The door bell rang again. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, put on her dressing gown and stumbled towards the door. The bell rang again as she reached the top of the stairs – and again as she reached the bottom. Pausing to make sure the gown was secure; she opened the door to find Dudley Wink, smiling at her.
‘Sorry if I woke you Mrs Billingsgate. Saw the garage open and your husband’s car gone, so thought you must be up.’
‘That’s alright Dudley. I must have dozed off. Is there something to sign for?’
‘No, just a couple of things. Management have made me reverse my round, which means that as from Monday, you won’t be getting your letters until late morning. Thought you ought to know – just in case.’
She brushed loose strands of hair away from her cheek. ‘Thanks for letting us know, I’m sure we’ll get used to it. What was the other thing?’
He stepped forward to speak confidentially and received an unexpected bonus – she reeked of sex. Must have been shagging all night, no wonder she looked tired. He took the stained letter, which he had deliberately hidden under the bills and circulars, and lifted it to her eye level.
‘It’s this letter Natasha.’ He felt confident enough to call her by her first name as he inhaled her own special fragrance and waved the letter. ‘It’s in a hell of a state – very late reaching our office. That’s criminal; someone should be shot. I hope it’s not important?’
She gave him a smile, she quite liked Dudley, he was round and jolly. Barrie couldn’t stand the way he looked at her, but she could see no harm in him. ‘I don’t think we can go around shooting one of your colleagues, just because one letter is late Dudley.’
Her warm smile and fragrance was a heady mixture for Dudley. He lowered the sheaf of bills and circulars to cover his excitement. His prick was incredibly stiff and he was beginning to think that if he could keep her talking long enough, he might, with a few furtive strokes, be able to cream in his underpants as she opened the envelope. ‘Did you see the photograph of the Meltcon fire on the front of the Bugle?’
She nodded. It was something she vaguely remembered.
‘That was mine. I took it just as that bloke ran out through the flames.’
‘It’s a fantastic photo.’
He swelled with pride. ‘It’s been syndicated around the world. Do you know Peter Bunford? He’s been appointed as manager of Hamsworth Rugby Club.’
‘Yes, I met him at the club with my husband on…’ Her voice drifted off. Had she noticed the small movements he was making with the hand holding the envelopes in front of his eager prick. He smiled and offered her the letter which he was desperate to see her open. Once those beautiful slender fingers touched his dried semen, he would ejaculate and she would be his!
Natasha was about to take the letter when she remembered. ‘He had a look at my hamstring – no, Barrie’s hamstring.’ She clutched at her head, entwined strands of hair in long delicate fingers and pressed it against her cheeks. ‘Oh, no! I’ve done a dreadful thing. Sorry Dudley, I must go. My husband is in terrible trouble.’
Dudley could not believe she was refusing to take the letter and attempted to thrust it into her hand, but she backed away and sobbed. ‘Leave them in the box. I must go. Sorry – I must go.’
He wanted to ask if there was anything he could do to help, but she shut the door in his face. He heard her running up the stairs as he dropped the letters and concentrated on his prick, making a fist around the stretched fabric of his trousers, but, even as he began to rub, he knew it wouldn’t work. His erection was subsiding almost as quickly as it had appeared. Bitterly disappointed, he picked up the letters, dropped them into the box and walked back to his van. He thought about driving up to the copse to focus his camera on her bedroom in the hope of capturing some more wanking material, but dismissed the idea. That would not be enough. If she had opened that letter and he had creamed in his pants that might have been, although watching his sperm splash over Nymphie Nita’s pussy had raised the bar. If he couldn’t do that to Natasha Billingsgate, the whole world could have her. They would be able to watch her playing with herself by the bedroom window. Sprawling across the kitchen table, begging to be shagged. The scenes were edited together; he would teach her not to play with his emotions, all he had to do was put them onto the Anita von Beta web site. His wife was away at the last Guides’ camp of the summer. He would see Nymphie later. She understood. She would let him; as long as he did something special for her.
Julie Bunford made herself another cup of coffee, and sipped at it, thinking about Suzy and how she wanted to get back to he; but there were things that had to be done. She had spoken to Becky and told her that her father had been discharged from hospital, but not that that he was being looked after by the woman he rescued from the fire. She glanced at the kitchen clock; it was another ten minutes before the estate agent was due. She would get the valuation, and then tell Peter they were selling. The door bell rang – he was early. She emptied the coffee down the sink, rinsed the mug and was in the process of drying it when the bell rang for the second time. She folded the tea cloth and placed it on the gleaming draining board.
As she approached the front door, the bell rang for the third time. She opened the door and was surprised to find a slim, dark haired woman waiting in the porch. ‘I thought Mr Barrett was going to give the valuation.’
The woman shrugged. ‘Sorry about that.’ She flipped open a black wallet and held a police warrant card up for her to read. ‘I’m Detective Constable Leadbetter, are you Mrs Bunford?’
Julie nodded.
‘Mrs Julie Bunford?’
Julie nodded again. A cold, hollow feeling invaded the pit of her stomach.
‘I would like to ask you some questions Mrs Bunford. Shall we talk inside?’
Barrie Billingsgate opened his eyes onto a shiny white surface reflecting light onto his face. He was wearing shirt and trousers, but even so, felt cold. He tugged on a rough wool blanket which clung to him as he turned and almost fell off a hard, narrow bed. The shiny white surface revealed itself as tiling which covered the walls of a small room. A strip light provided a harsh white light which bounced off the aluminium surface of a toilet wedged in a corner. Everything was cold and functional. He was in a prison cell. He got up to use the toilet.
‘Where are you Mr Billingsgate?’
‘I’m using the toilet.’
‘Let me see your hand. Wave it in front of the door, please. ’Barrie did as he was told, concentrating on pointing his ‘old boy’ in the right direction.
‘When you’ve finished, sit on the bed.’ He did as directed; but what was he doing in here? The last thing he could remember was the dinner party – giving Natasha a good seeing to – and then? It was all a bit confused. He had a strange dream where he was in Natasha’s body, a dream which seemed to go on and on, until the last thing he could remember was…
‘Stand-up please Mr Billingsgate.’
He looked towards the door. A face was peering at him through a small opening. He stood up.
‘Now, turn away from the door and put your hands behind your back.
He turned, heard the door open, then felt handcuffs clamping around his wrists..
‘This way Mr Billingsgate, you’re going back to the interrogation room.’ He turned to find a middle aged, rather plump police sergeant, holding the cell door open.
He had no memory of ever having been in the interview room, but the young guy, who announced himself as Detective Sergeant Kimberley, seemed to know him. He seemed quite friendly.