Chapter 4

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Caitlin had always been amazed that a man so horrible as her husband should have quite so many friends. From little old ladies to the dizzy heights of royalty, everyone liked Hugh Kirkwood.

His greatest friend was Douglas Oakes whom he had known since Harrow. Hugh had cold-heartedly set out to become his friend because Douglas was the Marquis of Pennington and a Marquis was just one step down from a Duke. Douglas, however, had such a good-natured, easy-going personality that it was impossible not to like him. And Hugh had liked him a whole lot more after he married a genuine princess.

The Marquis and Marchioness of Pennington finally arrived just before eleven, in Douglas's favourite gold Aston Martin, escorted by a fleet of unmarked police cars. Douglas wore his family's green and mustard tartan, Princess Victoria was unusually resplendent in floor-length gold lamé. Like most of the British Royal Family, she was happiest in jodhpurs and co-ordinating mud.

As Victoria and Douglas entered the ballroom a sudden quiet came over the guests. Hugh quickly disposed of Amanda and tried to battle a route through the crowded dance floor. Victoria, however, had caught sight of Caitlin attempting to blend in with an extravagant flower arrangement and waved enthusiastically.

"Yoo-hoo! Caitlin!"

Caitlin felt the unrelenting glare of two hundred pairs of jealous eyes swivel in her direction. Much as she liked the young Princess, she would far rather crawl into a dark corner and hibernate. But she took a fortifying gulp of champagne and made an effort to appear more cheerful, hindered as Hugh suddenly materialised beside her.

"Your Royal Highness!" he beamed. "How wonderful that you could make it. What a terrific gown. Dolce & Gabbana?"

"Haven't the foggiest," grinned Victoria. "Douglas bought it. Sometimes I think he only married me to make the perfect accessory to his car."

The DJ, having been primed by Hugh, whipped off Lady In Red and placed a rather scratchy Goldfinger on his turntable. Douglas's absolute hero, apart from his cricket captain at school almost thirty years ago, was James Bond.

Douglas was delighted. "My favourite song!" He offered Caitlin his arm. "Care to dance, my dear?"

It was her worst nightmare. Although Caitlin had once danced professionally in the West End, the last time she had performed in public, at a charity concert before the Prince of Wales no less, she had accidently floored the male lead and stuck her foot through the high-tech scenery. Enough embarrassment to make anyone take up alternative employment.

Muttering about twisted knee ligaments, she attempted to go into reverse. She only succeeded in crunching Hugh's foot with her stiletto heel.

He pushed her back onto Douglas's welcoming arm and relieved her of her champagne glass. "Enjoy yourself, darling," he said with tangible sarcasm. "And do try to stay upright. There's a dear."

Victoria watched her husband depart onto the crowded dance floor and then looked hopefully at Hugh. But Hugh, having to repay several favours, started to manoeuvre her in the direction of the bar.

"Let me get you a drink, Your Royal Highness. And introduce you to some people I know you would love to meet."

"Super," said Victoria, glancing sadly back at the dance floor. She turned towards the bar but a tall, handsome young man blocked her way. He had blond hair flowing well past his shoulders.

"Your Majesty," he hiccupped, bowing so low his nose almost scraped the floor. "Would you care to dance?"

"Fabian!" bellowed Hugh.

"Why, that would be lovely." Victoria smiled and, taking his proffered arm, quickly steered him into the centre of the dance floor without giving either Hugh, or her outraged bodyguards, so much as a backwards glance. "Thank you very much for asking me."

* * *

Hugh watched Princess Victoria dance with Fabian and wondered if he ought to cut in. Fabian did not seem to be treating Victoria with the reverence one should accord a royal princess. Unfortunately Hugh could hardly waltz, let alone dance to the horrendous music the DJ was now playing.

Despite Marina's best efforts, Caitlin had consumed numerous glasses of champagne, shedding most of it (and her inhibitions) carelessly across the ballroom floor, as she danced with every man present except her husband. Hugh regarded her progress with disdain. After his one duty dance with Lady Richmond, wife of the Lord Lieutenant, he merely propped up the bar with Amanda on one arm and matching teenage blonde, Belinda Richmond, on the other.

He knew he should feel remorse as Amanda tried desperately to win him back but, to be perfectly honest, he had grown bored of the entire subject hours ago. As her pleadings became incoherent, bordering on hysterical, he did not bother to hide his yawns and, sliding one hand beneath Belinda's dress, he distracted himself by caressing her bottom, dispassionately watching her squirm in ecstasy. At least someone appreciates me, he thought, and ordered another bottle of wine.

Directly opposite his point of view was Marina, sitting happily on Douglas's knee, one hand burrowing beneath his shirt, the other disappearing up his kilt. Hugh smiled faintly. Nanny had always said the respectable ones were the worst. Briefly he wondered what Marina would be like in bed. Grateful, probably, like some slobbering Labrador puppy. He shuddered and wondered if he ought to rescue Douglas.

The Marquis, having consumed as many glasses of whisky as Caitlin had champagne, did not seem unduly worried. Marriage into the Royal Family had presumably cured him of any hang-ups. Although the two Special Branch officers flanking him, wearing identical dark suits, were looking distinctly frosty.

After persuading one of the local plod (easily distinguishable in a pale grey suit) to take his place, one Special Branch officer strolled off through the terrace windows to light up a cigarette. Lucky him, thought Hugh enviously. Time off for good behaviour.

He stirred the bowl of peanuts on the bar before him with the cocktail stick from Amanda's pina colada and, cutting her off in mid-whinge, said loudly. "I'm bored."

Amanda was shocked. "But this is your birthday. How can you be bored? All your friends are here, you've had loads of expensive presents and you've even got a real live princess as a guest."

"And my wife providing the cabaret."

From his other side, Belinda Richmond giggled. Hugh smiled lazily at her. In appearance, Belinda and Amanda were very similar. They both had long blonde hair, large blue eyes and stunning figures. Standing as they were on each side of him, they could have been bookends. Hugh's imagination transported them to Caitlin's four-poster. He sighed. After this afternoon's fiasco, that would be asking for trouble.

"Isn't it hot in here?" commented Belinda, vigorously fanning her face with one slim hand, causing a minor turbulence in her bra.

They must use incredibly strong underwiring to tolerate that much strain, thought Hugh, completely hypnotised by the jiggling flesh.

"Yes," agreed Amanda. She linked her arm firmly through Hugh's. "Perhaps you'd like a walk in the garden, darling? I'm sure you'd feel happier away from this noisy crowd."

Something in Hugh's brain clanked into place. "What I'd really like is a swim."

"What a terrific idea," said Belinda. "Let's go and play in the pool. With the Princess here no one will miss us. I don't have a swimsuit but well, as it's just you and me ... "

"And me," interrupted Amanda grimly.

"Three's a crowd," snapped Belinda.

"Safety in numbers."

Belinda regarded Hugh from beneath her mascara-encrusted lashes. "But I like to live dangerously ... "

"It is true that two is company," injected Hugh smoothly. "But I have always found that three can open up all sorts of possibilities ... "

The two girls glanced doubtfully at each other.

Amanda made her decision first. "OK, let's go. If we leave now, while everyone is dancing, we'll not be missed."

"Has ... er, has the indoor pool got a lock?" asked Belinda.

"So much for living dangerously!" scorned Amanda. "Why would anyone want to come and gawp at you when they could be gawping at a real princess?"

"Yes, the pool has got a lock," said Hugh. "And a bar, and music, and satellite TV ... " And closed circuit TV, he added to himself. He could make a DVD to cheer himself up on rainy days. Things were most definitely looking up.

They fought their way around the crowds, who were massing on the edge of the ballroom and desperate for a glimpse of the Princess. Then out though the French windows and onto the terrace. Hugh had forgotten the Special Branch officer standing there, his features masked by a haze of cigarette smoke, the raindrops incongruously sparkling in his short, military-style hair.

"Evening," muttered Hugh, sidling past, each arm entwined around the waist of a teenage blonde.

The officer merely nodded, his navy-blue eyes indifferent.

"I bet he's a bundle of laughs in bed," muttered Belinda, when they were almost, but not quite, out of earshot.

Hugh glanced back. The officer blew out another cloud of smoke and leant on the stone balustrade, watching their progress across the lawn, towards the west wing of the house. Deliberately, Hugh took the girls the long way round, past the barbecue and through the shrubbery. Even as a child he had hated to share his toys - unless it was to his advantage.

The old thatched barn housing the indoor pool was unlocked. Hugh switched on the main lights but ensured the blinds were drawn across the windows so no one would know they were inside.

Although the barn was older than the house, the pool had been installed in the 1980s, when the fitness craze first swept the country. There was also a huge bubbling Jacuzzi, just right for intimate parties, as well as a steam room and sauna for those who liked it hot. For those less physically inclined, there was a bar, and loungers were grouped around the pool and arranged on the sundeck outside.

Amanda and Belinda stripped off their clothes, scattering them carelessly around the pool edge, and dived in. Hugh entered the staff office, loaded his favourite jazz album into the CD player and switched on the CCTV, setting it to record directly onto a DVD rather than the hard drive. By the time he came out, the two girls were splashing around, having called a reluctant truce, and were generally showing off.

"Happy birthday to me," he hummed to himself, watching the lush female flesh bouncing and wobbling about in the turquoise water. "Mmm ... Happy birthday to me!" He dived into the pool fully clothed.

Belinda and Amanda squealed as a huge wash of chlorinated water showered over their bleached blonde heads. Hugh surfaced next to Amanda and pulled her into his arms, lifting her up out of the water and sitting her up on the side. The water clung to her skin, shimmering like diamonds.

"Venus rising from the foam," Hugh sighed, flicking droplets from her nipples.

"Blame Fabian," giggled Amanda. "He's worked here eighteen months and he still can't get the chemical balance of the water right."

"The poor boy is so easily distracted. How many times have you slept with him?"

"Twice," lied Amanda, blushing. "And believe me, 'sleep' was the operative word."

Jealously, Belinda watched from the other side of the pool as Hugh lowered his head, lifting one of Amanda's breasts towards his mouth.

Slowly Belinda swam over and stood behind him, curving her body against his, fumbling for the fastening of his trousers. As she struggled with the fly buttons, Hugh was finally distracted from Amanda's glorious breasts long enough to turn around laughing.

"I was coming to you in a moment," he chided and kissed her, sliding one hand over her hip and between her thighs.

Amanda hauled him back by the tails of his shirt and wound her legs tightly around his waist.

Hugh began to laugh. "Girls, why fight when you can both have me?"

"But I want you to have me!" implored Belinda.

"Darling, as we have all night, we can all have each other! And, as it's my birthday, I think I ought to go first. So tell me, Belinda, how long can you hold your breath under water?"

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