A Talent for Surrender Read online

  ‘Thank you. And you must call me Dan. Let me tell you about the project. Hopefully, that should put your mind at ease.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘You’re right when you say my films usually have a hidden agenda. It’s always my intention to get my subjects to reveal more than they intend, because that’s what the public wants to see; the real person, not the public face they hide behind.’

  ‘It’s interesting that you achieve that by hiding your true self then.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is. But I’m full of paradoxes and contradictions, I always have been. And it gets results.’

  ‘I must say, this isn’t inspiring me with confidence. You admit you have a secret agenda and still expect me to agree to it . . .’

  Dan shook his head. ‘I think you misunderstand the intention of the film. You see it’s the kids I’m really interested in, not the school as such. I want them to show me their true selves. Teenagers embody the kind of paradox we’ve been talking about. They show one face to their parents, another to teachers and yet another to their friends; different faces to different groups of friends, in fact. They’re in the process of discovering who they are and trying to fit into a world they don’t understand. They try on different personas, they keep secrets as a matter of course; that boy Josh who was in here, for example – that’s what I’m interested in. The school itself doesn’t come into it.’

  ‘That’s interesting. Of course, I’d have to get permission from the parents.’

  ‘I understand that. I want to contrast two differing groups of kids; the other group will be from a comprehensive school. Public schools are even more of an anachronism these days than they used to be; completely removed from most people’s experience so I didn’t want to go for that. Hall Croft is ideal because it’s a small private school; the kind of thing more and more parents can afford these days. I want to get them to tell me how they feel about sex, drugs and life in general, then discuss what they say to their parents about those things. I think it has potential.’

  Dan’s eyes glistened with enthusiasm as he spoke. He was leaning forwards slightly in his chair, legs crossed and hands folded in his lap. Jo noticed that his fingers were long and slender and he had a gold signet ring on his right little finger. Though he was simply dressed in black trousers and sweater, she was fairly certain the sweater was cashmere and she recognised his watch as a Rolex.

  ‘And you’re certain nothing in it will reflect badly on the school?’

  ‘Not at all. If you like, we don’t even need to identify it. I’ll agree to whatever terms you feel necessary.’

  ‘OK . . . I’ll have to think about this for a while. If I decide it’s feasible I’ll have to arrange a meeting of the governors and run it by them. How does that sound?’

  ‘It sounds wonderful, thank you. Would you want me to come to the governors meeting? I’m perfectly happy if you think it would help.’

  ‘Yes, thank you. But, as I say, I need to sleep on it. I’m curious. What made you interested in Hall Croft in the first place? There are plenty of private schools, why mine?’

  ‘Actually, it was my sister’s idea. I was talking to her about the project and told her we were trying to find a suitable school. Her kids come here; Emma and Alex Colston. Emma does her GCSEs next year and Alex just sat his A-Levels. He’s got a place at Durham in October.’

  ‘I had no idea, but now I know I can see a family resemblance between you and Alex. He’s definitely inherited the height gene from your side of the family.’

  ‘Yes, he’s going through a terribly gangly phase at the moment. I remember it well. I was growing so fast I felt like a stork; it was hard for my mind to keep up with my ever-lengthening limbs.’

  ‘He’s also something of a charmer. I can see where he gets it from now.’

  ‘You flatter me.’ Dan waved the compliment away with the back of his hand. ‘Anyway, Alex speaks very highly of you.’

  ‘Really? What does he say?’

  ‘Well . . . as a matter of fact he reckons you’re pretty sexy for a teacher and I have to admit that now I’ve met you I agree with him.’ Dan leaned forward and looked at her over the top of his glasses. ‘Is it true that you always wear stockings, never tights? That’s what Alex says anyway, but I’m perfectly willing to believe it might just be wishful thinking on his part. After all, eighteen-year-old boys do tend to have one-track minds.’

  Jo smiled. Dan was still leaning towards her. His glasses had slid down his nose a little so she could see straight into his eyes. Without the barrier of the lenses, they were even more captivating. The swirling patterns in his irises reminded her of old-fashioned glass marbles. The hairs on the back of her neck were erect and sensitive and, as she opened her mouth to speak, she realised she’d been holding her breath.

  ‘No, I don’t. In fact sometimes I’m completely naked.’

  He raised one eyebrow like a villain from a Victorian melodrama but the interest and arousal she saw in his eyes was genuine.

  ‘Are you wearing them today?’ He mimed twirling a waxed moustache.

  ‘Why? Do you want to borrow them? They might be a bit small for you but I’ve got some at home that are your size . . .’

  Dan laughed out loud. ‘Actually, you might be nearer the mark than you think. The film I’m working on at the moment is about sex. I’ve got involved with a group who call themselves Hellfire 2000. They’re . . . well . . . kinky, for want of a better word. They’re people who believe in dressing for the occasion – and not just the women.’

  ‘And were you tempted to join in? I can see you in suspenders and high heels.’

  ‘Not yet, but when we start the filming I’m definitely going to give it all a try. Otherwise I’m only going through the motions.’

  ‘Sounds like fun. I hope you enjoy it. And you never know, you may discover your inner pervert.’

  ‘Do you think we all have one of those? Even the vicar and those people who campaign against pornography on TV?’

  ‘Especially them.’ Jo put her elbows on the desk and rested her chin on her steepled fingers. ‘I expect you’ll find it interesting, if nothing else.’

  ‘I’m open-minded about it anyway and I certainly intend to give it a go.’

  ‘Suck it and see . . .’ The way Jo pronounced ‘suck’ made it sound utterly obscene.

  Dan sat there silently, never breaking eye contact. He was smiling slightly and Jo noticed that his lips were dark and unusually full for a man. The sensuality of his mouth gave his angular face a softness and a hint of sin; as if he’d just got out of bed with his legs still wobbly from orgasm. There was no mistaking the confidence and challenge in his eyes, or the arousal that had darkened his cheeks and made his breathing shallow.

  ‘I brought this for you to look at.’ He picked up his bag and took out a DVD. ‘It gives you an idea of the kind of thing we do.’ He stood up and laid the DVD on the corner of her desk. ‘Good to meet you at last. And I’ll look forward to hearing from you.’ He held out his hand for her to shake.

  Jo leaned across the desk and took his hand, noticing that the palm was damp and, this time, his grip was less firm. He let himself out, leaving Jo looking at the door.

  Maybe she’d hit a raw nerve with her ‘suck it and see’ remark. Whatever had unsettled him, he’d clearly felt the need to reassert his authority; to change the balance of power back in his favour.

  She’d been right; he was an intriguing man. He was as intelligent as he was charming and undeniably sexy. He was funny too and humour in a man went a long way.

  But it was his honesty and openness she had found most appealing. Once he’d dropped his on-screen façade she’d found him unpretentious and candid. She’d liked his willingness to try everything Hellfire 2000 had to offer. He was perfectly willing to be vulnerable and didn’t see any weakness in it. She picked up the DVD and put it in her bag.

  Jo left her office and walked through the building towards the residential wing. The s
chool was housed in an old manor house. It had been built by a noble medieval family, the Halls, from whom it had got its name. The building had been much amended over the years, receiving a new façade, or wing, or interior redesign every time architectural fashion changed.

  Neglected for centuries, the house had grown dilapidated until it was bought by a wealthy industrialist in the early 1800s. He’d had the place totally renovated, ransacking it of virtually all its period authenticity.

  Jo thought it was a little sad to live and work in a house with such a rich heritage that had been so thoroughly robbed of any signs of its past. It was as if the building had somehow been neutered and forcibly silenced.

  The last relics of the original building’s majesty were some stone carvings and wood panelling in the Long Gallery which had only escaped destruction because of the Victorian taste for the Gothic.

  Jo was walking through it now; the quickest way to reach the residential wing. These days it was little more than a corridor, a route from one part of the building to another. But its flagstone floor and vaulted ceiling always reminded her of a cathedral cloister where monks once walked in silent contemplation. During the school day, of course, there was no silence here. The hubbub of childish voices, the clattering of shoes and the trilling of the children’s mobile phones made the space seem crowded and full of life.

  She loved the contrast; the way the school was completely transformed in atmosphere and appearance by the pupils’ absence. It was only then that Jo felt she could sense some echo of the building’s history. Tall windows along the outer wall of the gallery provided a spectacular view of the gardens, which had been sculpted by some unknown ancient gardener in the style of Capability Brown to resemble a natural rolling landscape.

  A broad drive led up from the gate to the entrance, flanked by an avenue of poplars. To the left, the garden sloped down to a lake, spanned by an arched stone bridge that always reminded Jo of the picture on a willow-pattern plate. Beside the lake there was a folly, a ruined tower in which, it was said, the house’s builders had once paid a hermit to live.

  Hall Croft was a special place to live and Jo didn’t take it for granted. Not many people could pop into their own chapel if they felt like a bit of solitude, or nip down to their own lake for a dip if they wanted to cool off. Swimming in the lake was off limits to the kids, of course. There was an indoor pool in the sports complex that was usable all year round and strictly supervised. Jo used it herself, swimming fifty lengths before breakfast three days a week. But, during the holidays, she relished the secret pleasure of a swim in the cool green lake amongst the moorhens and ducks.

  At the end of the Long Gallery was the main entrance to the house, seldom used these days except on formal occasions. She walked up the staircase. Jo’s flat was made up of the entire second floor of the wing. Her living room ran the length of the flat, looking out over the lake. From her bedroom, she could see the chapel and the orchards. The flat was spacious and relaxing. She always felt secluded and peaceful here; cut off from the school and its hectic rhythms. She let herself in.

  Two

  She dropped her bag onto the sofa. The windows were open and there was soft jazz playing. Jo could smell garlic and meat cooking. ‘Anyone home? Costas? Please tell me it’s you. Otherwise I think I’ve got gourmet burglars.’

  Costas appeared around the kitchen door. ‘Hello, I’m cooking lamb. I thought we could both do with an end-of-term treat.’ Though he’d lived in the UK since his teens, Costas still spoke heavily accented English. He walked over to Jo. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’ He leaned forwards to kiss her.

  Jo wrapped her arms around him. She could feel his hard muscles and the bulge at his crotch. His mouth tasted of wine.

  ‘Of course I don’t mind. You know I love your cooking.’

  He bent his head and kissed her throat. ‘Just my cooking?’ He lowered his voice. ‘Our phone call earlier left me feeling a little excited . . .’

  She could feel his hot breath on her skin. ‘Well, the afters are usually pretty good as well . . .’

  ‘In that case, I hope you are hungry . . . Let me get you a glass of wine. I’ll be a few minutes, the meat needs basting.’ Costas turned and walked towards the kitchen.

  She sat down on the sofa. The aroma of herbs and lamb coming from the kitchen made Jo feel somehow relaxed and nurtured. Costas was her personal assistant; he hated being called a secretary and Jo had to admit that the title didn’t really suit him. Aside from not being the expected gender for the job, the word couldn’t begin to encompass his role or how important he was to the running of the school.

  Apart from handling all the school’s admin, he was a qualified teacher and still found time to take two classes a week, teaching his native language of Greek. The two of them had become lovers fairly soon after Costas had come to work for her. From the very beginning he had been a surprise and a revelation. Going to bed together hadn’t been that big a leap when it had finally happened; more an acknowledgement of the bond that had developed between them than a moment of seduction.

  It was in the bedroom that Jo had found him most surprising, though, she supposed, it wasn’t entirely surprising that the same power dynamic that existed between them in the office should continue behind closed doors. Sexually he preferred to defer to his partner. He was generous, sensual and focused on her pleasure.

  He came out of the kitchen with two glasses of wine. He handed her one and sat down beside her. She took a sip. ‘Mmmmm, Mavrodaphne. I didn’t think you had any left.’

  ‘My cousin, Vasos, sent me over a crate for Easter. How was your meeting with Dan Elliot?’

  Jo shrugged. ‘He wasn’t what I expected at all. Much sharper and more direct than he comes across on screen.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. The bumbling upper-class innocent is just an act he puts on to make his victims feel at ease.’ Costas sipped his wine. ‘So are you thinking of letting him film here?’

  ‘Let’s just say I’m not as negative about the project as I was. He’s given me a DVD to watch.’ She picked it up and showed it to him.

  ‘Do you want to watch it now?’

  Jo shook her head. ‘I need to wind down. It’s been a hectic day.’ She took a long swallow of wine.

  ‘Can I help you, perhaps?’ Costas put down his glass. He leaned forwards and stroked her upper arm with a fingertip.

  ‘You men are all the same . . .’ Jo put down her wine and got to her feet. ‘One-track minds. And it goes without saying it’s a dirt track.’ She unbuttoned her dress. ‘No matter what the problem is you see orgasm as the solution.’ She undid the last button, slid out of the dress and tossed it aside.

  Costas slid onto his knees, an expression of adoration and naked lust in his eyes. Jo was dressed in black French knickers and a matching camisole. Underneath she wore a boned suspender belt. Her stockings were very fine; real nylons with seams.

  His dark eyes were shining. His hair was thick, black and glossy. His olive skin and handsome face reminded Jo of Rudolph Valentino playing a gigolo; the kind of man who preyed on women for his own selfish pleasure. The impression was accentuated by the black shirt and trousers he was wearing and, with his dark hair, he looked suitably monochrome. But the stereotype didn’t fit him at all, and Jo found the contradiction amusing and somehow erotic.

  He knelt in front of her, his hands resting on his knees, patiently waiting for orders.

  ‘You can start by kissing my feet.’ Jo could hear the arousal in her own voice. He smiled at her then leaned forwards and laid a hand on either side of her foot, holding it tenderly. He kissed the suede of her shoe. His mouth covered every millimetre of her foot. She could feel his hot breath and the scratch of his stubble through her stocking. He ran his fingers along the length of her stiletto heel.

  She knew that the cold cruelty of the heel spoke to something in him that desired subjugation; as if it symbolised her dominion over him. He loved being ordered to take the heel into hi
s mouth and suck on it like a slender metallic cock.

  He wanted that now; she was in no doubt. But making him wait was perversely pleasurable for them both. He’d grow more and more hungry for it until the desire to have the heel between his lips was the only thought in his head and his whole body was wound up with hunger and excitement.

  Jo was tingling all over. Costas’s body was taut and trembling. He began to lick her instep through the stocking, his hot eager tongue snaking hungrily along her skin.

  He couldn’t help touching the object of his desire, running his fingers up and down the slender heel. Jo was pretty certain that, inside his underwear, his cock was erect and painfully constricted.

  Delicious shivers of pleasure slid along her spine like a lover’s fingertips. Beneath her camisole her nipples were painfully erect, clearly visible through the silk.

  Costas’s mouth moved across her foot. He was grunting as he breathed, snuffling like a pig at truffles. He was leaning forwards, and Jo could see two inches of coffee-coloured skin above his waistband where his shirt had ridden up.

  He lifted his head and looked up at Jo, his eyes full of pleading and capitulation. ‘Please, Jo, may I suck your heel?’ His voice was thick with desire.

  In answer, Jo took a step back and sat down on the sofa. She crossed her legs at the knee, allowing her foot to dangle in midair. She began to examine her fingernails, feigning disinterest. Costas shuffled forwards. With one hand he pulled at the fabric at the front of his trousers. It was an unconscious gesture – he knew that touching himself was not permitted under any circumstances – but he was obviously so uncomfortable and squashed that he’d needed to ease the discomfort.

  Jo saw all this using her peripheral vision as she faked unconcern. They liked to pretend that his need for domination was a matter of supreme indifference to her; something she tolerated but did not encourage.

  Costas sat back on his heels and lowered his head to take the heel in his mouth. The heel slid between his lips and he let out an unconscious sigh of contentment and relief.