She was sitting in a leather wing-backed chair, nonchalantly flicking through a copy of Vogue when Celeste entered the study. She watched the older woman close the door behind her and turn the key.
‘Is that really necessary?’ she said.
‘A precaution. I wouldn’t want us to be disturbed.’ Celeste Toland came towards her, moving like water flowing downhill. Jessica put down the magazine and stood to greet her. Celeste’s arms enwrapped her body and her lips pressed against Jessica’s in a crushing kiss. When the embrace ended she took Jessica’s face in her hands and looked deeply into her eyes. ‘It’s been too long,’ she said.
The kiss worked. Jessica’s body was tingling. Celeste Toland was one of the very few who could touch her on that level. ‘I agree,’ she said and kissed her again.
It seemed to last an age, lips bruising, tongues tangling, Celeste’s hands on her breasts, kneading, her pelvis thrusting against Jessica’s leg like a bitch in heat.
She peeled the dress from Jessica’s shoulders and let it drop to the floor, then reached behind her and eased down the zip of her own dress, shrugging herself out of it, letting it fall. She stood before her, naked, then brought her hand up between Jessica’s legs and stroked the small bush of pubic hair, savoring the moistness.
And then Celeste laid Jessica down on the rug in front of the fireplace and made love to her.
Jessica stepped into the pool of red silk lying on the floor and pulled it up over her body. ‘Zip me,’ she said.
‘Any news from the island?’ Celeste came up behind her and pulled up the zip, inclining her head and brushing Jessica’s naked shoulder with her lips, then she crossed to a small cabinet in the corner and poured herself a brandy. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘Vodka. Straight.’ Jessica stood in front of the large mirror hanging above the fireplace and tidied her hair. ‘They’ve only been on Kulsay for a couple of hours. I’m waiting for Jane Talbot’s first report.’
‘What’s she like, the Talbot woman?’
‘Not your type,’ Jessica said. ‘Not my type either, for that matter. Takes life far too seriously.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘Life’s a game, Celeste; an adventure. It doesn’t pay to treat it too seriously. I learned that lesson a long time ago.’
‘As long as you’re not treating the Kulsay project as a game. The Sorority has a great deal invested in this project. As have I, personally. As your sponsor my reputation is indelibly linked with yours. You mess up and my credibility with the other women goes down the toilet.’
Jessica opened her purse and took out a compact and a silver tube of lipstick. Moving closer to the mirror she repaired her makeup. Celeste came up behind her with a glass half filled with vodka and set it down on the mantelpiece.
‘Thanks,’ Jessica said. ‘And you needn’t worry. Nor should they. No one’s invested more in this in terms of time and effort than me. Kulsay is one project that will be receiving my undivided attention.’
‘How do you think Carl will react when he realizes he’s been duped?’
‘I should imagine that he’ll be very disappointed in me. But by then it will be too late, far too late. For the moment though, he thinks he’s on top of things, acting as my safety net, and it’s better to let him think that way.’ Sliding the compact and lipstick back into her bag, she took the glass from the mantelpiece, filled her mouth with the spirit and let it swirl over her tongue. She gave a small shudder as she swallowed. She stared at Celeste’s reflection in the mirror. The woman was smiling at her, but the eyes were dead. A very dangerous woman, like the rest of the Sorority. ‘I’d better get back, before I’m missed,’ Jessica said.
‘I’ll be in touch soon,’ Celeste said, pecking her on the cheek and stroking the downy hairs at the nape of Jessica’s neck. ‘Very soon.’
Jessica tipped the glass and poured the rest of the vodka down her throat, gave a tight smile and let herself out of the study.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Bayliss stood on the jetty, staring at the departing bow of the lobster boat. He raised his hand to wave, but no one on the craft was looking back at him. Cameron Whyte had said barely two words to him on the crossing, and the small crew of weather-hardened lobstermen had said even less; their surly attitudes leaving him in no doubt that he wasn’t welcome on their boat. He shrugged and hefted his rucksack onto his shoulders and made his way inland.
The cottage he’d used as a base last time he was here was one of a group of three, each in varying states of dilapidation. He pushed the door but it didn’t give. When he looked closely he could see it had been secured by a row of heavy screws. The MOD had obviously sealed the place after they’d turfed him off the island. He went round to the rear of the cottage, but the same technique had been used on the back door. Idiots! Did they really think that was going to deter him? He found a rock and smashed a window, reached in and unclipped the catch. Seconds later he was inside.
The camp bed he’d used the last time was still against the wall where he’d left it, but the canvas had been slashed several times, making it unusable. He smiled. He must have really pissed them off. The bed didn’t matter. Assuming they would have destroyed his original bed, he’d brought one of lightweight aluminum and nylon with him, stowed in his rucksack. He dragged the old bed out of the way and quickly erected the new one. He lay down on it and stared up at the broken ceiling. In the back of his mind he could hear his grandmother’s hectoring voice, berating him for coming across to the island; for consorting with the ungodly. ‘No good will come of it. You mark my words.’
The salt-sea air had given him a thirst. He rolled over and reached into his rucksack, pulling out a can of beer and flipping the ring-pull. The liquid hissed and bubbled out of the can, spilling over his hand and dripping to the floor. Quickly he closed his lips over the opening and took a long pull. The beer fizzed on his tongue and all the way down his throat. Halfway through the can he belched loudly. From somewhere in the cottage he heard a fluttering of wings. He obviously had company.
Although there were a couple of hours of daylight left in the sky, the cottage was dark, filled with shadows that shifted under his gaze. He shivered and pulled out a blanket, draping it over his legs, letting the fleecy material warm him. For all his bravado Kulsay still had the power to spook him. There was something unwholesome about the place that affected him on a deep, almost subconscious level, making him feel that every action he took, every move he made, was being watched and recorded by hidden eyes.
Setting the can down on the floor he reached into the rucksack again and took out a large, leather-bound journal in which he kept his notes on Kulsay. The notes were copious, detailing the island’s history, the events that had happened here, as well as biographical details of the key players in Kulsay’s colorful past.
The previous evening he’d added the name of Robert Carter, and the others Carter had brought with him. Only Carter himself had a few paragraphs after his name. The others he’d find out about while he was here. He was one of the few people aware of the Department’s existence, and not at all surprised that they had been called upon to investigate the island. Whether they’d have more success than the Ministry of Defense remained to be seen.
‘We’re ready to start,’ Jane said. ‘Are you?’
Carter was sitting on the patio smoking a cigarette, staring across at the garden. The sun was starting to die in the sky, its light rendering the trees and shrubs in muted tones. He screwed out the cigarette in the ashtray. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be. You’ve never attended one of my séances before, have you?’