He could almost hear Kelly turning the proposition over in her mind, wondering what the catch was, and if it was a trap of some sort. He laid some more bait.
‘And we could have dinner somewhere.’
He was surprised but pleased when she agreed.
‘OK.’
‘Can you be ready in half an hour? I’ll pick you up.’
There was a slight hesitation.
‘Can you pick me up from the bus shelter in the village?’
Sweet. She didn’t want her parents to see her picked up by an older man. She knew what they’d think.
‘No problem.’
*
He drove her up to town in his Jag. She was impressed with his car but not, it seemed, with his CD collection, and quickly retuned the radio to something which churned out endless power ballads. She was surprisingly relaxed and chirruped away to him in the car. He supposed it went with the job – being a beautician must be a bit like being a hairdresser, and you probably needed to be able to talk at length on inane subjects. Neither of them mentioned Kay. Somehow, both of them knew that was a chapter in his life that was now closed. Time to move on.
He took Kelly on a whistle-stop tour of London that left her awestruck. They went to all the shops she read about in the magazines she lived for. She drooled over their clothes, then bought cheap imitations in the chain stores along Knightsbridge that she was young enough and thin enough to get away with. She didn’t yet need the cut and the quality of designer clothes. Later, she helped Lawrence choose presents for his right-hand staff – he usually left this task to Kay, but he needed to see through his excuse. Anyway, both his PA and the centre manager had worked doubly hard over the past couple of days and hadn’t asked him any questions, for which he was grateful. He wouldn’t dream of thanking them verbally, but an extra-generous gift would say it all. They’d understand. They knew how he worked. That’s why they’d stayed in their jobs for so long.
Not once did he offer to buy Kelly anything, as this would have altered the dynamics of the day’s arrangements and Lawrence didn’t want to move too quickly, or for Kelly to feel compromised. Besides, the last thing he wanted was to look like some sort of sugar daddy.
Dinner, however, had been part of the original deal. Lawrence ordered Bellinis for Kelly, which he knew were delicious but deceptive. He’d have to monitor the amount she drank very carefully, just enough to get her tipsy and compliant, but not drunk – that was very important. He himself drank Bollinger, which he let her sip from his glass. Her nose wrinkled – she liked the bubbles but it wasn’t sweet enough for her.
He’d chosen the restaurant carefully and watched, amused, as she lapped up her surroundings, overawed by the glamorous clientele who Lawrence knew were people just like her only with a bit more money who’d come out dressed to the nines to impress each other, but who she thought were all minor celebrities. When she actually did spot a bit-part soap actress dining with her boyfriend, she was ecstatic. Lawrence knew it was time to move in for the kill.
‘You know, we could stay.’
Kelly had looked at him with saucer eyes.
‘It seems a shame to drive back now when you’re having so much fun. We could check into a hotel, then go on somewhere else for a drink.’
He named a couple of celebrity haunts nearby and she took the bait.
‘I’ll see if I can get us a couple of rooms. I very much doubt it, this near Christmas, but you don’t know if you don’t try.’
He disappeared to make a discreet phone call. She wasn’t to know he’d booked a room months ago – he always came up to town just before Christmas with Kay to do their shopping and take in a show. He came back, beaming.
‘I managed to pull a few strings. They had one suite left. I can have the sofa…’
Kelly looked at him knowingly but grinned. She was going to play along.
Two hours, several cocktails and a couple of hundred quid later, Kelly led Lawrence by the hand down the corridor and into their suite.
‘Now it’s my turn to treat you. You can have a complimentary massage.’
She darted into the magnificent bathroom and came out with a pile of white, fluffy towels. Quickly and efficiently, she laid two on the bed and told him to strip, proffering another towel for him to cover himself, then disappeared back into the bathroom while he took off his clothes.
Lawrence had to admit to himself that he hadn’t expected her to be so assertive, but he didn’t mind. He folded his clothes neatly, wrapped the towel around his waist and lay face down on the bed in expectation. Kelly came out of the bathroom in the ubiquitous white hotel robe, bearing a basket full of freebie lotions and potions. She picked through them until she found a bottle of oil. She sniffed it appreciatively and poured some into her hands, letting the warmth of her skin heat it up slightly before she began her work.
Lawrence groaned, half in agony, half in ecstasy, as Kelly massaged his back with expert fingers. She took her thumbs and ran them one either side of his spine until they reached the hard knots at the back of his neck, then worked her way down. It was expertly done. He could tell as his muscles started to relax and the tension of the last few days began to slip away that he was in the hands of a professional. It was almost better than sex. He was just starting to feel himself drift away, the first few waves of sleep starting to wash over him, when she patted his bottom decisively and ordered him to turn over.
He came back to full consciousness with a start and rolled over obediently, glad that he’d been too busy relaxing to embarrass himself with an erection. He made sure he covered himself discreetly with the towel, as he still wasn’t sure what the rules were, whether this was the preamble to a sexual encounter or whether this was it. He met Kelly’s eyes to see if he could take his lead from her. She smiled at him coquettishly as she undid the knot at her waist. He gulped as the white towelling robe fell to the floor. Underneath she was wearing a hot pink satin corset, her waist squeezed into ridiculously tiny handspan proportions, while her breasts hovered at the top, the aureoles just visible. Lawrence didn’t know why he was surprised. It was obvious to anyone that this was the sort of underwear Kelly favoured. He supposed it was because he hadn’t necessarily expected to see it.
She held up the bottle of oil and lasciviously tipped it up, allowing a steady stream to drip between her legs. She started to massage herself, and Lawrence watched in wonder as her hands worked their way up and down her tanned, toned thighs, each time coming nearer and nearer to her –
Bloody hell. He allowed himself to look. She didn’t have any hair at all down there. All he could see was her rosy pink lips and a little bud peeping out. She must have shaved it all off. Lawrence didn’t allow himself to dwell on this prospect too much or he thought he might explode.
‘Take off that towel.’
Lawrence had never allowed any other woman to take control in his life, but didn’t need telling twice. He flipped the towel away obediently. His cock was bigger and longer than he remembered it, and he felt rather proud. But Kelly ignored it. She straddled him round the waist, then slid herself up him, and he groaned as he felt her oily thighs and her hot softness on his chest. He was well and truly pinioned, her knees under his arms. Of course, he could have overpowered her, thrown her off if he’d wanted to. But why would he?
He reached out with eager hands, desperate to touch her breasts, but she wagged a finger in reproach.
‘Hands by your sides, please. Until I’ve finished. Ladies first.’
He watched in fascination as her eyes misted over with the sensations she was bringing herself. As she circled her clitoris slowly with the tip of her finger, her breath became increasingly ragged and she tilted her head back. Lawrence didn’t know where to look, at the magnificent tits she thrust out in front of her, her face contorted with ecstasy or the source of her pleasure, which he hoped would bring him the same before long.
Just as she was on the brink of climax, she raised herself up, slid
backwards in one graceful movement and lowered herself down on to his grateful cock. He barely noticed the condom she’d slipped on, and omitted to tell her it was totally unnecessary; that there was no danger whatsoever of her getting pregnant, as he spilled out his useless seed.
Later, when Kelly was curled up under the feather duvet, fast asleep, Lawrence felt a sudden rush of insecurity. What if the sex had just been thanks for the money he’d lavished on her, and she hadn’t wanted to sleep with him at all? What if she’d just felt obliged and the whole encounter had been professionally stage-managed: mind-blowing, but meaningless? What if he’d just been used?
Suddenly, Lawrence felt panic clawing at his guts. What the hell was he doing with this girl? He must be mad! When Kay had dropped her bombshell, his reaction had been a knee-jerk. He’d been so ruthlessly single-minded that he hadn’t actually given himself a chance to think over what had happened; he certainly hadn’t given Kay a chance to explain. Should he have given her the opportunity? There was a little voice inside his head that told him there were always two sides to every story. And he knew that after the consultant’s revelation, a little bit of him had died. Could he have shut Kay out without meaning to…?
Lawrence told himself to snap out of it. Nothing Kay could have said would have made any difference. She had humiliated him, and more than anything else he was a proud man. Which was why he wouldn’t admit, even to himself, that his heart and soul had been ripped out that afternoon. He might never have vocalized it, but in his own way he had loved Kay deeply. He couldn’t imagine anyone else fitting into his life so well. They’d been a partnership. A team. It was a pity events had conspired to destroy them. But he wasn’t going to wallow in self-pity and regret. It was time to move on.
He brushed his teeth vigorously, showered and put on the robe that matched the one Kelly had been wearing earlier. Then he went and sat on the bed, and watched her sleeping. She was going to help him forget, and for that he was grateful. But he resolved never to let himself become vulnerable again. He’d thought he was tough, invincible, ruthless. He’d learned the hard way that he wasn’t.
He reached out his hand to stroke Kelly’s hair, running his fingers through her tousled blonde tresses. She stirred and her eyes opened blearily. She managed a little suggestive smile.
‘Wasn’t that enough?’
Did she feel she owed him another one? All those cocktails, dinner, an expensive hotel – he supposed he could have demanded more attention.
‘No. You go back to sleep.’
He pulled the duvet back over her and she snuggled down. He thought he could sense her relief. It was almost as great as his own. The last thing he wanted was a cold, calculated fuck. It would only highlight everything he’d lost.
12
It was Christmas Eve and Lucy wondered what on earth she was doing amongst all the other last-minute shoppers. But she couldn’t bring herself to buy cheese from the supermarket – she wanted the living, breathing offerings to be had at the cheesemongers, the ones that smelled so much they had to be kept out in the scullery. Everyone always moaned about the stink of the Stilton and Pont l’Evêque, so she left it till the last minute.
At the cheese counter, she bumped into Lawrence.
‘What are you and Kay doing for Christmas?’
‘I’m at home. I’ve no idea what she’s doing.’
Lawrence was tight-lipped and grim. Lucy wasn’t sure what to say. Lawrence felt it was only polite to enlighten her.
‘We’ve separated.’
He didn’t elaborate and Lucy didn’t expect him to. She always gave people time. She hoped that whatever had happened they could be reconciled. In the meantime, she couldn’t bear to think of him on his own on Christmas Day.
‘Listen – we’re already nearly a dozen. One more won’t make a difference. I’ve got a turkey the size of an ostrich. Please come and join us.’
People were notoriously unable to resist Lucy’s invitations, even hardened cynics like Lawrence. Her warmth spilled over into your heart, somehow. He found himself accepting. Why should he spend Christmas Day on his own, anyway? Why should he be punished – it wasn’t him that had been playing away. He didn’t count the night with Kelly. He’d no longer considered himself married when that encounter took place.
Yes, Christmas lunch at the Liddiards could certainly be interesting. He was going to enjoy making Mickey squirm. He’d time it perfectly, so he’d be put right off his pudding. But he’d be discreet. The last thing he wanted was for Lucy to be hurt by all this. She was a lovely girl. She didn’t deserve to be married to a shite like Liddiard.
On his way back to Barton Court, he dropped off a package at the Honeycote Arms for Kelly. It was a little amber heart on a silver chain she’d admired on their shopping trip – he’d managed to buy it while she was expertly assessing the various products at the make-up counters.
He drove away with hope in his heart, thinking of her face when she opened it the next morning. OK, so it might look as if he was trying to buy her, but he had to start somewhere. And it was only a trinket, a token.
An hour later, she’d phoned him on his mobile to thank him.
‘You weren’t supposed to open it till tomorrow, you naughty girl.’
‘I’ve never been able to wait. It’s beautiful. Thank you.’
‘What are you doing tomorrow?’
‘Staying with the family. It’s going to be our last Christmas here.’
‘Why? Where are you going?’
There was a little pause.
‘I shouldn’t tell you, but I don’t see why I should keep it a secret. It can’t make our situation any worse. The Liddiards are selling the Honeycote Arms. To pay off all their debts. They’re in big trouble.’
Lawrence’s knuckles whitened on his receiver as he flushed red with excitement.
‘You should have told me this before.’
‘Dad told me not to tell anyone.’
‘Listen, you tell your dad not to worry. We might be able to sort something out. Tell him I’ll be in touch after Christmas. But don’t say a word to anyone else.’
Kelly put the phone down and felt a tingle of excitement in her veins. Meeting Lawrence had been a good thing. She was sure of that. He was the sort of guy that made things happen. Or, more to the point, stopped things from happening. She fingered the little amber heart at her neck and wondered whether to tell her father about the phone call she’d just had. Perhaps not – there’d be a little too much explaining to do. Her parents were quite broadminded – you had to be, running a pub – but she’d worked out that Lawrence must be more than twice her age.
*
Once she’d finished all her grocery shopping, Lucy still had a couple of presents to buy. She’d invited the Sherwyns for Christmas lunch and wanted to get them a little something each. And she hadn’t got Mickey anything yet.
She slipped into James’s gallery. It had been frantic for the past week, but was now quiet, as people didn’t tend to panic-buy expensive paintings. Lucy felt herself relax in the gallery’s elegant confines. The rich red of the walls contrasted with the pale oak beams and floorboards, choral music from King’s College played quietly in the background and there was a delicious smell of mulled wine coming from somewhere.
James was delighted to see her.
‘I’m in a panic. I haven’t got Mickey a present yet. I haven’t a clue, but I knew you would…’ The irony was that Lucy had spent a long time searching for James’s present before hitting on just the right gift. But she told herself that he was much harder to buy for than Mickey, who was easily pleased.
James, of course, found the perfect answer. A tiny little pen and ink drawing of a dog that looked just like Pokey. It was unsigned, therefore a reasonable price, and Lucy was delighted.
‘You’re a genius.’ She tucked the carefully wrapped picture into one of her shopping bags.
‘How are things with Mickey, anyway?’ James asked. Casually, he hoped.
‘Tons better. He seems much more relaxed. Thank God – I was starting to get worried.’
‘Good.’
‘By the way, what’s Caroline doing tomorrow?’
James was surprised. Lucy rarely showed any interest in Caroline’s whereabouts.
‘Going to her parents.’
‘I was going to say, do bring her to Honeycote if you want. For lunch. Or ask her up for a drink in the evening.’
James had to force himself to smile his thanks. He got the message. Lucy was telling him that she was all right. By bringing Caroline into the circle she was pushing him away, making sure he backed off. In other words, he was being dismissed. His services were no longer needed.
In her hotel room in Frome, Kay stabbed out yet another number for a private clinic. She’d been shaken at first, when she’d realized the extent of her predicament. She’d sat in her room without a clue where to turn, spent a sleepless night tossing and turning. But now she was ready for action. No stupid doctor still wet behind the ears was going to tell her she was too late for an abortion. Money talked; she knew it did. It was just a question of finding the right person.
Half an hour later, she threw the handset across the room in a rage. She’d ranted and raved, phoned every clinic she could find, but the answer was the same everywhere. And even if she could have found someone willing to do the dirty deed, they’d all gone off home for Christmas.
That evening, the little church at Honeycote was stuffed to the gills for midnight mass. The popularity of the vicar and the superlative choir always ensured a full turnout. The Liddiards, by dint of living at Honeycote House, always had the front pew. Ned, three rows back on the other side of the church, allowed himself a sidelong glance at Sophie. She looked just as he remembered her, not like the gilded angel from the other night. She was thinner than before, granted, but her hair was down and she was wearing no make-up. She was wearing a pale blue denim jacket and jeans. She looked nothing like the intimidating creature he’d fallen for. But Ned was amazed to find his heart was doing overtime nevertheless. He was in love with Sofa!
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