Down in the Woods

by Gary Philpott

  “Jonathan still had wet hair and a towel wrapped around his waist when Anna shouted for him to come through to her room.

  “Do I look sexy?” she asked.

  He gave her the once over. “You most certainly do.” It was an outfit he had not seen before, a dark-green satin blouse and a black, knee-length pencil skirt.

  “What must I do?”

  “Here, you sit here. I set it up while you were in the shower. When he calls you will see a green box with the word ‘answer’ on it. Click that.”

  “I will see Anton, yes?”

  “Yes, you will see Anton, and he will see you.”

  “This is exciting.”

  “Stop smiling, Anna. I thought you didn’t love him anymore.”

  “I love Anton. I also love you.”

  “Try ‘very fond of me’, I don’t think you love me.”

  “I do, you are a good man. This is going to be fun.”

  “Perhaps you should make it more fun seeing as he’s not going to be in an internet café. He certainly would know you still loved him.”

  “I will tell him this.”

  “Oh, okay then.”

  Anna laughed. “Are you trying to get me to take my clothes off again?”

  “No. Well not unless you want to. I was just thinking you could be a little bit naughty. Undo a few buttons on your blouse, something like that.”

  “Would you like this, if you were Anton?”

  “Believe me, Anna, Anton will love it. He will get the message as soon as he sees you.”

  “Okay, I do this. It will make him smile.” She undid three buttons on her blouse and pulled it open to expose a black, half-cup bra. “Do my tits look good?”

  “Oh yes, babe, your tits look good. You have enjoyed your shopping trips, haven’t you?”

  “If I had enough money, I would like to go shopping every day.”

  “You and every other woman in the world, except maybe my Aunt Doris, that is.”

  “Shall I do this for Anton?” Anna put her hands under her breasts and gave them a little juggle. “He will like this I think.”

  “I am sure he will. You’re like a different woman when you’re happy.”

  “Anton and me were always happy when we were at school.”

  “What, even in lessons?”

  “We had good teachers. It was a pleasure to learn.”

  “Well I never. I wish I could say the same. What was your favourite subject?”

  “I liked History and Geography. I enjoyed learning about the English kings and queens. Also, the Romans were very interesting. Did you like history?”

  “I didn’t like any of it. That’s probably why I was hardly ever there. I obviously didn’t have your dedication.”

  “You should have…” Anna stopped mid-sentence as the computer made a high frequency warbling noise.

  “Here goes, he’s calling you. Click the green button.”

  Anna clicked it and a small window with her video image on opened up at the top left-hand side. The bigger window in the middle took a little longer.

  “Labvakar, Anna.”

  “Labvakar m te.”

  “Who’s that?” asked Jonathan sharply.

  “That is my mother.”

  “Your mother!” he exclaimed. “You do know she can see you?”

  “Kas ir tas, ka,” asked her mother.

  She yanked her blouse closed. “Kas ir, Jonathan.”

  “Fuck, I best leave you to it.” Jonathan turned away sharply, not realising the corner of his bath towel was sandwiched between Anna’s elbow and the armrest on the chair. He left the towel behind. As he retreated from the room he had visions of Anna’s mother seeing his bare arse going through the door, but knew turning back to retrieve the towel would only make matters worse.

  Jonathan had been ready and waiting for twenty minutes when Anna finally emerged from the room. “I guess they didn’t hang up on you then?”

  Anna smiled. “No. I am sorry. We had much to talk about.”

  “I am sure you did. How did it go?”

  “It was good. Anton say thank you. He is very happy that you have looked after me.”

  “To be honest, I hadn’t thought how it would look to him, with you like that and me behind you. Let alone what your mother must have thought.”

  “I explained to them. We do this again tomorrow. This time it will be only me and Anton.”

  “I just didn’t think. I really am a wanker at times.”

  “I know this already,” she grinned. “I know you are a wanker. Is it too late?”

  “I’m getting worried about you, you seem to like that word. Is it too late for what?”

  “I would like to buy tickets for Cats.”

  “No, it’s not too late. Perhaps we had better buy the tickets before we eat, but the box office will still be open. I warn you though; tomorrow night may well be sold out. We might have to take whatever day we can get.”

  Anna stepped into a pair of black heels she had only worn about the flat before. “Can I wear these?”

  “You look very nice. How do you fancy a nightclub later?”

  “A nightclub, this would be good. Can you dance?”

  “Not too well, but I get by.”

  “I will enjoy dancing with you.”

  “I must be a bloody idiot. I should have told you to dump Anton.”

  “I am too old for you, Jonathan.”

  “No you are not. I’m too young for you.”

  “I think I understand. Shall we go?”

  “Yes. Tickets or no tickets, we are going to have a good night.”

  “I will look for a woman for you. This way you can have proper sex.”

  “You’re the only woman I want to dance with tonight, Anna.”

  “Let us go and have fun.” She slipped her arms into the sleeves of her coat and pulled it up onto her shoulders. Jonathan reached out and took hold of her hand.

  Chapter 20

  “Thank you for last night, darling.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Daniel. I enjoyed it as well, you know.”

  “Did you really?”

  “Yes, I did, very much.”

  “It was not just for me then?”

  “I have told you, don’t be silly.” Felicity meant what she was saying. She had enjoyed it so much that as they drove out of the car park the night before, she had promised herself to cancel her liaison with Andrew. Now, in the cold light of day, it seemed easier to go ahead with it. Just one last bit of excitement with another man and that would be the end of it. It was time to discover more of her husband’s hidden depths. Perhaps he could satisfy her lust for a bit of excitement after all.

  “Give my regards to Rosemary.”

  “Rosemary is still getting over Friday. I am riding alone today.”

  “Have you phoned Phillip? I think he might be available.”

  He is always available, thought Felicity. That is his problem. “I could do with some time alone.”

  “Okay darling. I should be home by five. I have decided to adopt a more strategic style of management. You are quite right; I should let others get on with the operational stuff. It is time I paid you the attention you deserve.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  “We haven’t got time now, have we?”

  “No, Daniel, we have not.”

  “I have to say, you do smell rather gorgeous.”

  “Do you like it? It is the perfume your brother bought me for Christmas,” Felicity lied. She had given that bottle to Sarah for her birthday.

  “I do like it, yes.” His hand went onto his favourite part of her anatomy.

  “My bottom will be all yours later, but I need to get going.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Not that, Daniel. Not that.”

  “Goodbye darling.” He kissed her more enthusiastically than usual. “Have a lovely day.”

  Felicity hoped he had not smudged her lipstick. “I will. And yo
u.”

  On previous occasions when she had walked towards the barn to get into her car and drive off to meet someone for sex, the butterflies in her stomach were butterflies of excitement. This morning, they were butterflies of doubt. She hated Phillip for what he had done, but was she any better? She told herself this was the last time. It had to stop. There were other ways to get the thrills she craved without threatening her marriage.

  Harrington had been shown through to the drawing room. The leather armchair he was sitting in was so large that he had to fight back the urge to lean on the armrest and curl his feet up under his bottom.

  “Sorry to have kept you, my man.” Hetherington-Jones strode across the wooden floor. His riding boots clomped on the boards as he did so.

  Harrington stood to shake his hand. “No problem, I am glad you could find the time to talk to me. You clearly had other plans.”

  “Yes, I was going to carry out an unannounced QA inspection of the stables and take Hercules out for some exercise. Now, what is it this time?” He sat down on the other side of a very low, large wooden coffee table.

  “Let me cut to the chase. Where were you Wednesday and Thursday of the week before last?”

  “Ah, the latest body in the woods.”

  “I have to ask.”

  “Just as my PA told the other detective from Reading police station, I was in France. The entire trip lasted five days in total.”

  “And can you… ”

  “Yes, I can prove it,” interrupted Hetherington-Jones. “We met at a hotel on the Loire. I am sure both the ferry company and the hotel have more than enough cameras to provide me with a watertight alibi.”

  “Did you drive?”

  “Well of course I drove. I would not go on the ferry otherwise.”

  “Which vehicle did you use?”

  “I went in my old workhorse, the Range Rover.”

  “Who did you meet?”

  “Your nose spends too long sniffing around in the gutter, Detective. I keep an eye on a small estate down there for one of my clients. It was a meeting. We ‘met’ in a hotel.”

  Harrington was not willing to admit that he had jumped to the wrong conclusion. “Who did you meet with?”

  “There were a number of people around the table, including the estate manager, his assistant, and my client’s solicitor. The labourer’s foreman was there as well, though he contributes very little, and we send him out for the confidential agenda items. And of course, a secretary was in attendance to take the minutes.”

  “What was the purpose of this meeting?”

  “Would you like me to run you off a copy of the minutes?”

  “No thank you, an outline will suffice.”

  “My client is looking to build some holiday lets on a patch of land he owns in the region. However, there is a complication, as there often is.”

  “A complication?”

  “One of the villagers owns a rundown barn where an access road would be needed.”

  “He has a ransom strip?”

  “Yes, Detective, a ransom strip. You get them all over the world.”

  “So, what was your involvement in this? Were you negotiating the price?”

  “I must say detective, I cannot fathom what the devil this has to do with your sorry business, but if it helps you to sleep at night, I will tell you. Even if we do manage to negotiate the blighter down to the expected bottom-line of fifty percent of his opening gambit, the project would not yield the return it should. A cheaper solution is needed. We were talking through the options.”

  “And what are these options?”

  “The estate manager is in favour of using a different access route, one that is longer and more expensive. Bridging a small river is the most prohibitive aspect of that particular solution. I argued in favour of a different option entirely. In exchange for the strip of land we need, we renovate the farmer’s barn for him. Convert it into two holiday lets that he will then own.” He smirked. “I have suggested we sell it to the silly old fool as an investment for his daughter’s future, a life-long income stream rather than a one off capital payment.”

  “Will that be cheaper for you?”

  “Oh yes. And what is more, there are a number of ways we will be able to stitch him up if he takes any shortcuts on legal advice. My reading of the situation is that he has already spent more than he can afford on legal advice and would have to borrow money to pay professionals, and therefore will choose to minimise such expenses, particularly if we make him sweat by going silent for two or three months. If we play our cards right, his studios will not be any competition for our superior quality chalets. We might even get away with not including the supply of utilities such as electricity, water and sewage. And this is the good bit. Who will then own the access road?”

  “Your client.”

  “Exactly. It’s good, don’t you think?”

  You bastard, thought Harrington, but said, “Yes, very clever Mr Hetherington-Jones.”

  Having made the journey, Harrington decided he might as well try and tidy up a few loose ends. “Well, that is all I needed to know, thank you. As it happens, I spoke to an old friend of yours a couple of weeks ago,” he said casually.

  “Oh, who was that?”

  “Peter Schofield.”

  “Old Willy, well I never, it has been years since I last saw him. How is the old rascal?”

  “He certainly has landed on his feet. He has a senior management job with Nissan, a lovely house and he married a lap dancer.”

  “Good old Willy. A lap dancer, you say. He always did have what it takes to please the more foxy ladies in the pussy pool. Despite what women tell us chaps, size does matter.”

  “You have not done too badly yourself.”

  “I cannot complain. There seems to be other things about me that appeal to the fairer sex.”

  “I was referring to…” Harrington let his eyes drift around the room.

  “I see what you mean, Detective. It comes at a price mind. There is a lot of pressure to keep the required income coming in. And as you will be aware, Her Majesty likes her cut.”

  “I gather you all had these nicknames. People called you Studsie, did they not?”

  “Hah, they were good days.”

  “It sounded like they certainly were. I had to laugh when Peter told me why Thumper was called Thumper. What was his real name? Thomas something.”

  “Some parents stitch their children up, do they not?”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “Thumper’s name was Thomas Thomas. We called him TT until he did the thing with his bed.”

  “I believe he was an historian.”

  “That’s correct, Detective. He and Bimbo were on the same course.”

  “I forget Bimbo’s real name.”

  “Oh, now what was it? It is on the tip of my tongue.”

  “He loved cricket by all accounts.”

  “He was an absolute fanatic. One of the most intelligent chaps I have ever dropped across. He spent more time in cricket grounds around the world than he did in Cambridge, but still walked away with a first class honours in mathematics. Bartholomew. That was the chap’s name, Julian Bartholomew.

  One more to go, thought Harrington. “Who was your other Rugby chum?”

  “Are you referring to Andrew?”

  “No, Douglas somebody.”

  “You have lost me, Detective.”

  “Peter was saying one of your rugby chums was called Dougie. He played rugby with you but tended not to socialise with the others.”

  “You are talking about Andrew. He and I have always been really good friends. He stayed with us this weekend.”

  “Why Dougie?”

  “You need to wash your ears out, Detective. I liked to call him Druggie, on account of the fact that he was studying pharmacy. He has a string of shops across London.”

  Schofield’s mistake, not mine, thought Harrington, but asked, “Are we talking about Andrew Simpson
?”

  “We are indeed. I am surprised old Willy remembered him so well. Andrew was a bit of a recluse back then.”

  “Did he marry the girl he was dating at the time?”

  “He would like to have, but she left him. I give old Nancy credit though, she tried her best.”

  “Tell me what you mean by that.”

  “I say, Detective, why your sudden interest in Andrew?”

  Harrington side stepped the question. “It could be quite important.”

  “Well, Andrew was a Goth at the time. He liked The Mission, The Sisters of Mercy and other music like that. And magic mushrooms.”

  “Do you mean a band called the Magic Mushrooms, or magic mushrooms?”

  “No. I should not say this really, but he liked to apply his pharmacy skills to the ladies, particularly after Nancy dumped him. He had a burning desire to create a concoction out of natural products that would make any woman do the deed if you spiked her drink with it.”

  “Rohypnol?”

  “No, Detective, not Rohypnol. He was not looking for something to sedate them and make them compliant. Andrew wanted to create something to make them demand sex, something to make them throw their knickers at a chap. Hence his research with mushrooms, a happy sex potion was the elixir Andrew was chasing. He had a name for it, designed the label and everything. He was going to call it Nymphomaniacium. Quite good, I thought. Not that he needed it himself mind, well, not once he got his hair cut and stopped putting black dye in it. Imagine the fortune he would have made if he could have perfected such a drug.”

  “It would have been deemed illegal eventually.”

  “Maybe it would have, but not quick enough to stop him making his fortune from it.”

  “Why did Nancy leave him?”

  “Andrew was well into the kinky stuff back then. Nancy told me that he was always looking to experiment. It was just that she was too young at the time. I bet if their paths crossed now, they would fall in love all over again. Andrew has certainly calmed down, and no doubt Nancy will have moved on a bit. Most couples of our generation draw up a kinky to-do list inside their heads. Felicity was ticking one of mine off when we found the body. It just gets boring otherwise.”

  “Don’t go anywhere, but I need some privacy.”

  Hetherington-Jones suddenly looked very concerned. “You do not think Andrew killed the girl Felicity and I found, do you?”