Thanks Be

'Who's the girl?' She asked.

What to say? I dissembled, 'Just someone whose been modeling for me recently.'

'Seems almost alive.'

I felt my spirits lift a little at a compliment from such an unlikely source but only replied, 'Here. On the dais. Get comfortable and keep still.'

Sitting on a stool, sketch-book in hand I started to make a few preliminary drawings of her. The arousal and lust I'd felt for her lush body had vanished. She was just an object to be drawn.

As I concentrated on the fullness of her breasts, the rounded hips flowing out from the neat waist and down to the curvaceous thighs I found myself straining to bring any real life to my representations. The magic I'd felt in my fingers when drawing Bea was totally missing. It seemed my inspiration came from my heart.

After twenty minutes I threw my pad down. 'I can't seem to get the necessary spontaneity today,' I said, 'Anyway it's past lunch time. I'll get us some food. Maybe later this afternoon will be better.'

'Can I help?'

'Not really. Why don't you have a quick swim. I'll give you a call when the food's ready.'

WE ATE ON THE TERRACE. A simple salad. Although careful in what she said it seemed the hussy felt a need to talk. Firstly she announced I should call her Sally. Short for Salome she explained - which I didn't believe for and instant. It seemed she had some high-power job that, although not in the public eye, demanded she demonstrate great moral principles. She had to be circumspect and discreet in her behaviour. This was somewhat vexing since she wanted plenty of sex, but without strings or commitment. Her solution was to come on holiday incognito and let her hair down to make up for what she could not normally risk.

Why didn't she find herself a husband, I asked. After all, was it not Bernard Russell who opined that "the total amount of sex endured by women is probably greater in marriage than in prostitution."

She nodded, 'Good point, but what he really said was "undesired sex". I desire it and while I could probably find a suitable man with enough energy to keep me satisfied there is, unfortunately, more to marriage than sex. So far I haven't found a candidate suitable for the other aspects. Are you applying for the position?'

I expressed myself suitably flattered but hastily declined and stated to clear up the dishes. 'You sure I can't help?' She asked.

'No, thanks. Why don't you work on your tan for a bit. Maybe I'll get better results if I try sketching you outdoors.'

I WAS JUST FINISHING the dishes when the 'phone rang. I jumped. My heart raced. Maybe it was Bea. Then I realised it couldn't be - she didn't know my number and I'm not listed in the book.

It was Liz Rundle.

'Afternoon, Ralph,' she said, 'is Bea around? Only I've been sorting through some more of Jane's things and before I get rid of them I wondered if there were any she'd like.'

For a moment I couldn't answer, then just mumbled something.

'What's up, Ralph? Has something happened?'

A deep breath. It was no good trying to temporise or hide anything from Liz. Miserably I tried to explain that Bea had gone off with this Tony Alsopp.

When I finish Liz was quiet for a moment then said, 'That can't be right. I saw the boy this morning on my way home from church. He was in the shop, buying a newspaper. I'll go and talk to him.'

Suddenly hope returned. Could I be mistaken? 'If you would. That would be great.' I was rambling, semi=coherent.

'Stay put and I'll call you.'

'No. I'll walk up the lane to your place.'

'Well, wait there until I come back. You hear?'

'Yes, Liz.'

About to rush out of the house I remembered Sally. What to do about her?

I found her on the sand soaking up the early afternoon sun. 'Look I've got to go out. Sorry to leave you like this, but I don't know when I'll be back.'

'I understand,' she said, though it was clear she didn't. 'I'll just stay here and read for a bit.' She held up her thick paper-back.

'I'm going up toward the village. I could show you the way,' I was hoping she wouldn't be anywhere about if I did manage to bring Bea home. 'Otherwise the tide should be low enough around the point in an hour or so.'

'Don't concern yourself. I'll survive. Hope to see you again before the end of my stay. If not, then thanks for the meal . . . and the bed games. You're good. Haven't been taken like that in and age.'

I just left her and filled with hope breathlessly rushed up the footpath toward Liz's house, to find her waiting for me in her car. 'Jump in, Ralph,' she ordered, starting the engine.

As she pulled out and turned toward Broadvale I fastened my seat belt. 'Where we going? What's happening?'

'I rang the boy's father,' she said. 'Apparently his son mentioned that they'd had a row while at the fair and Bea had walked off.'

'And he just abandoned her there?'

'So it appears.'

'Where could she have gone?'

'Without transport I would think it's she's likely still there. We'll go and look.'

As I tried to calm myself I could feel my heart beating with my anxiety. In one way I was relieved to know Bea hadn't left me for that boy, but I was even more worried as to what trouble she might have stumbled into.

'I'm sure there's more to it than that.' I said.

'Isn't there always,' Liz replied. 'We've only got one side of the story. . . While I was waiting for you, young Les Pitt passed. Said he'd been at the fair and seen the Alsopp boy wandering about muttering "to hell with the bitch". Seems as if it was a serious disagreement.'

'Doesn't sound like Bea.'

'Not important right now. First things first. Lets see if we can find her.'

I sensed she was as worried as I was for she was driving faster than usual - faster than I had ever known her to before.

We sat silent for two or three miles. Then, as we rounded a bend, I glimpsed a bedraggled figure walking toward us on the far side of the road.

'Stop!'

'What?'

'There! You've just passed her!'

Fortunately there was nothing behind us as Liz slammed on the brakes.

The car had barely shuddered to a halt when I was out of the door and sprinting back, a mixture of fear and relief pounding in my temples. Was it her? Was she all right? What if it wasn't her?

'Bea! Bea!' I was almost screaming as I got close.

The figure turned and looked at me. It was her!

As I rushed up she smiled and held out her arms. I stretched for her, only to feel a tug at my ankle and a loud growling.

'Shhh, Dog. It's alright. He's allowed,' she said.

I looked down to see a small brown and white mongrel doing its best to protect her from my embrace. 'What?'

'She's my new friend. Aren't you, Dog?' Bea bent down and ruffled the animal's fur, her apparent unconcern belied by the damp streaks running down her cheeks.

As I finally managed to take her in my arms I could feel my eyes were also becoming wet. 'How did you . . . how are you . . . what happened?' I was almost incoherent with relief.

'Oh!' Bea looked past me to where, having turned the car, Liz was stopping beside us. 'That Tony was nasty,' she said in a low, subdued voice. 'Like Father used to be. Wouldn't take "no" for an answer, and he kicked Dog.'

Half easing out of my arms she bent down and ruffled the mutt's hair. 'It's all right, Dog. We're going home.'

'In you get,' Liz called. 'I bet you're hungry.'

Opening the rear door Bea smiled at her, 'Starving, Aunt Liz.' Then she looked at the back seat. 'Is it alright if Dog sits with me?'

'I don't know. What about its owner?' I interposed, being reluctant to let her out of my grasp.

'Please, Captain. Dog's mine now. She adopted me at the fair. And she's been walking all the way back with me.'

Liz was out of the car and fiddling in the boot. Holding up an old blanket she said, 'Spread this across the seat. It's what I use when I take Rags to the vet.'

'Fine,' I persisted, 'but what about its owner.'

'Don't be so churlish, Ralph.' Liz said. 'Can't you see they go together. Anyway the animal doesn't have a collar with a tag so we can't know the owner. If you insist we can take it down to the vet tomorrow and check if it's been micro-chipped. But I bet it hasn't.'

I accepted the inevitable, 'All right - women rule. You've got me out-voted.'

Still somewhat vexed that my happy reunion had been usurped by an animal I added, 'Don't think "Dog" is a very good name for it. Especially as it's really a bitch. Can't you think of something better?'

Bea frowned in thought. 'You're right. I'll call her "Lucky". Like me.'

I reached back between the seats and took her hand. 'So what happened?'

She was quiet a moment, her head lowered. 'We hadn't been at the fair very long when Dog - I mean Lucky - came and rubbed against me. Said she hadn't been fed. . . . After we had shared a bun that boy had bought me we decided to be friends. She's stayed with me ever since. . . Although, that Tony tried to shoo her away. Said she was a flea ridden mongrel.'

She paused and stroked the animal. 'You're not, are you? Flea ridden; though you are a mongrel - then all the best people are. I learnt that from Mother.' She paused and buried her face in the dog's hair.

'And.'

'Lucky seemed to need me. Stayed beside me. . . then later that boy led us to the edge of the rides and things; where the wood began. And . . . and . . . he wanted us to go into the trees so that he could know me. When I said no I was your woman, he got annoyed and Lucky growled at him. He tried to kick her again, so we ran away from him. . . And we started to walk back home.'

Conflicting emotions left me speechless. Anger at the lad - though I would probably have done the same at his age, except kick the dog, that is - and joy that she considered herself mine. Then a wave of guilt at my faithless screwing of that Sally.

'And you walked all this way?' Liz said, impressed.

'What else was I to do? Anyway it's not that far. Ralph and I walked a lot further when he brought me home. I thought we were going to get wet when it started to rain, but there was an old falling-down barn just off the road. We stayed in it most of the night.'

Liz didn't say anything though it was clear Bea would be taken to one side for some motherly advice in the not too distant future, and a certain person was in for a tongue lashing the next time she met him.

Just then we arrived back at Liz's house. 'Thanks for your help,' I said.

'That's what friends are for. Just get Bea back to your place. She needs feeding and watering. We'll have a chat another time.'

'What about food for Lucky?' Bea chipped in.

'Oh! Sure, hang on and I'll pop across to the shop and get something.' I said.

'Not now you won't,' Liz said. 'It's Sunday. It closes in the afternoon. Give me a moment and I'll see if can find a tin in the stock I keep for Rags. Wait here while I look.'

Making a mental note to find some way to show my appreciation of all Liz was doing, I turned to Bea. 'You go on ahead and have a shower. I'll follow and fix some food. Oh, and you better wash that animal as well, if she's to be part of the family.'

THIS WAS NO TIME FOR complicated cooking and my mood was positively euphoric as I quickly threw together a scratch meal. Above my clattering of plates and cutlery I could hear my woman happily singing in the shower. She's got a pleasant voice, which is more than can be said for Lucky who joined in from time to time.

Soon ready, with a cry of 'Come and get it,' I carried everything, including a celebratory bottle, onto the terrace.

I hardly had time to set it down when they appeared. Lucky furiously shaking excess water everywhere and Bea - as I preferred her - a naked nymphet.

'Hurrah! Hurrah! Food,' she declaimed, striking a wide legged pose - quite oblivious to how she was tempting me to throw her over my shoulder and rush bedward.

'Who's feeding Lucky, you or me?' I asked.

'You can, Captain,' she said, grabbing a plate to load.

'If you say so, Mam.' Right then I'd have done anything for her.

I'd just opened the tin of dog food and spooned it into an old bowl when Bea pointed down to the beach and said, 'Who's that?'

With a sinking feeling I glanced toward the sea. Sally, her bag held high was wading out half way to the end of the point. 'It's a tourist. Came round the point early on. Looks as if she's decided to go back.'

'I've seen her before. It's that woman in the pub. The one that got all of you so aroused.'

What to say? Could I prevaricate? Being unfaithful was bad enough, was I now to start lying where I'd vowed to only tell her the truth.

'You're right. She says her name's Salome.'

'You talked to her?'

'It seemed polite.'

'And did you fuckle her?'

'You've forgotten again, it's fuck. . . and . . . and I'm ashamed. I'm sorry. But yes, I did.'

She paused a moment, staring after Sally as she rounded the headland. 'So what's wrong, Captain. Why are you so upset? Didn't you enjoy her?'

'It was wrong. I let you down. You said "no" to that Tony. So why could I not say "no" to her. If I'm going to be your man then I must be faithful and not take other women.'

Bea was again quiet for moment then said, 'Mother once told me that a cow needs but one bull, but a bull needs many cows. Are we not the same?'

Stunned I just sat looking at her. I felt humbled, for out of the mouth of a babe had come wisdom and forgiveness. Logic and reason had no part of me, I just knew that no matter what transpired I could never betray her again. She was not just my inspiration, but my woman to care for and protect. I felt frightened at the responsibility I had assumed, yet deliriously happy.

Rising I kissed her. 'Thank you,darling.'

Then I lifted her and carried her to our bed.

EPILOGUE

'Say, Saldano, you seen the reviews yet?'

My dealer is his usual cheerful self. How he manages it so early in the morning I have yet to discover. I yawn and put the 'phone to my other ear, while Bea snuggles deep under the duvet - shutting out the rattling of the winter storm and covering her beckoning boobs.

'What do those guys know about art?' I say - yet again. 'They're only critics. You know I never read them.'

'Well Felix Blindweed has an interesting point in his piece. I quote, I can only ascribe Ralph Saldano's recent flash of brilliance to the inspiration provided by his new model since, in all his other paintings that do not show her, he continues to plough the same old boring hokum.'

The sound of the waves battering the beach seems suddenly louder.

'I better watch that guy - either he's suddenly found some brains or he's employing a good spy.' I remark.

'Yeah. Reviews are shite, usually, but only ninety percent shite.' My dealer's favourite maxim. 'You need to keep abreast of things.'

'I am, mate, I am.' I slide my spare hand under the duvet and find one of Bea's to fondle and gently squeeze.

'Well, however you did it, Ralph, well done. We've got a successful show on our hands.' He rings off.

So, I've been rumbled. Not sure I like that. It's all right, after we've been long gone, for art historians to pontificate about the relations between us and our models. But while we're still around and making use of them? It's not on. Which reminds me it's a good few hours since I refilled my inspiration - not since we tumbled into bed last evening after a jolly session in the pub. Now I'm sporting a good old morning woody. I dive under duvet and get to work on her.

Happily she moans and groans and clutches me feverishly as I pump in and out, but more importantly those strong muscles in her hot centre squeeze and milk me hard. I come in no time flat - which has become [pun intended] the norm. Forever sensitive to her needs I encourage her to push me on my back and start a long slow ride of her own.

There is a heaven on this earth.

END