Protection

by Carla Blake

  Carrie’s lawyers prepared to sue.

  Whilst Isobel, spreading open a copy of the magazine, carefully cut out sections of the photographs into hundreds of tiny, little pieces.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The phone woke Isobel and grabbing the receiver with one hand, she croaked a greeting, suppressing a groan when her boss’s voice sounded on the other end.

  Was she well enough to go into work today? He wanted to know. Because several others had also called in sick, and he was desperate for cover.

  Keeping her voice deliberately cracked, which wasn’t difficult seeing as how it was only seven thirty in the morning, Isobel explained that she’d like to help, but she was still covered in the itchy rash and seeing as how she had to stop and slap Calamine lotion on every five minutes, she didn’t think pounding the streets would be very practical.

  Forced to agree with her, her boss nevertheless wished her a speedy recovery and hung up, leaving Isobel to snuggle back under the covers and contemplate what she was really going to be doing that day.

  A crash course in waitressing from Rita. But even that wasn’t for a couple of hours and reaching over the side of her bed, she picked up her scrapbook and levered herself into a sitting position.

  Most of her pictures were now stuck to the thick paper, and nice as they were, none of them showed her naked or writhing in ecstasy as she’d been at the gym. Her hair all sweaty, her legs apart, her tits covered by another’s mouth.

  It was enough to turn her on just thinking about it and tossing the scrapbook aside, Isobel slid her hand under the duvet and finding the warm nest of her fluff eased a finger smoothly between her pussy lips, feeling warm pulses of desire instantly tingle through her groin as biting her lip, she began to rub herself. Massaging the hardened nub of her swollen clit until the juices gathered and flowed and her other hand pulled at her nipples. Creating little electric shocks of pain as she rubbed and rubbed at her clit and kept her mounting orgasm at bay with the pain she was inflicting on her breasts.

  Breathing hard, she slid her finger inside herself and gushed again, her pussy filling with liquid as she began to pump. Her muscles welcoming the intrusion as her mind filled with images of her. Her head buried between her thighs. Her hair brushing her stomach. Her hot tongue, lapping and sucking.

  Near to coming, Isobel withdrew her finger and returning to her clit, rubbed and stroked. Groaning louder and louder as the pleasure built and built and she suddenly rattled over the edge. Wanting her. Needing her. Determined that nothing would stand in the way of having her.

  Why did these mornings have to be so cold?

  Shrugging on her overcoat, Andrea delved into the voluminous pockets and pulled out her gloves, shivering when the cold lining brushed against her fingers and frustrated when her fingers didn’t thaw out after a few minutes.

  Why couldn’t she get warm? She didn’t understand it. She didn’t feel as if she was coming down with anything and her gloves had always helped before, but even numerous cups of coffee hadn’t warmed her, despite drinking them hot enough to burn her tongue, and now she was preparing to face the biting wind again, just so she could chat with Brian Holding, the man responsible for tomorrow’s additional security.

  Why they had to meet outside was anyone’s guess, although Brian had mentioned something about a walk-round assessment to determine possible security weak spots, so maybe that was it, though she doubted if he’d find anything. Carrie had the house and grounds totally covered as far as she could tell and walking round it was probably just going to be a waste of time. But, seeing as how she’d been the one to insist on additional security in the first place, she supposed she couldn’t complain now.

  Pulling up the collar of her coat, Andrea let herself out of the back door and shivered again as she started up the driveway.

  The wind pulled and tugged at her coat and her boots crunched loudly on the gravel, startling a flock of sparrows who took to the sky in a flurry of wings.

  Brian was waiting for her by the main gates. His dark hair blowing into his eyes as he stared up at the main gates and shivered. His absurdly thin jacket hardly able to cover his solid frame, let alone keep out the cold as Andrea came abreast of him and coughed. Smiling when he turned to nod a greeting and briefly shaking his hand before it disappeared back inside the warmth of his pocket.

  “Cold enough to freeze ice.”Andrea said.

  “Sure is.”Brian agreed, wishing he had thought to wear something a little warmer and wondering if what Carmichael had told him about this little lady was true?

  He could see no reason why not, for unlike some of his colleagues, who believed female bodyguards were a waste of space, experience had taught him that the ladies could be just as tough as the men and quiet often tougher. An even though he would never have admitted it to any of his more prejudice buddies, if he’d had the choice, he would much rather have had a woman beside him when his back was against the wall, than one of them. Men were too busy looking after number one to care about anybody else. But woman. They had the capability to not only save their own skin, but everyone else’s as well. Maybe it had something to do with the maternal instinct.

  Rubbing his hands together, he surpressed the desire to shake all over and suggested they take a walk.

  “Make it a brisk one too, shall we?”He added. “If I don’t warm up soon you’ll have to chip me from the driveway.”

  “I know how you feel, but a warmer jacket might have been a good idea. That one’s so thin it’s almost see through.”

  Brian smiled weakly. “I know, but it wasn’t until I got out of the car that I realised I’d left my overcoat at home and then it was too late. Still, dressed like this I am the epitome of macho.”

  Andrea laughed. “Yeah right. The epitome of frozen macho. Come on, let’s go grab a coffee. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of this weather.”

  Watching from her bedroom window, the phone clamped to her ear, Carrie watched Andrea and Brian walk briskly up the drive and disappear from view.

  On the other end of the line, Carmichael confirmed arrival times for the decorators and caterers.

  “I didn’t think the food was arriving until tomorrow.”Carrie said vaguely, as Andrea stepped back into view and pointed at a security camera.

  Carmichael tutted. “You’re not listening to me are you? And I bet you’re standing at the window. For God’s sake,come away or we’ll never get anything done.”

  “How did you know…”

  “Because that’s usually what you’re doing when I find myself talking to myself. Now stop daydreaming and concentrate! Decorators today at ten. Then tomorrow, the caterers, at around two. With me so far?”

  Carrie glowered at the phone. “Yes! I’m writing it down as we speak. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Big blokes all dressed in black and looking menacing. Have they arrived yet?”

  “They have. In fact, Andrea’s with Brian now, inspecting the outside of the house.”

  “Ah! So that’s what you’re gawping at. Okay. The waitresses will be arriving tomorrow, same time as the food. I’ve arranged for someone to be at the door to greet your guests and there’ll be security at the gates to get rid of the unwanted. Can you thing of anything else..?”

  “The press. Who’s officially invited?”

  “The usual broadsheet mob, although no doubt some of those who reside closer to the gutter will try their luck. But don’t worry about them, Brian’s lot will sort them out and you never know, the impending law suit against Hazel may have made some of them think twice about gatecrashing.”

  “It would be nice to think so, but I don’t think it’s going to happen. That lot never know when to give up. But if there’s nothing else, then I think I’d better hang up. The decorators will be here soon and I want to be downstairs to greet them. I’ll call you if I think of anything e
lse, but if not, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. Bright and early. Please tell Amanda to have the coffee on.”

  By nine thirty, thin, dreary clouds had covered the sky and rain looked only minutes away. The temperature had fallen again too and pressing her fingertips to the glass of an upstairs window, Andrea could feel the cold permeate through.

  Behind her, a floorboard creaked and she pictured Brian Holding, moving from room to room as he checked doors and windows and the placement of infra red alarms.

  The fitting of CCTV was yet to happen.

  “You really do need them.”Brian had said. “Specially in this day and age. The bloody arseholes will get in anywhere given half the chance but at least the presence of camers does seem to make some of them think twice.”

  Andrea couldn’t have agreed more, and after explaining that they were in fact on order, but thanks to Carmichael insisting the fitters didn’t get in the way of the decorators, they weren’t actually due to be fitted until after Christmas, she left Brian to it. Preferring instead to go and huddle against a radiator.

  Not that it had done her much good. She was still cold. The only difference being that now she had attractive red fingers to go with it.

  The floorboard squeaked again and wondering what Brian was up to, Andrea left the bedroom and wandered out into the hallway to find Brian locking the door to a seldom used bedroom.

  “I’ve locked all of these, ‘cept the one you told me to leave.”He said. “And I’ve left all the bathrooms open like you wanted. But who, if anyone are you actually allowing to come up here during the party?”

  “Only Carrie or myself of course, and maybe Carmichael. Aside from that, no one.”

  Brian nodded. “Fine. I’ll let my chaps know.”

  “Oh, Miss. Shilling, it is going to be simply magnificent! We shall have trees! We shall have snow! We shall have a winter wonderland to surpass all others!”

  We shall also have a headache if I have to put up with this much longer, Carrie thought, as she followed a mincing, beaming Claude Beaumont from room to room and watched him enthuse over everything.

  It wasn’t even as though he was authentic.

  Because Claude Beaumont was a fraud.

  A fact not easy to tell at first. Especially as initital introductions tended to involve Claude bowing deeply at the waist, kissing the proffered hand - if female- and then introducing himself as a French artist blessed with a natural flair for turning ordinary homes into glorious scenes of enchantment. His expertise, he would then gush, was sought after by everyone! His work in huge demand all over the world.

  And like everyone else Carrie had been completely sucked in, smiling and entirely impressed by his crudentials, until Carmichael, fed up with the way she was becoming enamoured to Claude’s Gaelic charm and afraid she was about to make herself look a fool, dragged her aside and told her the truth!

  Claude Beaumont’ wasn’t French! He wasn’t even foreign. He was just plain, old Steven Brigley from Liverpool, who having failed to gain recognition under his original birthright, had overnight reinvented himself as some French aristocrat before proceeding to flounce his way into the good books of the rich and famous.

  Quite how he had managed this to begin with, Carmichael hadn’t a clue, but manage it he had and now he and his ‘ wonderful’, little team, were the only people to have decorating your home.

  Watching him now, twirling around her lounge and loudly effusing about what he could do with several miles of perfumed tinsel, Carrie was sorely tempted to laugh. To think this effeminate, slender man really hailed from the docklands of Liverpool was hilarious! But fake or not, no one could say Claude didn’t know his stuff and providing he shut up soon with the ‘wonderful’ ideas bit, Carrie reckoned she could probably put up with him long enough not to blow his little secret.

  Isobel Pearce walked into the newsagents at ten o’clock sharp.

  From behind her usual post at the counter, Maureen McKenzie looked up as she approached, and called for her daughter.

  “Rita will be with you in a mo’.”She said, sorting through an assortment of magazines and pulling out one with a ripped front cover. “You want this?”She asked. “No? Maybe Rita will, though she doesn’t deserve it. Right ear full she’s been giving me about this party! But like I said, there’s no way any daughter of mine is going to mix with a load of perverts.”

  Isobel smiled sympathetically and wondering how someone so fat could be so narrow minded, then wondered what Maureen would do if she told her she was gay?

  Probably smack me one and tell me never to darken her doorway again! But it would be worth it. Just to see the look on her face!

  Behind the counter, the door opened and Rita stuck her face through the gap.

  “Oh, it’s you.”She said sullenly. “Thought it might be the post. You comin’ up then or what?”

  Mrs.McKenzie made room for Isobel to walk round her.

  “You make sure you tell Isobel everythin’.”She yelled as Rita’s backside retreated up the stairs. “She’s doing you a favour, remember.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”Rita replied sourly and waited for Isobel to join her.

  The instruction took less time than it took for Isobel to drink the horrible mug of tea Rita made for her. A truly revolting brew that after the first sip she left to go cold.

  “.. easy.”Rita carried on, as Isobel tuned back in. “Just turn up at eleven, help the caterers lug tables around and stuff, get somethin’ to eat, change into your uniform, load up your tray and off you go.”

  Isobel nodded. “Okay, with you so far, but what about after the party? Do you have to stay and help clear up?”

  “Shit, no! She’ll ‘ave cleaners in the next day to do that! No, you’ll just stay until someone tells you you’re not needed any more and then you can clear off, and believe me, after spendin’ all day on your feet, you’ll be glad to get home.”

  Isobel said she probably would be and standing up, reached for her coat. “Well, if that’s everything, guess I’ll get going. Just need the uniform?”

  “Oh, yeah, it’s in me bedroom. Hang on.”

  The minute Rita was out of the room, Isobel dumped her tea into the soil of a pot plant and wondered how anyone could relax in such a stern looking room? Everything was brown. The furniture, the carpet, the curtains. Even the wallpaper, with its heavy, floral design, looked as though it wouldn’t put up with any nonsense and Isobel wondered how they ever managed to sit in here without manic depression settling in?

  “‘Ere you go.”Rita said, re-entering the room with a blue plastic cover draped over one arm. “Try not to get anythin’ down it and if you do, stick it in the dry cleaners afterwards. And don’t forget to bring me my half of the money when you’ve finished.”

  “Don’t worry I won’t forget.”Isobel said taking the uniform from her. “I’ll bring it in Sunday morning if that’s okay? What are you doing Saturday by the way, now you’re not at the party?”

  Rita laughed. “Dunno, but I’ll be having a better time than you, that’s for sure.”

  “Maybe.”Isobel replied, and leaving the shop, made her way out into the cold, fresh air.

  Like most cooks, there was nothing Amanda liked better than to see people tucking into the food she had prepared, and right now, Carrie, Andrea and Brian were doing her spread justice. Each of them tucking into a full English breakfast and surrounded by the heady aromas of freshly ground coffee and warm bread which filled the kitchen and made them grateful, that for a while, they had nothing better to do.

  At least not until Claude had finished murdering the house.

  For having finished wafting his way through the rest of the downstairs, Claude had then ushered in his team of twenty, and after ushering Carrie out of the way, had then begun the procedure of transforming Carrie’s home into a ‘ thing of wintry beauty’. In
cluding strapping himself into some sort of contraption reminiscent of a ‘Ghostbuster’ before gleefully spraying artificial snow all over the patio and shouting at two of his team to be more careful with that ‘ wretched Christmas tree!’

  Melanie, a petite girl with a short, auburn hair, had also appeared, primarily it seemed to put Carrie’s mind at rest, for while Carrie bit her nails and cringed at the sight of Claude going beserk with fake snow, Melanie had slung an arm around her shoulder and told her not to fret.

  She shouldn’t worry what it looked like now, Melanie had insisted. Claude knew what he was doing, and by the time he’d finished it would look terrific! All she had to do was relax and allow him to work his magic and in a few hours she wouldn’t even know the place.

  Which was precisely what Carrie was worrying about.

  Swallowing a final mouthful of coffee, Brian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and picked up a clipboard from the table in front of him. One by one he ran down the items.

  “Passes will be issued to all members of staff and must be worn at all times.”He began. “I’ll have guys posted at every doorway and of course, at the bottom of the stairs. They’ll be discreet, they’ll be in dress suits and I promise you, Carrie, you will not know they’re there.”

  Carrie smiled. “You think they’ll be that easy to ignore?”

  “I do. And before you say anything, you really do need all this extra security. It’s bloody sad, but it seems the more successful a person becomes, the greater the amount of nutters there are trying to get at them. Which reminds me, Carmichael tells me you’ve had one or two worrying letters, as well as something of a surprise at the gym?”

  Carrie cringed. “Is that what he called it, a surprise? Christ, it put five years on me, someone jumping out like that! As for the letters, I’m not sure if I am still getting them? They all go through the fan club now, so it’s difficult to tell.”

  “I see, but that’s no bad thing. Whoever’s sending them will soon get bored when they realise you don’t actually read them yourself and whoever jumped out on you at the gym isn’t likely to turn up here. They’ll be too afraid you saw their face on CCTV to risk showing it again. Are the police onto that by the way?”