Author's note: Apart from obvious place names such as Bournemouth and London, all people, places and events are entirely fictional. Seacombe is a fictitious seaside town on the south coast of England. The story contains adult actions, some of which are naughty, but nice, and others are plain naughty and evil. Don't read it if you're not an adult, or if you may be upset or offended by the content. Apologies to PD James, from whose book I adapted the title, and gained the idea of the plot.

Chapter 5

I stayed in bed quite a bit longer than normal, but finally got up and dug out the black bikini from a drawer. I knew that at this time of the year, the water would be bitterly cold, but I also knew precisely what I had to do about it.

I turned on the shower and waited until it was running hot before stepping in and washing myself. When I had finished, I let the shower continue running as I emptied the water out of my Bustlet and Hiplet.

I found it rather sad watching how my fabulous tits and arse shrivelled up to almost nothing - a bit like watching a tremendous erection do the same. Once the two were properly deflated, I unscrewed the shower rose from the flexible hose and pulled the pipe from my Bustlet over the end of it. Then I inflated my tits with piping hot water, and repeated the operation for my Hiplet.

I now had most of my torso protected by an all-embracing hot-water bottle. My legs below the knees, my midriff and my arms would not be protected, but then I would only be in the cold water for a few minutes, as I swam out to Edward's cruiser.

When I returned to the bedroom, Jason was still in bed.

"Get out of bed, you lazy bugger," I told him, but letting a bit of affection creep into my voice. He really had incredible staying power - the kind that a girl like me found invaluable. The session we had just finished had given me more orgasms than I'd had all day - and it had been a busy day! Jason had squirted so much spunk inside me, so many times, that I could have half-filled a bucket with it when I'd cleaned myself out in the shower.

"I'm just thinking of you," he said, turning over, so his prick lifted the quilt like a tent pole. "I want to watch you put on your bikini."

I couldn't deny him that, but I'd have to be careful that it didn't degenerate into another bout of sex. I was so easily persuaded, and I simply didn't have time for that. I slipped my arms through the bikini straps, and let my tits dangle into the cups, before I fastened it behind my back, pushing my tits upwards towards my chin in the way that Jason loved.

"Jesus!" he said. He flicked the quilt to one side, exposing his enormous erection, and added, "Come here. I want you again."

Fortunately, I was prepared for him, and I had the sponge soaked with cold water already to slap around his balls.

"A-g-g-h-h-h!" he screamed.

"That'll teach you, you randy git," I said. "Now, I have to get off, or I'll be late." I grabbed my bikini bottoms, my dress, flip flops and cosmetic bag, and dashed downstairs.

***

Ten minutes later, I was down at the ferry crossing, although for my next leg of the journey, I wasn't going to be using any ferry. It was now virtually dark, but there was just sufficient light for me to check there were no anglers on the banks, who might observe. Across the river, the floodlighting of the Smugglers had been turned on, and it blinded you to all else if you stared at it. I took care not to.

I slipped off my flip flops, and put them into my transparent sealable bag - designed especially for swimmers. I pulled my dress over my head - my dark-blue beach dress made of a material that would not take up too much space inside my bag and put that in, also. I always kept my wig on for this operation - my natural blonde hair stood out too easily in the dark, and in any case, I preferred people not to know too much about me. I carefully sealed the bag, and slipped the loop on the end of the cord around my wrist, and checked the state of the tide.

For most of the time, there were strong currents running along the river, as the tide filled and emptied the long valley. For just a few minutes either side of high and low water, the current slowed and then turned, and that was the moment to swim out towards Edward's boat. I was quite a strong swimmer, but if I had missed the moment, I would had to have entered the river upstream, and tried to catch hold of the boat as the current swept me past.

Fortunately, the current was just coming to a halt - I could tell from the way the boats were changing their position on their moorings. I had just a few minutes.

I stepped quickly into the cold water. This was the moment I hated, but it was better if I did it quickly. Underfoot, was the horrible, slimy mud, that I imagined contained all kinds of nasty creepy-crawlies, which might bite me as I walked. I always found it strange as the water moved up my body, that I had alternate bands of freezing cold and piping hot.

It was only a few seconds before the water was deep enough to swim, and I pulled forward with a strong breast-stroke, taking care not to break the surface of the water. Now I was fully in the water, it would be extremely difficult to see me in the dark, but I preferred not to chance it.

It was barely twenty yards before I was at the bathing platform at the rear of the Bolshoi. I pulled myself out of the water and half-turned, so I could sit on it with my legs still in the water. It was always tempting to dash straight up onto the deck and into the saloon, but I knew Edward would be furious if I brought mud on board, so I spent a few seconds rubbing the mud away from my toes, and washing my feet clean.

The spare key was where it always was, in the third deck locker on the left, on a little hook at the back, and I unlocked the sliding door into the saloon, and then returned the key, before entering. Once inside, I helped myself to one of the fluffy white towels kept in a locker next to the door, and dried myself. Only then, did I unseal my bag, and pull my out dress and shoes, and slip them on.

There was a little light from the Smugglers coming through the windows, revealing that the saloon, as always, was completely clean and tidy. Edward told me that Elizabeth would come in at least once a week and help him clean it, which was why I could never leave any of my things on board

I heard a soft bump outside, as the tender bumped against the bathing platform, and then it was all silent until the saloon rear door slid wide open against the stop with a thud, and Edward was standing there, staring at me.

"Lucifer," he gasped, his mouth agog, peering at me in the half shadows.

***

My mouth, too, I realised was agog. I had been dreaming again, and now I was aboard the Bolshoi, and Edward was looking at me as though he'd seen a ghost.

"No," I said, totally bemused at how I had got there, and then having the presence of mind to step forward and add, "It's Chris Jones - the barmaid from the Smugglers."

"Bloody hell!" he said. "You gave me a fright. You looked just like her in that light." He peered at me a bit more closely. "Mind, you look very different now."

I had a sudden panic. "I need to repair my make-up," I said, and I dashed down the companionway and into the guest toilet, clutching my bag containing the all-important cosmetic kit.

I'd chosen the guest toilet because it was on the side of the boat facing my side of the river rather than the Smugglers - which meant I could put on the light without it being noticed from the pub car park, where Elizabeth might still be watching. I stared at myself critically in the mirror. Actually, I didn't look too bad.

A rummage through my cosmetic bag revealed that all the items in it were waterproof. Presumably, I had put these on before leaving the cottage. But I could remember nothing about using them, or any other aspect of my afternoon since falling asleep after returning from the Smugglers.

On the other hand, I knew exactly what Lucifer had done, and had obviously done on any number of past occasions. She had been Edward's mate on his smuggling trips, no doubt finding plenty to keep them both occupied on the long journey across the English Channel.

"But only if you believe the dream," I said aloud.

"What did you say?" Edward's voice came through the door. It sounded as though he'd been waiting outside. "Look," he continued, "I think I deserve an explanation, don't you? What are you doing on my boat? I've a good mind to call the police."

"No," I said. I unlocked the toilet door, and went out to face him. "You won't call the police, because I know too much about the purpose of where you're going tonight."

"I don't know what you mean," he said.

It was time to go with my instincts rather than my logic. "Lucy told me about it," I said. "The little trips over to France to purchase a few goods for 'personal use', and how you illegally sold them to Sam."

"She must have been making it up." But his words lacked conviction.

"And the trips had another benefit, didn't they," I continued, ignoring his response. "What did you and she get up to on the voyage? Does Elizabeth know about that little extra? I think not."

"Alright," he said. "Come this way."

He made his way back to the saloon and I followed. He motioned for me to sit down.

"I give you that Lucifer and I enjoyed each other's company on voyage and that Elizabeth doesn't know about that," he said. "I'll also accept that sometimes I accidentally brought back more goods than I actually needed, so I sold them onto someone else. But that still doesn't explain what you're doing here. Are you trying to blackmail me?"

Blackmail? That opened another avenue of motive for Lucy's murder.

"No! Was Lucy?" I fired back at him.

"No," he said. "She wouldn't do that kind of thing." Then he had a little think about it and added, "At least, I don't think she would. She didn't anyway, and you still haven't told me what you're doing here."

I'm not certain where the words came from. "I want you to take me with you, just like you took Lucy."

"You mean, just like I took Lucy?" He put the emphasis on 'just' and 'took', so I would know exactly what he was talking about.

"Apart from the sex," I said.

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm not going to let go of this, now. If you don't help me, I'm going to carry on digging around and asking embarrassing questions until I find out the truth. Or you can assist me, which means I'll then turn my investigations elsewhere."

He paused, considering, and then sighed and nodded. "Have you got your passport with you?"

Again I went with my instincts. "Lucy never brought hers. I'll go through the borders just the same way that she did."

He shrugged. "Okay, if you're sure that's what you want. Now, I'd better get underway, otherwise Elizabeth will be wondering what's happened to me."

He stepped across to the helmsman's seat, flicked a few switches, then started the engines.

***

There's something about motor-yachts that look so enviable. You see the adverts in the colour supplements; of beautiful babes lazing on the sundeck, sipping champagne, the boat flying through the waves over a blue sea, leaving behind a huge white wash. You think, "I want to be there, doing that."

But when you actually get to do it, you realise how incredibly boring it is. Especially with all the automation that's crept into it. Can you believe it? There was a GPS navigator-thing with the exact course already programmed in. Once Edward had slipped the mooring buoys (that's the term I was looking for earlier), he simply switched control over to it, and it guided us along a precise route out of the river.

"If we meet another boat, I may have to take action," Edward said, "but it's unlikely at this time of evening. Once we're out at sea, it will automatically increase the speed, and set the course for St Marriot. All I have to do is keep a lookout. Fantastic, eh?"

I muttered appropriate noises, but personally I thought about how much more fun it would be on a sailing cruiser, splicing the main brace and shouting out, "Avast ahoy!" On the other hand, perhaps everything is done electronically on sailing boats as well. I silently sighed and made myself comfortable in the saloon.

***

The voyage took around ten hours, which Edward told me was a reasonable time. If the sea had been flatter, he could have typed a higher speed into the GPS thing, and it would have obeyed, but as it was, we simply smashed our way through every wave between England and France with a crash that made my spine judder.

I periodically made cups of coffee for Edward, and around four am, I got him some breakfast, and even took over from him whilst he went for the occasional piss. Mind you, it was an incredibly skilled task, and he had to give me precise instructions.

"Don't touch a thing, and holler if you see any lights in front of us, except for those... and those." He pointed to the permissible lights then went dashing down to the heads (not toilets).

Finally, at about six am, the engine note lowered, the crashes subsided, and Edward was turning to me.

"We'll be there in about ten minutes. Lucy used to go below at about this point to get ready to swim ashore."

"Swim?" I asked, looking with alarm into the blackness that surrounded us.

"You wanted to do it the same way as Lucy," he said, with a sickly smile - the smug bastard!

"But... how far is it? Which direction will I go? I can't see a thing!"

Thankfully, he took pity on me. Presumably, he wasn't into making his unwanted guests walk the plank.

"I anchor just off shore until the tide's right to enter St Marriot," he said. "It's only about fifty yards to the beach, and there'll be a light on the villa that Lucy visits. Just point at that, and swim."

"What about coming back?" I asked.

"To get the tides right, I'll be back here at 20.13 hours, BST," he said. "I'll stop in the same place, although I won't drop anchor. As soon as you see my stern light from the villa, start swimming. If you miss me, see if you can get back to Seacombe before me."

He grinned, to show it was a really funny joke. I curled my lip at him, and went below to prepare for my swim.

***

It really wasn't much of a villa. A single-storied building about twenty feet square, with steel shutters on every window. One of the keys on my key ring fitted the door (I'd wondered what that key fitted), and I stepped inside.

It was furnished as a small holiday bungalow - lounge, kitchenette, bedroom and shower room/toilet, equipped with all items necessary for a pleasant holiday - including plenty of holiday spending money in one of the cupboards - about fifty thousand pounds, I reckoned, although I didn't bother to count it all - and a large stash of illegal drugs. At least, that's what I assumed it was, but having no expertise on white powder inside sealed plastic bags, it could have been sugar, for all I knew.

I would have done it straightaway, but there was already a man walking his dog along the surf line. The dog played in the surf for ages, and by the time they had finished, a few other early dog-walkers were coming onto the beach.

So, it was just before Edward's pick-up time that dusk descended and the beach cleared sufficiently for me to carry out my task. I found a sharp knife from the kitchen, picked up the plastic bags and took them down to the water's edge. There would be some very crazed-out fish in the sea that evening.

Once I'd done that, I returned to the villa, prepared for my swim back, then locked up and stood outside, awaiting sight of the Bolshoi's stern light.