House Rules (8 page)

Ingrid smiled at the idea. ‘I only meant that I have to go through into the shop and fetch some things for you. Will you be good?’

Richard nodded, and Ingrid disappeared into the front of the shop. She came back after a few moments holding a plastic bag with the legend
Bergers Herrenmode
on it. She handed it to Richard without comment. He reached into the bag and came out with a pair of trousers, a shirt, underwear and socks. There were shoes in a separate box.

He looked questioningly at Ingrid. ‘Won’t Margaret be displeased?’

‘She would if she knew, but we are not going to tell her, are we?’ Ingrid replied with a conspiratorial wink. ‘Go on, get dressed. We have several things to do before closing time. If anyone comes into the shop you will be my nephew, visiting me from Berlin. You
do
speak German, do you not?’

‘
Ich habe meine Deutsch auf der Universität gut gelernt
,’ Richard replied.

‘Your accent is awful,’ Ingrid said, laughing. ‘Try not to talk if you can avoid it.’ She motioned for him to precede her into the shop. ‘Margaret wants me to dress you as a woman, so we need to spend some time picking a wardrobe for you. I think you would be about a size sixteen,’ she said, as she showed him a rack of dresses in that size. ‘You need to pick out at least three dresses, plus the same number of skirts and blouses. I will help you with the lingerie and accessories afterwards.’ She pushed Richard towards the dresses.

Now that the moment had come he felt both excited and embarrassed. He remembered one or two occasions when, as a boy, he had dressed in his mother’s clothes. Even then he had known instinctively to keep it secret. Now he was being made to do the same thing in public. He felt himself flush hotly.

Ingrid noticed. ‘Do not feel embarrassed. I have done the same thing many times for the men who pass through Margaret’s establishment. I am here to help you follow her wishes, not to laugh at you, or to judge you. Margaret is a forceful woman. She is accustomed to getting whatever she wants. And just now she wants you.’

Richard began diffidently to sort through the clothing. Ingrid moved away to allow him to make his choices in private. He chose three dresses he imagined would look good on Helena, and then turned his attention to the skirts and blouses, using the same principle of selection. When he was done he started to call Ingrid. But at that moment the shop door opened to admit two ladies of about Ingrid’s own age. She turned to serve them, while Richard tried to appear inconspicuous. The two women seemed to take for ever to make their selections, and Richard wondered why he had been able to choose in such a short time. Perhaps there was some fundamental and unfathomable difference between the shopping habits of men and women.

When the two women left, Ingrid came back to inspect Richard’s choices. ‘I see you have chosen the modern equivalent of Dior’s “little black dress”. That was wise. The other two, not so wise.’

‘What’s wrong with red and green?’ Richard wanted to know.

‘As colours, nothing,’ Ingrid replied, ‘but for someone who is trying to masquerade as a woman they shout for attention – attention which you should avoid until you have had more practice in acting the part. You would stand out like a peacock on a lawn.’ She put back the two bright dresses and chose a pale beige and a pale blue one in their place. ‘Protective coloration,’ she told him. ‘Now try to make similar selections from among the separates. And look for long sleeves and high necklines, unless you want to shave your chest and arms.’ Ingrid left him alone again, moving about the shop and hanging up again the things her customers had tried and rejected.

Eventually the selections were made and approved. They moved on to the underwear section. Here Richard had to confess he was at a complete loss. ‘You choose,’ he asked Ingrid, and watched with a growing sense of excitement as she chose three panty corselets, three slips and several pairs of dark tights for him.

‘Why these?’ he asked, pointing at the corselets.

‘Because you need something firm underneath to prevent your pretty cock from bulging too conspicuously and giving the game away. Not many women can manage an erection. Now, take all this through into the back and go upstairs. I’ll come as soon as I close the shop for the evening. And if you really want to make me happy, make some coffee and something to eat for us both.’ Obediently Richard went up into Ingrid’s living quarters with the clothing. He set it all down on the sofa in her front room, which looked out over the street. For a while he watched the people coming and going about their business. He heard the shop door open once or twice more, and the muffled sound of voices from the ground floor. But eventually he became bored and began to explore the apartment. He found where Ingrid kept the broom and the vacuum cleaner, and, just as he had done in Helena’s apartment, he set about tidying up.

He decided to leave the kitchen for last, and turned into her bedroom. There he saw her ‘facilities’, as Margaret called them. There was a ring set into the floor with a chain and padlock, just as there was in his room back at the country house. But the chain was considerably shorter. He saw that anyone fastened there would be unable to reach the bed, and he wondered if he was going to spend the night on the floor.

There were only a few of Ingrid’s things lying about. She was apparently a much neater housekeeper than Helena. As he began to put the underwear into the proper drawers on the bureau, he noticed a framed photograph of Ingrid and Helena. It looked recent, and he picked it up to examine it more closely. On the back was written, ‘Kiel. Summer holidays.’ The date was two years ago. He set the photograph down thoughtfully and continued clearing up. How did Helena and Ingrid come to know one another?

Back in the front room, he listened to the voices from downstairs, and decided he could take the risk he knew he was going to take anyway. He opened Ingrid’s writing desk and began to search for more photos. In the middle drawer, placed casually, not hidden, he came across a thick and well-thumbed photo album. He opened it and found more photos of Helena. They ranged in age from toddler stage through to the present. In some of them she was alone. In others Ingrid and a strange man smiled out of the picture with her. In still others Helena and Ingrid were together.

The obvious conclusion was that the two women were mother and daughter, or at least aunt and niece. Richard thought he heard a step on the stairs, and he hurriedly put the album back in the desk and closed the drawer. But no one came, and with a huge sense of relief he stood up and went into the kitchen to prepare something for the two of them. While the coffee percolated, he tidied away the few dishes and cups on the draining board. He had made a platter of sandwiches by the time Ingrid finally did come up the stairs. She found him sitting in an armchair in the front room with the food ready on the coffee table.

Ingrid looked with surprised pleasure at the room and the food, ‘I think I will have to keep you permanently. Thank you for tidying up.’

Richard motioned for her to sit down and eat. She kicked her shoes off and curled her legs – quite nice legs, he saw again – under herself on the sofa. Women seemed to feel comfortable in that position. He knew of no men who could even get their legs into it.

They ate in companionable silence. Richard judged the time was not right to ask Ingrid about Helena – not least because it would reveal he had been snooping.

At last Ingrid set down her cup and said, ‘Another sandwich and I’ll begin to get middle-aged spread. They were very good. But now, if you are finished, it’s time to begin on you.’ She stood and led the way into the bathroom. There she ran water into the tub, added bubble-bath salts and filled it about halfway. ‘Take your clothes off and see if the water temperature is comfortable,’ she directed.

Richard got undressed and stepped into the tub. The water came up over his ankles and was pleasantly warm. He smelt the faint perfume from the bubble bath.

Ingrid motioned for him to sit down, and he did so. His legs were just that little bit too long to allow him to lie down fully with the water up to his neck. Ingrid began to wash him. He had never been washed by a woman since he was a little boy. It was soothing, and brought back pleasant memories of Saturday-evening baths in his parents’ home.

All that changed abruptly when Ingrid said, ‘Now let me soap your legs well so I can shave them. Watch closely so you will be able to do it next time without cutting yourself. Razor cuts on a woman’s legs look so unsightly.’ Expertly, she soaped first one leg and then the other. She used a disposable plastic razor and gently shaved the hair from his legs, moving from bottom to top. ‘Go against the grain,’ she advised Richard. When his legs were bare, she pulled the plug and let the water drain away. There was a tidemark around the tub, and a clump of hair in the drain hole.

‘Always clean the hair away,’ Ingrid said. ‘Next time there will not be nearly so much, but it builds up. Try to be neat.’

The air was cold on his newly bared legs as he stood in the empty tub. ‘I thought for a minute you were going to shave my pubic hair too,’ Richard said.

‘No need for that,’ Ingrid replied. ‘If anyone gets that far up your skirt, it will not be the hair that gives the game away. Besides, it itches terribly when it starts to grow back. Once I shaved mine for a date with the boy of my dreams. He was surprised to feel me bare down there when he got his hand in my pants. And it was a wonderful weekend we had in an Alpine chalet. But by the next Wednesday I could not bear to wear pants. I was prickly and sore all over. After it grew back, I vowed never again. But now stand still while I shampoo your hair.’

Ingrid turned on the shower and washed Richard’s hair thoroughly. ‘You will need to shampoo regularly. Hair gets awfully dirty under a wig, especially when it is worn for long periods, as you will be doing.’

‘Anything else, Mother?’ Richard joked.

‘Yes. A thousand things you will have to learn – and unlearn. This is not something you can run through just once. Pay attention to everything I do. Now shave your face very closely, and be careful not to cut that either.’ She handed him the razor and watched while he shaved. ‘Do all men pull such faces in the mirror?’ she asked.

Ingrid led Richard into the front room again. Outside in the streets, evening was falling. The first streetlights were appearing, with that garish yellow sodium glow characteristic of European cities. She drew the curtains. ‘It would not do to have the world and his brother peering in at us,’ she observed. ‘Now pick up all those things –’ indicating the dresses and other clothing they had chosen for him ‘– and bring it all through into the bedroom. I want to use my make-up mirror for the next stage.’

In the bedroom, Ingrid placed a chair before her bureau. Arranged on the top were her cosmetics: everything from lipstick through eye shadow and on to foundation and cleansing creams. ‘I know you must have watched a woman put on her war paint,’ she said, ‘and I guess you were asking yourself why it took so long. Well, the answer is just that it does take time. You will see just how much time in the next few days. I will do it the first time to show you how. Then we will wash it off again before bedtime, and you can do it yourself in the morning. Now sit there and be still,’ she directed, indicating the chair in front of the mirror.

Richard sat quietly as Ingrid began opening various jars and tubes. The draft under the door felt cool against the bare skin of his legs.

Richard, on the verge of this transformation which he both welcomed and wanted to avoid, felt the need to prove something to himself: perhaps that under it all he was unchanged, that all this was happening on the outside. When Ingrid turned back to him with a tube of foundation cream, he stood and put his arms around her waist. She didn’t resist when he pulled her to him and kissed her on the lips. Her mouth was soft and fragrant, slightly open. She was waiting for him to decide what to do next.

What he did next was to put one hand on the back of her head, twining his fingers in her thick brown hair and gently rubbing her scalp as he held her face still for the kiss. It lengthened, until he could feel himself stirring against her belly, and Ingrid’s breath grew harsh and short in her throat. Then he pulled back and looked into her face.

Her eyes were closed and a faint flush reddened her throat, where he could see a tiny pulse just below the fine texture of her skin. Ingrid still held the tube in one hand, but she put her free arm around Richard’s waist. When he bent to kiss her again, she sighed and opened her mouth to him. Finding herself unable to hold him tightly enough with her one arm, Ingrid groped behind her and dropped the tube of make-up on to the dresser. Then she could hold him as she wished. They stood locked together for an endless time, while each explored the other’s face, mouth and throat.

Richard felt he could have stood there for ever, but not Ingrid. She appeared to reach a decision. She pulled slightly away so that she could look up into his face. ‘It truly does not bother you that I am so much older than you?’ She searched his face for a sign.

‘Don’t you remember what I told you the last time you brought up the matter of age?’

‘Yes, but I still wonder if that was not just something you were saying – a compliment you did not mean. You see, when a woman gets older, she must always ask herself these questions. Women age so much more quickly than men. And we are judged much more harshly. Youth is the same thing as beauty to us, you know.’

Words would not answer her, so instead he brushed her hair aside gently and caressed her face before kissing her again. This time he was slow and thorough: his mouth explored her eyes, her nose and forehead, her cheeks, her ears, her throat where the tiny pulse beat, until her eyes closed and he felt her sag against him.

‘Unzip me, please.’ Ingrid’s voice was low and tense. He turned her away so he could pull the zipper down the back of her dress. As the material parted, he kissed the nape of her neck, then the tops of her shoulders, the hollow of her spine. Finally the dress lay in a pile around her feet. She stepped out of it and turned to face him. In a voice that shook slightly, she said, ‘Would you like to undress me completely now?’