Stephanie's Castle (13 page)

But as he
spoke he made one last despairing and, for him, disastrous effort,
leaping forward with all his energy. Unfortunately the toes of one
foot caught in the trailing edge of the bedspread which was fringed
with an open-worked crochet that effectively netted his toes. The
force of his leap carried him forward, for a split second suspended
in midair a foot in front of Stephanie's startled face before his
entrapped foot and gravity brought him crashing down to the floor,
flat out on his stomach. As if this wasn't bad enough, in the
various manoeuvres around the bedroom one of his shoes must have
been kicked from where he had taken it off at the side of the bed
to a position where now, as he fell, it was turned up and lying
directly under his genitals. As he crashed to the floor his balls
made contact with the rather large heel of the shoe. He screamed in
agony, doubling up on the floor.

Stephanie
tried not to laugh as he lay on the floor, every movement bringing
another wave of pain. As he got his breath back the pain from his
balls seemed to increase. There was pain from his toes too; he had
broken at least one. And he'd fallen on his hand and now his wrist
felt swollen.

Once Stephanie
had managed to control her desire to laugh, she pulled on a robe
and tried to help Gianni to his feet. He was not going to be a
threat now, that was certain. The effort of getting up seemed to
bring on more pain and he moaned in agony once again. He showed
absolutely no interest in Stephanie and merely shook his head when
she asked if he needed a doctor. Still naked and looking extremely
sorry for himself, he limped out of the bedroom. He had tried to
put on some of his clothes, but had discovered his swollen balls
were too tender to tolerate being crammed into the tiny black
briefs the sales assistant in Rome had assured him were the latest
fashion.

Watching him
struggle to unlock the bedroom door and then limp from the room,
clothes slung over his arm, Stephanie only just managed not to
laugh. But as the bedroom door closed, the effort proved too much
for her and she collapsed on to the bed, rolling from side to side,
tears of laughter streaming down her face. She recovered
temporarily, enough to get to her feet, but the sight of Gianni's
hapless shoe, still lying up-turned on the carpet, brought on
another bout of helpless mirth.

The sun was
well down on the horizon and the cool provided by the lengthening
shadows was welcome.

Stephanie,
wearing the practical cotton dress she had travelled in, had been
shown through a series of rooms, corridors and stairways to the
other side of the castle, the side farthest from the lake. Now,
from the top of a stone staircase, she surveyed the scene. Here
stretching out for many miles she could see farmland, neat orchards
- cherry and peach trees, she thought, certainly apple and pear -
all impeccably kept. Nearer to the castle was about an acre of
kitchen garden surrounded by an ageing red-brick wall. Inside the
wall there were sheds and greenhouses as well as neatly arranged
plant beds. She could see several men and women carrying out
various gardening jobs, most on the north side of the compound
where a small vineyard had been planted.

Dismissing the
servants who had shown her through the maze of corridors, Stephanie
walked down the steps, enjoying the cool breeze that blew lightly
into her face. The air was heavily scented here too, this time from
the climbing roses that had been used to decorate much of the wall
of the garden. A tall wrought-iron gate surmounted by a brick arch
led through the wall into the garden itself. Stephanie was in no
particular hurry and wandered happily among the immaculately
cultivated vegetables, the soft fruit bushes, the long rows of
salad plants and the beds of flowers obviously intended to provide
a constant supply of cut blooms for the castle. The rows were laid
out with military precision, completely free of weeds, the result,
she thought, of hundreds of hours of backbreaking manual
labour.

She noticed a
large modern greenhouse devoted to nothing but orchids and
remembered the beautiful orchids Venetia had delivered to her with
Devlin's compliments that night in London. So Devlin had grown them
himself.

As she passed
one or two of the labourers she thought she recognised a face or
two from the cellars, but they kept their heads bowed and did not
look up at her. They were all fully dressed in working clothes,
which made them even less familiar. Among the neatly planted rows
there were two or three figures dressed entirely in black. As they
did little work themselves but wandered up and down watching the
labourers, Stephanie imagined these were some sort of supervisors.
She'd half expected them to be carrying whips.

It took
Stephanie some minutes before she found the girl she was looking
for. She was working on the vines pruning each vine back to the
root. It was hard work and the girl was sweating profusely. As she
approached her one of the supervisors, who had been watching her
progress through the garden from the moment she had stepped through
the gate, hurried forward.

'Can I help
you?' he said. His English, though spoken with a strong Italian
accent, was perfect, but his voice was high-pitched and reedy.
Though he was clearly not mute, Stephanie couldn't help wondering
if he had been a victim of the same 'accident' that had befallen
Bruno.

'I need this
girl in the castle.' The blonde looked around to see if Stephanie
was referring to her. 'You are English, aren't you?' she asked
directly

'Yes.'

'Yes,
madam
,'
the supervisor corrected. The girl said nothing.

'Come with me,
then,' Stephanie said.

For a second
the supervisor looked as though he were going to intervene. Then he
obviously thought better of it and stepped aside. Perhaps Devlin
allowed other women the run of the castle, as he had Stephanie, and
he was used to receiving orders from strangers; or perhaps it was
just Stephanie's growing purposefulness and air of authority.
What's more, she found she was continuing to enjoy this
unaccustomed role that circumstances and Devlin had cast her
in.

The girl
pulled off her thick gardening gloves and dropped them with the
pruning knife at the supervisor's feet. She knew that because of
Stephanie's presence he would not tell her to pick them up. But
Stephanie was not going to allow her to get away with open
defiance.

'They don't
belong there, do they?' Stephanie said firmly.

Once again the
girl said nothing.

'Do they?'

'No,' she
replied sullenly.

'Then put them
back where they belong and meet me by the gate.'

The supervisor
looked pleased and the girl dejected as she stooped to pick up the
gloves and knife.

Stephanie
walked slowly over to the gate, watching the tall blonde return the
things to a shed and then walk towards her. Her whole posture was
defiant, as it had been in the cellars this morning. There was no
question, too, that this woman was very beautiful. Even in the
rough working clothes her natural grace and poise was obvious. She
took off her scarf and shook her head to release her long blonde
hair. She was not only beautiful; she was clearly very aware of
it.

'So what's
this all about, then?' she asked as she reached the gate. Her
accent had a distinct Cockney twang to it and one she made no
attempt to hide.

'Don't talk to
me like that.'

'Why? Who do
you think you are? Devlin's the boss here. You're just his tart for
the day aren't you?'

'You could say
that. It doesn't mean I can't get Bruno down here. Would you prefer
it if I got him to bring you in?'

'No.' The
mention of Bruno seemed to be effective.

'Good. Then
you better follow me.'

Stephanie
walked back into the castle, the blonde following morosely but
without further comment. Clearly Stephanie was going to have to
think of something to get her to cooperate over dinner. If she
remained as sulky and ill-tempered as she was now, Gianni was going
to be about as turned on as a man standing out in a snowstorm.
There was no question of her beauty. If she could only find a way
to make her more pliant, Gianni would surely be as excited by her
as he was by Stephanie. Then she remembered what Devlin had said
about trying to make the punishment fit the crime. She could always
promise to reduce the girl's 'sentence' at the castle. As Devlin
was so desperate to please Gianni, she was sure he would not raise
any objections.

When they
finally got back to Stephanie's room after the long journey through
the seemingly endless corridors of the castle, Stephanie poured the
champagne she had ordered before she left into two glasses that
stood by the wine cooler. She offered one to the girl.

'Can I shower
first? I'm filthy.'

'Good idea.
The bathroom's over there.'

The girl
disappeared into the bathroom but did not close the door after her.
Stephanie heard the sound of the shower. She sipped at her
champagne then walked into the bathroom. The blonde was standing
with her face under the stream of water. As she saw Stephanie she
turned around to face her, as if to show off her naked body -
almost, again, as an act of defiance. Water ran down over her
breasts, into her thick blonde pubic hair, then over her long
thighs. Her body was as perfect as her face. Her breasts were not
large but they were firm and round with dark puckered nipples. Her
thighs were muscled, long and shapely with no excess fat, and then
curved in at her crotch so that now, even as she stood with her
legs together, there was a clear channel between them. Her buttocks
were a natural extension of her long legs, not large and fleshy,
but taut and pert, arching out in a sharp curve from the small of
her back.

Stephanie
realised she was not looking objectively at this body. Her pulse
had quickened with the excitement of desire. She thought of
Venetia. She thought of her experience with Dolly.

'What's your name?' The girl was wearing a name tag that
read
Linda
.

'We are not
allowed...'

'What you're
not allowed to do doesn't seem to bother you much so far.'

'Colette.'

'And I'm
Stephanie.'

Colette
stepped out of the shower and turned off the water. She seemed
completely unembarrassed by her nakedness. Or was it something
else? Was she using her nakedness to try to provoke a reaction in
Stephanie? A sexual reaction? Towelling herself dry, Colette sat on
the loo. Stephanie heard her pee.

'Come out on
the terrace when you've finished,' she said.

Stephanie
carried the champagne glasses out on to the terrace. The air was
pleasantly cool in the lengthening shade and the view of the lake
as the sun hung low in the sky was, yet again, miraculous. Gianni
had undoubtedly cast a shadow over the weekend but Stephanie was
determined not to let him spoil everything. If she could persuade
Colette to cooperate she could relieve Devlin's obvious
preoccupation with making Gianni happy. Devlin, for whatever
reason, was more worried than he was saying, of that Stephanie was
certain, and his anxiety centred on Gianni. Whatever the contract
Gianni was here to sign, it was clearly terribly important to
Devlin.

Colette
stepped out on to the terrace, a short towel wrapped around her
breasts, covering her down to the top of her thighs and leaving her
long legs exposed. Stephanie glimpsed the thick mat of pubic hair,
now dry and fluffy. Colette came over to the table and picked up
her glass of champagne, drinking it thirstily. She put out her hand
and stroked the side of Stephanie's black hair.

'If you want
to fuck me it's not a problem, darling,' she said, looking straight
into Stephanie's eyes. 'You only have to say the word.'

The excitement
Stephanie had felt in the bathroom returned. She would have loved
to take this magnificent creature to her bed and lose herself in
her body as she had done with Venetia's back in London. But, she
quickly reminded herself, at the moment there were other
priorities.

'Sit
down.'

'Is that an
order, madam?' Colette said mockingly, sitting down nevertheless.
Stephanie sat beside her at the table.

'How long have
you been here?'

'Two
weeks.'

'What did you
do?'

'You know
that, don't you?'

'You worked
for Devlin?'

'Indirectly. I
worked for one of the companies he owns.'

'Doing
what?'

'Import-export.'

'And you got
caught with your hand in the till?'

'Yes.'

'Tell me more.
I'm interested.'

Colette told
her story in level unemotional tones, seemingly showing no remorse
for her act but only regret at having been caught. Several of the
customers of the import side of the business in England had wanted
preferential treatment on a particular line of goods that were
selling like hot cakes and were in short supply. Colette diverted
the goods that did reach England to these customers, who were able
to make a handsome profit by selling them off at higher prices,
instead of sharing them equally to all. In return she received a
large kickback. Unfortunately, the other customers of the company
were very unhappy at what was going on. Some of them had been
supplied by Devlin's firm for many years and could not understand
why they were being treated so badly. It did not take long for
their complaints to prompt an investigation by an expert in company
security who easily discovered Colette's involvement.

'I was told to
report to an office in Mayfair,' Colette continued, taking another
sip of champagne. 'I had no idea why. I had no idea who Devlin was.
He told me that I had been caught defrauding the company. He showed
me the proof. They had it all - invoices, my bank statements,
everything. He said it was a very serious offence and they would
press for the maximum sentence, which was seven years.'