This roused
him from the sleepy euphoria that follows sex. 'Julia? Why her?
She's green as grass and hopelessly naive. A pain in the arse, to
be exact.'
'She needs
experience. She's bright and enthusiastic and has that special
quality about her which is so attractive to men and women alike.
Don't tell me you haven't wanted to shag her.'
'She's a
blonde bimbo,' he grumbled, taking off the rubber, knotting it and
dropping it into the wastepaper basket. 'More of a liability than
anything else. She's always losing things; notebooks, cameras,
items of clothing. I can't see it working out.'
Denise shot
him a cool glance, once more in charge. 'You'll take her with you.
It's not up for debate,' she said decisively.
Julia was
surprised when she was summoned to Denise Spalding's sanctum next
morning. She had just come into work, expecting to cope with the
usual tedium of being a junior reporter where nothing much exciting
happened.
She could hardly believe her ears when she and Will were given
their brief. Denise was everything Julia aspired to be: worldly,
glamorous, knowing the trade inside out, captain of the good
ship
Hi Life
. Julia
was flabbergasted to learn she'd been considered worthy of going on
an assignment with Will, a senior newshound of renown.
They'd left at
noon, heading west in Will's Peugeot. He'd been conversational on
the way, but once they had booked in at a hotel near Penzance he
had been decidedly abrupt. She wondered if it was because she had
misdirected them several times, finding map reading confusing. Then
she thought it might be because they had separate rooms. Will had
been trying to seduce her ever since she joined the team. Maybe he
imagined this would be an ideal opportunity, but though she
respected his skills, and was flattered by his attentions, she
wasn't about to jump into bed with him. Her career was of paramount
importance.
The five-star
hotel was old and picturesque. It had once been a coaching inn and
gleamed with antique brass, panelling, low-beamed ceilings and open
fireplaces. Denise had booked them in there because it was not far
from the palatial cliff-top retreat where their prey was allegedly
staying. Julia was overawed. She could never have afforded such a
place, but the magazine was paying.
On arrival in her room she spent some time simply prowling
around, admiring the carpets and fittings and the en suite bathroom
with its little tablets of lavender-scented soap and sachets of
shampoo, provided for the guests and completely free. There was a
phone, a television, a small fridge containing miniature bottles of
alcohol and cartons of fresh milk, and a breakfast bar with a
kettle and tea, coffee and drinking chocolate. The curtains were
chintz, the leaded windows affording a view of the sea. The double
bed had brass posts and a canopy draped in lace, and the secretaire
was provided with writing paper, envelopes and pens bearing the
hotel's logo, and a
What's on in
Cornwall
guide, complete with a
roadmap.
'Wow!' she
exclaimed, bouncing on the springy mattress. 'I wish Arlene were
here. She'd go mental over all this!'
She and Arlene
went back a long way, one-time college students and now house
sharing in London. Julia had chosen to go into journalism and
Arlene was an up and coming dress designer. They were as different
as chalk and cheese; Arlene vivacious and beautiful, with a stream
of lovers; Julia pretty, keen, gauche, and a virgin.
Much as she
was curious about sex, she was an incurable romantic, had been hurt
by boyfriends several times, dumped because she refused to go the
whole hog with them, and was looking for Mr Right. Arlene voiced
the opinion that she was barking. No such creature existed. She had
added cynically that all men really wanted was to get into a girl's
knickers, and it was up to women to use them and abuse them in
return.
Julia had
watched a succession of personable men pass through the house,
pausing in Arlene's bedroom for a spell, then given the elbow by
that forthright young lady. Julia wished she had her insouciance,
embarrassed to bump into one or other of them on her way to the
lavatory. Sometimes they were naked or had a bathrobe on, or had
stopped to don boxer shorts. She peeked at them, seen
well-developed chests, pecs and legs, looked at rumpled dark hair,
or fair or even ginger. Occasionally she'd been given a flash of a
semi-erect penis surmounting a pair of balls, swinging in their
hairy sac. She'd always blushed, stammered and passed on.
'Don't be
daft,' Arlene had chided. 'You're fine. The chaps fancy you rotten,
but you always scurry away like a frightened mouse. What's wrong
with you? Don't you like any of them? Are you a lesbian?'
Julia wasn't
and said as much, but she was unsure of herself, still
experimenting with her naturally blonde, wavy hair, and trying out
various styles of clothes. Arlene used her as a model, and
encouraged her to show off her curvaceous figure, praising her pert
breasts, slender waist and shapely bottom. Julia wished she was
taller, perching herself on high heels or thick-soled trainers to
add a few inches.
She stared at
her reflection in the pier-glass, wondering what to wear for the
evening's adventure. Will had told her he intended to reconnoitre
as soon as they'd had dinner. He'd obtained a map of the area and
knew precisely where Theona Blue was hiding, and the layout of the
house and grounds. But Denise had ordered them to look
inconspicuous, as if they were a couple of tourists.
Julia rooted
through her grip-bag, pulling out her one good dress (a present
from Arlene). It was a flimsy slip, with a short flaring skirt and
camisole bodice brief to the point of immodesty. Blush-pink and
resembling silk, it added colour to her cheeks as she held it up
against herself. This would do for dinner, and she'd take along the
matching bolero jacket for later.
Thrilled by
her surroundings, she couldn't wait to take off her jeans and vest
top, white bra and panties. Then, naked and feeling somehow wanton
and hedonistic, she headed for the shower stall. The tiles had a
floral pattern, the chromium shone, and she found a tube of
chestnut smelling gel, spun the tap and warm water jetted over her.
In these movie-star conditions her thoughts turned to sex;
disturbing thoughts that made her nipples peak with more than
contact with the spray. She stood with her legs apart a little,
massaging the gel over her breasts, seeing the small avalanche of
foam gliding into her dimpled navel and out again. It mingled with
her golden pubes and disappeared into her cleft. Her hand drifted
down to part the wet, silky hair and press on her clitoris.
Virgin she
might be, but had discovered the joys of self-gratification long
ago. At first she hadn't realised what it was, thinking that when
she played with her pussy at night it was merely a bedtime ritual
associated with sleep. It wasn't till later that a friend told her
all about it and advised her how to use her fingers to best effect.
Julia had never looked back. She was interested in men, longing to
fall in love and experience intercourse, but sometimes wondered if
anything could be as beautifully satisfying as fingering her own
genitals.
She sighed,
tensed, waited for the magic to begin. The gel was deliciously
slippery, her finger coasting over her clit. She watched herself,
wiping the mirror clear of steam, seeing that naughty blonde
frigging herself, one hand holding the labial folds apart, the
middle finger of the other slightly crooked as it teased her little
organ into full stiffness. The water was reduced to a trickle,
falling over her shoulder and running down to her feet. She worked
her clit, stroked it carefully, her nipples becoming redder,
hardening in response.
The temptation
to bring herself off was too strong to resist. She wanted to make
it last forever, but her clit decided otherwise and she couldn't
stop rubbing it. She felt the sensation gathering in her loins and
at the base of her spine, was rising from peak to peak, borne on
ever increasing waves. The feeling reached her toes, clenched on
the wet shower tray, and then roared back up her thighs,
culminating in such a sweet burst of ecstasy that she whimpered,
shuddering at each successive spasm.
With a deep
sigh she came down from the heights, feeling guilty, but loving it
too much to ever give it up. She finished washing and reached for
the shampoo, dunking her head under the jets. Arlene told her she
was lucky to have such curls. She never had to bother with
hairdressers, apart from a trim now and again, but mostly she let
it do as it pleased, tousled and shining. Yet she sometimes became
bored with it, wishing it could be trained into a sophisticated
coiffure, making her appear more mature.
As Arlene was
fond of saying, 'No one's ever satisfied with their looks. My nose
is too big. So are my tits. You'd like to be taller and change your
hair. Stop fretting. You're okay as you are.'
Julia
remembered this as she towelled herself dry, then blow-dried her
hair and moisturised her skin with body lotion. She chose a new
pair of ivory panties, hip-high and fastened with ribbons, and a
matching bra. She didn't have much money to spend on clothes.
Living in London cost a bomb and there wasn't a lot over for
fripperies, but she had decided to pack her best underwear. One
never knew what might happen and she intended to be prepared. The
nights were still cool, so she added pale hold-up stockings,
slipped her feet into her shoes, and dropped her dress over her
head. A light application of make-up, a dash of perfume, and she
was ready.
In a fit of
bravado and extravagance she left all the lights on, let herself
out and locked the door, slipping the key into her handbag.
'Shush! Keep
the noise down,' Will hissed.
Julia had been
doing her best to be quiet, though it was difficult in the dark.
She kept tripping over things. Her thigh muscles ached from
crouching. Bushes scratched her. Whenever they paused for breath,
as now, she was terribly afraid they'd be spotted.
Once dinner
was over Will had been ready to go, sensibly dressed in a black
polo sweater and black trousers. He carried a shoulder bag
containing his camera with the telephoto lens and a torch, and
Julia trotted along behind him to where the car was parked. A short
drive and he had made her get out, leaving the vehicle in a
pitch-black, leafy lane and heading off on foot.
She'd almost
had to run to keep up with his long stride, and had nearly cannoned
into him when he stopped suddenly. That was when he cautioned her.
As far as she could see in the gloom, they were standing by a high
stone wall that seemed to stretch into infinity, and when Will
shone the torch upwards the light was reflected off broken glass
set in the copings.
'Bugger,' he
muttered. 'The place is like a bloody fortress.'
'Is this it?
Where Theona Blue is staying?'
He switched
off the torch but she managed to catch his nod. 'It sure is,' he
said.
'But we'll
never get inside, will we?' It looked impregnable to her.
'Leave it to
me, my dear Watson,' he replied mysteriously. 'We'll go for Plan
B.'
He melted into
the darkness and Julia hurried behind him. They seemed to be miles
from civilisation. The way became rougher and undergrowth had to be
pushed through. She heard Will cursing just ahead of her, then he
whispered triumphantly, 'I've found it.'
'What?' she
faltered.
'A way in,'
and he flashed the torch over a low arched doorway set in the wall.
It was half concealed by ivy and looked as if it hadn't budged for
centuries. 'Denise was right. She told me she used to come here on
holiday when she was a kid, and knew the former owners. She spent a
lot of time here, friendly with their children, and she gave me a
layout, including this secret door. Come on, let's get it open -
but quietly does it.'
'Supposing
it's locked?' Julia ventured.
'Supposing it
isn't?' he chided, tearing at the ivy and clearing the door. 'Lend
a hand, oh ye of little faith.'
In for a
penny, in for a pound, Julia thought, and added her weight to his
as he heaved against it with his shoulder. It resisted, creaking.
He was wrong, she concluded. It was locked and probably bolted on
the other side. No one would leave such an entrance free for
intruders.
'It's giving,
I can feel it,' Will grunted, redoubling his efforts.
The rusted
hinges groaned, the thick oak juddered, the bottom of the door
scraped on stone as it yielded inch by tortuous inch.
'I shouldn't
think it's been opened for years,' Julia gasped, curiosity taking
over. She never could resist a challenge.
Will squeezed
through the narrow gap, taking the light with him. Julia didn't
hesitate, scrambling in after him. She almost shrieked when cobwebs
trailed stickily over her face, but remembered in time that silence
was essential. Blackness, the smell of dank earth, the sharp odour
of trampled vegetation surrounded her.
'Will, where
are you?' she squeaked, and then jumped at the feel of his hand on
her arm.
'It's all
right. We're behind some bushes in a neglected part of the garden.
Follow me.'
She didn't
need telling. There was no way she was going to stay there alone.
It was definitely creepy. She almost expected to come across Count
Dracula's tomb, and she didn't have a wooden stake or a crucifix
anywhere about her person. Arlene, she whimpered inside, I wish you
were here. I don't think I want to be a reporter after all.
Will was ahead
and she kept her eye on him. He parted the last screen of tangled
greenery. A bramble whipped back, catching in Julia's skirt. She
tugged. It resisted. She heard the material tear.