Original Sin. Tasmina Perry

Чтение книги онлайн.

       1

       Present day, London

      ‘Wake up. I’ve got something for you.’

      Tess Garrett forced her eyes open and peered over the top of her duvet to see her flatmate Jemma Davies sitting on the bed.

      ‘You gave me a fright. What time is it?’ sighed Tess, casting her glance to the bedside clock next to her. Five thirty! As deputy editor of one of the UK’s Sunday tabloids she was used to early starts, but the birds weren’t even singing yet. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw that her friend was dressed head to toe in black.

      ‘What are you wearing?’ asked Tess warily. ‘You look like a cat burglar.’

      ‘Come on, shake a leg,’ said Jemma, bouncing on the mattress impatiently, ‘this is important!’

      ‘So is my sleep,’ mumbled Tess, pulling the covers back over her head.

      Seeing that Tess was going to take some shifting, Jemma stood up again.

      ‘Okay, I’ll go and make some tea. Then we can talk. Five minutes, okay?’

      As soon as Jemma had left the bedroom, Tess heard a muffled groan coming from under the pillow next to her.

      ‘You know I can’t hear you through six inches of goose down,’ said Tess.

      A hand flung back the pillow and the handsome face of her boyfriend Dom Barton popped up, squinting into the light.

      ‘I said, “Remind me when Jemma said she was moving out?”’

      ‘Shhh! Keep your voice down,’ said Tess, peering through the open bedroom door where she could see Jemma filling the kettle in the galley kitchen across the hall. ‘Cut her a bit of slack, eh? She’s been through a rough time.’

      ‘She finished with Chris three months ago, Tess,’ hissed Dom, leaning back on his elbows. ‘Plus, the flat is a tip, and how can I use the study to write my book when all of Jemma’s belongings are in it?’

      Tess glanced around and had to admit that things were a tight squeeze in their two-bedroomed Battersea flat, but Jemma was her best friend’s sister, she had known her since school; and besides, Jemma’s line of work sometimes came in handy.

      ‘Honey, you are never going to write that novel, with or without anyone living in our spare room. You’ve been talking about it for as long as I’ve known you. Come on. It’s time to get up anyway. Your flight leaves at eight thirty – shouldn’t you be at Heathrow in an hour?’

      Dom was the deputy travel editor of the broadsheet, the Sunday Chronicle, which meant he was on some exotic press trip at least once a month. Groaning, he slid out of bed, scratching his tousled hair. Tess rubbed her eyes as she watched his gym-honed bum cheeks vanish into their en-suite bathroom. Jemma returned with two mugs of tea and thrust one towards Tess.

      ‘So, what’s worth a five thirty summit meeting?’ Tess smiled.

      Jemma took a slurp of tea. ‘I’ve been to a Venus party,’ she said with a grin.

      Tess’s eyes opened wide and she sat cross-legged on the bed, feeling suddenly energized. Jemma was a paparazzo photographer who usually sold her work into one of the big picture agencies, but sometimes Tess asked her to work on solo projects for her. Tess had been hearing rumours of organized ‘membership only’ sex parties in London for years but, despite the best efforts of Fleet Street’s finest, no one had ever been able to track them down. She had begun to suspect they were one of those wishful-thinking urban myths, like Diana’s love child, but, around three months ago, Jemma had got the scent of a new underground scene called ‘Venus parties’ and the whisper was that they took decadence to a whole new level. Understandably, access to them was near impossible – entry was via personal recommendation and the vetting process rigorous – but the guest list was said to be dynamite: senior politicians, Hollywood stars and players, high-ranking police, Premiership footballers – and that was just for starters. Tess had put Jemma on a retainer to work on tracking them down.

      ‘There was a Venus party last night at a big house in Wycombe Square out in St John’s Wood,’ said Jemma gleefully. ‘I got in.’

      ‘That’s fantastic,’ said Tess, barely able to hide her excitement. ‘How on earth did you get past the checks?’

      Jemma glanced behind her, making sure that Dom was still in the shower. Tess understood; Dom might have been her boyfriend, but he still worked for a rival publication.

      ‘I was a security guard,’ she whispered.

      Tess laughed. ‘You? A bouncer?’

      Although she was dressed completely in black, the pocket-sized busty blonde looked more like a glamour model than a security guard.

      ‘Don’t laugh,’ said Jemma huffily. ‘These parties need women at the door. Ironically they’re to frisk the female guests to make sure nobody’s taking in cameras. It took me two months to get the gig. I had to moonlight on the door of a club in Chelsea first.’

      ‘Was it worth it?’

      Jemma smiled. ‘Oh yes.’

      Tess was practically salivating; this would be an excellent story at any time, but Jemma’s timing was perfect. All week she had been acting editor of the Sunday Globe. Her boss Andy Davidson was on holiday and she had picked up the reins. This could be her big chance to make her mark.

      ‘So, come on,’ she said impatiently, ‘who was there?’

      Jemma rattled off a list of household names. ‘There were a few Hollywood names as well. I had the misfortunate of seeing that foul producer Larry Goldman in the buff. He has man-breasts the size of space-hoppers.’

      ‘What about photos? We need photos.’

      In her twelve years in newspapers, the unwritten law had always been ‘assume they won’t sue’, and Tess had always found that it was an accurate enough yardstick. She had a little black book of litigious stars and those who rarely took legal action, but when anybody did seek to challenge a story they had printed, the onus was on the newspaper to prove what they had written was true. That was why photographs were essential for a story like this.

      ‘The quality isn’t great,’ said Jemma, opening her laptop to flick through the digital images she had taken. ‘I used a spy camera that I’d hidden in the house during the afternoon.’

      Tess leaned over her shoulder and pointed at an image of a flaxen-haired blonde. ‘Who’s this?’ she asked. The woman was wearing nothing but a strap-on and a Venetian mask and stood astride a naked fat man on his hands and knees.

      ‘That’s Larry.’

      ‘But who’s the woman?’ said Tess hopefully.

      Jemma shrugged. ‘Some hooker, I think.’

      Tess’s СКАЧАТЬ