Dirty Minds (9 page)

After the ham and eggs, Tom and Ros decided not to read the rest of the butler’s tale. They stuck to their agreement to avoid the subject of the book. They talked about all manner of things, from his years teaching in Italy, to her years as a model.

‘Is it hard to be beautiful?’

She smiled across the table at him. ‘It’s a job. It’s quite a hard job, too. Even when I was ten or fifteen years younger, I didn’t just step out of bed and in front of the lens. I had a strict regime of exercise, diet and, of course, make-up. The most difficult look is the one where it looks as if you aren’t wearing any make up.’

He scrutinised her face. He could see no sign of make-up. Did this mean she was so well made-up, he couldn’t see it?

‘And, you can stop staring. I’m not wearing any make-up tonight. I’ve just got off a train.’ She was laughing at his discomfort. ’

Anyway, I often had to get up before dawn, so as to be ready for a car to pick me up at seven o’clock. Sometimes I wouldn’t come home till midnight. Then, six hours sleep and it all started again.’

‘And what sort of modelling did you do?’

She gave him an impish grin. ‘You wouldn’t have seen me on page three, if that’s what you’re wondering. My boobs are too small, for a start, even if I wanted to do that sort of thing. And, believe me, I didn’t.’

‘I thought your face wasn’t familiar.’

She laughed. ‘Nobody looks at page-three girls’ faces. Anyway, I was a general fashion model. I had, still have, a very good relationship with one or two fashion houses. I’m tall and I’ve got a long neck. Stuff hangs well on me. I suppose if I had a speciality it would be ball gowns, long trailing things.’

‘Velvet ones?’

‘Hardly ever. Have you started reading it yet?’

‘I haven’t dared. I kept thinking I would never see you again after you discovered I was a sexual deviant. It didn’t feel right.’

‘Well, now you know that I know that you’re not. So you can maybe give it a go. It is very much a first attempt, but I enjoyed doing it. You won’t be surprised to hear that it is set in the world of haute couture.’

‘I’m looking forward to reading it.’ He hesitated, uncertain if this was the right moment. ‘I wonder if you might want to take a look at my work some time.’

‘I was hoping you’d offer. If you haven’t got a hard copy, you could send me the file by e-mail. I can read it on my tablet. The e-mail address is in there along with my thousand words.’

Both of them felt their eyes drawn to the envelope. A frisson of sexual tension ran across the table between them. As one, they both jumped to their feet.

‘Well, I really should be going.’

‘Are you sure? Sophie hasn’t had her food yet?’

‘Sophie’s fine, thanks. She’s already eaten quite enough for today.’ She took her coat from the back of the door. ‘I think the rain has stopped.’

‘I’ll walk you to your door.’ He grabbed his coat. Noah grabbed the lead.

‘Only if you want to.’

‘I insist. There may be more than one sex fiend in the village.’

‘I’ve always had my suspicions about Reg the postman.’

They walked through the field in the light of a pale winter moon. It was clear enough to make out the path but little else. He would have taken her arm but natural caution prevented him from running the risk of rejection.

‘One thing, Tom.’ Her voice was hesitant. ‘When you get round to reading my thousand words, will you remember something? It’s all imagination. I’m writing the sort of thing I would expect to find in a book like this. I have deliberately tried to keep us, that’s you and me, out of it. I couldn’t bear it if you found yourself imagining me doing those things. It’s just a piece of writing, nothing more. Are you OK with that?’

‘I think that’s a very good idea.’ The sexual charge was back again. ‘Let’s keep this professional.’ His mouth was talking but his body wasn’t listening.

‘And I want you to know that I didn’t cheat. I know you were talking about the 1920s. Well, I haven’t set mine at that time, just so I can’t be accused of taking advantage.’

They reached her gate. The spaniel headed for the door. Noah, smelling food inside, followed.

Ros stopped and turned. ‘Thank you for–’ He leant forward and kissed her. At least, that was the intention. Such was his state of agitation he missed her almost completely. He only managed to graze her chin with his lips. To his immense relief, she did not cry rape. Instead she reached out her arms and planted the gentlest of kisses on his cheek. His heart soared.

‘Ros. Ros, you’re welcome. I mean that. Any time.’ He turned and stumbled away, his voice choked. ‘Come on, Noah. Let’s go.’

‘Good night, Tom.’

Her eyes stayed on him until he disappeared into the shadows of the trees by the river.

Janet watched the office junior disappear into the lift with the envelope. She had worked on her specimen piece all through Sunday, ignoring the telephone, radio or TV. She had written and rewritten it numerous times, until she felt as happy as she could with the end result. As her first attempt at erotic literature, it had been a voyage into the unknown. Sending it straightaway on Monday, first class, she hoped it would get to Devon the next day.

Midway through the morning, she received a telephone call.

‘Hi Jan. I tried a few times yesterday, but I assumed you had your head down, writing furiously.’

‘Hi, Mel. I was going to phone you, but you know how it is. So, how did it go?’

‘Very well. In fact, amazingly well.’ She sounded very upbeat. Janet was delighted for her.

‘So the leg of lamb did the trick?’

‘That and a few other things.’

‘The naughty knicker shop?’

Melissa sounded unusually coy. ‘No, I didn’t want to spoil him. At least, not yet. But things sort of turned out well on that front anyway.’

‘I want all the gory details. Research, you know.’

‘That’s why I rang. Fancy a cuppa at lunchtime?’

Janet flicked her eye over her desk diary. ‘Early lunch? Say 12.30? At our usual café?’

‘I’ll see you there.’

By the time she got to the café, Melissa was already at their table, a heap of shopping bags beside her. And they weren’t from the supermarket round the corner.

‘Been doing a bit of retail therapy, I see.’

‘Hi, Jan. Yes, I’ve had a whale of a time. Two tops, some shoes and a heap of underwear. I would show you but the boy on the table opposite might have a seizure.’

‘I can’t wait.’ She sat down and shrugged off her coat. ‘So, tell all. How did Saturday night turn out?’

‘Well.’ Melissa was bubbling over with excitement. ‘I bought in a load of food and I gave the house a spring clean. I changed the sheets, had a bath and dressed up for the occasion?’

‘Which means?’

‘No, nothing flashy or too revealing. After all, he might have been coming round to serve me with divorce papers. Just that black mohair V-neck and a pair of jeans.’

‘Mel, that black mohair V-neck goes down to your navel!’

‘It’s not that bad. Anyway, he turned up bang on the dot of eight o’clock. He had bought himself all new clothes – after all he’d left everything at home. He even had a label hanging off the collar of his jumper. He looked so sweet.’ Her voice sounded positively tender. ‘Well, as soon as he came in, the very first thing he said was that he loved me, and he didn’t want us to split up. I told him I felt the same way, and we cracked through the bottle of champagne he had brought with him. The meal went down a treat. He even complimented me on the food. He’s never done that in his life, or at least, not for three years or more. He was really hungry. I asked him where he had spent the night.’

‘Presumably not on a park bench after all?’

‘No, he went to some big hotel. They didn’t bat an eyelid that he had no luggage. But I think he must have spent all day Saturday just walking round, shopping for clothes and moping.’

‘Poor lamb.’

‘Serves him right for coming home drunk.’

‘Um, aren’t you forgetting something, Mel?’

‘All right, we were both at fault. Anyway, we settled down on the sofa afterwards and had a bit of a cuddle.’ Catching Janet’s eye, she hastened to clarify. ‘Yes, just a nice cosy cuddle while we drank a bit more wine. We talked about all sorts of things, and then I started telling him about your writing project.’

‘Oh, dear. I rather wish you hadn’t.’

‘Well, anyway, he was really interested. I told him all about the sort of sexy things you and I had been talking about. He started getting excited. Then I told him about the three girls and a boy in bed story, and he turned into a raging beast.’

‘What, angry?’

‘Oh, no, just very, very horny. I’ve never seen him like it, even back when we first started going out.’

‘And he wasn’t jealous or angry that you had been in bed with these folk?’

Melissa’s expression changed to one of remorse. ‘No, you see, I didn’t actually tell him that I was one of the group.’

‘So who did you say it was?’ As she asked, Janet felt her heart sink.

‘I’m afraid I told him it was you.’

‘Oh, Mel!’ The boy on the opposite table looked up in concern.

‘I’m sorry, Jan, but it seemed like the best thing to say at the time.’ She waved away Janet’s protests. ‘But, anyway, do you know what he did? He tore my clothes off and ravished me on the coffee table.’

‘Ravished you?’

‘Well, not that I was unwilling or anything: very much the opposite. But he did rip my pants. We shagged each other’s brains out.’ The boy across the aisle had closed his book. He was leaning so far forward, he was in danger of falling over.

‘On the coffee table?’

‘And on the big rug, and up against the radiator. I’ve still got a mark on my bum today.’ There was a tone of awe in Melissa’s voice. ‘It was amazing.’

‘So what you are saying is that you and your husband have made up your differences?

Melissa nodded vigorously.

‘You and he had sex all over the lounge?’

She nodded again.

‘And he now thinks I have been involved in group sex with two girls and some random man?’

‘Well, yes, I’m sorry, Jan.’

‘Melissa, you are incorrigible. So you realise he is probably fantasising about me now. Maybe even on Saturday night while you and he were – ’

‘Shagging each other’s brains out. I rather think you are right. Do you know what he said to me yesterday afternoon, while we were doing it in the kitchen?’

‘In the kitchen! There’s such a thing as food hygiene, you know, Mel. Go on, tell me what he said.’ As she asked, Janet had a premonition. She was not to be disappointed.

‘He asked me to ask you if you fancied a threesome.’

‘It’s no use, Jimmy, I can’t think what to write.’ Clinton’s muse was on strike. ‘Every time I think of our cavemen, I think of that fat American actor, the one who played Fred Flintstone. What’s his name? Anyway, it just turns me right off.’

‘John Candy, no, the other fat one, John Goodman.’ Jimmy saved the spreadsheet and closed his laptop. Enough was enough.

‘That’s the one. Nothing sexy about him. I need something exciting, something kinky, not just fat men in bearskins.’

‘I thought you were going to try a bit of sadomasochism?’ Jimmy kept his voice neutral.

‘No, I don’t think I’ll go down that road.’

‘So, your hands are tied, so to speak?’

‘Jimmy!’ He ground his teeth in annoyance.

Jimmy had no intention of letting Clinton off the hook. But, for the moment, he relented. ‘And you’ve tried the traditional caveman, clubbing over the head and dragging?’

‘Yeah, but there’s nothing particularly sexy about that.’

‘I’m with you there, Clint. So, what are you going to do?’

‘I think I’ll have to give up. At least I got as far as making this man, Marshall, think I was a girl for a while.’

‘Just answering a letter is hardly identity theft. Have you asked Dolores? She strikes me as the sort of girl to help out with a knotty problem.’ He ducked to avoid the cushion aimed at his head.

‘I told you not to mention that again.’

‘Mention what, Clint?’ Jimmy affected innocence for all of ten seconds. ‘Why not rope her in?’ This time he had to run for cover.

‘So what you doing this evening?’ He spoke from behind the kitchen door.

‘I’m going clubbing. I think Dolores might have reached her sell-by date. I feel the need for fresh meat. You coming?’

‘You know me and clubs, Clint. I haven’t got the chat or the moves like you. I’ll treat myself to a curry and a quiet night in front of the fire.’ The empty fireplace yawned at him.

‘Well, try not to spend it working. I’m worried about you, Jim. All work and no play. You know what that leads to?’ Just so Jimmy would remember, he told him. ‘Masturbation. And too much of that makes you deaf.’

‘Pardon, you’ll have to speak up.’

Clinton spent the next hour and a half in the bathroom. When he left the house, a tsunami of aftershave followed him out onto the pavement. Jimmy saw him out.

‘Have a good night. If Dolores rings, I’ll tell her you’re tied up.’ He just managed to slam the door in time. Fortunately the flowerpot was made of plastic.

He returned to the lounge and phoned through his order to the Bengal Palace. He flicked through the TV channels in vain. In the end he left it on Countryfile. That Julia Bradbury was hot.

‘Jimmy,’ his voice was rueful, ‘at this moment in time, the way things are for me, any woman would be hot. Even a cavewoman.’

That was when the idea struck him. Clinton might have decided against taking the writing project any further, but there was nothing to say he couldn’t. Come to think of it, when he wasn’t working or playing football, he spent a lot of his time reading. It couldn’t be too hard. A glance at the TV screen showed a farm dog chewing on a bone. He grabbed his laptop and opened a new document. He started writing almost immediately.

Tom slid his finger under the flap and opened the envelope. There were three sheets of one-and-a-half-line-spaced typescript. The title leapt out at him :
The New Slave
. She was writing about ancient Rome. Interesting.

He slipped the pages back into the envelope and laid it on the table. Now was not the time. He would read it in the morning, when he had composed himself. His heart was still racing after their goodnight kiss. All right, he admitted to himself, it hadn’t been a serious, slobbery, passionate kiss. In fact, it hadn’t really been any more than the lightest of touches. But the result upon him had been overwhelming, all the same. This was the first time in so long.

His thoughts returned, as ever, to Diane. He leant back against the warmth of the stove. In her last months, she had been so terribly cold all the time. He could almost feel her presence beside him now, snuggled up to the heat. He took a deep breath, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. He stood like that for a long time, his mind whirling, before he pulled himself together, and made a move.

He collected the dirty plates and the wine glasses. He piled them in the sink. Tomorrow would be fine for them too. He shook the tablecloth. The crumbs fell onto the floor, along with a few crusts. The dog vacuumed them up within seconds and then returned to his bed. The wicker basket creaked, as his weight dropped onto it.

Tom sat down at the laptop. It had gone to sleep, so he had to wait a moment while it came back to life.

‘So what do you think, Noah?’ He felt the need of an objective opinion.

The dog clearly understood who he meant. He wagged his tail.

‘So do I, old buddy. So do I.’ There was no doubt about it. Things were looking up.

The screen flickered into life and he was able to resume reading. Tiffany Rossi had a deft touch. She managed to describe in graphic detail the amorous interlude enjoyed by the two household staff without descending into what Tom would have termed ‘smut’. Instead, he found that she could render quite palatable such potentially lewd acts as cunnilingus and fellatio.

‘I’m not sure I should be using the word palatable in this context, Noah.’ He got no response from the dog, who had decided that, after five walks, sleep was called for. He read to the end of the story, finding the final paragraph quite touching.

They lay spent in each other’s arms. She opened her eyes. His face lay close to hers on the pillow, an expression of bliss lighting it up. She raised her hand and ran a finger along the scar on his cheek. He breathed a sigh of deep contentment.

‘‘I love you, Arthur Grimshaw. I always have and I always will.’

His answer was so quiet as to be barely audible
.

‘And I you, my darling girl. And I you.’

‘Well, if that’s not a story by a woman for a woman, then I’m a monkey’s uncle. I think we have a front runner, Noah.’ The dog sighed theatrically, before rather spoiling the moment by farting.

‘Oh, God, dog. Must you? Thank goodness Ros isn’t here.’

His eyes flicked back to her envelope. The anticipation he felt, in spite of her protestations that he should not see her or himself in it, almost took his breath away. He decided to stick to his decision to wait until the morning, before daring to read it. He turned out the light and headed up the stairs.

By the time he came back from his early morning walk with Noah, Reg, the postman, had delivered another batch of envelopes. Tom picked them up and carried them into the kitchen. Before he could do anything else, however, he knew he had to feed the dog. Had he forgotten, Noah’s appearance from the utility room, with a large blue plastic bowl marked DOG in his mouth, would have reminded him.

Mission accomplished, he sat down and addressed himself to The New Slave. He realised, as he picked it up, that his palms were sweating.

The mistress of the house eyed the new intake of slaves. One by one, the major-domo led them before her. She surveyed the huge Nubian, his muscles bulging out of his sleeves.

‘‘The stables. But tell them I may have something for him in the house.’

The major-domo had no illusions as to what that might be. He clicked his fingers and the man was led away. In his place was a petite, blonde girl.

‘‘Do you speak Latin, girl?’ Her tone was brusque, her eyes covetous.

The girl tossed her head defiantly and refused to answer.

‘‘Major-domo!’

The command was no sooner uttered than the blow whistled through the air. His massive hand caught her on the cheek, hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to spoil the goods. ‘‘Answer your mistress or I won’t be so gentle next time.’

She raised her eyes and muttered an indistinct ‘‘yes’.

‘‘Yes, mistress!’ The second slap was to her bare thigh. His handprint stood out against the milky white skin.

She suppressed a squeal of pain. ‘‘Yes, mistress.’ She repeated the words mechanically.

The Roman matron rose from her fulcra and extended her jewel-encrusted fingers. Grasping the collar of the girl’s stained cotton dress, she tore sharply downwards. In an instant, the girl was naked. Her nipples stood out defiantly as she strained against the shackles at her wrists.

‘‘See that she is bathed and oiled. Then bring her to my bed chamber.’

‘Bloody hell, Noah, this is a bit steamy.’

The dog, tired of pushing his bowl around the room with his nose, came over to his master.

‘If I’m honest, I don’t really like the use of the phrase “milky white”. It’s bit too much of a cliché.’ He scratched the dog’s ears. ‘The use of “fulcra” was a nice touch, though. She’s done her historical homework.’

He carried on reading. The final paragraph held his attention right until the end.

‘Do you like honey, my little fighting Saxon?’

‘‘Yes, mistress.’ She did her best to keep her voice strong.

‘‘I have some for you.’ The claw-like nails dug deeper into her.

The girl nodded her head, the pain almost unbearable.

‘‘Good’ The pain stopped abruptly. Her tormentor reached across to the marble table. Beside the whip was a jar. She lay back against the silk covered fulcra and poured a stream of golden honey across herself. It ran slowly over her breasts and down across her stomach. Finally, it disappeared between her legs.

‘‘There,’ her voice was mocking, ‘‘a task fit for a domestic. Lick it up! All of it.’

‘Well, Noah, I’ll never be able to look at a pot of honey in the same light again.’ He put the last page on top of the others and wiped his palms on his jeans. ‘Who would have thought a sweet girl like Ros could write about nasty things like that?’

Not for the first time, he found himself wondering if he was going to be up to the task. He was confident his grammar and spelling would not let him down, but would his imagination? He glanced at the clock: It was just after nine o’clock.

‘All right, I’ll give it two hours. Let’s see what I can produce.’

He turned to the computer and selected a new document. To his surprise, he started writing almost immediately. He hardly stopped. Just a brief break around ten for a cup of coffee and a chocolate Hobnob. By eleven o’clock, he had filled three pages. A word count told him he had written 1017 words. He sat back and took stock.

‘Well, it’s a bit less explicit than either of the other two. I wonder if that makes me a prude?’ He printed the document and read it through again, this time on paper. Then he saved the file. As a title, he called it simply,
Bliss
.

‘Short and sweet, Noah. Hey, what’s up?’

The dog was on his feet and heading for the door. Two seconds later, the doorbell rang: it was Ros.

‘I hope I’m not disturbing you. I have been walking up and down the riverbank for over an hour now. I’m as nervous as a girl on her first date. Just tell me, have you read it?’

‘Um, hi Ros. Come in. Read it?’ He felt a hot flush coming on. ‘You mean your book?’

She stepped aside and the spaniel rushed in. Such was his state of mental confusion, he forgot to take evasive action. The dog had lost none of her unerring sense of direction.

‘Oh, dear lord.’ He found himself once more cradling his privates.

‘Sophie, bad dog. Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry. Does it hurt very much?’ She caught his arm and helped him onto a seat.

‘It’s all right. I should have remembered.’ The Dunkirk spirit asserted itself, while his bruised testicles retracted into his body. Sophie, unaware of the result of her attentions, padded over to socialise with Noah.

‘Would you like me to do anything?’ Catching his look of terror, she hastily added, ‘Like get you a glass of water or something?’

The pain began to diminish. His mind was clearing. ‘Now I know how the slave girl felt.’

Now it was her turn to look pained. ‘So you’ve read it.’

He nodded. It was a struggle to find the appropriate words and enough breath. ‘Well, you said I shouldn’t look for myself in it. The only men were a ten-foot Nubian and a sadistic major-domo, nice use of Latin, by the way. So I think it’s safe to say you achieved your aim of leaving me out.’

‘There were two women in it, though?’ Her voice was anxious.

‘Well, you don’t need to worry about me confusing you with the Roman lady, obsessed with inflicting pain. Sophie the spaniel perhaps, but not you.’ His own discomfort was subsiding now. His hospitable instincts reasserted themselves. ‘Let me make you some tea.’

‘You stay there.’ She left her hand on his shoulder a second or two more than necessary. ‘I’ll make it.’

‘Thanks.’ He straightened up. All was well again. ‘I hate to disappoint you, but the slave girl did sort of strike a chord.’

‘Oh God.’ She busied herself with the kettle.

‘Nothing specific, I can assure you. And I thought it was very well written. Ten out of ten for historical research.’

The kettle boiled. She filled the teapot and turned towards him, now looking less preoccupied.

‘So it was all right? No grammatical howlers?’

‘No, you got all your tenses right. If I was nit-picking, I would have used another adjective in place of “milky” to describe the slave girl’s white skin.’

‘It is a bit corny, I know. But, otherwise, was it up to the standard of the others?’

‘I’ve only read one other so far and it was very good. Yours is right up there alongside it. More envelopes arrived today. If you would excuse me for a moment, I have to go to the loo.’ In response to something in her eyes, he clarified. ‘Nothing to do with your dog’s latest assault upon my manhood. I’ve been typing for two hours, and I need a comfort break.’

As he went out of the door, he had a thought. ‘If you would like to open the latest arrivals and pile them up, we can have a go at reading them.’

‘Will do.’ She took a knife and slit them open, laying the different literary offerings on the table. The top one caught her eye:
D-Day Minus One
by Janet Parr.

With her back to the door, she peered into the shadowy interior of the room. The heavy blackout curtains were slightly open. A weak shaft of daylight illuminated the scene on the bed.

The man was completely naked. His state of arousal was evident and impressive. The two girls were nearly naked: one just in stockings, the other in sheer white briefs..

‘‘Silvia, you’re here.’ Rosalind opened her arms, her pink-tipped breasts extending the welcome. ‘‘Come here and meet Jonathan.’ She turned back to the man and reached for his straining penis. ‘‘I’m not sure what his little friend’s name is, but we’ll soon be acquainted.’

Silvia let her coat fall from her shoulders
.

She felt Tom at her shoulder and looked up guiltily.

‘Sorry, I started without you.’

‘I see the girl’s name is Rosalind. That’s a coincidence.’

She jumped to her feet. ‘The tea should be ready.’

He left the war story for Ros to finish, while he concentrated on the next one on the pile. It was entitled, Ten Million Years Ago. The author was Ariadne Anstruther. He gave a grunt of anticipation.

‘Let’s see what an MA in creative writing can produce. Oh, thanks for the tea.’

She sat down beside him and returned to the tale of wartime love. Tom leant back in his chair and read the first paragraph of Ariadne’s submission.

Ug gave a last heave, threw his head back lustily and roared out to the name of the holy mammoth. She felt him explode powerfully inside her. His grip on her breasts was agony, but she knew better than to struggle. At last he rolled off her slowly and stood up. She bit her lip to stop herself from sobbing. Reaching lazily into the pocket of his bearskin, he pulled out a roast leg of the animal they called Snarf. He dropped it on her sweat-covered body and grunted gruffly. It could have been thanks, but she doubted it.

She was already gratefully sinking her teeth into the cold meat as he left the cave. She tore ravenously at the bone with her teeth. She barely chewed the food, eager to get it inside her, before another of the tribe came to claim it. There was little left by the time the girl, Erda, crept nervously in. The girl’s eyes were fixed pathetically on the meat, her expression pleading. Her face clearly indicated she would do anything for food. The woman stopped eating. Her hunger appeased, she could afford a moment of pleasure. With a smile, she opened her legs languorously and rubbed the greasy bone suggestively against her womanhood. She beckoned invitingly to the girl.

‘Well, here’s me thinking the Middle Ages would be too unhygienic. Now we’ve got sex in a cave surrounded by mammoths. Mind you, this one loves her adverbs.’ He was counting. ‘Thirteen adverbs in barely a couple of hundred words. We’ll have to do something about that! How’s yours?’

Ros had just finished the war story. ‘All I can say is that this chap has remarkable stamina. She does the lesbian stuff well, though. Very convincing.’

‘Spoken with authority. Dare I ask how you got your inspiration for your lesbian romp?’