late hour very few people would be about, so it
came as no great surprise that it didn’t stop on the descent. Emily
prayed that it would though – not for some stranger who would be
puzzled by Emily’s subterranean destination – she hoped for Her
Master to join her. With a growing panic with each passing floor,
Emily tried to recall where Her Master had got on at lunchtime.
Third or fourth floor – it was something like that. Emily’s heart
sank when those numbers were passed. In a fit of despair, as she
neared the ground floor, Emily was tempted to stop there – perhaps
Her Master was waiting in the lobby, ready to take her for the
drink that he’d suggested. She resisted. Emily didn’t want a drink
– not in a busy bar at any rate! And that showed no faith, and she
wanted to have faith. She wanted to go to the basement and find Her
Master waiting on the other side of the elevator door.
Desperately hoping, but steeling herself for bitter
disappointment, Emily arrived at her destination. The doors opened
onto the semi-darkness, but there was sufficient light to confirm
her fears - no one was there to greet her.
She was convinced now that it was all a malicious joke – Her
Master was probably in a bar with Willy Ross and the rest of the
sales team, all of them having a laugh at Emily’s expense. She
shook her head, angry with herself for being such an easy target –
for allowing a man to hurt her like this, taking the relationship
out of the office and making a mockery of it into the bargain. She
was about to press the button and go to the lobby then head off
home. But she couldn’t give up – there was still a final straw to
clutch at. There was one further stage to this humiliation, and she
knew where she had to go.
Emily made a step forwards - her legs felt like lead wading
through water. Then suddenly the weight of the world was lifted as
she heard Her Master’s voice shouting from round the corner where
the washroom lay.
“What’s taking you so long, Blondie? Hurry up and get your ass
in here. Only plastic cups I’m afraid, but the champers is the real
deal!”
The teasing scoundrel! It was another game all right, but not
maliciously evil. But then that was the way with him: always
surprising; tossing you around; playing with your mind; showing you
the extremes – the highs and the lows. And from the depths of
despair Emily soared. Now happier than a kid on Christmas morning,
she set off as commanded, floating on air. She rounded the corner
and saw the harsh light of the washroom creeping through its
slightly ajar door. Following that light, Emily rushed. A drink had
been bought, and it was charming all right – Champagne no less –
the perfect way to toast success, in the best possible location,
here in the basement. With a smile on her face that she knew could
be wiped off at the least provocation or whim, she arrived and
opened the door...
She froze.
Pleasures can be brief – so very, very brief! ‘...like poppies spread,’ the Scottish bard had said. ‘You
seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed.' And
never had those words rung truer than in the head of Emily Johnson,
two centuries after Robbie Burns had penned them.
The smile disappeared – the Chanel bag she carried slipped
from her hand to fall with a thud on the hard cement
floor.
“Cheers!” said the Master, raising his cup in
salute.
“Cheers!” echoed Tessa Clifford with the same smug grin on her
face that washrooms seemed to inspire for her. Or was it something
more sinister in the dank basement air that put the evil smirk
there?
The plastic cups were touched. “Congratulations Adam,” Tessa
added. Then to top it all off, and twist the knife that had pierced
poor Emily’s much abused heart, Tessa had the audacity to kiss the
new salesman’s cheek before turning to Emily in triumph. “Surprised
to see me here, Emily?” the venomous snake hissed. “I bet you are!
And not best pleased either, I’ll wager. Whereas
came as no great surprise that it didn’t stop on the descent. Emily
prayed that it would though – not for some stranger who would be
puzzled by Emily’s subterranean destination – she hoped for Her
Master to join her. With a growing panic with each passing floor,
Emily tried to recall where Her Master had got on at lunchtime.
Third or fourth floor – it was something like that. Emily’s heart
sank when those numbers were passed. In a fit of despair, as she
neared the ground floor, Emily was tempted to stop there – perhaps
Her Master was waiting in the lobby, ready to take her for the
drink that he’d suggested. She resisted. Emily didn’t want a drink
– not in a busy bar at any rate! And that showed no faith, and she
wanted to have faith. She wanted to go to the basement and find Her
Master waiting on the other side of the elevator door.
Desperately hoping, but steeling herself for bitter
disappointment, Emily arrived at her destination. The doors opened
onto the semi-darkness, but there was sufficient light to confirm
her fears - no one was there to greet her.
She was convinced now that it was all a malicious joke – Her
Master was probably in a bar with Willy Ross and the rest of the
sales team, all of them having a laugh at Emily’s expense. She
shook her head, angry with herself for being such an easy target –
for allowing a man to hurt her like this, taking the relationship
out of the office and making a mockery of it into the bargain. She
was about to press the button and go to the lobby then head off
home. But she couldn’t give up – there was still a final straw to
clutch at. There was one further stage to this humiliation, and she
knew where she had to go.
Emily made a step forwards - her legs felt like lead wading
through water. Then suddenly the weight of the world was lifted as
she heard Her Master’s voice shouting from round the corner where
the washroom lay.
“What’s taking you so long, Blondie? Hurry up and get your ass
in here. Only plastic cups I’m afraid, but the champers is the real
deal!”
The teasing scoundrel! It was another game all right, but not
maliciously evil. But then that was the way with him: always
surprising; tossing you around; playing with your mind; showing you
the extremes – the highs and the lows. And from the depths of
despair Emily soared. Now happier than a kid on Christmas morning,
she set off as commanded, floating on air. She rounded the corner
and saw the harsh light of the washroom creeping through its
slightly ajar door. Following that light, Emily rushed. A drink had
been bought, and it was charming all right – Champagne no less –
the perfect way to toast success, in the best possible location,
here in the basement. With a smile on her face that she knew could
be wiped off at the least provocation or whim, she arrived and
opened the door...
She froze.
Pleasures can be brief – so very, very brief! ‘...like poppies spread,’ the Scottish bard had said. ‘You
seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed.' And
never had those words rung truer than in the head of Emily Johnson,
two centuries after Robbie Burns had penned them.
The smile disappeared – the Chanel bag she carried slipped
from her hand to fall with a thud on the hard cement
floor.
“Cheers!” said the Master, raising his cup in
salute.
“Cheers!” echoed Tessa Clifford with the same smug grin on her
face that washrooms seemed to inspire for her. Or was it something
more sinister in the dank basement air that put the evil smirk
there?
The plastic cups were touched. “Congratulations Adam,” Tessa
added. Then to top it all off, and twist the knife that had pierced
poor Emily’s much abused heart, Tessa had the audacity to kiss the
new salesman’s cheek before turning to Emily in triumph. “Surprised
to see me here, Emily?” the venomous snake hissed. “I bet you are!
And not best pleased either, I’ll wager. Whereas
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