Secrets

By Susan Heywood

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 17 of 25 — Away-break

Jane lifted the duvet. “Pop in here for a minute and I’ll explain.” After I’d done so, she said, “It’s like this; we’re going away for a few days.”

“But I can’t just leave work like that; I’d have to arrange it all with Greg and.…”

She kissed me soundly to shut me up, and then continued with her explanation. “Tomorrow, if my research hasn’t let me down, is your birthday. And, by the way, Greg said to tell you to do as you’re told and he’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“How on earth did you find out about my birthday? And what’s this about Greg?”

She laughed. “I asked your mother when she was here, and I spoke to Greg last week.”

“You are sneaky, but I love you to bits. So that’s why you didn’t want to go out last night.”

“Guilty as charged,” she grinned, but with absolutely no sign of contrition. “So, I thought we might go away for a long weekend. I haven’t had a holiday in quite a while and that week and a half in June doesn’t count for you because you were somewhat busy — so I don’t suppose you have either.”

I shook my head.

“And, before you ask, I’m not going to tell you where we’re going. All you need to do is to take smart casual clothes for day wear, comfortable shoes for walking and a few dressy outfits for the evenings.”

I was speechless for a few moments. I realised that, what with the London visit, I’d clean forgotten about my birthday, not that I’d had much to celebrate in the past anyway. I grinned and said, “I certainly have a few things to celebrate tomorrow, haven’t I?”

“Indeed you have, my darling, and all I’ll tell you is that I’ve planned a wonderful time and a couple of surprises.”

While I dithered over what to take with me, Jane made use of the bathroom. Then I had a soak while she dressed. We both selected appropriate casual outfits for travelling. I carried my leather jacket. Jane thought that I looked rather yummy and proceeded to prove it to me.

We had a light breakfast and, just before eleven, we put our bags into the Lexus and drove off towards the motorway. Her infuriating navigational skills - which I’d rapidly come to refer to as JMM, short for Jane’s Mental Mapping - didn’t help at all as there were no written directions to give me any clues as to our destination; I was left in total ignorance and decided that the only thing to do was to relax and leave her to her driving.

“Music?”

“Hmm,” I responded contentedly and popped a CD into the player. Liszt’s piano music wafted over us as the sporty car eat up the miles.

We stopped on the way for refreshments and a toilet break. I still had no idea where we were going; I could see that we were heading roughly northwards but, other than that, I knew nothing. Passing Oxford, we turned onto the M40 motorway. My vision wasn’t brilliant but even I could see the road signs as we made for Leamington Spa. I bounced up and down excitedly.

“Oh, how wonderful! Can we go and see Peter and Geena?”

“Not today, my love, let’s find our hotel,” Jane replied as she skilfully negotiated the local roads and found the Harley Court Hotel. We arrived just after three o’clock and my jaw dropped.

“Crumbs, this is a fancy-looking place.”

She laughed. “Our home for the next few nights.”

“Really?” I beamed delightedly, as I looked the place over. I quickly got out of the car and helped Jane remove the bags.

The reception area, like the rest of the hotel was a charming and relaxing combination of traditional and modern design. We walked to the reception desk and were greeted by a smiling young woman in a smart navy-blue skirt suit, pale blue satin camisole top and one of those scarves that seem to be essential uniform for aircraft cabin crew, travel couriers and receptionists the world over.

Jane checked us in, confirmed her booking for the restaurant and obtained details of the leisure centre. We were given a key each and a porter took our bags to the lift.

I gasped as I walked into our suite and took in the modern spaciousness of it all. The lounge looked to be nearly as big as the one in my flat. There was a desk and chair, two armchairs and a settee; a huge television occupied one wall.

The separate bedroom had a large wardrobe and bedside tables with controls for all the lights. The bed was enormous. I spotted the en-suite bathroom on my way towards the bed. From the wide windows there were views of the grounds, which had sweeping lawns and floral borders. In the distance a row of fir trees stood guard at the perimeter of the estate.

“Wow, it’s super!” I dropped my bag onto one of the chairs and turned to Jane. “Thank you, thank you!” I said as I flung my arms around her neck and kissed her passionately. All too soon, she’d manoeuvred me into the bedroom and onto the bed. We spent some minutes in silence — well, silence broken only by the sound of sensual moaning.

Eventually, she said, “Come on, let’s change, then explore.”

“Where are we going?”

“Swimming.”

“What?”

“You heard.” She opened her bag and tossed a bikini to me.

I protested, “I can’t possibly wear that.”

“Yes you can. Try it; I thought the colour would look fabulous on you. Oh, and you’ll also find that it has secrets of its own.”

I didn’t believe her but, rather than argue, I stripped down to bra and panties, went into the bathroom and donned the garment. It was a lovely combination of colours; greens and blues in an intriguing pattern of swirls. I examined myself in the long bathroom mirror and was amazed at what I saw — or rather, didn’t see. There was no hint of anything that shouldn’t be there and I just seemed to fill out the bikini quite naturally. I also noticed that there was absolutely no sign that my breasts were not all completely real.

We removed the stick-on breast forms every week or so in order to clean them and clean the skin underneath. During times of detachment, of course, Jane took the opportunity to test the development of my own breast tissue. Now that I would soon be officially on hormones, we expected that development to speed up. Although the bikini was designed to hold me in, it was also designed to flatter and that it appeared to do with devastating effect when I returned to the bedroom.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” She licked her lips. “Come here, gorgeous. You look scrumptious and I claim fiancée’s rights.” She grabbed me and, pushing me down onto the bed, gazed down lovingly at me. “Don’t even think about resisting arrest or I’ll handcuff you to the bed.”

Not wanting to take a chance I willingly complied with her request. Anyway, I wasn’t averse to having her to myself for a while.

It was a good half-an-hour later that, wearing the thoughtfully supplied cotton towelling robes, we both collected towels and wandered hand in hand to the lift.

I reminded her of my sight problem. “You’ll have to help me: I can see hardly anything without my glasses so I won’t be able to see where I’m going.”

“Don’t worry, love, I’ll look after you.” Then she started singing, “Follow the Yellow Brick Road.”

“It’s blue carpet.”

“What is?”

“The floor of the corridor.”

“Oh well; I can’t be right all the time. I am blonde, after all.”

I laughed and thumped her on the arm.

I hadn’t been swimming for some years, so was intrigued by the feel of my body and my hair as I lowered myself into the pool and tried a few tentative lengths.

Jane was a good swimmer; she dived into the pool and quickly swam to the end and back. I’d just managed to work out where she’d gone when she returned and stopped in front of me, took my face gently in her hands and gave me a deep and passionate kiss before swimming quickly away from me again. We soon found ourselves side-by-side. Back-stroke and breast-stroke; we alternated as I gained confidence.

I vetoed the sauna as I didn’t feel that my naked body would yet stand up to close scrutiny, but we did move to the Jacuzzi and just loved the way that the water jets played on our bodies; we found the whole experience so relaxing and not a little erotic. What it would be like after I’d grown some more breast tissue and had my surgery I could only imagine.

We spent a good hour and a half in the centre, after which we adjourned to our room, where we showered, did each other’s hair, makeup and nails and dressed for dinner. I had chosen to wear the emerald-turquoise sleeveless scooped-neckline dress that I had recently worn when we visited Celia and Philip. With that I wore white strappy sandals.

Jane had brought a raspberry red camisole top dress that barely reached her knees. She wore matching sandals; I thought she looked wonderful. The dress really showed off her golden hair, tanned complexion and those superb long legs that seemed to go on forever. She also had some beautiful silver jewellery; a long ingot pendant that dangled tantalisingly at the top of her cleavage, matching dangly earrings and a Tissot watch and bracelet. A spritz of Chanel and we were both ready.

“For a copper, you scrub up pretty well,” I said, grinning, despite knowing that Jane would exact her revenge later; in fact, I was looking forward to it. The response of “Just you wait, Jennifer Smith” as we headed for the door, was unsaid but implied in the look that she gave me. We strolled hand in hand to the lift and selected the first floor, which accommodated the restaurant.

The level of conversation in the dining room dropped significantly for a few moments as we walked in and were shown to a table. Many of the female diners glanced our way and took a good long look before returning to their meals. Some of the male clients also looked our way. A good few people lingered in their glances and some of them, both male and female, seemed somewhat predatory. I couldn’t help noticing that same sex couples occupied some of the tables. I raised an eyebrow at Jane.

“I see you’ve noticed one of the little secrets of the Harley Court Hotel,” she said. “It’s owned by a very wealthy businessman and run by a couple of gay guys. They have absolutely no objection to gay couples staying here; in fact, they positively welcome them. You may have noticed that the receptionist didn’t even mention it when we arrived.”

I nodded.

She continued. “It’s also used by straight people because the food and service in the restaurant are so good and the atmosphere is so relaxed. And, to be honest, no one has to prove anything here; you are just accepted as you are. There’s no rowdiness and everyone is just so friendly. It’s a delightful hotel with great facilities and excellent overall service, according to the number of stars they’ve got.”

“Just how did you come to know about it?” I enquired, smiling towards Jane.

“Oh, I looked on the Internet, and then asked around.”

Over coffee, after our meal, I was tempted to ask what other surprises Jane had in store but realised that I would probably only find out as and when they happened. I made a point of telling the Maá®tre d’ how much I had enjoyed the meal and was surprised when the chef emerged from the kitchen and made for our table.

“Thank you very much for complimenting our efforts,” he said, with a little bow to us both, “it’s not often that we get positive comments from guests; most just take us for granted. I must say that it does encourage us to try that little bit harder. Are you going to be with us for long?”

“Until Monday morning,” Jane put in, “but we don’t have any firm plans for the weekend.”

I bet you do

She continued. “It would be nice to come here again; we might manage Sunday.”

“So,” I wondered aloud, “‘maybe we are going to visit Peter and Geena.” I put a hand on Jane’s arm.

“Perhaps we’ll catch up with them sometime over the weekend.”

“You are a tease. We’re in Leamington; they’re in Leamington; why can’t we arrange to see them?”

Jane changed the subject and I accepted that the plans for the weekend were a closely guarded secret.

“Anyway,” she said, “we have to be up early in the morning so I guess we need an early night.”

“Hmm, right: just why do we need to be up so early?”

“For our pre-breakfast swim, of course, why else?”

“I should have stayed at home,” I contrived to look morose;” I might have got some rest.”

“Oh, you don’t want to miss out on all the fun this weekend, I can assure you.”

We adjourned to the bar where I selected a long fruit drink; I felt that one glass of wine was quite sufficient alcohol for one night. I didn’t want to overdo it and spoil the weekend; I still had memories of the last alcohol-fuelled nightmare. We eventually made our way up to bed and fell asleep cuddled into each other, but not until after.…

~ O ~

“Happy Birthday, to you, Happy Birthday to you; Happy Birthday dear Jenny, Happy Birthday to you.” Jane sang as she delivered early morning cups of tea to our bedside.

I stretched, yawned and smiled at her. “Come here and give me a birthday kiss.”

She was very happy to oblige and climbed back under the duvet from which she had left me sleeping a little earlier.

~ O ~

“Come on, wakey, wakey, rise and shine,” Jane slapped me on the rump moments after I’d finished my tea. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was only just after 7:30am.

“Ow! Why did you do that?”

“Early morning swim, I told you yesterday.”

“It’s my birthday and I need my rest. I’m beginning to regret coming away with you; this sounds more like work the longer it goes on.” I grimaced, stretched again, yawned theatrically, slowly swung my feet onto the floor and made my way to the bathroom. I returned wearing the bikini, which I had washed and dried overnight. Jane was already wearing hers - a startling number in red (of course!), with geometric designs in dusky pink - and threw a cotton robe at me.

“Come on,” she urged.

“Slavedriver!”

“It’ll be fun, come on.”

We made our way down to the pool where Jane said, “Last one in pays for dinner.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” I protested. “You know very well that I have to find somewhere to put my specs and then I have to find the wretched pool without them.”

“Oh, stop whining, woman, and jump in.”

I did so and promptly yelled, “Its cold!”

“Yep.”

“Brrr!”

“Yep.”

“Bitch!”

“Yep.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a holiday?”

“It is. Now, twenty lengths should do it this morning, and then I’ll race you back to the room. I’m ready for breakfast.”

“You’re always ready for breakfast.”

She smiled.

I had no idea of Jane’s plans for the day, but decided to wear a dark-blue denim skirt and jacket, with a dusky pink camisole top and my navy wedge-heeled sandals. She said that my outfit looked fine. Jane herself wore an aqua scoop-neck tee top with jeans and low-heeled boots. She also had her zip-front leather jacket.

We wandered down to breakfast and were surprised at the greetings from other guests.

Where is the famous British reserve?

We smiled, took our seats and were served a continental breakfast of fruit juice, bread, croissants, preserves and a choice of tea or coffee.

I asked, “What are we doing this morning?”

Jane answered, “I thought we could spend the day at Stratford-upon-Avon, you know, do the Shakespeare tourist route.”

I was a little disappointed; I had hoped to see my brother and sister-in-law but answered, brightly, “That would be lovely, I’ve never been there.”

We set off shortly after breakfast and headed for a little car park across the river from the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. We walked arm-in-arm across the pedestrian bridge that separated us from the town. Making our way to Bridgefoot, we found the ‘Pen & Parchment Inn’, near the canal basin, where the open-top bus tour began, and purchased tickets from the driver. Jane wanted to sit upstairs; I had to remind her that I was wearing a skirt, but got no sympathy from that direction at all, despite my dropping heavy hints that I was only wearing it because she liked me to wear it.

Jane laughed. “If I had my way, you’d be stripped down to that sexy underwear I notice you seem to favour these days.”

“And I only wear that because it turns you on like a light bulb.”

“Why don’t I believe you? You wear it, as most of us do, because you like wearing it.”

I managed to look suitably admonished. We sat upstairs.

Soon the bus was threading its way around the busy roads to all the buildings on its route; Shakespeare’s Birthplace, The American Fountain, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, War Memorial, Hall’s Croft, Anne Hathaway’s Cottage and Mary Arden’s House. The buses ran very frequently and our tickets allowed us to get off and explore each of the properties on the way. We stopped halfway along the route for coffee and a pastry and I couldn’t stand the suspense any longer.

“So are we going to see my brother today?”

“He’s not at home today.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointed.

We continued on our guided tour and were both enthralled by the stories of life in Tudor times, related to us at each of the properties that we visited. We weren’t sure of the provenance of some of the proverbs that we were told but the stories made a good yarn and entertained the visitors, particularly those from overseas. It wouldn’t have surprised me if the number of ghosts increases exponentially with the number of different nationalities in the tour group.

The bus eventually returned us to Bridgefoot and we took a leisurely wander around the shops in Bridge Street, High Street and Sheep Street, paying particular attention to the little arcades that linked the three roads.

We stopped for afternoon tea at the Crabtree & Evelyn Tearoom.

“This place must be ancient,” I said in awe. I’d already negotiated the sloping floor on my way to the ladies’ room, and held on to the ceiling supports on my way back to our table.

“Well, the address is Judith Shakespeare’s House, so it might date back a few centuries, “Jane agreed.

After a typical English afternoon tea, served in bone china cups, we slowly made our way back to the car.

I laid my head on Jane’s shoulder. “Thank you for a lovely day,” I said as we exchanged a quick kiss before setting off back to Leamington. “I’d like to treat you to dinner tonight” I added as we entered the hotel car park.

“Oh, I can’t have that,” Jane weakly protested, “A girl can’t buy dinner on her birthday.”

“No, I insist.”

“Very well, I’ll pick the restaurant, you pay.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!”

“I’ve heard of this great French restaurant; are you willing to risk it?”

“Hmm, I adore French food.”

“So do I, as long as it’s not that stupid ‘slice of lemon, slice of orange, dash of sauce, wait half-an-hour’ business.”

“Sorry, I almost forgot; you do like your food, don’t you?” I responded, tongue-in-cheek.

“A girl has to keep up her strength somehow.”

“Strength for what?”

“Pre-bedtime manoeuvres.”

I sniggered. “I’m the one who has to keep up with you.”

“Anyway,” Jane insisted, neatly avoiding a slap, “French restaurant?”

I smiled. “Mmm. I suppose I’ll need to go shopping.”

“Why?”

“I’ll need a new dress.”

“Help; I’ve created a monster!”

I slapped her lightly on the arm and we headed for the shops.

~ O ~

Café Printemps was a snapshot of relaxed and intimate, lively and sparkling Paris, all in an English town. It wasn’t very far from our hotel but we elected to travel by taxi: that way Jane could have a celebratory drink without risking both her driving licence and her job.

She wore a sky-blue dress with thin spaghetti straps; I wore my new dress. It was sleeveless and vee-necked, in lavender, and had a satin tie belt in a contrasting colour. I had really gone to town on my makeup and accessories. Jane’s reaction told me that I’d got it right, although it could be argued that she was somewhat biased.

After our short taxi ride, Jane escorted me into the restaurant, where she laid an arm possessively around my shoulder. As we were ushered to our table, I stopped and stood rooted to the spot, only moving forward when she gave me a gentle push in the back.

There, standing in a little group in front of a table for six, were four people who looked very familiar.

“Happy Birthday, Jenny!” They all chorused.

“Mummy? Daddy? Peter! And Geena!” I rounded on Jane, who just stood with a vaguely innocent smile on her face. My own face must have gone through a whole gamut of expressions: puzzlement, realisation, delight and joy. I flung my arms around Jane’s neck and kissed her passionately on the lips.

“Ahem!” My mother coughed. “There’s a time and place and I’m not sure that this is either.”

“Oops!” I said, turning towards my family and giggling.

“Well, at least we know how you feel about Jane’s little surprise,” my mother said, and we all laughed good-naturedly. “Now, are you pleased to see us?”

I nodded numbly, still not quite able to take it all in.

“Come and give us all a hug, then.”

I went the rounds of my family, hugging and kissing them in turn. I returned to my father. “Daddy.…” I started to say.

“Now, love, I’ve learned a lot more about my daughter since you visited us at home and I’m happy as long as you’re happy.”

“Daddy, I’m so very happy, I could burst.”

“Let’s all sit and you can tell us about your weekend so far,” My mother urged, “that is, of course, after we’ve dealt with the rest of the formalities.”

One by one, they presented me with gifts. Peter, knowing how much I loved books, gave me a book token. Geena gave me, from both of them really, a beautiful nightie and negligee set in my absolutely favourite colour; mint green. Jane muttered something about me trying it that evening but don’t count on wearing it for long. That caused a titter around the table and a high degree of embarrassment for me.

My father stood, bowed slightly and presented me with a small parcel, which I shakily opened to reveal a sapphire bracelet. I was so overwhelmed with love for him that I broke down and openly cried. I’d just about regained my composure when my mother handed me another gift. I slowly removed the wrapping to reveal a choker and dangly earrings to match the bracelet. I was again near to tears as I hugged them all in turn and told them how much I loved them.

Jane waited until I’d ooh’d and ahh’d over the other gifts, then said, quietly, “My turn. This might be your twenty third birthday but it’s also your first birthday.”

I protested. “But we are having a wonderful weekend: you don’t have to give me anything else.”

“Oh, but I do,” she said, holding a small box that she had retrieved from her bag. “This is for you with all my love; I’m just an old-fashioned girl so I’ve already spoken to your father.”

I looked at her and saw such love in her eyes that I again wept.

End of part 17