Chapter 09 – Hackney Clinic
Dear Reader: This story presents adult situations in graphic detail. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 years of age. The characters and situations in this story are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual people, places or events is coincidental.
After seeing her previous evening's customer off to work, the dark haired young woman returned to her chores. Clearing the breakfast mess from the dining table, she stacked the dishes in the sink for the housekeeper to tend to when she arrived. Then she hung up her apron in the broom cabinet and strode, naked and totally unselfconscious, into the sitting room to tend to her text messaging.
Normally, she took care of it right after her morning yoga, but, this morning it had been postponed when she slept longer than usual. She wondered about her need for sleep; the previous evening's sex hadn't been unusually strenuous and she wasn't feeling at all under the weather.
Bachi powered on the telly and laid the keyboard across her knees. Connecting to the net, she found 15 new messages waiting for her: six junk adverts that were promptly deleted, three reminders that she took note of and filed, five personal, including one from her dear friend, Mildred, and the last was her upcoming schedule from Mischa, the girl in Sevastopol who answered her business phone and arranged her bookings.
When she opened the message it dawned on her why she overslept. Her calendar was empty for the following week because she was due to start her period. That would explain it.
Bachi hurried off replies to her friends, including a pledge to return Red's visit sometime soon, checked the day's weather forecast - overcast, but unseasonably warm and dry - and logged off. She put the keyboard and pointer away in the bottom of the end table and headed for her shower.
The hot water, shampoo, and cleansers swept away the stale scent of her night's work and she emerged feeling refreshed and alive. She toweled off quickly and brushed her teeth. Her nails and polish had held up well so no touch-up was necessary.
As she applied the minimum of makeup, she planned out her day. Her monthly working-girl's check-up at the National Health Service clinic would occupy most of the day, but, if she got back in time, she promised herself a good hour of dance practice before a light meal at the Chinese restaurant down the block and maybe a pint in the pub on the ground floor.
Then she steeled herself for the monthly game of arranging for Ivan to take her to a part of town where his management didn't want him driving. Putting the earbud in her ear, she selected the limo service from her personal communicator menu and headed for her closet as it connected.
"Fox livery service."
"Good morning, George."
Selecting a brightly colored peasant style blouse from the closet, she matched it with a pair of Brooksdale khaki slacks that fit her loosely over a pair of conservative boy-cut knickers. Comfort and ease of on and off were the primary considerations when visiting the docs.
"Well, good morning, Miss Munro. How can we be of service?"
"I need Ivan to take me to my clinic appointment this morning."
A pair of thigh high stockings and plain brown flats completed her outfit. She shed all her jewelry other than her necklace and cross and her reader ring and applied the faintest bit of her favorite scent, Red Jasmine, to the sides of her neck. The Hackney clinic wasn't in the best part of London and she didn't want to risk attracting the wrong sort of attention.
"And where is your appointment, Miss?"
"The Hackney clinic, where I always go."
"Oh, now Miss, you know that we're not allowed to send our limos into that area. Why can't you find a more convenient clinic?"
Bachi could easily find a closer clinic; there was one right around the corner in Paddington, but the staff there had been so condescending toward her when she explained that she was a sex worker that she had never returned. The staff at the Hackney clinic saw a high volume of working girls and guys and she felt so much more comfortable there. That's where she had gotten to know a number of the other players in the local scene, including Henrietta's son Dominique and a few of the girls in his stable.
"This was the only one that I could get a convenient appointment at, George. Is Ivan available?"
"Well, Miss, I believe that Ivan is available, but I am not allowed to send him there. I'm sorry."
"Oh, well, I guess that I could take the tube and a bus," the young woman purred, playing her trump card.
"Now, wait just a minute," George stammered, blackmailed again by a favored customer, "let me see if I can somehow get a special one-time exemption. Hold on please." This was the same script that they played out each month and by now they both knew their parts by rote.
After a brief period of light music, George was back, "I can have Ivan take you to Hackney today, but he's not permitted to wait."
"That's quite alright; I can ring you when I'm ready to return."
"Yes, Miss. Ivan can be there in twenty minutes. Would that be acceptable?"
"Make it thirty minutes, please, George. And thank you." She blew a loud kiss into the air.
"Yes, Miss."
The connection terminated and Bachi headed for the kitchen to enjoy the last cup of tea in the pot. She was in the hallway when the entry chime indicated Henrietta's arrival.
"Good morning, Henrietta," she called out before she ducked into the kitchen.
"Good morning, gal," her housekeeper replied in her heavy accent. "The Lord has truly blessed us with another glorious day!"
"That He has," Bachi replied as she emptied the last of the tea into her cup.
"You off to the clinic this morning?" the large black woman asked when she stepped into the kitchen.
"Yes, Ivan should be here shortly. I'll probably be gone most all day."
"Well, you take good care of yourself." The concern in the big woman's voice was evident. Bachi refilled the kettle and put it back on the stove for Henrietta's tea. They sat down at the dining table and went over the tasks for the day. Henrietta was most competent at her job; Bachi seldom felt comfortable instructing her as to what needed doing, because she had discovered that the things that needed doing around the flat were done by day's end whether Bachi issued detailed instructions or not.
The young woman occasionally wondered about the housekeeper who had appeared at Foulis Castle not long after she, her Mum and Marta arrived in Scotland for the wedding. Whenever Bachi was home from school on holiday and the like, Henrietta was always there to assist her, whether it was helping her dress or prepare for family events or take shopping trips to Dingwall or Inverness.
Bachi sensed that her maid and her father were somehow more than just servant and employer. Not that there was any indication that they were intimate, it was more the way they shared information by exchanging a particular look or that they both seemed familiar with the same odd jargon. At times, they almost seemed to communicate in spoken code.
A younger Bachi would pester her father occasionally, trying to pry more about Henrietta from him, but he was reticent to discuss his past and whether she played any part in it. After Bachi began reading the John le Carre novels she found in the school library, she came to think of the big black woman as being her handler. And when Bachi pestered her father into letting her live in London, she wasn't at all surprised when Henrietta expressed a wish to return to London as well.
Daddy never demanded that Bachi take her on to care for the flat, but he made his wishes known in other, more subtle, ways. Bachi's father could be quite persuasive and she had little reason to object. She and Henrietta had now been together in London for almost a year and both seemed happy with the situation. Bachi enjoyed her business and exploring the city's cultural offerings and Henrietta was close to most of her grown children and her grandchildren.
"Oh, look at the time!" Bachi squealed. "I must run."
She gave Henrietta a quick kiss on the cheek, grabbed a light jacket out of the closet and flew out the door, snatching her bag off the hall table on the way. Not bothering with the lift, she ran down the stairs and burst through the door into the lobby, startling Patty. It wasn't the first time.
"Good morn...," gasped the plump security guard, clutching her chest, as Bachi ran by.
"Good morning, Patty," the young girl replied, over her shoulder, as she rushed out the door.
Ivan was waiting patiently at the rear door of the limo. Bachi rose up on her tiptoes when she got to his side and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. He opened the door for her and she slid into the comfort of the vehicle. When the driver folded his over 200 cm. tall frame into the front seat of the limo, he leaned to his right to ask through the open divider window, "Hackney clinic?"
He wasn't surprised when her voice answered, "That's correct," from immediately behind him. He had driven this particular free spirit often enough to know that she preferred his company over sitting by herself in the far back. "And you may leave the window open."
They chatted amicably as he navigated his way through the chaos of taxis, hire transports and bubble scooters that clogged the streets. As they got closer to their destination and further from its center, the cityscape changed from a clean, well tended image to a grimier, more decayed demeanor. Fortunately, the overnight fog had mostly lifted and visibility wasn't a problem.
