“You know better than to talk to me like that, Ola. People have died for less.”
“You would never kill me, Katya needs me and you know it. I know how to keep her happy and that’s what you need. As long as I hold the key to Katya’s contentment, I will live.”
And with that she stomped out of the room and I only just made it back to bed before she came to check on me.
24
I was 11 when it first happened. It was during our precious hour in the gold drawing room when Nikolai and I would talk and he would often put me on his knee and stroke my hair as he explained to me the plot of La Traviata, which he was playing to me on the stereo, or read to me from Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens, my favourite author. This evening was different though. His eyes, which were always warm and inviting when he looked at me, had a different glint to them. They seemed deeper, and a little darker as he asked me to stand before him.
“Katya, you are turning into the most beautiful girl. You have those beautiful blonde curls, your eyes are the most precious blue and your skin is so olive. You are going to be the most stunning woman in the world,” he said as he leaned back in his armchair and surveyed me.
“Thank you, Nikolai,” I murmured wondering why he was speaking like this.
“You have now become old enough for me to start teaching you about things you will need to know when you are a woman,” he said, his voice getting softer and quieter.
“Why do I need to know them?” I asked wondering what he was talking about.
“Because when you are grown up you will use these things to make men happy,” he said.
“Now please, take your clothes off.”
I was not at all surprised to hear him ask me to do this. I had been doing it for the last few years when he asked me to. Being naked in front of Nikolai seemed perfectly natural to me.
“Now come and sit on my lap,” he instructed.
Again I was completely used to this and happily complied.
Nikolai began to stroke my back, something he had done since I was little, and I loved it. But today he started stroking me all over. Along the tops of my thighs, down my calves to the end of my toes. Then around my shoulders, down across my pre-pubescent breasts and finally resting on my stomach.
“I’m going to put my hand on you.”
He reached down between my legs.
“Do you like that?” he asked.
That night Nikolai had sex with me.
The thought of a man having sex with an 11-year-old girl is disgusting for many people and illegal in most countries. But for me, it was normal. How did I know any different? Nikolai had never hurt me in his life, I trusted him and did as he said. He was gentle and kind. I can’t explain it. That’s how I felt then and how I always felt when I was with him.
As I got older and more experienced sexually Nikolai began to talk to me about my future.
When I was 15 he took me to Japan. We were staying in the most beautiful old palace in Kyoto where I was to spend a few weeks practising my Japanese.
“Katya, I have brought you here to this place for a special reason,” he said to me one night as we were dining in the private room. “My good friend Nobuyuki Ishikawa suggested this would be a good place to talk to you about your future. This palace used to be the home of some of the most sought-after and respected geisha in Japan.”
I knew of geisha through my Japanese studies, but drew a blank as to what relevance that had to me.
“What does that have to do with me, Pappa?” I inquired, only slightly squeamish at the fact that the crayfish body staring up at me had begun to move its claw, forcing me to realise that the sashimi I was enjoying had only just been taken from its live body.
“Because your life is about to become very similar to that of a geisha or a courtesan. The time has come for you to claim your honour as one of the most beautiful, intelligent, educated and loved women this world has to offer.”
I was confused. At 15 I thought that my sexual relationship with Nikolai was normal and conventional, but making the transition from that to being a prostitute was more than I could deal with. And I wasn’t happy.
“Pappa, you are telling me that I am to become a prostitute? A woman who has sex with men for payment? Surely you have something better planned for me than that!” I spat, glad for a reason to stop humiliating the crayfish which was being subjected to watching me eat its flesh as it slowly died.
Nikolai was silent. This was always a bad sign and he flexed his hands causing his tattoos to stretch menacingly.
“Do not ever use that word again in my presence,” he whispered and took a long, slow slug of his whisky, not touching his food.
“Well, that is what I am to be,” I spat back, suddenly feeling the fighting spirit take over. I was not a common slut. I was a princess, and a Russian one at that.
“Calm down, Katya, for God’s sake,” he said switching to Russian as he did when he got upset and could no longer maintain a conversation in English. “Just sit there, shut up and listen to me. You have leapt to the wrong conclusions. I would never subject you to the life of a common prostitute, and that is the last time we will use that word between us.”
I sulked, switching my attention to the dish which had just been placed in front of me.
“You really are spoilt rotten, you know that?” said Nikolai grinning. He could never be angry with me for long. “And I guess I have only myself to blame,” he paused for another draught of whisky. “You should try some of this,” he paused, offering me his glass. “It is Japanese from Hokkaido. Who would have thought they could make such good whisky?” I sipped obediently, quite enjoying the whisky but preferring to stick with champagne, my drink of choice from all the tastings of all the fine wines Nikolai had offered me since I was 12.
“Allow me to tell you a story Katya, and please do me the courtesy of not interrupting for once. When I have finished I will be very interested to hear your thoughts,” he looked at me with love across the table. “Are you ready to listen?”
“Mmmm,” I managed as I enjoyed the Kobe beef flown in from Honshu Island and delivered to me fresh from the teppanyaki. The meat melted in my mouth as Nikolai leaned back and launched into his story.
“Many years ago, before you arrived at Polnoch, Katya, I would meet up often with three businessmen who had become close friends They were Hugo Desmarais, the French retail giant, Nobuyaki Ishikawa, a Japanese dot.com pioneer, and Bailey Mitchell, a casino baron.
“We first met at an exclusive get together of eight men. It was a business thing, looking for ways to invest our money, you need not know the details. The four of us became good friends, possibly because we had all started as nothing and made our money the hard way, or because we all had an interest in the finer things in life, namely beautiful women,” he paused.
I continued chewing, not impressed with the story so far about four sex-obsessed billionaires.
“When we got together we would ‘play up’ I guess you could call it — eating, drinking and enjoying the finest things our money could offer. Usually we would meet in Monte Carlo, where they have establishments which know how to cater for men like us.
“One night, we began to discuss the agency we used to find us women. You know what I am talking about here, Katya, I don’t think I need to fill you in on too much of the detail. We would be provided with escorts — not prostitutes, as you would call them, but more than that. Beautiful bodies which were maintained and pampered to the highest standards. They were expected to perform sexual services for us, but they were also our companions for as many days or nights as we wanted and they would come with us on our luxury boats as we cruised the Mediterranean and bring us luck at the casino.”
I sipped my Veuve Clicqout and looked at him with undisguised boredom. So what, I knew of this life that Nikolai led. He often talked to me about his trips away, the fabulous experiences he had. Until I was allowed to go too I had no interest.
“Katy
a, do not look at me like that,” he admonished. “This is of vital importance to your future. Listen.”
And so he continued.
“We realised that while we were happy to part with the best part of US$10,000 a day for these services which were well delivered, highly secretive and entirely pleasurable, they lacked intimacy. And intimacy is very important to men like us, Katya. Do you know what I mean?” he asked.
I didn’t. I was only 15. What could I know about intimacy with a man? By then I was having sex regularly with Nikolai but my understanding of this was more familial and instructive than anything else. I stared at him blankly.
“Well of course, you are young yet. What we desired was a woman who knew us so well that she knew our likes and dislikes, our foibles. All four of us have our quirks, our eccentricities, and they are not things we feel comfortable sharing with strangers from an agency.”
He’d lost me. But by now the champagne was having its effect on me and I was feeling particularly perky.
“Oh really, Nikolai, and what would they be, what can be so unusual that a stranger should not hear?” I teased.
“You’ll find out,” he answered, shooting a cold look in my direction. “You, my darling are that person. Our intimate one.”
I stared at him, slowly comprehending what he had been telling me.
“Now hold on there, Pappa,” I exclaimed. “I am yours; I do not belong to anyone else. You can’t just farm me out to three strange men who I have never met in my life. What are you thinking?”
“Katya, you do not realise. That is why I adopted you, that is why I found you. You were planned all along,” he said slowly.
“Planned all along?” I spat back. “You make it sound like I was a saved abortion.”
“No, I simply want you to know that every detail, every part of your life has been made available by the four of us. The tutors, your education, the best wines, the fine food, all so that you could be trained in the art of an intimate.
I was speechless as I absorbed this latest information and Nikolai hurried on.
“We had dinner one night at Le Tour d’Argent and Bailey had been reading up on tuwaifs, who were courtesans who catered for the Muslim nobility of India. They were beautiful women who were singers, dancers and poets, and they were all highly educated and refined. This is what we needed for ourselves, not some high class escort from an agency. A woman who could eat with us and appreciate the fine foods and wines we enjoyed, who could talk with us knowledgably about our business interests, world politics and had a superior education. A Princess Diana if you like, only much more refined.”
I choked on my champagne. “Princess Diana!” I scoffed. “Oh, you do aim high, Nikolai,” I laughed. “Did you see that dress she wore at the tea ceremony the other day. Red polka dots, white shoes and that ridiculous red hat. Come on, give me some credit!”
Charles and Diana were on a tour of Japan and had stayed at the palace where Nikolai and I were staying just days before.
“Exactly, Katya. That is why I said like Princess Diana, you are obviously much better educated, far more intelligent and 10 times more beautiful than that commoner,” he scoffed.
We both laughed before I was a brought back to the bit about tuwaifs and more importantly having sex with three strange men.
“Nikolai, why does it have to be about these other men. Why can’t I just continue to be with you? That works doesn’t it? You have enough money to pay those other three off and say it has all been a terrible mistake and I turned out butt ugly with no talent for languages and a passion for polka dots,” I attempted to lighten the situation.
But it didn’t work.
“Their investment has been great, Katya,” he replied. “And when I make a deal, I stick to it. You learn that in prison. The hard way,” he paused. “And besides they have needs that can’t be met by anyone else.”
“Really?” I queried immediately suspicious. I was too young to fathom what needs Nikolai was talking about but I sensed a familiar air of the unconventional. “What will I have to do?” I asked cautiously.
“Nothing you don’t want to my darling,” he replied, reaching over and holding my hand, admiring my immaculate manicure.
I thought for a moment as he gazed at my hand. Something didn’t add up.
“Why you?” I asked. “Why didn’t one of the others find me and look after me and groom me?” I said.
“I was the only one without a wife and family and I had Polnoch at my disposal where you could grow up in relative seclusion. And as we both know, in Russia you can do most things if you know the right people.”
I glared at him across the table.
“I am not having sex with those men, so get used to it,” I said regaining my composure. “For a start they are probably perverts or something if they have to pay for it. And I don’t buy the intimacy thing. Why don’t they get that with their wives to be more intimate?” I asked. “Isn’t that what wives are for?”
“Ah, Katya, you are too youthful and untouched by life yet to realise that with wives come expectations, responsibilities, families, and to be brutally honest women only want men like us for our money. For once it is nice to make love with someone who is there for us, who is not going on in our ear about the need for another diamond or another haute couture dress,” he replied. “Or why they don’t spend more time at home, take them on more exotic holidays,” he laughed.
“What makes you think I won’t do that, I love haute couture and exotic holidays as you know,” I responded reasonably.
“Because you will have no need. You will have everything you want without the burdens of a conventional relationship, Katya. You will make us happy and we will see that you are always looked after. You will never experience sadness or pain, that is one of our founding rules for this arrangement. You will be treated with the utmost respect and consideration as befits your role as our princess, and you will never want for anything in your life. Every need will be taken care of. Everything you desire in life will be yours.”
And that was it. Subject closed. As far as Nikolai was concerned.
“I’m still not having sex with those men,” I mumbled as we left the private dining room. “And you can’t make me.”
Three months later Nikolai and I were on a private jet headed from Paris to a chateau in the south of France. Here we were to attend a ball of magnificent splendour, with guests coming from all over the world, including nine representatives of the 10 European monarchies, and four of the five most ridiculous pop stars.
Nikolai and I had been to five such balls, but for this one he was unusually attentive over my attire. I already had five haute couture gowns in my wardrobe at Polnoch, purchased for the other balls. But a new one was required and I was taken to the Chanel atelier for a one-off gown I had seen in Vogue magazine. It was off-white, with a silk bustier and the skirt was covered with feathers that had each been hand-stitched onto the fabric. I felt like a princess, and I knew I looked like one when the woman looking after me at Chanel said she wished their models looked half as glamorous as I did wearing their gowns. Nikolai then took me shopping for a diamond and pearl pendant, tiara and matching ear-rings at Cartier on the Place Vendome.
“For my princess,” he said as he handed over the distinctive red boxes he had removed from the safe that night as we were getting dressed.
“Your princess,” I replied.
Nikolai was wonderful to be with at these occasions. His good looks shone and he was always the recipient of many glances from hopeful women, but he never left my side. He also never let me talk to anyone, answering questions directed at me and whisking me away as soon as anyone got too nosy.
But this ball was to be very different for me. We were all ushered into the chateau’s hall of mirrors and the room had been dressed to resemble a disco with mirror balls reflecting light on and off the mirrors along the walls. Nikolai and I stood to one side, unsure what was about to happen when loud music started pumping
into the room, and along a catwalk came 12 extremely beautiful girls about my age, and younger. I knew immediately they were Russian, by their features and the way they walked. As Nikolai and I stood and watched they began moving their bodies to the beat and removing their clothing, piece by piece until they were only in the skimpiest bra and pants. I looked at Nikolai to see what he was thinking and he returned my look with raised eyebrows.
“What is going on?” I shouted in his ear above the loud music.
“I have an idea,” he said. “I have seen this before, but it is not something I would wish you to see,” he said sternly taking my arm and ushering me out.
“No, wait!” I said. “Let me see!”
He released his pressure and let me continue standing there.
“If you wish,” was all he said.
By this time the girls had all removed their underwear and were engaged in sex acts with one another while still gyrating to the music. There were skinny Russian girls writhing and humping all over the catwalk, on top of each other, spreading their legs and licking each other. I was so embarrassed I switched my gaze to the face of one girl who returned my look with dead eyes. She was removed, somehow, simply going through the motions.
My mouth must have dropped open because at that moment Nikolai resumed his vice-like grip and led me out of the room.
“You have seen enough,” he said marching me out.
I turned my head as we were heading out the door in time to see that now the girls were being joined by men, and even some women from the ball who were throwing off their expensive evening wear in their hunger to join in.
“Oh my God, Nikolai,” I giggled nervously. “Is that what I think it is? Have I just seen an orgy?”
Nikolai hustled me up the staircase and along the hallway so quickly that my feet were barely touching the ground.
“Ouch, you’re hurting me,” I exclaimed.
“I’m sorry, Katya,” he said. “You should never have seen that, I can’t believe that this has happened. I will find out who was responsible and express my disgust.”
The Road from Midnight Page 19