by Monica Belle
I’d begun to blush as I spoke, but she just smiled and carried on. ‘What you mustn’t do is tell him you saw and give him an ultimatum. That way disaster lies.’
‘I figured that one out when I was about fourteen.’
‘Exactly, he’d resent you for the rest of his life, at best. If you do want to stay with him, you’re going to have to compromise. That’ll be the tricky bit. If you don’t, you’ll just have to put it behind you and move on.’
‘I’m not sure. I still feel betrayed, but maybe I’m no better than he is? I mean, because of what he did … we did, but because we went behind each other’s back.’
‘I know …’ She hesitated, looking into her coffee before she went on. ‘I don’t expect he’ll stop, do you?’
Her eyes met mine, full of doubt and need. I knew what she was really asking and responded with a kiss, reassuring her. Despite my concerns, there was no denying that if the moment was right I’d give in to her again, which raised another question.
‘What about James?’
‘Oh, he won’t mind, but I won’t tell him if you’d rather?’
‘I’d be embarrassed, thanks, but I’ve decided I am going to tell Stephen, if you don’t mind?’
‘Not at all. I think you should.’
‘So do I, but what do I tell him? I’ve decided to try to compromise.’
‘Maybe you should give him the permission he needs without admitting you know?’
I nodded. It would be a highly calculating thing to do, but life had been like that recently, full of manoeuvring and compromise, first to get on in the Chamber and now in my private life. For a long time I sat sipping coffee in silence, trying to ignore my emotional needs and think of my life as an elaborate and serious game. At last I reached a conclusion.
‘I’ll do it. Back to business.’
‘You do that.’
She didn’t sound very convinced, but said no more. I had wasted a lot of time the day before, and needed to catch up. Stephen was sure to be in lectures, so I hurried into my smartest outfit and made for the Chamber. Having taken what should have been Giles’ decision into my own hands, I needed to make sure I wasn’t going to run into trouble, which meant talking to him. I would also have to tell him I’d accepted his advice, at least in part, but that could be used as a lever to make sure he didn’t make life difficult for me about going over his head.
I was standing in the lobby, going over the situation in my head to make sure it all worked when a tall grey-haired man walked in. He looked vaguely familiar, and carried that same air of absolute confidence that distinguished Giles but with a mature dignity rather than arrogance. After a moment looking around he addressed me.
‘Excuse me. Do you know where I might find Giles Lancaster.’
‘He’s probably in the bar. I’ll show you the way.’
‘I am on familiar territory, thank you, but I’d be delighted to accompany you.’
He smiled and gave the gentlest of steering touches to my back, low enough to make me stiffen a little, but not so low that I could realistically have accused him of patting my bottom. Evidently he was a randy old goat, but if he knew Giles he might prove to be an important randy old goat, so I made no comment.
Giles was in the bar as I’d predicted, and turned to us as we came in. ‘Uncle Randolph, you’re early, and I see you’ve already managed to pick up the beautiful and talented Poppaea, a good choice.’
I wasn’t at all surprised to learn that the man was Giles’ uncle, and put up with the remark, intrigued to know what was going on. The name Randolph had triggered a memory associated with the man’s face, although there was usually a ‘sir’ associated with it and if I was right he might prove very important indeed. I waited until they’d exchanged greetings and Giles indicated me with a gesture.
‘Poppaea is one of our brightest young things, and a natural politician, or at least I hope she is. Have you thought over what we were discussing last night, Poppy?’
‘Yes, although I wouldn’t want to bore your uncle with the details.’
‘I’m sure he’d be fascinated, but we’ll talk later, perhaps over lunch? Care for a bracer, Uncle Randolph?’
It was barely eleven o’clock, but Giles ordered a round of gin and tonics, including one for me. I stayed with them, and on discovering that Uncle Randolph was up in Oxford to attend a formal lunch with the Vice-Chancellor and various other bigwigs I was able to ascertain that he really was who I’d thought. Evidently Giles’ connections were better even than I’d imagined, and I did my best to be pleasant, although from the way Sir Randolph’s eyes kept straying to my chest he was clearly more interested in my physique than my character.
Sir Randolph left us shortly before twelve, after including me in a dinner invitation at his hotel that evening, and I was left alone with Giles. He got straight to the point. ‘Am I to take it from the way you’ve been flirting with Uncle Randolph that common sense has prevailed?’
‘I have not been flirting with your uncle, but yes, I’ll put up with the situation. I won’t tell him I saw you either, but I will drop a hint that I don’t mind.’
‘Good girl. You really do have the makings of a politician. Speaking of which, here’s some advice. Do you go up to London at all?’
‘Hardly ever.’
‘Well, next time you do, let me know and I shall arrange for Uncle Randolph to take you out to dinner.’
‘Thank you, and I really mean that.’
‘Not at all. He has a great deal of influence, as I’m sure you know. He is also very discreet, and a little quid pro quo would do wonders for your career, you’ll find.’
It took me a moment to realise what he was suggesting, but I was used to his behaviour and simply shook my head. ‘If I won’t go to bed with you, what makes you think I’d go to bed with your uncle?’
‘I rather suspect that you will go to bed with me, eventually, but you certainly ought to with Sir Randolph. Is it such a great sacrifice, when you really think about it? Imagine, a candlelit dinner at his Westminster flat, a little flirtation, an elegantly phrased suggestion that you should let your knickers down, a good humping – if perhaps a trifle less vigorous than you’re used to – et voilà, the corridors of power will open, rather like your cunt. A good exchange, I’d have said, no?’
The term before I’d probably have slapped him, now I merely shook my head. ‘I have no intention of trying to sleep my way to the top, which is a fool’s game as you perfectly well know.’
‘Not in this case. As I mentioned, Uncle Randolph is discreet, while by the time you get senior enough for the press to take an interest he will almost certainly have drunk himself to death. Think about it, Poppy, seriously.’
‘And what would you get out of it?’
‘Much the same as you.’
‘I suppose he’d realise you’d suggested I give in to him?’
‘I’d tell him.’
‘You really are extraordinary.’
‘Why, thank you. But, returning to young Mitchell, what exactly do you propose to tell him?’
‘That, while I expect him to be faithful as far as other women are concerned, I don’t mind what he does with other men.’
He gave a thoughtful nod before replying. ‘I’d elaborate on that a little, if I was you, otherwise he’s sure to wonder why you’ve brought the subject up.’
‘I’m sure I could get round to it.’
‘Perhaps, but might it not be better to hint that the idea rather turns you on?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I think you will find it’s your best angle, and, besides, I bet it’s true.’
‘It is not!’
‘No?’
He gave a smug little chuckle.
I had no intention whatsoever of adopting Giles’ suggestion, but I couldn’t think of anything better and decided not to seek Stephen out until I’d thought it all over. There was plenty of work to do in any case, and I spent the afternoon in th
e Bodleian, trying to keep my eyes open and wishing I’d declined Giles’ offer of a second drink.
Aside from his outrageous propositions, he’d been at his most pleasant, readily agreeing to my decisions over televising the debate and even backdating his signature so that I wouldn’t risk getting into trouble. For once I didn’t have to wonder what he was after, as it was now plainly to his advantage to keep me on side. Like me, he intended to make a sensible marriage, although not for some time, which meant that I knew more than he would want to become public knowledge. I might not have done it on purpose, but I had manoeuvred myself into an advantageous position.
If I wanted to I could capitalise on that position. As I sat reading about Ramsay MacDonald and the National Government I even allowed myself to imagine how things might be if I took him up on his offer. There was no doubt at all in my mind that if his uncle Randolph got me alone he would try to seduce me, because I know a dirty old man when I see one. I’d never been with anybody more than a few years older than me, and wondered what it would be like; whether he’d be captivated by my youth, as Don Matteo had been with Conchita, or stern and authoritative, expecting me to do as I was told, maybe even spanking my bottom.
I shook my head to rid myself of the image, shocked at my own imagination. He was far too old, and I had far too much self-respect to submit to spanking from some randy old goat, or from anybody, at least, with the possible exception of Dr James McLean. I could imagine him doing it, easily, maybe with Violet holding me and stroking my hair as I was prepared for the birch, my skirt turned up behind and my knickers pulled down, baring my bottom for punishment. He’d whip me, hard, and, as I gave in to my pain and arousal, Violet would ease me gently down between her thighs, to make me return the favour she’d given so well as I was thrashed.
Again I shook my head, but this time it made no difference. The fantasy was too compelling to be easily got rid of, because I had whipped myself, and I had been with Violet, leaving James McLean as the only missing piece of the arrangement. Just to think about him made my stomach flutter, and I knew I’d do it, if only the circumstances were right. They never would be, because the potential cost was too high, but I could dream.
I was feeling more than a little sad as I forced my attention back to the book in front of me. It seemed that there was to be no end to the sacrifices I was called on to make in order to further my career. I knew I shouldn’t really have let Violet seduce me, but a little lesbian experimentation at university would probably be excused, in the unlikely event that it ever came out. A threesome in which I got birched and probably had from behind while I licked my girlfriend was another matter altogether, far too outrageous to ever be considered acceptable behaviour.
By the time I left the Bodleian it was dark, and I hurried back to college. There was no sign of Violet, but I found myself hoping she’d come in as I showered and changed, even risking leaving my door unlocked. She didn’t, which meant she was almost certainly at James’ house, a realisation that provoked a touch of something akin to jealousy, not because they were together, but because I wasn’t with them.
As I walked towards the Pillars hotel I was wondering what was going on in my head. Thinking about Violet, and about James McLean, made me feel warm as well as aroused. To think of what they might do to me was frightening, as it should have been, but also strangely comforting. When I thought about Stephen my emotions were too confused to resolve, and I decided not to see him until the weekend, at least, only to discover that I had no say in the matter.
I knew perfectly well that I’d been invited to dinner because Giles and Sir Randolph found me ornamental, but I’d assumed it would be just the three of us. Instead, the great round table in the exact centre of the dining room at the Pillars had twelve chairs drawn up to it, one of which was occupied by Stephen. He greeted me with his usual boyish smile and kissed me as I sat down beside him. I had no intention of making a scene, and could only respond in kind, kissing him back and joining in his conversation as if nothing had happened.
Giles was quick to take advantage of the situation, pretending to study the menu before making a carefully chosen remark. ‘I see they have asparagus, but at this time of the year they can only be those horrible stringy green ones they import from goodness only knows where. They’re just not worth eating. Fat, pale, British asparagus, that’s the ticket. You like those, don’t you, Stephen? Do you remember the ones we had in that restaurant in Sevenoaks?’
Stephen nodded approval and Giles went on with a sigh. ‘Eight inches long they were, each as thick as an egg, and almost white.’
He smacked his lips, ignoring my effort to throw him a dirty look. I knew that I would now be thinking of Stephen with a cock in his mouth for the entire meal, and silently cursed Giles, promising myself that if I ever got the opportunity to take my revenge on him it would be slow, highly unpleasant and, above all, humiliating.
Stephen was his normal self; friendly, amusing and attentive, which made it very hard to be angry with him. He was also keen to get me back to Emmanuel afterwards, repeatedly dropping whispered hints and squeezing my leg under the table, which made the situation more awkward still. It was very tempting indeed to develop a convenient headache, and yet I was going to have to talk to him in the end, and I did not want to give Giles the satisfaction of seeing me back out.
Sir Randolph did us extremely well, not stinting on either food or drink, so that, while I held back, Stephen had put away enough for three, which I was hoping would put him off sex. Unfortunately he seemed to have an infinite capacity, and was as full of energy as ever when the party broke up.
Giles came up to us as we stood together on the pavement outside the hotel. ‘Good night then, Mitchell, and you, Poppy. Have fun.’
He gave us a knowing wink and walked away, whistling, as my cheeks flared hot. I had to say something, but I still had no idea how to broach the subject unless I used the technique Giles had suggested. Stephen put his arm around me as we started down Walton Street, his hand resting on the curve of my hip.
‘I’m sorry about Giles, but you know he’s a good sort at heart, don’t you?’
I tried hard not to sound bitter as I responded. ‘He’s certainly very helpful.’
‘Yes, and knowing Sir Randolph could do wonders for your career, if you go the right way about it.’
I winced, and briefly considered telling him that his precious Giles had suggested I sleep with Sir Randolph, only to reject the idea. For a space we walked in silence, but I had to say something before we reached Emmanuel, or back out. I finally took the bit between my teeth. ‘You like Giles a lot, don’t you?’
‘We’ve been friends for years, prep school, then Laon.’
‘Close friends, I imagine?’
‘Oh, the best.’
I went quiet again, wondering if I really dared say the words, but it was as if I could see Giles’ superior smirk and hear some remark about me being a typical comprehensive girl and not up to the mark. It had to be done, and I was going to have to use his gambit.
‘Is it true that senior boys at public school often tend to experiment together?’
‘How do you mean?’
He knew exactly what I meant. I could tell by his tone of voice, and he sounded worried. It was too late to back out.
‘I … I don’t mind, not at all. In fact I rather like the idea. Did you and Giles ever …?
I left the question open, my heart hammering as I waited for a response.
He gave a nervous laugh. ‘You don’t want to believe everything you hear!’
‘Oh.’
Again we went quiet. He’d as good as denied it, lying to me, and it was impossible not to feel hurt, and yet I knew his own emotions would be just as turbulent as mine.
At last he spoke again. ‘How do you mean, you rather like the idea?’
‘Um … I don’t know, it turns me on, that’s all. A lot of men like the fantasy of watching two girls together, don’t they? So why sho
uldn’t girls enjoy watching men?’
I was making it up as I went along, because the idea had never really occurred to me at all, but there was no denying that it made sense.
Again he laughed, more anxious than before. ‘That’s true, I suppose. I could tell you some stories, believe me.’
‘So I do want to believe everything I hear?’
I’d said it jokingly, trying to take the tension out of the air, and suddenly it was easy.
He laughed again, openly this time, and gave me a powerful squeeze. ‘You’re a disgrace, Poppy Miller, do you know that?’
‘Yes. Come on, spill the beans. I want to know what goes on.’
‘I can do better than that. Come here.’
He’d tightened his grip, steering me in an alley beside what I think was one of the religious institutions. I knew exactly what he was after, but I wasn’t at all sure I could give it.
‘Stephen!’
‘You want to know, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but why here? We’ll get caught.’
‘No we won’t.’
He was right. The alley divided at the end, one branch leading into utter darkness, the other to a short flight of stone steps and a door that looked as if it hadn’t been opened for a century. He kissed me, then pushed me down onto the steps by my shoulders, quite rough. I made to speak, but he was treating me the way he always did when he was turned on, the way I liked so much, making my emotions more confused than ever.
If I didn’t know what I wanted, he seemed to have no such doubts, freeing his cock and balls as he took me firmly by my hair. He pushed close, pressing himself to my face. My mouth came wide more or less by instinct, and I was sucking, just as he’d sucked Giles.
He gave a contented sigh, tightened his grip in my hair to make sure he could control the rhythm, then spoke again. ‘Let me talk, and don’t stop. Imagine we’re in Thailand, and I’ve talked you into picking up a prostitute for a threesome … imagine that. We’re in an alley, just like this one, but with the noise of the Bangkok streets all around us and neon signs of every colour on a wall high up above us. I want to see you lick her, Poppy …’
