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From: "smilodon" <smilodonREMOVE@postmaster.co.uk>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 4 Feb 2003 21:50:43 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Walking the Dog Chapters 5,6 and 7
Date: Tue,  4 Feb 2003 22:10:04 -0500
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Originally posted this just as the server went belly up so trying again...

Chapter Five

No idyll ever lasts and ours was shorter than most. We were summoned back to
the real world by Niall hammering on the door. "Martin, get up! Looks like
we've got company!" My heart sank and a sick feeling permeated the rosy
glow. I rose and dressed as quickly as I could with Angela following suit.
About two minutes later we joined the twins in the lounge. Liam gestured to
us to move to the side of the room. "Our friends are a little quick off the
mark," he said and gave us a humourless smile. Niall asked, "How many?" and
Liam grunted before replying. "Just spotted another one. That makes five out
here and three more we've clocked round the back. I think we can assume two
or three to each side so a round dozen at a guess. Good job they're
amateurs!"

"Amateurs?" My voice sounded unnaturally loud. "Absolute bloody amateurs,"
said Niall, "We wouldn't have spotted pros in this cover." He nodded towards
the hedgerows that fronted the cottage and flanked the road on either side.
Angela spoke. "What are we going to do now?" The twins laughed. "Put the
fear of Christ Himself into their little black hearts!" Niall glanced at
Liam. "Everything ready?" His brother winked and when Niall nodded, pulled a
small black object out of his inside pocket. He saw my quizzical look.
"Remote detonator." He pressed a button and the peace of the Berkshire
countryside was shattered by a series of loud explosions that seemed to
ripple around the house. Angela grabbed me and hung on tight to my arm. It
was over in seconds and before my ears had recovered from the shock, I heard
men's voices, panicked and shrill. The local rooks had also been disturbed
and their harsh voices added to the general cacophony.

"Right, grab your things and let's go," said Liam, "I'll take care of the
dogs." Angela and I sprinted back into the bedroom and threw our stuff into
our bags. Niall had the door open and shoved us through into the waiting
car. Trotsky and Magic seemed to find it all great fun and they were
bouncing around in the back as Liam gunned the engine, slammed it into first
and we took off like a rocket. The big four-wheel drive rolled alarmingly as
we exited the gates and swung onto the road. Angela and I were thrown
together in the back seat and we clung on to each other. The dogs complained
loudly as they were flung into a heap. I thought I heard a gunshot.

"That should wake the bloody neighbours!" Niall grinned back at us. "What
was that stuff?" I said. Liam laughed. "Thunderflashes, old son, all sound
and fury! We keep a small stock." Thunderflashes are military pyrotechnics,
used for exercises. They make an incredible noise but aren't at all
powerful. "Scared the crap out of them!" I smiled. "Scared the crap out of
me, too." We came to a crossroads and Liam turned right and then took an
immediate left into a narrow lane. We were barrelling along at well over
sixty and I found myself praying there was nothing coming the other way. We
seemed to make several turns at random and the next thing I knew, we were
driving into Hungerford and heading for the Motorway. To my surprise, we
headed back towards London.

"Where are we going now?"

"Plan B, old son. Confusion to our enemies. We're going to pay Mr Mickey the
Mouth Cornell a little visit."

"He wasn't there then, this morning?"

"Very much doubt it. Wouldn't have been so easy. Besides, he wouldn't sully
his lilywhite hands. Leaves the rough stuff to the mechanics, he's the
engineer."

"Do you know where to find him?"

"Couple of phone calls was all it took. We have friends in low places."

I knew I wouldn't get any more out them so I settled back for the ride.
Angela had recovered her equilibrium somewhat and she smiled at me. "You are
lucky to have such friends," she said. I nodded my wholehearted agreement.
Niall turned to us. "We're the lucky ones, Miss Sable. If it wasn't for
Martin, we'd be working for Securicor." I shook my head. "Somehow I don't
think so. I reckon you two could fall into a dung-heap and come up smelling
of roses." Niall gave me a withering look. "No money, no business," he said.
"We both know it if you don't." I waved a hand at him. "That's what friends
are for. Not for getting your arses shot off by a bunch of bloody hoodlums."
The twins laughed uproariously. "Martin, we never knew you made a habit of
this or we wouldn't have got involved!" "Martin Booth, man of mystery!
Seriously, old son, we couldn't wish for a better way to repay you. This is
what we do. And we love it!"

I knew they were speaking the truth. They were loving every second of it. It
was their element. I was scared shitless and they thought it was a huge
game. In some ways, they reminded me of Magic. The enthusiasm,

the irresponsibility, the boundless good nature. God only knows how they
stayed out of jail. Oh yes, they were on the side of the Angels, but they
raised Hell in the process, wherever they went. I'd hate to be up against
them.

In a little over an hour we were pulling up on a quiet street in Bedford
Park. It was a typical Sunday morning scene; people washing their cars,
children playing football in a small park. The sheer normality of it was
hard to take in after the start to the day I'd had. I'd been seduced,
surrounded and shot at. This is not your everyday occurrence for a boring
tax lawyer. Niall indicated a Victorian stucco villa set back a little from
the road. "That's our man, lets go spoil his breakfast."

Niall didn't bother ringing the highly polished brass bell. He just kicked
the door in. We burst into the house like Gangbusters. I was shocked to
notice that the twins were each clutching 9mm Browning automatics. I hadn't
known they were armed but I suppose it was logical, in their world. I tried
to shut out all thoughts of what the Bar Council would do to me if any of
this ever came out. Handguns are banned in Britain but ironically, easier to
get hold of since they became illegal. They have become the accessory of
choice for half the street gangs in the inner cities. I salved my conscience
with the thought that at least Niall and Liam knew how to use them.

Mickey Cornell was in his kitchen, a stunned expression on his normally
too-smooth face. He seemed rooted to the spot as we crashed in and
surrounded him in a moment. Niall and Liam stood each side of his chair.
They never threatened him with their weapons but made sure that he saw they
were armed. I took a seat beside him and waved Angela into the chair
opposite.

"Mr Smythe! Or should I say, Mr Cornell. I think it's time you made the
acquaintance of Miss Angela Sable. I believe we have a lot to talk about."

I may have sounded confident but my heart was racing and my palms were
sweaty. I stared at him. Holding eye contact until he looked away. Then I
went on.

"Let's start with your little farrago concerning Miss Sable's father. He was
never involved in any currency scam, was he? Her Majesty's Government aren't
trying to help the Russian Federation and, even if they were, your services
are no longer required. What was it, Mickey, had your hands in the till?"

His face contorted with anger and he made a slight move towards me. One
large hand on each shoulder slammed him back into his seat. Niall punched
him hard in the kidneys and he screamed in agony and slipped to the floor.
The twins hauled him up and threw him back in the chair. "Mind your manners,
my old lad," said Liam. I continued.

"Let me make it easy for you, Cornell. You came to me with some bullshit
about Miss Sable's father because you were desperate to get hold of her.
Your associates ransacked her studio looking for something. She doesn't know
what you want and doesn't have anything that could be of any possible use to
you or your Chechen friends. But we would like to know why you have gone to
so much trouble."

I was guessing his associates were Chechens but he didn't deny it. He was
still gasping with pain but he raised his head and gave me a look of pure
hatred.

"Fuck you, Booth! And fuck your friends!"

His tirade was cut off by another solid blow to the kidneys. "Manners,
Mickey! Ladies present." It was Niall this time but the effect was equally
devastating for poor Mickey. He lay on the floor, writhing in pain but was
given no respite as once more the twins threw him back in the chair. I'm not
good with violence but a glance at Liam and Niall told me to let it go. They
were deliberate and cold, nothing frenzied or out of control. They seemed to
know how to inflict serious pain without inflicting lasting damage. Niall
gestured as much with one hand, indicating Cornell and giving me the 'OK'
sign surreptitiously. I can't say I liked it but I understood their purpose.
The ex-Intelligence man was clearly off balance now so I tried again.

"Let me make it as plain as I can, Cornell. We have no idea what it is you'
re after and we would like to know. All we want from you is to understand
what this is all about. Maybe we could even save you a lot of time and
effort. Certainly, talking to me is going to save you a world of pain."

He seemed to consider this for a minute and then he replied between gritted
teeth.

"Ikons. More particularly, one 13th Century ikon. Three panels, painted on
box wood."

"Explain, I don't understand."

"The good Colonel ran a security business in St Petersburg after the Soviet
Union went tits up. Big business in Russia, now. Anyway, he was hired by
some Swiss collector to guard a shipment of Ikons. Let's just say they weren
't acquired through regular channels. Among the collection was a 13th
Century Ikon, almost priceless. If I tell you the Swiss guy paid over $5
million on the black market, you might get an idea. There are only two known
to exist and our Swiss chum had one of them. Or rather he didn't. They were
to be brought out hidden in a container through Tallinn. Never made it to
the port.

"I don't believe in coincidence. The Colonel vanished at the same time. What
he didn't know was that the Swiss was just a front. The real players were
the Chechens. They were going to sell in the West to raise money for the
cause. Like I told you, the Colonel surfaced in Sweden, regrettably dead.
The Ikons are nowhere on the radar. The logical place to look was with his
daughters.

"What got us really very interested was a catalogue item for the auction at
Hervey's; something along the lines of Russian Triptych Ikon on box wood,
believed to be 13th Century, the property of a lady."

I looked at Angela. She shook her head helplessly. "I know nothing about any
of this," she said. I believed her, so, apparently, did Cornell.

"We'd more or less decided you weren't involved but then, yesterday, you
took off. That got us thinking again. Look, Booth, I don't call the shots
here; I'm just a fixer. I'll talk to them; tell them you aren't involved. I
spent last week going over Miss Sable's affairs with a fine-toothed comb.
She came up clean. Anyway, as I told them before, it was too obvious. The
Colonel was a pro. Also, I don't think he'd endanger his daughters. Some of
the hired muscle isn't too bright. They put two and two together and make a
dozen, provided they take off their socks to help them count that far.

"I'm sorry about your sister, Miss, I wasn't involved with that at all. I
only handle things here in the UK. I made it clear to them that I wouldn't
sanction any violence - would shop the lot of them if they didn't keep it
under control. The Boss said he'd personally shoot anyone of them who
stepped out of line, but I think that was just for my benefit. They won't
cross me on my patch, though. I have too many powerful friends. I think I
can safely say they'll listen to me and the dogs will be called off."

He was starting to sound too much like his old smooth self for my liking. He
wanted to clear his own yardarm. I knew there was something he wasn't
telling us but at least we had a part of the truth. I was thinking
furiously. I gave a quick glance to Liam and Niall and they understood that
they were to go along with anything I said.

"I don't know how or why you became involved in this, Cornell, but I want
your word that our part in this stops here."

He nodded agreement. "Done!"

"Miss Sable and I are returning to Norfolk, to her studio. I'm telling you
this so you will know where we are and can see we have nothing to hide.
There is just one more thing I'd like to know. "Who was the plain-clothes
police officer in Norfolk? Was he really from Special Branch?"

"I have no idea, but I very much doubt it. I just used Rod Willis's name to
see if I could stir you up. I know how nervous you lawyers get if you think
you might be under suspicion."

"Then how did you know it was me that called the police?"

"Oh that! Easy, old boy. My associate noted your car number and I simply
called in a favour from the boys in blue. You're not a hard man to track. By
the way, your bank account's overdrawn."

He said this last with a nasty smile, just to remind me that there are no
secrets in his murky world. Liam topped him nicely. ""And your account at
UBS has been frozen, pending investigation for money laundering." Cornell
gaped like a stranded salmon. Liam smiled sweetly. "No doubt you'll be able
to clear it up in a day or two." Cornell was sprinting for the telephone as
we left.


Chapter Six


The four of us walked the dogs in the nearby park. "Did you really fix his
bank account? I asked Liam. He shot me a wicked grin. "Nothing too serious,
but it will be a bit of a bind for him to sort it out," he said. My head was
buzzing from what we had learned. The stolen Ikons story had a ring of
truth. What I couldn't figure out was why Cornell had used the elaborate
charade about foreign exchange in the first place. Niall pondered the
question.

"I can only surmise that he wanted you to believe he was still acting for
the Government. He probably figured that an upright citizen like you would
cooperate. It might have stretched your credulity if he'd told you that the
UK Government was interested in helping the Chechens get their ikon back.
And if he'd admitted he was freelance, you would have told him to take a
hike and reported it to the police."

I supposed he was right. I should have felt better but somehow, I didn't. "I
'm sure he's hiding something," I said. Nobody argued, which was worrying in
itself. "Well, I think we should go the police now," I said. Liam grimaced.
"I'd rather we didn't if it's all the same to you old, son. Niall and I
wouldn't really like to explain why we were disturbing the peace in rural
Berkshire and it might not go down to well that we seem to have kept a
couple of NATO souvenirs." He patted the bulge under his jacket to indicate
the Browning. "I've no doubt Cornell wouldn't hesitate to drop us all in it,
if he had the chance."

We walked on in silence for a while. Magic and Trotsky showed no ill effects
from our adventures. Magic kept worrying at us to throw something for him.
There had been no time to pack his usual toys so we found some sticks and
spent half an hour hurling them into the distance for him to semi-retrieve.
Trotsky, of course, was above such games but spent his time trying to bite
Niall's backside. This is a sign of acceptance among huskies. The more I
thought about it, the more it seemed a good idea to go back to Norfolk. It
would be far more difficult for the Chechens to blend into the background in
a village of no more than fifty or so people and Angela's cottage was
completely exposed, on the coast with flat, bare land all around. I voiced
this to the twins and they agreed.

We wandered back to the car and then back to my house. I was relieved in the
extreme to find it hadn't been trashed. "They'd have expected you to have
taken the ikon with you when we left," said Niall. I burst out laughing.

"Then they really are stupid! The ikon is safe in the vaults of Hervey's and
has been ever since that catalogue was printed. They had it brought to them
for evaluation and once the sale was agreed, it would be kept on their
premises. I can't believe Cornell wouldn't know that even if the Chechens
didn't."

Niall looked grim. "Then that begs the question - what were they after when
they turned over Angela's studio? It seems unlikely, as you say, that
Cornell wouldn't have known where the ikon was."

"That's easy too. They were after documents of title, a receipt, a copy of
the provenance, anything that might have tied Angela to the sale. Then they
could lean on her to turn over the proceeds. They know it's being sold, they
just don't know who by!"

The twins' faces showed enlightenment slowly dawning.

"So let me get this straight," Liam said, "The ikon is here in London at the
auctioneers'. The bad guys think Angela owns it and want to hit her for the
money when it sells. Angela doesn't know a thing about it but someone else
does, from the catalogue description that 'someone' is a lady. You mentioned
proof of ownership and some other stuff. Presumably a reputable firm like
Hervey's wouldn't sell without knowing the history of the piece?"

"In the world of the auction houses, reputation is everything. However, they
wouldn't be the first to sell a piece of dubious provenance or where the
ownership was, shall we say, a little muddled? Of course, they have to have
enough documentation to satisfy themselves that it's kosher but they wouldn'
t dig too deeply. The 10% commission on a seven-figure sale tends to provide
answers to a lot of questions!

"However, I wouldn't mind betting that whoever is putting this up will have
gone to some trouble to make it look whiter-than-white. There's going to be
huge interest in this sale - there always is when something fetches a big
price at auction so you can expect some media attention. Hervey's aren't
going to take a chance that some spectre at the feast will leap and say 'I
know that piece, it was stolen from such-and-such a collection!"

"Any chance it's a fake?"

"Very, very little. Hervey's will have had it appraised by the leading
experts in the field. They may even have taken a sliver or two for
dendrochronology and they would certainly have had it X-rayed and probably
spectrum-analysed as well."

"Pardon my ignorance, old son, but what the fuck does all that mean?"

"Dendrochronolgy is a method of dating the wood the thing's painted on to
make sure it wasn't knocked up in Taiwan last week; something to do with
matching ring-growth patterns in the original tree against known benchmarks.
They can also use Radio Carbon dating. One sort of Carbon is mildly
radioactive. Apparently you can tell something's age by measuring the amount
of radiation still present. The snag is that Carbon 14 dating isn't that
accurate. Something like plus or minus fifty or a hundred years. That doesn'
t matter if you're dealing with an ancient artefact from the ice age but if
you're trying to establish whether something is 13th or 14th Century, it
doesn't help much.

"They use X-rays as a check to see if anything has been painted over. One of
the cunning tricks of the forger is to take an old but worthless painting
and slap their 'ringer' over the top. Thus the materials look the right age
and make it harder to detect the fake. Spectrum analysis can tell you what
exact compounds went into making up the pigments. Old artists used a lot of
natural compounds they mixed up themselves. Modern pigments often contain
synthetics as well, even if the forger tries to reproduce the original. It's
not foolproof but it can give a pretty good indication of the age of the
paint used and is another element of proving that something's real or fake.

"After all that, the experts will look at the brushwork and any
peculiarities that the artist or the school were known to have. Of course,
the really great forgers can reproduce that kind of thing to an extent. The
point really is, if Hervey's are putting it up as genuine, then they are
100% convinced. If they are putting it up as 'believed to be' they are 99%
certain. However, it's still a case of 'caveat emptor' - let the buyer
beware!"

"How much could it go for?"

"I've really no idea but if the black market price was really $5 million
then it could be three or four times that."

There was a shocked silence all round. Niall gave a tight smile. "Enough to
kill for, then," he said. I could only nod. "People have been killed for
loose change," I replied. I was suddenly aware of something that had been
nagging at me since we spoke to Cornell. "Look," I said, "I'm no expert but
how many 13th Century Russian ikons can there be in this world? If it's as
rare and expensive as it appears to be, someone, somewhere, must know
something about it. We need to speak to a specialist!

"You don't get too far in my line of work without getting to know the Inland
Revenue very well and particularly the denizens of the Capital Taxes Office.
The CTO have experts in just about anything. They can value any kind of
asset known to man, from stamp collections to bloodstock. I'll call Ted
Allen first thing in the morning, he'll know who the UK expert in Russian
ikons is."

We packed up the things we needed for an extended stay in Norfolk and I
phoned Bernie to tell him I was taking a holiday early this year. He
muttered some dark comments about 'getting mixed up in stuff where you've no
call to do so' but agreed there wasn't anything that he couldn't hold for a
while. It was now the beginning of December and the City would be shutting
down for the holidays pretty soon. Liam and Niall agreed I should take my
car so Angela and I put our things in the Volvo and Magic and Trotsky hopped
into the back in their accustomed place. The twins said they would be back
mid afternoon so we all could all drive up together so, as soon as they
arrived, we headed northwards.

Since I'd deliberately told Cornell where we were going, there was no need
to try and shake off any 'tail'. As it happens, if there was one, I never
spotted it and as soon as we left the main roads and headed into the sticks,
there wasn't another car to be seen.  Angela had been pretty quiet so I
asked her if there was anything wrong.

"I am having some trouble understanding all of this," she said. "I
understand about the money but not why they make all this pretence."

"I think it's probably as Niall or Liam said. Cornell wanted to me think it
was all official so I'd cooperate if I knew anything. What we seem to have
is at least one robbery, possibly two or three. I think the Chechens
probably stole all the ikons from a monastery in the first place then
someone, perhaps your father, stole it from them. Who knows what happened
after that? Of course, it could be a coincidence and the ikon up for sale is
not the one that went missing in St Petersburg or Tallinn or wherever; I
doubt it somehow."

"Yes, I understand all that but you did not know my father. He was not a
criminal. I know he would not be involved in this knowingly."

"How well did you know your father? I mean really know him. By your own
admission, you haven't been close lately."

"Yes, of course. Can one really know one's parents? I will not claim I knew
him, you say, inside out? I do know that he was soldier and he did some bad
things in the name of the old regime. He once said to me 'Angelika, I must
do as they say. First it is my duty and second, they would hurt you and Vika
if I do not.' But he was never a bad man."

I took her hand and squeezed it lightly. I could sympathise even if not
truly empathise. I was raised in liberal England. How different it must have
been for her, growing up in a country under the yoke of the Soviet Union. To
even describe herself as an Estonian rather than a Soviet Citizen would have
been an offence. I could understand, too, her father's position as a
non-Russian in the Red Army. He would have been immediately suspect if
anything ever went the slightest bit wrong. But why, then, did he stay in
Russia after the collapse? I put that question to Angela.

"It must have been because he could get work there. Probably be paid in hard
currency. After the Soviet Union broke up, it was very hard in Estonia. All
our industry was geared towards the Russians and what they wanted. We couldn
't compete in the West. Most people had no money and no jobs. I left because
life was so bad."

"What about Vika?"

"She stayed. She had a man, was getting married. She talked of going to
Finland or Sweden but we didn't stay in touch much. She was angry with me
for leaving, for wanting to be free of it all. We were not so close, as
sisters. She is older than me by five years. And now she is dead!"

I could see the tears welling up in those startling eyes and we drove on in
silence. It was dark by now and I drove slowly through the narrow lanes.
Angela had her eyes closed and her head was nodding forwards. I wasn't
surprised; we hadn't slept much the previous night. This started me off
thinking about sex.

Making love with Angela had been an amazing experience. She fucked with the
same intensity with which she sculpted. Inevitably, this drew me into making
comparisons with Steph. There was no denying that Steph had a body to die
for. She should have, she worked at it hard enough and what nature couldn't
accomplish, the surgeon and the beautician made up for. Her body was hard
and smooth. She had prominent breasts that had had a little help; not enough
so you could immediately spot them as fakes but enough to ensure they never
drooped or sagged to the side when she lay down. Her nipples were small and
pink and she had a golden all-over tan, with no lines, that told of hours
spent in a solarium.

As I said before, she had all her body hair removed with laser treatment.
Her labia were slightly prominent and she had surgery to ensure they were
perfectly symmetrical. Now that's what I call vanity! She was not a generous
lover. It was enough for her that she offered this perfect body for my
worship. When we made love, it was very much for her benefit. It would be a
lie to say I didn't enjoy it. I did. I felt a tremendous sense of
achievement when she arched her back and gasped into orgasm. Once she'd come
a couple of times, she would rapidly lose interest and more than once I had
to finish by hand with Steph yawning beside me.

I became a past master at timing my own climaxes to coincide with hers or
follow very closely behind. That was acceptable and worked best for us both.
If I couldn't manage it, well, that was my problem. Sadly, Steph was as
selfish in bed as out. It was just something else that, loving her, I'd
learned to deal with.

Of course, I had only spent one night with Angela so far but, based on that,
I was willing to bet she was the total opposite. Physically she was dark
with pale skin and a luxuriant bush of pubic hair. Her breasts were
completely natural and had swayed deliciously as she rode me. She had used
her internal muscles to heighten my pleasure; and she had taken great
pleasure in giving me pleasure. I knew it was only one time but I felt sure
that she would be utterly different from Steph, generous and loving instead
of demanding, soft and warm rather than hard and unyielding. Once again, an
erection was straining my trousers. I couldn't wait to find out!

We pulled into the village and Liam and Niall let me overtake to lead the
way to Angela's cottage. It was a typical December evening with a cold east
wind off the sea and we were all grateful to get inside. It wasn't too much
warmer in the cottage but at least it was out of the wind.

Angela and I tidied up while Niall and Liam gathered firewood and lit the
fire in the parlour. There was a back boiler in the flue, which heated the
radiators. Once the fire was roaring up the chimney, it wasn't too long
before the place warmed up. Niall had brought a cooler full of food and I
prepared dinner, assisted by Angela.

"I really cannot cook so good," she said. "When I was little, when my mother
was still alive, she would teach Vika. Vika cooks very, very well. Me, well,
I always wanted to do something else. I would sit in my father's workshop
and watch him make things. It wasn't a proper workshop, just an old shed
with no heating. My father would make things for the house. My mother would
see something that she wanted but we couldn't buy so my father would make
it."

"What was she like, your mother?"

"Very sweet, very, oh, traditional, I think you would you say. She always
thought that a woman's job was to make the home for the man and the
children. She always wanted a son but had Vika and me. She needed to look
after someone. It made her feel, I think, valuable, somehow. Also, she was
very brave."

"How so, brave?"

"My father was away often. Sometimes he'd be gone for two or three months,
sometimes two or three years. She never complained. She just tried to be
mother and father both, if you understand me?"

I thought of my own childhood. Packed off to Prep School at the age of
seven, seeing my parents only in the holidays. First school, then
University, then pupilage in Chambers down in Brighton. I spent my early
years sweating on exam results. Common Entrance, 'O' Levels, 'A' levels,
Degree, Bar Exams. Life had been a series of hurdles that had to be cleared.
Of course, I was meant to feel privileged. One of the golden few for whom
the secrets of success were revealed early and often. I don't really know
how I felt at that age; my experience was little different from that of my
peers. I accepted it as 'normal'. It was only later, at university perhaps,
that I found myself unfitted for the real world. I knew little of the
opposite sex, found it difficult to relate to people from other backgrounds.
In summary, I was a social and emotional cripple.

I tried to explain this to Angela as we chopped vegetables for the stew I
was making. She gazed at me like I was from another planet.

"So your mother and father, they sent you away when you were a baby?"

"I wasn't a baby, I was seven."

"Hah! That is still a baby. Why did they do that, were you very bad?"

"No, it was the system in England. Well, it was the system if you had
 money."

"Much better to be poor, I think!"

"I don't suppose they ever questioned it. My father went through it and so
did my mother. Their parents too, I expect. It was, well, a tradition. I
know that my great-grandfather was at Ampleforth; his father too, probably."

"And you would do this to your child?"

"I don't know. I've never had one so it hasn't come up. It has its
advantages too, you know."

"Hah! Advantages - like it makes you rich but leaves you unhappy? I would
rather be not so rich but more happy. In Estonia, in the old days, some
children, if they were good at sport or the ballet, they used to be taken
from their families and sent to special schools. We used to hear that you in
the West thought this was cruel, unnatural. Now you say people here did this
from their own choice. It is unbelievable!"

"I probably made it sound worse than it really was. We were very well looked
after."

"As good as a mother would? I doubt it."

"Probably better than my mother could. She wasn't really, well, 'into'
motherhood. I dare say she didn't have much an example. I think the shock of
having me was too much for her. She hasn't really ever got over it. My
parents were never 'warm' people. I suppose you might describe them as
somewhat austere."

Angela gave an exaggerated shrug to show what she thought of this. I could
see her thinking furiously. Her brow was furrowed in concentration and she
scrubbed at a carrot with almost manic energy. It gave me a sudden insight
into her nature. Angela, for all her independence and avant-garde work, was
very much a traditionalist. Home and family ranked very highly with her.
What must it have cost her to sever those links? Her life was bad but it
must have been really terrible for her to leave what she obviously held so
dear.

We carried on chatting in a desultory manner for a while as we finished up
the preparations. I put everything on to cook slowly and opened a bottle of
wine. It was something red and Australian is all I can remember but it can't
have been too pernicious as I did manage to drink it without comment. I made
a mental note to ask Angela a bit more about her reasons for leaving
Estonia. I felt sure there would be quite a story.

The four of us ate my stew, Niall and Liam displaying great relish. I wasn't
entirely sure it was sincere but I am a passable cook and the food was hot,
tasty and filling; what more could you ask for on a winter's evening? After
supper, the twins disappeared outside with a holdall and a couple of torches
to 'secure the perimeter' as they put it. When they reappeared, I asked them
if they were concerned.

"Nah," said Niall, "but better safe than sorry. I doubt we'll be disturbed
but we've just been making sure of it. Set up a bit of an early warning
system. Shouldn't need it, but just the same."

Not for the first time, I was intensely glad that I had friends like Liam
and Niall.





Chapter Seven

Angela's cottage had only one bedroom. The twins made subtle, but
nonetheless obvious, hints that they expected us to take it while they
sacked out in the parlour. Another khaki holdall produced two sleeping bags,
which they proceeded to unroll. "Sorry, old son, we're bushed," said Liam, "
not too much kip last night!" We murmured agreement and Angela and I headed
off to her room. I was relieved to see a large old-fashioned brass bed with
thick quilts. It would have looked inviting even without her beside me. I
didn't sleep too well the previous night, either.

Angela lit a squat candle and its pale glow lent an appropriate ambience.
There was still a chill in the air so we hurried through our ablutions and
dived under the welcoming quilts. The sheets were cold and we hugged each
other close like a couple of children, giggling and tickling each other with
cold hands. Of course, I was aroused but it wasn't urgent. I was happy to
lie alongside her, stroking the velvety softness of her skin and learning
the intimate topography of her body.

We talked in whispers, sharing little intimacies as new lovers do. The
conversation turned to our first time. I recounted my own experience. It
wasn't much to write home about. It had been during the summer between
school and University. I had gone on holiday to Greece, riding slow trains
and hitchhiking under the achingly blue skies of that magical country. After
doing the cultural bit, Athens, Corinth, Mycenae, Cape Sunion, I had gone
island hopping, catching the slow and crowded ferries that serviced the
Sporades, Dodecanese and Cycladese.

One glorious, star-filled night on a beach in Rhodes, I had lost my
virginity to a pretty Danish girl. Her skinny, tanned body had been an
unexplored country and she let me find my stumbling, hesitant way without
complaint. She was sweet and kind to a fumbling young Englishman and had
done her best to make it memorable. Unfortunately, it was memorable only for
its brevity. I still think fondly of her, for all that. She pretended she
was not disappointed and had laughed gently at my chagrin. We stayed
together for the rest of the summer and she taught me to please her and to
control myself better over the ensuing weeks. I was more than a little in
love with her when it came time to part.  Looking back now, what I value
most was her unfailing good nature. I don't think I ever saw her without a
smile. I guess I was one of the lucky ones.

Angela listened in avid silence as I described it all. When I finished, she
snuggled against me and said, "She was a very nice girl, this Astrid." I
could only agree. "What about you," I asked. She sighed.

"Once upon a time, there was this little, fat Estonian girl."

"Fat? Surely not!"

"Don't interrupt! This is my story. As I was saying, there was this little,
well, chubby Estonian girl. When she was eleven, her breasts started to
grow. When she was fifteen, they were still growing. She used to walk with
her shoulders hunched so, so people wouldn't stare so much at her chest. Her
sister was a little jealous, I think, because the men did not stare at her
in this way. One day, a young soldier came to see my, I mean her, father. He
was very dashing, very handsome in his uniform.

" He told her not to hunch her shoulders, to be proud of what nature had
given her. He teased her and made her blush. When he passed her in the
corridor, he gave her a squeeze, just here."

She took my hand and placed it on her breast.

"And then here"

She moved my hand to her buttocks and pushed back against it with a wiggle.

"Many times he did this and he made excuses to come often to her house.
Once, she opened the door to let him in and he kissed full on the mouth,
like so!"

Angela rolled on top of me and proceeded to kiss me passionately, forcing
her tongue between my lips and undulating her entire body against mine.

"Of course, she was very confused. She liked the way the soldier made her
feel but she knew what he did was not polite, not nice. Her body liked it
but her heart did not. She could have hidden away, of course, when the
soldier came to the house and, after he left, she told herself that this was
what she would do, the next time. When the next time came, she couldn't wait
to see him. It was very, mixed up? Is that what you say?

"Then her father went away for a while and the soldier stopped coming to the
house. She was very sad. She couldn't eat, did not want to go to school. She
wanted to sleep all the time. When she slept, the soldier came to her dreams
and touched her again. After about six months, her father came back. She was
just sixteen, now, and no longer chubby. Her father was surprised and told
her she looked like a woman now, no longer a little girl. The young soldier
came to visit again. He, too, was surprised. She had changed very much."

I detected a sudden change in her mood. I had the feeling that she just made
a decision. She rolled away from me and lay very still. Her voice dropped
its teasing quality and became very small as if she was speaking from a
distance. The gentle modulations that I had come to associate with her
disappeared entirely and she spoke on in a flat monotone.

"One night, he came late to their house. Her father and mother had gone to
Moscow for the week. She wasn't expecting him. He knocked on the door and
stood there, in the rain. He had some flowers. She let him into the house
and later, into her bed. He was very experienced and made it good for her,
at first. Then he wanted her to suck him. She didn't know about this,
thought it was dirty. He made her do it to him. She was very angry. He
laughed at her. Called her a silly schoolgirl. She spat at him. He beat her.
Then he left. She never saw him again.

"When she was older, she came to think that he had used her innocence. She
never told anyone. Until tonight."

"God, Angela, that's awful! He really beat you?"

"Yes, but he was clever, no bruises would show outside my clothes. He knew I
would tell no one. For two reasons, first, I would never to confess what we
did and second, he was a Russian."

We lay in silence for a while. I could think of nothing to say and felt the
sadness that was in her through the tension of her body. I simply held her
and let her regain her equilibrium. All desire had deserted me. I was filled
with a senseless fury. It had happened years ago. I would never meet the
Russian soldier. Still I seethed and raged inwardly. In part it was my
impotence to change anything that stoked my anger. She must have sensed this
and rolled towards me, putting her hand up to my face and stroking it
gently.

"You must not mind, my Martin. I was a silly child and played with the fire.
It is simple. I was burned. But all that is in the past, now. It makes me
sad sometimes, to think of this thing. Now I am with you and we are not
children. I was not going to tell this but then I thought I must. I hate
secrets, you understand?"

I told that I did and wiped away the solitary tear that glistened in the
candlelight. We kissed, gently, without passion but with deep affection. She
gave me a merry smile.

"There, you see, I am all better now."

We kissed again; this time had a more urgent quality and held the promise of
something rich and wondrous. She trailed her kisses down my face and neck
and put her head on my chest. Then she began to move slowly down my body,
planting a succession of the faintest brushes of her lips over my ribs and
stomach.

Mindful of the story she had just told me I whispered that she didn't have
to do this. She hushed me gently.

"I want to," she said, "This is something for me, you understand?"

As the tip of her tongue flicked out and touched my glans, I couldn't have
answered even if I wanted to. She swivelled in the bed so that she was now
kneeling beside me. Her mouth was warm as she opened her lips and took me
in. She pushed her head down very slowly, taking a tiny bit more and then
another bit until she had captured about half my length. Was there ever a
more willing captive? All the while she swirled her tongue around the head
of my prick.

Her left hand came up and she gently grazed my sac with her fingernails.
Electricity jolted through my frame, I swear I saw stars. She raised her
head and slowly eased back down, taking more of me inside her mouth and
imparting some sort of rippling sensation with combination of lips, palate
and tongue. Again, her nails scratched slowly and softly and she sucked more
firmly as she withdrew this time. Then, instead of taking me in her mouth
once more, she licked in circles round the head of my prick and planted a
line of minute kisses down the shaft until she came to my balls.

With infinite care and tenderness, she took one swollen orb into her mouth
and suckled gently. I was gone, lost at sea without a trace. She switched
her ministrations to my other ball and started to pump my shaft gently with
her hand, her fingers loose and fluttering. All the while she continued the
scintillating torment of my balls, first one, then the other, back and
forth, until I was writhing involuntarily and my hips were pumping upwards
on their own volition.

At last the exquisite torture ceased and she kissed her way back up my
shaft. It was now so hard I really thought it was about to split, maybe to
shed its skin like a snake. Now she thrust her mouth down on me hungrily and
began to bob her head with a deliberate rhythm. I put out a hand and cupped
her swaying breast. Her nipple was a piece of fiery agate in the palm of my
hand. She was making a low crooning noise reminiscent of the sound a mother
might make to her baby, a soft counterpoint to my harsh panting.

I felt my orgasm beginning to build, coalescing like a nebula, somewhere
near the base of my spine. I gasped a warning. "Oh, Christ, Angela, I'm
going to come!" This seemed to rouse her to greater efforts for she sped up
and her crooning became a moan, redolent of need. It was a haunting sound,
the very encapsulation of desire. It tipped me over the edge.

I thrust my groin upwards, twisting myself towards her to gain better
advantage of that heavenly mouth that grasped me like some exotic orchid or
diaphanous sea-creature. My head was filled with clouds and the candle light
seemed to be diffusing some esoteric essence, the distillate of a thousand
times a thousand years of passionate human love. She flicked me more firmly
with her tongue and I went over the edge. My seed erupted and she made a
sound that was almost a howl of triumph as spurt after spurt poured into her
mouth. My entire body was rigid. All my earthly existence was concentrated
into that scant bundle of over-stimulated nerve endings that sent a vast
surge of ecstasy coursing through me. It was though she had caught my very
soul and drawn it out through the tip of my penis, leaving me utterly
drained, devoid of even the slightest conscious thought, a slave to pure
sensation.

She gentled then and continued to suck lightly on me for what seemed like an
eternity, letting me soften, held lightly between her lips. All the while
she massaged my balls with a feathery touch, as if to make sure I had
nothing left to give. I floated free, disembodied. I had never experienced
the like.

I fell into a brief but deeply refreshing sleep. When I awoke, a few minutes
later, her head was still resting on my stomach and her tongue still traced
the faintest of circles around my glans. Her touch was so light I could
barely feel it but it was enough to re-awaken my desire. Her movements
became slightly firmer as I stiffened. I drew her up beside me and kissed
her, tasting the salty, alien flavour of my own emissions on her lips. Her
eyes smiled lazily into mine and I slipped softly into her.

We made love slowly, letting our passion build at its own pace. Her hips
moved gently back at me and she arched her body like a cat, stretching her
arms up and grasping the brass rails of the bed. This lifted her breasts and
brought them just into range of my tongue. She sighed contentedly as I
swirled my tongue over first one adamantine nipple, then the other. I could
feel her vaginal lips sliding on my shaft and she squeezed me gently.

Our control couldn't last, of course. Her breathing became more ragged, my
thrusting more insistent and I seized one nipple in my teeth and grazed it,
sucking down hard with my lips. She made a startled noise that smoothed into
a moan of pleasure and then she was coming hard, her pelvis jerking
spastically, her eyes huge and luminous in the candlelight. That set me off
and I galloped to my own finish with her legs clasping my hips and urging me
on, pulling me deeper in, if that was possible.

Once again the lights flashed behind my eyes and the seed surged out of me,
hosing into her in five or six juddering spurts that seemed to carry my
heart with it. The pleasure was almost too much; it had a manic edge,
overwhelming. I was grunting like a wild beast. Constellations of shattered
candlelight spun in my half-closed eyes and the room receded from me as I
floated free. We clung together for a long time afterwards, descending from
our ethereal high like a pair of feathers, swooping and side-slipping back
into the real world until all that remained of our love-making was an
abiding sense of peace.

To be continued...


smilodon

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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