A Deep Deceit by Hilary Bonner Page B

evening. Apparently the deal was that she steered clear of her daughter’s girls’ nights, even though it was Mrs Powell, apparently, who had diligently supplied sandwiches, cheese and biscuits, and homemade cake for the occasion. Mariette appeared to have her mother, whom I knew to be a widow, pretty well trained it seemed to me. Certainly being installed in her own front room – with, I was told, Mrs Powell busily cleaning brass in the kitchen next door – did not cramp Mariette’s usual style, nor that of her three friends, none of whom I had met before, which made me quite nervous. The gossip was as raunchy as I had begun to become accustomed to – only this time there were five young women swapping stories of their sexual adventures. Well, four, actually. I had very little to say, although I found that I thoroughly enjoyed listening to the tales of their exploits.
    â€˜Suzanne’s all right, adored by a man who will do anything to make her happy.’ Mariette put a hugely suggestive emphasis on the word ‘anything’. I tried not to look embarrassed.
    â€˜He’s coming to get you, I’ll bet,’ she added.
    Hesitantly I agreed that he was.
    â€˜Good, we’ll all get a chance to have a look,’ she said. I had yet to introduce Carl to her.
    â€˜No, he told me he’d wait outside,’ I replied innocently.
    â€˜Really,’ remarked Mariette, and glanced at her watch. It was about ten minutes before the time I had agreed to meet him.
    â€˜And no doubt he’s there already. He doesn’t take chances with our Suze!’
    The entire group then crowded around the bay window and began to peek through the net curtains in order to get a glimpse of Carl as he waited for me in the street.
    â€˜Is that him?’ cried Mariette. I peered around her and was just in time to see the back of a male figure disappearing round the corner. At that moment Carl appeared from the other direction and propped himself against the street lamp outside.
    â€˜No, that’s him, there,’ I said somewhat unnecessarily.
    â€˜Oh, doesn’t he look nice,’ said Mariette in a rather soppy voice. ‘God, I’m jealous.’
    I manoeuvred myself so that I too could get a good view of him. He did look nice. That was the only word for Carl really, that and kind. He was not startlingly handsome, or startlingly anything for that matter, just nice, kind, solid, reliable and funny. And I did love him so.
    â€˜Invite him in, go on, just for a moment, oh, go on.’
    The entire throng encouraged me. I stepped briskly outside into the cool night air and, quite out of character, asked Carl if he would come in and meet the girls. Even the words sounded strange as I spoke them.
    Carl looked terrified. His stammer made an appearance again. ‘I d-don’t think so, Suzanne, p-p-please, I’d rather not . . .’
    He could not escape, though. Mariette and her friends were apparently not prepared to wait indoors for long. When I did not return swiftly with Carl alongside, all four of them followed me out into the street, surrounded Carl and insisted on being introduced. He blushed, his already ruddy face turning absolutely crimson, and I found it as endearing as I had that very first time in Richmond Park.
    â€˜He really is very very nice,’ whispered Mariette in my ear as we finally said our farewells.
    Carl hurried me up the hill. I think he was sweating. ‘Good G-God, Suzanne, I felt like a prize bull,’ he said.
    â€˜You are a prize bull, my love,’ I replied.
    He laughed, albeit a little uncertainly.
    â€˜Mariette says she’s jealous,’ I went on. ‘I reckon it’s because she thinks you’ll do anything for me.’
    I put a suggestive emphasis on the word ‘anything’ in just the way Mariette had done.
    Carl looked slightly aghast. ‘Did she say that too?’
    I nodded.
    â€˜Do women