Love. Lies. Dying. Page 12
Megan isn’t sure what to say. Only two days ago she was living with this woman, being fucked by her, now it’s like facing the ice queen. She turns to leave but Katherine calls her back.
“Just out of interest,” she begins, “where are you living now?”
“Staff quarters.” Megan replies. “Sharing with two others.”
“Is it nice?”
Megan shakes her head. “No. It’s horrible.”
Katherine tries to look sympathetic. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She says.
The hot chocolate is all gone but Katherine is no warmer nor any the less agitated.
She paces the suite, up and down, up and down, passing the same sofa, coffee table, sideboard and chair over and over again. The carpet is starting to get that down trodden look but she hardly varies her route. Eventually she crosses to the window, looks out and scrunches up her face in frustration, wondering what the hell is wrong with her? She feels prickly. Restless. It has gone eleven but the idea of going to bed merely unsettles her more. Sleep would not come anyway.
Inevitably, her mind takes her back to Theresa and the shed and the sight of the trowel handle disappearing into her sweet, sticky cunt. But she isn’t after more sex. Her own pussy feels used and slightly sore. She is certain, that come morning, she’ll be itching and wishing she’d been slightly less enthusiastic. So what is it?
She starts to pace again. Her hands clenching and unclenching at her side. Her head won’t leave the memory of Theresa alone and she goes back over the encounter with annoying repetition. She is missing something. Something she should have done.
It is frustrating the shit out of her!
Oh, for fuck’s sake! It’s because you didn’t kill her!
The voice inside her head sounds as pissed off as she feels but it is the slap in the face she needs. Is that it? The missing piece. The scratch to her itch? She’s feeling bad because she allowed Theresa to get away? To Live?
She can’t be sure but she imagines impaling Theresa with the trowel to see if it soothes her. She sees herself stabbing her, watching as the sharp edge of the trowel digs into the soft flesh of her breast until blood starts to well. She hears it. Theresa’s cry of astonishment quickly turning to pain. She sees it. The trowel sinking deeper into her body, scrapping across her ribs, then with force cracking them clean apart. Busily burrowing its way to the soft meat of her heart.
With a sigh, Katherine trembles and realises she has practically creamed her knickers. Her clit feels huge again and badly in need of attention and she shoves her hand down her jogging bottoms, unsurprised to find herself plump and moist. She feeds a finger into her cunt and scoops out juices, running them up her pussy before rubbing her clit vigourously, dropping to her hands and knees as her orgasm drops her to the floor.
It’s not as quiet as she would have liked, London never is no matter what the time of day or night, but she keeps to the shadows and passes practically unnoticed. She is still wearing her jogging pants and fleece, but now a baseball hat hides her hair. She hopes she looks like any other keep fit geek out pounding the pavements in the middle of the night and if the police stop her and ask her why she’s out running so late, she’ll say it’s the only free time she has. If anyone else asks, she intends to tell them to fuck off!
She half jogs, half walks to the nearest park. The trees appear huge in the darkness, the flower beds like newly dug graves. A crow squawks above her head and startles her and she utters. “Shit!” The next one that tries it is called a little bastard. There is no one much about. After a while another jogger comes towards her, but it’s a bloke and he looks big enough to enjoy bricks for breakfast. A tramp snoozing on a bench is given a wide berth.
Katherine jogs on, passing a fountain and gazing into the mirrored pool of its surface. She sees a ragged representation of herself run by and the breeze catches her, teasing a strand of hair from beneath the hat. She sneezes when it tickles her nose.
She runs on, past a sign telling her to keep London tidy before stopping at a refreshment kiosk closed up for the night. She is out of breath and feeling clammy and for the first time, not at all sure what she is doing out here?
Looking for someone to kill?
Yeah, maybe. But what a fucking ludicrous idea!
She’ll get caught if she stays out here. There are cameras everywhere and even if they can’t see her in the park, they can sure as hell prove she went in. What is she doing?
And she’s not a killer. Not really. Angela was a mistake, Petra, a rotten, little thief!
Go home, Katherine, she tells herself. Just go home woman.
Chapter Ten
“You never fail to bloody amaze me, you know that?” Alex says, shaking her head.
It’s all too much for her. Just when she thinks she has got the measure of Katherine Johnson, the woman goes and pulls another surprise out of the bag.
And this time it’s another house.! In Surrey. Or Kent. Or somewhere she can ‘escape to’ but still be within easy reach of the city. The house in Devon has wetted her appetite apparently and made her appreciate how lovely it would be to be surrounded by her own furniture and wall hangings rather than those the Marble Hotel has seen fit to equip her with. And she wants a garden as well. A bloody garden!
For God sake, since when has Katherine bloody Johnson wanted to play happy bloody families? It’s absurd! Ridiculous, but Jesus on a skateboard, she’s fucking serious!
Katherine simply smiles at her. “I can see you’re surprised.” She says.
No shit!
“But I’ve given it a lot of thought. I’m tired of living in the hotel, Alex. I want a house again, something of my own. It’s time. What do you think? Will you help me look?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really. But I will throw in a bonus if you find the perfect property.”
Leaning against the jam of her new front door, Katherine watches the transit van reverse out of her driveway and disappear down the road. She listens until she can no longer hear it, then turns and allows herself a massive grin.
She has done it! She has brought a house in an exclusive part of Surrey and it is damn near perfect. Three bedrooms, all double and all with en-suite. A larger bathroom with a free standing bath. Two reception rooms, a study, a kitchen and a conservatory that stretches right along the back of the house and soaks up the sun like a sponge hordes water. And she has a garden, with a lawn and flower beds and a shed. And a gravel driveway with neighbours far enough away that even if she screamed they’d probably only hear her if they were in their front gardens. It is perfect!
Oh, and she has staff. The ever faithful or mildly stupid Megan, whichever way you choose to look at it, who has jumped at the chance of returning to housekeeping duties even though they are at a different location. Not that she can blame her. Not when she’s rescued her from the misery of staff accommodation to house her in a granny annexe, fifty yards from the main house. The little love is as pleased as punch. Bless her.
Moving in hasn’t taken long either. The furniture has all been bought new, and therefore delivered to their door for Megan to arrange to Katherine’s specifications and there was minimal decorating. The transit van which has just left was merely bringing the last of her personal effects from the Marble Hotel, who were understandably, dismayed to see her go, although they still sent flowers. A huge bouquet, currently taking up space in her hallway until she discovers where the vases are kept. If she has any.
Megan breezes down the stairs, her hands full of plastic wrapping.
“Been unpacking the mattresses,” she says, “and I’ve made up the beds. I did them all, cos I wasn’t sure if you were planning on having a house warming and having people stay over. Are you?”
Katherine shakes her head. She looks disgusted. “God, no!” She exclaims. “Why w
ould I want hordes of people trampling all over my new carpets and poking about in my cupboards, besides, I’m far too busy.”
“Oh.” Megan says, crestfallen. “Shall I strip the beds again then?”
“No, leave them.” Katherine sighs, “it’s alright. And can you find something to put those flowers in?”
The next few days are taken up with work. Katherine has appointments left, right and centre and is grateful to get home at the end of a very long day and leave it all behind.
Megan is, as always, there to greet her, with dinner in the oven, wine chilling in the fridge, and a pathetic, uncertain smile on her face.
Katherine is not sure how much longer she can put up with it. What is Megan hoping for? Another fuck? A bedroom in the house? A proposal? The last makes her smile. She’ll be waiting a long, long time if that’s what she’s hoping for. No way is she marrying anyone, let alone Megan. Only Hannah could ever have achieved that, and Hannah is gone.
It’s late when she arrives home at the end of another exhausting week and Katherine has given herself tomorrow and Sunday off, even though Alex is adamant she should be in the office for at least one of those days. Katherine, however, is just as determined and she tells Alex that if she’s so worried, she can go in and run the show herself, seeing as she so enjoyed it last time.
Alex says nothing. Sod it then, she decides. She’s more than happy to spend the weekend in bed, watching cartoons and eating pizza out of the box. If anything goes wrong, it won’t be her bloody fault!
Settling back in her armchair, her feet curled up beneath her, Katherine sips her wine and contemplates how she will spend her precious two days at home. Decorating? Gardening? She really should do both, especially in here. The lounge has been painted but it’s a dingy yellowy cream colour and she doesn’t like it. It reminds her of old folk’s homes, where even the wallpaper is too tired to care and she desperately wants to change it to something fresh and lively. But painting. On her days off. It’s a bit much, and in truth, she can’t be arsed. She’d much rather get someone in and pay to have it done. It’s not as if she can’t afford it. Either than or Megan can do it.
Satisfied with her reasoning, she takes a larger swig of wine and flicks through the TV channels, sighing at the complete load of rubbish that’s on once midnight has come and gone. Who watches this twaddle? She wonders. It’s appalling! And she’s certainly not watching this for two nights on the trot. Tomorrow night she’s going out. For certain. She’ll go to a bar or restaurant, pick up some bit of fluff, screw her senseless and then..
What? Her mind crams in. What are you going to do then Katherine? Kill her?
No! She answers herself indignantly. I will go home. I will go to bed. I will not kill anyone.
She actually hears her brain laugh. We’ll see, it giggles inside her ear.
“You look nice.”
Katherine nods, applying the last of her lipstick.“ Yes, I do.”
“Going anywhere nice?” Megan asks.
Katherine rolls her eyes. Like I’d be going somewhere horrible, she thinks. “Dino’s.”
Megan nods herself. Dino’s is a very up market Italian restaurant and way beyond her price range. She knows. She looked at the price list once and nearly fainted. The price of a starter would have kept her in groceries for a week. “Are you meeting someone there?”
“A client.” Katherine replies. “Not that it’s any of your business. And I’ll be back late.”
“Better take your key then.” Megan says icily, “Cos I’ll be asleep.”
Alex has booked a table for her. A secluded one, away from the kitchens, the windows and the other nosy diners. The maitre de escorts her to a quiet booth with a lit candle on the table. He holds the chair out for her, lays her napkin on her lap, hands her the menu, takes her drinks order and leaves. After all that fussing, it’s a relief to see him go.
There is no client. There never was. Katherine is here solely to eat and meet someone she might like to fuck. The restaurant is discreet but liaisons definitely go on here. That’s partly why the prices are so eye watering, to keep the riff-raff out and allow those who are serious about their fine dining and ‘other’ activities to have the place to themselves.
A waitress returns with her drink and takes her order. Her perfume is heavy, seductive and when she flashes Katherine a warm smile, Katherine briefly considers her as a potential screwing partner. Except she’s staff, and Dino frowns on staff who suddenly go missing in the middle of service. So unless she’s prepared to wait till the restaurant closes, the waitress is out. It’ll have to be a diner, like herself.
Her meal is excellent. Half way through the main course, she is joined by a well dressed man in a dark suit. He is undoubtedly good looking, there is a touch of the David Beckham’s about him, but Katherine isn’t remotely interested. His offer to buy her dessert is turned down, as is his offer of more wine. He asks if she is meeting someone else and when she says no, he looks stunned and apologies for disturbing her.
Katherine imagines being turned down isn’t something he is used to and she smiles as he slowly walks away, looking back over his shoulder.
Katherine, enjoying the moment, raises her glass to him. ‘Here’s to you. Prat’.
Not that she can blame him for trying. She looks amazing in this little black dress that accentuates her waist and tits. Her hair is loose, dropping in soft curls down her back and her lipstick is very red to match her fingernails. Her jewellery, diamonds of course, sparkles in the half light and looks like it cost a fortune, which it did. She imagines the David Beckham look-a- like is probably in the men’s right now, busy with his cock.
“Excuse me. Forgive me for interrupting your meal, but are you Katherine Johnson?”
Katherine looks up, and swallows, but it has nothing to do with eating. Standing beside her table is a seriously gorgeous woman. Tall and slender, with startling blue eyes framed by eyelashes as dark as soot, her mouth is all sensuous lips, is currently curled up in a half smile as she waits for Katherine to answer.
But Katherine is still staring. At the woman’s figure, wrapped in a dark blue gown and tight enough to send her pulse racing all the way up to the gorgeous creature’s short, fair hair cut to accentuate the gracefulness of her neck.
Katherine, for once, is almost lost for words.
She has to remind herself to breath.
“I am.” She says at last, trying to appear cool and calm. “I’m sorry, have we met?”
The smile widens. “Sort of. I was modeling for London Cosmo last week. You were in the front row. You liked the green dress I was wearing?”
“Yes, that’s right, I did. You were the model? Oh, please, sit down. Would you like some wine?”
“Thank you. But only if it’s okay with you. I wouldn’t normally have bothered anyone like this but I’ve been sitting over there, driving myself crazy trying to work out if it was you or not.”
“And now you know.”
She laughs. “Yes I do. I’m Amy by the way.”
“Delighted to meet you. Obviously you know my name.”
Amy smiles and touches glasses with her. “I’m not taking up anyone’s seat here, am I?”
Katherine shakes her head. “Not at all. I often pop in here for dinner. The food is excellent and the staff unobtrusive. How about you? Dining with anyone?”
“No. I came in here because it’s quiet. Everyone always thinks a model’s life is all glamour and wonderful dresses and excitement, and I suppose some of it is, but there’s so much shouting that goes with it. Look here! Over there! Head up! Head down, get that dress off right now before I rip it off your fucking back! It does my head in. ”
Katherine laughs. “Sounds frightful. So you come in here for a bit of peace and quiet do you? Anything else?” She raises an enquiring eyebrow.
“On what?”
“On who I meet.”
“I see.”
They fall into silence. Amy is suddenly very interested in the stem of her wine glass and twists it slowly between thumb and forefinger whilst Katherine watches her. The pulse at the base of her throat is beating steadily but a little too hurriedly and her bosom is rising and falling beneath her dress. Her lips, pressed firmly together, are clearly waiting to respond to whatever Katherine says next.
And although Katherine knows what she wants to say, she’s a little uncertain whether to risk it. Amy is a model and therefore likely to be embroiled in one of the biggest, bitchiest gossip circles ever known, meaning that if tonight goes wrong or even if it goes magnificently well, there is no way of knowing what Amy might spill once the lights go up and the lipstick goes on.
But Christ, she is fucking gorgeous!
Katherine sips from her glass. Her dinner has gone cold but she had no intention of eating anymore anyway. She clears her throat and waits for Amy to catch her eye.
“I imagine you’re still sitting here because you’re harbouring some hope of you and I getting together.” Katherine begins.
Amy’s blush slides from her cheeks to redden her neck. Her tongue moistens her upper lips and then retreats back inside. Katherine takes that as a yes and then wonders what that tongue would feel like running across her pussy lips.
“If I’m right, then meet me outside in the car park in 10 minutes, but.. you tell no one where you are going or who you are meeting...”
Amy’s eyes sparkle with hope.
“And if you are thinking of turning this rendezvous to your advantage in any way, I warn you to leave right now I will not be blackmailed, threatened or have idle gossip spread about me..”
“Oh, I wouldn’t..”
“You wouldn’t what? Say a word? Believe me, I’ve heard that before, and it’s a promise worth about as much as an old pound note. But that’s by the by. We can either do this nice and civilized, have a lovely time and I will believe you when you say you’ll take it to the grave, or, you can open that pretty little mouth of yours and I will promise I will ruin your career with a single phone call. The choice is yours sweetie.”