AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Gemma returned to the sitting room. Rothesay remained on the floor, glaring at those about her with an increasing look of fear. Gemma didn’t care about the mistreatment of her blackmailer. Let her be humiliated. Even straight-laced Martinson brushed aside Jason’s handling of the woman.
Jason, seated once again in the armchair, frowned. “Gemma. You’re supposed to be leaving.”
She crouched down by his chair and whispered. “She’ll leave, but she wants to take her photo collection. They’re her life’s work. Print and digital. She doesn’t know where the others are hidden. The blackmail ones.”
“Yes, I know. So she says,” growled Jason. “Very well, get them, and then go,” He gestured over his shoulder at the door.
Gemma rose just as Rothesay shouted “bitch” into her gag. She didn’t know if Rothesay meant Emily or Gemma.
“Shut up!” snapped Jason.
Rothesay went quiet. Gemma backed away, leaving her rather formidable husband waiting for his security team to search the house. Jason drummed his fingers along the armchair. A tactic to keep attention on him. His own personal protection officer stood over Rothesay, legs apart and arms crossed behind his back. Martinson played the soldier that evening.
As Gemma walked out of the do
or, she heard Jason address Rothesay. “We’ll find those photos, Rothesay. If they’re up your arse, I’ll find them. Perhaps if I were to lock you in the cellar, leave you there, and throw away the key, how long before somebody thinks to look there?”
Gemma scurried away. She didn’t want to hear her husband threaten another person, even if she knew he would never follow through. Would he? He didn’t break bones, he’d said, but would he imprison somebody?
With Emily’s help, Gibson and Gemma gathered up the precious photographic material. Not just her photos, but items that she treasured and kept in her tiny upstairs room. As Emily realised what was happening wasn’t a dream, but a reality, she perked up and seemed to accept her impending departure. Gemma couldn’t fathom out her reactions. Emily stated she loved Rothesay and yet seemed resigned to leaving at short notice. Nothing made sense. The sooner she could talk to Emily alone, the better. She wanted the truth.
Gibson loaded the boot with the boxes while Gemma led Emily away from the house to the car. She did what Jason had asked—removed Emily—and she had to trust her husband to deal with Rothesay. They sped off, back to the White House and Gemma’s privileged existence.
With Gibson listening carefully from the driver’s seat, Emily opened up and told her story. She began by asking Gemma a direct question.
“Who is she?” Emily cocked her head at Gibson.
“My protection officer.”
“Protection officer? None of this feels real.” She fingered the leather upholstery. “Wow,” she muttered.
“I sometimes think that myself.” She patted Emily’s thigh.
“Your husband, is he your Master, too? Your necklace.” She pointed at Gemma’s neckline.
“Yes, he’s my Dominant, and I’m his submissive. Were you forced to be her slave?”
“What?” exclaimed Emily with surprise. “No. I mean…. Let me explain from the beginning.”
Half an hour later, Gemma entered the White House alone. Behind her, Gibson reversed the car out of the drive, taking Emily with her into the darkness. Temporary accommodation had been found for Emily, and there she would start a new life. Emily’s revelations addled Gemma’s mind. A medley of confused emotions swirled about as she tried to comprehend how such a complex relationship had grown from innocuous beginnings. Amongst the blackmail, a murky bizarre life had been lived by Emily and Delia Rothesay. Gemma found it difficult to judge Emily. Rothesay. Yes, she was an easy target to hate and despise, but Emily confused Gemma’s sense of justice.
Jason texted not long after she entered the house, announcing his imminent return. With Clara sent home, she waited on the bottom step of the stairs for him with a mug of coffee in her hands. When the door opened, she leapt up to greet him, almost spilling the liquid.
In his arms was a shoebox.
“The photos?” she asked.
“Yes.” He placed the box on the small table in the hallway then faced her. She explored his face and spied his tired eyes and shoulders, not as square as usual. She reached up to kiss his cheek.
“I burnt yours and most of the others in the kitchen sink. There were many of Emily. Some self-portraits, and other people, too.” Jason didn’t embellish the facts.
She showed her impatience. “She told me in the car—”
His finger stopped her mouth, his features hardening. “Another time. Things can wait. Let’s to bed.”
Gemma wanted to know more. What Rothesay had said. What they had found in the house. Jason had warned; she mustn’t push him. She curled up in the bed while he deposited the shoebox in his office. As he slipped into bed, the envelope under his pillow peeped out. Her essay. She had completely forgotten all about her daytime labours.
“Oh. You don’t have to read it now,” she spluttered. She went to retrieve it, but he gently slapped her hand away.
