A Date with The Devil

'Cheers,' she said, 'shall we go celebrate?'

'How does Carmen's sound?'

Five years in London and one venue sounded very much like another. "Carmen's" didn't ring any bells but, not having planned ahead, Mary Rose smiled and said fine.

Conscious of a multitude of eyes on her, she kissed Bruno's cheek and got into the red sex machine.

'That short skirt suits you,' he said admiringly.

She laughed as she realized how high that skirt had ridden up. And then, playing to the audience, she laughed even louder when Bruno took off like Lewis Hamilton.

*****

Surprise, surprise, the maître d' at Carmen's knew Bruno. Gushing, he ushered them inside to one of the prime window tables and, assuring them someone would imminently bring Chablis, left them alone with their menus.

Bruno was, as per always, utterly charming. He made small talk like Casanova made love. Leastways he did in Mary Rose's ever-fertile imagination.

One hundred and twenty minutes, she thought. Surely we could . . .

Seemingly oblivious to her desires, Bruno chatted on, flitting from subject to subject, easily taking her with him. He was, as she already knew, a born raconteur. Ditching daydreams of having a quick one in the Ferrari, she listened and took all his prompts.

Service was nice and unhurried. Wine flowed and time flew. Then, as they ordered their sweets, she noticed a couple at a nearby table: a large, powerful man with a shiny bald head accompanied by a petite girl with very short brown hair.

She recognized Apollyon instantly. Even without the mask and robe it was unmistakeably him.

Sensing eyes on him, he returned her stare. Then he smiled, recognizing her too. Obviously wearing masks had been a waste of time.

Murmuring an apology to the girl he got up and approached their table. 'Good afternoon Bruno,' he said warmly, 'and Miss Archer. What a small world it is.'

Mary Rose supposed she should feel uncomfortable in the presence of two lovers at once. But she didn't. She didn't feel ashamed either; not in any way at all.

'Leo,' Bruno replied. 'What a pleasant surprise. Will you join us?'

'We've only just arrived and I can see you are nearing the end. I just felt the need to say hello.' Then, turning to Mary Rose: 'I understand you can't make it tonight.'

'I'll be there next week,' she assured him. 'I'll be there without fail.'

You seem very keen.'

'I am.'

Apollyon nodded approval. 'I suspect you will soon be Holy Virgin quality,' he said, lowering his voice. 'Would you like to play that part?'

Silly question! Dim memory or not, Mary Rose was sure the Holy Virgin had been fucked by everyone present, male and female. The girl had as good as overdosed on sex.

'I'd be honoured,' she said as demurely as she could.

'It is an important role,' he said, holding her with his eyes. 'Many women aspire to it. And of course some women prefer alternatives. I'm actually holding an alternative meeting in July, one where the likes of Bruno will not be invited, if you follow my drift.'

'A night for girls only,' Mary Rose guessed.

'Well, I will be there with my two left-hand men,' Apollyon said, chuckling, 'but everyone else will be girls only. Am I correct in assuming you might be interested?'

'Yes, you are.'

'It's strictly invitation only. And I'm trying to keep the number down to thirteen.' He chuckled again, his eyes still magnetic. 'You would be queue-jumping unless you earned the right. Now then, how could you do that?'

Mary Rose assumed he wanted bribing with sex. Before she could volunteer Bruno stepped in.

'Aren't you still looking for a Holy Virgin for the twenty-third?' he asked. 'Surely that would do the trick.'

'The twenty-third is a very special night,' Apollyon told Mary Rose. 'If I offer, do you believe you can go through with it?'

'Yes,' she said confidently.

'Then we have a deal. I'll tell you more next Friday. Enjoy your dessert.'

The waiter had been hanging back discreetly, letting them talk. As Apollyon went back to the girl with brown hair he delivered their strawberries and cream.

'You are very brave,' Bruno told her when they were alone again.

'Nothing to it,' said Mary Rose. 'Leastways there won't be when I've practiced peeing into a cup.'

'I'd like to be a fly on the wall. At your girls-only orgy, I mean.'

'What's this twenty-third business? It's a Wednesday, isn't it?'

'It's St John's Eve. That's a very special night for pagans, supposedly the best night of the year for performing magic. There will be a lot of enthusiastic people wanting to perform with you.'

Mary Rose laughed. 'Sounds like my kind of a party.'

*****

Bruno's sex machine was capable of 240 MPH, but not in the centre of London on a Friday afternoon. It took maybe twenty minutes to take Mary Rose the mile back to her office.

'It's a shame you can't make it tonight,' he said, pulling into a slot.

'What about tomorrow night?'

'I don't know of any orgies tomorrow night.'

'There's a two person orgy scheduled at my place. By that I mean just you and me.'

He laughed. 'Go on, then, twist my arm.'

Up on her floor there was a newspaper on the receptionist's desk but no receptionist behind it. Mary Rose checked the time and frowned. She was ten minutes late herself.

Please, she thought, don't say it's catching!

Out of idle curiosity she picked up the paper. It was the new-fangled London Evening Standard, latest edition. Not up-to-date with the day's latest finance, though, not at that time of day. Her idle curiosity quickly satisfied, she was about to drop it back on the desk when a front page photo caught her eye.

So too did the accompanying headline.

MISSING HEIRESS FOUND IN RIVER

Mary Rose's blood ran cold. Even without the lust-crazed eyes, that face was instantly recognizable.

It was last Friday's Holy Virgin.

And she'd been found dead in the Thames.