Trust Me to Know You (32 page)

“Good, it is decided then,” he rose and headed for the door.

“What about your golf?” I remembered his weekly Sunday golf session.

Jason paused in the doorway. “I can survive a week without golf, the weather hasn’t exactly been kind recently,” he grinned as he bit down into the apple.

“Hi, mum!” I said biting down on my lip. I glanced over to Jason, who was sitting reading the newspaper on the sofa.

Mum’s voice always seemed to have a degree of nervousness about it, as if I was going to say something terrible.

“How are you both?” I asked. The usual pleasantries were exchanged.
“I thought you ought to know, I’ve moved,” I braced myself for the gasp.

“First you quit a good job and now you’ve moved! What are doing darling?” Her blood pressure was probably rising with her voice.

“It’s OK,
mum. I’ve moved in with my... boyfriend,” I cringed as I heard her practically swoon on the other end of the phone.

“Boyfriend! When did you get a boyfriend?” she replied.

“A few weeks back.”

“You moved in with him already?” Mum’s voice was transforming from shocked parent to concerned parent. “That sounds very committed, darling,
and quick. We haven’t even met him. What is his name for goodness sake?”

I rolled my eyes and tried hard not to look at Jason. “Jason.
His name is Jason Lucas.”

The name meant nothing to my parents.

“I moved in at the weekend. Well, into one of his houses, now I’m at his other house.” I rattled off the complicated accommodation arrangements.

“I’m sorry. Houses? I don’t understand, love,” she was flustered.

“He’s rich,
mum,” I whispered uncomfortably. “Two houses, one in town and one in the country. We weekend at the country house called Blythewood House and use the townhouse Piedmont on weekdays for commuting to work. Well
, I will once I get a new job.”

“When will you get a new job? You can’t be without work these days,” she lectured.
My mother always obsessed about me having a decent career.

“Soon,
mum. There is no urgency. Jason looks after me.” I tried hard to reassure her.

There was a pause. “So do we get to meet this boyfriend?” my
mum sounded uppity. All these changes and I
had not told her until now. She was annoyed with me.

“If you like, you can come to Blythewood this Sunday for lunch.” I played my ace. “Would you and dad like that?”

Of course she did, and we quickly sorted out the arrangements, providing the address and the
time for their arrival. She was lapping up my situation, desperate to see
my new boyfriend and me. I said my goodbyes and flopped back in the chair with relief. Jason tossed the newspaper down and revealed he had been silently chortling like crazy behind it. I frowned at his amusement.

“What?” I snapped.

“Babe, you and your mum sounded like you were quoting the ‘Importance of Being Earnest’. You know, town and country,” he laughed.

I threw a cushion at him and he caught it with ease.

“Very funny. I suppose you were expecting me to say you
were found in a handbag or something. I’m just glad that it’s done.
” I ran my hands down my face. “She has been waiting years for that call.
A boyfriend and me. I’m going to have to come up with some juicy tip bits to feed her with for the next few calls or else she is going to be impossible.”

“As long as they don’t involve our sex life.” Jason wagged a finger at me.

“Good grief. No fear of that. I shall sell the houses and the huge
garden. She is going to love the garden.” I had found my juicy tip bits.

***

I flicked aimless through a tattered magazine while I waited for my name to be called.
Finally, I had arranged an appointment with my GP. I was cutting it fine as I had only a few pills left. Gibson was parked outside. She escorted me and checked out the busy waiting room before satisfying herself that I was in no danger.

My name was called and I headed into see my doctor. She was a specialist in women’s health and family planning – not that I had been planning a family. She had a blunt approach and during my early appointments with her, she had come across as somewhat unwelcoming.

I sat down opposite her as she checked through my notes. Her long greying hair was tied back and she had an appearance of a headmistress rather than a family GP.

“You’ve not been so see me for a while. You can’t have many pills left,” her voice was edged with criticism.

“Been busy,” I replied shortly.

“Well let’s check you over and then review your situation.”

She gave me a reassuring smile reaching for the sphygmomanometer.

I was reminded of my first encounter with her, not long after my twenty-first birthday. I
had been incredibly nervous and she had not
put me at ease as I had hoped.
I had been on and off the pill since I left my parents’
house and started university. I
had been in a relationship quite different from any I had previously. I had been sent to the doctors under the instruction to ‘get myself sorted.’

She had
conducted my examination with cool detachment and without comment. Afterwards I
had redressed and sat down, fiddling nervously with my cuffs.

“Everything looks good,” she had glanced up over her reading glasses. “Is there anything you want to tell me?” her voice had been clipped.

“Uh, no...” I had started to blush.

“From time to time I encounter women passing through these doors that outwardly look fine but are in reality involved in an abuse and sometimes violent relationship.” Her eyes had fixed on me watching my reaction. “I don’t see many women though with immaculately shaved parts and fading whip marks on their buttocks.”

Oh God!
I had wanted to be swallowed up and to disappear into the floor. I must have been crimson.

Her voice had changed tone and she leant forward and practically whispered at me. “Are you in a BDSM relationship, Gemma?”

I had nodded. I could not talk from the shock of such an intimate question.

“Well it helps for me to know, that way we can look after you appropriately and chose the right birth control. You’re not been forced to do anything you don’t want to?”

“No. It is all consensual. I chose this lifestyle, I’m OK with it.” I had managed to find my stunned voice and started to relax. She was not judging me.

She had suggested regular six monthly appointments and that turned out to be a successful arrangement, as on a few occasions I had the opportunity to ask about intimate health matters.

“He wants to do body piercing on me, you know, and I’m not talking earlobes,” I had told her on one visit.

“Well, it is not a good idea. The risk of infection can be quite high and they can remain painful for some time. The question really is do
you
want to be pierced?”

She had been right, I did not want it and I never took up the offer.

Now I was back and things were different. The doctor handed me my prescription.

“There you go. Are you in a new relationship?” she asked in her abrupt fashion.

My doctor did not know about my assault
. I
could not face telling her, she might had had a told-you-so look
about her. I was being unfair as
she had never openly criticised my lifestyle.

“Yes, it is going well.
I’m very happy. I’ve moved in with him. I’ve not done that before.”

Her response was typically blunt. “Look after yourself.”

The visit was over and I headed out to find Gibson.

***

The cold, frosty night unfolded before us as we headed to Blythewood. It was Friday and Jason
collected me on the way back from the office. My Friday shopping session had been much more successful. Taking up Jason’s
tip, I ventured up to a shop assistant in Harvey Nicols and asked
for advice. Once she saw my eagerness and lack of concern over the
ridiculous prices,
she preceded to fawn all over me. I had a jolly
good time. The clothes were all in bags in the boot of the car, waiting to impress two sets of parents.

Jason was busy talking on the phone to Philip, his number two. It was a very impersonal relationship and Jason talked rapidly and directly, not wasting time on details or unnecessary waffle. I
would try to communicate with Jason in a similar candid fashion as it seemed to hold his attention better.

I stacked the dishwasher and he was standing behind me. Dinner was over and the lack of conversation over the meal had been noticeable. Now he watched as I pushed the dishwasher door shut with my hip. Hands on my waist, Jason whispered in my ear.

“I want what’s mine.”

“I know, sir,” I whispered back tingling at the word ‘mine’.

Ten minutes later, I knelt
naked, waiting for him to arrive. I ran my hands up and down my thighs, the expectations growing stronger with every second. Then he was here and his feet pattered on the dark wooden boards. I could see him out of the corner of my eyes. Dressed only his black jeans, his muscular pectorals on full display. He looked twenty-five not thirty-one, quite the hunk. Over he went to the chest of drawers and he opened one and removed something from inside
the drawer. I caught a glimpse of it causing my skin to tingle and my tummy started to do flip-flops
.
I had been waiting all week for this evening, almost with desperation. I wondered if he had been eager too. Shutting my eyes, I awaited his instructions with glee.

***

Relaxing in the luxury of the Austin Martin, Jason and I were side by side and I had to admire his driving skills. The car might have behaved skittishly for an inexperienced driver but Jason was the master of it with the same confidence he controlled my waking life. He drove fast when he could, using the power of the engine to accelerate, overtake or simply cruise. When in traffic, he eased back and was happy to join the flow of traffic.

Occasionally fingers would point at us as the car was observed by passer-
bys. An envious man’s
gesture or a child’s wave from the back seat of the car in front, then the swoon of a woman’s eyes as she wondered if a film star or footballer was at the wheel. We were none of those - the driver was an anonymous businessman and my boyfriend.

The car was a welcome distraction from my nerves. Perhaps
for him too as he enjoyed the pleasure of driving himself instead of being chauffeured. We had
briefed each other over breakfast about what was not a topic of conversation in the presence of his parents. Sexual exploits were definitely off the
agenda, which went without saying. Jason reassured me that I should just be myself and that I should not address him deferentially, it would look weird to his parents for a girlfriend to call him sir. I laughed in agreement and reminded him the same applied tomorrow with my parents.

“Are you sore?” asked Jason abruptly.

“I’m quite recovered from last night, thank you for asking,” I chirped back Jason. He looked pleased with himself and we both smiled with our collective memories of last night.

“Tell me about your parents.” I changed the topic of conversation to less dangerous territory.

“Dad is a lawyer.” Jason stared ahead.

“OK like father like son then?” I chipped in.

“Not quite, dad is a barrister, I’m not. He’s good at it and well-respected. Mum is a private music teacher.”

“Ah, explains you’re musical knowledge.” Remembering our first date. “I don’t recall seeing any musical instruments in the house?” I was intrigued.

“I played the guitar. It is probably in one of the upstairs bedrooms. I sang in choirs too. I gather I have a fine tenor range. Hard to imagine, yes?” he cocked his head at me and then returned to watching the road ahead.

“Soprano, though I never progressed beyond the university choir.” I thought of those long rehearsals, followed
by even longer drinking sessions and my fling with a tenor. There was a definite need to change the topic. “What about the rest of your family?”

“Oh I’m sure mum and dad will regale you with my siblings’ achievements, ever the proud parents,” he stopped talking.

I knew the conversation was over and the reason was undisclosed
. I
could not
imagine his parents being disappointed in Jason’s achievements. What more did they want from him?

The lunch was a great success. Jason’s parents were charming and quite the typical affluent couple, living in their substantial
five bedroom house, set amongst fields in a quintessential English village. We sat in the dining room
, looking out over the immaculate lawn and flower
beds. Jason chatted comfortably with his dad, discussing markets and takeovers.
The grey haired Mr Lucas senior was far more knowledgeable about Jason’s business than I would have thought given their apparent minimal communication by telephone.

His tall, lean father exhibited the same straight nose and chiselled features that made Jason such a handsome man. The blue eyes came from his mother though. She was poised, well-spoken and did everything with a neatness that made me feel slovenly. Her polish was probably what Jason tried to have me emulate when he criticised my posture or deportment.

Nevertheless, I did not feel inadequate, as I sat next to her at the dining table, because behind the façade of prim and proper was a friendly person. Hidden and tucked away, I eked it out with my own charming disposition. It was like talking to Jason all over again. She moved the conversation strategically about her like a chess piece on a board and while Jason and his father stuck to a minimal number of topics, I found his mum was varied in her tastes. I slipped into easy conversation and the common ground naturally was
music and my interest in choral works. I held my ground well against her more extensive understanding of the repertoire and kept up a good flow of conversation.