Sebastian - Secrets (13 page)

The grounds are beautiful, with the backdrop of the cliff and ocean, it’s the most remarkable place I have ever been and I feel a belonging here.  If only my life had turned out differently, I could be happy here.  I can change Sebastian.

We explore the house, there are four fo
rmal rooms including the great (dining) hall, study, morning room and library.  All are opulent in their own way, in spite of the tapestries looking faded, objet d’art being slightly dusty, there is an ageless charm, which has seen countless generations living amongst these rooms.  My mood lifts and the awkwardness of before is forgotten as Sebastian delights in showing off his splendid home.  He’s like a young boy, animatedly detailing the provenance of his belongings and the history of his ancestors.

I squeal like a child when Sebastian shows me a hidden passag
eway, concealed by a false bookshelf in his study.  I can barely contain my excitement, when the heavy door, disguised with painted books, heaves forth.  He flicks a light switch on the wall above the first step, takes my hand and leads me through the secret doorway.

“This is unreal,” I gush.  “So these big old houses really do have secret passageways, I thought that was just in movies and books.  This is so cool.”

“Rumour has it, there is a tunnel somewhere under the house, leading to the cliffs, which used to be used by smugglers.  They’d haul their loot and ill-gotten gains from small boats and stash it in the cellars, so folklore says.”

“Wow.  Real smugglers,” I am enthralled by the romanticism
of his tale.

The
steps lead down and curve round out of sight, and are worn down in the middle of each tread as if Sebastian’s servants or ancestors, or smugglers, have been sneaking around via this passage for centuries.  I am guarded in case I brush cobwebs, as an arachnophobe, my eyes dart from side to side above my head as I gingerly take each step behind Sebastian, gripping firmly to the rope handrail.  Curiously, there are no cobwebs, the steps look to be free of the dust and debris I expect to see and the walls and ceilings are thankfully missing the spiders I anticipate, clearly this staircase is in regular use. 

We continue downward and to the left with the narrow stairwell, the light becoming dimmer now, my bravery r
eceding as the gloominess encompasses.

As we reach the final step
, Sebastian flicks another switch and the way ahead is illuminated by the bulb hanging from the coarse, grey ceiling of the long corridor before us.  The walls are arched and we walk on seemingly ancient flagstones.  Sebastian walks without hesitancy, as though he frequents this passage and knows every inch as well as he knows his living quarters above us.  I wonder where this leads.

“Is this where the servants would have worked?” I ask.

“Yes, this would have been a hive of activity years ago.” He replies as he guides me through a low wooden doorway. 

The room we enter is small, possibly eight or nine square feet.  To the right is a black wrought iron framed single bed, neatly made with crisp white sheets and a claret velvet throw folded precisely across the foot.  To the left is a small washbasin, a dressing table with mirror and on the wall ahead, a wardrobe. 

I walk over to the dressing table and pick up a half empty bottle of Chanel No.5 perfume, and I feel Sebastian move behind me.  He reaches forward and takes the glass bottle from me.  I feel a cool damp mist on my neck as he sprays the sensual fragrance on my skin.   He doesn’t touch or kiss me but instead he replaces the bottle on the table and leads me from the room.

“Whose room is that?” I probe, knowing that it is probably Scarlett’s room and hating him for that.  Jealousy is such a bitter pill.

“This is Scarlett’s room,” he confirms nonchalantly. He makes it sound so… normal but I cannot help but wonder what her job description, should one exist, comprise.  Is it a prerequisite to share his bed, for example?

We continue along the passage and Sebastian shows me a further bedroom, comparable to Scarlett’s room and a small utilitarian kitchen. 

Soon, we enter a much larger room which appears to be a lounge; couches nestle against each wall and in the centre, covering the flagstones, lies a huge Persian rug in red, black and inky blue hues.  My feet sink into the deep fibres - it’s plush and luxurious pile too good for servants’ quarters.  There are two small wooden chests against one wall, upon which are table lamps; their bases are black, shiny naked female forms and each has a fringed red shade. 

A silk
robe lies strewn across the arm of a couch, and I glimpse the corner of a magazine protruding beneath it.  I pick it up, staring at the glossy cover and am shocked to see a naked man and equally naked female.  My eyes are drawn to the whip he is brandishing and the exposed female buttock waiting to be lashed.  She wears a blindfold and is licking her blood red lips, as she appears to be pushing her hips back to meet the waiting blow.

“What the hell’s this?” I am stunned, yet aroused enough to feel the burning in my sex.

“What do you think it is?  Does it turn you on Elizabeth?” He asks in a rasping, sexy voice.

“My point is, Sebastian, what the hell is Scarlett doing looking at porn in your home?” I ask incredulously, not yet diverting my gaze from the erotic picture.

“If you’re so shocked why are you still looking at it?” Damn him. He is so infuriatingly right all the time. 

“It se
ems to me, Elizabeth, that you’re fascinated by that image and…” he moves behind me, his hand reaches around my waist, down my midriff, inside the waistband of my grey woollen skirt, finds the waistband of my tights, his fingers forcing behind the snug elastic.  His exploring fingers discover the top of my panties and push them down, aside, and his fingers travel down to my sex.  I gasp as his middle finger slips between my labia, into my wetness.  As he leans forward, into my back, his finger pushes deeper inside me and I push my hips forward to meet his finger, to take it deeper into me. 

Moaning now, I close my eyes, lost in the glorious sensation as his finger now pulls out, finds my clit and slides and slips again and again over my sweet, throbbing, jewel.

“…and, yes, you are so turned on aren’t you Elizabeth? Oh my God, you’re dripping.  That turns you on hmm?”  Still his finger works on me, his other hand now underneath my cotton top, squeezing and pinching at my left nipple through my lace bra. 

“You see the whip, darling
?  The way she wants it? The way she wants to be punished by him?”

“Sir! I’m so sorry!”  The woman’s voice snaps me out of my forbidden moment.

Sebastian withdraws his hand sharply and we spin around to face Scarlett.  She is regarding us with a disdainful expression, as though she is disgusted to witness our passion and I feel suddenly ashamed.  Smoothing down my clothes, conscious of my flushed face and dishevelled appearance, I force a smile and replace the magazine.

“Scarlett.”  He glares at her venomously.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you both.” She is looking at the magazine.  “I’m sorry you found that.  I should have put it away Sir, please forgive me.”  She is talking to Sebastian yet she doesn’t catch his gaze instead looking down at her hands, which are nervously playing with the tie at the waist of her black dress.

“It’s not your fault, we shouldn’t be down here
snooping,” I try to reassure the girl who seems to be a bundle of nerves.

“I’m interrupting, I’ll leave.” She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow and I see a smile play across her cherry red lips.  She knows what I am.  Adulterer.

The entire situation is making me feel uneasy again - the atmosphere between Scarlett and ‘Sir’ is tense.  I feel like an intruder and I’m consumed with the desire to get away from here.

“I’ll go,
Sebastian,” I mumble, looking past him, at the door.  He grasps my arm roughly, a look of concern on his face now.

“NO don’t leave,” there is hardness in his voice as he turns to face Scarlett.  “Leave us…NOW!  And next
time you enter a room where I’m clearly with company, you don’t interpose, do you understand?”

“Yes Sir
, I…I’m sorry” she looks remorseful, chin down, she turns and leaves the room.

“This is crazy,” I tell him.
“I feel like a spare prick in a whorehouse…literally!” my voice is full of venom and for a moment he looks aghast, then the coldness once again sets across his eyes. 

I run out of the room and into the gloomy passage, trying to recall which way we had come, I turn left.  Disorientated now I slow to a fast walk but it doesn’t look right – I don’t pas
s the bedroom doors.  I can hear his heavy footsteps behind me.

“Elizabeth!” he calls, “come back, this is ridiculous.”

I call back to him as I continue on my way, searching for something familiar, the staircase, “sorry Sebastian, it was a mistake coming here, I just need to get home.” 

Ahead of me is a dead end, just a dark wood arched doorway with iron latch blocks my passage.  Looking back over my shoulder, I see that he’s close.  Reaching out, I press the latch and the ancient ironworks lifts, the door swinging open and I catch a brief glimpse of the room within.  I see tools, lots of dark metal implements adorning the walls of what looks to be a cavernous cellar.  As I strain my eyes to look more closely at the room, his hand thumps against the door and it slams shut.

“Don’t go,” he rasps.  “You’re overreacting.  Just calm down and come upstairs with me.”  He commands me as he commands Scarlett but he’s intoxicating, edgy and the danger only exacerbates my excitement.

His study offers a welcome sanctuary and an air of normality again.  We sit side by side on a leather love seat, and he takes my hand in his and rests it on his lap. 

His voice is earnest when he speaks.  “Since Libby died, it’s been so lonely here Elizabeth.  Scarlett … supports me, she’s my companion, she looks after me and keeps me sane.”

“But if you have her… why do you need me?” I ask dejectedly.  Suddenly I feel as though I don’t belong anywhere; not with Alan, not here – I feel lost, cast adrift like a small boat drifting at sea. 

“I do need you Elizabeth, more than you appreciate.  I know you need me too, you don’t realise it yet but you do.  You have to trust me to know what you need, if you go back to him – to Alan – you’ll never be happy.”  His finger gently tilts my chin so that I’m looking into his eyes, such dark brooding eyes it’s impossible to read his emotions. 

“I know what you need.”  He does know me and right now he seems to be looking right into my soul.

“There’s just so much… weirdness in this house,” I say.  “It’s not normal Sebastian, to have that women here – all sexy subservience.  I don’t understand why you want me when your needs are probably being met by… by her.”

“I don’t force her to stay, she’s paid a decent wage, probably more than your staff earn.  Yes she’s attractive, but I told you I like to surround myself with beauty.
  It’s nothing more than that.  Trust me.” 

It sounds so lame to me now
, when he says this.

“Are you telling me she is nothing more to you than a maid?” I ask sceptically.

              “There was a time when she was more.  A very brief time,” he confesses, his eyes hooded and his tone hushed.  “I stopped that pretty quickly, but I think she’d like more.”

“I see.  Is that when you gave her the choker?”

“Yes.  She chooses to wear it now, it’s not something I’ve thought a great deal about, but I understand why it would upset you.  I’ll tell her to remove it.”

“It’s not just the bloody choker, Sebastian.  Don’t you see that?”

He runs a hand through his hair, his face pensive. 

Lo
oking at him, I question why I’m here.  I seem to be adding more complication to my already overly complicated life, which was not my intention.

“Look, Sebastian,” I take his hand in mine, “I’m not sure why I’m here, what I was looking for, but… it’s not me, this whole ‘affair’ charade isn’t me.  I’ve had the most amazing time, really, but now I want to get home and see the kids.”

He looks crestfallen.  His dark eyebrows knit into a frown, his eyes veiled with hurt and coldness, he pulls his hand away from my grasp. 

“You don’t even comprehend what you need, and you’re certainly kidding yourself if you think you can just go back to your little life in Dorset with Alan” he says malevolently.   That confirms my decision to leave.

He stands on the stone steps to Penmorrow looking remorseful, like a scolded little boy.

“Don’t go.”

“I have to, Sebastian.  I’m so mixed up right now.  I’ll call you.”

We embrace, and I leave. 
Goodbye Sebastian
.

9

The journey home gives me sufficient time to reflect on the last twenty-four hours.   The fact that I’m driving home a day earlier than planned is confirmation of the mistake I’ve made in staying with Sebastian, although I wonder how I will explain my early return to my mother and to Alan.

Fifty minutes into my journey, my phone bleeps to signal a text message and I pull into the next services to pee and to check the message.  It is from Sebastian.