The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

by Cheryl Mildenhall

  Leaning forwards to peer at herself in the mirror for the umpteenth time, she caught sight of Alicia bearing down on her from behind, although she still jumped as her sister spoke.

  ‘You look lovely, Hills.’ Alicia put out a hand and fingered one of the loose tendrils that framed her sister’s face. ‘I told you it would be worth coming here, didn’t I?’

  Hillary nodded and smiled at her sister’s reflection. ‘I still don’t know if Odile’s dress is really me though and I haven’t any light-coloured shoes to wear with it.’

  Alicia tutted impatiently. ‘There are three shops all within a stone’s throw of this salon and if the worst comes to the worst I’ve probably got a pair. So stop worrying.’ She stared hard at Hillary, noting her pinched expression. ‘I thought you were looking forward to this party, one look at you and anyone would think you’re about to go to the guillotine.’

  For her own sake as much as her sister’s, Hillary managed a tight smile. ‘I’m just a bit nervous, I suppose. Unlike you, Alix, I don’t get invited to grand parties all that often.’

  Accepting her sister’s explanation at face value, Alicia nodded and then waved as she caught sight of Chloe and Odile, both looking equally glamorous. Odile was also wearing her long hair piled on top of her head and Chloe sported her usual blonde bob but the cap of hair looked more sleek and shiny than usual.

  By the time the four women returned to Harwood Hall, loaded down with yet more shopping bags, Hillary felt as though she barely had the energy left for a bath let alone a party. She eyed the dress still on its hanger and the new pair of matching white satin shoes that she had just bought, then looked at herself in the mirror.

  Suddenly, she felt as though her body was being recharged, small sparks of energy shot through her, setting every nerve ending tingling with excitement. She was going to the party of a lifetime, she would look fantastic and no doubt end the evening in Darius’s bed. How lucky could one woman get?

  The heavily embossed invitation said, ‘Cocktails at seven, to be followed by dinner and dancing.’ Hillary turned the card over in her hand thoughtfully. She hadn’t noticed it before but hers was the only invitation to be worded like this, those addressed to Alicia, Chloe and Odile merely said, ‘You are cordially invited to partake of cocktails at Harwood Hall, between seven and nine pm.’ In each case there was no mention of dinner or dancing afterwards.

  Alicia regarded the four cards with a haughty expression. ‘I expect there’s been some kind of mix-up. There’s no reason why he should single you out for preferential treatment.’ She glared at Hillary who stared back with wide-eyed innocence.

  ‘I don’t understand it any more than you do, Alicia.’

  Her sister sniffed and stooped to pick up her evening bag from the chair beside them. ‘Let’s go and find out then, shall we?’ She opened the front door and they all trooped out into the warm evening air, walking the hundred yards or so from their wing to the imposing main entrance of Harwood Hall.

  It seemed strange to see the driveway packed with cars, Hillary thought, eyeing the clutches of BMWs, Porsches and Mercedes, interspersed with the odd Rolls-Royce, Ferrari or Aston Martin. She smothered a smile at the sight of Chloe and Alicia’s expressions, an equal mixture of envy and lust. Nothing excited the two of them more than an obvious display of wealth.

  She felt very grand as she walked up the wide stone steps to the front doorway, which stood wide open to reveal the marble-flagged entrance hall in all its glory. Pausing at the threshold to savour the moment of her entrance, she stared with wonder at the scene before her. Dominated by the sweeping staircase and a huge crystal chandelier, the majestic room was thronged with richly jewelled ladies decked out in all their finery and their escorts, men of all ages and sizes, most of them identically dressed in tuxedos.

  Although the evening was balmy to say the least, many of the women still wore fur coats and jackets, each then dropping them carelessly into the waiting arms of an army of uniformed servants as they walked through the door. Obviously culled from the village, she thought to herself, realising that she recognised a few faces. Chloe and Alicia, of course, were absolutely agog, although unlike Hillary they wasted no time standing and staring but dived straight into the throng.

  A smiling Odile touched her arm. ‘Shall we go in, Hillary?’

  Hillary started with surprise. ‘What?’ Hastily she corrected herself. ‘I mean, pardon?’

  ‘Let’s join the party Hillary,’ Odile prompted gently, then added, ‘I can’t see him, can you?’

  Hillary blushed, realising straight away that Odile meant Darius. Realising it was pointless to try to pretend otherwise, she shook her head. ‘I expect he’s inside, greeting his guests as a proper host should.’

  She soon found that she was right. As they crossed the hall and entered a large room to their left Hillary noticed him immediately. He was leaning casually against a huge grand piano, talking to a group of middle-aged women who appeared to be hanging on his every word. As she entered the room he looked up and caught her eye. It wasn’t quite how she had visualised the moment but almost; with a lazy, practised eye he swept the length of her body, nodding with approval at her appearance. Almost against her will, Hillary found herself feeling extraordinarily pleased at his reaction.

  In the distance she could hear Odile’s voice but her senses were filled with him and the way he looked, so tall and dark and dressed not like the other men but in a stylishly cut grey silk suit, worn with a shirt of paler grey and a tie of muted greys and pinks. Even from a distance his voice too filled her ears. In low, seductive tones he charmed the women who clustered around him looking like brightly coloured jewels with their glossy hair and painted talon-like nails. And, she fancied, her nostrils were touched by the heady aroma of his masculinity, mixed in equal parts with the spicy citrus and pinewood fragrance she had come to associate with him.

  Through her haze of lust she felt her fingers being prised apart and her palm forced to bear the weight of a heavy crystal glass. She tore her eyes away from his to glance at the drink which she now held, her expression almost uncomprehending, then looked into Odile’s gentle face.

  ‘Are you okay, Hillary? You look as though you’ve been hit by a thunderbolt.’

  Hillary forced her frozen lips into something resembling a smile. ‘Yes.’ She felt her gaze slide away from Odile in the direction of the piano. Darius had gone from there and in his place stood a pianist about to earn his evening’s wage. She looked back at Odile, a feeling of normality returning to flood her body. ‘I’m fine. Shall we mingle?’

  The two women drifted through the room, pausing every now and then to hover on the outskirts of a conversation which at first sounded riveting but soon became as boringly predictable as the rest. Houses, cars, horses, money, who was having an affair with whom – there wasn’t a lot of variation in the issues that mattered most to Darius’s guests. She and Odile had just helped themselves to a second glass of champagne when a buzz circulated and the level of chatter dropped a few decibels as people craned their necks towards the door at the back of the room.

  Hillary pushed her way in a none too subtle manner through a crowd of people who were blocking her view. As she stepped forwards she gasped with surprise. The object, or to be more precise the objects, of everyone’s attention were Torran and Fearn who had just made their entrance. A split second later she noticed the woman standing behind them. Tall and majestic with hair like burnished copper piled high on her head, she stood and surveyed the room with a proprietary air. That must be Ilona, Hillary surmised correctly.

  To her enormous consternation, Ilona’s eyes alighted on her and she began to walk straight towards her. There was nothing Hillary could do except stand there and accept the woman’s hand as it extended graciously, the skin so pale it was almost translucent. The woman was smiling, her deep-green eyes sparkling with overt good humour. ‘Welcome to Harwood Hall. You are Hillary, I believe?’

  Hillary nodded
, speechless for a moment while her heart thumped madly in her chest. For some indefinable reason she felt this woman could be a major threat. Nevertheless, the woman continued to smile an apparently genuine smile. ‘I am Ilona, mother of Torran and Fearn.’ She spoke as though she were reading her lineage aloud from an old tome.

  ‘I guessed correctly then.’ Hillary wanted her to know that her existence was not a complete surprise as far as she was concerned.

  Ilona laughed. ‘I take it there’s been the usual gossip in the village? Oh, don’t worry. There’s no need to feel embarrassed,’ she continued, as Hillary’s cheeks started to redden. ‘I’ve heard it all before countless times and in many different combinations.’ She paused to accept a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. ‘I doubt that the gossip-mongers can come up with anything new by now.’

  Hillary decided to try to change the subject. ‘I expect Scotland is lovely at this time of the year?’ It was the only non-controversial thing she could think of to say and, to her dismay, she noticed that Odile had wandered off so she couldn’t depend on her to share the conversational burden.

  Ilona’s attention was wandering and she glanced at her watch. ‘My word, it’s almost nine already. Most of these people will be leaving soon, thank goodness.’

  Her comment reminded Hillary about the differences between her invitation and those sent to Alicia, Chloe and Odile. She mentioned it to Ilona who explained that the cocktail party was a more or less regular event.

  ‘Darius holds one every month but tonight, as it’s his birthday, he’s selected a few special guests to stay behind and help him celebrate in a more, shall we say, intimate fashion.’ To Hillary’s surprise she suddenly dropped her gaze in embarrassment.

  Hillary broke the awkward moment of silence. ‘I didn’t realise it was Darius’s birthday. I didn’t bring him anything.’

  ‘Oh yes you did,’ the older woman murmured, almost under her breath, then she added in a normal voice, ‘You brought yourself, my dear, that’s what matters. Now then I must away and check that everything is organised for supper.’

  She melted quickly into the throng before Hillary had a chance to utter another word and seconds later Alicia appeared at her side looking more than slightly miffed.

  ‘Apparently we are only invited for the cocktail party. Are you coming back with us, Hillary? We thought we’d go into town and find somewhere swish to eat so all our efforts don’t go to waste.’ She patted her hair and ran her hands across imaginary creases in her black velvet skirt.

  Much to her sister’s obvious annoyance, Hillary shook her head. ‘I’ve been invited to supper here; apparently it’s Darius’s birthday.’

  ‘Yes, he’s thirty-nine. Doesn’t look it though, does he?’ It was Chloe, looking slightly rumpled, as though she’d been grappling with something, or someone.

  Hillary did a quick calculation in her head; she’d assumed that Darius was only in his early thirties, at thirty-nine he could easily be Torran’s father. But she couldn’t bear to think about that now. Turning to Chloe, she snapped, ‘Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately?’

  Uncomprehending, Chloe returned Hillary’s look with a blank stare until Alicia pointed out what Hillary meant.

  ‘Oh, that!’ She giggled. ‘I bumped into Torran a little while ago and he seemed very pleased to see me.’

  At least, thought Hillary with a rueful grimace, she had the grace to blush. For a moment, she felt as though she’d had enough of the party and of the Harwoods in general and she was just about to agree to accompany her sister and the others when she caught sight of Darius again. Their eyes locked and she melted inside.

  ‘You all go and enjoy yourselves. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Hillary could hardly tear her eyes away from Darius long enough to give her sister a placatory smile. ‘You’ll probably have a much better time than I will but it would be rude of me to leave.’

  Alicia looked unconvinced but said goodbye anyway before taking Chloe by the elbow and propelling her towards the door when they met up with Odile. The three of them waved to Hillary who waved back absently. Now the room had cleared she was starting to feel a little vulnerable.

  Fortunately Torran appeared beside her. ‘You look incredible, Hillary.’ Like Darius, he swept his eyes approvingly over her body, taking in every detail of her appearance, particularly the dress she had borrowed from Odile.

  Although very plain and simply cut, the fluid white satin fell from shoestring straps to mould itself around her curves, outlining every part of her firmly toned body. As Hillary had soon discovered, anything worn under it simply ruined the effect so, with a slight tingling of excitement at her own decadence, she placed her underwear back in the drawer, allowing the sensuous material to slide over her naked skin; her only additions being a pair of flesh-coloured hold-up stockings and a diamante choker with matching drop earrings. Finally, for the sake of modesty, she fastened a matching belt around her waist and three tiny diamante clips to hold the sarong-style skirt tightly around her hips.

  It had seemed very strange at first to leave the house wearing no knickers, although she soon became accustomed to the sensation of fresh air tantalising her exposed sex and, once she had entered the Hall, all thoughts of anything but Darius had flown from her mind.

  At this moment, though, as Torran stood beside her, his eyes stripping the thin layer of material from her body, she was reminded instantly of her nakedness underneath. Her stomach tightening at the realisation, she gazed levelly at him, a secretive smile playing about her lips. To hell with Ilona and the Harwoods’ possible family connections. There she was at an exclusive party looking her absolute best and in the company of at least two superbly attractive men – she hadn’t really bothered to look at the other male guests – this was no time to be fretting about the incidentals of life. She would go with the flow, let the party run its natural course and just enjoy everything as it happened, whatever that might be. As if to underline her decision a loud gong sounded, summoning everyone to the dining room.

  Hillary looked around, unsure where to go but Torran was already guiding her, his hand placed firmly in the small of her back and the heat of his palm penetrating the thin material to scorch the sensitive skin beneath. She turned and gave him a broader smile, to which he nodded and slipped his hand lower to rest on her undulating buttocks. As they walked through the doorway, the first thing that struck Hillary was the size of the dining room. Almost as large as the room they had just vacated, it was dominated by a vast mahogany table laden with the finest china, silver and crystal, the latter reflected over and over again in the deeply polished wood.

  Ilona stood just inside the doorway, greeting each guest and indicating where they should sit. Darius’s place had been set at the centre of one side of the table, rather than at the head, and to her surprise and pleasure Hillary found herself seated to his right with Torran to the other side of her. Everyone stood until the last guest had found their place, then, upon an imperceptible command from Ilona, the male guests gallantly withdrew the chairs for their female companions to be seated. Torran held Hillary’s chair for her and she nodded gratefully, noticing with another jolt of surprise that Ilona was not seated on Darius’s left as she had expected but across the table from him.

  Darius sat down last of all and briefly thanked all his guests for attending. His penetrating blue eyes swept the room, looking around the table at the twenty or so couples who sat either smiling and contented, or nervously twitching. Hillary hadn’t realised before but it was obvious now that a number of the women were not the wives of their male companions. As they started on the first course, she mentioned this observation to Torran who laughed deeply, then hastily silenced himself, whispering under his breath that most of the women there were prostitutes. Hillary stared back at him amazed, they all looked normal.

  ‘Are you sure. How can you tell?’ she persisted, resisting the urge to add the words ‘at your age’ to the end of the question.

&nbs
p; ‘Oh, it’s quite normal for Darius to arrange such things for his friends,’ Torran commented airily, pausing only to take a sip of blood-red wine before adding, ‘You and my mother are probably the only women here who aren’t hookers.’

  She gazed around the table once again, this time in open fascination. Now that Torran had mentioned it, she could see that they didn’t have the same polish as the wives and girlfriends who had attended the earlier cocktail party. After finishing the last of her soup, she dabbed at her mouth with the corner of her napkin, then sat back in her chair and crossed her long legs, the gossamer material parting easily to allow her movement. Whether it was the actual movement or the sound of her nylon-clad legs sliding against each other, she couldn’t tell, but Darius immediately turned to look at her properly for the first time since they had begun the meal.

  Hillary swallowed hard and gripped the edge of the table. Although she had been watchful about the amount of alcohol she was consuming that evening, she suddenly felt lightheaded. Of all their encounters so far this was the one that shook her the most. His very proximity made her giddy with a powerful emotion she had never experienced before.

  More than mere lust, the sensation rocketed through her with the intensity of an orgasm, weakening her limbs so that she had no option but to allow her legs to uncross and slide apart. Immediately, she felt a draft of cool air waft over her tingling sex, then a hand upon her left thigh, kneading the flesh where it met the lacy stocking top.

  Stifling a moan of desire, Hillary turned her head slightly to observe Darius’s expression but he merely smiled thinly before turning to the man on his left and striking up a conversation about brood mares or some such equine subject. Despite his lack of visual attention to her, his hand remained in place, still gripping and releasing with hypnotic regularity. Desperately, she forced herself to concentrate on the second course which had now been set before her, a delicate concoction of salmon mousse garnished with scallops, prawns and caviar.