Before and After (6 page)

I
stood in front of Hal unbuttoning my sheer black dress. There must have been twenty or so tiny jet buttons, fashioned into acorns, down the front of the dress all anchored together with twenty tiny silk lassos. I slowly slid each jet acorn through each silk loop whilst staring at Hal as I did so. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh,
I’d make yourself comfortable if I were you. This could take some time,” I said, reaching down for the last jet acorn which was level with my navel. I slid one shoulder out of the dress, and glanced in the mirror. My left breast looked as white and vulnerable as a swan’s neck against the black material. I then shrugged the other shoulder and the dress slipped to my hips. I stepped out of it, and threw the dress over the back of an armchair.

“You
know Hal, I hope you don’t mind me doing this? But I find that furs really
have
to be tried on over naked flesh. But perhaps I’ll save your blushes by remaining semi clad? What do you think? Although I think it’s foolish to be embarrassed by the human form, don’t you?”

Hal
was beyond answering. He was staring at my breasts and my hardening nipples. I brushed my fingers gently against them.

“Erectile
tissue is very sensitive to temperature, isn’t it?” I said conversationally.

Hal’s
eyes travelled down my body taking in the black lace garter belt and the black silk stockings. I never wear knickers. Frightfully common to my mind. I kept my high heeled black shoes on – a touch
déclassé
perhaps – but I couldn’t resist.

I
slowly turned round, revealing my plump white buttocks that held a pearly dimple in each one.

“Now
then, the silver mink first, I think, don’t you?”

Hal
nodded slowly, unable to talk. He slid his hands helplessly towards his crotch and gave a faint groan.
Just
what Mr Isaacs was probably doing behind the mirror, but to probably more effect.

Fur
after fur was shrugged on and off my shoulders. Coat after coat piled up around me on the floor. I turned and posed, and turned and pouted with every new coat. I flounced and flaunted. I paraded and pranced through the pile of furs. I could see in the reflection of the mirror that a pulse was visible in my neck, throbbing and jumping. The heat of my body had brought some colour to my face and a sheen of sweat across my brow and breasts. The smell of my warm flesh inside the cold furs soon pervaded the air. It was a living animal smell, dusky and musky. I flared my nostrils in delight. Glorious. Simply glorious. I had on a long silver fox fur, and was opening it and closing the coat, admiring my reflection, when there was a strangled cry from Hal.

I’d
almost forgotten him.

He
was damp around the temples and was groaning softly to himself, almost keening.

I
smiled at him, “Yes, I agree, a very nice coat, but, do you know I’m rather drawn to the Mongolian Lamb, what do you think? And then we’ll call it a day, you must be thirsty.”

A
soft explosive sound issued from his mouth.

“I,
really, I, umm, I need to go and find the bathroom!” Hal jumped up and ran out of the room, doubled over as if in pain.

I
laughed softly and began to dress myself. I glanced at a small clock on the desk and wasn’t at all surprised to see that we had been in this soft womb like room for over two hours.
How
time flies when you’re having fun.

As
I buttoned the last jet acorn under my chin, so Mr Isaacs entered the room.

“Miss
Tate, what can I say? A pleasure as always, now then, have you settled on a coat?” he said smoothly, smiling his crafty smile at me, looking as if half a pound of Somerset’s finest butter would do no more than grow slightly soft in his cruel and sensual mouth.

I
pointed to the Mongolian Lamb, and he draped it over my shoulders.

“For
this afternoon Miss Tate you could have had the sables,” he whispered softly in my ear.

For
this afternoon I could have had a
kingdom
. But I smiled and shook my head. Mongolian Lamb, dyed an oily coal black would suit me fine.

Hal
reappeared looking, well, looking quite frankly,
relieved
.

Mr
Isaacs smiled as kindly as his normal expression would allow at him, and after shaking hands, we departed.

In
the taxi, I snuggled into the long wavy silky hair of my new coat and formally thanked Hal for shopping with me today.

“Oh,
err, umm any time –“

”Thank
you Hal, I shall bear that in mind,” I said, glancing at his still slightly dazed face.

Indeed,
it was very tempting to take Hal to quite a few fittings. I
had
enjoyed myself this afternoon. Perhaps tonight I would slip along the corridor to his room? No, the thought was premature. I would save that treat for my last night at the Ambles, and although my work there was going well it would be some weeks before that date was nigh.

Hal
was looking bright-eyed and almost feverish during the journey home and only my attention to etiquette and good general conversation – one could almost say
topicked
– kept up a semblance of normality.

As
the taxi drew up to the house, I asked Hal if he could pay the driver. He sweetly withdrew some notes from his wallet and I alighted from the cab and ran up the path. Hal followed.

The
house was in an incredible mess, far better than I’d hoped for. The whole family was reduced to squatting in the kitchen like some refugees that had recently found sanctuary in an unaccustomed home. Maria was elbow deep in the sink, plunging dirty china into creamy detergent bubbles, and Bella who had an apron tied around her podgy waist was inexpertly wielding a tea towel. Sylvia and Archie were sitting at the kitchen table, staring around as if in a cathedral they were unacquainted with. I almost expected Archie to whip out a guide book that sang the praises of the rood screen.

I
kissed everyone hello, and patted away Marmaduke who greeted me in a very flattering, yet highly embarrassing way.

“Well,
I do hope everybody had a good day?” I breezily enquired, noting that Sylvia had obviously enjoyed herself, and Bella too, but that Archie looked most disgruntled.

“Your
son, Hal,” I continued, smiling affectionately at him whilst he blushed, “has been most helpful. Most helpful indeed, a real credit to his upbringing, I should say.”

This
blandishment seemed to mollify Archie somewhat, though I noticed that he looked sharply at his son for a moment, as if to try and read just what exactly he had been helping me with. I had to remind myself that Archie possessed no psychic powers whatsoever and would be hard pushed to guess even under gun point what precisely Hal had been assisting me with all afternoon.

I
smiled to myself and turned away from the family group busying myself with a tea tray. I made a pot of tea, and a deliciously salty anchovy sandwich. As I carried the tray from the kitchen, heading up towards my room, I called over my shoulder, “No need to call me for supper. I’m going to have a much needed restorative early night.” I had time to see the momentary disappointment in all faces, save one. “I suggest that you all play the game that I left out for you, it’s a perfect time for it I think. Good night to you all.” I motioned to the cardboard box that was on the floor of the kitchen by my feet.

The
game was Monopoly, guaranteed to cause a good few family squabbles I thought contentedly as I picked my way through the builder’s materials up the stairs to what was now most definitely
my
room.

Rule Number Six

“
Einstein’s
theory
of
Relativity
should
stop
at
physics
.
In
all
other
matters
there
is
a
right
way
and
a
wrong
way
to
do
things
.
Humming
and
hahhing
over
details
is
pointless
.
I
usually
find
my
way
is
best
.
Take
for
,
example
,
the
issue
of
receiving
visitors
in
one’s
bedroom
.”

I
had a very productive yet restful evening sprawled on my bed. I snacked and read, then snacked again. A perfect occupation for an early evening. I think that there is a secret but wholesome indulgence to eating in bed, which is why perhaps it hasn’t enjoyed the publicity that other bed time recreation gets. I suppose that no-one has proved their manhood or femininity by merely eating, and as it’s a pastime that one generally does alone, word hasn’t got out about it. But it certainly is a bedtime delight. Sleeping, reading and eating. The
ménage
a
trois
of a happy life.

I
did a spot of research on the deeds that Archie Amble had. Two properties within striking distance of Woburn Abbey. The face value of these properties was small, and I couldn’t think why Archie had taken such care to keep them secret. But, and this is what makes me so superlatively good at my job, I take nothing for granted. A call in the morning to a certain surveyor would no doubt tell me all I needed to know.

At
nine thirty there was a tentative tap on my door. I could tell by the shy yet tenacious patter of the knocking that it must be Arabella. I glanced around the room, wondering what menial little task I could find for her to do that would appease her neediness. The floor was covered in sheets, the walls stripped and tins of paint were ranged around the room. The task would have to be of a personal nature. The tapping sounded again, and I bounded out of bed to open the door.

“Bella
dear, how nice! A night time visit. Just the person I was hoping to see. Do you have ten minutes spare to assist me in something?” I said, smiling down at her.

Bella
nodded violently and stared at my black and burnt orange devoré velvet dressing gown. I obligingly swirled around the room for her, letting her see the full glory of the master at work. Worth was a master craftsman and a true
gentleman
, his finest gowns remain wearable to this very day. Indeed, every time I wear this garment I feel like Alice Keppel awaiting the arrival of the portly yet frighteningly bad tempered Prince of Wales. I fancy that the material still holds the whiff of his cigars and the scented violets of her
toilette
.

“It’s
my toes!” I cried, gaily waggling my feet at her as I bounced back on the bed. “I simply must have a pedicure, and do you know, I find it unaccountably hard to reach them, it must be my age!” I laughed to show that obviously there was no truth in my last statement but that I was willing to be girlish and jolly at the same time.

Bella
blushed and sat at the edge of the bed. I handed her a nail file and a bottle of nail varnish remover.

She
handled my feet with great care. So great that I feared she may have mistaken them for the feet of a saint, treating them as some holy relic. She bowed her head over them as I reclined on the pillows, rubbing away the perfect pearly varnish with a drenched wad of cotton wool.

I
chattered to her, aware that she was expecting some night time confidence from me, or at the very least a pearl or two of wisdom.

I
remembered how she had attached herself to the painter, and guessed that she wished to confide in me her tedious puppy love. Odious though it was, I willed her to begin, so that the boredom could be the sooner swept away. It didn’t take long.

“You
know Fiachra, Flora? The painter, the Irish one, well, I made him some fruit bread today and he liked it and he’s coming back on Monday and I have this enormous spot on my face, still, it might have gone by then, mightn’t it?” she said shyly yet insistently, moving from cotton wool to emery board like a true professional.

“You
know Bella,” I said, stretching my arms luxuriously over my head, “There are two kinds of disasters in this life. Those which are reparable and those which are not. If one of the latter has befallen you, take heart in the thought that this kind is supposed to carry with it its own reward. Whilst trying to discover exactly where the reward lies, relax with this nugget of wisdom. Young Irish painters from the working class of Dublin have no aversion to the slight blemishes of a young, plump rich girl from London. There is also such a thing that you will find in the bottom of my wash bag in a small pink tube. Rub gently on the spot for two nights running and it will have disappeared like the itinerate farm worker who discovers his girlfriend is pregnant.” I gave a jaw-breaking yawn, and smiled at Bella.

She
smiled uncertainly back. I handed her the nail varnish, a particularly luscious shade of pomegranate, and she dutifully started to apply the first coat. I glanced down with justified pride at my feet. I have
perfect
feet. Long, elegant and with a cruelly high instep. I could have been a ballerina. Each toenail was immaculate. I flexed my toes and gave a groan of contentment. No hardening skin, no ridged nails, no hint of a corn or callous. Simply wonderful. I take
great
satisfaction in a nicely turned ankle. Legs by Waring and Gillows.

I
was instructing Bella in the art of a foot massage when there was another knock on the door. This time it was loud and peremptory. It had to be Archie.

Bella
paused in her work, cupping my heel in the palm of her oil saturated hand and looked up at the door. I let the pause grow just slightly longer than was necessary before I called to come in.

Archie
gazed at the sight of his daughter acting out the unlikely role as my handmaiden and seemed to be robbed of the power of speech.

“Archie,
how nice,” I said warmly, “Bella is giving me a foot massage,
so
helpful just before retiring I always think, and the delicious smell that you can no doubt detect is lavender oil. Cleansing
and
relaxing. Now tell me, did you play Monopoly? And who won?”

I
re-arranged myself slightly on the heaped pillows so that my breasts were slightly exposed and then motioned with my hand for Archie to join us on the bed.

He
looked horrified, but moved a step inside the room and then halted himself.

“Hal.
He won,” Archie said gruffly.

“Oh
how lovely,” I cried, “Did he have Mayfair and Park Lane? Although expensive and highly over-rated I always think.” I lowered my voice slightly and added, “And I do hope you didn’t get sent to jail Archie? I should think you’d hate that.”

“Oh
no,” Bella said, smoothing my foot with her slippery hands, “Pa collected all the utility things, you know, like the water and electricity stations, and then of course he built hotels.”

“Did
he?” I asked, smiling at Archie. “Did he really?”

Archie
stood as if rooted to the spot.

“Anyway
Archie, was there something you needed or did you just come to say goodnight to your daughter? Of course, if you wanted to try your hand at foot massage I do have a spare foot,” I said, waggling my toes at him.

“Oh
go on Pa, do! Flora has simply lovely feet! She told me that she could have been a bal-“

Archie
turned on his heels and headed towards the door calling out a terse goodnight. The door snapped shut behind him.

“Good
night! Sleep well!” I carolled back.

“Night
Pa,” Bella said, not lifting her head from my feet.

The
next knock on the door came within seconds. There were no prizes to be won guessing who was behind the rather feeble tapping.

“Do
come in Sylvia,” I called, giving my other foot for Bella to massage.

Sylvia
smiled apologetically and stepped inside. She came no further into the room than her husband I noticed. She stood in exactly the same spot on the floor.

“Foot
massage,” I said, “Do come and try it, I’m sure Bella would be happy to do it for you.”

I
felt Bella’s relaxed hands pause over my left foot, and then continue as her mother declined the offer.

“No?”
I said, “Well, in that case, may I ask the most tremendous favour of you?

Sylvia
nodded, looking uncertain yet undeniably
willing
.

“Well,
in that case, would you be an absolute darling and brush my hair for me? It simply must have an arm breaking hundred strokes a night. My hairbrush is there, yes, on the bathroom shelf. Delightful, isn’t it? It was grandmama’s. I think silver and ivory a lovely combination, although I’ve had to have it re-bristled several times of course.”

I
patted the bed invitingly, and unpinned my hair for Sylvia. As I did so, I shooed Bella away thanking her and wishing her a pleasant night’s sleep. She went reluctantly, after imploring her mother to write a note excusing her from games on Monday afternoon. No doubt in her mind she was already kissing Fiachra under one of the many dust sheets dotted around the house.

Sylvia
kissed her daughter good night, but couldn’t take her eyes off my hair. The more I un-pinned the more alive it became. Soon, the full glory of it lay coiled like a living flame on the pillows. It had the bright yellow whiteness that you see sparking from welders, or of fireworks exploding into the night sky, it was that bright. Sylvia gently gathered it in her hands and, on impulse, buried her face in it, inhaling deeply.

“Oh
my goodness! Sorry! I don’t know what came over me, really I don’t!”

I
wasn’t at all surprised. Primates do it all the time.

“It’s
quite all right, you’ve been wanting to do that for some time, haven’t you?” I said softly, watching a blush sweep over her face and neck.

Sylvia
made no answer but started to brush the fiery strands and tendrils of my hair with gentle rhythmic strokes.

It
was
trés
relaxing.

I
imagined my hair as Sylvia must be seeing and feeling it. Soft, silky and definitely alive under her hands. Diamond clear and sparky. Every follicle clean and glowing with an almost
unnatural
health.

“Divine,”
I purred at her, “But perhaps just a
little
harder?”

Sylvia
adjusted the firmness of her strokes, and I slipped my hands under the lapels of my dressing gown, opening them to allow some cool night air to circulate on my flesh.

“Unaccountably
warm for the time of year, isn’t it?” I said, lowering my head to look at Sylvia with a Princess Di flirt.

Sylvia’s
hands faltered slightly in their task, and her breathing became something out of her control.

Oh
good.

I
moved slightly on the bed, turning my body so that my weight was on one hip. It allowed Sylvia to reach the back of my hair, and she was leaning forward to do so, when the knock on the door that I had been waiting for came. The firmness of it didn’t surprise me at all. Testosterone is a hormone that makes aggressors of us all.

“Do
come in Hal,” I said, watching Sylvia drag herself away from me.

She
found it hard to look at her son, who was lounging in the doorway looking as surprised as if he’d just walked into an igloo and found us all skinning a seal or playing dice with a polar bear.

“Yes?”
I said helpfully, smiling brightly at him.

“I
was just passing and I, well, I umm, wanted to say good night,” Hal mumbled.

“Good
night Hal, sleep well,” I called from the bed, noting with great internal amusement that he too had only approached me as far as Archie had. Perhaps there was an Amble floorboard that none of them could pass?