Bernadette, however, wasn't going to let him get off so easily. Mark wasn't the only one that had been skewered by this whole series of events and she thought she had been quite forgiving and generous to this point. But she had to be equally, if not more, tactful as she had the most to lose by not being allowed access to the grandchildren. She used the moments required to cut a piece of her ham, to buy herself some thinking time.

Strangely, she had wanted ham, egg and chips. The Chef had originally thrown a small fit when he saw her request. Here he was, a man of his experience and talent, being asked to make such an everyday dish. A few choice words were shouted across the kitchen and some pots and pans were rattled and banged in disgust. After a few minutes of outrage, however, the chef decided that revenge wasn't a dish best served cold ... it was best served with the highest quality imaginable.

The ham was the most succulent that he could find and was cooked to absolute perfection. He had done his research on the best potatoes and techniques for making chips that were crispy on the outside and fluffy and light on the inside. The eggs were likewise done beautifully. It was accompanied with a seasonal salad with his trade-secret dressing. He spent more time on Bernadette's simple request than the other three meals put together and, when he had finally plated the masterpiece, he had to fight with an inexplicable urge to serve it on canvas, in a dark oak picture frame.

As Bernadette was cutting the meat with her knife, she simultaneously sliced the air with her words. “I've always carried the pain of not knowing what happened to you. And Harry there has been paying the price for a good portion of his life.” She popped the first piece of ham in to her mouth and couldn't prevent herself from uttering a pleasurable moan as, in a moment of culinary ecstasy, the meat melted completely in to her taste buds.

This was perhaps one of the only times in history where someone's protestations of pain and suffering, had been so comprehensively and unexpectedly undermined by a piece of dead pork. Out of sight, the chef observed this and, smiling to himself at a job well done, returned to the kitchen to work on the desserts.

She had to rescue the situation quickly and underline her position before Mark could mount another attack. “But we're here to discuss going forward. Yes?” She looked at L and raised her eyebrows in the hope of winning some form of support from the person with the least amount of hatchet to bury.

L stuttered a desperate response with a mouth half-full of Duck a l'orange. It was her second most favourite meal; top of the tree being taken by Beef Chow Mein. The only reason that the duck came second was that the l'orange sauce was such a bugger to make, while the Chow Mein was on the other end of the telephone. “Well, we're all here hoping for a positive outcome.”

Bernadette attempted to carry the positive note forward by complimenting Mark. “This ham is the most beautiful I've ever tasted. You've done well for yourself and have very good taste in chefs.”

Mark's head was in a spin. He didn't respond and let the table go quiet while people ate. Bernadette swapped banter with L about the food and used the chance to build some rapport with her, while Mark and Harry stayed quiet.

Eventually, with mains finished and dessert devoured, the meal was done. All four were now on the sofa around the open fire and enjoying more drinks, except L who had opted for orange juice as too much alcohol and pregnancy didn't mix very well. The staff had cleared away and most of them had left, taking the dirty plates down to the hotel kitchen to wash up. The butler was the only one left attending to the suite's occupants.

It was very dark now and as L and Bernadette continued to chat about pregnancy and things, Mark watched them talking to each other. He had seen other dominants and submissives chat casually before, but for some reason the exchange that Bernadette and L were having, was fascinating him. Perhaps it was because they were outside the usual dungeon space dynamic. L's overall demeanour was submissive and Bernadette's dominant, but there they were, talking to each other as equals even though their personalities shone clearly from each of them. Bernadette retained her authoritative tone and L was speaking softly and respectfully, but that wasn't getting in the way of their conversation. They were sharing experiences, discussing events of the past, hopes for the future; and their status in the social hierarchy of the scene didn't hinder them in the slightest.

Mark stole a look at Harry. He was quiet and reserved, focused on his glass. Mark guessed that there was something on Harry's mind, possibly all the fuss of Bernadette's retirement combined with the stress that usually comes with major life change. Although Bernadette was orchestrating and handling everything, that didn't mean that it wouldn't have an effect on him.

Mark soon had his fill of people watching, got up and went to the window to look out at London. It was brightly lit by the myriad of bulbs and spotlights that were its nocturnal blood supply. The city was one of those places that never went to sleep. He had returned to Cointreau and ice; the orange flavour was refreshing. It made a stark contrast to the powerful single malts he used to drink so readily.

After a few minutes, Harry got up from the sofa and joined Mark by the window. He produced a letter from his jacket and proffered it to Mark. “There's never going to be a right time but this seemed like the only chance I'll ever have to bring this up. I know you think I'm among the worst kind of slime on the planet and, while this might not change your opinion; well...”

Mark took the letter and awkwardly opened it with one hand. It was an old letter from the police. Addressed to Harry it detailed his dishonourable discharge from the force. Reading further, Harry had been caught misusing the Police National Computer system to retrieve information that wasn't within his remit. As a result he had been disciplined and sacked.

Mark's jaw tightened and he held his breath as he handed the letter back to Harry. As Harry folded the paper and put it back in his pocket, he filled in more detail. “I was caught using the PNC to try and find you. Once I got the sack from the force, I did the only honourable thing that I could and supported your mother the best I was able to manage.” Harry looked down at his feet while Mark continued to drink in the London lights, some dampness starting to settle in the corner of his eyes. “I'm not going to blame the force. True, they stopped Bernadette from trying to find me when she was pregnant with you; but I'm not going to try and worm my way out of what I did. I may be many things but dishonest isn't one of them.” He looked up at Mark, who was still staring out of the window. “I don't deserve to be called your father, because I wasn't there for you when you grew up; but I hope you'll at least have some respect for me taking what I deserve on the chin.”

Harry waited a few moments, but Mark kept staring out of the window and didn't say a word. Eventually, Harry returned to the sofa, and the chattering between L and Bernadette. It wasn't too much longer before everyone tired and the pleasantries of the disentangling ensued. Coats were brought and goodbyes were said. No arrangement was made for further contact but the butler took Harry and Bernadette downstairs to a taxi, leaving Mark and L in the suite alone.

L turned to Mark to see a few tears gently descending his cheeks. His heart felt like it was in a vice grip and his eyes told that he was lost in his memories. She waited a few moments and then decided to try and divert his attention, slipping in to a gentle, formal tone to comfort him. “May I taste your drink please, Master?”

Mark didn't acknowledge her by voice. He simply extended his glass to her and watched L take a sip. The orange tang bit gently in to her mouth as its mix of alcoholic warmth and ice chill made its way down her throat. He watched the expression on her face as she concentrated on sampling something new, her brain receiving the myriad of signals back from her mouth and processing them; making the decision as to whether here was something new and likeable, or a concoction that was best avoided in future.

Finally, she licked her lips, offered the glass back to Mark and looked in to his eyes. He took the glass back and smiled. “You like that?”

“Mmmm... it's a bit different Master. I like the flavour.”

“Duck A l'orange and now this. You do seem to like a deep, rich orange.”

L shrugged her shoulders. “It works. Shall we look at the lights, Master? It might take your mind off whatever's troubling you.”

Mark broke her gaze and turned his head towards the window. “No, I think it's about time for bed.”

“Are we leaving now?”

“No, I've got the suite until tomorrow. In fact, I've got it until the day after tomorrow so if you want, we can do a bit of shopping, sightseeing, or even just lay around in bed. Times like these aren't going to happen so often once the children are with us.” He reached out and gently rubbed her stomach. Mark was still having difficulty with the reality that he was going to be a father and that two little children were going to come in to their world. He pointed off to the side. “The bedroom's that way.”

They emerged in to a room which was tastefully decorated; neutral colours and clean lines, but again felt like it was daring you to alter things and move stuff around. The centre piece was a modern four poster bed. L walked to her side and picked up an ankle cuff which had already been strapped to the bed. She lifted it and challenged Mark with her eyes.

“What do you expect, little one? This is smaller than our bed and I do want a quality night’s sleep. I don't want to wake up in the morning to find I've been relegated to the floor.”

“Point taken, Master.” she then saw the wrist cuffs close to the pillows. Light bondage, as usual, just to make the point that even though they weren't at home, she was still his and he was still her Master.