Lord and Master (31 page)

It became clear that Viktor didn't think much of Florian, and that Florian's debts to him led the Russian to believe he was justified in making himself at home not just in the lodge but in Arborage itself, which he had plans to visit within the month. Luna shuddered at the thought of it, and knew she would have to inform the Marchioness. Viktor appeared to have rather more respect for Gus, who had taken him deer stalking that morning, and as billiards progressed into pre-dinner drinks in the snug, Viktor invited Gus to join them, to Florian's evident annoyance.

Luna meanwhile, assuming that she wasn't needed for this portion of the evening, approached Florian to ask to be excused. Only for him to hand her his empty cut-glass tumbler.

‘Fetch me a whiskey, like a good girl,' he said.

‘And me,' said the wraith-thin Parisian prostitute, for that was clearly what these women were, standing next to him. She held out her glass to Luna impatiently.

‘Yes,' Florian announced. ‘Luna will come around and freshen your drinks for you, and shortly we'll adjourn to the dining room for our meal.' Luna hesitated, wanting nothing more than to slap Florian in his florid face and unleash a string of French invectives on the woman.

And then she did as she was told.

After she'd finished her bartending duties, Gus abruptly pulled her aside.

‘What the hell is going on, Luna? Why does he think he can treat you this way and why are you letting him? I've got catering staff waiting in the dining room and I'd have sorted out a bartender too if he'd asked. The Marchioness—'

‘—is the one who's asked me to do this for Mr Wellstone, Gus. It's fine,' Luna said tightly.

And so the evening continued. Florian told her to stay for dinner, so she did. He told her to stay for after dinner drinks, so she did. Gus left at just after midnight, but not before firmly instructing her to ring his mobile if she needed him.

Finally at 1.30 in the morning, as she sat in a chair near the door of the study, nursing a glass of ginger ale, Florian turned towards her from the table where he was playing poker with Viktor and two of his associates. Snapping his fingers, he gestured for her to approach. Not content with her merely coming and standing behind him, he waited until she'd bent down close to him to whisper, ‘You can go.'

She straightened and began to walk away, missing some comment Florian made that caused Viktor to laugh loudly. She could imagine what it might be, and her blood boiled at the thought that he was portraying her as his sex partner. As she exited the room, she caught a glimpse of herself in the ornate mirror that hung just next to the door, where the prostitute wraith was reapplying her lipstick. The prostitute's eyes met hers in the reflection and she lifted an eyebrow as if to say, ‘The things we women must do to make a living, eh?'

And then Luna knew shame. That she had allowed herself to get into this situation. That she had followed the Marchioness's instructions to the letter when surely, surely, her employer couldn't have meant for her to debase herself this way. She locked her door when she got up to her room on the second floor and lay down on the bed fully clothed, simultaneously exhausted and jittery. How much longer was this going to go on? How much more degradation could she bear?

Her mobile rang and her heart leapt with joy to see Stefan's name on the caller ID.

‘Hi,' she said.

‘Did I wake you,
flicka
?'

Luna felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes at the sound of his voice, his familiar, reasonable, lovely voice. She swallowed them and replied, ‘No, no. I'm at the lodge in Scotland. I've been, uh, helping out here with a meeting Florian is having, whilst the Marchioness is at the hospital with the Marquess.'

‘Really. And has my cousin had you out hunting all day?'

And if it pained Luna to find him unconcerned that she was at Florian's beck and call, she tried to swallow that too. ‘No, serving him drinks more like,' she joked, her throat aching suddenly.

‘I'm coming back to London at the end of the week, just for a night, and then I have to go to Stockholm.'

She heard him sigh and she asked, ‘Are you okay?'

‘I'm good, yes.'

‘You don't sound it.'

‘It's been a difficult few weeks, that's all. I'll tell you about it when I see you.'

‘Why don't you tell me now? I'm told I'm a very good listener,' she smiled into her mobile.

There was a brief silence on the line, as if he was weighing up what to tell her, but then he said, ‘I confess, it is not your listening skills I am missing the most right now…'

They talked for another ten minutes and she felt better, lighter after the call ended. She reminded herself of her mantra.
Her Ladyship is counting on me. And Stefan loves me.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise that when Luna told Florian she hoped to leave the office promptly at five o'clock on Friday, he came up with an urgent task for her at 4.55. He needed dinner reservations for himself and Viktor, who had travelled back together from Scotland that morning. Plus their entourage.

‘The Ivy, I think. Yes, the Ivy,' he said, rubbing his hands together. But when it transpired that they could only be seated there at 9.30, he changed his mind. ‘Try Quaglino's.' And so it went for another hour, him continually finding fault with his own choices. He seemed to sense her eagerness to escape and take pleasure from delaying her.

Finally, when she'd dotted every i and crossed every last t, she walked into the Marchioness's office and asked if it was alright for her to leave.

‘Sssit down a moment, Luna,' he said, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk. Resisting the urge to scream with frustration, Luna sat. Florian, who was leaning back in his chair – or rather, Lady Wellstone's chair, which Luna intended to have thoroughly fumigated before her return – drummed his fingertips on his knees for a moment, taking his sweet time.

‘I have to say,' he said eventually, ‘that when Augusta asked for my help running Arborage during thisss…difficult time, I came into it with low expectations of you.'

Luna clamped her jaw shut and said nothing.

‘But you've surprised me with your willingnesss to take instruction and curb your wayward tendensssies.' Florian rotated the Marchioness's chair to and fro speculatively. ‘You've fulfilled my needs quite adequately, which is more than I can say for others in the estate's employ…' He sat forward and the chair snapped to attention with a judder. He rose and came around the desk to stand behind Luna. She could feel him hovering, and taste his awful cologne in her mouth.

‘I wanted you to know that your efforts are appreciated—'

‘Thank you,' she said.

‘I wasn't finished,' he said sharply, then resumed in a more mellifluous tone, ‘I wanted you to know that your efforts are appreciated, and that I would ssseriously consider an application from you to continue in your current capacity, when the time comes.'

When your brother's dead, you mean, she thought acridly. It was too much. She stood up in a rush, desperate now to get away from him. But he was between her and the door.

‘Obviously, some things would have to change. Augusta has allowed you certain liberties, given you responsibility beyond your station, but if you were willing to submit yourself to my tutelage…'

What the— What the
fuck
? thought Luna. His tiny dark eyes were shining and, God save her, there was a trace of perspiration on his upper lip. He was getting off on this!

Feeling nauseous, Luna stumbled, ‘I— well, I do have to go now,' feinting slightly to the right before sliding to the left, past him and out of the door.

‘Think about it, little ice princesss,' he called after her. And then she heard him laughing.

The sound of his laughter haunted her all the way to Stefan's apartment, where she arrived just before eight to find a note from him on the coffee table reading, ‘Gone running. Back soon.' Feeling deflated, she helped herself to a bottle of his Swedish water from the fridge, sat down on the sofa and opened her laptop. She had work to do, work she'd been putting off for too long.

The lift doors opened half an hour later to reveal Stefan, panting and dripping with sweat. Luna stood and went to hug him, but he held her at arm's length, saying, ‘Let me shower first. I'll be quick,' planting a swift kiss on her lips and heading for his bedroom.

She heard the sound of water running and returned to her laptop, becoming so engrossed that she jumped when Stefan's hands came to rest on her shoulders. Tilting her head back to smile at him, she said, ‘You're clean.'

‘I'm clean,' he agreed, and gave her a long, slow upside down kiss, eventually breaking off and enquiring against her chin, ‘Have you eaten?'

‘No.' She reached up and rubbed his cheek and he pressed his hand over hers, kissing her wrist.

‘Pizza?'

‘That would be great.'

So he got on with ordering it, pouring two glasses of wine and delivering hers with his mobile cradled to his ear. As he finished placing their order, she put her laptop on the coffee table and walked up behind him in the kitchen, putting her arms around his waist and resting her head against his back. He put his mobile on the work surface and clasped her hands in his.

‘I've missed this,' he sighed, though his body was tight against hers. And his expression, when he turned to face her, looked tense.

‘Was Berlin as bad as all that?' she asked winsomely, and when his face didn't lighten she added, ‘Hey, please tell me. Are things not going according to plan? Are you going to have to spend more time there?'

‘No, no more Berlin for me, not now,' he said, his voice resigned, but…bitter, almost. ‘I've just finished my last assignment there for the foreseeable future, and this week I pulled the plug on our plans to open a new office in the city.'

Luna shook her head, confused. ‘But, this business opportunity of yours—'

‘—means abandoning my plans for expansion into Germany.'

Luna was flummoxed – she had assumed that all the time Stefan was spending in Berlin meant his business opportunity must lie there.

‘And it wouldn't be so bad,' he went on, ‘if I hadn't had a handshake agreement in place with someone to manage the new office for me, who I've had to let down.' He ran a hand through his hair, hunching his shoulders. ‘It's just…hard to let this go. Something I've been working towards for so long.'

‘I'm sorry,' Luna said, putting her arms around his neck and drawing him to her. She felt suddenly inadequate; that all this had been going on in his life and she'd had no idea, engrossed as she was in her own worries.

‘Well,' he said into her hair. ‘It's finished now. And at least I will be travelling less.'

She kissed his jaw and his hands moved to her back, tightening against her. He brought his mouth down to hers, gently at first, but as the pull between them shifted and deepened, his kisses became more demanding. He brought a hand down to her bottom, lifting her skirt to pull her thigh against him, something like a growl escaping him as he traced the line of her stocking.

‘Take your knickers off,' he ordered her, unbuttoning his jeans as he watched her slip them to the floor. She'd hardly stepped out of them when he grabbed her and hoisted her up onto the counter. ‘Put your legs around me,' he commanded, pulling her roughly towards him. And then he impaled her, driving his cock deep into her and crushing his mouth down on hers. Unsatisfied with his angle of entry, he lifted her against him and swung her hard up against the fridge. It rocked backwards, glass bottles jangling together inside, then tinkling rhythmically as he thrust himself into her over and over again, his hands clamped on her ass.

He came with a roar, head thrown back so far she could see the veins standing out on his neck. It scared her a little, the intensity of it.

Later, after they'd eaten, he told her apologetically that he had to do some work and Luna replied, ‘It's fine. I have work to do too.' So for another hour or so they sat together on the sofa, both pecking away on their respective laptops. It had been such a strange and unsettling night that it came as a relief when he finally closed his laptop and nestled up against her, resting his head on her shoulder.

‘So, what has you so hard at work this late on a Friday night, Miss Gregory?' he asked.

‘My CV,' she said. Florian's behaviour that afternoon had finally tipped the scales for her, spurred her into action.

Stefan sat up and looked at her. ‘Has it been that bad lately?'

Luna had to physically prevent herself from pouring out just how bad it had been, the last thing Stefan needed to be burdened with after the time he'd had in Berlin. She shrugged slightly, keeping her eyes on her laptop screen.

‘But surely, the Marquess will be out of hospital soon and Augusta will be back to work, and things will go back to normal.'

Luna met his eyes and said quietly, ‘Stefan, the Marquess is dying. And when he's gone Florian is going to take a scythe to the staff, and one of the people he will get rid of is me.' Even if he didn't, she had absolutely no interest in a future at Arborage under his ‘tutelage'. The mere thought of it made bile rise in her throat.

‘And do you think that others in the staff feel the same as you? That their positions are at risk?'

‘I'd be very surprised if they didn't. Florian has a lot of scores to settle…'

‘Who in particular?'

‘Well, Roland, for one. And Marta.' Luna exhaled with frustration. ‘Really, it's harder finding the people on staff Florian
does
like.' Stefan appeared to be considering her words, and as the silence stretched out between them, Luna felt an inexplicable need to defend herself. ‘I have to consider my position, Stefan. One way or another, my job is going to come to an end. The sooner I start preparing—'

‘But these things have a way of getting out, Luna. You or Roland go to see a headhunter and news starts to spread of staff trouble at Arborage…it could be very damaging for the estate at a particularly crucial time.'

Luna looked down at her hands, still resting on the keyboard. ‘You think I'm being disloyal. To the Marchioness,' she said, her voice small.

Stefan said nothing in response, but she felt the weight of his judgment in what he wasn't saying. Reaching her hand up to her laptop screen, she pulled it shut.

*

Florian gave Luna a bit of a breather early the next week, opting to stay in his Mayfair apartment for the first half of the week. The phone calls continued, however, and on Tuesday morning he called to announce his plans to host Viktor and an ‘intimate group' of fifteen guests at Arborage that weekend. Nothing but the best would do for them, he said, and Luna's head spun at the list of requirements he reeled off: beluga caviar, Krug champagne, Montecristo cigars, Talisker eighteen-year-old single malt whiskey.

‘God, I hate him. I hate him so much,' Caitlin exclaimed ferociously when Luna met up with her and Roland for coffee in the garden centre and told them about Florian's plans. ‘You have to tell Lady Wellstone about this. He'd never dare try a stunt like this if she were here.'

‘Yes, but he'll know it was me who told her. Until she and the Marquess are back at the house, he can still make things very unpleasant for me.'

Caitlin bit her lip, nodding. Roland, however, simply shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. ‘You're letting him get to you too much. Rise above it. Humour him.'

Luna blinked at him. This, from the man who only a few days previously had sounded like he'd all but given up hope. Caitlin appeared to agree with her.

‘Well thank you, Pollyanna,' the press officer said caustically.

Roland raised his hands and added, ‘I'm just saying, things look dark now, but we need to keep our chins up.'

‘That's right, remember the Dunkirk spirit,' Caitlin mocked.

‘Keep calm and carry on,' Luna rejoined, and at Roland's rather miffed expression, the two women started to laugh. For a brief moment, she felt less alone than she had for the past month. Buoyed by their chat, she went back to her desk and phoned the Marchioness, but got her voicemail. Leaving a brief, non-specific message, she rung off and began working on the massive shopping list Florian had lumbered her with.

Her conversation with Lady Wellstone the following morning resolved nothing for Luna. Though she was considerably more frank regarding Florian's behaviour than she had dared to be in previous phone calls, recounting his humiliating demands on her in Scotland and none-too-subtle offer of continued employment in exchange for accepting his ‘tutelage', the Marchioness seemed neither surprised by her revelations nor prepared to act upon them.

‘But he's planning to bring this Viktor here, to Arborage,' Luna protested. ‘It doesn't feel right…'

‘You were right to come to me, my dear,' the Marchioness said. ‘But I need you to be patient for a little while longer. Go ahead and arrange this party for Florian. Order everything he's asked for, make all the arrangements he requires. Say nothing to him about this conversation. I promise you this is almost over.'

Luna couldn't understand it. Any of it. Why, if it really was almost over, why allow Florian's bacchanalia to proceed? Why let this Russian thug and his friends come anywhere near Arborage? What possible reason could there be for going this far to satisfy Florian's appetites?

He returned to the house on Wednesday evening, forcing her to work well into the night going through his checklist with him. She finally managed to escape just after 9pm, but not before Florian issued some personal instructions for the following day.

‘Wear something nice, eh? Rather than your usual Victorian school mistress outfits. And do something with your hair. Viktor likes to see women dressed as women, not nuns.'

Luna walked up to her attic room with her fists clenched. She sat down on the sofa, but found she was too agitated to sit still so she began pacing the room. She was fed up of feeling scared and alone, abused by Florian, abandoned by the Marchioness. She thought about what Nancy would say if she had the guts to tell her about all this – Nancy would tell her to stop being a carpet everyone walked over, that no job was worth what she was putting herself through. Then she thought what Stefan would say, if he found out his cousin wanted her to dress like a slut for him.

The next morning she got up and pulled out her most severe, professional outfit, her tailored black suit and white silk blouse. She showered and brushed her hair till it gleamed, carefully pulling it back into a tight, immovable bun. She eschewed all jewellery and applied a bare minimum of makeup, studying the end result in her sitting room mirror.