Club Crème Read online

  ‘Oh, you’re too good at this,’ Avril cackled, putting one thin hand out and stroking my face. I crashed off the sofa onto the floor, tugging my dress down over my wet bush. ‘It’s like pick ’n’ mix, isn’t it? Club Crème is a veritable treasure trove!’

  ‘I didn’t know it was your brother down there,’ I protested, still searching the faces of the guests crowding round us. I was searching for the matador. I’d wanted him to watch me. Now I wanted to know what he thought of what I’d done. Was he turned on or shocked? But I couldn’t see him. Avril squatted down and turned my face to look at her. She was grinning.

  ‘Well, I knew it was him. I put him there. You’ve done wonders for me, as I tried to tell you last night,’ she said. ‘I’m going to have to poach you from this club.’

  ‘It didn’t look as if you and Mr Hall needed wonders working,’ I replied caustically. ‘Though I am a little anxious about what your husband would say. He is, after all, a member of our club as well. He’s bound to hear about this.’

  Avril put her hand behind her ear. ‘Can’t hear you with all this noise,’ she cried. Then she turned to the others. ‘This girl is a natural. Sex on legs. Any man who goes near her can’t keep his prick in his trousers, no matter how well brought up he thinks he is. You should have seen her corrupting her aristocratic boss last night.’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ I protested. ‘He was corrupting me.’ But no one was interested in listening to me.

  ‘And she’s unleashed a whole new kinky side of me, too. She wasn’t to know I’d be hanging around yet again to see what was going on. Now I’ve discovered the voyeur in me. I wouldn’t mind a piece of her myself. This girl is quite irresistible. Isn’t she, Jez?’

  She got up, and went to sit beside her still-silent brother. He was lying where I’d left him, unable to move in the rigid silver plastic top. Avril started to fondle his softening prick.

  ‘But what about us?’ one of the blonde girls piped up, kneeling down and putting her arm round me. She was addressing Mikhail, who was fiddling with his cape behind me. ‘How do you think we feel about you screwing the most beautiful girl here?’

  ‘I didn’t know you cared,’ Mikhail teased.

  ‘Not you, idiot. We want her,’ the two blondes chorused, pointing at me.

  They all started squabbling, and I switched off and let them get on with it. The matador was sitting on the window sill. He was the only person still wearing his sunglasses. As my eyes adjusted to the light I noticed that he was wearing a silver earring. I wanted to get out of the tangle I was in and speak to him. But when he saw me he sprang to the floor.

  ‘Hey, you can’t go yet,’ Mikhail said when he saw the matador about to leave. ‘You haven’t told us what you thought of the floor show. Or what you think of the club’s luscious new housekeeper.’

  ‘Delightful. The club chose well. She looks good enough to eat. Perhaps next time.’

  Everyone laughed and clapped again. Mikhail and I were encircled, like gladiators trapped in the ring. I stood up. I tried to push through the guests to get a closer look at the matador. But they were all crowding round me, stroking my hair, fingering my dress, and the two blondes were acting like bodyguards, each holding one of my arms.

  The matador was making for the door now, pushing the sombrero impatiently to the back of his head. And then I saw his hair, smooth, dark, glossy like oil, and the earring, glittering against his dark stubble. He turned his head towards me again. I could see the pinprick of my wide-eyed reflection in his black glasses. I could see my mouth opening, trying to explain myself.

  Then Merlin was gone. I went and stood where he had been standing, and looked out of the window. The landscape of rooftops made a different world out there. It was tempting to climb out into the cold air and walk among the chimney pots above the streets. There was bound to be a door leading out from the penthouse on to some kind of roof terrace. But as I felt along the glass for some kind of catch, something outside caught my eye and I saw what Merlin had been looking at so intently.

  Directly opposite, separated from this building by a narrow gulf, were the big windows of a similar penthouse flat. And through the window I could see Sir Simeon. He was naked apart from a towel round his middle and he was doing a series of press-ups on a huge fur rug in front of an open fire. His body was super fit. His skin had the same olive glow as Merlin’s, and his arms and legs were long and sinewy. I was impressed. He was in very good shape. But then I knew that, didn’t I? At least, I knew that one part of him was in very good shape indeed, even though I’d only felt it sliding up inside me. I’d never set eyes on it.

  Mikhail snaked one arm round my waist and lifted me off my feet. He jerked his chin towards the view of Sir Simeon.

  ‘My business partner likes to keep fit,’ he chuckled, edging his fingers up under my dress again. ‘And just look at who likes to help him.’

  As Mikhail bore me away, I just had time to catch sight of Mimi walking over to Sir Simeon’s prone body, kicking it over so that he was on his back and lowering herself, very slowly, on to his face.

  9

  ‘I’ve changed my mind. You can take them. Burn them. Whatever. It’s time for a change.’ I dropped the bag full of my old clothes down in front of Miss Sugar’s desk and flung my new camel-hair coat over the back of the spare chair. She continued tapping at her laptop.

  ‘I said –’

  ‘Yes, I heard you,’ she snapped, her head jerking up at last. She whipped off her glasses and I wondered how much of a barrier they were intended to be. Her eyes widened and I noticed how long her eyelashes were. She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear and her small mouth opened a fraction as she took in my new image.

  ‘What do you think? Cool leather trousers, aren’t they?’ I asked and gave her a twirl. ‘Just like Mimi’s, in fact. And they fit me like a glove.’

  ‘They certainly do,’ she agreed, nodding slowly. She picked up a silver pen and rubbed it across her lips. I saw the tip of her pink tongue licking the end of it. ‘And that crisp white shirt suits you perfectly. Tight, but fitting. You look . . . totally different. I doubt your best friend would recognise you.’

  ‘That’s the idea,’ I said laughing, and paced about the office, pretending to look for some papers. ‘Miss Breeze here?’

  ‘No. She’s gone abroad on business. She told you she was going.’

  ‘But I thought I saw her in Sir Simeon’s flat the other night.’

  Miss Sugar sighed and shook her head as if I was a thick pupil. ‘It was me who summoned you to come here this morning. Not Miss Breeze.’

  ‘You’re not going to give me the sack, are you?’ I asked. I twisted a strand of hair round one finger, still unused to its new soft sheen and lack of frizz. ‘Only I thought I’d displeased Mimi – Miss Breeze – in some way.’

  Miss Sugar opened up a pale-blue file from the tidy pile on her desk and read some typed notes stapled inside. The silver pen slipped in and out between her teeth and her thin cheeks hollowed slightly as she sucked the tip of it.

  ‘Much to my surprise, you’ve had a glowing report,’ she remarked, dropping the pen on top of the notes so that a tiny slick of saliva smeared the paper. ‘This is the Grey file. It seems that you hit the jackpot with Mrs Grey at the Mikhail party. And he’s cross-referenced this report to the Mikhail file, too.’

  ‘So what’s the verdict?’ I asked, gripping the back of the chair in front of her desk and tapping my new, shiny high-heeled boot impatiently.

  Miss Sugar picked up a bright red file and studied it for a moment. Again she tucked an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Don’t get too high and mighty, but Mikhail and Mrs Grey both seem to have taken a shine to you. A good thing too. He’s extremely well connected. Just our sort of person.’

  She closed both files and took them across to the filing cabinet. She was wearing a severe black suit today. The long jacket was tailored so that it avoided revealing any hint of breast or hip. The skir
t skimmed her ankles, which were encased in a pair of pointed ankle boots.

  ‘I like him,’ I enthused. ‘He’s just my sort of person, too.’

  ‘But I’m not so sure about Avril Grey,’ Miss Sugar continued. ‘I hope you haven’t become too intimate with her. I’m not comfortable with her coming here twice in one week. After all, she’s only a guest.’

  ‘Did you know Merlin was at the party too?’

  ‘Merlin? How do you know Merlin?’ she asked, her voice high with alarm.

  ‘I met him at Symes Hall.’

  ‘There’s no way he was at that party. Sir Simeon would never allow it,’ she stated and slammed the filing cabinet shut.

  ‘I’m telling you, he was there.’

  ‘And I’m telling you, he’s persona non grata,’ Miss Sugar interrupted me sharply. ‘But plenty of other people were there. Did you know our Rick the barman was there, for instance? Dressed as a little devil, I daresay. I must admit, Summers, that I have been proved wrong. I never expected you to be such a success quite so soon.’

  ‘So did I get a report from the matador. I mean, Merlin?’ I asked eagerly, swinging my leg over the chair as if I was mounting a horse. ‘You’re a hopeless liar, Sugar. You know he was there.’

  ‘Sir Simeon would kill me, you, everyone, if his son had been allowed to attend that party,’ she replied sternly, tucking the cabinet key inside the top drawer of her desk. She lowered herself on to her chair. ‘And I’m not at liberty to tell you the details of these reports, anyway. It wouldn’t do to give our employees ideas, good or bad, with too much detail.’

  She bit her lip and left a small dent.

  ‘Come on, Miss Sugar. You can tell me the truth,’ I said softly, leaning forwards a little. I had sprayed on some of Mimi’s musky scent which I had found in one of the designer bags, and it wafted off my skin whenever I moved. ‘I’m part of the family now, after all.’

  She was so bloodless that it took a while for the dent to fill out again. I stared at her mouth and then realised with a start that her eyes were fixed on mine. I stopped swinging my leg and rested one hand over the other on the edge of her desk in exactly the same way as she had folded hers.

  Miss Sugar leaned towards me, as if I was hypnotising her. Her eyes flickered over my face, which must have looked positively radiant compared with her ghostly complexion, and down towards the man’s frilled white shirt which I had left unbuttoned as far as the divide of my cleavage so that a suggestion of frothy white lace could be seen curling over my breasts.

  ‘This is strictly confidential,’ she whispered, and we both glanced round the empty office. I could smell peppermint on her breath. She was still staring at my cleavage, her nostrils quivering as she breathed in my scent. ‘But Sir Simeon and his son Merlin are sworn enemies. They’ve disagreed over practically everything, from whether or not to sell Symes Hall to whether or not to start the club, which Merlin has always claimed was his idea originally.’

  ‘You told me it was Sir Simeon’s brainchild.’

  ‘They both think it was their brainchild,’ Miss Sugar said and looked down at her nervous fingers. ‘Merlin wanted to fill the club with his brash young friends, but I much prefer the more select, more mature crowd Sir Simeon has targeted since we opened.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I mused. ‘I had Merlin down as the country bumpkin rather than the man about town, actually. Until I saw him dressed as a matador, that is!’

  She didn’t share my amusement. ‘How well do you know him, for heaven’s sake?’ she asked.

  I shrugged and flicked a paper clip across her desk. ‘Enough to fancy him, even though he acts like a mud-spattered Lord Fauntleroy.’

  ‘Well, getting in between those two is like playing with fire,’ Miss Sugar said. She picked up the paper clip and started to unravel it. ‘To top everything else, they’ve been fighting over Miss Breeze for years.’

  Now she had my attention.

  ‘And if you want my opinion,’ she went on, ‘they both need to pack it in. It’s taking its toll on Sir Simeon and it’s a stale old feud. Miss Breeze will probably up and leave them both before long anyway. She’s a gypsy at heart.’

  Miss Sugar put her hand on her mouth and widened her eyes as if seeing me for the first time.

  ‘You hope!’ I remarked cheekily, widening my eyes as well. ‘Don’t you secretly rather worship Sir Simeon?’

  Miss Sugar laughed, a sound that so surprised me that I wasn’t sure I’d heard right at first. It was a kind of fishwife’s cackle, low and dirty.

  ‘Sir Simeon?’ she gasped, swallowing the cackle to silence it. ‘It’s a long story, Summers, but the short answer is no. I admire and respect him, but I don’t want him. Not in the way you mean.’ The cackle was allowed out for another brief burst. ‘But enough about me. What Sir Simeon and that brat Merlin need is something new to squabble over. New blood. That could be you. That’s why you have to do well here.’

  It was the first time she’d used my name and, for some reason, I blushed. I sat up abruptly. Two red spots appeared across her cheekbones and she sat up as well.

  ‘Don’t you worry about a thing. This job . . . those two . . . it’ll be a piece of cake,’ I said and then lowered my voice. ‘But I would do a whole lot better if someone paid me.’

  Instead of reprimanding my tone, Miss Sugar nodded and opened another drawer in her desk and drew out a cheque. It was for five thousand pounds and it was made out to me.

  ‘Two nights at two and a half grand each,’ she said, pushing the cheque across the desk. ‘That’s how good you are.’

  ‘Sydney, hear I come,’ I said under my breath, taking the cheque and holding it up in front of my nose.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said hurriedly, folding it into my pocket and trying to look as if I got cheques like that every day.

  ‘Who’s Sydney?’

  I started to laugh. It was a genuine, delighted laugh and it forced a tight smile out of her, too. She had no idea what I meant. She had no idea how important this money was to me. Just in case everything here in London went pear-shaped. It represented a round-the-world ticket, not a man called Sydney. I was halfway to my dream already.

  ‘Talk about easy money,’ I chuckled, trying to calm myself down. ‘Honestly. A few more group sessions like those and I’ll be able to do this job standing on my head.’

  ‘It’s not all about sex sessions, Summers. You’ve been lucky, if you like that sort of thing. But each scenario you find yourself develops differently. You might be playing dominos tonight.’

  I pretended to yawn, but she was serious.

  ‘You’ve only just started. Don’t get too complacent,’ Miss Sugar said sharply. Her half-smile vanished and she put her glasses back on. I recognised the sign of dismissal. ‘OK, you can go now.’

  She got up and came round the desk, kicking aside the plastic bag bulging with my old travelling gear. She glared at it as if it had just jumped up and bitten her.

  ‘Don’t you wish you were out on the job, Sugar, instead of stuck in this poky place?’ I asked, shrugging on my expensive coat. I couldn’t resist stroking the soft camel wool as I buttoned it up, and nor could Miss Sugar. She walked round me, tweaking the back panels of the coat so that it fell easily to my ankles.

  ‘Oh, don’t you worry about me. I am still picked by one or two of the members to keep them company on occasion,’ she replied, pulling my hair over the coat collar then retreating quickly to the safety of her desk. ‘My time will come again. You can be sure of that. Now go. I’m shutting up shop for the day.’

  I went out in to the hall and turned. Miss Sugar was still standing by the desk, nudging disdainfully at my old clothes with her foot. She looked like a cross between a nun and an undertaker.

  ‘Ever thought about wearing scarlet, Miss Sugar?’ I tossed the remark over my shoulder and escaped into the kitchen to discuss my new idea for a school dinners’ menu.

  10

  Miss Sug
ar was right. I spent the next few evenings playing an extremely ferocious version of Racing Demon in the pale-yellow drawing room with three gentleman farmers, a gay interior designer and two earnest fly-fishermen. Not one of them suggested a strip-Racing Demon, or anything more wicked than a round of Irish coffee, but I had to admit that the card games were fun nevertheless.

  Each night Rick the barman brought in a tray of drinks before locking-up time. The Irish coffee soon gave way, at my persuasion, to fiery shots of tequila which sent rapid flushes into everyone’s cheeks and evil glints into their eyes. Rick the barman just looked at me and gave a little nod. He never uttered a word about what he’d seen in the club bar. My days with the accounts ledger and my evenings with the card players were so tame that I began to wonder if my first few days working at Club Crème had been a wet dream.

  Either that, or someone was deliberately keeping me out of the loop.

  On my next day off, I left my crummy flat to go for a run. If I wasn’t going to get my kicks from any more antics at the club, I would at least keep myself in shape. I decided to treat myself to a Mikhail massage later, too. Perhaps see what else Mikhail had to offer.

  But first I had to get the blood pumping. Once I’d got into my stride I ran north as far as Kensington Gardens, where I decided to have a mini picnic. I sat down on a bench by the Round Pond, munching a cream cheese and smoked salmon bagel. It was too cold for a picnic, or any other outdoor activity, but I had to have sustenance before I made the run back home to get ready for work.

  I stared at the people going by, all leaning against the icy wind as they picked their way carefully over the slimy droppings left round the edge of the pond by the hungry birds. Suddenly, a thin wiry woman with white-blonde hair cropped very short jogged past me. She’d already been past me once, I realised, and I also realised with a jolt who she was. Her cheeks were pink with exertion and she had a portable CD player clipped to her waistband. She was wearing a lilac sweat top, minute lilac shorts and fingerless gloves, but it was Avril Grey all right.