useless. They were trapped and escape or denial was equally impossible. As the stern countenance of the Headmaster came closer to him, Richard waited with a terrible hopelessness drilling through his mind. Uppermost in his thoughts was the fear that he would be returned to his father for punishment. Cunningham would certainly hear of his stupid adventure in any case-and would make sure that he never had even this slight opportunity to escape from the school…
Whatever happened, Richard could see the ruin of his newly-laid plan to join Lisa. The authorities would watch him day and night; and for the sake of a few mildly stimulating hours he had spoiled his chances of a more permanent-and an infinitely more thrilling-absconsion…
Tight-lipped, he prepared himself for the worst punishment of all-total confinement and no possibility of rejoining his step-sister.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“To entertain you beautiful girls is such a wonderful pleasure for me!” Louis Chabrol beamed. He raised his champagne glass in a toast. “Beirut, of course, is full of lovely women, but our city has never been graced by a more charming and adorable couple! To you, my darlings-and to our closer friendship!”
Lisa and Kathleen giggled and finished their fourth glass of bubbly, the pink lights of the night-club dancing before Lisa's eyes as she let the frothy, tickling champagne wash down her throat. Chabrol snapped his fingers and a waiter hurried to their secluded table. Quickly, a new bottle was place in the ice-bucket and the suave, polished and decadently-handsome owner of “Bacchus Cavern” (situated underground on the Avenue des Francois) refilled their glasses to the brim.
“I feel as if I know you intimately already,” Chabrol murmured, laying a soft, manicured hand on Lisa's knee. “Kathleen has been telling me so much about you…” The girl made no attempt to move her leg away, although the Frenchman's hand was straying gently under the hem of her dress-his fingers caressing lightly into her thigh. Instead, Lisa closed her eyes and let the pulsing of her blood merge with the subdued rhythms of the dance-band; feeling pleasantly tipsy and completely uninhibited.
Even with her eyes open, the club's decor and size was indistinct. The dim lighting, casting a rosy glow everywhere, made it impossible to judge exactly how large or small the room was: and after her generous helping of champagne Lisa felt too light-headed to care about her surroundings. She knew that the night-club was fantastically expensive and that Miss Wynter couldn't possibly have afforded to take her to it unless they had been guests of the owner. But it seemed right that she should be here; Lisa felt utterly, wonderfully at home in this indolent, de luxe atmosphere, sipping vintage champagne and listening to the steady stream of compliments paid her by the sophisticated Chabrol. She sighed, almost purring with pleasure, and eased her legs discreetly apart so that Louis could place his hand on her already moist and quivering sex-mound…
They were sitting side by side at the alcoved table, with Kathleen opposite-her breasts spilling ripely out of a low-cut evening gown as she leaned towards them. This was Lisa's fourth month in Beirut. She had settled in at the school, quickly overcoming a brief bout of homesickness, and her circle of friends had increased rapidly. During the hot summer months her body had developed a beautiful tan; bronzing deeply through the long hours she spent at the breaches, sunning herself and swimming in the beautifully clear blue sea. Lisa and Kathleen had succeeded in keeping their liaison a closely guarded secret, and even Candice Badel-Lisa's first love affair at the school-hadn't realised that the teacher and her pupil were very intimate friends.
Lisa had met Louis Chabrol on several occasions. With her quick mind and intuition, the schoolgirl understood only too well-although Miss Wynter didn't seem to appreciate it-that the Frenchman was primarily interested in her, and that he encouraged the woman to visit his night-club and joined their weekend beach-parties because he was planning the seduction of Lisa!
Not that Chabrol had made any open advances towards the girl. Oh, no! Not yet, Lisa told herself with a smile. He was clearly too experienced, too practised in the art of corrupting young girls to try to force his attention on her during the early stages of their friendship. No, Chabrol was biding his time, Lisa had decided. And tonight..
Well, either his patience was now exhausted-or he considered that the time was now ripe for her to be captured and added to his famous 'collection'! Rather like one of his notorious butterfly specimens, she thought wryly.
For the night-club owner had two, equally renowned, hobbies: he collected butterflies from all parts of the world, pinning the insects in giant glass display cases which lined the walls of his office; and he prized these above all his other possessions. It was also whispered that he took almost as great a pride in his other hobby: adding young (and preferably virginal!) girls to a long list of sexual conquests-which he kept methodically up-to-date in a locked and secret ledger…
Lisa didn't mind the thought of being one of Chabrol's playthings. She was eager, in fact, to widen her experience; realising that-with the exception of her stepbrother-her sexual partners had all been female so far. Not completely drunk yet, the girl opened her eyes and appraised the man, staring frankly at Chabrol, noting his attractive silver hair-parted in the middle and giving a distinguished yet somehow boyish appearance to his smooth, unlined features. She wondered what colour his eyes were. It was impossible to see them clearly through the smoked-lensed spectacles which he constantly wore; but she decided that they were probably blue, since-despite his indubitably French background-Chabrol certainly had more than a trace of Nordic blood in him. How old was he? Lisa remembered that Kathleen (she no longer thought of her late Governess as Miss Wynter) had known him several years ago, which placed him in his midthirties at least. And yet he seemed, to Lisa's eyes, of indeterminate age; certainly more handsome and debonair than any of her father's friends at any rate.
“I must invite you to one of my skiing parties,” Chabrol whispered to her. “Up on the mountains at this time of year the climate is simply perfect. And we could get to know each other… more intimately, perhaps?”
His hand was now pressing firmly into Lisa's sex, the smooth white fingers probing down the front of her pubic bulge and making a furrow in her panties. Lisa rubbed her thigh against Chabrol's leg. She felt an irresistible urge to rest her head on his shoulder, but instead contended herself with discreetly allowing her own hand to fall onto his lap; feeling with surprise the enormous length and stiffness of his cock. It had grown to a full erection already, the hard flesh twitching under her fingers as she closed them more tightly around the shaft. Chabrol was wearing a thin pair of white trousers, and Lisa was sure that these were the only obstacle between her hand and his prick: he couldn't be wearing underpants! The shape of his knob was too well-defined, its contours too exposed for there to be another garment stretched over it!
Yet the man's voice continued on a more or less even level as he chatted to her about the ski resort high above Beirut where he owned a villa, betraying no evidence of the excitement which Chabrol must surely be feeling at their mutual fondling…
Kathleen's eyes were glazed and she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her head from dropping sleepily forward. She vaguely realised that Lisa and her ex-lover were engaged in rather more than casual social chitchat, but she couldn't focus her attention properly. However, when Chabrol stood up and eased Lisa's chair back-remarking that he was going to show the girl his famed butterfly collection-even the tipsy Miss Wynter became aware that Chabrol's sex was bulging obscenely against the fly of his trousers!
She forced herself to climb to her feet, clutching at the table for support, insisting in a slurred but raised voice that she couldn't, with propriety, leave Lisa on her own with him!
Chabrol seemed to realise that Kathleen was quite capable of creating a scene in his night-club if he didn't bow to her wishes. Smoothly controlling a flash of anger towards the woman, he gave her one of his most charming smiles and protested that-naturally! — he had no intention of excluding her from his invitation…
Gallantly taking her arm, with his other hand on Lisa's hip-the fingers moving lightly through the filmy silk of the evening gown, rubbing over the quite beautiful swell of the girl's curves as she walked close beside him-Chabrol led them to his private office. Lisa deliberately undulated her buttocks as they climbed a short flight of thickly- carpeted stairs at the rear of the club, and was gratified to feel the man's hand slide immediately downwards… resting for a few exciting moments on the flank of her arse and fondling the rounded flesh, leaving her in no doubt whatsoever about his intentions…
Leaving Kathleen to sink bleary-eyed into an easy chair, Chabrol paused only to lock the door and dim the
