It was mid-day and Clare Baines decided to remain at her desk and work. There was all too much to do before the upcoming season and Mr. Charles expected her to have everything ready in advance of their annual trip to the property.
Clare had taken the job on a whim. A conservative and prim, slightly naive single woman in her late forties, she needed something to keep her engaged, although she did not need the money. The job described in the advertisement sounded easy and the interview made it sound even better. She was instantly taken by Mr. Charles' charisma and she could hardly turn him down when he offered her the position. That was two years ago, almost to the day.
Her employer was the Highlands Hunt Club- an organization that ran a private hunting facility for its members. Only the socially well heeled were admitted. Mr. Charles was its founder and ran it out of his downtown financial advisory company. Clare and Mr. Charles met twice a week to discuss various issues but in general she was trusted to run the organization herself.
A few days after she started her employment she was organizing her desk and found a sealed envelope hidden in the back of a drawer under a clutter of items. In it was a ten page letter from Jeanette, her predecessor, addressed to her unknown successor.
The letter detailed a lurid relationship with Mr. Charles. It seemed to be as a warning to anyone who took her place but may have been a fantasy. Clare could not really tell. regardless, the content made her blush so hard she prayed Mr. Charles would not see her in such a condition. In fact, she blushed all that day that she had to keep her door closed. Yes, it was lurid, more so than anything she had ever read. No, it was not just an erotic piece about two individuals. It dealt with much more, taboo subjects which she thought were the subject of lore or fringe elements of society, cast-offs who lived among the less fortunate.
To Clare's amazement, Jeanette described a controlling man and a submissive devoted woman who did as she was asked, disciplined when disobedient, and summarily cast off without reason after years of dutiful service. Jeanette had written about the coming end, how she knew Mr. Charles had rejected her a month or two before but she did not know why, how he did not acknowledge her existence and she was left waiting in the balance for the final moment when he would dismiss her, forever casting her away, how she was stashing the letter in anticipatory precaution of the day it all ended and she might not be able to tell the entire story, and then it ended without conclusion, an unsolved mystery.
Clare read it, at first in shocked disbelief, then a second time with skepticism. She could not believe the tales and thought the Mr. Charles described in the letter did not fit the employer who had just hired her. being the lone employee, there was nobody to question regarding the circumstances of Jeanette's departure. During the interview, Mr. Charles had told her Jeanette had moved on to a new job for a change of pace, something more lucrative and challenging and that he was sorry she had left but the club's budget precluded matching her salary. Regardless of Jeanette's motives, Clare often found herself thinking about the contents, frequently re-reading it, absorbing the details with jaded fascination, and came to value it as the lone lurid snippet of sensational erotica in her life...
It was the beginning of October and the annual trip to the club's hunting grounds was upon them. As appointed, Clare met Mr. Charles at seven in the morning, bags packed and he drove them in his Jaguar into the mountains to the club's property. The ride lasted two hours. Even though they had worked together for two years, he never revealed much about himself, even when asked. All Clare knew was that Mr. Charles was well to do, had many social, political and business contacts, was very philanthropic, self assured and an honest businessman. She knew nothing about his home life, if he had family, his interests aside from hunting and work, and, when asked he deftly demurred response and moved onto another topic. It gnawed at Clare that the man she worked with was a virtual stranger to her. He treated her very well. She was enamored by his charisma, humble self confidence, understanding, patience and integrity. Then there were his looks- broad shoulders, muscular build, full black hair with touches of gray, dark hazel eyes and tall stature. But, she was irked by his slightly cold nature, and, Jeanette's letter, lurking in the back of her mind, beckoning her to wonder, "What if it is true???"
The ride, like the last two, was uneventful. All business talk, some idle chatter and nothing more. Once more they drove up the long winding private road to the chateau in the fields. This time of the year was the best time to visit. Yes, hunting season was around the corner and their trip a necessity, but it could not have been timed better. As they stepped out of the car, the morning frost was turning to sparkling dew drops balanced on the tips of the tall untamed meadow grasses waving in the gentle breeze. Hues of green, brown, orange red and chartreuse and shadows cast long in the low rising sun. The air was crisp and the day new, signaling there was work to be done.
Clare turned and marveled at the facility, the stone chateau and stables in the midst of hundreds of acres of fallow fields and woods, a marvelous marker of elegant intrusion unto the wild. It was only used during hunting season and the rest of the year it went unkempt. Now she and Mr. Charles had the task of inspecting for needed repairs and facility upgrades. And so their day began.....
After setting their bags in their respective rooms, the two worked hard to complete their tasks within two days time. Clare dutifully followed Mr. Charles, pad and pen in hand, taking notes as he spoke, memorializing what needed to be done, who to contact for the repairs, how much the club could afford to pay, who to employ and when they should start. When in use, the facility was staffed by locals who served as cooks, bartenders, maids and the like. Members were waited on hand and foot. No expense was spared- it was first class operation.
Formality for Mr. Charles was the standard. Despite being out of the office, the physically fit mid-fifty year old Mr. Charles dressed for the event as if it was a regular working day- shirt and jacket- and he expected nothing less from Clare. Fulfilling her employer's standard, she dressed herself appropriately- knee length blue business skirt and matching leather high heels, cream colored blouse and hose. To Clare, it seemed silly that they were dressed so formally with nobody else around. But, that was her boss and his way.
By five o'clock, they had inspected most of the property and had made their way into the lounge area. It was the main social area for members to relax after a long day on the hunt. A grand room it was- high vaulted ceilings with hand cut wood beams supporting the frame, a large open hearth fireplace on a stone wall, three wood paneled walls, and an assortment of leather chairs, couches and pictures of fox hunts on the walls. The chateau, and this room in particular, represented the bastion of capitalism and decadence, comfort and relaxation, and, Clare was soaking it all in as she took a seat on the brown leather ottoman positioned before the fireplace as Mr. Charles walked along the stone wall, pensively inspecting the various antique hunting and equestrian items members had donated over the years. Among them, Alex Boyd's old English rifle from the 1700's leaned in one corner, in the other corner stood Willie Jones' riding boots, a memorial to a long gone fallen friend, Jack Carrington's favorite riding crop dangled on a hook, and, the bit and bridle of Adrian Smith's favorite steed nearby.
"Sir," Clare started noting the prolonged silence, "are you ok?"
Mr. Charles did not answer for half a minute and the silence was deafening. Then he started, his back to Clare as he asked, "Do you believe all that was said in that letter?"
