The Disappearance Of Kevin Edwards

Vanda squealed in pain as the man in front of her in the queue took an unexpected step backwards and trod on her right foot. She instantly stooped to rub the injured toes that protruded from her patent leather sandal. As the man turned to apologise he was startled to find himself confronted by a canyon of cleavage at the scooped neck of her summer blouse. Flanking this delightful vista, her silken chestnut hair shimmered as she massaged her big toe.

"I say, I really am awfully sorry…" he managed to blurt, distracted by the proximity of the twin globes which undulated alarmingly at the brink of the gaping aperture. Their situation looked distinctly precarious - practically untenable, in fact. She leaned back just far enough to avert catastrophe.

The man's voice was soft and cultured, full of concern and contrition. Vanda looked up, ready to give him hell for his clumsiness. Then she saw the gleam in his dark, almond-shaped eyes, and the flush of embarrassment that reddened his face and neck, and knew he had observed that she wore no bra. Still clutching her foot, she tried to rise and would have overbalanced had he not chivalrously taken her elbow. It was a firm yet gentle grip. The hand was manicured – the hand of a pianist, perhaps; or a gigolo! He was well dressed, tall and slender, with black hair combed back from his brow without a parting. Handsome, well, yes, she acknowledged – but there was something ominous about him, something cat-like; something exciting…

"Next, if you please!" The harsh voice of the middle-aged woman behind the glass louvers broke in. The man stood aside and motioned Vanda to take his place. "It's the least I can do", he said.

"No," Vanda replied, "the very least you can do is to buy me a coffee when we get out of this place."

So it was that Vanda first met Henry Stapleton. She took his arm – merely to ease the strain on her injured foot, you understand – as they crossed the road and entered the "Kopper Kettle Kafe" – all spelled with Ks. It was actually much more civilised than one might imagine from its name and the quirky calligraphy. They found an unoccupied table outside, and when it arrived, the coffee was good and served in elegant bone-china mugs. Henry took out a silver cigarette case (yes, he actually used one of these anachronisms) and flicked it open. Vanda declined. "But don't let me stop you," she said.

They made small-talk for a minute or two before Vanda challenged him. "When you trod on my toe in the Post Office… Well, was it really an accident?" Henry puffed out his cheeks, slowly releasing a trickle of smoke into the air. "Well, it was - and it wasn't" he admitted. "You see, there's a security mirror up in the corner, above the partition and I happened to be looking at it as you came in. I thought I recognised you the moment I saw you, but I wasn't sure. Then you came and stood behind me in the queue. I just meant to take a closer look at you, and was pretending to look around quite casually when I accidentally trod on your foot."

"Apparently you did get a closer look…" she said archly.

Henry nodded and smiled appreciatively. "I did indeed! But that was not my intention, I assure you. You see, I am in need of your services…"

Vanda stiffened. "Just what do you mean by that?" she demanded.

Henry expunged the double entendre with a wave of his hand. You are Ms. Vanda Roberts, of the Woolerton Detective Agency, are you not?"

She eyeballed him. Let's be more precise – I AM the Woolerton Detective Agency. But how did you know? We've never met, as far as I'm aware.

Henry took a wallet from his pocket, and from one of the compartments produced a business card – one of hers, with a good clear photograph alongside the text. He dropped his voice and looked around, but no one was within earshot. "You see, I have – how shall I put it – a ‘partner'. A flatmate. He and I are very… close, if you follow."

Vanda nodded.

"Well, Kevin – Kevin Edwards, my flatmate -- has disappeared. I've seen nothing of him for over a fortnight. He took none of his possessions – simply vanished into thin air. Not a phone call, or even a post card. I thought nothing of it for a few days, but then I started to get worried. Asked various friends of his and of mine, but no one knew a thing. I started to think about it. He'd been – what shall I say – a bit – distant for some days before his disappearance. He seemed to have been worried about something, but I I'm damned if I know what it could have been. Decided to have a look through his possessions. No address book, no wallet, no diary! I didn't even know where any of his relatives lived. If he has any, that is. Or HAD…"

"Past tense. You think he's dead, then?"

"I just don't know what to think! I suppose I should report this to the police, but well, there might be some perfectly good reason for his disappearance, and I wouldn't like to cause unnecessary work for our gallant boys in blue. I'd hate to have them trampling all over our bijou maisonette and the whole thing ending up with our relationship getting splashed over the front pages of the Sunday papers. I do have a certain reputation to maintain… Well, I went through the pockets of his clothes in the wardrobe, and this is what I found." He tapped Vanda's card. "This clearly indicates that he was in some sort of trouble. He needed a private detective and had picked up your card from somewhere. Probably had others, and he may have employed one of them to sort out his problem, whatever that was. Now – did Kevin Edwards ever seek your services as a private detective?"

Vanda looked hard into his eyes. "There is such a think as client confidentiality, you know – but in this instance it does not apply – I am not betraying any trust by assuring you that your flatmate is not on our books. Well, thanks for the coffee. Now I'd better be hobbling along…"

"No, don't go! There is something else I'd like to ask." His voice dropped into confidentiality again. "Will you take on the task of finding Kervin; may I employ you as a detective?"

Vanda thought for a moment. "I don't come cheap, Mr. Stapleton. But in this case I'm prepared to offer a unique deal – no solution, no fee! Nobody else in the business would make such a proposition. And I do work fast. £1,500 per day, including expenses, up to a maximum of six working days. Absolute discretion guaranteed and every penny of your money back if I fail. That's the deal - take it or leave it."

He did not haggle. "When can you start?"

"No time like the present! It just happens that I've got a free afternoon. Let's go straight to your place, if that's convenient. I want to pick up the trail as soon as possible."

* * * * *

Twenty minutes later Henry Stapleton's bottle green Mercedes (‘No, not the white, dear soul – so vulgar, so much like a pretentious taxi cab', he had told the salesman) drew up in the communal parking space and he led Vanda up three steps into the desirable mews dwelling.

"I'd like a complete tour, if you don't mind," she said, slipping off her sandals and massaging her still tender big toe. Her feet sank into the deep pile of the carpets as she looked around the otherwise slightly austere apartment. It was furnished in impeccable taste, with several original paintings on the walls and an intriguing blend of antique and ultra contemporary furniture.

"This is my bedroom," he announced, pushing open the door and motioning her to enter. The first thing that met her eye was the full-length mural painting of a voluptuous, totally naked woman surrounded by foliage. It completely filled an arched alcove, forming a remarkable tromp l'oeil in the corner of the room. Standing with legs apart, hips thrust forward, the girl had a vicious-looking whip in her hand and a leer on her face. Vanda stared at it in surprise, a thrill rising in the pit of her stomach. She said nothing, but continued looking around the room. A monstrous divan bed with black satin sheets and cover dominated the main wall, then came a matching alcove, in which a naked youth was depicted unselfconsciously urinating into a woodland stream. She stood, deep in contemplation before it.

The broad window was fitted with vertical blinds, whilst the wall opposite the bed consisted of a mirror-fronted, four-door, wardrobe. Its gleaming surface reflected the bed and the figures in the alcoves. The highly polished floorboards shimmered in the raking fingers of light that penetrated between the slats of the blind.

Vanda let out a soft whistle. "This is quite something, Mr. Stapleton…"

"Do call me Henry. Two syllables instead of five. Far less effort. And may I address you as Vanda?"

She nodded vaguely. "Well, Henry, you seem to enjoy the best of both worlds," she said, gesturing towards the two figures in the alcoves.

"Well, one day after I had reached the age of indiscretion, my dear old pater confided to me in his cups, "Take it from me, my boy - It's a woman for thrills, but for sheer pleasure it's a man every time…" I bow to his judgement.

"And did you pass on these words of wisdom to your missing flatmate?"

"No need to, my dear. Kevin, too, sees the value of a balanced diet. That's him, by the way," Stapleton indicated the youth in the alcove. "Painted from life, by a very good friend of mine, some months ago. Take a good look at his face and so on. That will give you a fair idea of what you are looking for."

"Well, I would hardly anticipate finding him in such a pose, but nevertheless, it gives me something to go on."

Stapleton grinned briefly. "I do have plenty of photographs, of course. I'll sort one out for you before you leave".

"And the girl?" she enquired raising her eyes to the other figure.

"The bitch, rather! I still bear a faint scar. Marked for life. But it was worth it! However, let me show you Kevin's room." He led her into the adjacent room.

The alternating walls of deep purple and olive made the room much darker than Stapleton's, and Kevin's taste in art was confined to minimalist watercolours. Vanda glanced around then sat upon the edge of the bed. It rippled seductively, and she realised it was a water-bed. "Is this where you and he…" she gestured eloquently.

"Sometimes. On other occasions we used mine. Or the settee downstairs. Or the kitchen table. Occasionally we went into the woods, or the beach. Practically anywhere, come to think of it. Kevin is very imaginative."

"And what about girls? Did either of you brings girls here?"

"We both did, from time to time. Sometimes simultaneously – pooling our resources, so to speak. ‘Variety is the very spice of life, that gives it all its flavour', so the poet Cowper insists - and who am I to gainsay him?"

Vanda leaned forward, rubbing her toe pensively. The front of her blouse sagged, exposing two generous servings of white meat. "Is that dainty toe still troubling you, my dear?" Stapleton asked solicitously.

Before she had time to answer, he dropped to his knees and taking her foot in both hands, planted an ardent kiss upon its scarlet-painted nail. Then he engulfed the toe in his mouth. Vanda gasped with surprise and pleasure. The wet lips, the hot saliva, his heavy breathing - all excited her more than she could have thought possible. As he swayed backwards and forwards, sucking and sliding his lips and tongue expertly over the toe, she lay back on the bed with a moan of pleasure. Bowing eagerly to the inevitable, she hitched up her skirt and shrugged off her blouse.

One of Stapleton's hands began to caress her calf whilst he continued to pleasure her toe. His hand slowly progressed upwards, his fingers pausing to massage the hollow of her knee-joint before proceeding inexorably along the flank of her thigh.

Vanda began to tease her already taut nipples with her fingertips, tugging and squeezing the coral-coloured cones which seemed to grow longer and harder with each tweak. She felt moisture beginning to form unseen, deep inside her body. At last Stapleton abandoned her toe, and sliding both hands beneath her skirt grasped the sides of her primrose-coloured panties. She wriggled as he expertly drew the flimsy garment down and discarded it like an unwanted sweet-wrapper. Which, in a way, is exactly what it was. Where his exploring hands had led, his mouth followed, his wet tongue flicking like that of a snake as he moved relentlessly along her right leg - from ankle to calf; from calf to knee; from knee to thigh. His breath was coming in hot, excited gasps as he neared his goal.

He was pleased that she did not shave. The reddish/gold pubescence of her mound was perfumed, overlaying the faint scent of ripe pineapple emerging from her swollen labia. Soon his mouth was upon her, his tongue exploring, licking, expertly penetrating into the depths of her moist cave. At times he slurped eagerly, noisily, at others nibbled delicately at her labia and clitoris.

Suddenly she could stand the exquisite torment it no longer. She pushed his head away, and started fumbling with the belt of his trousers. Moments later their naked bodies were united. Stapleton was pinned helplessly to the bed as she rode him harder than Dick Turpin rode Back Bess on the epic journey to York. He played bob-apple as her long nipples raked his face. His guttural cries merged with her sharp squeals as they climaxed in a frenzy of triumphant ejaculation.

It was all over. They lay breathless, sated and silent for some time, Stapleton, still cupping one of her breasts. At length he reached over the side of the bed to retrieve his trousers. He fumbled in the pockets then, with a grunt of satisfaction he pulled out his cigarette case and lighter. She liked the smell of Sobranie tobacco as a wisp of smoke curled into the air. He took her nipple again.

"Well," she said, sitting up and allowing his had to slip from her breast to her lap. "I suppose I'd better earn my keep as a detective. I take it our financial agreement holds good?"

He smiled at her. "Of course. But there's no great rush at the moment…"

"Oh, but there is! He'll be wondering where I've got to…"

"Who will – your lover?"

"Naturally. He's called Kevin…"

Stapleton stared at her in bewilderment. "You mean – you know where he is?"

"Of course. He's been living with me for the last fortnight. A very competent young man, but I wouldn't like to choose between you. Fortunately I don't have to. Share and share alike, that will be my motto from now on. I followed you into the Post Office looking for a chance to speak to you. Kevin had told me all about you – about you and him, that is! I think we three could be very happy together for a good few weeks. Now - my place, or yours?"

Henry Stapleton started to dress. "You are a remarkable person," he said simply.

"Most women are," she replied. By the way, Henry, you owe me fifteen hundred quid!"

Written August 2002