“No, just a few minutes.”
They looked at each other, on the brink of turning the mood from one of casual pleasantry to something darker, neither one wanting to take that first step. It would be so much easier just to take this man for a walk around the reserve, pretend that we are holidaymakers on a jolly. Why does this difficult stuff have to be done?
“So, um,” opened Jeremy, with a look that seemed to apologise for having to spoil the atmosphere, “how do you know Charles Cordwainer?”
She held out a hand. “Shall we walk? Have you been here before?”
“I’m ashamed to say I haven’t,” Jeremy said, offering his arm and heading towards the walkway with his informant. “I’ve lived here most of my life. Terrible, isn’t it?”
“I suppose a lot of people who live here could say the same thing,” she mused. “And yet it’s such a beautiful, peaceful place. It deserves to be more widely visited.”
“Yes, it does.”
Michelle sensed that Jeremy was trying to think of a polite way to steer the conversation back to Cordwainer. She took pity on him.
“That’s why I don’t want Cordwainer to raze it to the ground.”
“To…what?”
“Oh yes, that’s his plan. He hasn’t put it before the council yet, but he will, as soon as his corrupt officials manage to get its status of Special Scientific Interest revoked. And the council will grant permission, because so many of them are in his pocket, and this place will become Goldsands’ very own supercasino complex, complete with showbars and tacky hotels and, well, you name it. I don’t think the ducks will be too happy. And neither am I.”
“But…are you sure? I know he had the casino license approved, but I had no idea he had a location in mind. Here? How do you know this?”
Michelle stopped and leaned over a paling, watching a family of moorhens fuss and quack amid the reeds.
“I’ve heard it from his own lips. I’ve heard him in discussion with Councillor Trewin, with the chief of the county police, with the senior member of a firm of local solicitors, to name but a few. He’s been talking about it for months.”
“So you work for him?”
Michelle sighed. “In a way.”
“I’m sorry to press you.” Jeremy turned and put one arm over the fence, leaning in towards Michelle. “But I can’t do anything unless I know you’re on the level. Can you verify any of this?”
Michelle reached into her bag and took out a sheaf of papers. One contained an architect’s blueprint for the casino complex. Another was a list of boxes to be ticked before the planning application could be made, with names of collaborators peppered about the text. The final sheet was a first draft of a legal document pertaining to planning applications, signed and notarised by Charles Cordwainer and his friendly neighbourhood solicitor.
“I…see.” He stared at them. “Do you need these?”
“Take them. They’re photocopies of photocopies. Obviously Cordwainer has the originals.”
“Are you his…PA?” Jeremy looked up, seeming to search Michelle’s face for signs of her relationship to the object of their conversation.
“No. I’m…it’s personal.”
“Oh.” Jeremy bit his lip for a moment and Michelle knew he was trying to back up the million questions that this statement had set in motion. “Forgive me for asking—of course, you needn’t reply. But I’ve been interested in Cordwainer for a while, and I haven’t managed to uncover any signs of a personal life. Until now.”
“He’s a very private person. Except…he isn’t really.”
“I see. Well, no, I don’t see.”
“I could certainly interest a tabloid in his tastes. If I was that kind of woman. If I needed the money. Which I don’t.”
“You don’t want payment?”
“No. I just want…justice.”
“He has mistreated you?”
“I don’t suppose he’d think so but…” Michelle’s voice cracked. The tears she had been fighting for days made their renewed presence felt. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Look, do you want to come and sit down? In my car?”
He took her arm and led the quietly sobbing woman back to the car park, helping her into the passenger seat of his 4x4. There he let her cry on his shoulder until, mascara wrecked and eyes red, she was able to blow her nose and return to coherence.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s just that I haven’t said anything to anyone…I didn’t realise how hard it would be to say the words.”
“You must have loved him.”
“I did. I still do…except I hate him. Oh, I don’t know. I’m a mess. I should never have got involved.”
“How did you?”
“I worked for him. Managed one of his bed-and-breakfast places.”
“And you fell for…what? Power? Magnetism? Charm?”
“All of those. Well, maybe not charm. He is very charismatic and very forceful. Hard to say no to.”
“Well, the majority of our councillors would agree. He obviously has some stellar powers of persuasion. But over time you came to realise that he wasn’t all you thought he was? Did he do something to hurt you?”
“Yes, he did something to hurt me. He likes hurting people, you see. He’s interested in…I don’t know…watching how his actions cause reactions. It’s all quite scientific, dispassionate even. He doesn’t care about people at all.”
“Is he a sadist?”
“Yes. That’s part of it. He likes to inflict all kinds of pain, not just physical. And he needs control of everything. Lovers, friends, towns. I think he’s an old-fashioned megalomaniac. He would just love to take over the world.”
Jeremy half smiled. “Bit of a Dr. Evil character, you’d say?”
She chuckled ruefully. “God, yes. And it took me so long to work it out. I’m obviously just a clueless bimbo. Absolutely his type, though—so easy to manipulate and control.”
“So there was quite a kinky element in your relationship? Power play? Dominance and submission?”
“Oh yes, that was the entire foundation. I’m sorry, does that shock you?”
Jeremy laughed out loud. “Nothing shocks me, Michelle. I’ll let you into a secret—I’m that way inclined myself.”
“Oh. You don’t seem the type.”
“I’m not. Not a Cordwainer type. I like a strong woman, if you catch my drift.”
She caught her breath, then giggled with embarrassment. “Oh, I see. Goodness, I didn’t think I’d be discussing the finer points of my sex life with a journalist today. What on earth is happening to my life?”
“Cordwainer happened to it,” commented Jeremy grimly.
“I think he’s ruined me for any other man now,” she said, gazing wistfully over the reserve.
“Oh, don’t say that. You’re young and attractive and clearly intelligent.”
“Oh, thank you. I’m older than you, though. I’m heading straight for my midlife crisis, if I’m allowed one of those. Perhaps I’ll get a job in one of Cordwainer’s girlie bars, or perhaps I’ll just dye my hair purple and go and live in a commune on some island somewhere.”
Jeremy patted her shaky hand. “Perhaps you’ll find happiness. It’s still out there for the taking, you know. What did he do to you, to knock your confidence so badly?”
“He gave me away.”
“Gave you? Away? What, like a coat he’d grown out of or something?”
“Exactly like that. I was his submissive for two years. He was so lovely, to start with. So considerate and so attentive. He always made sure I was happy, I was getting pleasure and enjoying myself. About a year into the relationship, he decided he wanted to…show me off.”
“Exhibit you?”
“Yes. He started up this kind of private sex club. He’d invite powerful local men to watch me…do things…have things done to me. Eventually they were allowed to join in. It became a regular gang bang. He l
iked to watch me with other men, he said. He liked to watch other men use me for their pleasure. It gave him pleasure. And he knew it gave me pleasure. It did, up to a point. It made me happy if he was happy. But…” Her voice trailed away, uneven once more.
“Oh, Michelle.”
“I’d have carried on doing it forever, if it meant I could stay with him,” she whispered passionately. “But he gave me away. And he never even asked me…never told me…”
Jeremy silently handed her his handkerchief.
“Who…did he give you to?” he asked over her low sobs. “Are you still working for Cordwainer? Still at the B and B?”
“I manage the Fairhaven,” she croaked.
“That’s his, isn’t it?”
“Yes. And…he gave me to Trewin. The builder. Councillor.”
Jeremy’s hands gripped the steering wheel until the knuckles whitened.
“Trewin? You…belong…to him. In some way?”
“I told him to fuck off. I don’t want to be with him.”
“And what does Cordwainer think of that?”
“He doesn’t know. Yet. I suppose I’ll lose the hotel.”
“Michelle, if I publish with this, won’t he know that you’re the source? Doesn’t that put you in danger?”
She looked at him, long and hard and desperate. “Yes. It does. But I don’t care.”
“You should care. You don’t deserve the shitstorm that’s coming. Listen. Don’t go back to the hotel. Go somewhere far away. Somewhere Cordwainer doesn’t know about and can’t trace you to.”
“If he wants to find me, he’ll find me. He’s got high-ranking police officers in his corner.”
“Okay. Look. This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to drive you to a caravan park my sister runs. It’s twenty miles down the coast, near Bridehaven. You can stay there while we try to work out something better. Or until Cordwainer is behind bars. Whichever works out quickest. You’ll have no need to leave the park—there’s a supermarket on site, and I’ll tell my sister to run you a tab there and charge it to me. Okay? It’s important, Michelle. You know how big this is, don’t you?”
Michelle simply stared, her breath coming in great gasps. “Is it really so bad?”
“Yes, it really is. Now I have these documents, I plan to run my story tomorrow or the day after. I will also contact the police. I have a lot of other information on Cordwainer, about bribery and corruption at the council, and about some of his other activities. But this is the hook I need, to really make it sink into the public awareness. The nature reserve, and his plans for it, are what will stop this wicked, evil man, Michelle. And he must be stopped. You know that, don’t you?”
She looked down at her hands twisting nervously in her lap.
“Yes,” she admitted. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Right. So we’ll go to the caravan park. You can buy clothes there too, albeit mainly sarongs and T-shirts with surfing logos. Needs must and all that. You can be stylish again when you’re safe.”
“This is kind of you,” Michelle said once the engine had revved and he was reversing out of the space.
“Kind? Eh, no. I need you—you’re my expert witness. Don’t worry. I won’t name you in the paper. But Cordwainer knows his maths. He’ll add two and two together. Is there anyone else he might suspect?”
Michelle considered. “Well, there are several people he’s working with. It could be any of them…but since they all stand to benefit from the casino plans, I suppose that wouldn’t make sense. Maybe Rocky. Rocky knows everything that’s going on.”
“Rocky. Yes. He does, doesn’t he?” Jeremy pondered this for a while, seeing a way to throw Cordwainer off the scent and please Laura into the bargain.
“Or Charles’s new piece. I wonder if she knows the score.”
“New piece? He has somebody else?”
“I’d be amazed if he hadn’t made his move by now. The new girl at the arcade—that’s who he’s had his eye on.”
“Flipp?”
“Whatever her name is. Blonde, young, punky-looking.”
“Rocky and Flipp. I’ve been meaning to pay them a visit,” murmured Jeremy, turning onto the coast road, high above the cobalt sea and sheep-dotted slopes, past the sign that said Goldsands Thanks You for Your Careful Driving. Come Again Soon.
The Blue Bay Holiday Park lay in a dip between cliff faces, its caravans and tents ranked around a natural lake that flowed in from the sea. Michelle looked around at her new habitat, noting the flat-roofed, dilapidated entertainment complex, the windswept open-air pool and the knots of squabbling families trudging up the hill in flip-flops. Shangri-La, she thought with a sigh. But it was safe, at least.
Jeremy parked by Reception and took Michelle inside, where a woman sat giggling over a text message behind the desk.
“Jez.” she proclaimed, looking up and beaming. “Long time no see, bro.”
“I know, I’m a bad brother. Listen, Lucy, I’m really sorry but I need a favour.”
“So do I. I need some free advertising in that rag you work for.”
“It shall be done. Can you put a friend of mine up for a little while? I’ll pay you, of course. Strictly hush-hush, no questions asked?”
“Bloody hell, Jeremy,” his sister grumbled. “You’re a cheeky bastard, aren’t you?”
“Cheeky, yeah, but I think we have the same parents, according to the birth certificates. Please, Lucy? It’s important. You’ll be doing your bit for the human race and all that.”
“Ugh, all right. Schools haven’t broken up yet so we aren’t booked up. I’ve got a few vans spare. Is this your friend, yeah?”
She looked sharply at Michelle, rummaging in a drawer beneath the desk for a set of keys.
“Yep, this is…Charlene.”
“Hi, Charlene. 23D. It’s a nice van. Two bedrooms, shower, awning, microwave. Enjoy your stay.”
“Can you tell the supermarket people to give her a tab? I’ll pay it.”
“You bloody well will, bro.”
“Thanks. You’re a diamond, Luce. I’ll remember this when your birthday comes around.”
“Ha, right. Not a year’s subscription to your crappy newspaper this time, then?”
Jeremy grinned, giving her the thumbs-up and hustling Michelle out of the office.
Alone in the van, once Jeremy had hared off in the pursuit of news, Michelle lay on the narrow bed and gazed up at the spotlight on the ceiling.
Life was strange, she surmised. One minute you were a man’s slave, running his hotel and having no more pressing priority than shaving your nether regions for the next sex orgy. Days later, here you were, in a caravan, in fear of your life, with the future stretching out like a desert, devoid of certainty or reassurance.
What will become of Charles? She hated herself immediately for the question. She should not care what happened to him. He can look after himself.
But then she thought of all the plans she had had for the pair of them. Becoming his legitimate partner, then eventually his wife. Meals out. A shared house in the posh part of Goldsands. Exotic holidays. Perhaps even children, though the sex parties might have to take a backseat for a few years.
She shut her eyes, understanding at last that Charles would never have wanted any of that. She had wasted two years of her life, exchanged her self-respect for a bit of hot sex. Were all men like him? Would she ever find a place to be herself without fear or shame?
It seemed pointless to hold her breath.
Chapter Ten
The campsite was never quite silent until after midnight. Even then, a terrified bleat from the neighbouring field or the snorting of a horse might break the stillness. More usually, winds would sweep down from the cliffs to bend and stretch the guy ropes and make the canvas creak.
For this reason, among many others, Flipp found it difficult to sleep in the tent. To give him credit, Rocky did his level best to wear her out before they spooned against each other inside the do
uble sleeping bag. She yawned and stretched pleasurably at the memory of their earlier trespass into the swimming pool, closed for the evening but still tepid from the day’s bright sunshine. All the lifeguards had gone home and the rest of the staff were in the entertainment complex, doing rubbish versions of Lady Gaga songs for the edification of the other campers and caravanners, while the moon shone down on the open waters.
“Come on,” Rocky had urged, pulling himself over the fence and extending an arm down to Flipp.
“We’ll get caught.” She giggled, letting his hand close over hers, scrabbling up the ridged wood.
“No, we won’t. Come on. Trust me.”
The faded plastic of the water chute looked more glamorous by moonlight, as did the lifeguard’s tall chair. The water lapped quietly against the sides of the pool, whispering invitations. Rocky shed his jacket first, turning to Flipp and gesturing her forward.
“Skinny-dip time. Last one in gets ducked.”
“No way.” objected Flipp, but her T-shirt dress lay on the grass already, and she was bending over to unlace her boots.
By the time the boots and knickers were off, Rocky was in the pool, his broad chest and shoulders rising from the water like a sexier Triton, his face beaded with droplets, teeth bright white in the grey-washed light.
“You need a conch shell,” Flipp told him, sitting down on the edge and splashing at him with her toes.
“A conch shell? Why?” Rocky laughed, making lunges at her ankles, which she skilfully avoided.
“And a trident. Then you could really look like Triton.”
“Who’s Triton? Should I be jealous?”
“Oh, you know. Son of Poseidon. He could calm the waves of the sea.”
“I’ve seen The Poseidon Adventure. Is it something to do with that?”
Flipp snorted. “Didn’t you do Greek myths and all that at school? Jason and the Argonauts. The labyrinth. The Odyssey.”
“Odyssey used to be a nightclub in Marine Street. I didn’t pay a lot of attention at school. I wasn’t geeky about Greeks.”
“Well, perhaps you should have been,” said Flipp primly, but her schoolmistressish tone soon mutated into a shriek as Rocky found his target, took a firm hold of her left calf and pulled her off the ledge.
Erotic Amusements Page 17
