by Rachel Green
Chervil Court was a group of maisonettes all facing a central park and recreational area. Forty years had done a lot to change it from the model housing the planners had visualized. The maisonettes were pleasant enough when they were built but had d fallen into disrepair and vandalism when the Conservative council had sold them off in the eighties. In the last decade they’d been bought as owner-occupied and gradually modernized and decorated.
The communal gardens had suffered in the meantime. When the council-employed caretaker had been made redundant, the gardens had become a focal point for the nineties drug scene, forcing the local authority to bulldoze the lot and replant it as a large piece of grass surrounded by road. The flats were served by two bus stops, their dimly lit shelters providing business premises for prostitutes and drug dealers in easy reach of their clients.
At one end of the crescent was a patchwork of different curtains in the windows, several varieties of music drifting from open ones. “Looks like a thriving student population.” Meinwen nudged her traveling companion with her elbow. “Your luck could be in, there.”
“Nah.” Jimmy shook his head. “Not me. Too old to be courting students.”
“I wasn’t thinking about courting them.”
“What number is it?” The taxi driver slowed when he turned into the road.
Meinwen leaned forward. “Number eight, please.”
“Number eight.” He sped up until he reached the penultimate block and pulled over, clicking off the meter. “Four fifty please.”
“Here.” Meinwen gave him a fiver. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you very much. Should I wait?”
“No. We’ll be fine, thanks.” She opened the door and climbed out, followed by Jimmy. “Flat five should be on the top floor, I suppose.”
“Three floors, so yes.” Jimmy looked up at the building as the taxi roared away. “I wonder if there’s a penthouse level.”
“Why? Would you put in an offer?”
“I don’t have to really, do I? With John dead all this goes to me.”
“Unless you killed him, of course.”
“I was in prison at the time. I doubt you could get a better alibi.”
“I suppose not.” Meinwen tapped him on the arm. “Come on. Lets go look at your new property then. You did remember the keys?”
“Sure.” Jimmy pulled the fob out of his trouser pocket and held it up. “Ready and waiting.”
“Right then.” She marched up the path to the communal front door, barely sparing a glance at the scrubby bushes struggling to grow amongst the beer cans and broken bottles on what passed for soil. “Open up then, squire.”
Jimmy fumbled with the keys, trying both unfamiliar ones before giving up in disgust. “This is pointless. We must have the wrong address.”
“Or the wrong keys.” Meinwen glanced at the building number. “This is number eight. Let me try.”
Jimmy gave her the keys but despite trying them all–even the key for Ashgate Road which she knew was wrong–she got no further than Jimmy. She rang the bell for flat one.
“Hello?”
“Oh, hello. My name is Meinwen Jones. We’re the new owners of flat five but we can’t seem to get in.”
“New owners? What happened to the lovely man who lived there before?”
“He died, I’m afraid. I have his brother with me.” She nudged Jimmy.
“Oh, hello.” He waved at the intercom. “James Fenstone, but if you’re good you can call me Jimmy.”
“Good? I’m bloody marvelous.” She laughed to herself for a moment. “The outer lock is an electronic gizmo. You have to wave your key fob at it.”
Meinwen tried and was rewarded by the click of the lock as it sprang open. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, dear.” The intercom went silent.
They pushed through to a spacious hallway and stairs sided with iron railings. There were two doors on this floor and the first opened as they entered, revealing magnolia painted walls and a sixties-style beveled-edge mirror on a chain. The lady that emerged was in her sixties with a shock of white hair like the cover of a Jackson Five album from the seventies.
“I just wanted to see the new neighbors.” They recognized the voice from the intercom. “Ellen Rogers, pleased to meet you.”
“Meinwen Jones. How do you do?” Meinwen shook her hand. “This is Jimmy Fenstone.”
“Well! Aren’t you the handsome one? Were the two of you twins?”
“No.” Jimmy gave her a puzzled look. “I’d never have said we were remotely similar.”
Ellen shook her head. “Well I never. You could be two peas in a pod, but for the tattoos.”
“Yeah.” Jimmy turned his collar up to cover his neck a bit more. “I got these on the coast.”
“Oh. In the navy were you?”
“Something like that.” Jimmy winked and lowered his voice to a sultry whisper. “I was doing work for Her Majesty, but if I told you what I’d have to kill you.”
“Oh, go on with you.” Ellen waved him away, laughing. “I’ll leave you to it. Give me a knock if there’s anything you need.”
“We’ll do that, thank you.” Jimmy winked at her again as she closed the door. He headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Meinwen scrambled to follow him, once more admiring the flex of his muscles beneath the tight cloth. Did he flirt with every woman he met? It certainly seemed like he had the charm of a fae prince. It didn’t bode well for a stable relationship with him. She bit her lip. “Live in the present, Meinwen,” as her mam used to say.
“Three and four.” Jimmy continued past the next floor to the third. “Five and six.”
Meinwen puffed up behind him and leaned against the iron banister, glad it wasn’t a whole block of flats. Number five was an unprepossessing security door with a half-moon fanlight. Across the hall, number six was half glazed, privacy maintained by a curtain, which twitched closed as Jimmy turned his head.
“Local neighborhood watch?”
Jimmy grinned, pulling out the bunch of keys to try in the lock. The first one he tried didn’t fit, but the second did. He pushed open the door.
Meinwen wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. Stone walls and ironwork, perhaps? A dungeon away from home decorated with chains and candelabra. What she hadn’t expected was a light, comfortable loft-style environment painted in white with drawings and watercolors hung in huge, natural wood frames.
“This is lovely.” She walked down the hall into a spacious, open plan living room on two floors. “Wow.”
Jimmy whistled. Above them was open-sided gallery room overlooking the living area and accessed by a spiral staircase. A pitched glass roof covered the whole area, allowing natural light to bathe the room. Floors were polished beech with fur rugs at the base of a leather suite. A large television dominated the wall above a gas fire, flanked by two tall bookcases with glass-fronted doors.
Meinwen reclined on the sofa and looked up at the sky. Even overcast with pendulous rainclouds it was magnificent. “Oh, Jimmy. I’m envious. What a fantastic place.”
“It’s a bit nicer than our old terrace, isn’t it?” He trotted up the staircase, his boots clanging against the metal treads. He reached the gallery and whistled again. “I’ve found the bedroom.”
“Really?” Meinwen tore herself away from sky gazing and followed him up the spiral, stopping to stare at the space it led to. The gallery led to an open-sided room under the true roof–the glass didn’t extend that far. Probably just as well, else the police helicopters would be spying on the nocturnal activities of the occupants.
Jimmy was lying on the king-size bed, on what was probably the largest piece of fur she’d ever seen. He sat up, wobbling slightly. “Water bed.” He grinned and patted the fur. “Covered in leather I think. You were right. John was a pervy little sod, just like you predicted.”
“Nothing wrong in that.” Meinwen stepped off the staircase, taking in the paneled walls
surrounding the area, the mirrored ceiling and the television screen which, while smaller than the one downstairs, nevertheless dominated the space “Even the Catholics spent a great deal of time purging themselves with whips and birch withies.”
“Good luck to them.” Jimmy looked around. “Where did he keep his clothes?”
“I’m not sure. There were a couple of doors in the hall. Perhaps one is a dressing room?”
“Nah. Kitchen and bathroom, I’d bet. I haven’t seen evidence of either yet.”
“Perhaps these panels conceal cupboards.” Meinwen crossed to the nearest wall and tugged at what looked like a doorknob. “Oh my.”
“What?” Jimmy rolled off the bed to see what she’d found. “Not sure I’ll be needing those.”
“It is a specialist market.” Meinwen lifted out one of several dozen whips in all shapes and varieties. The one she held looked like a riding crop with a horsetail on one end. She gave it an experimental flick. It swished through the air most delightfully, reminding her of desires that had brought her to Laverstone in the first place. She slipped out of her coat and held her left forearm out, palm up, twirling the whip to make the horsehair fall against her skin.
“What does it feel like?” Jimmy stood just behind her, placing one hand on her waist.
“Quite delicious, actually.” She paused, turning to face him. He moved his hand but she caught it, placing his palm against her skirt, folding his fingers under to the soft curve of her cunt. She was quite certain he could feel how wet she was, even through both skirt and knickers. Her clitoris hardened beneath the ball of his thumb. She increased the pressure, pressing his hand hard against her, her eyes closing and her breath quickening to little gasps.
He twisted the whip out of her hand, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. “You are a dirty little girl.”
She opened her eyes, rubbing herself against his hand. “If you say so.”
“Oh, I do.” He pulled his hand from her skirt, lifting it to his face to take in her scent. “What’s this called, anyway?”
“It’s a horsehair flogger.” She closed her hand over his. “Would you like to feel its kisses?”
“Not right now.” He stepped to one side and pushed her roughly to the balustrade, bending her over so that she was looking at the floor of the living room, fifteen feet below.
Meinwen felt her skirt hoisted over her back and her knickers, already sodden, pulled down to her boots. She lifted one leg to shake them off.
“No. Leave them around your ankles like the naughty little slut you are.”
She was glad he couldn’t see her blush, not only from the comment but from her complete misreading of him. She’d have sworn blind he was submissive but here he was, taking the lead like a natural. It was almost like he had experience. She raised her eyebrows. Perhaps he had. Ten years in prison was a long time without learning a few tricks.
A series of light taps peppered her bum cheeks. His hand. Nothing terribly expert but it had been a long time since someone had taken control of her like this. She clenched her buttocks as the slaps got harder, the heat radiating out into her cunt and she wished she could press her clit against the balustrade. She contented herself with tweaking her nipples, though the action was rendered almost useless by the thick support of her bra.
She was relieved when he switched to the horsehair. The bristle tails of the flogger lightly brushed her arse and brought almost a cooling breath of air with it. He switched directions. She was tempted to risk taking a peek, his technique was far better than she would have pegged a beginner’s ability, but her curiosity fled as he picked up speed and pressure. Within a minute her fingers were knuckle white against the iron balustrade and her arse felt red raw. “Shit!” Her voice was almost too high-pitched to be audible. “Stop! Stop! Stopstopstop!”
Jimmy pulled away as she released her orgasm, the fluids running down her leg and into her socks and boots. She was going to remember this until she got home.
He put a hand on her back, between her shoulder blades. “Was that any good, then?”
Chapter 8
Meinwen headed downstairs once she’d composed herself again. “I’m going to find the kitchen for a cup of tea.”
“Splendid. Milk and two for me.” Jimmy leaned over the banister but looked uncomfortable about giving her orders.
She paused at the bottom of the spiral and looked at him without speaking. Just how comfortable was he as a Top? Could she be satisfied with being one of a number of his lovers. She’d been prepared for such a scenario once, but Jimmy was inexperienced. He hadn’t the presence her previous dominant had. She took a deep breath, determined to shelve such thoughts until she knew him better. “Why don’t you go through the rest of the cupboards up there? We’re looking for evidence of anyone who might want to murder John and who his lover was. The girl at the estate agents was fairly certain he had a partner.”
“So I’m looking for gay stuff?”
She grinned. “If you like. What we need, though, is evidence he was probably murdered. We don’t have that at the moment. All we have is your suspicion. Proof of John being gay would only increase the police’s assumption of suicide, except they may well rule it accidental autoerotic asphyxiation, which would be a step in the right direction, at least.”
“Why?”
His face was in silhouette against the gray sky through the roof, forcing her to squint to make out his expression. “Suicide would invalidate his insurance policies. I doubt you could afford all this without it and you’d probably end up losing everything. Accidental death might be enough of a lever to get a payout.”
“I see.” Jimmy stood. “I’ll get cracking then. Files, paperwork and photographs.”
“And a computer. There must be one here somewhere unless it was taken away. If we can prove that it’ll open up the murder inquiry. There’s his phone, too. You’ve got that, haven’t you? His lover will be in there, I’ll bet.”
“I don’t think so. There wasn’t much on it at all when I switched it on. I had a quick look-through.”
“That’s a blow.” Meinwen bit her lip. “Have a look anyway. There’s bound to be something somewhere. There’s that little key you’ve got, too. That might belong to a safety-deposit box.” She took a deep breath. “Look, let me have a think over a cup of tea.”
“Okay.” Jimmy pointed toward the front door. “I bet the kitchen is back that way.”
“Yes, that’s what I supposed, too. There doesn’t seem to be one in here, unless all he ever ate was takeaway.”
“I would, if I was earning what he was.”
“But your brother was gay and I’ve never yet met a sophisticated gay man who didn’t know his cordon bleu.”
“If you say so.” Jimmy shook his head and disappeared from view.
Meinwen headed back down the hall, the area looking squalid and dark compared the elegance and space of the lounge. The kitchen was, as she’d guessed, the door to her left, which with any luck made the door on the right the bathroom.
She went inside and closed it, shooting home the deadbolt to give herself some privacy. The bathroom was spacious compared to the one in her little cottage. Shower cubicle, toilet, bidet and an enormous sunken bath with what looked like the controls to a spaceship next to it. Whirlpool, bubbles, jets. John Fenstone took his leisure time seriously. Surely even an estate agent couldn’t afford such luxury?
Meinwen closed the toilet lid, pulled a handful of tissue paper and sat. With a little privacy she could allow herself a few silent tears. Not that she was unhappy, particularly, but her orgasm, the first from bottoming since Master Robert had died, had been hard and strong. She’d surprised herself giving in to his unexpected dominance and it left her feeling vulnerable. She jammed a fist into her mouth and rocked with a course of silent sobs, tears spilling freely over her cheeks. If Jimmy wanted to be dominant, he had a lot to learn about aftercare. All she needed was a hug and a few words of encouragement and she’d be r
ight as rain.
She took several deep breaths and told herself to be strong, then wiped her eyes and flushed the wad of tissue down the toilet. She ran the water as hot as she could in the sink, washed her hands and face and used cold water to close the pores again. She could no nothing about the red rims of her eyes. She’d just have to avoid Jimmy for a few minutes until they returned to normal.
Across the hall the kitchen was as well appointed as the rest of the flat. Stainless steel work surfaces and splash panels, halogen hob and fan assisted ovens, a double-width fridge-freezer and an island preparation area separating the kitchen proper from a round table big enough for four.
Her gaze was drawn to the laptop on the beech surface, a midrange machine capable of everything but the very latest games. She switched it on, leaving it to boot up while she investigated the likelihood of being able to make tea.
The kettle on, Meinwen began opening cupboards until she’d found teabags and a big, round-bellied ceramic pot, surprised John hadn’t more of a selection of herbal teas and infusions. Black leaf tea would have to do and she chose Darjeeling over the heavier Assam. There was milk in the fridge, which she sniffed cautiously, then poured down the sink. They’d have to do without milk.
She checked the laptop, which was waiting for a password. It was unfortunate but not unexpected. She could take it to Harry tomorrow. The man was a virtual wizard with computers. He’d have it sorted in minutes, for a small sum or a favor owed. She left it to make the tea, hunting for sugar while it steeped in the pot and finding a small box of individual sachets stolen from cafés in the cereal cupboard. She approved of the boxes. All the breakfast cereals were wholegrain and healthy. Setting the pot, cups and a few sugars on a wooden tray, she carried it through to the living room where Jimmy was sorting though one of the glass-fronted bookcases.
“Tea? Magic.” Jimmy replaced the handful of films he’d been examining and sat on the edge of the leather sofa. “Shall I pour?”
“If you like. We’ll have to do without milk, though.” Meinwen looked at the open bookcase. “I didn’t know there was so much porn available to gay men.”