Party Games

by E J Greenway

  Twenty minutes later, the Leader was still in deep in conversation with his Chief of Staff, talking through his resignation. She had been against it at first, but his determination to see it through had worn her down. It was the best way.

  “Colin’s team has gone berserk tonight with briefing but no leaking yet of his resignation letter. I think Clare’s phoning you at 6am but, your interview with McDermott aside, I think the Bulletin’s allegiance is firmly in Colin’s bag.” Deborah said.

  “He won’t get bloody chance to resign.” Rodney said gruffly, but sat bolt upright on the bed as the door handle turned. Jenny put her finger to her lips and crept in as Deborah continued. His answers suddenly turned short and non-committal, but Deborah sounded too tired to notice as she began to talk about policy announcements and the need to get them trickled out throughout the campaign.

  Jenny stretched out before him on the bed, resting her head on her hand. Rodney felt desperately tired, his incentive to talk to Deborah fading rapidly. The woman needed her sleep if she was to function affectively and he told her as much. A mild quiver entered his voice as Jenny toyed with the buttons on his shirt before unfastening them slowly, one by one. Doesn’t she realise how serious my situation is? Rodney thought, but his anger was directed more at himself, at his own bloody weakness for this woman when it wasn’t her he loved or wanted in his bed on that bitter November night.

  Fireworks still exploded faintly in the distance, flouting the late-night ban. Jenny’s lips touched his chest in faint kisses and her hands were everywhere, pushing the shirt down off his arms and nails grazing his shoulders, but his never-ending conversation with Deborah continued, becoming weaker along with his will. Jenny kneeled up over him, like in his fantasy of Rosie and Anthea, her legs apart, her skirt gathered to her waist. She smiled down at him triumphantly.

  “I’d better get some sleep.” Rodney murmured as his body began to react to the attention. “Do as you’re told and get some too, busy times ahead I think.”

  Deborah agreed and seconds later they hung up. Jenny snatched the phone from Rodney’s hot grasp and thumped it down on top of the policy documents strewn across the bedroom floor. The anticipation of her made him light-headed while he watched, helplessly, as she unzipped him, tugging off his trousers, leaving him naked, vulnerable. She stood on the bed, slowly, seductively, undressing until she revealed her red lace underwear, complimented by silky black hold-ups.

  “You don’t give up, do you?” Rodney said.

  “You know me, Rodders, I never give up when I want something, and tonight I want you. You’ve not had sex for fifteen months, or so you say. A fit guy like you must be ready to expire.” She ran a scarlet nail along her bottom lip, her dark eyes drawing him in, enchanting him. “Now touch me.”

  For a second Rodney hesitated. He should order her out, curse at her, deny her anything from him ever again, yet he did not. The sudden kisses he was placing across her stomach as she knelt up before him, his fingertips exploring the lace of her hold-ups, her thong, the feel of her bare skin on his face, his chest, the taste of the perspiration between her perfectly cupped breasts, was too much to resist. Rodney saw her highly glossed painted nails in the semi-darkness as they grazed his biceps. Red. Labour. A whole new meaning to being screwed by the enemy. He felt no better than Arnold, but for the first time he could understand. Not the cheating, the lying to his wife, but just knowing it was wrong made it utterly irresistible.

  Jenny smiled, falling backwards and raising her leg so her toes brushed his lips. “Take these damn uncomfortable stockings off, would you? I want it like it used to be, but this time I will be gone without any arguing between us. This will just be our secret, private little pleasure.”

  “Or your pleasure? Gracing your new desk at Labour HQ having shagged the Leader of the Opposition, the man whose guts you’re now supposed to hate?” Rodney was half teasing, half accusing. The woman who had once shared his life, now merely his illicit one-night stand, laughed softly, her mouth full and parted in desire as Rodney peeled off her hold-ups one by one, kissing her toes, drifting keen fingers along her thighs, the backs of her knees, feeling the contours of her calves, each curve waxed within an inch of its life. He could see the smooth flesh through the thin lace of her thong and he reached out, tugging it to one side while pulling her down underneath him, his hand immersing itself in the evidence of her arousal. Jenny gasped and arched her back at his touch, eliciting a soft “oh, yes” as their lips met suddenly, desperately, both deciding there had been enough talking. Rodney wasn’t to think of Anthea or the leadership election, he was to concentrate on Jenny alone. Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling rapidly as he caressed her rhythmically, Rodney’s lips delicately pinching an exposed nipple, as moments later she enjoyed the intense gratification only a skilled lover could produce. He smiled salaciously and sucked a finger. Unwittingly, Rodney had succeeded with ease where her last bed mate, two nights previously, had failed miserably.

  Although Rodney could never forgive her vindictiveness, as she went down on him, placing soft kisses across his tight abdomen, her mouth and hands encouraging his interest, he could convince himself for a few precious hours that all could be in the past. Jenny remembered well enough what pleased him.

  “You’re technique’s incredible. God, I’ve missed you.” Rodney murmured as she kissed her way back up his body.

  “I won’t deny I haven’t had practice since we split. I thought you might have been a bit rusty, but fuck no.” She laughed softly but gave a playful yelp as he forced her onto her back and pinned down her arms. Hot oral clinches of carnal hunger danced between them, Rodney teasing off Jenny’s thong with one hand while the other unhooking her bra with ease. Her hands drove roughly through his hair then down his neck to feel the ripple of his shoulder blades, all the while her legs urging him down, craving him. A confused thought flickered through Rodney’s mind, their kisses while deep lacking the poignancy of that one he had experienced, on the Terrace, her blonde hair touching his cool cheeks and her lips locked against his…

  Shaking the memory he explored Jenny’s breasts with his mouth. This was just sex, urges fulfilled and loneliness put on hold, nothing more.

  “I haven’t got…got a, err, you know, protection.” Rodney whispered in sudden awkwardness.

  Jenny shook her head, her skin flushed. “Doesn’t matter.” She panted. “Not at risk, I’m sure. Still on the pill.”

  It was foolish of him, he knew it. He didn’t trust Jenny and felt like an irresponsible teenager, but he couldn’t wait any longer as her seduction took hold. She writhed beneath him, welcoming him, urging him, her hands and legs guiding him and her voice calling his name. She was inside his mind and he was inside her body as once again he gave way to that spell which he thought had been broken all those months ago.

  “Tonight’s it, you know. No more unexpected visits. You shouldn’t come here again.” Rodney said a while later. He lay down, breathless and hot, privately wondering how he had gone for so long without such release. Now his urgent need had given way to guilt and it made no sense.

  “God, I know that!” Jenny laughed, collapsing back into the ruffled bed. She gazed across at him with a puckered smile and ran the tips of her fingers across the contours of his face. “But Christ, that was incredible. Incredible.”

  Rodney could feel himself drifting into sleep, his body content even if his mind was awash with nebulous thoughts. She was talking to him and he could sense her warmth and smell but was unable to stop his fall into unconsciousness. He tried to speak, tell her she should probably leave right now, but he didn’t have the will.

  “I’ll always fancy the hell out of you though.” Jenny nuzzled his ear. Her voice was distant. “I’m still so sorry about what I did, I was just so jealous of you and Mummy and so angry you had kept it secret from me. Rodney, you awake?”

  Soft snoring and the slow, steady rise and fall of Rodney’s chest told Jenny that he
had stopped listening. She watched him, a naked leg wrapped around his under the sheets, wondering why on earth Anthea Culverhouse turned him down. He hadn’t needed to say it; the air of disappointment about him at the mention of her was proof enough. Anthea would regret her decision one day, Jenny was sure. Jenny herself might still have harboured feelings for him, but she was a realist. Tonight, however, Rodney Richmond was the best lover she had ever known in this lonely world and he felt wonderful, comforting. That loud-mouthed fool Ian Harvey wasn’t a patch on him, sexually nor intellectually. She wondered whether Harvey had called her home and left a pitiful answer phone message about how his sacking-cum-resignation had been everyone else’s fault and how he was desperate to see her again, like she could give a damn. Jenny may have screwed him a couple of times, charity for a Cabinet Minister suffering political hardship, but she wasn’t his agony aunt, he could use his poor cow of a wife for that. Fucking loser.

  She lightly ran her nails in a spiral across Rodney’s chest and he twitched in his sleep. Placing a delicate kiss on his parted lips, she set her mobile to wake her at 5.30 for a swift, inconspicuous getaway then snuggled next to him, draping her arm across his torso. They would make love again before she finally rose from his bed.

  *****

  A warm blanket of water brought instant relief to Anthea’s aching feet as she enjoyed a late-night soak. She forced her mind to relax, her senses soothed by the lavender aroma of the candles around her. For the first time in days, she felt at peace. She had thought about Cornish devolution until her brain throbbed and it would have been lovely if welcoming fingers could place themselves on her scalp and tantalise her nerves. He had been expert at such things and she missed it – missed him.

  Her phone lay on a towel next to her and she was thankful for its silence. No press officer calling about more interviews, no Chief of Staff worrying, no unsolicited calls from journalists chasing for quotes on the leadership. She had decided she wouldn’t answer the phone if it rang anyway. It was there for outgoing calls only. One call she had to make.

  Opening one eye, she reluctantly peered at it. She thought again of those fingers, those hands, how they felt over her body, the laughter she shared with him, the long cuddles, his heart beating in her ear as she rested her head on his bare chest. With a defeatist sigh, Anthea dried her hand on the towel and snatched up the phone. She didn’t need his number written down, it remained etched into her mind, as was the feeling of excitement when those eleven digits would flash up.

  Slowly, deliberately, she punched in the digits and pressed ‘call’. It rang. Ten seconds later, still no answer. There was a sudden click and a sleepy voice spoke.

  “Tristan Rivers.”

  “Well, am I no longer in your address book already?”

  “Oh God, Anthea, so sorry – didn’t see it was you. I’d fallen asleep, I mean was looking at a report, bit tired you see and it’s, err, well, gone midnight.”

  Anthea smiled, stretching a leg out of the bath as she took delight in his discomfort. He certainly didn’t deserve an easy ride and nor would he get one. He had lied to her big-time and had played politics with their relationship, she hadn’t needed protecting from Colin and his scheming, although she wondered who Tristan thought he was kidding if he even tried to pretend his priority hadn’t been saving his own skin. A single, dubious phone conversation between her and the Political Editor of the Bulletin had saved them both, but she could never tell Tristan about the real reason why.

  “How have you been?” Tristan asked. “Such a good show tonight, well done. And Harvey too, not many get a double-whammy like that.” If he was nervous, Anthea didn’t detect it.

  “Well, if I have to mention ‘Cornwall’ and ‘devolution’ or ‘independence’ or even ‘self-determination’ in the same sentence again I might seriously give up politics altogether! And you? When will you find out about the committee chairmanship?” Anthea asked, blowing bubbles from her fingers.

  “Hopefully in the next few weeks. Other than that, I’ve been taking up some old business contacts and trying to pacify Marjorie bloody Baker so she won’t deselect me…what’s that noise? Running water?”

  “Oh, I’m in the bath.” Anthea had spoken without thinking, his voice soothing her into forgetting her guard.

  “Right, well…”

  “Tristan.” She interrupted him to save some embarrassment. “I wish you well with the PAC, but really, I don’t know what you want from me anymore. You dumped me, remember, I had begun to get on with my life again, and now here you are, as if nothing’s happened. You lied to me about one of the biggest things in your life, why couldn’t you just tell me you were still married? And Colin, what he was doing to you – I don’t know why you couldn’t trust me.”

  There was a silence. The feelings of anger and hurt suddenly, forcefully, resurfaced in Anthea and she wished he were there to shake, to see the disappointment on her face. She wanted to see him belittled, not have him hide behind silence and his lack of any sort of reasoning. Sitting upright in the bath she swirled the bubbles around her like a comforting frothy blanket.

  “Don’t just say you were trying to protect me, Tristan! I didn’t want your protection, I just wanted your understanding, someone to relate to in this crazy place! You know how much I had fallen for you in such a short time and now you’re just messing with my head. Why couldn’t you just leave it well alone now?”

  She felt weak. Tristan was fully awake, pacing his living room. The look on his face wouldn't have disappointed her.

  “I’ve already said it, I love you. I always did, what I said that night, it was all to…to stop things from getting out of control. I had to do something. Yes, I should have told you, but Nicole is now granting me the divorce I’ve wanted for years, it had just been easier to pretend to you it had already happened, so I could break away from the past I’m so ashamed of.”

  “What past is that, exactly? McDermott told me things, but I need to hear it from you.” Anthea felt a chill pass through her, although the bath water remained warm.

  Tristan then opened up, explained it all, while Anthea listened, the bubbles around her fading into the cooling water.

  “God, Tristan, I just don’t know what to think, what to say, how can I trust you ever again?” She said eventually. “How do I know you won’t treat me like you’ve treated Nicole, treated these other women?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that. All I can do is speak the truth now, tell you I’ve changed. I’ve learned so much since I came into Parliament, I’m not like I used to be. I know what’s important now, and that’s you, Anthea. You, and getting my career back on track, stop it running away from me again. I now know what’s good for me and I’ve missed you like hell. It’s all been so empty without you.”

  Anthea gulped hard. She wanted to tell him her life had felt empty too, despite the workload, despite Rodney’s attentions.

  “Surely what’s good for me is to stay away from you. I’ve already told one man that we can’t be together, why should it be any different with you?”

  “Do you love me?” He asked softly. There was a poignant pause.

  “I could say ‘no comment’ to that.”

  “And I would see that as a definitive answer. You, err, still in the bath?”

  “Again, no comment.” Anthea smiled, a small laugh passing her lips. He had worn her down and in that moment she loved and hated that damned charm of his. “You left a pair of boxer shorts here the last time you stayed over.”

  “Oh, did I? Well, well. I thought I was running a bit short, and I could really do with them.”

  Another delicate laugh. “Is that so? You could always go commando. I’m not posting them, and I hardly think handing them over in Portcullis House is appropriate either, what would people say?”

  “Quite. One would think there would be a more, well, obvious way of getting them from you.”

  “Yes, one would think.” Anthea purred, wondering why she was t
rying to suppress a smile he couldn’t see. Perhaps it was because she was finally able to play a little game of her own, make him come running. As she hung up, she assumed he would do exactly that.

  Twenty-Two

  Thursday, 7am

  Colin Scott had turned down all pre-press conference interviews, preferring to retain a certain enigmatic quality over his intentions to add fuel to the deliberate heavy rumours. In his office, he flicked on News 24 for the early news bulletin and re-wrote, for the fourth time, his resignation letter. He trusted only Matthew Gaines’ judgement over its contents. Fryer would moan childishly and stamp his ample foot but Colin didn’t care, he increasingly loathed his brashness and lack of intelligence and quietly found it repulsive that such a man had done so well in life.

  Frowning over a fresh pile of constituency correspondence and office bills, Colin watched the news with a feeling of irritation. The daytime BBC political correspondent, Henry Mason, stood outside Conservative HQ in a stiff breeze, rounding up confirmed and likely supporters in both leadership camps. The Deputy slurped his cool coffee while his croissant remained untouched.

  “Mr Richmond’s support certainly appears to be rock-solid this morning.” Mason announced, his breath swirling around the microphone stuffed in his thickly gloved hand. Photographs of prominent Shadow Cabinet ministers popped up next to each other as he continued to talk.

  “Those publicly supporting the Opposition Leader from his own team include those one would expect; Shadow Home Secretary Steven Sharkey has also come out for Mr Richmond, but he is known to have his sights set on the Tory leadership himself and his allies indicate that anything is possible. Nevertheless, the Leader enjoys much backbench support and the 1922 Committee – the influential committee of backbenchers from within the Conservative Party which can make or break Tory leaders – will be, overall, encouraging a win for Mr Richmond.”