Simone showed up in a chauffeur-driven Bentley. Part of me was impressed, the concealed part alarmed. I’d lost count of the times I’d stepped into a car like this so that a paranoid crime lord could conduct a one-to-one conversation. Nevertheless, I beamed and lowered myself inside, the plush leather yielding beneath me.
She smiled and handed me a glass of champagne. ‘You scrub up well.’
‘That’s very colloquial.’
‘I had a good teacher. My mother was British.’
‘Was?’
‘Was,’ she said, the tone announcing subject closed.
I knew how she felt, and reached over and squeezed her hand. British mother, French father. I briefly wondered about Monsieur Fabron. Had Simone wished to mention him, no doubt she would have done so. ‘You look absolutely gorgeous,’ I said.
She wore a dark blue silk and metal dress with a plunging neckline, slashed to her thigh, silk and rhinestone sandals and metal and turquoise crystal earrings.
She threw me another of her trademark smiles. Her whole face lit up.
‘Where are you taking me?’ I said, sipping my drink. We had driven some miles out of Cheltenham and into the Cotswolds.
She laughed. ‘To church.’
The church was a rectory tucked away in a valley at the end of a long drive. Floodlit grounds revealed every make of luxury car, including a Maybach parked outside the limestone entrance. What really blew me away was a Lamborghini Aventador Roadster in metallic sapphire. Another time I’d have checked out its hexagonal architecture, but I had other visual delights in my sights.
As we ascended the steps a doorman in a beefeater-style coat and wearing a top hat and white gloves stepped out to greet us. ‘Good evening, Miss Fabron.’
‘Evening, Frederick,’ she said, swishing past through double doors and into a hall where bare-chested young men with oiled torsos and silver masks served champagne from silver salvers.
Simone swept up two glasses, handed one to me and walked into a grand hall lit entirely by candles. A blazing log fire took point at each end. Chaise longues and sofas flanked the walls of a room that pulsed with sound and vision. People talking. People admiring. People playing. My spirits rose at the sight of so many beautiful and elegantly dressed men and women.
‘Simone, what a fabulous party.’
I turned in the direction of a leggy blonde in a short black leather skirt, her voice shrill above a cacophony of rave music. The guy on her arm was a shade shorter than me, with a mane of dark, glistening hair and very white teeth. I guessed he was of Middle-Eastern extraction.
Simone smiled her gratitude and lightly touched my arm. ‘Will you excuse me for a moment? I need to check on a couple of things. ‘Zara,’ she addressed the blonde, ‘will you keep Joe company?’
Zara beamed. ‘Be my pleasure’. The Arab also excused himself – to use the bathroom, I presumed.
I shifted the weight of my body from one leg to the other and sipped my drink. Zara pressed herself up against me and idly twisted a lock of blond hair through her manicured fingers.
‘Is this your first time?’
‘It is.’ It wasn’t. I’d attended similar gigs in a strictly business capacity, but that was a lifetime ago, or to be more exact, a year. I took a step back. I’d never cared for having my personal space invaded unless I invited it.
‘Simone hosts the most divine parties.’
I glanced around me. One black girl in dark blue chiffon was on her knees, tongue darting, going at another semi-naked woman splayed wantonly across a sofa while a man, presumably a husband, boyfriend or lover watched. I turned away, bored. Crime lords have a penchant for gigs like this, the weirder the better. I didn’t see anything now that I hadn’t seen before. By criminal standards, it was fairly tame. What interested me was Simone. I turned to Zara.
‘Known her long?’ I said.
‘Five years.’
‘Know her well?’
‘In what sense?’ Zara smiled, exposing expensive orthodontics, and tossed her hair back in a clearly provocative gesture. I think she intended me to think that at some time in their history they had got it on.
‘In the nice to see you, how are things going and what are you up to sense.’
This seemed to amuse the blonde. ‘That’s not what we are about.’
‘Right.’ Hitting a brick wall, I glanced around once more, wondering where Simone was and how soon she was coming back. I’ve never been good at small talk.
‘Are you married?’ Zara said.
‘No. You?’
‘Yes.’
‘To the guy you were with?’
‘Moshe.’
I flinched. ‘Israeli?’
‘Egyptian.’
She inclined towards me, hot breath close to my face. ‘You must be special. Simone only has the very best.’
I didn’t like comparisons. I was not a vintage wine or prime cut of meat. I wondered what had happened to Simone’s last lover. Zara appeared to read my mind.
‘Simone gets bored quite quickly.’
‘Thanks for the tip. I’ll bear it in mind.’
Another slutty smile. ‘You’re different to the others.’
I arched an eyebrow.
‘A man of few words. I like that about you.’ She pressed the flat of her hand against my belly. Got up close and very personal. ‘Rock hard. I bet you’d be good in a fight.’
‘I don’t get into scraps. Not my style.’ Which was true.
Without warning, Zara’s tongue darted into my ear. I guess this was what passed for an invitation. I didn’t know what the etiquette was for saying ‘no’ and wished I’d found out.
‘Won’t Moshe mind?’
‘Not at all. He is probably doing the same.’
I briefly wondered whether his exit with Simone was planned.
‘If you’re shy we could find a quieter place.’ Her hand was now on my crotch.
‘Here is fine. Want another drink?’ I drained my glass, twisted away and strained to find a passing waiter. A broad-shouldered guy walked past with a gold mask and, instantly, I felt as if I’d swallowed broken glass. I couldn’t articulate it, but something in his bearing chimed with me. He had short mid-brown hair, exposing neat ears. His jaw was long, slightly lop-sided. I couldn’t place him, but instantly my guard was up. Before I had time to consider, Simone was next to me. She looked smiley and relaxed. Not a hair out of place, her make-up perfect. When she slipped her arm through mine and whispered my name, I felt as if I’d been rescued from a burning car wreck.
‘All is well. No cameras, no coke.’
Startlingly different from a crime lord orgy, I thought. Zara, meanwhile, glided off to find another male to molest.
‘Let’s explore.’ Simone slipped her hand through mine and ushered me up a wide staircase and across a landing where a half-naked couple were having sex on an expensive looking Persian rug.
Simone turned to me with a sultry smile. ‘Want to watch?’
I shook my head. She smiled some more and led me past a table with a bowl filled to the brim with condoms, and pushed me into a room that was pitch black inside. The door closed behind us. I heard the key turn in the lock. She pressed me up against the wall, much as I’d done to McCallen at the church. Next, I felt something cold and metallic against my throat. My hands flashed up and closed around her neck, prepared to put her in a chokehold, if necessary. Pushing her luck could have far-reaching consequences for the pair of us.
‘Scared?’ she purred.
I should have been. Fear is a sensible reaction. Fear is also a turn-on. ‘Do your worst.’ I eased off enough to avoid constricting her breathing, not enough to give her carte blanche.
She laughed, dropped whatever it was she held to my throat and, taking my hand, guided it underneath her dress. ‘Do you want to hurt me?’ Her voice was drenched in lust.
That kind of thing never appealed to me. Sex, for me, was about fun, not pain. I declined and, releasing my hand, slipped off my mask. My eyes are good at adjusting to night vision, but the room remained stubbornly impenetrable. By touch alone, I could feel pliant strength in her shoulders confirming that she swam a great deal. Now that I was deprived of light, Simone ramped up the action.
‘These,’ she said, pressing earplugs into my ears. I was now deaf as well as blind, a form of sensory deprivation that left me sensitive to every single move she made. I don’t know for how long we stayed in that room. I had never experienced anything like it. I don’t take drugs, but I’m certain it was the closest I could get to a trip without dropping acid.
Later, we went downstairs and I found that everyone had dispensed with masks. Zara, her dress around her waist, was having no-holds-barred sex with a guy who wasn’t her husband. I paused, pretended that I was enjoying the lurid show and shivered, not because I was turned on but because the man so vigorously fucking her was the man who’d worn the gold mask.
‘Are you all right, my love?’ Simone said, languidly.
I smiled that I was fine and pulled her away. Inside, I was anything but.