Page 17 of Mayfair Madame
“You’re a madame. You know I won’t say no.”
“I am a madame. The Mayfair madame.”
The doorbell rang before we could talk about it further, but I wasn’t going to let it drop.
“That’ll be Oscar.” Melinda scurried from the room, probably more to avoid the uncomfortable conversation than anything else.
I picked up the folded dress from the sofa and ran my hand over the soft fabric.
It really had been an outstanding choice for the party. A pity it had attracted the wrong attention.
“Darling Naomi. How are you? Melinda says you have news.”
Oscar strode towards me, his arms outstretched, and hugged me tight.
“Come. Sit and tell me what happened.”
We sat in the window seat again, and he took my hand, clasping it in his.
He always fussed like a mother hen, but I loved him for it. He had an old head on his shoulders and was far more astute and mature for his twenty-five years. If I felt down or was having a bad day, a five-minute conversation with him would cheer me right up.
Maybe I should have called him and told him about the assault, but somewhere deep inside me, a sense of shame lingered. I knew it wasn’t my fault, just like it wasn’t when I was fourteen, but I’d always been a private person, and this was private.
“Well, this happened.” I showed him the dress.
He widened his eyes. “What the fuck happened to this? I’m not even sure it can be repaired. Was this torn?”
Did I want it repaired and for it to be a constant reminder of that night?
He took the dress from me and ran it through his hands.
“It’s a fucking shame, Naomi. It was a gorgeous dress.”
“I know, but there’s no other damage,” I assured him. “Just this part.”
“How did it happen? Did you fall?”
“Some twat thought I was fair game.”
“What do you mean?” He continued to inspect the dress until finally, realisation dawned. “Tell me who it was, and I’ll fucking kill them.”
“It’s being taken care of, and I’m fine. A few bruises, nothing more.”
“Bruises? Jesus, Naomi. That’s assault. Have you called the police?”
“I’m well aware. The police were just here.” I took the dress from him and threw it back onto the sofa.
“But she’s dropping the case.” Melinda walked back in with three mugs of coffee.
“You’re doing what now? Girl, you need to get on that man’s ass.”
“Trust me, we will, just not in the usual way. As I said, it’s being taken care of.” I sipped the coffee and walked over to the window, where rain now battered the glass.
“Is she okay?” Oscar whispered.
“I think so. She’s putting a brave face on it.”
“You know I can hear you. I’m right here and not deaf.”
