White Phantom Chapter Three, Rape (1) Finally we're geting somewhere, time to let the dog see the rabbit. Chapter Three. Beth hadn’t ticked the, ‘Yes’ box beside Marc’s name, Maggie had done it for her in her usual brash manner. “Well, it’s not as if you actually have to date him, is it? I mean, nobody can force you, can they?” Secretly, Beth thought that Maggie had been born too late and missed her calling as a German interrogator in the Second World War. She should have been firm. She should have said, ‘no,’ and meant it. She should have stood up to Maggie because Beth knew, all too well, that to give her an inch was to soon find yourself sucked into Maggieworld and all it encompassed. “We can double date,” Maggie had continued. “That Steve was pretty cute, you know.” Maggie had pushed and goaded and even went as far as ringing Marc’s number. She held out the phone to Beth. There was no escape. Her voice had trembled, she’d stammered like a teenager. Marc had laughed at her nervousness. “My dear Bethany, you have no idea just how appealing you are, have you?” The words were patronising, but, like a fool, she was thrilled by the compliment and irritated that she couldn’t think of a sophisticated and witty retort. With Maggie nudging and prodding beside her, Beth had tentatively brought up the idea of a double date. They could go out with Maggie and which ever of her thirteen ‘ticks’ she decided to test drive first. “Bethany, my dear, I couldn’t possibly imagine anything worse than wanting time to get to know you and finding myself, instead, embroiled in the life and times of the overbearing Margaret.” Beth shuffled nervously and hugged the phone a little closer to her ear. “I would much prefer to meet you alone. There will be plenty of time for us to socialise as a couple, later.” Beth’s first thought was that he jumped to an awful lot of assumptions, this Marc fella. Their joint life experience together amounted to just three minutes and here he was talking about them as a couple. Yes, she was irritated, and no, when faced with his confidence she couldn’t think of anything to say in reply. But yes, over and above the irritation she was flattered and felt an uncomfortable warmth crawling onto her cheeks and seeking harbour there. She shuffled the phone onto her other ear, and moved a few feet away from Maggie who was trying to get her ear up to the phone to hear what Marc was saying. They made arrangements to meet the following afternoon for coffee, at The Lancastrian. It was close for both of them and on a Saturday afternoon there would be plenty of diners giving the requisite safety in numbers. Maggie sniffed in disdain as Beth tried to smooth her ruffled feathers. “Well, he looks like a right ponce, anyway,” was her final word. She was still coming to terms with the fact that Marc hadn’t ticked her as possible dating material and two rebuffs from him in one day were just too much for the effusive Maggie to deal with. Her bedroom resembled delivery day at Debenhams by the time Beth dressed the next day. Her wardrobe, with doors flung wide, displayed a rack of empty coat hangers and the bed was piled high with discarded clothing. She settled on a calf length black skirt with a print of tiny pink roses and a pale pink top that accentuated her slim figure. She wore black knee length boots and Maggie said that she looked, ‘mumsie’ and offered a black lycra mini skirt, which Beth declined. He was waiting for her at the bus stop outside the restaurant. He held out a bouquet of a dozen pink roses that matched the print of her skirt perfectly. He told her that she looked, ‘beautiful’ and kissed her lightly on the cheek before guiding her gently under the elbow into the lounge of the bar. Beth felt that her choice of skirt, with his gift of the roses somehow sealed their meeting as being, ‘right’. It felt right, even though the way the date had come about was unconventional. He escorted her to a seat by the big bay window before going to the bar to order their coffee. He had suggested lunch at first but then, as if sensing that Beth was a lady who moved cautiously, he had said, “Or we can just meet for coffee and see how it goes, if you prefer.” Beth had appreciated this small act of thoughtfulness. He had good, old fashioned, manners rare in a man of his age. He seemed so assured and strong. She felt at the same time both out of her depth and, reassuringly protected by him. Coffee did stretch into lunch and one hour became three. Lunch lapsed into red wine and after her third glass she felt the affects of the alcohol warming her and loosening her tongue. The conversation, never stilted, came more easily with every sip. He was adept at filling any potentially awkward gap with a witty quip or a relevant question. They talked and laughed and made eyes at each other as the afternoon shadows moved around the room with the passing of the day. He talked about his house and his work. He showed interest in her life and asked a hundred questions. But Beth never felt under fire, the conversation was natural and flowing. She didn’t want to be the one to end the date and he seemed comfortable sitting on, smiling warmly at her. It was the perfect first date. He made her feel attractive and intelligent. After five hours and forty-three minutes Beth knew that she wanted to see more of Marc. She was smitten. She didn’t want any more to drink though, she’d had enough. As he poured the last drips of the wine into her half full glass, he asked if he should get another bottle, “Or…,” he tailed off lamely, “do you have things to do?” She didn’t want more wine, but she didn’t want the date to finish either. The wine gave them a reason to sit and continue talking. The second bottle came. He was pouring, suggesting that they make a night of it that they move on from there to see a film at the cinema. She was nodding, happily, not concentrating on what they were doing. He handed her the filled glass, that hadn’t needed replenishing, somehow his elbow nudged hers. Her hand lurched. The glass was tipping. She watched in horror as the contents emptied down the front of his pristine white shirt. He jumped up and grabbed a serviette wiping at his front. Beth stood too, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how that happened.” She tried to help blot the stain. His smile when he looked at her was forced and stiff. He glanced around the room, seemingly embarrassed by the disturbance and of the spreading stain to his shirt. Beth thought he was being a bit flamboyant and making rather a fuss, it was only a shirt but she did feel clumsy and stupid. He managed a tight lipped smile, “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m sure it will come out with some stain remover. It was an accident, it could have happened to anybody. I’ll have to go home to change though.” Beth felt a little bit irritated that he seemed to be blaming her, as though it was entirely her fault when it was him knocking her elbow that had caused her to spill the drink in the first place. “Look,” he continued, there was that ‘look’ word again, “I’m not sure that the cinema is a good idea now, maybe we should leave it for another evening.” She tried not to let the disappointment show on her face, “Oh, okay, yes, of course. I’m really sorry about the shirt.” She felt humiliated. She’d blown it. He was obviously regretting being seen in public with a woman as clumsy as her. It seemed to Beth that he couldn’t wait to get away. The date had begun so well, too. He was still talking, “Unless, of course, you wouldn’t mind waiting. It will only take me a couple of minutes to change my shirt.” It wasn’t over before it had begun, after all. She smiled, “Of course not. Do you want me to wait here?” “No, I think we should get out of here now, don’t you? People are already staring at us.” There was reproach in his words and she felt the sting of having been told off as though she was a naughty child. “I suppose it would be best if you came home with me. You know where I live and I’ve got the car outside. We can go straight to the cinema without any further messing about then.” ‘Further messing about?’ again the words seemed slightly barbed. Christ, she thought, it was an accident, get over it, man. She liked him very much but he did seem a bit overbearing sometimes. She wasn’t sure if she ought to go to his house. It was only their first real meeting. He saw the uncertainty cross her face and settle in the folds of her brow. “I’m sorry Bethany that was stupid of me. Of course you shouldn’t get in my car with me. You don’t know me. We will do this properly and I shall call you in a day or two.” “No, no, don’t do that. It’s all right, honestly. I was just being over cautious and silly. I think too much sometimes. Of course, I’ll come and wait for you. You can show me this wonderful conversion that you’ve told me so much about.” She gave herself a mental ticking off. Marc was obviously a gentleman. He wasn’t one of the dating agency weirdo’s that she’d heard about. He was a man of means and he was cultured and sophisticated. His previous good humour seemed to return in the car. He had been stiff and uncomfortable when he had paid the bill in the restaurant. He refused Beth’s offer to split the cost between them and said stiffly that when a lady was out with him he didn’t expect her to have to pay for her own meal. This was an issue that Beth herself had strong views about, but she would tackle her fierce independence another, more appropriate time. She was looking forward to seeing inside his house. As a child growing up on Croftlands estate she had passed it daily on her way to school. The house was old, gothic, the perfect haunted house in a child’s imaginary world. It stood regally at the top of Springfield Road. A wall of beautiful Lakeland stone surrounded the two acre property, but the ominous turrets of the west-wing tower were clearly visible over the top of the wall. She remembered visiting the house one Halloween. They had been very daring then, egging each other on. Maggie, of course, had been brash, claiming to all the world that she wasn’t scared. She had pushed Beth in front of her to ring the bell and demanded, ‘Trick or treat’. Beth had always been in awe of the great house covered in emerald green ivy. It had been anti-climatic when nobody answered the door but they had made their retreat rapidly, half disappointed and half terrified, convincing each other that curtains twitched in the upstairs rooms and that sinister old ladies bent on dark deeds, lurked behind them. For several years now the old place had been a nursing home. Marc had recently bought it with a view to development and returning it, once again, into a grand family home. “What are you smiling at?” he asked, quizzically, as he pulled up in front of the house. “Oh, nothing really, you know, just ghosts from the past, old memories of a childhood growing up around here.” She felt stupid under his intense gaze. He smiled indulgently and then walked around to the passenger side of the car holding the door open while she got out. “I want to hear about all of your memories, Bethany, all of your dreams, too. I want to know everything there is to know about Bethany Armstrong. Well, don’t just stand there, come in and I’ll give you the guided tour.” The house was a work in progress but it was already beautiful. Marc and his team of designers were working hard to keep the character of the old house, while giving it a fresh modern feel at the same time. The entrance shone with polished mahogany. The hall should have been a dark and dismal space but they had cleverly installed top of the range lighting that filtered natural sunlight in from portals tastefully hidden above oak beams. The light was fading now but Beth could imagine the rays streaming in through forced slats in full sunlight hours. Antique and modern sculpture vied for attention but never clashed. The dedication to detail in the refurbishment was sublime and no cost had been spared to make the ambiance just right. He ushered her into the main lounge. The room was vast with bay windows looking out to the garden. Marc explained that everything was on a centrally controlled timing device. At dusk the curtains had closed automatically and the lights had come on. Water features had become popular in people's lounges this year. Praying hands, elephant herds and earthenware gourds were all on sale in any market hall with their tiny waterfalls and up-lit prisms. Marc had taken the concept a step further. The right hand corner of the room was dominated by the sculpture of a dancing lady in treated bronze. She was in a classic ballerina pose, hands high, almost meeting in an arch above her head, left leg, slim and pointed, sticking out high in front of her. The golden curves of her body were subtly lit with unseen coloured bulbs. Water cascaded over her breasts and a filter controlled exactly how much pressure was forced through the heads for whichever mood was desired. At the moment the water trickled gently, sighing and gurgling as it made its way lazily into the font at the base of the statue. The statue was life sized, the fountain containing her, monumental, a lesser room could never get away with something of this size and flamboyance. Experts say that a room should have one dramatic focal point. This room had two. An enormous open fire was laid with wood and coal, ready to have a match put to it if the evening should turn chilly. The hearth was set with old fashioned irons. The fire surround dominated the room. It was hewn from Lakeland stone, set with small alcoves and deep recesses where ferns had been placed far enough into the cool rock to be protected from the heat of the fire when lit. The polished real-wood floor shone. Five plush leather sofas were placed, with care, at angles to encourage conversation and socialisation. There was no visible entertainment system in this room, no television, until Marc went to a discrete control panel hidden in trunking by the side of the fireplace. Beth could see that he loved showing off his home to new people. He reminded her of the ringmaster at a circus she had attended as a child. He pressed a couple of buttons on the panel and the huge oil, commissioned by a Lakeland artist, slid up to the ceiling on motorised tracks and settled into its new niche on the wall. A plasma television of cinematic proportions and the best in home entertainment centres lay snugly where the oil painting had been. Marc handed Beth an ordinary remote control and told her to help herself. He pushed buttons on the panel and four racks of CDs trundled from the wall cavity to show thousands of albums. More buttons released a similar array of DVD. Marc was showing off and Beth could see that he loved every second of it. He showed her to a room off the lounge, a fully equipped bar. He said that he was going for the quickest shower in living history and would be back very shortly. He told her to avail herself of anything she required and asked her to pour him two fingers of bourbon over ice for when he came down. When Marc left the room Beth looked at the remote control still in her hand. Way too many buttons, she decided, and she put it down on the arm of one of the sofas. She wandered into the bar. Looking through the vast array of bottles on the shelving, some on optic, some standing free, she shook her head, she couldn’t see one that said ‘bourbon’ on the label. She knew it was some sort of whiskey, but had no idea in what form it presented itself. Oh, bugger, she thought, where’s Maggie when I need her? She grinned, Maggie would have loved all this. She could just see her friend gazing around in awe and calling Marc a, flash, poncey git. Beth had a vague idea that Bourbon was American whiskey. She settled on a bottle of Wild Turkey that sounded sort of American and would just have to do. He probably couldn’t tell the difference between one whiskey and another, anyway. She poured him what she figured was probably about two of his big chunky fingers and couldn’t find any ice. She poured herself a smaller glass of the nasty looking brown liquid, smelled it, pulled a face and poured her glass into his. She put her glass on the bar and went back into the lounge. He had left the door open. She walked to the threshold and listened to see if she could locate the sound of running water. His bathroom was too far away to hear anything and the house hulked around her with a dense silence. She felt uncomfortable and couldn’t pin point why. Shivering, she went back into the warm atmosphere of the lounge. She was running her finger along the spines of his CD collection when she heard whistling followed by footsteps coming quickly down the stairs. “There, that’s better,” he said, coming through the door and leaving it open behind him. “I feel fresher now. Fresh and clean for you, Bethany.” He stopped in the middle of the room and stared around him. “Oh really, Bethany, I did expect you to put things away after you’d finished with them. Look at all these racks left out to collect dust. I get the impression that you’re not a very tidy person. We will have to do something about that, you know.” Beth didn’t hear a word that he said. When she’d heard him coming she had turned towards the door smiling. She’d moved on from his CDs to his DVDs and held his copy of the movie, Rat-a-tat-tat. She had been going to tell him that it was one of her favourite films. She had been going to ask him if he knew that the author, who wrote the book based on the film, was a local lady. She was going to ask him if he was ready to go. She didn’t say any of these things. He shut the door with a soft click. She had only caught a brief glimpse of the lower half of his body. It seemed that she was able to take a mental photograph of the disturbing image, something for her mind to peruse at its leisure. While she was dragging her eyes up to search for answers in his face, her mind was doing just that. She had only looked down for a third of a second, but she knew exactly what she’d seen. Instead of coming into the lounge dressed in a crisp, clean shirt, ready to go. He was half naked. He wore only a short, satin, dressing gown. The front had come apart showing his broad torso covering of curly black chest hair. This was bad enough but it was what she had seen lower that disturbed her the most. She fought her eyes now, demanding that they remain locked on his face. She’d seen it though… his erection. It was big and ugly. She had seen the definition of it beneath the thin material of the robe. It stuck straight out from his body, a small ring of the cloth, darkening with his seepage, turning the silk from a rich deep red, to a dirty brown colour. The bulge of his penis was distressing the hang of the dressing gown. Although his erection was covered it had pulled the gown open at the bottom and the top of his thigh was exposed. He had hairy upper thighs, and as her mind examined what it had seen in that glance, she remembered the three long hairs at the top of his leg that were lying against the line. She shuddered. He was smiling at her, amused. “Come on Bethany, don’t be coy now. You’re not going to go all precious on me, are you? We both know that this is what it’s all about. This is why you’re here. Don’t play Miss Innocent with me, after all, you went along to the speed dating event knowing full well that the brash, Lady Margaret had a man waiting or her at home, didn’t you? Oh, yes, I’ve been checking you out. You aren’t married it seems, but what of you Bethany? Do you have a man waiting for you at home? Does he know that you go out alone, like an alley cat? But, no matter either way.” She was shaking her head, feeling out of her depth, but he carried on talking regardless of her discomfort. “If you wish, we’ll play the game. You can be horrified, I’ll break through your defences, and then, when we’re bored with the game, we’ll have some great sex.” “I, I don’t understand. Look, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m just going to leave, okay?” She had been backing up as he slowly advanced towards her, one step for every three words. “You aren’t going anywhere, my dear. You don’t even want to. Isn’t this delicious? The tension, Bethany, can you feel it? Can you feel the vibes in the room?” He drew in a deep breath and shuddered. “I’m very excited, Bethany. You’ve done this to me. You are so very sexy with your big scared eyes and your ‘don’t touch’ attitude. You have no idea of your power, have you? We’re going to be so good together. We’re going to be electric.” He was between her and the door. She’d have to push past him to be able to get out. She was terrified. She didn’t think he was going to let her leave. Gathering all her determination and courage she hugged her arms towards her, her body language closing in, shutting down, blocking him out. “I’m leaving,” she said. His only reply was to smile that infuriating smile. The lowest edge of her vision caught the huge erection as she was striding purposefully towards the door. Marc stepped aside to let her pass, his own arms folded, but crossed loosely, his expression arrogant and assured as the scared woman fled. She was surprised. She had expected him to grab her, to stop her from leaving. Perhaps it was just a misunderstanding after all. She would kill Maggie for this, tomorrow. She had certainly learned her lesson. All these things were scrolling through her mind as she reached for the door handle. And then her mind voided, all thoughts blown violently away as a hurricane of fear blew into town. The door was locked. She remembered the click, had thought nothing of it at the time, was too preoccupied with Marc’s state of undress. She knew now that she wasn’t going to be able to just walk away from this with no more repercussion than a slight feeling of shame and embarrassment. She was facing the locked door. She didn’t want to turn around and knew that when she did she was going to have to have all of her wits about her. She breathed slowly, drawing the scent of furniture polish way down into her lungs and exhaling it slowly. He hadn’t moved. She was attuned, listening. She knew that he was still leaning against the ornate maple and stone fire surround, smiling smugly and waiting, much as a snake will wait for its prey to move, biding its time, knowing that the end result will fall in its favour. To him this was just foreplay. She took one more breath, her fifth since discovering that the door was locked, and turned around, slowly. Her eyes had hardened, her face set in a mask of determined resolve. “Let me out,” she said it with a steady voice, hoping that her no nonsense attitude would bring Marc to his senses. He didn’t say a word. The smile had set on his face, his teeth, strong and white, on show. Teeth that had seemed so well looked after and attractive to Beth earlier now flashed menacingly, adding to the allusion of the predator. He dropped his left arm to his side while bringing his right hand up to his body. He pushed away the raw silk material and snaked his hand onto his naked chest. He was taunting her with a display of self caressing, his fingertips curling through the thick chest hair, finding his nipple and fingering it lightly until it budded. His mouth dropped open, his eyes half closing, for just a second. He released a long breath, the hand at his thigh beginning to move now, in a slow, circular motion. His eyes snapped open, suddenly, making her jump. They locked into hers, hard and threatening. Beth was aware of the door behind her. She had leant into it, was allowing it to support her. She pulled away to be freestanding, subliminally realising that this was more about power than it was about sex. “I want to go home now. Let me out please, or I will call the police.”
Go to part: 1 2
Copyright © 2008 Sooz |