Winter jasmine blooms brilliant yellow behind the glossy red stalks of a stand of dogwood. Snowdrops peek out at the base, promising a spring still several weeks away. But despite the earliness of the year, sunshine has thawed the frost and, armed with boots, gloves and woollens, the garden is a winter paradise.Claudia, notebook in hand, has arrived with an arsenal of questions, obviously picking up from her previous conversation with my Master. The garden itself provides a cue."It's a gorgeous house and the garden is beautiful. You must feel very… privileged… to live in such a lovely home." She swallows hard, holding up her phone to demonstrate it is set to Record. "May I?"My Master slants a look her way. "You may."Inhaling, he pauses, then continues. "Yes, you are quite correct. I am indeed privileged. And the privileged have a vast range of options when it comes to how they make use of their wealth. That wealth can be used for necessities… The basics of life… Or for personal ben
Picking out a matching pair of cut-glass brandy bells that were a wedding present from someone-or-other, I pour two generous measures. I sip at one to calm my butterflies then, when the butterflies keep fluttering, top up both glasses by a bit. Then a bit more.But when I go through to the lounge, my Master's not there, and the lounge is in darkness save for the flicker from the hearth.Instead, a beam of light slants into the hall from the door of his office. Padding through, I find him crouched over his desk, reading a file."Master? I brought your brandy.""Thank you, Elizabeth." He smiles, accepting the glass, but then, "Why don't you go to bed? There's some work I must do.""So late?""While it's quiet and I won't be disturbed."*****I wake to the subdued light of my bedside lamp. The book I was reading has fallen open on my chest. Beside me, the bed is empty and cold, the blankets untouched.What's he doing?Barefoot, I slip downstairs to see a long sliver of light spilling fro
My Master is wearing his customary white linen shirt with the black jeans he knows I like. I've noticed recently that his wardrobe contains more of both jeans and shirts than when we first met.Unravelling his tie, for a moment, he looks about to slide it from under his collar. Then, glancing sidelong, he takes one of the cuffs I set out, letting it dangle. "Good choice," he says. Taking off the tie, he lays it across the back of a chair. Holding my eyes, he unfastens the top button of his shirt. "The rest are yours, Elizabeth."Gliding my palms up his chest, I slip open the second button, then the third, working my way down before, glancing up for permission, I tug the shirt free of his belt and unfasten the final button.My Master. So handsome. Older, but he cares for himself. His chest hair is flecked silver. Nonetheless, his abs and pecs are taut, his waist firm and tight, his belly flat.Below his belt though, he is not flat. The dark fabric of his jeans strains, the buttoned fro
Equally limp, panting, I collapse, my face flat to the mattress.Well… I wanted him to let off steam…"Master?""Thank you, Elizabeth. I needed that.""You're welcome. And yes, I know you needed it."A kiss plants between my shoulders before, lifting away, he frees my wrists then, scooping me up, dumps me onto the bed and rolls to lie beside me.I roll too, lying side-on to lay my cheek on his chest. "And now, Master, I would like you to tell me what the problem is. What is upsetting you?""My Love…" He takes my hand, kisses the knuckle… "… it is not fair to burden you with my difficulties.""Master, your difficulties are our difficulties. Whatever affects one of us, affects both. When we married, we promised to look after each other. To share everything."He arches a brow. "In fact, Elizabeth, in my capacity as both your Dom and husband, it's my duty to look after you.""Bullshit!" His eyes widen. I assume at my bad language. "We're a married couple. We look after each other. And I ca
What are my options?Not looking a gift horse in the mouth.I tap in the number. "Hello, I'd like to speak with Chancellor Wilmore, please. Tell him it's Beth Haswell."A routine, 'One moment. I'll see if he's available,' is followed by a tinny rendition of 'The Four Seasons', then a cheerful voice. "Beth, good to hear you. I did wonder if you would call. I imagine I can guess what this is about?""Hello, Leo. I'm sure so. You offered me the services of your math department in a possible traffic modelling exercise…""That's right. As I mentioned to you when we first met, your project would be an ideal exercise for some of my post-grads. It's a variation on a knotty mathematical puzzle known as the Travelling Salesman Problem…"My brain glazes… "Sorry?""The travelling salesman problem," he repeats. "The question seeks an answer to this dilemma: Given a list of cities, what is the optimal route to include all destinations, taking into account the distances between each city, while visit
"We met… at my place of work.""That was where? And under what circumstances?" "I was his employee."Pensby's brows arch. "His employee? So, Richard Haswell was paying you? You were answerable to him for your job? For your income and your living?""I suppose.""And if he'd asked anything of you, as a good employee, you would have done as he asked?""Anything within reason, of course, but he never…""Miss Kimberley, if you have been coerced or pressured into some arrangement by Richard Haswell, you have nothing to fear. An admission now would ensure that you would not bear the consequences of any criminal…""It's Mrs Haswell! And I'm not about to admit to something that hasn't happened."Another box tick, then, as though I'd said nothing at all, he continues in the same colourless drone. "Where do you live, Mrs Haswell?"My brain blanks over. "Live? What d'you mean? I live here. This is our home. You must know that. You drove here. Knocked on my door.""Do you have a set of house keys?
"That's the whole point of these investigations," sneers Pensby. "Rooting out corruption.""I have worked for Richard Haswell for years," snaps Ross. "He is not corrupt. And his marriage to Mrs Haswell here is completely genuine. They dote on each other.""Yes, very romantic, I'm sure. However, we are investigating possible serious fraudulent activity…"I've had enough. "In which case, it is a criminal matter. The police should be conducting this interview and I should have my lawyer with me…"Is that true?I've no idea.I have no experience of anything like this. No frame of reference.Pensby Tuts. "Your lack of cooperation will be entered in my report. As you say, we shall continue this interview another time, Miss Kimberley, and under more formal conditions." Nonetheless, he flinches as Ross looms closer. Bundling clipboard and briefcase under an arm, he scuttles out, Ross right behind him…… And shaking… shuddering rage and humiliation… I burst into tears.Again the door opens, thi
Claudia and I have run out of small talk. She sits beside me, awkward, sharing the silence.Ross hovers in the background, shifting from one foot to the other. "Have you ever seen him like this before?" I ask."Not even close. Never in anything approaching this kind of rage…" He spreads helpless palms. "He's normally so unflappable.""Who's this Adrian Barclay?"He shrugs. "I guess we're about to find out."Then…The bellow echoes down the hall. "Barclay, damn you! What the hell do you think you're playing at? If you have a problem with me, you come deal with me. You do not invade my home and attack my wife… I beg to differ. Attack is exactly the right word…"His voice falls, and he drops into silence, then, "Yes, your excuse for an officer was completely unprofessional. He treated Elizabeth with utter disregard for her feelings. His line of questioning was demeaning and humiliating. His behaviour contemptible. You seriously expect any respectable woman would give intimate details of h