Ruled By A Woman - 1. Chapter

"Love is a friendship set to music" - Joseph Campbell 

"No, Esmé, absolutely no. The opening party is happening next week!"

Margaret Wilson was sitting in her office and tried to keep herself calm. She was calling Esmé Raymond, the owner of the catering company, which provided refreshments on parties of the Small Gallery, where Margaret has worked. Now, to be exact six days before the opening party of a new vernissage, Esmé called her that she wasn't able to provide anything.

"Mrs. Wilson, I deeply apologize but our kitchen just burnt out and we try to figure some staff problems out. I'm really sorry, you have to find another catering. We indeed return your money..." tried to fix the problem Esmé.

"Can't do anything, can I?" resigned Margaret. "Do you know any company, which can save us?"

"Of course, I'll send you contacts to your mail, okay?" A voice of Esmé was full of nervousness. She knew that her company couldn't lose a customer as good as the Small Gallery was. Regardless she has to solve the problems...

"Thank you, Esmé. I hope everything will be alright soon and next time you will be able to be our catering again," said calmly Margaret and was playing with her letter knife, which she received as a gift from the owner of the Small Gallery.

"I thank you for your understanding and I'm looking forward to visiting the vernissage." Esmé was so happy that this art historian took everything calmly. She has never seen her angry or screaming but already heard stories about her anger and temperament.

"Oh thank you! See you!" Margaret ended the call. She leaned on her chair and looked around her office. Did she really need it? Why hasn't she already been on the way to Rhodes? Or to Florence, the most amazing city she has ever visited.

She put the letter knife on the table, rather than throwing it against the wall. She was so pissed out, everything was upside down and nothing worked. The incomes of the gallery decreased, employees threatened Margaret to be on strike for higher salaries but her biggest worry was the owner of this gallery, Richard Barney.

She's known him for 5 years. He offered her a job after her return from Europe. She didn't even know how he's found her, once just rang the phone and Richard asked her to join the crew in the Small Gallery. She was so excited and so now.

She looked again around her small office. Margaret preferred cosier places rather than wide rooms. She focused on the art mirror, which she has received from Richard as a birthday gift. Frankly, a majority of the things here were given by Richard.

She didn't have many friends, even in the school. Of course, she knew some people by names, she worked or had worked with some of them but she's never called them "friends". She was considered that soul mates don't exist at all.

Margaret stood up from her comfortable chair and came around her mahogany table straight in front of the mirror. Judging by her reflection, she looked older than she actually is. Margaret was 28yrs old but looked like a woman in her late thirties.

When she was a child, she used to be a lovely tiny blondie but it screwed it somehow and now she was brunette. She had been never thinking about dying her hair. Margaret put down her glasses and looked again on herself.

"Why do I wear it?" asked herself. Maybe because it was some type of protection.

She wore her favourite brown tailored suit. Even through it suited her well, she didn't feel comfortable in it. Her curves were similar to the bodies of Grecian goddesses – that said her professor of history. After time she released that it wasn't a compliment.

She was not able to attract a man face to face. She always became so nervous, unable to speak or even look at him.

The painful memories of her scholar days came over her mind, especially the bet of cheerleaders and rugby players. They just wanted to make a joke from her. She had to live with it until her graduation day. And everything because of Christopher... No, she didn't want to think about it. She has moved over it and she didn't want to nag in her old wounds.

A sound of a new message made her to focus on presence. It wasn't a SMS but a message on Yahoo.

|My lady?|

Oh gosh, it was a poet, again. She automatically changed to a different mode, her second life one.

She refused to answer him, their relationship, if she even could have called it a relationship, was finished a month ago. He just didn't get it and spammed her by his messages.

|Madame, I know you're there. I have to tell you something...|

She just clicked on it, not replying.

|I composed a poem for you...|

Enough!

|What did I tell you? Don't write me, we have split up a month ago! If you have written me that before, I would command you to punish yourself! I'm very angry on you! Very!|

These angry talks always made him to stop. Inside every young men is hidden a small nasty boy, who is afraid of a punishment... However some of them are kinky one and are looking forward to it.

|My lady, it wasn't meant to make you angry. I'm only yours. Tell me my punishment...|

She could smell complications.

Without warning, somebody knocked and in the doorstep was standing Richard. It was his well-known way how to make a great entrance. Why should he have been waiting until invitation? It's his here.

"Richard! You surprised me! Do you need anything?" Margaret stood up, put the phone on the desk and smiled at him.

Richard looked great in his sixties. A smile never disappeared from his face. Openly he was the engine of the Small Gallery.

She wanted to ask him, why he looked like ready for baseball but then she released his grandson had a match.

"Hi Margie! How are you doing? Are you in rush, right?" asked Richard and sat in front of her. Only Richard had the privilege to call her Margie, nobody else could. Well, he loved The Simpsons.

"Like normally before every opening party, Richard. What make you to come here? It's normally impossible to find you here before the party," answered him.

"I just came here to look around... I have to tell you something, Margie," said worriedly Richard. Margaret knew that something had happened and she wouldn't like it.

"Richard, don't tell me you have a disease," said with a shaking voice.

"Don't worry! No disease! Actually it's something amazing! I'm going to a trip around the world!"

The joy in his voice was like a drug and Margaret relaxed thanks that. She had been expecting some bad news, not an announcement of his journey. He will leave the gallery for longer time than usually but she can make it.

"I envy you so much! It's amazing! I would go without thinking! When are you leaving? And how long are you going to travel?"

"Tomorrow," said silently and looked at her worriedly.

"What?! Tomorrow?!"

"Sorry? Can you repeat it?" Margaret couldn't fake that she was in shock. He had never missed the opening of a new vernissage. Never.

"Don't be mad, Margie. I'm leaving tomorrow because I'm flying to London."

"But why so early?" She couldn't still understand it.

"I need to switch off, relax a little bit. I'm in so much stress. And soon another grandchild is going to see the world, do you remember?"

"Oh, of course, sorry, I almost forgot. Greet Emma and Will and tell them I wish all the best. When is the due date?"

"In two weeks, I want to be in the first line to welcome my grandson or granddaughter," smiled Richard and looked straight to Margaret eyes. His face full of worries.

"I sold the gallery," said quietly Richard and was waiting till her reaction.

Her face was pale, without emotions, just stared at him. So Richard continued.

"I sold it to a young investor. He owns some galleries, is a big Maecenas of art. You'll get along with him very easily, don't worry. His name's Christopher Hundsberger..." He stopped in the middle of his talk because he saw how Margaret became deadly pale.

"No, Christopher Hundsberger? No way!"