Beautiful Creatures

by Lulu Taylor

  The man began to gather speed, pumping harder and harder while she longed for it to be over. To help him along, she put one arm around his back and swept her hand over it. It was broad and hard with muscle, unlike Otto’s soft, almost flabby body. In another second he tensed, yelped, and then thrust into her hard again two or three times as he came. She opened her eyes and saw him staring straight into her face and, to her astonishment, the expression in his eyes was tender and apologetic as if he knew that she hadn’t wanted it, but that only lasted an instant before he collapsed on her. His post-coital rest was no longer than a moment, though.

  Otto was on his feet, pushing the man off Flora, so that he could see the sperm dripping out of her pussy. As he looked at it, he groaned, pulled his own penis from his open trousers and rubbed hard at the short, stumpy thing. It only took two movements, before he sent his own jet of fluid over her, to mix with that of the builder who was still watching with a mixture of amazement and horror. As soon as Otto had ejaculated he recovered, tucked his now limp and tiny penis away, and turned to the man on the bed.

  ‘Get your things on and get out,’ he said sharply. ‘And if you think you’re going to get away with treating my wife as a receptacle for your filthy cum, you’re quite wrong. I want you off my property within thirty minutes and I don’t want to see you again. Understand? Any trouble and I shall tell the police you raped my wife. Now leave.’

  Flora was not able to come down from her bedroom that evening, and to her relief Otto left her alone and slept somewhere else.

  She spent a terrible night and in the morning emerged with her eyes red and swollen. Frau Gestenholtz looked at her with sympathy, guessing that something even more traumatic than usual had happened.

  ‘Ach, has he treated you badly?’ She shook her head sadly, passing Flora the coffee pot. ‘That boy of mine. I do not understand him. I’ve never been able to control him, never. But what can I do? He’s all I’ve got.’

  Flora poured herself a cup of coffee and sipped at it gratefully. She looked up at her mother-in-law. It felt as though she had aged ten years since the previous day. She knew more clearly than ever that this situation could not go on. Otto had crossed a line the day before, from wickedness to evil, and she was as certain as she could be that this was simply the beginning. ‘Why is he doing this to me?’ she asked helplessly. ‘You’re my friend, aren’t you, Marthe? Please, you must help me.’

  Marthe looked away, her face pained. ‘I cannot,’ she muttered. Then she glanced back at Flora, and the sight of her obviously moved the older woman. ‘Oh, he’s a beast, I know it. He’s very wrong, very unkind. Who knows why? It was nothing I did, I’m sure of it. And, you see, he’s always had such grand plans for himself. He didn’t want to be plain Otto Gestenholtz from Hamburg. He was a romantic little thing, but always bullied for his smallness and his glasses and his meekness, so he escaped into dreams of being a prince, a rich man, a lord … whatever …’

  Flora stayed very still. Was she at last going to learn the truth about Otto?

  ‘So he set out to make his dreams come true,’ Marthe said with a sigh. ‘He knew he had to make money. His own father was useless, a sailor, and neither of us was heartbroken when he died. He left us nothing but our poor house. Well, we sold that and Otto used the money to do a business course at Heidelberg University, and from there he moved into finance. Soon he was on a nice salary. We could have afforded a decent house and a comfortable life. But that wasn’t enough for Otto. He wanted to aim very high and get there quickly. So he started to seek out rich women.’ Marthe gave her another guilty look. ‘You’d be surprised how many fell for him and gave him money. It seems you only have to be kind to women and they will trust you. We’re such fools, aren’t we?’ She shrugged. ‘I’m as bad as any, I suppose. Kindness will always melt my heart. Anyway, there were many of these relationships with wealthy women, some short, some long. Most ended quickly and badly – I don’t know why but I suspect Otto cannot help showing his true nature sometimes, even when he tries hard to pretend he is something else.

  ‘Then there was Wiebke – a pretty girl with lots of cash. He managed to persuade her to marry him, but it didn’t last. Her father stepped in pretty damn quick and put an end to all that. He gave us a lot of money to leave. Otto was delighted. The money was the point of it all, you see. And with money he could buy himself what he wanted. His next task was to give himself a pedigree, so he scoured the internet and old almanacs of the nobility until he found what he was looking for. Baron von Schwetten was elderly, poor and without an heir. Otto came to visit him here and persuaded him to adopt him – and not only that, he offered to buy this wreck of a castle too. The Baron couldn’t agree fast enough. You can imagine how delighted Otto was: with a title, and a property, and a new company he’d created that was quite successful, he could begin to search out the biggest fish of all. And that was, no doubt, how he found you. You’re very rich, aren’t you?’

  Flora had listened to everything with a kind of horror mixed with relief. So he was a con artist after all, a skilled criminal, and she was not his first victim, though perhaps the most spectacular. Somehow she felt better, not so alone. Others had been fooled before her. He had made it his life’s work. But … ‘We met by chance,’ she said in a small voice. ‘He knew nothing about me.’

  Frau Gestenholtz laughed. ‘Oh, I doubt it! With Otto, nothing happens by chance.’

  ‘Why are you telling me all this?’ Flora asked.

  ‘You are a sweet girl, I can see that. I hate to see you suffer. I thought perhaps it would help to know the truth. It will help you bear it. And it will be a relief to be able to talk frankly to you.’ The old woman smiled. ‘After all, we’re going to be here together a long time, aren’t we? So we may as well be friends.’

  62

  Octavia had arrived late at Battersea heliport the previous evening, held up by traffic. Ethan was waiting with Sir Max by the aircraft, a cherry red four-seater Gazelle helicopter, the two men talking together as Octavia approached.

  ‘Thank God you’re here!’ Ethan said sharply when he saw her. ‘Do you know how much it costs to have a late departure? You’ve cut it pretty bloody fine.’

  Her eyes filled with tears and she bit her lip. She was feeling very emotional and sensitive after the events of the day.

  Sir Max turned towards her. He was a man in his late-thirties, possibly early-forties, with short dark hair and a face that looked as though it had seen a few things in its time. He studied her with his bright blue eyes, and smiled. At once his rough, almost ugly face was transformed. She felt a jolt, as though she had just seen someone she knew well and had missed terribly without realising it. ‘Please don’t worry. You’ve come from the hospital, haven’t you? I hope your friend is out of danger. I’m Max Northam. How do you do?’

  ‘Octavia Beaufort,’ she said, but he was already moving to the open doors of the craft. He looks familiar, but I’m sure we haven’t met before.

  ‘We’d better get going. Our slot is over in five minutes. Come aboard. Your luggage is stowed under the seats.’

  Octavia climbed in to the small space at the back of the craft. Max appeared beside her and pulled the seatbelt straps over her shoulders and round her waist, snapping them into the central buckle. He showed her a small trigger. ‘See this? Anything happens, flick it and it will release the belt. Easy.’

  She found his nearness oddly disturbing. Perhaps it was his height and well-built frame that gave him his peculiar magnetism, but she had the strangest urge to reach out and touch him.

  You’re going mad, she told herself. It must be the stress of everything.

  He took down a headset from the central hook and Octavia put it on, bending the microphone up to her lips. Ethan climbed into the front seat, buckled in and put on his headset while Max shut the door and then went round to the pilot’s seat. He strapped himself in, pulled the door to, began flicking switches on the central control panel and talking to th
e tower as he put on his headset. Octavia listened to the conversation through her earphones but it made no sense to her: numbers, figures, flight times, directions … The propeller blades began to turn, slowly at first and then picking up speed, until they were one whirring shadow overhead.

  ‘We’re just on time,’ Max said. They lifted smoothly up into the air for twenty feet, then the nose of the helicopter dipped slightly and they soared away, making a turn over the heliport and flying over the river. Octavia didn’t speak. She was exhausted by the events of the day. Instead, she listened to Max and Ethan’s chat and watched the city disappear beneath them as they left it behind and headed north.

  It was almost dark by the time they arrived in Argyll, the helicopter coming to rest in a field near the house where ground lanterns showed the landing spot. Staff came rushing out to meet them and unload the luggage, while Sir Max led Ethan and Octavia into the light and warmth of the house, where supper was waiting for them.

  To her surprise, the table was only set for three.

  ‘The others are joining us tomorrow,’ explained Sir Max, seeing her expression. ‘Just us tonight.’

  ‘What about Lady Northam?’ asked Octavia, without thinking.

  ‘Lady Northam is currently setting up home in the Bahamas with a rather handsome young waiter she met there. The less said about her the better,’ Max said, but with a smile.

  Octavia’s hand shot to her mouth. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry … I didn’t know.’

  ‘How could you? Let’s have supper, I expect you’re starving.’

  The housekeeper brought out a delicious meal that was exactly what they all wanted: roasted tomato and basil soup followed by twice-baked potatoes with luscious cheese and chive centres, baked haddock and a poached egg. While they ate, Ethan talked away about business although Max didn’t say much, listening and grunting occasionally, as though he didn’t feel this was quite the time.

  Octavia watched curiously. She’d thought he’d be much older. ‘Sir’ Max made him sound like a grizzled old man but he wasn’t that. And there was something about him that spoke of experience and knowledge of the world, something in the way he held himself and in those bright blue eyes that looked so familiar.

  Suddenly she gasped.

  The men looked at her. ‘What is it?’ asked Max, concerned.

  ‘Are you okay, Octavia?’ Ethan frowned at her as she blushed a hot scarlet.

  ‘Yes, yes. I’m fine.’ She dropped her face so that she was staring into her plate of food, wishing fervently that her flaming cheeks would cool down. She had just remembered exactly where she had encountered those eyes before. She’d seen them twice, and each time they’d been frosty with disapproval. He’s the man from the after show party … and the one from the Templeton House Ball. Oh, God, how hideous. He hated her. He thought she was a vile, spoilt little miss, off her head on drugs and prone to water-throwing. Octavia stole a glance at him, but he was calmly eating his supper. The next moment he had caught her gaze and was looking back at her. She swiftly looked downwards again, feeling her colour heighten. He hadn’t recognised her. Surely it was only a matter of time, though. She remembered that the last time she’d seen him, she’d been in her fashion show make-up. The time before that she’d been in her ball finery. Here she was, in tatty jeans with her hair scraped back and no make-up. He hadn’t realised she was the same girl.

  Oh, God. I daren’t tell Ethan. He’ll be furious. There’s no way Max will invest with us when he guesses who I am.

  ‘He’s a nice old bloke, isn’t he?’ Ethan said, climbing into bed after cleaning his teeth. ‘Quite a charmer. You wouldn’t guess he’s a billionaire.’

  ‘Is he?’ Octavia was surprised. Everything here seemed to be on such a homely scale. Comfortable but not grand. Instead of a great stone Victorian mansion, they had arrived at a white-painted, black-roofed house. Large, to be sure, but still a house, warm, welcoming and cosy. The furniture was clearly good, antique most of it, but all was well used and obviously loved, chosen for beauty and comfort rather than ostentation.

  The bedroom they were in was old-style country house: walls papered in a cottagey faded floral print, a mahogany desk with a mismatched chair and soft cushion, a battered walnut chest of drawers and original built-in wardrobe cupboard, an old-fashioned iron bedstead with a mattress just the right side of soft and made up with sheets and blankets.

  ‘Yeah. He’s created and sold some of the world’s most famous telecommunications companies actually. He’s a bit of a hero of mine.’ Ethan looked enthusiastic.

  ‘Let’s not talk about him now, I’m too tired,’ Octavia said wearily. She still felt cross with Ethan, a niggling sense of annoyance and sadness at his lack of interest in Iseult’s plight that day. He’d met her many times after all. She was on the Butterfly board. She was one of Octavia’s best friends. And yet he’d acted as though she simply didn’t matter, not compared to meeting Sir Max.

  They went to sleep, back to back.

  63

  Octavia didn’t know where she was for a moment when she awoke, and then she remembered: Sir Max Northam’s house in Argyllshire. She looked over at Ethan, still sound asleep, a pillow clutched in his arms and his head pressed against it.

  Why do I feel so low? she wondered. Something awful’s happened … And then she remembered Iseult and the terrible events of the previous day. She imagined her friend in Intensive Care, bandaged and sedated. Poor, poor Iseult.

  Octavia got out of the comfortable bed and looked through the windows. The view was of magnificent Scottish hills, clad in bronze bracken and grey-and-purple heather, a hazy blue sky above. She went through to the sweet, small bathroom off the bedroom, with its cast-iron clawfoot bath and the kind of wide-mouthed tap that looked as though it would gush rivers of piping hot water. When she was dressed, ready for country pursuits in cord jodhpurs, a cream shirt, cashmere jumper and a moss-coloured tweed jacket, she went downstairs.

  The house lost none of its charm as she went into the dining room for breakfast, this time finding a sideboard groaning under the weight of sausages, bacon, Arbroath smokies, black pudding and eggs done all ways. A small pot of porridge bubbled over a gas flame, a jug of cream and a pot of sugar beside it.

  She helped herself to the porridge and sat down to eat, picking up a newspaper to read. Ethan was still asleep but she’d left the alarm set for 8.30, so that he didn’t disgrace himself by sleeping past breakfast. She was savouring the warmth and sweetness of the porridge and wondering if that was full-fat milk she could taste in it when Max came in. He was a tall man, well-built, his hard body obvious even under the cashmere jumper he was wearing. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he looked rested. She felt again that jolt of recognition. The air in the room seemed to become electrically charged when he walked in.

  ‘Morning,’ he said with a smile. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  Octavia flushed again. I’m just going to have to get over this, she told herself. He obviously hasn’t recognised me yet, so perhaps he never will. She took a deep breath and smiled as brightly as she could manage. ‘Wonderfully well, thanks.’

  ‘It’s the Scottish air. Better than any pill. I sleep sounder here than anywhere in the world.’ He smiled. She noticed again how his smile softened his face and made its strong lines almost attractive. He helped himself to a plate of breakfast and came to join her at the table. ‘Don’t let me stop you reading.’

  ‘Oh, no, it’s fine,’ she said, pushing the newspaper away.

  ‘Ethan says you’re an up-and-coming businesswoman, making her mark on the world.’ He started cutting up a sausage. ‘That’s good. We need more like you.’

  ‘You’re an entrepreneur as well, aren’t you? In telecommunications?’

  Max shrugged. ‘Well, let’s just say I saw my moment and invested wisely in modern technology. Now I’m looking at green technologies. It’s the way forward.’

  ‘When did you get your knighthood?’ Octavia aske
d, interested. ‘I thought you had to be really old to get one of those.’

  Max shot her an amused look and burst out laughing. ‘I’m afraid I’m not a knight. Very dull of me! Sorry. I’m a baronet, I inherited the title from my dad. I was Sir Max at nine years old, which made calling the register at school kind of funny, as you can imagine.’

  Octavia laughed too, thinking of a little schoolboy called Sir Max.

  ‘Talking of age,’ Max said casually, buttering some toast, ‘you seem very young yourself to be in charge of a company. Most girls like you are just starting out. Or still studying.’

  ‘I’m very lucky,’ Octavia replied. ‘I’ve had some unusual opportunities. And I’ve got Ethan. He’s teaching me the ropes. I like learning but I tend to concentrate more on the fun stuff – re-designing the look of the business, thinking about promotions and handling all marketing. Ethan’s handling all the figures for me. I’m afraid I find them a bit confusing. I don’t really understand the jargon.’

  Max looked at her with his intense blue eyes, his expression inscrutable. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Yes. It can seem that way, can’t it? But it’s all important. It’s the nuts and bolts of how everything works. You need to understand the basics. When I started out, I didn’t have a penny to my name or even a maths qualification – I failed my exam five times. But once I was out there, trying to make a business work, I found that not only did I need to grasp percentages, profit margins and compound interest, but that I was interested in them. They had a practical bearing, you see – on whether my business would be profitable or not.’

  ‘I’ve got Ethan for all that,’ Octavia replied, putting her spoon into her empty porridge bowl. Whenever he looked at her with those blue eyes, she felt an electric tingle all over her skin. It’s odd, she thought. He’s always drawn a reaction from me – anger at first, and irritation at his attitude to me. But now … She gave herself a mental shake. But now nothing. I don’t know why he has this effect on me but it will all change when he works out who I am.