15

All roads seemed to lead to Club Crème. I got back to my accomdation and changed in to my one remaining set of jeans and a sweater, but I was restless. I paced up and down for a while, debating what I was going to do about my immediate future. Then I pounded back down the stairs and out to where I’d parked the MG.

I walked up the anonymous alley and into the elegant hallway, still not entirely sure what I was going to do or who I was going to do it to. At first I thought the building was deserted, but then I heard the low voice of Miss Sugar speaking to someone in the office. I peered round the doorway. Miss Sugar was alone. She was speaking, but on the telephone. And she wasn’t her usual composed self. Not in the least. I dodged back out of sight.

For a start her feet were up on the desk like she didn’t give a damn. Her habitual long grey skirt wasn’t pulled demurely to the ground, but crumpled up round her knees, and her thighs were swathed in sheer black silk. I had never seen further up than her ankles. She had incredibly long slim legs that were waggling slightly as she spoke, as if she wanted to take flight at any moment. She had always looked so contained before, as if she was set in stone, like a ballerina striking a pose. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from this new Miss Sugar, who had all about her the definite air of imminent debauchery.

With each twitch of her legs her skirt fell further away from any pretence of modesty, and now I could see the definite promise of white flesh gleaming at the top of her leg. She was wearing stockings, not the matronly tights I would have expected.

She hadn’t seen me, and I stood in the doorway, silently staring at her. One long white hand was writing something down on her usual memo pad as she spoke, and I realised, to my relief, that despite her languid pose she was actually speaking in her normal clipped, formal voice.

‘And after you’ve checked in with us here at the club, you would like me to accompany you to the opera? In a private box?’

She put the silver pen down and took her glasses off. She tapped her fingers on the pad as she listened to the phone. Then the idle fingers of her hand landed like delicate insects on one exposed knee and started walking up and down the narrow bone. She banged her knees together, then slowly let them fall sideways. Her fingers started stroking up her own silky thigh.

‘I’d be delighted, Mr –’

She yawned, a wide, insolent yawn which displayed her pearl-white teeth and her red throat. Believing she was alone, she made no effort to cover her mouth and, in any case, both her hands were occupied.

I had trouble stifling surprise rising up as I watched her, but I didn’t want to interrupt her. This was riveting. A whole new side to Miss Sugar, going about her business unobserved. Or so she obviously thought, judging by the way her hand was creeping up under her skirt now, pushing it back, right up her legs, so that I could see the suspenders and the forbidden slice of white flesh which led my eye straight to – a knickerless groin.

I always like the feel of silk or satin or cotton, however flimsy, brushing against me – that’s if I remember not to lose my knickers in country houses – but Miss Sugar obviously had other preferences. The stark contrast between her governess-stern exterior and the fact that she wore no knickers was startling, and devastatingly sexy.

What had I expected her to wear? Old lady’s frilly bloomers? I hadn’t expected anything because I hadn’t given it any thought, but now I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

I looked up at her face, seeing it as if for the first time. She hadn’t quite finished the yawn because her mouth was still open. The tip of her tongue flicked a couple of times across her lips, and her big pale eyes watered slightly. The sudden question popped into my mind: did Mimi know about Miss Sugar’s rejection of knickers? Did Sir Simeon? After all, they were like a little family before I came along. A small hard nugget of curiosity started nagging at me. There was still so much I wanted to know about Club Crème and all who sailed in her.

I wanted Miss Sugar to see me watching her, tell me what she was doing, what was going through that head of hers. I wanted to know how intimately Mimi knew this other employee. Another rival for her affections, I now realised. I remembered Mimi saying something about there being more to Miss Sugar than met the eye. And of course Miss Sugar had been around for a long time before I showed up.

‘Yes,’ Miss Sugar said suddenly and loudly into the phone, startling me so that I fell back against the doorframe. ‘We absolutely specialise in escorting our members out and about if that’s what they want.’

She tipped her head back and laughed – a laugh which started out as a filthy guffaw. She hastily lifted it up the scale so that it finished as a more ladylike tinkle, but the damage was done. I wondered what the uptight client at the other end was thinking. But I was fascinated. I looked at Miss Sugar through new eyes. Her hidden, filthy laugh. And now, her exploring, private fingers, stroking lovingly and definitely over her pubes, celebrating the lack of knickers as she conducted the phone call. She looked as if she shaved, the scattering of hair over them was so pale.

She slid down slightly in her swivel chair as she listened to more outpourings from the hapless client and twisted the chair from side to side. Her feet up on the desk slid further apart, the pointed boots splayed outwards across the files and papers.

‘Right. So we’ll see you this evening. A few more details, please, before we ring off.’

It was like listening to one half of a dirty phone call. Miss Sugar closed her eyes and lifted her skirt right up to her waist. As an afterthought she put the phone on ‘conference’ mode, and a man’s voice, young, hesitant and breathless, started to speak.

‘It’s my wife. I have to get away from her. Just for one night, every so often. She’s frigid, you see.’

‘Oh, my word. I didn’t mean those kind of details. But do go on, if it helps,’ she said.

She was still rocking her chair from side to side. Her knees were slack now, open on the edge of the desk. Her hands were busy, one smoothing up and down her flat white stomach, little finger tickling meditatively into her navel, the other fiddling, not quite delving in, but hovering around the two secret lips of her sex.

‘I have to fantasise to get any relief,’ stuttered the man after a few false starts. ‘I can’t live without sex forever. I’m only young.’

‘And what exactly do you fantasise about? If you want to share that with us – me,’ Miss Sugar asked tentatively.

No wonder she knew everything about everyone. She had her style down to a tee. The secrets were pouring out of him now and she was loving it. Two fingers were crooked like horns over her pubes, going to pin back the soft pussy lips. My throat was tight as I watched her milking the poor man’s story for her own pleasure. I had a feeling that if she knew that she, in turn, was being watched by me, she would be turned on even more by the thought.

‘A threesome?’ He sounded as if he was asking her permission. Any minute now she would crack a whip. ‘You know. Two women. Crawling over me. I suppose crawling all over each other as well.’

‘Perfectly normal fantasy,’ she said in her most reassuring voice. ‘And healthy.’ I could hear a bubble of mirth in her voice. ‘And what sort of women do you fantasise about? Businesswomen? Sophisticated women or simple girl-next-door types?’

At this she splayed herself open so that her dark red slit was suddenly, dramatically exposed. Miss Sugar’s hips tilted slightly, raising herself in the chair. I was fidgeting now, wanting to copy what she was doing. The little movements, the arching, tilting, all helping to accentuate the tension, the anticipation – a curious solo game of offering and denial, since it was her own hands that she was playing with.

I leaned against the doorframe, my own arousal weakening me. Outside it was getting late, the day dark and cold. Rain was beginning to fall in earnest in the dingy alleyway, darkening all the windows. The only light in the office was the pool cast by Miss Sugar’s angle-poise lamp, shining directly on to the action of her hands and her hungry snatch.

‘It doesn’t matter, so long as they are as different as possible from my wife!’ spluttered the poor man, making both me and Miss Sugar jump out of our trances. ‘Women who love sex, in other words.’

‘And how would you feel,’ said Miss Sugar in her smoothest, poshest voice, ‘if you met such women in real life?’

There was a strangled sob at the other end of the phone. Miss Sugar’s throat was extended with amusement and pleasure. A vicious little smile stretched her lips as she listened. If only the poor man could see the effects his story was having.

‘I’d think I’d died and gone to heaven,’ the man said, regaining his composure. ‘But for now all I have to fall back on is my new membership of your club. I need to spread my wings, have some adventure. And I’ve been told that you are the best.’

‘Rest assured of that,’ Miss Sugar responded hoarsely, her hands frantic now as they sought their pleasure. ‘All your dreams will come true if you join Club Crème. We are constantly gratified by the reports we have of our popularity – a source of endless satisfaction to our members. I know we won’t disappoint.’

Her fingers started pushing roughly, brutally, into herself, even as she was still speaking. Her knees were opening and closing, her feet kicking papers and pens off the desk as she rocked herself more violently in the chair, biting her lip, not being gentle at all but giving herself a real seeing-to, her arm flexing back and forth into the secret folds of her groin almost as if she was punishing herself, knocking herself backwards in the chair, then regaining composure and pulling herself back towards the desk so that she could balance.

Her buttocks were half rising off the chair as she started what I assumed was the onset of her climax. I rubbed myself against the doorframe, desperate for some friction to ease the ache between my legs.

The doorframe was hard and unforgiving, but I wedged it between my legs, so that the wooden edge bit through my jeans and my knickers, into my hidden fanny, and, like Miss Sugar, I wasn’t gentle. I wanted to keep up with her, relieve the mounting tension down there as quickly as possible. I had tried to resist, told myself this was another woman pleasuring herself, and not of any interest to me, but I seemed to be in a constant state of semi-arousal these days: men, women, older gentlemen – I was turning into a wanton slut!

And now here was Miss Sugar, offering the possibility of more stimulation than anyone else, revealing a whole new side to her demure demeanour.

‘I hear you have a magnificent staff. I’ll look forward to seeing you tonight, then?’ The voice at the end of the phone needed an answer.

Miss Sugar answered, with one last thrust of her fingers over her clit she flung herself backwards in the chair and it wheeled away across the floor. She had to shout to make herself heard.

‘Oh yes. Yes, yes, yesss.’

I was half laughing, half shuddering my small, wet climax against the doorframe as I heard her hang up and let out a long sigh of satisfaction. She paused in her chair with her back to me, then spun herself round to face the door. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, her hands still buried between them. Her eyes without the glasses were huge and glazed, as if she’d been sleeping.

‘Ah, Summers.’ She sighed out my name in another yawn, pulling her skirt down in a lazy fashion. There wasn’t a trace of embarrassment on her solemn features. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I could ask you the same question,’ I replied, stepping into the room and dropping my bag noisily on the floor. ‘Bringing yourself off while talking to a new member! Whatever next?’

‘Bringing myself off with a new member, perhaps?’ she said. She raised her eyebrows suggestively, and I found it was me who was blushing. ‘Do you think we should find out if he’s the one with the magnificent staff?’

I let out a yelp of astonished laughter, and she inclined her head, pleased with her joke.

‘It always turns me on,’ she said, smiling. ‘They ring up, all royal and polite with their enquiries about the club, and they tell you their lives are dull and sad, and yet after some gentle prodding they give you all the gory details, and their lives aren’t dull and sad at all.’

‘You give good telephone, that’s why,’ I joked. She nodded vigorously, lowering her feet to the floor and standing up.

‘So why are you not at Symes Hall?’ she demanded, back to schoolmistress mode, and I sat down meekly in the chair in front of her.

‘I couldn’t hack it. Turned out Mr Hall’s fiancée was one of my oldest friends. I didn’t put two and two together. She’d never told me his surname and she always calls him Jeremy. Avril called him Jez.’

Miss Sugar pulled out a fresh file, ready to fill with tonight’s new member and his details. ‘So you didn’t enjoy yourself at the Hall? Nothing interesting happened while you were there?’

I grew hotter and shifted in my seat. I had a feeling that if I told her I’d screwed both Merlin and his esteemed father, Miss Sugar would go mad. And I wanted her on my side for a little longer.

‘I came here today to hand in my notice,’ I said instead. ‘I think I’ve gone as far as I can go in this job.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ she said briskly, flipping over a couple of sheets in the file as if I had just told her I’d chosen some controversial new linen for the bedrooms. ‘You’ve only just started.’

‘Seriously, Sugar. I feel as if I’m being sucked into this place. I had lots of future plans when I came for that interview. I never intended to stay forever.’

She picked up the silver pen and tapped it against her teeth for a moment, studying me.

‘You’d be making a big mistake leaving here. You’ve a great future ahead of you. Right here. Or so I’m told,’ she said. She patted her hair and folded her feet neatly underneath her chair. I was flattered. I expected her to try to dissuade me, but she simply changed the subject. ‘Now, I need you to help me out tonight. With that new member.’ She jerked the pen towards the telephone. ‘Then make your final decision, if you must, tomorrow.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I mumbled, trying to see the file she was now making notes on. She whisked it playfully away from my scrutiny. ‘I feel I ought to put some distance between me and the club immediately before I’m completely trapped.’

‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ she chided, and I sat back. It was oddly comforting to be ticked off by her, I realised. I wondered if, in fact, good old Miss Sugar already knew what I’d been up to. I studied her again and, with a shock to add to my earlier surprise, realised just how attractive she might be underneath that pale hair and ghostly expression.

I wrenched my mind away from the memory of her secrets and the streak of folded red flesh I’d spied, and spread my hands in protest.

‘I love the job, Sugar. In fact, that’s the trouble. I love it too much. I’m not used to feeling like that. It scares me. You all scare me.’

‘So you keep saying,’ she sniffed, slapping the file shut. She glanced at the clock, which said well after five. ‘But the others aren’t here right now. I am. And think of the overtime you’ll earn if you come with me tonight. Looking at you, I can’t believe some more cash won’t come in handy. I’m in charge while they’re away, and your resignation hasn’t been accepted. So I’m telling you to get dressed.’

‘What shall I wear?’ I gave in.

‘Oh, come now, do I have to make all the decisions for you?’

‘Yes,’ I said, hanging my head meekly. ‘I’m no good at this kind of thing. I still need to be told what to do and what to wear.’

She clicked round the desk, her face relaxing visibly as she sensed she could start ordering me about.

‘Do you have any idea how much Mimi spends on dressing her employees? Image is everything. And I just happen to have something here that might suit you. We don’t have much time. You could put it on now.’

She dipped her hand into a large bag beside her desk and drew out a diaphanous white Ghost dress and some silvery sandals. The dress looked impossibly creased to me, but she shook it out in such a way that instantly it floated through the air, ready to wear.

‘Do you ever chill, Sugar?’ I asked, taking the dress and holding it against me. Instantly I felt beautiful and floaty myself. She had chosen well. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong. I like the way you order people about. It makes me feel secure; like you’re my governess. But you’re not really Miss Prim, are you? I mean, talking about people being left to their own devices  . . .’

She took the dress off me, jerking her head stiffly to indicate that I should take my baggy old sweater off. I pulled it over my head then started to tug at my T-shirt.

‘That’s right. Everything off,’ she ordered. She wrenched the T-shirt off before I could protest, and then I was standing in front of her in my underwear.

‘What about this?’ I teased, twirling around in the way I’d been taught to model the swimsuits, jutting out my hips and pulling back my shoulders, staring down my nose at her as if I was at the end of a catwalk. ‘This is quality stuff. Or would you like me to take this off as well?’

Miss Sugar licked her lips and stood still for a moment, then reached out and took a corner of the lace that bordered the breast cups of the cream basque I was wearing and fingered it thoughtfully. Her cold fingers very faintly brushed the plump skin of my breasts, and goose pimples came up at the touch. Then she pushed me gently so that I had to give her another twirl.

‘Yes. No. This will do perfectly,’ she said. She seemed to be out of breath and stepped back from me hurriedly. She went back behind the desk and started to pack up her briefcase. ‘You were going to say something? About people being left to their own devices?’

‘Forgotten already?’ I teased, easing on the silvery sandals and strutting round the office still wearing only the basque. I didn’t want to put the dress on until the last minute. ‘I meant, I know what you do to yourself when you think no one’s looking. Frisking yourself when you’re talking to clients on the phone.’

Miss Sugar paused with her back to me, and I wondered if I’d gone too far. She was quite capable of slapping me if I wasn’t careful. Then she buttoned up her coat, picked up her briefcase and walked calmly towards the door where I had hovered a little while ago, watching her.

‘It doesn’t trouble me what you’ve seen. I’ve done nothing wrong as far as I can see. Perhaps if the phone was one of these new-fangled video phones it would be even more fun.’ She gave a little shrug, a tight smile stretching her mouth as she glided out on to the landing. ‘But we all have hungry cunts tucked away in our drawers, don’t we, Summers?’

I nearly choked with surprise, and found that I was the one folding my arms defensively across my bulging cleavage as I stood half naked in front of her. I nodded sheepishly.

‘I have to go and change,’ she said. ‘Don’t bother to return home. Just meet me at the opera house in an hour.’

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ I whispered, as she clicked up the stairs to her room. And I meant it.