Chapter 8 Victoria
VICTORIA
PLAYLIST: ENGLAND SKIES – SHAKE SHAKE GO
“And?” I ask Henry upon his return as I look up from my place on the sofa. I have a book in my hand, and yet, I have not read a single line. My mind has been occupied.
“Safely returned home,” Henry says.
“Did she say anything?”
“Nothing of relevance,” he says, and I draw up an eyebrow. “She was quite upset,” he adds. “She cried almost the entire time. I accompanied her into her flat, made her tea and then left. She seemed to be embarrassed by it.”
“Thank you,” I say, nodding sideways to let him know I require some alone time.
In all my sixty years on this planet, I have seen and felt many things. I have met women of all shapes, sizes, and ages. Of course, there has been the occasional feeling of desire that vanished as fast as it came, generally for one single reason: Mediocrity.
My lifestyle is not for the many, the public as much as what happens behind closed doors, but public recognition and the mediocre life do not work well.
Kissing Mia was probably a huge oversight on my end, because she checks all the marks above. As far as I can tell, she never had any relationship or any sexual experience in her life; it would be foolish to think her to be able to tolerate my lifestyle.
Let alone the fact that she is so much younger than I am, which should be reason enough to leave her be. The age difference might work in play, but not with the longing I experience in myself, one I had yet to feel in my life. A pull beyond the normal desire—a sensation I cannot quite shake.
I want her. I want the twenty-seven-year-old primary school teacher from Greenwich. Shy, mediocre wallflower. I should know better than to let those sensations rule me.
I brush with a finger over my lips. I still feel hers on mine; her scent, the soft vanilla, lingers with me. I know my lifestyle could be her liberation, but she might never allow me, nor trust me enough, to enter the place where we could find out.
A thought crosses my mind.
“Henry,” I call, and he enters. “Send a bouquet of flowers to Miss Isabella Thorne at St Thomas to wish her a fast recovery.”
“Of course,” he says. “Do you wish me to sign the card in your name or should it be sent anonymously?”
“In my name.”
He nods and retracts, and I return to my thoughts.
It is night when Henry knocks on the door.
“Enter,” I tell him.
“The flowers have been delivered, and Miss Thorne has been delighted,” he tells me. “She was also quite…chatty,” he adds.
“Yes?” I ask.
“Apparently, Miss Phillips has never had any relationship in her life, something others would call a spinster in the old days. She also said if there is an interest, which I neither denied nor confirmed, the person would need endurance and some persuasion skills.”
I chuckle because it confirms my thoughts.
“Miss Thorne also said, surprise first and ask later is what works best with her rather stubborn roommate.”
Now, I laugh.
“Thank you, Henry,” I say.
The week flies by, and I have decided to give Mia some space to sort herself out. I have to explore myself, by all means. It is Friday when I wake up, my nightgown sweaty and a heated dream I cannot deny. One where Mia knelt for me and begged me to introduce her to my lifestyle.
It takes me a long shower to release the images and sensations from my body, and by the time I have breakfast, I decide I cannot stay away from her any longer.
“Henry,” I say, “We’ll pick up Miss Phillips from school today.”
“Will we?” he asks.
“I also want you to make a reservation with Emilio for six. We’ll be visiting the King’s Vault beforehand.
I also want something ready in case she wishes to change into something else.
I believe she wears a size 10 in the upper body and a size 12 in the hips; make it fit the occasion while keeping her style.
Nothing you’d pick for me. She needs to feel comfortable. ”
“I already have something in mind,” he says and glances at his watch. “I’ll be back in an hour and a half, so we will arrive on time.”
I finish my breakfast and get myself ready.
Henry returns and sets three light-grey boxes on the table with a soft thud.
“I got three outfits,” he said. “I believe a choice between options will make it easier for her to accustom herself to it,” he says, and I nod approvingly.
The first is a short, dark-brown knitted pullover with wide arms, soft-fabric high-rise trousers in black, and brown Burberry loafers.
The second is a knitted vest with a dark, wide, fitted shirt, high-rise, wide-legged plisseé trousers in black, and flat leather boots.
The third is somewhat more daring: a knitted V-neck cardigan in cream, a white blouse underneath, black trousers made from a thicker material, and heeled boots.
They are all exquisite and will fit her perfectly.
I know why I picked a queer man to work for me.
I need someone who understands fashion and style, has an eye for aesthetics, and can read people emotionally.
Not that all straight men are blithering idiots, and all gay men are fashion experts, but I happen to find that many gay and bisexual men are more inclined to aesthetic pleasure and present more emotional intelligence.
“They are wonderful,” I say. “Although I am sure she will pick the first.”
If she says yes to the plan, I add in my mind. Something I cannot foresee, but I have confidence in my persuasion skills.
Henry packs the outfits back into the three boxes and takes them to the car. While I thought about using a different car today with lower public visibility, I have decided against it. I want her to feel special today. I also feel the desire to push her threshold.
It is not without a little anticipation that I step into the car. Maybe it is an error on my end, maybe it is not. But who am I not to try?
All the way to Greenwich, I am planning my moves: what I am going to tell her, what I am going to do.
It is no different from planning events, except that I now interact with a human being who is closed off and shy, something I rarely see at my events, where the people aim to draw all the attention to themselves.
We arrive at the school just in time as the children are walking out of the gate. We park on the opposite side, and I stay in the car until all the children and parents are gone.
The man Mia was on a date with walks out of the school with two other colleagues at some point, but no sight of Mia.
“Would you like me to look for her?” asks Henry.
“If she does not appear within the next thirty minutes, I’ll call her.”
So, we wait. I can be very patient, but today I am not.
Once the thirty minutes are up, I take out my phone and dial her number.
It rings, but she doesn’t answer.
“Okay, get her,” I say, and Henry does as told.
The anticipation in me has taken over by now. Nervosity is not part of my personality at this point in my life, but today my heart beats faster than usual.
I cannot sit still any longer, so I step outside the car and lean against it.
I take in the street with its brick buildings. Simple cars, some cypresses and mediocrity shout at me. Greenwich is so different to where I live, it feels like an entirely different universe.
And then the gate opens.
Henry holds it open for her to step through.
I see her, and my heart races.
She is so beautifully uncomfortable. One brief glance up at Henry as she steps through the gate.
A stolen smile appears on her face as she turns and glances at me. My heart skips a beat the moment she does.
I have no idea how she will react
“Miss Phillips,” I say as she walks up to me, and I open the door to the Rolls-Royce. “Please, take a seat.”
She stops and looks up at me. A devouring, insecure glance with her flushed cheeks. I want to grab her, kiss her, touch her, feel those lips on mine again—but I won’t, not until tonight.
“Where are we going?” she asks with her sweet voice, and my heart skips another beat.
“Something you will love,” I say. “Now get in.”
And she does get in.
I close the door and walk around to the other side.
“We will stop at your flat,” I say. “I believe you might want to change for the occasion. Henry has been so kind to get something you might like for you to choose from.”
“I—um,” she begins.
“No discussion,” I tell her. “This afternoon will be a once-in-a-lifetime chance, one I advise you to take.”
“Okay,” she says, and I watch her fight off a grin.
“You actually do what I tell you,” I say, “That’s a first.”
“Mh-hm,” she hums in confirmation, and I finally understand what her roommate meant regarding the surprises. She loves them, yet she dislikes them at the same time.
We reach her flat.
“I’ll wait,” I say as Henry gets out of the car to see her inside and give her the clothes.
She is already out of the car when she freezes with her back to me. Suddenly, she turns, glances at me, leans back inside, kneels on the seat and grasps my face. I cannot believe what is happening—
Her lips find mine, and I am so perplexed that I cannot do anything else but let her. My hands find her body, and all the thoughts I have vanish.
For one infinite moment, my body relaxes into the touch of her lips—a moment that shall never end.
Only it does end.
She stops the kiss, glances ever so briefly in my eyes, and then gets out of the car.
“Give me fifteen,” she says with one last, cheeky glance before she hurries off. Leaving me behind with a whirlwind of emotions as I try to comprehend what just happened.
“Oh, Miss Phillips,” I whisper. “Who would have guessed?”