I’ll tell you no lies Read online

  “That sounds great, mum. Let’s call him now…Please, please, please.” Lucy looked like a puppy that’d just seen its master reaching for the treat jar. If she’d had a tail it would have been causing havoc by now.

  “Have some patience Lucy we’ll have longer to speak to him tonight, and anyway he’s probably on his way to the studio by now.”

  John couldn’t help sending them the signed copies, he knew Lucy would love it, probably get it framed and hang it in her bedroom, and he was still on a high from the excitement of it all. He knew that if Stein had been credited with the shot it would have just said Patrick Stein instead of Patrick Stein studios with his name in brackets afterwards but he was okay with that, he knew that the kudos lay in the name Patrick Stein. But he was on the ladder, and it was Steph who had helped get him there.

  …

  Lucy was probably least affected out all the three of them over her dad’s suicide. She’d considered him selfish in life so she thought suicide was a well-suited death for him, why would a leopard suddenly change its spots? She wouldn’t exactly say she liked her current situation, Manchester wasn’t Aldershot, it didn’t hold many happy memories for her, she saw it more as a temporary necessity in life’s journey, but at least she hadn’t had to move again to Scotland.

  Sally-Anne was glad too; after all, she’d only been acting on Lucy’s innermost feelings. If Lucy had wanted to go to Scotland, if she’d been happy and didn’t blame her dad for her misery, he’d still be alive today. Sally-Anne had only been doing Lucy’s bidding after all. As Sally-Anne saw it, she was Lucy’s only true friend in Manchester and a true friend would do anything to end the pain the other was feeling.

  Looking forward to London, Lucy?

  I can’t wait. When mum said John had got tickets for fashion week and he was photographing at most of the venues I couldn’t believe it, it’s just going to be so cool. He might even let me assist him on one of the smaller shows.

  I know, some of the planet’s finest looking ladies all under one roof strutting their stuff and I’ll be there to see them all…we’ll be there to see them all.

  Yeah, you can look but you can’t touch big sister.

  There could be a way. I think it’s about time we both felt the pleasure of another person’s flesh. First hand so to speak.

  You already get the pleasure of another person’s flesh, remember? Mine, first hand, usually my right hand. Anyway what do you mean, there could be a way?

  You could let me borrow your pretty little body. Then I’d have something to trade with. And let’s face it Lucy, you’re walking around in a body that deserves to be shared for the pleasure of others, let it realise its full potential. It would be just like your mum lending someone her car; your body is only a vehicle for your mind and soul anyway. It just so happens that you drive a Ferrari while most people get lumbered with a Ford.

  Hang on, you’re saying I could let you take over my body while you play out your sordid little sexual fantasies for real, then you’d just hand it back.

  I think we could make it work. I know you’re only fourteen years old but there are a lot of sexually active fourteen year olds in the world Lucy and I can’t wait much longer. You’re good at pleasuring yourself but I need to feel the flesh of another.

  Cool… But your fantasies are always about other women. Wouldn’t that be a bit gross? For me I mean.

  Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, anyway if you don’t like it you can just switch yourself off from the outside world while I enjoy myself. You don’t think I’m going to be watching you while you get your tight little pussy pummelled by some sweaty member of the lower order do you?

  Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, that’s what you just said.

  Yeah, but the word bastard, even though it was meant to describe a child born out of wedlock, must have been re-used with men in mind. It captures them perfectly, everything they stand for and everything they do. I think I’ll just give them a miss if it’s all right with you. So do I get your body then?

  I’ll think about it, maybe… but only if you treat it with care. This is scary. My first sexual experience and I’ll be a passenger.

  But your body is my temple, Lucy. I’m not going to damage it in any way. Trust me…

  You do trust me don’t you Lucy?

  I think so.

  Easter couldn’t come quickly enough for Lucy, but when it did come Marie decided they should travel in style. No four-hour road trip journey down the M6 and M1 motorways, struggling past Birmingham like everyone else packed into their cars. No stuffy train rides either, sat opposite Mr and Mrs sweat-stain. Marie had decided they would fly from Manchester to Heathrow. Although the British Airways shuttle wasn’t cheap for what was, in reality, only a thirty-minute flight, money was never going to be an issue.

  Marie enjoyed the freedom to do something different; she liked to try things she wouldn’t have dreamed of doing had David been alive. And, in David’s mind, to have flown to London for anything other than a major business meeting would have been seen as far too extravagant. So Lucy and her mum flew British Airways Manchester to Heathrow then took a taxi to the Grosvenor hotel where they were staying for the week.

  John had been so pleased to see them. He’d lived in London for only eight months so he was looking forward to seeing some of the sites for the first time himself. The highlight for him, however, was definitely going to be taking Lucy and his mum to the fashion shows. He was really looking for an excuse to show them how far he’d come in such a short time. The fact that he would be one of the photographers working the catwalk on one of the top fashion shows was something he’d kept secret from them, even though he’d been bursting to say something sooner. He wanted to see the look on Lucy’s face.

  The look when it came had definitely been worth the wait. Lucy was asking questions quicker than he could answer them and the fact that Stein had been able to swing a couple of really good seats with one short phone call meant that, as far as Lucy was concerned, he was the best big brother a girl could ever wish for. Marie was also enjoying the glow of satisfaction that a mother feels when she believes she can stop worrying about one of her children because it’s no longer an appropriate emotion.

  It made the handing over of the two building society accounts, one to John and one to Lucy, so much more enjoyable on their first night at dinner in London. Marie had decided that her children should be given a leg up in life and she was more than able to do that financially. John was given an account, which contained fifty thousand pounds in his name, and Lucy had the same in Marie’s name that she would gain sole control of on her sixteenth birthday.

  Her children were stunned, neither of them quite believing what their mum had just done. For John it would be a massive help to establish his career or get on the property ladder, and for Lucy a tidy nest egg, which would carry on growing until the time came that she needed it. Both knew that this was only possible because of the recent death in the family. Both would need to come to terms with the fact that they were benefiting from their father’s death.

  Fifty thousand pounds, Lucy! Well maybe your dad wasn’t such a selfish bastard after all.

  It wasn’t him who opened the account, it was mum. You don’t think I would have seen anything like this if he’d still been alive do you, maybe a couple of hundred pounds on my birthday, if I was lucky.

  Lucy came to terms with it very quickly.

  In reality it had been David who had mentioned something like this, but to a lesser extent, only the previous year to Marie. The tax benefits would be well worthwhile and he knew the money would only go to the kids eventually anyway. Why not do it while they could both rejoice in the happiness it would bring, instead of them being six foot under and their kids too well set up to appreciate it fully.

  John had hoped that his dad would have been proud of what he was achieving with his life, but was saddened by the fact the he would never get the chance to see it. And he would never f
orget how hard his dad had worked to allow his mum to be able to do such a wonderful thing in his dad’s memory.

  Marie had hoped that the money she gave to John and Lucy would help her to get over any remaining guilt she felt over her distinct lack of heartfelt grief following David’s death. And the sex she’d been having while he had killed himself, she didn’t want to forget that either, she felt no guilt at all at this. She just didn’t want to forget it.

  On Sunday, Monday and Tuesday Lucy and Marie did many of the usual tourist sites while they were there. They visited Madame Tussaurd’s, a particular favourite of Lucy’s, The Tower of London, The Tate Gallery, Buckingham Palace, the Houses of Parliament and the Natural History Museum where John was doing a shoot later in the week in the grounds. John joined them when he could afford the time, which wasn’t enough for any of them.

  Marie and Lucy hit Knightsbridge with vigour and spent the best part of Wednesday in some of the most upmarket fashion house shops in London. If John could get them such good seats at the fashion shows they wouldn’t let him down by looking like a couple of girls down from Manchester. Girls who were down from the North of England for a day in the capital city to watch United in the football league cup final at Wembley with their boyfriends. Eighteen hundred pounds later, twelve pounds of which went on a bar of soap so Lucy would have a Harrods carrier bag to carry around London, they could have dressed for afternoon tea with Coco Chanel, Lady Diana and Gianni Versace and not looked out of place.

  Ten

  As far as Lucy was concerned, Thursday and Friday were purely for John. Lucy was going to spend Thursday at the studio and the Topshop venue in Cardinal Place with John, while Marie pampered herself in the hotel’s health spa facilities. She felt that she generally needed to recharge her batteries, which were pretty low after the best part of a week in London trying to keep up with her youngest child. Lucy would be helping John carry his equipment, generally soaking up the pre-show atmosphere of rehearsals and feeling in complete awe of her big brother.

  Lucy had been waiting at the front of the hotel for John at 8.30 am on Thursday as agreed. She was dressed in jeans and a skimpy T-shirt; she wore no bra beneath the T-shirt with which to conceal her upwardly pointing, upwardly mobile nipples.

  If the models can do it why not you, I bet you look just as good under that flimsy layer of cotton as any of them. Go on show them what you’ve got to trade with, I’m sure they won’t mind, John might be a bit embarrassed but that’s only because he’s a man and you’re his little sister.

  John arrived to pick up Lucy just as Marie was waking up. She’d booked herself in the previous evening for an appointment with the hotel manicurist at eleven and then a relaxing massage at twelve. She had plenty of time to shower and saunter down for a late breakfast, taking her time to enjoy the peace and quiet compared to the hustle and bustle of the previous three days. She was spending some time by herself and she felt she deserved it. Lucy’s enthusiasm was great to see but a hard act to keep up with.

  After breakfast she lazily glanced over the newspapers in the hotels lounge area then made her way to the manicurist at eleven. She spoke with pride at how she was going to be at the fashion show the following day at the invitation of her son John Kirkpatrick the up and coming photographer, personal assistant to Stein. It had made her day to talk to a complete stranger about her son who was taking his first steps on the road to wealth and fame. The manicurist feigned interest at a story, the likes of which she heard every day.

  Twelve o’clock arrived and she made her way to the massage rooms for her appointment. She was shown to her room where she showered, dried off and lay on her front with a towel across her buttocks. When the masseuse entered the room a short while later Marie was so relaxed she was already nearly asleep, and the massage hadn’t even started.

  When the masseuse spoke Marie was a little taken aback to find that the masseuse was actually a masseur, but she hoped she hadn’t let herself down by showing any shock at him being a man in this newly discovered liberated world she now lived in. She’d been expecting a woman. The thought never occurred to her that it might be a man. Joe explained that Wendy one of the girls had called in sick and that if she wanted a masseuse one would be free in about ten minutes. Marie took a quick glance at Joe and decided Joe rubbing his hands all over her body and manipulating her at his will for the next hour would be just fine.

  Joe was a tall man, probably six feet two; broad, tanned and toned with the softest hands Marie could ever remember having touched her. They talked only sparingly at first; Joe quickly and skilfully putting Marie into a trance-like state using just his trained hands and some scented massage oils. When she’d had enough relaxation Joe started to revive her body by using a greater force to get the blood flowing and the circulation going.

  Marie was coming out of the trance and waking up to a body that felt like it was on fire. She felt so good she jokingly told him he should come and massage her where they could be a bit more private. He said it could be arranged with a little laugh and said he finished work at two that afternoon and was thinking just the same thing himself. Marie didn’t know if she’d just taken part in some harmless flirting to guarantee Joe a good tip or she’d set herself up for an enjoyable afternoon romp in the sack. Nothing more was said about it until she signed for the massage against her room number, gave Joe a twenty-pound tip, winked at him and said “see you later” with a little giggle as she left.

  Lunch was a sandwich and iced tea taken in the hotel restaurant, then back to her room. It might have been only flirting, but if Joe was going to show up at her door shortly after two that afternoon she was going to give him something he would enjoy. She slipped into a see through lacy black basque, pulled up her stockings put her clothes back on and ordered a bottle of champagne on ice. If Joe didn’t show then at the very least she could get pissed and enjoy an afternoon of passion all by herself. She’d decided she would wait until half past two to open the champagne anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. At ten past two the knock came on her door and she let Joe into her room.

  “Hello Joe. Come in. I hoped that wasn’t all just some harmless flirting, so I ordered champagne, just in case.”

  “Mrs Kirkpatrick, I just couldn’t say no to an offer like that, I was enjoying the feel of your body too much to refuse the chance to touch it again.”

  “Call me Marie, please. Let’s not waste time just standing around talking.”

  With that they were on each other, forcing their tongues into each other’s mouths. Marie expertly unfastened Joe’s belt with one hand and unzipped his trousers to release his cock so she could work on it, teasing it to its full size in no time at all. While this was going on Joe was marvelling at Marie’s prowess, he’d heard from some of his male colleagues that sex at the hands of a woman with experience was something to savour and enjoy, and very rarely if it’s offered should it be turned down. But he thought he was going to embarrass himself by emptying both barrels before he was even out of his pants. He was working off Marie’s top when she knelt down to take him in her mouth. Joe lasted another fifteen seconds before his sticky juices were filling her throat.

  She was hungry for him; she pushed him back on the bed where he finished getting undressed while Marie got down to her stockings. She then invited him to take his pleasure any way that he wished to. This he did, with a fervour Marie had rarely seen, working her into a sweating, panting frenzy using his soft hands, expert tongue and hard cock. By four o’clock both Joe and Marie were happy in the knowledge that it would probably be a long time before either of them experienced anything so pleasurable on an afternoon in London, or even Manchester for that matter. Life was good.

  Lucy was also having a lot of fun. Helping John had been the best thing she could remember having done in years. She was still his little sister but there was a real pride in John’s voice when he introduced her to other people. Stein had taken to her immediately, even suggesting that John should try an
d talk her into letting Stein take a photo-shoot with her on her next visit. “Strictly no charge for such a beautiful girl, call it a one hundred percent staff discount.” John was shocked, if Stein were to charge for a one to one session with a model agency footing the bill the invoice would have been well over three thousand pounds just for a couple of hours of his time. John had thought of doing a photo session himself, while Lucy was in London, but any portfolio with Stein’s work in it was likely to get most girls through any model agency doors.

  “John, my dear young chap, where have you been hiding that little sister of yours?” Said Stein, “she’s adorable, she has the face of an angel. You must be aware that she has the potential to be better than any model we’ve had in these studios during your time here. At her age you can spot them instantly, the ones who could really do something in the business. Two, maybe three years time she’ll have all the top agencies falling over themselves to take her under their wings, without a doubt.”

  “It’s difficult sometimes for me to see Lucy in that way,” replied John, “she’s still my little sister. I can’t say I’ve really considered her as anything other than a little sister, I’ve always known she was pretty but what you’re suggesting goes way beyond pretty, it is a little hard to take on board at the moment.”

  “She’ll always be your little sister, John; even when you’re my age. Nothing ever changes in that sense, believe me. June is still my little sister and it’s her fifty-third birthday next week, ugly as a London Irish prop forward and weighing in at sixteen stones.” Said Stein, “Mind you, she was never a beautiful baby and it just got worse from then on I suppose. Lucy though, now you really must promise me that you’ll bring her down to the studio regularly. Such beauty must never be denied a wider audience.”