Stanley Carrington felt slightly ill at ease as he strutted back and forth in the plush little room with its decorative celadon-green panelling. This academy for the Etiquette Training of Young Ladies may have been just a big old house turned into an institution to promote well-mannered women, but it had all the outward trappings of an establishment of highbrow learning as far as he was concerned. He'd never been keen on formal education and had skipped school himself as soon as he'd learnt how to cheat with money, so he was feeling out of place.
A bunch of yellow lilies in a vase was dropping amber pollen onto a small polished table and a horsehair sofa lay behind it. And there, not five yards away from where he was standing stood a large oaken chair of the type he only seen in museums. Each arm and the panel at the back were supported by a row of eight beautifully carved spindles. The back itself was decorated by an inlay of the most delicate floral design, and the head of a bull was carved to lay half the length of each arm. Wow, he thought. He'd learned something of antiques and it was late fifteenth century if it were a day. He'd make someone an offer for it before he left - tell 'em it was Georgian but in poor condition and see if they fell for it.
There came a knock on the door and he opened it at once. "Nicky, darlin'!"
"Hi, daddy," replied the solitary young woman standing outside, "I'm ever-so surprised to see you here today." His daughter was silhouetted in the doorway with the riveting self-consciousness of an actress entering a room in a play. She paused for a moment to reveal her perfectly curved figure frugally dressed in yellow. A skimpy outfit that made her appear both sexy and ladylike.
"Well, I've some business to do up north tomorrow, an' since I was drivin' by so close I took the opportunity to pop in and see how you're gettin' on. It was good of that administrator-woman to let you out of class at such short notice. Come on in and shut the door, she says we can have this room for as long as we like."
For a moment he silently observed his daughter. It had been several months since he'd last seen her and he was surprised by her appearance. At twenty years old she was just as cute as he remembered, but there was something else. She was beautiful of course, but now she seemed to exude an element of confidence that hadn't been there before. The self-confidence of a brass, he thought.
That was an awful way for a man to describe his own kith and kin, but she definitely did. Her lashes were long and fluttering, and her face was gorgeous enough to be on a magazine cover. He knew Nicola had been sent away to an expensive school for over-indulged, spoilt young madams, and he knew in such a place girls would be taught to dress tastefully and exhibit upper middle-class pretensions. But he wasn't going to complain. Nicky did look beautiful in a pleasing, very feminine kind of way. She was a delicate young thing and as pretty as anything. Slender and lithe, with flushed, warm cheeks and a soft mouth, and her legs were superb. Better than his sister's, and he could easily envisage them encased in silky, black stockings. Taken as seen she was more than enough to make any blokes prick stir in his trousers.
The girl stroked her hair, caressing it as if it were a pet animal. "You really should call me Nicola not Nicky, you know." she said softly, almost insolently.
Stanley bristled, jarred by his daughter's punctilious tone and strangled vowel sounds. He thought her newly acquired accent so refined her words must have been squeezed through a laundry mangle. "Sod all the changin' o' names, I reckon I'll call you Nicky like I's allus done.
"Mrs Breeding, the principal, says shortening names is a tasteless, common thing to do, and mummy agrees with her"
The mention of his snob of a wife rankled Stanley Carrington, and his contempt for her pompous, la-de-dah attitudes were not hidden in his response. "Aye, I know, but she'll put up with my common ways while I keep givin' her plenty o' cash to spend."
Stanley called himself a 'general dealer'. He was a man of common origins, but was financially astute as well as devious and he made a good living by having an eye for the main chance and selling dubious get-rich-quick schemes to greedy, gullible people. He was the past owner of a score of business's, the assets of which he always cleverly salted away before declaring them bankrupt. Names were of little concern to him since he was in the habit of inventing different names for himself each time he promoted a fresh scam. A certain affluence was noticeable about him from the expensive three-piece suit he wore, but he didn't wear affluence or suits well, having a broad body with something of a large belly, and jowls that folded down over his collar.
The man's thoughts at that moment were far removed from being selfless, they were wild and sordid, and he was becoming excited just contemplating them. "What's this place like? Was it difficult to get used to?"
Nicola smiled martyr-like. "Everyone's quite strict. They shout and make life a misery if we don't do things right."
"Ah yes, I see. Quick to knock you into shape are they? Best to do as you're told eh! Well that's school life for you." He gave his daughter a sideways glance. "You know it wasn't my idea. I'd much prefer you to be at home, but there wasn't much chance o' that happening when your mother gave in to your idea of coming here."
Nicola pouted. Her ambition had always been to marry a rich man and enjoy a life of luxury, so being properly tutored in the ways of the socially elite was important to her. She could certainly cut it, thought Stanley. She had a magnificent face and a marvellous figure. Curvy, flamboyant in yellow, elegant in pearls, leggy in matching heels. She emanated sophistication and already dripped with high-life ways.
The girl was feeling radiant. Just being admitted to the visitors lounge made her feel attractive. The green walls, the parquet floor, the big fish print in a metal frame and the antique furniture. It was like one of those rooms people drooled over in swish magazines. Pretty. Pristine. Unlived in. She intended to be one of those spotless, pretty people that spent their lives posing in such places.
He sat on the horsehair sofa and beckoned the girl to sit beside him. Nicky noticed at once how lumpy Stanley's trousers seemed in the front, and she realised that her daddy already had a 'biggy' in his pants. Her father's expression mellowed as she perched beside him. He in his turn had noticed how her young breasts bounced and jiggled beneath the filmy top of her dress. No bra today, he observed. How nice.
"Since I don't see you so often theses days I've brought yu a little gift." he said.
"A gift?" Nicky beamed with delight as he laid a large flat package on the coffee table. "You're very kind. Thank you daddy." A crease of doubt then entered her expression. "It's not something tacky is it? I wouldn't be able to show it to anyone here if it were cheap and tasteless."
Without offering another word Stanley levered off the lid and drew aside a curtain of tissue paper. "It's a wool shawl." Nicky droned, not bothering to hide an undertone of disappointment.
"Not just any old wool shawl, Nicky my love. This thing here is a Shahtoosh and they're a pretty exclusive high fashion fad with rich women these days. The wool comes from the chiru, a type of goat sometimes called the Tibetan antelope. They live 15,000 feet up in the Himalayas and have wool six times finer than human hair."
