PART I
THE ABDUCTION
OF AN ADULTERESS
Chapter 1 –
THE BALL AT THE YACHT CLUB
The story so
far --
Sheikh Ali bin Faisal al Tufaya is the ruthlessly cruel scion of a junior branch of
the ruling family of the oil-rich sheikdom of Shadek.
The senior branch of the family had
recognised him as a potential threat and offered him a large income for life on
condition he kept out of the country. He had therefore renovated an old palace
in North Africa and moved his harem there. It was a strictly fundamentalist
Moslem country with the same strict rules regarding women as he was used to in
Arabia.
He had long been fascinated by
European women and, following an official visit to Britain, by well-bred young
Englishwomen in particular. Now he was free to indulge his fantasy of keeping a
number of them in his well-guarded and well-disciplined harem, under the strict
supervision of Zalu, his chief black eunuch.
His
mental satisfaction in collecting and owning these now helpless but formerly
free and indeed often happily married women, was as great as his physical
satisfaction in enjoying their bodies.
He now had seven beautiful, pure bred,
upper class Englishwomen in his harem, including a mother and daughter, as well
as a pair of half English, half Lebanese, twins and half a dozen lovely Arab
girls - all closely supervised and trained by his eunuchs and prevented by them
from seeing or being seen by other men. They do not even know where they are or
just who their Master is.
All had just mysteriously disappeared
without trace into his harem and there had been no scandal - partly thanks to
the assistance of Pierre, a young Frenchman. To ensure that they could not get
away even if they succeeded in escaping from the harem, all were registered as
his numbered Indentured Servants with the North African authorities
It was now time, he felt, that he
increased the number of his white women concubines.
The ball at
the exclusive yacht club on the Costa Esmeralda in Sardinia was a scene of
magnificent splendour.
Chinese
lanterns lit up the big terrace overlooking the sea. A band was playing
romantic music. A new moon was reflected on the still, tideless,
Mediterranean Sea. Across the bay numerous visiting
yachts lay at anchor, their fairy lights making a carefully planned and
beautiful backdrop to it all.
Periodically
the Yacht Club’s fast launches would bring yet more guests to the yacht club
jetty in one of several small-secluded rocky inlets.
The men all
looked splendid in their white dinner jackets, but it was the women who really
made the scene with their glittering ball dresses, that showed off slim
figures, beautifully dressed hair, sparkling eyes and provocative cleavages.
Some of the
dresses were satin covered with sequins that must have cost a fortune to sew on
and an even larger fortune to buy. Some were scarcely more than simple wisps of
silk. Others were long and graceful in a rainbow of colours. Yet others were
perhaps more striking, being all in a simple white, blue, or green colour.
The necks,
ears and corsages of the women glittered with diamonds and rubies, emeralds and
sapphires.
Standing to
one side and watching the dancing was a tall and beautiful dark haired woman in
her forties. She was wearing a well-cut green dress of damask silk. She was the
Principessa Zorrenti, the
wife of a large Calabrian landowner. She was pointing to a strikingly beautiful,
young, blond woman wearing a provocative slip of a dress that hardly seemed to
cover her prominent bosom. The Principessa seemed as
jealous of the younger woman as only a Southern Italian woman can be.
Indeed she had reason
to be jealous for the younger woman was dancing and flirting with a
distinguished looking grey-haired man, who seemed to be besotted with her. He
was the Principessa’s husband – the Principe.
‘Oh,’ the Principessa burst out, ‘I’d give anything to get rid of
that slut of an adulteress – and to put her where we’d never have to see her
again.’
She was
speaking to an attractive-looking young Frenchman, Pierre, who was standing
attentively at her side.
‘Oh, really?’
observed Pierre in good Italian. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Oh, yes,’
answered the Principessa in an almost hysterical
tone. ‘Just look at the way she’s flaunting herself with my husband in front of
all my friends and me. Everyone seems to know she’s his Mistress. Of course,
he’s had shop girls or servant girls before, but this one is different. This
one he parades in public.’
‘Yes,’
murmured Pierre sympathetically. The girl was strikingly attractive with a
healthily tanned skin and dark eyes that hinted at some Latin blood. She was
tall and slim and her dress scarcely covered her full firm breasts.
‘I hate her,’
went on the Principessa. ‘She’s nothing more than an
adventuress – an adulteress.’
‘Adulteress?’
queried Pierre.
‘Yes, she’s a
married woman having an affair with a married man.’
‘A married
woman?’ repeated Pierre with interest.
‘With a
husband who has apparently gone off to Australia with most of her money,
leaving her to play around with rich married men like that booby of a husband
of mine. She’s even almost persuaded him to divorce me and marry her – so that
she can get her greedy hands on his money.’
‘Oh!’ said
Pierre. Divorce in Catholic Italy was rare and expensive and usually had to be
arranged abroad.
‘He’s been so
infatuated by her that he even arranged for her to stay at an isolated flat
near our villa, so that he could slip away and see her without anyone knowing –
no maids or prying landladies.’
‘Goodness!’
exclaimed Pierre sympathetically. Then he added as if to himself. ‘How
convenient.’
‘Oh, yes, I
tell you I’d pay a fortune to anyone who could get rid of that adulterous slut
for ever – and if I could see her suffer as she’s made me suffer.’
‘Well,’
replied Pierre suddenly serious. ‘Perhaps I might be able to help you. What’s
her name?’
‘Carolyne Everard,’ muttered the Principessa angrily
‘English?’
‘Yes.’
Pierre’s eyes
lit up. ‘Even better,’ he murmured.
‘I think her
mother was half Spanish. Anyway, she was well educated,’ went on the Principessa, ‘and her father came from quite a good family
– though you wouldn’t think so from the way she behaves here. More like a tart
or some common pop star.’
‘No close
relations then?’ asked Pierre in an interested tone.
‘No,
apparently her parents died when she was young and she was brought up by her
only close relative, an aunt who died recently, leaving her very little money
and quite alone – except for her absentee husband.’
‘Interesting,’
said Pierre. ‘And when is her husband be coming back?’
‘Never, I
think!’ replied the Principessa.
‘What do you
mean?’
‘Oh he’s got
another girl.’
‘Better
still!’ Pierre’s mind was racing. Then he turned and looked the Principessa in the eye.
‘Supposing,’
he said, speaking slowly and deliberately, ‘supposing she were to disappear for
ever into the harem of a rich and cruel Arab Sheikh.’
‘Oh,
disappear into a harem!’ gasped the Principessa. ‘Yes,
that would be brilliant.’ Then she thought for a moment. ‘But would she suffer?
I wouldn’t want her to enjoy it.’
‘How would
you like to be a mere concubine, disciplined and under the constant and
intimate control of a Sheikh’s strict black eunuchs?’
‘It would be
ghastly!’
‘Exactly,’
said Pierre.
‘I see! But
is that really possible in this day and age?’
‘It might be
well be,’ replied Pierre enigmatically,’ if you’re really prepared to pay for
it.’
‘Yes,
provided I can actually see her suffer – and being punished.’
‘That might
also be possible,’ said Pierre thoughtfully. Again his mind was racing.
‘Oh!’ cried
the Principessa clapping her hands with excitement.
‘But I’d want to see her being properly punished for her adultery with my
husband.’
‘Well there’s
always the canes of her new Master’s eunuchs,’ Pierre said with a smile.
‘But could I
watch her being thrashed?’
‘Perhaps,’
replied Pierre, realising that the Principessa was
getting really serious. It was time to cast another
fly over her.
‘And, of
course, flogging is not the only punishment prescribed in the Arab world for
adulterous women.’
‘Oh?’
exclaimed the Principessa eagerly. ‘What do you
mean?’
‘Well,’
replied Pierre slowly, ‘the Arabs have special, very special, punishments for
an adulteress.’
‘Ah yes!’
exclaimed the Principessa, again clapping her hands
as she realised just what Pierre was hinting at. ‘Oh yes! That would indeed be a sweet revenge. But do
you really think …’
‘Are you sure she’s alone here?’ Pierre
interrupted. ‘ No boyfriends?’
‘Apparently
not - she came secretly out to Italy to start a new life on her own, when her
husband left her, and told no one. Apparently, she had ideas of using her looks
and figure to start a new modelling career here – but then, instead, set her
cap at my husband, the scheming little bitch.’
‘Well!’ said
Pierre slowly. ‘I wonder where her passport is?’
‘Oh she
always carries that. I saw it in her bag earlier this evening – together with her credit cards and
cheque book - and, of course, the key to her flat.’
‘Excellent!’
laughed Pierre. ‘In that case . . .’
He paused for
a moment, deep in thought.
Then he
pointed over the terrace to a handsome and rather swarthy looking man in his
thirties who was wearing a well-cut dinner white jacket of Shantung silk. There
was a distinctly cruel air about him, coupled with a certain self-confident
ruthlessness that was accentuated by his short pointed beard and piercing eyes.
He was talking and laughing with a group of similar Arab-looking men.
‘That’s Sheikh
Ali,’ said Pierre. ‘How would he do?’
‘Well he
looks a cruel bastard. I wouldn’t like to be in his hands.’
‘It so
happens he has a penchant for well-bred Englishwomen.’
‘What!’
exclaimed the Principessa.
‘They say he
even secretly collects them for his harem.’
‘Secretly!’
repeated the Principessa. ‘Good Heavens! You mean …
Caroline … could . . . could disappear into his harem?
That would certainly get her out of the way.’
‘Indeed,’
said Pierre. ‘But that would not be all. You’d also get further revenge.’
‘Oh?’ asked
the Principessa intrigued.
‘Adultery is
considered as a very serious matter by certain Moslem courts. He might perhaps
agree for her to charged, for the punishment for adultery is, as I said, often
… how can I put it? … making sure that her pleasure is
much reduced – a treatment that many Moslem men are in any case not adverse to
having done to their women … for their own greater pleasure … mental as well as
physical.’
‘My God!’
cried the Principessa. ‘You mean? … Yes, that would
teach that slut a lesson all right.’
Then she
thought for a moment.
‘But how come
you know all this? I thought that Arabs never talk about their women.’
‘They don’t,
which is why no one would ever know where the beautiful Mrs Everard
was.’
‘That’s all
very well,’ the Principessa said suspiciously. ‘But
you still haven’t told me how you know all this.’
Pierre made
no reply. Instead he put his finger to the tip of his
nose in a well-known Italian gesture.
‘Well,’
laughed the Principessa, ‘I’ve often wondered just how
you earned your income, but I never thought that . . . So you know him well?’
‘Well enough
to ask him if he would be interested in acquiring young Mrs Caroline Everard.’
He paused for
a moment.
‘And, of
course, on condition that you were able to come and watch her humiliation and
her punishment for adultery.’