by Lulu Taylor
His face fell. ‘Just a quick one at the Admiral?’
Daisy realised she was starving and remembered that the Admiral did food. On impulse, she said, ‘You know what? All right. But only quickly. I’m exhausted. And Nathan …’
‘Yes?’ He had cheered up at her sudden change of mind and was grinning broadly.
‘This isn’t a date, OK?’ she said sternly but with a smile. ‘Just as friends.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Of course. I’ll get my coat.’
As she and Nathan walked down the road to the pub, she thought about her old social life. Once upon a time, it was playboys ringing her up to ask if she wanted to drink Cristal champagne and vodka cocktails at the hottest clubs in town, or taking her out for dinner at the trendiest new restaurants. Her old favourite, Le Gavroche, practically had a table on permanent reservation for her. The old Daisy would no more have imagined wandering to a grotty local on the outskirts of Bristol with a poverty-stricken student than flying to the moon. Instead, she had wafted through her constant round of parties and lunches, shopping and beautifying, working when it suited her but on projects where someone else did the actual graft, and popping off on endless holidays whenever she felt like it.
Nathan chatted away as they walked along the dark, litter-strewn streets, but she wasn’t listening.
Did I really once have access to a private jet? A fully staffed yacht at my disposal? She could hardly believe it now – the impulse trips to the Med, where she and her girlfriends recovered from their hectic lives of pleasure by sunning themselves in designer bikinis on Daddy’s yacht. And then there was her lavish coming-out ball. She remembered that crazy night at the Crillon, which had ended up with Freddie making love to her in the four-poster bed of the Leonard Bernstein Suite. He’d opened a bottle of vintage Dom Perignon from the minibar, joking that this might be the most expensive bottle of champagne he’d ever popped – he could have bought a small car for the same amount. They’d frolicked in bed and afterwards sat on the terrace, Freddie smoking, as they watched the sun coming up and touching the Arc de Triomphe with its first orange rays.
It was a world away from having a burger and chips at the Admiral with Nathan. But Daisy’s eyes were open now. She was learning about other lives, the millions of other existences parallel to those of the pampered few. As she and Nathan settled at a table and ordered their food, she realised that some aspects of her previous life now made her feel vaguely ashamed.
All the more reason to succeed in what I’m doing, she told herself firmly. I’m going to show everyone that I’m not afraid of work, and that I can earn success – not just inherit it.
She returned to her bedsit two hours later and got ready for bed. The trip to the pub had unexpectedly been fun, and she’d enjoyed listening to Nathan talking about his course. It reminded her how lonely she had been over the last few years, only the odd chat with Lucy providing any outlet. Her job had taken up most of her time, and what was left she devoted to furthering her plan.
Sometimes black depression settled on Daisy, but she refused to give in to it. If she did, it meant that bastard was winning and she wasn’t about to let that happen. She would damn’ well cope. Every day that went by, she was getting better at looking after herself, managing her money and letting go of everything the past had meant to her. All except one thing: getting even with Daddy.
She went over to her computer to check her emails before she turned in. She clicked on to the Dangerfield Florey web page, and scrolled through it, gazing at the photographs of the familiar hallways, the restaurants and ballroom. She made it her business frequently to inspect the sites of the most important Dangerfield assets. The Florey’s page hadn’t changed since the last time she’d looked, though the link to her shoe boutique had long since disappeared, of course. That business had been dismantled not long after she’d left the family. It was waste, but it could hardly continue without her. She went to the main Dangerfield site, looking at the upcoming projects and the company’s usual marketing spiel about how fantastic it was.
Then she noticed a new link: The Dangerfield Foundation. That had definitely not been there last time she’d looked. She clicked on it. ‘Page under construction’, it said. ‘News to follow shortly’.
I wonder what that can be. What the hell is Daddy up to now? I’ll have to keep an eye on this.
That night, she had the usual nightmare. She was in a huge house which started off as Thornside Manor, but it rapidly became clear that this place was much bigger than her old house. Each door she opened seemed to lead to another, new part that she’d never known had existed. She was looking for someone but wasn’t sure who, just that it was someone she needed to find but who was always tantalisingly just out of sight. Then, just as she was sure she’d got close, she would open a door and behind it was Daddy. When he saw her, he went red in the face and began to scream and shake his fist at her. Then she was running back through the unfamiliar corridors and passageways, but wherever she went he was close behind her, or just in front, or waiting around the next corner, determined to find her and punish her. Then she woke up, her heart pounding, a sick feeling in her stomach, and fear coursing through her.
Daisy felt the familiar nausea as she blinked and panted in the blackness. She hastily turned on the light and lay down again, trying to calm and reassure herself.
I never want to feel afraid of him again, she thought to herself. I don’t see why he should go on making my life a misery. Besides, if anyone should be afraid, it’s him.
29
‘I KNOW, BABY, I know,’ purred Coco seductively down the telephone. She tried to shut out the reality of her shabby bare room in the shared flat and pretend that she was lying on silk sheets. ‘You know what – I’m naked right now.’ She was actually wearing jeans and tee-shirt, but her feet were bare, perhaps that counted. ‘I’m lying on the bed, thinking about you.’ It was true she was lying on the bed, with its sagging mattress and broken headboard, but she was staring up at the wood-chip-papered ceiling, idly wondering how many little tiny bumps there were in it while she talked.
‘You’re naked?’ said the voice on the other end, a rasping gruff voice. ‘Christ, don’t do that to me, Coco.’
She ran her hands across her chest. ‘I’m feeling my tits. God, they’re gorgeous. My nipples are going hard, they’re like little bullets. They want you to suck them, baby. I’m getting wet thinking about it …’
She could hear heavy breathing down the line. She waited, making only a soft, longing, sighing noise to keep him ticking over.
When he spoke again, his voice was thick with lust.
She could just imagine him sitting in his swanky office behind his desk, trying to deal with the raging hard-on that was bursting to be free from his pinstripe trousers. ‘How soon can you get to Charles Street?’
‘I guess … an hour or so.’
‘Fine. Meet me there in an hour.’ He put the phone down abruptly.
She laughed lightly to herself. She had him in the palm of her hand. Exactly where she wanted him.
Maybe this is my way out, she thought. It was an opportunity, she knew that, and she was keen to seize it.
Coco arrived at the flat in Charles Street exactly an hour later. She’d changed into a tight dress and high heels, with some of her sexiest underwear beneath. He liked the works – didn’t they all? – the suspenders, stockings, wispy lace panties, a bra that pushed her tits up into a balcony. She’d decided against the leopard-skin coat; she would look like an old-fashioned tart in that. No. A discreet black belted trench, a pair of shades and her white hair drawn back into a chic ponytail. New-school tart, maybe.
The flat was located at the west end of Charles Street in Mayfair, where it narrowed and darkened and became a little bit more secretive. Just on the bend was a tall, narrow Georgian house divided into four flats. Coco pressed the buzzer of the one on the fourth floor and waited. She examined the brickwork, blackened by its coating of two centuries of Lon
don soot, then a voice came from the intercom. ‘Come up.’
The buzzer sounded and she pushed against the door to open it. The next moment she was in an elegant, if neutral hallway. She closed the door behind her and began to climb the curving staircase. She had never yet seen anyone else in these flats. Perhaps they were all used as places for secret assignations by businessmen keen to keep their activities private, lying empty except for a few frantic hours. It seemed a waste.
Reaching the fourth floor, she knocked on the door of Flat D. A moment later it opened and he was standing there, almost quivering with anticipation, his belly seeming to judder under his waistcoat. Without a word, she strode forward and pressed her lips to his, licking them with the tip of her tongue. She went past him, undoing her coat.
She turned and faced him, smiling as she let the coat drop to the floor. Then she reached under one arm and began to unzip her dress. ‘Well,’ she murmured. ‘Shall we?’
He didn’t need much encouragement. An instant later he was on her, running his hands all over her and grunting with pleasure as they half stumbled into the small bedroom and on to the bed. He was a forceful kisser, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, his own jaws wide open as though he wanted to swallow her. She thought she caught the faint tang of tooth decay but tried to ignore it. His hands were not tender: he liked to pinch and squeeze and pummel her breasts and bottom, twisting her nipples just to the point of pain. And he liked her to scratch and pinch him in return, running her red talons over his slightly scaly back (He needs a back scrub or something. A good oily massage, she would think, trying not to imagine flakes of skin gathering under her nails) and seizing the hairy flesh on his buttocks.
Now he was well primed and eager, his cock stiff and twitching the moment he released it from his trousers. He wanted to fuck her, and quickly; she had suspected as much, and made sure to lubricate herself in advance. She never got aroused while they had sex and the lube helped.
‘Condom, babe,’ she reminded him, and he fumbled for one in the drawer of the bedside table. She took it from him and deftly ripped the packet open with her teeth, plucked out the small saucer of rubber and, with a smooth movement, rolled it down over his prick. He was still dressed but he seemed to find that exciting – the rushed, lustful nature of it. Swiftly he pushed her knees apart with one hand while with the other he held his cock, pushing it towards her entrance.
I never realised that pubes went grey, Coco thought, catching a glimpse of the stiff shaft inside its latex covering where it emerged from a nest of greying hair. I suppose it makes sense. After all, the hairs in his nostrils were grey too, and his eyebrows. Why not pubes? Concentrate, Coco.
He was in now, panting when he wasn’t kissing her, rushing forward to his climax. When she wanted to speed him up, she simply pushed a finger quickly and sharply up his ass, and that would make him gasp with pleasure, shudder and rush to orgasm, but she didn’t need to do it this time. He was tensing and bucking within a few minutes of entering her.
‘Christ, Coco,’ he said, rolling off her with a sigh. ‘You do things to me …’
‘You do things to me, hon,’ she purred.
‘But … you didn’t come …’ he said, smiling as though they shared a special secret. He kissed her complacently, as though it was understood that Coco didn’t really need satisfaction, she was simply there to provide it. She smiled back. She was happy with that arrangement. She couldn’t bear to think of getting off with this guy.
She turned on to her side so that she was facing him, and undid his tie. ‘Don’t worry about that. That was just the starter. When we get to the main course …’ She began to pull the tie out from round his collar.
He frowned and made a rueful noise. ‘I can’t, Coco. I have to get back to work. It was madness sneaking out as it was. I’ve got an important meeting at five, and then drinks with more clients, and a charity dinner at eight-thirty …’
‘Shall I wait until you get back?’ she asked winsomely.
‘Well … I don’t think there’s any point. I’ve no idea if I’ll have time …’
‘You know, hon, I’ve been thinking.’ She pouted at him and smiled, gazing up at him from under her lashes. ‘Wouldn’t it make sense if I was here for you all the time? I mean, you’ve got this place – it’s empty most of the time, right? Why don’t I stay here for a while and you can see what’s it like to have me at your beck and call any time you want … but without the hassle of me having to get here?’
He considered this, obviously attracted by the idea of having Coco in constant attendance and tickled by the thought that he could dash in at any time to have her. ‘But …’
‘But what?
‘Well, this is a company flat, in theory. It ought to be available for visiting clients if we need to find them accommodation.’
‘But you’re the boss, ain’t ya?’ she said quickly, slipping into the South London accent she tried to tone down for her lover. ‘Why not just put ’em up at a hotel? And how often do you use it anyway?’
He laughed. ‘True. I can’t remember when we last did. But sod’s law says that if you move in, it’ll be required immediately.’
She pouted at him again and whispered, ‘Come on, darling, imagine it … our own little love nest …’
He gazed back, his eyes darkening with lust again. She took his hand and pushed on to her mound so that he could feel the small strip of hair and the puffy lips of her pussy.
‘This would be yours … any time.’
‘Ahhh, Coco …’ He tickled her with a finger, then pushed it into the entrance. She let her legs fall open and sighed as though with pleasure.
‘Baby …’ She licked her lips and closed her eyes.
‘Listen, I’ll see what I can do, all right?’
Coco was confident of getting what she wanted in the end. After all, she had her lover wrapped around her little finger, and was determined he would help her escape life in the poky shared flat in Whitechapel and evenings spent dancing in the club.
That night of the birthday party, when she’d taken to the stage, had been magnificent. Shafting Haley like that had definitely been worth it, even if it was cruel. The moment when Coco had burst into song had been fantastic. The other girls had stared at her in astonishment as they’d realised she was belting out Haley’s number, but they were pros and had carried on the routine as rehearsed, only with one less dancer. It had raised the roof as well: by the end, the audience had been on their feet clapping and cheering, yelling for an encore, so they’d done the whole song again, and this time Coco had really gone for it and had a ball. After the show, some of the girls stayed backstage to comfort Haley, who had been released from the loo by some waiter and was now screaming and crying. She’d rushed at Coco, looking like she wanted to scratch her eyes out, but Roberto had held her back. Coco ignored her, got changed into a slinky black number, refreshed her lipstick and went out to join the party. It had been great: men watching her, sidling up to congratulate her and have a quick chat while their wives shot nervous looks in her direction.
She’d been approached by a stiff-looking woman in a plain black evening dress who’d said that Mr Dangerfield wanted to meet her, and had led her over to the table of honour. Coco looked at him with interest – so this was the birthday boy. He was a tanned man with a dodgy dye job on his hair, and he’d given her a glass of champagne and complimented her on the routine.
‘Wonderful,’ he’d said, staring at her from a pair of dark brown eyes with a particularly penetrating gaze. She couldn’t help noticing his bushy black brows and his jowly features. ‘You’re very talented.’
‘Thank you,’ Coco had returned with her best smile. ‘And a happy birthday to you. It’s a funny coincidence actually, ’cos it’s my birthday today too.’
He’d reacted to this quite oddly – visibly jumping, his eyes widening – but only for a moment. A second later he said smoothly, ‘That is indeed amusing. Margaret will see to it that you get
a birthday present from me, as a token of my appreciation.’
She’d been hoping to be asked to join him and perhaps be treated to some more of the champagne cooling in a bucket on the table, but another old man in a dinner suit came up to greet Mr Dangerfield in a booming voice, and she was led away by Margaret. She took Coco’s details and then Coco was free to roam the party. That was where she struck gold. From the first moment he came up to talk her, she’d known what Matthew had in mind. There was a wedding ring on his finger but his wife, he told her, was not at the party. Would she like to dance? After several dances and heavy flirtation over cocktails, she knew then that she’d landed the big fat fish she’d been looking for.
She’d played the game carefully, not putting out right away but reeling him in with teasing and promises until he was putty in her hands. The night she’d finally slept with him, he’d nearly blown a fuse with excitement. She’d fucked him three times in succession, and by the end he was practically her slave. She’d been careful to ask for nothing so far and now, she was sure, he was on the brink of doing what she wanted, getting her out of her drab old existence and into a glittering new one.
She’d been surprised when the birthday present from Mr Dangerfield had duly arrived: she’d forgotten all about it. It was a cheque for £100 issued by his private bank inside a signed card. She couldn’t bank the money without an account so she threw away the card and kept the cheque tucked in her purse as though its presence tied her to that magical world of limitless money and pleasure.
Besides, it was the only present she’d received.
30
THE DIRECTORS FROM Craven Dalziel & Co. were shown into Alan’s office at eleven o’clock precisely. It was the same two as before, both in dark business suits, one man middle-aged and balding and with an air of authority. But Daisy’s eyes instantly went to the younger man. He was around thirty, she guessed, with a full head of dark hair and chocolatey brown eyes under strong straight brows. She watched him as he returned Alan’s handshake, said hello and took his place. There was an intensity about him that was underlined by his fine bone structure and rather aquiline nose.