Gothic Blue

by Portia Da Costa

  At the far end of the terrace, a white, circular patio table had been set up, and over it a large sunshade was inclined. Belinda could see that this table and its contents were the source of the delightful smells, because it was set for breakfast, with a tall insulated coffee pot in pride of place.

  Plucking at the thin fabric of her nightdress, and weighing its flimsiness against her craving for coffee, Belinda continued to hover a little longer.

  ‘Oh, bugger it!’ she exclaimed to herself, when the aromatic lure finally became too much for her and she traversed the warm stone towards the table. Virtually everyone in the house had seen her naked already anyway, so what did it matter if she took breakfast in her nightie?

  Alongside the jug, she found a basket covered with a thick blue linen napkin, and once she had helped herself to her first hit of coffee, she investigated it. Her mouth began to water all over again.

  Croissants. Thick, light, sinfully and outrageously buttery, they were the exact breakfast she had hankered after yesterday. Like a starving child, she grabbed the nearest one and bit into it, sighing with pleasure as it seemed to melt on her tongue. The pastry was still warm and flakes of it fluttered down over her front and on to the table, but the flavour was so exquisite that she just didn’t care.

  Belinda hadn’t realised she was so hungry, and could have gobbled down several of the delicious croissants without a pause, but she forced herself to be more civilised with her second, breaking it open and applying a little conserve from the lidded dish that had thoughtfully been provided. Taking smaller bites, and chewing each one properly in between sips of the glorious coffee, she surveyed her surroundings from her idyllic vantage point.

  Although the gardens and the grounds beyond were overgrown, they did not appear derelict or sterile. Whereas in the thrashing rain and sky-splitting thunderstorm everything had taken on shades of black and grey and midnight blue, they now appeared green and gold and mellow. It was difficult to believe she was staying in the same place.

  Looking out along the terrace to her right, she espied an additional building she hadn’t taken much notice of before. Beyond a rioting and unruly rose garden, there appeared to be a small chapel, complete with more or less intact stained-glass windows and a solemn liturgical aura. This must have been the place of worship for the religious community that had originally inhabited Sedgewick Priory, Belinda decided, feeling a sudden curiosity. Perhaps after breakfast a walk that way would be in order.

  ‘Better get dressed first, I suppose,’ she muttered. The heat of the morning was gathering itself now, and though the sunshade had created a cooler area and a slight breeze played across the terrace, Belinda still found herself sweating. Her sexual tenor had calmed a little since those almost insane moments in the main hall, but she still felt a remnant of lingering desire, like the pilot light for a greater, fiercer flame. Concentrating solely on her coffee, she tried to ignore it.

  I’ll try and keep a clear head from now on, she pledged. And I’ll get organised. As soon as I’m dressed I’ll set off to find the car, then I’ll see if there’s somewhere to charge the mobile, and failing that I’ll find out if there’s a public phone box anywhere nearby.

  Belinda knew that she should have done – or at least tried to do – these things yesterday, but for the life of her she couldn’t recall where the time had gone. But today would be different, a day of achievement. Hopefully, before nightfall they would have made contact with the world beyond the priory.

  More determined now, she sipped more coffee and nibbled the last of her croissant. She was just about to rise and make her way back to her room, when a light tread behind her interrupted her thoughts. Turning in her seat, her heart pounding, she expected to see André, but once again, the newcomer was Oren. In one hand he was carrying a fresh pot of coffee and in the other a slim notebook and a pencil. He was almost naked, his only garment a pair of frayed denim cut-offs.

  ‘Hello,’ said Belinda quickly. ‘It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it?’

  Oren put down his burdens and favoured her with a smile that was more than a replacement for his unfortunate lack of speech. He gestured to the fresh coffee and Belinda accepted a top-up. Then, to her surprise, he sat down in another chair. The expression on his face was both open and attentive, and it dawned on her that he was waiting for instructions.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here, Oren,’ said Belinda, leaning forward. ‘I really need to go back to our car today, to see if it’ll start and that our things are OK.’

  Oren’s grin widened and he shook his head.

  What on earth was he on about? ‘No, really, we have to get to our car and get it started again,’ she insisted, feeling anxious. Was she being obstructed again? Had André given orders that she mustn’t leave? ‘It’s important. We’re supposed to meet someone.’

  Oren shook his head again but this time reached for the notebook and pencil.

  Please do not worry, said the note he handed to her a few seconds later. Your car is here, and all your possessions are safe.

  ‘But how?’ she demanded, looking up at him. ‘It wouldn’t start the other night.’ And what was more, she realised, Jonathan had brought the keys with him, in his shorts pocket.

  Oren gave her a shrug and a modest look which seemed to indicate he was a man of many talents.

  ‘Well, thank you,’ said Belinda, a little shaken. This gentle giant had just hot-wired their car. ‘I’d better get dressed and then go and check it out.’

  Oren’s warm brown eyes seemed to assess her body beneath the inadequate protection of the nightgown, and after a second or two his blond eyebrows quirked in a way that seemed to suggest that he rather liked her in what she was wearing now. Belinda felt herself colouring as she remembered the sheer nature of the cotton lawn. The mute was observant – he could probably see everything!

  After sipping the last of her coffee, Belinda stood up. ‘Right, I’ll go and get dressed, then,’ she said firmly, ignoring the merriment in Oren’s expression. ‘See you later!’ Flipping her fingers at him in a cursory salute, she set off towards the house –

  Then stopped almost immediately, yelping and hopping.

  In the time she had taken over her breakfast, the sun had climbed quite high in the sky overhead and had been beating down consistently on the terrace. Consequently, the stone flags were now baking hot, and Belinda’s bare feet felt partially fried.

  ‘Ouch! Oh God,’ she squeaked, hitching up her skirt and preparing to make a run for it.

  She got no further than a couple of steps before she sensed a swift, feline movement behind her, then felt herself being literally swept off her feet. Scooping her up in his arms, Oren carried her effortlessly across the remaining portion of the terrace, his own bare feet presumably too weathered to feel the burning heat.

  ‘Thanks. Thanks very much,’ Belinda said, breathless with shock as Oren made a neat sideways twist to negotiate the door.

  Once inside, she expected him to let her down, but instead, Oren continued to carry her through the much cooler house. Her female form seemed to make no impact whatsoever on his giant, muscular body, and he was able to walk quite quickly with her in his arms.

  The sensation of such perfection of strength and vitality against her was so exciting that Belinda forgot to protest. The wall of Oren’s chest, which she was cuddled against, was like a slab of living stone, but she could feel his heart beating beneath it. His body smelt very fresh and clean, though not of any particular cologne. He was just man, pure and simple, freshly showered. And so powerful that even the long staircase didn’t agitate his steady breathing.

  ‘It’s OK, I can manage from here,’ Belinda announced when they reached the top of the steps, although she was aware that she was still clinging to him tightly. Her arms seemed to be ignoring her dictate, and instead of loosening her hold on him, they gripped steadfastly around his strong neck.

  She felt a little worried when they reached her room and Oren switched her
weight to one arm to negotiate the door. What would Jonathan think if she was carried in by Oren?

  But her room was empty, with only a scribbled note on her pillow to indicate a man had shared her bed. Belinda picked it up when Oren set her on her feet, then sat down on the disordered bed to read its contents.

  Gone for a quick shower. Something made me all sweaty. Love you lots. Jonathan. Short and sweet and underlined with a long row of ‘X’s, it made her smile and think fondly of him. It had been a bit of an adventure ending up here, what with the thunderstorm, Feltris and Elisa, and André and everything. But in a bizarre twist it had also drawn her and Jonathan closer, when by all that was logical it should have pushed them apart. Impulsively, she showed the note to Oren, and he smiled and nodded as if he too endorsed Jonathan’s show of sentiment.

  Strange, she thought, eyeing the tall, magnificent blond. A moment ago, she had felt herself beginning to want him, and had sensed – very definitely – that he wanted her. Yet he showed no animosity over Jonathan’s note, and seemed to approve of the relationship it implied. Count André wasn’t the only unusual and unfathomable person here at Sedgewick Priory. In their own ways, his servants were special too.

  I should have asked him to stay and wash my back for me, thought Belinda a little while later as she was dressing.

  It had been an odd little ‘blip’ of feeling that had passed between her and Oren – a hovering on the edge of something. If he had stayed to help her with her toilette, she was certain she would have allowed him to make love to her, and though she had desired him, she was still in two minds about it. It was just too much that she should have sex with everyone in the house. It felt like a kind of ‘rampage’ somehow; yet each encounter so far had seemed inevitable – a natural event at the time. And she now she was regretting that she had missed her chance with Oren.

  She imagined him stepping into the curiously antique yet fully-functional shower with her. There would not have been much room for the both of them in the shallow china tub together, but for her purposes that would have been an advantage. Oren’s massive body would have been pressed against hers. Hugely strong, he would probably have picked her up again as they stood in the teeming water, and mounted her effortlessly on the thick shaft of his sturdy prick.

  Although she had not yet seen him naked, Belinda could well imagine that Oren was phenomenal. If he were all in proportion, as the bulge in his shorts had suggested, his magnificent penis would stretch a woman in all directions.

  ‘For crying out loud!’ she exclaimed, wishing she could temper her thoughts and think of something other than sex. Concentrating on her clothing instead, she tied the drawstring at her waist in a bow. The skirt she had been left while she was in the bathroom looked suspiciously like an Edwardian petticoat. Just as yesterday, today’s clothes were really lingerie in disguise. Lingerie from past times, but perfectly cared for and preserved. Her camisole top had tiny sleeves and an embroidered front, and both it and the full petticoat were made of ivory cambric. Her knickers were loose-legged and French style, made from the same very fine pale cloth.

  Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she fancied herself as a nymphet from a continental movie, her gamine hairstyle completing the impression to perfection. She remembered seeing a picture of Brigitte Bardot, wearing a wig probably, but dressed similarly in thin white clothes. Pouting for an unseen cameraman, Belinda flicked her fringe into pixie-like points.

  ‘This is getting me nowhere!’ she chastised herself, slipping a pair of flat canvas shoes on to her feet. ‘I’d better make a move and check out the car.’

  Striding past the many portraits of André, Belinda hurried downstairs, across the hall and out of the front door, wondering if what Oren had written about the Mini was true. Apparently it was, she discovered almost immediately, espying Jonathan’s cheerful yellow vehicle parked in the gravel drive where it curved out around the gardens. The car appeared so ordinary, so unremarkable and so much a part of the normal life she had led two days ago, that she laughed out loud in relief.

  The Mini was open and the keys now in the ignition, but when she tried to start it, the engine was completely dead. ‘You stupid thing!’ she cried, leaping out of the car and feeling a strong urge to kick it. ‘Why did you work for them, but not for me?’

  Striding to the boot to check that their bags and belongings were intact, it occurred to Belinda to wonder who had driven the car this far.

  Certainly not André. Instinct told her he was asleep now, resting during the day as she suspected his strange nature demanded. So that left Feltris, Elisa and Oren. The two blonde girls looked as if they wouldn’t know what a car was, let alone be able to fix a wonky one and drive. Belinda imagined them being pulled by unicorns in a fairy chariot made of diamonds.

  Too weird, she thought, rummaging among the luggage and finding – to her relief – that nothing was missing. She and Jonathan would have to get away from here soon because she could not believe some of the notions she was having.

  ‘Bingo!’ she cried, fishing out Jonathan’s mobile phone. But her sense of satisfaction was short-lived. On pressing the usual buttons, she got a display of peculiar symbols she had never seen before, and no sound that in any way resembled a dialling tone. The battery needed charging, obviously, but even so the compact gadget was behaving oddly.

  ‘Like everything and everybody else,’ she muttered grimly, retrieving the charger from Jonathan’s bag, then hurrying up the stairs towards the house. She would come back for their clothes and sundries later; the first priority was to make contact with real life!

  In the hall, she met Jonathan, looking bleary-eyed and munching a piece of toast.

  ‘I keep asking you this, love, but where have you been?’ he said amiably. ‘There’s all sorts of breakfast stuff on the terrace if you’re hungry.’

  ‘I’m fine. I had something earlier,’ replied Belinda, a little perturbed by Jonathan’s vagueness. ‘First I was having a shower and then I came down to get this.’ She gestured with the mobile phone. ‘Would you believe it, the Mini’s parked outside! I’ve no idea how it got here because the engine’s dead as a doornail now.’

  Jonathan frowned, chewing his last bit of toast. ‘Maybe we should ring the AA?’ he suggested, rubbing his eyes then passing his fingers through his dishevelled hair. He looked as if he had only just crawled out of bed that very minute – his T-shirt was crumpled and his trainers weren’t laced.

  ‘Are you all right, Johnny?’ Belinda asked, moving closer.

  ‘Yes, it’s nothing, I just feel a bit zonked again, that’s all.’ He gave her a crooked grin. ‘It must be you, you’re wearing me out. I can’t resist you.’

  Belinda smiled at him. He had been pretty impressive back in her bedroom, she thought fondly. Strong and intuitive; the best he had ever been for her. But now, on top of the growing heat and the lingering exhaustion he seemed to have sustained with the driving, his fine, lusty performance had taken its toll on him.

  ‘You were wonderful. You deserve to be tired,’ she said, sliding her free arm around his waist. ‘Let’s go to the library where it’s cooler, and sit down while we decide what to do.’

  ‘Good idea,’ replied Jonathan, giving her a squeeze that proved there was still life in him. ‘Now lead me to this library of yours. I’m totally lost around here.’

  ‘We ought to move on,’ said Belinda, when they were in the library, with Jonathan stretched out on one of the leather sofas while she looked for an electric socket for the mobile phone’s charger. She had ascertained that the house did have electric power – there were bulbs in the light fittings and something must be providing the abundance of hot water and firing the stove that cooked all the delicious food. She couldn’t imagine Oren or the girls tending an Aga. But she couldn’t seem to locate anywhere to plug in the charger. Abandoning the idea, she sat down beside Jonathan and savoured the cool, shady atmosphere of the huge room.

  ‘We can’t stay here,’ she s
aid, then noticed Jonathan was already dozing. ‘Hey! Did you hear what I said?’ She gave him a gentle poke in his middle.

  ‘Yes,’ he sighed, ‘I heard you.’ He opened his eyes and gave her his most boyish, appealing grin. ‘But why can’t we stay here? It’s comfortable, it’s restful. His lordship or whatever seems to want us to stay.’ He slithered across the leather and slipped his arm around her. ‘And it’s very romantic,’ he whispered, leaning closer. ‘Exactly what we hoped for.’ He kissed her neck, and almost before she realised, he had the lower edge of her camisole eased out of her skirt waistband.

  ‘But what about Paula? She’ll be wondering what’s happened to us,’ Belinda insisted, wanting to sort things out but feeling distracted by Jonathan’s roving hands. One was stroking her back, the other sneaking upward across her ribs.

  ‘Phone her,’ said Jonathan reasonably, cupping her breast and beginning to flick the nipple. ‘I’m sure your André won’t mind another guest. We can try and get her off with Oren. She is on the look-out and she always did like big men.’

  It was preposterous and also so rational. Despite her protests, Belinda knew she did want to remain at the priory. It was beautiful and strange and its very mysteriousness seemed to seduce her in to staying. And she had to find out more about André. She had to discover exactly what he was.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said to Jonathan, knowing as she said it that her resistance was empty. The touch of his fingers, moving expertly in circles around the hardening peaks of her breasts, seemed only to increase her returning sense of inertia. She wanted to stay here for this, too. For the pleasure that seemed to stalk her from all directions; from every last corner of this house and its environs. She groaned, her earlier frustration reactivated, and began to shift her bottom on the slippery leather couch. The vivid memory of being masturbated in this very same place by André excited her, and she opened her legs to invite a repeat performance – only this time from a more familiar lover.