[Churchminster #3] Wild Things

by Jo Carnegie

  Something snapped inside her. ‘Oh, so it’s all my fault,’ she shot back, voice shaking. ‘Have you ever thought, Ambrose, just for one single second, that I might not be happy here, either?’

  He looked at her, genuinely surprised. ‘What are you on about? I’ve always given you everything you wanted, haven’t I?’

  Frances went to open her mouth and thought better of it. ‘Forget it, Ambrose, just forget it.’

  He looked at her quizzically. ‘Come on, what is it?’

  ‘I said, forget it!’

  Ambrose paused and then shook his head, as if to say ‘women’. ‘What’s for lunch, then? I told Cook I fancied one of those pheasants the gamekeeper got.’

  Frances’s fists had squeezed into tight balls by her sides. ‘If you think I’m spending another moment in your company, Ambrose Fraser, you’ve got another think coming. I’m going for a walk, to get as far away from this sodding place as I can.’

  Ambrose watched, open-mouthed, as his normally composed wife stormed out, slamming the door after her.

  Chapter 26

  ON SATURDAY CALYPSO’S alarm went off at 8 a.m., but she’d been awake for ages. A gentle breeze was coming in through the window, making the curtains billow out lazily. The weatherman had predicted a lovely day.

  Calypso stretched out in bed and put her arm behind her head, thinking. Part of her still couldn’t believe she was going on a proper date with Rafe Wolfe. It seemed so surreal, so silly. Her London friends would wet themselves laughing if they found out she was going out with Mr Cheesetastic.

  Outside there was a creak on the landing.

  ‘Is that you Camilla?’ she called out.

  The door opened and her sister came in, dressed in her nightie. ‘I was just going to make myself a cup of tea. Do you want one?’

  ‘Mmm, please.’ Calypso smiled at her. ‘Did I hear Jed go earlier?’

  Camilla paused a fraction too long. ‘Yes, he’s had to go to work.’

  Calypso knew her sister too well. ‘Is everything OK?’

  Camilla leaned against the door frame. ‘Jed seems a bit offish with me,’ she admitted. ‘I’m worried he’s having second thoughts about trying for a baby.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s not. What makes you think that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Camilla sighed. ‘What if he’s not cut out for this domesticity? What if I’ve pressured him into doing something he doesn’t want to?’

  ‘Bull crap,’ said Calypso. ‘From what you’ve told me, he wants this as much as you do. Have you told him how you’re feeling?’

  ‘I have brought it up.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He says it’s not that, he’s just tired from work.’

  Calypso stretched her arms above her head and yawned. ‘He probably is just tired, Bills, he’s working like a dog at the moment.’

  ‘I suppose so – he does want to start putting money aside for the baby.’

  ‘There you go, then! I really wouldn’t read too much into it.’

  Her sister’s assured tone cheered Camilla up. Calypso was right, she was putting two and two together and coming up with eight.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to be awake,’ she said instead. ‘You’re not working today, are you?’

  Calypso looked at her. ‘Don’t wet your pants, Bills, but I’m going out with Rafe Wolfe again. He’s picking me up at nine.’

  All thoughts about Jed temporarily forgotten, Camilla’s mouth stretched into an excited ‘O’. ‘Wow!’

  ‘Please, don’t make a big deal of it,’ Calypso said grumpily. ‘It’s not like I’m spending the day boating with Dave Grohl.’ She had long lusted after the Foo Fighters’ front man.

  ‘If you say so,’ replied Camilla. Her eyes widened. ‘Ooh, I wonder where he’s taking you!’

  Calypso threw a cushion at her and Camilla ducked, laughing.

  ‘Piss off and make my tea!’ Calypso said. ‘And don’t tell anyone about it, or the whole village will be in uproar!’

  At 9 a.m. precisely there was a knock on the front door. Before Calypso could get there, her sister was opening it.

  ‘Hello, Rafe!’

  Rafe stood on the doorstep, casually sexy in a V-neck white T-shirt and petrol-blue slacks. He took off his Ray-Bans. ‘Hello, Camilla.’

  Her sister appeared behind her, in a waft of Agent Provocateur.

  Rafe smiled at Calypso, taking in the striped minidress and knee-high gladiator sandals. ‘You look nice.’

  Camilla stepped aside. ‘Well, I’ll let you get on. Have fun!’

  ‘Are you going to tell me where we’re going?’ Calypso asked, as they buckled up in his Porsche.

  Rafe started the engine. ‘All good things come to those who wait.’

  Calypso sat back and wondered if her and Rafe’s idea of a good time would be similar. To her relief she hadn’t seen any golf clubs on the back seat.

  The weather report had been right. Under the pale-blue morning skies, a patchwork of delightful hues stretched as far as the eye could see. It looked like Mother Nature had thrown a quilt over the landscape: topsy-turvy green fields, daisy-yellow rape flowers rippling in the breeze. Calypso leaned back against the headrest and drank it all in. She’d been all over the world, but there really was nowhere as spectacular as home on a sunshine-filled day.

  Rafe was obviously thinking the same. ‘Beautiful isn’t it?’ he remarked as they sped past the apple-coloured hedgerows. ‘That’s the one thing I miss about living in LA, all this.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be saying that in the middle of winter, when it’s all muddy and shit.’

  ‘Ah, but then you have long walks muffled up and pub lunches in front of the fire.’

  Calypso picked a stray thread off her dress. ‘I’d still rather be hiking round the Hollywood Hills in seventy degrees. You’d die of exposure before you got to the front gate here in December.’

  Rafe laughed. ‘Maybe.’ He glanced down at her long bare legs, crossed messily in the footwell. ‘Do you wear that stuff all year round?’

  Calypso raised an amused eyebrow. ‘Stuff?’

  ‘You know, micro skirts, skin-tight leather trousers …’

  He had obviously remembered what she had worn at the Jolly Boot welcome party.

  ‘Have you been perving after me?’

  ‘No!’

  To her greater amusement, Calypso was sure Rafe blushed.

  ‘I think you have a very good dress sense, that’s all,’ he said. ‘It’s very individual.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Calypso didn’t know what else to say. Though she had noticed how his white V-neck showed off a tantalizing flash of bare, broad chest.

  After half an hour of negotiating the twisty roads, Rafe slowed down and indicated right down a little track.

  Calypso read the signpost. ‘Toplands Farm?’ She shot him a look. ‘Just because I live in the country doesn’t mean I know how to drive a tractor.’

  He chuckled. ‘You’ll see.’

  It was an isolated spot high up, surrounded by acres of farming land. As they bumped along she could see a square house, surrounded by outbuildings. Calypso crinkled her brow. What was going on?

  As they reached the top of the track, instead of turning right towards the main house, Rafe turned left and drove slowly round the back of a large shed. There was a huge field behind, flat and grassy, with what looked like a runway down the middle. A sporty red and white light aircraft stood at one end of it.

  Calypso still didn’t understand. ‘We’re going flying?’ she asked. ‘Where’s the pilot?’

  Rafe turned off the engine. ‘You’re looking at him.’

  Calypso’s mouth gaped. ‘You’re flying it?’

  ‘I got my private pilot’s licence a few years ago. I fly when I can,’ he told her. He nodded at the plane. ‘I normally keep her at a private airfield in Suffolk, but I had someone fly her over last night.’

  Calypso admired the sleek contours of the aircraft. It was one coo
l machine. ‘Nice.’

  ‘Cirrus SR 22. Same one Angelina Jolie’s got,’ he told her.

  ‘Got a job lot, did you?’ Calypso shot back good-naturedly. Camilla was going to give birth when she told her about this!

  ‘Can you tell me where we’re going? Or will I be blindfolded for the journey?’

  Rafe grinned. ‘No point, you’d miss the best part. We’re going to Le Touquet, a nice little resort on the Côte d’Opale. Qu’est ce que tu pense?’

  ‘Ça serait vachement bien!’

  He looked relieved. ‘Great. I tend to fly to France mostly, as I don’t get recognized as much over there. They don’t hold much truck with famous faces, thank God.’ Reaching across her, Rafe pulled open the glove compartment. ‘Before we go, I’ve got a present for you.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Calypso said, as he handed her a box of Milk Tray. ‘They’re for me?’

  ‘Who else would they be for? I was going to come round to your office and surprise you until the damn paparazzi showed up. I’ve been quite good avoiding them, but I didn’t think your grandmother would appreciate me turning up with a whole load of photographers in tow.’

  So they were for her, after all. A beat of happiness skipped across her heart. Calypso turned the battered box over in her hand. ‘Wow, so this is what the girls get when they go out with Rafe Wolfe, eh?’

  ‘Not my first choice, I have to admit. But your village shop is rather limited on the Belgian chocolate selection.’

  Calypso squinted at the box. ‘They’ve only been out of date six years, too.’

  Rafe whipped his head round. ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Calypso laughed. ‘We’re all used to Brenda’s habit of hoarding by now.’

  A short while later, they were ensconced in the tiny cockpit. Calypso pulled out her Ray-Ban aviators; thank God she’d gone for them and not the Chanel sunglasses.

  Rafe handed her a pair of headphones, and as she put them on, he switched on the ignition and the propeller stuttered and roared into life.

  ‘Ready?’ he said into his mouthpiece.

  Calypso gave the thumbs up.

  Eyes fixed ahead, Rafe pushed in the throttle. The little plane started trundling down the runway, picking up speed as she went. Just as Calypso was convinced they were going to crash into the hedgerow at the other end, the plane’s nose picked up and they soared off into the blueness beyond.

  Calypso had been in private aircraft before, but never on a flawless day like this. The sky was endless, the countryside mapped out intricately beneath. It looked like a little toy kingdom. Rafe handed her a map, pointing out their route. They flew down to Southampton and then along the south coast to Dover. As they approached the white cliffs of Dover, Rafe pointed out a sprawling train station on his left.

  ‘That’s the terminus to the Channel Tunnel.’

  As they soared over the cliffs, the plane climbed up to five thousand feet. Even with the headphones, there wasn’t much chance for conversation above the roar of the engine. Calypso was content to look out of the window at the cross-channel ferries and huge tankers below, mere dots in the expanse of ocean.

  After ten minutes, the north-east coastline of France came into view. The plane got lower as they approached Le Touquet airport.

  ‘I’m going to speak to air traffic control,’ Rafe said. ‘Le Touquet, this is Golf Romeo Romeo. Request descent.’

  He landed smoothly on the tarmac runway and taxied the aircraft in. It was a small airport, with dozens of private airplanes lined up next to each other. Their passage through customs was quick; the immigration officer raised a casual eyebrow when he read the name on Rafe’s passport, and wished them a good day.

  The pair made their way out of the air terminal, into a sprawling wood of pine trees. They started to follow a winding path. After the assault on Calypso’s eardrums it was blissfully quiet.

  ‘All these houses were built around 1910 by an English developer,’ Rafe explained, as they passed another luxury villa tucked away in the trees. ‘Along with the Parisians, the cream of British society would come and rent them for the summer season. I think Noel Coward and his set were rather big fans.’

  Half an hour later they were in the centre of the town, which sported beautiful turn-of-the-century buildings, immaculate flower lawns and a casino. Rafe steered Calypso towards a cobbled street lined with ice-cream shops, brasseries and expensive boutiques. Even though it was crowded with people enjoying the weekend sun, Rafe attracted few double takes. With his cap down low and wraparound sunglasses, it was hard to make out who he was. Calypso’s long blonde hair and even longer legs were getting more attention from the waiters in restaurants.

  ‘They’re probably wondering what Kate Moss is doing with such a boring bloke,’ Rafe said drily.

  ‘Ha ha,’ Calypso smiled back. He certainly was no Pete Doherty.

  The end of the street branched out into a wide promenade. Beyond was a stunning beach, wide and sandy for miles in each direction. Families and couples alike played or sunbathed happily. The golden sand was clean and there wasn’t a tattoo or Kiss Me Quick hat in sight.

  ‘Beautiful isn’t it? We’ll go for a walk after lunch,’ Rafe said. ‘I’ve booked us into this little place round the corner.’

  The tiny, bustling restaurant was down a side street. The number of locals in there was a good sign, and the place didn’t disappoint. Afterwards, pleasantly full of wonderful flavours and food, the pair took a long meandering walk along the shoreline. Calypso found herself taking Rafe’s arm as they chattered companionably about music and movies. For someone she’d dismissed as a lightweight actor, Rafe was surprisingly knowledgeable and passionate about his craft. She learnt that he was frustrated at being typecast, and was looking to change agents.

  ‘I haven’t told anyone that, not even my manager,’ he told her. Calypso felt another glow of pleasure.

  Around 4 p.m., Rafe looked at his TAG Heuer watch.

  ‘We’d better be off,’ he said regretfully. Thirty minutes later, they were making their way back across the Channel, leaving behind Le Touquet – and one of the best days Calypso had had in ages.

  They were ten minutes into the journey when Calypso had an idea. All that French champagne had made her feel rather horny. She shot Rafe a sly look, he was just studying the map on his lap. She slid her hand under the map and placed it on his groin.

  He looked down.

  ‘Is there anything to say it’s illegal to have oral sex three thousand feet up in the air?’ she asked saucily.

  Rafe looked over his sunglasses, eyes wide. ‘No, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea. Oh Christ.’ He shut his eyes momentarily as Calypso started rubbing his cock. To her satisfaction, she felt him grow hard almost immediately. It was big.

  Instinctively Rafe glanced out the window, making Calypso laugh. ‘It’s not as if anyone’s going to see us up here!’

  ‘I was just checking, oh Jesus!’

  He stopped short as Calypso leant over and unzipped his trousers, coaxing his cock out of his Ralph Lauren pants. It bounced out like a rubber truncheon. Calypso had to get her mouth round it.

  ‘Mmmm,’ he moaned, as she slid her tongue up and down his shaft, sucking enthusiastically on his bell-end. He tasted of good, healthy skin, mixed in with the faint tang of washing powder. Calypso loved it. She started licking and sucking harder, her long blonde hair flopping in his lap. Trying to stare resolutely forward, Rafe moved one hand from the control panels on to her head.

  ‘I’m going to come …’

  Calypso stepped up her pace, filling her whole mouth with his shaft. God, it was a nice cock!

  ‘Aah, aah,’ he moaned. ‘Oh, CHRIST.’ As he ejaculated into Calypso’s mouth the plane nose-dived forward and it took all Rafe’s efforts to regain control of it. ‘Calypso, that was incredible!’

  She winked, savouring the taste of his cum. ‘I like to provide an in-flight service.’

  Rafe exhale
d, still panting. ‘I’d love to know what you give your first-class passengers.’ He tucked himself back in. ‘I seem to have lost my train of thought. Where were we?’ He consulted the map. Surprise flittered across his face. ‘We’ve come across one county too many!’

  ‘Hope they didn’t get too wet,’ quipped Calypso, looking out the window. She couldn’t believe she’d just sucked Rafe Wolfe off!

  ‘What are you smiling at?’ he asked, face intrigued.

  She shot him a playful look. ‘Oh, this and that.’ She sat back, basking in the glow of what had just happened. As the sun seeped in, she began to feel her eyes getting heavy. Don’t drop off, she told herself, as the drone of the engine became a soothing background noise. Don’t drop off … Calypso opened her eyes with a start. They were on the ground. Dry-mouthed, she looked around. The seat beside her was empty. She peered groggily out the window; they were back at Toplands Farm.

  Rafe poked his head inside the cockpit, making her jump. ‘How’s Sleeping Beauty?’

  ‘I can’t believe I did that!’ Calypso said, hastily wiping a bit of dried saliva off the front of her dress where she’d dribbled in her sleep. At least she hoped it was saliva.

  ‘The blow job, or sleeping through the landing?’ Rafe grinned. He leaned across and unsnapped her seat belt, before pecking her softly on the lips. ‘I have to say, that was a first for me. The former, I mean.’

  ‘Me too,’ lied Calypso. Flying always made her randy, maybe it was something to do with the altitude. Rafe helped her out of the cockpit and down on to the ground. Her legs were feeling a bit shaky.

  ‘I’ve got a few checks to do, do you want to wait in the car?’ he said. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

  Ten minutes later they were bumping back down the track.

  ‘Did you enjoy your little sojourn in France?’ Rafe asked.

  ‘It was bloody brilliant! Thank you for asking me.’

  Rafe briefly touched her thigh with his left hand. The gesture made her stomach flip over.

  They carried on driving in silence for a few moments. Calypso looked out the window, a thousand questions running through her mind. Was he going to make a move on her now and step it up a gear?