David and Jen

Jane looked sharply at Rosemary; her suspicions confirmed.

As the three women stood in the hall at the end of the afternoon, Phyllis hovered, reluctant to end this rare connection to a higher stratum, but unsure how to cement her membership. In the end, Rosemary solved the problem for her.

"I need to discuss something with Jane, Phyllis. In private."

"Oh, yes, yes of course," Phyllis flustered and scuttled through the open door into the late afternoon sunshine.

Rosemary and Jane followed her outside and watched as she awkwardly navigated the gravel in her heels.

"You don't approve of my soirées, Jane."

"What you get up to is entirely your own business. Consenting adults and all that. If they are consenting. And adults," she said after a slight pause.

"This village fellow is not your usual fare."

"He has certain skills and apparently needs the money. I'm sure we can come to a satisfactory arrangement."

Jane decided to change the subject. "I hear your father is unwell."

Rosemary looked away and folded her arms. "He's been diagnosed with Alzheimer's."

"That's dreadful!"

Jane's hand hovered near Rosemary's shoulder, unsure whether the contact would be welcome. Rosemary turned to look at her and then down at the hand. Jane expected a caustic remark, but it never came.

"I've suspected it for months. He gets angry easily. In conversation he sticks to safe topics. I persuaded him to go for tests and got the diagnosis the week before last."

Rosemary had always struck Jane as very self-contained, neither requiring reassurance nor offering it. Now she looked to be in genuine pain.

"It must be very hard to hear that about a loved one," Jane said.

"I don't love him," Rosemary said, curtly. "Bloody man, coming and going, never there for the hard stuff."

Jane was amazed, she had never heard Rosemary speak of her life before her marriage to Harold. This time she did venture to reach out her hand to Rosemary's arm.

"They fuck you up, your mum and dad," Rosemary said.

"In their diverse ways," Jane murmured.

Rosemary looked at her askance. "Your mother was an alcoholic, too?"

Jane absorbed this revelation and replied, "My mother did her damage in less obvious ways. Trumpeting the sacrifices she made, so that I could go away for long stretches of my childhood, first to boarding and then to finishing school. And for what? The world doesn't work like that anymore. I have a set of skills honed for a different age."

***

A little later Marjorie Barrett took an unexpected phone call.

"Hello?" Em said, as she answered the phone.

"Is that Marjorie Barrett?" enquired the sophisticated voice at the other end of the line.

"It is. Who is calling?"

"I understand you are acquainted with David Piper," said the voice.

"Yes," said Em carefully.

"Is he trustworthy?"

Em considered this enquiry. What did she really know about David? He hadn't, to her certain knowledge, said anything about their relationship. Her position in the village would have been irrevocably altered if he had; so her judgement on that was likely sound. There was always talk of course, but that was all it was. In her position she was immune from most of it.

Besides which, to her unexpected delight, they were exploring the boundaries of what was, and what was not, possible between them. On balance, she was minded to agree.

"Yes, I believe so."

"Excellent! Would you be willing to give him my details? I assume I can rely on your discretion?"

"You could if I knew who I was talking to."

"My name? Oh yes, how remiss of me! I'm Jane, Jane Cranshaw."

Em felt faint. "The Jane Cranshaw?"

She'd heard that Jane kept a house in town, a retreat from London, but she'd never actually seen her and had assumed it was just a bit of local invention.

"I don't usually go by the definite article but, yes, that Jane Cranshaw."

Em felt embarrassed and then a little cross.

"Can I ask the nature of your business with him?"

"Why, the same business that you, and lately Phyllis Tindall, have been engaging in."

Em groaned inwardly, she should have known that Phyllis wouldn't be able to keep her mouth shut. She was going to have to apologise to David. But now how should she respond? After a moment she realised that should he be accepted, David would command a much higher fee from the Jane Cranshaws of this world and that was what this was all about after all.

However, she fretted that he might be getting in over his head. This was supposed to be an interlude, a way of getting his life back together. Would he instead lose his way?

Gathering her nerve, she said, "Can I ask ... can I ask you to be gentle with him?"

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line and then Jane replied, "You care for him, don't you?"

Em grimaced, she wished there was a better way to convey her anxieties. "Yes."

There was another pause and then, "I'll keep that in mind."

"Thank you. I'll pass the message on. How should he reach you?"

***

June was on the verge of July and on this Friday afternoon it was hot; an early pulse of heat pushing the temperatures outside into the upper 20s. In the street below people had shucked their sweats and jackets and the working men had rolled their sleeves up. David had done all that and loosened his collar but to little effect. Still, two hours to go, then he could bail and head home.

"What are you up to this weekend?" asked Sheila.

"The usual, I guess. Housework, maybe some gardening."

The phone rang. "5209," he said. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so," said a cultured woman's voice. "Are you David Piper?"

"Yes, I am. What can I do for you?"

"I understand that you have another line of work."

David went cold and was silent for a moment.

"I'm not sure I understand you," he said, finally.

"Oh dear," said the voice. "Phyllis Tindall was quite certain. Was she mistaken?"

There was a long pause. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Don't be obtuse, Mr Piper," she replied crisply. "Are you free to call on me tomorrow? I'd like to discuss the details of our arrangement."

"Wait!" he said, rather more loudly than he had intended. "I'm happy with the way things are, thank you."

He became aware that his colleagues Sheila and Alan, were looking at him curiously and he started to blush and sweat.

"Well, we can't always have what we want, can we? One o'clock at the Grange, Mr Piper. Be prompt unless you want your employers to learn the details of your other occupation."

With that she hung up and David sat motionless for a second before pushing himself abruptly to his feet and striding rapidly from the room. The building that he worked in was divided into three sections with glass clad walkways between them and he stopped there, gripping the handrail, and staring unseeing into the middle distance.

"What was that about?" Alan asked as he emerged from the door to Reception. "You're as white as a sheet, David. Who was that on the phone?"

David didn't answer, his mind away in tumult working out the awful position he now found himself in.

Alan took him by the shoulder. "David! What's wrong? Speak to me!"

David jumped at the contact, his legs were shaking, and he wondered if he might faint.

"No one! I mean, nothing!" He blurted.

Alan looked sceptical. "Come on, let's get a coffee," and he led David down the stairs and out across the road to the pavement café opposite. He took care to steer the two of them across the road because he was sure David wasn't seeing anything right now.

Inside, it was dark and cool with only a handful of patrons dotted here and there. Alan navigated the pair of them to a booth to the rear and waved at a bored waitress leaning against the bar.

After the coffee arrived, Alan leaned back and looked across the room to where the long street-side window offered views of passers-by and traffic.

"Now, I understand that you might not want to talk to me about this but I'm your line manager so if it's something that will impact on your work then you have to tell me. Quite apart from that it usually helps to share a problem."

David looked down into his coffee. What could he say? There was no aspect of this that he could reveal to Alan without triggering consequences that would be catastrophic in one way or another. Imagine if any of this got back to Jen! He'd never see Josh or Tilly again and suddenly that knowledge broke a hole in something that he had had walled away. Tears welled in his eyes and ran down his cheeks to drip into his coffee, and he started to sob.

Alan frowned, that telephone conversation had lasted all of a minute, if that.

"David, whatever it is, no matter how serious, you can talk to me in confidence if you have to. I'll respect your privacy, within limits of course, this isn't the confessional after all!"

His attempt at levity fell short as David, with his face in his hands, shook his head.

"Is it your marriage, David? I know you've been having some problems."

In a flash, the answer came to David, and he nodded. He fumbled for a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. "It's Jen's dad."

"Hah! In laws, I know all about that," smiled Alan. "I married an Asian lass. My mother-in-law's ferocious!"

"Jen's dad is Italian. He has ... connections."

Alan's smile disappeared. "Did he threaten you?"

David nodded.

"You should go to the police, David!"

"With what? An angry father-in-law?"

David looked across the room to the window, a little calmer now that he'd managed to deflect Alan but with Mrs Ogilvie's words still playing in his head.

Alan grimaced. "Take the rest of the afternoon off. I'll square it with Misha. Don't worry about making the time up."

David nodded gratefully; his concentration was shot. He wanted to talk to Em.

Back at the office he collected his things, aware of the looks he was getting from the rest of the office. Sheila's warm brown eyes were full of concern; she liked her off-beat team-mate and worried at his red eyes. Alan had shaken his head minutely when they came back into the office and stilled her questions.

***

The ride home calmed him a little. He rode hard, giving the adrenaline in his system a purpose. Arriving back at the house he quickly stowed the bike and peeled his sweat drenched clothes off, stuffing them into the washer.

Standing under the shower, not allowing himself to think about anything except the sensation of the water bouncing off his face and shoulders, his mind flat-lined. It might have been that there were some tears mixed with the water running over his face but there was no one to see and no one to judge.

Once dressed, he phoned the one person that could properly appreciate his problem. Em was concerned for him but encouraged him to take Rosemary's interest at face value.

"She has an unfortunate manner, David. Another of those types that are used to getting their own way. I don't know why she threatened you though. That's a bit worrying."

***

The following day he trudged up the long gravel drive of the Grange at the allotted time. There was a big Lebanon cedar at a corner of the drive and rounding it, the house came into view. It was quite a pile; bigger than Phyllis', two large blocks obviously built at different times and then various outbuildings, some attached to the main structure, some not.

The gardens were all well tended, shrubs clipped, grass mown. Grounds this size would occupy a full-time gardener. He was reminded of Phyllis Tindall's house in that there didn't appear to be anyone around to carry out all this work.

So, probably more money than Phyllis, existing far above him in some stratospheric social layer.

He hadn't known the voice on the end of the phone yesterday, but she'd quickly made it quite clear who was in charge. A voice not accustomed to being refused.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this scared except perhaps, for that first outing with Ros. However, he didn't imagine that this was going to end as pleasantly as that.

The front door was dark green with a white surround and stood out boldly against the grey stone of the building. It was flanked by two columns and big pots with shrubs with red flowers. There was a brass bell pull recessed beside the door and after making sure there wasn't anything more modern to signal his arrival, he pulled it. There was no sound but there must have been some alert inside as moments later the door opened.

"You're on time. Good," said the voice from the phone. "Come in."

Gathering up his courage, David stepped inside.

The hall was very big. A wide staircase ahead split to ascend on each side to a galleried landing. The only light came from a lantern window. Decoration was mainly white offset by dark antique wood and gilt picture frames. There were perhaps half a dozen doors off the ground floor. It could have been the set from an Agatha Christie dramatization.

"What do you think?" asked the voice and David turned to look at its owner for the first time. A woman not much older than himself; face unadorned with make-up and straight, dark, shoulder-length hair.

She was either quite tanned or he fancied there might be some south Asian ancestry somewhere in the mix. She had a slim frame clad with an expensive looking denim jacket, jeans, and a black vee-neck tee-shirt. She was standing with one hand on her hip, looking him up and down.

"Of the house, I mean."

David turned to look at the hall again. Without artificial lighting to augment the light from the gray sky outside, it was gloomy.

"About this? Nice enough, I guess," he offered.

"Nice enough!" she laughed. "Don't overdo it!"

His mouth turned down. "I didn't think I was brought here to critique your décor."

Rosemary paused. She was used to resistance, but it didn't usually manifest itself like this.

"Perhaps not, I was just making conversation."

He stared at her, and the silence stretched.

She frowned. "This isn't good way to start our relationship, David."

"And blackmail is?" he said sourly.

She pursed her lips. "This way," and led him towards one of the doors off to the right.

In the study, she sat at a desk and waved him to a small sofa. As he sat down, he realised that the desk chair put her above him. He knew about this kind of psychological trickery.

Rather than lean back into the sofa he sat forward on the edge and, crossing his legs at the ankle and bringing them up to the sofa so that his legs were open at the knee with his clasped hands between them. He found himself strangely calm and composed.

"Let's start again, shall we?" she said. "My name is Rosemary and I'm Sir Harold's wife."

David said nothing, employing the tactics he used on salesmen. A surprising amount of conversation is made up of gesture and encouraging little verbal sounds. He'd discovered that he could really rattle people if he withheld all of that.

She stared at him impatiently. "Say something!"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me about yourself, make conversation."

"I'm not about to fall prey to Stockholm Syndrome. You already know as much about me as you need to know."

Rosemary stared at him baffled. "What on Earth is Stockholm Syndrome?"

David chuckled. "Your education only cover how to spend it?"

Finally, properly angry, she gritted out, white lipped, "I know enough to get you dismissed by your employers and interviewed by the police."

David had been thinking about this and, after talking it over with Em, had concluded that she probably couldn't do any of these things, but she sure could make life unpleasant for a while. He would call her bluff.

"I don't think so. Phyllis Tindall might enjoy a bit of gossip, but she isn't going to tell the police anything. And without proof the police aren't going to do anything."

"My husband is very well connected, if he has a word with the Chief Constable the police will be all over you like a rash!"

"And they'll find what? Do I look like I'm growing fat on the profits from immoral earnings? I don't hang around street corners touting for passing trade."

Her eyes narrowed. Rosemary Ogilvie was used to getting her own way without any backchat. This unsmiling young man was upping the ante.

"Do you want to be evicted? I can arrange for that to happen!"

He shrugged. "I've been thinking of moving anyway."

"Okay!" she shouted. "I wonder how that wife of yours would react? You'd never see those precious kids again!"

He was silent and she knew that she had him.

***

"Oh, David," Em said, as she put her arms round him. His stony façade hadn't lasted much beyond the front door. Unhappily she realised that this did not bode well for any future they might have together. Deep down, it was his family that still mattered most to him. He just hadn't realised that yet.

"I never thought I'd end up in this mess," he said disconsolately. "She's got me over a barrel."

Em nodded gloomily. This was her fault. More fool her, she'd thought that Phyllis Tindall would be more circumspect. It seemed Phyllis would step on your face to get ahead.

She took his hand and drew him through to the living room and sat him down on the sofa. Then she searched out a couple of glasses and some Californian Cabernet. It was nearly the most expensive bottle she had but the situation warranted it.

David needed distraction and she knew of two sure-fire methods. In the kitchen she skinned off her knickers, smoothed her skirt and unpinned her hair. Snatching a diffuser from the table she refreshed her perfume and went to join him.

Em poured two glasses of the rich red wine and sat beside him as he stared out of the window. She nudged him and nodded to the glasses on the low table. Taking a sip, his eyebrows rose in spite of themselves. "Wow! What's this?"

He picked up the bottle and inspected it. "Napa Cabernet," he read.

"American! The only American wine I've ever had are those Gallo carafe things."

He stuck his nose into the glass and sniffed appreciatively. Em smiled, part one of the plan was working. He really could be a gadfly at times.

David found he'd relaxed for the first time since the previous afternoon. He pushed himself back into the sofa and looked at her. She was still perched on the edge of the seat and her hair flowed down over her shoulders: she'd let it grow since they'd first met.

Her profile as she sipped her wine was all sedate perfection. Then he caught her perfume, now inescapably bound up with memories of their coupling.

Em looked at him sideways, her face demure and he shuddered at the rush of his desire. He leaned forward and put his glass on the table and then kissed her. Lightly at first and then, as she put her hand through his hair, more deeply.

Abruptly she moved to sit astride him, and he thrilled to the feeling of her weight upon him. Her legs were bare, and he ran his hands up the smooth skin from ankle to calf, calf to thigh and then to cup her wonderful taut behind.

He stopped kissing her long enough to murmur, "Em, you don't seem to be sporting any underwear!"

"I must have mislaid them," she replied seriously, punctuating her words with kisses.

"I think it's the last remnant of that Spring fever playing on my mind."

She grabbed the bottom of his tee shirt, pulled it over his head and started to run her hands across his torso. David was smooth chested with just the odd stray hair, here and there. Em was grateful for that, she wasn't keen on hirsute men.

She unbuttoned her blouse and cast it aside. Underneath she had a silky camisole top, and David reached up to caress her breasts through the glossy fabric. He didn't try to take it off, he knew how she felt about her bosom. Her nipples were stiff little points in the material, and he gently rubbed them with his thumbs.