Returning from the Dead: His Secret Lover novel Chapter 695

Steaming mug in hand, I pick up a large beach towel and, at the last moment, a cushion as well, and walk out onto the beach. Sitting on my towel and my cushion, I cradle the mug, staring out to sea.

There is only the slightest of breezes, blowing wisps of hair around my face, and the only sound is the rushing of the surf, a little way away.

The night is bright and moonlit, bright enough that I cast a shadow on the sands.

What did I do wrong?

I want to cry….

“May I join you?”

It is my Master. I do not speak, just shuffle up the towel to make room for him, wincing at the sting in my buttocks.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte. I owe you an apology.”

“Master?”

“You didn’t do anything. None of us can help how we feel inside. It’s how we deal with those reactions that counts. And I didn’t deal well with my own reactions today.”

I gulp down my milk, not knowing what to say.

“That smells good.”

“Would you like some of it, Master? Or I can make some more.”

“In a while, perhaps.”

Trivial words…. they don’t mean anything…

“If had been just you that was angry at me Master, it would have been bad enough, but when Michael was mad at me too, I thought…”

“I love you, Charlotte. Perhaps too much.”

I gulp another mouthful.

“And Michael loves you also.”

“Yes, he does.” says a voice from behind me.

Another beach towel ruffles up next to me, settling on the sand. Michael sits beside me.

“I came to apologise too. Neither of us behaved well today. And my behaviour was worse. I knew that how James reacted wasn’t right, but I let him do it anyway because I was jealous too.”

My Master continues, “Next time you meet Haswell, just do what any sane woman would do: be polite and remember that he’s a married man.”

“Who, incidentally,” says Michael, “has a reputation for adoring his wife; worships the ground she walks on apparently…”

I nod, unspeaking.

“It’s late,” says my Master. “Come back to bed?”

“In a while.” I stare out to sea, not looking at either of them. After a few minutes’ awkward silence, they both return to the house.

What am I doing here?

What kind of woman sets up with two men? Tries to make a threesome work?

Perhaps I should go…. I could make an early start on next year’s college work….

Quietly, I go back to the house, pack my laptop and a few other essentials into a rucksack. My clothes are mainly upstairs in the bedroom. I don’t want to go in there. I might wake them.

Putting on my stoutest shoes, walking boots I packed in case we went hiking in the mountains, I sling the rucksack over my shoulder. Slipping the two rings from my finger, I leave them on the mantle and slip out into the night.

“You think I can’t walk twenty miles? Watch me. Besides, it’s daylight now. I can thumb a lift.”

Both men look appalled. “No, you mustn’t do that, Charlotte,” says Michael. “It’s way too dangerous, especially for a girl like you.”

Dish-stacker man is standing beside us. “Are you okay, lady? These two bothering you?”

“Er no, I’m fine, thanks.”

He looks at me, clearly unconvinced, shrugs and goes.

“Dangerous?” I hiss. “Compared to what? Being strung up like a carcass by a man who has always promised me that when I say so, it stops.… But it didn’t stop, did it? I knew I’d upset you, so I allowed you to ‘discipline’ me. And your promise has always been that when I’ve had enough, it goes no further….” I run out of words and settle for staring out of the window, trying to control my breathing.

Michael tries to slide his hand over mine on the table, but I pull my hand away. “You think I don’t know about dangerous?” I continue. “You have no idea about me…”

“Please, Charlotte,” says Michael. “If you insist on leaving, then we won’t try to stop you, but at least let us drive you to the station and see you safely off.”

*****

The drive to the rail station is a strained silence. As the car pulls up, James is staring at the floor. Michael simply says, “Charlotte, please don’t go.”

I don’t reply. I don’t trust myself to speak. Swallowing hard against my tight throat, I step out of the car, haul my pack from the boot, and without looking back, walk into the station.

*****

The work is crummy, and I stink. Each night I come back ‘home’, reeking of greasy food and stale beer. But it’s work, and I earn enough to make the rent on my dismal little flat. If I can cover living expenses by working, then the cash I have in the bank should see me through for a good while. Textbooks, field trips, occasional extra tuition fees; the costs add up, but if I’m careful, I should manage.

But I am so tired. The long hours working in the cheap bar leave me exhausted, unable to think straight, unable to concentrate on anything academic. The advance work I had intended to do before the next semester falls away. I want to change my course, and it will be almost impossible to do if I haven’t completed the catch-up work before the main academic year.

Struggling with a text I am trying to make sense of, I give it up as a bad job. Tired already, the poor lighting is giving me a terrible headache.

And it is almost time for my next shift.