by Nigel May
It was a balmy late afternoon, and her taxi back from Heathrow was just about fifty yards from her house when she spotted Scott, the twins and Chloe walking along the pavement towards home. It was a bright day and she guessed they’d been out together, maybe to the local park. Judging from the packed picnic bag that swung from Chloe’s right hand, they had obviously made a day of it. Was that a rolled blanket Victoria could spot sticking out of the top, and some bottles? Was one of them a wine bottle? Victoria couldn’t tell but it certainly didn’t look like something the twins would have been drinking. Chloe held Leo’s hand. This irked Victoria even more than the possibility that Chloe had been out drinking wine with her husband. All of the suspicions she had been feeling about Scott during her stay in India surfaced again. She had tried to bury them but they rose like the undead once more.
What day was it? Victoria has lost track during her stay in India. It was Monday. Why wasn’t Scott at work? He never took days off. He’d cancelled India because he was so busy. Victoria could feel her annoyance increasing.
The four of them seemed to be laughing. Whatever they had been doing, they had obviously enjoyed it. Leo and Chloe let their arms swing together in unison. Scott, surprisingly dressed down in a casual Fred Perry shirt and a pair of shorts was positively throwing his head back in gleeful mirth and Lexi stared up adoringly at her father.
Victoria tried to cast her mind back to the last time they had all been out together as a family. She was unable to do so. It must have been when the twins were very young. She had a vague recollection of feeding the ducks on a Sunday afternoon, but Leo and Lexi hadn’t long been out of a pushchair at that point. Plus she seemed to recall that she and Scott had argued. There was no air of disharmony in the idyllic scene of joy she was gazing at now through the taxi window.
‘You can stop here,’ said Victoria. The taxi pulled into the kerb opposite the house. Scott and the kids hadn’t spotted her arrival.
Victoria paid the driver and climbed out of the back of the taxi, lugging her heavy case behind her. She could have called across for Scott to come and help her. She could have announced her return to the twins. But something inside kept her silent. What was it?
Unable to stop herself, Victoria just stood on the opposite side of the street and watched Scott, Chloe and the kids as they strolled towards the front gate of Victoria’s marital home.
Now in the open, she could hear that they were all singing. A jolly chorus of ‘Ring A Ring O’ Roses’ filled the air. It had never been a favourite of Victoria’s and this performance was not increasing its appeal. As they reached the chorus of ‘Atishoo, Atishoo, we all fall down,’ both Leo and Lexi dipped to the floor, causing laughter to burst forth from both Scott and the nanny.
Victoria started to pull her case across the road, all the while watching her family, the people she loved; the three people she shared her life with but who were suddenly unrecognisable alongside Chloe. It was like watching a party that she hadn’t been invited to.
What happened next caused Victoria to stop in her tracks. The group finished singing as they approached the gate, and Scott lifted his hand up and placed it at the back of Chloe’s neck. Just at the nape where her hair met her skin. It was an odd gesture and seemed somehow intimate. He left it there just a little longer than was necessary. Not that it seemed necessary at all.
Victoria stood paralysed, dread creeping over her. A car sped round the corner. It was too fast to stop. A screech of brakes came too late as the car ploughed into her. She just had time to see Scott and the twins beginning to turn their heads towards her and to hear the noise of the brakes before everything around her went to black.
Atishoo, atishoo … it was Victoria’s turn to fall down.
Twenty-Two
Aaron had always been very black and white in his views. A country man with a simple outlook on life. He believed that you should treat every stressful situation that life throws your way just as a dog would. If you couldn’t eat it, hump it or simply piss all over it then you should just walk away, no matter what the cost.
But it was the cost that was bothering him. Since he had started working at Devon’s and Tanya’s he had seen a huge chunk of absolutely nothing materialise into his bank account. And cash had started to run a little dry. In fact it was borderline desert. Devon was not being as quick to settle bills and pay receipts as he’d promised, which surprised Aaron as Devon had struck him as being incredibly anal and efficient in all areas of his life. He wouldn’t have just forgotten, surely? Aaron was beginning to feel that the word MUG had been permanently tattooed on his mud-smeared forehead.
He had tried to approach Devon and found him frosty, to say the least. In fact some of his icy glances could have killed off even the hardiest of perennials. Aaron was tempted to down tools but he didn’t want to risk losing the gig. Plus the fact that he’d never signed a contract meant that, for all the outside world knew, Aaron could have merely been doing the work as a favour. Not that the rent and upkeep on an SW10 London postcode leant itself to favours. Bills needed cash, rent needed paying.
And it wasn’t easy to walk away from some of the most mind-shatteringly horny sex he’d ever had. Ever since his first food-based encounter with Devon’s wife, the two of them had fucked wherever they could. The woman was insatiable.
Tanya was an easy lay in more ways than one. She was more than ready to have her way with Aaron whenever possible, allowing him to do things that most women would more than likely give an amber-to-red-light to. Upon her request, actually make that command, he’d bound her with rope from the shed and forced her to her knees as he face-fucked her, stuffing his hard prick into her mouth so deeply that he only allowed her to breath comfortably once his torrent of seed had been unleashed into her throat.
He’d taken her from behind as he bent her over the tractor mower he used to cut the lawn. It was again an act she’d instigated. Turning up to where Aaron was working wearing the shortest of skirts and no knickers, Tanya had then bent herself ninety degrees over the mower as she switched off the engine and parted the fleshy joys of her own sexual dynamo, inviting Aaron in. A passionate plunge into sexual fulfillment followed.
On another occasion, as Aaron coppiced one of the large oaks at the bottom of the lawns, running a chainsaw through one of the thicker, unwanted branches, he had been almost surprised into falling as Tanya, naked apart from a pair of trainers, had appeared behind him in the tree, holding a blanket. Spreading it as best as she could in a dip housed within the inner sanctum of the tree she lay back, no words necessary, spread her legs and inserted her fingers into her evident wetness, bringing herself to orgasm in front of him. After Aaron had shed his own clothes quicker than the shedding of the leaves in autumn, he entered her and rocked her to a second.
Tanya seemed to thrive on the danger, the thrill, the fetish. In some cases the downright awkward. There was a love of the unusual. Vanilla was not her taste. She was a deep, dark, dangerous flavour. And Aaron was permanently ready to relish.
Sex with Tanya was also easy as Devon seemed to spend a good ten to twelve hours a day at work. And while the cat was away, Aaron was more than happy to taste the cream on offer.
If only the cash from Devon was as easily available. It was something that he was keen to bring up with Tanya after another one of their bouts of animalistic fucking. The pair of them had just shared a shower in the bathroom of the studio alongside the main house. Devon was yet again at work and a bored Tanya had joined Aaron as she spotted him heading to the studio after a particularly dirty day of gardening. The late British summer had finally seemed to break for the afternoon and a down pouring of rain had left Aaron muddy, soaked and in need of dry clothes for his journey back to Chelsea. Just the mere sight of him looking so filthy turned Tanya on. She had stripped bare and joined him underneath the power jets.
As he pulled on his dry clothes afterwards, he broached the subject of cash.
‘I need some kind of money fro
m you and Devon. I keep asking but your husband keeps making excuses and saying it will always be tomorrow. Well tomorrow never comes, Tanya. I can’t keep doing this for free. You have money, I don’t.’
The news seemed to surprise Tanya. A look of consternation spread across her face.
‘Really, he hasn’t paid you a thing?’
‘Not a bean.’ The phrasing seemed lost on the Russian. ‘Not a penny,’ he corrected.
‘Can you wait a few minutes?’
‘Of course. But what are you …’ Aaron’s words stopped as a naked Tanya ran out of the studio and back towards the house.
She returned to the studio about five minutes later, still naked, but sporting a look of devilish mischief. He body was dotted with raindrops from the fall that continued outside.
‘So, you want paying?’ smiled Tanya.
‘I do.’
‘Then come and find it. I have your money.’ As she said it, she walked across the studio and lay herself on the floor across a raised area at the far end of the building. It was where Devon’s first wife, the late Sophia, had always painted as it received the most light in the room.
It was obvious to Aaron that she wasn’t carrying any money in her hands, which were empty. Within a few seconds he had joined her on the floor and inserted his fingers into the melt-pot of mischief between her legs. It wasn’t just the raindrops that were causing wetness. As he let his digits slide deep within her, Tanya let out a gasp of total satisfaction.
Aaron let out a gasp too as his fingers came across a package within her pussy. He teased his fingers around it, applying a little force to his search, adding a sense of role-play.
‘Now, what have we here?’ He pulled the package out. It was a small, clear, plastic bag, sealed at one end. He could see a roll of notes inside. Despite the juices on his fingers, he pulled open the bag and took the notes from it.
‘A thousand pounds do for starters?’ asked Tanya.
Aaron didn’t answer. He merely nodded and buried his face back between Tanya’s legs.
As he headed home a little later, the grand safely housed in his trouser pocket, Aaron had a smile on his face and the taste of Tanya’s sex still upon his lips. Working for the Bellamys was one situation he did not want to walk away from. Especially now that it was paying in all areas.
Twenty-Three
The day that Sophia Hopper had married Devon Bellamy was one of the happiest of their lives. A simple ceremony, just a few family and friends sharing the intimacy of two people deeply in love. Devon, the stylish geek, knowledgeable and friendly, the person people would turn to for advice and opinions on their life laundry. His new wife, Sophia, the fashionably elegant and Carnaby Street-cool art gallery worker who possessed a sexuality and beauty that perfectly straddled the camps between Hollywood vamp and English Rose innocence. It was a match made in heaven.
For many years their union was an idyllic one. Devon’s career flourished, his scientific flare and ground-breaking ideas putting him in demand all over Europe and indeed even further afield. He was a man on the up and Sophia, also content in her art-inspired world, was happy to support him all the way.
Not long into the marriage, Sophia fell pregnant and nine months later, Georgia was born; the perfect mini-Sophia with huge eyes that doting parents could swim in. Sophia found herself at home, a full-time mother, a job she also adored.
As the years advanced, so did Devon’s career, bringing him awards, accolades and huge financial benefit. His skill, go-getting ways and thirst for advances within his field saw the family of three move from a fairly humble suburban apartment to a massive house in North London where Sophia could once again indulge in a creativity she had always possessed from her art gallery days. Rooms were converted, a specialist art studio built, areas decorated in a variety of styles. Sophia turned a huge space into a family home and it was one that became a hub for socialising. The Bellamys were the epicenter of entertainment.
When they weren’t entertaining, Sophia abandoned herself to her painting. She savoured the richness of colours, the feel of the paint against the bristles of her brush, even against her skin as Sophia used her body as a human brush. Now that she had her own studio she let her imagination go wild with her art. She could lose herself for hours inside her artistic sanctuary.
The body painting was something she had always experimented with. The idea had first come to her when she was finger-painting with Georgia and the children in her daughter’s school class. She loved the freedom of having the paint daubed onto her skin as opposed to the brush. Often, in the solitude of her own studio, she would coat her hands or arms in a myriad of colours and squash them against a canvas, revelling in the results.
Then one day, while watching All Of Me, a documentary about one of her all-time style icons, the Hollywood model Farrah Fawcett of Charlie’s Angels fame, she discovered that she was not alone. Farrah would paint her breasts, her buttocks, anywhere on her body and roll across wide stretches of paper to great effect. The result was slapdash but beyond liberating, and having seen it, Sophia was determined to try it. It became her signature style and occupied her for many hours, even days, while Devon was working abroad and Georgia was at boarding school.
It was her love of art that caused the destruction of her marriage to Devon. Word of Sophia’s outlandish masterpieces spread and she entertained an eclectic set of people, many from the art world, at the family home, often while Devon was still away. Despite his genius mind, Devon couldn’t help but feel excluded from his wife’s new, multicoloured world. A world of creation, glamour and art into which he simply didn’t seem to fit. At the soirees he did attend his best efforts to make conversation with those gathered appeared to fall on deaf ears. Ears that cared nothing for what he had to say. For a man of such great talent in his own field, Devon felt crushed by their lack of interest. Did it make him a lesser person because his world was science not sculpture, petri dishes not paints? To a man laced with pride, vulnerability and a fear of failure it did.
When millionaire gallery owner Nicolas Belvoir was introduced to Devon’s wife at one of these gatherings, the art-obsessed Sophia immediately felt a connection. A thunderbolt moment. It was a bond that highlighted the deep disconnection she now seemed to feel for her ordered, fastidious scientist husband, Devon. She and Nicolas would discuss everything from their shared love of Francis Bacon and Salvador Dali to more obscure tastes like Keith Haring. Unable to stop it, she and Nicolas fell in love and the canvas of their new-found joy became the tapestry of torment for Devon. And despite the expertise of his brain when it came to saving lives with molecules and medics, it seemed that the know-how of saving matters of the heart evaded him.
On his return home one day he found the note. Sophia had left him to go and live with Nicolas. His heart broke, and a piece of his vulnerable soul died forever.
Georgia took the news badly. To see her mother and father apart was something that she had never considered. At twenty, she was old enough to understand but the physicality of seeing them separately, of witnessing her father’s unhappiness and her mother’s need for pleasure combined with a heavy sense of guilt was, at times, too much to bear. To realise that her perfect mother and perfect father were no longer perfect for each other was difficult to comprehend.
But nothing prepared Georgia for what came next.
Sometimes, even to this day, in the middle of the night, the horror of that phone call would still echo in her mind. A deadly tolling shooting through her senses. Devon telling her that her mother and Nicolas had been found dead at their home. Sophia’s throat had been slit, and her chest housed a bullet wound. Both brutal, either fatal. Telltale bruises across her body suggested a struggle. Nicolas had been discovered in the same room, his brains blown out by the very gun that had pumped into Sophia’s chest. It was virtually still in his hand.
The police ruled that Nicolas had killed himself after rampaging through the house and shooting his girlfriend. There was no
suggestion of robbery or any other suspicious circumstances. No motive was given. People blamed it on artistic temperament. Like Sophia’s creative style, their relationship was seemingly vivid, bold and dramatic. Like Sophia’s canvasses, their bodies were splashed with colour.
Georgia had lost a mother, Devon had lost a true love. A woman to share his world with. Until he met Tanya.
Twenty-Four
‘You look shattered, Dad.’
Georgia was worried about Devon. In a life where not many things had remained consistent for Georgia, her father had always been her rock, the man that she could turn to and rely on for true unadulterated love. He knew her better than anyone and she him.
But something was wrong. He never looked anything less than immaculate normally. Nails would be buffed, shirts would be spotless and hair would be groomed. But something wasn’t right. There was almost a crazed look in his eyes and on top of her ever-growing angst about Mitzi it was the last thing she needed right now. ‘Are you working too hard? You look ...’ She searched for the right word. ‘… haunted.’ She reached out to touch his leg. A simple action but one soaked in tenderness and caring.
Devon did indeed look beyond tired. He’d been working long hours and his normally radiant, healthy skin had definitely slid from vitality into shades of grey.
There was a tightness in his reply, a brusqueness that Georgia didn’t associate with their everyday loving father/daughter conversations. ‘If I don’t work, Georgia, then many a scientific revelation would remain unearthed. Plus Tanya has an addiction to shopping that needs constant watering.’
Devon was indeed one of the most respected men in his chosen field of scientific advancement. If only his personal life could always follow suit.