Love. Lies. Dying. Page 6

  “Coming!” Katherine cries. “Oh fuck, I’m coming!”

  She comes hard, her face knotted with concentration, her pelvis pushing itself onto Megan’s hand, demanding she deliver exquisite bliss right up to the last moment. Her hands grip the edge of the chair and her head falls back. She is riding the full wave of her orgasm now and the juices are melting from her body. “Fuck.” She says and thrusts again, impaling herself on Megan’s fingers, “fuck.”

  And she is done.

  Her body slumps, as reluctantly Megan withdraws her fingers and shyly sucks moisture from the crinkled flesh of her fingers. Katherine’s pussy is slick and glistening with juices and Megan would dearly love to take a corner of her robe and gently pat her dry, but Katherine has already covered herself and is now telling Megan that that was very nice, splendid in fact, she did a good job and she is very grateful. But if she ever, ever breathes a word of this to anyone, she will rip her tonsils out, via her cunt.

  The sound of a ringing telephone makes them both jump.

  Katherine drops her bombshell on the way to Paris.

  She is sitting with Alex aboard their private Lear jet, going over appointments and design lay-outs for the magazine. The remains of their continental breakfast sits at one end of the table, still waiting to be cleared away. The sight of it is annoying Katherine who has mentioned twice that it is still there and Alex has duly noted it. It won’t happen again.

  Alex asks if there is anything else she needs her to do today even though she already knows the answer. Because there will be. There always is. Even if they’ve covered everything, Katherine will always come up with something to test her.

  Alex wonders if it keeps her awake at night, thinking up these last minute demands.

  Katherine opens her mouth to speak. “I’m taking an extended break.” She says.

  There, she has said it and oh, isn’t Alex’s face a picture? How she wishes she had a camera, or at least something to pop into that wide open mouth of hers.

  “You’re what!” Alex finally manages.

  Katherine smiles, she is rather enjoying the shock she has created. “I’m taking a break. A holiday. Grabbing the chance to relax and unwind.” She says again. “Going away. Leaving my place of gainful employment for a while. Waving goodbye to the nine to five for a bit. How else would you like me to put it?”

  “That you’re bloody kidding me?” Alex gasps. “What..? When did all this happen?”

  “When I got this.” Katherine says, producing the manila envelope from her bag and sliding it across the table. “Remember Great Uncle Alfred, the one who cleared off to the states in search of fame and fortune? Well, it seems he found it. Made some great investments, most of which I have to say, were pure genius, and now the poor, old duffer’s dead, he’s left me a lovely little house in the country. Well, I say little. It’s quite big really. Twelve rooms, five bedrooms all en suite, kitchen the size of a half a football pitch. You get the idea.”

  Katherine is right. And even though the paper is shaking in Alex’s hand, she can still read enough of the words to know its true. But why? Why go on holiday now? Right when Claire Swallow is sniffing around looking for the chance of a take over bid? It’s bloody madness and what about her?

  She can see her job going right down the tubes if Katherine lets go of the tiller..

  “What about the magazine?” She splutters, handing back the paper. “What if Claire Swallow makes her move whilst you’re away?”

  Katherine nearly chokes. “Do you seriously think that worries me? That bitch couldn’t take the magazine away from me if I handed it to her on a bloody platter! Besides, while I’m away, I’m going to let you take over the helm.”

  Alex’s eyes grow even wider. “Me? Are you mad? I don’t know how to run a magazine! I’m just a PA!”

  “Ahh, but you’re not, are you? Think about it Alex. You’ve practically run ‘Clothes and Catwalk’ alongside me these last three years. You know pretty much everything I know, why shouldn’t you run it?”

  “You want a list?”

  “No, I want a yes.”

  “I can’t!”

  “Course you can! I’ll only be gone six months..”

  Six months! Alex’s head is spinning, her hands are shaking and suddenly the steady drone of the jet is starting to make her feel queasy. She can’t run the magazine, what is Katherine thinking! She knows nothing! And no one is going to take notice of her like they do Katherine. Katherine only has to sneeze and five people instantly turn up with tissues, if she sneezes, everyone just accuses her of spreading germs!

  “I can see you’re unsure.” Katherine says now, fixing the steward who has finally come to take away their breakfast things with a steely glare, “but there is nothing to worry about, I’ve arranged for Geoffrey Parker to give you a hand.”

  Now Alex’s chin really hits the table and blinking, she gapes at Katherine in complete amazement. “What!?” She gasps. “Geoffrey Parker’s one of Claire’s right hand men.”

  “Was.” Katherine smiles. “But money can buy anyone and I’ve just written out a very generous cheque.”

  Alex can’t get her head around it. Why would Katherine do such a thing? Geoffrey would have made her pay dearly for even a minute of his time, so why spend all that money just so she can go on holiday in some dusty old mansion for six months? Why not go to the fucking Seychelles for a week!

  “So?” Katherine is looking at her expectantly. “Are you ready to take on the challenge of a lifetime or are you just going to sit there looking like you’re auditioning for the village idiot?”

  In reply, Alex tries to get out of her seat, remembers her seat belt and tries again. She needs to be moving, to coax her numb brain into some kind of action. She needs to be looking at something other than Katherine. This is all happening too quickly for her to absorb. She needs time to think. Time to think of something other that why?

  Her feet take her to the galley. She asks for cold water and gets it served in a proper glass. She sips it and contemplates the luxury of executive travel. No plastic cups here, no waiting for the toilet. You want it, you get it. She just wishes she could ask someone else to make this decision for her. Running the magazine! She can hardly believe it! It’s like a dream. A nightmare! What if Parker is a bastard to work with? She’s heard he tries to fuck every female he spends time with. She’s heard he never sleeps, just cat-naps on sofas in offices and that he eats nothing but bloody noodles out of those horrible, greasy little cartons. She won’t be able to tolerate that for too long. It’ll kill her!

  Sod it!

  Almost angrily she stomps back to her seat.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Three words that are out of Alex’s mouth before her brain has time to tell her to shut the fuck up! She’s still not sure if she is up to the job, hell, she’s pretty sure she isn’t, but she’s buggered if she’s going to let anyone else get their slimy little hands on their magazine.

  Katherine smiles as if she’s known Alex would say yes all along.

  “Excellent.” She says ordering champagne. “You’ll do a fantastic job and once I’m back from my short break, I’ll be so brimming with fresh ideas the fashion world won’t know what’s hit it. Now about Geoffrey. You’re probably worrying how you’ll get on, but believe me, I’ve left him in no doubt who’s in charge. He also knows you will be reporting back to me on a daily basis, so any nonsense from him and out he goes. I’ve paid him enough to leave Claire Swallows service but not enough that he can afford to fuck up for long. Now, I’m leaving on Saturday, so tomorrow we will meet in the office and go over the finer details.”

  “Okay. And what if I can’t cope? What if, despite Geoffrey Parker and all our staff, I still find I’m drowning. What then?”

  “Well then you call me and I’ll come home. Remember Alex,
we will be speaking every day so I’ll still be around to defer to. I’m not completely disappearing.”

  Chapter Six

  Saturday.

  Katherine Johnson opens the door to her newly inherited mansion and smiles at the millions of dust motes dancing in the air. The place smells musty and disused, but she doesn’t care. Behind her and parked on the lavish, gravel driveway is the chauffeur driven car that brought her here plus a mini bus full of cleaners all ready to spring into action.

  She won’t be staying there tonight though. Tonight she will be staying at a very nice hotel in town whose staff claim they are used to dealing with the rich and famous, but who are undeniably wetting themselves at the very thought of having her stay. She will enjoy making the little people’s day.

  The cleaners are on their way in. Megan, the maid from the Marble hotel is leading the ensemble. Katherine has poached her from the hotel, in much the same way she snatched Geoffrey Parker from under Claire Swallow’s nose. With a big, fat cheque. Now Megan is working exclusively for her and staying at the house as her personal maid, cook and anything else she so desires.

  So far she’s desired her only the once, back at the hotel, but Megan, she can tell, is eager to repeat the encounter and fuck her again.

  Lust is a useful bargaining chip to have.

  The hotel is very pleasant, huddled as it is within the bosom of the Devonshire countryside. From her window, spotlessly clean and finished with plain cream curtains, she can see green, rolling hills dotted with sheep and fields divided by dry stone walls that cut across the landscape in uneven rows.

  Megan has stayed behind at the house. She isn’t afraid, she tells Katherine, even though the place is tucked miles away from anywhere and is bound to be pitch black at night. She would rather stay and get the job finished, than have her return when its still far from perfect.

  Katherine doesn’t argue. Let her stay if that’s what she wants to do. Besides Megan has a mobile if anything goes disastrously wrong and she’s even put Alex’s number on speed dial for her. Though quite what she could do from London is anyone’s guess.

  After dinner she excuses herself and escapes to her room despite the hotel manager’s best efforts to persuade her to have a night cap at the bar. She suspects he wants her to stay downstairs so he can show her off and thus bolster his hotels’ reputation, and to be honest, she cannot dislike him for that. She would have done exactly the same in his position, but she is tired and weary and besides, she is not a tourist attraction.

  The bath she glides into is warm and soothing and she spends longer than usual wallowing in the soft, gently popping bubbles. Afterwards, with her hair pinned up and wrapped in a bath robe fresh out of the wrapper, she sits on the bed and turns on the TV.

  To her relief, there is nothing about Angela and she turns to switch on her lap top, tutting at the sixty four e mails before using Goggle to reach an up to date news page. There is still nothing about Angela and she smiles, thinking it either means hasn’t been found yet, or that a young woman found dead in her flat is so common place these days no one bothers to mention it. She tends to favour the former.

  Angela, she is certain, is still mouldering, perfectly alone and unmissed on her bed.

  She answers several e-mails and then leaves the lap top on. Alex will no doubt be contacting her soon with today’s latest panic and not for the first time she wonders if it was wise to leave her in charge. As a dry run, she allowed Alex to hold the reins Thursday and Friday and she almost went to pieces. She couldn’t find the cover shot, a price list was missing. A model came into work with a black eye, courtesy of her charming boyfriend and according to Alex, it was all going to hell in a hand cart and she just couldn’t manage!

  So dramatic.

  In reply, Katherine merely sent in Geoffrey, who in his usually calm, unflappable manner, stepped in and quietly but firmly told Alex to get a grip and breathe for fuck’s sake. Only then did Alex finally step up to the helm and steer the good ship ‘ Clothes and Catwalk’ into calmer waters and thankfully since then, things had been okay-ish, but Katherine still had Geoffrey send her regular reports. Alex might be in charge but Geoffrey was the one she really trusted.

  As well she might. Geoffrey’s partner Paul, would be shattered if he ever found out his beloved boyfriend once stuck his finger inside Katherine’s vagina and told her it felt like liquid heaven.

  The ‘record’ facility on mobile phones was immensely useful sometimes.

  Katherine gets into bed. The clock tells her its nine thirty. Far too early to be retiring really, but what the hell, she has nothing better to do. From its perch on the side, her lap top beeps at her and she gets up again, having forgotten Alex would be calling at this time. It’s not essential she answers her, not when Geoffrey has already told her what Alex is going to say, but Alex will think it important and if she doesn’t respond she’ll go into nuclear, panic mode in which everyone will be undoubtedly be going to die.

  Twenty minutes later, Katherine has finally managed to sooth Alex’s shattered soul and convince her she is capable of holding the magazine together. The fact she has an interview with Lady Ga-Ga is phenomenal! And she is comfortably ahead of herself for at least the next three issues, so why is she worrying?

  “Because I am not you!” Alex practically screams down the phone. “Lucy told me to get my own bloody coffee today. She never would have said that to you! And that fuck-wit from printing..”

  Katherine rolls her eyes. Lucy is probably premenstrual, she tells her and printing are always awkward, just because they can be. Alex must learn to chill and when she gets back, Alex can take a short holiday if she likes. Everything is fine.

  Wishing her goodnight, Katherine decides to leave the rest of her e mails till morning and reaches for her handbag. Inside is a worn, leather folding wallet which in place of the usual driver’s license or credit cards, there rests instead a photo of her and Hannah taken at Brighton. They are sitting on the beach. The pier in the background.

  Bringing it up to her lips, Katherine kisses Hannah’s face then props it on the bedside table. She has kissed that photo every night since Hannah died and it goes everywhere with her. Her heart still breaks at what she has lost.

  Getting into bed, she snuggles down, but finds she cannot sleep. There is nothing overtly wrong. The bed is comfortable, the room warm. But Hannah’s memory fills her mind and inevitably it moves her hands.

  Over her breasts, the soft globes pale in the dim light as she reaches up to caress herself. Her nipples, dark beneath her thumbs, harden to order as she pinches them and sighs at the first ripple of pleasure that trembles between her thighs.

  Her pussy throbs and the realization that rubbing herself will not be enough to give her the orgasm she wants makes her frown. She wants to fill something inside her cunt. Something large and solid that she can thrust inside herself right at the point of orgasm, exactly as Hannah used to do, when she would kneel between her thighs and wait until Katherine was almost ready to tip over the edge before plunging a dildo way deep inside her and screwing her madly. It had driven Katherine almost mad with desire, and rendered her helpless with sexual longing and Hannah had delighted in doing it to her, telling her how sexy she looked, how fucking sensual. How beautiful with the dildo sliding in and out of her.

  What could she use?

  Her legs are spread wide now, her feet, as Hannah always liked to point out, entirely forgotten. Her cunt is throbbing and is running with warm liquid her busy fingers have rubbed around her clit. Her pussy is plump and sensitive and ready to fucking explode if she doesn’t come soon, but she won’t. Not yet.

  Reaching over the bed, she grips the hairbrush she carries in her handbag. The handle is red and square shaped but she doesn’t care if it’s not round. She’s wet and wide open enough to take anything and she presses it against the opening to her
vagina, teasing herself, allowing it to slip just a little inside herself, until her juices cover it and coat it and make its eventual passage inside her all the easier.

  She is very close to coming now. Her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Her fingers are circling her clit in strong, decisive movements. The hand holding the hairbrush is trembling and slick with juices as she pushes it a little further inside of herself and groans at the wonderful feeling it produces. She would like to have all of it, the entire handle rammed right up to where the bristles start - fuck how is that going to feel? - but she makes herself wait. Hannah would have made her. Hannah would have gently been teasing her by now, telling her not to be so impatient and that if she was a very good girl and did what she was told, she would come very, very soon.

  Katherine shudders, feeling her orgasm start to flourish towards it climatic end. Her pussy is throbbing, her cunt twitching like crazy, desperate for her to plunge the handle inside and fuck herself stupid, yet still she holds on, waiting, waiting for just the right moment to fully satisfy her craving.

  Her clit is slick with juices, her pussy a vast, swollen channel. Every ounce of her concentration is focused purely between her legs. The pleasure builds, then swells still more as her hips start to leave the bed and her head tips back against the pillow. Her fingers rub furiously at her clit. She is going to come. Christ, how she wants to fucking come! She needs to! She fucking needs to! Christ! And in one smooth movement, she thrusts the handle of the brush into her cunt and watches it disappear completely. The bristles are hard, just as she expected, against the delicate softness of her pussy, but she hardly feels them as she drives the handle in and out of her cunt, fucking herself harder and harder, groaning out her desire as she reaches her orgasm and cries out Hannah’s name.

  “Everything is ready for you Miss. Johnson.”

  Katherine is back at the house. It is early morning and a twenty minute drive from the hotel, although it has taken her a little longer this morning as she has stopped to collect a basket of croissants and fruit she pre ordered from the local delicatessen the night before.