Читать книгу Shadow Lane Volume 10: The Spanking Adventures of Amanda Sands - Eve Howard - Страница 12

Chapter Five Blue China

It was a cold, wet, windy winter morning, but to mitigate the gloom, Hugo Sands was enjoying a hot breakfast of poached eggs, grilled tomatoes, fresh baked biscuits, sliced melons, sugared strawberries and espresso, with his fiancée, Laura Random and her younger sister, Susan Ross, in Susan’s Victorian triple-decker, at the northernmost end of Shadow Lane.

Hugo had brought over the groceries, encouraged the girls to get out of bed and mildly reproached Laura for never being close at hand when he needed her. Ever since Anthony Newton had given Susan a house of her own to work in and spent one million dollars remodeling it for the artistic sisters’ convenience, Laura had been spending an inordinate amount of time away from Hugo’s own house in the woods and almost no time at all at his shop in the village.

“I need you to do me a favor,” Hugo petitioned Laura, who was sleepily pouring out coffee for them, her long brown hair down on her shoulders, her slim body wrapped in a white brocade robe. Her sister Susan, who’d quickly dressed herself in jeans, a cream wool turtleneck and ankle boots, was twisting and tying her waist length honey blonde hair into a high ponytail as she came into the room. “I have to go into Boston for the afternoon and I’m expecting a very important call at the shop on my private line. Could you be there today to monitor my calls?”

“Yes,” Laura replied, handing her sister a cup of coffee, with milk and sugar as she liked it. “But what’s it all about?”

“A source of mine in London has located a blue china vase that once belonged to Oscar Wilde. Apparently, there’s enough provenance to prove that the piece was seized from Wilde’s house and sold off during the execution on his goods which followed his conviction.”

“Not The Blue China?” Susan asked, in awe.

“Yes, The Blue China that Wilde always claimed it was harder and harder to live up to,” Hugo replied with excitement. “If I can obtain the vase I’m sure a certain someone at this table’s rich boyfriend will be wanting to buy it and endow it to his alma mater.”

“And you’d get a nice commission,” Laura reflected.

“Enough for us to close the shop for several weeks and take a proper honeymoon, in Italy.”

“I’ll stick by the phone like glue,” Laura promised.

“Good girl!” Hugo said, lifting her hand to kiss the palm.

One hour later, having showered and dressed in a pair of brown cords, a wool polo shirt, walking shoes, a brown tweed coat, tam and gloves, Laura walked down graveyard hill and into the village of Random Point, against the wind all the way. Her umbrella blew inside out immediately and the raw cold stung her cheeks bright pink by the time she got to Hugo’s shop.

The first thing she did after entering, turning up the heat and turning on all the lights was to light the hearth in the main room of the shop. Then she went back to Hugo’s editorial and archival offices behind the shop and started a pot of coffee in the galley. While she was waiting for the coffee to brew she went out to the back garden, which faced the brook that ran alongside almost all of Shadow Lane, and smoked half a joint. Then she was ready to unlock the front door to the public and open the shop. Not that she expected any public off-season and on a morning like this.

Taking her coffee, Laura went to sit behind the large desk in the office where Hugo conducted his correspondence and phone interviews. Almost immediately she sat down, the phone rang.

“Hugo Sands’ Antiques,” Laura said brightly.

“Oh,” said a disappointed female voice on the other end of the line.

“Is Hugo there?”

“No, he isn’t. May I take a message?”

“This is Francesca from Provincetown. He was supposed to call me this morning.”

Laura remembered Hugo mentioning a young woman, one of his readers, who had recently begun to fixate on him because she lived less than five miles from Random Point. The tone of the caller’s voice indicated that this was the person of whom Hugo had spoken. Her lover had many fans and had collected many hearts over the years he had been publishing the Northeast’s most elegant spanking magazine. Some of these women were of such intelligence, charm and physical attractions as to have been invited out to pose for photo spreads, to be wined, dined, spanked and bedded by the man who had only captured Laura for himself within the last few years. (Though he had loved her for six.)

“I’m so sorry, he’s gone to Boston for the day. I don’t expect him back until early evening. Perhaps I could take your number?”

“Oh, he has my number,” the woman, who sounded to be in her late twenties or early thirties, replied crossly.

“Well, I’ll let him know that you called.”

“Who am I speaking to?” the caller demanded.

“This is Laura.”

“Do you work there in the office?”

“Uh, yes. I do drawings for the magazine.”

“Oh! You’re good,” the woman said unhappily.

“Thank you.”

“So, you’ve known Hugo a long time?”

“Yes, I have,” Laura smiled.

“Are you his -”

“I’m his partner,” Laura replied firmly, surprising herself.

“Oh. Well, please tell him I called,” the woman said hastily and hung up.

That voice being as close as Provincetown made Laura uncomfortable. For the first time she realized that other women wanted her man. Not just to play with, as her Random Point girl friends sometimes did, but to keep. It was an odd sensation.

Laura strolled out to the main room with her coffee and sat on an upholstered stool by the hearth for several minutes, remembering the day, several years before, when Hugo had won her for good and all, though she didn’t tell him so at the time.

It was a rapturously balmy early Spring evening, approximately eighteen months after the infamous caning incident, for which Laura had decided never to forgive Hugo, and approximately six months before she officially did forgive him and consent to be his lover. She had been conducting herself in his presence in a most guarded manner, not precisely unfriendly, but certainly not warm and of course, wholly inaccessible. She never came to see him at the shop, never met him for a meal or even stopped to chat in the street. When they met by accident she’d nod and faintly smile but not converse beyond a bland, “How are you?” and that without seeming to care about the answer. It was a way to punish Hugo for the insult of caning her too hard and it had worked wonderfully well. Her comportment towards Hugo pained him deeply. Not that he had given up the thought of eventually possessing her completely, but for a period, he knew he had to back away. After all, they lived in civilized times. He couldn’t carry her kicking and screaming to his house and keep her locked in the attic. At least not for very long. So he bided his time.

But this particular early evening of an April day, they happened to cross paths at the grocery co-op on Brundle Street, where the mother of his recently surfaced, hitherto unknown daughter had once kept a large, splendid head shop and psychic emporium. Laura was in a white cotton a-line dress with cranberry trim and ankle strap platform heels of the same dark red. She was stuffing a string bag full of vegetables and fruit. Their eyes met over the first white peaches of Spring and this time he didn’t let her turn away directly.

“Laura.”

“Oh, hello,” she said, blushing, and started to hurry away. The blush was new and Hugo noticed it at once. Was it that he caught her in a pretty dress for once instead of the perpetual woolen leggings of a New England winter?

“Laura,” he repeated, touching the back of her bare arm with his hand. “Don’t walk away. I want to talk to you.” He didn’t smile but held her gaze.

“Yes?” she felt compelled to stay and listen because he had looked irresistibly handsome.

“When we leave here you’re getting in your car and following me home.”

She paused and looked at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her wide, shapely mouth. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because I’ve got something for you at my house,” Hugo insisted.

“What?”

“Dinner,” he said, indicating his hand basket, filled with steaks and mushrooms.

“Do I have to cook?” she asked cautiously.

“I’ll cook,” he replied.

“No. I don’t think -”

“Don’t think, just oblige me.”

“If I come tonight -”

“You will.”

“If I come tonight, the reconciliation is just for tonight.”

Hugo shrugged, “Fine!”

And incredibly, she followed him to his house.

The moment he had her inside, he drew her to a sofa and took her in his arms, kissing her as though it might be the last chance he would ever have. She pulled away, saying, “What about the steaks? Don’t you think we should get them out of the car?”

“That’s the way you respond to the best romance I can throw at you?” Hugo demanded. Annoyed at her for not succumbing to his kisses, he rolled her over and swatted the back of her cotton skirt six times. “You used to be such a sweet, shy submissive. You had such good manners then,” he reproved her, letting her up. “All right, go get the steaks. I’ll open some wine.”

“I can’t help it if I’m hungry,” Laura protested, rubbing her bottom as she exited the room.

Laura smiled, remembering the little scene. Then the phone rang again. She pounced on it, thinking this was at last Hugo’s call about the blue china vase. But it was Francesca again. This time she said she had something important to tell Laura about her partner, something Laura would not know. Laura felt uneasy, not because she mistrusted Hugo, but because she heard unhappiness, desperation and malice in the woman’s voice. Francesca went on to reveal that not only had she played with Hugo but that he had possessed her. In fact, they were in a relationship. She felt Laura ought to know this. That was all. She hung up before Laura could organize a coherent reply.

Laura sighed, went out back and smoked a little more. While she was sitting on the low stone wall that overlooked the brook, her cell phone rang. It was Hugo, wanting to know if his contact had called. Laura told him about the phone calls from Francesca. There was a momentarily silence. Then Hugo said, “Yes, she’s stalking me.”

“You’d mentioned playing with her,” Laura said, “but not sleeping with her.”

“Well, I did that too. Unfortunately. Now she thinks...something.”

“Why did you do that? She doesn’t seem like your type,” Laura pointed out, reasonably.

“She’s not. Not by any means. But, you know how it is. She needed a complete scene. I never dreamed she’d fixate on me. I haven’t seen her since and that was months ago.”

“You mean it was a mercy scene?”

“Let me put it this way, within minutes of meeting her in person I didn’t want to play with her, but I did anyway.”

“Anyway, I was thinking about that night.”

“What night?”

“The night you made me come back to your house for steaks.”

“That was a real tease. Morning after, I thought I had it made.

Then you decided to torture me for eight more months. How could you, Laura? Have I ever sufficiently beaten you for keeping me at bay for two years?”

“It was only six months more.”

“My client’s just arrived. I have to go. Call me if you hear from London, okay? And as for Francesca, just be polite and noncommittal. She lives close and may be crazy.”

Laura closed the phone and went back inside, feeling worse for Francesca than before. She knew Hugo well enough by now to know that his heart was irrevocably her own. But here was an outside party, loving him to insanity and doomed to frustration.

Laura got on Hugo’s New Rod Quarterly computer and brought up all the male personal ads from the New England region. There were about sixty. Surely one of these nice bachelors could take Francesca off Hugo’s hands? Someone desperate enough to snap up a head case. Laura called Hugo back and asked how old Francesca was and if she was attractive.

“Why?”

“I’m going through the close-by ads to see if there’s anyone we can hook her up with.”

“Forget it. She’s decided she only wants me.”

“Really? That’s worse than I thought,” Laura replied with that same uneasy sensation.

“The only way we can settle this once and for is to get married, right away,” Hugo suggested.

“That’s not going to settle anything,” Laura pointed out sensibly.

“She only lives a few miles away.”

Hugo signed off and Laura looked out the window. It had started to drizzle and she suddenly felt very hungry.

Grabbing her tweed coat and pulling it on, Laura put up the Out to Lunch sign, pulled the door closed behind her and locked it as she emerged onto windswept Shadow Lane. She ran across the cobbled street to the back entrance of Marguerite Alexander’s bookshop, getting only a little wet.

Hope Spencer Lawrence was in her usual position behind the coffee counter, a slim Venus in blue jeans, a white shirt and red apron, her long blonde pony tail reaching nearly to her waist, her heart shaped face open and friendly.

“I’m so hungry,” said Laura, sliding onto a counter seat.

“I have Tuscan Chicken soup,” suggested Hope, letting Laura taste a spoon.

“That’s great. And give me bread.”

“I’ve got biscuits. Made this morning,” Hope said, sliding a large one onto a dish for Laura and preparing the black tea Laura liked, in a small china pot. She then placed a small china cup and saucer with sugar and lemon in front of her friend.

“This girl keeps calling Hugo,” said Laura, pouring out and blowing on her tea.

“Really?” Hope leaned towards Laura and whispered, “There’s a girl in the shop right now who’s been asking questions about Hugo.”

Laura leaned back and waited for her soup with an accelerated heartbeat. Girl in the shop right now.

“Where’s Sloan?” Laura asked casually, crumbling a piece of the large biscuit off and nibbling it, the taste of which was indescribably seductive. “Oh my god, these are good.”

“I know. They don’t even need butter. He’s gone to Boston for the day.”

“So has Hugo.”

“That’s her,” whispered Hope, inclining her head towards the aisle where the person whom Laura believed to be Francesca was browsing.

Laura was startled to behold a striking, auburn haired Amazon, perhaps six feet tall and beautifully proportioned, pretty and fair complected, with straight, shining shoulder length hair, a woman of 28 or 29, dressed in jeans, a sweater and boots and filling every inch of them magnificently. “No wonder she’s confident,” thought Laura. At that moment the tall girl’s gaze met her own. Laura smiled as she would at any pleasant stranger she happened to encounter in the aisles of a charming bookshop. The girl returned a civil nod then made for a different aisle.

“Do you like being married, Hope?” Laura asked the mistress of the most popular cappuccino bar in a village filled with cappuccino bars.

“Truthfully, I do,” Hope replied, “I feel the position carries with it the respect and respectability which was lacking in my life before David.”

Laura remembered that Hope was a former B&D model and professional submissive who had been discovered at the Hollywood dungeon known as The Keep by her husband, when he was a teacher at Hollywood High, in the same neighborhood. They had come out to Random Point together so that he could improve his resume by a teaching stint at a Cape Cod prep school called Braemar. He was currently so well liked at that establishment that there was talk of his being made head of the English department by next semester. Meanwhile, Hope worked in the bookshop, mostly behind this counter, watching the world of Random Point go by and catching the cream of the tourists in her sugar spun web of mocha lattes, hot mulled cider, double espressos, drinking chocolate and spiced teas. One of her greatest marketing innovations at the bookshop was enabling the cozy visitor to make a meal of it while perusing their purchases, with various breads, bars, cakes, buns and muffins, along with rustic sandwiches sent over by the Inn. With her ravishing looks and an equally compelling menu, it was not surprising that Hope Spencer Lawrence took a significant amount of business away from all the other tea rooms and taverns in a three block radius, but even the other cafe owners forgave her, constantly drank her coffee and always brought her gossip tidbits first.

“She’s good looking,” Laura whispered across the coffee bar.

“I know!” Hope concurred.

“I’m surprised he doesn’t want to put her in the magazine.”

“Good idea. Maybe you can get her over to the shop and pay her for a photoset. Just some bend over shots. Might give her some face.”

“She looks like she’d photograph very well,” Laura mused. “I wonder why Hugo wants to brush her off so fast.”