Roland DeForrest - The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

Honey took the cool hand and shook it, trying to read the face behind the glasses, behind the mask of propriety. She laughed lightly. “I was expecting a much older woman. My headmistress was old enough to be my grandmother.”

Mademoiselle Orleans frowned and sat herself in the chair. “Age has little to do with ability,” she said as she waved a hand toward the straight-backed chair in front of the desk. She waited until Honey sank into it before speaking in very precise English: “You must forgive me, but I have many matters to attend to. Your telephone request for an interview was rather vague. Just what is it you want from us?”

Honey crossed her long legs and decorously adjusted her skirt. “I am attempting to track down Kolina Svenson.”

The face across the desk flickered with discomfort before it once again became sternly stoic. “Why, may I ask?”

“Because the authorities have been unable to find her and I have every reason to believe she is in great danger.”

Again a small frown creased the brow of Mademoiselle Orleans. “Are you planning on writing an exposé on Bon Coeur, is that it?”

“No, this is entirely a personal matter.” Honey was not certain, but there could have been a slight softening of the headmistress’s stiff formality. “I know Kolina’s disappearance was beyond the control of the school, and I wouldn’t want to do anything that would be detrimental to Bon Coeur’s sterling reputation.”

For the first time a small, unsure smile greeted her. “We thank you for your discretion.”

Honey returned the smile with a dazzling one of her own. “I was merely hoping that you might be able to recall something that would give me a lead.”

A slight, very French shrug moved the slim shoulders behind the desk. “I’m afraid I’ve given all I know to the authorities, Miss Wildon.”

Internally debating her next move, Honey opened her tailored suit jacket, tugging open the cravat of her white silk blouse. “Please, call me Honey. And your first name is?”

The prim headmistress stiffened. “Claude,” she answered hesitantly. “But here we are not so quick with first names as you are in your country.”

“I mean no disrespect, be assured. I only want to be of help to you and your fine school.”

“I do not see how you could help, when all the authorities have failed.”

“Try me,” Honey replied with an open smile. “Believe me, my worldwide contacts have already in place a network of feelers.”

“Feelers?” Claude Orleans repeated, a slight blush invading her cheeks under the black-rimmed glasses. “I’m afraid I dot not understand.”

“Information-people on the look out for the missing girl,” she said easily. “Perhaps I could begin by looking at Kolina’s school file. That would give me a better idea of the girl.”

Abruptly, Claude Orleans swiveled her chair to the partially draped window beside the desk. Disconsolately she stared out for several moments, seemingly on the verge of tears. Honey was thinking of things she might say to console her, when she became aware of the young woman’s elegant profile. Backlit by the diffuse light from the window, Claude Orleans possessed a perfectly lovely facial silhouette-a graceful brow, an aquiline nose that would have been at home on any classical statue, a chin that was almost a shade too determined, and a long, swanlike neck. Her body was trim, like a gymnast’s.

Honey chastised herself for being so put off by the young woman’s initially cold manner that she had failed to note her physical attractions. Claude’s skin was as smooth and clear as pale silk, and her auburn hair glowed healthily in spite of the severe style. Her consciousness of Claude’s natural loveliness increased Honey’s desire to be the young woman’s friend. She stood and moved silently behind Claude’s chair, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It must be very difficult for you, Claude,” she said intimately. “I can imagine how you feel, being totally responsible for all these young girls and suddenly, through no fault of your own, losing one like this… and so mysteriously. You must be under a terrible strain.”

Claude raised her face, and behind her glasses, her clear, nut-colored eyes were moist with tears. “ Très, très tragique . Kolina is a magnificently gifted and intelligent child. And so beautiful she breaks your heart just to look at her.”

“Yes… yes, I know,” Honey murmured.

“You know? But how? Did you ever meet her?”

Honey reached into her suit jacket and extracted Dirk’s photo. Claude took it as if it were a religious artifact and, gazing at it, burst into tears. “Sweet, sweet Kolina,” she sobbed. “It’s all… all my fault.”

“How could it be?” she comforted, squeezing Claude’s shoulder gently. “The police report I read this morning in Zurich verified that Kolina vanished sometime after the evening bed check and the following morning’s roll call. It would have been impossible for you to have an inkling as to what might transpire.”

With a trembling hand, Claude removed her glasses to wipe the flowing tears from her eyes. “But she was my responsibility. I cannot forget that.” Her head snapped up. “Ever.”

Honey stared into the fiery brown eyes and at the fragile beauty of her face. Without her glasses, Claude looked so vulnerable, so young, barely older than some of the girls outside the door. A faint stirring erupted in Honey’s loins, and she fought to ignore it. “You poor darling,” she said, and sat on the edge of the desk. “There are some things in life that are totally beyond our control. We must learn to accept them. C’est la vie , no? Let us feel responsible for the matters we do have control over or an influence upon-like finding Kolina.”

Claude searched Honey’s eyes imploringly, as if wanting desperately to believe, then suddenly grabbed one of Honey’s hands with both of hers, raising it to her lips to kiss it. “ Merci , Honey… merci ,” she whispered into it. Then, as if embarrassed by her unladylike show of emotion, she dropped the hand and put on the black-rimmed glasses.

Honey reached out and, with the back of a hand, softly stroked the young woman’s tear-streaked cheek. “Courage, Claude-like the Maid of Orleans-faith and courage. All will be well.”

The young woman melted at once, her strong stern facade crumbling visibly into a welter of emotions. The tears started again, and Honey was moved to lean down and kiss her soft lips. Claude’s sharp intake of breath revealed less than did her mouth, which pressed back, returning the kiss in full.

A knock at the door brought Claude to her feet and around the desk like a startled doe. With some amusement, Honey watched Claude covering her embarrassment, firming her back. “ Entre ,” she said in a quavering but determined tone.

The door popped open and the sweet-faced student with the knowing eyes stepped in, surveying her headmistress before turning a bold gaze on Honey. “Pardon, but soon I am going to my English lesson,” she said in French. “Will you be needing me for anything more?”

“ Oui , Brigitte,” Claude responded, once more in complete control of her formidable presence. “Will you please find Kolina’s file for Miss Wildon? And make yourself available for an interview if she so desires?”

Honey stood and smiled openly at the charming girl. “You’re Brigitte Deauville? Kolina’s roommate?”

“Yes,” the girl said quickly. “How did you know?”

“Miss Wildon,” Claude began, all efficiency, “is a renowned journalist whose business is to know things like that. Now, please, take Miss Wildon to the records room and get her Kolina’s file and anything else she may ask for.” The headmistress turned to Honey. “We may continue our session after you’ve checked all you want.”