Folly (35 page)

‘Let me just make sure about something in my diary here … I'll be with you mid-morning sometime.'

Suddenly the wintry chill of the living room seemed to have dispelled just a little.

‘That sounds great. I'm looking forward to seeing you before …' I swallowed. ‘Before you go.'

The next morning, I was ready by nine. I'd cleaned the house and done my best with my own appearance, lying down for half an hour with slices of cucumber over my eyes before covering my blotchy skin with make-up, although it didn't conceal the fact my eyes and face were still swollen.

At ten a. m. precisely, Simon pulled up outside the gate and I buzzed it open before walking out into the cool but sunny morning.

He parked the Jaguar in the spot where the Renault had been the day before. He climbed out of the car and walked over to me and I just had time to think that he looked stressed and more hollow-cheeked than usual before he wrapped his arms around me and held me so tightly that even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't have breathed. My face was pressed against his cheek and his lips were buried in my hair.

I could have stayed like that forever. Being held by him, and holding him in turn, felt so safe, so comforting. But our embrace was interrupted by a brief hoot outside the gate.

To my confusion, I saw that a new-looking panel van with ‘Jabulani Khaya Services' painted in bright blue letters on its side was waiting outside.

‘Would you mind opening the gate again?' Simon asked, gently freeing himself from my arms.

The van drove in and parked next to Simon's car. As the driver's door opened, Simon turned towards it with one arm still around me, and said, ‘Emma, this is Jabulani. He's one of our best contractors and he's come along to help me today.' The sturdily built black man stepped forward and shook my hand with a broad smile.

‘Where can we go to talk while Jabulani and his crew do some work in here?' Simon asked.

‘We could talk down there,' I pointed to the wooden bench sheltered under the bushwillow at the bottom of the paddock, then glanced back at Jabulani. ‘But what …?'

Simon didn't answer my half-formed question. He walked me out of the front door, stopping at his car to take out a couple of bottles of water before we made our way down through the grassy field to sit under the tree. Ace and Admiral followed us down, stretching their necks over the fence towards us in the hope that we'd brought them a treat.

‘Please explain,' he said softly, taking my hands in his. ‘What
is
your situation at home? With your husband? Help me to understand, because I'm really confused and I can't make sense of any of what I saw here on Thursday.'

I started to speak, slowly and haltingly, and my voice was laryngitishoarse, but I warmed into it. Simon plied me with water, and gradually it all started to pour out in a flood of words that to me sounded quite incoherent but somehow felt entirely cathartic.

Simon listened carefully while I told him all about Mark, and about the accident. The awful days at the hospital. The gradual abandonment of hope. The inexorable piling up of bills. The medical aid and insurance crisis. The advertising agency I worked for heading for bankruptcy and thus my retrenchment. Mr Ramsamy arriving at my front gate, and the disaster of the black-painted folly which I'd subsequently tried to make the best of. Mark's fucking awful family and the blonde I'd seen in the photo wearing my string of pearls.

‘Christ, Emma,' he spat out when I told him about Mark's betrayal, and his hands clamped tightly around mine.

‘I'm so sorry,' I said when my verbal diarrhoea finally started to plug itself up a little. ‘I never, ever wanted to lie about my circumstances. I hate telling lies and I hated having to lie to you even more. But I just hope you can see why I did it, and hopefully forgive me for it. It was to protect myself. I really didn't want you, or anybody, to know what the real situation was.'

‘I understand. Trust me, I understand now. And of course I forgive you – there is nothing to forgive, really. I just …' He fell silent for a few moments before adding, in a heartfelt tone, ‘Jesus, I just wish I'd known.'

Then his fingers gently cupped my face, pushing my hair back, and in his gaze I saw a deep regret

‘I'm sorry,' I repeated helplessly, feeling tears pricking at my eyes.

‘I should have called you back sooner. I'm sorry I didn't. Only I …' He let out a deep breath. ‘I jumped to the wrong conclusion about you, and I was trying to protect myself from getting hurt again.'

‘I should have explained everything to you much earlier on. And I was trying to protect myself, too. I didn't want to reveal my weakness.'

‘You're wrong there,' he said in a soft voice. ‘It's only now that I fully understand your strength.'

He leaned towards me and I barely had time to realise what he was going to do … what it signalled … before his mouth touched mine. They pressed harder and my own parted, his skin so smooth against mine. For a moment I could not dare to believe that this was happening – that his lips were exploring my own, their touch more tender than I had ever thought it would be, and more expert, too. My hands roamed under his jacket, feeling the tautness of his body and the heat of his skin through the silken fabric of his shirt.

I gave myself over to the tactile delight of this kiss, letting out a small moan as it deepened and our tongues caressed, sliding together in a sublimely sensual dialogue that was everything I had ever dreamed of.

In our actions, I sensed unfettered honesty, a physical attraction so powerful it could never be denied – and something more, something deeper, that neither of us had yet dared to name aloud.

Love?

Eventually, a quick hoot from the direction of the house interrupted us. We moved apart slightly, breathing hard. Looking round, I saw Jabulani standing by the open door of the van. I realised we had been talking for hours.

‘They're finished, then,' Simon said. His arms were still around me, holding me. Reluctantly, he released me before standing up and taking my hand. ‘Better go and have a look.'

Still clueless as to what they were up to, I walked back through the paddock and up to the house with him.

‘I'll be a minute or two,' Simon told Jabulani as they exchanged a conspiratorial glance. As I entered the house, my eyes were immediately drawn to the far wall of the open-plan living space.

I stopped in my tracks and stared, incredulous.

The depressing gaps in my kitchen were gone. In their place stood a large stainless steel sink with a white-painted wooden cupboard underneath … and a stunning, state-of-the-art, ninety-centimetre, ceramic-topped stove.

I turned back to Simon, open-mouthed. He should never, ever have gone to these lengths – thoughtful and wonderful as it was, this was far too generous a gesture. If he'd asked me before getting started, I would have categorically refused to allow it. Now, the gleam I saw in his eyes told me he'd anticipated that.

‘I don't know what to say to you,' I told him, my voice weak. ‘This isn't just … it's more than a kitchen makeover. This is giving me part of my life back. Cooking is a passion of mine – it's one of my very favorite pastimes.'

‘I know. I saw that.'

‘How can I thank you?'

‘By using it. And by making dinner for us when I see you again.'

‘When you …?'

His voice was serious. ‘I'm committed to going to Dubai. I can't change that now, or send anybody else in my place – not for the next few months, at least. But I want you to know that if I'd been aware of your situation a week ago, I would have made a different decision. I would have chosen to stay here and sent somebody in my place.'

I stood frozen in place, paralysed by the enormity of what he was saying and by what it implied.

He took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, what I can do is to try to make up for the mistake I made; try to make this work. I'm going to stay in touch with you. I'm going to come back to see you when I can. And you can expect to receive a lot more gifts,' he added, with a hint of a smile. ‘All I ask is that you stay in touch with me, too. No more professional boundaries. Are you ok with that?'

‘God, yes, of course, what a question!' I blurted out. ‘More than ok.'

Now his face warmed into a proper smile, the one that lit up his dark blue eyes.

“Good,” he said, grabbing my by the waist and pulling me towards him.

Relieved, elated and a little dizzy, I pressed myself against him, feeling him hold me tight and hard. As I melted into his arms and we kissed again, I had time to think I needed more, that I never wanted this to stop. And I wondered at how crazy and twisted, how back to front and upside down our relationship had been, that this stirring and beautiful act of kissing, which most couples did when they first met, we were only getting around to on the day we were saying goodbye.

as he smoothed his hands over my hair.

Finally we pulled ourselves apart. He stared down at me, breathing hard as he smoothed his hands over my hair.

‘If I don't go now, I never will,' he said.

‘Travel safe,' I said, hating the words.

When he was almost at the door he stopped and turned back.

‘I nearly forgot,' he added, taking something out of his pocket. ‘I'd like you to keep and use this while I'm away. You'd be doing me a huge favour if you would. It's fully insured, and I thought the cats might be lonely without it. Here, catch.'

He gently tossed a small object at me and, bending forward, I managed to snag it before it hit the ground.

When I looked up, he was gone. In my hand were the keys to the green Jaguar.

I walked over to my new sink and turned the tap on and off, touched the gleaming silver buttons on the stove. My kitchen, finally whole and complete.

Simon had tried to fill all the gaps he could before he left; the gaps he had seen in my life, even though we both knew that the biggest one of all was being caused by his going.

I wished our relationship was not so new, so fragile. We'd had too little time together. I needed more … so many experiences were still unshared. It was like a chain with only a few links welded together, strong and shiny, surrounded by many more unfinished, open Cs instead of whole and complete Os. The powerful forces of time and distance had snapped much stronger chains than ours. Had lesser ones survived? I didn't know, and could only pray that ours would hold.

At least it wouldn't be too long a wait … he would be back soon, if only for a visit. The three-year absence I'd dreaded so much had now been shortened to months, or perhaps even weeks.

I found myself smiling as I considered the options for our first dinner menu.

Champagne cocktails.

Truffled onion soup.

Chateaubriand with béarnaise and roast potatoes.

Punishment.

And then …

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I'd like to offer a very special dungeon thanks to the amazing people who have worked so hard to whip
Folly
into its current shape.

A loving and heartfelt birching to my wonderful partner Dion for his incredible support of and belief in this book, even though we know it is going to result in his family teasing him forevermore.

To my publisher Fourie Botha from Umuzi – in gratitude for his amazing enthusiasm for this project right from the start, I will force him to endure a protracted spell in the stocks.

I'd like to give a brutal six of the best, each, no begging for mercy allowed, to my wonderful agents Hannah Ferguson and Camilla Ferrier from the Marsh Agency as well as Debbie Gill from Maia Publishing Services in the uk, and to Stephany Evans and Becky Vinter from FinePrint Literary Management in the usa.

My incomparable editor, Frances Marks from Forzalibro Designs, deserves nothing less than to be restrained with tight cable ties round wrists and ankles while a bottle of Prosecco is opened just beyond her reach.

Finally, a thorough spanking will be administered to Fahiema Hallam from Umuzi as well as to the s&m team – yes, apparently they're really called that – for the fabulous work they have done in selling and marketing this book.

While doing research, I found
The Mistress Manual
by Mistress Lorelei (I'm guessing it's not her birth name) to be enormously helpful and interesting, and a must-read for every aspiring dominatrix.

The Saxon hotel does exist but in this book I have taken liberties with its decor and layout, as well as the activities that take place in certain of its bedrooms.

BY THE SAME AUTHOR:

Random Violence
, 2008
My Brother's Keeper
, 2009
Stolen Lives
, 2010
Worst Case
, 2011
Pale Horses,
2012

Published in 2013 by Umuzi
an imprint of Random House Struik (Pty) Ltd
Company Reg No 1966/003153/07
First Floor, Wembley Square, Solan Road,
Cape Town, 8001, South Africa
PO Box 1144, Cape Town, 8000, South Africa
[email protected]

www.randomstruik.co.za

© 2013 Jassy Mackenzie

www.jassymackenzie.com

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying and recording, or be stored in any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.

ISBN
978-1-4152-0391-0 (Print)
ISBN
978-1-4152-0544-0 (ePub)
ISBN
978-1-4152-0545-7 (
PDF
)

Cover design by publicide
Text design by Cherié Collins
Set in 10.8 on 14.5 pt Adobe Caslon Pro