A Dangerous Game (25 page)

the fact that she was his.
 
He's like a schoolboy, she thought,

displaying his possessions.
 
Look, but don't touch!

Despite the fact that he had mentioned taking her to his apartment, she

half expected to end up at a palatial estate on the outskirts of town.

Instead the car-ride was surprisingly short, and she quickly found

herself outside a forbidding-looking official building with a facade of

blank windows, and a large, national flag flapping on a jutting pole.

The car eased round a corner and stopped.
 
Nicolas got out and opened

the door for Jacey.

From the pavement, the side of the building looked as grim as the

front.
 
She turned to Nicolas.

"You live here?
 
It looks like a prison."

"It is," he said.

"And Police Headquarters."
 
He guided her to a blank, iron-reinforced

door.

"I stay here when I'm in Techtatuan."
 
He smiled briefly.

"I never get burgled."

He slotted a card into the external security lock and waited.
 
When,

after a few moments, the door swung open, Jacey smelt polish, and the

faint tang of disinfectant, the smell of official buildings.
 
Her

footsteps sounded loud on the bare, stone flags as Nicolas ushered her

down harshly lit corridors and up steps to another door.

Once through it, she was in another world.
 
The floor was deeply

carpeted, the lighting subdued and the walls papered in warm,

burnt-orange silk.
 
The door shut behind her with an ominously loud

click.
 
Startled, she glanced back at it.

Nicolas watched her.

"Yes, it's locked.
 
But even if you tried to leave without me, you

wouldn't get far.

My security card activated an internal alarm system, so we've been on

camera all the way here."

He opened another door and she preceded him into a room furnished with

richly upholstered chairs and dark, carved furniture, much of it

antique, she guessed.
 
The walls, panelled with polished wood, were

hung with a variety of pictures, several of them modern portraits.

Nicolas lounged against a tall cabinet as she surveyed the scene.

Over a huge marble fireplace it looked rather out of place and was

clearly never used was a large oil painting of a slim man in a black

suit and black shirt.
 
He was clearly European, with slicked-back, pale

hair, and an arrogant expression.
 
Jacey thought the dark outfit looked

far too much like an SS uniform.
 
She suspected she knew exactly who

this man was.

Nicolas confirmed her suspicions.

"My father.
 
Heinrich Schlemann."

"I can see a resemblance," she said.

"And what about your mother?"

He pointed to a smaller portrait on the other side of the room.
 
A

slender Spanish girl in traditional costume stared solemnly down at

Jacey.
 
Senora Schlemann had clearly been much younger than her

husband.

"She's beautiful," Jacey said truthfully.

"She was one of the most beautiful women in Techtatuan, so I'm told,"

Nicolas said.

"Apparently she was planning to marry a penniless Spaniard.
 
My father

persuaded her parents that he would make a much better son-in-law."

Jacey gazed at the Spanish girl.
 
How had she felt, forced into

marriage with a cold and arrogant foreigner Had she pined for her

chosen lover?
 
Had she ever been happy?

"What was your mother like?"
 
she asked.

Nicolas shrugged.

"I've no idea.
 
She died giving birth to me.
 
I was told my father had

a choice, and he chose to save me."

Jacey glanced at Heinrich Schlemann again.
 
And I bet you didn't even

agonise over the decision, she thought.
 
You'd got what you wanted.
 
A

son to carry on the family name.

Nicolas turned and opened the tall cabinet.
 
He took out a bottle and

two glasses.

"Wine, Dr.
 
Muldaire?"

"It's about time you started calling me Jacey," she said.

"And yes to the wine."
 
He filled a glass and handed it to her.

"Do you feel Spanish rather than German?"
 
she asked.

"I mean, you were born here.

Do you feel close to your mother's roots?"

He stared at her for a moment, and then startled her with a quick burst

of laughter.

"Roots?"
 
He shook his head in disbelief.

"I lea mt my creed from my father: look after yourself.
 
He knew

Germany was going to lose the war and he deserted the sinking ship,

before it was too late.
 
If he'd believed in that "Fatherland" rubbish

he'd have stayed home, and died young."

"And if Guachtal starts sinking?"
 
she asked.

"Will you desert the ship, too?"

His laughter was more patronising this time.

"Guachtal won't sink," he said.

"Not while I'm in control of the treasury."
 
He went over to one of the

large, padded armchairs and sat down.

"That's another thing my father taught me.
 
A healthy respect for

money.
 
Because money ensures that other people have a healthy respect

for you."
 
He lifted his glass to her in a mock toast.

"And he taught me how to treat women, of course.
 
A very valuable

lesson."

She lifted her glass to him in return, and smiled.

"Your father was a compulsive womaniser too?"

"I've been told he never lacked for female companionship," Nicolas

said.

"Either before my mother died, or afterwards.
 
But compulsive?
 
That

implies lack of control, My father was always in control.
 
And so am I"

He leaned back in his chair.

"My father chose his women with care he was a connoisseur.
 
He used to

bring them here, to this room.
 
These walls have seen more sexual

conquests than a brothel."

Had all the women come willingly, she wondered.
 
Were they seduced, or

were they paid?
 
Were any of them threatened or blackmailed?
 
And if

they were, did the element of coercion sometimes make it more exciting

for both parties?
 
Heinrich Schlemann was probably a sexist bastard,

but judging from his portrait he was not unattractive.
 
Sometimes it

was exciting to be coerced into sex by someone you were already

attracted to.
 
It took the responsibility out of your surrender, or the

sin out of your adultery.
 
She also knew that she was not immune to

this type of excitement She could tell herself that it was in her

professional interest to let Nicolas think he had seduced her, but she

could not deny that she was physically attracted to him, and she was

finding it stimulating to mix business with pleasure.

"I had my first woman here, too," Nicolas said.

"And how old were you?"

"Nearly sixteen."
 
He relaxed back in his chair and stretched out his

legs, slightly apart.

"I was educated by private tutors.
 
I had a desk by the window over

there and I had to be at the desk at eight o'clock sharp.
 
It was like

being in a real school."

"It couldn't have been much fun," Jacey said.

"All on your own."

He grinned lazily.

"It had its compensations.
 
One of my tutors was a woman.
 
She was

young, probably in her early twenties.
 
She wore very expensive

perfume.
 
I suppose if I'd had any sense I might have wondered how she

could afford it.
 
She dressed very conventionally, in a jacket and

rather long skirt, but after a few days she started to wear those

peasant-style blouses.
 
You know the kind of thing?
 
With a drawstring

round the neck?

"She used to bend forward over me when she was correcting my work, and

I could see the cleft between her breasts.
 
I knew she wasn't wearing

anything under the blouse.
 
The string was getting looser, and the

neckline was getting lower, and she used to smooth the cloth over her

body, and pull it tight, so that I could see that her nipples were

erect.
 
I knew enough to realise that she was arousing herself by

teasing me.

"I got a hard-on just thinking about her.
 
Imagining her stripped to

the waist, her hands tied behind her back, so that I could touch her

anywhere I wanted, do anything to her that I wanted.
 
I imagined her

protesting, but really enjoying it.
 
I imagined her naked, with her

legs spread apart.
 
While she was teaching me arithmetic, I was

daydreaming about fucking her, and trying to prevent her from seeing

the bulge in my trousers."

"Poor boy," Jacey teased, smiling.

"It must have been very uncomfortable for you."

He grinned back, and shifted in the chair.

"It was.
 
But not for long.

I decided that if the game was cat-and-mouse, I'd prefer to be the cat.

The next time she leaned over me to correct some mistake I'd made, I

grabbed that blouse with both hands, and ripped it."
 
He paused.