Knock On My Door

There was little about the situation that was especially remarkable and Chloe had largely ignored it at the time. Later, though, by early evening, a nagging little voice in her head wondered casually if that had been entirely wise. The man, in so far as she had taken much notice of him, had been quite well dressed, clean shaven and had the appearance of just another regular sort of guy. In fact, as far as she could recall, he had probably been quite handsome and certainly well muscled. Yes, definitely well muscled. A faint smile crossed her features. Thinking back to her brief view of him sitting on the low wall in the shopping mall, she guessed that he was probably about her age, or perhaps a little younger – maybe about twenty years old or so. For some reason of which she was unsure, she had the impression that there was something about his manner that was quite furtive – or was he just shy, which she had to admit she normally found attractive? He had looked away, pretending to concentrate on something non-specific in the distance as soon as she had caught him staring at her, but there was no way she could tell why for sure.

Chloe was, in any event, used to being stared at – particularly by men. She wasn’t exactly beautiful, or even pretty in the conventional sense. Nevertheless, she was extremely striking and attractive and had a good body that she knew many viewed as being “athletic”, or in the latest terminology, “fit” and there was something else about her too – a natural sensuality – a desirability that seemed to make men’s pulses accelerate without either her, or them, consciously doing anything to cause it. Yet this occasion involving this young man had been just a touch different in some vague way,. She had no idea why that was so, but it bugged her that she couldn’t figure out the reason… unless, perhaps… maybe it was because of the other feeling she had that she had seen him before – maybe several times – in the past and possibly staring at her in the same way. It was all very unsettling…

…and then, later still, had come the voicemail message on her phone, which had of course been left to vainly demand attention whilst she was in the shower. In the message, she could hear someone breathing, but that was it. Nothing more. Her attempt to discover the identity of the caller resulted in a declaration that there was “no number” attached to the message and, inexplicably, she again thought immediately of the young man. Once more, she had no idea why that should be so, but she dismissed the idea and muttered, “Damn perverts!” to her empty apartment with apparently mild annoyance, as she quickly put on a robe instead of wandering confidently around her home for a time with nothing on, the way she often did after showering. She was aware of displaying what she saw as a degree of silly weakness and that too annoyed her. “Damn!” she repeated.

A short while later, however, it was approaching seven o’clock on Saturday evening and Chloe was meeting her friend, Becky, in an hour for a drink and then they were going to eat at the latest Chinese restaurant that was so popular in town and after that… well, they would see how they felt about going on to one of several clubs they both liked. She took her time dressing and applying her makeup – as she usually did – and it was close to five minutes to eight when she grabbed her bag and left her apartment to walk the fairly short distance to the bar where the young women were meeting, arriving her customary five minutes late. Why was that, Chloe wondered, idly? Why did she always seem to be a few minutes late for everything, however, early she started?

Nevertheless, since she walked to the rendezvous, it was not until Chloe decided that it was her turn to buy the drinks, that she discovered the loss of her purse. “I know it’s not at home,” she complained to Becky. “This is the same bag I had this afternoon when I was shopping. I know I didn’t take it out at home.”

“You must have.”

“No. I got in and put it on the side where I usually do and the only thing I took out was my phone.”

“It might’ve dropped out then.”

“When?”

“When you took your phone out.”

“I suppose…” Chloe agree, doubtfully. “I don’t think so, though. I’d’ve noticed “

“Are you sure that’s the same bag?” Becky suggested, pointing to the handbag and trying to be helpful.

“Of course I’m bloody sure,” Chloe snapped and then added quickly, “Sorry. Sorry, it’s this damned guy’s got me all on edge.”

Becky was instantly intrigued. “O-o-o-h yes… What guy?”

At that point, over another drink bought by Becky, Chloe was trapped into explaining some of her, in her opinion foolish, fears to her friend. “I know it’s silly,” she concluded, “I’m just being paranoid, but I can’t get it out of my head. I mean, he couldn’t have taken my purse from where he was – thirty feet away – could he?”

“He might have stolen it earlier,” Becky volunteered and then wished she’d kept her thoughts to herself.

“Why hang around if he’d got what he wanted?”

“Dunno… unless he was sort of…”

“What?”

Beck shrugged her shoulders and then looked nervously into Chloe’s eyes. “Er… Stalking you?” she said, eventually.

“What? Oh, come on, Becks. Why would he steal my purse, then?”

“Well… you know – for information about you… What do you keep in your purse?”

Chloe stared at her friend, uncomprehendingly at first. “Er… money and a credit card… and my driving licence… I’m not sure. Stuff I might need, I s’pose.”

“Anything with your address on it?” Becky inquired, keeping her tone as unconcerned as she could manage.

Chloe stared at Becky again, in shock this time. Then she seemed to shake herself. “No. Not that I can recall.”

“That’s okay then.”

“Why?”

“Well… you know…” her voice trailed off and she shrugged her shoulders again. The she decided to elaborate. “You hear about identity theft and all that stuff – as well as women being tailed and raped and murdered and stuff.” She stopped abruptly when she saw the dismay on Chloe’s face. “I’m not saying in this instance… I mean it’s not…” her voice trailed off again.

“Jeez!” Chloe breathed, almost inaudibly, and then there was a brief silence from both the girls until Chloe came to a decision. “I need to go home and check if the purse is there or not.”

They both walked – almost ran – back to Chloe’s apartment, but after searching fruitlessly for nearly half an hour, it became plain that she had been right and her purse was not there. “It’s been stolen!” Chloe declared emphatically.

The next thing, of course, was that the two young women disagreed over what to do about the loss. Becky was all for going straight to the police and telling them the whole improbable story. Chloe felt that this would be a waste of time as well as embarrassing and that the first thing she should do was to cancel her credit card – if only she could find the number. “It’ll be on the bank’s site on the internet,” Becky told her.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll look in a minute.”

Following another short period of awkward silence, Becky wanted to know, “Look… If you’re not going to the cops, or going to do anything else positive, are we going out now, or what?” …and that’s when the argument really began, resulting in Becky leaving in something of a huff after five minutes or so.

Chloe sat alone in her apartment, close to tears, but also mad as hell – it was all the weird guy’s fault. “Damn him!” she muttered.

Presently, she was still seated in her living room, the TV on, muted and watched with unseeing eyes that were looking into infinity, when there was a seemingly hesitant tap at her door. At first she didn’t consciously register the sound and then, as it was repeated, she leapt up and ran to her front entrance. “Becks. I’m so sorry. It’s…” she began, as she opened the door and then stopped, her mouth open and her attractive features frozen into a look of horror. She physically felt the blood drain from her face as blind panic gripped her and her immediate thought was, “Oh God! Have I just opened the door to my killer?”

Chloe continued to stare at the young man from the shopping mall, as he stood on the landing in front of her open door. She wanted to slam that door shut as hard and as fast as she could, but her muscles refused to obey and she remained transfixed. “He’s quite handsome,” she thought, idly. Her next thought was even more stupid, or so she felt, but it nevertheless wandered aimlessly through her mind at what seemed like a snail’s pace. “Perhaps dying won’t be so bad at the hands of someone who isn’t ugly.” But her next notion shocked her when, again with something approaching detachment, she considered, “I wonder if he’ll rape me?”

That last idea seemed to serve to bring her back to some kind of reality and, for the first time she noticed his outstretched hand. He held something and he was speaking. What was he saying? Chloe tried to focus her mind. She listened – concentrated. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do, so here I am.”

“What d’you mean?” she demanded, suddenly angry. “What’s your name?” Then she thought, “For God’s sake! Why do I want to know that?”

“Mark.”

“What mark?”

The young man looked uncomfortable – and, not unreasonably, confused. “My name’s Mark.”

“And what’s that?” She wanted to know, pointing at Mark’s outstretched hand and, for the first time, looking directly at it and trying to make her mind focus properly.

He withdrew the hand. “You are Chloe Weston, aren’t you?”

“You know I am.”

“We-ell… I thought I had the right address. Maybe not. I… I don’t know.” The young man took a piece of paper from his pocket and looked at it briefly. Then he proffered it to Chloe.

“This is mine – my writing. Where did you get it?”

Mark appeared to be on the verge of panic himself and his hand shook as he held it out once more. “I’m sorry. This was a very bad idea. Just take the wallet – please. Look, I’ll leave it here on the doorstep, shall I? I… I… er… I really have to go.” He made as if to put the object on the ground, but Chloe snatched from him and stared at it.

“My purse!”

“Yes. I said… Everything’s all there, I imagine. I picked it up as soon as I saw it and… er…” Seemingly ever more flustered, he repeated. “Look – I have to go. Sorry. Sorry…”

A quick search through the purse showed that everything was indeed intact, as Mark had claimed – all except for the forgotten note of her name and address that she had placed in the back slot of the purse-wallet when she had first moved to the flat, a few weeks previously – the note she now held in her other hand! “Oh, my god!” she murmured.

Mark was at the top of the stairs and about to begin his descent when Chloe grabbed his arm and pulled him back, turning him partially towards her. “No! Please! I’m sorry. Won’t you come in? I… um… didn’t understand at first. Please. At least let me offer you a coffee for your trouble.”

Mark stared at her for a moment before finding his voice, “Sorry. I… er…” He stopped and then, appearing to summon all his courage from who knew where, he nodded. “Oh… Okay then. Thanks.” Then he added. “If you’re sure it’s no trouble… I mean I…”

Chloe smiled for the first time since they had met – for some hours in fact. “No trouble at all,” she told her visitor. “It’ll be my pleasure. Trust me. It really will.”

Over the next nearly an hour, Chloe slowly confessed much of her unfounded fear at seeing him, both at the shopping mall and at her door. She even told him what Becky had said, incidentally mightily playing up the part her friend had in making her afraid of heaven knew what. “How wrong could I have been?” she asked with a wry smile.

It transpired that, in the mall, she had pulled her phone out of her bag and the purse had dropped out too. Mark had at first thought it was a piece of rubbish and hadn’t realised what it was until she had left and he had gone across to pick it up and throw it in a bin for her. “I know it was ridiculous, but that’s how it seemed at the time – that I was doing something for you…” In fact, eventually, he sheepishly blurted out that he found her so attractive that, having no idea how he might approach such a stunner, as he put it, and against his better judgement, he had the idea that the purse was a good excuse to perhaps meet her. “I’m so awful at getting to know women,” he admitted. “For some reason I get tongue-tied the minute I try to strike up a conversation with girls and I just… you know – screw it all up from the very start.”

“You’re not doing so bad right now,” Chloe pointed out.

“Oh, no – I’m fine once I’ve properly met them – well, fairly fine, at least. It’s that initial few minutes that I mess up the worst. Whatever I say sounds stupid – well, it usually is something stupid.”

“So, you figured this looked like a golden opportunity, then?”

“I thought so – at the time,” he agreed, grinning ruefully. “Sorry.”

“Was it you phoned me earlier?” Chloe asked out of the blue.

Mark grinned sheepishly again. “Yes. ‘fraid it was. Your phone number’s on that bit of paper as well – on the back. That’s a bit dodgy, by the way – all that information together with your card and all that.”

“Oh, I’m not putting it back in the purse – believe me!” She smiled again more or less to herself this time. “Still, without it wouldn’t have met, would we?”

“I guess not.”

“So? Why no message?”

“Ah, yes… Sorry. Same old problem I’m afraid. The moment I heard your voice I froze. I just hung up in the end. Sorry. It was very rude of me I know, but…” He spread his hands helplessly. “It’s just the way I am. I hate my stupidity, but I don’t seem to be able to help it – and when it’s a woman as gorgeous as you, I seem to be even worse. I really am so sorry to have scared you, though. I just didn’t think and…”

As Mark continued to apologise profusely for frightening her and being such a wimp and all the rest, Chloe smiled to herself yet again, but just a little wickedly, and put a CD into her player before pushing ‘play’. Grinning now, she returned to Mark, put a finger to his lips and told him, firmly, “Hush… Listen!” as Katie Melua’s voice softly and slightly plaintively filled the room…

I’m sittin’ in the window of a street cafe Watchin’ you walking by each day, It seems that you always wanna look my way Hey, you can’t deny, boy, You’re such a shy boy. So good looking you seem to be But you’re too tongue-tied to say hi to me, You could make it happen so easily Woah, I’ll tell you why boy, ‘Cos I’m looking for a shy boy

When it got to the third verse, she looked directly into his eyes and very deliberately held his fascinated gaze…

Most guys advertise By making eyes and telling lies If you only knew, You could make your dreams come true All you gotta do is ask me to

After that, Mark had no idea how they came to be in each other’s arms and swaying to the music by the time the song got to…

Some guys act a bit too sure And maybe you’re thinkin’ that less is more But Honey, you still gotta knock on my door Hey, just try boy, And you could be my boy

Chloe stood on tip-toe and whispered into Mark’s ear, “See? You knocked on my door…”

Her lips softly brushed his and it occurred to him that maybe he’d missed something entirely and perhaps this crazy and oh-so-sexy woman had actually pushed him down the stairs outside her home and there was a heaven after all.

He also hoped fervently that he wouldn’t wake up any time soon and find it was all just an exquisite, if rather weird, dream.

Honesty Is The Best Policy?

Later, she would be astounded at the events that followed, but for the moment Cathy was more surprised at her own attitude to the man’s words, rather than what he had said. After all, they had only just met. Well, at least it couldn’t be much more than half an hour or so ago since they had struck up a conversation from adjacent tables outside the café in the small French town not far inland from the sea, on the Cote D’Azur. He was a fellow Brit, but had lived in France for some time and even had a slight French accent at times, which she found quite intoxicating. He was tall and tanned and very handsome with kind blue eyes that nevertheless seemed able to stare right inside her and into her thoughts. He was older than her – just about the age and type of man she fantasized about in fact.

The man, Richard, had moved to her table shortly after they had struck up their conversation and now he had said that; came straight out with it! Okay, so she had just spent the last several minutes going on about men only wanting one thing from a woman and asking why they couldn’t just be honest about it and she had even been foolish enough to ask him, “For instance: why are we talking like this? What do you want from me?”

“I want you to have sex with me,” he had replied, quite simply and without the least embarrassment, or even much apparent emotion. Her mouth had opened to speak, but she couldn’t find a reply in time and he had gone on, “Well, that’s not entirely true, I suppose. Yes, I do want sex with you, but I think I’d probably prefer to make long, lazy, really sexy love to you.” He had grinned then. “But just sex will do.”

Finally, she found her voice. Defensively and not a little angrily, she began, “How dare… damn… I mean I haven’t…” she glared at him. “Do I have any say in this?”

“Not really,” he replied, with a charming smile. “You just said you wanted men to be honest and you asked what I wanted with you. It’s not all I want, but at this moment it’s the main thing I want, so I told you. What you want is probably entirely different, but you didn’t mention that. I simply answered your question – honestly.”

At first, Cathy stared at her would-be lover in disbelief. Then she realised that, inexplicably, she wasn’t really the slightest bit offended by what he had said. In fact, a thrill of anticipation had run down her spine when he first said it. The thrill had ended up somewhere between her legs. “Shit,” she murmured almost inaudibly under her breath.

“Sorry. I didn’t catch that,”

“Thank God,” Cathy thought. Aloud, she said, as nonchalantly as she could manage, “Nothing. No, I was just thinking about something else. Sorry.”

The charming smile returned to her companion’s mouth. “It always seems to me that women say they want men to be honest, but what they really want is for men to think and feel differently from the way they do, which is of course impossible. So, when we do our limited best to give them what they actually want, they complain we’re being dishonest.”

“Hmm,” Cathy pursed her lips, deep in thought before telling him, “There’s a flaw in that argument somewhere, but I’ve no idea where and I suppose you might be partly right, at least.”

“Well, thank you for that. That doesn’t mean you feel the same at all, by any chance, does it?”

“No, I… are you taking the mickey?”

Richard’s face showed deep hurt and amazement, which surprised her – until she saw the grin that he couldn’t quite hide at the corners of his mouth. “Just gently,” he admitted. “What I don’t understand is why any woman would be surprised or upset to discover that a man wants sex with her. Surely it’s a compliment of sorts if a man finds her desirable, whatever she may feel about him. It’s perfectly natural and I’m sure women want sex just as much as men do anyway.” Cathy was lost in thought again, so he went on. “I told you what I want, just as you asked. I wasn’t being rude or presumptuous. I don’t expect you to have sex with me, or do anything about it at all, although I do think there is some kind of chemistry between us, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she replied rather absently and with unguarded honesty.

“You see? I like that: when women are simply honest about sexual feelings too, but that seems even rarer to me than men being up front about what they want.”

“Hmm,” Cathy repeated, feeling it was time she regained the initiative. “Actually, I’ll be even more honest then. I wasn’t particularly shocked when you said you want sex, it was quite exciting in fact, and my body still hasn’t stopped telling me it needs attention.” Richard smiled a little and raised one eyebrow, but refused to show any more surprise than that at her statement. “Of course,” she went on, “whether I decide to satisfy that need with you, or by some other means not involving you, remains to be seen.” She stared directly into the sexy blue eyes of the man seated opposite her, smilingly challenging him to disagree.

A quite wicked smile replaced the gentle amusement on Richard’s face. “So, it’s possibly worth my while to make an effort here? I might, after all, actually get the sex I asked for, if I play my cards right?”

Cathy still held his gaze, but the smile accompanying the challenge in that weakened. “You might,” she agreed. “You never know – always assuming you were telling the truth in the first place and you really do want to.”

“Oh, I want to all right,” he said with an obvious lack of guile, “I just didn’t think there was much likelihood of it – at this stage of our relationship anyway.”

“We have a relationship?” Cathy asked.

“We’re discussing going to bed together. Wouldn’t you call that a relationship of a kind?”

Cathy grinned. “I suppose so,” she nodded.

“Talking of, which … could we go into a little more detail about your body’s needs, darling? Er… if I may call you that.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Yes, we can discuss your needs, or yes, I can call you darling?”

“Both – as long as we can also talk about you and your body.”

“No problem at all. I’d love to talk about my body in relation to yours.”

“Hmm,” said Cathy, yet again, and then noticed a young man at a nearby table leaning back in his chair and trying hard not to look as if he was listening to their fairly explicit conversation. “Shall we go somewhere a bit more private to discuss this further?” she suggested.

“Certainly, if you want. My place, which is nearby, or your place, wherever that is, or somewhere more neutral, like a hotel, or there’s a even park about half a mile down the road?”

“Your place is fine. But don’t think that means I’m agreeing to anything.”

Richard grinned. “Of course not.” He paid the bill and they stood up, but before they left, he took her face in his hands and put his face very close to hers before becoming extremely earnest for a moment. “Look,” he said, “I know we’re joking around – not that I’m not serious about wanting to have sex with you – but I really mean this: I have never even particularly wanted to do anything with a woman that she didn’t want too. So, ‘no’ means ‘no!’ OK?

Cathy nodded. “Thank you, but I kind of guessed that, or we wouldn’t be going back to your place.”

Since neither of them wanted to appear too eager, they strolled lazily along the sunlit street for the few hundred metres until they were in front of the entrance to some obviously very expensive apartments. “Top floor I’m afraid. I hope you don’t mind lifts,” Richard apologised.

Cathy shook her head and, a minute or two later, gasped as they entered what Richard had omitted to mention was actually the penthouse apartment. It was tastefully, if lavishly, furnished. “Make yourself at home. Bathroom’s there, or en-suite in the bedrooms –  main one – there,” he told her, pointing to the doors, as he went to a large drinks cabinet, opened a bottle of red wine, and poured them both a generous glassful. Cathy went to the main bathroom, feeling that the one in his bedroom might indicate too clearly how ready and willing she really was – as if he didn’t know already. When she returned, he handed her the glass. “Now, about your needs, darling …” he said, with a rather wicked grin.

“First, I’d like to talk about yours, if you don’t mind,” she countered. “In fact, I’d rather like to hear about the specific part that is of paramount interest to a woman in my situation.”

The grin broadened. “Okay. What do you want to know? It’s not enormous, but a little bigger than average, or so I’m told. I’m not circumcised, but it looks quite desirable – again, so I’m told. Oh, and, naturally, I’m very clean and shower several times a day.”

“I didn’t mean … Oh, balls.”

“They too are OK, should you want something else to play with – yet again, so I’m…”

“So you’re told! Yes, I get the picture. But that’s…”

This time Richard interrupted her, finally relenting. “OK,” he said, “I know: you don’t want to discuss my physical masculinity, you want to know what I’m going to do with it, or what I hope you’ll to do with it. Right?” Cathy nodded. “Well, I’m the same. Much as I like to talk about your body and imagine what it looks like (although I’m sure it’s as beautiful as the rest of you), what I really want to know is what gives you the most pleasure? What do you really enjoy? What absolutely does it for you?”

She shuddered. “I think the answer to that just at this moment is probably – you.”

Richard smiled. “Will you take a chance and come to bed and let me make love to you, then?”

Whether it was the wine, the man, or the situation – perhaps it was just her hormones, or maybe she was just carried along by the game they were playing – Cathy had no idea, but she hesitated for only a moment before nodding almost imperceptibly and  then standing up, to take his hand and lead him towards the bedroom.

But their lovemaking was not quite as he had expected it to be, for she took charge and did things to him that he had neither the will, nor in truth any desire to try to stop her from doing. Afterwards, as they cuddled naked together in each other’s arms, he cautiously said, “You’re unbelievable! Fantastic…”

“But…”

“But nothing… well, not really… except…”

“Except – what?”

With some difficulty, he returned to being totally honest with her, “Well… don’t misunderstand me – I wouldn’t give that experience up for anything, but I guess I most wanted to give you pleasure – instead of just to receiving it like that. I mean I…”

Gently, she interrupted him, squeezing and hushing him. “I enjoyed myself and, in any event, do you have to be somewhere else in the near future?” she whispered into his ear.

“Well … no, but…” he replied, briefly puzzled.

She grinned and slid off the bed to stand, hands on hips and legs slightly apart – an extremely erotic vision looking down at him. “Okay then, I’ve had the cream, are you going to offer me coffee – while you recover?” She bent over and briefly kissed the object of her so recent undivided attention. “Well, while this recovers at any rate.”

Richard laughed. “My pleasure.”

“Oh, I know, but mine too, like I said…” She paused to give a wicked little grin. “And much more to come for both of us perhaps, I think.”

Richard took her hand and they strolled from the bedroom, through the living room and into the kitchen. Easy with each other and their mutual nakedness, he made coffee and poured them each a cup. “Mmm,” Cathy murmured, “I do love proper coffee.”

“Oh me too. I know just what you mean. I hate the supermarket stuff back home.” Richard agreed. They sipped at their drinks and then he said, out of the blue, “Christ, you’re gorgeous.”

Cathy smiled. “You ain’t so bad yourself, fella. ” She smiled as she nodded at his groin. “And as for that… mmm to that too.”

He grinned. “I must admit I was nervous at first. I didn’t know enough about what you like – didn’t know how far it would go… you know…” He shrugged his broad shoulders.

She put a hand on his arm and stood on tiptoe to kiss him affectionately on the lips. “I know,” she said. “That’s sort of part of why I wanted to do that first – so you’d know I’m not exactly the inhibited type – honesty between us – right? I’ll tell you if something’s not okay for me, but there’s not much I don’t enjoy, except pain – giving, or receiving. I’m just not into that!”

“Nor me. I couldn’t hurt you anyway, no matter how much you wanted it.”

“I know!”

Cathy cuddled up even closer to her man, wriggling herself against him so her nipples rubbed against his chest and he could feel the swell of her breasts, amongst other parts, pressing into him. “You’re delicious,” He whispered.

“You’re a hunk,” she replied, softly and then giggled appreciatively as she murmured just a little triumphantly, “Uh, huh! Something’s happening.” She wriggled harder against him and whispered into his ear, “See? That’s being honest! Like I said at the start – honesty’s the best policy!

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow!

Wrapped in a blanket because the meagre heat from the electric fire barely managed to take the chill off the room, Angela stared out of the window. She was getting worried. The snow had started to fall much more heavily again, although the strong winds that had piled it up earlier in the day had dropped, but the snow itself showed no sign of abating. The weather forecast on TV had not helped either – promising as it did, a full twenty four more hours of the same. She was in serious danger of being snowed in at her cottage in the beautiful Lake District, which was not good. Normally, that wouldn’t have been a problem – in fact she had sometimes quite looked forward to the isolation when it had happened before; she was used to it. Single and enjoying her own company at times, she was also used to being alone and mainly worked from home anyway, in her normally cosy house, but on that occasion the boiler was broken and she had neither hot water, nor central heating.

“Damn!” she muttered to herself, knowing full well she should have arranged for the repairman to call the previous week when the problem first occurred. However, she’d had to go down to London on business and, as usual, had stayed in her tiny flat in Hampstead, telling herself she would sort things out when she returned home. Now it was too late! There was no way the maintenance company would send an engineer along in that weather and he probably wouldn’t get to her even if they did. She’d telephoned, of course, but the not very helpful schoolgirl at the other end had told her, “No way, luv. Not till next week at the earliest.” Apart from the fact that she had no desire to be anyone’s “luv” at that moment in time, let alone some seventeen-year-old female’s, the utter disinterest in the girl’s voice had annoyed her, but it had been little worse than she expected.

Recalling this, Angela sighed and turned resignedly from the window to go through to her large kitchen and make coffee – at least it would be warm! She shivered. “Damn!” she repeated. “Damned boiler!” It was when she was just pouring herself a second cup, that she heard what sounded like a muffled knock at the front door. “Who the hell…?” she murmured rather testily and, since releasing even a tiny bit of the limited warmth she had in the house was not something she wanted to do, went very reluctantly to see who it might be.

She opened door only part way to reveal a man in a hooded, snow covered coat and wearing thick gloves… hence the muffled nature of the knock. “Sorry to intrude,” he began. “I’ve got a bit of a problem and I wondered if you’d be unbelievably kind and help me out.”

Angela at once found herself in a quandary. Admittedly the man was well spoken and, from the little she could see under the hood, appeared quite interestingly handsome – he was perhaps in his mid thirties. Her dilemma, though, centred on her need to keep heat in the house and yet he was a stranger and not someone she would immediately invite into her house. The desire for heat won. “Come in. Don’t stand out there freezing.”

“Er… thanks.” He frowned. “You sure?”

“The bloody boiler’s on the blink and heat is pouring out this doorway. Come in, or go away!”

The man stamped the snow off his feet and shook himself and then stepped into the cottage. “Thanks,” he said as he pushed the hood back from his head to reveal a shock of blond hair, a disarming smile and the fact that he was not just handsome, but extremely handsome. “Sorry about this,” he added and then stuck out his hand to be shaken. “My name’s John and I’ve not long moved into the next house two miles down the road – Badgers Den.”

“What? Brian’s old place? The nice old man who died a few months ago?” she asked, taking the proffered hand.

“That’s it. Brian Morgan. My dad.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Then she added, “It really was such a shame he died. I really liked him.”

“Yes. He was great… but we both knew he was likely to drop dead any time. Weak heart for years.” John explained.

“Doesn’t help much though, does it?”

“Not really – no.”

Angela drew a deep breath. “Oohhh – so you’re the Johnny he was always talking about?”

John grinned disarmingly. “Guilty, I guess.”

For the first time since she’d returned home the previous day, Angela smiled. “Oh, you needn’t worry. He never had a bad word to say about you.” Reluctantly, she let go of the hand that held hers. “So what’s the problem?”

“What? Oh, yes – my problem. Yes, well it’s a bit of a cheek I suppose, but the battery on my cellphone’s flat as a pancake, the in-car charger’s bust and the road’s totally blocked a quarter of a mile further on from here.”

“The phone’s there if you want to use it.” Angela waved a hand in the direction of a telephone sitting on a small table just inside the tiny entrance hall. “Angela, by the way – Angie.”

John grinned again. “I know.”

“Oh? How?”

“I have my spies.” The grin broadened. “No, actually, Dad told me a lot about you – what a gorgeous young woman you are and all that. His description wasn’t even close though.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Oh no! Quite the opposite. Stunner might have been a better description.”

“Oh, right.” She commented, disbelief in her voice. “You can see that, of course, wrapped in this blanket and shivering like crazy, the way I am.” Angie waved at the phone again. “Like I said, there’s the phone anyway.” She turned and began to walk back towards the kitchen. ” You want coffee?” she called back over her shoulder. “I’ve not long made it.”

“Ooo, yes please – if it’s going – black, one sugar.” He paused and then called out to her. “Actually, what I really wanted was to charge my own mobile phone. I’ve got the mains charger here with me. If that’s okay?”

Angie returned with two cups of coffee, both black. “Sugar’s in this one,” she told John, handing a cup to him. “There’s a socket over by the phone – over there.” She pointed to the table she had previously indicated. “It’s underneath it. The table that is.”

John plugged in his mobile phone to charge and checked it was working right. “Thanks. An hour should do it – half an hour at a push.” He hesitated and, as further explanation seemed required, he continued. “With the road blocked like it is, I’m going to have to leave the car and walk. It looks pretty tough and I could maybe get trapped. It’d be a bit stupid to wind up stuck in a snow drift  without at least some means of contacting people – especially now it’s getting dark.” The grin returned. “So I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

Angie frowned.

“One, I feel lost and alone without a mobile phone – silly I suppose, but it’s habit – and two, I wanted to meet the gorgeous creature Dad told me so much about.”

The smile appeared again. “Oh, right. I see. You were really just checking out the local talent then?”

John shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands. “Well, like I said, not only, but sort of. You can’t blame a guy for wanting to know, though. Glad I did too.”

“Really?”

“Oh, definitely!” Yet another grin lit up his features and then he became serious. “So, what’s happened to your boiler?”

It was Angie’s turn to shrug her shoulders. “No idea. It just stopped working and I didn’t get it fixed when I had the chance. Now I’m stuck with it till next week at least.”

“What sort is it? Gas?”

“Yes – and it’s not long been serviced, either.”

“You tried re-starting it?”

“Why?”

“Maybe the pilot light just went out.”

“What pilot… whatever?”

John sighed. “Show me where it is, eh?”

“In the kitchen.” She led the way and then pointed to a cupboard in the corner. “In there.”

John opened the cupboard. “Balanced flue combi,” he murmured. “So the back of the cupboard is an outside wall?”

Angie nodded and then said, “Yup,” as she realised he wasn’t looking at her.

“Oka-ay.” John fiddled around for a while. “It won’t re-start. You got a Philips screwdriver?”

“A what?”

“A screwdriver that looks like a cross on the end.”

“There should be a toolbox in there somewhere. I’ve no idea what’s in it, though. There’s a light by your right shoulder by the way.”

John flicked on the light and searched around on the floor. “Ah… at the back,” he said and then continued. “You fancy making us some more of that superb coffee?” He removed his coat. “It might not be very warm in here, but it’s a heck of a lot colder outside,” he commented, by way of explanation.

Briefly, Angie eyed the muscular physique that his expensive shirt failed to hide. “Strip off all you like,” she told him and then regretted it, since she had known him for perhaps half an hour, rather than the half a lifetime she was beginning to feel was the case. “Joke,” she explained.

“Oh.”

Just when she had finished making the coffee, she peered into the cupboard as John was replacing a cover on the boiler. Amazingly, she could see the reflection of the blue flame. “You got it going!?”

“Uh huh. Let’s hope it keeps on working.”

“What was wrong?”

He hesitated. “Unless someone’s been poking around in there,” he eyed her questioningly, “the guy who serviced that hadn’t got a clue.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Well… that or he didn’t bother to do the job properly at all.”

Angie stepped forward on an impulse and reached and kissed her saviour on the cheek. “Thank you. Thank you so-ooo much!” was her heartfelt exclamation.

John grinned. She was beginning to love that cheeky grin. “Entirely self interest,” he assured her.

“How so?” she queried, smiling too.

“Well… I need to stay a while to make sure it gets up to temperature and then restarts automatically, which means I get the company of a delicious female who makes wonderful coffee for a while longer and… maybe… just maybe… if the house warms up enough in time, I’ll get a peek at you not wrapped up in that goddamned blanket before I leave.”

Angie gave him a funny look and, on another whim, allowed the blanket to fall open and then drop to the floor.

John stared and gave a low whistle. “Now that’s more than worth a bit of maintenance work, for sure.”

Angie blushed slightly. “What? In this bulky old sweater?”

“Oh yes. No doubt about it.” He hesitated and then, just a touch nervously, he added, “You fill it beautifully – if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Angie giggled. “I don’t mind at all.” A thought occurred to her. “You want a proper drink? A beer, or a brandy, or something?”

“No, I’m dri…” He stopped. “No, actually, I’m not driving, am I? I’m going to be walking. So, yes… a very small brandy would be absolutely wonderful.” Another grin. “Extremely warming.”

Two and a half hours later, John stood up. They had talked and talked over a couple more drinks – mostly about his father and the area – somewhat isolated and yet friendly, with an old fashioned sense of neighbourliness. “I’d better be moving,” he told his attractive companion.

“There’s no hurry is there?” Angie asked, frankly and without thinking. Then it occurred to her. “Oh, sorry. You’ve probably got someone who’ll be wondering where you are. Do you want to phone ahead?”

“No. No, there’s no one. I live alone like you – according to Dad that is. But the heating seems fine now and I’m going to struggle to get past that blockage… it’s right in that bit with steep sides going up into woods and I think there’s a tree down in the road that’s been buried by drifting snow.”

They went together to the door and Angie was immediately horrified when she opened it. “You can’t go out in this!” she told him.

“No choice!”

“Why?”

“What else am I going to do? It’s either manage the walk, or try to drive back to town tonight – if I can even get the car out of this lane. I don’t fancy that one little bit!”

Angie eyed him thoughtfully. “You could stay here,” she suggested hesitantly.

John gave her an odd, sharp, questioning look.

“I have a spare bedroom,” she explained, quickly.

“Well… I don’t… I mean… Are you sure? It’s not…”

Angie put a hand on his arm. “Come on, let’s open a bottle of wine, shall we? Red or white?”

John only hesitated for a moment more. “Red,” he said, decisively. “If that’s okay?”

Back in the living room, Angie passed a bottle and corkscrew to John. “You open it, please,” she said. “It’s getting pretty hot in here at last and I’m just going to get into something a bit more suitable than this heavy jumper.”

When she returned, wearing electric blue silk… well… pyjamas he presumed it was, he was sure she had quickly showered and she wore makeup. “Phew! That’s better,” she admitted. “I’ve put clean towels and a robe in your room. If you want to shower, there’s an en-suite in the room.” She laughed. “The robe’s a man’s one – not one of my girly ones.”

“Thanks.” He handed her a glass of wine. “Nice wine,” he commented.

“Glad you like it… I haven’t got any male clothes though, I’m afraid.”

John smiled, but said nothing for a minute or two. “I’ve got a bag of sorts in the car – if I can get to it in the morning.”

“I can wash and dry your stuff overnight, if you want. “

“No. No – thank you all the same, but it’s okay.”

Angie put her hands on her hips and insisted, “Go upstairs, get your kit off and throw it down. I’ll stick it in the machine.” When John hesitated, she added, “The robe’s perfectly decent!”

John sighed. “Okay, okay. I might as well shower while I’m at it then.”

“It’s the room at the left. The one with the door ajar. Throw your clothes down the stairs first, though,” she called after him, as he made for the stairs. “Right?”

“Right,” he called back.

Just for a moment, Angie wondered if everything was going too fast, but he was a nice man, a decent man, she assured herself – and she was only putting him up for the night in her spare room. She poured another glass of wine.

When he came back downstairs, she had to admit he looked good in the robe. She pushed her long dark hair – as dark as his was blond – back from her forehead. “Something to eat?” she asked. When he declined, she persisted. “I’ll stick a frozen pizza in the oven.”

Two more hours later they made for their respective bedrooms. “Night,” she said. “And thanks again.” She kissed him quickly again on the cheek. “Sleep tight.”

“Yeah,” John agreed, hoarsely.

In the morning, Angie turned over in bed and couldn’t stop herself grinning. “Pretty comfortable for a spare bed, isn’t it?” she asked the beautiful blond man lying next to her.

Marianne

The indigo sky of the horizon darkened to black overhead where faint wispy traces of high, shadowy clouds finally dispersed and the emerald and diamond stars began to appear. The majestic, flaming beauty of the sunset was suddenly just a memory and Marianne’s pulse quickened a little in spite of the best efforts of the warm Mediterranean waves to soothe her, as they gently kissed and caressed her feet. A brief flurry of breeze tried to be warm, but it contained an element in it that was chill and made her shiver, causing the tiny, soft, blonde hairs on her tanned, naked body to stand erect in response to the temporary drop in temperature. Her nipples responded in the same way and a small thrill of recalled passion ran through her.

Marianne turned and walked back a few steps up the beach, bent easily to retrieve the thin dress from the sand and slipped it over her lithe form where it clung to her shape and did little to hide her beauty from the prying stare of the stars. “Bastard,” she murmured under her breath. She smiled faintly, noting, not for the first time, that in spite of all the years she had lived on the Cote d’Azur with her mother, whenever she was angry, she thought and spoke in English. It was something that always annoyed her mother, that automatic return to the language of her early years in England, when her father had still been around.

“In French!” her mother would often scold her, but these days she would only smile and continue to do just as she wished. No one, not even the mother she loved, was going to tell her how to live her life now that she had turned eighteen.

Deliberately sticking to English, she would reply, “I’m an adult now and I’ll swear in whatever language I like.”

As she bent to pick up her sandals, Marianne thought she heard a sound in the darkness at the back of the beach and her pulse speeded up once more.  For the first time she realised just how late it had got and how isolated and vulnerable her situation was. What had been warm, inviting and romantic less than an hour before, now had a new feeling to it and there was unseen and unspecified menace in the darkness that surrounded her, threatening to engulf her. Nervously, she peered into the gloom at the back of the beach and, as a brief, lone cloud drifted away, allowing the cold beauty of the moon to brazenly display itself, she could just make out the entwined figures of two lovers, to the right of a large sand dune, engrossed in their own desires and oblivious to her presence, or perhaps they were just consumed by passion and cared nothing for whoever might observe their lovemaking.

The salty dampness of tears that she refused to release stung her eyes and she repeated, “Bastard. I’ve waited for you.”

What hurt, or perhaps more accurately, annoyed, Marianne the most was that she had known all along that she was hanging on to a fantasy. Her mother had told her so, but, of course, this had only strengthened her resolve to believe that he would come back, just as they had promised each other three summers ago. She was beautiful now, where she had merely been pretty, three years before. Blossoming womanhood had completed what had only been hinted at before and all the local young men wanted her, but she remained aloof and unavailable. Not for her some local stud. She belonged to her artist, Jean-Pierre. Six years her senior, he was her first and only love and she shivered again as she remembered the fuss there had been, when a relative had spotted his portraits of her, naked and wanton, in a small Paris gallery. Jean-Pierre was a good artist, brilliant perhaps, and the raw lust staring out from the eyes of a fifteen year old in his paintings was far too knowing for the family to accept.

They had been lovers, that was obvious from the paintings, and her yearning expression, the fire in her eyes and the openness with which she clearly wanted the man who was painting her were all too obvious to pretend there was anything left of innocence there. If she, or he, had been even a little more subtle, then the family could have buried their heads in the sand of the Cote d’Azure and been pleased that he was so clever and their Marianne so pretty. As it was, he had been literally run out of town and she had been virtually caged for a while, until she appeared to have accepted the situation. For three long years she had secretly pined for her lover and waited impatiently for her eighteenth birthday, when he would return as they had agreed and meet naked on the beach at sunset, close to the dunes where they had first made love.

On the evening of her eighteenth birthday, Marianne had come down to the beach, as she had done this night and every night for the past three weeks. By the third night, her mother had guessed what she was about and tried to warn her that she was living a dream, but she had refused to discuss the matter, except to say, “I’m an adult now and I’ll do as I please.”

Fearful that her daughter might run off to Paris and who knew what dangers with which she could not cope, her mother had just shrugged her shoulders and sighed, understanding far more of the pain and anguish her offspring was suffering than Marianne even dreamed she could, for the young always believe it is they who have discovered love and sex and pain for the very first time.

Another sound startled Marianne as she strolled along the beach towards home, lost in thoughts of passion and betrayal. The moon was a little higher in the sky now and she could pick out the shadowy figure of a man to her right, behind the dunes. The beach was narrow at that point and she had little choice but to walk close to where she had seen him dart away. Her heart leapt at the idea that it might be Jean-Pierre, but her head and some sixth sense told her it was Andrew Southbury, the seventeen year old son of a couple of well-to-do ex-pat Brits, who lived in a big old villa just outside the village. She quickened her pace a little since the Southbury lad gave her the creeps. She found the way he was always furtively watching her unpleasant, although she was not in the least fearful of him and regarded him as a pest, rather than any kind of threat.

Perhaps it was imagination, she thought, but she could feel his eyes burning into her as she made for the steep, uneven path that led down to the secluded beach from the village. In fact, she could imagine him licking his lips in some fantasy of anticipation of the delights her body held in store, but not for him. At the very beginning of the narrow path, she suddenly found her way barred by another, slightly older youth with whom she was vaguely acquainted. He smiled, but it turned into more of a leer. “Hey, what is ze ‘urry, Engleesh?” he asked. “Stay an’ ‘ave some fun with us, eh?”

This one did make her a little nervous and she felt obliged to explain more than was necessary. “No, thanks, Andre. I’ve got to get home. I’m late. I, er … forgot the time.”

Suddenly, she latched on to the “us” in his remark and was instantly aware of Andrew Southbury coming up behind her. His hands clasped her waist and then slid round to her breasts. “Aw, come on, baby. You know you want it and your artist bloke isn’t coming back,” he said in a whining tone. “We’ll give you a good time.”

“No thanks – and get your filthy hands off my tits.”

Andrew kept his hands where they were and began to squeeze harder. “Aw, baby. That’s not very friendly, is it?”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” Marianne was much stronger than she looked and grabbed Andrew’s hands, pulling them away with relative ease. She spun round and brought her knee up hard into her assailant’s groin. He screamed in pain and swore, nastily, calling her names she did not like at all. She reached out instinctively to slap his face, but such was her fury that she clawed it instead. Then she made to run back onto the beach, but the older youth grabbed her from behind. He almost missed her and caught hold of her dress instead. Marianne was not about to hang around and wrenched herself free, but the flimsy dress tore and remained largely in Andre’s grasp.

For precious moments he stood transfixed at the sight of Marianne’s naked form running away in the moonlight. “Christ,” Andrew breathed at last, now that breath of any kind was returning and the sick feeling in his stomach was abating just a little. “She hasn’t even got any knickers on.”

Andre smiled nastily. “It is ze nudist beach. You ‘ave seen ‘er before like this, you say.”

“Yeah, but this is different. Wow!”

“Come on,  my friend. We get ‘er, yes?”

“Not half. Christ. I want her first.”

Andre repeated his nasty grin as they began to give chase. “We see who goes first. Maybe I let it be you, eh?”

Marianne sprinted for all she was worth towards the dunes where she had seen the lovers, but they were gone. “Shit,” she breathed, her chest heaving. For a moment she considered trying to hide, but she knew they would find her. A shout from one of them to the other warned her not to delay any further and she sped off once more, following the only other route the lovers could have taken off the beach – towards its far end where it was possible to climb over a rocky outcrop and thus up to the lane that wound out past a couple of farms, before it turned back on itself and ran into the far side of the village. She raced on along the beach.

Spurred on by long repressed lust, the two youths were close on Marianne’s heels by the time she reached the rocks and it was then that she regretted kicking off her sandals in order to sprint faster on the sand. She bounded on to the rocks determined to ignore the pain that immediately assailed her bare feet, but, moments later, her left foot caught a sharp piece of rock and was badly cut. With a cry of pain and fear, she fell, cutting her thigh as well as she did so.

Then they were upon her. The older and stronger Andre grabbed her arm and dragged her, stumbling and in pain, back from the rocks and onto the sand. He leered unpleasantly as he pulled her arms above her head into a prone position in the shadows on the beach and then dropped down, pinning her arms with his knees. “Okay Engleesh. Now you get it. I think I let my young friend ‘ere go first. Then you get ze real man’s cock after.”

“Bastard! Arsehole!” She screamed, and began kicking out at Andrew, who was at her feet and removing his trousers.

The younger youth stared at his prize and then at his swollen groin, where she had kneed him. He winced. “Christ it hurts,” he told Andre.

Andre snarled. “Get on with it, if you are going to do it to her, or I will go first.”

“I’m… trying. It’s…”

Andre grinned, undid his belt and zip and, very close to Marianne’s face, began to masturbate. “You ‘ave ze one minute, or I take your place. You like what you see ‘ere, Engleesh? I ‘ave very nice big c… Merdre!”

Andre never saw the owner of the boot that struck him in the side of the head. At Marianne’s feet, Andrew stood with his mouth open and his hands still at his inoperative groin, until the fist smashed into his face and fireworks exploded in his head.

Marianne rolled around into a kneeling position and then leapt to her feet, ignoring the pain in her leg. Then she flung her arms around the neck of her saviour. “Oh, Jean-Pierre,” she murmured excitedly in his ear. “I knew you would come back to me.”

 

© Copyright Adam Frayle 2002 all rights reserved

Shall I Compare Thee?

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Ah, my darling; I suppose I really could. Your eyes certainly turn very wet at a moment’s notice, whenever you feel the need to deceive me. You float through each day like a sensuous, flirty, summer breeze busying itself with its own activities and hinting at sultry, sweaty nights to come that, sadly, turn too quickly chilly and uninviting before their charms can be embraced. Certainly, as you sleep warm and desirable beside me, I often remain awake, yearning for the wanton ardour of past summers that I think I can recall and deluding myself that in the morning you will have the hots for me – when, in reality, even the occasional “warms” would be a welcome change.

If the truth be told, I am completely disillusioned now. I have accepted that there is no room for me in your busy heart and you’ll never deliver the warmth and passion your soft, early morning beauty promises. I know I should walk away and seek a more alluring place to stay … and yet … and yet some deceptive inner voice still tells me that, next week, next month, next year, things will all be different – better.The trouble is, I guess, I love you anyway. But then, you undoubtedly are more lovely than Shakespeare’s bloody summer’s day … if only you would at least sometimes be less temperate.

 

© Copyright Adam Frayle 2005 all rights reserved

The Dress

Sharon’s heart fluttered. “Damn!” she muttered to herself, with much annoyance. “Get a grip, woman – you’re twenty four, not fourteen.” She had promised herself she would not get all excited and girlish the next time she met Tony. Unsurprisingly, just as she had secretly expected she would, she was failing miserably to keep that promise. Still, she told herself by way of excuse, he was absolutely her dream man – tall, dark-haired, tanned, well mannered and with the most incredibly sexy voice, as well as being unbelievably handsome – so what did she expect of herself? “Hi, Sharon,” Tony said in that dark brown voice of his that would have been entirely at home in amongst the oak panelling and antique furnishings of a drawing room in some old and aristocratic country mansion. “How are you today? Well, I hope?”

“Oh, yes. Fine,” Sharon replied in a voice that was all squeaky and unrecognisable to her.

“You certainly look great, I must say.”

“Must you?” Sharon squeaked.

“Eh? Well…”

“Nothing. I was just…” Sharon cleared her throat, attempting to reduce its pitch by an octave or so, whilst she tried to compose herself so that whatever she said next wouldn’t sound totally banal and stupid.

“That dress certainly suits you, that’s for sure,” Tony explained, pursuing his line of conversation and apparently not put off by her odd response.

“Is it? Does it, I mean?” Sharon discovered she had managed a reduction of nearly half an octave, at least. That was progress of a sort and she allowed herself a small inward smile of self congratulation.

“Um. The colour’s really you and, being so delectably short, it shows off your great legs to perfection.” Tony grinned a little wickedly. “Mind you, your bottom looks fabulous in the trousers you normally wear, so every silver lining has a cloud, eh?”

He chuckled briefly at his own joke and Sharon felt weak and thought for a moment that she might well collapse in an ungainly heap on the floor. “Don’t be so bloody stupid!” she told herself. Aloud, she said, “Why thank you, kind sir. I’m glad you like my legs – and my bum.” God, was that bold of her, or what?

Tony frowned. “Sorry, was I out of line? I meant it as a compliment, but perhaps I…”

“No! No, I liked it. I really did. You can say anything you like, like that,” Sharon interrupted him quickly.

Tony smiled. “Okay then. Then you won’t mind if I say you have the most beautiful auburn hair and green-brown eyes and the sexiest mouth I’ve seen in a long time?”

Breathlessly, Sharon murmured, “Not at all,”

Tony Chuckled. “I think perhaps I’d better wait till I know you a bit better before I go on about the bit in between.”

It was Sharon’s turn to frown, but in puzzlement.

“The bit in between your lower half and your face,” Tony enlightened her.

“Oh, my tits,” Sharon giggled. “Sorry, my … bosom.”

“Um,” Tony grinned again. “Oh, all right then, for the sake of completeness – you have lovely tits too. In fact, you’re gorgeous all over.”

Sharon couldn’t believe it. They’d worked together for six months now – well, not actually together, but in the same company and they had met almost daily, although they had never said more than half a dozen words at a time to each other before that day. Perhaps she should have worn a dress before then. Mind you, she had argued interminably with herself before finally deciding to take all her small amount of courage in both hands and put it on that day. It was quite short and strappy and made of a fairly soft, silky material that clung in all sorts of places that terrified her. Now, she was glad she’d been reckless. Not that she didn’t occasionally wear fairly revealing clothes, but that was usually of an evening, on the rare occasions when she had a date of some sort, or went out with her friends who were mostly younger than her. Plus, of course, she did normally wear trousers and, even if they did show off the shape of her bum, as Tony had pointed out, she still felt more covered up and somehow less daring. It was certainly true that the dress had made her feel different about herself in some way.

She came back from self-analysis just in time to catch the final, vital, sentence of what Tony was saying, “… sometime. What d’you think? Just a drink, or a meal. Whatever you fancy. ” He grinned again. “I promise to behave myself – no hanky panky.”

She was stunned for a moment. Her? He was asking her for a date? Quickly, and for once with remarkable mental agility that she normally only wished she possessed in such circumstances as this, rare though such events were, Sharon managed to pull herself together. She was very conscious that her nipples had begun to tingle and were prominently straining to say ‘hello’ to the man in front of her, through the thin material of her dress. Nevertheless, instead of becoming still more flustered, as she normally would, and only slightly breathlessly, which even she realised was actually quite alluring anyway, she announced with a warm and becoming smile, “Of course. I’d love to, but only if you take back the promise.”

Tony frowned very briefly and then his eyes widened a little and his grin broadened. “Oh? Ohh! Yes, well, of course – if you put it like that. Consider my promise well and truly retracted.” His grin became something just a little more wicked, although still as charming as ever. “It was going to be very difficult to keep, anyway.”

Two days later, following a very enjoyable meal at a superbly romantic restaurant Tony had chosen, he was taking her home in a taxi. Soon after they had got in the cab, he had kissed her – tentatively at first and then much more passionately when she responded willingly. As they neared her apartment and he was kissing her neck and it was doing things to her that she had rarely, if ever, experienced before, she whispered softly, “You’re coming in for coffee, aren’t you?”

Tony pulled back and stared into her eyes, still holding her in his arms. She was flushed and very desirable and her dress had become just a little disarranged. One breast was threatening to burst out from behind the minimal protection offered by the garment. He glanced down at it. “How could I refuse,” he said, simply. Then he added, “I’m glad you made me take back that promise.” Sharon giggled, but said nothing, offering up her mouth to be kissed some more.

Indoors, they were standing in her kitchen and she made the coffee she had offered him, but they had barely begun sipping it when she moved to stand very close in front of him. Putting her cup down, she kissed him on the lips, sweetly at first and then harder. Looking up into his eyes without blinking and in a voice that was hoarse with desire, she murmured, “You can stay the night, if you want to.” A tremor of excitement ran through her as he kissed her hungrily and she felt the zip of her dress being pulled down. Moments later, he gently slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders and, as he released her just a little, it fell down to rest on her hips. He caught his breath, seeing her firm, full breasts for the first time.

“You are gorgeous all over,” he murmured, his voice full of the desire that was apparent in his eyes.

“You can’t see all of me yet,” Sharon said quietly and, still holding his gaze, she shook her hips a little, dislodging the dress and revealing, as it fell to the floor, that she was wearing no underwear at all.

Tony caught his breath once more and then, without saying anything, swept her up in his arms to easily carry her through to the bedroom. He placed her carefully on the bed where she could watch, with eyes full of longing, as he calmly began to strip, allowing her to see the beautifully tanned, muscular body that she had dreamed for so long of seeing that way – naked and about to make exquisite, passionate love to her.

 

© Copyright Adam Frayle 2005 all rights reserved

A Full Stop

‘Well that doesn’t work either,’ Bob growled, morosely.

‘Damn,’ his pretty companion agreed, in a similarly disagreeable tone.

‘Well. That’s it. We’ve come to a full stop.’ Bob had been ready to be defeated from the start and was secretly quite glad to have been proved right about the futility of the exercise.

‘What did you do with the blue one?’ Karen asked. ‘I quite liked that one and I thought it showed promise.’ She said this more in hope of at least keeping the project going for a while longer, rather than any real belief in her words.

“Nah! It’s a bloody waste of time. I told you it would be, but you knew flamin’ better. Waste of flippin’ time. I told you, didn’t I?’ Bob glared at Karen, but she said nothing. ‘Didn’t I?’ He was beginning to shout now, but she was used to that.

Karen looked at the floor and pushed one of the rejected items around with her foot. ‘I still liked the blue one.’

With extremely bad grace and temper, Bob capitulated. However, he did feel it was essential to emphasise that she was stupid and he was only humouring her. ‘All right. If it’ll shut you up, we’ll try the blue one again. But it won’t flamin’ well work. I’m tellin’ yer!’

‘Oh, thanks Bob. We’ll just give it a go, eh? Just this once more and if it don’t work we’ll know we’ve tried and tried.’ She flung her arms round his neck and gave him a big sloppy kiss. It was intended to be a sexy kiss, but it was so hard with him that she had to do the best she could in the circumstances.

‘Get off woman! You get too carried away you do.’

‘Sorry.’ She looked at the floor once more, but there was a little smile on her lips this time. ‘I’m ever so grateful. Really I am.’

‘Yeah. Well don’t get all weepy when it turns out a waste of flamin’ time. We come to a full stop an’ I’m only doin’ this to shut you up.’

‘Okay Bob – I know.’ She paused, preparing her best conciliatory tone. The strangest thing was that she appeared to believe her next words. ‘You’re good to me – really you are. Shall I go and find it?’

‘I dunno’ what we did with it. I think I slung it in the bin over there.’

‘This one?’

‘Nah! The one by the flamin’ door!’

‘Oh – this one?’

‘Yeah.’

She poked about in the bin. ‘I can’t find it.’

‘Oh you’re flamin’ useless you are.’

The pretty girl looked momentarily hurt, her lovely blue eyes becoming misty with tears that were much too close for her liking. ‘Damn,’ she muttered to herself. She was, though, quite accustomed to him telling her how useless she was, so she quickly covered the emotion with a rare retaliation. ‘Well you said it was here and it isn’t! Look yourself, if you don’t believe me.’

Bob came over, a deprecating leer distorting his features and making him seem even more of a slob than usual. ‘Can’t do nuffin’ right!’ he growled as he passed her and gave her a shove out of the way that nearly sent her flying. He rummaged around in the bin for some time, until he cut himself on a sharp object and removed his bleeding hand quickly to suck the cut. ‘Shit! Now look what you made me do!’

‘It’s not my fault.’ Karen heard her own whining tone and despised herself. She made to take his hand to inspect the cut. ‘Here let me see.’

‘Get off.’

‘Let me see.’

‘No! Leave it be!’

‘You had a tetanus injection?’

‘Nah. Don’t believe in ’em.’ The truth was that he was terrified of needles, but that was not something he would let her know. ‘It’ll be okay.’ He went back to searching the bin. A few moments later he pulled something out, together with a handful of dirty rags, and waved it at her. ‘What’s this then? Flamin’ Scotch mist?’

Karen stared at the object and then looked at him timidly. ‘That’s the green one.’

‘Oh, bugger! Well, it looks blue ter me!’

‘Honest Bob. It’s the green one.’

‘Well I dunno’ where the flamin’ thing is then. We’ve come to a full stop.’

‘Ohw.’ Karen looked at the floor again, put on her best devastated expression, and waited.

‘Well I dunno’ what ter do, do I?’

Karen shuffled her feet in silence.

‘Well do I?’

‘I suppose not.’ She idly pushed a reject about with her foot in a repeated movement from side to side. ‘Didn’t we put the blue one in the cupboard – because it was the best one?’

‘I dunno’. Did we?’

‘I think we did.’

Reluctantly Bob went to the cupboard and opened it. After pushing things about on the lower shelves he suddenly took something from the top shelf. ‘Here it is. In the flamin’ cupboard all the time. Why didn’t you remember before? Silly cow. Waste of flamin’ time.’

The girl waited a few moments. ‘You going to give it another try then?’

‘Well of course I flamin’ am. I didn’t spend the last hour lookin’ fer this thing to put it back where I found it without tryin’ it again, did I?’

‘No Bob.’

‘Silly cow.’ Bob began to set up the blue one to try it again. ‘And don’t start bawlin’ if it don’t work.’

‘No Bob.’

‘And another thing.’

‘Yes Bob?’

‘If this don’t work, we’re at a flamin’ full stop. Right?’

‘Yes Bob.’

Bob finished the arrangements and carefully checked his work. Karen stared fascinated as he meticulously examined everything about the set-up. He was so good at this – it was why she worshipped him.

Finally satisfied, he began the trial. As it rushed into life she squealed with enthusiastic delight. ‘See. I told you it was worth trying it again.’ Her face fell moments later though, as it died once more. ‘Oh bugger!’ she said. ‘Oh well. We tried. I suppose that’s it then. We’re at a full stop.’

‘I reckon.’ Bob was surprised that he too felt disappointment. ‘Tell you what. Let’s go an’ watch a dvd an’ you can get all sloppy.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Karen linked her arm through his. ‘Oh yes please!’

 

© Copyright Adam Frayle 2003 all rights reserved

A Time and a Place

“There’s a time and a place for everything.” Paul stared unbelievingly at the text message on his mobile phone. It ended with, “- S xx.”

“What is she on about?” he muttered, frowning.

Much to his amazement at the time, the previous evening Paul had found himself dining out with Sandy, a very desirable twenty five year old young woman and he couldn’t quite believe his luck. He’d known her for nearly a year, ever since she had moved into the area and dropped into The Jolly Roger, the local pub that was frequented mostly by twenty to thirty something men and women who were upwardly mobile young whatever the current expression was. Originally, she had been accompanied by a man in his early thirties who looked like a rugby player – broad shouldered and with a powerful frame, but he’d quickly disappeared from the scene.

After that, she’d been friends with almost everyone, but lover to none – as far as Paul knew. Many had tried to gain her favour, but none of the young men seemed to be able to get past first base. He was six years older than her and, as a result, had never thought the beautiful young woman even really noticed him. In fact, more than just beautiful, she was such a real stunner and, when he somehow (he was unsure how) wound up taking her to dinner, he had assumed he was just someone she had picked to accompany her and pay for her meal at the small Tai restaurant they had visited.

During the evening, he had tried to find out a little more information about her – personal stuff – what she really liked, what she had done with her life so far, how she had come to move to the area and so on. He had to admit to himself that he’d been singularly unsuccessful in this enterprise. Mostly, she had, charmingly it’s true, either ignored his attempts to redirect the conversation onto a rather more intimate track, or just laughed it off. At one point, frustrated at his lack of any progress, he had even asked her why she had agreed to come out with him at all. She just stared into his eyes with an amused, teasing smile on her face, the reflected light of the candle on their table dancing beguilingly in her hazel-green eyes. “Why do you want to know? You’ve pulled, haven’t you? What more do you want?” she’d asked.

“I … I don’t know,” he had stammered. “I…” and then he had stopped, lost for words.

She had laughed, not unkindly, but it didn’t do a great deal for his confidence, or encourage further questioning, in spite of the sound’s soft gaiety that made him wish … well, all sorts of things that were unlikely to come to pass.

Then, the following morning, he received that text message. After a while, he plucked up the courage to text back, “Pardon?” but the only reply he received was the symbol for a smile.

Unusually, Paul spent the next three evenings in The Jolly Roger, but Sandy didn’t make an appearance and, by the fourth day, he decided not to repeat the exercise, since he wasn’t all that great a drinker and several of his male friends there insisted on questioning him interminably about his date with her and whether she had “Put out.”

“She’s not like that,” he had insisted, although he actually had no idea what, if anything, she was likely to want, do, or anything else.

Then, on the Saturday, five days after their first date, Sandy called him. “Hi Paul,” he heard her sexy voice greet him. “What’re you doing tonight?”

“N-nothing,” he admitted and then mentally kicked himself.

“Fancy taking me out?”

“God, yes!” He kicked himself yet again.

There was that tinkling and yet sensual laugh again. “Ok-ay. There’s a new little Italian place over in Haddenfield that’s supposed to be absolutely superb.”

Still annoyed at his own lack of sophistication, Paul heard himself say, enthusiastically, “Absolutely. I’ll pick you up around half seven, shall I?”

“Fine,” Sandy agreed. Then she added, cautiously, “It’s a bit pricey – although not as bad as it will be when it gets more established.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Oo-oo. Mr. Moneybags.”

“No I…”

She giggled. “We’ll go Dutch.”

“No we won’t!”

“Masterful too, eh?”

Paul telephoned and was offered a table at “Eight thirty to nine, sir,” which he happily accepted. He thought about ordering a taxi too, but decided against it, resolving not to drink.

Naturally, by the time they arrived at about eight in the evening and had to wait three quarters of an hour in the bar, he changed his mind and decided to leave his car in the car park in favour of a cab for the return journey. “Oh, sod it,” he grinned. “It’ll have to be a taxi home, I’m afraid,” he told his beautiful companion, as he ordered another drink for them both.

“No problem,” she agreed, with a mysterious little smile that confused him even more, if that were possible.

Now somewhat emboldened by drink, Paul looked directly into her eyes. There was something hypnotic about her – the sparkling hazel flecks in her eyes, the fiery, reddish-auburn hair that framed her beautiful face and that was before you even considered her figure – but what a figure! Nevertheless, the drink spurred him on. “What did the text mean?” he asked.

“What text?”

“There is a time and a place for everything.”

“Oh, that. Well … I think this is the place and the time could be later. We’ll see.”

Paul was confused, but then he was used to that where beautiful women were concerned – well, any women actually. “I don’t…” he began. “You puzzle me, woman!” he admitted at last.

She stretched out a hand at the bar where they were seated and took hold of his hand. “You wanted to know a lot about me, when we met last time.”

“I suppose … well, yes. Why not?”

“What did you really want to know.”

“Er … all sorts of things. You. What you like and so on.”

“Why?”

“Just to know you – more about you.”

“What turns me on, for instance?”

Paul was already well out of his depth. Treading water furiously, he tried to sound nonchalant. “In a way, I suppose.”

There was that teasing laughter in her eyes again. “You haven’t figured it out yet, then?”

“What?”

“The answer to your question.”

“Er … no.”

She became a little more serious. “The answer is quite simply … you.”

“Wha… um … I don’t…”

She squeezed his hand. “This is a hotel, as well as a restaurant. The place is, as I said, here; the time is soon – later tonight; and the lucky winner, although I didn’t actually say so before … is you.” She grinned and added, “And me too, of course – I hope!”

The penny finally hit the ground floor and clattered around. “Bloody hell!” Paul marvelled, as the waiter arrived to show them to their table.

   

© Copyright Adam Frayle 2008 all rights reserved

Perfect Timing

Ally stared at the clock on the wall. Twenty minutes past seven. “Bastard!” she murmured, with just a soft hint of a snarl.

Suddenly, she came to a decision. Darren had done it once too often. He was well over an hour late and she knew from experience that meant he had stood her up yet again. Why did she put up with it, she wondered? Well! No More! That was it!

“It’s not as if I wanted to go to your stupid bloody football match!” she yelled at her absent on/off boyfriend of nearly two years. She made to grab her coat, but then changed her mind. “Fuck you, Darren!” she breathed, with considerable feeling.

Half an hour later, she came back downstairs. Gone were the jeans, the thick top and all the rest of the Darren style clothing. Now, she was dressed to kill. She stopped for a moment to admire her reflection. She smiled. She hadn’t looked that good since her twenty seventh birthday more than a year ago.

She tossed her long blonde hair and put her hands on her hips to half turn and study her figure. The smile turned into a satisfied and slightly wicked, grin. “You’ll do,” she told herself cheerfully and, at that moment, the doorbell rang and a car horn sounded to tell her that her taxi was outside. It was only as she opened the door, that it occurred to her that the driver couldn’t be ringing her bell and sounding his horn at the same time.

A tall, ruggedly handsome, thirty something man stood on her doorstep. “Is Darren there, please?” he asked, politely.

Taken aback, Ally simply shook her head.

The stranger smiled. “Do you know when he’ll be back? Or…” He paused. “I mean is he … well…”

“Darren doesn’t live here and, if I ever see him again it’ll be far too bloody soon!” the young woman snapped.

“But… Um, he…”

“I’m on my way out. Sorry.” She waved a hand at the road. “Cab’s waiting.”

Moments later she was in the back of the taxi, but the stranger was tapping on the window. She wound it down. “Look. I told you. I on my way out.”

“Sorry. Yes, I know. I … well, it’s sort of important. I mean…”

“I’m going into town. If it’s that important you can ride with me, but I’m not waiting around for anything to do with bloody Darren.”

“No. Yes. I mean, sure. May I?”

“I just said.”

During the short, fifteen minute ride to Charlie’s, the night club in town, Ally discovered that Darren had prevailed on Mike, for that was apparently the stranger’s name, to lend him a sizeable sum of money and he had called around to give it to his friend. It also transpired that Darren had told him that he lived at Ally’s address, that the house was his, and that Ally was pregnant and that was why he needed the money so desperately.

“So, I’m pregnant, am I?”

“According to Darren. Yes,” Mike agreed.

“Do I look like I’m expecting a baby?”

“Er… No, but…”

“Well, I can assure you I’m very definitely not.”

“And that’s not Darren’s house at all? Number twenty six, where I…”

 “I own that house! All of it! Darren does not live there – never has and never will.”

He smiled, a little sheepishly. “Seems like it’s a good job I decided to bring the cash round in person.” At that point, they pulled up outside the night club. Mike too got out of the taxi and paid the driver. “Least I can do,” he insisted, when Ally objected. “It seems you just saved me quite a bit of money.”

On the spur of the moment, Ally reached up and kissed her tall, dark haired companion on the cheek. “You’re too nice for your own good,” she told him. “Heck, we’re both too nice for Darren!”

Mike hesitated. “He never mentioned a lot of things, actually.” Then he grinned, cheekily. “He never told me what a stunner you are for one thing – pregnant or not!”

Ally laughed. “He never mentioned you at all, but I can see why.”

He frowned.

“Afraid of the competition,” she explained.

Mike smiled. “Ah, I see. You meeting someone here?” he asked, tentatively.

“No,” she admitted. “Why? You offering to take me in?”

“Not exactly.” Then he added, quickly, “I mean, I will, of course, but it’s not exactly my sort of place.” He paused. “You wouldn’t come for a meal with me instead, I suppose?”

Ally thought for only a moment. “Where?”

“Well… What about Mama Rosa’s? If you like Italian.”

“Love it. Okay then. Now, or a drink first?”

He looked into her eyes, trying to read her thoughts. “They’ve got a lovely little bar there – unless you really want to go somewhere else first?”

Ally slipped her arm through his. “Okay. You choose. I’m all yours.”

Mike gave her a funny look. “I wish!” he murmured softly and there was a tiny suggestion of a catch in his voice, which sent a tingle down Ally’s spine.

In The Beginning Was The Word

‘In the beginning was the word.’ Jack often thought about that statement. ‘Actually,’ he corrected himself, as usual, ‘there were lots of words – mostly Florence’s.’ However, if you really thought long and deep about it, there probably was just one word that started it all. “Oh, sod her,” he muttered aloud, not for the first time, but there was a new resolution in his voice that he had not noticed before.

With a spring in his step to which he was long unaccustomed, he turned and paced away up the pleasant suburban avenue with its lines of elms and horse chestnuts that alternated with such annoying regularity. He grinned and was surprised at the fact. “Yesss!” he called out, louder than he intended, and followed it by punching the air and giving a little skip. At once, he looked around self-consciously to check that no one he knew had seen this momentarily unabashed display of emotion.

He walked on further, turned the corner into the street lined solely with flowering cherries. He stopped, surveyed the road ahead and then marched over into the small, carefully tended patch of green that announced itself to be Brodbury Green Park. He sat on a bench that was dedicated to ‘The memory of John Crispin, beloved husband and lifelong friend of Edith.’

“Yeah, right!” Jack muttered, smirking disparagingly. “Ha!” he exclaimed. “The world is your oyster now, my son.” Once again he was grinning and, once again, he was surprised by it.

Musing in the afternoon sunshine, Jack dreamed idly of evenings to come in the pub with pals and even trips to Ibiza, perhaps. He’d seen it all on telly. Young women dancing in the clubs, almost naked some of them and boasting of how many men they had slept with that week. Even in his mid forties now, he reckoned he’d be able to… what was the expression? Pull a few chicks – that was it. The grin broadened. “Boy! Am I going to make up for lost time.” The grin threatened to split his face in two.

“What are you grinning at, Jack?” The female voice from his side startled him and the grin disappeared in an instant as he whipped round, fearful for just a split second that it might be Florence, his wife. But, at the same moment that he recognised the attractive features, he also identified the voice as that of Susan, one Florence’s friends that she usually spoke even more scathingly about than most. Florence never trusted any woman who had breasts that men tended to look at and particularly not one like Susan who always kept herself in good physical shape and dressed to show the fact. Added to this, Susan was divorced, quite wealthy by all accounts and, above all, three years her junior, although Jack always thought it looked more like ten.

“Hello, Sue. How are you? You look pretty good – as ever. Still sexy Sue I see.” Jack was shocked to realise that he was flirting with this paragon of unattainable beauty. ‘Good God!’ he thought.

He was about to become embarrassed and begin apologising for such an unseemly outburst when Susan too grinned. “I’m absolutely bloody marvellous,”

“Oh, good. Oh, I am glad.” Jack paused and was suddenly aware that he really was glad and also that, now seated next to him, right up close, touching him in fact, this delicately perfumed and exciting woman was stirring thoughts in him that he would not have dared to entertain only a few short hours before. Silly thoughts they were, of course, he realised that – just idle dreams – but very pleasant nevertheless.

“Are you, Jack? Yes, I expect you are. You’ve always been a sweetie. I could’ve fancied you, you know. If you weren’t married, of course.” Susan grinned again, wickedly this time. “I always reckoned you and me would’ve had a real ball – done things that’d make The Avenue’s hair curl. Eh?” She nudged him and winked broadly and Jack could feel himself going red. “Ah. That’s really sweet, Jackie. I haven’t been able to make a man blush for – oh, it must be nearly a week now.” Then she laughed – that deep, sensual, sexy laugh of hers and Jack could feel himself going weak all over.

Moments later, Susan sat forward a little and Jack could feel the warmth of her firm thigh pressing against his. She sighed and the visible cleavage of her generous bosom beckoned him to dive in and drown there in a feast of ecstasy. “Well, I’d better go. If Florence spots me here like this with you, you’ll be in for one hell of a time. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone – and especially not on you, my darling Jackie. You deserve better, my sweet.”

“I don’t care,” Jack blurted out, desperate that this vision should not leave him so soon.

“What?” Her voice held surprise, but there was, as ever, so much warmth in it that it made Jack shiver with desire.

“I’ve left her.” Jack explained and Susan looked stunned and disbelieving. “It’s true! I’ve just walked out – and I feel … wonderful!”

“You look terrified.”

“No, I’m not, whatever I look like. I’m … I’m … Happy!” This was said with such incredulity that Jack suddenly laughed, not something Susan could ever recall him doing. Not really. Not what you’d call a real laugh – out loud.

Susan stared at her friend. “Well, bugger me.” She continued to stare. “And this was today?”

“Yup. Just a couple of hours ago. Well, less than an hour ago really, when I finally decided.”

“So what happened then?”

“Well, I was made redundant. I’ve been looking for a job, of course, but it’s not easy. The minute you say you’re over forty these firms lose interest straight away – and I’m damned good at my job. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong. The firm’s gone pretty well bust and that’s that. They might keep going, but it’s start again time for the bosses – they’ll just be doing it all themselves. They said they were sorry and, if I hadn’t got anything I liked in a year or so, maybe they’ll be able to start re-employing people and I’d be the first and all that stuff. But, well – you know… We all only found out a week ago – I think they kept hoping against hope that something would turn around for the firm. I got a few thousand in redundancy pay, though. They saw me as right as they could. Poor bastards. It’s them I feel sorry for.”

“You would. That’s just the nice way you are, Jackie. So, anyway, what’s that got to do with Florence?”

“She said, if I was so flaming good, why didn’t I save the firm. She said it was probably my inadequacy drove them to bankruptcy. That just about finished me. She always calls me inadequate. I hate it, but when she blamed me for that, it was like she stuck a great big knife into me.” Jack was close to tears. “My work’s the only thing I’ve ever had where I’ve really felt important – worthwhile – you know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I just walked out. I couldn’t stay and listen to her any more.” At this point, one solitary tear escaped and trickled down Jack’s cheek, in spite of his best endeavours to hold it back.

“Oh, Jack baby.” Susan hugged him, kissed his forehead and wiped the tear away with soft, gentle fingers. “You poor darling. I’m sure she didn’t mean it though. You know how she is. It’s just her way.”

“That’s what I can’t take any more, though.” Jack sniffed. “I walked around in a daze for ages and then I went back and stood outside the house for ages too, just looking at it. I couldn’t go in somehow … and then something seemed to snap on inside me, like a light coming on. I just thought, what do I want to go back for? The answer just screaming back at me – NOTHING! So I walked away. And that’s when I met you here.”

Susan stared at him, a gentle kindness in her eyes. “Well, bugger me.”

Jack sniffed again and then grinned in a way he would never have dared to do before his momentous decision. “If you keep saying that, I’ll take you up on it,” he said, chuckling cheerfully.

Susan enfolded him in her arms and said, in a low, husky voice in his ear. “Oh, Jackie darling, you can do anything you darned well please to me. Come on, come home with me. I’ve sold up and I’m moving to Malaga next week. Why don’t you come with me? We can be off to the sun together and have the time of our lives. Why not, eh Jack? It’ll be a whole new beginning – just say the word.”