Cruel Venus

by Susan Lewis

  ‘Three. And a dozen eggs.’

  She waited as he trundled back to the milk float, and waved out to Mrs Briggs, who was walking past the end of the drive with Klutz, the dog. Actually, it was Bob who had named the dog, as it kept blundering into walls and falling off the kerb. Mrs Briggs had thought the name hilarious and often boasted to her neighbours that it was Bob Jaymes, yes the Bob Jaymes, who’d given her beloved pet such a sophisticated name.

  They were fortunate in the village they’d chosen for their country home, just outside Bath, as the locals were mostly friendly and seemed rather pleased to have a couple of celebrities in their midst. Not many of their London friends could boast such warmth from their rural neighbours, and the rip-offs they’d endured brought many a dinner party to the brink of outrage or hilarity.

  She inhaled deeply and looked around. God, she loved it here.

  ‘Everything all right, dear?’ Mrs Briggs called out. ‘Anything I can do?’

  ‘Everything’s fine, thanks,’ Allyson called back. ‘Are you still coming this afternoon to help with the kids?’

  ‘Of course. Still going ahead with it then?’

  Allyson hid a momentary irritation. ‘I wouldn’t want to let them down. Nor would Bob.’

  Mrs Briggs only nodded, but Allyson could see she too was surprised to hear that Bob was around.

  ‘Here,’ Sid said, thrusting two hand-labelled jars at her. ‘Lemon curd. For the kids. Elsie’s coming up later with a couple of jam tarts.’ His eyes met hers. ‘Lucky you’m not bombarded up here,’ he grunted. ‘ ’Swat usually happens when someone gets theirselves in the paper, innit? Got every Tom Dick and Harry with a camera hanging around after.’

  Just what Allyson had been thinking. ‘Bye Sid,’ she said. ‘See you later, if you’re coming.’

  She waited for him to turn his float round, milk bottles jangling, Radio Four churning out the Sunday morning service. Down the hill the church bells were clanging melodiously into life, nearer to home the birds were engaged in a shrill, happy chorus. She glanced at the surrounding bushes and trees to see if she was being watched. There was no sign of anyone. Hugging her groceries she turned back inside and closed the door.

  She could hear Bob moving about upstairs, floorboards creaking as he walked from bedroom to bathroom; the howl and thud of the pipes as he turned on the shower, the hiss and whine of the radio as he searched out a sports station. It was so normal it almost made her shudder, for it made her think of some dreadful sci-fi movie she’d once seen, where the world was going about its day in blissful ignorance of the asteroid that was about to smash it into oblivion. Likening Tessa Dukes to an asteroid was a touch melodramatic, but there was a horrible chance the effects of this ‘exclusive’ had hardly yet begun, and the results could be as catastrophic to her life as if someone really had blown apart the world.

  Except all that had happened was that Bob had been photographed coming out of Danny Jacobs’s building, which could be the same building Tessa lived in. Tessa, of whom she was so exceptionally fond. Tessa, the intriguing young beauty who’d made Allyson’s life so much easier since she’d joined the team. Intriguing, because the girl almost never talked about herself except in the most general terms, was clearly nervous of strangers and had a way of looking at a person as though he or she might prove the hidden key to a mystery. From her work with abused and abandoned children Allyson knew the signs when she saw them, though Tessa didn’t strike her as a classical, or in any way severely damaged victim, more an extremely bright young girl who might have had to fight an overbearing father for the freedom to shine. If that were the case then she’d certainly succeeded, for her academic qualifications were more than impressive, despite the abrupt departure from London Polytechnic, where she’d just completed the first year of a three-year course in media studies. Allyson had interviewed more than two dozen candidates for the position of her personal assistant, but she’d known immediately Tessa had walked in the door that here was the assistant she wanted. The dark-eyed Tessa with her shaggy black hair and rosy red cheeks not only exuded intelligence and ambition, she also radiated a very clear need to feel she belonged somewhere, which, for someone like Allyson, was the most irresistible quality of all. If the girl had had a difficult start in life, then she deserved the kind of break Allyson could offer, and not once in the four months Tessa had been with her had Allyson experienced a single moment of doubt over her decision. If anything, she was increasingly thrilled by it, for once Tessa had overcome her initial shyness she had blossomed into an exceptionally warm and friendly young girl. All her colleagues liked her and were helping Allyson to groom her for bigger and better things, the way Allyson had with two previous assistants, one of whom was now a reporter on Soirée, the other an associate producer at the BBC.

  Allyson was trying to remember if Tessa and Bob had ever met, and decided they must have, for Bob was a regular visitor to the Soirée office and studio, and Tessa’s desk was right outside Allyson’s door. However, Allyson was failing to come up with the scenario of when this meeting took place, which, for some reason, wasn’t having the comforting effect it should have.

  Going back to the kitchen she began putting away her groceries and wondering why the phone hadn’t rung. True, her parents would never read the News of the World, nor would most of her friends, but someone had to know about the ‘exclusive’ by now. So why hadn’t anyone called? Most particularly, where was Shelley? Shelley Bronson got every Sunday paper. As Soirée’s editor and senior producer, she was obliged to read them before the Monday meetings when topics for that week’s shows were locked in. Plus, and it was a big plus, Shelley Bronson was Allyson’s closest friend. So why wasn’t Shelley on the phone demanding to know what the hell was going on?

  Allyson cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, then went upstairs. She loved this house. Absolutely adored it. It was at least two hundred years old, creaked and groaned like an arthritic old codger and made her feel as safe as a child in a womb. She couldn’t bear to lose it! She’d fought so hard to make it beautiful, rising to the contest of wills as the house tried to refuse renovation and she had insisted. It had defied her every step of the way, besting the efforts of a dozen designers and workmen with its determination to remain a ruin. But in the past couple of years it had settled into its defeat as though the victory of style, taste and comfort was all its own. It had even absorbed the extra wing as a parent might an offspring that totally resembled itself.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s odd there’s no press outside?’ she remarked to Bob as he stepped out of the shower. She squeezed a line of toothpaste onto her brush and began to clean her teeth. In the mirror she watched him as he towelled himself dry. There wasn’t much left of the tan he’d acquired in France that summer, but unless she was mistaken he seemed to have lost some weight. The possible meaning of that thundered to the front of her mind. She shoved it away sharply. She wasn’t going to allow this paranoia to take hold, or before she knew it she’d be checking his credit cards and sneaking looks at his diary. Everyone’s weight fluctuated from time to time, why should he be any different? And there was nothing new about the fact that he looked closer to thirty-five than forty-five, he’d always looked young for his age. So had she, though she was younger than him, for she’d yet to reach forty. That treat was coming up in the middle of next year. Extraordinary, for she certainly didn’t feel forty. It sounded like an age that belonged to older people, and she definitely didn’t consider herself an older person.

  ‘What?’ she said, spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said, thank God there isn’t. Any press outside.’

  ‘But don’t you think it’s odd? You know how they go and stake people out after that kind of story? Even old Sid remarked on it.’

  ‘They probably know by now that the News of the World got it wrong,’ he said, walking across the spacious, Victorian-style bathroom to get a can of baby talc from the antique brass-
framed cabinet that hugged the wall behind the bath.

  Loving him for being so unruffled by it all, Allyson dried her mouth and went to put her arms round him. He smiled, giving life to the roguish grin she adored.

  ‘You really did take it seriously, didn’t you?’ he teased. ‘You were worried.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t,’ she denied. Then, ‘OK, perhaps I was, a bit. She’s a pretty girl, and the men in the office are all crazy about her.’

  Bob grimaced. ‘What’s the matter with them, looking at her when you’re around?’

  ‘She’s twenty years younger, and available,’ she said, putting her lips very close to his.

  He kissed her, then looked into her face, and she wondered if he meant it when he told her she was even more beautiful now than when he’d first met her. She couldn’t really be considered a beauty, but she certainly felt more attractive now. However, the confidence that came with success was probably responsible for that.

  ‘If it were anyone but Vic Stafford you were going to see,’ she said after he kissed her again, ‘I’d insist you be late. But Vic won’t stand for it.’

  ‘We can always catch up with this later,’ he said, smiling into her eyes. ‘After the kids have gone back to Hobert Hall.’

  ‘If we’ve still got the energy.’

  Looking regretfully down at his semi-erect penis, for she actually was in the mood right now, she moved away and slipped out of her pyjamas. She was petite and pale-skinned, and saddened by the way her large breasts were starting to sag. Bob insisted they were fabulous, which she loved him for, but unlike the drop-dead gorgeous Shelley she’d never go topless on the beaches of Cannes. She did go along with all the cleavage and leg shots the publicists insisted on though, and thanked God for smart lighting and airbrushes.

  ‘OK, I’m off,’ Bob said, putting his head round the door, some ten minutes later. ‘I’ll get the bus from Vic, then go over to the station to pick up whoever’s coming. What time does the London train get in?’

  ‘Half past twelve. Take them all straight to the pub. I’ll meet you there. I’m going to make a start on the sandwiches, then I’ll pop over to the Hall to check how many kids are coming.’

  It was only when he’d gone that Allyson remembered Tessa was due to arrive on the train. Her heart reacted with a disturbing lurch as she wondered what it would be like for them, having to face each other after that morning’s story. She pictured them meeting, awkwardly, trying to laugh off the absurdity of their rumoured affair. But maybe it wasn’t a rumour! Maybe they were desperately in love.

  No! No they weren’t.

  Shelley would be on the train too, which could account for why she hadn’t called. Except Shelley had a mobile phone.

  Everyone else on the train would have read the paper, the premier-league footballers Bob had roped into the kids’-celebrity cricket match in the field next to their house, the handful of soap stars and kids’-TV presenters. The children at the Hall, who all had Down’s syndrome, were already so excited that Mrs Gore was having trouble keeping them calm. Time to concentrate on them now, and abandon this ludicrous mind-trip to the brink of disaster.

  Allyson was on her way out of the door when the telephone finally rang. ‘Yes, hello Vic,’ she said, when she heard the surly man’s voice at the other end.

  ‘What time’s he coming?’ Vic growled.

  ‘He’s already on his way. Should be there by now.’

  ‘I’ll wait five more minutes,’ and the line went dead.

  Allyson hung up, picked up her bag and was about to leave when the phone rang again.

  ‘Darling, I’ve just been informed of that nonsense in the News of the World. I imagine Bob’s going to sue.’

  ‘Hello Mother. He hasn’t mentioned suing, but it could be an option. How’s Daddy?’

  ‘He’s right here. I called Uncle Cecil and he gave me the number of a good lawyer. Apparently the man’s handled plenty of libel cases and has a good record of winning. You could donate your compensation to one of your charities.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Allyson smiled. ‘I’m glad to hear you so convinced it isn’t true.’

  ‘Preposterous, darling. Bob would never dream of being unfaithful, any more than you would. Trouble is, this sort of thing has a way of putting ideas into people’s heads.’

  ‘Well, there’s a happy thought.’

  ‘How did Bob take it?’

  ‘He didn’t seem very interested. Laughed that I thought it could be true, but on the whole I’m not sure it’s really sunk in that the story’s there.’

  ‘Any more press lurking around?’

  ‘No. Don’t you think that’s weird?’

  ‘Mmm. I’ll hand you over to Daddy. Sorry we can’t make the match, but we’ll be sending a handsome donation.’

  Her father’s voice came uncertainly down the line. ‘Hello? Who’s that?’

  ‘Hello Daddy. It’s me. Allyson.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘How are you feeling today?’

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘I should be able to pop over on Tuesday.’

  ‘It’s Howard Butler-Blythe speaking. Identify yourself please.’

  ‘Bye, Daddy. Love you.’

  She rang off, feeling a sharper edge to the sadness of her father’s fading mind than she usually did. She missed him so terribly, and how hard this had to be for her mother.

  Having put on the answering machine, she managed to escape the house before being intercepted by any more calls. The fact that there were no lurking photographers or persistent hacks was helping her to breathe more easily, for she’d decided that their absence could only mean that Bob was right, they had already discovered their mistake and were busy devising some kind of page-twenty-five apology.

  Bob was sitting in the driver’s seat of the bus he’d collected half an hour ago. Now, with time to spare before he was due at the station, he’d pulled into this hidden little picnic glade and parked.

  It was starting to warm up outside. There was no wind, and the occasional leaf that fell from the densely clustered trees merely wafted to the ground in its own lightness of being. His eyes were transfixed by Tessa as she came towards the bus, her short, shaggy black hair and deeply flushed cheeks making her seem even younger than she actually was. She wasn’t tall; her body was plump and soft, like an overripe melon; her normally timid eyes were glittering now with a light that cut right through him. The smile on her full, sulky lips quivered with a lethal mix of modesty and mischief.

  By the time she reached the bus his pulses were thick and throbbing. The door was already open. He watched her come up the steps, knowing that beneath her long dark winter coat she wore nothing more than a pair of black vinyl thigh-high boots. Her eyes were on his as she stopped in front of him and allowed him to open the coat. As he pulled it apart desire cut through him in a long, painful groove. Her breasts were fleshy and round, irresistible and perfectly made for sucking and squeezing. Their nipples were blood-red and hard from the cold. Her tummy bulged from her waist, creating a softly pliant mound above her pubis. Where there should have been a tangle of thick, curling hair there was only the tenderest and most succulent of flesh. He’d shaved her himself the day before, in the bathroom of her tiny flat, which was a few doors away from Danny Jacobs. The flat where he now spent every available minute, either making love to her, talking to her, bathing her, reading to her, or sometimes just watching her.

  He lifted his eyes back to her face, and inserted a finger between the lips he had shaved. She was so moist he could feel it, hot on his hand, and wet on her legs. He pulled her closer and took a fat, juicy nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard, twisting his tongue around it and pushing his fingers deeper inside her. Having her come to him like this had brought him close to the brink, if he penetrated her now he would lose it.

  Getting up from his seat he stood over her, then lifted her mouth to his. She tasted of peppermint and coffee. Her skin, beneath his fingers, was as soft
as a baby’s. He pulled it, pushed it, bunched it in his hands and squeezed it, while feeling himself swimming in the vortex of emotions she aroused in him, the agonizing desire to love her, the fear of its intensity, the horror of its consequence.

  ‘Did you see the paper?’ he said gruffly.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered.

  Her black eyes were fringed with long, dense lashes, her pale, cool skin was blotched with patches of red. He looked at her and felt a thousand knots twist around his heart. He knew he should say more, but he couldn’t discuss it, he had no idea what he wanted to say. All he knew was the glowing allure of her face, the tender trust in her eyes and the enslaving beauty of her body. His need for her was like a silently raging tide, way beyond any semblance of control, long past any chance of reason. He had to have her. Whatever it meant to his life now, or in the future, he had to have her, possess her, make her his and his alone.

  Turning her round, he steered her halfway down the bus then stopped and removed her coat. His hands moved to her breasts as he pulled her back against his chest. Then he whispered in her ear what he wanted her to do. Without hesitation she put a knee on each of the seats either side of her, leaned forward and rested her hands on the seats behind. The fleshy roundness of her bottom was wholly exposed, her black shiny boots made an unsparingly erotic contrast to her colourless skin.

  He pushed into her, big and hard and almost ready to explode. She was trapped by the seats, anchored to him by the brutal ramming of his hips. He pushed her head down and penetrated harder. He wanted to slap the rippling flesh of her buttocks, but he was too far into her, too close already to letting it go.

  ‘Harder. Give it to me harder,’ she begged, repeating the words he’d told her he wanted to hear. And as he gripped her hips with his hands and pumped her with a ferocity that caused him to grunt with exertion, she gasped, ‘Don’t stop. Just fuck me! Fuck me.’

  She went on. The words she used, and the way she spoke them, drove the power of his orgasm to an excruciating pitch. He wanted never to stop coming. He wanted his cock hard in her like this for as long as she could take it. And he knew she could take it. She could take it like no-one he’d ever known. She wanted it like no-one he’d ever known. And anything he wanted, anything, was all right by her, because all she really wanted was whatever made him happy.