Greg shook his head. “Nonsense. I don't get a cut of her daily activity, just her media work. And there will be lots of that, I want to make her into an icon.” Andre smiled as his uncle gestured with his hands and he scratched his head. “I want more sex in our new clients. So when you go lookin', look for sex. Right?”
“Sex?”
“Yeah, front cover of FHM material. I want sex, nudity, whoring, filth. You got that?”
“Right,” Andre muttered.
“I mean it, I want sex. The British love sex and if there is anything that will get us clients it's filth. Pure filth. Remember that!”
* * * * *
Claire wiped her hands on the dirty towel she had by her side and looked over the flowerbed. The gardener was to her right, still planting little seedlings on a different bank of flowers as she spoke. “Sam, does this bed need any more?”
The elderly man stumbled to his feet and groaned as his joints creaked. “No,” he muttered and flashed a smile to his temporary assistant. “Any more and it'll be too crowded.”
Claire swung her legs around her body and came to sit next to the aged man. “I'll help you with this last bed, then,” Claire promised and picked up her hand trowel.
She had spent all day helping the good-natured gardener plant over a thousand seedlings in the flowerbeds around the swimming pool and in the garden of the five bedroom mansion. Claire had helped the experienced man before with his “big projects” and was always keen to earn a little money when work was offered.
Her mother – the house manager and cleaner – walked up to her as they started on the last flowerbed. “I've got to nip to the shops and see Beryl. You done in two hours?”
“Yeah, Teri. We'll be done,” Sam promised. He coughed and nursed his knees. “We'll prob'ly be done in an hour.”
“Call me when you're finished,” Teri demanded. “And I'll swing by. Or else I'll come back and wait for you in the road when I've done all my jobs!”
“OK,” Claire muttered. “Can you get me some orange juice please? With the bits in. I want a drinky later,” she asked. Her mother smiled, and Claire returned to her flowerbed.
It took a further 45 minutes to plant all the flowers in the right pattern and then a further 15 minutes to water them and pack their gardening tools away in the small shed. Claire looked towards the house; the family had always been particularly keen for their staff not to “linger” and if she had finished work she was expected to leave the premises, but her mother wouldn't be back for another hour, and Claire swore when she realised she had left her mobile phone in the family car.
She hovered at the end of the garden as Sam locked his shed and thanked her for her help. “We'll call it three-thirty,” Sam told her adding 20 minutes to the time. “I'll get Paul to sort out the cheque when I see him tomorrow. He'll give it to your mother.”
“Cheers,” Claire muttered and watched as he ambled across the garden to deposit the keys in the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her old clothes and walked towards the garden gate.
“Boo!” A voice cried as she ambled down the garden, looking at the new flowerbeds and giant plants that were dotted around the back of the house; it was beautiful, but she also knew how much it cost the family to maintain.
Claire flinched and saw the smiling face of the eldest child looking at her from the other side of a bush. “You scared the life out of me,” she moaned, and Jack held up a book.
“Just doing revision. It's a nice spot, look.” Claire looked around the bush to see a sheltered patch of grass, and smiled.
“Lovely,” she told him, not quite sure what to say but the young man smiled back at her with a cheeky expression.
“Claire, isn't it?”
“Yes, how do you know?”
“I have spoken to you before, don't you remember?”
He looked a little hurt at the suggestion that Claire might not and she licked her lips. “Yes,” she lied. “But I didn't think you would remember my name.” He rubbed his nose as she frantically tried to recall his name. “You doing anything other than revision, James?”
“Jack,” he said a little coldly and shrugged. “Mum and Dad are out, sister's gone to the Med with her friends; thought I might take a swim.”
“Well I need to get cleaned up and then I'm …”
“You could join me in the pool if you want,” he offered. “I know your Mum's not back for another hour unless you ring her. But you haven't.”
“How?”
“I can hear,” he said in an annoyed tone. “I've heard everything that's gone on in the garden. So, come join me in the pool.”
Claire hummed. “I haven't got a swimming costume. Or a towel.”
“I could lend you one,” Jack offered. “The towel I mean. And people do swim without a costume on. I mean, they do it on the continent I've heard, so … I'll take that look as a 'no' then.”
“No,” she told him. “I don't think your parents would be too impressed if I started stripping in your garden.” Jack's eyes narrowed, and he bit his lip.
“OK. Well I just wanted a break that's all,” he moaned. “I've been at the revision since nine and just need to stop for an hour.” He looked at Claire averting her eyes, and offered her an “ice-cold drink” that she tentatively accepted. “Take a seat,” he offered, gesturing towards the patch of grass he had made his own for the day.
Claire laughed when he brought out a jug of fruit-laden brown liquid and two glasses, pouring his female friend a drink that had almost as much fruit as liquid in it. “Wow! Is this … actually what is this?”
“Pimms and Lemonade,” Jack told her, and she coughed when she took a mouthful. “Is there too much fruit?”
“There's too much Pimms,” she replied, and he shrugged. “Is this all Pimms?”
“I've not made it before, normally it's made for us. I did put the whole bottle in, is that right? We got loads of bottles, I don't know!”
Claire took another gulp, the cold liquid was heavenly in her dry throat, but it was exceedingly alcoholic and she blinked as she adjusted to it. “I guess a bit less next time,” she replied and settled herself on the lawn next to Jack. As much as she was keen not to drink too much, the “cocktail” that Jack had provided was moreish, and she was thirsty.
He talked, and Claire listened; Claire soon realised that he was in need of a confidante and she allowed him to talk about his break-up months previous and how that was still making him feel, as well as the offer his father had made about him joining the family firm. He talked passionately about his rugby, and then about his music with Claire proudly announcing that she won a karaoke contest on her short holiday.
“Do you want some more?” Jack offered as he held up the empty jug, but Claire shook her head; she was already fairly tipsy and knew that her mother must be coming back to the house soon. “Yes?”
“No.”
“Does that pool look more tempting now you've had a drink and a rest?”
“That pool does look nice,” Claire admitted. “But I am not swimming naked, no matter how hard you try and get me to take my clothes off.” He sniffed. “But go ahead and swim, I'm not stopping you.”
Jack sighed and took the empty glasses back to the kitchen, before returning with two towels and a set of swimming trunks. Claire averted her eyes as he changed behind the bush, although she appreciated his toned torso as they walked down the garden to the thirty-foot pool to sit by the side of the water.
Jack splashed her, and she flicked water back at him. “It's lovely and refreshing,” he boasted, and she groaned. She swayed slightly and burped; the Pimms and Lemonade had been strong, and she had drunk it too quickly. “It's …” Jack dived under the water and swam along the bottom of the pool before resurfacing. He looked at her with pleading eyes and she groaned.
“I am not being naked and you staying clothed,” she replied. “It would be … improper.” Jack's eyes twinkled and he “solved the problem” by removing his swimming tru
nks and throwing them at Claire. Claire caught the wet swimwear and held them up. “You must be drunk to be flashing a virtual stranger,” she teased and licked her lips. “Maybe I should walk away from the pool now.” His eyes widened, and she scratched her head.
“I’d rather you joined me,” he begged and blew her a kiss with a cheeky grin. “I’ll not look!”
Claire shook her head. “I must have had too many,” she moaned. Claire pulled the top of her T-shirt over her head and told Jack to turn around so he couldn't see her, which he reluctantly did. Claire unclipped her pink bra and unbuttoned her jeans when she heard a cry and spun around to see the immaculately-dressed figure of Anne Rees-Montague striding across her lawn. The snarling woman removed her sunglasses and glared at the naked Jack and topless Claire.
“What are you doing near my pool?” She thundered as Claire put her hands over her breasts. “Get dressed, little girl,” she ordered and flicked her hand towards the embarrassed young lady, who frantically re-attired herself. “And you,” she spat at her son. “I think you can do a little better than the cleaner's daughter.”
Claire's cheeks burned. “We weren't,” she started and passed Jack his swimming trunks. “We …”
“I know exactly what you were doing, trying to get your claws into my son. He's too good for you, now, scram!”
A bemused Claire looked at the woman before running towards the front of the house; she felt like a naughty school kid.
* * * * *
“Andre,” the suited gentleman said and held out his hand to shake the fingers of the leather-clad woman. She snorted and sat back on her “seat”: a gentleman kneeling down on all fours and she put her feet on another. He hesitated as she took a long draw of her cigarette and tapped her stick of tobacco into an ashtray held by another naked man. “We spoke on the 'phone.”
“Yeah,” she muttered and eyed the man hovering a few feet away. “Pull up a chair.” Andre looked around the room, to see some sort of seat, and the “Mistress of Hades” clicked her fingers. The young gentleman put the ashtray down and knelt on all fours in front of Andre.
Andre squeaked; this was not what he expected, and he saw the whip marks and scars on the body of the man on the floor. “I'm fine,” he muttered.
“Suit ya fuckin' self,” she snapped and coughed. “So … what do you want?”
“I'm here to introduce myself, and my employer to you. I work for Incredible Talents and we are interested in representing you.”
“Representing me?” The dominatrix snorted and dug her heels into the kneeling man by her feet. “Why the fuck do I want a fucking manager?” She blew smoke at him and Andre shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Ahh yeah, so I can give them half my profits to you for doing fuck all.”
“We take eight percent, but that is negotiable and …”
She cackled and rubbed her nose. “So what do I get?”
“Well, we are always keen to help you break new markets. I see the great potential for a brand here and think that your red, dripping blood M symbol could be licensed for all sorts of merchandise.”
She grunted and stubbed her cigarette out on the buttocks of her “seat” causing him to yell. “Sounds flash, but … I don't do business with men,” she warned him. “Well not like that. 'Cause what happens if you don't deliver?” Her eyes narrowed.
“We don't get paid.”
She clenched her fists and took a bottle of beer from the floor. “Nah,” she cried as she used a bottle opener attached to her leather bustier. “Nah, 'cause ya fuck off havin' fucked my name up. Nah. If you fuck up I want a week of you in my dungeon,” she said with a laugh.
Andre looked at her. “Well that's not how it works” he said anxiously. “But we can agree a number of …”
“Nah, we can't,” she replied. “Ya fuck up, I put you in my show.” He gulped, and she smiled. “Ya saw my show?”
He nodded; the extreme bondage and humiliation the Mistress of Hades subjected her “assistants” to was unreal, although the mixed audience lapped up the violent episodes, as well as the classic punk tunes her off-key voice murdered, in her three hour “extravaganza.”
She pointed towards the corner of the room where a car battery was on its side with two long wires coming out of it. “I got a routine just for you. Electro-balls. To go with that electric suit you're wearing,” she said with her lips curling.
Andre simpered. “Can I leave you a sample contract and some ideas we've had. We'd been keen to meet and discuss, in our office maybe.” He took a small bundle of papers from his bag and passed them over to her, but she didn't take them. “I'll leave them on the table,” he told her and then put them on the back of the man near his feet.
“You going to be in my show if you screw up?” The woman asked as she got up and Andre shook his hand.
“Sorry that's not how it works.”
“Well this is how I work,” the extreme Mistress of Hades replied and put one foot over the man on his knees a couple of feet from Andre. She snarled at the agent, and maintained eye contact as she released a stream of urine from her bladder onto the contract and the man at her feet. “Yeah, now fuck off,” he was told as her flow of wee stopped, and a relieved Andre made a hasty exit.
It was one client he was suddenly very glad he didn't have, no matter how keen his uncle was on her and her “potential earning ability.”
Chapter V
Jack entered the lounge and inwardly groaned when he saw the faces of his mother and father sitting opposite each other with furrowed brows. He had been summoned aggressively from his bedroom and knew what they wanted to talk to him about.
“Sit down,” his father barked and pointed at a chair opposite. He scratched his head and rubbed his eyes, putting his newspaper onto the floor beside him. “What's this I hear about you and some scrubber?”
Jack sighed. “Nothing,” he said firmly. “Just … nothing.”
“It didn't look like nothing,” his mother interrupted. “He was naked, and she was getting naked. And to think he was letting her swim in our pool.”
The imposing figure of Paul Rees-Montague clicked his fingers and his wife stopped immediately. “Listen son, I know that Ellie girl hit you hard, but you have to realise that there are some pretty nasty, scheming lowlife out there, and they see what we have and they want some of it. And you will get girls throwing themselves at you. And it's nice, trust me, it feels good. Just remember that they don't like you, they want you for our money and our status.”
“Claire doesn't. She …”
“She is the daughter of our cleaner,” he interrupted and laughed. “I mean, she probably doesn't have much of a future. She spent all day planting flowers, so I really don't think she's appropriate for you.”
“She's really nice and …”
“Listen. She might be nice, but you and her are from different worlds. She'll probably try and entice you into sex, tell you that she's on the pill, let you get her pregnant, and you'll never hear the end of it. So, don't think about her and just try and find some suitable ladies. And if you want cheap tarts for the afternoon, pay for a prossie.”
Jack gulped and clenched his fists. “It's not what you think. She doesn't want …”
“You are being so naïve,” his father told him condescendingly and tutted. “I was there once. And it took my father to point it out to me. She will be after …”
“Will you just listen?” Jack shouted and stunned his father into silence. “I did my revision, and as she finished planting the flowers I asked her if she wanted a drink as I wanted a break. While she was waiting for her mother to pick her up we talked, and it was nice. And relaxing. She listened, and was like a friend, and that was it. And then I tried to get her into the pool because I wanted to swim. She was going to be naked as she didn't bring her costume. She is not my type, and I am not her's. She is not interested in me, except for having someone to talk to for an hour. That's it. There is no attempt at getting pregnant or trying
to seduce me or anything else. That was it, sixty minutes of chat. And as for the future, she is looking to go to Uni as well.”
“Not Cambridge though,” his father interrupted. “And so she hasn't got to try to get you into bed, but it'll come. That type always try it. It's lucky that we caught her before …”
Jack groaned and threw his hands up in the air. “Just … no!” He rubbed his brow. “OK, I probably won't see her again,” he told them. “But I promise I will not try and get to see her naked if I do. OK?”
Paul tapped the side of the chair and muttered. “You have a lot to learn,” he told him. “A lot to learn.” Jack didn't respond but just frowned at his concerned parents before shaking his head and leaving the room.
* * * * *
Paige swore at her phone. “Out of bloody credit. I only put a tenner in you three days ago, how the hell can you chew through ten pounds when I don't bloody use you? Who are you calling in my bag?” The phone didn't respond other than beep when she tried to make a call and Paige threw her arms up in despair. “Bloody thing.”
“Errr … hello.” Paige looked up to see Claire standing in front of her.
“Hi,” Paige cried. “I got the tickets. I was going to ring you, but my phone said no credit and I know there should be credit in there. I don't know where it disappears to.” Paige held her hands out in front of her and looked expectantly at her friend. “I'm sure it's gremlins.”
“Yeah, mine does that too,” Claire said with a grin and pulled Paige up from the bench with her outstretched hand. “Lazy.”
“I've been up since six,” Paige moaned.
“Paper round?”
“No, Hazel crying.” Paige shrugged. “She does that a lot, but she won't talk. Not to me, not to Mum, not to her nurse. Just sobbing away like a baby.”
“You didn't want to bring her?” Claire asked, and Paige shook her head.
“No. Krystal was going to come, but she's been called in to work. Her manager was ill. Or as Krystal says, his wife is away and he wants to go screw his mistress, but I think she's just jealous. So it's just us two.” Paige smiled as she passed Claire her ticket and the girl instantly fished around for her purse. “You buy the drinks afterwards and we are quits,” Paige offered.
“Thanks,” Claire muttered, but Paige snorted.