Honeycote (15 page)

Behind Patrick, she frowned to see what were disconcertingly two definite tens. A young brunette, hair parted in the middle and falling past her shoulders in a shining sheet, was clad in a cream satin sheath that fell to the floor, but was cleverly slit at both sides to reveal long, golden, firm-thighed legs when she moved. It was adorned only with a huge silver heart hung on a black silk cord that fell to just above the girl’s pubic bone. The subtle simplicity of the outfit showed a maturity that belied the wearer’s years.

Next to her was a vision far from subtle, in fact totally overt, whose effect was so breathtaking that every male would soon be slavering with longing and every female green with envy. Luscious breasts surged out of a brocade bodice, from where swathes of deep red, luxuriant velvet clung to her generous curves. High-heeled satin mules peeped out from under the frock and a tiny little beaded drawstring bag hung from the girl’s wrist. Head piled high with a mound of tumbling, tortoiseshell-coloured curls, she bore the air of a recently ravished courtesan. She was Moll Flanders, Nell Gwynn, the Wicked Lady, all in one. Kay silently approved: here was a girl who really knew how to dress for effect, who was proud of her body and wanted to rejoice in its ripe splendour, not emulate some wasted stick insect. Kay mentally awarded her Best Dressed Female, ten out of ten plus, then froze. Bile rose in her throat as she saw Patrick take the girl’s arm and lead her into the room.

It was only when Georgina, looking sweet but definitely her age in moss green, appeared at the girl’s other side that Kay realized the vision was Sophie.

Her astonishment was huge, but not as huge as her relief that at least this gorgeous creature would be no competition for the two men in her life. She knocked back the last of her drink, plonked it on the tray of a passing waiter and glided across the room to greet her lovers.

Two hours later, Patrick was not in good humour. He’d been thrown off course from the start by the shock of seeing Sophie. He hadn’t recognized her in her finery, and was disgusted with himself for experiencing what Ned vulgarly referred to as ‘knob twitch’. She looked stunning, but she shouldn’t. She was Sophie, for God’s sake – and what right had that little Brummie strumpet to turn her into a sex object? For he recognized Mandy’s handiwork – no way would Sophie think up that outlandish garb for herself. Someone had spent hours smothering her in fake tan, painting her toenails bright red, even putting on false fingernails. Patrick couldn’t bear to watch the gaze of every male in the room following his sister with wolfish intent. Not that Sophie was aware – she only had eyes for Ned. Who’d backed off at a rate of knots in abject terror when he, too, had realized her true identity. Instead, Ned was playing court jester to Mandy, relaxed because he knew he could never presume to win the affections of a girl like her and free to be his natural, boisterous, fun-loving self. Mandy was loving it. She thought he was hilarious, which of course he was. And Sophie, poor, darling, trussed-up Sophie, was trying so hard to pretend she didn’t mind.

What incensed him further was that Kay seemed to be flouting his authority. Occasionally, she would waft past him, squeezing his elbow or touching the back of his neck with a teasing hand, and once at dinner, when she could be almost but not totally sure that no one was looking, giving him a wink. And she was patently all over Mickey. They were dancing together now, and although to anyone else it wouldn’t have seemed out of the ordinary – everyone was fair game at one of these dos – it was obvious to Patrick that she hadn’t called anything off, and didn’t have any intention of doing so.

He was going to have to regain the upper hand quickly. He cut into the dance, claiming Kay nonchalantly off his father, and pulled her close to him, moving in time with the music. He pressed his mouth to her ear and she shuddered at the warmth.

‘You haven’t kept your side of the bargain.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I told you, I haven’t got a problem with blowing the whistle on you and dad. I just thought it would be nicer for everyone concerned if we resolved it my way.’

‘Perhaps I need reminding once more just what the deal is, exactly.’

‘Very well.’

He guided her chivalrously by the elbow out on to the terrace, down the steps and across the lawn, then through a little copse of trees to a stone-built gazebo. Kay leaned against one of the smooth, round pillars, wishing she smoked or had something to do, for she suddenly felt unsure of the next move. Patrick was so calm and controlled, so sure of himself. It was unnerving in one so young. She smiled at him in the dark.

‘Thank you for lunch yesterday. I enjoyed it.’

‘So much that you seem to have forgotten what we agreed.’

‘I haven’t. It’s just that there’s a time and a place for everything.’

‘Excuses, excuses.’ Patrick’s lips curved upwards in a mocking smile. Kay shuddered as she remembered where else they’d been, as he pulled her away from the pillar, slid the straps of the dress off her shoulders and slowly undid the zip that ran the full length of her spine. The dress fell in a pool of copper-coloured silk at her feet. She stepped out of it, clad only in lace-topped hold-up stockings – no underwear, as the fabric was too unforgiving. Patrick knelt in front of her. He was unwrapping a little packet that Mayday had given him last time they met.

‘What is it?’

‘Just a little bit of fairy dust.’

He insinuated a hand between her thighs, indicating that she should part them. She did so, fascinated, and watched as he licked his middle finger, dipped it in the powder then gently, very gently, applied it to her clitoris. Kay could scarcely breathe. His touch was gentle, like butterfly wings. But all too soon, he withdrew his hand, rubbing the remains of the cocaine on to his gums. Patrick wasn’t much of a user, but he didn’t like waste. He looked at Kay, who was wide-eyed with anticipation. The coke wouldn’t hit her bloodstream quite yet, she’d still be feeling numb, but within half an hour she’d be an inferno of unrequited lust. There was no way she wasn’t going to come running to him for gratification. Patrick knew his sexual prowess was pretty unbeatable – Mayday had graduated him with honours – but just to ensure that her mind was totally blown, he’d put a little bit of icing on the cake.

‘Is that it?’

‘Just you wait.’

‘How long?’

‘Get rid of dad. Then come and find me. Turn round.’

She did so, obediently, and he solemnly zipped her back into her dress. She felt a sudden electrode shooting through her as he pressed his thumbs into the flesh at the back of her neck, massaging her.

‘In the meantime, just relax and enjoy it.’

Kay swallowed hard. It was all she could do not to throw caution to the wind and rip off her dress again. She wanted him to slam her up against the pillar and fuck her brains out. But from what she’d experienced of Patrick already, she knew she’d have to play it his way.

‘I’ll go and find your father.’

‘Good girl.’

He strode off across the lawns back to the terrace, leaving Kay smiling in disbelief. Good girl, indeed. The cheek of the boy was breathtaking. She gathered her skirts up to follow him and found her legs would barely hold her. She felt as if two Alka-Seltzer had been dropped into her bloodstream, as a sweet, fizzing sensation stemming from the place he’d touched between her legs started coursing its way through her veins.

At ten o’clock Caroline finally turned up in a fuchsia frock, fuck-me shoes and a feather boa. She’d been for a drink, or what looked like several, with some bloke from the livery yard where she kept Demelza. He’d some cheap tack for sale, no doubt off the back of a lorry, but Caroline loved a bargain. James felt vindicated, because it disproved Mickey’s theory that she was only after him for his money. In actual fact, Caroline never asked him for anything, except when she was pissed, when she demanded either champagne or sex. James was already at the bar procuring the former when she swayed up to him and hooked him round the neck with her boa. She didn’t apologize for her late arrival, just kissed him full on the lips and grabbed the bottle off him. She didn’t bother with niceties like glasses when she’d had a few.

‘I supposed I’ve missed the food. Never mind – it’s always foul at these dos. I’m going to go and dance.’

She took a slug of champagne, spilling half of it down her impressive cleavage, handed back the bottle and sashayed off to join the throng on the dance floor. He knew from experience that it was only a few more glasses to go before she was on the table. He’d have to keep careful count from then on, so he could extricate her before she started a striptease.

As he carried the bottle and several glasses back to their table, he caught Lucy in his eyeline. She was sitting on the edge of her seat, deep in conversation with someone. She looked animated, vivacious; her eyes were sparkling as she tipped back her head to laugh. James felt a hideous ache at the very core of his soul. He loved her so much it hurt.

Sophie, having drunk no more than half a cider or the odd glass of wine in the past, had discovered this evening why it was that people drank. It really did make you feel good; more confident. It had been a funny evening. She’d had so many compliments and admiring glances heaped upon her, but wasn’t sure how to behave. She might look like a glamour-puss, but she was still plain old Sophie Liddiard underneath, with no sparkling cocktail conversation and no witty little rejoinders to bandy around. More disconcerting was Patrick’s behaviour. He had treated Sophie with icy courtesy on arrival, and Mandy with not even that – he’d completely ignored her. So when, after a couple of glasses of sparkling wine, she’d found that the edges of her reality were blurring and that she was able to chat happily to people without feeling self-conscious, Sophie had helped herself to more than half a dozen glasses from the trays that were circulating. It had also helped her to cope with the fact that Ned had kept his distance. Somehow, she’d prepared herself for that eventuality for so long that it didn’t matter. He was bound to find Mandy more exciting, more interesting, more attractive. Now she was teaching him the dance routine to ‘Tragedy’, with much hilarity as Ned had no sense of rhythm whatsoever. Sophie allowed herself a smile and consoled herself with yet another glass of wine.

Suddenly, however, she found herself feeling most peculiar. She was talking to Jonty Hobday, the local farrier, and he courteously replenished her glass yet again with some cool white wine. It was hot and she was thirsty so she drank it down – she was getting used to the taste. She put her glass down on the table and turned to smile at what Jonty was saying, then found she had to put her hand on his arm to steady herself as a wave of giddiness came over her. He didn’t seem to mind, just smiled and carried on talking to her. The only trouble was she didn’t seem to be able to hear what he was saying. There was a whooshing, whirring sound in her head, relentlessly pounding like the blades of a helicopter. And just as her head seemed to be spinning one way, her stomach was spinning the other. She felt hot and panicky. She needed fresh air, and to sit down. She clutched at Jonty’s sleeve and tried to speak, but all that came out was a jumble of syllables. Desperately hoping he didn’t think her odd, or rude, she left his side in search of the exit. She found herself remarkably unsteady on her feet, but managed to make her way through the crowds, tottering and swaying, occasionally holding on to people for momentary support, muttering ‘Shmeee’ for ‘Excuse me’.

As she emerged on the other side of the dance floor, the helicopter in her head whirring louder than ever, she saw with relief an exit and a corridor, and a white door that she was sure must be the ladies. At least there she could sit down for a moment, splash some cold water on her face and wait for the effects of the alcohol to wear off. It shouldn’t take long – after all, she’d felt fine five minutes ago.

Reaching the sanctuary of the corridor, she suddenly felt horribly, horribly sick. It must have been the salmon terrine: as bile rose in her throat, that was all she could taste. The white door was ahead of her. She couldn’t see the sign that indicated whether it was ladies or gents, but by now she didn’t care. She lurched for the door, pushed it open, staggered inside and knew she didn’t have time to make it to a cubicle. In front of her she saw a gleaming wall of white tiles and a sink over which a sign mysteriously said
HAND WASH ONLY
. She grabbed the sink’s cool ceramic edge and leaned over just in time.

Relieved, she lifted up her head and looked into the furious face of a man wearing a funny white hat. In the dim recesses of what was left of her brain, she realized that she had just thrown up in the hotel kitchen, before passing out cold at the chef’s feet.

Kay, almost insensible with lust, panicked when she saw Mickey approach. He took her by the elbow – like father, like son – and whispered that he needed to talk to her. She’d been plucking up the courage to accost him herself, but didn’t yet feel in control. She looked around for Patrick, but couldn’t see him. She turned to Mickey, eyes glittering.

‘Let’s go to the gazebo.’

Mickey reckoned that was as good a place as any to give someone the boot, and followed her out of the French windows. Five minutes later, he was wrong-footed as Kay clung to the silk-moire lapels of his dinner jacket and murmured that they couldn’t carry on, that it wasn’t right, that it was tearing her apart knowing she could never really have him and that they had to stop before someone was hurt. It must be his lucky day, thought Mickey, who’d tanked himself up with at least a bottle of Chablis and several whiskies in preparation for his first resolution. He supposed nearly being caught at the brewery the other night had unnerved her. He nodded in agreement and patted Kay reassuringly on the shoulder.

‘I’ve been thinking the same myself, but I didn’t want to say anything. You’re quite right – better to quit while we’re ahead.’

She nodded her assent and Mickey breathed an inward sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to get away that easily, though. Just as he thought he was out of the woods, Kay hooked her finger into his waistband and pulled her to him.