Heller's Girlfriend (18 page)

Those were lovely words and an
unexpected rush of emotion for him flooded me. “Why didn’t you?” I
asked softly. I’d never been on assignment with him.

“I have a date tonight. With
Vanessa.”

My emotion for him died a quick
death. “Oh. Enjoy yourself.” I tried not to sound bitter.

“I’ll give you a ring
later.”

“Sure. Bye.”

I knew he wouldn’t ring me. He’d
be too occupied with the flawless Vanessa. Now officially down in
the dumps, I took my mind off it all by ringing Will, figuring he’d
be amused to know what I was up to tonight. His phone diverted to
his voicemail and I left a short message, trying not to sound as
cranky as I felt. I hadn’t been able to contact him all week.

Farrell glanced sideways at me
as we drove. “So I guess what I’ve heard about you and Heller is
true. I didn’t believe it at first.”

My voice was cold. “And what
have you heard about him and me exactly?”

“That you’re his woman.”

I bristled immediately. “What
makes you believe that?”

“Nobody else working for him
would get away with talking to him the way you do. You’re very
familiar with him.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.
He’s just a bit more indulgent of me, that’s all. He thinks I’m an
idiot and he feels sorry for me. Despite what everyone thinks, I am
not
Heller’s woman. I have a boyfriend and his name’s
not
Heller. He has a girlfriend and it’s not
me
,” I
spat out angrily. It was none of his damn business.

Another glance. “Why don’t you
just say that next time?”

“Say what?” I asked
sullenly.

“That it’s none of my damn
business?”

I stared at him, astonished.
“Are you psychic or something? I was just thinking that.”

“I could tell from the look on
your face. You’re an open book, Chalmers.”

“Heller says that too. I don’t
think I am.”

“You are.” I shrugged one
shoulder as if I didn’t care what he thought, although I did.
“There’s nothing wrong with that though. It’s refreshingly honest,”
he continued.

I decided to change the topic
from my ridiculous and inconvenient transparency. A woman needs to
be able to lie on occasion, when essential. It’s not just
important; it’s a social necessity in this day and age.

“Did you serve in Afghanistan
with the SAS?” I asked him out of the blue.

He gave me a faintly amused look
– only the barest movement of his mouth revealing any clue to that
emotion – to let me know he was aware of my obvious tactic. It was
probably the closest he ever went to an actual smile. “Yes.”

“Why did you leave the
army?”

“My wife had enough of me being
away from home.”

“I didn’t know you were
married.”

A pause before he answered. “I’m
not. Not any more.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumbled,
feeling awkward, although I had no idea why I was sorry. I hadn’t
done anything to cause his marriage to break up.

We didn’t speak again until we
arrived at our destination.

Chapter 13

The house we pulled up outside
of was a very modern timber and brick one-story building with a
sweeping roofline. It was located in a well-heeled suburb, not one
of the wealthiest in the city, but in the top ten. The street was
leafy and the neighbouring houses were well-screened by foliage
hedges. Nice and private, but I wondered what the neighbours would
think if they found out what was going to happen here tonight. Who
knew though, perhaps they were invited as well? Maybe it was a
swinging street in a staid neighbourhood?

Farrell and I climbed out of the
4WD, locked it and crunched our way up the gravel driveway, which
was bordered with beds of colourful flowering annuals. The lawn was
lush, the shrubs neatly trimmed. A small water feature splashed
invitingly in a paved courtyard to one side of the front yard,
surrounded by rendered blockwork walls painted in tasteful neutral
tones. It was a lovely and tranquil garden for such a debauched
event.

Farrell knocked confidently on
the glass and timber front door.

“Coming!” we heard a voice
yelling from inside and heard some footsteps approaching rapidly.
The door was flung open with enthusiasm and a beaming male face
peered out at us. “The security people! Excellent. You’re right on
time. Come in, come in.”

He waved us down a hallway
floored in light timber, the walls painted in brilliant white,
intriguing contemporary tapestries hanging on the walls, dangling
down to the floor. We stepped into a stylishly furnished living
area, light and breezy with high raked ceilings supported by huge
beams. Glass folding doors were opened on to a terraced
entertainment area at the back. The late afternoon sunlight glinted
off the deep blue water of a swimming pool. A modern kitchen was
off to one side of the living area and an elegant dining suite next
to the kitchen.

“Sit down, please,” he urged,
indicating some white leather sofas in the living room. We sat
together on a long sofa while he lounged on a chaise near the
fireplace. He was handsome, in his early forties, well-groomed,
with a fashionable haircut, dark hair, liquid dark eyes and
sensuous red lips. He was dressed casually in jeans and a designer
buttoned short-sleeved shirt.

“I’m Marty Scholler, host of
tonight’s event. My wife, Gabriela, is just getting ready at the
moment. She’ll be out soon.” We introduced ourselves and he shook
hands, warmly pressing mine and holding it just a mite too long for
politeness sake, which didn’t escape Farrell’s eagle eyes. “My, you
two are good-looking enough to join in with us tonight.”

We both sat there staring at
him, faces stony. He laughed. “Well, maybe not. Best not to mix
business with pleasure. Speaking of mixing, can I get either of you
a drink?” We both declined. Heller would kill us if he caught us
drinking on the job.

Marty stood up and went over to
a small bar in the corner of the room and made two G&Ts,
bringing one back to the chaise lounge with him, leaving one on the
bar, perhaps for his partner.

“Let me tell you a bit about
tonight. Gabriela and I belong to a private play club, the City
Swingers, which was started by some friends of ours. There are
about sixty members in this city, but we’ll have only about twenty
people coming to our little party tonight. It’s an elite club.
Potential members have to meet certain requirements before they’re
allowed to join. We usually base that on income, education and
attractiveness, so we’re a fairly homogenous group with a lot in
common with each other. Only first names or pseudonyms are used. We
have a party every month, which is hosted by a different couple
each time. Gabriela and I prefer to host it in our own home when
it’s our turn, but others take over a bar or other venue, depending
on the number of members who are able to make it from month to
month.”

He paused to take a sip from his
G&T. “We only allow couples or single women into the club and
at our parties. No single men allowed. If a single man wants to
join, he has to bring a woman with him. It makes it more
comfortable for all the women that way. We always try to keep the
gender numbers even or to have slightly more women at the parties.
Women are often keen to try some girl-on-girl action, but we rarely
find men as keen to do any men-on-men, so that’s why we restrict
single men. It would change the whole dynamic of the evening to
have too many men at our parties. Women would feel pressured to
have sex with multiple partners, or some men would simply miss
out.”

Farrell and I exchanged glances
while Marty took another sip. It was going to be as bad as I
imagined.

Marty continued. “We do full
swap and group sex, mainly in the same room. It will take place in
this room actually. People are welcome to use other rooms for
privacy, but it’s meant to be a community event so most people want
to share the experience with others. Gabriela and I have planned a
great itinerary for the night. The evening will start with some
welcome drinks and canapes out on the terrace. We have different
couples coming to each event, and that will give everyone a chance
to meet with others they mightn’t have met yet. Then we’ll gather
back here in the living room to watch some explicit adult movies
together. Usually things start happening naturally then, but if
not, Gabriela will get the action going by orally pleasuring one of
the men during the movie while we watch. Then we’ll turn the lights
down and get everyone up dancing with each other to some slow
music, the only rule being that you can’t dance with your own
partner. After that, the magic usually happens on its own. And we
all end up having a great play time!”

He finished his drink and padded
over to place his glass neatly in the kitchen. “Hard to say for how
long the evening will last. Could end at midnight; could go all
night. Depends on how lusty or smashed everyone is.”

He then proceeded to give us a
rundown on our duties for the night. We were to stand at the front
door to check tickets, direct people to the terrace, then spend the
rest of the night ensuring the general peacefulness of the
party.

He shot us both a sharp look. “I
hope neither of you are prudes, because we don’t hold back, and
frankly nobody will care that you might be watching. In fact, it
will probably spur on some of our more exhibitionist members to
even greater indulgences.”

“We’ll be fine,” assured
Farrell. “We’ve seen it all before.” Which might be true in his
case, but I wasn’t as confident in that assertion on my behalf. I
certainly
hadn’t
seen it all before and I would have
preferred to keep it that way. We exchanged another glance. Oh
well, I’d always said I liked my job because it offered a lot of
variety in the work I did. I couldn’t start complaining now when
the variety became somewhat too interesting for my taste.

Marty’s partner, Gabriela, came
out into the living room and greeted us in a friendly manner as she
retrieved her G&T from the bar. She was beautiful and petite
with large clear brown eyes and thick, curly dark brown hair that
fell down her back, past her bare shoulders. She spoke with an
accent and explained to us that she was originally from Brazil. She
was dressed in a gold micro-mini dress, with a plunging halter neck
top and no back, and a pair of dangerously high-heeled gold
sandals. She didn’t stop to chat, but excused herself saying that
she had a lot to do in the kitchen before the guests began to
arrive in about forty minutes.

Farrell advised Marty that we’d
spend the time until then doing a recce around the house and yard.
Marty gave us his permission to do so with a smile and excused
himself to shower and dress for the evening.

It was a large house and we
started our tour of the interior at the front door. Off the hallway
that led to the living area, were five doors. One led to a
library/study room, another to a powder room. Two others led to
guest bedrooms, complete with ensuites, which I presumed would be
the rooms used for any private activities during the evening. The
final door led to another short hallway that headed towards a
second living area and a small media room. Both of these opened
onto a small back courtyard and the couple’s own sleeping
quarters.

Marty had been caught up with a
phone call, so we had a quick look around their suite before he
took his shower. Their bedroom came complete with a parlour and a
bathroom almost the same size as my entire flat. Their walk-in robe
was larger than my bedroom, and their bed was the biggest I’d ever
seen in my life, custom-made surely, larger than a normal
king-sized bed.

“Jesus!” exclaimed Farrell.
“Look at the size of that bed! A small village could sleep on
that.”

“What do they do for a living?”
I asked curiously.

“Probably lawyers,” he said, not
without some bitterness in his voice. I didn’t pry, but I assumed
from that comment he’d gone through a painful divorce.

We walked back to the living
area and smiled at Gabriela as she rushed around in the kitchen
preparing the canapes, teetering on her heels. We walked through to
look at a room off the kitchen, which turned out to be a spacious
laundry with access to the side of the house. We crept back through
the kitchen again, dodging Gabriela and diplomatically ignoring a
string of Portuguese expletives as she hurried to remove something
that had started smoking in the oven.

Farrell and I stepped out of the
folding glass doors onto the terraced entertainment area, which was
paved with sandstone. The whole area was lent a tropical feel
through the Bali-style pavillion, timber pool furniture and
numerous potted palms that created a lush jungle. On a hot summer’s
afternoon, the terraces would be an oasis of cool relaxation.

The couple had already set up a
number of white-clothed tables, each with a glorious floral
centrepiece in fragrant white flowers. Wine, champagne and mixer
glasses had been laid out neatly on one table. On another, bottles
of spirits and red wine were lined up and ice buckets were out,
ready to be filled with ice, champagne and white wine. Plates,
cutlery and napkins were to one side on the third table, in
preparation for the finger food and other nibblies that Gabriela
was currently preparing. The couple were clearly excellent and
thoughtful hosts. I wasn’t sure if there was a fashionably tasteful
style for orgies, but in my opinion, Marty and Gabriela had nailed
it.

There were three levels to the
entertainment area, leading down to the pool. I hoped there weren’t
going to be any nude water frolics during the evening. Alcohol and
pools didn’t usually mix and I didn’t want to be rescuing someone
from the water later.

Evidently, Farrell had been
thinking the same thing. “Hope we won’t be needing our CPR training
tonight.”