Chapter 45

London
January 2009

IMOGEN LOOKED UP from the legal document she was checking and stared out at the offices and skyscrapers of London, standing grey against an even greyer sky. It might be miserable and wintry outside but she was elated to be back in the groove, back in London, back at her job and partying again.

She’d spent a lazy Christmas in Scotland, eating far too much, sleeping as many hours as she could, and generally recovering from her very demanding life at Guthrie & Walsh. Her parents had spoiled her, delighted to have her back home with them again, and she’d barely stirred out of the front door. It had been lovely being looked after: all her meals cooked, her laundry done, her bed made … Even her New Year’s Eve had been cosily middle-aged, sitting with her parents in front of the television and toasting in the year with a wee dram.

But by the end of the holidays she’d been champing at the bit, keen to get back to her life in the big city. Her job was intense but stimulating and exciting, even if her trainee status meant she was given the boring jobs to do. She was hungry for knowledge and keen to get on.

‘What do you say we go out clubbing tonight?’ Fiona had said as they’d walked through Spitalfields on the way to work. ‘It’s Friday. I feel like dancing.’

‘I’m on for it,’ Imogen said. ‘I’ll need to cut loose after today.’

‘Good. So we’re on.’

Now all she had to do was get through the next few hours and then she’d be free for some fun …

They both managed to get away from work before seven, and after a dash home and a quickfire change, were on their way north by eight. In Camden they met up with some friends in a pub and settled down for some drinking, chatting and food before they went to the club at ten.

Once they’d queued, paid, got rid of their coats and made their way inside, Imogen was ready to party. She was feeling pleasantly high after a few drinks in the pub and was eager to dance. She was wearing her favourite party dress: a blue Hervé Léger-style body-con bandage dress that she’d found in Reiss. The music was pumping out, the lights were flashing and she was keen to get moving.

‘I’m going to dance!’ she shouted to Fi over the noise.

‘OK! Do you want a drink? We’re going to the bar!’ Fi gestured over at the crowd buying drinks.

Imogen shook her head and pushed her way through the onlookers and on to the dance floor. The beat was pounding out and one of her favourite songs was playing. She found herself a space and started dancing, not caring that she was alone. Life was good at the moment: it felt like she had a purpose and a future, and she was young, single, solvent and looking for fun.

How long was she dancing before it happened? Perhaps twenty minutes. Perhaps longer. But, suddenly, in the middle of swaying to a sexy disco tune, she looked up and there he was.

At first, she couldn’t believe it. I know him, she thought, confused, as she gazed into those blue eyes. Who is he? Then it came to her in a burst: Xander! But all she could say was, ‘You!’ while her stomach somersaulted with excitement, just as it always used to.

He smiled at her, that gorgeous lopsided smile she’d once loved so much, and nodded. He looked the same: shorter hair and thinner, but still that same handsome face and those dark blue eyes that always seemed amused and faintly flirtatious. He took her hand, and the next moment he’d pulled her to him and was kissing her.

The touch of his lips sent her whirling back through the years to that hot summer night in the Oxfordshire orchard, and the ecstasy she’d felt on the chilly floor of the temple. Just as before, she felt their mouths fit together, two halves of a whole, and the next moment she was sinking into the kiss, revelling in it, and nothing else around her existed. As they kissed, she felt his body against hers and she closed her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, savouring the sweet smell of him and the warmth of his body.

Xander, she thought, and a wave of deep but thrilling calm washed over her. It’s like being where I belong. Oh, Xander …

When he broke the kiss, she blinked at him, surprised. Is this all real? She smiled at him and clutched his hand. He cocked his head towards the doorway and she nodded eagerly, Fiona and her other friends forgotten. She’d found him – or rather, he’d found her – and she couldn’t lose him now. She held his hand tightly as they made their way through the crowd and out of the club.

Outside the club, they stopped on the pavement, taking no notice of the people milling about them.

‘It’s been a long time,’ he said, smiling, still holding her hand.

‘I can’t believe it’s you!’ she said breathlessly. ‘What are you doing here?’

He said slowly, ‘I guess I was supposed to find you … I always had a feeling I would, you know.’ Then he kissed her again, wrapping her tightly in his arms as though he was worried she would float away if he let her go.

They took a taxi back to Imogen’s flat. On the way, she texted Fi to let her know she’d left.

She felt shivery with excitement one moment, and perfectly content the next. It was bizarre and yet it seemed completely normal that Xander should be sitting with her in the back of a black cab, heading back to her place, just as it been astonishing and yet natural for him to kiss her in the club. He had said that dramatic, almost unbearably exciting thing – ‘I was supposed to find you’ – and now he was asking her what she was doing these days, just as an old friend would.

‘Clever you,’ he said, when she’d told him. ‘I always knew you’d do well. You’re very sensible and sane.’ He grinned at her. ‘Unlike me.’

‘What are you up to?’ she asked. Allegra had said only that he still hung round with his old university crowd, and as far as she knew had no direction in his life.

‘Not much. I’m not as busy as Allegra is, that’s for sure. I saw her in Soho today and she was directing hundreds of builders, looking at curtain fabrics and deciding where to put steam rooms. She’s quite the entrepreneur these days.’

‘Yes. Her new club.’ Allegra had bought some premises the preceding autumn and now building work was beginning. ‘She’s doing amazingly well.’

‘Who’s this Adam?’ Xander asked. ‘He seemed to be hanging around a lot. A boyfriend?’

‘No … just a friend, I think. As far as I know.’ Imogen smiled at him, feeling shy again.

‘It’s lovely to see you, little Imogen,’ Xander said with the old tenderness in his voice.

‘You too.’ She smiled at him. I’m over you, she wanted to say. Your spell was broken years ago. But as soon as he’d kissed her, the enchantment had returned, as strong as ever. But why did he kiss me? What does it mean?

Then she thought, I’m not going to question it. I’m just going to go with it and see what happens …

Back at the flat, they opened a bottle of wine, sat down on the sofa and talked. Imogen told him about law school, about Fiona and the flat and her new life. Xander told her about a film he’d seen that day and loved. She listened and laughed, observing him while he talked, and remembering.

‘You’re such a good listener, you know?’ he said at last, when they had drained the bottle. ‘That’s what I always loved about you. You’re so easy to talk to. You make me feel calm. Not like most girls. They make me nervous.’

‘Do they?’ Imogen found that hard to believe: he had always seemed to attract women effortlessly. She longed to ask him if had a girlfriend at the moment, but it seemed too leading a question.

Xander nodded. ‘I’m surrounded by James’s harem all the time. The Anxious Annies, I call them. Anxious because they’re worried one of them will snare James and marry him, get all the money and take him off the market. So they’re all busy trying to outwit each other in charming him. Naturally he loves it. He’s permanently in Switzerland for tax purposes these days, so I’m not living with him at the moment. I camp out in Onslow Square when I’m in Dad’s good books, and sleep on friends’ sofas when I’m not.’

‘Are you working?’

Xander laughed and pulled a face. ‘No. Who would hire me? I can hardly tie my own shoelaces. I scraped a third from Oxford and I’ve done nothing since. I’m not proud of it. It’s just the way things have turned out.’ He leant forward and took her hand, gazing into her eyes. ‘That’s what I meant all those years ago … you always were too good for me. I’m just a wastrel.’

She blinked at him. He was right, in a way. He’d left Oxford five years ago and had nothing to show for that time. But that didn’t mean there was no hope. ‘Xander …’ she whispered.

He looked at her intently. ‘Would it be terribly inconvenient … I mean … would you mind … if I kiss you again?’

‘Come here,’ she said, and pulled him even closer.

‘There’s a bloke asleep in our sitting room,’ Fiona said, as she came into the kitchen in her dressing gown the next morning. ‘Anyone I know?’

‘It’s an old friend of mine. I met him in the club last night and we came back here to talk.’

‘Ooh!’ Fiona made a saucy face and raised her eyebrows. ‘He’s good-looking, I can tell. So … nothing happened?’

Imogen shook her head as she poured hot water over a teabag in a mug. They had kissed, tenderly and gently for a long time, until Xander had pulled away and said apologetically, ‘This is no reflection on your charms, Midge, but I’m absolutely bushed. Do you mind if I sleep?’ And then yawned hugely.

She’d laughed because it was not the end to the evening she’d envisaged, but then, Xander always had excelled at not fulfilling her romantic dreams. She’d gone to find him a rug and, by the time she’d got back, he was sound asleep on the sofa, so she had tucked him up and left him there.

‘I’m heading out for a run,’ her flatmate said, appearing a few minutes later in her kit.

‘Not another run? You never stop,’ teased Imogen.

‘Got to keep my endorphins up.’ Fi grinned and hurried off.

Imogen sat on the chair opposite the sofa, drank her tea and read the paper until Xander woke up, deliciously dishevelled and bleary-eyed.

‘Oh, good,’ he said with a smile when he saw her. ‘I was worried I’d dreamt you.’

‘Morning,’ she said. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

‘You angel. I would. But a shower first, if that’s all right …’

After Xander’s shower they breakfasted together, both in high spirits. I still can’t believe he’s here, Imogen thought wonderingly as she watched him butter his toast or reach for the jam. It’s wonderfully normal. They were so relaxed, so comfortable together, as though they’d spent hundreds of mornings like this.

‘What are you doing today?’ he said, as they finished up their breakfast.

‘It’s Saturday. I don’t have anything particular planned … maybe some shopping.’ Imogen spoke casually but was terrified he would say he had to go now and slip out of her life again, lost for the third time.

‘Then why don’t we spend the day together?’

Her heart contracted with joy and she felt a smile cover her face. ‘I’d love to.’

‘Good. I have to set off for a party later but I’m yours until then.’

They spent a blissful day together, walking down to the river, across Tower Bridge and along the South Bank to Borough Market, where they wandered among the food stalls, tasting delicious morsels, and then bought tortilla wraps filled with spicy chicken and rocket and ate them in the garden of Southwark Cathedral, the sound of the choir singing an anthem drifting towards them as they sat on the low stone wall. Then they walked on, past the Globe Theatre and towards the towering chimney of Tate Modern, St Paul’s Cathedral sitting stately and imposing on the opposite bank. Xander said they should go and improve their minds with art so they went in and explored, talking and giggling together in a happy conspiracy of laughter while they admired the art.

They were sitting in the café having afternoon tea, enjoying the splendid view of the gun-metal grey Thames and the magnificent domed cathedral that sat across it, when Xander looked at his watch. ‘Shit! I have to go.’

‘What?’ Imogen said, disappointment crashing through her. She stared down at the dirty cups and crumb-filled plates, trying to hide it.

‘I’ve got to get back to Onslow Square for my stuff and then it’s a drive out of London.’ He made a cross face. ‘I’d much rather stay with you.’

‘Me too,’ she said weakly. She’d been imagining that their day would morph seamlessly into the evening, and they would go out to dinner together, and it would turn into something even more wonderfully romantic than their time so far had been.

‘I promised Piers, that’s the thing.’ Xander frowned and thought for a moment. Then he said, ‘Tell you what … why don’t you come too? It’s going to be a bit wild but you won’t mind that, will you?’

‘Go with you?’ She brightened, remembering the parties she’d once gone to with Allegra and Xander. Would it be like those raucous, glamorous nights?

‘Sure. Come along. I’m sure Piers won’t mind. The more the merrier. I’ll call him to let him know there’ll be one extra.’

‘OK. I’ll come.’ What else was I ever going to do? When have I ever said no to Xander?

‘Just one condition. You have to wear black.’

She went to the flat to locate a black cocktail dress and get ready while Xander made his way back to Onslow Square to change into his dinner jacket. He arrived at the flat in his battered MG, clean, freshly shaven, and looking devastatingly attractive in his DJ and black bow tie.

‘You look gorgeous, Midge,’ he said appreciatively when he saw her. ‘We’re going to make a pitstop on the way, I hope that’s all right.’

‘Of course,’ she said, climbing in, and the next minute they were roaring through the London streets on their way east.

They hadn’t been going long and had just passed through Whitechapel when Xander pulled off the main road and took a few turns until they were in a shabby street of down-at-heel Victorian terraces that had been turned into flats.

‘Won’t be a minute,’ he said with a charming smile. ‘You don’t mind waiting, do you? It’s not worth coming in.’

She barely had a chance to speak before he’d disappeared. Imogen sat nervously in the dark car, wondering if anyone on the outside could see her sitting there alone. But, as he’d promised, Xander was back very soon.

‘All done and dusted,’ he said, starting up the car. The engine roared into life and he pulled away from the kerb. ‘Now it’s a bit of a drive, but worth it … you’ll see.’

After fighting their way through the traffic and buses, they finally joined one of the artery roads out of the city and then the M1. As the motorway rolled away under their wheels, Imogen was overcome with tiredness, her head flopped back and she slept. When she woke, it was late evening.

She yawned loudly.

‘Hello, sleepy head,’ Xander said, looking over at her. ‘You’re just in time. We’re nearly there.’

She looked around, trying to work out where they were. They were travelling down the kind of English country lanes that could be anywhere.

‘We’re in Northamptonshire,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘And here we are!’

They drove through a pair of enormous wrought iron gates and up a long driveway lined with lime trees before coming to a halt on a semi-circular gravelled carriage turn in front of a spectacular Jacobean mansion.

‘This is it.’ Xander turned off the engine. ‘Get ready to leave your inhibitions outside, Imogen. This kind of party requires a broad mind.’

‘I’m sure I can handle it,’ she said with a smile as she checked her make-up in the tiny visor mirror.

‘Good. Come on then. Let’s party!’

The great arched oak door was opened by a man in black tie, with sandy thinning hair and sharp, pale blue eyes.

‘Ah, Xander!’ he cried as he saw them. ‘Well done, old chap. You’ll get the party started.’ He turned to Imogen.

‘This is Imogen,’ Xander introduced her. ‘Imogen – Piers.’

‘Delighted,’ purred his friend. ‘Any friend of Xander … as the saying goes. Please come in. Everything’s warming up nicely in the library.’

He led them down the stone-floored hallway, on and on, past many rooms, until finally he opened a door and a burst of laughter and chatter greeted them.

The bookshelves were filled with leather-bound volumes shut away behind wire screens; the remaining walls hung with large gilt-framed oil paintings and a collection of antique swords. Several people lounged about on sofas and armchairs, equally divided between men and women, the men in black tie and the girls in black dresses. They all looked very sophisticated and glamorous.

Imogen looked about her, interested. The copious amounts of booze and drugs on display gave her a hint as to what Xander had meant about her needing to be broad-minded. On a polished walnut table was a huge silver tureen full of crushed ice in which a dozen bottles were chilling, with another dozen ready on the table. Across the room on another table was a selection of other mood enhancers: a bowl of tablets, tiny tabs of acid laid out on leather writing folder, and other pharmaceuticals she didn’t recognise. The guests at this party were evidently intent on losing all constraints and letting rip.

‘I think you’ll see the theme emerging,’ murmured Xander in her ear. Her skin prickled pleasantly at the feel of his breath on her neck. ‘Even the hors d’oeuvres stay true to the colour scheme.’ He gestured at a large bowl of ice holding a crystal dish piled high with caviar, the black eggs moist and gleaming.

‘Xander, my man!’ roared another of the guests, a fleshy-faced man with pink cheeks and small round spectacles. ‘Wonderful to see you. Would you like a drink?’

‘Hello, Gawain. I certainly would. This is Imogen.’ Xander propelled her smoothly forward.

‘Gawain Tudor-Jones. How d’ye do?’ He bowed, offered Imogen his arm and led her towards the drinks table. ‘A drink for you too, dear Imogen?’

‘Yes, please,’ she said, smiling. Perhaps this was going to be fun. The public school crowd Xander ran with might have its faults but they always had good manners – at least, at first.

Gawain gestured over at the table. ‘I’ve had quite a time finding champagne in a black bottle so we compromised on the Dom Pérignon OEnothèque 1995 – the bottle is actually a very, very dark green, but it’s got a black label and black foil, so we think it counts.’ He turned and called, ‘Robin, we’re ready for another bottle!’

Yet another young man in black tie came forward, carrying a sword taken from the display on the wall. He went over to the silver tureen and pulled out a bottle. Holding it out wide by the base, he put the blade against the neck for a second, then took back his sword arm and with one strong stroke sliced through the bottle, decapitating it neatly at the neck and leaving a clean, diagonal edge. White foam fizzed up through the gap as Gawain darted forward with a pair of flutes.

‘Nice cutting,’ he said admiringly.

‘Thanks,’ Robin said, ‘I’m getting my eye in now.’ He poured the champagne into the waiting glasses.

Imogen laughed. ‘Isn’t that rather a dangerous way of getting bottles open?’

‘Tonight is dangerous,’ Gawain said, handing a foaming glass to her. His eyes glittered. ‘And drama is everything.’ He took a sip from his own glass, then ran his gaze appreciatively over her low-cut dress and high heels. ‘You look very sexy, my dear, but somehow a little too pure to be Xander’s usual type.’

She took a sip of champagne, enjoying the sensation of the bubbles fizzing on her tongue and the dry, biscuity taste. Perhaps I’m going to be naughty tonight. Perhaps I’m going to get very drunk and stoned and do outrageous things … ‘We’re old friends.’

Gawain raised his eyebrows and smirked. ‘You must be a very understanding old friend.’ Then a lecherous expression crossed his face. ‘And I hope you’ll be a good friend of mine before the night is out.’

Imogen raised her eyebrows flirtatiously and said, ‘We’ll see, Gawain, we’ll see.’

‘What are you saying, Gawain, you old fraud?’ Xander said, coming up to them. ‘Have you got that drink for me?’

Imogen gazed at him fondly. He looked unutterably beautiful in evening dress, his dark blond hair spiky and his cheekbones even sharper than they used to be. They shared a conspiratorial smile as Gawain filled another glass and handed it to Xander. Just then Piers came into the library carrying a large bowl of black powder.

‘Ah!’ cried Gawain, his face lighting up. ‘Treats!’

‘I thought tonight we could rechristen this “gunpowder”,’ Piers declared loudly as the assembled crowd buzzed with appreciation at the sight. ‘Don’t ask me how I managed to make it black – I’ll just admit that it was bloody difficult. But … a theme is a theme.’ He sat down on the sofa and pulled a small card table towards him with a grey marble slab set ready on its top. Then he spooned out some powder and began preparing it to hand round to his guests.

Black cocaine, Imogen thought. It seems even more decadent than the usual white stuff. It certainly looks more sinister.

Piers handed the slab to the girls next to him, who took some proffered cut-off black straws and inhaled the lines eagerly.

‘Us next,’ murmured Xander into her ear. Gawain had wandered off and was chatting happily to a redheaded girl by the window.

When the slab came to Imogen, she took a straw and snorted up her line along with all the others. What the hell? she thought recklessly. I’m a grown up. Why shouldn’t I have some fun too? A few moments after taking it, she felt the pleasurable rush. She knew she would never do this in her ordinary life – the life of a respectable trainee lawyer who might party at weekends but who didn’t mess with Class-A substances. But there was something about being with Xander that made her live in the moment, heedless of the consequences. She felt capable of anything and ready for excitement and risk. Picking up her glass of champagne, she took a large swig.

‘Would you like to see the orangery?’ Xander whispered in her ear.

‘Yes, please,’ she said, hungry to spend some time alone with him, and followed him as he wandered out of the French windows and down on to a soft green lawn. Behind the house, the lawn stretched away, sloping gently down to a wood at the bottom.

‘You mustn’t mind Gawain,’ Xander said, as they walked towards a long honey-coloured stone building with arched windows that stretched from just above the ground almost as high as the roof along its whole length. ‘He gets a little carried away.’ He lit a cigarette. ‘But he’s harmless, really. Just tell him to piss off.’

They walked into the orangery which was warm from the trapped heat and the micro-climate created by a lavish assembly of trees, bushes and shrubs in all kinds of pots, from tiny to gigantic, scattered about seemingly at random. It was very quiet inside. They wandered over to a wrought-iron bench and sat down together, clutching their champagne glasses.

‘It feels like this is gearing up to be quite a party,’ Imogen remarked. ‘That’s a lot of booze and drugs waiting for us all in there.’

Xander nodded. ‘I’m holding back for a while. Don’t want to get too out of it, too soon. Besides, I’m starving and I know Piers has arranged a dinner. If I get stoned now, I’ll lose my appetite for a while and that’s no good. My bloody doctor says I’m too thin.’

‘Your doctor?’ Imogen asked with concern. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine.’ He took another sip of his drink.

‘Do you party like this a lot?’ she asked gently. The iron bench felt cold under her thin dress. The dense aroma of tropical plants in a confined warm space filled the air. It was almost stifling.

‘There’s no denying it, Midge, I party like this all the time. It’s pretty much all I do with my life.’ He grinned, half apologetically. ‘Doesn’t everyone want to live like this, if they can? All my rich friends could do anything with their lives, and you know what they want to do? This.’ He shrugged. ‘So I guess I must have the perfect life.’

There was a pause and then she said in a small voice, ‘But where will it all lead to? Where will it end?’

‘Well, there’s the rub. It’s self-perpetuating. Just goes on and on until, I guess, even partying starts to be boring. That’s when I’ll find something more serious to do. Maybe I’ll get married then and do the family thing. I’d like a load of kids someday – I like kids.’

‘But … don’t you ever feel like you’re wasting your life?’ she enquired tentatively. She didn’t want him to think she was criticising him.

He laughed and fixed her with a gaze that was both tender and amused. ‘Of course I am! That’s partly the point. It feels so ridiculously luxurious to waste a life. It’s the ultimate way to show how free you are: just letting the years dissolve away in the pursuit of pleasure.’

Imogen put her hand on his arm and said earnestly, ‘You could do so much more. You’re not like these other guys. You’ve got talent, you’re clever and funny …’

‘And I’m not really all that rich, so I’d better get myself sorted out, right?’ Xander smiled. ‘You’ve always wanted to look after me, haven’t you? I can feel your desperation for me to get myself straight – it’s reaching out to me.’

‘It’s not that I disapprove …’ she began quickly, but he interrupted.

‘I know.’ His expression changed. He stared down at his glass, frowning and nervously toying with the base. ‘Actually … you’re right. I do want to change. I have had enough.’ He stared straight up at her, his eyes serious. ‘The drink and drugs and wasted sex … they’re tiring me out. I want to feel good again. It’s so long since I’ve felt really good, you know? Happy and healthy and raring to go. Christ, I’m only twenty-six.’ His gaze softened and the corner of his mouth twisted up in that lopsided smile of his. ‘You used to be in love with me, didn’t you, little Imogen?’

She flushed. ‘I … I suppose I was. Once.’

He reached over and put his hand on hers. ‘I told you I was half in love with you too, remember? I know you would have been terribly, terribly good for me. Maybe you could even have given me a purpose in life. Led me out of this crazy world.’

A rush of hope filled her as a new future suddenly opened up in front of her. ‘There’s time,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I still could – if you’ll give me a chance.’

‘Really?’ He looked at her almost imploringly. ‘You still feel like that? I thought you would have grown out of your schoolgirl crush years ago.’

She stared at him, trying to drink in everything about him: his casual grace, the intensity of his dark blue eyes with their sweep of dark lashes, the size of his hands holding the glass. Was he really asking her if they could be together, if they had a chance? ‘I’ve never stopped loving you, not really,’ she whispered, half stumbling over the words, her heart racing. ‘I wanted to – but I couldn’t.’

His eyes softened and he reached out his hand, touching her bare shoulder. ‘Is that true?’

Her skin seemed to burn where he touched it. She nodded, yearning for him to embrace her again and this time tell her what she’d waited so long to hear: that he loved her too, and wanted to be with her.

A loud clanging interrupted them. The dinner gong was being banged loudly in the house. For a long moment they stared at each other in the prickly warmth, not sure who would reach for who first. Then Xander smiled at her and squeezed her hand.

‘Let’s go in,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’m starving.’

Dinner was served in an enormous ballroom with one long table arranged in the middle. The room was dark, lit only by the candles from two vast candelabra on the table. The candlelight revealed a scene like that from a Dutch eighteenth-century still-life. Along the black tablecloth dark-skinned fruit and vegetables were piled: aubergines, black grapes and apples painted black. Decanters of rich red wine were dark as blackened blood in the dim light. Everything was twined with black silk ribbon and ivy spray-painted black.

Beside each plate was a gift wrapped in black crêpe paper and tied with silk ribbon. The others had taken their places by the time Xander and Imogen came in.

‘Imogen, sit here by me.’ Piers patted the place next to him. Xander sauntered over to his seat between two girls, a beautiful blonde and a gorgeous brunette, who both greeted him enthusiastically. ‘I think we should open our gifts.’

Imogen took hers from beside her plate and opened it. Under the crêpe paper was a box and in that was a small packet of black Sobranie cigarettes, a pill, a black bottle of fluid marked ‘Deliciously warming, tingling and easing oil for a lady’s hot cunt’, a small black vibrating dildo and three black condoms.

Oh, God, she thought, staring at the contents. She wanted to giggle. So now it was absolutely plain what sort of a party this was.

There was much laughing and exclaiming over the gifts. The boys had bottles marked ‘A libidinous, enlivening lotion for the rearing tool of a gentleman’ and a cock ring with a vibrating clitoral stimulator.

What are the rules? she wondered. Then rebuked herself. Don’t be an idiot. There won’t be any. Already energised by champagne and coke, she was tickled and a little excited at the thought of what lay in store. As long as it’s Xander, I’m happy. She looked over to where he was sitting. The blonde next to him was cooing over his cock ring, and saying how much she loved the little buzzing device, while the brunette on his other side was making much of downing her pill with a gulp of Dom Pérignon.

He looked over at her and raised one eyebrow, a smile playing about his lips. Isn’t this an amusing game? he seemed to be saying. But I’d rather be with you …

It was no surprise that the whole dinner followed the black theme: black-clad waiters brought in a black soup, melba toast and more caviar. The main course had been doctored with food colouring and in the dim candlelight it was very hard to see what anything was, but Imogen thought she detected mashed potato and some kind of roast bird as well as vegetables. Pudding was a magnificent black pavlova, the whipped cream like a dark silk pillow on the crisp base, decorated with blackberries.

After pudding, coffee and dark chocolate were brought round, and finally the port was passed along with black-rinded cheeses and charcoal biscuits. The liberal amounts of wine, cocaine and pills had their effect throughout the meal. The conversation was loud and manic, punctuated with roars of laughter. Imogen talked to Piers on one side of her and to Robin who was on her other, and they kept her amused. She kept one eye on Xander all the time, though, feeling ripples of jealousy whenever he talked to the beauties on either side of him. I’m not letting anyone else have him, she told herself firmly. He’s mine tonight.

‘And now!’ Piers roared suddenly. He pushed away his coffee cup and wine glasses, clearing a space in front of him. ‘Let’s get the party started!’

Someone must have been listening for this cue. The room suddenly filled with pounding rock music, thudding and urgent. Piers climbed up on his chair and then on to the table as the other diners whooped, cheered and clapped. Dancing clumsily in time to the music, he took off his dinner jacket and threw it to the floor, then undid his bow tie, whipped it round a few times and tossed it to one of the women.

Imogen stared up at the gyrating Piers, laughing and clapping. Oh my God, he’s going to strip!

But then he unbuttoned his shirt, opened it, and revealed not his naked skin but a black corset laced tightly up his back so that little folds of fat had gathered at the front that looked like tiny breasts with a mass of curly hair between them. As the room full of people screamed with delight, he dropped his trousers; underneath he was wearing black silk knickers which bulged outwards and his corset was attached by ribbons to a pair of fishnet tights that showed off his surprisingly shapely legs. He’d already taken his shoes off, so now he stepped easily out of his trousers, kicked them away and began to do a kind of pole-dance routine, writhing and rubbing himself all over.

‘Hello, darling,’ said Robin, on Imogen’s other side. He leant over and kissed her on the lips, pushing his tongue between them and rolling it inside her mouth before she’d realised what was going on. She pulled away and said lightly, ‘Hello, yourself.’

All round the table, people had obviously taken Piers’ routine as the signal to get going: some neighbours were kissing passionately; one man leant back and looked on appreciatively as the girls to either side of him started snogging fiercely, flicking their tongues in and out of each other’s mouths so that their observer could see precisely what they were doing. One of the girls next to Xander was plucking at his buttons, undoing his shirt, while murmuring appreciatively.

It was as though some extraordinary spirit of indiscriminate lust had possessed everyone instantly and they were powerless to resist it. A girl was already almost naked, two men stripping her off hungrily as she giggled and pushed her breasts together and rubbing them sensuously with her hands.

‘You’re gorgeous,’ breathed Robin, his eyes glassy with lust. He put his hand on Imogen’s breast and dipped a finger into her bodice, tweaking a nipple. ‘I want to suck your tits …’

‘You’ll have to get in line, Robin,’ drawled Xander, suddenly appearing next to him and taking his hand firmly out of the front of Imogen’s dress. ‘But why not go and see Bebe and Josephine? They want to play.’ He gestured over at the girls he had been sitting next to. Robin got up happily and went to join them.

Imogen glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling. She stood up as he took her hand. ‘I thought you’d never get here.’

‘Unavoidably detained.’ He grinned, looking down at his unbuttoned shirt, then pulled her close to him. She savoured his scent, inhaling it and trembling with desire for him.

‘I don’t think I’m all that keen on having sex with Robin,’ she whispered.

‘I’d be very offended if you did,’ said Xander with a laugh. ‘I want you all to myself.’ He put his arms round her and kissed her, pressing her lips open with his until they were kissing properly. Then he pulled away, leaving her breathless and dizzy. ‘Shall we go somewhere a little more private?’ he said, his eyes glittering.

She nodded. All around them was movement and activity. Some people had moved over to the cushions laid out on the floor. Robin was already lying there, his face slack with lust as Xander’s brunette pulled out his cock and began to lick and suck it. Another man was already pushing the dildo up under the skirt and between the legs of a woman who held the vibrating toy to her nipples, watching as they stiffened under its touch.

The two men had finished stripping the girl naked and had laid her out on the dining room table, her legs splayed over the edge. One had already buried his face in her mound while the other was kissing her and caressing her breasts.

Everywhere Imogen looked people were kissing and licking and stroking, in all combinations and in various states of undress. Their lack of inhibition was liberating; she felt bubbles of lust climbing inside her. ‘Let’s go somewhere, quickly,’ she said, fired up, desperate to have Xander.

He understood, took her hand and led her through a pair of double doors into a smaller room, also covered in cushions. He shut the doors behind them, closing them off from the dining room and plunging them into darkness.

‘Imogen,’ he said, his voice hoarse and cracked with desire. He pulled her into his arms and they kissed hungrily, as though they couldn’t get enough of each other. Then they were stripping each other’s clothes off as quickly as they could, fired up by the sight of the activity in the dining room. She pushed off her dress and stepped out of it, her breathing short and her pulse racing. Xander took her right nipple into his mouth, pulling and tickling it with his tongue as he pushed her down on to the floor. He was naked now, pressing his body against hers, murmuring softly as his hands ran over her hips and stomach.

She lay back, arching her neck as he moved down her body, kissing and licking her stomach, till he reached her knickers. He pushed his face into the soft silk, inhaling her as he caressed her thighs, and then he gently pulled them off, pushing them down her legs and exposing her small dark bush. He breathed lightly on it, tickling it unbearably and making her gasp. Every nerve ending was straining; she longed to feel him touch her but he made her wait, as her pussy throbbed and ached. Then, he dropped his mouth to her and began to lick and nip at its soft folds and the bud that was already stiff and proud. The sensation was almost unbearable: smooth waves of delicious pleasure mixed with the tingle of electricity as his soft tongue touched her most sensitive place.

‘Please … let me …’ she gasped, desperate to touch him, to return some of the exquisite feelings he was giving her. He understood, and shifted so that she could reach for his prick. She seized its shaft, hot and hard in her hand, and flicked her tongue over it. Then she took it in, rolling the tip of his smooth penis round her mouth, moving up and down the shaft and tickling the end with her tongue as she played with his balls, stroking and moving them in their sac.

They spent long minutes sucking and teasing each other, drawing out the pleasure, making their nerves taut and responsive to every touch. She ran a fingernail around the sensitive area behind his balls and then up to the tight hole of his bum, which made him quiver and moan. As he took the whole of her clitoris into his mouth, sweeping his tongue around it, sweetly and deftly, he pushed a finger up inside her, then two, moving them hard, though all she wanted was for him to go faster and harder, and she lifted her hips to meet his hand.

She gasped, taking her mouth away from his cock, feeling it hot and hard against her cheek. The next moment, he’d turned round, pushed her thighs apart and was plunging down, ramming it into her. She spread herself as open as she could, revelling in the feeling of his penis hard in her depths. They fucked fast for several minutes before he pulled out of her. She turned round and raised herself up on all fours so that he could re-enter her, this time from behind. He knelt there, one arm round her belly, his fingers deep in her bush, twiddling with her maddened clit, while he stroked his cock in and out, forcing a gasp from her every time he hit home, ramming the head of his prick against her womb.

When she could bear the excitement no longer, she pulled free, turned round and lay back for him to enter her from the front again. Now he knew what she wanted, grinding his pubic bone against her, pushing her ever closer to her climax as he thrust in and out.

‘Oh, Xander,’ she cried, digging her nails into his back as the waves of pleasure began to radiate out from her hot and swollen pussy. ‘Oh, Xander …’

‘Come on, come for me,’ he murmured, thrusting harder.

She began to cry out as the orgasm possessed her, racked her with shudders of pleasure and then gushed out of her. Just as her cries subsided, his began, and he bucked and arched on top of her as he climaxed deep inside, spurting out his own orgasm to meet hers.

Then they collapsed together, panting and laughing.

‘Better than a stupid old orgy any day,’ Imogen said with a giggle, wrapping her arms around him.

‘Fuck, yes,’ Xander said. He kissed her.

She yawned. ‘I’m so tired now.’ She smiled at him and sighed happily. ‘In a good way.’

‘Come on, then. There’s a lovely cosy bed upstairs just for us. Let’s snuggle up there and go to sleep.’ He kissed her again. ‘Thank you, Imogen.’

‘What for?’ she asked, luxuriating in her post-coital bliss.

‘For everything.’

*

When she woke up, it was just after dawn and the bedroom was cold and grey. She was alone in the bed.

‘Xander?’ she asked, sitting up and looking about. They had sneaked through the dining room with its mass of writhing bodies and found this room the night before. They had fallen asleep wrapped in each other’s arms but now Imogen was on her own. She got out of bed, feeling woozy with her nascent hangover, and pulled on her dress. Outside the sky was a translucent pale blue and the golden morning sunshine burned down. The garden was deserted but some abandoned clothes showed that fun had recently been had there. She blinked against the light, deciding to go barefoot rather than wear her heels.

She padded out of the room, went down the hall and knocked at the bathroom door. ‘Xander? Are you in there?’ There was no answer, so she opened the door. It was empty.

She went on down the hall, calling softly for Xander. No one was stirring. The whole house had an exhausted air, blown out by the frantic scenes of the night before.

Imogen went down the huge staircase. Perhaps Xander had gone to the kitchen to get a drink. She certainly needed some water: her mouth was fluffy and dry and she craved cool liquid. Would she be able to find the kitchen? It must be towards the back of the house.

She set off down a long, picture-lined corridor and began to recognise it from the night before. She passed the door to the ballroom, and then came to the door to the library, paused and opened it.

Inside the room smelt stale and smoky. Someone had enjoyed a cigar in here at some point in the last few hours. The sword lay abandoned on the floor, surrounded by bottles and their severed tops. The silver tureen was full of tepid water and the crystal caviar bowl upturned in a pile of dirty slush. Everything seemed drained and empty.

She was about to leave when she noticed that, in the gloom at the far end of the room, someone sat hunched over a desk, asleep, a dark green rug draped over their shoulders. She began to move towards the figure. In front of it, the surface of the desk was covered in paraphernalia: a spoon, a syringe, needles, swabs, tin foil, a pair of scissors, some tubing and a pipe. Bags and wraps with traces of powder lay scattered about.

She approached quietly although she was sure they wouldn’t wake. The whole house felt as though it was under Sleeping Beauty’s spell, with everyone in it slumbering deeply.

As she drew closer, she realised it was a man, and that some soft dark blond hair was emerging from the top of the rug.

‘Xander?’ She plucked off the rug.

He sat slumped forward, his cheek resting on the desk top. She knew at once that something was dreadfully wrong. His face was grey and the muscles beneath his skin didn’t seem right, as though they’d slipped. Dark red blood had streamed from his nose and mouth on to the desk, though the flow had stopped and was now thick and sticky. No warmth came from him.

‘Xander! Xander, wake up!’ she called frantically, shaking him as hard as he could. He was cool to her touch. ‘Xander, can you hear me? Talk to me! Wake up! Please, Xander, please … wake up, wake up, wake up …’

Then she began to cry, horrible, broken, harsh sobs, because she knew that he would never wake up.