by Jo Carnegie
Saffron laughed. ‘If you want the real truth, you look like Rex Sullivan’s doppelgänger, and that definitely isn’t a bad thing.’
Tom grinned. ‘I should think so, too. He is my twin brother, after all.’
Saffron nearly fell off her stool, as did the woman next to her, who was leaning over trying – and failing – to listen in. ‘Rex Sullivan is your brother?’
Tom chuckled, settling down on the seat next to her. ‘Hard to believe, isn’t it? Growing up we were like two peas in a pod. Then Rex discovered girls and partying, while I was happy to stay in with my computer. He got spotted at university by a talent scout, and it all took off from there, really. Rex decided to use my mother’s maiden name because he thought it sounded better.’
Saffron was seriously impressed. ‘Why didn’t you ever say anything?’
Tom glanced at her. ‘Why, would it have made me cooler?’
Now it was her turn to go red. ‘That’s not what I meant,’ she mumbled, realizing that was exactly what she’d meant. What a shallow cow she’d been!
Tentatively, as if he were David Bellamy about to touch a rare butterfly, Tom put his hand up to one of her fake diamanté earrings.
‘I like these, they make your eyes stand out even more.’
Saffron felt her stomach flip. Suddenly, it was as though they were the only two people in the bar. Without really stopping to think what she was doing, she leaned over, and kissed Tom Fellows. His lips were surprisingly soft and warm. In fact they seemed to be getting hotter by the second. Saffron’s stomach did another somersault.
‘Ooh, Julianne’s not going to like that!’ the woman next to them exclaimed loudly. Julianne French was a Victoria’s Secret model Rex had been going out with for two years.
They both pulled back and laughed.
‘Shall we get out of here before I totally destroy my brother’s love life?’ chuckled Tom. ‘Julianne’s got quite a temper on her.’
They stood outside just staring at each other, hands entwined. Saffron noticed Tom was breathing as heavily as she was. ‘Where shall we go next?’ It was a loaded question.
Tom glanced up the road. ‘I only live round the corner.’ He looked at her with liquid brown eyes. ‘I don’t suppose you . . .?’
Saffron smiled saucily. ‘You bet I do.’
Somehow she managed to keep her hands off him all the way into the communal hallway of his flat. As he fumbled with the key to his front door, she pressed herself against him, her mouth searching for his.
‘Not here,’ he mumbled. ‘The neighbours might see.’
‘Don’t be so boring,’ Saffron murmured, but moments later she was forced to eat her words. As the door shut behind them, Tom turned and slammed Saffron against the wall. She gasped with surprise and pleasure. He was suddenly wild, groaning and moaning, frenzied hands running over her breasts, across her mouth, through her hair. Tom pulled her top down, exposing Saffron’s pert, bra-less breasts as his other hand moved roughly between her legs. Saffron felt completely overwhelmed and powerless.
She loved it.
‘You’re an animal!’ she gasped, as Tom half carried her down the corridor and kicked open another door. Saffron just had a chance to see an electric guitar leaning against the wall, and a computer in the corner, before Tom threw her down on the double bed. She lay there, watching in fascination as Tom pulled his shirt and trousers off. Saffron had a moment to reflect that it certainly was true what they said about men with big feet, before Tom advanced on her, his eyes dark with lust.
With one deft movement, he pulled her jeans and G-string off. Saffron put her arms over her head and wriggled out of her T-shirt and lay back, naked. Tom stood there looking at her for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Saffron barely registered him putting the condom on before he was on top of her again, almost crushing her with his weight; kissing, licking and caressing every inch of her body . . .
Saffron couldn’t take it any longer. She had never been so turned on in her life.
‘Fuck me. Now!’
Tom didn’t need any more encouragement. Eyes on hers, he gently eased himself into her. Saffron felt a momentary stab of pain – my God, he was enormous! ‘Ow!’ she yelped.
‘Are you alright?’ he breathed.
‘It was just the going in part. Oh, do that, it’s lovely,’ she gasped as he started to move back and forth. After a few moments Tom pulled out and turned her over.
‘I want to watch us in the mirror,’ he said, pulling her hips high up to meet his enormous erection. He thrust into her, but Saffron felt like someone had just driven a truck up her. ‘Too much!’ she winced.
Tom withdrew immediately. ‘What shall I do? I don’t want to hurt you . . .’
Saffron smiled wickedly, back in control again. ‘Let’s try this.’ Pushing him back on the bed, she straddled his lap and sat on him.
‘Fuck, that’s good,’ she murmured. She was just getting into the rhythm when Tom suddenly picked her up, his arms around her legs. ‘Hey, I was enjoying that!’
‘You’ll enjoy this more.’
As if she was feather light, he carried her across the room and pushed her on to the dressing table. Bottles of deodorant and contact-lens solution went flying. Slowly, they started grinding together, tongues in each other’s mouths, tasting each other. Saffron could feel the mirror behind her grow wet with condensation.
‘Oh, Tom,’ she gasped, ‘this is amazing!’ He pumped harder, still kissing her. Gradually Saffron felt that wonderful feeling building up from her toes, and up her legs, until her orgasm exploded throughout her body, a delicious tingling resonating from the backs of her arms to her scalp.
They stayed there for a moment, giving short, loud breaths, each soaked in sweat. Tom looked deep into her eyes. ‘Was that OK?’ he asked hesitantly.
Saffron laughed and kissed him deeply. ‘That wasn’t OK,’ she told him. ‘That was bloody brilliant! Where did you learn to do that?’
Tom blushed, suddenly back to his normal self.
It’s always the quiet ones, Saffron thought blissfully, as he covered her face with little kisses, then gently picked her up and carried her back to the bed.
MAY
Chapter 64
IT WAS A time for new beginnings, and in the Soirée office, changes were afoot already. Catherine was sad to be leaving the team and the magazine, but the thought of what lay ahead filled her with an excitement she had never experienced before, not even when she first got the Soirée editorship.
After several meetings with her book publishers, Catherine had delivered a synopsis to them. They were thrilled with it, declaring to Catherine it was going to be a bestseller. Catherine felt rather daunted now. She had to write it! There would no doubt be tears along the way, but it was going to be the most important thing she had ever done in her life.
Meanwhile, Catherine had something else to take care of. The person she was about to sack had finally returned to their desk. Catherine picked up her phone.
‘I’d like to see you in my office, please.’
Moments later the unseemly bulk of Annabel Trowbridge lumbered through the door. She sat down heavily in a chair, looking very pleased with herself as usual. ‘Before you say anything, can I just say I think it’s my finest work yet?’ she breathed. ‘I’d like to put myself up for Interviewer of the Year at Valour’s next awards ceremony.’
Catherine frowned. ‘I don’t follow.’
Annabel smiled fulsomely. ‘My Naomi Campbell interview! I’m sure you’re as pleased with it as I am.’
Catherine was grim-faced. ‘Actually, I’m not. I thought you let her get away with murder, and your writing was very weak in parts. It won’t be happening again.’
Annabel’s mouth fell open. ‘Well, I thought it was brilliant.’
‘Well I didn’t. And I’m still in charge here, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
Annabel began to protest, but thought better of it. ‘Was t
here anything else?’ she huffed.
‘That’s not the reason I called you in here.’
Annabel heard the note of steel in Catherine’s voice, and started looking rather uncomfortable. ‘Do you like moles, Annabel?’ Catherine asked suddenly.
Shock and confusion flooded the moonlike face. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh, I think you do.’ Catherine’s gaze was unflinching, and Annabel looked away. ‘You see, I’ve been rather concerned about the amount of interviews and features we’ve done over the last few months that have ended up in Grace. Something happening once is an unfortunate coincidence, but anything more than that and I start to be suspicious.’
Annabel’s bulbous eyes flickered as she stared at the wall.
Catherine continued. ‘I had a nasty hunch someone was hacking into my email account, so I asked the IT guys to look into it. I’ve also been looking at the CCTV footage from the cameras we had installed back after those computer thefts. Did you forget about those?’
Annabel made a great show of examining her nails.
‘How long have you been feeding stuff to Isabella Montgomery, Annabel? And worst of all, revealing to her the contents of my private files? It’s the only way she could have discovered my true identity.’
Annabel looked up. ‘How dare you accuse me . . .’
‘Enough!’ Catherine slammed her hand down on the desk. She reached across to her in-tray and held up a dossier.
‘I have all the evidence. As of this moment you are suspended on full pay pending an inquiry.’
Annabel stared belligerently at Catherine. ‘Fine! I don’t want to work here, anyway.’ She stood up and stormed over to the door.
Catherine stopped her. ‘Your reputation will be irreparably damaged, and I doubt you’ll work in this industry again. Why on earth did you do it?’
Annabel turned back, looking miserable for the first time. ‘Isabella promised to make me deputy editor at Grace, said I could have her job in a few years’ time.’ She looked at Catherine. ‘She never meant it, did she?’
Catherine shook her head wearily. ‘You’ve got fifteen minutes to clear your desk.’
Her last day at Soirée came all too quickly. It felt strange, putting on her power suit for the last time and climbing into the cab waiting outside the apartment. As they pulled up at Valour Publishing, Catherine had a momentary wobble. She was kissing goodbye to a steady six-figure salary, and the chance to take the magazine on to even greater things. ‘It’s too late now, girl,’ she muttered to herself. Chin stuck out resolutely, she walked into the building.
The security guard had a bunch of flowers ready for her, and so did the post-room boys, so that by the time Catherine reached her office she felt like a walking florist’s shop. More bouquets greeted her, along with pink balloons and a bright, ‘Sorry You’re Leaving!’ banner hung across the door. Catherine picked up the nearest card on a stunning bunch of lilies.
To the best editor I know. You’ve got bigger balls than all of them! Thank you so much for putting me forward for the job, it means the bloody world. Good luck and keep in touch darl,
Fi xx
Her PA knocked on the open door. ‘Harriet, you shouldn’t have!’ Catherine smiled, gesturing at the balloons.
Harriet smiled warmly. ‘It was the least we could do.’ She giggled. ‘I think Saffron’s a bit puffed out, though, she blew up thirty-nine by herself.’
Catherine looked out to where Saffron sat at her desk, being fanned back to life by one of the beauty team. Saffron raised a hand in weak salute.
Catherine laughed. ‘Is everything OK for later?’ Valour had hired a swanky cocktail bar for her leaving party. It promised to be quite a do.
Harriet nodded. ‘Moët and Chandon have just called to say they’re donating four extra cases!’
Catherine had barely switched on her computer when Alexander came in, dressed in what seemed to be some sort of green and orange striped flying suit. He was brandishing a copy of the Daily Mercy.
‘You are going to fucking LOVE this!’ he shrieked, shoving the newspaper under her nose.
Catherine blinked. She was looking at a picture of a woman dressed in top-to-toe bondage gear, one of her spiked black boots resting on a naked elderly gentleman who was on all fours in front of her. The woman had the man on a leash as she leered into the camera. Catherine blinked again – surely it wasn’t . . . Isabella?! Mouth open, Catherine recognized the old man as a prominent MP in the House of Commons.
‘LONDON ELITE CAUGHT IN SEX SCANDAL!’ said the headline.
With a quick glance at Alexander, who was hopping excitedly from foot to foot, Catherine began to read.
Lord Belfry’s campaign to become the next Mayor of London has been left in tatters after he was caught taking part in a sordid S&M party. Our intrepid undercover reporter infiltrated the perverted proceedings after a tip-off, and found Lord Belfry strung up on a rack in the basement of his grace-and-favour apartment, along with a number of influential society figures. A dominatrix whipping the willing ‘victims’ with a six-foot leather whip turned out to be ex-Grace editor, Isabella Montgomery, who stepped down from her position in disgrace several weeks ago after disastrous sales figures. When confronted, Ms Montgomery turned violent and tried to attack the Daily Mercy with a metal nipple-clamp. The police were called, and Ms Montgomery was arrested and taken to Kensington Police Station. She was charged with assault, and was bailed to appear before a west London magistrates’ court next month.
Disbelievingly, Catherine read on. It seemed Isabella had tried to finish the reporter off by ramming a butt plug (unused, the paper added helpfully), down his throat. It was later revealed that Lord Belfry had put the cost of the DIY work on the dungeon, and his sex toys, down on his expenses. The article went on and on, every excruciating detail laid out for all to see.
Catherine sat back in her seat, stunned. Alexander did a gleeful little jog round the room. ‘Hoisted by her own petard! Talk about bad karma, that witch has had it coming to her for a long, long time.’
Catherine looked at him sternly. ‘Alexander, stop it! I mean, how awful . . .’ They stared at each other for five seconds before collapsing into gales of laughter.
‘I’ll never look at a butt plug in the same way again,’ said Alexander, finally recovering.
Chapter 65
‘MY DEAR! AND how is Montague Mews’s fragrant mother-to-be today?’ Caro had opened the front door to Stephen, who was looking as immaculate as ever in a lemon-yellow shirt, matching cravat, and paisley smock.
‘Like someone who is about to give birth! I can’t remember the last time I saw my feet.’ She smiled. ‘Come in, I’ve just brewed a fresh pot of coffee.’
Caro’s due date was still two weeks away, although she had been ten days late with Milo. She was convinced the same thing was going to happen with this one.
In the kitchen, Stephen appraised her huge stomach. ‘If you don’t mind, darling, I’ll forgo the actual grand event and make my appearance afterwards, with a wildly extravagant bunch of flowers.’
Caro laughed. ‘Flowers sound good enough to me. And chocolates, don’t forget those. I was ravenous after having Milo.’
‘Fortnum & Mason Champagne Truffles?’
‘Fabulous!’
As Caro turned to pour the coffee, she felt a twang deep inside her, like an elastic band snapping. Suddenly, warm fluid soaked her trousers. Stephen looked at her in horror. ‘Oh God,’ Caro wailed. ‘I think my waters have broken!’
He leapt up from the table. ‘But you’re not due yet!’
‘Babies don’t care about that sort of thing.’ Caro leaned against the work surface, desperately trying to think. She’d had stomach cramps all morning, but had put them down to indigestion.
She felt a tightening cramping sensation again, much stronger than before. ‘I’m having contractions!’ she gasped.
White-faced, Stephen put his hand in his chinos and pulled out a highly p
olished pocket watch. ‘Shall I start timing them?’ He shuddered. ‘Oh, dear Lord, I’m not going to be very good at this.’
Caro held her arm out. ‘Just get me on to the sofa.’
It all happened so quickly. By the time Amelia, who had been having lunch with friends nearby, had run home, Caro was having regular contractions. Benedict was on his way back from work. Stephen was sitting in an armchair, his eyes pinned to his pocket watch, as Amelia mopped Caro’s brow.
Meanwhile Velda, who had been summoned round by Stephen, was upstairs filling Caro’s hospital bag. From the sofa, Caro shouted instructions.
‘My new pyjamas are in the wardrobe! Oh, and can you pack the Evian face spritzer that’s in the bathroom cupboard? Oww!’
A car screeched to a halt outside, and moments later Benedict rushed in. ‘Darling! Are you OK?’
‘I think so,’ she said and winced. ‘Oh, there’s another one.’
‘Contractions are every five minutes now,’ announced Stephen.
‘We need to get you to hospital,’ said Benedict. He and Amelia helped Caro to her feet.
‘I’ll ring Tink and Clementine,’ Amelia said.
‘What about Milo . . .’
‘I’ll pick him up from nursery. Don’t worry. Go!’
‘Good luck!’ cried Velda, thrusting a bag into Benedict’s hand. ‘Remember the deep breathing exercises we practised together.’
As their car drove off in a squeal of rubber, Stephen took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. ‘I don’t know about you, but I need some reviving. Care to join me?’
From the hidden vantage point at her landing window, Rowena Elgin was thoughtful. She hoped Caro would be all right, she seemed like a nice woman. And as for the husband! Rowena chuckled, she hadn’t seen anyone as handsome in a long time. He had provided inspiration for her latest piece of work.
Rowena went back into her office. It was a light airy room covered with canvases of stunning landmarks around the world. She was thinking hard: maybe she could even put the pregnancy in; the Russian henchmen drama had already added a useful twist.
