The Vow (30 page)

He promised celibacy, and he never broke his word knowing it was the price he had to pay. When temptation came his way he harnessed the power of his desire to fuel his quest for success, wealth and influence. The truth be told, he was frightened of himself and of what he was capable. As the years passed he developed a deep and abiding affection for the woman who managed to hide how much in love with him she was. Her death was the hardest thing he’d ever had to deal with.

As he stood by her grave that sunny afternoon he could not bring himself to regret their time together or what he had given up but now, perhaps, it was time to move on.

~

All the best ladies of the night have a maid and
Pearl was a very superior maid. At thirty-five she had always worked in the “oldest profession” but never on her back; men did not appeal to Pearl. She kept the elegant apartment spotless, cared for the huge array of lingerie and other garments Cherry needed to ply her trade, answered the phone, organised the appointments diary and ushered clients in and out. It was similar to being a personal assistant, she always thought, with an emphasis on the personal.

Others tried to lure her away, but she was happy with Cherry who was a true professional. No tantrums, no moral crises and no drug or alcohol abuse; Cherry loved her job and was oh so good at it! From time to time she would look at her maid with that slow smile of hers and say,
‘Take your clothes off, Pearl.’ They would make love on the enormous red silk covered bed, or in the jacuzzi, and Pearl had come to understand why men would pay as much as they did to be with her.

She popped her head around the bathroom door where Cherry sat in the Jacuzzi. With her long pale hair floating in the water she looked like a basking mermaid.

‘You haven’t forgotten you’re booked to spend this coming weekend with Mr Leandros on his yacht, have you?’

‘
Oh, don’t remind me,’ sighed Cherry. ‘He’ll spend hours boring me to death, yet again, with the story of how he built up his shipping company from three fishing boats, and then want to poke me with that pitiful little thing he calls a penis. It doesn’t even touch the sides! I really think I may retire soon, you know.’

Pearl
didn’t bother to reply. She knew this was unlikely to happen for quite some time. For Cherry sex and money were like drugs; she just had to have them. These days she retained only those few clients who were phenomenally wealthy or whose sexual prowess pleased her, but she was addicted.

Leaving her employer to soak,
Pearl simply added, ‘Oh, by the way, Marcus Delacroix just called, he’s coming to see you at six-thirty.’

In all the years they had known one another Marcus had never visited Cherry in her home. When he had one of his little missions for her it was Saule who came to make the arrangements.
Saule, now there was a set of bones she’d like to jump! She had made this clear to him on several occasions, but he remained the only man who had ever turned her down. She didn’t hold it against him; there was always time. Positioning herself so she could enjoy the sensation of a jet of bubbles between her legs she laid back and wondered what Marcus might want.

Self-assured, focused and with exceptional exam results Cherry had secured herself a place at
Cambridge, the only university she was interested in attending. But she was not destined to stay there for long.

People were drawn to her like moths to a flame; with an IQ of one hundred and seventy, the face of an angel and a sexual appetite which was seemingly unquenchable she was hard to resist. At nineteen she was hedonistic, selfish and completely without conscience. She slept with her fellow students
– male and female – professors, and anyone who caught her fancy. When she was bored with them individually she would invite them to her room in pairs; she was very fond of three in a bed. She used and abused them, but still they came back for more. She learned the extent of her power and revelled in it.

Her wealthy parents who lived abroad augmented her student grant, but still it wasn’t enough to satisfy her increasingly expensive tastes in clothes, jewellery and fine dining, so when she met a girl who was regularly catching the train to
London to work for an escort agency Cherry knew she had found the perfect solution. If you were prepared to offer extra services there was good money to be made, and there were no services she wasn’t prepared to provide.

Arriving early for her first booking she had sat reading in the foyer of the well known and expensive hotel. When the tall, good looking man with very green eyes approached her she had thought to herself how easy this was going to be.

Marcus had been watching her for some moments as she sat seemingly absorbed in her book, the pale blonde hair falling to the waist of her elegant cocktail dress and her face so lovely it tugged at the heartstrings. And then there was the title of the book,
Quantum Mechanics and its Philosophical Foundations
. Over the years this would become a standing joke between them but at the time it suggested to Marcus that she was not the usual kind of escort. Deciding that the visiting American for whom Cherry was intended would be happy to wait for a prize such as this he led the way to the bar and, over the next half hour, he made the acquaintance of the young woman who would prove so valuable to him. He quickly saw that as well as intelligent and beautiful she was narcissistic, amoral and ambitious. He warmed to her immediately and when, the next morning, Blake Randall said he had never had a sexual experience quite like it, decided she was well worth keeping in touch with.

When Cherry decided to drop out of university it was Marcus who loaned her the money for a flat with a good address and introduced her to the ageing Greek billionaire Anatole Leandros.

~

Just after six-thirty Lucy climbed into the taxi which would take her to Barnes for supper with Kit and Sarah. The tourist season was in full swing and the co-operative, like all of
Camden, had been packed with visitors during the afternoon. She had made some good sales and spent a lot of time talking to people, particularly the charming French couple who came from very near where she had lived with Laurent. Speaking French again had brought back too many memories and she had trouble chasing them away.

Managing to slip next door for a brief moment, she had told Zoë no more than she needed to know, which was simply that the money had not been paid to Pritchard before his disappearance. There had not been time for her to think too deeply about what she had learned that morning and she knew she had avoided doing so because the truth of the situation had left her in a quandary.

When Marcus had offered to help with Zoë’s problem she had assumed that he would simply pay off the debt and her friend would have a new, more reasonable creditor. It was obvious that Marcus had never seen this as an option.

Again he had shown himself prepared to use his wealth and power to influence events and bend people to his will. What he had done was no more acceptable than using prostitutes and hidden cameras, but the outcome was so satisfying for so many people Lucy found herself thinking that in this case the end did justify the means. Or d
id it? Was she being a hypocrite and was this the thin end of the wedge? She felt bad about thinking he had arranged to have a man murdered; it was an overreaction, as he had said, he was a businessman not a gangster but what about the violence? Pritchard’s flunky had been badly beaten and it seemed likely there would have been more of that had the loan-shark not been looking for an escape route anyway. She abhorred violence and yet part of her believed Frank had got what he deserved. And she couldn’t help feeling a sneaking admiration for the ingenuity of Marcus’s plan and the speed at which it had been executed.

The difference between right and wrong, usually so clear to her, was becoming a little blurred and this worried her. She clung on to the more comforting fact that Marcus had been prepared to go to considerable trouble to help Zoë. There had been nothing in it for him; he had defended someone who could not defend themselves. And he had done it for her.

Had she known where Marcus was, and what he was about to do, this would have counted for nothing.

~

‘Good evening, Marcus. This is an unexpected pleasure. Drink?’

‘
No thanks. It’s a little early for me.’

‘
Me too. Take a seat. What can I do for you?’

He remained standing, and smiling at her said,
‘I was rather hoping to have the benefit of your professional services, Cherry.’

Now this she hadn’t been expecting. Smiling back, she hid her surprise.

‘Well, well. About time too.’ Indicating a door she went on, ‘Go through and make yourself at home. I’ll be there in just a minute. Do you have a preference, lace, leather, rubber perhaps?’

Marcus shook his head, she disappeared into her dressing room and he went through to the bedroom where she entertained her clients. It was, of course, dominated by a large bed covered with red silk. The blinds were closed against the still strong early evening sun. He opened them, took off his jacket and was standing looking out of the window when Cherry came into the room. She was naked except for a crimson velvet ribbon tied in a bow around her neck. Gift wrapped, he thought.

Marcus had seen Cherry naked many times over the years, although mainly on video and DVD, but he took the time to admire once more the perfect skin, full breasts, tiny waist and long shapely legs.

She would have come to him but he gestured with a hand and she crossed to the bed. As she lay against the pillows she watched him unbutton the snowy white Turnbull & Asser shirt; she did love a well-dressed man. Why this particular one was here now after all these years she had no idea. Had this happened during the time of his marriage she would have understood; his wife had been a dowdy old frump. But she had seen the newspaper photos of his new young fiancée and she was a good looking girl, not in her own class of course, but not bad at all. Still, Cherry had never needed a reason for a new experience and as Marcus finished undressing her gaze dropped and she smiled. Even better than a well-dressed man she liked a well-endowed one.

She quickly understood that all Marcus required of her was to lay back and leave it all to him. If she tried to join in he immediately stopped her, so she gave up trying. She wasn’t to know that he was reacquainting himself with the feel, taste and scent of a woman’s body for the first time in more than two decades.

He took his time and when there was no part of her he had not stroked, licked or kissed he finally entered her, saying as he did so,
‘Sorry, Cherry, I don’t know how long this is going to last. Its been rather a long time.’

Cherry had heard the cries of many men as they climaxed; some roared, some whimpered, some called on God and some their mothers. But she had never heard anything quite like Marcus’s raw emotion that first time. A short time later the roles were reversed and Cherry worked her magic. Her mane of hair was like a hundred silky fingers as she drew it slowly over his face and down the length of his body. On her way back up she took him in her mouth and brought him to the brink and back time and time again. He pushed deep inside her as she straddled him and understood fully for the first time what Blake Randall had meant when he said she was a unique experience.

When she had realised what was happening Pearl had decided to make herself scarce and so it was Cherry herself who showed Marcus out later that evening. As they stood at the door he kissed her cheek and said, ‘Thank you, Julia.’

He was the only person who knew her real name and used it occasionally when there was no one else to hear him. She always wondered if it was done as a reminder that he alone knew everything about her, but tonight there was no hint of warning in his voice just a gratitude she didn’t quite understand.

As he climbed into the passenger seat of the Mercedes, he told Saule, ‘Take me to the nearest place where I can get drunk.’

‘
If that is really your intention could I suggest that you may be better off not doing it in public,’ Saule replied calmly.

Marcus knew he was right and told him to take him home. They drove in silence; both deep in their own thoughts. Marcus felt completely drained but also as if a huge weight he had been carrying for years had been lifted. Saule could guess what had happened in the last two hours but had no idea why.

Drawing up in front of the house, he asked, ‘Do you want some company, Marcus?’

Marcus sighed.
‘Thank you, my friend, that would be good. Let you and I get shit-faced and I’ll tell you a tale of sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll.’

‘
Good morning, Mr Culver.’

He recognised her voice as soon as he picked up the phone. Sonia had turned up at his desk with coffee for them both from the vending machine and was flirting outrageously. He was rather enjoying it, but as soon as he heard the velvety tones of his caller, he immediately lost interest
in his colleague. Turning his back he let her know with an impatient wave of his arm that the call was private and Sonia stomped off, more than a little miffed.

‘
Well, hello again! I was hoping you would call. I don’t feel I had the chance to thank you properly for the information you gave me on Delacroix.’

‘
I have some more if you’re interested.’

‘
Of course I am,’ he said quickly. ‘Can we meet?’

‘
Well, I suppose we could,’ she told him hesitantly. ‘I’m in London for a few days, why don’t you come to my hotel?’

He didn’t need asking twice. She named a large anonymous hotel often used by conference delegates and they arranged to meet in the bar the following evening.

‘How will I know you?’ he asked.

‘
Don’t worry about that. I’ll find you,’ she assured him.

Culver started to count down the hours until he would meet the woman who had become his favourite fantasy. It wasn’t until much later that he realised he still didn’t know her name.

~

Hanging up, Cherry turned to Saule and said with satisfaction,
‘Well that was easy.’

‘
A lamb to the slaughter,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll set up a camera in the room and be long gone before he arrives. Just give me a call when it’s done.’

‘
Fine. Why are we doing this in a hotel and not the flat?’

‘
Mainly because Lucy, Marcus’s fiancée, is staying there but I don’t think he’d have wanted that creep in there anyway,’ he told her.

Cherry grimaced.
‘Talking of which, you can tell Marcus he’ll owe me big time for this one. As you know I’m pretty much an anything goes kind of girl, but water sports really aren’t my idea of fun.’

Saule grinned.
‘He said to tell you he’s got his eye on something very special as an extra thank you.’

‘
Lovely,’ she purred. ‘I just adore presents.’

~

He hadn’t wasted any time wondering how he had got that lucky. Looking back he realised that had been his mistake. Arriving early, frightened he might miss her, he had chosen a seat at the bar from where he could watch the door. When the blonde in a red dress walked in he had known it was her. Like so many men before him he decided she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Beautiful and sexy. The knee length dress was very plain but it clung in all the right places, and did she have all the right places!

As she looked over towards the bar their eyes met, she smiled in acknowledgement and made her way over to him. The eyes of every man in the room followed her and Culver knew he was the envy of them all. As s
he arrived at his side he stood and, with rare grace, kissed the hand she extended to him. The young good looking barman wondered what it was about gorgeous women and ugly men.

After ordering their drinks, Culver guided his companion to a table tucked away in a corner and as they sat down he said,
‘I don’t even know your name!’

‘
Imogen,’ lied Cherry smoothly.

‘
Ah, a beautiful name for a beautiful lady,’ he told her ingratiatingly.

She smiled as she thought yes, and you get the pleasure of peeing all over me later you lucky man!

~

It was Thursday evening and Lucy was looking out of the window
, checking for Saule who was due to pick her up, when the telephone rang.

‘
Hello, Lucy,’ said Angela. ‘It’s just to let you know there’s a cab on its way to get you. There has been a bit of an emergency and Saule can’t make it.’

‘
Fine. Nothing serious I hope?’

‘
It’s Mr Delacroix’s cat. He’s been run over.’

‘
Oh no! How bad is it, he’s not dead, is he?’

‘
No, but apparently he’s quite badly hurt. Mr Delacroix and Saule have rushed off to take him to the vet.’

‘
Poor Silk!’

‘
Mr Delacroix asked me to tell you that Mrs McFee is waiting at the house to let you in and he will join you as soon as possible.’

~

As Lucy got out of the cab a tall thin woman in her late fifties came out of the house to meet her.

‘
Hello, you must be Lucy. I’m Mrs McFee the housekeeper, but you can call me Joyce,’ she said without a trace of the Scottish accent Lucy had been expecting.

‘
It’s nice to meet you, Joyce. Is there any news?’

‘
No, not yet,’ replied the older woman. Then looking like she might cry, she blurted out, ‘That wretched animal! Why on earth did he have to go out on the road? He’s never done it before. He’s always stayed in the garden where he’s safe.’

‘
Try not to worry,’ said Lucy sympathetically. ‘I’m sure he’ll be alright.’

‘
He’s a blessed nuisance, always walking on my clean kitchen worktops and sharpening his claws on the furniture. And he bites my ankles when he’s got a mind! But I wouldn’t have anything happen to him for the world. The late Mrs Delacroix loved him so much.’

Putting her hand on the housekeeper’s arm Lucy told her, with more confidence than she felt,
‘He’ll pull through I’m sure. He’s a fighter.’

‘
He’s that alright!’ replied Joyce McFee with a sniff. ‘Well, I’d better be off. My husband will be wanting his tea. Will you get someone to give me a call when there’s some news?’

Lucy wandered around the house aimlessly for a while. It seemed strange to be there without Marcus and stranger still to think that it would soon be her home. This was where she would live with Marcus and where they would bring up their children. She tried to imagine a high-chair in the kitchen, a pram on the big stone terrace and toys cluttering up the hallway. Recently Marcus had told her that she should think about any changes she would like to make; new colour schemes, different furniture, perhaps choose some pictures. He didn’t want her to feel she was living in his house, but it was more
Helena’s presence that Lucy sensed, far more here than at Graylings for some reason.

Hearing the car pull up she hurried out to meet them. There was no sign of Silk and her heart sank until she saw both men were smiling.

‘How is he? Will he be okay?’ she asked as they came into the house.

‘
He’s used up a few of his nine lives and his tail will never be quite the same again, but the vet says he’ll pull through. They’re keeping him overnight, but he should be able to come home tomorrow,’ Marcus told her.

‘
Thank goodness for that,’ she said with a sigh of relief. ‘Oh, Joyce asked if you would call to let her know what’s happened.’

The two men looked at her blankly.

‘Joyce,’ she repeated, puzzled by their incomprehension. ‘You know, the housekeeper.’

Marcus laughed.
‘Mrs McFee has worked for me for more than twenty years and I have never been invited to call her by her Christian name!’

‘
I didn’t think she had one,’ added Saule. ‘I assumed she’d sprung into the world middle-aged, bossy and already called Mrs McFee.’

Giggling, Lucy said,
‘Well I thought she was very nice. Perhaps it was a touch of female solidarity. She’s a bit outnumbered around here.’

Heading for the phone, Marcus called over his shoulder,
‘I’ll ring her now. Saule, get the drinks would you. I think we all deserve one.’

‘
Good idea. What will you have, Marcus, a Scotch?’

It was the first time Lucy had heard him call Marcus by his Christian name.

They ate stir fry, opened a bottle of wine, then another, and sat late into the evening talking companionably. Saule was more talkative than Lucy had ever known him and seeing them together like this she realised for the first time the depth of the friendship between the two men. As they raised their glasses to toast the survival of their feline friend she looked at them both in wonder. There they sat, these two complex characters, neither of whom seemed to have to think twice about blackmail and violence, and yet they could show such concern for the welfare of a wayward and almost certainly unappreciative cat.

~

Elizabeth decided to go to bed early. There was nothing on the television worth watching, and anyway she was very tired. She had been feeling unusually short of energy for several days now; she just didn’t seem to be able to shake it off. Too many birthdays she thought wryly, and of course the heat didn’t help. Oh unfaithful body! Leaning back on the pile of lacy pillows she thought what a shame it was to be old and tired on a Saturday night.

Closing her eyes her mind filled with memories of the time when instead of laying in bed she would have been getting ready to go out on the town. She saw herself sitting at her dressing table putting the final touches to her hair and make-up, choosing the right jewellery, excited at the thought of that evening’s party, dance or cabaret club outing. They’d been such gay times, when gay meant something very different from today; when it meant dancing until dawn and to an orchestra not these dreadful disco things.
Champagne and Pink Gins had flowed and everyone went out dressed to kill. And romance was always in the air.

During the thirty-eight years of her marriage
Elizabeth had a string of lovers, imagining herself in love with each one, but not for long. None of them had ever come close to tempting her away from her husband and children. She’d been discreet of course, but it wasn’t difficult; dear old George had been so wrapped up in his work he was happy if she was happy, and she always was. Then quite ridiculously she had really fallen in love, for the first time in her life, at the age of fifty-eight. The top job had finally come George’s way, Ambassador to the United States of America, and she was enjoying the high life in Washington. She liked America where everything seemed oversized, vibrant and fast moving. And if she found the Americans themselves just a little brash and vulgar this changed when she met Harvey Hambrick.

A
lawyer “on the hill”, he was urbane and witty. It was love at first sight for them both and this time Elizabeth would have sacrificed the unsuspecting George, but Harvey had an invalid wife he simply could not desert. Despite Margaret Hambrick’s many ailments it was in fact George who died only the next year whilst he and Elizabeth were in England visiting family.

The affair came to an end when
Elizabeth did not return to Washington, but they did not forget one another. When five years later Margaret succumbed to a final and unbeatable infection, they were free to revisit their love, and revisit it they did. Neither really wanted to live in the other’s country so for twelve years they conducted a transatlantic love affair made all the more exciting by keeping it a secret. There was no real reason for secrecy, but it made it all so romantic and even in her seventies Elizabeth craved the thrill of an illicit liaison.

It was now eight years since she had lost the love of her life and she seemed to miss him more with each passing day. With him she had
thought she could live for ever but, left alone, old age had come crowding in and she knew her story was drawing to a close.

She reached for the small framed photo of
Harvey which sat on her bedside table and sighing sadly she kissed him goodnight.

~

They had stayed in London for the weekend as Marcus wouldn’t leave Silk, not even with Saule, and the cat was not up to the journey to Sussex.

Tattered, torn, and with a definite kink in his long thin tail
, he lay in his basket looking very sorry for himself. Both Marcus and Lucy had the feeling he was playing for sympathy but gave him the benefit of the doubt, tiptoeing around the basket and hand-feeding him with tasty little titbits.

Up unusually early for a Sunday morning and ravenously hungry, Lucy armed herself with a frying pan and offered to introduce Marcus to the delights of eggy-bread. She was just sliding the egg soaked slices into the pan when she heard her mobile ringing.

‘Marcus,’ she called out. ‘Could you answer that for me? It’s on the hall table.’

Flipping the bread over she heard him saying hello to her mother and wondered what she could want so early on a Sunday morning. What she heard next made her go cold with fear.

‘That is sad news, Amelia. My deepest condolences. I’ll get Lucy for you.’

His expression was grave as he came into the kitchen and she asked pleadingly,
‘Not my dad?’