Chapter Seventeen #3
She stared at the message, and all the emotions she’d been pushing back came flooding through her.
She sank down onto her bed. That afternoon with Cora had been a whirlwind.
She’d called Wiggins and explained her situation, Chauvel’s veiled threats, and her desire to break the contract anyway.
Her lawyer had been calm and helpful, and he’d agreed to draft a letter to Chauvel to terminate the agreement first thing Monday morning.
If she’d had any threats from Chauvel in writing, they might have some leverage against him, but even as is, Wiggins was confident she’d been guilty of no active wrongdoing.
She and Cora had also set up a meeting with their financial adviser. Tomorrow morning, while Chauvel was sending his letter, they would sit down with James and hash out all the worst-case scenarios.
Afterward, she’d be free of all of it. The investigation was still underway, but somehow, she wasn’t worried. She and Cora were on the same page for perhaps the first time in her life, and whatever happened, they would deal with it.
Which left the Pimpernel.
His message sat there, waiting for her reply. Several options lay ahead. She wasn’t going to turn him over to Chauvel, at least. But was she still going to meet him? And if so, was she going to confess?
She hadn’t wanted to tell him. When she’d decided to break her contract with Chauvel, she had quietly been hoping he would never have to know about it.
He’d told her he was sometimes too trusting.
She’d betrayed that trust, and if she told him, she might lose whatever tentative connection they’d created.
But he was taking a leap of faith to meet her.
She owed him the truth, even if it meant he never wanted to talk to her again. Because Chauvel had it out for him, and he deserved to know. And besides, Blake had told her once, The best decisions are the ones that let you sleep at night. And she trusted Blake’s advice.
Hey, she typed, finally, leaning back against her headboard. I need to talk to you about tomorrow.
Cold feet? he replied. We don’t have to go through with it.
Another out. She was tempted, but she stayed the course.
I still want to meet you, she said. But I have a confession to make.
She saw the message go to read, but then he didn’t reply right away. Finally, his message came through.
OK. What is it?
She started typing and didn’t hit send, letting all the words build up on the screen.
The first time I contacted you, I was hired to do it by a man named Arnold Chauvel.
He wanted me to write a hit piece about you for his newspaper.
She paused, exhaled, then kept typing. When I played with you, I really enjoyed it, so I did it again.
I told myself it was just research, but it wasn’t.
And soon, it stopped being about the article, and I agreed to meet you.
She hit send and kept typing.
Chauvel eventually told me that his former fiancée ended their relationship over you.
This was about revenge. He wanted your identity, and he got me to tell him where and when we were meeting tomorrow.
He has leverage over me, and I felt like I didn’t have other options, but I still betrayed your trust and I feel terrible about it. More than terrible.
She sent that and finished the rest.
I’m breaking my contract with him. I understand if you don’t want anything else to do with me ever again, but I had to tell you because I’m worried he’s still going to try to find you.
She added one final message. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.
It sent. The app indicated he’d read it. She sat there, waiting, while he didn’t reply.
He might not reply at all. He might vanish, block her on the messaging app, never talk to her again. She might never know who he was.
But she wasn’t sorry for telling him the truth. In fact, she felt lighter.
Who was she?
Maggie blinked down at his message, uncomprehending. Who?
Chauvel’s fiancée.
That hadn’t been the question she’d been anticipating. Maggie found a picture of Giselda Shaw and sent it to him. I think it’s her, she wrote.
He took a moment to reply. I remember her, he said. And for a minute, that was all he said. She waited. Finally it all came out in a series of messages.
I played with her a couple of times. I don’t think it was any more than that. One of the private house parties. I don’t recognize her name but lots of people don’t give their real names. She didn’t say she was engaged, but I also didn’t ask. It’s not my business.
He continued. I probably wouldn’t even remember her except before the first time, she asked me a lot of questions about BDSM.
She told me it was something she was always curious about but had never tried.
She asked me what I liked about it, why I got into it, lots of stuff about kink itself and the philosophy of it.
We talked for almost an hour, which is unusual when it’s not about the scene.
She wanted to hash everything out, and I was happy to talk with her. And we played together.
Maggie felt strange getting all this information, since this wasn’t the conversation she thought she’d be having. But at least he was still talking to her.
His story continued. I saw her a couple of weeks later at another event.
We played together again. She was really happy after.
Everybody’s happy if they have a good time, but it was different for her, which is another reason she sticks out to me.
She thanked me a lot more than people usually do, which I remember was funny to me since she didn’t seem to understand that I was enjoying myself, too.
It wasn’t a favor or something. She asked for advice on helping a partner be open to kink, and I advised her as best as I could.
Finally, he added one more message. I never saw her again. Until this picture.
Maggie stared at the screen, then scrolled up to look at Giselda Shaw again, trying to imagine what was going on in Giselda’s head this whole time.
She wished she had Giselda’s piece of the puzzle, but she likely never would.
She never tried to contact you again, either? Didn’t seek you out in any way?
Never, he said. And it would have been easy back then.
Giselda hadn’t been trying to get into a relationship with the Pimpernel. And she hadn’t left Chauvel for him. Why the hit piece? Why now? That aspect still didn’t make sense.
Thank you for telling me, she wrote, since she wasn’t sure what else to say. And I really am sorry. She swallowed. Hope I haven’t put you off a whole future of having internet sex with strangers. It felt like goodbye.
She hated goodbye.
I’m not sure how I feel about the future of my internet sex with strangers, he wrote. I guess a lot depends on how things go tomorrow night.
Her heart sped up. You still want to meet me? Even after everything I’ve told you?
We should probably choose a different location, he said. Since Arnold Chauvel’s expecting us to show up at the Weatherfield.
Maggie was grinning and couldn’t seem to stop. How about the Docksider? Seven o’clock?
Seven o’clock, he confirmed. I’ll see you there.
How will I know it’s you? she asked, the thought suddenly occurring to her.
There was a long pause before he replied. You’ll know.