I reached the Hammersmith café well before eight o'clock, and loitered for half an hour on the opposite side of the road to see if I recognised anyone who came and went. Not a soul appeared until eight-thirty when a portly gentleman unlocked the door and let himself in. A few minutes later I followed.
"Miss Bewley?" he enquired pleasantly. "Punctual too, I like that. Care for coffee?" He handed me an empty cup and saucer, adding: "Breakfast will soon be under way."
He then poured coffee for two and we sat together in a window seat. My half-hour vigil had established that we were almost certainly alone, so who was cooking breakfast?
"To save time," I said suddenly, "I've decided to be totally up-front. No doubt you've heard I'm due to visit you-know-where this evening?"
"Are you now?" he smiled. "Meaning you no longer want this job?"
"Ah! That depends how I fare this weekend."
"Planning a wild time, eh? Are you a fun-loving girl, Miss Bewley? Because I must warn you, if you're at all into the drug scene, then I don't want to know. Understood?"
I made appropriate gestures of denial. "Me? I don't even smoke. My only vice is the occasional tipple of gin - at home, that is, when I'm feeling a bit low."
"And how often is that? You suffer from regular bouts of depression, maybe? Living on your nerves, is that it? When was the last time you had sex, Miss Bewley?"
Before I could stammer a protest, he went on. "I'm serious. Suppose someone made a pass at you, here and now - me, for instance - I'm curious to know how you'd react?"
"Then someone had better not try," I retorted, "otherwise he'd soon learn about my skills in karate. I've dealt with plenty of randy customers in my time, and I assure you I'm still intact."
"Still a virgin, eh? Perhaps I should explain. I like my waitresses to wear quite revealing costumes after nine p.m., and we are open long hours here. You could well find yourself serving till three or four in the morning. Do you have your own transport?"
I told him I hadn't anywhere to keep a car, and couldn't afford to run one anyway, not until I got myself a job with a decent wage and plenty of fat tips.
"Ah," he said, "then you'll be pleased to know I let my all girls keep their tips, Miss Bewley, that's my policy. How are your legs?"
"No problems. You mean to look at? Average, I suppose."
"Men only like to see a girl in mini-skirts when she's got legs well worth displaying. No cellulite, please!"
This was becoming rather too personal. I stood up.
"Look, just what is it you want from me? Waitressing, or a hat-check attendant? I take orders and I serve food, okay? I thought you wanted a waitress, not a mistress or a hostess."
"I want what I pay for," he smirked. "Legs are good for business, besides bringing in huge tips for the staff. You could be taking home twenty or thirty grand a year, maybe more if you play your cards right. I'm easy if you are - you know what I'm saying?"
I knew, all too well.
"And all the staff get extra bonuses, no doubt, for having a deep cleavage? Do you offer equal opportunities to men? How about a team of Chippendale look-alikes in bow ties and swimming trunks? Why not go the whole hog and hire a dozen Royal Marines?"
"There's no need to get shirty, sweetheart - it's only a job. You'd best come upstairs and try on some of the uniforms before you leave."
"Really? And what are they made of? Black PVC? I think I've got the picture, thanks, and I can see why you wanted me here before opening time. Sorry, chum, but unless my elusive free breakfast appears by magic in ten seconds, I'd say this ain't your lucky day."
Nine seconds later I was out of that café and striding west towards Ealing. I ignored the bus-stop and kept on walking, concerned only about getting away.
A mile further on I stopped in my tracks, having just passed the betting shop where nine days earlier I'd attended my other fake interview. It was now an empty showroom, unmistakably up for sale.
Disillusioned, I ventured into Boots to buy myself a fresh supply of travel-pills, and when I got home I examined them under a magnifying glass. They certainly looked identical to the ones Cindy had already provided, but in the end I decided to play safe and leave both packs behind. Instead, the only medication I took that evening was a stiff gin and tonic.
When the driver called at eight, I felt pleasantly relaxed.
"Intimate Breaks," he whispered with a perfunctory nod.
Dressed in my smartest suit with matching accessories, I double-locked the front door and followed the man out to a waiting mini-bus, remarking, as one might, on the mildness of the April evening.
"Conversation is discouraged," he cautioned me. "Also, we insist you put on this blindfold. We have others on board, and we make it a rule never to reveal anyone's identity or address. Fasten your seat-belt, please, as soon as you're settled."
He handed me a blindfold and I took my place among five other passengers, four men and a woman, all sleeping peacefully.
As we set off, I detected a curious honey-like aroma in the air. Lulled by soft soothing music, I reclined in my seat, and soon became oblivious to everything around me.
I've no idea how much later - probably several hours - I awoke to find we'd come to a standstill.
"Ladies and gentlemen," our driver announced in a sullen voice, "we're now at the Centre. Would you please remove your blindfolds and make your way to the reception area. If you wish to converse with your fellow delegates, I would remind you of our strict policy that we exchange only first names. Inside, you'll be given badges that comply with this rule."
It was a speech he must have recited scores of times, devoid of any warmth or charisma. I took off my blindfold, but everything was so dark it was impossible to consult my watch.
"Where are we?" I asked as an unseen silhouette helped me to the ground. I was treated to an aloof glare from the whites of someone's eyes.
"We have reached our destination - that is all you need to know. Further information may be given to you inside the building, but not here."
Considering how mild it had felt before we left, I found the night wind surprisingly crisp and strong. The sky was pitch black and there was no moon, though from the position of the Plough and other constellations, I deduced we were heading north as we walked down a narrow gravel path and into what appeared to be a small country cottage where the warmth and soft light of the interior were doubly welcome.
A man with a clip-board intercepted the party as we crowded into the tiny hallway.
"Let me see. You ladies are Ursula and Jennifer, correct? If you're happy to retain those names for the weekend, please pass along to the waiting room. My colleague will attend to you while I brief our other guests."
He coaxed us like sheep down a short corridor to an open doorway marked Reception.
"Do take a seat!" he called as the door closed mysteriously behind us.
Ursula chose to remain standing until she suddenly lurched towards me, then staggered back as if disorientated by the journey. She quickly sat down with an embarrassed grin.
"What did that man mean about us keeping our own names?" she asked.
To me it was clear enough. As surnames were taboo, there could be some confusion if the party included several Jennifers.
"I guess it means there's only one Ursula," I replied, though judging by her puzzled frown I doubt if she understood.
"I'm told we'll meet lots of celebrities," she enthused. "Surely they'll be the ones more shy about using their real names?"
We were joined a moment later by a young woman in a smart white uniform who handed us each two envelopes - a huge red one, the other small and blue. Mine were marked JENNIFER, with a boldly printed code - 75K182.
"Welcome, girls - I'm Daphne. First, would you please be sure to empty all your pockets and handbags, remove your wrist-watches and any items of jewellery, and place everything, including your handbags, into the large envelope. We allow you each to keep one item only, a small pocket handkerchief. Anything else will be provided on request. When you've sealed all your personal belongings in the red envelope, please hand it to me as you come this way."
Mindful of Bernard's disparaging remarks about my clothes, I'd made a point of dressing smartly for my interview, and suffered serious misgivings as I surrendered valuable rings and adornments into unknown hands in exchange for a small plastic identity tag on a strip of pink ribbon.
We filed out of the office again through its only door, but instead of finding ourselves back in the hallway, we were following others down a long narrow corridor which by my reckoning couldn't possibly have been there. My sense of direction assured me it could only have led back to where our mini-bus was standing.
"No doubt you're puzzled," smiled our guide as she held open another door. "From the outside, the complex appears deceptively small, but don't be alarmed. If you'd kindly take your places, the Director will shortly be addressing all our new arrivals."
Seated in a large air-conditioned auditorium were about thirty other delegates, mostly men, all facing a cinema screen on which an introductory film was being shown.
"This is some place!" exclaimed a male voice close to my ear. I turned and recognised one of our travelling companions, who waggled his eyebrows suggestively and confided: "Hi! I'm George!"
It wasn't hard to guess what kind of weekend George was hoping for. I quickly edged away and took a seat in the middle of an empty row.
"Have we missed much?" I asked a man in front of me.
"Don't know," he murmured. "I'm just wondering the same myself. We got here fifteen minutes ago, and the film was already running then."
"My name's Jennifer," I continued affably, and held out my hand, but he didn't respond, and an elderly woman beside him turned to glare as if I'd already transgressed an important rule.
"Stuffy lot!" whispered George as he came sidling along to sit next to me. "My name's George Owens and I don't care who knows it!"
The film was a meaningless montage of abstract sounds and colours, serving only to keep us amused while we waited for the Director. After a dozen more delegates had joined us, the head and shoulders of a charismatic man appeared on the giant screen. He beamed warmly at the assembled gathering.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. My name's Brian and I'm the resident director of Intimate Breaks. Many of you may be bewildered by the cloak and dagger tactics under which you were brought here, so let me assure you; there is no dagger, and any cloaks are simply for our mutual protection. We deal here in highly personal fantasies and erotic desires that many of us wisely keep hidden from the outside world. Here we respect each delegate's security, and give our solemn promise that anything you may care to reveal about yourselves will be held in the strictest confidence. In return, we require that you all honour our code of conduct and keep sealed lips on leaving here - a rule which applies even to George, who wants us to know his surname."
George turned to me. "Christ! I thought this guy was on film!"
"No, George," said the director firmly. "So, in future, please abide by all our rules. Betray nothing you may learn about this organisation nor about one another. I trust that's firmly understood by all our newcomers, including George."
The Director paused, smiled reassuringly, then turned to a different camera.
"I could embark on a long exposé about Intimate Breaks - its aims, how it's run, and the way we're funded. But we've each had a long journey, so tonight we'll confine ourselves merely to administrative fundamentals. Each of you will have received a personal identity tag which we ask you please to wear around your neck at all times. Also, you each have a blue envelope with your name on it. You may open it now."
There came a frantic rustling of paper and a spontaneous outbreak of excited conversation.
"Attention, please! We cannot listen or learn if we behave like children. Inside your envelopes you will find five red veto cards. If there should be any activity which you strongly object to, you may drop out provided you forfeit one of those cards. This is for your peace of mind, as well as helping us to arrange better programs in future. And since several dozen members of our staff will also be participating with you, you may be sure we demand nothing too distressing - or we'd soon have a strike on our hands."
This brought a modest ripple of laughter. Then with a dimming of the lights, accompanied by faint background music, the director's voice assumed a more theatrical tone.
"So enter now into the secluded world of Intimate Breaks. Our weekend programme allows you to experience up to twenty erotic fantasies, not for OUR benefit, gentlemen, but for YOURS. This is your chance to discover for yourself what excites you most and what leaves you unmoved. Unfortunately it's not possible to cover the entire range of our repertoire here - for that you would need to enrol in our week-long course. But I guarantee, as we go our separate ways on Sunday evening, you'll each know a lot more, not only about us, but about yourselves - which is, after all, why we are all here."
The music grew to a climax, then died away as a young female presenter took over - her voice soft and sensual, her face kind and forgiving.
"Thank you, Brian. Hallo everyone. Welcome. My name's Dulcie, and I'm the training organiser for this weekend. Common fantasies are often quite bizarre, and may include voluntary spanking, wallowing in custard, being chained to a wall like a slave, or having to wear unfamiliar garments. We may invite you to be blindfolded or to have other faculties impaired. But we have a lengthy schedule of erotic experiences ahead of us, so no single exercise can last very long. And nothing, I promise, will cause you any physical harm. We return each delegate to the outside world on Sunday, wiser we hope, but invariably intact. On a more practical topic, our unisex toilets and washing facilities are located on either side of the main complex."
Another face came to the screen, a decidedly plain girl with straight blonde hair and a sadly inadequate voice. She looked no more than sixteen, and was evidently doing her best not to look down at her script.
"Hi!" she piped nervously. "My name's Doreen, and I'm the overseer for the introductory session tonight, something to put us in the right mood before we retire. So now I need you each to note the last digit of your personal code. When you've done that, leave your envelopes on the chairs and go through whichever doorway bears that number. All clear on that? Go on, then."
We all stood uncertainly and shuffled towards our respective doors like party-goers who'd been coerced into playing a game that no-one fully understood. And the first so-called "fantasy" was hardly my idea of fun!
A dozen other women were crowded with me into a room not eight feet square. Suddenly the lights went out, and in a strong Birmingham accent came the soothing voice of a young woman, beginning with a gurgle of childish laughter.
"Girls, girls! I know some of us find such closeness alien to our nature. We're born to resent the invasion of our private space; we instinctively resist being touched by uninvited hands. But this kind of contact has its place in all our lives. And remember, we're here to learn about ourselves, not to fight for our precious womanhood. The love of one woman for another can be a wonderful experience, so make the most of this rare opportunity. Love one another as you nestle together, and enjoy the proximity of the warm, fleshly body standing right next to you. Revel in the sensuousness of one another's gentle, caressing hands."
She paused for a moment, maybe because the absurdity of her script had given her a fit of the giggles.
"Now," she coughed, "as your eyes become accustomed to the darkness you'll see the outline of someone nearby. She has just become your closest friend, so embrace her fondly. Remember, we're here to love and to learn, and to be gentle with one another. Nestle and enjoy the closeness of that dear, precious friend who's standing right beside you."
The soporific voice droned on, and as the same theme was repeated over and over again, I was filled with misgivings about new sensations being unleashed within my own body, conscious that years of prejudice might be eroded against my will, and more than a little scared that I might turn out to be a latent Lesbian.
"And now, ladies, as the lights slowly brighten, continue to share this unique time as caring partners, and who knows? Perhaps the stranger at your side is already destined to become a life-long friend."
An amber glow filled the room and I found myself being fondly admired by a girl with undeniably amorous eyes. Did she actually fancy me? Despite my revulsion I smiled back politely, hoping it was just another test of my aptitude and tolerance, although gnawing doubts were already telling me that someone had made a serious organisational blunder.
"Good," said a squeaky voice. "Now it's my turn. This is me - Doreen again. Hi! Light refreshments are on the table in the corner, so please help yourselves, but continue to mingle. Seek out a fresh companion - your sort of person this time - someone who looks really kind and friendly."
By now I'd had enough of female companions, fresh or otherwise, and I was longing to wave my first veto card, to yell to someone in authority that I was a potential employee, not some deviant in search of a cheap massage. Was this why we'd been ordered to leave our veto cards in the auditorium? I tried edging towards the door, but my adoring companion kept pulling me back, well satisfied with the partner she'd chosen. I couldn't deny the sincerity of her devotion, but found it most disconcerting.
"And now," Doreen announced with a nervous cough as though giggles in the control room had become an epidemic. "Please take your chosen partner by the hand and help one another change into the nightwear we've provided. When you're ready, each couple must select a bunk and sleep together."
"What happened to all those men?" a raucous voice shouted. "Not enough to go round?"
The comment was ignored.
"Remember," said Doreen, "you are free to love and caress your partner here in total biological safety."
The supplied nightwear was a strange assortment ranging from the flimsiest of negligées to plain winceyette. I chose a modest nightdress typical of Marks and Spencers, while my childlike admirer wanted me to help her into frivolous baby-doll pyjamas.
"You seem to be enjoying this," I remarked with calculated scorn.
"Of course. Are you planning to sleep in your underwear?"
"Most definitely," I said. I was determined to make that point very clear, but I sensed disappointment.
"Oh well, that's up to you. But not me!" she chuckled gleefully. "Go on, touch my outfit. Doesn't that feel tantalising? You can be my mummy, or else my big sister," she cooed, climbing into bed beside me. "And of course, I'm your cuddly baby doll."
I suspect that she even had a comforting thumb planted firmly in her mouth. I kept trying to convince my bed-fellow that if we were to be fit enough for the following day's excitements, a good night's sleep was essential. Finally she realised I hadn't the slightest interest in being mauled, and we settled down, back to back, only to be reawakened by a familiar Birmingham accent.
"Girls! Sorry to disturb you again, but it's time to change partners. I hate breaking up any cosy relationship, but we'll still be here tomorrow, all of us, I promise. Meanwhile, as Doreen reads out your tag numbers, put up a hand to identify yourselves, then pair off with your new companion."
My next partner was adamant about remaining in bed and wouldn't even turn to introduce herself. Reluctantly I joined her and was greeted in a gruff, middle-aged voice.
"Bloody farce! Damned if I see any point to it. Just settle down, whoever you are, and for pity's sake don't snore, wheeze, scratch or fidget."
"You obviously don't like this any more than I do," I murmured. "If I'd known this was all the accommodation they could offer, I'd have stayed at home."
"Ah, don't let this nonsense put you off, my dear. What's your name?"
"Jennifer," I replied, and I tried to explain how I was meant to be attending for a job interview. The woman responded in sleepy platitudes.
"Newcomer, eh? Never mind! I'm sure they'll sort things out in the morning. Best you don't count too many chickens, not yet. Good night!"
Feeling a little less threatened, I soon fell asleep.
The next thing I knew, lights were full on and the room was buzzing with activity as each woman began searching for her clothes. From the peeved voices and vexed shouting we soon realised that every garment from the day before had been spirited away.
"Where the hell are our things?" the raucous woman demanded.
"I feel a complete Jessie dressed like this," said another, raising her voice in anger. "Who in hell's got our clothes, for God's sake? This is NOT my idea of fun, if anyone's listening."
Apparently someone was, and a comforting explanation came at once.
"Sorry for the practical joke," said the loudspeaker, "but it's all in a common cause. Everyone's provided this morning with a plain tracksuit, marked with the same number as your identity tag. Remember always to keep your tags visible. Also, as toilets and showering facilities are severely limited, we urge you to stagger the use of these throughout the day. Those of us needing a shave will be attended to presently."
A shave? Were the men hearing the same voice? Had they been subjected to a similar ordeal, even down to the frilly nighties? By now, almost anything seemed plausible.
"Meanwhile," the voice continued, "make yourselves presentable, as we're about to meet the others for breakfast. As soon as you're ready, form an orderly line by the door."
Someone threw me a tracksuit. I climbed into it and took my place in the queue. The door should have led us back into the auditorium, but instead we emerged into a vast open arena resembling an indoor tropical garden, complete with rocky waterfalls, exotic flowering shrubs and tall towering palm trees. The whole place echoed with the sound of birdsong. If this was the same location, an army of technicians must have expended superhuman effort during the night.
I decided to delay showering till I'd had a chance to sort out what I should be doing and where I was supposed to go. Hopefully members of staff would be offered better facilities, and a lot more privacy.
After tending to my immediate personal needs, I began to explore our new surroundings. Stopping to admire goldfish in an ornamental pool, I found myself standing next to the amorous Mr. George Owens.
"Now I understand where we're at," he grinned. "It's Paradise, being reunited with you ladies. Damned if I caught the purpose of that nonsense earlier though, spending half the night with a mating tarantula, all legs and body-hair. Horrible! The blighter even slept in his underpants. Did you ladies have smooth curvaceous bodies to snuggle up to, or was it only us blue-beards who had to share?"
Before I could think of an evasive reply we were called to order by the chiming of a bell, and the familiar face of the director appeared on a giant screen.
"Ladies and gentleman," he repeated until the chatter died away. "Ladies and gentlemen, good morning - I trust we all slept well? And before you respond with howls of complaint, let me assure you that from now on we offer you more freedom to socialise as you wish. This is, after all, your weekend of self-discovery. Those still in need of toilet facilities will find them clearly marked in the four corners of the arena. But before we all rush at once, listen carefully to the following instructions from Dulcie."
"Morning everyone!" chirped Dulcie. "Hush, please, because we need absolute silence for the first game. Each of you has on the back of your tracksuit a particular motif which is worn by just five other delegates. Your job is to locate your five partners who each carry the same motif as yourself. But wait - there is one other important rule - no talking is allowed. You may communicate only in sign language. Strict silence must be maintained. If that is now clear to everyone, you may begin."
For several minutes I felt quite bewildered, wondering what sign I might be wearing. Since there weren't any mirrors, how could anyone find out without actually asking or getting undressed?
Then I realised we could all help each other by spotting two delegates with matching symbols and guiding them together. Soon the idea caught on. Little groups began to form, and once a pair were confident of their own signs, they set about tracking down their remaining four colleagues.
"Co-operation," sounded the voice of Dulcie as the word appeared large on the screen. "Co-operation and communication, ladies and gentlemen, so often the key to solving everyday problems. If we each keep private needs to ourselves, how can we expect the world to help us? But by assisting one another, our world becomes a far more fruitful place. Now, will each group of six please find their respective table and sit together for breakfast. Only when your group is fully seated may normal conversation be resumed."
In my case, once someone had introduced me to Mary and Ursula, the rest was easy. Each of us confirmed in hand-signals that we all had identical motifs, and we set off in search of our three men. We soon found two of them, Gerald and Mack, wandering around like lost schoolboys.
I was beginning to doubt the existence of our final member when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I spun round and found myself staring up into the most delightfully friendly face.
Did I remember him from somewhere? In all honesty, no, but I did sense an instant rapport, probably because he was by far the most charismatic of our three men - aged about thirty-five, I guessed, with dark hair and a mildly discerning smile that betrayed an underlying touch of modesty, even sadness. His tag bore the name of Allen.
After rechecking one another's motifs we located our table, amply supplied with the ingredients for a continental breakfast - milk, cheese, ham, rolls, butter, marmalade, tea, coffee and fruit juice. It soon transpired that the men had spent the night paired as we were, dressed in Roman togas or mock-prison overalls. Like us, they'd been ordered to exchange partners during the night, and felt equally embarrassed by the unwelcome contact forced on them. I was relieved to see on our table the six blue envelopes containing our precious veto cards.
It seemed natural that I should sit next to Allen, but our initial attempts at polite conversation were soon interrupted by the disembodied voice of Dulcie.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced, "the next session requires you each to select a partner of the opposite sex, forming three pairs within your group - a man and a woman, but also making sure that you hurt no-one's feelings in the process. When you're comfortably paired, sit facing one another. On your tables you'll find three yellow envelopes, containing elastic garters and a leather belt. The garters are for your wrists and ankles, thighs and upper arms, and the belt should be fitted around your combined waists. You are to bind yourselves in pairs, facing each other like dancing partners. Once your ankles are secured, you will need to stand up, so please try not to fall over. The aim here is to co-operate and help each other through this minor adversity. From past experience, we're sure you'll soon feel perfectly at ease with one another. But we emphasise again - in choosing your partner, it is imperative you avoid hurting anyone else's feelings."
Nobody moved. We each sat staring across the table and sizing up our possible choices, afraid to voice any outright proposals that might cause offence. The more I studied Allen, the more I felt sure I'd seen him somewhere before. Did I sense a corresponding hint of recognition on his face also?
"Come, Jennifer," he said, breaking the ice, "you seem a level-headed girl. Why don't you arbitrate for us and decide who's pairing up with whom?"
On hearing him say my name, I was determined to fulfil his every expectation, and racked my brains for a clever opening move.
"Ah, but unless we're all equally level-headed," I responded, "someone might object to your choice and my decision."
"Good point," countered Gerald. "Also, if Jennifer doesn't mind me saying so, I suspect she already has a preference for one of us, which means no decision of hers can be entirely arbitrary. How about holding a secret ballot, each of us writing down who we'd favour most as a partner?"
"I hope you haven't just hurt Jennifer's feelings," said Allen, giving me a gentle wink. "And what about my feelings? I'd be very upset if no-one wrote my name."
"You really think that's likely?" commented Gerald with an equally engaging wink at Ursula.
"They'll doubtless make us change partners anyway," I declared. "Of course, since I've always been tough as nails, no-one can possibly upset me, so let's ask the men - who wouldn't mind being tied up with me?"
Three hands went up. I seemed to be popular.
"So my feelings remain intact," I said, "unless you all claim you'd rather go with Mary. Who particularly fancies Mary?"
Mack, the eldest, put up his hand at once and Mary nodded her approval. Luckily, Ursula admitted she was equally intrigued by Gerald's enigmatic charms, and so our pairing was happily resolved.
At first I found Allen somewhat reserved, yet he proved a decisive and intellectual companion whose gentle personality and quiet manner I found refreshingly easy to accept. We placed our feet into the small garters and I allowed him to slide the larger pair up over our knees. Soon we were bound closely together, which I admit felt good, though privately I wished I had first been allowed to clean my teeth. Allen too expressed embarrassment at not having shaved.
"They seem to have forgotten about us men," he complained. "Some blokes don't care a jot how they look, but to me a good grooming is doubly essential when I'm standing next to an attractive girl. I'm afraid I've not been given a chance to make myself presentable."
His plea was answered at once by Dulcie.
"I see one or two delegates beginning to enjoy themselves," she cooed. "But before any of you get too emotionally involved, let's explain what you're about to do next. Ladies, if your partner agrees, we would like you to shave his beard for him. Sets of razors and foam can be found beneath each table, and so your first task is to retrieve them without falling over."
We soon realised kneeling was out of the question, so Allen and I held back and studied the various techniques adopted by others. Even so, our best efforts soon had us toppling to the ground like inept wrestlers until finally, amid bouts of unashamedly childish laughter, we reached the necessary equipment and again stood upright, facing each other.
Unlike the two other men, Allen seemed perfectly relaxed about being shaved.
"I have every confidence tat you know what you're doing," he murmured with a wry smile. I assured him I'd done it before on skin far more delicate than his, but all the same it wasn't easy, standing so close to one another with wrists bound and very little freedom of movement.
"I have to say, this is a novel way of finding out who your friends are," Allen joked as I began. "I daren't speculate on what service I might be asked to perform for you."
"You shave me over my dead veto card," I laughed. "Keep your head still and tell me why you chose to come on this jaunt."
But Allen wasn't forthcoming.
"Well?" I prompted him. "Aren't you having fun yet?"
"It's not a good idea to talk while being shaved," he said without moving his lips. "Let's just say my curiosity won me over. I love the colour of your eyes. How would you describe them?"
"Furry pink golf balls," I said, as he reached up to feel the result of my efforts. "Well? Am I talking to a satisfied customer?"
"No complaints so far," he grinned. "I wonder what's coming next."
As if on cue, the mystery voice resumed.
"Now, gentlemen, those of you who survived that ordeal can offer to help the ladies with their make-up. As any adult monkey might affirm, there's nothing like mutual grooming for getting to know one another really well."
No doubt Allen would have relished applying my make-up, but it's an art few men practise and I managed to convince him I seldom wore any. We compromised with a light dusting of face powder, and he appeared to enjoy my admiring gaze while he applied it.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked in a voice that sent warm shivers throughout my body. "Be honest."
I didn't reply because I was actually feeling somewhat riled over an issue of sexual unfairness which the organisers seemed to have overlooked. Whilst a men may not mind shaving in public, few women are happy to reveal the secrets of their artistry to a partner they've known for less than half an hour.
"I wish we could sit down," I said suddenly, "though I guess it's impossible while we're trussed up like this."
"I'll be happy to support you," he replied, "but I do hope my breath is okay - they even confiscated my toothbrush. Can't imagine why."
I assured him I was having no problems with his breath, and that all I could smell was shaving cream.
"Normally," he confided, "I'd use an electric razor, but from now on I'll be trying it your way, just to bring back fond memories. Actually I'd like to know lots more about you, but I understand we're not allowed to pry. Rotten spoil-sports, aren't they?"
As if our conversations were being monitored, the voice of the unseen Director chimed in at once.
"Friends, I suspect some of you may feel tempted to begin exchanging life stories, but I must remind you that confidentiality is imperative. While you're free to reveal whatever you like about yourselves, this may embarrass a partner who feels unable to reciprocate, so please exercise tact and restraint."
"Anyway," Dulcie chipped in, "it's time we moved on. Decide whether you'd prefer to free your left limbs or your right - then partially untie yourselves so you end up sitting side by side at your table."
"I happen to be left-handed," whispered Allen. "Are you?"
I shook my head and he smiled as if words were no longer necessary. We soon reorganised ourselves for the next game, with Allen on my left, and as everyone else sat down, infectious choruses of merry laughter erupted all around us, giving the lively atmosphere of a party in full swing.
"To answer your earlier question," Allen suddenly murmured in my left ear, "I most certainly am. Need I say more?"
While I pondered over this enigmatic statement, Dulcie was drawing our attention to boxes under our tables which we were being asked to open.
"Don't cheat," she warned. "Your other arms should still be tied securely behind your backs. Remember, you each have only one hand, so co-ordinate your movements by mutual discussion."
Actually Allen and I had cheated a little, with our arms bound only at the elbow, though I felt no qualms about bending the rules. After all, weren't we there to enjoy ourselves? Slowly Allen's right arm began working its way around my waist, and I responded by putting my left arm firmly around his.
Who would believe that the simple task of opening a box could be so enjoyable? The co-ordination of our two hands required close attention, which gave us an even stronger bond of togetherness. Inside our box we found a collection of needles, threads and a half-completed piece of embroidery fixed to a small circular frame.
I asked Allen if he was any good at needlework.
"Can't even darn a sock," he replied, "let alone one-handed. I wonder what'll happen if we use our free hands to stick two veto cards in the air? Rest assured I've no complaints about my companion, but I'd welcome the chance to go and clean my teeth. Do you think that's permitted?"
"There's a few things I need to sort out too," I said, "so let's both take a short break."
I waved my veto card high above my head and a stewardess came forward at once, an elderly woman whom I recognised as the bed-fellow I'd spent half the night with. Her badge bore the name Christine.
"Having problems?" she asked, giving Allen a respectful nod of deference as he took his leave.
"Plenty," I said. "I don't fully understand what's going on. As I told you last night I'm supposed to be here for a job interview, but I keep finding myself herded in with other people as if no-one's bothered to check me out. I mean, this latest idea - tying one another up and being shaved - it may be wild fun for some, but it's not my idea of a normal job interview."
"I totally agree," she said in a confidentially whisper, "but ours isn't the normal kind of job. You're certainly free to duck out if you wish, but several people would be most disappointed if you let them down, Jennifer - you seem just the type we're looking for here - independent, capable, and caring. We've all been watching you."
I gaped stupidly. "So this is still part of my interview?"
"Very much so. Assessment is a better word. We don't sit you down and ask questions about what you think you might do in a situation you've never met. We drop you into that situation, and observe how well you handle it."
I sighed. "Then I guess by now I've blown it!"
"Not at all. But if it'll help set your mind at rest, you could come upstairs for a chat in quieter surroundings."
After excusing myself from the others, I was led out of the arena. We climbed a spiral staircase into a projecting stone tower that looked like part of an ancient castle. Eventually we came to a steel door.
"This way," said Christine with a pleasant smile. "Take a seat while I go and fetch your tutor. She'll be along in just a moment."
Before I could take in my surroundings, my guide hurried out of the room and slammed the door behind her. Only then did I realise I was in some kind of cell. The walls were carved from solid rock, and the door had no handle on the inside. Quieter surroundings? They were quiet all right. It seemed I was now a prisoner, duped into entering a stone dungeon, incarcerated for being dumb enough to ask one simple question and voice my very real misgivings.
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