Naked Truths (4 page)

CARO WAS IN
the prettiest street she had ever seen. A small mews, it had a terrace of five quaint brick houses and a cobbled courtyard in front. Each front door was painted in a vibrant pastel, the candy colours reminding Caro of the seafront at Brighton. The houses were two-storey, with large square windows on the bottom floor and smaller, rounded windows on top. Above each door hung a Dickensian-style street lamp. Caro had seen grander places in her time, but none that were quite as enchanting as Montague Mews.

Along one side of the courtyard was a high brick wall, festooned with passion flowers, clematis and morning glories. Purple, pink and blue flowers nestled between the shiny, clambering green like sparkling jewels. By rights it should have felt claustrophobic, but instead the wall was like a comforting embrace that kept out the rest of the world. A line of mature horse chestnut trees stood on the other side of the wall, their leafy branches dipping down into the courtyard.

Rainbow-bright window boxes and hanging baskets decorated the houses, while one of the middle ones, No. 2, had a huge ‘Welcome' banner hanging across the open doorway.

To her delight, Benedict was standing outside. Beside him was Stephen with a bottle of champagne in his hands. Klaus was also there, and a small woman with punky red hair, the colour set off even more by the bright green smock she was wearing.

Caro turned off the engine and opened the car door. As she climbed out, there was a loud POP as the cork flew out of the bottle and sailed over the wall.

‘I've never managed to do that before, how wonderful,' chuckled Stephen. ‘Hello, my dear!'

Caro laughed. ‘What a welcome!'

Benedict strode over and kissed her on the mouth. ‘I made it home from the office after all.'

Caro felt like she was in paradise. Blossom lazily floated in the shards of sunlight being thrown down into the courtyard, while all around the air was thick with a heady mix of scents. An exotically coloured butterfly fluttered past before disappearing into the warm summer day.

‘I wasn't expecting this,' she gasped. ‘It's gorgeous!'

‘We don't all live in cardboard boxes under railway arches, you know,' said the red-haired woman, but she was smiling.

Caro blushed. ‘Oh, that really wasn't what I meant. I think I was expecting something a bit more, well, urban.'

‘I'm Velda,' said the woman, stepping forward and shaking her hand. Up close she had piercing blue eyes and pixie-like features. Caro put her in her early fifties, and noticed a tiny stud glittering in her left nostril. It really suited her.

‘It's so nice to meet you,' said Caro.

‘I – I mean we – live next door to you. No. 3,' said Velda, cocking her head to the right. ‘I also rent No. 5 as my studio.'

‘You're an artist?' Caro asked.

‘Ceramicist. Pottery is my bread-and-butter money, but my real love is sculpting.' She looked down at her hands, which under the various silver rings were covered in dried clay. ‘I'm afraid you're going to have to get used to me walking around looking like I've just crawled out from a swamp,' she laughed. Caro grinned back. There was something kind and earthy – even strangely familiar – about this woman, that made her instantly likeable.

‘Champagne time!' announced Stephen, after he had warmly kissed Caro on both cheeks. Klaus followed suit more formally.

‘Velcome. Ve are very pleased to have you as neighbours.'

Caro had never seen Klaus smile in all the time he'd been in Churchminster, and he clearly wasn't about to start now. Tall, dark and sparing of words, above the beaky nose and high, Slavic cheekbones his dark eyes were warm and intelligent.

‘Thanks, Klaus, it means a lot,' she told him.

‘Mummy!'

‘Golly, I'd forgotten about you!' Caro turned round but Benedict was already scooping the evil-smelling, orange-squash- and snot-covered Milo out of the car.

Stephen surveyed the little boy with a certain alarm.

‘Why don't you, er, see to the little fellow and come over to ours for a celebration drink when you're settled?' he said.

Benedict watched him walk off, then turned to Caro.

‘Ready?'

‘As I'll ever be!'

Caro walked into her new home, and instantly fell in love. The living room was light and spacious, with crisp white walls and a polished wooden mahogany floor. A huge open fireplace, with a stunning framed photo of Benedict's sister Amelia on the blackened beam mantelpiece, dominated the room. Caro could instantly imagine cosy winter nights in front of the fire with a large glass of Merlot. In between two comfortable-looking brown leather sofas was a rectangular glass coffee table. An enormous vase of oriental lilies, Caro's favourite flowers, stood in the middle of it.

‘I absolutely love it!' she declared. ‘And it's so much bigger than you'd expect.'

‘I had a bit of work done, knocked through a few walls,' said Benedict. ‘It's bloody hard to get planning permission for mews houses, but this place was about to fall down when I bought it. I guess the conservation officers approved of the changes. Let me show you the rest.'

Milo started to wriggle. Putting him down, Benedict led them through to the back of the house. On the wall next to the twisting staircase was a row of blackened iron hooks. Benedict pointed them out. ‘That's where the stable boys hung the bridles when horses were kept here.'

A narrow corridor opened up to another room on the right. It was the dining room, housing a fashionably battered-looking wooden table that would easily sit eight. The room didn't have any windows, but a glass brick partition had been built between it and the living room, so light still filtered through.

At the back of the house was a gleaming white, square kitchen with dark brown walnut worktops, a light blue Smeg fridge and an Aga. The room was big enough to hold a small round breakfast table, which had a bowl of succulent fruit placed on it.

The kitchen door was an original stable door, still with the bolts and iron hinges. Benedict pushed it open to reveal a long, narrow decked area outside. Brightly coloured plant pots were grouped in one corner, while in the other was a small garden table and two chairs. Sturdy wooden fencing enclosed them on either side, and at the end was another high brick wall. The chimneys of a large building were visible the other side.

‘Montague Mews was originally the stable block for the house over the wall,' Benedict explained. ‘It was owned by a rich philanthropist, who turned it into a nursing home for injured soldiers coming back from the Crimean War. Now it's a private hospital. You can get a good view of it from our bedroom window.'

Milo's bedroom was at the front of the house, looking down into the courtyard. The little boy was heavily into anything with wheels at the moment, and it had been decorated with blue racing-car wallpaper, with a big mural of a red racing car zooming along a country lane on one wall. There was even a plastic red Ferrari bed, complete with steering wheel. A box containing the rest of his toys stood in another corner. Milo gave a squeak of delight and, after changing his shorts and cleaning him up, Caro plonked him down.

‘Vroom vroom!'

Caro turned to Benedict. ‘He's going to be in seventh heaven. What do you say, Milo?'

‘Thank you Benny-dict!' came the muffled reply from somewhere under the Ferrari.

Caro noticed a fleck of red paint in Benedict's hair.

‘How on earth did you find the time to do it?'

He grinned. ‘Oh, I rather enjoyed myself.'

‘Boys will be boys,' Caro teased him.

Leaving Milo playing, they went to look at the rest of the house. Next door there was a small, cosy bedroom, a good-sized family bathroom decorated in crisp blues and whites, and at the back of the house, the master bedroom. It held a king-sized bed dressed with crisp white linen, along with two elegant off-white wardrobes and a beautiful antique dressing table. A fluffy white rug softened the dark wooden floor. A small window faced the back of the property. Caro walked up to get a proper look. The close proximity of the hospital took her completely by surprise. Just over the other side of the brick wall, Sister Beatrice Private Hospital was a huge, forbidding nineteenth-century building with black-framed windows and spiky turrets. Caro could see directly into the room opposite, which had orange curtains drawn across the windows.

Benedict followed her over. ‘I think that's one of the consultancy rooms, I once had a rather unfortunate view of a patient who appeared to be having some kind of rectal examination.' He shuddered. ‘The downside about mews living is that one is extremely overlooked. But hopefully the positives will make up for it.'

Caro turned round and flung her arms around his broad shoulders. ‘I love it! You've gone to such an effort.'

‘Thank you,' Benedict murmured in her ear. ‘I know it's a big deal for you to do this.' They stayed there for a moment, their bodies pressed together. Benedict's hands travelled down to rest on Caro's bottom.

‘I can't wait to see what you think of the bed.'

His hands moved inside the waistband of her shorts and knickers so they were resting on warm flesh. Strong fingers gently kneaded her buttocks, and his mouth found hers, tongue slipping inside. Caro responded back, a warmth growing between her legs that had nothing to do with the heat of the day.

‘I'm all sweaty,' she tried to say. Benedict pulled her in closer.

‘I don't care.'

Caro didn't put up a fight. As her soft contours melted into his strong, hard body she could feel his erection. She smiled blissfully. Benedict had the nicest cock she had ever seen.

‘Mmm . . .'

A shout interrupted the moment.

‘Mummy! Where are you?'

They pulled away and looked at each other. Caro smiled ruefully. ‘Oh well, it was good while it lasted.'

Benedict's gaze didn't waver. ‘We haven't even started yet. I've got plans for you in that bed later.'

Fifteen minutes later she, Velda and Stephen were in Stephen and Klaus's back garden, toasting each other with deliciously chilled glasses of Moët. He and Klaus had squeezed a wooden swing seat into the tiny area, which all three were sitting on. By now it was six in the evening and long shadows were creeping down the walls. The burnt orange light cast a glow over the exotic plants and stepping-stones that had been designed to look like a Japanese botanical garden.

Caro took a sip of champagne. ‘It's so peaceful. I can hardly tell we're in the city.'

‘These walls do keep out the noise,' agreed Stephen, stretching out an elegant ankle. Today he was dressed in immaculate white linen trousers and a lemon cotton shirt, an ever-present striped cravat knotted jauntily around his neck. In his mid-sixties, Stephen had the soft pink cheeks and bright-blue eyes of a fresh-faced schoolboy. He was pure old school, educated at Eton and Cambridge. That was followed by twenty-six years in the art trade before finding his true vocation designing bespoke, sought-after furniture. It was through this he had met Klaus, who was two decades his junior and the estranged son of a German aristocrat. Stephen was as effusive as Klaus was impassive, wore his heart on his sleeve as much as Klaus kept his emotions in check. For seventeen years the pair had been blissfully happy.

‘Yes, I think mews living is going to agree with you,' continued Stephen, leaning forward to top up their glasses. Klaus and Benedict were in the study, where the former was showing Benedict photographs from his recent excursion to Rome, while Milo played happily with his racing cars on the floor of the kitchen.

‘I suppose it suits a certain kind of person,' said Stephen. ‘One does hear these horror stories about picking up the most unexpected sounds from next door on one's baby monitor and such.' His right eyebrow shot up as one of Milo's cars went round a bend loudly. ‘I have to say, at Montague Mews we're rather lucky in that respect. We all just get on with our own thing and live in relative peace and quiet. Of course, it helps there are only five houses, but one doesn't ever feel like one is living in the middle of some ghastly soap opera.'

‘There is a nice feeling about this place,' remarked Caro.

‘A dear friend of mine lives in a mews just off Marylebone High Street,' said Stephen. ‘She always says after coming home from a stressful day at the mercy of the London transport system, as soon as she walks through the door, it all melts away. Describes it as being “enveloped by a warm hug”. An overly sentimental thought, maybe, but I do understand what she means.'

Caro mused. ‘In a funny way, it reminds me of Churchminster.'

Stephen's eyes twinkled. ‘I thought you might say that.'

Caro turned to Velda. ‘How many are there of you next door?'

‘Just myself and my niece, Saffron. She's twenty-four and isn't at home that much, to be honest. Saffron enjoys a rather full social life.' Velda smiled. ‘Actually, we have a connection. Saffron is features writer at
Soirée
, where I believe a friend of yours has just started work.'

‘Of course! Harriet!' Caro exclaimed. ‘It really is a small world. We were all so chuffed for her when she got the job.
Soirée
did a fabulous piece on our village two years ago, when we put on a charity ball and auction.'

‘I remember that, it made all the papers,' said Velda. ‘Saffron enjoys working there, anyway. Gets to interview all sorts of celebrities, and writes about frightfully interesting people.' She looked wry. ‘Unfortunately she does have rather a problem with getting up in the mornings, I think she's had her knuckles rapped for it recently.'

‘She sounds a lot like my youngest sister, Calypso,' smiled Caro. ‘Who lives in No. 1?'

On her way to Stephen's, she had noticed the first house in the mews actually looked rather plain and unloved compared to the rest. No flower boxes adorned the windows, while the downstairs ones had large conspicuous locks and heavy-looking shutters drawn across them.