[Churchminster #3] Wild Things

by Jo Carnegie

  ‘This is utterly absurd!’ she exclaimed aloud, crossly. She couldn’t believe Devon had talked her into this!

  He turned to her. ‘What’s that, Frannie? Having fun?’

  ‘I most certainly am not!’ she said, but her objections were drowned out by the protesters’ shouts.

  ‘Down with animal cruelty! Stop this inhuman abuse!’

  There had been a meagre turnout for the protest, but they were more than making up for it with their chanting and vigour. Besides Devon and Frances, there were two pigs, one elephant, four monkeys, three dogs, and a rather incongruous woman dressed as a tree – who had mistakenly thought it was an environmental march, but had decided to stay on anyway.

  ‘Nice weather,’ Devon remarked cheerfully, as if it was perfectly normal to stroll down the road dressed as a giant bear.

  Frances ignored him. They’d both been given flags by the procession’s leader, but she had refused to wave hers, holding it limply in her paw as though it wasn’t there. Devon however, was getting into the spirit of things. As they traipsed down the charmingly quaint High Street, he started running up to people, shaking his flag. ‘Gerbils have rights, too!’ he yelled at a group of bemused shoppers.

  ‘Bunch of nutters,’ one of them muttered.

  Frances knew what they meant. She was going to kill Devon! Out of the corner of her eye she suddenly saw one of her society friends, watching the procession with evident distaste. ‘That’s Adelaide Horsworth!’ she whispered frantically at Devon.

  He looked over at where she was pointing. ‘She a mate?’

  ‘More of an acquaintance, she’s a bit po-faced really. What are you doing?’

  Frances watched in horror as Devon ran over to Lady Horsworth, picked her up and swung her round. ‘Woo hoooo!’

  Lady Horsworth was thunderstruck. She hadn’t been touched so intimately since conceiving her third daughter, Eleonora, on the first day of the 1974 Cheltenham races.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ she said, voice shrill. ‘I command you to put me down!’

  But the more she struggled, the more Devon twirled her round. Noticing the kerfuffle, one of the pigs and the elephant ran over and, to whoops and shouts from onlookers, hoisted Lady Horsworth up on to their shoulders. Huge handbag dangling, she looked round wildly for someone to get her down, but the crowd laughed and cheered instead.

  In spite of herself, Frances started to giggle. Lady Horsworth looked so funny! In all the time Frances had known her, she’d never known Adelaide Horsworth to have a hair out of place, nor a smile on her stony face. Yet here she was, like some undignified Glastonbury reveller, being swept down Chipping Campden High Street. Gloucestershire society would be talking about this for months!

  By the time Lady Horsworth finally managed to attract the attention of a dozy looking policeman, she was apoplectic with rage and shock. ‘I want these hoodlums arrested!’ she shouted, as the bobbie helped her down.

  ‘For what?’ the pig asked innocently. ‘You asked us to pick you up. Didn’t she, Tom?’

  The elephant nodded his trunk enthusiastically.

  The policeman shrugged. ‘It’s your word against theirs, ma’am.’

  ‘This an outrage!’ Lady Horsworth thundered and stormed off.

  Frances and Devon witnessed the whole thing.

  ‘I can’t believe you did that!’ she gasped. ‘Oh Devon, did you see her face!’

  He laughed. ‘Thought she needed cheering up a bit.’

  Music started up from someone’s stereo and a party atmosphere took over. People started dancing, and not just the animal protesters. As she marched along, waving her flag properly, Frances felt a huge sense of liberation. She’d never done anything like this in her life: abandoned her social code and not cared what people thought. It felt wonderful. She linked arms with Devon, one arm aloft.

  ‘A beagle’s for life, not just for Christmas!’ she shouted.

  Afterwards, bonded by a new-found camaraderie, the group retired to a nearby pub, still wearing their costumes. Frances couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a public house – had she ever patronized one? – but she loved the chatty, sociable atmosphere and cosy furnishings. Devon bought her a half of cider, and with some difficulty she sucked it through a straw. The appley liquid felt wonderful going down her dry throat.

  Devon clinked her glass with his. ‘Cheers, Frannie.’ He leaned back against the bar. ‘Aah, this is good. Can’t remember the last time I was in the boozer without people asking for me autograph.’

  He sighed theatrically. ‘Or telling me my music was complete horseshit.’

  Frances giggled. She sucked the last of her cider up noisily.

  ‘That’s my girl.’ Devon put a furry arm around her furry shoulders. Frances nestled in beside him, basking in a glow of pleasure and contentment. Despite the incongruity of the situation, she felt happy, excited, normal. With a sudden rush of insight, she realized she felt like herself.

  She realized Devon was looking at her. Very slowly he leaned forward and rubbed plastic noses with her. She could hear the ‘tap tap’ as they rubbed one way, and then the next. All around them there was noise and laughter, but the two of them were lost in a private moment. For a reason she found hard to justify, Frances found the moment unspeakably erotic.

  ‘You wanna get out of here, princess?’ Devon’s voice was even more gravelly than normal.

  She felt a jab of excitement in her stomach. ‘Yes, please.’

  Without finishing their drinks, they left.

  By the time they’d got back to Devon’s house, the erotic undertone had been replaced by a more humorous mood. On their way back to the car Devon had tripped over his massive panda feet and gone flying into a greengrocer’s display, scattering cucumbers and oranges everywhere. After trying unsuccessfully to pick them up with their huge paws, they’d run off giggling, as the furious grocer had come out and shaken his fist at them. Now Frances was having trouble getting her huge beaver’s bottom out of the car seat.

  ‘Devon, I’m stuck!’ she cried, helpless with laughter. He tried to pull her out, guffawing.

  ‘Shit, Frannie, you are as well!’

  With one final effort, he yanked her out and she fell straight on top of him. Anyone driving up and seeing a giant beaver seemingly wrestling with a six-foot panda would have taken one look and called for the men in white coats.

  ‘Oh, Devon, this is ridiculous!’ Frances’s stomach was hurting from laughing so much. With some difficulty they managed to get up, wiping the tears from their eyes.

  ‘I’ve done some mad things on tour in my time, but this takes the biscuit.’ Devon unlocked the front door and they went in, Frances almost shutting it on her tail as she closed it behind her.

  In the hallway Devon pulled his panda’s head off. Underneath his face was red and hot. ‘I must have lost about two stone in sweat! Here, I’ll help you.’

  He grasped hold of Frances beaver’s head and pulled it off. It was a wonderful relief, but Frances felt wet hair stuck to her forehead and became very self-conscious. She must look dreadful.

  Devon guessed what she was thinking. ‘You look sexy, princess,’ he said, and meant it. ‘It’s good to see you a bit messed up for once.’

  Frances didn’t agree. Her back was wet with perspiration and the crotch of her pants felt disagreeably damp. She couldn’t go back to Clanfield like this.

  ‘Would you mind if I had a shower?’ She flushed as she said it. She would never have dreamt of being so forward and inappropriate normally, but she really did feel unpleasant.

  Devon didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Course you can. Here, you can use my en suite. It’s a bit over-the-top, be warned.’

  He wasn’t joking. Beyond the massive bedroom with its satin revolving bed and overhead mirror was a bathroom that looked like it had been stolen straight from the Luxor Hotel in Las Vegas. A gaudy gold bath big enough for six stood in the centre of the floor, while a tacky mural of nubile Egypt
ian goddesses was painted on the ceiling above.

  ‘Power shower’s good, though,’ Devon offered, as he gave her a black-and-gold Playboy bath-towel. ‘I’ll be downstairs,’ he told her and left her to it.

  Ten minutes later she was drying herself with the towel in the bedroom when the door opened.

  ‘Oh!’ said Frances, clutching the towel closer to her.

  ‘Shit, sorry, princess! I thought you were in the bathroom still.’

  She raised an elegant eyebrow.

  ‘I did, honest! I came to knock on the door and ask if you wanted a drink or anything. I’m making us a bit of grub.’

  ‘An Earl Grey would be lovely, thank you,’ she replied, trying to compose herself.

  Frances was suddenly aware of the amount of flesh she was showing, and felt aroused and oddly vulnerable at the same time.

  Devon’s eyes wandered to her white, delicate shoulders, barely ravaged by the passing of time. ‘I’ll go and make that brew for you,’ he muttered distractedly, but it was clear by the urgent look in his eyes that his mind was on something else.

  They stood and gazed at each other across the bed. Suddenly, before she knew it. Devon was upon her, taking her in his arms. ‘Fuck, Frannie, I’ve missed you!’

  ‘I’ve missed you, too,’ she tried to gasp, but then his mouth was on hers, his tongue in her mouth: exploring, revisiting, hungry for her. She could feel the bristle of his stubble against her skin; smell the mixture of sweat and aftershave. Frances flung her arms round Devon’s neck, feeling the familiar leanness of his body. The towel had fallen to the ground, but she didn’t care, as Devon’s hand ran over her smooth back and small buttocks, down the back of her thighs.

  Very carefully, as if he were handling priceless china, Devon laid her down on the bed. His shirt was open now, revealing an impressively toned chest for a fifty-something, with remnants of a six-pack, and a few dark hairs peppering his yoga-toned pectorals.

  Frances stared up at him longingly, opening her legs without even really realizing what she was doing. Devon looked at her triangle of pubic hair, and the pink contours of her clitoris. His erection, already hard, swelled to bursting against the flimsy fabric of his trousers.

  The thought of Ambrose shot into her mind, but somehow she squeezed it out again. ‘Come here,’ she said, voice shaking. Devon needed no encouragement as he lay down on top of her, skin on skin, caressing the dusky pink of her nipples. Frances’s manicured fingers were pulling underneath, at his zip. Devon moved on to his side to make it easier for her. She sighed with satisfaction as her hand found his cock and closed round it. ‘Devon, darling,’ she whispered. ‘I must have you inside me.’

  Frances’s cut-class tones had always given him a boner. Another rush of blood surged through his erection. Devon kicked off his pants and nudged her knees even wider apart with his own. She wrapped her thoroughbred legs around him, waiting for him to enter her.

  ‘Fuck-a-duck, Princess, you’re incredible!’ Devon closed his eyes and pushed inwards. He’d been thinking about this moment for so long.

  Frances gasped slightly with pain as Devon entered her, but then he was inside, filling her up, making her body tingle from top to toe. They started rocking back and forwards. Devon’s hands slid round her bottom, and she arched her hips up, wanting him in her even deeper. Over his shoulder, Frances looked up at the mirror and saw his long, lean body covering hers, backside pert, back muscled from years of yoga. Her own face was looking back, flushed and free. Frances wrapped her legs round him even tighter. ‘Fuck me!’ she said.

  He needed no encouragement and eventually they both came, and collapsed on each other in sweaty contentment.

  ‘I love you, princess,’ he murmured into her ear. Frances’ eyes welled up with emotion.

  ‘Oh, Devon …’

  All of a sudden there was an ear-splitting shriek, causing them to jump apart like scalded cats. Devon looked round in confusion and panic, before his face dropped.

  ‘It’s the fire alarm!’ he shouted. ‘I’d forgotten I’d left the bacon on!’

  He jumped off her and ran out. Frances grabbed the towel off the bed and followed in hot pursuit down the stairs. The kitchen was filled with smoke, the blackened remains of the bacon Devon had been going to add to the Caesar salad now smouldering in the sink.

  The alarm was deafening.

  ‘How do you turn it off?’ cried Frances, as Devon poured cold water on the grill pan, making steam sizzle and hiss.

  ‘Haven’t got a Scooby!’ he shouted. In the distance there was the wail of a fire engine. Devon went pale. ‘Shit, it’s the boys in red! Snork mentioned something about being wired up to the local fire station.’

  Frances was horror-struck. She couldn’t be found here, practically naked! ‘I’ve got to get away before anyone sees me!’

  ‘But how?’

  Frances’s mind whirred into action. It was a desperate measure, but this was a desperate situation. ‘Never mind,’ she shouted. ‘I’ll be in touch!’ With a quick lingering kiss on his lips, she turned and ran out.

  Chief Fire Officer Norman Stanton stared grimly through the windscreen. He knew the property they were headed for belonged to some rich old bloke, but the fact he lived abroad most of the time made it very suspicious indeed. Chief Stanton smoothed down his dour moustache, assessing the situation. Unless an arsonist had torched the joint to get a thrill, it was probably some little toe-rags who’d broken in to have a party, and one of their funny fags had set fire to the curtains.

  Just as he rounded a bend in the narrow track, the most unbelievable sight confronted Chief Stanton. A psychedelic three-wheeler van, being driven by what appeared to be a giant beaver, screeched to a halt in front of them. The beaver stuck its head out of the window and pointed back in the direction it’d just come from.

  ‘That way, gentlemen!’

  And with that, the decrepit old van nudged past the gawping fire officers and hurtled off down the track like a rally car.

  Chief Stanton turned to his fellow firefighter. ‘Did I really just see that?’ The stunned look on his colleague’s face told him he had, indeed.

  Chief Stanton shook his head. They were a bunch of fruit loops round here! The firefighters pressed forward, unaware they were about to discover the whereabouts of Devon Cornwall.

  PART THREE

  Chapter 39

  CLEMENTINE WAS AT Clanfield Hall, having promised to take a cure for leaf mould up to one of the gardeners. Jed had mentioned to her they’d been having problems with the tomato plants, but when she drove up the driveway, she was surprised to see him standing on one of the lawns engrossed in conversation with that actress Sophia Highforth. She was in costume and Jed was carrying his toolkit in one hand, probably on his way to mend something, but there was a closeness about them that gave Clementine a nasty feeling. As she pulled up Sophia brushed something off Jed’s face and smiled at him.

  ‘Hello, Jed,’ she called through the window, wanting to put a stop to this exchange as soon as possible. Jed turned and when he saw it was Clementine, jumped apart from Sophia like a scalded cat.

  ‘Mrs S-F, hi there.’

  Clementine shot him a quizzical look.

  ‘I’m just dropping off the fungicide for the leaf mould, as I said I would.’

  Jed looked blank for a moment, and then recognition dawned.

  ‘Oh yeah, of course.’

  He said something in an undertone to Sophia. Giving him a meaningful look, she squeezed his arm and walked off.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Clementine asked pointedly, as Jed reached the car. He flushed.

  ‘Er yeah.’

  Clementine bit her tongue and handed the bottle through the open window. Jed seemed relieved at the diversion.

  ‘Thanks for this. It’s going to be a godsend.’

  He was having trouble meeting her eyes. There was an awkward silence, one Clementine had no intention of filling.

  ‘I guess I should g
et back to work,’ Jed said eventually.

  ‘Yes, I think you should,’ she said meaningfully. Flushing, he mumbled a goodbye and walked off quickly. Clementine drove back down the drive, casting concerned little glances in the rear-view mirror. If Jed wasn’t a man with a guilty conscience, he was doing a jolly good job of acting like one.

  ‘What are you up to, young fellow?’ she said aloud, frowning.

  Calypso bounded up the stairs to her office. Despite having a pinky eye and being asked continually by her grandmother if she wanted some conjunctivitis cream, she was in a really good mood. For once, Rafe had two days off, and she was looking forward to spending some quality time with him. Maybe they could go out and do something: impressive as Rafe’s place was, Calypso was starting to go stir-crazy, staying in the whole time. Now she’d got over the incident with the paparazzi, she felt ready to step out and show the world they were a couple. She was Rafe Wolfe’s girlfriend, goddammit! Calypso knew there would be media interest, but she was savvy enough to deal with it. She could take anything that was thrown at her as long as she had him.

  Later, she was just finishing off a few things when her mobile rang. It was the man himself.

  ‘Hello, sexy.’

  Calypso leaned back in her chair, smiling. ‘I was just thinking about you. What time are you back later?’

  He paused. ‘There’s a bit of a problem. I’ve just had some bad family news.’

  She sat up straight. ‘Oh no. No one’s died have they?’

  ‘Thankfully no. Well, not yet anyway. It’s my grandmother, she’d been ill for some time and my mother has just called to say she’s taken a turn for the worse. I’ve got to go to Norfolk tonight.’