Sin Tropez (15 page)

‘Just before you go, Sebastian, I was going to suggest that you and Alex come round to ours for supper one evening? We can have an intimate little St Tropez reunion …’

Sebastian thought for a moment then shrugged. ‘Not a bad idea.’

‘Don’t sound
too
excited.’ An indignant Tara forced a laugh.

‘I’m just not sure what Alex’s movements are for the next few weeks. I think he said something about Ibiza and Paris.’ And then, turning to smirk at Abena, he added,
‘And besides, I want to be … alone with this one. Can you blame me?’

‘For Christ’s sake let’s go before we make Tara sick,’ Abena laughed, elated. The car pulled away in the direction of Sebastian’s family’s estate in West
Sussex. ‘And put some clothes on, Tara,’ she shouted back at her friend.

Sebastian squeezed Abena’s leg and leaned forward to put on some music. Abena shivered at his touch, and then screwed up her face as Coldplay’s Chris Martin assaulted her ears.
‘Aaaaah-woooooo-oooo’ he wailed through the speakers, like a cow in labour. ‘Noooobody saaaaid it was easy … no one ever saaaaid it would be soooooooo-OH hard
…’.

‘Obviously I love Coldplay – who doesn’t – but I’m in the mood for something … more upbeat?’ Abena pleaded. After all, if she felt like listening to an
ex-public schoolboy having a good old whinge then she could talk to Sarah’s boyfriend. ‘I see you have Buena Vista Social Club, how about that?’

‘Whatever the lady wishes.’ Sebastian watched appreciatively as Abena threw her arms up above her head and wiggled in time to the invigorating Cuban beats. His eyes squinted when he
smiled and his uneven teeth gleamed white. He became more dazzling each time she saw him.

‘So, er, what do you do?’ she asked. Crazily, her leg still tingled from his touch.

‘Shocking question.’ Sebastian leaned over and kissed her.

‘Drive, Sebastian, please! I’d love to be alive for my first ever visit to your country house.’ From his reluctance to answer, Abena guessed he did nothing.

‘But you, darling, must be a model?’ Sebastian looked again at Abena and nearly veered off the road.

‘What, are you joking? Come on, I’m only five foot three!’ Abena laughed. ‘I just graduated actually, from Oxford,’ she said with a hint of pride.

‘I couldn’t be arsed with university, Sebastian countered. ‘I’d much rather get stuck into business straight after school than waste time in some college bar. Anyway
everyone gets a degree these days, there’s no cachet any more. I left school five years ago and did internships for a couple of investment banks, and now I’m taking time off to see if I
want to do the family thing, or something of my own.’

Abena realized it was Daddy’s advertising empire bankrolling five years of ‘casual’ dinners at Cipriani every night. The summer internships would only have been ten weeks long.
Five years was a long time off to choose a path.

Changing the subject, she remarked that they must be roughly the same age then.

‘Exactly. I guess I seem older?’

‘Actually, yes, you do.’

‘I guess not going to uni matures you. You know, you’re out there working before your contemporaries.’

After a couple of hours, Sebastian announced they were nearing his home.

‘You’ll love it here darling, it’s my hang-out. I’m so glad you’re not just one of those model party girls. I’m fed up with that shit. I like a woman with a
brain, so we can hang out and talk about things – you know, life … philosophy … life philosophy.’

The tall black gates to the estate opened and Sebastian’s car sped down the gravel drive, through acres of neatly landscaped garden, to the house. Abena got out and surveyed her
surroundings. Alongside the gigantic mock-Georgian main house were some cottages, presumably for the staff, as well as grass tennis courts, a squash court and what looked like an entire golf
course. She looked back at Sebastian, who had taken off his sweater and unintentionally pulled his T-shirt off with it. She tried not to stare at the neat ripples of muscle that lined his stomach
and torso; he was perfectly worked-out without being bulky and clearly made regular use of the sporting facilities.

‘I’m not surprised this is your hang-out!’

‘Come on,’ Sebastian took her hand, ‘I’ll show you round.’

Inside, the house was like a five-star hotel: immaculately clean and tidy, with furnishings made from the highest-quality materials and not a hint of shabbiness. There was trophy art on the
walls, including a Picasso, the frame of which must have been lovingly shined-up on a regular basis. Even the large pillows on Sebastian’s super-king-sized bed were blindingly white and
perfectly plumped up atop the smooth white duvet. She looked around for books or any sign of culture, but all she could see by way of personal touches were countless photos of Sebastian partying
with good-looking people, most of them well-known models or the kids of famous musicians. Then she saw a row of postcards of stunning women, most of whom she’d watched in films. Picking one
up she turned it over: ‘Sebastian, sweetheart, amazing working with you. You’re welcome to come stay in LA anytime. Pamela A x’.

‘Oh, you found those.’ Sebastian waved a dismissive hand. ‘I had a crush on her as a kid so I got my father to hire her for one of our ad campaigns. She’s become a friend
now. Good girl actually.’

Before Abena’s jaw could drop, Sebastian strode across the room. ‘But
you
are irresistible,’ he said, lifting her into his arms and kissing her, then collapsing on to
the bed with her still firmly in his grasp.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be giving me a tour of your grounds?’ she teased, shaken once again at how aroused his touch made her, and desperate to retain some composure.

‘I think, sweetheart, after all that driving the least I deserve is a snog-break.’

Abena felt herself melting as Sebastian slipped his hand under her sweater and gently squeezed her breasts. He dropped his head and kissed the nape of her neck, then he pulled off her sweater
and let it fall to the floor. He unhooked her silky black and purple bra and buried his face in her chest, moaning softly before taking her left nipple in his mouth and sucking it, pinching the
right one as he did so. Growing more frantic, he tugged at her tight jeans and growled ‘Take these off.’ Before she had even finished pulling them down he had ripped at her lace thong
and now she was completely nude. Still fully clothed, he pulled her on top of him and ran his hands greedily all over her skin, grabbing at the flesh of her high, round bottom, enjoying every curve
of her soft but toned body. ‘Do you have a johnny?’ Abena whispered, in between his frenzied kisses.

Sebastian undressed faster than Abena had thought humanly possible. As he stood at the foot of the bed enjoying her with his eyes, she marvelled at him too. His impressive cock stood hard and
upright under his flat, tennis-honed belly. Abena knelt on the edge of the bed and pressed herself up against him, stroking and kissing him greedily. He pushed her back down, parted her legs and
positioned his face so he could tease her clitoris with his tongue and squeeze her erect nipples at the same time. As she began to shake with the first throes of orgasm he climbed on top of her and
thrust himself inside her. When he could contain himself no longer, he rolled her over so that she was on top of him, arching her back in ecstasy. ‘I … I … I’m
coming’, he breathed, closing his eyes and grabbing at her tiny waist, bouncing her feverishly on himself.

Then his face contorted as though he was in pain and the strong hands around Abena’s waist squeezed her so hard that she really
was
in pain. He raised his head and let out an
almighty howl. Then he howled again for five full seconds and his pelvis shook and jerked a few more times before he dropped his head backwards and relaxed, staring at Abena with a glazed
expression.

She lay on top of him, and they remained, wordlessly, for minutes while he slowly stroked her back. She smiled dreamily down at him and kissed him lingeringly on the mouth, feeling him grow hard
once more.

Sebastian resumed the tour of his estate three and a half hours later, and Abena sheepishly avoided eye contact with the maid hovering outside the bedroom. They moved on to the
living and dining areas, which, Abena was disappointed to see, were decorated in cream and beige colours with lots of dark varnished wood.

‘I think Dad would like to be a bit more adventurous with the decor, but Mum’s reined him in unfortunately. She read somewhere that simplicity is more tasteful.’ He gave Abena
a look that suggested he thought his mother was a nightmare.

Abena was flabbergasted at just how many different places the Spectre family had in which to eat. They could lunch up on a high gallery that spanned the width of the splendid double-height
library, looking over unread books covered in a thick layer of dust – ‘We aren’t what you’d call readers,’ Sebastian had grinned. They could dine at a round mahogany
table in the middle of a circular space connected to the central, gleaming, restaurant-sized kitchen. They could breakfast outside on any of the ivy-canopied terraces. They could face south in
summer or north if they fancied some shade. They could eat intimately
à deux
beside the temperature-controlled outside pool or they could dine in the main hall with two hundred
guests.

Next stop was the wine cellar, followed by the home cinema, which could seat at least fifty. The house seemed designed for entertaining and Abena wondered idly what sort of films the Spectres
liked to watch there. There were sixteen huge, theatrically decorated bedrooms, each with its own his-and-hers bathrooms. Sebastian showed her just three, beginning with the ‘Out of
Africa’ bedroom, which came with a full-size genuine lion-skin rug, and a stuffed buffalo in the corner. In the ‘Renaissance’ room, two maids were arranging flowers and plumping
pillows on a four-poster bed covered in gold-leaf and draped in damask silk canopies. Most indulgent of the lot was the master bedroom, which had its own chute leading directly to the Olympic-sized
indoor pool two floors below; this enabled Sebastian’s father to simply slide from his bed straight down into the pool every morning, with no excuse for not doing his daily thirty power
laps.

Just as Abena and Sebastian were about to take a stroll through the grounds, the front door slammed shut and Alex appeared in the hallway.

‘I thought we were alone tonight,’ Abena whispered.

‘I thought he’d be at his place in Chelsea this evening. But don’t worry, he’s usually got company so he’ll keep out of our way.’

As Sebastian said this, a woman appeared behind Alex and kissed his neck. She was not a natural beauty, Abena observed, but she knew how to buy it. Her hair was highlighted multiple shades of
blonde, which lifted her complexion, and the height of her blow-dry formed a becoming frame for her face. Her simple, cleverly boned black dress gave the impression of a streamlined silhouette and
her high heels added four elegant inches to her height. The dress was cut low at the front to show off the woman’s ample chest, but pearl earrings and minimal make-up lent a demure tone to
what might otherwise have been a sluttish ensemble.

‘Is she the girlfriend?’

Sebastian laughed. ‘Shouldn’t think so.’

‘How’s it going, big man?’ He embraced his brother and the two banged each other on the back with gusto.

It emerged that Alex was putting Isobella up for the night as she’d missed her connection at the airport.

‘It’s awful. I just flew in from Zurich and was literally five minutes after closing time for my Miami flight. That’s all, but it was too late. So I had to call Alex, as
we’re all the way over in the Cots-wolds. He was so sweet to come and get me,’ Isobella simpered. Abena tried hard to remember when she’d last seen someone in a cocktail dress and
pearls on a flight and found no memories forthcoming.

‘How are
you
anyway, Sebastian? It’s been ages.’ Isobella bit her lip and smiled too intimately.

‘Very well Issy. Alex, you remember Abbi from France?’

‘Abbi, hi, how are you?’ Alex air-kissed her on both cheeks, showing no sign of recognition whatsoever.

‘Are you in town for a bit? Because Abbi’s friend … er … er … the blonde, do you remember?’

Alex looked blank.

‘Well, anyway, she’s invited us over to theirs … For dinner at some point.’ Sebastian looked meaningfully at his brother, his face impish.

‘Yes, I’m sticking around for June but I’ve quite a lot on. Why don’t you chaps arrange something and if I’m free then I’ll come along. He reached out and
rested a hand on Isobella’s bottom. Come. I’ll show you to your room.’

Sebastian picked up the internal phone in the hallway and dialled the kitchen.

‘I’ve a starving African in my arms and she’d like to be fed. Any news?’

Abena laughed. That must be Romilly, the newly acquired Michelin-starred chef he’d been telling her about.

Romilly had run a superb restaurant in a nearby country-house hotel for the past fifteen years but some months ago had begun fantasizing about letting his staff take the strain so that he could
lead a quieter life away from the constant stream of demanding customers. Sebastian’s father, Simeon Spectre, had always been a fan of the restaurant, and when he offered Romilly the position
of personal chef to the Spectre family, Romilly jumped at the chance. The arrangement was going swimmingly. Romilly and his wife had moved into a large, comfortable cottage on the estate, he was
paid handsomely and given free run of the kitchen, and was able to take his time and experiment with exquisite and unusual dishes. It was a particular relief not to still be churning out his
signature lobster mousse every day – he could produce a batch of
mousseline de homard au champagne et caviar
literally with his eyes closed.

As for the Spectres, they found that Romilly’s home-cooking surpassed even the gastronomic thrills of Chez Romilly and were constantly surprised with wonderful new dishes. A weekend at
their country house had become the most sought-after invitation in the Home Counties.