Leone Then and Now Pt. 01

Leone and I had been together for about three years when she got the offer from Australia. 'What do you think?' she said. 'Should I take it?'

'Entirely up to you,' I said. 'But it is the job that you've always wanted. And it may never come up again. Is that a chance that you want to take?'

'Would you miss me?'

I think that I sort of half laughed. 'Of course I'd miss you. What kind of question is that? But I'd also feel pretty bad if you really wanted to go and didn't.'

And then a few days later when I had her bent over her kitchen table, having just filled her slippery slot with A-grade cum, she said: 'I think I've decided. I'm going to take the job.'

'Australia?'

'I think that I should. You're right. This opportunity may never come up again. And, anyway, when I get myself established, maybe you can come and visit. Who knows, you might want to come out and join me. You've always said that you'd prefer a bit more sunshine in your life. According to my research, Sydney averages 2,600 hours of sunshine a year, almost twice as much as London.'

That was 20 years ago.

When Leone first got to Sydney, we exchanged emails on an almost daily basis. But then gradually, they became once-a-week affairs; and then more like once-a-month affairs.

Towards the end of the first year, I almost got the chance to go out to Sydney - all expenses paid - to speak at a symposium. But then Harriman's, the consultancy that I was working for at the time, picked up a really big project - more than twice as big as anything we had ever handled before - and I had to stay in London to make sure that the project stayed on track and on budget. However, the following year, the tables were turned and Leone came to London - just for one night - on her way to speak at a conference in Barcelona.

'I'm arriving early on Tuesday morning, and I have a 2:30 meeting in Bloomsbury,' she said in her email. 'But perhaps we could have an early supper - assuming that you'd like to.'

'Love to,' I said. 'I'll make a booking.'

It had only been about 18 months, but when I walked into the restaurant, I almost didn't recognise Leone. She was seriously tanned; her previously longish brown hair was short and steaked in various shades of blonde; and she was wearing a pale tan designer suit that made me think 'crocodile hunter'.

'Well, look at you,' I said. 'I almost feel that I should order you a schooner of ice-cold Fosters.'

She laughed. 'At least I left my hat with the corks back at the hotel,' she said.

Knowing that Leone had had a long flight, and that she needed to back at the airport in the morning for an albeit rather shorter flight, I had booked the restaurant table for 6:30. Even so, one moment my watch was saying seven o'clock and the next moment it was saying 9:30. 'I think we could keep this up for another day or so at least,' I said. 'But maybe we should get you back to your hotel.'

'I suppose so,' she said. 'Having made it this far, it wouldn't pay to miss my flight tomorrow.'

I paid the bill and, by the time we had reached the front door, the maitre d' had flagged down a cab for us.

When we got to Leone's hotel, I assumed that I would just be kissing her goodnight and wishing her a safe journey and a great time in Barcelona. But Leone had other ideas. 'Come and have a look at my room,' she said.

'Oh? Is it special?'

'I think you can decide that,' she said.

We took the lift to the fourth floor and, no sooner were we inside her room, than she was hitching up her skirt and lowering her knickers. 'Come on. Don't fuck about. I've got a plane to catch in the morning.'

I pushed her up against the wall and kissed her full on the mouth. And then while she undid my belt and lowered my zip, my hand went straight to her warm honeypot. She was already wet and waiting to go. A bit of deft work with her fingers, and my cock was also ready. Whether by design or by accident, she had chosen her shoes well. Everything was at just the right height.

During our three and a bit years as 'an item', Leone and I had pretty much done the Karma Sutra from cover to cover. But I don't think we had ever had a fully-clothed stand-up fuck up against the wall of a bedroom in a five-star hotel - well, not until that moment anyway.

It was all over in three or four minutes, but Leone seemed well satisfied. 'That still works,' she said, as she straightened her skirt.

I just smiled. Although she was quite right. It did still work. The sex part of our relationship had always worked. Some of the other bits had been a bit bumpy, but the sex had always been great.

'Perhaps I could come back through London on my way back to Sydney,' she said.

'Let me know,' I said. 'Perhaps next time we can fuck both before and after supper.'

'I'd like that,' she said.

But she didn't come back through London. And then, a year or so after that, I got an email saying that she was getting married. 'Is this a good idea?' she asked, rhetorically. 'I don't know. But I'm not getting any younger.' (She must have been about 35 at the time.) 'And, as you know, I'm allergic to cats, and I don't look good in hand-knitted cardigans - so there's that idea crossed off the list. And I think that Rod loves me. At least he says that he does.'

For several years, we exchanged occasional emails, usually on birthdays or at Christmas time. And then suddenly, and out of nowhere, I got a call from a number that I didn't recognise.

'Hello. It's me.'

Whether Leone has a very distinctive voice or whether it's just a voice that has reserved its own special place in my memory I can't say. But I didn't need to be told who 'me' was. 'Well ... hello,' I said. 'This is a surprise.'

'I know that I'm a few days early, but I couldn't wait.'

'If we are talking about birthdays,' I said, 'then you are only three or four days early - although I'm sure that it hasn't been a whole year since my last one.' And then - and I don't know why - it suddenly occurred to me that this wasn't an international call. There hadn't been an international country code. 'Where are you?' I said.

'St Albans.'

'St Albans up the road?'

'Yes. I'm at my cousin's place - just while I work out what to do next.'

'Your cousin's place?'

'Yes. Jeremy. You remember Jeremy. Tall kid. Well, not a kid anymore of course. He and Judith are off in South Africa doing something or other for a month or so, and I'm looking after their flat.'

'So how long are you here for?'

'Don't know. That's one of the things that I need to decide. England has changed a lot in 20 years, hasn't it? Coming through the airport, it was hard to find anyone who spoke English. Or am I just looking at things through Australian glasses?'

'I don't know. But, yes, I think it has changed,' I said. 'Sounds like we need to have lunch.'

'I was hoping that you'd say that.'

Leone said that she had to come down to London anyway, so I made a booking for the following day at Scrivano's, a slightly old-fashioned Tuscan-inspired place that had one of our favourites in years gone by.

It had been almost 18 years since our memorable stand-up fuck in Leone's hotel room at The Hyde Park Hilton. We were both getting older. Leone had put on a kilo or two. And her steaked blonde hair had more than a few streaks of silvery grey - probably not from a bottle either.

'I take it that Rod is not here with you,' I said as we studied the lunch menu that didn't seem to have changed that much in 20 years.

'He died. I couldn't remember if I told you or not.'

'Oh dear. No.'

'Yes. Heart attack. Couple of years ago. He was taking part in a fun run. One moment he was fine; the next it was all over.'

'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.'

'Yes. Mind you ... it wasn't really working. We never should have got married. Still ... And you? Are you still a lone wolf?'

'It would seem so,' I said.

Leone smiled and nodded.

'I suspect that I'm now too old to be re-trained.'

Leone laughed. 'And woe betide any woman who dares to take up the challenge?'

'Well, Noor gave it her best shot. But, in the end, even she had to admit defeat.'

Leone laughed again. She seemed to have mellowed somewhat with the years.

'I take it that you are no longer the empress of whatever that publishing empire was,' I said.

'No. The empire was bought by one of the rival empires - who promptly closed half of the publications and made two-thirds of the staff redundant.'

'Oh.'

'These are not happy times for the print publication world. Even some of the broadcast media are struggling. And it seems to be the same everywhere. Happily, I came out of it all right. No job; but my bank account is the healthiest it has ever been. And, as long as we don't suddenly have a bout of hyperinflation, my pension is looking OK. I just need to work out what to do next.'

We chatted about some of the ideas that Leone had been toying with. I got the feeling that she was just waiting for me to say: 'Yeah. That's a great idea.' But none of them struck me as great ideas. And the longer that we chatted, the more I began to worry about my own future. The consulting life had been very kind to me, but at least half the names in my address book were getting near to retirement. And, while I still loved London, I loved it in a different way. Day-to-day living was becoming more difficult. Or perhaps I was just getting older.

'So, what do you have planned for the rest of the day?' I asked as the level in our wine bottle reached the point at which we needed to make a decision.

'Nothing really. Apart from catching up with you, my main reason for coming down to town was to catch up with Angela at Pepperidge. You remember Angela. She thought that she might have an editorial role for me. In Birmingham. But it didn't really sound like me.'

Birmingham. No. I couldn't really imagine Leone in Birmingham. 'In that case, do you fancy a walk in the park?' I said.

Leone nodded. 'I do. Yes. That might be nice.'

'Why don't we get a cab to take us down to Hyde Park Corner and then we can meander back up.'

The day had started out a bit grey and claggy. But, by the time the cab dropped us at the bottom of Park Lane, the sun had come out and it had the makings of a very pleasant autumn day. We crossed the road and skirted around the back of the Duke of Wellington's house, Number One, London. There were grey squirrels scuttling around every oak tree, gathering up acorns as though they knew things that we had yet to hear about.

'This is still a wonderful place,' Leone said.

'London? Or the park?'

'I was thinking of the park. But I guess London must still be pretty special.'

'Well, London's a big city,' I said. 'And a bit of a mixed bag. There are great chunks of it that I have never even visited.'

Leone slipped her arm though mine. 'I know what you mean. Even though I lived here for almost 20 years, I seldom ever went south of the river.'

'And Sydney?'

'The same, I suppose,' she said. 'Although the dividing line there is the harbour rather than a river.'

By the time that we had walked and talked our way across the park, the traffic was building and the sun was once again disappearing behind the clouds. 'I'm just over here,' I said.

'Oh, yes. You moved, didn't you? I forgot.'

'There's a half-decent pub,' I said. 'Or we could go back to my place. Have a cup of tea or something.'

'That might be nice,' Leone said.

We crossed Bayswater Road and wandered through Connaught Village and across to Hyde Park Square.

'This is nice,' Leone said when we reached my flat. 'And you're so tidy. Were you always this tidy? I don't remember you being especially tidy.'

'Maria. My cleaning lady. She comes in twice a week and puts everything back where it's supposed to be.'

'I had a Maria. Except her name was Leena. And she put things where she thought they were supposed to be. Sometimes it took me a week or more to find something.'

On the off chance that we might end up back at the flat, I had put a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in the fridge. 'Sun. Yardarm. All that sort of thing,' I said. And, rather than making a pot of tea, I popped the cork and filled a couple of champagne flutes. 'Here's to ... well, you know, the next big thing.'

'Yes. Whatever that may be,' Leone said. 'Cheers.'

As we sipped our champagne, Leone went over to the window that looked out onto the garden square. 'I like it around here. It's pretty handy to everything, isn't it? But I suppose property is frightfully expensive,' she said.

'Compared to what it used to be a few years ago, I suppose so. Although I did quite well with this place. I bought it just at the time that the GFC was causing maximum panic. The previous owner was here by the grace of the bank. And the bank stopped being graceful.'

Lucky you,' Leone said.

Had we still been in our 30s, I don't think there is any doubt that this conversation would have already moved into the bedroom. But 20 years had passed. Nevertheless, I put down my champagne glass, went and stood behind Leone, and - tentatively - kissed her on her neck. Hey, she could always have said 'Buzz off, Buster!' - if she had wanted to. But she didn't. At first she just said: 'Mmm.' And then she turned around. 'What took you so long?' she said in her low husky voice.

'Well ... you know ... two to tango and all that.'

She smiled. 'In that case, let's dance,' she said.

I took her by the hand and led her towards the bedroom. 'Terribly conventional, I know - for us, anyway - but I don't think that I'm quite as agile as I once was, so maybe the bed rather than the kitchen table.'

Leone smiled and nodded. 'Probably for the best,' she said.

We kissed again, and then I started unbuttoning her shirt.

'I'm afraid that I've put on a bit of weight,' Leone said.

'Don't worry,' I said. 'I think we all have. It's what happens.'

Slowly, I continued to undress her, covering each freshly uncovered area of her body with little kisses. Somehow, while I was undressing her, she was undressing me. And, when she was naked, I gently pushed her back onto the bed and spread her legs - which, I'm pleased to say, were as shapely and elegant as ever.

'Oh, yes,' she said, as my tongue went to work.

When Leone and I had been 'an item', all those years earlier, I had always been fascinated by the silky softness of her public hair. I had known one or two women before Leone, and the texture of their thatch had been not unlike my own. But Leone's playground was soft and silky - almost like slightly springy cat's fur. Twenty-something years on, it was still like slightly springy cat's fur - although I couldn't help but notice that there were now a few wisps of silver.

'Oh, god, you still know your way around down there, don't you,' she said. And then, perhaps five minutes later, she was squirming and squealing as only Leone can squirm and squeal.

I gave Leone a moment or two to catch her breath, and then I encouraged my cock to be upstanding.

'I hope that I am going to get some of that,' she said. 'I wouldn't like to think that you are going to keep it all to yourself.'

I grabbed a pillow and placed it under her bum, and then positioned myself between her spread thighs. 'It has been a while,' I said, 'but if I remember correctly, this goes in here somewhere.' And I pressed the head of my now-hard cock into the entrance to her slippery tunnel.

'Oh, yes,' she said. 'Oh ... god ... yes!'

'We've never actually lived together, have we?' Leone said later, after we had worn ourselves out and retreated beneath the duvet with another glass of Veuve Clicquot close at hand.

'I suppose not. There were many times when one of us didn't go home for two or three days, but I guess that we always knew that we could go home. And maybe that was important.'

'Perhaps if we had had separate bedrooms,' Leone said.

'And maybe separate sitting rooms,' I suggested.

Leone laughed. 'I suppose I should be getting back.'

'Do you need to?'

'I think so. I need to go and get a few things sorted. And then I'm going over to look at that place in Middle Merton on Friday.'

'Middle Merton?'

'The teashop-cum-art gallery that I mentioned.'

'Oh. Right. And how are you getting over there?'

'I thought I'd hire a car,' Leone said.

'Why don't I drive you? I don't have a lot happening on Friday. And I haven't been to across to The Cotswolds for ages.'

'In that case, maybe we could make a weekend of it. Find somewhere to celebrate your birthday. Or am I getting ahead of myself?'

'No,' I said. 'That might be fun.'

I left home early on Friday morning, and headed north to St Albans where I picked up Leone from her cousin's place. From there, we headed west, around the outskirts of Oxford to Chipping Norton and on to Middle Merton, arriving just before 11:00 am.

The teashop-cum-art gallery that Leone wanted to look at was situated at one end of the market square. On one side of it there was an antique shop (which appeared to be closed), and on the other side there was a touristy knick-knack shop. A pair of sandwich boards out in front of the shop proclaimed 'Teas, Coffees, Light Lunches' and 'Fine Art & Collectibles'. I must confess that I didn't have a very good feeling about the place. I'm not sure why.

'Shall I give them a call and tell them that we're here?' Leone said. 'Give them a chance to put on their clean aprons?'

'No. Let's just go and play customers, shall we? See what it's like.'

Leone ordered a cup of tea and I ordered a coffee. The coffee was terrible: lukewarm, thin, and gritty. We also ordered a cheese scone and a peach and ginger muffin. They, too, were less that wonderful. 'Well, there's plenty of room for improvement,' I said. 'And I suppose some people might see that as an opportunity.'

Leone didn't look very enthusiastic. 'I wonder if any locals come in. Or are the customers just tourists on a once-in-a-lifetime coach trip. "Today's Friday. This must be Middle Merton." I guess if they are never going to be coming back ...'

'We should probably go and find someone who will give us a bed for the night,' I said.

We went back to the car, and I fired up my laptop and tethered it to my phone. (I'm getting too old to look at crowded websites on my phone.) 'Here's one that looks OK,' I said. 'And just around the corner by the looks of it. Shall I give them a call?'

Leone looked at the screen. 'Looks fine to me,' she said.

The room that they had available wasn't one of those shown on the website (funny that), but it was more than adequate.

'That teashop,' I said when we had unpacked and settled ourselves in, 'do you have any numbers?'

'Some,' she said. And she handed me the thin file that she had received from the business broker.

'My friend Mike values catering and hospitality businesses. I borrowed his Excel model. Let's see what it says, shall we?' I punched in the numbers that we had - and made an educated guess at a couple of the numbers that we didn't have. 'Right. Here we are,' I said. And I turned the screen around towards Leone. 'Does that look like the next ten years of your life?'

Leone studied the screen, frowned, and then slowly shook her head.

'Oh, well ... sometimes you have to kiss a few frogs,' I said.

'I don't think that I can even be bothered going to see it.'

'Then don't. Let's go for a walk instead. See if we can find some lunch.'

On a previous visit to Middle Merton I had happened upon a pub that served really good made-to-order sandwiches. Fresh bread. Ham freshly sliced off the bone. Roast chicken. Smoked salmon. It also had a surprisingly good range of wines by the glass. 'Let's just hope that it hasn't gone out of business,' I said. 'Or turned into a Starbucks.'

Over lunch (yes, the pub was still there; and, yes, the sandwiches were as good as I remembered them to be), I asked Leone what her plan B was.