Party Games (15 page)

‘I really wouldn’t know,’ Mel said.

Over the road Lynette Tudor came out of her shop, looking as stressed as ever.

‘Guess what I heard yesterday,’ said Amanda. ‘Lynette has started doing cleaning work for Beau Rainford. Of course, I sympathize with poor Lynette having to make ends meet in that little shop of hers, but cleaning out Beau Rainford’s filthy sex den?’ Amanda shuddered. ‘I bet he makes her do the dusting topless!’

They watched Lynette hurry off down the street, shoulders hunched round her ears.

Catherine was suddenly transported back two decades as Alannah Myle’s ‘Black Velvet’ filled the air. A familiar low red car pulled up beside them. It was Beau Rainford himself, in his old Mustang. Catherine immediately recognized the rail-thin woman in the passenger seat. Valentina Volosky looked down her nose at Catherine and haughtily tossed her hair back.

Turning down the music, Beau removed his Ray-Bans. The famous blue eyes were ice-cold.

‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you,’ he told Amanda. ‘A little bird tells me you’ve been going round casting aspersions on my good name.’

A mottled rash spread up Amanda’s neck. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I think you do.’ Beau’s face was carved and dangerous.
God, he’s good-looking
, Catherine thought.
But you wouldn’t want to mess with him
.

‘I suggest you keep your nose out of other people’s business and concentrate on your own.’ Beau glanced at the overdressed window of Wedding Belles. ‘You could do something about that hideous display for a start. No wonder marriage rates are in freefall.’

‘How dare you, that’s a Jane Morgan!’ Amanda started to say, but Beau cut her dead.

‘It’s fucking horrible, that’s what it is. What is it with you small-minded parochial types?’ He looked pointedly at Amanda’s bottom. ‘Although that’s probably the only thing that
is
small about you.’

Amanda gave a barely audible gasp. The rash spread further up her neck.

‘Oi, that’s not on,’ Catherine told Beau.

Beau’s eyes slid on to her for a moment, before he turned his attention to Mel. Suddenly the sunshine was back in his face. ‘Hullo, darling, how’s tricks?’

‘Hullo, Beau,’ Mel said quietly.

‘That husband of yours looking after you?’

‘Can’t complain.’

Valentina laid a possessive hand on Beau’s knee. He slid the Ray-Bans back on. ‘You ladies have a nice day.’

He looked at Amanda as he said it; a threat rather than a well wish. The engine revved and the car sped
off, nearly taking out an old man crossing the street.

Mel turned to Amanda. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Y-yes, of course.’ Amanda looked flattened. ‘I should get back to work.’

She went inside the shop, tugging her shirt down over her bottom.

‘Beau was out of order then,’ Mel said. ‘Amanda can be a pain, but she didn’t deserve that.’

‘I wonder who told him?’

They both looked across the road at Butterflies.

The sky was peacock-blue as Vanessa made her way through Foxglove Woods the next day. Eddie was sitting under a tree, as if he’d known she was coming. Bending down, she stroked his long friendly face. ‘Hello, boy. Have you come to escort me?’

The dog led her across the flower-strewn meadow, stopping at the edge of the copse as if to say:
That’s my part done
. She watched him bound off across the woods, tail sticking out like a piece of wire. Her wedding ring sparkled accusingly in the sunlight. Guiltily, she took it off and put it in her handbag.

It was dark and cool under the canopy of trees. She trod across the grassy carpet, the smell of wild garlic pungent in the air. As the trees thinned, the grassy clearing came into view. Her stomach lurched. Dylan was sitting by the campfire, topless, mending a piece of yurt canvas. She’d not been able to sleep all night for thinking about him.

She felt a longing as she saw his naked torso for the first time. Her eyes devoured the lean pectorals
and small dark nipples, the ribs showing through his sinewy back. He wove the needle through the rough canvas dexterously. She imagined those hands running over her naked skin and shivered.

He glanced up and saw her, his expression blank. Vanessa’s heart plummeted. She shouldn’t have come. Then she nearly collapsed with relief as his face lit up with the biggest grin.

He was already walking towards her. They stopped a foot apart. In the light his eyes reminded her of iridescent fish scales flashing in a sun-dappled stream.

‘Oh, Dylan.’ The next thing she was in his arms, kissing him deeply. As he wrapped his arms round her she revelled in the feeling of his taut, sun-warmed flesh.

‘I missed you,’ he told her.

‘I missed you, too. I told Conrad I was going for a spa day at Daylesford.’

He cut her off with a kiss, and the heat exploded between them. Tongues were frantic, hands running over skin and raking through each other’s hair. She had never even had a one-night stand in her life, but with Dylan the desire was just overwhelming. All she wanted was him inside her.

His long fingers caressed her shoulders straps. ‘Take it off,’ she whispered. The Temperley dress fell to the ground in a luxurious puddle. His eyes ran over the swell of breasts under the La Perla bra; the hourglass waist oozing into voluptuous hips.

‘God,’ he said softly. ‘You’re so beautiful.’

He ran his hand between her breasts. Vanessa felt a throb between her legs.

‘You’re shaking,’ he said. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I-I’m shaking because I want you so much.’

His eyes were so huge they filled his face. Pulling down a bra strap, he pushed the lace aside to reveal her breast. As his tongue started to circle her nipple with exquisite lightness she wanted to explode.

His other hand slid down her belly towards her matching G-string. She was sure she’d come if he even touched her between the legs.

‘I’ll get a blanket.’

‘I don’t want a blanket!’ Vanessa was sick of cold, unsatisfactory sex on Egyptian sheets with a three-hundred-thread count. She wanted to feel the grass scratching against her back, leaves in her hair. Grabbing him round the neck, she pulled him down on top of her. The next moment he was inside her, moving joyously and freely. He felt so wonderful. She didn’t know where she started and he ended …

He gazed down at her. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said again.

Her eyes filled with tears. It had been so long since she’d been made to feel like this. He looked horrified.

‘Oh no, what’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ she sobbed. ‘It’s lovely. Keep doing what you’re doing.’

Ten minutes later, after the most amazing orgasm she’d ever had, Vanessa collapsed into his arms. He held her tight, stroking her hair until their heartbeats calmed down. She lay on his chest, unable to speak.
I’ve just had sex with another man
.

All she could think was how happy she felt.

Marty’s BMW was parked next to the Porsche as Vanessa pulled up outside Tresco House. She’d completely forgotten their manager was coming to dinner. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror: the face of an adulteress looked back. Grabbing her bag off the seat, she hurried across the courtyard into the house. Sukie trotted into the empty entrance hall, looking quizzical. ‘Ssh, cover for Mummy, angel,’ Vanessa whispered, willing her to be silent, and rushed upstairs.

Thirty minutes later she appeared on the back terrace, freshly showered and changed, the last traces of Dylan washed off her skin and hair. Conrad was sitting at the table outside with Marty and her mother. An open bottle of Cristal was in an ice bucket on the table.

‘There you are,’ her mother said. ‘I thought I heard you come in.’

‘Sorry,’ Vanessa said. ‘I had to have a shower, you know how the oil gets in your hair.’

‘Looking good, kid,’ Marty told her. ‘That must have been some facial.’

Conrad’s dark eyes were boring into her, as though he could tell something was different. Vanessa suddenly went cold. She hadn’t put her wedding ring back on. Conrad was bound to notice and know something was up.

‘Is that new?’ he said, looking at her dress.

She almost collapsed with relief. ‘It’s last season’s Gucci, you were with me when I bought it, remember?’

She sat down beside her mother, and Sukie immediately jumped up on her lap. Vanessa buried her face in
the dog’s soft fur, hiding her guilty conscience.

‘You want a drink, kid?’ Marty handed her a glass of Cristal. No doubt he’d brought it with him; Conrad was far too tight to open such good champagne for anyone on his payroll.

Vanessa drained half her glass in one go. The alcohol took the edge off her nerves. An image of Dylan, moving dexterously on top of her, popped up in her mind.

‘What inedible monstrosity is Renata dishing up for us tonight?’ Conrad asked.

‘Coq au vin, I hope,’ sighed Vanessa.

Conrad stared at her as if she were mad. ‘In this heat?’

‘I mean, I think we’re having salmon,’ Vanessa spluttered.

‘Renata,’ he bellowed. ‘Can you bring out some nibbles?’

The housekeeper stuck her head out of the kitchen window. ‘No food. You on diet now, Mr Powell.’

‘I’m sure you can rustle up something. What else do we pay you for?’ Conrad muttered. ‘Vanessa’s contribution to Help the Aged,’ he told Marty. ‘My wife is a firm believer that charity starts at home.’

A few minutes later Renata shuffled out with a bowl. Conrad broke off his monologue. ‘What have you got?’

‘Root vegetables.’

‘Excellent, my favourite!’ Conrad scooped up a generous handful of the colourful crisps. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, Marty, Daniel Craig only got the James Bond part because …’

He stopped mid-sentence and started to choke. A
mouthful of purple and red sprayed all over the table. Vanessa and her mum flattened themselves in their chairs.

‘Are you trying to poison me?’ Conrad shrieked. He looked closer at the bowl. ‘Renata, you moron, this is fucking potpourri!’

Vanessa breathed a sigh of relief as he rushed off to dry-heave in the toilet.

Britain was now officially hotter than Barbados. Sales of suncream continued to soar as forecasters predicted no break in the run of freakishly good weather.

The rising temperatures were having an extraordinary effect on the British public. That Tuesday there were unprecedented scenes at Downing Street as a group of middle-class mums chained themselves to the gates in protest about cuts to child benefit. The hapless Deputy Prime Minster was sent out for peace talks and got a (homemade) custard pie in his face. The women were eventually cut free and released without charge, but it was a clear sign just how disenchanted people had become.

In Beeversham it was only four days until the Big Charity Game Show. The change of format had been a masterstroke. Well-wishers had donated prizes from cooking lessons at a Michelin-starred restaurant to a day on the set of the latest Benedict Cumberbatch drama. The SNOW committee had been inundated with people wanting to do food stalls from as far
afield as London. With the current economic climate it was felt that a champagne tent might be a little out of keeping, so there was a Prosecco one instead, run by the staff from Bar 47.

The stage was being put up in the market square. The local pet shop had been persuaded to loan out twenty rats and a boxful of stick insects for
I’m a Celebrity …
Mr Patel had hired a shiny tuxedo for his role as an
X Factor
judge. John had gone up even higher in everyone’s opinion by knocking up a couple of beautifully made wooden stall stands from scratch. All proceeds from the ticket sales were going to a local hospice.

Every telegraph pole and gate in the area had been plastered with posters about the event. The
Daily Telegraph
had run a great ‘David v. Goliath’ article on how Beeversham was fighting back against the might of Ye Olde Worlde. The SNOW committee had done everything they could. It was now a case of praying people turned up.

Bar 47 was buzzing with daytime punters enjoying the super-strength coffee. Catherine found Ginny ensconced on the terrace, texting.

‘Hello, darling, I won’t be a minute. I’m just sending a text back to Emily.’

‘How is she?’ Catherine asked as she sat down. She’d never met the Chamberlains’ children, who both worked abroad. The family home was plastered with photos of them. Ginny was an enormously proud mother.

‘Good, she’s applying for a new teaching post in Beijing.’ Ginny put her phone back in her handbag. ‘I
miss them both terribly,’ she said, ‘but they’re having such an adventure. Young people have such exciting opportunities these days.’

‘They’d never come back to Beeversham?’

‘Heavens, no.’ She smiled brightly across the table. ‘I love your dress. I wish I had the figure to wear something like that.’

‘Don’t be silly, you look lovely.’

Despite the age gap the two women were good friends. Ginny was a dreadful worrier, but she was warm and discreet. She was also good fun after a glass of wine.

The waitress came over to take their order. Ginny put her face up to the sun. ‘It’s lovely to have some time out,’ she confessed. ‘We’re eating, living and sleeping the charity game show at home.’

‘Tell me about it. Someone else has asked John to knock up another stall. The garden is covered in wood shavings.’

‘The man is a miracle worker! Whatever would we do without him?’

‘Yeah,’ Catherine said sardonically. ‘Saint John the Great.’

Ginny glanced across. ‘Is everything OK?’

Catherine picked miserably at a sachet of sugar. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Ginny. I’m being a real bitch to him at the moment.’

‘I’m sure you’re not.’

The waitress appeared with their coffees. Catherine waited until they were alone again. ‘It’s just that he won’t let me do anything,’ she told Ginny. ‘It’s driving
me mad. I did manage to look after myself for over twenty years before he came back along!’

‘John is the protective sort. That’s what most men see their role as.’

‘There’s a difference between protecting and suffocating,’ Catherine grumbled.