Synopsis:

After the attempted knifing, Grace de Messembry visits David in the Venumar Foundation's Hospital Research Facility, but does her gratitude lie deeper than her words? And what does she know about the knife? Emma has some rather exciting news, and some bad too. Coralie is seemingly broken just as the inscrutable branches apparently are. Otherwise nothing much happens. Nothing good from David's point of view anyway.

Story:

Because David's tale is slow in its serialisation it was suggested to me that the following character list might help in jogging reader's memories. Hope it helps.

Characters in order of appearance/mention in Part 8

David. The hero whose adventures we follow. Generally referred to by others as Sophie. ‘Recruited’ and then subjected to months in ‘Reception’ before progressing to the ‘Holding Wing’ where the subsequent action, prior to his arrival in the hospital facility, has taken place.

Laura. David’s mentor in the ‘Holding Wing’. Her other charges being Anne and Emma.

Dr. Victoria Walters. A surgeon in the employ of The Venumar Foundation. This is her first appearance although she was given a passing mention in Grace de Messembry’s ‘surgical intervention’ threat in Chapter 14.

Grace de Messembry. Majority, perhaps sole, shareholder in the Venumar Foundation, which in itself is the controlling influence of numerous international companies. She is apparently the source and instigator of all David’s current woes

Anne. One of Laura’s charges. She was already at the Holding Wing before David’s arrival. Her background is that of a boy saved from drug abuse and social problems by one of the charitable organisations under the aegis of the Venumar foundation.

Emma. Another of Laura’s charges, but a genetic girl. She, with Christine and Alice, represents the other, outwardly charitable, function of the Holding Wing, which is the education and training of girls coming from under-privileged and troubled backgrounds.

Janet. Janet Saggren A colleague of Laura’s. Her charges being Christine, Alice and Coralie

Coralie. The latest ‘recruit’ at the beginning of her feminisation. Tried to knife Grace de Messembry but the attempt was instinctively foiled by David. She shares David’s background, having been forcibly recruited and conditioned at Reception before arriving at the Holding Wing.

Olive. A predecessor of David’s and friend of Anne’s. Her suicide was seemingly directly related to her experiences at Rehabilitation to where she was sent for infraction of the rules.

Mrs Townsend. Staff. The beautician.

Nigel. One of the boys attending the last Post-Inspection party at which he made advances to David, whose stiletto heel subsequently broke bones in his foot.

Tommy. Another boy at the Post-Inspection party. Grace de Messembry sought David’s advice as to whether he would make a satisfactory girl.

Mrs. Felicity Cranwell Staff. Tutor in Female Sexuality

..........................

Girls of a masculine provenance seem destined to proceed to the Finishing Centre after the Holding Wing. At least Mona did. Other less complicated girls seem to graduate to the A. & A. programme (“‘Assessment and Assignment’ apparently). No-one knows for sure though as no-one so far has ever come back from either. All seem to be loosely grouped under the title “The Academy”

...........................

It should be remembered that the plot unfolds through the eyes of David. The descriptions of the people above conform to David’s understanding of their function, character, etc. Use of words such as ‘seemingly’, ‘perhaps’, and ‘apparent’ are because the facts, or surmises, can only be as David understands them. The reader has no other authority from whom he or she can seek verification.

Chapter 25.

A sensation of floating. The soft rumble of wheels. Voices from a distance. Voices that also floated, also rumbled. Faded and were reborn. Voices that made a sound but not words.
Purple light through eyelids.

There was a slight jarring, a sliding direction change. Footsteps echoing in a corridor.

He was lying on a trolley. Ill? Injured? He could not remember. Not another enforced lay off. The collar bone had ruined his last season. Perhaps it was just concussion.

Light flickered, prising eyelids open. Faces. Faces that he knew but whose identity eluded him.

The voices too were familiar but nameless. No not nameless. He knew the names but knew not who they were. They belonged to the faces. They belonged to ....

One of the voices formed words.

“She is coming round. Keep her still.”

Another voice.

“This will keep her quiet. Careful. Hold her.”

She? The thought came to David that there must have been an accident. There must be others injured. Another trolley perhaps. He tried to move his head to see but it was held in some kind of brace. Then soft fingers on his arm, feeling, measuring, and the prick of a needle.

A door opening .... And then David again slid back whence he had come into a velvety black unconsciousness.

When he woke again he was in a bed. In a small white room. He could not move his head but was aware of sun streaming through a window, brightening flowers on a bedside table just within the limits of his vision. Their shadows dappled across his shoulder, across the lace scalloped shoulder strap, picking out the sheen of its silken texture ....

And it all came back.

Laura’s voice from his other side, away from the window. Murmuring, soft, concerned.

“Sophie darling? Are you awake? How do you feel?”

His head ached dully, but the sickness that he felt was occasioned by the glimpse of the champagne coloured shoulder strap. He closed his eyes again and laid there, trying to sink back into the refuge of unconsciousness.

He sensed Laura standing up, leaning over him, then moving across the room, calling ....

“Dr. Walters, she is coming round.”

And then she was back to his bedside, followed by further scurrying footsteps, and the top half of the bed was ratcheted up through forty-five degrees

“Sophie dear.” A hand soft on his shoulder. “Sophie dear. Are you awake?”

Abandoning his refuge he opened his eyes. Laura was leaning over him. Her face only six inches from his. Her hazel eyes gentled by worry.

There was a tightness around his chest when he drew breath to reply. His voice came out as asthmatic whisper.

“Yes.”

More was too much to say. He still wrestled with the re-awakening to his reality.

There was someone standing behind Laura. The source of the scurrying footsteps. A plump woman in her early thirties with apple cheeks, her matronly appearance at odds with her years.

Moving forward, she took his wrist and, smiling down at David, felt for his pulse.

“This is Dr Walters, Sophie. Grace de Messembry called her in specially to care for you. She is the very best.”

The woman laughed. “Nice to be appreciated!” as she bustled about her routine, taking David’s temperature, shining a little torch into his eyes. Quick, economic, in her actions, exuding professionalism.

“Don’t worry Sophie, You were concussed but no permanent damage done. But you need to lie still to let your wounds heal. Your chest and side were sliced open. Lucky not to have been worse. Your tits saved you. But we need to ensure that there are no scars. Grace de Messembry was adamant. More than my life, let alone job, is worth, so you have to ....

“My tits? My tits saved me ....”

“Yes. Thank God for boobs! What would we girls do without them!”

Dr. Waters gave a rather surprisingly girlish giggle.

“But you will have to do without them for three or four days. Sorry about that, but we need to eliminate any drag on the skin whilst the wounds heal. So personal vanity will have to take a back seat I am afraid. Natural ones would be difficult enough but falsies are a risk too many. And as I said Grace de Messembry won’t have the slightest blemish on your skin, especially there.”

David closed his eyes again. Fatigue crept over him. His head throbbed. Thinking hurt. And he didn’t want to think. There were questions jostling in his mind that led to where he did not want to go. Not now. Not ever.

He heard Dr Walters’ voice as from a great distance.

“So stillness is the essence. I will be back tomorrow to see how you are getting on. But in the meantime don’t worry! We will have you out of here looking as pretty and as feminine as ever. And without a mark, I promise you. Just try not to move.”

A soft cool hand on his brow. Murmured goodbyes to Laura, and Dr. Walters was gone.

Laura’s voice dragged him back from his semi-conscious refuge. Her hand tentatively on his shoulder.

“I was so worried. At the time. So much blood .... And you looked deathly white. Your head made such a dull crack .... I thought, with all the blood too .... I thought ....”

She paused. David lay silent, unwilling to re-enter this world. This pretty, feminine world..

“But Dr. Walters tells me that you will be alright. That the scan, the x-rays, show no lasting damage was done. You just need to rest for a couple of days Sophie dear. Rest to let your wounds heal.”

“I can’t move.” David muttered sullenly.

“That is just a binding to keep your torso still pet. To avoid scarring. Your skin needs to heal without tensions or stresses. So no boobs and the minimum movement for the next few days.”

“What happened? I remember Coralie and the knife and then ....?”

“You dragged Coralie down when you fell. Then everyone joined in. Anne, Emma, Janet, everyone, even Grace de Messembry. It was confusing really. Between fear for you and fear of Coralie. The need to help you and the need to stop her. It ended up with Coralie pinned down with Janet and her girls sitting on her, holding legs and arms randomly. Whilst we were fussing over you. Then the medics came and you were put on a trolley and brought here.”

“Here? Where is here?”

“In the Venumar Hospital Research facility situated in the building. It also serves the needs of staff located here. So lucky that we could get you to skilled professionals so quickly! Dr. Walters is amongst the very best surgeons in the country!”

David remembered already hearing Dr. Walters’ surgical skills extolled. By no less an authority than Grace de Messembry. In almost the same words. When she had proposed a little surgical intervention on his penis. He pushed the image invoked to the back of his mind.

“What has happened to Coralie?”

“She was eventually restrained. It was all rather pitiful. She just lost it. Lost all her defiance, all her searing anger, and ended up broken and sobbing her heart out.”

“And now? Is she recovered? I would hate to think that ....”

David could see the tear streaked desperation of her face still.

“Oh she wasn’t hurt. No they finally managed to sedate her and took her off.”

“Took her off? Back to her room?”

“Sophie darling, don’t be a goose. She was, could still be, dangerous. She tried to kill Grace de Messembry. She could easily have killed you. She couldn’t be left in our little community as if nothing had happened. We would all be at risk. No they took her to Rehabilitation.”

“Christ. No!”

“Sophie dear....” Laura’s voice was gentle, her hand moved again to his shoulder. “They could not let her go on as if nothing had happened.”

“But with time .... We could have ... “

“No Sophie dear. You couldn’t.... You have your own issues to face, to come to terms with.”

Laura sighed. She sounded tired.

“And we, Janet and I, could not handle such a responsibility. She needs treatment. She will be back and then we must all help her. But for now....”

David closed his eyes. His own nightmare. The rehabilitation that had surely led to Olive’s suicide. A short weekend of which that had also scarred Anne and sealed her femininity.

The very threat of which rendered he himself impotent in resistance. Craven in obedience.

He heard Laura’s voice. “... and we have learnt from Olive’s tragedy. We now know so much more.”

But David could only see Anne’s face ravaged by grief, hear her voice choked in anguish, as she told him of Olive’s death. That they now knew so much more was of small comfort. Would be of even less comfort for Coralie in Rehabilitation itself.

“....and so I must away to prepare for this evening. Another party. Like last time. But on a rather reduced scale of course. Grace de Messembry said that she was sure that you would not want your little misfortune to deprive the others of their fun.”

David tried to catch up with the change in subject.

“But she will be dropping into see you first. Isn’t that good of her? She really is frightfully concerned Sophie dear”

David’s expression on hearing of Grace de Messembry’s forthcoming errand of mercy must have been misinterpreted by Laura, who continued.

“But you mustn’t worry about a thing darling. Mrs. Townsend has agreed to drop in first to ensure that you are looking your best for her visit. Isn’t she a sweetie? Being pale and interesting may have its attractions but is unlikely to impress Grace de Messembry.”

Again the hand brushed his forehead. “All you have to do darling is to lie there and get your strength back. If I rush now I should be back in time for her visit. Just in case .... There were some questions ....”

For a fleeting moment Laura’s tiredness let a greater worry show through, but her recovery was almost instantaneous.

“But you have surely nothing to worry about Sophie dear. Quite the little heroine really. Just lie back and let Mrs. Townsend work her magic and I just know everything will turn out fine. She will be here shortly. Until then just rest. Try to have a little nap.”

With a final flutter of her hand in a wave she left, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving David alone with his thoughts.

They were mixed and numerous. None of them happy.

Apart from the soul destroying realisation that nothing had changed, that he was back as Sophie, was the immediate concern of Grace de Messembry’s impending arrival. If that were not bad enough there was the nagging fear that Laura’s sudden uncertainty, her suggestion that there were questions to answer, might relate to the knife. If that could be traced to him. If the ever present cameras showed him hiding it. If the police found his fingerprints on it. If the police.... They might think he had planned this with Coralie. That he was an accessory to attempted murder. If the police .... But no one had mentioned the police. Which wasn’t surprising but supposing someone had been killed? Would they have hushed that up too? Not that it mattered. The police and an accessory to murder charge would be preferable to Grace de Messembry. Far, far preferable. Especially to a Grace de Messembry who thought he had conspired against her. That he had forgotten his undertaking, his promise even.

David realised that the sweat was running down his body. He could feel it under what was a sort of carapace holding his torso from the waist up in an immobilising grip. He realised that he wasn’t in any way restrained. It was weakness and the enfolding shell around his body that inhibited movement. In his desperation he considered escape. He was out of the Holding Wing’s security. The one thing which had seemed such an obstacle before. This was a hospital unit so surely it should be easier? And the door had just clicked behind Laura. No turn of a key in a lock. No lock that he could see. He struggled to sit up, the bedclothes slipping from his shoulders and upper body. Through the silken folds of his nightdress he could see the outline of a kind of armoured corset. God he was weak! The sweat broke out anew. This time because of the effort rather than the earlier rush of fear.

He wasn’t going anywhere. If he made the door and got through it, which seemed a daunting enough task in his present weakened state, his chances of proceeding further resembling a scantily dressed Boudica were non-existent.

He sank back, already feeling slightly giddy, distinctly faint. Not now. But in a day or so it must be a possibility. When he was a little stronger. He would need clothes. Perhaps if he could find a nurse’s uniform? A doctor’s white coat even. And he would need shoes. He must find out more about where he was. He must....

Through the frosted glass panel of the door he saw a indistinct shape that turned into the familiar form of Mrs. Townsend as she bustled into the room enveloped in an aura of perfume and cosmetics.

“Dear, dear Sophie! Oh you poor girl! What have they done to you! Oh darling you look positively frightful. And your poor boobs! Lucky you had them though I hear. But still you must miss them so! Never you mind about a thing though. We will have you looking as gorgeous as ever in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

Mrs Townsend kept up a running commentary as she arranged the contents of a huge attaché case on a side table.

“And the party tonight too! What a shame to miss that. All those lovely young men! Still it’s their loss. Plenty of fish in the sea I say. Can you manage to sit up a little darling if I rearrange these extra pillows behind you?”

David struggled upright as she fussed behind him, stuffing and plumping pillows to wedge him in place.

There was little else to do. As ever Mrs. Townsend’s conversational style made no great demands on her companion. A smile, a judicial nod, even the occasional ‘yes’ sufficed to drop into the torrent of her words where they briefly bobbed unnoticed before they were washed away, tumbled over, in the flood.

All the while she worked on his face David moved eyelids, fluttered lashes, pursed lips, and proffered cheeks on command. At another time, for someone else, it would have been relaxing. For David it was just a reminder that he, or rather Sophie, was back, caught in the web of femininity.

It seemed to take ages but eventually Mrs. Townsend pronounced herself satisfied with the results of her ministrations. David beheld the result with sickening clarity as his face, no please God not his face, a face stared back at him from the mirror held before him. Any signs of masculinity, which must surely exist in his bone structure, had been quite erased by the beautician’s art. Jaw lines diminished, cheeks hollowed, cheekbones delicately leading the gaze to enormous eyes under elegant arching brows, his hair tumbling down the sides of his face in sly seductive curls. The generous red rosebud that passed for a mouth parted sweetly as he sought for the words of appreciation that he knew were expected of him.

“Mrs. Townsend you really are a miracle worker.”

“Sophie dear it’s lovely of you to say so, but I can only work on what is already there and you are just gorgeous darling. It is a real pleasure to work on you. We are all so pleased with your progress!”

Mrs. Townsend beamed at him with unalloyed, seemingly guileless, pleasure.

“I must away now Sophie dear. You must rest, and I have all the others to help prepare for this evening. Such a pity you won’t be there. It won’t be the same without you!”

And rest David did. Disheartened and heavy with fatigue from loss of blood, he slipped into a light sleep which must have lasted two or three hours, from which he was awakened by a voice saying.

“It seems such a shame to wake her. The dear girl looks quite angelic! ”

An authoritative, cultured, sardonic voice. David opened his eyes to Grace de Messembry smiling down at him. Helen Vanbrugh, Dr. Walters and Laura were there too providing the backdrop.

“Sophie dear,” the words dripped honeyed concern. “What a delight to see you looking so ravishing after your ordeal. I do so envy you your complexion. I do declare suffering must suit you. No do relax dear....”

This as David made an effort to raise himself from the horizontal..

“.... you must let us help our little heroine.”

This with a nod to Laura and Dr. Walters who together adjusted bed, David and pillows, until he had achieved a semi-sitting position.

“Such a pity you missed the Inspection Sophie. I do know how much you girls appreciate the chance to flaunt your progress. Such little show-offs!” This last as an aside to Helen.

“Still acts of derring-do must come first and there will be plenty of other opportunities for you to impress me with your girlish charms Sophie dear. What matters now is that you make a quick recovery. Dr Walters assures me that there will be no scarring at all. There isn’t that wonderful news!”

For the first time she paused, expecting a reply. David who till now had said nothing beyond a hasty greeting found himself meekly concurring. Agreeing that the fact that his breast would be unmarked was a great weight of his mind. He added that even more so was that Grace de Messembry was herself unscathed by the events. And damned himself for being an hypocritical creep.

“But all thanks to you Sophie dear, Without your spirited intervention goodness knows what that little wildcat might have done. It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

Grace de Messembry’s emerald eyes widened dramatically in horror at the recollection.

“The ingratitude of the girl. After all we have done for her.”

She begged enlightenment from David.

“What could have possessed her Sophie dear? Such a wicked thing to do. At first I thought she had a grudge against you, and after all that Laura tells me you did to help her! Did you have any inkling that she wished to harm me. You acted so quickly and resolutely!”

David swallowed. “Miss de Messembry, it was just instinct. I saw the knife and acted. I didn’t think. It all happened so quickly. I responded. It was instinct.....”

Grace de Messembry nodded her head in sympathy. “So quickly. Yes. So very quickly. She just stooped and picked the knife up. She must have known it was there. Planned it beforehand surely?”

She turned to Helen Vanbrugh. “The knife was from the bar I believe Helen?”

Helen nodded. “Yes. It was used to slice lemons.”

Grace de Messembry looked thoughtful. “You must have been amongst the last to use it then Sophie dear,” she purred, “A little bird tells me that you like the occasional gin and tonic and I think the rest were drinking Pimms or wine. Your fingerprints must be all over it darling. Lucky Helen has persuaded me to keep the police out of it otherwise they would be asking awkward questions no doubt.”

She shrugged. “Best to keep our little contretemps in-house don’t you think Sophie dear. We don’t want the local constabulary with their size 13's clumping all over the place frightening the girls with their clumsy questioning about a Miss Lavender with a knife on the roof garden. Such a lack of imagination. No wonder crime is increasing at such an alarming rate. The poor dears are quite out of their depth.”

David felt chill under the bed clothes. The sweat again running down inside his chest armour. She must know about the knife. At least must suspect something. Please, please let her not think he had planted it there for Coralie. Best tell some of the truth. What she must already know. Hope it be sufficient.

“If it is that knife then I did use it that evening Miss de Messembry. To slice a lemon. Although the knife I used was not the usual one. I can’t remember, I don’t know, what happened to it afterwards. I went back after dinner to look for my lipstick, and as I found it Coralie came up looking for Janet Saggren. I don’t recall seeing the knife again. I only saw her briefly, in passing, but Coralie certainly didn’t have a knife then. ”

But Grace de Messembry seemed already to have lost interest in the knife. “Sophie dear, I don’t expect you to have a scullery maid’s obsession with the bar’s inventory. That is not at all what you are here for. Suffice it is that you get well soon and are none the worse for your experience.”

Her tender and caring smile switched back on, illuminating her face with something akin to gratitude.

“But I really am forgetting the real reason that I am here Sophie dear, apart from seeing for myself that you are on the road to recovery, I have to thank you for saving me from a most unpleasant confrontation.” She shuddered. “It still seems difficult to believe that Coralie would have had the temerity to actually attempt to use the knife against me, good sense would surely have prevailed, but even so I am of an age when a wrestling match with a distraught girl is to be avoided if at all possible. So undignified.”

She shook her head in sorrow.

“Quite appalling how ignorant young people are these days If you ever decide to knife someone Sophie dear, always remember to thrust outwards and preferably twist upwards. Striking downwards may look alright in theatrical performances but it is quite impractical in real life situations if you wish to inflict serious injury. The angle of the blow is all wrong.”

She paused, smiling down at David.

“However that may be, your instinctive action, giving no thought to possible danger to yourself, is highly commendable. And indeed I find it most touching that your identification with our little community here can provoke such an automatic reaction in its defence.”

Grace de Messembry placed a small, elaborately wrapped package on his bedside table. “This comes from my own parfumier in Paris, so very select, and I am sure you are going to love it. It will make you feel so very, very, special every time you wear it. Not the scent he formulates for me of course, but still quite exquisite. More youthful and a little flirtatious, naughty almost.”

David began to mumble his thanks but Grace de Messembry waved the stumbling expressions of gratitude aside.

“Sophie dear no need to thank me. I do so love pampering my girls and I know how you just love perfume. A girl has to ring the changes you know. What is the name of the one you normally favour dear?”

David thought desperately. Behind Grace de Messembry’s back he saw Laura mouthing a word at him.

“Blue,” he said. “La Perla’s Blue.”

“Yes of course.” Her smile was tender, concerned.

“But Sophie, above all we mustn’t let this little setback hinder your progress in any way. I have asked Laura to liaise with Dr. Tabatha, and all your teachers, to visit you here so that you can continue to benefit from their help as near normally as possible. Deportment will just have to concentrate on hand and head movement rather than posture of course, but the other studies should be able to continue more or less as normal with a little thought and ingenuity. So you don’t need to have any worries on that score.”

She patted his shoulder reassuringly. A shadow of sadness momentarily dulled the sparkle in her eyes.

“I am afraid I have not been able to consent to Dr. Walters’ suggestion that we use hormones to aid the healing process ....”

David could not prevent his face from mirroring the horror that he felt. There could be no doubt as to the gender of the hormones in question.

Grace de Messembry held up an elegant hand to forestall any protest.

“Sophie darling you mustn’t be too upset. I do appreciate the importance you must attach to breast development. It is so natural for a girl to have such longings. After all breasts do put the budding into femininity.....”

The sympathy of her smile invited David to share in her little pleasantry.

“.... and Dr Walters did put up a strong case on your behalf. It would condition the skin as well as help ensure a perfect unmarked result. Apart from the desired overall ramifications. But I had to over-rule her. I do so hope you will forgive me, but I am quite set against any hormonal treatment in the Holding Wing, however meritorious the case, however deserving the girl. The importance of a girl’s mental pilgrimage is paramount. How can a girl concentrate on that against a background of an emotional roundabout of hormonally induced mood swings?”

David, eyes closed, heard himself murmuring weakly “No.”

“So glad you understand Sophie dear. What a sensible girl you are turning out to be! Patience is such a virtue!

David felt the wave of despair sweep over him, and again, and again. “No.”

“Sophie dear you are looking a little tired. What a brute I am to keep you from your rest!”

She looked at her watch in mock alarm before turning to the others, ushering them in the direction of the door

“And I too must be going Sophie dear, to prepare for tonight’s little soirée. We all must. So sorry that you can’t be with us. I know the boys will be quite devastated. Not Nigel of course. He is still hors de combat. Such a nasty break. But the others will all be there and I did so want your further advice as to whether Tommy would suit.”

Again the warm, complicit smile.

“Dr. Walters will drop in later to give you a sedative to ensure a good night’s sleep. Oh and don’t worry about the knife episode. I expect that poor Coralie will be persuaded to tell us the truth about her moment of madness anyway, so no need to worry your pretty little head about it.”

And with that parting shot she glided out.

David lay there. The Damoclean sword was still poised there. That Coralie would reveal all was beyond doubt. It would not be an option for her at Rehabilitation. It all depended on whether she had seen him secrete the knife or had just found it herself by accident. The second option seemed unlikely. But maybe she was unsure as to whether he had just dropped it? There were too many ifs. And Grace de Messembry didn’t need the considered opinion of a jury before deciding guilt.

And no hormones. No hormones now. ‘No now’ meant ‘Yes later’.

There was a remote control on his bedside table, half hidden by some flowers. In an attempt to clear the devils of thought from his head he switched on the TV set in the corner. The thought occurred to him that it might be out of the closed circuit of the Holding Wing. He should have known better, he reflected wearily as a programme celebrating the presenter’s skill in disguising largish ears by the astute choice of earings flickered into life. He looked at the package Grace de Messembry had left him. He had to open it with every manifestation of girlish delight. That he knew. He would certainly be monitored here as in the Holding Wing, and his adherence to the promise he had made to embrace femininity applied even more urgently now. If he were to escape he needed them to be off guard. And if he couldn’t escape, with the knife question unresolved, he needed equally to reinforce his appearance of compliance to Grace de Messembry’s wishes. Otherwise he would be following in Coralie’s footsteps.

His own earings flashed as he reached out his newly painted fingers to unwrap the perfume. The bottle itself would have made René Lalique proud to acknowledge it as his own. It would probably figure in some Antiques Road Show in later years David thought bitterly. He forced a smile as he gently freed the stopper and held the bottle to his nostrils. He didn’t need to breathe in. The scent itself freed itself from the bottle like genie from a lamp and insinuated itself into his nostrils. Pervasive, persuasive, an understated fragrance that spoke of feminine seduction in knowing, irresistible, terms. God knows what it must have cost.

He put the stopper back and replaced the bottle. The scent still embraced him. The woman on the TV was now advising on the which earings suited different hat shapes, interrelated naturally with the hairstyle and the occasion. It was almost a relief when the door opened to admit Dr. Walters.

“Just dropped in to make sure that you are O.K. Grace de Messembry would have me garotted if she thought you were not getting the best of care. And to give you this.”

She placed a half filled glass on his bedside table.

“It is just a sedative to help you sleep. You lost quite a lot of blood and you need rest badly. The binding is essential to avoid distortion of the scar tissue at this stage but it is not conducive to slumber. So this will help.”

Dr. Walters smiled conspiratorially at David. “Don’t look so suspicious dear. You don’t need to drink it. Only if you have difficulty getting off to sleep. Your choice absolutely. The essential is that there are no scars. If there are Grace de Messembry will not only have me garrotted but will have me publically dismembered first. Starting with my own boobs.”

David tried desperately not to think of why so much importance was being attached to an unblemished chest. Distractedly he asked. “What happened? I mean what damage was done to my chest. By the knife. What scars?”

Dr Walters nodded her head and slipped into professional mode. “You probably remember that there were two blows. The first was a stabbing motion which sliced into your chest from above. Grace de Messembry was quite right in her condemnation of it as an inefficient mode of attack although the Lord only knows where she acquired such expertise. It was almost vertical when it sliced into your bra and breast forms which in turn probably diverted the blade’s direction even further. In addition Coralie’s knife hand actually was buffered by the forms so that the blade achieved significantly less penetration than would have otherwise been the case. It ended by sliding downwards across four ribs.”

“And the other ....?”

“The other, the second blow, was also a downwards stab executed when you were grappling with Coralie and your bodies were quite close together and both off balance. Less power in the blow then. It hit a little lower down and about an inch to the left of the first one ....”

Dr. Walters’ face split into a grin.

“.... and it glanced off the under wiring of your bra darling. It slid from there along one rib, opening it up for about four inches along its length.”

The grin was now broad under her rosy cheeks. Inviting David to share her delight in his good fortune.

“Bloody and messy indeed but it could have been much worse. In fact it would have been if you had not been wearing your bra and breast forms. You really are such a lucky girl!

Chapter 26.

“Lucky fucking girl! Jesus fucking Christ!”

After Dr Walters’ departure David stared at the wall opposite. All his demons of despair were back, racing round his brain, competing for his attention, vying amongst themselves in their capacity to sicken him.

If he were lucky he would not be here, if he were lucky he would not have been stabbed. He would not have depended on a bra and on breast forms to ward off a knife.

And lucky wasn’t the word anyway. It wasn’t a question of luck. He was a victim. The victim of a considered attack on his liberty, identity, mind, body, on all that he was. Not a question of being lucky or unlucky.

He was the possessor of small hands and feet. Emma’s theory about his being selected because of his bone structure was probably correct. But even that was genetics. Not luck. That and because small hands and feet were perhaps a pre-requisite for a project concerning broken branches. In China perhaps? Or china conceivably? Were they going to use him for a Royal Doulton shepherdess model? Christ he had to keep it within the bounds of reason. Stop his mind wandering into sheer fantasy. The must be a good, solid, financially viable, reason why a large corporation was investing so much money in a project, whatever its name.

Thoughts crisscrossed in his mind. Thoughts of broken branches and the unknowable ‘why’. Thoughts of hormones and the waning of his masculinity. Thoughts of escape and what he would do thereafter. Thoughts all spiced through with a fear that made the sweat break out and prickle over all his body.

At one stage the lights in the room dimmed and then went out. In the dark, thoughts and fears swirled around his head long hour after long hour. Interrupting each other. Disorientated by fear and bleak imaginings.

At some stage he reached for the sleeping draught and swallowed it.

The light filtered through his eyelids. There was the clatter of a tray. A hand gently shaking his shoulder. A soft gentle touch on his shoulder, not really a shake, just a slight pressure to call his attention to the day.

“Good morning Sophie. Just hold on whilst I wind the bed upright.”

It was a nurse. Young, pretty, clad in a rather old fashioned uniform.

“Do you want the loo? I can help you to go if you like? Or at least help you out of bed. I have brought you some orange juice. Your breakfast will be ready in about five minutes. I do hope you are hungry? You can bath later.”

David’s bladder called out for relief. The nurse helped him out of the bed and he found that although weak he could walk well enough, albeit with the upper part of his body unwieldy and stiff in its shell. There was a door to small toilet and bathroom at the rear of the room to the left of the bed wherein David repaired.

He squatted, pulled up his long nightdress and, staring down at his smooth legs and pretty painted toes, urinated. The lace embroidered cups of his nightie, denied the soft swelling for which they were designed hung empty, and disconsolate on his flattened chest. Curiously he felt more vulnerable at the sight of the disordered unfilled lace. In a perverse way the absence of breasts seemed to draw attention to the empty cups which in turn mocked his putative femininity.

What must the young nurse think? How she must despise him? She was the first person not directly involved in the process that David had met since he began his transformation, and the thought inhibited him. God how she must despise him under her professional exterior. His padded back into the room. His cheeks already red at his humiliation.

Nothing but a rather charming smile greeted his return. If she had any thoughts as to his feminine pretensions no-one would ever know, least of all David. She helped him back onto the bed which was now adjusted to allow him to sit upright.

“Such a pretty nightie, love the colour,” was the only comment she allowed herself, as she bustled out with the promise that she would be back in a wink of a maiden’s eye with his breakfast.

After breakfast David ran himself a shallow bath and carefully washed himself as near to all over as his chest binding allowed. The young nurse had tried to insist that she helped him but he had managed to persuade her that he could manage and she had finally assented and left him alone; but not without dire threats as to what Dr. Walters would do when she learnt of his unreasonable obduracy.

On his return to the room he found that a new nightdress had been laid out for him. In a delicate peach colour. And in addition a pair of matching panties. They were needed as the nightdress hardly covered his hips. Not that the panties were designed to cover much. Rather to allow any fortunate observer tantalising glimpses of flesh through lace.

Without the benefit of panties, nothing had been more than lightly veiled by the discarded nightdress David rather belatedly realised, and the nurse’s ‘pretty nightie’ remembered comment made him blush anew.

He was exploring without enthusiasm the possibilities of the various magazines and DVDs when Dr. Walters arrived.

Pulse and temperature were taken. Questions asked about how well he had slept and how he felt this morning. Was there any pain or discomfort?. Another sedative promised for that night. He was suitably admonished for not accepting the pretty young nurse’s offer of help when washing. And it was pointed out to him that it was in fact extremely selfish of him to do so, as they all, Dr. Walters and the nurse included, bore the responsibility for his complete, and unmarked, recovery.

Reluctantly he promised to accept help when offered in future. In return Dr. Walters expressed herself very satisfied with his progress and promised an armchair. She also predicted an early return to the Holding Wing. Perhaps as soon as the end of the week if he behaved himself. She would know better on Monday when she would have a look at his wounds. Hopefully she could then replace the dressing with something less constricting.

“I will see what we can do about a provision for breast forms ,” She announced with a reassuring smile. “Otherwise none of your clothes will fit, and we can’t have you lazing around in nighties all day!”

“Oh, by the way,” she continued, “you will be able to insert this again now.”

She handed David his butt plug in a plastic sachet. “We removed it when you first came in but no reason why you can’t use it again now. There is some lubricant in the sachet to be going on with, and Laura has promised to drop further supplies in along with your other toys when she visits in later today”.

David felt the crimson mount in his cheeks.

“Anyway Felicity will be here on Monday or Tuesday to continue her lessons so if you want anything more you have only to ask.”

Dr. Walters chuckled. “You do well to blush Sophie dear, Felicity is a very imaginative lady when it comes to a girl’s best friend. She astounds even me sometimes.”

And to David’s chagrin the plumpish, apple-cheeked doctor roguishly, but unmistakenly, winked at him. A conspiratorial, all naughty girls together, wink.

When she finally left David busied himself with a desultory reading of the magazines, Marie Clare, Cosmopolitan, etc., interspersed with glassy eyed watching of the television. None of it sank in. It just it put off what he knew he had to do. Certainly before Laura came. Now in reality. They were watching and they would know. This was a battle he had already fought and already lost. If he hadn’t before Laura arrived, she would want to know why. Point out how he had to conform. How he had promised. Point out the consequences of not doing so; even of seeming reluctant to do so.

If he hadn’t, then she would insist it be done immediately. And that would cause more problems. He couldn’t really reach with one arm. It was difficult to do without twisting his body. Damn it, it was difficult at the best of times. It was too thick. It hurt to insert. At least it did until it was over the widest part and sank home, drawn into place by its narrowing contours. And with one arm and his body held largely immobile he wasn’t sure if he could do it. But if he didn’t, if he tried to explain, she would be all sympathetic and understanding and offer to do it for him. Or she would ask the pretty young nurse to do it for him.

Neither option was to be contemplated.

It was difficult, but he managed by wedging it upright and with the one hand steadying it, locating it, and then slowly, painfully, lowering himself down on it until that moment of relief when it slid securely home

He pulled up the lace creations that passed as panties and, humiliatingly conscious of the anal intruder, was back in bed when there was a tap at the door.

He thought it must be a mistake. A tap? People just walked in here! Nobody ever tapped. But he could see a shape through the distorted glass and the tap was repeated.

Perhaps it was Laura wondering if he was asleep? Hesitantly he responded, calling “Yes?”

And the door opened and in walked Emma, a broad smile on her face as she rushed over and kissed him warmly.

“Darling Sophie, darling, darling Sophie!”

“Emma how good to see you . But how, how did you get here?”

“Darling Sophie. I walked!”

Emma eyes sparkled as she laughed.

“Such news Sophie darling. Such news! But first how are you? You brave dear girl!”

Emma disentangled herself from David’s embrace and taking each of his hands in hers leant back regarding him intently .

“Mmm pale and interesting but as pretty as ever! But you are really alright? Laura says so and Dr Walters says so, but are you really?”

“Yes Emma, I am really. Wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy, but I am on the mend, and hope to be back with you at the end of the week. But how did you get here. And where is Anne?”

“Anne is fine Sophie darling. She sends all her love to you. But of course she could not come. Whereas I, whereas I .... Well as you can see, I can!”

Emma’s excitement bubbled over. “That is my news Sophie darling, but don’t be upset, promise me you won’t be upset. ‘Cos I won’t be leaving you, not really. Not as if I was just going to A&A and disappearing!”

Emma clapped her hands together. “I have told Anne and she thinks it’s a wonderful opportunity for me, she quite understands. Especially as I won’t really be going away and nothing will really change. And if I didn’t, well we would be parted properly, sooner or later, whereas as it is.... Tel me that you are happy for me too dear, dear, Sophie!”

David regarded her gravely. His mind tried to grapple with her news. It made no sense. Only that she was not really going away. Not really. He realised how much he had come to depend on her and Anne. Without their support he would be another Coralie in all likelihood. Or another Olive. Perhaps it would have been better though... David sighed.

“Sophie! You are not pleased! Why the sigh? Really I shall still be here for you! Please don’t sigh like that.”

“Emma, I just don’t understand. You are going away but not really. You ....”

“Sophie dear, are you sure that you are alright? Your head did go with an awful crack! I have just explained darling. Grace de Messembry told me at the Inspection. She offered me the chance to stay on after A&A as understudy to Laura and Janet. The poor girls have had no proper leave for months and months, simply ages. So after a while I could relieve them and anyway it is hoped to expand and they will need me and .... and even when you and Anne move on I will be able to keep in touch with you, Grace de Messembry promised and ....”

Emma paused, breathless.

“But do you want to Emma. Work here I mean?”

Emma looked at him, understanding in her eyes. “Sophie dear, I know, with you and Anne it is different, but my life before here was a living hell. I owe the Foundation a great deal. As do many girls like me. I would like to help others, like me, to regain their lives. Even Anne.... Well Anne had a hopeless drug addiction as I understand it. She knew a hell similar to mine. She would have been dead months ago. And well she is happy now, far happier than she was at any rate. And Mona too I think. The quality of life for most of us is comparative Sophie.”

David remained deathly still. Staring blankly to his front.

“And Olive, and Coralie? What about them?” ‘ What about me’ he would have added but the words would not come. Could not come. Stuck in a voiceless throat

“I do not know Sophie dear.”

Emma came close again and took his hands.

“I do not know the whys and the wherefores. Maybe a great wrong has been done. Is being done.”

“Maybe? Only maybe?”

Emma nodded. “Is then. But the wrong is not of my doing. And I can try to help. Try to lessen the suffering of those wronged. To lessen the hurt, your hurt, Sophie. As I have always tried to do.”

Her eyes met his.

“Laura told me that you had suffered to much, that your sense of injustice was too great, for you ever to understand why. That in accepting I risked losing your friendship and respect. Even though in a way you, Anne, Olive, Coralie even, were part of the reason I did accept. She said that that might be the price I had to pay.”

Her grip tightened on his hands.

“Laura said .... She said also that if I was very lucky, in spite of everything, you might still remember that I am your friend. And accept me as such.”

All her previous excitement, all her earlier bubble and sparkle, had gone now. She was deeply anxious. His response mattered a great deal.

David felt a great loneliness sweep over him. He wished he had known her before, before all this. In that other world. He would have fallen in love with her he suddenly realised. Perhaps he had even now in spite of everything .... But that was unthinkable. Must be unthinkable now.

Through the heavy silence the stretched between them she searched for a response. It had been delayed too long. And suddenly he knew that in spite of his isolation, because of it perhaps, he needed to guard some human contact. That he could not demand perfection of such. That it had to be taken and cherished in whichever form it came. That he had to remain part of the world.

Emma must have read it in his face because she moved closer and the hand holding became an embrace which lasted and lasted. At one point David felt her body tremble with suppressed sobs, but when finally she disengaged herself, apart from an unnatural brightness of eye, there was no sign of anything but relieved pleasure.

“I am so glad, so very glad,” she said.

“I am too,” David said, “so very glad.”

And they began to talk of other things. Afraid to venture back onto emotional ice, lest it prove too thin, or too concealing.

“We were all so worried about you on the roof garden.” Emma said inconsequentially. “There was a lot of blood and you were out cold., hardly breathing it seemed. We were all fussing round you, everyone offering advice, mostly conflicting. And poor Coralie screaming and swearing at Janet Saggren and her crew who were sitting on her, trying to bring her arms and legs under control.”

Emma giggled..”Utter chaos really. Until Grace de Messembry got a grip on things that is”

“Grace de Messembry? I can’t imagine her joining in a rough and tumble”

“No of course she didn’t Sophie dear, she just stopped it. It was a bit scary really. She told Helen to ring first the Hospital facility and then Security, and then she just went and half knelt by Coralie. Said something to the effect that knifing people was bad enough but to compound it by behaving like a fishwife was quite unforgivable in one of her girls.”

“The next thing we knew there was a scream followed by a quiet whimpering. She had Coralie’s little finger bent back in her hand. She told Christine and Alice that they would be more decorously employed by getting her and Helen a drink. And she asked Janet to pass her one of your shoes that had fallen on the path nearby.”

“My shoe?”

“Yes Sophie dear. She held it by the toe and brought the stiletto heel to just above Coralie’s eye. Almost touching. And she smiled at her and said. ‘Don’t worry about your finger Coralie dear, fingers mend. Concentrate upon what losing an eye will be like. And the other one too if you persist in this behaviour. Just lie still like a good girl if you don’t want to be sightless’.”

Emma shuddered.

“And she went on in a gentle conversational tone, as if admiring the view, about how it would be such a pity if she, Coralie that is, would not be able to see in her mirror in the future just what a beautiful girl she had become.”

“That is when Coralie broke and it was all over. She just seemed to crumple. Closed her eyes and began to cry. On and on. Not loudly but coming from deep inside. Just crying quietly as if she would never stop. She was still doing it when they came to take her away. They had to carry her.”

Emma hesitated. Then softly “I can still hear her. As I said I want to help.”

She stood up, looking at her watch. “I must away Sophie dear. I have to get back to A.&.A. this evening. I only managed to see you today because I had to come for my implants at the Facility here. So I ...”

“Implants Emma? Surely you don’t need, aren’t having ...?”

Emma laughed. “Don’t be an idiot Sophie dear. No not those. These are identity implants. Venumar’s version of VeriChips. All the staff have them, didn’t you know? They are about the size of a grain of rice so they are easy to inject under the skin and quite unnoticeable when in place. All the latest modern technology!”

“All the staff? But why Emma? What do they do?”

“They identify us. Allow us access to the Foundation’s facilities. Meals, Health Clubs even. Lots of things. I am only just starting to find out. Nothing to worry about Sophie dear. They don’t contain any information on us apart from who we are, to identify us as being part of the Venumar Foundation. No privacy issues at all. I expect even Grace de Messembry has one, although her’s will give her unlimited access of course whereas mine gives only a limited one. Just sufficient for me to move about and do my job.”

“Move about? Move about where Emma ...”

“Why anywhere I need to go Sophie dear, otherwise I would be weighed down with keys and have to prove who I was at every ....?

“Keys? You don’t need keys Emma?”

“Of course not. They are instead of keys. No-one uses keys. There are no keyholes. The door senses that you are authorised and opens on the turn of the handle.”

David felt the coldness descend.

“My door here too”? He asked..

“I imagine so”, Emma said. “As I understand it is quite a cheap mass produced fitment and it is easier to have a blanket use than to differentiate degrees of security at the basic level. But I don’t really know. It would need you to try it to find out. As I am tagged it is just automatic.”

“Oh.” David mentally saw the portcullis descend again.

But Emma was getting ready to leave and didn’t notice the deadness of the syllable. “I have a hectic few days in front of me Sophie dear. But I should be back with you in the Holding Wing within ten days. They say my A.& A. stay is purely a formality. Just to introduce me to the workings of the system.

Emma came close again leaning over and kissing his cheek, giving him a parting hug.

“You will never know how much your understanding means to me,” she said. “Laura told me that you had a great generosity of spirit and she is right.”

And then she was gone, turning the handle of the keyless door and slipping out into the corridor. The door swung shut behind her and closed with a quiet determined ‘click’.

Deep within him, the butt plug commenced its insistent vibration.

Notes:

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