Wicked! (55 page)

‘I’ll take it.’ Vicky grabbed the cordless. ‘Hengist, this place is a-mazing. Thank you so much. The kids are ecstatic. You stayed here as a child, Bertie told us. Are you coming over? Oh, what a shame. Of course, I understand. Research is all. Tintern Abbey. My favourite poem: “That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And dizzy raptures.”

‘OK, I’ll give your love to everyone,’ and after a pause: ‘Mmm, me too.’ Catching sight of Janna’s anguished face she added, ‘Do you want a word with Janna?’ who shook her head frantically. ‘OK, thanks for ringing, enjoy your evening.’ She handed the cordless back to Bertie. ‘Hengist isn’t coming, what a pity. He’s staying near Tintern Abbey doing some research.’

‘“Why, uncle, ’tis a shame”,’ murmured Anatole.

‘Bloody isn’t,’ murmured back Cosmo. ‘When the cat goes arty, the mice begin to party.’

‘Where’s Tintin Abbey?’ asked the Hon. Jack. ‘I always liked Tintin.’

‘Have a drink,’ said Cosmo, handing Janna a huge glass of fruit cup.

How even more amusing to seduce Miss Curtis, who didn’t dwarf him and who was looking unusually tempting. Now that really would crucify Master Alvaston.

Fucking Hengist! Paris, also watching Janna, was aware of a dimmer switch turning off the glow in her face. If only he could comfort her.

The sun at thirty degrees was reddening the castle walls; a short shower of rain had scattered pink rose petals over the grass. Delphinium and campanula rose in blue and violet spires. A most heavenly smell of roasting duck mingled with the sweet, heady scent of lime blossom and philadelphus. Vicky and Gloria, succumbing to laced fruit cup and Anatole’s deep-voiced blandishments, were getting noisy and sillier.

‘I’m dreadfully sorry,’ whispered Janna, ‘I’ve got an absolutely blinding headache – a migraine actually. They come on suddenly, I can’t see out of one eye.’

‘I had one on the opening night of
Romeo and Juliet
,’ cried Vicky, ‘it was all I could do to stagger in. Poor you. Gloria and I’ll hold the fort – or rather the castle.’

Everyone was very solicitous.

‘Go and lie down, miss, come back when you feel better.’

‘Shall I bring you some iced water?’

Janna could see secret relief in many faces. Without her, joy would be truly unconfined. Paris insisted on accompanying her back to her room.

Let me stay, he wanted to beg. I’ll lie down beside you and stroke your forehead as you did mine yesterday.

‘Too much sun,’ mumbled Janna.

‘Do you need a doctor?’

‘I’m fine. You go and have fun. I’ll probably join you again in half an hour.’

‘Sure you’re OK?’

The intensity in his face alarmed her. She shouldn’t have led him on yesterday. She’d only just managed to shut the door on him and bolt it when the tears poured forth. She was overwhelmed with despair at not seeing Hengist and shock that she could no longer conceal the fact she was hopelessly in love with him.

But what the hell was she playing at? Hengist was a married man, no doubt as faithful and constant to sweet Sally as the Atkinson blanket into which she was sobbing. He was also out of her league. She’d tried to cross the class barriers and found, as the Little Mermaid had when she tried to walk on shore, that she was treading on knives.

Then an imperious knock on the door sent her through the roof. It must be Paris back again. She should never have kissed him, but he’d looked so adorable. The knock became a tantivy. Nervously she opened the door a centimetre, but found the shadowy landing was deserted – perhaps it was the Gafellyn ghost.

The banging had become more insistent, coming from the far side of the room. Padding over the flagstones, she found a bottle-green wool curtain and behind it a rounded Norman door, buckling on its hinges. Oh God, was it Joan or raffish Bertie?

Someone was declaiming the Porter’s speech in a strong Welsh accent. ‘“Knock, knock, knock . . .”’

Janna opened this second door an inch, breathed in lemon aftershave and almost fainted as the door was thrust open, nearly concussing her. In the dim light she slowly made out a faded Prussian-blue shirt, a sunburnt throat, and eyes, slittier with laughter than the Chinese Warriors. It was Hengist. Ducking his head, he powered his way into the room and pulled her into his arms.

‘I thought you were staying near Tintern Abbey.’

‘I was, but I couldn’t bear the thought of all those aching joys being past. I suddenly wanted a dizzy rapture.’

‘I thought you fancied Vicky,’ sobbed Janna.

She was so small in her bare feet, Hengist had to pull her chin upwards in order to smile down into her reproachful, bewildered, tearful, mascara-stained face.

‘Dear God,’ he said, ‘from the beginning you’ve been the one I wanted, the object of my desire.’ And when he drew her against him, he was like a great, warm, solid wall; where his shirt was unbuttoned, she felt the burning heat of his body and was shaken by the relentless pounding of his heart.

Then his beautiful, wilful mouth swooped down on hers and she no longer doubted his passion as he kissed her on and on, his big hands closing round her small waist, then moving upwards to caress her high bouncy breasts, then moving down to cup her equally bouncy bottom. Finally, gasping for breath, he buried his face in her clean, silky curls.

‘You utterly gorgeous child. Christ, I’ve fought this.’ Then, laughing half ruefully: ‘This is an awfully big adventure weekend.’

Janna escaped and paced round the room, heart battling with her head.

‘How did you get in here?’

‘By a secret passage. It comes out on the edge of the woods. Bertie and I were at school together; I used to stay in the holidays. I can get into every room in this castle.’

‘And probably did,’ snapped Janna, raging with insecurity, frightened her legs wouldn’t hold her any more. ‘I cannot believe this.’

‘You soon will.’ Hengist swiftly unzipped her speckled dress, unhooked her bra, then, gathering her up, dropped her on the blue and silver patchwork quilt.

‘We can’t,’ stammered Janna. ‘Sally? The party? How did you know I was here?’

‘I tried to ring you but your mobile was switched off. Bertie said you’d sloped off with a headache. You have the sweetest body, look at those adorable boobs.’

Lying down beside her, he swept back her hair, kissed her forehead and little snub nose, then her lips again, then her nipples, slowly, luxuriously, sensuously. The hand creeping lazily between her legs was so sure.

‘Down comes the drawbridge,’ he murmured, pulling off her knickers.

In turn he smelt so clean and healthy, and his face was so smooth and newly shaven – Janna was so used to beards and grating stubble – his glorious broad-shouldered body so powerful, his hair so springy yet silky. As he stroked and fingered her, leaving her quivering with longing, he made no attempt to undress himself.

‘I really like Sally,’ muttered Janna.

‘Hush. Sally’s my problem.’

As he drew her into a fairy-tale world inside the star-spangled blue curtains, any principle fled. Through the narrow window, she could see Venus, a glittering silver medal pinned on the deepening blue breast of the night.

‘You do want this, darling?’ Hengist’s hand was roving further afield.

‘Oh please, yes,’ Janna gasped. ‘I’m stunned, that’s all. I didn’t realize it was an option. I haven’t slept with anyone since Stew.’

‘I should hope not – you were saving yourself for me.’

‘I’m out of practice.’

‘We must exchange best practice,’ murmured Hengist, spitting on his fingers, finding her clitoris, caressing so gently and expertly.

‘I’ll give you best practice,’ cried a fired-up Janna.

Wriggling out of his embrace, she took over, shoving Hengist back on the bed. Removing his loafers, kissing his bare feet, swiftly unbuttoning his shirt, kissing the dark brown tuft of chest hair, she licked his nipples and his belly button as she undid his belt and unzipped and removed his trousers. For a moment his red check boxer shorts were pegged by a splendidly excited cock, then he eased free and was divinely naked beneath her.

Clambering over his body like a squirrel, she kissed, caressed, sucked and licked until he was moaning in delight.

‘For a head, Miss Curtis, you give exquisite head. Aaah . . .’ Reaching down, he grabbed her waist and, pulling her up the bed, plunged his splendid rock-hard penis up inside her, which she had no problem accepting in full because she was so bubbling over with excitement.

‘Aaah,’ groaned Hengist again as her muscles gripped and released him, squeezing and coaxing, ‘like the Bourbons, you’ve forgotten nothing. I’m going to be so selfish, darling, I cannot hold out a second longer, you’ll have to catch the next bus. Oh, my Christ,’ he shouted, ‘here comes the drop goal,’ and exploded inside her.

For an age it seemed, they lay giggling and in shared ecstasy.

‘Hang out our banners on the outward walls; The cry is still, “he comes”,’ sighed Hengist. ‘Oh my darling. That was even better than scoring at Twickenham.’

As he turned to kiss her, she was made happier by the intense happiness on his face.

‘Now, I’m going to make you come lots,’ he whispered. And he did.

Time stopped – fantastic, mind-blowing sex blotting out everything.

Under a weeping willow, whose leaves caressed her far more tenderly, Pearl was seduced by Cosmo, a coupling as brutal and perfunctory as Janna’s had been ecstatic.

Retreating into the castle to wash, Pearl reflected it was a shame Cosmo had used a condom or she might have fallen pregnant and qualified for a free flat. At least Cosmo had said he loved her. She hoped Jade wouldn’t be angry her wraparound cardigan had been torn.

54

After a glorious dinner, the plates had been stacked and everyone had drifted into the garden to dance under the stars, to snog in the bushes and, because it was such a hot, muggy night, to strip off and leap into the pool. Vicky and Gloria were far too drunk and giggly to worry that it was too soon after dinner to swim.

The scent of philadelphus and lime flower grew headier; more moths dived like kamikaze pilots into the lights round the pool; Jack and Kylie had retreated to the shrubbery; Lando and Junior were playing croquet, trying to hit each other’s ankles.

Bertie, who’d gone off to see his mistress, had no intention of returning before dawn.

Paris, wearing just shorts, lay on the grass, admiring the stars; Venus was setting. Above him, the constellation Hercules, arms outstretched, mighty thighs apart, wrestled with his labours. Paris was worried about Janna; she’d been gone three hours. He decided to check her room.

He would have liked to clean his teeth, but someone had nicked his toothbrush. Returning to the dining room, he grabbed and bit into a Granny Smith, poured Janna a glass of orange juice loaded with ice, and set out. Normally at this hour, he’d be confined to his room at Oaktree Court, and he luxuriated in the cold dew beneath his feet and the night air warm on his bare shoulders.

Gradually the screams and shouts round the pool receded. In the moat below, the water-lily leaves gleamed like armour; to the right loomed the castle. Janna’s lights were turned off; she must be asleep. O, that he were the pillow beneath her head.

Then he froze as a man appeared at her window, naked to the waist with a magnificent chest and heroic head thrown back, smiling triumphantly and stretching his arms in ecstasy. Not Hercules down from the skies – but Hengist. Then he turned and was engulfed once more in the darkness of the room.

Paris slumped against the castle, body drenched in sweat, heart crashing, ice frantically clattering against the glass in his hand. The whore, the slag! How could she? Women complained of headaches when they didn’t want sex – and she’d kissed him first yesterday and not gone into a flurry of outrage, but had parted her lips when he’d kissed her back.

Paris gave a howl and hurled the glass against the wall. Bagley and Larks – ‘a plague on both your houses’. In a daze, he staggered back into the castle, heading for the bar. Grabbing a bottle of vodka, he filled a half-pint glass, splashed bitter lemon on the top and downed it in one, then downed a second, spluttering:

‘The bitch, the slag.’

Picking up a patterned orange Chinese vase cringing in an alcove, he hurled it against a big gilt mirror, splintering them both. A Tang dog flew out of the window. Gathering up a mahogany side table, Paris hurled it at the bar, smashing glasses, bottles, then swept more glasses on to the floor.

‘Fucking slag.’

A bamboo plant had taken off, crashing down on to the keys of the piano, as Rocky wandered in, his mad bull’s face crimson, his red curls askew, a bottle of Grand Marnier in his hand.

‘What yer doing, man?’

‘Wrecking this pervy nob’s castle.’

‘Right,’ yelled Rocky, picking up a large flower arrangement and hurling it against a tallboy. Then he ran into the dining room and started on the debris of duck carcasses and bowls of potatoes and raspberries stacked on the sideboard. There was a sickening crunch as a pile of Rockingham plates fell to the floor. Like Duncan’s blood, summer pudding was soon dripping down the pale blue Chinese wallpaper.