Chapter 18 : A Nightcap

There has been some sort of party.

I only know because I have been working to prepare it, and to see that it is a success. I have not seen the guests; I have been kept hard at work downstairs in the kitchen. I can't help feeling like Cinderella. Yes, I bloody well should be going to the ball!

In real life, but I actually mean in my former life, I was a university lecturer, married to an engineer, working for a PhD, with a wide circle of friends. To get me here, I have been drugged and abducted and subjected to all sorts of unpleasantness, humiliation, exploitation and brutality. If anyone deserves to go to the party, I do!

Instead, I have been made to wash floors (this morning), clean the kitchen (this afternoon) and be a kitchen porter (this evening). I have washed and scrubbed, chopped vegetables, scoured pans, cleaned work surfaces, got things out from cupboards and stores and put things away again and wiped down and tidied up - and there has been that wretched Pavea creature to put up with. She and I had to scrub the floors together. Whenever, Neena's back was turned. Pavea took her opportunity to threaten me with all the things she would do to me when she gets home. The only consolation is that her threats are completely empty. Neither of us is getting home. Ever. How I wish we were – even if that meant going to prison. Prison and a time-limited sentence would be so much better than what I have now: a never ending life of abject servitude.

To add insult to injury, as the day has worn on, they fed me bland, meagre, food and nothing else. My tummy is rumbling and I have been tortured by the wonderful smells of cooking.

The main event is over now. I am surrounded by more tedious things to do. Rinse plates, stack the dishwasher, hand wash the glass and china – there have been twenty people here for goodness sake; I will be here till midnight. Then I have to wrap and put what has not been eaten back in the fridges and the cold pantry.

I am eyeing the leftovers. They have had poached salmon. Some lies, quite untouched, on the serving dish. There is also some wine left. Actually one bottle is almost three quarters full.

I wrestle with temptation. I should probably just leave all this. That's the "safe" thing to do and it's probably the "required" thing to do, but I am alone in the kitchen. With this lovely food. I have done as much as anyone to get the meal ready. Bugger them! What's needed here, is some restorative justice! And my commission for being involved with Pavea. I'm getting into her American way of thinking!

I make another furtive glance round. I am completely alone. The salmon looks so good, smells so good. It's been baked on crushed rock salt. Perfection! I take a fork and gently press down on the flesh. It flakes away. Another furtive glance. Am I expecting an alarm to go off?

Quickly I pop the morsel in my mouth. It is good. Very good! Still no one comes. I help myself to some more – and then some more again. Now that's better! Shouldn't be greedy – but they will never miss a little more. I have a little more, well quite a lot more. Very satisfying! And with it? Wine, of course! Aha - a German white, Trocken. Brilliant. I take a swig from the bottle and swirl the cold, pale yellow, fluid around my mouth. Now that's good, I think. Crisp, bone dry, definitely better that the last bottle I got from Waitrose! (1) It probably cost quite a bit more too, I expect.

I am still alone. I'm getting quite bold. A glass: yes I will finish this episode with a glass. After all drinking it out of the bottle hardly does justice to something this good. The wine feels better with each mouthful. Even so, there is a worm of doubt wiggling in my mind. For a moment I have returned to the world I once used to inhabit but now I must come back to the new world in all its grimness. Back to plain boring food; back to working below stairs; back to being Cinderella in her tattered clothes. Actually, no clothes at all in my case. Perhaps it would have been wiser to leave well alone?

Shortly after, two of the Domestics bustle in - Damdinsuryn and Batachikan - and my routine begins again. Tidying. Rinsing, washing, drying. By 2am the job is done and I am escorted back to my cell.

As I arrive, so does Neena. She is still dressed as she must have been for the party. She has a wonderful royal blue cocktail dress and black strappy sandals on her bare feet. She looks so beautiful. I am surprised to find her here with me at this time of night.

"Rapina!" she says brightly. "Did you enjoy your evening?" She's smiling; she has obviously had a good time. And perhaps too much to drink?

For a moment I do not know what to say; whether it should be "Yes, thank you. I was glad to serve you. Was I satisfactory?" or perhaps the more honest "No actually! I have worked all day and I have been on my feet since 6 am and it's now 2 am and I am bloody exhausted." In the end I say nothing.

Neena continues, "I like baked salmon. It's one of my favourites."

Like an idiot I reply, "Yes, it's very good isn't it?"

"How do you know?" She is still smiling but the tone of her voice is suddenly cooler.

I'm worried now. Does she know about my illicit meal. "Well, err, I have had it before."

"Before when?" Now her voice sounds almost forensic.

"Before I came here."

Neena looks coolly at me. "Actually Vyerka," she says slowly, "you had it (she glances at her watch) two hours ago."

How does she know? I was alone? I looked! By now, though, it is clear to anyone that Neena is right because my face has blushes a deep red. I look down to hide it. Looking down. Another admission of guilt. Or maybe she just thinks I am being respectful.

"Here," continues Neena. "A night cap!"

She hands me a small shot glass filled with a fawn liquid. It could almost be Bailey's Irish Cream. I don't really feel I have any choice but to drink it. It has a musty, "hairy", taste. For a second or two after I drain the glass there is just the after-taste; odd, not alcoholic, not pleasant but not unpleasant either.

Then, suddenly, my stomach heaves. I dash to the toilet and the remains of my contraband meal spew down into the pan. I heave again. More. And again. More. Now vomit is filling my nose and mouth and streams down into the toilet. I turn to look up at Neena. I can hardly make her out through the tears which are being squeezed from my eyes. She is wrinkling her nose at the smell I am making and the sight of me, retching.

"Ohhh," I groan, clutching my stomach and crouching forward as another stream of liquid powers from me. "Aaaah." I lean to one side and heave again, dryly retching into the toilet. "What was that drink? ... Oh! This is not fair!"

"But it is fair! Taking things that don't belong to you is not fair. Don't deny it. Here is a video of you in the kitchen." Neena holds up her I-phone and plays a video. It has obviously been taken from a security camera. But where was it? I thought I had looked!

"Then why ... hurrlp..." I double up once again.

"Because if you take things you will be made to give them back and you will be made to give them back at our convenience, not at yours. Now, after you have given back what you have taken, there will have to be punishment. I have not whipped you yet? Something to look forward to. To help you understand your place. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Vyerka! Oh, tell me, was it worth it?"

I gasp and retch and spew and retch and I can't speak. There's the raw feeling of stomach acid in the back of my throat and the taste of my own vomit to distract me.

"No," continues Neena, her disappointment and disapproval clear in her voice. "I suppose it wasn't. Remember your place next time, rapina Vyerka. You are a slave. Slaves DO NOT enjoy the privileges of their Owners." Her admonishing words are interrupted as another wave or retching racks me. "And here is the irony: I had authorised the Domestics to give you some of the fish tomorrow, for your breakfast. A reward for hard work. Still, now you are getting a different reward for different work! Good night, rapina." She turns on her heel and leaves.

Fish! The very idea fills me with revulsion. Another wave of nausea sweeps over me and I can feel there are more of them gathering strength, waiting to break over me, waiting to break me.

Neena's words are still running around my head. My place? I cannot forget my place after this! I wish I had been more thoughtful. I knew I should have left the food severely alone. Strangely, I don't feel resentful, that I was caught or that I am going to be punished – whipped, even. I actually feel I deserved to be caught, deserve what is happening to me now and deserve to be whipped. In fact, I feel that I should be more grateful for all I do enjoy, all the privileges that they do give me, and that I should not take things for granted here. I now have to rely on my Owners, for all that I once took for granted when I was someone else, in some other place, in some other life, which I can hardly remember anymore.

AN ARDUOUS MEETING

"Why are you here?"

"To be punished, Gaspazha."

"What are you to be punished for?"

"For stealing food, Gaspazha."

"Do deserve your punishment?"

"Yes, Gaspazha, I do."

"I am going to whip you and you are going to thank me for each stroke, do you understand?"

"Yes, Gaspazha. I am sorry for the way I behaved."

"Why will you thank me?"

"It will teach me my place. Help me to remember. If ever I am tempted again."

There is another witness to my punishment. She has been tethered to one of the columns supporting the roof. It has small metal rings brazed on it for just such a purpose. She chooses this moment to say - "Oh please! I have never heard such bad play-acting in my life. Even in Grade School. You two are just the limit."

Neena ignores the interjection. "How does your tummy feel this morning?"

"It is sore, Gaspazha."

"Have you had anything?"

"Only water, from the jug in my cell."

"Very well. Here is the first stroke. You will count. Strokes you fail to count will merely be added as extra. I will not tell you how many you are to receive."

I feel such an idiot to be standing here, so exposed with Neena elegant and formal, with Andrei looking smart in a suit and tie and with Pavea watching me, gloating at my humiliation. It's so embarrassing, to have been caught so easily. I should have known it was a test, last night. I was given the opportunity to show what I have learned, to show that I could behave myself – behave as I have been told to do, without someone constantly watching over my shoulder.

But like the silly little fool that I am, I did not do what I should have done. I just gave in to temptation. I wanted to pay them back when the opportunity presented itself. Now I have to pay for my foolishness. I am going to pay dearly. I deserve to pay. Oh, what a fool I am...

I have been strapped to a St Andrew's Cross in the gymnasium. A wide leather belt has been placed around me, to protect my kidneys but otherwise, the back of me is fully exposed. Heels, calves, thighs, bum, back and shoulders.

Neena is standing behind me. She was there when Andrei brought me here. She was dressed rather formally, in a crisp white shirt and the black leather skirt she often wears. A simple but substantial black leather belt passes around her waist, closed by a yellow brass buckle. It is almost masculine. She wears black tights and black military boots which end just below her knees.

In her hands she holds the whip which will help me understand exactly who I have become now. She made sure I got a good view of if before I was strapped in place. It was a light tan and thick. Dangerous. Serious. Something which can cause real pain, can cut and split my skin. Now I wait. I can hear the quiet thud as Neena uncoils the whip and its tail spills onto the floor. There is a feint rustle. That must be her taking up the handle, holding the tip delicately in her free hand. I am facing out towards the gymnasium windows. Outside the rain falls softly. There is a feint reflection of her in the glass.

I catch a glimpse of movement, am conscious of a hissss and then a sharp crack! against my right shoulder. The whip stroke burns bright and hot. How is this going to feel as she moves down my back? Across my ribs? There are waves of panic rising inside me. This is serious. There will be real pain. I cannot avoid anything she wishes to do to me. I am going to suffer for my own stupidity.

"Adeen!" I gasp and mew.

"That's one, in case you had forgotten," offers Pavea.

"Good!" She replies. In Russian, 'Haroshow!"

She strikes again.

"Dva ... ah ... ah!" The whip strikes my left shoulder.

"Haroshow" comes her reply.

"Treeeee..." She is moving down my back. The whip has licked round the side. Into the area below my sholder, across my upper ribs. She will whip me on the other side next. I just know the tail is coming snaking towards me...