Working, Waiting, Wanting

What she had to tell would be useful to him, she hoped. She so wanted to please him further, remembering the pleasure his reaction to her article had given her. Just maintain his respect, be happy with that, she told herself, as she shrugged out of the green jacket.

He arrived back at the table, set down two glasses of wine, sat down and remarked, "You suit lemon---or should it be lemon suits you." Having his eyes notice her like that was so warming.

"Thank you," she said, and treated him to a special smile. Well, she hoped he would tell it was special. To cover her uncertainty she asked, "You'll be on holiday soon, won't you?"

He nodded, "Just a few busy days away," And he laughed, "God, I wished you hadn't reminded me."

"You don't look forward to holidays?"

He shrugged, "Just so much to do between now and then."

Time to start the action, she thought, as she reached down to her feet and came up holding the clear plastic folder containing papers. "I hope this interests you. Since that's why you're here." She was daring enough to allow her eyes to fix on his briefly, with the unspoken question, "Isn't it?"

"Based on your visit last week?" he asked, and he was leaning forward clearly keen to see what she had found.

"That and a couple of other enquiries." She reached into the folder and came out with a single sheet of paper. Now to find out whether she could surprise and please him. "Benjamin Scaley, builder. You mentioned him."

"Yes, refused twice. Wanted to build a hundred houses." .

Karen enjoyed the look of disappointment on his face She trusted she could remove that look."Do you know the rest?"

She saw his interest perk up, just as a little red-faced waitress arrived with two steaming plates. The savoury aroma alone set her stomach rumbling, but she was just a little annoyed that a special moment had been disrupted. They were silent for a moment as they picked up their cutlery and began to taste the meal.

"Good choice, Karen," Yorke said appreciatively.

"I knew it would be," she replied, delighted that he agreed with her, but wondering how they could get back on track while eating. But he was obviously as hooked as she hoped he would be, for, resting his cutlery, he looked up at her.

"What was the rest you mentioned?"

She attempted an enigmatic smile as she said, "Scaley sold the land."

Clear surprise showed on his face. "When?"

"Roughly one year ago. Two million."

How encouraging was it to see him forget about the food, and ask, "Who would pay for land that had no planning chance?"

Oh, how she enjoyed the look on that handsome face, " A group called Hangford Properties."

She watched him as, a puzzled look on his face, he ate in silence for a moment, clearly deep in thought. Emptying his mouth and taking a sip of wine, he asked, "Why would they want it?"

Would he make the connection? She wondered. "Doesn't seem sensible, does it? I checked up on them. Got caught up in the 1989 nose-dive—but survived."

Yorke was clearly intrigued, "But still came up with two million for land which---" He paused and the obvious question now sprang to his lips. "When did you say this happened?"

Ah, here it was, the connection she'd hoped he'd make. She told him the date, and watched him eagerly.

"Just before we became aware that the school was at risk," he murmured."God, this is so close."

"So is that a connection---or what?" And she put on what she hoped was her best journalistic mask.

But she could see that Yorke still remained a little guarded, unwilling to accept a total truth, "Taking a risk though. After all, closure was only a suggestion." She warmed to his brown eyes regarding her, as he went on, "But you, madam, have been a true snooper. What inside information would prompt buying land already refused planning permission?"

Yorke finished his meal well ahead of her, and as she ate she knew his were eyes on her. She kept her head down, well aware that she was not a lady-like eater. Her father had once said. "You eat with all the voraciousness of a starved bulldog." She couldn't possibly know what Yorke was thinking, but had to admit that, on this one, he would have to take her as she was. She believed she had no false modesties, or pretensions.

As soon as both plates were clear, she stacked them and took them to the bar. When she came back, Yorke observed, "With the school gone there would be much greater ease of access,"

."And then some. A real Catch 22 situation. If they built houses on the land the school would grow. But they can only build if the school closes. Crazy?"

And again he showed they were on the same wavelength, "Whoever purchased the land must have had some insight."

"So they could make a gamble on the school closing." She was really enjoying their shared enthusiasm.

"You have done wonderfully well. I'll follow up on it, I've spoken to so many Council officials, Leader, deputy leader, you name it, I've talked to them all. Now, just maybe, you've given me a loophole to dig at."

Grateful at his appreciative words, she glanced at her watch, "I'm afraid I have to go." She so wanted him to go on. "That bloody function."

"Right. I'll let you know what I find. How soon can we meet again?"

"Well, I'm down in Yorkshire tomorrow, and that could expand to Friday," she said quietly, and here came a wonderful chance to bring him closer. Perhaps. And she looked at him with a look, which, she hoped was brightly challenging. "Are you a risk taker?"

"Now what does that mean?"

"Would you be against allowing me to prepare a meal for you? From my own kitchen," she said with mock grandeur. "Saturday, say? I know I'll be free then."

"Oh, I don't want to be any trouble."

Trouble? This was not going to be trouble. She didn't see herself as the best cook in the world but she could turn up a fairly presentable meal. Eating alone could become a bad habit, and here was a man that, for once, she was sure she wanted to share more than just a meal with. "Hey, there are times when I'm glad of any company at the moment."

"Oh, thanks a lot," he laughed with a mock pout.

"I didn't mean it like that," she giggled, touching his arm lightly. How daring was that?

"I know. But what's the risk?"

"My cooking," she said , with a grin.

"I'd be happy to come. There's just one thing stopping me."

"What's that?"

"I don't know where you live."

It was a delight to share another laugh. Karen was sure in that moment they were drawn closer together. Outside, they stood by her car in the warm evening air. He was standing very close, and Karen was sure she could feel the heat from him. Probably her imagination, but then unexpectedly, he had bent and kissed her gently on the lips. Before she could respond, he had stepped back saying, "I'm really very grateful for your help."

As she drove away, Karen could still feel the tingle on her lips. Two more seconds and who knows what might have happened. Damn, this bloody function. Roll on Saturday.

________________________________________________

By the time Saturday came around, Yorke could hardly wait to tell Karen what he had learned in the intervening days. He had first gone on the internet to look up Hangford Properties. From that point his excitement had been almost uncontainable. That morning he'd had a long talk with the Director of Education, and now had to wait patiently for the outcome. Karen was the only one he could tell at this stage.

He couldn't wait to watch the enthusiasm on that so stunning face. He had an encouraging feeling that this dinner invitation was more than just dinner, or school problems, but maybe he was misreading the situation.

By the time he drew up outside Karen's neat detached house at precisely eight o'clock, rain was pounding on the car roof and leaping in arrow heads off the roads and pavement. Mr Ever-ready. No umbrella, no coat. Not even bothering to lock the car, he slammed the door behind him, and dashed for the cover of the shallow awning at her front door, the plastic bag, in which he had carried the wine, held in useless cover over his head.

She opened the door before he reached it, and her mouth set in a little 'oh' somewhere between regret and humour. "You really caught it."

"Too stupid," Yorke laughed as he stepped inside, shaking himself like a great Dane. "I knew it was coming---"

He kicked off his shoes, which had splashed through several small lakes, handed over the wine and slipped out of his jacket, before loosening his tie.

"Hang it there," she said, indicating the coat rack. "Are you all right otherwise?"

A few spots on his trousers he reckoned would soon dry.

He followed her into a good sized sitting room, neatly furnished in modern styles. A small suite consisting of armchair and two-seater sofa in tan leather. A couple of tasteful water-colours on the walls. and a table neatly set in one corner. Two places facing each other, and candles already lit.

Karen wore a simple pale blue summer dress, above knee length, with a scooped neckline. It gave her a coolly competent look. Yorke resisted but admitted that it also loaned a quite delectable quality to her.

As his eyes took in the room she asked, "Like to eat right away?"

"Any time you like."

Within minutes they were sitting at the table and she was dishing out chicken breasts in a smooth red sauce, with broccoli, baby potatoes and French beans.

He sensed her eyes watching anxiously as he took his first bite at the chicken. The sauce had a most delicate piquancy that teased his palette. He told her, and she looked relieved and grateful, as she poured the wine.

Over the meal they talked about anything but his reason for being there. The change in the weather, the news about refugees. He allowed himself two half glasses of wine.

When it came to clearing up, he noticed that a good two thirds of the bottle had gone. Karen obviously enjoyed it. Her cheeks had taken on a full rosy glow.

"Leave the dishes," she said, as he began collecting them. "We'll have a coffee. Or would you prefer something stronger?"

"Coffee would be fine."

As he settled into the easy chair he noticed a photograph on the windowsill. A young, handsome, fair haired man smiled broadly at the camera, high green hills behind him. Karen placed a tray on the small table between them, and, as she sat on the sofa facing him, her eyes studied him openly.

"You're not going to keep me waiting much longer are you?" she said with a cautious smile.

Yorke nodded, noticing her trim figure more closely. She curved in all the right places. Was his increased observation just because of the wine? He knew damned well it wasn't. But, picking up his coffee cup, he said, "Thanks to you, Karen, I was able to follow up on Hangford Properties on the internet. Found their website, on which the directors were listed. Littleson and Clarke, seem to be the top two. Nothing outstanding among the directors.

Then I came across a page of what are called 'Associates', and running down that list I found one name that did bulge out at me." He stopped, took a sip of his coffee, and watched the way Karen hung on his every word. In repose her mouth turned down slightly at the corners. Sadly sensual, he would have defined it. But when she was animated it became highly expressive, and really quite fascinating. God, she was so good to look at. And better to touch, I'd bet, said a wicked voice in his head.

"Go on. Go on," she urged impatiently.

He gave her a smile and went on, "The name was Norma Evingstonly."

"Unusual surname."

"Isn't it though? But it happened to be a surname I recognised.This morning I had a long talk with Harold Murton, the director of education. Before I revealed anything, I asked if talk of school closure came from any particular direction. Almost without hesitation, he said it had been his deputy, along with a couple of other committee members. Just as I hoped."

"And?"

Yorke hoped his smile wasn't too triumphant. "The name of the deputy director is---Raymond Evingstonly. .Further checking and---they're brothers, Karen. That's all really. Murton has assured me he'll look into the matter most carefully and get back to me."

"So it's wait and see? Oh, so close." She glanced at his empty coffee cup, "Another?" she asked, and when he thanked her and demurred, she added, "A whiskey?"

"Well, if you are having something---but small. Half and half with water. I'm driving." But Karen was away immediately, and he watched the way her buttocks moved under her skirt but were her legs just a little unsteady?

She came back with two tumblers, handed Yorke the whiskey and sat down again nursing a tumbler of clear fluid.

"A gin lady?"

"Vodka," she replied, and for the next fifteen minutes or so they talked through the various outcomes of what they had found.

She stood up with her tumbler empty, "A top up?" she asked.

"Not for me, Karen, thanks." And as she staggered slightly past the coffee table he added, "You know as much as anyone now, Karen. A little patience now, and you may score a big story out of it."

When she returned and sat down with her recharged tumbler, her eyes seemed moister, less focused, a more shaded blue somehow. Leaning forward as she sat, her neckline drooped to reveal gentle curves.

Yorke wondered about the sense in suggesting that she had maybe had enough drink. But as she placed her glass on the table she said, "I've never explained why I'm out of television." Was there a slur in her speech?

He shook his head, interested, but wondering where this fit into the way the conversation had moved.

Her head lowered, "Yorke, I'm thirty four years old. I'm no easy catch, but I've been around. I was married when I was twenty three. Just after I got my first job in television. I was assistant producer. He was a camera man. Ian Marking." Her eyes moved beyond me towards the window, and Yorke guessed who was in that photograph. "I adored him." Her eyes came back, wide to hold his, "He was killed in a car crash on the Alnwick by-pass. We'd been married just two and a half years."

"I'm sorry," he said and meant it. It explained the empathy she had shown towards him during the time after Carol.

"So I knew what you were going through, you see," she said, as though thinking in parallel with him. "Nothing could be harder to bear. I buried myself in my work. Flogged myself to the top---directing, producing. I was well in. But empty inside."

"Then eighteen months ago I got involved with Patrick Webber, one of the company directors of Northern Television. Started after a party--- I was high as a kite. So was he. Succumbed that first evening in the back of his Merc. Exotic stuff, you see." And her attempt at a smile was only partly successful as her lips trembled.

A tell-tale moistness flickered in the corners of her eyes. "You know, Yorke, I've told this to no one before. You don't mind listening?"

He shook his head, but not certain inside.

"After that night---well, to be frank, it went on. And he wasn't that great a lover." Her giggle held little real humour." I blamed long term celibacy."

She paused, flicking at the corner of her eye, while he wrestled with the thought that he did not really want any further detail.

"Eighteen months ago, we were alone in the office, It was late. Anyway, ---the managing director, Curtis Royston walked in---"

Yorke thought for just a moment that her face was about to crumble, lips puckered, eyes squeezed closed and then came wide again. "You see, --- Patrick was married---only he was married to Curtis Royston's daughter. Oh, I'd known that---no excuses. Anyway, there was a scene. Then they cooked something up between them. He was found a post down in Yorkshire—and I was asked to submit my notice."

"You could have fought that, surely?"

"Unfair dismissal---well, I might have---you know, it was me who was riddled with guilt---isn't that crazy? Working TV always gave me a sense of remaining close to Ian---but it was gone. I'm sure Royston got to other companies. Nobody was interested. So, here I am, trying to get myself back into gear—and failing."

Her head bowed, and her shoulders heaved, for a moment. Yorke thought she was weeping. But she raised her head, the blue eyes remained moist, while her hand pressed to her cheek as though desperately suppressing the urge. Then slowly she stood up, "I need a tissue. Silly of me, after all this time."

Without thinking about it Yorke stood, stepped towards her and put, what he hoped was a comforting arm, around her shoulder. "The price of contentment always seems high, doesn't it?" he said, quietly.

He was aware that she moved in closer, as though submitting to the comfort of his arm. Her forehead lowered to his shoulder.

Her perfume was a delicate coaxing in his nostrils, as though gentle fingers were probing his senses. His own finger tips touched the smooth warm skin of her upper arm. Her arms rested lightly around him. For maybe a minute they stood like that, not moving. At last she drew back her head. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice lowered to a near whisper. "I didn't realise how difficult the telling would be."

"Well, if it has helped at all it will be no bad thing. You had a bad deal."

She sighed, "Another hard lesson learned."

"Such lessons are difficult to value," he agreed, becoming more aware of her warmth radiating through the thin dress, and his long suppressed response. Her face turned up to his, the full lips slightly parted, a questioning in the eyes, and her arms tightened imperceptibly around him. Such a lovely looking lady. Warmly available, Yorke knew it.

"Is there such a thing as mutual solace?" she asked, her breath warm on his cheek, sweet in his nostrils.

"I'm sure there is," he replied gently, fighting the battle between the physical and the cerebral, trying to turn his body so she would not be aware of the effect her proximity was having. His kiss was intended to be warm, gentle as it had been outside The Blue Dragon, but very quickly her lips became more demanding, her tongue searching for his. Somehow she had twisted her body so that the hand that had been on her upper arm now covered her breast, so soft, so shapely. Yorke was too aware of her hips squirming against his rising erection. An unwanted voice was screaming warnings in his head.

With superhuman strength he broke the kiss. "Karen, Karen," he gasped. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I think maybe you have downed so much wine, that tomorrow you could regret this. You know too well that mistakes can be hurtful."

Her hold relaxed, and it hurt him to see a shadow of disappointment cross her face. "Repent at leisure, you mean? Of course, you're right. And please forgive me---you see, I can be so selfish."

His hands returned to her shoulders and he looked into her face, "If this is going to happen between us, I think it should be natural, and not drink induced."

He noticed the deep breath she took before the lovely eyes looked back at him and admitted, "You're right.".She moved away from him to glance in a mirror over the fireplace, "Oh, I see it all now," she laughed easily. "That is hardly an attractive prospect."

There had been a slight slick of eye-shadow, and her lipstick had smudged. "It's a very attractive prospect," he said soothingly, yet honestly. "One not to be taken lightly."

"But one not to be taken." She looked at him regretfully before saying, "Would you excuse me a second?"

Yorke nodded and sat down on the sofa again, trying desperately to cool down, and accept that he had done the right thing. He was just a little angry with himself at just how easy it could have been for him to go with it. Relax into it. But, in spite of his physical reaction, he was certain that there could have been guilty repercussions later. If it was going to happen between them he wanted it to be clear and mutual.