A Dom is for Life Page 9

  “I see. So, the Riverdale is an art gallery, then?”

  “You must know it. In Salford, near the Lowry…”

  I give a non-committal grunt. I’m not a frequent visitor to art galleries but I understand prestige well enough. All of those places down at the quays are high-end. I also remember the sensuous shapes and figures Michele used to create from lumps of driftwood, scrap metal, and other junk. I still have the couple she gave me as birthday presents, and they are seriously nice pieces. It doesn’t really surprise me that proper art lovers are starting to recognise her work.

  “I have tickets,” Libby continues. “Two tickets, VIP entry… We get champagne with the artist, and a special early showing. I know it’s short notice, but… I wondered if you might like to come. With me.”

  “You want me to be your plus-one?”

  “Sort of. Yes, I suppose. I was going to go on my own, but…”

  “How short notice?”

  “The VIP bit starts at seven thirty.”

  I glance at my watch. Just after five. I can’t get away from work for at least another hour. I do a quick calculation in my head. I could get to Salford in about thirty minutes by taxi, and I’m already wearing a smart suit. A quick shave in my office and I’d be good to mingle with the artsy lovies at the Riverdale.

  “Okay. I’ll have to meet you there, though. Is that all right?”

  “You’ll go?” She sounds astonished.

  “Yeah. You sold it to me. And I always liked Michele’s creations. I might even buy something.”

  She laughs. “I’m not sure I can afford them these days.”

  “Ah, well, you have a new job now.”

  “True. Look, I’ll meet you in the foyer at the Riverdale just before half past seven. It should all be over by nine or thereabouts, so I thought maybe we could go for something to eat after. I… I’ll pay…”

  “Maybe Michele could join us,” I suggest.

  “Probably not. She’ll be busy with the gallery and the sponsors, sorting out the sales and whatnot.”

  “Fair enough. Just you and me, then. Oh, and I’ll be paying.”

  Libby looks stunning. She arrives at the Riverdale wearing a silvery grey knee-length sheath dress and matching fuck-me heels. Mine is not the only head to turn when she rushes through the plate-glass doors one minute before half past seven.

  “I’m so sorry,” she begins. “The traffic was awful, and I couldn’t find anywhere to park.”

  I kiss her on the cheek. “It’s good to see you again, Libby. You look beautiful.” I pat her on the bum, enjoying her slight grimace. “I’d suggest we find a seat, but…”

  A waiter decked out in a tuxedo saunters past with a tray of champagne. Libby hands him our invitations which he discreetly slides into his jacket pocket, then he offers both of us a flute of the sparkling bubbly. No expense is spared at the Riverdale. I’ve barely taken my first tentative sip, when there’s a shriek from somewhere behind us,

  “Libby! Libby! You’re here.”

  Michele is upon is, resplendent in a vivid purple ball gown topped off with a pale-blue denim jacket. She’s scrubbed up for the occasion, clearly, though she hasn’t abandoned her Docs. They peek out beneath the taffeta hemline. No one but Michele could carry off the look, but she manages it.

  “And Josh, too,” she gushes. “Are you two together again? I knew it, when you said you’d seen him...” She flings her arms around me and kisses me full on the mouth.

  I resist the urge to wipe the smear of her lipstick off immediately and instead manage a warm smile.

  “Michele. As beautiful as ever,” I offer, genuinely meaning it.

  “Right back at yer,” she replies, eying me up and down without a shred of shame.

  I’d be more flattered if I didn’t know for a fact that her preference is for petite blondes. I seem to recall she got through at least half a dozen girlfriends during the time Libby and I were together, parading a succession of them through our apartment on the base.

  “You’re looking well, Josh, As hunky as ever. I told Libby she was mad to let you get away.”

  Hunky? I let that go unremarked, along with the fact that Libby has clearly spoken to her sister about me.

  “This is your exhibition, then? You’ve done well,” I say instead.

  “Yes, all mine.” She waves an arm expansively. “Half the pieces are sold already, straight from the catalogue. Have you done the tour yet?”

  “We only just arrived,” Libby explains. “We were just about to—”

  “The best stuff is at the far end. Most of it has been snapped up.” She grins at me. “I hope you kept hold of that figure of Solstice I gave you. It’s probably worth a few quid, now.”

  Solstice? I’d just thought it was a model of Stonehenge, the standing stones represented by gnarled fingers of bent metal. It’s a striking image and very decorative on my windowsill. Classy, even.

  “I do still have it, and it’s priceless to me,” I reply.

  Michele beams. “He’s a keeper. I told you that, didn’t I? A charmer, our Josh.” She pats my arm, then kisses me again. “I have to mingle. Enjoy the champers, you two. Maybe I’ll see you later...”

  “We’ll be going for something to eat,” Libby says. “You’re welcome, if you can get away?”

  “I doubt if I can this evening. There’ll be lots of signing and sorting out to do when we close.”

  “I thought so. But soon,” Libby replies.

  “Too right. Soon. You, too, Josh. My treat.” She’s already dashing off to greet an elderly couple who have just arrived.

  I have to admit, they look much more like serious art purchasers than Libby and I do, and Michele wastes no time in herding them towards the far end where, we gather, the best pieces are to be viewed.

  “She’s in her element,” Libby says, tugging a tissue from the tiny clutch bag she has tucked under her arm. She hands it to me. “Lipstick,” she murmurs.

  I remove the crimson stains from my mouth, then offer my hand to Libby. “Shall we check out the goods, then?”

  Even to an ex-squaddie like me, Michele’s work appears exceptional. I’m only surprised it’s taken the art fraternity so long to recognise that fact. She somehow manages to craft the most exquisite forms from humble materials, seeing beauty and drama where the rest of us see only junk.

  “I don’t believe she’s ever actually paid for a piece of material in her life,” Libby whispers to me. “See that swan? I remember Michele dragging that back from under the pier at Blackpool, a lump of old driftwood. My car boot stank of seaweed for a week. And those tealight holders started life as drinks cans.”

  “She has a real talent,” I agree.

  “This is one of my favourites,” Libby exclaims, dragging me in the direction of a gravity-defying structure consisting of garden implements somehow woven together to create the impression of a tree. It sports the rather apt title ‘Arboreal’. “See?” Libby angles her head to get a better view. “It works as a garden sculpture, but it could be a water feature, too.”

  “It would be just right for your garden,” I agree. “Why not make her an offer?”

  “If I said I liked it, Michele would give it to me for free. But have you seen the price tag? I couldn’t ask her.”

  The piece is priced up at just under two thousand pounds. I see Libby’s point about not taking advantage of her generous sister, but even so, the piece should be hers. And I don’t consider it overpriced.

  The strident sound of a spoon striking a wine glass interrupts us. The speeches are about to start. Libby and I join the throng surrounding Michele and the exhibition sponsor to listen to the effusive praise of the host and gracious disclaimers from a rather embarrassed-looking artist.

  “Is she always so modest?” I murmur.

  Libby shakes her head. “I expect they told her to be humble.”

  “She doesn’t carry it off that well,” I observe. “Shall we get another glass of this stuff?”r />
  We complete our circuit of the gallery, and Libby excuses herself to go and find Michele for a final chat before we leave. By the time she rejoins me and we make our way to the exit, there’s a ‘sold’ sticker attached to Arboreal.

  Chapter 10

  Libby

  We eat at a lively little trattoria a few minutes’ walk from the Riverdale. It’s all red, white, and green tablecloths, Italian music, and candles stuck in empty wine bottles. I choose a chicken pasta dish in a creamy sauce, and Josh goes for the cannelloni. I remember that was always his favourite.

  “Do you want wine?” He scans the winelist. “We can share a bottle of Chardonnay.”

  “Best not,” I reply. “I’m driving, and I already had two glasses of champagne.”

  “You could leave your car here,” he suggests.

  I consider that. I’m due at work tomorrow, but not until the afternoon so I’d have time to collect my car. But a taxi into Manchester from Knutsford would cost a fortune. I shake my head. “Could I just have sparkling water, please?”

  “Fair enough. I’ll have the same.”

  He orders the drinks and a garlic pizza to start. It’s delicious, and since it turns out that neither of us has eaten since lunch time, we tuck in greedily. We make short work of the food and linger over cappuccinos.

  I glance at my watch. Ten thirty. I don’t want to suggest we end the evening here, but neither does it seem appropriate to invite Josh back to my house knowing he would stay the night. It’s still too soon.

  Isn’t it?

  “Tired?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “In that case, how would you like to go on somewhere? Do you have to get up early in the morning?”

  “No. I’m not due at Carter and Benbow until one.”

  “Perfect,” he murmurs. “In that case, and purely as part of your induction, naturally, shall we go to Heidi’s?”

  “The club? Now? When it’s open?”

  He shoots me a sensual grin. “Yes. You can get a better feel for the place. Maybe meet some of the staff.”

  There’s logic to what he says, but something deep in my stomach recoils. A BDSM club? With Josh? And all those memories?

  “I’m not sure,” I begin. “Maybe it would be better if we—”

  “No expectations, on either side. Just a visit. We needn’t stay long, and we won’t play if you don’t want to.”

  “Play?” I’m beginning to sound like a total newbie.

  “Or not,” he repeats. “How about it?”

  Even while I’m thinking about all the reasons this is a bad idea, and fully expecting good sense to prevail, I find myself nodding. “I’d like that,” I say, “but, I’m not really dressed for a club.”

  “Me neither, but since I’m one of the owners, I doubt that will be an issue. You look beautiful, anyway. Classy and sexy. You’ll fit right in.” He raises his hand to summon the waiter and requests our bill.

  Ten minutes later, we’re hurrying along the road towards the car park.

  I accept his offer to drive and hand over my keys, then settle into the passenger seat for the ten-minute hop to the outer industrial suburbs.

  Josh manoeuvres the car into a space close to the door to the club. The parking area had been almost deserted earlier when I was here but is fairly full now. Several couples arrive at the same time as us. At once, I feel out of place in my cocktail dress. All the other women will be in fetish gear, as I would have been, once.

  “I’m not sure this is a great idea after all,” I mutter. “I should have gone home to change…” Not that I still possess most of the gear I used to prance around in, though I might have managed a micro miniskirt and a corset.

  “That dress is fine.” Josh exits the car and comes around to my side to help me out.

  I had almost forgotten his effortless courtesy. He always made me feel like a lady, even when he had me naked, sweating, and strapped to the St Andrew’s Cross.

  I take his hand and get out of the car, then stroll in the direction of the club entrance.

  When I arrived for my meeting this afternoon, I’d pressed the buzzer by the door and was let in by Heidi herself. No such niceties now. Josh operates the keypad, and the lock clicks. He pushes it and gestures me inside.

  A desk is set up in the foyer. A large man is seated behind it wearing a smart business suit. In front of us, two couples are waiting to complete the admission formalities. The man at the desk swipes their membership cards and hands over locker keys. The women deposit coats and handbags, revealing the skimpy confections of black and red leather with the occasional splash of latex concealed beneath the veneer of respectability. Laughing, they move off along the corridor.

  “Evening, boss,” the man at the desk greets Josh. “Do you need me to go fetch your bag?”

  “Not just now, Joel. We’re only observing tonight.”

  “I see.” The man produces a clipboard from a drawer. “Will you be needing a guest pass, then, sir?”

  “No, we won’t. Libby is staff,” he replies. “Joel, may I introduce our new head of finance. Mrs Elizabeth Novak. When you have a moment, could you sort out a pass card for her?”

  Joel gets to his feet, hand outstretched. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs No—”

  He pauses, glances from me to Josh, and back again. “Did you say Novak, sir?”

  “I did. Libby is my wife.”

  “Oh. I see.” Joel sits down again. “I apologise. I hadn’t realised…”

  Josh pats him on the shoulder. “No problem. Can we go in?”

  “Of course.” Joel operates a switch beneath the desk, presumably to unlock the door to the main areas of the club.

  Josh offers me his arm. “Shall we?”

  “The security is certainly good,” I say as we move soundlessly across the deep carpeting.

  “Goes with the territory. Members like to feel safe here.”

  “I’m not sure you should introduce me as your wife,” I continue. “They may think I got the job because of that and not on merit.”

  “Well, they’ll soon be set right,” he replies. “At least you’ve stopped saying we’re not married anymore.”

  He has a point. I fall silent and follow Josh into the bar.

  Most of the tables are occupied, and several members are seated on tall stools at the bar. Josh steers me in that direction, too. “What would you like to drink?”

  I ask for more sparkling water, and I notice he joins me. I ease myself up onto a spare stool and look about the dimly lit space. It’s just dark enough to be intimate, without descending into sleazy.

  “Any questions, just fire away,” Josh says, leaning his elbow on the bar. “You’re here to get a feel for the place, don’t forget.”

  “How many members are there?” I ask.

  “Almost six hundred. We find that encouraging, to say we’ve only been open less than a year.”

  I would tend to agree. “Do Doms and submissives get equal membership privileges?”

  He nods.

  “And they each pay four hundred pounds a year.” Heidi provided me with a whole stack of figures earlier.

  “That’s right. Or they pay monthly. Forty pounds. One-off guest passes cost twenty pounds.”

  “Heidi said that there’s one main playroom and several smaller ones on the floor above this one.”

  “That’s right. Do you want the tour yet?”

  “Heidi showed me round.”

  “It’s completely different when we’re open. You know that as well as anyone. You only get the true vibe of the place when members are in and playing. We could drop in on a few scenes, see the place in action, so to speak.”

  I can’t honestly argue. I’m about to ask if we can start upstairs when Josh raises his hand to beckon someone over.

  “Here’s someone you should meet,” he says.

  I turn with a smile, which remains plastered on my face when I am greeted by the most glamourous, seductive sub I can ever
recall encountering. She’s simply perfect, utterly stunning in a deep-purple corset, stilettos in a matching shade, and a sheer black thong. Her hair is caught up in a ponytail on top of her head, lending her an aura of austerity, though her make up is flawless. I wonder if her eyeliner could be persuaded to run, in the right circumstances.

  “Good evening, Sir.” Her smile seems genuine. She sends a curious though not hostile glance my way. “We haven’t met, have we?”

  I shake my head. “I’m Libby. I’m the new—”

  “Libby?” Her smile widens. “Josh mentioned you. I’m delighted to see you here.” She extends a perfectly manicured hand. “I’m Pru. I work here.”

  “Pru’s a professional sub,” Josh offers her a smile and a nod. “There’s not a lot goes on in Heidi’s that she doesn’t know about.”

  “I’ll remember that,” I say. “I’m going to be doing the finances for Heidi’s from now on so I may need to ask a few questions at first, until I get the hang of everything.”

  “Ah, yes, I think Josh mentioned that he was married to an accountant.”

  I frown, a little disconcerted that she seems so well-informed about me. About us. I raise an eyebrow in Josh’s direction.

  “Pru’s a close friend,” he offers by way of explanation.

  “I see,” I manage, somewhat tartly, I suspect.

  “No, I doubt if you do. But you will.” He turns to the vision of loveliness who is his close friend, Pru. “What’s happening down in the dungeon this evening? Anything exciting to watch?

  “Taurus is doing a Shibari demo, but it’s half over by now. There’s a hot wax scene just started, though. And Heidi has one of her slaves on the cross. That’s drawing a fair crowd.”

  Josh reaches for my hand. “Which do you fancy?”

  I’ve never been a great fan of Shibari, or the noble art of fancy bondage. I like ropes as much as the next sub, but I prefer not to be covered from head to toe, thank you. Hot wax is a bit livelier, but give me a decent flogging any day. “Can we watch Heidi?” I ask.

  “Good choice.” Josh picks up our drinks. “Let’s go.”