” he said with a grin, “what’s this Julia can’t do?” He walked over, noting the state of the girl’s buttocks. “Ah-ha . . . given her a t...ste of the birch, I see!”“That’s right,” nodded Glenda. “As I told you I would, I’m making her pay for her deceits.”“What a good wife you are, my dear,” said Quentin, putting his arm around Glenda. He looked down at Julia’s white back which was heaving with her sobs. “But what’s this she can’t do?”“I’m caning her thighs . . . with this,” answered Glenda,. It was 4pm – time for that most British of daily rituals; afternoon tea. Ariadne left us alone and Tamsin smiled at me encouragingly. She pointed to a large painting that hung above the mantelpiece. I was astonished that I had not noticed it before. It depicted a faintly smiling blonde woman, probably in her late twenties, wearing a dark blue military uniform with medal ribbon bars on the breast. Behind her, against a gloriously cerulean sky, the painter had fashioned a Lancaster bomber. Like a. More

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