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I spent the day gingerly sat on my bum at work. Every opportunity I had to run an errand away from my desk was quickly pounced upon.
Just after seven o’clock, his Jaguar pulled up outside, I was watching from the window. Grabbing my overnight bag and switching the lights off, I shut my front door behind me and stepped out into the evening light. Martinson was out of the front driver’s seat and opened the door for me, relieving me of my bag. I peered inside the car, Jason was in there waiting for me.
“Lie down if you want, you can rest your head on my legs if you wish.”
I smiled, grateful for his consideration. We set off and I was quite happy, snuggled up in the back of his car, the warmth of his thighs under my face. He rested a hand on my head and absentmindedly stroked my loose hair strands.
The car door woke me with a jerk. I must have dozed off for a while.
“We’re here. Come on, babe, time to eat.”
Jason helped me up and out of the car and I followed him into the house, holding his hand.
I cooked a quick dish of omelettes and a tossed salad dressed in one of my favourite homemade dressings. He sat on a breakfast bar stool watching me.
“Jason, if I need particular ingredients in, to cook for you, um, how can I get them here?” I asked.
His kitchen was well stocked, probably by his mysterious housekeeper. There were a few things missing that I would prefer to be present.
“There’s a notepad in the top drawer, just write what you need and Mrs Harris will stock up for you.” He pointed at one of the units.
“Oh, right.”
I checked the contents of the drawer and easily found the small note pad. The imprint of his handwriting left on the blank sheet.
“Mrs Harris. Has she been your housekeeper for long?” Curiosity was getting the better of me, but he seemed forthcoming tonight.
“About six years, since I bought Blythewood House. She is here during weekdays only, except when I’m hosting a weekend function, which means she works over the weekend for me. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason. The house is well kept, she must work hard during the week.”
Jason chuckled to himself. I looked at him and he stopped.
“Oh, Gemma, she doesn’t clean the entire house on her own. She has cleaners who help her for a few hours here and there. I just leave her in charge of it all. Like Martinson is in charge of security for me.”
He walked over to the dresser and started to collect cutlery and table mats. A thought crossed my mind.
“What about your lair, does she clean that?” I pursed my lips, wondering if he would answer.
“Yes, I like it clean – good hygiene,” an eyebrow rose, “and yes, she knows about my lifestyle.”
“She is alright about it?” I said while flicking the omelette on to a warmed plate.
“Why wouldn’t she be? Look, Gem, she is in her fifties, worldly wise, widowed unfortunately. She is also very discreet, plus there is the confidentiality agreement. I trust her implicitly,” his voice had changed, topic of conversation over. I did not want to remind him of my own transgressions.
The food was laid out and he started to tuck in. “Eat standing up if it helps.” He stabbed at his salad with a smirk on his face.
“I’m fine thank you,” I said prissily. I tucked in as I was ravenously hungry.
I packed the dishwasher and tried to return the kitchen to its spotless state. Jason had retreated to his study. Checking around the kitchen, I was satisfied and hopefully Mrs Harris would be too. What next? Jason had given me no indication of his plans. I headed to the bedroom and sorted through my bag, putting a few personal items on the bedside table. I turned around and practically jumped out of skin. Jason was standing in the door way leaning his shoulder against the door frame, arms folded. His tie had gone and two of his shirt buttons were undone.
“This isn’t where I want you,” his voice very soft.
Oh. Was he cross with me? I wished I knew what he was thinking sometimes.
“I didn’t think you would...”
He interrupted me. “I decide what is best for you, that’s what I do for you, remember?” he walked into the room, undoing his cufflinks.
