‘Oliver,’ Katie said quickly, suddenly feeling more akin with playing a part than she ever had before. ‘Oliver Tempest.’
A kid-gloved hand reached out and took hold of her chin. The woman’s eyes narrowed and her thumb began casually to follow the line of her mouth. For a moment, Katie thought she was discovered and her stomach dropped to her stout boots.
But the woman began to smile. ‘Oliver Tempest. My, my. What a dramatic name, though I must say it does go with your eyes.’ Her voice softened and Katie’s stomach tightened. ‘Beautiful eyes you’ve got, my boy. A beautiful mouth too. Kiss a few hot little mouths with those lips you will once you are grown. I’d wager in fact, they’ve already kissed a lot more than that!’
The air was leaden with her laughter and, inside, Katie laughed too. A vision and taste of Edgar’s ripe erection had come to her mind. What would this woman say, she wondered, if she were to tell her that she had not only kissed many lips, she had also sucked many stiff members as eager fingers had kneaded her ripe nipples.
The woman’s hand dropped with the other to the handle of her shooting stick.
‘Right, Oliver. I am Lady Maude Thompson, and my husband is Sir Charles. It is his guns you will be carrying. You will do everything he asks of you. Is that clear?’
Adopting a look of wide-eyed innocence, Katie nodded.
‘Then answer!’ exclaimed the woman, her eyebrows arching and disappearing under the brim of her large brown hat.
‘Yes, madam.’
‘Lady Thompson, boy. Call me Lady Thompson.’
‘Yes, Lady Thompson.’
Lady Thompson managed a thin-lipped smile and held it as a man with broad shoulders and white hair sprouting from beneath a yellow-checked deerstalker joined them. He was not an old man, but his face was brown and his eyes were blue. His eyes swept over her as though he were studying a piece of prize bloodstock.
‘This gentleman is my husband. It is his guns you will be carrying.’
Lady Maude Thompson did not wait for Katie to greet her other half. A glint of something indecipherable came to her eyes as she turned to her husband. ‘There, my dear Charles. See what I have for you? A boy to carry your guns.’ Lady Maude turned back to what she and Sir Charles perceived to be a boy. ‘Take your cap off, boy.’
Katie obeyed.
‘Don’t you think him simply divine?’ said Lady Maude as she ran her fingers through Katie’s shorn hair. ‘His name is Oliver Tempest. Pretty name isn’t it, Charles?’ Again, she took Katie’s chin between her finger and thumb. ‘Pretty boy too,’ she said dreamily.
Katie tried to forget all the reasons why she should leave this place and get back to Phoebe and their trouble-free existence. But her obsession with Carew had made her more stubborn than she usually was. However, she could not help but eye Sir Charles and his lady with some trepidation.
Spellbound would be a poor word to describe how the errant knight looked at her. His tongue licked his lips and a gleam of pure lust entered his eyes.
Katie could have shivered beneath his gaze. She truly felt as though she didn’t have a stitch of clothing on, but her reaction was reined in instantly as Carew Bentley Thompson, the object of her mission, joined them.
Blue eyes danced from aunt to uncle and the wide sensuous mouth smiled at her warmly before he spoke. ‘A new boy to carry your guns, Uncle?’
‘Yes. Maude just got him for me,’ the knight replied as he began to circle Katie, just as he might his favourite Irish Hunter.
Katie eased herself from one hip to the other. It was a casual gesture, but it was also provocative. She knew Sir Charles’ eyes were studying the curve of her spine and the insolent roundness of her boyish buttocks. But she didn’t care about that. If by sucking up to the perversions of one man, she could get close to another, then all well and good. Anyway, she made good use of the opportunity. As Sir Charles looked her over, she allowed herself the luxury of gazing with undisguised lust at Carew.
Before recognising the message she was attempting to send him, he met her look. Then he blinked and immediately focused his gaze on his uncle.
‘Now isn’t she a kind woman to you, Uncle Charles. Some men reckon their wives don’t understand them. I think yours understands you only too well.’
Sir Charles sniggered and studied his gaiters. Maude’s face dropped and she looked a wee bit huffy. ‘Never mind, young man,’ said Carew. ‘Play your cards right, and you could end up with a permanent appointment at Thompson Towers.’
Katie smiled and looked at him round-eyed.
His smile was hesitant at first. Something resembling self-doubt flashed in his eyes. Then it was gone, and so was he, but he patted and gripped her shoulder before he went and told her to take care of herself.
A tingle remained, but not just on her shoulder or her arm. It burst into life on one hidden breast, then the other. Then, almost as though it had multiplied and spread wings, the tingling nestled in the warmth of her sex and bathed in the honey of her desire.
As he walked away, she studied the length of his stride, the hint of muscular limbs beneath the fine tweed of his plus-fours. He had strength of purpose, did Carew Bentley Thompson. But then, so did she.
‘Don’t dawdle, Oliver!’
Lady Thompson’s voice reverted to its earlier stridency.
‘My guns, young man. Here. They’re just here.’
Once shown what was required, Katie bent over the guns, although Sir Charles could easily have handed them to her. But Sir Charles had good reason to want her to bend to them. Just as she was sure she had them, the palm of a big wide hand caressed, then smartly smacked her behind.
‘Come along then, Oliver. Don’t dawdle, boy.’
This time, when she turned round, her eyes met those of Sir Charles rather than his wife. Maude was there still, but like a dull grey owl in a derelict barn; she was watching, but not really noticeable.
The day went well. Carew and his party of guns were not too far away from Sir Charles and Lady Maude, and Katie had a good enough view of what the object of her own hunt was doing. As usual, a bevy of bright young things were gathered about him, the slinky silks of their night-clubbing outfits swapped for beige jodhpurs and muted tweeds. Their make-up was still too vivid for daylight and the country, but these were birds of one feather and could only flock together on familiar ledges. They were still gorgeous, Katie gave them that. But they looked incongruous - creatures created for gilded cages and rich men’s beds.
Carew lauded it over them. Autocratic from his dark brown hat to his dark brown boots. She could see he wallowed in their adoration, their stupid giggles, and their silly squeals every time a gun was fired.
‘Oliver! You are not concentrating.’
Katie almost jumped out of her skin as the wide hand of Lady Maude soundly slapped her backside. Red-cheeked and breathless, she immediately leapt into action. If it wasn’t Sir Charles reminding her to concentrate, it was Lady Maude.
More than once, she saw Carew frowning at his aunt after her hand had landed succinctly on Katie’s bottom or face. Something was also said on the matter, but discreetly and not meant for the ears of the lower classes.
At last the mid-day break was called and Katie was glad to wipe her sweating brow on the back of her hand and sit by herself against a hayrick.
She was hungry and thirsty and not at all used to doing this kind of work. Sweat ran between her breasts, covered her back and trickled between her buttocks. She was hot, but she also very determined to pursue her obsession. It was him, more so than food, that occupied her attention now.
How proud you are, my fine feathered friend, she said to herself as she watched him stretch out his arm high above the gaggle of gay young things and point to the row of dead birds that was slowly covering the ground. How impressed they looked - and how
horrified - and how malleable they would be to anything he suggested.
She watched him move; watched the giggling girls as he glanced in her direction, then at his food-gobbling, wine-drinking uncle and aunt. She saw him go to where the other beaters were resting from their labours and say something.
A few of the younger beaters were coming towards her. Four of them, there were, their shadows blotting out the sun as they stood over her.
‘Crept yer way in, didn’t ya?’ said one with a scowl.
‘Took the best job, ya little snot. Gonna bare yer backside for old Charlie then are ya?’
The boy who had said it - a lad not much more than sixteen - kicked the sole of her boot.
‘Lady Maude ordered me to carry the guns for her husband.’ Katie tried not to sound nervous, but it wasn’t easy.
‘Yeah, and you’ll get ordered to do a lot more things, matey,’ said another scowling lad as he commenced kicking one of her boots while the first lad did the other.
Katie swallowed. They could be right about Sir Charles, but at this moment in time, it was them she was more afraid of.
‘Look, I didn’t ask for the job.’
‘Oh, yeah. Your sort are all the same. All big eyes and pretty smiles. Why don’t you pack up and shove off?’
‘Why don’t you?’ spat Katie.
‘Don’t push me,’ said a lad with ginger hair, and caught hold of her shirt collar with both hands.
My breasts, she thought wildly, he’s too near my breasts. She hit out. It was the worst thing she could do, but the only thing she could do. They were on her, punching at her face, at her stomach, and she in turn was lashing out with her arms and her legs.
It was Mister Benson who pulled them off her and Carew who came over to see if she was all right.
Her eyes swept up over him as he stood before her.
Male sweat and hormone combined to waft down to her and ignite the hot tingle she had experienced earlier.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said in a kinder voice than she had ever heard him use. ‘I’m afraid they’re jealous of you because you’ve attracted my uncle and aunt’s attention. These things happen when groups of adolescents are together.’ He smiled. ‘I should know.’
‘Should you?’ she said as she dabbed at her bruised face with her dirty fingers. ‘Have you ever beaten for pheasant?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Of course not. I went to boarding school. Three hundred boys. It was pretty rough. You do know what a boarding school is?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Of course I do. I have been to school. I even boarded for a while until my family came on hard times.’
‘Really?’ He looked genuinely interested. ‘I thought you were a bit above the usual calibre we get here for the beating.’
‘I’m stronger than I look,’ she said as she sat up a little straighter than she had been.
‘Not strong enough to deal with that lot,’ he said, jerking his head towards her four assailants who Benson was now instructing to leave the field. ‘Anyway,’ Carew went on, ‘perhaps you’d like a drink.’ He crouched down, and passed her a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade.
His fingertips grazed hers and a fire raced through her. She did not want him to go. But she had a care now as to how she should behave. After all, she was disguised as a boy and a boy would not look at him with all the desire of a girl. Without raising her eyes, she thanked him.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.
The lemonade half-drunk, her eyes wide with youthful innocence, she looked up at him.
‘I am. Is there some spare?’
He smiled. ‘There always is. It’s all found. Didn’t anyone tell you that?’
‘Yes,’ she said, suddenly remembering. ‘Yes, they did. But I forgot.’
‘Silly boy. I’ll get you something. You wait here.’
He went to where his uncle and aunt were gorging and came back with tiny sandwiches of smoked salmon and cucumber, a slice of pork pie, and a good-sized wedge of fruit cake.
He sat down beside her and watched her eat it.
She did her best to eat as a boy should, stuffing her mouth so that her cheeks were shiny, round and full of food.
He laughed. ‘My! You are hungry.’
Over the hunk of cake, she looked at his face. There was devilment in his eyes, even arrogance, but there was also something else, something she could not quite determine.
‘Let me look at that bruising,’ he said and, as she ate, his fingers very gently touched her face.
Katie stopped chewing and looked at him wide-eyed. He had been looking at her in the way a brother might. But her wide-eyed look was too much for him. As though embarrassed, he looked away.
He stood up.
‘You’ve done a good day’s work so far, Oliver. Keep it up. Do a good day’s work and I promise you no harm will befall you.’
‘Yes sir. Thank you,’ she said once she’d washed down the last of the food with the last dregs of the lemonade.
Sir Charles and Maude were walking in their direction, their heavy footwear crushing the corn stalks to bits as they came.
Wiping the crumbs from her mouth with the back of her hand, Katie too got to her feet. Self-consciously, she rammed her cap down further on her head and was aware that Carew was smiling at her.
‘I cannot possibly blame you for being nervous, Oliver old boy. Maude and Charles are enough to make anyone feel nervous - worse than the boys who beat you.’
He winked, but his expression was all calm, all respect when Maude and Charles were next to him.
The rest of the day went much like the morning, except the high spot was being asked by Carew to look to his dogs whilst the ladies and him took a little refreshment in a deep indent at the edge of the field.
Initially, Maude protested. ‘Oliver is my husband’s gun carrier, Carew darling. Why don’t you get your own?’
Carew, charming even to this most indomitable of dragons, kissed her peach-haired cheek.
‘Because yours is so pretty, darling Aunt Maude.
Everything my uncle could want! Besides, the other lads might still be hanging around waiting to give him another good hiding.’
Although Lady Maude still pursed her lips, there was no argument. Katie took the leashes of the dogs and walked off. She spoke softly to them as they panted and wagged at her side. To all intents and purposes, she was absorbed in what she was doing but, furtively, she eyed Maude and saw the glower on her face.
Once out of Maude’s sight and with the dogs laid out flat and panting amongst damp heather in a shady copse, Katie retraced some of her steps and walked off in the direction Carew had gone.
Skirting the edge of the field and dipping down behind a row of tangled dog rose, she walked on tiptoe and followed the sound of furtive laughter and small groans of delight.
Through ears of ripe wheat which kissed her face and tickled her ears, she watched and, as though her breasts had suddenly been exposed to a sudden blast of chill air, her nipples filled with blood and became as hard as rosehips.
The place where Carew and his ladies were looked as though it had been scooped out of the earth by a very large ladle.
Lined with sweet green grass and even sweater heather, its sides were protected from the vision of the outside world by the long feathery stems of scattered wheat, sturdy lengths of golden rod, and clumps of wild marguerites.
Biting her lips in case her breathing was audible to those she watched, Katie took in all that was happening.
Carew lay back in the long grass. His eyes were closed, and his hands were tucked beneath his head.
‘Darling,’ simpered a fair-haired girl with a delicate face and pale lips as she kissed his face. ‘I’m hungry for you. Just a kiss for now, and more later. Wh
at do you say, Carew darling. What do you say?’
‘And me,’ said another, running her hand down from the hardness of his chest to the crevice between his legs. ‘What about me?’
A third stood up. Katie ducked. The third girl was too busy pulling up her skirt and sliding her salmon pink knickers down her legs. Once they were off, she threw them. They landed on Carew’s face, covering his nose and his mouth.
‘At least I came prepared, dear Carew. I’m not dressed like a boy!’ she said, and sneered at the other two. Not to be outdone, they jerked themselves to their knees, and undid the bone buttons on the sides of their jodhpurs.
Carew did nothing about removing the knickers.
‘Persuade me,’ he said casually, and the soft pile of silk and lace rose and fell with his voice.
The one who had slipped off her knickers lifted her skirt and smiled at the other two.
‘Look at this, honey, and you will be persuaded.’ Katie saw a fuzz of near white pubic hair. A hint of pink flesh showed through.
Carew did not look. He only sighed and the silk that covered his face appeared to flutter as if a butterfly were trapped beneath it.
‘Suzanne, I do not doubt the subtle beauty of your all-American limbs, or the hearty warmth of your most appetizing dish. But that is not enough to persuade me. Sight is merely arousing. Technique is what will persuade me.’
The girl who had been the first to kiss his face, smiled triumphantly at the American girl, Suzanne. Then she turned back to Carew, her fingers tracing soothing lines down his cheeks.
‘I know what you mean, Carew darling,’ she said. ‘I know what you want.’ After exchanging smiles with the other jodhpured girl, they began undoing Carew’s trouser buttons.
One girl working the top, and one the bottom, they rolled his pullover and shirt up to his chest, then pushed his trousers down to his knees. So unhelpful did he lie there, one girl had to lift his pelvis, whilst the other pulled down his trousers.
Katie caught her breath.
Carew’s stomach was flat, his waist neat and hips narrow, yet his ribcage broadened to a powerful chest. There was a slumbering translucence to his skin, a hint of sunny days in the South of France, secluded beaches and a complete lack of personal shame.
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