The priest from Maly Zverkov had telephoned her, and the new icon was waiting only for the paint and glue to cure before it would be ready for delivery. Therese continued to enjoy her study sessions with Strelnikov and, even more, the outings to look for icons. She was learning things about Krasna Dolina that she had not seen before. Her only regret was that she no longer had time to join the girls on their skis; that was something Strelnikov could not hope to enjoy now, or probably ever again.
Life went on quietly. The officers had little to do apart from training their men, and their stay at Montebello became something of a rest cure. In the evenings, the club was their only amusement and they played cards, drank, chatted, sang, and of course kept the girls busy. Therese noted with pleasure that the money owed to the girls continued to mount rapidly. They would all leave Montebello with some money in their purses and every prospect of a good start in their new lives.
Little was heard from Stumpfl. Therese understood that he was in disgrace, and that most work had stopped at Tergov until help arrived. Only the equipment that could be reached on obvious paths was towed out and brought down to the station yard for cleaning and maintenance. Equipment and material deeper in the snow-covered forest would have to wait for Imperial Army guides.
Strelnikov came up to her office one morning with keys in his hand. “News, Therese! Good news, I think, for you at least. Firstly, I’m traveling this afternoon. They’re sending a plane for me and I’ll be in Kiev for a couple of days. A planning conference for the spring offensive. It means I’ll have my marching orders soon–back to the front. I’m not looking forward to it. The Pripet Marshes have broken many generals before me.
“Even better still for you, the 3rd Carpathians are coming back, some of them anyway. A small detachment led by a colonel you know.”
“Colonel? I don’t think we had any colonels here before. Just majors and the rest, and the General of course. We weren’t really big enough for a proper general staff. Falk-Sokol had only been sent here as a last posting before retirement.”
“You know this colonel. I’m told he insisted on promotion before he would come, so now he’s Colonel Prince Franz Mefist–two steps at once. Apparently he didn’t want to be junior to the castle chatelaine.”
“Mefist!” she cried, and jumped from her desk to hug Strelnikov. “Oh thank you, General, thank you so much!”
“Enough, my dear, enough! I did what I could, but that was nothing compared to the influence that Mefist apparently has. They would have forced him on me if I hadn’t asked for him.
“Now look, my dear, I won’t stay here long once I get back from Kiev. The regiment’s already on the move, and I shall follow once the Divisional HQ in Lwow is ready. I’m promoted too. I want to take Othello with me, I’m sure you won’t mind. Only he won’t come without Portia. I’ll take care of them both, don’t worry about that, and there are opportunities in Lwow for artists that they’ll never get here. I’ll find an apartment for them, and Othello can keep working for me. You must come and visit us, if you can.
“Now, take my keys. Tell Mefist he’s free to use my office until I get back. All the files he’ll need are in there. Rebecca knows where they are.”
She was standing in the tower gallery for the first time since autumn, wrapped in her fur coat with the hood drawn closely around her head. Below her in the meadows, the girls were playing on their skis, earnestly practicing on a makeshift slalom course. Their cries came up to her through the still air.
It felt bitterly cold up in the gallery, but she told herself she was waiting for the excitement of the small plane coming to take Strelnikov to Kiev. She could see his car parked outside the village where the road crossed the flat fields beside the river. They had lit a fire, probably a car tyre and oil, and a small plume of black smoke drifted lazily down the valley.
The plane came to them suddenly, a small camouflaged plane with a high wing and a single engine. It had skis in place of its normal wheels. It swooped over the village and turned up over the castle. Therese could see the pilot looking down at her, and she waved. The plane dipped down to the field and slid from one end nearly to the other. It taxied back towards Strelnikov, and she could make out the black figures walking towards it. Moments later, the plane had slid back to the edge of the field and was running up its engine. It gathered speed and carefully left the ground. Another turn over the castle with Therese waving frantically, and Strelnikov had gone.
Still she waited in the gallery. There was always a chance that Mefist would come today, that his car was right now driving into the valley and hurrying towards Montebello. She forced the thought to the back of her mind and stood for a while watching the girls skiing. They were timing each other through the course, and even from a distance, Therese could see that the best skiers had become very proficient.
Suddenly, there he was. His car had pulled into the wagon park and stopped. Mefist got out and stood watching the girls. His new insignia were covered by his black leather coat thrown over his shoulders. He looked young and relaxed; he was smoking, and his cap was fashionably tilted towards one ear. He shouted to the girls and waved and, once they had recognized him, the whole gaggle came skiing down to him, throwing off their skis and running to embrace him. Therese could hear their shrieks and see them pointing up to the tower. Mefist looked up and waved. She waved back, and then turned and ran.
Rebecca was working alone outside the General’s office. Therese used the keys to unlock the office and then held them out to Rebecca. “Mefist’s back! He’s just arriving now. Be a darling and run down and find him. Tell him he’s to report to the General’s office immediately and give him the keys.”
She let herself into the office and locked the door behind her. She would have little time to get ready. She threw off her coat and sat down to pull off her warm boots. She unbuttoned her dress, and it joined her coat on the General’s chair. She tried to catch her reflection in the window and check her hair, but there was no time. She straightened her seams and started to move the soft chairs away from the coffee table.
She turned the coffee table slightly so that it pointed towards the door and knelt on it, her back towards the door. Just as Maria had knelt on this table so long ago, she bent forward and, placing her forearms on the tabletop and her elbows out, settled her face on the backs of her hands. She knew her bottom was sticking up in the air, her highest point. Mefist loved it; he had told her so. He had promised her that the next time he saw her as she was now, he would accept the invitation and take her.
She was thinking of him, of how he had looked when he first came into her office. She thought of dancing with him in those uncertain days before the club had first opened its doors. She remembered him sitting at crowded tables, raising his glass in preposterous toasts, laughing with her and the girls. She saw him in the snow, marching upwards on his skis; saw him watching a stately elk wade past and disappear into the forest. She felt his touch as he had touched her for the first time, slipping a measuring tape over her naked body.
She had let him look at her, taking her modesty and throwing it away. She had let him look deep inside her, let him breathe on her naked sex. She had danced nude for him and caressed herself, she had given him her orgasms. She had let him touch her, let his fingers reach deep inside her. She thought of his rigid, hungry sex, with her fingers and Wanda’s clasped around it. She had offered him her sex, and he had licked her and probed and kissed her until she could no longer stay on her knees above him.
Soon he would open the door and see her. See her offering everything she had for him to take without reservation. She reached between her legs and touched her lips. They were heavy and wet, hanging open for him. She opened her knees further, and the cold air caressed her pouting entrance. She was ready for him now.
There were brisk footsteps outside and the sound of the key in the lock. The door eased open and he stepped inside. She could smell him, the male smells of leather and tobacco that made her m
ind shudder. He said nothing, but she heard him lock the door again. He understood; he knew what she was thinking. She was starting to tremble and her sex was pulsing, sucking and releasing, sucking and relaxing again. Why was he making her wait?
His coat was being laid on the desk. The sound of buttons calmly opened and his pistol belt being unhooked. Oh hurry, she was thinking, put it in me! Take me–now! The belt and its heavy pistol were laid on the desk. More buttons, and at last he was coming to her. His trouser legs brushed against her stockinged feet at the edge of the coffee table and then his hands were on her, hot and rough, cupping the mountains of her bottom. His hands slid down her back towards her shoulders, stroking and kneading the muscles of her back. Eyes closed, she was reaching back with her hips, trying to catch the baton she knew was pointing at her sex. She was shaking; she was already out of control. The hot plum pressed for an instant against the back of her thigh, and she moaned in frustration as it left her.
Then it was touching her. It was touching her centre, nosing between her lips. Her shaking was more violent and her orgasm was coming, coming, it was already too late. His hands clasped her hair and suddenly he pulled her head back. He pulled her back onto him, impaled her deep on his cock, pulled her back against his rough clothes. The last thing she could remember was that she had finally taken him, that he was hers at last, and then everything else was lost in the earthquake.
About the Author
Jacqueline lives in the far north of Queensland, Australia, on the shores of the Coral Sea. She has a house built for the tropical climate - on tall stilts and with walls that open to let the breeze blow through.
She settled in Australia after living with her husband in many countries and cultures, and her travels have given her a fund of stories and locations she uses in her stories. We do not know exactly how far her stories come from her imagination, and how much from experience. She will not tell us but if you visit her website and ask nicely, she just might tell you.
Jacqueline writes romantic stories because she is an unrepentant romantic at heart. In a world that is drowning in poverty and violence, she tries to hold up a cheerful light and make everyone’s life a little happier. That is a big job, but it is fun to make the attempt and, who knows, it might just work...
When she is not writing, she is kept busy by her garden which is still maturing. Right now her coconut trees look young and scrappy, but come back in five years and they will be towering over the house. And what could be more romantic than a coconut palm?
Other Jacqueline George titles you may enjoy
Her Master’s Voice
While her husband Tim works on the oil rigs of Borneo, Sherry is left alone in Singapore. She fills in her time by studying yoga with a guru who has very definite ideas about what makes a woman. She will have to learn to be sexy all over again, and her friend Ranji soon has her playing magic flutes all over town.
But what will Tim do when he finds out what she has been doing? Will he send her away, or train her to be the wife he wants?
Light o’Love
Studying love and witchcraft at university was always going to be difficult, but Shirley’s life is made much more dangerous when Dr Rostov of the Dark Light stalks her. She fights him off but finally submits to being the bait in a trap to catch him.
Foreign Affairs
What happens when a book of sexy romantic stories is hauled before Priscilla and her committee of censors? Will she be able to pin down author John Trehearne and get his dirty book banned? The trouble is – the stories are too exciting. Everyone wants to hear more of Trehearne and his disreputable past.
He comes from a world outside her experience and she is afraid he might win...
How to make Wild, Passionate Love
to your Man
Every woman makes love to her man with her heart, but just where do you learn how to do it with your mind and body too? Here is a chance to peep into the sexy world between your man's ears, and lots of practical advice on what to do to drive him wild.
Now you can be the most skillful lover he has ever experienced...
Other Jacqueline George titles include :
The Accidental Spy
Falling into Queensland
Where Gold Lies
Gypsy
Working for Jeremy
A Walk on the Wild Side
Jacqueline and a Sexy Year
The Prince and the Nun Page 30
