‘There we are. All done. Anything else you want?’
‘Sylvie?’
‘Yes ?’
‘I’m a bit sore here.’ He indicated his chest.
‘Oh I am sorry. I hope we weren’t too rough with you. Let me see.’
Very cautiously he lowered the duvet, keeping his head hung down. He wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling about this.
‘We’ve got something that will help for that.’ She went to the bathroom, and came back with a small white pot. ‘Just massage this in. Shall I do it for you?’
He meant to refuse, but nodded his head, and the girl rubbed the scented cream firmly but gently onto the left side of his chest and then onto the right. The lower part of him swelled even more. He noted that the cream smelt the same as the water Caroline had given him yesterday.
‘Probably rub some more in this evening, if you’re still sore. Now you go and get washed and tidied up. Shall I help you choose some clothes?’ She grinned at him.
There was no way he could get out of the bed with the girl still there.
‘I’ll be alright thanks.’ (As though it mattered after yesterday!)
She giggled. ‘OK, I’ll see you later. Come to the kitchen when you’re ready.’
She moved to the door and then turned. ‘If you want any help, just pick up the house-phone there.’ She pointed to the bedside table, smiled, pouted and blew the boy a kiss.
When he was sure the door was closed, Andrew carefully disentangled himself from the duvet and got off the bed. There was a full length mirror on the far side of the room. He walked towards it and saw himself naked. At least he looked different to last night. No makeup. (When had that come off?) But his hair still showed the flashes of red and gold that Sylvie the slave girl had sprayed onto it last night when she had him strapped into that frame. He shook his hair in a way he couldn’t remember having done before. Perhaps the colour would wash out. His erection was subsiding but when he touched his sore chest it got larger again. He saw a dressing gown on a chair, pulled it round him, and went to explore the bathroom.
He did find some clothes that he was not too uncomfortable wearing. He had boxer shorts like the ones he had worn yesterday but these were softer and silkier, trousers that were quite loose and needed a belt to hold them up, a stretchy top in a red colour, and a loose weave jumper which was a bit wide in the neck. When he looked in the mirror (which was something he seemed to do naturally), he looked OK, but blinked as he saw himself first as a girl, and then as a boy. He was glad he had washed the highlights out of his hair. He had found a band to put his hair back into his accustomed pony-tail. At least no-one here minded he had long hair. He put on the same sandals, although they were a little high in the heel.
Nervously, he found his way down the staircase, back into the hall with the Three Graces in the middle, and into the corridor that led to the kitchen.
‘Hello dear,’ said the large bustling lady he had met briefly last night. ‘I’m glad you’ve arrived. I’ve been keeping food ready for you. Would you like a proper breakfast; our own eggs and bacon from the farm?’
‘Yes. Yes please. Mrs Newcombe?’
‘Oh call me Belle please. Everyone does, except Mr Benedict and Caroline when she’s being very formal. Now come and sit down. Would you like orange juice?’
‘Yes, thank you. I’m sorry I’m so late.’
‘Don’t worry dear, you had a long journey yesterday, and I expect the girls kept you up late last night.’ She said this while busy at the range, with her back to him, and he could not tell whether she knew, or approved, or disapproved, of what the ‘girls’ had been doing with him last night.
He drank the juice. It was fresh and very good.
‘More juice? Or more coffee?’
‘Can I have both please?’
‘Of course, here’s the juice and there’s coffee in the pot when you’re ready. Now here’s a plate of what we serve our guests for a “proper” breakfast. Not that you are a just a guest of course. We all really hope that you will want this to be your home now.’
There was crisp fat free bacon, scrambled eggs sprinkled with a green herb (tarragon - and fennel - he learnt later) wholemeal toast, black pudding, mushrooms that were crisp and spurting, and small sticks of a green vegetable he did not recognise.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Yes dear?’
‘What’s this?’
‘Oh – fresh asparagus. Not quite usual for breakfast I know, but the farm sent some over this morning, lovely and fresh, and after all it is nearly lunch time. I steamed it quickly for you. If you don’t like it just leave it. It does go well with scrambled eggs though!’
Andrew, who by now was well into eating it, could only agree.
‘Your little cat seems quite at home, we fed her and she’s gone into the workroom with Sylvie. It was quite funny; last night Fred, that’s my husband, made up a litter tray for her and put it in the back scullery. We took her to show her where it was, and she looked at us with that haughty expression she has, you know...’
Andrew tired and confused though he was, grinned at the thought of the self-possessed little cat.
‘Then she put her tail straight up, and stalked out of the back door. We were worried for a while, but she soon came back inside and started rubbing round us for more food. Fred was worried that she’ll make a mess of the kitchen garden, but as he said, she has to mark her new territory, and we’ll soon find out where she goes.’
‘She’s a very clever cat,’ said Andrew, clearing his plate. ‘In London...’ He stopped; his mood suddenly changing. There were tears in his eyes. So much had happened so quickly.
Belle Newcombe had seen some troubles in her time, and could empathise with the poor confused boy whose life had been ripped apart. No more than anybody else in the house did she want his new future, whatever it was going to be, to be blighted by constant reference to the past.
‘She is a very clever little cat,’ she said gently. ’It’s remarkable that she’s settled down so quickly. Animals do sometimes. People take a little longer; no whiskers you see!’
She almost got him to smile. ’But do try not to worry. We’re all here to help you, whenever you want, and whatever you want to do with yourself.’
‘Mrs, - Belle, why isn’t...’
Belle shook her head.
‘It’s Caroline as you must as the questions of dear. She’s the one who’s made all the arrangements, since she got back from seeing Mr Benedict the last time.’
‘Is Mr Benedict...’
‘He is very very old dear, but I know he was concerned about you; you, and your family.’
She said this with some sympathy, and the boy lowered his face.
Belle said nothing for a while. A naturally talkative woman, she knew when it was best to be quiet. Eventually Andrew looked up.
‘More to eat? More coffee?’
Andrew shook his head.
‘Well, it’s another lovely day. I think that Caroline is going to take you for a walk round the park when you’re ready. She said so earlier, if you were up before lunch that is. But she said that there was no rush.’
‘Thank you very much Mrs... Belle. It was a lovely breakfast.’
‘You’re very welcome dear. Now if you’ve finished why don’t you take an apple for yourself and one for Caroline, she’s always worried about eating enough fruit and go through to the workroom. You know where that is?’
‘On the far side of the hall?’
‘That’s right. If you get lost pick up any of the house-phones. You’ll see them around everywhere, usually hidden in a corner, but not hidden if you see what I mean! Now go and work up an appetite for lunch!’
*****************************
Two days later, Andrew was confused and cross with himself.
He had had a good walk through the estate; park, grounds and farmland with Caroline. She had apologised again about his missing luggage, and said that it was ex
pected to arrive that day from the town. She had told him quite a bit about the estate business, and he was more impressed than ever by her obvious competence, as well as by her physical presence. He had not been close to many girls of his own age, and even fewer adult females. Those he had met however, mostly the older sisters of his few friends had interested and sometimes fascinated him. He had loved talking to them. Now, he was intoxicated by the company of this beautiful and vastly competent woman. He had talked more of himself, what he thought he wanted to do, and what he liked and disliked, more than he had ever done before. Caroline was interested, and never critical, and would always defend him against himself when he tried to put himself down. Even when he had told her of his most secret memories, and of his games with his cousin Lucy, she had smiled and told him that he wasn’t unusual, and that the important thing was that everybody found out what they needed to find out, both about themselves and about others, and that nobody got hurt.
He had told her too, about how he really disliked some of the older boys and men. He didn’t want to be that kind of man. That had worried him when thinking about University. He didn’t relate to excessive drinking, or games, of treating women merely as sexual objects. His Dad had been intelligent, gentle and considerate. He had never been violent, or loud, and certainly not drunken. That made what had happened to him seem even more cruel.
Caroline had pointed out that it was not only men who could be drunken or cruel. Some women were as well; and some women could be manipulative and devious in ways even worse than men.
Andrew, carried away by his own analysis, had told her that he sometimes thought he would be happier as a woman. He certainly didn’t like his own male body, and envied women their soft skin and fuller curves. He had stopped; shocked by his own admission of something he had hardly dared think, even to himself.
But Caroline had laughed gently and had taken his hand. Naturally, she said, women were the much more interesting gender. They were much more versatile, could wear more interesting clothes (!), and even though heavily discriminated against in many societies, were the people who really kept the world going. There were people who had managed to change their gender, although some were more successful than others.
She had asked him gently if he had enjoyed the previous evening.
He had blushed, looked away, and said, politely, that he had enjoyed it very much.
That evening they had had a quiet meal, and then Caroline and Sylvie had some tasks to finish in the estate workroom. Andrew had watched television on the vast screen in the drawing room. The two women had joined him later, and they had shared a glass of wine. Aphrodite decided to visit them, and after making sure that they all remembered her, had settled down on Andrew’s lap. After a while though, she abandoned him for Sylvie.
He could not yet place his first evening in the house into any kind of context. Sometimes he relished the memories of naked and rounded flesh. Sometimes he was repelled, although still fascinated, by what he had been involved with. He was grateful, though also a little regretful, when the evening ended with no more than good night kisses on his cheeks, though Caroline and Sylvie were much more elaborate between themselves.
That night he didn’t sleep well. Everything was rebounding through his head. He was appalled by what he had confessed to Caroline, and was telling himself that he really must get control of himself. When he eventually slept his dreams were tumultuous and threatening, and he woke to the dashing of rain against the windows.
He was silent at breakfast, and when he tried to pick up Aphrodite she writhed in his hands and made him put her down. She looked at him crossly, hissed, and abandoned him for Sylvie.
That day his luggage arrived. He took the bag up to his room. (There was a lift built into the rear of the staircase which made this much easier than he had been expecting.) He opened the bag. Inside was all that was left of his London life. He carefully unwrapped the most important of his photographs from the pair of jeans that had kept them safe. He sat on the floor and his tears ran.
Sometime later, Sylvie came up to see where he was and to ask him if he wanted lunch. He was still sat on the floor, and she knelt beside him and put her hand on his shoulder. He spurned her, stood up, and ran to the rain-lashed window.
That afternoon, his face washed and wearing his own clothes. He went down the workroom, knocked very formally, and asked if he might speak to Caroline. Sylvie quietly left the room. Caroline listened to him in silence, and when she replied was polite and grave.
If he felt that he didn’t want to live in the house with them, he could have a cottage on the estate, or if he didn’t want to be by himself, she was sure he could stay with the Newcombes. If he wanted to resume his studies they could arrange distance-learning options, or eventually they could find him a flat somewhere. Anything he needed, he could order on-line, or Fred Newcombe would drive him to town. Money was no object, and he should not worry about it. But, she said, these were difficult times for him. He should not expect to know what he wanted to do all at once. Caroline would always be available if he wanted to talk to her.
************************************
From the doorway of the walled garden, where he had been helping Belle Newcombe, Andrew could see the terrace on the south side of the main house. Caroline, her long legs in tight leggings, Sylvie in a little white dress with a ridiculously short skirt, and two other women he didn’t recognise, one wearing a quite formal looking grey suit, and one in an Indian sari, were walking down the steps to the croquet lawn. He saw Sylvie’s skirt ride up as she negotiated the steps and heard her laughter as she pulled her hem down. The longing that had been increasing in him for the last two days was suddenly unbearable. Why couldn’t he be like the carefree girl? Why couldn’t he be what he felt he really was?
Belle straightened her back from the lettuce she was pulling for lunch. Her long experience and all of her considerable compassion let her see the tension and the longing in the boy.
‘Andrew,’ she spoke quietly. ’Go on. You only have to ask. Go and ask Caroline.’
Andrew looked back at Belle, and back at the women on the lawn. He couldn’t decide – but he could, of course he could. There was no reason at all why he couldn’t do what he felt compelled to do.
He dropped the basket he had been carrying for Belle, and found his way through the doorway, through the gap in the yew hedge, and onto the lawn. All the women smiled at him. The two he didn’t know moved away.
’Hello Andrew’ said Caroline gently. There was a silence. ‘Please Caroline... please Caroline, I was... I was wrong before. Please can I be Cassandra.’
Caroline took his hands, looked into his eyes, and kissed him on both cheeks. ’Of course you can, Cassie dear.’ She hugged him briefly, and then took his hands and put them into Sylvie’s.
‘Come along,’ said Sylvie, ‘let’s get you into a skirt.’
Chapter Four
Dinners and delights
Some weeks had passed. Cassandra, having made her decision, at least for the moment, was very happy as she got herself ready for the dinner party. Caroline had said that Cassandra should look as good as she could for the guests, although she did not yet know who they would be. She would have liked to ask, but Caroline, so apparently open and friendly most of the time, had a manner about her which inhibited too many questions.
She was back in her room, and Sylvie was helping her. Cassie’s hair had now been properly washed and conditioned and her colour highlights were back, this time in copper and bronze. Sylvie had trimmed it to fall around her face, and then pulled it back with a black clip behind her head.
‘We do need to get you to the hair salon to get this done properly.’
‘Ooh – would that mean going out somewhere?’
‘Yes of course, to the town. But don’t worry, your hair looks quite good like that, and Caroline wouldn’t make you do anything until you are ready to.’
Cassie looked in the mirror. (She was do
ing a lot of that now). Her hair did set off her face, and she looked pretty but quite demure.
‘Don’t worry. We are not going to make you into a bleached blonde just yet!’
Cassie looked in the mirror again.
Sylvie giggled. ‘You want to try being blonde? To see if it’s true that blondes have more fun? I wouldn’t know. I’ve always been blonde!’
Sylvie looked over Cassie’s shoulder in the mirror, so that for a minute there were two young women looking and laughing and revelling in their own good looks.
‘Now, let’s get your makeup done. You will need to learn to do this yourself, but I’ll help you this evening. Caroline gave strict instructions. You will have this lovely black dress, gathered at the neck, but leaving your shoulders and back bare. It’s quite modest, but stylish. So we’ll plan your makeup to go with that.’
Cassandra wanted to ask Sylvie whether she always did exactly what Caroline said, but remembered the tattoo on Sylvie’s lower back, and what Caroline had said about the nature of the relationship between Caroline and her assistant.
‘I’m glad you remembered to use your moisturiser, and with your skin you must use sun block whenever you go out; especially in this weather.’
Sylvie worked away, telling Cassie what she was doing, and describing the process.
‘We’ll make sure you have good material to read about makeup. After tomorrow you’ll have to study every day.’
‘I’ll do your nails for now. Toes first.’
Cassie sat down. The blonde girl knelt and painted each of Cassie’s toe nails with quick precise strokes. Cassie looked down at the lovely head and shoulders, and at her own feet, now with metallic bronze toe nails. She could not remember ever having imagined such an experience, soothing, yet exciting at the same time.
‘You haven’t tied me up this time!’
‘You’re not so lucky tonight,’ Sylvie giggled. ’Another time perhaps if Caroline says so’
‘Does Caroline...’
After the Dreams (Caroline's Company) Page 4