Gill A short story

Gill

We left the relative shade of the peristyle garden with its white marble fountain depicting Venus, a ewer hoisted on her shoulder. The trickling figure stood in the centre of a shallow square pool, surrounded by smooth flag stones and then by a grassed border skirting up to a colonnaded cloister that hemmed the garden in, providing a screen to the outside world.

I took her small hand in mine to lead her away from the site of our tryst, to the coolness of the house I had had built in a Roman style.

She hesitated as if frightened by the sudden change of light. A gently guiding hand at the small of her back motivated her forward step into the cloister.

Gill was here for one thing, she was payment in kind for services rendered. Her father had defaulted on a gambling loan; I had his marker now, won in a hand of poker. He would continue to default; his business was shot, crippled by union activity and a falling market share. It was true, I had kind of ensured he would fail; buying up everything around him was having a disastrous result on him. All’s fair…as they say, and what goes around comes around. He had made a virtual pauper of my Daddy; I had the wherewithal to repay the deed. With no hope of repaying his debt, Gill was the best her could offer.

She wasn’t quite what I had expected. Not that I had any previous knowledge of her, only a glance at a silver framed photo on John Craig’s desk as I delivered the news of his immediate future. I might have harboured some respect for him, for his business dealings perhaps, but any respect evaporated the moment he offered Gill as a bargaining tool. I wanted to see him with a hole in his forehead, such was my disgust. Hypocritically, I took him up on his offer though, deciding to have him erased later as I said, “sure, she will be full and final payment.”

Gill was nothing like her photo might have indicated. The picture showed a confident young woman, who looked squarely back at the lens, an enigmatic smirk on her lips. It showed a woman without a care in the world, who promised a wealth of sexual enterprise and freedom. In fact, the almost complete opposite had tremulously knocked the door, had timidly made her way to the meeting in my garden, had stood nervously clutching the strap of her purse between her wringing hands, head bowed.

Even allowing for the impossible situation her father had caused her, Gill’s mouse like appearance and squeaky voice gave rise to the possibility that the photo had lied. I could sympathise a little with her position, but found her completely unattractive as a possible sexual partner. A glass of ice cold chardonnay did little to ease her, but it gave me the chance to evaluate what I would do. If I sent her home unsullied, undefiled, I would have to exact my revenge on her father long before I was ready. I was enjoying the spectacle of his gradual decline too much. If I took her, took my payment, then his life would be extended and my revenge would be all the more complete when he eventually folded or put a nine millimetre in his head.

I decided to take the easier, hopefully less messy option. She would do for the evening’s entertainment. Was that a callous thought? It possibly is, but do I care at all? Not in the slightest.

We passed through the cloister with its vaulted ceiling, through a heavy carved oak door into the coolness of my study. The garden is completely shrouded from the outside world, but the study offered an unlimited view through patio doors of a landscaped terraced rockery that lead eventually to the street. If patient enough, it was possible to see people walk along the pavement some fifty metres away.

I let her hand go and watched as it dropped to her side lifelessly. The whites of her knuckles showed where she gripped the bag in her other hand. She stood statuesque in the middle of the room; her head still bowed, a thin cotton flower print dress hanging on her limp body.

“Put the bag down.” She dropped it at her feet, simply opening her hand to allow it to fall. It was the simplest of movements, almost pitiful.

“Take your dress off.” I noticed her glance up at the window, the calculation of the possibility of being seen through the patio doors was plainly evident as it flashed through her mind.

“It wasn’t a request; take it off.” Her head still bowed, she reached behind her neck to start the zipper and then she reached around her back to complete the undoing. With a slight shrug, the dress fell to her feet.

Her hands wrung together in front of her panty covered mons. The heavy lace successfully hid any allure she might have had inside. A matching bra did the same for her breasts, hiding anything underneath in the heaviness of the fabric.

“Lose the underwear.” Again, she glanced up at the glass doors, causing her to hesitate.

“Lose the underwear now.” I raised my voice to emphasise my meaning. Her bra had a front clasp that sprang open with a twist.