Chapter 1

Alf Mancini didn't really own Hartford Hall. Some little brat still at school would come into it one day, but Alfie was sole Trustee for the lad's father's estate. In any case, the Hall had been mortgaged to him by the late and intellectually challenged owner, Edward FitzWalter.

FitzWalter's family had come over with the Conqueror and been living here ever since - not that the present Hall was that old, being the third home the family had built on this site. The present building dated back to the mid Seventeen Hundreds when an atypically enterprising FitzWalter had made a fortune in India - one of the so-called Nabobs of that era. The latest of the line - poor old Edward - had had neither his ancestor's energy or ability - not even a fraction.

Alfredo had met Edward by a series of accidents and subsequently wormed his way into the fellow's confidence, putting to him a scheme whereby he could restore the family fortune. Alf then set up a series of elaborate transactions, using the poor dupe as a front man.

When the dim-witted but honourable FitzWalter had learned of the deeply unpleasant nature of Higgins's dealings in white slavery, drugs, people smuggling, and general high octane villainy, he had announced his intention of going to the authorities and confessing. Stupid bastard! I mean! What planet was the guy living on? Alf gave commands. That was the end of Edward!

It had been tricky for a while, but Alf was good at intimidating witnesses and fixing the authorities. This wasn't 1930s Chicago, perhaps, but the old country was fast catching up on Transatlantic ways! Not that the U. K. had been the scene of Edward's departure from this to a (hopefully better) world.

Alfredo had caused Edward to be killed in a part of the world where the local Police were well and truly in the Mancini pocket. Plenty of people suspected he was behind the poor guy's death, not least Edward's grieving widow, but no one would ever prove a thing. Certain people in Scotland Yard KNEW he was to blame! After a discreet interval skulking in various extradition-proof hideaways he had at last felt secure enough to move the base of his operations back to England.

Now that his time of waiting for the heat to die down was over, Mancini was able to enjoy the life of a country squire. The Law was still half-heartedly out to get him, but those incompetent bastards had nothing on him. It pleased him to stick up two fingers to British Justice, which he despised! Alfredo, to give him his full name, despised all justice except, of course, the brutal kind he meted out!

Our little tale begins with Alfredo eating breakfast in the appropriately named Breakfast Room, looking out on a dazzling vista of snow covered lawn falling away to a frozen lake in the middle distance. It was snowing again after a clear moonlit interlude last night. So any footprints she had left must have been covered long ago. He certainly could see no prints; not a trace. Maybe he had dreamt it all. But he was a practical man, not given to bizarre dreams. He usually dreamt about money and well upholstered masochistic blondes (for whom he had a great deal of time!).

Mrs Powers came into the room with fresh coffee. She was the sole member of staff left over from Edward's time. Alfredo continued looking out of the window as the stout lady poured some hot black and strong fluid into his cup. He spoke without looking round.

"Not the weather for skinny dipping!"

Because he was looking away from Mrs Powers, he didn't see her face turn white! Neither did he see her hand shake as she poured the coffee. He noticed some spilt coffee in the saucer, though, and frowned. Then his thoughts turned to other things and he put last night's vision out of his mind. He munched on his cornflakes and read the morning mail.

Alfredo Mancini had gone to bed early the previous night, accompanied by Gloria, the latest in a long line of blonde airheads whose only saving grace was being good in bed and amenable to being treated considerably more than a little roughly as the gross Alfredo worked off the frustrations of the day. Finally he had finished his systematic and violent love making, leaving even the phenomenally durable and willing Gloria totally exhausted, badly bruised and bleeding. She had finally lapsed into a deep sleep, while the satisfied brute got up and wandered over to the window.

He saw something that made him blink to see if the vision would disappear. It did not. A tall and fair-haired lady was standing directly underneath his window, looking directly up at him. She raised a hand to him and smiled. It was not a nice smile and had about it all the bitter cold of this winter's night and much more besides. Mancini shivered and not just with the cold. Despite the vision's sinister appearance he was enraptured with the sight of her. She was pale as death and her pallor was eerily accentuated by the moonlight. The full moon had just broken through the clouds after a day of heavy snowfall. There was something familiar about her, something very familiar. But for some reason, his brain was not functioning properly.

Time seemed to have stopped and he did not know how long the creature stood there. Then her long white cloak fell off her and lay in a heap on the ground about her lovely bare feet. Without the cloak she was totally naked and Mancini gasped both at the loveliness of the woman and her hardihood in standing bare to the elements in such bitter cold. It must be painful, even for a only a few seconds. He looked back at the bed and the equally undressed Gloria. Quite a contrast! Gloria was well built and healthy - a solid girl with large firm breasts and the sort of bottom that jutted out so that you might almost rest a teacup on it when she was standing. This girl in the snow was slim and delicate and with curves that were subtle and understated but dangerously enticing. Who WAS she?

She took up her coat, arranged it over her arm and started to walk away. As she walked she looked round a few times directly up at the window as if she could see right into Alfredo's evil heart and filthy corrupt soul. If it had been summer, he might have gone out to speak to her, but it was horribly cold that night and Mancini had no wish to venture out. Amazedly he watched the vision walk over to the ornamental lake.

She stood looking down at the solid icy surface for a few seconds. Then she seemed to be looking around for something. He soon realised what she was looking for when she picked up a large stone and threw it onto the ice. For a switch slim and ethereally delicate woman, she was pretty strong! With even more incredulity, Alfredo watched her jump into the hole made by the rock.

He wanted to go on watching. He wanted to watch her for ever! But suddenly, he was tired, more tired than he had ever known... Gloria might be more dead than alive after the seeing to he had recently given her, but Alf was in far worse condition and the ineluctable urge to sleep overcame all curiosity. He got into bed next to the battered and unconscious blonde and was soon dead to the world.

Gloria had still been fast asleep eight hours later and Alfredo was obliged to breakfast alone. This annoyed him. He liked his women to be around when he wanted them. It was nice to see her pretty face opposite him at meal times and her absence set him to think about looking for a replacement.

With a cruel inward smile he reflected that Gloria's face would be none too pretty today!. He had given her a real beauty of a black eye for some reason or other. Happily for both, he might like dishing it out but she seemed more than willing to take it.

And then Gloria came down and sat opposite her employer/lover/abuser. She had done a good job on the eye but not quite enough to hide all evidence of the strength of Alfredo's right jab! He grinned at her and she smiled back.

"You get rougher all the time, darling. You ought to watch it, you know. I still ache all over."