Destroying Angel (26 page)

Wrenching her trousers open, Paulette got onto her back and squirmed beneath the couple. She pulled her damp knickers aside and masturbated while watching her delicious friend being sodomised. Just above her face his dangling balls slapped against Susan’s vacant pussy.

She spread her own pussy-lips and rubbed her clitoris. She lifted her head and managed to kiss his balls, her nose pressed against Susan’s pussy, the scent rich and intensely feminine. Transferring her attention to her friend, she began to lick. Both Susan and Oswald were grunting and moaning above her.

‘I’m going to come…!’ Susan squealed.

‘As I am!’ panted MacNaughton, suddenly thrusting even harder.

Paulette felt Susan’s thighs tighten around her head, signalling the onset of orgasm. The balls buffeting her face suddenly jerked and MacNaughton groaned loudly.

Paulette felt her own orgasm coming as MacNaughton slowly pulled his cock out of Susan’s bottom. It emerged inch by inch, slippery with butter and sperm. Paulette’s eyes locked onto the wondrous sight as her fingers worked in her pussy. At last the full glory of his penis emerged, still impressive despite losing some of its rigidity.

Unable to resist the temptation, Paulette dreamily raised herself and wormed her tongue into Susan’s empty anus. She came too, with her friend’s gorgeous soft bottom grinding back onto her perspiring face.

‘That’s it,’ Susan said, laying down her pen. ‘The figures show clearly that the volumes coming into de Vergy Fine Wines from the co-op at Choray account for all their sales. It looks innocent until you see the actual wines. With Oswald’s back-up we should have a clear case, although I’d still like some better proof on the dates for Sowerby’s poisoning.’

‘Don’t worry, they’ll come,’ Paulette replied, a little distractedly. ‘Look, Susan…’

‘What’s up?’

‘Look… I mean, I know she’s guilty of fraud and everything, but do we have to involve Annabella?’

Susan looked at her friend, a little disappointedly. She knew Paulette had a soft spot for Annabella de Vergy, but that didn’t detract from the woman’s involvement in a serious crime. She looked down at Paulette, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking undeniably dejected.

‘Yes, Paulette, we do,’ Susan asserted. ‘I know Ruddock’s the real villain, but she must know about both the murder and the arson.’

‘Maybe. But even if she does she’s probably only keeping quiet—’

‘To save her own skin,’ Susan broke in, ‘which is inexcusable. I’m sorry, but she has to be reported too.’

‘Okay,’ Paulette sighed, ‘I suppose you’re right.’ She rose elegantly and stretched. ‘Now I need a long soak, and you can be my maid, in accordance with our deal.’

Susan was happy to make a fuss of her friend and take her mind off the scandal for a while. She ran the bath, and then when Paulette followed her into the bathroom she took great pleasure in undressing her. She was still a little excited in the aftermath of their afternoon encounter, and her fingers trembled slightly as she unbutton Paulette’s blouse and they touched the firm swell of her breasts beneath the soft material.

When both naked, they kissed and cuddled for a while, and then shared a hot bath, with Susan gleefully enacting the role of subservient maid throughout.

Once scrubbed and dried, Paulette left Susan in her fluffy bathrobe to tidy up and rinse the tub. Having done as she was ordered, Susan padded through to the bedroom and found Paulette looking deliciously sexy in a short skirt that left most of her shapely legs bare, and a top that clearly struggled to contain her breasts. She was toying with Susan’s handcuffs.

‘Take your robe off,’ she ordered curtly. ‘I want you naked.’

Susan willingly did as she was told.

‘Wrists.’

Susan obediently held her arms out and Paulette snapped the cuffs into place. She was then told to get on the bed and curl up, tucking her knees to her chin. As she complied she wondered what mischievous things Paulette would do to her once she was completely helpless.

Paulette gave no indications of her intent, verbal or otherwise, but fixed Susan into tight bondage with a workmanlike thoroughness. Susan’s legs were tied with a belt so firmly that she could do no more than squirm uselessly where she lay.

Paulette rummaged in the linen basket until she found a pair of red panties. These she stuffed into Susan’s mouth and tied in place with a scarf. Susan could taste Paulette on them, something she found especially humiliating. The final touch was a linen shoe-bag pulled down over her head and tied beneath her chin. Unable to move, talk or see, Susan waited for Paulette to begin whatever torment she had in mind.

‘There we are,’ she heard her friend say. ‘You do look inviting. Anyway, I’m going out now, so be a good girl and don’t wet the bed.’

A moment later Susan heard the front door slam and realised she really had been left alone. What on earth was Paulette playing at? They’d certainly never played a game like this before.

Paulette ran down the stairs, her eyes brimming with tears of guilt. The door-latch failed to catch behind her, but she didn’t notice. Susan would be furious, she knew, but in the end she simply couldn’t let Annabella go to prison.

Annabella was refined and elegant, subtle and sensitive. Prison would destroy her. All she had done was sell ordinary wine to people fool enough to think more of what it said on a label than what their palate told them. It might warrant a fine, but not imprisonment, which was what Annabella would get – if only because of her association with the far more wicked Philip Ruddock. Susan would forgive her eventually, she was sure. Her friend would be unable to resist her method of apology.

Realising she didn’t have Susan’s car keys, Paulette hesitated. She stood indecisively for a moment, then hurried in the direction of the tube station, unable to face returning to the flat for them.

Twenty minutes later she was in Little Venice, ringing Annabella de Vergy’s doorbell.

‘Paulette Richards?’ Annabella said, clearly surprised as she opened the door.

‘Can I come in?’ Paulette blurted. ‘It’s very important.’

‘Of course,’ Annabella replied, moving aside. ‘Come through to the kitchen. Whatever is the matter?’

‘You – you’ve got to get out of the country,’ Paulette stammered.

‘I’m sorry?’ Annabella responded, sounding amused and astonished.

‘I’m serious. We know all about the fake wines and the relabelling and the brandy—’

‘Slow down, slow down – you’re babbling,’ Annabella interrupted. ‘Whatever are you talking about?’

‘You know,’ Paulette sighed. ‘Your wine operation. You import from the co-op at Choray, relabel the bottles as classics and sell them cheap to undercut your competitors. We know everything; Susan’s worked it out to the last detail. We know about the fire, too, and what Philip Ruddock did to Alan Sowerby.’

‘I don’t believe what I’m hearing!’ Annabella snapped angrily. ‘This is utter nonsense!’

‘It’s not, and you know it,’ Paulette retorted, exasperated by the woman’s refusal to admit to the deception.

‘You really believe all this poppycock you’re saying, don’t you?’ Annabella said with convincing incredulity.

‘It isn’t poppycock, it’s true!’

Annabella didn’t respond any further, but went and sat rather heavily.

‘It’s true – you know it’s true,’ Paulette repeated.

‘I think you may have got slightly the wrong idea about my position at de Vergy Fine Wines,’ Annabella said at last.

‘Look, if you didn’t sound so sincere I wouldn’t believe what you’re saying, but I’m just the figurehead for the company. All this – the house, the company, everything – came from my father. He was a major shareholder in one of the independent French aero-engineering companies. When they were bought out he was left with a vast sum. I bankroll de Vergy Fine Wines, that’s all. I swear, if Philip’s been doing something underhand, it’s nothing to do with me.’

Annabella looked upset, but not as upset as she should have looked upon hearing such accusations. But what she said might be the truth. Nothing Paulette could think of gave it the lie. Even Annabella’s presence at the warehouse on the day of the fire might be explicable. Ruddock had left last, while Annabella might not have known about the brandy.

‘And what about Alan Sowerby?’ Paulette eventually asked.

‘Alan died of food poisoning. That’s all there is to it. Philip wouldn’t murder him.’

‘But I’m afraid he probably did.’

‘No—’ Annabella started, then checked herself.

‘There’s a lot of evidence,’ Paulette said gently. ‘Susan’s pretty good at what she does, and I’ve seen Destroying Angel growing in the woods around Choray.’

‘You’ve been to Choray?’ Annabella asked, looking up sharply at Paulette.

‘We’ve been everywhere,’ Paulette confirmed. ‘Susan’s been through the warehouse debris. I’ve been to Choray and spoken to Christian Charrier. We’ve taken samples both from the co-op and from Chez Emil, who you used to supply. Oswald MacNaughton has tasted them and sent them for analysis. Believe me, Annabella, we’ve been thorough.’

‘So, why are you telling me all this?’

Paulette took a deep breath. ‘Because… because I couldn’t bear to think of you in prison,’ she stuttered, blushing just a little. ‘When we played together you were so skilled, so sensitive to my needs… I just didn’t want you…’ Paulette fell silent, smiling awkwardly in her growing embarrassment.

Annabella looked into her eyes, her expression suddenly tender. For a long moment neither female spoke.

‘I promise, I know nothing about this business,’ Annabella eventually said, ‘but I can hardly ignore all the evidence you seem to have discovered. Look, sit down and we’ll talk. I badly need a drink.’

Paulette accepted one too, but for all her infatuation with the beautiful, dominant Annabella, she made very sure that the woman took the first sip of wine.

Susan struggled futilely in her bonds. Paulette had made a thorough job of tying her, using the combination of handcuffs and belt to ensure she could do nothing more than squirm slowly along on her side. The fact that her head had been bagged added to her problems, making it impossible to see what she was doing. At first she tried her best to get free, wriggling and writhing, but to no avail. Then she lay pondering her predicament for a long while.

It was obvious Paulette had gone to warn Annabella of her impending arrest, leaving Susan in helpless bondage until Annabella was away. Although furious with Paulette, she was also worried for her safety. It was possible, if unlikely, that Annabella would harm Paulette. More likely was that she would tell Ruddock that they were about to be arrested. Ruddock, already in the frame for murder, might well decide to silence Paulette. If the news reached Ruddock that the police had accepted Fire Ghost’s confession, then he might still think he could get clean away if he could get rid of both of them. True, Oswald MacNaughton might still bring the case down on Ruddock’s head, but that would be little consolation for her and Paulette.

Fired by this unpleasant possibility, Susan began to squirm again in earnest, this time not in an attempt to get free, but in the hope of reaching the phone which was on the living room floor.

She had managed to fall off the end of the bed and crawl as far as the lounge door when the phone rang. She stopped, unable to do more than listen to the answering machine.

‘Good evening,’ a well-modulated voice said after Paulette’s cheeky message of welcome, ‘this is Lydia Torrington at Jacob’s Barn. You called earlier to ask if Alan Sowerby visited us last month. The waitress who answered your call has been a little concerned that she wasn’t very helpful, so I’m just ringing to confirm that he did, on the eleventh of August… er… that’s it, really.’

The machine clicked off, leaving the flat in silence and Susan in a cold sweat. If Sowerby had been well enough to visit a restaurant in Chelmsford on the eleventh of August, then he very definitely had not been poisoned with Destroying Angel on the eighth. She had read the description of the lethal toadstool’s effects often enough to be sure that, three days after ingestion, Sowerby should have been suffering what appeared to be severe food poisoning as the cocktail of toxins which the horrible thing contained worked on his system. Instead, he’d driven to Chelmsford and devoured an expensive meal. It could only mean that he’d been poisoned
after
the eleventh, which in turn probably meant immediately after Annabella de Vergy’s return from France.

Susan renewed her struggles, squirming inch by inch across the floor until her head bumped against the telephone. After more contortions she managed to get her fingers to the thing, remove the receiver, and feel out Paul Berner’s number on the buttons. Wriggling frantically, she managed to turn until the receiver was near her head. For a moment she heard Berner demanding to know who was ringing, then the line went dead. She tried again, this time using the tip of her nose to re-establish the connection. Again she heard his questioning voice. Unable to do more than mumble, she prayed Berner would have the sense to realise something was wrong and find out who was trying to call him. Five times she repeated the procedure, only then rolling to the side to lie exhausted on the carpet.