The highs were fleeting, but so intense, so euphoric. The lows were not fleeting; they lingered. The lows made Tara feel as though she might as well end it. That it didn’t matter if she died of a heart attack one of these days because she didn’t care. She didn’t care that her friends were beginning to hate her. She didn’t care about her parents’ relationship. About that goaty man that her mother was so taken with now. She didn’t care that her father was always drunk. None of it mattered except her next line.
And then there was the fear. Fear of how she would cope if she couldn’t get hold of more cocaine. And fear of what would happen to her if she got hold of more than she could pay for. Joe wasn’t so nice to her any more. He didn’t have time for poor little rich girls whose pocket money had dried up. She’d met other men who could give her what she wanted, but only if she gave them something in return. A blow for some blow. Fuck. Why was she seriously contemplating it? She wasn’t an ‘addict’ for Christ’s sake. She was an intelligent, well-bred girl. She wouldn’t suck a cock for a gram of coke. Would she?
Chapter 23
‘Wow,’ said Sarah, as she ran her hand along the shimmering cocktail bar on board Sin. ‘I never thought, not in my wildest dreams, that I’d find myself on a super-yacht in the South of France. Thank heavens Willy took a chance with an inexperienced PA. Which reminds me, we need to organize a Chairman’s Reception for you for next year when you’ll be chairing Willy’s board. I was thinking the Dorchester—’
‘Sarah, you’re not working now – stop fussing.’
‘Of course I’m working, Bertrand, why else would I be here? I feel like this isn’t me, like I’m having a weird out-of-body experience. And where on earth have all these women come from? These are like … mythical people, you know, those breathtaking beauties of fable and fairy tale, who you never actually know or see in real life …’ Bertrand silently congratulated himself and Reza on hitting the spot with their floating club. Sarah went on, ‘I’m glad my boyfriend and I broke up – he definitely would not approve. In fact I’m not sure I do.’ She looked around, open-mouthed at the solid-gold opulence of the bar at which she stood. ‘And please keep this Reza character well away from me, I’ve heard some real horror stories about him.’
Bertrand glanced in the direction of a smallish man in tight snakeskin trousers doing the limbo under a girl’s outstretched leg. He bit his lip.
‘To be honest I don’t think you’re his type. Ahem, far too classy,’ he added, after Sarah looked offended. ‘When did you break up with your boyfriend?’
‘I’d seen it coming for a while. He said if I got on a plane out here today then that was the end of us. He thinks my job is taking over our relationship and that my values are melting.’
‘Melting?’ Bertrand looked amused.
‘“Melting” was his word. Values that were once solid are apparently turning to slush. They’ve become a sticky pool of depravity – he’s awfully melodramatic for an accountant. And anyway it’s not true.’
‘Sticky pool of depravity … Good God, that sounds blissful!’ Sarah shot him a warning look and he changed tack. ‘Sarah, you skilfully manage a team of thirty people directly and hundreds indirectly; you’ve helped thrust Willy Eckhardt back into the collective consciousness of an entire nation; you’ve masterminded events that have raised hundreds of thousands for charitable causes; and you’ve more than likely saved Willy’s marriage with all the anniversaries, birthdays and children’s treats you’ve organized. What has your boyfriend done as a trainee accountant?’
‘Thanks, Bertrand.’ She treated him to a genuinely warm smile. ‘Well I couldn’t have done any of it without your mentoring. Anyway, enough about him. Let’s get another drink. I am determined to catch up on all the years of fun I’ve missed out on with that silly boy – and it’s not every day I get to drink Russian cocktails out of imitation white skulls.’
‘Hear! Hear!’
The theme of Reza and Bertrand’s Christmas party was white. On the deck of Sin, two huge Christmas trees sculpted in white gold by that year’s Turner Prize winner gleamed in the moonlight. Diamond rings hung off the delicate upturned branches – a little souvenir for each of the female guests. Taxidermy was having a fashion revival so stuffed tarantulas clambered up each tree and crazed-looking stags and does were positioned around the deck. Security had been discreetly ramped up tonight, and hidden in waterproof casing underneath the boat’s golden gunwales was a newly installed anti-paparazzi device that could detect any unauthorized camera activity for miles around and obliterate the images.
And what fantastical images they would have been. The dress code was head-to-toe white: apart from the staff in black, Reza was to be the only exception in a tight denim shirt and snake-skin trousers. Although most of the women were in floaty ethereal silks, and the men in tailored linen shirts and white jeans – perfect for showing off gleaming winter tans – there were a few outfits that really stood out. Sarah passed a man smoking a cigar, his slicked-back silvery grey hair complementing his white silk pyjamas and monogrammed slippers. And who was this haughty-looking woman? In a belted white satin suit jacket with matching harem pants, clear PVC courts and white floppy ears atop a head of lustrous black hair, her look was ‘Bugs Bunny does the couture shows’. Next to catch Sarah’s eye was a family dressed entirely in white feathers. A fresh-faced teenager in a feathered mini-dress was furtively eyeing the men while her parents, both dressed in long feathered coats, were talking animatedly to Reza.
‘No, it’s probably best you don’t engage Rhiannon in that superb limbo dance. It looks hilarious but the poor dear’s still recovering from a lacrosse injury at school—’ laughed the mother, scarily shrill.
‘Incidentally, Reza,’ cut in the father, seeing Reza’s eyes snake down his daughter’s coltish legs, ‘did you know, I flew in straight from a record-setting shooting weekend in Hampshire. I’m now so adept with a gun I could shoot the cork off a bottle of Dom from an astonishing distance.’
Sarah laughed and moved on, doing a double-take as a girl glided past wearing nothing but pearls, vast strings of them draped around her to form a bandeau dress that shimmered and tinkled as she moved. The girl looked at Bertrand out of the corner of her eye, holding his gaze for a few seconds before prowling on. Sarah glanced despairingly down at her own white dress, which Tulip had picked out for her. It clung to her curves a bit too lovingly.
Bertrand looked as debonair as ever in deck shoes, linen trousers and a simple white shirt. He’d rolled up the sleeves to reveal a slim watch – with a fat price tag, Sarah noticed – and although he’d undone too many shirt buttons, he’d avoided a Rezaesque greasiness by ensuring there was plenty of room to breathe in it. He began to bounce in time to the blaring house music. Reza had flown in a hot new DJ fresh from a private gig in Ibiza, and the star mixer was already working the boat up to a frenzy.
‘You look really great today, Sarah. White is definitely your colour.’
Sometimes Sarah forgot Bertrand was twice her age; when you gave him some alcohol he seemed to revert to his teens. She could see him stealing glances at her cleavage whenever he thought she wasn’t looking. She really ought to pull the dress up a bit. She didn’t.
Neither did she resist when Bertrand grabbed her hand to lead her to his clients.
‘Ouch!’ Sarah shrieked, as her foot was pierced by a spiky metal heel. ‘This boat is way too crowded. Are you sure you’re adhering to health and safety regs?’ she grumbled, but her comment went unheard above the music. The tracks were getting faster and as a low, deep voice boomed ‘The world is mine’, the fervour of the crowd intensified. Sarah would definitely have preferred something more soulful.
Eventually Bertrand found the clients he was searching for, clustered inside on a white leather banquette. The stage and casino had been collapsed for the night and the revolving dance floor stilled, leaving one gigantic space in which to dance, chat and play. One of the clients was the man with the mono
grammed slippers, though Sarah didn’t quite catch his name above the din. He shook her hand and, still puffing on his cigar, offered her another drink. Although the second of the clients, who introduced himself as Theo, was much younger and better looking, somehow it was the first that Sarah couldn’t stop scrutinizing. There was something in his manner that suggested he wielded immense power, and it was strangely thrilling to be around him. She finished her drink in one gulp to steady her nerves.
Scores of women were circling their table, zeroing in on Bertrand like tigers stalking their prey, while at the table opposite, three amazing-looking women were dancing gracefully on the banquette seating, moving with agile abandon. Sarah was watching them in awe when she felt a hand on her back encouraging her too to get up and dance. Downing yet another vodka tonic to give her courage, she climbed on to the cushioned bench and started to sway nervously, embarrassed. It felt like Team Bertrand was trying to top the other table and Sarah felt shamefully aware she was probably letting the side down. But, whatever! She was free and she was here. Since she didn’t have to give a damn what Si thought for the first time in years, she would try to relax.
As the alcohol worked its wicked magic on Sarah and she was starting to really move, building up to another ‘dip-down’, the music came to a sudden stop. An immense drum roll thundered to an impressive climax and a team of nimble waiters appeared, bearing five bottles that were spitting huge flames and sizzling like indoor fireworks. Thinking that a magic show was about to begin, Sarah drunkenly started to applaud. The flaming bottles were borne across to the table opposite Team Bertrand, illuminating the slinky dancers and their three male companions, one of whom stood on his seat and lit a cigar from the flames. As the drums continued to roll, he smugly blew out a perfect smoke ring, held one of the bottles aloft, and shook its contents over a blonde in a white bikini. Sarah was amazed and revolted to realize it was a magnum of Reza’s exclusive Sin champagne he was spraying – about £5000 worth! The Sin champagne was the only drink that wasn’t free that evening – and so the only one everyone wanted to be seen ordering. Sarah could see at least four unfinished magnums on the table beside the five new bottles. There was no way they could drink all that.
She felt sickened at such a shameless display of decadence, but Bertrand caught her eye and just shrugged, as if to say ‘that’s the way the cookie crumbles’.
Ten minutes later, the drums began to roll again. To Sarah’s horror, this time the waiters were heading in her direction. Thankfully, they focused on Theo, who theatrically surveyed the number of magnums that had been brought to their group. Not five like the other table, but six. He lit his cigarette in the flames, leaned forward and blew the smoke defiantly in the direction of the opposite table. With a smile he turned to check that the monogram-slippered mogul approved. Team Bertrand had triumphed. Their status as top dog was secure.
Sarah shot another disgusted look at Bertrand.
‘I don’t judge, Sarah. Maybe they gave ten million to charity last night. Did you? Relax, enjoy yourself.’
Sarah looked at Theo, now sandwiched between two brunettes and groping both of them simultaneously. ‘Maybe they did, but then again, maybe they didn’t. Anyway, I just think it’s vulgar and it’s unnecessary.’
She slurred on, ‘The world’s finances are in a terrible state, people are looshing their homes and, and, and, their livelihoods, and yet theesh people are just spending and spending like there’s no tomorrow. Wassit to them if they lose a few million to the drop in property values – they’ve still got another fifty mill hidden away offshore so that’s alright then!’
Bertrand had never seen her this worked up. Now there was a spark in her eyes and a rosy flush to her cheeks that was making him exceptionally randy.
‘Good God you’re gorgeous!’ He shook his head in wonderment, making Sarah even more incensed. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her as she collapsed against his chest. Willy had left the party hours ago; Scheherazade, the winner of Musical Megastar, had disappeared too, and Sarah knew nobody else here but Bertrand. As angry as she was, she felt protected with his arms around her.
‘Darling,’ Bertrand said, ‘I’m not defending all this per se, but what do you think will happen to the economy if these people stop spending? Don’t you think even more businesses will go bust, and even more people will be unemployed? Don’t you think governments will collect even less in taxes? What will happen to public services then?’
Sarah looked up, but before she could reply Bertrand suddenly cut in again, ‘Say, have you met Rory?’
Rory shook Sarah’s hand and she smiled back, forced to calm down now that they had company. Tall and slim with dishevelled dirty blond hair, he was, Sarah guessed, probably in his mid to late thirties. Rory smiled shyly. He looked like he’d be more at home in the corner of a jazz café than at this raucous party, and she couldn’t agree more – the music really was much too loud. As if echoing her thoughts, Bertrand leaned over and shouted that they ought to have a drink somewhere quieter.
Bertrand led them away from the main din and towards the yacht’s exit but instead of disembarking he glanced around and then pressed a button concealed behind a small mirrored tile. A side door slid open to reveal a spacious and pristine white cabin.
‘Wow! I thought you said there were no cabins.’ Sarah had never seen anything like it – an open-plan living room and kitchen so dazzlingly white she had to blink several times. It was like walking into a luxury igloo.
‘That’s what we tell the members but of course Reza and I have our areas. There’s an office and various other little rooms hidden about the place – some of which I’ve never even seen.’
They sat down together on a long sofa covered in ice-white mink.
‘Has it really been that long since we saw each other? We used to get up to all sorts of mischief,’ Rory chuckled at Bertrand.
‘Must be ten years now. God I’m getting old.’ Bertrand smiled at Sarah with an assuredness that showed no signs of abating with age.
‘Let me fix you both a drink,’ Sarah slurred, assuming a hostess role that felt surprisingly natural. If Rory had any questions regarding the absence of Bertrand’s formidable wife, he kept them to himself. Instead, he seemed unable to tear his eyes away from Sarah, who was now leaning against the door in her tight dress, hair falling over her face and one arm thrown upwards. She’d grabbed hold of the doorway to try and steady herself – she felt dangerously tipsy – but it had the effect of a fit young bitch’s mating call to two naughty dogs who were seriously on heat.
Bertrand strolled over to Sarah, eyeing her. In full view of Rory he ran his hand over her bottom as he kissed her gently and slipped a probing hand inside her dress.
Sarah gasped, ‘Oh my God!’
She tried to feel indignant, but somehow she didn’t. She wanted him.
She gave an involuntary moan and pulled Bertrand’s head close so that she could kiss him violently. Suddenly Sarah’s dress was up around her waist and she stood pushed up against the door in high heels, a lace thong and a slip of a white dress as Bertrand grabbed her firm butt with both hands and pressed his body tight against hers while he kissed her. His feral urgency was at odds with his gentlemanly appearance and it excited her wildly, as did the knowledge that they were in full view of Rory. Sarah writhed and moaned as she reached for Bertrand’s hair and pulled his head towards her breasts as he grabbed at the straps of her dress and pulled them down. Opening her eyes, she peered over Bertrand’s head and glanced at Rory, still seated languorously on the sofa. He had undone his flies, and he looked calmly on while he pleasured himself, massaging his cock up and down with one hand in fast, rhythmic movements. His dusky blond head was thrown back slightly, his breathing loud and deep.
Sarah smiled coyly at Rory, slipping her arms fully out of the dress and allowing Bertrand to quickly unhook her strapless bra, freeing her pendulous breasts.
‘Christ!’ Rory wailed from his vantage point,
his face contorted with longing. He could take it no longer; he had to touch her. Jumping from his seat he kicked off his slacks and boxer shorts, and, as an afterthought, his cashmere socks, and hot-footed it across the room. Sarah was utterly shocked at her own unhesitating compliance and how could this feel so damn natural? She knew it was slutty, and yet it didn’t feel wrong. She had never felt so sexy, so adored and so turned on in her life.
Joining Bertrand in his animal ravaging of Sarah’s curves, Rory stripped her dress from her body and tossed it to the ground before sliding behind her so that she was gripped tightly between the two friends. He dropped his head to kiss her shoulder and slid his hand down in between her thighs, slipping a gently probing finger between her legs. He gave a guttural groan. Sarah’s own cries were getting louder now and Bertrand decided it was time to move into the bedroom. He lifted Sarah, still in lace thong and high heels, and carried her next door with Rory in hot pursuit.
Bertrand threw Sarah on to the bed and ordered her to strip. By the time she had kicked off her heels and wiggled swiftly out of her skimpy thong, all three were naked. Bertrand raced across the room to dim the lights and paused by the switch with a raging hard-on as he watched Rory and Sarah exploring each other’s bodies on the Egyptian cotton sheets. Sliding on to the bed beside them, he stroked Sarah’s breasts before gently edging Rory aside to position his head between her legs and lick her to orgasm, while Rory took each of her nipples into his mouth in turn and flicked and bit them gently.
Just as Sarah thought that she might melt if she had any more pleasure, she felt Bertrand enter her and then the waves of excitement mounted once more until she could think of nothing but the exquisite feeling between her legs. She wanted to be wholly consumed by both of them, but she sensed from the way Bertrand asserted complete control that if Rory took her it might cross some irrational line. Closing her eyes she reached down to feel Rory’s erection and brought him to orgasm just before Bertrand brought her to orgasm for the second time that night.
Sin Tropez Page 22