Protection (22 page)

Isobel surreptitiously rolled her eyes. Did this woman never stop?

“Actually, everything's fine.”She said, forcing a smile. “I just wanted to ask Rita about ID and whether I needed any?”

“Oh, you don't need Rita for that. I know all about it. The hotel issues them. Didn't Rita tell you? Lord above, I don't know what goes on inside that girls' head sometimes! Anyway, go and see Mr.Oliver. Rita's already told him you're covering for her so I imagine he'll be expecting you.”

“Right, I'll do that then. Thanks.”

“Don't mention it. And you be careful! Don't let any of them talk you into doing anything..unnatural.”

“You sure you're okay?”Carrie asked again as Carmichael flinched for the second time in as many minutes. “You seem awfully jumpy this morning.”

“Do I?”Carmichael asked, waving her concerns away. “I don't feel jumpy. Bit warm perhaps. Is the heating working okay in here?”

He bloody hoped it wasn't, otherwise how else could he explain the hot flush that was crawling across his chest and threatening to breach the edge of his collar?

It was Carrie and Andrea who were doing it, or rather the image of their naked bodies locked in love making that kept popping into his head, and despite his best efforts to stop himself, he couldn't help but try and sneak furtive glimpses at their bathrobes in the hope that one of them might flop open and reveal a gorgeous breast beneath.

Clearing his throat, he crossed to the window and stared at the garden below.

“Looks cold again today. “He said, trying to change the subject. “Might want to wrap up warm. And you two might like to get a move on. I've just remembered Amanda's busy downstairs throwing together a pancake breakfast and if we let that get cold we'll be in for it.”

“Well, thanks for finally getting round to telling us.”Carrie scolded him. “But if we're going to get up, you're going to have to get going.”

The image of a naked breast swam before his eyes and dismayed he felt the flush creep higher.

“Okay, I'm going.”He said, hoping the sweat above his top lip wasn't too noticeable. “But I'm taking the tray with me. I don't want Amanda withholding pancake favours just because I neglected to clean up after you.”

“After us!”Andrea exclaimed, already untying her bathroom and causing Carmichael's flush to reach his ears. “Who is it who turns up first thing in the morning, drinks his fill of coffee and then leaves his mug on the table?”

“Ahh. Okay, I confess, it's me. But if I promise to try and be a tidier boy in future will you please hurry up and get dressed? I can smell something delicious wafting up from the kitchen.”

The church bells were chiming the half hour as Isobel made her way towards the hotel, and listening to them shatter the silence of the morning, she wondered if Mr.Oliver's day had already begun?

She reckoned it probably would have. It was only eight thirty, but on an important day like today, he'd probably been there since the crack of sparrow's fart.

Sitting at the kitchen table Carmichael watched Andrea reach across to gently wipe Maple syrup from the corner of Carrie's mouth and almost came.

The erotic love making he'd witnessed earlier refused to leave his mind and now it was beginning to drive him crazy! So far he'd spilt coffee, the sugar and managed to dribble Maple sauce down his shirt. Amanda was starting to mutter about him wearing a bib in future and on top of that he couldn't even sit still. His almost permanent erection causing him to fidget and wiggle like someone sitting on an army of ants.

If only he could have forgetten about it for five minutes, he might have been okay, but his mind simply wouldn't have it and images of creamy, white skin and dark, brown nipples kept popping into his head, making him as clumsy as fuck.

Looking up from his plate, he saw Carrie this time, spooning a mouthful of dripping pancake into Andrea's mouth, and clamping his thighs together he wondered what Amanda would say if he crammed the tablecloth into his mouth?

A sharp rapping at the window startled them all and looking up they saw Claude standing outside. His breath steaming up the glass as he gestured at them to unlock the door.

Entering the warm kitchen, he smiled broadly at Carrie. “Good morning mon cheri.”He gushed. “The big day today - oui?”

“Claude.”Carrie frowned. “I'm sorry, but were we expecting you this early?”

“But, of course.”Claude answered, not at all put out by Carrie's puzzled expression. “I still ‘ave the outside to do. It is no good just ‘aving a beautiful house. It is not enough. One has to welcome one's guests right from the start. You must make them sigh at the gate, gasp at the driveway and finally, once you ‘ave them inside, you must make them swoon with delight.”

“I see.”Carrie chuckled. “Well I'd better let you get on with it then. Would you like coffee and pancakes before you start?”

Mr.Oliver wasn't difficult to find, for having gained entry via the staff entrance, Isobel only had to follow her ears - as he yelled at some poor subordinate over the state of the linen - to discover the whereabouts of his office.

Sitting herself in one of the chairs outside she stared up at the brass name plaque on the door and waited for the lesser mortal to emerge, which he did five minutes later, red in the face and swearing bitterly under his breath. “Fucking bastard!”He hissed, furiously knotting his tie back into place. “Thinks he knows fuckin' everything!”And glaring at Isobel he stormed off.

“And what the hell do you want?”Mr.Oliver thundered the moment Isobel knocked on his door and stepped inside. “Can't you see I'm up to my bloody eyes? I haven't got time for all these soddin' interruptions!”

Dressed in a charcoal grey suit and with his hair already in complete disarray, Mr.Oliver was the epitome of someone heading towards a fatal stroke.

“Well?”He demanded, when Isobel didn't speak. “What is it? I haven't got all fuckin' day!”

“I've come to pick up my pass for Carrie Shilling's party. I'm..er.. replacing Rita McKenzie for the day?”

“Oh, are you?”Mr.Oliver said, snatching open a drawer and pulling out a laminated pass which he then flung at her without bothering to see whether she caught it or not. “Well, there's your pass. Now, will you please get the hell out of my office and tell all those other fuck wits out there, that if they bother me once more time before ten o' fuckin' clock, I'll string them up by the bloody balls!”

Well, thanks very much, Isobel thought, and stepping back out into the corridor, she found the nearest member of staff and informed them that if every member of the kitchen staff wasn't inside Mr.Oliver's office inside five minutes, there was going to be a hell to pay.

Ten o'clock on the dot, and the gates to Carrie's house swung open, allowing the five, white vans, carrying Brian Holding and his security team, to rumble like huge gastropods down the driveway before stopping at the side of the house.

Their unexpected arrival caught Claude on the hop and unimpressed to find himself having to skip out of the way of a white van, he promptly dropped his snow machine and flounced up to the driver's window.

“Can you not see where you are going?”He cried, rapping smartly on the glass and wrinkling up his nose . “Can you not see we are trying to work here?”

“Of course I can see.”Brian growled, opening the door and climbing out. “Which is why I didn't run you over! Didn't you hear us for Christ's sake?”

But Claude was no longer listening. Instead, stunned by the size of Brian's muscles, he was almost dribbling with admiration. “Oh... my! But you're HUGE!”He simpered, his fingers flexing as though he was dying to touch. “Look at those biceps! Are they real?”

“Of course they're bloody real.”Brian grumbled, fixing Claude with a strange look, before ambling over to where Andrea stood waiting.

“Friend of yours?”He asked, cocking a thumb at the Frenchman.

Andrea shook her head. “Not really. That's our Christmas designer, Claude. Weird but harmless. He has a ‘thing' for fake snow.”

“Really? Well he better not come near me with it. I..er.. take it he's not overly keen on the ladies?”

“Looking at him, I'd say not. But if decides to try it on with you, your best bet is probably to shout and stamp your feet. If nothing else, it'll make him cry.”

Brian laughed. “I'll bear it in mind. Never could stand the French. Now, if you'll excuse me, I guess I better go and get the guys sorted out. I've got over a hundred with me so it's going to take a while.”

“How many?”

“A hundred.”Brian repeated, frowning at her shocked face. “What's the matter? That's about standard for a house this size. We need to have guys everywhere remember, not just inside…”

Andrea stopped him. “Okay, I get the picture. I'm just used to more..erm..intimate security if you know what I mean. But is there anything I can do to help or should I just leave you to get on with it?”

“Leave me to get on with it if you like. But a socket would be useful. They might be tough lads but they're useless without a brew inside them.”

Andrea raised a finger. “Already taken care of.”She said. “Amanda's made enough tea to float the Titanic, all the lads have to do is go in and help themselves.”

Brian rubbed his hands together. “Lovely. Is Carmichael about do you know?”

“He's in the kitchen.”

“Brewing tea?”

“That's right.”

“Blimey! Howdya manage that?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Torture mainly.”

After breakfast and with everyone busy at their own special tasks, Carrie crept upstairs, figuring no one would miss her for a bit.

The bedroom was warm and quiet when she entered and sitting on the edge of her bed, she clasped her hands in front of her and breathed deeply through her nose.

She loved this time, the lull before the storm. And if she was lucky, sometimes it was the lull during the storm. But whichever way it went, it was something she'd enjoyed ever since she was little.

Particularly at Christmas.

And on Christmas morning, when ripping open her presents, lost, almost, amongst the layers of shredded wrapping, she'd listen happily to her parents and grandparents laughing and chatting, and patiently wait for the moment when she knew she wouldn't be missed and she could silently slip from the room to sit half way up the stairs.

Where, sitting in the muted coolness, with the smell of turkey wafting from the kitchen and the sound of cheerful noises still coming from the lounge, she'd start to feel oddly pleased that whilst everyone else was going nuts, she was afloat on a little island of serenity. Safe. Happy. Relishing the thought that it was all still there, waiting for her to join in.

Just as it was now, whilst she sat on her bed listening to downstairs bristle with activity and everyone was rushing round busy, busy, busy. All thinking she was doing the same, when really, she was just sitting here. Safe. Happy. Relishing the thought that it was all there, waiting for her to join in.

“You alright babe?”

Turning, Carrie saw Andrea standing in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest as she frowned towards the bed.

“I'm fine!”Carrie breezed, fixing her with a bright smile. “Just taking a breather before all hell lets loose. How are things downstairs?”

Andrea puffed out her cheeks. “Well, let's see. Claude and his little band of helpers are constructing something with four legs in the garden. Brian and his action men are poking about the house, and Amanda and Carmichael are in the kitchen dolling out mugs of tea.”

“And you?”

“Me? Well, I guess I was missing you.”

Clutching the laminated pass in her pocket, Isobel hurried home. She felt cold and ratty, the result of her run-in with the rotten Mr.Oliver, but she did have her ID, plus, she could take comfort from the fact he was probably still jammed inside his office, trying to explain to his irate staff why they'd been dragged away from their soufflés.

Once inside, she shrugged off her coat and nearly fell over Scrumpy, who displeased at having been kept waiting for his breakfast, mewed loudly and wound himself in and out of her legs.

Pushing him away, she went into the kitchen and opened a tin of cat food, dumping most of it on his head when he refused to get out of the way long enough for her to scoop it into his bowl

“Stupid cat.”She muttered, scooping fishy chunks off the floor. “Don't know why you're so hungry anyway. It's not as if you do anything all day except lounge around and sleep.”

The cat ignored her and entering her bedroom Isobel flopped onto the bed to look through her scrapbook. It was nearly full now. The stiff, cardboard pages almost covered with pictures. The most recent showing her standing with the ‘other woman' in front of a movie theater, identical expressions on their faces as they turned towards the cameras.

Scowling, Isobel obliterated the other one's face with her thumb and lifted the photo to her lips. Gently she kissed it. What would it be like to fuck her now? She wondered. After so much time had passed and so many things had happened. Would she still like the same things? Still like being finger fucked? Being licked?

She wished she knew, and still holding onto the photo, she tugged at her jeans with her other hand and shoved her fingers inside her knickers to toy with her clit. Imagining it was her hand inside there. Her hand making her wet. Her fingers waiting for the right moment to drive themselves deep inside her…

She stopped herself. Determined not to enter herself. She'd save it. For when she could do it. For when she could slip her fingers into her tight, aching cunt and make everything better again.

The thought made her clit pulse and holding her breath, Isobel rubbed briskly, feeling herself juice up. Her pussy felt plump and swollen, her finger hardly able to move up and down the slick alleyway and increasing the pace, she sighed when the first ripples of pleasure started to flood through her.