Misspent Youth

21. HOME NOT QUITE ALONE

AFTER MONTHS ON THE WORKBENCH, and several tests to fine-tune the engine, the Jet Ski was finally ready for its first outing. Transport was a problem. Colin and Martin and Simon had been the main helpers, and of course they had their girlfriends they wanted to bring along; and there were others in the crew like Philip and Sophie who couldn’t really be left out. Then there was the Jet Ski itself, which was an awkward size. Simon’s uncle’s long-base Land Rover could just fit it in, but that didn’t leave any room in the back for people. It was going to be quite a motley convoy of vehicles heading for Tallington Lakes.

Tim was glad when Annabelle turned up early at the manor on the Saturday morning. He was in the kind of subdued, sulky mood that only she could cure.

“How are you coping?” she asked.

“Okay.”

“Really?”

Tim was twisted up by two conflicting urges. He badly wanted to look at her today of all days, because she was wearing a very narrow black T-shirt that had YES! AND THEY’RE FULL OF BEER, TOO printed over her breasts, the sight of which made him feel incredibly randy. Yet there was an instinctive impulse to hold back and avoid talking to her about how he felt because of the turmoil in his mind. He just couldn’t understand what was going on with his father.

At least three news stream gossip reports had shown the video of Martina Lewis coming out of the Knightsbridge flat at half past seven in the morning, still wearing her purple evening gown. It wasn’t a very clear image; somebody had copied it from one of the street’s security cameras. But it did show his father in a bathrobe, standing on the doorstep to kiss her good-bye before she hopped into a taxi. All the reports had given the hyperlink for Ms. Lewis’s life site, where she had added the latest paragraph about how much fun Jeff Baker was, and how the rejuvenation team had done such a good job, in every department.

Life at the manor had been pretty much unbearable after that.

“Not bad, I suppose,” he said with a shrug.

“Have they been arguing? I remember my parents arguing a lot when Mum got her job in Brussels.”

“A bit. Not arguing. Just cold with each other. Mum was furious, I mean so much angry.” He’d never actually seen her so livid before. It was sort of scary, especially when the rest of the Rutland nonworking mothers club rallied round. They’d held several late-night vodka sessions in the living room, discussing the merits of men. Tim had overheard just part of one conversation and slunk on up to bed praying they hadn’t seen him.

“Well, that’s hardly surprising,” Annabelle said. “He is her husband, and he got caught red-handed.”

“Yeah,” Tim said meekly. He really didn’t want to go into his parents’ private lives, at least not what had gone on before with his mother and everything, or rather everyone. He found it hard to see why she was so bothered about Dad having an affair. The publicity, yes, but the actual act…“I don’t know why he did it, though. He and Mum had been getting on really well since his treatment. I mean so much well.”

“Ah,” Annabelle said wisely. “Well, that Martina looked quite fit, and your dad was away from home.”

“For one night. And Mum’s a lot better looking than she is.”

“Way of the world, Tim.”

“It might be, but it’s pretty shitty.”

“Your dad’s a celebrity, probably the most famous person in Europe after Lacey and Sir Mitch. Certain kinds of women are bound to fling themselves at him. Would you have said no to Martina if she’d asked to go to bed with you, if she’d pleaded?”

This time he looked straight at her. “Right now, yes. I don’t want to go to bed with her, or anyone else. Just you.”

“Ah,” Annabelle murmured. There was a long moment as they just stared at each other. Then she kissed him, which turned into quite a passionate embrace.

“I so much want to go to bed with you,” Tim moaned as if he was in pain.

“I know.”

“Why can’t we? I love you. I so much do.”

“You’re so sweet.” Her tongue delved down into his throat. She could feel his hands sliding up her stomach. His desperation was actually quite a turn-on. Being desired and adored so un-questioningly was immensely satisfying. “Wait.” She leaned back from him, nearly laughing at the anguish on his face at the separation. “Watch this,” she teased. Her hands went up inside her T-shirt, moving around to the clip on her bra strap. Then, shrugging out of the shoulder straps, she pulled the bra out.

Tim’s delight at seeing her breasts pushing against the T-shirt’s thin cotton was slightly checked by his amazement at the Houdini bra trick. “How did you do that?”

“Haven’t you ever seen it before?”

“Er, no.”

She moved back up to him, and brushed her lips against his. “You’ve been going out with the right kind of girls.”

“You mean, the wrong kind.”

“No. I’m the wrong type.” Grinning dangerously, she pulled the T-shirt up. For a moment she thought Tim was going to faint.

“God, Annabelle,” he whispered. “You are so sensational. I mean, they are fantastic.”

Annabelle giggled, and took hold of his hands, bringing them up so he could cup her breasts. His fingers closed around her stiff nipples.

“Hey, they don’t come off, you know,” she said.

“Sorry.” Not that he let go, just eased off slightly. His deliriously happy expression never wavered.

“Lick them,” she growled. “I like that.”

Tim’s tongue slid out as he obediently lowered his head. She let out a little moan of pleasure at the shock of his hot wet tip touching her sensitive areola. He moved from one to the other. Her hand reached for his belt. She was getting so hot she probably would have sex with him this time, even though she was sure he wouldn’t match up to Derek.

They both heard someone pounding along the landing outside.

“Tim!” Martin yelled. “We’re here.”

“Fuck!” Tim snarled.

Annabelle quickly pulled her T-shirt back down.

Martin barged in, a wide, happy smile on his face. “I’ve got the Land Rover parked outside, I’m sure there’s enough room for…” Which was what everyone wanted. So he wasn’t expecting Tim to be staring at him like a pre10 slasher film psycho whose next victim has just arrived. “You okay?”

Tim shivered as if he’d been caught in a blast of icy air. “Sure. Just so much copacetic right now, thanks.”

“What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Annabelle said. She ignored the way Martin’s eyes bugged as he looked at her chest. “Is everything ready?”

Martin nodded enthusiastically. “Er, yeah. Colin’s downstairs; Simon’s borrowed an e-trike, he’s taking Rachel; and Vanessa and Sophie are going to catch the bus out there. They’re bringing the food.”

“Great,” Tim grumbled.

“Let’s go then.”

Tim gave Annabelle a long, woeful look, then picked up his bag. “All right, we’ll get loaded up.”

“See you there,” Annabelle said. “I’ll just use the bathroom first.”

Tim slouched out of the room, looking even more unhappy than when she’d arrived. Martin gave her a curious glance as he followed Tim out.

Annabelle sighed, and sat on the bed. She really would have shagged him, too. It had been the perfect moment, wild and spontaneous. With Tim in that frenzied state, the sex would have been quite something. Her smile slowly returned as she thought about how she could have driven him crazy in bed. It would have put her completely in control.

She’d learned a lot about sex from Derek over the last few weeks. Every Sunday morning since the party she’d received a txt from him, summoning her to Nottingham. She told her father she was out with friends, and those same friends she was visiting family; then caught the ten-thirty bus, arriving there for midday. His digs were in a converted office block near the center of the city, overlooking the canal. Two rooms with old, cheap furniture, a grotty carpet, bad lighting, and dirty wash he stockpiled to take home to his mum on his monthly visit. The bed was narrow with a thin mattress, underneath a window that had a towel for a curtain. He did change the bedclothes before she arrived each time.

Annabelle stayed for three hours every Sunday. That way she could catch the four-twenty-five bus home. If she missed it she’d have to wait until the next one at seven-ten. She’d stayed longer once, thinking they would spend the extra hours having more sex, or going out for a meal, talking happily. It didn’t happen. Even a fit twenty-year-old had physical limits. And they had nothing in common to make conversation about. Derek had laughed at her for the way she admired Stephanie Romane, though like all boys he respected Sir Mitch. They didn’t go out because his friends might see them.

Annabelle knew she was just sport sex to him, his Sunday afternoon workout. She didn’t mind that; what they did to each other physically was really good, and quite excitingly dirty. It was only during those long empty bus rides home she would feel the doubt and guilt rising. What she was doing was shabby and disgraceful, but it was completely secret. Safe. So when the next Sunday came around and he sent his txt she’d get back on that bus again.

ANNABELLE CAME DOWN the manor’s stairs in time to see the long-base Land Rover driving away. A couple of the Europol team were sitting in the little lounge they’d taken over, talking quietly. She waved casually to Krober as she went past.

Jeff walked out of his study, carrying an empty tea mug. He just managed to stop his jaw from hitting the floor at the sight of her. “Oh, hi,” he mumbled. It was like encountering a vision, he thought, except this wasn’t quite the classical image of the Virgin Mary. Annabelle was wearing a gloriously tight top that exposed a feast of flat midriff. Her denim skirt didn’t make it halfway to her knees, while her feet were engulfed by absurdly big gray and black trainers with thick platform soles. White socks were crumpled loosely around her ankles. There was a long scarlet stripe in her hair.

She was staring back at him, adopting the kind of dismissive slouch that only teenagers could manage. Nothing in the world was relevant or interesting to her. Especially him.

The way she looked and acted was so incredibly desirable. He simply wanted her, right there and then. Not only that, he wanted what she was.

“Yeah, hi,” she grunted apathetically.

“Are you coming, or going?”

“Going. We’re off to Tallington Lakes.”

“That’s a shame. I never get to see much of you.” His gaze scanned across her T-shirt, making a show of reading the print. “Are they really?” he asked with a modest little grin.

Annabelle couldn’t believe he’d gone and said that. But his unrepentant, cheeky expression made it very hard to be angry with him like she knew she ought to be. “There’s only one way to find out,” she said archly. For some reason her mouth was trying to smile.

“I can spare a minute.”

“Gosh, a whole minute. Those seventies girls never knew how lucky they were.”

Jeff laughed.

Annabelle flashed him her coyest smile and hurried out through the manor’s double doors. Not too fast; that would give the impression she was flustered. As she emerged into the sunlight she realized her bra was still lying on the floor of Tim’s bedroom, and the T-shirt really was very thin. “Oh, you Bad Girl,” she murmured to herself. But once again her body had put her in charge. Her smile was still in place as she climbed onto Tim’s e-trike.

Jeff’s hands were shaking as he watched her walk across the gravel. The encounter kept running through his mind like a video file stuck on replay. “Jesus wept.”

You can’t, he told himself sternly. You absolutely cannot. Not with her. Anyone else, but not her.