It was a great marble bath-the New Decameron had once held up a shipment of marble from Carreras-and the blue-green veins of the marble gleamed tantalisingly through the absolutely clear water.
A large bronze statue of the 'Mannikin Pis' shed varied perfumes on the bathers at the touch of a button.
Little Helena ran down the steps and splashed joyously in the water. Lord Reggie followed, and the two frolicked in unison. As wanton kiss succeeded kiss Lord Reggie very soon asserted his manhood once more. His cock stood rampantly upright, and laughingly little Helena placed her back against the side of the bath, just beneath the 'Mannikin Pis', and guided it to her cunt. In a twinkling their naked bodies were pressed together, their lips were indissoluble, their eyelashes intertwined, they throbbed all over in a rhythmic movement of love and lust, while the indecent images above piddled some delightful orange-smelling scent on their heads. It was not long before their mingled outpourings floated to the surface of the scented water.
Helena touched another button and the water seemed to rush from the bath as if by magic, another button, and a jet of hot water shot up from the middle of the bath: the lovers stood and were tingled by the spray.
Another button, and four pretty native girls came tripping through the portiere. Lord Reggie blushed a little, but Helena laughed. 'Now we'll be massaged,' she said.
It was delightful. The pretty laughing masseuses dried them first, quickly and dexterously, till their bodies thrilled with healthy warmth.
A page-boy brought a tray of fruit and sweets and wine.
In a flowered china bowl was a fragrant orange salad. Its taste was quite strange to Lord Reggie, who thought he knew quite a lot about cooking. Maraschino was the dominant note, but there were-and Helena confirmed this-strange native liqueurs. Helena mixed some light native beer with champagne-Lord Reggie had not tasted this before, and he loved it. He had just finished his second cigarette, and was contemplating another inroad into the Venus Land, when… the door opened and John Tucker came into the room.
There was an unpleasant silence. John Tucker puffed at his cigar and smiled grimly.
'I don't quite know who you are, sir,' he said, 'save that you came from the New Decameron, but I must ask for some explanation as to what you are doing in my house, in this-er-slight costume.'
A man feels a fool when he is sitting naked with a cockstand, and is suddenly tackled by a comparative stranger in a business-like way.
Lord Reggie had taken everything for granted. He didn't know who Helena was: he had heard a great deal about the free and easy habits of the island on the voyage, and had thought he could do what he liked.
His cockstand flickered and fell.
'This is my business, John,' said Helena quickly. 'You shouldn't have been rude to me at the cafe, and I wouldn't have brought this gentleman here-I don't even know his name.'
'I haven't a card on me,' stuttered Lord Reggie.
'I don't suppose you can keep 'em up your arse or under your foreskin,' said John Tucker.
'But I have my coat of arms tattooed here,' hastily interrupted Lord Reggie, rising to turn his back and exposing on the left flank of his behind a shield which quartered some rather more than important bearings.
'Umph, Cameron of Lochwhyle; well, we are brother Scots.'
'And he came here because I asked him,' Helena interrupted. 'I brought him here, and a damned good time I've had. He isn't a pirate, so I haven't broken my word. I'm going to teach you a lesson, John.'
'Well, you'd better dress,' said John, still grimly. "Your other friends are in the house. I am extending my hospitality. Finish your drink, and we'll talk the matter over later.'
Lord Reggie drank and dressed at express speed.
'I've killed four men for doing this,' continued John Tucker, 'but I suppose you didn't know. That little bitch would deceive anyone. Have a cigar, one of these.' He fumbled in his pockets, and produced a green morocco case.
Helena snatched it from his hands and flung it through the curtains.
'No murder, you coward,' she hissed. 'Do you think I don't remember Elkinkton and your damned poisons? See here, Mr. Cameron.'
'It's Lord Reggie Cameron,' snarled John Tucker.
'Well, I'm glad he's a lord. I haven't been fucked by one before. I've been fucked by a Scotch bastard of a mate whom you murdered on the ship you took, John Tucker, and by you, John Tucker-my cunt's been in the Highlands if my heart hasn't, John Tucker-and the dear island boys here who've taught me how to lust. Now here's another Scotsman, and-I'm half Scotch myself-and "here's tae us, wha's like us? — damn few."'
She drained her glass.
'You will find the others somewhere about the house,' said John Tucker. 'We will talk after dinner. We dine with the-with the young man who brought you here.'
Lord Reggie went, somewhat regretting the remnants of that orange salad.
John Tucker said nothing, but clapped his hands loudly four times. The pretty naked girls ran back into the room.
'Bring the typewriter.'
It was brought.
'Now, said John Tucker, 'I wish you, Helena, to write some letters. Sit down.'
She sat at the desk, a little nervous, but flaming with anger, her naked loveliness flushed all over.
'Come here, Ara ta Mona,' he commanded.
He roughly lifted the naked girl on to the bed, flicked open his pyjamas, and got into her sideways.
'Now, Helena, write this.'
He dictated a cold-blooded business letter while he brutally fucked the pretty girl.
'Now, Lora'-another business letter, and another girl accounted for.
Through the other two he finished with the arrangement for shipping and the latest diamond and ruby haul to Europe, and dismissed the girls.
Then, without a word to Helena, he went through the curtains to the bath.
Helena sat on, biting her lips. It was a game of diamond cut diamond. She knew that John Tucker owned her domination in his own heart: and she knew he had to fight hard to keep from showing it. But she knew, too, that he was very strong, and the advent of more charming European ladies made her nervous. The touch of a bell brought a servant.
'You will get me my fete costume,' she said, 'the very daring one, and all my jewels.'
John Tucker came through the curtains, still dripping with the water, his pyjama suit over his arm, paused for a moment to light a cigar, and left.
CHAPTER THREE
I built my soul a lordly pleasure house
Wherein at ease for aye to dwell
I said, O soul, be happy and carouse,
Dear soul, for all is well.
It was just six o'clock when Lord Reggie found his way to John Tucker's smoking-room. There were assembled a number of the pirates and the remainder of the guests.
I err somewhat in calling it a room: it was more of a roof garden. It occupied a large portion of the roof of John Tucker's palace, and was covered only by an awning. The floor was covered with thick fresh-looking coconut matting, and a profusion of flowers lent a scented delicacy to the coming cool of the Pacific evening. The view on all sides was incomparably beautiful.
Below, the harbour presented quite an animated scene. The New Decameron was the centre of a flotilla of boats, and her valuable cargo was being rapidly shipped to the quay.
A pretty, semi-naked native lad-semi-naked, that is to say, in that his total garment was a large burnished bronze fig-leaf, which hung on a girdle of little gold fig-leaves, and hid the emblems of his sex ('Dashed awkward if he gets a cockstand,' thought Lord Reggie)-came to the latter and asked, in passable, prettily broken English, if he could get him anything.
Mr. Ahasuerus Q. Silverwood joined him.
'Say, Lord R., I guess we've struck it lucky and a half, what, what! You try one of these "Naroina soothe my souls", as they moniker 'em, and Lord! you'll think you're living in heaven with all the best company from hell chucked in.'