Chapter 67: Chapter 67: The Girl Who Came Back - Chapter Twenty-Three

I fold my arms, eyeballing the fat man. “There’s nothing to think about. I’m not interested.”

“Ah, but I am, and I don’t like taking ‘No’ for an answer. So, let me put it this way. If you don’t start putting out for me, your boss in there, Haswell, is going to know all about what you got up to last year.

Everyone else too. Would you like to be famous on the internet?”

The office door opens and my Master steps into the room. He glances askance at the man.

“Ah yes, you’d be James. Yes, now I remember you too. Ned Jansen’s the name. Nice to meet you again.” He takes my Master’s barely proffered hand, shaking it, smirks again and walks away.

“What was all that about?”

I keep my voice low, conscious that Haswell is only on the other side of the door. “He’s trying to blackmail me. You too, I think. He was one of the other bidders at the auction. He’s threatening to tell Haswell about it.”

He is about to reply, but the door opens and Haswell steps out. “Ah, James. Glad I caught you before you left.”

My Master looks down at me. “We’ll talk about this later.”

*****

“So, what does he actually want?”

“Me, I think. He wants me to ‘put out’ for him. He offered me money at first, but when I refused, he said he wasn’t taking ‘No’ for an answer, and wouldn’t pay me.”

“Charming man…” My Master chews his bottom lip, pacing around the room. “You think he’ll do it?”

“Mmm, yes, I do. He’s not a pleasant man.”

“Then, there’s really only one course of action…. we have to tell Haswell ourselves, before he finds out some other way.”

*****

The lift doors swoosh open in front of me, and I step inside. Just as the doors close again, Jansen steps in beside me. “Ah, Charlotte. I do hope you’ve had time to reconsider.” He clamps his hand over the panel, so that I can neither press for my floor, or open the doors.

“Push off, creep.”

“Last chance. I’m not a patient man.”

“Let me out.”

“You’ll be sorry.” He smiles and releases the panel. I jab at the ‘Door Open’ button and almost leap out of the lift, trembling and panting.

*****

I call Francis.

“Francis, is it possible for me to have a few minutes with Mr Haswell this morning?”

“Is it urgent, Charlotte?” I know that a good part of Francis’ job, as Haswell’s secretary and receptionist, is to free him from unnecessary appointments.

“Um… yes, it is really.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Five minutes later, I get a callback. “Yes, he can see you now, as it happens. Do you want to come up?”

I tap on the door, feeling timid.

“Come in.”

Haswell is sitting behind his desk, clearly working, with a scattering of documents, a laptop, a pile of mail.

He looks at me over his spectacles, his expression neutral.

“Good morning, Charlotte. What can I do for you?”

My mouth suddenly dry, “Mr Haswell. There’s something I need to tell you.”

He looks at me over steepled fingers, frowning slightly. “Yes, and what is that?”

My throat is tight, and I am struggling to get the words out. After a moment, he stands, looking a trifle more sympathetic, waving me to the couches overlooking the City view.

“Coffee?” he asks.

I nod, swallowing hard. As he passes me a cup, I gulp down a mouthful, and then cough because the coffee is too hot.

He sits there, waiting patiently.

“I’m…. I’m… being blackmailed, or at least someone is trying to blackmail me and I’m not knuckling under to it, so, I think you’re going to find out anyway, and I’d rather you heard it from me.”

His eyebrows are raised. “Go on,” he says carefully.

“It’s about, James and I….”

He purses his lips. “If it is to do with the nature of the... um, relationship, between you, I can see that it might embarrass you, but it’s hardly blackmail material; especially since I already know about it.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

“How...?”

“Charlotte, when a man of James’ age, however much I respect him, is quite so fulsome in his praise of a young woman, especially a young woman so, excuse me, but so beautiful, as you are, I have to question his motives.”

“He said that he got me the interview with you, but that the rest is up to me.”

He smiles, wryly, “Well, that’s true enough.”

“So…?” I say cautiously, not knowing quite where this is going.

“Charlotte, I’ve had an eye kept on you for the last day or so. As I said at our initial talk, I’m not too sure what to make of you. When I meet someone who seems too good to be true; academically brilliant, judging by your exam results, attractive, likeable, highly motivated…. I start looking for the snag, the downside…. “

“My exams results are genuine…”

“I know. I checked with your university…”

“Oh!”

“So, I know that that is not the snag…”

He sees my expression. “Charlotte, I had you followed, and when I got a call the other night, I went to see for myself what was happening. Remember, I’m about to sign James up as a fellow director. If he has skeletons in his cupboard, I have to know what they are….”

“You mean…...?” I cringe inwardly.

“I was at the Club. I had a ringside seat in the viewing gallery.”

“Oh, God…” I mutter, hand over my face, flushing.

He waits for a moment. “Charlotte, I’m quite sure that right now, your embarrassment is excruciating, but, it is not a difficulty. ‘Work hard. Play hard?’ I don’t have a problem with it. It is private business between the two of you.… Sorry, the three of you.”

Again, he waits for a moment, while my mouth tries to form words. When I fail, he fills in. “So, if that is all that this was about, we’ll let it pass, shall we? I assume there’s nothing else?”

“Er, well, yes, there is. You see the blackmail thing, it’s not to do with our relationship…. exactly. It’s more to do with… how we met.”

Now, Haswell goes silent. He sits quietly, waiting.

Forcing the words out, “I needed money, badly. I auctioned myself. James was my buyer.”

He tilts his head, absorbing my words. “You say, he was your ‘buyer’? What was the nature of this ‘buying’? You mean, you prostituted yourself?”

“Er, not exactly, although I suppose a lot would see it that way. Um, I sold myself for a week, with er…

my virginity. It was a contract, through an auction house.”

His voice is deadpan, expressionless. “And in this contract, you agreed to… what?”

“Anything,” I whisper, “anything that didn’t result in my permanent injury.”

He sits back in his chair. “You are telling me that James Alexanders, who I am about to appoint as a director, purchased a young girl…. How old were you are the time?”

“Twenty-two.”

He raises his eyebrows. “….. a young woman then, for purposes of……”

“Yes.”

He reaches over to his phone. “Francis, cancel my appointments for this morning please.”

“Yes, Mr Haswell.”

“I have several questions for you, Charlotte.”

I nod.

“Who is trying to blackmail you? Is it James?”

“Oh, no. Not at all.”

“So,” he continues, “about this blackmail?”

“There was a man, in one of your meetings. He recognized me. He was at the auction. He bid on me but got knocked out. He told me, he bought one of the other girls. He tried to make me agree to….

When I refused, he said he would tell you. Destroy me, and James, in your eyes.”

“And the name of this man?”

“Ned Jansen.”

“Jansen?” His eyebrows rise. “Never did like the man much. Still, he’s not done anything yet…. or…”

He pauses, looking at the pile of mail on his desk.