Authors: Roberta Latow
‘You have to know I will never hurt you. Never tease you like that again. I only want to be a joy in your life, for us to build something out of instant passion, that crazy thing love at first sight.’
Harry was close to tears. He had found someone who was the other half of himself. It had never happened to him before and he had never thought it would. He understood the passion she felt for him, that the love that had burst upon them was something akin to a special kind of nirvana. They were meant for each other.
‘Yes,’ she said. He could hear the tension in her voice along with a sweetness and a passion that were impossible to miss. They rode the remainder of the way to the Sefton Park stables in silence. Before they entered the yard she slipped into her blouse and Harry buttoned it up for her.
Once in her bedroom in the house she locked the door and turned to face him. He raised her in his arms and kissed her face as she stripped herself of her blouse once more. He placed her on her feet and watched her pull off her riding boots and breeches. Now naked before him there was a certain sexual sophistication about her. She, like Harry, had a strong libido, no sexual fear. Lust was something she wore very well, and with pride.
Once he was naked before her she went to him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him first on his lips: a deep, passionate kiss. Then she worked her way down his body, licking him with her tongue, sucking on his nipples. September was overwhelmed with lust for him and his body, his very scent excited her immeasurably, the texture of his skin inflamed her senses. To feel the weight of his phallus in her hand and cup his scrotum was overwhelming. She felt for this man as she had never before felt for another. Sex with him had nothing to do with the sex and wild sprees she and Olivia used to enjoy. It was that and more, an extra dimension of lust because of love, not instead of it.
All her life she had been attracted physically and emotionally to greatness in men. Her lovers had been good-looking, interesting, famous and creative men and women. During September
and Harry’s lovemaking she learned he was all those things and much more. His delight in erotic and adventurous sex was matched by her own and together they drifted from the here and now into total union where every second was a sexual bliss that kept building, breaking down the sexual taboos one after the other. Both of them were lost in lust and love. They called out in transports of ecstasy, bit into each other’s flesh with a hunger more intense than they had ever felt for another human being. They licked and sucked every drop they could of each other’s come so as never to forget a taste more intimate, more special and blissful, their own elixir.
When they had arrived at the stables, September had asked for the keys to Harry’s car and tossed them to the stable lad, telling him to drive it to the front entrance of the house. Now, as they bathed together several hours after she had kidnapped Harry’s heart, he thought of the car and how he would like to drive her to dinner and stay the night with her at a country house hotel or in the Randolph in Oxford.
Once the invitation was issued, she answered, ‘Here comes the real world. I’d be just as happy sleeping with you in your room at the pub. No one would be shocked, the villagers know us to be somewhat on the wild side up here at the Park. They give us our freedom to live as we want to and we in turn try never to offend them with our indiscretions.’
Harry watched her joyously select a red silk slip dress and raw silk black jacket with very high stiletto-heeled black shoes. She overwhelmed him with her style, the sensuality she wore like a perfume. Her flush of happiness came from sexual bliss, a great deal of it, the thrill of lovemaking edged with depravity, trust and love. The very idea that this marvellous-looking, spirited woman wanted to share herself and her life with him, now and for always, was overwhelming.
Before they had risen from her bed September had told him that she had always wanted to give herself totally but he was the only man with whom it had come naturally to her, and it was more glorious than she had ever imagined. It was just there with him, this total submission to love, as simple as breathing. He confessed he felt the same way and their two hearts were beating as one.
They were walking down the grand staircase. Harry could not remember ever feeling as happy as he was at that moment. He stopped her from taking another step and turned her to face him. Feeling quite ridiculous he said, ‘My name is Harry Graves-Jones.’
‘Harry Graves-Jones, Harry Graves-Jones,’ she repeated. ‘A little late for names, Harry, since I’ve already made up my mind you’re the man I’m going to marry. September Buchanan, that’s me.’
They laughed at the situation. But almost immediately Harry sobered. September Buchanan was one of Olivia’s best friends. He realised he must talk to her seriously before they left the house. ‘September, is there somewhere we can talk? There’s something I have to tell you.’
‘Can’t it wait?’ she asked, wanting to remain in the blissful state she was wrapped in without the outside world impinging.
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
She very nearly said, ‘You don’t want to marry me!’ but September was secure in herself and her instincts were usually correct so she said nothing. Harry Graves-Jones had been seduced by her into love and for as long as he lived would never fall out of it, she was as sure of that as she was certain of her love for him. So she kissed his hand and told him, ‘The library.’
They had not reached the ground floor when her brother James arrived by the front door. Introductions were made and they all three went into the library. Harry took the measure of James and liked him immediately. He was handsome and there was a charm about him not unlike his sister’s. Harry was impressed by the way he greeted September with a smile and a kiss. The manner in which he complimented her on looking so gloriously happy. There was an ease between them but Harry could sense respect and admiration too, a family bond he himself had only had with his uncle.
This was the happiest time of September’s life and yet she did not feel compelled to blurt out her feelings, the huge change that had so suddenly come upon her. Of course she knew James could not miss her happiness and would discover for himself that she was in love. With such closeness between brother and sister it was inevitable.
‘I sense a celebration or something akin to it so how about mixing us one of your cocktails, September? Say a Martini. She’s a whizz at them, Harry.’
He felt himself slipping into the comfort of genuine hospitality. Sliding into feelings of wanting to belong not only to September but to this home and privileged family. But Harry had learned a very long time before how to cut off emotion and switch back to that other part of himself which dealt with the cold facts of life.
He walked over to September and led her to a worn leather wing chair by the fireplace. She was stunned by the change in him. It was not so much that all passion and love for her had vanished, more that he had drawn a veil over them. Here was another side to the man with whom she had fallen in love. She sat in the chair and he sat on its arm, holding her hand. She sensed that whatever was happening he loved her, she had no doubt of that.
He looked away from her to James and said, ‘Would you mind terribly if I had a word with you both before September mixes us those drinks?’
James sat down and she asked, ‘What’s going on, Harry?’
He rose from the arm of the chair and walked to the fireplace. ‘I am Detective Chief Inspector Harry Graves-Jones, in charge of the search for Lady Olivia Cinders.’
Neither sister nor brother said a word though September went pale. Several seconds passed during which she rose from her chair and announced, ‘I think I’ll make those Martinis now.’
James said, ‘Olivia isn’t here, Chief Inspector.’
‘No, Sir James, but the night she ran away from the scene of the crime it was to here that she fled. As I am certain you already know, Marguerite Chen no doubt having told you, the abandoned car found on your private road the morning after the murder had been driven by Lady Olivia. She was here all right. And someone or several persons helped her to get away from Sefton Under Edge. Here’s where I will pick up her trail and learn what really happened that night.’
‘My brother has told you – Olivia isn’t here, Harry,’ said September.
‘But he didn’t say that she hadn’t been.’
‘Until Marguerite told me she had been, I had no knowledge of her being here that night,’ said James.
‘And you had none either, September?’
‘No. I only wish she
had
come to us. We would have stood by her, she knew that.’
‘And spirited her away?’
‘Yes, if that was all that would save her.’
September went to Harry and handed him his Martini, her hand trembling. His heart went out to her. He wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her and tell her it was all going to come right for them. He watched her drain her powerful drink almost at a gulp. She took off her jacket and flung it on a chair then went to stand by the window. A storm was brewing and rain slashed against the many panes of glass through the blackness of the night. Sometimes it beat in sheets, whipped up by the wind.
Harry addressed James. ‘I’d like to interview you and your family formally, one by one, not as a group. The staff as well. I’ll be here tomorrow to see you, shall we say around eleven?’
Turning to face September, he said, ‘After lunch?’ But did not wait for confirmation. Instead he announced, ‘My assistants will conduct the staff interviews.’
September was horrified. She walked from the window to stand in front of him. Raising his hand to her lips, she kissed it, caressed his cheek and felt a rush of ecstasy at the memory of the taste of him, his power and passion as a lover. She gazed into his eyes and said, ‘Let her go, Harry. You
have
to. For my sake. What hope is there for us if Olivia is hounded to her death by you?’
Driving back to the village through the downpour, a vision of September walking away from him and out of the library kept flashing before Harry through the hypnotic to and fro of the windscreen wipers. She would appear from the blackness and vanish under a cascade of water into the night. The sadness in her face when he’d made no reply to her request was something he would remember all his life.
She had asked him to do something that was impossible. Had she not realised that such a demand would set them at odds? Could she not see that making such a request placed them both in an untenable position? Harry’s love for September had struck him like a bolt of lightning. He was aware that it would continue to affect him all the days of his life. Had it not been exactly the same for her?
She must love Olivia beyond measure or why would September risk her newfound happiness for her friend? Olivia … What was this power she had over people? He could feel her seductive charm in the depths of his soul. Harry was smitten by this most unusual woman who manifested herself as a shining star everyone wanted to touch, be a part of, and was now coming between him and love on a grand scale, an erotic coupling that was unimaginably thrilling. September was already a part of Harry’s life, but then again so was finding Lady Olivia Cinders whose dark side it seemed must always be forgiven. Why?
He was wet through when he entered the pub. Much to his surprise it was still filled with people. He went to the bar and asked Hannah Brite for a double whisky. The kitchen was closed but Jethroe offered to cook him a fillet steak. Harry went
upstairs to change into dry clothes, then to the sitting-room where he saw Sixsmith pondering some papers. Harry liked Joe Sixsmith, had high hopes for him. He was quick of mind, often too quick and inclined to rush to judgement. But that was mostly inexperience and not being as cautious as Harry would like him to be. Sixsmith listened and learned from his mistakes and he was conscientious. They made a good team.
‘What are you mulling over?’ Harry asked.
‘I had the Yard fax us all the information on flight plans registered by both English and French air traffic controllers, to see if we had missed anything now we have a clearer idea where Lady Olivia might have taken off from. I spoke at length with Paris Information, a radio contact point for aircraft, but they had nothing to help us. If a plane flew from the airstrip here I can tell you the pilot took a terrific chance because he failed to ‘activate’ his flight plan as pilots are legally required to do.’
‘She could have flown herself or been flown from here, taken the dangerous chance of not activating her flight plan and not headed direct for the Channel. She could have headed for somewhere else in England and crossed the Channel by boat,’ suggested Harry.
‘No, I don’t think so, sir. She’d choose to get out of England as fast and as far as she could. That’s what I’m sure she did. With her network of friends maybe she changed planes several times. I’m following several possibilities but I have little hope. It took me three hours to get the authorities to mount an investigation of every private landing field along the coast of the south of France.’
‘Every lead must be followed, Joe, but I’d bet that whoever flew Lady Olivia out of the country, a flight plan was never issued by the authorities either here or in France. If we do establish that she used the Sefton Park airstrip to get away we will pursue it to the end, you can be sure of that.’
Harry offered Joe a drink and the two men went down to the bar. Jethroe had laid a place for Harry at the end of it since all the tables were still taken, which suited him very well as it set him apart from the hustle and bustle of the patrons. Someone moved from the bar stool next to him down one without being
asked and Joe took it. Harry was distracted by the extent of The Fox’s wine list which gave him another insight into the pub’s clientele. He ignored the several reds and whites in the lower price range and went for a bottle of red Burgundy.
Jethroe served fillet steak and paper thin slivers of potato roasted in olive oil and rosemary and crisped to a crunchy golden brown. Harry, seeing the food, realised how hungry he was. He watched Jethroe pour the wine into their glasses and began his meal at once. Joe sat quietly drinking his wine, the two men barely exchanging a word. Mostly they listened and observed. Once Harry had finished his meal he turned round on his bar stool and drank his wine, facing the crowd of drinkers. He watched Miss Marble rise unsteadily from her chair and walk away from the group she was sitting with. He was about to go to her aid and see her home when Jethroe placed a hand on his sleeve.
‘No, that would embarrass her. She drinks herself into this state every evening and we pretend not to notice. She becomes offended if we help her, so someone at her table waits until she’s through the door then follows her home. They watch for the light over the bakery to go on, see her pull the curtains to then return here. We take care of each other in this village.’
Miss Marble passed by quite close to Harry. She acknowledged him with a dignified nod of her head but did not stop. It was as if she had gathered momentum and dare not. Once she was through the door he saw one of the men at her table rise and put his cap on his head, take a Barbour from the back of his chair and go after her.
Shortly after Miss Marble’s exit, Harry went up to bed. He was a man who needed little sleep and hardly ever felt tired. However, this evening was an exception. He felt emotionally drained and weary to his soul. He made it to his bed and fell straight into a dreamless sleep. Upon awakening his first thought was of September. She was with him in spite of Olivia, they were already each other’s world. He bathed and dressed and called down to Jethroe to say he wanted a full English breakfast and a great deal of black coffee. He found his two assistants in the sitting-room already on the telephones. ‘I’ll be downstairs
having breakfast,’ he announced.
Hannah laid a table for him. ‘I think you must be an exceptional detective, not your run-of-the-mill policeman.’
‘And what makes you say that?’ he asked her with a smile.
‘A box of small white orchids in the refrigerator for one thing,’ she told him as she handed one of the blossoms to him.
‘Ah, you remembered I like a fresh one every morning,’ he reminded her.
‘Do you mind if I ask you why you wear it. It’s a very romantic thing for a detective to do.’
Harry pushed the blossom’s stem through the buttonhole of his jacket and secured it with a pin. ‘I have never thought it to be a romantic gesture more a thing of beauty to behold, a reminder, if you will, to be grateful for every day and night and all the splendours of the world.’
‘That’s so beautiful. What an unusual man you are.’
‘Measured against whom?’ he asked being amused by Hannah and her questions.
‘I’ll go and get your breakfast,’ she said looking flushed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
She had just returned from the kitchen with Harry’s breakfast when Jethroe entered the pub with his Dalmatians. He greeted Harry in a rather offhand manner, let the dogs off the leash and watched them scamper, slipping and sliding, across the worn stone floor towards the kitchen. They too wanted their breakfast.
‘Hannah, mind the pub. I’m going into Oxford. Make sure you pick up the bread from Miss Marble.’ And Jethroe was out of the door before she had a chance to answer him.
The barmaid placed a hot plate of bacon, eggs, sausage and fried bread in front of Harry. He noticed when she bent forward to pour steaming black coffee into his cup that there were black and blue fingermarks to either side of her neck and that her hand was trembling. He steadied it by placing his own over it. She looked into his eyes and tears were brimming in hers. Harry gently moved aside the white collar of her blouse and exposed the bruises. Hannah pulled back.
‘Why don’t you get yourself a cup and have some coffee with
me while I have my breakfast?’ he asked kindly.
She looked fearfully at the entrance to the pub to see if Jethroe was coming back. They heard his car roar off and Harry did not miss the expression of relief on her face. Hannah smiled and pulled herself up, even gave him a smile. ‘I think I’ll do that, if you’re sure you mean it?’
When she returned with her cup and saucer she was carrying a plate of hot buttered toast. Harry forked some bacon and egg into his mouth and Hannah spread a piece of the toast with gooseberry jam and bit into it.
‘Those bruises on your neck look fresh, would you like to tell me about them?’ he asked.
Hannah placed her hand on the offending marks then pulled her collar forward to cover them. ‘Only if you promise to do nothing about what I tell you? You being a policeman and all.’
‘I promise if that’s what you want,’ he answered, thinking how pretty and sexy she was.
‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t know. It’s common knowledge that I’m Jethroe’s girlfriend and that when he gets drunk he sometimes gets violent with me. You were sure to find out sooner or later.’
‘Why do you stand for it?’
‘Because I love him and it doesn’t happen all the time. It’s kind of a sexual thing, or partly. And most of the time it’s set off by something I do or say.’
‘He must stop or you must leave him, Hannah. This isn’t good for either of you.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t do that! I tried a couple of times and I was miserable without him. It’s just the way it is, the way
he
is, and not all the time. Our sex life is just one of the many skeletons in the closet here at Sefton Under Edge. We all know each other’s business but never interfere in it,’ she told him, taking another piece of toast.
‘Hannah, do you know Lady Olivia well?’
‘As well as anyone really knows her outside the inner circle up at the Park and maybe old Miss Plumm. Lady Olivia, whether you know her or not, always leaves her mark on you.’
‘Even you and Jethroe, Hannah?’ he asked.
‘We’re no exception. Jethroe was in love with Lady Olivia. I think he still is and always will be. He’d lay down his life for her.’
‘Why? And would you?’ asked Harry, clearly intrigued by this information.
‘If Jethroe even knew we were talking about her and our intimate affairs, he’d beat me within an inch of my life,’ said Hannah, who’d turned beetroot red and looked frightened.
‘I’ll never tell him.’
She sat quite silent for several minutes. Harry thought then that he had lost her, that she was too frightened to give up any more secrets. Then she surprised him by beginning to speak in a more considered manner about herself, Jethroe and Lady Olivia.
‘I’d never met anyone like her before. She was marked by beauty and passion, hotter than the sun. She could melt people’s hearts and enjoy doing it. I had no idea that women could enjoy sex with both men and women, that women could love women – until I met her. Lady Olivia was a woman who knew how to love with courage. It was she who taught me how to give myself totally to sex and love, only I could never master being totally submissive to the man I love yet keep my own counsel, the way she could.
‘I will never leave Jethroe. I have learned to accept him with the faults he has and don’t think myself a lesser person for that. Maybe greater. We are and are not what we are. Lady Olivia is the beautiful adventurer we all yearn to be. We cherish her as we would cherish ourselves. She has changed so many of us here in the village but we’ve added nothing to her life. It was already whole and complete the way we want ours to be but can never quite achieve it. You see, none of us has the courage to take that last step over the edge, the way she does.’
‘And Jethroe? What is their relationship?’
‘Sexual, passionate. He’s submitted to her in everything she’s asked. It’s because of her that he loves me with a new kind of passion now. She taught him how to make love to me adoringly. I owe her my happiness because she taught me that if I want to get past the brute in Jethroe that’s my business, but the day he is no longer giving me what I want, I am whole and able to walk away without a backward glance.’
‘You do understand she is most probably guilty of murdering the prince, Hannah?’
‘Yes.’
‘And must be caught and brought to justice?’
‘No.’
‘But how can you say that?’
‘You don’t know Lady Olivia. If she killed the prince, she was driven to do it. She was with him a long time. They adored each other but he was a strange man and whenever he came here with her she seemed enslaved by him. Lady Olivia adored him as he did her. But he was crazily possessive. She made him so happy. He made her his world and thought he could keep her locked away for his eyes only. It was common knowledge that he never accomplished that. They say it made him even more difficult to handle. Lady Olivia got under his skin.’
‘On the night the car was abandoned at Sefton Under Edge, were you with Jethroe?’
‘No, I’d gone home to visit my mother. Jethroe surprised me around ten-thirty when I was still tending the bar by offering me that night and the next day off. He even had a taxi waiting to take me to my mother’s.’
‘Was that unusual?’
‘Yes. But he can be very generous with me when he wants to be.’
‘So you never saw or heard the car?’
‘No.’
‘Did you hear an aeroplane taking off from Sir James’s airstrip?’
‘If one did, I never heard it. And I would have because Sir James and his flying friends always circle the village.
‘I’ve told you more than I should have, but I know you won’t let me down and tell Jethroe how much I’ve blabbed.’
‘No, I won’t tell, but I must strongly suggest to you that it is not good for your self-esteem to be pulled down by Jethroe, no matter how much you love him. You’re not as strong as Lady Olivia nor, from what I can see, the games player she is. Thank you for being so frank with me.’
Harry went directly upstairs to the sitting-room and reported
the information he had gained from Hannah which he thought relevant to the case. They now had more facts: that Jethroe and Hannah were absent from the village the night that Lady Olivia arrived in Sefton Under Edge. Jethroe was still in the frame as a possible accomplice to get her away, most especially so because he apparently adored her.