by Simone Leigh
He sits back, his face hardening, anger there. “Did James… abuse you?”
I suddenly realise the turn of his thoughts. “Oh no! No, please don’t think that. No, he… he was wonderful. He was so kind and so gentle.” I blush. “Actually, I had a marvellous week.”
“You did?”
I feel I must stand up for my Master. “He told me… he told me, that he’d always had a fantasy about making it good for a girl on her first time. And he did. I was so scared, and he made it… “
Haswell relaxes a little. “Alright, Charlotte. You understand that I need to ask you a little more about this.”
I nod, swallowing hard.
“Are you still ‘contracted’ to James?”
Shake head.
“You are under no obligation to him?”
“No, after the week was up, I left and started at college, but I came back when I could. I wanted to see him and Michael again.”
“Michael?”
“You saw him, at the club.”
“The blond man?”
Nod.
“So, you met Michael during this week also?”
Nod head.
He stands, pours himself another coffee, offers me the jug. I accept, and again, gulp it down.
“So, you are telling me, quite clearly, that although he paid for, um, your services, during that initial week, James treated you well, and you are with him now entirely because you choose to be?”
Nod head.
“Does he know you are here? Talking to me?”
Nod head.
He taps the console on his desk. “Francis, track down James Alexanders would you. Tell him I’d like a word. I suspect he’s not far away.”
Haswell continues. “He sent you in here? To face me alone over this?”
“No. I insisted. He wouldn’t be in this position if he hadn’t tried to help me.”
In less than a minute, there is a sharp rap at the door.
“Come in, James.” says Haswell, without even looking away from me.
My Master strides in, looking down at me. “You okay?”
“Yes, Mas…. James.” He stands behind me, takes my hand, strokes my fingers.
A glint of humour creases Haswell’s eyes at my words, my stumble.
“Contrary to what you might imagine, Charlotte, I am not angry with you. It is in the nature of things that young, beautiful women, tend to attach themselves to rich and powerful men. You would hardly be the first to have done it by contract.”
For a moment he pauses, seeming to consider some other thing, then, “You did the right thing in coming to me. I wouldn’t worry too much about the blackmail aspect. You have effectively disarmed him by speaking with me.” He looks up at my Master, irritably. “James, will you stop hovering over her like a protective hen. I’m not going to bite.”
My Master sits beside me.
“He may still do it anyway, spread it around, out of spite.” I say.
Haswell sniffs. “We may be able to do something about that. A man who behaves in that fashion probably has other unpleasant secrets. We’ll start by trying to track down the other girl in the auction that you mentioned. Do you know her name?”
“No, but I suppose the auction house would know.”
“They will.” says my Master. “It was in the contract that the auction house knew exactly the identities of the girls and the buyers. Also, where the girls were taken afterward. And, that they followed up, to ensure the girls were safe.”
“They never followed up on me.” I say.
“They didn’t?”
Shake head.
“So,” continues Haswell, “as it happens, the Commissioner of Police is a friend of mine. We’ll start there. As to you two….” he looks me in the eye, pointing at my Master. “You are telling me, here and now, that although he ‘bought’ you, he did not abuse you? He treated you well? And that you are with him because you wish to be? He has no hold over you other than…. the bonds of affection?”
“Yes, that is what I am telling you.”
“Very well, Charlotte. You may go, but don’t go too far. I may wish to speak with you again. James, you stay.”
I go out to Reception, try to read a magazine, but my head won’t take in the words. After about fifteen minutes, there’s a buzz at the desk.
“Yes, Mr Haswell?” says Francis.
“Is Charlotte out there?”
“She’s right here.”
“Send her in, would you.”
I tap on the door.
“Come in, Charlotte.”
I sit, feeling uncomfortable. What has happened while I was out?
But my Master seems relaxed. As I look at him for reassurance, he droops an eyelid in half a wink, before returning his attention to Haswell.
Haswell passes me another coffee. “Charlotte, I’m sorry that you have had such an uncomfortable morning. My only concern in…. interrogating you… for so long, was that we are discussing the character of a man that I am about to sign up as a director in my company. Once I was satisfied that your relationship with James is truly consensual, I ceased to be concerned about that aspect of the matter.”
I shift uneasily, nodding, but staring at the floor.
He sits back, sipping his coffee, before placing the cup and saucer carefully down on the table. “Let me reassure you. Based on what I now know, your ‘confession’ will have no repercussions for either yourself or James here, for our working relationship.”
I take a deep breath. “Thank you.” My voice is small.
“I can see you are still uncomfortable. Perhaps as to the nature of your relationship with James.… your Master?”
My eyes flash up to meet his, but he is smiling.
“Perhaps it would make you feel easier to know that I have a similar relationship with my wife?”
I blink. “Really?”
“Really. As I say, arrangements between beautiful women and powerful men are not that uncommon. And, although I barely know you, it is clear to me already, that you face your problems and you deal with them. I understand how hard you must have found it, to come to me today. And very few women would have had the nerve to take your um, chosen route, to raising your college funds. Regardless of what you might fear, I think well of you Charlotte.”
Then he waves us both out. “I have some phone calls to make.”
_______________________________
Francis buzzes me. “Charlotte, could you come to the office, please. Mr Haswell wants to see you.”
I arrive to find Haswell, my Master and Ned Jansen seated around a table. Jansen looks smug. My Master’s expression is masked, Haswell’s bland.
“And here’s our gutter rat.” smirks Jansen.
“Better gutter rat than sewer rat.” I snap back.
“Charlotte, sit down.” says Haswell, indicating a seat next to my Master.
I move to the seat, but as I squeeze by Jansen, his hand slides up to grope my ass.
I whirl, hand raised, but my wrist is seized by my Master.
“Charlotte, sit.”
I hesitate, resisting, fighting him.
“This is not a request. Sit.” he says, pointing at the chair.
I submit to my Master, seating myself, but poised for trouble.
“So, Mr Jansen,” starts Haswell, “What is the nature of your complaint?”
“I’m being asked to work with people unfit to be in their posts.” says Jansen.
“Miss Conners and Mr Alexanders?”
“Yes.”
“By what reason?”
“You’ve seen the brochure and the film. You know what reason.”
“Ah yes, the brochure and the film, both sent to me in a plain, unmarked brown envelope. The only reason I know who sent them was that Miss Conners herself alerted me to it, and of course, you have now confirmed it.”
Jensen says nothing, but his face colours up.
“Might I also enquire Mr Jansen, how you came to be
in possession of said brochure and video content? It is not the kind of material that is normally left casually lying around.”
Jansen doesn’t speak, clearly now realising that I, and my Master, are not the ones on trial.
Haswell continues. “The material, whilst undoubtedly of…. unusual.… content, can certainly be argued to be of concern only to the parties involved. There is no injured party or victim involved here. It is a private matter, between them. However….” Haswell, leans back, flipping open a file, “…. however, I would like to query you about one Jasmine Hardacre, who also, um…. attended, this auction. Approximately ten days after the date of the auction, she was admitted to hospital with multiple contusions, lash marks covering most of her body, three broken ribs, a fractured clavicle, and…. cigarette burns... According to the auction house, her ‘purchaser’ was one ‘Edward Jansen’.”
I stare at Haswell, my stomach churning. He stares back at me, impassively, then looks away, speaking to Jansen again. I don’t hear his words.
Oh, God. He bid for me…
The realisation of what might have happened, had it not been my Master who won the bidding, hits me. Seated next to me, he watches me out of the corner of his eyes, but with Jansen there, is not going to speak. Under the table, his foot presses on mine, and he lowers his eyelids at me, in the smallest of comfort signals.
My mind tunes back into what is being said. Haswell is speaking.
“So, Mr Jansen, you will find that the police are taking a great interest in you and…”
“She was a whore. She sold herself. Agreed to anything. She signed a contract. Just like this one here…”
“Be that as it may, contracts come under Civil Law. Assault and Grievous Bodily Harm come under Criminal Law…” His phone rings. “…Excuse me. I need to take this call…. Yes?” He listens carefully. “Yes, he’s here. Yes? Thank you.”
He continues. “As I was saying Mr Jansen, you will find that the police are in fact very interested in you. As we speak, they are searching your premises and….” The door opens. A police officer enters. “…. Ah yes. This is Mr Jansen. I believe you would like to interview him.”
The spluttering, protesting Jansen is led out in handcuffs. My Master is watching me carefully. Haswell is watching us both.
“Excuse me.” I stand, heading for the door. I don’t make it. My stomach heaves and, managing to grab a waste bin at the last moment, I throw up into it, choking and coughing.
Eyes streaming, I stand, trying to apologise. But Haswell offers me water, which I gulp down; washing away the foul taste in my mouth. My Master holds me tight, rocking me back and forth in his arms, until I calm down.
“I’m okay. I’m okay. Really.” I try to break free, conscious that Haswell is watching all this. My Master looks doubtful, but releases me. Haswell sits at his desk, quite calmly, waiting.
“After a moment, he says, “I did think your reaction might be something like that, Charlotte, when you learned what happened to the girl. Jansen bid on you, yes?”
I nod.
“You might bear that in mind if you ever consider any similar…. enterprises…”
“Um, that’s more or less why I’m here. To avoid similar enterprises.”
He snorts in laughter. “Nonetheless, your interests aside, Mr Jansen is now in the hands of the Police. While we were speaking, his premises have been searched and all computers, hard drives, and other storage media have been removed as evidence. I believe his phone will also be confiscated. Hopefully, that should avoid the risk of further copies of the documents and video coming to light.”
He pulls the envelope from a desk drawer, fishes the data drive from his pocket and places it on top of the envelope, then pushes both towards me.
“In my discussions with the Commissioner of Police, your name did not arise. I suggest you destroy these.”
“But the Police?”
“They are interested in Jasmine Hardacre, who, I might mention, seems to have disappeared.”
It could have been me….
Then I realise I have spoken the words aloud.
“Yes, it could, Charlotte. I suggest you think very carefully in your future conduct.”
I have nothing to say to this, and so, nodding, remain silent.
Haswell smiles. “I would like to ask you one more question Charlotte. And this is not in a spirit of salacious interest. I simply do not wish to commit any faux pas when your name comes up in conversation. James is your Master, but Michael is…?
“…. my fiancée.”
He pauses, visibly collecting his thoughts, then nods.
“Anyhow,” continues Haswell, “I think that a fitting conclusion to this is that we all get to know each other a little better. I would like to invite you to dinner at my home. I think it is about time that my fellow Director met my wife, and I think, Charlotte, that you and Elizabeth would get along rather well.”
My Master looks stunned, but only briefly. Quickly he gathers himself. “Thank you, Richard, I’d like that.”
“And, when I say you….” continues Haswell, “I mean the three of you, since you appear to be a stable… unit… I think that, at least for the purposes of getting to know each other, you should all attend.”
As we leave, my Master mutters under his breath to me. “This should be interesting.”
_____________________________________
We pull up the long, curved drive of a small mansion.
“Wow!” I say. “What a gorgeous place.”
The tree lined, graveled carriage-way, set in manicured lawns, leads to an elegant portico; tiled steps leading up to a door, stone lions to either side.
My Master, wearing his best suit, rings the doorbell. Michael, also ‘suited and booted’ holds my hand. Unsure what to wear, I have chosen the safe option, and am wearing a classic ‘little black dress’; demure but sexy.
The door is answered by a man I do not recognise. “James Alexanders….” says my Master, “…with my friends.”
“Good evening Mr Alexanders. Do come in. Mr and Mrs Haswell are expecting you.”
Inside, the house is elegant, warm, obviously old. A mix of architectures suggests that it has been built and worked on over several centuries, but the style is mainly Georgian, all plaster coving, chandeliers, and tall windows.
The man leads us into a drawing room where Haswell and a woman are waiting for us. He has an air of expectant waiting about him.
“Good evening James, Charlotte, and you must be Michael?” He reaches to shake hands. “And this is my wife, Elizabeth.”
She is tall, willowy, red headed and pale skinned, a few years older than me I think, but otherwise, I could be looking into a mirror. We stare at each other.
Finally, she speaks. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Charlotte. Richard has told me a lot about you. He… didn’t exaggerate.”
Remembering my manners, I step forward to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs Haswell.”
“It’s Beth. And, you too.”
The men are standing silently looking at us. Michael looks utterly mesmerised, my Master intrigued. Haswell looks amused. “Forgive me, but I’d already met Charlotte. This is a surprise for you two.”
My Master shakes his head. “I feel like I’m seeing double.” Then, “My apologies, lovely to meet you at last, Beth. Your husband talks about you all the time.” And he steps to kiss her on the cheek.
Michael simply nods, smiling at her, then glancing back at me.
________________________________
The dinner is excellent. It turns out that the man who showed us in, Ross, is also the chef and is Haswell’s driver. Since in addition, he he serves as butler for the meal, he seems unlikely to be out of work anytime soon.
Beth turns to me. “So, Richard tells me that you’re hoping to join us, as a trainee?”
“Mmm, yes. I’d already been thinking about changing my course when I saw the plans for the new City Project. When
I saw how all that old part of town was being replaced in that way, it just fired me up. I wanted to be part of it. I’m hoping Mr Haswell will, um, sign me up.”
“Let’s not sit on ceremony, Charlotte. It’s Richard.” He looks intrigued. “It sounds as though you know that part of town well?”
“Mmm… yes. Grew up there.” I reply, immediately regretting my words.
My Master swings to face me, puzzled. “I thought your parents were on a farm somewhere up North?”
Oh, hell. Now, what do I say?
“Um... not actually my parents. My foster parents.”
Uncomfortable, I concentrate on my food, conscious that my Master is staring at me.
“Foster parents? But Charlotte, you’ve talked to me about your parents. You said you were visiting them at Christmas.”
Well, it’s out now….
“Yup. Still my foster parents…. Didn’t stay long really. They weren’t too keen to have me hanging around. I was… I was, er…. a bit of a handful when they had me….
Richard purses his lips, suppressing a smile. “No…? Really?”
Trying to ignore his comment, “…. I went back to the City instead, trying to look up some of my old friends, but when I got there, I found it had all been bulldozed.”
Richard breaks in. “You look unsettled, Charlotte. I’m sorry. Did it upset you when you found your childhood home demolished?”
“Not at all.” I say, through a mouthful of food. “You can turn a flame thrower on it for me….”
Richard raises his eyebrows, sitting back in his chair. Realising that I have just been unconscionably rude, I try to take back my words.
“Um, sorry. Didn’t mean it to come out like that. My apologies.”
Richard regards me under hooded eyelids. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. “No apology needed, Charlotte.” He speaks slowly, choosing each word. “You grew up in that area and went to foster parents…?”
My throat tightens….
He continues. “You were in a children’s home then? Was it by any chance, Blessingmoors?”