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oy and, having flown out on the Sunday, we arrived in the middle of the night. Our regular driver, Amando, was there to meet and greet us, providing a baby seat in the back of the car. I couldn’t find fault with the arrangements, given the short notice, but there again, money always bought a high standard of service.
Jason’s apartment wasn’t Jason’s. Once it had been, but now his company owned the exclusive luxury accommodation, allowing other visiting executives to share it. That explained why it was impersonal, maintained only the basic requirements, and Jason’s specific alterations were hidden when he left—the hooks on the wall and straps around the bed.
The apartment was contemporary in design with a vast open living space punctuated by furniture designed to impress and awe. Jason had a study partitioned off by glass to escape to when he needed to think. The master bedroom, from my very first visit as his new wife, astonished me with its size and layout. The bed situated centrally—a stage waiting for a performance.
Rising after a few extra hours of sleep, we piled into a stretch Mercedes and headed off to his office block. Janice, his sometime PA, gushed over the child. Jason wanted to start work and could not wait for me to whisk our son away. His chief in the US, Eliza Gould, arrived, and I took this as my cue to leave.
She was a worthy deputy, a competent woman of a similar age to Jason. Married, she kept her work-life balance very much in the work sphere. Brassy in her voice and not afraid to express her thoughts, she was also witty, insightful, and decisive—all qualities Jason appreciated.
Did I like Eliza? I’d not thought myself as inferior to her, nevertheless she put her career above all else. At least she wasn’t sycophantic, and I knew from Jason that if she disagreed with him she told him with the open candour he preferred.
Diplomatic and prudent, too. Jason had reeled off her skills the first time I’d asked why he’d picked her to run things over here. A good negotiator in any deal and a natural leader. The New York staff liked her bluntness and direct approach, which she tempered with fair-mindedness and a modicum of sympathy if needed. Although I assumed the last sentiment was forced out of her like water out of a dry sponge. I would rather people liked me for being obliging, considerate, and helpful. We were not two peas in the same pod.
Without the support of my nanny, I had to become full-time mum, and it was something of a shock, as I had never had to do it on my own abroad. At home, when Clara went on holiday or was ill, I had places to go and prearranged activities focused on Joshua. In a strange city, with no friends, keeping him occupied daunted. I planned an itinerary of entertainment but failed to take in the jet-lag effect on both of us. I was a grouch, and so was Joshua.
I aspired to be a good mum and wife and not trouble Jason with domestic issues. I intended to keep him company if he needed it, anticipating long workdays and little family time, so I planned our meals to include him. On the first day, I suggested he join us at five o’clock for a quick meal somewhere child friendly and near his office, then he could go back to work having seen Joshua. A great plan, and he went with it, although upon reflection, he hadn’t greeted it with a smile when I’d told him over breakfast.
During the day, Joshua grizzled at everything, refused to sit in his pushchair, and screamed every time Amando went near him. My only companion for the week was my driver and bodyguard, and he trooped behind, offering to push the buggy. “No, it’s fine,” I snapped, somewhat offended by the idea I needed help.
We failed to arrive at five o’clock because of the traffic. An incidence of road rage played out before us, grinding all the cars about it to a halt while waiting for the traffic police to sort out the shouting and screaming. Thank goodness for the locks on the car, even though we weren’t under any threat from the miscreants.
I sent a text to Jason, explaining our delay.
Prior to our arrival, he’d already ordered food to speed up the proceedings and, after he greeted Joshua with a ruffle of his golden hair, Jason fell into a strange morose silence that didn’t lend itself to conversation. My own mood was not great. The day hadn’t gone to plan and, faced with a disinterested husband and a loss of appetite, my patience slithered away. He should have let me stay back in England.
Jason sniffed, his nose wrinkling. “His nappy needs changing.”
“You can bloody well do it then. He’s been a pain all day, and I’m fed up with changing his nappies,” I retorted.
He scraped back his chair, fished his son out of the high chair, and went to the restroom. When he returned, he had a sticky fingerprint on his pristine white shirt. Joshua’s hands were grubby with pizza topping.
“Whoops,” I said, as if the silly word made up for the ruined shirt. Jason continued to behave as if he was a Trappist monk and wolfed down his food.
Looking back, after Jason had returned to work, I couldn’t believe I’d spoken to him with such disrespect and selfishness. He’d found the time to see us amongst his hectic schedule. Once Joshua and I were back in the apartment, the guilt gnawed. I sent a text:
:Sir. Sorry about the nappy and shirt.
I waited for a reply. Nothing arrived, which made the negativity sink deeper into my psyche. I wanted to be disciplined, told to do something penitent or remorseful. Instead, I had nothing to correct my behaviour.
I put Joshua to bed in the guest room, and he fell asleep before I’d pulled up the zipper on his sleeping bag.
Sitting in the great room, I tried to read. Seven o’clock came and went, and still no Jason. It was no good. I had to do something to snap me out of my bout of self-reproach.
I sprinkled the rice grains on the hard kitchen tiles and knelt on them. I tried to centre my thoughts on Jason, on being a good wife and submissive. The efforts seemed futile—my knees might ache, but I still wallowed in a self-absorbed frame of mind, and my Dominant wasn’t even there to witness my act of self-discipline, a fact, which of course, I’d omitted from my analysis of the situation. I’d elected to do the deed without his knowledge.
Time crawled, and I stared at the kitchen cupboards, noting the presence of Joshua’s sticky finger marks.
By the time I’d been there on the floor for over fifteen minutes, the grains had embedded in my skin. Gritting my teeth, I lifted myself off my aching knees and flicked the grains out from where they had buried. My kneecaps were very red and sore. I struggled to walk and went to fetch the vacuum cleaner to suck up the rice from the floor.
The noise of the appliance masked Jason’s arrival. Spotting him on the other side of the worktop watching me with a mystified expression, I jumped out of my skin, my heart pounding against my breastbone. The rice grains remained visible on the floor, and the indents on my red knees, too.
“What are you doing, Gemma?” He pulled on his tie, loosening it.
“Um. I knocked over some rice,” I replied, without meeting his gaze.
“We weren’t planning on dining again, were we? You said we would have a light supper, not a bowl of rice.”
“Fell out of the cupboard.” I dug a perfect hole for myself, with little thought for my escape route.
