need to say, questions I must ask someone and he could help me to understand. It wouldn’t need to have anything to do with his marriage, it’s not as though I want to sleep with him.
Liar. Who am I trying to kid? But what I want and what I actually intend to do are two different things.
I pick up the card again though I don’t need to. The number is now etched in my memory. I have only to dial it, and I’ll hear his voice. Or I could text him. Maybe that would be easier. And then, he’d have my number too. I draw my lower lip between my teeth and tap a short message into the phone.
This is Molly. I’m at the Radisson Blu. Could we meet?
I press send before I can change my mind.
His reply arrives less than three minutes later .
I’ll be in the lounge at your hotel tomorrow morning. 10 a.m.
* * *
I’m awake before six. By the time I’ve showered, dressed, and packed my belongings ready to check out after breakfast I still have two hours to kill. I lay on my bed watching breakfast television news and taking none of it in. I reach for the small pad of notepaper and the hotel issue pencil on the side table and start to jot down questions I might like to ask Jared.
Why did you spank me?
How did you know I’d like it?
Do all men who spank, spank like that?
Do you spank your wife?
I cross out that last one. Too personal.
Would you spank me again?
I start to cross that out too, but decide to leave it. That is, after all, my burning question.
I’m not sure I’ll have the courage to ask any of this stuff, let alone the last question. But the spanking isn’t where I should start anyway. Before I can get to any of that, I owe him an apology. Another one.
* * *
I’m in the hotel lounge at five to ten, my overnight bag stowed safe behind the check-in desk. My train to London leaves at noon, but I have no idea if I’ll be on it or not. I take a seat at a table by the French window overlooking the gardens. I can see the canopy over the main entrance from here, so I’ll know when he arrives. I order coffee, then call the waiter back and, ever the optimist, I ask for a pot for two.
“Molly?” The familiar tone behind me takes me by surprise. I whirl in my seat. Jared has somehow managed to enter the hotel without me spotting him. He inclines his head and takes the sofa opposite me. His long legs stretch across the space between us as he leans back and regards me, his expression a mix of amusement and interest. “It’s good to see you, Molly, but to what do I owe this? I assumed you left the area.”
“I did. I’ve been living in London. My train back leaves in a couple of hours.”
“Oh, just a flying visit then? Lucky we ran into each other last night.” He leans forward, his elbows on the table. “Or was it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a long way from home by the sound of it. Was it luck, or did you come looking for me?”
I open my mouth to trot out some trite denial, but it dies on my lips. His eyes are cool, his expression hard. He expects the truth.
“Yes. I’ve been trying to find you. I bought a ticket for the gallery, and…”
“You came all the way from London? Especially for my showing last night?”
I nod. “Needed to see you. I hoped…” I fall silent, no longer certain what it is I hoped for, but it wasn’t this. I remember a warm, vibrant man, a man who excited and terrified me in equal measure, and who saved my life when circumstances called for it. The man sitting opposite me now looks as though he’d like to throttle me.
My fragile courage deserts me. “I don’t want to cause any trouble. I’ll just go.” I reach for my handbag, just as the waiter arrives with our coffee. He arranges the mugs, the jug of milk and the cafatière, and I remain in my seat intending to sign for the order, but the waiter hands the bill to Jared. He scribbles his name and hands it back.
He returns his attention to me. “And what
Liar. Who am I trying to kid? But what I want and what I actually intend to do are two different things.
I pick up the card again though I don’t need to. The number is now etched in my memory. I have only to dial it, and I’ll hear his voice. Or I could text him. Maybe that would be easier. And then, he’d have my number too. I draw my lower lip between my teeth and tap a short message into the phone.
This is Molly. I’m at the Radisson Blu. Could we meet?
I press send before I can change my mind.
His reply arrives less than three minutes later .
I’ll be in the lounge at your hotel tomorrow morning. 10 a.m.
* * *
I’m awake before six. By the time I’ve showered, dressed, and packed my belongings ready to check out after breakfast I still have two hours to kill. I lay on my bed watching breakfast television news and taking none of it in. I reach for the small pad of notepaper and the hotel issue pencil on the side table and start to jot down questions I might like to ask Jared.
Why did you spank me?
How did you know I’d like it?
Do all men who spank, spank like that?
Do you spank your wife?
I cross out that last one. Too personal.
Would you spank me again?
I start to cross that out too, but decide to leave it. That is, after all, my burning question.
I’m not sure I’ll have the courage to ask any of this stuff, let alone the last question. But the spanking isn’t where I should start anyway. Before I can get to any of that, I owe him an apology. Another one.
* * *
I’m in the hotel lounge at five to ten, my overnight bag stowed safe behind the check-in desk. My train to London leaves at noon, but I have no idea if I’ll be on it or not. I take a seat at a table by the French window overlooking the gardens. I can see the canopy over the main entrance from here, so I’ll know when he arrives. I order coffee, then call the waiter back and, ever the optimist, I ask for a pot for two.
“Molly?” The familiar tone behind me takes me by surprise. I whirl in my seat. Jared has somehow managed to enter the hotel without me spotting him. He inclines his head and takes the sofa opposite me. His long legs stretch across the space between us as he leans back and regards me, his expression a mix of amusement and interest. “It’s good to see you, Molly, but to what do I owe this? I assumed you left the area.”
“I did. I’ve been living in London. My train back leaves in a couple of hours.”
“Oh, just a flying visit then? Lucky we ran into each other last night.” He leans forward, his elbows on the table. “Or was it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a long way from home by the sound of it. Was it luck, or did you come looking for me?”
I open my mouth to trot out some trite denial, but it dies on my lips. His eyes are cool, his expression hard. He expects the truth.
“Yes. I’ve been trying to find you. I bought a ticket for the gallery, and…”
“You came all the way from London? Especially for my showing last night?”
I nod. “Needed to see you. I hoped…” I fall silent, no longer certain what it is I hoped for, but it wasn’t this. I remember a warm, vibrant man, a man who excited and terrified me in equal measure, and who saved my life when circumstances called for it. The man sitting opposite me now looks as though he’d like to throttle me.
My fragile courage deserts me. “I don’t want to cause any trouble. I’ll just go.” I reach for my handbag, just as the waiter arrives with our coffee. He arranges the mugs, the jug of milk and the cafatière, and I remain in my seat intending to sign for the order, but the waiter hands the bill to Jared. He scribbles his name and hands it back.
He returns his attention to me. “And what
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