The Concubine Affair

by Quig Shelby

  ‘And freeing them brings good luck,’ replied the toothless peasant.

  Wa handed him two silver coins, and watched the bird head skyward.

  ‘What’s this for?’ asked the peasant as Wa handed him another coin.

  ‘I want to buy the key to the cage,’ said Wa.

  ‘Of course Madam,’ and she was handed a simple metal key.

  It was neither gold nor silver, nor encrusted with precious stones, but to Wa right now it meant the world, and whenever she touched it she too would dream of being free.

  Wa was resting, as the key dangled from her neck on a red silk cord. She knew the Emperor would ask its meaning, and would reply ‘I always want to feel I have your heart locked away.’

  ‘Bik Dong Fang,’ announced Yi.

  ‘It seems like forever since I saw you last,’ said Bik.

  ‘It is only a few days Bik.’

  ‘They have seemed like an eternity,’ said Bik.

  ‘Do I have that effect on you Bik?’ asked Wa.

  ‘You cannot tell? The way I hang on your every word, watch your every move?’ said Bik.

  ‘You can leave us Yi, I’m sure I have nothing to fear from Bik,’ said Wa.

  Wa picked up her fan.

  ‘I am getting hot,’ she said.

  ‘The Emperor keeps men away, so all we have is each other,’ said Bik.

  ‘The warmth of another is a longing indeed,’ said Wa.

  ‘And would you not reach out for the touch of someone?’ asked Bik.

  ‘If it were permitted,’ said Wa.

  ‘The Emperor would not ban our love,’ said Bik.

  ‘If we were in love: But if that were so, surely discretion would be the wisest option,’ said Wa.

  ‘Indeed.’

  Some Emperors encouraged love to blossom amongst the concubines; Chien-lung wasn’t as eager as some.

  ‘Here I have brought you a present,’ said Bik.

  ‘Perfume?’ asked Wa looking at the small ornate pot.

  ‘It is perfumed, but it is massage oil. Remove your clothes and lay on the couch, I am at your service,’ said Bik.

  Bik’s gentle hands soothed all her worries away, and her fears of being caught by the Imperial guards with Alain Fontaney. In fact the more Bik caressed her, the further Alain went from her thoughts. She could feel Bik’s long hair deliberately drape across her face, and she reached out to feel it, to smell it. Bik’s face was so close, and she couldn’t resist but kiss it.

  ‘Not yet my beautiful butterfly,’ said Bik.

  And she began to massage lower down, circling Wa’s flesh with her soft and warm hands; eventually she began to kiss her most sensitive parts, sending Wa into ecstasy. Bik was giving and unselfish, unlike the Emperor who only wanted pleasing. Alain too gave his flesh, even if half the time it was to be tormented.

  ‘Oh my love, I cannot take anymore,’ said Wa exhausted ‘come lay next to me.’

  Bik obeyed.

  ‘Will you always do that for me?’ asked Wa.

  ‘Of course, and can I always be by your side in Court?’ asked Bik.

  ‘Yes.’

  It seemed such a simple request for giving so much pleasure, but Bik knew that Wa always had the Emperor’s eye, and she would be in the best position when it drifted; as it always, finally, did.

  ‘Is that all?’ asked Wa.

  ‘Perhaps there is one more thing, if it pleases you?’ asked Bik.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You might find it peculiar,’ said Bik looking a little embarrassed.

  ‘Perhaps so, but I would never laugh Bik.’

  Surely no one could be as deviant as her priest.

  ‘Tighten this cord around my neck and caress me,’ pleaded Bik.

  On the other hand thought Wa, perhaps they could. It seemed everyone apart from the Emperor wanted her in an unorthodox manner.

  Bik was speechless; she was right, only a woman and only Wa Yu could understand the true yearnings of her body. She left in bliss. It was really quite a shame that she would have to betray Wa when the time was right. But she wouldn’t be young forever, and when her body no longer talked, money would.

  It seemed Wa’s status as the Emperor’s consort had made her the most popular woman in China; men and women were beating a trail to her door.

  ‘Whatever have you be doing?’ asked Alain. ‘You look radiant.’

  It was more a case of whom she’d been doing.

  ‘Only getting my beauty sleep,’ said Wa.

  ‘Here, look my love, I am wearing this to remind me of you,’ and she showed him the key. ‘Unless you are by my side I am like a bird trapped in a cage.’

  Alain kissed her sweetly on the forehead.

  ‘You are my angel,’ he said.

  But then the aching reminded him of his desire.

  ‘And also my demon,’ he continued.

  Wa knew precisely what this meant. In the courtyard there was a fireworks display; the noise hid the sound of the whip, and Alain’s screams.

  When she had finished, with Alain lying helplessly in her arms, she revealed her go between.

  ‘Can she be trusted?’ asked Alain.

  ‘If not my priest we would already be in chains,’ replied Wa. ‘Zhen will tell you when it is safe to visit, through Fu Chung Soo.’

  ‘And if I don’t hear, if I can’t wait?’ he asked.

  ‘You must be patient my love, for both our sakes.’

  Later before the Court shut down for the night Bik Dong Fang would see Alain Fontaney leave the grounds; she could guess where he’d been. The Emperor might be blind, but after she’d bide her time he would only have eyes for her.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Well it was never going to fit through the letterbox, so he was glad he was in. There was a hand written note too - ‘no peeking, Verity.’

  He couldn’t understand why; it was only a chair. He went back upstairs to sleep, and almost wishing Verity had bought a plastic cage, though he had to admit there was something rather wicked about being chastised in steel.

  ‘I should have phoned,’ said Yi.

  ‘Why?’ asked Verity.

  ‘The clinic’s in a mess.’

  ‘But I still have my appointment.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Yi, and he took her to one side in the outpatient’s corridor.

  A couple of patient’s who’d arrived before Verity looked a little edgy.

  ‘The police have taken Adam Blake’s files away,’ said Yi.

  ‘All of them?’ she asked.

  ‘Well all but one,’ he said, and he gave her a knowing smile.

  ‘It’s shredded,’ he continued.

  ‘But the appointments book?’ she asked.

  ‘This is the NHS Verity,’ he said ‘you’re free.’

  He really was her guardian.

  ‘Look you’d better go,’ said Yi.

  Verity didn’t need persuading.

  ‘Who was that Yi?’ asked the nurse.

  ‘Just someone who was lost,’ he said ‘she’s come for a job interview.’

  ‘Well I hope you told her to stay away from here, the place is chaotic,’ said the nurse.

  Yi wouldn’t be staying much longer either, his work at Monks Hill was done.

  ‘Still taking the injections?’ asked Brin.

  Stuart nodded but his eyes looked elsewhere; his last risperidone dose had failed to work.

  ‘So Stu, how’s the job going?’

  It wasn’t going very well at all, unless you called killing the manager a good night’s work. He still had blood on his clothes.

  ‘You’re eating too many burgers Stu,’ said Brin.

 
‘Why?’

  ‘You’ve got tomato sauce all down your jumper.’

  Weight gain was a real problem on antipsychotics, as it increased the appetite, but Stu hadn’t been gorging himself this morning.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Stu.

  ‘No perhaps not,’ said Brin, packing up his case.

  ‘Well your blood pressure’s fine,’ said Brin.

  ‘Cup of tea before you go?’ asked Stuart.

  The dreaded cup of tea feared by every community nurse: Refuse and look uncaring, accept and risk catching hepatitis; almost as bad as sitting on a sofa covered in dog hairs, or cat fur.

  ‘Wish I had the time,’ replied Brin.

  In fact he had plenty of time; time to kill, or get killed.

  ‘I’ve got biscuits,’ said Stu.

  ‘I’d love to Stu, but honestly my diary’s packed this morning,’ he lied.

  ‘The manager never liked me either,’ said Stu.

  Brin’s hair stood on end. A warning sign and time to leave, if Stu wasn’t blocking the only exit, and he was wearing those handcuff’s again that dangled from his belt.

  ‘Look if it makes you any happier, go and put the kettle on and I’ll wait here,’ said Brin.

  But his real intention was to run for it, and put in a report. Stuart was the fifth outpatient he’d seen whose condition appeared to be deteriorating.

  ‘You’re lying,’ said Stu.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well take a seat then.’

  ‘No problem, and Stu, two sugars please.’

  Brin sat on the sofa next to Stu’s work bag. He crushed cardboard all through the night, and he didn’t like being corrected.

  ‘Stu the television’s not working because the aerial’s out,’ said Brin looking at the cables on the floor.

  Now someone else was doing it thought Stu, and he’d only taken the aerial out because the TV was telling him to kill again.

  Brin went to move the duffel bag, and noticed the fingertips sticking out of the top. Stu hadn’t moved, and was looking right at him. There was a police siren coming from the streets outside the flat.

  ‘I don’t think they’ll make it time. Do you?’ asked Stuart.

  Brin saw the knife in his hands, and gulped.

  By the time the police arrived Stuart would be facing a double murder charge. Eventually he’d be back in Monks Hill, and reunited with his old art teacher. He’d start writing poems again, and even had one on his lips right now; all about cardboard.

  ‘I hope you haven’t opened it,’ said Verity.

  ‘Of course not, but you aren’t going to surprise me,’ said Alain.

  ‘Maybe I’m not, maybe I am,’ said Verity.

  Perhaps he knew, after all half the time his mind was in the gutter.

  ‘Go on unwrap it,’ said Verity in the dining room.

  ‘Well let me guess,’ said Alain ‘four legs, two arms.’

  ‘It sounds like a beast doesn’t it,’ said Verity.

  There was plenty of red padded leather as the paper came off, and Alain already saw himself tied to the ducking stool. Then he saw the seat.

  ‘My Queen,’ he said bowing.

  ‘Well at least it took you a while,’ said Verity.

  Alain Fontaney of all people was going to recognise a queening chair.

  ‘Shall we try it out?’ asked Verity.

  ‘If your Majesty desires,’ he said.

  Verity loosened her clothing, and sat comfortably. The seat had outer padding with a large central space. Underneath Alain’s head was supported in a sling; far enough to measure, close enough to pleasure.

  ‘Can I ever replace you?’ asked Verity afterwards.

  ‘Unlikely,’ said Alain ‘in this life and the previous.’

  ‘And what would Mr Fontaney like?’ she asked. ‘A whipping, CBT, pray tell.’

  ‘Actually none of those,’ he said.

  This didn’t sound like the Alain she had come to know and love. She hoped he wasn’t going to get romantic; not just yet, not now.

  ‘Go on,’ she sighed.

  ‘You have the only key to my desire,’ he said.

  ‘Indeed I do. The prisoner wants to go in the exercise yard does he?’ she asked.

  Alain smiled.

  ‘Well how could I refuse after that performance,’ said Verity.

  His shackles fell to the floor, and he sprang into life.

  ‘Remember no touching,’ said Verity ‘let me do the work.’

  The freed captive relinquished his desire, but Verity had removed her hand at the precise moment, ruining his enjoyment quite exquisitely.

  ‘Oh my poor thing,’ said Verity ‘you didn’t expect to enjoy it surely.’

  He looked crestfallen.

  ‘Now go and take a shower, and put the cage back on. And Alain never dare ask me again. Remember I decide,’ she said.

  ‘Who decides?’ she asked.

  ‘You do,’ he replied.

  ‘Exactly,’ she said.

  Lawrence Calder was relaxing in the bath, soaking himself amidst the foam bubbles, and checking Alain’s notes once more.

  ‘More of this and less of that,’ Alain had written, but there was something missing, question marked. Lawrence had a feeling if he could find it, then he just might find Bastille too.

  It was her oldest bank book, well-thumbed and worn, with the Swiss cross on the front. There were no withdrawals, only deposits; fifty thousand, one hundred thousand, some in between, and stretching back many years. Was it enough she thought? Did it pay for all the silent suffering, the enduring? Or was it time to cut loose before she was back on the valium. Pretence could be such a burden, but maybe she’d be alright when she took the pills he prescribed for her. After all sometimes she felt delirious with joy, though never in the bedroom. Ironic that all those years ago she’d hit on the name Bastille, an old barren fort that held many secrets; exactly how she was now feeling.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  The storm was about to break, and whilst most were rushing indoors Alain ran into the garden; the first drops of rain were always the sweetest.

  The torrent lashed against him cleansing his soul. But was all desire really sin, all flesh evil? He purged himself of longing, and starved to master his body. But the pain become a wicked lust all of its own. He relished Verity’s devices, but couldn’t express normal desire. He turned his face to the heavens, alone with his God.

  Alain was soaked to the bone, his clothes clinging onto him. Finally after rejoicing in the storm he went indoors for a bath; ice cold.

  The bath was full of ice blocks, with the freezing water almost running over the side.

  ‘I admire your stoicism Alain, but aren’t you perhaps going a little too far?’ asked Bertrand.

  ‘The flesh and the soul must be purified,’ said Alain.

  ‘I prefer to do it in prayer Alain,’ said Bertrand.

  ‘Well my friend it is prayer time now, so what brings you to my rooms?’ asked Alain.

  ‘Perhaps I can relate it to your bath Alain,’ and Bertrand smiled.

  He wasn’t one to hold back on pleasures of the flesh, to which his waistline was tantamount, as well as his gout.

  ‘Correct me if I am wrong but is this bath not penitence,’ said Bertrand.

  ‘If that were so my friend, from what would you believe I seek absolution?’

  ‘Alain, as you know we Jesuits have spies in Court, as does every other faction,’ said Bertrand.

  ‘Indeed, and what do these spies tell you?’

  ‘That Alain Fontaney no longer wishes to be celibate.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You have the eye of Wa Yu the concubine,’ said Bertrand.


  ‘And am I not a man worthy of catching a woman’s eye,’ said Alain stepping out of the bath.

  ‘Perhaps if that were all,’ said Bertrand passing him a towel.

  ‘Well then tell me what your spies suspect,’ said Alain.

  ‘That you are lovers.’

  Alain smiled ruefully, and blushed a rosy red.

  ‘Then it is true,’ said Bertrand reading his face.

  ‘But is she not the most beautiful woman you have ever seen Bertrand?’

  ‘Her beauty is not in doubt Alain, but for your own safety I must beseech you to leave these shores, and return to France as soon as possible,’ said Bertrand.

  Alain touched him on the shoulder.

  ‘You are right my friend.’

  ‘Really Alain, you mean it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘In that case I shall book your passage for next week, and tell Monsignor Jacques.’

  ‘Steady on Bertrand, I will not leave yet, but only at the end of summer. Anyway tell me, how much does Monsignor Jacques know?’

  ‘Not as much as me,’ said Bertrand.

  ‘Good, well let’s try and keep it that way my old friend. Now leave me, or perhaps I should tell Wa Yu she has a rival.’

  ‘Alain it is only because I care for you,’ said Bertrand.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But look at the clouds outside, a storm is due,’ said Bertrand.

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Just that my friend: You still love the rain do you not?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Alain.

  ‘Well then, whilst your horse is being shoed take mine for a ride, and think carefully about your future whilst you still have one.’

  He rode through the rice fields with a conical hat hanging over his shoulders.

  ‘Who goes there?’ asked the guard at the palace gate.

  ‘Alain Fontaney the priest.’

  ‘On what business?’ asked the guard.

  ‘To check the fountains.’

  The guard scrutinised his face.

  ‘Enter.’

  He rode slowly through the checkpoint then cantered to the orchard. The apples were sweet, and Alain knew why Adam was tempted.

  ‘Those are for the Emperor,’ said a voice.

  Alain was surprised to find someone else out in the rain.