The Ivy Lessons (22 page)

‘If you want to get out, at least let me drive you back to the college. But I think maybe what you really want is an explanation. No one could see you, Sophia.’

‘But you made me feel like maybe they could.’

‘Trust me. I have your best interests at heart. That little experience was very good for you. Believe me. Imagine how you’ll feel about playing a seductive role now.’

I think about it. Compared to thinking the whole of Oxford Street could see me
just now
, playing someone like Jennifer feels like far less of a problem.

‘I didn’t like you doing that,’ I say. ‘I felt tricked. I felt you manipulated me. Telling me that when I was so vulnerable.’

‘Vulnerable?’ Marc raises an eyebrow. ‘Is that what you call it?’

‘When I couldn’t say no.’

‘You could have said no,’ says Marc. ‘At any time. But you didn’t want to. If you don’t have any self control, perhaps we need another lesson in that area.’

I think of the ropes and the stationary cupboard, and shiver in a good way. At the time, it was torturous, but now every time I think about it, I feel hot and cold all over.

‘Perhaps,’ I admit. I wish he would put his arm around me or hold my hand. Or kiss me. I want to sit beside him, but some instinct tells me not to. I take a long drink of gin and tonic.

‘I’m going to have a lot of fun with you at my town house,’ says Marc, stretching out his long arms along the leather couch. ‘So many things to teach you, so little time.’

‘Maybe I don’t want to learn anything more today,’ I say, frustrated and a little angry.

‘Oh, I think you do.’

I shake my head. ‘I think I’ve learned plenty.’

‘Fine,’ says Marc. ‘Say the word, and I’ll turn the car around and take you back to the college. Or if you’d prefer, I’ll have a taxi called out for you. Whatever you want. I’d never want to do anything you didn’t want.’

Chapter
48

‘You just did,’
I say, feeling tears under my
eyes.

Marc shakes his head. ‘Did I hurt you just now?’

I think about it. ‘I feel humiliated,’ I say. ‘So on an emotional level, yes. You did hurt me.’

‘Embarrassment isn’t the same as hurt,’ says Marc. ‘Embarrassment is a block. It stops you from truly letting go. I’m helping you work through it. Trust me, Sophia. Look. We’ll have dinner. That’s all, okay? Until you’re ready for more.’

I nod. I think I can manage dinner, although I’m still feeling vulnerable and raw.

‘Can I trust you?’ I ask, looking right at him. ‘Will you hurt me, eventually?’

‘No,’ says Marc.

‘I think you might,’ I say, looking out of the window.

‘Oh, Sophia, how wrong you are,’ says Marc. ‘It’s me who’ll get hurt. I’ve known that all along.’

We sit in silence as the limo drives down long, wide streets of three-storey town
houses. There are large oak trees lining the pavements.

‘Do you know where we are?’ Marc asks.

I shake my head.

‘Richmond,’ he says. ‘My favourite part of London.’

I see the steel gates on one of the houses swi
ng open, and the limo drives
down a slope and into a huge garage under the house.

I hear the scuffle of feet on concrete, and then the driver opens the door nearest me.

‘After you,’ says Marc, helping me out of the limo.

I can’t bear to look at the driver. Does he know what just happened in the back of the car? I don’t even want to think about it.

Fortunately, the driver doesn’t hang around. He says a quick word to Marc about coming back later, then disappears through a back door.

Marc leads me past five extremely shiny cars, all of them probably very expensive. I know nothing about cars, but I notice one is wasp yellow and open-topped, with square corners that look like they could cut someone. The car doesn’t suit Marc at all, and I wonder if it belongs to him.

‘Is that car yours?’ I ask.

Marc stops walking and looks at me. ‘No,’ he says slowly. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘It doesn’t feel like you,’ I say.

‘Feel like me?’

‘Yes,’ I nod. ‘That car over there -’ I point to a beige Rolls Royce. ‘That feels like you. So does that one.’ I point to a black Jaguar. ‘So who does this yellow car belong to?’

‘It was my father’s,’ says Marc, mounting a set of stone steps and opening a creaking wooden door.

I follow him, and find myself in the entrance hall of his town
house. The floor is white marble, and the staircase is fitted with deep, red carpet.

It’s grand, but it feels empty. There are no plants or pictures or signs of life.

‘How often do you stay here?’ I ask.

‘Whenever I’m in London,’ says Marc.

‘It’s beautiful, but it doesn’t feel lived in,’ I say. ‘I guess you must be out a lot.’

‘Actually, since I formed the college, I’d say quite the contrary,’ says Marc. ‘Especially this year.’ He looks at me. ‘I’ve had a lot to think about, and I’d rather do that alone.’

‘Mr Blackwell, is that you?’ I hear footsteps on marble. A slim man in a pink jumper, white trousers and flowery apron comes into the entrance hall. He has short red hair and is my father’s age.

‘Ah. Rodney. Please meet my guest, Miss Rose. Miss Rose, this is Rodney, my house manager.’

‘I heard the car,’ says Rodney. ‘I’ve got your meal all laid out for you on the roof terrace. You go on up.’ He looks at me. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says with a wink. ‘His bark’s worse than his bite. He scared the life out of me when I first started working for him, but now I know he’s a big softy at heart.’

To my amazement, he squeezes Marc’s cheek. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow to clean everything up. You two have a nice evening.’

He disappears out of the huge front door, which takes him some effort to open and close.

‘We’ll take the elevator,’ says Marc, leading me to a set of gold doors by the staircase.

‘But I’d like to see your house,’ I say.

‘Maybe another time,’ says Marc. ‘Right now, dinner.’

Chapter
49

We take the elevator up four floors, and it opens right out on the roof terrace.

‘Wow,’ I say, seeing the bright light
s of London spread out below us
. There are so many pretty slate roof tops and chimneys, I feel like I’m in Mary Poppins.

The view is amazing, but the roof terrace has no plants or life to it, only a smoky grey floor and gold railings. There’s a sheltered area with a sink, fridge and barbeque, and I see lobster smoking on the grill.

There is a beautiful wooden table laid with white plates and gleaming gold cutlery. The chairs are wood too, but topped with plump red cushions. Champagne sits in a gold ice bucket on the table. Two tall red candles flicker in the breeze.

‘Everything gold and red,’ I say.

‘I like red,’ says Marc, leading me to the table. ‘It’s strong. Gold – that was my house manager’s idea. Apparently it goes with red. Personally, I like black better.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘Take a seat.’

I sit down and look out over the rooftops. It’s chilly, and I shiver.

‘I thought you might be cold up here,’ says Marc. ‘So I asked Rodney to buy you a coat. I never noticed you wearing one on campus.’

‘I haven’t had chance to buy a winter coat yet,’ I admit.

‘Well, maybe you’ll like this one,’ says Marc, going to the sheltered area, and retrieving a large square parcel wrapped in tissue paper and pink ribbon.

‘I ... thank you,’ I say. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

I carefully tear open the tissue, and find a black, cashmere coat inside. I don’t recognise where it’s from. I hold it up. It’s fitte
d at the waist, with
slim
,
yet structured
,
shoulders that I know will fit me perfectly. It flares out a little at the bottom.

‘I love it,’ I say, truthfully. ‘It’s beautiful.’

I think I see the flicker of a smile on Marc’s face, although I can’t be sure.

I slip on the coat, and Marc pops open the champagne and pours me a glass.

‘It’s beautiful up here,’ I say.

‘To you, everything is beautiful,’ says Marc, filling his own champagne glass.

I smile.

Marc goes to the sheltered area and opens the fridge. ‘Caviar to start,’ he says, bringing two dishes to the table and placing one in front of me.

It’s full of ice chips, and at its centre sits a glass bowl of caviar. On the other dish sits thin crisps of toast and what look like little pancakes.

‘Blinis,’ say Marc, catching my eye. ‘Russian. Delicious with caviar. Try them.’

I wait for Marc to sit down with his own dish of caviar. T
he
n I spoon caviar onto a little pancake.

I take a bite. It’s delicious. ‘I didn’t expect caviar to taste this way,’ I say.

The next cou
rse is grilled lobster with
champagne sauce, and it’s equally delicious. Dessert is a thin slice of dark chocolate torte with a drizzle of vanilla cream on top.

We eat and talk about plays and movies we’ve seen, what we think about London, my life at college ... normal things. And for a moment, it feels like we’re just two people, enjoying a dinner date, getting to know each other.

I tell him about my family, and how I feel guilty for not seeing them last weekend. I explain how much my dad and his new girlfriend need my help, with housework and Samuel.

After dessert, my second glass of champagne makes me bold. ‘Tell me about your father,’ I say. ‘Why do you still keep his car?’

Marc’s jaw ripples. ‘I don’t
keep
it. It was given to me when he passed away, and I haven’t got around to selling it yet.’

‘He passed away?
I’m so sorry.’

Marc nods. ‘Four years ago. I didn’t go to the funeral.’

‘You didn’t?’ Part of me feels like I’m entering dangerous territory, but I can’t help pressing on. ‘Why not?’

Marc stands up, taking his glass of champagne. He downs it in one. ‘I saw no reason to. Funerals are about saying goodbye to loved ones. He wasn’t a loved one.’

I nod. ‘I heard you didn’t have the best of relationships.’

Marc puts his glass down on the table and hooks both thumbs into his trouser pockets. ‘I hated him,’ he says simply.

‘Oh.’ I don’t know what to say.

‘He was a tyrant and a bully and I’m not sorry he’s gone. Have I opened up enough to you?’

‘It’s okay,’ I say, standing and taking his hand. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything. I was just asking. I wanted to be closer to you.’

He looks down at my hand, confused. ‘Why did you have to be my pupil? Why did it have to happen that way?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say, ‘and I don’t know about completely accepting everything on your terms. I’ve thought of walking away from ... whatever this is. But something pulls me back. I feel I have something to learn from you. That you have things to teach me that I need.’

Marc
pulls me close
, and I feel his heart in his chest. ‘You should walk away from me, Sophia. If you’ve got any sense, you’d run. I shouldn’t have started anything with you, but
...
something pulls me to you too.’

‘
I
s it something to do with me being your pupil?’ I ask, wincing inside. ‘A sort of sex thing? Because you like being in charge?’ I’m not sure I want to know the answer, but I also have to know it.

‘No,’ says Marc. ‘
It was in
spite of you being my pupil. I wish you weren’t. But I do like being in charge, and I can’t pretend the dynamic doesn’t work for me. Do you like me being in charge?’

I nod uncertainly. ‘But ... I didn’t feel like I should
like
it.’

‘I would never do anything to you that you didn’t truly like.’

‘But in the limo ...’

‘You didn’t like it?’

‘I liked it, but I was humiliated. You took away control from me. You brought me to a place where I couldn’t say no, and then you told me something that made me vulnerable.’

‘But you were never truly vulnerable,’ says Marc. ‘And you could have said no at any time.’

‘But you made me
feel
vulnerable,’ I say.

‘Sophia,’ says Marc. ‘I’m teaching you how to open yourself up. To show yourself to hundreds, thousands of people. Because I truly believe you have the potential to reach millions of people.’

‘You do?’

‘Yes,’ says Marc.

The moon is high and silver over London, and I think for the first time what an amazing thing it is to have all this architecture and all these people in one place.

Suddenly, there’s a flash of something white, like lightning, but there’s no rain or thunder. The sky is clear.