The Eunuch's Ward (The String Quartet) (10 page)

Between someone called Anitta streaming out of Bruna’s iPod and our own shrieks we made as much noise as could be expected from seven girls at the end of a school year. All the same, I couldn’t help wondering what was happening on the other side of the party wall. There was no way that I could slip through that gate unnoticed by my guests and there was very little chance of them leaving any time soon. At one point I had a feeling that the leafy wall of climbers was parting, but that was just the trick of light seen through my wet eyelashes.

‘Have you done it yet, Bruna?’ asked one of the cousins. ‘You and Paolo?’ With the exception of Ela, they all spoke with American accent.

We’d had enough of splashing and dunking and were sitting along the edge of the pool, drinking lemonade and listening to music.

Bruna, the bride-to-be, shook her head. ‘Of course not. That’s not a part of the deal. Paolo is in his fifties. He’s well past that sort of thing.’

‘Why are you marrying him, then?’ I asked cruelly. Why do people do anything? Because they either want to or have to. Only, in this case I wasn’t sure which was worse.

‘He needs heirs and I don’t want to marry parents-in-law and an army of hangers-on...’

‘And your brother wants you out of the way,’ the curly-haired cousin chirped in cheerfully. ‘Will your brother buy out of the estate?’

‘He can’t before I’m eighteen,’ Bruna shrugged. ‘Until then he’s got to pay for everything, including my wedding and my dowry. That’s what it says in my father’s will. After that, we go halves.’ The thought gave Bruna a great deal of pleasure.

‘But, if your Paolo can’t get it up,’ the girl with the period, wrapped in my dressing gown, poured herself a glass of lemonade and pulled over a chair, ‘how are you going to get pregnant? IVF or something?’

‘Or something,’ Bruna laughed. ‘No, no, the
something
will come later. He’ll get his designer son and daughter by some cleverly selective IVF. After that, I’ll hire myself a good looking chauffeur. Or a secretary.’

‘And Paolo will stand for that?’ The girl in my dressing gown was called Gabi, I remembered.

‘Paolo is gay, you numpty,’ Ela scoffed. ‘He’ll stand for anything as long as it’s discrete and he gets a couple of kids out of it and Bruna on his arm when the occasion requires.’

‘And as long as he gets to keep his three masseurs,’ Bruna nodded. ‘He’s been claiming impotence for ages to get the mothers of virgins off his back.’

Ela looked around. ‘This is yet another coven of virgins,’ she said.

‘What do you mean
yet another
? ‘asked the curly head but without too much interest.

As conversation killers go, that one was a winner. Silence fell on our little group. Even the music from the iPod had stopped.

‘Needs charging,’ Bruna muttered.

‘My Leandro let me hold his... his thing once,’ Gabi announced reluctantly.

‘What was it like?’

‘Did you like it?’

‘Hold it where?’ Bruna’s voice rose above the clamour and we all laughed.

‘It was at my graduation party. The school party, not the one at home. We were dancing and there wasn’t all that much room on the podium, and he was holding me quite tight around the waist anyhow. Then I felt his thing press into me. I knew what it was of course, but didn’t know what to do. Leandro and I had been going out, kind of, he was more of an approved escort than a boyfriend. He’d tried to kiss me a couple of times but I didn’t fancy it. I didn’t fancy it with him because he’s got such funny front teeth that I was worried that my lips may end up as a piece of spinach between them. But his...er...’

‘Penis.’, Bruna helped out. ‘Cock. Dick. Take your pick,’ she rhymed to a tune.

‘Yeah, that. It was very big...’

‘How did you know it was big,’ Ela narrowed her eyes. ‘How did you know if you’d never felt one before?’

‘It felt big enough to me,’ Gabi retorted quickly.

‘Did you get wet?’ asked the curls. ‘Down there?’

‘I felt really funny down there. Especially when he fitted his middle finger into the folds of my dress, between my buttocks. and pressed me to him. His cock was rubbing just the right place... the wrong place I mean... you know what I mean...’

‘Clitoris. He found your clitoris.’

I wasn’t sure who’d said that. My attention was on the bloody climbers again.

‘He did. I was worried that he, or I, might leave a stain on my dress. He then danced me off the stage and into the wings. He let go of my right hand, opened up his trousers and that big stick popped out, all that while we were still like dancing, only I didn’t know what to do with my right hand while he was undoing himself. Anyway, the thing, his penis, I mean, it was there. I wasn’t sure if I should look straight at it or not, I was so nervous. Leandro got hold of my hand and bent my fingers around it. Then he put his hand over mine and moved the skin on it up and down, really hard and fast...’

‘Did he come?’ asked the curly one. ‘That would have left stains on your dress for sure.’

Gabi shook her head. ‘No, not while I was there. I could hear some rustling close by, no idea what it was, could have been rats for all I know, but I didn’t want anyone to see me like that, rubbing a boy’s penis at a prom, I wriggled out and ran off. It wasn’t very nice at all anyway.’

The story of scissoring would have probably gained me a great deal of attention in this company, only I wasn’t at all ready to tell it. We were such a bunch of freaks. Seven sixteen to eighteen year olds wondering about the size and workings of male penis. Growing our hymens only to lay them at the altar of someone who could afford a virgin bride and her huge dowry. Brought up to agree to marry a gay man, or an old one because of his money and position and the glimmer of relative freedom in the wings.

There was something very wrong with it.

‘Leandro is the heir to the best part of the transgender industry at home,’ Bruna was saying. ‘Hold on to him, Gabi. It doesn’t take much to straighten a few front teeth, a large hard-on with that kind of provenance is as rare as hen’s teeth.’

What I needed to do, urgently, was talk to my father. A serious, grown-up to grown-up talk. If he could hear what went on round his pool this afternoon, he would have been horrified. He couldn’t possibly want his own daughter to turn into something like that. He just couldn’t. He was much too intelligent for that. And much too loving. Yes, loving. While not the most demonstrative of people out of the glare of the limelight, he’d always made sure that I had the best of everything. I was sure that if I promised to cooperate with all the security arrangements, he’d let me take my chances with love and life, heartbreaks and joys alike. The first thing to go were those bloody virginity tests? What the hell was the point of that? What would he, what could he do if Dr. Tanner reported a drastic change? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It wouldn’t do his public image that he was so conscious of any good if he disowned me because I chose to have sex with someone.

I smiled to myself. That sounded uncomfortably close to blackmail, but I didn’t care. I needed to take control of my own life and if he insisted on remaining as pigheaded and parochial as he had been so far, he deserved to be taught a lesson.

* * *

I tested the water in the morning with my mother. She was repacking the last of her Korean purchases in preparation to fly home tomorrow night. Considering the eight hours time difference, that was noon London time. They were landing tomorrow evening.

‘Milan? Brazil? On your own? I’m not sure...’

‘Not exactly on my own, mother,’ I argued. ‘The girls have minders and chaperons coming out of their ears. But, if they can travel, so can I. And if I can’t, why not?’

My mother was arranging one of her pet acquisitions on a piece of black velvet. ‘How do you like this?’ She trained the Skype camera on a collection of jewellery. ‘That’s jade set in platinum. Each piece is hand crafted by someone famous. A famous artist. You can have it if you like it.’

‘It’s hideous,’ I ruled summarily. ‘Forget the bling, for heaven’s sake. Could you talk to him for me, please? I’m pretty sure that we’ll be ferried to Brazil by the bride’s private jet...’

My mother nodded enthusiastically. ‘Private jet?! That’s what I’ve always wanted. Don’t understand why you father doesn’t simply get one and be done with all that palaver of scheduled flights and inconvenient connections.’

‘Mother?!’

‘Sorry, darling. Have you spoken to Bakir? What does he think?’

‘What has Bakir got to do with anything? Since when has the eunuch been in charge of my life?’

As ever, I had to give up. She was getting worse.

It was another beautiful summer morning out there, offering nothing but boredom and frustration. Back in March I’d made a list of charities that had been looking for volunteers and left it on my father’s desk. I was happy to walk dogs for an animal charity, shop for the old and infirm for another, restore unwanted furniture for resale, and support a number of other moderately interesting activities, some of them in Hampshire, others right here in London. All I needed from him was to decide where I was going to be in June, July and August before I could make a commitment. He kept putting it off for one reason or another. He still hadn’t done it.

Shuffling my feet I walked out on the terrace. Half way to the pool I discarded my t-shirt that was doubling up as my nightie and, along with my phone, I threw it on the lounger. If the woman next door could walk about stark naked at her age, so could I. I tried an old trick. Rosie and I used to be very good at it. I walked back along the railings, all the way back to a large ceramic pot with ornamental grasses.
The pot marks the spot,
we used to say. After a short run-up I lunged to the side, right hand, left hand, right foot, left foot, right hand, left hand and whoosh, I cartwheeled myself into the pool. That felt good, so good that I did it twice again before completing my ten rounds routine.

Now what?

I floated aimlessly around, admiring my pubic crescent that I’d been maintaining with meticulous care. With combined effect of a depilating cream, an electric beard trimmer and even tweezers, my entire Brazilian remained in great shape. I chuckled a little wondering what Ela and her cousins called that kind of a shave.

My skin was a different matter, though. It was tanned to three different levels, each a testament to the style of the bikini that I’d happened to wear. Why had I bothered with a bikini in the first place? During all those weeks of revision I could have simply stripped and let the sun do its work evenly all over me. I twisted around to have a look at my bottom. As I suspected, it was sadly pale and unappetising. And now I only had one day to make up for the stupidity. Bakir and the Boys never came upstairs without giving me a decent amount of notice, but my parents were much less considerate. Even my mother, vague and dopey, would have probably raised her eyebrows at blatant nudity. I would die on the spot if my father ever found me naked anywhere, never mind in open air.

Because the umbrella over the loungers was too difficult to close I simply pulled the one that I always used out of the shade. I wrung the excess water from my hair as well as I could, but it was still dripping down my neck and into my eyes. In the absence of a towel I pulled the t-shirt over my head and all the way down my face. My world instantly turned into a solid block of red. By touch I located a pocket in the upholstery that contained my sun-block and sitting up like a fakir, I started applying it to my shoulders and back as far as I could reach.

‘If I were ever asked to recognise you again it would have to be a very interesting ID parade.’

The voice was unfamiliar and male.

It took all my stubborn, obdurate inner strength to stop me from slamming my knees together and covering myself with the soaking wet t-shirt. If I did that, I reasoned through the confusion, I’d be admitting that I did something wrong. I could do bloody well what I wanted on my own private terrace.

But I did pull my t-shirt down enough to gain vision in my left eye.

‘And you are?’

Of course, I knew exactly who he was. The next door’s toy boy. Not that he was all that much of a boy as his well filled swim jammers testified.

‘Ah, my virtuoso performance of two or three days ago wasn’t memorable enough?’

‘A marketing exercise, was it?’ I hated myself. ‘You’ve come to check if it worked?’ How childish was I?!

‘It appears that I’m looking at it,’ he laughed. ‘The market, I mean.’

Feigning nonchalance, I leaned back, my face still wrapped up in the red t-shirt, my legs still splayed out as far as they would go. ‘What you’re actually looking at is a perfect hymen. The world’s finest.’

This time he was laughing really hard. ‘I didn’t think that girls were still issued with them. Not my kind of thing...’

‘You sure?’ I mocked triumphantly. ‘Don’t look now but your penis is peeping above the parapet.’

He must have used the same strength of will to quell the urge to cover himself as I had only minutes before. His arms remained at his back. ‘Penis?’ he tried a laugh again. ‘Is that what you call it?’

‘It’ll come whatever I call it.’

He was handsome, he had a big, lively cock, a happy laugh and he was good-natured.

‘Touché. Let’s make ourselves presentable and call the truce.’ He pulled his trunks up, muttering something about a missing modesty panel, and sat himself at the end of the lounger. That gave me plenty of time to pull down my t-shirt all the way down, below my knees.

‘I didn’t know you saw me,’ I said quietly. That was the closest that I could come to apology.

‘Of course I saw you. Comes with the territory. I’m a pilot.’

‘As in piloting airplanes?’

He nodded. ‘Hugh Carrington, your next door neighbour.’

I nearly jumped out of my skin. His type shouldn’t be married. They should remain in public domain forever. ‘My neighbour? Is she... is the next door your wife?’

He shook his head, obviously reading my mind and enjoying it. ‘No, my lady friend visits occasionally when we’re both in town but her husband isn’t. What were you doing there?’