All Passion Spent, Bergotte [e book reader online .txt] 📗

neat and tidy state. After thanking her and seeing her off the premises Bella retired to the studio where she had spent so many hours working with her mother. She set her mind on the business but she found it hard to concentrate. Before her mother’s death the two had been working on the coming spring collection of swimwear. Bella had been in the throes of producing a range plan. She had already set out some new designs in addition to her repeat designs for the ranges that had sold well in previous years. In recent weeks Bella had drawn a series of sketches, obtained some samples of the fabrics and attached them to each sketch. She had had her trusted sample machinist make the first garment, a crochet bikini, as a sample made in cotton. She had agreed with her mother that they would produce garments in size 8,10,12,14 and 16.
She had also persuaded the sample machinist to make up a bikini just for Bella. And this, Bella recalled was one of the long running disagreements between them. Laura did not want ‘her staff’ as she called them being used for Bella’s private purposes. But mother was no longer there to create fuss and bother for her daughter. Bella was free, on her own, with the opportunity to make her own decisions. Having paid her respects in organising the funeral she now made the decisions to get out of funeral black as quickly as possible. She could try on her own new bikini and if she turned up the central heating she could stay in it. She was standing naked in the room, about to put on the bikini when she heard the doorbell. Should she get back into funeral black or go for the summer look? It would be quicker and easier to choose the swimwear. She could soon explain to her caller what she had been doing. She arrived at the front door, able to discern the figure of Michael through the glass.
He had leaned his bike against the porch. A rather forlorn figure it was that greeted her, dressed in his black she in her bikini. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “What are you doing dressed like that in October, strange Halloween party getup,” he replied. “I’m a fashion designer, remember?” “I’m having trouble with my bike… the chain has come off. Can I come in and clean myself up? I don’t want to get oil on my clothes.” Bella ushered him in and went to turn up the thermostat in the cupboard.
Michael followed Bella into her studio where he divested himself of his jacket and waistcoat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “I suppose I’d better get changed,” she said. “No, don’t do that, I like you as you are,” he replied. As he said the words he was very conscious that he would never have said them to Rita. He thought she was too prim and proper for that. But Bella responded to his playfulness with her own charm. She gave him a big hug.
“Do you have an old rag I can use to protect my hands while I put the chain back on?” “How very romantic you are, darling Michael! Yes, I think I have something here somewhere.” She went into the studio and found a remnant of material. Michael was outside looking at his bike. Bella joined him and handed him the cloth. “Here you are,” she said. “You’ll catch cold out here,” please go in and make us some coffee.”
When Michael joined Bella in the studio she told him that she had just had a telephone call from the police. Detective Sergeant Rossi would like to talk to her to eliminate her from their inquiries concerning her mother's death. Bella seemed quite amused by it all, saying she would have to get out of the bikini. She instantly took it off. Michael did not find it so funny to be standing half-dressed in funeral clothes next to a totally naked female who was his sister-in-law. Bella thought he was being a bit pompous and told him so. This seemed to hurt his feelings, so she tried to bring him round by being coy and pert with him. This strategy had a certain amount of success. Bella was beginning to discover more and more of what she had already learnt about Michael. He liked women to make a fuss of him. Each time Bella had fussed over him he had become like putty in her hands.
She stood behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. “Don’t worry, darling, she won’t be here for ages yet.” “Well, I’m not going to be here when she comes,” said Michael. “You’re not going to leave me here are you?” “Yes, in a word.” “I think you ought to stay here and give me some moral support, unless you want to give me some immoral support and then go.” “Yes, I think I’ll do that. What were you thinking of?” “You could start by kissing me,” she said trying to turn him to face to wards him. He turned and she kissed him hard on the mouth. She clung to him. He could feel the passion surge through her body and his as they embraced. Time stood still. They both began to experience an eternal moment. Objectively it was in time, subjectively it was outside time, an existential awakening that was to set them on a path of desire, the insatiable desire for forbidden fruit.
“Do you love me Bella?” asked Michael. “That’s a big word,” she replied, evasively. “I don’t want to talk about love now, I want to make love.” She started to unbutton his shirt. Michael became a little frightened, but he did not try to stop her. She opened his shirt and rested her head on his chest. He began to stroke her hair. She turned her back to him, encouraging him to slip his hands under armpits and reach for her breasts. He cupped them in both hands whilst she put her hands on top of his. He held her tightly once more. He let go and stood watching her body over her left shoulder. He felt her breathing becoming harder, saw her nipples standing out straight and swollen, saw her breasts gently rising gently falling, and he knew that he too was falling. In the next few moments they would be standing together naked. He knew that, but he seemed powerless to resist. She was so adorable he wanted to devour her. She lay down on the carpeted floor, pulling him down with her. There was no need for a bed, for careful negotiations, just an uncomplicated desire for what was so desirable, the union of his body with hers. Without any fuss or bother he found his way inside her. It was simple, so simple. And, he felt, it was beautiful, just to rest inside her, to be as one with her.
But Bella was not satisfied with this plateau they had arrived at. She did not want rest. She did not want peace or tranquility. She wanted action. If Michael would not act, she would. She pushed against him until they both turned over and she was sitting astride him. Now she could feel him deep inside her and she started tiny movements, lifting her body clear of his and then pushing down on him, slowly. Her tiny movements gradually increased in size until she was thrusting herself on him again and again. She raised herself once more, allowing her breasts to contacts his face. He opened his mouth and sucked on each nipple in turn util they were both unnaturally swollen and Bella experienced the pain of violent lovemaking. She sank back on to him once more and rested there, breathing hard. He watched her breasts rise and fall and experienced a sensation he had never felt before as she gripped hold of him with her vaginal muscles, tightening and loosening over and over. Such was the paroxysm she made him feel. No longer single events but a multiplicity of spasms, seizures and convulsions in a frenzy of raving passion. He turned her on her back and thrust into her. He did not want to resist her he wanted her. It was no longer something happening to him, something over which he had no control. He had made a conscious decision to penetrate her and enjoy it.
By the time Anna had arrived at Laura Fellingham’s house Michael had already disappeared into the night on his bike leaving Bella to face the music alone. But, she told herself, there’s nothing to be afraid of, I’m innocent of any wrongdoing. When she heard the doorbell her heartbeat skipped a couple of times. She was nervous. She welcomed the detective into the living room. The two women sat on a sofa looking at one another. “I have to ask you these questions as a matter of routine inquiry,” Anna explained. Bella shrugged her shoulders, saying that she did not mind. Anna understood this as a definite sign that Bella did mind. “We found a your mother’s diary amongst her personal effects in her handbag,” Anna continued. “In the section at the front giving names and telephone numbers there are several entries. I rang the numbers. They are all local Bath shops, boutiques, retailers and suppliers who dealt with you and your mother. I made my own list and phoned these people.” Anna could see that Bella had become rather uncomfortable.
“James Head told me that dealing with your mother and dealing with you was like chalk and cheese. You had completely different ideas about what you wanted. Is that true?” “Yes, but I can’t see the point of the question.” “Please bear with me. When I spoke to Liz Atkins, she said a similar thing… that you ordered something only to have your mother cancel the order minutes later.” “Yes, my mother did that,” said Bella, in an exasperated tone of voice. “On more than one occasion?” “Yes, quite a few times.” “Jessica Bell said that you were into young fashion whilst your mother wanted to cater for an older, perhaps less fickle clientele. Is that true?” “Yes, but where is all this leading?” “… and Edward Robertson,” continued Anna, “suggested that you were, quote, at daggers drawn with Laura. Is that true?” “Yes, so what?”
“Saul Cohen is your financial adviser isn’t he?” “Yes, he has been my mother’s for years.” “He says that ‘Isabella’s game-plan and Laura’s game-plan are totally different. It is very difficult to reconcile the two.’ Is that true?” “Yes, I suppose it is,” said Bella, a note of resignation now in her voice. “Eleanor Sparks and Francis Gordon spoke very well of you. They wouldn’t comment on your relationship with your mother. But then, they stand to lose financially if they fall out with you, don’t they?” “That’s not fair.” Anna ignored the interruption.
She described the retail outlet dealing in accessories which takes its name from the commonly known forget-me-not plant, (Myosotis Boraginaceae), which they cleverly changed to Forget-Me-Knot. I called on them earlier this afternoon. Pippa, Jan and Heidi, yes?” “Yes.” “They are all young like you but I talked to them individually, whilst I was there. They each described the way you talked about your mother. The words, spite, hatred and distrust were on their lips in connection with your opinion of your mother.” “So?” “So, life without mother might be preferable to life with her?” “The fact that I didn’t get on with my mother doesn’t mean I wanted to kill her!” “We, as police officers, don’t know that. We have to pursue every line of inquiry.”
Anna went to the front door and opened it to signal to three colleagues who joined her on the doorstep.