Eighty Days Yellow (13 page)

The crypt was tucked into a side street, the only clue confirming its location a small brass plaque on the left-hand side of the wooden door. Gingerly, I pushed it open and walked inside, finding a set of steps leading steeply down into a pool of darkness.

I had swapped my flat shoes for heels a block earlier, which now caught on the uneven stone floor, causing me to lose my balance and nearly plunging me head first down the stairs as I fumbled unsuccessfully against the wall on my right for a handrail.

My breath caught in my throat. Not with fear, though common sense dictated that I should be nervous, should have told someone where I was going, arranged a safety call. I hadn’t told anyone, even Charlotte, about the Bailly or the crypt. This new turn in my life seemed too odd to share. Besides, I shrugged, if Dominik had wanted to kill me, he’d had ample opportunity to do so already.

The constriction in my stomach, the rapid beat of my heart, wasn’t wholly nerves. I was excited. Playing with three new musicians would be a challenge, for sure, but I had practised the piece until I could play it note perfect under any circumstance. And I knew Dominik would take no pleasure in an afternoon that did not run to his satisfaction. Whatever he had in store, I was sure that he had planned every detail with a view to achieving perfection, including my performance.

There was the added matter of my impending nakedness, of course, but the thought of performing nude for Dominik actually excited me more than it antagonised me. I had always been something of an exhibitionist, a nugget of information that he had evidently stored away from the details I had provided to him of my first sexual experience.

Still, I was little reticent, and part of that, I supposed, was the thought of being on such public display. I was comfortable walking naked around my own living room, but deliberately undressing for a virtual stranger was another matter altogether. I wasn’t sure that I could go through with it. My mind was at war. If I refused, I’d show him that he’d got to me, ruffled my feathers, but if I agreed, he’d still be the one calling the shots. Then there was that thought in the back of my head that I just couldn’t shake. The entire situation turned me on. But why? What was wrong with me?

I decided to at least ready myself for the possibility of taking off my clothes. Then I could decide when the moment came.

My preparations for the event today had been intensive, beyond rehearsing the music. I had showered slowly that morning, carefully shaved my legs and then hovered briefly over my bikini line. To shave, or not to shave? That was the question. Darren had preferred me completely bare, and consequently I had grown it out, my own small rebellion. He had hardly ever gone down on me anyway.

What would Dominik prefer? I wondered.

He was an unusual man who had so far demonstrated a taste for richness, for detail, and I suspected that his sexual tastes would run to the exotic. Perhaps he would like my hair. The slight musky smell, the covering. My mind danced ahead, down dark pathways, thoughts sharply curtailed by my sense of reason. I pushed my fantasies out of my head. Dominik had enough of a window into my soul already. Thank God the rest of the quartet would be blindfolded and unable to bear witness.

In the end, I decided just to trim and tidy a little, opting to keep my pubic hair as a curtain, just an inch or two of privacy. I would not be completely naked for him, yet.

I made my way slowly to the bottom of the steps, found another wooden door, pushed it open. My senses were immediately assailed by the almost cloying, thicker nature of the air in the crypt, the feeling of being underground, entombed. The ceiling was high, but the room narrow, and a sweep of arches overhead made it seem closed, claustrophobic. I was reminded, momentarily, of the dungeon in the fetish club that I had visited with Charlotte. The crypt fitted much better with my idea of a dungeon.

The walls were bathed in a low, electric light, which contrasted oddly with the ancient feel of the place, and the smell of recently lit candles. It was a little cold, though I was sure that if there was a light switch, there must be some method of heating down here. Perhaps Dominik had ordered the heaters switched off, for authenticity. Or perhaps he wanted to watch the response of my skin as the cool air brushed my body. I gripped the case of the Bailly tighter and banished the thought from my mind.

Spotting the three musicians on the slightly raised front dais, I headed towards them, my high heels skittering across the stone floor, echoes bouncing back, musically. My earlier trepidation was replaced suddenly by joy: the acoustics were indeed incredible and the Bailly would sound amazing in here. Dominik would soon experience the recital of his life. That, at least, I could guarantee.

The rest of the quartet was in position, waiting for me, but as promised, I saw no sign of Dominik. I made my introductions, communication a little awkward at first, the situation being really rather extraordinary for all of us.

They were each dressed in black suits and crisp white shirts, offset by black bow ties. Two of them, the violinist and the viola players, were men, and rather quiet. The cellist, who introduced herself as Lauralynn, appeared to be the leader of the pack, and she talked for all three. She was confident, though not annoying with it. American, from New York, studying music in London. She was tall, with long legs, Amazonian in shape and had dressed like the men, in a shirt and tie, and a black jacket with tails, cut short in the body to emphasise her waist and hips. With her flock of blonde hair and delicate features, she made a curious mix of both masculinity and femininity in the traditional sense of the words, and was very attractive with it.

‘So do you know Dominik?’ I asked.

‘Do you?’ she replied coyly.

Her fleeting expression of wicked amusement made me wonder if Dominik had told her more about his plans than he had let on to me, though she continued to deflect all of my questions. Eventually, I gave up asking and got on with the business of rehearsing. We didn’t have much time.

It’s a fairly intense piece, a little dark, but an excellent choice for the setting, and Dominik was right: Lauralynn and her two shy partners did know it well.

I heard Dominik’s footsteps before I noticed him coming, his shoes tapping sharply on the stone floor, a staccato drumbeat juxtaposing the sustained harmonic E in the last movement that I was coaxing from the Bailly as he approached the stage.

He nodded to me in acknowledgement and then signalled to the musicians that they should put on their blindfolds.

They did.

Evidently he had not let them know that I would be nude throughout the actual performance, as he stepped up onto the stage and whispered a soft instruction into my ear. His lips nearly brushed my lobe and my face warmed in response.

‘You may undress.’

I had worn my shorter black dress this time, rather than the long velvet one, as it attracted less attention during a daytime commute. It was a one-shouldered affair, shaped to fit my body, with a hidden side zip. I had purposefully not worn a bra, so that when I disrobed, if I disrobed, my skin would be free from strap marks. I had nearly not worn underwear for the same reason, but changed my mind at the last moment, and was glad I had when the short dress rode up as I navigated the wide step from tube platform to train at Bank station.

Dominik stepped back down again onto the main floor and took a seat in the single chair placed facing the stage, staring at me, expressionless under his ever-present façade of politeness, sheltered by a thin wall of reserve that I reckoned hid a much more animal nature than he at first let on.

Whatever it would take to break him of that, I would like to try.

I took a breath and resolved to do it.

I slid a hand to my side, held Dominik’s gaze and pulled at my zip.

It stuck.

Dominik’s eyes flashed as I struggled with my dress. Damn. And was that another grin spreading across Lauralynn’s face? Could she see me through that thick blindfold?

My cheeks burned as I imagined her gaze on my body also.

I must be the colour of a fire engine now. I had hoped at least that I would manage to drop my dress in one graceful movement, the way leading ladies always do in films. I should have practised disrobing at home. I’d die before I asked for Dominik’s help. Finally, I kicked the dress off, then reddened further as I realised I would have to bend over to remove my underwear. I turned a little, to hide the freefall of my breasts, before realising how foolish my reticence must look, as I knew I would have to play for him front on.

I picked up my violin, fought a sudden urge to use the instrument to hide the completeness of my nudity from him a moment longer and then turned back, placed the Bailly under my chin and began. Fuck nudity, and fuck Dominik. A flash of irritation shook me before the music took over.

Next time, if there was a next time, he would not see me vulnerable when I undressed.

Finally, the music drew to a close and I loosened my grip on the neck of my violin. I brought it down, away from my chin to rest against my side, not in front of me. I faced Dominik as he deliberately, slowly clapped his hands together, an enigmatic smile spreading across his face. I noticed my bow hand was shaking, I was panting a little, and my forehead felt damp, as if I’d just finished a five-mile run. I must have been really going for it, though I had realised none of this while playing, my mind full of thoughts of Eastern Europe, Edwina Christiansen and the wealth of stories that must be held within the Bailly.

I wondered when I would next be able to afford a city break. Financial constraints being what they were, I hadn’t travelled in Europe nearly as much as I would have liked.

Dominik interrupted my daydream with a gentle cough.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

I nodded in acknowledgement.

‘You may go now. I would see you out, but I need to say my goodbyes to your fellow players and settle their remuneration. You can find your own way to the exit safely, I trust?’

‘Of course.’

I slipped my dress back on, faking a purposeful nonchalance this time, although I felt anything but, and ignored his quip about making a safe exit.

Perhaps he’d somehow known I’d nearly catapulted down the stairs on my way in.

‘Thank you,’ I said to my three accompanying musicians, all still seated and blindfolded, awaiting Dominik’s next instruction. It was evident he had previously furnished them all with very precise instructions as to the sequence of events and their conduct.

I wished, not for the first time, that I knew exactly what he had done to secure their compliance. What was this effect that he had over people? Especially the girl.

Lauralynn didn’t strike me as the obedient type. Quite the reverse.

I had noted the way that her thighs hugged the cello, and remembered how despite the initial apparent gentleness of her grip round its neck, she had played it almost viciously, as if she were wringing out melodies against the instrument’s will.

She smiled wickedly again, directly at me; this time I was sure she was in on the game or could somehow see me through her blindfold.

I picked up my case, turned and strode to the exit, my posture as businesslike as I could manage. We had both fulfilled our sides of the bargain; I had my violin, he’d had his naked recital.

I pushed open the door that led from the crypt to the base of the stairs and stopped, leaning against the cool stone wall to collect my thoughts.

Was that really it, our deal complete? I should have been pleased, but couldn’t shake a lingering sensation of regret. As if I hadn’t given him enough in return for the instrument. Charlotte would say I’d done well out of it, but I felt incomplete somehow.

I took a breath and headed up the stairs without looking back.

I arrived home at my flat in Whitechapel, thrilled to find the hallway and shared bathroom empty. My neighbours were out. Good. I wouldn’t need to make the usual polite small talk, or worry about them suspecting what I was up to, as I disappeared into my bedroom to relieve the now almost painful throb of arousal that had distracted me all the way home.

I had my hand between my legs the moment I kicked my bedroom door closed, dipping my index finger inside myself to collect some lubrication before running the pad of my fingertip in quick, clockwise circles. I eyed my laptop briefly, considered watching a YouPorn clip to speed things along a bit.

Darren had hated me watching porn. He had caught me at it once with a magazine that I found under his mattress, and he had sulked all evening. When I asked him what upset him so much he said that he knew women masturbated, he just didn’t think they did it like
that
. I never did work out whether he was jealous or just thought me unladylike, but since our break up I had taken a particular thrill out of my new freedom to do whatever I liked. Still, in the state that I was in now, it wouldn’t take long to reach orgasm, and finding a clip that would work for me would take longer than it was worth. I replayed that afternoon’s adventures in my head instead.

I remembered, suddenly, the way my nipples had hardened in response to the cool air in the crypt – or had it been in response to Dominik’s gaze? And Lauralynn’s? I flipped up the catch on my window with my left hand, without easing the pressure of the fingers on my right, still busy with the task at hand. I unzipped my dress, easily this time – typical – and kicked it off. I had slipped my underwear into my purse rather than wriggling into it again in front of Dominik and was now completely naked, other than my high heels, enjoying the brush of cool air from the open window that now caressed my body.

I closed my eyes, and instead of falling back onto the bed as I usually did, I spread my legs and fingered myself in front of an imaginary audience by the window.

It was the memory of Dominik’s last command that finally sent me over the edge, the tone in his voice as I had bent down to undo the ankle straps of my shoes.

‘No. Leave them on.’

It was not even a challenge; there was no question at all in his voice, no thought that I might not do as he said, even though I didn’t think I seemed in any way to be the meek sort. That sense of authority, for some reason that I just couldn’t explain, sent me into waves of ecstasy.