Authors: Lulu Taylor
It was exactly what she wanted. At the pitch of anticipation, she was ready to let him take control and begin to move hard and deep inside her, filling her up exquisitely. She could feel his balls banging against her buttocks with every long, intense thrust and that alone made her tingle with excitement.
They moved in time together, her hips rising to meet him, to let him go as far as he could inside her. She raked the skin on his back with her nails and bit at his neck and shoulders, urging him on. Suddenly he exploded inside her, pushing in with intensity, slowing as his orgasm possessed him. When he’d regained himself, he smiled down at her.
‘Did I leave you behind? I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it, you were just too incredible. We’ll have to do something about that …’
He moved his hand downwards, sliding his fingers into her and smoothing them upwards over her clitoris. She shivered jerkily as he touched her most sensitive spot, now highly aroused and ready. He sank his mouth on to hers, kissing her deeply at the same time as his
fingers
played over the hard bead of her clit, rubbing and rubbing, exerting just enough pressure to urge it to greater and greater sensation, until an immense wave of pleasure burst over her. She tensed and then gripped him to her, crying ‘Oh, oh, God …’ as the orgasm pulsed through her, releasing all her tension in a glorious climax.
Afterwards, while they were lying in each other’s arms, Poppy murmured, ‘Mmm, I really enjoyed that. It was utterly lovely.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear it,’ George said with a smile.
Poppy laughed. ‘You must have guessed from all the thrashing about and then coming embarrassingly loudly?’
‘I suppose so – but one doesn’t like to assume.’
‘I think it’s a safe bet when someone shouts “Yes, oh my God, yes!”’ She rolled over to face him. ‘You know, you’re really very … hmm … what’s the word? Surprisingly … well, let’s say … a
very
good size.’
George grinned. ‘So I’ve been told, but you know, it’s hard for me to tell. After all, I’ve got no one to compare myself with.’
‘You don’t look at all the type.’
‘What type should I be? A rippling hunky body builder or something?’
‘No.’ She laughed. ‘I don’t know. You just seem quite unassuming and I thought that if a man had a big cock, he was full of machismo and testosterone and “look at me, I’m so great, you’re mine, baby, I’m going to take you to heaven and back” sort of thing.’
‘No.’ George picked up one of her hands in his large one and stroked it. ‘I think you’ll find those men are the ones with the small penises.’
She laughed. ‘Well, I’m a very lucky girl!’
‘Lucky in lots of ways,’ George said, looking her straight in the eye. ‘You’ve got all this for a start – a beautiful flat, your own dosh. And you’re gorgeous, sexy and amazing. That’s a winning ticket in the lottery of life, isn’t it?’
Poppy stared at him for a moment and then said slowly, ‘You might be surprised, actually. I might look like all I have to do is spend my money but it’s not as simple as that.’ She told him about Trevellyan, regaling him with the whole story, finishing up with the fact that she and her sisters had only one year to turn the company around.
George listened intently. ‘What I don’t understand,’ he said finally, ‘is why you’ve only got one year to do it. It sounds like you should have much longer than that. How on earth can you manage to revive a company in twelve months?’
‘Because, according to my mother’s will, if we don’t manage it, the whole company will go to Jecca.’
‘Who’s Jecca?’ asked George.
Poppy paused. She couldn’t help hesitating before she discussed Jecca. It was so ingrained in her that Jecca was not to be mentioned that it was hard to overcome the inbuilt reluctance to talk about her. But what harm could it do to talk about her with George? Surely he was one of the few people who could listen without prejudice.
‘Jecca is Jecca Farnese. Or, I suppose, Jecca Trevellyan. It depends which name she feels like using. She was adopted by my parents when she was just a baby. I suppose to understand why, we have to go right back to the beginning, to the start of Trevellyan. Years ago, when Samuel Trevellyan founded the company, he did it with the help of an Italian man, Farnese, who developed all the original fragrances for the company. He was an astounding talent, apparently, an inspired perfumer. His sons inherited his gift and they stayed in the company, running the laboratories, while my family ran the business side. But there was always a difficulty – the Farnese family were well rewarded for their work but they did not become as rich and successful as our family, even though the company could not have been built without their talent. As the years went by, resentment passed from generation to generation, getting stronger. Then, when my father was a young man, it looked as though the problem could finally be solved. He and Luca Farnese were close friends. They went to the same school and it seemed that the Farnese family had finally been accepted into British society. Luca and my father even went to Cambridge together. It wasn’t long after my father left university that he met my mother and they married. But apparently my mother and Luca did not get on, because his friendship with my father abruptly ended. Luca left his job at Trevellyan and disappeared to Italy, where he was gone for many years.
‘When Luca finally reappeared, it was on the doorstep of Loxton. He had come from Italy where
he
was desperately poor. He’d put all his money into trying to start his own perfume house and now it was gone and he was utterly destitute. He also had a beautiful young wife, Isabella. He threw them both on to my father’s mercy.’
‘What happened?’ George asked, enthralled. ‘Did your parents take them in?’
‘I was only a baby when the Farneses turned up on our doorstep and I don’t remember anything about it. But Tara remembers that night very clearly because it was dark and raining, and these wet, bedraggled people arrived – real orphans of the storm. They stayed but there were terrible rows between my parents, or so I’ve heard. My mother considered Luca Farnese had forfeited his right to any help and that he’d lost his money through his stupidity alone – I don’t think there was any love lost between the two of them. However, my father felt that the Trevellyans were eternally in the debt of the Farnese family, because without their talent, we would have been nothing. So he was obliged to help Luca and Isabella.’
‘How long did they stay?’
Poppy sighed. ‘It all took a terrible turn. Once they were settled in the house – they’d been there a month or so – Luca Farnese got in his car and drove it off a bridge at high speed into the river which was at full flood. He drowned.’
‘Poor bloke,’ George said grimly. ‘It’s hard to imagine how desperate you have to be to do such a dreadful thing.’
‘His wife was devastated and there was no question
of
her leaving after that, of course. She had nowhere to go, no family, no money. And she was pregnant.’
‘With this Jecca.’
Poppy nodded. ‘Yes. When Jecca was born nine months later, Isabella stayed on. I have a vague memory of her. She was very beautiful with long black curly hair, and she sometimes wore a cross and beads round her neck. I can remember her singing to the baby in her own language, lulling her to sleep.’
‘So, if there was Isabella, why did Jecca become a Trevellyan? Why was she adopted?’
‘Because Isabella died.’ Poppy felt a wave of unhappiness wash over her. Just saying the words brought back a feeling of horror, the sensation she must have felt as a young child at that time. It made her think of shouting and tears, anger and despair. She rolled on to her back and stared up at the ceiling, remembering.
‘How did she die?’
‘I don’t really know. It was never talked about. I always had the impression that it was an illness. Something sudden and strange. But as I say, no one ever told me and I never asked. But Jecca stayed with us and grew up with us.’
‘She didn’t have other family?’
‘Yes, but she didn’t know any of them so perhaps it was decided she was better off with us. I’m not sure Jecca thought that, though. She always seemed so unhappy. We tried to treat her as one of us, as our sister, but it was never right. She looked and behaved so differently to us, for one thing, she was so completely
Italian.
Jecca was always aloof, and when she wasn’t aloof, she was angry. She and Jemima particularly hated each other. Jemima had always been Daddy’s favourite but when Jecca arrived … well, it was as though he decided to love her best because she was so alone in the world. He just worshipped Jecca. My mother always favoured me – I suppose I was her baby and I had an illness early in my life that seemed to give me special status. Tara longed for Mummy to love her best, and Jemima longed for Daddy to love
her
best. But she couldn’t compete with Jecca.’
‘So where is Jecca now?’
Poppy rolled over to look at him. ‘I honestly don’t know. She ran away when she was eighteen. She’d been in boarding school, but she left at sixteen. Daddy set her up in a flat in London – he always gave her whatever she wanted. Then, one day, she vanished. We never heard from her again. My father was distraught. He was never the same after she went. I’m sure part of the reason Trevellyan is in its current mess is because Daddy lost his passion for it when Jecca left. I always thought she must have gone back to Italy, to look for her mother’s family.’
‘Didn’t she have her father’s family in this country?’
Poppy shook her head. ‘A few distant cousins perhaps. Her closest Farnese relatives emigrated to South Africa in the seventies.’
‘So she could have gone there.’
‘I suppose so. It’s a mystery.’
‘Have you tried to track her down?’
‘No.’ Poppy ran her hand over his chest. ‘To be
honest,
I don’t care where she is. None of us do. We can’t help but feel she was partly responsible for Daddy’s death – he was literally heartbroken. She certainly changed Mother into a bitter old woman. She ruined our family.’
‘So if the worst happens and she inherits the company, how is she going to find out? Who will tell her?’
Poppy shrugged. ‘The lawyers will have to look for her, I suppose. I’m sure they have ways of finding missing heiresses. I just hope it won’t come to that.’
George pulled her to him. ‘Of course it won’t.’
‘Let’s not talk about Jecca any more. I don’t want to feel depressed.’
George grinned. ‘Her name won’t pass my lips. They’re going to be much more profitably engaged.’ He kissed her, then began to kiss gently down her chest towards her stomach.
Poppy sighed luxuriously, ran her fingers through his hair and lay back.
27
JEMIMA PAUSED FOR
a moment in the doorway of the bar at Claridge’s. She loved this room: its opulent art deco cream, silver and red seemed the epitome of glamour. It made her want to toss her hair like a movie star and drink dry Martinis.
Tonight, she felt good. She’d decided to take a day out of the office and have her last splurge, so she’d spent the day being pampered, massaged, steamed and beautified. Her hair was a fresh gold, blown out into a 1960s style, and she was a wearing a silk cocktail dress in a vivid green with black detailing, also in a sixties style, with a neckline cut high and straight across the shoulders, small cap sleeves and a figure-hugging pencil-cut skirt. She’d accessorised with black Jimmy Choos and a black sequinned clutch bag.
She could see that Tara, looking more demure in a grape chiffon Burberry number with an embroidered cashmere cardigan, had bagged them a booth at the
end
of the room, so she sauntered through the bar towards her.
‘Hello, Jemima! How on earth
are
you? Where have you been? Everyone’s saying you’ve simply
vanished
.’ Annabel Duff-Brown, a socialite whose love of gossip was only matched by her slavish adoration of titles, seemed to have appeared from nowhere and stopped Jemima a few paces in.
‘Hello, Annabel.’ Air kisses were duly exchanged. ‘I’ve been busy actually.’
‘Busy?’ Annabel blinked. ‘Aren’t we all, sweetie? But is that any reason to miss the Grayson-Templeton bash? We all wondered where you were …’ Annabel suddenly cast her a sly expression. ‘Are you spending all your time at Herne with Harry?’ she said, dropping her voice to a husky whisper. ‘How is that old rascal?’
‘Fine, thanks,’ replied Jemima coolly. She wasn’t about to give Annabel what she so obviously wanted – a reaction. Jemima knew that the gossip must have been rife after the events at Rollo’s. No doubt, everyone was enjoying chewing over the details – the drunken behaviour from Harry, the blatant flirting with Letty Whatsit, Jemima fleeing the scene first thing the next morning. She was sure it was providing lots of fun for everyone.
As for Harry, she hadn’t seen or heard from him since that night. All she knew was that whenever she thought about him she felt a stab of such pain that she had to force herself to stop thinking and to close her mind to him. ‘Listen, I can’t stop. Do give my love
to
everyone. Bye, darling.’ She carried on marching past.
Tara waved when she saw her. ‘Hello. Poppy’s here, she’s just in the loo. Oh, look, here she comes.’
Poppy looked beautiful in an A-line leopard-skin-print mini dress, with loose long sleeves. She appeared unusually exotic, her mane of dark hair making her seem very feline.
‘Gosh, you look good,’ Jemima said, frowning.
‘Do you like it?’ Poppy did a twirl. ‘I picked it up in my favourite second-hand shop in Kensington. It’s real seventies!’
‘It’s not just your dress, though I must congratulate you for being bang on trend with that flowing, almost kaftan look, and the animal print. There’s something else …’
‘Yes!’ Tara joined in almost accusingly. ‘You’ve definitely got something about you … I noticed it yesterday.’
‘You’re having sex!’ declared Jemima, sliding on to the red leather banquette and throwing down her clutch bag. ‘There’s no other explanation. I hope this doesn’t mean the ghastly Tom is back on the scene …’