by T A Williams
If he had thought much about it before that day, part of him would have expected at least some of the girls to have chosen this line of work out of genuine enjoyment of sex. He had read of nymphomaniacs, although he had never had the good fortune to meet one. He assumed that at least some of them would fall into that category, choosing to make money out of something they enjoyed doing, like golfers or cricketers perhaps, just with fewer clothes and different kit.
Any illusions on that score were soon dashed by the discovery that there seemed to have been very little choice in it for any of the girls. Few of them appeared to have chosen the profession. Most had drifted or fallen into it by pressure of, often tragic, circumstances.
Mo was particularly careful to make sure that none of the successful candidates had a history of drug-taking. She knew well that this was, all too often, the reason why girls went ‘on the game’. By the end of the interviews, Duggie was under no illusions that it was far, far from a game. He wanted to go away and wash all over and, if the truth be told, scrap the whole project for good. Mo recognised the syndrome.
‘What were you expecting, Douglas?’ She turned towards him as the door closed on the ample backside of a girl originally from the Ivory Coast. She had told them she was trying to support her baby, by any means at her disposal. ‘When you are desperate, you have to fall back on all you have left, even if that means your body. I know what desperation is, and what it makes you do, don’t think I don’t. But, if we don’t provide a safe environment for these girls, they won’t stop doing it. They will just go back to the street. And on the streets, there is the very real risk of arrest, attack, disease or even death. You know what I mean?’
Duggie nodded bleakly. She was right, of course. But, somehow, he had expected it to be a whole lot different, a lot more fun. But fun and prostitution did not appear to go hand in hand, at least not among those he now referred to as his sales team. He sincerely hoped that his clients would, on the other hand, have loads of fun. And pay handsomely for the privilege.
‘So, Douglas, put your social conscience behind you. It isn’t fair that they have to do this, but it’s not our fault. At least we can ensure that these ones get looked after properly.’ She smiled a faint smile. ‘Think of yourself as a modern-day Dr Barnardo, if you know what I mean.’
Duggie shook himself and realised, if he had ever doubted it, that a conscience was an unnecessary luxury in this business. And so they discussed the relative merits of the girls they had seen. Together, they decided upon the first lucky candidates to sell their bodies for the greater profit of Toplingham Country Club. Although there were at present only five rooms available, they engaged seven girls. Mo assured him they could rotate. Duggie had no doubt at all that they could and would.
The doors would open the following week. They would be ready for business by then. After a lot of discussion, they decided to refer to the establishment as the Salon. The hope was that the other staff would accept them as the beauty consultants they purported to be, without suspecting any ulterior occupation. The fact that the clients of the Salon would presumably be exclusively male, was something Duggie hoped would not attract attention or suspicion. Deep down, however, he knew that to be a forlorn hope. But it was too late to turn back now. The positions were now filled. All that remained to be seen was whether they would get any clients.
That evening, after the interviews, he went back home to Tina a changed man. She found him distant and moody. He spent an hour in the bath before coming out and, when he emerged, he drank a large glass of Scotch in one gulp. They had dinner at a local restaurant and he did his best to tell her how he felt about the events of the day, but found it hard to put his feelings into words. They returned to the flat and went to bed. He did not lay a finger on her.
Chapter 23
Roger and Linda, on the other hand, spent a lot of time in bed on their Far Eastern holiday. As both of them agreed, they had a lot of time to make up for. The weeks sped by and their love for each other blossomed and flourished.
At last, after over a month away, they returned to grey sleet at Heathrow airport in mid-November. An illuminated sign announced that there were only thirty-three shopping days left till Christmas. Their arrival at the manor was a real homecoming. Once again, all the household staff lined up to greet them and they saw real affection in the eyes of many. Upstairs, on the first floor, they discovered Roger’s bedroom now set up for two, complete with ‘his’ and ‘hers’ towelling gowns on opposite sides of the bed, both sporting the logo of the TGCC. Henri had been confident that he would now be ministering to a couple, and a very happy one at that. It must be some Gallic sixth sense, Linda thought to herself, as Roger washed her back in the shower before the little rest they had promised themselves.
On the floor above, business became increasingly brisk as the days progressed. Mr Cardew’s opportunity to sample the delights of the Salon had born immediate fruit. Since then, Duggie had been amazed to see a steady procession of well-known local figures, including city notables, and seemingly half the legal profession, beating a path to their door. All of them were caught on closed-circuit television as they entered Mo’s office. Duggie knew full well that the wrath of the underworld would be as nothing, compared to the tons of legal manure that would land on his head, if he were silly enough to do anything indiscreet with the film. He carefully ensured that the machine deleted all records each night.
Mo was in her element; clearly delighted to be the only one not on her back for a change. She showed the makings of an excellent, if slightly disorganised, personnel officer. She ruled the somewhat disorderly girls with good-humoured efficiency. She soon built up an encyclopaedic knowledge of the individual leanings of her more regular clients. She ensured that the appropriate staff, along with suitable props, were always available. She had the brilliant idea of using the servants’ entrance at the end of the corridor as a particularly discreet entrance. This way, very important people could maintain their anonymity. And there were a considerable number of very important people among the visitors to the Salon. The number of girls increased to ten, as more rooms were readied. They even expanded their repertoire in order to satisfy the demands of all.
As for Duggie, he found himself in the position of benevolent uncle to all the girls. Soon he was able to stroll around the second floor without batting an eyelid. He became quite comfortable in the midst of girls wearing anything from just skimpy underwear to full black leather bondage suits. One day he saw one of the Russian girls wearing just a tiny bikini and a Second World War army belt. When he queried it with Mo, she explained.
‘You’d be surprised how many of them like the Ursula Andress look.’
His mind flicked back to Doctor No. Of course, that film would have come out at the time when most of these old boys were in their youth.
The girls soon took him into their confidence. They learnt not to flirt with him and treated him as one of their own. He reeled at the indiscretions they shared with him. The knowledge that one of the most respectable local magistrates liked nothing better than to dress up as a baby and suck, well, just about anything that was handy, was an eye-opener. The fact that a wealthy local builder would pay handsomely for the chance to be tied up and tickled mercilessly had him shaking his head in wonderment. Stripping away the veneer of respectability from such pillars of the community revealed a motley collection of sins and sinners.
St Bernard, he felt sure, would have been appalled. And, indeed, so would Roger if he ever raised his nose far enough out of his books to wonder just what was happening on the floor above. And, even if Roger didn’t notice, Duggie knew, deep down, that it was only a matter of time before Linda got wind of it. And when that happened, he reflected, in a rare moment of historical contemplation, the Hundred Years’ War would look like a minor skirmish in comparison.
There was, however, a downside to the success of the Salon. As Duggie got deeper and deeper into the sordid world of sex for money, the more i
t began to affect him personally. However outwardly cheerful the girls appeared, you didn’t need to be a genius to realise that it was a dirty business. The idea of doing what they did, mostly with men old enough to be their father, or even in some cases their grandfather, was far from glamorous, and very rarely enjoyable. This, to them, was a job and, as jobs went, it had to be pretty damn distasteful.
Mo took him to one side from time to time and tried to cheer him up. She spent time pointing out the service they were providing, and the excellent facilities they were offering to the girls. She kept reminding him that, had the Salon not existed, the girls would no doubt still have been doing the same work, but in much more sordid and unsafe conditions. Time and time again she reminded him of experiences, from her background in the business, that made working here look like the lap of luxury. She told him he had provided them with comfort and safety and a remarkably good income. Some of the girls were already, she calculated, earning a lot more in a week than she had done in a month in the old days. Duggie should be proud of what he had created.
And he was, to a certain extent. There was no question that the Salon was gaining in popularity every week. It was drawing in an ever-increasing number of important and influential men from all around the area. And they were prepared to pay a startling amount of money for the services on offer. The place looked good, everything was clean and classy, the staff were well looked after and everybody was happy. Everybody but Duggie.
He found himself coming home from work more and more distressed. The idea of what was happening back in the Salon became increasingly repugnant to him. Whether directly or indirectly, he knew that he was responsible for what was going on in those bedrooms. The psychological effects overflowed into his own bedroom.
Tina and he had been cohabiting for some time now, and he loved her dearly. For her part, she felt the same about him. It saddened her to see the larger-than-life extrovert, who had so attracted her that first evening at Roger’s farewell party, getting more and more depressed. The immense fun and games both had enjoyed in the bedroom had stopped virtually overnight. She began to get the feeling that he no longer found her attractive. Even worse, he was maybe beginning to find her, or at least sex with her, positively distasteful. She loved him enough to want to help him get over it, but it was hard to think how to do it.
Chapter 24
As the Salon up on the second floor got busier, Duggie remembered his vow to ensure that the girls got protection. He felt capable of looking after himself, but he knew he had an obligation to ensure the safety of the staff. As ever, he turned to Mo for assistance. A few days later, she introduced him to the man she described as the ideal candidate.
His name was Rocky, and he was very, very big. Mo ushered him into Duggie’s office, gave them both a little smile and took a seat to one side. Rocky squeezed onto a chair and slipped off his black leather jacket. He revealed a blue tank top, a gold cross on a golden chain and more muscles than a tug-of-war team. Duggie sat down gingerly opposite this giant of a man and asked a few tentative questions, relieved that the man seemed to smile a lot. As the answers started coming back, he began to realise just why Mo had recommended him.
‘So, Rocky, have you done anything like this before?’
The man’s biceps were the width of Duggie’s thighs and his boobs, if anything, were bigger than Mo’s. His right forearm sported a tattoo with the word ‘Mother’ cut across a bleeding heart.
‘A bit of bouncing but, to be honest, Mr Scott, I really couldn’t stand the violence. Oh, the aggression you see outside a nightclub on a Friday night, it made me quiver all over.’ Duggie looked across and caught Mo’s eye. The thought of this mountain of a man quivering took a bit of effort.
‘And the body, how long have you had that?’ He might as well get straight to the point. There was no way anybody could miss the fact that Rocky must spend hours every day working out.
‘Since I was little.’ He giggled a bit. ‘Well, not little, little, but a lot younger than I am now. To be quite honest, I started going to the gym out of curiosity and I stayed because I was hooked. You can’t imagine the effect all those sweaty bodies had on me. I wanted one of those, so I worked at it.’
‘And now you’ve got one.’ Duggie was impressed. Rocky sniggered like a naughty schoolboy.
‘To be honest, I’ve got several at the moment, but no special one.’ The penny began to drop.
‘And you still work out?’ Duggie was interested.
‘Only a couple of hours a day now.’ Duggie blanched at the use of the word ‘only’. ‘But I’m careful what I eat. I don’t want to get too tubby.’ He glanced across at Mo with an impish grin. ‘I still need to be able to get into my frocks.’
The impression Duggie had been getting crystallised into a conviction. Still, best to make sure.
‘This place, the Salon, is full of beautiful girls. We don’t want there to be any trouble from outside, but I don’t want any trouble inside either. Are you man enough to keep your hands off them?’ On reflection it probably wasn’t the best metaphor to have used. At least it gave Mo and Rocky a good laugh.
‘I don’t think you have anything to worry about on that score, Douglas.’ Mo was still smiling. ‘You can keep your hands off the girls, can’t you, Rocky?’ The big man grinned coquettishly.
‘Ooh, I’m man enough for that, Mo, oh yes.’ He caught Duggie’s eye, suddenly serious. ‘And God help anybody who tries to hurt my girlfriends. I can be a real bitch at times.’ Duggie believed him.
‘That sounds excellent, Rocky. By the way, what name would I put on your payslip? Rocky who?’ This time the big man looked quite sheepish.
‘Rocky nothing, Mr Scott. My name is Claude Rains, like the old black and white movie film star. That’s what the P45 says. But I think Rocky suits my persona so much better, don’t you?’ Just for a laugh, he reached across and lifted Mo bodily off the ground, chair and all. Duggie nodded in agreement and awe.
‘Well, the job’s yours if you want it, Rocky. By the way, did I tell you? You can use the fitness centre any time you like, free of charge.’
Rocky clapped his enormous hands together in delight.
‘I’ll be like a kid in a candy store.’
‘Just make sure you keep your hands off the sticks of rock while you’re in there, Rocky.’ Mo thought it opportune to make the admonishment.
‘Look but don’t touch, Mo. You can count on me.’ Rocky was delighted. He held out a huge fist to Duggie.
‘I’m your boy. Shake on it?’
Duggie was relieved to find the giant’s handshake unexpectedly gentle.
Chapter 25
‘So, I am happy to tell you, Professor Dalby, that you are a very wealthy man.’ He closed the folder on the desk in front of him and beamed.
Roger sat back in his seat and took stock. Mr Starkey, the accountant, had come highly recommended. If he said Roger was rich, he was rich.
‘So should I be doing anything special with the money?’ He caught the older man’s eye. ‘It’s not something I’ve had to consider before.’
Mr Starkey leant forward across his desk, fingers clenched, a smile on his face. ‘I was pleased to see that you are investing in the new country club. I’m sure that will prove to be a most profitable affair. Leisure is big, these days. And capital investment is a very good way to go in these uncertain financial times. I can recommend you to an IFA if you like. I think it would be prudent.’
‘IFA?’ This, too, was new to Roger.
‘Independent Financial Advisor. Somebody who can give good, impartial advice on how best to invest what is, by any standard, an impressive annual income.’
‘Thank you. Maybe you could recommend somebody.’ Roger saw the other man nod. ‘But, I was wondering, do you think I have got enough coming in to allow me to give some of it away?’
‘Ah, yes. I see where you are going with this, Professor Dalby. A foundation perhaps? There are number of excellent, tax-efficient wa
ys of giving to charity. What sort of thing did you have in mind? Homeless people, the starving millions or something closer to home perhaps? Maybe helping beautiful young girls in distress?’ He accompanied the last sentence with a conspiratorial wink. Roger chose to ignore what might have been an involuntary nervous tic.
‘Um, I hadn’t realised that giving money away could be tax-efficient. To be honest, Mr Starkey, I was thinking about maybe funding something at the university. My subject is history, medieval history. I was wondering whether I could maybe offer a bursary or grant for somebody to do some research.’
‘Excellent idea, Professor. I suggest you investigate what’s wanted at the university and then come back to me. I’ll see that everything is set up in the most beneficial way.’
Roger thanked him for his advice and rose to his feet. He would head for the university as instructed. They shook hands at the door. Once again, he had the sensation that the other man was winking at him.
‘I look forward to seeing you again before long, Professor Dalby. Who knows? I might see you on the second floor one of these days.’
As the accountant’s office was on the third floor of the building, Roger determined to check what was on the floor below as he went down in the lift. That really was a most unfortunate nervous tic he had.
Next to the button for the second floor was a sign indicating that it housed the West of England Society for the Protection of the Peregrine Falcon. Did this mean the accountant thought they shared an interest in birds?
