Party Girl at Heart

by Karen Elaine Campbell

  He smiled, he’d been worried about Crystal for a while, she’d seemed a bit subdued and wan of late, but this past few days she seemed to have got her sparkle back. That feisty temperament which had so attracted him to her in the first place had come back with a vengeance, not that he was complaining; Imogen was great, as sisters went, but he didn’t want to live or sleep with a carbon copy of her, Crystal suited him fine, fake boobs and all.

  Mere moments later, Crystal bumped up the lane at her usual speed, almost overturning the trusty old Land Rover as she attempted to avoid a particularly large and offensive pot-hole which had appeared a short while after the last of the winter snow and ice had finally melted away. As she pulled in beside Jazz’s latest model Aston, she closed her eyes.

  What was he doing home now? Worse, how could she face him, after the morning that she’d had?

  ‘Traitor’, her brain screamed, ‘turn around and drive off’, a cowardly little voice at the back of her mind urged, ‘he’s not seen you yet, he doesn’t know that you’re home. You don’t have to do this until you’re ready. Go back to the pub, find Phil, you need to sort this out, now.’

  She put her head in her hands and rested her elbows on the steering wheel. Her stomach was roiling in knots. For the first time in her twenty-nine year old life, she didn’t know what to do. She’d just cheated on her lover, big style. Worse than that, she’d cheated on him with an ex-lover. How low could you go?

  Just a couple of months ago, she’d never have dreamed that this situation was possible. She loved Jazz, didn’t she? They may have been having a few relationship problems recently, mostly connected with Imogen, but that was no excuse for her behaviour. Just what had possessed her today? Why had she opened the door to Phil and stepped straight into an old destructive relationship without a backward glance. With the clarity of hindsight, what she found truly terrifying, was the knowledge that Phil had been able to slide straight past her defences today, with no resistance given, not even a token gesture, ‘nothing, nil, nada’. So, where did that leave her and Jazz?

  Was it just the shock, of seeing Phil again, after such a long time, was that why he’d had such a devastating impact? It may have been the first time that they’d been alone together in years, but he’d changed and so had she. He’d matured, his body had been more toned, sinewy even, his skin had been warm and taut against her fingertips and he’d smelled divine. It was no excuse, though. Just because he’d turned up unexpectedly when her guard had been down, was not a good enough explanation for what they’d done. She’d behaved like an irresponsible teenager again, at a time in her life when she was supposed to be mature and grown up, how could she have let this happen?

  She sat there silently in the car and ran through the whole sequence of events, exactly as they had occurred, and then she ran through what she remembered of her last day in LA, too, looking for clues.

  The answer dropped smoothly into place. It was obvious now, in the cold light of day, she’d merely been toying with the boy, four years ago in LA, it had been the man that she’d taken liberties with in the kitchen today. He’d fit like a well-worn slipper, comfortable, warm and familiar with just a touch more arrogance, and so much more self-assurance. His touch had been seductive, controlled, and her mind hadn’t bothered to scream a warning, her traitorous body had remembered his, dancing to his tune like a well-practised tango, sliding smoothly under his spell for one more spin around the dance-floor. It had been easy, so easy, very much too easy.

  Nostalgia and curiosity; that had been her downfall, a heady combination, and now she was about to pay the price. Did she regret it, could she just write their behaviour off as a one-time aberration, never to be repeated again, and walk through that door and into Jazz’s arms as if the whole sorry mess had never happened?

  No, in all honesty she couldn’t, things had changed irrevocably today, she bit back a sob, her bottom lip wavered and tears filled her eyes. She took a deep breath. Regret, no she didn’t regret her actions, but she wasn’t proud of what she’d done. Regret was for cowards. Regrets were for other people, those who wanted to blame someone else for the things they had done. She knew that the blame for this lay solely at her own feet, and she knew that she’d have to live with the repercussions for a very long time.

  What bothered her most, now that she thought about it, was the feeling that she’d not known what to say to Phil this-morning when she’d woken up sated and naked in his arms. Words had seemed wholly inadequate at that precise moment and he’d looked as guilty as she had felt, so they’d not uttered one word between them before they’d been so rudely interrupted. She knew that their behaviour had been self-gratifying and impulsive in the extreme, but that made it all the more powerful and shocking too.

  She wriggled uncomfortably in her seat, even her hair hurt; not that he’d treated her roughly, but there had been a sense of urgency between them that had been hard to resist. She gnawed on the end of one neatly manicured finger nail and felt the carefully filed and varnished tissue fracture and break, now that she thought about it, talking had never really been their strong point, at any time in their relationship.

  Clearly, their ardent coupling, she refused to call it lovemaking, had opened up a whole facet of her character that she’d never even known existed and it left her feeling shallow and bereft. She must take radical action to guard against a repeat performance, she must make sure that she was never left alone with Phil again. He obviously had the same weaknesses that she did, he didn’t have an ‘off’ switch and neither did she.

  If she closed her eyes, she could almost taste his mouth on her own, right now. A small smile played at the corner of her lips, just for a moment, before reason squashed it down and obliterated it, once and for all. In its place, sanity prevailed. It would be a horrific mistake for them to cover old ground again, to say nothing of the repercussions their actions would cause within the family, if the truth leaked out. This had to stay a secret between them, there would be no going back.

  She hugged her arms around her midriff, suddenly cold. She needed another five minutes alone, before she could walk through that door and into her old life again, she felt her soul crack straight down the middle, split for ever into two separate parts.

  Chapter

  5

  THE SKY’S THE LIMIT

  Bertie had been busy, very busy. He glanced into the mirror over the swanky wash hand basin and glowered at the hot air hand-drier, stuck fast to the sleek, smooth walls like a sullen grey limpet. He hated those things, ridiculous inventions. With a sniff and a cough he pulled his shirt loose from his trousers and dried his hands on the shirt tails, leaving the ends sticking out in rebellion; he was done here now, anyhow. You would have thought that a nice posh place like this could afford a few paper hand towels and a waste paper basket, he thought grumpily. They’d managed to provide hand cream, moisturiser and some other lotion or other in a posh pump action pot he noticed, rattling the glass containers irritably, what was all that for then? He frowned, this was a gent’s for Christ sakes, not a whorehouse; men’s face cream and stuff, whatever would they dream up next?

  He smoothed his hair back from his face in a reflex gesture and then relented, smearing a globule of the lotion on his hands anyhow, since it was free. He took an experimental sniff at the smooth white solution as he spread it liberally over his hands and dotted a bit on his face too and rubbed it in for good measure, not bad, not bad at all actually. He glanced at his watch, it was time to call a cab, he’d done all he could here for the moment. His date had paid for the grub and he’d managed to find out what he’d come here to investigate, so it was off to the ‘bookies’ in Carnaby Street to put a couple of quid on the horses and then back to the office for an hour or so, before he called it a day.

  As he walked out of the men’s room, back into the foyer, his companion detached herself from the group of people she’d been talking to in his absence and managed to corner him beside the door to the bar. “Bertie
, I wondered where you’d been hiding, you bad man, you promised me a Swedish massage, if I introduced you to the head of security, that was the deal, wasn’t it?” She moved an inch closer, he could see right down the front of her blouse from here. “I’m staying over tonight after the ‘do’, my room is on the third floor, remember?” she lisped, huskily.

  Damn, he’d been intending to slope out of here unseen. The offer was tempting, really tempting, but he really didn’t need any complications at this point. On the other hand, the bright red talon that had discreetly slipped beneath his suit jacket and was trailing a red hot path down his abdomen was proving to be very distracting. Reluctantly, he reached inside his suit jacket and firmly grasped the offending finger, gallantly twisting his fore-arm so that the delicate skin of his companion’s wrist was raised and exposed to him. He dipped his head to place one fleeting kiss on the sensitive flesh and smiled cheekily. “Diana, I would love to oblige this afternoon, but as you know I have a newspaper to run, so reluctantly I may need to take a rain-check, forgive me?” he asked, as he extricated himself from her grasp and stilled her seeking hands.

  She gave a pout of disappointment, but relinquished him easily enough, eyes already scouting the room for a more likely candidate; after all there were plenty of other more wealthy targets here for her to play with today. With indiscreet haste, she spied a wealthy businessman on the other side of the room and raised a hand in acknowledgement. “Gary,” she trilled, and she caught his eye, and with a flutter of her lashes and a wave of the fingers, she was off towards her new quarry without a backward glance, tripping through the lobby, heel-tips tapping on the heavy parquet flooring and trailing a mist of exotic scent behind her in her wake.

  As Bertie stepped out into the street and pulled up the collar of his jacket against the drizzling rain he chuckled to himself, he must be getting old, really old, since when did he put business before pleasure, especially in those surroundings?

  His eyes narrowed, the thought of the photographs and the reason why he’d set up the meeting drifted into his mind. There was always some poor sod out there coming a cropper. He needed to keep his own life squeaky clean these days, he’d become a target for some people himself now, you could never be sure who was out there watching and waiting, one man’s indiscretions were another guy’s golden opportunity, it was a sad world and it was his chosen profession.

  He’d spotted at least two other journalists at the party today, mingling with the guests, hanging on their every word, there was no way of knowing what leads they’d picked up or what use they might put the information to, given half a chance.

  He’d only taken a few steps away from the building, when his mobile buzzed silently in his inside pocket. “I’m back,” the message read. “What time shall I pick you up? I can’t wait until I’m in your arms again.” He smiled confidently, it was a good job that he’d said ‘no’ to Diana just now, he thought.

  “Please tell me that you have finally given him the brush-off at long last,” he messaged back. He held his breath, hardly daring to breathe, had she finally done it, was she really ready to move on?

  “Yes, it’s done,” she replied. “Come over now, I can’t wait until tonight.”

  He flicked through a list of messages on his phone and made a snap decision. There were plenty of people in the office who could hold the fort at work, just for tonight. He deserved a night off, right now, and he was going to put it to good use.

  Stepping out into the street he hailed a cab: “Hammersmith,” he directed as he climbed inside. He leaned forwards to give the driver the address and flicked a stray dark hair from the lapel of his camel coloured cashmere coat, he didn’t want to blow it now, he’d been waiting a very long time for this day, as they said in the movies, ‘the lady was his for the taking’.

  By the time that Bertie finally surfaced the following morning, and placed a long and lingering kiss on the seductive mouth of his beautiful companion, Crystal was already up and dressed in Wiltshire, and driving the trusty old Land Rover out of the driveway heading for her appointment.

  The ancient framework creaked and groaned and every panel rattled as the faithful old vehicle protested at the speed with which Crystal attacked the bumpy concrete road. It was a fair distance across country, but the lanes were clear of traffic at this time of the morning and she made good time. As she approached the tatty old industrial estate perched on the fringes of the tiny provincial airfield she was paying even less attention than usual to the journey, she was wrapped up in her own sorry world and trying to work out exactly why she had agreed to such a ridiculous notion. She’d been caught unawares, when she’d agreed to it, that much was obvious, but could she go through with it? What would happen if she changed her mind at the last moment?

  It was early, way too early for a Sunday, not yet eight a.m., and they were ‘up’ at first light, whatever that meant. Her trainer would be Jon, or Jonno as the other guys called him, Babs had said. Her friend had pinned her with her most serious stare and warned her about him, apparently he always had a ready smile and a cocky self-assured comment, ribald for the guys and merely cheeky for the ladies, but she shouldn’t take him seriously; he was like that with all of the girls, Babs said. Crystal grimaced, if only Babs knew; she had enough problems in her life already. There was no way she would compound the error by dallying with any flying instructor; attractive or not.

  She still had no idea how her friend had managed to talk her into it. She really was losing her grip she decided, as she pulled the vehicle into the space beside the ratty old WWII hangar which now housed all of the light aircraft, corporate and private, which were flown regularly from this airstrip.

  She’d been more than slightly preoccupied when she’d taken the call last week. For once she’d been susceptible to her friend’s amiable banter and regular submission of ridiculous suggestions. They’d known each other since college days, but while Crystal had flown off to LA, Babs had remained in the capital and gone to work for a grand multi-national, doing charity work, which was how Crystal had ended up here today. She’d been grovelling about on the kitchen floor, cloth in hand, trying to pick up the remains of the apple pie and the glass plate that it had been standing on at the time.

  She’d agreed to do the jump on the same day that she’d dropped Lolly off at her gran’s, following the naughty liaison with Phil on the kitchen sofa, she realised. That had been a truly horrendous day from start to finish, she thought. She had stalked into the kitchen carrying the pie that her gran had insisted she take home for lunch, to discover Jazz, still wearing his business suit, reclining leisurely on her soft fluffy blanket on the chaise-lounge. The same fluffy blanket and the same chaise-lounge that she’d so recently frolicked on, naked, with Phil.

  She’d been unable to contain her knee-jerk reaction and had howled in surprise, catapulting the plate across the kitchen in mortification. As the pie and the plate parted company in mid-air, shock had mirrored on Jazz’s face in equal proportions to the shame and remorse that was reflected on her own.

  He’d leapt up from the sofa as if stung and charged over to where Crystal stood, rooted to the spot, white faced and hands trembling.

  “What the heck…?” he’d asked, completely flummoxed by Crystal’s behaviour. “What on earth is wrong, you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” he asked, as he took her nerveless fingers in his own.

  His touch had been too much for Crystal, far too soon. She’d been unable to look him in the eye. She’d dropped down to her knees and tried picking up the pie, plate and crumbs bare handed.

  “Leave it,” he’d barked, horrified. “Crystal, you’ll cut yourself,” he’d added a little more softly, as he squatted down to where she was crouched and tried to move her hands away from the mess on the floor. He calmly steered her over to the sofa, that faithless sofa, which in Crystal’s mind embodied all of her treacherous wrong-doings, and sat beside her on the soft purple blanket, waiting reasonably for some kind of explanation.


  Gradually the cogs in her brain began to click over again and she found her voice. “Lolly, Lolly,” she started, by way of explanation. ‘I’ve bonked Lolly’s boy-friend on this very sofa not two hours ago,’ her mind supplied hysterically. No, no, that would never do. Not the right answer at all. How unladylike. Come on Crystal, think. There must be some plausible explanation. She was not much good at fabricating stories, never had been. She drew a blank.

  “Lolly?” Jazz asked, his brow furrowing as he took in Crystal’s appearance and tried to piece together what had been going on. “Are those Lolly’s bags, in the hallway? I nearly tripped over them on the way in,” he cursed. “Please tell me that she’s not staying here, Crystal. I couldn’t cope with your cousin Olivia coming to stay again. She hasn’t split up with Phil again, has she?”

  Crystal found her voice. “No, no, I don’t think so, not as such, I don’t know,” she wailed. Had Olivia broken up with Phil, was that why he’d come over here to talk to her? Had he seduced her because he was mad at Lolly? She really didn’t know him at all, she realised, not any more. It was a very unpalatable thought.

  She wrinkled up her nose, and tried not to hyper-ventilate. Jazz was looking at her very strangely now, if she carried on like this he’d have no trouble in fitting the pieces together, he was pretty astute. She shrugged her shoulders, trying not to look too guilty. “I just dropped her off at Gran’s, I guess they had a row that’s all, and she thought that she’d come and stay here. I talked her out of it, thankfully.”

  Jazz smiled in relief. “It will all blow over in a day or so,” he advised airily.

  Crystal raised an eyebrow. No, it wouldn’t, not this time she thought, starkly. Not after what she’d done. It was there between them now, every time he came near her. Jazz had only to touch her and she remembered lying here, naked on the chaise lounge with Phil. It was early days yet, but infidelity exacted a very high price.