Vintage (31 page)

It was more like a miniature spa than a bathroom. The enormous tub could fit six (“supermodels,” as Bill had bragged) but to Christina there was no greater luxury than having the place to herself.

She turned on the water while she took off her makeup at the double basin. Not that there was much makeup left: more smudges of earth and smears of dried grape. But Christina wasn’t as bothered as she might have been once upon a time. The face looking back at her was tired but radiant. Happy. She picked a few stray fragments of leaf and twig from her hair and pinned it up out of the way.

The bath filled quickly. The scent of Christina’s
favorite bath oil rose up from the steaming water. She shrugged off her clothes, leaving them in a pile where they fell, and stepped into the tub.

This is true luxury, Christina thought as she slid down so that the water covered her shoulders. The bath oil that shimmered on the water’s surface coated her tanned skin with a glitter. She tipped her head back against a folded towel and closed her eyes. Naturally, Bill had fitted the bathroom with a fabulous stereo. The soft sound of a jazz band Christina had seen in New Orleans drifted from eight carefully positioned speakers.

For a while, she just lay there, remembering the harvest with tired pleasure. Feeling so good that she began to worry she might actually fall asleep in the water, she reached for the washcloth on the side of the tub. With long gliding strokes she began to clean away the day. She smoothed the washcloth over her shoulders, down her elegant arms, across her toned, flat stomach and strong tanned legs.

Then, unbidden, a memory of another bathtub entered her mind. Several years earlier. Maybe even more than fifteen. This bathtub was in London. In a flashy hotel. She was just starting out as a model. She was dating Rocky Neel. He’d picked her out of her modeling agency’s look book and asked for her number. He had an album at the top of the charts. Christina was only too happy to go for dinner.

A week or so later, he invited her to join him on a gig. The band was playing as part of some big benefit at the Albert Hall. Did she want to go to London?

Of course she did. Christina had never been to London. Rocky flew her there first class. And while he practiced for the benefit, she saw the sights. And made the most of his suite in a Park Lane hotel.

The bath in that hotel was almost as big as this one. A
rarity, apparently, for England. With an hour alone to kill before the rock star took her out to dinner, Christina ran herself a bath. And discovered the Jacuzzi jets.

The soundtrack to that bath wasn’t soft jazz. It was the hard rock that had taken her lover from obscurity in the west of England to international fame. But even at full volume the thumping bass and screaming guitars were drowned out by the sound of the Jacuzzi jets.

They were ridiculously powerful. As Christina tried to lay back and relax in the bath, the jets pummeled her body like a dozen tiny fists. She shifted her position to spare a small bruise on one of her thighs—she’d walked into the edge of a table after one too many Southern Comforts. And it was in this new position, with her knees slightly drawn up and to one side, that she found an altogether more pleasurable way to be massaged.

“Oh!” she gasped involuntarily. The jet that had been pounding on her bruise was now playing right between her legs. Christina felt a small furtive shiver as she shifted once more so that the jet was suddenly right against her clitoris. The results were instantaneous. Christina felt such a rush of blood to that part of her body, she thought she might faint. She reached out for the handles on the side of the tub and forced herself to remain in the same position though the intensity of sensation could drive her insane.

“Oh … my …  God … ”

Christina was just about ready to pass out when the jets stopped.

“Shit.”

Disappointed, she sat up. The water eddied to calm. Christina looked down at her body. Her breastbone was flushed. But not just with the heat. Her nipples were hard and pink. Christina pressed the Jacuzzi button again.

This time, there was no messing around. Christina got herself straight into position. She gasped as the jet massaged her closer to ecstasy. She reached down and parted her labia so that her clitoris was totally exposed. She closed her eyes and thought about her rock star lover. Though even his legendary tongue couldn’t work this fast, this firmly.

She slipped a couple of fingers inside herself. And soon she felt the first harbingers of an orgasm as the muscles of her vagina contracted around her fingers. A pulsating rhythm. Gentle at first but gathering speed and strength. Meanwhile Christina’s legs began to shake. Stars danced behind her eyelids. The sound of hot blood pumping filled her head as her heart beat faster.

Finally her orgasm overtook her. She was drowning in her own excitement. Shuddering and moaning as sensations rushed from one end of her body to the other. Finally, she let out a peal of exultant laughter.

Then she opened her eyes.

Her lover was standing at the bathroom door. He leaned against the frame. Arms folded.

“Having fun?” he asked.

Christina sat up as quickly as she could. But there was no disguising what she had been up to. There were bubbles all over the bathroom floor. The entire room was soaked.

“I’ve ruined the bathroom,” said Christina.

Rocky just laughed. “Beats throwing the television out the window.” He unzipped his trousers to reveal an impressive hard-on. “Can I join you in there?”

Over fifteen years later, in her bathtub at Villa Bacchante, Christina emerged from the bubbles feeling slightly shy but very, very refreshed. Was it the harvest that had transformed
her? Regardless of the cause, for the first time since she found out about Bill’s indiscretion with that call girl, Christina had felt aroused. And happy. And it was good. Maybe it was time to get out there again.

F
roggy Bottom had never looked lovelier. The vines had full leaf coverage now and the grapes were growing fat. Set against the blue of the sky, the green of the vines was like the green in a child’s drawing. Vibrant. As if each leaf were lit from the inside. But all was not well. As the date of the harvest approached, so too did the date of Kelly’s rave.

It got out of control quickly. By the time Guy was able to convince Hilarian that Kelly was serious, news of the planned event was already out on the Internet.

“You’ve got to stop her,” Guy told Hilarian. “Surely the trustees can kick her out.”

Hilarian had no doubt that they would, given half a chance. Just that week he’d traveled to Slough for a meeting with Reginald and Georgina at the offices of Reginald’s accountancy firm. The legitimate Mollison children were squabbling over the will, and somehow Reginald had heard about Kelly’s drunken debacle at the wine fair. He wanted to cut Kelly’s allowance to teach her a lesson. Hilarian had argued long and hard to give the girl some leeway.

“If we treat her like a child, she’ll act like one,” said Hilarian.

“Surely the point is that she’s already acting like one,” said Georgina smugly.

Hilarian didn’t fancy seeing that smug look again.

It was quite a feat he’d pulled off that afternoon, making sure that Kelly got her whole allowance that month. And now he had to deal with Guy’s anguish too. He tried to calm him down. Hilarian still hoped that Kelly would lose interest in her plans before they came to fruition.

“I’m sure there is some way we can come to a compromise—” he began.

“Compromise!” Guy wailed. “I can’t compromise with my grapes. If Kelly’s rave goes ahead, everything will be ruined. Froggy Bottom will be finished.”

Hilarian crossed the courtyard in a grim mood. He found Kelly lounging in the sitting room with some of her friends. A fire was blazing in the inglenook. Hilarian thought he recognized one of Dougal’s eighteenth-century dining chairs among the kindling.

“A word?” He beckoned Kelly into the kitchen. She rolled her eyes at her friends but followed him all the same.

Half an hour later, Hilarian let himself out of the farmhouse and stood in the courtyard looking pensive. Watching from the window Guy assumed the worst. Indeed, Hilarian didn’t have any good news.

“It seems we’re too late,” said Hilarian. “Five hundred people have already registered their interest on the website.”

“So? That doesn’t mean anything. It still can’t go ahead. What did you say to her?”

“There wasn’t much I could say,” said Hilarian. “She was feeling rather belligerent.”

Guy punched the sofa. “So you’re letting her go ahead with it? You’ve got to tell the other trustees and get her written out of the will. Get her out of here, Hilarian. She’s ruining this vineyard. It’s either her or me.”

Hilarian just shook his head. “Calm down, Guy. I said I would come up with something and I will but I’m not going to tell the other trustees. We don’t want them to come down here and start interfering. It won’t just be Kelly they try to get rid of, believe me. They’d love an excuse to take this place out of my care, and if they take over the administration of Froggy Bottom, you won’t find them anywhere near so understanding and accommodating of your plans.”

“What does it matter?” Guy said dramatically. “If the alternative is that all my hard work is ruined anyway.”

“Get your wallet,” said Hilarian. “We’re going into Little Bottom, to the Dragon’s Head.”

“I don’t need a drink,” said Guy.

“I know. But there’s someone I think you should meet. Bring a case of the 2007.”

A month later, the morning of the rave arrived.

Hearing a car horn, Kelly stirred beneath the duvet. Wiping her sleep-crusted eyes, she knelt up on her bed and looked out through her window at the farmyard below. She saw Gina getting out of a van. Gina’s brother, Antony, and another three girls (he always traveled with a harem) climbed out after her. Kelly assumed the van was full of Antony’s DJ equipment. So far so good. But then Guy appeared. He was wearing those hideous dungarees and carrying a big pair of secateurs. Hilarian followed.

“Oh God,” thought Kelly, imagining a row that ended with somebody getting their nuts cut off. She saw Guy stride across to Antony and mouth something at him. Kelly couldn’t hear what was being said but she felt certain
from the way Guy had his chest puffed out that it was aggressive. Antony was bigger than Guy by a good five inches but he was nodding warily. Guy carried on talking, waving his arms and the secateurs about. He was getting in Antony’s face. Hilarian stepped forward and put his hand on Guy’s shoulder. Kelly’s only champion looked serious as he too addressed Antony. Kelly felt her heart beat faster as the adrenaline began to rush.

“Shit.”

Kelly forced herself to get up. She quickly swapped her pajama bottoms for jeans. She had to get downstairs and tell Guy and Hilarian to back off. This was her place and if she wanted to have a party she would. The bloody grapes could rot for all she cared.

“For fuck’s sake, Guy,” she started loudly as she stormed out of the house in her fluffy slippers, stepping in a puddle en route. “Who the fuck do you think you are? We’re having a party, whether you like it or not. You can come if you want to. But if you don’t want to, you can just fuck off back to your shed. This is my sodding vineyard.”

Guy, Gina, Antony and the three girls all stared.

“Calm down, Kelly,” said Hilarian.

“Yeah, babe,” said Antony. “Chill out.”

Kelly briefly glanced at Antony in confusion but soon she was back on her rant. “You’re on my back all the fucking time,” she shouted at Guy. “And you,” she rounded on Hilarian, “you’re not much better. Always treating me like I’m some kind of kid. I’m a grown adult and I do what I want. What I want to do is have a party. I don’t give a shit about the grapes.”

“We do,” said one of the girls suddenly. “We’re going to help pick them. It’ll be great.”

“Good girl,” said Hilarian.

“Yeah. It’s, like, something I’ve always wanted to do,” said another one. “I’ve seen it on TV loads of times.”

“If we all pitch in,” said Hilarian, “we could get it done in a couple of days. And it will be fun, I promise you. I’m glad you young people are seeing sense.”

The girls nodded.

“I want to jump up and down on the grapes in my bare feet!” said the third girl. Kelly guessed she was already stoned.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you there,” said Guy. “We’ve got machinery to do the pressing nowadays.”

“Have you gone mad?” Kelly stared at Antony’s girlfriends. “Come on. Let’s start unloading the stuff.”

“The all-nighter’s not happening, Kelly,” said Hilarian.

“It’s for the best,” Antony agreed. “Seriously.” Antony looked nervously toward the track into Froggy Bottom. Kelly followed his gaze and saw a police car making slow progress down toward the farm.

“What’s happening? What are you talking about?” said Kelly.

“Get your boots on,” said Gina, who was looking at Guy with something approaching love. “We’re harvesting grapes.”

What Kelly didn’t know at that point was that Hilarian’s friend and fellow drinker at the Dragon’s Head was the local chief constable. A case of wine and a little negotiation and a police blockade had been set up to turn all prospective ravers back toward Brighton, but only after a couple of crucial carloads had been allowed through. Gina, Antony and his harem had been allowed to evade arrest under the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act on the condition that they, and the next twenty people to arrive would hand themselves over to Guy to form part of a harvesting crew instead.