4 comments/ 4278 views/ 5 favorites How Much of a Coincidence? By: Rex Siter For Frank Grayton, twenty seven year old journalist and hopeful author, the idea of coincidence was something that he might cover in a news story, but he would swear it never happened to him. He was no great believer in fate either, but sometimes circumstance can turn beliefs upside down. The circumstance of him being at a horse race meeting was a rare one. It was not a sport that Frank normally favoured, but his friend Larry, had acquired tickets to the Silver Ring at the local racecourse, with admission to the hospitality tent. Frank and Larry, towards the end of a sunlit afternoon, wandered into the hospitality tent seeking refreshment. Frank had backed two good priced winners, boosting his meagre racing bank by some three hundred pounds. The tent was crowded with best suited males, and ladies in their summer finery. Larry, an admitted womaniser, viewed the assembled feminine throng, with an eye he had earlier cast over the racing livestock. As they sipped at the champagne on offer, Larry occasionally nudged Frank and pointed out a particular favourite. "God, I'll bet she can spread her legs on any surface," he'd observe, indicating a youngish woman in a dark blue silken dress that was cut above the knees, and only just above bulging breasts. Frank would glance, and questioned Larry's taste in female bloodstock. "Oh," his friend would suddenly burst out, "look at that one. I'll bet she goes the distance." The woman in question was, in the first place, older, and lumpier than Frank's usual tastes, and her thick lips drew another observation from Larry, "Imagine her taking your bit between her teeth." Frank preferred to concentrate on the excellent food, and was onto his second champagne, when his eyes were caught by a movement in yellow to his left. Turning his head, his breath caught in his throat, at the sight of the lovely face of the lady reaching across the table, to pick up a vol au vent. Her sleeveless yellow summer dress fell forward sufficiently to give a subtle view of a fascinating valley. But it was her face that really got to him, framed as it was by shoulder length hair the colour of newly ripened corn. She had wide blue eyes, a generous mouth, M shaped in repose, and a delicate nose. God, it was just a composition that, combined, gave an impression of perfection. As she stood back from the table, Frank could see that her dress clung to a well proportioned figure. For a brief second their eyes met, and then she was turning back to join a small party she appeared to be with. She even looked good from the rear, with her tanned back bare above the waist, and a neat little bottom. Frank had, on a few occasions, successfully used the right chat up line, which would lead to a one night stand. But usually, it took a few sightings before attraction set in. Why should the effect of this lady be so different? Since Emily, his one eighteen month affair, had moved on five months earlier, there had been only a single one night stand, a weak one at that. His parting with Emily, although she had been the one to walk out, had been fairly mutual. She said she was sick of being second to, "this stupid book you're trying to write", and fair enough, he had been spending late hours on it in the latter stages. But for his part, from the outset he had been a little aggrieved to find that although she displayed a head of tawny coloured hair, her bush when he eventually got that far, was raven black. The other downer was her rather selfish love-making. All take and no give. Whether it was the limited sexual encounters he'd had lately, or just the sheer fact of her beauty, Frank had the strange sense of having been a camera, and his digital brain retained an image of this race lady, so that he had a couple of dreams in which she was vividly present, yet always remained distant. Two weeks after that race meeting, Frank received the letter he had been impatiently waiting for. Four months earlier he had submitted his first attempt at a novel to a small, but recommended, publishing company. He had been advised to work through an agent, but had felt it best to see how his book was received before he took that step. To his delight, the letter informed him that the publishers had good feelings about the book, but there were one or two areas that might need revision. He was invited to discuss these points with a Mrs Cruddas on the following Thursday at 2.00 pm. That week became intolerably long. The prospect of having his first book published was overwhelming him. He did consider whether he should change his author's name back, because in his submission he had used his full given Christian name of 'Francis Grayton'. Anyway there would be a chance to discuss that. He did wonder what the one or two areas of revision might be. It had been strange that in writing what he had called a thriller, he had ended up with his main character being female At last the Thursday came around and at 1.50pm he was riding up in a smooth lift to the third floor of a substantial office block in the centre of the city. Stepping out of the lift he was confronted by an impressive glass frontage bearing the name of the publisher, and beyond which he could see a secretary typing busily, with several doors behind her. Inside, he approached the desk and told the pleasantly smiling secretary that he had an appointment with a Mrs Cruddas. "Whom shall I say wishes to see her?" Frank was about to say his usual name but quickly remembered, and told her, "Francis Grayton." The look of surprise on the secretary's face was puzzling, and when she picked up an internal phone, her tone when she spoke reflected her surprise, "Mrs Cruddas, there's a Mr Francis Grayton here to see you." Pause, and listen. "Yes, that's what I said --Mister." She placed the phone down and directed Frank to the second door on the left. "Just knock and go in." His excitement was only tempered by the reaction to his name, as he moved and knocked on the door. Clearly they had not expected a 'Mister.' Stepping into the office he knew he was now heading into an unknown experience. The office was large and airy, with tall, ceiling to floor windows looking out on the city skyline, but it was the lady standing, rather uncertainly, Frank thought, behind the desk, dressed in a beige business suit, with an open necked white blouse collar, that stopped his breath, and just about froze him to the spot. There was no doubting that face. Wasn't their a photographic imprint on his brain? The lady from the races. She was moving around the desk, looking rather puzzled at what she might be seeing in his face. "Mister Grayton, is anything wrong?" He knew he had to recover his composure, and he quickly replied, "No, the office, the view, it's quite stunning." Not half as stunning as you, though. She was holding out a hand as she smiled, and said, "I'm Karen Cruddas, deputy editor." Frank took the delicate hand in his, and muttered a 'pleased to meet you', while wondering whether he'd ever be able to let her hand go. But with that came the cruel realisation that she was married. Why should that disturb him? It wasn't as if he had any actual designs on her. Karen Cruddas did retrieve her hand and moved behind her desk, pointing to the leather bound seat beside him. "Please, Mr Grayton, sit there. There's just a little error we need to discuss first to avoid any embarrassment." That brought a slight sinking feeling inside Frank. What was the error? Had they chosen the wrong book? "Error?" he queried. She gave a gentle smile of reassurance, "Oh, on our part. You see, we assumed given the name Francis, and a heroine as the leading character, that the author was a woman." "I usually go by Frank, Mrs Cruddas." "Right, Frank, call me Karen." She told him, before going on. "The main thing is that we do like this book, 'Sara's Way.' It is well plotted, with believable characters, and your writing style is quite distinctive. We're pretty sure too, that the scattering of sex scenes will help sell it, when they are correctly edited." She put her fingertips together in front of her face as her blue eyes regarded Frank. "Because we thought the book was written by a woman, I was allocated the task of talking this through otherwise you would have had male company right now." A chance to put in a little charm, "I'll settle for you," he said firmly, treating her to his best smile. "You won't feel intimidated in talking about those scenes?" "I don't think so," he said, and added, "Will you be embarrassed?" He was delighted by her returned smile, "I don't think so." And she reached for a folder near her left elbow, extracted a manuscript from it, which had pink markers sticking out of it. "Right, let's see how far we get. Oh, by the way, you'll have the option of making alterations yourself or having one of our editors do it." "I'd rather do it myself." "Then if you have a notebook with you, you'd better note these things down." Always ready with his small notebook, and a pen, Frank produced them. "Right," Karen said, opening the manuscript, "the first queries occur in chapter three, page thirty eight in your script." Frank nodded and noted it down. Karen began to read, "This for instance, 'Her breasts burned with desire.' She raised her eyes to Frank, "Breasts don't burn, Frank, not during love-making anyway. They might tingle a bit, but it depends on the character of the lady receiving the attention. And this, 'She could not take her eyes off the massive bulge in his pants, and longed to have her hands gripping what seemed like an enormous erection'" Karen's head shook, "This was one little section that had me doubting that a lady writer was involved. Men love to endow their male characters with massive erections. But really, there are few women who long to get their hands on one, unless they themselves are well on the way to sexual excitation. All right, so far?" Frank had been scribbling furiously, regretting that it meant taking his eyes away from her, yet enjoying her honest appraisal of his work. "You seem to have a lot of experience-" That was almost all he was going to say, but, seeing her eyebrows rise, he went on hurriedly, "—of dealing with this kind of writing." She shrugged, "Oh, yes, and, believe me women writers make many false interpretations of how men actually feel during the sex act." Her eyes regarding him were almost apologetic as she went on, "My next suggestion is an area which presents problems for many writers. In the military it would be called, 'the naming of parts.' Sometimes it is justifiable, but your heroine is constantly referring to where her lover is touching." She stopped and Frank was sure her face had reddened, before she continued, "I'm sure a lady's mind doesn't think in terms of 'he's on my pudenda' or 'my labia is being parted'. Surely pleasure would veil such terms. I would say that mention of the clitoris is sometimes justifiable, and I found it interesting that although you name these parts, when it came to the vagina, you used a number of alternatives, 'my love passage', 'the entry' and worst of all, 'tunnel of love'. Ugh." Her smile was kindly as she looked up at him, "I hope this doesn't sound too picky. You see, you set yourself a difficult task in writing from the woman's point of view. And I'll admit that a male character describing the act would be more anatomically specific" Frank just could not believe he was having this kind of conversation with such a gorgeous woman. He would have liked to know so much more about her. "And not everything is wrong about your sex scenes. This for instance, ' the sensation of him gliding up and up inside her, made everything worthwhile.' Not overwritten, just catching the essence of that very special moment. But then her orgasm in chapter ten is dubious, Too many flashing lights, shooting stars, travelling out into space--although there might be a brief element of the latter. Never overwrite, a major piece of advice." They talked for another thirty minutes, and it became easier and easier. Only when it came to a later chapter where oral sex was described did she become just a little uncomfortable. "For him it's a natural move, in most cases, but your female character has never done it before, and you make her just a little too eager, a little too knowing with her lips and tongue. Given the character of your lady, she needs to be much less sure of herself, and what she is supposed to do." When they parted, with Frank agreeing to make the recommended changes, her smile was gracious as she said, "I hope my comments haven't depressed you. Your book is so good, but is dragged down by the clunkiness of those sex scenes." She offered her hand for a farewell handshake as Frank replied, "Not at all. I rather enjoyed it. I'm always ready to learn from an expert." And did she blush then? Probably not, but it was good to imagine that she had. What would he call that meeting, after his being so conscious of her looks after the race meeting? Could it be classed as coincidence? Of course, that was all it could be. Well, at least that was a first. But it would have been more meaningful if it could have led somewhere. After completing his day's work at the newspaper offices, he was home in his downstairs flat by six o'clock. That evening he sat working until near midnight correcting all the sex scenes, He even had a go at some she hadn't raised, always keeping in mind her advice to "never overwrite." His work carried over into the following evening, and the day after that he was able to drop off the completed manuscript, but was only able to hand it to the secretary. It was she who telephoned him two weeks later to come in for a final rundown before printing and publication. Eager to Kare Cruddas again, he almost dashed out of the lift only to find that Mrs Cruddas was not in that day, and Mr Carver would be seeing him. Jeremy Carver was polite, efficient, and full of praise for the book.. "I hope you didn't mind the changes we advised. You've handled those requests quite brilliantly" Frank told him, "Thanks to Mrs Cruddas. She was most helptful." "About six months before publication, I reckon. You'll have advance copy of course, and there will almost certainly be a prepublication function." So there it was. His book was going to be published. Yet, he could not explain why he was not as ecstatic as he had expected to be. He knew that part of that was the fact that he had not seen Karen Cruddas again, and was not likely to. At the same time he was telling himself that there could be little satisfaction in drooling over a married woman. He buried himself in his work at the newspaper, and in the evenings on his second novel, which was developing quite well. So much so that he half hoped that he might have it ready for presentation before the publication of 'Sara's Way.' He did receive an envelope on which he read the editor's name, and he opened it with some excitement, only to find it contained three suggested cover pictures, and asked him to select one he approved of. He chose one which showed a dark haired lady, who looked most like how he imagined his main character, peering around an open door. But then, after nearly six months, during which time his thoughts of Karen Cruddas, had never quite faded, a small parcel arrived. Inside he found a first copy of his book, and he held it to his chest as though it was some kind of heart by-pass. The enclosed letter told him that the presentation night prepublication was to be the following Tuesday, only five days away. He was just a little disappointed to read that the presentation was not only for his book, but for two other new publications that would be issued at the same time. The major consolation was that he would get to see Karen Cruddas again. Surely she would be at such a function. Okay, he could only look at her, but wasn't she well worth looking at? Tuesday could not come fast enough, but at last Frank, in smart grey suit, light blue shirt, with a dark blue tie was entering the Assembly Hall, where the presentation was being held. Walking into the hall, Frank was handed a glass of champagne, and a pin-on label with his name on it. As he fastened the label to his lapel, his eyes scanned the surprisingly busy hall. He couldn't see who he was hoping to see. Then a tall distinguished looking gentleman appeared in front of him, silver haired and smiling,"Mr Grayton? So glad to meet you." As he offered his hand he identified himself as Martin Devison, the chief executive of the publishing house. He went on to apologise for this triple presentation, "Pure chance that all three books became ready at the same time. Pointless having three separate functions, woldn't you agree?" Frank nodded dutifully, and Devison went on, "I have read your book, and was very impressed. Will there be another in the near future?" Frank told him that he was well on with his second novel. Then Devison excused himself, "Oh, I'm signalled, I have to give the opening address." He started to walk away, but turned back to say, "Sorry that you will be last in line. But Ms Farrell will be making your presentation, if you just have a few words to say—mention your up-coming book, perhaps." He glanced at his watch, "I hope she gets here in time. Having trouble with her car apparently." Frank watched him climb onto the stage, and start making his welcoming speech, leading into announcing that Mr Jarvis would presnt the first author. This was a middle aged lady who had written a cook book. She spoke only a few words about her book. But Frank continued to scan the people around him. No Karen Cruddas. Devison appeared again to state that a Mr Harvey would present the next author. This was another non-fiction work recounting a journey taken along the length of the Amazon river. This author was a deeply tanned, surprisingly short man, who bounded up onto the stage to reveal how fit he was. He talked for rather too long, and had to be eventually reminded of the time. This gave Frank the opportunity to get nearer the stage for when he was called. He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to say, but was determined not to drift on like the previous author. Then Devison was there again to introduce the final book, and he said "a change of genre," before stating, "Presenting this author, a lady, who I'm pleased to say, in spite of difficulties has just made it, Ms Karen Farrell. Another Karen? Frank glanced towards the side curtain, and his heart leapt at the sight of the lady who appeared in a neat black dress, with thin straps that bared her elegant shoulders. Karen Cruddas? Karen Farrell? Whatever her name, here was the Karen he'd been longing to see. As she stood behind the dais, her eyes swept along those standing near the stage. When they came to Frank, she gave a broad smile and a nod before launching into her introduction. Frank was so taken with the fact that she had, at last, appeared, that he couldn't concentrate totally on her words, but he did realise that she was being very kind. He caught phrases like, "superb plotting," and "masterful writing style." Finally, she came to the introduction, "It is with great pleasure that I introduce, an author of exciting potential, Mr Frank Grayton." Frank almost stumbled in hurrying to be beside her. She stepped forward to greet him, and her smile made his pulse beat even quicker. As she held out a hand, he took it in his, and lifted it to his lips. Releasing her, he was stunned when she reached up and kissed him on the cheek, and the aroma of her might have been roses. Her action made him wonder whether his ability to speak would be impaired. Surprisingly, with Karen Farrell standing to one side, Frank was able to state how pleased he was to have this opportunity, of seeing his first book in print. He gave a few words to where his idea had come from, but then, on impulse, he stated, "I must thank Karen Farrell for her editing help in the early stages. Her advice has encouraged me in getting straight into a second book." To a polite round of applause, and a final glance towards Karen Farrell, he left the stage. How Much of a Coincidence? Devison stood up for a final time to thank everyone, and to tell the audience that all three books were currently on sale on one side of the hall. There was some movement in that direction, and Frank picked up a second champagne. He had just noticed that Karen Farrell was no longer on the stage, when a voice behind him said, "Surely, I wasn't that helpful, Mr Grayton? You were too generous." Frank whipped around, almost tipping his champagne glass, and he was looking into that beautiful face framed by the corn coloured hair. Amazingly he found his voice immediately, "As were you about my beginner's humble efforts." God, those shoulders were incredible. Karen took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. "I was sorry I wasn't on hand when you brought in your revisions." She stopped to indicate two empty chairs by a table, and Frank had to disguise his eagerness to sit facing her. "You made a good job of the changes." "Thank you," Frank said, his mind churning over the thought, 'May I kiss you.' What he did say was,"Your change of name? If you don't mind me asking?" Karen looked at him for a moment, "Cruddas was my married name. We're divorced. I kept the house, I didn't want the name. That's what I was seeing to, when you brought in your changes." Inwardly glowing at the mention of her divorce, Frank saw this as the time to make a positive move. "Is there someone else now?" She looked at him coolly, "Is that important?" Deep breath, Frank, this is crucial, "It is, as a matter of fact." "Oh, why?" "Just to show my appreciation, I would like to take you out to dinner—soon." Her blue eyes widened, and that was enough to lift Frank's spirits. "You don't need to do that," she told him. "You don't want to?" "That's not what I said," she replied, and again her eyes held his. "So you will?" She sighed, "No strings?" She glanced across the room, "Oh, the Chief Exec. Is wanting my attention. Must go." "Only one string." "And what would that be," she asked, as she stood up. Determined to keep his offer light he said, "Well, the last time we talked the only subject of your conversation was sex. Could we be a little more discrete on this occasion." Her laughter was a delight, as he stood up alongside her, "Where and when?" she asked. "Know the Palladia?" "I do, and it's very handy for me." "Seven thirty?" "Till then, Mr Grayton—Frank." Frank watched the delicate tick-tock of her hips as she walked away. He spent another pleasing hour signing books for a significant number of purchasers. He retired to his bed that night thinking only of Karen Farrell, and the way she'd looked in that black dress, so slender, so elegant. And he had made a date with her. Where could it go from there? He slept well. Saturday arrived as an inclement summer's day. Rain poured from the heavens from early morning and well into the afternoon. Frank did a good shift on his book during the morning, but as the afternoon threatened to drag with maddening slowness towards Karen time, he went to his stored rows of film DVDs, and, after much thought, selected 'Twelve Angry Men'. So many of his collection were pre-1970 . Frank always felt that he could watch the more modern films maybe once, but that was enough. As the rain lashed against the sitting room window, he settled back, recognising that he had lost count of the number of times he had viewed this one, with Henry Fonda besting Lee J. Cobb. But on this occasion Karen Farrell kept interfering with his concentration. As soon as the film finished, he showered, shaved and prepared himself for the evening. At about six o'clock the rain stopped, and the sun shone brightly to cause steam to rise from the pavements. By the time he reached the restaurant, five minutes ahead of schedule, the streets were almost dry. Two minutes after he'd sat down at a corner table, Karen appeared in a pale blue summer dress, with a white cardigan on her shoulders. Frank rose to greet her, and their hands touched briefly. How he wished it could have been their lips. She placed her cardigan on the back of her chair, and Frank's eyes did, what they always did when this lady was around; they absolutely gloried in the sheer beauty of her, from her face, down over her small but neatly curved breasts, and the elegant undulations of hips to waist. "Am I late? " she asked uncertainly. "You're spot on time. Ready to eat?" While they were studying the menu she couldn't wait to tell him that his book was already rising up the best-seller lists. "That makes me doubly happy," he said, before realising that he was going to have to account for that statement. "Doubly?" Don't duck away from the truth, he told himself. "Well, the book, and having you here to deliver the news." Did her face redden slightly? Maybe, but her response was non-commital. "It's part of my job, letting authors know how their book is doing." "On an evening out?" he asked deliberately. "Not exactly. That is a change from the norm." They ate a pleasant meal, without much talk. Desultory mention of the rain, and Karen said that it saved her having to water her garden. "You like gardening?" he asked, knowing full well that was something that, for him, was a chore, rather than a pleasure. "Not really, I'm just thankful for the occasional rain." And they laughed together, as Frank matched her gardening reluctance. They both agreed that the beef bourguignon was delicious, turned down the offer of a sweet, and while they sipped at the coffee, Karen asked him if the wet day had given him the opportunity to crack on with his second book. "From eight until two. Six hours is about the limit of my endurance.. After that anything I do, I generally have to rewrite the next day." It pleased him to see the genuine interest on her face, as she leaned slightly forward. "Can you talk about the new book?" Frank shook his head, "Other than telling you it's another thriller, I don't like talking the plot out of my head." She smiled, "I'm glad to hear that. It's what I would advise any new writer. So how did you fill in your afternoon?" "By looking forward to this evening," he told her, which wasn't a complete lie. But since it did not register any reaction from her, he added, "And I watched 'Twelve Angry Men', from my DVD collection." Her brow creased as she asked, "You have a DVD collection?" He felt a little cautious about admitting it, as he told her, "Mostly old stuff. A few, but not many are beyond 1970." He saw her mouth gape as though shocked, and her head shook, prompting him to ask, "What?" "Frank, did you know?" "Know what?" "That I have a collection of DVDs—films that I love—mine are all pre1965. What kind of coincidence is that?" Coincidence indeed, and Frank was just a little stunned at her revelation, "How could I know that? I've been collecting them for years." Their conversation became more animated as they told each other how much more pleasure they got from the old movies. As Karen observed, "Most of the stuff you get these days is glorified by special effects." They went on to talk about their shared love of books, which was an obvious link. Then Karen said she was expecting her mother to phone later in the evening, so she had to leave. It was barely ten. Frank asked if they could do this again, and she only hesitated a moment before asking, "Do you really want to?" "I really want to." So they agreed on the following Saturday at the same place and time. Then he walked her out to her car, a neat little Mazda two seater. Frank had been pondering whether attempting a kiss might be in order, but decided not to risk it. When she held out her hand, he repeated the action he had taken on stage, and placed it to his lips. "Oh, a proper gentleman," she joked as she climbed into her car. "You can tell you're a fan of old movies." It was a long week before the next Saturday came around, but once again they had a very good night, with much more to talk on the subject of old movies. "You listen to music over and over again, why not watch a movie you love, over and over again." Karen stated. Frank thought that they got on so well on that occasion that he dared suggest seeing her on the Wednesday night, and was delighted when she accepted. A different venue, but convenient for both of them, and suddenly they were into a twice a week situation. On the second Wednesday of this new situation, as he stood with her by her car, he leaned forward just a little uncertainly, placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her. For a wonderful few seconds, he felt her responding, with warm moist lips slightly parted and nicely meshing with his, but then she broke away, held his hand that had been on her cheek, and said, "Frank, I don't want to lead you on. Getting too involved after the big mistake I made once before, worries me. Do you mind?" Of course he minded, but being with her was, for him, a joy in itself. So he accepted her reservation, and she reassured him that they would continue meeting, and conversing. They did just that, and he was delighted to discover that, in fact, they lived less than two miles apart. With that in mind he had to convince her that collecting her from her home was a more sensible option than using two cars all the time. After some hesitation she finally agreed that it did make sense. This led to those awkward moments when after a cosy night out, Frank applied his car handbrake outside her door. A chaste kiss goodnight was a major sign of progress for him, and always, he hoped for an invite inside, and the developments that might come from that. On occasion he was sure there had been an apologetic look on her face as she opened the car door. The disappointment of it not happening drove home with him. Frank couldn't quite define when the ice finally began to crack. There had been little doubt that closeness was growing, as their meetings became less restricted to Saturdays and Wednesdays. They laughed more together, strong in their shared book and film addictions. To Frank's joy, Karen had even, occasionally, taken hold of his hand Then came that particular Sunday, when they had driven out into the country, and, taken an afternoon stroll along a riverside pathway. Frank, having just finished his first draft of the new book, and because its general direction would not change, told her the general plot outline, as they walked. Karen had held his hand as he talked, and that had encouraged him, as her face frequently looked up into his, and he read her approval there. Then it almost put him off his train of thought, as he realised she was actually clutching his arm, and leaning into him, closer than she'd ever been. Frank concluded his account of the plot just short of the conclusion, and laughing, as they reached a quiet little riverside restaurant, he told her, "Now you'll need to wait to know how it ends." Karen jumped in front of him, those blue eyes blazing, as she thumped jokingly at his chest, "Oh, you mean beast." For just a moment they stood toe to toe, close together, close enough to kiss, Frank thought, as Karen added, "Now, I could eat a horse." Frank shook his head, "Just because you're in the country doesn't mean you can be served horse." And laughing together they went into the restaurant to be shown to a table overlooking the sluggish river. They ordered a traditional British Sunday lunch, lean slices of beef, with Yorkshire pudding, two veg and potatoes. Over the meal, their eyes kept meeting, and Karen said, "Thank you, for sharing your book with me. It sounds really promising. " Her face lit up, as she added, " And I can demand first read of the final draft." Frank could sense some change in her attitude, and wasn't daring to consider the positive aspects of that. But when she said, "On the way back along the river, I'd like to tell you something." Out of the restaurant , and back on the path alongside the river, with Karen once more clutching his arm, Frank wondered what she wanted to talk about, but the first thing she said, surprised him, as she clutched his arm tighter and sighed, "A very romantic walk, isn't it?" "For me it is," Frank told her, and sensed her face looking up at him, but dared not look back for fear of what he might see there. "Frank, I've never talked to anyone about this before. Not even to my mother, well, especially my mother." "About what?" "My time with Guy Cruddas." Now, Frank did look down at her face, which looked deeply troubled, as though she wasn't sure she should be saying anything. "Just tell me what you're comfortable with," he said, and wallowed in the grateful look in her eyes, as she gave his arm an extra squeeze. "I'm comfortable with none of it," she said quietly, and went on to tell Frank how, at the age of twenty five, she had met Guy Cruddas at a book promotion function. "What he was doing there, I don't know to this day. Up to that point I'd had only two very weak relationships which lasted only weeks. So meeting this rather handsome, well set up, financial advisor felt like a very big deal." Karen went on to tell Frank how, although she found Guy very attractive, she had resisted his attempts at seducing her. "I should have seen him for what he was then, but he kept on being generous with his praise, and took me to functions that I could have only dreamed about. So, in one sense of the word, I was seduced. Let's say by his applied charm." Karen went on to tell Frank that after eight months they were married, and a lavish wedding turned into a disappointins honeymoon. "In Cannes, would you believe? But I started to see the real side of him, even then. In bed, he never gave me any kind of-" Karen hesitated over what she would say, "—lift. Yet, in the hotel bar, I saw him unashamedly chatting up unaccompanied women." After six months Karen had little doubt that she wasn't the only woman in his life. "Too many late nights, too many excuses--he took hasty showers on arriving home late." Karen shrugged, as Frank placed a sympathetic hand over hers, where it clutched his arm, and she gave him a smile that was tinged with bitterness. "I didn't really care. For one thing, I wasn't missing that much." Her eyes brightened at the thought, "Plus I was very much involved in pushing my career forward. Within the following year I was made deputy editor, and I was all ready to tell Guy where to go. " She stopped there, stopped walking too, and Frank turned her to him to see that there were tears in her eyes. Whatever pain she was feeling he wanted to share. "What is it?" "Then, came that night--something I've never told anyone about." Out there on the open riverside path, Frank took her into his arms, not able to bear her obvious upset. "What was it? What happened?" Karen took a deep shuddering breath, and looked up into Frank's eyes before saying, "Guy was out, on one of his so called special meetings. I, as had become my habit, had gone to bed." She paused, looked out at the slowly moving river, as though collecting her thoughts, before going on, "It was after midnight when I heard the front door bang shut, heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. I lay still, pretending to be asleep." Frank did not relax his hold, nor did it feel she wanted him to, as she continued, "He banged his way into the bedroom. I heard the en-suite light go on and heard him urinating, splashing into the toilet. I prayed for sleep. Mumbling, he undressed noisily, calling to me, outlining his intention to be with me in just a moment.. Then he was bending down at my side of the bed, his face very close." Karen raised her face from my chest, "Frank, he stank of booze. But worse, I could smell a perfume which wasn't mine. Then—and then—he—" "Take a breath, Karen. Stop if it's too painful for you." Frank was just as pleased that the path was quiet. No one was passing to see her upset. Karen nodded, but, when she went on, she was half sobbing, "Without opening my eyes, I told him I knew he'd already had sex that night. And he laughed, a horrible laugh and told me that had been hours ago, and he was nicely tanked up now, and he wanted to--Frank, I can't repeat the way he put it. But then he stood up, and that was when I smelled him, smelled her. I opened my eyes, to see his stupid tool wafting in my face, the smell of her sex billowing off it." "Oh, God, Karen, come on let me get you back to the car." Karen had really strung herself out in telling her tale, and Frank knew only a break would ease her trauma. She nodded and, with his arm supporting her, they got back to the car, where he helped her into the passenger seat. Even as he climbed in beside her she started, "I have to finish it now, Frank. Please hear me out. I should have guessed it would be this difficult." Frank put an arm around her. This should have been a joyful movement for him, but not when she was this upset. "That smell on him drove me crazy. There was no way he was going to put his soiled thing into my body. I rolled out of the other side of the bed, dashed into the en-suite and bolted the door." Her face was tight as she looked at Frank, "I wasn't frightened at that time. I was just angry. I was prepared to stay there until he fell asleep. But, immediately, he came and hammered on the door." "Frank, he was screaming such obscenities, calling me such vile names. I only became scared when he started kicking at the door. Kicked it so hard that a panel splintered. I had never known him as bad as this. With one more kick the puny bolt flew off, the door burst open, and he was there, big, hairy like some wild monster." Frank was becoming more and more tense, as his mind jumped ahead to imagine how her account might progress. And it was just as he feared, as tears appeared once more on Karen's face. "He hit me across the side of my head, Frank, knocking me onto the tiled floor, and before I could struggle up he flung himself on top of me. But now, as well as still being dazed from his blow, I'd had the breath knocked out of me, my efforts at defence were useless. He was a big guy, and his hands fumbled to force my legs apart. There was nothing I could do." She began sobbing as her revelation neared conclusion, Frank, angry as all hell at this faceless character, held on to her trembling body. This was a situation he would have looked forward to with some passion, but not in these circumstances. At this moment he was a comforter, but not a very successful one. She drew her face back from his shirt front where he could feel the moisture of her tears. Karen looked at him, her lovely face all contorted with the effort of telling of the incident. "He took me, there on that tiled floor, forced himself up into the dryness of me. I screamed with the agony of it, but he slapped his hand over my mouth. Within seconds he had spent, and he lay with his full weight pressing me down." "I thought he'd fallen asleep, and slowly, painfully I was able to wriggle out from under him. When my back was against the bath, he raised his head, and you know what he said? He said he was sorry." Frank was finding it difficult to control his own emotions, "What did you say to that?" Frank was relieved to see a hint of a smile flicker at the corner of her lips, "Somehow, maybe out of my ordeal, I found a bit of gumption, and I told him he had good reason to be sorry, because I was going to the police. I had bruises on my thighs, and elsewhere, his stuff would be inside me. He just glared at me, and for a horrible moment I thought that he could kill me right there." "Did you go to the police?" Karen shook her head, "I told him I would save him from prison if he was out of the house, and out of my life within the next hour.." How Much of a Coincidence? Frank looked at her with renewed admiration, "And did it work?" "Amazingly, yes. I stayed in the en-suite listening to him banging about. But when I heard the front door slam, and I came out to find all his clothes had been removed, in spite of my pain, I felt only massive relief." She smiled, a wider smile this time, "He came back once to collect some other stuff, but that was it. A divorce settlement last year gave me the house." They sat for a while, with their arms around each other. Frank bent to kiss her gently on the lips, and she responded with equal gentility. "Thank you for listening," she said, her arms tightening around him, setting his heart thumping. "No one has ever heard the full story. It was, as far as family and friends were concerned, a straight forward divorce." "Then I'm honoured to be your confidante," Frank said, as he started the car. Karen was silent for the whole journey, and he wondered whether she was regretting being so open with him. All he knew was that she had confided in him, she had clung to him and kissed him, and these were massive steps. When he stopped the car outside her house, she leaned across and kissed him with what he could only call a fervent kiss. In responding, he wondered whether she would be inviting him inside. She resolved that by breaking the kiss and telling him, "I'll say goodnight here, Frank, and thank you again for listening." "Really, I was happy to--no, not happy from what you told me. Glad, if it helped you." Her face was very close, and the aroma of roses was in his nose as she said, "I wonder, would you take the risk of letting me cook you a meal on Wednesday night? And maybe watch one of my old films afterwards?" "Sounds good," Frank replied. It sounded better than good. Karen was actually opening out to him. They shared another long kiss before parting, and he watched her all the way to her front door. For the next few days he could not get over the fact that she had chosen to tell him about her ordeal with her ex-husband. Having longed to be with her ever since that first sighting, and with so many doubts along the way, now he was sure they were very near some huge fulfilment. Yet even that prospect worried him. How sensitive was his approach going to have to be? Wednesdays always come around, but this one took longer than most. However, at seven pm on that fine summer night he was ringing her doorbell. When she opened the door, he only just managed to hide his surprise. Blue eyes, corn coloured hair, wonderful face, but it was her dress that had him staring. The yellow, sleeveless, button up the front , summer dress, was the same one she had worn when he first saw her. She presented her cheek to be kissed, as he tried to catch his breath. Rather puzzled by his reactions, she asked if anything was wrong. It was surprising that in spite of all their chat he had never mentioned seeing her on that day at the race meeting. Now he told her and just to prove it, he added, "And that is the dress you were wearing." "Yes, it is. Well, what kind of coincidence is that?" The house was a good few degrees up market from his flat, a large hall, with a wide central staircase, had various doors leading off .One long corridor led into a big conservatory and a garden beyond Karen told him that she had taken the afternoon off in order to prepare the meal. "Spicy lamb bake," she told him. "I hope you like it." "I'm sure I will," he told her, as she led him into a dining room where a table was set for two. There were even two wine glasses set out. On none of their meals had they had wine because they were driving. "I just thought it appropriate this evening," Karen said. Everything was ready and soon he was tucking into her delicious preparation, after which he was able to tell her that spicy lamb bake was now one of his favourites. She came around the table to hug him for that comment, and as they sipped coffee she returned to what she had told him the previous Sunday. "It put me off men in general for a month or two," she admitted, and her eyes firmly on his, she added, "And it was why when you tried that first kiss I was scared to let it take its course." She looked as though she was about to say something else, but changed her mind. "Should we clear up and then put the film on?" "What's the film?" "Wait," she ordered, and soon the table was cleared. The dishes were in the dishwasher, and Frank had followed Karen into a small lounge where a large screen hung on the wall. She had placed two glasses of white wine on a low table in front of a cosy sofa. She pointed for Frank so sit, and when he had she picked up a remote, sat down beside him and pressed a button. As the screen lit up, she snuggled up close to Frank, and he put an arm around her shoulder. Then there came the credit title, and it was 'Casablanca'. "Ah, a true romantic, aren't you, Karen?" Frank said, and didn't add, 'I hope.' "How many times have you seen this?" "Lost count," he admitted."But may have forgotten some of the words." "I hope not, I thought we could sing along with it" So it was when Dooley Smith sat at his piano, with Ingrid Bergman sitting close by, Karen got in, "Play it, Sam. Play 'As Time Goes By'." Just before Ingrid managed it. Then just before Humphrey Bogart made a similar request, Frank jumped in ahead of him with, "You played it for her. You can play it for me." Frank, with Karen smiling at him knowingly, picked up his wine glass, and just before Bogart toasted Bergman, he held up the wine glass to Karen and said, "Here's looking at you, kid." Karen snuggled in even closer, and as she moved, Frank's hand strayed across her left breast, and although it was not deliberate Frank made a gesture to move it when Karen clamped her arm over his hand keeping it trapped over her breast. When he looked into her eyes, he saw something cloudy there, as she muttered, "They're not burning, Frank, but they are tingling." And she laughed. Overjoyed , at this turn of events, Frank was overtaken by another turn of events as on screen, Bergman was about to urge Bogart to, "Kiss me. Kiss me, as though it were for the last time." Karen lifted her face up towards Frank, and spoke those very words. Without hesitation, Frank bent to place his mouth on hers, and it was like no kiss they had shared up to that point. Karen's tongue moved smoothly over his, and Frank was only too happy to respond. As they devoured each other in that kiss, Karen's arm went around his neck, and consequently freed his hand that was half clutching at her breast. Free now, he had his hand stroking over the roundness of the breast rather than clutching at it. He knew for certain he was moving into God given territory. Chunks of the film were bye-passed as their kisses became more passionate. Frank became aware of Karen unbuttoning the higher buttons of her dress. Then, to his delighted amazement she took his hand caressing her breast and moved it inside onto the smoothness of her bra-less skin. "Better?" she asked. "Magical," Frank replied, thrilling at the cosy firmness of her. "And for you?" "Tingling, I told you." she giggled. Frank had slipped his hand down further to the edge of her rib-cage, and then back to finger the nipple. He heard her sigh. There mouths clung together again, tongues wrestling, when Frank heard a familiar piece of dialogue, and knew the film was in its final scene. It was Claude Raines saying for the last time, "Round up the usual suspects." The next second, Karen was pushing him back onto the arm of the sofa and she was leaning over him, those wonderful blue eyes aglow, quoting, before either Frank or Bogart could get in that famous final line, "Frank, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship." Bogart got in his line, and the closing music signalled the end. For Frank watching that film had never been such a madly involving experience. Karen hadn't moved from her dominating position over him, as she kissed him gently, and uttered words that offered an entirely new and enticing conclusion, "Frank, would you take me to bed now?" Shaken, yet exhilarated, fearing to believe what he had just heard, Frank struggled up, so that they were sitting up straight clinging together, and he was asking, "You're sure about this?" Despite her bold offer, he could see there was some uncertainty behind her eyes, but she said, "Are you frightened of me?". Frank had to speak what was on his mind, "Would this be the first time since your--" "Since Guy? Yes, it would." "And that was—how long ago?" She obviously didn't need time to think about that, "Eighteen months," she said promptly. Frank nodded, and told her, "Then, yes, I am frightened of you." Seeing the doubt in her face, he quickly added, "Not of you personally, my uncertainty stems from not knowing whether I'll possess the subtlety to give you what you need. Frightened of myself, if you like." Karen placed her hand over his hand where it lay on her breast. "This feels so gentle, and when I read your rewrite I thought how good your male character's treatment of the heroine was." Frank hugged her close to his chest, as he said, "But wasn't it you who told me that male authors often endow their male characters with exceptional prowess. I'm not that good, Karen." "But your character had gentility, Frank. That's all I ask, the respect you've shown me over these weeks, transferred to the way you want to handle me physically. And God knows, you haven't got far to go to lift me, to get me above what my experience has been so far." Frank knew she was talking good sense so he said, "Okay, but instead of jumping into bed, let's just stay here, do what we were doing, and see what develops." Her head was nodding an uncertain agreement, before an impish grin creased her face, "We'll always have Paris." "That's a man's line," he scolded. "The film's over, Karen. This will be the real you and me." "I'll settle for that." she murmured, bringing her lips up to his. The kiss was warm and luscious, and although her tongue pushed eagerly into his mouth, Frank was determined to keep his reactions subdued, even though his erect penis was a trapped animal in his pants. All he did was stroke his hand over her naked breasts, savouring the silky skin, and caressing her rising nipples. He sensed Karen wriggling her upper body to increase the gentle massaging of his hand. After a long while he deliberately broke the kiss, to trail his lips and tongue over those shoulders that had so attracted him the first time he saw her. As his mouth moved down to nuzzle into her breasts, she sighed, "Oh, that feels lovely. They're too small, aren't they?" Frank turned a frowning face up to her, while at the same time cupping one breast neatly in his hand. "Ridiculous. See, they fit my hand perfectly. Anyway, big breasts inhibit me." "Oh, dear, we can't have you inhibited, can we?" And, laughing she pushed his head back towards her breasts. "On with the good work." After continued good work, as he licked and sucked at her nipples, he could sense, from her heavier breathing, that this was having a good effect on Karen. Slowly and carefully, Frank moved a hand down to unfasten the last three buttons on her dress. As the dress fell open, without moving his lips from her breast, he saw the flatness of her belly curving away to disappear under delicate panties. From the position in which they were lying, Frank could only stroke Karen's belly as far as the waist band of her panties. But that was no real hardship as he stroked with the flat of his hand, in wide circles over that wonderful surface, while his mouth continued the adoration of her breasts. Before long Karen's hands closed on either side of his head as she attempted to draw him up away from her breasts. When he saw the increased cloudiness in her eyes, and her tongue licking over her lips, Frank wasn't surprised at her next suggestion."I think the bedroom is an essential now, don't you?" "Will I have to climb all those stairs in my fragile condition?" he joked. She laughed, "Actually, no. There is one guest bedroom just down the corridor. And you are only a guest, aren't you?" She stood up, and allowed her dress to fall to the floor, so she was all but naked. Her bare body held all the promise he had expected of it. The small breasts were completely in tune with her trim waist, and narrow hips. By the time they reached the bedroom door, he was surprised to see that somewhere along the way she had discarded her panties, and to his utter delight her bush was the exact colour of her golden hair, just two tones less than blonde. With her hand on the doorknob she turned back to him, waved a hand up and down in front of him, as she said, "One of us is slightly overdressed for what is to follow." Frank's shirt was already well unbuttoned, but now, after pushing the door open, Karen turned back to him, with a scolding look on her face as she worked at his belt buckle. In no time she had his pants pushed down leaving only his misshapen boxers. She laughed heartily, pointed and cried, "There's something trapped in there. I want nothing to do with it." And giggling she ran towards the wide bed, with its blue cover. Frank pushed down his boxers and hurried to where Karen was lounging back on the bed. As he approached, her eyes rested on his bouncing erection, and she gave an appreciative nod and reached out a hand to grasp it, as Frank climbed on the bed beside her. Frank threw up his hands in mock horror, seeing the value of keeping this first coming together as light as possible. "There was this book editor who advised me that, what was it again? '—few women long to get their hands on a male erection-' Wasn't that it?" Karen was grinning as she brought her face close to his, without removing her hand, "But I also said 'unless they themselves are well on the way to sexual excitation.'" Her face suddenly became much more serious, as she sighed, "And that's exactly where I am right now, Frank." Karen lay back, and her hand could only slide along to the tip of his penis, as Frank, still pushing for lightness said, "One more request. No naming of parts." Her knee dug without force into his thigh, and then they were solidly wrapped in each others arms, kissing with a wild abandon. Frank realised that it was a shade beyond the gentility he had envisaged, but, up to a point, Karen had dictated that herself, and everything seemed in order with her. Frank recalled he had been stroking the elegant tight belly, and he returned his hand there for just two circling motions before trailing his fingers into her corn coloured bush. Karen broke the kiss to mumble breathlessly, "Frank, I think I'm ready." Frank wanted to reply, 'No your not.' But what he whispered was, "I'm just going to make sure." And his fingers, traced her bush between her thighs, and slid them into her crevice. He felt her body tense, before her thighs began trembling. She was indeed moist, but was she moist enough?. He was still bothered by her statement that she could easily be lifted above what she had experienced so far. Frank wondered whether he was in a position to provide that vital lift. There had been so little meaningful sexual activity in his life lately, and this was the woman he had been idolising for weeks now. He feared that something like premature ejaculation might take him before she got her lift. Only really having her turned on might guarantee success. His fingers moved deep into the moistness of her nether region. Around her vaginal entry seemed ready enough. Determinedly, yet caringly, he moved his fingers back and felt for her clitoris. He sensed her shuffling and reaching for his erect penis. Heard her heavy breathing, they were almost gasps. Her breathless voice hissed, "Please, Frank. Oh, yes, please." Her fingers found his penis and tugged. Not in a deliberately stimulating way, but more to direct it between her thighs. Frank knew he could not take too much of that. He set his fingers working over and around the blossoming clitoris, and felt her hips begin to lift. It could go on no longer for either of them, and Frank allowed himself to be guided between her legs, as Karen, almost yelping her desire, waggled his penis at her vaginal opening. Frank took the urging and with just one push he was inside her, and relishing that fantastic first glide up the full length of her vaginal passage. My God, he was actually up and inside this gorgeous woman whose image had lived in his mind since that race meeting. The sheer magic of that moment demanded that he held onto a measure of control, as he felt her internal muscles, pulling at him like fingers. As he drew back to give further thrusts, Karen worked her hips in an attempt to match him. But then her hip movement became frantic, her breathing became a kind of sobbing, and he knew she was going, and Frank rejoiced in the moment, rejoiced in the fact that his intentions had succeeded. He had to lookup to see her contorted face, her gaping mouth from which issued unintelligible words, her tossing head, spreading her fine hair over her face. Just as he had hoped for her, this furious climax she was experiencing, added to the wild heaving of her hips , so excited Frank , that in very short time he had plunged high into her as his solid penis poured forth pulse after pulse of his seed that had been stored for so long. As his limp penis drooped out of her, her fingers reached to touch it, as she sighed, "Oh, thank you, thank you." Then she was silent for a moment, before saying, "That has cleared my ache." They lay in silence for a few more minutes. Frank was luxuriating in an afterglow of relief. Relief that he had helped her, and that his efforts had not let him down. It was wonderful for him to have her skin pressed, almost glued with perspiration, against his. After a while she said, "I need to take a shower." She slipped from the bed, and he delighted in watching her trim nude body saunter easily across the floor. As though to emphasise his observation, she turned at the en-suite door and murmured, "I'm still floating two feet off the ground." "And I'm enjoying watching you," he told her... He heard the shower turn on, and above the sound of splashing water, he heard her singing. The water drowned out any identification of the song, but there could be little doubt in Frank's mind what it would be. When she came out, still naked, smelling so fragrant, Frank was sitting on the edge of the bed, and he reached out for her. She swerved out of reach, and putting on a false plummy upper class voice she said, "I'm not having my spotless body sullied by such a grubby lout." As Frank dutifully reached the en-suite door she added, "Honestly Frank, you took me to a place where I have never been before." Her nod and her smile stayed with him while he exulted in the best shower he'd ever had. Dried and refreshed, he came into the bedroom, to find Karen lying flat on her back, legs parted, arms flung out wide, like she was some Aztec sacrifice. He stood by the side of the bed, just absorbing the sheer wonder he found in her. "Playing hard to get, are we?" he said. She didn't reply, but just lay there, eyes closed, waiting for him. Frank was happy to tease just a little, "Well, I'd best get home now. I have a book to finish." She jerked upright for just a moment, her eyes showing her shock, but then her shock became a provocative smile, as she pointed at Frank's already semi-erect penis, "That tells me that you are going nowhere." Karen settled back down as Frank climbed onto the bed alongside her. They kissed warmly for a good while, and then Frank's mouth began its intended journey. He kissed her eyes, her hair, nibbled her ears, ran his mouth up and down the taut tendons at the side of her neck. He licked along her shoulders, while one hand travelled down over her breasts, only lingering there briefly, before beginning a slow stroke up and down her inner thigh. Each upward stroke stopped just as he sensed the tickle of pubic hair.