‘Relax,’ Max whispered as he escorted her into the brightly decorated outer office. ‘Sandra,’ he continued with a warm smile as he greeted the dark-haired woman dressed in a distinctly old-fashioned uniform. ‘I brought Helen Dawson, the new senior registrar, to meet you.’
‘I recognised the name when Max mentioned it, but somehow I never really expected it to be you, Helen. I heard a rumour that you’d moved to Australia,’ Sandra said, smiling in an impersonal but quite welcoming way.
‘You should never believe all that you hear,’ Helen replied, struggling to hide her surprise. She had never discovered what happened to Sandra after she left their school at the age of sixteen. Helen had certainly never expected the pleasure seeking, flirtatious teenager she’d known to become a nurse. She must have done really well in her career to become matron at such an early age.
‘You know each other?’ Max asked in surprise.
‘Very well,’ Sandra replied, smiling knowingly at Helen.
Helen felt a faint flush rush to her cheeks, as a number of repressed memories surfaced.
‘We were quite good friends at school,’ she explained to Max.
‘What a coincidence. It’ll be nice for you to have an old friend here, won’t it?’ Max said, presuming wrongly that she was pleased to see Sandra again.
‘I’ll do my best to make her feel right at home,’ Sandra told him.
‘That would be great,’ Max said. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me ladies, I really do have to get back to London.’
‘Sure,’ Helen smiled at Max, casually as if they were just friends. They had decided to keep their relationship secret here as well, so they had already said their more passionate goodbyes in the privacy of her new apartment.
‘I’ll phone you from New York,’ Max said to Helen, then turned back to Sandra. ‘I’ve shown Dr Dawson around, but I’m sure you will help her get acquainted with the hospital routine.’
Sandra nodded, smiling agreeably at Max. ‘It would be my pleasure. In fact I’ve already ordered tea to be brought to my office. We can talk about the hospital, then have a cosy private chat. We’ve a lot to talk about, haven’t we? Especially that holiday we spent together in Cornwall so many years ago. It was fun wasn’t it, Helen?’
‘Lovely,’ Helen agreed nervously, preferring not to recall what had happened during the nights she and Sandra had shared a double bed.
Chapter Three
THE TWO WOMEN made their way into Sandra’s office and sat down on the couch by the French window. There was a glorious view of the hospital grounds, but Helen was more interested in surreptitiously examining Sandra while she was busy pouring the tea.
Physically Sandra had changed little in the intervening years. She was still a good few inches shorter that Helen, but far more voluptuous. Sandra’s breasts appeared to be much bigger than Helen remembered. Her hair was as dark and curly as ever, and her brown eyes still held a wicked sparkle. Men probably found her very attractive. In their teens, it was Sandra who all the boys had fancied. Helen had been very shy and they had all seemed a little put off by her cool, blonde beauty.
‘Milk and sugar?’ Sandra asked.
‘No sugar, and just a splash of milk, please.’ Helen felt rather unsettled by Sandra’s reappearance in her life. She would much rather forget most of what had happened when they’d been friends.
‘You always took at least two sugars in your tea if I remember rightly,’ Sandra commented, handing Helen a cup of tea. ‘You’re still very slim, so you can’t possibly be worried about your figure.’
‘I’m not concerned about putting on weight. It’s just that my tastes have changed as I’ve got older.’
‘Have they?’ Sandra leaned back against the floral cushions and stared thoughtfully at Helen.
‘Very much so,’ Helen replied, made even more uneasy by the odd way Sandra was now looking at her. ‘Don’t they always as we grow and mature?’
‘Not always. Funnily enough I got the distinct impression that you and Max Fenton were an item,’ Sandra mused. ‘In the circumstances I was surprised. I always rather thought that you’d turn out to be a lesbian.’
‘A lesbian,’ Helen repeated. ‘Of course not.’ She blushed awkwardly. ‘I don’t know what gave you that idea.’
‘What could have?’ Sandra smiled teasingly. ‘Perhaps your behaviour when we shared a room. You were the one who led me on after all.’
‘I don’t remember it like that. It was just girlish curiosity, nothing more,’ Helen said defensively, as even stronger memories of that time flooded her mind.
It had all started out quite innocently. When they were teenagers they had gone on holiday with Sandra’s parents and stayed in a creepy old Cornish farmhouse. On the first night, fearful of ghosts and frightening apparitions, Helen and Sandra scurried nervously into their double bed. The mattress was old and lumpy with a deep dent in the centre, so they had little choice but to cuddle up close. Helen found the feel of Sandra’s warm curvy body incredibly comforting.
During their ensuing conversation, she admitted to her friend that she didn’t know how to French kiss and Sandra offered to teach her. Their lips tentatively touched, then Sandra’s tongue squirmed its way into her mouth. Helen had been overcome by this first sexual encounter, as they had continued to kiss, their tongues sensuously exploring each other’s mouth. Turned on by the intimate contact, Helen had run her hands nervously over Sandra’s body, secretly wishing she was unclothed. One of them, Helen couldn’t remember who, suggested they remove their nightgowns. After that their caresses had become bolder, more uninhibited. They stroked and squeezed each other’s breasts, then slid their hands downwards to seek out their partner’s most secret feminine parts.
The stroking, and rubbing of hands between open thighs, had proved highly exciting, stimulating them to proceed further. Clumsy caresses gradually became more proficient, and they soon discovered exactly what to do to bring a feminine body to the peak of pleasure. Their mutual delight, the orgasms they shared, acted like a drug on their senses. They spent the remaining days of their holiday looking forward to the intimate privacy of the nights.
When they returned to school, the liaison continued, and would probably have gone on much longer if a teacher hadn’t discovered them naked in bed together late one night. They had been threatened with expulsion. It had only been prevented when they both promised not to see each other again. They were assigned to different dormitories, kept apart in lessons, and soon their friendship faded along with their youthful passions.
‘I seem to remember that it was far more than just girlish curiosity,’ Sandra said softly. ‘At the time I really fancied you, Helen. You knew exactly how to turn me on. The sex we had was far better than the fumblings of the inexperienced boys I knew,’ she added with a teasing laugh.
‘Well, it’s all in the past now, and best forgotten,’ Helen said curtly.
‘The past can often come back to haunt us,’ Sandra pointed out, seeming amused by Helen’s discomfort. Finishing her tea, she put her cup down on the low table in front of her. ‘How long have you and Max been together then? I always thought him incredibly sexy. Is he good in the sack?’
‘I prefer not to discuss my relationship with Max Fenton.’ Helen couldn’t understand how Sandra could have so easily figured out that she and Max were involved, as neither of them had made it at all obvious. As far as Helen knew, no one at St Matthew’s had ever realised they were going out together.
‘I should guess that he’s a pretty inventive lover.’ Sandra smiled in a knowing, rather unsettling way. ‘Enjoys fucking in unusual places, does he?’
Helen blushed even more. Sandra couldn’t possibly be privy to what had happened between her and Max earlier today, could she? ‘My private life is none of your concern, Sandra. Let’s keep our relationship here on a purely professional level,’ Helen replied, struggling to retain her composure. ‘Officially Max and I are good friends, nothing more.’
‘Whatever you say.’ Sandra smiled sweetly. ‘In the circumstances I understand why you would want to keep your liaison with Max quiet. He is a major shareholder, and the most senior member on the governing board of the Princess Beatrice. Most people consider him the big boss around here. You know how staff gossip –’
‘Are you implying that they’ll think I got this job because of my relationship with Max?’ Helen slammed down her cup on the table.
‘Goodness, no. I’m certain that Max isn’t the sort of guy who would give you a job just because he’s fucking you. You’re well qualified for the position, Helen. A little too well qualified if you ask me.’
‘I have very good reasons for coming here,’ Helen replied.
‘Of course you do. It’s a great pity you lost your old job when they decided to close St Matthew’s. The hospital had a good reputation. It was the salary that attracted you here, wasn’t it? They pay very well, and initially most of the staff come here precisely because of that fact. Now of course they all stay because they love it so much. We are a very close-knit community.’ She put a hand on Helen’s knee. ‘Very close.’
‘Really,’ Helen stuttered as she felt Sandra’s fingers gently caressing her leg. She wanted to pull away, but somehow she couldn’t. Sandra was the only woman Helen had ever found attractive, and she could feel the sensual pull even now, after all these years. It was something she couldn’t rationally explain and it troubled her.
‘We were such good friends when we were young, and we shared virtually everything,’ Sandra said in a soft hypnotic voice as she slid her hand up Helen’s leg. ‘We could take this opportunity to renew our close friendship, couldn’t we, Helen?’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Helen stuttered, suddenly beginning to feel weak and a little shaky.
Helen glanced downwards nervously, mesmerised by the slow upward movement of Sandra’s hand. Soon it was resting intimately on her upper thigh, and Sandra’s fingers were straying dangerously close to Helen’s crotch. The warmth of Sandra’s palm seemed to sear Helen’s skin, even through the thin cotton of her skirt.
‘Why isn’t it a good idea?’ Sandra asked, leaning closer until Helen could smell the tantalising odour of her musky perfume, mixed with the faintly familiar womanly scent that time had almost erased from her memory.
Sandra’s crisp, old-fashioned uniform fitted snugly, the pinched-in waist adding further emphasis to her full breasts. They were tightly encased by a bra, and Helen wondered what they would look like free and unfettered. Big as melons, they would be soft and infinitely pleasing – a total contrast to Helen’s firm, uptilted bosom. She could still remember Sandra’s large, rusty-brown aureoles, and her nipples had always been permanently erect; huge reddish-brown teats, just right for nibbling and sucking.
This was insane, Helen told herself, trying to push such erotic thoughts out of her mind. There was no way she was going to rekindle the relationship. It had been a youthful mistake, driven by curiosity, during a time of rampantly burgeoning sexuality. She wasn’t a lesbian and never would be. Apart from her brief liaison with Sandra, all her relationships had been totally heterosexual. Her attraction to Sandra was over and done with years ago. She liked men fucking her, not women.
‘The past is over and done with,’ Helen said in a hesitant voice as she felt Sandra’s fingers slide between her thighs, moving closer to her aching pussy. She fought the sudden urge to lean back, pull up her skirt and open her legs, welcome the pleasure Sandra could give her.
‘Whatever you say. But I still turn you on, don’t I?’ Sandra purred.
Her soft breasts pressed temptingly against Helen’s arm. Helen shivered, feeling her heart rate increase, as the tips of Sandra’s fingers moved teasingly across her sex. The gentle touch was so good. The feel of Sandra’s fingers even through the layers of skirt and panties was still incredibly exciting. Helen bit her lip, wanting to beg Sandra to push harder, to put more pressure on her throbbing quim.
‘You don’t turn me on,’ Helen lied, having no desire for Sandra to know how aroused she felt, how much the intimate contact was affecting her senses.
Helen couldn’t allow relationships to complicate her life here at the Princess Beatrice. There was no way she could become involved with Sandra Pope, of all people. Even pausing to consider it was madness.
‘You always were a lousy liar.’ Sandra’s laugh was softly mocking as Helen pulled away from her and slid to the end of the sofa.
‘As I said before,’ Helen responded, her voice shaking slightly, ‘I intend to keep all my relationships here on a purely professional level.’
‘You can try,’ Sandra replied coolly. ‘Keep yourself to yourself as much as you like, but it won’t be easy.’ She glanced out of the window. ‘As you can see this place is pretty isolated, and we’re miles from the nearest town. If you don’t make friends you’re bound to be lonely.’
‘I can get out and about, explore the countryside.’ Helen, still conscious of the throbbing heat between her thighs, took an unsteady breath. ‘Or buy a car if I find I need one. I’ve never bothered before; it would have been an unnecessary extravagance in London. Here it’s a different matter.’
Sandra stared thoughtfully at Helen through narrowed eyes. ‘You should at least get to know your fellow workers. The person you’ll be mostly dealing with is the other senior registrar, Ben Taylor. He’s planning to pop round to your apartment about eight this evening. He’ll take you to the staff bar, show you the recreational facilities, introduce you to some of the hospital personnel. That’s if you don’t object, of course.’
‘Not at all,’ Helen said coolly. ‘I look forward to meeting him.’
‘Ben can fill you in on hospital routine, what nights you’ll be on call and suchlike. You’ll like him, he’s a charming guy.’
‘I’m sure he is,’ Helen replied. Sandra didn’t appear at all upset by her rebuttal, but Helen still felt a tad uneasy in her presence. ‘Well, thanks for the tea, Sandra.’
‘It was a pleasure,’ Sandra replied. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow sometime, when I do my rounds.’
‘Yes,’ Helen agreed, standing up, and managing to disguise the fact that her legs still felt a trace unsteady. ‘Tomorrow, then.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Sandra echoed, as Helen left the room.
Zara Dawn’s hospital room was awash with flowers. Large bouquets from her manager, publicist, the producer of her most recent movie, and most importantly from all her fans. However, at this moment in time such lavish signs of affection meant little to Zara because she was in one of her nervous, apprehensive moods.
Like many glamorous movie stars, Zara was extraordinarily insecure about both her talents and her looks. In her youth she’d been far more positive, confident that she could conquer the world with her beauty. Sadly, once the odd faint wrinkle, the merest suggestion of sagging skin, had begun to mar her looks, Zara’s insecurities had magnified beyond proportion. Every tiny sign of ageing, every blemish, looked so much worse when inflated on a large movie screen.
Over the past few years, in order to counter her insecurities and bolster her image, Zara had found herself seeking out younger and younger men. It looked good in public, and felt even better in private to have a young handsome guy always beside her.
The last in this line of young men was the wannabe rock star, Warren Hart. Warren’s first record, made in a converted garage at his parent’s house, had been fairly successful, reaching number five in the charts. His second, made in a de luxe studio and backed by a major record label, had been a total flop. Nevertheless, Warren was convinced that one day he would be bigger than the Stones or Oasis. Bigger even than Presley, if he found the right songs.
Zara and Warren had met at a show-biz party nearly six months ago. Zara had been attracted by Warren’s raw, unpolished sexual charisma and his hard, lean body. He wasn’t conventionally good looking, with his bad skin, strong features, long dark hair and small goatee beard. But his compelling
dark eyes, and his oddly satanic quality had drawn Zara towards him like a moth to a flame.
At first, like all the other guys, Warren had been flattered by Zara’s interest in him, but Warren was selfish with an over-inflated ego, and to her amazement she soon found herself pandering to his whims. But the sex was so great that Zara put up with his selfishness and sometimes brutally cruel behaviour. Zara, with her many years of experience with a multitude of different men, was a skilful and inventive lover. Warren, on the other hand, was rough and often coarse, with an uncut sensuality which led him to experiment in just about every conceivable sexual perversion. Their lovemaking was the most exciting she’d ever known.
Zara was certain that Warren was far too self-interested to care deeply for her, despite the fact he often said that he loved her. She tried to ignore the fact that he stayed with her mainly because she was rich, influential, and could help him get to know all the right people – eventually help bring him the fame he craved.
Today, Warren had been due to record a brief spot for a TV programme, and had promised to visit her afterwards. He was very late, Zara realised, anxiously glancing at the clock and seeing it was almost 5 p.m. She ran her fingers through her artfully styled, shoulder-length, honey-coloured hair, which was much darker than the platinum blonde she’d favoured in her youth.
Lately she’d been feeling even more insecure. Warren was only twenty-six, while she didn’t even acknowledge her age. Knowing that he was coming to visit her for the first time since her operation had made Zara extra careful with her make-up. She’d easily managed to cover the marks left by the liposuction on her previous suspicion of a double chin. To her relief her jaw-line looked cleaner and sharper now, giving her a more youthful appearance. There were a few faint bruises still visible from her upper eye lift but they weren’t half as bad as she’d expected. One thing she hadn’t bothered about were the purplish yellow marks on her stomach and thighs, all due to the liposuction carried out in that area. The marks would have faded completed by the time she returned home and Warren saw her in the nude once again.
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