Harold Robbins Thriller Collection

by Harold Robbins

  And now, more than a year later, as she listened to Wolfgang arrange her strange betrothal, she remembered the words Maurice had spoken that last night in Paris. It was at that moment she first realized that he had been right. She had not been able to forget. As much as she tried to concentrate on the knitting needles in her hands, all she could see was that monstrous phallus, the swollen red glans glistening moistly at her.

  Wolfgang snapped the valise shut and straightened up. He turned toward her. “That does it.”

  “Yes.”

  They were standing on opposite sides of the bed. “It will be a long time,” he said. “Perhaps years.”

  “I know.”

  He forced a wry smile. “I won’t even be here for your wedding.”

  She didn’t speak.

  He made no move to come around the bed to her. “I never told you that I love you, did I?”

  She shook her head. “No, never.”

  “But you know that I do, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe not the same way that other people love each other. But in my own fashion.”

  “I know,” she said. “As I love you. In my own fashion.”

  He glanced at his watch. “I guess it’s time.”

  She opened the door and signaled to Schwebel, who was waiting. He picked up the valise and they followed him downstairs. At the halfway landing, she placed a hand on Wolfgang’s arm, stopping him. She waited until Schwebel had gone outside before she spoke. “The gold? What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Leave it where it is,” he said. “As soon as I get settled I will write you and let you know.”

  She still held on to his arm. “I wish you were going directly to South America from here, not back to Germany.”

  “There are still things I must do there,” he said. “But do not worry, I will be safe. I will remain in the French zone, where Maurice has everything arranged for me.”

  “I still don’t trust him,” she said.

  He tried to joke. “Fine way for a woman to talk about her future husband.”

  She didn’t smile. “That makes no difference.”

  “He’s greedy,” he said. “He wants the title and the money. And he knows there’s no way he can get either except through us. Nothing will happen, believe me.”

  She looked into his eyes. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. You have been too good to me.”

  He cleared his throat of a sudden tightness. “You have been good to me also.”

  “Be careful anyway.”

  He thought for a moment. “You be careful too. Remember what I told you. No matter how much he insists, after you are married do not transfer the companies into his name. Just have him appointed the managing director of them. If he asks why you won’t do it, tell him that I did not leave the transfer papers with you.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  “That should keep him in line,” he said. “He wouldn’t dare try anything unless it’s all in his hands.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  This time he kissed her on the mouth. There was a faint saltiness to her lips. He drew back and looked at her. “No tears.”

  She shook her head. “No tears.”

  “Strange things happen during a war,” he said. “But you made some of it beautiful.” He kissed her again. “That’s for the little one. Tell her that I was sorry I could not wait for her to return from kindergarten.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  They went down to the front door. Once again, he kissed her. Gently this time. “Auf Wiedersehen, mein Liebchen.”

  Maurice’s voice crackled with pleased excitement through the telephone lines from Paris. “The De Gaulle government accepted my proposal. You are now talking to the Marquis de la Beauville.”

  “M’sieur le Marquis,” she said. “May I offer my congratulations?”

  “Madame la Marquise,” he said. “That is not all I expect you to offer.”

  She laughed. “That is good news.”

  “There is even more,” he said. “I managed to have your old papers disappear from the files and have a whole new set for you.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  “Don’t ask how. It was expensive but it was worth it. Now there is no one who can point a finger at you. The new papers are in the mail to you. Now all you need are new photographs to attach to them, then go to the French Consul and sign them and it’s all over.”

  “But there are still some people in Paris who might recognize me.”

  “I thought of that too. Dye your hair blond and change the style. Shoulder length with waves is the latest thing in Paris right now and it would be perfect for you. Plucked eyebrows are also in fashion, as are dark eye makeup and blush-accented high cheekbones. Do that before you have the photos taken. And one more thing. You will notice your residency permit is made out in the name of Countess Tanya Pojarska. I’ve dropped the Anna for a reason. Just as Wolfgang had you drop Tanya because it was not a German name, I want you to go back to it, just in case anyone does try to put two and two together.”

  “I’ll go to the beauty parlor first thing in the morning,” she said. A thought flashed through her mind. “You seem to know a great deal about the latest fashion.”

  He laughed. “We own a perfume factory in Grasse, remember? It would be a simple step to jump from there into cosmetics. I’ve been studying the market. After all the drabness of the war years, it’s ready for a tremendous expansion—women are just bored with being plain.”

  “I think you’re right,” she said.

  “I know I’m right,” he said. “And I’m making all the contacts I can in that field.”

  “I hate to bring it up,” she said, “but there’s one thing you seem to have forgotten.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Our marriage.”

  There was a moment’s silence. “I thought we’d be married when you came to Paris.”

  “No,” she said. “I know the French. There will be too many papers to fill out and too many questions to answer. They will want to check everything and that will take forever. Besides, who knows what they might discover? Then all our plans will be for nothing. We’ll get married up here as soon as I have the papers completed. It will be much simpler.” She laughed. “Besides I like the idea of coming back to France as the wife of the Marquis de la Beauville.”

  She could almost see him preening over the telephone. “Of course, my dear,” he said quickly. “Anything you want.”

  “By the way,” she asked, “have you heard anything from your friends in Berlin about Wolfgang?”

  “Not a word,” he said.

  “I’m worried about him,” she said. “It’s been more than two months.”

  “I’m sure that he’s all right. If anything had gone wrong, I would have heard. By now he’s probably out of the country.”

  “I hope so,” she said.

  “Call me as soon as you have the papers in order,” he said.

  “I will,” she said, putting down the telephone.

  The door opened and Janette came into the room. She was waving a paper in her hand. “Maman!” she exclaimed in French. “Look at this drawing of a bird that I made. The professor gave me an A. He said he has never seen a bird like it.”

  She took the paper from the child’s hand. The professor was right. There never was a bird like it. Except maybe in nightmares. It was a cross between a pterodactyl, an eagle and a bat, all in bold vivid frightening colors.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Janette exclaimed.

  Tanya nodded. “Very.” She gave it back to the child. “You’d better put it in a safe place so that you don’t lose it.”

  “I would like to put it in a frame and hang it on the wall over my bed.”

  Tanya forced a smile. “All right.”

  “You were speaking in French on the telephone,” Janette said. “Who were you talking to?”

  Tanya picked the child
up. Now was as good a time as any to tell her. “Mama is getting married.”

  Janette’s face broke into a happy smile. “Papa General is coming back?”

  “No,” Tanya said. “We’re going back to Paris to live. I’m marrying Maurice.”

  A startled expression crossed Janette’s face then suddenly she began to cry. “No, Maman, no! I don’t like him. He’s a bad man.”

  “He’s not a bad man,” Tanya said patiently. “He’s very nice. You’ll see. He likes you very much.”

  “He does not!” Janette cried. “He hates me. He always pinches me when you’re not looking and he hurts me.”

  “He doesn’t mean to hurt you,” Tanya explained. “It’s just his way of showing that he likes you.”

  “No, it’s not!” Janette said emphatically. “I can tell from his face that he wants to hurt me, and when I don’t cry out he pinches even harder.” She began to cry again. “I don’t want you to marry him. I want you to marry Papa General.”

  “I’m sorry, Janette,” Tanya said firmly, putting her down. “There are some things you know nothing about. I am going to marry him, and that’s the last word I’ll have on the subject. Now you go up to your room and calm down.”

  Still sobbing, the child went to the door. At the door, she turned back, wiping her nose and face with her forearm. “I don’t care,” she said defiantly. “Even if you marry him, I still won’t like him.”

  They were married three weeks later, and despite the fact that Tanya had bought Janette a new white dress for the wedding, she refused to go to the registrar’s office with them.

  She stared at herself in the mirror. She still was not used to seeing herself with blond hair. In a strange fashion she almost felt as if she had become someone else. Before she had felt her sexuality as subtle and quiet. Now it was overt and strong, almost as if it had a force of its own—a force she could not control.

  Slowly she brushed her hair, feeling the soft sensuality of each silken strand. She paused, looking in the mirror. Something wasn’t just right. Then she knew. The white silk gown she had chosen for her wedding night was all wrong.

  She turned to the small valise she had packed to take to the hotel. Quickly she went through it. A moment later she had changed gowns. Now when she looked in the mirror she understood the impulse that had made her place the black lace gown in the valise. Now she was different. Now she was someone else. The thought jumped through her mind. Lilith.

  Again she looked at herself. Now she was ready. Suddenly she felt her legs begin to tremble and placed both hands on the sink to steady herself. In the mirror she saw the nipples of her breasts jutting suddenly forward, almost forcing their way through the filmy lace.

  She shook her head violently to clear it. What was wrong with her? It wasn’t as if he was the first man for her. She closed her eyes for a moment. The knowledge came to her. The monster phallus danced before her closed lids. The ultimate symbol of man’s power. The man himself was nothing. It was Priapus with all the worship he inspired. She felt the wetness flooding into her loins.

  She waited until she felt she could control the trembling of her legs, then turned off the bathroom light and opened the door to the bedroom. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light.

  He was standing, naked, next to the bed, his back toward her. Without moving from the bed, he turned slowly toward her. At first all she saw was his hard glittering eyes and the lips drawn back tightly across his small white teeth; then her eyes fell, drawn inexorably to his phallus. She felt the trembling begin again in her legs, her mouth suddenly dry with the breath catching in her throat.

  Without speaking, he gestured with one hand for her to come to him, the other hand concealed behind his back.

  Silently she moved toward him, feeling as if she might fall with every step she took. At last she was before him, her eyes still cast down. She felt as if she were hypnotized by his manhood.

  Suddenly he moved and with one hand tore the black gown down the front of her body until it lay on the floor around her feet and she was naked in front of him. Still he didn’t speak.

  She felt her wetness running down the inside of her thighs. But there was no way she could move. It was as if his phallus had taken over all the strength in her body. She did not see his other hand come from behind his back. It took a moment for the shock wave of pain to travel from her body to her brain. Then the agony was so intense that a scream involuntarily tore its way from her throat.

  For the first time she saw the cat-o’-nine-tails in his other hand, the small metal tips at the end of each thong gleaming in the light. She looked down at herself. The lash marks were already rising across her breasts, her belly and thighs, and blood was beginning to seep through the skin where the metal had torn into her flesh.

  Before she could speak, his harsh voice tore at her. “Whore of the Boche! Do you think I will be like the others? Slave to your cunt?”

  She could only shake her head. There was no way she could speak. Her voice had gone with shock.

  Again the lash. Again the pain. Then his hand was in her hair, cruelly forcing her to the floor before him. She tried to cover her face with her hands but he forced her head back so that she could look at him. His phallus, fully erect now, hung over her face like a giant snake.

  His voice was harsh and cruel. “You are the slave and he is your master. Look at him and know that you are nothing but his whore.”

  She tried to turn her head away but his hand gripping her by the hair would not let her move. Then the cat fell again. This time across her back. Twice. The pain engulfed her and she screamed, her voice almost raw with hoarseness.

  It was as if her scream of pain triggered him off. His phallus began to leap like an angry cobra as his semen came spurting over her. Angrily he lashed at her again and the pain and the semen seemed to be flowing all together over her body.

  Then it was over and he thrust her violently to the floor. She sprawled, sobbing, at his feet, unable to move. He stood silently for a moment, breathing heavily, looking down at her. Then he prodded her with his foot until she rolled over on her back, her face staring up at him.

  His voice was normal now. “Go to the bathroom, whore, and clean yourself.”

  She didn’t move.

  Again the lash. Her body jumped with the pain. “Do as I say!”

  Slowly she rolled to her hands and knees and began to crawl to the bathroom door. She heard his voice from behind her. “Wait!” She stopped. She saw his feet walk around her and stop in front of her. She didn’t raise her head.

  “Look at me!” he commanded.

  She looked up. He was holding his penis in one hand. Suddenly the urine gushed forth from him, its hot burning saltiness bringing a new dimension to the raw bleeding pain of her wounds. “No!” she screamed, trying to move away. But the lash fell again and the pain beat her to the ground, sprawling at his feet.

  Then he was finished and he laughed. “Now you can go.”

  Somewhere inside she found the strength to look up at him. Her voice sounded like an animal’s, deep and husky in her throat. “I’ll kill you for this!”

  He laughed again. “No, you won’t,” he said contemptuously. “Because if you do, both you and your child will die. You must think I am a fool. I’m not. All your records are in a safe place, and if anything should happen to me, they will be turned over to the authorities.”

  Slowly he went back to the bed and sat down on it. His voice was relaxed, almost gentle now. “After you clean yourself and this mess, come to bed. I’ll be waiting for you.” Then he stretched out and pulled the sheet over him. “You don’t have to rush. I think I’ll sleep for awhile.”

  She pulled herself to her feet by the doorknob. She leaned against it for a moment then opened the door. It was daylight before she came out and he seemed to be still asleep. She moved quietly to a closet door to get a dress.

  His voice came from behind her. “Come here.”

  Sh
e made no move toward him.

  He sat up in the bed, holding the cat in his hand. “I said, come here.”

  Slowly she moved toward him.

  “Lie down and spread your legs.”

  “No.” The cat tore at her. Silently she got into the bed.

  He threw the sheet from him. He was already erect. He poised himself over her and tried to enter her. But she was dry and closed to him. He spit into his hand and rubbed it on himself then with one violent motion thrust himself deep inside her.

  She screamed again in pain as the immenseness of him tore its way through her. He began to move and she continued screaming at the growing intenseness of his mounting passion. It was an agony she never dreamed she could ever feel. Finally, he exploded inside her.

  For a moment, he lay gasping on her breasts, then raising himself on his arms, looked down at her. He was smiling. “Isn’t that what you really wanted? A cock like a horse’s?”

  She stared into his eyes with hatred. Her voice was cold. “I’ve seen horses’ cocks bigger than yours, but I’ve never wanted to fuck them.”

  His hand flashed across her face. She could feel the white finger marks begin to flush with pain. Her voice was still cold. “Are you finished?”

  He nodded.

  “Then get off me,” she said. “I want to wash you out of me.”

  He watched her walk to the bathroom door. “Tanya.”

  She turned to look back at him.

  He seemed genuinely puzzled. “I don’t understand you. What is it that you want?”

  She took a deep breath. “A man,” she said, then closed the bathroom door behind her.

  The chauffeur opened the door and Maurice got out first, turning to give her his hand to help her down. She avoided his hand, steadying herself by his wrist, and waited until Janette was beside her before she turned to look at the house. “It’s a big house,” she said.

  “It was a steal,” he said. “The owners wanted to sell quickly.”

  She felt Janette clutching her hand. It was a large gray stone house, more than twenty meters wide, set back behind a wrought-iron fence in a tiny garden facing the street. Behind the giant center gates was a small walk, leading up to the entrance of stained-glass doors protected by a wrought-iron grille into which already had been set the Beauville coat of arms.