A Date with The Devil Pt. 04 - Final

'Ah yes . . . about tonight. There might not be so many people there as before.'

'I'm not that noxious, am I?'

This time Bruno's chuckle was louder, more sincere. 'Leo screwed up,' he enlarged. 'It's hard to credit it but he's member of a local neighbourhood society. And, having by far the biggest property for miles, he agreed to host the fund-raising June barbeque without realizing it fell on a Friday.'

Mare looked through the windscreen, taking in the torrential rain. All of the last few days had followed the same pattern: unseasonably hot sunshine punctuated by downpours. Seeing wet streets drying in clouds of steam was not an unusual sight. By and large the showers were brief and the sunshine was predominant. But planning a barbeque . . .

'I know, I know,' said Bruno. 'Leo screwed up his dates but he knows how what the English weather is like. That's why he's taken precautions.'

'What precautions?'

'Have a look to your right,' said Bruno, turning in to the long, gravelled driveway of Number 39.

Marie Rose complied and saw the biggest tent she'd ever seen in her life. And she'd been tutored by Heather. According to Hev, Bingley Show was one of the largest one day events in Europe. According to everyone else the (three day) Great Yorkshire Show dwarfed it. She'd been to both events on more than one occasion and appreciated scale when it came to tents.

This one wasn't just out of Yorkshire, it made Barnum and Bailey look like cheapskates.

Leo's mansion was surrounded by closely-cropped lawns; lawns as closely-cropped as the greens of St Andrews' Old Course (meaning close indeed). Half a dozen trucks were scattered around, most of them parked up on the gravelled drive, but not all. Bearing the logo of a company providing marquees, they had a distinct corporate identity.

'The barbeque will run from half five until half ten or maybe eleven,' said Bruno. 'Then the locals will eff off and Leo will send us diehards indoors.' He smirked. 'Indoors will be out of bounds up until then; he has got portable toilets arranged, catering staff, refrigerators, overhead lights, smoke extractors, you name it. This is gonna be the ultimate outdoor experience, except under canvas.'

'So why is the attendance going to be down?'

'It's because a lot of the regulars have severe shyness. We all know who they are, whether they like it or not. Leo knows their bank details off by heart. Even so, some simply won't show their faces, just in case. And Leo won't try to recruit new talent at the barbie; not when they're neighbours.'

'But he does sometimes recruit new talent? He recruited me, didn't he?'

Bruno pulled up, his racing tyres allowing small mercy to all that spraying gravel. 'Beautiful women are always welcome,' he said. 'And they don't ever pay, even when the guys have to. It's an arrangement that makes sense in its way.'

Surprising herself, Mary Rose laughed. 'I was wondering if I was going to get a bill . . . '

'Thirteen cocks at fifty quid a time?' Bruno hooted . . . although not entirely convincingly. 'Trust me my sweet, that ain't going to happen.'

Right then Mary Rose trusted Bruno as far as she could throw him. And, her judo abilities aside, that was not very far.

Shit, even Hev couldn't have thrown this twat so far. Not that mere bulk would have stopped her. Hev would have given a cunt like Bruno short shrift.

And why oh why was she suddenly thinking like this!

She was up for the activities ahead without reservation. Perverted as they might seem to others, she was all for it.

Yet right now she was on eggshells.

And Bruno wasn't helping. He'd been on eggshells for a day or more . . .

'These guys and Leo,' Mary Rose ventured, 'does he blackmail them?'

'What do you mean by blackmail?'

'I mean to keep everyone on board . . . and for financial gain, of course.'

'No, we're all falling over ourselves to make a donation. And if anyone leaves there's always someone waiting to take his place.'

'Hmmm,' went Mary Rose, climbing out of the car.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Heather had hired a black Audi Q7 with just over two thousand miles on the clock.

'It'll fit in where we're going,' she told Nina as they pulled away from the hire company. 'Anyone who sees us will assume we're well-to-do, sporty young chicks with lots of spare time on our hands. We'll blend in easy as pie.'

'What's the revised plan?' Nina wondered.

'We get there first and intercept Mary Rose when she arrives.'

'What about this guy she's with?'

'I'll take care of him. You just concentrate on getting Mare into this Audi.'

'Isn't she another martial arts freak?'

'Yes, but she's nowhere near as advanced as I am, and she only does judo, so don't worry about her hurting you. And try not to be too offended by the insults she'll be hurling at me. She can swear worse than any fishwife.'

The distance to travel wasn't immense and the satnav was spot on. Bad news lay ahead, however. As they cruised along a wide, tree-lined avenue they saw a racing red Ferrari about to turn in to a private driveway, perhaps a hundred yards ahead of them.

'Rats,' said Heather. 'They've beaten us to it.'

There was no chance of an interception so she slowed right down. 'You know what Mary Rose looks like,' she said to Nina. 'I'll go past at a dead crawl. Have a good gander and see if it's her getting out of that pretentious phallic symbol.'

Timing-wise she handled it well. Crawling past the driveway she kept her eyes on the road ahead, not wanting to bump or scrape the several parked motors, all of which were of an expensive variety. Nina meanwhile gave a running commentary.

'It's a good-looking redhead,' she said. 'No, it's her. It's definitely her. She's with a guy who looks like an Italian. And there's the biggest tent on the planet in there. Is this orgy being held outside?'

'How should I know?' Heather protested.

'You should know because you're an orgy specialist. And that's it. We're past.'

'Where was Mary Rose last you saw?'

'She was heading for the massive front door, Italian sidekick at her side.'

'I'd like a few kicks at the bastard,' Heather growled as she drove down the rest of the avenue before making a three point turn. Parking up fifty yards shy of number 39 she hastily gathered her thoughts.

'Double rats,' she said when bright ideas didn't arrive. Then she added, 'Triple rats,' as dumb ideas proved to be just as elusive.

'I can't believe that tent is for thirty-odd people,' Nina began carefully. 'It's big enough for hundreds. I bet something else is going on.'

Heather nodded thoughtfully. The delicious blonde was probably right . . . as per always. 'Stay here,' she commanded, 'I'm going to go find out.'

'But Hev . . .'

Too late; she was out of the Audi and strolling along the pavement, sticking her boobs out and smiling sweetly as she homed in on a white van with the logo of a tent rental company on it. The man inside was on his mobile and simultaneously writing on a clipboard. The latest heavy downpour had finished and his driver's side window was fully wound down, in acknowledgement of a suddenly clear sky and scorching sun.

The pavement was mostly dry again, already.

'We're winding up here,' the man said into his phone, 'so we'll go troubleshoot. Tell the client we'll get there inside the hour.'

Ringing off, he eyed Heather up and down, obviously liking what he saw.

'G'day,' she began, slipping easily into an Australian accent. It had been a few years ago but she had spent quality time "down under". She'd had numerous Aussie girlfriends and a couple of boyfriends as well. And, of course, she'd been in a thousand upside-down pubs. She most certainly had learned the lingo, even if she did mostly specialize in words relating to sex and alcohol.

'What's going on here?' she went on, gesturing into the grounds of number 39, taking in the sight for herself for the first time. Nina was right; the tent had to be up there with the biggest in the world. A tad more relevantly, there was a tiny lodge on the gate but the gates themselves were open. Stopping to check in seemed to be a matter of trust. There again lots of people were already in there, busy on the lawns, tightening guy ropes and things like that.

'There's a barbeque kicking off at half past five,' the man in the driver's seat said obligingly, having to wrench his eyes up from Heather's prominent nips. 'It's some neighbourhood sort of a do.'

'I'm a neighbour,' Heather said excitedly. 'I'm staying with friends back there,' she used her thumb to indicate behind her, vaguely gesturing in the direction from whence she'd come. 'D'you reckon that I am invited?'

'Don't ask me. I'm here to check the erection is satisfactory.'

Heather didn't need to out-act Meryl Streep at that. 'Aren't all erections satisfactory,' she cooed, wide eyed and innocent before clapping her hand over her mouth. 'There I go again,' she exclaimed. 'The things I say!'

The man in the driver's seat had the grace to blush. 'I meant the marquee,' he said awkwardly.

'I know you did,' Heather gushed, 'I'm always putting my foot in it. Sorry if I embarrassed you. And I'm sorry if "putting my foot in it" isn't PC anymore.'

The man blinked, shook his head and sneaked another sly glance at Hev's delicious breasts.

'I'm sorry I can't answer your question,' he said.' If I was dishing out the invites you'd be in, no doubt about it. Sadly I'm not, which is a pity because there's just been a delivery of more cases of Moet than I've ever seen in my life.' He hesitated. 'Do you have Moet where you come from?'

'We're fifth or sixth on the list of champagne importers,' Heather said, with typical Aussie indignation. Then she laughed. 'Last list I saw you Pommies were top, ten miles ahead of even the Yanks, which I admit is impressive, considering the relative populations.'

'I guess most of our annual imports are in that marquee, waiting for the catering company. And here they are now.'

A liveried van passed them and pulled up at the lodge. Heather noticed that her latest new friend and the female van driver exchanged amiable waves; clearly they worked on a lot of overlapping projects. She also noticed that the wait at the lodge was only brief. The woman driver laughed, presumably at something the gatekeeper said, and then drove on towards the gigantic tent.

Bugger all checking! Yippee!!

'I'll have to go do my pre-handover checks,' the guy said reluctantly. 'Nice talking to you.'

'You too; farewell and wish me luck in gate-crashing later on.'

*****

Heather had her reservations about gate-crashing. Never mind slack gate security, she wouldn't know anybody, be they locals or Satanists. As far as she saw it, that would make her stick out like a spare thingumajig at a wedding.

Brooding, plotting and scheming she trudged back to the Audi and was surprised to find two people in there, awaiting her return.

'What are you doing here?' she demanded.

Alison shrugged. 'You made out that Mary Rose is in dire straits. I like her as a human being as well as a boss. And I knew where to find you . . . So here I am.'

The PA's loyalty and motivation touched Heather. She instinctively held out a clenched fist. 'Solidarity, sister,' she said for the first time since her university days, yonks ago.

Alison bumped knuckles. 'Solidarity, sister,' she said, as if she used the term every day.

Nina watched the display of female bonding in silence, perhaps understanding, perhaps a tad jealous.

'So what did you glean?' she asked. 'After running off and abandoning me, I mean.'

Heather quickly and adeptly brought them both up to speed. A late afternoon, early evening barbecue was on the cards, seemingly unconnected to anything Satanic. Neighbours were invited and, as Nina had observed, the number of attendees was going to be large. Her theory was that the Sabbat would follow the barbecue, and with a drastically reduced attendance.

'So,' she continued, 'we need to snatch Mary Rose during the barbecue.'

'What, with us not being invited and all?' Nina queried.

'Trust me,' Heather said grimly, 'I have an inkling of an idea . . .'

Chapter Thirty-three

Inside the impressive edifice of number 39 Bruno handed over his "girlfriend" and left her in Leo's very capable hands.

'See you later,' he said in departing. 'But don't expect me for the opening event. Barbecues are so not my scene.'

'Neighbourhood barbeques won't be featuring in your scene either,' Leo said to Mary Rose when they were alone together. 'I want you to relax and mentally prepare for midnight. Do you think you can do that?'

'Do you mean like meditating? Yeah, I can do that. Midnight seems like a long way away, though.'

'Would you like a little company? I have another guest who is . . . well, she's in need of some feminine support. She's unexpectedly expecting and it's hit her hard.'

Mary Rose was maybe the last person on earth to volunteer to reassure a pregnant woman. But there was genuine warmth inside her, and a sincere love for womankind. If this expectant mother needed a shoulder to cry on she could fit the bill.

Well, hopefully, at least.

And after all, midnight really was an awful long way into the future.

'A little company sounds good,' she said. 'Might we have a little wine too?'

Leo laughed. 'Normally I'd say no, but anything to oil the wheels.' Then, deadly serious, 'That is if you promise to restrict Lindsey to one single glass. Moderation is the keyword for her.'

'What about me?'

Leo laughed some more. 'So long as you remain fit for purpose, drink whatever you like. I recommend the Napa Valley red. But go easy on it. It's well matured and as strong as it's going to get.'

*****

Mary Rose recognized Lindsey on sight . . . just. Previously impossible to put an age on (she could be anywhere between twenty-one or thirty-something), Lindsey had been young and slender, petite with very fetching short brown hair.

Mary Rose had noticed her as much for her white robe as her good looks. Everyone else had been in black, apart from her and Leo, who had been in brilliant scarlet . . . and the Holy Virgin, of course; she had been stark-bollock naked. She'd also noticed Lindsey because she was sex on legs. But how she had changed!

Now the girl was a parody of her former self. Her eyes had sunk deep into shadow, her face was as drawn as could be and her collar bone was exceptionally prominent, as if she been on a drastic diet, meaning the starvation diet of a prisoner of war camp in a particularly hostile environment.

Maybe she'd been on the losing side in The War of the Worlds.

That much said she had a noticeable bulge in her tummy. Mare couldn't work out why she seemed to be so totally depressed and pissed off.

Weren't mummies-to-be supposed to be filled with hope and optimism?

Filling two glasses with vino and passing one to Lindsey she smiled and said "bottoms up" in a kind, considerate voice. Lindsey immediately swigged all hers down and held out her empty for more.

'Ye gods girl,' Mare gasped, 'you're only supposed to have the one. Leo will not approve.'

'Bloody Leo can mind his own business. What I do with my body is nothing to do with him.'

For a moment Lindsey sounded fierce, angry and rebellious. Then her face crumpled and she burst into tears. Mary Rose instinctively hugged her and stroked her arm, murmuring "there, there" and the likes.

'He's acting as if it's his baby,' Lindsey said bitterly. 'We both know it isn't, but try telling him.'

'Whose is it?'

'You ain't ever going to believe it.'

'So try me.'

*****

Confident she hadn't been seen from the lodge a little earlier, Heather followed in the footsteps of a well-shaped young lady. Well-shaped young ladies had been arriving regularly, ever since the second white van, and she'd tagged them as catering staff.

She hoped.

Aware this was a long shot, her intention was to get in posing as a barmaid or whatever. Nina was on standby to come in to her rescue after five hours (ignoring the gatekeeper altogether), assuming she hadn't already got out with Mare. Alison was on standby to ring the cops if Nina wasn't back out half an hour after she went in fearlessly after Heather, much like Pearl White.

As plans went it was dodgy, to say the least but hey, who dares wins, right?

The latest well-shaped young lady reached the lodge with Heather almost but not quite at her heels. 'I am Isobel,' she said to a man who had to be close to retirement age. 'I am here for the catering, sent by the agency.'

Showing interest in her body but nothing else, the gatekeeper asked her if she knew Daphne.

'I do indeed.'

'You'll find her over there, just inside the big tent.'

Encouraged, Heather stepped up and introduced herself as "Angie Browning", the first fictitious name she could come up with. 'I'm here for the catering, sent by the agency.'

This time the gatekeeper's interest was even more evident. 'Do you know Daphne?' he wondered, his eyes on her boobs.

'Of course I do,' she fibbed. 'She'll be over there in the marquee, yes?'

The man nodded and, security-wise, that was it. Heather hurried after Isobel, taking great care to get within hearing distance without actually overtaking her.

Daphne was the woman who had swapped waves with the erection specialist. She was perhaps forty-something but looked good for it, if slightly harassed.

'Izzy,' she said in greeting. 'We meet again. Buckets all right for you tonight?'

'Sounds like a plan,' Isobel said as the older woman ticked a chart on her clipboard.

'Good girl. We're setting up in ten minutes and then changing, ready for action. The house is out of bounds tonight but we have a smaller tent round the back of this one. And we'll get a free drink when everyone effs off at half past ten.'

Heather stepped up to the plate as Izzy drifted away. 'Angie Browning,' she fibbed once more, 'I've been sent by the agency.'

Unsurprisingly, her name was not on Daphne's chart.

'I only got the call thirty minutes ago,' Hev said helpfully, 'maybe someone's blobbed and you haven't been updated yet.'

There were five or six blank spaces at the bottom of Daphne's chart. Sighing, she wrote in Heather's false name and ticked the box beside it.

'Have you done this sort of thing before?' she asked.

'Yes,' Heather lied, 'but not with your firm.'

Daphne beckoned Izzy back and introduced them. 'Izzy will show you the ropes,' she said. 'We set up then change into serving dress. All you need to do is circulate and fill glasses with champagne. Don't worry if the glasses are mostly full, just pour into any vacancy. And smile all the while, even when you get your sexy ass pinched . . . as you so surely will.'

*****

Setting up involved ten or more people assembling lots of trestle tables, covering them with pristine white tablecloths and putting out silver-coloured trays of cold hors d'oeuvres, protected by industrial strength cling-film.

No wonder they all arrive in jeans and T-s, Heather thought with a secret smile. Her two companions back in the Audi were dressed for the office, making her the only candidate for this mission.

As if she'd have let anyone go ahead of her!

Looking around she had to admire the organization. All those trestle tables must have been delivered separately, together with several fridges and three large barbeques. She supposed the food supplies would be already in the fridges and that the massive extractor units would handle the charcoal smoke.

Good grief, she marvelled, I'm in a tent with its own electricity and all the mod cons! Whatever next?

'Guys do the barbequing,' Izzy explained. 'Sexist bastards as they are. Girls serve everything to the favoured ones. Most of them serve food. We two are in luck. We get to flirt, wiggle ass and sneak the odd slurp of Moet.'