[Churchminster #3] Wild Things

by Jo Carnegie

  Jaws dropped with a collective clang.

  ‘She’s got wonderful rhythm,’ Angie remarked over-brightly, feeling she should say something. Two seats down Jack was stiff with shock and anger, a vein in his forehead pulsating.

  Stacey sped faster and faster round the pole. The music reached fever pitch. As the final crescendo built, she turned her back on the crowd and pulled off her top. Throwing the garment to one side, she held her arms aloft, framed like a Middle Eastern nymph.

  ‘Bleeding Nora!’ Jack spluttered. But just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, Stacey whipped round to give a full frontal of the most famous D cups in Gloucestershire, their modesty barely protected by a pair of nipple tassels. Stacey gave one final, saucy jiggle before the lights went off.

  It was too much for Jack. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he howled, leaping up.

  A few moments later, the lights came back on again to reveal Stacey, this time covered up with a silk kimono. Jack’s fury was drowned out by shouting and jeering from the back of the hall. Angie turned, frowning, it looked like a bad lot from Bedlington had turned up.

  As Stacey went to take a bow, someone threw a beer glass and it shattered yards from her feet. She stumbled back, looking shocked. A shard had struck her face and blood was seeping down her cheek.

  ‘Show us yer tits, you slag!’ someone shouted.

  Stacey put her hand up to feel the cut, looked at the blood on her hand and burst into tears. It was enough for her father. With the agility of someone half his age, Jack vaulted over his chair and ran towards the back of the hall.

  ‘Christ alive, someone stop him!’ wailed Beryl, running up onstage to comfort her daughter.

  Jack squared up to the rowdy youths. ‘Which one of you bastards threw that glass?’

  ‘Fuck off, wanker!’ one of them jeered. Making a disgusting noise in the back of his throat, he opened his mouth and spat at the landlord.

  There was uproar: chairs were knocked over and drinks went flying. The raffle table collapsed like a soufflé. Fists going like pistons, Jack threw himself at the troublemakers. As punches were thrown and insults traded, the melee spilled out through the doors.

  Calypso jumped down from the stage and pushed her way through the crowd. ‘Call the police!’ she screamed.

  Outside it was utter bedlam. One of the youths was already sprawled out on the floor and Jack had another held tight in a headlock. A chunky man, who looked like one of the security staff from Seraphina Inc., was rolling his sleeves up and wading in. Jed was dragging an acne-ridden youth away, while the boy screeched blue murder.

  ‘I know me rights, gerroff!’

  Suddenly a car screeched up and a man jumped out, the motor still running. The fearful shouts from onlookers turned into ones of astonishment as they recognized the blond good looks, and the muscular physique under the golfing outfit.

  ‘It’s Rafe Wolfe!’ someone squealed.

  Fearlessly the film star strode into the fracas and started pulling the attackers off. ‘All right, that’s enough!’ he shouted. A fist went to hit him and he stopped it with his forearm. ‘I said, “That’s ENOUGH”.’ His voice was so commanding the two youths he was grappling with stopped punching and kicking.

  One of them looked up at Rafe, who was easily twice his height and weight. His eyes goggled in sudden recognition. ‘Fuck me!’ he exclaimed, all traces of aggression quickly fading. His face lit up hopefully. ‘Hello, mate! Can I have your autograph?’

  A wailing sound heralded the arrival of the police. PC Paul Penny, of Bedlington police station, stepped out of the panda car and drew himself up to his full five feet two inches. ‘What have we got here, then?’

  Relatively new to the job, PC Penny still treated every day at work like an episode of CHiPs. His enthusiasm for filling his little black book with every incident that had happened within a twenty-mile radius of Bedlington knew no bounds.

  ‘We should sue you lot,’ spat one of the youths.

  ‘From what I saw, these gentlemen were merely trying to placate you,’ Rafe told them pleasantly. The yobs glowered but remained inert.

  PC Penny looked disappointed. ‘No one wants to press any charges?’ He looked at Jack hopefully, but the landlord himself didn’t want any trouble. It was bad for business.

  ‘No complaint here, officer. It got a bit tasty inside, but it’s all been sorted out now.’

  With no imminent arrests on the cards, PC Penny tried to send the gang on their way with a strict warning. ‘I know who you lot all are, any more trouble and I’ll be down on you like a ton of bricks!’

  ‘Ton of feathers more like,’ mumbled one of them in a last show of defiance. They shuffled towards their car and drove off, exhaust pipe between their legs.

  ‘Can we please all go back inside!’ cried Clementine. ‘We’ve still got a competition to judge!’

  People started to file back in, including a curious PC Penny. He’d always had a thing for amdram.

  Only Calypso and a few hangers-on were left outside, the latter anxious to get an autograph from their hero. After the pleased fans had gone back into the hall, Rafe walked over to Calypso.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Do you actually do any work or do you just drive around saving people?’

  He laughed. ‘I do have a habit of turning up at the right time. Or should it be the wrong time?’ His eyes travelled over her outfit. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you look beautiful.’

  Calypso found herself blushing. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve come to take part in Churchminster’s Got Talent.’

  ‘Hell, no,’ Rafe said. ‘I imagine the standard is far too high. I was just passing through on my way home and saw the commotion.’

  ‘Calypso!’ Her grandmother stuck her head out of the door. ‘We’re waiting for you.’

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ Calypso apologized to Rafe.

  Rafe grinned, ‘I wouldn’t want to keep you from your audience. But before you go, I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me?’

  ‘When?’ she blurted stupidly.

  ‘Tuesday is my next evening off. I’ll pick you up, we can eat back at mine.’

  ‘Calypso!’ This time Clementine’s voice brokered no discussion.

  Calypso laughed. ‘I’ve really got to go!’ She grinned at Rafe. ‘Dinner would be cool.’

  Chapter 22

  IT FELT FUNNY walking up the familiar drive to Twisty Gables, the house where Camilla had grown up. The Reinards had bought the rambling house on the Bedlington Road from Camilla’s dad Johnnie some years ago, when he and Camilla’s mother had moved to Bermuda. Camilla had had an idyllic childhood growing up at there. As she stood in front of it, remembering playing chase with her sisters through the corridors and concocting imaginary kingdoms in the gardens, Camilla felt a pang of nostalgia.

  From outside, things hardly looked any different, except for a new door knocker and different-coloured curtains in the windows. Lucinda Reinard’s mud-splattered Volvo estate was parked out the front, with the contents of what looked like an entire saddlery on the back seat.

  Camilla rang the bell and a few moments later, a harassed-looking Lucinda opened the front door. Behind her Camilla could see a scene of domestic mayhem. Lucinda’s youngest son Julien was lying on his stomach in the middle of the hallway playing on a PlayStation, while the family’s golden retrievers chased around him. Trashy music blared from an upstairs room, and skateboards, school satchels and kicked-off trainers littered the floor.

  Lucinda stuck her head up the stairs. ‘Horatio! Turn that bloody racket down,’ she shouted shrilly. She turned back to Camilla. ‘Sorry about that, but if it’s not bloody Horatio with his dreadful thrash metal it’s his sister with her ballads. Hero wants to be the next Leona Lewis, you know.’

  Camilla privately thought that if the poor girl’s singing was as bad as her dancing, Hero didn’t have much hope.

  Lucinda r
eadjusted her neck scarf. She looked rather red and bothered. ‘I’m going through a load of Pony Club paperwork. Not great with a hangover, I can tell you. Nico and I got in last night and polished off another carafe of red wine. Bloody acid indigestion is playing havoc.’

  Camilla smiled politely and held up a white envelope. ‘Granny Clem asked me to bring over the raffle prize you forgot to claim last night. An hour’s full body massage at the beauty clinic in Bedlington.’

  Lucinda’s horsy face lit up. ‘I’d forgotten about that! God knows I bloody need it, I’m so stressed at the moment my shoulders are up around my ears. You are a dear for dropping it off. Won’t you come in?’

  A blood-curdling shriek went off upstairs.

  Lucinda twisted her head like the girl out of The Exorcist. ‘Hero! Horatio!’

  ‘I’d better get back—’ said Camilla.

  ‘Nonsense!’ Lucinda interrupted. ‘You must come in, see what else we’ve done to the place.’

  Camilla couldn’t think of an excuse quickly enough. ‘Thanks, I’d love to.’

  As she stepped inside, the door to the downstairs loo opened and Lucinda’s husband Nico came out. Camilla could see he had some sort of lurid pornographic magazine in his hand, which neither he nor Lucinda seemed embarrassed by. ‘Bonjour Camilla,’ he murmured and floated off enigmatically.

  Camilla followed Lucinda through to the kitchen. It certainly hadn’t been this untidy when her family had lived there. A saddle was propped up next to the Aga, while a fat tabby cat sat on one of the work surfaces cleaning her paws.

  ‘Bugger off, Pickles,’ said Lucinda, shoving the disgruntled creature on to the ground. She turned to Camilla. ‘Is fresh coffee all right? I’ve just brewed a pot.’

  ‘Lovely.’

  ‘Sit down and make yourself comfortable,’ said Lucinda. ‘I won’t be a tick.’

  Camilla moved a pile of washing from one of the chairs round the kitchen table and sat down. ‘I see you’ve added on a conservatory,’ she remarked, looking out the window.

  Lucinda carried the cafetière over, kicking a dog’s bowl out of the way. ‘Yes, we had it done last summer. My goodness, haven’t you been round since then? I really should host some sort of drinks party, blasted Pony Club does rather take over one’s social life, though.’

  She sat down and poured Camilla’s coffee into a mug with ‘Give the bitch her caffeine’ written on it. Through the French windows into the garden, Camilla could see a chicken coop, still standing empty since the last occupants had perished in the floods.

  Lucinda followed her gaze and sighed. ‘It’s like the site of some ghastly battleground, isn’t it? Nico and I have talked about it, but we’ve decided it’s not a good idea to get more. You know, in case it happens again. The children were dreadfully upset by it, I had to go to Holland & Barrett’s and get Julien some herbal antidepressants!’

  Camilla watched as Lucinda moved towards the whisky decanter on the sideboard. ‘Do you fancy a splash? I’m meant to be cutting down on the grog, but it does help along one’s hangovers.’

  ‘I’m OK, thanks.’

  Lucinda added a healthy glug to her own coffee. ‘Haven’t got to drive the children anywhere later, for once. May as well make the most of it.’ She took a sip and sighed happily. ‘Top-notch bash last night, although Hero was rather upset she came second from last.’

  In the end, Stacey Turner had won by a landslide. Even if people hadn’t liked her act, they’d felt sorry for what had happened and voted for her anyway. The cut on her cheek had turned out to be superficial, and Stacey had gone home very happy – even if her father had not. With the ticket sales, bar and raffle, they had raised £5,250. Stakes in the raffle had been significantly raised when Frances Fraser had donated a rare antique dinner set. It would go some way towards improving the church.

  Lucinda took another sip of coffee. ‘Have you ever tried anal beads?’

  Camilla spluttered into her mug. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I said, have you ever tried anal beads?’ asked Lucinda. ‘Nico and I are looking to spice up things in the bedroom. One of my friends recommended them.’

  ‘I really wouldn’t know,’ Camilla said, her face bright pink.

  ‘I must admit, I was rather surprised, too. I thought they were for the gays, but apparently half of Gloucestershire is using them!’

  ‘Well, I don’t know anyone …’ Camilla replied weakly.

  ‘No?’ said Lucinda. ‘Oh well. I just thought I’d ask. I know how the younger generation are into experimentation. Anyway, have I told you about Hero winning Best Turned Out at the Pony Club show last week? We had a moment in the morning, though, when we discovered that little horror Aristotle had been rolling in his own muck all night …’

  For the next thirty minutes Lucinda droned on about the best way to clean poo stains off one’s mount and the logistics of organizing the next year’s Pony Club camp. Camilla didn’t care, at least Lucinda wasn’t talking about sexual paraphernalia. She finally managed to escape after an hour, pleading errands to run.

  As she drove towards the village crossroads, she slowed for a horse and rider coming the other way. It was Frances Fraser, mother of her best friend Harriet. Camilla wound down the window.

  ‘Morning, Frances.’

  ‘Camilla!’ Frances looked pleased to see her. ‘I was going to call your grandmother later, actually, to see how last night went.’

  ‘Your dinner set went down a storm!’

  ‘Oh, anything I can do to help.’ Ride and mount were both impeccably turned out, the family crest of the Fraser family embellishing the horse’s saddlecloth.

  ‘Hello, Dante,’ Camilla said to the thoroughbred. She and Frances chatted about their mutual interest, Harriet, for a few minutes, until the horse starting pawing its hoofs on the road.

  ‘Someone wants to get going!’ said Camilla. A thought came into her head. ‘Just before you go, I’ve got a bit of gossip. Lucinda was telling me there’s all sorts of activity going on at Byron Heights.’ Camilla didn’t notice Frances’s shoulders stiffening.

  ‘Oh?’ Frances said in a disinterested tone. ‘Yes, there’s been lots of traffic going back and forth. Do you think he’s coming back? That would be too exciting!’ Dante pawed the ground again. ‘I should be getting back,’ said Frances, and after inviting Camilla to afternoon tea at Clanfield, she set off.

  Dante sensed his owner’s sudden change in mood and started to bounce along, tail swishing high in the air.

  ‘Dante!’ Frances ordered, pulling back on the reins. Still, she couldn’t restrain her rising hopes. According to his website, Devon was meant to be in Bangkok at the moment.

  Urging the horse on, Frances trotted past Twisty Gables. As she rounded the curving bend, the Gothic spires of Byron Heights came into sight. Frances put a hand up to shield her eyes and looked: there were vehicles parked outside. She could see people carrying flowers, and what looked like bits of furniture, into the house. A white van was bumping along the long drive. As it passed Frances, the driver tipped his head and smiled at her. Frances didn’t recognize him, but the flurry of activity could mean only one thing.

  Devon was coming home.

  Chapter 23

  ‘HELLO THERE!’

  Jed stopped his wheelbarrow and turned round. Sophia waved from the top step of her Winnebago. He was even better looking than she’d remembered.

  She turned on the dazzling smile that made men’s hearts worldwide flutter. And stirred their loins. ‘Jed, isn’t it? We’ve met before, I’m Sophia Highforth.’

  He walked over, giving her a wry smile. ‘I know who you are. It’s the talk of the estate.’

  ‘And here’s me trying to keep a low profile!’ she laughed. She looked down at the wheelbarrow. ‘What is it you do exactly? It seems very hands-on.’

  ‘Estate manager, which means I’m pretty much in charge of keeping this place going.’

  Sophia laughed again. ‘I would have thought pushin
g wheelbarrows would be a bit beneath you.’

  Jed grinned. ‘We all muck in round here.’

  Sophia sat down on the steps, arranging her skirts round her. They were on a lunch break and she was looking exquisite in a silk green dress that complemented her cream complexion. She fanned herself prettily. ‘I’ve just been reading about my co-star’s exploits in the paper.’

  Somehow the Daily Mail had found out about Rafe breaking up the fight at the talent evening. There was a full-page article entitled: ‘WONDER WOLFE – THE REAL-LIFE ACTION HERO!’

  ‘Sounds like it’s never dull round here,’ she said playfully.

  ‘Oh, we can be a bit lively.’

  Sophia gave him a coquettish look. ‘I was wondering would you have time to take me on a tour of the estate sometime? You obviously do such good work here.’

  A squawking chicken ran past, a member of the crew in hot pursuit trying to round it up.

  Jed studied her. ‘Wouldn’t have thought it was your bag.’

  Sophia had already done her homework and got the low-down on Jed from one of the gardeners. She knew exactly which buttons to press. ‘Oh, I love the countryside. I think all the nature conservation here is marvellous.’

  Jed looked pleasantly surprised. ‘OK, best to come find me in my office. It’s over by …’

  ‘Oh, I know exactly where your office is.’

  He cocked his head, a half-smile playing on his lips. ‘What’s this, been checking up on me?’

  Sophia grinned cheekily. ‘Maybe.’

  Jed laughed and picked up the wheelbarrow. ‘I’ll see you around, Sophia.’

  ‘You can bet on that!’ she called after him, smiling.

  At Top Drawer Travels in Cheltenham, Camilla was having a very trying morning. Mr Fitzgerald had already sent her out on two cappuccino runs, and now he was about to swan off for yet another two-hour lunch at the swanky Japanese place round the corner.