After the Dreams (Caroline's Company) (5 page)

‘Oh I am sorry. I hope we weren’t too rough with you. Let me
see.’

Very cautiously he lowered the duvet, keeping his head hung
down. He wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling about this.

‘We’ve got something that will
help for that.’ She went to the bathroom, and came back with a small white pot.
‘Just massage this in. Shall I do it for you?’

He meant to refuse, but nodded his head, and the girl rubbed
the scented cream firmly but gently onto the left side of his chest and then onto
the right. The lower part of him swelled even more.  He noted that the cream
smelt the same as the water Caroline had given him yesterday.

‘Probably rub some more in this evening, if you’re still
sore. Now you go and get washed and tidied up. Shall I help you choose some
clothes?’ She grinned at him.

There was no way he could get out of the bed with the girl
still there.

‘I’ll be alright thanks.’ (As though it mattered after
yesterday!)

She giggled. ‘OK, I’ll see you later. Come to the kitchen
when you’re ready.’

She moved to the door and then
turned. ‘If you want any help, just pick up the house-phone there.’ She pointed
to the bedside table, smiled, pouted and blew the boy a kiss.

When he was sure the door was
closed, Andrew carefully disentangled himself from the duvet and got off the
bed. There was a full length mirror on the far side of the room. He walked
towards it and saw himself naked. At least he looked different to last night.
No makeup. (When had that come off?) But his hair still showed the flashes of
red and gold that Sylvie the slave girl had sprayed onto it last night when she
had him strapped into that frame. He shook his hair in a way he couldn’t
remember having done before. Perhaps the colour would wash out. His erection
was subsiding but when he touched his sore chest it got larger again. He saw a
dressing gown on a chair, pulled it round him, and went to explore the
bathroom.

He did find some clothes that
he was not too uncomfortable wearing. He had boxer shorts like the ones he had
worn yesterday but these were softer and silkier, trousers that were quite
loose and needed a belt to hold them up, a stretchy top in a red colour, and a
loose weave jumper which was a bit wide in the neck. When he looked in the
mirror (which was something he seemed to do naturally), he looked OK, but
blinked as he saw himself first as a girl, and then as a boy. He was glad he
had washed the highlights out of his hair. He had found a band to put his hair
back into his accustomed pony-tail. At least no-one here minded he had long
hair. He put on the same sandals, although they were a little high in the heel.

Nervously, he found his way
down the staircase, back into the hall with the Three Graces in the middle, and
into the corridor that led to the kitchen.

‘Hello dear,’ said the large bustling lady he had met
briefly last night. ‘I’m glad you’ve arrived. I’ve been keeping food ready for
you. Would you like a proper breakfast; our own eggs and bacon from the farm?’

‘Yes. Yes please. Mrs Newcombe?’

‘Oh call me Belle please. Everyone does, except Mr Benedict
and Caroline when she’s being very formal. Now come and sit down. Would you
like orange juice?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’m sorry I’m so late.’

‘Don’t worry dear, you had a long journey yesterday, and I
expect the girls kept you up late last night.’ She said this while busy at the
range, with her back to him, and he could not tell whether she knew, or
approved, or disapproved, of what the ‘girls’  had been doing with him last
night.

He drank the juice. It was fresh and very good.

‘More juice? Or more coffee?’

‘Can I have both please?’

‘Of course, here’s the juice
and there’s coffee in the pot when you’re ready. Now here’s a plate of what we
serve our guests for a “proper” breakfast. Not that you are a just a guest of
course. We all really hope that you will want this to be your home now.’

There was crisp fat free bacon, scrambled eggs sprinkled
with a green herb (tarragon - and fennel - he learnt later) wholemeal toast,
black pudding, mushrooms that were crisp and spurting, and small sticks of a
green vegetable he did not recognise.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Yes dear?’

‘What’s this?’

‘Oh – fresh asparagus. Not
quite usual for breakfast I know, but the farm sent some over this morning,
lovely and fresh, and after all it is nearly lunch time. I steamed it quickly
for you. If you don’t like it just leave it. It does go well with scrambled
eggs though!’

Andrew, who by now was well
into eating it, could only agree.

‘Your little cat seems quite at home, we fed her and she’s
gone into the workroom with Sylvie. It was quite funny; last night Fred, that’s
my husband, made up a litter tray for her and put it in the back scullery. We
took her to show her where it was, and she looked at us with that haughty
expression she has, you know...’

Andrew tired and confused though he was, grinned at the
thought of the self-possessed little cat.

‘Then she put her tail straight up, and stalked out of the
back door. We were worried for a while, but she soon came back inside and
started rubbing round us for more food. Fred was worried that she’ll make a
mess of the kitchen garden, but as he said, she has to mark her new territory,
and we’ll soon find out where she goes.’

‘She’s a very clever cat,’ said
Andrew, clearing his plate. ‘In London...’ He stopped; his mood suddenly
changing. There were tears in his eyes. So much had happened so quickly.

Belle Newcombe had seen some
troubles in her time, and could empathise with the poor confused boy whose life
had been ripped apart. No more than anybody else in the house did she want his
new future, whatever it was going to be, to be blighted by constant reference
to the past.

‘She is a very clever little cat,’ she said gently. ’It’s
remarkable that she’s settled down so quickly. Animals do sometimes. People
take a little longer; no whiskers you see!’

She almost got him to smile. ’But do try not to worry. We’re
all here to help you, whenever you want, and whatever you want to do with
yourself.’

‘Mrs, - Belle, why isn’t...’

Belle shook her head.

‘It’s Caroline as you must as the questions of dear. She’s
the one who’s made all the arrangements, since she got back from seeing Mr
Benedict the last time.’

‘Is Mr Benedict...’

‘He is very very old dear, but
I know he was concerned about you; you, and your family.’

She said this with some
sympathy, and the boy lowered his face.

Belle said nothing for a while. A naturally talkative woman,
she knew when it was best to be quiet. Eventually Andrew looked up.

‘More to eat? More coffee?’

Andrew shook his head.

‘Well, it’s another lovely day. I think that Caroline is
going to take you for a walk round the park when you’re ready. She said so
earlier, if you were up before lunch that is. But she said that there was no
rush.’

‘Thank you very much Mrs... Belle. It was a lovely
breakfast.’

‘You’re very welcome dear. Now if you’ve finished why don’t
you take an apple for yourself and one for Caroline, she’s always worried about
eating enough fruit and go through to the workroom. You know where that is?’

‘On the far side of the hall?’

‘That’s right. If you get lost
pick up any of the house-phones. You’ll see them around everywhere, usually
hidden in a corner, but not hidden if you see what I mean! Now go and work up
an appetite for lunch!’

*****************************

Two days later, Andrew was
confused and cross with himself.

He had had a good walk through
the estate; park, grounds and farmland with Caroline. She had apologised again
about his missing luggage, and said that it was expected to arrive that day
from the town.  She had told him quite a bit about the estate business, and he
was more impressed than ever by her obvious competence, as well as by her
physical presence. He had not been close to many girls of his own age, and even
fewer adult females. Those he had met however, mostly the older sisters of his
few friends had interested and sometimes fascinated him. He had loved talking
to them. Now, he was intoxicated by the company of this beautiful and vastly
competent woman. He had talked more of himself, what he thought he wanted to
do, and what he liked and disliked, more than he had ever done before. Caroline
was interested, and never critical, and would always defend him against himself
when he tried to put himself down. Even when he had told her of his most secret
memories, and of his games with his cousin Lucy, she had smiled and told him that
he wasn’t unusual, and that the important thing was that everybody found out
what they needed to find out, both about themselves and about others, and that
nobody got hurt.

He had told her too, about how
he really disliked some of the older boys and men. He didn’t want to be that
kind of man. That had worried him when thinking about University. He didn’t
relate to excessive drinking, or games, of treating women merely as sexual
objects. His Dad had been intelligent, gentle and considerate. He had never
been violent, or loud, and certainly not drunken. That made what had happened
to him seem even more cruel.

Caroline had pointed out that it was not only men who could
be drunken or cruel. Some women were as well; and some women could be
manipulative and devious in ways even worse than men.

Andrew, carried away by his own
analysis, had told her that he sometimes thought he would be happier as a
woman. He certainly didn’t like his own male body, and envied women their soft
skin and fuller curves. He had stopped; shocked by his own admission of
something he had hardly dared think, even to himself.

But Caroline had laughed gently
and had taken his hand. Naturally, she said, women were the much more
interesting gender. They were much more versatile, could wear more interesting
clothes (!), and even though heavily discriminated against in many societies,
were the people who really kept the world going. There were people who had
managed to change their gender, although some were more successful than others.

She had asked him gently if he had enjoyed the previous
evening.

He had blushed, looked away,
and said, politely, that he had enjoyed it very much.

That evening they had had a
quiet meal, and then Caroline and Sylvie had some tasks to finish in the estate
workroom. Andrew had watched television on the vast screen in the drawing room.
The two women had joined him later, and they had shared a glass of wine.
Aphrodite decided to visit them, and after making sure that they all remembered
her, had settled down on Andrew’s lap.  After a while though, she abandoned him
for Sylvie.

He could not yet place his
first evening in the house into any kind of context. Sometimes he relished the
memories of naked and rounded flesh. Sometimes he was repelled, although still
fascinated, by what he had been involved with. He was grateful, though also a
little regretful, when the evening ended with no more than good night kisses on
his cheeks, though Caroline and Sylvie were much more elaborate between
themselves.

That night he didn’t sleep
well. Everything was rebounding through his head. He was appalled by what he
had confessed to Caroline, and was telling himself that he really must get
control of himself. When he eventually slept his dreams were tumultuous and
threatening, and he woke to the dashing of rain against the windows.

He was silent at breakfast, and
when he tried to pick up Aphrodite she writhed in his hands and made him put
her down. She looked at him crossly, hissed, and abandoned him for Sylvie.

That day his luggage arrived.
He took the bag up to his room. (There was a lift built into the rear of the
staircase which made this much easier than he had been expecting.) He opened
the bag. Inside was all that was left of his London life. He carefully
unwrapped the most important of his photographs from the pair of jeans that had
kept them safe. He sat on the floor and his tears ran.

Sometime later, Sylvie came up
to see where he was and to ask him if he wanted lunch. He was still sat on the
floor, and she knelt beside him and put her hand on his shoulder. He spurned
her, stood up, and ran to the rain-lashed window.

That afternoon, his face washed
and wearing his own clothes. He went down the workroom, knocked very formally,
and asked if he might speak to Caroline. Sylvie quietly left the room. Caroline
listened to him in silence, and when she replied was polite and grave.

If he felt that he didn’t want
to live in the house with them, he could have a cottage on the estate, or if he
didn’t want to be by himself, she was sure he could stay with the Newcombes. If
he wanted to resume his studies they could arrange distance-learning options,
or eventually they could find him a flat somewhere. Anything he needed, he
could order on-line, or Fred Newcombe would drive him to town. Money was no
object, and he should not worry about it. But, she said, these were difficult times
for him. He should not expect to know what he wanted to do all at once.
Caroline would always be available if he wanted to talk to her.

************************************

From the doorway of the walled
garden, where he had been helping Belle Newcombe, Andrew could see the terrace
on the south side of the main house. Caroline, her long legs in tight leggings,
Sylvie in a little white dress with a ridiculously short skirt, and two other
women he didn’t recognise, one wearing a quite formal looking grey suit, and
one in an Indian sari, were walking down the steps to the croquet lawn. He saw
Sylvie’s skirt ride up as she negotiated the steps and heard her laughter as
she pulled her hem down. The longing that had been increasing in him for the
last two days was suddenly unbearable. Why couldn’t he be like the carefree
girl? Why couldn’t he be what he felt he really was?