The Innocent

by John Argus

  ‘It doesn’t feel that hot,’ she observed. ‘The breeze is nice and refreshing.’

  ‘Come on, take a swim with me,’ he pressed.

  ‘No, thank you.’ She did not like him; he was brash and pushy, and the way he ogled her was rude.

  ‘This girl of yours is impudent, Steven,’ he said, his eyes never leaving her. ‘We ought to throw her in anyway.’

  ‘Another time, perhaps,’ Erasmus said, congenially but firmly, and clearly getting the underlying message from his senior, McNeil moved off with Zoe scowling after him.

  Erasmus sipped his iced drink, his eyes constantly on the move, and then smiled broadly and raised the chinking glass a little in acknowledgement of a man sitting by the opposite edge of the pool, who immediately returned the unspoken salutation. ‘There’s Sir Patrick, Zoe,’ he informed his young charge, the smile still fixed to his face, ‘in those ghastly yellow trunks.’

  She looked, and saw a balding, middle-aged man wallowing on a reclining sun chair whilst chatting to another man. She recognised him as someone her father had often entertained, and nodded.

  ‘Why don’t you casually slip into the pool and swim across to them?’ Erasmus suggested, and although she did not as a rule enjoy swimming particularly, since Steven had asked she did as he wanted and moved slowly towards the pool, blithely unaware of the many eyes following her. She was the only young woman there, and that would have made her the focus of male eyes seeking a pleasant view even were she not so lovely and wearing only a swimsuit.

  She paused at the edge of the water and gracefully dipped her toes in, swishing them around before carefully edging down the steps and swimming across the pool. When she reached the other side, right by where Sir Patrick wallowed, she gripped the edge and raised her sleek body half out of the refreshing water, smiling brightly at him as she blinked sparkling droplets out of her equally sparkling eyes, the water lapping gently around her toned bottom. ‘Hello, Sir Patrick,’ she said sweetly.

  The overweight man hesitated, clearly surprised that the young beauty was talking to him, her radiant smile utterly bewitching. ‘Ah, hello… young Zoe, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Yes, of course, Quincanon’s daughter. It’s… it’s very nice to see you again, Zoe.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, pushed easily up out of the pool, and sat beside him on a vacant chair, where one of the many freshly laundered towels, placed around for the guests’ convenience, had been neatly folded. She picked it up and dabbed at her wet skin, but what she didn’t realise was that her wet suit had become quite transparent, and that her nipples had reacted traitorously to the cool water – a fact Sir Patrick could not fail to notice and appreciate as she unknowingly lifted her arms and gave her hair a quick rub.

  Erasmus, whose eyes were of course fixed carefully upon her, observed slyly how revealing her costume now was, and was altogether happy about it. It would further damage her reputation, and she was gaining Stewart’s full attention far more easily than he had hoped she would. He wondered how she’d not yet noticed that the suit was virtually see-through, for he knew that if she had been aware she would have turned six shades of red by now and fled in embarrassment. He chuckled to himself as he hoped she would stay away from mirrors, and then another thought came to him.

  How had she come to select that particular suit? Surely old Higgins would not have set it aside for use by his visitors, so how had Zoe come upon it? His eyes flitted suspiciously across to where Allison Parker laughed gaily with three adoring male guests. He would just have to find out for sure…

  ‘Ah, Erasmus old boy,’ a voice interrupted his ponderings, and he turned to see who it was.

  ‘Perkins,’ he greeted the man.

  ‘You came with that young lady over there?’ Perkins gazed wistfully across at Zoe, who was chatting amiably with Sir Patrick.

  ‘Yes, she works for the party, a summer job,’ Erasmus told him. ‘She’s Sir John Quincanon’s daughter.’

  ‘Is she? Amazing. Wouldn’t have thought an old prude like that would have such daring offspring.’

  ‘Yes, I can’t wait for when she’ll be out of our hair.’

  ‘Really?’ The man did not sound convinced, and smiled knowingly. ‘Wouldn’t have thought that of you. She looks like a lovely creature to be around, if you ask me.’

  Erasmus shook his head. ‘She’s a featherhead, Perkins. She can’t concentrate on her work at all and she’s always off chasing some man or other.’ He leaned closer and lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘She’s actually been caught during indelicate liaisons with younger male members of the staff several times already… you know, in stationery cupboards and so on.’

  ‘Really? Amazing.’ Perkins took a large gulp of his gin and tonic as he continued staring at Zoe, his interest in her clearly intensifying by the second.

  ‘I understand she and her father don’t see eye to eye,’ Erasmus went on, fanning the flames of gossip.

  Perkins snorted. ‘That’s hardly surprising!’

  ‘Yes, and she wants out from under his thumb, and I’ve heard it said she’s searching for a man of means to help her.’

  ‘I see.’ He tapped his nose and winked. ‘Say no more, I understand, old boy. One of those, eh? Well, well, think she’s fixing on Sir Patrick?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, but he certainly is a man of substance, and he used to have an eye for the ladies.’

  ‘That certainly won’t please Quincanon,’ Perkins scoffed, evidently amused by the thought of a displeased John Quincanon. ‘There’ll be a right row when he finds out.’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid you might be right,’ Erasmus agreed, with mock sadness and a shake of his head.

  Zoe found Sir Patrick to be quite friendly, though she was disconcerted to realise his eyes spent a good amount of time on her breasts. It embarrassed her, but not as much as it once would have, and besides, he was a harmless old goat and a friend of her father’s. And she was no longer a shy innocent; she was a sophisticated woman of the world – or almost, anyway.

  The man beside him, however, was a different matter. His name was Laurence Taylor and he stared at her with a look so obvious it made her feel quite uncomfortable. So she persuaded Sir Patrick into the water with her, and then picked up a floating beach ball and tossed it to him so they could play. That was rather good fun, and other people apparently thought so too, for soon several more men were in the water tossing the ball back and forth.

  Back on the poolside she lingered with Sir Patrick, as Erasmus had instructed her to, and listened intently to the conversations he had with the other men, many of whom meandered by to speak with him on a variety of subjects. Little of the conversations interested her, yet she managed to learn quite a lot about what he was involved in politically, and the problems he was facing.

  And when a skinny fellow with thinning hair was introduced as the Member of Parliament for Leeds, she was delighted at her good fortune. She almost immediately began regaling Mr Ballister with the sad story of the orphans from his constituency, and how their home was about to be taken away and the children scattered to the four winds. He was not surprised at the situation, but much to her disappointment, he was not moved by it either – quite the contrary, in fact.

  ‘Good riddance,’ he said, snorting in distaste.

  ‘But… but they’ll be without a home!’ she exclaimed, incredulous at his callous attitude.

  ‘Rabble like that will always find somewhere to crawl under,’ he said, eyeing her breasts like most of the others had. ‘No, I’ve had nothing but complaints from the people in that neighbourhood. They want them gone, and I can’t say as I blame them. Besides, the owner wants to build a grocery store on the site.’

  ‘A grocery store?’ Zoe squealed, appalled. ‘But he can’t!’

  ‘Of course he can, it’s his land,’ the gruff man said.

>   ‘So the government should take it away from him,’ she declared.

  ‘You think we’re communists?’ he ridiculed belittlingly.

  ‘Well, no, of course not,’ Zoe floundered, ‘but they should at least buy it from him, then.’

  ‘Not a chance, he’s a party member,’ Ballister said dismissively. ‘Besides, nobody likes the place. The conservatives think they’re a bunch of criminal juvenile delinquents and the liberals are in love with foster care. They want all the kids in individual homes with loving parents paid to love them.’

  Sir Patrick smiled. ‘He’s right about one thing, I’m afraid, Zoe,’ he said in a kindly fashion. ‘The notion of orphanages is not a popular one. It brings to mind images of Charles Dickens and his poor, deprived boys.’

  ‘But they want to stay,’ she protested. ‘And they’ll do better there.’

  ‘People seldom take much notice of reality when they’ve got a notion in their heads, my dear,’ he insisted.

  ‘Sheer stupidity, but what can we do?’ Ballister added with a smirk.

  ‘Well, Mr Erasmus says we might be able to buy the building with a grant,’ she said determinedly.

  ‘Ah yes, Erasmus,’ Ballister said. ‘Such a transparent attempt to please the masses.’

  ‘He’s a good man,’ Zoe argued, affronted by the slur on his character.

  ‘Not everyone thinks so,’ Sir Patrick countered enigmatically.

  ‘No doubt you like him, as no doubt he likes you,’ Ballister sniped, condescendingly spending more time eyeing her breasts than paying her the courtesy of looking her in the eye. ‘I’m sure he sees something very special in you… as we all do.’ He smirked again. ‘Why, I fancy I can see right through you to a heart of gold.’

  Sir Patrick jabbed his elbow into Ballister’s ribs. ‘Sorry, old boy,’ he grunted, ‘lost my footing for a second there.’

  Zoe looked for Mr Erasmus, and spied him across the water motioning towards her. She excused herself and walked quickly around the pool to him.

  ‘Zoe,’ he said, frowning, ‘go and change at once.’

  ‘But why?’ she asked, confused.

  ‘Just hurry up and do as I say,’ he snapped. ‘We’re leaving.’

  He seemed quite annoyed about something, so she rushed to the cabana, where she stripped off the wet suit, dried herself properly, and slipped back into her clothes. She towel-dried her hair and brushed it as best she could.

  Outside, Erasmus brusquely gestured for her to follow him to the car. ‘Inside, and don’t say a word,’ he said sternly.

  She obeyed him, her mind whirling as she tried to understand how she had displeased him, running over the events of the morning as the car headed towards the city.

  They drove back in complete silence, and when they arrived he flung open the door and stormed out of the car, leaving her totally bewildered as she hurried after him. He outpaced her easily, however, and disappeared into his office, closing the door behind him.

  She was extremely upset that he was angry with her, and utterly bewildered by the cause. Could he possibly be envious of the time she had spent with Sir Patrick? But the idea was quite silly, because he had delegated her to stay near him.

  There was work in her basket, quite a lot of it, and after a casual nod to Normand Miller, she sat down and tried to bury herself in it.

  After a few hours she went for tea, and encountered Ms Beacher. That meeting was also bewildering, and left her even more flustered and upset. For Ms Beacher was angry with her as well.

  ‘How could you embarrass Mr Erasmus like that?’ the woman demanded, glaring at Zoe as her fingers dug into her arm. ‘Wearing such a revealing costume in front of all those important people! Have you any idea what that will do to his reputation?’

  Zoe had been unable to question the woman, who stalked off immediately after berating her. She tried to recall every detail of the conservative swimsuit she had worn, but could find nothing about it that was particularly revealing, and he had certainly not complained when he first saw her in it.

  The rest of the day was spent buried in hard work, although a cloud of unhappiness surrounded her. She hated it, absolutely loathed it, when people were angry with her. And to her unhappiness was added the frustration of not understanding the cause of that anger, and so not being able to think of anything she could do to placate it. She went home at the end of the day without seeing either Mr Erasmus or Ms Beacher again, and feeling pretty upset about the days’ events.

  The card waiting on Zoe’s mat surprised her. She gazed at it doubtfully, yet felt encouraged by its presence. It showed Mr Erasmus continued to be interested in her, if her assumption was correct and he was indeed the one sending them to her. But then, in all likelihood it had been sent before he became angry with her. She picked it up and carried it over to the sofa, sat down, slipped off her shoes, and opened the envelope.

  The card she drew out was similar to the others – a skilful drawing of a beautiful young woman – and yet she inhaled deeply as she gazed at it. Although she was in profile with her head lolling forward and her hair partially curtaining her face… it could easily have been her.

  The glimpse of her face, the hair, and the body, were all so like Zoe that she blushed at the implication that it had been drawn specifically with her in mind, and the idea that Mr Erasmus had gone to such effort made her stomach flutter with excitement, even if the picture itself made her stomach flutter with uncertainty.

  The girl stood in a dark place, her arms raised and her legs spread. Both her wrists and ankles were bound with a heavy chain, stretching her taut. Her body was cloaked in shadow, and every contour was neatly and finely drawn so as to emphasise her softness, beauty and vulnerability. There was a small, shiny ring dangling from her only visible nipple.

  Zoe held her breath, her hand inching up to her breast and squeezing softly as if to reassure herself.

  The girl was standing on tiptoe, the thin lines wrapping around her back to her sides and buttocks clearly visible. And as if there could be any doubt as to their cause, a shadowy male fist was in the foreground, the handle of a whip firmly in its grasp.

  Zoe stared at the image breathlessly, her heart pounding in her chest as she was torn between anxiety and excitement. Her mind span as she stared at the girl, imagining it was herself, and the thought of being whipped by Mr Erasmus made her feel faint with fear and longing.

  Was he so angry he wanted to punish her like that? How badly would it hurt? And would she really look as sinfully beautiful and deliciously vulnerable as the girl in the picture?

  Yet the whole scenario was nonsense, of course; civilised girls did not get whipped these days…

  Chapter Twelve

  An hour or so after opening the latest card, Zoe was surprised to hear her doorbell ring and her hands immediately went to the front of her robe to clutch it closer. She was sure it was Mr Erasmus, and she hurried to the door to peek through the small view hole. She was both relieved and disappointed to see Selina, and she heaved a plaintive sigh as she unlocked and opened the door.

  ‘Hi, Zoe.’ The girl looked a little agitated, even a little embarrassed. ‘May I come in?’

  ‘Sure, is something wrong?’ Zoe asked, as she closed and locked the door and they went into the tiny lounge.

  ‘Wrong?’ Selina said hastily. ‘No, why do you ask?’

  ‘Well, I just wondered.’ Zoe eyed the girl warily. ‘Can I get you something?’

  Selina nodded and looked restless. She was wearing a loose blue jacket over a matching short skirt and a white blouse. ‘I’m sorry, I should have called,’ she apologised.

  ‘Oh, I’m not doing anything,’ Zoe said truthfully. ‘Want a cola, or some tea?’

  Selina shook her head, contradicting her previous acceptance of some refreshment. ‘I heard you go
t in some trouble today,’ she said directly.

  ‘You did?’ That unsettled Zoe. ‘Who did you hear that from?’

  ‘My boss, Allison.’

  ‘Ah yes, I met her at the pool party, but I didn’t do anything wrong,’ she said resolutely.

  Selina ran restless fingers through her dark hair as she shook her head again. ‘Allison said you were wearing a particularly revealing swimsuit.’

  Zoe looked at her blankly.

  ‘You know, one that becomes virtually transparent when wet.’

  ‘I was not,’ she gasped.

  Selina raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Allison said it was so sheer that after you went in the pool every man there was drooling over your boobs. She said it was so sheer you might as well have been naked.’

  The suit had seemed conservative enough to Zoe, but that was apparently before she went outside and got in the water. Yet surely it had not been as sheer as Selina was describing. Her face grew warmer and warmer as she remembered all the men hanging around her, and then Ms Beacher’s angry denunciation that she had embarrassed Mr Erasmus with her bathing attire. ‘No, I’m sure you’re wrong,’ she insisted desperately.

  Selina shook her head. ‘Allison was most definite about it.’

  Zoe’s face burned and she held her hands to her cheeks, feeling somewhat faint. She backed up and sank down onto the couch, her mind reeling at the thought of having exposed herself to so many men, and women, too. How humiliating! No wonder Mr Erasmus had been so angry with her. What must he think of her?

  Selina sat on the sofa beside the mortified Zoe, and gave her a hug and a wry smile. ‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘It’s not really your fault. It’s just in your nature… in our nature. I’d probably have chosen the same sort of suit myself.’

  ‘But I didn’t know!’ Zoe cried.

  ‘Maybe a part of you knew, that naughty side, the one I have as well. I think it’s a part of our nature. We’re weak, Zoe. We have this terrible hunger and desire inside us.’ She looked down to where she was wringing her hands in her lap. ‘Do you know what I did today?’ she whispered.