Chapter 8: Flight Home

As the Rolls-Royce swept in to Charles de Gaulle airport, the police escort peeled off and they drew up to a small entrance at the side of the main terminal, well away from the busy traffic. A uniformed flunkey opened the car door, and they went inside along a well lit and well carpeted corridor to a spacious lounge with a bar, a servery for food, several waiters and absolutely no other customers.

"What is this lounge? I've never seen it before," Paulette asked.

"Here in the land of Liberté, Egalité and Fraternité there are five different classes of lounge at this airport; only Moscow's Sheremetyevo under the communist comrades has had more class distinction. The lowest of the five is the ordinary open lounge for passengers; then there is a first class lounge for business class and above passengers, then three levels of VIP lounge. The VIP lounges are, in order of increasing quality, the lowest grade which is reserved for pop stars, sportsmen and the like, the second for politicians and the like, and finally this one which is reserved for visiting heads of state, the President of France, and so on. It is not much used and the quality of the food here is certainly Michelin three star, so I have agreed that we will lunch here before the flight."

The lunch was excellent, and Paulette enjoyed herself immensely. They had several courses and then settled in comfortable armchairs for the coffee to be brought. The conversation was mostly about Kobekistani customs and what she could expect when they arrived. She was warned about the inadvisability of going out on the streets without an escort, and the illegality of doing so without an abaya. She was warned that the Emir had many women in his harem, and that she would find them a little hostile to newcomers. She seemed quite content with the assumption that she was to be another concubine, provided she ate well and had no more money worries. The Emir agreed that she should wear western dress for the first few weeks until she got used to things. She confidently believed that in the bedroom she would be a match for any of them.

After a leisurely coffee, the Emir stood up and said, "Shall we go?"

"Whenever you're ready," she replied and he thought that it might take some training for that to become ~As the Master pleases.~

As he moved off he saw she was fiddling in her handbag.

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

"My passport."

"Forget it for the moment," he said and so she walked along another corridor with him.

As the corridor became somewhat more sparse and utilitarian, she realised that they were boarding an aircraft. Turning right with an easy familiarity, the Emir led the way into a comfortably appointed sitting room which seemed to be in the aircraft; the tiny windows were the only clue however. He sat down on a sofa and patted the cushion for her to come and sit beside him. As he leant over and kissed her, stroking one breast at the same time through the thin summer dress, she heard the engines of the aircraft starting up.

"Stop a minute," she said, "Where are we and what is happening?"

"We are on board an aircraft of Air Kobekistani and we are preparing for take-off. In seven hours we will be in my Golden Palace, or I'll know the reason why. What is worrying you? You agreed to come to my home for a while to meet, among others, my mother."

"But passports and customs and ... and we nearly missed the flight," she protested.

"No passports, no customs, no set departure time. This is a Royal Flight, in a Royal aircraft," he gestured round the salon, "Do you see any serried ranks of economy class passengers?"

"Oh," she said in a small voice, "So the flight was waiting for us to arrive?"

He nodded.

"What?" she screamed as something caught her eye.

It wasn't the tray of two frosted champagne glasses and an ice bucket with the bottle in it which surprised her. It was the fact that the stewardess carrying it was naked.

"Calm down," he said, "They usually work like that."

"Why?" she asked.

"To save on laundry bills," he replied with heavy sarcasm.

The stewardess put the tray down on the small table beside the sofa and then made a deep obeisance, pressing her forehead to the carpet.

"Why does she do that?" asked Paulette, now completely out of her depth.

"To show respect to her Emir," he replied, "And you would be expected to do the same in my country. It has been explained to you that I am the Emir, effectively the absolute ruler, of Kobekistan, yet it has taken a private aircraft and the sight of a naked stewardess for you to appreciate that Emirs do not live as ordinary men."

He reached out and stroked the back of the still kneeling stewardess. Then he stood up and took Paulette's hand, leading her through a door towards the rear of the aircraft and into a sumptuously furnished bedroom with a huge four-posted bed.

"Will she bring the champagne through?" asked Paulette.

"Not unless I order her to do so. In fact she won't move now, even if I leave her there for seven hours, until I have left the aircraft. If she does, she knows she will be whipped," he gestured negligently to the small dog whip lying on the dressing table.

Paulette's eyes suddenly became very bright and opened very wide.

"And ... and will you whip me?" she asked.

"If you deserve it," he said, intrigued by her sudden vivacity.