Chapter 6
The very air was funeral, the house was as a tomb. I existed in a vacuum, a void that ached. Ghosts were everywhere, wraiths of beauty. All of them were Cathy.
I Was surprised by the intensity of loneliness, and of longing. After all, she would be back tomorrow! But, of course, that was the rub: Would Cathy come back! She had to be nuts if she did.
Cathy was free.
I remembered her eyes as she promised. She had turned the hurried moment into a most solemn giving of her word. Her pledge. She would butter Nancy up until the interfering little bitch had no suspicion left. Then she would return and resume her slavery, hold out her hands to be tied. She had made her flirting with freedom as logical as she had done the day before.
But she would never return. Never! It was expecting to too much.
Paradise lost!
I roamed about the place, seeing her everywhere. The whole damn house was scattered with remembrances. Bits of rope, her anklets, some books she'd loved, a bra. I went down to her cell and sat on her cot. I'll swear the air was alive, with her scent, the woman-scent no bottle ever spilled. I bloody near cried. I did end up dabbing at my eyes with a handkerchief. But it was one on which she had dried tears of her own not long ago..so away I went again.
No call that night. I'd hoped there might have been. But there was still the morning.
The telephone rang at ten. Cathy's voice was breathless. Not from urgency, but - "Oh Master! It's so good " A pause for heavy breathing. "I've got rid of her. I couldn't call before.
"Who cares! Oh Cathy... you've called now."
"You thought I wouldn't, didn't you master?" Her laughter was joyous.
"You're a stupid slave. Run for your life."
"Do you want me to?"
"No."
"Master, I'm calling from a phone booth. I stayed the night with Nancy. Where do you want to pick me up?"
I swear I could feel her vibrations coming over the wire. She was happy. In a couple of hours I could have her back in her cell, safely chained. A miracle.
I was scared.
"Go to the Humbolt." I told her. "Book a room. I'll come to you there, I should make it in an hour."
She picked up the alarm instantly. "Master, what's wrong?"
"Just me." I said.
I made it in fifty minutes. The hugs and kisses were pure honeymoon. When she opened the door her anxious concern vanished as she saw my face. Her arms flew 'round my neck as I lifted her off the floor. There are moments when a girl can seem a very light and very fragile thing. I love her.
"Will you marry me?" I said.
"Yes." she said.
I carried her to the bed.
We made love the rest of the morning. But not before she made me use the handcuffs to lock her left ankle to the frame. Having it fastened way over there made her pussy a prominent part of the landscape but we did not mind.
She was more wonderful than ever.
We actually took time to have lunch. I chose the quiet table in the dining room as the best place to tell her. When you're in bed with a naked girl it's hard to be serious.
I was trembling.
Cathy let me stutter and ramble before helping me out. Her manner became soothingly maternal.
"You want to tell me you screwed a lot of girls before you kidnapped me?"
"No. It isn't that old favourite."
"You did it with 'a man."
"Not that either."
"A little boy?"
"No."
She toasted me with wine. She radiated happiness. I felt a heel.
"You're not telling me something silly like talking in your sleep or having bad breath after eating kumquats."
"What's a kumquat?'
"I'm not sure." She grinned. "But it's edible. I'm not sure of anything you tell me.
Come on, Master, out with it."
"You don't have to call me Master any more."
"I know that." she said impatiently. "But there's something on your mind. Tell me."
I took a deep breath. "It's this tying up."
Cathy calmly carried on eating. "So?"
"It's a part of me. I can't drop it."
"Who's asking you to!"
Marvellous, eh? An incredible girl!
"There's more to it than that. You've put up with it because you had to. But I've never really talked to you about it. I mean, sort of clinically."
"I didn't have to ask you to cuff my ankle to the bed awhile ago. You never even thought of it yourself."
I squirmed. Women are the very devil to deal with.
Cathy's eyes became very deep and filled with love. "You are an absolute idiot of a master." she said between her chewing. "Think I'm stupid! I'd have to be stupid if I didn't know by now what it means to you." She paused and eyed me earnestly.
"Look, darling, when we marry I'll make some vows in front of the minister. But here's one now: I promise you can tie and chain me all you like. Pop me in and out of the cell as often as you wish. And cane my bottom whenever I'm bad." She sighed happily. "Have I overlooked anything?"
I mean, what's a guy to do!
"Thank you" I said.
You're welcome. And I'll do it all with love, too. Here Master, try these fried zucchinis, they're super."
"You really mean...?"
"Oh sure. I'm part addicted. Get on with your lunch before it gets cold." She cocked an anxious eye. "Has this answered your question?"
"It's got me over the hump. But there is something else."
"No torture chamber and no Nancy." My darling's voice was firm.
I blurted it out in a rush. "I want to take you to the Templars."
"We'd have to go back about seven hundred years."
"Not the Knightly order of the Crusades, Cathy. I only heard of this lot about a month ago."
"What have you in mind for me, Master? Chain mail?"
"They're a wealthy group who are all like me, more or less. They have a big place in the country where they do, authentically, all the things that are meaningful to me and a whole lot of their own. It's girls and women and men. It's expensive, so there's no rubbish. I want you to meet and talk with these people so you'll always know I'm not alone in these things I kidnapped you for."
"But, darling, you don't have to prove a thing."
"Not for you, Cathy. I have to prove it for me."
"When do we go?" asked. Cathy.
"This afternoon." I said.
She was a very beautiful girl, not quite naked. She stood against the pillar as though sculptured, her chains symbolic. They held her wrists loosely above her head so that she leant against the marble., her eyes distant in some dream of her own.
"Rather a nice effect, don't you think?" Mr. Dimbleby commented as we stood in the foyer. "The girls take turns. Creates atmosphere. Breaks the ice for visitors and neophytes."
I envied Mr. Dimbleby his English assurance. He had relieved me of a sizeable cheque as though doing me a favour. But he was a perfect guide., He blended.
Cathy was amused by his suavity. She was looking now at the chained girl with intent interest.
"The chains are absolutely real." said Mr. Dimbleby "She cannot possibly get free.
There are no facsimiles or simulations here."
I felt Cathy shiver. She was putting herself up there against the column.
Mr. Dimbleby read her mind. "You would look charming there, Miss Hazlett. We may hope for that."
We were introduced to men as we met them. My money was too new for me to be able to match their monied assurance. They were gravely courteous, their eyes lingering on Cathy. Wise eyes but never carnal, their interest beyond lechery. I could sense Cathy's reaction, a feminine reaction, to their projections of male power.
There were women. The older ones were appraising, not of me, but of the girl clinging to my arm. The young ones were exuding camaraderie, seeing in Cathy a recruit to their own dedication. The atmosphere was discreet but electric with purpose. There were no dilettantes among the Templars. Mr. Dimbleby steered us through the polite and interested exchanges with easy familiarity.
"We think the social amenities important. The subject associates share in them as a matter of course between their more meaningful involvements."
Cathy looked up at me and winked. Mr. Dimbleby was precious. She was holding on to me very tightly. She was also stifling some sarcasms. I knew!
"Subject members are not permitted embarrassment. Coyness is interdicted." said Mr. Dimbleby.
We saw his point. The girl stood in the centre of the small room. Her hands were tied and raised above her head. She was totally naked. She looked at us without curiosity. She had the bored air of someone putting in time.
"In two hours time she will be whipped." Mr. Dimbleby said pleasantly. The rooms were all the same size, though not similarly appointed. They were surprisingly pleasant compartments considering what took place in them.
"Subject associate, Mr. Dimbleby. Just what does it mean?" Cathy asked.
"It refers to our more youthful female Templars, Miss Hazlett. Their wish or function is to serve. They are therefore subject."
"What had that girl done to deserve a whipping?"
Mr. Dimbleby looked pained. His glance reproved. "Come, come, Miss Hazlett, you are not that naive surely?"
"Oops sorry! I'm just learning. It is permitted to ask questions, isn't it?"
"At this stage we strive for frankness and informality, Miss Hazlett. We also endeavour to innovate, as witness here."
This one was far from bored. She wore a silly but cute little jacket thing, open at the front so that her breasts were never really concealed. It totally failed to hide anything below her hips. One of her feet had been raised and tied to a parallel bar.
She stood unhappily on the other. Her wrists were crossed and tied behind her back. She turned to us with a hope that swiftly died. I had a feeling she came close to pleading for help.
"An original afternoon." Mr. Dimbleby said with approval.
"She doesn't look a bit happy." Cathy said doubtfully. "I know I'd get awfully tired standing like that."
Our guide and mentor turned his august attention upon the hapless captive. "And how is your afternoon progressing, my dear?"
His "dear" swallowed a couple of times before answering. "I'm, I'm awfully tired, Mr.
Dimbleby." She twisted her tied hands and fluttered her jacket. "Having to stand like this it's awkward."
"I am sure it is, Daffodil." Mr. Dimbleby agreed heartily. "Perhaps you would like to ask me for a conditional release?"
The poor girl positively recoiled. "Oh no, Mr. Dimbleby. Thank you."
When we got back out in the passage, Cathy bravely inquired: "What's a conditional release, Mr. Dimbleby?"
Our fount of knowledge cleared his throat portentously. "One might describe it as a safety measure, or perhaps an alternative course, Miss Hazlett. The young lady we have just left could, had she so wished, asked me to release her on the understanding of a different situation at another time being imposed. She preferred not to do so. "
"Well, I suppose the alternative would be a lot worse?"
"The imposition of conditional consequences lies in the discretion of the young lady's sponsor, Miss Hazlett." intoned Mr. Dimbleby sonorously. "It is usually deemed proper for it to be more severe than the one rejected."
"I'll just bet it is!" Cathy observed gloomily. "But honest now, is her name really Daffodil?"
"It is the privilege of any sponsor to rename his subject as he sees fit. The new names are often fanciful."
"And these sponsors, what's their relation to these poor girls?"
"I do wish you would not refer to our subject members as 'Poor girls,' Miss Hazlett."
Mr. Dimbleby had his pained look doing double duty. "They are highly privileged young women enjoying an emotional transcendence impossible elsewhere. Their relation to their sponsors is the same as your own with Mr. Hollings."
Cathy looked suitably squelched. But I was beginning to find Dimbleby hard to take, and to wonder if The Templars were really a good idea. The next room helped a bit.
The nude girl was tied to a post. She was exquisite. So was the rope. There was a great deal of rope. But it had been drawn into her flesh with such consummate skill that it in no way obtruded upon her basic loveliness. There were plural strands cutting into wherever there was a muscle or sinew she might have tensed against her bondage.
"A nice blending of aestheticism and authority." said Mr. Dimbleby.
It sure was. It was too beautiful for any neat bits of phrase old Dimbleby might spout. I looked down at Cathy. She and I were thinking the same thing, seeing her naked and secured to the post instead of this girl whose eyes followed us in mute question. I could feel her trembling.
We did a slow circle. Like you might round a statue in a museum. The girl's hands had been crossed and tied behind the post where the thin rope crossed and crlss- crossed about her wrists so that the whole effect was the same as a smooth heavy weld. As though to demonstrate her impotence against the cords, the girl splayed open her fingers, spreading, and flexing them in a tiny flutter of the only movement she was allowed. It was pathetic and poignant and demandingly erotic.
Ankles, knees, waist and shoulders even a crossed bisection of her breasts ... but there was an exquisite cruelty. Two strands came from her waist and disappeared back between the junction of her thighs. They parted her pubic hair and wholly entered the soft plump orifice of her sex. They served no purpose in her immobility but would keep her constantly in pain.
"Desiree's sponsor is an artist." The British voice droned. He often takes upwards of an hour to rope his subject for the effect he seeks. You will note the careful placement and even tension of each band. Tell us, Desiree, how long have you been against the post?"
"All day, Mr. Dimbleby. I have to stay here until evening."
"But you must me hurting in...in...in, that place!" Female sympathy welled from Cathy's exclamation.
The lovely eyes mocked us. "Of course I'm hurting. Isn't that the name of the game!"
"The stricture to which you refer, Miss Hazlett, has, I understand some feminine compensations." Mr. Dimbleby offered diffidently.
"But not when it's that tight!" Cathy knew whereof she spoke.
"You're new, or neophytes, aren't you." The captive voice was faintly amused.
"Maybe visitors? Were you thinking of joining?" Her eyes were on Cathy.
"Yes"
"Then don't!"
It was a small thunderbolt. I could almost see our pompous friend reel under the impact. "I fear your sponsor would not condone such a sentiment, Desiree."
"Don't tell him then. Oh please, Dimbleby, don't. He'll do something beastly to me."
"Kindly refrain from diminutives in addressing me. I shall certainly report your unpardonable lapse."
You could see her wilt. Her voice became humble. "I'm sorry. Can't a girl be allowed one mistake?"
"Your mistake was in becoming a Templar, Desiree. As I recall, your pledge does not expire for a couple of months yet. Perhaps in that time..."
We were ushered from the room, followed by the stricken gaze of a girl who could not move.
"I must apologise." Mr. Dimbleby said smoothly. "Desiree's was an unpardonable rudeness. I expect she must be finding today's imposition exceptionally trying."
Cathy has heated. "I bet she is! The guy didn't need to drag those ropes up into her"
"Please, please, Miss Hazlett!" Mr. Dimbleby was anxiously warding off a four letter word. "If you will come this way I am sure you will find the next subject amusingly diverting."
The old hypocrite was right. Diverting was the word. The girl stood inside a barred cage. Just enough room for her to stand, just enough for her to lay down. She must have heard us coming. She was clutching a couple of bars and watching the door. Cute as all get out. But that was only the half of it.
She wore a gag, an expensive looking thing of shining chrome padlocked at the back of her neck. It was the only thing she did wear. It grotesquely accentuated her nudity.
"This dear child is reducing."
Dimbleby was back to normal. He noted our puzzlement.
"Undine's sponsor believes she put on weight. I am unable to discern this myself, but she is his property. She has also been inclined to chatter. He has therefore killed two birds with one stone. She is spending a week in the cage and is fed only juices, imbibed orally, through this unique gag which inhibits and reproves her tedious loquacity." He turned a courteous attention upon the captive. "Are you enjoying the gag, my dear?"
Undine shook her head vigourously. But her eyes twinkled.
"And can you remove it?"
Shake, Shake.
"Can you escape from the cage?"
Another silent negative.
"Tell our visitors how long you have been in there."
Undine held up four fingers.
Well, it takes all kinds! Since we could not talk, we did not say anything.
"Our next subject is named Drusilla." Dimbleby informed. "Her sponsor is not imaginative: a most conservative man. In this imposition he has made but one concession to originality, a small distress that, I personally find unrewarding."
Drusilla stood naked in a pillory. A pillory evidently designed solely for females. Its yoke fitted her so snugly at wrists and neck as to preclude its use on a man. She looked up at us without hope and offered a wan smile."
"A charming young woman." Mr. Dimbleby approved. "A true Templar."
The true Templar's bare feet stood unhappily on what I took to be her sponsor's one original concept. It was a. metal plate of a dimension beyond which she could not step. Its surface offered the feminine sole as ugly an assortment of small knobs and points as one would hope to see. No inch of it gave Drusilla's foot a painless resting place.
"The flesh is not pierced." Dimbleby informed kindly.
"I still think it's horrid." said Cathy.
"My dear, will you reassure our young friend?"
Drusilla raised her head awkwardly within its imprisonment and gave Cathy a quite genuine smile. "I've had a lot worse than this." she said brightly. "It's a bit hard on the feet. But we have to expect a bit of discomfort, don't we."
I beat Dimbleby to the punch. "Spoken like a true Templar." I said.
"You men!" said Cathy.
We waved and went. Drusilla did not wave back.
The next room was empty. Mr. Dimbleby fixed me with a stem eye. "I am beginning to wonder if Miss Hazlett is Templar material, Mr. Hollings. Certain remarks she has made..."
Cathy answered for me. "I'm sorry Mr. Dimbleby. I'm flippant."
"Flippancy is a fault we can cure, Miss Hazlett. We pride ourselves on its treatment."
"I'm sure you do."
"I must deplore the tone of that response."
"What do you use? Hot irons and pincers?"
Dimbleby winced. He bestowed the full weight of his censure on me. "I suggest, Mr.
Hollings, that I allot you a suitable room and that you use it to correct this subject's attitudes."
"Ohhhh! Mr. Dimbleby you want to watch me get my bottom caned!"
"I would suggest a more stringent measure, Miss Hazlett."
"Has the room got a nice rack, and a thumbscrew, and an Iron Maiden, Mr.
Dimbleby?"
I remembered my first days with Cathy. Her sarcasms had faded under my cane and my whips. This idiot man had given them rebirth. I felt like popping a few myself. I wished Id never brought Cathy to the place. "Behave yourself." I told her severely, and hoped the old boy didn't see me wink.
"Forgive me, master."
The 'Master' seemed to brace our companion and restore his faith. He curtly assented to my suggestion that we carry on.
"I have no wish to bore Miss Hazlett." he declaimed coldly. "We will confine our inspection to a few of the more interesting subjects."
Cathy kept a penitent silence.
The girlish face we next beheld turned to us with an expression of mixed emotions easily understandable considering her circumstances. She was seated, bare, upon a low bench. Her widespread feet were firmly locked into a pair of old fashioned stocks. And there was something else.
It's funny about B & D, and goodness knows there's no one loves it more than me, but there are times when I have to laugh. This was one of those times. Mind you, I don't see why we always have to be portentous with heavy breathing and maybe an erection. But then, I'm talking about it from the male point of view. For the girls, I guess it's not often exactly hilarious.
Anyway, old sourpuss's latest exhibit had her hands tied behind her back. Nothing remarkable: just that she couldn't use 'em. And her feet sure were wide apart. They were as neat and snug in their wooden yoke as Drusilla's had been. Between her thighs was a dog. A busy dog. Boy, was that hound busy! He spared us only a short disinterested glance and then returned to his serious employment. He was a noisy eater.
Cathy was a flash of motion. In an instant she had that pooch by his tail and dragged him back from his preoccupied task to where she could deliver a well aimed kick that sent him down the passage in yowling disarray. She turned an indignant face upon our guide.
"The least you could do is keep the door shut."
"But my dear young -- "
"Do you realise what that rotten dog was doing?"
Dimbleby's face was a fine magenta. Whilst spluttering indignation kept him mute, the captive in the stocks came to everybody's rescue.
"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry. But I'm afraid that dog is part of this act. He belongs."
Cathy was outraged. "You mean you enjoy it!"
But Dimbleby was back on the ball. "This young woman is sentenced to a day of canine attention. May I remind you."
"You mean he was put in here on purpose to lick that poor girl's cunt! Don't you realise he could drive her nuts!"
"Some degree of sensory tumult is the intent."
"But he could go on licking for an hour."
"He does, darling." came the tired, but now more faintly amused, voice from the stocks. "Then they take him away and give me a fresh one. I've lost track of my orgasms. I think it's seventeen. I'm pooped."
Quiet, you vulgar snippet!" Dimbleby was outraged. "How dare you!"
"Please don't be angry, Mr. Dimbleby. The young lady's only trying to be kind."
Captive eyes focused on me. "Perhaps, sir, you'd be good enough to see if you can find that dog. I'm afraid I'm supposed to have him."
You see what I mean. I was having the damnedest time not to howl with laughter.
Instead, I went back down the passage. When I found the dog he gave, me a reproachful look, but followed me back willingly enough. When reintroduced to his interrupted task he resumed operations, but it was plain to see his heart was no longer in his work.
Mr. Dimbleby viewed the lacklustre performance.
"I will attend to his replacement." he said.
"Don't bother." Cathy said.
"You're all awfully sweet." said the girl in the stocks.
"I wish I could help." Cathy said.
"I expect we'll see you again." I said.
"I think it most improbable." said Mr. Dimbleby.
It was now a bit like being escorted by a super battleship. Distant, cold, implacable.
Dimbleby's assessment of our social inferiority was all too clear. His British heart was probably thinking longingly of Old School Ties. But he did his duty.
"We have here a process of attrition."
We sure did! She was hanging by her wrists, her arms separate and apart. She was one more subject who didn't look all that happy. She opened her eyes to have a look at us but, seeing Dimbleby, closed them again and retreated into some world of her own.
"Her wristlets are softly padded. They are human."
It was the voice of the curator of a museum. We were the rabble. I looked at the lovely strained nakedness in breathless reverence. It was easy to guess she had hung there a long time. Cathy squeezed my arm. She had been suspended, herself, like that not so terribly long ago.
"A most conventional imposition. We add a thoughtful addition. Perhaps, Mr.
Hollings, you would be so kind..."
Three things hit me. The girl's eyes came wide open in alarm. Upon her ankles were leather bands, on the sides of which were rings. Below her dangling toes and a bit to one side were a number of small canvas bags, presumably containing sand. From the fastening of each rose a hook.
O.K., I'm a bastard. But this was closer to B & D than half of what we'd been shown.
And it was one of those deals where if I didn't do it someone else would. I stepped forward.
"Don't you you dare!"
If Dimbleby was a battleship, Cathy had become at least one of the more heavily armed cruisers. She planted. herself squarely in front of the pile of bags. I'll swear Dimbleby groaned in anguish.
I don't know how well I've told this. But you'll have gotten the idea I wasn't all that happy with what I'd got us into. I sure wasn't, In front of the girl I was going to marry, I felt like an asshole.
"You should both be ashamed." Cathy stormed.
Cathy has taught me something that, once, I did not know. It is that girls relate only to a type and to a few. With the right male they can relate to B & D. With the rest it's an absolute "no-no". I realised the missing link in what we'd been seeing. Girls suffering without the sustenance of a man to sublimate their anguish. Goodness knows where their men were, they were obviously absent. For very sure none of these poor kids were going to relate to good old Dimbleby. They needed courage.
They possessed courage, or fortitude, or maybe dedication. I had to hand it to 'em.
They were doing fine. Not a scream. Not a plea, a bad word. So O.K. these girls were Templars. But the atmosphere was not the one I'd expect. Not Cathy's cup of tea anyway from Sunday. Once more it was the subject herself who saved the day.
"I have to have them." The 'quiet feminine voice was resigned. "Please Miss, whatever your name is, don't make a fuss. Thanks, but let them do it to me!"
Poor Cathy! Betrayed, and by one of her own sex! The flag of her crusade slipping down into the mud. I held out my hand to her, but she sniffed and stood once more by my side. I hung a bag of sand on each of the ringed ankles.
"I am pleased some sanity remains." Dimbleby was sounding the Last Post.
The tautly suspended girl once more closed her eyes.
Dimbleby was, dramatist enough, to keep silent and when he ushered us in and stood to one side, an impresario confident and aloof.
I had sudden sense of coming home. The impressions of the other rooms faded.
Here was beauty! In the girl we looked at now we saw the dream. Cathy's hand tightened on my arm.
She was a picture of utter simplicity, bound naked to a cross, her out stretched arms held against the crosspiece by leather bands upon her wrists. The taut concavity of her centre had been circled again and again by carefully placed ropes, which themselves were cinched between the small of her 'back and the wooden upright. Her feet were shackled loosely. That was all.
It was enough.
For many, it is hard to know it it is the configuration or the naked girl that speeds the pulse and catches at the breath. But not for me! I have always known it was the girl. What she is, and the manner of her response make the bonds that hold her a secondary concern. Tie Cathy and tie Nancy and you'll have the proof.
Her head was sweetly bowed. We may have woken her from sleep. From the placid serenity of her features she may well have dreamed. She raised her head, blinked, and smiled at us as though being bound naked to a cross was a most natural state for girls. Then her head slowly inclined again as she returned to happiness. She was drugged, but only with fulfilment.
"Your approval restores my faith."
Dimbleby's voice was stiff. We were forgiven. The faintest of smiles flickered on the captive's lips and then was gone.
"It's the loveliest thing I've ever seen." Cathy was awed.
"Please look you fill," Dimbleby said. "You will then find me in my office."
We did not see him go. The room contained the three of us in peaceful silence. We had no need to speak. To rouse the captive girl and question her would be to despoil a mood. All of her proclaimed joy. She could move but little, but from her emanated heart's desire. After several minutes we tiptoed out as from a church silent in prayer.
I wish I'd realised what we were going to.
Your cheque is, in any case, forfeit." Dimbleby said.
'I understand that." I said.
"I regret we have failed to please." Dimbleby said.
"We're sorry we failed to please too." I said.
"Here, hold on!" Cathy exclaimed. "Cut the gloom. If some of these Templar bastards give their girls a rough time, I suppose it's their own business. Sorry I boiled over."
"The word 'bastard', Miss Hazlett!"
"Oh alright! Sorry 'bout that too. I know I'm inclined to fly off the handle."
"Perhaps because you are. not properly secured to it, Miss Hazlett."
Cathy giggled and looked at me. "Am I properly secured, darling?"
"I deem Mr. Hollings biased on the question."
Irony oozed from Dimbleby like small drops of acid. His disapproval of Cathy was patent. He regarded me as a weak master whose slave girl was thoroughly spoiled.
"Cathy and I have our own methods." I said.
"They appear to have failed."
He was too damn much! Even with me around, I just wasn't going to subject Cathy to this place. I felt an urgent wish to take her home and start a large family. I stood up and offered her my hand.
"Sit down, Mr. Hollings."
I sat down. Damn Dimbleby! He had that way with him.
"We will not impede your departure, Mr. Hollings. It is Miss Hazlett who needs us."
"Not on your life!" I was out of my chair like a shot.
"Oh, do sit down, darling. All that lovely money we should at least hear what Mr.
Dimbleby proposes."
Already she was thinking of our family finances. My heart glowed. We would drop in at a Safeway on the way home and buy a huge roast. I looked at her with love.
"It is very simple." Mr. Dimbleby said. "You go, she stays."
Simple! Good gosh! I was trying to think of a better word, a word to demolish him with, when Cathy came up with one of those feminine kickers.
"What would you do with me, Mr. Dimbleby: "Excise your flippancy. Instil humility."
"Oh dear! Would it be painful?"
"Nothing is achieved without travail, Miss Hazlett."
"I'd get my bottom beaten?"
Dimbleby sighed, a man abused and battered by vulgarity. "I would not have chosen that term, Miss Hazlett. But yes, that and other refinements."
"Such as?"
"I reject interrogation. Really!"
"Not racks and thumbscrews?"
"Please don't be absurd."
I was feeling left out. After all, it was my cheque. "Look here." I said. "I'm not..."
"Oh, do dry up, darling. Mr. Dimbleby and I are reaching an understanding."
"Mr. Hollings, do you condone ?"
"Of course he does, Mr. Dimbleby. We're going to be married."
Dimbleby closed his eyes. Perhaps he was praying. "You require a parson, not a Templar, Mr. Hollings." His voice was icy.
"You're right." I said. "Let's go." I rose.
"Oh, darling, do please sit still."
Cathy sounded as testy as the mother of triplets, all with dirty diapers. There was something in her voice that made me relapse. She was hot on some trail of her own.
"Look, darling." she said earnestly. "You wanted me to come here, so I'm here. If we walk out mad we'll have accomplished nothing. We'll go home and the thought in your mind will still be there. I want to get rid of it. Let me."
"But you hated most of what we've been shown!"
"Blame it on Women's Lib. I loved the last."
"A triumph of Reason." Dimbleby said, sarky as hell. "I don't want you hurt." I said.
"Will I be hurt, Mr. Dimbleby?"
"You will not be damaged, Miss Hazlett."
"There you are, darling. Stop worrying."
"How long?" I said.
"I suggest a month, Mr. Hollings."
"Then I'll come back to you the bestest girl!"
"I don't like it." I said.
"We could not care less." Dimbleby said.
"That's settled then." Said Cathy.
There were a few details. Here and there through them I'd look at Cathy and say: "To hell with this!" But it was like trying to stem the tide. The House of the Templars flowed over me, drowning doubts and disaffection. Cathy had become dedicated. It was as though she was going through a door to become a nun and lost forever to the world. I felt redundant as all get out.
My feelings were salved a bit by the girl who came in answer to Dimbleby's ring. She was nice. Her greeting was warm. The way she looked at Cathy set my mind at rest.
This girl was happy and in expensive clothes. She exuded normalcy in a scented feminine wave. She stood, smiling, as Cathy clung and we kissed. At the door she stopped purposely so they could turn and Cathy blow me one more kiss.
Then they were gone.
Oh damn! If only I'd known!