The Room on the Second Floor (11 page)

‘So, what about our royal decree?’

Duggie saw a sparkle in the other’s eye. He waited expectantly.

‘Yes, indeed, the royal decree.’ Mr Cardew cleared his throat and beamed across his desk. ‘Well, Mr Scott, to my considerable surprise, upon investigating more deeply, it would appear that this piece of parchment may well still be valid. It may indeed from your point of view be, if you’ll pardon me mixing my metaphors, the answer to a maiden’s prayer, the…’

Duggie supplied the missing words. ‘The dog’s bollocks.’

‘Quite. Quite right, Mr Scott, the proverbial dog’s indeed.’ Mr Cardew shuffled the papers in front of him, read out a few relevant points, legal precedents and judgements and summarised. ‘Currently, as I said, it is not the act of prostitution itself which is illegal. It is those who seek to profit from it, by acting as pimps or,’ he coughed delicately, ‘running brothels, who are committing an illegal act. All of them, that is, except… except, it would appear, those operating out of Toplingham Manor. And that would be you, Mr Scott.’

Duggie beamed. This was exactly what he had wanted to hear.

‘To the best of my knowledge, you would only need to obtain clearance from the Health and Safety Executive for the use of the rooms for paying accommodation. Get that, and you can open the doors to your public.’ He squared up the sheets of paper and replaced them neatly in the buff folder. ‘Yes, pretty soon you could be up and running.’ He allowed himself a salacious smile. ‘Or at least up, anyway.’

Duggie sat back and digested the news. To be honest, in spite of the enthusiasm he had shown initially, he had never really believed that a thousand-year-old decree could still hold water. A piece of dog skin, issued by a long-lost king, in a long-dead language, probably only of interest to a handful of crusty academics, and, yet, it still had legal status in the twenty-first century. This sudden thought of crusty academics had an instantly sobering effect upon his burgeoning optimism. Roger would never hear of it. He knew that all too well. Let alone Linda…

So could he arrange things so that his new employer never did hear of it, he wondered? Here, at least, his friend’s obsession with Saint Bernard and the twelfth century offered some chance of success. Linda, on the other hand, would be trickier. However, he thought to himself, relations between Roger and Linda had evidently cooled dramatically in the last few days. The other evening’s dinner party at her house had pretty obviously been a disaster. So maybe she might not be around for much longer. Not for the first time that day, he wondered just what had, or had not, happened that night in Linda’s apartment.

‘Just one thing, Mr Scott.’ The solicitor’s voice held a note of caution. ‘I would advise against publicly advertising this new departure. Although it would appear that you would not be breaking any laws, I would suggest that such a story, were it to get to the ears of the media, might spark off a lot of very negative publicity. It might even prompt the government to rush through legislation that could close you down.’

Duggie had been thinking very much the same thing himself. His fear hadn’t been so much the tabloids getting to hear about it, as his employer. But, if he couldn’t advertise the fact, how would he get clients?

Mr Cardew’s mind was running along similar lines.

‘Word of mouth, Mr Scott. I am sure a man with your contacts would have no trouble ensuring that this gets to the ears of a few discreet men. I imagine you envisage creating a high-class establishment that would appeal to a privileged clientele. Were you not until recently involved with the professions yourself?’ He cleared his throat. ‘Indeed, I would be happy to mention it to a few of my colleagues and acquaintances in my own profession, if you agree.’

Duggie began to see where this was leading. ‘Thank you, Mr Cardew. That is an excellent idea. And once we are up and running, I would be delighted if you would honour us with your company. That way you can experience the services we offer for yourself. My treat, of course.’

The older man flushed expectantly. A hint of perspiration appeared above his upper lip. He would be pleased to accept the kind invitation. Both men studiously avoided looking at the photograph of the family group on the wall. Duggie shook the solicitor’s slightly clammy hand and left the warmth of his office for the chill autumnal winds outside.

Chapter 16

Tina was on her knees by the sofa, petting the dog. Jasper was stretched out blissfully on the rug, belly up, all four legs in the air. To Duggie, once he could drag his eyes off the perfection of Tina’s wonderful body, it was pretty clear that the dog was not pining for Roger. It was, however, unlikely the same could be said for Linda. He had related to Tina the little that he knew of the abortive seduction, mainly the gelid aftermath. Tina, with her usual feminine insight, had immediately decided that Roger must have ‘blotted his copy book’.

Her enquiring glance at the dog for any fuller information resulted in no more than a slobbery lick, so she got up. After washing Jasper’s kiss off her hands, she filled the kettle. She cast an enquiring glace back across to Duggie on the sofa. He nodded absently, his mind miles away.

In fact his mind was still focused on the second floor, as it had been for a few days now. And, in particular, whether he should go ahead with his idea of returning the manor to its former function. If so, how should he go about it? Since his meeting with Mr Cardew, he had reflected upon the fact that he was one of the 91.5% of men in Britain not to have availed himself of the services of a prostitute. He found himself in a cleft stick. On the one hand he felt this lack of familiarity with sex for money was something of which he should be proud. Now, on the other hand, he rather wished he had a bit more knowledge of just exactly what went on inside such a place.

All he knew about brothels had been furnished by various television programmes, the cinema and newspaper articles. Plus, of course, the usual run of porn movies that he had seen in his time. Saucy lingerie, pretty girls and beds. That was about it really. The sum total. Up till that moment he had always considered himself to be a man of the world, for whom life held few secrets or surprises. And now, he realised, he didn’t know any more about what went on inside a brothel than the next man. Or woman. Now that was a thought.

‘Tina, I don’t suppose you know anything about the workings of a brothel, by any chance, do you?’ As he said it, he realised this had not quite come out as he had wanted. He saw her eyebrows raise and hastened to explain, ‘Not that I’m trying to imply anything here, you understand. Just in general terms, how do they work and what goes on there? Ever read anything, seen anything, met anybody?’

She came across to the sofa with two mugs of tea. She set them down on the table by his hand and then sat down on the other side of him.

‘Still thinking about that, are you, Douglas? I really don’t think it’s a very good idea, you know. What if Roger ever found out? Or rather, what will happen
when
Roger finds out, because I just can’t see how he won’t. Pass me my tea, babe.’

He passed the mug to her and nodded. She was right, really. In his heart of hearts, he knew that. But still, in spite of her starting to call him Douglas and others following suit, in spite of his new position of responsibility at the manor, in spite of his executive salary, there was still enough of the naughty boy left. The old Duggie knew that he wanted to do it, just because he shouldn’t. In a rare moment of self-analysis, he reflected that that was the way his life had always been. Start something, follow the rules and then, when you know what they are, break them. For the hell of it, because they are there. He reached for his tea and took a sip.

‘I know, darling, I know. But just humour me for the moment. The fact is that I don’t know the first thing about what goes on in those places.’ She gave him a mischievous smile.

‘That’s funny, I thought you wrote the handbook.’

‘No, I know
what
goes on, but what I don’t know is
how
it all goes on; the logistics, the organisation. I mean, if I go into a restaurant, there is a choice of food. I consult the menu, that tells me what’s on offer, and at what price. But in a brothel, how do you know what’s on offer and at what price? I mean, do they charge the same for a quick peek as for the Full Monty? And which Monty are we talking about? And what does Full mean? Do I pay at the end, or in advance? Who do I pay? Do they take credit cards? And what about the staff? Adverts in the local paper are great, if you’re looking for a job as a chef, but you don’t see adverts for ladies of the night.’

She sat upright.

‘You’re wrong there, Duggie. That is exactly where you see the adverts. Wait a minute.’ She scrabbled around on the floor and located the previous night’s paper from under the sofa. One corner had been seriously mangled by the dog, but the bulk of it was still legible. Leafing through the pages, she came to page thirty-five.

‘Here you are. Personal Services. I knew I’d seen it.’ She ran her finger down the column, reading out a selection of what was on offer. A few offered ‘discreet’ massage, a few ‘private’ massage and a few just plain massage. This was occasionally qualified by ‘in and out’, presumably referring to the location of the service. A lady called Becky claimed to be ‘looking for fun’ and added that her service was ‘private and discreet’. And so it went on.

‘If you really want to find out what it’s all about, then try phoning one of these girls. But God help you if you so much as lay a finger on any of them.’ Her hand reached across and gripped him through his trousers, hard enough to make her point.

‘Easy, tiger. Don’t damage the goods,’ Duggie protested hastily, setting his mug down on the table and catching her hand in his. Gently disengaging her from him, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die. There is no other woman in the world for me but you. I swear it.’ She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

‘Prove it.’

The dog looked up from the floor with interest. Duggie again felt he had to protest.

‘I don’t really want an audience.’

As he led her into the bedroom, she observed, ‘Audiences in one of those places probably cost extra. Anyway, you can ask, can’t you?’

Chapter 17

Duggie reached the top floor slightly breathless. To be quite honest, he felt more than a little nervous at the forthcoming encounter. The building had seen better days, and a threadbare carpet did little to improve the first impression. The door to flat thirty-one, on the other hand, looked quite new. He reflected that it was, in all probability, armoured. Steeling himself, if that was what one did before an armoured door, he rang the doorbell. There was a delay and then, with a rattling of bolts, the door opened sufficiently for him to glimpse the face of the woman inside.

She peered at him for a moment, then asked, ‘Are you my six o’clock?’

Duggie assured her that he was, indeed, her next client. The door was opened fully to allow him in. A wave of cheap perfume assaulted him. In the background he could hear the title music to the news.

‘Room on the left.’ Her instructions were clear, if lacking in finesse. She followed him into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. The curtains were closed. There was little in there apart from a big bed. The bedcover, consisting mainly of camouflage colours could, and no doubt did, hide a multitude of sins – and many of those of a biblical nature. Light was provided by an old standard lamp with, at best, a forty-watt bulb.

He turned to look at her. He immediately realised why she had chosen low lighting. She had described herself in the local paper’s Personal Column as a ‘bubbly blonde babe’, but she had clearly been more than a little disingenuous. She would probably never see forty again, and there was nothing baby-faced about her. The ends of her hair were indeed blond, but in serious conflict with the dark roots. Any trace of bubblyness was conspicuous by its absence. Instinctively, he took a couple of steps backwards, trying to find the right words to start the conversation.

Before he could utter a word, she whipped her top off, exposing a well-filled, luridly coloured bra. She started fiddling with the zip of the mini-skirt, which clung tightly to her somewhat overripe hips. As she did so, she began to reel off what was on offer.

‘Thirty pounds just for me to take it all off, another tenner for a feel, thirty for a hand…’ Duggie found himself fascinated but, to his surprise, somewhat intimidated by her actions. He cut in before she could get any further into the list of delights.

‘That’s all right, dear. It’s your mind I’m interested in.’ As he said the words, he found himself wondering what Tina would have made of such an observation.

The woman straightened up suspiciously, angrily even. Her skirt flopped to the floor at her feet, revealing a matching thong whose elastic bore witness to a considerable amount of hard wear. She pointed sharply at the door.

‘I don’t want anything to do with any weirdoes. One quick shout and my friend will come in here and sort you out. “Interested in my mind” indeed. Whatever next?’

There was an edge to her voice that was probably fear. Duggie realised, not for the first time, that girls working in this profession often risked more than a visit to the clap clinic. He made a mental note that security would be high on his list of priorities ? along with hygiene. He sat down on the edge of the bed, so as to appear as unthreatening as possible. He started to explain. As he talked, she gradually relaxed.

‘Not a weirdo. Promise. My name is Douglas and I am planning on going into the same business as you. I’ve come here for some advice and help. I will willingly pay for any information, but there is no need for you to take any more of your clothes off. Here…’ he took five twenty-pound notes out of his pocket and laid them on the bed beside him. ‘As a sign of my bona fides, here is a little payment in advance.’

He rather regretted the use of the Latin words, which were clearly unfamiliar to her. He made another mental note that his staff were not likely to be over-endowed in the intellectual department, whatever their other attributes and talents might be. Sight of the money had a remarkable calming effect upon her.