House Rules (16 page)

He lay still as the sound of her footsteps faded and died away. The aroma of her perfume and the smell of her musk clung to his body. The air was cool on the damp patches, reminding him of the heat of her as she lay on top of him and rode him so relentlessly. He felt regret that it was over, but nothing was for ever. And he knew that there would be other times. But for now, he could only lie and wait for the next development. It was hours before Margaret relented and sent Marie to untie him.

Richard did not see Margaret again for several days. He wondered if she was avoiding him, not willing to face him after their shared intimacy. He thought that would be a pity, but at the same time he realised that a complete relaxation of her aloofness would remove some of the mystery, and a good deal of the authority, which made the exercise of discipline so exciting to him. Of course, it was also possible that she was busy with her consultancy, meeting her mysterious clients and helping them to handle their affairs. And earning the considerable sums which made it possible for her to operate the training establishment of which he was a part.

But Margaret out of sight was not necessarily Margaret out of mind. Three days after their encounter, several packages arrived for him. Going to his room after lunch, he found them on his bed. Inside he found more dresses, of the type more suitable for public wear. From that he inferred that the time for his first errand in Margaret’s courier service (which he had privately dubbed cash-and-carry) was drawing near. Margaret, he guessed, thought him ready to appear in public. Hence the new wardrobe. He was much less sure of that himself, but at the same time he knew that he would have to face it at some time.

The second package contained more underwear for him: slips, tights and corselets similar to those chosen for him by Ingrid from her shop in Soltau. There was also a note from her. She said that she was keeping busy but thinking of him fondly. She would, she said, be on the lookout for a way to have him visit her again soon. Her note said nothing of Helena, which was a relief. Helena had said that Ingrid didn’t mind sharing him with her stepdaughter, but it was a relief to have confirmation from Ingrid herself. Jealousy could lead to unwanted complications.

Ingrid told him to examine the alterations she had made to the tights and corselets on Margaret’s instructions. ‘The purpose of the alterations to the crotch area will become clear when Margaret returns,’ Ingrid had written. Richard didn’t know if Ingrid was genuinely ignorant or simply being mystifying. He looked at the corselets and saw that a small hole had been made in the gusset, the edges neatly stitched. He saw the hand of Ingrid the dressmaker in the work. The gussets of the tights had been similarly pierced, the holes here being surrounded by small patches of thin leather, glued to both sides of the material with fabric glue. The holes in both garments had been made to coincide with one another, but Richard had no idea what Margaret might have had in mind when she ordered these alterations. It was typical of her, though, to keep him wondering what she might do next.

Richard laid aside the altered garments and opened the third package. It contained several pairs of shoes in various styles, their only common features being the stiletto heels and the ankle straps. Richard guessed that the former were to keep him on his toes, while the latter were intended to keep him in the shoes in case he stumbled.

Ingrid’s note continued, ‘Margaret has given me the impression that she will be bringing you to the shop soon, for further instruction, I presume. I am looking forward to that. I have in mind some further instruction she might not have thought of. Hope to see you soon.’ It was signed, ‘Love and kisses, Ingrid.’ The closing sounded almost girlish. Richard wondered if Ingrid was beginning to trust his repeated assertions that age didn’t matter to him. ‘P.S.,’ she had written, ‘I know you can’t reply to this – house rules. But think of me until we meet.’

Yes. He would. In the meantime, he would put the new wardrobe away and wait to see what plans Margaret had made for him. He wondered, too, if she would be jealous or angry if she learnt of his liaisons with Ingrid and Helena. Best to keep silent, he concluded.

There was also the matter of helping Helena get free of Margaret’s hold over her. It might be more difficult to keep that promise now, after what he and Margaret had shared, but he had made a promise to help find the evidence Margaret had hidden somewhere in the house. What better time than now, when he was least likely to be caught by the keeper of all the secrets? Helena would then be free to go her own way, back to England with him. He had imagined taking her back to the lonely old house where he had lived for so many years. So – to work, to make it all happen.

Since Marie had revealed the location of the safe, Richard had checked the information. The loose stones he had spotted in the dining-room hearth had, on closer examination, confirmed it. The mortar was not so even as it was around the other stones. If Margaret hadn’t almost caught him trying to examine the stones the first time, he might have found what he was seeking then. He would take the opportunity afforded by her absence to complete the task now. He only had to think of a way to separate the cook and the keys.

Originally he had planned to slip a drug into her brandy one evening so that she would sleep while he searched. But there had been several problems with that plan. For one thing, he had no access to anything resembling a sleeping draught. Maybe in time Ingrid could help with that, but even then he had no experience of drugging anyone. In movies and novels it was always easy, a matter of slipping something into the victim’s drink and waiting for it to take effect. Afterwards, they always recovered without any ill effects. But he was no doctor. How much should he use to ensure results without administering a lethal dose?

In the end, the solution had come to him in a sudden flash. While cleaning the dining room, he had seen several bottles of brandy and vodka in the drinks cabinet, along with practically every other kind of drink anyone could want. Margaret must have been keeping it all to entertain clients. Richard simply chose two half-empty bottles, one of brandy and one of vodka. Mixing the vodka with the brandy had nearly doubled the alcohol content of the latter. He need only make sure the cook got the right bottle at the right time. She might wake up with an awful headache in the morning, but people seldom died of hangovers, even if they thought they would.

He took the bottle to the kitchen and substituted it for the cook’s brandy bottle, which he knew was kept in a cupboard over the refrigerator. He had nothing against the cook, an attractive woman of about thirty whose only fault, from Richard’s viewpoint, was an overzealous attention to her responsibilities as Margaret’s deputy warder. This evening, he decided, would be a good time. It was necessary that he avoid being locked into his room. Joining the cook for a drink or two would solve that problem, so long as he managed to get the cook drunk while remaining sober himself.

While substituting brandy bottles, Richard took the opportunity to locate a lump of beeswax which was kept in the kitchen among the cleaning materials. The wax was used to give a soft, polished effect to the furniture that Margaret liked. He had used it himself in his domestic chores. Now it would serve a different purpose.

That evening, Richard volunteered to do the washing-up and to help tidy the kitchen for the evening. Ludmilla, the cook and housekeeper, was glad of the help. It was only a short step to suggesting that they share a drink when they were done. Luck is with me, Richard thought, as they sat down and Ludmilla poured from the doctored bottle of brandy. He hoped that she would not notice the difference, and that he could keep from drinking too much. Accordingly he sipped his drink, while Ludmilla drank more normally.

Richard asked her about her family and background. It was one way to keep her from noticing that he wasn’t keeping up with the drinking. It turned out that she was the daughter of an East German woman and a Russian army major who had insisted on naming her after his mother. He was posted back to Moscow and wasn’t allowed to take them back with him. The Red Army, Ludmilla said, could be as prudish as any other bureaucracy when it chose to be. So she and her mother had been left alone in Leipzig. Her father had sent money and helped to educate her and support her mother, but that had stopped when he was posted to Afghanistan and was subsequently listed as missing in action. His last letter had contained a large sum of money, almost, Ludmilla said, as if he knew he would not come back. In the same letter he had given them the name of someone in West Germany who could help them escape if they wished.

Her mother had elected to stay, but had contacted the person named in the letter about getting her daughter out. The contact had been Margaret Wagner, and she had got the young Ludmilla across the Berlin Wall and had taken her into her own service. But, she added, it was a bit ironic that it was only a few years later that the Berlin Wall had been converted into rubble.

‘If I had waited,’ Ludmilla said, ‘I could have simply walked over to the West.’ Nevertheless, she was grateful to Margaret for the risks she had taken, and loyal to her.

Richard watched as Ludmilla drank the doctored brandy, sipping carefully but nevertheless feeling the first effects himself. Ludmilla’s eyes became heavier by the minute, and presently she said she would have to go to bed. She didn’t know what had got into her, she said: she was not usually this sleepy at this time of the evening. When she got up, she almost fell. Richard caught her and helped her to stand, and then to walk along the corridor to her room, finding the going difficult in the high-heeled shoes and with the effects of what he had drunk.

Ludmilla became more and more of a weight, until in the end Richard was nearly carrying her. He got her to her room and on to her bed, removing her shoes and loosening her clothes as she passed out. The key he sought was, he remembered, on a chain around her neck. He carefully slipped it off and left the room, the gentle snores of the sleeping woman a reassurance that she was
hors de combat
.

Richard walked openly to the dining room, knowing that he stood a better chance that way than if he was seen behaving suspiciously. At the same time, he wished his high-heeled shoes didn’t make such a clatter on the stone floor. But he was not seen. He closed the door before turning on any lights. He felt naked and exposed with the lights on, but he needed to see what he was doing. The whipping frame reminded him of the penalty for being caught.

He went straight to the fireplace and located the loose stone he had noticed before. But he couldn’t get it out of its place. Obviously some sort of tool was needed. The only thing to hand was a knife from the sideboard. It was made of silver, quite soft, and it bent as he levered the stone out. He laid the stone on the hearth and stopped to straighten out the knife as best he could before replacing it in the sideboard, hoping no one would notice the damage. Then he peered into the hole left by the stone. The safe was there. It required only a moment to fit the key into the lock. The lock was stiff and heavy, but it turned.

Inside the safe was a bundle of papers and several small boxes. Richard took the papers first. Spreading them on the table, he saw that they were mainly records of cash transfers and deliveries, made on behalf of several dozen clients. The amounts were staggering. He wondered what commission Margaret took. These records easily explained her affluence and her commanding manner.

Among the papers was a smaller envelope with the marks of the German State Prosecutor’s office on it. This turned out to be the evidence against Helena. He had found what he wanted, but how to get it out of the house and into her hands was not so obvious. A sound outside the house startled him. It sounded as if someone were knocking on the French windows that led to the patio. He froze, listening. The sound came again, now softer, now louder. Branches knocking against the glass, he thought, still not believing it.

But when no challenge came, he breathed again and began to think. The papers would have to stay here until he could get them out of the house. He had no idea when that might be. But at least he knew where to look when the chance came. The key would have to go back to the cook, but he used the beeswax from the kitchen to make a clear impression of it.

The making of the impression reminded him of his promise to find the keys to Heidi’s chastity belt. The odds were that they were also in the safe. He removed the boxes one by one, opening them in turn to reveal bundles of currency: Swiss francs, Austrian schillings, Deutschmarks, US dollars, British pounds, and others he could not identify. There was a lot of cash lying there. He itched to take some of it, but that would be a mistake. The last box contained several keys, which must be the ones he sought. Hurriedly he made wax impressions of them before replacing everything as he had found it. With a sigh of relief, he closed the door and locked it. The stone went back into place, and he dusted away the traces of his burglary as best he could.

Heidi was standing just outside the door as he opened it to make his escape. Richard was so startled he almost dropped the wax impression he was carrying. He had not seen her since they were caught in the act several days ago. She took his arm and led him back towards the kitchen, where the bottle of brandy and the glasses still stood on the table.

Indicating them, Heidi asked, ‘Did you find the safe and take the keys?’

Richard wanted to caution her to speak softly, but there seemed to be no one else about this evening. The big house was quiet. He replied, ‘Not exactly. I got a wax impression of them.’ He held it up for her to see. ‘Do you know anyone who could make keys from this?’

Heidi said, ‘No, but why don’t you ask Ingrid? She knows nearly everyone in the village, and she will do almost anything for you.’

Was there a touch of jealousy there? It was hardly warranted, Richard thought. He would have liked to release Heidi there and then, but there was no way to explain the absence of the keys. He explained that their lovemaking would have to wait until he could get his own set of keys. Heidi was not pleased, but she nodded as she saw the sense in this course of action.