Destroying Angel (4 page)

‘No thank you,’ Susan answered pointedly, although she actually needed her own orgasm quite badly. Berner was just too arrogant, and she knew that if she let go and masturbated in front of him it would just make him all the more cock-sure. ‘Could you just pass me a tissue?’

Berner obliged, and then pulled his chair towards the computer. Susan moved to let him closer to it, and then stood up, doing her best to clean up while he tapped at the keyboard. By the time she was doing her blouse back up, he had found the information she wanted.

‘Sowerby, Alan,’ he said. ‘Died of liver failure brought on by amanitin poisoning, whatever that is. August twenty-four. No suspicious circumstances, no case.’

‘Is that it?’ Susan demanded.

‘Yup,’ Berner answered with a smug grin. ‘Like you said, it didn’t take a second.’

‘Did you know that all along?’

‘Yup.’

‘You bastard!’

‘Oh, come on Sue,’ Berner laughed, ‘don’t tell me your panties aren’t damp.’

‘You…’ Susan began and trailed off. It was pointless remonstrating with him, and he was right, anyway, her panties were very damp indeed. ‘Okay, fair enough.’

‘I’ll see you out,’ Berner offered, getting to his feet.

‘Don’t bother,’ Susan replied, ‘especially as you’d probably want another blow-job for making the effort.’

‘Any time you like, love.’

Susan left the police station in a mixture of rage and frustrated excitement. Berner’s behaviour had utterly humiliated her, but it was just the sort of sexual humiliation she always fantasised over. She desperately needed an orgasm but was pleased that she hadn’t succumbed to her feelings and begged Paul Berner to fuck her over his DI’s desk. As she came back in sight of the Heath, she began to wonder if she dared risk a sneaky frig among the bushes. It was a nice idea, but the morning had blossomed into a baking hot day and the Heath was far too crowded to take such a risk. No, her pleasure would have to wait until she got back to the flat. Once there she could strip and masturbate at leisure.

Despite Susan’s resolve, things got worse as she approached the car park. The way Paul Berner had squeezed a blow-job out of her, made her show him her tits, then come in her mouth and on her breasts was just too much. She was trembling so much that she was unsure if it would be safe to drive, and her need for an orgasm was becoming desperate.

The car park was packed, her own black Rover wedged between a van and a hulking four-wheel drive. She squeezed into the narrow gap and eventually managed to get into the seat, then realised just how fully enclosed she was and that nobody could possibly see below her waist unless they were actually leaning over the bonnet of her car.

Quickly, and before common sense could get the better of her, Susan undid her jeans. A moment later and they were down around her ankles, the air warm on her bare thighs. Her panties were soaking, her pussy tender and ready inside them. She pulled the gusset aside, and sank a finger between the moist lips to find her clitoris. Her mouth opened as she started to rub, using the brisk dabbing motions that always gave the best orgasm. Almost immediately she started to come, her muscles contracting in her thighs and bottom, whimpering to herself despite her best efforts to keep quiet, her whole body bucking as her orgasm hit her.

Even as she came a great wave of near-panic hit her. What was she doing, masturbating in a public car park?!

Desperately pulling her jeans up, Susan smiled at a middle-aged woman on the far side of the car park who was giving her a concerned look. After waiting only a few seconds to recover her breath, she turned the ignition and eased the car out onto the road, fully aware that she was blushing furiously.

Susan found herself blushing at the sound of Paulette’s laughter. Ever since she had given Paulette the details of her interview with Paul Berner, the black girl had been teasing her mercilessly. The idea of Susan getting the information she wanted in return for sucking Berner’s cock fascinated Paulette, who had demanded a full description. Afterwards, she had taken every opportunity to torment Susan, cheekily sucking a carrot and then licking two hard-boiled eggs held in her palm. Finally, Susan had put Paulette across her knee, bared her bottom and given her the spanking she had been angling for.

Inevitably that had led to sex, leaving both of them too tired to get up until the middle of the morning. Noon now found them at Warwick Road station, about to keep the appointment that Paulette had made with Annabella de Vergy. Paulette had been teasing Susan on the tube, laughing at her own jokes and then again at Susan’s answering blushes, only relenting when Susan asked her to be serious.

‘It’s just possible that this de Vergy woman could be involved as a villain rather than a victim,’ Susan cautioned as they walked up to the bridge over the Grand Union Canal. ‘You chat away and keep her attention, leave me to observe – okay?’

‘Sure,’ Paulette answered. ‘Which one do you think is her house?’ They had turned to look at the line of buildings that flanked the canal: tall ornate structures that spoke of wealth and elegance.

‘I don’t know,’ Susan said, ‘but she certainly does well for herself. Let’s see – yes, it’s the blue one next to the one with all the flower baskets.’

‘She must be loaded,’ Paulette remarked.

Susan could only agree. Annabella de Vergy’s house was four stories tall – five, counting the attic extension. It was painted a delicate blue with white on the stonework, and was smart, even by the standards of its neighbours.

The two girls descended the steps to the tow path and walked along to the house Susan had picked out.

Their knock was quickly answered. Susan appraised their hostess as she greeted and ushered them inside. Annabella de Vergy pretty well lived up to the image Sowerby had painted of her. Tall, slim and smartly dressed in an all-too-obviously expensive silk dress, she was the very essence of elegance. Golden hair done up in a tight bun and small gold-rimmed glasses gave her a refined haughty touch; high heels and seamed stockings added a hint of old fashioned grace. Her beauty made Susan feel small and rather awkward, like a little girl in the presence of a rich and terribly respectable aunt. She glanced at Paulette, who returned her look with a cheeky smile.

‘So you knew poor old Alan,’ de Vergy stated as she followed them into the main room of the house. ‘Dreadful news about his death, don’t you think? Wine, or would you prefer something else? Mint Julep for me, I think. I find it refreshing at this time of day.’

Susan accepted the offer of Mint Julep and looked about her as de Vergy went to mix the cocktails. The room was furnished in black leather, chrome, and smoked glass: elegant, minimalist and obviously expensive. Only the heavy security bars on the windows detracted from the atmosphere, and those were clearly necessary. Annabella de Vergy’s taste was modern and sophisticated, an image at odds with the comfortable dignity Susan would have expected to find in the house of a successful member of the British wine trade. Still, she reflected, that just went to show how wrong it was to have preconceptions.

‘So how may I help you?’ de Vergy asked as she returned with the drinks on a tray.

‘Well,’ Paulette began, ‘I’m sure you remember that Alan was after some sort of wine scandal when he died, and that he felt you were being cheated in some way. I was wondering if you could shed any more light on things?’

Annabella de Vergy laughed, and then gave a little sigh before answering. Susan pretended a casual interest but studied every nuance of movement and speech.

‘Oh dear, poor old Alan,’ de Vergy started. ‘Yes, he was sure there was something going on, but it was all nonsense, you know. You see, Alan was a bit of a romantic, an idealist if you like, but really not very practical.’

‘That’s true,’ Paulette agreed, ‘but he was a skilled and experienced taster, surely?’

‘Yes, in a way,’ de Vergy agreed, ‘but that was really rather the problem. You see, Alan had this wonderful, romantic image of wine. He liked to think of poor but honest French peasants tilling the soil and exerting their craft to produce exquisite elixirs, more for love than profit. Of course, it’s not really like that at all, and I take a rather more practical attitude I’m afraid: buy cheap and undercut the competition.’

‘So what happened?’ Paulette asked, sounding both puzzled and crestfallen.

‘Oh, the poor boy tasted some wines we import and thought they were fakes,’ Annabella replied. ‘What he couldn’t see was that they were just cheap examples of famous names – Châteauneuf-du-Pape for instance. Perfectly legitimate, but not at all suited to his romantic ideals, I’m afraid. I did tell him he was being silly, but he insisted. Then the poor fellow died like that. It was really terrible. No, I’m afraid there’s no scandal to uncover.’

Susan watched de Vergy carefully, weighing her as a possible liar, fraud, and ultimately murderess. It seemed very unlikely indeed. There was nothing about de Vergy’s manner that suggested either nervousness or a carefully contrived act. Instead, she seemed entirely genuine.

Sipping her drink, Susan decided that the investigation was almost certainly a dead-end. Alternatively, there might be something to it, but without de Vergy’s knowledge: yet it seemed much more likely that the whole scandal had been dreamt up by the over-romantic Alan Sowerby. Having been shown the man’s diary by Paulette, Susan could well believe it.

‘Oh, right,’ Paulette was saying, sounding even more despondent than before.

‘I am sorry,’ de Vergy replied. ‘I’ve disappointed you. Still, better to know now than later.’

‘I was hoping for a story,’ Paulette said with a touch of embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you.’

‘Not at all,’ de Vergy answered easily. ‘Journalism must be a tough job. Will you stay for lunch?’

They accepted; Susan became increasingly impressed with de Vergy’s ease of manner as they ate a lunch of cold meats and salad in the walled garden at the rear of the house. Annabella was clearly a highly successful business woman, neither needing to resort to fraud nor the sort to be taken in by it. No, it was a shame, but the whole thing had evidently existed only in Alan Sowerby’s imagination.

It was also possible to see the attraction Sowerby had felt for de Vergy, Susan considered as she watched her hostess’ elegant figure emerge from the house with a bottle of chilled white wine. Not that she shared Sowerby’s romantic illusions, but on a purely practical level it was nice to imagine herself kneeling naked at Annabella’s feet and begging for the privilege of being allowed to kiss one of her immaculate leather shoes. There was something poised, dominant, almost regal about her that appealed to Susan’s submissive sexuality, and it was a feeling she was sure Paulette would share. With a touch of amused self-awareness, Susan realised she was a little tipsy and letting her fantasies run away with her.

‘Not one of mine,’ de Vergy remarked as she sat back down and placed the bottle on the table. ‘A sample, of Alsace. We never buy on the UK market, but they still give us endless samples. I’d be interested to know what you think.’

Susan accepted the glass, determined not to make an idiot of herself. Watching both Paulette and Annabella, she imitated their actions. The wine was heady and intense with a perfumed scent. She gave her opinion, drawing an appreciative nod from Annabella. Paulette gave a more detailed analysis, causing Annabella to raise her eyebrows.

‘But then a friend of Alan’s is bound to know her wines, I suppose,’ Annabella remarked, ‘although, if I may say so, for a friend of Alan’s you seem rather – how can I put it? – relaxed, easy-going, perhaps.’

‘He was as much a colleague as a friend,’ Paulette admitted. ‘We both do restaurant reviews, or rather, we both did. I don’t really know much at all, but I’ve been to enough tastings to know how to go about it.’

They finished the bottle together, chatting easily. Annabella then accepted Susan’s request to be shown around the house.

The upper rooms were furnished in much the same manner as the living room, only really varying in their utility. As they went around, Susan kept her eyes open for possibly useful hints, not really expecting to find anything. Glancing into Annabella’s bedroom as they passed, she spent a moment admiring the heavy iron bedstead before her eyes were drawn to a photograph. It was in fine-grained black-and-white, and showed a woman lying on a
chaise
longue
.

The pose was languid and intensely sensuous, the more so because the model was tightly corseted, bare-breasted and naked between her corset and the tops of her stockings. Long black-clad legs and her nipped-in waist served to enhance her partial nakedness; high round breasts and svelte hips. Susan found her eyes drawn to the model’s vulva, full outer lips showing just a hint of the smaller lips between. She was also toying with a small whip, admiring it with an expression of lazy cruelty. Susan shivered at the implications of the image, only then realising that the model was Annabella de Vergy herself.

‘Do you like it?’ a soft voice purred from just behind her.

Susan jumped round, already stammering an apology for intruding on Annabella’s privacy.

‘No, really, what do you think?’ Annabella insisted. ‘Paulette must see, too. Come in.’

Susan hesitated, feeling like a fly being coaxed slowly into a spider’s web. Of course, it would be easy to express indifference, or approval at a merely artistic level.