When the Siren Calls (28 page)

“You could tell him it’s been itching down there. Which it seems it has been,” Maria said, her eyes mischievous. “But the interesting thing is why he asked you…”

“Because he prefers it that way, I suppose.” Isobel’s forehead creased in confusion; Maria was an enigma as soon as she became indirect, and it worried her exceedingly.

“Well, that’s hardly surprising,” said Maria, throwing her head back in laughter, “given all the oral that’s going on.” Isobel’s face returned to its earlier redness. “I’m just having fun because you are making me jealous,” said Maria, with a comforting caress to her friend’s arm, before her look became serious. “But maybe it’s also about power and control. You said he likes you on your knees?”

“Only one time, in the bathroom,” stammered Isobel, feeling the need to jump to her lover’s defence, and to preserve her own pride, as she saw the image conjured behind Maria’s eyes.

“Have you thought that perhaps he wants to establish that he’s the dominant partner?” Maria asked, now visibly inflamed by the intrigue of it all. “That he wants to find a boundary that you don’t want to cross, and then to see if you do cross that boundary, just to please him?”

Isobel shrank from her imagination. “Well, if so, I’m afraid he’s going to be disappointed. He will just have to come up with a different boundary.”

“Although he already exhausted quite a few yesterday,” said Maria.

“Remind me never to tell you anything ever again,” Isobel laughed, now feeling light and free, as if her disclosures had relieved her guilt.

Exorcised of her desire for titillation, Maria now lapsed into contemplation. “What’s wrong?” asked Isobel.

“I’m just wondering about what else Jay might want,” said Maria. “In between the steamy passion does he ever talk about the apartment, or this proposal Peter is looking at, or anything, well, pecuniary?”

“He hasn’t asked me to pay for his services if that’s what you mean,” said Isobel with a dismissive laugh. But then she thought for a while before adding, “Yes, I suppose he does bring those sorts of things up. But in an oblique way. He never asks me outright what we plan to do, or tells me what he thinks we, Peter and me, I mean, should or shouldn’t do. He just probes about how I’m feeling about things.”

“Do you think perhaps that is all deliberate?” asked Maria. “That he works on appealing to your emotions, not to your logical reasoning?”

“You’re over analysing things,” Isobel snapped, rising from the table to take her plate inside.

“So when are you next seeing him?” Maria called after her as she disappeared inside.

“I said I’d call him this morning,” Isobel answered as she reappeared. “He did ask if I wanted to take a few days to think about it, to make sure I could handle things. So we didn’t arrange anything there and then. But with Peter away and everything—”

“And do you want to see him again, now you’ve had time to think?” asked Maria, keen to show her support.

Isobel hesitated, and then spoke, her voice heavy with realisation. “I do want to see him again.”

“But he didn’t actually suggest anything, even though he knows you’re kicking your heels in Lucca, and that Peter is on the other side of the world? And he didn’t even take responsibility for the next step, calling you I mean, so there’s a chance that he doesn’t really want there to be a next time.”

Isobel knew Maria didn’t mean to be cruel; she simply spoke and thought in unison.

Isobel sought assurance in the memory of their lovemaking, in the urgency with which Jay had wanted her, how he had taken her with an intensity she could never remember from Peter. “I know he wants me,” she said, bowing her head, unable to explain more. But for the first time since her lovemaking in his flat Isobel felt the knots of anxiety return to her stomach, tighter and more threatening than before.Thirty-three

Lucy had to raise her hand to shield her eyes from the blinding midday sun as she entered through the imposing iron gates of the school. She struggled to contain her nerves as she followed the signs directing parents to the sports fields behind the main school building. The very atmosphere of this bastion of privilege compromised her normal cool indifference, with its sports fields seeming to stretch endlessly into the distance as they merged with the vast, open countryside. Yet she was here to be noticed and she drew confidence from the beautiful weather; the scorching heat facilitating an outfit that made her look capable of bringing a blind monk to orgasm. Her legs were smooth, bare and bronzed, her feet encased in four-inch heels. She had paired a tiny, skin-tight and high-waisted black skirt with a loose white blouse which, when allowed to rest against her skin, clearly revealed through its almost sheer fabric the shape and colour of her fulsome pink nipples, hidden from the public only by the folds of a soft leather jacket which, when she chose to let it fall open, made the need for imagination redundant.

She practised her strut as she passed the last of the mock Gothic school buildings, and made her way on down a tree-lined path. The dappled, shady cover of the oaks allowed her to survey the area before her nubile presence shattered the genteel setting of the privileged at play. The verdant field, perfectly mown into undulating strips, was surrounded with pure white marquees adorned with colourful bunting, each housing a variety of foods and beverages. Above these tents rose two gently sloping banks, each melting into the running track as it reached the ground. Both sides were populated with couples, families or groups of kids in summer uniforms, sat on blankets with picnics spread out around them. The very top of the bank, the prime viewing position, was lined by a row of vehicles, mainly estate cars, people carriers, or brash four-wheel drive executive saloons, and in front of each the owners had erected what seemed might almost be permanent structures. Folding tables and chairs, marquee style canopies, and even the occasional barbecue were in evidence.

Lucy had no difficulty guessing where Jay would be and ran her eye along the row, her gaze coming to rest on the largest and most centrally located marquee. If Jay had been privy to his own family crest, she thought, it would surely have been flying from a flag above the tent. She could not see Jay himself but his familiar black Range Rover with its darkly tinted windows was parked alongside. The last time she had seen that vehicle was close up, very close up, her nose pressed against the bonnet while Jay took her from behind.

The thought of that encounter, the urgent passion, the trembling simultaneous orgasms, instilled confidence in her and she took her place in the line for Pimms; she was now breathing more easily and relishing the attention she was receiving. Boys were openly ogling her while their fathers tried their best to disguise their blatant interest. She did not need to wait in line for long. Within two minutes a short, grey-haired man with a kindly face stopped beside her as he returned from the front of the queue.

“I assume you are in need of one of these?” The man was beaming up at Lucy like a cocker spaniel puppy, offering her a glass with an umbrella sticking out.

She accepted with a gracious “thank you,” and turned and walked alongside her admirer to the outside of the tent, sipping her drink as she went.

“I’m Roy, by the way. And you must be one of the pre-school mums?”

“No, I’m Lucy. And I’m not a mum. I’m here looking for a husband. Somebody else’s husband actually.”

The man laughed. “You’ve come to the right place then, because an awful lot of husbands here will be looking for a girl like you.”

“Why thank you, Roy,” she said, with a bashful flutter of her eyelids, “but I am looking for one particular husband.”

“So that rules me out then?” he asked, a rueful look in his eyes.

“Are you available?”

“I can be. In fact I have just decided to make myself available.”

Roy looked her directly in the eye, or as directly as someone can from five inches below.

Lucy pouted as she sipped on her straw. “So who do I have to worry about scratching my eyes out?” she asked.

“About half the women here, I should think,” he said with a grin, “but not by my wife, she’s over there with her boyfriend.” He gestured towards a short but well-formed woman with a sharp face and regimented posture who had a bouffant-haired man half her age beside her, absentmindedly playing with her hair.

“And you are ok with that? In front of everyone here?”

Roy shrugged. “No choice really. Either put up with it or miss the kids’ sports day.”

Lucy gave his upper arm a reassuring caress, stirred by the injustice inflicted on her new-found beau. “Maybe you should introduce me. Give her something to worry about,” said Lucy with a mischievous giggle.

Roy had the disbelieving look of a man unexpectedly asked if it would be all right if he were upgraded to first class on a flight to New Zealand; he was for a moment dumbstruck. Another caress to the shoulder speeded his recovery. “That might be fun. Come this way, Lucy, if you don’t mind that is.” He held out a crooked arm and Lucy slipped her own through it, in the way she might have done had they been walking back down the aisle.

Roy’s wife and her pre-pubescent looking boyfriend were now huddled together in conversation, their body language indicating that they did not wish to be disturbed. “Excuse me, you two love birds. You don’t mind if I just say hello do you?” asked Roy, with a smile as wide as the running track. His wife looked awestruck at the sight of Lucy, statuesque and adoring on the arm of her diminutive and pot-bellied husband; her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish as she struggled to compose herself.

“I don’t think you have met Lucy, have you? Lucy, this is Helen and, um, Greg.”

“Graham.”

“Sorry, Helen, of course, Graham. I’m afraid I’ve already sipped a few of these,” said Roy merrily, taking a sip from his glass.

“Roy has told me so much about you; it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I hope I am not intruding or anything,” said Lucy, as she slid her hand over Roy’s shoulder and stroked his chest.

“No, no, not at all,” stammered Helen, turning to Graham with the imploring look of someone seeking explanation or inspiration.

Lucy turned to Roy, gave him her most submissive of looks, adjusted his collar and ran her fingers through his hair. Graham asked the question that Helen seemed currently incapable of verbalizing. “So how long have you and Roy known each other?”

“Quite a while now, I expect you remember the date better than I do, Roy.”

“September, darling, early September.”

“But, but that’s since before—” stuttered his wife, her body now limp and her mood deflated.

“Before I learnt about you and Greg, you mean? Don’t be silly, I heard about that months before you told me. I thought you knew that?”

While Roy was having fun, Lucy was under close observation from the hill above, her every move being followed by two men with binoculars.

“You are not going to believe what I am looking at, Doug,” exclaimed the first as he focused in on Lucy’s breasts. “Roy Chambers, the sly old bastard, has got the hottest tottie you’ve ever seen at sports day hanging on his sleeve. Legs that go up to her armpits and jugs to knock your eyes out.”

“No way,” replied the second, grabbing the binoculars from his companion’s outstretched hands, “you are having us on. Roy Chambers is about ready for his free bus pass.” He peered intently into the binoculars and scanned the field as his friend continued, “I’m telling you. She’s a complete stunner and she’s more draped than a friggin’ curtain over Roy, in front of his ex and her toy-boy. There’s no way Roy pulled that, she’s got to be on a meter.”

“Yeah, wait, got her!” interrupted Doug as he finally managed to locate the pair, “Whoa, you weren’t lying!”

“Give me those glasses,” said another man, appearing from the depths of the marquee to join them. “If this is a wind up, the next bottle of bubbly is on you.” He took the glasses and scanned the crowd.

“To the left of the drinks marquee, Jay, you can’t miss them,” said Doug, itching to get the binoculars back.

At first Jay could not believe his eyes. The sunglasses offered some disguise but you would be hard pressed to find another pair of legs like those in a Miss World contest; it could only be Lucy.

“I’m going to need these for a while,” he said, knocking away the eager hand of his companion and striding off along the embankment to where his wife was sitting with some friends.

Meanwhile, Lucy was gazing into her compact mirror, causing its mirrored diamante to reflect the sun right into the binoculars that she could see fixed upon her from the cusp of the hill. She carefully tucked some stray tendrils of hair behind her rhinestone bejewelled ear before being interrupted by the ringing of her phone.

“Excuse me while I take this, babes,” she said to Roy as she retrieved the phone from her clutch bag before looking at the name on the screen and jabbing her finger into the red decline button. She glanced up to see the binoculars had disappeared from the hilltop.

She turned to Helen. “Just my agent. I’ve told him not to call me at weekends. You know how it is.” The older woman nodded, her face full of confusion. She turned to her boyfriend for reassurance only to find his gaze fixed on Lucy’s jacket, which was mercilessly falling open in tandem to the man’s mouth, as she bent over Roy to whisper in his ear.

“Now, honey-bun, how about you show me around. I’m sure we don’t want to overstay our welcome,” said Lucy, all but licking his ear with her tongue. And with that she intertwined her fingers with his and led him off, leaving Helen silent and bewildered.