At London's Heathrow Airport, four men and women whose lives were at that moment interrelated – and destined in the span of the next few days to become even more so – stood waiting for the loading announcement over the loudspeakers for BOAC's morning flight to Athens.
Outside, through the glass observation windows, tendrils of soup-like English fog trailed across the pattern of runways. Tall, blonde young Sharon Court watched the gray wisps with apprehensive eyes and clung tightly to the arm of the lean, muscular young man who was her husband, Neal. "Will your plane be able to take off in all that fog darling?" she asked him. "I don't see how it can; you can hardly see anything at all…"
Neal – wearing a heavy tweed overcoat over a conservatively-cut gray business suit that was befitting of his position as a rising executive with the British firm of Greater Continental Packaging, Ltd. – laughed reassuringly and kissed his wife's cheek. "Don't worry, honey," he said. "Everything is done by instruments and radar. The men in the Control Tower have had a lot of practice operating in fog like this."
"I know," Sharon said quietly, "but you know how nervous I am about flying anyway. And with weather conditions like this…"
"You're an old worry-wart," Neal chided gently.
"Well, maybe I am but I love you and I don't want anything to happen to you."
"Nothing's going to happen to me, babydoll," he said. "This is just a simple, routine business trip to Athens. I'll be back in a few days, you know."
"I know, but…"
"No buts, now. You're not going to be fretting about me the whole time you're with Lena Alvaro, are you? I want you to have a good time, honey; after all, Lena is the boss' wife."
"Oh you don't have to worry about me making a good impression," Sharon said with a hint of petulance. "I won't do anything to put you in a bad light."
"Honey, you know I didn't mean anything like that…"
Sharon suddenly felt ashamed at her comments, her inordinate fear of a simple plane flight. She put her arms around her husband and clung to him tightly, kissing him openly, unmindful of the crowd of people waiting to board the aircraft or saying good-bye to friends and relatives.
Oh how she loved him! she thought as she nuzzled his over-coated chest. They had been married almost three years now, but her ardor for the man she had chosen from a long, long list of suitors back in America had not waned in the slightest from their wedding day. This handsome, dark-haired, gray-eyed man, with the smiling mouth and the gentleness of a kindly village doctor, the impetuousness of a small boy, was her whole life and the idea of living without him for even three or four days filled her with unhappiness. From the moment they had been married in a small white church in San Francisco, they had been separated for only a few hours at a time, certainly never more than a single day. And when the opportunity to move to England, in the shape of a lucrative job offer from Greater Continental Packaging, Ltd., had presented itself, she had even flown to the British Isles with Neal to consummate the acceptance of the position with the signing of a two-year contract.
They had lived in London now for the better part of a year, in a small flat in Kensington, and she had been deliriously happy. The English people fascinated her, and she felt at ease around them; she and Neal had made many friends during their stay, and had become very popular in their middle-class social circle. They were an active couple, doing many things together – tennis, swimming, hiking, horseback riding – and they were completely compatible in every way. Their lovemaking, from the very first (Sharon had been a virgin on their wedding night, and Neal had had only a few brief interludes with women of questionable standing), had been tender and gentle, and yet somehow abandoned too. They never ceased to satisfy each other, Sharon thought, and her cheeks reddened slightly as she remembered the feel of Neal's large, rigid penis filling her vagina the night before, the passion with which she had urged him on to greater thrusts deep inside her to bring about the glorious splendor of their eventual and simultaneous orgasms.
Sharon sighed, kissing her husband again, letting herself be warmly cuddled in the fold of his strong arms. No, she needed nothing else from life except this man – and he needed nothing else except her; these next few days, even though they had been promised to be both adventuresome and relaxing by Lena Alvaro, would be empty for Sharon until Neal returned.
She had become good friends with Lena, the wife of Rodney Alvaro, the Vice-President in charge of Sales at Greater Continental and Neal's immediate superior, during the past year. Lena, young and vivacious and beautiful, twenty years her husband's junior, had that kind of magnetism which made you instantly like her. Sharon, who was much quieter, much more conservative, didn't really approve of some of Lena's habits or traits, but she liked the English woman nonetheless.
Two days ago, when Neal had told her he was flying to Athens with Rodney Alvaro on business, the beautiful young wife had experienced a sense of great disappointment at the proposed separation. But then Neal had said that she would not have to be alone during his absence in Greece, that she and Lena could spend the time together at the estate of Mark Marlowe – Marlowe Manor – in Dartmoor. Marlowe, a wealthy young man of aristocratic background and long-time friend of the Alvaros, had invited the two wives – and Neal and Rodney when they returned from Athens – to be his house guests for as long as they cared to stay.
Sharon had met Mark Marlowe on two separate occasions at small cocktail gatherings in the Alvaro home, and had found him a charming, intelligent, attractive man; the invitation had been appealing to her, and later, when she had spoken to Lena and learned the facts surrounding Marlowe Manor, she had readily accepted the gracious proposal.
The ancestral home of the young heir to a vast, hereditary fortune was located in the heart of the eerie, fabled Dartmoor Moors – the home of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's famous Sherlock Holmes tale. The Hound of the Baskervilles. It was isolated, the nearest neighbor being over four miles away, and while offering that hint of forbidden mystery intimated by its location, it also offered luxury and comfort and relaxation in its stately and baronial rooms and halls. Both attributes appealed to the young wife's nature, and she was looking forward to that afternoon and the drive to Dartmoor with Lena in the Alvaros new Jaguar 4.8 sedan – but she wished that her husband were going to be with them at Marlowe Manor for their entire stay there, and not just on the tag end of it.
Neal Court held his soft warm young wife for a moment longer, then stood her away from him gently and looked into her lovely face. He never tired of looking at her, at the fine, symmetrically formed features, the small pert nose and the wide, guileless blue eyes, the soft round mouth, the long cascading silkenness of her honey blonde hair falling about the shoulders of her plaid raincoat. Her full, firm, voluptuous breasts jutted forth with feminine allure even beneath the heavy garment, and the tight globular roundness of her buttocks were provocatively outlined as she stood in profile. She was a woman in a thousand, a million, he thought possessively; he was a damned lucky man to have a wife like Sharon, very damned lucky.
He chucked her lightly under the chin. "You'll have a wonderful time in Dartmoor, sweetheart," he told her. "But I don't want you going off by yourself on those moors. It can be dangerous out there, without someone along who knows his way around."
"I'll be careful," she promised.
"That's my girl."
"It really is going to be fun," said Sharon, her eyes lighting with renewed excitement, her mind momentarily off the impending flight and separation. "Just think, Neal: a real old-English country estate, in the foggy moors! I feel like… well, like Jane Eyre or somebody."
Neal laughed. "I'm kind of looking forward to it myself, all right. But if you hear any howling beasts in the middle of the night, don't you dare go out to investigate!"
She poked his arm lightly. "Oh you!"
He sobered for a moment, kissing her again and peering into her eyes. "You will have a good time won't you? I'll be thinking about you all the while I'm in Greece."
"And I about you, darling," she replied. "But I'll have a fine time, I know I will."
If young Sharon Court had but overheard in that moment the low-toned conversation being carried on by the other two people waiting with them – Lena and Rodney Alvaro – she would not have been so certain of her enjoyment of the next few days at Marlowe Manor; she would, in fact, have recoiled in abject horror and disbelief at the exchange of words between her supposed best friend and the man who was her husband's superior. Never in her wildest imagination could she have considered the dark and licentious plotting of these two outwardly normal, respectable people.
Lena Alvaro – smallish, pert, just past thirty – stood very close to her graying, distinguished, somewhat portly mate, her dark eyes flashing with a usually hidden intensity. Her black, close-cropped hair shone with reddish highlights in the strong light of the airport waiting area, and her generous red mouth was quirked into a smile of anticipation and delight. Her long-nailed fingers plucked at the buttons on his overcoat in emphasis as she spoke.
"Yes, everything is arranged with Mark," Lena was saying softly. "He's given all his servants the week off, all except Wafto of course. And he has all the necessary items we'll need for a complete subjugation of dear sweet Sharon."
"Good, good," enthused Rodney, his brown eyes showing their approval of his wife; he never stopped marveling at the depths of her wantonness, so carefully hidden from public view – wantonness, and yes, her streak of sadistic delight in the debauching of young, innocent women like Neal Court's wife. "I'll keep Neal in Athens about three days. That ought to give you enough time, especially if Rajah is up to his old tricks," he chuckled lewdly, almost inaudibly.
"Mark – and Wafto – will see to that," Lena told him.
"Wafto," Rodney chuckled almost sardonically. "Sometimes I shudder when I think of that ugly little man's penis inside your fine belly, my sweet. Promise me you won't suck him while you're at Marlowe Manor."
"I won't make any such promise at all," Lena said, her eyes gleaming. "You know how much I like the taste of a man in my mouth."
Rodney sighed. "I suppose I'll have to console myself with the thought of getting my own cock – and my tongue, too! – between those soft, silky thighs of Mrs. Sharon Court."
"And so you will, my love, as soon as you return."
"She's not going to be an easy one to conquer," Rodney mused. "She's devoted to Neal, and she's intelligent too."
"Just leave things to Mark and Wafto – and yes, Rajah – and I, my pet," said Lena. "I've cultivated that young beauty long enough; the time is ripe for action, now."
"You know best, Lena," Rodney said, gathering her into his arms, pressing her firm, rounded body tight against his. "You never fail me – or yourself – do you?"
"Never," she replied, nipping his ear. "Mrs. Sharon Court will be a new woman, indeed, when you return three days from now."
"I'll not have any doubts at all."
"Now then, about Neal," Lena said.
"Yes?"
"Will you tell him of Mark and I? Prepare him for a shock when he returns?"
"I think not," said Rodney. "I had debated doing so – and perhaps taking him round to those Eurasian twins in the Old Quarters of Athens, the ones who have performed so admirably upon other guests of mine in the past; but he is as devoted to young Sharon as she is to him. I don't think it would be wise to give him any inkling of what perhaps might happen at Marlowe Manor before he rejoins his beauteous young wife."
"And when you and he return?"
"If you have done your job well, as I know you will, my sweet, we shall have no trouble with Neal. There is Wafto's magnificent potion, and Mark's hidden cameras; once Neal has joined in the festivities, as surely he will, there will be nothing he can do to us without risking his own ruination. And, if he is like so many in the past, he will realize the immense pleasures of the flesh – just as his Sharon surely shall – and become a convert to our way of thinking."
"Then we'll proceed along those lines," Lena said. "I'll tell Mark what we've discussed."
"Good," he kissed her neck. "Now remember, my love, save some of that fine energy for your husband; don't spend it all on Mark and Wafto – and Rajah, though I refuse to think of you with that…"
"Hush, now," Lena cautioned, smiling. "You know that no man satisfies me like you, pet, fat and fiftyish though you may be. Your cock is still the most magnificent I have ever had."
"I could receive no greater compliment, Lena my love…"
Just then, the voice of the public address announcer came from the overhead speakers, announcing that Flight 171 to Athens was now boarding at Gate 11. All passengers were requested to embark immediately.
Standing several feet away from the venereous, plotting Alvaro couple, innocently oblivious of their hideous future plans for them, the happily married young Americans embraced one last time. Their kiss was long and passionate, and it was with reluctance that Neal Court withdrew his mouth from the sweet soft lips of his wife and gently held her away. "They're calling the flight, sweetheart," he said. "Rodney and I have to be boarding the plane now."
"I know," Sharon said with a sigh. "Oh Neal, you will be careful, won't you? Please?"
"Of course I will. Now you promised: no worrying."
"Okay."
"We'll be together again soon," he laughed. "After all, what's three little days, anyway?"
Rodney Alvaro, beaming, came up to them just then. "We'd best be getting along, my boy," he said in a kindly voice to Neal. "They're not in the habit of holding flights for even such important personages as you and I," he winked, poking the younger man lightly on the arm.
Neal laughed, and Sharon managed a smile of her own. Lena came up beside her, taking her arm in a friendly way, as the two men stepped through the railed divider, handing their tickets to the man at the raised counter there. The man checked the tickets, returned the stubs to them, and Neal and Rodney proceeded to the chute which led to the waiting jet. They turned there, waving, and Lena and Sharon waved back. The young blonde wife blew a kiss to her departing husband just before he disappeared down the chute.
Sharon sighed a little tremulously. "Oh, Lena, I do hope everything will be all right."
"Of course it will, dear," soothed the older, dark-haired woman. "Come along, now. We can watch them take off from the Observation Deck."
Less than half an hour later, the plane carrying Neal Court and Rodney Alvaro to Athens taxied down the runway and executed a routine takeoff, being swallowed after a few moments by the thick, gray billows of fog. "There, you see?" Lena chided softly. "Nothing at all to fret about, was there?"
"No, of course not," said Sharon. She made a face. "Sometimes I can be an awfully silly goose."
"Nonsense!" Lena told her: "It's perfectly natural to be concerned about the ones you love. I feel the same way about Rodney flying, even after all these years."
Sharon was surprised. "You do? But you seem so calm…"
"A facade, built up over many years," Lena said smoothly. "You'll learn the art of being a businessman's wife after a few years, never fear."
"I hope so," said Sharon. "Not only for my sake, but for Neal's."
The two women walked down to the parking area, bending their lithe bodies into the sharp, cold wind which sent the tendrils of fog eddying high overhead. They located the Alvaros' Jaguar sedan and slipped inside.
"Brrr," shivered Sharon, hugging herself tightly with both arms; in spite of the heavy clothing she wore, the wind and the fog had penetrated to put a chill on her flesh. "I hope it isn't going to be this cold at Marlowe Manor."
"It's forever cold on the moors, Sharon dear," Lena told her. "Especially at this time of the year, when the wind starts howling over them. But Marlowe Manor is well-insulated, with central heating, and you won't feel chilly at all inside."
"Is there a fireplace?" Sharon wanted to know.
"Oh yes, a grand old Inglenook. Mark always keeps a roaring fire going. It's very cozy."
Sharon's enthusiasm for the visit to the baronial home of the wealthy young aristocrat was rapidly returning now that the immediate danger of Neal's leaving had been seen safely through. "I can hardly wait to see Marlowe Manor," she said. "From what you've told me about it, it must really be magnificent."
"Oh it is, it is indeed," Lena said. She smiled. "It's like nothing you've ever seen before, dear. I don't think you're going to forget your stay there; I don't think you ever will."
Not if everything goes according to plan, you won't. And my plans never fail, especially when I have such eager partners as Mark Marlowe and Wafto and Rajah, the incomparable…
Lena started the expensive English car, putting on the heater; moments later, warm air flooded the comfortable interior and quickly dissipated the chill which had overcome Sharon. Once they were out of the airport, and on their way, she settled back in complete luxuriousness to enjoy the lengthy drive.
It took them several hours, traveling leisurely across southern England, to reach Dartmoor. The sky was dark and overcast, and the wind whistled mournfully at the windows of the sleek Jaguar. They passed through Exeter shortly past five, and before long Lena had taken them onto a sparsely-traveled back road. She was an excellent driver, and handled the car with ease.
"We're just about to enter the moors now, dear," she told Sharon. "I'm glad there's still plenty of light left, so you can see what they're like; I'm afraid if you came upon them in the dark, without knowing what to expect, they might be more than a little frightening."
Sharon sat forward expectantly on the seat, peering out through the windshield. The fog was very thick and wet – Lena had had to put the windshield wipers on, and they made rhythmic little sounds as they swept arcs clear on the glass – but it was high enough so that it did not obliterate the surrounding countryside. Visibility was still very good.
The young blonde wife's first impression of the mysterious moors was that they were bleak and barren and terribly lonely. She had the feeling of having been swallowed up by their vast, rolling emptiness, conveying to her the image of being trapped on some uninhabited wasteland planet far removed from earth. For as far as her eye could see the terrain was covered with low-growing heather and a few stunted, gnarled trees which the fog made ghostly and unreal. Every now and then great stone ruins could be seen – they were ancient, Lena explained, perhaps not as old as Stonehenge but antediluvian nonetheless; they were forboding and cold and lifeless, making Sharon think of things long dead. She shuddered involuntarily, and pulled her coat tighter about her shoulders.
"About the only people who live on the moors, except for semi-recluses with stately old manors like Mark, are sheep ranchers," Lena told her. "They allow the animals to run free over the heather. There – you can see a flock of them off on your left."
Sharon looked, and indeed several dozen of the thick-wooled animals were grazing in the distance. As she watched them, she saw set back from the narrow, winding untraveled road a small stone structure with a slant roof, resembling a shed; the front was completely open. She asked her companion, "What's that?" pointing to the structure.
"Shepherd's hutch," Lena answered. "Every now and then you'll see a shepherd – usually an old man – sitting inside one of them with his staff."
They proceeded deeper into the moors, and the desolation seemed to Sharon to become more pronounced. She wasn't so sure now that she liked the idea of spending a week or more – and the first three or four days without Neal – in this Godforsaken wilderness. But then, she was probably being silly again; there wasn't anything to worry about. She was among friends, wasn't she?
Suddenly, ahead on the right, a narrow unpaved lane loomed in the young wife's vision. Lena slowed, touching the Jaguar's brakes, and said, "We're almost there, dear. This is the private road to Marlowe Manor."
After they had traveled some five hundred yards on the lane, two huge stone cairns, with a massive iron gate heavily padlocked in the center, blocked the way; high stone fencing, with spikes rusted and needle sharp jutting up into the bleak gray sky, meandered off in both directions from the cairns. Apparently, Sharon thought as Lena brought the sedan to a stop in front of the locked gate, Mark Marlowe or his ancestors – demanded complete privacy for their holdings.
Lena took a huge iron key from the glove compartment and stepped out of the Jaguar. She went to the gate and unlocked the padlock, swinging both halves of the great iron barrier aside. Then she returned to the car, drove through and closed and relocked the gate before continuing on.
The road wandered through the eerie, desolate moors for perhaps a mile and Sharon found herself sitting tensely, rigid on the leather seat, peering expectantly through the windshield for her first glimpse of Marlowe Manor. It couldn't be very far off, she thought; Lena had said that [missing text]. Suddenly, she saw it.
A small gasp of wonder burst from her ovaled lips, and a delicious chill wound its way along her spine. She had known from Lena's description of the baronial mansion about what to expect, but actually seeing Marlowe Manor for the first time, through the thin wisps of gray fog that floated ghost-like before it and above it, was almost a shocking experience.
It was a massive, rambling dwelling, with gables and turrets and huge jutting towers that were all but consumed by the trailing vapors of fog; it was fashioned of thick gray-stone blocks upon which ivy and green moss grew in heavy profusion, giving the ancient structure a sinister, awesome air of decaying ruins. Sharon could see stone outbuildings – what had once been, and perhaps still were, servants' quarters – on the left of the manor proper, and high mossy stone walls perhaps enclosing a garden of some type jutted out sharply to the right. A monstrous wooden door, rounded at the top and set deep into an arch decorated with gargoyles and other hideous stone carvings, sat in the middle of the main front wall, and even at a distance the young blonde wife could see a great, heavy, ornate door-knocker in its center.
"Quite a sight, isn't it, dear?" Lena asked softly, as she brought the sedan off the access road and onto a wide sweeping drive that circled an immense stone fountain-and-pond.
"Lord yes," Sharon whispered, repressing a shiver, her eyes still wide. "All it needs is a moat encircling it to make a medieval castle!"
"Mark is fond of saying the same thing," chuckled Lena. "He says that one of these days he's going to have one dug and filled with alligators."
"Surely he's joking!"
"Oh of course. Mark has a wonderful sense of humor, you know."
"He seemed very charming on the two occasions I met him."
"He is, very," Lena said. "I think you'll find him a gracious host," – her eyes gleamed brightly – "and very eager to please."
There was an area widened out near the wide stone path leading up to the door, and Lena took the Jaguar in there, saying, "Mark's man-servant, Wafto, will see to it the car is put in one of the outbuildings for shelter after the trunk is unpacked."
Sharon nodded, still staring up at the slippery-looking, bare stone walls of the manor house. Well, she thought with a nervous little laugh, I hope the interior is more cheerful than the exterior. But Lena said it was very cozy, and I have no reason to doubt her word.
The two women got out of the car, pulling their coats tight around them, and hurried along the path to the door. Sharon saw then that there was a huge plaque, in the shape of a shield, which was set into the left side of the arch; it was made of bronze, with the words MARLOWE MANOR in a bas-relief half-circle across the top. Below, there was a depiction of a lion and a great, snarling mastiff and a grim-jawed man in armor plating, forming an interlocking circle by being joined with bunches and clusters of small round fruit.
Lena saw Sharon looking at the plaque and said, "That's the Marlowe family crest; quite impressive, isn't it?"
"Oh yes," replied Sharon. "What does it mean?"
"Well, I'm not sure," Lena said, "but I think it has something to do with the ancestral heritage, virility and honor of the Marlowes."
"How fascinating!"
"You must have Mark tell you all about the history of the Marlowes," Lena urged. "You'll find it intriguing."
"I'll do that," promised the beautiful blonde girl.
When they reached the door, Lena raised the heavy brass knocker, which Sharon saw was in the shape of a huge lion's head with its massive jaws parted, and let it fall. A loud, booming sound echoed eerily through the foggy twilight, and Sharon shivered involuntarily.
They waited for several moments, and then, so suddenly that it startled Sharon and caused her to draw in her breath sharply, the door was pulled open. There, on the threshold, stood a mis-shapen, deformed little man – a dwarf. He was stooped forward, and Sharon could see that he was a hunch-back, in addition to his dwarfism. His face was round and expressionless, but his eyes were narrow and beady and seemed to shine with some inner fire. He said in a reedy voice, "Good evening, Mrs. Alvaro. Is this our guest, Mrs. Court?"
"Yes it is, Wafto," answered Lena, smiling at the malformed little servant.
The hunch-backed dwarf's eyes seemed to bore right through Sharon's clothing, right through her flesh; they roamed upward along the rich curves of her fine young body, paused on her face, and then skittered away to fasten on Lena again. Sharon repressed a shudder at the ugly little man's scrutiny of her; Lena could have at least warned her, she thought, that Mark's manservant was a dwarf – and a hunch-back on top of that.
"Won't you come inside?" Wafto said to them. "The master is waiting in the library. He expected you'd be here about this time."
"Thank you, Wafto."
The dwarf, who was dressed in butler's livery, led them down a long dark corridor, hung with tapestries and medieval fighting equipment such as maces and broadswords and crossbows. Following, Sharon felt an added twinge of pity and discomfort to find that the little man was not only hunch-backed, but clubfooted as well; his right leg made sharp, staccato thumping sounds on the parquetted floor of the corridor.
Wafto opened a set of huge, ornately carved wooden doors and ushered them into an immense, high-ceilinged room with bookshelves lining two of the four walls, the largest fireplace Sharon had ever seen taking up an entire third, and beautiful tapestries decorating a fourth. The furnishings were old and heavy and comfortable-looking, of dark wood and leather. An impressive bar reposed diagonally across the corner between one wall of bookshelves and the tapestried one, and as the two women entered a tall, smiling man with wavy salt-and-pepper hair and classic features came toward them with his hands outstretched.
He wore a wine-colored velvet smoking jacket, a flowered ascot, and dove-gray slacks; on his feet were expensive doeskin moccasins. He was about forty and very handsome, with a small neatly-clipped mustache, and Sharon couldn't help but notice the graceful, fluid way he moved as he approached them. He was a very virile-appearing man, and his dark eyes reflected his masculinity as well as warmth and good humor.
"Lena – Mrs. Court!" he greeted them in his deep, resonant voice. "So good to see you! Did you get the men off to Athens on schedule?"
"We certainly did, Mark," Lena told him.
"You're looking lovely tonight, my dear," he told her, kissing her warmly on the cheek. He turned to Sharon and took her hands is his. "And so are you, my dear Mrs. Court. You're positively radiant."
Sharon felt herself blushing appreciatively. "Why… thank you, Mark!" she said, pleased at the compliment.
He smiled disarmingly, taking both women by the hand. He led them toward the massive Inglenook fireplace, where a roaring wood fire cast flickering shadows and welcome warmth into the remainder of the room. "You must be tired, and cold, after your long drive from London," Marlowe said. "Would you like a brandy before you go to your rooms? It will take Wafto a few minutes to transfer your bags from the car upstairs, anyway."
"A brandy would be lovely, Mark," said Lena.
"Yes, thank you," agreed Sharon.
They sat by the fire, drinking brandy, and talking of small things. Sharon found herself relaxing immediately, her furtiveness about the moors and the foreboding exterior of Marlowe Manor – and the disconcerting sight of the malformed dwarf Wafto – melting into warm relaxation with the brandy and the fire. The library was lovely, just as Lena had said it would be, and Mark was handsome and gracious and concerned. If the rest of Marlowe Manor turned out as fascinating as the corridor with its tapestries and medieval weapons – the library with its wonderful fireplace and cozy atmosphere – then she was really going to enjoy her stay here immensely. She could spend the whole time inside the stately grounds, and leave the exploration of the moors to the time when Neal came three or four days hence.
A half hour passed, during which time Mark told Sharon she had the complete run of the manor; she could explore the building and grounds at her leisure, or take a guided tour with he or Wafto. The young blonde wife, thinking of the pitiable dwarf, told him that she would probably do it on her own, but that she would likely be besieging him with questions about this and that. Marlowe laughed, telling her that he was there to serve her, and that she had only to ask in order to receive.
Wafto entered the library shortly thereafter and announced that the ladies' rooms were ready. Mark said that they would be having dinner around eight, a little better than an hour hence, which would give them plenty of time to freshen up and change.
Wafto led them up a marble staircase to the second floor. Sharon took the opportunity to whisper to Lena, "Shall I dress formally for dinner?"
"I think it would be appropriate this first night," Lena told her.
"All right."
Sharon's room turned out to be sumptuously appointed, with a private bath. There was a great double bed with antique headboard and frame, a huge antique wardrobe, and several other pieces of furniture. Her bags had been placed on the carpet next to the bed.
When she had been left alone, the young blonde wife undressed leisurely and drew a hot bath in the ornate and old-fashioned leg tub. Then she slipped into the soothing water and closed her eyes, letting its warmth envelope her.
Yes, she thought drowsily as she soaked, this is going to be a wonderful vacation after all, even though Neal will only be able to spend part of it with me. I have a feeling that Lena was right in what she said in the car; I don't think I am going to forget these next few days at Marlowe Manor…