The end
All this was a year ago. Perhaps I can best wrap the story up by offering a series of incidents during the intervening twelve months that strike me as particularly interesting or significant (or sexy or amusing. Or, in one or two cases, grim).
*
Last summer's birthday weekend was the turning point. Once all the girls were safely captured, and the decision had been taken to go wholesale into the sex business, everything seemed to fall into place. I was very strict about ensuring girls had made all the necessary arrangements for this dramatic change in their lives. Doting parents were told whatever their daughter thought would best reassure them: that she had saved some money and was taking a year off, that she was doing some lucrative freelance job, that she was being kept and pampered by some mysterious wealthy man, and so on. One or two of the broader-minded parents actually got the truth, or a relatively lightly edited version of it.
Naturally some girls needed longer than others to prepare the ground so they arrived in the sex business in ones and twos over the next few months, not all in a rush. Gina gave advice and support, and it was her idea that the girls should work independently rather than give a slice of their earnings to agencies. The result was the institution that Wendy calls "the Stable". This is not so much an agency as a loose federation. Wendy took voluntary redundancy from her job to help co-ordinate it; she maintains the records (which for obvious reasons are kept to a minimum), while Gina, in such spare time as she can manage (for she is still a whore first and foremost), provides the girls with what I suppose I can best describe as technical support. (I hear her taking calls from the girls and saying things like, "Yeah, I knew a guy once that asked for that. Weird, innit? Listen, hun, this is how you do it...")
There are several reasons that the administration is not too onerous. In the first place, we can trust our girls implicitly. Secondly, they are all in touch with each other so they can make arrangements directly between themselves if an extra girl is needed somewhere or if one of them finds a client she thinks would particularly appreciate one of her colleagues. The third reason is that we do not take a commission off the girls, or at least, not in the normal sense. Basically, what they earn (and they earn plenty) is theirs to keep. All we ask (since we have to eat) is an occasional subvention, which means that I pick on a few girls at random and ask them to donate whatever we need; two days' earnings (which they hardly miss) from five girls drawn by lot will typically generate about six to eight thousand pounds, which pays the bills for weeks.
*
It will be gathered from this that I have left the insurance business. It had become obvious to me, even before my birthday party, that FUCK was simply too powerful to allow me to lead a normal life without risking constant accidental captures such as Ursula's. It is not the capture itself that troubles me – I am delighted that Ursula is on board and so is she – but every girl has family, friends, and colleagues and every uncontrolled capture of this kind increases the chances of detection.
So a few days after the party I asked to see Brian and told him that since, owing to the company's financial problems, he would need to cut down on staff costs, I should like to negotiate a retirement package. Generous terms, I suggested, would be a fitting reward for my corporate loyalty in cosying up to George. He seemed a little surprised, since I had never before shown any interest in leaving, but I told him that what my late uncle had left me meant that I had no need to work any more. He assumed the look characteristic of him when he was pretending to be intelligent and he told me that he entirely understood and was sure something acceptable could be worked out.
The settlement we arrived at was, in fact, highly satisfactory from my point of view and I felt it was good of Brian to honour the terms of what was, after all, only a gentlemen's agreement. True, I gave some very obvious sidelong glances at the drawer where the incriminating "CONFIDENTIAL" file was kept, coupled with some casual comments about how I was now in constant touch with my old pal George, but it would be churlish to suggest this had any bearing on the outcome.
I realised that a house and garden in the suburbs no longer suited my needs and I looked for something much more central, yet secluded from nosy neighbours. My new home is a mews house in Marylebone. It is perfect. It is the only house on this side of the mews, hence no party walls and no chance of being overheard if a girl gets a bit noisy. Upstairs it has two respectable double bedrooms beside an immense master bedroom, in which I installed the biggest bed I could find, comfortably accommodating me and four girls. Downstairs there is a large reception room and a kitchen-diner, the rest of the ground floor being occupied by a built-in garage. At the rear is a paved yard with a small pool, protected from prying eyes on one side by the house and on the other by a twelve-foot wall separating us from the rear gardens of the houses in the main street. If there is anywhere else in the middle of London that so wonderfully combines comfort, convenience and privacy, I should like to know where it is.
It did not come cheap. Even when I added together my life savings, my payoff from the company and the proceeds from selling my house and Albert's house, I was still some way shy of the asking price. I had to fill the gap with my biggest-ever subvention, asking all the girls to give me all the money they made in a whole week. I even broke one of my strictest rules and told girls still studying that they should cut classes for a week and come and help out. The girls all knew what the money was for and worked extra hard, taking no time off at all, and at the end of the week Wendy, Fran and I found ourselves looking at an unbelievable three hundred and forty thousand pounds, all in fifties and twenties, neatly piled in bundles of a thousand on our dining table. I had dealt with much larger sums in the course of business, of course, but it had been cold, remote money, mere electrical impulses in a bank's computer. I confess that seeing more than a third of a million pounds of hard cash made me go quite weak. Added to my other monies it more than met the cost of buying and furnishing my new home, plus a big housewarming and thank-you party (or orgy) for the girls.
*
I ought to mention that while I was still at the old house I settled my accounts with George Marjoribanks. Wendy and I invited him and Sue for dinner, as of course we were obliged to, and since it was such a golden opportunity to be annoyingly condescending about our relatively modest home he naturally accepted with alacrity. He seemed a little surprised when I commented what good company the twins had been when we dined with him, and I asked him to extend the invitation to them too.
By the time the agreed date arrived I had gone over my plans with Wendy, Alicia and the twins. They all knew what was expected of them. For Wendy and me it was something of a farewell; we were already looking for a new house by this time so it was the last time we should entertain formally in a home we had lived in for fifteen years. So when it came to the cooking Wendy, aided by Alicia (who under her expert guidance was showing great promise in the kitchen), truly surpassed herself.
I could see as soon as he arrived that George was still fascinated by Alicia. Whenever Sue's attention was elsewhere he rested his eyes on her, drinking her in with palpable lust. I wanted him to get a good idea of what he was missing, so I asked her to keep an eye on him throughout the meal, and while Wendy, the twins and I kept Sue busy she was to shoot sexy smiles at him, push her bust in his direction, look away giggling shyly if he too obviously stared back, and generally be as forward and provocative as she could without getting him into any trouble.
After dinner the twins carefully steered Sue into the front room and talked to her about hardy perennials (she had been trying for years to interest them in her hobby of gardening, but with no success until that night – and none since, incidentally). Alicia and I also left the dining room, leaving George and Wendy talking, but we got no further than the hall, where we could eavesdrop without being seen.
It was obvious that Alicia had done a first-rate job of getting George going because he broached the subject the moment he and Wendy were alone. How did we find her, where did she work, that sort of thing. Wendy answered all these questions with the relaxed good humour characteristic of her.
Then George started to unburden himself. "You know, Wendy, you're a remarkable woman."
