“Pity.” The smile softened. “I’ll be going myself and yes, you’ll be very welcome. There are beach parties and gatherings all over, but the main one is on the second day. The DJP leaders will be arriving and staying over three nights. If you walk round the bay away from the main tavernas in Lakka, you’ll find a Ladies’ bar called Nicola. It’s set back in the olive grove. We’ve made a little office there. Make yourself known, mention my name and you’ll get an invite to just anything you want, your girlfriend too.”
So easy, Victoria thought, then felt Sammy’s hands caress her backside. It was a price worth paying. She gave her best, pretty girl smile. “Thanks a lot. See you there.” She felt the hand pat gently.
“Rest assured of it.”
Cheeky cow, Victoria thought but kept her smile. Apart from Wendy, this was her first encounter with the closed world of lesbianism. She made to step aside but Judith Holmes was now walking her way, shaking hands with people as she came towards the door. Victoria stood her ground, allowed the hand to linger a moment longer, then eased amongst the bright young things who formed a line of protection.
“Thank you so much for your help.” Judith shook each offered hand. “Hope to see you all in Paxos.” The MP’s smile came and went with the regularity of an automated traffic light but up close, Victoria was surprised to find no light in the woman’s eyes, no animation or warmth in her expression. Face to face Judith Holmes appeared hollow, as if she had been drained and programmed for auto-response. Behind, two of the large ladies kept edging her forward, then she was gone. Eleanor Baxter came next, smiling first at Victoria then at Sammy.
Victoria tagged onto the tail end of the entourage and watched both women climb into the same car, Baxter aiding Judith Holmes. Maybe she was sick or just plain tired, Victoria thought. Or maybe she was not quite her own person. Who was the principal influence here, Baxter or Holmes? Had those behind stage-managed the MP?
She watched Sammy stride down the steps with one of the bright young things. They walked side by side along the pavement and then held hands. Victoria checked her watch. Just time to buy sun cream before she met Wendy.
Returning to the West End, the same sense of unease tingled her skin as when she had approached Alice Sibree’s flat. Someone followed. Or was she just being paranoid again? She was MI5 and in the open. Under the circumstances the best thing she could do was stay in the open and enhance the image she had portrayed. She needed their trust.
As she moved from shop to shop between Regent and Oxford Streets she bought sun protection cream, mosquito repellent and a little pink bikini she just couldn’t resist. To match it she also found a pair of pink shorts and a sarong. She resisted the temptation to buy a pink raffia beach bag. All the time she checked people around her, often walking in a loop on the pretence of indecision over her purchases. In this manner she caught sight of the blonde girl several clothes racks behind. She could have been one of the bright young things. All of them looked like Sloane clones. She might also have been an innocent shopper unable to make up her mind. Victoria used this as an excuse to return for the raffia bag. The blonde followed always staying a few racks behind.
If the DJP put out tails they were more than a straight political party. The hollowness of Judith Holmes began to take on more sinister implications. Who ordered this and why were they scared of an MI5 operative? Scared enough to put a tail on her? Was this a first encounter with the Black Rose Mafia?
Victoria returned to the street where the rush hour started to peak, the underground system compressing its passengers. In such a dense crowd she could easily have shaken the girl but that might have raised the DJP’s suspicions. If on the other hand she led her to Belsize Park the flat would be compromised. The alternative was to front the girl. It would also provide an opportunity to establish herself as ‘citizen lesbian’ with nothing to hide.
Amongst the milling crowd shuffling through Oxford Street tube station, she bought a ticket from a machine, then lingered by the barrier till the blonde caught up. The girl was competent but not good, not seriously trained to MI5 standards.
Victoria stood on the downward escalator, conscious the girl stood ten feet behind. On the platform she deliberately hung back from the first train, so enabling her to judge exactly where the carriage would stop and take up position for the next. She entered it by the double doors and immediately turned left, shuffling along the aisle on the pretext of seeking space. The blonde had entered by an end door and clung to a pole, turning her back as Victoria eased towards her. Clasping the same pole above the girl’s hand, Victoria waited for the train to start then deliberately nudged into the girl’s back, obliging her to turn sideways from the crush of people in front. As a means of escape the girl stared doggedly at her reflection in the dark window. Pressed amongst the other passengers they stood arm to arm, their bodies bumping as the carriage swayed. The girl felt solid and muscular. Victoria could smell her perfume, vanilla musk. She wore minimal makeup and her clothes though classical, were not quite with the right flare. Victoria watched the minute movement of her jaw as it flexed in nervous agitation over their immediate proximity to each other. She looked maybe in her late twenties, not a professional but certainly with some training. Maybe army. She would soon find out.
“Hallo,” Victoria said suddenly with exaggerated surprise. “What a coincidence. I’ve just realised, weren’t you at the Judith Holmes lecture? I recognise you.”
For a second the blonde remained staring out of the window, nibbling her lower lip as her cheeks turned crimson.
“Would you believe it?” she said turning. “Sure, you asked a question.” Her voice was not British but a mix of Irish and New York. Probably an immigrant of long standing.
“What did you think of Eleanor Baxter, isn’t she right?” Victoria asked, watching the girl relax a little.
“She has my vote.” The girl smiled. “We got to hit ‘em, hit ‘em fast and hard. Like the Marines. We did that all right,” the girl raised her clenched fist.
“You’re ex-services? Marines?”
The girl swallowed. “That’s classified, ma’am.”
Victoria had her measure then. Ex-US army. One of Eleanor Baxter’s minders, not a trained surveillance officer, but probably capable. She looked too young to have served full time so must have suffered a discharge for some reason. Victoria slid her hand down the pole allowing the bottom of her coiled fist to rest on top of the girl’s. The response drew the girl to press her hip against her own. A sure give away for why she had been discharged from the army.
“I’m Victoria.” She offered her hand.
“Jennifer,” the girl responded then lapsed into silence.
They moved through a station, people shuffling past as they pushed in and out of the carriage.
“You going to Paxos for the meeting?” Victoria asked.
“Yeah, tomorrow. I’m going to help, you know, carry things and such. It’s my job. I might even get a ride on the yacht.”
“Why did they pick Paxos?”
Jennifer shrugged. “Miss Manning’s suggestion, international, you know. They’re meeting guys, they all got big fancy yachts and I’m told Lakka Harbour is real nice for it.”
“I’m going too. Maybe we’ll see each other.”
“I sure hope so.” The girl smiled. “But there’ll be a lot of us, nearly a thousand I’m told. You going far?” she asked as the train stopped and the doors opened.
“Hampstead, to meet someone.”
“Me too.” The girl jogged against her as the train started moving.
“Judith Holmes didn’t look so well,” Victoria said.
“She always looks that way, kind of spaced out. She works too hard, but she’s sharp.”
“Who looks after her?
Again the girl shrugged. “They’re all Brits.”
The drain drew into Belsize Park station and the doors opened.
“Shit,” Victoria said and glanced at her watch. “I just remembered my dry-cle
aning, I left it here this morning. I’ll catch you up in Paxos.” She pushed away, then slipped with others out the door.
The blonde stood with her mouth slightly open, her pearly teeth visible as the train pulled out. Victoria waved. Amateur, she thought, and walked along the platform. At the exit she stopped and checked just in case a second tail followed.
Wendy had already perched herself on a bar stool, a canvas grip beneath the toe of one high-heeled boot, a glass of white wine held aloft in a relaxed pose. She was dressed in a trouser suit that accentuated her slender hips and balcony support bra. Her hair cut short and spiky, her legs were long, her nose small. She expressed the confidence of knowing men looked and wanted but she didn’t want them.
When Victoria entered the pub she saw Wendy’s standoff expression change to a warm smile as she eased down from her stool to exchange a brief kiss.
“Sorry I’m late.” Victoria lifted her shopping bags. “I got delayed by indecision.”
“A woman’s prerogative. Shall I buy you a wine?” Wendy asked and pointed to the barman who instantly chose her before other customers.
In the clamouring noise of after work drinkers, they found a small corner table. Wendy put her canvas bag down and stroked the back of Victoria’s hand.
“OK poppet, so tell me your needs.”
“Advice,” Victoria said, and bit gently on her lip. “I think I’m turning lesbian.”
“Oh sweetie, congratulations. You’re heading for a wonderful life. Who’s the lucky girl?”
“Well, no one yet,” Victoria shrugged. “But I’m facing situations where I’m finding the whole idea very attractive.”
Again Wendy stroked the back of Victoria’s hand but now she was frowning. “How many lovers have you had?”
“Just you. All other lovers have been men.”
“Oh dear, you’re so innocent. I’m touched but you’re not lesbian, sweetie, least not yet. We slept together twice, once when we were nineteen and once two years ago. The first time is experimental, to satisfy curiosity. The second time is pure indulgence. You’re not lesbian my sweet, you’re occasionally bi, and the only difference between two straight women and two bi women is a bottle of wine and a cosy place.
“You mean I’m not gay?”
Wendy shook her head and lightly clasped Victoria’s fingers. “No, but you are so sweet and innocent. Lesbians have relationships and love. It’s a whole state of mind and body. What we experienced was Sapphic sex, that’s a state of pleasure, there is an immense difference.”
To her amazement Victoria sensed relief. “I do like men. I had a guy and I think I still love him. Do you have boyfriends?” She sipped her wine.
“Sure, a good bonk is OK but I prefer real sex, that deep down velvet touch of tongue and finger which simply goes on and on and on. And you only get that with another woman. You’re occasional bi-sexual, sweetie, many women are. As much in desperation as inclination. Here’s to Sapphic sex.” She raised her glass. “Woman on woman.”
“To Sapphic sex.” Victoria toasted back and drank. “OK, but more questions. Tomorrow night I’m off to Greece where some of the women will be real lesbians. How do I behave?”
Again Wendy shook her head. “No different from any other place. Throw it about and you’ll have plenty of takers. Stay your demur self and you’ll sleep alone.”
“I’m going with a partner. She’s gay in the full sense but we’re not really together. Thing is, I don’t want attention from anyone else.”
“Listen to Auntie Wendy. Lesbian couples respect each other just as other couples do. There are always women who go after other women’s husbands and men who go after other men’s wives. The same in the gay community but mostly they respect.”
“That’s a relief.” Victoria drank from her wine glass. “I imagined them all rampant and throwing their thongs in a circle.”
“It happens, if you’re that way inclined. My advice is, first make love with the girl you’re taking, then afterwards your behaviour together will appear natural, then you’ll be left alone.”
“One last thing. What is the order of things, I mean, who’s dominant?”
Wendy pursed her lips. “Well, that’s another little area you might like to explore. I’m dominant, it’s my nature and my girlfriend likes it. Some femmes are submissive but with most women, sex is shared, unless it’s agreed otherwise. That’s the glory of it. I would say you’re strictly femme, it’s what I love about you.”
“Well,” Victoria sighed. “Now I know my place in life from both sides of the divide. Another drink?”
“I’d rather you gave an opinion on my new lingerie.”
Victoria considered for a moment. A safe house should never be compromised but then the others would never know. And they would be out of the place by tomorrow evening. Even if there was a second tail, which she doubted, their report would only confirm her lesbianism. It was almost a duty.
“I have some wine at home.” She smiled.
Across the pub a small, young blonde girl spoke into a mobile.
“She’s leaving now with a girlfriend, who could be kind of butch. I’m following. I’m out in the street and yes, they’re holding hands. A quick kiss. I’d say for certain she’s one of us.”
“Stay with her till she goes inside,” Eleanor Baxter spoke back. “If we can trust this girl she’ll be useful. In Paxos we’ll slip her information and test her reliability. But if she’s some infiltrator for MI5, then I’ll need to make arrangements with your boss.”
CHAPTER 12
Sean arrived at Belsize Park just after 8.30pm and parked the car before heading for the Nelson pub. Two pints later he bought a takeaway curry, king prawn madras and pilau rice with nan bread. The off-licence provided a six-pack of beer and a bottle of good Rioja in case Victoria and Denise would be tempted. With no cat to nag him for food the prospect of a bachelor evening with two women held promise, particularly if Denise went to bed or Victoria was home alone. That would be even better. She was the one woman he never tired of seducing. He sighed and pushed his key into the lock, turned the latch and pressed against two dead bolts.
Shit, no chance of catching them in bra and knickers. He rang the bell and waited. She must have been in the shower the time it took before the bolts slid back. Victoria opened the door, her face was flushed and her hair loose.
“You’re not supposed to be here ‘til tomorrow. Why didn’t you phone?”
Sean looked over her shoulder to the girl who appeared behind, her arms shrugging into the jacket of a trouser suit. No bra.
“Do I get an introduction?” Sean asked.
“This is Wendy, she’s just leaving.”
“Pity.”
Victoria gave her friend a brief smile. “I’ll be in touch.”
Wendy stroked her arm and leant to kiss Victoria’s cheek, inadvertently showing the open zip of her trousers. Sean considered telling her but thought better of it.
“Bye, Wendy.” He stepped past them and walked to the kitchen. Behind him he heard an exchange of whispers and the door closed. He shook his head. Women were certainly queer cattle, always so goddamn secretive.
“Victoria,” he said over his shoulder. “The first rule of a safe house is that it’s never compromised by friends.”
“She’s helping me with research.”
“It’s okay if I bring Bella?”
“No. Wendy’s visit was strictly business.”
Sean looked at the wine glasses and empty bottle. “Like some more wine or would you prefer beer?”
Her lips compressed and she looked away.
“S’okay,” he said. “Being in MI5 doesn’t mean you can’t chill out. I’ve heard even the Wicked Witch takes an occasional drink.” He popped a can of beer and began to sort the contents of his curry.
Victoria drew breath and folded arms, as if conscious of her breasts. Only then did he realise she also wore no bra. Maybe she had been in the shower; maybe both of them had. He b
egan to speculate. Victoria? All things were possible.
“Where’s Denise?” he asked, while sitting up at the kitchen counter.
“She’s away for the night trying to establish contacts for Paxos. Don’t worry about the house, it’s already compromised. I may have been followed here by DJP supporters, although I don’t believe I gave any reason for them to stay and watch. Wendy helped me normalise the situation. It was lucky we met.” She stared at him, her arms still folded.
“So, when we come back from Paxos do we get another hideout? The three of us?” He tore off Nan bread and popped it into his mouth, wondering why she had such a guilty expression.
“Probably, just the two of us.”
“Cosy.”
“Not like you imagine. I’m beginning to share Alice Sibree’s concerns, The DJP are not the innocents they seem. They have a group of American minders controlled by Eleanor Baxter.” As if distracted by her own train of thoughts she dropped her arms to hold the counter behind. “The Black Rose Mafia may not be so improbable as it seems. In the overall picture, certain factors are beginning to connect which makes the situation both believable and dangerous. I think we should look at this as the Black Rose Conspiracy.”
Sean let his eyes follow their natural inclination. “From my first interviews I believe the husbands of Lisa Norton and Margo Portland may have been murdered,” he said. “Both were possibly connected through a sex club. Laura Manning had definite Mafia connections through her ex-husband. Now that husband is reputedly dead, drowned. Proving foul play is almost impossible. But when she was with him, twenty billion dollars disappeared from his bank, maybe she is innocent, maybe she’s not. But with four dead husbands, the Black Rose Conspiracy is beginning to look feasible. Tell me, these girl minders, were any short or small enough to masquerade as schoolgirls?”
“Yes,” Victoria nodded.
“After my trip tomorrow, it could be we are looking at carefully crafted murders. You know you look real sexy without a bra.”
Victoria instantly crossed her arms, spreading her fingers. “Sod you, Sean, I’ve already cried enough. Go back to Bella.” She turned and left the room.
The Black Rose Conspiracy Page 8