The Maestro (4 page)

Whatever was
going to happen in Barcelona, she convinced herself that it was her
artistic, not her sexual, demons she had come to confront.

Maria was
every bit as beautiful as Alfonso had indicated. She had the kind
of classical beauty that Linda thought quite rare, and if she had
seen her passing in the street she would have undoubtedly stopped
to look: beautiful coal-black eyes, a round face with full, pouty
lips which gave an impression of a kind of insouciant petulance.
The beauty of her face was complimented by the attraction of her
voluptuous body: her figure was full, her generously proportioned
breasts were squeezed tightly into a white, low-cut cotton dress
that also showed the enticing curve of her rounded hips. She could
have been no more than twenty-five.

Over dinner
and after Linda had talked about her intentions while she stayed in
Barcelona - and had got the inevitable conversation over about what
it was like being married to a famous actor - she tried to turn the
conversational spotlight onto her female interlocutor. Whether
Maria was naturally diffident or arrogant or if her knowledge of
English was not good enough, the Spanish girl said very little.

'Do you
paint?' Linda asked.

Maria seemed
to snort. 'No.'

'What do you
do, I mean, for a living?'

'Not much.
Model a little, but that is for fun.' Maria haughtily shrugged her
shoulders.

'Maria comes
from a fabulously rich family. She doesn't have to do anything,'
Alfonso said, explaining.

'I explore,'
Maria added.

'You
explore?'

'Yes.'

'What do you
explore?'

'Everything,
everything about life.'

'You'll see,'
Alfonso said, his eyes mischievously smiling at Linda. Although
Linda was not quite sure what on earth she was going to see, she
felt a momentary pressure in her chest at the sexual connotation
that Alfonso seemed to imply in his rueful smirk.

As the cava delightfully slipped down Linda's throat and a
course of
gambas a la plancha
was followed by a dish of marinated duck breast,
Maria sat quietly while Alfonso and Linda discussed her plans in
Barcelona. Alfonso would say little about Delgado, only that he
could be ruthless with those who, in his opinion, didn't take their
art seriously, but that she would see for herself. They talked
about exhibitions, up and coming artists from the city who would
soon be internationally famous. Linda, all the time, feeling a
little uncomfortable at Maria's continued silence.

It was only
after the coffee arrived and when Alfonso suggested that they go to
El Attico that Maria's face seemed to grow more animated.

'What's El
Attico then?'

'It's a club.
You'll see.' This time the suggestiveness behind Alfonso's
deliberate obtuseness was merely irritating. Why couldn't he answer
a simple question?

'Why is it
called El Attico. Is it high up?' She tried again to get more
information.

'No, it's a
joke. It's in a basement,' Maria added.

Linda was not
convinced she should go. She felt a little light-headed with all
the cava and thought about going home. Maria was also making the
night too much like hard work, and even though she had found
Alfonso to be charming and very alluring there didn't seem to be
much point even in being with him while his sultry girlfriend was
present.

Strangely
though, once they were back outside on the street, strolling around
the ill-lit Barrio Gotica, it was Maria who suggested that Linda
should come with them. She touched her arm, just above the
elbow.

'This will be
a great experience for you, for all of us. Please come.' Maria
smiled with childish enthusiasm. Linda felt that it would be
impolite if she refused her.

'Okay, I'd
love to.'

'They went
down a narrow, deserted street that Linda hadn't walked down
before. If she had been alone she doubted whether she would have
risked entering such a potentially dangerous area. The houses in
this part of the city were so old, they seemed medieval. There was
none of the sleek nineteenth century architecture that she always
associated with L'Eixample, the grid of opulent apartment blocks to
the north of Las Ramblas.

They stopped
at an ancient wooden door of a stone clad three-storey apartment.
Alfonso banged on it firmly, a measured knock that seemed to carry
the necessary rhythmic code to gain entry. Maria took hold of
Linda's hand and squeezed it hard, her eyes beaming up at
Linda.

The door was
opened quickly by an attractive woman in her early forties, slim,
wearing an elegant mid-length sequinned dress.

'Ah, Senor Guerro e Maria.' She cast a glance at Linda.
'
E la inglesa tambien. E
guapa
,' the woman said
approvingly.

Alfonso
started speaking in Catalan; the woman who had complimented Linda
on her prettiness had spoken in Spanish. But as the conversation
proceeded, Linda thought, even though her Catalan was barely more
than non-existent, she heard some talk about a table and a
show.

Eventually
once the conversational niceties were over they were led through a
passageway then down a rickety wooden staircase into a dim lit bar.
Considering the size of the block the basement seemed enormous. On
first impression it was not so different from many other bars that
Linda had frequented in Barcelona, with old stone walls and wooden
tables, apart from that this bar seemed to have a more well-heeled
clientele than most of the others she had been in before.

The tables
were arranged in a semicircle, facing what appeared to be a small
raised stage that was brilliantly lit under a single spotlight. On
the stage there was nothing apart from a black leather sofa. It
reminded Linda of the type of spartan sets they used in some of the
execrable fringe theatre she had seen in the less glamorous parts
of London that Sebastian occasionally cajoled her into going to. It
was only her intuition that Alfonso would be as appalled by earnest
student drama as herself that kept her intrigued and from imagining
the worst.

The woman who
opened the door led them to a table directly in front of the stage,
then brought them a bottle of champagne and whispered something in
Alfonso's ear before retreating to the bar at the back of the
room.

'What did she
say?' Linda asked, her curiosity aroused by the strange place and
whatever the performance was that they were about to witness.

'Oh nothing
important. Have some champagne, it's excellent.'

'I'm not so
sure I want to drink anything more.'

'You know,'
Alfonso confided, 'I think I prefer French champagne to cava. It's
terribly unpatriotic of me.'

It made her
laugh, that 'terribly'. Nobody apart from retired colonels used
'terribly' as an adjective in that way or talked about things
having 'certain properties'. She could only think that Alfonso had
learned his English from some ancient textbook.

'So when does
the show start, Alfonso?'

He looked at
her, his eyes boring into her, a cruel smirk on his lips: 'Whenever
you're ready my dear.'

'What do you
mean?'

'We are the
show.'

Two beautiful
women appeared on the stage before Maria could question Alfonso
further. One woman seemed older, in her early thirties, dressed as
elegantly as the maitre d' in a grey silk evening dress. She had
blond hair, but tanned skin. The other girl was younger, probably
barely twenty. She had a fulsome chest bulging out her mustard,
polo-necked sweater, and long, shapely stockinged legs under a
short dark brown leather skirt.

'The older
one, the one in the dress, that is Ramona, and the younger girl is
Montse.'

'I see,' Linda
responded, not knowing how Alfonso expected her to react.

'You will,
Linda, you will see everything,' Maria added.

The two women
took their places on the sofa.

Ramona kissed
Montse passionately on the lips, and as their mouths locked, she
crept her hand up Montse's leg. It was more real and violent than
the simulated scene that Linda had imagined. Ramona had grabbed
Montse roughly by the head and began to flick her tongue in and out
of her mouth. Montse looked genuinely shocked at how rough the
older woman was being with her.

'This is where
it starts,' Alfonso said enthusiastically.

Linda's eyes
remained fixed on the stage. Ramona suddenly became even rougher
with Montse, tugging up the girl's sweater to reveal a scarlet,
cotton bra, before tugging down each cup, taking her nipples in her
mouth, expanding each one by holding the teat between her teeth.
Linda could clearly see Montse wince with pain as Ramona stretched
the rose tip of Montse's breast. Montse's frightened eyes betrayed
the passivity of her body, her arms hung flaccidly by her side, but
her eyes stared pleadingly at the audience.

Then bringing
Montse's hands together, Ramona retrieved a length of black flex
from the side of the sofa and looped it around the younger girl's
raised hands, fastening them together in a crude knot. Ramona
pulled up the listless girl until she was in a kneeling position on
the sofa.

It all looked
genuine enough to Linda. It shocked her. Shocked her to think that
she was in such a place so soon with Alfonso, when only a few hours
ago she had been recalling what had happened with Luke. How could
Alfonso have known what an effect such a spectacle would have on
her?

As soon as
Montse's hands were tethered, a fat bald man in a white suit
appeared on the stage, his face fixed in a lewd glare. He walked
slowly around the sofa gazing at the spectacle, before turning to
smile at the audience. He said, seemingly addressing Linda, in his
booming voice, 'You can't struggle. If you do what I say I will
bring you pleasure that you have never imagined.' His eyes seemed
to stare uncomfortably at Linda, as if he knew something that she
palpably didn't. Briefly the compere focused his gaze on Alfonso
and smiled, before turning his back on the audience. He grabbed
Montse by the neck and pushed the girl's face so it scrunched into
the back of the sofa.

There seemed
nothing simulated about the scene now. Linda could see how much
pressure Ramona was exerting on Montse's tumescent nipples. Against
her will, it made her feel sexy, very sexy to think how Ramona and
the portly man might dominate the younger girl. Ramona had placed
metal clamps on Montse's nipples and tugged on them. Montse
shrieked with the pained pressure. Linda could see how the girl's
nipples were cruelly extended by the older woman.

The man turned
to the audience. 'This girl is in my power now ladies and
gentleman. She is in all our power. What would you like me to do?'
he said in Spanish.

'Lash her,'
Alfonso said, laughing at the perverse pantomime being played out
before his eyes.

All the time
Montse was futilely struggling against her bonds.

The man on
stage grinned like a hideous gargoyle. He knelt in front of Montse.
Her leather skirt had ridden up enough to reveal the tops of her
stockings. He pulled up the skirt roughly while Ramona stood behind
the sofa holding the girl's bound wrists tightly in her hands.

Linda looked
at Alfonso. His face was transfixed by the spectacle, his eyes
staring at Montse as the male protagonist of the exhibitionist
menage pulled down Montse's scarlet panties to reveal the two
perfectly tanned orbs of her bottom.

'Bring me the
cane,' he commanded Ramona.

While Ramona
exited from the stage, the man's stubby fingers slide inside the
cleft of Montse's bottom, down to the moist lips of her sex. Montse
began writhing on his fingers but he ordered her to be still.

Ramona passed
him a cane.

'Could we have
a volunteer from the audience please?' the man asked, his eyes
falling again on Linda, this time inviting her to volunteer.

'I think he
wants you to go.' Alfonso leaned over to her and whispered in
Linda's ear.

She had been
undoubtedly aroused by the spectacle, but the thought of doing
anything so publicly, so openly, terrified her.

'What, no
please!' Linda spoke to Alfonso but beseeched the eyes that glared
at her from the stage. She felt naked in front of Alfonso. What
kind of knowledge had he garnered from her in a few social meetings
that Sebastian hadn't in three years of marriage? Part of her felt
outraged and wanted to leave, but Alfonso obviously knew her too
well, had gambled on the fact that she would come, that such a
spectacle would spark some fundamental desire in her that she had
tried to even hide from herself.

One or two
people behind her were shouting to be selected. Linda felt
momentarily disgusted with the whole public spectacle, with the
greedy eyes that stared at her, with the eagerness of Alfonso to
bring her here. It felt terribly surreal, as if she had somehow
stepped outside the normal confines of her life in some terrible
degenerate way, and she wanted to step back inside. Her head seemed
woolly, her body felt incredibly light. She felt that she might
faint.

The man on the
stage was saying something about how he wanted a woman to volunteer
because a woman beating a girl was more fun to watch.

Linda was
aware of a glance passing over her between Alfonso and Maria, and
then Maria striding into the dizzyingly bright spotlight. Maria!
The reticent, sulky girl was taking the cane from the man. She held
it high above her head, her arm arching slightly, the hand coming
down in a swift, brutal action. The cane scythed through the air
and then there was the crisp, clarifying noise as it landed on
Montse's fleshy buttocks. A sharp, piercing shriek came from the
girl, who had not expected such a beating from a woman. Each stroke
was raucously cheered by the audience in the club.