And she was. ‘Good,’ she said, with feeling, and Bruno was reassured at his decision. It was his duty to come back. He should never have left in the first place, but he’d needed time to heal at his own pace. Now he felt strong enough to live among the memories. It was time to look to the future…
5
Realistically, what chance does a forty-six-year-old man have against two scheming seventeen-year-olds? Especially when he is a vain, wealthy forty-six-year-old man convinced he is devastatingly attractive to women?
Miranda Snow, commonly known as Mimi, strolled out of the back gates of Lansdown Academy for Girls, linking arms with her best friend Yasmin. In deference to the spring, the two of them had already ripped off their ties, unbuttoned their blouses and rolled up the waistbands of their green pleated skirts to reveal slender, cellulite-free legs. Over-the-knee socks and clumpy-heeled shoes completed their outfits: two terrifying Lolitas with their hair in loose plaits, their eyes ringed with black kohl, their lips smeared with sticky lip gloss.
Yasmin was lolling against Mimi, trying to extricate a piece of Wrigleys from its wrapper.
‘He is such a total lech. I still don’t get how your mum can fancy such a perv.’
‘Dosh.’ Mimi stated the fact baldly.
‘Well, he’s gagging for it. I can tell you.’
‘Are you sure you want to go through with it?’
Yasmin looked sideways at her friend as she popped the stick of gum in her mouth.
‘Hey – isn’t that what friends are for?’
‘I guess.’ Mimi, usually so resolute, was having a moment’s doubt.
‘It’s perfect timing. I mean, he nearly crashed the car three times when he dropped me home last night. He couldn’t stop looking at my legs.’
Mimi made a disgusted face.
‘I know. He does the same to me. It turns my stomach.’
‘I’m just going to have to shut my eyes and think of somebody old but attractive. Like George Clooney.’
‘Why don’t you just think of the money? Like Mum does?’
‘Do you really think that’s the only reason she’s with him?’
‘It’s not for his looks, is it?’
‘The trouble is he thinks he’s gorgeous. He’s such an eighties throwback!’
‘He has his back waxed, did you know that?’ Mimi convulsed with laughter. ‘And he’s got a special colour chart that he carries everywhere with him. So he knows what colour clothes to buy.’
‘That is so gay!’ Yasmin wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘Only he’s not. We know that.’
Mimi looked at her watch, suddenly serious. The bus was due in five minutes. She prayed it wouldn’t be late. Or, worse, that it wouldn’t turn up at all.
‘OK. Here’s the schedule. Mum’s taking the afternoon off work – she promised. She should be back around two. Nick usually gets back around one so he can play golf. If we time it right, get him all relaxed so he doesn’t suspect anything…’
It was Yasmin’s turn to look doubtful.
‘Your mum is going to wig.’
‘Listen, you’re doing her a favour. Come on, Yas. She needs rescuing from that creep. This is the only way to do it.’
Mimi’s tone was urgent. She didn’t want Yasmin chickening out now. She was usually up for anything. If Yasmin didn’t do it, she’d do it herself, even though the fallout would be much, much worse. But Mimi was desperate. She really couldn’t stand it any longer.
Yasmin was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, contemplating the deal.
‘Two hundred and fifty,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Two hundred’s not enough. I’ll do it for two hundred and fifty. You’ve got to make it worth my while. It’s my reputation. And then I can get those boots from River Island as well.’
‘Jesus!’ Mimi grabbed her friend’s arm. ‘What is it about women and money? Have you no integrity?’
She dragged Yasmin towards the bus stop. They were going to miss the bus at this rate and that would mean blowing the whole plan. It was now or never. Mimi couldn’t bear it another day.
Mimi’s friends were all green with envy that she had such a trendy mother, who wore really cool clothes and listened to Basement Jaxx at full blast with the roof down on her sports car. Who swore like a trooper and didn’t care if Mimi and her friends smoked, and let them pinch her cigarettes because she had boxes and boxes of duty free, so afraid was she of running out. But personally Mimi wasn’t impressed. She longed for a normal mother. She wanted to be able to rebel! There was nothing she wasn’t allowed to do; nothing she was forced to do against her will. Victoria never chased up her homework, or pored over her report demanding why her grades weren’t better, or threatened to collect her hideously early from a party. In fact, she didn’t bother collecting her from parties at all – Mimi had the number of a cab firm and she just had to call. She didn’t even have to pay – it was all on account. She didn’t bother telling her mother she was home. Victoria would either still be out, or zonked out in bed. ‘You are so lucky!’ her friends would groan. They all had curfews. But Mimi thought it would be fantastic to have someone expecting you home at eleven o’clock, demanding to know where you had been if you were five minutes late.
Saturdays were another case in point. Mimi longed for riding lessons, or tennis, or piano – all the activities her friends seemed to get locked into on a Saturday and moaned about. Instead, she had to go into town with her mother. Victoria usually booked the two of them into the hairdresser – Mimi was the first girl in her form to have highlights – for trims, touch-ups and blow-drys, in readiness for some social function that evening. Then they would spend an hour in Space NK, while Victoria tried out all the new products and demanded make-overs from the long-suffering assistants, desperately in search of some magical potion that would roll back the years.
‘Try not smoking, Mum,’ Mimi would roll her eyes. ‘Try drinking loads of water. If you look like an old hag, it’s because of what you do to your body.’
Then lunch, where Victoria would definitely drink too much white wine, would wave and greet and kiss people, who she would then tear apart, safe in the knowledge that she would probably see them again several hours later at one or other dinner party. In the afternoon, the hunt for a new outfit would begin in earnest, with Victoria moaning that Bath was parochial, behind the times and boring. This wouldn’t stop her from buying, however. Then she’d come back home, try on everything that she’d bought again and shove it all back in the bags in disgust. But somehow they’d never find their way back to the shops. Her walk-in wardrobe was stuffed with things she’d never worn. Mimi never had to buy any new clothes. She just plundered her mother’s cast-offs and gave it her own style, mixing designer rejects with her own teenage tat.
At six Nick would open champagne, for Victoria to drink while she had her bath and got ready. Mimi would be called upon to dry her hair, apply her fake tan (only a smidgeon, to give her skin a glow) and generally tell her she looked gorgeous. Which she did, her skin youthful and dewy, her hair glossy, her eyes bright. After three glasses of champagne, when she was perfectly done up and immaculately dressed, for a short while Victoria would be confident, ready to take centre stage. Victoria thrived on attention. At social gatherings she was the life and soul, a sparkling party animal. Only Mimi knew the angst she went through getting ready, both internally and externally. She was shored up by booze. And, Mimi suspected, something harder at times, though she never actually witnessed her mother indulging. But those pupils and that gushing, bubbly, extrovert exterior definitely weren’t natural.
Then Nick would emerge in his black designer jeans and his tight, silky long-sleeved T-shirt that was supposed to show off how much time he spent in the gym but actually just showed his nipples. For a moment you could believe they were Bath’s golden couple, him the media mogul, her the PR whizz, as they shared the rest of the bottle of champagne in the kitchen, the latest CD on the sou
nd system. (Nick was very serious about keeping up with music trends. He could bore for hours about how he’d discovered the Scissor Sisters six months before everyone else.)
Ten minutes later, they would be gone. And Mimi would spend all evening praying that there would be a break in the pattern. She knew how it would go without even being there. Victoria would fizz and sparkle for the first half of the evening. By ten o’clock she would be three sheets to the wind. Then Nick would start winding her up, subtly, so no one could hear. And she’d take it out on other people. She would be provocative and argumentative. Then, when people fought back, told her to shut up, she’d end up in tears. And Nick would drag her out, apologizing to all and sundry, with no one realizing he had provoked her behaviour and done nothing to save her from herself.
Mimi would usually be in bed when they got back, and she would lie tense under the duvet, hearing Nick telling Victoria she was a waste of space. A raddled old drunken has-been who was riding on his coat-tails. She’d been virtually washed up when he’d found her. If he hadn’t come along and rescued her, she’d be nothing. She could hear him, his voice low and vicious, as he ripped her apart. Then Victoria would retaliate. Mimi could imagine her lunging for him. Then the part that she really hated. Muffled thuds. Her mother’s voice, high, hysterical, shrieking harsh expletives. The sound of a body falling to the ground. Hideous silence for a few long seconds and then more thuds. Something crashing against the wall. Her mother threatening to call the police and Nick laughing. Mimi had never dared interrupt. She was too afraid. She didn’t want to humiliate her mother. And she suspected that if she did intervene, her mother might turn on her. She had a curious loyalty to Nick that Mimi could never quite fathom.
She had never seen physical evidence of any violence. The only proof she had was what she heard. On Sundays Victoria would be unabashed. As would Nick, up and about with a spring in his step, perfectly able to look Mimi in the eye, off to the gym followed by golf. Sometimes they all managed to have dinner together. Mimi would find herself carrying on a false, animated conversation with Nick, hating herself for her hypocrisy but as desperate as everyone else to pretend things were all right, while Victoria toyed with her food and drank water.
It wasn’t just the violence Mimi hated Nick for, especially as she sometimes suspected her mother invited it. Victoria could be extraordinarily belligerent, and was an expert at pushing the wrong button, needling people. What Mimi really couldn’t stand was the way he subtly tried to run Victoria down. Little digs about her appearance, which she knew her mother couldn’t take. About looking a little tired, or old, or overweight, knowing that would get to her. And he constantly questioned her judgement at work. If there was one thing Victoria was brilliant at, it was her job. But Nick, media mogul extraordinaire, seemed to think she was merely playing at it. With one cutting remark he could rip her efforts apart. And Victoria just seemed to take his criticism. It was as if she believed every word he said. Without a drink inside her, she had no fight at all.
Gradually Mimi realized that Victoria was falling apart before her very eyes. Not that she’d ever been exactly stable. But even Mimi could see she was heading for a breakdown. Her confidence was fading; she had everything out of perspective. There was nothing for it. Nick had to go.
The bus arrived. Mimi took a deep breath and checked her watch again, praying that the bus would keep to its schedule. If they were late, if Nick had been and gone by the time they got back, then they’d have blown it.
Crossways Farm was a total misnomer. There was no hint that anything had ever been allowed to grow and flourish within its environs. There wasn’t a blade of grass that hadn’t been slabbed over or manicured to within an inch of its life. There were towering remote-control gates, ornamental brickwork and enough automatic security lighting to illuminate Colditz. The house had been completely renovated, with UPVC leaded windows and shiny plastic drainpipes. Needless to say, there were no animals in sight.
At five past one the enormous gates slowly parted. Moments later a black Mercedes Kompressor zipped through them and headed straight into the centrally-heated garage, whose doors had also opened as if by magic. ‘Living on a Prayer’ by Bon Jovi was suddenly cut short. Nick Taverner checked his appearance in the mirror, adjusting his trademark Wayfarer sunglasses, and leaped out.
Crossways Farm was Nick Taverner’s pride and joy. A testament to his wealth, success and good taste. Everything had been done to his specification and it made him feel like a king. He bounded into the kitchen.
‘Hi, Mr Taverner!’ Yasmin was perched on the cowhide stool, swinging her legs and sipping Coke out of a bottle.
‘No school?’
‘Teacher-training afternoon.’
‘Nice work if you can get it.’
Nick pulled open the huge American fridge and surveyed the interior, nodding his head and clicking his fingers to the music that was blaring. Gwen Stefani, he identified accurately. No one could accuse him of not being in touch.
‘Mimi and I were just going to take a jacuzzi?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Why don’t you join us?’ Yasmin looked at him from underneath her fringe.
Nick hesitated. He was due on the golf course in an hour’s time. But he would have to be clinically insane to turn down this offer. He’d seen Yasmin eyeing him up. He felt sure there was more than just a thread of attraction between them. And she was a smart enough kid. She knew how to play the game. He knew that by the way she’d hitched her skirt up in the car last night. She was sending him signals; strong signals. And it was incredibly exciting. He didn’t feel guilty about it. She was seventeen years old, after all. Not a child by any definition these days.
He pulled a beer out of the fridge, turned and looked Yasmin in the eye. She stared straight back at him boldly. He flashed her a knowing smile.
‘Give me five minutes to get my trunks on.’
It was all Yasmin and Mimi could do not to burst into howls of derisive laughter as, ten minutes later, Nick appeared in a minuscule pair of black trunks. Luckily, he’d not long had a back and chest wax at the health club, and he gave himself a quick run over with some Lancôme Auto-Bronzant which hopefully wouldn’t wash off. As he sat down he discreetly checked to see if there was an incipient spare tyre, but felt reassured that his stomach was as flat as could be realistically expected. All those merciless sessions with the ab machine had paid off.
Mimi and Yasmin sat opposite him. He tried not to gawp. He didn’t lech over Mimi; she was too close to home even for him. But Yasmin was something else. With her long dark hair and her eyes like sloes, that dusky skin, those peachy bosoms barely covered by her teeny bikini…
Suddenly, Mimi stood up.
‘You know what? I’m actually starving. If I stay in here my blood sugar’s going to drop way too low. I think I’ll go and make us some pasta.’
‘Cool.’ Yasmin nodded her agreement. ‘I’m going to stay in a bit longer. This is really chilling me out.’
Nick cleared his throat.
‘Um – me too. I can feel my muscles starting to relax. But pasta would be great.’
Mimi climbed out of the tub, pulled a towel round her and padded out of the pool area. Nick sat back with his eyes shut, enjoying the sensation of the warm bubbles caressing his body. Suddenly he felt something next to him. A thigh rubbing against his. He opened one eye to see Yasmin looking at him with a dreamy expression in her eyes.
‘You don’t mind if I sit next to you?’
‘No…’
Mind? Of course he didn’t mind.
‘I’m sitting right on this jet,’ she breathed. ‘I can’t tell you what it’s doing to me.’ She arched her back in pleasure. ‘It’s making me so horny.’
Nick swallowed. What the hell was he supposed to do? He wasn’t sure if it was an invitation. Yasmin put her hands over her breasts, kneading them lightly, rolling her nipples between her fingers underneath the thin fabric of her bikini top. Nick was transfi
xed.
‘Oh, God,’ she was breathing heavily. Then she put her hands behind her head and pulled the string at the back of her neck. The two tiny triangles fell away, revealing her perfect little tits.
‘That’s better,’ she smiled. ‘How about you?’ she asked. ‘Do you feel turned on?’
‘Um… Well, yes. Very… relaxed, anyway.’
‘Just relaxed?’ Her mouth twitched in amusement. It was perfectly plump, pink with gloss. She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, surveying him, her eyes twinkling. ‘Are you sure there’s not one tiny little bit of you that’s stiff?’
Stiff? thought Nick. You could run a bloody flag up it.
‘Well… now you come to mention it…’
He gave a little laugh, not quite sure of the next move. He was being cautious. He didn’t want to come across as a dirty old man. As long as she took the lead, he could justify his actions. He wasn’t going to force himself on her. Suddenly she was sitting on his lap, straddling him, her face up close to his, her breasts perilously close. Her breath smelt minty from her gum, which she was still chewing. He could see specks of gold in her hazel eyes.
‘Golly,’ she said. ‘Hel-lo, Mr Taverner.’
Nick tried a modest, self-deprecating grin as she shifted slightly, rubbing herself along what he considered a particularly splendid erection, even if it was rather cramped in his Lycra trunks.
‘I’ll race you,’ she challenged. ‘Let’s see who can be the first to come. I’m warning you, I’ve had a head start. I am right on the edge.’
Nick had never been sure about ejaculating in the jacuzzi. There was something not quite hygienic about it. And Nick was big on hygiene. He religiously wiped the toilet seat with an anti-bacterial wipe after he’d been. But you couldn’t really quibble, not when the horniest little babe in Christendom was rubbing herself off on your cock.
‘OK,’ he managed to squeak.
‘Actually – no.’ She suddenly stopped, and he wanted to grab her, force her to continue. ‘I’m going to change the rules. Slow things down a bit. The winner is the last to come. I think that’s more of a challenge, don’t you?’
Love on the Rocks Page 10