end of the day reminding them of the absolute ban on taking pictures within the establishment or anywhere in the vicinity. Any member who disregarded this rule could expect to have their membership revoked. The club did reserve the right to conduct random bag searches, and would exercise that right with increased vigilance. Jerome had dismissed the incident as some idiot taking a selfie. A number of guest members had been present the previous evening, and one of them had failed to properly comprehend the regulations regarding use of phones. It was amazing how many people thought selfies didn't count, but the revised signage and the email to members would set them straight. The guest involved had been identified and warned. Jerome had had his assurance that the picture had been deleted. He was confident the matter had been addressed and no further action would be required. He hoped this unfortunate episode would not affect Tony’s continued enjoyment of the facilities.
Tony rather thought it might. He was not convinced by the explanation, nor did he really believe that anyone would be so naive as to disregard the no photographs rule. Adequate signage was already in place, the rules were made clear to all guests as they signed in. Selfies don't count? Whoever heard such bollocks? Had the phone been checked? No. They only seemed to have this idiot’s word for it that the picture had been deleted. He would never have left it at that, not if he’d been in charge.
But he’d had other priorities last night, namely a confused and distressed submissive whose care was his primary concern, then and now. Should he tell her what had happened?
Probably not. She’d be distraught at the possible implications, and would be imagining all sorts of nightmare scenarios. Images posted on social media, blackmail threats, he groaned at the prospect. Thea adored her kink, but she’d probably never go near a club again if she knew about this. Still, it rankled. He was being less than honest with her and that didn't sit well.
*****
“I did what you wanted.”
At Tony’s words Thea glanced across the office at him, her attention dragged from the third incarnation of the risk assessment policy she was trying to draft. Sometime these things just flowed for her, others, like this one, were squeezed out like blood from a stone. She was glad of the break. Risk management was not the most riveting subject, even on a good day, and she’d be at it all afternoon. Still, she had an entertaining evening to look forward to, with luck. She intended to stay at Tony’s again tonight, even though she was due at Kershaw’s in the morning.
She removed her glasses and peered at him. “Sorry, what?”
“I did as you suggested. I went to see Jeremy Malone.”
“You went to see him?”
Tony nodded. “I did. He took some convincing to even agree to that, but I can be persuasive.”
“True, you can. But I didn't expect you to go. I would have done it.”
“I know. You said. But it was my responsibility. And I wanted to find out for myself what sort of bloke he really was.”
“And?”
“And you got it right. As usual.”
She let that remark pass, resisted the urge to preen. No one likes I told you so. “How was he?”
“In what sense?”
“I mean, is he all right? Has he found another job?”
Tony shook his head. “No, It seems the taint of a tribunal isn’t easy to shake off. He reckons that any potential employer will perceive him as a trouble-maker, no smoke without fire, that sort of thing. Even though Mr Malone won his case, and was shown to be the injured party, he’s been out of work since he left here, almost eight months now.”
Thea abandoned any thought of risk assessment. Tony had her full attention. “That’s a pity. So, tell me about the visit. Did you go to his home?”
“Yes. I phoned first, and he told me to fuck off. Oh, not in so many words, but that’s what it amounted to.”
“You can't really blame him.”
“No, I thought so too. So I persevered and managed to convince him there’d be no harm in sparing me a few minutes of his time. I offered to meet him at Costa in Millennium Square but he preferred to be on his home turf. So I went there.”
“He lives in Morley, right?”
“Yeah, a bungalow. It’s just him most of the time, and his daughter at weekends, like you said.”
“She wasn’t there, then?”
“No.”
“I wonder