Authors: Fiona Locke
The maid leads me to the door and I look back at the scrap of blue silk lying discarded beside the bench.
Someone
will tidy them away, but for now they are proof that I was here, that I exist. My face is wet with tears, but there is no one to notice.
We cross the entrance hall again. I move slowly, stiffly, as though in a dream. She opens the door for me and I step through it, out of one world and into another. A world of rules and reason and fairness. A world of predictable sensations and knowable truths. The door clicks shut behind me. It has swallowed my experience, my pain.
When I reach the street I glance back at the house. The cold moonlight illuminates its lines and angles, its relentlessly symmetrical windows like eyes that do not see me. With a heavy heart I begin my uncertain journey home.
Ginger Tart
IT WAS EXQUISITE
– the perfect blend of sugar and spice. The burn of the crystallised ginger made Haley’s mouth tingle and she closed her eyes, savouring the sensation. She had to restrain herself from stealing any more. There would be plenty for her later. No one would miss it. Nor would anyone miss the wine.
Haley adjusted her cap. The hateful little white doily always ruined her carefully tousled pixie cut. She checked herself, making sure her uniform was in order. Mr Bathurst was always pestering her about her apron being crooked or her top button being undone. As if anyone would notice. To the elite who dined at Asquith Hall she was nothing but a pair of hands that set fancy meals in front of them and took the empty plates away when they were done.
Her apron was definitely straight, but she wondered if he’d notice that she’d shortened her skirt yet another inch. Probably. The man could spot an irregularity from the next county. His pernickety nature was the thing Haley hated most about her job. Mr Bathurst prowled the hotel like a fussy Victorian butler, looking for things to criticise and people to scold.
Haley was too young to be hiding her assets under such an unflattering uniform. If her boss was so concerned about attracting gentlemen to Asquith Hall, he should realise the opportunity girls like Haley presented. A flash of leg, a glimpse of cleavage and they’d be loyal patrons.
What
man didn’t fantasise about a sexy French maid? Well, besides Mr Bathurst. Really, it was a crime that someone so good-looking should be so strait-laced.
Authority figures had always been her biggest turn-on, but Mr Bathurst seemed blind to the possibilities. He was quick enough to reprimand her for every little mistake, but he was immune to her playful insinuations. Such a waste.
She sighed and stole a peek out into the dining hall. It was almost time to serve the soup. It was a small affair this afternoon – a birthday celebration for Sir Peter Something-or-other. Marissa had told her that he was a friend of Lord Asquith’s. It explained why Mr Bathurst was at his punctilious best. The Man Himself was here.
Lord Asquith’s portrait hung above the fireplace in the oak-panelled hotel lobby. He was dressed for the hunt, standing beside a magnificent white horse. His dark hair was combed back and there were flecks of silver at his temples. He held a riding crop by his side, as though he was tapping it against his thigh. Lord Asquith had been invading Haley’s fantasies since the day she saw it. She could evoke his image with photographic clarity: his imposing stature, his aristocratic nose, his compelling black eyes.
But it was the riding crop that fascinated her most of all. Her bottom would tingle with unfulfilled need every time she passed the portrait. And when she confided her feelings to her boyfriend, Matt, he incorporated the peer into the kinky threesome fantasies he whispered to her in the mornings as he fondled her awake.
Haley had only met Lord Asquith once, six months before. And it had been disastrous. He had held a huge New Year’s party for his friends in the Great Hall. And he had generously let the hotel staff use one of the smaller rooms for their own party.
Haley was there with Matt, who was almost as eager as she was to see him in the flesh. They were both rather tipsy and Matt wanted Haley to sneak off to one of the hotel rooms with him.
‘You’re insane!’ she giggled. ‘Do you want me to lose my job?’
‘Come on, no one’ll see.’
Haley scanned the room and, sure enough, there was Mr Bathurst, standing near the bar. ‘Uh-uh. Bathurst’s got ESP. He’ll know.’
Matt looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he grinned devilishly. ‘So offer him some favours in exchange for looking the other way. As long as I get to watch.’
Haley nearly choked on her champagne. Matt was a voyeur of the highest order, but he still sometimes surprised her.
‘You’re right,’ Matt continued, scrutinising her boss. ‘He
would
make a good Mr Darcy.’
Haley shook her head sadly. ‘He may be gorgeous, but I’m no Elizabeth Bennet. He’s completely un-seduceable.’
Matt shrugged. ‘Too bad. It’s his loss. We’ll just have to take our chances.’ He took Haley’s arm and made as if to drag her off.
‘Stop it, Matt! It’s not worth the risk.’ She pulled away.
Matt affected an exaggerated pout, looking so boyish and adorable that she was tempted.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But your prudery has a price.’
‘Oh yeah?’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘Two prices, in fact.’
‘What’s the first?’
‘We crash the fancy party.’
A naughty grin spread across Haley’s face. ‘Oh, yes,’ she purred.
The Great Hall was as festive as Haley had ever seen it, but the party was nowhere near as raucous as the staff’s one. Garlands hung from the portraits of staid, dour-faced old men. Balloons with trailing streamers bumped against the great hammer-beams above them. But the guests were polite and restrained. Dressed in tasteful finery, they glided through the party with patrician grace. There would definitely be no photocopying of bottoms here.
‘Real class,’ Haley said admiringly.
‘Yeah.’
She scanned the room for Lord Asquith, but she couldn’t see him anywhere.
Matt cleared his throat. ‘Now for the second price.’
‘Which is?’
‘Your knickers. Give them to me.’
She squirmed. ‘OK. Just let me go to the loo and –’
He caught her by the arm. ‘No. Right here.’
Her eyes widened and her cheeks flooded with warmth. ‘Everyone will see!’
‘Yes, I expect they will.’
Astonished at his boldness, Haley’s body nonetheless responded to the idea. But there was no way she could do it
here
. Not in front of the wealthy and titled guests of Lord Asquith.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Forget it.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to take them off myself, then.’
His hand crept up under the hem of her short red dress and Haley shrieked in surprise, making everyone nearby turn to look at them. She dissolved into gales of embarrassed laughter. The onlookers turned away with disdain, no doubt lamenting the lack of discipline in schools today.
‘They should bring back the birch,’ muttered one prim dowager.
‘Come on,’ Matt said, leading her deeper into the room.
Nervously, Haley allowed herself to be led, wondering if he would really go through with it. The thought thrilled her and she imagined herself after a few more glasses of champagne, stripping off and dancing on the tabletops.
Matt pinned her against the Jacobean panelling and slipped his hand under her skirt again, cupping her cheeks and making her moan. He drew his hands around her thighs and gently rubbed his knuckles up and down the damp gusset of her panties. Haley shivered. Then he slid his hand under the elastic and peeled the flimsy red lace down below her skirt. French knickers. Matt’s favourite. With a whisper, they slipped down her legs and she stepped out of them.
Matt held out his hand expectantly.
Haley was emboldened by the exhibitionistic thrill of being bare underneath her dress. It brought out the mischief-maker in her. She picked up her panties and
dangled
them in front of Matt. Then when he reached for them she pulled them away, hiding her hand behind her back.
‘Oh no,’ she said with a teasing smile. ‘You’ll have to catch me first.’ And she raced for the nearest door, her high heels clicking on the waxed oak boards.
When she reached the door she glanced back over her shoulder. She didn’t see Matt anywhere. He must have gone out through one of the main doors at the other end, intending to cut her off.
The funhouse thrill of being chased excited Haley even more. She didn’t know where the door led, but she didn’t stop to worry about it. The room she found herself in was sophisticated and elegant, with dark antique furniture and heavy velvet curtains. A faded Persian rug sprawled beneath her feet and a fire crackled in the hearth. She paled as she realised where she was: she’d stumbled into one of the family’s private rooms.
Terrified of being caught, she whirled round to run for the door and crashed headlong into someone. Champagne splashed all over the man’s dinner jacket and Haley babbled an apology, frantically brushing at his lapels as though she could wipe away the champagne like so much dust.
‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean …’ Haley froze.
It was Lord Asquith.
He didn’t speak. But his quiet bearing intimidated her more than any rebuke. Champagne dripped from the base of his now-empty glass onto the rug. His jacket was probably ruined. But his expression was inscrutable. The bottomless black eyes betrayed no emotion. They simply regarded her, unblinking.
Spellbound, Haley couldn’t look away. The silence stretched between them like a hangman’s noose. Asquith held her with his penetrating gaze until her own eyes felt starved for moisture. Finally, she blinked, breaking the spell and the silence.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she repeated, shaking her head. ‘I got lost and – I wasn’t watching where I was going.’ She winced at
her
inane words; he was well aware of that. But she had to say
something
. The silence was unbearable.
He wasn’t looking at her, though. He was looking at something on the floor between them. He placed his glass on a nearby table and bent down to retrieve the scrap of material. Haley turned scarlet as he held her knickers up inquiringly, stretching them between his fingers like a scientist examining some new discovery. His eyes met hers again and still she could read nothing in his face.
Without a word he calmly used them to blot at his jacket. Haley could only stare at him in blank-faced astonishment. When he was finished he tucked her wet knickers into his pocket. He eyed her impassively for a moment and then continued on his way, leaving her alone in the room.
When he had gone Haley realised she was trembling. It was only when she found Matt again that she was able to shake off the moment.
‘Aha, there you are!’ he said, beaming like a kid with a secret to tell. ‘You’ll never guess who I just saw.’
Haley turned to him, ashen-faced. ‘Lord Asquith.’
‘That’s right.’
‘No. My knickers …’
‘What about them?’
‘They’re … in his pocket.’
Matt looked doubtful. ‘Are you taking the piss?’
Haley shook her head, bewildered. She hardly believed it herself.
Matt thought about it and then burst into laughter. ‘Brilliant! Though you should have charged him a tenner at least. Those were expensive.’
Haley blushed and slugged him hard in the shoulder. She felt exposed and vulnerable. But the thought that Lord Asquith had her panties in his pocket was delicious. A sweet violation.
‘Are you nervous?’ Marissa asked with disbelief.
Haley jumped. ‘Of course not,’ she said hurriedly. ‘What makes you think I’m nervous?’
‘Well, your hands don’t usually shake like that.’
Wiping her clammy unsteady palms on her apron, Haley fabricated an excuse. ‘Oh, I just … I didn’t have breakfast. My hands get shaky when I don’t eat.’
Marissa bought it. ‘Well, try not to spill wine on the guests,’ she offered with a sympathetic smile. ‘Mr Bathurst will go postal.’
‘Don’t worry.’
The truth was that Haley was extremely nervous. And not just because she would see Lord Asquith again. She and Matt were planning to host their own little party the next night and it was up to Haley to procure the refreshments.
The intimate gathering only required two waitresses and Haley tried to focus on her duties and avoid eye contact with the guests. Normally that wouldn’t have been a problem. But she could feel Lord Asquith’s eyes on her, boring into her as though he could read every thought in her dirty little mind.
While Marissa was clearing away after the first course, Haley lingered in the kitchen long enough to shove two bottles of wine into her rucksack. Then she heard Mr Bathurst coming and she scampered back out to join her co-worker.
Another course. Another bottle. And another near-interruption by Mr Bathurst. This was not as easy as Matt had said it would be.
The staff were meant to keep a record of how many bottles they opened for a party. It was some accountant’s job to see that the figures matched. Sir Peter and his friends were putting it away like lads at a stag night and Haley was sure no one would question whether they’d drunk ten bottles or twenty.
‘Haley? Are you sure you’re OK?’ Marissa asked. ‘You’re white as a sheet.’
‘Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just hot in here.’ She mopped imaginary sweat off her face and hurried back out to the guests, doing her best to avoid Lord Asquith.
At last, it was time to serve the pudding. There was enough for everyone to have seconds. But they weren’t as
gluttonous
with the ginger as they’d been with the wine. Reverting to well-trained public schoolboys, they ate the portions they were given and soon began to take their leave.
In the kitchen, Haley eyed the leftover ginger covetously. ‘Marissa, do you mind letting me stay and clean up by myself? I could really use the extra money.’
‘Sure, no problem.’
Marissa was a sweet girl, but hopelessly gullible.
When the guests had left, Marissa slipped away as well, leaving Haley on her own. Mr Bathurst was nowhere to be seen and Haley heaved a huge sigh of relief. Finally!