Raven and Skull

by Ashley Lister

  Seeing Melissa saunter towards the car, dressed in jeans, wellies and a shapeless blouse, Cindy loathed the way the woman was able to glide like a fashion model on a catwalk while wearing clothes that would have made any other woman look like a plodding bloke from a council estate.

  ‘Cindy,’ Melissa said sweetly, as she approached the open window of Cindy’s Ford Focus. Melissa tilted her head in polite greeting, forming a perfect pout with her lips as she kissed the air.

  Twice.

  Cindy could have happily raked the woman’s eyeballs from their sockets. ‘Hi Melissa,’ she said. ‘How are you today?’

  ‘Busier than you could imagine,’ Melissa sighed. ‘You have no idea what hard work this last week has been.’

  Cindy kept her mouth deliberately shut.

  Melissa didn’t work for a living. She relied on money that came from her parents. Melissa didn’t know how hard it was to try and manage a CNS department, negotiate the demands of a workforce against the restraints of tough employers and try to deal with her own burgeoning workload. Melissa’s idea of hard work was having a manicure and hairdressing appointment booked on the same day.

  Beside her, in the passenger seat, Richard sighed softly beneath his breath. ‘Poor little rich girl,’ he whispered.

  Cindy felt a moment’s twinge of sympathy for him, and then that emotion was drowned in a rush of hatred and frustration as she realised Richard was climbing from the car to be with Melissa instead of her. He would have an evening alone with Melissa in the luxury of Melissa Mansion. The evening would lead to a weekend where the pair of them had every amenity they desired. They would have every need satisfied throughout the day and their nights would be shared in Melissa’s bed beneath silk soft satin sheets.

  There was a taste of acrid disgust at the back of Cindy’s throat.

  ‘I’ll see you on Monday morning?’ Richard asked.

  He was leaning into the car from the passenger side.

  The urge to lean towards him, to touch him and kiss him and drag him back into the car, was almost irresistible. Cindy tightened her grip on the steering wheel and forced herself to ignore Richard and stare at Melissa. With a supreme effort, Cindy twisted her lips into a smile.

  ‘What have you been working on this week?’

  ‘Jolly good idea,’ Melissa agreed.

  Cindy blinked and wondered if she had missed part of the conversation. It was automatic to glance in Richard’s direction, with the hope that he could interpret or offer assurance that the non sequitur was of Melissa’s making and not a side-effect of too many drinks from the office coffee machine. Remembering the role she had to play when they were in Melissa’s presence, she kept her gaze locked on Melissa and repeated politely, ‘A jolly good idea?’

  ‘You’re just the person I need,’ Melissa explained. ‘Come inside and have a drink. I simply must talk with you.’

  This time Cindy couldn’t stop herself from glancing at Richard.

  He shrugged. His expression was puzzled.

  Melissa didn’t notice the exchange because she was walking back to the house with her despicable catwalk glide. ‘Join me in the kitchen,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Richard. You’d best make yourself scarce for half an hour. This is girls’ talk.’

  Cindy watched Melissa slip between the double doors of Melissa Mansion. She finally turned to Richard and hissed, ‘What’s going on? Does she suspect something?’ Panic made her pulse accelerate. She tried to mentally brace herself for a conversation where Melissa irately demanded: What the hell have you been doing with my husband?

  He shook his head. ‘She doesn’t suspect a thing.’

  From the expression in his eyes, Cindy thought Richard might be hiding something.

  15

  ‘So, what’s been keeping you busy this week?’ Cindy asked.

  The kitchen of Melissa Mansion was obscenely impressive. Cindy felt as though she was walking onto the photo-shoot of a catalogue for an overpriced furniture store. The blend of polished silver splash-backs and black and white tiles looked classically elegant. It was early enough in the evening so there was no need for the mood lighting to be switched on, but Cindy imagined, when it was needed, it would transform the kitchen into a room that looked like a kitchen from paradise.

  The entire journey through Melissa Mansion had been an exercise in reminding Cindy that Melissa possessed everything that she would never own. The hallway was a huge and splendid reception area, with double stairways rising up to a broad minstrels’ gallery. White tiles on the floor gave the space a Spanish charm, although the steel banisters and glass fittings modernised that first impression. The smooth, cool lines of the corridor that led from the hall to the kitchen were equally stylish. The uniformity of the walls was broken only by samples of abstract art in bright, primary colours.

  ‘I’ve had an horrendous week,’ Melissa confided.

  Cindy was appalled to hear Melissa enunciate the letter ‘h’ in horrendous. Her speech implied a childhood of privilege, ponies and private education. She wondered if there was a moment of Melissa’s life that had not passed in pampered, over-indulged bliss.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve worked so hard since I was swotting back at Cambridge.’

  Her voice came from inside the open double doors of a huge, silver refrigerator. Cindy could hear the clink of glasses, bottles and ice cubes. Air conditioning in the kitchen meant, for the first time that day, her body was allowed to cool a little. Perspiration from the long day at Raven and Skull and the arduous drive home started to chill against her flesh. She shivered slightly but decided the coolness was not unpleasant.

  ‘Would bourbon suit you?’

  ‘I can’t drink,’ Cindy said dully. ‘I’m driving.’

  ‘Just one? A small one?’

  Cindy opened her mouth to refuse. She knew it was not a good idea to mix alcohol with driving. She was certain it was not a good idea to mix alcohol with talking to Melissa.

  ‘It’s Friday night,’ Melissa urged. ‘And we can’t have a girls’ talk without bourbon.’ She appeared from behind the fridge doors and placed a fat highball in Cindy’s hand. A large measure of golden liquid sat in the bottom of the glass beneath a tumult of clattering ice cubes. Cindy noted that the highball Melissa had poured for herself contained more bourbon and less ice cubes.

  ‘Go on then,’ she agreed.

  ‘If you get too drunk to drive I can either call you a cab or you can bunk up in one of the guest rooms,’ Melissa said. ‘I’m sure Richard won’t mind if we have an overnight houseguest.’

  Cindy refused to let herself think about that idea. Spending the night so close to Richard, perhaps having him slip into the guest room so they could fuck together under the roof of Melissa Mansion, was too thrilling a concept to consider. She sipped at her bourbon and tried not to gasp in surprise as the liquid fire burnt her throat.

  ‘Dicky says you’re one of the most organised women he knows. He says your nickname in the office is FED-EX, because you always deliver. Is that true? Is that really what they call you? Is Dicky right?’

  Cindy had to think for a moment before she realised who ‘Dicky’ was. She stopped herself from appearing shocked at the hurtful contraction Melissa had given to Richard’s name. ‘That’s very kind of… of Dicky.’ It was hard to say the word without wanting to smirk. But it somehow seemed easier to talk about Richard using an unfamiliar name.

  ‘He says you run your thingy section–’

  ‘CNS,’ Cindy offered, obligingly. Realising the acronym would mean nothing to Melissa she added, ‘Communication Network Systems.’

  ‘Yes,’ Melissa agreed. ‘He says you run your section with the utmost efficiency.’

  ‘I have a good team,’ Cindy admitted. ‘And it’s easy to run any IT department because the programmers are used to a disciplined regime and they prefer a working environment that is as orderly as–’

  ‘Fascinating.’

  Cindy fell silent. She did not f
eel particularly passionate about her career and she knew enough to hear the hollow clang of a patronising exclamation.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, sipping more bourbon. ‘It can be fascinating.’

  ‘You know it’s Dicky’s birthday next weekend, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘That’s why I wanted to chat with you. You give him a lift home from work each evening. He must talk to you. Has he said anything about what he’d like for his birthday?’

  Cindy turned pale. The ice cubes in her glass began to rattle. She had already planned Richard’s birthday present. After listening to some of the things he had spoken of fondly during the past few months, she had bought a red and black basque with a matching thong, a pair of opaque stockings and some patent black heels. She intended to wear the ensemble under her office suit on Richard’s birthday. The idea was to sneak into his office during lunch on that day, show him what she was wearing, and then get down on her knees and make him feel like a god in the horniest fashion possible. The plan was so perfectly laid out in her mind’s eye she could already envision the scene as though it was a memory. She knew how he was going to respond, how deliciously pungent his perspiration would taste, and how fulfilling it be to have his manly body spasming against hers through his throes of orgasm.

  ‘A watch? A wristwatch?’

  The idea only popped into her thoughts because she saw Melissa glancing at the slender, feminine Rolex on her slender, feminine wrist.

  Melissa shook her head. Going back to the fridge, taking her empty highball with her, she said, ‘Not this year. I want to give him something really special. I’m trying to decide if he would want a month in Africa or a Caribbean cruise. Which do you think he’d prefer?’ As she spoke her words were almost drowned by the glug of Jack Daniel’s splashing into her glass. She appeared briefly from behind the discretion of the fridge doors and waved the bottle in Cindy’s direction. ‘You need a refill?’

  Cindy glanced at her own barely sipped drink and then shook her head. ‘I’m OK, thanks.’ Her thoughts were busy going over the idea of Richard spending a month in multi-star luxury with super-rich Melissa. It didn’t matter if they were ensconced beneath the canopy of an African nightscape, or enveloped in the pampered luxury of a Caribbean cruise liner: either idea was enough to make her feel ill.

  A trill series of beeps spiked from her hip.

  The sound was loud and unexpected in the kitchen. Even though her mobile received two dozen or more texts on a regular basis, the noise was surprising enough to make her start. Her drink jolted so violently an ice cube flew out of the glass and onto the floor. A splash of bourbon followed it.

  ‘Shit,’ she spat.

  ‘Not to worry,’ Melissa said, easily. She glided towards a gleaming sink and retrieved a dishcloth. The dishcloth looked like it had only just been removed from a fresh pack. Cindy suspected it had been placed there by a diligent housekeeper, and guessed that it would ordinarily be discarded without being used, to be replaced by another sterile dishcloth by the same overworked and under-appreciated servant. Melissa held the item as though she was unfamiliar with handling such utilitarian artefacts.

  Cindy shook her fingers dry and grabbed the mobile from its place on her hip pocket. Flicking it open with practised ease, she saw the message had come from Richard. After flashing a guarded glance in Cindy’s direction she opened the message and read it before snapping the phone shut.

  ‘I need to borrow your bathroom,’ she explained, hoping Melissa wouldn’t hear the subterfuge in her voice. ‘Whereabouts is it?’

  Melissa pointed towards the kitchen doors. ‘Through there,’ she began. ‘Up the stairs, and it’s the fourth door on your right.’

  ‘I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.’

  ‘I’ll top your drink up.’

  16

  Richard met her in the bathroom, as his text message had promised he would. Before either of them spoke he had taken her in his arms, pressed his powerful body against her and stolen a deep, passionate, penetrating kiss. His tongue slipped easily into her mouth. She wrestled playfully against it with her own whilst enjoying the hungry, greedy taste of his desire. The weight of his thinly concealed erection pressed hard against her thigh. She rolled the weight of her own needy sex against him. The urge to stroke Richard’s erection through his pants, release him and pleasure him and do so much more, bordered on being irresistible.

  It didn’t matter that they were in a lavatory.

  It didn’t even matter that the lavatory was hatefully stylish and reeked of Melissa’s expensive tastes and ability to finance luxuriant fixtures and fittings. Gold-plated taps sat over an onyx-black sink. The onyx-black lavatory was fitted with a gold-plated handle. Every surface gleamed as though the same overworked housekeeper who kept the kitchen so pristine had put an extra effort into glossing each glistening tile that morning.

  When their mouths finally separated Cindy realised she was hungry with fresh desire for Richard. ‘You make me horny.’

  ‘I guess that’s why we’re so well suited,’ he grinned. He stepped out of her embrace and glanced towards the lavatory’s closed doorway. Cindy knew him well enough to know that his gaze was going through the door, down the ostentatious double stairway, and along the long corridor that led to the kitchen. Following his gaze she could imagine that they were both staring at a lonely Melissa sitting small and ignored behind the huge breakfast bar in the magnificent glamour of her fantastic and fashionable kitchen.

  ‘What did the money want with you?’

  Cindy’s smile was thin. ‘Melissa can’t decide which you’d like most for your birthday,’ she explained. ‘A month in Africa or three weeks on a Caribbean cruise.’

  His upper lip curled into a sneer of contempt. It made his otherwise handsome face seem momentarily ugly. ‘We’ve been married seven years,’ he grunted. ‘And still she hasn’t noticed I’ve got ginger hair and a complexion that goes as red as a baboon’s arse with the first flash of summer in this ice-cold country.’ He rolled his eyes in dismay and said, ‘Why would the evil bitch want to torture me like that?’

  Cindy made a sympathetic sound. She whispered her reply in case there was a risk that Melissa could overhear their conversation. ‘You could wear sunblock.’

  ‘Fan-fucking-tastic,’ he grunted. ‘A month lathered in grease, baking like a fucking potato beneath the African sun, and only that vacuous bitch for company. I could have sworn the Geneva Convention made legislation against shit like that.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be able to get so long away from work, would you?’

  This time Richard’s sneer of contempt was directed at Cindy. ‘I could get a year’s paid sabbatical if she wanted it,’ he scowled. ‘All she’d have to do is go running to her uncle Roger, telling him that her precious husband needed some time away from the office, and it would be sorted.’

  ‘Roger Black? She’s Roger Black’s niece?’

  Richard nodded.

  Cindy shivered. ‘I need to pee.’

  He raised an eyebrow. His smirk was the perfect combination between boyish innocence and lewd suggestiveness. ‘Go on,’ he said, glancing towards the luxuriant onyx loo. ‘The show should brighten my whole weekend.’

  She considered refusing but couldn’t think of one good reason.

  Stepping out of his embrace, releasing the button and zip on the hip of her skirt, she allowed the garment to puddle at her feet.

  Richard released a breath of raw enthusiasm.

  Cindy stepped away from the skirt, poised over the toilet seat, and then slowly slipped her thong downwards. It was not the first time she had undressed in front of Richard. It was not the first time she had shown him her smoothly waxed sex. But the appreciative glint in his green eyes always made her feel as though she was giving him his first glimpse of naked female flesh.

  He dropped to his knees as she sat on the toilet’s seat. Uninvited, he stroked a hand against one stocking-clad thigh.

 
Cindy trembled. She knew they didn’t have the time to play properly, but she kept her legs spread so, if he wanted to watch, he could enjoy seeing the golden stream of pee cascading beneath her.

  ‘I want you,’ he murmured.

  The fingers on her thighs slid higher. His caress was a velvet massage against her skin, inspiring a need that was sudden and made her hot and wet. The idea of refusing him was unthinkable but Cindy knew it would be madness to give in to that urge under these circumstances.

  His fingers continued to slide upwards, stroking her thigh, passing the black band of her stocking tops, and finally touching bare flesh. The gush of Cindy’s pee, splashing into the bowl beneath her, tapered to a trickle. She barely heard the sound over the throbbing pulse of arousal that beat behind her temples.

  ‘I really, really want you,’ Richard murmured.

  ‘No,’ Cindy told him. Remembering she only had a few moments to spare, she snatched a couple of sheets of toilet paper from the nearby dispenser and patted herself dry. Urging Richard’s hands away, wrestling her thong back into place, putting her skirt back on with practised swiftness, she said, ‘Melissa’s wanting to know if you’d prefer The Heart of Darkness or The Love Boat. Which should I tell her?’

  Richard looked sick with frustration and disappointment. He shook his head. ‘Don’t tell her either. Let’s just kill the bitch so you and I can have her money and live happily ever after.’

  17

  Back in the kitchen, Cindy hugged her highball with white-knuckled ferocity. Melissa sat on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, sipping on another bourbon, her smile growing broader and more mellow as the light began to fade from the sky.

  ‘I’ve always had a soft spot for Africa,’ Melissa declared.

  Listening carefully, Cindy noted that the woman had managed to articulate the ‘h’ in had, but the sibilants in ‘soft’ and ‘spot’ sounded a little slurred. It was more interesting to listen to the way she pronounced her words rather than the content. Everything Melissa said just came out like another boastful exclamation of her wealth and affluence.