The Apartment Pt. 03

"Hussy?" I suggested, but she ignored me.

"The one thing I'll you is that whilst Heather is a free spirited woman, she's also strongly influenced by her mother, Estella Bernard. It was Estella who put paid to my relationship with her, and I suspect has had a big influence on the demise of yours. If I was unfavourable because of my ethnicity in that woman's eyes, I would imagine your age goes against you"...

"How does Estella even know about me?"

"Oh Caroline, you're so naive...you still haven't worked out much of the jigsaw have you..."

"I don't understand.."

"Clearly. I tell you what, why don't you ring Heather's office and see if you can get to her that way?"

I felt a fool for a moment, as I'd overlooked that simple option.

"Thanks I will. By the way if you think of anything else can you let me know? I am at Apartment #12 in the Old Ribbon Factory."

"Yes I will, but I doubt that'll happen. Now, let me get on, I need to get Portia back to her mistress this afternoon, and I haven't finished her treatments yet.

There was a whimper from Portia, who I'd quite forgotten about lying on the bench... I Left them to it.

***

Research on the web soon supplied me with the right number for Heather's office.

The switchboard was busy, but eventually a young woman answered.

"Could you put me through to the Marketing department please?"

"Yes, just hold on please, was there anyone in particular you wanted to talk to?"

"Heather Barnard please."

"Er, just hold on please..." the line went quiet.

There was a long pause, and then the girl came back on the line.

"Yes hello, sorry to keep you waiting, but are you sure you want Heather Barnard?"

"Well yes, that's who I want?"

"It's just that there's no one of that name who works for us. I've checked with someone in Marketing who has been here for ten years, and they've never heard of anyone with that name who has worked here.."

"I see, well thanks for your help," and I hung up.

It was obvious that Cindy knew Heather's job in Marketing didn't really exist. Yet again I had simply been too trusting. Heather's whole life was more like an illusion than anything else, and I was the person she was duping.

I sat down on the sofa and put my head in my hands. I was incredibly tired...

***

On Friday morning I resolved to stop my search after the weekend. I needed to get back to work. The new London client was pushing hard for more artwork, and the local client wanted a meeting.

I took a leisurely shower, attended to my eyebrows and then, still in my robe, made my way to the workroom. When I switched the computer on I was surprised to see a reply to my e mail to Heather's old e mail address.

The reply read simply: Giretti's, St James, London 6pm Friday. RSVP.

I stared at the screen in amazement. There was no name or greeting, just the one line of instructions. I replied that I would be there.

***

After six days of being led round and round in circles, My expectations of the meeting were modest.

I dressed in my best black cocktail dress, black tights, pumps and a slate grey wrap. It was a warm afternoon as I waited for the train to London.

Giretti's was, as I suspected, a smart Champagne and Cocktail Bar close to Green Park. I arrived a little early. There was a healthy crowd of revellers celebrating the arrival of the weekend. I chose to sit at the bar and ordered a glass of Prosecco. I nursed it carefully and tried not to look conspicuous. I was very nervous.

Would Heather turn up? Was this just another game? What if she didn't come? All my options were now exhausted and my efforts to find her had been fruitless. What could I do next??

***

I didn't actually see her sit down on the stool next to me. She just seemed to arrive, and the next thing I knew there was a bottle of decent champagne and two glasses on the counter.

"Hello Caroline.. you don't mind if I call you Caroline do you?"

I turned to face her. There was no doubt...

"Hello Estella. No I don't mind what you call me..."

She was slightly older than I had expected. I put her at mid sixties. The beautiful red cocktail dress, the make up and the immaculately coiffed long dark bob were doing a fantastic job, but she was still nearly 15 years older than me...

"Would you care for a glass?" And without waiting for an answer she poured out two glasses of fizz and handed me one.

"What are we drinking to?" I asked - bile rising in my throat. "How about - to absent friends? - Or maybe - To fucking people's lives up? - you might enjoy that more."

"Please Caroline moderate your language. I haven't come here to take part in a squabble, especially one that is heavy in vernacular. I want a sensible conversation with you.."

"Start talking then!"

"Caroline, things aren't quite what they seem here."

"Too right! You seem to specialise in creating fantasies and wrecking people's lives."

"You don't understand. What happened last Sunday was unavoidable. It was nothing to do with me, it was just circumstances."

"Circumstances? Like what?"

"Like Heather's work."

"Oh you mean the Marketing department she is working so hard for no one actually has ever heard of her?"

"So you have done some homework, I'm not surprised." She took a leisurely drink.

"Then don't patronise me any more and tell me what she really does for a living?"

"She works for the Ministry. I thought you might have worked that out."

"Doing what? Is she a spy?" My voice raised with anger.

"Please keep your voice down. No, she's not a spy, but she does work in security."

"And where is she now then?"

"Well I would imagine she's having dinner at the moment. She's in the Gulf."

"And why couldn't she just have told me this herself on Sunday, rather than play the stupid hide and seek game?"

"Well I gather there simply wasn't time. They came to get her, and she went straight from the gardens in Stowe to the airport."

"I'm not sure I believe you. From what I understand, you have had rather a disproportionately large effect on Heather's life. I wouldn't put it past you to have manipulated the whole thing to get rid of me."

She turned on her stool and faced me.

"Caroline, I won't lie to you. I do think Heather's relationship with you is unhealthy. You are after all some twenty years older than she is, and I really can't understand why normal heterosexuals would see anything appealing in someone of their own gender, but human attraction is not always predictable I suppose."

"Gosh, you said that as though you almost meant it," the bile in my mouth was bitter...

"Listen Caroline. I will say this once. Heather is out of the country on a mission and is unlikely to return for at least a year. If I were you I would forget about her, pick the pieces of your life up, and find a more reliable partner. Heather is, where relationships are concerned, rather spontaneous. I would imagine she'll not have the patience to keep herself for you... I know what her father was like. He led me a dance for twenty years, and destroyed my faith in humanity in the process..."

"I'm not going to pay any attention to you and your stories. Tell me how I can contact Heather or just piss off?"

"I can't and I wouldn't even if I could, so it sounds like this meeting is at an end."

She finished her drink, and got down off the stool.

"Please don't make a nuisance of yourself any more. This is for the best, you will see that one day. The next group of people you'll upset will probably be the authorities, and they won't be nearly as friendly. Goodbye Caroline."

There was no handshake or even eye contact. Estella picked up her bag, turned and walked out. There were still four glasses of champagne or so in the bottle, I was not going to waste them...

***

I was beaten. I was miserable. My heart yearned for her. It was as if the fact that I couldn't see her or talk to her amplified the pain.

I went back to my simple life in my apartment. Accessories and Swimwear designer. Middle aged divorcee with no hope of love and no interest in fellow human beings.

My self discipline fell apart. I worked weekends and wandered about the city when I should have been working. I let myself go. I started drinking heavily and smoking. I hadn't touched a cigarette for twenty years..

My self esteem was so low I only dressed properly for client meetings. By the end of September, as the nights were drawing in, my hair was full of grey, the style all grown out. I wanted to be a non-person and not taking care of my appearance seemed appropriate.

The only positive thing that happened was that my creativity seemed to blossom in all of the introspection. I was receiving more and more commissions, and my earnings were growing month by month.

Money couldn't buy what I wanted, so the irony that I was earning more than I ever had was not lost on me...

***

One evening in December, as I was finishing off another batch of samples to send to a client, the door buzzer rang. I ignored it, thinking it was probably the kids downstairs winding me up. It sounded again, and then again. I made my way to the hall and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hello Caroline?"

"Yes?"

"It's Portia."

"Portia?"

"Yes, Portia. I was at Cindy's one day when you called last summer. You might remember me."

"Oh yes, I remember." I was dumbfounded. How could I forget that meeting!

"I was wondering if I could come up? I need your help."

"OK, I'll let you in," and I pressed the entry button." I'm on the second floor, number 12.

I opened the door and waited, unsure what it was all about...

Portia duly appeared at the door. She was dishevelled. Her long hair untidy, a knee length navy coat, not thick enough for winter, pulled around her tightly, jeans and trainers visible beneath. She was clutching a small bag.

"Come in," I said and ushered into the warmth of the living room.

"Can I take your coat?" She unbuckled the belt and slipped it off. I hung it on the rail.

Underneath the coat she was in a thin stretchy black top that hugged her figure.

She was shivering with cold.

"I'll make some tea. Please sit down, I won't be a moment."

I returned with tea and some biscuits. I poured Portia a large mugful and handed it to her.

"Help yourself to biscuits if you like. Tell me how did you find me?

"You gave Cindy your address that day and I remembered it. It's very unusual, " and she smiled at me.

"So how can I help you?"

"I don't really know how to say this," her voice was faltering, "but I had nowhere else to go. I've run away from her, I just couldn't face it anymore."

"Run away from who?" My curiosity rising.

"My Mistress - Celia. I've been with her for 9 months now but she has become quite unbearable.."

"OK, I understand. So where do you live when you're not with Celia?" I had a nasty feeling I knew what she was about to say...

"It's as I said, I don't really have anywhere else to go," and she promptly burst into tears.

Great big sobs emerged from her tiny frame...

"You see I have had some bad luck recently. I had to sell my house to settle all the debts."

Her chest shuddered after saying debts...

"I was hoping you would take pity on me. When you saw me at Cindy's I could tell that you were a kind person..."

"Um...well, i suppose you could stay for a couple of days if that helps?"

"Thank you. A thousand thank yous." Tears were running down her cheeks, but she was also smiling.

"Would it be alright if I had a shower?

"Yes of course, come on I'll show you where everything is, bring your tea."

I showed her to the bathroom and left her to it. I returned to the workroom and finished packing up the parcel.

A little while later there was a gentle knock on the door and Portia walked in swathed in a bath towel. A memory of Heather, similarly clad, came flooding back.

"I don't suppose you have any underwear I could have do you? My mistress only allowed me to wear panties when I was on my period.."

"Goodness me, of course. I'm actually a lingerie designer, so I've got some samples lying around. I suspect you are something like an 8 and 32B?"

"Yes, my exactly, I'm impressed."

I looked in one of the sample boxes and found a black lacy bra and matching thong and handed them over. Portia was full of gratitude and calmly peeled the towel off.

The sight of her slight pale body arrested my attention. She wasn't beautifully proportioned like Heather, but her breasts had the firmness and shape I had always longed for. Lower down she had a full bush of hair again, so it was hard to see whether her ring was still in place. As she turned to pull up the thong, I could see that her bottom had three livid weals across each cheek. They were recent and very angry.

"Portia, hang on a minute, we need to attend to your bottom. Let me go and get some antiseptic."

"It's OK, honest, I'm used to having them..."

"No it's not, now wait here."

I went and found my first aid kit. I found some antiseptic and also my best face cream from my dressing table. Portia was standing there in the workroom thumbing through one of my sample books, her back to me. Pale skin, dark hair, just enough curves in the right places...I felt a twinge of desire.

"Right, come over here and lean over the end of the couch. I unscrewed the tube, squeezed a liberal dollop onto my fingers and started on her left cheek. She winced as the touched the first line if broken skin.

"These look recent. They also look they were administered with a cane. Were they?"

"Yes, I broke a cup this morning." She winced again as I touched the next weal with the cream.'

"You know you have grounds here to go to the police. These were hardly an act of love.."

"I know, but I couldn't. She didn't mean it really, she just got very angry..."

I sensed she was starting to cry. I massaged the creams in gingerly and then stood her up.

Tears were running down her cheeks. Instinctively I took her into my arms and hugged her to my body. We stood for a while whilst she let it all out, she shook uncontrollably with the release of some of her pain..,,,

"I think I am going to put you to bed now, and then tomorrow you can explain all about this."

I put her in the spare bed. Then I sat in the living room and smoked a cigarette. Concern for someone else in a strange way seemed to have broken my introspection...

***

I was dreaming...

I was back in the cottage with Heather. I was lying on the bed, my arms were somehow locked behind my back, and Heather was down between my legs. Her tongue was caressing my lips and her teeth were nibbling my clit. She was using long slow strokes and the smallest of nips with her teeth. I pushed up with my hips to force myself to her. I was moaning...

Something wasn't quite right... I could feel the pressure on my vulva, but Heather had disappeared...

I opened my eyes as I felt the beginnings of my climax starting deep down below...

I was in my bedroom, what on earth? The quilt was moving rhythmically. I came to my senses...

"Stop it, Portia stop it. What the hell do you think you're doing? Stop it this instant, I mean it!"

Her head and shoulders emerged from the end of the quilt, she was flushed in the face, her mouth and chin glistening with moisture. She looked chastened by my sternness.

"Sorry, I thought you would enjoy it," she said quietly.

"That's not the point. I barely know you, and you can't just do that sort of thing..."

"Celia used to love it when I woke her up that way. After she came she used to make me drink her pee too...I got to quite like it after a while."

"Portia, enough. I don't want to know. Now go and get dressed and let's talk after Breakfast."

***

I made her eggs on toast which she ate with gusto. I sat and sipped my espresso. When she finished she beamed at me.

I studied her. Behind the mop of dark hair I could see that she actually had a very pretty heart shaped face. The bone structure was good, her lips just about full enough and her eyes set nicely beneath rather unkempt brows. With the right makeup and attention she would turn plenty of heads...

"Better?"

"Much better thank you...I knew you were kind, I can't thank you enough already. I'm sorry if I offended you with my earlier attentions. It's just that it's something that I can do...I don't have much else to give..."

I reached over and picked up her small right hand. She had long fingers, but the nails were uneven and torn. I squeezed her hand in mine.

"I don't want you to give me anything Portia. Let's just concentrate on getting you to a better place. Tell me a bit about yourself will you?"

She took a deep breath and after a slightly hesitant start it all came tumbling out.

It wasn't as if she had done anything deliberately wrong, her life it appeared had given her some bad choices and she had made bad choices.

She was originally from London, and after a not particularly sparkling education had gone to college and studied photography and media. Her family had been rather dysfunctional with an alcoholic mother and absentee father.

After college she had started work at a photographic studio, and from there had made her first bad decision when she had been enticed into doing some glamour modelling. After that had come soft porn, and soon a really bad decision.

She made hardcore porn films and picked up a cocaine habit.

At thirty she had married a film producer, but the marriage had fallen apart when she had found out he was still screwing his secretary.

She managed to come out of the divorce with a small house and then had a love affair with another woman she had made porn films with. Her acting career dried up as she got older and she fell into debt. Soon enough, the equity on the house was worth no more than the mortgage and her debts so she sold up. Her partner then deserted her for someone else so she was 38 years old, penniless, out of work and had nowhere to live. Her parents had discovered what she was doing for a living and disowned her.

In desperation she had answered an advert in a Gay magazine placed by an ageing dyke who wanted a live-in companion. That turned out to be Celia who after a while showed her true colours as a BDSM freak and started abusing Portia for her own amusement . She described some of Celia's peccadilloes with tears running down her cheeks. I was horrified...

"So did Celia pay you anything for her pleasures and your pain?"

"She said she would pay me £1000 a month, but she only came through with that for the first three months. I reckon she owes me £6k."

"I think you can leave that with me. Just write down your bank details and I'll get it."

"How?"

"I'll need you to slip your jeans down and let me photograph your bum I'm afraid, but after that it will be easy..."

***

At Christmas I went to Paris to see my son for a couple of days and left Portia in the Apartment.

Good food, exercise and plenty of sleep had already had a marked effect on her. Her skin tone became healthier and her manner more relaxed. She was good company and I enjoyed having her around.

Whilst our bodies were not quite the same shape we managed to fit her out with a few changes of clothes from my wardrobe. We spruced up the spare bedroom so it was truly hers. I was proud of my act of charity, it cheered me up.

A visit to Cindy to talk to her about Celia settling the money she owed or answering to the authorities took place the day I left for France. I left England happier than I had been for months. Heather was at the back of my mind.

***

I returned to the Apartment on the evening of the 28th. The train journeys had been long and I was tired...

As I opened the door, my nose picked up an enticing smell of something cooking.