“I’d have cleared up a bit.”
“Good. Not that my place is much better.”
“What did he do to you? Did he touch you?”
Flipp put a hand on Rocky’s wrist. He was shaking. She looked up at him, struck with love and tenderness that surpassed her own fears.
“Rocky. No. No, he didn’t. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry?” He put down the beer before he spilled it and turned to her with savage haste. “Explain that one to me then. How should I not worry when I’m involved with you?”
“You sound as if you blame me…” She faltered. “God. I’m sorry. I should leave. I never meant to drag anyone into my shit and now…”
“You can’t leave. It’s too late for that. I’m in your shit, and you’re in mine. Romantic, eh?” He chuckled mirthlessly and took another swig of the beer. “Question is, what are we going to do about it?”
“I suppose I can’t go back to the arcade now,” said Flipp. “I don’t think he knows…but he’ll try and find out.”
“He already is. He’s asked me to find out. And I don’t think I’m the only one. Some journo has been asking around town, or so I’ve heard. Don’t you think it’s time you told me what you can’t tell them? Am I important enough to you for that at least?”
“Babe, you know you are. You are important to me. Probably too important.”
He made a strange “ha” sound and said, “The sentiment’s mutual, sweetheart.”
“If I tell you…”
He looked into her eyes and shook his head in disbelief. “Flipp, you can’t think I’d sell you out. For fuck’s sake. I’m risking everything just by having you here. Don’t you understand, you silly bitch, I love you. I wish I didn’t, but, hey…” He ran a hand through his hair. Flipp wrenched the wrist down and pounced on him, surprising him into an unscheduled but searching kiss.
“I love you too,” she said urgently, releasing him but staying close, her body expressing its need for him as it burrowed against his chest. “Please stay with me.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got all night.”
So Flipp told him. And when she had finished telling him, and the hands of the clock pointed to three, and the beers were long drained, he held her close and quiet for a long, long time.
“He’ll find that out in about forty-eight hours,” he said at last. “Hell, that bent copper is probably a personal friend of his. We have to get away.”
“We?”
“I can’t let you go alone. You’ll run into more trouble before you get to the coast road.”
Flipp laughed, hoarse and rueful. “Probably. But where? And what about Cordwainer? What’ll he think if you disappear?”
“He won’t be happy. But I’ve been here too long. Always with a promise that this job is the last job he’ll want me to do…that he’ll let me go after the next job…”
“Couldn’t you say no to the next job?”
“In a word, no. He knows far too much about me. Things I’ve done. But, on the other hand, I know far too much about him. If I leave, he’ll worry about that. Perhaps he’ll come after me.”
“Do you think he will?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he’ll be glad to be rid of me. It’s been a pretty unhealthy relationship all round, but I’m not letting it get any worse. And I’m not letting him get you. That’s one thing he’ll never have.”
“Thing?” Flipp pinched him, trying to block the terror with playfulness.
“Nah, not a thing. That’s what he calls his girls, you know. His objects. He lends them out. Sometimes he gives them away.”
“Perhaps he’d have given me to you.”
“Hmm, doubt it. I’m not influential enough to be invited to his parties. Anyway, you aren’t his to give.”
“No. And I never will be. Where will we go, Rocky?”
“Does it matter? As long as we’re together?”
“That really is romantic.”
“I thought it sounded a bit funny.” He coughed, pretending disgust.
“Shut up. You are a romantic at heart, aren’t you? Underneath all that leather and the bad boy image.”
“Don’t make fun of me, Flipp. I’m putting my life on the line here.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m not knocking you. I think it’s…amazing. I can’t believe you’d do this for me. I’m not worth it.”
Finally Flipp was able to put aside her fearful flippancy and show a chink of vulnerability. It was incredible to her that this man was prepared to go to such lengths to protect her. It was incredible to her that she was capable of provoking unselfish love rather than possessive obsession. And that she was capable of feeling it in return.
“Not worth it? Yes, you are. Unless you’re calling me an idiot.”
“Perhaps I am. I’ve never been loved before. Not properly. Not by someone who understands what it means.”
“You think I do? This is a first for me, you know. Well, other than stupid crushes when I was a teenager.”
“I’ve always been a bit afraid of falling in love.”
Rocky looked at her in surprise and wonder. “Me too,” he said. “Always seemed to end up in trouble for everyone around me. Always told myself I’d steer clear. But here I am.”
“Here you are.” Flipp reached out and touched his face, as if she needed convincing that his presence was physical. “And you’re not even a dream.”
She looked up at him, her neck resting against his shoulder, feeling his heat and solidity through the black cotton. He looked back, taking her hand from his face and kissing the tips of her fingers, slowly and consideringly. It was as if she saw him for the first time, saw the awkward boy that he had been, saw the years of angst and repression and misery, saw through it all to the one thing that could save him—his love for her. She was going to have to take care of him. She was going to have to be worth it.
She loosened her hand from his gentle hold, slipped it around the back of his neck and pulled him down for the kiss that would seal their intentions. It was hungry, thirsty and almost angry with need, swallowing them both in its explicit demands. Be mine, it said, as the lips crushed; love me, as the teeth clashed; save me, as the tongues fought. Flipp slipped her hands beneath his T-shirt, impressing their shapes on his hard, broad body. His sturdy build beneath her softness never failed to delight her, and she shuffled into his lap, wanting to be closer than it was possible to be, wanting to melt into his strength and add to it.
He understood and rose to his feet, keeping her in his arms, carrying her to the bedroom with mouths still conjoined. The kiss’s hunger would not be assuaged. It seemed that it could go on forever without filling its reserves of sensual need.
They were two animals in the dark, feeding on each other. Their limbs thrashed and hooked together, they rolled and tossed, gasping and wrenching at clothes. Flipp was overpowered quickly and was naked first, though she made short work of Rocky’s T-shirt and immediately pressed her bare breasts to his chest, purring at the luscious feel of his skin on hers.
Entwined and still sighing into each other’s throats, they moved swiftly and seamlessly into the shallow waters of sex, moving deeper and deeper, using hands, using fingers, using hips and knees and stomachs to get to where the waters would cover them and plunge them down into that dark world of the senses. Flipp let Rocky lay her on her back and she waited in luxurious anticipation while he scrabbled on the nightstand for his pack of condoms, ready and willing for him to make their two bodies one. He didn’t even break the kiss to skin it onto his hard cock, and he grunted into her mouth as the first thrust slid sweetly and easily inside her wetness.
She wanted to swallow him up, take him inside her and keep him there, but she contented herself by lifting her legs high, giving him the deepest penetration possible while she raked her hands through his dampening hair, stroking him in time with the rhythmic thrusts of his cock and his tongue. If
we are two wrongs, do we make a right? It certainly felt so; the connection electrified her and she felt the stirrings of her climax with the very first sweep of his lightning rod along her nerve endings. Can our combined darkness make light? He felt so heavy upon her, and she loved the heaviness, relished it, gave herself up to it. At the moment of orgasm, he pressed her wrists down into the pillow, above her head, and she writhed and twisted, revelling in the feeling of judicious restraint coupled with lascivious freedom. If he is a prison, I want to be in it. This is the captivity I choose. He emptied into her, finally breaking the kiss to arch his spine above her and cry out to some unknown god. Flipp felt as if there had been some kind of touching of souls and she lay back, gazing at him, humbled by the enormity of it all. Love. It’s scary. It scares me.
“Sometimes, when we’re doing it, I really wish our minds could merge, d’you know what I mean?” she said softly, lying in his arms afterwards, trying to focus again on the dark shapes in the room.
“You want to know what I’m thinking?”
“More wanting us to really be one person. Does that sound strange?”
“No. I know what you mean.” He rubbed a finger behind her earlobe, having learned that it would make her sigh blissfully. “Can you imagine the kind of mess our two minds would make, though?”
Flipp laughed exhaustedly. “Almost as much mess as this room.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve never had any incentive to look after myself. Until now. And we won’t be waking up here again.”
“I suppose not.” She caught her breath, her heart hammering briefly. They were leaving. Really leaving. Running away together.
“Best get some sleep, sweetheart. Tomorrow is going to be a long one.”
Chapter Eight
“This had better be urgent.” Laura smiled tightly down at the beauty therapist and wiggled the toe whose cuticles were being pushed back with an orange stick. “Very urgent, darling, or you’ll pay for it later.”
“Oh, I do hope so. Listen. I’ve found something out. Something you will be very interested to know.”
“Oh really?”
“Are you free later?”
“Come round. Daddy’s at a meeting tonight, I think. Bring something pretty for me and I might have a treat for you. Yes. Coral, I think.”
“Sorry?”
“Just talking to the pedicurist, darling. So, about seven, then? Can’t you give me a clue? About this stunning revelation?”
“Let’s just say…you’ll flip out. Later.” Laura heard Jeremy’s chuckle before the phone cut off, and sat up straight, almost kicking the therapist in the eye.
Flip out? Flipp. Rocky’s piece. Jeremy had found something out. And by the sound of it, it was good. She would have to make sure he was well rewarded tonight.
But how to reward him? This was the problem that preoccupied her as she strolled down Goldsands’ one and only relatively chi-chi street, a cobbled alley hung with flags and lined with boutiques and salons. Jeremy was not a shy boy when it came to expressing sexual preferences, and she was no shrinking violet either. In a very short space of time, they had gone through an awful lot of fetish fantasies.
She paused to admire a maxidress in sunset-coloured silk, the sight of clothes sending her into contemplation. She and Jeremy had done every costume role-play she could think of. Her as police officer, him as wrongdoer. Her as pirate, him as sailor prisoner. Her as mistress, him as maidservant. That one had been fun, actually. Jeremy had rather enjoyed the feel of women’s underwear; the filmy gauziness of it against his cock had made it hard. She had had to punish him for that. Poor Jeremy, how he had enjoyed it. But costumes were out until she could think of a fresh new scenario, at least.
Toys? Jeremy seemed to have them all. Another butt plug would be dull and she supposed he might still be a bit sore from all that fun with the cock rings the other night.
No, this would need some serious thought. She placed her beautifully polished toes on the pedal of her little runaround and drove off through the holidaying crowds, cursing and insulting them as they stumbled in front of her, until she was out of what she called the Pleb Zone and well into the leafier end of town. What could he have discovered about that little piece of peroxide trash? Laura withdrew her imagination from matters sexual and set it to work on speculation instead. She had been in prison—she looked the type. Or was it drugs? Prostitution? Murder? Murder would be good. She’d enjoy watching the silly bitch running into court under a blanket on the regional news. And Rocky would be so sad and blue, and perhaps ready for a bit of consolation. It would be a shame for Jeremy, of course—but perhaps he’d like to watch. In fact, he almost certainly would. A deviant lightbulb pinged in Laura’s head and, all at once, she knew exactly what to do with her adoring little lover tonight.
“So, then.” She clinked ice into their glasses and handed one to Jeremy, who was looking rather sweaty and eager on the sofa in her lounge room. Evidently he had come straight from work and was wearing his endearing cub-reporter-in-the-summer gear—open-necked shirt and chinos, both rather creased from all the beavering away into people’s secrets he had to do all day. “Spill.”
“Well, you know I’ve been looking into Rocky Anderson, and what his connection is with Cordwainer, and whether or not he’d make a good route into the heart of his business empire?”
“Of course I know it. You’re always talking about it. And I’ll say again that you won’t get anything out of Rocky.”
“And I’ll say again that I wonder how you know him so well.”
“And I’ll say again, mind your own fucking business. Well? Come on.”
Jeremy looked a little wounded and Laura regretted her imperious tongue-lashing. “Sorry, Jez. It’s just that you’ve got me all hyped up and I’m dying to hear whatever it is, and you’re stalling. Please? For me? Tell me now.”
“Switch on your computer and bring up your web browser,” Jeremy suggested. “I’ll find the relevant info for you.”
Laura crossed the room and performed the recommended actions.
“Is it about that tart at the arcade?” she asked, waiting for it to boot up.
“Yes,” he said, coming to stand beside her. “You won’t believe it. She’s, like, seriously wanted by the police.”
Laura clenched her fists in excitement and beamed at Jeremy. “Oh my God, really? No way. That is so…awful. A wanted criminal on the run in Goldsands. Haven’t you told the police?”
“Not yet. Thought I’d tell you first.”
“Good boy. Best boy.” She leaned in for a long kiss of approval until the booting-up theme rang out and she turned her attention back to the computer.
“You see, I’m trying to get a story together about Cordwainer and this will really get the piece some attention,” Jeremy burbled, though Laura was not really listening, having little interest in his journalistic ambitions. “I think my editor will want to run with it now.”
“That’s nice,” she said, watching her home page load. “Okay. Whatever it is, hit me with it.”
Jeremy typed in a web address and a page from a local newspaper in one of the London boroughs popped up. Laura read it through three times, then turned to Jeremy, frowning.
“That’s it? No mention of any crime, is there? Just says she’s ‘vulnerable’ and to call the police if you see her.”
“Well, I know. I suppose she’s mentally ill or something. That’s what they usually mean by ‘vulnerable.’ But it’s definitely her, isn’t it?”
He pointed proudly at the small photograph of a blond girl at the corner of the screen. Her hair was different, and the piercing was not in evidence, but it was unmistakably Flipp.
“Philippa Rhodes,” said Laura slowly. “Flipp. Yes. It has to be her, doesn’t it?” She scanned the article again. “Not such a lowlife as I thought. University student. And her daddy is a merchant banker, eh? Oh. Sorry. Was. He’s dead.”
Jeremy waited, as if expecting some conventional expression o
f sympathy for the bereaved young woman, but none came.
“So who we gonna call?” Laura turned to her cub reporter and smiled, showing off her expensive veneers. She put her hands up and waved them jauntily. “Flippbusters. There’s a number for the local police. Shall I call it now?”
She picked up the phone, but Jeremy shook his head.
“My reward? The police station will still be there tomorrow. But I need my treat right now.”
“Right now, you say?” Laura, giddy with triumph, stroked a finger beneath his chin, purring up at him. “Well, you have been a very good boy, so…”
He put out his tongue and panted.
“Do you remember that private club you told me about last week?”
He pricked up his ears. “The Alternative Golf Club?”
“That’s the one. Where members get to practise their…swing. I called their house earlier.”
“Did you?”
“And, would you believe, they are having a little get-together tonight. Just the owners and two other couples. And us.”
“Really?”
“I mentioned your name and they invited us straightaway.”
“I got Mr. Lewis a really good repeat advert deal for his tool hire business.”
“Well, that has paid off, Jeremy. You’re clearly very welcome there. And so am I. So freshen up and make yourself respectable, boy. We’re going swinging.”
Goldsands Alternative Golf Club had no fairway, no bunkers, no flags, but it did have a clubhouse. The clubhouse was the very comfortable detached chalet-style residence of Roger and Marie Lewis, a well-to-do and well-regarded local couple. He was a member of the Round Table, and a Freemason. She was a fundraiser for the hospice and a school governor. With such worthy credentials, they felt they deserved a little extracurricular fun now and again—and the friends they had made along the way would never begrudge them their little hobby.
“I never realised that all this was just around the corner,” Laura exclaimed, taking Jeremy’s gallantly offered hand and stepping out onto the gravel drive. “It looks almost like our house. Not even any pampas grass.”
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