French Lessons (2 page)

“Oh
I can’t wait!” she squealed. “I know it’s hot Daddy, but I want a real tan!
When we go back to London, I’ll be brown as a nut!”

Tamara
smiled and nodded, though Eleanor pretended not to notice.

“Maybe
Tamara could join you tomorrow?” Harry persevered as Fabien arrived with a tray
of oysters.

“It
would be nice for the two of you to see Monte Carlo together, wouldn’t it? It’s
not for me, all that haggling and trying on jewelry!”

Tamara
laughed and tried to gauge a response from the young woman.

“Sounds
sweet, Harry. If you don’t mind us working our way through more of your money!”

“Well,
maybe...” Eleanor said quietly, not looking at either of them. “But the clothes
I like would look really very silly on an old person.”

There
was an awkward silence. Harry determined not to rise to his daughter’s cheek.
Tamara rode it out too.

“I
might be ageing, Eleanor. But I’d like to think I’m doing so in the manner of a
fine, vintage wine!” she proclaimed, and Harry chuckled.

This
was nothing but more bait for the teenage blonde.

“Whatever
you say. Fine wine! Of course! Fabien!” Eleanor called out to the steward. “Could
I have some more, please?”

Schooled
long in professionalism, Fabien moved to do as bidden. But Harry raised a flat
palm and spoke curtly.

“No
thank you, Fabien,” he said, stalling the confused man. “I’ve said only half a
glass for my daughter, and that is my last word. It seems she has drunk the
wine she was given rather too quickly.”

Fabien
withdrew. Eleanor glowered.

“Daddy
you’re such a bore! I’m on holiday!”

This
time Tamara interjected,

“Oh,
Eleanor! Come on. We’re
all
on holiday. Can’t you have fun without wine?”

“Ooh
Elean
–
awr
!”
the teenager mocked Tamara’s strong New York accent. Tamara looked down
awkwardly to her plate, saying nothing. Harry erupted in fury.

“Eleanor!
That is quite enough! How dare you cheek Tamara in that way! I am disgusted
with you. Apologise right this very second!”

Eleanor
recoiled at her father’s shouting, attracting as it did the embarrassed
attention of Fabien and the other stewards. She played with her glass and
retorted sulkily.

“I
was only having a laugh. Sorry ... “ the last word was barely a murmur.

“Really?”
her father snapped. “Well, I reckon you’ve had more than enough of a laugh for
the time being. And of everything else!” He snatched her wine glass from her. “Get
to your cabin this instant.”

“No
Daddy!” Eleanor protested, “It’s only dinner time!”

Harry
stood up. Quietly, he rested his hands on the dining table and looked his
daughter squarely in the face.

“Your
cabin now, Eleanor. Or I warn you most sincerely. I’ll get your suntan off to a
very fine start. On a certain spot, young lady! Do you hear what I say?”
 

Eleanor
blushed deeply, and fled from the table towards lower deck. Simmering
humiliation washed over her. A tan in a certain spot? Yuck! How absurd. Her
father hadn’t done –
that
– to her in over five years. As if
– at nineteen! How silly of Daddy to say such a ridiculous thing to a
woman of her age. Maddened by the scolding, Eleanor made swiftly for her cabin.
Anyway she thought, it would be fun to play about with her cosmetics on her
own. She had a brand new French nail polish she wanted to try out. There was a
whole holiday ahead to enjoy the rest of everything, and she would just avoid
them both as much as possible. Especially if Daddy were going to treat her like
a baby.

Up
on deck as the sun began set, Harry relaxed at last and took his wife’s hand.
The candles burned low, and he waved a silent no–thank–you to
Fabien when he enquired if there was anything else monsieur or madam wanted.

“Shall
we take the rest of this bottle down to the lounge, sweetie?” Harry asked,
looking lovingly into Tamara’s wide, blue eyes. She seemed worried.

“Harry,
I don’t like the fact that you’re arguing with your daughter on holiday like
this. It feels like it’s my fault. And I’m not her Mom, after all.” A tear came
to her eye.

Harry
sighed. She was such a very considerate woman.

“No,
and neither of us wants you to be. But there’s more than enough room in my life
for both of you. While she still lives under my roof, she’ll do as she’s told.
Or I’ll sort her out with a trip over my knee.”

“Would
you really do that Harry? At her age?” his wife asked tentatively. Harry was
firm.

“You
bet I would. She had some pretty unpleasant spells across my lap as a child. If
she persists in behaving like one, I’ll have no hesitation in reminding her how
naughty youngsters are treated. Believe you me.”

Tamara
smiled sweetly, regretful that her own father had not cared as much about her.
Looking up to Harry, she kissed him slowly. He sighed heavily and took her head
in his hands, stroking her thick, shiny black shoulder–length hair. In an
instant he knew he needed to make love to Tamara again immediately. Within two
days of meeting they had been to bed, and it had been the most magnificent sex
of his life. Harry had long resigned himself to the fact that he might well end
up the saddest living cliché. A lonely rich guy forced to pay for the
occasional, miserable fumble in a hotel. But like everything else in his life,
Tamara had changed all of that spectacularly. Now he grew stiff in his trousers
as he felt her soft tongue meet his, and her body grow limp in his arms.
Standing up, he took her firmly by the hand. The yacht was still busy with
activity but he just could not wait to haul her to bed. Descending to lower
deck quickly, they giggled like teenagers as they headed for their cabin with
Harry carrying the remains of the bottle of wine.

Tamara’s
excitement grew, aware that in the confines of the vessel they would have to be
careful not to be heard. It all added to the magical excitement she thought, as
Harry pushed their cabin door tight shut behind her and began to tear at her
dress. His hard, warm hands slid up the backs of her thighs. He grasped her
bottom, then caressed the small of her back as he filled her mouth with his
eager tongue and breathed noisily, needing her. Breaking free for the briefest
of seconds, Tamara held Harry’s chin in her hand.

“You
know, it’s just as well you had those oysters, Walker,” she murmured teasingly.
“You’re in for one
helluva
long night...”

CHAPTER TWO

Cosy
in her cabin, little did Eleanor know that less than twenty feet away her
father was making love to his wife, like a man half his age. At the opposite
end of the lower deck, she remained annoyed at being banished from the dinner
table like a small child. Harry’s last stern words to her now rang loudly in
her ears. And such an embarrassing choice of words – his lower class
upbringing coming out in him.
Tanning
her, indeed! Sadly for her,
Eleanor Walker knew only too well exactly what that particular experience felt
like. Punishments had been few and far between in her charmed life. But they
had been quite unforgettable.

She
sulked as she gazed out the porthole at the calm, dark navy water lulling the
yacht as though trying to rock it to sleep. The harbour lights were a mild
yellow, and scattered along the castellated streets of the town there were
windows lit by candles. The mixed sounds of laughter and clinks of glasses came
from the taverns. It wasn’t fair. She wanted to be out there too. Walking the
narrow winding streets and going for a drink by herself, atop a barstool with a
handsome man to light her cigarette on a stick. Just like they did in the
movies. Like Grace Kelly!

Sitting
at her vanity table to paint her nails, Eleanor thought about what a great
father really Harry, even if he could be very strict. She knew it would always
have been the case, supposing he hadn’t had a penny to his name. It had been
hard on them both, losing her mother so young and so brutally to a stroke.
Eleanor had only been four, but carried vague, distressing memories of her
father weeping. She recalled his colleagues rallying, a distant aunt looking
after her for three months while Harry went abroad alone ... finally throwing
himself back into his work to grieve only in private. It had taken a long time for
their home life to settle into a working routine. There was a nanny for Eleanor
while her father grew the business, working around the clock. There were strict
instructions to Nanny Thomson, and every second weekend was for father and
daughter together. They had tremendous fun and of course his money helped.
Eleanor had enjoyed exciting trips abroad, as well as theatre, skating, and
lots of fancy restaurants.

But
Harry was determined that no matter how much wealth he accrued, his daughter
would not be spoiled. When she misbehaved, he put her firmly in her place.
Harry insisted on disciplining his daughter himself, the old–fashioned
way. Eleanor had been spanked a total of three times, and she remembered each
occasion as though it were yesterday. Unlike a lot of the girls she knew who
seemed to earn a smacked bottom as a matter of daily course, Harry took
spanking a lot more seriously. He used it sparingly but extremely thoroughly.
In recent years, he had felt confident that her very occasional but painful
trips across his knee had helped turn Eleanor into a fine young adult.

Alone
in the cabin, the evening waves gently washing the sides of the motor–yacht,
Eleanor grew sleepy as she lay back on her bed and blew her polished nails to
dry. Her father’s earlier rebuke now brought the memories back clear as day.

The
first time Harry had seen fit to spank her, Eleanor was six. She had been
caught with a playmate’s toy concealed in her schoolbag. The other child had
cried, wanting it back. Harry had given his daughter one chance to come clean
and apologise, but she had lied and denied taking it. The toy was discovered
when Harry took the schoolbag from her himself. It was such a beautiful toy –
a miniature jack–in–the–box. Eleanor had only wanted to keep
it for a little while. Without further ado, Harry apologised to the child’s
mother and bid her good day. He carried his daughter yelling out to the car,
where he told his chauffeur to step outside. In the back seat of his Rolls
Royce and for the very first time in her short life, Eleanor found herself
lying face down over her Daddy’s broad lap. Before she could process what on
earth was going on, he had lifted up her pinafore and pulled her stockings and
pants down to her knees. Hating to hurt her but knowing he had to punish her
for telling lies, Harry had then given his little girl a dozen very hard
smacks. Her bare, plump little bottom tingled deep pink under the large palm of
his strong hand. Eleanor had gasped and howled, incredulous that her darling
Daddy could do such a terrible thing! They were driven home with Eleanor still
bawling, and Harry ordered Nanny Thomson to put her straight to bed. By
suppertime she was still in tears, her bottom still warm and her heart broken
in two. Harry had cuddled her in his arms and heard her say sorry, over and
over again. For weeks the young child resented that brief, horrible minute she’d
been forced to spend over her father’s knee with her bottom bare in broad
daylight. But it wore off, and Eleanor never again told a deliberate lie. Harry
Walker still had a Rolls Royce, amongst his other top of the range cars, and
Eleanor could never sit in it without thinking ruefully of that day.

In
the cabin as night fell, her polished nails were drying. She removed the velvet
bandeau from her head and rose to comb out her blonde curls with her ebony
hairbrush. That made her think, too. Some of her girlfriends had often talked
of being spanked with a hairbrush. Mothers especially, seemed to find it useful
when punishing over the knee. As Eleanor held hers in her hand, she felt
relieved she’d never felt anything so hard and heavy across her seat. That must
be very painful indeed, on the bare. Daddy had always just applied his hand.

As
she brushed her hair Eleanor recalled her second spanking. It had been
administered around two years after the first. At bath time, she had refused to
have her hair washed by Nanny. A messy tantrum had ended with the bottle of
shampoo being thrown at the woman, along with a well chosen swear word. Nanny Thomson
was greatly shaken, and tearfully ran to tell Mr. Walker, unsure of how best to
deal with this alarming matter. Harry was in no doubt whatsoever. He had
marched in to the bathroom and yanked Eleanor up from the cooling water. He
then bent her over the side of the bathtub in the crook of his arm, and applied
the rough palm of his large hand to her small, naked wet bottom. The spanking
was hard and fast. Eleanor had screamed the house down in disbelief at how very
sore it was, and how deeply ashamed she felt. Time and again her Daddy’s hand
smacked her reddening rear end until he decided she was suitably punished.
Nanny had had to comfort her for hours. By the following morning though, her
bottom still smarting and uncomfortable to sit on, Eleanor had learned another
valuable lesson. There were no more bath–time tantrums, or swear words.
Putting on her pyjamas now, she remarked on how well she had learned that sorry
lesson.

In
Eleanor’s mind, her last spanking was always associated with Hallowe’en. She recalled
every detail now as she clambered into her cabin bunk with her pop magazines.
She was fourteen when it happened, and had gone to a Hallowe’en party with
friends from school. Things had got out of hand with jive dancing to records,
and a table and gramophone were broken. The mother of the girl who had invited
everyone, telephoned around and complained to each of the girl’s parents. She
was a widow without much money, and was at the end of her tether. Even now
Eleanor felt a stab of real guilt. One by one, exasperated fathers had arrived
at the house. War weary, many had more than enough on their hands as their
children began to grow into what the world had christened “teenagers.” It was a
lively time in London. But the older generation felt these young folks had too
many distractions, and too much freedom. Harry Walker certainly felt that way.
Discipline had to be tightened in his view. In all, ten angry, disappointed
fathers arrived to take their offspring straight home. No arguments were
listened to. All were girls and as they were packed into their respective Daddy’s
cars, a group of teddy boys watched from a wall across the road, laughing and
pointing. Exchanged red–faced looks between the teenage girls revealed
the fear of what awaited them at home, further amusing the boys. While sullen,
knowing nods from father to father confirmed that each man had a short, sharp
shock in store for his little girl.

Although
Eleanor protested that the rowdy dancing and the breakages had not been ‘her
fault’, Harry insisted she ought to have known far better in someone else’s
house. The drive home seemed to take forever. Harry said not another word,
completely ignoring Eleanor’s frantic apologies and repeated reminders to her
father that she was fourteen. As soon as they arrived home she was marched into
his study, Harry nodding grimly to Nanny Thomson in passing. Sitting down on
his large leather desk chair, Harry ordered that Eleanor lie over his knee.
When she refused in indignation, he gave her one more chance and said he would
tell Nanny to fetch a hairbrush otherwise. Trapped and cringing, Eleanor had
finally obeyed her father and lain down reluctantly across his huge, hard
knees. She was mortified and infuriated. For what he himself imagined would
surely be the last time in his daughter’s life, he pulled up Eleanor’s wide
skirted party frock, with its pretty lilac net veiling, and yes ... Eleanor
shuddered at the very memory of it now.... he had briskly lowered her knickers.
She had groaned in deep shame as she felt the cold air of the room on her
backside. She told her father tearfully that she would never, ever forgive him
for this. Letting her grow accustomed to being bared, Harry had gripped her
tight and lectured her sternly. He reminded her that while she was under his
roof, she would demonstrate the good manners he had brought her up with. Or she
would suffer the consequences, at no matter what age. Eleanor was in floods of
tears of embarrassment before the punishment had even begun. Her father’s stiff
hand spanking was then doled out. Eleanor sobbed as her soft, bare bottom took
the red hot, stinging punishment she had earned through her thoughtlessness.
Harry’s scolding had continued quietly throughout the humiliating ordeal. He
had made the very measured spanking last, ensuring that her bottom ached for
days.

Eleanor
had cried like a toddler, protesting loudly about being treated like a baby and
threatening to run away. For a week she sulked and snivelled in self–pity
and shame. When eventually she had come round, Harry had warned her one final
time to think before she acted. Contritely, she had promised him to do so.
Apart from anything else, she never wished to go over that broad, hard knee
again as long as she lived.

Disciplining
his daughter the old–fashioned way seemed to have done the trick up to
now. But it saddened Harry to see the turn things had taken of late. In having
found Tamara and quickly remarrying, he had witnessed Eleanor’s insecurities
come to the fore. There were flashes of spite and a childish petulance he did
not like one bit. But if it were the last thing he did, his wife and his
daughter would get on.

As
she started to drift to sleep, the yacht cradling her cosily, Eleanor dreamt of
quite different plans for her holiday. And Tamara Kelly–Walker featured
absolutely nowhere in them.

Up
on his balcony at The Grand Hotel on the hill in Monte Carlo, Charlie
Hetherington drank in the heady night air of the Riviera. Leaning over the
thick sculpted stone wall, he studied the harbour from on high. There was no
doubt at all that the
Eleanor–Jane
ruled the waves, her broad
bobbing hulk dwarfing all the other vessels. Intrigued, Charlie wondered which
one of the lit lower cabins belonged to the cute little blonde he had spied
aboard. She really was a dream. With no girlfriend in two years, and his
tedious apprenticeship now behind him, Charlie felt a dizzying sense of
freedom.

By
morning, Eleanor had all but forgotten her father’s scolding of the evening
before. The bay looked so beautiful and the motor–yacht was proving to be
such great fun. There was even a swim platform with a long dive ladder. Eleanor
looked forward to trying out her new French bikini. She was polite when her
father asked her what she intended to do with the rest of her day.

“You
are not to go far, Eleanor. And remember. Tamara would like to spend some time
with you, please.”

“Yes
Daddy, I know. But maybe we could leave that until the weekend? I rather
thought I’d study a map, and work things out for myself. Could I please go for
a walk up to Monte Carlo and see the whole bay?”

His
daughter’s innocent enthusiasm disarmed Walker. It was a fine day, and Monte
Carlo wasn’t so far away. Perhaps they could all meet later for supper.

“OK
then, dear. But I really don’t want you going any further than the hotel. The
Grand – look, you can see the sign from here.”

Eleanor
shaded her eyes with her hand. She glanced up the hill and found her immediate
bearings. Yes, she remembered Daddy had done a major deal in that hotel last
summer. He was well–known there. They’d look after her nicely, she
thought. Eleanor planned to order a cocktail and sit in the bar by herself. How
tremendous! And there were well–known actors and musicians everywhere.
She was bound to find company far more exciting than Daddy and his trophy wife.

Walking
slowly up to The Grand Hotel, her pink kitten heels clacking on the boiling hot
pavement, Eleanor breathed in the crisp sea air and forgot all about her father
and stepmother. Just then, she spotted a group of young men in dark suits. They
were standing around a bright red sports car, smoking. There were three of
them, all very expensively attired. One in particular caught Eleanor’s eye –
the tallest. He grinned across at her, a quick glance up and down giving her
the seal of approval. Eleanor smiled sweetly back.