by Lulu Taylor
Octavia had been about to explode with anger, but at this news she calmed down a little. ‘Really? When?’
‘I’m going to give Vicky all the dates. And I’ll make it up to her about the job. I don’t know why I did that. It was a stupid decision. Tavy … I have to go now, okay?’
‘Okay,’ Octavia said slowly. She wanted to be reassured so badly. ‘But you have to let me know the dates right away. I mean it, Flora. If you don’t, I’m coming over there and waiting for you, I don’t care where you are.’
‘Yes. Okay. Bye, Tavy. Bye.’
The phone went down before Octavia could say any more.
‘What do you want me to do about this flight?’ Vicky asked. ‘You’ll need to go to the airport if you’re taking it.’
‘There’s no point,’ Octavia said helplessly. ‘Flora won’t be there.’ She shook her head. ‘Well, I’ve got plenty of other things to do, and Flora vows she’s coming to London very soon. I had planned to meet Iseult tonight to talk about our plans for Noble’s. And I won’t be home tomorrow. Ethan’s arranged a weekend away with a businessman he wants us to suck up to.’ She looked down at her travel bag. ‘I guess I won’t need this after all.’
In Hurley’s later that night, Iseult’s high spirits were quite gone. She seemed to be very low indeed.
‘You were so bubbly this morning at Noble’s,’ Octavia said, as they sipped their dirty martinis.
‘My act. I’m very good at it.’ Iseult sighed listlessly. ‘Besides, I’d taken some happy pills. They always help. But I’m not taking any more now until tomorrow.’
‘Aren’t you excited by Noble’s?’ asked Octavia. ‘Think of what we can do there.’
‘Oh, darling, of course I am. But this whole project … we thought of it for Roddy, remember? Well, he doesn’t need us now. He doesn’t need me now.’ She sighed again.
She is depressed, Octavia thought, worried. She’d never seen her friend quite like this, as though she were sinking away into a dark place where it was very hard to reach her.
‘It’s all right for you, Octavia,’ Iseult said suddenly, an edge of bitterness in her voice. ‘You have everything, don’t you? Money, beauty, a gorgeous man.’
Octavia didn’t know what to say. She’d always simply accepted Iseult’s single state, and as her friend never spoke of it, had assumed that she was perfectly happy. ‘I’m sure there are men you could go out with …’ she said, feeling hopelessly blundering. Was Iseult even really interested in men?
‘I want love,’ she said simply. ‘It seems remarkably cruel that it has eluded me most of my life.’ Then she laughed. ‘What am I saying? I’m in love! Have been for years. It’s so cruel that the love of my life happens to be a gay designer with a heart of stone!’
‘Roddy …’
Iseult nodded, her strange yellow-green eyes sad. ‘Who else? It wouldn’t be so difficult if he hadn’t once led me to believe he loved me too. We had a great love affair at first, you know. Yes …’ she said, seeing Octavia’s expression. ‘That too. Sex. We spent a month in bed together. You’d be surprised how much Roddy enjoyed sleeping with me. But he soon moved on, once he’d got my heart. That’s what he does.’ She paused and then looked carefully at Octavia. ‘I thought he was going to go that way with you at first. He seemed to be trying his old tricks. But then you got involved with that randy little Ferdy and he missed his chance.’ Iseult added quickly, ‘That’s not to say he isn’t truly fond of you. He is.’
‘I know,’ said Octavia slowly. ‘But I’ve always been wary around him, no matter how much I like and admire him. He’s an unpredictable beast, isn’t he? You never know when he’s going to turn on you.’
Iseult smiled. ‘Exactly. I feel better already for talking about this, you know? You’ve cheered me up. And a little bird has told me that Roddy is coming to London tomorrow, to pick up some designs from his old studio. I think I might go there, take the chance of being on our old stomping ground to be honest with him. Now – shall we make some plans for this delicious new shop of ours?’
58
‘So all we do is this … and …’ The young man sat back, triumphant. ‘You’re in. Very easy, really. Basic hacking.’
‘Thanks, Ricky, I owe you.’ Vicky leant forward. This was Flora’s old email account, the one she hadn’t used since her marriage. The new floravonschwetten one was the only active account now, but Vicky had the feeling that it might be worth taking a look into the old one. Flora’s recent emails sounded so odd, even though they were innocuous enough, and all of Vicky’s instincts were telling her that something wasn’t right. So she had called in her friendly computer geek to help her. Ricky hadn’t minded, he hadn’t even asked why she wanted to access someone else’s emails.
She pressed a £50 note into his hand. ‘Thanks, Ricky. Just something for your time.’
‘You are most welcome,’ he said, touching his baseball cap in a mock salute and then heading for the door. ‘I’ll leave you to it. See you soon.’
‘Mmm.’ Vicky was already engrossed in the email account. It was full of messages. There were several hundred unopened emails, but most of those, she could see, were just the usual bits of blather from shops and services that Flora used. Some looked more personal than others, though, and she wondered if she should open those.
Why hasn’t Flora checked her old account? she thought, puzzled. Wouldn’t she keep an eye on it, just to make sure? But nothing’s been opened since … she scrolled down … since just after the wedding day.
Her eye was caught by a message with the subject heading ‘Diane Beaufort’. She went to click on it, then hovered the small arrow over the email for a few seconds. This was Flora’s private email account. Should she open a message intended only for her cousin? But I’m her personal assistant. She trusts me with everything. Except that she just tried to sack you, said a small voice in her head, but Vicky ignored it and clicked.
Dear Miss Beaufort,
I’m attaching a report with the initial results of the search you instructed. I haven’t heard from you so I hope that was the right thing to do. I trust you got my last email, please let me know if not and I will resend it. I’ve attached a bill to cover the cost of my services thus far and would be most grateful if you could arrange for it to be settled.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Yours sincerely,
Nick Falcon
Falcon Private Investigations
Vicky took in the contents, wide-eyed. So Flora had been searching for her mother! But, of course, that made perfect sense. Both of the twins had been bowled over when they’d learnt that she was still alive but Flora had been particularly deeply affected. Then it seemed to be forgotten in the preparations for the wedding … But all along Flora had been acting on her own, setting in train the process of finding her mother and getting the answers to the questions that had been haunting her all her life.
Vicky frowned. But why on earth hadn’t Flora checked her own email account for this important message? Or given the new address to this Falcon person? She read the message again then scrolled down the inbox, looking for the first message that he had referred to. It didn’t take her long to find it. It was dated not long before the wedding and was untitled, but it came from Falcon. It had been opened and read. Vicky clicked. It was a short message thanking Flora for her visit and attaching a statement of costs. Falcon promised to be in touch soon with the preliminary results of the search.
But Flora had never read them.
Vicky scrolled back up and found another couple of unopened messages from the detective. She opened them. They were reminders to Flora that her bill was still outstanding and asking for payment.
Vicky sat back in her seat. Oh my God, she thought. There is an email here that says where the twins’ mother is. Should she open it? The arrow hovered over the attachment, her finger poised above the mouse.
Open it or not open it? And why the hell hadn’t Flora opened this herself?
59
The memorial service to celebrate the life of Graham Radcliffe was held at St George’s, Hanover Square. It meant going perilously close to Noble’s but Amanda had sworn to herself that she would never set eyes on it again, not while those people, those bastard thieves, were in charge. Not just thieves. Killers.
Hundreds of people turned out to mourn Graham: they remembered his old world charm and gentlemanly kindness. During the service, former Noble’s staff came forward to speak about his passion for the shop he’d inherited from his father, his real love for what they sold and his faith in the Noble’s vision. Then there was the way he had cared for his staff.
‘He wouldn’t let us retire!’ declared one. ‘Always some excuse to keep us on the payroll. We had one cleaner in her eighties … she never cleaned a thing. Turned up, had a cup of tea and a chat, and got paid for it.’
Dear Fa, thought Amanda fondly. That’s why those ruthless shits are in charge now.
Afterwards there was a drinks reception at the Arts Club on Dover Street. Amanda had to be on receiving duty with her mother and brother, and dutifully shook hands and reminisced about her father with a long line of well-wishers. This was a comfort too, she couldn’t deny it – remembering all the wonderful things and the happy times. She didn’t want to rush this moment.
‘Amanda, my sweet.’ It was Gerry, dapper in a double-breasted black suit, dark purple shirt and a funny little black string tie. He bent forward to kiss her. ‘I don’t have to tell you how deep my sympathy is. Condolences, darling. You poor bloody thing.’
‘Thanks, Gerry. And thanks for coming. Can I have a word?’ Amanda took his hand and stepped away from the receiving line so that they could speak in private. ‘You know how this happened, don’t you?’
‘Of course!’ He blinked his nut-brown eyes. His skin looked even more peachy and unlined than usual. He must have just had another of his refreshing facelifts. ‘It could hardly be a coincidence. Your shop gets taken over, your father has a fatal heart attack.’
‘But … you know who took us over?’
Gerry shook his head. ‘Someone corporate, no?’
‘Octavia Beaufort,’ Amanda said slowly, with bitter emphasis. ‘That’s who. It’s her company that arranged the buyout.’
Gerry’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline. ‘Astounding! Who would have thought that little child had it in her?’
‘Oh, she hasn’t done it alone. It’s all going to be announced in a blaze of publicity. No doubt there’ll be glossy spreads of her sitting at my father’s desk and talking about the close of a dull old era and the launch of a brilliant new one. It makes me sick! The only reason they’ve kept it quiet so far is out of some remnant of decency, what with their actions killing my father.’
‘Oh-oh.’ Gerry put a hand on the sleeve of Amanda’s black Dior jacket. ‘What are you going to do, darling? I’m afraid I’ve shot my bolt rather when it comes to disconcerting the Beauforts. Their little court case story didn’t achieve quite what I’d hoped. Made them more glamorous, if anything.’
‘I’m powerless,’ spat Amanda. ‘There’s nothing I can do against them.’
‘You still own stock?’
‘Harry and I will inherit Fa’s stake. But it’s meaningless. I can’t outvote them.’
‘And I suppose that hag Iseult is involved, is she?’
‘On the board. Key person in the re-design.’ Amanda’s eyes were blazing. ‘What really infuriates me is that I wanted to do amazing things at Noble’s for years and no one would let me! I couldn’t even buy in the stock I wanted. Iseult came to me offering me Roddy Wildblood when he was a no one, and I longed to showcase his pieces. I had an idea for a pop-up boutique within Noble’s devoted to him – I could see he was a massive talent. But it simply wasn’t possible. Young wouldn’t allow it. I had to send them away, pretending I wasn’t interested.’
‘Wildblood!’ Gerry laughed. ‘Now there’s a case of name and nature coinciding beautifully! Listen, darling, I want to help you, all right? If I can, I will. Just give me a little time. You’re needed elsewhere, I’ll let you go.’
He gave her a soft kiss on either cheek and wafted away into the room, in search of a glass of champagne.
* * *
Iseult took a taxi to the East End of London, reminding herself that now she was in a position to afford one as often as she liked without having to worry. The stipend from the Butterfly board was a generous one. Not only was her life a great deal more comfortable – the new maid had done a wonderful job of cleaning the Bayswater flat, which was sparkling in a way it hadn’t for years – but she was able to start thinking about making repairs to Mabbes. Just in time. The old porch had finally fallen in during a winter storm; luckily no one had been underneath it when it collapsed.
I must be brave and strong, she told herself as the taxi rolled through the city, out towards Aldgate. The black depression had begun to pull at her again lately; the deep dark whirlpool that wanted to suck her down into its depths had started to spin beneath her. The familiar symptoms had started: a terrible lethargy, a sense of not being able to get out of bed and face the world. A desire to hurt herself had begun to float into her mind at unguarded moments. She found herself in the kitchen, looking at the knives; simply contemplating them without forming a sense of what she might do with them. She’d begun to look at high places and wonder what it might be like to sail off them, how the rush of air past her face would feel, whether she’d pass into unconsciousness before impact, or whether she’d feel it in a glorious explosion of crunching pain …
Can I stop this? she wondered. This trip to see Roddy was a real effort for her. But if she could talk to him frankly about the hurt she felt, and the sense of rejection, perhaps then he would understand and give her the love and reassurance she so desperately wanted. Oh, not that kind of love. She’d given up on that. She knew that their affair could never be resurrected, not in that way. The moment had long gone.
She’d sent a text to him. Are you in London?
Aye. Will I see you?
But she had decided to surprise him. She was sure he was going to be at the studio that morning. He needed to collect his archive of designs. It wouldn’t surprise her if he finally gave up that funny old place now. He hardly needed it. If he ever came back to London, he wasn’t likely to live or work in a place like that.
She looked out of the window as they passed out of the shiny, expensive City and into the grimier area on its far side. The streets became dirtier. Shops had metal grilles; walls were pasted with endless torn posters. Fast-food joints and litter were everywhere. The passersby weren’t well-fed, besuited businessmen and women but more haunted-looking, in cheap clothing and with bad shoes, smoking cigarettes or pushing shabby prams. Iseult stared out and wondered if she might have been happier in this other world, where life was only about surviving day to day. But she suspected that same agony would have been waiting for her wherever she’d existed.
The taxi came to a halt by the old studio. Iseult got out, paid, and went along the dirty alley to Roddy’s building. She punched in the code for the door. Pushing it open, she was overwhelmed by a noxious smell. It had always smelt evil on the staircase, a combination of urine, filth and something else, something more bestial, but this was incredible. An overpowering stink enveloped her.
‘Christ!’ she muttered, her face contorting. ‘Roddy has to get out of here, this is unbearable.’ She started to climb the stairs.
The first thing she heard as she turned the third landing and began the next flight was a terrible low growl followed by a raucous bark. Then another growl, fierce as a motorbike engine, joined it. She barely had time to register the sound above her when there was a clatter of claws on bare stone and a desperate shout from someone. Iseult raised her eyes and saw two huge barrel-like bodies flying down the upper flight, their short bow legs hardly seeming to touch the steps, then they careered around the corner of the landing and were facing her. F
or an instant she saw wide, slavering jaws, furious red eyes and rows of deadly teeth, heard the awful grinding snarls. Then, before she even knew what was happening, the two dogs were upon her.
60
Octavia could hardly bear the vibrations of pleasure. They made her twist and turn, clutching the pillows in one white-knuckled fist while her other hand roamed over her breasts, feeling her nipples as hard as bullets beneath her fingertips.
‘You like that, huh?’ murmured Ethan. She could feel his cock stiff against her thigh. He was enjoying the sight of her writhing with abandon, unable to stop herself responding to the persistent, unwavering buzz of the vibrating toy he was holding to her mound. It juddered against her clit, making waves of electric excitement flow through her body, and then he brought it down so that it throbbed inside her swollen pussy.
‘Oh, yes, don’t stop, please!’
‘Is that good, honey?’
She gasped and thrashed as he brought the toy back to buzz on her bud. It was unbearable. She couldn’t stop herself. A tumultuous climax seized her and she knew only the fierce waves of ecstasy until at last they subsided, leaving her breathless.
A moment later Ethan was in her. She was hot and smooth with the juices from her climax. He thrust his cock fast, turned on by her orgasm, until he reached a rapid peak of his own and came quickly with a stifled gasp.
Afterwards he was up immediately and heading for the shower as Octavia admired his firm body and taut buttocks. ‘Gotta get to the office.’ He turned round as he reached the bathroom door. ‘Hey – you haven’t forgotten we’re going to Scotland tonight, have you, honey? Dress nice. I want you to impress this guy, okay? He’s very, very rich and has talked about perhaps investing in BC. He likes the sound of what we’re doing.’
‘Okay.’ Octavia smiled as he disappeared from view. ‘But I’m sure it’s going to be boring as hell,’ she added, when she knew Ethan was out of earshot.
