Dirty Aristocrat

by Georgia Le Carre

  There was no answer.

  Time to go find the good doctor. Time to start the whole merry-go-round. I straightened my back and walked down the great staircase with its blue runner carpet. On the walls were priceless paintings. I found the doctor sitting in the Yellow Room reading a book. It was a grand room with several sets of superb hand-painted Oriental wallpaper depicting stunning artwork of idyllic scenes from everyday life in ancient China.

  ‘He’s gone,’ I said, and it surprised me how perfectly calm my voice was. Inside I felt as brittle as glass.

  Dr. Jensen’s eyes flashed dislike. He had always distrusted me. His absolute loyalty to Robert meant I would always be the enemy. He would never allow me to administer any medicine. Always it was him or the nurse who did it. Everything was kept in a locked cupboard. As if they were afraid I would hurry him to his death. They had no idea.

  If only they knew my secret. But they will never know. I will never tell.

  Wordlessly, he ground his cigar into the side of the ashtray and, snapping up his little black bag, left the room. I hugged myself and thought of him entering the room, checking for signs of life in Robert’s still form. The room felt cold. I looked at the goblet of brandy he had left half-drunk and I wished for a drink, but I needed all my wits about me.

  I stood by the window staring out at the darkness until Dr. Jensen’s image appeared on the glass beside me.

  ‘He’s stone cold,’ he accused.

  The cold hostility was like a slap in my face. He would never have spoken to me like that while Robert was alive. I reacted in the only way I knew how. Aggressively. Not the way Robert had taught me, but how my mother had fought all her wars.

  ‘What do you expect? He is dead,’ I said.

  His eyes were narrowed and suspicious. ‘How long ago since he died?’

  ‘He went ages ago.’

  He shook his head disapprovingly. ‘You don’t do yourself any favors.’

  I turned around and looked at him challengingly. ‘Would you pity me if I cried?’

  ‘I wouldn’t waste my pity on you. You got exactly what you wanted. It’s all yours now. Congratulations,’ he sneered.

  A bead of cold sweat raced down my spine. I never wanted it. My dream was completely different. It was small and sweet and wonderfully ordinary. ‘It’s not all mine. Robert had three children.’

  His smile was cold and his voice stabbed. ‘Come, come, Mrs. Maxwell, let’s not play childish games. I think we both know how this cookie will crumble. You worked bloody hard for it and now you get the lion’s share.’

  I took a deep breath. This was just the beginning. Everyone was going to say this and if they did not, they were going to think it. I might as well get used to it. ‘Robert was no one’s fool. He did exactly what he wanted at all times.’

  ‘I’ll have to put it into my report that you did not come down to report his passing earlier.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ I challenged. I had nothing to fear. There was nothing anybody could do to me now.

  He stared at me. ‘Why didn’t you? I might have been able to do something for him.’

  ‘What for, Doctor? So he could suffer the bedpan for a few more hours or days? He had enough. He wanted to go.’

  ‘Careful, Mrs. Maxwell, you’re revealing your true self and it’s not a pretty sight. I suggest a little more subterfuge,’ he said scornfully.

  It was at the tip of my tongue to rage at him, but what would be the point? Robert was gone, and I was alone in a poisonous environment.

  ‘Perhaps it would be better if you left,’ I told him.

  We stared at each other. I couldn’t understand why he was suddenly so openly hostile.

  His lip curled. ‘What an excellent suggestion.’

  With my insides churning and my heart troubled, I watched him stalk out of the room. When I could no longer hear the tread of his shoes, I turned around and carried on staring at the night. It had begun to snow. Soft, beautiful, big flakes. If it carried on it would be a winter wonderland tomorrow.

  The butler, James, came in.

  I saw his reflection in the glass and turned around to face him. He had been with Robert for twenty years. His bearing, as always, was erect and stiff.

  He coughed politely.

  ‘What is it, James?’ I asked. My voice sounded tired and listless.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I couldn’t help overhearing. It used to break his heart to think of you alone in this den of vipers. You have to find a way to be nice to them. You can’t carry on like this.’ His voice was grave.

  I hugged myself. The quiet strength of James seemed to cross the room and calm down my chaotic thoughts and feelings. ‘I know, James. I know I’m not doing myself any favors. Why can’t they see how much I loved him?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what they think, Mam. The master always knew.’

  I smiled sadly. ‘Yes, he knew.’

  He nodded. ‘Can I get you something to drink, Mam? A pot of tea perhaps?’

  ‘A pot of tea sounds lovely. Thank you, James.’

  ‘Very good, Mam.’ He bowed in that old-fashioned way of his. I never thought man-servants like him existed outside of books. In fact, when I first came to this house, it shocked me to learn that he carefully ironed any little creases out of the morning newspapers before he brought it up to Robert. He was already at the door when I opened my mouth and called to him.

  He turned around, his expression polite and helpful. ‘Yes, Mam.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you for everything you did for Robert,’ I said.

  His expression softened. ‘It was an honor to serve Mr. Maxwell.’

  I bit my lip. ‘You will stay on, won’t you, James?’

  He allowed himself a small smile. ‘I’d be delighted to, Mam.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I almost cried out with relief. I needed people around me I could trust. The last time I felt this vulnerable was when my mom died and I was all alone in a trailer and medical bills I could not pay. At that time, I had run away from my past, my debts, my pain. I had come to England and found Robert.

  ‘If you are agreeable I will take upon myself the task of informing the staff of Mr. Maxwell’s passing.’

  I exhaled. ‘Yes, thank you. That would be very helpful,’ I said in acceptance of his kind offer.

  He paused.

  ‘What?’ I prompted.

  ‘It would be prudent for you to inform Lord Greystoke as soon as possible,’ he said quietly.

  I felt every cell in my body shrink at the thought.

  ‘It is what Mr. Maxwell would have expected.’

  I nodded slowly. ‘Yes, you are right. Of course I will. I’ll call him right now.’

  ‘I’ll go and see about your tea.’

  When his footsteps died away I walked up to the phone. I knew Ivan De Greystoke’s number by heart. Robert had forced me to memorize it.

  ‘He is the only one you can trust. No one else is to be trusted. No matter how nice they seem to be,’ he said again and again.

  I dialed his Ivan’s number and waited nervously. Some part of me hoped he was asleep and I could just leave a message on his answer phone, but he picked up my call on the third ring.

  ‘Is he gone?’ His voice was business-like and abrupt. It was so late, I must have pulled him out of bed, and yet he sounded so wide-awake, so unyieldingly hard.

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered, my hands gripping the telephone hard.

  ‘I’d like a word with the doctor. Put him on,’ he instructed. No sorry for your loss, or any kind of platitude for the grieving widow.

  I closed my eyes. ‘Dr. Jensen left a little while ago.’

  Even across the distance I felt his displeasure and irritation. I could imagine exactly the forbidding expression on the most arrogant, aristocratically chiseled, granite-like face I ever had the misfortune to meet. The only redeeming feature in his firmly set, hard face were the surprisingly full and sensuous lips.

  Although I had assumed he must
have been in bed, in my imagination he was still dressed in a suit or a dinner jacket. I had never seen him in anything else. Each one splendidly cut and terribly civilized, but unable to hide the raw, animal power of the lean, powerful body beneath. At six feet five inches and wide shoulders rippling with muscles he towered over most men.

  I heard a woman’s voice, glamorous and trailing, ask, ‘Who is it, Ivan darling?’

  His reply was brisk and left no doubt as to exactly what he thought of me, a pain in his neck. ‘No one. This is will only take a few minutes. Get back in bed.’

  Stung, I said the first thing that came into my head. ‘I’ll start making the funeral arrangements tomorrow.’

  There was a second, pregnant with a disbelieving silence before he spoke again, his voice strangely quiet. ‘Everything has already been taken care of. My secretary, Theresa, will liaise with you so you know where and when to present yourself.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, at loss for words.

  Of course, how silly of me. Obviously, everything had been done. It was not how it was when my stepfather died, when we ran around trying to arrange everything while he lay in the mortuary. Robert’s funeral would be a well-attended affair requiring much planning ahead.

  ‘I’ll see you at the funeral,’ he said, and the line went dead.

  I replaced the receiver back on its hook and slowly walking to the window stared at the coating of snow on the edges of the windowpane. Ivan De Greystoke had eyes the color of sunlight falling on gray tinsel, but the moment Robert introduced me as his wife, they became glacial.

  Expressionlessly, he extended his hand and took mine in a warm, strong clasp. I had not wanted to shake hands with him, not wanted any part of his body to touch mine, but when our skin met, I was overcome with the strangest sensation of wanting to prolong the contact.

  The same was not true for him. He had pulled his hand away almost immediately as if he was touching something dirty or repulsive.

  ‘May I say, Robert,’ he had mocked dryly, ‘you are the envy of every man tonight.’

  Robert glowed with pride and happiness, but I blushed, because I knew he did not mean it. He detested me. He thought I was a gold digger and nothing I said or did subsequently made him change his mind. His dislike was eventually obvious even to Robert, so I never understood why he made Ivan the executor of my trust. At first I begged him not to let Ivan be in charge.

  ‘Why for god’s sake? You know he doesn’t even like me,’ I pleaded.

  ‘He’s the only one I can trust,’ Robert replied sadly.

  Ivan De Greystoke

  Mayfair, London

  I killed the connection and stared out of the window. So: he was dead.

  The man who had the thing I wanted for so long was dead. I tried to imagine her at Barrington Manor. She must be in the Yellow Room. That would have been where the doctor had waited. He must have insulted her as he had been instructed to do. And yet her voice had been cool as if she was fucking giving me the weather forecast. I could almost picture her. Jeans. Blouse. Her long blonde hair in a thick plait down her back. Her mouth: as if butter wouldn’t melt in it.

  Little gold digging bitch.

  I had a raging hard-on.

  ‘Ivan,’ Chloe called from the bedroom. Her voice lilting. She had not lied. She really was the hottest cocksucker this side of the Atlantic and I’ve had enough to know. I walked to the bedroom.

  She was lying on the bed with her legs spread open. She was the kind of girl that you could have done anything to. I walked up to her. She began to play with herself, slowly inserting her finger into her hole.

  Very nice.

  ‘Sit up,’ I told her.

  She obeyed immediately.

  ‘Plait your hair into a rope down your back.’

  ‘I don’t have a tie, you dirty aristocrat you,’ she said flirtatiously.

  I went to my wardrobe, extracted a random tie and threw it at her.

  She began to plait her hair. She tied it as best she could with the tie.

  ‘On your hands and knees.’

  She couldn’t wait to comply. The tight star of her ass was just begging to be filled. I grabbed the golden plait and pulled it hard. Her head jerked back. She moaned and wriggled her ass invitingly.

  Fucking gold digger you. Then I fucking raped her, Tawny. I mean Chloe.

  Tawny Maxwell

  Barrington Manor, Bedfordshire

  I turned away from the phone and a bright shiny glint caught my eye.

  The simple gold band on my finger.

  I looked down at it and a distant memory tugged. I was only eighteen. Robert and I had flown to Vegas. We stayed in the most expensive hotels. We behaved like kids. Everybody - waiters, people in shops, random people we met, all of them thought he was my father. Again and again we had to correct them. Then he produced this ring and we got married.

  It was the most awful wedding you could imagine.

  The only people in that chapel were the man officiating the wedding, a heavily made-up, relentlessly smiling woman who was supposed to be helping, and a sad looking man Robert had dragged off the street and paid a hundred dollars to witness the ceremony. Even the kiss he gave me had been chaste.

  Then we had both run out laughing.

  Robert drove us in a brand new, baby blue Cadillac to the desert to see the sun setting. I had never seen such a blazingly red sun before. It was so beautiful I began to cry.

  He put his finger under my chin. ‘I have a plan, Tawny. It’s a great plan. A long-term plan. But you must trust me. Even when it seems as if everything is nose-diving into the deep blue sea you must trust that I know what I am doing.’

  I didn’t know it then, but he was already very ill and he knew it.

  ‘All right,’ I whispered, and I meant it.

  Even now, when it looked as if his plan had already nosedived into the deep blue sea, I still cling to the idea that his plan would work. That in the end my life would not be completely ruined and the things we had done become all for nothing.

  I touched the gold circle. It had become so loose it spun around my finger, only my knuckle kept it from falling away. I slid it off and let my fist close around it. I clutched it so tightly the metal dug into my flesh.

  The ring was warm, but he was gone. Irrevocably. Forever. I would never see him again. See his bright eyes and hear his cackling hyena laughter. I unclenched my fingers and looked at metal lying in the middle of my palm.

  In my head a voice taunted. ‘Lies, lies all of it.’

  I put the ring back on my finger and closed my eyes with terrible pain in my heart.

  The Funeral

  CHAPTER 2

  Lord Greystoke

  In My Apartment

  I stood in front of the mirror, pulled the knot on my black tie up towards my throat and ran a brush through my hair. It was Robert’s funeral today and I guessed I’d be rubbing shoulders with his little widow.

  I’m not a religious man, never have been, but when I first looked into Tawny Sinclair’s bottomless blue eyes I started praying.

  Praying for my fun loving, whore of a dick.

  She was wearing a lime green dress. It wasn’t tight, or short, or revealing, but it made me actually crave her body. The desire to have her, open her silky legs, and get my dick inside her was so strong I wanted to pick her up like a Neanderthal, throw her over my shoulder and carry her off to my cave. In fact, I hadn’t had a hard-on like that since I was a teenager.

  Then Robert looked at me with shining eyes and proudly introduced me to her. She was his fucking wife! My stepmother.

  The revelation was a punch in the gut. I had to fight not to let my jealously show. Fuck, I was insanely jealous. I thought of his frail body over hers, and I wanted to throw up.

  I turned to her and … oh, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She smiled innocently at me with those wide blue eyes and I knew then.

  This one’s not figuring to leave your ass and take half.

&nb
sp; This one’s gonna stick around until you fall on your ass and take it all.

  A year later he asked me if I would take care of her after him.

  ‘Just protect her until she’s twenty-one,’ he pleaded.

  I said, ‘No. Ask some other fool,’ and walked out.

  But you know what? I was fucking dying to do it. Even the idea of him asking someone else made me feel sick to my stomach. But I couldn’t just give in. I had to prove to myself and him that I wasn’t soft on her.

  I wanted the old man to beg me. And I wanted to agree reluctantly. Let her understand that she was never going to twist me around her little finger like she had done to him. I guess Robert knew me very well. He was a crafty old bugger after all. He played my little game and eventually I did the right thing.

  I promised to take care of her after he was gone. The responsibility sat on my chest for a while, then without me realizing it seeped into my heart. I had taken her under my wing and though I hated to admit it, I liked it. I wanted to be her protector.

  I put the brush back on the dresser and the doorbell rang. I went to answer it.

  ‘Wow! You’re pretty unrecognizable in a suit,’ Chloe drawled.

  I let my eyes wander down her body. She definitely looked the part. Perfectly cut black dress, skin-tone court shoes, black pearls and scarlet lips. ‘And you look like you buy your tampons from Gucci,’ I replied.

  ‘What makes you think I don’t?’ she countered.

  I looked her in the eye. ‘You won’t think because I asked you to a funeral that we’ve got something going, will you?’

  ‘Of course not. Actually, I thought you had a funerals fetish and I might come in handy.’

  I smiled and she smiled back.

  ‘Do we have time for a quickie?’ she asked, cupping my crotch.

  ‘Does a dog need to be taught to fuck?’ I asked, and pulling her in, tore her panties off, slung on a condom, and fucked her right there in the corridor.

  ‘What, I wonder, would all the proper Lords and Ladies say if they ever met Ivan the Terrible?’ Chloe purred.

  I didn’t bother to respond. I just leaned my forearms against the wall, my dick still deep inside her, and felt glad I was taking her with me. Anytime I felt like my dick growing hard for Tawny Maxwell, I would just drag Chloe into the nearest closet and fuck the shit out of her. Besides, it would tell Tawny Maxwell not to bother going ahead with any poor-little-rich-widow act she might have planned.