A Stringed Instrument Ch. 09

The place had a heavy wooden door with a huge brass knocker: a grinning satyr's face holding a heavy ring between its teeth. I knocked twice, and was greeted by a high-pitched and enthusiastic barking and the sound of footsteps approaching. As the door opened we were greeted by a slender and sharply-dressed gentleman in his sixties, and at his heels a small grey terrier who must have been about the same in dog years.

"Oh you poor darlings! You're utterly soaked! Come inside, come inside!" And he ushered us in, whisking our coats away and hanging them by the door. The air inside was warm and smelled of cooking. "I'm Keith, the little fellow is Kirby, you must be Yvonne and Phoebe. We've been worrying about you... come on, sit by the fire and warm yourself!"

We were very grateful to follow him into the dining room, with Kirby trotting along behind us as I explained about the car. There was an old fireplace in the corner, and both of us made straight for it, squatting on the stone flagstones as close as we could get to the flames. Having done his duty as a watchdog, Kirby stretched himself out on a cushion nearby.

Behind us, Keith called out "Iain, our guests are here!" A gruff voice replied from what must have been the kitchen: "Well tell them they're late!"

"Iain, don't be horrible. The poor lasses are soaked!" Keith came back to us and crouched down beside us. "Have the two of you eaten?"

"No." And now I'd started to warm up, I was beginning to pay attention to the growling in my belly. Then I took in the state of the dining room: two dirty plates stacked neatly at the end, two used wine-glasses behind them, and a half-empty bottle of red. "Are you clearing away? We didn't mean to inconvenience you."

"Nonsense, don't you ladies worry about a thing. I'll tell the cook he's back on duty. Leave it with me." He patted my shoulder and went off to the kitchen, where I could hear him talking to the mysterious Iain. Beside us, Kirby had started to snore.

Phoebe was holding her hands up to catch the heat, fingers splayed, and I threaded mine between them. "I don't think the double bed is going to be an issue."

"Huh?" She squeezed my fingers, then released them again, still trying to soak up the heat. "What do you mean?"

"Just a wee bit on the camp side, don't you think?"

"Oh, I didn't really notice..." She sounded quite out of it. Tired, cold, hungry, I wasn't sure which. I decided it was time to get her fed and to bed as quickly as possible.

Keith returned from the kitchen with Iain in tow, still wearing his washing-up gloves. Iain looked to be a few years older than Keith, a tall and solidly-built fellow with a pencil moustache far too small for his round and reddish face. "Iain Matheson, owner and proprietor of this establishment. Keith tells me I'm feeding you ladies."

"That would be very kind. We were planning on getting here much earlier and going into town, but..."

"Not without a car, and the town is terrible anyway. Well, I suppose I can do you a basic omelette, but don't expect much."

I nodded eagerly. "That would be awesome, I'm famished." Beside me Phoebe murmured assent. I put my arm around her and held her tight. Once Iain and Keith had left I asked her: "How you holding up there, sweets?"

"Very tired. Sorry."

"It's okay. We're here now, let's just get some food into you and then you can fall asleep."

Keith returned with two dressing gowns. "Sorry love, this one's going to be much too big for you, it's Iain's". After changing I helped Phoebe into hers, and then put my arm around her. She stood there, propped up against my shoulder, until Iain arrived with the omelettes and I guided her into a seat.

They might have been 'basic' by his standards, but I'd happily have paid for them in any restaurant: mushroom and cheese, done just right, warm and filling. As we ate, Iain asked, "Do you need to get anything from the car tonight? I can drive you there if it's not far."

"That'd be great, if it's not too much trouble. I think I should put my girlfriend to bed first, though. And then steal her gown, so I'm not dragging yours through the mud."

Keith showed us upstairs to our room. Phoebe had mentioned 'purple' but I hadn't expected quite so many shades of it: magenta carpet, lavender and gold wallpaper, plum-coloured curtains, and in the middle of the room a king-sized four-poster bed made up in a purplish paisley.

"It's too big for the room, and the pattern is ghastly. But it belonged to a very dear friend of ours. He left it to Iain when he died, and we didn't have the heart to get rid of it. If you shut your eyes it's really quite comfortable, and I put the electric blanket on so it should be warm."

I separated Phoebe from her gown, tucked her in, and kissed her on the forehead. "Going to get our things from the car, love. Won't be long. I love you." She mumbled something incomprehensible, and I left her to sleep.

It was a short drive. Too short for my tastes; the rain had almost stopped but the road was still wet, and Iain's approach to cornering bordered on the reckless. But we made it without accident, and the rental was just as we'd left it.

"Want to show me the problem?"

I turned the key, and this time she started without a hitch, purring into life. "Well, that's embarrassing."

"Probably water in the alternator. You just have to unscrew the cap and wipe it dry, or you can wait. Well, if you take her home, I'll follow behind and make sure she doesn't misbehave."

To my relief she behaved all the way back to Chambers. On my return I found Keith had already taken our wet clothes to be washed and tried, and Phoebe was fast asleep, peaceful and beautiful. As I climbed in beside her she did not wake, but she snuggled into my arms. It'd been a long day for me too, and I was asleep before I knew it.

***

I woke in the morning with a ticklish feeling on my face. Phoebe's hair had come loose in the night, and a couple of strands were draped across me. My right arm had fallen asleep, caught under her body, and as I brushed away the hair and extricated my arm I felt her stir.

"Morning, beautiful," I whispered, unsure whether she was awake enough to hear me.

"Mmm. Morning, lover." She rolled to face me and yawned, sliding an arm around my waist. "What's the time?"

It had to be well after sunrise; there was a sulky grey light in the sky where the curtains joined. I checked the bedside alarm. "Nine o'clock. Hope you had a good sleep."

"Oh yeah, I feel much better. Sorry to crash out last night, I haven't been sleeping well the last month. S'pose we should go have breakfast, if we haven't missed it already."

And she half-rose, but I caught her by the hair and pulled her back down. "No."

"No?"

I lifted her hair and began kissing the back of her neck. "Nobody else staying here today, so Iain said we could have breakfast whatever time we liked." I felt her squirm as I worked my way down between her shoulder blades. "He said the later, the better. You're not going anywhere until I'm satisfied."

"...oh!" And she twisted around in my grasp to kiss me on the lips, tongue darting into my mouth, arms circling my waist. "You know how much I've missed you, this last month?"

I reached around to stroke her back, fingertips light and secret under the quilt. "About as much as I've missed you?"

"That much." She kissed me again. "And just what are you planning to do with me?"

"Hold you safe and keep you warm. Kiss you as often as I can get away with it." I kissed her again. "Love you."

"Mmm. I love you so much, Yvonne." Our legs intertwined, and we rolled under one another until she was on top of me, her hair running rampant and shrouding both our faces. "You know what would be fun?"

"Mmm?" I scratched her behind the ears, felt her sigh. "What's that?"

"Do you remember the deal we made last time?"

"The deal?" I cast my mind back, trying to remember what she was talking about.

"At the office. I promised to do something nice for you." She slipped down to kiss my breasts, shaping them between her hands, tongue exploring the roughness of my areolae.

"Oh... yes. Yes, I believe you did. I think I'll take you up on that offer now." I stroked her hair and nudged her downwards, but she resisted.

"My hands...?"

"Ah. Well, if you're going to be like that..." I looked around for something to use, and my eyes fell on Keith's dressing gown, hanging over the foot of the bed. The cord was just what I needed, soft and broad. "Sit up, lover."

She did as I'd asked, bringing her hands together behind her back without being told. My pulse quickened as I took her hands in mine, taking my time, kissing her shoulders and down the middle of her back, before picking up the cord and winding it around her wrists. One last tug to make sure the knot was tight, and then I caught her by the chin and turned her head to kiss me.

"Lie back," she said. "Lie back and let me see you."

So I stretched out at full length on the bed, one hand on my breast, the other on my hip. With four weeks of pent-up desire smouldering inside me, just my own touch felt wonderful. I could easily have satisfied myself without assistance, but I knew Phoebe had something better in store.

Her hair was a mess, medusa's coils spilling out all over, and I could see it annoyed her. She tried to shake it out of her eyes, and then to blow it away, but it wouldn't cooperate. So I reached up and brushed it away from her, my fingertips lingering on her face before I tidied it back behind her shoulders as best I could.

"Thanks, love. Think I'm going to need some brushing later." She kissed my fingertips, then lurched and wriggled so she was standing on her knees; I put my hand out to steady her, but her balance was good. "Just lie back for a moment."

So I lay there with an idiot grin on my face as she climbed over me, straddling my hips and settling her weight on me. Even with her hair untamed and her hands bound she had something regal in her look, a princess surveying her new domain.

Then she laughed and tossed her head back and forth, side to side, until my work on her hair had been completely undone and it hung down in front of her, almost masking her from my view. "Lie still, love." I wasn't sure what to do with my hands, and so I rested them on her knees as she leant forward, hair hanging down, brushing my face and throat like feathers drawn over my skin.

Then she moved downwards, a thousand strands of hair sliding down my throat and to my breasts. She swayed from side to side, the touch setting me a-tingle, nerve endings kissed into wakefulness, and then she moved back further and down to my belly, a waterfall of black curls hiding her face from mine.

"Yvonne, do you remember the first night we slept together? Not at Dad's, I mean your place."

"I'm not likely to forget it..."

"When you said you wanted my mouth." Drifting back up, that teasing touch on my breasts and my throat again, making me shiver. "Do you know how that made me feel? I think I knew, when I asked to stay over, I think I knew you were going to say that."

"And you were going to say yes." I reached through the curtain between us, fingertips grazing her breast, up to stroke her lips.

"If you asked me." She kissed my fingertip twice. "But it couldn't be because I wanted it. Only from politeness." Her hair tickling my face again, and I was under the veil and could see her eyes. "Because I'm not gay. I'm still not, you know."

"Mmm." I ran a fingernail down to her belly, dallied in her navel, down to the beginning of her curls. "But you did want it, didn't you?"

"Oh god, yes."

"And you still want it." My fingers slid down, traced her labia almost as softly as her hair falling on my chest, and I heard a plaintive "oh..."

"So much. I want to taste you and stroke you and feel what it does to you."

"Mmm-hmm." I brushed upwards past her clit, pretending not to notice it, toying with the edges of her labia. "Still not gay, though?"

"No." She shifted her hips ever so slightly, bringing my fingers back in contact with her labia. "Definitely not."

"But you want to make love to me." My fingers rubbed her, in slow small movements, and she shifted her hips again to press harder against my hand.

"Yes. That's different." She was over my breasts again, and I couldn't see her eyes. "I'm complicated. Am I allowed to be complicated?"

"Oh, yes, lover." I needed her, I was burning up. "Phoebe?"

"Yes?"

"I want your mouth."

"Do you now?" Tickling down to my belly again. "Well, I'm terribly sorry, but nice straight girls don't do that sort of thing... so I hope you remember the rest of our deal."

I tried to think, distracted by the sensation, no end in sight to her teasing. Then I remembered the rest of what she'd said a month ago, and smiled, and reached up to run my hands through her hair.

"Darling, I said I wanted your mouth. I didn't say I was giving you a choice." And I sat up, grasped her by the hair, and pulled her down between my knees.

How should I describe it? My lover's tongue, concerned only with my pleasure, by turns clever and eager and tender. Her face, sweaty and smudged, smiling up at me whenever I let her up for air. And me, resisting the rising tide of arousal as long as I could, stroking her hair, whispering "Oh, Phoebe, I love you, oh," before at last she overtopped the dam and the flood came rushing through me, battering down all my defences, until I was so sensitive I had to pull her off because I couldn't bear her touch any more. I released her wrists and clung to her, breathless and speechless, hoping she could feel my delight.

And then, when I was somewhat recovered, I whispered in her ear: "Phoebe?"

"Yes, love?"

"I'm hungry again." And I guided her back down. "This time you can use your fingers too. Let me show you what I like..."

By the time she was finished I felt as if she'd stolen my bones and replaced them with warm jelly. We lay alongside one another, me cuddled up in her arms, and I was close to falling back asleep when she spoke.

"Yvonne, darling?"

I opened my eyes and smiled at her sweet face. "Mmm?"

"Are you satisfied?"

"Mmm. Lovely."

"I'm so glad. I love knowing I can make you happy." She smooched me on the forehead. "So, what were your plans for the morning?"

I yawned. "Suppose I should get moving, have breakfast..."

And I started to roll toward the edge of the bed, but she caught my shoulder and pulled me back. "Oh, no, no, sweet. I didn't say I was done with you yet, did I now?"

***

We breakfasted very late, and neither of us could entirely hide our satisfied smiles from Iain, who kept dropping catty double entendrés as he fed us: "Would you like some butter for your toast, Yvonne? Or have you already been buttered today?" And so on.

But it was all in good nature, and I was more concerned with another of our hosts: Kirby was sitting by my side, looking up at me with a piteous expression that would've earned Oliver Twist a second helping. It took all my willpower to resist feeding him bacon scraps, and as soon as I was done I gave him a good ear-scratch by way of apology.

After breakfast we drove out to visit some of the local attractions. The rain had settled in for the duration, so we cancelled our picnic plans and mostly stuck to indoor things: a cheese factory, a historic cottage, another winery. We made an exception for an alpaca farm, because petting fluffy animals seemed like a romantic thing to do. And indeed it was, despite the drizzle and the mounds of alpaca poo. The owners didn't seem to mind that we couldn't afford any of the expensive alpaca scarves and jackets on sale, and they let us feed the beasts and pat their woolly heads. By the time we left the farm it was starting to get dark.

Phoebe's dad called as we were driving back to the B&B. The call lasted several minutes, and she didn't say much more than "Yes" and "Okay" and "All right then". At the end of it she put her phone away; I had my mind on the road and it was a couple of minutes before I noticed she'd stopped talking.

"Everything okay?"

"I think so. Dad said Yaya wants to get the family together before her surgery. Probably on the Easter weekend — Skip Easter, that is."

"Special occasion?"

"She wants help getting the house in order. Supposedly so she'll have less stuff in the way while she's recovering from surgery."

"Well, let me know if you want another helper... wait, 'supposedly'?"

"Dad said she wanted Helen to come along. That's... well, Yaya's barely spoken to her since she walked out on us. Only thing I can think of, Yaya doesn't expect to make it through the surgery, and she wants to talk about wills or something."

"Ah." I patted Phoebe's hand. "You all right?"

"I think so. I'm guessing she's just tired and depressed from the pain and the chemo. And if not... well, I'll deal." She gave my elbow a gentle squeeze. "But thanks for asking."

"Speaking of grandparents, what's the deal with your mum's parents? I don't think you've ever mentioned them."

"Not much to tell. You have to understand, I barely saw Helen after she left, let alone the rest of that side. Most of them were in Adelaide, still are, and it was a long trip for a kid. Grandpa Stephanopolous died a couple of years later anyway. Grandma S... I liked her. We kept in touch writing letters to one another for quite a while, then she sort of trailed off writing. I didn't think much of it, I was fifteen, busy with school and discovering boys. Found out later she'd started to develop Alzheimer's and that was why she didn't write any more, poor thing. I visited her a few times, but... once she got to the stage where she didn't know who I was, there wasn't much point."

"Ah, that's rough. I take it you're seeing more of your mother now than you used to?"

"Wouldn't be hard. When I was growing up, most of the time I didn't even know where she was living. I think she did a lot of travelling, spent a few years up in Cape York or somewhere. These days she's settled in Ballarat, at least it's easier to get to. I try to make it over once a year or so, and sometimes she visits me. Birthdays, that sort of thing. I stayed with her and her partner for a couple of nights just before Christmas — oh, that's right, I told you back then."

"Ayup. Got in the way of my plans to see more of you."

"Trust me, love, I'd rather have spent the time with you. And I'd be glad of your company for this Easter thing, I'd feel better with an outsider along to keep things sane."

"That bad?"

"Oh, it's not like we fight. Just... look, I was seven when Helen left. I cried and cried for months before I accepted she wasn't coming back. And yeah, I'm still a little bit angry at her about that, but I can live with it... it's just that spending time around her is awkward. When somebody's out of your life that long, it's not something you can just switch on again. These days she's trying to take an interest, I do make an effort, but it just feels odd. Like I should have some sort of stronger feelings about somebody who gave me half my DNA. So, I mean, we see one another a couple of times a year, but we only ever talk about things that don't matter. Anything that's not about us."

"Um, yeah." I could relate; my own situation wasn't quite that drastic, but I'd long ago found it was easiest to keep a certain emotional distance from my parents. "I can see that would be awkward — sorry, I keep dragging you onto depressing topics. This was supposed to be a happy weekend."

"I don't mind talking about this stuff, love. I'd say if I did. Sometimes it feels better to get things off my chest."

All the same, I felt we'd gotten into gloomy territory. I managed to lighten the mood a little with a feeble "off your chest" joke, but I was still glad when we arrived back at Chambers. There's something about an open fire that makes a place cheerful.