Whip Hands Page 11

  Naomi was left to ponder her situation with a racing pulse. She was close to panic. From above came the sound of jovial male voices greeting each other familiarly. Soon she heard them descending the steps and approaching in a convoy. She tugged once more at her wrists with no real conviction. Her wits, she realised, were to be put to the severest test yet in her short academic career.

  The Games Mistress

  Sebastian and I had always intended that Fiona should go private. The original plan was for a preparatory school but those were the years we had the expensive skiing holidays. They were essential for helping us to unwind, you understand. Then there was the au pair to pay for, too. These things all add up, as I’m sure I don’t need to tell you.

  What with one thing and another we decided to leave it until Fi was eleven and make sure she had extra tutoring, elocution and ballet lessons. And we insisted on French-speaking au pairs. That was, of course, Sebastian’s idea.

  It worked out according to plan because Sebastian was made a senior partner last year and I was given a substantial investment portfolio to manage at Trollope’s with a performance-related premium. It was perfect. Little Fi was a bit upset at the idea of leaving the friends she had made at primary school. But life’s like that, and it’s never too soon to become aware of it. You have to be prepared to grab the opportunity when it presents itself, even if there is a personal cost.

  And the opportunity of a place at Willowglen Ladies’ College was not to be ignored - at any price!

  We’d had Penny and Roger round for dinner a few weeks previously, and they were saying there was a three-year waiting list. That plus the five hundred refundable deposit. Talk about looking on education as an investment!

  We had only just put Fi’s name down. So we’d more or less given up on the idea and we were going to ask them to return our cheque and try somewhere else much inferior. Then we received a letter quite out of the blue from the college bursar saying a place had come up unexpectedly for next year.

  How excited we all were! But first we must go for ‘a meeting’ with Mrs Fowler the headmistress. Fi and me, that was. Willowglen didn’t seem to be all that interested in what Fi’s father was like. Just as well, since Sebastian was away most of that week at some international marketing junket.

  Frankly, I was glad to see the back of him. His continual nit-picking over my shopping bills was beginning to get on my nerves. True, we had joint bank and credit card accounts, but I would also be earning on a major scale with the salary raise from Trollope’s. I was expected to dine out with potential clients and charm them into letting us invest millions of pounds for them. Heavens, what was the price of a couple of designer frocks set against that sort of return? And, as I said to my stubborn hubby, a half-decent accountant would be able to get the cost of the clothes set against tax for sure.

  On the other hand, he was almost certainly taking his secretary and normally these sales conferences lasted for two days at the most. This time he wasn’t coming home until Friday evening. Suspicious, you must agree. But I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of seeing that I was the least bit curious.

  Anyway, I digress. Our appointment with Mrs Fowler was for mid-afternoon. I don’t know who was the more apprehensive, Fi or me, as we waited in the secretary’s office. A green light winked beside the door into her study and in we went, like two errant pupils.

  Mrs Fowler was reassuringly grey-haired and unassumingly dressed. She drew us into her cavernous study, all dark panelling and portraits of former headmistresses covering every inch of the walls. There was tea on offer in fine china. Fi handled it all with surprising confidence, not spilling a drop or a crumb. We were both doing ourselves proud, although I did notice Mrs Fowler shoot my slit skirt a second look.

  Then it was time to have the school tour. It was to be conducted by Winona, presumably a star pupil. She had a shock of back-combed, dark hair and an engaging manner, even if she reminded me of one of the starlets from an Australian soap. Fi immediately took a shine to her and the two of them prattled away as we did the tour of the school facilities, strangely quiet since it was after four o’clock. After visiting the computer suite, the science block and the music school I was beginning to feel exhausted and fairly impatient. I had taken the afternoon off from Trollope’s. How much longer? I wondered, furtively consulting my watch.

  ‘And here’s the school gym,’ Winona announced, with pride evident in her tone.

  And there it was. One glance was enough to make me feel queasy. Before I had taken in the full extent of its floor area with wall-bars and protruding nets at regular intervals, my nostrils were already prickling. That animal smell compounded of musty leather, floor polish and the changing rooms, brought back with painful clarity. In my early years of womanhood I was not a natural athlete, being highly self-critical. My feet were on the large side, which made me a clumsy exponent of just about every game on the games mistress’ syllabus.

  I went no further than the door. I let Fi make a detailed inspection with her new friend. She appeared to find the equipment perfectly wonderful. Thank God she at least was blessed with some natural grace and agility. Frankly, the place intimidated me, bringing back suppressed memories of many humiliations. There were demons I preferred not to confront, now I was a successful fund manager.

  Just then, a small door with clear panels at the top opened and a young woman stuck her head and upper torso around the edge of it. Her frown changed to a ready smile as she saw the girls.

  ‘Ah, Winona! I see you’re showing round a new girl. Called...?’

  Fi introduced herself with a blush of pleasure.

  ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Miss Fairchild. I was just about to lock up, now that netball training is finished. I hope everyone has gone home. Perhaps the two of you would like to check the changing rooms for me and save me time.’

  Winona was obviously delighted to do so. She and Fi scuttled off to the far end of the gym and disappeared.

  The games mistress finally noticed me, cowering waif-like at the doorway.

  ‘You must be Fiona’s mother,’ she said slowly, observing me closely. Her smile became preoccupied. As I moved closer her expression turned to one of unmistakable recognition.

  ‘I thought so. You’re Joyce Forsyth, aren’t you?’

  I was speechless, not a usual state of affairs for me as you will have realised. About my size and age, she wore a pale green tracksuit. Her fair hair was cut in a severe bob. She used my maiden name so she must have been a friend from school or college. But I just couldn’t place her.

  She quietly enjoyed my confusion, arms folded.

  ‘Of course, it must be Joyce Delahaigh now. I had heard that you married. Remarkably soon after leaving college, according to my source. And that you were pursuing a high-flying financial career. It’s odd that our paths haven’t crossed sooner. Although I suppose these days we live our lives on rather different planes. You in the City, me... well, here in the gym.’

  My head was in a whirl. Realisation was breaking through, but subconsciously there was a block preventing me from finding her name. The hostility was the clue. Yes, it could only be Rhona. Rhona Fairchild, for God’s sake. What a dreadful situation to find myself in! I would need to keep my wits about me. I swallowed my panic.

  ‘Of course, it’s Rhona. I hadn’t heard what - well, what had become of you.’

  ‘Probably because you didn’t enquire very closely. Does Sebastian ever mention me, I wonder?’

  ‘Well, I suppose we have discussed you in the past, in the early years of our marriage. But not recently, no, to be frank. Anyway, how are you getting on? Have you married?’

  Immediately I realised it was the wrong question. She was Miss, after all, by her own admission. She must have taken it as a veiled insult. Her eyes narrowed and my senses sharpened in anticipation of danger.

  My mind scrolled back t
o that evening when Rhona had run screaming from the assembly room. That was the last time we had seen each other, almost fifteen years ago. Now I realised she must have known even then that it was me who had been responsible for her humiliation. And all the intervening years she had lived with it. Until now, I had put it to the back of my mind. You could say I had more important things to do with my life.

  Anyway, while all these traumatic memories were rising unbidden to the surface, I remained suspended in thought. Rhona Fairchild must have been staring at me, but I was only aware of it when I heard Fi’s voice beside me. I came to with a start.

  ‘Winona’s given us the full tour of the school, mum. It’s utterly fantastic. Will I be coming to Willowglen? Please say yes.’

  Fiona knew how to turn on the charm when it was needed. I responded as the doting mother.

  ‘Yes, darling, of course. That is, if there’s still a place available. We’ll have to see. The new term’s a month or two away. Say goodbye now to Miss Fairchild and Winona.’

  I have never been more glad to get out of a place. Normally I can face up to my colleagues, especially the male ones, and get the better in any psychological skirmish. With Rhona Fairchild I felt helpless and exposed. Maybe it was because of that hateful gym. Or just possibly a case of bad conscience.

  That evening I tried to raise the issue with Sebastian. He also was instrumental in this wretched scenario, after all. I suppose I should be grateful to Rhona for having brought us together, in an odd kind of way. She certainly hadn’t intended it to finish up like that, but that’s the way the cookie crumbled. I should have felt sorry for her, but we had all been young. Somehow winning had been all-important. Especially when it came to men.

  I had no idea that she had turned to teaching PE. Rhona had been good at sport at college but she had been doing an MBA, the same as me and Sebastian. Class of eighty-something. It’s true we lost contact. Sebastian and I married a year or so after college and we both had our careers; his in food processing, me in fund management. I suppose we mixed mainly with people in our own line of business. We’d never thought much about teachers until Fi came along.

  ‘Do you remember Rhona?’ I asked him. ‘Rhona from college? Come on, darling, don’t pretend to have grown completely absent-minded. You must still remember some of your student nights of passion.’

  ‘Oh, that. Yes, I suppose I must. Though not exactly blow by blow. We’d both had plenty to drink that particular night. Remember?’

  ‘Yes, I do remember. Not your finest moment.’

  ‘I thought you’d remind me of that. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I met her again today.’

  ‘Good heavens. How was that? Who’s she with?’

  ‘Willowglen.’

  ‘Willowglen? I don’t think I know them, do I?’

  ‘It’s only the school your daughter’s supposed to be going to next year. Rhona’s the games mistress or the head of PE or something.’

  ‘Good heavens!’

  ‘Quite. I was sure she had higher ambitions with her MBA under her belt.’

  ‘Mind you, she was a looker, was Rhona,’ Sebastian mused.

  ‘Don’t quite follow your train of thought, beloved. Not sure that I want to, either.’

  ‘Oh, I never think about her now, if that’s what you mean, old gal.’

  ‘Rhona seems to think plenty about you or, more accurately, about us. I got the distinct impression that nothing had been forgotten and certainly not forgiven. Are you surprised?’

  ‘As I say, darling girl, I hardly knew her. I’ve no idea if Rhona was one to bear a grudge.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Sebastian, you were her lover!’

  ‘I suppose so. As I’ve told you before, I was reluctant. She was the one who made the going, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Please don’t try to explain, darling.’

  He went off half an hour later to play a game of squash, or so he said. I poured myself a fortified G and T and sat in the conservatory to get away from the blare of the television. I needed to try to remember exactly what had happened.

  It was the night of what we called the Dippy Dance - the farewell dance for those who were about to receive their diploma the following day. I’d had my eye on Sebastian for several months, and I was determined to come on strong at that dance.

  No stratagem too bold, I’d said to myself, applying eye liner liberally. My eyes were not my strongest feature, and this was really my last chance. Of course, I knew he and Rhona were reputed to have a thing going. But I was confident I could take him away from her if I played my cards right.

  It was held in a local hotel, quite posh. Throughout the evening I tried to win him away from her. All I got were a couple of dances, but nothing where we had real body contact. I could see he was flattered by my interest, but Rhona was waiting like a hawk to pounce on him once we’d finished.

  She was wearing a revealing backless cocktail dress with a slit up to the thigh, a style I had dismissed as tarty back then. Rhona had the legs and figure, though. Sebastian was hooked, right through the balls if I can be frank. I wasn’t surprised they left early, his hand exploring her backside freely as they waltzed out.

  A few minutes later I followed, in a fury. I was intending to call it a night. But as I turned the corner outside the hotel to dash down a narrow alleyway to a taxi stance I noticed something out of the corner of my eye that made me freeze instinctively. Under a fire escape in a shallow doorway I saw a couple in a fervent embrace. Natural curiosity got the better of me. I quickly checked to see if I was being observed, then hunkered down behind a low parapet.

  A few seconds later, as the girl in the long black dress arched backwards I realised it was Rhona. Of course, I could guess exactly who that shadowy figure was, just then giving his full attention to her cleavage. I gasped. She was letting him openly fondle a naked breast. Clearly Rhona was too far gone to care, quite different from the rather puritan, sporty image she normally conveyed. And I could hear she was whimpering like a bitch on heat. All my senses were on the alert. I felt my insides contract in a sympathetic ripple of desire.

  And there was more to come. Within another minute the slinky black number had been gathered up in haste to form a kind of life-ring around her white thighs. Rhona had both breasts exposed and jutting proudly in the lamplight as she stood for a second facing him. Then her lithe figure seemed to stagger and Sebastian came out of the shadow to turn her round so that she had her back to the door.

  I now know what I didn’t then. My dearly beloved has a throbbing monster when he is fully erect. On that night all he did was unzip his flies, not even revealing a bare buttock. They indulged in a long, passionate embrace as he enthusiastically felt her up. Then he cupped her pubis with one hand. She blatantly pushed forward, responding to the pressure like a pet being stroked. She was shameless, apparently unaware of how visible their amorousness was to any passer-by.

  He lifted her up lightly and with a small grunt of pleasure Rhona straddled him with those long legs I would have killed for. She leaned her shoulders against the door for support as he began to drive his shaft further into her with each lunge of his hips. Such was the intensity of her pleasure a shoe went flying off and fell to the pavement.

  It was several strokes before he found a rhythm. But she was already rearing up and arching her back like a graceful puppet animated by his rod of flesh. One hand gripped his shoulder; the other was raised to press the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle the moans of mounting ecstasy. It was a fruitless attempt. Her cries gathered momentum. Her ultimate pleasure was fulfilled in one extended cry of abandon. He, too, groaned. Rhona slumped forward into his arms and there was only the sound of rasping breath as the two of them began to extricate themselves. It had barely taken a couple of minutes, and both were clearly satiated.

  At that point I came to my senses. It
had been like an intense dream. Maybe that was why I hadn’t noticed the closed-circuit camera on the opposite side of the alley. It was directed at the very door where the shameless couple were now starting to restore their clothing to a state of decency. Within a split second I knew I had a weapon against my rival. I could see how it could be used. It was just a matter of reflecting on the rights and wrongs of using it to my advantage. I barely paused to consider. What else could a girl do when she had a man in her sights?

  Without more delay I darted round to the security guard’s office at the rear of the hotel. I didn’t need to ask if he had spotted what had been going on. A bank of monitors faced him and only one of them was in close-up. It showed an empty doorway under a fire escape. The guard, all alone, had a red face which revealed that he, too, had enjoyed the experience. With a little encouragement he was persuaded to copy the action sequence of the video on to a cassette just for yours truly. I let him give me a peck on the cheek and quickly left him to his own devices.

  As you will have deduced by now, the tape was not intended solely for my personal home viewing. After the diploma ceremony the next day there was a sherry party where parents, staff and students socialised. As a special attraction there was to be a video presentation put together by the communications studies department. This novelty comprised a series of short video clips of the successful MBA students saying what they hoped to achieve in the next few years. It was like a series of personal mission statements. All very silly in retrospect, and instantly forgettable. But not this time, as you will see.

  The communications studies people were doing their last-minute panic, trying to string all these clips together. I just wrote ‘Rhona Fairchild (MBA)’ on the cassette and dropped it in. They hardly looked at me. I prayed they wouldn’t have time to look at the clip. And that day my prayers were answered.