Laura breathed a sigh of relief when her parents finally departed in her father’s Mercedes, her mother waving frantically till the last second before they disappeared out of sight. 

            Her mother was dramatic at the best of times but separating from her only daughter for the first time provided Margaret Lawson with a role to grasp with both hands.  More than once on their tour of the college father and daughter had raised their eyebrows behind Margaret’s back after she’d made some particularly gushing comment to the second year student acting as their guide. 

            The college wasn’t packed with students because it was the start of Freshers’ week and the majority would arrive at the start of the following week.

            The tour ended with the student delivering the trio to Laura’s room on the third storey of the hall of residence.

            Laura shuddered to imagine what the girl would think of her mother.  Probably most girls of eighteen were embarrassed by their parents but her mother was in a league of her own when it came to the toe-curling factor. 

            Her father was quiet and long-suffering and could easily be mistaken for the archetypal henpecked husband but Laura knew that appearances were deceptive in that respect.  You didn’t head up a business as big as his if you were a pussy cat.  If the need arose his foot went down firmly; however most of the time he tolerated his wife’s verbal excesses with an indulgent smile.

            And she could be amusing.

            Her snobbery and bigoted views led her to make such outrageous statements that laughter was the only possible response.  But it was harder to see the funny side when someone else was present, like the polite student who had shown them round.

            Laura was convinced her mother got away with as much as she did only because she was so good looking.  Even in her mid forties she still looked striking with her sandy colored hair, hazel eyes and pale skin.  She was tall and still slender and she walked well, with a straight back as though taking part in some perpetual deportment class.  Despite being slim she had a big bust, a trait her daughter had inherited.

            She might be only eighteen but Laura knew the power good looks bestow.  If Margaret was striking, Laura was, by common consent, simply stunning.

            Tall like mother (and father) she still had a rangy, long-legged, coltish look about her, not yet as confident and stylish as Margaret, still girlish and gauche, but with natural beauty in abundance. Laura’s auburn hair was long and lustrous and she had the redhead’s flawless marble-white skin (the lucky ones) with just a few freckles on her nose.  Her eyes were hazel but sometimes seemed to turn green.  Other appealing features were her red bee-sting lips, regular white teeth and slightly retrousse nose but any list of attributes did her less than justice.  Much more than the sum of her parts, she glowed with health and vitality.  She worked out in the gym but she was naturally fit and strong.  Self-conscious about her breasts when she was growing up, she was now reconciled to their shape and size and aware that everyone else regarded them as an asset, especially men; she was confident enough  to wear T-shirts with slogans like, ‘Lovely Young Things, ‘Perfect Symmetry’ and ‘Will strip for Chocolate.’

            She didn’t need make-up and rarely wore it.

            She smiled a lot with sparkling eyes.

            Laura was a glorious teenager on the cusp of womanhood.

            And now she had a new status, university undergraduate.

            She was proud of her academic record, proud to have gained a place at such a prestigious university, one of the best in the land.  Proud she had brains as well as beauty Laura smiled to herself and stretched out her arms in the little student bedroom she now occupied as though measuring the distance from wall to wall, the dimensions of her new world.  It might be small but she would not be constrained.  She flexed her youthful limbs like a bird preparing to fly. 

            Her new found sense of freedom made her want to shriek with joy.

 

***

 

Freshers’ week meant there were no lectures and the new students were given the opportunity to visit various stands set up to advertise the range of clubs and societies available to them. The rest of the week would give them plenty of time to socialize which meant the bar would be busy.

            Some of the students manning the stands adopted the hard sell approach while others draped themselves about adopting an air of studied indifference. Their facial expressions suggested any first year student they allowed to join their club would be so lucky to be accepted they would want to fall on their knees in gratitude.  Soliciting was the last thing on their minds: far too demeaning.

            She looked round when someone spoke to see a very imposing female figure even taller than herself. 

            ‘You look like a girl with an eye for the finer things of life,’ the woman said.  ‘Have you heard of the Carmilla Club?’

            ‘I haven’t.  What’s it all about?’

            Laura looked round in search of a stand or poster.

            ‘Oh, we don’t advertise.  Certain people, like yourself, are invited to express an interest.  We’re a select bunch and we don’t recruit more than half a dozen from each group of freshers.  Once you join you have a life membership so we have lots of old girls still active- we mustn’t let them hear me calling them old girls!’

            Laura noticed the tall woman was wearing a black poncho and because of her stooping shoulders she had the look of a predatory bird.  The varnish on her long fingernails was black which matched her sleek back raven black hair.  Somehow she contrived not to look ridiculous despite her obvious striving for effect. 

            ‘It’s the best club in the college for the social side.  Take my word for it.’

            ‘You see me as a party animal?’ asked Laura with a smile.

            ‘I see you as remarkably attractive creature, my dear. We appreciate beauty in the Carmilla Club.’

            ‘Thank you,’ said Laura, aware the woman was looking at her so intently she felt a shiver down her spine.  She was used to people looking at her breasts but it could be disconcerting.

            ‘It’s the elite group, believe me.  An exclusive sisterhood.’

            ‘I’m Laura,’ she said for the sake of breaking the spell.

            ‘I’m Veronica,’ said the other woman. ‘But I usually get Ronnie.’  

            Laura felt herself blush and knew a small rash like a strawberry birthmark would be emblazoned on her neck.  It always happened when she was really embarrassed and always in the same place.

            ‘I can see you’re uncertain about whether to join our sisterhood.’

            This statement caused Laura to feel more uncomfortable.  Another penetrating look from Veronica caught her in its beam.

            ‘Your aura,’ Veronica said, answering the unspoken question.  ‘Everyone has an aura.  I can see your thoughts before you speak them.  Just now your aura’s a little dark.  You’re uncertain about what you should do.’

            ‘Is this spiritualism?  The Occult?’

            ‘Are you interested in such matters?’

            ‘I find that sort of thing absolutely fascinating,’ said Laura. 

            It wasn’t true.  She’d never felt more than the mildest curiosity.  Now it was as though she felt compelled to say these words and she couldn’t think why that should be so.  Another inner voice told her the woman was talking drivel and was probably bonkers.  But Veronica was still staring into her eyes and Laura felt unable to look away.  She knew the rash would be bright on her neck.  Sweat made a little pool above her upper lip. 

            Veronica moved closer, invading Laura’s personal space, but she didn’t step back.

            ‘You have lovely green eyes,’ she said.

            ‘Is that what the Carmilla Club is about, the supernatural or paranormal? I’m not sure I know the difference.’

            ‘We like to look beyond the surface of things towards the spiritual certainly.  Spiritual in the sense we mean includes art and music.’ 

            ‘It certainly sounds interesting,’ said Laura.

            ‘One thing I should point out.’

            ‘Yes.’

            ‘The Cub is only open to female members.’

            ‘Is there a reason for that?’

            ‘To be honest we find women are more attuned, shall we say.  Male students show little interest anyway.  Most of them join the sports clubs.  A few are interested in politics.’

            ‘I find politics quite interesting,’ said Laura feeling certain her assertions would sound inane.   She wasn’t particularly interested in politics either.  What would Veronica think of her if she could read her thoughts or whatever it was she claimed to do?

            ‘Oh, so are we, Laura.  The politics of female power and emancipation.’

            ‘Yes,’ said Laura hesitantly.

            ‘Well then, said Veronica.  ‘Tell you what, I’ll give you some time to think and pop up to your room later and bring an application form.  There’s an interview and a little initiation ceremony as well but we’ll take it one step at a time.  Would that be OK?’

            ‘Sure,’ said Laura.  She noticed Veronica didn’t ask for her room number and Laura thought of shouting it after her but didn’t.