Country Pursuits Read online

  As it turned out, Devon was having a good evening. Nigel, rather at home in a blonde wig and satin cocktail dress, was listening agog to Angie Fox-Titt recount a bizarre tale about a local legend called Sir Jonas ‘Mad Dog’ Winterbottom. Devon hadn’t wanted to be Fred Astaire to Nigel’s Grace Kelly, so he stood by the bar in normal dress taking in the atmosphere. He’d avoided coming down here so far, not wanting to be stared at all night or given any hassle. But people constantly came up to him, just to wish him luck for the ball and to say how excited they were about seeing him perform. Devon was rather touched. He’d had so many drinks bought for him, he’d had to ask Jack to hide them behind the bar.

  Most people were in fancy dress. Camilla and Calypso looked horrifically funny with blackened teeth, false warty noses and gaudy, voluminous pantomime dresses. ‘We’ve come as the Ugly Sisters, although Camilla didn’t have to try too hard,’ giggled an increasingly sozzled Calypso to anyone who would listen. Lots of people commented on how nice it was to see Camilla out and about again, before whispering something about Harriet in a sad undertone. In actual fact, Camilla had almost backed out at the last minute. Harriet had always loved fancy dress and had once spent two weeks hand-stitching a giant caterpillar costume for their end-of-term sixth-form party. Camilla, overcome by sorrow and guilt about going out and having fun without her, had been given a firm talking-to by Calypso and sent off to get changed into her outfit.

  Lucinda and Nico had come as the Two Musketeers, while Freddie and Angie, minus a grounded Archie, had looked resplendent as Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara in costumes they’d somehow borrowed from the BBC costume department. There was a hairy moment when one of Angie’s skirts caught on a candle and started to smoulder, but luckily a nice young gentleman dressed as the camp policeman from ‘YMCA’ was at hand with his novelty NYPD water pistol.

  Sebastian had seen the party as the perfect chance to show off his honed physique, and had hired a very realistic Superman outfit from the fancy dress shop in Cirencester. Most men would feel – and look – ridiculous dressed in a skintight body-suit complete with blue pants and red boots, but Sebastian was positively revelling in it. Caro had made her own cat outfit and was now feeling very self-conscious in a black leotard, her whiskers and ears made out of cardboard. It had looked all right in the comfort of her bedroom, but now, in this crowded bar, if one more person pulled on her tail and said ‘Nice pussy’, she was going to swipe at them with her claws.

  Caro’s bad mood was also attributable to her husband. A few days after their blazing row Sebastian had managed to talk her round. Now in an uneasy truce, the tension between them simmered unbearably close to the surface. While Sebastian thrived on it, it was slowly killing Caro. As she looked across the bar and saw him flirtily flicking his cape over his shoulder and chatting up Stacey, she felt like walking straight out of the door and going home.

  Her sisters, on the other hand, were having a whale of a time. Leaving Calypso showing an astonished group of young men from Bedlington how to light a cigarette using only her toes, Camilla stumbled out into the corridor to go to the loo. Feeling a bit tiddly, she pulled her skirt up with some difficulty and sat down on the toilet. Angus suddenly flashed into her thoughts. She had been a bit worried he might turn up, but to his credit he had temporarily removed himself from the scene. Camilla was grateful for that, and her heart ached at his unfamiliar thoughtfulness.

  She pulled up her knickers, pulled the chain and wobbled out of the cubicle. Washing her hands at the sink, Camilla caught sight of her reflection. Cripes, she thought, I really do look hideous! Lucky I’m not about to meet my Prince Charming! She laughed to herself, drying her hands on a paper towel. She opened the door, stepped out into the corridor, and nearly went flying as she collided with a tall, lean figure in an all-in-one skeleton suit, complete with grinning skull’s face. ‘Oops, sorry!’ she giggled as the skeleton went to catch her. ‘Bit too much to drink.’

  The skeleton remained silent as it slowly peeled off its facemask. Underneath was Jed Bantry, face chiselled and black hair tousled, his extraordinary eyes taking her in.

  ‘Oh!’ said Camilla, not knowing what to say. ‘It’s you.’

  ‘Are you OK?’ Jed asked her, still holding her by the elbow. ‘You banged your head on the door just then; is it hurting?’

  Camilla had never heard him say such a long sentence before. ‘Er, yes, I’m fine,’ she said, rubbing her head for bumps.

  Jed stepped closer. ‘Here, let me,’ he said softly, and before she knew it she could feel his strong fingers gently caress her head. Standing this close, she could also smell the spicy, masculine scent of his aftershave and feel the warmth from his body. Her skin turned to goose-bumps. The moment seemed to go on for ever, and then he pulled away and looked at her. His eyes almost drove through her with their intensity, and Camilla felt completely powerless to look away. At that moment the door to the bar swung open, filling the corridor with noise. The spell was broken. Self-consciously, she stepped away from him.

  ‘Oh, excuse me!’ cried a sarcastic voice. Suddenly Stacey was in front of them, voluptuous and seething.

  ‘I just bumped my head, Jed was helping me,’ stuttered Camilla, remembering when she’d caught them unawares at the French evening.

  Stacey raised a theatrical eyebrow. ‘So? Why are you telling me?’ With an imperious look at Jed, she swept into the Ladies.

  Camilla started edging away, not entirely sure what had just happened. ‘Er, I’d better be getting back.’

  Jed stared at her again, holding her gaze. ‘Just be careful, all right?’ he said, something unfathomable dancing across his eyes.

  Back in the bar, Caro was downing her fourth glass of Dom Perignon when the door to the pub swung open, bringing with it a cold wind. Automatically, everyone shivered and turned to see who it was.

  Standing on the doorstep, legs astride and hands on his hips, was Benedict Towey. Dressed in a Superman outfit exactly the same as Sebastian’s, his body was taut, powerful and rippling. He looked like a natural-born super-hero, and there were ‘Oohs’ of admiration from several females around the room.

  Benedict stepped back and held the door open. A stunning girl glided in dressed as Cleopatra, her eyes bewitching against a jet black wig, and her toned, sensuous body shown off perfectly in a white toga dress that looked like it had come straight off the rack at Gucci.

  As she watched them make their way to the bar, so perfectly in tune and familiar with one another, Caro wondered why she felt so wretched. Maybe it was because they clearly had what she and Sebastian didn’t, she thought, watching Benedict tenderly brush a stray hair from the woman’s face.

  Before she knew it, her husband was at her shoulder positively fuming. ‘I can’t believe that twat has got the same costume as me!’ he spat furiously. ‘Stupid bloody cow in the shop told me there was only one. I’m getting a refund, that’s for sure.’ He stared at Benedict and then turned to his wife. ‘I look better than him, don’t I?’

  ‘Yes, darling.’ They both knew it was a blatant lie. Benedict had the kind of God-given body that no amount of hours in the gym could match.

  As he paid for the drinks, Benedict scanned the room, eyes soon resting on them. He said something to the beautiful girl, and to Caro’s mortification they headed over, Benedict’s hand resting in the small of her back.

  ‘Hi,’ he said moments later, holding out his hand. For one excruciating moment, it didn’t look like Sebastian would take it, then he grabbed it, squeezing as hard as he could.

  ‘Towey,’ he said ungraciously. ‘Nice outfit, although my wife here was just telling me how much better I look in it than you.’

  Benedict looked at Caro, one eyebrow raised in a slight look of amusement. ‘Were you, indeed?’ he asked.

  ‘Er, it wasn’t like that, exactly,’ said Caro, feeling more stupid than ever in her amateur costume. She turned to the girl. Close up she was even more ravishing. ‘You must be Benedict�
�s girlfriend, I love your outfit,’ she told her.

  The girl let out a delightful peal of laughter. ‘He’d be lucky! But thank you for the compliment.’ She noticed Caro’s perplexed expression and quickly added, ‘He’s my brother.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Caro, annoyed at how relieved she felt.

  The girl stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Amelia, I’ve heard lots about you.’ She had an air about her that put Caro at ease.

  ‘Have you?’ she laughed, shaking Amelia’s hand and shooting a quizzical glance at Benedict. ‘Not all bad, I hope!’

  Amelia smiled. ‘Of course not.’ Her gaze travelled on to Sebastian and cooled slightly. ‘I’ve heard lots about you, too.’ Sebastian’s lips curled up into a smile; he didn’t quite know what to make of her.

  ‘I think you’ve said enough for now, little sis,’ said Benedict, giving her a gentle warning look. ‘Let’s go and get some food, I’m starving.’ He added curtly to Caro and Sebastian, ‘Have a good evening.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Caro,’ Amelia shouted over her shoulder as Benedict propelled her away.

  ‘You, too!’ Caro called after her. ‘She seemed lovely,’ she said to Sebastian.

  ‘If you ask me, she’s just as full of it as her brother.’ He sniffed dismissively and looked at his empty glass. ‘Go and get me another drink, will you?’

  At midnight the party was in full swing, and no one seemed to have any intention of going home. Jack Turner had already had to prise apart a pair of fornicating pumpkins he’d found in the disabled toilet. Freddie was so drunk he’d fallen asleep face first in his Scary Soup, and had to be pulled out and shaken by Angie until he showed signs of consciousness again.

  Someone else was feeling the effects of all the booze, as well. Devon, more than a little tipsy and already regretting the hangover that would surely follow, had somehow been coaxed by Calypso into singing her one of his new songs. After protesting for five minutes he’d finally given in. ‘This is a song about someone who means a helluva lot to me,’ he had told her. Taking a deep breath, both physically and metaphorically, he had tentatively eased into the first verse of ‘Heart Catcher’. He’d never felt so vulnerable, without instruments or his backing band; just him on his own, to be judged accordingly.

  As it happened, his fears were misplaced. The effect was spellbinding. One by one the rowdy crowd fell silent as his voice – raw, powerful and haunting – filled the very eaves of the building. Devon could feel that high he remembered from years ago as he opened his soul and held the audience in the palm of his hand. They were reacting just as he wanted them to. Jack and Beryl stopped working for the first time that night, and swayed against each other behind the bar. Lucinda Reinard, sitting on her husband’s knee, whispered intimately to him during certain lyrics in the song. When Devon finished and trailed off uncertainly, the room remained quiet. Then, suddenly, somebody cheered – and the whole place erupted.

  ‘Devon, that was like, totally amazing!’ gasped Calypso, wiping a tear away, as Devon was besieged by people congratulating him and slapping him on the back. Through the hubbub, he searched for Nigel, and found him staring back across the bar, his eyes brimming with pride. They smiled at each other in understanding. Something big had happened here tonight.

  Over in the apple-bobbing corner, things were taking a decidedly dangerous twist. The game had proved hugely popular and people had been queuing up all night to take part. So far, Babs Sax’s date, a young man dressed as Lester Piggot complete with a full-sized fake horse, was in the lead, with six apples pulled out in one minute.

  After avoiding him all evening, Sebastian was immensely annoyed to find himself standing next to Benedict Towey. ‘Come on, chaps, let’s have a Superman stand-off!’ said Brenda Briggs’s husband Ted, who was manning the corner and writing up scores on the board. Just as Sebastian was about to tell the silly old sod where to shove his apples, Benedict turned round and faced him.

  ‘Up for it?’ he asked casually, but there was no mistaking the challenge in his eyes. The gauntlet had been well and truly thrown.

  ‘You bet,’ Sebastian replied viciously.

  Both men knelt down in front of their respective buckets. By now, quite a crowd was gathering. It wasn’t every day one saw two Lycra-clad Supermen engaging in an apple-bobbing contest.

  ‘Right gents, you know the rules,’ said Ted. ‘As many apples as you can get out, using only your mouth, in one minute. No hands, feet or any other foul play. On your marks, get set, GO!’

  Sebastian plunged his head into the water. It was freezing cold, making him gasp. He realized the carefully styled kiss-curl on his forehead would be ruined, and his desire to whip Towey’s arse burned even more. Looking across at his adversary, he saw he already had his perfect teeth clamped around an apple and was manoeuvring it to the side of the bucket to get it out.

  Sebastian whipped his head back into his own bucket; he was damned if he was going to let that bastard Towey beat him twice in a row! At first it seemed an impossible task as the apples merrily floated away, but finally he managed to secure his first one by taking a huge bite. He flung it triumphantly down beside him.

  Benedict was just depositing his third apple and, for a second, the two men stared at each other, water running down their faces in rivulets.

  ‘Had your mistress long, then?’ Benedict asked him, just low enough so no one else could hear.

  ‘Long enough,’ spat Sebastian. ‘You should try getting one, Towey. Might make you a bit less uptight.’

  Benedict stared at him with distaste, then plunged his head back into his bucket, Sebastian following suit. His blood was boiling as he chased another apple around. The fucking impudence! After about twenty seconds of frantic splashing, both men pulled out at the same time again, dropping their catches down and gasping for breath.

  This time, Benedict leaned in towards him so close, their noses were almost touching.

  ‘You don’t deserve her, Belmont.’

  At this point Sebastian, chest heaving from lack of oxygen and the unimaginable prospect of losing again, flipped. ‘Fuck you, Towey!’ he roared, propelling himself towards his rival. Grabbing Benedict’s head, he plunged it straight into his bucket of water and held it under. Someone screamed.

  ‘All right lads, calm down!’ shouted Ted Briggs, waggling his piece of chalk at them furiously. Under his hands, Sebastian felt strength surge through Benedict as he suddenly reared out of the bucket, sending Sebastian flying. Before Sebastian could collect himself Benedict had grabbed him by the shoulders and plunged his head under the water in his own bucket.

  Sebastian struggled, but he was caught in an iron grip. Gasping for air, and with water filling his lungs, he started to choke. My God, I’m going to die, he thought to himself. A strange, shrieking noise filled his head, getting louder and louder.

  Just as he was sure he’d taken his last breath, the hand around his neck hauled him out. Heaving and spluttering, he collapsed on the floor as Benedict Towey stood up, breathing heavily.

  The strange, shrill noise turned out to be Caro. ‘What are you doing? You could have drowned him!’ she screamed at Benedict. Shock and anger coursed through her as she faced him, her whole body shaking with emotion. ‘Why don’t you go and molest someone else’s wife instead, you bloody adulterer?’

  Confusion flickered across Benedict’s face, then he eyed her coldly. ‘I think that’s something you should ask your husband about,’ he said, and turned on his heel.

  Caro stared after him for a second, before turning back to Sebastian as he lay wheezing on the ground. He stared up at her spitefully: ‘Something I’m missing here, darling? You shagging him or what?’ There were a few scandalized gasps from the onlookers. Caro went white as she went to help him up.

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ she said in quiet mortification.

  There was a brief, deafening silence, then a cry from Jack. ‘All right, show’s over, folks, let’s get back to the party.’ An excited
babble of voices started up again as everyone watched Caro drag a dripping Sebastian out through the bar.

  Chapter 51

  SOME BRIGHT SPARK had used their camera phone to record Devon singing, and by ten o’clock the next morning, the clip was up on YouTube. At the end of the day, the grainy but clearly audible footage had received a staggering hundred thousand hits. Nigel was inundated with calls from record labels wanting to sign Devon up. The singer refused to discuss it, however, saying he was going to get the Churchminster ball out of the way first. His reticence only succeeded in creating even more hysteria, and Devon had great pleasure in telling his old record company, who had dropped him like a hot potato when he started to go off the rails, where to stick their offer. ‘What goes around comes around, Nige,’ he said sagely, and padded off barefoot down the corridor to his studio. Rehearsals were in full swing now, and the Three Ts were turning up later, ready to eat Nigel out of house and home again.

  A few nights later, there was a dramatic turn of events in Churchminster. It was around midnight, after the pub had closed, and Jack Turner was putting the bins out. Suddenly feeling he was being watched, Jack glanced across the deserted green and saw a shadowy figure lurking near the Merryweathers’ cottage. With no thought for the fact that he might be confronting Churchminster’s serial killer, Jack shouted at the figure and ran towards the cottage. But by the time he’d reached the front gate, there was no one to be seen.