Page 18 of The Facilitator, Part 2

“ W hat do you think?” Gabriella said as she left the changing room.

She wore a gorgeous cream dress, nipped in at the waist, plunging at the front, and I wondered just how appropriate it would be for her wedding. However, she looked amazing and I was sure Alex would appreciate the cleavage.

“I love it,” I replied, looking at her in the full-length mirror.

“You don’t think it's a little revealing, do you?”

“Yes, but who cares? You pull it off so well. It’s a perfect fit.”

We were standing in the boutique Mackenzie had bought a couple of dresses for me from.

I had mentioned the dresses to Gabriella and she wanted to investigate for her wedding attire, forgetting the many torn pages from fashion magazines.

The boutique was not only very exclusive, you couldn’t access the store unless you had an appointment, but it didn’t just offer exquisite clothes.

Nestled among the racks of silk and satin shoes with matching clutches was a door.

A door that had both Gabriella and I in fits of laughter.

A door to a fetish world I had no idea existed.

Whereas the store held silks and satins, cottons and tulle, slightly revealing yet still classy outfits, the fetish room was the polar opposite.

Plastic, latex, rubber, outfits in blacks and reds with horns and tails and holes in appropriate, or inappropriate, places hung on the same wooden hangers with the same thought and display care that had been taken on the clothes out front.

We had vowed to take a closer look once we’d browsed the normal section.

“It’s like this side is the posh slut and that side is our alter egos,” she’d said before selecting the cream dress from a rail.

“Don’t, I need to pee,” I’d replied, crossing my legs and holding in the laughter.

The store manager had furnished us with a bottle of very nice champagne and allowed us time to browse alone.

She reminded me of Veronica: hard features, steely eyes, a woman who knew exactly what she wanted from life, yet she was funny and polite, a pleasure to talk to.

Like the store, her demeanour and her personality were chalk and cheese.

“I think I’m going to buy this one. Now, how about you?”

“I have spotted a rather lovely navy blue outfit. It has a flared, skater style skirt though, so I’ll try it on and see.”

It hadn’t occurred to us initially but all the outfits were risqué. Just some were more suitable for daywear.

“You have great legs, Lauren, pair them with some heels for height and it would suit you,” the store owner said. She grabbed the blue dress and held it.

I was wearing jeans; I wasn’t sure how she’d know I had great legs. I caught Gabriella’s eye in the mirror and suppressed the laugh. The blue dress was hung in the changing room and I stepped in to try it on.

Midway through changing clothes, the store manager, whose name we discovered was Brit, opened the door exposing my partly naked body and stared.

She pursed her lips, made noises similar to ‘hmm’ and ‘aarh’ before walking away and returning with a push-up bra and fuck-me shoes.

In fact, at one point, she grabbed my breasts to rearrange them so I had the cleavage I’d always desired.

“Tit tape,” she said, sticking something to my skin.

I stepped out of the changing room.

“I love it,” Gabriella said, clapping her hands. “And you do have amazing legs.”

“I do not! But yes, I like it myself. I don’t think I’d dream of wearing something like this, it’s so floaty.” I twirled, loving how the material swished around me.

“Ladies, a top up?” Brit handed us two fresh glasses of champagne and we toasted ourselves in our wedding outfits.

With matching shoes and bags selected, we dressed back in our own clothes and then allowed Brit to escort us through to the fetish room.

It was three times the size of the front store and had a second room off.

It was the second room that had me wide-eyed.

Every implement I’d seen in the club adorned shelves and walls, all for sale, obviously, and all handmade, as Brit told us.

“Something for the honeymoon, I think,” Gabriella said, as she picked up the largest black double-ended dildo I’d ever seen. There was no way it would fit inside the average vagina.

“I can just see customs raiding your luggage and asking for an explanation,” I replied. She laughed as she replaced it on the shelf.

“I think I’ll stick to purchasing online. I’m sorry, Brit, if you have a website I’ll take a card,” I said, my cheeks had coloured so much I thought I could have had radiation sickness.

She laughed as she flicked a card through her fingers and handed it to me.

“Give my regards to Veronica when you see her next,” she said.

“You know her?” I asked.

“I supply her, your husband’s club,” she said.

Although mistaken with the husband, I didn’t correct her. “I’ll be sure to pass on your message.”

I left Gabriella in the sex toy room and wandered back through to the fetish clothes. I had no intention of attempting to squeeze myself into a rubber cat suit, but I was very interested in a picture on the wall. I stepped closer.

It could very well have been Veronica’s partner standing there in jeans with a hood. The woman who knelt at his feet was tied intricately with rope.

“I’m not sure I can see the pleasure in that,” I heard. I turned to see Gabriella walk towards me.

“No, I saw it at the club though. I think I’d be bored shitless by the time he’d tied all those knots.”

“It’s an art form, for sure.”

“It’s made me hungry,” I said, and then laughed at the absurdity of that statement.

We made our purchases and left. We laughed all the way through lunch at what we’d seen and even harder when Gabriella told me of the variety of vibrators, bullets, handcuffs, and floggers she’d bought and planned to hide in Alex’s suitcase.

“I won’t be embarrassed if we get searched,” she said.

“Oh, and he won’t?”

“Darling, he did go to Eton,” she replied.

I choked on the sip of wine I’d just taken. “I have no idea of the correlation between sex toys and Eton. And I’m not sure I want to know, either.”

“I’m sure they were all bum…” she started before I cut her off.

“Oh, look, the waiter is standing here listening,” I said, loudly.

With that, we both started laughing again.

A little while later, arm in arm, we walked back to the office where we would pick up cars and head in different directions.

“I can’t tell you how much fun I’ve had today. You are going to look stunning,” I said as we reached our office block.

“As will you. I’m thrilled to have you as a girlfriend and it makes leaving even harder now. I don’t want to get all tearful, but we will be coming back regularly, and you will be coming to stay with us, won’t you?”

“Of course, there is no way Mackenzie is going to wave you two off and then not mourn you, Gabriella. You’ve been a constant his whole life.”

She placed her hand on the side of my face and smiled before she walked to her car and it sped off.

I was left standing on a busy street with tears in my eyes.

Gabriella was someone I had connected with in such a way that her departure was going to hurt.

That made me wonder just how painful it was going to be for Mackenzie.

She had followed him from country to country.

They had worked beside each other for many years, he would feel her loss more than anyone, I was sure.

“Miss Perry?”

I looked over to see my car idling by the kerb.

I smiled and walked over. I was helped into the back seat and rested my eyes as we drove home.

It had been a rare day from work but the minute I was in the house, I hung my new dress in my closet and grabbed my laptop.

I sat in the kitchen with the autumn sun streaming through the French doors and caught up with what I’d missed.

And what I’d missed was a news report that had been emailed to me.

Jerry was never in the news, he might have been an astute businessman but he wasn’t wealthy enough, or well known enough in business circles, to be snapped by the press.

There he was, leaving Claridge’s with Addison on his arm.

They were both laughing, she had her head thrown slightly back, but I noticed her eyes facing the camera as if the pose was staged.

American socialite leaves top London hotel with wealthy businessman on her arm.

Addison Miller, ex-wife of venture capitalist and controversial advisor to the Secretary of State for Business, Mackenzie Miller, leaves Claridge’s in the early hours this morning after a ￡200 per head black tie dinner event.

I looked at the sender’s email and didn’t recognise it.

All the email contained was the headline from a trashy newspaper and the photograph.

I wondered why so much of the headline was about Mackenzie.

I wondered more why someone thought I needed to see it.

I was taken back in time when a video had been emailed to me.

At least this time it wasn’t about my partner.

I forwarded it to Mackenzie’s private email address.

Any idea who would have sent this to me? I typed in the subject bar.

A few minutes later I received a text message.

I’ll be home in an hour, discuss then?

I replied to let him know that would be absolutely fine, and I had a surprise for him.

I was determined, just the once, to cook him a meal.

It was a very rare occasion that I was allowed, other than a basic breakfast, and I found I missed it.

Even though I’d eaten out at lunchtime, I had a craving for ham, eggs, and chips.

I laughed, Mackenzie would have whipped up a gourmet meal in minutes, instead he was getting a good old-fashioned dinner from my childhood.