Seduction or Betrayal? Ch. 03

John held up both hands defensively in apology. The waitress was back before he could speak again.

'May I bring you some coffee? Liqueurs.'

Yvonne signalled her acceptance to John with her eyes.

'Yes please. Just coffee for me, but bring Yvonne a glass of Jean-Paul's vintage Armagnac with hers. If he has any left, that is. We're celebrating an agreement.'

'Of course, for special customers, he does.'

She was gone before Yvonne's increasingly frantic signals of disapproval could be articulated.

'You'll love it. Honestly. Once you've tasted it, you'll understand why I insisted. Trust me.'

Yvonne's frown remained until the moment she took the first sip of the drink which was served in an enormous brandy balloon. Her face melted into a grin and she closed her eyes.

'This is... I don't know what to say... It's just...'

'I told you.'

She opened her eyes and looked at John seriously.

'There's nothing worse than a smug man, John. I can see now why you have to go to all this expense to get into a girl's pants. Don't blow it.'

John couldn't work out whether she was speaking hypothetically, or whether she had just offered to sleep with him. Age and experience had taught him that when in doubt saying nothing was the best strategy. So that's what he did.

He had excused himself to the bathroom part-way through the meal. Jean-Paul insisted on there being a large bowl of condoms on a side table near the door.It is a service for the customers. Better safe than sorry, his friend had told him. He had just smiled at the thoughtfulness the first time he had visited. He wasn't sure why he had picked up a couple this time. But, he thought now, it might have been a good thing he did. Unbeknownst to him, Yvonne had done exactly the same thing whilst visiting the Ladies.

When she finally finished the French spirit, Yvonne reached across the table and closed her hand over his. The diamond in her wedding ring caught the light and he had to remind himself that they were just friends and Yvonne was married.

'That was the best... No, this whole evening, has been the nicest birthday present I can remember. You're a really good friend and I'm almost pleased my mates all got sick. Is that naughty of me?'

John pretended to think.

'Not of itselfspanking naughty. But the score tots up, you know, and you're teetering right on the edge. Come on, let's get the bill and I'll get you home before you take things too far.'

He signalled for the waitress who came over carrying another bottle of the same wine they had drunk with the main course. John looked confused.

'I didn't order that. We really just wanted to pay.'

The girl smiled.

'There's no charge. Chef insisted. The wine is also a present from him. He was disappointed you couldn't enjoy it with the food. He asked me to give you a message.'

She looked a little disconcerted and glanced over both shoulders before leaning forward to deliver it. John found himself enjoying the way her full breasts stretched the material of her blouse as she did.

'He saidnext time leave the fucking car at home.'

Both John and Yvonne dissolved into laughter as the waitress stepped back to her normal respectful distance. She smiled at them only marginally embarrassed at the task she'd been instructed to perform, obviously not the shrinking violet she pretended to be when on duty. John reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet.

'Thank Jean-Paul for both of us and tell him that if this is his new tariff we can afford to be back next week in a taxi.'

John handed her fifty pounds.

'Please take this for you and your colleagues. I assume all tips are shared?'

She nodded looking down at the notes.

'This really is too much. Thank you.'

John dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand and started to get to his feet. The waitress touched his shoulder with a finger and leaned closer again. This time her breasts lightly brushed his arm. She repeated her surreptitious looks before speaking.

'I couldn't help but overhear some of your conversation.'

'Oh yes?'

'And if you're looking for a model, I'd love to do it. I really like your pictures. I'm Rachel.'

She pushed a scrap of paper into his hand, went red and scurried away before he could say anything in reply. The couple watched her retreating back with patronising grins.

'That was unexpected. What will you say?'

'In my experience - and it was a lesson hard-learned I can tell you - when a beautiful young woman offers to take off all her clothes for you, the only acceptable answer isyes please.'

'Take me home, you old charmer. Hugh Grant is waiting forme.'

Yvonne slipped her arm familiarly through his after he had drawn back her chair and loosely draped her shawl around her shoulders. The pair weaved through the discreetly-spaced tables towards the exit. She blamed the heels for her occasional wobble even though she knew it was most likely the amount she had drunk. She noticed John's sensitivity to her movement; the way he tensed or relaxed his arm to give her just the amount of support she needed. She looked sideways at him and realised for the first time how handsome he was. Silver hair framed a well-tanned face, lined, yes, but they looked more like the product of life and laughter than decay. The body she could feel beneath the suit was more wiry, than well-muscled. If only she wasn't married. She tensed slightly when she realised what she was thinking.

'You OK?'

'What? Me? Yes I'm fine. Just thinking about something.'

'Care to share?'

Her mind raced - picked up speed anyway. There was no denying she was tipsy she admitted to herself. Why else would she be thinking like that? But what to say? There was no way she was admitting the truth.

'I was wondering.'

'Yes?'

'Do you think they look at us and assume we're like them?'

'Don't get you? Like what?'

Yvonne had been congratulating herself on a smart get out before realising what she had said made no sense.

'The other diners. You must have noticed. They were almost all old men with young women. Why do you think that is?'

'Easy.'

They had arrived back at the main entrance and paused to acknowledge the maitre d's smile and thank the spotty youth who was holding the door open for them. Always best to keep on the good side of the boss's friends, thought John cynically. Outside the very last traces of daylight were only just leaving the sky, meaning at this season and this latitude it was only early-evening. It was noticeably cooler however and Yvonne could feel it in her thin dress. She shivered and drew the shawl more tightly around her.

'Cold? Would you like my jacket?'

John was already beginning to shrug it off and proceeded, despite her protests, to drape it around her shoulders. They looked into each other's faces and smiled. Then, on impulse, Yvonne stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. It was more than a peck, but less than 'full-French' as she and her adolescent friends used to call it back in the day. John's hands went to her waist and he held her firmly for the few seconds they embraced. She made herself step away from him, breaking the moment.

'Sorry about that. I don't know what came over me.'

'Thank you. And happy birthday again.'

He also stepped slightly away to give her more space and offered his arm which she took much more awkwardly this time.

'You were going to explain the other diners?'

'Pardon? Sorry I was miles away.'

Yvonne could guess what he'd been thinking and wanted to bring them back onto safer, more neutral, territory. She tossed her head back towards the main entrance.

'In there. You said there was an easy explanation for why it was all old men and younger women.'

'Oh yes.'

He still sounded like his mind was somewhere else.

'So go on then. Spill.'

He seemed to pull himself back from wherever he'd been and changed direction across the now-full car park.

'I was trying to work out where I'd left the car.'

'Yeah right.'

Yvonne squeezed herself more closely to him not really considering that he might have been telling the truth. Her head was still full of the kiss and she needed distraction.

'Its mostly face lifts, blonde dye and boob jobs?'

'What?'

'The women. Most of them look younger, but a lot of it will be plastic surgery and hairdressing.'

Yvonne thought for a moment and shrugged. They had arrived at the car and John was opening the door for her. In trying to get in and take off his jacket at the same time she ended up falling into the seat. Her skirt rose up to almost the bottom of her pussy and her legs were splayed giving John's imagination time off. They both realised he could see everything from stocking tops to panties, and that the other knew. John stretched out a hand, almost in reflex, to help hold the jacket as she tugged at her skirt. Then realised getting involved in wardrobe adjustments would only make matters worse. He gently closed the door on her and went around the car.

'Of course, some will have been second wives, or girlfriends. Rich guys go in for that a lot, I'm told.'

Yvonne giggled as John fastened his seat belt and adjusted heating and mirrors. She was grateful he hadn't made any comment on her flashing him. Paul would have, repeatedly, and so would most of the other men she knew, He concentrated on reversing out of their space and getting them on their way hoping Yvonne did not realise his mind was full of an image of the slightly shaded groove of her sex he had just seen behind the thin veil of her lace panties. He spoke as much to distract himself as make conversation.

'And, of course, there'll have been a couple of paid escorts.'

'You mean tarts? Some of those women were on the game? No.'

Yvonne scanned her mental images of the people she had shared space with trying to winnow out the ones who might have been paid to be there. She couldn't. All the women she could picture had been immaculately dressed and groomed. They all looked more or less the same to her.

'Yes. Peter tells me there's two or three who are taken to the restaurant regularly. Nice women, he says. He offered to fix me a date once.'

'Peter?'

'Jean-Paul's partner. We go cycling together most Tuesdays. How'd you think I know the cost of a top notch gigolo?'

Yvonne realised how little she knew of John's life outside of entertaining her boys. She'd known about the painting, of course, but hadn't realised just how good he was. And he seemed as easy and interested around the town's celebrities as he was in the local shops or gardening with the twins.

'And did you?'

'Did I what?'

'Take him up on his offer? I don't know what you call it. Have a liaison? Go on a date?'

'You mean pay for sex?'

He gave her a small sideways glance as he drove. She didn't seem embarrassed, just interested.

'Yes, I suppose I do.'

'No I didn't. It was my birthday and I was feeling a bit down. It was also the anniversary of Brenda leaving me. They wanted to cheer me up.'

Yvonne felt like she had let him down. She had no idea when his birthday had been. She knew he had been married, but never spoken to him about what had happened, though she was aware that his children were distant as a result. She on the other hand, used her neighbour to sound off about every petty disagreement or more serious fight she had with Paul. She'd even sought his advice on her friends' problems on more than one occasion. Should she ask him about his wife? She decided against it. It would have come up, she told herself, if he'd wanted it to. It was none of her business.

'I'm sorry.'

'What for?'

'I just realised I never ask about you. How you're going and stuff. And you know everything about me.'

'Don't fret. As you get older you learn to put things in perspective. Things which were traumas or crises when you were younger, you just sort of process them.'

They drove in silence for a while. Traffic was picking up as Saturday evening got into full swing outside the car. John concentrated on the road and Yvonne just enjoyed the warmth, the buzz from the cocktail, wine and Armagnac and the comfortable scent of John's aftershave. She sighed.

'So what would you normally be doing on a Saturday night. You know, if you weren't making my night. I haven't said thank you properly, by the way. I've had an amazing time.'

John didn't reply just gave her a sideways smile and a nod. Yvonne waited before speaking again.

'Come on. What would the town's leading painter be getting up to if he hadn't been helping out a damsel in distress? Dating a hot model? Smoking opium in a sleazy club I know nothing about? What?'

She laughed at her own images.

'You really don't want to know. I'm really boring.'

'No you're not. Come on, spill the beans. Sit at home drinking posh wine and watch DVDs of exotic foreign films?'

'I don't drink that much?'

'Really?'

Everyone she knew drank wine. She and Paul got through four or five bottles a week. More if there were special occasions. All their friends were the same. She couldn't imagine what life would be like without the odd glass of an evening.

'I smoke the occasional spliff. I was young in the sixties remember.'

John glanced at her. He was worried she would be shocked and tried to sound as if his intoxicant of choice was just mundane. She was half-turned in the seat again, this time with her mouth open.

'You smoke dope? Grass? Cannabis? I don't even know what it's called anymore. Wow. I haven't done that since I was a student. Where do you get it?'

'I grow my own. That's why I don't let the boys into the greenhouse. All that stuff about the glass being dangerous isn't really true. And all those tomatoes aren't really tomatoes.'

He laughed softly to himself. It always amused him how anyone younger just assumed older people's lives were empty deserts. He let her process what he had said.

'I mostly listen to music when I'm on my own. I don't go in for movies much - Hugh Grant excepted of course.'

He was relieved to hear her giggle.

'What else? You can't paint in the dark.'

'Well I read quite a bit. Kindles are amazing aren't they? You can pick up all sorts of stuff. And I suppose, like most men, I do dabble in the internet now and then.'

'You watch porn.'

Her laugh now was more guttural. She poked him in the arm in ayou-lad sort of a way and adjusted her position again to stare at him more closely. She was almost bouncing up and down with excitement.

'I haven't done that since I was at college either. Paul does. He gets really cross when I catch him. What do you like? No don't tell me.'

She put her finger to her lip and frowned in thought.

'My guess is strippers. Spanking - obviously. And loads and loads of painters fucking their models after a long session of posing.'

It was John's turn to laugh.

'You're wrong about the last bit. Long movies of naked women lying completely still while some bloke bites the end of his paintbrush wouldn't really cut it in the wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am market.'

'So two out of three then?'

'You got me.'

They laughed together.

'I just used to like watching it and imagining what was going through the heads of the blokes I was with. I suppose it did turn me on a bit. Course, back then it was videos and after that DVDs mostly. You could fast forward to the good bits.'

'Shall I drop you at your place? Or park the car and walk you home?'

'Uh?'

Yvonne had been back in her porn-watching days. She was remembering the time she'd been gangbanged by her flat mates. Her one and only time. It had started with them drinking cans, smoking dope and complaining about the lack of anything good on the telly when someone had put on a hot video. The next thing, all three had their cocks out wanking. She'd watched for a bit. She giggled wistfully to herself at the memory. Helping them out had somehow just seemed the friendly thing to do. She shook her head, both to rid it of the image of having to have a long shower to get all the spunk out of her hair when they'd finished, and to make herself focus on John again.

'Have you got any stuff?'

'What?'

'I was just thinking. If you've got any, you know, grass. I wouldn't mind...'

'Sure.'

John adjusted his route to take them back to his house. His mind was racing. He had no idea what was going on between them. Was this flirting? Was she just trying to shock him?Just go with it h told himself as he pulled into his own drive and went round the car to open the door for Yvonne. She paused with one foot on the Tarmac as her skirt rode to the tops of her thighs again.

'You like stockings don't you?'

'Yup. On you anyway. Big girls with chunky thighs, now that's another matter.'

She took his hand and he pulled her up. They smiled together.

'I'll let Jacko out for a minute if that's OK? You'll find the stash in the old tobacco tin on the top shelf, check that there's papers in there too would you? There's more in the drawer in the studio if we need them.'

He let her find her own way through the house as the excited dog had to be almost shoved onto the back patio. Guests at this time of night were almost unheard of. Yvonne found the tin and checked the contents of curly, strong-smelling grass before detouring to the studio and finding the ten-pack of Rizlas. She was about to leave when her eyes were drawn to the reclining nude painting standing, image-forwards against the pile she had looked through earlier. She was now sure it was the same woman with the accusatory eyes she had chosen as her present. In this one, though she had her eyes closed, one hand lay across her belly just above her pubic hair and the other was thrown over her head. She looked for all the world like she had just had sex, or got herself off as she lay there.

The pair were quiet as they walked the short distance to Yvonne's house; lost in their own thoughts. Yvonne felt good. She pondered the right words before settling on attractive, even sexy; she'd not felt this way since long before the twins were born. OK, she told herself, the amount she'd drunk and the fantastic food might have something to do with it, but she had felt men's eyes on her, checking out her boobs and bum - the old pulling dress still had it. And even better, were the envious glances of the women as she and John enjoyed the attention of the owner. Who would have thought she'd be eating with a local celebrity, not just straining her neck to try and spot them? She leaned closer against him. His jacket felt warm around her shoulders and was giving off a familiar, manly smell. She liked the feeling of his arm around her, albeit it was there more to hold her up in the unaccustomed, clacking heels than to express possession or affection. She was glad the evening was not yet over.

John's comfortable happiness had the merest tinge of sadness. It was a long time since he had enjoyed such physical ease with a woman. Walking along with his arm round her brought back memories of earlier times. Not so much his wife, as previous - and later - relationships where friendship had been the strongest bond and sex and intimacy a natural extension of it. He liked Yvonne. The way she was with her boys. Her open friendliness with those around her regardless of age or status. Her determination with the running showed a steel and application he wished he, himself, had. Of course, the flirting tonight had been different. He liked looking at beautiful women and had grown easy around them as he got older. But he also reminded himself that whatever fantasies went through his mind, images of sixty-year-old artist-cyclist-baby sitters were not what filled young women's heads when they lay in their beds at night. Though the flashing? And that kiss? What were they all about? He told himself not to be stupid and concentrate on Hugh Grant.