Sleeping Cruelty (27 page)

To her surprise, when their lips touched she was not thinking of anything or anyone but him. The experience confused her, and she broke away. Then her eyes concentrated on his lips, which she kissed again, as if to make sure the moment between them was real. After kissing him three times she broke away. Max was overcome with emotion and began to cry. She licked his tears as they mingled with the mist from the waterfall, and thought she too might weep. It puzzled her. This was a job, but it felt like something else. She had teased the boy for days, drawing him behind her like a puppy. She had meant to arouse him,
play with him then withdraw. But something inexplicable had stopped her. She had never felt this for anyone except Justin. Was that why his kisses felt so nice? They were like Justin’s, but they weren’t. The feel of them made her want to continue kissing, but she wanted to kiss him as a boy, not as a man.

It was Max who changed the tone. Max became a man then, kissed her strongly and searchingly. Laura allowed herself to be drawn to lie beside him on the cool, mossy earth, his hand clasping hers. She clung to him as if she was afraid to let go.

‘I love you,’ Max repeated, and she began to sob. She had never known such a powerful, explosive feeling in the pit of her belly. He whispered to her, ‘I don’t know if I’m dreaming this, if I am mad, or even if it’s real. I’m scared to close my eyes and lose you.’

‘Ssh!’ she said, cradling him in her arms, his head resting against her breasts. She loved his caring gentleness. She liked the way he had put his shirt beneath her head when they lay down, worried that the ground was damp. He didn’t paw her or force her hand down to touch him. Their roles had been reversed so unexpectedly and without any calculation on her part. She loved the smell and touch of his lean, young body. He was clean and untouched.

When he asked if she could feel his heart leaping, he endeared himself to her more.

‘Do you want to make love to me?’ she asked.

Max admitted that he was afraid his inexperience would make her ridicule him.

She held him closer. She felt protective, almost motherly towards him. ‘I promise I would never tease you. You will be the best lover I have ever known.’ She meant it as a joke, but he gripped her tightly.

She wanted to weep as his kisses on her neck made her thighs ache, and the even sweeter kisses on her lips made her want him to make love to her. But his fingers threaded through hers and rubbed her ring finger. Feeling the solitaire diamond, he released her. ‘We mustn’t do this, it’s wrong, it’s . . .’

Laura sighed, and held up her hand. The diamond glittered. ‘Don’t you ever do anything wrong, Max?’ she asked.

‘Everyone does, but if you were to make love to me, with me, I couldn’t bear to see you with another man.’

She let her hand drop to one side and he caught her fingers, pressing on the diamond with his thumb. ‘When are you getting married?’

She closed her eyes.

‘Do you love him?’

Again she sighed. ‘It’s none of your business.’

He sprang to his feet and fetched his jeans, unembarrassed now by his nakedness.

She propped herself on her elbow. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I can’t stay. I can’t be with you like this.’

‘Why not?’

He zipped his fly, then looked around for his trainers. He sat on the edge of a rock as he slipped on one, then the other. He left the laces untied and looked over; she still lay on his shirt. Suddenly he felt strong, his mind clear.

‘We should go,’ he said, and moved towards her to pick up his shirt. The whore in Laura had abandoned her, slunk off to hide, unable to deal with the purity of emotion. She couldn’t speak. She let him ease away his shirt from behind her. But he didn’t put it on: instead, he draped it round her shoulders, as if to hide her breasts. She let him remove the diamond ring from her finger. He placed it carefully on the edge of a rock. ‘I want you to marry me.’

She accepted his proposal, but he had no ring. ‘Give me your wedding finger,’ he said. She held it out tentatively. He took it and bit it until he drew blood. She touched it with the tip of her finger then licked it.

‘That will be our ring,’ he breathed. ‘Bite me now.’

She bit harder and longer into his finger. It hurt like hell but he wouldn’t stop her. Eventually, she drew his head on to her lap. He was unsure what to do, so she told him how to use his
tongue. Soon she was begging him to enter her, and as he came into her, she did what she always did: averted her face. Max noticed and withdrew. ‘What did I do wrong?’ he asked.

‘Tell me you love me,’ she said.

Max caught her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Right now, if you asked me to, I’d die for you, Laura, and I will kill anyone who takes you away from me. I want you to tell him.’

‘Well, I can’t straight away. He’s had to return to London.’

‘When he gets back?’

‘Yes . . . yes, I will.’

‘Promise me.’

‘Yes, if you promise to keep this a secret until I have told him.’ She leaned over him. ‘This is odd for me . . .’ She hesitated, then kissed his lips.

‘What is?’ he asked.

‘I feel such love for you. It is the first time I have felt like this for anyone.’

‘You’ve never made love to another man?’ he asked, sitting up.

‘I meant I have loved only one man before you, but he doesn’t count. Tell me again.’

‘I love you,’ he said simply.

She laughed, hugging him, not wanting to let him go. ‘And I you.’

Justin was furious. For one thing, Laura was not working up to speed: she had disappeared for the whole afternoon. For another he had not been able to capture on film anything that had taken place between her and Max because they had hidden behind the waterfall. Enraged, he confronted her. ‘You are so stupid at times. You know where all the microphones are! What the hell did you take him up there for? You must have known I couldn’t record you.’

‘Maybe I didn’t want you to see or hear me with him,’ Laura said.

‘
What?
’

‘Nothing,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘I should go. I don’t want to keep Angela waiting.’

Justin pretended to pay attention to the dials on the console in front of him. ‘How are you going to work on her?’ he asked.

‘Dahlia is helping,’ Laura replied.

‘In what way?’ he snapped.

Laura ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Angela and I share a predilection for lace lingerie, I’m told. Now, thanks to Dahlia “mixing things up in the wash”, she has a few pairs of my panties.’

‘Well, don’t fucking take her up to the waterfall to do it. Did you by the way?’ he asked moodily.

‘Did I what?’ she said, opening the door.

‘Screw him?’

‘Not yet,’ and she closed the door. She felt disturbed about lying to Justin, so to calm her nerves she slipped off the solitaire diamond and felt Max’s toothmarks on her finger. It kept him constantly in her mind. A secret.

Angela heard the light tap on her door and removed the ice-pack from her head. ‘Who is it?’ she asked.

Laura remained silent.

Angela opened the door.

‘Apparently, and I don’t want to get her into any trouble which is why I came myself,’ said Laura, ‘Dahlia mixed some of my lingerie with yours.’ She held out a small parcel. ‘You have mine, I believe.’

‘Oh,’ Angela said, and opened the wrapping. She seemed embarrassed as she admitted that the panties and brassière were indeed hers. She went to her wardrobe and opened a drawer to find Laura’s. Laura followed her and stood close . . . too close.

Angela moved away. ‘You’re wearing a lovely perfume,’ she said, intent on searching the open drawer.

‘Thank you,’ Laura said, then leaned close to Angela, who
was wearing some kind of gardenia cologne. ‘Yours is nice too.’

Angela withdrew Laura’s panties from the drawer. ‘Oh, they are lovely, and . . .’ She took out a brassière and a gossamer-thin silk slip.

‘I have them made to my designs,’ Laura said, as she laid them on the bed, pressing tissue paper flat to wrap them. ‘I love packing,’ she said, and went on to explain how a nanny had taught her how to fold garments so they never creased. Eventually Laura looked up from her packing. She indicated the cross stitch Angela had left on the arm of the chair. ‘What lovely work,’ she said.

‘Thank you,’ Angela replied, then added hesitantly, ‘would you like me to teach you how to do it?’

‘Oh, that would be wonderful!’

Angela walked over to an armchair and picked up her bag. She took out some silks then found a small design of a rose. Laura perched on a chair arm. ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, as Angela showed her the soft colours, from pink to oyster.

‘I think these would be perfect for that rose.’ Angela laid out the silks in a row.

‘What delicate shades. And the stalk?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘The stalk, the leaves and the thorns?’ Laura looked into Angela’s nervous hazel eyes.

‘Oh, yes. Well, I have some greens, but not so many shades to choose from.’ Laura leaned in close, her bare arm touching Angela’s as the other woman threaded a needle. ‘Now, it is imperative you make a good knot. It’s so tedious if it works loose.’ Angela was rather enjoying the beautiful girl’s avid attention. ‘Now, I’d begin with the outer, lower petal first. It’s very simple and quite therapeutic, but there’s an art in getting the stitches even. One tighter than the others leaps out conspicuously.’

Laura was genuinely interested. She had hardly held a needle
before, and was so inept that Angela giggled. ‘There’s no need to be quite so rigid. Hold the needle lightly between your first finger and thumb.’

Laura jabbed in the needle and withdrew it so sharply she dug it into Angela’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she leaped to her feet with concern as Angela rubbed the place where a pinprick of blood appeared. ‘Oh, my goodness me,’ Laura said, moving Angela’s hand away. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She kissed the tiny speck of blood, then licked Angela’s arm with her tongue.

‘It’s fine, really, it doesn’t hurt,’ Angela said, the flush of heat between her legs making her cheeks flame.

But Laura did not pull away. Instead she moved closer. ‘I want you so much.’

Angela gasped and, shakily, said that Laura should leave. But Laura did not move away. She slid one arm around Angela, and opened her blouse. Angela felt as if her legs would buckle beneath her.

‘I want you to dress in my underwear,’ Laura whispered, as she licked Angela’s neck, then flicked her tongue into an ear. By now, her hand was working a breast free of its lace, her fingers rubbing the nipple. She knew when she felt the nipple harden that it would be even easier than she had anticipated. ‘You have the most incredible breasts.’ She nuzzled Angela, then traced Angela’s mouth with her fingertips, slipping one into her mouth. Angela began to suck as Laura drew the blouse away from the waistband of her skirt.

‘Oh, yes, oh, yes,’ Angela murmured, and began to drag her blouse free, to throw it to one side as Laura inched her skirt lower. ‘Lock the door,’ Angela gasped.

But Laura had drawn her skirt to her ankles and was on her knees, her tongue tracing the band of Angela’s lace panties. She brought Angela down on to the floor, and couldn’t resist glancing at the tiny red blinking dot in the corner of the room.

She tilted Angela’s chin up. ‘Surprising what a little prick can lead to!’

They both smiled, and Laura glanced again at the camera lens, laughing because she knew that every moment had been filmed.

‘I chatted to William Benedict this morning,’ Annabella Bellingham said to her husband, as they drove back from Heathrow airport. Her husband barely looked up from his paper: it was enough for him that he had had to meet his wife. Conversation was surely beyond the call of duty. ‘He seems rather nice, really. Not at all the sleazy character the newspapers had us think. We talked about that fellow Justin, the designer.’

‘Wasn’t he a friend of Oliver’s?’

‘That’s right. Justin Chalmers.’

‘Chalmers,’ her husband repeated. Bellingham recalled Justin’s face. He didn’t know the boy terribly well, but now, somewhere in the fog of his mind, a bell was ringing.

His wife was powdering her nose. ‘You remember him, you invited him to the party. Well, he’s throwing some sort of bash over at Benedict’s island while he’s away.’ She peered at herself in the tiny mirror. Just mentioning the party where Oliver had died had made her heart sink again and she steeled herself not to cry as she had just finished her make-up.

Annabella snapped shut her compact. ‘Justin Chalmers is staying there with his sister, Laura.’

Her husband banged his hand down on the open newspaper. ‘Justin and Laura! That’s it, Justin and Laura. But Chalmers wasn’t their name was it? What were they called?’ He clenched his eyes in thought. ‘Moorcroft, that’s it. Child A and Child B, as they were known in the press. Justin and Laura Moorcroft. I knew I recognized them.’

‘What are you talking about?’

Bellingham explained that while he was going through his drawers to find the relevant paperwork required for the shipment of Oliver’s body back to England, he had come across some old files and documents belonging to his father.

‘I don’t understand what this has to do with the Chalmerses.’

‘Wait, and I’ll tell you. You know Father hoarded everything and that I’d always meant to clear out his desk but never got around to it? Well, I was tossing stuff into the wastepaper basket, when I found this file among a stack of others. It was headed “The Moorcroft Case”.’

‘The Moorcroft case?’

‘Yes, I just said so, didn’t I? I flicked through and caught sight of some photographs of a couple of children. I knew they looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on who they were.’

Bellingham pressed the intercom to speak to the chauffeur, turning to his wife as he did so. ‘Did Benedict say where he was heading?’

‘No, but he was on the same flight,’ she said, as her husband barked at the driver to pass him his mobile phone.

‘Do you know what you dial for Directory Enquiries?’ he asked his wife.

‘Ask the operator.’ Sometimes the way her husband switched subjects infuriated Annabella. It was as if anything she had to say was immaterial. But she was taken aback when she heard him ask for Sir William Benedict’s number. She sighed: he wouldn’t be listed. She was right, but after numerous calls to friends, Bellingham succeeded. He had to talk to Benedict, urgently.