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  She fled down to the beach, and tried to understand everything that she had witnessed; what did it imply about Luke's own sexuality? Why had he hidden it from her? What was wrong with her that he hadn't even tried to explain what sexually aroused him? Things that she had thought repulsive, things that she wouldn't have dreamed of doing in a million years, she had seen and they had excited her.

  But what type of man was Luke to go to bed with whores? How inadequate he must be to take pleasure from sure barbaric brutality!

  It was the end of their relationship of course. As her sexual excitement subsided, she thought with a colder logic. She began to register all his faults, sexual and other, calibrating them with other discontented memories. She knew it was over; Luke's fearful sexuality seemed too destructive for a potentially durable domestic love. However excited she had been; however it had made her question her own sexual impulses and desires, she felt that she could not live with a man like that.

  Memories of Luke, of her first encounter with Sebastian, fantasies about Alfonso! What was wrong with her? Why was her mind full of sex? It wasn't as if she was some sexually obsessed virgin or something. It wasn't as if she didn't have a good sex life. She had a damn good sex life, a sex life that most women could only dream about.

  Maybe Freud had a point about how the artist manipulates his or her sexual repression to create, the frustrated libido as the muse. Alfonso had once joked, 'I thought muses were beautiful blond girls in diaphanous frocks,' but perhaps there was some truth in the psychology after all.

  It was nonsense anyway. She knew in a few hours as she probably lay alone on some hotel bed after dining with Alfonso and Maria, that she would long for Sebastian, her man, and that nothing else would happen, indeed maybe she didn't really want anything else to happen.

  In fact, the only thing that she was really sure about, the only thing that she really did want to happen was to produce a portfolio of work good enough for an exhibition, and good enough for her to finally make her name as an artist. She also knew that the sketches and lithographs that she had gathered to show anybody in Barcelona who might be interested, weren't quite good enough. She'd always said it was because she never had enough time to think or to execute her thoughts on canvas, but a nagging doubt told her that that might just be a fatuous excuse; a little inner devil told her that it could be that she just didn't have sufficient talent.

  Whatever was going to happen in Barcelona, she convinced herself that it was her artistic, not her sexual, demons she had come to confront.

  Chapter 3

  Maria was every bit as beautiful as Alfonso had indicated. She had the kind of classical beauty that Linda thought quite rare, and if she had seen her passing in the street she would have undoubtedly stopped to look: beautiful coal-black eyes, a round face with full, pouty lips which gave an impression of a kind of insouciant petulance. The beauty of her face was complimented by the attraction of her voluptuous body: her figure was full, her generously proportioned breasts were squeezed tightly into a white, low-cut cotton dress that also showed the enticing curve of her rounded hips. She could have been no more than twenty-five.

  Over dinner and after Linda had talked about her intentions while she stayed in Barcelona - and had got the inevitable conversation over about what it was like being married to a famous actor - she tried to turn the conversational spotlight onto her female interlocutor. Whether Maria was naturally diffident or arrogant or if her knowledge of English was not good enough, the Spanish girl said very little.

  'Do you paint?' Linda asked.

  Maria seemed to snort. 'No.'

  'What do you do, I mean, for a living?'

  'Not much. Model a little, but that is for fun.' Maria haughtily shrugged her shoulders.

  'Maria comes from a fabulously rich family. She doesn't have to do anything,' Alfonso said, explaining.

  'I explore,' Maria added.

  'You explore?'

  'Yes.'

  'What do you explore?'

  'Everything, everything about life.'

  'You'll see,' Alfonso said, his eyes mischievously smiling at Linda. Although Linda was not quite sure what on earth she was going to see, she felt a momentary pressure in her chest at the sexual connotation that Alfonso seemed to imply in his rueful smirk.

  As the cava delightfully slipped down Linda's throat and a course of gambas a la plancha was followed by a dish of marinated duck breast, Maria sat quietly while Alfonso and Linda discussed her plans in Barcelona. Alfonso would say little about Delgado, only that he could be ruthless with those who, in his opinion, didn't take their art seriously, but that she would see for herself. They talked about exhibitions, up and coming artists from the city who would soon be internationally famous. Linda, all the time, feeling a little uncomfortable at Maria's continued silence.

  It was only after the coffee arrived and when Alfonso suggested that they go to El Attico that Maria's face seemed to grow more animated.

  'What's El Attico then?'

  'It's a club. You'll see.' This time the suggestiveness behind Alfonso's deliberate obtuseness was merely irritating. Why couldn't he answer a simple question?

  'Why is it called El Attico. Is it high up?' She tried again to get more information.

  'No, it's a joke. It's in a basement,' Maria added.

  Linda was not convinced she should go. She felt a little light-headed with all the cava and thought about going home. Maria was also making the night too much like hard work, and even though she had found Alfonso to be charming and very alluring there didn't seem to be much point even in being with him while his sultry girlfriend was present.

  Strangely though, once they were back outside on the street, strolling around the ill-lit Barrio Gotica, it was Maria who suggested that Linda should come with them. She touched her arm, just above the elbow.

  'This will be a great experience for you, for all of us. Please come.' Maria smiled with childish enthusiasm. Linda felt that it would be impolite if she refused her.

  'Okay, I'd love to.'

  'They went down a narrow, deserted street that Linda hadn't walked down before. If she had been alone she doubted whether she would have risked entering such a potentially dangerous area. The houses in this part of the city were so old, they seemed medieval. There was none of the sleek nineteenth century architecture that she always associated with L'Eixample, the grid of opulent apartment blocks to the north of Las Ramblas.

  They stopped at an ancient wooden door of a stone clad three-storey apartment. Alfonso banged on it firmly, a measured knock that seemed to carry the necessary rhythmic code to gain entry. Maria took hold of Linda's hand and squeezed it hard, her eyes beaming up at Linda.

  The door was opened quickly by an attractive woman in her early forties, slim, wearing an elegant mid-length sequinned dress.

  'Ah, Senor Guerro e Maria.' She cast a glance at Linda. 'E la inglesa tambien. E guapa,' the woman said approvingly.

  Alfonso started speaking in Catalan; the woman who had complimented Linda on her prettiness had spoken in Spanish. But as the conversation proceeded, Linda thought, even though her Catalan was barely more than non-existent, she heard some talk about a table and a show.

  Eventually once the conversational niceties were over they were led through a passageway then down a rickety wooden staircase into a dim lit bar. Considering the size of the block the basement seemed enormous. On first impression it was not so different from many other bars that Linda had frequented in Barcelona, with old stone walls and wooden tables, apart from that this bar seemed to have a more well-heeled clientele than most of the others she had been in before.

  The tables were arranged in a semicircle, facing what appeared to be a small raised stage that was brilliantly lit under a single spotlight. On the stage there was nothing apart from a black leather sofa. It reminded Linda of the type of spartan sets they used in some of the execrable fringe theatre she had seen in the less glamorous parts of London that Sebastian occasionall
y cajoled her into going to. It was only her intuition that Alfonso would be as appalled by earnest student drama as herself that kept her intrigued and from imagining the worst.

  The woman who opened the door led them to a table directly in front of the stage, then brought them a bottle of champagne and whispered something in Alfonso's ear before retreating to the bar at the back of the room.

  'What did she say?' Linda asked, her curiosity aroused by the strange place and whatever the performance was that they were about to witness.

  'Oh nothing important. Have some champagne, it's excellent.'

  'I'm not so sure I want to drink anything more.'

  'You know,' Alfonso confided, 'I think I prefer French champagne to cava. It's terribly unpatriotic of me.'

  It made her laugh, that 'terribly'. Nobody apart from retired colonels used 'terribly' as an adjective in that way or talked about things having 'certain properties'. She could only think that Alfonso had learned his English from some ancient textbook.

  'So when does the show start, Alfonso?'

  He looked at her, his eyes boring into her, a cruel smirk on his lips: 'Whenever you're ready my dear.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'We are the show.'

  Two beautiful women appeared on the stage before Maria could question Alfonso further. One woman seemed older, in her early thirties, dressed as elegantly as the maitre d' in a grey silk evening dress. She had blond hair, but tanned skin. The other girl was younger, probably barely twenty. She had a fulsome chest bulging out her mustard, polo-necked sweater, and long, shapely stockinged legs under a short dark brown leather skirt.

  'The older one, the one in the dress, that is Ramona, and the younger girl is Montse.'

  'I see,' Linda responded, not knowing how Alfonso expected her to react.

  'You will, Linda, you will see everything,' Maria added.

  The two women took their places on the sofa.

  Ramona kissed Montse passionately on the lips, and as their mouths locked, she crept her hand up Montse's leg. It was more real and violent than the simulated scene that Linda had imagined. Ramona had grabbed Montse roughly by the head and began to flick her tongue in and out of her mouth. Montse looked genuinely shocked at how rough the older woman was being with her.

  'This is where it starts,' Alfonso said enthusiastically.

  Linda's eyes remained fixed on the stage. Ramona suddenly became even rougher with Montse, tugging up the girl's sweater to reveal a scarlet, cotton bra, before tugging down each cup, taking her nipples in her mouth, expanding each one by holding the teat between her teeth. Linda could clearly see Montse wince with pain as Ramona stretched the rose tip of Montse's breast. Montse's frightened eyes betrayed the passivity of her body, her arms hung flaccidly by her side, but her eyes stared pleadingly at the audience.

  Then bringing Montse's hands together, Ramona retrieved a length of black flex from the side of the sofa and looped it around the younger girl's raised hands, fastening them together in a crude knot. Ramona pulled up the listless girl until she was in a kneeling position on the sofa.

  It all looked genuine enough to Linda. It shocked her. Shocked her to think that she was in such a place so soon with Alfonso, when only a few hours ago she had been recalling what had happened with Luke. How could Alfonso have known what an effect such a spectacle would have on her?

  As soon as Montse's hands were tethered, a fat bald man in a white suit appeared on the stage, his face fixed in a lewd glare. He walked slowly around the sofa gazing at the spectacle, before turning to smile at the audience. He said, seemingly addressing Linda, in his booming voice, 'You can't struggle. If you do what I say I will bring you pleasure that you have never imagined.' His eyes seemed to stare uncomfortably at Linda, as if he knew something that she palpably didn't. Briefly the compere focused his gaze on Alfonso and smiled, before turning his back on the audience. He grabbed Montse by the neck and pushed the girl's face so it scrunched into the back of the sofa.

  There seemed nothing simulated about the scene now. Linda could see how much pressure Ramona was exerting on Montse's tumescent nipples. Against her will, it made her feel sexy, very sexy to think how Ramona and the portly man might dominate the younger girl. Ramona had placed metal clamps on Montse's nipples and tugged on them. Montse shrieked with the pained pressure. Linda could see how the girl's nipples were cruelly extended by the older woman.

  The man turned to the audience. 'This girl is in my power now ladies and gentleman. She is in all our power. What would you like me to do?' he said in Spanish.

  'Lash her,' Alfonso said, laughing at the perverse pantomime being played out before his eyes.

  All the time Montse was futilely struggling against her bonds.

  The man on stage grinned like a hideous gargoyle. He knelt in front of Montse. Her leather skirt had ridden up enough to reveal the tops of her stockings. He pulled up the skirt roughly while Ramona stood behind the sofa holding the girl's bound wrists tightly in her hands.

  Linda looked at Alfonso. His face was transfixed by the spectacle, his eyes staring at Montse as the male protagonist of the exhibitionist menage pulled down Montse's scarlet panties to reveal the two perfectly tanned orbs of her bottom.

  'Bring me the cane,' he commanded Ramona.

  While Ramona exited from the stage, the man's stubby fingers slide inside the cleft of Montse's bottom, down to the moist lips of her sex. Montse began writhing on his fingers but he ordered her to be still.

  Ramona passed him a cane.

  'Could we have a volunteer from the audience please?' the man asked, his eyes falling again on Linda, this time inviting her to volunteer.

  'I think he wants you to go.' Alfonso leaned over to her and whispered in Linda's ear.

  She had been undoubtedly aroused by the spectacle, but the thought of doing anything so publicly, so openly, terrified her.

  'What, no please!' Linda spoke to Alfonso but beseeched the eyes that glared at her from the stage. She felt naked in front of Alfonso. What kind of knowledge had he garnered from her in a few social meetings that Sebastian hadn't in three years of marriage? Part of her felt outraged and wanted to leave, but Alfonso obviously knew her too well, had gambled on the fact that she would come, that such a spectacle would spark some fundamental desire in her that she had tried to even hide from herself.

  One or two people behind her were shouting to be selected. Linda felt momentarily disgusted with the whole public spectacle, with the greedy eyes that stared at her, with the eagerness of Alfonso to bring her here. It felt terribly surreal, as if she had somehow stepped outside the normal confines of her life in some terrible degenerate way, and she wanted to step back inside. Her head seemed woolly, her body felt incredibly light. She felt that she might faint.

  The man on the stage was saying something about how he wanted a woman to volunteer because a woman beating a girl was more fun to watch.

  Linda was aware of a glance passing over her between Alfonso and Maria, and then Maria striding into the dizzyingly bright spotlight. Maria! The reticent, sulky girl was taking the cane from the man. She held it high above her head, her arm arching slightly, the hand coming down in a swift, brutal action. The cane scythed through the air and then there was the crisp, clarifying noise as it landed on Montse's fleshy buttocks. A sharp, piercing shriek came from the girl, who had not expected such a beating from a woman. Each stroke was raucously cheered by the audience in the club.

  Maria rained down a series of strident strokes on the girl's buttocks, the reddened marks on Montse's bottom highlighted by the bright spotlight, each stroke causing the cheering crowd to drown out Montse's pained cries.

  Linda felt Alfonso's hand taking her own.

  'It's your turn, Linda.'

  'What?'

  'Give in, relax. You are very beautiful. It is beautiful. Don't fight against it.'

  'Against what?'

  Alfonso smiled, but he didn't speak.

  'What do you w
ant me to do, Alfonso?'

  He stared at her as his hand slid along her stockinged leg, gliding up the nylon, causing the most delicate of tingling sensations along the surface of her skin. She let him, all the time staring back at his smiling eyes. His hand was creeping to the edge of her underwear, then under, brushing lightly on her soft flesh. She relaxed a little in her chair, to let his finger slide deeper along the ridge of her sex. Yes, she did want him.

  Alfonso momentarily averted his gaze back to the stage. Linda looked too. Montse was now spread-eagled on the sofa; the bulky man who had asked for volunteers was plumping his thick penis into her gaping mouth, as Maria continued to lash the curvaceous bottom of the young Spanish girl.

  What was happening? Images flashed through Linda's mind. She seemed to be aware of nothing but a burning desire inside her.

  'Alfonso, here?' Linda asked, turning her eyes back on him.

  'Don't worry, all things are possible here. Trust me.'

  Alfonso knelt between her outstretched legs, his hands grasping her firmly by her white thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, pulling aside the gusset of her panties, his tongue began to probe inside her engorged sex lips.

  She looked around her. Nobody seemed interested in what Alfonso was doing to her. Similar acts of cunnilingus and fellatio were being performed all around the club.

  Alfonso was so tantalisingly gentle, his tongue circling the bud of her clitoris, making her gasp with pleasure.

  The chubby compere stared over at her: 'La Inglesa, venga!'

  Suddenly she was aware of another man towering above her, then standing behind her and threading his hands through her arms. She felt herself being lifted backwards on her chair, then lifted clear. There was Alfonso and there was the other man who seemed to have appeared from nowhere, a black man, a beautiful tall, elegantly dressed black man in a black linen suit. She could smell his cologne. His eyes were boring into her.