Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 05-10

"Fliss, Cynthia, I need to talk to you."

"I was just about to ring you, has the excitement died down yet?"

"In more ways than one. Can you come over?"

"Try to stop me/ Give me ten minutes, five to finish making myself look gorgeous and five to get there."

I had the door open ten minutes later, she swooped in as only Fliss can, pausing in passing to place a sisterly peck on my cheek, and settled herself in a chair in the lounge room. "Now what's the mystery? Tell Aunty Fliss all about it."

"Fliss I don't know what's happening to me, Peter seems to be getting further and further away. He doesn't even talk to me unless he has to, he seems to be always preoccupied with his work. It's as if I've done my duty to him giving him the two kids and, as long as the house is clean and the meals are ready for him when he gets home, he's happy, he doesn't seem to care about me anymore. Instead of being able to step back and say 'I created that', the garden is a reflection of the personality of a gardening service. The swimming pool is maintained by a pool company. Is providing the creature comforts all that there is in life?"

"What you need my girl, is a lover."

"Don't even joke about that."

"I'm serious. John and I were in a similar situation as you and Peter, then I found out that he was having an affair with his secretary."

"What did you do about it?"

"I gave in to the next offer I got at the next party we went to, it wasn't much as affairs go, just some furtive fumblings at hastily arranged meetings, but it was exciting knowing that I was actually having an affair. There was nothing permanent in it, ever."

"Did John ever find out about it?"

"No, and I don't think that he knows that I know about his extra-curricular activities."

"So you're suggesting that I have an affair?"

"Only if you want to do it, and don't rush into it, choose your lover well."

"What would you say if I told you that I'm already having an affair?"

"Are you really? Who with and when did this all start, do I know him and what was it like?"

"Yesterday was the first time and as for what it was like, I can't answer that just yet because I haven't really had the time to make up my mind what to think about it, in one sense it was great but in another I get the feeling that I'm just another scalp on his belt."

"So it's not got to the serious stage yet?"

"No."

"But when it does I'll be the first to know, right?"

"Of course."

"Changing the subject, what have you got to drink? It must be a good thirty seconds past opening time."

"What would you like? We have all of the usual poisons."

"How about Bacardi, with soda water and a slice of lemon." I mixed the drinks and we sat and discussed the latest gossip for half an hour and a couple of drinks before Fliss left just before lunch to attend some function or other in her busy social whirl. I lunched on a salad and coffee.

After lunch I once more slipped into the black negligee that I had wasted my time with this morning in my unsuccessful attempt to entice Peter. My reflection in the mirror only made me wonder what I had to do to attract his attention. Before me stood an older version of Rebecca, a few more lines, the breasts not as firm, the stomach not quite as flat but the muscle tone was still firm. I considered myself still to be attractive.

I was trying to find ways of improving on what I saw when the door bell rang. I looked through the curtains to see Brownlow standing at the door, alone. I didn't bother to put anything on under the negligee other than the black lace panties that went with it. His reaction when he saw me compensated for Peter's lack of reaction. I ushered him inside as quickly as I could and immediately found myself in his strong arms again.

CHAPTER NINE

Brownlow's Story

She really did look attractive and seductive. I had almost hoped that we wouldn't find ourselves in the same situation as we had yesterday, almost but not quite. The part of me that wanted it was overjoyed at what it saw, the other part, the official one, the one disappearing rapidly into the back of my mind, was horrified at the vision before me. Alarm bells warned me that what we had done yesterday, and it was obvious what we were about to do today, was wrong. What the heck, when she came into my arms the official voice retired defeated.

She was warm and tender, she clung to me as if she was afraid to let me go, as if she wanted me to stay forever. With it came a feeling that usually had me backing towards the front door as fast as I could, but in this case I felt as if I didn't want to do that. I am not inexperienced in matters of women and sex, but this Cynthia person in my arms was better than many of the younger women that have the benefit of the Brownlow technique.

I couldn't quite guess her age but having an eighteen year old daughter would put her in the vicinity of forty which was only a couple of years older than me. Her figure did not show the ravages of time or overuse, in fact it was better than many of my younger acquaintances.

I found myself wondering about her husband, did she still love him? Did he still love her? What was their sex life like? Was she just after a bit on the side or had her marriage broken down and was she looking for a way out of it?

Those questions were answered in that close moment after we had made love and she was lying in my arms, her head on my shoulder and her left arm and leg draped casually across my body. "I suppose you're wondering why we're doing this and why I'm cheating on my husband. Well," she paused for several seconds while she composed her thoughts, "well, I don't feel that I am cheating on Peter. Do you know why? Because we have not had sex for nearly two months, and satisfactory sex for over a year. He just goes through the motions of carrying out his husbandly duties, I don't think that he even cares if I have a climax or not, a few minutes of bouncing about in bed, a couple of quick lunges as he climaxes and it's all over. No foreplay, no cuddles, no love."

"Have you ever done this sort of thing before?"

"You mean are you my first lover."

"Yes."

"Since I was married, yes."

"What about before you were married?"

"I was married at twenty and pregnant at twenty. Before I met Peter I had several lovers, after all I had normal sexual urges, and wasn't encumbered by normal feelings of guilt that were placed on us by our parents' generation."

"You must have had no problem attracting men when you were younger."

"Do I have a problem now."

"Of course not, but then you must have been really beautiful."

"You saw Rebecca yesterday?"

"Yes."

"That's pretty much what I looked like at her age."

"I was right. You wouldn't have had a problem."

"You know she has a crush on you don't you?"

"Who, Rebecca."

"Yes, we had a bit of a fight over you, I won."

"I'm glad."

"Are you really?"

"Yes. I hate to think what my superiors would think if they could see m right now. I dread to think what they would say if they thought I had succumbed to the feminine wiles of an eighteen year old girl."

"Would you get into trouble if they knew what we are doing?"

"Probably, it would be seen as me prejudicing the objectivity of my investigation if I became involved with one of the key figures in it. Speaking of investigations, the person they found was male, Caucasian, probably between thirty to forty years old. The forensics people still haven't established exactly how long he has been down there and they'll probably never be able to. The best guess that they can come up with is that he's been down there around fifteen to twenty years."

The expression on her face changed. Instead of the calm, serene almost, expression that she had as we'd been talking, she now had a worried look on her face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, at least I don't think there is."

CHAPTER TEN

Cynthia's Story

My heart skipped a beat when he mentioned that the body had been in the tank for fifteen to twenty years. My mind raced back to my childhood in this very house. Gary, Brownlow that is, had picked up on my change in expression but I think I had him convinced that there was nothing in it, at least I hope I have.

After he left I started to think about my life in this house.

I was an only child, my mother was beautiful and popular, my father a strong, loving man and kind to both mother and me. I was happy enough at home, mother taught me the skills necessary for me to be socially popular with the view to attracting the right man and becoming a good and loving wife, well most of them anyway, while father was concerned that I should have as good an education as possible. From Wahroonga Primary School I went to Hornsby Girls high School, one of the few public schools for girls with a reputation for academic excellence.

I was an adequate though not exceptional student in my time there, I was neither artistic or musically inclined and my grasp of languages, in particular Latin for which I could see no need, was less than spectacular. I had a large circle of friends, some form the neighbourhood, others from school. Life seemed to be moving along smoothly but all that came crashing down just after I turned eighteen.

Mother and father were both popular socially and entertained often. Father for business reasons and mother because it was expected that she should reciprocate invitations from friends. They were both members of the local tennis club although mother was the star player and played in the A grade team. I was allowed to attend my first grown up party, an end of season Tennis get together, held around our newly completed swimming pool and the guests all came in their swimming costumes. Some looked attractive while others seemed embarrassed to be seen in public in their costumes. I wore my very new one, a slinky one piece cut low at the back and not so low at the front, its dark blue colour suited my tanned complexion, it had a narrow band of light blue around the legs and neckline. Father thought that it was a little too daring for someone my age but mother said that it made me look sophisticated. For myself, I was pleased at the way that it showed off my figure.

Because I was under twenty-one I wasn't allowed to drink any liquor other than the fruit punch that was pretty tame. "Do you think that you could put a little something in my drink?" I asked this man who was standing by the table on which the drinks were set out.

"No, do you want me to get into trouble with your parents? You're too young to be drinking anything stronger than this punch. What would your parents think of me if they caught me giving you anything stronger?"

"They wouldn't find out, anyway I'm almost old enough."

"Sure you are! How long has it been since your eighteenth birthday, three weeks?"

"Three weeks? Gee it seems like forever ago. What difference does it make, I've been told that I'm physically mature for my age so I'm ready for this."

"I'm not going to be the one to give you your first strong drink."

"Then turn around while I help myself."

"You'll get me shot young Cynthia." He laughed, I knew that he was weakening so I pressed home my advantage.

"That's not fair, you know my name but I don't know yours. Whose friend are you, Mummy's or Daddy's?"

"My name is Paul Thomas, Mr Thomas to you and I came with a friend of your mother, but she seems to have abandoned me." He looked around the gathering in a vain attempt to locate the person he came with.

"So you're not really a friend at all, so there can be no real harm if I broke the rules is there?"

"Yes there can, I would be abusing your parents' hospitality if I broke the rules that they set."

"If you turned around and didn't look you wouldn't be breaking any of my parents' silly rules would you?"

"Yes I would because I know what you're planning."

"Meany." I decided to try a different approach. "What do you do for a living?"

"I have my own business. I import cars from Europe."

"What kind of cars?"

"Citroens and Renaults."

"Those funny looking things that I've seen driving around?"

"Oh so you know all about cars do you?"

"Of course, I'm not just a pretty face you know."

"You do have a pretty face, I'll grant you that. You look just like I imagine your mother would have looked at your age."

"Yes I do, we sometimes get mistaken for sisters, something that she finds flattering but I don't, I don't know whether it's supposed to mean that I look as old as she does or that she's supposed to look young for her age."

"A little of both I'd say."

"Aren't you the diplomat? How long have you known Mother?"

"I told you before, I came with a friend of hers."

"You didn't you know. I saw you come in on your own, I think you know Mother from somewhere."

"Smart aren't you. I met her at the tennis club, I'm the captain of the A grade team with your mother, we play mixed doubles together, she's a very good player you know. Do you play at all?"

"A little at school, not yet enough to make the school team, and I've still got a lot to learn, what I need is an experienced to give me lessons. How good are you?"

"Good enough to make the semi-finals of the state championships a couple of years ago."

"If I were to ask you nicely, would you give me a lesson?"

"You'd have to get permission from your parents."

"That'll be easy, I'll ask them tomorrow morning when they're not feeling well, if I help to clean up the mess they'll give me anything I want. How will I get in touch with you?"

Paul reached into the pocket of the jacket he wore over his bathers and produced a business card which he quickly passed over to me. I slipped it into the top of my costume. "I'll just slip this into my room. Don't you dare go away, I want to have a swim with you."

He was waiting for me when I got back from my room. I dived into the deep end and surface on the other side. There was hardly a ripple when he dived in. I could just make out his shape as he slid along the bottom of the pool towards me, surfacing only inches from me. "Is there nothing you can't do well?"

"Not a lot and what there is I wouldn't tell you about anyway."

It was then that my feet slipped on the bottom curve where the pool wall met the bottom and I started to slip under. Pal grabbed me to stop me slipping further, he felt so strong and safe, his arms around me, my own arms that I had flung around his neck and was clinging to him. We held each other for several minutes before some of the other guests approached the pool. "When can I have my first lesson?"

"How about next Saturday morning?"

"Okay. Where will I meet you?"

"I could meet you at the club, you do know where it is don't you?"

"Yes, in case you don't know I have been there a few times with Mother and Father."

"Or then again I could pick you up around the corner."

"If you want to."

I saw him a few more times during the course of the evening, he smiled and waved from across the garden, but I didn't get a chance to talk to him again that night. I did notice him deep in conversation a couple of times with Mother, and felt a momentary twinge of jealousy until I remembered that they were tennis partners.

I managed to sneak a drink during the course of the evening, it made me feel all sort of warm inside. I don't know why they wouldn't let me drink.

The party broke up around midnight and Mummy decided that she would leave the clearing up until morning, she was hoping that between the cats and the possums during the night and the kookaburras and currawongs in the morning, there would be little remaining in the way of food scraps.

In the early hours of the morning, while I was sneaking down the hall on my way to the kitchen to get a drink of milk, I heard Mother and Father talking, not that there was anything unusual in that, just that they seemed to be talking louder than usual.

I worked hard the next morning, clearing up the plates, wrapping what was left of the food scraps in paper before tossing it in the rubbish bin. It took a long time and it wasn't until I was helping Mother wash the dishes that I got a chance to ask her if I could have tennis coaching. "Why the sudden interest in tennis?"

"There's a chance that I can make the school team this term if I can get some coaching and a little practise." This wasn't altogether a lie, I could already, if I'd wanted to, be in the school team, it's just that up until now I wasn't motivated enough to try.

"Where are you going to get those lessons?"

"One of the men at the party last night offered to give me a few lessons next Saturday, just to see if I'll ever be good enough. He said that I should ask you first. It'll be alright, won't it?"

"I suppose so. What time do you have to be there?"

"Nine thirty."

"God, I hope that you're not expecting me to drive you there."

"No, I'll find my own way there."

"What time do you expect to be home?"

"Around eleven thirty I should think, why?"

"Because I have my own tennis march to play at two."

I rang Paul from a phone box near school the next day and arranged that he should pick me up from the next street at around nine on the following Saturday.

We were both on time. I climbed into the front seat of his car. It looked different from Daddy's, for one thing the gear lever stuck out of the dashboard. It looked smart, all black and chrome, and it seemed to hang on around corners. "Gee this thing goes around corners well." I commented.

"Traction avante." He said.

"What?"

"In English it means front wheel drive, as long as I keep the power on it just about goes where I point it." To demonstrate this he threw the car quickly through a left hand bend, forcing me to slide across the seat to his side of the car. I didn't move back after he had straightened up and he didn't seem to mind my closeness to him. Too soon we arrived at the Tennis club, there was no-one there.

I loved the lesson, he stood close behind me while I ran through my strokes, his hand on mine guiding the racquet through its sweep, making sure that my hand and wrist were at the right angle. "You seem to have the basic strokes, now let's see how well you use them." He walked to the other end of the court and hit the ball to me. I swung it back down the forehand side, his return seemed to curve away from me and it was all I could do to get my racquet on to it. I lobbed it ever so gently over his head and the baseline.

"That's not fair, you didn't hit the ball straight."

"You will one day meet a player who can swing the ball as much as that. Now to beat a player like that you'll have to learn to watch the opponent's racquet head as he hits the ball. If I was to come up on the ball like this." His racquet moved in an arc from near the ground to over his shoulder connecting with the ball on the way through. "It will clear the net and then drop very quickly, it's called a top spin. On the other hand if was to get under the ball like this," his racquet chopped down under the ball forcing it to describe a gentle arc, high into the air before dropping down and almost bouncing backwards, "that shot's called a back spin and will throw your opponent's timing out. Now you practise those shots." We hit the ball back and forth across the net, varying the shot from top spin to back spin until I could read the racquet and anticipate the bounce of the ball.

Paul drove me home, well almost. On the way I again sat close to him, I didn't need him to drive fast around the corner this time, again he didn't seem to mind my closeness, in fact his hand brushed against my thigh a couple of times. I felt the warmth of it against my skin. "When can I have another lesson?"

"Would next Saturday be soon enough?"

"I guess I can wait that long. Will you meet me at the same place?"