Into the Unknown

After a while, we stopped and looked at the titles on display. I think we both spotted it at the same moment.

"The Power and the Glory." Snap. It looked like a first edition, dust-jacket and all, of the Graham Greene novel.

"Surely you must have read it," I said. "Isn't it his best?"

"I have, and it is. But it will be different this time, now that I've met you."

"Everything is different."

That was the moment for our first real kiss. It was long and satisfying and effortless. Her lips were full of promise.

I was glad that Belinda was not the suspicious type and I didn't have to explain my movements. We were grown-up professionals, getting on with our cosmopolitan lives.

And so Lucy and I were able to spend many hours together over the next week or so. I gave her the book. We took a boat ride to Greenwich, we visited London zoo, we gazed at the paintings in the National Portrait Gallery, we even went to see an erotic movie, like naughty children. The autumn weather continued fine, so there were opportunities for all the things courting couples do.

I ached for her. I felt pleasantly aroused by her touch whenever we met, and every night I dreamed of making love with her. One night we were at a pub when she whispered, "Put your hand down on the bar counter."

I did so, and she leaned over. Her warm and comforting breast rested there for several minutes. I enjoyed the slow, even rise of my erection, without any immediate need to do anything about it.

"We belong together," she said. "Do you think it's time?"

"It's time."

Now she pressed her groin hard against me. "It is; I can tell you're ready, and so am I." I could feel the heat of her desire. But that wasn't what she meant. The readiness was all.

It was soon settled. We would fly direct to Washington and take the night train south. When I explained my plans to Belinda, she took little notice. Ours was a civilized marriage.

Huddled together in economy class, Lucy and I took advantage of the airline travel rug for some preliminary exploration. The food didn't match Paolo's and the wine was poor, but we didn't care. Lucy, being a seasoned trans-Atlantic traveller, dozed off. I was wakeful but happy.

We strolled together under the vast, imposing vault of Union Station until it was time to board the Crescent. On the train, we lingered in the dining car through the evening. When the lights of Charlottesville fell behind us, we walked the swaying corridor to our cabin.

This time there was no interruption, no unwelcome voice. I turned my back to let Lucy change into her ivory nightgown once more. We lay down together in the narrow bunk.

"Just leave the night light on," she said. I reached up to turn the dial and settled down next to her again. "At last," she murmured.

Through her nightgown her back strained against my bare chest. I slipped a hand inside to caress the cool skin of her naked breast. She moved slightly, relishing the sensation, as it seemed to me. She took my hand and guided it to her sex. It felt warm, and a little damp.

My fingers probed her softly. "Don't stop," she urged. There was a sharp intake of breath.

We made love to the rhythm of the wheels. We were not the first to do it, nor would we be the last. The pleasure was ours, all the same, and the closeness, and the climax that merged with the swing and the swerve of the carriage on the tracks beneath us. The train sped on, into the unknown.

I was never going back.