by Lynda Renham
I have no intention of seeing Sam Lockwood so there is no fear of him telling me anything.
‘Let’s enjoy dinner,’ he says.
The dinner is indeed delicious. In fact the best dinner I’ve ever had. Mind you, that’s not hard to do considering the most upmarket place Darren and I have been to is Jamie’s. Dessert is placed in front of me and I almost die from pleasure.
‘Are you pleased with my choice?’ he asks, his foot gently sliding up my calf. I nod. After all, I can’t possibly speak.
‘The Andoa Chocolate is superb. I want to watch your pleasure,’ he smiles.
I struggle to breathe as I take a spoonful and wash it down with wine to calm my pounding heart.
‘Will you share Miss Brown, just a spoonful?’
He takes my hand and guides the spoon to his mouth. If his hand wasn’t holding the spoon we’d have chocolate all over the show. He licks his lips seductively, his foot still rubbing my calf. I don’t think I can hold out much longer.
‘A good dessert, you agree?’
A good dessert is an understatement, more a mind-blowing orgasmic dessert. He stands up and walks around the table to me. I drop my spoon clumsily as he spins my chair around and leans down to kiss me. He looks into my eyes before his chocolate lips touch mine. His hand grasps the nape of my neck as his tongue explores my mouth. I savour his lips, wanting more while wondering why those magical feelings I’d been expecting aren’t bursting within me. I could be kissing Darren. Obviously I know I’m not, but it doesn’t feel any different. It’s pleasurable enough but surely there should be more? It’s Ark Morgan after all. Am I expecting too much?
‘Stay the night in Paris,’ he whispers, his hand sliding along my thigh.
‘I …’
‘I’ll show you luxury you’ve never dreamt of,’ he says, reaching for my lips again.
I can’t spend the night in Paris. I’ve got work in the morning and I need to get furniture for the new flat and if I’m honest Ark Morgan is not at all how I imagined him to be. I pull my lips from his.
‘I need to get back,’ I say quietly.
‘I can’t persuade you?’
His hand moves higher along my thigh. We’ll be doing it in the restaurant in a minute. It wouldn’t surprise me if the waiter opened another curtain into a bedroom. Nothing seems to be out of the reach of Ark Morgan.
‘I’m not ready,’ I say.
‘I always get what I want Miss Brown, one way or the other. You can’t escape me forever but if work is pulling you back I fully understand.’
He strokes my head, tops up our glasses and returns to his seat.
‘So, just what is that you do Miss Brown?’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Of course I didn’t tell Ark the whole truth but as I find it so hard to lie I simply said I’d prefer to be secretive about a few things until I get to know you better. He seemed to like that. He said it made me more alluring, although obviously not that alluring as it has been over a week since our romantic dinner in Paris and I’ve not even had a text from him.
My mum is panicking more than me and has shot more arrows my way than Cupid could ever have managed.
‘Do you remember Colin Markson? You had a crush on him when you were seventeen,’ she says excitedly down the phone. I don’t even remember being seventeen.
‘He’s divorced,’ she says. ‘Had a terrible time by all accounts, horrid woman tried to take him for every penny. He’s got a few apparently.’
‘Wives or pennies?’ I say sarcastically.
‘He’s just back from Thailand. He was working out there. His parents are having a little welcome home do. You must come. Tonight at seven.’
‘Oh that’s a shame,’ I say with relief. ‘I’m getting a takeaway with Felix and Sylvie.’
It’s a meeting of project That Night which I can’t possibly miss.
‘You’ll never get a husband if you don’t make some effort,’ she snaps. ‘That Ark Morgan isn’t going to get in touch is he? A man doesn’t take a week.’
She’s quite right. I’m sure if Ark was interested he would have been in touch by now. I park outside Sylvie’s terrace and make a determined effort to put Ark Morgan out of my mind.
‘We thought you weren’t coming,’ says Felix, opening the door. ‘Come on hurry up, we’re just about to start.’
‘The DNA guy is here,’ says Sylvie quietly. ‘He’s studying everything now.’
The doorbell rings and Felix whoops. ‘Pizza at last, we ordered without you love. But I got anchovies and garlic bread.’
I follow Sylvie into the lounge where a small, bald spectacled man is leaning over our bits of evidence. I still can’t believe Ark has a bald patch and wears glasses. Ark will be looking like this guy in a few years’ time, not that looks are that important or anything.
‘This is Milo, he’s a DNA expert. Has all the tools and stuff,’ says Sylvie.
‘Hello,’ I say, holding out my hand.
‘Not while I’m working,’ he says sharply. ‘It affects the results if you know what I mean?’
I don’t really.
‘Prosecco darling?’ asks Felix. ‘We thought we should celebrate your new flat and the fact that we’re closing in on the, you know who.’
‘What are we talking about?’ I ask.
‘One evening with Ark Morgan and she totally loses the plot,’ sighs Sylvie. ‘You know,’ she adds raising her eyebrows.
‘The murderer,’ whispers Felix.
‘How are you doing love?’ he asks Milo. ‘Can you stop for pizza? We’ve got hot Americano or a veggie one if you prefer, with anchovies. And lots of garlic bread if that’s your fancy.’
‘I’m a vegan,’ says Milo. ‘I don’t eat anything that’s died unnaturally.’
We look at each other.
‘Ah,’ mumbles Sylvie.
‘How about fish then?’ asks Felix.
‘They’re killed unnaturally aren’t they?’ says Milo, studying the piece of scarf. ‘The most tortured of all if you ask me.’
‘Right, couldn’t agree more,’ says Felix, turning to us and pulling a face.
‘I could remove the anchovies from the veggie one,’ suggests Sylvie.
‘They’ve got cheese on them though haven’t they?’ says Milo, looking at Felix over his glasses.
‘Oh,’ says Felix.
‘Did you know that the dairy industry causes the death of countless male calves that are of no use to the dairy farmer, as well as the premature death of cows slaughtered when their milk production decreases?’
I look at the pizza and feel nauseous.
‘That’s terrible,’ says Sylvie.
‘Horrendous,’ says Felix, biting into a slice of Americano. ‘How about some garlic bread then? I don’t think anyone murdered the garlic.’
Sylvie and I look at each other and take a gulp of Prosecco.
‘Right,’ says Milo, removing his spectacles. ‘I’ll have some bubbly now.’
‘Okay,’ says Felix, munching a piece of garlic bread. ‘Obviously not worried about the grapes being crushed to their untimely death,’ he mumbles.
‘So, the Starbucks loyalty card and the scarf remnant belong to the same person. The fingerprints on the Starbucks card also match those on the estate agent’s letter and one of the glasses. The strand of hair found also has the same DNA as the scarf.’
‘He was at the party,’ shrieks Sylvie.
I shudder.
‘However, the DNA on the oil-based pigment doesn’t match that person. The fingerprints on the other glass are also on the estate agent’s letter.’
‘Oh my God, do you think that was the paper I saw, you know, him, holding before he was, you know’, I ask.
We stare in silence at the estate agent’s letter.
‘Right, I’ll have a slice of garlic bread and I’ll be off,’ says Milo.
‘Are you sure we can’t pay you something?’ asks Sylvie. ‘We can afford it.’
&nbs
p; She means I can afford it.
‘I’m grateful for the experience. Thanks for the bubbly.’
We wait until the door has closed behind him.
‘I can’t believe it, we’re homing in on the killer, and I’ve got this,’ she waves a piece of paper.
I stare wide-eyed at the guest list for Ark Morgan’s party.
‘How did you get that?’ I ask, taking a slice of pizza and forcing Milo’s words to the back of my mind.
‘She’s a real trooper,’ says Felix. ‘She sacrificed her body.’
I gasp.
‘My God, you didn’t? Who with?’
‘Mitchell Wilson, one of the chefs at the Crescent, and I wouldn’t call a kiss sacrificing my body.’
‘Right, let’s cross all the women off this list,’ says Felix, ‘and move even closer to the murderer. He has brown hair, so we can cross off the blonde, dark, ginger and grey-haired men. That should narrow it down a bit.’
We top up our glasses and work through the list.
‘Mervyn Robshaw,’ says Felix.
I punch the name into Google.
‘Sixty-five and head of the Rotary club,’ I say. ‘Has a beard. I think I would have seen that.’
Sylvie scratches him off the list.
‘Mark Bellingham?’
‘He was jet skiing at the time of the murder,’ says Sylvie.
We both stare at her, our glasses hovering at our lips.
‘It was in that Tycoon magazine. Am I the only one that reads it?’
‘I prefer The Gay Times love,’ says Felix.
‘Sebastian Lucas-Rynall?’
‘Seventy, and looks about ninety. On Viagra apparently,’ says Sylvie.
‘That was in the Tycoon news?’ I say aghast.
I really should start reading it.
‘Of course not, you silly cow. It’s common knowledge, everyone at work knows about him. He has all these women at the Manor where he has the penthouse suite. Keep him on the list. He could have a motive, a blow up with a jealous husband perhaps?’ says Sylvie.
‘Christ, how the other half live,’ says Felix, pouring the last of the Prosecco into our glasses.
‘Isn’t he a bit old?’ I say.
‘Let’s face it Rox, you can’t really be sure how old the guy was that you saw?’
‘Well, I think I would have noticed if he looked ninety …’
‘He dyes his hair,’ Sylvie interrupts.
‘I think Sylv is right. We should leave him on the list,’ says Felix.
An hour later we have six suspects.
‘Eight if you count Sam Lockwood and Ark Morgan,’ says Felix.
‘I don’t think Ark Morgan would be seen dead in Clapham,’ says Sylvie.
‘Besides, he has an alibi,’ I say. ‘I saw him at the Fun Palace in the House of Mirrors …’
‘You never told me that,’ exclaims Sylvie.
I shrug.
‘Anyway his bodyguards came to tell him his plane was ready so he clearly flew somewhere that night.’
‘All the same, he should stay on the list of suspects,’ says Felix.
‘Eight suspects then. So, now we have to chase them up,’ says Felix. ‘Sylvie you can have Nigel Forrest, the actor, and Roxie can have Sebastian Lucas-Rynall. I’ll take the psychiatrist Gordon Walker. We’ll meet back here on Friday, compare notes and then look into the others. Everyone agreed?’
We nod.
‘Great,’ says Felix ‘So we’re looking for a confident, successful risk taker, male, who likes a challenge and enjoys danger. He wears a Where’s Wally scarf and goes to Starbucks a lot. He’s also somehow connected to Rommel Mansions and knows Ark Morgan.’
‘We’ll nail him,’ says Sylvie and we all clink glasses.
Chapter Thirty-Five
‘Oh,’ I gasp.
Sebastian Lucas-Rynall is half undressed. Well actually, I wouldn’t even say half, he’s almost naked. He is wearing purple satin underpants and a bow tie. He’s holding a golf club in one hand and stands in front of his enormous desk looking like a proud peacock.
‘Hello my dear,’ he says appraising me.
I avert my eyes.
‘It’s a photoshoot,’ he says, leering at me.
‘Oh,’ I say turning to the photographer who is crouching behind lamps and studio equipment.
‘You’re rather in the way,’ says the photographer.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say trying to find a place to go where I would be spared Sebastian Lucas-Rynall’s nakedness.
‘I’m the new face of Harrison’s golf range,’ says Sebastian Lucas-Rynall proudly. ‘Do you want me to swing it?’ he asks the photographer.
God, just what is he going to swing?
‘Just lift it slightly,’ says the photographer.
I really can’t look.
‘Something to drink?’ asks Sebastian. ‘We’ve got everything.’
‘Just water,’ I say.
‘Water?’ he bellows. ‘Good God woman, that’s not a drink.’
‘Marlene,’ he barks, ‘Drinks.’
A petite blonde woman rushes in with a trolley, her face flushed.
‘Three martinis,’ he barks.
‘Not for me, I’m …’ begins the photographer.
‘Damn it man, you’ll have a drink.’
I accept the martini and Marlene drops in a cherry. Sebastian gestures for me to come closer.
‘We’ll do a few more with the club held up,’ says the photographer.
‘What do you think?’ asks Sebastian, pointing to his chest. ‘Pretty good shape huh, and it hasn’t come easily.’
I imagine a lot of plastic surgery has helped.
‘Exercise, that’s the key. I’ve got the stamina of a thirty year old,’ he adds with a wink.
‘That’s it,’ says the photographer, relief evident in his voice. ‘Thank you so much. We’ll send you the proofs.’
‘It will be front page of course,’ says Sebastian.
The photographer opens his mouth.
‘It’s not debatable,’ snaps Sebastian.
The photographer makes his retreat and I’m left alone with a half-naked Sebastian Lucas-Rynall. He flexes his muscles and smiles at me.
‘Impressed?’ he asks.
Repulsed more like.
‘Aren’t you hot in all those clothes?’ he asks, his eyes turning sultry.
Is that a bulge in those purple satin underpants? Holy shit.
‘Tell me, why are you here again Miss …?
‘Brown,’ I say. He sips his martini and lights a thick cigar before reclining on a chaise longue. He pats the seat beside him.
‘The charity Moonbeams and Stardust,’ I say, feeling more like Angelina Jolie by the minute.
‘Moonbeams and Stardust,’ he repeats, patting the seat again.
I reluctantly move a little closer and stop at the window.
‘Ooh, what a lovely view,’ I say.
‘All the women say that. I assure you you’re not the first.’
I turn back and almost faint on the spot. He’s removed his purple satin underpants.
‘Oh my …’ I say breathlessly.
This is gross. He clicks a remote by his side and I hear the door lock. I’m five flights up so climbing out of the window isn’t an option.
‘Tell me, how much would you like for Moondust and Starbeams?’
Right now a pass out of here would be good.
‘Moonbeams and Stardust,’ I correct and straighten my shoulders.
‘We’re rather disappointed you didn’t attend our function on the 30th May. We had every reason to expect you. Of course we understand if you had something more important on that night but as we’re just about to publish our monthly newsletter it would be excellent to have a quote from you. We had a lot of disappointed patrons.’ I struggle to fight back the tremble in my voice.
‘Function, what function?’ He jumps up and I step back. I really don’t want to get walloped by his Viagra ind
uced swelling.
He flicks through a big black book on his desk.
‘I’ve got nothing in here about Starbeams and Moondust,’ he says firmly.
‘Moonbeams and Stardust,’ I correct.
‘That neither. I was rather busy that night.’
I try to picture Sebastian wearing a Where’s Wally scarf and it somehow doesn’t work.
‘I see. Its rather disappointing that you were too busy to help disadvantaged children,’ I say, holding my head high so I don’t have to look at his meat and two veg. ‘I shall report back to our patrons and assure them that you would have been there had you not been busy elsewhere.’
I turn to leave and gasp as his hands grope my breasts from behind. I struggle to keep my balance.
‘I was at an exclusive sex club Miss Brown. I think you’d like it there. What do you prefer, to dominate or be dominated? Don’t tell me, you like to dominate don’t you?’
I pull myself away and lean across for the remote. This is like a bad dream.
‘You’re a naughty boy Sebastian,’ I say teasingly. I so hope there isn’t CCTV in here.
‘Oh yes, I am, I really am,’ he says excitedly.
‘You’ve let me down haven’t you?’
‘Yes Miss Brown, I have. Am I to be punished?’
‘Are you telling me the truth about the 30th?’
‘Yes yes, I can prove it.’
‘I’m very disappointed,’ I say.
He grabs a bottle from the table and swallows a blue pill. Good God, the man is sex mad.
‘I need to get something with which to punish you. Open the door Sebastian and then bend over that chaise longue until I get back.’
He grabs the remote and there is a click. I dive out into the foyer where Marlene is sitting at her desk.
‘Mr Lucas-Rynall needs you,’ I say. ‘He’s got his dick stuck in the chaise longue,’ I call as I exit through the office revolving door.
Chapter Thirty-Six
At least we can cross Sebastian whatsisface off the suspect list. I make my way to Portobello Market. Felix said I would be able to get some great furniture there for a good price. I’m about to ask about a beautiful dresser when, from the corner of my eye, I see him. I gasp in disbelief. One minute he’s in Clapham and the next Chelsea, he moves faster than Superman. I feel a fluttering in my stomach when I remember he is one of the murder suspects. Supposing he is the murderer and he saw me that night? That would explain why he would be following me. I duck behind the statue of a female Zulu warrior. She’s so huge that you don’t have to be Ronnie Corbett to disappear behind her. My nose touches her breast as I peek to see Sam Lockwood. He is browsing through some antique books. He’s wearing shorts and a light blue shirt. God, he’s got hairy legs. I didn’t notice that at the Fun Palace although I was reeling from the House of Mirrors at the time. He’s got hairs everywhere. His veins must be so full of testosterone I’m surprised he hasn’t got a permanent erection. He turns and I duck, hitting my nose on the warrior’s nipple. He wanders to the other side of the shop and browses through some old vinyl LPs. I consider making a dive for the door.