Scandalous

by Martel Maxwell

  The last time she had seen him, Hartley had walked her to the door of her flat after supper and a gentle kiss had grown until both of them lost control for a few blissfully wild seconds, Lucy feeling excited at the warmth of his strong body pressing against hers. Hartley kissed her hard, pressing his mouth on to hers, letting his teeth sink into her bottom lip and creating a delightful second of pain, of wanting. God, she loved feeling wanted by him. Her longing heightened as Hartley brushed his hand over the thin material covering her hard nipples, sending a thousand tingles round her body. But as quickly as they had lost themselves in each other, the moment ended abruptly when a neighbour approached to let herself in through their communal main door. They had both composed themselves, flummoxed and red, Hartley giving a very proper and terribly British kiss as he said goodbye.

  The extent of her desire for Hartley had taken Lucy by surprise.

  ‘Hello, Lucy Lu.’ Hartley’s booming voice came over her shoulder, making her jump.

  Hartley had taken to calling her this pet name – and hearing it she instantly knew he was not angry with her.

  Lucy, blushing slightly, smiled and stood up to kiss him on the cheek.

  Settling down into their gilt-edged, pink-and-cream-striped armchairs, Hartley gave Lucy a wink.

  ‘Battle of the socialites, huh?’

  Lucy wished she could control the redness spreading across her cheeks.

  ‘Darling, don’t look so worried. I know what Bridget is like and I can imagine she was quite vile to you.’

  Hartley regretted ever going out with Bridget. Their families had known each other for ever and Bridget had always had a terrible reputation among his friends as a spoiled child who could be exceptionally rude. But when they met at a ball she had been utterly charming. She told Hartley she was often misunderstood, that she had been a brat but had grown to appreciate how lucky she was and would love to give something back. Perhaps she could play a small role in Hartley’s charity work. He had warmed to Bridget and been determined to give her the benefit of the doubt. Before he knew it, Hartley was in a rather serious relationship with Bridget, who seemed to have endless plans for his weekends with her set, his set, with both of their families. He didn’t mind really; she kept telling him she was just like his mother – quite the home-maker, always keen to please.

  But Hartley soon began to realize she was nothing like his mother, for he could never use the words kind, generous and loving to describe Bridget. Her charm offensive began to falter until she was often just plain offensive. Once, after a few too many drinks, she told Hartley how she had sabotaged a friend’s chances of gaining membership to an exclusive polo club in Windsor by telling the president a few grossly exaggerated tales of him behaving badly at parties. Hartley was astonished by her poison. He knew he had to get out, no matter how often she told him they were two of a kind and a perfect match in every way.

  ‘I’m so dreadfully sorry you had to go through that. All because of me, really. Do you forgive me?’

  The relief on Lucy’s face was visible. ‘Of course I do. I was worried you’d think this was my fault.’

  Lucy was overcome by a wave of emotion. Though they had been dating for less than a month, Hartley seemed to know instinctively who she really was, to trust her.

  ‘Oh shush, Lucy Lu. I know what Bridget is like. You must wonder why I dated her. The thing is she was so nice to me at times. She really cared about our relationship.’ Hartley looked lost for words as he thumbed a button on his light blue Gant shirt. ‘But, well, I began to see another side. I… I knew she wasn’t, you know, the One.’

  Reaching over, Hartley squeezed her hand.

  Unlike some men she had dated before, he hadn’t professed his undying love after two dates. He was warm and kind but had inherited the stiff upper lip of his upper-class roots.

  What Hartley did – a squeeze of the hand, a warm look in his eye – meant more to Lucy than an outburst of phony emotion.

  Perhaps she could love this man. Truly and deeply. She sensed he wanted to look after her, to protect her. How silly, she told herself, to be getting carried away so soon into their relationship. But didn’t somebody once say that every girl visualized her wedding dress if the first date went well?

  For as long as she could remember, Lucy had wanted to get married and have a family. She craved the security of a lifelong relationship; she had never known what it was to have the love of her own mother and father under one roof. She had been blessed with parents who loved her, indeed a mum who would do anything for her, and she thought of Fergal more as a second dad than her stepfather. But still, the situation had made her determined to get it right.

  In retrospect, that’s why she had stayed with her ex for so long. She felt a sense of loyalty, wanted to make it work and build something with him. This longing seemed to have made her blind for far too long to the fact that – as Max would say – he was an utter shit.

  Lucy felt sure she would like the feeling of safety and security she was already starting to feel. Hartley was a simple, honest soul – not like John.

  Lucy lost herself in the moment before realizing Hartley was asking her something.

  ‘Lucy, I hope you don’t think me too forward but, well…’ Hartley suddenly seemed unsure of himself. ‘My friend Robbie has a place in Fife – he moved back recently from London. Charles and his girlfriend, Claudia, are going to stay with him for the weekend in a few weeks time… Lucy, I’d, erm, very much like to join them. With you.’

  Now it was Hartley who was blushing.

  ‘Of course, I understand if you think it’s too much.’ Hartley looked at the floor as his voice trailed off.

  ‘Hartley,’ Lucy said softly, smiling when his eyes met hers, ‘it would be my pleasure.’

  He broke out into a relieved smile and laughed heartily.

  ‘And I have an invitation for you,’ Lucy went on. ‘Clarissa has invited us for dinner. I kind of promised we’d go.’

  Hartley looked at Lucy. What had he done to deserve this beautiful, thoughtful girl?

  She didn’t seem to know how devastatingly gorgeous she was. No man in the room could keep his eyes off her. Yet she seemed blissfully unaware, making him feel like the centre of her world.

  God, he hoped she felt a fraction of the feelings for him that he felt for her.

  Those hips, that tiny waist, her long graceful neck. He felt the familiar tingling in his groin that came whenever he thought of her. He scrutinized her floral dress. Square-necked with not a hint of cleavage and a hemline below her knee. Refined and modest. So why was it the sexiest dress he’d ever seen?

  No, he must act like a gentleman. Lucy was different from any girl he’d known. She wasn’t obsessed with trading names of mutual friends, or finding out what societies and clubs he could introduce her to.

  Hell, she was the first woman whom he’d really laughed with. She made fun of him, ruffling his hair and telling him his voice made the Queen sound common. She was constantly teasing him that no matter how long he took to get ready he always had the look of a dishevelled bumbler – and she told him that was one of her very favourite things about him. She was so stylish and feminine – more elegant than any titled girl he’d met.

  He couldn’t wait to take her home to Edinburgh, a city she seemed to love just as much as he did.

  Lucy knew Edinburgh well. She’d lost count of the times she’d visited the castle on school holidays with her mum and Max. And she had seen a different side to the city when she had visited as a student and stayed with friends studying at the university. Walks to Murrayfield to see Scotland play England at rugby, and invariably lose in the Six Nations cup; taking in the wonderful smell of beer hops that settled like a welcoming blanket over the city. Like Hartley, she had climbed the Pentlands and Arthur’s Seat. She had done her Christmas shopping in Jenners and Harvey Nics too. Maybe they had passed each other and never known.

  She was constantly surprising him. Like last weekend, w
hen he had complained he was feeling a little tired and longed to get back to Scotland for a few days.

  She told him she knew just the cure. She would pick him up in fifteen minutes and he was to have a bag with a towel and swimming shorts ready. They had driven to Hampstead Heath where Lucy took him to a large fresh-water pool she told him was a mixed-sex swimming area until October, when it got too cold.

  ‘Come on!’ She had tugged on his arm like a child to get changed.

  Together they had jumped into the freezing pond. Lucy had laughed hysterically at the look of horror on Hartley’s face when he hit the water.

  ‘Don’t worry; you’ll heat up in a moment. Keep swimming. The shock to your system will do you good.’

  And it had. Hartley had felt invigorated – partly down to the swim, partly down to Lucy. They had had lunch in a nearby pub garden and ordered scampi and chips. Lucy, wearing no make-up, looked more beautiful than ever. She challenged him to the scampi competition – a long-running challenge she played with Max. The winner was the one who counted the most bits of battered scampi on their plate; the loser had to buy the drinks. Lucy had won with twelve pieces, telling him proudly her record was nineteen. She had decided to try a pint of Guinness for the first time and, after a gulp, declared it her new tipple of choice. She laughed as she thought of her twig-thin colleagues at the magazine sipping champagne and eating carrot sticks at parties, and watching aghast as Lucy downed her daily calorie intake with pint after pint of the tasty black liquid.

  ‘Would you still love me with a beer belly?’ Lucy had blushed furiously the moment she realized she had blurted out ‘love’. They hadn’t come close to talking of love.

  Leaning over the wooden beer-garden table Hartley had kissed her firmly on the lips: ‘I would love you even more.’

  Hartley stirred his tea and smiled, enjoying the muted background noise of chattering and clinking cups around him. He knew already he wanted Lucy to be more than a fleeting girlfriend.

  He could offer her a life of luxury and riches; she would never have to work and could have anything she desired.

  He wanted to pin her down now and kiss those plump pink lips, to make love to her. The way she smelled was like a drug he wanted to inhale for ever. To kiss every inch of her creamy soft skin, her full breasts; to hold her to him while they made love.

  But no, she would want to wait. And she was worth waiting for.

  ‘Do I get to chaperone you to this dinner?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well then, Lucy Lu, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

  CHIN UP, CHEST OUT

  For an August day it was remarkably chilly.

  Thankfully, Max was wearing new, matching, cream Calvin Klein bra and pants – respectable enough…

  Oh God, there was nothing respectable about walking down the Kings Road in her underwear.

  What the hell, onwards and upwards.

  Max had worked with the photographer, John, dozens of times on different jobs – normally staking out some celebrity’s house to catch them cheating.

  John was a rosy-cheeked man approaching middle-age, with a shock of orange hair.

  Max smiled as he instinctively transformed into snapper mode.

  He’d done it hundreds of times, reassuring old ladies in his friendly cockney voice and getting them to smile while they waved their lottery cheque, telling topless or scantily-clad models they looked stunning – just relax and enjoy.

  ‘Come on, Max, get that coat off and give me some attitude, darlin’.’

  Flinging her raincoat on the ground Max revealed her petite, toned, slightly tanned body with pert breasts and strong thighs.

  And, oh bloody hell, nipples like coat hangers.

  ‘Feeling the cold, Max?’ John peeked out from behind his lens and grinned before continuing to click away. ‘OK, give me a smile.’

  Smile? Oh bugger it, I’m never going to see these people again, Max told herself as she made the effort to relax and look confident.

  ‘Great, you’ve got a group of builders behind you. That’s it, lads – point at her. Look amazed.’

  The men cheered and pointed for the camera, while Max negotiated the pavement slowly in the five-inch stilettos she’d borrowed from the fashion department, uttering under her breath, like a mantra: ‘The higher the heels, the smaller the thighs.’

  ‘Nice view.’

  What? Hold on. That’s a slightly posh voice for a builder, Max thought as she heard a deep voice come from over her shoulder, while someone tapped on her back.

  She turned her head and saw… Who was he? He looked familiar. She knew that voice. And she definitely knew the face. Was he famous?

  Turning to face him, Max took in the man standing in front of her. God, he was handsome.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Sorry, do I know you?’

  The tall man with dirty-blond dishevelled hair was smiling. Well, actually, he wasn’t but his bright green-blue eyes were twinkling with laughter.

  ‘Kind of,’ he replied, holding her stare with supreme confidence. ‘The last time I saw you I said the same thing.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ He might be cute – very cute – but this guy could be a nutter. Yet he looked so familiar.

  ‘That’s what I said: “nice view”.’

  Nice view. Of course! The guy who had shouted up to her as she climbed the VIP wall at Man of Steel 4 – with a bird’s-eye view up her micro skirt.

  ‘Oh, you!’

  ‘Yes, me.’ The man she’d noted was cute that night too – and no wedding ring.

  ‘Tell me –’ his eyes were twinkling like sapphires now – ‘do you have some kind of wonderful job that pays you to show men like me as much of your body as humanly possible?’

  Max laughed out loud. She couldn’t help herself.

  ‘No,’ she said, looking up to meet his eyes and realizing he must be at least six foot two. ‘I, I don’t normally do this.’

  ‘That’s what all the girls say.’

  You’re gorgeous! The voice in Max’s head was so loud she wondered if he’d heard. ‘My name is Max. Pleased to meet you,’ she said, offering her hand.

  ‘Luke,’ he said, taking her hand firmly. ‘And the pleasure is most definitely mine.’

  God, I fancy you, was all Max could think as she held his gaze. How often do I meet a guy I like? Never. Let alone one whose clothes I want to rip off.

  ‘OK, Max, I’m all done ’ere.’ The photographer’s loud cheery voice sliced into her thoughts. ‘I’ve got more than enough shots they can use. I’ve got to run to another job. You OK if I shoot off?’

  ‘Erm, sure, John.’ Max turned to the photographer and kissed him on the cheek before turning back to… Luke.

  Ask him for a drink, Max told herself. Ask him. He likes you. Or maybe he thinks you’re a mad woman, a glamour model, a hooker. Why would he think you’re a hooker? Oh just ask him.

  ‘Tell you what, why don’t I explain all over a glass of –’

  ‘Luke.’

  What? Who was this? A tall woman wearing skinny jeans and skin-tight T-shirt was standing in between them.

  ‘There you are. I told you to meet me at the Bluebird café.’

  Luke shifted uneasily on his feet, looking from Max to the girl.

  ‘Sorry, honey, I just bumped into an old friend.’ Luke looked apologetically at Max. ‘Max, this is my girlfriend. Jenni, this is Max.’

  Max suddenly felt as stupid as she was sure she must look. Erect nipples, wobbly heels, bra and pants in the middle of the Kings Road. What a fool. What would Luke see in her when he had Miss Touching Six Foot, Skinny Blonde on his arm? Miss Pristine with a scary gap at the top of unfeasibly long legs poured into skin-tight white jeans.

  Leaping sideways, she scooped her raincoat from the side of the pavement and hurriedly put it on.

  Chest out, chin up, paint on the smile, she told herself.

  ‘Ah, Jenni – I’ve heard so much about y
ou,’ Max lied, catching Luke’s eye and offering her hand.

  The weakest, limpest handshake was returned by Jenni, who actually looked a little horse-like close up, Max thought. Always look on the bright side.

  With a disdainful look that said, ‘You’re not worth the dirt under my fingernails,’ Jenni smiled falsely. ‘Yes, hello there. Luke never fails to surprise me with the, erm, interesting people he knows.’

  Max sensed Luke had something he wanted to say, but Jenni, with impossibly big boobs for her tiny frame, was in no mood for chit-chat. Her voice was ridiculously plummy. Not at all like Luke’s. He had a slight London accent. Jenni patted her hand on his stomach.

  ‘Come on, Luke. I told you we have to be on time for the wedding planner.’

  Oh woopty, fucking doo. The only bloke she’d met for months whom she liked and he’s marrying Jen the Stepford Wife. Was that a lump Max felt catch in her throat?

  ‘Quite right, Jenni. I have to dash too. Luke, great to see you. Adios.’

  With that, Max clip-clopped off in her heels, tying the belt of her raincoat as tightly as possible.

  Adios? Great parting shot, you moron, she thought as she hailed a cab. Note to self: why the fuck are you such a fucking fuckwit?

  Settling into the back of a black cab, Max felt her mobile vibrate in her pocket.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Awright, doll? It’s Sheri.’

  Shagger Sheri – just what she needed.

  ‘Listen, I’ve got somefing to tell you.’

  ‘Sheri, can this wait?’

  ‘No, it bloody can’t. I’m pregnant. I’m only gonna have Kirk Kelner’s baby. Tell me that’s not a twenty-grand story.’

  HUBBLE BUBBLE, TOIL AND TROUBLE

  Lady Bridget had been busy. After her run-in with Miss Lucy she had vowed to stir things up for her and had set about hiring a private investigator to find out everything there was to know about her background.