Chapter Eighteen
In what seems to be a nightly ritual, porter number one knocks on my bedroom door and enters with more Champagne. This time a bowl of extremely ripe melon chunks accompanies the beverage and I am informed that I will be dining with only Lady Constance. Cocktails to be served at 7:00 p.m.
My watch tells me I have two hours to shower, write, and relax. But strangely, as I pour my first glass, I find my thoughts turning to Ming when the notion of relaxing crosses my cerebrum.
Yes. I suppose I should exhibit some degree of mercy and let ‘her’ out of the closet.
When I open the door, she looks up at me from her kneeling position and meekly smiles. Somehow she knows. Yes, this life long, trained, subservient masochist can read thoughts. ‘She’ has probably seen it happen time
