Sarah Fisher - The contract

Sitting back on his heels he pulled Emily to him and kissed her, his tongue searching her mouth for the flavours of their love making. Emily was stunned and horrified. The man got to his feet, adjusted his clothing and waved towards the restaurant manager who had given Emily her tasks in the dining-room.

"Tell Leonora I'll double my bid for this girl," he said, without looking at Emily.

Emily threw herself back onto her bed in her cell, hot tears of shame and fear coursing down her face. She hadn't thought about Peter since the previous night, but now his distinctive features filled her mind. What on earth would he think of the way she had behaved since she arrived at Deuvar?

They had met first the previous summer – just over a year ago – when she'd applied for a job with his import and export firm. He had explained he had several business interests and freelanced for big companies alongside his own commitments. What he really needed some-one competent to run his small office. Even as he'd been interviewing her she had sensed a little crackle of expectation in the air.

She might still be a virgin, but she wasn't completely naive. She'd just finished college, coming out top of her group for reception and secretarial skills and had been a popular girl with several regular dates. It was just that some part of her had refused to go that extra yard; she had maintained her virginity against all the odds. She wanted to give it as a pure white shining gift to a man she loved – and in her mind that man had become Peter Howard.

Crouched on the bed at Deuvar it seemed now as if all that had happened to another person. It certainly didn't feel as if that girl, clutching her diplomas and references, was the same miserable, naked, whipped creature who had lay between the legs of an unknown couple, sucking and lapping at their bodies as they had made love.

She shuddered, trying to recapture the face of Peter Howard. He had invited her out to lunch the first week she had been working for him, after that is was a dinner date, then the theatre. He seemed so confident and at ease wherever he found himself. It had seemed like a fairy tale – some-how unreal. When he had kissed her, hands circling to caress her breasts, she had felt a flurry of excitement and desire like nothing she had ever experienced before. When she told him, after he had invited her to spend the weekend in Paris, that she was a virgin, he had grinned – and embraced her – and taken her to Paris anyway.

He had proposed to her on a little boat as they explored the Seine by moonlight. She had been astounded and touched when he suggested they buy her parent's a house as an investment. As the months had passed the fairy tale had continued and with it her sense of unreality.

Even when the police had come to tell her he had been killed in the plane crash, somehow it had been in keeping with the rest of their relationship. It was as if they had something magical and impossible -

A dark miserable sob wracked her naked body. They were the first true tears of grief she had had since she'd been told Peter was dead. Peter wouldn't ever be coming back to rescue her, he had gone forever and she was trapped at Deuvar. Peter Howard had cherished her for her naivete and her innocence – Now, as Leonora was arranging to auction off her virginity, Emily realised, with a chilling start, that her innocence had already been lost.

Johnson had sent one of his men to the hospital and was fuming. He had spent all day trying to trace a man who should be extremely easy to trace. He knew his witness was barely able to walk, would need nursing and physiotherapy to recover his strength. But this man had managed not only to get out of the hospital, but then had promptly vanished. Johnson stared at the telephone, willing it to ring.

Max Fielding had always been entranced by Deuvar, even before its conversion into a pleasure palace without equal.

Set in magnificent grounds, the house dominated the landscape for miles in every direction. Autumn was his favourite time of the year and today the weather was balmy; bare trees in the long ride to the mansion thrown into relief by the golden sunlight. He had spent the day walking and exploring with one of Leonora's more articulate and intelligent girls for company.

He planned to have dinner, check on Leonora's arrangements for Emily's auction, take his pleasure with a girl or two and then, having spent another night at Deuvar, drive back to London the following day.

By late evening he had fulfilled his plans for dinner and tasted the delights of one of Leonora's more experienced girls; now he would have a drink and then return for second helpings of ripe female flesh.

As he leant comfortably at the bar he thought about Peter Howard – what a terrible shame Peter had never seen Emily at work. By all accounts the day had been an eventful one. Max wished he had been there to witness Emily's performance in the dining room.

In the heart of the Kent countryside, Peter Howard was re-arranging Angela's annexe to take the computers that had arrived just as night was falling. She had found him a desk and extension leads and brought in the wheelchair so that as fatigue hit him he could still manoeuvre around the growing bank of sophisticated technology. Peter had just managed to get the computer system on line and working when the final delivery arrived; a motor bike courier carrying a large gift-wrapped box. Angela carried it into Peter's room. "This just came. I assume its something else for you?"

Peter glanced over his shoulder as he slid another screen into position. "Actually," he said, without a hint of guile, "it's a little something I ordered for you."

Angela laughed. "What?" but even as she spoke she was tearing off the elegant wrapping. What was inside made her gasp and then giggle. Peter had turned his attentions back to the computer screen when he heard the noise. "Well," he said without looking up. "What do you think?"

Angela made a soft excited sound in her throat. "My god," she hissed. "It's absolutely wonderful."

Peter turned to watch Angela holding up the leather body harness against herself. It was set with links so that the wearer could be secured for her lover's pleasure. Straps criss-crossed back and forth across the body, designed to divide and accentuate the breasts, while others went between the legs and round the thighs.

Peter grinned. "You'll look superb in it. Here, bring me the box; there should be a few other little surprises hidden away in there."

Angela pulled a face. "Can't I look?"

Peter carefully took the box out of her hands. "They wouldn't be a surprise then, would they?"

Angela giggled and spun away from him, still holding the body harness up against herself. "Would you like me to put it on?"

Peter nodded as the screen he was working on flashed into life and a logo appeared.

Angela glanced at it. "Can I ask you what all this is about?"

Peter grimaced. "I'm not sure it's such a good idea, the less you know the less danger you're likely to be in."

Angela was working on the buckles on the body harness as he spoke. "I really would like to know," she said, running her fingers over the fine tooled leather thoughtfully. She read the words at the centre of the screen as they formed themselves into a perfect arch. "Johnson and Fielding? Who are they?"

Peter slipped a disk into the computer. "The bad guys," he said. "And I'm going to nail their arses to the mast." His tone was distracted and distant. It was vital that he got into Johnson and Fielding's main system without being traced. What he had got on the screen at the moment was their front door – their shop front onto the computer network. What he really wanted was to find an unlocked back-door or maybe the electronic equivalent of an open skylight.