B004D4Y20I EBOK Page 23

  When she reached the square, she walked slowly, taking every step at half-speed. Then, when she got home, she climbed the stairs at a snail’s pace, listening out all the time for the sound of anyone in the building. She passed by Miss Fellowes’s flat, glancing at the door, but continuing up the stairs.

  It was only when she reached the door to her own apartment that she realised the swooping sense of disappointment which descended on her could only mean one thing. That she’d been hoping to see George more than she’d realised.

  Oh God, she thought. So much for sex being good for you. I’d forgotten that getting rid of one obsession just leaves a vacancy for another. I can’t believe it. I bet I never see him again.

  She was dressing to go out when there was a knock at the front door.

  She breathed in sharply and stared wide-eyed at her reflection for a moment.

  Her first thought was: Is it George?

  Her second was: If it is, thank God I’m already dressed! She was wearing a flowery silk tea dress in bright blues and reds, with high cream Mary Janes. To go with the dress, she’d set her hair in a 1940s Veronica-Lake peek-a-boo style, so that she had a long dark sheet of wavy hair falling seductively over one eye. Fiery red lipstick and lashings of mascara finished the look.

  Her third was: But I’m going out!

  Heart thumping, she opened the door. Her stomach did a somersault. George was standing there in the hallway, a sweet smile on his face and a bunch of white ranunculus in his hand.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d drop by. I got these for you.’ He noticed how dressed up she was and his face fell. ‘Oh, you’re going out. Of course.’

  ‘Thank you – they’re beautiful.’ She took the flowers he was offering. ‘Yes, I’ve got to go to a private view. A friend of mine is exhibiting for the first time. It’s very exciting.’

  ‘Well, I hope you have a marvellous time. Perhaps we can meet up another evening.’

  ‘Why don’t you come with me?’ Poppy said in a rush. ‘Ally won’t mind.’

  ‘Oh. I don’t want to impose. Honestly, I only came by on the off chance …’

  ‘No, no, you must come. I mean it. It’s just a view. The more the merrier. Especially if you buy a picture … Joking, I’m joking,’ she said quickly when she saw the look on George’s face.

  ‘As long as you’re sure I wouldn’t be in the way …’

  ‘I’m certain.’

  ‘Then I’d love to.’ He stepped into the flat as Poppy went about gathering her bag and finding her keys. Finally she was ready.

  ‘Have I told you how devastatingly gorgeous you’re looking?’ he asked, taking her hand.

  ‘No.’ Poppy looked out sultrily from under her sheet of hair. ‘But you can if you like.’

  ‘I most certainly do like. I particularly like that 1940s look. It makes me feel like I’m back in fashion, briefly.’

  George was wearing a tweed jacket, a bright yellow waistcoat and baggy chinos, with polished brogues. He could have stepped straight out of 1947.

  It’s a sign, thought Poppy. We’re obviously the perfect match.

  * * *

  The private view was held at an exclusive Cork Street gallery. Burly men in black suits stood on either side of the door as the guests arrived. Just inside, a beautiful blonde gallery assistant took their invitation, ticked them off a list and asked them to sign the visitors’ book. George signed in a flowing handwriting. He seemed entirely at home in the glitzy crowd. The men were debonair in suits, a mixture of old and new money, arty types and high-powered City boys who were looking to invest in paintings, as they needed something to spend their money on. All the women were extremely glamorous, from the pretty young things, mostly from wealthy backgrounds and trying out the art world as a career, to the fabulously well-turned-out forty-and-fifty-somethings. There were even a few knock-out old ladies, loaded with jewels and wearing expensive black dresses or vintage Chanel tweed suits.

  Immediately Poppy arrived, she was surrounded by friends, and she spent a happy hour exclaiming, kissing cheeks, introducing George and talking non-stop, swapping as much news as she could in the short period of time before another friend dashed up to claim her.

  ‘You’re very popular,’ murmured George into her ear as he pressed a glass of champagne into her hand.

  ‘I didn’t realise how many people would be here.’ She smiled at him delightedly. She already felt a little high on the champagne, and it was lovely to see so many friends, greeting her so enthusiastically. She had begun to believe that no one wanted to know her after Tom, that they had taken his side. And yet, there they all were, asking her where on earth she’d been hiding and saying how brilliant it was to see her again. Not one of them had mentioned Tom, but maybe they were being polite. After all, she was obviously here with George.

  She caught a glimpse of him in a mirror. He was chatting comfortably to a group of people. She could see her own reflection too, standing just to one side of George. She looked pretty and her dress was still as good as it had looked in the mirror at home. But more important than that, she looked happy.

  After the private view, they walked home together. On the way, they stopped at a Japanese restaurant and bought a big tray of sushi and sashimi to take home. Back at her flat, they sat cross-legged on the floor and ate with chopsticks. Poppy opened a bottle of champagne from her fridge and their ability to pick up the sushi and dip it in the soy and wasabi deteriorated accordingly, but it made them laugh. Ella Fitzgerald’s voice came silkily from the stereo, and Poppy felt ridiculously contented.

  When the tray was empty and the soy dish almost dry, they both knew what would happen. Poppy turned down the lights, kicked off her shoes and danced lazily to the music, singing along to ‘Dream A Little Dream of Me’ while George watched her, his gaze burning.

  A moment later, he jumped up, took her in his arms and they danced slowly together. He was surprisingly good at it, pressing her tightly to him so that they moved in harmony. Her stomach swooped as lust bubbled through her.

  Kiss me, kiss me, she thought. Then he lowered his mouth to hers and began to kiss her properly, pushing his tongue into her mouth, exploring her. He tasted warm and delicious and she responded quickly, pushing her hands inside his waistcoat and unbuttoning his shirt so that she could feel his smooth chest and run her hand up to the nest of soft hair under his arms. He smelt so sweet, all she wanted to do was bury her nose in his neck and arms, and inhale his smell. It excited her and set her heart racing.

  ‘You feel amazing,’ she murmured as she pulled his clothes from his body, until he was wearing only his trousers, that couldn’t conceal his growing arousal.

  She stepped back from him and smiled seductively, tossing her dark hair with a flirtatious shake of her head. Then she slowly unbuttoned her tea dress, and let it slip to the floor leaving her standing in her small white cotton briefs and bra. Stepping out of the dress, she went back to him, pressing herself against him so that the hardness in his groin rubbed against her stomach. He bent to kiss her again, wanting to touch her skin, run his hands over her naked back and over her white breasts which swelled up invitingly from her bra. But she teasingly pushed him backwards until he was standing against one of the dining chairs, then, more forcefully, pressed him down on to the seat. He looked up at her, his eyes intense with desire. She sat down on his lap, one slim white leg on each side, and returned to his mouth, kissing him deeply and pushing her groin against his trousers.

  He was panting between their long kisses, desperate to caress her breasts, his mouth reaching for her nipples, eager to free them from her bra, but she kept him softly back, so that his desire for her grew stronger.

  ‘You’re teasing me,’ he protested, longing to touch her flesh and rip her bra and panties away.

  ‘All in good time,’ she breathed. Reaching down, she unzipped his trousers and felt inside. She pulled out his stiff cock, smiling with admiration. She held the shaft close to her, press
ing him against her panties tempting him with the damp heat within. He moaned softly. When he bent his head to her breasts this time, she let him use his mouth to push the fabric aside and release her erect nipples so that he could suck and pull on them, making them tingle delightfully while she ran her hands over his cock.

  Pausing for a moment, she reached for the condom packet she’d put in her bag earlier and left in reach on the table. Handing it to him, she watched as he deftly opened it and rolled the sheath down over his cock. Raising herself up on the chair, she pushed aside the crotch of her panties. He drew his breath in sharply at the sight and tensed as she pulled his throbbing penis towards her. For a moment she remained poised above it, the tip just lost inside her and then, when they could both stand it no longer, she lowered herself on to him. George closed his eyes and gasped as he entered her, feeling her tightness yield to him, and they sat motionless for some time, enjoying the exquisite sensation of being joined together.

  Then George wrapped his arms around her, taking her weight, and stood up, with her still impaled on his penis. He moved slowly into the middle of the room and then sank to his knees, lowering her on to the soft rug until she was lying on her back. Reaching down, he pulled at her panties until the seam broke, then he pushed them aside, and began to thrust inside her.

  It was exactly what she wanted. At the pitch of anticipation, she was ready to let him take control and begin to move hard and deep inside her, filling her up exquisitely. She could feel his balls banging against her buttocks with every long, intense thrust and that alone made her tingle with excitement.

  They moved in time together, her hips rising to meet him, to let him go as far as he could inside her. She raked the skin on his back with her nails and bit at his neck and shoulders, urging him on. Suddenly he exploded inside her, pushing in with intensity, slowing as his orgasm possessed him. When he’d regained himself, he smiled down at her.

  ‘Did I leave you behind? I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it, you were just too incredible. We’ll have to do something about that …’

  He moved his hand downwards, sliding his fingers into her and smoothing them upwards over her clitoris. She shivered jerkily as he touched her most sensitive spot, now highly aroused and ready. He sank his mouth on to hers, kissing her deeply at the same time as his fingers played over the hard bead of her clit, rubbing and rubbing, exerting just enough pressure to urge it to greater and greater sensation, until an immense wave of pleasure burst over her. She tensed and then gripped him to her, crying ‘Oh, oh, God …’ as the orgasm pulsed through her, releasing all her tension in a glorious climax.

  Afterwards, while they were lying in each other’s arms, Poppy murmured, ‘Mmm, I really enjoyed that. It was utterly lovely.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it,’ George said with a smile.

  Poppy laughed. ‘You must have guessed from all the thrashing about and then coming embarrassingly loudly?’

  ‘I suppose so – but one doesn’t like to assume.’

  ‘I think it’s a safe bet when someone shouts “Yes, oh my God, yes!”’ She rolled over to face him. ‘You know, you’re really very … hmm … what’s the word? Surprisingly … well, let’s say … a very good size.’

  George grinned. ‘So I’ve been told, but you know, it’s hard for me to tell. After all, I’ve got no one to compare myself with.’

  ‘You don’t look at all the type.’

  ‘What type should I be? A rippling hunky body builder or something?’

  ‘No.’ She laughed. ‘I don’t know. You just seem quite unassuming and I thought that if a man had a big cock, he was full of machismo and testosterone and “look at me, I’m so great, you’re mine, baby, I’m going to take you to heaven and back” sort of thing.’

  ‘No.’ George picked up one of her hands in his large one and stroked it. ‘I think you’ll find those men are the ones with the small penises.’

  She laughed. ‘Well, I’m a very lucky girl!’

  ‘Lucky in lots of ways,’ George said, looking her straight in the eye. ‘You’ve got all this for a start – a beautiful flat, your own dosh. And you’re gorgeous, sexy and amazing. That’s a winning ticket in the lottery of life, isn’t it?’

  Poppy stared at him for a moment and then said slowly, ‘You might be surprised, actually. I might look like all I have to do is spend my money but it’s not as simple as that.’ She told him about Trevellyan, regaling him with the whole story, finishing up with the fact that she and her sisters had only one year to turn the company around.

  George listened intently. ‘What I don’t understand,’ he said finally, ‘is why you’ve only got one year to do it. It sounds like you should have much longer than that. How on earth can you manage to revive a company in twelve months?’

  ‘Because, according to my mother’s will, if we don’t manage it, the whole company will go to Jecca.’

  ‘Who’s Jecca?’ asked George.

  Poppy paused. She couldn’t help hesitating before she discussed Jecca. It was so ingrained in her that Jecca was not to be mentioned that it was hard to overcome the inbuilt reluctance to talk about her. But what harm could it do to talk about her with George? Surely he was one of the few people who could listen without prejudice.

  ‘Jecca is Jecca Farnese. Or, I suppose, Jecca Trevellyan. It depends which name she feels like using. She was adopted by my parents when she was just a baby. I suppose to understand why, we have to go right back to the beginning, to the start of Trevellyan. Years ago, when Samuel Trevellyan founded the company, he did it with the help of an Italian man, Farnese, who developed all the original fragrances for the company. He was an astounding talent, apparently, an inspired perfumer. His sons inherited his gift and they stayed in the company, running the laboratories, while my family ran the business side. But there was always a difficulty – the Farnese family were well rewarded for their work but they did not become as rich and successful as our family, even though the company could not have been built without their talent. As the years went by, resentment passed from generation to generation, getting stronger. Then, when my father was a young man, it looked as though the problem could finally be solved. He and Luca Farnese were close friends. They went to the same school and it seemed that the Farnese family had finally been accepted into British society. Luca and my father even went to Cambridge together. It wasn’t long after my father left university that he met my mother and they married. But apparently my mother and Luca did not get on, because his friendship with my father abruptly ended. Luca left his job at Trevellyan and disappeared to Italy, where he was gone for many years.

  ‘When Luca finally reappeared, it was on the doorstep of Loxton. He had come from Italy where he was desperately poor. He’d put all his money into trying to start his own perfume house and now it was gone and he was utterly destitute. He also had a beautiful young wife, Isabella. He threw them both on to my father’s mercy.’

  ‘What happened?’ George asked, enthralled. ‘Did your parents take them in?’

  ‘I was only a baby when the Farneses turned up on our doorstep and I don’t remember anything about it. But Tara remembers that night very clearly because it was dark and raining, and these wet, bedraggled people arrived – real orphans of the storm. They stayed but there were terrible rows between my parents, or so I’ve heard. My mother considered Luca Farnese had forfeited his right to any help and that he’d lost his money through his stupidity alone – I don’t think there was any love lost between the two of them. However, my father felt that the Trevellyans were eternally in the debt of the Farnese family, because without their talent, we would have been nothing. So he was obliged to help Luca and Isabella.’

  ‘How long did they stay?’

  Poppy sighed. ‘It all took a terrible turn. Once they were settled in the house – they’d been there a month or so – Luca Farnese got in his car and drove it off a bridge at high speed into the river which was at full flood. He drowned.’

  �
��Poor bloke,’ George said grimly. ‘It’s hard to imagine how desperate you have to be to do such a dreadful thing.’

  ‘His wife was devastated and there was no question of her leaving after that, of course. She had nowhere to go, no family, no money. And she was pregnant.’

  ‘With this Jecca.’

  Poppy nodded. ‘Yes. When Jecca was born nine months later, Isabella stayed on. I have a vague memory of her. She was very beautiful with long black curly hair, and she sometimes wore a cross and beads round her neck. I can remember her singing to the baby in her own language, lulling her to sleep.’

  ‘So, if there was Isabella, why did Jecca become a Trevellyan? Why was she adopted?’

  ‘Because Isabella died.’ Poppy felt a wave of unhappiness wash over her. Just saying the words brought back a feeling of horror, the sensation she must have felt as a young child at that time. It made her think of shouting and tears, anger and despair. She rolled on to her back and stared up at the ceiling, remembering.

  ‘How did she die?’

  ‘I don’t really know. It was never talked about. I always had the impression that it was an illness. Something sudden and strange. But as I say, no one ever told me and I never asked. But Jecca stayed with us and grew up with us.’

  ‘She didn’t have other family?’

  ‘Yes, but she didn’t know any of them so perhaps it was decided she was better off with us. I’m not sure Jecca thought that, though. She always seemed so unhappy. We tried to treat her as one of us, as our sister, but it was never right. She looked and behaved so differently to us, for one thing, she was so completely Italian. Jecca was always aloof, and when she wasn’t aloof, she was angry. She and Jemima particularly hated each other. Jemima had always been Daddy’s favourite but when Jecca arrived … well, it was as though he decided to love her best because she was so alone in the world. He just worshipped Jecca. My mother always favoured me – I suppose I was her baby and I had an illness early in my life that seemed to give me special status. Tara longed for Mummy to love her best, and Jemima longed for Daddy to love her best. But she couldn’t compete with Jecca.’