Seven Point Eight (6 page)

He approached the front door, a huge, oak panelled leviathan with two columns either side, supporting a classic porch. Inside, Paul discovered it had been tastefully furnished and not quite as ostentatious as he’d imagined, perhaps it reflected Max’s quieter, inner sanctum.

The large hallway had a flagstone floor, walls of aqua green and several antique pictures hung in strategic places, depicting unknown personages and landscapes. They looked collectable as opposed to personal items. A huge oak staircase with a carpet runner gave an open invitation to go upstairs, curving in a gentle semi-circle. Three coat stands stood to attention in the corner under the stairs, loaded with outdoor clothing and hats.

He accessed the main living area through an open archway with wooden architrave. Paul found himself in a beautiful room, dominated by a decorative plaster ceiling, complete with chandelier, while the room itself contained simple and functional furniture.
Chesterfield
sofas and armchairs awaited guests’ relaxation, plus free standing items made of oak offered the room additional warmth. An elaborate cast iron and tiled fireplace contributed style, although no flames burned in there tonight, and above it hung an ornate mirror. The walls were plain red and antique pictures completed the decor.

 
The dining area adjoined this room, accessed through oak double doors. It had simplicity, with stone coloured walls and a few pictures, although the huge oak table had been pushed aside to make more space. Leading from this room hid a study, full of oak panelling, a heavy desk, some filing cabinets and bookcases. A passage connected the dining room with a huge kitchen, which had oak cabinets, a breakfast table, and Aga stove.

Overall, his house had traditional overtones, although Paul didn’t observe any family portraits, which gave it a strangely impersonal feel. Questions often crossed Paul’s mind regarding how Max Richardson had acquired his wealth. There never appeared to be a shortage of money, and Max spent over half of his time away from The Establishment. Sometimes, Paul caught a glimpse of unnamed men entering and leaving the facility late at night, which was rather disconcerting but at the end of the day, it was none of his business how Max operated. He hadn’t made an erroneous decision coming to work here, as the material benefits outweighed the ethical doubts in the back of his mind.

Paul had arrived at the same time as a number of other guests, a mixture of men and women, none of which appeared to be married to each other. Max had never mentioned a wife, and Paul assumed it was because he didn’t want to share his wealth by having to provide for a woman.

He filtered into the congregation, realising he didn’t recognise anyone. Socialising had started to become a distant memory, and he’d gotten so used to discussing research, methodologies, results and conclusions that the art of normal conversation eluded him. Cigarette and cigar smoke hung in the air, and he heard an ensemble of voices with various dialects. Vintage wine and quality champagne made the rounds along with exquisite food, although many of the women ate little of it.

A group of wealthy looking men formed an intellectual clique, creating great clouds of tobacco smoke. Paul cocked his ear in their direction to listen to the politically driven conversation.

“Well, at least Stalin got his just desserts,” he heard one man comment, who had a pencil thin moustache and wore black and white spats, straight from the twenties.

“Why do you draw that conclusion?” another questioned him, a slightly younger man with immaculate brown hair and a staid suit. “Where was the legal and moral punishment for his crimes, his purges..?”

“My dear fellow,” came the response, “he made doctors the victims of his latest purge, so that when he required medical attention, the very people who could have helped him were imprisoned. The irony! You see, your actions in life have a nasty habit of coming back to bite you on the backside.”

There were murmurs of agreement, and Paul diverted his attention to a group of four peroxide women, who were engaged in their own discussion.

“I can’t wait for Queen Elizabeth’s coronation,” one woman said. “There’s going to be such a street party, with bunting and tables of food.”

“I think it’s going to be on the television,” added another, “so it will be like we’re actually there. How wonderful.”

“We’ve always managed perfectly well with the wireless,” another said.

Max spotted Paul and made a beeline for him, placing a glass of wine into his hand. His demeanour had certainly changed now that business had been put aside, and he steered Paul over to a group of women.

“I’d like to introduce you to Roslyn, Margaret, and Eve, the longest serving members of the circle.”

They all smiled, revealing shiny white teeth. Roslyn had mahogany hair set in the classic forties wave while Margaret, a brunette, favoured the long and straight look. Eve had peroxide hair and modelled herself like Marilyn Monroe, the new star of
Hollywood
. They were all large breasted with hour glass figures, and eager to please.

“Take your pick,” said Max, “I highly recommend all three.”

Paul watched, as Max joined the group of four peroxide blondes he’d previously eavesdropped.

At that moment, some big band music typical of the forties kicked up, and Paul recognised Glenn Miller’s ‘In the Mood’ from its rousing sax introduction. Roslyn gestured to him to dance and he took up the offer, wishing he’d inherited his mother’s coordinated capabilities. After the song had finished, she moved onto another partner and a young, voluptuous blonde lady replaced her, who introduced herself as
Elizabeth
.

“You must be a newcomer,” she said, “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Yes, although I’ve been working at The Establishment for over two years now.”

The name didn’t seem to register with her but they continued dancing, in a somewhat stilted fashion. When the song stopped, they moved over to the side of the room where she sparked up a cigarette, drawing on it heavily.

“So,” she began, “what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a researcher,” he replied succinctly, cautious of revealing too much.

“Research? That sounds very…intellectual.”

“My background is science, it’s my current love.”

Elizabeth
’s eyes registered the fact and, simultaneously, she glanced at his left hand.

“So, you’re not married?”

“Well, no… my fiancée died in a blitz.” For some reason it sounded like a clichéd tragedy.

Elizabeth
leaned closer as she spoke.

“And, there hasn’t been anyone since?”

Paul responded with a shake of the head, aware of her interest.

From that point onwards,
Elizabeth
decided to glue herself, although not literally, to Paul’s side. He glanced over to see Max idly chatting with the three women he’d introduced earlier, and as the night progressed, everyone became suitably intoxicated. Wine and champagne released inhibitions, even Paul began to feel more relaxed and opened up socially. He realised that he’d been admitted to Max’s inner circle, quite an established one by the looks of it, and he knew he’d never see him in the same light ever again.

Elizabeth
became more flirtatious with the increased alcohol intake. It had been a few years since he’d received any female attention, discounting a few of the research volunteers who noted the lack of wedding band. Max accompanied Roslyn and Eve upstairs and glanced over at Paul, giving him a sly wink.
Elizabeth
smiled and looked him straight in the eye, in a fashion that telepathically suggested they do the same. She held out her hand and Paul took it, such a delicate little thing it was. She led him up the stairs and looked for an available bedroom, opening doors and finding the rooms occupied.

Max, Eve, and Roslyn occupied the main bedroom and Paul observed them in various states of undress. He caught Max in the process of snorting a line of white powder from Eve’s naked stomach, as she lay on the four poster bed. Roslyn sidled up to Max, ready to give pleasure. Paul was unprepared for this snapshot, and he briefly saw Max smile surreptitiously before
Elizabeth
closed the door.
 

The next room contained two men and two women engaged in straightforward sex, so Eve had high hopes for the last bedroom. Unfortunately, it too was occupied, this time by a man who had passed out due to an excess of alcohol. A disgruntled brunette left the room.
Elizabeth
refused to be deterred.

“Ever done it in a bathroom, Paul?” she asked.

She pushed him gently so that he flopped onto the toilet, with the lid down of course. Kicking the door shut, she slipped her dress off, revealing a lack of underwear and sat astride him, pushing her generous cleavage into his face. It had been a good, correction, bad few years since he’d been physical with a woman, and
Elizabeth
offered a pretty reason to reacquaint himself with pleasures of the flesh. The alcohol intoxication removed the barriers he’d normally experience in this odd situation.

They didn’t kiss, which was no big issue for Paul, and he grabbed her buttocks as she rode up and down on him. Sex was always divine after such a long abstinence…the hot feeling of being inside a woman, being able to hold her tight and experience an intense climax, burying his face in between her breasts and forgetting everything for a moment.

Max must have heard his finale, as he opened the door of the bathroom just a few minutes later and stood in the doorway, semi-clothed, drink in hand.

“Now that you’ve been broken in, why don’t you and Elizabeth join me in the master bedroom? You’re just getting warmed up and she needs a little girl on girl treat, I think.”

Despite the unusual request, the wine and sexuality of the environment aided his decision.

When Paul and Elizabeth entered the room, Eve lay on the bed while Roslyn sat in the leather chair, one leg draped over the arm and little left to the imagination.
Elizabeth
joined Eve on the bed and proceeded to pleasure her, while Roslyn placed Paul in the chair, then knelt down. Max was happy to be a temporary voyeur and, as he closed the door, he gave a satisfied smile. Some while later, a canon of ecstasy rang out, completing Paul’s initiation.

***

Several hours later, Paul opened his eyes to find himself in one of the spare beds, and immediately closed them on seeing the sunlight streaming through the window. His head pounded, and his body ached from the sheer amount of ‘exercise’ the night before. He couldn’t believe he’d been involved in a night of sheer debauchery, but it had really happened. It was one of those experiences that left you a changed person, when your perceptions of those and others around you would never be the same again. Paul had no regrets however, as he’d hurt no one and everyone had been a willing participant.

He glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed it was two o’clock in the afternoon! A wave of panic washed over him, shouldn’t he be at work? As he remembered the project had concluded, a breaker of relief succeeded the worry. It made him realise how automated his life had become in respect of research, and the party had released him from this thought process for a while.

Paul rolled over, surprised to find
Elizabeth
asleep next to him. She still looked pretty, not all women did first thing in the morning. While she slept, he watched her and felt strangely content, although she must have sensed his gaze for she opened her eyes.

“Morning Mr. Lover Man.”

“Correction,” Paul said, “afternoon.”

She laughed and pondered aloud. “I just have to take this diaphragm out,” she said, shifting around in bed.

“I was going to suggest a repeat performance,” he shrugged.

At this point, Max knocked and entered, then sat in the armchair, contented smile on his face.