[Churchminster #3] Wild Things

by Jo Carnegie

Calypso opened the basket and gasped. Inside there must have been a thousand pounds’ worth of beauty products and make-up. Laura Mercier eyeshadow, Crème de la Mer face cream and Jo Malone bath oils were just a few of the names packed in there. Rafe certainly knew his stuff. She was dabbing perfume on her wrist from a huge bottle of cologne when her grandmother came through.

  ‘My goodness,’ she said, looking in the hamper. ‘Has Christmas come early?’

  Calypso smiled coyly. ‘It’s from Rafe.’

  Clementine looked mildly surprised. ‘As in the actor chap that came round to see you? The one from the film?’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone, Granny Clem, I don’t want a big thing made of it.’

  Calypso was still reeling from her encounter with the paparazzi. The last thing she needed was word getting out, and them following her around.

  Clementine bent down and picked up an exotically shaped perfume bottle. ‘Mr Wolfe certainly seems rather taken with you.’ She looked enquiringly at her granddaughter. ‘Are you an item? I do believe that’s the expression you young people use these days.’

  ‘Whoa, hold your horses. I don’t know about that yet.’

  Calypso couldn’t help the grin. ‘But I do like him.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so smitten before,’ Clementine laughed.

  ‘Ha ha,’ said Calypso, but she didn’t protest. ‘I’m going to take this up to my office and try it all out.’

  Once she got upstairs she flopped down in her chair, thinking. Was she smitten? She knew she’d never fallen for someone this hard and this fast before. Her mind flickered back to last night, when Rafe had fucked her over every machine in his gym before bringing her to orgasm against the mirror. Calypso had never had such a good workout. She and Rafe had turned out to be sexual dynamite, and for someone who looked so clean-cut, he was dirty as hell in bed.

  Calypso sighed happily, reliving the noisy climax they’d both reached last night. God, she was getting turned on just thinking about it …

  The phone rang, startling her out of carnal thoughts. She snatched it up. ‘Hello, Semen Events. I mean, Scene!’ She listened to the exclamations on the end of the line. ‘You’re looking for someone to do your daughter’s sixteenth? No, madam, I can assure you it’s not that kind of company …’

  Angie had slept badly the night before, and the last thing she needed was Joyce Bellows knocking on her back door and waving. She got up from the kitchen table where she’d been unsuccessfully trying to finish off Freddie’s Daily Telegraph crossword, and let Joyce in. Avon and Barksdale, the Fox-Titts’ two energetic brown border collies, swarmed round her, tails wagging furiously.

  ‘Good doggies!’ exclaimed Joyce nervously. They only had a goldfish called Judas at the rectory. As Angie shooed the dogs outside Joyce rummaged around in her satchel and brought out a parish newsletter. She handed it to Angie.

  ‘Just doing the rounds. Brian’s written a splendid one this month, he’s even included my “Forgiveness Flapjacks” recipe!’

  ‘How splendid,’ Angie replied, sounding a lot brighter than she felt. ‘Won’t you come in for refreshment?’

  ‘Ooh, yes please,’ said Joyce. She was wearing at least two cardigans and an ageing high-necked shirt and skirt. Her glasses hung on a chain round her neck. Angie thought it looked like Joyce had fallen into an OAP’s dressing-up box wearing a suit of Velcro. The poor woman really had no idea.

  ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘A cup of tea would be super.’

  Angie suddenly thought of the lovely Chablis Freddie had got, sitting temptingly in the fridge. ‘Why don’t we have a glass of wine instead? We can go and sit in the orangery.’

  Joyce blushed, as if Angie had just asked her if she wanted a go on her crack pipe instead. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t.’

  ‘One won’t hurt. It’s a jolly nice vintage.’

  The vicar’s wife hesitated. ‘Just a teeny tiny one then.’

  Heading over to the huge American-style fridge, Angie got the bottle out and poured them both a healthy glass. She settled the bottle and glasses on a tray and motioned for Joyce to follow her through to the orangery.

  ‘It is lovely in here,’ Joyce said, blinking up at the light, spacious room.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ agreed Angie. ‘Even on a dull day, sitting in here lifts one’s spirits. It’s my favourite place in the house.’

  They settled themselves on two chairs.

  ‘Bottoms up!’ Angie said.

  Joyce took a sip and started spluttering as it went down the wrong way.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Angie asked in concern.

  Face purple, Joyce coughed into her handkerchief. ‘Fine, thank you!’

  Angie settled herself back and waited until Joyce had started breathing normally again. ‘Do you feel like you’ve settled properly into Churchminster? I know how these things take time; it must have been awfully disrupting, moving from parish to parish.’

  ‘Oh, it was!’ Joyce said. ‘But we can’t pick and choose where God wants us to go.’ She took another sip of wine, eyes watering. ‘I hope we stay here, though, Brian has such plans for the village.’

  ‘He really is doing a marvellous job,’ Angie told her.

  Joyce looked thrilled, as if the compliment had been paid directly to her. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased you think so. Poor Brian does have a crisis of confidence sometimes, but I always tell him how wonderful he is. We have a “Buck Up Brian” night round the kitchen table at the rectory!’

  Angie laughed. Despite the endless layers of beige, Joyce really was a sweet woman. It was obvious she was devoted to her husband.

  An hour later, they’d just had a surprisingly lively conversation about everything from politics to pop music. Angie had laughed out loud when Joyce admitted she owned every Britney Spears album that had ever been made.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought it was your type of music!’

  Joyce shot her a wry look. ‘Did you think I’d be more into organ recitals? I suppose I should, being a vicar’s wife, but I do find it relaxing at the end of a day to kick off my shoes and dance round the living room to “Baby One More Time”.’

  Angie raised her eyebrows in amusement. She wondered what the vicar thought of Joyce’s nightly shenanigans. She looked at the bottle of Chablis, standing on a side table. To her surprise they’d nearly finished it. ‘Can I get you something else?’ she asked.

  Joyce looked at her wristwatch. ‘Goodness, look at the time! Thank you, Angie, but I’ll say no. I’ve still got all these newsletters to deliver.’

  As Angie stood up, she wobbled, suddenly feeling rather light-headed. Joyce caught her arm. ‘Are you all right?’

  Angie laughed. ‘Wine just went to my head! It doesn’t help I haven’t had lunch yet.’

  ‘I can always pop home and bring round some of my home-made soup,’ Joyce offered.

  ‘That is nice of you, but don’t worry, Joyce. I’ve got some smoked salmon and salad to use up. I’ll be fine.’

  Joyce looked relieved. ‘That’s all right, then. I know Brian would want me to take care of his parishioners!’

  Angie waved goodbye and watched the vicar’s wife cycle off in a perfectly straight line.

  Good Lord, she thought, chuckling. I’ve just been out-drunk by Joyce Bellows!

  Chapter 30

  ‘SORRY, CAM, I’M just really tired.’

  Jed stopped kissing her and rolled back on his pillow.

  ‘Hey, don’t worry,’ she said, trying not to feel too rejected. They hadn’t had sex for over a week now, even though she kept trying to initiate it. Normally Jed would have just jumped on her.

  He sighed, running his hands over his face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked gently. He’d barely said two words to her all week. Sometimes it felt as though he was hardly aware she was there, and was lost in secret thoughts instead.

  He stared up at the low-beamed ceiling.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ she ven
tured, feeling sick at the thought of what he might reply.

  He glanced at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  She hesitated. ‘With me trying to get pregnant, you know, I thought maybe you might be having second thoughts …’ Camilla stopped. He almost looked angry. Have I touched a raw nerve? she thought.

  ‘Jed?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Have you changed your mind about us having a baby?’

  ‘No!’

  Not entirely convinced, Camilla pushed on. ‘Is it work, then? You’ve been working harder than ever recently, it’s enough to get to anyone.’

  There was a short pause. Jed nodded his head. ‘You’re right, it is work. I should probably take it easier.’

  Camilla’s hands moved down under the duvet towards his groin. ‘I can always make you feel better …’

  Jed’s hands stopped hers, pulling them up on to his chest. ‘Not tonight, eh?’ He tried for a smile. ‘Night, babe.’

  ‘Night,’ said Camilla, as he switched off his bedside light. She lay staring into the darkness. Despite his assurances, something suddenly felt very wrong between them.

  ‘Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Aah! Aah! That’s amazing!’

  A few miles away in the hamlet of Hedgewater, Calypso flopped back on the pillows, gasping. It had been one of her most intense orgasms yet.

  Rafe looked up from between her legs.

  ‘Was that all right?’

  ‘It was more than all right!’

  Calypso ran her hand through her hair, trying to catch her breath. Her legs were so wobbly that if she stood up now, she’d fall over.

  Rafe moved up and kissed her left nipple. ‘I aim to please.’

  Calypso sighed happily. ‘You certainly do that.’

  He pulled her on to his warm, broad chest and she nestled in, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. It was a few moments before she spoke again.

  ‘Rafe?’

  ‘Uh huh?’

  Calypso lifted herself up to look at him. ‘What’s going on with us?’

  He stroked her hair. ‘What do you mean?’

  Calypso ran her fingers over his lips softly. ‘I mean, I know it’s a difficult situation with stuff, but I was just wondering how you feel about …’

  She trailed off. Rafe looked into her eyes, his own resembling sea-blue pools that she could have lost herself in.

  ‘Calypso, ever since I first laid eyes on you in the pub I’ve wanted you. Even if you did give me the runaround.’

  She grinned. ‘You weren’t my type.’

  He returned the grin. ‘That’s what I like about you. The fact that you’re not impressed by any of this stuff – me. In this industry you have to be careful who you get close to.’

  ‘Are we close, then?’

  Rafe traced the outline of her cheek tenderly. ‘We’re more than close. I think you’re amazing, Calypso. I want to be with you.’

  A warm feeling spread through her body, and she started kissing him again.

  Chapter 31

  CLEMENTINE WAS FEELING rather anxious. It was the start of June, and tomorrow was the day the film crew were starting to shoot on the village green. For the last twenty-four hours, prop and lighting trucks had been trundling in, causing havoc and traffic jams in the narrow lanes. The actual green seemed to have disappeared under a sea of scaffolding and people. As she edged past in her Volvo, Clementine was alarmed to see the grass was already getting churned up. She had to do something about it. Putting her foot down and scaring a man carrying a brace of dead pheasants out of the way, she headed back to Fairoaks. She knew she had put that business card somewhere.

  Ten minutes later, she was dialling the number. The phone rang and rang. Clementine was just on the verge of hanging up when it was answered. The voice sounded out of breath.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Pam? It’s Clementine Standington-Fulthrope.’

  There was a short pause. ‘Oh, hello there!’

  ‘I hope I haven’t disturbed you.’

  ‘Not at all. I’m just in Bedlington, actually, picking up a few bits and pieces. Just got back to the car. How can I help?’

  ‘Pam, I’m rather concerned about all the activity on the green. I’ve just driven past and there’s no plastic sheeting or anything down. The grass is getting dreadfully churned up.’

  Pam made a sympathetic noise. ‘Someone’s probably forgotten to tell someone else to do it. Don’t worry, I’ll get on to it straight away.’

  ‘I would be tremendously grateful,’ Clementine said. Feeling reassured, she put the phone down. Pam sounded like a woman who would get things done.

  When the occupants of Churchminster drew back their bedroom curtains the next morning, they couldn’t believe their eyes. Overnight, the square patch of village green had been completely transformed into an eighteenth-century market. The centrepiece was a very realistic fountain, around which stood wooden stalls selling their wares. There was even a life-sized pair of stocks for some unfortunate miscreant, and a pen filled with real pigs dozing happily on a straw bed.

  To protect the film set and cause minimum disruption, the police had closed all the roads in and out of Churchminster for the day. This hadn’t stopped gaggles of onlookers from cloistering around the film cordons, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rafe Wolfe or get Sophia Highforth’s autograph. The paparazzi had turned up in their droves as well, and the hard-looking security men – who made the Mitchell brothers look like the Chuckle brothers – were patrolling the perimeters, keeping a close eye on things.

  True to her word, Pam had got the grass crisis sorted out and Clementine had been pleased to see plastic mesh down on the busiest thoroughfares. It was a pity others weren’t so conscientious: Clementine had already had to tell a group of giggling schoolgirls to pick up their empty bottles of Coke and discarded chewing-gum wrappers as they took pictures on their camera-phones, screaming every time they saw a blond-haired man.

  Camilla had the morning off, so she’d come out to stand by her garden gate and watch. It certainly was something. A gaggle of local schoolchildren dressed as ragamuffins were herded past, while a gang of extras filled in the time by playing impromptu football with a stray pumpkin. All around was noise and shouting and movement, as everyone rushed around chaotically, each with a different job to do.

  ‘Camilla!’ It was Angie Fox-Titt, in a peasant woman’s dress and floppy servant’s cap. She appeared to be wearing a false set of stained brown teeth

  ‘Nice outfit!’ laughed Camilla. The Fox-Titts had both signed up to be extras.

  ‘You should see Freddie, he looks like a relic from the Black Death!’

  A woman with a loudspeaker started calling for all the extras.

  Angie waved, ‘Might see you later! I’m going to need a glass of something after this!’

  Suddenly, there was excited screaming from the onlookers and Camilla could see Sophia Highforth had appeared, dazzling in a full-length crimson gown. Compared to the scruffily dressed people around her, Sophia’s blonde hair and soft complexion were more luminous than ever. Camilla noticed the suited man from the Jolly Boot party was with her, while a young woman walked alongside Sophia, anxiously pulling out her long skirts to make sure they sat properly.

  The screams intensified as she came over to sign a few autographs. Camilla couldn’t help but stare enviously at the gracious way Sophia worked the crowd. Her fans were putty in her perfectly manicured hands,

  ‘Sophia!’

  ‘We love you, Sophia!’

  For a few minutes she chatted and laughed along with them, happily posing for pictures. It was easy to see her star quality. Sophia just radiated an aura.

  The suited man tapped his watch with his fingers, looking agitated. Sophia registered the gesture.

  ‘I’ve really got to get back now, but it was so lovely to see you all,’ she said to the assembled crowd.

  ‘Don’t go!’ someone shouted. Sophia bestowed another sunbeam smile in his directi
on and floated off, acknowledging the shouts and calls in her wake. As she passed Camilla, Sophia caught Camilla’s gaze and after a pause flashed a vague smile.

  Camilla dropped her eyes, embarrassed to have been caught staring. When she looked up, Sophia was saying something to her female companion. The companion glanced in Camilla’s direction before the two walked off, the suited man scurrying in their wake.

  Cheeks burning, Camilla looked away. Had Sophia been talking about her? A nasty paranoid suspicion started in her stomach. Jed hadn’t mentioned it, but had he seen Sophia again? The Hall was a pretty easy place to bump into someone, and Sophia had made no secret of her appreciation of Camilla’s boyfriend. The memory of Sophia leaning out of her car and giving Jed an eyeful of her cleavage shot through Camilla’s mind. The film set had suddenly lost all its appeal. Turning on her heel, she retreated back up the garden path.

  At the centre of all the action, Wes Prince scowled into the little screen monitor that allowed him to see every angle of filming. No one could get it bloody right today, and they’d already had to shoot this crowd scene five times. That was the trouble with extras: most of them were a bunch of bloody weirdos who wouldn’t know how to take direction if it came up and bit them on the arse.

  ‘All right, let’s try again,’ he shouted. ‘Action!’

  Cameras rolling, the three cameramen panned out to show the crowd, each getting a different angle. So far, so good. As instructed by Wes, the trio started to move back in, showing the stalls and customers going about their business.

  They’d just done a nice montage of crowd shots – Wes had told them not to linger on anyone in particular – when one camera suddenly homed in on a young woman. She was enormously well-endowed, her assets spilling out of her low-cut bodice. Wes frowned; surely people hadn’t worn dangly earrings and glitter on their eyes in the eighteenth century?

  ‘All right, move it back,’ he muttered, but the camera zoomed in even closer, giving Wes an eyeful of juicy cleavage. It could have been his imagination, but he was sure the young girl gave her boobs a jiggle. Wes looked up from the monitor and signalled frantically to Evelyn Vesper, who was standing behind the camera in question. ‘Too much tit! Oh, for Chrissakes! CUT!’