Walking the Dog

I knew I wouldn't get any more out them so I settled back for the ride. Angela had recovered her equilibrium somewhat and she smiled at me. 

"You are lucky to have such friends," she said. I nodded my wholehearted agreement. 

Niall turned to us. "We're the luck ones, Miss Sable. If it wasn't for Martin, we'd be working for Securicor." 

I shook my head. "Somehow I don't think so. I reckon you two could fall into a dung-heap and come up smelling of roses." 

Niall gave me a withering look. "No money, no business," he said. "We both know it if you don't." 

I waved a hand at him. "That's what friends are for. Not for getting your arses shot off by a bunch of bloody hoodlums."

The twins laughed uproariously. "Martin, we never knew you made a habit of this or we wouldn't have got involved!" 

"Martin Booth, man of mystery! Seriously, old son, we couldn't wish for a better way to repay you. This is what we do. And we love it!"

I knew they were speaking the truth. They were loving every second of it. It was their element. I was scared shitless and they thought it was a huge game. In some ways, they reminded me of Magic. The enthusiasm, 
the irresponsibility, the boundless good nature. God only knows how they stayed out of jail. Oh yes, they were on the side of the Angels, but they raised Hell in the process, wherever they went. I'd hate to be up against them. 

In a little over an hour we were pulling up on a quiet street in Bedford Park. It was a typical Sunday morning scene. People washing their cars, children playing football in a small park. The sheer normality of it was hard to take in after the start to the day I'd had. I'd been seduced, surrounded and shot at. This is not your everyday occurrence for a boring tax lawyer. Niall indicated a Victorian stucco villa set back a little from the road. 

"That's our man, lets go spoil his breakfast."

Niall didn't bother ringing the highly polished brass bell. He just kicked the door in. We burst into the house like Gangbusters. I was shocked to notice that the twins were each clutching 9mm Browning automatics. I hadn't known they were armed but I suppose it was logical, in their world. I tried to shut out all thoughts of what the Bar Council would do to me if any of this ever came out. Handguns are banned in Britain but ironically, easier to get hold of since they became illegal. They have become the accessory of choice for half the street gangs in the inner cities. I salved my conscience with the thought that at least Niall and Liam knew how to use them.

Mickey Cornell was in his kitchen, a stunned expression on his normally too-smooth face. He seemed rooted to the spot as we crashed in and surrounded him in a moment. Niall and Liam stood each side of his chair. They never threatened him with their weapons but made sure that he saw they were armed. I took a seat beside him and waved Angela into the chair opposite. 

"Mr Smythe! Or should I say, Mr Cornell. I think it's time you made the acquaintance of Miss Angela Sable. I believe we have a lot to talk about." 

I may have sounded confident but my heart was racing and my palms were sweaty. I stared at him. Holding eye contact until he looked away. Then I went on.

"Let's start with your little farrago concerning Miss Sable's father. He was never involved in any currency scam, was he? Her Majesty's Government aren't trying to help the Russian Federation and, even if they were, your services are no longer required. What was it, Mickey, had your hands in the till?"

His face contorted with Anger and he made a slight move towards me. One large hand on each shoulder slammed him back into his seat. Niall punched him hard in the kidneys and he screamed in agony and slipped to the floor. The twins hauled him up and threw him back in the chair. 

"Mind your manners, my old lad," said Liam. 

I continued. "Let me make it easy for you, Cornell. You came to me with some bullshit about Miss Sable's father because you were desperate to get hold of her. Your associates ransacked her studio looking for something. She doesn't know what you want and doesn't have anything that could be of any possible use to you or your Chechen friends. But we would like to know why you have gone to so much trouble."

I was guessing his associates were Chechens but he didn't deny it. He was still gasping with pain but he raised his head and gave me a look of pure hatred.

"Fuck you, Booth! And fuck your friends!"

His tirade was cut off by another solid blow to the kidneys. 

"Manners, Mickey! Ladies present." 

It was Niall this time but the effect was equally devastating for poor Mickey. He lay on the floor, writhing in pain but was given no respite as once more the twins threw him back in the chair. I'm not good with violence but a glance at Liam and Niall told me to let it go. They were deliberate and cold, nothing frenzied or out of control. They seemed to know how to inflict serious pain without inflicting lasting damage. Niall gestured as much with one hand, indicating Cornell and giving me the 'OK' sign surreptitiously. I can't say I liked it but I understood their purpose. The ex-Intelligence man was clearly off balance now so I tried again.

"Let me make it as plain as I can, Cornell. We have no idea what it is you're after and we would like to know. All we want from you is to understand what this is all about. Maybe we could even save you a lot of time and effort. Certainly, talking to me is going to save you a world of pain."

He seemed to consider this for a minute and then he replied between gritted teeth.

"Ikons. More particularly, one 13th Century ikon. Three panels, painted on box wood."

"Explain, I don't understand."

"The good Colonel ran a security business in St Petersburg after the Soviet Union went tits up. Big business in Russia, now. Anyway, he was hired by some Swiss collector to guard a shipment of Ikons. Let's just say they weren't acquired through regular channels. Among the collection was a 13th Century Ikon, almost priceless. If I tell you the Swiss guy paid over $5 million on the black market, you might get an idea. There are only two known to exist and our Swiss chum had one of them. Or rather he didn't. They were to be brought out hidden in a container through Tallinn. Never made it to the port. 

"I don't believe in coincidence. The Colonel vanished at the same time. What he didn't know was that the Swiss was just a front. The real players were the Chechens. They were going to sell in the West to raise money for the cause. Like I told you, the Colonel surfaced in Sweden, regrettably dead. The Ikons are nowhere on the radar. The logical place to look was with his daughters.

"What got us really very interested was a catalogue item for the auction at Hervey's; something along the lines of Russian Triptych Ikon on box wood, believed to be 13th Century, the property of a lady." 

I looked at Angela. She shook her head helplessly. "I know nothing about any of this," she said. I believed her, so, apparently, did Cornell. 

"We'd more or less decided you weren't involved but then, yesterday, you took off. That got us thinking again. Look, Booth, I don't call the shots here; I'm just a fixer. I'll talk to them; tell them you aren't involved. I spent last week going over Miss Sable's affairs with a fine-toothed comb. She came up clean. Anyway, as I told them before, it was too obvious. The Colonel was a pro. Also, I don't think he'd endanger his daughters. Some of the hired muscle isn't too bright. They put two and two together and make a dozen, provided they take off their socks to help them count that far. 

"I'm sorry about your sister Miss, I wasn't involved with that at all. I only handle things here in the UK. I made it clear to them that I wouldn't sanction any violence - would shop the lot of them if they didn't keep it under control. The Boss said he'd personally shoot anyone of them who stepped out of line, but I think that was just for my benefit. They won't cross me on my patch, though. I have too many powerful friends. I think I can safely say they'll listen to me and the dogs will be called off."

He was starting to sound too much like his old smooth self for my liking. He wanted to clear his own yardarm. I knew there was something he wasn't telling us but at least we had a part of the truth. I was thinking furiously. I gave a quick glance to Liam and Niall and they understood that they were to go along with anything I said.

"I don't know how or why you became involved in this, Cornell, but I want your word that our part in this stops here."

He nodded agreement. "Done!"

"Miss Sable and I are returning to Norfolk, to her studio. I'm telling you this so you will know where we are and can see we have nothing to hide. There is just one more thing I'd like to know. "Who was the plain-clothes police officer in Norfolk? Was he really from Special Branch?"

"I have no idea, but I very much doubt it. I just used Rod Willis's name to see if I could stir you up. I know how nervous you lawyers get if you think you might be under suspicion."

"Then how did you know it was me that called police?"

"Oh that! Easy, old boy. My associate noted your car number and I simply called in a favour from the boys in blue. You're not a hard man to track. By the way, your bank account's overdrawn."

He said this last with a nasty smile, just to remind me that there are no secrets in his murky world. Liam topped him nicely. ""And your account at UBS has been frozen, pending investigation for money laundering." Cornell gaped like a stranded salmon. Liam smiled sweetly. "No doubt you'll be able to clear it up in a day or two." Cornell was sprinting for the telephone as we left. 

Chapter Six 

The four of us walked the dogs in the nearby park. 

"Did you really fix his bank account? I asked Liam. 

He shot me a wicked grin. "Nothing too serious, but it will be a bit of a bind for him to sort it out," he said. 

My head was buzzing from what we had learned. The stolen Ikons story had a ring of truth. What I couldn't figure out was why Cornell had used the elaborate charade about foreign exchange in the first place. Niall pondered the question.

"I can only surmise that he wanted you to believe he was still acting for the Government. He probably figured that an upright citizen like you would cooperate. It might have stretched your credulity if he'd told you that the UK Government was interested in helping the Chechens get their ikon back. And if he'd admitted he was freelance, you would have told him to take a hike and reported it to the police."

I supposed he was right. I should have felt better but somehow, I didn't. 

"I'm sure he's hiding something," I said. Nobody argued, which was worrying in itself. "Well, I think we should go the police now," I said. 

Liam grimaced. "I'd rather we didn't if it's all the same to you old, son. Niall and I wouldn't really like to explain why we were disturbing the peace in rural Berkshire and it might not go down to well that we seem to have kept a couple of NATO souvenirs." 

He patted the bulge under his jacket to indicate the Browning. "I've no doubt Cornell wouldn't hesitate to drop us all in it, if he had the chance." 

We walked on in silence for a while. Magic and Trotsky showed no ill effects from our adventures. Magic kept worrying at us to throw something for him. There had been no time to pack his usual toys so we found some sticks and spent half an hour hurling them into the distance for him to semi-retrieve. Trotsky, of course, was above such games but spent his time trying to bite Niall's backside. This is a sign of acceptance among huskies. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed a good idea to go back to Norfolk. It would be far more difficult for the Chechens to blend into the background in a village of no more than fifty or so people and Angela's cottage was completely exposed, on the coast with flat, bare land all around. I voiced this to the twins and they agreed. 

We wandered back to the car and then back to my house. I was relieved in the extreme to find it hadn't been trashed. 

"They'd have expected you to have taken the ikon with you when we left," said Niall. 

I burst out laughing. "Then they really are stupid! The ikon is safe in the vaults of Hervey's and has been ever since that catalogue was printed. They had it brought to them for evaluation and once the sale was agreed, it would be kept on their premises. I can't believe Cornell wouldn't know that even if the Chechens didn't."

Niall looked grim. "Then that begs the question - what were they after when they turned over Angela's studio? It seems unlikely, as you say, that Cornell wouldn't have known where the ikon was."

"That's easy too. They were after documents of title, a receipt, a copy of the provenance, anything that might have tied Angela to the sale. Then they could lean on her to turn over the proceeds. They know it's being sold, they just don't know who by!"

The twins' faces showed enlightenment slowly dawning. 

"So let me get this straight," Liam said, "The ikon is here in London at the auctioneers. The bad guys think Angela owns it and want to hit her for the money when it sells. Angela doesn't know a thing about it but someone else does, from the catalogue description that 'someone' is a lady. You mentioned proof of ownership and some other stuff. Presumably a reputable firm like Hervey's wouldn't sell without knowing the history of the piece?"

"In the world of the auction houses, reputation is everything. However, they wouldn't be the first to sell a piece of dubious provenance or where the ownership was, shall we say, a little muddled? Of course, they have to have enough documentation to satisfy themselves that it's kosher but they wouldn't dig too deeply. The 10% commission on a seven-figure sale tends to provide answers to a lot of questions!

"However, I wouldn't mind betting that whoever is putting this up will have gone to some trouble to make it look whiter-than-white. There's going to be huge interest in this sale - there always is when something fetches a big price at auction so you can expect some media attention. Hervey's aren't going to take a chance that some spectre at the feast will leap and say 'I know that piece, it was stolen from such-and-such a collection!"

"Any chance it's a fake?"

"Very, very little, Hervey's will have had it appraised by the leading experts in the field. They may even have taken a sliver or two for dendrochronology and they would certainly have had it X-rayed and probably spectrum-analysed as well."

"Pardon my ignorance, old son, but what the fuck does all that mean?" 

"Dendrochronolgy is a method of dating the wood the thing's painted on to make sure it wasn't knocked up in Taiwan last week; something to do with matching ring-growth patterns in the original tree against known benchmarks. They can also use Radio Carbon dating. One sort of Carbon is mildly radioactive. Apparently you can tell something's age by measuring the amount of radiation still present. The snag is that Carbon 14 dating isn't that accurate. Something like plus or minus fifty or a hundred years. That doesn't matter if you're dealing with an ancient artefact from the ice age but if you're trying to establish whether something is 13th or 14th Century, it doesn't help much. 

"They use X-rays as a check to see if anything has been painted over. One of the cunning tricks of the forger is to take an old but worthless painting and slap their 'ringer' over the top. Thus the materials look the right age and make it harder to detect the fake. Spectrum analysis can tell you what exact compounds went into making up the pigments. Old artists used a lot of natural compounds they mixed up themselves. Modern pigments often contain synthetics as well, even if the forger tries to reproduce the original. It's not foolproof but it can give a pretty good indication of the age of the paint used and is another element of proving that something's real or fake.

"After all that, the experts will look at the brushwork and any peculiarities that the artist or the school were known to have. Of course, the really great forgers can reproduce that kind of thing to an extent. The point really is, if Hervey's are putting it up as genuine, then they are 100% convinced. If they are putting it up as 'believed to be' they are 99% certain. However, it's still a case of 'caveat emptor' - let the buyer beware!"

"How much could it go for?"

"I've really no idea but if the black market price was really $5 million then it could be three or four times that."

There was a shocked silence all round. Niall gave a tight smile.

"Enough to kill for, then," he said. I could only nod. 

"People have been killed for loose change," I replied. 

I was suddenly aware of something that had been nagging at me since we spoke to Cornell. 

"Look," I said, "I'm no expert but how many 13th Century Russian ikons can there be in this world? If it's as rare and expensive as it appears to be, someone, somewhere must know something about it. We need to speak to a specialist!"

You don't get too far in my line of work without getting to know the Inland Revenue very well and particularly the denizens of the Capital Taxes Office. The CTO have experts in just about anything. They can value any kind of asset known to man, from stamp collections to bloodstock. I'll call Ted Allen first thing in the morning, he'll know who the UK expert in Russian ikons is."

We packed up the things we need for an extended stay in Norfolk and I phoned Bernie to tell him I was taking a holiday early this year. He muttered some dark comments about 'getting mixed up in stuff where you've no call to do so' but agreed there wasn't anything that he couldn't hold for a while. It was now the beginning of December and the City would be shutting down for the holidays pretty soon. Liam and Niall agreed I should take my car so Angela and I put our things in the Volvo and Magic and Trotsky hopped into the back in their accustomed place. The twins said they would be back mid afternoon so we all could all drive up together so, as soon as they arrived, we headed northwards. 

Since I'd deliberately told Cornell where we were going, there was no need to try and shake off any 'tail'. As it happens, if there was one, I never spotted it and as soon as we left the main roads and headed into the sticks, there wasn't another car to be seen. Angela had been pretty quiet so I asked her if there was anything wrong.

"I am having some trouble understanding all of this," she said. "I understand about the money but not why they make all this pretence."

"I think it's probably as Niall or Liam said. Cornell wanted to me think it was all official so I'd cooperate if I knew anything. What we seem to have is at least one robbery, possibly two or three. I think the Chechens probably stole all the ikons from a monastery in the first place then someone, perhaps your father, stole it from them. Who knows what happened after that. Of course, it could be a coincidence and the ikon up for sale is not the one that went missing in St Petersburg or Tallinn or wherever; I doubt it somehow."

"Yes, I understand all that but you did not know my father. He was not a criminal. I know he would not be involved in this knowingly."

"How well did you know your father? I mean really know him. By your own admission, you haven't been close lately."

"Yes, of course. Can one really know one's parents? I will not claim I knew him, you say, inside out? I do know that he was soldier and he did some bad things in the name of the old regime. He once said to me 'Angelika, I must do as they say. First it is my duty and second, they would hurt you and Vika if I do not.' But he was never a bad man." 

I took her hand and squeezed it lightly. I could sympathise even if not truly empathise. I was raised in liberal England. How different it must have been for her, growing up in a country under the yoke of the Soviet Union. To even describe herself as an Estonian rather than a Soviet Citizen would have been an offence. I could understand, too, her father's position as a non-Russian in the Red Army. He would have been immediately suspect if anything ever went the slightest bit wrong. But why, then, did he stay in Russia after the collapse? I put that question to Angela.

"It must have been because he could get work there. Probably be paid in hard currency. After the Soviet Union broke up, it was very hard in Estonia. All our industry was geared towards the Russians and what they wanted. We couldn't compete in the West. Most people had no money and no jobs. I left because life was so bad."

" What about Vika?"

"She stayed. She had a man, was getting married. She talked of going to Finland or Sweden but we didn't stay in touch much. She was angry with me for leaving, for wanting to be free of it all. We were not so close, as sisters. She is older than me by five years. And now she is dead!"

I could see the tears welling up in those startling eyes and we drove on in silence. It was dark by now and I drove slowly through the narrow lanes. Angela had her eyes closed and her head was nodding forwards. I wasn't surprised; we hadn't slept much the previous night. This started me off thinking about sex. 

Making love with Angela had been an amazing experience. She fucked with the same intensity with which she sculpted. Inevitably, this drew me into making comparisons with Steph. There was no denying that Steph had a body to die for. She should have, she worked at it hard enough and what nature couldn't accomplish, the surgeon and the beautician made up for. Her body was hard and smooth. She had prominent breasts that had had a little help; not enough so you could immediately spot them as fakes but enough to ensure they never drooped or sagged to the side when she lay down. Her nipples were small and pink and she had a golden all-over tan, with no lines, that told of hours spent in a solarium. 

As I said before, she had all her body hair removed with laser treatment. Her labia were slightly prominent and she had surgery to ensure they were perfectly symmetrical. Now that's what I call vanity! She was not a generous lover. It was enough for her that she offered this perfect body for my worship. When we made love, it was very much for her benefit. It would be a lie to say I didn't enjoy it. I did. I felt a tremendous sense of achievement when she arched her back and gasped into orgasm. Once she'd come a couple of times, she would rapidly lose interest and more than once I had to finish by hand with Steph yawning beside me. 

I became a past master at timing my own climaxes to coincide with hers or follow very closely behind. That was acceptable and worked best for us both. If I couldn't manage it, well, that was my problem. Sadly, Steph was as selfish in bed as out. It was just something else that, loving her, I'd learned to deal with.

Of course, I had only spent one night with Angela so far but, based on that, I was willing to bet she was the total opposite. Physically she was dark with pale skin and a luxuriant bush of pubic hair. Her breasts were completely natural and had swayed deliciously as she rode me. She had used her internal muscles to heighten my pleasure; and she had taken great pleasure in giving me pleasure. I knew it was only one time but I felt sure that she would be utterly different from Steph, generous and loving instead of demanding, soft and warm rather than hard and unyielding. Once again, an erection was straining my trousers. I couldn't wait to find out! 

We pulled into the village and Liam and Niall let me overtake to lead the way to Angela's cottage. It was a typical December evening with a cold east wind off the sea and we were all grateful to get inside. It wasn't too much warmer in the cottage but at least it was out of the wind.

Angela and I tidied up while Niall and Liam gathered firewood and lit the fire in the parlour. There was a back boiler in the flue, which heated the radiators. Once the fire was roaring up the chimney, it wasn't too long before the place warmed up. Niall had brought a cooler full of food and I prepared dinner, assisted by Angela.

"I really cannot cook so good," she said. "When I was little, when my mother was still alive, she would teach Vika. Vika cooks very, very well. Me, well I always wanted to do something else. I would sit in my father's workshop and watch him make things. It wasn't a proper workshop, just an old shed with no heating. My father would make things for the house. My mother would see something that she wanted but we couldn't buy so my father would make it."

"What was she like, your mother?"

"Very sweet, very, oh, traditional, I think you would you say. She always thought that a woman's job was to make the home for the man and the children. She always wanted a son but had Vika and me. She needed to look after someone. It made her feel, I think, valuable, somehow. Also, she was very brave."

"How so, brave?"

"My father was away often. Sometimes he'd be gone for two or three months, sometimes two or three years. She never complained. She just tried to be mother and father both, if you understand me?"

I thought of my own childhood. Packed off to Prep School at the age of seven, seeing my parents only in the holidays. First school, then University, then pupilage in Chambers down in Brighton. I spent my early years sweating on exam results. Common Entrance, 'O' Levels, 'A' levels, Degree, Bar Exams. Life had been a series of hurdles that had to be cleared. Of course, I was meant to feel privileged. One of the golden few for whom the secrets of success were revealed early and often. I don't really know how I felt at that age; my experience was little different from that of my peers. I accepted it as 'normal'. It was only later, at university perhaps, that I found myself unfitted for the real world. I knew little of the opposite sex, found it difficult to relate to people from other backgrounds. In summary, I was a social and emotional cripple. 

I tried to explain this to Angela as we chopped vegetables for the stew I was making. She gazed at me like I was from another planet.

"So you mother and father, they sent you away when you were a baby?"

"I wasn't a baby, I was seven."

"Hah! That is still a baby. Why did they do that, were you very bad?"

"No, it was the system in England. Well, it was the system if you had money."

"Much better to be poor, I think!"

"I don't suppose they ever questioned it. My father went through it and so did my mother. Their parents too, I expect. It was, well, a tradition. I know that my great-grandfather was at Ampleforth; his father too, probably."

"And you would do this to your child?"

"I don't know. I've never had one so it hasn't come up. It has its advantages too, you know."

"Hah! Advantages - like it makes you rich but leaves you unhappy? I would rather be not so rich but more happy. In Estonia, in the old days, some children, if they were good at sport or the ballet, they used to be taken from their families and sent to special schools. We used to hear that you in the West thought this was cruel, unnatural. Now you say people here did this from their own choice. It is unbelievable!"

"I probably made it sound worse than it really was. We were very well looked after."

"As good as a mother would? I doubt it."

"Probably better than my mother could. She wasn't really, well, 'in to' motherhood. I dare say she didn't have much an example. I think the shock of having me was too much for her. She hasn't really ever got over it. My parents were never 'warm' people. I suppose you might describe them as somewhat austere."

Angela gave an exaggerated shrug to show what she thought of this. I could see her thinking furiously. Her brow was furrowed in concentration and she scrubbed at a carrot with almost manic energy. It gave me a sudden insight into her nature. Angela, for all her independence and avant-garde work, was very much a traditionalist. Home and family ranked very highly with her. What must it have cost her to sever those links? She life was bad but it must have been really terrible for her to leave what she obviously held so dear.

We carried on chatting in a desultory manner for a while as we finished up the preparations. I put everything on to cook slowly and opened a bottle of wine. It was something red and Australian is all I can remember but it can't have been too pernicious as I did manage to drink it without comment. I made a mental note to ask Angela a bit more about her reasons for leaving Estonia. I felt sure there would be quite a story. 

The four of us ate my stew, Niall and Liam displaying great relish. I wasn't entirely sure it was sincere but I am a passable cook and the food was hot, tasty and filling; what more could you ask for on winter's evening? After supper, the twins disappeared outside with a holdall and a couple of torches to 'secure the perimeter' as they put it. When they reappeared, I asked them if they were concerned. 

"Nah," said Niall, "but better safe than sorry. I doubt we'll be disturbed but we've just been making sure of it. Set up a bit of an early warning system. Shouldn't need it, but just the same..."

Not for the first time, I was intensely glad that I had friends like Liam and Niall. 

Chapter Seven

Angela's cottage had only one bedroom. The twins made subtle, but nonetheless obvious, hints that they expected us to take it while they sacked out in the parlour. Another khaki holdall produced two sleeping bags, which they proceeded to unroll. 

"Sorry, old son, we're bushed," said Liam, "not too much kip last night!" 

We murmured agreement and Angela and I headed off to her room. I was relieved to see a large old-fashioned brass bed with thick quilts. It would have looked inviting even without her beside me. I hadn't slept too well the previous night either. 

Angela lit a squat candle and its pale glow lent an appropriate ambience. There was still a chill in the air so we hurried through our ablutions and dived under the welcoming quilts. The sheets were cold and we hugged each other close like a couple of children, giggling and tickling each other with cold hands. Of course, I was aroused but it wasn't urgent. I was happy to lie alongside her, stroking the velvety softness of her skin and learning the intimate topography of her body. 

We talked in whispers, sharing little intimacies as new lovers do. The conversation turned to our first time. I recounted my own experience. It wasn't much to write home about. It had been during the summer between school and University. I had gone on holiday to Greece, riding slow trains and hitchhiking under the achingly blue skies of that magical country. After doing the cultural bit, Athens, Corinth, Mycenae, Cape Sunion, I had gone island hopping, catching the slow and crowded ferries that serviced the Sporades, Dodecanese and Cycladese. 

One glorious, star-filled night on a beach in Rhodes, I had lost my virginity to a pretty Danish girl. Her skinny, tanned body had been an unexplored country and she let me find my stumbling, hesitant way without complaint. She was sweet and kind to a fumbling young Englishman and her done her best to make it memorable. Unfortunately, it was memorable only for its brevity. I still think fondly of her, for all that. She pretended she was not disappointed and had laughed gently at my chagrin. We stayed together for the rest of the summer and she taught me to please her and to control myself better over the ensuing weeks. I was more than a little in love with her when it came time to part. Looking back now, what I value most was her unfailing good nature. I don't think I ever saw her without a smile. I guess I was one of the lucky ones.

Angela listened in avid silence as I described it all. When I finished, she snuggled against me and said, 

"She was a very nice girl, this Astrid." 

I could only agree. "What about you," I asked. 

She sighed. "Once upon a time, there was this little, fat Estonian girl."

"Fat? Surely not!"

"Don't interrupt! This is my story. As I was saying, there was this little, well, chubby Estonian girl. When she was eleven, her breasts started to grow. When she was fifteen, they were still growing. She used to walk with her shoulders hunched so, so people wouldn't stare so much at her chest. Her sister was a little jealous, I think, because the men did not stare at her in this way. One day, a young soldier came to see my, I mean her, father. He was very dashing, very handsome in his uniform.

"He told her not to hunch her shoulders, to be proud of what nature had given her. He teased her and made her blush. When he passed her in the corridor, he gave her a squeeze, just here."

She took my hand and placed it on her breast.

"And then here"

She moved my hand to her buttocks and pushed back against it with a wiggle. 

"Many times he did this and he made excuses to come often to her house. Once, she opened the door to let him in and he kissed full on the mouth, like so!" 

Angela rolled on top of me and proceeded to kiss me passionately, forcing her tongue between my lips and undulating her entire body against mine.

"Of course, she was very confused. She liked the way the soldier made her feel but she knew what he did was not polite, not nice. Her body liked it but it heart did not. She could have hidden away, of course, when the soldier came to the house and, after he left, she told herself that this was what she would do, the next time. When the next time came, she couldn't wait to see him. It was very, mixed up? Is that what you say? 

"Then her father went away for a while and the soldier stopped coming to the house. She was very sad. She couldn't eat, did not want to go to school. She wanted to sleep all the time. When she slept, the soldier came to her dreams and touched her again. After about six months, her father came back. She was just sixteen, now, and no longer chubby. Her father was surprised and told her she looked like a woman now, no longer a little girl. The young soldier came to visit again. He, too, was surprised. She had changed very much."

I detected a sudden change in her mood. I had the feeling that she just made a decision. She rolled away from me and lay very still. Her voice dropped its teasing quality and became very small as if she was speaking from a distance. The gentle modulations that I had come to associate with her disappeared entirely and she spoke on in a flat monotone.