“All right.”
Milan knelt up, still unable to sit or lie on his back, and presented his substantial erection. Lydia bent over it and took its familiar and beloved girth into her mouth. Already it tasted salty and creamy, and she licked around it with her tongue, making a deep ‘mmm’ sound as she did so.
Milan reciprocated, putting his hand in her hair and stroking her scalp as she sucked enthusiastically.
He wouldn’t take long, she thought, reaching for his tight scrotum.
A loud smack fell on her satin knickers.
She almost leapt forward into Milan’s lap and made a garbled squeaking sound that didn’t go very far, since her mouth was full.
Oh yes. The spanking.
“Bad girl,” growled Karl-Heinz, laying firm, sound spanks on her warming cheeks. “You think you can do what you want with us. Play us like little toys.”
Lydia whimpered and tried to keep concentrating on her blow job as the spanks rained down. She pushed her bottom out, inviting Karl-Heinz to carry on, which he did.
“Look at you,” he said. “Sucking another man’s cock while I punish you. You love it, don’t you? You’re so excited to have two men to give yourself to. Two men to keep your pussy full and wet. My God, you’re going to be busy, Lydia. And you’re going to be the most exhausted girl in London.”
“Mm,” Milan agreed, thrusting between her lips. “You’ll get it all day and all night. But at least when you’re worn out, Karl-Heinz and I will have each other. And we don’t mind if you watch. We’ll make you watch.”
“Yes, we will,” agreed Karl-Heinz. “You can watch us from the corner with your ass on fire from all the spanking you’re going to get.”
Lydia moaned then Milan’s seed burst into her mouth in a long, saline rush, hitting the back of her throat.
Karl-Heinz finished up with a fast volley of smacks then he pulled down her knickers and buried his mouth in her pussy lips, kissing and licking her clit while he held her trembling thighs open.
Milan’s fingers joined in, holding her lips wide, rubbing at her bud when Karl-Heinz moved behind to push his tongue up inside her.
Lydia’s orgasm came quickly and hard, and if Karl-Heinz had not been holding her as tightly, she would have collapsed in a boneless heap all over Milan, who was kissing her as if his life depended on it.
“I can’t believe it,” she panted, wrapped in their arms, entwined in a three way embrace. “I’m the luckiest woman in the world. Oh God, that was amazing.”
She was half-asleep, and Karl-Heinz was snoring, when her phone blared out the opening bars of the Danse Macabre.
She fell off the bed and crawled to her handbag, which lay halfway across the floor.
“Leave it,” yawned Milan.
Too late, though, because Lydia had already retrieved it and seen Vanessa’s name on the caller display.
“Hello,” she said, after punching the Reply button. “What’s up? You’re where? Oh, bloody hell.”
Chapter Fifteen
The building was a converted warehouse in the Shad Thames area.
By day, the narrow streets bustled with office workers and tourists sampling the bars and restaurants, museums and cultural centres. By night, they were ill-lit and eerily quiet, taking one back to the days when rats scurried along the cobbles through sulphurous fog.
Some of the barred, cross-hatched windows were alight, though, even at this late hour, and Karl-Heinz and Milan stood at the entrance of the court, looking up at one of them.
“So is this his place?” asked Milan, peering through the darkness.
“So the orchestra records say,” replied Karl-Heinz. “I hope he’s in.”
Milan’s phone rang out—Paganini’s Caprice—and he fished it out and held it to his ear.
“Miláčku…yes…is she okay? Right. Right. Did you call Ben? Yes, we are outside the apartment block now. He hasn’t tried to call Vanessa, has he? Good. Okay. Yes, yes, we’ll be careful. For God’s sake, miláčku…we are two men against one. All right. Get Vanessa another brandy and try to calm down, okay? Bye bye.”
“Is Vanessa all right?” asked Karl-Heinz.
“She’s fine, just trying to get over the shock. Lydia has given her brandy. She should stay at yours tonight—we all should. If she goes home, he might try to get to her.”
“I feel bad about this, you know,” said Karl-Heinz.
“Why? You aren’t the one stalking her.”
“No, but if I’d taken her a little more seriously. Lydia tried to warn me this man was bad news. I thought it was all just bad blood and bickering.”
“Hey, you weren’t to know that man was a lunatic,” said Milan with a shrug.
“No, but you did, presumably.”
“Me?”
“You had an affair with her, didn’t you?” Karl-Heinz raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, but we never talked about her husband if we could help it. I gathered she hated him. I didn’t ask questions. Besides, I could never pronounce his name.”
Karl-Heinz chuckled nervously.
“I was too concerned with keeping the peace. I feel at fault.”
Milan took his hand and squeezed it.
“You have to be a conductor first. Your priority is the music. Don’t blame yourself.”
Karl-Heinz squeezed back. “I’m on a slippery slope when I take moral advice from Milan Kaspar,” he said. “Come on. Let’s do this.”
They strode across the courtyard and picked out the stainless-steel button that corresponded to ap Hughes’s flat number.
Karl-Heinz pressed it assertively.
It was a moment or two before the intercom crackled.
“Yeah? Ness?”
“I don’t think so. It’s Karl-Heinz, Dafydd. Can I come in?”
“Oh. Karl-Heinz. Sure. Hang on, just let me…”
A couple of seconds passed and the door buzzed.
The two men headed for the stairs.
“He really thought Vanessa might come to him,” whispered Milan. “Deluded.”
“I’ve heard women really can’t resist men who get them arrested,” replied Karl-Heinz, shaking his head.
They arrived outside ap Hughes’s door, which was left on the latch for them.
“Good luck to us,” muttered Milan, giving Karl-Heinz a quick peck on the cheek.
Dafydd ap Hughes’s considerable bulk was wrapped in a tartan dressing gown and he was leaning against a granite kitchen counter at the far end of the open-plan living space.
There was little else in the apartment except a huge bed and an L-shaped sofa, covered in sheet music and Dafydd’s violin. The bed was rumpled, suggesting that Dafydd had been in it before they’d called. Hardly surprising, given that it was after midnight.
Karl-Heinz entered first, Milan lingering behind the door for a moment so as not to create an alarm straight off.
He listened as ap Hughes attempted to make pleasantries with his conductor.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said. “I haven’t got all my furniture shipped over yet. Bought the bed and sofa here, but all my storage is still in the US. It’s a bit late, Karl-Heinz, what gives?”
“I thought you might know why I was here, actually,” said Karl-Heinz.
“Won’t you sit down? Move that music out of the way… Do you want a drink? I’ve got coffee or whisky and that’s about it.”
“No, thank you. I won’t keep you long. I’ve got a very distressed percussionist back at my house. She’s just been released from police custody.”
“Ah. Well, you know, she did this.”
Milan peered through the door crack and saw ap Hughes point to a red fleck by the side of his eye. It didn’t look too terrible.
“I’ve heard she had some fairly severe provocation, Dafydd. I won’t waste time beating about the bush. This won’t be good for the orchestra, or for you, or, of course, for Vanessa. I’m going to ask you to consider dropping the charge.”
There was a sil
ence. Milan was tempted to enter the room but it was too soon. Better if Dafydd agreed to quietly drop the charge of his own accord.
“I’ve told her what she needs to do for me to drop the charge,” said Dafydd in a low voice. “She can stop this whenever she likes. It’s in her court, Karl-Heinz. If you want to save the orchestra a bit of scandal in the press, tell her to come back to me.”
“Tell her to come back to you? Dafydd, she doesn’t want to.”
“She does,” he said desperately. “Stupid bitch is too stubborn to admit it. She’ll come back, I know it. I just have to show her what she won’t admit to herself.”
“Dafydd.” Karl-Heinz spoke gently but firmly. “You must stop thinking like this. She loves somebody else. You can never have her back.”
“You’re a fucking liar!” he bellowed.
Milan, alarmed at his vehemence, slipped into the room.
“What the fuck’s this?” Dafydd was almost incoherent with rage at being thus intruded on. “Why’s he here? Get out of my home, Kaspar. I know you fucked my wife, you bastard.”
“You were separated,” pointed out Milan, taking up a position on the other side of Dafydd from Karl-Heinz, ready to intercept him if he lashed out. “This is nothing to do with what’s happened tonight. I’m here as Vanessa’s friend, to ask you to leave her alone.”
“You think I’ll do anything to help you, you…”
“Look, Dafydd,” said Karl-Heinz, trying to defuse the incendiary turn the situation had taken. “All I want is to protect the orchestra’s reputation. The orchestra’s reputation is your reputation—you are its Leader. And it’s my reputation, as conductor, too. It’s all our reputations. If you put it in jeopardy, there could be serious consequences for all of us. What do you think the Trustees are going to say about this?”
“I don’t care about that. I care about—about justice!”
“Justice!” spat Milan. “If you cared about justice you would hand yourself in to the police and confess that you are a rapist.”
Dafydd paled, clenching his ham-like fists.
“That’s a lie,” he said, but there was no conviction in it.
“Sit down,” said Milan. “Sit down now. I’ll get you a whisky. I think you should have one.”
Dafydd looked between Karl-Heinz and Milan for a moment or two, his eyes haunted, then he went to the sofa, pushing aside some sheet music to make room for him. He sat there, his head in his hands, while Milan found the whisky and glasses and poured a drink for ap Hughes.
“She hurt me,” he insisted, looking up as Milan stood in front of him.
“You hurt her,” said Milan softly. “I know how much.”
“Fuck off,” he said savagely. “I don’t want to think about you and her. She’s too good for you.”
“Oh, no doubt you are right,” Milan agreed. “That’s why she found someone better.”
“That twatty school kid isn’t better.”
“He’s a good man and she loves him, and he loves her. Leave them be. Heal yourself and let go.”
Karl-Heinz moved up behind Milan, creating a two-man human wall between Dafydd and any kind of escape route.
“Withdraw the complaint,” he said. “Nothing you can do will bring her back to you, but you can save the orchestra from a press scandal. Because, if you press this charge, Vanessa can make things very difficult for you. She can, and should, decide to bring historic charges of rape and sexual assault against you. Have you considered that?”
“She’s got no evidence.”
Milan darted forwards suddenly and took hold of Dafydd by the throat. The move was so sharp and swift that Dafydd could have had no time to respond or defend himself. He was soon pinned back by an unexpectedly strong force and, much as he struggled to remove Milan’s hands, he couldn’t.
“Whether the police decide to prosecute or not,” Milan said, clearly and distinctly, “we all know you did it. If you don’t drop this, now, tonight, your life won’t be worth living. We’ll make sure of it. You’re scum, ap Hughes, and we don’t want you anywhere near our orchestra. You are going to go to the police, drop the charge against Vanessa and then you are going to write a letter of resignation to the Trustees. Okay?”
Dafydd, his eyes popping in his head, tried to nod.
Milan relaxed his grip just enough to allow him to speak.
“Let me go,” he wheezed. “I’ll fucking kill you, I swear it.”
“You’re not making a very convincing case,” said Milan.
“Go easy, Milan,” cautioned von Ritter. “You’ll mark him. Don’t lay yourself open to another charge.”
Milan kept his grasp loose, but firm enough to neutralise any threat from Dafydd.
“Look,” said Dafydd hoarsely. “It’s not even up to me, is it? Nowadays they don’t need the victim’s consent to pursue a case of assault. If they see that an assault’s taken place, they’ll investigate, regardless of the victim’s wishes.”
“So you can’t drop the charge?” Karl-Heinz knitted his brow, looking at Milan with some perturbation.
“What’s done is done,” said Dafydd. “I’ll resign from the orchestra, okay? I’ll do that. If the conductor wants me gone, there’s no point staying. But I can’t do anything about the police.”
Milan let go of Dafydd and stood straight, folding his arms. “Yes, you can,” he said.
“What?” asked both Dafydd and Karl-Heinz simultaneously.
“You can tell them you lied. It was me who assaulted you.”
“Milan.” Karl-Heinz shook his head. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Why is it stupid? The police need somebody to charge—we can’t let them charge Vanessa. I’ll go there and say it was me that hit him.”
“That’s not true, though,” objected Karl-Heinz. “That’s a crime too, isn’t it? Perverting justice?”
“Well, you know me. I like to pervert.” Milan, clearly enraptured with the idea, strode off towards the door.
Karl-Heinz considered following him, lunging for his arm.
“Milan, stop! Think about this,” pleaded Karl-Heinz. “You can’t afford this kind of publicity either. You’re about to launch a stellar solo career. Don’t put a cloud over yourself. There’s another way to deal with this.”
Milan paused at the door, eyes flashing.
“I can’t think of one, can you?”
Karl-Heinz was silent. Dafydd simply stared, his fingertip pressed to his wound.
“No. Right. Well, I’m going to the police, then.”
“Now?”
“Why not now?”
Milan stalked through the door, slamming it behind him.
Karl-Heinz and Dafydd exchanged disbelieving stares.
“All this drama over a scratch,” sighed Karl-Heinz. He thought for a moment. “Okay, get dressed,” he said. “Come with me. You’re going to tell them that, in the confusion of the moment, you couldn’t tell who hit you—it might have been Milan, or it might have been Vanessa. Perhaps it was even me. I’ll put my name in the mix. It can’t hurt, can it?”
“It won’t look good to the Trustees.”
“No. No, you’re right. Perhaps I won’t do that, then. But you can tell them you didn’t see who threw the punch. You can do that, yes?”
“Why should I? Why shouldn’t Vanessa pay for what she’s done?”
Karl-Heinz shook his head.
“Because she doesn’t deserve it, Dafydd. And you do. Go. Get dressed. We have to catch up with Milan.”
* * * *
Milan was almost at the top of the police station steps when Paganini’s Caprice arrested his attention again. He’d been ignoring all calls—they had all been from Karl-Heinz—but this one was from Lydia.
He smiled, looking forward to telling her what he was doing.
“Hey, Lydia. Tell Vanessa not to worry. I will rap for her. No, I mean, take the rap for her. Is that what you say? Yeah, I’m at the police now. I’m going to tell them I hit Daffy. Daffid. I ca
n’t say it. I did it, anyway.”
He paused, holding the phone a little way from his ear in response to the tirade that poured forth.
“You know what, Lydia? I don’t care so much about that. I can play the violin, so I’ll still have a career, right? I want to do the right thing. I want to do a good thing. For you. I know I don’t have to. I want to. Shh, shh, I’m going in. I’ll call you later, okay? Miluji tĕ.”
He strode into the low-lit front office. The desk sergeant raised tired eyes then reverted to the report she was writing.
“Okay, I am making a confession,” he announced grandly.
The desk sergeant sighed and lifted her fingers from the keyboard.
“You want to make a statement?” she asked. “Is two o’clock in the morning the only time you can spare?”
“I must prevent a miscarriage of justice,” he said, tossing his hair. “An innocent person is wrongly accused. I cannot sleep while this hangs over her head. Please, allow me.”
The sergeant smirked, apparently enjoying Milan’s drama, and sat back, arms folded.
“What’s this about then?”
“You know there was a lady in here earlier, she is called Vanessa and you charged her with assault.”
“I haven’t charged anyone with assault tonight, sir, I only came on duty two hours ago.” She smiled tightly.
“Okay, well, this has happened. I suppose you have a file with it. I have come to say that Vanessa is not the guilty person. I am.”
“You are confessing to an assault?”
“Exactly, yes,” said Milan, nodding vigorously.
“And we should have the records here? Can you give me the alleged assailant’s name again?”
“Vanessa Robertson. It was a bit earlier, maybe ten o’clock.”
The sergeant made a few clicks of the mouse and frowned at her computer while Milan looked around him at the crime prevention posters and the thirsty pot plants. He hoped, now that he was here, that it wouldn’t come to arrest. He didn’t think he’d enjoy prison time. But it would get his picture in the papers again, which might be a good thing, on balance.
“Okay,” she said. “Excuse me a moment. I’m going to go and get someone who can deal with this. What’s your name?”
Close Harmony Page 15