Tasmina Perry 3-Book Collection: Daddy’s Girls, Gold Diggers, Original Sin

The party was winding down. A handful of guests were now flailing around on the dance floor to cheesy seventies disco music, while across the room, empty wine glasses stood in herds on claret-stained linen. The bride, minus her headband and shoes, and groom, minus his jacket and tie, left waving and giggling for the Honeymoon Suite on the first floor of the chateau. Elmore had last been seen disappearing with the DJ’s assistant, a young, swarthy man with a bottom as firm as an iceberg lettuce. In one corner, Melissa’s bridesmaid, a singer in a fading girl band, was passionately snogging an accountant in a grey suit. Looking around, David picked up a bottle of Moët and, disappointed to find that it was empty, declared that the party was over.

‘Had too much to drink anyway,’ he said, rubbing his temples. ‘So, where are you staying tonight, Miss Balcon? With Elmore? Or can I walk you somewhere?’

‘I believe I’m in somewhere called the Dovecote,’ said Serena. ‘I’m not entirely sure where it is.’

‘At the bottom of the herb garden, if I remember rightly. I’m not far from there,’ said David, standing to pull Serena’s chair back for her.

‘Just as well,’ replied Serena, ‘I may need an arm to steady me. I haven’t had a drink in ages and three glasses of champagne have pushed me right over my limit.’ She felt wobbly in her heels, but when they stepped out into the night, the cold air on her face woke her up with a start. Hurricane lanterns hanging from the trees released a gentle glow like fireflies, so she could just make out the shapes of other couples crossing the lawns on their way back to their suites. Her heels were sinking into the grass. She bent down to unlace her sandals, hanging onto David’s arm for support until she was barefoot on the wet lawn, which was strewn with autumn leaves and confetti. She didn’t let go of him as they walked to the Dovecote and, when they arrived at the door, David didn’t need to ask to come up to her suite. A duplex building, like a giant wooden beehive, they ascended a stone flight of steps to the first floor. A bluey-silver moonlight flooded through the windows, so that the enormous four-poster bed seemed lit up by a spotlight.

‘It’s such a beautiful room, isn’t it?’ she said, her voice soft and nervous.

‘Yes, beautiful,’ said David, unable to tear his gaze away from her. Her dress had gone almost totally sheer in the strange lunar light, giving her an unearthly shimmering glow.

Only feet from her, David reached his hand out to touch her fingertips. ‘What would you do now if I tried to kiss you?’

She paused for several seconds until David took a step closer towards her, touching her cheek with his fingers.

‘I’d let you,’ she faltered, drawing his head closer until she could feel his warm breath on her neck. As his soft lips touched her skin, she felt a fire of longing. It was too long since she had felt someone’s touch.

His fingers expertly moved up to the scoop of her neckline and began slowly, deliberately undoing the tiny pearl buttons one by one, until the fine fabric just slipped off her shoulders and onto the floor like a feather. He unclipped her coffee-coloured lace bra, his head swooping down to take a hard, brown nipple between his lips. Unable to stop herself, her fingers played with the buckle of his belt, uncoiling it from the loops of his trousers like a snake springing into action. A fleeting picture of Cate flashed before her eyes, but she squeezed them shut. Cate wasn’t serious about David, she thought, they hardly saw each other, pushing the image of her sister back like a genie into its bottle.

David pulled Serena’s tiny thong down over her thighs and she pushed him backwards. Not wanting him on top of her with her protruding bump, they fell back into the goose-down folds of the duvet.

‘Like this,’ she whispered.

Totally naked, except for a condom straining over his massive erection, Goldman lay back and Serena straddled him, her firm thighs pressing against his submissive body. She took his cock and tipped the end into her wetness, stroking her clitoris, then sliding him in so slowly that he groaned out, his hands reaching up greedily to play with her breasts. Rocking, then grinding her hips into him, her pelvic muscles squeezing his shaft tightly inside her, she watched his face crease with pleasure, his eyes closed, an ecstatic moan escaping from his lips. Completely in control now, and enjoying the sense of power, she lifted her body upwards so she almost slipped off him before thrusting back down on him again, her free hand cupping his balls.

‘Fuck, fuck, incredible,’ he moaned. His body arched towards her before caving back on the mattress while Serena felt her own intense orgasm. Looking down to see his exhausted, handsome face, his lips tilted upwards, she felt another wave of pleasure rush through her. She smiled, satisfied and reassured. Serena Balcon had not lost her touch.

At half past twelve on Sunday morning, David Goldman rapped noisily on the door of Nick Douglas’s Highgate flat, hoping that his friend would be up and functioning. He needed help. He had slipped out of Serena’s bed hours earlier, hastily checking out of the Chateau d’Or before he bumped into anyone, and no doubt clocking up several speeding tickets on his frantic 120-mile journey back to London, while torturing himself with the question of what to do next. Did he regret having slept with Serena Balcon? Honestly? No. Serena was the conquest he had been waiting twenty years for. Christ, she was sexy, beautiful, horny; he had never slept with a pregnant woman before and, OK, at first the swell of her stomach was a little strange, but my God, the woman had been insatiable until the early hours of the morning. David Goldman had slept with many women, but the glamour models, the bit-part actresses, the fluffy-blonde bits about London: all of them were now instantly forgettable next to Serena Balcon. Except her sister Cate, of course.

He felt suddenly anxious once more. Cate Balcon. Pretty, yes, but not the best-looking woman he’d ever been out with. The body a little bit too curvy for his liking, but she was funny, clever, privileged. And with that sweet, trusting innocence he found lacking in so many women, she had managed to get right under his skin. David Goldman had never seriously considered settling down before, but increasingly he thought that adorable Cate Balcon might just be the woman to … well, not tame him exactly, but at least make him want to settle in one place for a little longer than usual. Which was why, standing outside Nick Douglas’s front door, he felt absolutely terrible. He didn’t want to think about last night any more, but he had to. The champagne, the Pimms, the whisky: it was all still swilling around his bloodstream making his body feel like jelly and his head like cotton wool. He knew that he had two options: to tell Cate what had happened, or to keep quiet. Of course the latter choice was by far the more appealing option, but was Serena the sort to confess to her older sister? In which case it would be far worse than if he tried to undertake some damage limitation himself. He decided to turn to the one person who knew Cate the best: Nick.

The intercom buzzed and he walked in to find Nick lying prostrate on the sofa, surrounded by Sunday newspapers and a plate showing the remains of a full English breakfast: coagulated rivers of egg, bacon rinds and the leftovers of tomato skins. David felt even more sick.

‘Enjoying yourself?’ said David, flipping a pile of magazines off a chair to sit down.

‘Like a pig in shit,’ smiled Nick. ‘Do not underestimate man’s love of pottering about on a Sunday morning. It’s a great British tradition.’

‘Lucky for some,’ said David, resting a foot on the coffee table. ‘I’ve just bombed it back from Oxfordshire.’

‘Oh yes?’ said Nick, getting up and moving towards the kitchen. ‘Weren’t you at some wedding or something? Tea?’

‘Coffee. Strong.’

‘Coming right up. There’s some football starting in a bit if you feel like hanging around this afternoon. Cate’s not back until tonight, is she?’

‘No, not back until tonight …’ repeated David distractedly. He shifted himself in his chair until he was perched on the edge, his hands nervously running through his hair.

He took a deep breath, for a second wishing he hadn’t come round to Nick’s. Seeing his old friend’s flat, once a pristine designer apartment when he had shared it with Rebecca Willard, now an untidy bachelor pad spilling over with books, CDs, even a pizza box from last night, he realized how much he had grown apart from Nick over the past few months. Suddenly he wasn’t at all sure where Nick’s loyalties would lie. The plain facts were that Nick had spent far more time with Cate recently, and was probably actually closer to her than to David. But David had to bet that their friendship of fifteen years was strong enough. Besides, men had to stick together on these things, didn’t they?

‘I haven’t come for football or for some morning-after TLC, but thanks for the coffee,’ said David, lifting the steaming mug Nick had placed in front of him. He paused.

‘What’s up?’ asked Nick.

David took a deep breath. ‘I’ve done something I shouldn’t.’

‘Jesus, what is it?’ asked Nick, suddenly concerned by David’s grave manner. ‘Has there been an accident?’

‘No, nothing like that,’ said David, reaching up and pulling his collar away from his neck as if it was strangling him. ‘As you know, I was at my friend Robert’s wedding last night. I didn’t really know anybody there.’

‘Not like you,’ smiled Nick cynically.

‘Well … Serena was there.’

David let the silence hang between them, waiting for Nick to take the bait and stop him from having to say the words himself.

‘And?’

David just looked at the floor.

‘Tell me you didn’t …’ said Nick, his eyes wide.

‘She was there, I was drunk,’ said David, his voice getting a little high-pitched. ‘You know what she’s like, she was giving me this whole, “Oh look after me, I don’t know anybody here” thing. She took advantage of me.’

Nick’s voice was deadpan. ‘I find that hard to believe.’

David began to relax a little. He could tell Nick was furious, but at least he wasn’t going to punch him or throw him out of the window.

‘You’re a bloody idiot!’ said Nick quietly, trying to contain his anger. ‘What is Cate going to think? What’s she going to feel? Don’t for a second think you can trade one sister in for another! I’ll tell you this now: Serena won’t give a shit about you. She probably won’t even remember your name this morning – you’re hardly Hollywood Reporter fodder, are you?’

‘She’s not that bad,’ said David quietly.

‘Anyway,’ said Nick, putting his cup down in disgust, ‘this isn’t about Serena, this is about Cate.’

‘That’s why I’m here,’ said David, getting a little irritated now. ‘You know her best, what shall I do?’

‘You should have thought about that before you put your … God! The woman’s six months pregnant!’

‘Look,’ said David, ‘I know you’re pissed off with me and that you’re close to Cate, but that’s why I came here, to ask your opinion. Do you think I should tell her?’

‘Oh, and what’s the other option?’ said Nick tartly. ‘Brush it under the carpet and hope it goes away?’

David looked a little helpless, much less like a powerful City player, more like a confused little boy. ‘You never know,’ said David, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Serena’s not likely to tell Cate, is she? And if I don’t tell her …’

‘Knowing you, I bet you slunk off with your arms around Serena in full view of everyone yesterday. And wasn’t the place crawling with journalists from Hello!?’

‘They’d all gone home,’ said David petulantly.