In the room, Jarvis pushes her against the wardrobe. His hands are around her waist, pressing firmly into her ribcage. She twists herself out of her coat, all while Jarvis is sucking at her neck, her breasts, her stomach and then he’s kneeling on the floor in front of her, unbuttoning her trousers, pulling down the white lace knickers that she chosemore carefully than usual this morning while telling herself there was nothing to it, and then his tongue is inside her, pushing itself into her and she can feel the circling wetness of it and the scratch of his stubble against her inner thigh.
She has never liked men going down on her. Even a bikini wax makes her nauseous. She looks down at Jarvis’s head bobbing between her legs and feels nothing. He snuffles and groans, alternating his tongue with his forefinger which he pushes in and out like a piston.
He stares up at her with blank eyes, lips wet like they were when he ate the cashews.
‘Is that good?’ he asks.
She nods, just as she is expected to. It seems to satisfy him, and he stands, pulling her to the bed. His touch is so forceful that when he lets go, she falls onto the mattress.
‘Turn over,’ he says, taking off his tie. His voice is hard now, as if the blankness in his eyes has spread.
Something changes; some indefinable tension snaps.
She turns over. He comes behind her, pushing her buttocks apart with his hands. The groaning has stopped, replaced by a silence so tangible it feels oppressive. On the bed, Serena’s face is squashed against the duvet, his hand on her head so she can’t move. He is strong and she worries she might crack beneath his weight. Then, without warning, his cock is inside her. It happens so suddenly that she gasps. He thrusts relentlessly, with one hand holding her down.
‘You love that, don’t you? Yeah? You want more of me? I can tell you do.’
He keeps up a stream of talk.
‘Wait,’ she tries to say, but it comes out as a strangled whisper.
She gives in to it. In her mind, she tells herself: well this is what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted someone to remind you that you were fuckable. What more could you ask for than being fucked like this, by a man so uncontrolled in his lust that he has become unreachable?
When Jarvis finishes, he rolls over onto his back. Serena liesstill – very, very still. Her mind is white with nothing. She pushes herself upright and gingerly puts her knickers back on.
‘I’ve been waiting for that,’ Jarvis says. His voice is back to normal. He reaches for her hand. He kisses her fingers tenderly – so tenderly – as if the rest of it didn’t happen the way it did.
She doesn’t know what to say, so she goes into the bathroom, taking her bag with her.
‘I need to shower,’ she says, ‘if we’re going to make the gala in time.’
She closes the door and retrieves the floral lace Oscar de la Renta dress she’s brought for this evening. The dress is creased, but she doesn’t want to go back into the bedroom to get the iron, so she hangs the dress on the door and hopes the steam will do its best. Under the shower, with hot water running over her, Serena feels a bit better. She dries herself with one of the hotel towels and her sense of self slowly returns. She examines herself in the mirror. Her cheeks are flushed and there’s a small bruise just beneath her collarbone. She dabs at it with concealer. Then she puts the concealer under her eyes, around the edges of her nose, the middle of her chin and blends it all with a brush from her make-up kit. A bit of blusher across her cheekbones. Eyelash curler. Shimmery shadow on each lid. Kohl. Mascara. Nude lip gloss. By the time she’s finished, all traces of the person on the bed have been erased. She checks her phone and is alarmed to see several texts from Ben. He isn’t normally this communicative.
3.35 p.m. ‘Hi, can you chat? x’
3.50 p.m. ‘Are you there, darling?’
4.05 p.m. ‘Would love to chat before tonight. Quite urgent.’
4.45 p.m. ‘Serena??’
It’s now 5.30 p.m. and they have to be at the gala for 6.15 p.m.
She texts Ben back.
‘Hi, sorry. What’s up?’
Her finger hovers over the x. In the recent past, she would have put one after the question mark without thinking. Now it seems redundant. But then again, would it look suspicious not to? She presses the x. Then sends the text.
Ben’s notification stays on ‘delivered’ and doesn’t switch to ‘read’. He’s probably getting ready to give his speech. The gala is to raise funds for wounded servicemen and Ben has been roped in to drum up donations.
‘Injured military personnel play very well with the electorate,’ he told her when she asked why they had to go. ‘And you, my darling, play very well with injured military personnel.’
She puts on the dress. One stubborn crease hasn’t shifted, but it’s passable. She slips into her strappy shoes and walks back into the bedroom. Jarvis is sitting on a chair in the window alcove, legs splayed out. He’s already dressed in his black tie. He hasn’t showered, she thinks; my smell will still be on him.
‘Wow,’ he says. ‘You look so hot.’
In spite of everything, she is grateful – that’s the worst part. He comes over to her, wanting another kiss but she turns her face away.
