EXTRACT FOR
Duc de Montpierrenoire
(Author Unknown)

Chapter 1



"Bloody prat!" Edward Blackstone ranted that Thursday morning, he manoeuvring his Renault Scenic into the centre lane on the approach to the Moorland Roundabout. 

    The motorist in front seemed to have difficulties making up his mind which part of the carriageway he should use. 

    Negotiating the traffic island, taking the second exit, Edward then turned right into the car park of Prescott Precision Plastic Products Limited. Steering to his usual parking spot, he pressed the radio's on button, hoping to catch the news. 

    Too late. Instead, the rhythmic drumming and electric violin music of the last verse of Courtney Campbell's latest hit was belting out: 



    "No faking, I'm aching 

    Looking neat

    Walking down the street

    Chest out, stomach in

    Swinging my hips

    Looking for him

    No faking, I'm aching

    Seen him dancing

    Seen him stare

    Chest out, stomach in

    Looking at me, hoping for some fun

    No faking, I'm aching

    No faking, I'm aching for him."



Killing the engine, taking hold of his attaché case that was on the passenger seat, he alighted and headed to the office block's entrance, using his free hand to fork his mop of black hair, there just a hint of grey at the bottom of his short sideburns. In reception, salutations were exchanged, the night security man handing him the recently delivered bundle of mail. 

     Taking the stairs, he bounded up them. Entering the Finance Department, Edward was first to arrive, as usual, all the L-shaped desks awaiting their users. Putting his case by his chair, he went and unlocked the fireproof door to the book-room. Picking up his piles of papers, he carried them to his desk.  

    "Good Morning," Edward cheerily said, as Mary Crankley came into the room to help him open the post. Straight from university, she was the newest member of the Sales Department team. The very sight of her made his penis pulse, it starting to get hard.

    "Morning," the long legged twenty-one-year-old junior responded, in her usual early morning sullen way.

    Clearly, her boyfriend was either not fucking her hard enough or not often enough, Edward always reckoned.

    As was invariably the case, his penis went truly stiff, stretching down the inside of his left thigh. 

    Mary was tall, skirt barely covering her bum, her top hardly able to stop slipping from one shoulder or another. C-cup tits, he guessed. Pretty, almost angelic, face. Pale green eyes. Dark-blonde shoulder-length hair. Full lips that he would love to have sucking on his length. How he lusted at the thoughts of being between her thighs, pumping her young cunt. 

    It was all he could do to stop from groping her. Did she realise the effect she had on him? Did she conceive of the libidinous thoughts he had about her? She would probably be horrified if she knew the things he imagined doing to her. After all, he was thirty-eight, old enough to be her father.

    Envelopes slit and emptied, contents sorted into five small piles. Mary left taking three of the heaps. 

    Watching her bum waggle as she walked only increased his desire to stick his cock into every one of her orifices. 

    "I bet she fucks like a rabbit," he muttered, under his breath.

    "Good morning," Edward said, as Jennifer Swinerton entered.

    "Hi!" Jennifer replied. Smiling, winking suggestively, she added, "I see your girlfriend has made it into the news again." 

    "Girlfriend? Who the hell is that?" Edward had no girlfriend, he wanting a cross between a goddess and a nymphomaniac.

    "Courtney Campbell." Jennifer playfully blew a kiss. Taking a comb from her handbag, she ran it through her short brunette locks.

    "Chance would be a fine thing. What's she done now?"

    "Didn't you see the news last night. Been arrested giving her boyfriend a blowjob in public. She's in the paper this morning too."

    Shaking his head, Edward said, "No I did not see the news last night. I was round at mother's till 10.30 p.m. clipping her hedges. Took me over four hours. Then I had to stack the bags by the gate as its green waste day today. There was thirty-six of the bloody things. Drove home, had a shower and went straight to bed. Forgot to get the newspaper this morning."

    "Here. No doubt you want to read it." Jennifer dropped her Red Top tabloid onto his desk. "Don't know what you see in that tart. Well, I know what you see in her, but you men, a girl flashes most of her bits and you're drooling."

    "There's just something about her I find fascinating." ??" It was her being a tart and having a sexy body that appealed. ??" "Can't say what it is but that's the mystery isn't it. Same for you about Michael, no doubt. There must be that something that is hard to explain that you find intriguing about him." 

    Opening the paper, Edward flicked through until he came to page five. There was a picture of the blue-eyed bleached-blonde, mischievous smirk on her face. Tiny skirt, cropped top hardly covering what always looked to be a nice pair of tits. If only she would display them totally nude, he wished. His cock went rock-hard again, yearning to embed itself in the pop star's pussy.

    "Hold on, I wouldn't go so far as to say Michael is intriguing," Jennifer laughed, heading to the book-room, collecting her filing trays. "But I suppose I know what you mean." After a theatrical pause, she added. "You're into tarty brainless American bimbos then..."

    "Jealousy is a terrible thing," Edward retorted.

    As Jennifer passed Edward's desk, she ironically said, "Would I want to be a super star with her looks and all that money? What do you think? Nah! ... Too bloody right I would."

    "Well, let me just read this so I can find out how she has broken my heart yet again."

    The headline above the photo read: "Bad Courtney Blows It!"

    

"Sometime blonde Pop babe, Courtney Campbell (23) was in trouble with the law Tuesday night when she was caught by the Beverley Hills police in a compromising position with her latest fiancé, the down-at-heel session drummer, Keith Lighthead (28). They were charged with lewd conduct in a public place after police found her parked up in her Mercedes sports car with her head in his lap. This is just the latest in a long line of stupid things the white trash actress/singer has done in recent years.

  The Georgia Peach is anything but sweet these days as she tries to change her image to presumably downright dirty and trashy. Courtney, famous for her short skirts and tight tops, was a struggling pop singer when at age 17 she rocketed to fame playing the granddaughter in the hit film 'The Peach Tree' with Hollywood legend Ford Carmichael. Ironically, she was actually too young to legally see the film when it was released. A year later, her second film 'Space Razor' became a cult teen sci-fi slasher movie hit when released on DVD. Her first album 'Beyond the Peach' was released that year and sold over 10 million copies. Her second album 'Razorwire' sold over 15 million but the third 'Cosmos' has only managed sales of 5 million which makes the release of her fourth album, later this year, a make or break for her downward spiralling career.

  In the last three years she has been associated with a string of 'bad boys' from the entertainment world causing her mother to despair, and some say have a near nervous breakdown. Her father is reputed to have disowned Courtney for a while. 

The star's real troubles started 2 years ago just after breaking up with long time on/off

hometown boyfriend William Makepeace just before the start of her second world tour. A week into that tour she married one of her black backing dancers, Clarence Reynolds, in a swift Las Vegas ceremony. It was then that Jed Campbell, Courtney's red-neck, dirt-farmer, father refused to speak to his daughter and never met her husband. It was rumoured at the time that she was pregnant and then that she had an abortion in order to meet her contractual commitments. By the time of the last concert in the tour the happy couple were not even speaking to each other. They divorced two months later, which it is rumoured cost Courtney over $2 million.  

  Barely five months later Courtney married Mickey Mason, a part time Atlanta disc jockey and struggling songwriter, in a whirlwind romance. They spent the whole of their two-week honeymoon in a Hawaiian hotel bedroom paid for by the $100 million pop star. However, four days after returning, they split up, divorcing quickly, both telling that it had been a 'mad foolish thing'. The divorce is thought to have cost Courtney even more than the first. 

  It was then rumoured she was engaged to actor Bert Middleman when seen flashing a large rock on her ring finger. It's said she threw it back in the midst of a drunken fight in the Hollywood nightspot, 'Quixote'. The hard partying actress cum pop tart has been seen staggering out of nightclubs in the early hours and friends express concern she is self-destructing, drinking, smoking and reportedly doing drugs, as her looks start to fade and her last film 'Cosmos Capers' bombed at the box-office.

  Courtney met current beau, penniless twice married father of three Keith, who ditched his second wife earlier this year when he substituted for Courtney's usual drummer during her recent 'Cosmos Tour'. The Tour started on 2nd January in Los Angeles and took in Europe before returning to the States at the beginning of May. The final concert is due on Saturday night, again in Los Angeles. She famously flashed her boobs on stage in Hamburg, some say to boost flagging ticket sales. She is currently recording some tracks for the up and coming album due out in September and tentatively called 'I'm Me'. 

  The two-month, passion-filled, very public romance, culminated in the announcement last week of their engagement when she said, 'he is the most romantic man I have ever met. It's my dream. This is the real thing.' Sources hint the wedding will be in September or early October. Some commentators point out that if she is quick then Courtney might just make it to having three different husbands in one year. Sources say she is absolutely besotted with Keith and is desperate to make her dreams come true this time and start a family soon.

  Her latest single 'No faking' the fourth track off her last album is currently still number one in the UK with sales in its first week reaching over 250,000, no doubt spurred on by the very raunchy accompanying video."

    

"Good morning," Paul Robinson, the Company's Finance Director said, as he entered the room.

    "Good morning," both Edward and Jennifer replied. 

    The performance was repeated as Gillian Duckworth came in.

    "Glad to see some people have the time to read the paper," Paul Robinson commented. "Hope you haven't forgotten that we have a lot to do today. Need the figures."

    "It's still not 9.00 a.m. and it's vital I keep up to date with what is happening in the world." Edward replied, as he was closing the newspaper.

    "Courtney Campbell?" Gillian commented, knowingly smirking.

    "Almost drooling," Jennifer Swinerton, affirmed, beaming.

    "Is there no one in this building that does not know I admire Miss Campbell for her artistic talents?" Edward enquired, jovially.

    "Artistic talents, my eye," Jennifer sarcastically sneered. "I told Mary from Sales last week when she saw you had bought that bimbo Courtney's single so it will be all over the factory by now. She was amused that you were a Courtney fan, no doubt you've gone down in her estimation. Mind, from what I hear, you'll have a fight on your hands for Miss Campbell's affections with the lads down in packing." 

    Did Mary have any "estimation" about Edward, he wondered?

    "You know the Boss and I have those meeting down in London tomorrow so I will need the figures," Paul Robinson put in, before heading for his desk.

    "Fear not," Edward retorted. "I have two bank statements to reconcile and you will have up to date figure on your desk before you get back from your morning coffee." 

    "I bet she's pregnant," Gillian said, unhappily. Carrying on, "Me and Brian have been trying for two years now and I bet you that mixed-up bimbo will just pop them out like peas from a pod without thinking and be divorced within two years if she bothers to marry him. It's so unfair." 

    Everyone in the office knew that the Duckworths had been trying for a baby since getting married. Tests apparently claimed all was well with both sets of reproductive systems. 

    Gillian was the youngest member of the finance team, at twenty-eight. She was sturdily built. Edward regularly fantasised of filling her womb with his seed once again. 

    On her wedding day, she had gotten terribly drunk. By evening, her rather dishevelled white gown made her look sort of tarty, inflaming his lust. Following her into the bridal suite, finding her on her own, he decided to have her. Bundling her over the edge of the bed, he had lifted her long dress and polyester petticoat. Jerking her knickers to one side, he pulled his zipper and forced his rigid length into her juicy pussy. 

    Was it rape? Nah, he was doing her a favour. Giving her at least one good rodding that day. Brian had drunk an unknown number of pints of best bitter and was sitting downstairs, sleeping it off. Therefore, Edward knew he had plenty of time, so unhurriedly took his pleasure. Pumping her to a groaning climax, he relishing the wickedness as he discharged his hose deep inside whilst smirking for fucking another man's bride on her wedding day. 

    Did Gillian remember, he often wondered? She had never said a thing about it. 

    "What a truly enjoyable, naughty, fuck that was," he retold his inner self, before casually saying out loud, "I have a theory why Courtney is such a mixed up mess which I can regale you with one of these days." 

    "You have a theory about everything." Gillian stated. "Perhaps you can say why me and Brian aren't preg??""

    "Simple," Edward interjected, proceeding to tell Jennifer why she was having difficulties conceiving ??" tension, that she and Brian smoked and both drank too much alcohol.  

    Paul Robinson went to a meeting with the Boss, flapping a little, worrying that the needed figures would not be ready for tomorrow's appointments. 

    Most people knew that the forty-eight-year-old Finance Director was a bit of a "flapper", although otherwise good at his job. 

     Edward, an accountant, was number two in the finance department and went by the glorious title of Chief Clerk. Calm and collected, unless aroused. Sometimes he felt a little frustrated. Not due to work other than it interfered with his wish to spend his time boning a half-dozen different females. It did not however stop him from breezing through his work.    

    By the time Paul returned all the necessary figures were ready, Gillian creating the corresponding computer graphics for the laptop presentations. Marcus Prescott (the Boss) and the Finance Director where due in London next day, to attend meetings with three merchant banks, the company seeking sources of additional finance to expand.  

    Paul left at 3.30 p.m. so he could get in a round of golf 

    An hour later the Boss's secretary came into the room, saying, "Marcus has just phoned from home, he hasn't got copies of tomorrows presentations. Reckons Paul hasn't given him them and I can't find them on his desk. He's desperate to read them tonight so he has some idea of what's going to be said."

    "Oh bloody hell!" Gillian exclaimed. "I bet Paul has them in his brief case."

    A quick search actually found the paperwork in Paul's pile of stuff that he had put into the fireproof room.  

    "He'd forget his head if it wasn't bloody screwed on," Edward commented. "I suppose I'd best take a run out and deliver them to Marcus." 

    

***

    

Edward headed out of town, turning left at the big roundabout and driving down the Rushton Road. Three miles later, it was a sharp left into the narrow lane that led to the small village of Prior's Spring. Speed was not an option, the abundant roadside vegetation narrowing the carriageway.

    Going down into a dip, he drove across a ford. After a dogleg, he entered the village that contained about a dozen properties. A large farmhouse was on the right-hand side of the road, the tiny black and white timber-framed church to the left. Just after the churchyard, he turned into the horseshoe-shaped driveway, it Priory House, home of Prescott Plastics' owner and chairman.

    The timber-framed building was H-shape. The central part was the oldest, erected around 1380 as the Prior's house for the small Priory that had been established here on the north bank of the River Pengavern. When Henry VIII dissolved all the monasteries it had been sold to a rich wool merchant who had built the extension wings. 

    Parking next to the Boss's Jaguar, he walked to the big black-painted oak door, using the bell pull.

    The summons was answered by the cuddly Sue Prescott, who advised, "Marcus is down in the garden at the pool trying to get the filter working. Just drop the papers on the hall table and go on down and see him. Go through to the sitting room and use the French windows as they're open."

    Edward wandered down the crazy-pathing towards the outdoor swimming pool that was close to the riverbank in the pleasantly-warm, early-June, late-afternoon sun. His Boss, sleeves rolled up, had his right arm inserted into a manhole obviously doing something. 

    "Do you need a hand or can you manage?" Edward asked.

    "No, thanks. You have brought the papers for me, I hope?" the round faced, rather rotund, Marcus Prescott replied. "If I can just get a firm hold on this thingy-me-bob I can turn it and that should solve the problem."

    "Yes, I've left them on the hall table." Edward waved his left arm aimlessly in the general direction of the house. Glancing to his right, he saw a large pile of bush and tree clippings. "I see someone has been hacking away at large amounts of vegetation."

    "We've been here seven years so thought it was about time to clear the Dingle, get it ready for next week's barbie." ??" Prescott's Plastics annual summer barbecue was due a week on Saturday. ??" "You're a bright chap. Can you pop down and see if there are any specimens that we should keep. There appears to be a couple of fancy-looking trees down there. Any idea what they are would be gratefully received."

    Edward mused as he headed in the Dingle's direction. 

    Marcus was a jolly chap, always wearing a bow tie. He reminded Edward of Dickens' Mr. Pickwick, except Marcus had a full mop of wavy brown hair. A nice man, generous and considerate to his employees. Few people disliked him.  

    A yew hedge surrounded the sunken Dingle. Entering, Edward saw that someone had been busy hacking down the overgrown vegetation. Treading carefully on the slippery path, he descended to the bottom. There he found a small 18th century statue of a woman holding a pitcher from which flowed a trickle of clear water. At the base was carved some words. Leaning down, he wiped away green slime and managed to read the worn Latin inscription. It was years since he had used his Latin so it was a bit rusty. But from what he understood, the inscription basically said:

    "The Goddess Penga's magic spring. Renowned to reward believers with great blessings."

    Sceptical, he however took a sip of the water, and said a little prayer: "Great Goddess Penga bless me. Send me a shapely blue-eyed blonde that really loves to fuck. And, by the way, can you save that American pop star, Courtney Campbell, from herself."

    After looking around, he re-joined Marcus, who was now standing by the pool, using an old towel to wipe his arm, manhole cover back in place.

    Edward said,  "The larger tree, up that side path, is a gingko, the smaller one with the heavily ribbed leaves is some type of viburnum, I reckon. All the rest are either self-seeded common trees, Sycamores mainly, or look like they are past it. I'd rip them out."

    "I knew you were a clever chap. That's why you are the captain of the work's quiz team. I'll write down what they are once we're back in the house so Sue has a clue where to look for confirmation," Marcus responded, before asking Edward to stay for a drink.