Deep Waters

Note: All characters are over 18, as indicated in this or the previous chapters

Deep Waters - Chapter 4

When Izzy got back from her night with George Webster she gave me her cryptic comment about ringing my father and then, despite it being just after 8.30 in the morning, she got into bed and went to sleep. I guessed she had had a busy night. So, as it happened, had I but I didn't feel like sleeping; my mind was too restless for that. I had an appointment later with George, so I showered, dressed and went down to get breakfast. I also decided that afterward I would phone my dad; I would have time to do so before I saw George at 10.00.

When I made the call I was far from certain Dad would pick up given he must be at work by now, but he did. Perhaps it was the sheer surprise of getting a call from his son. I confess I am not the most dutiful at keeping in touch with my parents and anyway I would normally have texted or emailed. Indeed, his puzzlement was apparent.

"Ed, why are you calling me at this hour? There's nothing wrong is there? You and Izzy ok?"

"No Dad, nothing's wrong. It's just I've got something to ask you and it's sort of urgent."

"Oh well, make it quick then. I'm at work, you know; things to do and all that."

"Does 'Vera' mean anything to you?" I asked. Izzy had told me to consider the photograph of a woman taken sometime in the mid-1930s who I felt I half-recognised. George Webster had said her name was Vera.

"Umm... I think there's a telly programme called that; never seen it though. Can't this wait until tonight Ed? I'm busy. Is it something to do with that job you took? You and Izzy were going to some place in Dorset weren't you?"

"Wiltshire; and yes it is something to do with that. I meant 'Vera' as in the old fashioned name - you know like that singer who was famous in the war, whatever her name was..."

"Vera Lynn," my father interjected. He had always loved to correct me. I was used to it by now.

"Yes but perhaps someone in our family? In the same sort of era?"

"Oh, you should have said." My father sounded surprised. "Vera was the name of my Nan - your great-grandmother. You never knew her, although you did sort of meet. She died when you were one."

"Which side of the family?"

"She was my father's mother, your Grandpa Kemble's mum. Look Ed, what's this all about and can't it wait until tonight? I'll happily talk as much family history as you want then."

"Sorry Dad, but I promise it's important. One last question and I'll let you go. Who was my great-grandfather - you know, Vera's husband?"

"Ah, well, that was a bit of a family scandal and not talked about. My dad was 'born out of wedlock', as they used to put it, which was seen a terrible thing in those days. In fact we get the family name Kemble from Vera, since she never revealed who the father was. Your grandpa said she was always very tight-lipped about that, but maintained it was nothing to be ashamed of nor anything she regretted, because he was a good man and she had loved him very much."

"Thanks Dad; I think that tells me what I need to know," I said slowly, my mind racing.

"I'm intrigued now," my father added. "Call me later and tell me what this is all about."

"I will. If I'm right in my guess, it is something you ought to know. Look, I'd better go. Speak to you later. Bye." I ended the call. I was starting to see why Izzy had wanted me to find this out for myself rather than follow her intuition as to what was going on. The implications were profound for me on several levels.

*****

Ten minutes later I joined George Webster in his office. It occurred to me that he had been through the same night that had prompted Izzy to need to wilt into bed for some sleep and she was only 24. George looked as fresh as if he had had a perfect night of rest despite being five times her age. It was remarkable, almost as remarkable as my deduction. I didn't waste time but came straight out with it.

"The woman in the photograph I asked about, the one who you said was called Vera. I know now why she seemed familiar. I have seen other pictures of her - older but recognisably her - in family photo albums. She was Vera Kemble, my great-grandmother. She had a child, my paternal grandpa, George Kemble. And he was named after his father, wasn't he? Which was you; you are my great grandfather." This last came out as an accusation, but George Webster took it calmly.

"Yes Ed, you are my great grandson in the direct male line - the only son of David Kemble, who is the eldest son of the late George Kemble, who was in turn my eldest son. So you have the answer to one of the questions you asked the other day; why I chose you to write my biography. I wanted to meet you in person... but there is more to it than that."

I had been standing, having made my statement as soon as I had walked into the room. I now sat down rather heavily in my usual chair on the other side of the heavy oak desk to his. I found I was shaking. I had a thousand questions but all I said was: "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing; in fact I want to give you something - everything in fact. I intend you to be my heir." George stopped speaking, opened one of the desk drawers and took out a thick sheaf of papers bound at one edge, which he placed on the desk in front of me. "This is my will. When I found out that I was dying I remade it. I'm leaving everything that really matters - this house, its secrets and most of my fortune - to you. I can have my lawyer here this afternoon for us to sign the final papers to make it legally watertight."

"But... but why?" I was too stunned to make much sense of what was happening. Then a thought struck me. "What about my father? Grandpa George died a couple of years back, but dad's very much alive. Shouldn't he be your heir by rights?"

"Remember I told you that I keep track of my former lovers and their children, so I know a lot about your family. Your father is a model of respectable conformity - steady job in insurance, loves his wife and kids, never done anything outrageous or daring. David is a very nice man, but he's not suited to the gift I have to give. As it happens, my will passes my titles on to him as the elder heir together with a sizable monetary bequest, so you can tell your father sometime that on my death he will become Sir David Kemble, 6

th

Baron Deepwell. But I am offering you something far more precious than titles or money - the secrets of this house." George Webster sounded more serious than I had ever heard him before.

"But it sounds from what you say that you must have other children, grandchildren and more, so I say again, why me?" I felt I needed an answer to this before asking him what these secrets were. It seemed obvious that it had something to do with his long life span, but I had a feeling there was more, which is why I wanted to know where I fitted in.

"You're right that I have many descendants and I'll see that they all receive a modest bequest, but this house needs to go to one heir. I was impressed that you took up writing and journalism for a career; so much more interesting, imaginative and risky than your father's. But if you really want to know what tipped the balance, it was Izzy. That such a beautiful, intelligent and sexually open woman would give up her previous life to marry you told me she saw something special in you. Given that Izzy is exactly my sort of girl, I thought that maybe you might be the one - the worthy successor I had been seeking. The fact that you are in the direct line, father to son, was just the icing on the cake. That was why I asked you and Izzy here, to see if you fitted in."

"And do we?" I asked.

"Of course," George looked amused and for the first time I relaxed a little as he explained. "I'm aware of everything both of you have done since your arrival at Deepwell. I was especially impressed by the orgy in the summer house, which was wonderfully debauched. You got a good recommendation from Sarah by the way. She was very taken with your performance; couldn't stop talking about it. I must admit I was a little disappointed though that you didn't guess what was going on when I showed you the ancestral portraits yesterday. All my talk of skipping generations; I thought you might have worked it out. Izzy did - she told me her theory last night and was spot on."

"Well as you said, my wife is a clever lady; I'm a little slower on the uptake sometimes. But now I know, what do you plan next? All this talk of secrets is all very well, but I have no reason to trust you - we hardly know each other."

"But you do trust me, don't you Ed?" George said with a knowing look.

"Uh... yes, as it happens, I do." And, to my surprise, this was true. Not for the first time I wondered why George Webster came over as so persuasive and plausible almost regardless of what he was saying.

"That is part of the secret," he said, slightly smugly I thought. "Tomorrow I'll tell you more, but for now go and find Izzy. I made a suggestion to her last night on a line of research and if I know your wife she will have followed it up by now. So off you go - oh, and have fun in your swap tonight."

I still had a lot of questions, including what on Earth that last comment meant - but I had been dismissed and when George told you to go you did so without argument. I guessed that was another part of this secret of his.

*****

Tired as she might have been, I soon discovered that my wife had not lingered too long in bed but had been busy herself. She wasn't in our room and I had to ask a couple of members of Webster's staff before I tracked her down in a large room on the ground floor that contained the mansion's library.

It was a fairly typical example of the type - full of heavy old studious volumes on obscure subjects that previous generations had bought to look good but which nobody had ever read, combined with a smaller smattering of more modern novels and paperbacks that had actually seen some use. Izzy was seated at a table, one of the older books open in front of her and she was making notes on a pad of paper.

When I entered she at once wanted to know how I had faired with our host, so I told her about my conversations with my father and George and the news that, as she had already surmised, Webster wanted to make me his heir.

Izzy beamed happily at me, "You'll say yes of course. You deserve this. I always knew you were special."

"I'm not sure. There's so much we don't know. I'm not making any decisions until I've heard everything," I replied. My uncertainty was genuine; I had a nagging feeling there were downsides to all this. For all his long-life, wealth and all the rest, there was a sort of melancholy to George Webster when he talked about his past.

"Well I have a bit more information," Izzy said brightly. "George talked a little about the history of this house last night over dinner and I got interested in what it was before the first of his ancestors - I suppose I should say your ancestors now - bought it. He said to look in the library if I wanted answers and here we are." She tapped the book in front of her. "A history of Deepwell Hall, written in the 19

th

century, commissioned by the then Baron Deepwell - Nathaniel I think his name was."

I could see Izzy was bubbling with excitement and knew she would not be happy until she had told me everything. I sat down and gave my wonderful wife the full attention she deserved. This was not difficult for me; Izzy was always well worth looking at in my opinion.

Taking on a scholarly air she began: "As you know, there was an abbey here before the dissolution of the monasteries, also called Deep Well, and it was a place of more than local pilgrimage, since it was noted for miracles of healing. The founding myth is that St Edith was on a journey to her nunnery but became lost in the woods. She found a cave and crawled inside for shelter. Seeing the holy woman tired and hungry, God caused a stream to appear from the earth and when the saint drank from it she was restored to full health and was able to complete her journey. It was that which gave the place its name."

"Alternatively she just got lucky," I said, ever the sceptic.

Izzy ignored my comment and continued. "A shrine was built over the spot where the miraculous spring had been and much later, after the Norman Conquest, an abbey was constructed and it was said that all who came here were healed of their ailments."

"Let me guess," I cut in cynically. "The monks made a very good living out of this tale."

"Being good Christian men they charged pilgrims nothing," Izzy said primly. Then she grinned, "But they did benefit from a lot of gifts from grateful supplicants. Anyway the ins and outs of medieval commerce are not the interesting part. What is extraordinary is the fact that all the chroniclers seem to agree that the miracles were real. People genuinely felt and got better when they came here."

"Yeah but it was a credulous age," I noted. "Even in these more scientific times, lots of people still believe that going on pilgrimage to Lourdes heals. So that doesn't mean much - and I take it there are no legends of people living for a hundred years as a result."

"No," my wife agreed. "It says the monks were renowned for being a robust and healthy lot, but nothing about long life. But look at it this way: the monks were sharing whatever goes on here between themselves and a whole load of pilgrims and perhaps that diluted the effects. Maybe the subsequent masters of this house have been hording some secret to themselves. If you are going to be George's heir then you will need to find out."

"That shouldn't be too difficult," I said wryly, "As I suspect he is planning to tell me, probably as early as tomorrow".

"Good and by the way I've got something to take your mind off it tonight. I met Annabel Thornton on the way down here and we agreed that the four of us should have dinner tonight and afterwards swap partners. I know you fancy Anna, and she seriously has the hots for you."

Izzy was right - I did find Anna desirable. I had a feeling that the older woman would be a highly skilled lover. So that is what George had meant about having fun tonight. That man seemed to know everything that went on here, although there was probably nothing mystical about that. He likely just asked people and if George asked you would happily tell him your deepest secrets. Besides, this particular combination was no surprise; it had been on the cards since we met the Thorntons on the first evening.

However, if I had kind of known we would get together with Ian and Anna sometime, Izzy's next revelation did shock me a little more. It seemed she had been a busy girl while I had been with George.

"One other thing," Izzy said, looking a little sheepish. "After you left for breakfast I rang Olivia."

Olivia Gibson was Izzy's best friend and had been chief bridesmaid at our wedding. The bi-sexual Izzy had long wanted their relationship to become a sexual one but Olivia had always gently but firmly rejected her advances and Izzy had seemed to accept this for fear of hurting their friendship. I have to say I couldn't blame Izzy for trying. Olivia was a curvaceous brunette, handsome rather than pretty, and I found her hot too. I thought she liked me as well, although I had never shared the slightest flirtation with her - both of us loved Izzy too much to entertain such thoughts.

"And," Izzy continued, "I told her I really, really needed to see her urgently and invited her to come down here to stay. She couldn't just drop everything of course, but she agreed to come as soon as she could and will arrive the day after tomorrow. I need to clear it with George, but I know he'll agree; it's not like he is short of space."

I stared at my wife as the implications of this hit me. "So," I said slowly, "you have invited your best friend, who you have always fancied but without any luck..."

"And who has the hots for you and you for her," Izzy cut in.

"Well, I don't know about that... but getting back to the point, you have invited Olivia to come here, where everyone seems to turn into a sex maniac on arrival. Don't you think that's just a little unethical; tricking her like that?"

"What I think," said Izzy with conviction, "is that if all goes as I hope, Olivia will have the most amazing time with you and me and it will change her life for the better in so many ways. And I think all three of us are going to love it."

What, I wondered, was Deepwell doing to Izzy - or rather to both of us, given her idea sounded pretty good to me as well.

*****

The evening was deeply sexual from the start. Ian, Annabel, Izzy and I might have given the appearance of dining in a civilised enough fashion but there was flirtation from before the first course even arrived and as the wine took effect the atmosphere grew more and more sensual.

Ian paid close attention to Izzy, largely ignoring his own wife, which didn't matter a jot as Anna was all over me, gazing wide eyed while under the table her hand was on my leg. Ian and Izzy were soon deep in quiet conversation, only interrupted by occasional gasps and giggles from my wife. I was certain their tête-à-tête was becoming very naughty and clearly Izzy was thoroughly enjoying it.

In contrast I made some attempt to have a proper conversation with Anna. It was not easy; she was coming on to me in such an obvious manner and I found her highly attractive, so avoiding becoming distracted took all my willpower. But I persevered because I was trying to find out more about Deepwell and her experience of it, as well as about Anna herself. I had started by asking her about her work, but somehow it soon morphed into a discussion of her and Ian's personal life. It seemed they had an entirely open relationship and were into swinging.

"There are these great swinger parties in London," she said, "very exclusive and invitation only. You'd be amazed who you can meet there sometimes - really famous household names. But don't ask who, because I'm sworn to secrecy. You need a recommendation from a member to join. I could do that for you and Izzy if you like. You'd fit right in; you're both so lovely that everyone would want to meet you!"

"Umm... ahh," I said, flustered. Before I came to Deepwell such an idea would have horrified me, but now it sounded strangely attractive. Hopefully George might get round to explaining why soon but in the meantime I would try Annabel. "You said you met Ian here at Deepwell. Were you always into that sort of thing?"

She hesitated, "Well... no, not really. I always liked sex and was quite open to new experiences, but I'm not sure I would have had the courage before I came here. Ian helped of course, but my first experience of what you might call an orgy was on my first visit to Deepwell and it made me want to repeat the experience. How about you?"

"The same only more so. I've only been here a few days but I feel like I've changed. The old me seems so repressed in retrospect. I'm not yet sure where it will take me though. Don't you think Deepwell has that sort of effect?" I asked, hopefully probing. I was wasting my time; Anna's mind was focussed on other things.

"When you and Izzy are next in London I'm getting you to a sex party if I have to drag you. I know you'll love it!" she said forcefully and then laughed at my expression. "You think I'm very naughty for suggesting such things," Anna said with a smile.

"What I think, Anna, is that you are a very beautiful and sexy woman." Ok, maybe it was the wine talking plus whatever it was about this place that made everyone so horny all the time, but I also meant it sincerely enough, and besides it was simply a statement of the truth.

"You know, if I've been naughty, then I really ought to be punished," she added, coquettishly. Her voice dropped lower. "A strong, dominant man such as you would take me over his knee - bad girls deserve to be spanked don't you think?" she added in a sexy whisper