.
“Chocolate Mint Martini.”
“Thank you, Rogers.” Chantelle took a sip. “So gorgeous!”
“Ms Payne, I do hope you weren’t too upset by the events of earlier this week. I really should have handled things differently.”
“Please don’t blame yourself, Rogers. I think you handled the situation beautifully.” The butler clearly didn’t agree with her assessment, but seemed to think that it would be impolite to disagree with her. He was in a strange mood and Chantelle decided to get to the bottom of the matter. “Rogers, pour yourself a drink and come and have a chat with me.”
“I really shouldn’t.”
“I insist!”
“Well, if you insist, Ms Payne.” The man smiled and for the first time Chantelle realized that he was no more than his early forties. His almost silver hair and serious demeanor added another ten years to his age.
He popped the top of the crystal decanter and poured the merest shot of cognac in one of the oddly-shaped glasses Chantelle had recently learned were designed for the drink. She always smiled when she saw one in Dominic’s hand—he appeared to be cupping a glass breast.
Rogers cleared his throat as he warmed the liquid to the correct temperature.
“I hope you don’t find me indiscreet, Ms Payne, but I would like to give you a few words of advice.”
“Go ahead.”
“Never take anything for granted.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s clear to me that Mr. O’Brien thinks highly of you, but if something should happen....”
“Go on.” She knew he was trying to warn her but about what or whom, she was none the wiser.
“Perhaps I should tell you my story. I come from what most would refer to as a middle class family. When I was eighteen I worked as a bartender in an exclusive West End club just for the buzz rather that the salary and tips. One night an older gentleman walked up to the bar, our eyes met and I literally felt like I had received an electric shock to my heart. Later that night when he took me to a little flat he owned in Richmond, which was being renovated for rental, he told me it had been the same for him. He was forty-six, married with two young sons, and a member of the aristocracy. He said he’d been only vaguely attracted to women, but until he met me he didn’t understand why. He said I was the love of his life and I believe he meant it. My parents were furious when I didn’t take up my place to study Molecular Biology at Edinburgh University that September. Instead I moved to a beautiful flat he bought in Park Crescent overlooking Regents Park. We were together every chance he got. He even took me when they went on family holidays abroad. I would stay in a room down the hall, close enough so that he didn’t have to walk too far when he came to me, but not so close that a member of his family could accidentally see him enter my room.
“It sounds sordid, but I think the sixteen years we were together were the happiest in both our lives. If he wasn’t an earl with enormous responsibilities and expectations, I think he would have divorced his wife. He wanted so much to buy a vineyard in the south of France and for the two of us to move there permanently, away from the prying eyes of the world.
“He always talked about finding a way of leaving me a legacy. He was still in his prime and healthy, neither of us gave any thought to his dying before he could put his plans in place. He was an expert skier, but he was killed in an avalanche while we were on holiday in Switzerland. I was less than fifty meters behind him and his friends when it happened. Several of us rushed to their aid, but another snow fall nearly buried us too. And we were ordered back to safety.
“I couldn’t attend the funeral. I spent days and nights getting drunk wondering how I would live without him. A month after his death, his man of business turned up and told me I had a fortnight to vacate the premises. I tried to tell him who I was without being indiscreet. He told me that he’d known of my existence from the start of our relationship. He even admitted that the earl had hinted at signing over the flat to me, but he had never gotten around to doing so and sadly now that his eldest son had inherited everything, he wanted the property sold.
“He had given me a generous allowance and bought me beautiful gifts over the years. I don’t regret the wonderful times we spent together, but I had sacrificed my family, my education and my youth for him, and in the end I was left with nothing but an expensive lifestyle I could no longer support.”
Chantelle realized her mouth was open in surprise and closed it.
“Enjoy every moment of your new life, but keep some perspective,” the man advised.
“Thank you, Rogers.”
“Now, I must get back to overseeing the staff before they get ideas above their stations.”
He winked at her as he turned and left the room.
Chantelle picked up the chocolate square she had laid aside and popped it into her mouth.
What an extraordinary story!
And thank God, he’d told it to her before she’d become too accustomed to the finer things in life. It was evident that it hadn’t been easy for him to relate it to her. She sensed the disloyalty he felt to both Dominic and his late lover, but his concern for her must have been the overriding factor.
She had studied the buildings on Park Crescent as part of her degree, their uniform rich cream color and the way they blended beautifully into the surrounding landscape. The properties were ultra desirable and very rarely came up for sale. Had his lover deeded the property over to Rogers, he would have been able to resell it for no less than a couple of million pounds. Or, he could have moved to less trendy accommodations and rented the Park Crescent apartment—the rent would have been enough to pay for the other as well as keep him in the style he’d become accustomed.
She sensed there was a lot he hadn’t said. She had noticed the careful way he’d measured the drink for himself when Dominic had once ordered him to pour them both a drink before they’d sat down to discuss business one evening. The same careful way he’d measured it earlier. His words, I spent days and nights getting drunk wondering how I would live without him, had been spoken lightly but had contained a wealth of hidden meaning.
She could, if she wanted to, do a Google search and find the earl who had been his lover, but she wouldn’t. The butler had clearly gone against his principles to warn her; she would therefore go against her instinct and leave the matter alone.
Rogers had no idea how close to home his story was. Unlike the earl, her father had followed his heart and run away from his responsibilities.
***
SHE WOKE WHEN DOMINIC slipped into the bed beside her, surprised that she had actually nodded off. She picked up her watch from the bedside table and peered at its illuminated face with one eye. 00:53.
“You’re late.”
“Sorry, the meeting took longer than I anticipated.”
Even if she hadn’t decided to trust him implicitly no matter the circumstances, the warm smell of his body reassured her. He didn’t have the freshly-showered smell he’d left the house with, but neither did he have the faintly musky smell that would have indicated that he had been sexually aroused since.
“Did everything go as you hoped?”
“Things went better than I expected. Time will tell if I made the right decision.” He cupped her breast through the silk of her negligee and tweaked her nipple. She felt his cock rapidly hardening against her behind. “Are you too tired for my thank you, sweet?”
Am I ever?
She shook her head and arched her neck as he nuzzled it. It was a little worrying that she never denied him sex. She would do eventually, she was sure, but right now she wanted it as badly as he did.
Dominic moved his hand downwards to the junction of her thighs, found the moisture seeping from her entrance to the plump lips of her naked, shaved pussy and groaned, “Mmm.”
He turned and opened the drawer that contained his mega stash of condoms, sheathed himself and pulled her thigh back to rest comfortably on his hip.
It was going to be one of those lazy lovemaking sessions, she thought and smiled sleepily. She didn’t mind. As much as she wanted the release, she’d prefer not to have to work for it.
But if she thought it would be a simple insert Tab A in Slot B, she was mistaken. Dominic didn’t do things in half measures.
Twenty minutes later as she drifted off, Dominic asked, “Do you ever wonder about your father?”
“Sometimes,” she answered sleepily. “But I doubt that he wonders about me.”
“I’m sure he does.”
Chantelle didn’t respond. She was too sated and what did it matter anyway? She hadn’t seen the man for eleven years and she’d survived.
*****
