LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

best interests would be understating the issue considerably. When he learned of its existence, both Miss Lambert and her fledgling manuscript were doomed.

      ‘Lilly,’ he acknowledged with a nod.

      ‘Sir,’ she dropped a shallow curtsy.

      ‘Sit.’

      She did so quickly. When she looked up, he was staring at her fixedly.

      ‘I have something special for you to do. There is a young man I wish you to part from his female companion at the New Year’s Eve ball at the Fenshaw. He is quite attractive, I can assure you, and fancies himself totally irresistible to women. He has, however, a particular fondness for redheads. I want you to try this on for me.’ From a side drawer came a magnificent natural hair wig.

      ‘Now sir?’

      ‘Now.’

      She took the wig, turned it around briefly to determine front from back and then eased it on overtop of her short blond hair. The effect was electrifying.

      ‘My Mum had hair like this,’ she gushed, suddenly nervous as she ran her fingers through the long strands. ‘How do I look?’

      ‘As I hoped,’ he replied coolly. ‘You will not only deflect this young man’s thoughts away from his companion but you will insist that he leave with you well before the evening’s end. I am confident that you will devise a suitable enticement.’ He smiled thinly as his eyes washed over her. ‘Maharsh will bring you to this function and there provide you with a costume and an invitation card.’

      ‘Sounds like fun. What sort of costume?’ Her confidence began to soar.

      ‘A harem costume.’

      ‘Great! You’ll be pleased to know I’ve kept my figure just like it was when…’

      She was interrupted by a sharp clinking sound followed by a soft hum as the door to Capritzo’s private chambers opened automatically.

      ‘Then surely I am the best judge of the truth of such a statement.’ His eyes bored deep within her. ‘Wash thoroughly and remove all trace of make-up.’

      She nodded abstractly as she rose from the chair and began to make her way across the room on legs suddenly grown weak at the knees. She had reached the doorway before he called out to her.

      ‘Lilly.’ She turned, leaning lightly on the doorframe for support. ‘Continue to wear the wig.’

      ‘Yes sir,’ she replied in a hoarse whisper.

      2

      Davie whistled snatches of Al Jolson’s song I’m Sitting On Top of the World as he cleaned and polished his car. It was December 31st and in a few short hours he’d be picking up - no, collecting - Miss Churchill and taking her, like the prince he was, to a fancy-dress ball. Chances are she’ll reject this jerk, whoever he is, and then she’ll fly to Davie’s side, seeking his protection and begging to leave on his arm.

      Davie chuckled. If he played his cards right and Janet came through as promised, Little Miss Tightass might just find herself at a different kind of ball.

      ‘I’m sittin’ on top of the world, just ballin’ along, just singin’ this song.’ He smiled wickedly as he stood back to admire his handiwork although he knew that no amount of elbow grease would ever make “Old Sally” young again. Sally was Davie’s nickname for his car; short for “Sally the Shit Box”; rude perhaps, but accurate. As he slid behind the wheel his eyes traced every inch of the interior which had been laboriously cleaned of every manner of filth, then polished.

      ‘Sally baby, you smell like a silicon whore on a Saturday night.’

      Persuading Sarah to accompany him had been a piece of cake. Perhaps that prick Capritzo had been right because her attitude did change remarkably when Davie arrived at the house on Bacon Street dressed in grey flannel pants, pale blue shirt, tie and - hey baby! - a blazer. The bouquet of flowers helped too but it was the invitation card with her name printed in copperplate which really sent her over the edge.

      Davie had played the perfect gentleman throughout the evening; all charm and cool sophistication until Sarah finally relented.

      Typically, David assumed almost without thinking that he had worked his magic yet again, enticing the fair young Sarah even against her will. Such charm in one so young - such arrogance! Davie’s ego would have taken a knock if he knew the truth, however, and that was quite simple.

      Sarah’s roommates were no longer prepared to indulge her prudish tendencies. The only reason why she had been invited to share such cheap - inexpensive, please - accommodation so close to campus was because Heather and Janet saw Sarah as a first-class ticket to the Good-times Gallery. Certain that she would draw the guys like flies, they were soon to learn that she was pure poison, so a campaign was launched to basically separate Sarah from her virginity, and as soon as possible. Ultimately Sarah was faced with a choice. Either date Davie or find accommodation elsewhere; a formidable challenge for a young girl with limited financial resources. There was one slight consolation, however. Sarah was assured that Davie was an experienced lover so, if you have to go, well …

      Sarah had smiled sweetly when Heather nudged her knowingly. What she didn’t know was that Sarah was quite prepared to see just how good a lover Davie might be moments after being kicked in the nuts.

      New Year’s Eve was shaping up to be a very interesting evening all around.

      *****

      The only problem facing Davie now was the truth about Sarah’s sexual history, or more specifically, the lack of one. Davie had worked hard, fearful always that she may now have, or had had an affair off campus and thus beyond the knowledge of those individuals who took a particular delight and an inordinate interest in other people’s affairs - sexual and otherwise. No luck. Finally Davie gave up, running on intuition instead. Besides, he reasoned, knowing Sarah, by the time she gave over he’d be an old man! Davie chuckled again, relishing his little joke.

      He couldn’t wait to get into his costume. Marc Anthony, now someone was thinking right! Perfect fit too and a masterpiece of authenticity, right down to the sword.

      Sarah’s costume included yards and yards of semi-transparent veils and not much else. Davie found himself licking his lips in eager anticipation as he fondled the material, until he caught himself and stopped abruptly.

      By the time he reached her place he could barely contain his excitement. Sarah pointedly ignored the ohs and ahs of her roommates as they admired Davie, the Marc Anthony of all their dreams.

      ‘Hello Sarah. I'm sure this will fit. Well, ah … I hope it does.’ He handed her a rectangular cardboard box.

      She lifted the lid then stared down at the costume in disbelief. ‘Is this it?’

      ‘Yeah well ah … sorry, but the selection was kind of limited.’

      Sarah’s roommate Heather cut in. ‘I think it’s great. Come on Sarah, try it on.’

      Sarah turned to her, her green eyes flashing. She grabbed the costume out of the box and threw it at her. ‘If you think it’s so great, then you try it on!’

      Sarah’s other roommate Janet stepped in hoping to save the day; or rather the night. ‘Oh, for Pete’s sake Sarah, I've seen worse on the beach. Come on, hurry up. Heather, go and help her.’

      Sarah snatched the costume back then turned to Davie, offering him a wicked smile. ‘No guarantees Mister Kendall,’ she said as she stormed out of the room with Heather following right behind.

      ‘Sit down Marc,’ Janet sighed, ‘this could take awhile.’

Скачать книгу