Guilt & Redemption Ch. 08

To say I was nervous on the day of the talk would be an exercise in massive understatement. Fortunately, or not, I had no teaching that day and was able to work from home. That allowed two things to happen which stopped me from descending into hysterically asking myself and Ali what the hell I thought I was playing at: the first was that Ali was able to be with me; the second was morning prayer.

The service began at eight, and I joined Ali as she vested. I dressed the altar and lit the candles, saying a silent prayer as I did so. The presence of the Reserved Sacrament comforted me. The familiar words of Cranmer soothed me. Yes, I had certainly "erred and strayed" from God's ways like a "lost sheep" and had most certainly "followed the devices and desires of my own heart"; but he had mercy on those who confessed their faults and restored those who were penitent. By the time Ali pronounced the concluding words, my heart was calm, my soul eased. That was the moment I decided to apply to a programme of training which would allow me to become a Deaconess. It was a three-year journey of hard work, prayer and joy, but worth every moment of it.

Ali and I had a lovely leisurely breakfast.

"You know it will be okay, Pix, I will be there and all your colleagues. Remember, they were the ones that wronged you. Can I ask, my love, whether you intend to go there?"

I knew that she meant "are you going to seek revenge"?

"No, no my love, I told you that I would not do that. This is professional and will remain there. In the end Ruth may be a deeply flawed woman, but she is a famous novelist, and Milly may be a bitch, but this event is about the audience as much as it is about them. My job is to ask intelligent questions on their behalf."

Ali looked at me so tenderly that I could see the love-light in her eyes.

We went for a walk along the Thames Path. As it was mid-morning there were fewer joggers, so it felt more intimate than usual. Grabbing a coffee in Richmond, we sat by the river, watching the world go by.

I felt an overwhelming sense that all was right with the world. I looked at Ali, who had spotted a heron, and I thought how beautiful she was. I loved the fact she dyed her hair pink, and I loved her nose stud. Yes, I thought, I had it bad; I loved her. As though reading my mind, she turned to me and kissed me:

"Pix, I am so glad you came past the Church that morning."

Squeezing her hand, I replied:

"So am I. Can we go back to mine and make mad passionate love?"

"I thought you needed to prep for tonight?"

"I do. This is the best prep I can think of!"

We were only half an hour's walk from my flat, and we giggled all the way back like a pair of schoolgirls playing truant. It was a moment of wonderfully irresponsible glee; followed by a lunch-time feasting on each other.

I had never before felt so empowered. Always I had waited on my lover. What did she want? What would please her? It wasn't that I forgot that, it was more that for the first time in my life, I knew what I wanted too. Somehow, Ali had brought out of me something she had known was there. It was, for sure, better to give than to receive. But love was reciprocal, and receiving was not divorced from giving. So we poured out ourselves to each other in that place where I had once felt so alone and unloved.

As the door slammed itself behind us, I pulled her into the bedroom. Eagerly unzipping her skirt and fumbling with her buttons, I smothered her breasts with kisses as she helped me out of my dress. We fell together on the bed, at some point divesting her of her bra and both of us of our knickers. On top, I covered her breasts with kisses, before moving up her body to kiss her sweet lips, our nipples rubbing and pressing into each other.

Ali's breasts were perfect, and I kneaded and kissed them, sucking on each of her nipples slowly and firmly. I felt her knee part my thighs and press against my wetness. I pushed and rubbed urgently. I felt her hands on my arse cheeks. I loved the sense it conveyed of her possessing me.

We manoeuvred so that we could trib, pushing our wetnesses together. I wanted her so badly. Words were failing, only with our bodies could we worship each other; and that we did.

The scent as we pressed, the sounds of our love-making, the urgency of our joint passion, the feelings coursing through us; we were one. Our love consummated itself in a great outpouring of heat and the mingling of our juices. We held each other tight as we came - a huge tsunami of love enveloped us as we went together to another place. We fell together, fulfilled and as one.

Ali, her eyes still glazed, smiled, the heat of her passion still visible in her expression.

"Oh Pix, Pixie, my Pixie, I love you so much!"

"And I love you too!"

And with that, a slower cycle of love-making followed, and we explored each other's bodies. As I felt her tongue and lips devouring me, as I had devoured her; I knew, and felt known. There was a oneness there which has never left us. I was hers, and she was mine. We pledged our troth to each other in that place where I had known such desolation. The sadness was turned into joy, and the desert bloomed. Our wedding would be but the public sign of that inward commitment. Finally, I knew what love was.

It was mid-afternoon when, after snuggling up and cuddling in a warm post-love making haze, Ali roused us.

"Pix! We will need to be there to meet Ruth and her entourage at five for drinks with your Vice Chancellor, can I suggest we scoot!"

Startled, I woke fully. I scurried round finding where we had thrown our knickers in the first throes of passion. While I did that she called a cab. Rather irritatingly, as it was school-throwing out time, we had to wait half an hour, but that gave us a chance to shower - as Ali pointed out, we were rather smelly, and the scent was a little distinctive!

We got back to the Vicarage with little time to spare, but somehow, time seemed not to matter to me in the way it usually did.

"These, darling, are for you," Ali said, handing me a neatly tied package. Untying it revealed a pair of the most beautiful back silk French knickers along with sheer silk black stockings and a short black camisole.

"Oh Ali!"

I hugged her. No one had ever bought me sexy lingerie, indeed I didn't know you could get such things in my sizes. But it turned out Ali knew someone in Richmond who specialised in such things.

"I wanted you to feel good about yourself Pix, and nothing makes a girl feel as good as fine lingerie. It will all go with perfection with your stylish LBD."

Ali had insisted that I bought a more expensive little black dress, and she had been right. When I dressed and looked in the mirror I hardly recognised myself.

"Now, horror, sit down there and let me help!"

With that, Ali helped with my make up - a minimalist look, just some blusher and a rather restrained crimson lippy.

"Now lift!"

I lifted my long hair.

I gasped as I saw the most beautiful black choker with diamond studs.

"You're MINE, my Pixie."

I almost ruined my make-up by blubbing.

"Oh Ali!" That was all my lips could turn into words from the powerful emotions welling up in me.

Ali looked gorgeous in her best summer frock, not too much cleavage, she was after all, a Vicar, but enough to make the point she was also a sexy woman. Green was very much her colour, and went with her eyes. She looked so beautiful - no, she was, as I told her, so beautiful.

"Well I am damned if I am going to have anyone thinking who is that dowdy vicar next to that gorgeous professor!"

From the way people reacted at the Vice-Chancellor's drinks party before the public event, I could see that no-one thought that.

"You scrub up well, Pixie," our lovely Director of Research commented. I was not used to compliments in my appearance, but with my Dean, Karen saying the same thing, and with the looks I was getting from others in the room, I was feeling good - which prepared me for the moment I had been dreading.

There was a knock on the outside door, and our PR woman brought in the "famous author" and her companion. The VC beamed and went into full "greet the VIP" mode.

I had not seen Ruth in two years since she had dismissed me. I had not seen Milly in longer. Ali, by protective lover's instinct, came over, bringing me another glass of orange juice. She squeezed my hand:

"You OK?" she whispered.

Was I?

I had been thinking about this moment through the lens of the past - the mutual past. Ruth and I had shared. This, after all, was the woman who had been my first lover, my Mistress, who, as all novelists do, had moulded me in the image she wanted. I had become a character in her story. I had been her submissive, willing to do for her what she wanted, fulfilling her needs. I had put my career aside for her, and she had made sure that I was not in a position to do otherwise. Her needs had been paramount.

Then her needs had changed, and I had been discarded, bought off and cast away like last year's fashions.

Looking at her, at them, now, I saw them through the lenses of our present - the "us" being myself and Ali. Had Ruth's needs really changed? That was the thought that hit me as, for the first time in two years we made eye contact. Whatever I had been expecting to feel, it was not this, not a sadness for Ruth.

The brain processes thoughts faster than one can express them, but I knew Ruth well enough to see something which made me sad - sad for her.

Standing next to Milly, who was tall and wearing a dress which accentuated her long legs and perfect figure, her hair coiffured just so, Ruth seemed a diminished figure. She seemed almost dowdy. I had been on at her to either get someone to dye her hair professionally, or to let it go grey naturally. The home-dye, next to Milly looked what it was, a cheap and inferior offering. The dress? Well I had seen it before, and it did her no favours. She seemed almost cowed.

"I am fine, darling," I told Ali. "Come on, let's get this done!"

Ali squeezed my paw again.

"Chin up Pix!"

"Ah, Ruth," I said, choosing a moment when the VC had stopped staring at Milly's cleavage (just what is it about men and tits?), "this is my partner, Ali. Ali, this is Ruth!"

I had no idea what Ruth had been expecting, but this was clearly not part of whatever narrative she had been constructing, her shy little Pixie with a partner, and certainly not one who looked like Ali.

"Ah," she seemed almost lost for words, "so nice to meet you, Ali. You look good, Pixie. Let me introduce you to ... ."

She touched Milly's arm as though to indicate she should attend to her, but Milly ignored her.

"Oh, Milly's busy. I'll do the intros when she's ready."

I looked at Ali, who said later she could see the sorrow in my eyes. What, I was wondering, had happened to the Ruth I had known? I should never have dreamed of ignoring her in this cavalier way. Damn this I thought!

Talking straight to the VC, I asked:

"Have you met my partner, Ali? Hi Milly, this is my partner Ali, Ali this is Milly!"

The VC, always the perfect host, took the cue.

"Yes, what was I thinking? Milly, I think you know Dr Hoff. How nice to meet you, Ali. Oh I think I have seen you on our inter-faith committee, aren't you the Vicar of St Mary's?"

"I am, Vice-Chancellor, and it is so good of you to support us in the way you do, I know Bishop Sarah cites you as an example of how to do these things."

Good on Ali. There was no level of flattery which he would ever be classify as "too much", and she had his immediate attention. I could see Milly looking put out; tough titties! If she wanted to use the conversation as an opportunity to assert her priorities, more than one if us could re-write that script.

While the VC chatted with Ali, I looked up at Milly.

"When can we expect the second album?"

She started and looked even less happy.

I had heard on the "grapevine" that the much-heralded second novel had not landed on the publisher's desk by the deadline, and the rumour-mill was already grinding with the grist of bitchy comments about Milly being a "one-trick pony."

Looking down from her considerable advantage in terms of height, she brushed it aside - rather too hastily.

"Fine, fine - and you?"

"Oh I have a monograph out in the autumn with Oxford University Press, and a collection of short stories due in time for Christmas."

You could have heard the lightest of pins drop in the icy silence which ensued.

Ruth had been waiting, as a suppliant, so I brought her in to crack the ice:

"So looking forward to our chat later. I am also looking forward to your next, I hear good things on the grapevine."

That made her face, which had looked wan and almost sad, light up.

"I'd be happy to do a short reading from it Pixie."

"But Ruth," Milly said, sternly, "we have an agreed set of questions, why deviate from it?"

"Milly," I said in my best professorial tones, "if you want to run what's about to happen, you are welcome, but as the person YOU asked to do it, let me do it my way. It's hardly my first rodeo!"

I could see Ali beaming.

My timing had been perfect. The VC had us all line up for the photographs, and then we processed to the studio theatre where the "In conversation with" was taking place.

"Meet you at Philippi!" I quipped to Ali. Milly looked puzzled. Ali smiled. Ruth? Well that sadness in her eyes made my heart sick for her.