Shameless Exposure (4 page)

Robert held out against using her bedroom to examine the book, and negotiated a space in the undercroft. He was hit by a chill wind at the bottom of the stairway. He left the door to the undercroft open to light his way down, but it quickly clanged shut. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he made out the vaults of the undercroft, and boxes of provisions piled from floor to ceiling: lentils, mung beans, turmeric, herbal teas.

A table and chair had been placed under a single light bulb. He sat down and began to leaf through Regina’s book. Once he got used to the erratic script he was drawn into the catalogue of sexual misconduct describing her rise to the top of the executive tree. She admitted being attracted to the sexual weaknesses of men and women, but now understood it as a misguided attempt to help them fulfil their desires and potential. He pondered how sympathetic a judge might be to an employee who lured her superiors into compromising activities.

The episodes were both horrible and riveting, some of the excesses barely credible. He made notes on his tablet and into a voice recorder, though speaking some of the words was uncomfortable. If he hadn’t seen her in action with his own eyes, he would have been certain she was describing her deranged fantasies. He worked on and on, pausing only to look for a toilet. He found one in the next room along, the old dungeon.

There was no cubicle, just a toilet basin and a bidet in the corner of a large space dominated by medieval instruments of punishment and restraint. Manacles hung from the walls. A set of stocks with a shiny new padlock sat next to a rack with restraints and a wheel to stretch the victim out. The equipment was oiled and looked in working order. There was a dark stain on the wooden bed of the rack. He wondered if Regina was planning to open a museum.

He checked the time on his tablet and decided to wrap things up, not wanting to miss the boat. Opening the door into the courtyard he was met by driving rain. It was only two-thirty and it already looked like evening. He dashed up the stairs to the office but there was no sign of Regina. He placed her confessions on the desk, collected his coat, and headed out of the castle.

Big waves were crashing over the slipway on which he had disembarked earlier, and no one else was waiting for the boat. The rain soaked his hair and started to seep under the collar of his shirt. He looked and listened for the boat. Nothing. He ducked as a seagull seeking shelter shot over his head.

He waited what seemed like an eternity and then pulled out his tablet, trying to keep it sheltered from the rain. He powered it up and checked the time. Five past three. It was understandable that the boat would be delayed in the heavy seas. After another eternity, he admitted defeat and scurried back up the track to the shelter of the castle. This time he shouted up from the office to Regina’s bedroom. She came down the stairs and laughed at him.

“I see you’ve been enjoying the weather. I could have told you there would be no boat today. You’ll have to get out of those clothes. We can lend you some robes and put you up in the men’s room. Follow me.”

Robert left a trail of water across the floor of the great hall and into the quarters, once for the servants, now designated for acolytes and proselytes. They entered through the kitchen. A notice board in the kitchen contained a fire certificate and an evacuation procedure with a plan of the accommodation. He studied the plan, a habit gained from staying in hotels so often. A large women’s dormitory and a smaller men’s room were above a dining room, the kitchen, and a shower block. They walked through the kitchen, kitted out with an Essen range, solid wood counters and three Belfast sinks.

In the dining room a number of women were sitting on benches at long wooden tables. On one wall, a white board had a list of names, volunteers for daily kitchen duties, and the menu for the day, which looked like it had not been changed for some time: porridge for breakfast, soup for lunch, and bean stew for dinner. Beneath it in capital letters was the mantra for the day:
THE ANIMUS CAN BE FOUND IN THE ANIMAL.
The one concession to the modern world was a slim high definition screen on the opposite wall of the dining room showing a continuous promo for the Dunlaggin Castle experience.

The women sitting round the dining room tables had their eyes fixed on the video and it took them a moment to notice the new arrivals. The promo Isle of Mura looked sunny and beautiful, Dunlaggin Castle proud against a blue sky. Regina’s voice provided a soft commentary. The women finally turned their gaze to Regina and Robert. He recognised Joni and Greta and nodded to them, but their eyes were on Regina.

“Power to the vagina spirit,” she said.

“May the spirit lead us to ecstasy,” they responded.

“Please make this man welcome. He is my guest. Give him dry clothes, food and comfort. But remember, it is three days until the full moon. I will collect him in the morning when the storm has abated.” The women murmured agreement and touched their foreheads and then their laps. Regina responded with the same gesture, distinctly squeezing her crotch. “Now don’t forget your practice: at least half an hour.” She turned and left the dining room.

Joni jumped up and took the shivering Robert in hand, leading up the creaking wooden stairs to the men’s dorm.

“You poor thing. Get your wet clothes off and I’ll bring you some robes.”

He took off every layer down to his designer vest and underpants. Joni returned with an armful of yellow material and showed him how to put it on, tying the belt for him.

“What role do men play in this set-up?” he asked.

“According to Regina there is the odd man who undertakes the vaginal vows, but I’m not sure what it means for them. In most cases men have a supporting role.”

“Well let me know if there’s anything I can do. I could help with dinner or perhaps the washing up?”

Eleven sat down to the meal of turmeric flavoured mung beans and soda bread. Robert wondered if he would be able to eat it but to a starving man it was delicious. He had to restrain himself from being greedy with the second helpings. The women questioned him on the purpose of his visit. He said it was a legal matter unconnected to the religious foundation and was unable to say more.

They accepted his offer to do the dishes. He searched the kitchen in vain for a dishwasher. He struggled to keep the drooping sleeves of his robe out of the washing up water. The mindless task took a long time due to the burnt deposits on the bottom of the pans and the inadequacy of the scourer.

As he worked the scourer around the pans, he wondered how Caroline was getting on in Erik’s studio. She was due to sit for him three or four nights this week after work. It was the way Erik liked to paint, immersing himself in a project.

His mental image of an artist’s studio was late nineteenth century Paris, not twenty first century London. He saw a pouting Caroline clutching a sheet, the folds not quite concealing what the art connoisseur wanted to see. He saw the artist reflected in a mirror behind the model, a gleam in his eye. He saw the artist walk over to the model and adjust the folds of the sheet across her breast. He forced himself to concentrate on cleaning the pan.

The castle was free from the impediments of television or wi-fi, and mobile phone reception was limited to Regina’s tower bedroom and above. When the dishes were done, Robert explained he had work to do and went up to the men’s dorm, testing each bunk to find the most comfortable draft-free station and mattress. He seemed to be the only male resident.

He put out of his mind that Caroline was probably lounging about naked in Erik’s studio while he studied every inch of her, and spent half an hour reviewing the notes he had made. He could present the outline of Regina’s case with just a hint of spice, encouraging Monsaint’s legal team to make a generous out-of-court settlement.

Then he had an idea which struck him as rather brilliant. He would suggest to Regina that she claim constructive dismissal for sex discrimination. She could say she’d had to resign to protect the reputation of her colleagues. If accepted, that would not only trigger unlimited compensation for unfair dismissal, but would automatically re-institute any payments due to her, including the massive share option pay-out. And it would avoid the need to go to court – it would be handled by a tribunal, cheaper and quicker. Forbes-Brown would be delighted. He would propose this line of action to Regina in the morning before catching the boat.

Without the usual stimulations of music, TV, on-line gambling or Caroline, he found himself feeling sleepy and climbed into a lower bunk. The thin quilt kept slipping off and the pillow had no filling. Despite the discomforts, he fell asleep.

Five minutes later, he jolted awake. What was he doing? A year, eighteen months ago, he had taken a firm moral stance against the depravities of Melody and her henchman, Sid, and rescued Caroline from the grip of vice. Yet here he was now devising a plan to help Regina inherit all Melody’s ill-gotten gains. Had she really turned over a new leaf? Was she dedicated to a spiritual path, and to helping others? What had she said about Caroline?
She’s quite irresistible.
What did she mean by that?

He told his mind to stop thinking but it would not obey. He saw Caroline in Erik’s loft studio, the soft focus of French romanticism replaced by hard-edged modern painting. No longer coyly clutching a sheet, Caroline was portrayed legs apart, slumped across a tattered sofa, its stuffing spilling out. Erik moved away from his widescreen canvas to arrange Caroline’s limbs to his exact requirements. Her impassive expression turned to a smile as he took his brush, dipped it in red paint, and brushed it delicately onto her nipples.

“I have to paint what I see,” said Erik.

“You can paint me wherever you like,” said Caroline.

Robert squirmed under the quilt and put the pillow over his head as if that would stop the transmission. It didn’t. He sat up to wake himself properly, and told himself not to be so stupid. Caroline was doing the modelling for a good cause, not out of lust for Erik. She had promised him there was nothing to worry about. Erik was a friend, nothing more.

He lay back down and forced himself to breath regularly. He started to feel drowsy again.
But wasn’t it a bit of a co-incidence that Erik should invite her to his studio just after he told her he had to go up to Scotland for a few days?
His mind began to play the next scene in Erik’s seduction of his wife. He felt more jealous than he had ever done when confronted with her actual indiscretions. He would lose her forever. His heart pounded.

To break his dark mood he got out of the bunk and went downstairs into the kitchen. The light was on and Greta was sitting at the table in a white muslin shift, her chestnut hair sticking out at all angles.

“You can’t sleep either?” she asked.

“No.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” asked Robert.

“Why not? But don’t bother with a kettle on Essen stove. It’ll be dawn before it boils.”

He plugged in an electric kettle and rummaged in the cupboard for a tea-bag.

“Camomile; is that any good for sleeping?”

“It tastes revolting,” said Greta, “but it’s supposed to be calming.”

He made tea and they sipped the hot liquid from stained mugs. He could see her small breasts clearly through the shift. She saw him looking.

“They’re not big but they’re balanced. Many women have one bigger or perkier than the other.”

“I suppose you have to be perfect in your line of work.”

“I don’t know about that. I fall short of perfection. That’s why I can’t sleep, I’ve done something terrible.”

“Haven’t we all?”

“I cheated on my boyfriend.”

“That’s not so terrible. It happens. Do you love him?”

“Of course, that’s why I feel bad. If I didn’t love him I wouldn’t care.”

“Cut yourself some slack. If you love him, that’s all that really matters.”

She thought for a moment: “I came here hoping to change myself. I’ve found out that’s very difficult.” Robert nodded.

“The programme here puts you in touch with your animal spirit,” said Greta. “We all have it, but choose to ignore it most of the time. According to Regina, it’s hidden under generations of so-called civilisation. Brutalisation, more like. The animal spirit is natural and pure.”

“How do you get in touch with it?”

“Through sex. That’s the only natural behaviour left. Eating is a fad not a satisfaction of hunger. The spirit has spoken to Regina and revealed the path to ecstasy is through the female orgasm. I don’t know what happens for men, but I don’t think they’re interested in the spiritual dimension. They just want to fuck.”

“I don’t know,” said Robert. “Not all men are like that. How are you getting on – along the path?”

“We’ll see on Thursday when the next window opens. My practice has gone well this month. I’m hopeful. I just wish I could stay another month for the solstice window – there’s a full moon at the same time. The power will be incredible. Unfortunately I have to work – and patch things up with my boyfriend.”

He finished his tea. He felt calmer.

“Thanks, Greta. I’ve enjoyed our talk. I’m going back upstairs. I hope you can get some sleep.” She looked at him standing relaxed in his T-shirt and pants. She smiled but said nothing.

The bunk felt comfortable this time and he drifted easily into sleep. After some time he began to dream. His cock was rock hard and when he put his hand around it, bigger than usual. A skinny body was pressed up against him, firm buttocks massaging his cock. He folded his arms around the body and it turned around. He felt small breasts pushed into his chest. His cock was sucked into a warm vagina, and teased with gentle muscle movements. It was dark, but he believed it was Greta from the hair that stroked his face when he was turned onto his back. The movements on his cock lengthened and intensified towards a crescendo, but did not reach it. It was delicious, tantalising. A yellow light began to flash on the edge of his vision and in a moment the dream had gone.