Saxonhurst Secrets Page 2

  ‘Thirty-one. That’s young.’

  ‘You can’t be much more.’

  ‘No. I’m 29. But I don’t have a job to do, as such. I don’t have such a very, very difficult job to do. What made you want to come here?’

  ‘I like to look upon it as God’s decision.’

  ‘Oh, so you didn’t want to come here?’

  Her smile was like the glimmer of light on a blade.

  ‘I …’

  ‘Well, anyway, this is all small talk. I do actually have a purpose in visiting you. I have a problem and I want your help.’

  ‘Oh. A crisis of faith?’

  ‘No.’ She looked at him pityingly. ‘Sit down, for heaven’s sake. You’re so tall, and in all that black, you loom like a huge crow.’

  ‘I’ll have Mrs Witts bring us tea.’

  ‘No, no tea. Do you have any sherry?’

  ‘I don’t drink.’

  ‘Ugh. Well. I’ll begin. I told you I was the lady of the manor.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My title is in jeopardy. I am still the lady, but I have no manor.’

  No manners either, thought Adam, smirking at his unspoken witticism.

  ‘Oh dear, how come?’ he asked politely.

  ‘Money. That’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it? I ran out of money. I tried all sorts. I took in paying guests, hosted those awful murder mystery parties. But I couldn’t afford to maintain a place that size. I had to put it on the market – or rather, my bank did. It was bought at auction a few months ago.’

  ‘I see. I’m sorry to hear of your troubles. I can, of course, pray for their easement, but … I don’t think that’s what you want from me, is it?’

  ‘Of course not. I’m an atheist, for one thing.’

  Adam winced. He should have ordered that tea anyway. He felt the need for something hot and sweet to anchor him, a handle to hold on to. If only he could go upstairs and change his trousers, then he wouldn’t have that creeping feeling that Julia Shields knew what he’d been up to that afternoon.

  ‘Then, may I ask …?’

  ‘I think you’ll agree with me that the new owners need to be drummed out of the village when I tell you what they’re doing in my ancestral home.’

  He leant forward, finally interested in what this apparently batty woman had to say.

  ‘What’s that?’ Images of Evie frolicking in the corn wound through his head as if on a film reel. Before Julia’s words were out, he knew sex would be in the equation.

  ‘They’ve turned it into a porn set.’

  ‘What? A what?’

  ‘Exactly! It’s horrifying! My childhood home, the seat of the Shields since 1609, is being used to make blue movies.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Am I sure? Yes. Come with me. I’ll show you.’

  ‘Show me? They surely won’t …’

  ‘Just come.’

  ‘I don’t know about this.’

  Adam was far from prepared for a second round of voyeurism that warm April afternoon, but Julia had already left the room and waited impatiently for him by the front door.

  He knew where the manor house was – it was almost directly opposite the vicarage, but its handsome grey stone façade didn’t give any inkling of the corruption within.

  ‘I don’t know about this. What makes you think this is going on? Have you seen them filming?’

  But Julia wouldn’t answer any of his questions, guiding him silently along the garden wall until they left the road and followed it through thick foliage, eventually arriving at a small, broken-down section that could be climbed over, with some effort.

  ‘You want me to break in to the garden with you?’

  ‘It’s not breaking in. This place belongs to me.’

  ‘I don’t think the law would recognise that.’

  ‘I thought there was a higher law, Reverend. Or have I misread that?’

  ‘No, no, Jesus never advocated law-breaking. I can’t follow you.’

  ‘Shh. They’re close by.’

  Julia, who had managed to climb the wall and drop down into the trees on the other side, crept noiselessly towards the lawns.

  ‘You’ll be able to hear them anyway,’ she whispered.

  He heard a sharp click and a cry of, ‘Action!’ Almost immediately a loud chorus of moans floated through the thicket, the effect eerie to Adam’s already nervous ears. Julia moved back and forth, peering through the branches then reporting her findings to her companion.

  ‘They’re fucking up against a tree,’ she said matter-of-factly, then, ‘she’s tied him to the tree and she’s sucking him off. He really is enormously well hung.’

  It occurred to Adam that she could be making all this up, but the sound effects were so lewdly realistic he thought he should believe her.

  ‘She didn’t swallow. I suppose they prefer a money shot, don’t they? Anyway, he jizzed on her tits in the end. You must come and look. I think they’re setting up a threesome scene now.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake. Get over the wall and see for yourself. It’s all terribly immoral, but you mustn’t take my word for it.’

  Commending his soul to God, Adam scrambled over the wall. He stood beside Julia, suddenly hideously aware of the dried semen stain inside his pants, and followed her line of sight.

  A naked man lay on the lawn, being closely attended to by two beautiful women. They were a far cry from the pneumatic bottle-blondes his vague knowledge of such productions might have led him to expect. These looked like art students, adorned with exotic tattoos. The girl on the right had purple-streaked hair and interesting piercings while her counterpart’s dark skin glittered with pasted-on jewels, contrasting exquisitely with the helpless man’s golden tone. They feasted on the man’s cock and balls, occasionally rising to kiss and fondle each other with tender enthusiasm. The man’s hands busied themselves inside the widespread slits of his partners while they pushed their tongues into each other’s mouths and twisted each other’s nipples. Around them, people ran back and forth with cameras and sound equipment.

  Adam shut his eyes, suddenly faint. His cock was hard again.

  ‘So there you have it,’ whispered Julia, triumphant. ‘My beautiful lawn being used as a porn set.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I see.’ Adam tried to clear his throat discreetly, looking away from the action.

  ‘The question is what are you, as the moral compass of the village, going to do about it?’

  It seemed to Adam that Julia’s objections were less morally than materially based, but he kept the observation to himself.

  ‘I … I think a pastoral visit may be in order. Can we go now?’

  His peripheral vision caught the sight of one girl sitting on the man’s face, bending over to lick the other girl’s offered pussy. He turned his back and strode swiftly away.

  Julia scurried after him.

  ‘Pastoral visit?’ Her whisper was harsh and urgent. ‘Is that all? Make them see the error of their ways? That’ll be the day. We need action, vicar. Direct action.’

  Scissoring both of his long legs over the wall, Adam shook his head.

  ‘I disapprove just as strongly as you do, Ms Shields. But we must observe the law, which they don’t appear to be breaking.’

  ‘Well, they might be. And call me Julia. We’ve only seen a snapshot of what they do. Could you give me a hand, please …? Thanks.’

  She landed on the other side of the wall and held on to his steadying arm a little longer than was necessary. She was so cold. Why was she so cold?

  ‘But they could be up to even worse things,’ she continued. ‘Teenagers or – you know – illegal stuff. I want to organise a surveillance rota. I want to catch them out.’

  ‘A surveillance rota?’ Adam removed her bony fingers from his forearm and stared at her. ‘You mean – trespass the premises and spy on them?’

  ‘I can’t trespass on my own land,’ she insisted.
‘And yes. That’s what I plan to do. I have friends who are in. They’ll help out. We were rather counting on your support, vicar.’

  ‘A pastoral visit,’ he said firmly. ‘That’s what I can offer in the first instance. After that, we can reconsider our strategy. We can stage protests, marches, involve the local press. But first I want to talk to them.’

  ‘I don’t see what talking will do. They’ll fob you off.’

  ‘Have you tried talking to them?’

  ‘Of course not. I don’t talk to thieving pornographers.’

  ‘Jesus would have done.’

  ‘Well, you’re not a very good clergyman if you haven’t worked out that I’m not Jesus. Look, I’ll leave you to it. Talk to them if you must. But do it today, and report back to me.’ She took a business card from her handbag and shoved it in his hand. ‘Here’s my number. I’m renting a ground-floor flat at the Malt House. It’s a short-term let, because, believe me, I’ll be back in the Manor by Christmas.’

  Adam watched her stalk off towards the road, feeling as if some kind of tornado of will had picked him up and deposited him back on the ground.

  Julia Shields could be a lot of trouble. But at least she recognised that he was needed by the community. This might be a positive thing.

  Determined to look at the bright side of things, he began rehearsing his pastoral visit on his way back to the roadside. But first, he really was going to have to change those trousers.

  One hour and a bowl of soup later, he crunched up the gravel driveway of the manor house, looking for clues in its lead-paned windows as to the depravity that lay within. But he could see none. To all intents and purposes, it was a handsome grey stone house with well-tended borders and a scrupulously swept porch. Rather than red lights or displays of flesh, the windows revealed no more than vases of freshly cut flowers.

  He rang the doorbell, then strained his ears for any sounds that might drift around the walls from the back garden. There was only the ruffled quiet of a springtime zephyr.

  The door was opened by one of the girls he’d seen earlier – the pierced, purple-haired one. He hadn’t been prepared for this, and his confusion and embarrassment were obviously visible because she shook her head and laughed.

  ‘What’s the matter, vicar?’

  He tried to forget that he’d seen this girl naked and in flagrante.

  ‘May I speak to …?’ He realised Julia had not supplied him with the names of the miscreant purchasers.

  The girl’s smile began to fade.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I wanted to speak to the new owners of the house.’

  ‘Well, that would be me!’

  ‘Oh … Really?’

  ‘Yes. I’m Kasia. Would you, er, would you like to come in?’

  ‘Well, yes, yes, I would. Thank you.’

  She left him in a beeswax-smelling sitting room just off the entrance hall. None of its windows looked out on to the back garden, though a pair of French doors at the far end led to the tennis courts and pool at the side of the building. Feeling restless, Adam roamed the room, looking at the modern Ikea-kit furniture, so out of place in this wooden-beamed splendour. There were pale rectangles on the walls where Julia’s family portraits must have hung. Any clues that the place was being used to make blue movies were nowhere to be seen. A large wedding photograph of Kasia – dark-haired instead of purple, but wearing a sumptuous scarlet corset dress – and her handsome husband stood on a glass-topped table by the giant TV screen, but apart from that, the room was impersonal enough.

  Kasia reappeared, in the same ripped jeans and hoodie she had worn when she opened the door, carrying a tea tray with an open packet of biscuits – an expensive brand. A man followed her, the handsome groom in the photograph.

  ‘Ah, we are honoured. You must be the new vicar?’

  He held out a hand for Adam to shake. Adam thought about this for a few moments, then took it.

  Shaking the hand of vice.

  Adam felt as if his hand were covered in invisible slime for the remainder of the interview.

  ‘Is this a social call?’ the man continued, still making no move to introduce himself.

  ‘It’s a pastoral visit,’ said Adam. The man and Kasia exchanged a smirk. Adam felt his cheeks heat up. Today kept dragging him further and further out of his depth.

  ‘Pastoral? The good shepherd, eh? Well, do sit down and have a cup of tea and a biscuit. I’m Sebastian Hurley, and this is my wife, Kasia. As the village grapevine has no doubt disclosed, we’re new to the place.’

  ‘Thank you, but I prefer to stand. No, no, thanks.’ He waved away Kasia’s proffered cup of tea.

  The pair looked at him, waiting.

  ‘The fact is the village grapevine has had more than that to say about you.’

  ‘Oh?’ Hurley beamed, tossing his longish hair back from a high-domed forehead. He looked, Adam thought, the living epitome of the word louche.

  ‘There is some local disapproval of your – new use for this building.’

  ‘What use would that be?’ Kasia blinked in faux innocence.

  ‘The council passed our application for planning permission,’ added Sebastian.

  ‘I know nothing about that. What I do know is that you are using these premises for – immoral purposes.’

  ‘Immoral?’ The pair gasped.

  ‘Say it ain’t so,’ added Sebastian.

  ‘It isn’t true,’ said Kasia. ‘There is nothing immoral in what we do.’

  ‘Pornography?’ Adam thundered, suddenly feeling the fire of righteousness burn up his natural diffidence. ‘Perversion? Fornication?’

  ‘Wow,’ breathed Sebastian. ‘We should hire you. You’d be an amazing for that witchfinder script we were thinking of shooting.’

  ‘I’ll give you some advice,’ said Kasia, her own indignation matching Adam’s for strength. ‘You stay out of our sex life and out of our legitimate business, and we’ll stay out of your church. Is that a deal?’

  ‘Legitimate business? Does the council know what you do here? Have you registered it?’

  ‘Of course.’ Sebastian sighed. ‘There’s nothing illegal here. We’re a cottage industry. A film studio. We’ve filled in all the forms. We have a legal team. All performers are of age and consent fully to everything they do. And it’s not the kind of porn you might be imagining. The kind you might have watched as a furtive, obsessive adolescent …’

  ‘I’ve never!’

  ‘Well, maybe that’s your problem. Anyway, as I was saying, what we make isn’t the standard gonzo porn with blow-up blondes and increasing levels of misogyny and degradation. We hate that, don’t we, Kasia?’

  ‘Hate it,’ she reiterated. ‘We had a vision, Seb and I, of a different kind of erotic film. All about the woman’s pleasure. All about what she wants. You know, this thing about women being less visual seems crazy to me. If I wasn’t visual, why would I have all these tattoos?’

  She pulled up her sleeve, revealing an intricate folk art design.

  ‘It’s Polish,’ she explained. ‘Like me.’

  ‘You make perverted films about female – sexuality?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Kasia patted him on the arm. ‘Very perverted, mostly. You want to see one?’

  ‘I want you to stop,’ said Adam. ‘This isn’t appropriate. It’s wrong. It’s morally reprehensible.’

  ‘I feel sorry for you,’ said Kasia, turning to the tea tray. ‘You are missing so much. But I think you must go now.’

  ‘This is not the end of this,’ Adam warned, calculating how best to make a dignified and emphatic exit. ‘The village won’t accept it.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’ asked Sebastian with a smile, taking Adam’s elbow and steering him from the room. ‘We don’t like those.’

  Adam shook the man off, almost sending him into a backward tumble.

  ‘Do not touch me!’

  He opened the door himself, then leapt back when he realised he ha
d almost steamrollered a figure on the doorstep.

  ‘Watch yourself, love.’

  It was Evie, clothed now, in a pair of tiny denim hotpants and a gingham shirt knotted at her navel. Her hair hung down to her waist, crowned by a whimsical little garland of spring flowers.

  Blood rushed to Adam’s groin and he cowered like a wounded animal, standing aside to let her pass.

  She ignored him, chatting to Sebastian and Kasia over his head.

  ‘Won’t be up to much tonight, sorry. Had a horny bastard of a day. Feel like I’ve shagged a shire horse. Do you mind if I stick with a bit of oral instead? I’ll give, no bother.’

  ‘We’ll work with you, sweetie,’ said Kasia, hurriedly drawing her away from the hall and into a side room. ‘We’re flexible.’

  Adam looked after her wordlessly while Sebastian stood, arms folded, waiting for him to make his move.

  ‘She’s our star actress,’ he mentioned once it seemed probable that Adam had suffered some kind of upright stroke. ‘Evie Witts. Fancy her, do you?’

  Adam’s wits made a slow return to his head.

  ‘What? Don’t be – facetious.’

  ‘You’re probably the only man this side of Hamframpton that hasn’t had her.’

  ‘Don’t speak of her that way.’

  Why was he defending her, well, her virtue, when he knew she had none? She was the whore of Babylon, transplanted to Saxonhurst. Objectively he knew it.

  But his crotch seemed to treat the knowledge with blithe disregard.

  ‘You’re right,’ said Sebastian, holding open the door. ‘I shouldn’t belittle her. She’s Kasia’s heroine. A woman who likes sex and refuses to feel guilty or constrained by society. I admire her. Don’t you?’

  ‘You … It isn’t too late. Repent, Mr Hurley. You can be saved.’

  ‘I’ll pass if you don’t mind. Enjoy your evening.’

  Adam swept through the door and down the porch steps without looking back. He hadn’t achieved anything that would impress Julia Shields. But he had a mission now. A concrete and irresistible mission. He was going to save Evie Witts.

  Chapter Two

  WHERE WERE THE flowers? At his last church, there had been fresh flowers every Sunday, organised by a committee of keen amateur florists.