By Royal Command

By Royal Command

My girlfriend insisted I sleep with her daughter. Was it a trap?

Part 1

I was ready to throw in the towel on my internet dating career before I met Lynda. I'd been a widower for five years when one day I mentioned to my daughter Abby, I would like some companionship while I could still enjoy it.

She looked vague for a moment. "You've got plenty of friends, Dad. You are always being invited to things." Then the penny dropped, and she said, "Oh."

I guess that's the appropriate response when your head fills with the image of your father in a romantic encounter. Moving on, I added, "I'm thinking of trying internet dating. Any tips, love?" This was a touchy subject. She'd divorced her husband, John, after she caught him fucking some woman he'd met on Tinder. Her own post-divorce dating experiences did not match her ex's (or if they did, she did not tell me about them), nevertheless, she was an expert and I was a newbie so I put myself in her hands.

"A woman doesn't want a player, Dad. It's okay these days to shop around, but then you make one purchase, you don't sample all the goods before deciding to buy." I felt like I should take notes. "And don't use one of those hook up and fuck sites, you know what I mean. Have you thought out your offer?" I shrugged my shoulders. There was more to this than I thought.

The upshot was Abby became my dating manager until I had one for real at the fancy dating agency she persuaded me to sign up with. I've never filled in so many forms in my life or agreed to so many vetting checks; and the face-to-face interview left me doubting I'd even get a date with myself. My consultant Veronica, looked up after reading the last page of my psychological questionnaire and said I was just the sort of client her agency valued most. Now I understand what she meant.

The women they introduced me to were smart, well presented, but took themselves and the whole exercise far too seriously. We were supposed to be having fun, but they treated the date like a job interview. And the grilling's I got. One very in your face woman asked me questions about my business I'd need my accountant to answer. I said I should have brought along my profit-and-loss statements for the last four years. It was a few seconds before she realized I was joking. I had to get out of there. So, I asked her if she had a good imagination. She nodded and smiled, like it was a question she'd boned up on. I pulled out my phone and asked her to imagine I'd just received a call saying there was an emergency at home and I had to leave right away. I got up just as dessert arrived and left her mouth open. The next day I phoned the agency and fired them. I did not want to be bait for their female clients, desperate for financial security above all else.

I gave it one last go on a dating website popular with older people. Told Abby I would do it by myself, thank you very much, and I would not say a lot about my background this time. No lies, but not the ins and outs of a cat's arse like Veronica asked for. Abby just mumbled something I did not hear and let me get on with it.

When I first saw Lynda's picture, she reminded me of someone I'd known long ago. She was stunning, and I thought she'd never go for me. I've still got all my hair and teeth and don't think I've been hit with the ugly stick, but she could attract men twenty years younger than me. I passed on and messaged someone else, then I came back and thought, why not? This was my last roll of the dice. So, I contacted Lynda too.

Abby came into the kitchen and glanced at Lynda's page. "Wow Dad, punching above your weight."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, love. I was just browsing. She reminds me of someone."

Abby looked again. "Me too. Someone I haven't seen for a while." She left, taking the last carton of orange juice from the fridge, and I returned to my maintenance spreadsheet. She was back an hour later.

"Oh, my god, Dad. Do you realize who that woman is?" I looked blank. She took over my computer and Googled something I couldn't see. The page filled with pictures of Princess Diana. I looked puzzled. Then Abby did her search again. I saw this time she put `Princess Diana now' in the box. I didn't realize there was a niche for photographs of how she might look now, but her face sold so many magazines when she was alive. Why should the poor woman's death get in the way of a story today? Some images were silly, but one was Lynda to a tee. I clicked back to her dating site picture to check it was not the same one. Lynda's eyes were green and her nose was different, but the hairstyle and smile were the same. I felt myself blush. Like many men of a certain age, I had a thing for Diana. God knows she had her demons, but she did not deserve the treatment she'd received.

"She's done that deliberately," Abby pointed accusingly at the screen. "That hairstyle, the smile, that little string of pearls. God knows how many men that siren has lured."

I didn't think it was the time to confess I'd been added to the total.

After three friendly chats on line, I suggested we met in person. We'd already shared that we were widowed, and it had taken us both a long time to change tack from the futures we'd expected. We also commiserated on the travails of having grown up kids with problems you could not fix with knee ointment. Then one day I said it.

"Lynda. We need to meet before we end up in the friend zone." She was puzzled, so I explained. "The longer we go on without meeting, the more awkward it will be to think of each other as boyfriend and girlfriend. Any intimacy would seem odd."

There was a long pause before Lynda said, "How many times have you used that line, Bryan Harrison?" I asked her to wait and then started tapping. "What are you doing?"

"I've got my calculator out. I want to give you an accurate answer, Lynda." She snorted in my ear. "The answer is one. It won't change, because you will be my last date."

"Now you're guilting me into meeting you?"

"Has it worked?"

Another long pause. "Yes."

Meeting Lynda for the first time was a surreal experience because when she walked into the restaurant, she was Diana. Two older diners did a double take. I stood up to shake her hand, having rehearsed in my mind that I would not overreact, but her green eyes and that smile put paid to that plan. I just blushed, and she laughed. She kissed me on the cheek. She smelled wonderful. "Sit down Bryan," she instructed.

When I found my voice, I said, "Your picture does not do you justice. You are lovely."

My clumsy sincerity made her blush. "You look like your picture Bryan." My expression must have said something. "No, that's good Bryan. So many people don't. They go mad with Photoshop or something. I'm glad you are the person I was expecting."

The conversation flowed during our three course Italian lunch. I can't remember much of what we discussed. Now and then I'd get distracted by some feature; the tiny lines at the side of her mouth when she smiled, the nape of her neck, the liveliness in her eyes and that hair. I didn't care if it was a copy. I just wanted to run my hands through it while I kissed her. It's fair to say I was smitten and doing a crap job of hiding it, which seemed to please her.

I asked her how I was doing, and she said, "Hang in there, champ." She asked me about my dates with the other agency, so I told her. Including the one which ended with the imaginary phone call. She laughed. "They are an expensive agency, Bryan. You told me you were a handyman, semi-retired."

"Something like that, Lynda." She knew there was more, but understood my reticence, given my earlier experiences.

Lynda talked about her own dates in more general terms. She said she was surprised at being approached by younger men. "It was flattering at first, but then one of them let something slip and afterwards I did an internet search for MILF." I laughed. "Why are young men obsessed with the idea of bedding an older woman?"

"You're asking the wrong person, Lynda. I only search for GILF." I watched her mind working.

"God, men are disgusting!" She covered her ears in mock horror, but her flushed neck told me she was enjoying the risqué conversation.

I leaned across the table, looking around as if I were going to tell her a secret. I spoke quietly, forcing her to move closer to listen. "Your homework for this evening, Lynda is to look up the term DILF. Just the words, not pictures." She worked it though, and her mouth made a perfect O inches from my face. I wanted to kiss her, but we both seemed to wait for confirmation. The moment passed, and she sat back.

"Well, I've learnt something new Bryan Harrison."

"My pleasure, Lynda Peasman. By the way, you won't recognize my face in those DILF pictures. I didn't have a beard in those days."

She laughed. "I've better things to do with my time than look at pictures of naked men. Thank you very much, Bryan."

Just then my phone rang. It was Abby complaining about a subcontractor who'd let us down. I said I'd call her back when I was free. I saw Lynda's miffed expression and realized why. "Abby, before you go, can you tell Lynda this is not a get-out-of-date call?" I handed the phone to Lynda. I could hear Abby. "Lynda, who's Lynda? You didn't tell me you were going on a date, dad. Dad, hello?"

"Hello, Abby, this is Lynda. I'll ask your dad to switch his phone off for our next date." She handed the phone back to me.

"I'll tell you when I get home, love. No, I can't do it next Monday. I'm preparing for a date." Lynda smiled at me. I thought, `Bryan Harrison for the win.'

On our next date, she mentioned my pilot's license. It was in my profile. I'd learned to fly as something to celebrate my fiftieth.

"So, the handyman has his own plane?" I just nodded. She sat up, miffed I was making her draw it out of me. "You know other men would have let that drop in the first ten minutes." She had the cutest pout, and she knew it.

"But you're peeling me like an onion. Why spoil your pleasure?"

"It won't end in tears, will it Bryan?" It was an unguarded moment.

I took her hand in mine and kissed it. "I promise you it won't. Not if I've got anything to do with it." We recognized we could get serious and felt exposed. "To tell you the truth Lynda, I used to own a plane with three other guys. But one got divorced, and another moved away. Then after Sally died, I lost interest, so we sold it. I just do enough certification hours to keep my license these days."

"So, you still fly?"

"Oh yes. You can rent a plane for a day. Do you want to try it?"

Two days later, we flew from Denham airfield to Gloucester Airport. I know she was underwhelmed when we turned up on site. A few old low-rise prefabs and a grass airstrip with no landing lights or control tower.

"I think this was an overshoot airfield during the Battle of Britain, if fighter pilots couldn't make it back to Northolt." She nodded, and we went into the waiting room. I left her looking at old photos while I signed in. When I came back, she was more excited. "They were so young, and they were here." She pointed to a black-and-white photo of a Polish Spitfire Squadron lounging in deck chairs, waiting for action stations. The scenery in the background was the same, almost eighty years later.

"Not all history is in books. Come on, let's get you suited up."

She got a kick out of the female flying suit I'd borrowed. Not strictly necessary, but it can get chilly at altitude. She was less pleased when I asked her the question. "You want to know my weight, Bryan?" She made it sound like I'd slapped her. I pointed to the scales, and she huffed.

"It's not like we're just getting in a car and driving. We weigh the plane, the fuel, the passengers and any cargo. It all affects take-off, landing and flying characteristics." She opened her mouth to speak. "You do want us to get back in one piece, don't you?" Reluctantly, she stepped on the scales. "Is that last number a three or an eight?"

"Bloody cheek, it's a three!" She went to hit me, but I caught her hand and pulled her off the platform. She stumbled into my arms and I kissed her. It was our first proper kiss. It broke the sexual tension. She'd enjoyed it, but was put out at being taken unawares. "Are you prepared to follow your pilot's instructions?" I still had her in my arms.

"As long as he doesn't try it on." She pulled away from me. "Anyway, I can jump out if I don't like him anymore. I've done a parachute jump."

"You won't be leaving me mid-flight, Lynda."

"Oh yes. Why's that?" She stood, hands on hips in her stockinged feet, trying to intimidate me from nine inches below.

"Because we won't be wearing parachutes." I left her pondering that while I went to file a flight plan in the preflight briefing room.

It was a sunny, cloudless day, and she enjoyed the flight. I'd done this route before, so I pointed out landmarks she'd recognize from 10,000 feet.

"I can't believe you're doing this. You are actually flying us."

"You are braver than I am, Lynda. I wouldn't have got in a plane just to call my bluff."

The Cessna 172 is a simple, comfortable aircraft. Better than what I trained on. Sally only ever accompanied me under protest. She was happy for me to disappear for the day. Years later, I found out why. In contrast, Lynda looked interested. "Would you like to help me fly? I can't give you the yoke, but there are other things you can do." She nodded. "That wheel trims the flaps to make us gain or lose height. Push it up when I say and we'll gain height." We went through a few goes until she got the hang of it and our movements were smooth. I got her to read off compass bearings as we changed course. She asked what all the instruments did, so I explained everything. I was getting ahead of myself. Visions of us flying off to Le Touquet for the weekend.

At the modest restaurant in Gloucester Airport, we lunched with a veteran flying couple who had flown over from West Wales for the day.

"It's my first time," Lynda bubbled.

"A flying virgin," said the husband, winking at me.

"This is only our third date," I replied. "I promised Lynda she could hold the joystick on my Cessna on the way back." The husband laughed and his wife scolded him.

"What are they laughing at?" asked Lynda.

The wife drew her closer. "Ignore them. A Cessna has a yoke. The pilot has a joystick."

Lynda glared at me. "I'm going to the toilet. It will take me ten minutes to get out of and back into this thing." The wife went with her. We watched them depart.

The husband shook my hand. "Fair play on the flying foreplay, mate. Looks like you've got a keeper there. I would, but the wife would object. She reminds me of someone. I can't quite place who."

"Yes, she gets a lot of that."

By the time we landed back at Denham, Lynda decided she could stand the sight of me enough to go to the cinema on the way home. The choice was a super hero film, something that looked like a giant car chase and a costume drama rom com. I asked if she was okay with the rom com.

"You're sure you want to see this?" She was daring me to lie.

"It is not my first choice, but I fancy the leading lady."

"Thank you for your honesty," she sniffed. "I'll get popcorn."

When I reached the front of the queue, the assistant explained the prices of the different seats. I shouted over to Lynda in the popcorn queue. "Do you want me to pay extra for the make out seats at the back? I will do, because you're worth it." The assistant and the guy behind me laughed. The popcorn girl gave Lynda a sympathetic look.

Lynda leaned over to her. "You hope one day they will grow up. But they never do." The young girl nodded at her sage advice.

Three hours alter we were saying goodnight on her doorstep.

"It's been a lovely day, Bryan. Lovely, but tiring. I ought to invite you in for coffee." She made it sound like a question.

"Yes, it has been nice. I'll give coffee a pass until next time. I wouldn't want there to be any awkwardness." Her face asked the question. "I mean, in an intimate situation, I would not want you to feel under obligation to... put out."

"Bryan!" She thought about it and realized I was trying to be considerate. She smiled and went on tiptoes to kiss me. This time my hands were in her hair and it was a long time before we broke apart. We were both breathing deeply. "Are you saying you don't want me to put out?" There was mischief in her eyes. Her body was against me. She knew the answer.

"I don't want it to be an obligation. I kissed her again, and this time she sighed when our lips parted. "But, if you wanted to, I would completely respect your decision."

Lynda laughed and skipped out of my embrace. "I want to know all about you before I do, Mr Handyman Pilot. That's fair, isn't it?" I nodded. She opened her door and turned back to me. "By the way, I think you need to adjust that joystick before it steers you in the wrong direction." I heard her laughing from behind the closed door.

I looked at my trousers tenting and trudged back to the car.

Part 2

It all happened on the fourth date, but you would not have seen it coming from the way the day developed. It started with an argument between me and Abby. She'd picked up my ringing phone while I was out in the garden. But not in time to answer the call. I saw her stomping across the grass, holding my mobile at arm's length to confront me.

"You've been seeing that Diana lookalike, haven't you Dad?"

There seemed little point in denying it, as my screensaver was a picture of the pair of us in flying suits taken at Gloucester Airport.

Abby found the original in my photos and trawled over Lynda's face with a looking glass app I didn't realise was on the phone.

"What are you doing, love?"

"Seeing where she's had work done. She must have to look like her. And to take the years off. No woman of her age looks that good naturally."

It's always amazed me the way women will do each other down in a way that men would never dare to.

"I don't think she has, but it's none of your business if she did, Abby. It's none of mine either."

"Look at your face, Dad." She pointed at the screensaver. "You're smitten. Have you done it yet? I bet you've told her everything, and she's thinking, bingo! It's payday."

I was annoyed. "Abby, shut the fuck up! I've told her I'm a handyman, and a pilot. I know it sounds silly, it's a joke between us. She knows there's more and that I'll tell her when the time is right."

"Well, don't rush into it, Dad. Try before you buy. Don't let a pussy quest blind you to what she is really like."

My jaw fell open at that point. It's a comment I'd have expected from one of my mates at the golf club, not my own daughter. "What happened to, `don't sample all the goods first?'"

She gave me back my phone with tears in her eyes. "You look like a couple." She ran back across the lawn.

I tried to process what was happening. Abby was daddy's girl from an early age. Sometimes, to Sally's annoyance. When Abby's marriage to John broke up, she came to me, not her mum. Abby threw herself into the business after her divorce, and she'd become my right-hand woman. She knew one day it would all be hers. Lynda's appearance threatened her in all senses.

Her office door was locked. I knocked. "Abby. We've never talked about what we were doing with the rest of our lives. We've both just plodded on. You, after Steve. Me after your Mum. But it's got to be for a purpose. Nothing may happen with Lynda. But if it does, it won't change anything between us." She opened the door. She'd been crying. "All this, the business is yours. I'll make sure the paperwork is watertight. I'm not trying to replace you. I could never do that."