Chapter One

Interview with Lady Constance

January 4, 1998

Notes: Lady Constance graciously agreed to be interviewed with few restrictions but requested precautions concerning the true identity of certain friends and employees. My comments/questions are initalics.

Lady Constance sits in a large, stuffed, leather chair. A very dignified woman of some thirty years, her attire and demeanor are indicative of her extreme wealth. A descendant of one of Europe’s royal families, her late father reportedly revitalized the “old” wealth of his antecedents by eschewing ownership of vineyards and art work for timely investments in technology, biotech, and energy. Details are beyond the scope of this research, but it is said by those most knowledgeable that Lady Constance can buy and sell almost any one in Europe. As the reader will learn, her proclivities mandate a “low” profile. Therefore few in Europe are aware of the full extent of her resources and how she chooses to exercise the privileges of immeasurable wealth. And there are even fewer in the United States, where she visits from time to time with complete anonymity.

A notable air of self-confidence emanates from Lady Constance. When she enters a room, all seem to silently turn to her in an unsolicited display of homage. It is difficult to portray in writing what attracts such admiration, but her facial features are symmetrical and proportional. Her shoulder length, raven hair is always perfectly coifed and any jewelry worn is elegant but understated. As one noted gemologist informed me, there’s not a stone she wears that a museum or collector would not proudly exhibit in a well-secured display case.

Those who have accompanied her on lengthy annual soirees to the Caribbean report that in bathing attire, Lady Constance is the envy of every woman and an object of lust for every man. Apparently not pre-occupied with achieving the gaunt look of a fashion model, Lady Constance is not Rubenesque either. And as I glance at her calves and the lower portion of her thighs, the firm texture of the tanned flesh hint at underlying muscles which are most likely subjected to a daily and exhaustive exercise routine. The sculpted shapes of her arms confirm this conjecture and cause me to reflect on the rumors of her martial arts skills. As I scan Lady Constance’s physique, newspaper accounts of a broken limb attained by an alleged purse-snatcher of questionable agility come to mind. The story goes that Lady Constance reacted quickly to the clumsy attempt and was reportedly not hurt in the incident. But I again ponder the curious follow up stories of the perpetrator’s disappearance after bond money from unknown sources was mysteriously posted with the French court. No concluding details were published, as the sensational death of Princess Diane began to dominate the news. And to my knowledge the incompetent thief never was found to stand trial. But alas, that’s another story.

I sit at a nearby desk with pen and notepad. “Boy” is not present at the start. I ask Lady Constance for a chronology of her relationship with Boy.

“Mother was a firm woman, as you can imagine. Early in life she wanted to introduce me to the delights of the domination of the male. I cannot recall the exact age, but one afternoon the chauffeur was summoned to bring the car around and we drove to a nearby clinic.

“It was a rather imposing building, four stories high with straight, formidable lines of red brick. Built in the twenties I should guess, and I believe was designed as a sanitarium for the mentally ill.

“Well, we were met at the main entrance by a regal woman of an age somewhat older than mother who, although treating my mother with deference, displayed quite an air of authority. She was the Director of the clinic and spent very little time with casual conversation. We were quickly invited inside and ushered into an elevator. It may have been my young age, but the three of us seemed to descend for quite some time, and I remembered wondering just how far under the earth the large elevator would take us.

“When the grind of the motors ceased, a most interesting scene came to vi