Sebastian - Dark Bonds (15 page)

“God no.  It’s not that.  It’s a look.  A glance they share.  The way he treats her.  He’s very dominant Ruth.  She’s very subservient.  Submissive even.”  My voice tails to a whisper.  I’ve said too much.

“Where does she sleep?”  Ruth asks, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort.

“Downstairs in the basement.  She has her own room.  Anyway enough of Scarlett, let’s go shopping.”  My calculated change of subject succeeds in distracting Ruth whose face lights up at the mention of shopping.

“Isn’t it all farmers markets and organic veg shops here?” she laughs.

“No!  We actually have clothes shops.  Albeit they mostly stock waxed jackets
and wellington boots,” I giggle.

Ruth and I happily peruse the only local boutique – it’s quite a revelation for Ruth who anticipates the shop bursting with cloth sacks and mop caps, but instead delights in finding a collection of current designer pieces.  Ruth selects a rather conservative skirt and cardigan while my eye is drawn to a black cocktail dress.

“You look … lovely Ruth,” I say as she pulls back the curtain in the small fitting room opposite mine.

“Honestly?  It’s not too frumpy?” she says as she tugs at the pale blue cashmere sleeves, which sit an inch too short on her long arms.

“Not at all,” I lie.  “Perhaps a size bigger?”

“This is a 16.  I’d rather die than wear an 18!” she proclaims disdainfully.  I shrug my shoulders in exasperation, sweep the curtain to my cubicle closed and change in to the skimpy slip of black fabric.   It’s a snug fit and I note with satisfaction how slimming it is and mirrors never lie, right?  I whoosh the curtain aside and twirl for Ruth.

“I hate you Beth Dove.  When did you get so disgustingly thin?”  Ruth stands with hands on hips, a look of awe and annoyance quite evident.

“Not intentionally.  I just haven’t really got my appetite back after … after the accident.”  The memory flows unwelcome through me, seeping like molten lava through venous rivers until my entire body is consumed with burning sorrow.  I shouldn’t be shopping, shouldn’t be laughing, shouldn’t be …

“Come on.  Snap out of it.  You look bloody magnificent in that dress.”  Ruth intuitively knows to lighten the mood and her words succeed in dissipating the darkness within me.

“Sorry Ruth.  I almost forget – just for a short time – and then it hits me harder than ever.  I can be taking a bath and think I hear Joe knocking on the door asking if dinner’s ready.  Or I hear the television and expect to see Alan in his favourite armchair.”

“It takes time, love.  You did the right thing coming to Cornwall it’s a different pace of life here.  Just make sure you keep yourself busy so you don’t have too much time to dwell and mope ok?”

“You’re right, and thankfully I have my birthday party to plan.  In fact I need to catch up with Scarlett and see if she knows who’s invited.”

“Don’t you know?” asks Ruth incredulously.

“Nope.  Sebastian says it’s all in hand.  All I’m allowed to do is plan the decorations and food.  Well, Scarlett is organizing the food.  He says Mum can’t come.”                Ruth’s mouth gapes.  “You’re shitting me?”

“I wish I was, but no.  I kind of get where he’s at – it’s for younger people and I guess he’s thinking of Mum and how it isn’t her scene.”  I rub the back of my neck and contemplate a milestone birthday without my mother.

“Hey, you’re moping again.  You need to buy that dress and then we need to go and eat lunch.” 

The Buttery is a traditional Cornish cafe, with floral print cloths, real teapots and books on folklore for sale, it has a charm and timelessness which is appealing.   Ruth and I take a seat at the table in the window and order pork and cider pies and a pot of tea.  My phone bleeps and I retrieve it from my bag.  It’s Sebastian.

Plans changed, won’t be home tonight.  See you tomorrow, have fun with Ruth.  S

“Ruth, look at this message,” I pass my phone to Ruth who reads with disdain.

“Where the hell’s he gone?” She asks.

“Absolutely no idea.  I intend to find out though.”  I tap out my reply. 

Thanks for letting me know.  Where are you?

I refrain from ending with my customary kiss.  He replies immediately.

Dinner with friends and looks like a late one.  Probably boozy so don’t want to drive.  S

I’m furious and also humiliated that Ruth should witness him treating me this way, so I shield my phone with my hand so that she can’t see his message to me.

“He’s being sensible,” I say unconvincingly.  “Drinking with friends and doesn’t want to risk driving.  I’m pleased about that.”  She nods in agreement but I can see she’s unconvinced.  I tap a hostile response.

Not sure I’ll be home either.  Ruth and I going clubbing in Exeter.

I press send and wait for the irate riposte.  I don’t wait long.

Are you deliberately trying to antagonize me?  I expect you home and will call the house at 10pm.  S

“What a bloody cheek.  He can go out, get trashed and not come home but I’m expected to be home like a dutiful wife.  Talk about double standards.” 

Ruth looks puzzled. “We will be home, Beth,” she says.  “That’s not the point, Ruth.”

And if I’m not home?

Nerves knot in my stomach as I send the message.

Try that shit and see what happens.  If you want to see me angry, carry on. S

Oh fuck
.  He’s seething.  Damage limitation time, Beth.

I’ll be home.  Take a chill pill x

My phone pings.  New message from Sebastian.

Chill pill?? Hmm.  Not a very good submissive are you?  Will deal with you tomorrow.  Will still call at 10pm.  S.  (ps I note the kiss on last message – better!)

The familiar butterflies in my stomach beat their little wings, as I contemplate the punishment Sebastian will mete out tomorrow.  Our pies arrive, small clay pots of steaming comfort food, which lift my mood considerably.

I open the second bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape and slop it in to the glass tumblers.  I feel sure this isn’t how such a fine wine should be served but they were the first glasses I found and they hold a copious volume, which is a major positive.  Ruth and I are very cozy beneath her feather duvet, having decided to share a sleepover in her room tonight.  This had been hastily decided while we were sat in the Great Hall after a delicious dinner of nachos with cheese, it being Scarlett’s night off, when we heard a thud in the hall.  Both being brave, we had clutched each other’s hand and investigated only to find no cause of the thud.  At this point we had grabbed two bottles of wine, our tumblers, and pitched up the stairs – Ruth making ghostly ‘woo’ noises and I squealing like a banshee.  So, here we now are, telling ghost stories to ensure neither of us sleeps at all tonight and getting delightfully drunk.  When we drain the last drops of the second bottle, we can no longer suppress our weariness and Ruth is asleep and snoring shortly after.  I gently pull the duvet up to Ruth’s chin and watch her sleep, thinking how blessed I am to have such a true and wonderful friend.  I creep quietly from her room and return to my own bedroom, preferring to sleep in our bed with Sebastian’s scent on my pillow. 

Sebastian’s jacket is strewn on the chaise and I scoop it up, hanging it carefully in his wardrobe.  As I do so, I notice a red glossy card protruding from the inside pocket.  Curiosity compels me to retrieve it.  It is an invitation and I’m intrigued – Sebastian having made no mention of a party other than my own.  What I read turns my blood to ice.

20

The invitation is to Sebastian alone.  The gold italic script reads as follows:

Lord Sebastian De Montfort

Is cordially invited to attend the 8th Annual

Fetish Feast with Charity Auction

On Saturday 2nd June 2012

At

Girling Hall, Brook Lane, Camelford, Cornwall

7pm until late

Entrance strictly by invitation only

RSVP

Tonight is the second of June so this is presumably where Sebastian has gone. 
Fetish Feast
?  I am devastated.  I know he’s into ‘domination’ but to be part of the … the scene, or whatever it’s called, takes his kinkiness to a whole new level so that now I question his fidelity, his love for me.  So many lurid thoughts course through my mind along with rage and hurt.  I have to call him.  Crap! My phone is downstairs in the Great Hall and Sebastian was calling at ten o’clock.  The bedside clock reads eleven forty-five.  I race, in panic, downstairs - oblivious to ghosts and ghouls - and snatch my phone from the table in the Great Hall.  Five missed calls.  Two text messages:

10:03pm Called as arranged.  Where are you? S

10:27pm Oh you are in SUCH deep shit.  I’ll see you in the morning.

Contemplating whether to call him, I decide instead on the cowardly approach and type a text message.

Sorry phone was downstairs.  I’ve been home all evening which is more than I can say for you.  Hope you’re enjoying the FETISH FEAST!!  You’re in far deeper shit than I!

I hesitate before pressing ‘send’ but my anger wins out.  Clutching my phone, I retreat to the sanctuary of the kitchen and immediately feel calmer in the warm womb of the now seemingly bleak house.   I make a mug of cocoa and sip at the milky froth, staring at the phone which affords me no comfort with its’ silence.

I’m startled by a shadow silhouetted in the doorway.  Scarlett glides to my side and lays a gentle hand on my arm.  I stare up at her, a vision almost ethereal in white muslin nightdress, her long dark curls cascading over her shoulders.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Dove,” she mutters quietly.

“You’re not disturbing me, Scarlett.  Please call me Beth.”

“Can I join you?”  I nod and indicate for her to sit.  She makes herself a mug of cocoa before seating herself opposite me at the table.

“Is everything alright?” she notices the tear running errantly down my cheek, reflected by the candle, which burns between us.

“Everything’s fine,” I lie.

“It’s clearly not,” she observes.  “Far be it for me to interfere in matters between yourself and his Lordship, but I genuinely hate to see you so sad.”  She reaches a pale hand across the oak slab and I grasp it tightly, appreciating the tactile gesture.

“He’s at a bloody fetish party,” I hiss, raising my gaze to hers to gauge her reaction.  She doesn’t flinch.

“I see.”  She pauses just a moment, “he only goes once a year, Beth.  I’ve been with him.  It was two years ago and I can assure you that it isn’t nearly as perverse as you might imagine.”

I cock a cynical brow and take another sip of my cocoa.

“Mostly he goes to meet old friends.  Like minded people who share the same passion.” 

My brow rises further at the word.  “Passion?  I presume you mean in the literal sense of the word?”

“He wouldn’t be unfaithful to you, Beth.  If that’s what worries you, then you need to understand his Lordship better.  When he possesses a woman, then he commits fully and assumes that responsibility wholeheartedly.  That’s not to say he isn’t a hot blooded male – we both know that he is … what he is.”

My jaw falls slack but I remain silent in the hope that she will confess what I have long suspected.  She doesn’t disappoint.

“You need to know, Beth.  He will be so angry with me for telling you, but I care about you and see the way you look at he and I, so full of questions and you deserve the truth.  When I moved to Penmorrow, five years ago, I was destitute.  I had run away from an abusive home – not my mother, you understand.  My father was an alcoholic and used to beat me.  My mother was too weak to protect me or even to acknowledge his mistreatment of me.  It took a great deal of courage to pack my suitcase and walk away but I did it, Beth.  I did it.”  She pulls back her shoulders and I glimpse the steely resolve, which had gone unnoticed before.

“I took a train to Exeter.  It was the first train running when I arrived at the station, and I always felt a draw to the West Country.  I had romantic visions of the peace and tranquillity I thought it would offer.  Anyway, I arrived and checked in to the first hotel I could find, having just enough money for one night.  I asked if they needed any staff but they had a full quota for the season.  I was beside myself, Beth.  I remember sitting at the bar with a glass of water, bereft and wondering how I would eat, where I would live.  Then this tall, handsome mature man approached me.   He bought me a drink and we talked.  He was so commanding, so insistent that I tell him my story and he listened intently.  When I’d finished, he promised me that he would help me.  He offered me a job here – that man, my saviour, was Sebastian.”

“I see.”  My hand still in Scarlett’s is now hot and moist from her firm grip.  I withdraw and clutch it around my now cold mug. 

“So, you came back with him to work here, I understand that and admire his gallantry in offering a hand to a young woman in distress.  When did he first take advantage of you?”

Scarlett expels a deep breath and slumps uncomfortably against the hard wood of the pew.

“He didn’t take advantage.  I gave myself willingly to him.  You have to believe me when I tell you that it didn’t happen for a long time.  His wife was still alive, albeit she was ill then.  He didn’t force me.  It was a natural progression and almost an extension of the role in which I was working so diligently.  Subservience brings with it a security and protection, which I hadn’t known before.  I felt appreciated and needed, and I drew great pleasure from pleasing Him.  In return I helped Sebastian to regain the passion and fulfilment, which had been devoid in his marriage.  I put no pressure upon him, no demands, I was simply here for him to take what he needed and allowed him to vent his frustrations when her Ladyship deteriorated.”