Nibbling Fortuna's Toes

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Copyright Oggbashan January 2016

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

Ham House and the statue of the Goddess Fortuna exist in the 21st Century but this story is set in the 1960s.

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It all started and ended with a statue's toes. Female toes. Shapely toes.

They belong to a statue of the Goddess Fortuna that stands in the gardens of the National Trust Property, Ham House, by the River Thames.

I had met Beatrice during a fire drill in our office building. She worked on a different floor for another company. As we filed down the emergency stairs her handbag had caught on a banister and shed its contents. I had stopped to help her pick up the scattered items and had a wonderful view of her nylon-sheathed legs. Beatrice's legs are worth looking at, from a distance, or as I was then, a few inches away. It was the mini-skirt era of the 1960s and Beatrice's mini-skirt was far shorter than any woman working for my company would dare wear.

We left the building together that day and arranged to meet for lunch tomorrow.

We had been out together a few times for a meal and to a couple of West End shows for which our building was given free last-minute tickets. Neither of us was sufficiently senior in our workplaces to afford much that wasn't free or cheap. My major expense was my very old car. It was reliable transport but only because I maintained it myself.

Beatrice was and is spectacular. She is tall and apparently slim with natural blonde hair. Her slimness is only apparent because she has well-developed muscles and is seriously fit. She visits her gymnasium three times a week and plays active team sports at weekends. Her height makes her appear slimmer than she actually is. Her clothes emphasise the vertical and diminish her waist. Either she has good dress sense or someone who knows what would suit Beatrice advises her.

I'm reasonably fit but not in her league. I don't take myself or any sport sufficiently seriously. I know that I'm competent in several sports but I'll never be outstanding even in an amateur club. Sport is just one of my interests. I was beginning to suspect that sport was Beatrice's passion to the exclusion of everything else, including me.

Beatrice shared a run-down flat in Pimlico with three other girls. I had picked her up from her flat a couple of times. One evening we were intending to go to a free concert in the Embankment Gardens but when I arrived the flatmates had a crisis. It was raining and they had tried to shut the upper sash of a bedroom window. The sash cords had broken and the upper window had dropped to its fullest extent.

Beatrice asked me to help. I tried to shift the window. I could pull it up but even with cardboard wedged in the frame it wouldn't stay put. I wedged it as far shut as I could with a broom resting on a dining chair. That was very precarious but it held while I drove to my small house in Bermondsey, collected some tools and returned. As I drove there and back my car's windscreen wipers were struggling to keep the screen clear from the heavy driving rain.

I had found my hank of sash cord. Beatrice and her flatmate Emily had to help me as I took out the lower sash, attached new cord to the upper sash and fitted both frames securely. When I had finished I was soaking wet, tired and it was too late for the concert.

Beatrice and Emily cooked a meal for all three of us while I tried to dry myself in front of the coal fire in the flat's only living room. The fire wasn't burning well. As I nursed a cup of coffee I looked at the fireplace. The grate was loose and too much air was passing through. The fireback was cracked with pieces missing. When I rented my first flat one of the fireplaces had similar problems that I had fixed.

Over the next few weeks I became an honorary unpaid handyman for their flat in exchange for meals and conversation, mainly with Beatrice but also with Emily and her boyfriend Alan. Alan helped me with some of the repairs as an unskilled assistant. He was more useful as the supply officer, borrowing tools and acquiring, legally with his bosses' permission, materials from work. I never met the third flatmate because she was on evening/night shifts at that time.

I was enjoying the company but the relationship between Beatrice and I wasn't really working. We met for lunch on most working days in a cheap café close to our building. She was a pleasant companion. She was delightful to look at. Whenever we were out together she attracted admiring attention but we were beginning to realise that we had little in common. We agreed to wait until the flat's repairs had been done and then go out to somewhere I'd choose, to discuss our relationship and its future.

I had arranged to meet Beatrice at Ham House on Saturday for a tour and a light lunch in the café. She was playing in a hockey match that morning. A friend would drop her off after the match and collect her later. I was struggling with my relationship with Beatrice. Were we friends or potential boyfriend and girlfriend? I didn't know. I don't think she knew. I thought that a few hours at a stately home would settle the matter. Either she would like touring a stately home and show interest in the building, its history and the numerous objets d'art or she wouldn't.

If the visit was a failure we were doomed to be no more than friends. If she shared some of my enthusiasm then perhaps we might build a relationship. If not? I'd regret it.

We toured the inside of the house before lunch. Beatrice soon began to disappoint me. She didn't seem interested in anything, not the rooms, nor the objets d'art, nor even the history of the house and its owners. Where I would have paused to look carefully and appreciate the workmanship or the unusual effects she just walked through as if all she wanted to do was reach the next room.

Over lunch she cut short any of my attempts to discuss what we had seen. When she did talk it was about her athletic achievements and her plans for her future competitions. By the end of the meal it was almost obvious to both of us that we were incompatible. Our interests diverged too much.

We toured the gardens. Beatrice began to appreciate the size of the property but she would have converted the plats of lawn into tennis courts. An archery target was set up in the wilderness garden. That did provoke some enthusiasm from her. She had never tried archery. As we walked back towards the house the entrance to the plats was marked by two statues. One, the Goddess Fortuna, had her feet wrapped in plastic matting. There was a notice attached.

Fortuna's toes had been attacked by grey squirrels. Apparently grey squirrels, apart from gnawing at tree bark, sometimes bite soft stone projections and Fortuna's toes had proved tempting. The damaged toes had been wrapped to prevent further damage and the National Trust were appealing for donations to repair them. The cost was estimated as only five hundred pounds because Fortuna was a modern copy, not an antique statue.

Beatrice winced at the pictures of the damaged toes. Her own feet were an essential part of her activities. Damaged feet would ruin her life. Fortuna's toes were the only thing that Beatrice and I had agreed about. Beatrice's toes were as perfect as her legs. If only there had been something meaningful between us I could imagine kissing her perfect toes.

We walked back to the entrance. Beatrice shook my hand and smiled ruefully at me, still holding on.

"Thank you, Derek," she said, "I think we've found the answer about our relationship, haven't we? We are different and like different things. We can be friends but..."

"...that's all we'll ever be." I finished for her.

"Exactly."

She pulled me towards her and kissed me on my cheek. Then she was gone towards the car park.

I went back into the house to leave a small donation towards repairing Fortuna's toes. I had to wait in the queue of those paying their entrance fee. When I explained what the donation was for it caused some consternation. No one had explained to the volunteers that there was an appeal for Fortuna's toes and they weren't sure how to enter it in the accounts. By the time they had decided to put my donation into a coin bag with a note the queue behind me had grown.

I turned away and went out the front door. Beatrice was standing about fifty yards away. She waved at me. I waved back. The woman standing beside Beatrice waved too. Even at that distance I was startled by the smile on her face. Then they turned and walked out of sight.

That smiling face stayed in my memory as I walked slowly back to the car park. Why had a stranger's smile affected me so much? Was it because of my disappointment about Beatrice?

I sat in my car for a few minutes. Beatrice and I were still friends. If she wanted help I would give it. If there was anything I needed that she could do, I'm sure she would respond, but friends is all we would ever be.

Then she was there, knocking at my car window.

"Derek? Can you help? We can't get into Laura's car."

Standing beside Beatrice was Laura, the woman who had waved and smiled at me.

"Hello Laura," I said.

"Hello Derek," she replied.

She threw her arms around me and kissed me passionately, far more passionately than Beatrice had ever done. I returned her kiss and enjoyed every second. When our lips parted she still held me.

"Thank you, Laura," I said, "but what was that for?"

"For mending my bedroom window."

It was Laura's bedroom window I had repaired.

"If I'm going to get paid like that, I hope it needs repairing again."

"It won't. It works much better than it ever did and there are no more draughts. This one is for the fire."

Laura kissed me again.

"And now I need you again. I can't get into my car. The key won't work."

"OK. Where is it?"

Laura took me to her car still holding my arm. Beatrice followed us.

I looked at the car's lock. Laura's car was a smaller-engined version of mine, two door instead of four door. The lock was scratched and bent.

"Someone's been trying to break into your car," I said. "Was it like this when you parked?"

"Yes. It was working this morning. I had difficulty with it when I left work to come here but it did open eventually. Now it won't work at all."

I tried her key in the lock. Something was jamming it.

"I can fix that by replacing the lock, once we have the door open. The easiest way to get in is through the boot..."

"But the carriage key to open the boot is inside the car," Laura protested.

"Your key might be," I replied, "but mine isn't. It's in my pocket."

I produced it and opened the boot. I pushed the back seat out of the way. There were two metal beams diagonally across the opening.

"If we can reach the passenger door handle with the starting handle and push it forward, we'll get in. I can't. I'm too large."

I looked at the two of them. Laura was as tall as Beatrice but more thick set.

"Beatrice? Can you see if you can reach?"

Beatrice wriggled her body through the gap. Her legs were waggling as she stretched.

"Nice legs, aren't they?" Laura said.

"Yes, they're wonderful," I replied without thinking.

"Hey, you two! Stop talking about my legs and tell me if I'm getting close to the handle!" Beatrice yelled.

She couldn't see past the front passenger seat and was stabbing wildly with the starting handle. Laura and I directed her and she unlocked the door. As Beatrice wriggled herself out of the boot I went back to my car to get some tools.

Beatrice had laddered her tights. She was sitting on the lowered boot and removing her tights.

"No peeking!" she told me.

I didn't need to peek. Her mini-skirt left nothing to the imagination but she need not have worried. Her panties covered everything.

I unscrewed the driver's door lock, removed the key cylinder and refitted the handle.

"That's done. You can get in and out but you can't lock the car. Are you going back to the flat, Laura?"

"Yes."

"OK. I'll go home, get a spare lock, and meet you there. Does it matter if you have to use two keys, one for the door and one to start the car?"

"No, Derek. Two keys are better than leaving my car unlocked."

"Then I'll see you in about an hour."

"Hold it!" Laura ordered. "You're not walking off yet."

"Why not?" I replied. "I can't do any more here, without the spare lock.

"But I haven't said 'Thank you'."

Laura kissed me again. Her kiss was as passionate as the others had been. As she let me go Beatrice twisted me around to face her.

"This is for the car, the fireplace, the other things you've mended, and -- for being a friend."

Beatrice kissed me. Her kiss was not as hard or as intense as Laura's but it was a better kiss than she had ever given me. If this was a benefit of being Beatrice's friend instead of potential boyfriend, then I was happy to be her friend.

When I arrived at the flat Laura was waiting by her car. She helped me, holding parts and passing tools to me. As well as changing the driver's door lock I modified the boot lock to be key-locked instead of with a carriage key. That lock took the same key as the replaced driver's door lock.

When we had finished we went to their flat to clean up and drink coffee.

"Doing anything this evening, Derek?" Beatrice asked.

"No, why?"

"Then you are staying for dinner," Laura said. "Emily is away this weekend. Beatrice is going home to her parents tonight so it'll just be us two. You don't object?"

Object? The way Laura kissed I would be a fool to object.

"I am delighted to accept your kind invitation, Laura."

"I thought you might be. I'll refill our coffee cups. Beatrice? Before you go, please explain to Derek what we've agreed."

Laura went to the kitchen.

"Beatrice? What did Laura mean?"

"She has been jealous of me, Derek. You have been taking me to events and places that she would like. I haven't enjoyed them. She would have done. We agreed that if you and I decided to be just friends then she would take you instead. I think her lips have already claimed you, haven't they?"

I nodded. Beatrice's reaction was a surprise.

She sat on my lap, pulled me to her lips, and kissed me several times.

"I like you, Derek, but that's not enough. If you go out with Laura we can still be friends, as you are with Emily..."

"...Emily doesn't sit on my lap and kiss me," I protested.

"She would - if you weren't here at the same time as Alan. All three of us are really grateful for the work you've done on this flat. You've turned it from a grotty dump into a place we can be happy in. Laura has wanted to say thank you for a long time, ever since you mended her bedroom window. Even before the sash cord broke the window had been draughty and it rattled. She couldn't believe the difference you had made to it. It moves easily, doesn't rattle, and there are no draughts."

Beatrice kissed me again. This time the kiss was just a gentle touch.

"Laura's last boyfriend was a bastard. He used her, took money from her and then dumped her. At the same time you were in and out of the flat mending and fixing and for what? A few pecks on the cheek from a woman who wasn't sure whether we would ever be boyfriend and girlfriend. As far as she was concerned the contrast was painful even though at first she'd never seen you.

A few weeks ago she did see you. She had been taking a shower before going to work. We don't normally bother with dressing gowns between the bathroom and bedroom because we're just three girls. You were working in the kitchen. She couldn't get from the bathroom to her bedroom without you seeing her completely naked. She kept peering out to see when your back was turned until I spotted her gesturing at me. I grabbed you and kissed you. Remember?"

I remembered. It had been uncharacteristic of our relationship. Beatrice had turned me around so that I was facing into the kitchen and then made a production of that kiss. A herd of elephants could have trampled from the bathroom to bedroom and I wouldn't have noticed.

"Sorry if that kiss made you think there was more to us than friends. Did it?"

I nodded again.

"For a couple of days. It seemed different."

"That kiss was to help a friend. Kissing another friend to help Laura wasn't difficult. But now I'm worried. Laura needs a man, a good man. She thinks you're him. If you're not, please, please, be gentle with her. She doesn't deserve another hurt."

"I'll do my best, Beatrice. I've never hurt you, have I?"

"No. Despite your disappointment you've behaved as a friend should -- except perhaps looking at my legs too much."

"Why not? They are wonderful and you know they are. I wouldn't be a human male if I didn't appreciate them."

"I'll accept that."

Beatrice stood up, went to her handbag, opened it and took out a paper bag.

"This is for you. A souvenir of my legs you like so much. You can use them to mend your car, or whatever you want."

She handed me the bag. I looked inside. There were the tights she had laddered this afternoon. I looked up at her. She laughed.

"I hope you like your souvenir -- of my legs. If you are with Laura you'll see more of my legs from time to time. Those tights will remind you of what might have been."

"They won't," I said seriously. "There was no might have been. It wouldn't have worked out between us. We both know that. But I'll keep them as a souvenir of a good friend. A good friend who just happens to have the best legs I know."

Beatrice kissed me. I knew this was a farewell kiss even if it wasn't. I'd see her again but this was the end of us, except as friends. She left a few minutes later. Laura and I were sitting side by side on the worn settee drinking coffee.

"We're having spaghetti bolognaise," she announced. "It's about all we've got left in the flat until next week. Is that OK?"

"Anything I don't cook myself is better than OK, Laura."

"Good. Join me in the kitchen?"

In the kitchen we talked about nothing much until Laura asked about Ham House.

"What's it like, Derek?"

"It's a stately home like many owned by the National Trust. It is full of artistic objects, the gardens are wonderful... But there's a flaw in the gardens."

I explained about Fortuna's toes, Beatrice's reaction to the damage, and the donation I'd made to their repair.

"Beatrice is proud of her legs, and her toes, not just because of their looks, but because her athletics and sport are really important to her. They were more important than you, weren't they, Derek?"

"Sport certainly is. I can understand her dedication. I just can't share it, and she doesn't share my enthusiasm for art and culture."

"But I might?"

"Do you, Laura?"

"Do I what?"

"Share my love of art and culture?"

"Probably, Derek. Possibly. I haven't had much time or chance to look at art or experience culture recently. I'm sure I would have enjoyed Ham House far more than Beatrice."

"Then why don't you? We could go there tomorrow."

Laura laughed.

"But you were there today. Haven't you had enough of Ham House for one weekend?"

"We didn't see much of it, not as I'd like to see it. Beatrice obviously wasn't interested and we hurried through, ate lunch, walked around the gardens for about half an hour and then she went off to meet you. If I'd been with someone who appreciated what was there to be seen..."

"You'd have enjoyed yourself more?"

"Yes."

"OK. We've got a date. Ham House, tomorrow. Together."

"Thank you, Laura."