The following material is sexually explicit erotica.
If you are offended by hard-core pornography close this file.
Chapter 1
A Face in a Picture
Having won a construction consultancy contract with one of the European Union agencies some years ago, I established an office in Paris.
I had found I had something of a flair for languages at school and within a few months I was able to have an easy if not completely fluent conversation and even my continuing Australian accent proved to be a benefit rather than a hindrance. Because it was unusual and not easy to place it apparently added a touch of mystery as to my origins, so people tended to remember me, and that's always good for business.
So as the years went by my business prospered and even after liberally greasing a wide range of contact wheels I was surprised at just how much money there was to be made in that disparate group of countries.
Although I had always loved music I could never consider myself a true aficionado, but kept an eye on what concerts and recitals were coming up and frequently took one or other of my female friends to something I considered special. So it was one Sunday morning, when I was glancing through the arts section of the paper to see what was coming up, that I first saw a photograph of Hanna. I didn't know her name then and was curious as to why it wasn't mentioned in the small box of copy accompanying the photograph. The men she was with were all named, and they were all names I had heard of as being prominent in musical patronage circles.
But it was the young woman that had first caught my eye, and it was her face I found myself returning to again and again as I slowly finished my brioche and coffee.
She was no classical beauty; her face had too many prominent features and her expression too much underlying strength to be called beautiful. But there was something powerfully attractive about the compelling, almost commanding look the photograph had captured.
A few discrete enquiries told me less than I had expected, just that she was reputedly descended from one of the older royal families of Central Europe, which perhaps accounted for the haughty, slightly bored expression on the face in the photograph. However, like so many of those families, whatever wealth there had been was long gone, no doubt dissipated by a series of idle and frequently dissolute relatives. Hanna had been left to survive as best she could in a world not overly impressed by blood-lines alone.
I was told she was somehow connected with a group of people who sought out and frequently sponsored promising musicians, especially composers, though exactly what the connection and her role was remained unclear.
Rumour had it that she had several, powerful, shall we say 'patrons', who provided for her material needs. Rumour was less clear as to what she had done, or perhaps still did to warrant their support. Some implied her potentially damaging knowledge of activities, either business or personal that the men had engaged in. Some that she was in fact a conduit to a complex web of political power-brokers. Some simply settled for her having strange, almost unnatural sexual capabilities.
Normally such a mish-mash of gossip and innuendo would have signalled the end of the business for me, I had too many more profitable avenues to explore to waste any more time or money. But I was not satisfied by a report that merely gave me name and a sketchy, rumour-filled background, and told my usually reliable sources as much. I also pointed out that if they began to be that ineffective in other matters we would soon all be without income.
Even so, although it was fairly predictable that an attractive, still apparently unattached and somewhat mysterious woman risked having the label hung on her, the hint of unusual sexual activity was intriguing and that spurred me on. I decided to do some leg-work of my own, attending more concerts, especially those that featured performances of new works, and keep both my eyes and ears wide open.
It was a couple of weeks before I saw her in the flesh, but even though fleeting, that one occasion added fuel to the strange fire that had been flickering inside me. The newspaper photograph had not done her full justice, the strong features were there, and also the air of authority I had seen, but she was in reality far more attractive than I had expected.
I had sat through one of the most pretentiously boring pieces of music I had ever heard, and gone to the bar for a reviving drink before skipping the second half of the concert. Standing there listening to the superlatives being cast about I had the feeling that everyone else had been listening to some completely different work to the one I had endured, then I saw her. She was alone, at that moment pausing on the short flight of steps that led down to the bar, her eyes quickly searching the crowd for whomever it was she was meeting. For a moment they caught mine, but their expression remained flat and, like the beam from a light-house, swept on.
She stood there for no more than three, perhaps four seconds, but although I didn't know it at the time, that was quite long enough for that particular image of her to become a permanent part of my memory bank.
She was relatively tall, her figure slim but not excessively so, even though the black business suit was designed to flatter, not flaunt, the body inside it was most definitely that of a woman. Underneath the jacket she was wearing a cyclamen coloured silk shirt that contrasted dramatically with the creamy whiteness of her skin. Her pale complexion in turn made her dark hair seem almost black, and although it was not cut in one of the latest fashions it was styled to suit the shape of her face. Softly framing it and enhancing her youthful beauty, while the three subtly blending streaks of grey complimented the air of maturity and authority she exuded.
I took in all those details in a split-second, using the rest of the few moments available to study her face. The strength I had seen in the photograph was there, the air of confident self-assurance. But what the photographer had not caught were all the other things I felt sure I saw. The beauty of the bone structure beneath the outer features, the Slavic inheritance clear in the high cheek bones that gave an attractive upward tilt to the outer corners of her eyes - and what eyes they were - large, set wide apart, and even from across the room I could see how brightly their light colouring glittered.
Her search apparently found the person she was looking for but before she moved down the last few steps she turned her head and looked in my direction again. When she found my eyes were still looking directly at her she arched one eye-brow, then when I didn't immediately look away, I saw a faint smile curling the corners of her mouth.
Then the moment passed, she joined the crowd and made her way to a group of people chatting on the opposite side of the bar. I finished my drink and left, but remained bewildered by the surge of emotions I had felt during those few, brief seconds. I knew I had to see her again, see her, and next time, talk to her.
Chapter 2
A Chance Meeting
As luck would have it, or so I thought at the time, I did, just a few evenings later, at another, much more satisfactory concert. Again I had made my way to the bar at the interval and while waiting to catch the bar-tenders eye, heard a voice say. 'Somewhat more enjoyable than the other evening, Mr. McHenry?'
Turning my head at the sound of my name I found myself looking straight into those eyes, which I saw were in fact light grey, flecked with silvery bronze highlights. 'Definitely yes.' I replied. 'But you have the advantage of me Miss, Mrs.?'
She smiled. 'Oh come Mr. McHenry, as you well know, it's Hanna, two n's, no h. I'm sure that appeared on the first page of the report your associates prepared for you.. I'll have a glass of champagne please.' she said as the bar-tender came to where we were standing. 'I'll be just over there, and you can tell me whether I should be worried, or flattered.' she added with a smile as she pointed to a far corner.
Naturally enough I was intrigued by what she had said. Obviously her contacts had been far more professional than mine, but I wondered why she had disclosed she knew I had been enquiring about her. There was only one way to find out, so I carried the drinks through the milling crowd and found she had somehow managed to secure a small table for us. I handed her one glass, sat, and raised mine. 'Votre santé.'
We clinked glasses and sipped the wine. 'So Mr. McHenry, should I be worried or flattered?' she asked sweetly.
