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A Fairy's Tale
by Tanya Allan |
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Synopsis
A wealthy and beautiful Spanish Countess prepares for a private dinner party with her husband and children at the White House with the President and First Lady. As she arrives, she casts her mind back to a very different life.
Jim, a young boy, is brought up in a deprived and abusive home in London’s East End. Aware of his TS condition, he suffers abuse and humiliation, culminating in a homosexual predator taking advantage of him. Finding himself in jail, undergoing special ‘treatment’ to combat his ‘anger’ problems, the young man finally is abused by the state.
When you hit the bottom, there is only one way to go. And a girl called Jemma decides to go up.
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The Legal Stuff: A Fairy’s Tale ©2004 Tanya Allan
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
Please enjoy.
Part 8
Franz had the biggest cock of all the men I had been with so far. He also had an excessive libido and ego.
I had never been skiing before, well, to be honest, I had never been on holiday before. I don’t count Southend-on-Sea. I had arrived in the Alps with a fresh view and I adored the place from the moment I stepped off the bus. The air was crisp and clean, and the views were out of this world. Our chalet was a picturesque Alpine cabin, tucked up high in the town, and twelve of us were together, all looked after by a very nice English girl called Sarah. We were all girls of a similar age.
Sally and I shared a room which was quite small, but sufficient for our needs. There was a pair of bathrooms, a living room with dining area, and a kitchen with breakfast bar into the dining area. Once settled, we went off to locate all our equipment.
We collected our skis, boots and ski passes, and headed off to meet our instructors at the ski-school.
Sally had skied before, but I was in a beginners’ class of spotty kids who were all about fourteen. Most were British, but a couple were from other strange parts. I had spent far too much money on a canary yellow set of ski pants and ski jacket, with matching hat and all the extras. I looked so professional, until I put on my skis.
I spent most of my time on my arse with a serious case of the giggles. Yet, I hadn’t even managed to reach the nursery slopes. A very firm hand grabbed my arm, and I was upright once more. My rescuer was very big, very blond and very beautiful. Square of jaw, and bronzed to a deep golden brown, he wore his ski instructor’s pullover with aplomb. He also wore a very fetching white cap, which no one else managed to copy.
He grinned at me, showing me his beautiful set of pearly white teeth.
“Guten tag, fraulein. My name ist Franz. I hope ve enjoy each udder,” he said. As he let go of my arm he managed an almost perfect pirouette in front of me. I smiled, tried to look sophisticated and sexy, but promptly fell over again and got the giggles.
That first day, he taught us firstly how to stand and walk about in skis, then to go up small rises, and then down small rises. Once we mastered that, he taught us the snowplough. It was a really hard two hours. By the end of it, I was completely knackered.
I was the worst by far. Firstly, I was the oldest in my class. I was also the most prone to giggle and be silly, but I was also the prime target for Franz’s libido. He would tease me and try to charm me at the same time. The others just managed to swish away and get down the gentle hill with little difficulty. By the time I tried, I was semi-hysterical with laughter, and just completely inept.
If God had intended me to ski, he’d have given me longer feet. But, thankfully, the end of the morning lesson arrived and Franz led us to a small café where we had lunch. He sat his ample body next to mine and told me how wonderfully I was doing.
“Bollocks,” I replied, which threw him completely, but caused my spotty classmates to giggle.
He bought me a beer and kept up his charm all through lunch. At the end, he bought me a small glass of schnapps. I knew exactly what he was after, but shrugged and drank it anyway. By the jealous looks some of the fifteen year-old girls were giving me, they knew what he was after as well.
I smiled, as he knew that I was more likely to supply what he was after than were they.
The afternoon lesson went much better. I was relaxed, and didn’t give a toss if I fell or not. As a result, I only fell once and progressed to being the third worst in the class. After an hour of fannying about at the bottom of the slopes, he took us up my first ski tow.
I looked in trepidation at this inverted T bar affair which took two people at once with the T as a sort of arse-hook. I watched the others fall left, right and centre, and then it was my turn, and guess who came as my partner?
Yup, Franz.
We managed to reach the top. A great day in the annals of sporting achievements as far as I was concerned. It was my greatest sporting moment since I unwittingly knocked out the missing link at seven years old in a boxing ring.
It was still the nursery slopes, but the exhilaration I felt skiing down my first longish slope was amazing. I was hooked, so from that moment on my attitude changed completely and I progressed much more quickly.
As we met up at the bottom of the hill at the end of the day, I was very tired, and yet on a high. We gathered round Franz like ducklings around a mother duck.
He smiled round the group.
“Vell. A gud day. Ja? You all did vell. Tomorrow you com back, und ve go up a bigger hill, ja? Ve hav de lunch at ze top of der mountain, und ski all ze vay down again.”
Some tittered, others just smiled, and he caught my eyes.
“I sink ve enjoy each udder very much.”
I smiled and raised one eyebrow, and he grinned.
“Zat’s it. Same time tomorrow.”
They all turned and raced away, several falling in the process. I slowly turned and he was beside me before I managed to get very far.
“Jemma, you have not skied before, no?” Suddenly his English was much clearer, almost fluent, but with a discernible American accent.
“No, never,” I said.
“For the first time you did very well, once you lost your fear of falling.”
I stopped, as I found it hard to talk and ski, albeit slowly.
“Franz, you’re a fake. You speak perfectly good English.”
He grinned. “Of course, I spent three years teaching ski-school in America.”
“So why the outrageous accent?”
He laughed. “The kids expect it. To them, I am just an exotic foreigner.”
“You’re full of bullshit.”
“Of course, why do you think I drop it with you?”
“Probably because I’m the only one you can legally fuck, and the only one who looks as if she might actually know what to do and enjoy it.”
He stared at me for a second, and then burst out laughing.
“Oh, you English girls, you are so direct. The American girls flirt and then run. The German girls look sexy, and then when you are almost past the point of no return, they want you to marry them first. But you say what you mean and treat sex as a sport.”
“Well, isn’t it?” I asked.
He chuckled.
“Well, can I buy you a drink later?” he asked.
“Why not? When and where?”
He named a bar, giving me directions.
“Can I bring a friend?”
“Girl or boy?”
“Girl. Anyway I don’t date boys.”
He stared at me frowning.
“Don’t look so worried, I only date men, never boys.”
The smile returned, and he skied off, leaving me to attempt to get down without falling over.
I got back to the chalet before Sally, thereby bagging the bathroom first. I had a very long luxurious bath, and only got out when the others threatened to burn the door down.
I then changed into some warm but very sexy aprá¨s-ski clothes and told Sally that we were going to the instructors’ bar for a drink. She grinned and changed in a quarter of the time I took. Sarah cooked us a superb meal and then we were off.
We found the bar, and went in. This was obviously the place the instructors took the girls they had selected for extra-curricula activities. It had twice the atmosphere than the standard tourist bars.
Franz was watching for me, and when he saw Sally too, he nudged his companion, another bronzed instructor-god sitting next to him. They both grinned. If they ever broke their legs, they could always sell toothpaste.
Soon we were ensconced in a small booth for four with Franz and his friend Reinhardt. I was not a great beer drinker, as my liquid capacity was never that great, but the German beer was quite nice. But when the schnapps started, I stopped. I knew exactly what was going on, so I wanted to be sober enough to appreciate it.
Sally, on the other hand, was game for anything, and she drank everything they put in front of her. Franz met my eyes, and I frowned and shook my head. He whispered to Reinhardt, so they stopped before the poor girl brought up her supper.
The disco started, so most got up and danced. Sally was one of the first, her few inhibitions were completely lost by this time. I declined a dance from Franz.
“I want to conserve my energy for later,” I said.
We made some small talk, until the music slowed.
“Will you dance now?” he asked. I nodded, so he stood up and held out his hand. I took it, and he almost lifted me off the ground. His strength was immense.
We smooched for a few dances and we kissed. He was a good kisser, - loads of practice, I thought. He knew exactly which buttons to push and I reached that point whereby I knew exactly what I wanted and so did he.
I glanced at Sally and smiled. She would be lucky to find a bed in time. She was so latched onto her blond demi-god, I thought they’d be copulating on the dance floor.
Franz took me to his room. It was a cosy room above the bar, very well placed, I thought. He literally undressed me, and was very experienced. He was also exceptionally well endowed, and more than ready. I was a little perturbed; as he was bigger than anyone I had yet taken to bed.
But he got me to such a state that I was more than ready for him. He laid me on the bed, slowly entering me as if he knew that his size was a concern to us ladies. He was a very considerate lover, and very strong. He had wonderful stamina and by the time he eventually climaxed, I was wringing wet and almost giddy with pleasure. We lay entwined and I loved to feel such a big man in my arms.
We said nothing, as there was no pretence at love or even affection, as it was purely animalistic and sexual between us. I just lay there feeling sated, feeling happy that I could satisfy such a man properly. It gave me a warm feeling knowing that the only difference was that I could not conceive a child. For that, I still felt sad, but was still more than prepared to live with it. I was supremely content with my gender.
That night I tried positions that I had never dreamed of. Franz was truly a giant and even screwed me standing up. I simply wrapped my legs around him, while he held me under my bum, and it was amazing. Eventually, in the small hours, I left him, making my weary way back to my chalet. I crashed out, only just managing to get to the class on time at ten.
The fortnight was totally exhausting, yet the only consolation was that Sally was as knackered as I.
We skied all day and screwed all night. Franz and I forgot all about the bar, drink and dancing. I ate my meal with the others and then went straight to his room where we just got straight down to it. Sally could be heard through the thin walls. She was a screamer, in that whenever she had an orgasm, she wanted everyone to know it. If she was a virgin when she arrived, she certainly wasn’t when she left.
I even progressed on the ski slopes. Maybe not to Olympic standards, but certainly I was no longer a beginner. I was sad when the holiday came to an end, but quite pleased to be going back home for a rest.
On the last day, the afternoon was a sort of free for all. We had a little competition, and after that, there was about an hour of doing what we wanted. Franz took me up the highest chairlift, and he showed me a delightful run through the trees. We came to a secluded spot, took of our skis and clothes, and then made glorious love in the snow. He thoughtfully brought a small blanket so I didn’t freeze my bum.
“You come back next year?” he said, as we dressed afterwards.
“Maybe,” I said.
“It would be good if you did.”
“I’m not stupid, you find a girl in every class.”
“No. You are the first this year.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. I usually have the beginners, so most are too young. But you are different. You and me, we are very good together.”
I couldn’t argue, as we were. Neither of us demanded anything else from each other, and it was a perfect arrangement. But it was not something I wanted to continue. There was more to life than sex. I actually wanted love. I don’t think I had ever really experienced it. I thought I had, with Larry, Matt, and even Martin. If I had to be honest, none of them rang that particular bell, and I could see that.
“No Franz. It was great while it lasted, but I’ve learned never to go back. I change, you change, and the world changes. If I come back, then it will never be the same.”
I clicked on my skis, smiled at him and skied out of his life.
Sally and I returned to find that the business was still there, so life went on. Martin, who became quite a common feature in my life, was transferred to the CID at Maidenhead, so I saw less and less of him.
One day, I was just locking up the centre, he appeared.
“Hi Jem,” he said.
“Well, well, hello stranger. What have I done to deserve a visit from one so esteemed?”
He smiled, but I instinctively knew exactly why he was here.
“Come on, take me to the pub, and you can tell me about her,” I said, and he gawped at me.
We popped into the King’s Head, where he bought me a gin and tonic.
“Well, who is she?”
“How did you know?”
“I’m not stupid, Martin. I see less and less of you, and when I do see you, you’re distracted and not really with it. Look, we were lovers, not husband and wife. We’ve both had a need met in each other, and we move on. In this case, you’re moving on first. So, who is she?”
“You don’t mind?”
“Of course I fucking mind, you stupid man. But I don’t bloody own you. If you’d said you loved me and had sworn undying love to your dying day, then I’d have reason to get really pissed with you. But neither of us has got that far, and quite rightly too. So, who is she?”
“I work with her. She is a WDC at Maidenhead and, well, I think I love her.”
“Good. Then you are cured, so I can take you off my books,” I said, draining my drink.
“You’re angry,” he said, looking guilty and sheepish.
“No, I’m not angry, not really. I’m hurt, yes, but not angry. Not by you, but by me. You see; I’m fond of you, Martin, but obviously not enough. Only by losing you to someone else, do I learn how fond, and what it means to lose someone. In a way I’m relieved, as we both know that our lives follow very different paths, as I could never be a copper’s wife. But I’ll miss you, and I respect your honesty. Have you slept with her yet?”
He looked at me sharply and looked down.
“No, she wanted to, but I told her I wouldn’t. Not until I had spoken to you.”
I took his hand.
“Martin, I give you my blessing, for what it is worth. I’d like to stay your friend, but I guess having me around may cause embarrassment.”
He shook his head.
“Never. You’re the most gracious and lovely woman I know. The main reason I haven’t taken our relationship further is that I feel unworthy.”
“Unworthy? Martin, how daft is that?” I said, genuinely surprised. I was the one who felt unworthy and a fraud.
“You don’t see it do you?”
“See what?”
“You’re on a different level to most of us. I just feel humble that we’ve enjoyed the time together that we have.”
“You soppy sod. Go on, go and live your life. But invite me to your wedding.”
He stood up, kissing my cheek.
“I can never express the thanks to you for what you’ve done for me and what you’ve meant to me. In a way, I really do love you.”
“Bastard. What a time to tell me!” I said, and he smiled.
“Goodbye Jemma, when you meet your knight in shining armour, I hope he’s good enough for you.”
Then he was gone.
I seemed destined to lose men.
Part 9
“Are you sure, Jemma? I mean you spent so much building the business up and everything,” Sally asked.
“Sally. The fun was building it up. Now it’s going well, I’ve sort of lost interest. Besides, I’ll still be part owner, as I retain a quarter share in it, only I won’t be around for the fun.”
Her father had helped her buy half the business from me, so she was now set up for life. Her father was delighted, as she had passed his expectations he had for her. As a result, he was effusive in his praises for the way I had mentored her and given her a bright future. It was just as well I didn’t tell him about the bedroom antics we got up to in Austria.
She was staying on and running the place and I was off with new ideas as to my future. The other staff members had all bought the remaining quarter, so everyone had a vested interest in keeping it going.
Darren had really blossomed, as he had a list of clients as long as your arm. Most were women who adored him, but I noticed that there were more and more men on the list.
He had met a young man with whom he was now living in a little terraced house on the outskirts of Windsor. His hair had grown slightly, and he was now smiling most of the time. Sally and I had gone round for dinner with them and they were a very cute couple.
Morris was a chef in one of the big hotels near Heathrow, and so dinner was superb. He was a slight boy, the same age as Darren, and with his long hair and effeminate gestures, he reminded me of someone else. He adored Darren, and they were very tactile once they became used to our company.
I got onto the subject of gender and sex change, and both were quite clear that they were perfectly content as males.
“I can’t understand anyone who wants to change,” Darren said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Well, would you ever consider becoming a male?” he asked me.
I smiled. If only he knew.
“Nothing would ever make me want to be a male. I’m totally and blissfully happy as I am,” I said honestly.
“I wouldn’t mind being a bloke for a day. I’d love to know what it’s like,” Sally said.
“I couldn’t cope with the bleeding and stuff,” said Morris.
“If you changed, you wouldn’t have any of it,” I pointed out.
“You’d have to take hormones all your life,” said Darren.
“So, what do you think the bloody pill is?” I asked.
“True, but you stop if you want a baby,” Morris stated.
Sally looked at me, as she was aware that I couldn’t have children. I had told her the accident story, so she knew that I was sensitive about that subject.
Darren noted the look, and nudged Morris, who looked questioningly at him. I decided to help him out.
“Morris, I can’t have children. I was in an accident some years ago. Although they saved my life, I can’t get pregnant.”
“Oh, Jemma, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“There was no reason for you to. Don’t worry, as I’m okay with it. So, I must be like a sex change case.”
“Come on Jemma. You are the last person who could possibly have been a bloke. You are the most perfect girl I’ve ever met. If I had to go straight, it would be for someone like you,” Darren said, and I smiled. Praise indeed.
“Aw shucks, gee thanks, Darren, what a compliment.”
“I must say, I do sometimes wonder what it would be like being a girl,” Morris said.
“You wouldn’t have Darren if you did,” Sally said.
“Mmm, but it must be nice to dress in those pretty clothes and just be, well, just feminine.”
“It’s great,” I said.
“Have you ever dressed up?” Sally asked Morris.
“Once, I went to a party and it took some people ages to realise that I wasn’t a real girl,” he said with a grin.
“Did you like it?” I asked.
“It was okay. I didn’t get turned on by the clothes, but I liked the attention I got from the men.”
I smiled, different folks, different strokes.
“Did you ever wish you had been born a girl?” Sally asked.
“When I first realised I was gay, yes, in a way. But when I came to terms with it, I’m quite happy being male and a gay male. The problem was with acceptance, I felt that I’d be more accepted if I was a female and therefore it would be normal to fancy blokes.”
I couldn’t identify with that, but then I knew that underneath it all, I had always been a girl. I didn’t want to just be an effeminate boy, it was either a girl or, or nothing. It was at that moment that it dawned on me that I would have achieved my ambition, whatever the cost and whatever the pain.
Luckily, someone changed the subject, so the conversation lightened a little.
As Sally and I left, Darren was effusive with his gratitude towards me giving him the chance.
“I was about as low as one could get, so it was simply brilliant to come into the centre and to just be open about who and what I was. It has meant so much to me.”
I kissed his cheek.
“Everyone needs freedom to be themselves, as no one should be alone. Who is to say what is right or wrong? One day we may find out. I say, look after yourself, but be nice to everyone else along the way.”
Sally dropped me off and I went to bed. Although I didn’t have anyone in my life, I was content. I was very secure with who I was and was in no rush to change things too fast. I faced my future with excitement, as everyday brought me more joy as I grew as a person.
It was strange not rushing in to work on the following day. I had a lazy morning just pottering around the flat doing those little jobs I had always been too busy to do. It was early June, so it was a nice warm day. I had no rush to do anything in particular.
I went to see Robert, my accountant and money genius, and he told me that my finances were very healthy. I had a lot of money invested in property, blocks of flats and commercial properties in and around the South East. He’d been stung by stocks and shares a couple of times, so reckoned that property was the thing to have your money in.
I had made a nice profit on the business, having walked away with thirty thousand in hand as well as still owning one quarter of the business. My tax returns were always spot-on, so I was looking for something that I could take an interest in.
I kept in touch with Stuart, and every now and again, I visited George and Lynette. I had moved on, so began to see them as little people leading such little lives. I was amazed at myself, as it was clear to me that my destiny lay in a different direction. When I first went to stay with Lynette, I had thought she was so much my social superior that I was very self conscious and rather ashamed of myself. However, in a very short space of time, I had elevated myself, both in age and social standing to a different level, and one in which I felt completely at home. My voice was indistinguishable from a girl who had been sent to the best schools and had had her coming out party at the Hurlingham Club in Chelsea. My clothes, make up and general appearance were the best, so I looked every inch a delightful debutant.
Sally helped. As she had the schooling (despite not finishing), the voice and was due to have her party at the self same club. As I spent quite a lot of my time with her and her family, I moulded myself into the type of person I wanted to be. I kept a little hard or rough edge, as I did not want to be quite so precious as some appeared to be. I was a human chameleon. Such was my experience that I was able to blend with whatever environment I happened to find myself. I could adopt and adapt accents very easily and was used to assessing those around me quite accurately.
I followed, with interest, the decline in the media’s interest in Jimmy Gardner; that is except for one journalist called Robin Hawksmith. He worked for the Sun, and every now and again he asked the question, “Is this Jimmy Gardner?” showing a photograph of some unfortunate kid.
I was interested in this man, so one day, with nothing better to do, I set off for Fleet Street. I had not been into London for a long time, and certainly not as Jemma. I travelled in by train, took a cab from the station and alighted at Fleet Street. I walked around, looking at the various papers and checking the pubs out. I chatted to the bar staff, to discover which one Robin preferred. He was known in most of them, but tended to favour one in particular. The Duke of York was a small rather scruffy pub, and when I first saw Robin, I thought, how appropriate.
He was small and scruffy, and could do with a new suit. He came in and sat by himself in the corner. He dug a novel out of his pocket and read while he drank his pint of bitter. Another pair of younger journalist came in and, on buying their drinks, sat at the table next to him. I pretended to be considering a university course in journalism, so engaged the couple in conversation.
“Is it a career for a woman?” I asked.
“No reason why not. As long as you have an eye for a story and can write well,” said one.
“No,” came an emphatic answer from Robin, who had been eavesdropping.
I looked at him, feigning surprise.
“Oh. And why not?” I asked.
“No disrespect to you, or your fair sex, but to be honest, no woman has the grit and determination to make it in journalism. It’s simply a matter of strength of character and will.”
The two guys I sat with shook their heads and looked at him as a bit of a joke.
“So Robin, what makes you such a good journalist? Name one good story that you scooped an exclusive of,” one asked. I could tell he was teasing the man.
“How about the Gardner story?” he said.
“What was that?” I asked.
The pair laughed.
“Come off it,” said one. “That was a nothing story. You found that some kid had been fucked about inside some detention centre, and then another one who had been convicted wrongly, and put them together.”
“I tell you they were one and the same.”
“Maybe, but where’s your evidence?”
“What was this story?” I asked.
“Several years ago, a young man was convicted of assault and was sent down for two years. Whilst inside, he was treated with drugs or hormones to control his violence to the point whereby he was sterilised by the state. He was released and sued the prison service. They settled out of court, and because he was under age, he was never named.”
“How much did he get?” I asked.
“Again, the sneaky bastards settled and didn’t have to disclose the amount, but I was told that it was almost a million quid.”
“Gosh, he must have been a happy boy.”
“Happy or not, he promptly vanished, and then another kid, James Gardner, has his conviction, also for assault as it happens, overturned as the man who made the allegation was a paedophile. It turns out that he blackmailed the lad into having sex with him. Again, the state settled, but revealed that he got £90,000. But there is no trace of Gardner, he simply walked out of the detention centre and vanished.”
“So what happened to him?”
“I have a theory,” said Robin, and was obviously not going to say any more. The other two laughed at him and they got up and left.
“I think this is fascinating. It must be so exciting to be able to work out things like this. You are so clever,” I gushed, and he smiled humbly.
“So what do you really think happened?”
He looked around, continuing with a lowered voice.
“I think he was done away with and the state kept the money.”
“Really? How did they manage it?”
“Well, on the day he was released, everyone saw him walk to the gate. Now, there was only two ways to get anywhere from that place, by car or by bus. The station is about four miles away and he was booked on a train to London. There was a warrant to Liverpool Street. It was used, but it wasn’t used by Gardner.
“I traced a taxi driver who had the only pick up of the day, but he picked up a young woman who had been visiting someone. He was quite sure that the girl was definitely a girl, so I ruled out disguise.”
“Why?”
“The driver said that she had nice tits, because during the journey she dropped her purse, and when she bent over, he saw down her cleavage, and that amount of flesh is not something you can grow overnight.”
“Oh.”
“So, she had a ticket, as I spoke to the conductor, who also remembers her. But no one remembers who cashed in the warrant. So what happened to Jimmy?”
“I don’t know, do you?” I asked, concerned at the detail he had managed to reveal already.
“He was taken out by van. The bastards took him out before he reached the outer gate. There are two gates, so he was simply bundled into a van and then driven away. He’s probably lying in a shallow grave somewhere deep in the Essex countryside.”
Now I knew that the outer gate was rarely closed and on the day I left it was open. The toilets were located between the two gates and I should know.
“What if you’re wrong? Are you sure the girl wasn’t him? If he had been given hormones, wouldn’t he look like a girl, boobs and all?”
Robin stared at me, frowning slightly.
“I thought of that. But I spoke to the taxi driver, the ticket man and the conductor. They all stated that she was no way a boy dressed up. Now, these are all mature men, some with daughters of their own. So I hardly think that some poor boy with too many hormones would fool all three. One, maybe, but not all three.”
“So, if not, and he did get out, where is he now?” I asked.
“Probably abroad. If they didn’t bump him off, they could have simply helped him bugger off to Australia, having given him a new identity.”
“As a boy or a girl?”
“Does it matter?”
“I suppose not. But why are you still interested?”
“Because, and this is at the heart of your original question, I want to know. It is important to me that I know. I hate not knowing, and I resent the lengths that the state go to try to prevent me from knowing.”
“What if he simply made his mind up to disappear, and the state didn’t have anything to do with it?”
“Don’t be silly. Do you know anything about him?”
I shook my head.
“He was only sixteen, and was ill-educated. He couldn’t even read, according to his last English teacher. He was weak and had a terrible temper. He had no common sense, little imagination and no friends at all. His solicitor, Stuart somebody, was a smarmy shyster who simply did what he was told, probably walking away with most of the settlement. No, young lady, mark my words, Jimmy Gardner was too stupid to disappear by himself. He had government help.”
“What if he changed his name? Aren’t there records one could check?”
“Good thinking, yes there are, and I’ve checked them. There are no records of James Gardner changing his name to anything from around the time he was released right up until last week. I check regularly.”
“Gosh. How clever,” I said.
“You see, I’ve spent twenty years in the business. So it isn’t something you can learn in a few years at university. I’ve researched everything about him. I found out he had a boyfriend called Larry from Colchester. I even sat up watching his flat for months in case he should come and call. Larry is a junkie and I even paid him a retainer to give me a nod in case Jimmy called him.”
“So he’s gay?” I said, thanking God that I never went near Larry’s flat and that Larry never recognised me.
“So it would appear.”
“I can see that it would be very hard to fool you. So if he was to come up to you, do you think you would recognise him?”
“Oh yes. I have a photograph of him when he was fourteen, the last one before he was arrested. Do you want to see it?”
My heart almost stopped.
“Yes, very much,” I heard myself say.
He opened his wallet, taking out a grainy photograph of a complete stranger.
“His sister gave it to me.”
I stared at it and saw it was me, but it was like looking at a complete stranger. I had been thin, very thin, and so my face was haggard and drawn. Great dark circles were under my eyes and I had a haunted look. I remembered it being taken. It was the second day at Southend-on Sea. My father had a box brownie and he took the photograph during one of his sober moments. I had stomach cramps that day and had been very unwell for 24 hours.
“Gosh, so what does he look like now?” I asked, looking straight at him.
He shrugged.
“God knows, but I think I would instantly know if I should even get a glance.”
I smiled and offered him a drink, which he accepted. He then went on to give me all kinds of helpful hints about my choice of career. Finally, he said something for which I almost hit him.
“You see, for a fine girl like you, with good looks, private education and obvious breeding, there is no real need for you to worry your pretty head with a career. You see, once you meet a good looking chap and settle down to have babies, your job to nurture and bring these children up is far more important than any silly idea about being a journalist.”
“Well, maybe you are right, or then again maybe you aren’t. But what ever happens, I hope I have more to show for twenty years than you do. Goodbye, Mr Hawksmith, and thank you for your time. I think I agree with your theory about Jimmy whatsit. I think he’s probably dead.”
I turned and walked out, confident that he was as far away as ever, but knew that I should never get complacent.
I decided that while I was in London to have a brief look down memory lane and look at where I grew up. I got on the Central Line of the Underground, got off at Bethnal Green and travelled up to Mare Street by a 256 bus.
As I looked at familiar streets, it was as if I had never been away. But, at the same time, they looked foreign. The estates looked as bleak as I remembered, but smaller somehow. I got off the bus and was going to walk through the estate where we used to have a flat in the Pembury Road when I was stopped by a police officer.
“Sorry love, but you can go in for a bit,” he said.
“Why not?”
“There’s been a stabbing, so it’s a crime scene. Do you live here?”
“No. I was trying to track down a friend from way back, and I was hoping to find her here.”
“Well, I’d advise you to come back another time. Sorry.”
I smiled, but walked away, grateful really that I was spared the pleasure of looking at my old flat. I walked the short distance into Clarence Road, and up to where the house was. I stood and looked at the boarded up front door and windows. Obviously after Dad went to hospital, the place fell into disrepair and there wasn’t enough money to refurbish it. The whole area was pretty awful, and I realised that I had dragged myself out of this gutter, at least temporarily.
As I turned and walked back towards Mare Street, a police car pulled alongside.
“Hello. Are you lost?” said the young police constable who was driving. It was a different one to before.
“No, I’m on my way out,” I said.
“Not the best place to be walking about by yourself. Do you want a lift to the station?”
“Thanks, but I’m okay.”
“Seriously, there are muggings here every day. It’s no problem, as I’ll take you to the tube. I have to go that way anyway.”
I accepted and was not surprised when he tried to chat me up and ask for a date. I managed to get to the station without getting engaged, but thought that the Metropolitan Police should consider putting bromide in the tea.
It was still only lunchtime, so I decided to do a little shopping in Oxford Street. I had a bit to eat in a small bistro and then spent a lovely afternoon increasing my wardrobe. I had a wonderful time, but as I watched couples mosey amongst the crowds, I felt a pang of loneliness. I actually wanted to be part of a couple.
I had my hair done at a really expensive salon. After a makeover and manicure, I left and bought the most outrageously expensive dress that made me look like a million dollar move star. It was pale yellow and beautifully cut. Tight down to just above the knee, with a single slit up the back to allow the legs some degree of movement. It tapered in to accentuate my slender waist and was cut low across my breasts in such a way as to bring perfect definition to my already beautiful figure. Over the months, my breasts had now stopped growing, having settled at a nice 36C. I was more than content, as any larger would have induced a little sagging. My hair was lovely, shaped and styled to look carefree, yet controlled, with the natural pale highlights giving it a shimmering gold effect. I also bought a wide brimmed white hat with matching yellow band, and yellow high-heeled sandals. I thought I looked like a ray of golden sunshine, adoring the feeling the effect had on me.
I left the shop and walked down the pavement, conscious of the male heads turning as I passed. I caught my reflection in the windows as the beautiful girl carrying several carrier bags grinned with unrestrained joy. To say I was happy was the understatement of the century. The sun was out and I felt on top of the world.
I decided to take a taxi to the station, so I could get home with my new acquisitions. I had heard that a cream-tea at the Grosvenor House Hotel was the ‘thing’ to do, so I decided to treat myself. I went in, asked the girl at the cloakroom if she could look after my bags, and went to the tearoom. There was a six-piece band playing old style waltzes and the atmosphere was totally surreal. I imagined that this was how things were between the wars. There were lots of people sat around the dance floor, and many of the tables were taken.
There was a large square dance floor with pillars at each corner, supporting the high ceiling. There were a few tables surrounding the floor, but most were set higher on the raised area that surrounded it. A marble rail and posts encircled the area, and indoor plants gave it a very colonial feel.
I was shown to a table and ordered a full cream-tea. There were half a dozen couples dancing and they looked very graceful. I envied their skill, wishing I could dance like that.
My tea arrived, with two scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam. I sat and indulged myself, taking care that I didn’t spill anything on my new dress.
People came and went, with new couples dancing. I ached a little, as I was reminded that I was very alone. I suppose I may have looked a little wistful, but I jumped when a cultured voice snapped me out of my reverie.
“Seá±orita, is this chair taken?”
I looked up to see a tall, broad man who had a dashing Latin look about him. He could have been anything from thirty to forty, with very dark curly hair that just touched the tops of his ears and curled over his collar. A very strong aquiline nose featured just below two piercing, unusually grey eyes. With a firm jaw line, I thought him the most handsome and fit looking man I had ever seen.
He was wearing an open white shirt and cavalry twill trousers, with what appeared to be square-toed cowboy boots on his feet. He looked very Spanish. He had draped a dark blazer casually over his shoulder.
I was rendered almost speechless, so I waved vacantly, nodding like a fool.
“Thank you. Do you mind if I join you, as there is so little room?” he said.
“No, please, I’m alone,” I managed to stammer, anything but the sophisticated lady about town.
He placed his jacket over the back of his chair and sat down. The waiter appeared and he ordered the same as I had.
We watched the dancing in silence, while my heart was racing. Why?
“Would you care to dance?” he asked.
“I’m afraid I have never learned. I would just make a fool of myself and ruin your afternoon,” I admitted.
“Then I should be happy to teach you. If you look, you will see others learning, so please, just enjoy it.”
He stood and held out his right hand. I found myself being helped to my feet and led onto the floor. We stood at the edge. He showed me how to form the correct stance and what to do with the feet.
“Listen to the music, forget everyone else, and go with the music. The feet follow a repetitive sequence, so I will lead, so,” he said, as we went through the basic waltz steps.
I nodded, uncertainly.
“Seá±orita, someone as beautiful as you was born to dance. So just relax and allow me lead you to your full potential,” he said, and we were off.
For the first few moments, I was rather stiff and concentrating hard.
“Relaje, mi belleza.”
I smiled. I may not understand Spanish, but I worked out ‘relax’ and guessed the rest. I relaxed and lost myself in a whirl of music and dance. There were mirrors on some of the pillars by the edge of the floor. So I kept catching a brief vision of a golden girl and her swarthy dark partner, and I just smiled. My heart soared and I met his eyes.
He was smiling a little, a sort of amused twinkle, but his grey eyes were so soft and gentle that I almost felt myself falling into them. We turned and moved in time with the music, yet we never broke eye contact. His smile seemed to change from one of mild amusement to almost a frown.
Still we held stares, and I found myself smiling with genuine joy. A laugh welled up and I started to laugh, in which he joined with me. We laughed as we twirled; my joy was without bounds.
We danced several numbers, until he saw his tea had arrived. At the end of the fifth waltz, he stopped. We still had our eyes locked.
“ ¡Mi Dios! ¿Cá³mo se llama?” he said, as I stared blankly at him. He shook his head slightly, looking sheepish.
“I am sorry. I forget myself. What is your name?”
“Jemma. Jemma Adams.”
He led me off the floor as another waltz began.
He escorted me to the table, even holding the chair for me, sliding it in as I sat. Still holding my hand, he sat close to me, bringing his chair round the small table to do so.
“Jemma, I am Francisco Juan Carlos Maria De Valderez, I am Spanish, and I think you dance beautifully.”
“Thank you, but that’s because I had a wonderful teacher.”
He kissed my hand and released it.
He poured himself some tea, as mine was cold, he offered me some of his. I declined.
“With all those names, what do I call you?”
“Whatever you like, I will forever be your slave.”
I was lost as he was so different to everyone I had ever known. He was mature, cultured, intelligent and ever so handsome.
“Jemma, when I was at Oxford, they called me Frank. But at Sandhurst they called me many names, most unrepeatable.”
I laughed, finding him staring at me again. I looked down, as he made me feel almost naked.
Then, looking up at him, I met and held his stare.
“Then I will call you Francisco, as your mother intended.”
To my surprise I saw tears well up in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, I have upset you,” I said, feeling dreadful.
“No, not at all. It is nothing,” he said, looking away.
He watched the dancing for a moment as I gazed at him. Many emotions flitted across his face as he struggled for control. Here was a man, not a boy, but a man who was hurting. In my short life, it was one thing I knew about: hurt, and trying to deal with, or hide the hurt from the world.
“You look so sad. Life had not been kind to you?” I said
He looked at me sharply; smiling with his mouth, yet his eyes showed me that I was right.
I reached out and took his hand.
“I understand hurt. At one point in my life, I was an expert. But, you can’t keep it in forever,” I said.
He finished his tea, looking into his cup.
“My mother is English and she can tell me my fortune from the tea leaves,” he said.
“Is she accurate?”
“She told me I would meet the mother of my children at a dance.”
I flushed, this was a very corny line and I knew that I could not have children. Before I could say anything, he continued.
“She was right, as I met Maria at a dance near our hacienda in Southern Spain. She also told me never to take her to a hot climate in the East.”
“Oh, why?”
“I had some business in Thailand and so we had a holiday at the same time. Maria caught a parasite and died, as it destroyed her liver, causing her renal failure. Our children were just two months and three when she died. It was six months ago now.”
“Oh my God, how terrible. I am so sorry.”
“It has been a hard time for the three of us. Luckily, the children were very young. But still it has been awful.”
“No wonder you look so sad. It’s a wonder you came dancing.”
“I wasn’t going to. I was in the lobby of the hotel and I saw you come in. Something made me follow after you. I am sorry.”
“Me? You followed me? For goodness sakes, why?”
“Because you are the most beautiful woman I have seen for a very long time. You walked in like a ray of golden sunshine, and your smile lit up my heart.”
I was totally speechless. I flushed a deep red. I looked down in embarrassment.
“Now I have offended you, I am sorry,” he said. Our hands were still clasped together. I squeezed his slightly and smiled.
“Don’t be silly, you haven’t offended me. No one has ever said anything quite so nice to me, ever.”
He smiled back at me, as we just sat in silence, holding hands like teenagers.
My mind was in turmoil, yet my heart had already been lost. I knew what I was, what I had been, and yet I so wanted to be what he wanted me to be.
“You frown, why?” he asked.
“I’m confused,” I said, truthfully.
“What about?”
“Me, you, and everything.”
He laughed.
“Tell me a little about yourself,” he said.
Shit; what would I tell him?
“My father was a soldier in the Irish Guards and he and my mother were killed in an accident in Germany when I was young. I was brought up by a variety of relatives, and left school as soon as I could. I am dyslexic, so reading was hard for me. But I persevered. I got a job with a big store in Windsor, and trained as a masseuse. We sort of fell out, and I started my own business.
“But I felt tied down, as if my destiny was elsewhere, so I sold all but a quarter share of the business and left. I have a little capital and I am now enjoying being a solvent young woman.”
Francisco ordered some more tea for us both.
“You baffle me,” he said.
I laughed. “I baffle myself all the time. But in what way?”
“When I first saw you, I thought you were in your mid twenties. But now you seem both older and younger. It is rare for me not to be able to guess someone’s age.”
“Try.”
“You speak with age and maturity. Yet your eyes, which can be so sad, are full of youth and joy at this moment. It is quite hard. So, let me see. Twenty?”
I smiled.
“I will be twenty-one in August.”
“You are very beautiful.”
I looked into those grey eyes.
“Much of my past is not,” I said, dying to tell him the truth, yet terrified of doing so.
“Everyone has a different road to travel, some pleasant, some not so pleasant. Roads cross, and lives are changed. The last six months have been very difficult for me, so bad that I never thought that I would see light again. But you have brought light into my life,” he said.
I felt very strange.
“You don’t know me,” I protested.
“No, that is true. But I would like to, if you permit?” he said.
His English was very good, almost perfect. But sometimes his phraseology gave away his Spanish heritage.
“I’d like that, but I fear you may not like what you find.”
He smiled. When he did his eyes scrunched up, transforming his face, so he ceased looking sad. He was so handsome, yet I wasn’t immediately thinking of sex, but something far deeper. I could honestly say he affected me like no other man I had ever met.
We drank our tea, while he told me of his life.
Born to an aristocratic Spanish father and his English bride, he was the elder of two children. His sister, Consuela, was married to a surgeon in Barcelona and they were in touch regularly. His father was dead from a heart attack a few years ago and his mother still lived in Monaco for much of the time.
They were a wealthy family, having homes in Spain, Monaco, the UK and America. Francisco had been educated in England and, after Sandhurst, had been in the British army for a spell and then the Spanish Army as an officer. Due to his mother, he had dual nationality, yet looked every inch a Spanish Hidalgo.
His marriage had been short, yet sweet. Maria had been a delightful creature, small and dark, with a fiery temper. But they had been a blissfully happy couple, going everywhere together. Thus, the tragedy was twice as hard when she died so young.
“Why did you get emotional when I said I would call you what your mother intended?” I asked.
“I was with my mother a few weeks ago, dropping the children off. She had looked at me and told me that I would meet a girl,” he said, staring into his empty teacup, as if to see the future revealed to him.
“So?”
He looked at me, with his face serious and his voice slightly quivering.
“She would be the colour of summer and bring sunshine back into my life. She would become the mother of my children, as she could not have any of her own. And she would always call you what I named you.”
Tears sprang to my eyes and I must have gone pale. Goosebumps prickled me all over my body.
He frowned.
“What is the matter?” he asked, concerned.
“I can’t have children,” I said, as a single tear rolled down my cheek.
He stared at me, and slowly reached out his hand, gently wiping the tear away.
We sat just staring into each other’s eyes, not understanding what was really happening, but recognising that something certainly was.
“So, where are you going now?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“I was going home,” I said.
“Was?”
“I don’t know any more.”
“Will you join me for dinner this evening?”
I nodded. “Of course,” I heard my voice answer all by itself.
He smiled. “You will?”
“Unless you don’t want me to.”
“I want you to, so much,” he said, raising my hand to his lips.
“What has happened?” I asked, confused.
“You too?”
I nodded.
He shook his head.
“I don’t know. It is very strange. It is as if the rest of the world has suddenly ceased to matter and we are alone,” he replied.
I stared into those grey eyes.
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” I asked.
He smiled.
“I do now,” he said. He looked around us, smiling.
“We should go,” he said, asking the waiter to bill his room for the tea, mine included.
I started to argue, but he just looked at me.
“Yes, dear,” I teased, but he went pale.
“Madre de Dios!” he said.
I held his arm and we walked out together. I felt so right with him.
We stood in the lobby, as he held my hands in his.
“Jemma, this is happening so fast, please tell me if I offend you.”
“Why should you?”
It was six o’clock, but he seemed at a loss as to what to do or say.
“Francisco. I have some shopping in the cloakroom. Perhaps I could put it in your room, so then I will know it is safe.”
“Of course, good idea,” he said. So I collected my bags and he took me to his suite.
It was a wonderful room with fantastic views over Hyde Park. As I stood at the window, I felt his arms encircle me from behind.
He held me tight, and I felt warm and secure, if a little light-headed.
He kissed the nape of my neck, so I bent my head allowing him free access. Tingles ran through me and I felt myself becoming aroused as at no time in the past.
He stopped.
“Forgive me. I exceed myself,” he said.
I turned and faced him. Looking up into those marvellous grey eyes.
“Francisco, I think I love you,” I said, and he kissed me.
The kiss was like no other kiss I had experienced. Every part of my body ached to be possessed by this man.
Again he broke off, staring at me with a strange and tender expression on his face.
“What have you done to me? I feel like a boy on his first date.”
I reached up and drew him to me, kissing him with a passion that threatened to explode.
He stroked my cheeks and caressed my hair, as I moaned and clung to him as if my life depended upon it.
He broke off again.
“Jemma, I….”
“Shh,” I said, starting to unbutton his shirt.
He unzipped my dress, so I stepped out of it, as he undid my bra. I swung free, my nipples as hard as acorns.
Soon we were naked and I led him to the huge bed. I peeled the covers back and pulled him down next to me. He kissed me from head to toe. I wanted him so much that I almost screamed. When he entered me, it was like coming home and we lay still and quiet for a moment, fitting exactly together like a fine Toledo sword in its sheath.
We made slow and luxurious love for a long time, each of us lost in a world of joy and sensual ecstasy. It was more than a meeting of bodies, but a meeting of souls. When he finally climaxed inside me, I had lost count of my orgasms. My surgeon had said that it was theoretically possible for me to experience such things, but he doubted that in practice I would ever actually do so. Well, I had news for him.
Yet, even though he had come, he continued to kiss and caress me, and I him. We lay thus entwined for an hour, until he began to become aroused once more.
This time I pushed him onto his back, as I kissed him all over, sweeping my hair across his torso and kissing him wherever I could reach. I knelt astride, sinking onto him. We made love again, more energetically this time.
With a scream and a shout we climaxed together, lying holding each other as the passion subsided.
We showered together and I dressed in a black dress that I had purchased earlier. Hardly a word was exchanged between us. There seemed no need. My fear was that now he had had me, his interest would die.
Thankfully, I was so wrong.
I was putting my make up on, seated at the dressing table, when I noticed he was watching me. I smiled, turning towards him.
“What?” I asked.
“Marry me?” he said.
I stared at him, as we had only met a matter of a few hours ago.
Part 10
I nodded.
“Yes,” my voice answered, as I calmly turned away and continued to apply my make up.
It then dawned on me what I had said.
I turned and looked at him, and to my surprise I noticed that he was crying.
“Francisco?”
He came to me and we simply held each other.
“Did you mean it?” I asked.
“Si, yes of course. Did you?”
I nodded, as I didn’t trust my voice as it had a habit of dropping me in things.
“Are you sure?” he asked me.
“No, but then no one has proposed to me before.”
He let me go, so I could finish brushing my hair. While I did so, he was looking through his bags.
“Ready?” he asked. I nodded and stood up.
He looked at me and smiled.
“You look fabulous. Let’s go eat.”
I expected to go to the Hotel dining room, but we left the hotel and caught a taxi. It dropped us up a side street in the West End. A small restaurant was tucked away off the beaten track. It was called ‘El Lugar del Come’.
“What does it mean?” I asked.
He smiled.
“The Eating Place,” he said, so I smiled as well. That appealed to my sense of humour.
“Hola Jose,” Francisco said as we entered.
“ ¡El Conde de Valdarez! ¿Cá³mo está¡ Francisco?” a large portly man said. He was balding, with a huge Mexican bandit style moustache and a large striped apron tied round his ample middle.
“Jose, this is my fiancée, Jemma Adams. My love, this reprobate is Jose Sanchez. He and I have known each other for many years.”
Jose took my hand, kissing it. He stared into my face and then turned to his friend.
“Like father, like son. I approve Franco. She is a true English rose, just like your mama. Your father would be very pleased.”
I smiled, deciding not to correct him. I was only half-Irish anyway.
We were shown to a small booth and given two glasses of Sangria and a plate of Tapas.
The meal was superb. I never saw a menu at any time. Dish after dish arrived, it was all lovely, and I ate far too much. The Sangre de Torro red wine made me very relaxed.
We were enjoying a coffee and some Calvados, when Francisco pulled something from his pocket. He placed it on the table in front of me and opened it. It was a ring box with a divine ring inside. A huge blue sapphire surrounded by diamonds set on white gold stared at me.
“Everything has happened so fast. I will ask you again, and properly. Jemma, will you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?”
I stared at the ring and then at him. His grey eyes seemed to appeal to me on their own.
“Francisco, mine is the honour, so I would be happy to accept,”
He took my left hand and placed the ring on my ring finger. He then raised it to his lips, kissing it.
“It was my grandmother’s ring, and she wanted me to use it for Maria, but it was not possible. Before she died I told her that my next bride would have it.”
We left the restaurant after midnight, taking a taxi to the hotel. I had no nightclothes, but I didn’t need them. We went to bed and made love, falling asleep in each other’s arms afterwards.
Francisco was not only a considerate lover, but he was a charming and attentive fiancé. I was made to feel so special that I almost told him the truth so as to prevent him from making a terrible mistake. The next few days were like a dream for me. He had various meetings to attend each morning, so I would go shopping and we would meet somewhere for lunch. In the afternoon we would do something together, like go to a gallery or walk in the park.
As time went on, we grew closer together, but my love for him was all consuming. I hated him being away from me and as soon as I saw him again, I was complete. He told me that he felt the same; I was so happy.
One afternoon, we were taking tea by the dancers in the Grosvenor House.
“I will have to go home and get myself sorted out a little,” I said. As I had been literally living out of a suitcase, buying new clothes every day.
“May I come with you?”
“Of course, if you want to.”
“I do not like being apart from you, ever,” he said, and I almost cried.
So, on the Saturday we took the train to Windsor, and I showed him my little flat.
He stared out of the window at the river.
“It is very pretty here.”
“I’m sorry, it isn’t much.”
He turned and smiled.
“Wherever you are is like paradise,” he said.
I grinned, as he had way of saying the corniest things in such a lovely manner.
The telephone rang. I answered it; it was Sally.
“Jemma. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been so worried.”
I stared at Francisco who was smiling at me.
“I’ve been in London,” I told her.
“For a week?”
“Yes. I’ve met someone.”
“Oh. That explains it. Was he juicy?”
“He IS juicy and he is with me now. We’re engaged.”
There was silence on the other end.
“No?”
“Yes. It was love at first sight.”
Francisco came across the room and held me, nuzzling my neck. He knew it drove me wild.
I moaned.
“Jemma?”
“Sally, I can’t talk just now. Meet me later and we’ll go for a drink.”
I was just able to put the phone down before we made love. I cooked him a simple supper, which we ate at my little table in candlelight.
“I am so happy,” I said, and he kissed me again.
We went to the Castle pub at nine, and found Sally and her current boyfriend, Grant, were already there, as were Darren and Morris.
I was wearing my yellow dress again and we made our entrance with Francisco on my arm.
I heard Morris’s voice, “Oh my God, he’s gorgeous.”
I couldn’t help grinning.
I introduced him and all but Grant ogled him outrageously. I bought a round of drinks, which Francisco helped to carry to the table.
I had thought that my Latin lover would be like a fish out of water, but he was so gracious. I realised he would be able to fit in almost anywhere.
The conversation seemed fixed on the speed in which we had met and become engaged. I stayed silent, content to simply hold his hand. Sally started making funny faces and gesturing for me to go to the ladies, so I made my excuses and joined her.
“My God Jemma, he’s absolutely gorgeous; but marriage? He must be nearly twice your age.”
“He’s only nearly sixteen years older than I. But so what? He is everything I want in a man and I get to be the mother to his children.”
Sally knew that my one regret was the inability to have children of my own, and smiled.
“He’s lovely, and you certainly deserve a little happiness. You do look gorgeous together! Good luck,” she said, giving me a hug.
“Will you be my head bridesmaid?” I asked, and she burst into tears.
We returned to my flat after the pub closed, going straight to bed. Our lovemaking had taken me into another dimension, almost. It was as if we merged into one every time and I just adored feeling him inside me. I wanted his children so badly it almost hurt.
Afterwards we lay together, his arm around me, as I snuggled in close to him.
“Jemma?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you come with me to meet the children and my mother?”
“When?”
“I was going there on Monday, but whenever you feel happy doing it?”
“I will go with you on Monday if you want.”
He kissed me.
“Thank you. I will not tell them, so it will be a surprise.”
“If they don’t like me, we will call it off,” I said.
“They will love you.”
“I mean it. Your children have the last say.”
“If you say so,” he said, kissing my temple.
“I say so,” I said. Sounding more determined than I felt.
The plane touched down at Nice airport a little after 12 noon on Monday. It was very hot, so I was pleased to be in a light cotton dress. We left the cool first class cabin, making our way through the throng to collect out luggage. The bored immigration officer hardly glanced at my Irish passport and I was through.
A porter, obviously well trained at spotting wealth, was at our side in seconds, gathering up our cases on his trolley. Francisco took us to a cream left-hand-drive Rolls Royce Cabriolet in the car park, and tipped the porter generously. In moments, the top was down and we were speeding away towards Monaco.
I tied a scarf over my hair and put my sunglasses on. I smiled, if only the screws at Garside could see me now.
As we approached Monte Carlo, I grew increasingly nervous. What if they all hated me? What if his mother immediately saw through me, and recognised me for what I really was? I became terrified.
The car pulled off the road into a large gateway. The gate opened automatically and he drove up the block-paved drive to a huge villa. I stared in wonder. It was the most luxurious place I had ever seen. Bougainvillea and azaleas were blooming everywhere; it was a mass of colour, with the white villa and pillars, with its red roof. I imagined it was rather Romanesque. I fell in love with the place immediately.
As soon as we came to a halt, a smartly dressed man appeared and almost bowed at Francisco.
“Good to see you back, your Excellency,” he said in very good English
“Thank you, Diego. I come back with good news. Jemma, this is Diego, my mother’s butler. Diego, you have the honour of being the first to meet the future Condesa de Valdarez.”
I don’t know who was more stunned, Diego or me.
Countess?
Fuck.
Diego’s face spilt into an enormous grin, and he took my hand and kissed it.
“Seá±orita, congratulations. I am so pleased for you both. Your Excellency, your Mama will be so delighted.”
“Yes, she will,” said my beloved.
He took me into the cool house. I could hear children’s laughter and splashing from beyond the house. As we walked through, I was amazed at the sheer size of the place. It was all so beautiful; I could hardly take it all in. I grabbed his arm and pulled him to a halt.
“Francisco, what’s this about being a countess?” I asked.
“Later. It is of no consequence,” he said, leading me to the sound of childish laughter.
No consequence?
Oh yes, it bloody well was!
We stepped onto a patio, where I saw a large kidney shaped swimming pool in a super garden. A little boy, about four or five, with dark hair and a very brown tanned little body leapt off the springboard, bombing a very elegant lady with white blonde hair lying on a sunlounger nearby.
A little dark haired girl, with enormous dark eyes, was in a paddling pool, looked up, shrieking with delight when she saw her father. She was the prettiest little thing and could only be about nine months old. Her long dark hair made her look like a little doll.
She shrieked with delight, holding her arms up to him. Francisco bent over and lifted her out of the pool, holding her close, despite getting his shirt soaked in the process.
Conchita hugged her father, but she looked over his shoulder and saw me. Her lovely eyes blinked a couple of times, and then she smiled at me.
“Franco. Darling. Why didn’t you call to warn us you were coming?” his mother said as she got up. She had on a very stylish one-piece swimsuit and slipped a very elegant wrap over the top when she saw us. For sixty she looked wonderful. Her figure was still trim and she was a very attractive woman.
“Hello Mama,” Francisco said, giving her a big hug.
Little Carlos pulled himself out of the pool and ran across the lawn to his father.
“Papa, Papa. What did you bring me from ’Gland?”
I smiled at his word for England.
Francisco picked up his son, so he was now holding both children. His mother smiled and then looked at me with an obvious question on her face. I was standing watching Francisco and I glanced at her. I saw her gaze drift down my body and back up. Then I saw she noticed the ring on my finger. Her eyes widened and she looked at her son.
“I have some little things in my bag that I’ll give to you later, but first I want to show you someone special whom I found in Granny’s country.” He looked at me and smiled. He reached out a hand and I took it.
“Mama, ‘Chita, and Carlos. This pretty lady is Jemma. Jemma has graciously agreed to become my wife. So, I have brought you kids a new Mama from Granny’s country.”
“Oh dear Lord. Thank God,” his mother said, promptly bursting into tears and flinging her arms around me.
To say I was surprised was an understatement.
Little Carlos looked at me with a very serious expression on his face.
“Will she read to us in bed?” he asked.
“You will have to ask her,” his father said.
“Of course I will,” I said, dreading it. My reading was still very poor.
“In Spanish?”
“No, only English,” I said, and he frowned even more.
“Can you play football?”
“Of course, can you?”
“Yes. What else do you do?”
“I can box and I’m a brown belt in karate”
“Cor, really?”
“Yes.”
“Will you teach me?”
“If you like, but don’t tell your Papa.”
He giggled, as little ’Chita simply held her arms out to me. I took her from her father and she wrapped her arms around my neck.
“Mama?” she said, looking at her father.
“Yes, Mama,” he said.
It was my turn to burst into tears.
Little Carlos grinned and ran back into the pool, shouting, “Watch me, Papa. I can bomb Granny.” Which he promptly did. But as Granny was standing next to me, I was drenched as well.
Francisco, ran into the house, coming out moments later with his swimming trunks on. He jumped into the pool, much to the delight of his children.
Diego appeared with a tray of chilled Champagne.
“Sit by me, child, and tell me how you have brought my son back to the world of the living?” said his mother.
We sat at a table as she poured me a glass.
“Thank you,” I said, feeling very awkward. She smiled, but seemed to understand.
“You must call me Roz. You have no idea how much I have been praying for him to meet someone.”
“We met by chance in London just a couple of weeks ago. I went to the Grosvenor House for tea and he was staying there. He saw me and followed me in. He came, sat with me and asked me to dance. I fell in love with him then and there.”
I felt really odd, as it sounded so trite and silly.
She laughed.
“Oh, how typical. Tell me what were you wearing?”
“A pale yellow dress, why?”
She smiled and nodded.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Is it about having children?” I asked.
She paled visibly.
“Why?”
“I can’t have children. Francisco told me that you had said that he would meet someone who couldn’t. Well, I was in an accident some years ago and lost my parents. I also lost any chance of having children of my own.”
She smiled.
“You probably think it’s nonsense, but it’s a sort of gift I have. However, there is one thing I have to ask, and I have never told Francisco this. It is embarrassing, and I don’t mean to pry. No, perhaps I shouldn’t,” she said.
“I don’t mind, I’ve only the usual skeletons in my closet,” I said, cautiously.
“Jemma, have you ever been locked up?”
Despite the warmth of the sun, a chill ran right through me and I felt a little sick.
I couldn’t meet her eyes.
I nodded.
“I was young, it was a mistake and I have since been exonerated, as the conviction was overturned by a judicial review, but I was in for a while. I prefer not to talk about it. It’s part of a different life. I’ve a different name and everything now.”
I looked at her.
“Shall I leave now?” I asked her, standing up.
“Oh, you poor child, of course not.” She was out of her chair and held me in a close hug. The tears welled up and I started to cry.
“Jemma, I am so sorry. It was so beastly of me to ask that. I promise that I’ll never speak of it again to anyone, particularly to Franco.”
I still sobbed. I knew it had all been too good to be true.
“Listen, Jemma. All I know is that the girl I dreamed that Franco is to marry had been locked away for a short time. I don’t know or care what for. Oh dear God, I am so sorry. I’m a meddling old cow.”
I managed to stop and she persuaded me to sit down.
I cleaned my make up with a tissue, and sipped some Champagne.
“You are so young. How old are you?”
“I will be twenty-one in August.”
“Are you sure that this is for you? After all he is almost middle-aged.”
“I was, but now I am less sure,” I admitted.
She laughed, but with little humour.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. You are such a pretty child, it seems such a waste to marry at such a young age.”
“My life has been far from happy. Your son has given me more happiness in a few weeks that the rest of my life put together. But how about what he feels, what he wants?”
She stared at me, and her face broke into a smile.
“You’re a strong young woman,” she observed.
“I’ve had to be.”
She nodded. “You will need to be if you marry Franco, as he needs a strong woman to keep him in line.”
“I’m strong, you really don’t want to know how strong I’ve had to be.”
“Have you a swimsuit?” she asked, completely changing the subject.
“Yes, why?”
“Then go and put it on, dear, and join your family.”
I smiled, and did exactly that.
I helped Francisco put the children to bed, even managing to read them a story. Fortunately, the book was an easy one, so I coped. We then dressed for dinner, finding ourselves being joined by several of Roz’s friends, whom she had invited for the meal. I was grateful that I had bought some chic dresses in London recently, as this lot were loaded.
They were mostly English ex-pats, or other wealthy residents, all of whom spoke excellent English. I was able to conduct myself well in all the conversations during the pre-dinner drinks and found my trick with the accents very healthy. The Hurlingham Deb was shining through, but several of the men made very un-subtle passes at me.
Whenever possible, Francisco would try to be with me, as I was formally introduced to the smart Monaco set as his fiancée.
We sat down as twenty for dinner, with Francisco sat at the head of the table and his mother at the opposite end. I sat to his right, so we played footsie for most of the meal.
After the meal, I retired and went up to bed. It was assumed that I would share Francisco’s bed, but nothing was said. I undressed and looked out of the window across the Mediterranean. I had come a very long way in a very short time. I could hear voices coming from underneath the balcony. It was Francisco and his mother. I stepped onto the balcony and heard them talking about me.
“She is so young, Franco. Are you sure?”
“Mama, she has set me free. She’s a delight. Her smile warms the core of my heart and her laugh makes me feel young and without a care. I knew she was the one as soon as I saw her across the hotel lobby.”
“But, how much do you know about her?”
“Enough. She has had a hard life and I know that there is much she will not share with me for a long time. She has such scars, Mama. I have heard her cry in her sleep and she is too young to have such scars.”
“Are you sure she cannot conceive?”
“She tells me she can’t and she takes no contraceptives. I believe her. I know she weeps for the fact and I so wish she could, but I do believe her.”
“She’s but a child and you’re nearly twice her age.”
“Believe me, she is no child. She is more woman than any I’ve ever met, including my dearest Maria.”
His mother laughed.
“Oh Franco, I’ll grant you she is very pretty and a strong girl. But she is to be the Condesa of Valdarez.”
“You were, so she will be. You are both strong women. I would hate to cross either of you. She was like a ray of sunshine and she can’t have children. But regardless of your dreams, Mama, the main thing is that we love each other, and I will have her as my bride.”
“Then I shall love her too. For I can see she has brought you back to me. She is just so young, Franco. I pray she will not grow tired of you.”
“Mama, she told me she wanted a man, the boys she has met bored her and she did not like their petty childish games. Jemma is a woman, forget her age, she will be the mother my children need.”
“Then, Franco, I am so happy for you. For she will make a truly beautiful bride.”
“Goodnight, Mama.”
“Goodnight, my sweet.”
I stepped back into the room, closing the balcony door. I was sitting at the dressing table when he came in.
“I thought you were never coming to bed. What were you doing, finishing the brandy?”
He laughed and came over to me. I stood and he took me in his arms.
“No, my mother was grilling me about you. She thinks you are too young.”
“I happen to like dirty old men,” I said and his grin broadened.
“My mother is torn.”
“Why?”
“One the one hand you meet all her funny little dreams, yet on the other, she imagined someone older. But I think I have won her round.”
“Talking of dreams,” I said.
“What?”
I was almost ready to tell him everything, but then at the last moment, I chickened out.
“Do I cry out in my sleep?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“I had a bad dream the other night, and I dreamed that I cried out. Did I?”
“You quite often do. You seem to be frightened of someone or something.”
“Francisco, my past is not a pretty one. There are things there that are better not known about. I will not live a lie to you. If you want me to tell you, I will. But I fear that if I do, you will no longer love me, and everything we have will be lost.”
“Then I need not know. Jemma, I have only just found you, so as we grow together, I hope you will come to trust me. But for my own peace of mind, I need to know where I stand. Just answer me five questions.”
“Yes?”
“You told me you can’t have children, now I accept that, but, have you ever had a child?”
“No, you know I cannot. I never have been able to, and have not the necessary equipment any more. Oh, Francisco, I wish I could, above all things.”
“Have you a criminal record?”
“No, and that is the truth. Many years ago, I was in trouble, and I was accused of something. I was sent to a detention centre for a bit, but they overturned my conviction, so I do not have a criminal record, not any more.”
“Have you taken drugs?”
“Only those given to me by a doctor.”
“Do you love me?”
“With all my heart.”
“Will you marry me?”
“Of course.”
“Then I am content, and never want to know about those things that trouble you, unless you choose to tell me.”
I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him so hard. I didn’t deserve him.
Part 11
We stayed in Monaco for a month, as Roz gradually introduced me to her social set. From hobnobbing with criminals, I was now associating with royalty and the very wealthy. Suddenly, I was one of the smart set, and this set looked down on the film stars and sports personalities.
We often entertained Prince Ranier and Princess Grace, who invited us to the palace on numerous occasions. I began to be photographed in these surroundings and the gossip columnists started asking, “Who is this girl?”
I kept very quiet and Francisco was equally silent, but this encouraged the vultures. When our engagement was made public, in Spain, France, England and Monaco, there was a flurry of interest amongst the press. Maria’s tragic death had made the papers in Spain, so they led with our engagement.
As always, the British tabloids were curious and smutty, as one photograph, through a long distance lens, was of me sunbathing at a friend’s villa. Thereafter, they hounded me at every turn. The Sun produced a piece on me, entitled, “Luck of the Irish.”
| Luck of the Irish. |
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I found out by accident, as I was in Menton one day and saw the paper on sale near a hotel that catered for English tourists. I was horrified, and almost couldn’t go out, but Roz brushed it aside as if it were of no consequence.
“Jemma, you have to realise that we are now fair game for these bastards, but we do get the better deal.”
“Better deal? How?”
“We get to sue their asses every time they print something untrue.”
I smiled, but inside I was terrified. When one lived a lie, then it didn’t take much to expose it.
Life went on. The children were wonderful and I grew to become very fond of them. I read to them every night, and they both started to call me ‘Mama’. Francisco and I discussed dates for the wedding, so I started looking at wedding dresses.
I knew that my luck would not last. I got a phone call from Stuart Collins; the one man who knew enough about me to destroy me completely.
“Ah, Jemma. You have no idea how difficult you are to find.”
“I know exactly how difficult I am to find. What do you want?” I asked.
”You don’t sound pleased to hear from your old friend.”
“I’m not particularly. You belong to part of my life I would rather forget. What do you want, Stuart?”
“Well, this is a bit tricky. It seems that, well with the mortgage rates and everything, I seem to have somewhat of a cash flow situation.”
So, that was what the bastard was up to. Blackmail.
“How much?”
“Well I thought fifty thou should cover it?”
“Or what?”
“Well, I could find myself dropping certain information off to all kinds of people. And I am sure your fiancé’s family would not be best pleased.”
“You utter bastard, Stuart. This is blackmail.”
“I know what it is, I just reckon you owe me.”
“I paid you.”
“Call it a bonus.”
“I’ll think about it. Call me tomorrow.”
“What’s to think about?”
“Lots of things. Call me tomorrow,” I said, and hung up before I said something I’d regret.
Francisco found me silently weeping.
“Jemma, what is the matter?”
I shook my head. I just couldn’t bring myself to speak.
For an hour and a half, he just stayed with me, as I was beside myself.
Finally, I took off my engagement ring, placing it into the palm of his hand.
“Francisco. I’m being blackmailed,” I said.
He stared at me for a moment and then nodded, slowly as if he half expected it.
“Your past?” he asked, and I nodded.
“It’s truth time. My story is not a happy or nice one, but I intended to tell you before, yet each time I chickened out. But I will tell you now so you have the opportunity to rid yourself of me, or not as the case may be.
“If you turn round and decide that I’m not a suitable person for you, I’ll understand. It will devastate me, but your happiness means everything to me, and if that means life apart, then I accept that. Please believe me when I tell you that I love you with all my heart, and if I have been dishonest, then it was because I didn’t want to lose you.”
I paused; he frowned at me, looking at the ring in the palm of his hand.
I then told him the truth - The entire, absolute, whole, rotten truth. By at the end I was crying so much, I had to run up to my bedroom. I convinced myself that he would hate me and want me to leave.
I had managed to tell him about the blackmail attempt, and that was it. I flung myself on the bed, weeping. Then I got up and started to pack, wondering how I would face the children, and what I could say to them.
I was sobbing so much I did not hear him come in.
“Jemma,” he said.
I jumped, as he startled me.
I stood, staring at him, tears running down my cheeks, with my make up streaming and eyes all blotchy.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his face grave and his voice stern.
“Packing.”
“Why?”
I stared at him.
“Because you won’t want me any more,” I said, as the tears started again, even stronger.
“Did I say that?”
“No, but..”
“No, but what?”
“I know that I’m not the right sort of person for you.”
“Since when did you know my mind better than me?” he said, quite sternly. I had never heard him angry before.
I stood, just looking at him, feeling so miserable, that I wanted the ground to swallow me up.
He smiled slightly and without an enormous amount of humour.
“Your story surprised me, most of it did anyway. But I actually knew you were slightly different than most girls and that is one of the reasons I love you so much.”
I noted he said ‘love’ and not ‘loved’.
“How?”
“Little things. Nothing important on their own, but together they made me ask certain questions. Like, why there were no photographs of you as a child? Why so many things seemed so new to you? Why you never spoke of friends or family, except those from recent times, and why you avoid the press and publicity so actively?”
“Oh.”
“But never did I ever dream you had not always been a girl.”
I smiled, a little sadly.
We were standing, about two metres apart, and I was holding a pair of dresses that I was going to put in the case.
“Well?” he asked.
“Well what?”
“What are you going to do?”
“What do you want me to do?”
He shook his head.
“I’m not sure. Why don’t you put those down so we can go for a walk and discuss our options?”
I put the dresses on the bed, and he held his hand out to me.
He pulled me to him and stroked my cheek.
“You look a mess.”
“I feel a mess,” I said.
He smiled and allowed me a few moments to tidy myself up.
Then we left the house, setting out for a walk along the side of the huge marina. We talked about everything. I was able to lay myself completely bare before him, and it was very cathartic. It was as if a huge dark beast had been freed from my soul. As he held my hand, I gripped it with all my strength.
We came to a little café, so we sat and he ordered some coffees.
He looked at me so tenderly that I felt the tears start to well up. He smiled, squeezing my hand reassuringly.
“All right, it’s decision time,” he said, and I nodded, still fighting back the tears.
“Option one. You leave my life, and we never see each other again. Your blackmailer still has the opportunity and I am still open to the dirt he could release.
“Option two. We stay together, and you simply become my lover. I find another wife and we drift apart. Still we would be vulnerable to this man.
“Option three. You become my wife and the mother to my children. We face this man, and you let me deal with him. End of story.”
“Which option do you want?” I asked.
“Logic tells me I should have nothing to do with you. But, I find myself in a strange situation. After revealing what you have to me, I feel that I should be shocked, manipulated, offended and disgusted. But, in fact, I find myself feeling none of these.
“Indeed, what I feel is sympathy, compassion and sadness at the way you have been treated, and at the abuses you have received. I find that, despite the realities of your past, I still love you, if anything a little more than I did before. I see nothing of who you were, but only who you are and what you mean to me. If you accept, then I will repeat my proposal, and this time, if you accept, there is absolutely no way I will ever allow you to back out.”
“You still want me?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Perhaps I am very foolish, but, yes, I do.”
I stared at him, and while I sat there, stunned into silence, he slipped the ring back onto my finger. Never had I dreamed that he would have reacted like this. My heart soared, as the tears were of joy this time. I let out a whoop of pure happiness, jumping up and sitting on his lap, hugging him as if my life depended upon it. The little chair threatened to dump us on the ground. He simply stood up, holding me off the ground.
“Well, it would appear that we are engaged again,” he said.
“Oh yes. I’m so sorry to have brought this on you.”
“It is just another challenge along life’s path. Mr Collins is going to regret his greed.”
We walked back to the villa, arm in arm. I would have happily given my life for this man, right now.
We found his mother concerned about us, so Francisco told her an edited version of the truth. My original gender was one of a few truths that he carefully omitted.
“The little shit,” she said, “and him a lawyer to boot.”
The three of us sat down and discussed how we were going to respond. Finally, Francisco suggested that when he called back, I arrange a meeting with him in London. I agreed. So he went to make some calls.
Stuart was obviously impatient, for he called early the next day.
“Well, made your mind up?” he asked.
“Meet me in London, in three days,” I said, as per instructions.
“Why London?”
“Why not? It’s where I have my money.”
“Okay, where?”
“You choose,” I said.
“Somewhere public, how about Trafalgar Square?”
“Fine, noon in three days,” I said.
“Okay, and don’t get any silly ideas, I have enough to hang you out to dry.”
“You’re a greedy bastard, how do I know you will stop at fifty thousand?”
“You don’t. But then that is not my problem, is it?” he said, hanging up.
I looked up and Francisco nodded. The man with him switched off the tape recorder. The two of them spoke rapid Spanish to each other.
“Are you ready?” Francisco asked.
I nodded.
“Then let’s go,” he said, and we left the house. Our bags were already in the car, and the black van that followed us to the airport looked very suspicious. Only I knew that it contained friends.
At Nice airport, we drove to the Private Terminal where a Lear jet was waiting on stand. Within twenty minutes, eight of us were on the plane heading northwest for London. My fellow passengers were all dressed in dark clothing, speaking only in Spanish. They rarely looked at me.
My only concern was for Franco. He saw my expression and smiled.
“These are friends of mine from my days in the military. Let’s say it is the ‘Spanish old boys’ network.”
We landed at Heathrow, cleared customs and immigration. A van and a large Rover were waiting and soon we were heading out on the M4 to Windsor. The van pealed off and Francisco and I returned to my flat.
“What happens now?”
“We wait,” he said.
I went out and did a little shopping, so we had a simple lunch of bread, cheese and some soup. He spent all afternoon on the phone, once going out for a couple of hours. My nerves were frazzled by the time he returned. But he simply kissed me and told me not to worry.
I cooked us a meal in the evening. He spent some more time on the phone. He took me to bed and make love to me in such a way that I cried at his tenderness. I held onto him for most of the night.
The next day, I awoke early, as I had not slept well due to everything on my mind. I made him breakfast and we sat together on the bed, munching toast.
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
“If you don’t know, then you have no worries,” he replied, enigmatically.
“You aren’t going to kill him, are you?”
“Oh no, much worse.”
I worried more, so he took me in his arms.
“Look, this man has decided to take us on. He will regret it.”
I stood by one of the lions at the base of Nelson’s Column, dressed in a summer dress, a white wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses. It was nearly noon on Wednesday, as agreed.
Stuart was in his usual suit, and he ambled over to me.
“Well, look at you, all tanned and glamorous,” he said.
I turned to him.
“Stuart, you’re a bastard! You realise that if there is any way I can get you back I will?”
He laughed.
“Silly threats from a silly girl. You don’t frighten me.”
“No, I realise that. So, what do I get for my fifty thousand?”
“My silence.”
“Not enough,” I said, and he frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“I want anything you have. Documents, photographs and everything. Otherwise, you get nothing.”
“Don’t be silly, that’s my insurance. I need to stay safe, after all, you have threatened me.”
“I never threatened you. I made you a promise,” I said, taking off my sunglasses.
He stared at me. I think this was the moment it dawned on him that this was not going to plan. He actually looked a little worried, as I was too calm and too self-assured.
“Look, don’t even think about doing anything. I have everything in a safe place. If anything happens to me, it goes public.”
I opened my bag and took out a sheaf of papers and photographs.
“You mean these?” I asked.
He stared at them.
“These were in a safe deposit box in a bank in Watford. There was a key at a certain address in Chorleywood. You see; you made two mistakes. The first was to assume that I would even consider paying you, and the second was to underestimate my resources. So, how much is your life worth, Stuart?” I said with as much menace as I could.
“I have other copies,” he said, but rather uncertainly.
“You mean the ones that were in your office safe?” I asked.
He stared at me. The colour drained from his face.
He looked around, becoming aware that six men, all dark and Spanish looking, were standing at different points around the square. Francisco walked up from behind him.
“You haven’t met my fiancé have you, Stuart?” I said, as he spun around, looking very nervous.
The two men looked at each other.
“May I present, Count Francisco de Valdarez. Francisco, this is my ex-solicitor and the man who is blackmailing me, Stuart Collins.”
“This woman is not what she appears,” Stuart said.
“I know all about her past. It is your future you should be concerned about,” Francisco said, his quiet voice full of hidden menace.
As Stuart stared in terror at Francisco, I slowly and calmly reached out, injecting him with the hypodermic I had in my hand.
He jumped, staring at me, his terror slowly disappearing, as unconsciousness took hold. He slumped and would have fallen, had not Francisco caught him. Three men appeared, and within seconds he was on the ground. Two of the men were wearing ambulance service uniforms. An ambulance pulled up and Stuart was placed on a trolley and within seconds was away.
The crowd in the square were hardly aware of anything happening, so Francisco and I casually walked through the bemused tourists and jumped into the Rover as it pulled up. Moments later, we were heading out of the centre of London towards Heathrow. No one questioned the poor man in the ambulance being flown to Barcelona for critical surgery. His documents and papers were all in order and the Lear Jet landed at a small airstrip in Spain an hour and twenty minutes later.
When Stuart came to, he was lying on a cot in a small cell. I was on the other side of the door, looking through the eyehole. He put one hand to his head as if he had a headache and groaned. One of the men came to the door and grinned at me. He was wearing the green uniform of a member of the Guardia Civil. Using a noisy bunch of keys, he opened the door, as Stuart struggled to sit up.
The man went into the cell, standing over the bedraggled lawyer. He spoke rapid Spanish at him. Stuart gaped stupidly up at the man.
I walked in and stood by the door. He saw me and paled.
“Stuart, I once told you never to judge me by my looks and never cross me. You stupidly chose to disregard my warning,” I said.
“You can’t do this to me. I have rights.”
“Seá±or, you lost those rights when you decided to blackmail this young lady,” said the Spanish officer, in very good English.
“Where am I?”
“You are in jail in Spain. Your attempt to blackmail the family of the Count of Valdarez was perhaps the most foolish thing to do. The Count was a Colonel in the Guardia Civil Special Unit and he has many friends,” the Spaniard said.
Stuart looked frightened and started to shake.
“Jemma. Look I’m sorry, you must help me,” Stuart said.
“Had you asked me for a loan, I may even have given it to you. But, no, you had to get nasty. I owed you a lot and trusted you, but you betrayed that trust. These people play for keeps and they are my people now. If you want to live, you need to have something worth bargaining with,” I said, and turned and walked out. As the door was slammed in his face, I head him start to sob.
I went upstairs, into the main office of the police station. I was amazed that each of the ‘kidnappers’ was a police officer, each of whom, at some time or other, had served with Francisco.
Francisco was drinking a glass of wine with the local area commander in his office. The latter poured me a glass as soon as I walked in.
I smiled, and kissed Francisco’s cheek.
“Perfect, exactly as you planned. How did you find out everything so quickly?” I asked him.
“Well, my colleagues are experts in counter-espionage and counter-terrorism. They simply utilised those skills normally reserved for such activities,” he said.
In my presence, he burned all the documents that Stuart had collected.
“What will happen to him?”
“That is up to you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. After all, it is you he has wronged.”
I thought for a moment.
“Enough people are hurt in this world. I want him to learn, but I can’t live with blood on my hands,” I said. I noticed that Francisco winked at the commander.
“Okay, what was that for?” I asked.
“My little love, I told my friend that you would say something like this. He seemed to feel you would want him more permanently dealt with.”
“I do want it permanent, but not through violence. When I needed someone to help me, he was there for me. His greed must be punished though.”
“Will you trust me to deal with him?” my fiancé asked.
“Of course.”
“No questions?”
“None.”
“Then I shall. Please go and wait outside,” he said, so obediently I did so.
Half an hour later, he joined me.
“Right. Home,” he said, and we got into the car.
I was silent all the way to the airport.
“Don’t you want to know what happened to him?” he asked, as we boarded the Lear.
“Yes, but I agreed to ask no questions.”
“You would obey me to that degree?”
“I would give my life for you, if you asked me to,” I said.
We sat together and he took my hand.
“Never have I met anyone quite like you.”
“You’re never likely to again,” I said, with a smile.
“That is very true. Mr Collins told me a little of your life since you left that place. You seem to have been remarkably resourceful for one so young.”
“Needs must,” I said, and again he smiled.
“You trusted me with everything. It must have been very hard for you?”
I nodded.
“The hardest thing I have ever done. I risked everything for you to know the truth.”
“Never must we have secrets. You see, you are not the only one with secrets,” he then told me something of his military career. I should have guessed when I observed the style in which his ‘friends’ worked. Sufficient to say, I was impressed, slightly shocked, and yet enormously respectful of this gentle man, who had as much in his past as did I.
“I have never told anyone this. So now we are even.”
My love for this man was so strong, that I simply cried and held him close. He did me the honour of crying with me and I felt that, at last, I had come home.
Comments
EL EST MAGNIFICO
A very well told enchanting, engrossing, tantalizing, spell-binding story. Please pardon my bad high school Spanish but this is one the most wonderful tales that I have encountered. I want more. thank you, 'Sika
There is good
and then there is great. I give you only one guess which this story falls in. :) Just an amazing story with terrific characterization.
hugs!
grover
Never better, but perhaps ,...
the next segment will remain the best literature ever to hold me in thrall ! johncorc1 /em>
johncorc1