A murder mystery set in a huge English mansion in the 1990's.
Lady Baldwin knows what she wants and everyone has to comply with her wishes, or else. Loved and hated in equal measure, beautiful and desirable, she can be utterly charming or a total bitch. After a weekend of excess and drama, she is found murdered and there are many suspects to sort through. Everyone it seems, had a motive to kill her.
Lady Baldwin was lying face down on the bed, a white sheet barely concealing her modesty but not her figure. Despite being in her middle forties, she was still sought after by enough men to keep her happy. She still had her looks, her small waist, her large breasts helped by some minor operations and her long slim legs. Although her shoulder length blonde hair was extremely disheveled and her lipstick smudged, she didn’t particularly care at this moment. She’d just had sex and wanted some more. She raised herself up onto her right elbow and rearranged the sheet around her to the best effect, highlighting the length of her legs and the roundness of her bottom. Today, she knew she was irresistible..
Her blue eyes quickly took in the surroundings; a tiny bedroom with limited furniture, the biggest of which was this queen size bed which she herself had bought, just a couple of nightstands on either side in natural pine, a dressing table and chair in the same pine, and a small wardrobe. The walls were plain white and curtains stood out in a dreadful chocolate. They were closed at present, thankfully keeping much of the daylight out. After all, it was still only 3pm. Her clothes were scattered all about the beige fitted carpet and she smiled as she recalled how hurriedly they’d been discarded.
Lady Baldwin heard him flush the toilet and turn the faucet on to wash his hands from the bathroom next door; then the faint sound of his bare feet padding away toward the kitchen. She knew he loved her, worshipped her really, but she didn’t love him back. He was just a lover.
In the tiny kitchen he busied himself getting a couple of glasses and a bottle of champagne out of the fridge. Champagne was her usual beverage, she’d even sent a crate to this apartment purely for her frequent visits, along with other personal supplies. She’d probably have the whole place redecorated and refurnished soon but he didn’t mind, just as long as she visited.
Simon had worked for her once as her butler. He wasn’t very good as a butler though so her husband, Lord Baldwin, had let him go. Little did he know that it was her decision. She liked him working for her but felt claustrophobic with him around all the time and was certain her husband was suspicious. Besides, Simon wasn’t her only lover.
Simon had returned back here to London. He resumed his old job of looking after a single American man who was very rarely in Britain and therefore needed very little in the way of service. Simon was very good at paperwork and organizing but was poor with valeting and serving meals so working full time for Lord Baldwin, who expected his suits pressed and shoes shined on a daily basis, was a disaster. Thankfully, he’d managed to get his old job back. As Lady Baldwin didn’t like to visit him at his new residence, she’d found this tiny apartment for them and whenever she was in town she’d call and they’d meet . It wasn’t the most perfect arrangement for him. He’d prefer a more permanent situation but he understood it was better than nothing and she was very generous. If only he could get her husband out of the picture..
Simon was almost twenty years younger than Her Ladyship, nearly six foot tall, handsome with short black curly hair, and blue eyes, slim and muscular, very well spoken, good mannered, and always well groomed. He was an ideal young gentleman with an eye for the older ladies. Scatter- brained young women were not for him. His ideal was Lady Baldwin or C as he called her now, a scheming devious woman who knew exactly what she wanted which at the moment was he..
“Simon, where are you with the champagne?” She called from the bedroom. At times like this her voice was very soft and sexy without accent, a classic English lady. Yet at other times she was able to cut people to the bone with it, a completely different person.
“Be right there, C,” he replied as he popped the cork, holding the bottle in one hand and the two glasses by the stems in his other. He made his way back naked, apart from the striped boxers he’d slipped on when using the bathroom. It was going to be a long afternoon.