The Blackwell Lessons (22 page)

72

The look in Marc’s eyes scares me, and I remember what Baz said before, about Marc being lethal. That’s a pretty good description of the way he looks right now.

What is going on? What is Baz talking about? So Marc was on set?

‘Hey.’ Baz slaps Marc on the arm. ‘Come on. This is stupid. What are we fighting for?’

‘You tell me,’ Marc growls.

‘Look, Sigourney is driving me crazy. And the fact you banged her once …’ Baz shrugs his big shoulders. ‘I can’t stand it. Actually can’t stand the thought of it. She’s always bloody asking about you too. I don’t know if it’s just to mess with my head or what.’

‘I’m telling you,’ says Marc. ‘The girl’s bad news. Don’t shoot the messenger.’

‘You’re right.’ Baz spies a waiter with a tray of red wine. ‘Have you got any beer mate?’

The waiter looks startled. ‘Um … beer?’

‘Beer. You know. Brown stuff. Pint of.’ Baz grabs his empty tankard and plonks it on the tray. ‘There’s a good lad.’

The waiter nods and hurries away.

‘Look at her.’ Baz nods at Sigourney, who’s grinding her hips against a sound man and laughing. ‘She’s so fucking beautiful. Why does she have to be such a head case? Why can’t I fall for a nice one?’

Marc’s lips quirk into a tiny smile. ‘That’s just not you Baz. You need a fixer upper. Always have.’

Sigourney sees Baz watching her and saunters towards him, her slim hips swaying.

‘Talking about me?’ she slurs.

‘Yep,’ says Baz. ‘So what – you want to go home with the sound man? Because if you do, I’m telling you, it’s over.’

‘If you bothered to pay me attention, I wouldn’t have to go find it elsewhere.’

‘You want to find it elsewhere?’ Baz growls.

‘Oh, so you’re jealous now?’ Sigourney’s eyes narrow. ‘Too little, too late. I told you to pick me up this morning. But you were too busy.’

‘Christ Sigourney – my mum had a hospital appointment—’

‘Whatever. There’s always an excuse. Now when I was with Leo here …’ Sigourney walks up to Leo and slides her long fingers into his blond hair. ‘
He
paid me attention.’

‘Come on Sigourney.’ Leo grabs her wrist. ‘You’re drunk. Haven’t you made enough of a show already?’

‘You want a show, Leo Falkirk? Because I can give you a show.’

‘No thanks,’ says Leo.

Sigourney’s eyes narrow. ‘Well screw you then!’ She pushes him away.

‘Hey!’

Jen appears from nowhere and slaps Sigourney hard round the face.

The slapping sound rings around the set, and everyone turns to stare.

‘Oh!’ Sigourney gasps, putting a hand to her reddening cheek. ‘You fucking bitch!’

She tries to pull Jen’s hair, but Jen grabs her wrists.

‘I’ll take you down,’ Jen shouts. ‘Don’t think I won’t! Just because you’re taller than me doesn’t mean—’

‘Hey,’ says Leo. ‘Let’s just cool it, okay?’

He tries to step between them, but Baz grabs his shoulder.

‘Don’t you fucking touch her,’ Baz aims a punch at Leo’s jaw, but Marc grabs Baz’s fist.

‘Don’t,’ says Marc.

Baz turns to Marc, furious. ‘Out of the way Marky boy. I won’t let a man touch my girl.’

‘He’s stopping Sigourney making a fool of herself,’ Marc growls. ‘Now back off.’

‘No, YOU back off,’ Baz yells. ‘Or I’ll tell Sophia what you’re hiding. Every fucking bit of it.’

I see Marc’s fingers tighten on Baz’s fist.

‘What’s the matter?’ says Baz. ‘Cat got your tongue?’

‘Calm yourself down. Take Sigourney home.’

‘Don’t you hurt Baz!’ Sigourney screams. ‘Don’t you dare hurt him!’

Baz looks as bewildered as everyone else.

‘What do you care?’ Baz says. ‘You were ready to take the sound man home five minutes ago.’

‘I do fucking care,’ says Sigourney. ‘That’s the whole problem isn’t it? Don’t you get it?’

Baz laughs. ‘Not really.’

Sigourney pulls Baz away from Marc. ‘Come on. Let’s get a taxi back to your place. I’ll give you the most amazing blow job—’

‘No you won’t. You’ll get in my bed and fall asleep. And in the morning I’m taking you to AA. And maybe we can make a go of this.’ Baz slings Sigourney’s arm around his shoulder and half carries, half drags her away.

Everyone is watching them, but I’m watching Marc.

I feel sick to my stomach.

What
does Baz know that I don’t? What secret is Marc hiding from me, his pregnant wife?
How
can Baz know something I don’t? And why was Marc on set and then lied about it?

‘Sophia—’ Marc’s arm comes around my shoulder.

I shake it off. ‘We need to talk.’

Marc frowns. ‘Not here.’

‘Then let’s go home.’

‘Agreed.’

As we say out goodbyes, Nadia comes hurrying over.

‘Sophia! You’re leaving already? You didn’t even try the paella.’

‘Um … sorry,’ I mutter. ‘Marc and I have things we need to talk about.’

‘Everything okay?’ Nadia asks.

‘Fine,’ says Marc curtly.

‘And you Sophia?’ Nadia asks. ‘How are you feeling?’

I give her a tired smile.

‘That good huh?’ Nadia puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘So listen – Marc you take care of her all right? And send me pictures of the baby.’

‘I always take care of her.’

‘And Sophia – anything you need, just call me okay? I want to know baby news. And any other news.’ She looks at me meaningfully. ‘Listen – take some paella. Please.’ She waves at a waiter. ‘Box some of this up for Sophia and Marc. They haven’t even tried it yet.’

‘Thanks Nadia.’

‘Listen, I’m serious you know. Anytime you need to talk. Just call.’

73

In the limo, Marc and I sit in silence.

I’m waiting for Marc to explain. To tell me what Baz was talking about, but instead he looks out the car window, a finger of concentration on his lips.

As the car reaches the townhouse, Marc hasn’t said a word to me. He’s still frowning.

I put my hands to my pregnant stomach.

‘Marc? Are we going to talk about what Baz said?’

The frown leaves Marc’s face. ‘Sophia, do you trust that I always want the best for you?’

‘Yes,’ I say, without hesitation.

‘If I told you to forget what Baz said, could you do it?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Could you try?’

‘I suppose I could. Marc—’

He takes my hand and squeezes it between his palms. ‘I will always protect you, Sophia. Always. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ I say, managing a smile. But I’m not really okay. I’m afraid. Afraid that Marc has some horrible secret. And that if I find it out, it will tear my perfect life apart.

After the filming finishes, Marc and I move back to our house in the country.

I’ve missed our horses, and spend plenty of time spoiling them and feeding them Fruit Mentos – their favourite treat.

Of course, Marc won’t let me ride. Not that I would anyway. I’m way too scared of hurting our baby. But it’s good to be around the horses, talking to them and brushing their glossy coats.

Marc hired a stable boy while we were in London, so I know the horses have been well looked after. But I still think they’re pleased to see us home.

I’ve kind of managed to forget about the party. Although it still plays on my mind sometimes, if I let myself think too much. But I’ve decided to trust Marc and try and let it go. Have patience and let him tell me what’s going on at the right time.

‘Do you think our child will ride?’ I ask Marc, during a visit to the stables.

‘Yes. All our children will ride. Why do you think I bought a house with such large stables? There’s room for all their horses and ponies, as well as ours.’

‘Oh so it’s
children
now?’ I say, grinning. ‘How many children were you planning on exactly?’

‘At least a dozen,’ Marc raises a quirky eyebrow.

‘A dozen? There’s room for a dozen horses here?’

‘Ample room. Let me show you.’

Marc leads me over straw and mud. I’m wearing Ugg boots and skinny maternity jeans, teamed with a navy-blue wool maternity coat.

Marc keeps a firm grasp on my arm as I wobble and slip.

‘Careful now.’

‘It’s impossible to be careful. I’m as big as a tank. I’m not sure I can stand another month of this – how much bigger am I going to get?’

‘Big is beautiful. It means our baby is healthy.’

Marc creaks open a stable door. ‘Our child’s first pony will live here. What do you think?’

I look at the clean, tidy stable with hay bales stacked up in the corner.

‘Perfect.’

Suddenly, I feel the baby kick.

‘Marc.’ I put his hand to my stomach.

‘He knows we’re talking about his pony,’ says Marc.

‘He again?’

Marc is so sure the baby is a boy. He keeps talking about all the fishing and hunting they’ll do in the woods. And how he’ll teach his son to fight.

I keep telling him he can’t possibly know the sex. But he’s so certain. Apparently, every Blackwell first-born is a boy.

‘It could be
her
pony,’ I point out.

Marc gives me that smile – the one that makes me warm all over. ‘Talking back to your husband Mrs Blackwell? You know, I’m still more than willing to discipline you. Even in your current condition.’

‘Oh
really
?’

‘Really. If you weren’t heavily pregnant, I’d strip you naked and lean you over that hale bale right now.’

I raise a teasing eyebrow. ‘I love the outdoors.’

‘Stop it,’ says Marc firmly.

‘Stop what?’ I say innocently.

‘You know what.’ Marc’s lips tilt into a smile. ‘Of course, there’s always the tack room …’

74

The tack room, like the stables, is made of Swedish wood, but it’s heated and has a proper door. It has cushioned cubes for sitting on while you pull on riding boots, and the walls are lined with bridles, reins and riding crops.

‘The perfect place for discipline, don’t you think?’ says Marc, taking down a riding crop and swooshing it through the air. He lands the tip of the riding crop with a crack on his palm.

I watch the black stick, my heart beating fast.

‘I asked you a question.’

‘Um … yes,’ I agree. ‘It’s good.’

‘It certainly has all the right equipment.’ Marc takes down reins and pulls them tight so the leather makes a snapping sound. ‘Take off your coat.’

I do, and lay it on one of the cushioned cubes.

‘Now the rest of your clothes.’

As I strip off, Marc pulls down blinds and locks the tack-room door.

‘If you’re too cold, tell me immediately,’ says Marc. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’ I’m totally naked now, my clothes in a heap. I am
so
pregnant. But I still want Marc. And the look in his eyes tells me he wants me too.

‘Turn around,’ Marc orders. ‘And hold your hands out behind you.’

I do, and Marc binds my wrists with the leather reins.

‘I’ve found something else useful in here,’ says Marc, going to the wall.

I hear the crackle of plastic.

‘Marc?’

‘Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.’

I feel Marc behind me.

‘Face forwards,’ he barks, kicking four cushioned cubes together.

He bends me over them, so my pregnant stomach rests comfortably between the gaps.

‘What were you unwrapping?’

‘This.’ Marc shows me another riding crop. He runs the tip of it from my neck all the way down my spine. ‘I thought you might like a new one. Fresh out of the packet.’

My body gives a pleasurable shiver as the riding crop reaches my backside.

Crack!

Marc whacks the crop right on my buttocks.

I moan.

Crack!

Marc whacks me again.

‘Oh god Marc!’

Marc slides the riding crop between my thighs.

‘Open your legs,’ he says, batting the crop back and forth on my naked skin.

I move my knees over the hard ground.

Marc kneels behind me, one hand resting on my glowing backside.

He spins the riding crop into the air and catches the whip end. Then he slides the hard leather handle between my legs, back and forth, rubbing up and around.

I moan, sinking into the cushions as Marc slides the crop handle over the soft, warm part between my legs. Friction burns in the most pleasurable way.

I can feel myself getting hotter and hotter and my thighs clench as Marc rubs the leather tip around.

Everything begins to tighten up – my thighs, my buttocks and inside too. Just as pleasure really starts to build, Marc slides the crop inside me.

Soon, it’s so far inside that I can feel it softly bruising. Marc begins to move it up and down. Softly at first, and then harder and harder until he’s working a fierce rhythm.

‘Oh god Marc. Oh
god
!’

He circles the crop handle then slides it free.

I feel Marc’s sharp breathing on my naked back and hear him unbuckling his trousers.

His hardness touches my thighs. Then he slides inside me all in one go, the hugeness of him filling me up.

I let out a gasp.

‘Feeling more obedient yet?’ Marc asks, running the rough riding-crop tip down my cheek.

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’

Marc puts his hands on my hips, still holding the riding crop. He moves me so the soft, sensitive part between my legs finds the edge of the cushioned cube.

I moan as I rock against the cushion, feeling Marc’s huge length inside me.

Marc lifts the riding crop and lightly runs the tip back and forth on my buttocks, then up my back to my shoulder.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

He hits the naked flesh near my neck.

It’s just too much. I come in one big rush of pleasure, my whole body warm and glowing.

Marc sinks deep inside me and I see the riding crop fall to the floor as he grabs my hips and pulls me onto him.

‘Sophia!’ he moans, his fingers gripping me tight.

He moves my hair over my shoulder and kisses the back of my neck, and then along my shoulders.

‘I love you.’ He moans against the sore spot where he cracked the riding crop. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’