‘But you found it,’ he observed.
‘Yes.’ She blushed a little. ‘I was curious about you.’
‘Good,’ he said, surprising her. ‘People should be careful about who they hang out with. They should use all the information they have. You were right to check up on me.’ He nodded approvingly. ‘So you thought...’
‘Only someone with a lot to hide would do what you have done,’ she said. ‘And you were so brave about the surgery. You refused painkillers or sleeping pills afterwards. You wanted to be fully conscious. That was interesting too.’
Jon’s eyebrows were raised as high as they could currently go.
‘Very good observation,’ he said.
She swallowed. She didn’t feel at risk from him, not at all. She didn’t have any problem with what he had just told her. And yet she was about to ask him something that she thought he might react to very badly indeed.
‘Okay, you got a question. So spit it out,’ he said, his voice calm.
Taking a deep breath, she said bravely:
‘Did you put something in Mr Khalovsky’s glass when you grabbed him and pushed him down into his chair?’
Jon froze. Not a muscle in his body moved for a good minute as he processed this. A vein pulsed at his throat, and Aniela watched it in morbid fascination. She was afraid. Not of what he might do to her, but exactly the opposite: that her acute powers of observation where he was concerned might have made him so wary that he would want nothing more to do with her. She had a sudden image of a train she’d seen in a film, unstoppably tearing down the tracks, the driver desperately trying to apply the brakes to no avail, sparks flying from the metal wheels. But she knew that she wasn’t capable of putting on the brakes right now. If someone did it, that person would have to be Jon.
He opened his mouth, clearly still deciding what to say.
‘What makes you think—’ he began, and then he caught himself. His chest rose and fell as he made his decision. ‘Okay. Yes. Yes I did.’
He shook his head slowly.
‘I better tell you the rest of it. Did you see me do it?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I guessed. What did you give him?’
‘A little concoction they used to give me back when I worked for the Unit,’ he said. ‘I have a chemist make it up for me now. There’s a tiny bit of Rohypnol to knock ’em out and a couple of other little bits and bobs. Works a treat. I had a capsule in my pocket. You just break the top off and pour it into a glass in a second. Tasteless, odourless, very efficient.’
‘And you just happened to have it with you?’
‘Nope,’ Jon said. ‘I was looking for an opportunity to use it. So here’s what happened. Two days ago, Dasha Khalovsky rang my doorbell...’
He told her the whole story.
‘Damned if I know what she has on Nassri,’ he concluded, ‘but it’s sure as hell got to be big to make him go against me.’
‘It is,’ Aniela said seriously. ‘I was in the outside office when she went in to see him. He threw up in his sink. Twice.’
Jon’s eyebrows raised a fraction. ‘Well, there you go. She’s what my Aunt Eileen would’ve called a holy terror. Knocking Grigor out like that’ll give me a couple more days to figure out what to do about this mess. I calculated she’d see him go down, think I’d done the job and take to her heels to make sure she wasn’t tied in to me in any way, and I bet right. This way, she’ll think I made a good-faith effort and give me some more time to pull it off.’
‘But you’re not going to do it,’ Aniela observed, staring at him intently.
‘No, I’m not!’ He sounded genuinely surprised. ‘I told you, I made a vow! A man’s word’s only as good as his bond.’
Aniela didn’t know that expression, but she could understand the sense of it perfectly well. She stood up and walked towards him.
‘I believe you,’ she said seriously. ‘But what are you going to do now? If you can’t kill Mr Khalovsky?’
He laughed bitterly. ‘Damned if I know! It’s a hell of a mess, isn’t it?’
She stared at him in wonder.
‘You don’t seem worried,’ she commented.
He shrugged. ‘I’ve been in worse spots.’
Looking down at her, he framed her face gently with his hands.
‘So now you know,’ he said. ‘I had to let you know what you were messing with.’ He caught himself. ‘I suppose I had to let you know about Mrs Khalovsky as well, come to think of it. She made some nasty threats, and she’s more than capable of following through. You could be in danger if you’re spending time with me.’
‘I just saw you in action,’ Aniela said, smiling. ‘I think I can trust you to take care of me.’
‘Whoa,’ Jon said. ‘That’s a big responsibility.’
She stayed absolutely still, her eyes on his.
‘Do you want me to go?’ she asked, and felt her ribcage tense, her breath clamped in her lungs, waiting for his answer.
She knew that he was thinking it over, considering his options, that the answer might be ‘Yes’: she could sense it from his touch, his stance. And though his body was signalling eagerly to his brain that no, it didn’t want her to go at all – in fact it wanted her a lot closer, now – she was aware, too, that it would be Jon’s brain that would make the decision. She didn’t say another word; she just stood there, letting his cogs turn and engage, giving him all the time he needed.
‘No,’ he said softly at last, just when her lungs were beginning to burn. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I think you should go. But I don’t want you to.’
It was all she needed to hear. Reaching up, she looped her arms around his neck once more, pressed herself against him, kissed him with huge relief and delight. By now the steam was filling the room as if they were in a Turkish bath, the aquamarine mosaic tiles beaded with moisture, their clothes damp and sticking to them. She started to pull up his T-shirt and he helped instantly, pulling the neck carefully up and over his face and scalp, Aniela’s breath catching yet again in her throat as she took in the sight of his bare chest, the light scattering of coppery hair darkening as it trailed down to his waist; greedily, she ran her hands over him, tracing the lines of his muscles as they flexed and curved in again, shaking her head in wonder at the hardness of his waist and abs, counting each ribbed swell of his abdominals on her way down to the waistband of his sweatpants.
Untying the cord, she pulled them down, his briefs too, and wrapped her hands around the rising pole of his hard cock with such satisfaction that she sighed loudly in pure pleasure. Jon groaned, his head arching back, his hips tilting forward to drive himself even more firmly into Aniela’s hands. But it wasn’t enough for her just to grip him, stroke him, run his velvet-soft skin over his stiff core; she sank to her knees, cushioned by the floor mat, licked off the drops of liquid that had collected at the tip of his cock, and then, drawing her lips back over her teeth, closed her mouth over him.
He filled her completely, his thick shaft pushing against her tongue, the roof of her mouth; it was overwhelming. Aniela’s eyes closed so that she could concentrate completely on what she was doing, her lips tightening around his cock even more firmly as she felt him respond, swelling even more. She heard herself moaning deep in her throat, her index finger and thumb in a tight ring around his base, holding him as she began to suck up and down, flicking him with her tongue as she went, clinging with the other hand onto the edge of the basin for stability. Hot hard flesh in one hand, cold hard ceramic in the other; the contrast was oddly erotic. And everything was moist now: her skin, her uniform, the sink, the mat beneath her, his cock in her mouth, his hands twisting in her sweat-dampened hair, his balls bouncing against her fingers...
She realised, dizzily, that he was pulling her off him, off her knees and up to face him.
‘You shouldn’t,’ he said, his voice blurry with desire. ‘That’s what prostitutes do – you don’t have to do that with me—’
Aniela laughed in his fa
ce.
‘I like it,’ she said, kissing him. ‘I love it. You have a gorgeous cock, I love to suck it.’
‘You’re kidding,’ Jon said disbelievingly. ‘Women like to do that?’
‘Not just women,’ she said, laughing again.
He would have blushed if he could.
‘You can eat me too,’ she said, high on excitement, as he started unbuttoning her uniform. ‘But not now. Now I want you to fuck me...’
‘Oh!’ Jon bent down and rifled in the pockets of his sweatpants, which were puddled on the floor. ‘I got these from Andy!’
Proudly, he held up a three-pack of condoms. Aniela, pulling down her pants and tights and unhooking her bra – she assumed that he wouldn’t have had much practice at that, and she couldn’t wait another moment – took in the sight and whooped in sheer delight. Grabbing the packet from him, she ripped one open, pulled it out and slid it onto him proficiently.
‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘I really want to – how do we – where’s the best—’
He looked around him desperately, having no experience with this; but she was already pulling and pushing him into position, manoeuvring herself in front of the basin, facing the big mirror recessed into the sea-blue mosaic tiles. Behind the mirror was a built-in anti-fog mat; everything around them was blurry, water droplets hanging in the air, pouring down like heavy rain in the walk-in shower, pounding onto the tiles below, creating a mist, but in the mirror they could see themselves clearly. Drops of water clung and beaded to their naked bodies, making the surfaces slick enough to slip and slide against each other as Jon took his cock in his hand and eased it between Aniela’s legs. She was as wet inside as out by now, and he drove up into her faster than he’d meant, making both of them scream in pleasure; he gripped her hips frantically, bracing his legs as she clung to the edge of the basin.
‘I can’t last too long,’ he groaned in apology, ‘I can’t hold out, I just want to fuck you so hard – I’m sorry—’
She stared at their reflection, her white Polish skin, her blonde hair plastered to her scalp, her eyes starry, her cheeks red, her nipples pink: yes, her breasts were too small, her hips too big, and she couldn’t even bear to look at her stomach, but who cared? Jon obviously didn’t. Jon, his head bent, was kissing her neck as he drove in and out of her, his hips juddering, his cock huge inside her, the tight curls of hair at his crotch rasping against her, a delicious tickling sensation that built and built, faster and faster, Jon gasping deep and gutturally, his fingers holding her like clamps as he pulled her even closer to him, and she screamed again in delight as he bent her over more and, in a last surge, rammed himself to climax, raising his head to watch their wet bodies slamming together in the steam.
‘Yeah!’ he yelled. ‘Hell yeah! God – yes—’
Aniela, her entire body rocking with delight, feeling Jon coming inside her, his cock jerking with his spasms, watched her own face break into the biggest smile she had ever seen.
‘Happy Christmas,’ she said in utter contentment.
December 26th – Boxing Day
Melody
‘Are you sure about this, love?’ Melody’s mother asked as the Dale family’s Volvo turned into Commercial Road.
‘It’s not too late to change your mind and come back with us, you know! You’ve got some clothes in your old room, and we can always find some extra bits and pieces for you. I’m sure I’ve got a few things that you can wear.’
‘Right, Mum,’ Ashley chortled beside his sister. ‘Most of your stuff’ll go round Mel twice.’
‘Ashley Dale! Don’t you talk to your mother that way!’ his father said furiously, swinging round from the front passenger seat and clipping his son around the head.
‘I’ve got some leggings she could wear,’ Sonia Dale said comfortably, unoffended by Ashley’s comment.
‘And if I hadn’t had my boobs reduced,’ Melody said, relishing the opportunity to tease her brother, ‘I could probably borrow Mum’s bras too—’
‘Agh!’ Ashley clapped his hands over his ears. ‘Double disgusting! Sister and Mum’s lady lumps!’
‘Melody?’ Sonia asked, very used to ignoring her son where necessary. ‘Sure you want to do this, love?’
Melody nodded resolutely, leaning forward to put her arms around the headrest of her mother’s seat, catching sight of herself in the mirror. She had slept in a heavy layer of arnica cream the night before, and that morning Sonia had spent a good deal of time carefully patting cover-up and foundation onto Melody’s face, using liquid eyeliner which wouldn’t pull her skin, and mascara on upper and lower lashes. It would have taken stage make-up, or the kind used to cover up actors’ tattoos for film, to completely conceal the bruises, and Melody’s cheeks were still lumpy, her lips swollen from the aftermath of the surgery; but at first, even second glance, she looked much better than she would have thought possible. She was going to visit James. She’d led her parents to believe that she’d rung him, that he’d agreed to see her, but the truth was that Melody hadn’t had the nerve to call James; what if he simply refused, point-blank, to meet her? She couldn’t have coped with the rejection.
So she was trying again to turn up on his doorstep – still, technically, their doorstep – and see what his reaction was. Maybe it was unfair, one-sided; she knew she was coming, while he would be taken completely unawares. And maybe it was cowardly, but right now she felt stupidly, recklessly brave...
‘Drop me on the corner, Mum,’ she said quickly, seeing that they were coming up on the little street that led towards the railway lines. ‘That way you won’t have to do a U.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ said Mrs Dale. But there was a convenient place to pull in at the corner, London being quiet still on Boxing Day, and she slid the Volvo into the space.
‘Say hello to James from us,’ Mr Dale said, opening his car door; Melody hugged her brother briefly before getting out. ‘Hope it goes okay, Mel,’ he said, patting her arm awkwardly. ‘And thanks for yesterday. I can’t believe I got to hang out with Wayne Burns. Best Crimbo ever.’
She couldn’t help smiling; both Ashley and her father were still on Cloud Nine from Grigor Khalovsky’s party the day before. After the huge scene with Grigor’s wife, and Grigor’s collapse, the merriment had continued even more cheerfully than before. Grigor’s engagement to the shy little mouse girl had been toasted once more, as if to draw a line under Dasha’s home invasion, and the name of the wife Grigor was currently divorcing had not even been mentioned again.
With the host making an unexpectedly fast recovery, and Fyodorov yelling at the waiters to bring even more of the Hine cognac to serve with the brandy-soaked pudding and mince pies, the celebration had re-started surprisingly easily, and by the time the Dales staggered out at around seven, no one was in any state to drive. The four of them had watched television for a while, happily drink-sodden, Phil and Ashley reeking of expensive cigars to boot, and then Phil and Sonia had taken the second bedroom while Ashley crashed on the sofa. ‘Can’t argue with having cameras on mobile phones now,’ her father said, enfolding Melody in a warm embrace. ‘Wait till I show everyone at home the pics of me and Ash hanging out with Wayne Burns, like we were best mates! I know your mum loves meeting the actors, but this was a top treat for me. Thanks, love.’
‘I can’t really take credit, Dad,’ Melody mumbled into his sweater, but she was smiling; she’d caused her parents a great deal of worry and stress over the last year, and although it might have been total chance that Grigor Khalovsky had invited them all to Christmas lunch, it couldn’t have been a better present for the Dales.
‘You’ll be all right, won’t you?’ her mother said, hugging her tight and kissing her on her forehead, the one part of Melody’s face that hadn’t been bruised by her surgery. ‘I’m sure you will,’ she said firmly, answering her own question, stepping back and holding her daughter’s shoulders.
Her mother was smiling, but Melody could read very different emotions under
the prettily made-up, well-groomed surface. Sonia was very concerned, her forehead creasing, her lips tightening even as she forced them to curve upwards. She knew how much her daughter loved James, how happy they had been together, and what an awful mistake Melody had made when she had been seduced by the siren song of LA. Mrs Dale started to say something and promptly caught herself; she had always been very good about not interfering too much in her children’s lives, which was one of the reasons that, as adults, they were so close to their parents. Instead, she said gently:
‘Take care of yourself,’ squeezing Melody’s shoulders and then releasing her daughter with visible reluctance. ‘And give us a ring very soon, won’t you, love? Maybe you could come to visit for New Year’s Eve...’
If this meeting with James doesn’t go so well, was the subtext, and Melody could hear it as clearly as if her mother had said it out loud. If you need to come home to your family and curl in a ball and cry your eyes out, you’re always welcome. I’ll tuck you up and make you cheese toasties until you feel better.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Melody said with huge gratitude. ‘You should get back in the car now, it’s freezing.’
‘Snow in the next couple of days,’ her father said. ‘They’ve been saying it on the news.’
‘Have you got the chains in the car, Phil?’ said his wife, as he held the driver’s door open for her.
‘Of course I have,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘And the safety triangle, and the hi-vis jacket...’ Winking at his daughter, he closed his wife’s door and went round the car to his own. ‘All I need now is a St Bernard dog with a nice little barrel of brandy round its neck to pull us out of drifts if we get stuck...’ Melody stood on the corner, pulling her coat tightly around her; she watched the car pull away, waving at it, her father’s hand sticking out of the window, waving back at her; only when it disappeared did she take a deep breath, turn, and march quickly down the little side street which was still so very familiar to her, to the cottage which had once been her home. Before she could lose her nerve, she raised her hand and pressed the doorbell which had once been hers. It rang out loudly, particularly audible on such a quiet day, with few people around; and now it’s done, she told herself firmly. I can’t run away, like a kid dropping something nasty on a doorstep and then making a dash for it. I have to stay here and give him time to answer... if he’s in...
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