Not So Trivial Pursuit

"I... I just thought it might be fun."

Thomas seemed unimpressed by her response, "I've been watching you, you know."

She was alarmed now, "What do you mean?"

A slight grin touched his lips, "No. Nothing weird I assure you. It's just, I've seen you at work. They call you the Ice Maiden, you know. Keeping everyone at a distance. And we've talked while we played chess. In the hours we've been together, you've never mentioned anything about your life."

"That's because it's none of your business!"

Thomas seemed not to hear her almost shouted answer. He said, "You like games don't you. Crosswords, chess. Why do you like games so much?"

Cheryl felt like she was being mesmerised and found herself answering him, "Because... Because they don't screw me up. When they're done, they're done and I can put them away."

His expression changed to one of concern, "Who was it Cheryl?"

"What do you mean?"

"Who was it that hurt you so badly?"

A tear began to form in her eye and she stood up sharply, "I think I should go!"

Thomas didn't move from his place on the sofa, "Do you? I don't."

As a look of fear entered Cheryl's face he continued quickly, "If you want to go, then I won't stop you. And if you want to stop playing chess at work then we'll stop. If you never want to speak to me again that's fine... No, that's not fine, I wouldn't like it, but I have never forced my attentions on a woman and I don't intend to start now. But I have something to say that might interest you?"

"What is it?"

"I've thought of a new game to play."

Still a little suspicious Cheryl couldn't help but ask, "What is it?"

"It's called Treasure Hunt."

"How do you play?"

Thomas took another sip of his wine and said, "Sit back down and I'll tell you."

He refused to say any more, so Cheryl sat back down.

His charming grin reasserted itself, "That's better. Right, the game. You will receive a series of clues. The first one will arrive in the next few days. All you have to do is solve the clues, take a few tests and then receive the prize, but only if you solve all of the clues."

"What's the prize?"

"Well now. That's the interesting thing. The prize could be anything, it could be your greatest wish or your deepest disappointment. It's entirely up to you."

"That doesn't make any sense!"

Thomas nodded thoughtfully, "I can see how you might think so, but you'll have to trust me on this. Also, there are some rules to the game."

Intrigued at this turn of event Cheryl said, "Okay. Let's hear them."

"You will think of a word. It must be a word that is not in every day use."

"Then what?"

"If at any point you say the word, the game stops. Right there. End of chat."

"Seems fair."

"But you must be careful. Once stopped the game is over permanently. No second attempt and no chance for the prize."

"Fine. Anything else?"

"You must not tell anyone about the game. No one is allowed to help you solve any of the clues. Otherwise it wouldn't be fair."

"That's silly. Even with some of the easier crosswords I do, I sometimes need to look things up."

"Reference manuals are allowed. What I meant was, no one else must help you with the clues. Any legitimate source that you would normally use is open to you... I'm not entirely heartless."

Cheryl sat silently as she went over the conversation in her mind. This, she had not been expecting! A quite games evening, perhaps. That he might try to get romantic in some way, maybe. But this? Never. What was he up to? What was going on in the brain behind that poker face? Eventually, she spoke, "This is rather bizarre, you know that don't you?"

Thomas laughed out loud and instantly changed back into the affable man of earlier in the evening, "Yes it does rather," he agreed, "But are you willing to go for it?"

"I don't know. I'd have to think about it."

"Well you don't have to make any decisions now. I'm not going to rush you into anything. When you get the first clue, if you solve it and send the answer then I'll know you're up for it. If you don't... We'll just go back to how things were, chess at lunch times... or not. Whatever. It is entirely up to you."

"Promise?"

Thomas held his hand to his chest and said, "Scout's honour. But I hope you do decide to play. It will be quite an intellectual exercise and very stimulating, I think." He indicated the board, "Tell you what, let's have another game of chess and finish this bottle. It's opened now and I couldn't drink it all by myself."

Cheryl agreed, but didn't play very well for the remainder of the evening. Her mind kept going over his words, "your greatest wish or your deepest disappointment." What had he meant by that?

All weekend Cheryl pondered the events of Friday evening. She shivered slightly as she recalled the way he had changed from friendly to sinister and back again. Looking back in detail, she could find no evidence of anything threatening, but all the same it was a little strange.

And she still didn't know what he had meant about the prize being her greatest wish or her deepest disappointment. But she was interested. It did, on the surface sound like fun and it could be intellectually challenging, but she really wished she knew what he was up to.

Monday came and once again Cheryl found herself in the canteen at lunch. Thomas was not there. She was a little disappointed, she really did look forward to the chess, so with a small sigh she settled at her usual table and pulled the Times from her bag. She opened the paper and found the crossword page. What she saw startled her. A small envelope had been taped over the crossword. It had the words 'Opening Gambit' typed on it. She pulled the envelope away from the page and ripped it open. Inside was a small piece of paper with a short message on it. It read:

'One is you and one is me. One forgotten that is thee. Names be names and truths be true, What this is be me and you. (8, 6, 2, 5) - If you wish to play then send your answer along with your 'stop word' to the email address below.'

She glanced at the foot of the page. It was not an address she knew. Cheryl stared at the message, nothing leapt out at her. It seemed to be nothing more than a meaningless piece of doggerel, and a very poor attempt at that. But is must mean something. Obviously the answer was four words. Eight, six, two and five letters.

Cheryl pushed her newspaper back into her bag and concentrated on the clue.

"One is you and one is me..." she mused and scribbled the names Cheryl and Thomas on the paper.

"No good. Both six letters, anyway that's too easy. And what have I forgotten?" The first part didn't mean anything yet, so she started on the second verse, "Names be names and truths be true, what this is be me and you."

Cheryl winced at the scansion. It limped. But then again, it wasn't meant to win the Nobel prize for literature, it was just a clue.

"Right. Names... Truths... True names? Hidden names. Didn't there used to be a people that had two names? One secret and one for everyday use? Names had power, so no one was allowed to know their true name. No. That's too far fetched." Anyway, if the name was secret, she had no way of finding it out, "Oh hang on! Names be names and truths be true. Names mean something. All names mean something. So she had to find out what the meaning was behind hers and Thomas' names."

Cheryl picked up her bag and hurried back to her desk. Once she sat down she unlocked her computer and went onto the internet. A quick search and she found a website she wanted.

"Bless the web, the all knowing," she intoned.

She typed in her own name and pressed an onscreen button. Two seconds later a new page appeared. There was a fancy box with her name picked out in illuminated script and a short message below that which read;

'Cheryl: Feminine - Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee: because he trusteth in thee. Isaiah 26:3.'

There was also an exhortation to buy the printed version of the screen display on luxury vellum, framed and yours to keep for the bargain price of £17.99. Cheryl ignored that and scribbled the word feminine on her note, "Eight letters. Well what do you know?"

Pressing the back button returned her to the initial screen and she erased her name and typed Thomas. Click and then the second screen reappeared with the new message;

'Thomas: Seeker of Truth - Let not mercy and truth forsake thee: bind them about thy neck: write them upon the table of thine heart. Proverbs 3:3.'

"Seeker of Truth. Six, two, five."

This too was written on the note. Automatically, she found herself opening her email facility and typed, 'Feminine, Seeker of Truth. Stop word=logographer.'

She was just about to send the message when she thought about the clue again. One forgotten that is thee. What was he implying by that? She had forgotten she was feminine? Cheeky! And his own name meant seeker of truth. Just what was he trying to say?

Whatever insult or implications she had read into the clue, whether they existed or not, she had to admit it looked like it might be fun, if only his poetry improved. She made her decision, pressed send and that was that. She was committed.

The afternoon dragged just a little. As she sat at her desk, every time she heard the tell tale beep of a new message in her in box she hoped it was the next clue. But it never was, until just as she was about to close down her system, a new message arrived. She scanned down and saw that it was a reply from the unknown address. Quickly opening it, she read;

'Well done. That was fast. I like your stop word by the way, very apt. I shall have to make the clues more difficult from now on. This is the first 'proper' clue: Pace child ruined without police and don't break the oath. Dry one for Davy nearby (8). When you have located the next clue you may Ali Baba's key useful.'

Cheryl blew out heavily when she read the message. He wasn't kidding about making them harder. She wanted to get home and think about it, so she printed the email, closed the system down and left the building.

Once home, she made her usual cup of tea and settled on her sofa to study the clue. It was a standard two-part clue that much was obvious. It had an anagram indicator which was the word ruined, so the answer should be an anagram of pace child... clip H aced? No... laced chip? Don't be stupid woman! Wait! Without police. Okay lose CID and you're left with L, A, E, C, H, P. Only one word there... Chapel. Okay 'and don't break the oath' Chapel promise... Chapel pledge... Chapel guarantee... That doesn't make any sense. Think woman! Christ, this is hard! Wait a minute, Chapel. St something? Possibly, but what?

Cheryl could feel a niggle at the back of her mind. She was missing something... Oath. Broken oath, swear. Saint. Patron saint? Then she had it. The patron saint of oaths! Chapel of the patron saint of oaths. Of course! But who was the patron saint of oaths? Were there any Chapels nearby? The game was called treasure hunt after all. Thomas wouldn't put anything out of her reach, at least she hoped not.

Cheryl pulled the directory from the small telephone table in the corner and thumbed through it until she found the list of local churches and chapels. There was one church and two chapels. The church was discounted immediately. One chapel was called 'Chapel of St Jerome' and the other was 'Chapel of St. Pancras.'

That narrowed it down, at least she hoped so. She dug out her encyclopaedia and looked up St Jerome. The entry said;

'Jerome Emiliani; Also known as Geronimo, Gerolamo Miani - Patron saint of abandoned people and orphans.'

No, she then looked up the entry for St Pancras, which read;

'Pancras; Also known as Pancritas, Pancratius - Patron saint against false witness, against perjury, children, cramps, headaches, oaths, treaties.'

She was elated and punched the air, "Yesss! And still the world champeen! So St. Pancras is the patron saint of oaths. Who'd of thunk?"

She soon settled down, and looked at the rest of the clue. 'Dry one for Davy nearby.' Cheryl ignored the bracketed number eight for the moment. Normally just an indicator of word length, she didn't think so this time. She suspected that it would mean something else. Still 'dry one for Davy nearby.' This one was fairly simple, it would be a locker or cupboard... No, a locker. Davy Jones Locker the final resting place of drowned sailors and a dry one meant that somewhere near the Chapel of St Pancras would be a locker. Number eight in fact, she was sure of it.

Excited and unable to wait, Cheryl threw her coat on and made her way to the Chapel. She parked her car outside and looked up and down the street. Here was the chapel next door was a bookmakers, then a tatty shop with windows full of bric-a-brac. But no lockers, at least none that she could see. The other side of the chapel and the opposite street was just private houses. No help there. It had to be one the businesses.

Cheryl wandered past the bookmakers, the window was painted out. She never knew why they did that, after all what could be going on that would make people want to avert their gaze. She continued to the junk shop and peered through the window. Shelf after shelf piled high with items for sale that on the whole, she couldn't understand anyone wanting to buy. A glance at the opening times and then her watch told her that she had a few minutes before closing, so she went inside.

A bell above the door gave a sad tinkle as she closed it behind her and a voice said, "Can I help you Dear?"

An ancient woman stood up behind a tatty counter in the corner and smiled toothlessly.

"I'm just having a look round if that's okay?"

"Of course Dear, but I'm closing in fifteen minutes."

Cheryl wandered between the tightly packed shelves and stared at the goods for sale. Nothing. Back and forth she wandered until she was stood next to the counter where the old woman sat knitting.

"See anything you like?"

"Actually... This might sound strange, but do you have any lockers?"

"Only the storage lockers out the back."

"Would it... Would it be possible to look at them please?"

"Whatever for?"

Cheryl giggled nervously, "Well, this will probably sound strange, but I'm playing a game. I had to solve a clue and it led me here. I need to find a locker, probably number eight and I thought it might mean one of your storage lockers."

The old woman put her knitting to one side and stood up, "Follow me Dear."

Cheryl found herself stood next to the old woman in the dingy rear area of the shop. One wall was covered floor to ceiling with pull-down lockers, each one numbered with a small stencil in the corner. She glanced at the old woman who was waiting expectantly.

"Could I have a look?"

"Not without the key Dear. He was most insistent on that."

"Who was?"

"The young man who left the message."

Cheryl thought about her clue. Oh no! Somewhat self-consciously she said, "Open Sesame."

The old lady clapped her hands, "Oh jolly well done. Open it Dear, it's not locked."

Cheryl pulled the locker door open and saw that it was full of more of the same junk that filled the shelves. But sat in front of the rubbish was a small white envelope with the words 'Seminar' written on it. She quickly snatched the envelope and opened it. Inside was a note which read, 'Seminar on Woman and Lepidoptera (The aptness of names). The Station Hotel, room number 5 Wednesday 7 P.M. The reception will be expecting you under the name Miss Weiblich.'

"Weiblich? Sounds German," thought Cheryl. She thrust the envelope into her coat pocket and thanking the old woman, left the shop and returned home.

Once back in her flat, Cheryl studied the note again. So she had to go to a hotel room for a seminar on woman and lepidoptera, woman and butterflies, what was this about? But in a hotel room, suspicious. She wasn't sure she liked that idea at all and all her old doubts were returning. He wanted to get her alone in the hotel and have his wicked way. The more she thought about it, the more the idea warmed her, but she couldn't. It wasn't her, it was scary and Cheryl was beginning to think that he would be like all the rest, even after this little game. No, this was too fast, she couldn't go. She decided that when she saw him at work tomorrow, she would call it off, she would use the stop word.

As she lay in bed that night, Cheryl found herself unable to sleep. The thought of going to the hotel went round and round in her mind. She didn't know him, not really. One minute he seemed totally open and friendly, the next he had a predatory air about him that was both frightening and attractive. She wanted to... No, she didn't. She wasn't sure anymore. Once the wonderful ideal of saving herself for Mr Right had seemed so noble and romantic, but now it seemed so sad. She wasn't so sure any more, but it had been so long that any man had taken any real interest in her, she didn't know how to go about making herself available... If she wanted to, she still didn't know if she did or not.

The more she thought about it, the warmer she became. Cheryl imagined what could happen in the hotel room and felt warmer still. Even though she was a virgin, she wasn't totally ignorant. The thought of being with him, letting him touch her intimately, making love with her was turning her on. Her nipples were getting harder as she lay there, unconsciously, a hand went to her breast and gently massaged the soft flesh, she let her fingers pinch and pull at her nipple through the material of her bra, luxuriating as the tingling sensations grew. A fire was starting and she could feel her pussy beginning to moisten.

Slowly her other hand stroked her stomach, each time moving lower and lower, Cheryl revelled in the bitter-sweet anticipation as she teased her own body, gentle spasms started in her belly as another blaze was lit. She couldn't help but moan as her soft fingers finally made contact with her pussy through the material of her panties. Quickly sliding her hand under her waistband, she let her searching finger touch her soft, puffy vagina whilst her other hand remained busy stimulating her aching nipples.

Gently she circled her clit and let her finger slide down and then back up her lower lips to circle her clit once more. Cheryl was moaning louder now, a pulsing sensation started in her pussy. Her juices were flowing freely from her hole as she worked her fingers round and round her hooded button. She rolled her hips from side to side as she struggled with the heat and pleasure she was giving herself. For a moment, she imagined that it was not her own hands, but Thomas who was pleasuring her and she exploded.

A wave of joy flowed through her womb and left her gasping for breath. She clutched at her hot breast flesh and pressed her other hand hard against the outside of her pussy, her fingers now soaked in her own secretions.

"Wow! That was the best."

And then, she was strangely troubled. She had masturbated many times before, but never had she risen to quite the height that she had this time. She had climaxed when she thought about Thomas. Did she want him? She didn't know. But then again...

"I do. I do want him."

Cheryl decided that she would go to the hotel, no matter what lay in store.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was mid morning the next day and Cheryl found herself in the library reference section. She found an English/German dictionary and looked up the word 'Weiblich' it meant feminine. She chuckled to herself, what else would it have meant.

At lunchtime she was back at work and walking into the canteen. There was Thomas sat at 'their' table with the chess board in front of him. Suddenly all her resolve from the night before left her. He looked up, smiled and waved her across. Cheryl's hands felt like lead weights at the ends of her arms and there was a series of involuntary shivers up and down her spine as she crossed the room. Unspeaking, she sat down.