His Mistress’s Voice (21 page)

The man was tall and fair, with lots of blond hair brushed carelessly back from his forehead. His wife, or at any rate the woman with him, looked apprehensively at Harriet as she approached. She too was blonde and somewhat younger than the man, or at any rate better kept, though with the increasing popularity of cosmetic surgery it was getting harder than ever to tell someone’s age.

Harriet went directly to the couple, embracing the man and giving him an affectionate peck on the cheek. The woman watched silently, as if sizing up a possible rival. Harriet and the man began to speak simultaneously, but Harriet prevailed after a moment. She usually did. Tom couldn’t catch what they were saying. He was trailing in Harriet’s wake without any clear idea of what he was supposed to do. Obviously Harriet knew the man well, because they were talking animatedly in what sounded like Dutch while the woman listened anxiously.

Like most Englishmen, Tom knew no foreign languages and could only surmise they were catching up on news. He had no idea that Harriet could speak Dutch, and he wondered what other surprises she had to reveal. She had already revealed quite a few. Presumably she would introduce the others when she was ready.

In the meantime Tom studied the woman. She appeared to be Dutch as well, though there was no way to be sure of that. About twenty-eight, he guessed. Certainly no more than thirty. Very pretty. Nice figure. Her breasts seemed slightly out of proportion to the rest of her, larger and heavier than her frame called for. He instinctively looked down at her legs, always the leg man. He expected her to have the slender, not to say skinny legs of the large-breasted woman. Dolly Parton was the image that occurred to him. But no. She had full legs. Nicely shaped, according to Tom’s personal preferences, and she was apparently not ashamed to show them off. He noted approvingly that she was not wearing a long skirt and he liked her choice of tights or was it stockings and suspenders? It couldn’t be, with a skirt that short, unless she was also an exhibitionist, which was a not unpleasant prospect in itself.

During a lull in the conversation she looked up and noticed Tom’s scrutiny. She smiled nervously, glancing at Harriet and the man she was with. To hell with it, Tom decided recklessly. He didn’t like feeling left out until called for. He moved over to her and held out his hand. ‘I’m Tom. Sorry I don’t speak Dutch.’ He didn’t know how else to introduce himself. He was with Harriet but she had apparently not said in what capacity.

‘Katrina,’ she said quietly. ‘Katrina Roos,’ she added, with a glance at the man. He and Harriet were still deep in their conversation. ‘I can speak English. It’s nice to meet you.’

Tom liked her voice. Soft and well-modulated. Apparently an educated woman. He felt foolish about his lack of skill with another language. There could have been an awkward silence, but Tom decided to plunge ahead. ‘I’m pleased to meet you too. Did you have a good trip?’ He smiled at her and at the triteness of the opening.

Katrina smiled back and asked him if he was with Harriet. The question was direct and it steered the conversation away from the banality in which it could have foundered. She had noticed the offhand way Harriet had treated them both in her absorption with the man.

Before Tom could outline his somewhat ambiguous relationship with Harriet, he became aware that she had noticed his overtures to Katrina. Remembering her reaction to his admiration of Helen, Tom expected a frosty remark. But Harriet merely turned the conversation to English to include him and Katrina. Maybe she was saving her disapproval for later, starting another account which would have to be settled in the basement. The last one had been enjoyable enough, so that wasn’t a real worry for him.

‘Adriaan – Tom.’

She performed the introductions offhandedly, then turning to Katrina, she introduced herself. ‘I see you two already know each other,’ she said to Tom and Katrina. Harriet said nothing about what he was doing at the airport with her. Perhaps she had already covered that topic in her conversation with Adriaan. In any event he was too polite to ask the same question Katrina had.

Tom found himself shaking hands with the tall man and exchanging polite conversation. He missed the directness Katrina had exhibited. In fact, he realised, Beth and Harriet had a similar openness in speech and action. He had responded to their overt approaches by beginning relationships which were at once bizarre and satisfying. He wondered if his relationship with Katrina would be equally satisfying.

He brought himself back from these reflections and tried to keep up his end of the conversation. He succeeded mainly because neither of them was paying attention to the words. They were merely going through polite form, on autopilot, as it were. Tom was grateful for that as well. It gave each of them time to form an impression and respond to the other.

‘Ari,’ the man was saying. ‘The other name is too long. Are you working with Harriet now?’

The question seemed to imply that there had been others working with Harriet at some remote time and that still others would do so in the future. Tom didn’t know how to reply. He also noted Katrina listening intently. It was the same question she had asked before Harriet had included them in the conversation.

Harriet unexpectedly came to his rescue this time. ‘Tom is my assistant. I wanted him to meet both of you with me. Among other things he’s a more than adequate chauffeur and can negotiate the traffic around here.’

Harriet didn’t say what else he might be. Presumably they would all find that out later. ‘Ari’s not going to stay with us this time,’ she explained to Tom. ‘He’s dropping Katrina off before flying to Singapore and Hong Kong. Business,’ she ended vaguely. ‘Katrina will be staying until he gets back and we will be looking after her.’ Harriet let the ambiguous statement stand without further explanation.

Tom noticed that Katrina had gone red and swallowed nervously. She looked confused but said no more. Either she had agreed to the sojourn or was well-schooled in doing what Ari asked her to do. She and Harriet should get on famously. Tom was surprised and pleased, though he said nothing, at his battlefield promotion from nonentity to Harriet’s assistant. He wondered if it would stand when there was no one around to notice. Time to find out later.

Ari was looking at his watch and mumbling something about tight schedule. He bent to kiss Katrina on the lips and to whisper something that made her smile. With a final, ‘Be good, darling’ to her he moved away, leaving Katrina standing awkwardly between Harriet and Tom.

Harriet turned to Katrina and assumed her no-nonsense air. Pleasantries over, it was time to get down to business.

‘I guess Ari has told you why you’re here.’

It was more of a statement than a question. That was Harriet’s characteristic approach to her business, and Tom was watching closely to see how she applied it to someone else. Katrina went red once again at Harriet’s directness, but she nodded once mutely. Tom wondered if the flush extended further down to the more interesting bits. It might be nice to find out.

‘Tom, go get the car now. Meet us out front in,’ glancing at her watch, ‘ten minutes. Take Katrina’s bag with you if you don’t mind.’

Once again it was more a command than a request. Back to nonentity, Tom thought ruefully, but Harriet gave him a small smile that took some of the sting from her words. A complex woman, he thought, not for the first time. As he turned away with Katrina’s flight bag – really no more than an overnight bag – he noted it was quite light. Nothing like the department store most women insisted on dragging along with them, so either her stay was going to be short, or she wouldn’t need many clothes. Tom found the latter possibility distinctly promising, though he wondered if Harriet would leave them on their own for any length of time.

Tom honked the horn and watched Katrina and Harriet detach themselves from the small crowd by the terminal doors. Harriet gave the impression of frogmarching the younger woman towards the car.

Katrina was looking dubious again. Tom got out and opened the rear door for them and Harriet gave him another of her small smiles, mouthing the words, ‘You’re learning’ to him as she got in beside Katrina.

He closed the door behind them and went around to the driver’s side. As he drove away he heard Harriet saying cheerfully, ‘You’ll be much more comfortable in these thumbcuffs, Katrina. If you’ll just hold your hands out, and give us a big thumbs-up. That’s right,’ Harriet said encouragingly. Tom heard the distinctive click as Harriet closed the cuffs on Katrina’s thumbs, and the soft snap as she double-locked them. In the rear-view mirror he caught sight of Harriet putting the keys into her handbag. Katrina sat beside her with her thumbs cuffed in front of her. She still looked dubious, but it was too late to protest. Unable to use her hands, Katrina tended to slide on the seat whenever the car took a turn.

Harriet noticed Katrina’s doubtful expression, and tried to cheer her up with small talk. She rattled on like a tour guide as they drove back through town, pointing out the more familiar landmarks. ‘Is this your first visit to London?’ she asked.

Katrina replied, ‘Yes,’ in a small voice. She shifted awkwardly in the seat as she tried to find a comfortable position for her hands.

Harriet continued the travelogue as they drove through the darkening streets towards her house, and by the time they drew up outside, Katrina was relaxed enough to remark on how nice it looked. Trite as the remark was, it showed that she was getting accustomed to the situation.

As he listened to Harriet talking Katrina round, Tom reflected on how different her approach was from Beth’s. Beth had been intense, determined to impart an air of the outré to their meetings. She had largely succeeded in this – not that Tom thought any the less of her for it. Harriet, on the other hand, tried to bring the air of the everyday to her bizarre dealings with others. Both women, he thought, had succeeded in their own ways. Almost idly, he wondered where Beth was, and what she was doing (and with whom). She had managed to ease the pangs of Separation by the timely introduction to Harriet. This compact, sturdy woman had taken her place at the centre of his activities.

Harriet broke into this train of thought. ‘I’ll get Katrina settled in for the night. I want you to return the car and come back in the morning. Around ten will do. No point in getting up too early. The old saw about the early bird and the worm merely proves that it’s unhealthy to get up with the lark.’

Tom got out to open the door for them. Harriet stepped out confidently and turned to help Katrina as she slid awkwardly across the seat. Harriet draped her coat over the younger woman’s hands, concealing her thumbcuffs. She took the small bag with one hand and with the other she steered Katrina firmly by the elbow across the pavement and up the front steps. Harriet set the case down and fumbled the keys from her handbag, never letting go of Katrina. Tom wondered if she was afraid the blonde girl would bolt if left alone. Cuffed as she was, running would be awkward.

Harriet got the door open and pushed Katrina inside. Then she said something to her and came back to the car. She dug into her handbag and came up with an envelope. She handed it to Tom. ‘Almost forgot this shopping list. Would you be good enough to pick them up before you come round. It doesn’t matter if you’re a bit late. We won’t be going out.’ When he got home Tom made himself something to eat and went through Harriet’s list as he watched TV. She asked him to buy some food for the three of them at the supermarket. Her list specified what he was to get. She ended by reminding him that this was to be the TV weekend she had mentioned. She told him to be sure to bring the things he had bought when he came the next day. Harriet added that she would have the rest of his costume waiting at her house.

His dreams that night were disturbed by images of him dressed as a French maid, waiting on Harriet and Katrina. He felt uneasy about having a stranger present, and wished Harriet had chosen a different time to begin her newest game. But then she had probably taken Katrina’s presence into account when devising his debut as a ladies’ maid. This probably came under the heading of embarrassment for him – a salutary lesson in submission from Harriet’s point of view. It was what the B&D groupies would call humiliation.

The next morning Tom arrived at Harriet’s place to find she was out. He was disappointed. Surprisingly so. He also felt silly carrying the things he had bought around with him, even though no one could tell the package contained women’s clothing. Then he noticed a piece of paper sticking out of the letter box. Hopefully he drew it out, and yes, it was addressed to him. Or it was in a manner of speaking. It said:
Go to No. 37 across the road and ask for Pamela. She has a key and will admit all eligible persons in my absence
. Tom wondered what she meant by all eligible persons, and how many there might be on that list, but speculation was fruitless. Either Harriet would tell him, or she wouldn’t. He already knew that she had clients for her services, and supposed he came under that heading. Not surprisingly she had made no secret of her business, nor any apology for it. He would have to take her as he found her. She had at least made that much clear.

He went across to number 37 and rang the bell. The door was opened by a woman who looked familiar, even though Tom had never been in there before. She was dressed smartly in a green dress with a pearl choker at her throat. ‘Yes?’ she said.

‘Pamela?’

‘No. I’m the maid. She’s out just now. What can I do for you?’

Tom handed her the note from Harriet. He didn’t comment on the incongruity between her dress and her title. He knew enough about prostitutes to understand what ‘maid’ meant in this context. From the maid’s dress, he gathered that Pamela must be something more than a casual prostitute. Not the type who felt it necessary to advertise by leaving hastily scrawled cards in the local newsagent’s shop window.