The Gallery

by Fredrica Alleyn

  ‘So you’ll come out with me again?’

  She nodded. ‘I’d love to. I enjoyed everything about tonight.’

  Rick gave a small sigh of relief. ‘That’s great to hear. I’ll call in at the gallery in the next few days and arrange another date. And Cressida, thanks for being so understanding.’

  He walked up to her front door with her, kissed her passionately and then left, disappearing into the shadowed street so quickly that if her whole body hadn’t still felt bruised and sensitive from their lovemaking, she could almost have imagined him.

  The next morning Marcia joined Cressida in the coffee room.

  ‘How was your date?’ she asked with a smile.

  ‘We had a great time,’ said Cressida.

  ‘Did you go back to his flat?’ persisted Marcia.

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes I did.’

  ‘You’re not as stand-offish as you seem then!’ exclaimed Marcia. ‘Rick really struck gold.’

  ‘I just looked at his pictures,’ protested Cressida, but she made sure that she didn’t sound too convincing.

  ‘I’m all for people enjoying themselves,’ said Marcia. ‘In fact, I hope you can inspire him with your visits. He needs a kick start at the moment. Guy’s been pushing him for weeks now about a new picture.’

  ‘I imagine artists have to wait for inspiration to strike,’ replied Cressida, adding cream to her cup of black coffee.

  ‘Quite, and with any luck you’ll prove to be that inspiration. What fun! The two of you must join Guy and me one evening – that should be interesting. On another subject, when Leonora arrives she should be wearing something more in keeping with the gallery’s style. I had a word with her stepmother, Rose, and knowing Rose that ought to be enough. If you don’t think she looks right though would you let me know? Guy said it was like having a stuffed crow on display yesterday!’

  ‘Right,’ agreed Cressida, hoping against hope that Leonora had taken her stepmother’s advice because the last thing she wanted was a scene from the girl. ‘How old is she?’ she asked.

  ‘Nineteen! Guy thought she was twelve, or so he claims! Nineteen’s far more interesting for him of course, so we must all look to our laurels.’

  Cressida laughed. ‘I can’t seriously imagine him being interested in Leonora, can you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Marcia. ‘She’s a challenge. As I mentioned before Guy can’t resist a challenge.’

  ‘Well, from what she said yesterday she already has a boyfriend called Piers, so even if Guy was interested I don’t think Leonora would return his enthusiasm.’

  ‘She might not be given a lot of choice,’ said Marcia enigmatically as she walked away.

  Cressida, who had no idea what Marcia was talking about, went out to her desk and began to check the morning’s post.

  ‘One other thing,’ called Marcia from her office doorway. ‘If anyone calls for Guy he’ll be a little late today. He’s got an important early-morning meeting.’

  At that precise moment, Guy’s important early-morning meeting was lying across a king-size bed with her waist-length, jet black hair spread over her shoulders as her dark brown almond-shaped eyes stared up into his.

  As always, Guy was enchanted by the enigma that was the new Lady Thornton. The daughter of a Philippino mother and a French father she was, in his opinion, a combination of everything that was best about both cultures. Her dusky eastern beauty was perfectly offset by her exquisite French eye for fashion, and her mother’s hot blood was tempered by her father’s relaxed attitude to all things sexual. In other words, she was almost the ideal woman, and Guy could well understand Sir Peter’s infatuation.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ she begged him, her hips lifting upward off the soft goosedown duvet. Guy, who’d been crouched on the floor between her widespread thighs while his tongue worked its usual magic on her, had no intention of stopping. He eased her back on the bed a little and then knelt astride her body, slowly easing his erection inside her.

  Rose pulled her knees up to her chest and sighed with delight as she felt Guy’s hands sliding beneath her buttocks so that he could ease her up and down. As he moved his penis in and out of her – slowly at first but in a gradually increasing tempo – Rose, assisted by his hands, rolled her thighs up and down so that at almost every stroke he touched her G spot. Each time this happened her small white teeth would catch on her bottom lip and her feet would press hard against Guy’s chest.

  They knew each other so well that in no time at all the right rhythm was established, and Rose felt her whole body expanding, causing the blissful feeling of tightness that always preceded her climaxes.

  ‘How near are you?’ asked Guy softly, feeling his own orgasm drawing closer.

  ‘Just a few more strokes,’ gasped Rose, perspiration dotting her top lip.

  Guy smiled down at her and stopped moving. ‘Is what we discussed earlier definite then?’

  Some of the tightness started to fade and Rose tried to move more frantically against him. ‘Keep still or I’ll withdraw,’ warned Guy. ‘Tell me, Rose, is it agreed?’

  ‘Yes, I told you I’d arrange it,’ she gasped.

  ‘But you don’t always keep your word, as your good husband knows to his cost. You’re beautiful and sexy, Rose, but you’re not trustworthy. I want you to promise that what we talked about earlier is a deal. If you break your word, you’ll be very sorry.’

  ‘What about Peter?’ she cried, wriggling around despite her best efforts to restrain herself. ‘He’d go mad if he knew.’

  ‘But he won’t know, will he? He and I are friends, so I won’t tell him – and you certainly won’t talk about it if you’ve got any sense.’

  ‘I don’t understand why you want her!’ exclaimed the frantic Rose. ‘She’s nothing; just a plain, boring English girl with no dress sense and cold blue blood in her veins.’

  ‘I like a change,’ said Guy. ‘You want Piers, and I want Leonora. Set up an evening for the four of us, and do it soon.’

  ‘I can’t be sure,’ she protested. ‘I never know what Peter’s doing.’

  ‘You always know what Peter’s doing,’ said Guy, moving very gently inside her so that the intense searing pleasure flooded through her pelvic area for a brief moment. ‘Come on, Rose, promise me and then we can finish what we’re doing.’

  ‘I …’ Rose stopped as she felt him remove his hands from beneath her and run them up her chest until he’d grasped her nipples between his fingers. Slowly he began to roll them around, occasionally extending and then releasing them again until the sexual pleasure spread downward towards her lower belly. ‘All right,’ she agreed desperately. ‘I promise.’

  ‘And you’ll do it soon?’ He moved his hips a little and once more her G spot felt the soft caress that she adored.

  ‘Yes, yes!’ she moaned and Guy knew from the expression on her face that she wouldn’t let him down.

  At once he resumed their lovemaking, picking up the same rhythm he’d used earlier, and suddenly her briefly frustrated body began to throb as the orgasm, which had been smouldering inside her during the interval, started to build towards release. At the last moment, as the sheer pleasure of it all overwhelmed her, Rose uttered one tiny cry, which was all she ever allowed herself, and then her body trembled and shook as the muscles rippled at the climactic moment. Guy felt her feet jerking against his chest and thrust more fiercely so that within seconds of Rose finishing, he too had come in a highly satisfying series of spasms.

  As soon as it was over he withdrew from Rose and walked over to fetch his clothes. She watched him from the bed, her dark eyes enigmatic and her face slightly flushed with colour. ‘You really do want her, don’t you?’ she murmured.

  ‘Leonora? Yes, I do.’

  ‘Englishmen are strange,’ she mused. ‘Even Peter’s peculiar. Sometimes I think he doesn’t really like women, not in a sexual way.’

  ‘He’s mad about you,’ said Guy shortly. ‘His trouble is, he’s too trusting.�
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  ‘How do you know? Perhaps I’m just a trophy wife.’

  ‘Believe me, I know. It’s almost enough to make me feel guilty about having sex with you,’ he added, and they both laughed.

  ‘What do you feel when he and I watch you and Marcia?’ asked Rose.

  ‘I don’t think about it much. I always enjoy it but I’m usually concentrating on what we’re doing rather than on you and Peter.’

  ‘But don’t you think about these times? Our times together?’ she persisted.

  ‘No,’ said Guy abruptly. ‘I certainly don’t. Now, call me as soon as you’ve got a date for the dinner. And don’t make me wait more than a week. I’m not a patient soul.’

  The gallery was relatively quiet that morning, and as a result Cressida had quite a lot of time to think.

  The previous evening she’d rung Detective Chief Inspector Williams the moment she got home, telling him about the half-finished picture in the style of Holbein that she’d seen in Rick’s studio. She hadn’t explained exactly how the cover had come to slip off the painting, but it was clear that he guessed.

  ‘You’re doing extremely well PC Farleigh,’ he’d said with considerable satisfaction. ‘Now you must try and find out from this artist chap exactly how the switch is done. He obviously likes you a lot. No doubt you can use the usual feminine wiles to gain his total trust.’

  ‘He might not be involved in anything, at least not knowingly,’ Cressida had protested beginning to feel guilty about Rick.

  ‘If he’s just a pawn that they’re using he won’t have anything to fear from us,’ the chief inspector had responded. ‘We’re not after the small fish here – we want the big shark. In other words, we want Guy Cronje, and we want him badly.’

  ‘I’m hoping that through Rick I might learn more about Guy. I should certainly meet him more often,’ she’d told him. ‘I’m bound to go to Rick’s next exhibition and that’s a big event as far as Guy and the gallery are concerned.’

  ‘Excellent! You’d better try and find out the name of the poor devil who’s about to lose his precious Holbein too. I hope it isn’t Peter.’

  ‘I’ll do all I can,’ Cressida had promised.

  ‘Great, and we’ll tell Tom to stay well away. I gather that he’s not coping too well with the situation. He hasn’t caused you any trouble, has he?’

  ‘No!’ Cressida had exclaimed, finding it difficult to imagine Tom putting her at jeopardy through jealousy. He was a professional police officer too, and would understand better than anyone how vital it was that no one grew suspicious of her at this stage.

  Now, however, with time on her hands, Cressida began to wonder what Tom might do if he really was upset. It was becoming difficult for her to remember what she’d felt for Tom before she’d gone undercover, especially since last night when Rick’s passionate lovemaking had made everything she’d ever done with Tom pale into insignificance.

  ‘Cressida!’ said Leonora in a bored voice.

  Cressida looked up from the leaflet she’d been pretending to read. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ve already asked you twice. What shall I do now I’ve finished cleaning up the coffee room?’

  Cressida sighed. Leonora, who had at least taken her stepmother’s words to heart and was wearing an attractive red summer dress in a soft floating material, didn’t seem in the least interested in her work and occupying her was difficult.

  ‘Why not go through our catalogues again? It’s important that you know about all our artists,’ she suggested.

  Leonora pulled a face. ‘I’ve read them twice.’

  ‘Does that mean you know every name and how many of their pictures we can supply?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then go through them again,’ said Cressida shortly.

  Leonora flounced off and sat in the far corner of the room, reading resentfully. It was quite a relief to Cressida when the bell over the door went and a customer walked in, but that relief quickly faded when she saw that the man approaching the desk was Tom.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ she asked with a polite smile.

  Tom bent down so that he could talk softly to her. ‘Why haven’t you rung me for the past few nights?’ he asked.

  ‘I can’t!’ hissed Cressida, and saw that Leonora was now watching her with interest.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I can give you a list of all the van Gogh prints we supply,’ she said loudly. Leonora went back to her catalogue.

  ‘Never mind van bloody Gogh!’ snapped Tom, keeping his voice low. ‘I want to know what’s going on.’

  ‘Ask the chief,’ whispered Cressida. ‘He’ll explain.’

  ‘I don’t see why we can’t go out for a meal!’ exclaimed Tom, his voice suddenly louder.

  Once more Leonora lifted her head, and Cressida felt herself going pink with annoyance. She couldn’t believe that Tom would be so stupid at such a vital time in the operation.

  ‘I just can’t,’ she snapped, pushing a catalogue at him as she saw Marcia approaching.

  ‘If you don’t,’ muttered Tom as he turned away, ‘then I’ll blow your cover. You’re a policewoman and my girlfriend, not a prostitute.’ He slammed out of the gallery leaving Cressida facing both Marcia and Leonora.

  ‘What was all that about?’ asked Marcia.

  Cressida took a deep breath. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said slowly. ‘He’s a customer who’s been in once or twice and seems to have some kind of obsession with me. Now he’s saying that if I don’t go out for a meal with him he’ll throw himself under a train!’

  ‘My goodness, you certainly have an effect on the clientele,’ remarked Marcia. ‘Let’s hope Rick doesn’t get jealous.’

  ‘I’m sure that Rick isn’t the jealous type,’ retorted Cressida. ‘Anyway, I’m not going. The man’s clearly unstable.’

  ‘Obsession can be dangerous,’ cautioned Marcia. ‘If you have any more trouble let me know and I’ll tell Guy. I’m sure he’ll be able to find out where the man lives and put a stop to it. He’s quite attractive though, in a conventional way, don’t you think?’

  ‘He isn’t really my type,’ said Cressida trying to sound bored with the subject.

  ‘Strange; if I’d had to match people from photos I’d have put you with someone like him rather than our Rick,’ said Marcia. ‘It goes to show, you never can tell, can you!’

  Once Marcia had returned to her office Leonora put down her catalogue and walked over to Cressida. ‘Are you really going out with Rick Marks?’ she asked, her light brown eyes wide with surprise.

  ‘Yes, but it’s a new relationship,’ said Cressida.

  ‘You’re brave,’ said the girl, showing animation for the first time since joining the gallery staff. ‘I’ve seen his drawings here; they’re dreadful. I’d be terrified to go out with someone like that.’

  ‘People who write thrillers don’t go round murdering people,’ said Cressida patiently. ‘Artists who draw women in chains don’t necessarily go round behaving like that in their private lives either.’

  ‘But he must be odd,’ persisted Leonora. ‘No normal man would draw women like he does.’

  ‘His work represents relationships between the sexes,’ said Cressida. ‘They aren’t meant to be taken literally. He’s interested in the true balance of power between couples as opposed to the apparent reality of the situation.’

  Leonora pulled a face. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I think he must be weird.’

  ‘How fortunate you’re not the one going out with him then,’ said Cressida.

  Leonora leant against the desk. It seemed that this new information had made Cressida far more interesting in her eyes. ‘Piers is pretty boring,’ she confessed. ‘He’s the son of a friend of Daddy’s. I think he knows more about cricket and rugby than he does about sex.’

  ‘Then find yourself someone more interesting,’ suggested Cressida.

  ‘I hardly meet anyone,’ complained Leonora. ‘I suppose it might
be better when I go to Italy for a year, but that’s not until the end of September.’

  ‘In that case you’ll have to put up with being bored for a few more weeks,’ replied Cressida.

  Leonora stared at her. ‘I wonder why so many men fancy you? You look pretty ordinary to me. I mean, my stepmother’s really gorgeous. She’s foreign, which helps I suppose, but every man she meets goes weak at the knees, and I can understand why although it’s really irritating. But you … well, you’re just like lots of other women, aren’t you?’

  Cressida felt herself getting annoyed but kept her voice level. ‘Why don’t you get back to reading the catalogues and let me do some work, Leonora,’ she suggested.

  ‘OK, but I still think it’s odd.’

  Cressida knew that Leonora, bored by her work but clearly intensely interested in people’s private lives, would now be watching her like a hawk, and she felt even more angry with Tom for what he’d done.

  That night when she got home, she rang him and told him how difficult he could have made things for her, but he still kept insisting that there was no harm in them having a meal together.

  ‘You’re allowed boyfriends, aren’t you?’ he shouted.

  ‘Yes, but I’m supposed to be potty about Rick Marks. It will look rather odd if I start going out with another man just when I’ve begun a relationship with him.’

  ‘You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?’ asked Tom furiously.

  ‘It’s none of your business what I’m doing. I’m only answerable to the chief, as you very well know,’ Cressida shouted back.

  Tom changed his tone. ‘Please, Cressida, I miss you so much. Let’s go out next Monday to that Indian place round the corner from you. No one from the gallery will see us there.’

  Cressida suddenly realised that she had no desire to see him even if there wasn’t any risk. She was too caught up in her affair with Rick, and deep in her subconscious was attracted to Guy Cronje. Tom was no longer of interest, but instinct told her that in order to prevent Tom from ruining everything, she had to see him just one more time.

  ‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘We’ll meet there next Monday at eight, but don’t try and contact me before then or it’s off. And Tom?’