The Dickinson’s annual charity bash was due to take place in early May. Beth received her invitation, but wasn’t keen to go. She moaned about it to Val when they next met over a midnight cup of coffee. If she had expected sympathy, she didn’t get it.
‘Don’t be silly, Beth. You have to go. Have you any idea how fussy George’s wife Hyacinth is about who she invites?’
‘Well, I expect all of his surgical team will have received an invite.’
‘No, they haven’t. Only a handful of staff have invitations this year. Anyway, you’ll enjoy The Do.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Oh yes. It’s a classy place the Dickinsons have. I was a guest last year. Not like your family estate, you understand, but it is a big house all the same, out Jesmond way with beautiful gardens. Ultra posh it is.’ Val picked up her coffee cup and put it down again without taking a drink. ‘Wait till you see the swimming pool, indoor of course, straight out of Homes & Gardens with changing rooms big enough to spend your summer holidays in. From what I can remember of last year nearly all the youngsters ended up skinny-dipping at midnight. Come to think of it, it wasn’t just the youngsters. I didn’t bother though; not wanting to be centre-stage!’ Val roared with laughter at her own joke, rocking backwards and forwards in danger of overbalancing and falling off her swivel chair. Wringing her hands together she became serious. ‘Listen . . . ‘she bent forward, looked up and down the ward to see if anyone could hear, making sure no-one was lurking in close proximity. She patted Beth’s knee and said, ‘Hyacinth can be one to watch out for, mind.’
‘What do you mean?’ Beth automatically copied Val looking left and right. ‘Why? What does she do? Apart from being married to George, that is.’
‘Don’t you know?’ Val looked around again not wanting to be overheard. ‘Oh you are slipping up. Well, she’s a gynaecologist. Gave up a brilliant career when she married George. Had two children before you could sneeze, hired a nanny, and returned to work before a decent amount of time had elapsed. Not full time though just part-time, for appearances sake. They say she can wrap George around her little finger. She looks more like a film star than a doctor, dresses like a film star too. Must cost him a fortune. Probably buys her knickers at Harrods.’ Val rocked back in her chair again. ‘Anyway, she travels to Carlisle a couple of days most weeks. She has a clinic-cum-hostel over there for teenage mums who have nowhere to go. That’s what the fundraiser ’s for.’ Val paused weighing up her words, ‘A bit of a card that one.’
‘A bit of a card, Val?’
‘She has lots of friends.’
‘So?’
‘Female friends. About half a dozen of them. You wouldn’t want a gynae appointment with her; she puts another slant on taking your work home with you!’ Val paused expecting a reaction, when none came she continued. ‘I think she takes them to her place in Scotland, at least that’s what the hospital grapevine says. Don’t know what they get up to there. Funny how George never goes though.’
‘Well, what’s wrong with that?’ Beth was becoming impatient and bored by Val’s gossip. ‘Everyone needs friends and from what I can see George’s hardly ever at home. I expect she’s the type to be on committees.’
‘Yes, I know he’s away from home a lot, probably ‘cos of her carryings on. And I know there’s nothing wrong with having friends. I expect she misses her kids. They’re at boarding school, or maybe they’ve moved on to university now. Time flies. Anyway, enough of this silly chatter, just you be careful, that’s all I’m saying. She’s a bit different is our Hyacinth. Committees, eh?’ Val chuckled, ‘Well I guess that’s one way of putting it. Now, will I go and get the Tarot cards out of my bag and give you a reading, or not?’
Beth shook her head. ‘Not tonight thanks, Val. I’m tired. I’ve been on my legs all day. Another time, okay?’
‘It’s about time you learnt to read the cards.’
‘For God’s sake Val. I don’t need bloody tarot cards to tell me not to go to this function. My blood runs cold at the thought of it, and I don’t know why. Call it intuition if you like.’
‘Here then. Take this newspaper to read. I’ve read it.’
Beth took the paper from Val and idly flicked through to the television pages. ‘I don’t know why I’m looking here,’ she said. ‘I always miss the programmes I want to watch.’
‘What have you missed tonight, then?’
‘Probably not much,’ Beth said. ‘Oh, but hang on. There was something. A drama with Lou Scott in it. Damn — I meant to record that.’
‘Never mind, love. I’m sure they’ll repeat it soon. Is that her?’ Val looked over Beth’s shoulder. ‘My, she’s a bonny lass, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she’s quite beautiful.’ Beth gazed at the black and white photograph. She felt her body flush in reaction to the image sending a sexual thrill to her groin. Why on earth should this woman have such an effect on me? Then she sneezed. ‘Bloody print — the smell of newspaper ink always makes me sneeze. Here,’ she handed the paper back to Val, ‘you’d better put this in the bin.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Beth woke early on the morning of the Dickinson’s charity bash. Blue sky and sunshine promised a warm spring day. Guests were invited to arrive from two pm. Beth still didn’t want to go. Her hoped-for emergency didn’t happen. She dressed listlessly, not caring what she wore, but knowing she should look at least half way presentable. She rejected everything in her wardrobe as unsuitable, and then started going through it again. Finally she settled on a simple white linen dress and flat leather sandals. She couldn’t really wear heels as they would sink into the ground. She fastened her hair back in a ponytail and slicked on some lipstick. That’ll do, she thought, they can take me or leave me. Lastly she dabbed Chanel No. 5 onto her wrists.
H was in a black mood. She wasn’t looking forward to the fundraiser. She’d become utterly bored with the whole thing, even though it would benefit her unmarried mothers’ home in Carlisle. She only put on a pleasant face to keep George sweet. Life was much easier that way. He was like an old toy she was still rather fond of, except she couldn’t pop him into a box and store him away in the back of a cupboard, more was the pity. They’d been married for what seemed like forever. The novelty had worn off long ago, but he was from an old respectable family and allowed her to do pretty much what she wanted. Freedom and old money carried a lot of clout with Hyacinth. She knew she really should stop being such a miserable bitch with him; after all, he unwittingly provided her with a marvellous smoke screen. Despite being a big man, where Hyacinth was concerned he wasn’t strong, and didn’t object, as he should have done, when she packed both their son and daughter off to boarding school at the earliest opportunity. Only once had he been on the receiving end of her ferocious temper and he never wanted to go there again. Sex was no longer an option and hadn’t been since the birth of their daughter. But he had his work; that was really his family now. And his precious secretary was very accommodating. Unknown to George, she and H were old school friends, and H had had her long before George. Between them they had a mutually beneficial arrangement. H was not pestered for sex by George because he was kept happy elsewhere.
Hyacinth had been raised in South Africa and her close family still lived there, although she rarely visited them. Hers had been a cosseted upbringing as would befit the child of rich parents. Years at one of the best English boarding schools meant she hadn’t seen much of her family while she was growing up, but she had formed a loyal following among the girls. Nearly every one wanted to be her special friend and by her sixteenth birthday she’d lost count of her teenage conquests. She flirted outrageously with her teachers, staying in their good books. She had a knack of getting her own way. The tutors at her Swiss finishing school loved her, and the pretty French mistress fell into her arms within six weeks of the start of the first term.
During her gap year she toured the world disappearing under the radar for most of the time. She didn’t even contact her parents until just before going to university to study medicine. Her professors expected great things of her. To their dismay she married George immediately after finishing university. No-one could understand why.
But Hyacinth had needed to create a smoke screen.
After all, what woman would knowingly make an appointment to see a lesbian gynaecologist? A respectable middle-class family life was perfect. Her marriage to George provided this. She couldn’t share her reasons with her concerned professors, but her acting ability was so good that they believed she was in the grip of true love.
Shortly after the marriage she established her unmarried mothers’ home in Carlisle some sixty miles west of Newcastle. Between Carlisle and her Scottish hide-away she enjoyed living her secret life. She managed her diamond smuggling using Carlisle as her base. She practiced her magic in Scotland; spending many pleasurable hours teaching and initiating Penny, the first member of her coven and her first long term lesbian lover.
H loved life’s luxuries, was a natural sailor, and travelled abroad whenever the whim took her, often sailing the original Amethyst to warmer climes, and always without George. Despite all of this, she was still restless. The skeleton she kept in her cupboard reared its ugly head now and again, but she was always able to control it, with the help of her girls, especially Penny.
At least the girls would be here, and they were all coming today, except Penny, who had cried off at the last minute with some lame excuse about having to sort out a problem for her husband, Bertie. Initially H was furious. She had been looking forward to some surreptitious sex with Penny to relieve the boredom, but was somewhat mollified at the thought that she might manage a quickie with Serena, their newest and youngest recruit. She felt a terrific connection with Serena, who reminded her of herself twenty years ago: long, tousled blonde hair, firm young tits, and plenty of attitude.
Today she had to welcome George’s new female surgeon. She was dreading it. In her minds eye she could see some dried up old swat going by the name of Elizabeth McConnell who would probably simper around her ankles for the entire afternoon being a bloody nuisance.
She cast a practised eye over the lawn layout noting everything was in place. She needed to check there were sufficient fluffy lilac towels dotted around the swimming pool and give her caterer a word of thanks before she went upstairs to get ready. Why the hell did she put herself through this? It would be so much easier if George simply wrote a cheque and give it straight to her charity. But no, not him, he insisted on this charade to maintain his pathetic social standing.
Up in her bedroom her mood was no sweeter. Her fortieth birthday was looming. She refused to acknowledge it, flatly and icily rejecting George’s feeble offer of a celebration. As far as she was concerned there was nothing to celebrate.
She stripped off. Standing naked in front of the full-length mirror she examined herself critically from all angles. She knew she had a stunning body. No sign of cellulite. Virtually no stretch marks from the birth of her children. Her blue eyes flashed back at her. She didn’t feel forty. Finally satisfied she didn’t look it, she studied her natural blonde pubic hair, letting the fingers of both hands slip into the curls. She could turn herself on in an instant. And she had time. Her left hand moved to fondle her breast, squeezing the nipple as the fingers of her other hand probed a little deeper into her warm, slick opening.
Arriving at the Dickinson’s house, Beth was surprised to see so many people from the media. A television presenter, a well-known agony aunt, and a local racehorse trainer were laughing together under one of the stripy blue and white sunshades. Because the Dickinson's were well connected in many circles there was a well heeled and diverse mix of guests in attendance. Most were willing, and able, to dig deep into their pockets to support the Dickinson’s charity. Beth had already been tapped for a substantial donation. The party was in full swing, spread out across their beautifully manicured gardens. Fearing the wrath of Hyacinth, the team of gardeners had done themselves proud. There wasn’t a weed in sight. As Beth walked across the lawns to join the other guests, she was captivated by the scene in front of her as a Bedouin tent billowed in the breeze, instantly taking her back to childhood dreams of starry Arabian nights.
Hyacinth, discussing something trivial with her caterer, casually turned to check who was arriving and stopped mid-sentence. Removing her sunglasses, instead shading her eyes with her hands, she felt a stirring in her psyche. She’s here. This is the woman I’ve been waiting for.
‘Davinia. Do you know who that brunette is over there heading towards the marquee?’
‘No.’ Davinia shook her head. ‘I would have remembered her — she’s beautiful.’
‘A beautiful stranger. How intriguing. Perhaps this party will be fun after all.’
Beth had no idea she was the subject of Hyacinth’s intense scrutiny. Coming out of her reverie she walked towards the marquee. Inside a sprung dance floor had been laid and a local band played as energetic youngsters danced to the live music.
George Dickinson greeted her warmly, ‘Hello, Beth. So glad you could come.’
‘My pleasure, George,’ Beth lied with a smile on her face.
‘I’m sorry my wife isn’t here to greet you. She’s in there,’ George gestured to the crowd, ‘dealing with something or other. Probably the catering. She’s a stickler for perfection. I will introduce you to her later.’ Taking two glasses of champagne from a passing waitress, he handed one to Beth, and started to talk shop. ‘Now then, Beth. How is the patient we fixed up with the new heart?’
‘He’s good. He’s coming along just fine. I was on the ward early this morning to check for myself, and he’d had a good night.’
‘Good. Good.’ He fiddled with his red and white polka dot dickey-bow tie.
‘Nice tie.’ Beth grinned.
‘It’s appalling, isn’t it?’ George smirked, ‘Hyacinth hates it.’
‘She does?’ Beth laughed. ‘Then why do you wear it?’
‘Oh look. New arrivals. You go and circulate my dear girl. There’ll be plenty of people you know here. Enjoy the champagne.’ George put his glass down on the nearest table and hurried away.
Over two hundred and fifty people chattered, like mynah birds, while swigging champagne. Almost instantly a uniformed waitress pressed another champagne flute into Beth’s hand. Sipping the fizzy liquid she glanced around noticing most of the women had dressed in a similar fashion to her. She had got it right without trying. The men wore casual slacks and polo shirts. Beth thought she had never seen so many designer labels at one meet, or such a glamorous crowd of women.
Empty champagne glasses were immediately refilled by the sharp-eyed, unobtrusive waitresses who hovered in the background beside the long purpose built bar. In another section of the marquee comfortable chairs were thoughtfully arranged around tables enabling guests to sit and relax in the shade.
Val was right about the food. Davinia’s Catering had prepared a sumptuous buffet, artistically presented along one complete side of the marquee under shaded windows dressed with long purple drapes. It seemed a crime to spoil such a vision by eating it. Purple drapes — what a peculiar choice of colour.
The caterer, Davinia, the only daughter of Lord and Lady Macfarline, had enjoyed a privileged upbringing. After the birth of her illegitimate daughter, Felicity, she had flatly refused to return to university. Lord Macfarline had been furious. He insisted that she raise the child herself. Davinia hadn’t seen that as a penance, but as a joy. When Felicity started attending primary school Davinia was offered a part-time position by one of her father’s friends who owned an exclusive jewellery shop in Newcastle. Although she had no need to work she had a tremendous love of jewellery and felt she had been offered the perfect opportunity to broaden her knowledge of precious stones. She had accepted the offer before her father could interfere and soon she became regarded as one of the leading authorities on diamonds in the UK. She had loved her job and enjoyed being in a position of trust and authority until recently jumping ship. Laughingly blaming her actions on a mid-life crisis, she set about establishing a superb five star catering business, using daddy’s money and contacts this time.
Today, Davinia was standing at the head of the banquet table guarding the food like an anxious parent, proudly proclaiming to anyone listening that food had always been her first love. Davinia wasn’t what you would call an attractive woman, although kindness radiated from every inch of her rotund body. She had grown so round because of her passion for food and the fact that she personally tasted everything she cooked. She was barely five-foot tall, with tight curly hair and twinkling grey eyes. A veritable roly-poly.
Beth thought Davinia’s food looked worthy of inclusion in the glossiest food magazine. Plates of fresh salmon, mushroom vol-au-vents, canapés, quiches and coronation chicken graced the white linen tables. Cucumber sandwiches rubbed shoulders with rich chocolate fudge cake and individual lemon cheesecakes sat alongside dishes of strawberries soaked in champagne surrounded by jugs of fresh cream.
As Beth stood admiring the display she felt someone touch her elbow.
‘Hello. I’m Davinia Macfarline, the caterer.’
‘Beth McConnell. Pleasure to meet you. This food looks amazing.’
‘Thank you, Beth. It’s all in the taste though, and I can guarantee your taste buds will buzz.’ A tall, skinny, ginger-haired woman joined them. ‘This is my partner, Julie.’
‘Business partner?’ Beth asked.
‘Not business. No. Julie is my lover.’
Wow, what a statement to make, Beth thought as she shook hands with Julie. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Pleased to meet you, too.’ Julie said. ‘Do you sail?’
‘No.’
‘Rock climb then?’
‘I’m afraid not. You’re talking to a golfer.’
‘Really. Not my game.’ Julie took up a golfing stance and pretended to swing a club at an imaginary ball. ‘I could teach you to sail, it’s much more fun than golf.’
‘That’s very kind of you, but no thanks. I’m not keen on water. I like to keep my feet on the ground.’
‘You obviously appreciate good food though. There’s none better than my Davinia’s. You can’t beat quality catering — this is the best.’
‘Do you use organic ingredients?’ Beth feigned interest.
‘Of course. Look at that splendid carrot cake.’ Julie pointed down the table. ‘We hand-picked the carrots personally. The secret is in the feel and the size of the carrot.’ Julie slowly pulled her fingers into the palm of her hand as if gripping a tool.
Beth couldn’t decide if Julie was being rude. She cast a sly glance at Davinia. Davinia who was obviously no stranger to the biscuit tin, and Julie didn’t look the type to see eye-to-eye with a cooker. I doubt she would have a clue how to make anybody’s soufflé rise, Beth thought, they are like chalk and cheese.
Julie went into full flow, ‘Oh yes, it’s organic all the way. We source our ingredients . . .’
Losing the drift of Julie’s conversation, Beth became uneasy, on edge. She sensed eyes boring into her, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. ‘What the hell?’ she muttered as she turned.
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