A Vicky Hill Exclusive! (23 page)

‘Mr Forbes came into the
Gazette
and specifically asked for you.’ I pressed on, determined. ‘He didn’t seem to think hedge-jumping was environmentally friendly.’

‘Yeah, well, can’t please everyone.’ Dave grabbed my bottom. Hard. ‘But I think I know how to please you.’

A quiver of lust unexpectedly swept through my loins. Any further questions I may have had for Dave vanished. He was available. He was free – and he wanted to please
me
.

‘Your place or mine?’ Dave wiggled his eyebrows seductively.

‘Yours.’ I didn’t fancy losing my virginity in my attic room with Mrs Poultry overhearing my cries of delight. It would also give me a chance to give Cricket Lodge the once-over.

I linked my arm in Dave’s and we weaved towards the door.

‘Goodnight, Vicky,’ Arthur called out. ‘Hey! You’re
in
there, lad.’ A cheer erupted from the bar. A few men slapped Dave on the back. I’d never felt so popular.

The fresh air hit me the moment we left the pub. I was pleasantly tipsy but a bit worried about Dave’s capacity to drive. I looked at him narrowly to see if he were unsteady on his feet. Before I could assess the situation, he’d grabbed my arm and steered me towards an old green Land Rover.

‘In you go.’ Dave opened the passenger door and hoisted me inside as if I were a bag of grain.

Inside, the Land Rover was spotless and, as expected, filled with hedge-jumping paraphernalia. In the rear, green Wellington boots were secured neatly alongside the bench together with a pair of moleskin trousers and heavy jacket. Hedge clippers, a vicious looking scythe, rolls of barbed wire, and binder twine were tucked in a purpose-built grid along the side. I supposed he always kept these things with him in case he came across a pristine hedge, ripe for leaping, and couldn’t stop himself from taking the plunge.

‘You okay?’ His voice sounded slurred, unless my hearing was impaired.

‘Great, thank you.’ I felt a rush of anxiety. My knees began to tremble. Although in the pub I’d made the momentous decision to let Dave be the one to take my virginity, now we were actually on our way to do the deed, I was having second thoughts. Yet, surely it was natural to feel what my mum called ‘wedding-night jitters’?

‘You all right?’ Dave asked again, this time with a meaningful wink. He fumbled around with the ignition key.

‘Fine. Truly.’ He really was plastered. Perhaps he wouldn’t even be able to perform. I’d read that 80 per cent of men who drank too much alcohol had sexual problems. I certainly wasn’t ready to cope with that. I hardly knew what to do as it was.

Dave finally started the engine. Diesel sounded so different from the sexy roar of the black Porsche. I felt a pang of regret that I was being driven to the scene of such an important once-in-a-lifetime moment in such an inferior vehicle.

We tore out of the car park and skidded right, narrowly missing a stone pillar. Fortunately, there were no police cars lurking in the shadows. The Land Rover sped along the narrow lane, back towards the town centre.

‘Aren’t we going to your place?’

‘We’re picking up Teresa.’ Dave gripped the steering wheel tightly, focusing hard on the narrow road. ‘Where does she live?’

‘You mean Topaz.’

‘Or Annabel?’ Dave said suddenly. ‘Do you think she’d be up for it?’

The mention of Annabel abruptly put an end to my ardour. I wanted to lose my virginity, but not with a drunk who was happy to sleep with anyone – especially
her
.

I wanted to go home now. Somehow I had to extricate myself from this situation without jeopardizing my cover. Rumble Lane was just around the corner. Mrs Poultry strictly forbade male visitors. I’d get him to walk me to the door and then act all disappointed when she turned him away. Mum says men are even keener when they get rejected.

Reaching over, I stroked Dave’s thigh. ‘I can’t wait another minute longer,’ I said, trying out one of Annabel’s low, throaty laughs. ‘I only live a minute from here. Let’s go to my place.’

‘Won’t Teresa be disappointed?’

‘Devastated,’ I said. ‘But don’t worry. You’ll have your work cut out just satisfying me.’

‘Bloody hell.’ He gave me a delighted grin.

‘Turn left here and stop by the third streetlamp,’ I went on. ‘I live at number ten.’

Mrs Poultry’s Morris Traveller was parked in the drive. The house was in darkness. Surely, she couldn’t be in bed already? It was only just after eleven!

‘What a shame!’ I exclaimed. ‘I thought my landlady would have been out, but she’s at home.’ I didn’t relish the thought of waking her up. ‘You’d better drop me off here.’

Dave didn’t seem to hear. We swung into the narrow drive, clipped the wooden gatepost, and stopped only inches away from the Morris Traveller’s bumper.

The Land Rover’s headlamps were on full beam, illuminating the entire front of the house. ‘For God’s sake! Turn them off!’ I shrieked. A light went on upstairs.

Dave cut the headlights and turned towards me. ‘Let’s do it on the front lawn.’

Lady Trewallyn might be happy frolicking naked under the moonlight, but even if I had decided to go through with it, this would have been my first time. Losing one’s virginity was supposed to be special.

‘The grass will be wet,’ I pointed out. ‘We don’t want to catch a chill.’

‘I’ve got some plastic sheeting in the back. We can lie on that. Come on!’ Dave scrambled out of the Land Rover but missed his footing and disappeared from sight. Reluctantly, I followed. Whatever romantic feelings I may have left for him were fast evaporating. He was a drunken idiot. If he thought I was going to sacrifice myself to his loutish fumbling, he was wrong.

Dave staggered to his feet and pulled me towards him. We fell against the Land Rover. Grinding his hips against my body, he clamped his mouth onto mine. His tongue felt as if it were drilling for oil. All I could think about was Mrs Poultry’s horror should she see us. She may not attend the services in the church itself, but I could tell she had Victorian values.

‘Remmmaxxx,’ Dave muttered, not even pausing to speak. ‘Ymm gomm to like mmm.’

I felt absolutely nothing. No desire, not even a tiny quiver of delight, which was more than I could say for Dave. Something hot and hard was pressed into my thigh.

Finally, I managed to push him away. He was out of breath. I remembered Mum’s warning that, once a man got aroused, it was very cruel to stop them – something to do with their anatomy overheating. I was in a dilemma. I had the action-shot photo shoot on Wednesday. I couldn’t afford to annoy him.

‘Dave! Wait!’ I pressed my fingers to his lips, whispering seductively. ‘I’m a noisy lover. I can’t truly let myself go out here. What if someone were out walking their dog?’

‘I don’t care.’

‘Let’s do it Wednesday at your place.’ I crossed my fingers. ‘I can’t resist a man in moleskins.’

‘I can’t stop now, baby.’ Dave grabbed my breasts and began massaging them furiously. ‘Come on, give it to me—’

‘Get off!’ I stamped on his foot, hard. Dave yelped.

‘Listen. Tonight is not going to work,’ I said firmly. ‘Wednesday is much better. I’ll even bring Topaz.’

‘Okay.’ Dave swayed a little, seemingly disorientated. ‘I feel a bit dizzy.’ Mum was right.

‘Good, that’s settled.’ I began walking up the path. ‘Bye.’

‘Don’t I get a proper goodnight kiss?’ Dave tripped, then hurried after me. I broke into a trot.

He caught up with me at the front door. We tumbled into the porch. There was an explosion of light and Mrs Poultry stood framed in the doorway, dressed in a long, high-necked red tartan dressing gown. Her hair was in curlers, her expression stony.

‘Hello, Mrs Poultry,’ I said, trying to sound normal. ‘I hope we didn’t wake you?’

Mrs Poultry didn’t acknowledge me, having turned her hostile stare on Dave.

‘This is my friend, Dave—’

‘Yes, I know Mr Randall.’

I was impressed. Dave’s fame as champion hedge-jumper had even reached Mrs Poultry’s ears. Considering she was someone who claimed she didn’t read newspapers or indulge in idle gossip, Dave should be proud of himself. I basked in his fame. It’s always nice to be with a man who attracts admiration wherever he may roam.

I turned to Dave, half expecting him to offer her his autograph, but was astonished to see his face drained of all colour. Without another word, he spun on his heel and darted back to the Land Rover. The engine roared into life. Dave threw the vehicle into reverse, clipped the gatepost again, and vanished into the night.

‘Well, fancy that!’ I exclaimed. ‘I had no idea he was so shy.’

‘He’d better pay for the damage.’ Mrs Poultry glowered. ‘Come with me.
Now
!’

Inside the house, I steeled myself for an extended reprimand on the no-men-allowed rules.

We entered the kitchen. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if she was going to offer a hot cup of cocoa. Instead, she gestured for me to sit down at the kitchen table. I noted it was already laid up for morning breakfast.

‘I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave at the end of the week,’ Mrs Poultry declared. ‘This is a boarding-house, not a brothel.’

‘Leave?’ I was sure I had misheard. It wasn’t as if she had caught me in bed with Dave.

‘And you’ve been drinking.’

‘I was interviewing Dave for the newspaper. It was a business lunch that ran longer than I thought,’ I said defensively. ‘I know the house rules. He was just being a gentleman and escorting me to the door.’

Mrs Poultry’s expression remained cold.

‘Please let me stay,’ I pleaded. ‘I like it here and you are the best landlady I have ever had.’ Actually, she was the
only
one I’d ever had.

The truth was, I didn’t have anywhere else to go. In the whole of Gipping, Mrs Poultry had been the only boarding-house to accept cash and not bother with references. Dad had insisted bank accounts and paper trails could lead back to him in Spain.

‘What’s more, I’m fed up with the excessive bathwater you’ve been using,’ she continued, ‘to say nothing of the extra jam.’

‘I’ll pay for them.’ I had no money left in my purse and owed The Three Tuns a fortune. ‘Tomorrow.’

‘What would your mother say?’ Mrs Poultry scolded. ‘The youth of today have no sense of gratitude. No morals. No decency.’

‘The problem is, I’ve never had any parental guidance.’ I took a deep breath, adding mournfully, ‘I’m an orphan.’

‘The world is full of orphans, Victoria.’ Mrs Poultry was relentless. ‘But do you see them acting like trollops? You are well on the way to leading a life of filth and depravity.’

‘Please give me one more chance.’

Mrs Poultry sat down at the table and unwrapped a cough drop. As she sucked it slowly, she began smoothing out the purple wrapper whilst she pondered on my fate. The scrumpy had worn off. I was tired.

Having folded the paper into a perfect square, Mrs Poultry stood up, and said, ‘I’m a fair, charitable woman. I wouldn’t want it said that I turned an orphan out into the cold,’ she declared. ‘You can stay – on the one condition that you never speak to Dave Randall again.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, having no intention of doing as she asked. I had to consider Wednesday’s action-shot photo shoot. ‘I’d best get to bed.’

As I climbed the stairs to my attic bedroom, I reflected that I’d got out of that awkward situation pretty well. I was not going to be evicted, I was still getting the photos of Dave on Wednesday, and – more important – I hadn’t lost my virginity to a drunkard.

I lay awake for a long time. I decided not to tell Topaz that Dave couldn’t remember her real name. She seemed the fragile type. If only I could think of something to keep her occupied.

Surely, Topaz must be privy to all sorts of tittle-tattle in the cafe? Perhaps she could make some discreet inquiries about Probes and his witchcraft interests?

Tomorrow was my official day off. I’d already planned to pop into the office and see if I could get my hands on the fake coroner’s report. With only a skeleton staff operating on a Monday – Tony writing up the weekend sports results, and Barbara manning the phones – it should be a piece of cake.

I
t was almost noon when I stood outside the
Gazette
. Once again, The Copper Kettle was closed. I was struck by a horrible thought. What if something had happened to Topaz? What if I had inadvertently put her in danger? What if she were lying there, strangled?

Rapping smartly on the front door, I pressed my nose against the glass. The place was deserted. Even the chairs were upside down on the tables.

I stooped down to open the letterbox. ‘Yoo-hoo, Topaz!’ I called out. ‘It’s Vicky!’

There was no reply. I ducked down the narrow footpath that ran alongside the building to the rear. Glancing up at the stone facade I noticed curtains drawn in the upstairs flat. I tried the back door. It was locked. Glancing around, I picked up some small stones and hurled them at the windows. ‘Topaz! It’s me, Vicky!’

After several agonizing moments when my mind went through every conceivable mode of murder imaginable, Topaz pulled open the curtains, opened an upstairs window, and leaned out – minus her wig. Her hair was dark brown and cropped short.