In The Name Of Love (17 page)

Joyce was up late on Sunday morning, and her first action
was to go to Grant's room where she was shocked to find it empty, with the bed
still made. The plan was for him to return here, once he managed to pack Beryl
off, and she'd left her door ajar, hoping to find him in her bed when she woke.

She stomped downstairs and made herself a pot of tea, while
she read the morning papers. There were no reports about last night, but she
wasn't expecting any in these early editions. She decided to have breakfast and
go to the station for the late editions of the London newspapers.

After breakfast, she rang the hotel, but the receptionist
said, "Mr. Wilson has left a message that he wants no calls, and is not to be
disturbed." Joyce thanked the woman, and banged down the receiver as she said,
"If he's spent the night with that woman…" Her anger and upset brought tears to
her eyes, and she checked her face in the hall mirror.

When she went upstairs, she saw Cyril's bedroom door closed
and she could hear April's happy giggles. This normally made her smile, but
today it only made her sad, because she suddenly felt alone. She and April had
become good friends and Joyce had managed to get her a part-time job in a
Nursing Home.

It was charity work, and April had to take the bus there each
day, but she loved helping the sick and wounded people, and came home each
afternoon with a broad smile and many stories to tell over dinner.

Dressed in her best tweed suit and the hat with a large
green feather, she left the house a little after ten and jumped into the
waiting taxi.

"Take me to the station, first, please driver."

It didn't take her long to find the right newspaper; the
late edition of the News of the World carried the story with photographs on the
front page, and she purchased two copies.

"Right, now we go to the Royal Oak Hotel, please."

"Okay miss," said the driver, throwing his half-smoked
cigarette out of the window, before pulling away from the kerb.

There weren't any guests in the lobby as she made her way to
the lifts, but before the doors opened she heard a voice.

"Oh, hello Mrs. W., how are you this morning," said the
hotel manager, in his squeaky voice that always grated on Joyce – as did being
greeted as an initial, rather than by a name.

"Good morning, Mr. Beresford. I was just going up to see my
friend."

He raised his finger to his lips, and gestured for her to
enter his office. He looked around the lobby to see who was watching, before he
closed the door.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"Oh, there's no problem right now, but there may well be
later today," he said, nodding to the television set in the corner of his
office, where Joyce could see images of Grant and Beryl dancing, and then
together in bed. She was glad the sound was turned down.

"Ah, I understand. Then perhaps it is better I don't go up
to his room right now. Has he had breakfast, yet?"

"Oh yes, they ordered a full English breakfast…" his voice
tailed off as he realised his error, and then gathering himself he said, "She
has not left the room, just yet."

"I see, enjoying a quiet morning are they?"

"She's reserved a luncheon table for two in the dining room
at 1:00 p.m.," he said, looking up at the wall clock, which showed five minutes
before midday.

"Mr. Beresford, how would you like to have a really busy
hotel for the rest of the day?"

Not knowing what she meant, he just nodded.

"Fine, well at fifteen minutes before one o'clock, send
somebody to their room with this newspaper, and tell your guests that is with
the compliments of Cyril Worthington," she said, handing over a folded copy of
the News of the World.

"Right now, it would be a good idea to send a messenger over
to Miss Bainbridge's house – here is the address," she scribbled on a piece of
paper. "Tell your messenger to inform the television crews and reporters
outside the house, that Mr. Wilson and Miss Bainbridge will be available for
interview in your dining room at one o'clock sharp. That should fill the room."

Beresford rubbed his hands and said, "Thank you, I shall do
exactly as you say."

"Make sure you charge full rate for all the food and drink
supplied to these media people. They're all on very high expense accounts, you
know."

"I will, don't you worry about that. I know exactly how to
handle the media," he said, going over to the mirror, and throwing a stray lock
of hair over his balding pate.

"Now, there's one more thing you can help me with."

"Anything, my dear lady. How can I be of service?"

"Find me a nice corner table in the restaurant where I will
not be noticed, but can see all the shenanigans as they occur."

"Come with me; I have the ideal spot behind some potted
ferns…"

Despite the summons she had received, and the intrusion into
the bedroom by three men while her naked body was just achieving its first
climax with a man, Beryl slept well in the arms of her beau. She felt him stir
once or twice, but was awake in an instance, "What is it, my dear, can't you
sleep?"

"I'm just going to the bathroom," he said.

When Grant returned to the bed, she put out the lights and
wrapped herself around him, saying, "You make me so happy, and I love you so
much."

"Yes, my darling, I feel the same way," said Grant, trying
to turn over, but finding her grip on his body too strong. Within minutes, they
were both asleep again.

In the bright early morning sunshine creeping beneath the
worn curtains, she was able to examine her lover's face, and then she gently
kissed each cheek and finally his mouth.

"What is it, my darling?" he said, lifting his head.

"Relax, my dear, I'm just giving you a morning kiss."

He dropped his head back onto the pillow with a loud sigh,
and Beryl smiled as a plan came to mind. She moved her naked body so it lay
along the top of him, with her thin legs astride his waist, and started to kiss
and nuzzle his neck as she slid down his body with slow, measured movements.

Inch by inch, she kissed and licked his chest and stomach. She felt him harden
between her breasts, and with gentle movements from side-to-side she increased
his morning erection two-fold, or more.

When her mouth reached his solid erection, she held it in
her hands while her long tongue licked it from end to end. She opened her
mouth, and shivered with excitement as she felt the hard cock ease past her
tight lips until the glans pushed deep into her throat.

She held his penis in her hand as she kneeled above him, and
with her other hand she opened the moist sides of her vagina. With a slow
downward movement she allowed about a quarter of his cock inside her, and
leaning forward she put her hands over his nipples, letting her arms take the
weight of her body.

Beryl smiled down at the inquisitive look on his face and
said, "Relax, Grant, we're going to make the most wonderful love together. This
time I will let you know when my climax is coming, so you can enjoy your orgasm
at the same time."

She smiled at him, but when he didn't respond, she shook her
arms on his chest. "Well, isn't that what you wanted last night?"

He seemed to snap out of his reverie, and gave her a wan
smile as he said, "Yes, my darling, that will be wonderful."

"Right, well you just lay back and relax for a bit, while I
do all the work. When my climax starts, I want you to get into action – okay?"

"Yes, my darling," he said, with a dutiful smile.

Beryl set about her task with energy. Kissing first his
nipples, and then giving him one of her infamous wet kisses on the mouth. All
the while, she kept up the rhythmic movements of her body on his erect penis.
Up and down, round and about, and side to side she went, and before many
minutes elapsed, she started to increase her speed enormously.

"Oh, Grant, quickly, I'm coming…"

She felt him grab her sides and pump her up and down on his
rock-hard cock, making her squeal with delight. "More, my sweetheart, more!"

Her climax slammed through her body like a gusher in a
desert, as she felt him rocking her body up and around, while he cried, "Yes,
yes, now, my darling!"

When he sat up and held her tight in his arms, she felt all
the power and energy pent up in her body surge out through her pussy. At the
same time, she was aware of his strong spurts of semen filling her vagina and
seeping out over her thighs.

Putting her hands to his face she said, "That was wonderful,
sweetheart. I'm sure we just made the most beautiful baby." She rewarded him
with a long wet kiss, and didn't see the light in his eyes fade away.

"See who is at the door, dear," said Beryl, putting some
more lipstick on her narrow lips.

Grant left his chair by the window, where he'd been waiting
for her to prepare for lunch for the past thirty minutes, and strode over to
the door.

"Newspaper, courtesy of Cyril Worthington," said the
spotty-faced youth, rushing away down the corridor the moment the paper was in
Grant's hands.

"What did he say?" screeched Beryl, rushing over to Grant
and snatching the newspaper from his hands, while he was closing the door.

"He said it was from Cyril Worthington."

"I know that, I heard him. Do you think I'm deaf," she
shouted, as she spread the News of the World across the bed and stared at the
headlines.

The headline screamed its message, supported by a bold
sub-heading that read "Miss Beryl Bainbridge, erstwhile candidate for Mayor of
Stockport, Cheshire, steals a man from his pregnant wife." The heavily edited
photographs of her naked body on top of an equally naked Grant left very little
to the imagination, while the copy below completed the whole sordid story in
great detail.

She read the story through a number of times and then
quietly and efficiently folded the newspaper back into its original folds,
before placing it on the coffee table by the window. Grant made no effort to
pick it up, and sat in his chair, waiting.

She held out her hand to him, gesturing for him to stand and
said, "My Daddy always said that when one door closes, another one opens. He
was right. Our careers in Stockport seem to be over, my dear, but we have each
other, and together we shall win through. What do you say?"

"You're right, of course, my darling," said Grant, totally
lost for words, and no doubt wondering why this silly woman couldn't see that
this event was only the first pebble in the avalanche racing towards them.

"Come along, then, let's go down for lunch," she said, with
a brittle smile.

Mr. Beresford pushed the last of the reporters through the
double doors from the dining room to the adjacent ballroom. He took a last
glance around the almost empty dining room, nodded to the maître d' and
closed the door.

He held up his hands to the massed throng of photographers,
cameramen, and reporters and put his finger to his lips.

"Quiet now, they've left their room and are on their way
down. Once they're safely seated at their table at the rear of the dining room,
I will allow you into the room. I would like to take this opportunity of
thanking you for cooperating, because if just one of you stringers and
freelancers had gone up to their room for a scoop, they would be away."

With a final finger to his lips, he went back into the
dining room just in time to see Grant and Beryl enter the dining room. He saw
the maître d' usher them towards their table, but then the woman
stopped and turned to the corner where Mrs. Worthington was hiding.

"I thought I recognised that green hat and feather. Good
afternoon, Mrs. Worthington. Do thank Mr. Worthington for his newspaper, it's
not often I get to read the scandal sheets." She turned to take Grant's arm and
without giving Joyce a chance to reply, said, "Come along, Grant darling, I'm
starving."

Beresford saw Mrs. Worthington's face go red with anger, and
he held his arms out from his side and shrugged his shoulders in apology for
the chance meeting. Seeing the couple were now seated and looking through the
menus, he went over to the ballroom doors and pulled them open.

The avalanche roared in, with cameras flashing, lights
glaring, and notebooks held aloft as they struggled for position around the
guest's table. A wide pathway had been arranged, and the BBC dolly with camera
rolling, thread its way towards the front. Questions were fired at the couple
non-stop from every corner of the room.

"Miss Bainbridge would you like to say a few words to BBC
North?" said an attractive young lady holding her microphone too high.

"What have you got to say to the pregnant wife whose husband
the press say you've stolen?"

"Are you still going to stand for Mayor, Miss Bainbridge?"

"Have you seen the photos in the papers, where you and your
partner are naked?"

Beryl did not answer any question, but looked around the
room with great interest. She leaned over to Grant and whispered in his ear,
and saw him nod his agreement. She then stood up with a calm expression on her
face, but a steely look in her eyes.

She held up her hand with the confidence of a person used to
holding meetings, and controlling them. The questions stopped, and chatter
subsided until the room was quiet, with everybody waiting for her to speak.

"My fiancé and I would like to express our distaste at the
atrocious behaviour of Mr. Beresford in arranging for this invasion of our
lunch. We both look forward to answering all your questions at a more
convenient time. Meanwhile, we will now take our meal in the privacy of our
room."

Grant stood behind her, and as she left the table he took
her arm and walked by her side, pushing away some of the more intrusive
reporters with their questions. The lift doors were open, and once inside he
stopped members of the media from entering, and in minutes they were in the
seclusion of their room.