Singled Out
Authors: Simon Brett
Table of Contents
Simon Brett worked as a light entertainment producer in radio and television before taking up writing full time in 1979. As well as the much-loved Charles Paris and Mrs Pargeter detective series, Simon Brett is also the author of the radio and television series
After Henry
, the radio series
No Commitments
and the best-selling
How to be a Little Sod
. His novel
A Shock to the System
was filmed starring Michael Caine. Married with three children, he lives in an Agatha Christie-style village on the South Downs.
CAST, IN ORDER OF DISAPPEARANCE
SO MUCH BLOOD
STAR TRAP
AN AMATEUR CORPSE
A COMEDIAN DIES
THE DEAD SIDE OF THE MIKE
SITUATION TRAGEDY
MURDER UNPROMPTED
MURDER IN THE TITLE
NOT DEAD, ONLY RESTING
DEAD GIVEAWAY
WHAT BLOODY MAN IS THAT?
A SERIES OF MURDERS
CORPORATE BODIES
A RECONSTRUCTED CORPSE
SICKEN AND SO DIE
DEAD ROOM FARCE
By the same author
DEAD ROMANTIC
THE PENULTIMATE CHANCE SALOON
A SHOCK TO THE SYSTEM
SINGLED OUT
Simon Brett
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This title first published in Great Britain in 1995 by Pan Books an imprint of Macmillan General Books 25 Eccleston Place, London SW1W 9NF and Basingstoke
eBook edition first published in 2014 by Severn House Digital an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 1995 Simon Brett.
The right of Simon Brett to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0129-4 (epub)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This eBook produced by Palimpsest Book Production Limited Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland
To Drew and Ellen
One
The man looked suitable for her purposes. He sat at the bar, swirling melting ice in a glass of Scotch. His eyes darted about, undecided, unresolved. His suit, large checks, wide lapels, slight flare to the trousers, was smart, but seemed to say he was from out of town.
He was sensationally good-looking. Firm, spare body. Dark brown hair that lapped over the top of his collar and curled tightly in long sideburns. Blue eyes nestling in surprisingly luxuriant lashes.
Laura sat on the stool beside him. She shook back her dark hair and fixed her hazel eyes on his. âHi,' she said. âMy name's Carole.'
The room, in a hotel near Paddington, had been booked in advance, and Laura had targeted the bar after months of research in central London. The date too had been carefully chosen. Over the previous few months she had spent other evenings in the bar but not seen anyone suitable. The man was the first she had taken back to the hotel.
He said he was called David. Quite possibly he too was using a false name. Laura didn't care. His name was one of the many things about him that didn't interest her.
She established that he was from Manchester, in London for a business meeting the following morning. Laura asked no questions about the nature of his business, and he didn't volunteer it. The man seemed as keen to limit personal information as she was. The details of her life held no interest for him either.
But of course he was interested in fucking her. He was a man, after all.
Laura ordered a bottle of Scotch from Room Service and, when their glasses were charged, took control. She pushed away the low coffee table and sat beside him on the sofa.
âCheers.'
The man raised his glass to hers. There was still a wariness in his eyes. He was not fazed by the unexpected turn his evening had taken, but remained on his guard. A long swallow of Scotch, then he asked in his flat Mancunian voice, âWhat do you want from me?'
âI want you to fuck me,' Laura said.
He considered his reply for a moment, then half-smiled. âWell, I dare say that could be arranged.' A new thought disturbed him. âYou're not expecting me to pay, are you? Because I can assure you when I want sex, I don't need to â'
She silenced him with a reassuring hand on his knee. âI'm not expecting you to pay.'
âJust a bonus, is it? Why? It's not my birthday.'
âJust a bonus.'
For a moment he seemed about to ask more, find out why he had been singled out for this largesse. Laura moved her hand along his thigh and, as she intended, lust dispelled his curiosity.
He leant forward to kiss her. His lips were firm, slightly salty in taste. Laura pressed hers against them, flicking her tongue chameleon-like into his mouth. He pressed closer, a hand reaching to the side of her face. It outlined the angle of her jaw, slid down the neck, landed lightly on her shoulder, feeling the brassiere strap through the Indian cotton of her dress.
Her finger described a wide, slow circle over his thighs and stomach, just avoiding the evident erection. Then her hand moved up to brush against the roughness of his chin. Their lips were still conjoined, her tongue teasing his forward to invade the privacy of her mouth. Laura's hand loosened his wide flowered tie and slipped between the buttons of the tightly cut shirt. Her fingers tangled lazily with the hairs on his chest, then expertly freed a couple of buttons.
His free hand cupped a breast, squeezed tentatively as if anticipating rebuff. Encouraged when none came, the hand slipped down to caress her buttocks, defining the line of her bikini briefs each time it passed. Though it was chilly October, Laura had decided against wearing tights. They would only have got in the way. The sweeps of his stroking hand grew longer, moving down the smooth muscles of Laura's thigh, ever nearer the hem of her skirt.
She felt herself moistening. The skin around her nipples tightened and tingled. It was as she had hoped. Though her emotions stayed frigidly detached, her body was responding.
Laura drew away from the kiss and looked up into the beautiful blankness of his eyes. âAll right?' she asked.
âAll right,' he mumbled back. âI'll enjoy fucking you.'
Emboldened, his hand moved swiftly under her dress, homing along the inside of her thigh to the mound between her legs. Laura let out a little moan, part involuntary, part calculated, as a finger found the cleft of her through the thin silk. âShall we go on to the bed?' she murmured.
The man nodded and slowly rose to his feet, rendered cautious by the erection that strained against his trousers. He looked down at his empty glass.
Laura poured in more Scotch and placed it on the bedside table. She took hold of the bedclothes and, in one fluent movement, pulled back topsheet, blankets and coverlet so that they crumpled down to the floor at the end of the bed. The man stood watching.
âWhat turns you on most?' Laura asked. âTo undress yourself ⦠have me undress you ⦠what?'
âYou undress me â¦' His voice was throaty with desire. âThen undress yourself while I watch.'
Laura shrugged and gestured to the bed. The man unzipped shiny brown boots with a slight platform sole, kicked them off, removed his socks and came across to lie on the sheet. He propped himself up on pillows against the headboard.
The man said nothing, but watched closely as Laura removed his tie, undid the remaining buttons of the shirt and slipped it off. Her hands deftly freed the metal clasp of his waistband, then edged his zip undone over the bulge of flesh. She worked the trousers and briefs down his legs. As she slipped them off, Laura ran her hand lightly down the length of his erection. He let out an involuntary sigh.
âVery satisfactory,' said Laura. âNow I undress â¦?'
The man nodded.
Laura behaved as if she was relishing the routine she went through, teasing undone the buttons down the front of her dress. Slowly she reached round to unclasp the black brassiere, gradually allowing it to fall away from her tight-nippled breasts.
She slid two fingers inside the waistband of her bikini briefs, let them circle idly for a moment, then slowly worked the thin material downwards. All the time she could feel the man's heavy-lidded gaze, and it gave her a sense of power.
She stepped out of the briefs and stood facing him. Deliberately she rubbed her right hand over her breasts, snagging against the hardened nipples. Then she let it slide gently over the contour of her stomach to rest against the black bush between her legs. The man groaned. With a will of its own, his right hand moved up to encircle his penis. Laura's sense of power grew.
âLet me do that for you,' she said, moving forward.
She knelt on the bed beside him. He withdrew his hand and watched as hers formed a ring to massage the burning flesh. With each downward stroke she let a finger tickle against the puckered tightness of his scrotum. His breathing seemed to rise from deeper and deeper within his chest. Laura relaxed her fingers, widening their span so that now each stroke only dusted against him.
âTighter,' the man moaned. âTighter.'
âNo.' Laura spoke firmly, took her hands away and quickly moved her body to arch over him. His penis still raked the empty air as the buttocks clenched and unclenched. Supporting herself on one arm, she used the other hand to distend the opening of her wet vagina and lower herself down on to him. They sighed together as his full length slid into her.
His sighs re-formed into strangled words. âShouldn't I have a French letter on?'
The detached part of her brain registered the phrase. Where did he come from? How old did a man have to be to use the expression âFrench letter' in the 1970s? But all she said was, âDon't worry. Everything's fine.' Which was just as well, because seconds later he came spurting into her.