The house had become Peter’s after his father, Teddy, passed away seven years earlier. Back then, the place had been just another drab stately pile; an antique-filled throwback to the Georgian era it was built in. But, as soon as Teddy’s funeral was over with, Peter brought in an architect who gutted and completely redesigned the place. The future was what Peter was concerned with, not the past.
But the house was not Peter’s home. He actually lived in a fabulous townhouse in Mayfair that overlooked Hyde Park, with his young, soon to be ex-wife and their three pampered children who very rarely visited the house in Berkshire. Although most of the time Peter, himself, stayed a short distance away at his spectacular apartment in The City, either on his own or with one of a stream of mistresses.
The Berkshire house was primarily reserved for events, such as hunting, shooting and fishing weekends. It was where he entertained business associates, corporate fat cats and visiting leaders from various foreign states who could indulge themselves to their hearts content.
Peter’s Palace, as the house had become known was a discreet place to play and Bearing laid everything on that his guests could ever need. It was not just the facilities or the fabulous food and drink that was on offer, but also women, or men too, if that was their preference - in fact whatever they desired.
But this particular weekend was for just one business associate by the name of Jonathan Wallace. Wallace had become a supremely irritating hurdle that stood in the way of Peter’s meteoric rise to power and Bearing didn’t like things getting in his way one little bit.
The party guests had been chosen purposely to complement Jonathan, there were none who would outshine him and none he would feel inferior to. The girls had been hand picked by Peter to cater specifically to Wallace’s tastes and one in particular, who Bearing knew Jonathan could not resist, had been primed and paid to deliver exactly what was required. All of which Jonathan Wallace was completely ignorant of. He just assumed he was being wined and dined by a friend and colleague. A few drinks, a bit of relaxation and a nice party - ending the weekend on a high before returning to The City on Monday.
Back upstairs, in the main house, Peter now made his way up the grand marble staircase to the first floor. He was thirty-five, good looking in an intellectual kind of way with brown hair and slate blue eyes. Tanned and fit, Bearing took good care of himself, he didn’t drink excessively, didn’t smoke, apart from the occasional cigar and was the product of an excellent education. He had a beautiful family and enough money for several lifetimes but for Peter none of that was enough. He wanted more. Much more.
At the top of the staircase, Peter paused for a moment to listen for the sound of any stray guests that may have escaped his watchful eye but there was only silence. He glanced out of the window, just to double check that the driveway was completely empty and the last of the revellers had indeed gone. The only cars still remaining were a Renault Clio and an Aston Martin Vanquish. The Clio belonged to the girl on Peter’s payroll, the Aston to Jonathan Wallace, her companion for the evening.
Peter then carried on up to the second floor and walked along the wide landing to the farthest bedroom. Outside the door he listened again but once more heard nothing. He knocked softly and waited. A moment later the door opened and a striking blonde wearing very expensive, very sexy, green satin lingerie with stockings and garters ushered him in.
On the bed, next to her discarded Vera Wang cocktail dress, lay Jonathan Wallace. He was completely naked, his flaccid penis as limp and lifeless as the rest of him.
“I trust he’s just sleeping?” Bearing said.
“Like a baby,” said the girl, her voice prim, very English public school. “He’ll be out for hours darling - you could drop the atom bomb and he still wouldn’t wake up.”
Bearing made no reaction. “It all went to plan? No problems?” He asked.
“No, it was easy-peasie. I slipped the liquid you gave me into his whisky when he went to the loo and ten minutes later he was dead to the world.”
“Not before—” Peter began.
“Oh, no. He managed that, darling - just - but I seriously doubt he’ll have any memory of it. I certainly won’t let’s put it like that. He collapsed half way through so I just rolled him off and left him where he is.”
“Good.”
“Do we really need to carry on with the rest of it?” The girl asked quietly, “I mean, I’ve done my bit - he won’t remember anything and I know what to say if anyone ever asks.”
“Yes, we do” Bearing replied firmly. “He’ll need to be totally convinced. To have no doubt about what he’s done. He’ll need to see evidence. You already know that and you’ve been paid very well.”
“Well, yes, I suppose. It’s just a bit frightening, you know. You will be careful won’t you? Like you promised - you won’t hit me too hard - I mean, my face, well it’s the first thing men see - it’s my living darling, my fortune.” She was clearly scared but knew she had entered into a wicked bargain for a very lucrative reward and there was no going back now.
Bearing looked at her. He understood exactly what Jonathan Wallace had seen in her; early twenties, fabulous figure, stunning looks and very upmarket in a really sexy kind of way. When she arrived at the party she could have easily passed for the nubile young daughter of a duke and duchess. Wallace would have had no idea that she was, in reality, a high priced whore. Peter had paid her enough to keep her in designer lingerie for years. But now she was going to earn it.
Bearing smiled, then picked up Jonathan Wallace’s trousers, which had been discarded on the floor, and slid the soft leather belt from the loops before throwing the trousers back on the ground. He held the belt tightly with his hands about eighteen inches apart and tugged it twice to test its strength, hearing a rewarding whip-like crack in response. It would do very nicely indeed.
Still holding the belt, he walked over to the door and closed it as the girl looked on aghast. “Of course I’ll be careful,” he said, a wicked smile spreading across his face.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, Bearing, breathing heavily and standing spent and sweaty above the girl, zipped his fly and re-buttoned his trousers. Then, being careful to leave as much blood on Jonathan’s belt as possible, laid it down beside him on the bed.
Only then did Peter move away from the girl, who was trembling and terrified. “Stand up!” He demanded gruffly. But she made no movement and no reply. “Stand up,” he said again, “Or I’ll make you stand up. It’s your choice.”
The girl roused slightly, but still did not move. She felt weak, concussed, battered.
Bearing stepped angrily towards her but quickly she held her hands up, “No, please, I’ll stand, I’ll stand, I promise - just don’t hurt me any more, please!” She implored. Her words were thick and slurred, her swollen lips were split and dripping blood.
Slowly she climbed to her feet and stood shakily in front of him, terrified. Her bra was torn, her knickers completely ripped off and her stockings severely laddered. There were strap marks on her legs, buttocks and arms along with large blue bruises.
“Come and stand under the light,” he ordered and like a foal walking for the first time she staggered into the centre of the room.
Bearing went to the chest of drawers and pulled out an expensive Nikon SLR Camera, then turned and began taking photos of the girl, as if he were David Bailey at a fashion shoot.
He made sure he got close-ups of every bruise, whip mark, blemish and cut. He photographed all the blood and all the semen. The semen was his own but no-one would know that other than the girl. Certainly not Wallace who would have no desire to have it DNA tested.
With the camera whirring, Bearing made the girl bend over and touch her toes and then forced her to sit in a chair with her legs wide apart to ensure that he photographed all the lacerations on her private parts and the bite marks on her
inner thighs made by his own teeth. Finally he photographed the girl’s ripped and bloodied knickers which he draped over Jonathan Wallace’s arm for dramatic effect.
As the dawn arrived, Peter finished his work and the girl grew stronger. With her strength a little glimmer of courage returned. “You’re a bastard! You know that?” She said hoarsely.
“It has been said more than once,” Bearing replied with a wry smile as he scrolled through the photographs in the camera’s digital view finder, mentally making a note of the most compelling shots.
“I didn’t agree to that. A couple of bruises is what we said. A light slap or two. Not that - definitely not that. Look at me!” Her lip started to quiver and her eyes flooded with tears but she held them back. “You’ve destroyed me. My nose is broken, one of my front teeth feels loose, I can hardly walk - I’m a wreck, for Christ’s sake - everything hurts. How can I work? How can I earn money? Who’ll want me now?”
“We had an agreement and you’ve been paid. That’s all.” Bearing didn’t look at her as he spoke, she was inconsequential and their business was done.
“No!” She said. “That’s not all and not what we agreed. That was over and above what we agreed by a very, very long way. I want more money. Another ten thousand, otherwise I’ll go to the police and tell them exactly what you’ve done. And I’ll have the money in cash, today, before I leave.” The words were said with force but there was no real conviction behind them, no real intent and it was obvious.
Suddenly she had Bearing’s full attention and his eyes fastened on hers in an intensely threatening manner. “Now, listen, my dear,” he said, with cold steel in his steady, soft voice. “Listen very carefully. We had a deal for which you have been handsomely paid. You will not receive another pound, not another penny. If you ever - and I mean ever - mention my name or what has transpired here tonight or any part of our deal to the police or anyone then I’m afraid I will not be responsible for what is bound to happen to you. You see, whilst I am just an honest businessman I have associates who are far less gentle and far less understanding than me. In fact, the gentlemen I refer to are hardened mercenaries who kill for fun and would like nothing more than to track you down and silence you for good. It would be sport to them, nothing more. All I need to do is pick up the phone and ask, do you understand?”
What remaining colour the girl had in her face drained as she slowly nodded. She had no doubt whatsoever that he meant what he said and was more than capable of what he threatened.
“Are you sure?” Bearing asked, as I would hate for anything unfortunate to happen to you.”
The girl nodded again. “Good,” said Peter, “Then let’s say nothing more about it.”
“Alright,” the girl said meekly.
“Now, with our business concluded, please feel free to use the shower. You must then get dressed and leave. After that I trust there will be no need for us to ever see each other again.”
She nodded one last time, snatched up her dress and hurriedly hobbled off to the en-suite bathroom. A moment later Peter heard the shower running. He could also hear her sobbing deeply. Ten minutes after that the girl reappeared washed, dressed and with her hair brushed although she still looked as if she’d been in a car wreck, the bruises on her face were now in full bloom and her lips and nose were badly swollen. She was walking very stiffly, with a wide gait, the wounds between her legs and the welt marks on her buttocks caused by his belt had been made sore and angry by the hot water. But she had made herself clean, although she doubted she would feel properly clean ever again.
Bearing sat in an armchair by the window, the curtains open and the bright new morning shining in. She stopped short as she saw him, Jonathan Wallace was still out for the count on the bed and a trickle of remorse seeped into her brain. If Bearing could do what he had to her, what on earth had he in store for that poor soul she thought.
“All done?” Peter said brightly.
“Yes. Thanks,” she said timidly.
“Good, then that’s us done. Off you go - and remember, not a word.”
“I’ll remember. I promise.” She said. Then after a pause she limped to the door and slipped silently out.
Peter watched from the window as several minutes later the girl climbed into her little Renault Clio and raced away from the house up the long driveway towards the main gates. He picked up the phone and buzzed security. “Open the gates, would you?” He said to the guard who answered, “A guest of mine is leaving and she’s in rather a rush, so please do not detain her.”
“Of course, sir,” said the guard as Bearing replaced the handset.
He then turned his attention to Jonathan Wallace who was ridiculously oblivious to all that had transpired whilst he was sleeping and how very different his life was going to be when he eventually awoke.
Bearing smiled.
* * *
It was midday by the time Jonathan finally awoke. Very slowly he opened his eyes and almost immediately became aware of the pounding headache. “Christ,” he thought, “How much did I bloody drink last night?” He was not usually a big drinker, the odd glass of wine with a meal perhaps, a couple of whiskies if he was out with friends, but not much as whisky made him bad tempered and irritable. He was not a good drunk which is why he rarely partook. But he must have downed a few last night because this headache was something else.
He lay there for a few minutes more before attempting to move and when he did the pain intensified. “Jesus!” He groaned aloud. “What the hell was I drinking?”
Still lying flat, Jonathan glanced slowly about him, trying to ascertain where he was. He was thirty-four but looked quite a bit younger. The strawberry blonde hair and fresh face giving him a boyish appearance and his good nature and friendly personality making him seem even more youthful. He was sharp and intelligent although not particularly worldly, but people generally liked him which greatly helped his acceptance within The Firm. At least with all but one of the board members.
Jonathan blinked, trying to focus, the room he was in was big and modern with large windows and decorated in the minimalist style. Then he remembered. He was at Peter’s Palace. He was there for the weekend, to try and build bridges with his associate whose attitude towards him of late had been somewhat prickly.
Last night there was a party. But did he attend? Yes, yes, he did, it was slowly coming back. It was a good party from what he remembered, although it was all very fuzzy. There was a girl, he thought. Yes, that’s right, very attractive, blonde, very striking and just my type. But what had happened to her? Then it came back, or at least flashes of it did. They were chatting he remembered, she had a lovely smile and a really infectious laugh. They kissed, he was sure of it. They were upstairs in this bedroom, kissing. She took off her dress. He recalled that she was wearing green satin underwear and stockings with garters, very sexy. He could then picture her on top of him, but the image was blurry. He was sure that they had made love, certain of it, yet he couldn’t actually remember it. ‘Dammit!’ he thought, ‘Why can’t I remember anything else!’ Then it occurred to him that she might still be there, maybe she was in the bathroom or downstairs having breakfast. He hoped so as he would really like to see her again.
‘Ah, breakfast,’ he thought, ‘I’d better force myself to get up, Peter’s going to think I’m a terrible house guest.” He lifted his hand to rub the sleep from his eyes and a piece of cloth that had been lying on his arm slipped onto his face. He lifted it up and held it away from him to see what it was and saw immediately that it was a pair of green satin and lace knickers, identical to those that his elusive lady friend had been wearing last night. They had clearly been ripped off and discarded. ‘Wow!’ Thought Jonathan, ‘did I do that?’ He smiled. ‘It must have been a good night.” However, he then noticed what looked like a spattering of blood on the material and his smile was replaced by a curious expression.
Jonathan slowly sat up, his head banging like a drum, but the headache was soon forgotten as he looked down at himself, immediately seeing he was actually covered in blood spatters as if he had measles. Dried evidence of the sex he had with the girl was caked and matted in his pubic hair, confirming that they had, in fact, made love. Then he looked around him and saw that the bed was also stained with blood and speckled with dried semen.
Then he saw the belt. It was thick and gooey with partially dried blood. The buckle too was covered with it. Gingerly he picked it up and it left a thin red stripe on the bedclothes, like a long smear of paint and Jonathan, horrified, dropped it again quickly.
What the hell had happened? What in God’s name had he done?
Clutching desperately at straws he thought that maybe the blood was his, perhaps he had been injured in some way, or something inside him had ruptured or burst but after hurriedly checking himself he could find nothing and apart from the banging in his head he felt no pain.
Then his eyes fell on the empty whisky glass and he remembered the girl. He thought of how he got when he drank too much whisky; irritable, morose, angry even but never aggressive. At least not previously. But had the drink made him aggressive last night? Had it made him violent? Had he somehow harmed that poor girl?
His heart started beating faster as the panic he was already feeling threatened to overwhelm him. And then the bedroom door opened and Peter Bearing strode confidently into the room.
“Ah, Jonathan, old man, I see you’re awake. We’re in a spot of bother, I’m afraid, as you’ve probably realised from your appearance.”
“Oh, Christ, Peter, please tell me what I’ve done,” Jonathan blurted, tears filling his eyes, “I haven’t hurt anyone have I? That young girl I was with, the pretty one, she’s alright isn’t she? Tell me, Peter, please - for God’s sake tell me everything’s okay.”
Bearing smiled inwardly, this was going to be even easier than he had hoped.
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