Stephanie's Domain Read online

  'I don't want to scare them off.'

  'Perhaps all they want is a quiet weekend in the sun.'

  'Perhaps...'

  'Then that's what they'll get. On the other hand I might be able to interest them in something more... energetic.'

  'I hope you can.'

  'I'll give you a progress report tomorrow.'

  Devlin's luggage had been loaded into the powerboat. Stephanie kissed him on both cheeks.

  'Did I give you something to remember me by, Devlin?' she whispered.

  'How could I forget?'

  He climbed aboard the boat and sat on the padded seat in the transom. The boatman released the forward and aft lines and let the boat drift away from the rubber types hanging down from the wooden piles before gunning the big inboard motor.

  'Don't forget Mrs Bloom,' Devlin shouted over the noise of the engine.

  'I won't,' Stephanie shouted back. She waved as the boat cut a huge swathe through the clear water.

  As soon as the boat had cleared the jetty and was heading out into the lake, Stephanie stripped off her wrap and dived into the water, made choppy by the boat's propellers. She swam out into deep water, stretching her muscles and feeling the silky soft water streaming around her slim body. In the distance she could see the powerboat heading across the lake, a diminishing dot on the horizon.

  The fish, disturbed by the churning water, soon returned. They swam alongside her, not worried by the strange monster that had invaded their territory.

  After thirty minutes she swam back to the jetty where a servant was waiting with a large white bath towel. In the downstairs cloakroom she stripped off the swimsuit and dried herself with the towel. She had taken to keeping a few clothes down here in the cloakroom to save herself the trek back upstairs to her bedroom. She changed into a creamy one-piece trouser suit, not bothering with underwear; its tailored plunging neckline revealed her naked cleavage.

  On the terrace outside the main reception room of the castle, where guests were entertained al fresco, she ordered a light lunch of salad and fruit, all grown on the island. She allowed herself one glass of champagne. Though she had only sipped at the champagne while she was dealing with Devlin this morning, one glass was enough. She wanted to have all her wits about her when the Clarkes arrived.

  By the time she had drunk a foamy cappuccino and nibbled a pair of Amoretti biscuits it was two o'clock. She had just time to check the gardens before she went to her room to change.

  She walked through the long winding corridors that lead to the castle's back entrance and its extensive gardens that formed the rest of the island. There was no other habitation. The paid servants either lived in or went back to the mainland at night by boat.

  It was a tortuous route and at first she had always got a servant to escort her. Eventually she'd learnt the way through the maze of poorly lit windowless halls and finally out, through a small wooden door at the top of the stone staircase on the outside of one of the thick round walls. From the top of the steps she could see most of the island beyond; a huge orchard neatly laid out, and, nearer to the castle, a red brick walled garden enclosing extensive greenhouses, plots for every sort of vegetable and flower, and a small vineyard planted on the north side of the enclosure.

  It was in this acreage which most of the slaves spent their daylight hours. There were exceptions, of course. Some were employed in the castle, some cleaned the cellars, but generally speaking the castle and the castle kitchens were served by paid staff and the slaves were used for more menial duties out here in the gardens. There was a great deal of work to be done to keep the horticulture in order. It was hard work too.

  Stephanie walked through the wrought-iron gate into the walled garden. There were three male overseers who supervised and instructed the slaves in what had to be done, and saw to it that they did what they were told to do. They were all Italian. Stephanie knew them all now and had learnt enough Italian to ask them if they had any problems whenever she roamed the gardens.

  The regimen at the castle was strict. Occasionally one of the slaves would forget the reason for his enslavement and rebel, refusing whatever task he or she had been allotted. Generally the rebellions did not last long. It was pointed out to the individual concerned that if they did not wish to continue at the castle then they would be taken to the mainland and hence to their country of origin, and the evidence of their early wrong-doings - which had landed them at the castle in the first place - presented to the police. It was, and always would be, their free choice to go back whenever they wished.

  The first reminder usually - in fact to date, always - seemed to bring compliance. Prison was not an acceptable alternative. However the initial rebellion could not go unpunished and there were various means to see that the slave would think twice before having to be delivered of another lecture on freedom of choice. It was now a rule, one that Stephanie had introduced, to require the slave to ask for the punishment of any transgression, in fact to beg to be punished. This served as a simple reminder that they had a choice, though a choice they had chosen not to take.

  But despite the logic of these rules, Stephanie had noticed that among the constantly changing population of slaves at the castle there were always troublemakers, those willing to take the punishment and still, by further insolence or disobedience, come back for more. She supposed it was not surprising. In any group there were always those who wanted to challenge the system. Or perhaps the rebels had a different motivation; perhaps they actually liked the punishment. After her experience with Devlin that was not, after all, too far-fetched.

  As she passed through the rows of the vegetable garden she saw one of the 'rebels' now hoeing weeds between long lines of courgette plants. Three times in the last weeks Amanda had refused allotted tasks and three times had been lectured and punished. It would not be the last time either. Stephanie was sure of that.

  Amanda looked up as Stephanie walked by. She was a short-haired brunette with very light brown eyes. Though not tall her figure was well proportioned. She had high breasts, a slim waist and full round hips, though all well hidden under the baggy working clothes all the slaves wore in the gardens.

  'Bitch,' she whispered when she thought Stephanie was out of earshot.

  'What did you say?' Stephanie barked turning back.

  'Nothing,' Amanda replied not bothering to look up from the blade of the hoe.

  Stephanie thought of letting it go, but she didn't want to give Amanda the satisfaction of thinking she'd got away with anything.

  'What is it, Amanda?' she said solicitously, walking up the row of courgettes to stand besides her. Amanda was sweating. The band of cloth that held her hair out of her eyes was wet; her forehead was beaded with sweat. 'Are you homesick perhaps? Would you like to go home? That can be arranged. I've told you that, haven't I? You only have to say the word.'

  'No,' Amanda said adding 'madam' grudgingly.

  'Then you want to be punished for insolence?'

  'No, madam.'

  'It must be one or the other, Amanda. I don't understand you. Why do you make life so difficult for yourself?'

  One of the punishments was to be given to one of the garden overseers. The female slaves hated this most of all. The overseers were hard and crude. They had little finesse but an apparently boundless appetite for sex. Amanda had been given to one last week. The experience seemed to have done nothing to quieten her dissidence.

  Amanda looked up into Stephanie's eyes. Her expression was defiant.

  'You didn't answer my question,' Stephanie said.

  'Yes,' she replied. 'Punish me, you bitch.' She said it firmly, her eyes not wavering. 'I like it,' she hissed.

  Stephanie raised her hand and touched Amanda's cheek. It was flushed with effort and hot. Amanda did not flinch as the back of Stephanie's hand moved up her cheek gathering beads of perspiration from her ruddy complexion. Their eyes remained locked together. Stephanie licked the sweat from her hand. It tasted salty. Her desired f
lared.

  'Tonight then,' Stephanie said walking away, managing to control the strong reaction Amanda had provoked.

  If she had had time she would have liked to punish her there and then, and had her stretched out against a tree, her working clothes pulled down, her buttocks exposed. She would have had all the other slaves watch while one of the overseers delivered the punishment, which the girl would be made to ask for again.

  But there was no time. It would have to wait. The Clarkes were the first priority.

  Back in her bedroom Stephanie thought about what she should wear to meet the Clarkes. As they knew nothing of the more exotic recreations available at the castle - not yet at least - she didn't want to appear too obvious or outrageous. As Devlin had said she didn't want to scare them off. On the other hand a suggestion of the delights that lay ahead if they chose, would not be a bad idea. It might set the agenda and that would do no harm.

  She chose a white suit and decided not to wear a bra or a blouse. With the suit jacket buttoned there was more than a suggestion of rich cleavage and, if someone cared to worm themselves into the right position at the right time, no doubt the jacket would reveal a great deal more, but not without effort.

  Under the skirt she wore a white suspender belt, white stockings and lacy white French knickers, split at the sides almost to the waist. In the spirit of modesty the skirt of the suit was well over the knee in length. If the Clarkes ever got to see the expensive trappings under the skirt, by that time, they would have taken the bait.

  Stephanie was equally careful with her make-up, wanting it to make an impression but not, at the same time, be over dramatic. As she applied the last strokes of the eyeliner and pinned her long black hair into a chignon at the back of her head, she heard the engines of the powerboat approaching from across the lake. By the time she had slipped on her high heels - the shoes she had decided should be another hint, they were much higher than normal day wear, with wicked spiked heels - and walked through the castle and down the stone steps to the jetty, the boat was already nosing its way into the rubber tyres and one of the white-linen coated servants was tying off the forward line.

  Mr and Mrs Clarke were sitting in the seats on the transom both wearing hats and sunglasses against the glare of the sun, which was reflected off the waters of the lake.

  'Welcome,' Stephanie said as the aft line was secured. She held out her hand to help Mrs Clarke ashore and, once she was safely on the jetty, did the same for her husband. 'Stephanie Curtis... I hope you had a good journey.'

  'Lovely. Such beautiful countryside,' Mrs Clarke replied, pulling off her hat and raking through her hair with her fingers. She was a golden blonde, her hair the colour of ripe wheat on a sunny day. She was slightly taller than Stephanie even in the lower heels she was wearing. Perhaps it was the radiant hair or her flawless peachy complexion but Mrs Clarke gave the impression of rude health.

  Her husband, on the other hand, was rather pallid and unhealthy looking; too many days spent inside in an office. He was shorter than his wife and Stephanie and almost completely bald, his only hair growing in a greying horseshoe around his shining pate. He was not fat but could not accurately be described as thin either. A slight paunch was beginning to droop over the waistband of his trousers.

  'It's very nice of Devlin to invite us,' Mr Clarke said.

  'Everything he said about this place is true so far,' his wife added. 'It's like a fairy-tale castle. Is there a sleeping beauty inside?'

  'You'll have to discover that for yourself.' Stephanie said. 'If you follow me. The servants will bring your luggage.'

  Stephanie led the way up the stone steps, across the cobbled courtyard and into the castle. The two guests 'ohhed' and 'arghed' over the various features like the view, the potted orange trees, the huge modern tapestry that hung in the main hall, and the long sweeping marble staircase up to the galleried first floor.

  'Would you like to see your rooms first or have a drink. Tea, coffee, champagne?'

  'Oh champagne definitely,' Mrs Clark said. 'That would be wonderful.'

  They walked up to the main terrace. Mrs Clarke headed for a table in the shade of a large lime tree. Her husband joined her while Stephanie arranged for the champagne.

  'The lake is marvellous for swimming,' she said coming to sit at the table. Mrs Clarke had taken off her sunglasses. Her eyes were bright and quite a dark shade of blue. She was a startlingly beautiful woman, the long flaxen hair framing the perfect complexion, high cheek bones, a straight nose and a firm angular chin held proudly by a long elegant neck. In fact everything about Mrs Clarke was a picture of elegance, the practical but well-fitted shirt-waister she was wearing, the way she moved, the way she sat, the way she held her hand, with one finger touching her throat and the others spread, as she talked.

  'I think we must be in heaven,' she said, her fingers caressing the arch of her collarbone.

  Stephanie was leaning forward, her jacket hanging loosely. She saw Mrs Clarke's eyes flick down: they were not quick to leave.

  'I'd love to have a swim,' Mr Clarke said.

  'Let's have our champagne first, darling,' his wife said seeing the waiter emerging from the castle.

  The waiter set the silver tray on the table. A Georgian silver wine cooler held a bottle of Louis Roederer Crystal swathed in ice. The waiter opened the bottle and poured the wine into three crystal flutes.

  'Here's to a pleasant stay,' Stephanie said, raising her glass and clinking it against the side of both of the others.

  'How rude of us,' Mrs Clarke said. 'This is Terry and I'm Jacqueline. Inevitably everyone calls me Jacqui... Oh, this is delicious.'

  They chatted about this and that. Stephanie noticed that Terry's eyes also wandered to the V-shaped lapels of the jacket and the single button that struggled to contain her unconstricted breasts. But she, in turn, found herself watching his wife, her long cultured legs, her bare arms, the very distinct line of her bust. Behind the conviviality and small talk Stephanie felt an undertone in the conversation. Or perhaps she was just imaging it. Perhaps Jacqui's attractions were affecting her judgement.

  'Well I'd like to swim now,' Terry announced. 'The water looks so good!'

  'And I need a shower,' Jacqui said.

  Dutifully Stephanie showed them upstairs. All the bedrooms in the castle for the guests were vast and palatial, all with en suite marble bathrooms and most with terraces overlooking the lake or gardens and orchards at the rear. But Stephanie had chosen a room next to Jacqui's for convenience sake. Having a south facing terrace, it would also provide the most sun.

  Stephanie showed them into the pink silk panelled room with its deep olive carpet. Flowers had been freshly picked from the garden and arranged in a huge display on the occasional table in front of the large sofa that faced the bed. Jacqui walked out on to the terrace and admired the view of the lake. There were more 'ohs' and 'arghs' as the couple roamed around. Stephanie showed them the fridge hidden in the silk panelling and the telephone to order breakfast or anything else they might want.

  'I'll leave you to get unpacked then,' Stephanie said. Their luggage was neatly stacked by the wardrobes. 'If there's anything you want just ask for it.' She felt like the manager of a first-class hotel.

  'Thanks,' Terry said. He'd opened his suitcase and was routing around for his bathing trunks.

  'There's towelling robes on the back of the bathroom door,' Stephanie said helpfully.

  'Oh great...' he said disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

  'We'll see you at dinner then,' Jacqui said.

  'And don't hesitate if there's anything you need. I'm in the room next door.'

  'I won't,' Jacqui said. For a second their eyes met. Jacqui's expression was quizzical, enquiring, probing.

  'Dinner's at eight if that's all right?'

  'Fine.'

  Stephanie let herself out of the room.

  Half an hour later, from her terrace, Stephanie was watching a soli
tary figure swim out into the lake. Terry swam strongly and well, cutting a swathe through the calm waters until he reached one of the many tiny outcrops of rock that were dotted here and there in the great expanse of the lake. Stephanie watched as he hauled himself on to the rock and sat in the sun, giving a good impression of Rodin's 'The Thinker'.

  There was a confident knock on her bedroom door. Stephanie got up and went inside.

  'Hope you don't mind.' It was Jacqui.

  'Not at all, I told you. Come in.' She stood aside to let Jacqui in.

  'Terry's charged off. Couldn't wait to get into the water. Surprisingly he's quite athletic. Always playing games of some sort.'

  'I saw him. He's a very good swimmer.'

  Jacqui was wearing the towelling robe from the bathroom. Her hair was still wet from the shower.

  'I wondered what I should wear tonight. Is it very formal?'

  'Let's go out on the terrace. The sun'll dry your hair.'

  They walked outside and Jacqui arranged herself at the table sitting with her back to the sun so her hair got the maximum benefit.

  'My husband thinks you're stunning,' Jacqui said as Stephanie sat opposite her.

  'That's very flattering. But he can hardly complain. You are a very beautiful woman.'

  'Thank you. I always think a compliment from another woman is a real compliment.'

  'Real?'

  'Well men will say anything to get into your knickers, won't they?'

  'I suppose so.'

  'A woman doesn't have any ulterior motive.'

  'Doesn't she?' Stephanie said it firmly, wanting Jacqui to understand what she was saying. 'Do you mind if I take my jacket off, it's too hot out here for clothes.'

  'Of course not.'

  'I was just going to change...'

  Stephanie slipped the jacket off to reveal her firm up-tilted breasts. She watched Jacqui's reaction. Outwardly there was none. Her eyes weighed Stephanie's breasts as if trying to guess her bra size.

  'I'll go and get a bikini,' Stephanie said.