A Woman's Place (38 page)

‘Do you mean it?'

‘Certainly.' He did not repeat himself or expand further, but she was weakening. A note of triumph had crept into his voice.

‘Tonight, then. I'll say no to the BBC. My place, about eight. And forgive me if I'm a bit flat, will you? It's been a lousy week.'

‘Thank you. Sancerre or Meursault?'

She laughed at last, wistfully.

‘Just you, George. That's all I want.'

Fred stepped out of the shower and gingerly patted himself dry. With the towel wrapped around his middle he stood in the lounge, back to the mirror, and strained to examine himself over his shoulder.

‘Serves you right for not putting sun block on properly, you idiot.'

‘But I'm striped!' Karen, grinning but sympathetic, pulled him into the fading light near the window. Fred had caught the full force of a strong sun. His failure through a sudden shyness and lack of nerve to ask his companion for help meant angry red areas on his fair skin wherever he had not been able to reach.

She fetched sunburn lotion and began gently to apply it. Fred jumped as the cold fluid ran over his skin but submitted dolefully.

‘Bend down a bit.'

Fred was a little taller than Karen. He sagged at the knees and hung his head like a naughty schoolboy, arms limp at his sides. She reached up and smoothed the lotion over his neck and shoulders. He winced as her fingers passed over sore protuberant bone but relaxed as the medication took effect.

‘Turn around.'

Dutifully he obeyed. She had already bathed and changed into a sleeveless blouse and a clean cotton skirt. The flushed tan on her cheeks made her look exotic. In the darkened face her hazel eyes were warm and steady but something new stirred in them.

‘Anywhere else, Fred?'

Her hand moved lightly on to his chest, then dropped slowly to his navel and rested on the twisted knot of his towel.

‘Wherever you like, Karen…' His voice croaked and he cursed himself. Why was he such a
clown? If his back wasn't so painful…

She laughed and pulled slowly at the towel, her knuckles grazing his belly where the reddened flesh turned to white. The fabric dropped away and fell to the floor. Calmly she capped the bottle and discarded it on the heap.

She stood before him, hands on hips, and examined him up and down with a mocking air, but with genuine affection in her gaze. She tilted her head at him and ran her tongue over her lips. Then before he could back off she lifted his organ in one hand and rested it there almost in curiosity.

Her other hand, still creamy, began to brush it softly and repeatedly along its length. As it grew under her encouragement she watched with amused delight. His breath came in short bursts as her movements became more rhythmic.

‘Not in trouble there, Fred, are you?'

‘No, but I will be if you carry on doing that.' He suddenly asserted himself. For a brief second he closed his eyes and prayed that this time, at last, they would really make it together. And, as an afterthought, that it would be quite as fantastic as he imagined.

He opened his eyes to find Karen still looking at him with merry anticipation, a broad smile on her face. Firmly he grasped her hand. ‘Come on.'

‘Une salade de gésiers, s'il vous plait. Et une bouteille de vin rouge de table.'

He would not dream of eating gizzard at home. In fact he suspected it was banned under some health ordinance or other. Yet at the Coupe d'Alsace round the comer from the Boulevard
Saint-Michel
the small pieces of spiced meat were a delicacy. The strange taste, the unaccustomed freedom, the wine, the warm evening air, gave him a heady sensation which was entirely pleasurable.

Yet he wished he were not alone. Perhaps he should have persuaded Karen and Fred to travel with him, or even Lachlan? He had reflections he would have liked to share. Alternatively, in an expansive mood induced by alcohol, he could have been, he knew, a relaxed and interested listener. He had never been really drunk and had no idea how far he could go or how his behaviour might alter. But solitude, all at once, did not seem so perfect a substitute for companionship.

It was Paris; it was summer. The locals might have cleared off for their
fermeture annuelle
, not to return till September, but many students remained as well as visitors. Across the room one couple were more engrossed in each other than in the food. The young man was thin and eager, the girl wore shorts exposing long tanned legs which to Anthony seemed curiously unsexy. In the middle of the main course the girl rose and flung herself on her boyfriend, sitting on his lap with her limbs entwined around his body. For several moments they engaged in passionate kisses and only stopped when the waiter enquired laconically if they had finished their meal. Then she returned to her seat and they continued eating.

Anthony frowned. The episode excited him, but not for the reasons he might have expected. He had not found his heart thumping because he yearned to be hugged by those thighs. It was the boy's face, the hunger in it, the moist mouth. He ordered a cognac, and sat, watched and waited.

Elaine sucked the wishbone between her teeth, dropped it on her littered plate and contentedly licked her fingers one by one.

‘How do you do it, George? You only phoned me mid-morning and here you turn up with a feast.'

‘Been slaving over a hot stove ever since.'

‘Don't you have a job to go to? How come you get the time to do this and I don't?'

He grinned sheepishly. ‘I cannot tell a lie. I popped into Harrods. Ideal for busy grafters like you and me. You sounded as if you needed some home comforts. What a mad life you lead.'

‘I suppose it's because there's nobody to stop me these days.' She spoke quietly. With George
there was no point in coquetry. When he was ready he would lead; if he wanted to talk, or to encourage her to do so, she could not hurry him. It was a surprise to realise she was adjusting to the rhythm of another person's preferences – and how much she liked it.

He snorted. ‘Why don't you put your foot down? Why can't you say “No” and “Sod off” more often, as you did tonight?'

‘Part of the culture, I suppose.' She reached for her glass after George refilled it. ‘I could say it's my conscience – I'm not happy to stop until all the stuffs done. But that's an impossibility – no sooner do I empty my box or the diary tray or clear the folders off my table than they're simply replaced as if by some evil magic. And I'm terrified that the file I've not read will be the one with the biggest row boiling up inside.'

‘You have to prioritise. Or get your staff to do it for you.'

Elaine pictured the ubiquitous Chadwick and pulled a face. ‘That takes a while. It needs confidence between civil servants and their Minister, both ways. The officials hate it if we veto their pet schemes on political grounds. We get furious if they dig their heels in and say something won't work. That's creative tension, if you like, but it's wearing.'

She rested her chin on her hand. ‘It's so damn competitive, too. I got this position through a fluke. That won't happen again. The next move up, if it comes, will follow some pretty detailed scrutiny. I can't afford any hint that I don't pull my weight.'

‘I heard your hours in Parliament were going to be reduced. Didn't it happen?' George retained a healthy scepticism about the operations of Elaine's workplace.

‘No – on the contrary. We're supposed to finish at ten p.m., but that's been the rule since the Fenian filibusters of the last century, and always practised more in the breach than in the observance. But Wednesday morning sessions in place of Fridays are driving Ministers scatty. We used to have a single debate on Fridays so only one responder was needed. Now there are half a dozen subjects chosen by ballot. We can't manipulate that. Each one requires attendance by Ministers from various departments. Better for backbenchers, awful for us.'

Her lover sat back in his chair. Beside him the sliced Cox's apple was half eaten. All that remained of the St Maur cheese was the dark ash rinds.

‘What did you mean by the culture? It's a practical matter, isn't it?'

Her laugh was hollow, her face sad. ‘We're like Japanese salarymen. Supposed to slave away for the sake of it, useful or not. Much of what's in my box is rubbish, but it takes a stronger character than me to tip it out on the floor and walk off.'

‘Might do them all good.' George was looking at her.

She drained her glass and giggled. ‘I could imagine Bampton trying that. He's made it – he's in the Cabinet. But I couldn't, as a woman. Can't complain, see? He'd immediately accuse me of not coping. Weak, useless. Can't get into fights with the civil servants for the same reason. So, my sweet, one cultivates an air of competence even as one collapses from exhaustion. All part of the pretence.'

He leaned across the table and took her hand. ‘There's no pretence here, Elaine. Have you enough energy left?'

He had not said again that he loved her. She wondered if she had misheard, or whether it had been a ploy to gain her attention; or whether in a few moments she might find out more.

She stood up and moved around the table. He rose and pulled her gently to him. Raising her hand he kissed her still-sticky fingers. ‘You taste of honey,' he said, and led her to her bed.

It was time: for them both.

Karen had long since put behind her any residual fear of men. Militant feminists might scream that every man was a potential rapist but, as a judgement on most of the males she knew it simply did not ring true. In Fred's case she was certain he was incapable of forcing any woman against her
consent. On two occasions – on New Year's Eve and later, again at the house – he had accepted her demurral with grace and dignity. If she was to break her duck with a decent bloke, this was as good a moment as any. It was time to give Fred his chance.

Not that she loved him, other than as a friend. When it came to comparisons, Anthony, with his aura of power and assumed authority, was a more alluring figure. Karen was not the first woman to be fascinated by ambitious men. Looks alone could not explain the amorous achievements of the most successful Lotharios in the House of Commons, if power itself were not the aphrodisiac.

But the hours spent in the lazy sun lying at this young man's side, virtually unclothed, almost touching, had had a considerable effect. She had found herself glancing sideways and surveying him. He was not well muscled – quite thin, really, and not hairy – but that gave him a boyish innocence which was both reassuring and…

A stark-naked Fred, his body patched in red and white, thighs clenched, took Karen by the hand and walked into his bedroom with that ungainly gait of a man with a full erection. The girl moved more easily, undoing her blouse on the way, until by the time Fred had reached his bed and was rummaging in his bedside locker she stood beside him, naked to the waist.

‘Fred.' There was a sweetness in her voice. ‘I am so fond of you. You know that, don't you?'

The box of condoms was in his hand. Shaking, he tried to extract one but the silvery packets slithered through his fingers and cascaded on to the bed. She hid her mouth behind her hand but her eyes danced. He dropped the box with a muttered oath and reached for her, pushing her down on the bed.

His mouth was upon hers, and then on her breasts, and she moaned as he found first one nipple and then the other. Her skin tasted of sun and the salt breeze, and had a natural perfume he would never forget. In response her back arched upwards; she murmured his name and her fingers stroked his head. He told himself he must not come too fast, that foreplay was everything, that his partner must also enjoy it if there was ever to be a second go. He reached under her skirt and found the surprisingly wiry hair and the intimate place, already moist, and slid his trembling fingers inside.

Karen remembered she had turned him away twice: now she must help. She half sat up, undid the skirt fastening, wriggled out of the garment and kicked it away, her panties following, until the warmth of her flesh was there underneath his, touching his trunk, and her limbs began to spread out beneath and around him.

‘Put it on, now,' she urged. He knelt up as she moved more securely further up the bed. His hands were shaking uncontrollably as he fumbled in desperation.

The girl took pity. Without a word she relieved Fred of the pale flimsy object and pushed him over on to his back. She had seen films; she had rehearsed this moment in her mind. Deftly she rolled the condom up and placed it over the tip of his penis, then with a swift sure movement rolled it down. And caressed him, holding him in one hand like a joystick – and before he could resist, her other hand flat on his belly, she raised herself over him and slipped him inside her.

As he began to move, the fiery skin on his back rubbed against the sheet and burned first in furious protest, then in added screaming fervour. It did not take long. With a yelp of pure pleasure he came, and his hands reached up to cup her breasts. As he did so she whooped and arched her back in her own climax. He pulled her down on top of him, and held her very close, full of joy at life, suffused with admiration and adoration for the panting girl whose arm was now flung in abandon across his body.

‘We did it! Oh, wow – hooray!'

‘We did, Fred. What a love you are.'

Gingerly she eased herself off him. Fred raised his head and indicated with pride the silvery sheath in his groin. ‘You know how to take these things off, too, then?'

She reached for a box of tissues. ‘Carefully, I believe.' As she did so she laughed and so did
he. For several minutes they lay close and nuzzled each other. Then she eyed him up and down and grinned broadly: already he was beginning to stir. ‘We could use a lot of these this week.'