The Protege

“You too, Laszlo,” she says in a soft voice. “What are you going to do in the meantime?”

“Me?”

“With um, that.” She nods at the notebook in my hands.

“I’m going to do what I always did, seeing as you asked so nicely. You’ll be hearing from me soon.” I won’t be demanding of her until she agrees to what we’ve discussed, but I want her to feel like I’m expecting her to be good in all the ways she used to be for me. Her tentative smile lets me know it’s the right thing to do.

I take her downstairs to where her coat is hanging in the hall, and when it’s clasped in her hands she turns back to me.

“Does this make you feel strange? Because of who we used to be to each other?”

Nothing about this feels strange to me and I want to do this for her for so many reasons. For the happiness it brings her most importantly, but the pleasure it brings me as well. Taking on roles that require me to lead and support at the same time is at the very core of who I am, the same as it is for her to feel safe and cherished and watched over so she can flourish. Being able to do this for Isabeau on so intimate a level is all the reward I need. The intense sexual satisfaction that comes from knowing that my words, my instructions make her feel good is something I’ll keep to myself. “Not strange at all. You’re very special to me and knowing that you’re happy is important. I’ll always enjoy looking after you, however you want me to do it.”

The smile she gives me and the faint flush in her cheeks is like the dawn breaking after a long, dark night. If she’d asked for more… I watch her wind her scarf around her neck, wondering what she’d taste like if I took her in my arms and kissed her. What I’d find if I backed her slowly up against the wall and slipped my hand between her thighs. If she’d be wet if I got my fingers inside her underwear. If she’d come apart in my arms as I rubbed the nub of her clit in firm circles, whispering good girl, Isabeau, come for daddy while she looked up at me with those deep green eyes filled with need. It would be the perfect end to the meeting. Giving her a reward for being so brave and telling me what she needs.

But she didn’t ask for more. She was very specific about what she wanted from me and so that’s what I’ll give her. I’ve got Isabeau back, and that’s the most important thing in the world.

Chapter Eight

Isabeau

Now

There’s a knock at the door at eight-thirty and I know without a doubt before I’ve answered it that it’s going to have something to do with Laszlo. He always was an early riser even when he’d been up late conducting. If his habits are still the same, by this hour of the morning he’ll have finished his run around the heath, drunk his coffee and perused the Arts section of the newspaper. I don’t expect it to be Laszlo, and when I open the door, wild-haired, berobed and yawning, I see that my assumption is correct. It’s a delivery person from one of those impossibly gentrified supermarkets in Belsize Park. They pass me a box of groceries and a note, and I read it.

Good morning, Isabeau

Something better than the breakfast you had planned

Laszlo

I remember what I put on the schedule he asked me to write out for him yesterday. Saturday dinner: pizza. Sunday breakfast: cold pizza. Hayley and I did have pizza for dinner last night, at nearly midnight. She’d been performing and then having drinks with the string section of her orchestra. I got distracted practicing pieces that I know are in the orchestra’s repertoire. Or used to be, at least. When I got back to Hayley’s flat after meeting Laszlo I was gripped with the terrible fear that I could arrive at my first rehearsal and find that all they’ve been playing for the last three years are obscure Bruckner symphonies.

If I say yes. I don’t know anything about the tour and what expectations he’ll have for me.

We didn’t get to sleep until late because Hayley opened a bottle of red wine and we talked until nearly three in the morning. It wasn’t good wine but it was a very good talk. Hayley and I were in Laszlo’s youth orchestra together and when I fled Laszlo’s house on my eighteenth birthday it was to this flat I came, unannounced and in tears. She knows everything about what happened between me and Laszlo that night.

Do you like that, daddy?

Almost everything.

It was difficult telling her what I’ve asked Laszlo to do for me, with his words, with his manner, but it didn’t seem to surprise her. Grinning over the top of her wine glass she said, “You always did enjoy being the conductor’s pet. He loved it, too. None of the other girls could get him to smile at them. He never smiled at me and I played that bloody first violin Scheherazade part for him.”