London Broil (17 page)

"Does it upset
you to think about it? You don't have to tell me, but I'd rather
you did, so I don't unknowingly do something that hurts you."

She paused to
gather her memories. "I was a freshman in college. I went to a
small women's college in Georgia because Pappy was teaching
philosophy in Atlanta. I wanted to get away from my parents, but
not too far away. There was a fraternity chapter at the large
university across town that was known for its bad behavior. They
used to get drunk every so often and raid our campus, barging
into the dorm rooms to steal panties or throwing girls over
their shoulders and running around the courtyard fountain,
yelling at the top of their lungs. That particular weekend I
went to a party across town. I noticed that a certain boy was
following me with his eyes. He had a cup of beer in his hand and
stood with a couple of others off to the side. He had red hair
and looked a bit like Prince Harry, but bigger and more
menacing.

"On Sunday in
the late afternoon, when none of the adults were on campus, they
arrived and started running all over the main building and the
courtyard. One of them had their chapter flag and was waving it
around. They were grabbing girls right and left. Several of us
ran into the women's restroom, but they followed us in. I
remember being shocked at that. The others were dragged out, and
I was left alone with this red-haired boy. He didn't say a word,
just threw me down on the tile floor, pushed my skirt up and
dragged my panties down and off. I struggled, but he was much
bigger. He smelled like stale beer and had terrible breath. I
knew screaming wouldn't do any good because there was so much
noise outside already. He put a hand over my mouth anyway and
rammed into me. It felt like he was shoving a shoe up me.
Afterward, he just stood up, zipped his pants and left."

As he listened
to the story, James was gripping her shoulders and upper arms
rather tightly. "Were you hurt in the struggle?" he asked.

"Nothing more
serious than a lump on the back of my head, where it hit the
tile, and a bleeding scratch on my thigh where his fingernail
scraped me when he was ripping off my underwear. I felt a bit
sore all over."

"The bloody
little prick. I'd like to smash his face in."

"He's probably a
very respectable attorney on Peachtree Street these days."

"What about
emotionally? How did it affect you?"

"It was
difficult. My main fear was pregnancy, but luckily I got my
period a couple of days later. It didn't occur to me to tell
anyone what happened. Back then, and at that school, it would
have spread like wildfire, and I would have been blamed. I lost
interest in sex for quite a while after that. But with time,
things got better. Besides, I had revenge of a sort. Those
morons left their flag in the courtyard, and by the time I went
outside, it was eerily quiet and nobody was there. So I unhooked
it from the pole, folded it and stuffed it in the waistband of
my skirt. I hid it under my mattress, and nobody knew I had it.
Pretty soon we heard an announcement that whoever had the flag
was requested to return it because the college had received a
threatening letter from the chapter's attorney, and we were
given his address. I took my sharp little nail scissors and over
a period of about a week, I managed to cut the flag into
hundreds of little one-inch squares. I put them in a big manila
envelope and took the bus into town so nobody would see me, and
mailed him the flag. I wish I could have seen their faces when
they opened it."

"Well done,"
said James. He hesitated and then asked, "That wasn't your first
time, was it?"

She laughed.
"No, but my first time was only marginally better. When I was a
senior in high school. In the back seat of a car parked off a
dark country road, with a boy I had a crush on. He didn't know
what he was doing, and I knew even less. I wondered what all the
fuss was about."

"What a shame
that your first experiences were like that. But... does it
bother you when we're together and I start telling you what to
do? I probably sound like a total wanker sometimes."

"You mean when
you go all bossypants and masterful on me?" She smiled, thinking
of his probable expression at the way she characterized it. "No,
it turns me on. I suppose if you ordered me to scrub the floor
or stand on my head, it wouldn't be quite so sexy."

"Stand on your
head? Now, that has possibilities."

21.
Vestals and Pontiffs

Nolly was as
good as his word, securing an invitation for her and James to
visit Belmont Hall in north Yorkshire as the guests of his
lordship, Baron Belmont-Speck. Googling the family, she found
that the barony had been created to elevate a man who had
married an heiress, the illegitimate daughter of a duke, in the
early eighteenth century. The present Baron was the eighth to
hold the title.

Laura had no
idea what clothing to bring to a country house weekend, though
she'd read enough English novels to expect minimal heating and
antiquated plumbing. She brought her Fall clothes, some corduroy
trousers and wool sweaters, with socks and her rubber rain boots
in case they went for walks. After some hesitation, she added a
grey pencil skirt that she could wear with her black cashmere
twinset and pearls if there was a dressier dinner. Finally, she
packed her silk kimono, which would serve as a robe in case she
had to walk down the hall to the bathroom.

The train from
London to York took two hours, and upon arrival they rented a
car for the drive to Belmont Hall. Laura was awestruck by the
beauty of the moors, which at this time of year were covered
with rosy pink or purple heather blooms. The landscape was
almost devoid of trees, so the heather looked like an
uninterrupted pink carpet, stretching as far as she could see.

Her first view
of Belmont Hall was from the end of a long drive leading to the
house through green lawns. It was a three-story structure built
of greyish brown stone in a U-shape, with the wings set at right
angles to the main body of the house and jutting forward around
a set of steps. Ivy covered the east wing of the house, which
had a substantial addition in a lighter colored stone. Lady
Belmont-Speck, a diminutive woman with silvery hair cropped
close to her scalp, met them in the front hall, an impressive
room with black and white marble tiled floors and large family
portraits. She was wearing jeans, a sweater and a barn coat, and
her tiny feet were encased in boots. A swarm of floppy-eared,
pointer type dogs accompanied her. All had white pelts relieved
by reddish brown spots about the head and shoulders.

"Welcome," she
said. "Please call me Angela. It's such a novelty for me to have
visitors who aren't here for the grouse. We must get to know one
another better, Laura, and James of course, but right now I'm
off to pick up some supplies for tomorrow's dinner. Emily will
show you your rooms. Nolly's already here and you'll find him in
the Saloon having a drink, I've no doubt. It's just behind us.
Please do let me know if you need anything while you're here.
We'll have cocktails at six and dine at seven
en famille
in the Red
Drawing Room."

Emily, a young
woman who was apparently a member of the staff, took them up a
grand staircase to the bedrooms and assigned one to Laura and
one to James. "Gentlemen use this bath," she said, pointing to a
door, "and ladies use one that you'll find if you go through the
Pink Parlor here." She showed Laura the bathroom, which was
pretty but had old fashioned plumbing that appeared daunting.
There was a clawfoot tub rigged to work as a shower, with a
curtain around it, and a toilet with a tank of water sitting
high up on the wall. She wondered if she would be able to figure
out how to flush it.

Returning to
James' room, she said, "Are you going to shoot the grouse with
Nolly?"

"I'm no good
with a shotgun, and not very keen on shooting, but I'll probably
go out to cheer him on and take a shot or two. Do you object?"

"No. I gather
that it's a big part of the culture here and helps preserve the
moors from development. But it doesn't seem very sporting to
have the birds driven toward you by a line of beaters."

"Oh, it's
sporting all right. You have to be quite a good shot to hit
one." He moved closer to her. "I'm going to visit you tonight
after dinner."

"Are you sure?
They gave us separate rooms. Maybe they have an objection to
unmarried people sleeping together."

"Toffs? No, I've
been to country houses before, and after dark the hallways in
these places see more traffic than Victoria Station. You and I
were raised in middle-class households, so we're far more
prudish than they are. They have their codes of public conduct,
but they're not very judgmental about what people do behind
closed doors."

"Oh. Well, I
hope the walls aren't thin enough for people to hear us."

He chuckled and
put his arms around her. "I hope you won't hold back. I like the
sounds you make." And he gave a ridiculous imitation of her,
squeaking "oh, ooh, ooh," in a high voice.

"You'd better
watch out, you-- you tosser, or I'll find some pretext to switch
rooms with Nolly, and you'll be creeping into bed with him."

"Do you even
know what a tosser is?" he asked.

"No, but I heard
a young woman say it to a man who bumped into her in the street,
so I know it's something bad. Like asshole."

"Something like
that."

**

Laura dressed
for dinner in her grey skirt, a white shirt and a pink wool
cardigan. She saved the black cashmere for Saturday, which would
likely be a more formal affair in the dining room with the
grouse-shooters. They gathered in the Saloon for drinks and
Laura was introduced to Rodney Belmont-Speck, a massive,
sullen-looking fellow with a shock of dark hair. He gave Laura a
reluctant handshake and a grunt, quickly turning away to speak
to Phoebe, the petite blonde who was Nolly's date for the
weekend. Laura looked around rather self-consciously and noticed
that Nolly and James were deep in conversation with Angela. Then
his lordship, a lanky grey-haired man in his sixties with a
tweed jacket and a twinkle in his eye, came forward to meet her.

"Nolly says
you'd like to use the library," he told her. "By all means, feel
free to spend as much time there as you like."

"Did you collect
many of the books?" she asked.

"No, that was
the seventh Baron, my father. He died in 1992. He used to spend
every minute in the library, or in London looking for books.
I've never been bookish myself. I'm more interested in outdoor
pursuits. Tell me, do you have a garden?"

"Yes, as a
matter of fact, at my home in Parnell, in Pennsylvania. It's
loaded with perennials. But I'm afraid they're being sadly
neglected this year while I'm away."

"Oh, but that's
dreadful," he said, shocked. "Who will cut them back for the
winter? I fear you'll have disease next season. Now, if you
travel a great deal in the autumn, I recommend Asclepias,
Chrysanthemum, and
Heuchera
--
Coral Bells, you know. They like to be cut back in spring." Once
the Baron embarked on the subject of flowers, it seemed, he was
reluctant to stop, and she chatted easily with him about the
glories of his autumn garden until it was time to go in to
dinner.

The dinner was
served in the Red Drawing Room, an area that the family kept for
its private use, apart from the paying guests. The Baron sat at
the head of the table with Laura on his right and Rodney on his
left. Angela, the Baroness, sat at the other end of the table
with Nolly on her right and James on her left. Phoebe sat
between James and Laura. She was delicate and small-boned,
perhaps in her late twenties, with a feminine figure, natural
blonde hair and eyes the color of soft blue hydrangeas. Her
voice was high and childlike; Laura thought she sounded like
Blossom Dearie and could be a jazz singer in that style, if she
happened to have the talent.

"Do you like
music, Phoebe?" she asked as Emily began to bring dishes and set
them in the center of the table. Laura felt relieved that they
would be passing the food around themselves rather than having
it served to them by liveried footmen.

"I play the
piano a little," answered Phoebe with shy smile. "I'm learning
Pathétique and the Moonlight Sonata." Although she was no child,
her girlish voice and manner together with her small frame made
her seem very young, especially compared to Nolly. Laura
inwardly cringed at the thought of Nolly falling onto her like a
tall, heavy wardrobe. On the other hand, she thought, his
peculiar bedroom habits might be a compensation.

Nolly fixed a
fond gaze on Phoebe. "She loves Beethoven," he said. "We're
looking out for a good piano; the one she has now is rubbish.
And I found a little Continental place in Kensington with a
regular pianist who plays Brahms, Schumann-- very romantic
indeed. The food is quite passable," he added, though he sounded
less enthusiastic about this.