Chapter XXXVI Unwelcome Visitors

 

 

I left Meena with Melanie. They were going to the hospital together to see Sir William and then it was agreed that Meena would ring me later. I felt as if I was being chaperoned. I needed to break free.

I walked out into the corridor outside, past the watchful policeman and almost bumped into Penelope Wyndham. Our ever intrepid journalist was being escorted by Jim.

“Well, well, Councillor,” she laughed, “we can’t go on meeting like this. I mean what will people say?”

“People will say what you tell them. That’s the normal rule with journalists, isn’t it?”

Jim interrupted to say that he would run on ahead to Melanie Sheldrake’s office to check if she was still expecting a journalist.

Penelope ignored my jibe. “So what are you doing so near to the opposition common room? Not spying on them are you?”

“Why should I spy on them?”

“Well you may want to find out what your sworn enemy – Melanie Sheldrake is up to. You think you are going to win on Tuesday?”

“Win what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Peter Axtell. It’s a well-known fact that you have bullied nearly all of your councillors into continuing support for the development, despite the scandal.”

 “Err, which scandal exactly?”

“The Owen Draycott one, of course.”

“Oh, THAT scandal. Water under the bridge, my dear.”

“I hear it’s very dirty water, Councillor. Your honeymoon period with the Framden Journal is ending.”

“I had a honeymoon period?”

“Sure you were flavour of the month in June. Now you are leading your group by the nose to self-destruction.” 

“Not as much” and here I lowered my voice, “not as much as you were leading Andy Trosser by the nose on Friday.”

“Was I?”

“Yes, you cow,” I was actually quite angry now. “You led him downstairs to a massive public humiliation. He wasn’t expecting to see me. I could have destroyed his career just like that if I had been so minded. You didn’t give him a word of warning.”

“Well surprises make good copy,” she replied cynically, turned on her heel and started to walk towards where Jim had departed.

“Then copy this surprise!” I called, as I stepped after her and whacked her firmly on her bum.

She spun round. “That, Councillor, counts as assault.” But she did not look too angry. “I think we are going to have to have another interview. Perhaps somewhere more private, Councillor Axtell?”

“Just name the day,” were my parting words as I got into the lift.

 

I picked up some fish and chips and took it home to eat. Again I drove self-consciously, anxious not to have any suspicious Russians shadowing me.

When I got home, I scoffed my take away, and then I took a shower, changed into a casual suit and prepared some chilled wine in the fridge and vodka in the freezer. I switched off the phone message service and switched on the television while I waited for Ludmila to arrive. I dozed off as I watched some mundane competition.

The doorbell rang. It woke me up with a start. I looked at my watch. It was eight o’clock.

“You’re late.” I said accusingly as I opened the door.

“Am I now?” said a powerful looking man with a Northern Irish accent. I was struck dumb with shock.

Within a split second I had come to and tried to slam the door back but his left leg wedged itself in the door frame quick as a flash. “Now then Councillor Axtell, be reasonable. We’re on the same side, aren’t we? Please open the door.”

“Who are you?”

“A friend. A true friend. I only want to take up your time for a couple of minutes. May I come in?”

“Look I am expecting a guest soon. Does it have to be now?”

“Please, Councillor.” The please was just a polite plea on the surface, but underneath I could sense the menace.

“Can I have your name first?”

“My name is Billy. Now will you let me in? I don’t want to talk in the corridor and I don’t think you do either.”

“Sure, 5 minutes will be enough. Are you sure you haven’t got a beer?” and he pushed his way past me unceremoniously into the lounge. I felt like a craven coward and worse, a fool. Suddenly I wished I had gone to that hospital with the ladies.

He sat on the sofa, uninvited. “Got the beer then, Councillor?”

“No, I have no beer,” I said plucking up enough courage to be angry now. “What do you want, Billy?”

“Now let’s stay cool, Councillor. I have such a thirst and it’s been a hot day. A glass of water, perhaps?”

“OK, a glass of water. But only 5 minutes.” I fetched the water from the kitchen. I looked frantically around for my mobile phone. I wanted to ring Roger.

As I stood there in the kitchen with the glass of water Billy came in. “Ah, there we are. Thanks for the glass of water.” He took the glass from my hand. “Hey, let’s stay in the kitchen. It’s quite cosy, here.” He sat on one of the chairs at the breakfast table. Willy-nilly I joined him.

“I know, I know, Councillor. You think me an uncouth intruder. But you’re not such an innocent yourself, are you? I followed you onto that boat the other night. Didn’t see me, did you? No. but I saw you. You and those two freaks joining that bunch of perverts on that boat. Yeah, don’t deny it, Councillor.”

I made no attempt to deny it, or to concur. I sat there stony-faced as if totally unconcerned by his revelations. Inside my heart was pounding and my self-confidence was in tatters. How do I get rid of this guy? And where’s my mobile?

“Now you are waiting for that Russian bird,” he went on. “I mean Ludmila, of course. Lovely Ludmila. What a gorgeous piece of arse, eh Councillor! I envy you. Still, I did get to know her in Moscow. Did you know that I taught her English?” (So this is the notorious Mr Billy Casey, I twigged)

“She doesn’t have your accent,” I observed drily.

“No, I guess not. My kind of accent. It’s an Ulster accent. Ulster is one of the five ancient provinces of Ireland, you know. But it’s not a popular accent here in England. Maybe it’s good for her that she does not have my accent.”

“Come to the point. What did you want, Billy?”

“Now don’t hurry me, Councillor. It will only be 5 minutes, but only if you don’t hurry me. OK?”

I was silent. And I was terrified.

“How are you voting on Tuesday, Councillor?”

“That is not something I can divulge to a stranger.”

“Now don’t start twisting and turning here, pal. I ain’t no stranger. I’m a partner of Mr Sheremovsky. And you, Councillor Axtell, you are his man, body and soul. Let that be clear. When he says ‘jump’, you fucking jump. You are bought and you do as he says.”

I screwed up all my courage and replied, “Let me make it clear, that I am voting to support the application. But I am doing this because I think it is the right choice for Framden. Not because somebody has bought me. Nobody has bought me.”

“OK, OK, don’t get on your high horse. I’m glad to hear you confirm that. You see, I’ve been going round to some of your colleagues and they don’t all see the picture quite as clearly as you do. I have had to be a bit persuasive, you understand. I might have thought that with all the consideration you’ve been given, with all that fanny of his that you’ve fucked, and then there’s your mother, your sweet little mother, on her little cruise with her little Jewish friend. I would have thought that with all that kindness and that generous investment from Mr Sheremovsky, you might have convinced a few more people to support the scheme.”

“Really, I can only talk to people in my political party. I’m not here to convince the opposition. That would be counter-productive.”

“OK, but even on your side. That nigger, you’ve got, for instance. I met him in the pub at the end of this week. And I just asked him politely. Will he be voting for the Pinkerton development? And he said that ordinarily he supported the scheme, but now he heard that you had some doubts about it, so he wasn’t so sure either. YOU had some doubts about it, he said. What doubts?”

What the hell do I tell this guy? I kept wondering where my phone was although my access to it was blocked off by the intruder.

“Well, if you must know, I had no confirmation that the Greater London Assembly approved our local plans as they had different development plans with different goals. And the water authority had criticized the depth of the underground storage sites. So I had voiced doubts and discussed them with Noel.”

“I don’t know what all this crap is about that you’re saying. All I know is that Mr Sheremovsky has no room for doubts. He bought you and he nurtured you and then you should go and do his bidding and not put stupid ideas into niggers’ heads. Anyway,” chuckled Billy, “I sure put the wind up his bitch. I stopped her one evening and told her that her little picanniny gymnast might get a few bones broken unless her dear little hubby stayed away from the meeting. I think she got a bit of a scare. So I guess you won’t be seeing him and his fucking doubts clobbering up the meeting on Tuesday. OK?”

“Look you’ve been here more than 5 minutes now and you’ve made your point. You already know my voting intentions at the meeting, so can you please leave now.”

“Hey, no hurry, Councillor. Ludmila will come here when I finish and not before. Don’t get impatient. You can get horny when she comes. Right now what’s important is what I want. What I want is a little reassurance.”

“What reassurance can I give you?”

“Some answers, perhaps. Who is Roger?”

“Roger?” I suddenly realized that they must have heard me speak to Roger in my car when it had still been bugged.

“Yes. Roger. You spoke to this Roger a few times, maybe. On your cell phone.”

“I have a journalist friend called Roger, it must be him.”

“Well this guy sure seemed to be asking a lot of nosy questions. About a chair and somebody called Susan being on it.”

“Well that’s Roger. He is very nosy. But then he’s a journalist.”

“Does he ask you about the planning application?”

“No, he’s a society gossip. Local government bores him.”

“Yeah, that I can understand. Look, Councillor. I won’t take up any more of your precious time. I will be in touch. After the meeting. If all goes well, we’ll go to a party. If the meeting fails to approve the planning application then we’ll go to a somewhat different party. Perhaps a swimming party.” He laughed at his uproarious joke. “Hey, you have an emergency exit in these kinds of flats?”

I nodded.

“Show me. I love emergency exits.” In fact I didn’t have to show him because he realized that the back door to the kitchen led out to a separate staircase at the side of the building. “Yep, emergency exits are important.” He added ominously, “especially, if there is a fire.”

“Well thank you for your hospitality, Councillor.” He put his arm over my shoulder in a comradely fashion. “You’ve been very helpful and I’m glad that we did not have to clarify again exactly why you should be supporting the proposal at the Committee. However,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “some people do not need a little reminder.” Suddenly the hand on my shoulder turned into a vice-like grip while the second hand transformed even more quickly into a fist which embedded itself in my stomach. He hit me so unexpectedly and with such force that I was temporarily winded and would have collapsed in pain on the floor if his second hand had not held me up. “For most of us one little nudge is sufficient reminder,” he continued as I still swayed speechless with pain. “Others need to be reminded again, don’t they, Councillor?” he said as he steadied me up, straightened my collar and gently slapped me on my cheeks with both hands. “We don’t want a bleeding nose, do we?”

He started singing under his breath. It sounded like “No Pope of Rome”. Then he swung round and walked directly to the front door of the flat and left without even looking round at me any further.

I searched quickly for my mobile phone but I could not find it. I wanted to warn Roger. I even rang my mobile phone from my home telephone. My phone was ringing distinctly but I could not hear the ring-tone in the room. Had I left it somewhere? In Melanie’s office, perhaps? I cursed my luck because I had no record of Roger’s new number except on that mobile phone. As I fumbled around looking for other numbers on my manual address book the doorbell rang again.

I froze. What if Billy was back? What if he had stolen my mobile phone and had now found all my calls to Roger? It was a good thing that I never contacted Melanie directly; only through Meena. That would have been an immediate giveaway.

I came to the door. “Who’s there?”

“It’s Ludmila, my dear. You were expecting me, darling.”

“Are you alone?”

“Of course, my darling. Who do you think I bring with me? The whole Russian Army?”

I opened the door. Ludmila flounced in. She was wearing jodhpurs and a riding jacket. Obviously she was just coming back from her weekend with Amanda and David.

“Peter, you look troubled. Give me a big big kiss. Ludmila will massage your troubles away.”

She hugged me and crushed me. I felt like a trampled dandelion. Billy’s visit had unnerved me so much it had drained away all my old ebullient self-confidence. He also seemed to be controlling the time of her arrival and knew about her coming visit. I felt very anxious.

I tried to pull myself together. “Vodka? Wine?”

“You know I like vodka, Peter. Is it in the freezer?”

“Of course. You want it neat?”

“Yes, why not? Let’s get drunk and have some good sex.” Ludmila had always been direct. A few minutes later the jodhpurs were off; the riding jacket and the blouse as well. Those famous breasts of hers no longer peeped out at me from under one of her tight blouses, they had emerged in all their radiant glory, as shapely as greengages. I felt like top boy again. She had indeed taken my troubles away.

I too was now completely undressed and we rolled onto my bed excited by each other’s proximity. Anxious to restore my manhood and give a good account of myself with this siren I proceeded to massage her breasts and snuggle up to them. A combination of the honey-like texture of frozen vodka and the shape and smell of her voluminous body was intoxicating. I slung a pillow under her behind and then continued my rhythmic assault.

“Hey Peter, you bringing the heavy brigade or the light brigade today?” she yelled.

“That’s typical of you,” I answered. “You’re always bringing in the horses. I guess you prefer them to men.”

“You can always count on stallions, much more reliable than men.”

“Guess I should ride you like a stallion rides a mare,” I suggested as I continued my gallop into her paddock.

“Chance would be a fine thing,” she laughed. “Can you get the whip? It’s in my bag”.

 I unzipped her bag excitedly with one hand amidst these other all-embracing distractions. I fished around for the whip which she claimed was inside. I tossed out some of the contents onto the floor. At one moment I even found a pair of handcuffs. “What’s this for?” I asked.

“That’s for catching my stallion,” laughed Ludmila. “Now find the fucking whip.”

With the next thrust of my hand I found the whip handle and pulled out the object. It was a jumping whip with a golf grip handle and a little leather triangle at the bottom end.

“Gotcha!”

After we finished our exertions we lay together for a few minutes on the bed bathed in our intimacy. I was now totally relaxed with all sense of stress departed.

“So what did you play with Amanda?” I asked by way of conversation.

“Well, we did a lot of riding over the hills. It’s very beautiful there. And we played cards. Then we had chase games and hide and seek in the garden. Then we played “prisoners”.

“Prisoners?”

“Yes. Late in the evening. We would handcuff each other, put on a sharp light in each other’s faces and ask our prisoner tough questions. The questions have to be answered truthfully. If you think the answer is false you slap your prisoner.”

“Slap her? Where?”

“Anywhere. Her face. Her shoulders. Her back. The soles of her feet. Her bum, of course. Her breasts. It is all allowed. It can be very intense. You want to try it?”

“Not sure, really”

Ludmila fetched the handcuffs anyway. “Lie down on your back then and stretch your arms above your head towards the headboard. Amanda loved this part.”

I did as she suggested and stretched out my arms. She threaded the chain from the handcuffs through the headboard stanchions and then secured them around my wrists with a click. She stood there magnificently naked gazing down at my naked body. “You know for an Englishman, you have a nice sexy body.” She patted my tummy. “Bit of a paunch coming up. Also your prick is very pretty. But also pretty small. In fact it seems to get smaller and smaller as I look at it.”

My member was soon able to show his appreciation of this complement. Like Pinocchio’s nose it could not hide the truth.

Just then I heard the distinctive sound of her ring-tone. It was “Midnight in Moscow”. She listened in rapt attention to the other voice for a couple of minutes, then gave some words of explanation in Russian and after listening to what seemed like some kind of instructions, she said “spasiba” and closed her phone.

She smiled enigmatically at me and ran her hands over my torso, where she examined the substantial bruise left by the Ulsterman.

Then she dived into her bag again. To my horror, she produced, 3 very large bulldog clips. She proceeded to clip two of them, admittedly gently but painfully nevertheless, over each nipple. The third clip she placed over my partially erect member

 “Ludmila, this is not very much of a fun game. I’m not enjoying this you know. Come on, Ludmila. Please, what are you playing at? Can you unlock the cuffs please?”  

“OK. Question number one. Who is Roger?” Ludmila asked all of a sudden.

“What!!”

“Who is Roger?” She slapped my face. “Come on.  I’m not asking again.”

“Et tu Brute” I thought to myself.

My next thought was: “Peter, you’re an idiot. Your sexual organs are corrupting your brain. How could you allow yourself to be caught in this stupid way? Because you’re a sex-mad egoist, that’s why. Now pay the price and stop whingeing.”

Aloud I said: “Why are you asking me this, Ludmila? For Christ’s sake, let me go.”

“I’m sorry, Peter, I have to ask you these questions. If you don’t answer me then Casey will come back and he will ask this question again. When he asks it’s normally with a poker in his hands. Or he can crush your toes, one by one. Or cut off your fingers. Or make you eat your own shit. So please answer my questions.”

I said nothing now. Pointless to plead.

“Who is Roger?” As if to stress the point that the sex romp was now over, she proceeded to dress herself again. I no longer had the mixed stimulation of watching my torturer standing over me totally naked in all her corporeal magnificence. It was back to those jodhpurs and white blouse, but with bull dog clips attached to my penis and to my nipples affecting my perspective of the world, somehow these clothes no longer looked as sexy on her as before.

“Roger is a journalist. I explained this to that weird Billy character.”

“Say that again, Peter.”

She had dialled a number on her mobile and held it next to my mouth. “Go on, say that again.”  “He’s a journalist,” I shouted to the anonymous person at the other end of the mouthpiece. There was a pause. “He writes gossip stories about the Council,” I added. “He was investigating the sex scandal in Framden over the Mayor’s chair.”

She placed the phone at her ear. Then she put it down and switched it to “Loudspeaker.”

“I think, Peter, that this is what is known as a ‘wrong answer’. Try again,” she said.

“But it’s true!”

Suddenly she removed the bulldog clip over my penis and placed it sharply with a snap around the crown jewels in my scrotum. I yelled with pain. She snapped it open and snapped it shut again. I yelled a second time in agony and shock. The sharp throbbing pain in one of the most delicate parts of the male anatomy shot through my system like an electric shock. I realized to my horror that my cries of pain were being heard by Ludmila’s sadistic mentor on the mobile phone, and by nobody else. Suddenly she yanked off the clip around my left nipple without opening it. I screamed in pain again. This was getting unbearable.

Ludmila placed the phone to my ear. There was a harsh male Russian voice at the other end. “Please think again about your answer, Mr Axtell. This Roger, with the same mobile number, was a regular caller on Sir William Tallis’ mobile phone. Now Sir William was not interested in Framden gossip, was he? I don’t believe about this gossip columnist. Please think again, Mr Axtell. I need a better answer. Also I have a second question for you. Why were you visiting that woman Sheldrake today? What were you two hatching?”

I was dumbfounded. How could they possibly know that? Who knew? Melanie, Meena and me – nobody else. The voice continued. “Don’t deny it, Mr Axtell. You were seen in the corridor outside her office today. I am just flying to Moscow now. I will check again in 30 minutes when I am airborne. If I am not satisfied with the answers, you will be very sorry.” There was a click.

In the corridor? Then that could only mean Penelope Wyndham. Or? Of course, Jim! Yes, Jim. That would make sense. He knew all the comings and goings in the Civic Centre. He knew the private lives of the Councillors back to front. He knew where we all lived because he delivered our Council mail twice a week. So he too was on the Nafta Ural payroll. God, if only I could survive this and tell somebody!

Ludmila had taken the mobile with her and gone out of the room into the bathroom. Two minutes later she was back with a couple of razor blades in her hand and a wet shaving brush. At the sight of those blades I began to feel a little sick.

Gently she removed the bulldog clip off my scrotum. She massaged my pubic area and seemed to be observing it with great interest.

“Peter, I will not be asking any questions for a couple of minutes. I want you to think about it. Tell us who Roger is. And tell us why you went to visit that horrible Melanie Sheldrake today. Maybe you had good reason. We know you wanted to vote for the development and Timothy still thinks you are one of us. But our Boss is very suspicious. That was Mr Sheremovsky himself on the phone. He thinks you are betraying him. Please please prove to him that he is wrong. Be honest with your answers. Honesty will help you. In the meantime to help you think I will give you a shave. I suggest you remain very very still.”

She proceeded to lather my pubic hair and then, to my horror, my scrotum sack. “Lots of long straggly hair on your ball bag. Not very nice. I will take it off.” She plucked a couple of individual hairs from the scrotum. Each tug was very painful and made me jump.

Meantime, humming a Russian tune to herself, she proceeded, with the use of one of the razors, to remove my pubic hair with great flourishing swipes, starting on the left and moving slowly to her right. My body lay stiff and transfixed as I felt a phobic fear that if I moved I could sustain a serious accident from the razor blade. Ludmila stopped humming as she concentrated on her task. In the dead silence all I could hear was the scrape, scrape, scrape of the razor over the scratchy surface of the pubic mound. I thought that I was entering the gates of hell.

Suddenly the silence was broken by loud shouting outside. Through the window we both became aware of the flash of a blue light emanating from the street below. Ludmila stopped and looked up from her work. In that fleeting moment I glanced with horror at my pubic area and noticed that she had shaved off about two thirds of it with the new cuts and scars from the razor quite visible, while the rest of the hair was still long and covered with lathered soap.

In the meantime we could hear car doors bang followed by more shouting and swearing and the tinkling sound of a smashed window. Ludmila rushed to the window. Suddenly she dropped everything and ran for the emergency exit in my kitchen.

Next I heard running steps in the main corridor. Then I heard a key turn in the lock and the door of my flat open. A second later, the mysterious visitors had reached my bedroom door. They peered into the room with astonishment, and staring in initial shock at my naked frame, with my pubes two thirds shaven, my hands handcuffed above my head and a dirty great bulldog clip on my right nipple. My saviours were Meena Chakravatty and Melanie Sheldrake. I do not know who was more astonished, them or me. All I know is that I was certainly the most relieved.

It was not such a common sight in Framden, I suppose, but then Councillors are used to seeing many strange goings on among their constituents in the Borough. There’s nought as queer as folk, says the old saying. Nevertheless, I think this view capped it all.

“Hi, girls,” I said to them sarcastically. “Nice of you to pop in. I’m a bit indisposed so help yourselves to some vodka.” Phileas Fogg would never go into displaying the vulgar excesses of joy or gratitude and neither would I.

Gingerly the two women stepped forward. Meena looked alarmed but also deeply hurt. Meanwhile Melanie eyed the riding whip and the shaved pubes. “I told you he was after a bit of skirt! He left us for some tart!”

I could see she was not joking.

“Peter, are you OK? Are you badly hurt?” asked Meena as she leaned over me, all soft and solicitous. “Why did you let that woman near you,” she complained sorrowfully. She fumbled with the handcuffs.

“I’m fine, Meena, but first remove this bloody bulldog clip. It makes me feel a right tit.” Meena immediately removed the clip; a lot more gently than Ludmila, I have to say “Thank you. Secondly, please find the key to the handcuffs.”

As Meena peered under the bed in search of the handcuff key, Melanie touched my body in a number of sensitive places to elicit my response to pain. I remembered suddenly that she was a vet and would probably be doing this every day to dogs, hamsters, pythons and crocodiles, so why not to me? She also peered carefully at the bruises on my penis and my scrotum fingering these organs very dispassionately. This did not prevent my penis responding to this treatment with an almost immediate erection. She stared at me with a look of genuine disgust.

She shook her head. “You stupid men have sex on the brain. Your women-chasing nearly led to your being killed. I warned you to be careful, didn’t I? Now look where it got you. Stupid bastard.” She was getting worked up in her anger. “Bloody male whore, that’s what you are!”

“I think I’ve found the key!” shouted Meena. “Look!”

“No you haven’t!” snapped Melanie as she seized it out of her hand and threw it angrily out of the window into the street. Meena stood still, her mouth gaping wide open in shock and amazement. A whole swarm of flies could have found a nest in that mouth.

“Meena, get to grips with yourself. This naughty boy needs a lesson. Lift up his legs!”

“What!”

“Lift up his legs, I said!” she shrieked. Meena complied. She seemed in a trance, wondering if Melanie was suggesting some unorthodox kind of treatment. “Right over his head.”  That’s right! Now hold them there.” Melanie had picked up Ludmila’s discarded jumping whip and was swishing it in the air. “I’ve been waiting to do this for a week. After what he did to me! Now let’s see how HE likes it.”

I could not see very clearly through my legs which Meena was trying to hold together by the ankles high above my head. I could just make out Melanie measuring up the whip against my behind. After a second, she landed a stroke right across the middle of my buttocks and made me wince with pain.

“Hold those legs steady, Meena. Bend them right back.”

But Meena dropped my legs. “What are you doing? Can’t you see he’s been tortured?” she screamed back.

“Not nearly enough,” she retorted as she continued to whip me wherever she could reach. Meena tried to restrain her but she pushed her aside to land some more cuts. Bewildered by this, I wriggled on the bed and twisted and turned to avoid those blows, but she continued to whip me with probably at least half a dozen cuts. I think I must have groaned and shouted in pain but at least I did not demean myself by crying out for her to stop. She was right. I deserved every blow I got.

Finally I heard a relief column on its way up the stairs. Immediately Melanie threw the whip onto the floor. I could hear more and heavier steps rushing into the flat. Melanie stepped out of the room with Meena to meet the new intruders. Luckily they were uniformed police officers.

 “We’ve caught them, Councillor Sheldrake!” I heard a policeman say. “Three men in a car. One of them gave us a long chase. And there was this woman in riding gear running down the stairs. We’ve detained her as well. She put up a hell of a fight. We needed the crew from two squad cars to overcome her. She’ll be cooling off in a cell tonight. Are you feeling OK, Councillor?”

“Many thanks, officer, my colleague and I are fine. Please,” I could hear Melanie say to the police officers, “there’s a semi-conscious man I know in that bedroom there. He’s a fellow Councillor, and he’s been dreadfully tortured and whipped. We could barely look at him. He’s got cuts across his cheeks and bruises you know where. He’s definitely alive as I heard him groaning and swearing. Please get him to a hospital and please give him some police protection.”

The policeman and a policewoman came into the room to help me.

Meanwhile I could hear Melanie in the other room exclaim “It’s so terrible what men do to each other, isn’t it, Meena?”