Chapter 12: “Your mind is not engaged on the task in hand!”

The Palm Court at the Carlton Hotel, Pall Mall, London

Journalist Edmund Molloy is having a secret affair wit the wife of Professor, George Challenor, who is leading an expedition to a reputed lost plateau, inhabited by prehistoric creatures, in Amazonia.  Equipment and supplies need to be gathered before the expedition's departure from Liverpool.

“Were you close to your uncle, Waring?” I asked Marguerite. We were in the Palm Court of the Carlton Hotel on Pall Mall, where Marguerite was staying.  We were sat right under one of the palms. 'An early taste of the jungle!" as Marguerite had put it, smiling at me beguilingly.  Or. at least, I was beguiled by her smile.

“Not close, as such," answered Marguerite, toying with a bourbon biscuit.  "He lived in Panama City for much of the last fifteen years and I have been living in New York for some time but we enjoyed writing to each other on geological subjects.  An interest of mine."  An odd interest for a beautiful woman, I thought.  But Marguerite gave the impression of being somewhat unconventional.   She was not married, for example, which was curious given her beauty and age.

“It seems we are all travelling half way around the world looking for a plateau on the basis of your uncle's journal alone!” I said.  "Was he a reliable fellow?  Not prone to flights of fancy..."

“Ah, but there you are wrong, Mr Molloy!” said Marguerite. “It is not just my uncle's account. As I said, I am a geologist and I have heard stories of such a plateau before!”  I noted this distinction of describing herself as a 'geologist' as opposed to simply being 'interested in geology' but I did not want to interrupt her conversational flow, especially as a revelation seemed possible.

"Really?" I asked.

"Indeed.  I have conducted my own research on the stories from the region," she continued and crunched her biscuit, scattering brown crumbs on to the tablecloth.

"I did not know that!  Have you some corroboration for your uncle's tale then? Have you told Professor Challenor?" This was an exciting new development. 

“Although I have never been to the region I have been corresponding with a number of geologists in Brazil, although the country has yet to found a proper university. Through them, I heard stories of a Spanish conquistador, in the early seventeenth centur,y who reported a plateau deep in the jungle protected by flocks of gigantic predatory birds. Anyone who tried to approach was attached by these creatures, which he described as having a twenty foot wingspan. The man, Don Diego Mendoza, later made a drawing of the plateau which I tracked down in the University of Salamanca. I have not yet shown the copy I had made to the Professors but I am convinced that it is the same plateau!”

“Well, that is a surprise,” I said. “Did you tell your uncle or was this after he had left?”

“A good point, Mr Molloy. In fact I was the cause of his expedition. I wanted to accompany him but I was unable to do so at the time he chose for...personal reasons. He would not wait and set off with young Véronique in tow, against my advice, I should add. He had a lot of experience in the jungles of Central America and had worked on the Panama Canal, as he was an engineer. Véronique was actually born in Panama City but her mother died of fever when she was small. Waring just brought her up as if she was a clever boy. She was a strong, intelligent and self-sufficient young girl when I met her, for the only time, four years ago.  I suppose I saw something of myself as a youngster in her.   For sure I was a tomboy, much to my parents distress."  She smiled to herself.

“How old would she be now?” I asked.

“Let me see. Sixteen or seventeen, I reckon.  I fear she is dead but I feel that I should make some attempt to find out what happened to her, for the sake of the rest of the family.”

“So you think that there is little chance of us finding Véronique on the plateau?” I asked.

 “Alive?  I very much doubt it, sadly," she replied giving me a wan smile. She really was a beauty and has, as readers will be aware, something of the dark, luminosity of the actress Ethel Warwick about her. "The vicissitudes of jungle life for a young girl without access to modern medicine would likely have done for the poor creature on their own. It sounds too, from my uncle’s account in Professor Challenor’s possession, that she suffered some terrible accident."

"Attacked by a creature, perhaps?" I asked, realising as soon as I said it that it was a rather insensitive thing to say. 

"I do wish to know the fate of my niece and see what my uncle Waring discovered but I am less convinced of the possibilities of creatures from prehistory.  However, I am prepared to believe that there may, indeed, be some other sort of undiscovered animals or, more likely, giant birds on the plateau.  Some sort of large condor, perhaps."

"It does sound more likely than dinosaurs, I suppose," I said.  I didn't think that Lord Ventnor and McAndless would be too impressed with a colony of condors, however giant.

"I am prepared to bet that whatever my poor niece's fate was, she was not eaten by dinosaurs!  Although some cities in Brazil are as civilised as Europe or North America, as soon as you leave that civilisation the perils increase exponentially. There is some, hope I suppose. Perhaps a miracle...”  She sipped her coffee and looked wistful. She looked utterly beautiful this afternoon, the day after our meeting at Professor Challenor’s house. She was dressed in dark green and wore a rakish hat topped with an aquamarine feather which gave the impression of a pirate, perhaps. I wondered what she would look like in the trousers and boots she had ordered that morning, as she had told me.  The trousers all clinging to her legs, the gaberdine crotch pressing against her feminine mound and tight over her posterior.

“Edmund? Are you still with me?” she smiled.

“Sorry. My mind was miles away!” I said.

 “In the jungle?” she asked.

“Indeed!” I said. Wondering what her intimate hair was like.

“You are very brave, undertaking this expedition with no experience!” she said.

“Oh, no more so than you!” I said.

“In fact, I have experience of hunting, safari, camping, geological expeditions across the Americas and even the jungles of Central America. Both Professors are the same and as for Lord Hoxton...  No, you are the one stepping into the unknown!” she smiled at me but I was not reassured. I had been thinking much upon this very subject, of late.  "Like a virgin," she added and raised an eyebrow as she held her coffee cup to those big, sensuous lips,

“Well, I am happy to have such experienced adventurers as my companions!” I said, somewhat flustered by her enticing femininity.  “So, can you give me an adventurous story for my article on you?”

“If you like!"  She paused and frowned slightly, thinking.   "I was travelling in New Mexico about five years ago...” she began.

“Where is New Mexico? What is it like?” I asked.

“The South West of the United States. Desert. Hot. Rocky. Cactii.”

“Cactii?” I asked.

“Plural of cactus,” she said, smiling.

“Oh!  Of course. How stupid of me!  My friend William has one in a pot on his windowsill.”

“These would not fit in a pot. These would not fit in his room!”

 “Sorry. Do continue!”

“Although it is hot during the day it can be cold at night, so my companion and I were lying close in our tent one night...”

“Your companion?”

“It is foolish to travel into the desert alone, Edmund,” she said.

“Of course. And what was her name, your companion? I asked.

“His. What was his name?” she replied.

“His? In a tent? Together?”

“Do not come the puritanical Irishman with me, Edmund. I am in my thirties. I have not refrained from...encounters...just because I am unmarried.”

“Oh! I never meant to imply...” I said, blushing.

“You can imply what you like. I met him in San Francisco. Before the earthquake of oh six.”

“Is he still your, er, companion?” I asked. I was disappointed that Marguerite seemed to have a man in her life, although not surprised. I supposed. “I wish to write about those who are left behind because of the expedition.” I began.

“Well you will not be writing about him. He is in my past, joining some others, I should add.”   She looked at me evenly.  "I am not currently looking for a replacement!"

“Of course not!"  I said; even more disappointed.  "Courageous Miss Blanc heads into jungle to forget lost love,” I said. I looked up at Marguerite, smiling but the expression on her face wiped my smile away in short order.

“The less detail about my personal life the better," Mr Molloy.  "I am happy to speak of my relationship with my uncle Waring and his experiences and this one story about my encounter with a cougar in the desert but that is it!”

“Of course! Of course!” I did not want to upset someone with whom I would be spending months of my life. Particularly one so beautiful. She told me her tale of the cougar sniffing around outside the tent. Her companion had gone outside to investigate and was attacked, which she admitted was a rare occurrence. Still, Marguerite had shot the creature with a rifle. Old McCandless would be delighted with the story.

"We were both quite naked at the time of course!" she added.  I spluttered into my tea and she grinned.   "That is a piece of information that is not destined for your readers!"

"I, ah, well...of course!" I manged, thinking about Marguerite standing naked, with a rifle to her shoulder.

"You are thinking about me naked again, are you not?" she asked.

"Well, I..."

"Do you think about my naked form a lot, Mr Molloy?  Do you find me attractive?  Sexually attractive?"

No.  Well, sometimes.  Of course!  Not like that. Gosh.  I mean..." I was totally flustered by now.  Not least because of her amused smile and piercing gaze.

"I appreciate I am some years older than you..." she ventured.

"Age is not important.  Passion is important!" I said, thinking of Edith.

"Indeed!  How interesting."

 "For the article,"  I said, desperately trying to change the subject, "would you pose for a photograph holding a rifle?"

"Naked?" she asked.

No, no, no.  Of course not.  Photographers don't take pictures of women naked!" I  said, then remembered the ones from the Babylon Exploration Society 'menu'.

"I can assure you they do," she answered.  "I have seen photographs in Paris that would shock your Irish sensibilities to the core, Mr Molloy!"

"Really?  Naked?"  I imagined Marguerite draped along a chaise longue.  Perhaps just wearing her hat.  "That is Paris.  London is different!" I maintained.  "I was, of course, suggesting one of you quite dressed.  In your boots and trousers.”

“No thank you. I find those sorts of photographs rather ridiculous. People posing in a room in Kensington and pretending to be in the Congo. I am not Henry Morton Stanley.  I will consent to a head and shoulders portrait.”

"I will arrange it!"  I would get The Courier's main photographer Smaile to take the photograph.  

“So what about our new warehouse for all our equipment?” she said, changing the subject, thankfully. 

“It’s not really a warehouse, just a couple of hotel rooms. Edith, I mean, Mrs Challenor. has organised it.

“Is there anything you want to tell me about yourself and Mrs Challenor?” she asked. I could feel my face burning.

“Nothing,” I muttered.

“I see,” she said.

 “Well, thank you for coffee, I would appreciate you not mentioning my additional research on the plateau until I have discussed it with the Professors.  I do not wish for them to learn of this development from the pages of your newspaper.  I would also suggest that you create an additional tent for my cougar story, Mr Molloy."

"Of course.  Of course!  Two tents!  As is proper!" I said.

"Are you calling me improper, Mr Molloy?"  she said.

"No!  No!  Of course not!  You are a very proper and respectable lady!" I said.

"In fact, I am neither!" she laughed.  "Now, I need to get to the bank. This expedition surely isn’t coming cheap! Give my regards to Mrs Challenor.”

“Indeed I will!” I said, realising too late that I had revealed that I was, indeed, planning to see her. Marguerite gave a little smile of triumph.

I kissed Edith softly on the lips having spent deep inside her once more. Our sexual desperation had been such, that morning, that we had not even removed our clothes. She was without drawers again and I had swiftly unbuttoned my trousers and freed myself. I had pushed her onto her back on the polished wooden floor and slid inside her wet and welcoming core. She pulled her knees up, her skirt and petticoat around her hips and I hammered into her as she pushed back against every thrust. I slipped my forefinger into her tight and slimy anus for the first time and she gasped as I postillioned her with it.  I spent early but kept thrusting and, much to my surprise, I maintained my erection and was able to continue to roger her. I felt her insides grip my manhood as she reached her peak but we were both so desperate for each other that we continued to rut violently on the bare floorboards as if we might continue indefinitely. She crossed her ankles over my back and although now I could feel myself losing my tumescence slightly I carried on thrusting deep inside her and added a second finger to violate her back passage.

“Christ!” she cried and a flood of wetness indicated that she had spent again. My ballocks convulsed once more, although I suspect that there was not much left to ejaculate. We continued to move, slowly, until like clockwork toys, we gradually became inert and motionless. We lay together, both perspiring heavily in our clothes, until our breathing and heartbeats returned to normal.

We were lying on the floor of an empty suite at the Euston Hotel, the day after I had interviewed Marguerite. All furniture had been removed apart from a desk and two chairs. It was Somersby who suggested that we take rooms at an hotel next to Euston station, so that it would be easy to load everything onto the Liverpool train. The Euston Hotel had offered the suite at a substantial discount, in exchange for being able to claim that they were 'the first step in the Challenor Expedition'. In one corner of the room were the Gabardine tents that made up the first part of our supplies; Hoxton having been overruled as to the necessity for them.  I stood up and put myself back inside my trousers, buttoning myself back up. I looked down at Edith, her legs still spread wantonly, white liquid running from her pink entrance over her perineum and anus. I resisted an urge to smell the fingers I had just extracted from it.

“Are you alright, Edith?” She looked somewhat dazed, as if she had drunk too much absinthe.

“That, Edmund Molloy, was a proper fuck and no mistake!” she said, standing up as well. She slipped her pocket handkerchief between her legs before letting her skirts drop back down. She smoothed the wrinkled fabric over her thighs. “Bloody hell! I feel properly ravished! There is something delightfully debauched about doing it on the floor, do you not agree?”

“It was very special. I have missed our intimacies these past few days!” I said. Since the meeting at the Challenor’s house we had all been busy undertaking our various tasks. Edith had arranged the hotel suite and then the furniture had to be taken out to make room for the first of the supplies. There was a knock on the door. “Come in!” I called. A hotel porter appeared with some ground sheets for the tents.

“Just put them next to the tents,” said Edith, indicating the corner of the room, as we heard a train whistle in the adjacent station. Our room looked out onto the courtyard towards the imposing Euston Arch, which served as the gateway to the station itself.

“We have some boxes of tinned food coming up,” said the porter, smiling, as I gave him sixpence from McCandless’s expenses fund.

“Put those in here too!” said Edith. “Clothes and items that obviously relate to individuals should go into the bedroom through there, where we will sort them.” Edith had already written five labels on pieces of paper which she had placed on the floor with the expedition member’s names on. Each expedition member had provided trunks (I had had to purchase mine) to be filled with expedition clothes and equipment. Personal items would be packed separately. In the corner was a pile of army canteens.  The day before we had all visited Burberry’s and been fitted for our expedition trousers and jackets. They promised to have them ready in three days. Marguerite, sadly, had already had her fitting so I  did not have the oppo0rtunity to see her in trousers.

“Yes, ma’am!” said the Porter, dropping the large stack of groundsheets onto the floor. “Good luck lugging these around the jungle, sir!” he said. “If one of them dinosaurs starts after you I’d drop everything and run like hell, beg pardon ma’am.”

“Wise advice, young man!” said Edith. “We will be going downstairs for luncheon shortly but you have your own key, do you not?” she asked.

“Of course, ma’am. We will always knock first, of course!” he said, looking at me knowingly.  There was something of a musky scent in the room, I had to admit.

“Thank you! Preparing all these lists and monitoring what has arrived and what is due does involve some concentration sometimes. I do not, for example, want to be interrupted mid-count!” she said.

“Of course, ma’am. I’ll make sure there are no interruptions!” said the porter, winking at me. “Mid-count or otherwise!”

“How thoughtful,” I said, giving him two half crowns.

 “You will let your colleagues know?” He nodded.

 “No interruptions! No comments!” he said, winking again. “You should know, Mr Molloy, that there is a young lady down in the lobby asking after you. We are getting quite a few dinosaur enthusiasts, for want of a better term, visiting the hotel hoping for a glimpse of an expedition member, just to warn you.”

“What was her name?” I asked, hoping it might be Agnes.

“I don’t know, I am afraid. Five foot four, stylishly dressed. Very, very pretty. Your sweetheart perhaps?” He looked at Mrs Challenor in a sort of ‘now you are for it’ way.

“She says she knows you but she may be fibbing!” I frowned.

“I will go and see! Excuse me Mrs Challenor!” I said and headed for the door as two more porters arrived with several boxes. We would have to have two porters just to lug those around the jungle, I reasoned.

 “Oh and perhaps you could provide a nightstand in the bedroom so we may wash our hands and such like,” said Edith to the porter. “Much of this material is quite grubby!”

“Of course, ma’am!” he left with me and as we were only on the first floor we descended the stairs together. “I’ll make sure it is fully equipped sir! I always need to go afterwards!” I turned to glare at him but he had already slipped away from me at the bottom of the stairs.

“Mr Molloy!” I turned towards the feminine voice. It wasn’t Agnes, I realised, disappointed. I looked and saw a girl waving at me. It was the girl I had met at the Great Northern Hotel who had asked me to sign her newspaper. “I don’t suppose you remember me!” she said as I crossed the busy lobby to greet her.

“Of course I do! Who could forget one so lovely?” I said. “Daisy, isn’t it?” I recalled her card. “Daisy Thompson. Of Pimlico.”

“How clever of you to remember!” She stood on tiptoe and kissed my cheek, rather to my surprise.

“Not really, Miss Thompson. I am a journalist. I have a good memory for people!” I smiled. She really was very pretty indeed. She was wearing a dark purple skirt and jacket, white blouse with fob watch and a straw boater with a purple and white striped ribbon. She looked very stylish.

“Do you spend much time in railway hotel lobbies?”

“Oh! Yes! No! How funny! You must think that I lurk in such places like a high class...well you know. One of those girls!” she sniggered. “I wonder if there are any here?” she looked around. “What about that lady! She looks likely!”  The woman she indicated was dressed in a rather daring black and pale blue stripe.

“I do not think so,” I said. “I suspect she may just be French, rather than a....”

“Isn’t it the same thing, though, really? My friend Alice says all the best professional women of easy virtue in London are French! What do you think? Do you know any such women?” Of course, I thought of Madame Nathalie and blushed at the same time.

“You do! How naughty! Is she French? Have you enjoyed her services?”  What a bold girl!

“I, ah, well... I met her through a friend. French, yes.” I stammered.

“Lucky girl!” said Daisy. She had slightly buck teeth which meant that her full lips were always just parted, giving her the look of someone who just needed to be kissed. “I am not, however, a high class, oh dear, what is a polite word for it? Or should I use an impolite one?”

“Perhaps there isn’t one,” I ventured. “I have heard the word ‘toffer’ used for a high class one, on account of her clients!”

“A toffer! Goodness me! Yes! I’m not a toffer but perhaps I might be good at it!” she chuckled, rather dirtily. I must have looked shocked as she winked at me and grinned.

“So, what are you doing here in the Euston, if not looking for high class clients?” I joked, wondering, as I said it, if I might have gone too far.

“Well, I came to see you, actually. I have always been an avid Courier reader and I gather that this hotel is now your London base of operations. I just wanted to meet you again, I suppose. Oh dear, that sounds rather silly and desperate doesn’t it?” She looked crestfallen.

“Not at all. I am flattered. Would you like a coffee or tea?” I asked.

“Really? Oh that would be just terrific!” she said. We sat in the hotel cafe and both took tea. “I just can’t abide coffee, Mr Molloy.”

“Edmund,” I said. “Professor Challenor’s wife is the same!”

“Edmund!” she giggled. “I always think that coffee tastes like burnt mud. Perhaps I have a very unsophisticated palate!” I smiled.

“I can’t think any part of you is unsophisticated, Miss Thompson. You seem like a very smart lady about town!”

“Thank you! How perfectly sweet of you! I have come far! I was not always so...smart. But please call me Daisy! I hope we will become friends!” she reached across and squeezed my fingers in her white-gloved hand. “Oh!” she said looking at her glove. She took them off and squeezed my hand again. “There! Bare skin against bare skin is so much nicer, Edmund, don’t you think?”

“Indeed!” I agreed. “The more bare skin the better!”

“Edmund! How outrageous!” she laughed. “And how much of my bare skin could you cope with, do you think! If I was a toffer I would need to negotiate a price! How much do you think I might be worth?”

“Well...” I looked up and down at her, taking in her sparkling green eyes, full lips, delicate chin and round cheeks. She had something of a cute little rodent about her. I looked down at her chest and saw a surprisingly large swelling which I had not noticed under her coat when I had met her previously.

“Goodness, Edmund! You are bold aren’t you?” she said, leaning forward and actually resting her bosom on the table, provocatively. Presenting it for my appreciation. I swallowed.

“So are you, Daisy!”

“Bolder by the minute!” she answered. I grinned. “I am not, for example, wearing a corset today!” I had surmised as such from the way she had rested her upper body on the table, although now she sat back in the chair thrusting her chest upwards towards me. I was in danger of becoming mesmerised by it. Like a cobra with a mongoose, I thought, recalling Lord Hoxton’s taxidermy display.

“If you are without a corset you must have a very trim waist!” I observed.

“I think I have a pleasing body. One a gentleman would appreciate!” she said, looking at me boldly. I remembered Edith’s comments about her when we had first met.

“Well, this gentleman is very appreciative, at this moment!” I said. She parted her lips and my own tingled.

“Do you believe in love at first sight, Edmund?” she asked.

“I, ah...well, I didn’t!” I said, overwhelmed by her vivacity, cheekiness and beauty.

“That is an excellent answer!” she said."Although I suppose it is second sight!" She laughed.

“Ah there you are!” said Edith. I looked up, saw her approaching the table and stood up. “And what are you two talking about so intently, Miss...?”

“Thompson. Daisy Thompson.” She stood up and smiled at Edith. “We met before!”

“Ah, Mr Molloy’s avid follower! Good afternoon to you. Let me introduce myself properly. as you appeared not to notice me the first time!  I am Edith Challenor!” Daisy took the proffered hand.

“Goodness! Of course. Professor Challenor’s wife! I read the interview you gave to Edmund. He is a little in love with you I think!”

“Edmund’s eyes are on rather younger ladies than myself, Miss Thompson. He has recently been disappointed in love and I have been urging him to get back in the saddle, as it were. I am very glad to see him talking to such a lovely young thing as yourself!”

“Thank you, Mrs Challenor! We were, in fact, discussing love at first sight!” said Daisy as she and Edith sat down. I followed them.

“Were you now! Well, when I first met my husband we had a similar epiphany and, despite our little frictions over the years, I am still very much in love with him!” said Edith.

“That is lovely to hear!” said Daisy.

“Mrs Challenor is the expedition manager,” I said, inventing a title for her. I was not at all certain about Daisy and Edith conversing in this manner.

“I see. There must be a lot to organise!” said Daisy. “I was an office manager myself recently, until the company I worked at closed because the owner passed away. Poor Mr Brown!  He was so kind to me!  Now I am looking for work. Hence my many train trips. It is not easy for a girl to find work. Respectable work, that is.” She winked at me again.

“Really?” said Edith.  “Now I was just looking for Edmund so that we could have lunch. Why don’t you join us? I may be able to offer you a few days paid work!”

“Really?” asked Daisy.

“Really?” I asked.

Over lunch Edith spoke mainly to Daisy rather than myself; about herself, about her job and about the expedition. I drank half a bottle of Beaujolais and attacked some rather disappointing lamb cutlets.

“So you see, Daisy, if I may be so familiar, I could really do with an assistant. Our equipment and clothing have to be assembled and some will need to be chased up from suppliers who seem to have little sense of urgency. Bills of lading will need to be prepared and material sent to Liverpool for storage before being loaded on board the ship. The men gaily order things but with little sense of timetable, follow on or administrative organisation!” said Edith.

“Oh! Really?” she asked again, all eager, like a little Guinea pig.

“Really?” I asked again.

“Really! I can offer you an initial four days work at one pound ten shillings a day. Then we shall see if we need you for any longer. Do not worry if you have to attend interviews for more permanent positions, although I may well be able to extend your employment if I find you suitable!”

“Gosh that would be really nice of you! I am a little short for paying my rent!”

“Give the lady five pounds, Edmund!” I pulled one of McCandless’ notes from my wallet.

“Oh, Mrs Challenor and Mr Malone I could kiss you both!  My rent is due tomorrow and all I have is a three-penny bit to my name!”

“You poor girl! In that case I can tell you that I am looking for someone to manage the affairs of my house. A housekeeper. Deal with the bills and such like. I have been doing it myself but do not see why I should for much longer. I recently inherited some money from my great uncle and so now have some funds of my own for once; given my parsimonious husband refuses to employ anyone for such a role. I myself have been in similar straits to you in the past, so well appreciate your situation,” continued Edith.

Daisy was a lovely girl but I was not sure why Edith was so keen to engage her. I hoped she would not be based upstairs in the hotel room. Surely Edith wouldn’t want that.

“Oh thank you! Both of you!” said Daisy and actually started to cry.

“There there!” I said, stroking her arm.

“There, there!” said Edith, stroking her back. “Now let us have a look at what they have as a sweet! Something with chocolate would be good!” said Edith.

After lunch we all went up to the room where a pile of clothes had arrived from the Army & Navy. Daisy set too, sorting them by size and putting them next to our names. She was laying out drawers next to my name.

“I have guessed that these are yours, Mr Molloy!” she said folding them precisely.

“You show no embarrassment at handling men’s underthings Daisy!” observed Edith.

“My previous job was for a company that imported such garments for men and ladies from the Continent. They are, when it comes down to it, just clothes, albeit that some of the ladies ones were particularly lovely. Old Mr Brown, who ran the business, would often get me to model them for the catalogue and for advertisements in the ladies magazines. I would dress in them and a lady illustrator would make pen and ink drawings. Mr Brown seemed to enjoy watching me be drawn!”

“I am sure he did!” I said.

“Mr Molloy is an accomplished artist. I am sure he would enjoy drawing you too!” said Edith.

“To be sure!” I replied. I wasn’t certain what game Edith was playing but she was playing something.

“What game are you playing, Edith?” I asked her, after Daisy had gone for the day. “It is, of course, up to you what you do with your money afterwards but I thought that, for the present, this room offered us some opportunities to be together without interruption!”

“As it still does, as you will find momentarily, if you remove your clothes,” she said, unbuttoning her skirt. She undid the buttons on her blouse as I undressed too.

“You will lie on your back and I will straddle you,” she said, as I pulled down my drawers. “I do not see why it should be just I who risks splinters in the posterior! I think, perhaps, we need them to bring back the rug!”

 I lay down but was still worried about the Daisy development, as I now thought of it. Fortunately, my manhood was less concerned and responded to Edith’s touch once more. She held me upright and settled down upon me, enveloping me with her wetness. She bounced up and down on me but stopped after a few minutes. “Edmund! Your mind is not engaged on the task in hand! You should be caressing my breasts and fingering my arsehole!”

“I’m sorry. I am just surprised at the addition of a third party to our little administrative centre here!  Disappointed!”  She leant forward and kissed me.

 “Ah, you nearly have it! A third party indeed! Do you find her attractive?” Edith started to grind her hips again.

 “Daisy?” I asked, placing my hands on Edith’s thighs but thinking about Daisy’s bust.

“Yes, of course!   Perhaps George is right and you really are a slow Irishman!”

“Yes, she is very pretty. Like a little Guinea pig. But less furry!”

“Well, I intend to find out how furry she is! I intend to explore every part of this little Guinea pig and you will help me!”

“What? What do you mean, precisely?” Although I already had an inkling.

“Do you remember how I said I would like to ravish a pretty young girl?”

“Yes. It was an enticing image!” I replied and unconsciously thrust up against her hips.

“And do you remember me saying how I would like to watch you take another woman?”

“Indeed. An arousing thought!”

“There you have it! An added excitement in our games! I intend, before you leave for Brazil and with your assistance, to seduce Miss Daisy Thompson and have intimate relations with her while you watch us. You will then take her while I watch you and frig myself!” I gasped and ejaculated at the same time.