The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey (9 page)

“
Oui
,” the young woman replied solemnly, and stood. Her slender figure was covered by a severely styled dress of somber gray,
and her auburn hair was pulled tightly up into a small topknot. She offered a hand over the desk without a smile. “
Enchanté
.”

Honey took the cool hand and shook it, trying to read the face behind the glasses, behind the mask of propriety. She laughed
lightly. “I was expecting a much older woman.
My
headmistress was old enough to be my grandmother.”

Mademoiselle Orleans frowned and sat herself in the chair. “Age has little to do with ability,” she said as she waved a hand
toward the straight-backed chair in front of the desk. She waited until Honey sank into it before speaking in very precise
English: “You must forgive me, but I have many matters to attend to. Your telephone request for an interview was rather vague.
Just what is it you want from us?”

Honey crossed her long legs and decorously adjusted her skirt. “I am attempting to track down Kolina Svenson.”

The face across the desk flickered with discomfort before it once again became sternly stoic. “Why, may I ask?”

“Because the authorities have been unable to find her and I have every reason to believe she is in great danger.”

Again a small frown creased the brow of Mademoiselle Orleans. “Are you planning on writing an exposé on Bon Coeur, is that
it?”

“No, this is entirely a personal matter.” Honey was not certain, but there could have been a slight softening of the headmistress’s
stiff formality. “I know Kolina’s disappearance was beyond the control of the school, and I wouldn’t want to do anything that
would be detrimental to Bon Coeur’s sterling reputation.”

For the first time a small, unsure smile greeted her. “We thank you for your discretion.”

Honey returned the smile with a dazzling one of her own. “I was merely hoping that you might be able to recall something that
would give me a lead.”

A slight, very French shrug moved the slim shoulders behind the desk. “I’m afraid I’ve given all I know to the authorities,
Miss Wildon.”

Internally debating her next move, Honey opened her tailored suit jacket, tugging open the cravat of her white silk blouse.
“Please, call me Honey. And your first name is?”

The prim headmistress stiffened. “Claude,” she answered hesitantly. “But here we are not so quick with first names as you
are in your country.”

“I mean no disrespect, be assured. I only want to be of help to you and your fine school.”

“I do not see how you could help, when all the authorities have failed.”

“Try me,” Honey replied with an open smile. “Believe
me, my worldwide contacts have already in place a network of feelers.”

“Feelers?” Claude Orleans repeated, a slight blush invading her cheeks under the black-rimmed glasses. “I’m afraid I dot not
understand.”

“Information—people on the look out for the missing girl,” she said easily. “Perhaps I could begin by looking at Kolina’s
school file. That would give me a better idea of the girl.”

Abruptly, Claude Orleans swiveled her chair to the partially draped window beside the desk. Disconsolately she stared out
for several moments, seemingly on the verge of tears. Honey was thinking of things she might say to console her, when she
became aware of the young woman’s elegant profile. Backlit by the diffuse light from the window, Claude Orleans possessed
a perfectly lovely facial silhouette—a graceful brow, an aquiline nose that would have been at home on any classical statue,
a chin that was almost a shade too determined, and a long, swanlike neck. Her body was trim, like a gymnast’s.

Honey chastised herself for being so put off by the young woman’s initially cold manner that she had failed to note her physical
attractions. Claude’s skin was as smooth and clear as pale silk, and her auburn hair glowed healthily in spite of the severe
style. Her consciousness of Claude’s natural loveliness increased Honey’s desire to be the young woman’s friend. She stood
and moved silently behind Claude’s chair, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It must be very difficult for you, Claude,”
she said intimately. “I can imagine how you feel, being totally responsible for all these young girls and suddenly, through
no fault of your own, losing one like this… and so mysteriously. You must be under a terrible strain.”

Claude raised her face, and behind her glasses, her
clear, nut-colored eyes were moist with tears. “
Très, très tragique
. Kolina is a magnificently gifted and intelligent child. And so beautiful she breaks your heart just to look at her.”

“Yes… yes, I know,” Honey murmured.

“You know? But how? Did you ever meet her?”

Honey reached into her suit jacket and extracted Dirk’s photo. Claude took it as if it were a religious artifact and, gazing
at it, burst into tears. “Sweet, sweet Kolina,” she sobbed. “It’s all… all my fault.”

“How could it be?” she comforted, squeezing Claude’s shoulder gently. “The police report I read this morning in Zurich verified
that Kolina vanished sometime after the evening bed check and the following morning’s roll call. It would have been impossible
for you to have an inkling as to what might transpire.”

With a trembling hand, Claude removed her glasses to wipe the flowing tears from her eyes. “But she was my responsibility.
I cannot forget that.” Her head snapped up. “Ever.”

Honey stared into the fiery brown eyes and at the fragile beauty of her face. Without her glasses, Claude looked so vulnerable,
so young, barely older than some of the girls outside the door. A faint stirring erupted in Honey’s loins, and she fought
to ignore it. “You poor darling,” she said, and sat on the edge of the desk. “There are some things in life that are totally
beyond our control. We must learn to accept them.
C’est la vie
, no? Let us feel responsible for the matters we do have control over or an influence upon—like finding Kolina.”

Claude searched Honey’s eyes imploringly, as if wanting desperately to believe, then suddenly grabbed one of Honey’s hands
with both of hers, raising it to her lips to kiss it. “
Merci
, Honey…
merci
,” she whispered into it.
Then, as if embarrassed by her unladylike show of emotion, she dropped the hand and put on the black-rimmed glasses.

Honey reached out and, with the back of a hand, softly stroked the young woman’s tear-streaked cheek. “Courage, Claude—like
the Maid of Orleans—faith and courage. All will be well.”

The young woman melted at once, her strong stern facade crumbling visibly into a welter of emotions. The tears started again,
and Honey was moved to lean down and kiss her soft lips. Claude’s sharp intake of breath revealed less than did her mouth,
which pressed back, returning the kiss in full.

A knock at the door brought Claude to her feet and around the desk like a startled doe. With some amusement, Honey watched
Claude covering her embarrassment, firming her back. “
Entre
,” she said in a quavering but determined tone.

The door popped open and the sweet-faced student with the knowing eyes stepped in, surveying her headmistress before turning
a bold gaze on Honey. “Pardon, but soon I am going to my English lesson,” she said in French. “Will you be needing me for
anything more?”

“
Oui
, Brigitte,” Claude responded, once more in complete control of her formidable presence. “Will you please find Kolina’s file
for Miss Wildon? And make yourself available for an interview if she so desires?”

Honey stood and smiled openly at the charming girl. “You’re Brigitte Deauville? Kolina’s roommate?”

“Yes,” the girl said quickly. “How did you know?”

“Miss Wildon,” Claude began, all efficiency, “is a renowned journalist whose business is to know things like that. Now, please,
take Miss Wildon to the records room and get her Kolina’s file and anything else she may ask
for.” The headmistress turned to Honey. “We may continue our session after you’ve checked all you want.”

“
Merci
, Mademoiselle Orleans,” Honey said graciously, and moved to join Brigitte by the open door. “I will be looking forward to
that enormously.
Adieu
for now.”

Outside the office, Brigitte’s posture drooped into a more contemporary slouch and she eyed Honey brazenly as they walked
down the hall to the records room. Honey took the opportunity to question the girl about the night of Kolina’s disappearance.
Alas, Brigitte furnished no new information. Kolina had been in their room when Brigitte fell asleep, and was not there upon
her awakening. And no, she could not imagine what had become of her. And no, she knew of no boyfriends or enemies who would
be involved. Kolina was loved by everyone.

Kolina’s school file offered little that Honey had not already learned. The girl was in the top five percentile of her class
scholastically and was involved in numerous extracurricular activities, from playing a position on the field hockey team to
winning an all-school poetry prize, to playing the lead in
Hamlet
the year before. As Honey sat in the stuffy records room, which was crammed with cabinets and dusty ledgers, Brigitte slumped
against the table, observing her every movement. Occasionally, Honey would raise her head to ask a question and find the girl
staring with obvious interest. Brigitte was blessed with rosy cheeks and a pouty little mouth that demanded attention. Her
uniform was deliberately designed by the school to cover any budding pubescence, but her manner left little to the imagination.
The girl was already more than sexually aware, Honey guessed. It was apparent in her steady knowing gaze. Honey did her best
to concentrate on the file before her, but a soft rustling sound broke her efforts.

Leaning against the closed door, Brigitte had removed her blazer and was slowly unbuttoning her blouse under the wide blue
tie. Through lowered lashes, her eyes simmered. “I think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” she said, her young
voice dripping with sexual innuendo.

“Thank you for the compliment,” Honey said, as coolly as she could under the circumstances, “but I’m afraid you have an overly
active imagination.”

Brigitte threw back her tie over one shoulder and parted her blouse seductively. Her surprisingly mature breasts burst into
view, their dark centers enticingly firm, like plums ready to be plucked from a tree.

“Brigitte,” Honey sighed in warning from her chair, “you are a fetching bundle, to be sure, but now is not the time or the
place.
Je vous remercie
, anyway.”

“You are ‘chicken’—is that not the right word?”

“Right. Now cover yourself before we find more than we can handle.”

“I want you to handle me… please… just a little?” She bounced forward and thrust her teasing tits into Honey’s face. A firm
young hand snaked around Honey’s neck, pressing her head forward toward the tempting offerings. Honey had little desire to
resist. She stuck out her tongue and sampled one of the plump brown nipples by taking a discreet lick. Abruptly, Brigitte
jerked Honey’s head closer, jamming the tender young breast fully into her face. The youthful flesh tasted sweet and fresh,
but Honey twisted away. “Sometime later, my pet,” she said, and stood with great difficulty, her knees quaking with desire.
She managed to move to the other side of the conference table, where she looked back with a longing gaze.

Brigitte had flung herself flat on the tabletop and hiked up her skirt over her waist, shoving a hand down her pristine white
panties. “I am hot for you,” Brigitte panted,
her fingers speedily working under the tight white cotton. “See?” she croaked, and snapped down the waistband of her panties
to her firm young thighs. Her pussy lay open like a halved walnut, the fringe of soft brown hair like foliage around an oasis.
She parted the tender lips even further with her fingers. “Eat me… I’m begging you… eat me before I cry.”

With a resolve she had difficulty calling into play, Honey shook her head sadly and remained on her own side of the table.
“Brigitte,” she admonished. “You are only making it hard on both of us. Cover yourself at once, before—”

The door behind Honey flew open and the headmistress stepped into the room, carrying a fat file folder. A squeal of astonishment
and anger broke from her open mouth. “Brigitte!” she hissed. The girl jumped from the table, frantically trying to cover herself.
Immediately contrite, she pulled her blazer over her still-open blouse and, ducking her head, ran past the startled headmistress
and disappeared down the hall.

Claude Orleans turned an icy glare on Honey and, head held high on her long neck, sputtered in rage, “
C’est incroyable!
” With that, she spun on her heel and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Moments later, Honey knocked on her office door and, without waiting for a reply, walked in. Claude Orleans whirled from the
window where she had been weeping. “How dare you come in without my—”

Honey shut the door forcefully behind her, cutting off Claude’s outburst. With a mischievous glint in her eye, Honey snapped
the lock on the big oak door and marched to the desk. “Claude,” she said, “I am innocent of any wrongdoing. Brigitte is a
precocious, forward young lady who flung herself at me. What was I to do?”

“Leave the room at once.”

“Now or then?”

“Both,” Claude snapped.

“Well, I didn’t, and I won’t,” Honey fumed. “You are a blind fool if you don’t think that kind of thing goes on at a girls’
school. My first lover was my roommate, and we still get it on whenever we’re together. She taught me more about about love
and sexual pleasure than anyone I’ve had since, and it all began at a girls school exactly like Bon Coeur. Surely you are
aware that it is normal and healthy to—”

It was Claude’s turn to cut in, and she did so with a vengeance. “I am not concerned with your disgusting escapades away from
this school. What I am deeply concerned about is how you conduct yourself while you are here… as a
guest
. I have never been so thoroughly mortified by anyone’s actions before. I am deeply disappointed that a woman of your position—”