by Rebecca Heap
“Don’t you ever feel guilty about what might happen to them?”
Harry shook his head. “I deliver them to the client healthy and intact. If the client chooses to harm them, that is their doing and their responsibility. Believe it or not, we once had a client who simply wanted a girl to look at all day and another who treated her like a queen. It does happen and there are long and happy relationships. I explained before-we’re just providing a companion that suits exactly what they are looking for in a woman, without the usual unreasonable female expectations. They control what happens next.”
“The client’s also responsible for keeping them secure from thereon in I take it? Isn’t that rather risky?”
Harry nodded. “The risk is entirely theirs. There’s nothing to link the girl to us. We do however, pass on certain information that can assist with....keeping them in line.” He shifted in his seat and seemed keen to move off this subject. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”
“How big a cut am I getting, exactly? You didn’t quite give me time to read that contract.”
Harry grinned. “You get 25% of any profit. I’m banking on you to drum up some business across the water, son and to eventually run our enterprise there. I’m investing in this too, you know. I’m investing in you.”
Michael chewed on this. “And your average asking price, is?”
“Well, we don’t get hung up on or advertise prices. You get a feel for what the client’s after and how hungry they are for it. Then you pitch the price at just the right level. Much like a car sale. On average we get nothing less than quarter of a mil, but I’m sure the Yanks have deeper pockets.”
Michael clinked his glass to Harry’s. “I’m in. I’m happy to fly back to the States as soon as you’ve shown me how the website and orders work.”
“No time like the present.” Harry rose and, after re-filling their drinks, clicked on a panel in the refreshment centre and a black computer console rose smoothly into view. “The website simply sits like a shadow behind the Bespoke Cars site. You just click on the curlicue that sits in the bottom right corner of the home page.”
“What if it’s clicked accidentally by someone who’s only interest is cars?”
“It doesn’t lead straight to it and you need a passcode. I’ll demonstrate.”
He brought up the BC site. Clicking on the curlicue, it brought up an error message. “This guards against unauthorised users,” he explained, whilst swiftly cutting and pasting the numbers from the error message into the browser. The page re-loaded and a new screen appeared which requested a username and pin. “Customers are issued with a username and a pin generating device,” he revealed, as he quickly gained access and an impressive looking webpage presented itself.
He turned the console to Michael then and invited him to try it out. “You’ll find it mirrors the Bespoke Cars site in style and functionality. Customers choose what they’re after in much the same way, indicating size, colour, shape. The computer brings up a test image. They can tweak it until they’re happy. They can then describe their more personal preferences. With cars, this would be modifications such as steering devices and accessories. In girls, it’s such things as specific facial features and sexual experience.”
“Clever,” remarked Michael, taking a seat. “It’s like designing your own avatar,” he murmured after playing around with it for a time.
“No, not avatar,” corrected Harry. “Perfect mate.”
“That depends on your definition of perfect.” Pausing in his experimenting, he fixed Harry with a firm stare. “I prefer some surprises.”
Laughing, Harry said, “But I’m sure you can still sell it to those that don’t.”
Michael harrumphed. “How do you go about procuring payment?”
“When the client submits their order it produces a standard car order and invoice our end, apart from one important giveaway - the curlicue on the top. The client pays the invoice just as he would an invoice for a vehicle. The car specifications are simply code for female characteristics. A code only we can translate.”
“But why bother with such pretences at all? Again, why go to so much trouble?”
Harry patted him on the shoulder. “All for blunt and brutal aren’t you, Mick? Other operations come undone by trying to take shortcuts or working outside the law. I am a legitimate businessman with a reputation to uphold. Don’t you realise, appearances are everything?”
Michael looked at him for a long moment, blinked and then nodded in accession. He glanced back at the computer screen but quickly closed out of the application when he realised that the female archetype he had inadvertently “created” bore an uncanny resemblance to Kate.
He turned back to Harry. “When do I get my own passcode?”
CHAPTER 17
In the days that followed the charity ball, Kate kept herself busy dealing with the fall-out. Such events were almost as difficult to handle post as pre, due to having to deal with the money that had been donated and pledged. She was determined this time not to torture herself over the mysterious Michael in the same way she had before. She had given him her number and made it clear she would like to hear from him. It was up to him now whether or not he contacted her.
When the call actually came, it took her by surprise as it came to her office. It was a few moments before she even registered that it was him, as his opening line was the common one of confirming a charity payment. However, as soon as he thanked her and said her name in his inimitable way, she knew. Her heart stuttered and she almost dropped the phone. Her mind urged her to say something to keep him on the line, but her voice refused to function.
In the end, this didn’t matter as she realised he hadn’t ended the call and was actually asking her if he could take her out on Friday evening. She managed to falteringly accept and before she knew it the phone call was over and she was mulling over his parting request to “Wrap up warm.” This wasn’t a typical dinner date, then? Should she try and ring him back and find out exactly what he had planned? Didn’t the man realise how hard it was to dress for a first date, let alone be left without any specific details about what they would be doing? Should she even expect to be eating out? She sighed. She’d just have a snack beforehand and hope for the best. After all, she’d be seeing him again and wasn’t that all that mattered?
Michael left the car at the kerb and approached her flat. His heart was thumping like a teenager’s on ball night. He berated himself. He was a 34 year old man for God’s sake, and needed to get a hold on himself. He was long past the days when his hormones had dictated his actions. Any relationship with this girl needed to be tightly controlled. Surely that wasn’t impossible? He knocked at the door decisively, disguising a lack of confidence that he hoped was transitory.
She did not keep him waiting. He smiled when she opened the door, seeing only her face aglow with the delight of his arrival. She was a wonder to him. He would never tire of her. That sudden knowledge both shattered and augmented him. He then took in her apparel. She was warmly dressed, as he had asked, in black leggings, thigh length beige boots and a long angora sweater which hung unwittingly off one shoulder, exposing translucent, beautifully freckled skin. She looked so young. He visibly blanched and she took a step back in response.
“Am I dressed inappropriately?” she queried.
“Not at all.”
“I’ll just grab my jacket, then.”
She ran inside and was not long in returning. When she came back, he took her arm quickly, before he lost his nerve, leading her to the car. He opened the door of his Aston Martin and she settled herself into the passenger seat, appreciatively running a hand across the leather interior then turning to him. “You’re sure, I’m dressed ok?”
He dared not look at her when she asked such a question, for fear of revealing the force of his regard. He started the engine and murmured, “You’re perfect.”
He realised she remained insecure about her appearance when she starte
d fidgeting. He turned to her in the midst of his furious driving and repeated, “You’re perfect. Trust me.” He grinned at her and touched the hand with which she gripped her seat. She reciprocated with a smile that was half-terrified at the speed of their travel and half-elated.
Their destination was not far outside the city but, once they arrived, Kate felt like she had entered an entirely different world. As Michael steered the car through the ornate gates to the grounds of what was clearly a considerable estate, she queried. “Where are we? You don’t live here do you?”
“I only wish!” laughed Michael. “Wait and see.”
They drove further into the estate, up a long gravel roadway dissecting dark tracts of field and woodland. Fortunately the night was clear and crisp and the moon illuminated their progress, as the roadway was poorly lit.
Kate gasped in amazement when, following a curve in the road, the main house suddenly loomed ahead. Well, ‘house’ was not an adequate description. This was a famous elegant 17th Century mansion and she suddenly recognised where she was. “Oxbury Hall,” she breathed. “Is this now a hotel? Have you booked a room?”
Michael frowned at this. “I’m not that forward on a first date!”
“I don’t think I would have minded if you were,” she murmured, unashamedly. He must have heard this for he glanced sharply at her.
He turned off the road, away from the Hall, and into a large well-lit car park, surrounded by magnificent fir trees. As he brought the car to a halt and turned off the engine, he turned to her, a measure of sternness in his demeanour.
Before he had chance to comment on her previous remark, however, she distracted him by exclaiming, “I hear music!”
His face softened into a smile at this. He released her seat-belt and said, “Let’s go and see where it’s coming from shall we?”
He took her hand in his, as he led her down a path through the trees. Kate’s heart fluttered at his touch and as she glanced at his severe profile she wondered fleetingly why this man, whom she hardly knew, had such a powerful effect on her. She only hoped her heart was trustworthy, as she knew it was opening itself after a long hiatus, like a flower unable to stop unfurling its petals to the sun. Well at least tonight she’d have the opportunity to find out more about him.
As they walked the music gradually filtered through the air more distinctly and she recognised it as Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade, one of her favourite pieces. When the trees opened out, she gasped in wonder at what she saw and tightened her hold. Michael laughed and squeezed back. Turning to look into his smiling eyes, she knew his pleasure was all for her. Surely he also felt the connection that sparked between them?
Before her was the back of the majestic Hall, turrets piercing the black night sky whose nebulous breadth was punctuated by sparkling stars. Magnificent though it was, the Hall was not what had taken her breath. At ground level was a string orchestra, playing from an esplanade below the huge brightly lit windows of the Hall. A set of spectacular stone steps led down to a vast expanse of unrelenting white: a lake of ice. Whilst the orchestra played, couples and groups navigated the ice with differing measures of success, some swooping by gracefully, others struggling to maintain their balance.
She loosened her grip and punched his arm playfully. “Aren’t you meant to be looking after me? What would my father say if he knew you’d such risky recreation in mind?”
“I know of more dangerous sports,” he returned, his eyes alight with a flirtatious gleam. Then he sobered and said, “Don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of you.” With that, he led her down to the far side of the lake where skates and access to the ice were available.
Kate was not a complete stranger to ice-skating. Whilst initially she clutched hold of Michael, partly as an excuse to maintain close contact and partly to pander to his male ego, her feet soon betrayed their desire for freedom.
She drifted free of his hold, gliding across the ice and as he caught up with her he reproached, “Risky, huh? You’ve done this before!”
She turned easily and laughed. He made to grab her arm but she deliberately avoided his reach and dared, “Catch me.” She pivoted and was gone.
She dashed across the ice. Once she felt she’d gained some distance on him, she slowed and coasted blissfully for some seconds. With her eyes closed, she gloried in the buzz of blood in her veins, the burning rush of cold air against her cheeks and the haunting music, floating into her ears and stirring her soul. This interlude was interrupted when she felt someone jolt her arm. She opened her eyes quickly enough but not in time to correct her now diverted course. She collided with another skater, who staggered forward but managed to keep from falling, and glared accusingly at her as he swiftly skated away. Whilst struggling gainfully to stay upright herself, by wheeling her arms comically, Kate had too much momentum and only managed to reverse the direction of her fall.
She braced herself for the inevitable impact of her backside with the ice, but instead of hitting the ground she found herself caught under the arms by a strong pair of hands and propelled gently back to her feet. She automatically assumed Michael was her rescuer, as he could not have been far behind her, but the voice she heard, whilst one she instantly recognised, was certainly not his American brogue.
“Whoah! Nearly had yourself a nasty fall there.”
She swung around quickly in surprise. “Robert?” she queried.
Her ex-fiancé naturally looked older than when she’d last seen him but his looks had not suffered for it, apart from a slight tightening around his eyes that may have had more to do with this unexpected meeting than the passing of time. Before she could say anything to him though, she stumbled slightly as her legs were still shaky from her near accident.
Robert leaned out to catch her again, but this time it was Michael’s hands she found clasping her and he who prevented her fall. “It’s OK. I’ve got her this time,” he said.
“A bit late for that,” Robert berated scathingly. “You should take better care of your date.”
Michael frowned, as he regarded the man who had stepped in and assisted Kate. He had been about to thank him, but was not pleased by the insinuation that he was not looking after her.
Kate quickly recognised the tension between them and hastily broke in with, “It was my fault. I was trying to outrun him.”
Robert’s face only blackened at this. Michael didn’t fail to notice. He would have liked to challenge this stranger’s effrontery but was anxious not to have the evening spoilt.
He swallowed back an atavistic reply and put out his hand instead, saying “It's a good thing you were here. Thanks for saving her.” His words, though apologetic, seemed to inexplicably crush the man. He looked down at the ground and mumbled, “I didn't save her,” abruptly turning away from them.
Then, as if remembering himself, Robert turned back to kiss Kate on the cheek, saying “Good to see you. Take care,” with more emphasis than was normal in this conventional parting. He moved off quickly as if suddenly impelled to get away, re-joining a group of male companions.
“What was all that about? You know that man?” Michael asked, although this last query was said more as a statement than a question.
Kate sighed and leaned into him. “Yes, although I haven't seen him in years. We were engaged at one time.”
She looked up to see the questions surfacing in his eyes. She asked her own question to ward off any of his. “Can we get off the ice? I think I've had enough.”
“Sure,” he responded, leading her back towards the exit.
As he helped her off with her skates they were both silent, lost in their own thoughts. She knew he must be curious to know more about Robert. She was contemplating whether to simply volunteer further information. But she knew opening that chapter of her life could lead to other revelations she wasn’t strong enough to discuss. However, it struck her that if their relationship was to have a future she needed to trust him with the past. She was gathering up her courag
e to say more, when he broke the silence first.
“You don't have to tell me anything about your past, Kate. It's clearly a painful subject. I'm only interested in the present. I'm grateful to that man, if anything. Grateful he caught you, but also grateful he let you go. I don't need to know more than that.”
She understood the double meaning in his words but was reluctant to leave him believing that Robert was solely to blame for the end of their relationship. “We let each other go,” she corrected. “I went through something that changed me.”
Tears began to well uncontrollably in her eyes. She swiped at them in embarrassment. Michael put a finger to her lips. “Shhsh,” he said. “Don't talk about it if it upsets you.”
She took hold of his finger and curled her fingers around his hand, holding it tight. “I want to tell you,” she said. “You deserve to know. It's part of who I am. There's more than what happened with Robert.”
Michael saw in her face that she was determined to talk about it. He withdrew his hand from hers to touch her cheek. “Well then,” he said. “Let me sit you down with a drink first. I won't have you making some personal confession to me without some Dutch courage and something to eat.”
He lifted her to her feet and, as he led her away from the skating area, it suddenly occurred to her that he'd mentioned food and drink. “So, are we going somewhere else?” she asked.
He smiled. “No, we're staying right here,” he said, and pointed towards the opposite end of the lake. “They have refreshments available in the marquee over there and they’ll be putting on an ice spectacular later, once the lake closes to the public.”
Kate commented, “I hadn’t even noticed it. You don't do things by halves, do you?”
He laughed and her mood lightened, which is what he had intended.
