The Prince and the Nun

by Jacqueline George

  “Captain Mefist!” called the General. “What are you two looking at? Is it something you should share with the rest of us?”

  Therese jerked up in surprise and slapped her legs together. Her ears burned, and she knew she was blushing fiercely.

  Mefist rose to the question. “Excuse me, Your Honor, we were just carrying out a routine equipment inspection.” A roar of laughter came from the tables, this time including the girls’ voices.

  “I trust everything is in good order? Polished? Well-oiled?” More laughter.

  “Your Honour, I’m pleased to say that the equipment is of the very best quality and in excellent condition.” This brought cheers as well as laughter, and Therese grew even more embarrassed.

  The General raised his glass, and above the noise he shouted a toast. “Gentlemen, I propose a toast to Madam Therese’s equipment. May it continue to delight her and her friends for many years into the future.” The toasts were drunk to happy shouts of “Madam Therese’s equipment!”

  The General stood up. “Now, gentlemen, it’s time to draw a close. Major Lamoreaux, take this young lady away and tend her wounds. I suggest you rub cold cream gently into the affected area. Captain Mefist, if you can tear yourself away from the admiration of Therese’s equipment, I have a couple of things in my office we should attend to before we turn in. Goodnight to you all.”

  Chapter 26

  Therese walked with Mrs. Orlova down to the wagon park. Old snow was piled high on either side where the road had been cleared. Having large numbers of soldiers available for snow clearing was a welcome luxury in winter. Therese enjoyed being outside again now the snow had stopped and felt happy to escort Mrs. Orlova. Of course, it also gave them a chance to talk freely.

  “So tell me, how is Jana?”

  “Oh, she’s well, and old Krausov too. They’re both worried about Rado, of course.” She waved at the forest. “It must be terrible in the forest at the moment. What does he eat?”

  “Don’t worry about it. No explanations. Just don’t worry and tell the Krausovs not to worry either. He’s fine and he’s going to stay fine.”

  “But how do you know, Ma’am?”

  “I told you, no explanations. I’m completely sure there’s nothing to worry about. After you get that list down to the village, he may have company soon. That’ll make for a better Christmas, won’t it?” Tucked into her underwear, Mrs. Orlova had a carbon copy of a list that Timko had typed out, obtained by Maria in circumstances Therese did not want to think about. The Office of Army Recruitment had finally got themselves organized and sent the names of young men to be called into the Army. Drazevich would receive the list tomorrow, so time would be limited.

  “What about the rest of the village? What’s the news?”

  “Well, I can’t say things have changed much, really. Now the soldiers have settled in, everyone seems to be getting along. Oh, I forgot to tell you. Jana sends her love and asks if she could visit, along with her friend Rebecca. Shall I tell her it’s not suitable?”

  Not suitable? she thought, not suitable? “I suppose you’re right, but then again, I don’t suppose you feel uncomfortable, coming in the afternoons as you do.”

  “Well, perhaps that’s right, Ma’am. No one’s come chasing after me, worse luck!” She gave a shriek of laughter at the thought. “I suppose she could tell old Krausov she was meeting you in the library or somewhere. That’d set his mind at rest, especially now that Rado’s sent word that everyone was to look out for you. When should I tell her?”

  Leaving her at the wagon park, Therese walked on towards the cart track along the top of the meadow. The snow lay thick here, and her only way forward was to follow the ski tracks made by the daily patrols. It was hard going, as even on the ski trail she sank to her calves. She struggled on to the shrine that marked the corner of the meadowlands. The statue of Our Lady stood mantled in snow and ice, but her painted face peeped out and solemnly watched Therese. A sudden spurt of guilt filled her. What would Mary make of her now?

  Everything had seemed so clear when she had started out down her current path. None of them had had the slightest inclination to accommodate the Army. If some way had been found of importing women from Vienna or Budapest, the girls would still be nuns, and Therese would still be their Mother Superior. And probably not feeling a great deal differently about themselves. None of the girls behaved like sinners; you could see that they had nothing on their consciences from the way they worked and the way they enjoyed themselves doing normal things all day. Therese felt differently. She bore some of the responsibility for the situation, and she had a nagging feeling that she should feel more guilty.

  She supposed the truth was that she did not seem to be doing any harm. The girls were happier than they had ever been as nuns. She had never seen Maria more alive and full of spirit. Everyone acknowledged her as the club’s most skillful lover, and she never wanted for a client. The younger girls liked her too, and would always take their problems to Maria before coming to Therese. How could giving anyone that sort of happiness be so very sinful?

  Her personal conscience had also proved remarkably elastic. She knew that making love with Wanda or Rado was wrong, but if that was true, why did it feel so nice at the time? It still felt good afterwards. Surely evil should make her feel bad and dirty. A few nights ago she had attended a dinner party dressed only in stockings and jewelry, but she did not feel sullied by the experience. She had enjoyed it, and enjoyed sitting on Mefist’s lap afterwards.

  She looked again at the gentle statue. Why, she asked herself, was the Church so interested in how she amused herself? It had no such strictures about eating and drinking. Senior churchmen were famous for knowing their way around the pleasures of the table. It had no strictures against sport or riding. Why on earth should they be so interested in sex? What difference could it possibly make whether Therese wore her knickers or not? She blamed the old men who ruled the Church, but it really worried her that by rejecting their foolish ideas about sex, she might be chipping away at the foundations of her belief in the hierarchy itself.

  The old men were less important than the statue in front of her, she decided. Forget them, and concentrate on the good, kind and gentle message of her religion. She bowed her head and prayed for a moment.

  Before she could start down the hill, whoops and shouting came from above. Two soldiers slid into view, crouched over their skis and racing each other despite the rifles and equipment slung around them. They swung uphill and skidded to a halt, laughing and mocking each other’s performance.

  It was the daily patrol coming home. Behind them, scattered disgracefully but coming as fast as they could, the rest of the patrol filled the slope. In the middle of the bunch came Sergeant Grossner, a little stiff and upright but in perfect control of his skis.

  Therese caught up with him as he took off his skis. His face shone red, and his breath steamed. “Good afternoon, Your Honour. You’re taking your walk?”

  “Yes, Sergeant, but I must say you seem to be having much more fun on your skis.”

  “I love it, Your Honour. My family comes from Tartry, and we’re born on skis, so they say.”

  “I’m jealous. Could you teach me how to do it?”

  “Why certainly, Your Honour, but you should try the Prince. He’s a devil on skis. He skied for the Army and won some cups, I believe. There was some talk of him going on to the Olympics, but he said he preferred wine and women, so I’m told.”

  “I’d rather surprise him,” she said.

  “Very well, Your Honour; if you can find yourself some skis, we’ll see what we can do. Beg pardon, Your Honour, I’d better attend to my young idiots.” The soldiers were whistling at the last of their companions sliding carefully in, and Sergeant Grossner strode amongst them, shouting and getting them into line.

  Therese went straight to Timko’s office and placed a call to Wanda.

  Mefist came to visit her that night. She was glad to see him and rea
ched for a bottle of champagne, but he reached out to stop her.

  “Wait a minute, my dear. Something’s come up.” He looked a little drawn and worried. “Look at this.” He passed over a telex message.

  Below the identifying codes and direction, the message said,

  Your command area to forward to OIC Railway Detachment Szeged 100 conscripted labourers. Duties will be track maintenance. Men to bring boots and warm clothing as these not available Szeged. Food and accommodation will be provided. Draft to report Szeged before 15 December.

  “What does this mean? Where’s Szeged?”

  “It’s a railway junction in southern Hungary, I think. Or is it in Slovenia? Probably Hungary; that doesn’t look like a Slovenian name. Anyway, we’ll have to round up a hundred men and ship them south. That’s on top of the conscripts that have just been called up. I hate it when the government does things like this. If only they’d conscript the men properly, send them a telegram or an official letter. Then people might hate the government. This way, they just hate the Army—and we’re within rifle shot.”

  Therese’s mind raced. “Mefist, when are you going to do this?”

  “Well, I don’t know yet. This has just come from the signals room. The General hasn’t seen it yet.”

  “If you could give me a day or so, I could take some of the sting out of it, I think. Tell me, would the men be safe down there?”

  “I should imagine so. There’s no fighting within hundreds of kilometres and anyway, railway labourers don’t get involved in any shooting.”

  “What would happen if any of the Army conscripts got accidentally sent to Szeged instead?”

  “Therese, you are a genius. Take me to your office and we’ll talk about the details.”

  Excitedly, she drew off her dress and hung it in the wardrobe. She patted her hair back into place and hurried to the chaise longue. Mefist was pouring the champagne. He waved her over to the desk. “No, not there. Come and sit on my lap again. We have to talk business.”

  She went to him as he sat on her office chair and stopped just out of reach. “No touching, Mefist. You’ve got to promise me. Looking’s bad enough, but definitely no touching.”

  “Yes, Your Honour, no touching it is. Now come around here and sit down.”

  She settled herself comfortably on his lap with her arm around his shoulders. He raised his glass to her. “Here’s to the beautiful Therese and her beautiful equipment!”

  “Stop it! And it’s not beautiful anyway. It’s just–it’s my thing, that’s all. Don’t talk about it; it’s not polite. Now, where are these railway men going to be conscripted?”

  “I haven’t thought about it yet. I suppose I could borrow an office at the railway station. Would that do?”

  “Yes. That would be very convenient. Now, when does Drazevich get the list of Army conscripts?”

  “Why am I beginning to suspect you know more about this than you should, my clever little girl? We were planning to give it to him tomorrow. I see what you’re aiming at. Perhaps if I can promise the General a peaceful life on the one hand, with all the young firebrands working safely on the railways far away, or forests full of discontented partisans on the other, he might be inclined to sit on the list of conscripts. I know what we can do. We can get Timko to print up an official letter form. That should take a couple of days, and then he’d have to fill in all the names–another day. Then it’s the weekend–another two days–and the General will have to sign them–yet another day. Is that enough for you?”

  “That’s plenty. I’ll go down to the village tomorrow to buy some ribbon and spread the word. When will you set up the office in the railway station?”

  “I’ll get Timko down there tomorrow afternoon, say between three o’clock and five o’clock, and the same the next day. Get your men to come in and tell some of them to sign with a slightly different name. Change their Christian name or use their middle one. Then if anyone in Vienna’s trying to follow the paperwork, they won’t know who’s who. They’ll just get confused and give up. If we can get the men signed up, I’ll send a partial draft on Monday. Then when Drazevich goes around next week, everyone can just shake their heads and say perfectly honestly that their sons have gone off to work on the railways. They’ll even have an official receipt to prove it.”

  “The village doesn’t realize how lucky they are to have you here, Mefist.”

  “They don’t realize how lucky they are to have you here, but I do. God, your breasts are beautiful. Do they drink champagne?”

  “I don’t know. Try and offer them some.”

  Mefist pressed the rim of his glass to the base of her left nipple and tipped it gently until the champagne splashed her. It tickled and made Therese laugh. “Perhaps it’s not thirsty.”

  “I’ll try the other one.”

  Therese watched as the pale golden liquid rose to lap her nipple. It looked and felt delightfully naughty, and the little button tightened and stood out in anticipation.

  “No, not thirsty,” said Mefist. “Never mind, there’ll be more for us. Oh look, they’re wet. May I lick them dry?”

  “Certainly not! No touching, remember? Still, since you’ve been kind to them...” She carefully wiped her nipple dry with her finger and gave it to him to lick. “Nice?”

  “Magic–but what about your ‘equipment’? Does it drink champagne?”

  “Certainly not!” She leant forward so her equipment was tucked further underneath her. “I felt a complete idiot the other night. I don’t know what came over me, letting you look at me like that when everyone else was there.”

  “It was very, very pretty,” he said wistfully. “Can I look now, when there’s no one else here?”

  “No!” she said sharply, and then relented a little. “Do you really think it’s pretty?”

  “Of course. It’s very pretty. Gorgeous, in fact, and tasty. I can vouch for that. Don’t you think it’s pretty?”

  “Of course not! It’s just me; it’s just my thing. How could I think it’s pretty?”

  “Why not? You know your face is pretty, and your breasts, and your figure. Your legs are elegant and your dupka is very desirable. Why shouldn’t your little flower be pretty?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose I’ve never really looked at it, and I’ve never seen anyone else’s. Except the girls’, of course, and I suppose they might be quite pretty. I was a bit surprised that they’re all different, but I suppose that’s natural when you think about it. Come to think of it, Agata showed me hers just after the General had her for the first time, and it was pretty in its own way. Prettier than mine, anyway.”

  “Can’t say I’ve studied Agata’s with the same devotion as yours, but I seem to remember that yours is much nicer.”

  “Mefist, you’re crazy,” she said, but something inside her appreciated his compliment. “I’m sure you’ve forgotten what it looks like anyway.”

  “You could refresh my memory. Please? I promise not to touch.”

  She thought about it. She liked Mefist; in fact she was growing more and more fond of him every day. Something inside her wanted to show him because it felt nice to be admired, especially by Mefist, and besides, what harm could it do?

  “You have to promise me you won’t touch. I think I might go crazy if you did, and then anything could happen.”

  “What a delightful thought! Anyway, I’ll promise. Look but don’t touch.”

  Therese shuffled forwards a little and leant back, supported by his encircling arm. “Show me,” he whispered. They looked down between her closed thighs. The vee of her dark hair pointed down to her closed, fleshy lips. The tight furrow between them disappeared out of sight. “Show me,” he whispered again.

  She tried to open her legs, but the desk stopped her. Slowly she lifted her foot and rested it on the desktop. Mefist dipped his hand under her other thigh, lifting it up to rest across his chest. She was lying back, cradled by his arms.

  At her centre they could see her
pink inner lips twisted tightly together and reaching provocatively out beyond the tight cushions on either side. “It’s beautiful! Show me more.” Obediently she pressed two fingertips to the top of her furrow and pulled up. The movement opened her sex, and the petals of her inner lips fell apart. “Oh, so sweet!” he whispered. “How is your button?”

  “My button?”

  “Yes, your button. Your clitoris. How is it?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s there, under that cover. Touch it. It should feel good.”

  She studied herself and moved her fingertip to the long cover that ran down from near the top of her furrow to the springing of her inner lips. She pressed it gently and felt a hard rib underneath. It felt good. “That’s it. Is that good? Now rub it up and down a little.”

  “Ooh!” she moaned gently. “That is good.”

  “Try and pull the hood back, and your little button will pop out. Try it!”

  Uncertainly she reached a little lower, pressed and pulled back. A pink pearl was uncovered at the top of her inner lips. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Touch it.”

  She moved her thumb to hold the cover back and brushed the pearl with her fingertip. “It tickles,” she said.

  “That’s right,” he said. “To start with it tickles, and then it wants more and more. Rub it up and down again.”

  She returned two fingertips to the cover and rubbed up and down. “Oh Mefist! That’s exciting!” She continued to rub gently up and down. Her sex began to wake up and take interest in what was happening. She settled into a rhythm, and the two of them watched expectantly.

  “Don’t stop,” he said, kissing her brow lightly. Her fingers built up excitement inside her. Mefist’s head rested against hers as they watched together, and the feel and the scent of him filled her mind. Her red varnished fingernails moved firmly and inevitably in the groove of her sex. She knew she would carry on to the end.