Devil's Whore

12.

Neither Mary nor James slept that night. It wasn't some unimportant fight they had in the city, that was long forgotten. Yet after James told his wife the small he knew about man, who owns prostitute, that their son had feelings for, they knew, they had to act quickly. Yes, partly without William's acknowledge, to check on girl. In the morning James sent one of his man to under false name pay for the woman. She got an adress from an apartment, that used Robert or Lorna, when they came for visit from States. And by the evening in the time of the meeting, James and Mary left, leaving their kids guarded and their governant promised to stay over night. Of course, that from that point James doubled the security of the house, so not even mouse entered unseen.

The hour of the meeting came and both Mary and James were waiting in the apartment, when the gentle knock sounded from the doorway. James patted Mary's hand and stood up. Once  he opened the door, woman recognizing his face, froze and her eyes opened wide. "Good evening, miss," James told her and the moment she, confused, took a step back, he moved and it was his cane to block the way and stop her attempt to leave. "Nah ah," he shook head and clearing his throat, he beckoned her to enter the room of apartment.

"Are you Mr O'Donnell?" She asked him, although she was already sure, that this was a trap. Her pulse started to race and she swallowed hard. Slowly she took few steps inside, with shaking legs and stood. "I'm not alone here. If I don't go out in a while someone's going to come back inside to look after me," she said in her last attend to make sure, that she wasn't standing alone. 

"Friends I assume?" Mary came from the kitchen, making her jerk. She was holding a tray of tea set and biscuits. "How many more will come, love? I'm afraid the biscuits are not enough for everyone." She frowned a little.  

"Who are you?" Helena asked them, looking from one the other, who was standing by the doorway.

"Yesterday, I told you, my son is on the balcony and you found William there, so who would you say I am?" James asked, taking seat on the small sofa. "Are you stupid or you only pretend to be? Sit down, my wife made us a tea," he told her, showing her chair.

"I'm sorry..." of course she remembered him, but that moment she wasn't sure, what to believe or who. Carefully,she took her seat, trying to recollect herself and looked at them after a while. 

Mary sat across her on the couch. She appeared more calm than James, who looked stern as always yet serious. "Please, suit yourself." She beckoned her to take something from the tray, but Helena just shook her head, refusing. Partly she understood, what that might be. William's parents, obviously, came to tell her to get away from him or even give her money to not accept him again.

"What's your name?" James asked first, when he saw, she refused to touch anything from table. She surely wasn't Aurora as they said, her name was and William didn't mention it.

"Helena," she said quietly, looking down. "What do you want from me?" She asked right after, raising up her eyes on them. "Why am I here?" 

"What exactly are your relations with my son?" Mary tilted her head slightly on the side, observing her carefully. No, that wasn't a look of an opportunist. Every other girl in her place with the protection she had, she'd immediately ask for money. "I mean except the obvious one." She cleared her throat. 

Helena swallowed hard and looked down again. She just wanted to leave right away. "Just the obvious, ma'am," she answered quietly.

"Helena, hm?" James grunted thoughtfully. "Lovely name. Our daughter, we call her Lyla, yet her name is Leanna," he spoke and from her face, he saw, she knew. She knew about Will more than she should for a whore. "It is an Irish form of Helen," he told with nod, then looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Then why did you run to him yesterday, even though the fact I paid for you made you to be free for the rest of the evening?" James questioned and took a sip from china, then he put it back on the table. "Not only you ran to him, you took him to your place. Yes, your place, not a brothel, not some filthy motel, your home. Is that normal for whore to bring her clients to their homes?"