CRESSIDA FARLEIGH LAY with her head against her lover’s chest and tried to glance at the bedside clock without him noticing. It wasn’t that she hadn’t enjoyed herself – she had. As usual the sex had been highly satisfying, but she had to be up early the next morning for a special meeting and wanted to get back to her own home for a proper night’s sleep.
Tom clearly sensed that she was restless and tightened his right arm across her back. ‘What’s the matter?’
Cressida sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Tom, but I’ve got to get home.’
‘Why? Honestly, Cressida, I don’t understand you. We both live alone, we’re single and answerable to no one but ourselves, so why is it that you’re always dashing off after we’ve made love?’
‘It’s the job,’ retorted Cressida, slipping free and swinging her feet to the floor. ‘We both keep such ghastly hours that we need our sleep, and we never sleep when we’re together!’
‘I don’t think the job’s got anything to do with it,’ he muttered, watching her put on her policewoman’s uniform and feeling himself stir again at the sight of her long legs in the black stockings. ‘I think you’re afraid of emotional commitment.’
Cressida smiled at him. ‘So you’re becoming a psychiatrist now, are you? I think I prefer you as a detective sergeant – far less intrusive.’ Bending down she kissed him on the corner of his mouth. ‘I had a lovely time. Think of me tomorrow morning.’
Tom nodded. ‘Of course I will. Hang on, let me put on a robe and I’ll show you out.’
‘There’s no need. After two and a half years I think I know the way!’ laughed Cressida. At the bedroom door she hesitated. ‘You really don’t know what this meeting is about, do you, Tom? As it’s CID I thought you might have some idea.’
Propped up on one elbow, Tom tried to keep his face expressionless as he shook his head. ‘No, honestly, I haven’t a clue, but I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. If you were in trouble someone would definitely have told me!’
‘I’ll let you know what it was about as soon as I leave,’ Cressida promised him. ‘You’re off tomorrow, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Tom, feeling incredibly guilty because he wouldn’t be off at all. He would be at the meeting, a meeting that his department had been planning for the past week, only he was sworn to secrecy and it was more than his job was worth to tell Cressida anything about it before she was interviewed by the top brass.
‘Sleep well,’ murmured Cressida, then she was gone and he heard the front door close quietly behind her. Turning on his side, he stared at the brown and cream striped curtains that covered his bedroom windows. He’d known Cressida for three years and been going out with her for over two, but she still maintained an emotional distance that drove him to distraction. She said that she loved him, and he knew that she was totally faithful, but at the back of his mind there was always the fear that what she felt wasn’t really love at all and one day she might realise this.
If he was totally honest with himself, it wasn’t an all-consuming passion either, he thought, as he drifted off to sleep. She was responsive and he seemed to satisfy her, but he’d never yet seen her totally lose control of herself in the throes of sexual excitement. Considering what lay ahead of her after tomorrow’s meeting, he found this more than a little worrying. His only consolation was the possibility that Cressida wasn’t capable of anything more than she gave him, in which case he had nothing to fear.
Totally unaware that Tom was in any way concerned about her or their relationship, Cressida arrived at her tiny terraced house in west London, gave her long-haired grey cat Muffin some food and then went straight up to bed where she fell asleep immediately. Unlike her lover, she never spent much time analysing herself or their relationship. As far as she was concerned they suited each other, and being in the same line of work they both understood the stresses and strains the days could bring.
If anyone had asked Cressida that night if she was happy she would have said yes, completely happy. And this was the reason she’d been chosen for the meeting the following day. It was simply unfortunate that everyone, including Cressida, was wrong.
At 10.30 the next morning, Cressida – wearing a straight, dark blue skirt that ended on the knee and a cream long-sleeved tunic top because she’d been ordered to appear out of uniform – was ushered into the chief superintendent’s office.
She was surprised at the number of people sitting round the oval-shaped table. Most of them were unfamiliar to her, but when she saw Tom sitting there her eyes widened in astonishment and he looked away, clearly embarrassed at having lied to her the night before.
‘Sit down, WPC Farleigh,’ said a tall, bald-headed man who Cressida assumed must be in charge of the meeting. ‘I’m sorry we’ve had to keep you totally in the dark about all this, but we’re engaged in an extremely tricky undercover operation and we need your help.’
‘By “we” do you mean CID?’ asked Cressida as she sat down.
‘Yes. Detective Sergeant Penfold here knows all about it, but even he wasn’t allowed to breathe a word to you until we’d had our say.’
‘I see,’ said Cressida, glancing at the hapless Tom. ‘Well, he certainly obeyed orders.’
A man sitting to the right of the bald-headed man leant forward slightly. ‘How much do you know about art, WPC Farleigh?’
Cressida blinked in surprise. ‘Art? Not a lot. I know a Picasso from a Monet, but that’s about all. It isn’t a particular interest of mine.’
‘Pity,’ murmured the man, sitting back in his chair again.
‘Nonsense,’ said the bald man firmly. ‘WPC Farleigh’s an intelligent young woman. She can learn all she needs to know in ten days or so I’m sure. I think,’ he added as he saw the bemused look on Cressida’s face, ‘that we’d better start at the beginning.
‘First of all, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Williams and I’m from the fraud squad. We’re very interested in an art gallery that opened about ten months ago in Elgin Crescent in west London. It’s called Room With a View. Do you know it?’
Cressida shook her head, totally bewildered by the entire conversation.
‘No, well, you wouldn’t have any reason to, but the fact of the matter is it’s vital that we get someone inside the gallery who can report back to us. We’ve made a start – WPC Hinds here has been working there as a junior assistant-cum-receptionist for the past three months – but it hasn’t worked out the way we hoped so we’re pulling her out and you’ve been chosen to take her place.’
Cressida looked across at WPC Hinds. She was young and small, with curly blonde hair, and she had a cheeky smile that she flashed at Cressida. She and Cressida could not have been more dissimilar, which made the choice totally bizarre.
‘I don’t know anything about being a receptionist,’ she pointed out. ‘Neither do I look at all like WPC Hinds.’
‘Exactly,’ said Detective Chief Inspector Williams with obvious satisfaction. ‘That’s why we’ve chosen you. Susan here was chosen because we thought she looked right for what we wanted her to do, but now it seems that we were wrong. This time we’re going for someone who’s the opposite of Susan, and the general feeling in the station was that you and Susan have nothing at all in common!’
Cressida, who was now more confused than when the conversation began, felt that this was probably not a compliment. Susan Hinds was clearly very attractive, sexy and lively, which Cressida felt reflected badly on her own rating on the scale of sexuality and feminine charm.
‘What was it that you wanted WPC Hinds to do?’ she asked quietly.
One or two of the high-ranking officers sitting round the table averted their eyes and Tom turned a delicate shade of pink. Detective Chief Inspector Williams, however, had no qualms about telling her.
‘We wanted her to get very close to the owner of the gallery. His name’s Guy Cronje and women seem to fall for him if he so much as glances in their direction. Naturally we don’t really want you to fall for him, but we want him to believe that you have.’
‘How do I achieve that?’ queried Cressida, looking over at Tom, who still refused to meet her eyes.
Detective Chief Inspector Williams cleared his throat. ‘Well, I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out to you. You’re a woman of the world, a good policewoman and in a steady relationship with Detective Sergeant Penfold here. You know how many beans make five!’ There was some nervous laughter round the table.
‘The thing is, Cressida,’ said her usual boss, Inspector Cross, ‘those of us who know you well appreciate that you’re not the kind of girl to do anything silly. One of the reasons you’re so good at your job is that you don’t get involved emotionally. People trust you, and they sense that you care when they’re in trouble, but you always keep this barrier around you and that’s what counted most strongly in your favour. Let’s face it, Tom here wouldn’t be pleased if you got carried away by Guy Cronje’s charms and really fell for him, would he?’
‘I imagine not,’ said Cressida dryly, thinking that Tom was going to have a lot of explaining to do when they were next together. She also thought that her chief’s summary of her made her sound rather aloof, which wasn’t very pleasant. However, she knew that she had to sit there and listen to whatever they had to say and then go out and do the job because if she turned it down it would always go against her, and Cressida was ambitious.
‘Well?’ asked Detective Chief Inspector Williams. ‘What do you say?’
‘I still don’t understand what it is that I’m expected to do, apart from pretend to fall for the owner of this gallery. What’s he done wrong?’
‘Inspector Cross will fill you in on all that later. What I need to know is, are you willing to take on the job? WPC Hinds here will help you in a crash course on art, and she’ll recommend you as her replacement when the interviewing starts. You’ll have to do your bit, but they’ve no reason to suspect Sue’s motives. She never blew her cover or anything of that nature – it simply didn’t work out. You’d have to dress better than you have today, of course, but again WPC Hinds can give you some tips.’
‘How kind,’ muttered Cressida through gritted teeth.
‘Inspector Cross agrees that you’re perfect for the job, so do we have your agreement?’ persisted the detective chief inspector.
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Cressida. ‘It’s just that I don’t understand what I’m going to be doing at the gallery, apart from pretending to be an artistic receptionist.’
‘No, well, once you’ve signed the secrecy agreement you’ll get full details,’ said Williams, rising to his feet. ‘I’ll leave all that to your chief and WPC Hinds here. The fraud squad’s a busy place, I’m afraid, and I’ve spent long enough here already. Good luck, WPC Farleigh. Having seen you I’m sure you’ll handle the detective side of it very well. I just hope that Guy Cronje –’ He pulled himself up abruptly. ‘Sorry, I was thinking aloud there. Once you’re safely ensconced in the gallery you’ll report directly to me on a number you’ll be given by Inspector Cross. Good luck. I hope to hear you’ve been taken on very soon.’
Cressida stood up as he left the room and watched as most of the other people who’d been sitting round the table left with him. When the door finally closed only Inspector Cross, Tom and WPC Susan Hinds remained in the room with her.
‘Confused?’ asked Inspector Cross with his familiar smile.
‘Very,’ said Cressida, who was also feeling rather annoyed.
‘I’m not surprised, but when God visits you have to let him take charge! Now sign the secrecy agreement and then Susan here is going to take you off for the rest of the day and fill you in on the details. No doubt you’ll spend the entire evening discussing it all with Tom, and tomorrow morning you can come and see me with any questions that are still unanswered. But once you’ve got the job at the gallery you’ll be on your own. Poor Tom will have to take a back seat for a time, but he knows this, isn’t that right, Tom?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Tom in a muted voice.
Susan Hinds touched Cressida on the arm. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here. We’ll lunch at the Italian place round the corner and I’ll explain everything. Don’t worry, it’ll be fun. I wish I’d done better, but you can’t make a man like short bubbly blondes if his taste runs more to tall enigmatic brunettes, can you?’
As Cressida got to the door, Tom moved to her side. ‘I’ll call round tonight, at eight,’ he said urgently. ‘I’m really sorry I couldn’t tell you about any of this but I’d have lost my job.’
‘I understand that,’ said Cressida calmly, and logically she did, but somewhere deep inside her she couldn’t help feeling that he’d let her down.
As both Cressida and Sue were officially off duty, they were able to drink plenty of the rough red Italian house wine with their pasta, so by the time they were halfway through their meal Cressida was feeling very relaxed about the whole operation.
‘Let me make sure I’ve got this right,’ she said, dipping her spoon into a delicious strawberry ice cream. ‘When Lord Michael Summers died in a car crash recently, the people who came in to check the value of his estate discovered that two of the paintings from his collection, a Rembrandt and a Monet, were forgeries, yes?’
‘The real point is,’ said Sue, ‘that when Lord Summers inherited the title on the death of his father, those paintings were the real thing. At some stage during his time as a peer of the realm they were replaced by copies.’
Cressida nodded. ‘And his widow, Lady Alice, is saying that her husband used to visit the gallery this Guy Cronje owns and buy works done by new artists?’
Susan nodded. ‘That’s what she says, and there are records at the gallery of purchases by the late lamented Lord Summers.’
‘But the fraud squad think that Guy Cronje and his partner … what’s her name?’
‘Marcia Neville.’
‘I must remember that. OK, so they think Guy and Marcia somehow managed to swap two incredibly valuable paintings from the estate’s collection for two copies. I can’t imagine how it would be done, though, can you?’
Sue shrugged. ‘Well, there are ways. For one thing, Guy and Marcia were socially friendly with Lord and Lady Summers and used to go to their house. It’s possible that Lady Alice, who’s only thirty and had a husband of sixty-nine, might have taken a shine to Guy and helped him, in return for favours – and a share of the money, no doubt.’
‘It’s all rather nebulous, isn’t it?’ queried Cressida. ‘I mean, why this urgent need for us to get someone inside the gallery? Two paintings missing from one estate is hardly earth shattering. Bad for the Summers family if the news gets out, but not large-scale crime.’
Sue grinned. ‘You didn’t listen to me properly – it must be this potent cheap plonk! This kind of thing has been happening all over Europe in recent years, and every time Guy Cronje was an associate of the deceased owner. Interpol have had their eye on him for over three years. Naturally now it’s happened here we’d like to be the ones to catch him.’
‘You said you were pulled out because Guy didn’t fancy you,’ said Cressida slowly. ‘I take it he’s meant to fancy me?’
Sue nodded. ‘He certainly is! I had to give the top brass an Identikit picture of his kind of woman, and they came up with you! To be honest, I don’t think it’s going to work this way because he and Marcia are very close and by all accounts he can have any other woman he wants too. Why should he start a fling with a lowly assistant at his own gallery?’
‘I don’t know,’ agreed Cressida. ‘Well, I don’t mind. In fact, the sooner I’m pulled out the happier I’ll be.’
‘I enjoyed myself there!’ laughed Sue. ‘I didn’t manage to get close to Guy, but there were other compensations, I can tell you. Some of the artists are fantastic lovers.’
Cressida stared at her. ‘You mean you actually slept with them?’
‘No, but we had fantastic sex! Come on, Cressida, what do you think men and women do when they fancy each other? Hold hands in the back row of the cinema? If Guy does get interested in you, I don’t think you’re expected to act like a timorous virgin – that’s not his scene at all.’
‘But I’m sleeping with Tom Penfold,’ said Cressida.
Sue’s eyebrows rose. ‘I suppose someone has to! Seriously, Cressida, these men knock spots off Tom and the beauty of it is, you’re only obeying orders!’
‘No one told me I was expected to sleep with Guy Cronje, or any other man come to that,’ protested Cressida. ‘I couldn’t. It takes me ages to get to know a man well enough to do that.’
Sue frowned. ‘No one told you because they couldn’t possibly order a woman to sleep with a suspect. Suppose it came out in court? They’d be done for enticement. I’ve no doubt Detective Chief Inspector Williams assumed you’d understood the sub-text. Your Tom will have done, which probably explains his long face at the meeting.’
‘Well, I’ll find out what I can, but there’s no way I’m getting sexually involved with anyone,’ said Cressida firmly. ‘If I string this Guy along, assuming he even looks twice at me, that should be enough.’
Sue looked at Cressida carefully. She was tall, about 5 8", and her dark brown hair was cut in a very attractive gamine bob, but she seemed totally unaware of how attractive she could make herself with more effort. Also, in Sue’s opinion, her clothes were a disaster. She wondered, with some amusement, how long Cressida’s resolve would hold out once she became part of life at the gallery.
‘You’ll have to play it by ear,’ she said casually, aware that to press her replacement would be a mistake. ‘The only thing is, once I’ve given you your crash course in art and got you a phoney degree in fine art, you’ll have to do something about the clothes you wear. They like their staff to look glamorous but sophisticated at the gallery, and full make-up is expected at all times.’
‘I can’t afford glamorous, sophisticated clothes,’ retorted Cressida.
‘That’s one of the perks of the job; the force gives you a very generous allowance and I’ll come round the shops and help you choose some outfits. It’s vital that you get it right for the interview. Marcia’s capable of rejecting you on sartorial grounds alone if you wear the wrong tights or shoes! I’m going to recommend you and say you and I have been friends for years, ever since we met while taking a year out before university, but while that will help it will be up to you to clinch the position.’
Cressida was beginning to hope she failed the interview – it was all starting to sound very complicated and not at all her kind of thing. ‘What’s Guy Cronje actually like?’ she asked tentatively.
‘I didn’t ever get to know him that well,’ admitted Sue. ‘He’s certainly got something, but it isn’t conventional charm. He’s quite tall, very slim, dark haired and pale, but he gives off this air of repressed danger. He’s like a simmering volcano that you feel might erupt at any moment. I think it’s that dangerous quality that draws all the women.’
‘I don’t like strong emotions,’ admitted Cressida, ordering an espresso coffee. ‘That’s why Tom suits me; he’s wonderfully lacking in danger. I like to know where I am with people.’
‘I think this job will do you good,’ commented Sue.
‘You sound as though you need a fresh perspective on life, particularly in the sexual area.’
‘I’m quite happy as I am, thank you!’ laughed Cressida. ‘After all, this is a job, not a life-long commitment. Do you think there’s anything criminal going on at the gallery?’ she added.
‘I think there’s something going on, but I’m not sure what,’ said Sue slowly. ‘Sometimes there was a very strange atmosphere, but I never made out if the undercurrents were due to law breaking or sexual tension.’
‘You make it sound as though it should be vice, not fraud, handling this job,’ commented Cressida.
‘What’s wrong with a bit of vice?’ asked Sue with a grin. ‘At least when I’m old and grey I’ll have some good memories to look back on, and quite a few of them will have come from my time at the gallery. Unfortunately, not with Guy Cronje though. He always seemed to think of me as a total airhead, and I didn’t dare enlighten him in case he went into my background too carefully. That’s one thing to remember, Cressida. Be on your guard. He’s very sharp, and if you make a mistake then he’ll spot it.’
They paid the bill and left the restaurant together after arranging to meet up the following day for Cressida’s crash course in art to begin. What with the wine and her head buzzing after all she’d learnt, Cressida headed for home and slept for the rest of the afternoon, only just waking in time to get herself bathed and changed before Tom arrived.
It was clear from the moment he walked in the door that he was in a bad mood. Normally nothing troubled Tom, and Cressida felt irritated that her new job was already causing trouble in her tranquil private life.
‘Do you want to go out for a meal?’ asked Tom, sinking down on to the sofa as he spoke.
‘No thanks; I had lunch with Sue Hinds at that Italian place round the corner from the station, so I’m not hungry,’ she assured him.
‘I suppose I ought to say sorry about this morning,’ he said at last. ‘I knew what was coming days ago, but it was highly confidential. You’re not annoyed, are you?’
‘I was, but I’m not now,’ Cressida replied, realising to her surprise that this was true. ‘I don’t suppose you’re any happier about it all than I am.’
‘No, I’m not!’ said Tom vehemently. ‘I’ve read all about Guy Cronje and he’s the last man on earth I’d choose for you to work for.’
‘I don’t think I’ll be in any physical danger,’ said Cressida. ‘He hasn’t got a record for violence, has he?’
‘No, nothing like that, but he seems to be a danger to women.’
‘Only silly women, and I’m not a silly woman,’ said Cressida sharply.
‘No, but you are a woman all the same, and sex is a funny thing,’ muttered Tom. ‘Who’d have thought he wouldn’t fancy Susan Hinds. Every man at the station fancies her.’
‘Is that a fact?’ asked Cressida, her temper rising.
Tom quickly tried to retract his statement. ‘I don’t!’ he exclaimed. ‘You know me, Cress, I’m a one-woman man – but she is sexy.’
‘You mean I’m not?’ asked Cressida quietly.
Tom frowned. ‘I think you’re sexy, but it isn’t in an obvious way. You know that, Cressida. You’re just not a siren, and you wouldn’t want to be, would you?’
‘I might not mind,’ she retorted. ‘In fact, I’m beginning to think this job might be fun. After all, I’ll have my mind improved with all this artistic education, and my dress sense improved with a shopping expedition in the company of the sexiest WPC in west London. What more could a girl ask for?’
Tom looked baffled. ‘What are you angry about? I always thought you were comfortable with yourself, that’s one of your attractions. I hate women who spend all their time fussing about clothes and make-up. You look nice, and you’re always neat and tidy; you don’t need anything else. It’s you as a person I like. Isn’t that what women want these days?’
‘It would be better,’ said Cressida slowly, ‘if you thought I was a desirable person in every respect, not just “from within” as it were. I had no idea Sue was so popular.’
‘Look, if this is going to cause trouble between us, why don’t you tell Williams you can’t go through with it?’ suggested Tom. ‘I mean, you could say that art just isn’t your thing, which it isn’t to my way of thinking. There are plenty of get-outs that won’t go against you. Let’s face it, Detective Chief Inspector Williams can’t afford another failure.’
‘I won’t be a failure,’ said Cressida, suddenly absolutely determined to make a success of the assignment. ‘I shall turn myself into a highly desirable and sexual woman, gain Guy Cronje’s confidence, discover exactly what’s going on at the gallery and then when I’ve broken up the entire dastardly operation I shall be given an award by the queen for bravery in the face of blatant sexism!’
Tom put his head in his hands. ‘I knew this was a mistake,’ he complained. ‘Why they picked you I’ll never know.’
Resisting the urge to pick up a vase and break it over his head, Cressida sat down next to him. ‘I won’t take that as a personal insult,’ she said softly, ‘but don’t push your luck, Tom. There are limits even to my self-control.’
He turned and put his arms round her. ‘You know how much you mean to me, Cress. I’m crazy about you, but I don’t want people changing you. I like you as you are – the last thing I want is a pale replica of someone like Susan Hinds.’
‘I won’t be a pale replica of Sue, I’ll be a super-charged version of myself,’ Cressida promised him.
‘You won’t fall for this man, will you?’ persisted Tom. ‘I couldn’t bear it if I had to stand by and hear how well you were doing at your job if I thought it meant you and he were … well, you know what I mean.’
Cressida did know, and she felt a frisson of excitement run through her. Of course, she knew that nothing would happen at the gallery. Even if she got the job, the chances of Guy Cronje fancying her and her reciprocating the feeling were negligible, but just the same a whole new world was opening up to her and she realised that she was beginning to feel a sense of excited anticipation.
‘Let’s go up to bed,’ said Tom suddenly, pulling her to her feet.
Cressida was about to make her way upstairs, but then, already acting quite out of character, she had an overwhelming desire for them to make love in her front room. She stood by the post at the bottom of the banister rail and began to unbutton her long crinkle-cotton dress. ‘Let’s stay here,’ she said softly.
Tom stared at her. ‘The sofa isn’t big enough,’ he protested.
‘Then we’ll use something else. ‘I know, my swivel chair, the one in front of my computer, that’ll do. Luckily it hasn’t got casters or life might be difficult!’
Watched by a startled Tom, Cressida moved over to the chair and then sat back in it, her head hanging slightly to the side and her hands gripping the arms of the chair as she swivelled her lower body towards where Tom was standing.
‘People can see in!’ he protested.
‘They can’t!’ said Cressida, wishing that he’d just follow her mood and start making love to her quickly. ‘I haven’t cleaned the windows for so long I can’t even see out!’
Now she was moving against the seat of the chair, her hips wriggling provocatively, and finally Tom too was overwhelmed by desire. Quickly he unfastened his trousers and let them fall round his ankles as he knelt between her legs. Cressida wrapped her calves around his lower back and he pushed urgently at her bra, until his fingers could caress her already hard nipples.
Cressida began to ache low in her belly and what she wanted most was for him to lower his head and let his tongue wander up and down the exquisitely sensitive moist channel below her clitoris, but this was something Tom rarely chose to do and tonight was no exception. Instead he pulled his erection free of his boxer shorts and she felt the swollen tip brushing against her pubic hair for a moment, until her growing excitement caused her sex lips to swell and part so that his glans was now against the flesh of her vulva. She rotated her hips urgently as she tried to get some kind of clitoral stimulation. Her breathing was rapid and noisy in the slowly darkening room, and Tom’s breathing was harsh as his hands continued to fondle her breasts while his mouth nuzzled against her neck.
She could feel her breasts swelling, and the tension in her pelvis increased so that she thrust upward against his penis, frantic now for some direct contact against her clitoris. Tom’s hips were thrusting backward and forward as he slid up and down the length of her outer channel, and when at last her swollen bud was touched by the underside of the ridge of flesh beneath his glans she gasped with pleasure and felt her belly begin to tighten.
‘Do that again, Tom,’ she whispered, but Tom either didn’t hear or didn’t understand because almost immediately she felt him slide inside her and begin thrusting in earnest, lost in his own journey to satisfaction.
Luckily, because she was able to angle her body as she wished, Cressida managed to maintain some indirect stimulation of her clitoris, but despite this and the first thrilling moments when her entire body tightened in anticipation of sexual release, Tom still came before she did and she heard him gasp and then cry out with delight as his orgasm rushed through him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered as he collapsed against her. ‘I got over-excited. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re all right too.’
‘Go down on me,’ begged Cressida. ‘Please. I want to feel your tongue on me, then I’ll explode, I know I will.’
‘Leave it to me,’ murmured Tom, and as he kissed the base of her throat and rubbed the palm of one hand across the surface of her nipples, his other hand went between her thighs and she felt him slide two fingers slowly up and down the side of her clitoris.
Now her body tightened again and Cressida was almost crying with need as he circled around the hard mass of frantic nerve endings, until suddenly there was an explosion of white light behind her closed eyelids and then her whole body convulsed in a climax.
At last Cressida was able to relax and her whole body felt limp and strangely weightless. Tom stood up and began to straighten his clothing. ‘That was great!’ he enthused. ‘You didn’t mind coming last, did you?’
‘Of course not,’ said Cressida with a smile, and it was true. She didn’t mind and she’d had a very satisfying orgasm, but she couldn’t help wondering why Tom hadn’t done any of the things she’d wanted, and for the first time since she’d been sleeping with him she started to wonder what it might be like with a different man – a man who was more adventurous.
‘We make a good pair,’ Tom said, with what Cressida thought was a rather smug smile as they sat drinking coffee a little later. ‘I’m sorry I was in a bad mood when I got here. It was stupid of me. I should have known you’re not the kind of girl to have her head turned by a man like Guy Cronje, even if he does fancy you.’
‘Yes, you should,’ murmured Cressida, resting her head against his shoulder. Luckily Tom couldn’t read her mind, because she resolved there and then that she’d make this Guy Cronje fancy her if it was the last thing she did, just to shock everyone who knew her and seemed to think the chances of that happening were virtually nil.
Tom stayed over that night, and the next morning they made love again, but in their usual, more conventional, fashion. When he left her house he looked and felt extremely pleased with himself, not realising that Cressida was now very anxious that she got the job as receptionist at Guy Cronje’s gallery, Room With a View.
‘Today’s the big day then, Cressida,’ said Inspector Cross, smiling across his desk at her. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Nervous,’ she admitted. ‘I think I’m all right on the actual art side, I’ve been studying art books day and night and gone round more galleries than I knew existed! I’m more worried about the rest of the interview. Suppose Marcia Neville doesn’t like me?’
‘It’s your job to make her like you,’ pointed out her superior. ‘It shouldn’t be a problem; you certainly look the part!’
For the first time that Cressida could remember, Inspector Cross was looking at her as an attractive woman rather than one of his WPCs, and she realised what a difference her new style of dressing had made. Cross had often seen her in casual clothes, but he’d never looked at her in that way before.
‘Susan chose this outfit,’ she admitted, glancing down at her V-necked collarless black jacket with large gold buttons that ended just below her hips. With it she was wearing a short, straight black skirt and a cream satin blouse with a draped neckline that made it look as though she was wearing a scarf rather than a blouse. ‘I wouldn’t have chosen any of it, but now I’ve got it I can see that Susan was right.’
‘She certainly was,’ he said appreciatively. ‘From the look of your expenses sheet you’ve bought a few more outfits like it too.’
‘Susan said it was essential,’ said Cressida. ‘If you think we overspent then –’
‘Good heavens, no!’ he exclaimed quickly. ‘Chief Inspector Williams would never forgive me if I spoilt his operation by penny pinching. Susan was quite right. Appearances count for a lot in this kind of job. You’re the face of the gallery, just as here you’re the face of the police force.’
‘I think I’m going to miss the excitement of the work here,’ admitted Cressida. ‘I doubt if there’ll be many robberies, domestic assaults or drunks in the gallery.’
‘If the fraud squad are right, the crimes going on at that gallery are far more serious,’ Inspector Cross reminded her. ‘Don’t forget that either, will you? People who commit dangerous large-scale frauds are usually totally ruthless, however charming they may appear on the surface.’
‘I won’t forget,’ she assured him.
Inspector Cross nodded with satisfaction. ‘I know you won’t. Luckily you’re not the type of girl to get carried away by the thrill of an illicit dalliance. I told Detective Chief Inspector Williams that you’ve got a mind that’s more like a man’s. He was very relieved to hear it, I can tell you.’
Cressida was slightly less than thrilled, and as she made her way out of the station and hailed a taxi to take her to Elgin Crescent, she thought that it would serve them all right if she totally lost her head over this Guy Cronje and ended up having a mad, passionate affair with him. Although she prided herself on her common sense and emotional reserve, she didn’t enjoy hearing other people talk about her in the way they had over the past week. They’d succeeded in making her sound passionless, which she knew she wasn’t.
Her annoyance at Inspector Cross’s remarks helped to drive some of her nerves away, and when she climbed out of the cab and walked through the heavy swing doors into the shining white brightness of the gallery she was feeling relaxed, confident and positive.
‘Can I help you?’ asked a pencil-thin, raven-haired girl at the desk by the door.
‘My name’s Cressida Farleigh. I’ve come about the position of receptionist,’ she explained.
The girl raised her eyebrows. ‘Really? I thought the job was taken. Just a moment, I’ll speak to Miss Neville.’
Cressida’s confidence drained away immediately. If the job had gone she was in serious trouble, but Sue hadn’t mentioned the possibility and she couldn’t imagine how it could have happened, unless they’d taken on a personal friend.
As she stood by the side of the desk an immaculately groomed blonde woman in her early thirties walked down the long main area of the gallery towards them. Her caramel-coloured dress fitted her like a glove and she was fastening a matching jacket with cream-coloured spots as she moved. Cressida noted the small gold earrings, the tiny gold chain round the base of the woman’s throat, and also her rings, three on each hand. It was all expensive but plain jewellery, while her blonde hair was drawn back off her face with just a few strands falling over the right side of her forehead.
She wasn’t as tall as Cressida but she was equally slim, except for her breasts, and they seemed strangely at odds with the rest of her. Cressida wondered if they’d had some assistance from a plastic surgeon.
‘Hello, I’m Marcia Neville,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I do hope Saskia here hasn’t been telling you the position’s filled?’
Cressida glanced at the dark-haired girl. ‘Well …’
‘Too silly! We’ve been holding it for you, because you know Susan Hinds and she’s spoken so highly of you. Never mind, that’s the problem with temps – they get everything wrong. Come through to my office – hope fully Saskia can manage to bring us some coffee. Remember, mine’s decaffeinated, Saskia.’
Saskia nodded, her face blank but beautiful.
‘There, now sit down where I can take a good look at you and tell me all about yourself,’ Marcia said with another of her practised smiles once they were in her office.
After a moment’s hesitation, Cressida launched into her well-rehearsed tale of qualifications, past experience and burning desire to work in a gallery where new artists were given a chance to launch their careers, and all the time she talked Marcia never once took her eyes off her face.
After she’d finished, Marcia proceeded to ask her a series of searching questions and as the time went on she became more and more grateful to Sue for her insistence on thorough preparation. When Marcia finally settled back in her chair in silence, Cressida felt exhausted by the strain of it all.
Marcia, however, seemed very pleased. ‘Susan was right to recommend you to us,’ she said with a smile. ‘You look right, your experience is just about sufficient, and I think you probably know more about the Impressionists than Susan does. She’s stronger on the Renaissance side, but I’m sure you know that?’
‘I’ve always thought of the Surrealists as being Sue’s speciality,’ said Cressida, and Marcia nodded. Cressida gave a silent sigh of relief. That had clearly been a trap, and she’d negotiated it safely.
‘Of course, Surrealists! I was getting her confused with her predecessor,’ murmured Marcia. ‘Now, I’ve checked out your references already and they’re highly satisfactory. If I were to offer you the position, when could you start?’
‘I’m free from next week,’ said Cressida.
‘Then I suggest that you start with us on Monday morning at ten,’ said Marcia, holding out her hand. ‘I have a feeling that you’re going to fit in with us all very well, Cressida.’
‘I hope so,’ responded Cressida. ‘This is exactly the kind of gallery I’ve always wanted to work in.’
‘The owner of the gallery isn’t in the country at the moment,’ remarked Marcia, leading Cressida out into the corridor. ‘I expect Susan told you about Guy, did she?’
‘She mentioned him.’
‘Luckily he’s perfectly content to let me make decisions over staffing matters. He’s more involved with the artists and the collectors, as you’d expect.’
‘Of course,’ murmured Cressida, anxious not to show too much interest in Guy at this stage.
‘Is there anything you’d like to ask me?’ queried Marcia, glancing at her watch to make it clear that if there was, Cressida had better hurry up and do so.
‘No, I think you covered everything,’ Cressida assured her.
‘That’s wonderful! It’s so unsatisfactory when you’ve got temporary staff at the desk. First impressions are very important, and you make a very good impression indeed.’
‘Thank you,’ said Cressida, and with a final handshake and smile the two women parted.
As the swing doors closed behind Cressida, Marcia Neville stood by the desk and looked down at Saskia. ‘I may have to watch that one,’ she said quietly. ‘There’s more to her than meets the eye, and Guy does like a challenge, as you well know, Saskia.’
The dark-haired girl blushed scarlet. ‘I’d really rather not –’
‘Remember the other night? Yes, well, that’s perfectly understandable, although personally I found your cries of ecstasy highly arousing, even though the setting was, shall we say, a little bizarre! Incidentally, Guy asked me to give you his best wishes and to say how much he appreciates all you’ve done during your brief time at the gallery!’
Saskia kept her eyes down until Marcia had walked away, and then stared around her. She’d always known it was only a temporary job, but she’d never expected to learn what she had during her stay. At the memory of what had taken place only two nights earlier between her, Guy Cronje and Marcia, she shivered with guilty pleasure.
Somehow she couldn’t imagine Cressida Farleigh becoming personally involved with the mysterious and exciting owners of Room With a View – but if she did, her life would almost certainly change for ever.