by Sam Eden
At the end of the evening Carlo reappeared having done the rounds of rich clients with Rebecca. He still seemed morose, and later Rebecca told her that she had been none too pleased by his manners, but since artists were expected to be moody it had probably done him no harm. Nicola flushed with pride when Rebecca added that if she were to stick with Carlo her social skills could help his career.
Determined to dance with him at least once she dragged him to the floor, and as James and Rebecca followed them she overheard their conversation. Rebecca was pleased she’d not once caught James ogling the waitress’ obvious charms.
‘My hands are full with your bottom,’ he replied urbanely.
‘Yes, especially when they’re giving it a good walloping,’ she giggled.
‘I’d love you even if we didn’t do that,’ he said seriously.
‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ said Rebecca, pressing herself against him.
Nicola clung to Carlo, wondering what James had meant when he asked what she really knew of Carlo’s associates. He held her tightly, seeming in his distraction to have forgotten that her body was still tender. The band played Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered, which, thought Nicola, described her condition exactly.
Chapter 10
On the Monday following the ball Rebecca took Nicola to lunch. She told James they would need a couple of hours because she wanted to speak earnestly to Nicola about Carlo. She wanted to reassure herself yet again that Nicola knew what she would be taking on. James readily fell in with her plan. Rebecca knew he disliked Carlo and was appalled at the thought of Nicola running off to Italy with him.
The two women were sitting at a small table in a busy bistro in the town. Outside a grey chill hung over the bustling streets of Henley, but inside the atmosphere was warm and infused with the smell of French cooking. Nicola ate a vegetarian quiche in crisp pastry, while Rebecca had mussels, neatly scooping them out with the other half of the shell. They each had a glass of white wine. Although there were only three days to go until Christmas the place was blessedly free of rowdy groups with paper hats and party poppers.
‘You were a smash hit at the ball, Nick.’
‘Really?’ Nicola was pleasantly surprised.
‘Lots of men asked about you, including our chief exec, and I got all the kudos for discovering you.’ Rebecca grinned.
‘I like the idea of being “discovered”,’ laughed Nicola. ‘It makes me sound important.’
Inevitably their conversation soon turned to the men in their pasts. They were both anxious to pick up from where they’d been interrupted the previous Thursday night.
‘It’s so hard finding someone who will...’ Nicola didn’t finish her sentence but Rebecca knew exactly what she meant.
‘Tell me about it. But don’t throw yourself on Carlo just because of great sex. I’m beginning to realise he has a shady past.’
‘I can sense he has a dark side, but at the moment it makes him more desirable. But maybe the fever will pass and I’ll be free of it and come home.’
Rebecca questioned her more deeply, seeking to confirm how far the girl’s feelings for him went, and what he may have told her about his life. In the end she had to accept that Nicola’s mind was made up: Carlo was a risk she was willing to take. And whatever doubts hung over him there was one aspect of Carlo’s character which made him an ideal companion for Nicola.
‘You know, it took me ages to find a man to handle me properly,’ said Rebecca. ‘So now I’ve got James I’m determined to keep him.’
‘I can vouch for that,’ said Nicola, with feeling.
Rebecca told her some funny stories about her early attempts to goad her boyfriends into spanking her. Her tantrums had tormented them so badly that Nicola felt sorry for them. On one occasion she had been reduced to stealing some money from a boyfriend’s wallet and then owning up to it. He was so dopey that he immediately forgave her, but she insisted that he must not let her off scot-free.
‘It’s so humiliating to have to climb over a man’s lap and plead “I’m a naughty girl, spank me”,’ complained Rebecca.
A young man at the next table glanced at them with interest, but his girlfriend did not look pleased.
‘Shh,’ giggled Nicola, ‘you’re embarrassing me!’
‘You must have had the same problem.’
‘Yes, I’ve found loads of men who loved my arse,’ Nicola whispered, ‘but not many who wanted to give it a good hiding. I had high hopes of one guy, Steven. He couldn’t take his hands of it; fondling it, patting it, slapping it. But when we finally had sex it turned out he wanted...’
Nicola paused and glanced to see if their neighbour was still eavesdropping, before going on. ‘You know, to do it up the bum.’
‘Ooh... what’s that like?’ Rebecca was curious.
Nicola wrinkled her nose to show that she could take it or leave it, then went on to relate another incident in which she arranged for her boyfriend to find her flicking herself on the bottom with one of his leather belts. When he asked her what she was doing she told him it was good for her circulation.
‘He didn’t buy it. He thought I was kinky, but he did whack me quite hard with the belt and he was stunned with the sex afterwards.’
The young couple at the next table had finished, and the girl gave them a baleful glance as she left.
I know what you need, thought Rebecca, looking after her. I just hope your boyfriend does too.
They talked about using contact websites to find people. Neither had tried them but both had heard unsatisfactory reports from friends. It seemed that cyberspace made men bigger liars than they were already. They were rarely as young, as handsome or as solvent as they claimed to be.
‘Somehow it doesn’t feel right,’ said Nicola. ‘I want to know something about a person and feel comfortable with them in the flesh before I reveal my innermost desires.’
Rebecca agreed. ‘And our particular needs could be dangerous in the wrong hands.’
‘Don’t you think we’re freaks?’ asked Nicola.
‘Freaks? Absolutely not. Why?’
‘Because of what we like,’ said Nicola
‘It’s common. Watch.’ The waitress was just bringing their deserts, and Rebecca asked her, ‘Does your boyfriend spank you?’
The young girl blushed, giving them their answer, before verbally confirming it. ‘Yes, sometimes.’
Rebecca followed up, ‘And do you like it?’
‘Yes,’ replied the girl.
‘Why don’t you ask him to cane you?’ asked Rebecca.
‘What? No way!’ The horrified waitress hurried away and the two women laughed.
‘Well, maybe we are a wee bit special,’ admitted Rebecca, and then she related the story of her first caning from James.
‘Even after I’d given my prettiest apology he still took me to his study and caned me. Oh, how my pussy cheered when he told me what he was going to do.’ She sighed with pleasure at the memory. ‘I begged him not to, of course, but he wouldn’t give in to me.’
As the tables around them had emptied Nicola became more confiding. She divulged the story of her arrangement with Edward. There were many details she had kept from James, and she asked Rebecca never to tell them to anyone. Rebecca was entranced by the tale of the whipping bench and the experimental clothing, and Edward’s doomed relationship with Nicola’s mother fascinated her. Edward had died before Rebecca had known James, so she’d never met him. She would have found his scholarship, his self-control in handling Nicola’s sexuality and his ability to supply a wicked beating an irresistible combination.
‘I would have married him like a shot,’ she said, astonished that he had been a bachelor all his life. It was clear her words pleased her young friend.
Rebecca was finding that she
enjoyed Nicola’s company more and more. It helped that the younger girl plainly looked up to her and was impressed by her successful career, but there was something more important. Being with someone who so closely shared her sexual tastes gave her a tremendous feeling of release. For whatever she had said at the bistro she knew they were different from most women; the extreme treatment they craved set them apart. All in all she would miss Nicola and she was sorry they’d not had more time to be friends.
As they entered the gates of James’ mansion Rebecca recognised the blue car parked at the door. It was the small Ford rented for Carlo’s use, and she asked Nicola if she expected Carlo to be there. The girl shook her head.
‘Perhaps he’s here to see you,’ she suggested.
‘I don’t think so,’ replied Rebecca. ‘He thinks I’m in London.’
She drove quietly up the drive and stopped some distance short of the house. Then she took off her heels and started to run over the frosty lawn, beckoning Nicola to follow. Avoiding the study windows the two went round the back of the house to the kitchen, where the maid let them in and gave them a towel to wipe their damp feet.
‘My toes are frozen,’ grumbled Nicola. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘Just follow me, and keep quiet.’ Rebecca bustled Nicola out of the kitchen, telling the maid not to let on to Sir James that they had arrived. The maid solemnly promised not to, and carried on with her work indifferent to their cloak and dagger antics.
Rebecca hurried them upstairs and along a landing. They entered a tiny windowless room, which contained only a small desk and a chair. A number of electronic gadgets were fitted to one wall, and on the desk was a computer with a large monitor. Rebecca sat at the desk and switched it on. A moment or so after keying in a password the monitor became a split screen television, showing the rooms and grounds of the house. Rebecca selected the study for full screen viewing and switched on the sound.
James’ voice emerged from the speakers. He was berating Carlo.
‘Why did you beat her so harshly?’
Carlo seemed to resent being spoken to in this way. ‘It is a matter between her and me, Sir James,’ he said indignantly. ‘Anyway, it was not so harsh.’
‘I saw the marks,’ said James with emphasis. This was news to Rebecca. She looked at Nicola questioningly, and the girl nodded and lowered her eyes. Nicola knelt beside Rebecca’s chair and the two watched tensely as the scene unfolded.
After a moment’s hesitation Carlo explained that Nicola had pleaded for her beating. She wanted to atone for seducing James and endangering Rebecca’s engagement to him. James grumpily conceded that his story matched what Nicola had told him. Rebecca looked again at the girl, this time squeezing her hand in gratitude.
‘You need to exercise some restraint when you discipline a woman,’ James said crossly. ‘This isn’t the Dark Ages.’
‘I’ll remind him of that next time he whacks the living daylights out of me,’ murmured Rebecca.
‘Sir James, have you called me here to discuss my love life?’ asked Carlo bluntly. ‘It’s really none of your business.’
‘No, I asked you here because I know about the forged Cimabue.’
Carlo looked stunned. At first he said nothing, and then not very convincingly he blustered, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Direct as always, James was having none of the young man’s prevarication. ‘I found it in the back of Rebecca’s portrait. It was very similar to another I’ve seen recently.’
‘Is it still there?’ Carlo asked innocently.
‘No,’ said James, ‘and you are the only person who could have moved it.’
‘If it is not there you have no evidence, Sir James.’
‘I have photographs of the picture in its hiding place. If it were ever to come to market I would take them to the police.’
‘I see,’ said Carlo.
‘I believe you forged both paintings, Carlo.’
Carlo did not reply.
‘Apparently...’ began James. He was finding it difficult to speak. ‘Apparently Nicola has feelings for you. Young women are often poor judges of character in men.’
‘You seem to have determined my character on very short acquaintance,’ Carlo retorted hotly.
James must have seen the justice of this comment, because his manner became less belligerent. ‘Perhaps, but the point is that Nicola’s wellbeing has become very important to me.’
In the security room Nicola flushed.
‘I don’t want her mixed up with criminals,’ James continued.
‘I am not a criminal,’ insisted Carlo.
James ignored this unlikely statement. ‘Can you extricate yourself from the people you’re involved with?’
‘It’s not that easy,’ sighed Carlo.
‘Who are they?’ persisted James.
‘Sir James, if I told you it would not be good for you, for me or for Nicola.’
James waited patiently, and at last Carlo said, ‘There is an important man in Milan. He runs a syndicate. They were to get the proceeds from the sale of the forgeries.’
‘They can’t blame you, surely. The police have prevented the sale now.’
‘They blame who they want. And those people tend to die, dolorosamente.’
‘But if the paintings have not been sold how can they expect the money from you?’
‘You do not understand, Sir James, I already owe them the money. The paintings would have paid my debt.’
‘Gambling? Drugs?’
‘No.’
‘What then?’
‘It is a family matter. I will not tell you more.’
James was staring out of the window, presumably wondering what was to be done. He turned back to Carlo and raised a question that had already struck Rebecca.
‘If this syndicate is as powerful as you suggest, I don’t understand their involvement. These paintings would sell for peanuts in comparison with the takings of organised crime.’
‘These two are just part of a much bigger racket. There are other forgeries, thefts, smuggling...’
Carlo lapsed into a morose silence, presumably contemplating death dolorosa. James returned to the window. The girls waited expectantly for him to come to a decision.
‘How much do you owe?’ he asked at last.
‘Sixty thousand Euros.’
‘If you promise to stop producing fakes I will pay it.’
Carlo’s head shot up in astonishment.
‘I don’t understand, Sir James. You want to pay my debt for me?’
‘What I propose is, I will pay you that sum to paint a wedding portrait of Rebecca,’ explained James. ‘This time one we can hang in the drawing room. Of course, I’ll need to confirm it with Rebecca,’ he added.
Carlo cheered up immensely. ‘That is very generous,’ he said warmly. ‘I suppose you do it for Nicola and not for me.’
‘You suppose correctly. Nicola was alone in the world. Now I regard her as...’ he paused. ‘As a daughter. I will be very angry if she comes to even the slightest harm in your care.’
Rebecca smiled kindly at Nicola and soothed her with a cuddle. Tears were streaming down the girl’s face.
Downstairs the interview was concluding rather more cheerfully than it had begun, and Carlo made a parting concession. ‘Sir James, I would not tell you how my debt came about, but I promise I will tell Nicola before we leave for Italy. She can make her decision then.’
After the confrontation in the study, Rebecca tried to lower the emotional temperature by giving Nicola a demonstration of the security system. Being involved in the art world had made her interested in such devices and she spoke knowledgeably for some minutes about the different types of sensors, cameras and other traps for the unwary burglar.
> ‘There is a recording facility, too. Motion sensitive. Unless James overrides it, it comes on at six o’clock in the evening.’
‘Is there a camera in every room?’ asked Nicola, turning pale.
‘No. Only ones where there might be something valuable. Kitchen, bathrooms, gym and so on are not on the circuit.’
‘Oh,’ said Nicola, relieved.
Rebecca eyed her closely. ‘If you were working late in the study I expect you’d be on it,’ she said with deliberate lightness.
‘I suppose so,’ said Nicola.
‘Shall we look?’ asked Rebecca, flicking through the file list of recordings on the computer.
‘No, don’t worry; I’m not very photogenic...’ Nicola began hurriedly, but Rebecca had already pulled up the recording for the Monday when it had all begun.
‘I think you’re doing yourself an injustice, Nick. You look beautiful.’
Rebecca watched Nicola stare at the screen in confusion. The girl saw herself topless, bent over James’ desk while he strapped her. They heard each crack of the leather and the cries which followed.
‘You knew this was here, didn’t you?’ asked Nicola, realising that Rebecca had already watched the recording.
‘Yes, but don’t worry, Nick,’ said Rebecca, ‘you’ve been punished enough.’
‘Silly of James not to erase it,’ said Nicola. She sounded a little annoyed at his oversight.
‘Yes, but it was only corroboration. I already knew: James breathless when I phoned from Italy; ten o’clock at night and you were there; the lip-gloss and overnight bag on the Friday; and of course, Fleurs de Paradis on his clothes.’
Rebecca fast-forwarded the recording to the caning. ‘He was a bit soft on you, I think,’ she said, unimpressed by the moderate cuts whipping into the girl’s backside.