A continuing BigCloset TopShelf story. Another day in the life of our hero. Or heroine as The Venumar Foundation would wish him to be known. Anne unburdens herself and David finds confirmation of a sort. Together they try to form a hypothesis. But alas unsuccessfully. Unless....
Otherwise Life pursues the even tenor of its ways. Anyone for tennis?

Because David's tale is slow in its serialisation, and long in the telling, it was suggested to me that the following character list might help in jogging reader's memories. Hope it does.

Previously encountered Characters in order of appearance/mention.

David. The hero whose adventures we follow. Generally referred to by others as Sophie. ‘Recruited’ and then subjected to months in ‘Reception’ before progressing to the ‘Holding Wing’ where much of the subsequent action, apart from his stay in the hospital facility, has taken place. Now ‘promoted’ to the Finishing Centre.

Marie-Helene A member of the new intake of girls at the Finishing Centre

Dr. Francesca Pinecoffin. The Principal Administrator/Chief Executive of Helgarren Hall. First encountered, albeit in a minor role, on the interview board when David passed from Reception to the Holding Wing, being christened Sophie en route.

Mrs Townsend. Staff. The beautician

Anne. She was already at the Holding Wing before David’s arrival. Her background is that of a boy saved from drug abuse and social problems by one of the charitable organisations under the aegis of the Venumar foundation. Was ‘promoted’ to the Finishing Centre with David

Helen Vanbrugh. Grace de Messembry's close confidante on whom she appears to exercise a moderating influence. She was at David's first interview when he was named Sophie. It is to be assumed that she has director status in the Venumar Foundation. She facilitated David’s move to The Finishing Centre, offering to use her influence with the Principal there that he may receive a special non-hormonal dispensation.

Mrs. Felicity Cranwell Staff. Tutor in Female Sexuality

Dr. Victoria Walters. A surgeon in the employ of The Venumar Foundation. She was responsible for his recovery after his knifing. She was originally given a passing mention in Grace de Messembry’s ‘surgical intervention’ threat in Chapter 14.

Emma. Was another of Laura’s charges, but a genetic girl. She represents the other, outwardly charitable, function of the Holding Wing, which is the education and training of girls coming from under-privileged and troubled backgrounds. Now graduated from the Holding Wing returning as a junior staff member

Laura. David’s mentor in the ‘Holding Wing’. Her other charges then being Anne and Emma.

Lisa A member of the new intake of girls at the Finishing Centre.

Dr. Tabatha O’Neill. Staff. Psychiatrist/Hypnotherapist

Grace de Messembry. Majority, perhaps sole, shareholder in the Venumar Foundation, which in itself is the controlling influence of numerous international companies. She is apparently the source and instigator of all David’s current woes

It should be remembered that the plot unfolds through the eyes of David. The descriptions of the people above conform to David’s understanding of their function, character, etc. Use of words such as ‘seemingly’, ‘perhaps’, and ‘apparent’ are because the facts, or surmises, can only be as David understands them. The reader has no other authority from whom he or she can seek verification.

Chapter 36.

David sat upright. Prim, demure, and practising looking attentive. He was worried about his lipstick. It was a shade that Marie-Hélá¨ne had insisted he try. But his colouring was wrong. It was fine for her with that dark Mediterranean complexion, but just too vivid for him. Drew colour from his cheeks and attention from his eyes. Made him look rather tarty really. And today of all days when he had this, his first weekly meeting with Dr. Pinecoffin when it was so important that he made a good impression.

He wondered if he had time to nip along to see Mrs. Townsend before lunch. She would know. Would be able to advise him. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all? What had she drummed into him so often in those early days in the Holding Wing. 'It is how you feel that counts. To be confident is to be beautiful.'

He wished there was a mirror handy so he could check. But there wasn't. Just the big desk in front of him, Green tooled leather top with rich polished walnut surround. A telephone, a slim folder with a sheaf of paper peeking out. Several other loose leaves of paper surmounted by a book acting as a paperweight. And behind the desk shelves upon shelves of books.

David nervously fingered his handbag on his lap. Just perhaps a glimpse in his compact mirror? Just to be sure ....

The door swung open and Dr. Pinecoffin entered. Silently as always. A golden haired cat burglar in 3” heels.

“So sorry to keep you waiting Sophie dear .... No please don't get up .... just wanted an informal word to make sure you are settling in, and to give you the chance to ask any questions that you may have, raise any complaints .... that sort of thing.”

David had no complaints. None that he could voice, or that would profit him to voice. So he smiled and shook his head.

”I just wanted to fill you in on some of the administrative details,” Dr. Pinecoffin continued, having satisfied herself as to David's state of general contentment, “we do try to include the basics in the folder you were given but there always seems to be more missing than not.“

Most of what she proceeded to tell, David had already picked up, experienced, or been told by the other new girls. Or had confided to him by Mona whom had already joined Anne and him for several meals.

All living expenses, meals, clothing, cosmetics, everything they could conceivably need was provided free for them. Automatically as in the case of meals or cosmetics, or by signing for them as in the case of clothing, However they could access the balances in their own bank balances for extra or luxury items. Should they want to eat in one of the two 'guest' dining rooms on a special occasion. “Just a romantic twosome to mark a special someone's birthday.” as Dr. Pinecoffin suggested. Buy special jewellery, perfumes, or indeed clothes for themselves or as presents. There were special shops within the complex selling a range of these last items, but they also had access to mail order catalogues. They could even write away for these. There was a post room wherein they had each a pigeon hole for both sending and receiving mail. Items thus ordered were paid for by the Foundation and the cost deducted from their accounts on their signature.

Outward mail was, not unexpectedly, subject to discrete scrutiny. Censorship was not a word that was ever used.

Helen had been as good as her word. David now had his monthly bank statements delivered. He was richer than he had ever been. A generous salary had been paid monthly into his account in line with what had first attracted him to the fateful, spurious, job offer that had entrapped him. Subsequently deductions had been made for mortgage payments on his flat, community charge, etc., all the normal expenses of owning property. Which incidentally was still awaiting his re-occupancy. But there had been plenty to spare with no living expenses to deduct, and the balance had grown to be very healthy indeed.

Dr. Pinecoffin evidently expected him to be gratified by this and indeed he was. When he did get out he would have a substantial buffer against misfortune. Or more than enough, as Dr. Pinecoffin expressed it, “To get a flying start in your new life.”

And then...

“By the way, did Dr. Walters mention the trouble we have been having with our security system? About the snag of over-reaction with your Uncle Silas device?”

Christ why was he starting to blush? It wasn't his doing. Why was he so sensitive about being reminded of his maleness? Or apparent lack of it.

“Yes, she said it was not safe to venture too close to ....”

“Oh good. So you know then. I had meant to put a note about it in the folder but it went clean out of my mind .... Well I am afraid it is not fixed yet. Such a simple thing! Really you would think that with all the scientists cluttering the place up here, one of them could rectify something so basic as that! So just be careful not to stray too close won't you dear? I gather it really is quite dangerous and until we do manage to solve it .....”

“By the way I do love your lipstick dear. Is it the one that I saw Marie-Hélá¨ne wearing at breakfast? Such a pretty girl too isn't she, with that dramatic dark colouring? I couldn't get away with it myself. Not at my age any way.” She smiled in mock sadness. “All right for you young things of course. Push the boundaries back whilst you can I say!”

So it was a mistake!

She leant forward, moving the book to extract some of the papers under it. Offering a slim selection to David.

“Nothing here that I haven't covered, or that you don't already know, I think. But still have a quick look through them, and then put them in your folder for reference.”

But David could see only the book, now slanted towards him, its two tone blue cover depicting trees silhouetted stark against a wintry sky. Leafless trees. And across them was blazoned the title. 'BARE BRANCHES'.

His fingers fumbled with the papers. Mona had been right. Was right.

He forced himself to look at Dr. Pinecoffin. To look natural. As if nothing had happened. And nothing really had, except that he had for the first time seen ..... seen in print the words whose meaning had plagued his waking thoughts. Words he had listened to, screaming in his brain in the dark of the night's sleepless hours. Words printed on a book cover. Words that could not be a coincidence. On a book that could tell him why he was here. Tell him why they were doing this to him.

And he had to pretend that they were not there. Had to ignore the words that cried out to him.

“Thank you”, he said. “Thank you, yes of course I will. Look through them.”

And he turned and walked towards the door. Holding his head high. With an effort. His mouth suddenly desert dry. Legs weak under their caressing skirt.

Outside, the door shut behind him, he leant against the corridor wall breathing fast and shallow.

He would ask Mona again. There must be something else. He had let the why slip into the background amidst all the strain of daily life. Amidst all the excitement, hope indeed, of his arrival at Helgarren. But now, now he knew what he was looking for. A book. If there was one copy there might be others. If it were so important. So central to the work here that Dr. Pinecoffin had it on her desk. There was an extensive library here open to all. And apart from the library, no shortage of rooms with bookshelves crammed with books.

But above all Dr. Pinecoffin had a copy in her office. There must be some way he could get to it. Just a glimpse might be enough. Just a flick through the pages. A sight of the chapter headings would surely suffice?.

There was the clicking of heels rising above the scuttling sound of someone in a hurry and Anne came into view around the corner.

David levered himself off the wall

“Sophie dear, is Dr Pinecoffin free?” She had the glow of health in her cheeks and in her eyes a sparkle that only excitement and joy could impart.

“Yes Anne, I have just left her. But, but I thought you had already seem her and ....I“

“Yes of course I have darling, but this is about something quite different, I have seen Helen and she says it is all right but that I must .....”

“Helen? Helen Vanbrugh? Is she back?”

“Of course dear, how could I have met her otherwise? The end of last week. And she said I had her blessing, but that the last word must be with Francesca, and.....”

Anne knocked politely on Dr. Pinecoffin's door. One single tap followed by an more impatient double tap-tap.

“Anne what is the matter? What is happening?”

“Oh you will just love him Sophie darling! Just what I have always dreamed of. For my very own! And the gardener is such a sweetie and he has promised to keep ....”

And she was through the door whilst the final syllable of the inviting 'Come in' still lingered on the air.

David looked at his small pink faced watch. No more lessons scheduled before lunch. Just time to pick up some cartridges for his Oral Gratification Training Aid from Mrs. Cranwell. He had used the last one on Saturday and had felt restless since. Not that there was any obvious pressure on him. Mrs Cranwell had merely mentioned that he could get extra supplies from her when he needed them. But he felt that it would be noticed if he didn't. If he just stopped taking them. Stopped using that grotesque false ..... They knew how many he had been issued with. Could count the days as well as he. But they needed him to ask. And more than that, it nagged at him. At the back of his mind he knew he had to, needed to.... almost like a compulsion.

“Which ones are they Sophie dear?” Mrs. Cranwell was all welcoming smiles.

“I think I need the VF19s, “ David replied. “Although the last ones were the VF20 (a)s. I don't know if there is any difference .... ”

“Oh the VF 20 (a)s are much better Sophie dear. So much more appropriate for you darling. The 19s are really just starters to get you into the routine as it were.”

“And the difference Mrs. Cranwell. ..... Are there ....?” David hesitated.

“Just better darling .... That's all. As I said more suited. Of course if you need additional hormones then you really need the Type 23. Yes indeed I should have thought of it before, although you should, strictly speaking, check with Dr. Walters first. Just to make sure it doesn't conflict with her dosage regime. However I don't see how it can do any harm .....”

“No Mrs. Cranwell,” David broke in hastily. “No I wouldn't like to do anything that ..... I am sure the Type 20 (a)s will be ideal.”

“Well if you change your mind Sophie dear, just let me know. I am sure I can square it with Dr. Walters.”

Her smile embraced him with promises of understanding and help. She placed her hand on his upper arm and drew him closer, leaning confidentially nearer.

“I am so glad you dropped by dear. I wanted to ask you. Have you found a lover yet? Any young stud fallen under your spell?”

The bluntness of the question aggravated the unwelcomeness of its content. Both his face and his body posture combined to betray the revulsion he felt. Not that such deterred the ebullient Mrs. Cranwell.

“Don't look so shocked Sophie dear! You surely don't expect to remain virginal indefinitely do you?” She winked at him. A salacious, knowing, wink. “But I don't want to pry, I only asked because of your butt plug.”

“Because of my butt plug? But why ....?”

“Don't be so obtuse dear. If you are getting the real thing then a butt plug becomes superfluous. Nothing like a regular fucking to put colour in a girl's cheeks and a smile on her lips. Not to mention toning up her orifices.”

David felt the colour rising in his cheeks.

“No I haven't a boy friend, I am not getting .....” He couldn't say it. Couldn't even articulate it lest it brought his nightmare closer.

“Never mind dear. I am sure you will find someone nice soon. I will keep an eye open for you.” Again the wink. “Nothing I like more than a little matchmaking. It must be the old romantic in me.”

God not another one David thought. Not her and Grace de Messembry!

“We need to get you onto firm hard flesh a soon as possible So much more agreeable and so beneficial dear. But in the meantime we don't want to spoil you. I don't suppose you are so aware of your butt plug by now are you?”

“No.” And it was true. Most of the time he was hardly aware of it. Even when it vibrated into life it just seemed part of his day. Part of what he now was. In the morning, lying in bed, warm amidst the silk and satin of his nightie, its massage of his prostrate produced the inevitable hardening and more ..... although even that lately .... with .... with Uncle Silas .... was not so....

“I thought not. Well I suggest you move on to the next size dear, but wear it only at night time. We don't want you too extended do we? The flexibility of the sphincter is all important. Even the most gorgeous men are not as well endowed as one would like, and there is nothing so disillusioning for a girl to have her beloved's inadequacies so exposed, with his cock slapping around inside her instead of enjoying a nice tight snug fit.”

David tried hard not to listen.

“So until we can find you the real thing Sophie dear, just ration yourself to night times with the plug, but perhaps double the time spent on those clenching muscle exercises. If you are lucky enough to find good meaty prick that stretches you a bit too painfully at first well .... you will just have to remember that there is no gain without pain.”

By the time David had freed himself from Mrs. Cranwell's attentions he was barely in time for lunch at the restaurant. The two Indian girls were just finishing theirs' but the rest had gone. Even Anne with whom he habitually ate. David felt a little miffed, he had so much wanted to discuss the latest happenings with her. He had pushed Mrs. Cranwell's remark's to the back of his mind. They were to be expected. Nothing new there. Just more pressure and at least he didn't now have to wear the beastly plug during the day time. As for the rest? Well the crossing of that bridge was was for the future, and might never happen. Would never happen if he had anything to do with it. He could deal with it later. Perhaps Laura or Helen could help. But for now he wanted to talk about the book. The book and ..... and what was Anne seeing Dr. Pinecoffin about? And what had the gardener to do with it. Christ she couldn't have found a lover! Not Anne!

His own worries were suddenly eclipsed. He needed her support. Her resilience. He tried desperately to remember Anne's words. She had been excited, and happy. So surely not a boyfriend. Not Anne! Not that betrayal. And surely not the gardener who was fifty if he was a day and reeked of his own compost heap? Although he had assistants and..... and a son .... who was home from University ....

David had a vague recollection of a tall young man, blue eyed and freckled whom he had seen chatting to the gardener last night as he was re-arranging the pattern of the lawn sprinkler in the square fronting their little houses. And Anne had been there too. He remembered that she had misjudged the spray and had herself got somewhat wet; that the gardener and his son had laughed with and at her, and that she had joined them giggling her reproaches.

But not so soon surely? And what would the son think of her.... ? Did he even know? Although surely his father did? And would have told him? And for Christ's sake what did she need to ask Dr. Pinecoffin about? To what had Helen agreed in principle?

That afternoon he had a session with Mrs. Townsend and then a study period. But Anne's schedule did not chime with his and so it was late afternoon before he eventually found her. Or rather she found him. Her heels clicking on the cobbles outside his house. Her excited voice calling outside his window.

“Come on out! I have such news! Come and see!”

And there she was standing there. Her eyes enormous and bright with tears of happiness. Her smile trembling in tenderness.

In her arms was a small white bundle with odd shaped tan and black markings. A small white bundle that squirmed to reveal a head with two ears, one up, one down, and a mouth from which a small rose pink tongue stretched and strove to lick the saltiness on Anne's cheek.

“Isn't he just adorable, Sophie?” Her eyes pleaded for his confirmation.

“Yes just adorable Anne dear.” And the little puppy was just that. Adorable. And in that moment so was Anne. She seemed more alive than David had ever seen her. She epitomised happiness. And the little pink tongue lapped eagerly at the tears that sparkled on her cheek.

“I wanted you to come with me to take him on a walk Sophie dear. His first walk with me.”

And so he did. Although the little dog was carried most of the way, tightly hugged in Anne's arms.

At first it was in companionable silence. Anne seemed to be surrounded by an almost visible cocoon of happiness the like of which David had never before encountered, and which it seemed sacrilege to intrude upon. Something that must be preserved and protected by silence. Not that the silence was absolute. Anne murmured to the small warm bundle and it in its turn, grunted and snuffled. Part of David was entranced, part was aware of an irrationality. The little bundle at the centre of this happiness was a half-formed dog. It was all out of proportion. The whole affair. So many problems, so many threats. All banished by a small squirm of a puppy.

And yet he did not know how to break the magic of the moment. Did not dare to, did not want to. So he just walked alongside them and wondered.

They arrived on a rise overlooking the cricket pitch and sat on a bench watching nets practice. Anne put the puppy down and it waddled over to an adjacent empty seat and unsuccessfully tried to cock a leg to piddle. Collapsed and had to make do with a squat.

“Grace de Messembry would approve.” Anne giggled. Even David found an involuntary smile twitch his lips.

It broke the spell.

“You must think I am just being very silly, childish perhaps. But I just wanted you to share it with me. The dream. Even if you didn't understand. I wanted to share it with you in the hope that a little of the joy I felt would overflow onto you. And perhaps because I hoped that sharing the happiness with you would make it even greater for me too.”

Her eyes were unnaturally bright and David could see a small tear on her cheek again.

“And so it did.... for me anyway.” she finished.

David looked at her solemnly. “Yes it did,” he said, “for me too, although I don't know why it should, or even what it was about. Only that it was special .... the happiness I mean.”

“I am so glad.” she said and reached out to touch his hand. Just a gentle touch that brushed his fingers.

Together they watched the puppy as it bumbled around them, its nose exploring the short cropped grass, registering the scents for future reference.

“Bramble is what I wanted to see Dr. Pinecoffin about this morning. The gardener offered me him. He is one of Flirt's litter.”

David considered this rather cryptic sentence and unravelled it.

“I see.”

“And she was very good about it. I explained about why it was so important .... and that the gardener would always look after it if I wasn't about .... And she said 'Yes of course'.”.

“She did? And Helen before her?” David's face was a study in incredulity.

“Yes. I was a bit surprised too. But perhaps I caught them on a good day and when I explained the circumstances. About how it was so important for me .... What it would mean to me.... Not all of it of course .... Just enough to give them an inkling. Although of course they must have known already. From their records. Perhaps that is why Helen agreed so readily ....“

And then.

“But I have never told you have I? About me? About what I did, what I was before ....?”

“No Anne. Only that you had had a tough time. Drugs and related problems. That is all. I did once ask but you pointed out that the past is out of bounds here.”

Anne sighed

“The past is, or at least was, out of bounds because it was at that stage irrelevant from the Foundation's viewpoint. But we can never quite escape it, and you knowing mine would help you understand many things perhaps. Certainly why Bramble means so very much to me.”

The small puppy referred to was stalking a large orange tailed bumble bee through the grass, his ridiculous stump of a tail stilled in concentration....

“My mother died when I was four, giving birth to my sister. I hardly remember her. Just a feeling of warmth and safety. And a face I see sometimes in dreams. Perhaps my father loved her. Perhaps he loved her too much. I do not know. I can only remember, only dream-see, her from those early days. I know only that things changed after that. Not overnight but gradually. Perhaps he blamed us. Perhaps he didn't care. Whatever the reason I think he came to hate us. Hate everyone but especially us. And then Jane, my sister, died when she was seven. Meningitis they said. She was the only other person I had to love, and I had cared for her so hard. So very hard, and I thought perhaps that I had not cared hard enough. Perhaps it was my fault. But I was only a boy....”

Anne's voice strained and broke. She swallowed once, twice, thrice, trying to regain composure.

“But I tried so hard. And her too I can see in my dreams. Not only in my dreams. Every time I close my eyes.... I can see Jane.”

Anne found a scrap of handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, her mouth working as she fought for control. David stretched his hand and placed it on hers as she returned them to her lap.

“After that it was worse. He seemed to enjoy being cruel. Physically and mentally. Telling me it was my fault that Jane had died. That if I had cared more I could have saved her. That I was, deep down, irredeemably wicked and it was that, my wickedness and her despair over it, that had worn down my mother. The worry of it all had undermined my mother's health so that she could not survive giving birth. That it was all my fault. And maybe it was. I can't remember. I was only four. I can't remember.”

David had no words to offer. Only his presence. He tightened his grip on her hands. As he felt the the hot wetness behind his own eyelids.

Anne seemed to gather strength from some inner well. Her gentle exterior belied a deep spiritual toughness David thought. Without it she would never have survived.

“And then one day someone gave me a hamster. A neighbour who perhaps could see... Well he gave it to me in a little cage. And I kept it hidden, A hidden secret because I knew my father would not let me have it. Would not let me have anything that he thought I wanted..... anything that I loved. And I did love it. Fiercely as only as a small boy can. I loved Bertie. That is what I called it, him. I called him Bertie.”

Her hands twisted in her lap. Caught and held David's fingers.

“He was only the third thing I had had to love. My mother, Jane and then, and then, Bertie. .... And it was foolish. I was foolish. It could not last. It was inevitable that my father should find him. As he did.”

A deep shuddering breath racked Anne. Her nails dug into David .... hurting.

“He, my father, came down to the sitting room holding the little cage in his left hand. With his right he hit me, again and again and again. He raged on about my deceit, my lack of openness, my lying nature, my wickedness in keeping secrets. I begged him to let me keep Bertie. I shouldn't have even tried. It was a mistake. And then I made an even bigger mistake...... I said I loved him. Loved Bertie.”

David longed to put his arm around her. To give her a closer physical contact to assuage her agony. But her hands vice-like held his tight in her lap.

“ It was the final straw. He threw the cage ..... He threw Bertie into the fireplace. I had a momentary vision of the flames licking his cage, but in his anger he had thrown too hard and the cage rebounded onto the hearthrug, its door flew open and a dazed Bertie was precipitated onto the floor. My father stood there, and then, and then, very slowly he brought his heel down upon him. Slowly he crushed him. Slowly, with malice, watching me and laughing whilst he did it. I heard a noise like the splintering of a matchbox. And then I was out of that house. Out and running into the dark night. Running away from him, and from my childhood.”

Her grip on David's hand slackened enough for him to withdraw it and he held her tight. Held her so tight that her sobs reverberated through him also. So tight that he felt her grief as a physical thing. Felt it and tried to share it, to absorb at least part of it into his own body.

“I never went back. Never saw my father again. I lived rough. Numb and dead inside. There is no more to tell really. I survived as I had always survived. I did things that I should not have done. I took drugs to try to dull the pain. As briefly they did, only for it to return with an ever greater intensity as they wore off. So I took more and more, and at shorter and shorter intervals. But still the pain mocked me. Life was slipping away without regret when one of the Venumar charities chanced upon me. The rest you know.”

David nodded.

“At the Holding Wing I made the first friend I had ever had.”

“Olive.” David said.

“Yes Olive. And when she committed suicide the world seemed empty again. Laura helped and Emma too so it wasn't .... then you arrived and we became friends. And I saw your pain and tried to care .... to help. From that first evening onwards.”

“You did Anne, truly you did, still do. I should have told you before how very much....”

Anne sniffled and wiped her tears with the back of her hand, her hankie now a sodden crumpled heap on the grass before them.

“But there was still this blank inside me. A black hole. I needed something, a creature, of my own to love. To give me a centre. A reason to continue. Something to keep the regrets, the fears from crowding into my dreams. Something that could be the recipient of all the love I had to give. Something for which I could care. Just to prove that I could care. That my father had been wrong. That I could care!”

David gave her the scrap of lace edged lawn that passed for his own handkerchief.

“It was Dr. Tabatha who told me that the gardener's bitch Flirt had had a litter. And suggested that I might like to look after one. And I went to look .... and I saw Bramble..... And he was just like .... what I had always dreamed of .....just like ....”

David felt the sobs again and gently held her until she could muster the strength to continue.

“Why Bramble?” He said, just to give her time to recover. “Why do you call him Bramble?”

“When I ran out into that night I left behind the one thing I still had that my mother had given me. A child's book. The sort that one starts to learn to read with, with thick pages, large print and simple pictures. I treasured it. Read and re-read it although I had long outgrown it. It was about a puppy. There were drawings of it on every page. A small white stumpy puppy with brown and black spots. And it was called Bramble.”

Chapter 37.

The puppy in question, having retreated from his challenge to the bumblebee, was now snuffling at Anne's feet. He seized a decorative string on one of her sandals and tugged on it, growling ferociously as if to warn the bumblebee that next time it would be different.

Anne partially disengaged herself and leaning forward, picked him up and wrapped him in her arms, snuggling him close to her.

She looked at David. “You see dear, I have always felt that you despise me a little. For accepting my lot. For accepting the femininity that has been forced upon us. Despised me because you felt that I should struggle as you do. That I should fight against it, deny it. Defy it and the Venumar Foundation.”

“No Anne truly, we all have to make our ....”

She shook her head gently.

“Don't lie to me Sophie. I, we, have heard enough of those. And between you and I lies would be a betrayal of what I hope we have. I know you despise me sometimes because occasionally I can see it in your eyes, and because if our positions were reversed then I think I would feel that way too.”

David nodded dully. She was right. He had and it would be a betrayal to lie about it. He owed her that truth.

“So I told you ..... what I told you so that you might understand. Might learn to despise me less. Because for me accepting is in a way unimportant. Whatever happens to me now is so much better than what has gone before that it fades into insignificance....”

“Yes I can see, can understand. I was wrong .... to think less of you for.... Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive. Perhaps I would prefer deep down to be what I was born, but I am no longer sure. Whilst I was male I knew nothing but sorrow. Now I have a deal of happiness. I recognise the inevitability of what is happening to me and the destiny which seems to lie before me. And if one accepts that then life here is pleasant enough as is seemingly the future. And I think also that perhaps some resistance can be traced back purely to a foolish pride, or a fear of what others may think. Neither of which emotions can have any relevance for me now.”

She placed the small wagging bundle on the ground as she stood up.

“In a perfect world then I think I might wish that things might be different. But this existing world is as near perfect as any I have yet known and so I will settle for it.”

Davis walked close alongside her as they retraced their steps back to the Hall, both watching where they placed their feet as Bramble gambolled along amongst them.

“With you I know it is different. Had my life been as yours maybe, probably, I too would share your determination. But it wasn't and I don't. All I pray is that you can understand me now.”

“Yes,” David said. “I have been selfish. Not perhaps for the first time. I do understand. In many ways what you say about accepting is right anyway. It would solve many problems .... and ....”

“Yes .... and that is what they want you to think. The problems are designed to be solved that way. And it suits me to solve them thus. But you are different David. And you know I will help, will be there for you whatever you decide, whatever happens.”

Anne kissed him on the cheek in a natural, totally feminine, way.

David tried to ignore the little inner voice that urged him to be truthful, to be totally honest with her. Nagged him to tell her about Helen and the agreement he had reached with her about the hormones. Was on the point of so doing when Bramble, without warning, squatted on the path for his forty ninth pee causing him, David, to execute a last minute acrobatic leap to avoid standing on him, losing both a shoe and his dignity in the process. They both collapsed in laughter and the moment was lost.

“I knew Bramble would bring me luck,” Anne said, “It is such a weight of my mind now that you know why and I know that you no longer .... well think me a useless wimp, a traitor to my sex. My erstwhile sex perhaps.”

David smiled at her.”I don't know anyone more courageous irrespective of sex,” he said. “I am so fortunate to have you for a friend.”

They walked on in companionable silence. The three of them. David, Anne and the small puppy who had brought them closer than ever before.

They had nearly reached the Hall before David broached the subject that had monopolised his mind earlier that day.

“Anne, when you saw Dr. Pinecoffin this morning did you see a book on her desk? One with a two tone loose cover? Lying on a file of papers?”

Anne furrowed her brow making trying to summon up a visual recollection.

“I .... I think I remember a book. On the desk. But I could not see it properly because Dr. Pinecoffin was reading a folder when I entered. Perhaps the file you mention. She put it on top of the book when she asked me to sit down. So I didn't have a chance to see what it was or even notice the colour of the cover.”

“Damn! I was hoping that you .... well I suppose you just seeing it would not have made any difference. I know it was there and ....”

“I did see what the file was though if that helps Sophie? And a little of what was in it. The top page was askew, peeking out and I could read a few lines. Upside down of course but .... it looked important.”

“It could relate I suppose. Yes it may be help. What was it about?”

“The folder cover had a large red sticker on that said 'RESTRICTED — SENIOR MANAGEMENT' . Printed on it were the words. 'From the Office of Grace de Messembry to Dr. Francesca Pinecoffin — Private.'”

“And inside? You said you could see some of the contents.....?”

“Not much. Just a few lines. And only from Page 5 which must have been out of kilter with the others. I could see the number in the right hand top corner......”

“And?”

“It was about global warming. About the irregularities in the monsoon period that it would cause in China. And something about the melting of the ice cap in the Himalayas and flooding in the Yangtze basin....”

“Global warming? That must be wrong. It can't be relevant. I suppose I should have known better than to think that the world revolves round us. The Venumar Foundation is hydra-headed. It must be another lucrative avenue they are pursuing. They seem to specialise in capitalising on the misery of others.”

The disappointment in his voice was bitter and deep.

“I just thought .... that it mentioned China as Mona overheard. And perhaps the branches are bare because they have lost their leaves .... because of drought ....and ....”

Anne's voice tailed off. She nodded sadly.

“No you are right. It doesn't make any sort of sense. Doesn't start to. I was clutching at straws. Wanting desperately to help.”

“It's not your fault Anne. All that we see cannot be relevant. But we need to keep looking. Need to be aware. I need to get hold of the book....”

“What was the book? You haven't told me. Why is it so important?”

“Didn't I? No I suppose .... talk of the folder sidetracked me. The book was the 'Bare Branches'. That can't be a coincidence. That must mean something. The 'why' must be in there.”

“We can try the Staff Library. It is fantastically well stocked and anything they haven't got they can get for you if you ask.”

“I bet they won't get us 'Bare Branches'. Any more than we can get a meaningful response from the Venumar search engine on our computers when we type it in.”

“It is worth trying Sophie. They may not always be infallible. And if you can't, you will at least know you are right and that the answer is in it.”

“Yes... You are right. Then at least we will know. And we may get lucky. We can't afford to ignore long shots. I will even try searching 'Global Warming' linked to China, and indeed India as Mona suggested. Just in case we have overlooked something.”

“Perhaps we could enlist the help of others? Others outside our intake. Outside our programme.”

Anne's voice sounded tentative, thoughtful.

“Not a chance Anne. Who would help? We don't really know anyone outside our group. Not enough to trust them. And we can't afford to let it get back to the Foundation.”

“Perhaps .... There was something Emma suggested that might, just might, kill two birds with one stone.” Anne began hesitantly as they halted in the little square outside their houses.

“Perhaps it isn't the right time, but have you thought any more about what Laura said? About finding boyfriends before Grace de Messembry foists her sex mad protégés on us?”

“I have tried not to Anne. It leads to where I do not want to go. Even to think about it is to admit the possibility, the possibility that .... Well you know. Mrs Cranwell was more than hinting at it again this morning.”

“She is just a dirty minded old cow Sophie. A twice removed voyeur who probably isn't getting any herself. But we have to think about it and fast because Grace de Messembry is going to as sure as God made little apples.”

“I suppose you're right Anne. But I don't see how it helps with the Bare Branches' book.”

“Wait till I have finished! Emma suggested that we join one of the Staff Societies where we could scout around for suitable, ineffective, would be partners. And that prime consideration should be given to the 'Writers' Guild'.”

“The Writers' Guild'? What the hell is that?”

“It is allied to the 'Book Club'. For those of the staff with an interest in literature. They all read a book a month, the same one, and then meet and discuss it and get through an inordinate amount of wine. In fact Emma says that it could equally be called the 'Wine Club' only they talk about what they have read rather than what they are drinking. And the 'Writers' Guild is a sort of inner circle comprising people who actually write or want to write.”

“And?”

“Well Emma thought that the male element would be just what we needed. Rather feeble, intellectual, bookish types who with any luck had perhaps imbibed the concept of courtly romance and for whom passion was best unrequited. Or if that was asking too much they would at least be men inclined to thought rather than to action.”

“Anne that is cloud cuckoo land! I know you and Emma missed out on a lot of education but even you must know that the biggest libertines unhung are to be found amongst the literati. From the Marquis de Sade via Lord Byron to .... well to practically all of them! All writers are tarred with the same brush! They may be men of thought but their thoughts are usually such as to inflame their actions. And God only knows how many unwanted pregnancies are occasioned by the membership of Book Clubs!”

Anne giggled. “Sophie I am sure you exaggerate. Emma has been to a couple of their meetings and she says that the men there are wimps. So there! Ripe for manipulation. And they have special privileges about getting books, and, from what she has told me, access to the library's computer ordering set up. And, and....”

She paused.

“And if you are looking for a book what better place to start? Unless you have a better idea. And anyway I have always wanted to read more. When I was growing up I couldn't, I had no books of my own apart from ....”

Anne glanced at Bramble now vying with the fountain in the middle of the square.

“.... and well I always loved poetry at school and I would so love to try to write, only I don't expect I would be any good, but even to try would be .... And it just might help. And we have to do something. Unless you think it is really a bad idea?”

“No Anne I don't think it a bad idea. It is certainly better than any I have to offer. And certainly worth a try. And I am sure poetry will become you. You have all the sensitivity in the world.”

David gave her a hug.

“Come on,” he said, “lets take Bramble for a drink. I am sure he will be allowed in the bar. garden. Especially with both Francesca's and Helen's seal of approval. And we can collect membership application forms for the 'Writers' Guild' on the way.”

“Yes let's. But I need to freshen up first. I must look a real frump and I know my make up is a mess. Mrs. Townsend would crucify me if she came across me looking like this. And perhaps you should do the same Sophie dear. You do look just the teeniest bit wind blown, and .... and well I do so hope you won't be offended dear, but .... that lipstick? I am not sure it is really you. Not your colour really perhaps ....? I wouldn't mention it, but, I feel as a friend, I am sure that .... You are so lovely and it seems such a shame; it does detract just the teeniest, weeniest, bit from your normal perfection.... I do so hope you don't mind?”

“You are quite right Anne. It was a terrible mistake. I have regretted it all day. Let's meet again outside in, say twenty minutes, and I promise you I shall be looking my old self again, although nothing to rival you dear.”

Half an hour later found the two sitting at a small cast iron table in the garden to which the staff bar gave access through two adjacent French windows, wide open now on a glorious summer evening. Bramble was tethered by a small tartan lead to Anne's chair. He snored gently, exhausted by his day's excitement.

Anne looked exquisitely cool in a low scoop necked, long sleeved, T shirt in a fetching cyclamen pink, and white, slightly hipster style, cropped linen trousers.

David, equally relaxed, had on a stone coloured pure linen sleeveless dress. Long, reaching to mid calf, slightly fitted in a seductive style with jellabah neckline and large side slits.

His lipstick was 'Starry Kisses' a shimmering pink shade by Yves-Rocher. Of a pearlised, semi-transparent texture, it complemented, rather than dominated his colouring. Both he and Anne had agreed that it was a vast improvement. She had lent him a pair of silver hooped earrings with stones of a miraculously matching shade to complete the effect.

Between them lay two copies of 'The Kite Runner'. They had been given them when the registered for the 'Writers' Guild'. They had until next Thursday week to read them.

David sipped his Plymouth gin and tonic, savoured it, and looked lazily out, over the distant hidden ha-ha, to the soft undulating countryside beyond. There was a companionable silence between them. Anne looked towards him and half-raised her iced amontillado in a recognition of their mutual ease.

There was a waft of a new perfume. An expensive perfume. A stirring in the summer air. A gentle, well bred, voice behind them spoke.

“May I join you? If I am not intruding?”

It was Helen Vanbrugh. Chair already in her hand.

“No please don't get up. I don't want to disturb you, But you made such a delightful picture sitting here that I was jealous of your calm, and I hoped I might be permitted to share it for a short while.”

Her right hand airily waved a glass of white wine in their direction to still their attempts to rise, as she placed her own chair down and swivelled into it with accustomed grace.

Helen Vanbrugh smiled.

“And of course I noticed that there were now three of you and I felt I just had to introduce myself to the newcomer.”

She leant down and gently fondled behind the ear of the somnolent Bramble.

“I have to thank you Miss Helen for allowing me to ....“

“Anne, dear Anne. No thanks are required. I am just delighted that Dr. Pinecoffin agreed. If any thanks are due, they are to her, and to Dr. O'Neill, for suggesting it. But he really is adorable isn't her? A real heart stealer.”

She busied herself with stroking the puppy who stirred enough to wag his stump of a tail at her.

“And how are you two settling in at Helgarren? Enjoying it?”

“Yes thank you Miss Helen.” Two voices chimed in, almost synchronised.

“I am so pleased. I knew you would. Even Sophie whom I suspect did not quite believe me when I extolled its advantages.”

Helen Vanbrugh sipped her wine as, over the glass, she raised an enquiring eyebrow at David.

“Yes Miss Helen, I greatly prefer it here. We both do.”

“Greatly prefer it?” Helen mimicked. “Sophie dear, you do tend to damn with faint praise. What could be more delightful to be sitting here having a quiet drink amongst friends on this delightfully balmy English summer's evening?”

“I didn't mean to sound churlish Miss Helen. The surroundings are lovely here. And there is much more freedom as you promised there would be. Less constraints....”

“Don't be so serious Sophie dear. I was only teasing. Nothing has changed in that you know my own hopes for you. And if such do not currently coincide long term with your own yearnings then we can at least agree on the basis of 'gather ye rosebuds whilst ye may'. 'Carpe diem'..... and all that.”

Her smile turned its attention to Anne.

“I gather that you are both signed up to the 'Writers' Guild'? And that you love poetry Anne? Do you know your Herrick:? No? Well you could do worse than start there. One of my favourites. So fresh and uncomplicated! I will send you a slim volume of his works across. I am sure you will love it.”

“Thank you Miss Helen. That is very kind. I look forward to it.”

“Lighter than your current book. Although I am sure you will enjoy that also.” She indicated the copies of 'The Kite Runner'. A little harrowing perhaps but a tribute to an indomitable spirit. Also a lesson in adapting to circumstances of course. Something of relevance to us all.”

“Did you get to Afghanistan on your last trip Miss Helen?”

David's tone was neutral. His voice innocent. Belying the quiver of excitement he felt. Fish while you can he thought. The book gave him the entrée.

“No Sophie dear, just India and China this time and then back via Washington. Just boring old business I am afraid. I always resent leaving England at this time of year. Anywhere colder is to be avoided, and anywhere hotter is usually swarming with biting insects and tourists.”

“Global warming might change that Miss Helen from what I have read.”

His remark was greeted by a peal of delighted laughter.

“Oh Sophie darling. You are a veritable hoot! You have been doing your homework haven't you? But you will never make a poker player. Yes, to satisfy your insatiable curiosity, it won't hurt you to know, that part of my business did touch on that very theme.”

Helen looked at them, her eyes sparkling..

“You are priceless, both of you. Drink up and I will get you both another one and then I must go. Oh dear! Oh dear! How on earth did you get there? We shall really have to be so very careful when you two are about.”

She rose and glided back through the French windows into the bar area.

Anne and David looked at each other, bewildered.

“I loused that one up.” said David. “I suppose it was obvious but I hadn't the time to skirt round it and it seemed worth the shot.”

“At least it confirmed that the Foundation is interested in Global Warming....”

“We knew that already, but I suppose it confirms that it doesn't concern us. Judging by Helen's reaction, we didn't trespass on a sensitive subject, just the contrary in fact. She seemed genuinely amused.”

“Perhaps she just doesn't think we can make the link, or doesn't care if we do?”

“Perhaps so Anne, but overwhelmingly more feasible is that there isn't a link to be made. Anyway Global Warming is just that .... global. And why we are here concerns India, China and their neighbours only. At least .... at least we think it does “ David concluded lamely.

“Yes Sophie dear, I suppose it is silly even to entertain the idea. Of a link between our contrived transition to femininity and climate change I mean. But then we always thought it was. It is just a coincidence. The Venumar Foundation has many irons in the fire. There are doubtless scores of memoranda such as the one I saw. All on different subjects.”

There was a thoughtful silence between them.

“So we are left with the bare branches. We need to find the book, or find out what it is about.”

“Yes Sophie dear. Either we need to get into Dr. Pinecoffin's office when she isn't there or see what the Writers' Guild offers by way of information. Forget flights of fancy .... chasing after red herrings or whatever. We need to be practical.”

“Good Lord Anne! you will have to watch your tongue at the Writers' Guild. Mixing metaphors is akin to heresy in literary circles. They are terrible sticklers for the rules.”

Anne laughed. “I shall count on you to protect me Sophie dear. Anyway it will do them good. Mixing things is so productive of new ideas. You never know what the result will be. So much depends on the mix, on the ingredients, and.....”

Her voice tailed off. And then cautiously, but with growing excitement ....

“Sophie all that we have said is true .... unless .... unless .... Sophie suppose, just suppose, that the herrings aren't red at all, aren't even herrings perhaps .... Suppose they are an integral ....”

“Sorry to be such an age darlings. People drink such complicated mixtures these days. It took me an age to get served. Fortunately I managed to catch Bruce's eye and he sprang to my rescue.”

Behind Helen Vanbrugh was a waiter who expertly dispensed their drinks from a silver salver, placing each on the table with a small flourish and a professional, subservient, smile.

Helen dismissed him away with a careless gesture and no tip.

“I do so hate people who fawn over me! Now where were we? Oh yes. Well such imagination certainly bodes well for you two girls' membership of the Writers' Guild. Now what other societies are you going to join?”

She looked at them over her condensation glazed glass as she sipped her drink. The amusement still bright in her face.

“I shall need to warn them.” But the tone was kindly.

“I thought about tennis,” said Anne, “I always wanted to try it.”

“I play there myself. If you come down Friday evening, I will give you an introductory knock around and arrange some lessons with the coach. But before that visit the sports boutique in the tennis pavilion and get kitted out. There are some very pretty outfits that I am sure you will just love, and you will need a racquet of course. And can I persuade you to join us Sophie...?”

She lingered on, talking inconsequentially. It was never quite possible to forget who she was or to ignore the authority that sat so easily on her shoulders. But that was not her doing. Just a fact of life. With them she was natural and easy, teasing sometimes perhaps, but in an-all-girls-together context: and if very occasionally the unworthy thought that it was all superbly choreographed flitted through the periphery of David's mind, then it was just that. Unworthy.

She made her farewells when Lisa and Marie-Hélá¨ne appeared wending their way towards their table.

“But I have monopolised your time for far too long my dears. The last thing you want is dowdy middle aged women intruding in a young girls' coven. And I have things to do. Work to catch up with”

And with a roguish wink

“You can't imagine how time consuming sorting out the world's problems is. Would I were young and carefree again!”

She was effusive with the new arrivals. Apologising for her abrupt departure. Promising them that she would spend longer with them next time. Assuring them of her interest in them and her longing to get to know them better. And then she was gone.

Lisa was originally from the States, Marie-Hélá¨ne was French, from Guadeloupe. Both were around 19 and were lucky to have survived truly horrific childhoods. Life's flotsam, they had ended up at the Venumar Foundation's Research Centre in the Caribbean. Both seemed, as Anne did, reconciled to their feminine persona. But then any observer would think that of David also.

They had another drink and then companionably went in to dinner together.

Afterwards Anne was caught up with a promise to take Bramble to show to Emma and Laura, and so David retired home alone. He read for a while and then went through the now familiar process of preparing for bed. He removed his make up carefully, applied a night moisturiser. Inserted reluctantly the now, thankfully, night time only plug, slipped into a rather dreamy nightie in a silky cool fabric with a dainty scalloped neck, and climbed between the crisp cotton sheets.

His thoughts drifted in that delicious no-man's land between sleeping and waking. Sliding gently along the fault line that runs on the borders of the unconscious. He had meant to wait up for Anne to ask her what she had meant to say when Helen had reappeared. But he was tired. He must watch his gin consumption. Not that he had had all that much and it had been pleasant sitting there chatting with the others. Such nice girls they were turning out to be. Anne was a real sweetheart of course, but the other two as well. Considering their backgrounds. He had been so lucky really before his parents had been killed. An idyllic, loving, childhood. An expensive education at one of the better schools .... So lucky. He stretched out in the bed feeling the soft fabric caress his skin. And it could wait till tomorrow. Anne's idea. If it was an idea. Not that it mattered. Knowing why would not help. All he had to do was outwardly conform and it would resolve itself. It would all go away. All the worry would go away. All he had to do was to survive from day to day. Treat each day as it comes. So tomorrow he could wear his new silk crepon dress. The fabric with a slightly crinkled effect really fell well and with its straight front and back neckline, drawstring straps and bourdon edging, it really made a girl feel so .... well attractive. And the dusty pink would be fantastic with his new lipstick, if only he could find a really good match of polish. He would have to ask Anne .... Not that he was interested of course, but he needed to show willing. And he had an appointment with Dr. Tabatha first thing so it was doubly important that he looked at his feminine best. So that she could help him to be .....

David turned in bed his breasts forms tugging. It was a pity about them. Having to have breasts. Not that they were breasts of course. Just forms to show off his clothes, make them fit. Real breasts would be better of course. The new dress, tomorrow's dress, the silk crepon one, would look really good if he had real breasts. The neckline was rather low but if he had real breasts, proper breasts, his very own boobs, he could take more advantage of it and .... But he couldn't because having real breasts meant that one wanted to be a real girl and ... but it was a pity sometimes and he wondered how they would feel?

And then sleep claimed him. The day's images swirled round in front of his eyes, disappearing one by one as he sank deeper, leaving in the second before unconsciousness just the faces of Helen Vanbrugh and of Grace de Messembry smiling at him. And then they too merged into just the one smiling elegant face with mocking eyes. But whether those eyes were green or dark brown he, in that same split moment that he saw them, forgot.