He cut the rope which dragged her feet and hands together at her back. “There, that gets you back to normal.”
“Thank you.” Her tone was ungracious, even in relief from pain. From some strange instinct for tidiness she plucked away at the knots on the severed rope, still tied to her chains. “How’s Dowling Inc. ?”
“Thriving, thanks to you. Khalief Abhad holds the majority of the stock.” He made a sound of disgust. “He also holds my wife.”
“Well, you’ve got me at this moment, Robert. But probably not for long. I suppose you know you’re risking both our lives?”
“Mine perhaps,” he sneered. “Yours should be safe enough.”
“You idiot! How’s Khalief to know I was kidnapped? He’ll think I was glad to escape.”
Dowling shrugged. “Does it matter! I’m taking you back to the States—just as you are. I’m going to expose the whole fool business. If, afterwards, you want to return to him, you can. I’ll have done what I have to do.”
“The red-blooded American syndrome!” Caroline sighed in exasperation. Puckishly, she lifted her chained hands. “In these?”
“Yes, in those! They’re authentic. They tell your story far better than I can.”
“I love wearing them, y’know!”
“I know it. No one else will.”
Caroline giggled. “I told them at the Consulate and those guys from the press with their cameras.”
“You were under coercion. Nobody believes you are—what you are.”
“Gosh, am I that bad!”
“Yes.” He sighed drearily. “Hot pants over a nigger.”
“Why bother with me then! And, by the way, Khalief’s a President. Don’t sell him short.”
“There’s another of the same ilk hot on his tail. They never last long.” Robert Dowling rose wearily. “If the risk is what you say, we’d best lose no time. Come to the car. Want me to carry you?”
“No, I can manage. The leg shackles are generous and I’ve had a lot of practice. They’re real enough, and I can’t possibly run, but they’re largely symbolic.”
“I’d like to stuff his symbolism you know where! Come, it’s this way.”
Caroline clattered disconsolately to her doom. Halfway to the airport the President’s soldiers picked them up.
“I’ve had Robert Dowling deported.”
The President of Zindawba looked down at the woman on the rug at his feet. The most beautiful woman in the world to him or to any man. He sighed irritably. “Get me a drink”
“Yes, lord.”
“And one for yourself. I imagine you need it.” The heavy irons riveted on her wrists made bartending more risky than with handcuffs. Caroline sighed too. Everything was spoiled. “Why did you have me brought here from the dungeon?” she asked.
“Because I’m in love with you—damn you!”
“I’m not guilty, y’know.”
She knelt and handed him his drink. Looking at her own, woefully, she drained the glass. “May I have another, lord?”
“Was my dungeon that bad?”
“Much worse! Khalief, don’t put me back in there!”
“You will go back in there. And you may have one more drink.”
Caroline clinked her way to the bar and back, These chains were heavy on her limbs. Back at Khalief’s feet she sipped. “They locked a collar on my neck, it fastened me to the wall with a long chain. It wasn’t a bit necessary.”
“Nor are the fetters you wear now, but you merit them.”
“I’m being punished, aren’t I? For something I haven’t done.”
“Because I desire you more than anything on earth I will have you brought to me here daily.”
“And when I am taken back there and chained by my neck the dungeon will seem doubly awful.”
“Then would you prefer not to come here to this place?”
“Oh, Khalief!” She looked up at him reproachfully. “Even if it was only for two minutes, I’d want to come. I’m more than your prisoner, y’know. I love you. Khalief, take me to bed?”
“The oldest bribe in the world!”
“All right, don’t then! If you stay convinced I tried to escape what will you do with me?”
“I’ve thought of that. I’ll follow our original plan, I can make you make it work.”
“Dungeons and things . . . ! Oh, Khalief!”
“Show me some proof then. I catch you on the way to the airport with your husband—?”
“But in chains, Khalief! In chains—”
“With you that could mean anything . . . Get me another drink before I ring the bell.”
Caroline hated the dungeon with all her being. It was the negation of all she was. Not much light. Silence. Loneliness. The drag of chains upon her limbs, heavy ugly links and bands. The imposition round her neck! She hated the collar most of all, and the nagging tug of its chain. Now her jailer had locked limbs to join the others between her wrists and ankles so that, unless she sat and crouched, she could not raise her hands above the level of her hips. She cried a lot.
It was on the third day Khalief came to her. He seemed so splendid in that dismal place, and she so naked and forlorn. His presence made it more of a prison than ever.
“Oh, Khalief, not to see me like this? Not to mock—?”
“They have found the girl, the one in whom you found no pleasure.”
“Betty! Oh, Khalief, where?”
“Those your husband hired took advantage of his deportation and diverted her to their own amusement. She was servicing a dozen of them.”
“The poor child! For her that would be—!”
“She seemed grateful to be taken to the Consulate. She even appeared grateful to me. She will be sent home.” The silence he allowed to lengthen was unbearable. “Darling, don’t torment me.” Caroline shook her chains in frustration.
“She told me of every word and act. She is innocent and ingenuous. I believe her. Your guilt has vanished. It is I who am penitent.”
Even the chained girl was astonished by the radiation of joy in which she glowed. The President went to the passage and clapped his hands . . .
An hour later, bathed, scented, handcuffed and bedecked with jewels, Caroline served her lord as was their custom. When night came she was not sent away.
The cage stood empty in the market place. The President’s white mistress lived discreetly out of sight in the Residence. Phase two of the Plan was slowly brought into fruition.
“I’m sure I can stand it, darling. As a little reward for my suffering, can we make love after? You were right about it being better.”
“And you still wish it done to you by a servant?”
“It has to be to be authentic. If you do it I’ll enjoy it too much—before and after, anyway.” She glinted at him roguishly. “But there’s nothing to stop you doing it as welclass="underline" in addition, I mean.”
“You’re a masochist.”
“No, I’m not. It’s my glands and you! Probably we generate a chemical. Even when the servant does it to me I’ll be thinking of you.”
“I will instruct Assad. He has a sense of humour but will be without mercy. He is also ingenious. If I give him carte blanche there is no telling what eroticism he may devise for your subjugation.”
“He sounds as though he’ll do nicely. But, oh Khalief, that word! Am I to be ‘subjugated’?”
“Probably impossible, but Assad will try.” When the time came Caroline was shivering in anticipation of she knew not what. Her quiverings were intensified by Assad’s choice of black tights to the waist and nothing above. “I am greatly honoured, madam.” There was a glint in his eye. The slight inclination of his head in the most condescending of bows held humour.
“Assad, I’m scared to death.”
“As is most natural, Mrs. Dowling. Since our mutual endeavours are to be a continuing progression I have prepared a room.”
“Not a dungeon, I hope’!”
“On the contrary. It is a rather pleasant compartment.”
Assad was right. A well-lit room, high above the ground. Its walls neutral, the floor smooth stone. At first glance it, seemed completely bare save for a low wooden bench. Then, following Assad’s gaze, Caroline beheld what might have been a truss rod spanning wall to wall. It was held solidly by ‘V’ braces from above. Threaded through it at about the centre point was a pair of short leather straps.