by L. C White
Copyright
Chapter 1: A Bad Day
Chapter 2: Bad to Fantastic
Chapter 3: London Bride
Chapter 4: Moving On
Chapter 5: Our Place
Chapter 6: Exploited
Chapter 7: Mad Hens
Chapter 8: Friends Reunited
Chapter 9: Perfect
Chapter 10: Celebration
Chapter 11: Selene
Chapter 12: His Terms
Chapter 13: Lake Como
Chapter 14: Last Day
Chapter 15: Interrupted
Chapter 16: Dark Visit
Chapter 17: Foreseen
Chapter 18: Results
Chapter 19: Announcement
Chapter 20: Dark Touch
Chapter 21: Here to Serve
Chapter 22: Screwed-up
Chapter 23: Great Company
Chapter 24: Under my Skin
Chapter 25: Awkward
Chapter 26: Timing is a Bitch
Chapter 27: Priorities
Chapter 28: The Exchange
Chapter 29: Daddy Demetrius
Chapter 30: For Love
Chapter 31: Horror Show
Chapter 32: Our Conclusion
Copyright (©) the author, L.C White/L.F Whitaker reserves all rights to this work of fiction 2016. [email protected]
The plot, characters, names, and settings are a result of the author’s imagination and in no way to be misrepresented as otherwise. If any similarities are noted, it is purely an unintentional coincident.
This novel is not to be copied, redistributed, or altered in any way, without contact and permission from the author.
Chapter 1: A Bad Day
Liz
This is not what I had in mind when I accepted this job. I presumed I’d be editing articles, not out on the road writing them. I’ve worked for the Hearsay magazine for two weeks now. My first week was okay. I had the task of editing a small cookery piece (how to make a scrumptious Lemon Meringue tart)and I was also put in charge of postal deliveries. Now, I’m driving down the narrowest dirt track you can possibly imagine, with scarcely enough room for Beryl to manoeuvre through. And just to top off this hellish day, the lashing rain is impeding my view, and I can’t see where the hell I’m going.
I guess I did rush into taking this job, when I should have waited to hear back from PG publishing, and Lawson & Son write house. They did explain it would take several weeks for them to make a decision. But when Mary Harper, the top editor interviewed me for the Hearsay Company, she offered me the job right away, and of course I said yes,very enthusiastically. She’s really nice, the down-to-earth hippy type, and made my interview a pleasant relaxed experience. Looking back, I should have been suspicious on my first day that my new job may be a little unorthodox. Especially when Mary had us all doing morning yoga at our desks.
The main reason for my haste in accepting the position was Adrien. Okay we’ve been engaged for months, he’s wealthy, and if I were to ask for anything, he’d provide it for me without a second thought. But I still crave some independence for myself. To do something with my life, off my own back. What’s wrong with that?
My hands fight with the wheel, trying to keep Beryl on the straight and narrow as she bumps violently over rocks and mounds of mud. With my head shunting back and forth, I keep my eyes peeled for the farm I was supposed to be at over an hour ago.
“Oh shit!” I shouldn’t have attempted to get over that rock. I’m not driving a damn tank here.
I shut down the engine and take out my frustration on the steering wheel. I know when I get out to have a look at the damage, it’s going to be bad enough to have me stuck out here in the wilderness. This day needs to end, and soon.
I grab my green raincoat from the backseat. God, I’m so not dressed for this. I should be wearing a frigging wetsuit and wellies. Not flats, black tights, and a grey wool skirt that will take forever to dry.
I swing open the door. Sheets of rain slap me in the face, and as soon as I put my flats down, they sink deep into the sludge. Dammit. I pull my foot out of the slop, wanting to cry in anger as I note the damage to Beryl.
“Give me a break!”
The left front tyre is completely flat, and the bumper is badly scuffed. I close my eyes and press my forehead on the roof of Beryl. I just want to go home, crawl into my bed, and forget this day existed.
“You okay my love?” I nearly jump out of my skin, as a heavy built man in a green poncho, waits for me to speak. “Bit of car trouble I see.” I hum, cautious of him. “I tell you what, I live just down the way there. Why don’t you come down, dry off, then we’ll fix that tyre of yours.”
Okay mister sinister, that’s not going to happen. You may not freak me out like Laurie did, but your still on the weirdo list.
“Thanks, but I’m late for an appointment at…” I pull my notepad out of my pocket with the address on. “Mayfield farm.”
His double chin and red veined cheeks jiggle as he laughs. “Well that’s us,” he says. “I spoke to you on the phone this morning. We were wondering where you got to.”
“Oh, Mr Dewhurst.” I shake the rain from my hand and offer it to him.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ve got a very excited wife who’s been preening Bacon and Hooch all morning.” He sets off, waving for me to follow.
Hmm, Bacon and Hooch. Jeez, maybe I should deny all knowledge and call a cab. You see, my job today is to interview owners and pets who bare an uncanny resemblance to one another. It was a nightmare when I found out it was going to be my first real article. And now, well, it’s an awful reality.
My feet squelch through the thick mud by an unused rusty tractor, as I follow Mr Dewhurst toward the farmhouse. It’s dilapidated, tiles missing from the roof, windows held together with masking tape, and I don’t see one cow or sheep, so it’s obviously not a working farm anymore.
Mr Dewhurst opens the door. “Come on in love… mind the cage though, Boris has been a naughty boy today.”
Who the fuck is Boris, and why is he in a cage? This is like some screwed up version of Animal Farm, and Texas Chainsaw Massacre combined.
I move reluctantly through the doorway, where I’m greeted by a bloody badger of all things. It’s snarling in a cage, trying to get to me. The smelly creature has me up against the wall, clutching my bag to my chest.
“Oh, never mind Boris, he’s harmless really. He loves his cuddles and kisses.”
Mr Dewhurst waits before a door at the end of the hall. Now I’ve got the sick image in my head of him getting off with his badger. Dirty man.
Am I being a fool, not taking Adrien up on his offer of providing me with a job, working alongside him? I would have my own office. Could do what hours I wanted. And I wouldn’t come in contact with any rabid creatures like Boris. No Liz, this is normal. A job where once in a while you have to get your hands dirty. Being engaged to a vampire, requires a certain amount of objectivity and distance. It is common knowledge that being with someone, day-in day-out, causes disharmony.
“Come through… come through.” Mr Dewhurst holds the door open for me.
Good god, it reeks in here. It smells like the zoo on a hot day. I don’t want to breathe because basically it smells like shit. It’s chokingly bad.
I shuffle between a sideboard and a filthy green sofa. Well I think it’s green. Either that is the colour it’s intended to be, or it’s covered in mould.
“Take a seat, and I’ll go fetch the gang.”
Mr Dewhurst leaves me among mounds of crap, tat, and rubbish. These people are clearly hoarders. There are newspapers everywhere. Bottles full of curdled stinking milk. And a swarm of flies, buzzing
around my frigging head. This, hands down, is the dirtiest house I’ve ever been in, and I can’t help but wonder if this is some joke. You know, like an initiation test to prove myself to the Hearsay team. I do recall when Mary was giving me the directions to this place, hearing the sound of sniggers at my back.
I sigh out my irritability, and perch right on the very edge of the couch; the less contact the better.
My phone begins to ring in my bag. I unzip and take it out. There are two voicemail messages from Adrien.
‘Elizabeth, I’m just calling to ask why you didn’t return my call last night… need to discuss flowers. Call me.’
I didn’t intentionally not call him, it just slipped my mind. You see, we met up yesterday for lunch. It was supposed to be so I could grab a quick sandwich, but turned out to be much better. I had to go to the little girl’s room at Ollies, a posh bistro two streets away from Hearsay headquarters. I’d just flushed the toilet, when he tapped on the cubicle door. He gave me that steely hot look, and I became putty in his hands. It wasn’t one bit romantic, but hell, I don’t need romance all the time. A good seeing to is just as important. I held the top of the partition wall with my feet pressed against the opposite panel, while he did his magnificent thing between my legs. I was there, using my newfound sex flexibility and core, hovering mid-air as he licked, sucked, and fucked me. God, it was one of the best. I’m smiling even in this pigsty thinking of it.
I listen to the next message.
‘Elizabeth, I’ve gone for the black dragon lily. It will have a modern twist. I thought you’d like them. I shall see you tonight.’
I frown. Where the hell did that come from? I mean, he’s supposed to be the most prestigious vampire in the city. Is he now some floral fanatic too? We haven’t even set a date, or found a venue for the wedding yet. I haven’t had the time to even think about it, and it’s beginning to get to me that he’s in some mad rush, organising it without my input.
I drop my phone into my bag and hear shuffling and heavy panting.
“Hold still Bacon,” Mr Dewhurst barks.
Oh god. There’s a huge black pig, and a slavering monstrous dog, bounding over the mess to get to me. Now I don’t care about how much contact I have with the couch. I’m pressed right into the back cushions, hoping they will somehow protect me.
“Hooch, down boy,” Mr Dewhurst yells as Hooch’s tongue quivers near my face.
I try to push Hooch back, but he’s strong, and I don’t want to upset him in case he turns on me.
Mr Dewhurst grabs Hooch’s slobbering cheeks, telling him to be a good boy and sit. I thought he’d remove the monster, but now he’s sitting next to me on the couch, panting in my ear. And Bacon, well, his wet snout is sniffing at my tights, leaving a trail of cold pig snot. I’m trying so hard not to gag right now. This is definitely good grounds to hand in my resignation. I must be crazy to still be sitting here.
“It’s Liz isn’t it?” Who I’m presuming to be Mrs Dewhurst, holds out her hand to me. “I’m Maggie.”
I smile nervously as Bacon sniffs a little too close to the hem of my skirt.
“Come on Bacon.” Maggie pulls on the pig’s neck, and sits down in the armchair across from me.
I slowly turn to Hooch, he’s drooling on my damn jacket for fuck sake.
“Before we start, would you like a cup of tea?” Maggie asks.
Wow, I can’t help but stare as she rubs Bacon’s back. She is a dead ringer for that pig: short black hair, round face, and a snout shaped nose.
“Would you like some tea?” she asks again, waking me from my daydream.
“Err, no thank you.” I snap out of it, pulling out a notepad and pen from my bag.
I squiggle down a few possible headers in shorthand, as the Dewhurst’s wait for me to begin. Any ordinary person would not want their face compared to a pig, or a dog. But each to their own I guess.
I look up, displaying my professional smile. “So Mr Dewhurst…”
“Call me Jack.”
“Jack, how long have you had Hooch now?” As soon as I mention his name, I see that waving long tongue in my side view, nearly touching my cheek.
“Oh, since a pup. It was like destiny when we met. That’s why I think people say we look alike you know.”
Okay, you odd man. I jot those exact words down.
“And what about Bacon.” I look to Maggie, still dodging Hooch’s incessant need to lick me.
“Bacon here was the runt; abandoned at birth,” she replies.
“Oh, so this used to be a working farm?”
“Of course, many moons ago. Now that lazy shit would rather stay in bed with his dog all day.” She glares at Jack.
Oh hell, this is turning sourer by the second. Ask something nice Liz; something that will defuse a possible domestic.
“So what about you two?” I smile, trying not to breathe in Hooch’s foul breath. “Twenty years of marriage; that’s some going.” I press my pen on the paper and wait.
“Too long,” Jack grumbles.
“You shut your mouth and be nice to our guest, Jack Dewhurst. Or so help me god, I’ll swing for you I will.” Maggie points her finger, moving to the edge of her seat.
Okay, I think it’s time to wrap this up and get the hell out of here, before all hell breaks loose. I need to get home and wash the contamination of this place off me. I need a large stiff drink.
I sigh out as a slimy drop of dog drool lands on my hand. Dirty skanky creature.
“Right, nearly finished,” I cringe, wiping the slobber from the back of my hand onto the couch. “And what breeds are Hooch and Bacon?”
“Well Hooch, he’s a Bullmastiff,” Jack says.
“Bacon.” Maggie scratches the pig’s back. “He’s a Cornwall Black, aren’t you my sweetheart.”
I quickly stand up from the couch. “Well, that just about does it.” I put my notebook away, not having really wrote much at all. “I will call you in the morning, and set up a time for our photographer to come and take some shots.”
“Oh, I thought you’d be doing it.” Maggie curls over her bottom lip. “I’ve oiled Bacon up real good for the pictures.”
“Sorry, our photographer is out all day.” Bit by bit, I make my way to the door. “We’ll contact you with a time slot.” I grab the door handle. “Thank you for your time.” I step out into the hall, taking note of Boris waiting for me.
“Miss Liz,” Jack calls. “Do you need some help with that tyre of yours; you’re not going to get very far in this weather with a flat now, are you?”
I freeze between Boris and the lounge door, squeezing my eyelids tight because I have no choice. I want to get out of here so bad, the reason I actually found this place, eluded me.
“Yes…please,” I wince.
***
It only took Jack ten minutes to change the flat on Beryl, and I can tell you, that was long enough. He was bent over, revealing ninety percent of his enormous hairy backside, as he wittered on about how much he hated his wife. I think he was implying, him and I would make a good couple. So as I stood in the downpour, keeping my distance, I did nothing other than hum in reply to each word he spoke, praying he wouldn’t ask me out on a date.
It’s now nearly six pm, and everyone who works at the Hearsay office has gone home for the weekend. I blow out a pissed-off breath, dropping my notebook into my desk drawer, deciding to call it a day.
“Liz.” Mary pops her head out of her corner office door. “Did you get everything you need on the Dewhurst’s?” She’s looking at me as though I’ve just crawled out of a swamp. “What happened to you?”
“Bacon and Hooch happened,” I say, holding back a snarl.
“Oh, sorry about that.” She fiddles with her mood stone pendant. “I did send Jenny last week, she walked in and out of the place,” she admits, as I try not to get angry. “I could have pulled the article, but the readers are suckers for pet stories.”
I’m so mad about this. But I guess it
’s to be expected. I’m going to end up with the scraps that nobody else wants. Being the new girl, I can’t simply turn around and tell them to get stuffed now can I?
“You did well. Jenny has always been a spoilt uppity Daddy’s girl.” She rolls her eyes. “But you, you’re like the meat in a pie; no pie is complete without it.”
I purse my lips, wondering if that’s some new age hippy type compliment.
“Get yourself gone, and have a super weekend.” She turns back into her office.
***
I’ve finally made it home. I slam the car door and glance at the damage on Beryl. I can’t even be bothered to explain to Cate what happened. She probably won’t even notice anyhow. A month ago, she drove all the way to Essex with a flat, and I had to send Adrien to rescue her. She drives in a world of her own, her mind full of unimportant issues, such as her hair, men, and other girly thoughts.
I trudge up what feels like the millionth step, open the door, and fight not to fall flat on my face.
“You’re going to be late,” Cate calls from the sofa as soon as I walk through the door.
I don’t respond; I’m too tired. I plod into the kitchen and pull half a bottle of wine from the fridge.
“Is your phone off, because your Mum’s been calling,” Cate shouts over the sound of the television.
I gulp down half a glass of chardonnay. Hmm, that’s better. I pour another as Cate comes in, holding the cordless house phone.
“Here.” She shoves the phone in my face.
I snatch it and place it against my ear, scowling as Cate steals my wine.
“Yeah.”
“Lizzy, I’ve been calling you all bloody day. You’re supposed to be some bigshot journalist now aren’t you?” I’m going to hang up any second. “Lizzy, what do I wear tonight? I’ve only got one hour to get ready.”
“Mother,” I drone. “I have no energy to be giving you fashion tips for a night out at the local pub. I’m going to hang up now. Bye Mum.”
“Lizzy!” she screams.
I never swear at my mum, but I’m going to tell her to fuck-off in a second.
“Bye Mum.” I stab my finger on the screen, and drop the phone on the kitchen worktop.