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CHAPTER 19 : CIVIL ENGINEERING : FEBRUARY
15 Months, 462 Days Since Jenny’s Disappearance
It’s rather too early in the morning when my mobile chimes to say I have a text. I grunt and turn over in bed. Who is texting me at ….. 6.30am? I grope for the handset and try to focus on the screen. I open the text. It says, “Joseph. Can you do lunch on Friday? I suggest The Cranford Wine Bar in Warwick about 12.00? Regards, Andrew Edwards.”
Andrew Edwards? Just who exactly is Andrew Edwards? I don’t know any Andrew Edwards, do I? Then with a start, I remember that I have met an Andrew Edwards. He was the guy at the PERvert Party, just as I was leaving. I thought he was a sub under the thumb of his wife/mistress, what was her name? – Philippa. He didn’t strike me as the sort of person who would send such a direct, straight-to-the-point text, first thing in the morning. I mean - that’s hardly sub behaviour, is it? Unless his mistress has got him up at his morning chores!
What should I do? Politeness says I should reply and if he is texting at this time in the morning, I don’t need to worry about sending an early reply, in fact, I do not need to worry about replying immediately. What am I doing on Friday? I haul myself out of bed, go downstairs, put the kettle on for tea and check my work diary. As it happens, Friday is going to be an easy day. No meetings, video-conferences or deadlines to meet by close of business, so I could meet someone for lunch.
What should I do? I really suffer from indecision over things like this, but I suppose it’s just another step on my journey. The Edwards seem to be an “interesting” couple and this is lunch in a public place, so I should emerge with my virtue in tact. They wanted to talk about civil engineering so perhaps their approach at PERvert was merely “ordinary”- no, what’s the word? Vanilla. Vanilla networking? Although they did say something about providing an opportunity to indulge my interests, so perhaps it is not quite so vanilla. I pick up my phone and text “Andrew. Thanks 4 txt. OK Friday. Your number on my mobile now. Will txt if problem crops up. C U . JMcE”
Crops up. I find myself sniggering and thinking about riding crops. All sorts of innocent normal phrases and everyday articles seem to carry kinky possibilities and innuendos nowadays. I am not sure whether I should be pleased or exasperated!
The Cranford is a new addition to the Warwick social scene. It opened about three months ago. Upstairs is an art gallery; downstairs is a wine bar that’s open from 10am through to 10 pm and serves breakfast, morning coffee, lunch, afternoon tea and light evening meals. The enterprise is owned by one of Warwickshire’s more successful hoteliers and extends his grip on good hotels and restaurants in the area. As soon as I am over the threshold, the maitre d’ approaches with a solicitous smile. “A table for one?”
“Well, I’m meeting someone, actually.”
“Ah,” he gives a nod of recognition. “Would you be Mr McEwan?”
“Yes, that’s me”
“Please follow me. Mr Edwards told me you would be coming. He is waiting for you.”
I get the distinct impression I am being introduced to someone important, someone known to head waiters, hotel commissionaires and the like, someone who is used to getting his own way - which is exactly the opposite impression you might have if I told you that you were meeting a sub! We walk through to the informal dining room and towards one of the tables. We are half way there as Andrew Edwards gets up to greet me. He is dressed in a very smart light grey pin-striped tailored suit, white shirt and yellow tie. He pockets a blackberry as he rises and extends a hand. “Joseph! Glad you could come. I have got us a table over here at the side. A little more privacy than a table in the centre of the room, eh? What will you have? I’m having a G and T. You?”
“Yes, that would be good.”
“Charles?”
“Yes, Mr Edwards?”
“Get someone to fetch us gin and tonic each please. Bombay Sapphire.”
“Certainly, Sir!”
The maitre d’ disappears in search of a waiter (providing drinks being far below his status) and leaves me with this curious individual, who seems able to combine alpha male and submissive characters, in the one person.
“So how can I help?” I ask.
“Just now, by ordering!” he grins, pushing a menu towards me. “I’m having mussels in white wine followed by the smoked venison salad, but it’s all pretty good.”
I scan down the menu. Andrew has made two choices on the expensive side. I suppose this is a signal for me not to worry about what to order.
I choose the prosciutto melon and wild rocket salad, followed by a poached salmon and green vegetables – I am supposed to be losing weight, after all. The Trainer at the gym wanted to reassess my weight loss progress at my next session ….. !
I’m struck by the strange contrast: I’m trying to be a Dom. Andrew is the sub. I’m nagged by all and sundry at work and by the gym trainer, to do what I’m told. Andrew is ordering the house staff around and hosting this small encounter as if entertaining clients is what he was born to. Maybe he was. There is absolutely no sign of him being “under orders” from Philippa in anything he has done or said so far.
“So. Wine? I think rosé, would be the thing to have. Is that all right with you?” He glances at me across the top of a pair of expensive designer frames. I notice he has chosen a £50 bottle. I have never spent £50 on a bottle of rosé for a dinner, never mind lunch. “Well, let’s talk,” he continues. “You’re in civil engineering?”
Straight to the point. It’s where our conversation left off at PERvert. The wine appears. Andrew tastes it and indicates that the waiter should pour us each a glass, all without ever giving me the impression that his attention has wandered from what I am about to say.
“Yes. Concrete castings mainly, but our firm is involved with irrigation projects in Cambodia so some of my castings have an heroic flavour about them.”
“ I’ve never heard anyone describe concrete as heroic before. You’re with New Horizons Civil Engineering?”
How he would have found out? “Yes, have you done business with us?”
“No, but I am well informed. Good firm. Progressive.”
A plate of mussels appears for him. The prosciutto and melon for me. “Lets start,” he says, gesturing to the food.
I nod, and reply to his previous remark. “Thank you, on behalf of the firm.”
“Mmmm,” Andrew gives a nod of acknowledgement. “Well, you might be able to help or not. If not, you might be able to point me in the right direction.”
Point me in the right direction. This is the only vaguely submissive thing Andrew has said so far.
“Philippa and I have bought a plantation in Leicestershire. It’s quite large – about five square miles. There’s three things I plan to do with it. (His plans? What about Phillippa? I don’t understand their relationship at all). First, to operate some of the site as a commercial forest but growing native hard woods. That’s a longer term investment than say the sicca spruce you see all over northern England and Scotland, but the returns will be better and the forest will be much more interesting. Secondly, part of the site will be an arboretum. Trees are an interest of mine. This will be a private area but open to the public at times. I really want the project to stand on its own feet financially and that will be an important contribution." I’m wondering where this conversation is going. I don’t know much about trees apart from having to clear some of the forests on the Cambodian project and I can’t see what it’s got to do with my BDSM interests as he suggested. Not unless he’s planning to grow bamboo canes!
Andrew pauses while the starter plates are cleared and the main course appears. The salmon and the venison have one thing in common. For both, the food has been fashionably gathered up into a small tower. I’m never sure if this is to tax the waiting staff, to see if they can get it to table without it toppling over, or the diners who have to eat it without the whole thing collapsing inelegantly across the plate.
Andrew continues: “Finally,” he says, “there’s the third part, and this is where I could use some help or some advice and where your own interests might be catered for. The third part is going to be a ‘play-space’. The idea is that PERvert and others can have outdoor meetings if they wish and of course there are things you can do outside which you can’t do inside.” He smiles, confidently, almost conspiratorially, and starts on his warm venison salad.
I follow his lead and take up cutlery against the salmon tower. It’s all delicious. The vegetables are crisp but cooked. I’m regretting not ordering potatoes but I suppose I should just enjoy feeling virtuous. The waiter fusses in to refill our wine glasses and issues the obligatory, “Is everything all right with your meal?”
As I put my knife and fork down I take up the thread again. “So how can I help you Andrew? Concrete and forestry doesn’t normally fit together, and I’ve yet to find any use for concrete in the BDSM world either.”
“No, true. It’s your more general civil engineering experience I’m after.”
He is after. Not Philippa is after. Not Philippa told me to ask you. Curious.
“I have a forestry consultant who has had the plantation mapped to assess the various soil conditions and moisture content. Some areas need some “goodness ploughed into the soil”. Some areas are too damp and need drainage. Some areas are on the dry side and could do with some water brought in and we need to be able to access all areas.”
“So,” I summarise: “drains, pipes, roads.”
“Exactly. Of course, I’m not expecting you to do it all yourself, but I would like someone on my side to prepare an engineering plan before I go out looking for contractors. You might even be able to help short listing the contractors I should approach.”
I’m not expecting you. I want someone on my side. Andrew’s speech is delivered in confident terse sharp sentences which leaves no doubt that he is a man who knows exactly what he wants and knows how to get it. Yet, at PERvert, he was a submissive: may I speak with you Sir. I have been told to approach you. May I contact you? Will it be convenient to you?
We both pass on dessert. We’re waiting for coffee before I manage to get possession of the ball.
“Well, Andrew. What you are after is not my main area of expertise, but it is basic civil engineering. Yes, I could have a good stab at creating a strategic plan and helping you to identify contractors. However I would like to see the site first.”
“Excellent, I knew you would be interested ….”
Did he? Am I?
“And then there is your fee ….”
Yes, my fee. Actually what I was going to get out of the project had not entered my head! I play for time …
“Yes. Fee. Let me see the site first. As this is not a formal approach to NHCE I will have reflect on it. Work done during the week all has to go through the firm, of course.”
“Of course. Look, Joseph I do not want to put you on the wrong side of your employers in any way so I recognise that this is going to have to be a weekend job for you. Private Practice, if your contract allows you to do that. I trust that’s OK?”
There he is again: he is giving me instructions. Well, if he is a sub in the kink world he is definitely a Dom in the real world. Perhaps that is the point? Being a sub is a complete change from the person he has to be in his business life.
“Yes,” I reply. “I can manage that.”
“Good. Are you free this weekend? There is a good weather forecast and we could all go out on a site visit. Philippa, you and me?”
“Erm, yes. I had nothing planned so yes, I would be interested to see what you have got your hands on.”
“Excellent! If you give me your address, we will come and get you. Our car. Eight AM?”
“Yes, I can be up for eight. I will look forward to it.”
Andrew and Philippa arrive on the dot of eight AM. Andrew is driving a new Range Rover, leather upholstery, sat nav, in-car hi fi and air con. Very nice. There are obviously a very successful couple.
Philippa starts the conversation and I sense we are not in “PERvert mode.”
However, one thing I notice: today, Andrew is wearing a metal collar around his neck. It’s stylish, understated and could be a hip modern piece of male jewellery, except I don’t think it is just a piece of jewellery.
“Joseph! It’s good to see you again. I’m sorry I was not able to join you both for lunch but thanks for agreeing to help Andrew and I with our little enterprise.”
“Well, it’s going to be an interesting change from the projects I am usually involved with.”
“Yes, Andrew filled me in on what you had said over lunch.”
“Have either of you two a background in forestry?”
“Absolutely not. We both come from the business world but forestry is a very green enterprise, so there are no shortage of people keen to give advice and support.”
“But that’s not really why you are involved?”
“Mmmm, well partly, but yes, it is a very good opportunity to mix business with pleasure, as they say.”
“So are you pioneering the outdoor play space concept?”
“No, certainly not! There is one up in Cheshire, there is a group who used to have grounds of their own in the west country. There is also one in north Kent. We thought Leicestershire would be a good location for people from London, Birmingham, Nottingham, Sheffield places like that.”
“And it was big enough and for sale!” adds Andrew, speaking over his shoulder.
“Also,” he continues, “the country is gently rolling so there is a variety of terrain but it’s not going to be overlooked from large adjacent hills and mountains, which helps with privacy.”
“Yes, clearly an important issue,” I add.
We are standing on a small track which leads into a forest of trees. It’s rather untidy. Brambles spill over the roadway from the sides and the interior seems dank and unwelcoming. I have come prepared with rubber boots and a heavy jacket. So have Andrew and Philippa. We press on forward. The track improves and presently we come to an opening. The forest here is more open. The clouds have cleared and the sky above is blue, streaked with white. Andrew gets out an Ordnance Survey map.
“So we are here. The plantation boundary will be from here, to here, to here, to here. Access from roads at this point and … and here. Well, that was where we came in. I have a photocopy with the plantation zoned as I explained the other day. Zone 1 is the commercial forest and that’s closest to the main road. Zone 2 is the Arboretum. Zone 3 will be the Play Space. That will be on the far side of the plantation, furthest from the access roads and villages and so on. I thought we could plant the boundary with birch because it’s fast growing, then gorse because it’s very dense and very spiny and rhododendron because they give good cover.”
“Andrew, you seem to have the whole project very well mapped out. Tell me again just what you want me to do?”
“Ah, coming to that. The civil engineering. First we will need to drain this area - here and bring water into this area – here. See?”
“Aha.”
“Second, we are going to need access and a sort of “contractor’s yard” in the commercial zone, so that means roads, parking, storage and some sort of administration building. That will all be over - here. Third, which is the interesting part …”
“You mean the kinky part?”
“Yes, exactly; the kinky part. The idea is that there should be opportunities for people to stay in the plantation for several days at a time, so we will need an accommodation block with bedrooms for the Owners and cells for their slaves which means more water, drains, septic tanks, electricity.”
“Have you thought of micro generation equipment and ground heat pumps? If you’re interested in keeping this as ‘green’ as possible they should be on the list for consideration.”
“Well not exactly. That’s your job. To tell us what we should be planning for.”
“Andrew, this is turning into a life’s work. Could be very expensive.”
“Well you say expensive. Contractors – professionals - will always expect to be paid the market rate, but it surprising who you can find in the kink community and slaves make for a good disciplined and cheap work force.”
“OK, I guess you’re right.” It hadn’t occurred to me before that you might actually use ‘slaves’ for useful work. “So tell me what I should expect to find in ten years time?”
“You will find buildings suitable for a quite discreet kinky weekend. You will have the opportunity to take your slave for a run naked under the trees. If you are into pony play, you will have stables for your human ponies, space to store buggies and hard surfaced tracks to exercise them on.”
“Hard surfaces: are you talking tarmac?”
“No, I was hoping for something more natural looking. Breedon self-compacting gravel, that sort of thing, and your slave will have opportunities for hard labour in the Plantation, opportunities to display and tether your slaves, opportunities to birch or whip them in the open if they have not behaved themselves.”
“In other words,” joins in Philippa, “a bloody good, exhausting, fulfilling never-to-be forgotten kinky weekend!”
“OK OK. I surrender. It’s the most, (I am searching for the right words but nothing seems to do justice to this amazing, sexy, unexpected, racy, exciting vision the two of them have arrived at) the most astonishing project anyone has yet given me. I’m certainly interested in doing what I can. But you are going to have to be patient with your time scale. This really is going to take several years unless you are planning to involve armies of professional contractors.”
We’re on the way home. I feel it’s my turn to ask some questions. “Can I ask you two something?”
“Sure”, replies Andrew.
“Well, as I said before, I’m still new at all this, so I hope I’m not being stupid or you won’t be offended, or think I’m being too personal. At PERvert, you were definitely sub, Andrew, but whenever we’ve encountered each other since, you have been completely, one hundred percent, alpha male.” Philippa smiles but she doesn’t interrupt me. “Now tell me I’m wrong, but I thought subs were subs and Doms were Doms, and that was that. If you were a sexual sub you would be a sub in all other parts of your life, but that’s clearly not how it is, at least with you two.”
“Well, I don’t know if you’re right or wrong about other people but it isn’t the way it works for me,” Andrew responds. “and, from what I see of other couples, it isn’t often the way it works for them either.”
“Yes, that’s about right, Joseph,” replies Philippa. “Sure, there are people who make it work 24/7 but I think they are unusual. For most people, their sub or Dom nature cannot have a free reign during the working day: you just have to get on with the rest of your life and do what you have to do. For example, I was stopped for speeding last week and you would have thought I was a good little subbie from the way I spoke to the police. ‘Yes officer, I’m sorry officer, three bags full officer as long as you don’t want to give me a ticket’.”
Andrew chips in, “And very amusing it was to listen to as well,”
Whilst they are speaking my mind starts to wander. I imagine I’m in the forest. I’m sitting in some sort of buggy behind Jenny. She is naked, arms strapped behind her. I flick a small whip across her bum, to keep her trotting forward. She gasps. A thin red line blooms. I feel warm inside. I realise I have enjoyed the flight of fancy but them the image becomes painful. Jenny always has the power to burn and sting my memory when I think of her.
Philippa is talking again. “Andrew here has to be pretty determined and forthright to be successful at business but you do not need to be like that all the time.”
“No, and I’m glad about that,” says Andrew, joining in the conversation.
The image in my mind changes. This time it’s me harnessed up and pulling the buggy. Someone is enjoying urging me on. The whip stings my bum. Again. Again. “Come on Joe, up this hill. Here let me help you along.” The whip lands. It stings again and again. It has the desired effect. I pull harder. Who is this behind me? I know the voice: Deep. Soft. Warm. Caribbean. With a start I realise the girl in my fantasy, the girl domming me is Gwenda. I am beginning to think of her sexually more and more. The scene changes. I am standing is a cell outdoors. Three sides are formed from rendered concrete blocks, one side is formed from bars. It’s a warm day but the wooden roof of the cell gives some shade from the sun. I am with Gwenda again. She has clothes. Here toned, powerful brown legs disappear into a pair of comfortable flat leather shoes. I am naked. She is smiling. I am chained, a steel collar around my neck, hands behind me, shackles on my feet. Gwenda has done this to be. She is holding the keys. She strokes my prick with a damp cloth. The cloth moves across my bum and between my legs. “I have been a bit naughty Joseph,” she purrs. “I have peed on this cloth! You smell of my pee now. The flies will like that. They will bite and the bites will itch. Pity you haven’t got a tail like a horse, isn’t it? You will not be able to swish them away! You are going to itch like crazy by the time the flies have finished with you. And look at your hands. Safely out of the game! I’ll be back for you later.” She closes the door and locks it shut. “I’m off for a swim and a drink, and then I’ll come back for you – tomorrow. Enjoy!”
Where on earth did all that come from?
Andrew continues and I snap myself back to listening. “It’s really therapeutic to have some area in my life where I do not have to be taking the lead all the time. Yes, I am a sexual submissive and I am happy to hand over control to Philippa because I trust her. Trust is the key. It would not work for me without that.”
“Tell me,” says Philippa. “How about you?”
Something about the way she asks tells me that she’s probably well able to read my nature, probably better able than I can myself. I say: “I guess there is something of both sides in me but I always had problems with it, when Jenny wanted to play, because of what I remember of my childhood. I suppose we are all shaped by out up-bringing. I didn’t like the way my Dad treated my Mum and I was determined that if I ever got into relationship of my own, I was not going to be like Dad. When Jenny got into the whole BDSM thing, it looked as if I was going to have to be the Dom and it just felt so like being Dad and I just couldn’t handle it. But after Jenny went, I felt I had to rethink it all.”
“After Jenny went?”
“Yes: she disappeared in London about, - well, almost a year and a half ago now. The Police launched a missing persons enquiry but - nothing.”
“Joseph I am so sorry. I did not know. I remember the story in the paper, now but I had not connected it with you.”
”
“There’s no reason why you should. Please do not feel awkward, Philippa. That’s just the way it happened. Anyway I have been trying to explore the world Jenny had found and where she was happy. I should have done it before.”
“So how are you now with the whole BDSM thing?” asks Philippa.
“Now I know a lot more about it and I can see that you don’t have to take it all so very seriously. Actually meeting you and Andrew has helped, because I can see now how I could be a Dom to Jenny sometimes and the loving, supportive husband I would like to be at others.”
“Hmmm,” replies Philippa. “I like that. I hope Jenny comes back to you, or you find her. I think you must be good for each other.”
Yes we are and I really ache for her. But I am also still enjoying my imaginary “encounter” with Gwenda. Should I feel guilty? What if she asked me out? Wanted to ‘round out our evening properly’; wanted to fuck me? But then, I want to fuck her, don’t I? Or do I?
I pass the remainder of the journey alternating feelings of guilt with sexual fantasies of Andrew, Philippa and Gwenda.
Footnotes.
1. Range Rover. See http://www.landrover.com/gb/en/rr/range-rover/
2. Andrew’s collar. Perhaps Andrew wore an Axsmar Talena collar which you can find at : http://www.axsmar.com/_english/index.htm
3. Some outdoor play spaces in the UK and elsewhere:
http://www.ndponyclub.co.uk/home.php
http://www.aussieslavefarm.com/
4. Ordnance Survey is Britain’s national mapping agency. The original Ordnance Survey was conducted to provide accurate maps for the defence of the country – hence the name “Ordnance”. http://www.ordnancesurvey.co.uk/oswebsite/
5. Breedon Gravel.can be had from Ennstone special aggregates: http://www.ennstone.co.uk/ Actually, the description “self-compacting” is a little optimistic, but it’s an excellent material none the less.
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