“Nothing, Madam, thank you. We are—” Caroline laughed direct at Irwin’s startled face.
“You’re shocked, aren’t you! Poor dear men! I’ll make it double whiskies.” She beamed glowingly. “You won’t mind if I have a martini?”
They did not mind. They sat and sipped, generating disapproval.
“Mrs. Dowling, that chain . . . ?” The Consul was sweating.
Once again Caroline lifted her shackle into prominence, making a play with the clinking tether by which her hands were confined. She examined it mischievously as though seeing it for the first time. “Oh this!” she beamed brightly. “Beautifully effective, don’t you think!”
“Mrs. Dowling, you are being whimsical. Who holds the key to that—thing?”
“It isn’t me. So I can’t oblige you by taking them off. Just pretend you don’t notice. What was it you wanted to see me about?”
“But why are they on you?”
“They keep me from being naughty.”
“That’s absurd!”
“You must tell the President. He had them specially made for me. He’s a very sweet man.”
“The media is convinced you are the President’s Mistress?”
“I don’t mind.”
“That appalling cage, and the semi-nudity . . . ?”
“Well, I did have company, and we got along very well together. She’s a most charming girl. And, of course, these market places in Zindawba are so colourful and full of interest—”
“Mrs. Dowling, please!”
“Well, you did ask!”
“We very much wish to take you back to America.”
“O.K. When do I start packing?”
The visitors exchanged embarrassment. Irwin cleared his throat as though about to make a speech. “Our government is on the most cordial terms with President Abhad. We would not wish to imperil—”
“There! You see! You can’t! If I was going to be roasted alive tomorrow you wouldn’t do a thing. I’ve forgotten what it is Zindawba’s got: oil . . . or some sort of metal . . .”
“Mrs. Dowling, you do nothing to help.”
“Help what? I’m happy.”
“A woman in chains can scarcely be happy. We realise this room is probably bugged and that you are under coercion—”
“No I’m not! It’s sweet of you to want to do something. But there isn’t anything. Just forget about me. Robert didn’t send you, did he?”
“Mr. Dowling refuses to make a statement.”
“There you are, you see. Everyone’s happy.”
“We cannot possibly be happy, seeing you in chains.”
“Oh, bother the chains! Just look on them as being symbolic. I think they do something for a girl. Your wife wears a ring . . .”
Blakeney sighed. “We will convey your sentiments . . . It was only at Mr. Irwin’s insistence I came here today. I have told him of my previous attempts—”
“Poor dear! Looking at me in the cage you were so embarrassed by my breasts, weren’t you—!”
“Mrs. Dowling . . . please! You are being deliberately coy—”
“I know I’m difficult. Please forgive—”
Irwin was nettled. “If you have nothing serious to say to us—perhaps to someone else? He prefers to interview you alone. I will bid you good day.”
“I don’t want to see anyone. Take whoever it is away with you.”
“We have no authority over him. He appears privileged. Again, we bid you adieu.”
They departed in obvious dudgeon. Guiltily, Caroline watched their stiff and disapproving backs pass through the door. She had a disquieting premonition. It immediately took shape and form. James Dexter walked briskly in, lifted one of her chained hands gently to his lips. “I bet you’re real mad at me?” he queried without anxiety.
“If you don’t go away immediately, I’ll scream.”
“No you won’t.” He was as assured as ever, and as handsome.” Against his laugh she could not hide a smile of welcome. “I just dropped by to tell you my regret about our unfinished business. Remember?”
The memory made Caroline blush. “Yes, I remember. You went away and left me wanting.”
James Dexter lifted the links between her hands.
“I bet you had someone lock these on you just to give the boys a bad time.”
“How did you guess!” They shared the laughter that came to them so easily. “They’ll get irritated and forget me soon, won’t they?”
“How the hell can they, Caroline! You’re the hottest, sexiest news on the wires. That damn cage he had you in—and the stars and stripes . . .” His mood became somber. “Look, is it rough? I mean, more than you can take?”
“I’m taking it, aren’t I! I don’t understand myself. You woke a sleeping tiger that day you handcuffed me.”
“But with your handcuffs! You bought ’em.”
“I’ve wondered about that. The tiger must have nudged me in his sleep. James, am I too outrageous?”
“You’re made to order for Khalief. You know it. So does he.”
“And you sold me to him.”
“You sold yourself.” Suddenly serious, he asked:
“Has he had you whipped yet?”
“Don’t talk about it. I don’t want to hear.”
“But has he?”
“Just some small punishments—it was Rulua, not Khalief. They hurt more than I’d have believed.”
“How did they make you feel?”
“Guilty.”
He laughed at her sheepishness. “Guilty of your misdemeanour?”
“You know that’s not what I meant. Guilty of my reactions.”
“So you got the hots! The President help out?”
“James, if you want to talk about Khalief and me, go away. I won’t discuss him.”
“How about discussing you and me?”
“We can’t. I’m sold. You blew it.”
“Not me. My lack of a great many millions of dollars blew it. Are you sorry?”
“Yes.”
“Was that ‘yes’ difficult?”
“You know it was. Isn’t there some sort of honour tied up in this for both of us?”
He rose, but her hand on his arm gave him pause.
“Don’t go.”
“I have to go. I’m in love with you. If I hang around I’ll forget about the honour thing—” He kissed her savagely. “If you ever need me I’ll try and be there.” A moment later he was gone.
On the day Caroline put herself up for auction she had no doubts about self-knowledge or the hazards of her desperate act. She believed herself sophisticated, blasé with men and affairs. Dexter and Abhad had catapulted her into a situation beyond her wildest imaginings. Instead of hysterics she had found herself hungrily curious as to her unsuspected reactions in an adventure wherein most women would have screamed for help. Wryly, she faced a half-guilty admission that she was erotically excited beyond any stimulation the other bidders in the Dowling Corporation Board Room would provoke. To go forward from where she stood now might be frightening, but she would not go back. Khalief Abhad might let her go if she demanded vehemently enough, but of this she was by no means sure. He was still very much the enigma he had always been. She smiled back at him now as he faced her in the Presidential limousine as it purred its way from the Ministry.
“Want me to unlock your hands?” he enquired blandly.
“No. Leave me chained. You know I’ve come to like it.”
He chuckled at her honesty. “I should have rope used on you. It hurts and is more confining. The chains are too feminine.”
“These!” Caroline held up the heavy links. “They weigh a ton.”
“You turn them into costume jewellery. You’re magic.” He gazed upon his possession pridefully. “What did you tell the boys?”
“To leave us alone.”
“Us?” He put a wealth of duality into the single word.
“Aren’t I your Mistress, your slave, or some sort of stock in trade?”
“I was lucky to get you. What about James?”
“He was nobly loyal to you.”