When the Siren Calls (27 page)

She took a sip at her latte, studying Lucy across the rim of the glass and watching the wheels go round behind the soft emerald green eyes.

“You don’t mean threatening to call Rusty, or something like that?” she asked in a hushed tone, fear of the very idea of such a conversation written bold across her features.

“Well, maybe tone that idea down just a notch or two, Luce,” said Tessa, everything in her body language promising an idea that she wouldn’t share.

Lucy’s patience with her friend was waning. “Listen, we can play twenty questions here or you can help me out. What are you thinking about?”

Tessa shrugged. “That has to be up to you. But I don’t think we should be thinking about threatening anything, not least unless you are prepared to follow through on that threat if necessary. And if I recall last time we spoke on this, bringing things to a head with the Lizard was something you didn’t want to do, right?”

“Not yet anyway.”

“Ok, so think about something you could do that would put the fear of God into him. You’ve got a while to think about it anyway because you aren’t seeing him for a couple of weeks now, are you?”

Lucy nodded. “He’s tied up in Tuscany apart from next weekend, and he has to be home then, something to do with Rusty needing him to be at the kids’ end of term sports day.”

Tessa burst out laughing. “That’s the shittiest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

“Well,” said Lucy, glad of the chance to take some of the initiative from her friend, “from what I gather, it seems like things are a bit different up in Cheshire from where I went to school in Croydon. I got the impression from Jay that the school sports day is something else. The mums all dress up and try to outdo one another. It’s more competitive a day for the parents than it is for the kids. A big social get together.”

Tessa imagined what a sports day at an exclusive private school must be like. The enclosure at Royal Ascot came to mind, except with spoilt brats running around instead of preened horses.

“Perfect, Lucy, just perfect!” Tessa shouted, making the women at the next table shake their heads and finally pick up their cups and leave. “The last place anyone would want to see his mistress, right? Just imagine it for a minute; a possible scene in front of the kids, all those stuck up parents just lapping it up, teachers in their frilly cotton dresses gossiping. And it’s less than a week away as well.”

“So you reckon I should threaten Jay that I’ll turn up and make a scene at the sports day?”

“Better than that,” said Tessa, knocking the menu off the table with a gesture of triumph. “You do turn up. But you don’t tell Jay what you are planning. They don’t hand out printed invitations to the kids’ sports day, and there’ll be no security or anything at the school gates. He’ll be bricking himself from the moment he first sees you, which you need to make sure is when he is tied up with Rusty and her friends.”

“And make a scene?” asked Lucy, looking apprehensive.

“No need for that. In fact it’s almost better if you can arrange it so you don’t give Jay a chance to talk to you. Once he’s seen you, the job’s done. Then get the hell out of there, which will leave Jay shitting himself for the rest of the day that you will return and show up in the egg and spoon race.”

Lucy was warming to the idea. “Or the sack race, he’s used to seeing me in that.”

“You will need to look your best, like a proper tart; a see through blouse and legs showing right up to your arse. Just so you get noticed. Think about it —all those dads with their eyes out on sticks wanting to fuck you. And the mums trying to figure out whether you’re bonking their husband or one of the six formers.”

“He’ll go ballistic,” whispered Lucy in tentative glee.

“Yes, he will. And then he will go to the wedding. But that’s not where the game ends; it’s where it starts.”Thirty-two

The view from Maria’s porch was the very picture of serenity, the gentle incline of the driveway falling away into olive groves and vineyards, stretching into the horizon like an ocean of green. Isobel felt a part of it as she enjoyed a light breakfast with Maria, the nearpermanent tension in her body eased by the knowledge that Peter was three thousand miles away. The silence was only interrupted by her own gentle humming, an almost unconscious noise that seemed to throb from the very centre of her body, resonating happiness into the morning air.

“So all is well in the world this morning, despite the cat having taken your tongue?” Maria asked with a smirk, unable to restrain herself any longer.

Isobel looked up from her toast. “I’m sorry, I was miles away.”

“I know where you were,” said her friend with a smile, “now are you going to tell me what happened there?” She looked almost wicked in the morning sun, her eyes sparkling in anticipation of Isobel’s fall from grace.

Isobel held back her laughter at Maria’s transparency. “I’m sorry about not coming back here yesterday; it was very selfish of me. I hope you aren’t too mad at me.”

“Don’t be silly, Isobel; it’s not as if you left me in some bar while you made off with your catch for the evening. And if it helps your guilt, let me tell you that while you were with Jay, I was catching up on lost time with Angelo. So we both did ok.” Even though Maria wasn’t asking any questions her voice was laden with expectation and Isobel had only to lean back and wait for her patience to exhaust itself once more.

“Now come on, I want all the juicy bits,” Maria burst out, bouncing on her chair in anticipation. “Nothing too graphic…” she added, grinning so widely her face threatened to tear in two, “unless you feel you must, of course.”

Isobel kept her expression blank as she appeased her, giving a matter of fact account of the events of the day before; how she and Jay made love in the open, and then spent the rest of the evening and the night in his flat.

“And everything went ok?” asked Maria with a suggestive lifting of her eyebrows.

“Yes, I think so. For me, anyway. And I think for him too.”

“So he is not just a charmer with a big smile and good looks, he also knows how to make a girl feel good in bed?”

Isobel frowned, hating how Maria turned everything beautiful into a cliché.

“Yes, he does,” said Isobel, stiff and emphatic, as if Jay’s sexual prowess was testament to her own discerning tastes, an area too sacred to mock.

Maria allowed herself a quiet smile of vindication. “So, it was once in the wood and then about twelve hours straight in his bedroom?” Isobel nodded, bracing herself for further questions. “So more than once in the bedroom then?”

“Yes, Maria, more than once.” Her words came out as a series of sighs.

“So twice, three times, four times? Come on, Isobel, you’ve got to let me have some fun here too.”

Isobel acknowledged her excitement with slight displeasure but indulged her nonetheless. “Three times, I think.”

“And lots of different ways in the process?” Maria reached over and flicked her arm, the answers not coming fast enough for her voraciousness.

“A few different ways.”

“What sort of different ways?” Her hand now grasped Isobel’s arm, tightening with suspense.

Isobel opened her mouth to speak but somehow couldn’t; she wanted the night to remain inviolate, untouched by Maria’s interrogation.

“You know, different positions, that’s all,” she said, her words lacking conviction as she turned back to her toast.

“Oh please, stop being so coy, we are grown up girls. For all you are telling me you might as well be describing a night with Peter. And I know that deep down you are longing to tell me how it was different.”

Maria’s final words stirred Isobel and she steeled herself to reveal the details, happy in the belief that her initial reticence had established her as different from Maria, shown that they still sat at the breakfast table, an angel and devil in alliance. She took a deep breath and revealed everything, hesitant at first but then lost in the memory of it all.

“What was strange,” she said, “was that in the wood he was so tender. As if it was my first time, which in a way it felt like it was. But then in the bedroom it was different. The things he did. The things he encouraged me to do. I did things I haven’t done with Peter in ten years.”

“And how did you feel about all that?” Maria asked, the words of a counsellor falling from her seductive mouth.

“I don’t know, my mind is all mixed up about it. On the one hand I felt like I was being his whore, doing those things. And at the same time I knew I wanted to do them. He didn’t make me. It felt like I wanted to try everything, do everything, all the things I’ve never done before, the things I’ve just read about.” She was tentative and anxious, looking to Maria to pierce the dream with her claw-like nails.

“Wow, this is more like it,” said Maria, leaning in closer. “Do tell more. And can you please be a bit more specific?”

Isobel twisted her fingers in her lap, wrenching them apart and forcing them together again and again. “Well, at one point he was running his tongue all around my belly button, and the next thing I knew I was pushing his head lower.”

“So lots of oral?” Maria was almost salivating at the mouth as Isobel nodded, her face tinged a cherubic pink. “And not just one way of course?” Again Isobel nodded, the pink darkening to red.

“He likes me to do it on my knees, in front of him.” She blushed deep scarlet. “And I’ve never done that before.”

“On your knees?”

Isobel looked at her desperately, seeming simultaneously young and old as she shook her head.

“No?” exclaimed Maria. “Surely you must have at some time, for Peter, at least at first?”

Isobel shook her head again, and her eyes glazed over with memory, too distant and unreal now to be painful.

“On our honeymoon, we did a stopover in Bangkok. We went to the red light district, like everyone does, and we came across this sex show. I was curious, and persuaded Peter that we should give it a try, you know, just for a laugh. He was surprised, I think, it was so out of character for me. I was painfully shy in those days.” She halted, unsure if she could continue.

“Go on,” said Maria, rapt with fascination, and more than familiar with Bangkok sex shows.

“Well, it was everything you’d expect. Lots of ping pong balls flying through the air. And at one point an attractive Thai girl came and sat with us, and asked if it was ok if she had a drink with us. I was getting a bit uncomfortable because, well, she was paying me just as much attention as Peter. I suppose we’d both drunk too much wine by this time. She wore one of those kimono type dresses and it was slit up to her hip, and it was all quite erotic, to say nothing of what was happening on stage. After a while she asked if we wanted to go to a side room with her. She rubbed my thigh as she said it, but she was looking at Peter. We refused of course,” she said, wistfully. “Peter just gave her a few baht and we got up and left.” Maria nodded, afraid to break the trance of recollection.

“But when we got back to the hotel we were both still excited and we made love, and at one point he tried to put it in my mouth, to force it almost. But I just couldn’t. It had already been inside me and, I don’t know, it was just the thought of how unhygienic it was.” Isobel’s eyes came back into focus. “And he’s never asked me since.”

“And you’ve never just done it, without him asking? In all your years of marriage?” There was undisguised incredulity in Maria’s voice. Again Isobel shook her now bowed head.

“But you wanted to do it with Jay?”

“Yes, I wanted to. Even if he hadn’t encouraged me to, I know I would have. I can’t explain why and why not with Peter. It’s just that I wanted to with Jay.”

The revelation brought them to silence, but Maria’s appetite for disclosure was yet to be sated and she refilled Isobel’s cup before continuing.

“So Jay didn’t try to make you do anything you didn’t want to do? Something even more sinful than oral?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you might have in mind,” said Isobel, pausing to sip her tea, “but no.” She spoke with a touch of defiance in her voice, as if it was Jay’s reputation as a gentleman that was at stake, let alone her own morality. Maria remained silent as Isobel fell back into her memories, hypocrisy taunting her as she remembered his hand straying behind her, seeking to explore her, even as she pushed it away. It was almost apologetically that she continued with her revelations. “Well, there was something he did ask. It was early this morning, just before we got up. We were just lying there, naked in bed talking, and he was idly stroking me, you know where. And he asked if I had ever been completely shaved.”

“You mean a Hollywood?”

“If that’s the term,” she said primly. “Anyway, I said no. I mean I have the occasional bikini waxes, but nothing more. It’s not like I’ve got Sherwood Forest or something down there.”

“And he asked you to have one?”

“No, not really. He just said I might find it quite erotic, being completely shaven.” Maria’s brows contracted and she became still.

“So you are going to have it done then? Like some lap dancer?” she asked. Her condescension was cruel rather than concerned. She seemed to be enjoying the discomfort she was causing her often prudish friend, as if pulling the legs off a spider.

“No, I certainly am not,” she replied, her voice strong with indignation. “Apart from anything else, Peter might notice. How would I explain that?”