Chapter Eighty-Three
The world shatters and my vision turns within…
Somewhere… far away… a voice is speaking. “That’s it, my Love. Come for me…”
… then, sounds mute, and mind and body meld into one…
How long am I lost?
I don’t know…
… but when I return, all I hear is the rasping from my throat, the thud of the pulse banging inside my skull, and the deep, even breaths of my Master. “Good, my Love?”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
Deep in my core, his cock twitches and pumps... “I think I might.” … and I shiver in a brief afterburn.
"Thank you, Master," I whisper.
“My pleasure.” Then, face contorting, he flexes, thrusting up. Once. Twice. Briefly.
Head pressed back, teeth bared, he hisses, then jams his face forward, chin to chest. Short, blunt fingernails digging in, pulling me down, he grinds into me, his hips spasming against mine.
A jolt runs through him…
And again…
And with a grunt, once more…
… before, huffing air like bellows, he falls back, blinking up at the ceiling. Blowing out his cheeks, he huffs. “Yes, I think I might.”
Leaning forward and down, resting my weight on my arms, the tips of my breasts trail his chest as he finally releases his grip on me, now embracing me. “Convinced yet we have a real marriage?”
“Oh, yes, Master. Oh, yes.”
*****
I wake early, rolling over to find the bed beside me empty. The blankets are flung back on his side and the sheets are still warm.
Listening for movement from the bathroom instead, the almost silent pad of footsteps from the hall outside is followed by my Master nudging open the bedroom door with a tray. The scents of toast and coffee call to me, haul me upright against my pillow as though I were on strings.
He sets the tray alongside me, then, perching a hip on the bedside, leans in to brush his lips over mine. “How are you this morning, my Love?” His words are soft, but worry lurks there, like a shark in the shallows. “Did you sleep well?”
I switch on my best and brightest smile. “I’m fine, Master. And yes, I slept very well…” The unease fades behind his eyes. “… I didn’t expect to wake up to breakfast. This is perfect. Thank you.” Taking a slice of toast, I slather it with butter, pass it to him, then butter another for myself. “You’re up and about very early. Has something happened?”
“I woke up to a message from Adrian Barclay, asking to speak with me as soon as was convenient. Since he was obviously up with the larks himself, it seemed only courtesy to call him back ASAP.”
“Courtesy? After yesterday?”
He shrugs. “I’ll admit, I was angry. But that’s no reason to descend to the level of whoever is responsible for this…” I open my mouth to protest, but he lifts a finger, laying it over my lips… “… Besides which, having slept on it, I was inclined to believe what Barclay told me yesterday, and to hear him out today.”
“So, you called him while you were downstairs?”
“I did. The long and short of what he said is this. As you already know, the Mayor has been putting pressure on various departments regarding the City finances. And…” He raises spread hands… “You can’t hold that against him. It’s only the political version of good housekeeping. Vandervoort’s doing his level best to balance the books…
“… Anyway, you’re familiar with one aspect of the budgeting end of the operation, with what you’ve been working on regarding the police allocation. However, finances work from both ends and Vandervoort has also been pressuring the Revenue sections to catch up on unpaid, undeclared and outright evaded taxes…”
“Sure. Common sense. Can’t have money going out without it coming in first. Go on…” I chew slowly so as to hear properly over the crunch. “I’m listening.”
He swallows a mouthful of coffee. Takes a bite of toast, then, “As part of the revenue collection aspect of Vandervoort’s initiative, Barclay set up a small team to investigate tax evasion and other deliberate fraud. To be precise, he brought in two officers from outside the department. Outside the City in fact. He wanted fresh blood. Officers who wouldn’t be blind-sighted by preconceptions or by existing relationships with clients.”
“Clients?” I cough toast crumbs. “The Revenue considers taxpayers to be clients?”
He snorts. “Go figure. It’s a point of view. The point is that it was supposed to be a ‘New Broom’ operation…”
“And it got out of hand? Why did they start by making trouble for us?” Then the obvious question occurs. “Or is it just us? Are there others caught up in this? Has this New Broom done a ‘Sorcerer’s Apprentice’?”
My Master huffs laughter, then sobers up. “Barclay tells me he’s still trying to get to the bottom of it. But his feeling is that Pensby and his assistant, Thurston, simply decided to start with the biggest fish they could find.”
“Low-hanging fruit?”
“Just so.”
Another bite of toast, then, “Pensby and… What was it? Thurston? He’s the one that turned up at your office? There’s only the two of them?”
“Just the two,” he agrees. “The intention was to expand the department if it proved to be a success, but now…”
I ponder… “You said ‘Pensby and his assistant’…”
“I’m repeating what Barclay said.”
“Okay, but that means Pensby is the senior officer. So why did he interview me and send the junior officer to you? You’re the corporate Big Cheese…” His lips quirk… “According to their version of the story, I’m just someone you bought to fake a marriage. That being the case, why did I get Pensby?”
Nodding, he sucks at his teeth. “I always said you have an eye for detail.”
*****
The doorbell rings. My Master looks up from his paper. “I’ll get it,” he says. “Ross is in the basement.”
“Still doing Battle Royale with the boiler?”
“I think he takes it as a personal insult that it doesn’t perform to standard.” He heads for the door, returning seconds later. “A friend to see you, Elizabeth,” he smiles. “Come in, Claudia.”
She pauses on the threshold, shifting from on foot to the other. “I hope it’s not bad timing?”
“Not at all.” I rise from my seat to greet her. “It’s great to have you here.”
“What can I get you, Claudia?” asks my Master. “Coffee? Tea? A glass of wine?”
“Coffee would be nice,” she smiles.
A cough from the hallway. Ross wearing an oil-streaked boilersuit and rubber overshoes on his boots, swiping his hands with a rag. “Will Miss Schmidt be staying for lunch?”
I cock an eyebrow. “Claudia?”
“Oh, no. I don't want to be underfoot. I just wanted to check you’re okay after that horrible man the other day..”
“Not at all,” says my Master. “We'd be delighted to have you join us.”
“Oh…” Colour pricks at her cheeks. “In that case, I'd love to.”
“Good. One extra for lunch, Ross.”
*****
Ross moves around the lounge, laying out cheese and crackers, filling wine glasses, silent, but his ears discreetly flapping…
Claudia slices a bit of Brie. Helps herself to a couple of grapes. “So… Do I have this right? All that fuss the other day, all that upset…” Her gaze swings my way, then my Master’s. “Someone is trying to argue that you and Richard married so that he can sideline assets, this house, in an effort at tax evasion? That’s it? Nothing else has come out?”
“That’s right.”
She stares, then cracks out laughing.
My Master purses his mouth, his head tilting. Ross retreats into the background in that Not-Really-Here way that he has.
Hackles rising, I wait, letting the gales of laughter die down…
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea…
… Finally, I find my tongue. “Claudia, you were here. You saw most of what happened. What could possibly be funny?”
She flings out her palms. “This is. The suggestion… Sorry, the accusation… that you…” She turns to my Master, one of the palms thrusting towards him… “… Richard Haswell for Christ’s sake, would go to those lengths to dodge a few bucks in tax. It’s ridiculous.”
Colour flushes up my Master’s face, but he’s listening…
Claudia leans forward on the table, resting on folded arms. “Mr Haswell, I don’t know just how much you’re worth, but we all know it’s in the multiple billions. This house…” She gestures around the lounge, waves out toward the garden. “… it’s great. It’s gorgeous. But what’s it worth? A few million? That’s pocket money to you. Why on earth would a man in your position take a risk like that for such a small amount? If they were accusing you of money laundering, or using it as a cover for pushing drugs or arms, yes, I’d get it…”