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 up your

centre, yes. Anywhere else, no. It's too

us,” he mutters, eyeballing me. “Orange juice?”

Rhett Butler, eh?

dish best

me the soup

*****

Twenty-Six

want to see

to

… to touch her…

Surprise her maybe?

*****

I press the buzzer.

No response…

time there’s the sound of movement from beyond, the scrape of metal

She’s casually dressed and

look entirely pleased.

her voice

never seen you

tee-shirt and cut-off pants. “If you turn up out of the blue, you have to take me as you

to laugh, but

That damn necklace…

that dangles by the hollow

Conners’ gift...

and you're wearing this

are a bit overdone for everyday wear don't you think?” Her voice is flat. “This is fine for when I'm out and about wearing just

toe at the carpet. “Are

due to see you

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

her forehead. “Larry, I can't.

… My gut tightens…

just about

its own volition. “You don't have to do this, Mitch. I'd take care

makes you think that’s what

to

Corridor….

… Neighbours…

in. I

but she nods, standing the door wide to let me enter. Inside, I 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

sell myself to one man instead of

“It's not like that.”

instead of having rented myself out, I’d have sold my soul. Larry, this is my

thought… I thought we’d connected. That there was

It really was, but it’s

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

“Nooo.” She falters.

“What then?”

then stutters into

“What is it?”

I don't want to take money from you, Larry. But I don’t