Transgressions:The Admiral. His Chauffeur and His Sister.

By David Stevens

This is the tale of a retired and widowed Admiral, his chauffer and his chauffeur's sister. It is a tale of love lost and found, of heartbreak and fear and of trust developed. It is a tale of confusion, understanding and of three people living their lives in a shared environment.

Transgressions is a book about a Transsexual/Heterosexual relationship and its potential development. It does not contain any direct adult material but it does deal with adult only themes.
If you enjoy a good romance tale then you should enjoy getting to know and understand the thoughts, feelings and life problems, of a relationship that most people will never encounter. If you want to try to understand the nature of a relationships development, then like wise you should enjoy this unusual tale.
Any preconceived expectations of such a relationship will be challenged and hopefully enjoyed.

And if you just want a good read then this might well be the book for you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Stevens
• Release date: Dec 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310115127

David Stevens

Dr David Stevens is generally regarded as one of the world's leading project strategists, particularly in value management, value engineering, risk management, partnering, project alliancing and strategic planning.His academic qualifications include three Masters degrees MEng (Hons); MSc (Environmental Psychology); MA (Literature); and a PhD, (Psychology). The framework and theoretical basis for his facilitation techniques are derived from his specialisation as an organisational psychologist. He is a member of the Australian Psychological Society. Dr Stevens was an Adjunct Professor at the School of Engineering and Industrial Design at the University of Western Sydney for ten years (1999 – 2009). He has acted as an external examiner of doctoral level theses. He has authored 7 books, one of which is a major international text published by McGraw Hill. He has held several board positions and has been Chairman of an Australian Standards Committee.

Book preview

An Authors Introduction.

This is the tale of a retired and widowed Admiral, his chauffer and his chauffeur's sister. It is a tale of love lost and found, of heartbreak and fear and of trust developed. It is a tale of confusion, understanding and of three people living their lives in a shared environment.

Transgressions is a book about a Transsexual/Heterosexual relationship and its potential development. It does not contain any direct adult material but it does deal with adult only themes.

If you enjoy a good romance tale then you should enjoy getting to know and understand the thoughts, feelings and life problems, of a relationship that most people will never encounter. If you want to try to understand the nature of a relationships development, then like wise you should enjoy this unusual tale.

Any preconceived expectations of such a relationship will be challenged and hopefully enjoyed.

And if you just want a good read then this might well be the book for you.

CHAPTER 1

She lay on the ground where she had landed. The blow had been totally unexpected, the back handed contact had lashed out and exploded onto her chin and cheek; it had literally knocked her to the ground spinning her around as she fell, the hard landing added to the blooming pain that burst across her face. As for the man who had struck her, he loomed over her prostrate body his anger obvious as he stared down at her face, impervious to her pain he watched as tears slowly wet her pretty face. Tears driven not by her pain but solely by her realisation that her world had changed, She had stepped away from the ecstatic bliss of five minutes ago and had entered into the destructive shattering of truth without real understanding, rage without compassion.

The love of her life, her first real relationship had just exploded with his loathing of her. She could see through her tear filled eyes the veins pulsing in the side of his thick neck, his anger gradually faded away, the manic look vanished; it became all too clearly a readable disgust.

She had felt so confident of him, so alive and sure of herself when finally she had plucked up the courage to tell him her secret. Now, she was sprawled on the ground a creature of pain, demoralized, rejected and mentally totally destroyed by that one single blow. All because she had trusted her love for him and had been confident enough in his love for her, she had trusted enough to finally reveal the truth. She had hardly begun, just scratched the surface of her woe when the realisation of what she was confiding in him dawned, seconds later his anger had bloomed.

Behind him lay the woman to whom he had so recently professed his undying love and now from whom he must walk away. He felt his loss deeply, painfully, comparative to the pain which filled her but he had no choice; her words and his violent repulsion to her words was fatal to the relationship he had so longed for. Now he was alone, it was over, their love ended forever, he walked away not looking back, refusing to hear the muffled sobs as her tears flowed.

It was over, the relationship had ended, shattered like glass and by just a few quite simple words which Emma Jane had felt forced to reveal. All that they had been to each other was now gone, her position in his life now vacant and she unwanted.

She picked herself up from the ground and stood upright, slowly the world stopped swimming before her eyes, she wiped the tears away and watched as he vanished from her sight and life forever. Her handbag lay on the floor, crushed by her having landed hard on it, as she reached down to pick it up she felt her left side pulse in response to the action; yet more pain pumped into her body, her head swam and her vision clouded just for a second, a brief second which stretched away from her into seemingly infinity. Her eyes cleared once more as the bag left the floor and she stood slowly upright. As she had landed hard on the bag without any doubt she would have further bruises to add to her growing collection.

All around her silence rolled over the grouse shooting fields, the birds had fallen still as if they were aware of something disturbing having happened, then the air was rent by the grate and thump of an old worn Landrover engine starting up. He was leaving her, dumping her in the countryside and going back to his rich life and showy friends.

Luckily for her it was only a mile walk across the fields to her bungalow home, unfortunately, that home came as part of her alter ego's terms of employment. Richard, Emma-Jane's supposed brother worked for Lord Wiltshire as his chauffeur, she on the other hand had found herself the source of Lord Wiltshire's interest and eventually she had felt certain his deep affection. Hence she had felt the over powering desire to explain to him the truth about herself.

Now it was over, their slowly constructed relationship was ended, there could be no turning back for her, she would have to vanish. She would have to start afresh and hopefully make a new life for herself.

She began the painful walk to her home. Only a mile, she muttered to herself but she thought 'a mile can be a bloody long way when you are in agony.' As much as her body pained her, her thoughts were worse. She felt shattered and confused, unable to comprehend the violence she had just experienced, she walked clumsily on, her vision blurred by the residue of her tears and distorted by the expanding swelling beneath her eye. She needed all of her ability just to concentrate she realized, to focus her one good eye on the ground infront of her. The pain in her jaw was increasing with every step she took; the bruising would last for days marring her appearance. Emma Jane could not have described the feeling of relief she felt as she was finally able to shut the bungalow front door behind her.

Having pulled a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and applied it to her cheek she set to gathering her and Richard's personal effects, wanting to get out of there before he returned to beat her some more. In reality she did not believe that he would return but then she had not ever believed that he could exhibit such a furious rage, and at her! Her normally precious clothes tumbled un-cared for into suitcases and were zipped away, Those few other remaining belongings were placed once more into the same cardboard carton out of which she had unpacked them and with such hope for her apparently blooming future, was it only a scant year and a half before?

With her things packed she entered the second bedroom and collected Richards's clothes together, packing and added them to her piled belongings and then with regret she opened the front door. Carrying the box under one arm and four suitcases piled up ready to be stowed, she grabbed one case in her free hand. Two trips to the car and it was loaded, with a last glace back she walked away from the life that she had hoped would be the starting point of her existence.

The cases had been tumbled onto the rear seat of her bright red Mercedes sports car, the box of ornaments and the picture of her parents standing proudly by Richard, their only son, in the back ground a lake its surface covered with small sail boats. That box went on the front seat. Driving away broke her reserve, the tears fell from her eyes blurring her vision to the point that within a mile she was forced to pull the car over and let them run their course.

Emma Jane realised that when she had driven from the bungalow she had no idea where she was going to go, or what she was going to do. Subconsciously she had driven towards the one and probably only person that she could trust to care for her. John Pierre had a house of sorts a modern edifice to tasteful design, or so he called it, but the question was would he be staying there, for that matter would he even be in the country. She realised that she needed to locate him before travelling on, going of half cocked she thought was the daftest thing she could do.

She engaged the gear lever and indicating right pulled the car back onto the road and accelerated towards her friend's home for lack of another direction to drive in.

Emma Jane eased the Mercedes into a lay-by, halting the vehicle she turned off the engine and got out of the car. She had been scanning the kerb side of the road as she drove, looking for something specifically and there it was the answer to her quandary she hoped. She fumbled in her handbag opening her purse wanting a few coins to put in the public phones coin slot, finding none she opened her purse's credit card holder and removed a prepaid telephone card, lucky she thought both having kept the old partially used card and also lucky, because the telephone box she had found accepted cards. Her fingers trembled as she tapped out the telephone number of John Pierre's U.K office she had memorized the number so she did not need to look it up.

A voice answered on the third ring. The voice sounded female but with Jean Pierre's office that might not be accurate, it could just as easily be a very feminine male on the other end, not she thought that the gender mattered one little bit. She asked for Jean Pierre having identified herself to the voice and was put on hold.

Emma Jane, exploded a familiar tone into her ear piece, the gushing series of delighted words flooded over her, easing the pain of loneliness that had gripped her heart. She could imagine the flamboyant clothes designer waving his hand effortlessly through the air as he talked to her. For a few second she listened in silence drinking in the obvious pleasure he exhibited at her call; before finally having to summon up enough coherent words to interrupt him and ask for his help.

The line clicked off as she replaced the receiver in its cradle, her card popped out of the call slot and reaching out she removed it. A quick glance showed her that she had been seconds away from being disconnected; luckily she had gotten through the banter which was John Pierre's normal manner of speech, she had sobbed a few times whilst she explained the disastrous pathway her life had taken. He had given her an address of a friend and told her to go there and wait. Strangely he had cautioned her to keep herself to herself and do exactly what she was told to do. Emma Jane felt a little concerned, she was not used to John Pierre talking to her in so serious a way, it was unusual and therefore a little disconcerting. She scrabbled in her handbag for a pen and paper, the she wrote down the address and some general directions.

The friend he said would let her in and could be trusted to look after her. John-Pierre might be a fashion designer, but he had a hell of a lot of money and even more connections, most of whom seemed to be delighted to drop everything they had planned just to help him, or in this case to help a friend of his. He had promised that they would be together shortly but until then she was to take a bath, relax and try not to think too much.

How she was going to comply to the last part of his instruction she didn't know, but the bath sounded inviting and the address he had given her was only about half an hours drive away from where she was standing. The drive passed in a blur of confused thoughts but thankfully not tears, and then she was turning into the street with its name matching that on her paper,

The house looked a bit austere, it was set back from the road and partially concealed by rhododendrons, the house number was plainly fitted to a gate post making it easy to identify the number and thus she turned into the correct drive. The tarmac had been laid a long time ago and she noted the cracking and potholes but her Mercedes just glided over them. Before she had gotten out of the car the front door opened, revealing a middle-aged woman standing in expectation of her arrival.

John Pierre had not let her down, the woman smiled at her in a rather, 'I've seen it all before kind of way,' which felt slightly unnerving to her, but obviously John-Pierre trusted this woman, so she would too, after all what choice did she have? She had nowhere to go and no one to turn to, other than her oldest friend and consequently his chosen representative. The woman greeted her by name so at least that was all right. This way, the woman stood aside, Emma Jane entered the doorway, passed into a dim hall and climbed the stairs as indicated to her by the dour seeming woman.

Having climbed the two flights and reached the landing still closely followed by the woman, she glanced back for instruction, she, the unknown hostess indicated for her to walk along the passage, passing closed door after closed door. The house she realised was deceptive in that it went back a long way. Finally with a gentle touch to her arm the woman turned her towards a room on the right. Behind Emma Jane and a distance away she thought she could hear something, but the muffling effect of the doors and distance reduced the sound to a clumpy bumpy concoction of miscellaneous notes and squeaks, or in other words she told her self it was just an unintelligible sound.

As she entered the bedroom, Emma Jane glanced around; the room felt alive with tasteful colour, in front of her was a beautiful metal framed bed with delicate patterned pillows placed just so, clearly to enhance the over all effect, they looked big fluffy and very welcoming. To the left was a large bay window fitted with beautiful curtains which were presently held apart by matching material ties. Beneath the window the bay window gap had been bridged with a wooden board which created a seat in the bay at which to sit and look out at the view. Beyond she could vaguely see tree tops swaying in a light breeze. More cushions lined out the seat, placed both she reasoned for visual effect and to offer comfort to anyone lucky enough to rest on them. A mirror hung to her left above a dresser; It took her breath and captured her attention so beautifully worked was it, clearly in the 'Art Deco' style, with hand painted, lead lined glass panels in a leaf pattern which surrounded in the center a large bevel edged mirror.

Further to her left she could see a partially open door beyond which was stood a large white enameled cast-iron bath. Everywhere looked clean and tidy and presentable. Emma Jane felt instantly comfortable in the room. She could almost believe that she had always lived there, there was just something very familiar and relaxing about the décor.

Her attention returned to the dresser, something sitting on top of the varnished wood attracted her attention, something both beautiful whilst at the same time being out of place; it was a glass bowl, all flaming reds and blues with grey threads woven throughout the design. It wasn't the bowl that took her aback and made her turn to face the woman; it was the contents of the bowl! Lots and lots of little foil packets rested in the bowl, filling it. There were all colours and types some she recognised, others she didn't but their presence spoke volumes, 'condoms and lots of them' she thought. There was also a box of tissues placed next to the bowl and what she wondered was that beyond the tissues? It was a tube of something, a gel of some sort, a lubricant she told herself, Definately a lubricant.

Having followed the new arrival into the bedroom accommodation the woman found herself watching the slim female as she appraised the room. She had been both pleased by and surprised when John Pierre had telephoned her and asked her to host this woman. Clearly it was an important request to him and she had understood that. Still she wondered why her and why here? This place was no guesthouse, not by a long shot she thought, suppressing the smile which threatened to crack her face. Now that she had seen the guest she had begun to understand the request, this was a very confused and troubled person and with that marking on her face perhaps a hotel would not have been quite suitable, at the very least there would have been questions.

Where as here, a few marks would attract no attention at all. Besides she would not be here very long and then once she was gone John Pierre would remember that she had assisted him. She watched as the guest glanced around the room, she noted the tiredness emanating from the woman's slightly slumped shoulders.

Little did the guest know that this tidy room was the only room in the house that was not dedicated to a specific theme and therefore the only room suitable to become her haven. She watched as the head turned, noted the slight stiffening of reaction in the neck and back muscles, something had caught the guest's attention. Automatically her eyes followed the same direction in which her guest was looking; concerned she noted Emma Jane's glance, then seeing the problem she reached out to pick up the bowl intending to remove it. The bowl and its contents were so much a part of her everyday life that she had failed to register them as being out of place in this situation. She for the briefest of seconds seemed to exude embarrassment at her oversight, but then it was gone.

She walked past Emma Jane carrying the glass bowl with its sexually charged contents, she turned to say, There are clean towels in the linen cupboard and plenty of hot water for a bath. Then with a clearly practiced air the woman pointed out the bell push next to the bed, adding that once she felt more refreshed, if she pushed the bell any requirement that she might have could be met.

Emma Jane listened as the woman continued; speaking to her quite pointedly she thought. You are to stay in this room, then almost as though it was an after thought she added, You will be leaving later this evening. 'Leaving later'? The words echoed around Emma Jane's brain, instantly raising questions, unanswerable questions. Leaving to where? Leaving with whom? The questions kept coming adding to each other swamping out any capacity for other thoughts, she struggled not to show her confusion. For some inexplicable reason Emma Jane desperately wanted to appear strong, equal to events at least to this woman, why it seemed important to be thought of as capable, not some weak willed victim she didn't understand but it seemed important to her to be thought of as a survivor.

She glanced up at the woman, who was stood there looking all stern and in control holding the bowl of condoms, the image burned into her brain as a realisation of exactly what this place that she had been sent to was. She was guest of a Madam! She had been placed in a brothel for her protection, which seemed an odd choice at best to her! So far the madam had been nothing but courteous to her if a little tart in her manner. She supposed that in her place she would feel a little put on, having a strange woman drop in and you being expected to look after her.

Having enquired if I would require anything else and having been thanked for her consideration she left. Turning once again to add, please relax you are safe here; just ignore any disturbance from the other guests. Guests; guests my arse! Clients more like I now knew, smiling my most reassuring smile towards her as she departed, closing the door behind her.

I knew what this place was about; I wasn't that innocent, although I had never been in a brothel before I recognised the pattern and feel of the place from books and the occasional television documentary. I stood watching her leave, silently shaking my head at the thought of me being a guest in a brothel.

She, the 'Madam' was finally gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a large bath. A brothel, Jean Pierre had sent me to a brothel, just you wait I said out loud, you just wait, a brothel indeed!

The Madam was right, there was plenty of hot water and the tub was indeed very large and comfortable. Shelves fitted above a delicate Victorian pedestal sink were filled with a wide variety of products for both male and female, 'thoughtful' I decided. By the time that I clambered out of the relaxing water I felt totally cleansed of the violence, as for my face, a quick glance in the mirror above the sink showed me the damage I had incurred.

My cheek was red and fast turning blue/black with the bruising, which appeared to be extending upwards into my eye socket. My jaw felt as though a thousand nails were being individually driven into the bone by a demented carpenter bent on pinning my mouth shut. Luckily I had received only the one blow unexpected as it had been, anymore and my face would have become unrecognizable. Gently I explored the skin feeling the swelling and touching my lips, at least the swelling would quickly vanish and there was no chance that I would be scarred for life.

Though the distortion to my vision had faded before I had left the bungalow the pain had not. A quick rummage in the wall mounted bathroom cabinet revealed a bottle of Aspirin; I took two with cold water in a convenient glass, then deciding that two was not enough I took two more. A rest was desperately required, the physical shock of the morning had caught up with me. Five minutes rest and then maybe some food I decided; my eyes closed instantly at the relief of resting back and of sinking into soft pillows, they helped ease my troubled thoughts and provided comfort to my battered body, I slept.

I would probably have passed the rest of the day and perhaps the night as well if there had not been a knock at the bedroom door. Groggily I called out Enter, forgetting that I was unclothed and more importantly didn't have my wig or make up on.

The woman entered, she glanced towards the sheet covered figure, her glance noted every little detail of the body; she could see the swelling under the eye was turning black and scattered with light patches of blue. She could clearly see the red swelling across her cheek had expanded and was now carpeting her lower face in a blotchy angry pattern. Mostly she could see that the woman who was struggling to cover herself with the thin sheet was not quite the woman that she had first thought she might be!

Madam had felt an overwhelming feeling of curiosity about this guest, normally she had little interest in the people that attended for her special kind of service, obviously over time she got to know her regular clients likes and dislikes (for what little concern to her their dislikes were). The clients received what the mistresses decided to administer, in the way that they, not the client wanted, that, as madam saw the situation was in essence what her clients were paying for! Total subjugation, existence without choice or option, Madam understood the desires of her clients well, but that understanding brought her thoughts back to the current situation and John Pierre's request.

Why she wondered had John Pierre felt the need to protect this woman and what had happened for her to need his protection? There were certainly more questions than answers, not really expecting any revelations she had decided to return to the guest and inform her of the current situation in person, rather than buzz her on the intercom. Now after seeing what she had seen she was able to form some vague but logical answers to a small part of her dilemma.

A car will pick you up in an hour and take you to your sponsor. Sponsor, what was the woman on about, 'sponsor' she didn't have one. Then the light dawned, she must mean John Pierre! Emma Jane thanked her and waited for her to leave. The woman hesitated as though wanting to say something, but having changed her mind and without further comment she turned and closing the door behind her leaving the strange beaten woman behind her.

Emma Jane slumped back into the cosy pillows, 'just for a moment' she told herself before falling once more to sleep, physical exhaustion overwhelmed her but this time she only slept well for about half an hour , then her mental clock demanded her attention, she stretched out her arms as she woke once more. Realising that she had slept again she forced herself from the luxury of the bed and once standing upright she focused on getting dressed and ready to leave.

Madam had client bookings to attend to, fees to sort out and working out the coming week's duty rota. Although most of the clients entertained in her premises were account holders which in its own way made her life easier, there was always a lot to deal with.

She nodded at the very attractive young woman walking slowly towards her, leading a crawling male client along the corridor by a dog lead and heavy leather collar. The client tucked behind his escort as they approached the Madam. She halted watching, putting on her professional face, a look primarily designed and practiced to make the clients feel inferior.

It worked, the crawling male kept his attention firmly fixed on the leading high heels, not daring to glance up at her. With a slight smile on her pursed severe lips she turned as they passed her, watching the naked male rear waddling comically after his determined Mistress. Pleased, Madam turned away dismissing the view, satisfied that another client was receiving value for money and left for the comfort of her downstairs office and the never ending piles of paper work.

Hello? Spoke Emma Jane into the intercom located next to the bed and near the bell push. Hello, she repeated then waited for an answer, the box had buzzed her and now no one would answer her response. The voice finally, spoke once Emma Jane took her finger off the talk button. The message imparted to her was both curt and bucked no contestation. Please come downstairs your transport has arrived. Click went the box as the disjointed voice vanished.

'Damn it", she hissed under her breath. What now and where the hell is the transport taking me and for that matter what about my own car she wondered. As she pulled on the very expensive hair piece or as she preferred to think of it her crowning glory, the finishing touch to her transformation. Emma Jane was back, a final glance in the mirror and satisfied that she had done the best that she could with the little that she had with her, she left the room, thankful for the relaxing bath and the peace and safety. With her handbag hanging on her shoulder she stepped out into the corridor.

Whoosh, crack, whoosh, crack, this time accompanied by a low grunt of pain, the sound intrigued her. Emma Jane half turned, listening for the whistle of the third stroke. It emanated from along the passageway she listened frozen immobile by the expectation she felt course through her. Whoosh, thwack, groan; this time accompanied by a female voice screaming, Shut up and stay still. Emma Jane had heard similar sounds reaching out to her through other closed doors but that had been sometime ago.

She, as she now liked to think of herself, had attended an old traditional private boy's school for her education and that sound had frequently been heard to echo through the corridors. She smiled to herself, here she was trying to escape her pain and suffering and just up there in one of the side rooms, some male client she presumed was actually paying to be humiliated and soundly beaten! 'It's a strange world.' she mumbled out loud as she turned away and headed for the stairs, from behind her she heard another whoosh then thwack; she thought she could hear the sound of someone crying but then again maybe that was her imagination playing tricks on her. With a final smile she mouthed the single word, 'enjoy', as she started down the stairs.

Standing by the front door, waiting for her to descend was the woman or more accurately 'The Madam'. I wonder how much you make out of this place and for that matter what John Pierre's connection is she thought. Obviously she decided, he wasn't a client of the type of services that this place appeared to offer, not him! He was gay and it was evident to all, but a masochist, him? It just made no sense to her. She decided to ask him, which would be an interesting conversation; I say by the way do you like to be thrashed by a woman or is you're relationship with her something else?

She giggled, not meaning to but the thought of asking her long term friend about such matters just felt funny, probably she would, accept that he had connections of some sort and not ask about the whys and wherefores. After all she doubted that she could keep a straight face and she would not wish to hurt his feelings in anyway.

Madam watched 'her' or as other less tolerant people might refer to Emma Jane, the 'It' as she slowly descended the staircase. Madam wondered about the rather enigmatic smile which partially lit up her rather attractive face, the wig suited her she thought, as did the lack of heavy makeup, a mistake that most cross-dressers make. The clothes were functional and suited the body beneath them. Her eyes had a sparkle if she discounted the bruising. This was 'a woman' that had many potentials, she wondered which path Emma Jane would follow.

The door swung open revealing a black Jaguar complete with a chauffeur waiting by the passenger door; he opened it for her as she approached. From behind her Emma Jane heard two words split the air. Good luck was said, then the front door closed and the Madam was gone.

The chauffeur did not ask her where she wanted to go, which as far as she was concerned was very good because she didn't have a clue, so far John Pierre had not let her down, so she would trust his judgment and go with the flow. The big car pulled effortlessly away from the house, turned onto the road and carried her away to a new life and lots of changes and experiences, some better than others.

CHAPTER 2

The maroon Bentley Continental slowed as it approached the pair of sturdy but intricate eight foot high cast-iron gates; securely hung from robust looking stone pillars. The pillars in turn were attached to towering stone walls, which stretched outward and away from the gates until they were finally concealed within the dense population of trees and overgrown bushes.

Reaching forward to the car dashboard, Richard the Chauffeur pressed a small button on top of an infra-red remote control box, the gates activated, responding to the correct frequency and series of pulses being emitted by the remote control unit within the car. Slowly and simultaneously both gates began to open smoothly as they were independently driven by powerful electric motors. Once open they revealed a sweeping drive, which eventually led to a stone chipped turning area at the front of an old imposing looking Manor House.

Slowly the big car gained headway as the Chauffeur smoothly accelerated through the gates and onwards up the drive. A quick glance in the rear view mirror satisfied him that the gates had closed correctly and securely behind the car. Rounding the last but one bend in the drive, the Chauffeur looked out of his near-side window and smiled to himself, as he drove past a quaint but character filled cottage, set back from the road. Returning his attention to the road in front and his driving, he steered the large saloon around the last of the tree-lined bends.

There spread out before him, was his passenger's mid seventeenth century Manor House. To the discerning eye, the first thing that a stranger would notice was a tower, which reared up the left side of the house. This seemingly sprouting from halfway up and within the main wall, it, the Chauffeur knew, had been the fulfillment of a whim by an earlier generation of occupier.

He smoothly brought the Bentley up to the front steps of the Manor House,