Once (15 page)

Burrrp - burrrp. Insistent. Burrrrp - burrrrp.

It was Nell who cursed under her breath when he broke away and delved into his pocket.

‘Sorry,’ he apologized, although he was strangely relieved. ‘Might be important.’ He flipped open the mobile’s lid. ‘Hello?’

Nell sank back into the sofa, folding her arms across her chest, looking mean.

Thom? It’s Katy Budd. We forgot to arrange a time for tomorrow.’

Thom was surprised: it didn’t really matter to him what time he took his exercise, but he supposed the therapist had other clients to work around. (What he couldn’t know was that Katy, unmarried and currently without a boyfriend, had taken a particular liking to Thom. He was young, not unattractive, and lived alone in a beautiful location.)

‘Uh, yeah, so we did,’ he said quickly. ‘Any time’s good for me.’

‘How about nine thirty tomorrow morning?’

‘It’s really that urgent?’

*What?’

Well, yeah, I can be there.’

‘At the cottage? Of course.’

‘Soon as possible then.’

‘Sony?’

‘I’ll be there.’

‘Oh … right. Tomorrow then. Nine thirty.’

“Kay.’Bye.’

Thom closed the flap and pushed the mobile back into his pocket.

‘Gotta go,’ he said.

Thom, not right now…?’

Yep. Sorry. Apparently, it’s urgent.’

“Who was it? Is something wrong?’

‘Oh no, it’s nothing. Well, that is … I’ve got to get back, that’s all. Arranged for something to be delivered. Seems I’ve got to sign for it.’

He was already on his feet buttoning up his combats.

‘Are you runnin’ away from me, Thom?’ She looked angry, but the knowing smile was there, as was the mocking in her eyes.

‘You’re kidding. No, I’ve just got to be there, Nell. I told you.’

She rose and moved against him, her arms going around his waist. She pulled him tight and he felt the firmness of her stomach. Desire seemed to sharpen every nerve in his body once more, but something made him pull away. It was crazy, but he really was afraid of this woman, and he had no idea why. Instinct, his helpful, canny, little voice told him. There’s something dangerous about Nell Quick and you just haven’t worked it out yet. But it’ll come. Oh yes, it’ll come. He held her at arm’s length, the action non-aggressive but adamant. By her expression, he could tell Nell was amused, as though this was just part of the game. She made no further move towards him.

‘I’ll see you soon, Nell,’ he said, quickly turning away and heading for the front door.

“Will you be all right?’ she asked after him.

That stopped him. He looked back at her, “What d’you mean?’

Will you be all right in the cottage? Will you be safe there?’

“Why shouldn’t I be?’ He was confused, perplexed. She was making him nervous again.

And perhaps that was what Nell wanted for, although the smile remained, there was something cruel about her eyes.

‘No reason, Thom,’ she said. ‘Just a feelin’ I have. Instinct, you might call it.’ She said the word as though she had read his own thoughts about her. ‘Be careful tonight, Thom. It’s very isolated there in the woods.’

Thanks a lot, he thought, cold fingers tapping his spine.

‘I’ll be fine,’ he said, then left, suddenly eager to be out in the open.

Nell followed him to the door and, shadowed by the porch, leaned against the door-frame to watch him walk away.

He realized he was limping very badly.

Thom switched on the engine and drove off, carrying on down the narrow lane so that he could turn the Jeep around at a suitable point. Nell Quick’s house had been the last one in the row, only high hedges and fields further on. As he drove past on the return journey, he glanced at it and the windows were darkened, shadowed by the wild foliage around them. The place looked empty, bleak.

Thom suddenly felt drained of energy, as if he had overstretched himself. His left arm was numb, so he had to use the device on the steering-wheel with his right hand

to take the turns, and his left foot kept slipping off the metal footrest. He concentrated hard to stop the foot turning inwards and silently cursed himself for his weakness.

Although tired, frustrated with himself, and perspiring freely, he was surprised to find he was not depressed; rather, his mood was edgy, his nerves taut, senses alive despite the weariness. It was almost like being on a caffeine overdose. And behind it all was a weird mood of expectancy.

But expecting what?

He had no idea. He did feel anxious, though, afraid even. He had the peculiar feeling that things were about to start happening, that events had suddenly shifted gear. It was inexplicable, but very real.

Something bad was impending, he just knew it. Something nasty was looming, but he couldn’t imagine what or why.

Nell took a small earthenware vessel from a kitchen cupboard and went back to the sofa. Most of the lock of brown hair she had surreptitiously snipped from the back of Thom’s neck with tiny nail scissors lay on the top edge of the cushion, directly behind where he had been sitting. The scissors, themselves, had been hidden in the palm of one hand when she had brought his lemonade, and it had been easy to rest them on the windowsill behind the sofa when they had done their job. Carefully she picked up the lock and dropped it into the bowl. Then, moving even closer, she searched for stray hairs, plucking each one from the sofa’s coarse material and placing them in the bowl with the mother lock.

When Nell was satisfied that she had every last one, she turned and sat on the edge of the seat, elbows resting on her knees, the vessel held up before her. Once again, the smile. But this time there was a different gleam in her dark

eyes. If Thom had witnessed it, he might have thought it evil.

A sound from outside distracted her, a flapping of wings against a windowpane. Nell looked across the room in the direction of the back garden where she grew her herbs and plants. The magpie had landed on the windowsill and was cocking its black hooded head sideways to look through the glass.

Nell left the sofa and made space on the crowded table for the stone vessel and its contents. Then she went to the window.

Opened it.

THE DREAM

WHEN THOM got back to Little Bracken it was all he could do to make himself a quick meal - a lasagna from the frozen packs stocked in the fridge, fairly tasteless but it filled the gap - before climbing the stairs, pulling off his clothes and all but collapsing on to the four-poster.

For a while he lay there, naked, staring up at the canopy over the bed and reflecting on the day’s events: Sir Russell, an enfeebled old man just waiting to die; Hugo, a cheerful buffoon to some, but a loyal friend to him. Thom remembered with gratitude the day Hugo had walked into the private room at the hospital, flowers held in one chubby hand, a broad grin like the Cheshire cat’s on his face, the cheer and optimism he had also brought with him. Hugo had taken care of all the medical expenses and waved a disdainful hand when Thom had promised to pay back every penny. He hadn’t known then that the Bleeth family was no longer as wealthy as it once had been, yet Bleeth Senior had paid for him through college and here was Bleeth Junior,

Hugo, helping him with specialists’ fees and God knows what else. Thom could have just about managed to handle his hospital bills, but it would have meant selling the workshop - even in the backwaters, London rates were extortionate - and perhaps even selling off well-crafted pieces cheaply for the revenue. Thom had already decided that not only would he repay Hugo, but he would make him something special, a writing desk or a secretaire bookcase, something for him to prize. Thoughts of Hugo led to thoughts of Nell Quick, and he pictured her with her wild black hair and dark eyes, the mocking smile, the soft lips …

What was going on between his friend and this woman? Again he thought of Hugo’s inheritance, the house, the estate, whatever money Sir Russell had left. And if, as he suspected, they were engaged in an affair, then why would she come on so strongly to him?

His eyelids began to droop and his left arm and leg felt like lead weights on the bed. He had to make an effort just to pull the bedsheet over himself. More pictures, more thoughts, were whirling through his head. The wasp stings that had disappeared overnight, the beautiful girl by the lake, the wonderful lights, the weird grotesques …

He began to drift.

She was beautiful. She really was fantastically beautiful. The golden tresses caught by the sun, cascading around her petite face, reaching almost to her waist. The pale body, so slim but so wonderfully moulded with those small breasts and softly rounded hips, the long thighs whose beginnings bore no shade, no pubic hair, leading to her hidden, inner lips. Neck so graceful, limbs so sensual, hands so delicate in their intimate task, quickening as her pleasure increased, one hand leaving to touch the pink nipples of her little breasts. Tiny lights playing over her like incandescent butterflies.

This time he saw his own hardening, did not just feel it, for he was as naked as the mysterious girl, his body trembling, blood pounding beneath flushed skin. He was walking forward, going to her, and she did not seen afraid … nor shy … for her actions did not cease, they merely became more languid, enticing, her silver-violet eyes on his.

He knelt before her and watched, not daring, not wanting, to interrupt, and the lights around her frenzied, darting here and there, to and fro, touching his unclothed flesh, flailing him with swift almost-transparent wings, increasing his passion; and all the while she watched him, even though her eyes were now half-closed, heavy-lidded in delirium. One hand reached for him and he gladly took it in his own; but she did not draw him to her, did not invite him to lie with her, but instead came forward and gently pushed him back so that his shoulders touched the cool earth and his hips pressed against blades of grass.

She hovered over him, the lights between them brilliant in her shadow. Their reflections danced across her skin, bathing the soft points of her pendant breasts in different hues, washing her smooth stomach with spectral tints.

But before the breach between them closed, this inscrutably wondrous vision became something - someone - else. The golden hair turned to black, the delicate pink lips became scarlet, the slight breasts grew heavier, their tips darker, and it was Nell above him, lovely, lascivious Nell, who pressed close, her breasts cleaving to his chest, her nipples burning into his.

Her body was smothering his, her fleshy hips in touch with his hips, her stomach crushed against his stomach, the valley between her legs taking in his hardness. He felt the coarse hair at the top of her mound and knew it was as black as the hair that now fell over his face as she kissed his neck, her lips firm and at once firmer, becoming harsh, drawing nerve endings and tiny veins to the surface of his skin so

that he gasped, an expression not only of surprise, but of delight also.

She trailed her mouth up to his face, nuzzling his chin, his nose, his brow, but not yet his lips. Nell raised her head to look down at him and her deep eyes studied his, her smile mocking as usual, but somehow adding to the exquisite tension. Something passed between them - a look, an indication of acquiescence on his part (but not yet submission, although that would soon come), a challenge on hers, and then she was upon him once more, her moist lips crushing his, her tongue forcing his lips apart, searching out his tongue. Tongues touched and pressed and slithered over each other’s, and just when he was eager for more, his head lifted from the grass to push against her, she pulled away, lowering her lips to his neck once more, leaving him gasping and panting, his hardness now a solid rod between them.

Her lips did not linger: they descended slowly to his chest, taking each of his nipples in turn, dampening them, tensing them with her tongue, kissing them, making them engorged, before moving on, sinking to the firm muscles of his belly, leaving a trail of slickness in their wake, then downwards again, tongue dipping into the tangle of hair before finding the base of the penis that waited so impatiently.

And she did not stop there. Her lips and tongue were gliding up the long, smooth shaft, making it wet, making it throb, taking time, teasing but pleasing, until her mouth was at the tip. A beat. Anticipation screaming. Another beat. And then she took him in her mouth, into a hot cavern that was velvet at the edges and hard inside the entrance with teeth that caught his skin, but gently, never gripping, never biting. And the delight of her tongue when it closed on him to lap at his sticky flow, then around the shaft, coating it with her saliva, drawing on it, pushing against it, repeating the process, her mouth taking him in almost to the hilt, her throat

accommodating, creating a sensation he had never before experienced, a swallowing of him he had never thought possible. His body arched, his shoulders burrowed into the soft earth, grass tickled his spine; but she rode him, never losing her precious hold, her mouth constantly working, a hand finding his genitals, cupping them gently, her middle finger finding his perineum, exerting easy pressure, heightening his pleasure and his desire for her, before moving on to the orifice behind. There her fingertip played around the sensitive edges, making him moan out loud. He gripped her breasts and it took self-control not to squeeze them hard; instead he kneaded them, drew out the long nipples from their dark surrounds, this time causing her to draw in a sharp gasp, before murmuring her own pleasure, for a moment losing him, but quickly swallowing him again to continue the strokes that were now becoming tighter, faster, fluids inside him racing to his centre where they seemed to boil as if in a cauldron; his hands left her breasts to grab her upper arms, so that he could control the rhythm, so that he could prolong the rapture …

And all the while she watched him, watched his head thrash from side to side, his eyes closed in bliss, watched his chest heave and sink, his skin sheened with sweat, watched him while his hips thrust against her, and never once losing him, the finger beneath him now probing, gently entering so that there was no pain, only sensual delight.

His movement slowed, but hers did not; his hips squirmed and thrust upwards, but she maintained her hold. His body was becoming rigid, a long moan escaping his open mouth, and she knew the signs and made ready for what was to follow.

He could no longer bear to contain the flood. He needed release, needed the final exultation. And it was not too far away…

His member was like iron between her lips, inside her

throat and still she worked, still her smooth action was relentless as she awaited the liberation of all those boiling fluids. She even tightened her velvet grip and increased the friction. She plunged with her finger, deeper into his anus, so that all his muscles spasmed, every part of him became taut… yet out of control…

And then he was in the euphoria of release and he spilled into her mouth. He cried out with the exhilaration and his eyelids sprung open so that he saw…

So that he saw the fiend squatting between his legs, its great humped back bent over his groin, thick, enormous lips around his penis, massive head jerking erratically as it drained him of his semen.