‘I…’
‘No, Ava. This is not up for discussion. End of.’ It’s that tone—the one I know, for absolutely sure, never to challenge. ‘Never, no way.’ He shakes his head. He’s horrified at the thought, clearly.
‘What do you think they’ll do?’
‘I don’t know, but I’m not giving them the chance.’ He takes my hand and starts leading me from his office.
‘You pay your taxes and so do I. It’s a privilege to have a National Health Service. You should be grateful.’
‘I am, it’s wonderful, but we won’t be utilising it. End of.’
‘Neurotic,’ I mutter, looking up at him on a grin.
My grin is returned, even though I can see he’s trying to remain serious. ‘-ish.’ he replies. ‘I like your dress.’ His eyes wander down the front of my nude structured pencil dress, as do mine.
‘Thank you.’
‘I want to show you something. Come on.’ He opens the door and places his hand on the small of my back to guide me.
‘What?’ I ask, letting my body be gently pushed from his office and down the corridor.
I shiver when I feel his mouth at my ear. ‘You’ll see.’
I’m curious, and I’m also feeling… a little breathless. Just from a few whispered words and his hand on my body, I’m mentally begging for him. Pregnancy might be responsible, or it could just be him. No, it’s the latter, for sure, but combined I could be in a whole heap of sexual trouble.
We pass the members of The Manor in the summer room, Jesse nodding, me smiling sweetly, and make our way up the stairs until we’re walking down the corridor to the extension.
He opens the door to the very last room, the one I fled from, the one I sat on my arse sketching drafts in, and the one in which I received my warning from Sarah. I don’t particularly like this room, but as I’m pushed through and the whole area comes into view, I gasp.
It’s no longer an empty shell of raw plaster and a rough wooden floor. It’s now a palatial space, garnished in sumptuous materials, all in black and gold. I gingerly wander in, gazing around, drinking in the stunning space. The huge bed that I sketched has come to life and is dominating the room, dressed in pale gold satin with huge, black lace calla lilies embroidered across the material. The windows are adorned with heavy gold drapes of the same material, and the floor is soft and squidgy under my heels. I look down and find I’m standing on a gigantic plush rug, so thick that I can’t see the tops of my feet. I trail my eyes across the walls, finding the paper I picked on one wall and the three remaining walls painted in a dull gold to match the bedding and curtains. It’s almost an exact replica of my rough drawing.
I turn to face Jesse. ‘You did this?’
He shuts the door quietly. ‘I gave someone your drawing and told them to create it. Is it close?’
‘It is. When?’ I ask.
‘It doesn’t matter when. What matters is if you like it.’ He’s trying to gage my reaction, looking a little cautious and maybe even a little nervous, too.
‘It’s perfect.’
He was nervous because he has just visibly relaxed. ‘It’s ours.’
My eyes widen a little. ‘Ours?’ What does he mean by that? Does he want us to live here? I’m not living here.
He must catch the worry on my face because he smiles mildly. ‘No one has ever been in this room and no one ever will be. This is our room. If I’m working and you’re with me, maybe you’ll want a sleep or some rest.’
‘You mean when I have swollen ankles or exhaustion from carrying too much weight?’ I’m suddenly contemplating the awful thought that we’re having a baby, we are starting a family, and The Manor will be a huge feature and presence in our lives. My baby’s daddy owns a sex club. Once I have this baby, I’ll never want to bring it here, and with Jesse working I’ll hardly see him. He’ll hardly see us. The terrifying, unsure feelings are still lying dormant, and with this sudden realisation, they are threatening to rear their ugly head and send me back a few paces. He’ll never sell this place. He’s already confirmed that. It was Carmichael’s baby.
‘I mean, if we need it, it will be here.’ he says quietly.
I don’t want to need it. If we were never here, then we wouldn’t need it. I don’t say that, though. He’s gone to all of this trouble for me, so instead, I break my eyes away from Jesse’s thoughtful greens and cast them around the pale gold walls. There’s no wall art, no pictures or decorative pieces.
Except the cross.
My eyes remained fixed on the giant, dark wooden crucifix, and I notice at each end of the horizontal piece of wood spanning two thirds of the way up, there are manacles—shiny, gold, intricately carved pieces of mental bolted to the far edges to hold something in place.
To hold a person in place.