Creatures of the Chase - Richard. L. M. Ollie
her with mild amusement. Except for a slight lift of her chin that spoke volumes, she remained silent, watching him with eyes that failed to hide her anger, or was it moral indignation? ‘Please, sit down so that we may discuss your future calmly and, I hope, with a minimum of emotion.’
‘I have nothing to say to you.’
‘Splendid!’ He smiled triumphantly. ‘I, however, have much to say to you, so if you would be so kind.’ He indicated the seat beside him. Sarah moved rapidly forward and sat down on the edge of the sofa opposite. He sighed. ‘You are most contrary, Miss Churchill. I must admit, however, that as you are I can better appreciate your beauty.’ He paused. ‘Do you know why you have been brought here?’
‘Yes,’ she replied flatly, keeping her eyes averted. She was having a very difficult time keeping calm. Half of her wanted to cry; the other half wanted to throw something at him. She did neither.
‘Good. We can progress forward then from that basis. Assuming all goes well, I expect to have a son born in late September. Naturally, you will nourish the child for a brief period before he is handed into the care of professionals, including a wet nurse. At that time I will decide whether or not to proceed with a second pregnancy. That decision will depend a great deal on you and of course the condition of the child.’
He watched her closely, prepared for anything. She remained motionless except for her hands, which she held tightly together, the fingers intertwined. The twisting action appeared painful. ‘Have you nothing to say?’
When she looked up, her eyes were bright with tears. ‘I would like to say I hate you. I would like to say I hope you burn in hell.’ She was breathing rapidly, her voice choked with emotion.
‘My dear Miss Churchill, it is immaterial to me what you think of me. Fortunately, human beings have progressed sufficiently far enough along the evolutionary path that conception is more a matter of timing than consent on the part of the female. As far as hell is concerned, I’ve been there and it’s not so bad. Now, have you anything intelligent to say?’
‘What if the child is a girl?’ she snapped.
‘An excellent question. Unlike England’s illustrious King Henry the Eighth, for example, I am aware that it is the male who determines the gender of the offspring. For generations nothing but males have been born in my family, so I expect that I will carry on the tradition.’
Sarah smiled wickedly through her tears. ‘Assuming, of course, that you are your father’s son.’
Develin nodded with a wry smile, acknowledging Sarah’s trenchant insinuation. He rose, tossing the cigarette into the fireplace. ‘Now, unless there is something else, perhaps ...’
‘Laird took several blood samples, which suggested to me that you have concerns. Regarding what ... VD?’
‘Had concerns, that is correct. Is there anything else?’
‘I’ve obviously checked out; how about you?’ Sarah asked pointedly.
‘My dear Miss Churchill, logic dictates that I would hardly contemplate siring a child if I were syphilitic.’
‘That’s not what I am talking about.’
‘Then what are you talking about?’
‘You’ve got to be fifty, so let’s just say that I hope you’re not wasting my time.’
He stared at her, unable at that precise moment to believe what he was hearing. He quickly recovered. ‘Let me assure you that I won’t be wasting your time.’ His eyes washed over her in one quick movement. ‘You just make damn sure that you don’t waste mine.’
Sarah swallowed hard.
‘Are you quite finished?’
‘None of this bothers you, does it? I mean the fact that …’
‘Please, Miss Churchill, spare me a discourse on contemporary morality. The fact that you have remained, how shall I say, sexually naive for so long is more a testament to good luck than good management on your part. If you are having some difficulty handling the situation, that is your problem, not mine. As I have said previously, I am prepared to make things as easy as possible for you, but I am not prepared to indulge you in an endless round of recrimination. Now, unless there is anything else, perhaps we can get on with it.’
She laughed derisively. ‘You make it sound as if you are about to give me a driving lesson or something.’ He smiled. ‘I’m glad you are enjoying yourself, Mr. Develin. Deflowering young girls must be a lot of fun, right?’
She could see the anger rise in him as he regarded her with eyes suddenly grown remarkably cold. ‘It may come as a surprise to you, my dear, but I find virgins not only exceedingly tedious, but also insufferable. You are but a case in point. Now, if you are quite finished, Chef has arranged a light supper. It will not be pizza I can assure you, but something interesting nevertheless. Shall we?’
She remained where she was, her head lowered, her face turned away from him.
‘Come come, my dear, surely you are not adverse to a romantic candlelight dinner?’
‘With you?’ she huffed, ‘Where?’
‘I thought that the library might provide the ideal ambience.’ He smiled thinly as she stared up at him, shocked by the realization that he knew everything. ‘What do you think?’ The smile faded from his lips as his eyes narrowed. ‘Get up!’
He backed away far enough to allow her just enough room to get to her feet, but not so far that he was unable to take a firm grip of her left arm.
Carl was waiting in the corridor. As they walked, he fell in behind.
*****
The library stood empty, the lights dimmed. Sarah willed herself to stay calm as her eyes sought out the panels that camouflaged the hidden recess. Just inside the door stood a small table laden with serving trays covered with silver lids, bone china, crystal glasses, linen serviettes, cutlery bearing an elaborate ‘D’ engraved into silver and a small bouquet of white roses set in a cut glass vase. Brett Saunders stood in the corner, silent and watchful.
Without saying a word, Develin drew a chair out for Sarah. She hesitated for a moment then sat down. She failed, however, to note the rapid exchange of order-acknowledgement which passed from Develin to Brett over the top of her head.
When she did look up, Develin was in the process of removing his jacket. Beneath was a rather lethal looking handgun set in an elaborate holster. Before she could react, Brett neatly covered her mouth with a strip of heavy tape. Then he drew her arms back, pinning her to the chair.
She watched in horror as Develin casually draped his jacket over the back of his chair, smiled at her then drew the pistol silently from its leather sheath.
With Carl to one side, they approached the recess. Suddenly Develin stopped then turned to Carl, shaking his head slowly while indicating the secret door. Carl hesitated, uncertain, as Develin continued on to the end of the room where the Chinese partitions stood, partially unfolded. He moved in on the right side then stopped, half hidden now by the screen.
‘Drop the gun, Laird, or I will quite happily blow your brains out.’ Develin pressed the muzzle of his Walther P-38 tight against the base of Laird’s skull. Laird rose from his half-crouched position then threw the gun forward. It hit the base of the doorframe opposite. ‘I could smell the fear emanating from you, Laird, from the far end of the room. Do you take me for a fool or an amateur? Move!’
Laird walked forward slowly, his head bowed under the pressure of Develin’s handgun, his movements clumsy and erratic. The front of his pants was stained dark with urine.