As I stripped off in the bathroom, though I looked down at myself and noted that something felt off. I felt sore between my legs … and strangely sated. As though … my heart lurched in my throat. Surely, nothing happened in the pub with the nice guy. No, I wouldn’t have. Anyway, I could remember everything until I staggered out of the pub.
I tore off my panties and examined them. Then to be sure, I brought them to my nose and sniffed, but it did not smell foreign. But the sensation between my legs.
I ran out of the bathroom and called Melly on the intercom, my heart pounding in my chest. “What happened with the guy I was dancing with?”
“Actually, you ditched him after a few drinks … something about his voice?”
“Are you sure I ditched him?”
“Yup.”
“Did I meet up with another guy?”
“Nope. By then you were pushing them all away with a stick you found on the floor.”
“I didn't leave your sight for even a moment, right?”
“You didn't. That much I remember. I wasn’t as drunk as you were, I remember everything.”
“Alright,” I said and ended the call.
Convincing myself to think nothing of my sensitive clit and sensation that something had happened, I headed into the shower and held my head under the running cascade. Maybe I had another wet dream.
I was soon dressed and on my way down the stairs.
I had only been really drunk three times in my life, but never ever so inebriated that I had suffered a complete blackout. Perhaps if I thought hard enough, whatever memories I couldn’t remember would return to me in fragments.
I was just about to take out a slice of bread from the toaster when Mrs. Blackmore walked into the kitchen. She was startled to see me.
“What are you doing here so early? Aren’t you supposed to be away?”
Her abrupt halt almost sent Mr. Boothsworth crashing into her. He quickly caught himself.
He smiled slyly. “Ah, you’re up? Rough night, wasn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
He laughed. “Don’t you remember? You were so drunk last night you almost tumbled down the stairs.”
My mouth dropped open because I had absolutely no memory.
“I would have caught you don’t worry,” he said. “Anyway, I helped you to your room.”
“What did I say?” I asked.
“You don’t remember?”
I shook my head.
He laughed. “The almighty black out. It’s been a few decades since any of those paid me a visit.”
Mrs. Blackmore looked at me with horror on her face. “Why were you that drunk?”
I shook my head in bewilderment. “You didn’t say much,” Barnaby responded. “You just mumbled that you needed to call Brett … I’m assuming you meant Mr. King.”
My eyes widened then in shock and so did Mrs. Blackmore’s. “Did you call him in that state?”
I slapped my hands to my head then, and turned away from the both of them. Jesus, my heart was hammering in my chest. “Of course not,” I answered automatically, but I knew it was a lie. Fragments of what I had done were already flooding back into my head.
“Well, you’ll never know,” Mr. Boothsworth said cheerfully.
I was so horrified I wanted to cry. I grabbed my slice of toast and began to stuff it down my throat without even buttering it.
“Make her something,” Mr. Boothsworth said.
Mrs. Blackmore came over to place her hands on my shoulders. Leading me towards the counter, she sat me down on a stool. “Does chicken soup sound good?”
I couldn’t speak. I just nodded with gratitude. At that moment the intercom buzzed. Mr. Boothsworth went to answer it.
“Sir …” he said.
I swear I stopped breathing.
“I’ll be right there,” he said as I forced my half-chewed food down my throat.
“Was that Mr. King?” I croaked.
“Yes, he’s just about to leave. I’ll go and see him off.”
I hurried to the window. A black Rolls Royce with tinted windows was waiting outside the front door. The window rolled down as Mr. Boothsworth hurried up to the car. I saw him at the window. He had his mask on. He spoke quietly to his butler.
I saw Mr. Boothsworth step away, and suddenly Brett slid his gaze over and looked directly at me. In a fraction of an instant another memory filled my head. Was it real? I couldn’t be sure, but I could feel the heat rushing up my throat and into my face. I nodded my head slightly in greeting and hoped he couldn’t see how red I was from that distance. The smile he gave me almost made my heart stop. Then the window rolled back up and he was driven away, as sleek as a dream.
Chapter 34
Charlotte
Zackary returned to the house at noon.
I was awoken by warm breath on my face. When I opened my eyes, my heart sang with joy when I met his bright blue eyes and sleekly combed hair staring back at me.
But I pretended as if he had scared the living daylights out of me. With my hand on my chest, I shot out of bed. “Oh my. That was scary,” I cried and he dissolved into peals of laughter. Mrs. Blackmore smiled at my antics.
“Why are you here?” I asked, surprised but very happy to see him back. I had grown to love him so quickly. Maybe it was because I have never taken care of a child with such a sad and vulnerable face.
The housekeeper made a face behind his back. “His mother had a change of plans so he was sent back. She has a function in Frankfurt and his aunt is too old to be with him on her own.”
“Well, lucky me then,” I cried and drew his smiling innocent face into my arms for a hug. When I pulled away I saw that his face was screwed up in half-hearted distaste, but I considered it a victory. He did not pull away or rearrange his hair.
“Lunch is almost ready so you can both head down to the kitchen in about half an hour. Do you feel better, Charlotte?”
I nodded and she left.
“What do you want to do?” I asked.
“Can we fly the kite today?"
“Well, we won’t have enough time. We need to be back for lunch in thirty minutes,” I replied.
His face fell then. “Awww … ”
“How about we read together for a few minutes, hmmm?”
“Okay,” he agreed reluctantly. We read for twenty minutes then we went downstairs to the dining room to await his meal.
“I saw your father today.”
I watched him very carefully, and saw his eyes fill with a mixture of curiosity, fear, and sadness.
“What is it Zackary?” I asked as gently as possible.
“I haven’t seen him in a long, long time.”
“Do you want to see him?”
A hundred different emotions seemed to cross his face in that moment, and fo
r the longest time he didn’t say a word.
“Zackary?” I prompted
He turned his head towards me then and I saw the tears well up in his beautiful eyes.
Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed so quick. “Zackary?”
“He makes me afraid,” he said.
My heart felt as if it was breaking. For both father and son.
“Why?” I asked.
“He is a monster.”
I recognized the word his mother had used, and my temper flared. I took a very deep and long breath. “Why would you say that?”
“His face is very ugly.”
“His face is that way because of the accident.”
The moment I said that he searched my gaze earnestly. As if he was desperate to believe something other than what he had been told. His innocence touched me deeply.
“You know that your father was involved in a very terrible accident, right?”
He nodded.
“Well, he sustained many injuries to his face so he doesn’t look like most people, but he is not a monster. He is just …” I couldn’t find the right words. “Have you ever seen the scars on his face, Zackary?”
He shook his head. “No, he wears a mask. Mummy says the scars underneath are too horrid and frightening.”
I thought of what I could say then and my mind went to the burn scar on my wrist. “Here …” I said to him. “I got this when I was just a bit older than you. I was trying to make it better for my Mummy by ironing some clothes for her, but I didn’t understand how hot the iron was so I burned myself. The wound healed but look at the scar that is left.”
He gazed at it for the longest time and I stayed completely silent.
“Does it hurt?” he asked finally.
“Not anymore, but it was extremely painful when it happened. I cried for hours and hours. My Daddy had to put ice on it and everything.”