The Manor

by Keane Jessie

  It was. Ludo could sympathize, but he also thought that his boss would wrap him up neat, yeah, in a fucking shroud, if he ballsed this up. Nipper might be contented with near enough, that’ll do, but Ludo never was. Not that he thought there was any chance they’d find Belle Barton, not now. Girl was dead in a ditch somewhere, she’d carked it, the poor cow. Pretty soon her body was going to honk and then someone was going to find it. No doubt about that. But he’d keep this up for as long as Harlan wanted him to.

  ‘Yeah, that’s the truth, boss. I like things wrapped up tight.’

  ‘Then go to it.’

  Harlan slapped the phone down and Ludo hung up. ‘Shit,’ he said.

  ‘Won’t stop?’ guessed Nipper.

  ‘Got it in one. Pass me the room service menu, man. I need food. Must be all this fresh air.’

  ‘They don’t do room service. We have to go down to the bar.’

  Ludo rolled his eyes. ‘Fuck me,’ he said in annoyance. ‘Man, one way or another we got to get this thing done. Find a dead body or find the girl still breathing. Either one, I don’t give a shit. Or I am going to have to scout out some better accommodation as a matter of urgency.’

  127

  Next time Jack went swimming, he paused at the door, towel over his shoulder as usual.

  ‘Coming?’ he asked her as she sat at the kitchen table, Trix at her feet.

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Well, the offer’s there.’

  ‘No. Thanks.’

  When he’d gone, she mentally kicked herself. She was being a coward, and cowardice just wasn’t in her nature. Or it hadn’t been, before Harlan had thrown her into a tank full of caimans. She’d always been bold Belle, seizing every challenge. But now the thought of getting into water – any water – seriously scared her. Brought back too many awful memories. Made her think of the pain, the scars . . .

  Oh Christ the scars.

  She was stronger now. Fitter. Jack didn’t have to mock her over the hay bales any more; she could lift them.

  Her leg had more or less healed now, though there was a line of crusted tooth marks all up her calf to show for the experience. They reminded her of people who’d suffered shark attacks, who sported forever after a pale crescent moon of tooth marks. But worse, far worse, was her face. She spent long minutes every day staring at her reflection in the reinstated bathroom mirror, or at the dressing table mirrors that Jack had put back up.

  She would never be the same again. Now even her name felt like a mockery. Belle meant beautiful, didn’t it. Which she wasn’t. All her previous self-confidence was shot to hell.

  She wasn’t Belle, not any more.

  Scarface.

  Her right side was the same as it had always been. Her left . . . she would never get used to that damage. The puckered purple scarring, the distortion, the tightness whenever she tried to smile, an instant reminder of what was there, what would always be there.

  He’d done this to her. Harlan Stone.

  And more.

  The anger and grief at the loss of her family ate at her, every day. And here she was, escaping from the world. Hiding.

  Like a fucking coward.

  Yeah, that was her. She was afraid. Scared witless of the water and of the world outside the safety of this place. And she was also . . . damn, she could barely acknowledge this, it was too fucking embarrassing . . . she was also scared by the way she was beginning to feel about Jack Tavender. Back in her past life, she had always been the cool girl, the one men turned to look at. Now, her scars had robbed her of that. Just once, she’d answered the door to the postman when Jack was off in the local market town, and the expression on the man’s face had made her shrink into herself with shame. He’d been visibly shocked.

  She was a mess, inside and out.

  And there was something bad, something worse, it seemed to her, now. She could scarcely bear this, it was so painful to acknowledge, but it was the truth. She was hopelessly attracted to Jack, and getting closer to him day by day. And that was . . . Christ, it was just sad, because look at the state of her.

  Next day and the next, he asked again. Did she want to come for a swim?

  ‘No,’ said Belle, but every day she felt worse about it.

  Next day, the same. ‘Coming?’

  ‘No. Thanks.’

  And again, the day after that.

  The day after that, she was sitting there at the kitchen table with Trix and a towel.

  ‘Coming then?’ he asked.

  ‘OK. All right. Did your mum have any bathers?’

  He looked blank.

  ‘A swimsuit?’ Belle elaborated.

  ‘Not that I know of. Sorry.’

  Which was her perfect ‘out’ of this. Her heart was beating sickly in her chest with terror. But she was going to do it.

  ‘Never mind,’ she said, faking a breezy tone. ‘I’ll wing it, yeah? Go back to nature.’

  Now she was committed. She couldn’t say she was coming and then bottle it. They left Trix in the yard and walked down the edge of the field, and with every step Belle felt herself grow more and more afraid. Three quarters of the way down there, Jack stopped walking.

  ‘You OK?’ he asked, looking at her face. Instinctively, Belle turned her scarred side away from him.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You look a bit green around the gills.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  He carried on walking, Belle following behind. When they reached the river, Belle sat down on the bank, feeling like she was going to hurl. Down in the dip, the water rushed on by, powerful and merciless.

  Black water.

  The monstrous things, old as the mouth of hell, ancient predators, slipping in, coming to get her . . .

  ‘Don’t think about it,’ Jack reminded her, somehow reading her mind. He was shrugging off his shirt and dropping it onto the grass.

  Belle drew in a shuddering breath and flicked up a glance at him. Instantly she was sorry she had. That was the other thing that flummoxed her, his so-casual attitude to his own body. She looked at his chest, furred lightly with black hair, and his arms, so muscular, so whipcord strong. Then he unbuckled his belt and unzipped, and she quickly looked away.

  Her heart hammering in her chest now, sweaty from the heat of the day and so glad of the shady cool of the trees overhead, she heard him move away from her, down the bank. She heard him wade out into the water. She turned and looked.

  He was swimming over to the opposite bank. Reaching it, he turned and ploughed back through the water and looked up at her.

  ‘Coming in, then?’ he said.

  God, she was so sick of this. She didn’t feel like herself, not any more. She’d had the shit kicked out of her. And that made her mad. She’d lost her nerve; she was broken. Broken by Harlan fucking Stone.

  No. That won’t happen. I can’t let it.

  She looked down at Jack, grinning a challenge at her. And him. So bloody confident. Strutting around in the altogether like it didn’t matter a damn. She felt fury building in her. At Harlan, at Jack, at the whole damned world.

  ‘All right,’ she said. She stood up and quickly threw off the faded chambray shirt and his mother’s old jeans. Then naked, defiant, she walked down to the water’s edge and, steeling herself, she waded in.

  128

  The minute she was up to her chest in the water, it grabbed her: the terror.

  ‘Oh Christ,’ she said, shivering. The water was icy, and her mind was full of those monsters, tearing at her flesh, trying to eat her whole. She felt her breath catching in her throat, felt her lungs close, felt a scream building up.

  Jack was suddenly right there, in front of her. Those fierce eyes were blazing into hers.

  ‘Don’t think about it,’ he said, grabbing her shoulders, fixing her with his gaze. ‘I’ve got you. You’re fine. The most dangerous thing in here is us.’

  Something slithered past Belle’s ankle and she let out a shriek. ‘What
the fuck . . . ?’ she yelled.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘Something touched me.’

  ‘Probably just weed or maybe a trout. I told you, there’s fish in here. And newts and stuff.’

  Trembling, Belle looked down into the water. It was gin-clear, not like the caiman tank. Weed was lapping silkily at her ankles.

  Just weed.

  Nothing bad. Jack was smiling.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ she told him through chattering teeth.

  Something darted down there. A trout. It brushed against her scarred calf. Belle let out another shriek and leapt forward, her arms going around Jack’s neck.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said instantly, and started to pull away.

  ‘Don’t be,’ he said, his eyes holding hers. His hands went to her forearms, keeping her there. ‘You’re bloody brave, Belle. You got in here even though you looked like you were going to shit yourself with fear. You did it.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Brave as hell, that’s me.’ She was still shaking. But . . . it was nice, her arms around his neck. She felt safer, this close to him. Protected.

  He was staring at her face. For one moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but he didn’t.

  No, of course not. All that’s done with.

  She turned her head aside, letting her hair drop forward to hide her scars. Her attention was caught by the droplets of water on his broad well-muscled shoulders. The texture of his skin was so different to hers. She was hotly aware now that they were both naked, that this could develop into something way beyond her control. She eased back, disengaging herself. Tried a couple of tentative strokes, not moving too far away from him. The stony chill of the water was better now that she was moving; it was sharply refreshing after the clammy heat of the day. Getting bolder, she struck out for the far bank and Jack swam alongside her.

  God, this was . . . this was nice.

  She’d always loved to swim, even as a tiny child. Now, the love of it came back to her. Gradually she stopped worrying about what else was in the water besides the two of them. She swam back and forth across the river, enjoying it, until she was too tired to swim any more. Then she waded out onto the bank and flopped there, exhausted, not even bothering to cover up with her towel because all that was done with, she was repulsive anyway, it didn’t matter.

  It was sort of liberating, somehow. She closed her eyes and relaxed.

  All the fannying around she’d done in her past life, the hours spent in hairdressers and beauty salons being coloured, waxed, plucked, tanned, all that shit – she was never going to have to bother with that, ever again, because that life, that pampered, privileged, false life was over and done with. Here was reality. Day-to-day she wore an old relic of Jack’s mother’s – a pair of ill-fitting jeans – and a shirt of his that had a frayed collar and paint stains on it. No need to dress up and teeter around in high heels any more. No need for anything, because all that artifice, all that pretence, was over. She was ugly and all the preening in the world wasn’t going to change that.

  There was movement alongside her and she knew that he was right there. Drops of cool water splashed down on her skin. She heard him sit down on the bank. Then for a long while there was nothing but birdsong and the rush of the water. Her heart was beating hard. She could feel her nipples standing erect, could feel the ridiculous liquid heat between her legs, the longing for him, the readiness, her body opening like a flower. But he wouldn’t want that. Of course he wouldn’t.

  ‘Belle?’ he said.

  She opened her eyes. Jack was lying beside her, leaning over her. To her shock she realized that he was laughing so hard she thought he was about to have a seizure. Actual tears were coming out of his eyes, he was laughing so much.

  ‘What?’ she demanded.

  He gulped in a breath. ‘The nerve on you! I thought you’d be wearing a bra and pants, and instead . . . Christ, you got more front than Blackpool. Walking around stark naked!’

  He was off again. Laughing.

  ‘You’re naked,’ Belle pointed out. She couldn’t see why this was so damned funny.

  ‘I’m a bloke. It’s not the same.’ Now he was staring down at her and suddenly nothing seemed very funny at all. He wasn’t laughing, not any more.

  Belle didn’t know what to say to break the breathless silence between them. It’s OK, I’m ugly, you don’t have to do a thing sprang to her lips, but she couldn’t seem to get the words out. She’d had men before – well, boys – but she had never, ever felt this raw unbridled intensity of lust until now. It was embarrassing, wanting him this much.

  ‘Belle,’ he said, and he was serious, his gaze intense as it swept down her body and then back up to her face. ‘My crazy brave Belle, if you don’t want this, then say so. Right now.’

  She said nothing.

  ‘Belle,’ he whispered, and then he leaned down and kissed her.

  His beard tickled her face. Scratched it a little, but she didn’t mind that, she relished it. For one golden moment she forgot what she looked like and concentrated only on what she felt.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ said Belle when he let her breathe.

  ‘Yes I bloody do,’ he said against her lips.

  What the hell. If he was willing, then she certainly was. As his mouth took possession of hers all over again, Belle clung to his shoulders, smoothed her hands over those mysterious silky ridged scars on his back. His hands and then his mouth went to her breasts, drawing out her nipples until she thought she was going to simply go crazy – and then he moved lower, lower, until she cried out, spread herself for him, begged him to just do it, hurry, please hurry.

  ‘No, I’m not hurrying this,’ he said, trailing kisses back up her body. He breathed against her neck. His eyes met hers and he was half-laughing. ‘I’ve waited too long, I’m going to make it last. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, driving myself mad with it.’

  He wanted her. Her – poor ugly Belle. Her hands slipped down between them and she felt how much she was desired as she fastened her fingers around that hard quivering column of flesh that jutted out between his legs. She smoothed her thumb across the tip of it and felt the moisture there, the readiness that equalled her own.

  ‘Please,’ she moaned, and Jack mounted her then, teasingly, slowly, slipping his cock into her inch by inch, withdrawing, then easing forward again, staring into her eyes all the time, taking leisurely pleasure in the sensations. Over and over again he teased her, teased them both, until he could take no more and pushed hard into her, convulsing.

  Even then, when his pleasure was complete, he took care of hers, stroking her, caressing her, and finally bringing her to a wild pulsing orgasm that drew gasps of delighted surprise from her, blowing her mind with its intensity.

  129

  When the break came, it came so suddenly that it caught Ludo off-guard, but that was probably just as well. Exhausted after yet another long day traipsing around the countryside, Ludo and Nipper were in another country pub, in another set of substandard rooms with no minibar, a shower that spat at you, a mattress like to break your fucking back, in fact no nothing. Ludo was so pissed off with this situation now, so done with it, that his patience was just about at an end.

  Then Nipper knocked at Ludo’s door.

  ‘Come the fuck in!’ yelled Ludo, trying out the TV for the Six O’Clock News; the picture kept breaking up. He switched it off, threw the remote across the room.

  ‘We got a break,’ said Nipper, coming over to the bed Ludo was reclining on.

  ‘Yeah, what?’ Ludo rubbed his aching spine. ‘I got a break, I tell you. My back is broken from sleeping on this goddamned thing here that passes for a bed.’

  ‘One of the postmen. A temp. Couldn’t get shit out of the usual guys, they were tight as a drum, but this one didn’t care. Says a new girl answered the door to him once at Beechwood Farm.’

  ‘That place? Looks in shit order?’

  ‘That’s the one. He’s never seen h
er there before and chatting in the sorting office he said no one else knew her either. Blonde. Brown eyes. Right age for our one. Says she’s scarred up somethin’ scary. And that fits too. She was bleedin’ when she got out of the tank. Tough bitch, no doubt about it.’

  Ludo swung his legs off the bed. ‘Nothin’ a bullet between the eyes won’t sort out. Beechwood Farm, you say.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Tomorrow morning then.’

  130

  Belle and Jack slept together that night in the double bed in Jack’s room, cuddled naked into each other like spoons in a drawer. When Belle woke, she was disappointed to see that it was morning already. Time to face reality. She was halfway out of the bed, thinking that yesterday had just been madness and that today would be an end of it, that he would regret everything, realize his mistake and snub her. His hand closed over her arm, stopping her movement.

  ‘Where you going?’ he murmured.

  ‘Up. It’s gone nine.’

  He pulled her back down. ‘Nah, stay a minute.’

  Belle lay back down, turning so that she faced him, careful to let her blonde curtain of hair fall over the left side of her face.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered against her mouth.

  Belle’s mouth twisted. ‘I was.’

  ‘When I found you in the barn I thought I was having a nightmare. You were in a hell of a mess.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You’re still beautiful.’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘But I think it’s changed you. Having this happen.’

  ‘I’d better get up,’ she said.

  ‘Nah, you’d better kiss me,’ he said against her mouth. Then gently, almost tenderly, he brushed her hair aside and kissed her scar. She thought of poor Milly, being used for sex by Nipper. Was this what Jack was doing, right now? Was she just a convenient female, a hole to put it in? Was that it?

  ‘I’m getting up,’ she said, and this time he didn’t argue.