Chapter 2

When Emma woke up it was light. Judging by the angle of the sun's rays streaming into the room it was getting on for midday. Despite her dissipated lifestyle, Emma was usually an early riser so she got guiltily out of bed.

She was not in her own room. It was a large chamber, decorated predominantly in blue. She looked around. A lot of time and money had been spent on this room. She knew enough about furniture to recognise some pretty expensive stuff when she saw it. And the bed had been one of the most comfortable she had ever slept in.

Now that she had rested and the miracle pick-me-up had done its work, she was ready to face the world. The first item on the agenda was to thank the nice kind man who had looked after her, saving her from arrest for being drunk and incapable. With a shudder she recalled the coarse things she had said to him. If only her drunkenness had erased those horrible words from her mind, so that they might not be a reproach to her! But it has to be said that the invitation to him to make love to her had been serious, and she still hoped something might one day be arranged along these lines! She really did fancy him in a big way.

But this was a true gentleman and her behaviour had been appalling. Emma was no lady these days, but she wanted to be worthy of this benefactor. Although she was fully restored physically her mind was still full of guilt. To be worthy of the love of a good man meant that she must try to become a good woman. But where was she to start? It was as challenging a task in its way as rebuilding Dresden must have been in 1945 or New Orleans today!

The icon was still on the wall and she went over and looked closely at it. It looked old somehow. She guessed that it was pretty valuable, although something told her that it was an act of profanity to place monetary value on this particular artefact. She touched it gently and felt something pass from her fingertips right through her body.

Later on she was to have many experiences with electricity but nothing was ever to affect her like the touch of that holy object, the work of devoted hands hundreds of years ago.

Then she went to the dressing table. She looked into the mirror at her face. It was still very pretty - beautiful, even. But she felt it was not mere imagination that showed her that the results of her sinful life were beginning to affect her appearance. Emma looked hard and coarse behind that fragile loveliness. And she could stand losing a few pounds! She slipped out of her clothes and went to the en suite bathroom. As she showered, she gazed down at her thighs and stomach and the rolls of spare flesh that had begun to mar her beauty. Fifteen minutes later, feeling something like normal, she went downstairs and tried to find her host.

A look out of the window had given her quite a shock. She recognised the road outside at the end of the long garden. It was The Bishop's Avenue! One of her friends at school had lived here - one of her very much richer friends! This man - her rescuer - wasn't merely nice. He was nice and extremely rich with it!

Being nice was good. Being rich was even better. Being nice AND rich was to attain heights of goodness that the majority of us can only dream of!

She reached the hallway and saw an open door. A man was standing inside the room, bending over the table, removing plates and cups. Someone had just eaten. She recognised the servant who had brought her the life saving potion.

"Thanks for giving me that wonderful stuff earlier on. Gosh! Sorry to make you jump!"

For the man had been startled by her abrupt entry.

"Quite all right, Miss! Nice to see you up and about. I'm afraid the Count is not at home at present. Would you like to eat? He says you are welcome to stay here as long as you like. If you want to go to your own home, I am instructed to drive you wherever you wish."

"Thanks. I am pretty ravenous."

She surprised herself by saying that! Usually she would have expressed her desire to eat in more basic Anglo Saxon terms. I will not exemplify!

Soon she was tucking in to a full English breakfast. And there is not a more satisfying meal to be found in the whole wide world. He or she who has slept the sleep of the just deserves nothing less in the morning! Even so, it seemed incongruous and wrong to be breakfasting at such a late hour. But one has to start the day somewhere.

The servant came and took away the breakfast things. Emma smilingly thanked him. She had been expensively educated and was still capable of politeness, despite her foul mouth. She asked him his name and was told it was Harrison.

"When does the - Count, did you say he was - get back.? I'd like to thank him but I do have things to do. I can't remember being up this fucking late before. I'm a busy girl these days, although I'm taking a few months off from the fucking treadmill soon. I'm off to Oz to get wasted on Fosters, shagged witless and shitless by a posse of Bondi lifeguards and see the barrier reef"

There was a look of pure pain on Harrison's face. Emma felt guilty again. A perceptive girl, she saw plainly that her witticism had failed to amuse!

"Sorry about the language, Harrison. I just feel if men can talk that way, then why not us girls? "

"Think nothing of it, Miss. I'm sure you have a point. But we don't talk like that in this house as a rule. The Count doesn't like it."

"I didn't know we had Counts in this country! Aren't they kind of foreign - Counts, I mean? But he talks like an Englishman - and the best kind at that!"

"He is English, Miss. His family have lived here since nineteen fifteen. They came from Russia originally. His great grandfather could see the Revolution coming and got out with as much of the family property as he could turn into ready cash. The present Count feels his ancestor behaved badly - leaving the sinking ship when his country was at war - and now he wants to do his bit for the new Russia after the Reds have gone. He's most likely at some conference today. He could even have gone to visit his company's offices."