Chapter 18

Carol Hargreaves lounged in the sun by the side of the hotel's magnificent swimming pool dressed in a tiny red bikini, a glass of chilled lager in hand and some snacks spread out on a table beside her. A few steps away, two waiters hovered, ready to fulfill her slightest whim. Prince Abdul had booked the best suite in the house for her, it having been decided that it would be improper for her to stay at the Presidential Palace until after the wedding ceremony. Pushing her recently acquired designer sunglasses back up her nose, Carol smiled to herself as she thought of the fifty thousand dollars in cash that nestled in the hotel's safe deposit box in her name and, for the first time in her life, she began to wonder if it were really possible for poor smocks from council estates south of the river to enjoy some good luck.

A shadow blocked out the sun momentarily and Carol opened her eyes to discover that her husband to be was siting down and joining her. "Good morning, Abdul," she greeted him pleasantly enough.

"Good morning, beloved," he replied before bending forward and kissing her on the cheek as he did so. "Have to keep up appearances - never know who's listening or watching," he whispered quietly into her ear as he pretended to nibbled at her lobe.

"I understand," she replied at an equally low volume. "Did I pass the test last night?" she then asked in more conversational tones.

The Prince looked puzzled. "Test? What test?"

"Getting past your family, of course. And gaining their approval."

"Ah, yes, you did well. No really embarrassing errors... you learned the file well. I am pleased with your progress. But we will have to find a tutor to instruct you in the more subtle aspects of table manners. On two occasions you used totally the wrong fork."

"Sorry," she replied thinking that if that was all she'd failed on, he didn't really have too much to complain about!

"Now, about the coming week. The wedding itself is arranged for Saturday and we fly off on our 'honeymoon' on Sunday morning. We'll be taking the flight to Britain where I'll be meeting your family..."

"But I have hardly any..." broke in a puzzled Carol.

The Prince threw her a dark look. "Where I'm to meet you family," he said again but with emphasis this time.

"Oh, yes," responded Carol, the clouds parting in her mind. "My family... of course you'll want to meet them..."

"But until then, I want to show you round my country. The Nakumba Falls... the giant dam at Walawala... some cultural dancing..."

"Cultural dancing? What's that?"

"It used to be called tribal dancing until we caught the politically correct disease from you Westerners. Then there's the mines... I'm sure you'll want to see the mines... especially the diamond ones..."

Oh, yes, thought Carol... I sure want to see the diamond mines...

Up in the somewhat cooler clime of Europe, WPC Samantha Jones was looking forward to the end of her shift with a growing desire. Eight hours previously, she'd arrived on a high and, as she had expected, the photocopies she'd hidden about the place earlier were the talk of the station. Ian Smythe and Fiona Adoga were the laughing stock of the building and an internal inquiry was most certainly on the cards. However, that was all quite some time ago and now Samantha was not feeling at her best. She'd started to get the shakes some time ago and now her vision was blurring occasionally. From experience she knew that her face would soon start looking drawn with black rings developing under her eyes. She glanced at her watch for the fifth time in the last two minutes. 'Oh God, ' she pleaded quietly to herself, 'Hurry up!'

Half an hour later, Samantha was hugging herself as she moved as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself towards the changing rooms were, not bothering to remove her uniform, she simply tossed an overcoat around herself before rushing out of the building and heading off down the dark road. After about half a miles walk, she glanced furtively about her and then, deciding that no-one was watching, she turned left and entered a dingy alley that smelled strongly of old, stale urine. Twisting her way passed all the rubbish piled up against the graffiti covered walls, she soon reached a strong, metal door half hidden in the shadows. Knocking there, she was forced to wait, fidgeting nervously for a few moments before the entrance opened a slit and the person inside checked out who was waiting beyond. "'ello, Sammy. 'E's waiting for yer," the gorilla of a man said gruffly.

"Thank god for that," she replied forcing the door open wide enough for her to squeeze through. From experience she knew where to go and it wasn't long before she was standing in a sparsely furnished, smoked filled room before a group of five men, all large and tough looking with rolled up sleeves and loosened ties. Each man held some playing cards in their toughened hands and bottles of beer both full and empty were scattered about.

"Evening, Sammy," welcomed the largest of the men. "Take your coat off, why don't you?"

Flashing a nervous half-smile, Samantha removed her coat and tossed it over the back of an unused chair. "There she is, boys... pretty as a picture, as always."

"Lookin' a bit frayed round the edges if yer asks me!" another of the men joked and a titter ran round the room.

Samantha hugged herself harder and tried to smile, but failed again, with only an insincere grimace appearing on her face.

"Now, now, Jimmy," the larger man jokingly chastised his associate, "It's just that Sammy needs her fix... don't you, girl?"

WPC Jones said nothing but only nodded her head.

Suddenly serious, the man leaned forward and asked, "Did you do as I told you?"

Licking her dried and now cracking lips, Samantha replied in the affirmative.

Now the man smiled and leaned back in his chair. "And the results?"

"You'd be pleased. They didn't know which way to look, where to go. Everyone was staring at then, chuckling behind their backs. The pictures were everywhere - some even appeared on the public notice boards outside and at reception... and I didn't put them there! The bosses weren't too chuffed either. Can I have it now? Please..."

"In a minute," the man snapped before turning to his mates. "That bastard Smythe is going to regret the day he put my brother behind bars!"

"Please, Mister Keating... I really need it now, real bad..."

"I just love a girl in uniform, don't your boys? Especially a desperate one..." the man continued, an evil smirk breaking out on his face.

"I prefer 'em out of uniform!" joked another.

"Now there's an idea. Sammy, why don't you take your jacket off?"

"Please, Mister Keating..."

"Take your fucking jacket off!" screamed the man suddenly as his mood changed with mercurial speed, forcing Samantha to rush to obey. As she dropped the offending garment to the dusty floor, the man smiled again. "Now the skirt..."

Reaching behind her back, Samantha reluctantly unclipped the waistband of her skirt before pulling the zip down and letting the garment fall to the floor, the dark blue material pooling around her ankles. The man sitting on the extreme left of the group stood up and moved over to the trembling woman before slowly unbuttoning her blouse and removing it, his hands slowly brushing over her breasts as he worked. As the white cotton fluttered down to fall by his feet, he leaned forward and, holding Samantha's head with both hands, he forced a violent kiss onto her lips. Standing back, he laughed loudly at her expression of disgust before returning to his chair. Samantha dragged the back of her hand over her lips in an futile effort to scrap away the remembered feel of the man's lips while all the men stared hungrily at the woman's body now dressed only in a black bra and panties set along with her tights. Samantha looked only at the floor, hating herself and the situation she now found herself in... and hating her growing addiction and dependance to the drugs even more. Each time she came here, the games the men played with her grew worse... but she had to comply if she was to get from them what she needed. Without her fixes, she couldn't function... and, worse than that, she couldn't maintain her perfect looks...