Chapter 2 - Victoria Makes Contact
Angie had long regretted her decision to volunteer for the open evening. With another half hour left, she just wanted to go home and write it off as an evening of her life that she could never have back. Her expectations had soured in the few days since Freya had convinced her, but after agreeing, she didn’t feel she could pull out. It was more that she didn’t want to disappoint Freya than Mr Humphries, the head of the science department.
The teacher in question had looked Angie up and down and frowned at her uniform at the beginning of the evening. Angie’s jumper was technically the right colour, but not the right style or school issue; the absence of the school crest was proof positive of that. Uniform jumpers were expensive, and Angie’s top was one of her mum’s major charity shop victories.
Zofia Peterson was a charity shop ninja. The intricacy of stealth and strategy she could bring to bear to acquire cheap, barely used goods to help make ends meet was nothing short of miraculous. Necessity was the mother of invention, and keeping costs down so that her family could eat was Zofia’s priority. Self-consciously, Angie had stripped to her blouse at the earliest opportunity.
Angie’s skirt wasn’t from the officially endorsed supplier either, but in that case, Angie’s excessive height made finding something which would fit her difficult. The pleated affair that she wore was at least the right colour and reached generously down to mid-calf level, a vast improvement on the girls trying to show as much thigh as they could get away with. Also, it had the advantage of hiding several holes which had appeared high up in her tights in recent months.
It being too late, Mr Humphries had withheld any complaints and had sited the girls at a desk in the department atrium, ready to receive visitors. In the previous few hours, Angie had shown around a few sets of parents fielding children with the attention span of a gnat. The kids all wanted to know what each piece of equipment did, but were so easily diverted by the next thing that they weren’t listening by the time Angie could finish answering.
All through the evening, Freya had seemed relentlessly upbeat, despite having to field families with a similar level of interest. Angie tried to appear enthusiastic, or at least not at such a level of pessimism as to disappoint Mr Humphries.
There were only 15 minutes left when Angie heard the outer door to the science block creak open and the distinctive click of high heels on tile floor. The tapping was soon subsumed by voices, indistinct at first, but then Angie began to recognise the basso voice of the head teacher, Dr Evans, and the reedy nasal whine of Mr Humphries. Next to that was an unknown voice, female, faintly accented with a gentle intonation and with some quality which meant that Angie couldn’t help but take notice. She watched the bend in the corridor intently for the trio to appear from around the corner.
“This is our science department,” Dr Evens waved his hand to encompass the classrooms around the atrium.
“Which could greatly benefit from any additional funding we can secure,” Mr Humphries put in earning him a sharp look from Dr Evans.
“Well, it’s all tax deductible,” hers the voice of reason between vying males.
Angie couldn’t help but stare. The Woman, and she definitely deserved a capital ‘W’, was a vision of understated elegance. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties. Though tall, perhaps due to her high heels, she moved with an effortless grace. Her clothes were business-like, but obviously expensive: dark stockings with a diamond pattern, a pencil skirt reaching below the knee, and a charcoal grey blouse sculpted to her figure. Her face was oval, smooth and tanned from time spent in the sun and finished with a pair of dazzling green eyes. Her hair was dark and wavy, reaching to her shoulders and impeccably styled.
At length, the girl managed to look down at the woman’s stylish dark red patent heels, but then her scent reached Angie’s nostrils: feminine, floral, demanding but not overpowering. Trying not to draw attention to herself, Angie unobtrusively breathed her in.
“Perhaps a brief tour is in order?” Dr Evens suggested, implicitly pulling rank on his head of science.
“Maybe a student’s eye view would be interesting?” The woman suggested, the voice of reasonable compromise.
“Well, I don’t...” Dr Evans began, but The Woman was not to be put off.
She made a show of examining the name stickers both Angie and Freya wore. “Why don’t we have Angie here give me the tour?” She gestured in Angie’s direction, her exquisitely manicured fingers entering the flushed girl's downcast field of vision.
Angie raised her gaze and just managed to resist pointing at herself and asking, ‘Who, me?’. She could see that Dr Evans and Mr Humphries were displeased by the idea: the fate of a lucrative donation being left to one of their below-star-level students, but both realised they had no choice. Feeling annoyed at their low opinion and fascinated by the stranger, Angie stood up. “Of course.”
Swallowing his pride, Dr Evans made the belated introductions: “Angie, this is Miss Victoria O'Connell. She is considering investing in our facilities. Miss O’Connell, this is Angie Peterson, one of our final-year students.”
“Lovely to meet you, my dear,” Victoria sang in her silken Irish voice. She held out a long-fingered hand.
“Hi,” Angie managed, turning red as she returned Victoria’s handshake, noting warm, soft skin and a firm grip.
“Well, my dear, where should we begin?”
“Perhaps the biology lab? Please, this way.” Angie motioned them to a classroom door and led the way, conscious of Victoria’s presence, denoted by a rhythmic tapping on the tiles. Trying to be on her best behaviour, Angie held the door open and was graced with an intoxicating waft of perfume as the older woman moved past her into the classroom.
Angie began with her rehearsed schpiel about the school's studies in plant biology but stopped when Victoria seemed to be padding around the classroom, taking it in at her own pace. Angie felt faintly intimidated being alone with her, like she had fallen into the enclosure of a lioness.
“What is ‘Angie’ short for?” Victoria asked out of the blue. The ingratiating smile she had used to charm the staff had been replaced with an appraising look, which she brought to bear on Angie.
Angie stuttered for a moment at the unexpected question. “Angelica,” she managed bashfully.
Victoria’s face seemed to animate with pleasure at her response. “That’s such a beautiful name. You should use it more.”
Angie’s cheeks warmed at the compliment. Before she could stop, she blurted out, “There was a one-hit-wonder pop-princess-type around the time I was born. I don’t want people to think of her when they hear my name.” She clamped her lips shut. Why did I say that? Angie demanded with an inward flinch.
“It sounds like that was a long time ago, and she is long gone. It would be a waste of such a lovely name to give it up over someone so unimportant. Take it back. Own it. You are Angelica, not some washed-up starlet.”
“OK,” Angie managed faintly.
“Angelica,” Victoria nodded with heavy emphasis, “do you have any brothers or sisters at the school?”
“Two sisters, half-sisters really, just started in year 7. I have a brother, but he’s only three.” Angie clamped her mouth shut again, unsure why she was ready to ply this mysterious woman with deeply personal information.
Angie was afraid the next question would be along the lines of ‘and do you all enjoy it here?’ and that she’d have to hurriedly decide if she was willing to lie or not. However, it seemed Victoria had other ideas. “What’s through there?” She gestured to another door.
Angie blinked at the abrupt change of tack. “That’s the chemistry lab.”
“Why don’t you show me that?” Victoria suggested, but Angie could feel the strong compulsion of an order, almost as if it were just beyond the range of her hearing.
Victoria held the door open and followed Angie close behind. She found Victoria’s proximity briefly overwhelming, but she calmed as she moved into the lab interior. Once Angie had recovered herself, she explained a little of the work they did in the classroom before leaving Victoria to pace, restless.
“What do you want to do when you finish here, Angelica?” Victoria asked, refocusing her potent gaze.
Caught unawares, Angie hesitated. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I mean, I like to study, but I can’t think of anything that I might want to do that would make me happy.”
Victoria seemed quite satisfied with her answer. “Perhaps you’re destined to be more than what you do.” Angie was surprised. She had always assumed the goal of school, and life in general, was to learn enough to get a good enough job to be able to get on in life. The concept of enjoying life outside of employment, without the necessary acquisition of wealth, was something that had never occurred to her.
“What do you like to do outside of school?”
“Read,” Angie answered without thinking and then felt the need to qualify, “somewhere quiet. My house is pretty noisy, but Aston Library has a few quiet nooks, and I sit in the park in summer.”
“You prefer to be alone?” Victoria asked, almost as if she were wondering if her presence was an intrusion.
“No,” Angie didn’t want to push Victoria away. She felt strangely pleasant in her company. “I don’t like crowds. One or two people is fine, but my whole family in our little house, it’s just too much for me.”
Victoria nodded, satisfied, no offence taken. “What do you like to read?”
Angie shook her head abstractly, “all kinds of books. Fiction, non-fiction, classics, new stuff. Anything that takes my head to other places.” She realised again that Victoria seemed to effortlessly slip past her defences and illicit answers she wouldn’t usually have dreamed of revealing.
“You’d like to travel?”
Angie shook her head, unsure. “I don’t know. I’ve never really been anywhere but here.”
Changing the subject again, Victoria pointed to a windowed door with a blind drawn over the glass. “What’s in there?”
Angie snapped back to the task in hand. “That’s the prep room, where the lab technicians prepare the chemicals we use in class.”
“Show me.” Victoria’s words were light, but the demand was clear beneath.
Angie hesitated. “I don’t normally go in there.”
“Then let’s explore it together.” Victoria’s voice held a hint of playfulness as she held out an arm to beckon Angie towards the entrance. As she reached the door, Victoria’s hand gently rested on her shoulder. Angie could feel her heart pick up in response, so acutely aware of the contact. She shuddered, feeling what she expected it might be like to be touched by Rayan Khan.
The prep room was cramped and ill lit given the sun had gone down outside. It was essentially a short corridor with a workbench down one side in front of the entrance to a fume cupboard. The other wall was crowded with shelves and cabinets.
“There’s not much to see.” Angie struggled to keep her voice neutral, aware as she was that Victoria had followed her in and was right behind her.
“That depends on what we’re looking for.” Victoria’s voice purred from just over her shoulder.
Angie reached the end and turned only to realise just how close behind Victoria was. It didn’t take much for the older woman to stretch forward a few inches and for their lips to touch. Overwhelmed by her proximity, her touch, her delightful scent, Angie’s eyes opened wide. Involuntarily, she allowed her lips to part. Victoria’s tongue entered, gently exploring, careful, controlled. Angie stood rooted to the spot, frozen, her mind failing to process any useful conscious thoughts.
Angie had no sense of time. Victoria pulled away seconds or hours later; she couldn’t tell.
“Oh, Angelica. That was lovely,” Victoria murmured, “but I think we can do better.”
Angie felt powerless to resist as her hands were guided to Victoria’s hips. The lady herself placed one arm around Angie, drawing her near, and another gently cupped her cheek before bringing their lips together once more.
This time, Angie committed fully. Her eyes closed, and she tentatively explored Victoria’s mouth as her partner explored hers. The older woman’s right hand moved around to the nape of her neck while the other gently stroked her back. Angie’s world filled with pounding heart, twisting tongues and the rich smell of her companion. It was the stuff of incoherent dreaming.
Angie had only the vaguest impression that the second kiss had been longer when Victoria finally pulled away. Angie’s eyes remained closed; she could still taste Victoria in her mouth. She felt light as a cloud.
When Angie eventually allowed reality to intrude, Victoria was looking back at her with amused satisfaction. “Better than your boyfriend?”
Angie blinked, trying to get her bearings back. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she replied absently.
“Excellent,” Victoria purred. “I think you enjoyed that, Angelica. In fact, I think it was something you were very much in need of.”
“Er, yes,” was all Angie was capable of saying, still trying to understand what she was feeling.
Victoria pointedly held up a folded slip of paper. “If you want more.” She let the words hang between them before dipping the note into the breast pocket of Angie’s blouse.
“More,” Angie whispered to herself, not a question, just trying the word on for size, unable to process the concept.
“Well,” Victoria declared, altering her tone completely, “we should get back. Your teachers will be beginning to wonder if we’ve escaped out of a window.” Not waiting for a response, Victoria linked arms with Angie and guided her back to the atrium.
Angie was desperately trying to shake off her daze before returning to the presence of Freya and curious staff members, but there was no need; they were all completely focused on Victoria.
“Well,” Victoria’s voice was enthusiastic and brash, “it would seem that you have an excellent student in Angelica. You must be very proud of her.”
“Yes. I mean, of course,” Mr Humphries managed, taken a bit by surprise.
“I think a donation to your school would be a fine investment. Perhaps we can go somewhere and discuss the particulars?” The exuberant smile had returned to Victoria’s lips.
A credit to himself, Dr Evans shook off his confusion quickly. “An excellent idea. We all continue to be proud of our final-year students and Angie in particular. Perhaps my office would be a good place to continue the discussion.” He gestured with a hand that Victoria should proceed them out of the building and hurried off, leaving Angie confused and staring at the empty space where Victoria had been standing.
“Wow. That was weirdly impressive. I bet they’ll owe you plenty of favours for that.” Freya observed. Angie didn’t respond, still struggling to form cohesive thoughts.
Angie found herself outside Mr Humphries' office the day after. She was still struggling to arrange her thoughts about what had happened. Memories of ‘The Kiss’, definitely worthy of capital letters, had kept her awake in mute confusion for most of the night. If she had kissed Rayan, would it have felt that good? Why would an older woman do that? Was she just after a cheap thrill in a back room with a teenage girl? Angie felt used and dirty at the thought. Victoria had touched her. Did that constitute abuse? Perhaps only if she didn’t want to be touched? But she hadn’t decided that yet. Angie felt intense pressure to do something about The Kiss, having an unfocused feeling that if she didn’t, she would be the one at fault.
Angie’s constantly running train of thought was making her head spin. She thought of telling someone. First, Freya, but what good would that do in real terms? Her parents? Her stepdad would certainly kick up all kinds of fuss about it, and she really wasn’t looking forward to that. She didn’t really want to cause trouble for something which had actually been an intense and oddly pleasant experience.
All the things Angie had heard previously about such episodes suggested that the ‘right’ thing for her to do was to tell someone like a teacher. She considered Dr Evens, but he was very busy, what with having a school to run, and he was also somewhat intimidating. Instead, she decided to try Mr Humphries, which is why she had found herself at his door at morning break time.
After she knocked, Humphries immediately called her in.
“Sir? About last night,” Angie began.
Humphries seemed more animated than usual. “Ah, yes, of course. Thank you so much Angie, you did a smashing job!”
Angie was a little startled. She had never seen Humphries exhibit this much enthusiasm about anything before; it was a little unnerving. “Well, I didn’t do that much. What I...”
Humphries cut her off before she could continue. “Didn’t do that much? Hah!” He opened his desk drawer and produced a rectangular piece of paper. It was a cheque for £10,000 in the name of Victoria O’Connell and payable to the school. “She gave us the money last night, then and there!” He slipped the cheque into the inside pocket of his jacket quickly lest it miraculously turn to dust in his hands. “I don’t know what you said Angie, but you must have been very convincing.”
“Well, I, er,” Angie stuttered.
“I need to get this into the science department’s account before any of the other departments get a whiff of it. Modern languages would be all over us, humanities would jump at a piece, and I.T. would gobble it all up in one go.”
Angie blinked. The subsurface inter-departmental politics of the school was something she was normally blissfully ignorant of. “OK?” She managed weakly.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Angie. I have to run to pay this cheque in. Well done for last night. Thanks again.” And with that, Humphries breezed out of his office.
Angie blew out a heavy sigh into the empty office and took out the note Victoria had handed her. The little square of paper still smelt of her perfume:
38 Albert Drive, Friday 16:00. Be discrete.
It was rendered in a careful hand, elegant and neatly presented, just like the woman herself.
Angie didn’t really need to read the words, having read and re-read the note hundreds of times in the previous 12 hours. The handwriting was smooth and meticulously neat. What did it mean? Victoria had said, ‘If you want more’. More what? More of The Kiss? Angie had devoted a considerable amount of thought to that particular interpretation, but she couldn’t imagine what that might entail.
A look on Google Street View had told her 38 Albert Drive was an innocuous-looking semi-detached house on a cul-de-sac on the side of Aston redeveloped after the war. It was a 15-minute walk from school and a bit further to return to her pre-war terraced council house. She could be there easily at 16:00 on Friday afternoon if she chose to.
But what would she find? A cabal of dirty old men ready to abuse her, tempt her with drugs and force her into prostitution? Angie had seen the stories on the news and the internet. But they were ruthless groups of men intent on making a quick profit. Victoria had just dropped £10,000 for a quick kiss in the prep room. To think that something cheap and nasty like that awaited her just didn’t feel right.
Angie resolved she might go, at least, to look at the house. She wouldn’t go in, she promised herself. Unless she did.
Angus Scott lowered his ample frame into a stylish wooden chair at an expensive independent café in The Mail Box, an up-market shopping centre in central Birmingham. His preferred locations for meeting customers were greasy spoons or franchised coffee houses attached to supermarkets or railway stations, as he usually found himself footing the bill.
Scott eyed his potential customer with scepticism. Expensive clothes, manicured nails, carefully couffered hair. She might be a turning point in his fortunes or a rich bitch trying to quietly head off a paternity suit from the gutter. He certainly felt underdressed in his chords, ill-fitting checked shirt and suit jacket, which had seen better days.
“Can I order you a cup of coffee, Mr Scott? The French roast is particularly good here.” Miss O’Connell spoke with an Irish accent but subtly suggested to Scott that she was from the countryside rather than the city.
“If you’re offering,” Scott answered evenly. O’Connell snapped her fingers, and a nearby waiter took her order and hurried away. Scott raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“They have good service here. That’s why I keep coming back.” O’Connell sipped from her own steaming cup.
“Aye, I can see that.” Scott mused. He had been summoned to the meeting at short notice and didn’t have much patience for chit-chat. “So, what is it I can be doing for you, Miss O’Connell?”
“I’m a freelance talent scout. I mainly find models for high-end fashion houses. I have a prospect for a very lucrative contract, but I need to ensure there are no, how shall we say, unpleasant surprises before I make an approach.”
“I see,” Scott didn’t but gladly received his French roast from an immaculately dressed waitress. “Why would you come to me with this?”
Miss O’Connell put down her coffee cup and fixed Scott with an appraising stare. “I have it on good authority that you are skilled in personal investigation. The kind where the object of investigation is not to be made aware that they are under scrutiny, Mr Scott. I don’t want to get this girl’s hopes up, and especially not the family’s. If they smell money, things could fall apart very rapidly.”
Scott shifted uncomfortably in a way that had nothing to do with his luxuriantly padded seat and everything to do with being stared down by a woman who seemed to know more about him than he did about her. “And where did you hear of me, Miss O’Connell?”
“It would be crass to name names, Mr Scott, but suffice to say five tabloid journalists, three members of parliament and a bishop.”
“Well, there may have been some exaggeration,” Scott could feel a pain growing behind his eyes.
Miss O’Connell cut him off. “I don’t think so. I think you are the right man in the right place at the right time. Here’s what I want: I will give you a name and a few personal details. You will produce a dossier of all you can find in one week. I realise it’s a short time span and at short notice, but this is a cutthroat business, and I mean to reel this one in before someone else happens upon her. You will be compensated handsomely for your efforts, and I will pay your expenses, including your coffee.” O’Connell pointed at Scott's forgotten cup.
Scott looked down at his beverage and realised that its powerful scent was inviting. He took a sip to buy himself some time; it really was excellent. “What is it you would like me to find out, Miss O’Connell?”
“Your target is a 16-year-old girl from one of the poorer suburbs of the city. I need to know her background, if there are any skeletons in her closet, substance abuse, domestic violence, custody issues, that kind of thing. Given her age, any contract negotiated would have to be with the consent of her parents. I need to know that they won’t make waves and that there aren’t any other relatives who will demand a piece of the pie or otherwise make trouble.”
“16 years old, you say?” Scott felt dubious.
“Age is irrelevant in this business,” O’Connell waved a dismissive hand. “She is tall, almost a grown woman and has vast unrealised potential. I aim to capitalise on that before she or any other agent does.” She gestured around the room. “Talent spotters like myself are everywhere, always with their eyes open. You don’t notice them because they look like everybody else.”
“Seven days isn’t very long. Having to do things that quickly is difficult. Difficult means expensive.” Scott pointed out.
“But you’re so good at difficult, Mr Scott and I’m not even asking you to tap somebody’s mobile phone or obtain compromising material.”
Scott blanched. My god, she wasn’t lying, he thought. She really does know about the MPs and the bishop.
“Here is an advance,” O’Connell tossed a brown paper envelope onto the table between them. “I will meet you at your office at this time next week. You provide the dossier, and I will pay you the balance of what I owe for your efforts. Do we have a deal?”
Scott tentatively took the envelope as if he suspected it contained live snakes. It actually contained a generous wad of banknotes. She knows enough to sink me, but her money looks good, Scott considered as he thumbed the envelope's contents. He nodded to his newest customer. He wasn’t happy but was safe enough; that was the business he was in.
“I’ll see you in a week, Miss O’Connell.”
She nodded, passed him a slip of paper, and finished her drink. It was headed ‘Angelica Peterson’ and gave a brief physical description, the name of a school and some other odd details. “I look forward to it, Mr Scott.”
It wasn’t just the light October drizzle which made Angie feel exposed. She stood on the pavement opposite 38 Albert Drive, examining the place whilst trying not to appear to be overtly staring. The street was quiet, there being no through traffic, but that just meant that there was no crowd for her to hide in; the safety in numbers she usually relied upon to allow herself to fade into the background was painfully absent.
The house looked innocuous, much like her grandma’s in fact, but without its comforting undertones of safety. There was no car parked on the drive. The windows were dark but not shuttered with curtains or blinds, and no activity was visible within. Compared to neighbouring properties, No. 38 was well maintained; in fact, some of the paintwork and the garage door looked new.
But what’s inside? Angie agonised internally. The house appeared unoccupied. If Angie hadn’t read and re-read the address so many times since Wednesday evening, she would have assumed she had the wrong house. Her fear clawed at her. What awaited her? More Victoria, more of The Kiss, or something immeasurably worse?
Distracted by her indecision, Angie found herself crossing the road, unaware even that the drizzle had turned to harder rain, which settled in her hair and began to seep into her battered school shoes. Convinced that she was doing wrong but unable to stop herself, she stepped from the imagined safety of the footpath to the concrete surface of the drive.
Angie stopped. The last had felt like a big step, like she was now on Victoria’s turf. She knew she could step back and return to her known world of safety and relative certainty, yet the need to know what ‘more’ meant began to play on her. The knot in her belly was caught up and swallowed by her insatiable need to know.
Breathing like she had run all the way from school, Angie’s finger hovered over the doorbell.