Roland DeForrest - The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

On Menorca, one of the Balearic Islands in the Mediterranean, off the coast of Spain, she sat tensely under a large blue and white striped beach umbrella on the edge of the secluded cove, counting the minutes until Kolina’s return from the village of Ciudadela. Every moment the beautiful girl was out of her sight, Honey was worried about Kolina’s safety and could not relax. She had seen Bouscaral’s mercurial changes of mood; sometimes they bordered on madness, even violence. He had the girl guarded at every moment with a growing possessiveness and jealousy that sent chills up Honey’s spine. Other than the twice-daily French lessons, Kolina was constantly under Henri’s thumb, and Honey was convinced that the longer the girl was held captive, the more her life was in danger.

But Honey had yet to come up with a certain escape plan. Every scheme she thought up she eventually rejected as being too risky. The single most significant factor working against her was Bouscaral himself. He never informed her of their destinations until they had already landed in his private jet; he never let on how long they were to stay in one spot, which periods varied widely, from overnight up to a week; he never let anyone not in his employ anywhere near his entourage; he whisked them in and out of countries, usually in the dead of night, without any of them having to go through customs or come face to face with any authorities or police. His seemingly unlimited bank account blanketed them all with a protective layer of isolation. The latest locale was a huge, Spanish-designed villa in which he had ensconced them all.

Only once had she been able to attempt to notify the outside world, and that had been by means of a hastily written message, accompanied by a hundred-dollar bill, that she had left in a ladies’ room in the airport in Curaçao, asking the finder to send a cable to Dirk in care of the hotel in Honk Kong. But she had no idea whether the message had even been found, let alone sent. And that uncertainty only heightened her sense of desperation. For the life of her, she could not think of a way to get Kolina and herself out of their traveling prison.

“Claudine!” called the girl’s voice from the other end of the beach.

With immense relief, Honey spotted the hauntingly beautiful girl running barefoot through the sand toward her. She was dressed in a gauzy, almost see-through dress of pure white; her windswept, light golden hair was the color of the sand, and the blue-green sea beyond her silhouetted her striking figure with a shimmering backdrop. Honey stood, adjusting her beach robe, which protected her fair skin from the hot sun.

“Claudine,” the girl said breathlessly, and glanced over her shoulder at the fast-approaching guard. “I saw your brother! In town. But the guards did too, and they recognized him! I’m frightened for him, Claudine.”

Honey was thrown into confusion-he had received her cable! Hope and fear mounted together. “Dirk? Here? Did he see you?”

“Yes, yes. And he tried to speak, but the guards shoved him away. The head one is going to tell Henri, I just know,” Kolina cried. “Oh, Claudine, I’m scared for him. He looked so angry. I’m afraid he’ll do something silly and get in trouble.”

“Yes, most likely,” Honey said, her mind racing. “But you must not let on. Now collect yourself at once. Here comes Tweedledum.”

On cue, the younger of the tough-looking guards approached, eyeing them suspiciously. “Inside,” he ordered Kolina curtly. “Now!”

The girl ducked her light blonde head and, with a sidelong glance of concern at Honey, slipped away toward the stucco villa partially hidden in the lush foliage. Honey, pretending anger, stared after Kolina and turned to the guard, muttering, “That child will never learn. She wants to go swimming instead of having her lesson this afternoon. I must protest to Monsieur Bouscaral.” Gathering the long skirts of her beach robe, she too marched toward the villa.

Once inside the luxuriously furnished villa, Honey ran lightly on tiptoes to the stained-glass door of Henri’s library. Through it she could see the outlines of both Henri and the head guard, whom she and Kolina had nicknamed Tweedledee. Faint voices filtered out to her, and her fears grew. The guard was reporting the presence of the pesky Yank who had tried to speak to the girl both in New York and in Hong Kong. Henri spun away, sputtering angrily in French, “He is onto us. We must eliminate him. Find out where he’s staying and see to it tonight.”

Honey did not need to hear any more. She backed away from the door and ran to her room on the second floor. With a cold lump of concern blocking her throat, she watched from her window the exodus of the two guards, pulling away toward the village in the dark sedan. They were going to track down Dirk, and that night-she couldn’t even finish the horrible thought. She must warn him. But how?

Her French lesson with Kolina that afternoon in the massive library was subdued, with an undercurrent of tension. Henri was present the entire time, watching them both carefully from behind the huge carved oak desk. Honey struggled to keep her tone as professional as before, but several times her voice cracked and Henri shot her strange, suspicious looks. Kolina, also, was behaving abnormally, her demeanor strained and worried. At one point, Henri demanded to know what was wrong with her today, but Kolina-bless her quick mind-responded that she was bored, bored, bored and that she missed her sister terribly.

After the lesson, Honey returned to her room to await anxiously the return of the guards. When she heard the sedan pulling into the drive, she slipped downstairs, hoping to overhear their report to Henri, but the three men took a long walk on the deserted beach. Honey watched from the wide, covered veranda, desperate to know of their impending plans. Later that day, as the sun was sinking into the darkening sea, she was surprised to receive an invitation to join Henri and Kolina for dinner. The rarity of the occasion only increased her wariness. Throughout the many courses of the huge meal, she spoke only when spoken to and in general remembered her subserviant position. The caldareta -a thick stew of chunky lobster meat-was delicious, as were the many wines and the dessert of fresh kumquats drowning in heavy cream laced with Cointreau, but Honey barely tasted the rich fare. All she could think of was Dirk and the fate that awaited him. Complaining of a severe headache, she withdrew early to her room.

She slipped into her most revealing negligee, a sheer gown of icy blue, and waited until she could hear the guards going into their room down the hall. Throwing a plain robe over her shoulders, she padded over and knocked on their door. Tweedledum answered, his youngish face registering complete astonishment. Honey brushed past him into the room. Tweedledee, the head guard, clad only in a towel around his waist, eyed her from the open bathroom door, his muscular, hairy body like a hard exclamation point. She smiled invitingly. “Pardon me, but I am greatly concerned,” she began in French, all aflutter. “Kolina tells me there is a man in the village who has followed her around the world. I think she’s in danger.”

The head guard replied in his usual surly manner, “Do not concern yourself with our business.”

“But I am concerned,” she protested. “What does Monsieur Bouscaral intend to do about this man?”

The head guard laughed derisively. “Go back to your books.”

She turned pleadingly to the younger, who was eyeing the rise and fall of her unfettered breasts under her robe. “Please, I want to help. Where is he staying? Perhaps I I could go tell him he’s upsetting my charge and to please leave.”