Masters & Lovers Box Set Three

The old movie turns out to be ‘Gone with the Wind’. It wouldn’t have been my first choice, but with Charlotte tucked into the crook of Michael’s arm as we watch Scarlet and her antics, I’m not complaining.

Sitting propped up with pillows, I try to read the news on my tablet, but the movie is oddly compelling. At first, I can’t figure why.

Then I realise Michael is watching me. “What?” he asks.

“Just speculating,” I say, watching Rhett with his “No, I don’t think I will kiss you, although you need kissing, badly…” speech, looming over the heroine in good old-fashioned movie style.

“Speculating about what?”

“Rhett Butler.” I nod to the screen. “Dom?”

Charlotte’s head swivels. “Master?”

“Look at him. They didn’t talk about such things in those days, but look at him.”

“But all the old movie heroes were like that, Master.”

I chew a lip. “Mmmm. I suppose.”

Charlotte looks to the screen then, mischief in her eyes, back to me. “He looks a bit like you, Master.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No, she’s right,” says Michael, wearing a hastily constructed straight face. “He does look a bit like you.”

Mmmm.…

*****

We sit sharing a late lunch. The weather hasn’t improved. It’s cold, windy and the rain is still lashing down. So it’s soup; thick and meaty with dumplings and crusty bread. Food to line the stomach and warm the blood. Michael downs his in swift economical bites. Charlotte polishes off hers then serves herself another half a bowl from the tureen. She regards it solemnly, then ladles in more until the bowl is full.

How the hell do you stay that shape?

Lots of ‘exercise’…

And long may it continue…

Michael clears his throat then, “Charlotte, I thought you’d like to know I’ve hired a new trainer for the self-defence classes.”

“That’s good.” She spears a dumpling from the serving dish, dropping it into her bowl, hesitates, then adds another. “When does she start?”

“It’s a man, not a woman. I’m trying him down in the City first, just on a trial period. If it works out I’ll bring him up here to train our high-bred ladies, perhaps in two or three weeks' time.”

“I’ll look forward to meeting him.”

Charlotte runs an eye over her husband. “Are you sure about that outfit?”

Michael looks down at himself. He's wearing white slacks and shoes and a casual white linen shirt. “No, I'm not. It was Beth's suggestion for when I’m in the hotel just playing the manager. What do you think?”

Charlotte looks to me. I cock a brow back. “He’s your husband, not mine.”

But Michael turns to me too. “What do you think?”

I take the time to swallow my mouthful. “You look as though you've stepped out of an advert for orange juice.”

He nods, sniffing. “Thought so. I'll go change back to jeans and a tee-shirt.”

Charlotte’s lips pucker. “I didn't say I don't like it.”

raises eyes to heaven. “Make

at the spa centre, yes. Anywhere

save us,” he mutters, eyeballing me. “Orange

Rhett Butler, eh?

a dish best

you pass me the soup dish please,

*****

Twenty-Six

want to

to see

… to touch her…

Surprise her maybe?

*****

I press the buzzer.

No response…

press again. This time there’s the sound of movement from beyond, the scrape of metal at

She’s casually dressed and

look entirely pleased. “You don't mind,

But her voice wavers. “What

you dressed

down at her plain white tee-shirt and cut-off pants. “If you turn up out of the blue, you have to take

start to laugh, but the laugh

That damn necklace…

reach, touching the silver butterfly that

Conners’ gift...

you emeralds and you're wearing

for everyday wear don't you think?” Her voice is flat. “This is fine for when I'm out

toe at the carpet. “Are you going

you here? I wasn't due

we might go to lunch. There's rather a nice Italian place just

I can't. I have an appointment in an

… My gut tightens…

just about

foot, still scuffing at the carpet, apparently of its own volition. “You don't have to do this, Mitch. I'd take care of you. I

makes you

to be

Corridor….

… Neighbours…

come in.

close it behind me. “You don’t have to do this. You're too good for it. To keep selling yourself…” I slide a finger inside my collar,

rising, her voice too… “So, I sell myself to one man instead of many? That’s

“It's not like that.”

only difference is that instead of having rented myself out, I’d have sold

thought… I

was wonderful, Larry. It really was, but it’s back to real life now. For both

What does that mean? I’m just your client again? If I want

“Nooo.” She falters.

“What then?”

then stutters into

“What is it?”

not thought it through. I don't want to