Chameleon

by Ashe Barker

  He broke the kiss and stepped back from her. His expression inscrutable now, he picked up a white envelope from the hall table beside the door and handed it to Fleur. “While you were sleeping, I wrote down your instructions for later. Please read these and comply exactly with my requirements.” He ignored her startled expression, leaning past her to open the door. She simply nodded, placed the envelope unopened into her bag and slipped away down the corridor.

  Later, baby.

  * * * *

  The place was huge. Fucking enormous! He’d gathered that the Mansouri family were relatively wealthy, but this villa exceeded anything he might have imagined. He paid the taxi driver then did a double check of the address Fleur had given him. The neat handwriting on the slip of paper tallied with the name on the marble plate attached to the gate. This was definitely the place. Dar Roumana, House of the Pomegranate. Under the rather imposing name, in smaller lettering, he read, Riad Mansouri.

  But this was not a riad in his view. A riad was the sort of place he was staying in. This was nothing short of a palace. Surrounded by a high wall constructed of a soft pink-colored stone, he could just make out the contours of the two-story house itself through the close-spaced vertical slats of the gate.

  The gate itself was sturdy and solidly locked. No one would be getting in here without permission. Fleur had told him to ring the bell when he arrived, so he looked for one. He found it, a small discreet button to the right of the gate, under the nameplate. He pressed it and waited.

  He didn’t have long to kick his heels. Immediately after he’d pressed the bell, the massive gate began to slide slowly to the right. Seconds later, the opening was sufficiently wide to walk through, so Ethan did just that. He was greeted by the sight of a smartly dressed man, aged he thought in his mid-fifties, bustling down the wide steps at the front of the villa, his hand outstretched.

  “Monsieur Savage, Vous nous avez trouvé. Bienvenue chez nous. Je suis Said Mansouri.”

  Ethan took the man’s proffered hand and shook it. “Bonsoir, Monsieur. Merci pour l’invitation.”

  “Papa, we agreed to speak in English this evening.”

  Ethan looked up to see Fleur framed in the doorway to the riad, looking her usual stunning self. Whilst not dressed in Western style exactly, neither was she wearing traditionally Moroccan clothing. Her skirt hung at ankle length, made of swirling, soft fabric in various shades of blue. Her top was a fitted, waist-length wrap-over affair in a rich shade of yellow. She reminded him of sunshine. He was momentarily fascinated by her shirt, and could not help imagining his hands sliding inside it, parting the two halves of the front to reveal what he knew to be perfect breasts. He quashed such thinking immediately, entirely inappropriate for the present company.

  As she trotted down the steps to join them, Ethan was conscious of how at ease Fleur looked. Not so surprising perhaps. She was, after all, in her own home. But it was more than that. He realized this was usually her way, managing almost effortlessly to transcend cultural norms and fit in anywhere. Whatever the situation, whatever the company she was in, she never appeared to be out of place. Her command of languages, her appearance, even her fluid attitude toward the spiritual side of life, all helped her to blend in. She was a chameleon, he thought, a human chameleon constantly adapting to her environment. And quite enchanting.

  “I apologize, Mr. Savage, but you do speak French, I think. Is it not so?” Said Mansouri broke into Ethan’s reverie.

  “I do, of course. Enough to get by, though not as fluent as your English or that of your daughter.” He turned to Fleur. “How delightful to see you again, Fleur. You look beautiful.”

  Her face reddened slightly, and Ethan wondered if her bottom were still sporting an equally pink aspect following his attentions earlier this morning. He imagined so. It had been a spanking with staying power.

  “We are delighted you could join us this evening, Mr. Savage. Please, come in. Come in. My wife is inside, and you have not met my other daughter, I think.” Said Mansouri took over the proceedings, ushering Ethan to precede him into the riad.

  As he passed through the door, Ethan was struck instantly by the coolness of the interior, the place built to maximize comfort in this climate though no doubt assisted by efficient air conditioning.

  Yvette Mansouri greeted him in the lobby, rushing forward with both hands outstretched. Ethan juggled the large bouquet of red gerberas, yellow roses and pure white chrysanthemums into one hand and returned her exuberant hug with his free arm.

  “Ethan, how lovely. My little Lily is such an excellent judge of handsome men, is she not, Said?”

  Her husband eyed Ethan critically, as though assessing that possibility. He apparently deemed it wise not to comment, instead turning to beckon another young woman to join their group.

  “You have met my wife already. Here is the other lovely lady with whom I share my home, my youngest daughter, Yasmine.”

  Ethan greeted Yasmine Mansouri politely, noting that whilst the family resemblance was obvious, she lacked Fleur’s innate grace. Yasmine’s cool handshake, though, was confident and well mannered, and Ethan could easily see her as the professional lawyer described to him by Fleur. The Mansouris were an accomplished family.

  “Madame Mansouri, these are for you.” Ethan held the flowers out to his hostess, who accepted them with a smile.

  “You should not have. You really had no need. But they are truly beautiful. Thank you.” She kissed him on both cheeks in a fundamentally Gallic gesture. Ethan liked it, and noted that her daughter had displayed no such exuberance on first making his acquaintance. She had, however, made up for it since. Yvette rushed on. “Our meal is almost ready. Please, go through into the courtyard and make yourselves comfortable. I have laid out drinks there. Said, you must help Fleur to take care of our guest whilst I finish the preparations. Yasmine, would you help me, please?”

  With her family organized to her satisfaction, Yvette Mansouri headed back into the interior of the villa, her younger daughter at her side. His instructions clear, Said took his duties as host seriously. He led the way into a spacious courtyard, a larger version of that in Ethan’s own suite, of which he would carry fond memories. The inner courtyard at Riad Mansouri was a riot of floral color and splashing water features, statuary dotted around and plenty of seating arranged in small groups. Said led them to a delicately ornate metalwork table set with a jug of what Ethan assumed to be lemonade and half a dozen glasses. He urged Ethan to take one of the matching chairs. As he sat, Fleur reached for the jug, but her father forestalled her.

  “No, you sit too, Fleur. I will pour. May I offer you some of my wife’s homemade lemonade, Mr. Savage? Or would you prefer something stronger? I tend not to, but we do have wine, I believe. Or even a beer…?”

  “Ethan, please. And yes, lemonade would be very welcome, thank you.” Ethan had no intention of drinking alcohol this evening. Quite apart from his awareness that whilst this might be tolerated in a Muslim household, it would not be the norm here, he really wanted to maintain a clear head for later. He had big plans for Fleur, and alcohol had no part in them.

  He leaned back to enjoy the chilled lemonade, conscious of the quiet presence of Fleur at his side. He wondered what excuse she had provided for her early departure this evening—and what she had thought of his instructions. He had no doubt that she would comply.

  “I will be glad of your company this evening, Ethan. My wife is required later at the hospital, and I understand Fleur will be needed at the hotel too. This is what happens when you associate with the medical profession, Ethan. Always the sick have priority. Still, we will get along very well without them, I imagine.”

  “Yes, I’m sure we will.” Ethan smiled noncommittally over the rim of his glass, wondering how soon after Fleur’s departure he would be able to get away himself. His instructions required that she wait for him patiently, but even so, he did not want to waste too much of their only remaining evening together. Something
told him that Said Mansouri would not be entirely without an inkling that he and Fleur would meeting each other later. What was less clear was how this enigmatic Moroccan would regard that possibility.

  “So, I understand that you also work at the Totally Five Star hotel, Ethan?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I’m a minerals engineer, doing some consultancy for the hotel chain. I am here just for a few days. In fact, I leave tomorrow.”

  “Ah yes, Yvette did say that your schedule is busy and that we are fortunate to have this evening with you. So, you met our little Lily at the hotel then?”

  Lily? Ah yes, the family nickname. Ethan wondered how much she had already told her family of their first encounter, but he saw no reason to be evasive. “No, Monsieur Mansouri, we met in the desert. Fleur was kind enough to come to my assistance when I had an accident in my car.”

  “We are on first name terms, I am sure. Said, please. Ah, yes, the bruise on your head. I had wondered. I hope you are quite recovered.”

  “I am. Fleur took excellent care of me.” Ethan had almost forgotten the small bruise still marking his forehead, the only remaining evidence of his accident a few days earlier. He touched his fingers to it gingerly. Perhaps his head injury could account for his uncharacteristic decision to get involved with a local woman. He didn’t usually indulge in such unwise liaisons, but all sensible consideration had fled the moment that Fleur had made her wishes known to him on her first visit to his suite. It had never occurred to him to turn her down. He was cautious, not dead.

  “So, what were you doing out there in the mountains? I am assuming it was close to Maman’s farm that you met Ethan?” The second part of Said’s query was directed at Fleur, but Ethan pricked his ears up. Ah yes, that farm in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. Fleur had already given a brief explanation of her mysterious presence there but he would be fascinated to learn more.

  “Yes, I was taking Grandmère’s latest carpet to the trading warehouse in Tahnaout. It seemed like an excellent opportunity to give Agwmar an outing. He is getting fat.”

  “You were on that lazy beast? In all that dust and heat? What was wrong with your car?” Her father wrinkled his nostrils in distaste.

  Ethan supposed at the prospect of his pristine daughter perched on top of the donkey on that arid, inhospitable road. He shared the older man’s misgivings.

  “Nothing was wrong, Papa, but Agwmar needed the exercise. And you know I enjoy the peace and quiet of the desert.” Fleur placed her glass on the table and reached for her father’s hand. “I was quite safe. Agwmar knows the way and I had on Grandmère’s thickest cloak to keep the sun off.”

  “It sounds as though your journey was more eventful than you might have anticipated.”

  Now on this point, Ethan certainly agreed. And now at least he understood—or thought he did—why his lovely Fleur had been out there on that road, riding a donkey and dressed as a Berber peasant. It even made a sort of sense. His little chameleon, blending once more into her surroundings. She had not looked incongruous, so he’d never questioned her presence there. Indeed, he had been the one out of place. And as soon as their worlds had connected, the façade had slipped. At the beginning, she had been a puzzle, an enigma. Now, she just took his breath away.

  “You are leaving us early, Fleur?” He turned to murmur the words, his voice deliberately low. He watched her face to gauge her mood now, now that the prospect of her true initiation into his world loomed large.

  “I… Yes, I am, Si—Ethan.” She was having to concentrate now on not calling him Sir. Oh yes, the spanking had done its job. Ethan’s cock throbbed at the recollection of her delightful arse presented across his knee, the skin turning a bright and glowing pink as he piled on the slaps. She had weathered it well. He would be careful not to harm her, but depending on the state of her bottom, he might even repeat the treatment tomorrow morning, by way of leave-taking—if he thought she might like that. He had no intention of leaving her on a sour note.

  “You were saying…?” he prompted her gently.

  “Ah, yes, I have an—appointment—at the hotel. I need to leave as soon as we have eaten.”

  “My wife will be leaving then too. No matter, it will give us a chance to talk, to get to understand each other, n’est-ce pas?” Said Mansouri topped up all three glasses, smiling benignly at his guest. Ethan made a mental note to navigate that conversation with care.

  The food was superb and appeared to have been prepared by Yvette and her daughters. He saw no evidence of servants at all during the evening, though he supposed they must have some domestic staff. It was inconceivable that the entire family held down responsible professional roles whilst also managing to maintain this place to the standard that he observed with no additional help.

  Yvette served the meal, aided by Fleur and Yasmine. They began with an assortment of hot and cold salads that seemed to include every vegetable known to Ethan. The dressings were many, various too, some tart, and spicy, others bathed in sensuous olive oil. Every course included the delicious local flat bread. He had been uncertain whether to expect utensils, but it seemed that the French influence extended to this aspect of the meal and he was provided with the usual knife and fork. Ethan noted that Said made infrequent use of his fork, preferring to use the bread to pick up his food. He suspected Fleur and Yasmine might have followed suit but for his presence at their table.

  The main course was a wonderful spicy lamb dish accompanied by vegetables, couscous and relaxed conversation. The meat fell apart at the nudge of his knife and Ethan wondered when he had last enjoyed a meal so much. Oh yes, that would have been earlier that same day, the harira he had shared with Fleur. He rather thought prolonged exposure to this family would have an impact on his waistline. As they ate, he learned of Said’s work at the university as well as Yasmine’s aspiration to become a top lawyer in the city. She was now just at the foothills of her career, but Ethan suspected she would achieve what she set out to do. He had the impression that she shared her mother’s single-minded approach to life.

  He thought that perhaps Fleur did too, though her approach was less direct. And he now understood that her natural enthusiasm, in at least some respects, had been severely curtailed by her experiences as a younger woman. He hoped her recent encounters with him had helped to dispel some of that, and that what he had planned for her later would build on those foundations.

  The meal concluded with cups of sweet mint tea, copiously topped up as required. In a brief lull in the conversation, Ethan caught Fleur’s gaze. He did not need to speak. She knew. With a slight bow to her father and another to him, she started to make her excuses.

  “I am afraid I must leave you now. I am expected at the hotel. Please, I do hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.” The final words were directed specifically at him.

  Ethan wondered if the double meaning was apparent only to himself.

  Yvette took her cue from Fleur, and the two of them rose to leave the table. Ethan’s mouth watered as he watched Fleur glide from the room. When next he saw her, he expected her to look rather less self-assured.

  Yasmine remained only a few minutes longer before also making her apologies and leaving to read in her room. She had an important meeting the following day and had not yet had an opportunity to acquaint herself fully with the relevant files. Ethan found himself alone with Said Mansouri.

  “Are you sleeping with my daughter?” The older man’s question took him by surprise, but Ethan knew better than to lie to him.

  “I am, yes.”

  Said eyed him narrowly, though without hostility. “I see. Will you be sleeping with her tonight?”

  “I hope to, yes.” There was, of course, always the slim chance that she might even now back out.

  “Yet you are planning to leave our country tomorrow. Will you be returning to Morocco?”

  “I have business in London in the coming days. I may return. I had no plans to initially, but now, who knows?” Ethan
was more than a little surprised to hear himself say this. He had not realized himself that he was contemplating coming back. But there it was. How interesting.

  “Fleur has not had good experiences always, I am sure you will know this…?”

  Ethan nodded. “She told me she was married, and that her husband is now dead.”

  Said shook his head gravely. “Yes, a terrible business. Not Youssef’s death, you understand. That was not terrible. It was long overdue in my view. I have no sympathy for the dog. He hurt my precious girl. I might have killed him myself at one time.”

  Ethan pondered that, and considered the possibility that Said was warning him of the potential consequences if he were similarly careless with Fleur’s well-being. He had no intention at all of harming her, at least, not in the manner that her father meant. As for emotional hurt, she had known from the outset that his was a flying visit at best. He fully appreciated that emotions could assert themselves to derail even the best-laid plans, but he would be careful not to create expectations where he should not.

  “I understand he was a violent man. Please be assured, Said, that I am not.” Ethan could deliver a decent whipping, fully consensual, of course, but he would never raise his hand to any woman in anger, and he was not a bully. He could and would make Fleur scream, but he knew she would thank him for it afterwards. Meanwhile, it was by now clear to him that Said was not about to play the paternal moral card, though he was clearly seeking reassurance. Ethan was happy to provide it. “Fleur is safe with me, Mr. Mansouri.”