by Lucy Appleby
Philip Pollinger's face went from white with shock to red with anger. The little vein in his right temple bulged and throbbed, just like it usually did when he was angry. The other tell-tale sign was the red rash that suffused his neck. And right now, his neck was beetroot red. Oh dear.
"Arabella Matilda Pollinger," he bellowed. "COME HERE!"
Peering through the balustrades on the landing, Arabella winced. Daddy usually called her Bella, except when he was cross, in which case he reverted to Arabella. If he was very cross, he would call her Arabella Pollinger, and only if he was very, very cross would he use her middle name too.
Still, there was only the teeniest of dents in his new car. Really, what was he making so much fuss for? He had plenty of money. He could buy another one. So Bella wore her best guileless puppy-dog-eyed expression and ran downstairs.
"Hello, Daddy," she gave him one of her radiant smiles and reached out to hug him. "Daddy bear," she purred. He liked that - usually - but not today. Today he pushed her away and stared at her coldly.
"My new car..." he began, his face and voice taking on an expression and tone of pure anguish.
"But it's just a little dent, Daddy."
"It's a write-off."
"Oh. Is it really?"
"What were you thinking of? You could have been killed! You aren't old enough to drive, and you take the new Porsche without permission. Arabella - I'm at my wits end with you!"
"Oh. Sorry, Daddy. I won't do it again. Promise."
"You're damn right you won't do it again," glared her father. "I should have done something about your behaviour and attitude years ago. You're nothing but a spoilt, devious and arrogant girl."
"Hardly a girl, Daddy. I'm fifteen, almost sixteen. Oh - I'm off out this evening by the way. I'm going to see a movie with Jennifer, and then we're getting pizza."
Philip Pollinger ran a hand through his greying hair. It wasn't just the Porsche being written off, it was his daughter's general lack of concern about anything and anyone - and combined with her rather superior attitude, laziness and wilfulness, it was evident the girl was out of control. He had to take some of the blame. He had spoiled her since her mother died, thinking it was the right thing to do. Clearly, it wasn't. Things had to change.
"Go and wait in the drawing room, Bella," he told her. "I have some important calls to make."
Bella couldn't help a triumphant little smirk as Daddy reverted to Bella again. It was so easy to get round Daddy bear. "Okay, Daddy," she said, and wandered into the drawing room.
She lay down on the couch and switched on the remote, causing the home cinema screen on the wall to burst into life. She flicked through the channels and settled for one with scantily clad girls dancing to loud music. The minutes ticked away and the stately mahogany antique clock chimed two o'clock. Why did she have to wait here, anyway? May as well have a little drinkies to help relieve the boredom.
Bella opened the drinks cabinet and sniffed the amber liquid in the crystal decanter. She wasn't too keen on brandy. Where was the whisky? There was an unopened bottle of 50 year old single malt. That would have to do. She opened the bottle, and poured herself a large double. She gasped as it left a fiery taste at the back of her throat, and left the drawing room, taking the bottle with her to be stashed in her bedroom. She would take it with her this evening.
What would she wear? She flung open the generously proportioned walk-in closet and scanned the rows of dresses, skirts and tops. Bella pulled out a soft pink, figure hugging top and a pair of pink strappy high heels. Then she selected black leather trousers and a matching jacket - they were last season's - she must get Daddy to replace them with something better from one of the latest designer collections.
Kicking off her clothes, Bella headed to her en suite bathroom and took a quick shower. She blotted herself dry with the luxuriously thick towels, got herself dressed and dried her long blonde hair, casting the damp towels on the floor with her discarded clothes. The maid would pick them up.
"Bella?"
"I'm getting dressed," she yelled. Honestly, what did Daddy want now? Couldn't she have a moments peace?
Ten minutes later, Bella was chattering away to Jennifer, cradling the phone against her ear as she leaned forwards to paint her toenails bright pink.
"Bella!"
"I'm on the PHONE," she yelled, rudely, and went back to her conversation. She had applied two more coats of nail polish to her toes when her father called her name again. "I'm BUSY," she shouted, and then resumed her giggling with Jennifer.
Bella was on the phone for almost two hours. Not that it mattered - Daddy would pay. Daddy paid for everything. I wonder if he'd pay for me to go skiing this winter, mused Bella, as she waggled her pink toe nails in satisfaction.
"Clara. Clara," she yelled. Where was that lazy maid?
"Yes, Miss Arabella?" Clara stuck her round head through the half-open door of Bella's bedroom.
"Oh, there you are. I'm hungry. Go and tell cook to make me a sandwich - chicken salad with mayo. And I'll have some chocolate cake too."
"Yes, Miss," said Clara, and disappeared to the kitchen.
Bella sprawled on her bed, eyes closed, relaxing for a few minutes until her food arrived. Her eyelids grew heavier and she dozed off for half an hour, to be rudely awakened by a hand shaking her shoulder.
"Wake up."
"Wh-what?" Bella yawned and stretched, and stared at the woman looking down at her. "Who the hell are you?"
The woman smiled, her thin lips curling in disdain. "You will address me as Miss Hawksley, and you will remember your manners."
"Piss off! What are you doing in my bedroom?" Bella sat up and glared at the intruder. "Get out!"
Miss Hawksley's grey eyes glinted ominously. It was an expression that Bella would become all too familiar with over the coming months. "You are to accompany me at once, on your father's instructions."
"Accompany you? Like hell I will. Fuck off - I'm telling my Dad - he'll send you packing."
"I don't think so," said a calm quiet voice from the doorway. Phillip Pollinger stepped into the room. "How dare you speak to my guest in such a manner? Apologise at once."
"Daddy! What's going on? Who is this woman? Why is she here?"
Bella stared sullenly at the tall, thin woman. Miss Hawksley had a high forehead and an angular face. She wore no make up. Her skin was pale and her dark grey eyes glittered. Her mouth was a harsh wide line; in fact her whole demeanour looked harsh and unforgiving. Not an iron-grey hair on her head was out of place. It was all scraped back into a neat bun at the back of her head. Bella clamped her lips together. Like hell she would apologise.
Miss Hawksley and Mr Pollinger exchanged glances. Bella began to feel slightly unsettled. "What's this woman doing here, Daddy?"
"Miss Hawksley is your new form tutor. You are to return with her to Ragwood Hall, where you will be a pupil for the next year."
"What?" Bella paled in stunned disbelief. "But - but I go to Carter House school!"
"Not any more," said Daddy. "You will travel with Miss Hawksley up to north Yorkshire."
"North Yorkshire? North Yorkshire?! But - there's nothing up there except fields and boring countryside and sheep! And... and I won't know anyone."
"You will soon make friends."
"I won't, Daddy. I won't! I'm not going, and you can't make me!" Bella stamped her feet and threw her hairbrush.
Miss Hawksley's arm shot out like lightning and she caught the hairbrush in her right hand. She smiled. "I will take it from here, Mr Pollinger. You can have every confidence in my ability to control your wayward daughter, and I shall provide you with weekly reports as to her progress, as discussed."
"Thank you, Miss Hawksley. And you have my full approval to use whatever disciplinary means necessary, as discussed."
"What?" Bella's jaw dropped. Disciplinary means? She must have misheard.
"Goodbye, Bella, my dear," said her father. Though his tone was firm, his eyes held a hint of sadness tempered with something akin to relief. "This parting may seem harsh, but I have your best interests at heart. You are to go with Miss Hawksley. She and the other staff at Ragwood Hall will succeed where I have failed. In other words, I have given them full permission to use corporal punishment. You will learn how to behave, and you will make me proud of you. If you do well during the first term, you will be allowed to come home for the summer holidays. If not, you will remain at Ragwood and study, and re-sit your examinations."
"But, Daddy! No! Please! You can't do this, you just can't!" wailed Bella.
"I can. I should have done it years ago." Mr Pollinger sighed, gave Bella a hug, and kissed her cheek. "I will telephone you at the weekend, Bella. Goodbye." Then he left the room and closed the door, leaving a wide-eyed Bella trembling in shock.
He went into his study and turned on the radio, to drown out the high-pitched shrieks his one and only daughter was making as she experienced her first ever spanking, bare-bottomed, with a wooden hairbrush. It was to be the first of many.
It was an unusually subdued Bella who found herself sitting uncomfortably in the back of the car. The reality of the situation had failed to sink in. She was still in a state of shock, otherwise she would have made a huge fuss as the car left the Pollinger estate and headed for the M1 north; for she was leaving behind everything she had ever known or cared about - house and home, friends, school, shops, the local town clubs and entertainment venues - and her father. Her Daddy had, for all these years, worn an air of dutiful resignation as he gave in to Bella's constant and often ungracious demands for more money, more clothes, more DVD's, a pony, jewellery, exotic holidays - the list was extensive.
Bella had thought she had her father under control, that he would always give her whatever she desired, and would never discipline her. Why, she had never been spanked in her life, until today. The feelings came rushing back and Bella winced at the pain in her throbbing, battered bottom. Her faced flushed at the awful memory of that dreadful woman and of the humiliating ordeal of bending over the bed and having her bottom - her bare bottom - spanked with a hairbrush. It was a nightmare. It hurt so much. It still hurt now. Bella darted a look of pure poison into the back of Miss Hawksley's head.
As though she were psychic, Miss Hawksley adjusted the small mirror above the front passenger seat, tilting it so that she could see Bella's scowling face from the back seat of the car. Bella immediately withdrew her gaze, and instead cast it downwards, looking intently at the carpet.
Miss Hawksley's thin mouth curved into the semblance of a knowing smile. She was thinking that the ill-mannered Arabella Pollinger would be spending quite a lot of her time at Ragwood Hall in a position enabling her to stare at the carpet. The Ragwood discipline regime would put the girl through her paces and sort her out with the aid of tawse, slipper, cane and strap. Miss Hawksley's mouth twitched in anticipation.
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