by Jo Carnegie
‘I did see an arm once when I was coming out of my house,’ said Velda. ‘Rowena obviously thought the coast was clear. I tried to say hello but the door was slammed quicker than you could say: “Ahoy there.”’
‘In most ways she’s the perfect neighbour, really,’ Stephen remarked. ‘Quiet, unobtrusive, pays all her monitories for the mews on time through her solicitor. But one does feel for the poor woman. She’s obviously a severe agoraphobic or something, and ekes out every waking moment next door in that self-imposed prison.’
‘Maybe she likes it that way,’ said Velda. ‘You don’t need to step outside the front door for anything nowadays, you can get it all online. Sometimes I long to shut myself away with just my clay and kiln and luxuriate in total solitude.’
‘That may well be,’ said Stephen thoughtfully. ‘But I personally think a life without people and experiences and love must be a desperate existence. Don’t you agree?’
An image of a Miss Havisham-type character, surrounded by deathly still, dilapidated rooms and dusty Victorian memorabilia flitted into Caro’s mind. In spite of the evening warmth, she shivered.
An hour later it was time to put Milo to bed. Caro scooped him up from the kitchen floor, said a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to Stephen, Velda and Klaus, and left them opening another bottle of champagne and putting the world to rights. As soon as Benedict pushed open the door to No. 2, Caro could hear her mobile ringing. Putting Milo down, she rushed over to her bag at the bottom of the stairs to answer it. Fairoaks, the name of her grandmother’s house, was flashing on the screen.
‘Caro, it’s me.’ Clementine hadn’t quite grasped the concept of caller ID yet.
‘Hello, Granny Clem!’ Caro sat down on the bottom step. ‘I was just about to call you, actually.’
‘Oh, hold on a minute, Errol Flynn has made a ghastly smell. Errol! Out, now! Hang on a minute.’
Caro could hear a door being opened. For a moment she pictured the large but homely kitchen at Fairoaks House, with its worn stone floors and slightly lopsided path leading out into the glorious garden. Her grandmother would be sitting down to have her nightly glass of Dom Perignon soon, Radio 4 on in the background. Caro felt a pang of homesickness.
The sound of footsteps and Clementine picked up the receiver again.
‘Sorry about that, I really must take that dog to the vet; he’s been emitting the most noxious vapours recently. Anyway, where were we? What is the mews like?’
‘Oh, lovely. The house is perfect. We’ve just been a few doors down, at Stephen and Klaus’s, having a welcome drink.’
‘Good, good!’ Clementine’s voice was a little too bright. ‘Well, I won’t keep you, I just wanted to check you got there in one piece.’ Fiercely independent, Clementine was never the type to insist on daily phone calls, but Caro could still detect a frisson of something in her grandmother’s voice.
‘How about I call you tomorrow for a proper catchup, once I’ve unpacked?’
‘Whenever suits, you know I’ll be here. Send my love to Benedict and Milo.’
Caro smiled. ‘I will, I love you, Granny Clem.’
‘I love you too, darling.’
While Caro gave Milo his evening bath, Benedict busied himself making dinner. It was eight thirty by the time she came downstairs. Delicious smells were wafting from the kitchen.
‘I’ve just thrown together some salmon steaks in tarragon sauce, and some new potatoes,’ said Benedict, carrying two plates through to the table outside. He’d lit two tall white candles, and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc was chilling expectantly in a wine bucket. Caro’s mouth watered; the tuna sandwich she’d had for lunch seemed like a lifetime ago.
‘So, do you think you’ll like it here?’ Benedict asked after they had finished the meal and were enjoying the balmy night air in companionable silence.
‘Oh, I hope so. Everyone’s made me feel so welcome.’
‘It’s still not Churchminster, though.’
Caro smiled at her husband reassuringly. ‘I think it’s magical, I really do.’
Benedict’s gaze penetrated through the darkening night. ‘Haven’t we got some unfinished business to attend to?’
Caro felt a lurch of anticipation. ‘Why don’t you clear the table while I have a shower? I’ll clean up properly tomorrow.’
Upstairs, she undressed in the master bedroom’s en suite, pausing to stare critically at her reflection in the mirror. All the Standington-Fulthrope women were blessed with good legs, and with her small waist, full breasts and womanly hips Caro had an enviable hourglass figure. Benedict was always telling her she had a beautiful body, but Caro, never blessed with much self-confidence in the first place, had endured eight years of put-downs and sneering remarks from her ex-husband, Sebastian. The damage was taking a long time to repair.
She had barely been in the shower for two minutes before the bathroom door opened and a naked Benedict walked in. As ever, Caro marvelled at the strong, sculpted body that looked like a classic Greek statue. He also had the most enormous erection, his long, wide cock standing to attention like a sergeant major. A sexy smile played on the edge of his lips.
‘Thought you might need some help soaping those difficult-to-reach bits.’
He pulled the screen door open and stepped in, water cascading off his wide, muscular shoulders and back. Taking hold of the loofah, he started rubbing it over Caro’s breasts, a mock-solemn look on his face.
‘Is that better?’
‘Stop it,’ she smiled, but Benedict was pushing her against the tiled wall and kissing her. It was all Caro could do to stop crying out, as his lips moved down her neck and then to her breasts, softly biting and licking her nipples. His erection was pushing hard against her, now, and Caro parted her legs as Benedict lifted her up and eased himself inside her. Memories of their first sexual encounter against the bedroom wall of Mill House flashed through her mind, heightening the moment. They rocked and ground together, kissing through the waterfall until their breathing began to quicken. Caro could feel the first blissful tickles of her orgasm starting in her toes, as it worked its way up through her body like some glorious unstoppable upsurge . . . Eventually they both came, gasping, their soaking bodies moulded together.
‘We seem to have a thing about christening walls. Weren’t we meant to be testing out the bed?’ asked Caro, when she finally had her breath back.
‘Thought we’d save that for tomorrow,’ Benedict replied. She could feel his heart hammering against her chest. He held her even tighter.
‘Have I told you lately how much I love you?’
Chapter 5
THE NEXT DAY Caro awoke to an empty bed and quiet house. She glanced at her wristwatch, 7.45 a.m. On the bedside table was a scribbled note from Benedict.
Early start. Have a good day, see you later. X
Stretching out in the soft bed, Caro felt surprisingly rested. The thick white muslin curtains were slightly ajar, and the early morning sun was streaming through. It was going to be another scorcher. She pulled the duvet back and swung her legs on to the floor. Rummaging through one of the many Waitrose bags piled up in the corner of the room, she found a pair of clean knickers and a long T-shirt, threw them on, and padded down the corridor to Milo’s bedroom.
She opened the door. Her son was still asleep, his cherubic face smiling as if in the middle of a delightful dream.
‘Biscuits,’ he murmured happily.
Tiptoeing across to the window, Caro opened the curtains an inch and looked down into the mews. The courtyard looked cool and serene, cobbles spread out like an earthy patchwork carpet. Behind her, half-conscious of the light in the room, Milo was stirring.
‘Morning, my darling,’ said Caro, turning around. ‘Did mummy’s favourite boy sleep well?’
After giving Milo his breakfast, Caro had just sat down to a bowl of organic muesli made more interesting with a dollop of Benedict’s full-fat Rachel’s yogurt, when the doorbell rang.
Caro pu
t her spoon down. Stephen perhaps? One watchful eye on Milo who was watching CBeebies in the living room, she went to the front door and opened it. At first, she thought a supermodel had wandered into the mews by accident. Standing on the doorstep was the most extraordinary girl, tall and slim with short tufts of white-blonde hair sticking out artfully all over her head. Her petrol-blue eyes were set off even more by her flawless, milky skin. She was dressed in a yellow vest and a dark blue ra-ra skirt, incongruously printed with dozens of Minnie Mouse faces. On her feet were bright yellow ballet shoes, while a mountain of silver bangles adorned each wrist. Somehow, it worked.
The girl smiled. She had a slight overbite, which somehow only added to her prettiness. As she stuck out her hand, the bangles jangled loudly.
‘You must be Caro, I’m Saffron,’ she said. ‘Sorry I missed you last night, thought I’d come and say hello on my way to work. I’m late, of course.’
The smile widened, and Caro thought how like her sister Calypso Saffron was, with her quirky style and self-confident manner. Intrigued by the interruption, Milo had come over and was now looking up shyly at the pretty newcomer from between Caro’s legs.
Saffron bent down and chucked Milo under the chin.
‘Hello! You’re a gorgeous little thing. What’s your name?’
Milo, usually not the most forthcoming with strangers, was dazzled by this exotic-looking creature. A huge smile lit up his face.
‘Mi-lo.’
Saffron took his chubby little hand and shook it earnestly. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you. I’m Saffron.’ Milo’s smile became a beam.
‘You’ve got yourself a fan, there,’ observed Caro, smiling, too.
Saffron grinned. ‘I love kids. Not that I’d be able to look after one, I have enough trouble looking after myself.’
Caro picked up Milo and he continued to stare at Saffron in wonder. ‘I hear we’ve got someone in common: Harriet Fraser. You work together at Soirée?’
Saffron’s smile broadened. ‘Dearest H, she’s the office saviour. We’ve become really good mates, actually. She only lives ten minutes round the corner.’
‘I know, it’s marvellous,’ said Caro. ‘You must all come over for dinner soon.’
A mobile went off, the techno trance tune shattering the tranquillity of the courtyard. Saffron dug around in her bag for it.
‘Shit,’ she said. ‘It’s work. I’m meant to be at this charity breakfast thing in Sloane Square. Gwyneth’s making a speech.’
Caro was seriously impressed. ‘Gwyneth Paltrow?’
Saffron nodded as she answered the call. ‘Hello? I’m nearly there, Annabel. All right, keep your hair on!’ She rolled her eyes at Caro, grinning, and took off across the courtyard, leaving a trail of perfume and glamour in her wake.
Caro’s stomach was grumbling. She checked her watch; to her surprise it was nearly lunchtime. The morning had flown by; it was amazing how long it took unravelling your tights and putting them in an underwear drawer. After a rather uninspired look in the fridge, she decided to take Milo out instead. There were bound to be some nice little cafés in the area, and it was a good chance to check out the neighbourhood. As her son was going through an alarming stage of running off, Caro thought it would be safer to keep him in the pushchair. Strapping him in, she wheeled it out. Benedict had given her her own remote control key fob and as Caro pressed it the electronic gates slowly clanked open
Away from the coolness of the mews, the day was surprisingly hot. A gleaming line of BMW estates and Mercedes lined each side of Guinevere Road, like two presidential fleets. Caro paused to get her bearings. It is pretty round here, she reflected, admiring the regal porches flanked by stone pillars, and wrought iron railings. A thundering could be heard overhead, and as Caro looked up she could see blue sky streaked with the fading white lines of Heathrow-bound aeroplanes.
A few minutes later, the pair found themselves at a T-junction on to a main road. Red double-decker buses sat bumper to bumper with 4×4s and black taxis. Lean, Lycra-clad bike couriers wove dangerously fast in and out of the traffic, while a man in a pinstriped suit zoomed past on a trendy-looking silver Vespa.
‘Taxi!’ shouted a male voice.
The cab swung into the kerb next to Caro. She stepped back as someone dived past her. ‘Sorry,’ said the man, as he pulled open the door and jumped in.
‘No problem,’ Caro started to say, but the cab was already pulling off as the lights turned green, leaving her standing in a cloud of exhaust fumes.
A few minutes later, they’d reached a row of shops. Mouth-watering smells floated out of an organic bakery where candy-coloured cakes were piled high, while next door was an upmarket wedding shop with a bejewelled corset magically suspended in the window, surrounded by the biggest vases of pink lilies Caro had ever seen.
Resisting the urge to go in the bakery and buy a box of muffins, Caro spotted a café up the road where people were sitting outside enjoying an alfresco lunch. Even better, there was a free table. Picking up speed on the pushchair, she hurried over.
Several minutes later a chic French waitress came to take their order. Feeling positively cosmopolitan, Caro decided to throw caution to the winds and ordered a glass of wine. Milo was entranced with his picture book about tigers, and he and his mother sat in companionable silence until their lunch arrived.
Afterwards, as spaghetti-full Milo dozed off in his chair, Caro took the opportunity to people-watch. Everyone looked very stylish, but they seemed in such a rush to get somewhere, she thought, as passers-by hurried past with their heads down or talking loudly into their mobile phones. An Amazonian woman, her caramel-blonde hair flying behind her, cycled past on an old-fashioned bicycle with a little boy strapped into a child’s seat. Caro’s heart jumped: she could have sworn it was Elle Macpherson! She was sure she’d read in OK! magazine the supermodel lived round here. Wait until she told her mother, a glossy magazine devotee, about her new star-studded neighbourhood.
Caro smiled as she imagined Tink’s reaction, but her excitement was suddenly replaced by a stab of loneliness. How was she ever going to fit in with celebrities and supermodels? At that moment Milo burped contentedly, waking himself up. Caro took the opportunity to catch the waitress’s eye and get the bill, and they began to make their way back to Montague Mews.
As she walked back into the courtyard, Caro saw a flash of movement from an upstairs window. The mysterious Rowena! She looked up expectantly, but the barred panes of glass stared blankly back. Caro noticed a security camera high on the house. It seemed to be trained right on her . . . Trying to shake off the uncomfortable thought that she was under surveillance, Caro unlocked her new front door.
Five minutes later, she was cajoling Milo out of his tomato-stained T-shirt when the phone rang.
‘What ho, Mrs Towey!’
‘Harriet!’
Caro felt ridiculously happy to hear the familiar voice.
‘How are you all settling in? I must come round soon to see you all, your new place sounds fabulous.’ There was the sound of drilling in the background.
‘We’d love that!’ said Caro. ‘It’s so nice you’re practically round the corner.’ The drilling got louder. ‘Goodness, are you on a building site or something?’
‘Just about! I’m down at the Natural History Museum doing a recce for the cocktail party. There’re men in hard hats everywhere, I think they’re adding on a new extension.’
Visions of a fashionably clad, all-in-black Harriet holding a clipboard and issuing orders flashed through Caro’s mind. ‘Sounds awfully glamorous, are you sure you want to come and hang out with us? You must get invited to exciting parties all the time!’
There was a slight hesitation. ‘To be honest, they’re not really my thing. I’d much rather come and see you and Milo.’
Caro felt a flash of happiness. ‘Well in that case, you must be our first official guest!’
There was the sound of muffled voices in the background.
Caro put the phone down, feeling London wasn’t such an unfriendly place after all.
Chapter 6
SAFFRON WAS LATE for work. Again. She had stayed at Fernando’s last night and he’d been in a particularly amorous mood. At 4 a.m., pleading exhaustion, Saffron had put a pillow between them and rolled over to try and get some sleep. It was all right for Fernando, he didn’t have to get up in the morning. Apart from a bar job he didn’t turn up to very often, her boyfriend spent the majority of his time sunbathing, lolling around watching The Jeremy Kyle Show, or honing his six-pack down the gym. Fernando had joined a small-time modelling agency, and claimed he wanted to get into acting school, but the biggest gig he’d got so far was showing off his torso for some dodgy sounding fat-reduction pills, the kind of advert found in the low-rent Sunday supplement magazines. Still, that hadn’t crushed his dreams of becoming the next Al Pacino.
‘The world isn’t ready for Fernando Romero yet, but when I hit the big time – oh boy!’ he’d say to Saffron with his usual air of drama. So far she had stopped herself from pointing out that Al Pacino hadn’t hit the big time by lying under his duvet wanking all day.
Sometimes, when it was left to her to get the drinks in again, or she phoned Fernando at lunchtime to discover he hadn’t got out of bed yet, Saffron wondered what she was doing with such a waster. Then again, she knew exactly why: she loved pretty boys, and wasn’t embarrassed to put sexy looks before scintillating conversation. At this stage in her life, that was all Saffron wanted. Plus the fact he could do things with his tongue she had scarcely thought possible. A memory of last night came back, and her eyes glazed over.
‘Saffron? Have you got a minute?’ Catherine’s voice interrupted her lustful reverie. Saffron flushed guiltily, her boss didn’t look very happy. She followed Catherine into her office and shut the door.