Faraday 02 Network Virus Page 3

Everybody knew Henderson was a swat. He was Smart’s equal in age and position and had no need to do as he was told, but in the strange world of schoolboy status he was far below Jason Smart. So he rose and left with his book to find a more congenial place to settle again to his studies.

  Jason turned back to look at the girl. She didn’t seem frightened or overawed by being alone with such an exalted being. She faced him with confidence.

  “What did you say your name was?”

  “Tracey - Tracey Bostock.”

  “How old are you?

  “Twelve.”

  He looked her up and down. “Put your hands above your head.”

  She did so without hesitation. She was suitably skinny in her check summer uniform dress which was pulled in at the waist by a narrow belt. But she wasn’t completely shapeless.

  “Are you sure you’re only twelve?”

  Her eyes opened wide. “Yes, of course.”

  “You’ve got quite a lot of tit for a twelve-year-old. Are you wearing a padded bra?”

  “No,” she protested. “I’m not wearing a bra at all.”

  He reached out and felt her breast and she flinched only slightly. He could tell she had nothing on under the thin cotton except a vest.

  “Sorry, but I’ve got to check.” He tried to smile comfortingly. “These blokes want the girls to look very young. You can put your hands down now.”

  “Can you pull your hair back in a pony-tail?” He stepped back and looked at her. “Yes, that looks good. You’ll also have to look as though you’re frightened. They like that. Do you think you can look frightened?”

  She gave a passable imitation of wide-eyed terror. “Will it be frightening when it happens?”

  “No, of course not.” He grinned. “Has Karen told you what it’s about?”

  She nodded. “Some of it. She said you’d tell me the rest.”

  “She told you that you’d get a lot of money for it?”

  “She said a hundred pounds.”

  “That’s just for one video. If they like that you could do more.”

  “Will you be there?”

  “I’ll be there all the time. It’ll just be you and me. Did Karen tell you what sort of thing happens?”

  “Yes.” She turned a little pink. “She says she likes it.”

  “That’s right.” He pulled a face. “She likes it a lot. Unfortunately they’ve decided she doesn’t look young enough.” He switched. “You know you’re not to tell anyone anything about it.”

  “Yes. Karen said that.”

  “You mustn’t talk about it even to your best friend, not even to your mum or your dad.”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t got a proper dad. My stepfather’s a bit creepy and he’s away at sea most of the time.”

  “That sounds all right. What about your mum?”

  “She’s out five evenings a week, leaving at six o’clock. She works at the Red Garter. It’s a nightclub.”

  “I’ve heard about it.”

  “She’s the barmaid. It’s very good pay. We have a neighbour who comes in until I go to bed. Then she goes home and comes back just before midnight to see my mum and get her cash. She gives me a pound to keep quiet.”

  “Right.” He changed the subject. “You realise you have to get undressed - take everything off?”

  Tracey nodded. “Karen said that the room was nice and warm.”

  “I think you might have to wear something tight at the top so that your tits don’t stand out. They don’t want to see tits.”

  Tracey said nothing.

  “They want you to look very young,” he said by way of explanation. “They tried it with a ten year-old but she was useless, even though they’d explained it all in advance and she said she understood.”

  “Will it hurt?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. You’ll have to ask Karen. She said she enjoyed it a lot.” He paused. “And you won’t have to worry about anything happening afterwards. I’ll wear a special protective that nobody can see.”

  The girl nodded.

  “We’ll practise first. The photographer will tell you what to do and what you’ve got to look like - how to pull your face into expressions of fear and that sort of thing.”

  “Where does it happen?”

  “They’ve got a boathouse on the Dart. It’s on the estate of the man who arranges it all. The top floor has been converted into a sort of studio where the filming takes place. You’ll be picked up and taken back by car. I can’t really tell you any more than that at the moment.” He straightened up. “Well, do you think you’re interested then?”

  “Yes.”

  He thought she seemed surprisingly self-possessed for a twelve-year-old.

  “OK then.” He grinned. “I’ll tell them we’ve got a new recruit. They’ll want to give you a screen test first. Karen will tell you when that’s going to happen and about the pick-up arrangements. Which evenings are you available?”

  “Every night except Monday and Tuesday.”

  “Right. It will probably be in the next few days. You’d better go back out to play. The bell for the end of break will ring in about five minutes.”

  He followed her back to the front door. He winked at Karen who was happily fielding the banter of a couple of the other prefects. Only the slightest smirk played round his lips as he watched the tight little bottom of Tracey Bostock follow the more voluptuous Karen towards the girls’ playground.

  - 4 -

  It was ten past three when the navy blue Bentley pulled up smoothly beside Sidney Pullman as he stood dejectedly outside The Bunch of Grapes gazing down at his feet and reflecting on the unfairness of life. The driver’s door opened and a man in chauffeur’s uniform got out. Without a word he opened the rear door and gestured to the little man to get in.

  “Sidney.” The large, nearly bald gentleman with the Oxford accent and the expensive suit leaned forward on the soft leather back seat with his hand outstretched. “I’m Charles Hawardine.”

  Sidney took the proffered hand somewhat hesitantly. He found it gripped firmly and was aware of a wash of delicate after-shave round him as the car purred away from the inn and drifted gently down the road.

  “You must accept my sympathy for the position you find yourself in. We live in a very unfair world.”

  “You can say that again.”

  Hawardine’s grey eyes hardened a little. “I never repeat myself, Sidney. You will discover that.”

  Pullman shrank a little deeper into the luxurious upholstery.

  “As I said to you on the telephone yesterday, Sidney, we whom society has turned its back on have to group together to protect ourselves. I have learned how to survive and prosper in this difficult world. I have decided to extend some of my experience to assist you. Do you understand me fully?”

  “Er - yes.” It appeared to him that Charles Hawardine was surviving very well. But something about him made Sidney feel distinctly uncomfortable. He looked out of the window and saw that they were already leaving central Torquay and were taking the route which led out to the Torbay ring road.

  “There is something I wish to show you which I think you may be interested in. Am I right in assuming you are free for the afternoon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your sister won’t be expecting you home for tea?”

  “No.”

  How did this man know so much about him?

  “Good. Well, we’re going back to my place. I wish to show you some arrangements I have made in an attempt to brighten our time in this world. I am sure you will find them to your liking.”

  Hawardine continued to chat inconsequentially as the Bentley reached the ring road and turned west. After a few miles they reached a junction where they took the Totnes road and soon after they left the main road to burrow into the deep, high-banked Devon lanes. They seemed to be going a long way from Torquay and Sidney began to feel a sensation of mild alarm. Where were they going and what did this rich
gentleman have in mind for him? He didn’t fancy the long walk home if he was abandoned as a result of his failure to co-operate.

  It wasn’t long before he received an answer to his first question. The Bentley purred to a halt at a road junction. Set back facing them across the road was a pair of large wrought iron gates between massive stone pillars. As they paused the gates began to swing open, presumably activated by a button which the chauffeur had pressed on the dashboard. After the brief hesitation the car surged quietly forward and entered a driveway which wound between borders of dense woodland. Sidney looked back to see the gates closing behind them until they disappeared from sight as the car rounded a bend.

  “You see that I value my privacy,” murmured Charles. “We’re nearly there.”

  As he spoke they rounded another bend and drove onto a large gravelled area in front of a two-storey country house. In the centre of the front elevation a short flight of steps led up to a grand, arched door surround. To either side of this were large, curved bay windows topped by balconies accessed by double-door windows from the upper floor rooms. The walls were rendered and painted a bright cream. The shallow-pitched roof overhung the walls with wide eaves.

  “It is only a modest place but it satisfies all my needs,” explained Hawardine.

  Sidney was speechless. He had never known anybody before who had owned such a magnificent pile. He wondered again what purpose Charles Hawardine had in bringing him to his splendid home.

  The car swung in a graceful curve, the gravel crackling beneath its tyres, and pulled up at the foot of the steps. The chauffeur quickly got out of the car and came round to open the door for Hawardine to alight.

  “Come with me, Sidney.”

  Wordlessly Pullman shuffled across the seat and followed him on to the gravel while the chauffeur shut the door.

  “Thank you, Fergus. I shan’t need the car again this afternoon. You can continue weeding the paths in the fruit gardens.”

  “Very good, Mr Hawardine.”

  He got back into the car and they watched it purr off round the side of the house.

  “Splendid man, Fergus. He and his wife do whatever I need. They live in a flat over the stables. Now, follow me.”

  He led the way up the steps. The front door whispered open as they approached and they entered a full height hall with a wide flight of stairs on the right leading to the upper floor. But Hawardine made for the corridor on the left which led to the rear of the house.

  At the end of the corridor they ignored doors to the right and left and exited through a glazed door onto a terrace which ran the full width of the back of the house. Sidney halted at the beautiful sight of a stretch of grassy parkland which sloped downhill, scattered with substantial trees, to the bank of a large river. He presumed it was the Dart.

  Charles smiled at him. “A pleasant prospect, isn’t it? I have my breakfast here on sunny mornings.”

  “Is this all yours?”

  “It certainly is. But we’re not stopping here to enjoy the view. I’m taking you down to the boathouse which is in that clump of trees to the left.”

  He set off down the gravel path with Sidney trailing in his wake. It was perhaps three hundred yards to the riverside and a further fifty to the boathouse which was an attractive two-storey building. Down a few steps was the lower level which was open to the river at high tide so that boats could be drawn up its concrete ramp into the cavernous interior. A door at the top of the steps opened straight into a staircase which climbed to the upper floor. Reaching the landing, Sidney saw there was a door to the right and another straight ahead which Hawardine took.

  This door gave access to a long narrow room. In the centre was a professional film camera. There was also a number of soft leather executive swivel chairs. But what took Sidney’s whole attention was that the right hand wall was a complete panel of glass from floor to ceiling. The camera was pointing at this glass wall.

  Through the glazing he could see into the large room which took up most of the upper floor of the boathouse. There was a wide picture window which gave views up the river. At that moment Sidney could see one of the large passenger launches, which he was to learn did tourist trips between Dartmouth and Totnes, forging up the centre of the river.

  He turned his attention to the interior of the room which was furnished in an unexpected way to say the least. In the centre of the opposite wall was a large oval bed draped with white satin covers. Behind the bed was a semi-circular headboard finished in a similar material. And above the bed was a large mirror sloping up to the ceiling so that anyone looking from where they were standing could see straight down onto the bed from above.

  Hawardine sat in one of the swivel chairs which had some controls set into the arm. “Take a seat, Sidney.”

  He saw Charles press a button and watched in silence as a set of full-height shutters began to slide across the picture window in the other room, gradually shutting out the view completely. Sidney noticed the shutters were finished on the inside with the same white fabric as the bed. The daylight from the window was gradually shut out to be replaced by hidden lights that came on in the room.

  His host indicated the glazed wall in front of them. “This is one-way glass so we can see and film everything that goes on in the bedroom but, provided no light is shown in here, nobody in the bedroom can suspect we are here. Neat isn’t it?”

  Pullman had to agree it was.

  “Now this is where you can help me, Sidney. I understand that, before you had your little adventure in the Philippines, you worked as a lighting technician in several London theatres.”

  Sidney Pullman nodded. He was no longer surprised by Hawardine’s knowledge of his former life.

  “I have started producing special types of video films which I distribute to like-minded contacts around the world. These people are prepared to pay very good money for such films.”

  “Are they pornographic?”

  “Please don’t use that word.” Charles’ expression was that of a man who found such speech disagreeable. “The films I produce are tasteful and artistic. There is only one little problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  He looked into the distance. “Although the performers have consented to play the parts some are - er - a little under the legal age of consent in this country. I have thought of moving abroad where I wouldn’t have any problems, but …” He shook his head. “I am so satisfied with my arrangements here.”

  He paused but Sidney said nothing, wondering just what he was getting involved in.

  “Anyway.” Charles shook his head. “That is not what I wanted to discuss with you. The fact is that I’m not happy with my present lighting arrangements. They are not subtle enough and they don’t always direct the eye in the direction I wish. That is something I would like to have improved. Can you do that for me?”

  “Well, I suppose I could.”

  “I can promise you would be well paid.” Charles smiled. “I would expect to give you two hundred pounds for a two-hour session. I intend to arrange these several times a week as we progress. You would also be picked up and returned home each time by my chauffeur.”

  That was a lot of money.

  Sidney said, “I would need some special equipment - dimmable focussing mini-spots - that sort of thing.”

  “Can you write a list for me of exactly what you want? Give me the sizes and model references and the manufacturers’ names.”

  Sidney knew he should choose this moment to back out. But one hundred pounds an hour was a lot of money and suddenly the chance of a satisfactory future seemed to have opened up for him. Also there was something about Charles Hawardine that suggested he would not be a good man to cross.

  “I presume the bed will usually be the centre of action.” Sidney was proud of the professionalism in his voice. “Do you have a pen and paper and a tape for measuring distances.”

  Charles rose and made for the door. “I will get them for you. While I’m gone,
have a really good check all around the room.”

  “Yes. I need to do that.” Sidney followed him. “I have some ideas for gentle uplighting which will reveal more on camera.”

  “Good man.” Charles patted him on the shoulder and disappeared down the stairs, leaving Sidney Pullman alone with his thoughts.

  - 5 -

  The taxi dropped Gary Bostock at the gate. He went round to the boot and hefted his large blue canvas holdall onto the pavement before he went to pay the driver. The bloke hadn’t even bothered to get out to help him. That was the sort of service you expected nowadays in this country - a bit different to the deference he received from the Chinese and Lascars he dealt with on board in his role as second mate.

  With a sniff of disapproval he turned to look at the house. Not much of a place, was it? His eyes took in the semi-detached, between-the-wars building with the peeling paintwork and the discoloured render. There was no garage and no car to go in it. What was the point? In the last thirteen years he’d scarcely spent twelve months in the place. And why should he pay out his good money to give his wife a life of luxury? After all, Marion had never shown any real gratitude to him for saving her from the shame of bearing someone else’s daughter.

  He thought back to their first meeting. At the time she had seemed a pretty little thing - nice big tits, even though she was only four months pregnant; a nice smiling face with dark curly hair; and he was being paid to take her on - he’d never told her that. However he’d soon found out that she wasn’t much good in bed. She seemed to expect him to take a long time getting her worked up before he fucked her. She didn’t understand that, when he got back from the pub with a skinful, all he wanted was a quick shag and then get off to sleep. And before he could get her used to that he’d been back off to sea about ten days after they were married.

  Things had sort of gone downhill after that. He and Marion never really seemed to think the same way. His arrangement with his wife was almost formal. He gave her an allowance which didn’t hit his pocket money too hard. She provided him with meals and sex on demand when he was home. Of course she had to spend a lot of her time in the early years caring for the baby. Also there was the set-up with the father of the brat.