With a theatrical flourish Ward turned the ornate brass doorknobs and threw open the double doors at stair top. “I can’t seem to avoid calling this room the ‘Crystal Ballroom.’ You’ll see why if we make it inside.”
Reza was far too urbane to gasp but his full carmine lips widened into a broad smile and his luminous eyes twinkled. “My! My!”
Inside was chaos. The inlaid black, brown and white floor was covered end to end and up to the two huge unlit chandeliers suspended from the vaulted ceiling with iron cages and contraptions of all sizes and shapes. “I find it irresistible. The previous owners intended to empty the room but I,” Ward parodied conciliation, “so kindly offered to do it for them.” But, as usual in this, his favourite playroom, boyish enthusiasm quickly resurfaced, “I have to restrain myself from spending every minute in here exploring.”
Ward’s gaze swept the pile’s length. “It must once have been some sort of treatment room. And then all the other rooms’ equipment was dumped here to prepare the house for sale.” He laughed happily. “High tech in its day.”
Reza laughed also in a melodious tenor. “It reminds me of one of my aunts. When I was a boy she bought a big old house in Paris and filled it with antiques. A year later she got bored and replaced the first set of antiques with others. The next year she did the same thing. The discarded furniture, most extremely valuable, was piled impenetrably to the ceiling in a large bedroom. I squeezed and scrambled through the labyrinth imagining myself a famous archaeologist sent to make reason from it all.”
Ward pointed to one end of the room with a museum docent’s earnestness. Above a massive carved fireplace, an intricate crystalline mosaic of perhaps a hundred pieces of bevelled and etched leaded glass making up a whimsical fractured looking glass peeked out through the room’s largest cage. “There’s a big window just like that on the far wall that would be a shame not to uncover. I haven’t decided what to leave in the room.”
As Ward ushered Reza out the doors and pulled them to, he smiled mischievously. “I think you’ll find the next room in the tour very interesting.” He led Reza past several identical doors partially opened into empty bedrooms to one slightly less majestic and also closed.
Ward pulled a large antique key from his trousers’ pocket. He held it upright by its ringed handle for Reza’s inspection. “Fortunately someone was wise enough to key each floor identically.” Ward glanced eloquently at Reza as the cumbersome metal turned effortlessly in his hand. “I lubricated the locks so I don’t break my wrist.”
He swung the door open to blinding white. Every inch of the enormous bath’s wall and floor as well as a rectangular plunge pool centred on the right wall was tiled in white glowing with an aged iridescent patina. The walls were fitted with what were undoubtedly state of the art fixtures in the sanatorium’s heyday, all intricately embossed.
Ward waved his hand toward a vertical metal construction on an embossed porcelain base wedged into the corner beyond the pool. “It’s called a “Ribcage” shower. You can see why. Each of the ribs provides a therapeutic needle shower spray.” He turned toward Reza, his eyes sparkling. “Fascinating, don’t you think?”
Reza walked toward the small white ceramic tile and scrolled iron fireplace sitting on a white marble surround at room’s end but stopped before he reached it. “This is interesting.”
Though not entirely certain whether Reza referred to the unusual porcelain tub opposite the pool, which resembled a chaise lounge with its high back and low front, or the heavy black chain attached to one claw foot, Ward chose sardonic neutrality. “Yes. It must have been used for hydrotherapy treatments.”
When Reza turned bemusedly toward him, he said, feigning innocence, “Oh! You meant the chain! Yes,” again his eyes sparked with enjoyment, “I have something I’m sure will interest you.”
He motioned Reza along the chain through an open side doorway into a dark and somewhat musty room heavily draped with stiff, old and very elaborate oriental fabric into five “cooling” alcoves in which beds once sat. The chain stretched across the Chinese carpet and underneath a dressing table’s skirts. Ward paused, enjoying Reza’s avid anticipation. He called, “Teresa. Come to me.”
For a moment, nothing. Then the stiff skirts stirred. They parted and, with the chain’s slight metallic jingling, a head that even in the dim light was obviously bright carrot red poked through. Ward sensed Reza hold his breath as slowly, reluctantly, an exquisite lithe naked body, with skin as pale as the bath’s blue-veined white marble and beautiful breasts with nipples the colour of pale pink peonies, emerged.
The girl crawled to Ward, head down, hair hanging like a curtain, and buried her face in the soft black wool covering his groin. He laid his hand on her titian fleece and, just for an instant, tenderly petted her before he slipped a hand through the silken strands and gripped.
No sound escaped her blushing lips as he pulled her head back and exposed her ethereal face and vivid, abjectly tranquil blue eyes. Over his shoulder he heard Reza’s gasp. “My God! Where did you get her?”
Without taking his eyes from her, Ward said, “She ran in front of my car.”
“You’re joking.”
“Sit, Teresa.” The girl sat back on her heels, her hands clasped in her lap. Ward broke his gaze and turned to Reza. “Really.” He elaborated his voice redolent with the amazement he still couldn’t shake, ending, “I thought I was going to run my new car up a tree.”
Reza was still transfixed. “Do you know who she is?”
Ward gave a frustrated shrug. “Would you believe it, she seems to be invisible. I’ve tried everything I can think of – newspapers, accident reports, talking to the local police, even enlisting help of friends at the FBI. Nothing! It’s like she dropped from the sky or a witch materialized her.”
“She won’t tell you?”
“Actually she doesn’t talk at all or even, most of the time, make any sound,” Ward smiled sardonically, “even under stress.” He lifted a gold chain from under the narrow iron collar locked around her slender throat. “I only know her name because it’s written here.” He patted her head again and experienced an attachment he found intensely uncomfortable. “But look how calm she is,” he ran his thick fingers along the collar, “even shackled.”
“What have you done with her?” Ward heard the eagerness in Reza’s voice.
“Actually, I’d like to talk to you about that.” Reza nodded, intensely interested. “I’ve given her some minimal training but she seems to naturally fall into an animal’s role. She sleeps next to me in bed like my dog and I’ve trained her to use her hands and mouth. Quite well, I might add.”
“But I’ve been reluctant to stick my cock in her other holes. I suspect she’s a virgin.” Ward looked into Reza’s face, across which emotions tumbled over each other. “I’d appreciate your suggestions.”
“A moment.” Reza lifted his mobile to his ear and spoke in French for several minutes. “My corporate physician will be here in half an hour.”
Reza’s expressions moved far too quickly for Ward to read but their intensity was loud and clear. Nonetheless, he spoke tentatively. “What do you plan to do with her?”
Disagreeable uncertainty filled Ward. “I don’t know.”
“Would you consider selling her?” Ward whipped himself into thoughtful neutrality, hiding his disquiet.
Reza became animated. “Do you realize what she’s worth? I bet one of my Saudi clients would pay half a million for her, maybe more.”
“Though I certainly wouldn’t shirk a big wad of cash, my primary concern is finding her the right home.” Ward’s pale brow furrowed regretfully. “I find I’m just not ready for the responsibility.” He caught Reza’s eye and laughed. “I don’t have a dog or even a cat.”
“And if I do keep a piece of girl flesh full time I think I’d want one who’s not quite so compliant.” Again Ward laughed. “Debasing a reluctant object is just too much fun.” Once more he affectionately ca
ressed the red head – which had not budged a millimetre. “Clearly, though, she’s very special. And she responds well to all sorts of subjugation, including corporal.” He paused, peering intently into Reza’s liquid eyes. “So you think you have an appropriate home for her?”
Reza’s face, which Ward now realized was pliant as Silly Putty, filled with concern. “I believe I have just the client – one who will understand her value and use her in a fitting manner.” His face morphed again, radiating dark rapture. “And if she’s truly a virgin … well, we’ll see what Monsieur le Docteur has to say.”
“Shall we go down and wait for him? We can quickly finish the tour on the way.” Reza nodded enthusiastically and Ward took a small key from his pocket and unlocked the chain, leaving the iron collar in place. “Teresa, put on your uniform.”
The girl crawled to the dressing table and looked back at Ward. “Yes, you may stand now.”
“She needn’t dress on my account.”
“Actually,” Ward’s tone held just a trace of discomfiture, “this is something else I’d like to discuss with you. The local woman who cooks and cleans for me is, as you might imagine, very narrow-minded. I really need a more appropriate servant.”
Reza began to respond but instead gave a small gasp as Teresa gracefully stood and bent forward to open a drawer. “My God! Look at that perfect rear! She just begs to be taken, doesn’t she!” He rolled his eyes. “It would almost be worth the loss of income to do it myself.” He smiled at Ward, who immediately recognized the consummate businessman under Reza’s glamorous packaging. “Almost.”
For several minutes both men watched in silent awe as the sylphine creature dressed. She lifted a white cotton brassiere from the drawer and, demurely turning to face the men, hooked it around her newly blossomed breasts. Only momentarily, only to lift the articles of clothing, did she turn away, clearly giving herself up for inspection.
She slipped her fair arms into a starched white blouse and slowly, meticulously buttoned it, obviously unaware of her own seductiveness. Then, in nothing but her sweet white schoolgirl’s blouse and undergarment, she stood still with bowed head while the men examined her.
“Such lovely fine pubic hair,” Reza remarked approvingly. “I, like many of my clients, enjoy this hair,” he grimaced, “but certainly not a thicket. This amount is perfect.”
“I’m glad you approve,” Ward said. “Would you like a little more time or should she continue?”
“Yes, have her continue.”
“Teresa, you may put on your skirt and shoes.” Now the girl turned away and stepped into a short, plaid pleated Catholic schoolgirl’s skirt, showing the men her long back and, again, the supple rounds of her behind.
Reza made small approving noises. Not taking his eyes off the girl as she stepped into black pumps he said, “I’m sure I can help you with the servant problem. Give me a day or two.”
“That would be a great relief. The woman is very annoying. And I really do not want my neighbours to know my business.” Teresa stood facing them, head once again bowed and hands clasped behind her back. “Teresa, you may crawl to the staircase ahead of us.”
The girl dropped to all fours and crawled to the door, which Ward unlocked with the ringed key, and then out into the hall. As she moved, the taut alabaster skin of her young behind and thighs and the two tender openings between winked at them from under the short skirt. Reza leered meaningfully at Ward.
At the grand staircase’s upper landing, Ward said, “Teresa, you may stand now.” The girl stood and waited. With annoyance Ward turned to Reza. “Now I pretend she’s a relative. You can see the problem.”
The men descended the stair with the girl clomping her heels a little awkwardly along behind. On the way through Reza peered into the remaining ground floor rooms – the huge formal dining room, the very masculine panelled library. They stuck their heads into the door of the antiquated white kitchen and Ward spoke to the stocky, grey-haired woman who stood at the sink cleaning vegetables. “Mrs. Everard, could you please bring some lemonade and snacks to the porch? Thank you.”
At the back Ward opened a transomed door. “The original Victorian solarium. The old caretaker had a green thumb and so does Mrs. Everard.” His tone was ironic. “A very small compensation.”
The room was entirely glass, with a hundred small, clear bevelled panes, and filled with plants. Plants with long drooping leaves or pendant clusters of foliage piled one on top of the other on every surface. Giant ferns and small palms sat in huge Oriental pots on the tile floor clustered around white wicker furniture. In their centre, a tall fountain with scalloped tiers stood dry and silent.
“Wonderful!” Reza exclaimed. “When one lives in a desert,” he politely excused his outburst, “one grows to appreciate moist air.” He touched the fountain’s edge. “But you must make this work! One of my uncles breeds rare koi. You must let me give you a few.”
His gaze swept the room. “And you know what else this room needs?” Ward politely shook his head and Reza continued with childlike enthusiasm. “A bird cage! I have just the thing!”
Iron furniture in a venerable fern and blackberry design, many pieces spotted with dirt and rust, was scattered about the long rear veranda. “I’ve only managed to have a few of these cleaned,” Ward apologized as he ushered Reza to a round table and chairs. “There’s just so much to do for my beautiful old dame.” He sighed then brightened. “Sometimes I don’t know what to do first but then I realize how much I’m going to enjoy putting the house in order,” he winked jovially at Reza, “to my own specifications.”
Teresa stood still and silent beside Ward’s chair. When he and Reza were comfortable, Ward said, “You may sit in a chair, Teresa.” He turned to Reza. “She’d rather curl at my feet and I’d rather have her there but we’re constrained by Mrs. Everard. But enough about that.”
Ward swept his arm toward the expanse of overgrown lawn spattered with ancient willows’ lacy green drapery and the burgundy of flowering cherries several months past bloom that rolled down hill to the Potomac River. “Nice view, isn’t it?” The loud boom of an explosion echoed over the water. Ward began to explain, “Testing at the Naval Research Lab,” when a helicopter roared closer.
“That must be the doctor,” Reza shielded his eyes to look into the distance.
Mrs. Everard stepped onto the porch carrying a large silver tray. She glared disapprovingly at Teresa as she set down glasses, a large pitcher of lemonade and plates of small sandwiches and sweets. Her disapproval refocused upward as a sleek British racing green helicopter with black markings landed in an open spot on the lawn.
“Thank you, Mrs. Everard.” Ward wanted her immediately gone. When she didn’t respond he yelled over the rotor noise. “Thank you, Mrs. Everard.”
Finally she turned her head toward him. “I’ll let you know if we need anything else.” Reluctantly – and grudgingly – she swivelled her sturdy frame and re-entered the house.
Teresa, also, stared at the helicopter. Ward smiled at her, evaluating her response to this new event. Once again her tranquillity amazed him. He put his mouth close to her translucent ear to be heard over the whining rotor. “Stay, Teresa. Drink and eat while Reza and I get our guest.”
By the time they reached the chopper the rotor had slowed to lazy circles and a tall elegant man lowered his long legs from the cabin. He bent his thick shock of grey streaked black hair to duck under the blade and strode to greet them, arms extended. “Reza!”
The two men threw finely clad arms around each other and embraced with a filial enthusiasm Americans can never muster. They separated and the doctor extended long dexterous fingers toward Ward. Reza made the introductions. “Ward Smith, let me introduce Doctor Abenamor Sinclair.”
As he shook hands, Ward surreptitiously examined the doctor. French hauteur obviously but also with a dark, exotic touch. Moroccan? “Welcome to my house. I’m pleased to meet an associate of Reza’s. We were about to have lemon
ade. Would you care for some? Or something else? Coffee? Tea? Wine?”
“Thank you. Lemonade would be lovely.” To Ward’s ear, the doctor’s accent sounded pure Paris. But then so did Reza’s when he spoke French.
Teresa was consuming a piece of shortbread, licking her fingers like a child, when they ascended the veranda’s wide steps. The doctor smiled kindly at her. “This is the young lady?” He nodded to Reza. “Yes, I can see what you mean. She is exquisite!”
“I’ll go get another glass,” Ward glanced meaningfully at Reza, “so we don’t bother Mrs. Everard.” As he turned toward the kitchen door Teresa stirred nervously. “Teresa, Reza will take care of you. You are to obey him.” Teresa’s blue eyes widened but she quieted. Doctor Sinclair and Reza had launched into animated French, gazes fixed on the girl, when Ward passed through the door.
When he returned, the two men were still watching Teresa, who quietly sipped lemonade. Reza looked up. “The helicopter is actually a mobile clinic.” He smiled. “As you might imagine, taking my goods to hospital is not always the best idea. In any case, Abenamor thinks it best to examine her there.”
He paused, chagrined. “Please forgive my poor manners! I am sometimes far too passionate about my work. We must first drink and eat the wonderful treats our host has provided. Ward, tell Abenamor how you found the girl.”
After an interval of eating and conversing Reza’s traditional family would consider appropriate, the group again crossed the lawn. Ward, who loved all machines, was glad of the opportunity to examine the beautiful metal bird more closely. The sleek exterior housed a flying ambulance with two detachable cots fitted with thick webbed straps, one with a gynaecological assembly at its end, and a collection of efficiently stowed medical devices and equipment.
Ward motioned to Reza to help Teresa inside. She flinched when he touched her arm and looked over her shoulder at Ward. “Reza will take care of you, Teresa.” Again she quieted and Reza lifted her and followed after.
Slave Wife Page 15
