Chapter Two

Later that day Fred dumped his butt on the edge of Martha’s desk. He seemed nervous. “Two things, Martha,” he said, a frown making him look all the more serious.

The girl waited, head slightly to one side.

“Firstly. I fully understand your need for a chaperone. Forgive me on that one. I was that excited about our venture into France that I didn’t give enough thought to that particular predicament. A young woman must guard her reputation as well as herself.”

Martha smiled sweetly. “Very well put Mr McCall. It’s not that I don’t...”

He waved a podgy hand. “Of course my dear. Taking Anna suits me I must admit. The lady of the house. Er, my house that is, can rest assured that this business trip is just that. Er business. That there is no romantic episode, or that sort of nonsense. Not that there could be of course. Not between you and I, nor of course Anna. Goes without saying. But the good wife may not see the sense of matters. She has been known to blow a little envious from time to time.”

Fred was sinking. Martha expected the two fingers of the drowning man any second. So she threw him a line. “And the second?”

“Second?” he questioned confused.

“Two things Martha you said.”

“Ah. Did I?”

He thought, fingers drumming on the oak desktop. This weekend. Are you occupied with anything?”

She shook her head.

“I have to attend a do in Brighton. Business of course. As my newly engaged personal assistant I wondered, no I thought it important that you join me. All above board of course. Like Paris you see. It’s a large private house. Dutchman by the name of Stef Vaiman. He could be instrumental in getting us into the Dutch market. After Paris of course.”

Martha smiled. “I’d love to Mr McCall.”

He looked astounded. “You would?”

“I just said so.”

“Yes. But not Anna this time if that is acceptable. Not the same as Paris. Stef might wonder why. It could prove a touch embarrassing for me in the trust department. I must be seen as one hundred percent dependable.”

“It’s fine Mr McCall.”

“And one other thing. It’s Fred now. If that’s ok.”

Thank you Fred.”

Fred drove to Brighton, Anna’s stern warning ringing in Martha’s ears. A couple of days by the sea. The meeting with Vaiman. She felt excited, gloriously happy, euphoric almost. Fred had even suggested she bring some of her sketches, outlines of lingerie she proposed for manufacture. Martha was not only multilingual; she also showed enormous talent as an artist.

Anna had suggested that before leaving she should design and make herself a chastity belt as she would probably need it. Martha pondered that as the two seat Jaguar sped south from London. Something so unusual and restrictive so close to a secluded part of her, and possibly of a coarse and confining nature, provoked unexpected clitoral sunbursts in a random and distracting fashion.

Martha pressed the palm of her hand to the centre of that growing furore, a slight mist dotting her forehead. Facial muscles tightened, teeth clamping tight.

Fred noticed. “She does go, doesn’t she?” he said completely misunderstanding the cause.

“Yes,” Martha concurred in a whisper. “She would, given the right bloke.”

Fred leant closer. “Sorry Martha. I didn’t catch that.”

“Yes Fred. She does.”

“Not too much is it?”

“No,” she assured him. “It really is fine.”

A deep breath began the return to tranquillity, her mind closed to any more erogenous suggestions. ‘What the fucking hell was that about?’ she asked herself.

Fred talking, fighting the blast of seventy miles an hour in the open top sports car, took her mind off those iniquitous jabs to the conscious libido. “Birthday soon eh?” he asked.

“Is it?” she replied coming back from distraction. “How old are you then, or shouldn’t I ask?”

“Not me. You.”

She awoke from the nether world of frustration. “Yes. Sorry. Nineteen.”

“What would you like?”

Now there was a question.

“To get back from France safe and sound.”

Fred laughed. “I have friends in high places. Don’t worry. We could always sell our wares to the Wehrmacht to send home to their wives, if worst comes to worst.”

She shook her head. “Can you speak anything other than English?”

“Bit of French. But they speak good English.”

“But never mind all that. What do you want for your nineteenth?”

“I guess I would like to leave that pokey one room and move into something with a bit more space.”

“Okay. When we get back from France we’ll look into it.”

One dark cloud in her life disappeared as another took its place. Freedom of her own apartment maybe, with Fred paying the rent. A kept woman. How long would she be able to keep him out of her knickers then?

Fred cleared his throat, always a sign he was going to make an awkward approach.

Martha headed him off at the pass. “What is it Fred?”

“I have some samples in the boot. Ladies relatively lively underwear and night wear. Seeing them laid out on a table is most unflattering. They lose so much. They deserve to be exhibited by the goddess of love, Aphrodite. Failing that would you consider er....”

“Is that why you have brought me, Fred?”

“I have that gorgeous ebony and very naughty twin set you designed.”

He hooked her. “Really? You had it made up? Honestly?”

Fred nodded.

“Oh my God! That’s just incredible.”

“So will you?” he pressed.

“I’m no Aphrodite,” Martha baulked.

“It would only be thee, me and Stef Vaiman. And you do have the sensuality of Aphrodite, believe me.” Fred began to sweat.

“Nothing rude,” she insisted. “No topless.”

The mere thought. The possibility urged Fred toward the vaults of steamy daydreams. “No topless,” he promised. “Unless of course you decide....” He watched her face sour. “No topless,” he assured her.

A half hour later Fred stopped the car outside a posh restaurant on the outskirts of Brighton. “We’ll eat here. Stef will join us in due course.”

Fred locked the doors then opened the boot. “I have something here to wow Stef with.” He handed her a covered garment. “If you don’t mind that is.”

She took it from him.

“Suits are good here, but slacks and shirt?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Sheer bloody snobbery,” she opined placing the item over a shoulder. Where do I change?” she asked. “Alley?”

“Ladies room,” Fred replied. “That will make you look a million dollars.”

She turned. Walking backwards she told him. “Fred. I’m not sleeping with you.”

Though he felt a pang of rejection, Fred hid it well. “Of course,” he agreed quite readily.

The garment proved to be a black dress. It clung to her curves, exposed the cleavage, and dipped to the bum at the rear. The skirt hugged her thighs before relenting at the knees, and terminating at the ankles. With it hung a small glitter purse.

She folded her own clothing and tucking them under an arm walked awkwardly to the table pre-booked by Fred.

“Well?” he asked.

“A warning would have been good. A girl needs time to adjust to something like this. I wouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t end up flat on my face.”

“But you look absolutely fabulous Martha.”

“A little too much tit and butt if you ask me. Perhaps I should tuck my napkin in now.”

“Look around you. It’s the fashion.”

“It’s female servitude to male demands more like.”

“But you design stuff like this,” he protested.

“Intimate Fred. For the bedroom. Between two lovers. Not parading it before the whole of toff Brighton.”

“You want to go?”

“Don’t be daft. I want to see your wallet stretch to this. I take it I won’t have to striptease to pay the bill.”

“That’s an idea. They might well go for it.”

Martha sensed someone beside her and glanced up. A tall well-built blonde man smiled back. “You told me no lies, Fred. This young lady is quite enchanting.”

Martha smiled back. “Mr Vaiman I presume.”

Fred stood, offered a hand, Vaiman accepting. “Good to see you Stef,” he said, adding, “Please take a seat.”

She would never had admitted it in a million years, but Martha felt immediately attracted. A ping pong sensation bounced haphazard about her groin sparking a tell-tale flush to her cheeks.

Vaiman noticed but said nothing. “You are talented as well as gorgeous?” he inquired.

“Let’s say I have certain abilities,” she replied. “Talent is very much the abstract don’t you think. Very much a personal opinion. I like Turner. Another will favour Van Gogh. But I find the latter crude in his ability and the former brilliantly obscure. That’s my personal opinion and I would never deem to argue the matter with anyone.” She smiled.

“You have brought your designs with you?”

“Fred has,” she informed him. “Without asking.”

“Then he may have done you the greatest favour.”

Her expression asked the question.

“We are due to meet after Fred has completed his tour of Paris, and maybe France. What are we currently looking at Fred? Six months?”

“Hard to say Stef. If the French aren’t impressed then there will be little point in setting any infrastructure up.” He chuckled. “We could be knocking on your door within a fortnight.”

“I think the French will know a good thing when they see one.”

A slight frown sent a clear message to Fred, the man suddenly awkward. “Ah. Yes. It’s not a short term jaunt Martha. We might be away for a while.” He paused, seemed hesitant. “A bit of an adventure perhaps.”

“Your opinion Stef,” Martha asked. “The Germans. Will they invade France and the low countries when they are finished with Poland?”

“You are too young Martha, to worry about such matters,” Stef told her.

“I’m not too young to be shot, Mr Vaiman.”

Silence fell, the clatter of restaurant life seeming louder for it. Fred rebooted the conversation. “If the Boche turn and head back for France it will imperil the Netherlands and Belgium too. But we will be gone. I won’t dally, Martha. We will take whatever is available and head home. You have my word.”

“But I as a Dutchman will have to remain,” Vaiman added. “I could not and would not leave my country to the cruelties of the Nazis.”

“Very noble Mr Vaiman,” Fred accorded.

“Where are you from, Mr Vaiman?” Martha inquired.

“Arnhem,” he replied. “And please, Martha. We are introduced which means in my country that you may call me Stef.”

“What time do the celebrations begin?” Fred inquired

“Celebrations?” Martha questioned.

Stef enlightened her. “It’s my birthday. A few friends and family for drinks that’s all. It seemed a good opportunity to set up the meeting for tomorrow.”

“How young?” she asked ignoring etiquette.

“How young?” Stef laughed. “Oh I do like this girl, Fred. Where in the world did you find her? And more to the point are there any more like her.”

“You are a breath of fresh air Martha,” Stef continued. “As for the answer, I will be thirty two in a few hours.”

“You don’t look it.”

“I know the answer to that one,” he replied. “I actually look forty five. Yes?”

Martha shook her head. “Mid-twenties.”

He laid a hand on hers. “You don’t have to compliment me any further. I already like you immensely”

‘Coming to shag you ready or not! Oh I’m ready sir. Ready and waiting.’

There hung her dilemma. She longed for a sexual relationship, but the rigid, almost ecclesiastical morals of the day kept her virtuously bound. Martha was not Godly, her beliefs non-existent, but like most, the backlash of society when the sinful fell afoul of the pious was something to be avoided. Once on that slippery slope many just kept on gliding, their name besmirched for generations to follow.

The mind however was free to follow any path it desired, and Martha a very healthy heterosexual woman as she thought at that time, regularly surrendered to an irresistible bombardment of lust driven hormones. Hankering for the attention of the opposite sex she accepted as perfectly normal, with no recriminations at all. It was those other dark urges that confused. The merest suggestion of a kinky escapade boiled the pot faster and more furiously than any other subliminal arousal. She kept them at bay, resisting temptation, believing them crude, unhealthy, perhaps even perverted. That of course depended greatly on who colluded, and their particular taste, or lack of.

They dined and Martha drank more than she should. It was a very tipsy girl that fell into the Jaguar’s passenger seat.

Vaiman spoke with Fred ensuring that he knew the way to his house. “I’ll put the coffee pot on for the young lady,” he joked. “She’s an absolute cracker, Fred. I have to admit I am looking forward to tomorrow more than I should, if I am to call myself a gent.”

“You’re a red blooded male, Stef. Nothing to be ashamed of there. Anyway she’ll show no more than you’ll see at any fashion parade. I wouldn’t countenance it otherwise.”