Chapter 3 Samuel Wilson

We sit at a cafe next to the complex, steaming mugs in hand.

We made light conversation.

I found out that he went to college with my husband and that they were in the same business class. This obviously was interesting as it would mean that he had been in my year at Stanford too. I also found out that the time that he took away was to volunteer at Uganda.

"Uganda" I exclaim, " that must have been such an amazing experience"

"It was" he replies before taking another sip.

Funny thing is...as I had said his name has rung a bell. I recognised and recalled that I had read his file once when starting work. He left work at the start of 2018 but only volunteered in Uganda 5 months later. What was he up to before that? Volunteering somewhere else I assume.

"So what made you want to come back?" I ask I was thinking that he was going to say something like he hated it or that it was too much work, basically something a privileged person would say but instead he said," your husband asked me back, he wants to do business"

I tilt my head. "Business?" I question but we are interrupted by a server. She walks over with a tray in hand.

"Refill? " she asks.

But before she can fill our cups,  the mugs on the tray topple over and crash to the ground with a tsunami worthy splash of coffee flying everywhere, unfortunately including on me. "Oh my God, I...I am so sorry to miss" the waitress seems panicked. Quickly kneeling to clean up her mess.

"It's fine," I say before blindly going to reach for the napkin but my hand meets another. I look up startled. It was Mr Wilson, he had also gone to get the napkin simultaneously.  I pull back immediately "Pardon me" I blush, his hands were soft, gentle even. Nothing like the hands I were used to...My husband's.  He laughs, and says" It's fine if you saw how clumsy I was on Friday nights you would be thinking that I was the clumsy one." I chuckle. I like how he made light of the situation. It's so weird to think but his husky laugh was similar to my husband's.  Was it weird to think or was I making it weird???

"I apologise, miss, you can have it on the house" the waitress is shaking. Poor girl.

"It's truly fine" I try and make her feel comfortable.  I smile and say " I didn't even like this outfit anyway, it gives me an excuse to buy another one"

The waitress smiles back. Young. Meek. Maybe new. She didn't mean it I could tell, no bother crying over spilt milk.

I turn my attention back to Mr Wilson as the timid waitress sheepishly hurries to attend another table. But he was already staring at me. Perhaps more differently than the way he was staring at me before.

"Do I have coffee on my face as well?"

I felt a state.

"No no, it's just you seem very nice."

I smile.

I return the compliment, "You seem nice as well."

Then I look down at my wrist and realised that the spilt coffee had removed some of the makeup I had used to cover my bruise. I quickly move my hand to under the table. " shall we go back?" I ask

10 minutes later and we were back in the office. Me, my husband and Mr Wilson.  "I suppose my secutary gave you a good tour," says Thomas whilst noticing my stained uniform. I move my hands trying to disguise it. Now I felt even more of a state. "Yes she gave me a great tour" Mr Wilson turns to face me and smiles and then goes to sit down at the meeting table."Good" says Thomas before adding, "Mrs Cringle if you wouldn't mind excusing us, whilst you go to clean up yourself"

"Of course," I say before leaving the room without a second thought. 

I tried to get the stain out of my shirt. I scrubbed till me fingers ached. It was no good, the blouse was ruined. To be fully honest I never really liked this style of clothing but Thomas preferred it. "It's more professional" he would say. I would like to wear dresses and jumpers but my dresses were too short for his liking.

I walk out of the washroom not only a mess but a wet mess. When I re-enter the room and I took a seat quickly at the grand meeting table. Now there were a few more people: Mr Benning the deputy,  Mr Watson the manager of the production,  Mrs cunning the head of the office department and several more, some more familiar than others. I feel like I was getting judged, even by my own husband who was glaring me down like I was a sight for sore eyes. I fumble with my pen trying not to pay attention to them, tucking a strand of my brunette hair behind my ear I notice another pair of eyes staring at me. Mr Wilson.  I gave him a little wave...maybe too obvious but he waved back with a quirky smile, it was comforting not everyone was stereotyping me. I turn back to see my husband's stern face. He didn't look happy.

I got home a bit before him, he had work that deadlines for today. I decided to use this time to pop out and get the food from our favourite restaurant.  It was raining so I thought it was best we stayed home.

I set the table. I Plated the food. I even opened a bottle of wine. Then I went upstairs to change out of my spoilt uniform to something more comfortable. 

I come back downstairs in blue jeans and a bubblegum pink jumper that hangs off one shoulder. 

Just as I reached the last step I heard the twist of the door handle. He comes in a briefcase in hand and I go over and reach up to give him a kiss, but he doesn't stop and he ignores me, he just brushes past me and goes straight upstairs. He is in one of his bad moods I presume, maybe he didn't get through the work done that he needed to.

"I got dinner sorted" I shout up the stairs but doesn'ttent reply. So I go into the living space and sit on the sofa to wait for him.

I didn't hear him come down the stairs. He came up behind me and gave me a peck on top of my head. "Did you have fun giving that tour today?" He asked. It's as if he came downstairs a different person. "I, I guess it was quite interesting" I reply, "Anyway I got us dinner, so we better eat it before it gets cold" I stand up.

"Sit" he spits out the word as if I am a dog.

"What?!" I say perplexed, I thought he was fine.

He steps closer and shoves me back into the couch. His whole domina changed now. I get alarmed and try to scoot back but he grabs my already bruised arm and yanks me back. "Did you have fun with Mr Wilson today?" I am too scared to answer. What if I say the wrong thing again?

I learnt it was better to answer him, as soon as he smacks me across the face for my silent treatment.  " I told you to be nice not to be a prostitute" he grabs my face with his other hand. I can't move and it's making it a bit hard to breath with him gripping me like this. "Thomas my arm, I bruise easily" he looks over at my previous bruise as I pant, turning redder by the second, "THOMAS" I shriek, his grip was too much. "You are my wife, and my wife only" he yells back and I nod immediately. Then he let's go. I gasp for air. "Next time I ask you to do something do exactly what I say" he orders, before storming out of the room.

I didn't feel like eating anymore. My appetite was eaten up in that short moment. I quickly exited the room and ran up to the bedroom; flopping down on the mattress I also enveloped myself in the blanket.

Later that evening Thomas roamed up the stairs. In silence, he got ready for bed and then got under the covers. Under the quilt, I feel his hand reach over and start to caress my leg. I instantly get chills. In a matter of moments, he is all over me. Snogging with a hiss to tongue roaming around my mouth, I can barely breathe his body is so heavy on top of me. His hips are in a rhythm as he thrusts in and out. I couldn't help but have the same thought run on my mind...

"You are my wife", "my wife only"  He was claiming me as if I am some animal or pet. But why?

Was he jealous? And if so jealous of what??? SAMUEL?