A Summer Fling (17 page)

Laura’s mobile rang and she grimaced on recognizing the number. She clicked the connection button.

‘Hi, Sarah . . . No, I can’t at the moment, I’m a bit busy trying to find a dentist for Joe . . . No, don’t know where she is . . . Oh, she hung up. I presumed you didn’t want me telling her you were here, Mum. Just for once, I insist that you don’t shoot off to rescue her; you’re having a late Easter lunch with us.’

‘Don’t tell me, she wanted someone to take Brat-Girl off her hands,’ said Paul.

‘Paul, that’s your niece!’ said Grace.

‘I know but . . .’ He didn’t have to say any more. Sable was a nightmare. Even Joe didn’t enjoy being in her company and young Joe was as placid as they came.

‘If Sarah can’t cope with one child why on earth did she get pregnant again?’ said Paul. ‘Rhetorical question, I know, but what a stupid thing to do. It’s not going to stop Hugo’s eye wandering, is it? In fact, quite the opposite, I would have thought, with two screaming, spoiled brats in the house.’

‘Three, you mean.
Miaow,
’ said Laura, uncharacteristically bitchy.

‘It can’t be easy for her,’ said Grace, feeling the need to redress some balance. She hated the fact there were more and more factions in this family which she had nurtured so carefully over the years. And she had always been so soft on Sarah who had been too young to have any memories of her real mother, unlike the other two who had at least something to savour of her.

‘I hope you aren’t thinking about leaving your job in order to be dedicated granny-babysitter,’ said Paul to Grace. ‘You’d better stay firm, Mum. You’ve done more than your fair share for all of us.’

‘Don’t be silly, you’re my family and I help where I can,’ said Grace. She loved Sarah, but the thought of being cooped up at home with two babies and Gordon made her feel as if she was drowning and they were weeds around her feet, pulling her further down and holding her in the water until her lungs burst. The more she struggled against them, the more they seemed to gain purchase.

Laura put the kettle on. Paul had bought cakes and made sandwiches and picnic fare because he had decided they were going to have a high tea on his roof terrace. It was a summer haven up there, an organized chaos of plants and trellis and water-features.

‘So we’re all good for caravanning holidays in Blegthorpe then,’ said Paul, delicately popping a small pastry into his mouth and giving Grace a wink.

‘Oh, don’t even joke,’ said Grace wearily.

‘You and Dad, alone together 24/7 in a giant can. Lovely.’

‘Don’t ever retire, Mrs Beamish,’ said Charles. ‘That’s the key.’ Laura had obviously been filling him in with some details.

‘On that note, how’s the new boss?’ enquired Paul.

‘She’s a very nice woman,’ said Grace. She’d enjoyed the previous night more than she could ever have guessed at. It had been like throwing a dusty cover off her life and allowing a little fresh air to blow through it. ‘We all went out for a meal last night. I’ve never eaten Thai food before. It was beautiful.’

‘Good for you, Mum,’ said Paul. ‘I presume Dad didn’t have any objections?’

‘Goodness, Paul. He wouldn’t stop me going out anywhere.’

‘Apart from here. He wouldn’t like it if he knew you visited me,’ said Paul.

‘He must know that I do see you.’

‘Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he thinks you wouldn’t dare,’ said Paul, which awoke Grace to the idea that her son just might be right, even though she couldn’t admit it.

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Well, you won’t be able to go out with your new friends if you’re stuck in Blegthorpe!’ Paul wagged his finger at his mum.

‘You have to start saying no,’ said Laura. ‘No one’s ever said no to Dad, that’s the problem.’

‘I did,’ said Paul with a proud smirk. ‘Hence the reason why I am banished from the family home. He thinks I’ll be “cured” when I meet the right woman.’

Grace was surprised Paul could laugh so objectively about that day. She knew how hurt he had been when he told his father he was gay, not hoping for endorsement, just acceptance, and Gordon had refused to listen, then stormed out of the house and said that Paul was to have left by the time he came back. In all the years they had been married, Grace had never heard Gordon swear before, but he more than made up for it that day. A stream of the vilest language came effortlessly from Gordon’s lips as if he had been possessed of an evil entity. Paul hadn’t let her step in to intervene. And if the truth be told, she was glad, because Gordon had scared her with his ferocity.

She often wished she had been brave enough to walk out with Paul then.

After that lovely interlude of lunch with one half of the family, Grace landed back on terra firma with a resounding bump. She came home to find Gordon wearing a path in the hall carpet. He was carrying a crying Sable whom he pushed into Grace’s arms as soon as she had walked in through the door.

‘Where’ve you been?’ he demanded.

‘I told you, I went for a walk around the shops,’ she lied. She didn’t want to risk his reaction by telling him the truth.

‘Sarah’s been phoning you. Said it kept going onto voicemail.’

‘Oh, did it?’ Grace searched her bag to find her phone was switched off. She grimaced to discover there had been twenty-four missed calls: ten from her daughter and fourteen from Gordon. ‘I thought I’d left it on.’

‘Well, you obviously didn’t, did you? What’s the point in having a mobile phone if you switch it off when you’re out? She’s been having pains. She was thinking about going up to hospital!’

‘Oh goodness me.’ Grace felt panicked. ‘I didn’t . . . should we go up there? Have you rung?’

‘I had to go over and pick Sable up. Sarah was going for a lie-down and she said she’d ring if things got worse.’

Grace immediately rang Laura on her mobile. Laura was remarkably unsympathetic and explained why.

‘Mum, I’ve just passed her in the car. She looked fine to me as she was pulling into the multi-storey in town. She’s having as many birth pains as I am!’

‘Are you sure it was her?’

‘Like there is any mistaking her flash numberplate!’

Grace really was going to have to learn how to start saying no, before those weeds pulled her down any further and robbed her of her last breath.

It was amazing the things that crossed your mind when you were standing in a pseudo Transylvanian castle having two men scrutinize your knockers at point-blank range, thought Anna. She wondered what Tony would think if he knew what she was up to. Would he have her bang to rights on grounds of adultery, even if the men in question were gay?

Leonid Szabo was small, slight, very camp in his gestures, and with his frilly shirt and long waistcoat he looked like Adam Ant in his highwayman days. In stark contrast, Vladimir Darq was looking very alpha male in slim-cut black trousers and the whitest shirt Anna had ever seen. She hadn’t realized what a big man he was. Not ridiculously tall, not in the least fat either, but wide-shouldered, large-chested and solid. He wouldn’t even have wobbled in a hurricane, that’s for sure. He wasn’t exactly classically handsome close up, with his pale skin, square jaw and thin, precise line of beard on it, but there was something very ‘man’ about him. Ironically so, given his sexual proclivity.

His eyes were his second most striking feature: ice-blue with tiger flecks of gold in the iris. Probably contact lenses though, she decided, because they were far too strange to be natural. First prize had to go to the hint of fangs which she caught tantalizing glimpses of as his lips spread. Just small ones, not like those on sale in joke shops, but his canine teeth were definitely elongated all the same. And though she wouldn’t have put ponytails on her list of most desirable must-haves on a man, seeing as they were usually rats’ tails grown to lead the eye away from a fast receding hairline at the brow, his luxuriant, wavy black hair tied back behind him was straight out of Prince Charming land. All part of the dramatic charade of pretending to be a romantic vampire for the benefit of the press, no doubt.

She’d arrived at the house in a black Mercedes which had drawn up outside her home exactly as her grandmother clock in the lounge was chiming 7 p.m. The Romanian driver was sullen and uncommunicative, but later it emerged that he’d had the excuse of not being able to speak much English. Black electronic gates gained them entry to a long drive on the outskirts of the cottagey village of Higher Hoppleton. They had pulled up in front of the biggest door Anna had ever seen, and it even opened with an Addams’ family-style creak. She half-expected to find Lurch behind it but there was only a much smaller man with a bald head and eyeliner whom she recognized immediately from the Internet as Leonid Szabo: the ‘friend’ of Vladimir Darq. The door opened out into a huge galleried room. Darq House was a new build made to look like it was a relic from the Middle Ages. With a mixture of clever architecture and
trompe l’oeil
painted walls, it looked eerily like a fifteenth-century vaulted castle.

‘You must be Anna, come on in,’ Leonid said in a strong accent. He helped Anna off with her coat, all the while appraising her like she appraised lumps of cut beef on Baxter’s meat stall in Barnsley market. Then the man himself made an entrance, shook her hand politely and cut straight to the chase.

‘Please, Anna, we need to look at you. Stand up straight and stay still.’

Both men circled her, looking at her unextraordinary body from all angles. Anna felt surprisingly detached. It was all very medical and such intense scrutiny could not have made her feel more hideous than she did already. All she could think was that two homosexual men staring primarily at her chest was bizarrely healthier for her than a night in, alone, watching
Casualty
and sobbing into a box of tissues.

The two men spoke to each other rapidly in their native language. Anna could only guess at what they said to each other. It didn’t exactly sound as if they were comparing her to Cindy Crawford.

‘Ah, before we commence,’ said Leonid, bringing a small, elaborately painted tin out of his pocket which he opened and proffered to Anna. It was full of small white pills.

‘I don’t take drugs, thank you,’ said Anna stiffly.

‘It’s mint,’ said Leonid, waving and wafting the air between them. ‘To overcome the much garlic.’

‘Oh,’ coughed Anna. ‘Sorry.’

OK, it might have been a bit daft but she had rather overdone the garlic in the small chilli she had made for herself that teatime. She’d actually put enough in there to make her old maths teacher keel over unconscious, and he hadn’t had a sense of smell. She couldn’t decide if it had been wise or silly to take a few precautions. Silly, she decided now.

Vladimir had quickly turned away, but she was sure she’d seen him grin and then immediately stamp on it. Anna felt herself blushing. It must be obvious to them both why she’d eaten so much. She took a couple of mints and said a meek thank you.

Leonid put the tin away in his pocket.

‘She’s perfect,’ Vladimir commented, as if Anna wasn’t there. ‘Her underwear is of course awful, that is obvious, and doing absolutely nothing for her at all.’

‘Can we see, please?’ asked Leonid.

‘What? You want me to strip off?’ said Anna.

‘Just to your underwear,’ Vladimir said.

Anna took a deep breath and started unbuttoning. She didn’t feel as embarrassed as she thought she would. Then again, next week she was going to be standing here with these two and a film crew, including the very gorgeous, slim, cellulite-free Jane Cleve-Jones looking at her. That was a much scarier thought.

‘This bra isn’t a cheap one, I can see that. But it’s rubbish. Why do women buy comfortable rubbish?’ Vladimir despaired.

‘I won’t have to strip off totally, will I?’ asked Anna. ‘I don’t think I could.’

‘Not for the cameras,’ replied Leonid, although Anna wasn’t quite sure what
that
was supposed to mean.

‘What bra-zire size are you?’ Vladimir asked, stepping back from Anna and studying her chest.

‘Thirty-six C.’

‘
Nu!
’ he said with a humph. ‘You aren’t.’

‘I am!’ said Anna. ‘I’ll prove it. Have you a tape measure?’

‘I don’t trust tape measures,’ said Vladimir, wearing the expression of a man who had just smelled something foul. ‘And stand up straight, please.’ He rushed behind her and gripped her shoulders, pulling them back. Her boobs seemed to rise twelve feet when he did that.

‘Ah, eez better. Posture is everything,’ said Leonid.

‘Posture and confidence go hand in hand,’ said Vladimir, ‘and she obviously has no confidence, so she has no good posture.’

Vladimir stroked the skin down her neck to her shoulders as if she was made out of clay and he was smoothing it. The gentle reverence with which he was treating her body told her without a doubt that he was 100 per cent homosexual. She couldn’t remember the last time Tony had been as gently attentive. He could roger for England, but stroking and softness didn’t turn up on the menu. She coughed away the thought of Tony for now and amused herself by looking around the room while she was being discussed in fluent Romanian.

It really was a cleverly built house. The walls looked as if they were fashioned from ancient stone. Huge iron torches were bolted to them. A cavernous unlit fire awaited colder months and a huge black dog that was part Great Dane, part Zoltan Hound of Dracula reposed in a basket at the side of it. He’d given Anna a perfunctory glance when she first came in, but didn’t deem her important enough to rise up and investigate her. No change there then. She wasn’t exactly the darling of the animal kingdom, as Butterfly and his unfaithful nature would surely testify.

A great wide staircase ran up the middle of this cavernous room and split into two on its journey upwards, to Vladimir Darq’s four-poster coffin, no doubt. Everything was so large: the table, the sofas, the candlesticks. And apparently her tits as well, because Vladimir seemed to be arguing with Leonid that she was at least a 40D as the dispute dipped in and out of English.

As the conversation between them got even more inflamed, Vladimir Darq flounced off, only to appear minutes later with an armful of corsets and bodyshapers still with long uncut threads. He clicked his fingers impatiently at Anna to hold her arms out and step into the bodyshaper that he was stretching for her. Then, when he had pulled it up over her drawers, much to her surprise he whipped off her bra with the ease of an expert magician snatching a tablecloth from under a stack of crockery. She gasped but he didn’t acknowledge her shock because he was too busy hooking her up at the back. Once that was done, he plunged his hands into the front and positioned Anna’s breasts precisely into the cups as if he was an artist arranging fruit in a bowl and Anna stood and let him because she was too stunned to move. How he managed to avoid giving her impromptu acupuncture treatment while he was pulling the material in and pinning darts in it like a madman was anyone’s guess.