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Ingrid Ch. 01

By: coaster2



This is a re-posting of an original story from 2007 entitled Quartet - Ingrid. I have attempted to improve the grammar, punctuation and, I hope, the readability of the story.

*

He picked up the local phone book, flipped to the Yellow Pages and found what he was looking for. Punching in the numbers on the keypad, he listened as it rang. Just after the second ring, a soft female voice answered.

"Ingrid's Designs, how may I help you?"

"Good Morning. My name is Steve Inhalt, and I was given your firm's name by Roger Anthony. I understand you did some work for him and he was very complimentary with the results."

"I'm pleased that he's pleased," she said, again in a soft, very feminine voice. 

"I didn't catch your name, miss."

"I'm Ingrid Solberg, the proprietor and sole employee, Mr. Inhalt." 

"Miss Solberg, I recently purchased a home in West Vancouver and it badly needs modernizing. Mr. Anthony is a client of mine and I trust his judgment. He says you can do the job, and that I will be satisfied. I'd like to arrange an appointment to meet with you and show you the property. We can go from there."

"Thank you for calling me Mr. Inhalt. I can't make it today, but how about tomorrow afternoon, say about three?"

"Three will be fine. I'll look forward to seeing you then. Bye."

"Goodbye," again with that soft, smooth-as-silk voice.

He hung up the phone and wondered what sort of woman was the possessor of that provocative voice. He couldn't remember being turned on by just a voice on the phone before, but she had come close. He walked back to the spare bedroom in his apartment and resumed his work.

At three the next afternoon he was standing in the empty shell that was to become his residence. He looked out the curtainless picture windows to English Bay below and Vancouver Island in the distance. The entrance was just to his left. Anyone approaching the front door would have to come past the big windows. 

When Ingrid Solberg walked by the windows at a minute after three, he was stunned. She was the most spectacular woman he had ever seen. In the two or three seconds that she was in view, he absorbed all the information he could from what he had seen. She was tall, medium length dark red hair, voluptuously proportioned, and had an almost imperial posture. She didn't just walk, she strode to the front door.

He waited a couple of seconds after her knock to compose himself before walking to the door. He opened it and looked straight into her clear blue eyes. She wore a lovely smile as she held out her hand.

"Mr. Inhalt?"

"Yes, yes, uh Miss ...?"

"Solberg."

"Yes, Solberg. Please come in." He realized he was stammering, and must have looked as awkward as he felt. 

"You're right on time," he said, searching for something to say.

She was wearing a pale blue sleeveless blouse, navy blue slacks with a bright yellow belt and shoes. Despite her physical appearance, she was all business. 

"Actually, I was a couple of minutes early. I wanted to look around the property and see what's what. No good doing up the inside if the place isn't going to make it on the outside." 

She said it in a matter-of-fact manner, but with a light smile on her face. That smile seemed to be a consistent feature.

"Well, actually, I do have plans for the exterior. The siding is to be stained. The carport floor will be lowered eighteen inches and the space made into a proper garage. The little galley will be expanded into the back to permit a full size, fully equipped kitchen. Why don't we walk around and I can show you what I'm planning."

"Great, let's go." 

"Why don't you lead and I'll follow and tell you what I'm thinking," he suggested.

"Fine." Again, that smile. 

As he walked behind her he looked at her more openly. Regardless of how he tried, he couldn't help being distracted by this woman. Her skin was a soft white; she was certainly not a sun worshiper. Her lovely, bare shoulders and arms were sprinkled with tan freckles. He had never thought of freckles as sexy, but this woman changed all that.

She would walk a few feet, make a couple of verbal observations, and write a few notes. She took pictures with a small, pocket flash camera. When she turned to face him, he saw the freckles on her forehead and cheeks. Very sexy, he thought. He began to wonder where else those freckles appeared. Her question caught him in mid-daydream. 

"Pardon, I'm sorry I didn't hear your question," he stammered again. She had him completely off balance.

Once again that enigmatic smile and silky voice. 

"Who have you chosen to do the construction work?"

"Tony Blanton. He also came recommended by a client. Talking to him, he was thinking a lot like me, so he was an easy choice." 

He had recovered some of his composure.

"You're very lucky to have clients who can steer you to the right people," she said, looking over her clipboard at him.

"I certainly am." He was looking directly at her. She smiled slightly and turned back to the house. 

"Tony's a good choice. He does solid, quality workmanship, not flashy, and is usually on time if his clients don't mess him up with changes." 

That sounded like a hint. He made a mental note not to frustrate Tony with last-minute decisions or delays. 

"That's a good point and one of the reasons I've called you. I want to get a head start on the detail decisions and make sure we don't get behind or miss something." 

He was beginning to regain his usually orderly thinking. 

"I'd like you to assess the space and give me some renderings on what you think will work."

"Pardon me for being nosy, but is there a Mrs. Inhalt to share in these decisions?" she asked with a serious look.

"No, no Mrs. Inhalt," he said quietly. 

He thought he saw a hint of a smile, but maybe it was just wishful thinking. 

"Just me for now, but to clarify, I don't want a 'Macho Batchelor Pad' or some all-male domain. I want it to be a home that I will want to live in for a long time. This location is very special and there aren't many like it on the market."

"You're not kidding. It's spectacular. How did you find it?" she asked.

He laughed. "A client in the real estate business of course."

She laughed and yet wondered aloud at the continuing connections he had established. 

"Have you lived in West Van long?"

"No ... just a couple of years. But I did live nearby when I was young, before my parents moved us to California."

"What brought you back?" Once more the curious look.

"Oh, it's a long story, but this is where I belong" he said quietly.

She moved to quickly change the subject.

"If you decide to hire me for this project, I will submit a complete list of materials and work to be done, fully costed. I will work with you on design and colours. I can provide a turn-key project where there is nothing for you to do but pick the items and choose colors. Am I correct in thinking that's what you want?"

"Yes, a turn-key is just the ticket. And yes, you are hired. Just give me the estimates and I'll sign the contract. I'd like to get started right away if that's possible."

"Yes, I can start right away. However, I don't usually have a contract, just a letter of understanding. Will that be OK?" Again, the curious concerned look.

"Of course, whatever you feel comfortable with. Your credentials are ... impeccable." 

He said it with an arched eyebrow and crooked grin. His reward was a big, open smile from her in return. She had the most beautiful smile, and perfect brilliant white teeth with a lovely dark shade of lipstick to show it all off. 

She could have told him she wanted him to pay double, and he'd have agreed. She had the job when she walked past the front window almost an hour earlier. 

"Face it boy, you're hooked!" he thought.

"Do you always make decisions as quickly as this?" she asked.

"Yes, when I'm confident it's the right decision," he said, back in control but only just. 

She continued to roam the house, making notes and snapping pictures. He sat on a stool at the kitchen pass-through and watched her. He realized how big she was, likely six feet and looking at her legs and torso, he guessed 160 lbs. She was big, but there was no sign of excess weight. 

He caught himself watching her backside as she moved around the house. It was beautifully rounded and perched tantalizingly atop a pair of perfectly tapered, long legs. Her slacks weren't skin tight, but they revealed enough to know she was in proper proportion from head to toe. 

Everything about her seemed to be extraordinary. This was a real-live Viking princess. The red hair and freckles were all the evidence anyone needed. With a name like Ingrid Solberg, what else could she be but Norse? 

She finished her survey and walked back to the kitchen.

"There's a lot to do, but it shouldn't break the bank to get it done. Do you want me to have a look at the outside too?" 

"Yes please, Ingrid. As I said, I want to refinish the unstained cedar exterior, and I'd like to use rustic brick around the entrance to the new garage."

Ingrid nodded her agreement. 

"I'll just be a few minutes. I want to walk around the outside and get a sense of what it might look like in a new colour." She opened the front door and stepped onto the patio. 

He watched her every move. "No rush," he thought. "I'm enjoying the view."

She returned fifteen minutes later, clipboard in hand, and that captivating smile on her face. "I think the big challenge will be to select the right stain colour for the cedar. What kinds of colours to you favour?"

"I'm not sure if it's the right term, but I like muted tones ... like earth tones," he said.

"Well then, we're in agreement," she grinned. "That's exactly what I think is required. We want the house to blend into these remarkable surroundings. I'm trying to decide how to use the colours in that massive rock in the front. I need to give it some thought, and try some test patches on rough cedar."

"That sounds great," he enthused. "I've obviously chosen well, Ingrid. You've caught my feeling for this property right away. I think this project is going to turn out better than I had hoped." 

His smile was broad and genuine. He wasn't just flattering her, she really had read his mind. Or maybe she really did think like he did. He would find out soon enough.

"It's almost five Ingrid. Can I buy you a drink at Maurice's in the Village? Maybe we can chat about the house or whatever." 

"Uh, well ... sure, that sounds fine. I'll meet you there in twenty minutes. I just have to drop my stuff off at the office." 

She flashed him another of her killer smiles, turned, strode out the door, past the windows to the driveway. 

He waited until she had driven off before locking up and heading to his apartment. He had just enough time to wash and change into his non-construction duds. As he walked to his car, he noticed the tightness in his stomach. This woman had really gotten to him. 

He tilted back the driver's seat and thought about the day. He couldn't get her out of his mind. She was the most incredible woman he had ever met. He was sure she would intimidate many men, but he was beginning to feel slight less anxiety around her. She had him off balance and discomforted in the beginning, but as he recovered, he began to regain his confidence and take back some control. 

She was a powerful woman in more ways than one. She had self confidence without arrogance. She was bright and witty. The more they talked, the more they seemed to have in common. He found he was opening up to her rather than keeping his carefully constructed shell secure. 

For the first time since Diana had been killed, he was attracted to a woman His friends had tried to set him up with a variety of dates over the past year or so. He had no enthusiasm for any of these women, despite the attractiveness of several of them. He was beginning to think he would never recover from her death. His only escape from this depressing thought was work and his hobbies. 

Suddenly, there was Ingrid. He was looking forward to seeing her often as the renovation of his home progressed. Naturally, they would have to have many meetings, and he would want to accompany her to pick out materials and finishes.

When he arrived at Maurice's, Ingrid was already there, seated at a quiet booth away from anyone else. He was pleased with her willingness to spend a little social time with him. 

She had changed clothes too. She wore a v-neck cotton t-shirt with a silkscreen print of bright colours in a swirling, random design. She had changed from slacks into a knee-length summer skirt in an azure blue. White sandals and a simple slim gold watch were her only accessories. He thought she would look fabulous in almost anything she wore. 

He had changed into a short sleeve, button down sport shirt in muted tones of tan and blue, tan khaki slacks, and polished brown topsiders. He was casual but very neat. His clothes defined him. Always neat and tidy, it was his signature. 

"Hi," he said with a big smile. "You've changed. You look lovely ... I mean ... very bright and summery." 

He was back to stammering again. She had that smile on her face which told him she knew perfectly well that she was the cause of his awkwardness. "Rats!" he thought, "stumbled again." 

"Thank you. I was ready for something a little lighter and cooler as well as an after-work drink." 

She smiled that smile at him again and instantly he felt better. That voice! It was like velvet. What would it sound like when she whispered in your ear? Instant orgasm maybe?

"You changed too. You look very ... professional," she said brightly. 

"Thanks. I guess that's my epitaph, neat and tidy ... professional." He said it before he realized it sounded like a caustic comment.

"I only meant ... ," she started to protest.

"I'm sorry Ingrid. I didn't mean it to sound like that. I guess my mouth gets in motion before my brain engages. How about we start again?"

"OK ... you look very handsome Mr. Inhalt." She sounded a bit girlish, but it was clearly in fun.

"Thank you Miss Solberg. You look very fetching yourself". 

He tried to sound light but wasn't sure he had succeeded. 

"I thought we progressed to Steve and Ingrid?" she teased. 

He wrinkled his forehead but there was a small smile on his lips. 

"We have." He relaxed a bit more, quickly changing the subject. 

"Which wine did you order, Ingrid?" 

"It's an Italian white, a Pino something I think the waiter said. It's very nice. I normally drink red wine, but it seemed like a white wine day." She had sipped only a small amount from the glass. 

He motioned to the waiter and signaled that he wanted a glass of the same for himself. Jean, a long serving professional at Maurice's, nodded his head in acknowledgement and slipped off to the bar.

His wine arrived in no more than a minute. Steve barely had time to comment on the early warm weather before it arrived. He held his glass up in salute. 

"Well, here's to our project and its success."

Ingrid lifted her glass and lightly touched it against his and replied, "Yes, our success." 

She smiled that quiet, sexy smile and she looked directly into Steve's eyes. 

"I think we are going to do just fine with this job. I can't wait to see how it will transform the property." 

Steve hadn't taken his eyes off her face and realized with a start that he had been staring at her. He blinked and looked at her hands briefly, then back at her face as if drawn by some magnetic force. Had she noticed him staring? If she did, she either didn't mind, or was enjoying his attention.

They exchanged casual conversation for a couple of minutes more until Ingrid changed direction again. 

"Have you been living on your own for a long time, Steve?"

The question caught him a bit off guard, but he responded carefully. "It's been about three years." He was cautious with his response and uncertain about how to carry the conversation further, or even if he wanted to. 

"I'm sorry Steve," she said quickly. "I'm prying again. I'm too nosy for my own good."

"It's OK Ingrid. I'm having a hard time deciding what to tell to whom." He saw the look of concern and the frown on her face, and he wanted to erase it quickly.

"Relax, I'm not some criminal on the run or someone with a shady past. I just had a bad time for while, and I'm trying to come to terms with it. You must be someone special because you're the first person that I've even mentioned it to. Have you ever thought about a career as a counselor?" he grinned, hoping to relieve the tension he could see on her face. 

They sat quietly for a few moments, sipping the wine.

"Come on Ingrid, it's your turn. You and I have something in common. We both run our own business from our homes. Am I right?" 

He looked her straight into her lovely hazel eyes and smiled. It had the desired effect.

"Yes, I am a one woman show, and I do work from my home. I've been working for the past four years to get this business on its feet, and I think I'm finally getting close. Your client's referral was exactly what I've been trying to develop." 

She began to look at her hands and then up to his face. 

Once he got her started, she was off and running. She talked about her education at a small interior design college and her dreams of designing homes for the wealthy. She talked about her parents in Manitoba and her younger sister at school in Ontario. She talked about her love of food and dislike of cooking, her friends at college and their career paths. She even talked about her frustrations as a young teenager with her height and size. 

She was bigger than most of the boys in her school and she had an unhappy, difficult time with her self-esteem. She had few dates. The braces on her teeth at thirteen and fourteen and the awkwardness of her rapid growth at fifteen frustrated her. Ingrid's mother nagged her to improve her posture. She had taken to hunching over to reduce her height and become less visible and it made an awkward, gangly girl even more self-conscious. Her grades were good, but she was unhappy and tended to associate with other less attractive girls. 

At sixteen, it all changed. Her breasts began to grow and the braces were gone. The "problem" of the freckles was unsolvable, but the boys in her age group began to catch up to her and she became less conscious of her height. Her mother's constant insistence on improving her posture was showing results. She walked tall, proud of her new shape and less worried about her height. 

As she matured, the boys began to take notice and suddenly, she was being asked for dates. Her self-esteem grew along with her popularity, and soon she was one of the more popular girls in the senior class. She walked proudly down the halls of her school, becoming choosy which boys she would date. 

Her growing breasts were a natural target for the raging hormone crowd, but she was big and strong enough to control the situation. She enjoyed petting and the obligatory "feel-up" in the darkened movie house or the back seat of a car. She was beginning to feel like a woman and was taking more control of her life. 

She was oblivious to Steve's eyes, fixated on her as she spoke about her youth. He was amazed at how open she was, and how intimate some of this narrative had become. She wasn't rambling or upset as she told her story. She was calm and ordered in the relaying of this "ugly duckling to beautiful swan" tale. Steve wished he had the nerve to tell her just how beautiful she had become. He found it hard to imagine her as anything less. 

"Um, it's past six. Why don't we have dinner together? I'm really enjoying talking with you." He tried not to plead.

"Oh, I don't know. I've got a presentation tomorrow morning that I need to tidy up tonight." 


Ingrid Ch. 01



It didn't sound like a definite no, so Steve pressed on. 

"It won't take long and I'm sure you don't enjoy eating alone. The food here is very good. Needless to say, Maurice is a client of mine." 

She laughed out loud for the first time in what seemed hours. "Alright, but only if you'll let me pay. After all, you are my customer." 

"Nope, it's my idea and I insist. We can discuss a return engagement later." 

"OK Steve. We've got a number of meetings we'll need to have during the next couple of months, so I'll get my chance to return the hospitality."

"Great, it's settled then." 

He was all smiles and delighted that she had agreed to stay. Every minute with her was a pleasure. He waved subtly to the waiter. 

"Jean, this is my friend Ingrid. Ingrid, Jean LeGasse, the most skilled waiter in the province." 

"Careful Monsieur or I will have to get the shovel," he said with a twinkle in his eye. 

Ingrid laughed out loud again, taking the menu from the waiter's hand. Jean explained the specials, and they both decided on the veal and scalloped potatoes. They ordered another glass of wine despite Ingrid's concerns over the presentation that had to be ready next morning.

Steve couldn't remember when he had felt this buoyant. Great food, good wine, and a beautiful woman to grace the table. He wondered how envious some of the other male patrons were. 

All too soon, it was over and Ingrid had to go. They slid out of the booth in the same direction, and he held out his hand to help her up. She looked up at him as she took his hand. Her smile was electric, and he felt that tightness in his stomach once again. 

It was the first time he had touched her since they shook hands at the front door of his new home. This time, her touch was light and exciting. As she brushed by him, he caught the faint scent on her shoulder. If it wasn't a perfume, perhaps it was her natural scent. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating. 

Outside in the fresh early evening air he walked with her to her car in the small parking lot. 

"I think I could have made it here on my own Mr. Inhalt," she said with an arched eyebrow and her trademark smile.

"You can never be too careful Miss Solberg," he said imitating her formality. 

"When do you think you will want to get together to discuss ideas for the house?" 

"Probably the day after tomorrow. If I can get this government presentation wrapped up tomorrow, I should be able to get a good start on Thursday. I'll give you a call as soon as I have something. Good night, Steve, and thank you for the lovely dinner." 

She closed the door, started the car and backed out of the parking space. In a moment she was gone. Steve stood watching her until she was out of sight. He slowly walked back into Maurice's and returned to the booth they had shared. He ordered a coffee and a brandy from Jean.





Ingrid Ch. 02



This is a re-posting of my first attempt at writing. It has been edited for grammar, punctuation, and hopefully, readability.

*

Ingrid Solberg walked quickly from the back porch to the kitchen phone. She reached it just after the third ring. It was the business line light flashing and she answered it. 

"Good afternoon, Ingrid's Designs."

"Hi Ingrid, its Steve Inhalt." His tone was light and upbeat.

"Oh, hi Steve. I didn't ... I mean I wasn't expecting," she stammered.

"Relax, Ingrid, I didn't call about the project, I called to see how you made out with your presentation this morning."

"Oh, fine, thanks ... I mean ... I think OK. There were lots of nodding heads and I hit all the criteria, point by point. I'm pretty happy with how it went." She had recovered her usual confident voice. "I even included a couple of references from previous clients, and each of the committee got a take-home package covering the presentation."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, sounding genuinely happy. "When do you think you will know?" 

"They said they would be back to me in two weeks." 

"Hmmm, typical government isn't it? Bring half the entire staff and then take two weeks to decide on a project that is a tiny fraction of their budget!" he said cynically. "Well, good luck. One win with the government can open a lot of doors. 

"Thanks for calling, Steve." She assumed that was the end of the call.

"Actually, Ingrid, I called to see if you were doing anything this Saturday?" he said sounding less self-assured that just a minute ago.

"This Saturday? Uh, what time?"

"All day, actually. I wanted to invite you to come sailing with me. It looks like it's going to be a lovely spring day and I was hoping you'd like to join me for a sail."

"Uh, I'm not sure, I ... "

"Don't worry Ingrid, as far as I know there's no Code of Ethics preventing you from dating a client. Have you ever been sailing before?" He kept it light and conversational.

"Years ago, on Lake Okanagan, with a bunch of my schoolmates. We had fun," she remembered.

"You don't suffer from seasickness do you?" 

"No, not as far as I know. I don't get seasick, carsick or airsick. I seem to be pretty durable that way." She was a little less cautious.

"Great! I thought we could sail up the Sunshine Coast, run south out into the Gulf and let the Westerlies run us straight home."

"Who's going to be there?" she asked.

"Just you and I." 

"Oh ...is it a small boat?" She began to feel a bit dubious again.

"No, not at all. I have a 37 foot motor-sailer. It's capable of sailing any ocean. It's no race boat, but there's lots of room, and it has all the safety features. You won't be taking any risk," he said, sounding hopeful.

"Can you handle a big boat like that all by yourself?" 

"Not only can, but have, many times. I was taught by an old pro and I have the certificates for seamanship and navigation to prove it," he said with a hint of pride. 

"Please say you'll come. I'll provide everything. All you'll need is some flat bottom sneakers, sun block and sun glasses." 

"I guess so ... OK, I'd love to! But what should I wear?" She felt more positive again.

"Well, it will be cool in the morning and warm in the afternoon, so wear layered clothing, you know, t-shirt, sweat shirt, jacket. No tight clothing in case you go for a swim. I'll look after the safety gear. 

"Oh ... and one other thing. I don't mean to be too personal, but if you have a sport-bra, wear it. If you get wet from spray or whatever, the regular bra will chafe you and with salt water, it can be very unpleasant. Do you have some canvas tennis shoes?" He'd spat all this out almost non-stop.

"Yes, I think I've got a grungy old pair." She was almost laughing at his string of instructions.

"Grungy is fine, there won't be any fashion critics aboard."

"Ok, but when do you want to go?" she asked.

"What's good for you? I'm usually up at seven, so I would usually go out around eight thirty for a day sail, but I don't want to rush you." 

"I'm usually up at seven too, so eight thirty sounds fine. Where to you keep the boat?" she asked, now feeling much more enthusiastic.

"The boat is moored at Fisherman's Cove. There isn't much parking there, so I suggest I pick you up at eight at your house. I have a reserved parking space that goes with the moorage." 

She detected a note of relief in his voice.

"Fine, I'll look for you at eight at my house. Do you have the address? It's the same as my office address in the phone book." 

"Great, I can find that easily. Oh, before I forget, do you have any allergies?"

"No, not that I know of," she replied, now curious.

"Good! I'll look after the food. With any luck we should be able to have a picnic in a quiet bay up the Coast."

"That sounds lovely, Steve. In the meantime, I'll try and get our preliminaries for your house ready for tomorrow as promised. I'll give you a call when I'm ready and we can arrange a meeting."

"That's fine, Ingrid, but don't rush yourself. Make sure you're happy with what you want to do. A couple of days here or there won't mess up our schedule. I've already run into some snags with lowering the garage floor. Call me anyway, even if you can't finish this week. You can tell me where the hang-ups are." 

He sounded like he was back to his normal confident self, and she found it reassuring.

"Thanks, Steve. I haven't had much time to think about it since yesterday, so I don't know what to expect yet." 

She was pleased that he had taken the pressure off. Truthfully, she didn't quite know where to start with the dark interior and unusual floor plan.

"Ingrid, why don't we meet for dinner tomorrow and we can talk about the house then". This time he didn't sound hesitant about asking her out.

"Well, I don't have any reason I can't, but this time, I pay!" she said forcefully.

"Uh, that might be a bit awkward. I was going to prepare dinner at my place. I've been taking lessons from a couple of chefs and I don't think you'll be disappointed. So your paying is not going to work. However ... if you'd like to leave a tip."

"Very clever, Mr. Inhalt. But I have to tell you, I'm dazzled by your versatility. Financier! Sailor! Chef! Is there anything you can't do?" she asked with a smirk in her voice.

"Yah... I don't have any experience in asking beautiful women out on dates. I am a genuine rookie in that department," he said quietly but with a smile in his voice.

"I don't believe you!" she laughed. I met you one day ago and already we've had dinner, have another arranged for tomorrow and we're going sailing on Saturday. Let's see, three dates from Tuesday to Saturday. Tell me again how you are a 'date rookie.' Sorry, I don't buy it," she laughed as she finished.

"Well, it's true. I guess I just got on a roll and ... well ... anyway, I'm delighted you accepted my offer ... all three times," he said quietly.

"So far, you haven't made me nervous, but if you really are the innocent boy you say you are, I want to hear the whole story tomorrow at dinner. No holding back!" she said merrily. 

"OK, that's fair." he surrendered. "How does seven sound?"

"Seven's fine. I have your address, so I'll see you then," she said.

"Terrific! I'm already planning the menu! I intend to impress you."

"You already have," she replied with a sincere note in her voice.

"Bye Ingrid, see you tomorrow." he said quietly and hung up.

Ingrid looked at the phone after she had put the receiver down. She was in strange territory for a woman who was used to being in control of her personal relationships. He had her both interested but cautious. Was he too good to be true? There was that recurring sense of sincerity that allayed her fears. She hoped he would put her doubts to rest tomorrow. 

He was a mystery man, but a handsome, eligible, financially secure mystery man. 

"I should be jumping into his arms and I'm not," she thought. "The bad experiences from the past have made me careful. God I hope this guy is for real this time!" 

She walked back out to the sun deck and picked up the notes and pictures from yesterday's meeting. No time like the present to get started.

-0-

Steve walked through the Living Room one more time and looked carefully around. It was probably the tenth time he had made this walk in the last thirty minutes. Once again, he adjusted the drapes on the picture window, opening them another six inches after having closed them three inches on his last trip. He glanced at the clock for the umpteenth time. On this occasion it was showing six minutes to seven. She would be here in a few minutes. 

He walked back into the kitchen and went over the cutlery, utensils, place settings and ingredients. Everything laid out in time and place order, just the way Maurice and Robert had taught him. 

He opened the refrigerator door and took out the bottle of French Red he had spent many minutes reviewing before choosing. He was breaking his own rule. Never serve an untested wine to friends you wish to impress. The risks are too great. It was the recommendation of Maurice that carried the day and allowed him to throw caution to the wind. It was the one risky move of two he had chosen for the evening. The other was the entrée.

He was startled by the buzz of the intercom and he walked briskly to the receiver and picked it up. "Hello?"

"It's Ingrid, Steve."

"Great, I'll buzz you in." He pushed the small black button on the wall-set and hung up the receiver. It was two minutes later that she appeared at his open door as he stood waiting for her just inside.

"Hi, welcome," he smiled broadly.

"Thank you sir. I brought you your 'tip,'" she smiled in return, handing him a bottle of the same wine he had chosen. 

"Thank you. Couldn't resist, huh?" he grinned as he turned to invite her into the living room. 

It was a warm evening and she wasn't wearing a jacket or sweater. She looked absolutely lovely in her stylish sleeveless blouse and knee length matching skirt. She started to take off her white low heeled shoes when Steve interrupted.

"You don't have to do that, Ingrid, unless you are more comfortable shoeless?" 

"No ... thanks, I'll leave them on ... for now." She looked around the apartment and walked over to the living room window. 

"What a lovely view," she commented turning her head to speak directly to him. "From what you told me, you were really lucky to find this unit, and now you have that great new property just waiting for you."

"Well, there's a bit of work to do, you know, but ... yes, I feel very fortunate to have found both these places. In fact, I've been pretty lucky lately, period!" he said, pointedly looking at her. 

Ingrid blushed and smiled, turning back to the view of Stanley Park and English Bay. The stereo was playing softly in the background. It was a familiar female voice and the music was an old standard from the forties.

"Actually, I have made an unsolicited offer on this apartment to the owners," he continued. "They are non-residents who hold a stack of condos in False Creek. I've made them a handsome offer with a tidy profit for them. If they accept, it would make a good addition to my investment portfolio," he said matter-of-factly. 

"Wow! A new house and a condo in Park Royal. That's a lot of property for one person," she remarked wide-eyed.

"Well, I've been investing since I was seventeen and I've been pretty successful at finding good places to put money. The best thing to do with it is to keep it working, whether that's in the stock market or in the property market. I've been lucky enough to be able to do it without having to beg the banking establishment for money. 

"I've always had the collateral, so it has never been an issue. They're happy as hell to lend money to people who can prove they don't need it." 

He tried not to sound arrogant or angry, more matter-of-fact.

"I'm impressed, really," she said. 

Was he laying it on a bit too heavily?

"Sorry, I shouldn't be running on about it. Can I offer you a glass of wine?" 

"Yes, please." 

She waited at the living room window, looking around at the apartment, its furnishings and accessories. There were no surprises. The room was just like its owner, neat and tidy. It was tastefully furnished. 

She appeared in the entrance to the kitchen. Steve had removed the cork and was pouring the wine into two simple crystal Bordeaux glasses. She looked around and noticed the second bottle of the same wine.

"Tell me," he asked, "how did you choose this wine?"

"I'm guessing that I did it the same way that you did," she laughed. "I asked Maurice."

Steve smiled. "I should have known. Oh well, at least we won't run out and we know he has impeccable taste." 

Her tone was light and humorous. She was obviously enjoying being there, even with the awkwardness of her 'gift' to the host. He passed a glass to her and raised his in salutation. 

"Here's to tonight. You're a brave girl to let me try my new skills out on you."

"I am? Now you have me a bit worried," she replied with her customary smile.

They sat in the living room, Ingrid in a large, comfortable wing chair and Steve on a light coloured upholstered love seat. For the next twenty minutes they easily exchanged small talk, possible ideas for the new house, her recent vacation in Mexico, his travels in Europe. It was light and easy conversation. 

Finally, Steve stood up. "I'm just going to get the dinner started. You're welcome to join me in the kitchen." He took her glass and she followed him to the kitchen island. There was a single stool at the end of the island and she perched herself on it. He refilled her glass as she surveyed the dishes and items in front of them.

"So what's on the menu, Steve?" she asked surveying what was in front of her. 

"Well, a bruschetta to start as an appetizer and light lime freeze for dessert. The entrée will be a filét with roasted Rosemary potatoes, and a variety of lightly grilled vegetables. Not very adventuresome, I admit, except perhaps for the filet."

"What's unusual about the filét?" she asked.

"It's Musk Ox. From the Arctic. Don't worry, I'm not going to serve you something you won't enjoy," he said quickly, looking at her with a sly grin. "Not a good idea to put the lady off with a bad meal."

"Where in the world did you get Musk Ox steaks?" She looked incredulous.

"You'd be surprised. In this day and age, you can get anything from anywhere thanks to airfreight. In this case, I get exotic meats from a small specialty shop in the city. Relax, I wouldn't serve you anything I hadn't tested myself," he grinned 

The bruschetta were taken out of the broiler and he carefully arranged them on a rustic plate that suited the small slices of Italian bread. He suggested they partake of the appetizer at the island and she quickly agreed. 

The aroma of the toasted cheese, garlic, and tomato prompted her to take a bite of the hot appetizer. 

"God, I could eat a dozen of these, they're gorgeous!" she enthused with her hand open underneath her chin to catch any falling bits. The first one was gone in two bites. She reached for another. 

"I hope you don't mind me helping myself. These smell so good, I can't resist." 

Steve passed her a paper napkin and she held that in her hand and patted it on her mouth when she had finished the second piece. She closed her eyes and said, "If the rest of the meal is as good as this, I'll have an orgasm ... Ooops! Sorry, I didn't mean that," she blushed.

"I was hoping you did," he said looking at her with a quick smile. "A chef always wants some evidence that his food is enjoyed. That would be pretty ... conclusive, don't you think?" 

He didn't look her way as he began to prepare the small but thick filéts for the broiler. 

Ingrid said nothing as she reached for another piece, she too not looking at him.

Steve assembled the vegetables on a plate and began placing them in a particular order in a large, rounded, wok-shaped pan which he had earlier wiped with olive oil. After about half the vegetables were in the pan, he turned to the filéts on the broiler pan and slid them onto the top rack in the oven. He looked at his watch and then at Ingrid and smiled. "It won't be long now." He continued to add the final group of vegetables to the grilling pan and stirred them with a wooden spatula. 

The aromas in the kitchen were driving Ingrid back to the appetizer platter again. She had eaten four while Steve had had three. He was happy to see her enjoy the small appetizer. He knew it would enhance her appetite for the entrée. He was also satisfied with his timing on preparation. The grilled veggies, potatoes and steaks would be ready almost exactly at the same time and since there was little to add for serving and arrangement, they would all be hot when the plates were placed on the table.

"How do you like you filét cooked, Ingrid?"

"Oh, medium is fine," she replied

"Medium it is then."

A few minutes later, the oven door was opened and the broiler pan removed. Steve used tongs to place the steaks on a small platter and began slicing them in medium-thin pieces but not cut all the way through. He left them on the platter while he reached for the grilling pan and using the tongs, removed the vegetables and began arranging them on the pre-heated dinner plates. 

Next came the Rosemary potatoes and several pieces were arranged on another part of the plate. The filéts were then placed on each plate and he fanned the slices in a decorative fashion near the centre. A small pot on the stove contained dark brown gravy and he carefully spooned some on the meat and potatoes with a decorative trail on the plate. 

He looked up at Ingrid when he had finished, smiled and said, "Dinner is served."

He carried the two meals using a pair of quilted pads to protect him from the hot plates. Ingrid followed him with her wine glass. He placed the plates on the table and pulled Ingrid's chair out and seated her. He removed his white vested apron and threw it on the counter, picked up his wine glass and moved to the table.

"You really have that down to a science, Steve!" she said picking up her wine glass and moving it toward him. "It smells wonderful and I'm starved. Thank you for this." 

She took a sip of wine and picked up her knife and fork and began.

The meal was quiet and what little conversation passed between them was mostly consisted of Ingrid's compliments. Steve was delighted with the enthusiasm she showed to his offerings. She savored, and then devoured the Musk Ox, as he guessed she would. The grilled vegetables were a hit as well. Rosemary potatoes were no risk at all. He didn't know anyone who didn't like them. 

He let her know that there were more vegetables and potatoes in the kitchen and she looked like she might take him up on the offer. It was a treat serving a guest who had a hearty appetite and she was truly enjoying the food. 

When they finished, she changed her mind and declined more. "It was more than delicious and I want to leave room for my dessert. The little Bruschettas were more filling than I thought. Lucky I quit when I did." Smiling, she had a satisfied look on her face and leaned back in her chair. 

"I'm glad you liked it. I made a couple of mistakes, but nothing serious." He enjoyed the look of contentment on Ingrid. 

"If you made any mistakes, I didn't see or taste them," she said emphatically.

"Well, they were serving errors. Firstly, I should have seated you at the table before I brought the entrée plates in. Secondly, I should have given you and me a new, clean wine glass. Thirdly, I should have placed the remaining vegetables in a covered tureen on the table with a pair of tongs. I'm still learning, but in my defense, you're the first real guest I've served in my own home. My first solo flight, as it were."




Ingrid Ch. 02



"I didn't even notice. I guess that matters to chefs, but to me, everything was perfect, especially the chef's presentation." 

The compliment was genuine and Steve felt a wave of satisfaction pass through him. No man was immune to compliments from a beautiful woman. Her auburn red hair fell slightly over her brow on her right side, nearly touching her eyebrow. The dark red lipstick she wore was the perfect accent. She was absolutely stunning and he found himself staring at her on more than one occasion. 

They sat for a while at the table exchanging small talk and relaxing with their wine. After a few minutes, Steve stood and removed the dinner plates. Ingrid rose and followed him. 

"Are you ready for dessert or would you like to wait a while?" he asked.

"Why don't we sit in the living room with our wine? I think it's time you kept your other promise. You were going to tell me all about yourself and your secret past," she smiled. 

"I was hoping you'd forgotten that promise you extorted from me yesterday. I only agreed to that to get you to come to dinner with me here," he offered.

"Extorted? That's a pretty strong word, don't you think. I like to think of it as a fair trade. You can't keep your past a complete secret forever you know." 

It didn't sound to Steve like she was being confrontational. She asked him to tell her about himself and ordinarily he might not open up if she kept challenging him.

"Ok, I guess a promise is a promise," he sighed resignedly. "Where do you want me to begin?" 

"Tell me all about your girl friends when you were in high school. That's a good place to start."

"What if all of them were only one?" he asked looking at her and frowning slightly.

"What do you mean, only one? You only had one girl friend in high school? That's hard to believe." 

"Believe it or not, it's true. I met Diana at a Halloween dance when I was sixteen. I asked her to dance and we sort of hit if off. I was pretty shy then, but we had a good time, so I asked her out again. We went to the movies the next weekend. I was surprised because she was really pretty and I was pretty much a nerd. At that time I was a bit skinny and gangly, not exactly a stud. 

Anyway, we became a couple going steady, as they say. We went everywhere together and we were comfortable with each other. We had similar personalities. We went to most of the same classes, studied together, got similar grades, and liked the same music, movies ... that sort of thing. 

When we graduated from high school, we went to the same college nearby. It was as if we were already married. We never talked about marriage and we were both virgins. Diana wasn't very adventuresome when it came to sex, while I was a normal teenage male with the typical case of raging hormones." 

Ingrid laughed knowingly at the comment.

"Anyway, we commuted to college each day for the first year, sharing our ride with a couple of other local students," he continued. 

"About that time my parent's marriage was coming apart and I was very unhappy and uncomfortable around the house. I decided to move near the campus and rent an apartment, using the excuse that I wanted to cut the commuting time. I talked Diana into joining me so that we could share the expenses. 

"She didn't tell her parents that she was moving in with me, just that she was sharing with some other girls her folks didn't know. Her mom and dad paid her share, and I had enough saved to pay for mine. So, starting our second year, we were living together. 

"It was that summer that we gave up our virginity. We had been dating for almost four years and we didn't even think about seeing someone else. As I said, in a way, we were already married. I had some guilt about what we had done, the sex I mean, but Diana was much more mature about it. Anyway, we spent the last three years of our college days living together. 

At the same time, I was running my investment hobby-business. It paid my tuition and living expenses and I still had some to put aside." 

He paused for a minute to have a sip of wine. Ingrid was paying rapt attention and didn't interrupt. 

"We graduated together and I already had a job offer with a private, medium sized investment firm in San Francisco. They had hired me after I sent them an unsolicited resume with little more than my investment record and portfolio. 

"It was enough for them, or at least their C.E.O., Dave Marchand. He was impressed and I think my interview with him was two hours long. Anyway, I had a good job and good prospects, so Diana and I set about finding a place to live. 

"We found a house in Walnut Creek, fixed it up and were living like a married couple, except that we weren't married. Diana never put any pressure on me or even broached the subject of marriage. We lived like that for almost three years. My career at the firm was moving very well and I was earning well over six figures by then. It was a great job and a really good company to be with. We were both very happy and I felt it was time to formalize our relationship." 

He stopped again for a few seconds, sipping his wine and looking over to Ingrid. 

She remained silent, concentrating on his narrative.

"I proposed to her one Friday night on the back deck of our home. We were sitting, having a drink and chatting about the day. I got up, went over to her, got on my knee and told her that I loved her and I wanted her to be my wife. I reached in my pocket and took out a ring and handed it to her. Not very romantic, looking back on it now. Needless to say she was surprised, but happy, and said yes. 

"She said she always knew we would be married. She said she knew it almost from that Halloween dance, nine years earlier. We phoned our parents and they were not really surprised. My mother, true to form, wondered what took us so long. My father and Diana's parents were much more genuinely delighted. We were married three months later, spend a short week in Lake Tahoe, then returned to our already established lives." 

Another pause, another sip and then silence for a minute. 

"I was working mostly out of our house and only occasionally going into the San Francisco office. Diana was not working and kept the house and helped me once in a while with filing or other straightforward tasks. Several times a week she would go into the town centre to shop and pick up mail, supplies, and run small errands. 

One day, about six months after our wedding, she went into town about eleven o'clock while I was home working on a new portfolio. I guess I got lost in the project because when the phone rang it caught me off guard. I looked at my watch and it was one in the afternoon." 

He had slowed down his story and now he stopped. He looked at his wine glass and looked at Ingrid with an expressionless gaze. He blinked twice and began again.

"It was the police calling. Diana had been in a traffic accident in town and she had been killed." 

Ingrid had a sharp intake of breath and covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh no," was all she could manage.

"I was numb." he continued. "I went to the morgue and identified her, phoned her parents and mine, my boss, some others." 

He stopped again. 

"I guess I didn't handle it very well for a while. It wasn't denial, but I couldn't get myself back on track. 

"The next week, I handed in my resignation, put the house up for sale and left for Toronto. My dad had long since moved back to Canada, and was living in a nice condo in the University Avenue district. He was great. No questions, no commiseration, no maudlin stories. He was just there for me. 

"I stayed with him for five months. I needed time to grieve I guess, but I also needed some time to decide what to do next and where to go. So I came back here. This is where I grew up, or at least until I was thirteen and moved to California. I liked it on the Coast. I loved the ocean and the mountains. I loved the green in the not-so-cold winters and sun in the summer winter. I just liked it here. It's where I belong."

Ingrid let out a long sigh, quietly, almost under her breath. She had forced this painful experience out of him. She got up and crossed the short distance to the love seat, sat beside him and put her hand on his arm. He was expressionless. His head turned toward her and he smiled a wrinkled, quiet smile.

"Well, that's the secret I've been keeping from you. It happens to lots of people, I just didn't expect it to happen to me. I've been spending the last three years rebuilding my life. It isn't all perfect yet, but it's better. So now you know why I haven't had much experience in dating, despite what you think." 

He couldn't resist an "I told you so" look.

"Uh, Steve, I'm sorry. I ... I don't know what to say except I'm sorry," she said, looking straight into his clear, hazel eyes. He was looking directly back at her, unblinking.

"It's OK Ingrid. You couldn't know. To tell the truth, I've wanted to tell you sooner, but I didn't think it was the right thing to do. I didn't want to ... I don't know ... I didn't want you to pity me. I can stand on my own two feet now. You're the first person I've met that's made me feel alive again. I guess that's why I asked you for three dates in three days," he laughed lightly. 

His smile was back. She leaned toward him and kissed him softly on the cheek.

"I guess that's why I accepted three dates from a man I only met the day before. There's a message there somewhere Steve," she said quietly. 

She picked up his empty wine glass. 

"Isn't it time for dessert?"

"Of course. Would you like to sit at the table, or is the living room OK?" 

"This is fine. Nice music, nice company, great food. I'd say this is just about as nice as it could be," she said looking into his eyes. 

Again, she kissed him on the cheek and he flushed. 

He rose and moved into the kitchen. Ingrid followed him and refilled the wine glasses. 

He returned in a couple of minutes with a small tray and two wide shallow frost covered glasses with a bright green, white-crowned confection. He placed one of the desserts on a napkin on the table at one end of the love seat and the second on the other end table. He sat down beside her and picked up his spoon and dessert glass and turned toward her.

"Now, you realize I've broken every rule in the 'good service guidelines' book, don't you?" he said with a smile. "We've gone from informal appetizer to formal entrée and back to backyard barbeque etiquette. We've eaten on the kitchen counter, the dining room table and here in the living room. I hope Maurice never hears of this."

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. I don't stand on ceremony anyway." 

She took a spoonful of the dessert. 

"Ummmm, this is delicious. The perfect light dessert. You get an 'A' for this meal, Mr. Inhalt."

"You're very generous. I'll have to have you over for more evaluations of my skills." 

He had turned sideways to face her. 

"I value your judgment, Ingrid."

"Well, what skills besides cooking would you like me to evaluate," she said provocatively.

Steve was about to say something and then turned to his dessert and began to slowly eat without looking at her.

Ingrid sat quietly, her face flushed.

Steve turned back to her. "Can I call you tomorrow and talk about the house ... or maybe we can meet?" 

Ingrid breathed a silent sigh of relief. 

"Yes, tomorrow is fine," she said. "Call me after three and we can meet and I'll show you what I've been thinking so far." 

"That's perfect. We can go over our sailing trip at the same time. Why don't I meet you at your place? That way I can check out your grungy runners," he laughed.

"It's a date, your fourth if I haven't lost count," she smirked. "For a guy with no dating experience, you're a fast learner." 

"No time to waste as the saying goes. Seriously, you may have gathered that I am very taken with you and I guess I'm not very subtle about it. Am I going about this the wrong way?" 

"No, no, I get the message, Steve," she said smiling. "I'm just not used to someone quite as ... persistent and ..."

"Look, Ingrid. I'm sorry if I've been too aggressive. I've been without someone important in my life for three years and you've suddenly come out of nowhere. I don't want to put you off and I don't want to rush you. I don't want to rush myself, either. Why don't you tell me what you think? I've been doing all the talking and not much listening." 

"Steve, I'm being careful too. I love your company and I enjoy being with you. I wouldn't be here if I didn't. But I'm your employee and you're my boss. Somehow we have to have a business relationship. There's a lot at stake for both of us. So I'm uncertain what to do with you ... I mean ... us."

"Ingrid, let's not over-think this. Let's just see what happens. There's no rush. We don't have to jump into anything until and unless we want to. I know you've been hurt too, so I'm being extra careful not to add to that," he said quietly. 

Finally, she spoke. "I think it's time for me to go. It's been a lovely evening and the meal was superb. I'm looking forward to Saturday more than I realized," she smiled.

"One of these days we'll actually talk about the house," he chuckled.

"Tomorrow for sure!" she said emphatically. "I promise!"

He walked her to the door and opened it for her. "It was delightful to have you here. I hope I get to test more menus out on you soon."

"I'd love that. I love to eat, but I hate to cook. You'll call me tomorrow?" 

"After three, as requested," he smiled. "Good night, Ingrid". He watched her walk down the hallway and around the corner to the elevator. He waited until he heard the chime of the car arriving and the doors opening and then closing. He turned back into his apartment and quietly closed the door. 

He walked to the kitchen, took a snifter from the glass cupboard and poured himself a generous brandy. He walked back into the living room and stood in front of the window. He knew he couldn't see her leaving, but he looked anyway. 

He gazed out over the bay toward the west. Dusk was passing into night. Only a blue and pink horizon to the north could be seen. The flashing light of Point Atkinson flicked its pattern over and over again. He didn't know how long he had been standing there, but his brandy was half gone.

-0-  Ingrid was deep in thought as she backed out of the visitor parking space below his apartment, and slowly drove up the short street to Marine Drive. 

"This guy can cook, god can he cook! I get hungry just thinking about it. I wonder if he's any good in bed. Based on the fact that he's barely touched me except for a couple of handshakes, I wonder. A little hand-holding, no pecks on the cheek, almost nothing. 

"Maybe I can train him, ha-ha! Surely to god he isn't gay? No of course not, he was married and he's been badly bruised by her death. I can understand that, but why do I think there's something else? It's like a jigsaw puzzle with a piece missing and I can't find it," she mused. 

Ingrid turned north up Taylor Way, and then west along the Upper Levels Highway. It was early yet and she wasn't ready to go home. She drove without a destination in mind until she came across an old familiar exit. She wound under the highway and turned right into the Gulf View School parking lot. It was a notorious hang-out for couples. There was a fabulous view of the inner harbor, and at night, the city lights. It was ideal as a romantic spot. 

She parked at the north rear of the parking area to avoid being easily visible to the three cars already there. The dusk had turned to night and the city lights were clear and sparkling in the still warm spring air. The ships in the outer harbor were lit and the scene was something from a picture postcard. She pulled the recline lever on her seat and let it back a couple of notches. 

Her mind drifted back to the evening at Steve's. He had told her about Diana's death and she found that it didn't come as a surprise. She knew it had to be something as traumatic as a death. OK, he's been grieving for three years. That's a long time and yet he admits he's hooked on me. Why the reluctance to move along. What's wrong with this picture? 

She knew she shouldn't be frustrated. He was young, attractive, and successful, everything she wanted in a man. The sexy banter routine didn't seem to work very well. He got the meaning, he just didn't react the way she expected. She was trying to be patient, but this patient was very trying! 

"Maybe when the job gets going and I've got something to show him ... maybe then," she thought.

She tried to look into the cars parked at the south edge of the parking lot. The warm, dry, evening air along with the various open windows, kept the glass from steaming up. She could see one couple with their heads together, kissing. It looked like they were comfortable and talking to one another between kisses. 

The second car only seemed to have one person, sitting on the driver's side. It looked like that until she saw a second head pop up beside the first and then down out of sight again. 

"Ah hah," she smiled. "A good old fashioned blow job if I'm not mistaken." The drivers head snapped back and waved side to side and then forward again. 

"Yup, no doubt about it." 

She felt a stirring in her. She hadn't had sex for some time. She couldn't remember the last time or with whom. 

"It couldn't have been very good if I can't remember," she thought. "God, I'm horny," she said aloud to no one. 

She looked at the outline of the third car. It was more difficult to see inside since the line of sight was toward the Gulf and there wasn't much light coming through the windows to silhouette the occupants. She couldn't see anyone, and guessed they might have gotten out and gone for a walk. 

Then, she noticed that a light in the distance that was just alongside the edge of the roof of the car would appear and then disappear in a somewhat regular pattern. She watched it for a couple of minutes before she realized the car was moving. 

"Oh, guess what," she cackled. "Someone is getting fucked! I wonder how much staying power the guy has?" 

She looked back at the second car and both heads were visible again. They were kissing passionately and she wondered if they were going to go all the way too. She didn't have long to wait. The doors of the sedan opened and the two got out, opened the rear doors, and clambered in. 

"Lucky bastards! The whole world is getting laid except me! I hope this guy Inhalt is worth the wait!" With that, she started her car and slowly leaving the parking lot, drove home. She would have to settle for one of her "toys" tonight while at least two of those couples were getting the real thing. 

"Lucky bastards!" she repeated aloud. 



Ingrid Ch. 03



Friday afternoon, the phone rang at precisely 3:05pm. Ingrid picked it up knowing exactly who it would be.

"You're nothing if not prompt, Steve," she said brightly.

"Hi to you too. I promised to call and I keep my promises. By the way, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" He blurted this out so quickly she had to pause for a moment before answering.

"No, sorry, I can't," she apologized. "I have to finish some revisions tonight. You wouldn't want me to cancel tomorrow because I have to work, would you?" she asked.

"Of course not! OK then, tomorrow is more important. Finish your work. I'll be patient."

"How brave you are," she laughed. "Shouldn't we actually do some work on your house for a change?"

"Oh, I suppose so," he grudgingly acknowledged. "Do you have something to show me?"

"Yes, I have some colour suggestions for the interior and a couple of ideas for the exterior. Why don't you come over and have a look." It was an all-business invitation.

"Great, I'll be there in ten minutes." 

"See you then. Bye." 

True to form, he was there in ten minutes and knocking on her door. She let him in and they walked over to a large artists table in the corner of the living room.

"Is this where you work?" he asked, looking around.

"Yeah, it's not ideal, but it's the only room in the house with good lighting, so here it is." She looked back at him. "I've got some suggestions. Come and have a look." 

He walked around the table and stood shoulder to shoulder with her, looking at the colour sketches of the various rooms. He was conscious of her perfume, or was it her shampoo. Whichever one, it was very appealing. He struggled to concentrate on the drawings. She was a skilled artist, and he could easily visualize each room and the colours she was proposing. They went over the suggestions. 

He chose almost all the same colours that she subtly recommended, then complimented him on his good taste. When it came to the outside colours, he wasn't so sure. She suggested she make up some samples on rough cedar siding so that they could look at them outside in the light of day on the proper substrate. Again, he agreed. 

"You make quick decisions, Steve. Was it that easy?" 

"Pretty much. I think you and I think a lot alike, so it makes it easier. Nice work, by the way." 

"Thanks," she said smiling. "You make it easy for me too. I don't have to go back and do all these drawings all over again. You have no idea how time consuming that is when the client doesn't really know what they want. It takes hours to do these and some people have me do so many versions, I can't remember what we were trying to accomplish in the first place. I'm hoping I can afford a CAD program for my computer soon. It would allow me to make changes in a flash, right in front of the customer."

"That sounds like an important program. How much does it cost?"

"About three thousand," she replied

"Do your competitors have these programs?" 

"Yes, the larger ones do, unfortunately. They've got the resources to buy them, and to train their staff. That's the big problem for little outfits like mine. The cost of the program is bad enough, but learning to use it is very time consuming. However, I have to keep up with the times, so I will have to get into the computer age pretty soon." 

She spoke with a resigned voice, not quite regretful of the electronic revolution, but not sounding very enthusiastic about its inevitability either.

"You don't have much choice, do you? Right now, your strategic advantages are your ideas and your low cost. If it takes you a lot longer to do the same work as your competitor, you lose much of your advantage." 

He had captured her dilemma in a couple of sentences. 

"I admire your quick grasp of the problem. But, why am I surprised? This is what you do, analyze businesses," she smiled. 

"I have some contacts in the computer software industry," he said, still looking at her drawings. "These people are a bit ahead of the curve. Let me make some calls and see if there is something out there for you that won't break the bank or suck up all your time reserves." 

He turned to her as she looked at him. "After all, I want some of that time for myself." 

She looked startled at his last comment, but recovered quickly. 

"That would be wonderful, if it isn't too much trouble." 

"No trouble. You never know what you'll learn when you set out to solve problems. It'll be my pleasure." He smiled at her and could see the gratitude in her expression.

"So, do you want to see my sneakers?" She was trying to recover from an awkward moment.

"Sure. Bring them on," he laughed.

She walked out of the room and came back with a shoe box. She took the top off and showed the contents to him. Inside was a pair of brand new navy blue and white canvas sneakers. 

"Hmmmph!" he snorted. "They don't look very grungy to me, Ingrid. But I guess they'll do." 

"I couldn't come on your lovely boat with those old things, so I thought I would treat myself to a new pair. Besides, they are much more comfortable than the old ones."

"I'm sure you'll look terrific, new shoes or not," he said confidently. "Are you sure you're not available for dinner?" 

"Yes, sorry, I do have to get the revisions on the fax tonight. But I'll be bright and shiny tomorrow morning, I promise!" Her voice confirmed her enthusiasm for their day on the water. 

"I bet you will. I'm looking forward to it. The weather forecast looks terrific, so I expect we'll have a great day."

"So, see you at eight then," she said brightly.

"See you at eight. Don't forget your sport bra, sunglasses and sun block," he reminded her.

He left and she closed the door behind him. As he slid into his car, he looked back and thought her could see her watching from the living room, but he couldn't be sure.

-0-

At five minutes before eight on Saturday morning, Steve parked his Volvo V70 at the curb in front of Ingrid's house. He got out and looked up at the front window and saw Ingrid standing there. She waved and he returned the gesture. He was pleased that she was ready to go. 

She opened the door just as he arrived on the top step. She turned to get her navy blue, down-filled ski jacket. She was wearing a white cotton mock-turtleneck sweater that would keep her warm in the cool morning air. She had a pair of loose fitting blue track pants that looked to be nylon, and of course her new canvas shoes. What Steve didn't know was that there would be no bra today.

A pair of wraparound sun glasses was parked up in her lovely red hair and she wore what seemed to be a wide blue band to keep her hair in check. She flashed him a glimpse at a container of 24 Sun Block and smiled. His smile and quick acknowledgement confirmed that the outfit passed inspection. She was a striking picture on this particular morning. 

"I'm ready," she chirped.

"You certainly are." 

He openly admired the sexy woman with whom he would spend the day. 

When Ingrid had locked the front door, he took her bag and walked her to the car, opening the door on her side while she slid in. She smiled at his courtesy. 

Steve slid into the driver's side, and they quietly motored off toward Marine Drive and the winding coast road to Fisherman's Cove.

They exchanged small talk, mostly about the cloudless sky and the darker line of water outside the bay that Steve said indicated wind. He was sure they were going to have perfect sailing weather, and his mood was buoyant. 

Ingrid had only seen a photograph of the boat, but she knew it wasn't like most sailboats she saw out in the bay. It was rounded at the stern and had a tall cabin where the steering was located. 

Steve said there was a stateroom below the deck at the stern, and a couple of other sleeping quarters farther forward. He said it would sleep six comfortably, or even eight in pinch. It had a bathroom he called the 'head,' with a decent sized shower as well as a toilet and sink. Her experience with boats was limited, but she remembered that they were always cramped for space, and she didn't think this would be any exception.

It was just a couple of minutes past eight thirty when they arrived at the parking lot. Steve drove to a ramp and stopped his car. 

"My parking spot is at the other end of the lot, so we'll unload the supplies here." 

They got out and he opened the tailgate of the station wagon. He took out a couple of heavy looking coats, two vests, a large portable cooler, a sport bag that looked like it had been around the world a couple of times, and finally a beautiful wicker picnic basket. 

"Oh Steve, that's a lovely picnic set. May I look inside?"

"No you may not. That's for later," he said, catching her off-guard, but smiling. She must have expected an automatic yes and she pulled her hand back quickly when he didn't provide it. 

"Hmmmm, I wonder what's in there?" she murmured. 

"Wait here a moment, I'll be right back," he said. 

He walked over to the far edge of the dock and pulled an odd looking cart from under a shed roof. He wheeled it back to the ramp and began to load the contents of his trunk on the cart. When he was done, he asked Ingrid to wait there for him while he parked the car. In a couple of minutes he was back and he carefully rolled the cart down the ramp.

"It's not so bad today," he said to her as he wrestled the strange machine down the ramp. It's a bearcat when the tide's low and I've got a bunch of stuff to go up the ramp. I usually unload it at the bottom and carry things up in two or three trips." 

It was a short walk to the float where the boat was moored, tucked in between another sailboat and a motor cruiser. It was hard to get a good look at it in those tight quarters, but what she could see was impressive. 

It had a dark, forest green hull, a white superstructure and deck, green sail covers and two light coloured metal masts. A large mainmast was located halfway between the front of the tall wheelhouse and the bow, and a shorter mast just behind the rear of the wheelhouse. 

This was no sleek beauty for racing. This was a motor sailer, a cruising boat. Like everything about Steve, it was neat and clean. The side boards, the railings, hatches, and cabinetry were all teak, oiled and polished. Across her beautifully rounded stern was the white script, 'Matron of the Sea,' and her home port, West Vancouver, B.C. 

"It's beautiful, in a different sort of way," said Ingrid. "It looks European. I've never seen a boat like this around here."

"Very observant, Ingrid. It is European, built in Sweden in 1974. It's a cross between a North Sea Motor Trawler and a sail cruiser. It's not built for speed, but it will go anywhere in complete comfort and safety. It's the perfect boat for my kind of sailing. The reason you don't see many of them is that there aren't many around in North America, and even fewer on the Pacific side. This one was brought over with a smaller sister boat to a marina in Sydney, on Vancouver Island. 

"The current owner, George McConnell, is the second owner. The first one only kept it for a year or so, and sold it at a big discount when he couldn't find a buyer locally. He wanted a faster motor launch, so George got a real bargain. He and I love this lady. It's perfect for what we want in a sailboat." He spoke lovingly of this floating object. 

"You speak as if it were human," Ingrid said. 

"Well, it's the way sailors tend to think of their boats. It's a love affair of a different kind."

"You said George owns this boat. I thought you did." 

"No, I just charter it when he isn't using it. I'm of two minds on boat ownership. I see too many of them sitting idle all year around. I think if a boat's not being used, it deteriorates. This lovely lady begs to be sailed, as you'll find out today." His affection for the craft was obvious in his voice.

And the name? 'Matron of the Sea.' At first it seemed like an odd name. At least it wasn't one of those clichés or trick names seen on so many boats these days. It seemed to be a name of respect and recognition. This was no runway model, it was a mature lady, beautiful to those who loved her, and homely to those who did not. Steve and George were of the former group. 

Steve stepped up onto a wooden platform and then onto the deck. He turned and offered his hand to Ingrid. She took it and easily hopped up onto the deck of the 'Matron.' He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door to the wheelhouse and stepped inside. 

He opened the companionway down into the hull and then put another key into the panel above the chrome and teak helm. In a second, the sound of fans could be heard. After waiting a minute, he pushed the starter button and a diesel engine rumbled to life. 

"There, now we'll have some heat and electricity. I'll put the kettle on and then go bring our things aboard," he said routinely. 

He knew this boat like the back of his hand and his organized pattern was a study in economy of movement. Within five minutes, the battered old aluminum kettle was whistling while Steve had brought the gear aboard and stowed it in the forward cabin, except for the cooler and the picnic basket. The mystery picnic basket had been placed in a lower locker, out of sight. 

As the kettle began to boil, Ingrid flicked off the burner while Steve pulled out a battered old Brown Betty teapot from below the counter. 

"Those two look like they've been through the wars," she said laughing. 

"Yep, but some things are tradition and not replaceable. George would have a fit if either of these things were gone. This is the 'Matron's' stuff, not ours," he smiled. 

They had been aboard less than ten minutes and Steve was up on deck preparing to cast off from the dock. 

Motioning to Ingrid, he said, "I'm going to rig this forward line so that when I give you the signal, just pull on it and we will be free of the dock. Pull it on board quickly so that it can't get caught in the prop and if you can, coil it up and lay it here, on the superstructure. I don't want you or me tripping on it when we come forward." 

His instructions were clear and calm. She nodded that she understood the simple task. She was told what to do and why it had to be done. 

"Also, I want you to take off that ski jacket and put on either a vest or the full jacket I brought aboard. They are 'floater coats' and if by some accident you fell in, they will act like lifejackets and keep you afloat. Bring me up a vest while you're at it, please."

Ingrid went below and took one of the vests. They all seemed to be the same size, but then, they weren't that much different in size. She zipped up the vest and taking the other, stepped back up to the wheelhouse, then forward to the bow.

Steve rigged the stern line in a similar fashion to the bow, just as he would if he were sailing alone. With Ingrid helping, there wasn't as much scurrying about when casting off and she seemed happy to have a role. 

Steve checked his gauges, saw everything was normal and turned the helm hard to starboard. He brought the revs down to minimum and eased the lever into reverse. The boat slowly began to swing its stern out from the dock. 

He pulled the lever back to neutral then called out, "Let go forward, Ingrid!" 

She immediately pulled the line and it released just as the stern line had. She quickly pulled the rope on board and began to coil it up. She finished and looked up to see them moving slowly, exactly in the centre of the narrow passage between the other boats, out toward the main harbor passage. 

Steve gave her a 'thumbs up' and waved her back to the wheelhouse. She instinctively kept a hand on the teak railings until she reached the forward part of the wheelhouse where she could hold onto the railing on its roof.

"Well, I see we have the makings of a fine deckhand here," he said as she stepped into the cabin.

"Thanks, but I don't think you gave me too risky a job there."

"You'd be surprised how some people can't manage a simple task like that when they get on a boat. I had a hunch you weren't one of them."

"There's no substitute for good, clear instructions, Captain," she said brightly.

He looked at her and told himself again, "This is going to be a great day!"

He looked at his watch and saw that they were on their way only twenty minutes after arriving in the lot. Steve motioned to Ingrid as they cleared the harbor entrance. It was noisy with the engine running and the doors and hatches open.

"Take the helm, Ingrid. Steer toward the right edge of that island right in front of us. I'll get the tea. How do you like it?" No hesitation, he simply gave her the wheel. 

She told him she liked her tea clear and he nodded and smiled, looked out at her heading, gave her another 'thumbs up' and went below. She had hardly been aboard a half hour and she had the helm. 

She was thrilled with his confidence in her, but in truth the boat seemed to know where to go by itself. There wasn't much steering to do. Just the same, she was grinning ear to ear when he stepped up from below with two mugs of clear tea. She took one, noticing that he liked his tea the same way she did. 

They motored on their heading for a few minutes while they sipped the hot tea. Both of them had put their sunglasses on as the brilliant sun was reflecting off the small waves on the water before them. Steve looked intently at a chart.

"Ok, Ingrid," he said, raising his voice over the engine noise. "I want you to steer a heading of two-zero-zero on this compass. That will take us clear of Passage Island and point us out into the Gulf. I'm going forward to set up the sails. If you see anything that looks wrong or worries you, push that black button on the panel to the left. It will sound the horn and alert me to come back. Give it a try, just a short beep," he instructed.

She pushed the button gingerly and a sharp horn sounded, much like the ones she had heard at the hockey games.

"Good, that'll get my attention," he smiled. "Any questions?"

"No Captain. Steer two hundred, one short blast on the horn for any problems," she repeated, grinning at him like the cat that swallowed the canary. Thumbs up again from Steve and he moved forward to remove the cover from the main sail. She watched him, glancing now and then at the compass. 

There were a few other boats in the area, but none nearby. The ferry to Vancouver Island had sailed by a couple of minutes ago about two kilometers to the west. She watched Steve work at preparing the sails. He was a study in efficiency. 

The sail cover was removed, folded and dropped through the forward hatch. The stays and shrouds on the mast were checked, and all the fittings and fastenings were inspected. He had done this a hundred times before and had never found a problem. He intended to keep that perfect record. 

He looked back at the wheelhouse windshield and through the reflection on the glass he could see the face of his lovely helmsman. She accepted the wheel without any protest, and he thought she may just be a 'natural,' one of the lucky people who can cope with any new situation with minimal fuss. He smiled and waved and she waved back. He finished his forward tasks and walked back to the wheelhouse. 

Ingrid noticed that even though he had been on this boat many times, he took care to use the safety railings wherever he went. He was wearing the other floater vest as well. It wasn't as cool as she had expected and with the sun well up in the sky, she could feel some mid-spring heat. 

Steve stepped into the wheelhouse.

"Ok, Ingrid, now we're going to turn her into the wind. Right now, the wind is west-nor-west I think. I'm going to start raising the mainsail first. I want you to steer to starboard ... that's to your right," he pointed. Don't make your turn too sharp, just gentle her around. When you see the sail start flapping in the wind, I want you to bring her out of her turn. You might end up going past where you want to be so you'll need to steer to port, or left, to bring her back into line. 




Ingrid Ch. 03



"If you look on the compass, you'll see your target direction is somewhere between two-eight-oh and three hundred, so start coming out of your turn when you get to about two-seven-oh which is due West. When she's pointed into the wind, you won't feel any weight on the helm and that will be the indicator you're where you want to be. Can you follow that?" He looked to see if she had understood his instructions. 

"Don't worry, I'll be right here to make sure you're OK," he said reassuringly.

Ingrid nodded. She once again repeated what she was supposed to do. Now it was a matter of whether she could do it. Steve stepped out on deck again and stood by the mainmast. He signaled to Ingrid to begin her turn to the west and she responded. Luckily, she didn't yank the helm hard over, but started a nice, gentle turn to the right. 

"Nicely done ... just what I wanted," Steve said to himself. "Her instincts are perfect. She's got the 'hands.'" 

He turned back to her and gave her a big 'thumbs up' along with a big grin. 

Ingrid was a picture of concentration. She looked at the compass as it was nearing two-seven-oh and she started to ease up on the helm. The turn slowed and she was briefly distracted as Steve cranked up the mainsail. The big sail ballooned out to her left, partly blocking her vision of the left forward area in front of the boat. 

She looked down at the compass again and saw her heading was two-nine-oh and moving up very slowly. She heard the sail flapping before she looked up. She immediately turned the helm slowly to port until it felt slack to her hands. 

She held it there as she watched Steve quickly unfurl the large foresail he called a Genoa with another crank. It was flapping noisily as Steve stood beside the main mast checking to make sure all the stays were taught and the track tying it to the mast was free. 

He turned back to Ingrid and gave her a fist-pump and headed back to the wheelhouse, one hand up beside his head to ward off any chance that the boom would suddenly swing toward him. He swung around the back of the cabin and stepped in.

"Fantastic, Ingrid! I couldn't have done that any better myself. Now, I want you to slowly bring her back toward two-three-oh. As you do, you'll feel the sails fill and the boat start to lean to the left. Don't worry, that's exactly what's supposed to happen. You're going to feel a lot more weight on the helm, so don't be surprised." 

She began to slowly bring the helm to port and saw the sail begin to fill and experienced that strange feeling as the boat began to heel over. Steve pulled the throttle back and cut the engine. Suddenly, it was quiet, with the sound of the wind slightly rippling the Genoa headsail. 

The sails were soon taught and she could feel the boat begin to surge forward. She had several tons of fiberglass, wood and steel under her feet and she was in control. It was a rush!

Steve stood back and watched Ingrid handle the boat. He was amazed and delighted. She had the feel. He could see the excitement and joy in her face. When they boarded the boat less than an hour earlier, he had no plan to let her handle the boat. The simple act of dealing with the forward line was enough to prompt him to see what she might be able to do. 

"Don't put her in danger, boy," he told himself. Still, the poise she had shown him on land with her personality and her business was carried over on the 'Matron.' 

He resumed his instructions to her. 

"Now, in this case, I want you to find a reference point on the horizon and set it up as your heading. The reason for that is we have both tide and current in this Strait and while you may keep your heading on two-three-oh, the boat can be slipping sideways with the current or tide and you won't be heading where you want to go. By setting your heading on a fixed object on the horizon, you can compensate if the boat slides one way or the other." 

"Got it." she said, looking over at him and smiling. "This is terrific fun, way more fun than a motor boat," she enthused.

"Stinkpots!" he said, "That's what we call them, stinkpots. Sailors are terrible snobs," he admitted.

"It's the quiet I like," she said after a minute. "You can talk in a normal voice and there's always something to do. I can smell the ocean, not some engine. Where are we going, by the way?" 

"Well, we're going to run out a ways into the Gulf, and then head toward Gibson's Landing. Then, we'll turn east to Keates Island. There's a lovely little bay that we can anchor in and if our timing's good, I'll serve lunch. It's a bit sheltered and I'm betting it will be quite warm in the sun. 

"Usually in the afternoons on a warm day there's an outflow wind from Howe Sound, and that should give us plenty of push home. This boat doesn't go anywhere in a big hurry. The fun is getting there!" 

He had been pointing to various paths and locations on a chart and she could see his plan was a sort of triangle with some zigs and zags here and there past the various islands.

After a while, Steve took over the helm, giving Ingrid a break. He recognized she had been tense with concentration when she was handling the boat. As he relieved her, he could almost see the tension drain out of her. 

They sailed out into the Gulf before he came about to starboard, his heading now toward Gibson's. It was an easy-to-see target and she took the helm again while Steve managed the sails. 

It only took a minute and he returned to the helm. He looked at her with admiration and put his arm around her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. He had caught Ingrid completely by surprise. She jumped slightly when she felt arm around her and looked at him quizzically.

"Sorry," he said apologetically. "I didn't mean to surprise you."

"No, it's OK," she quickly responded. "You just caught me off guard. To tell the truth, I wasn't sure if you were ever going to touch me. You seem a bit nervous around me."

"Well then, I guess I'm making progress," he said, not quite seriously. "Now that we're alone on the boat and lots of time to talk, I thought it was a good opportunity ... uh, to say what I wanted to say."

Ingrid looked at him with a wrinkled brow.

"You look so nervous, Ingrid. Relax, it's not bad news. At least I don't think so. I just wanted to tell you how much you've come to mean to me. We don't just have a business relationship, but that's not a surprise to you I'm sure. I haven't had this much enjoyment in being with someone in a long time. I guess I want to know how you feel." 

He paused briefly and then continued. "I'm not asking for a commitment. I think its way too early for that. But I was hoping you'd enjoy my company as well as my cooking ... and the boat."

Ingrid was unsure of what she wanted to say. 

"Uh, yeah ... I mean, yes I like being with you. I'm not sure where this is going to take us either, but if you're inviting me along for the ride, I'll go with you." 

Was this an invitation, or some strange kind of stop sign? 

"I'm attracted to you," she continued, "and to be honest, I've been why you hadn't made a pass at me. This arms-length, no-touch relationship can be very frustrating, and I'm having a hard time understanding it." 

She was gaining back some of her composure and self-confidence. "I'm not used to having a guy keep me away. They usually want to bed me in the first ten minutes. I'm not bragging, it's just that the world seems to be filled with horny men, and you don't fit the pattern."

"No, I guess I don't," he said quietly. "But then, that's not what you want or what you need ... in my opinion. You are the most dynamic, intimidating, voluptuous, sexy, smart women I've ever met. You don't fit any profile. The closest I can come to describing you is a Viking Goddess and that doesn't tell half the story. 

"You had me hooked the minute you walked by my front window last Tuesday. I knew it, you knew it, and now, less than a week later, we're having a conversation that sounds like we've known each other for six months. Does that make any sense to you?" 

"No, I guess not," she said quietly. She looked up at him, took the two steps needed to stand in front of him, put her arms around his neck and kissed him. It was a full blooded heavy kiss and within a few seconds their mouths were open and the kiss had turned into something a great deal more passionate. When the kiss ended they looked into each other's eyes. Steve put his arm around her again. 

He looked out the windshield and noticed that they had fallen badly off course. "I think the Captain should get us back on course," he said with a wry smile. 

He looked back at her and kissed her briefly, finally returning to the task at hand. 

"That's the one trouble with a sailboat," he said quietly. "It makes you pay attention to it all the time. No time off." 

He looked at his watch. He was roughly on the schedule that he had mapped out in his mind. Now he knew that the rest of the day was going to be very interesting. The kiss had guaranteed that. He wondered if he'd really screwed this all up. He'd kick himself forever if he lost this girl, and yet he was determined he was going to stay balanced and equally determined he was going to be sure about her and himself. 

"I kissed you because I was trying to understand you," she said, unexpectedly. 

"I needed to know that there was some passion in you, that you aren't all clinical analysis. Thank god you have some spark in you." 

She stopped to catch her breath. She had raised her voice and she was aware she had been irritated with him for almost spoiling her day. She looked at him, her eyes demanding a response.

"Boy, are you going to be a handful," he said. "If you think you're going to scare me off though, you're wrong," he said emphatically. 

"I don't give up easily on important things either," she said quietly.

"Time to change course again," he said looking into her eyes. His arm was still around her shoulders and he kissed her softly once more. 

"The helm is yours, Ingrid. Come about to starboard and head toward the group of houses near the south center of the island." 

He walked out of the wheelhouse and slowly made his way forward on the starboard side. Ingrid watched him carefully. The boat slowly swung around to its new heading the boom swinging from starboard to port in response to the change in wind direction. Steve pulled the line attached to the bottom of the big Genoa and the sail crossed over the mainmast and filled out on the port side. He tied it off to a deck cleat. 

They weren't far from the island and Steve estimated they would arrive in the little bay within thirty or forty minutes. He looked at his watch and smiled. With a few minutes to find a nice spot to anchor, he had time to prepare the lunch for about one o'clock. 

He was counting on the lunch to restore the day. He had badly miscalculated and her kiss had been the only thing that was good about the awkward ten minutes or so that ensued. He hadn't reckoned on her temper and her obvious disdain for his "style." He should have known better, but he didn't. She was a volatile mixture of passion and talent. He had no idea how to handle her. Maybe that was what he should tell her. 

"I've got to save this relationship," he thought. "I've got to and that's all there is to it!"

-0-

This is a re-posting of my original story, Quartet Ingrid. It has been corrected for punctuation, grammar, and I hope, readability. 



Ingrid Ch. 04



This story is a re-posting of my earliest work. It has been edited to improve punctuation, grammar and, I hope, readability.

*

The mainsail was down and draped over the boom. The Genoa was furled around its stay at the bow. The engine was running on idle in forward as he searched for the right depth on the sounder. He pulled the gear lever back to neutral and let the boat coast toward shore. They were a hundred meters or so from the pebbles on the beach. The sounder reading flicked between five and six fathoms and he pulled the gear lever briefly into reverse to bring the boat to a stop. 

He walked forward and took the anchor out of its mount on the superstructure. Lowering it over the side he let it go, watching it sail toward the bottom. He walked back to the wheelhouse and popped the gear into reverse and backed the boat up for a couple of seconds until the he saw the anchor line and chain move out in front. 

Back in neutral, he could feel the anchor take its set and switched off the engine. It was very quiet. The little bay was near the houses on shore, and yet nicely out of sight. It was early in the season and few boats were anchored in the popular bay. 

Ingrid had gone below to the stateroom. She was now uncomfortably warm in her turtleneck and she needed to change. There was no need for the 'floater vest' since they were at anchor in shallow water. 

She pulled off the sweater and looked at herself in the small dresser mirror. She wore a pale blue sleeveless, v-neck top with a very deep 'V' and, as planned, no bra. She pulled off the baggy gym pants, revealing a pair of skimpy, snug white shorts. She took off her canvas shoes and socks and slipped on a pair of flip-flops she had stuck in her ski jacket pocket. Looking in the mirror, she smiled.

While she had gone below, Steve was setting up a table for lunch. The picnic basket was pulled out from the lower cabinet, but had been slipped under the bench seats at the stern. 

She took a deep breath, opened the door of the stateroom and walked right into him. She heard his sharp intake of breath and saw his eyes widen as he stepped back, mumbling his apology. 

"Holy cow!" was all he could come up with. For a guy who apparently didn't swear, it was the needed compliment. Ingrid put her hands on her hips and turned, first left, and then right, her breasts now swaying to their own rhythm. 

"You like?" she asked cheekily. 

"Ahmmm ... ah, what can I say. It's not what I expected," he said, his eyes glancing at her breasts that she deliberately kept in motion. "I guess you took my suggestion about loose fitting clothes to heart." 

He had his hands up in front of him as if he were surrendering. His eyes seemed to be the size of dinner plates and his jaw had dropped to the point he was in danger of dislocating it. After another long pause and a particularly provocative look from Ingrid, he found his voice. 

"My god, Ingrid, what are you trying to do to me?"

"Well, I though first, I might get your attention. Then, I thought I might be able to seduce you. I case you haven't noticed Mr. Inhalt, I have been trying to get you into bed with me. I want you to make love to me. Or maybe, I want to make love to you. I don't care which. It may kill you and it may disappoint me, but I'm damn well going to try. 

"Do you find me attractive Mr. Inhalt?" she asked with a demanding tone, her fingers still gripping the side of his arm.

Steve was struggling to regain his composure. She had him completely upside down. She might have felt sorry for him, but it didn't show. He had no experience with someone like her. She had him at her mercy and right now, she wasn't in a merciful mood. 

She moved closer to him and pressed her breasts against his chest. She squirmed against him, knowing full well that his reaction would be predictable. She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him tighter against her. She heard him moan and felt his erection against her lower abdomen. 

"Score one for Ingrid," she smirked. "The ball's in your court, Mr. Inhalt, in more ways than one!"

"You ... Ms. Solberg, are a temptress," he finally mumbled. "You are taking advantage of me. What am I to do?" 

"First you feed me. I've been very busy this morning and we Vikings need nourishment. Then we'll talk about further nourishment I require. Understood?" 

She pulled him close again and they kissed again. It was a passionate, fire-breathing, all-consuming kiss. His hands ran over her perfect derriere. He kneaded the wonderfully rounded cheeks and pressed his rigid manhood against her. She lost track of how many kisses and how long they lasted. It must have been some time. He loosened his arms and leaned back to look in her eyes.

"I understand you like my cooking," he said quietly with a smile. 

"I told you I'm starved. How many hints do you need?" she smirked.

"OK, have a seat and be prepared to be dazzled," he said, regaining some composure. 

They returned to the afterdeck and Steve pulled the picnic basket out from under the bench and with a theatrical flourish, opened it. Inside, folded on top, was a classic red and white checkered tablecloth. He pulled it out with a snap and floated it down on the wooden table in corner-to-side fashion. Next he produced the plates, but not just any plates. These were Royal Doulton fine china with an elegant gold leaf border and a beautifully rendered script 'Matron of the Sea' around the edge. Then he extracted the side plates, also in the boat's name. 

Then, genuine silverware with a MS overlapping script engraved in the handle. Finally, two elegant crystal champagne flutes. From the bottom of the basket, he produced a half bottle of Moet. It was already sweating from the warm air and the cold contents. He opened it, removing the wire cap holder and working the cork out slowly until the last millimeter when it produced the mandatory loud 'pop' and sailed overboard. He picked up the champagne flutes and poured two glasses of the famous sparkling white wine and presented one to Ingrid. 

"To a lady who only deserves the best!" he exclaimed, offering his glass to her. They clinked. Steve was hopeful he had reclaimed a lot of lost ground in the past few minutes. 

They sipped the cold wine and he fashioned a smile that melted Ingrid. She was back to that euphoric mood she had experienced when handling the boat. She was giggling to herself at the effect her simple outfit had produced in Steve. She pulled her now bare feet up on the bench seat, folded her knees up almost to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and rested her chin on one knee. She was looking out over the still water of the little cove and admiring the scenery, the warmth of the sun and the happy feeling inside her. 

The rollercoaster of moods she traveled through had taken a lot of energy, and she was glad to be back on emotional level ground. She thought that Steve was probably even more grateful for the declared truce. She had shamelessly used her body to change the tide in him. She was more confident now. After all, they had gone from holding hands to passionate kisses. 

She was still trying to understand how all this had happened in only five days. It was crazy for her to be so demanding of him in this short period. She had long since forgotten their employer-employee relationship. That was no longer a rational accord. 

Steve rose, leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. 

"Lunch is about to be served." 

He disappeared down the companionway and she heard the movement of plates and cupboard doors and utensils. He was in his domain and she had no intention of invading it. 

In a couple of minutes, he rose from the companionway with a silver platter and a beautifully artistic arrangement of small cone-shaped sandwiches, cheeses, and pickles. In a small, two cell, silver dish were pates with an assortment of crackers along side. He placed the trays on the side bench within reach of both of them. He then took a dark green cloth from his arm and created a tent cover for the food to prevent the sun from drying it out. 

This man could seduce her with food! What would it take for him to learn to seduce her with himself? Her mood was too good for anything to spoil it. She ate the sandwiches enthusiastically and complimented him. He had made them the night before he said. The same for the pates. They were fantastic. Despite the diminutive size, the lunch, combined with the champagne, produced a satisfied feeling. 

Steve sat beside her, close enough that their legs had touched several times. He had changed to shorts and a golf shirt and it showed off his trim body. He didn't have much of a tan, but neither had she. She was conscious that the sun was on them and she should think about protecting her skin. 

She went below and retrieved her bottle of sun block. He was watching her as she came up the stairs through the companionway. They had finished the food, and were relaxing with the last of the champagne. 

"Steve, would you put some of this on me? I'm sure I'll burn quickly if I don't," she smiled coquettishly. 

"Of course! Where would you like me to start?" 

"Why, where would you like to start, sir?"

It became a game. His erection was back and he had difficulty trying to hide it. He moved closer to her. 

"You know, I would hate to stain this lovely t-shirt Ingrid. Perhaps I should move the shoulder straps before I start," he said innocently.

"That's very considerate of you, sir," she said in a little-girl voice.

He gently pushed the straps from her shoulders. She was facing away from him, her back towards him. He poured some lotion in his hands and rubbed them together before gently placing his hands on her back, near the nape of her neck. He began to slowly and rhythmically rub the lotion into her back. He noticed that the freckles which he loved so much were scattered on her upper back. He wondered how far down they went. When he had finished his thorough application on her back, his hands moved up to her shoulders. She responded by moving her shoulders in a rotation and moving her head from side to side. He put more lotion on his hands and applied it to her upper arms. 

Then, in a moment of incautiousness, he began to apply it to her throat and upper chest. Her head came back slowly and he could see her eyes were closed. He was reveling in the moment when she raised her hands up and took his in them, slowly lowering them to her breasts. The front of the t-shirt fell away and he was massaging her breasts in the same, slow, rhythmic fashion. Her nipples became erect and he let the palms of his hands run across them in careful, soft, circular motions. 

Her head remained resting on his shoulder, her eyes still closed. He heard her moan quietly. His hands slid under their rounded fullness and cupped them. His thumbs gently stroked her nipples and she moaned once more. He leaned forward and kissed the side of her forehead. He could taste the salt in her perspiration and he thought it was easily as lovely as the champagne. It was an idyllic scene and he thought he could stay here forever. He looked down at her breasts. They were almost free of freckles. 

"Too bad," he thought. "I was hoping there would be more. They are so beautiful and that would be so sexy. They just need a bit more sun."

Ingrid was on fire. He had brought her to the edge of orgasm simply by tenderly rubbing lotion on her back, shoulders and finally, her breasts. She had achieved her goal. He was completely in her power. She felt comfort and happiness. He was so gentle. There were times when she wanted a powerful man to dominate her, but this was bliss. 

The day had been saved, she thought. The warm sun, the gentle touch of a man, fine food and champagne. What more could she ask for? She knew the answer, but now she knew there was no rush. Her eyes blinked open at the realization. This was the foreplay, and god what wonderful foreplay. 

She knew now that they would make love soon. Perhaps today, but if not, soon. She closed her eyes again and leaned her head back against his shoulder. She moaned her appreciation as he continued to lovingly caress her breasts. "Paradise," she thought. 

Steve stirred against her. He too had closed his eyes and as his hands had slowly moved across her body, he was aware something had changed. He opened his eyes and blinked into the brilliant sun. They had taken their sun glasses off and it took him a few seconds to get orientated again. 

The boat had swung on its anchor and was facing toward the west as it should. In addition, the tide was running in and its strength had caused the boat to drag anchor. 

Steve squeezed her arm and said as calmly as possible, "Ingrid, I think we have a problem." 

Ingrid sat upright quickly and looked around. As her eyes adjusted, she could see that they were much closer to the shore than they were when they anchored. "What's happened?" she asked, slightly alarmed.

"We've swung around and dragged anchor, and we're in shallow water. Shallower than I want to be in."

Ingrid realized she was naked to the waist and quickly pulled her shoulder straps up and stood up. Steve quickly assessed their situation while starting the engine. Almost as soon as it caught he pushed the lever into forward and felt the boat sluggishly move ahead.

He kept his fingers crossed that they wouldn't scrape bottom or worse, get hung up on a reef. Luck was with him and the boat moved forward steadily. He had turned on the sounder and watched the bottom fall away and the depth increase. 

He let out his breath. He wasn't sure how long he had held it. He pulled the gear lever back to neutral briefly as the anchor chain approached vertical. The boat slowed, almost stopping. 

"Ingrid, I'm going forward to raise the anchor. If I give you a horizontal wave like this, I want you to pull this lever back to the middle, neutral position. If I give you a forward sign like this, push the lever forward for five or so seconds and then pull it back to the middle. Understood?"

"Yes, understood," she replied seriously. His mood had changed dramatically and she could see he was both intense and angry.

He slipped the gear lever forward, gave her a more serious 'thumbs up' and quickly made his way to the bow. He opened the small, forward hatch and inspected the anchor line. She heard a whirring sound every few seconds. He didn't seem to be doing anything but watching the line. 

Then, she heard and soon saw the anchor chain smoothly wrap over the bow roller. It stopped as he peered further over the bow of the boat. He gave her the horizontal wave and she pulled the gear level back to centre. The forward movement of the boat slowed quickly. She heard the whirring sound start immediately and it stayed on continuously. 

Steve gave her the forward sign and she pushed the lever forward and slowly counted to five before pulling it back to center. She felt the boat move forward briefly then stop. She kept her eyes on Steve. Somehow, he was controlling the motor that wound in the anchor. In a minute more, he signaled again for forward and she repeated the previous procedure. 

Soon she heard a clanking sound and the whirring motor stopped. The anchor was up and Steve quickly snapped it into its holder on the deck, turned, and walked rapidly back to the wheelhouse. He said nothing, but pushed the gear lever forward and turned their heading to the south west. He put his hands on the dashboard beside the wheel and let his breath out again. His face was beet red and she could see his jaw was clenched. He was clearly very angry.

"Are we OK, Steve?" Ingrid asked uncertainly.

"Yeah, we're OK. No thanks to me. Stupid bastard! Damn it!" he spat. She had never heard him swear and had never seen him angry. It was a new side of him and it was good to see that there was passion inside that cool exterior.

"Why are you so angry?" she asked him.

"I put us in danger, not just the boat, but us. I got careless and I broke a cardinal rule. A rule George put up at the top of the list of things that were critical to safety." He was almost yelling and it was clear that along with anger there had been fear. He was coming down from that elevated, emotional height.

"Calm down, Steve, it's OK now," she said, still concerned with his temperament.

"It's not all right, Ingrid. I don't want to think about what could have happened. I just know I will kick my butt from here to the breakfast table for being in a hurry and being careless. I was more concerned that lunch was on time and that you ... well, that's when I got careless." He was coming down and sounding more rational and even-tempered again.

Ingrid walked the three steps to his side and held his arm. "Learn from it," she said quietly. "Put it in your memory banks and I guarantee you it will never happen to you again," she said evenly.

Steve was looking out the open windscreen, seemingly unfocussed. He looked at her and his wrinkled smile returned briefly.

"You saved the day, Ingrid. You handled that anchor retrieval perfectly. Every time you put your hands on this boat, something good happens." He turned and pulled her into his free arm and kissed her deeply. He looked in her eyes and then kissed her again. She had pulled him back down to where he needed to be. 

She was right, he knew. He must learn from this. Just a moment's inattention, a rushed judgment, that's all it took. In trickier circumstances, the consequences might have been tragic. 

"Thank god for Ingrid," he thought. Cool under pressure, they made a perfect team. This passionate, beautiful woman was everything he ever wanted. Here she was, at his side, his companion. He felt a warm glow and a strange, unfamiliar, tingling feeling pass through him. He knew this was going to be different. It would be very different.

-0-

The 'Matron' was heeled over to starboard and making her customary eight knots, flank speed. Steve stood at the helm and felt the cool spring breeze on his face. He had opened both sides of the windscreen during lunch to allow air to flow through and keep the wheelhouse from becoming a greenhouse. 

Ingrid was sitting on the opposite side, facing the stern and lost in thought. She was wearing one of Steve's cotton t-shirts from his drawer in the stateroom. The sexy top was a bit cool in the afternoon breeze. Steve had just taken the helm to spell her off after she admitted that she felt a bit tired.

"You'll be a bit stiff and sore tomorrow morning, Ingrid," he said looking over at her. She looked back at him, smiling a tired smile. "Your brain has been giving your muscles messages since eight thirty this morning. It's been keeping you balanced against the boat's movement. You aren't aware of them, but those muscles have been working all day and they'll be tired tonight. You won't have any trouble sleeping, though," he said conversationally.

"I don't mind. It's been a wonderful day, full of adventure and fun and ... everything," she said languidly.

"I'm so happy you enjoy the boat and we'll be together here again next week."

After he had raised the sails and they had gotten underway again, Steve had returned to his normal in-control self. Despite all the drama, Ingrid had a good feeling about how the day had gone and was much more confident of their future now. Steve had sailed south past the bottom of Keates Island, working their way back toward Fisherman's Cove. He told Ingrid that he expected they would be back at the dock around six and they could stop off at Maurice's for a light meal before he took her home. 

"Jean knows just what kind of meal to serve a tired crew after a day on the water. With your permission, I'll give him a call and make a reservation."

"What about our clothes? We aren't exactly dressed for dinner." 




Ingrid Ch. 04



"It won't be a problem. Maurice knows the boating set, just like he knows the skiing set and golf set. We won't stand out. In fact we probably would if we dressed up," he replied confidently.

"Sounds fine. Actually, I could use a nibble now, I'm hungry again," she said

"No problem, just grab the helm, keep her headed where we are now and I'll be right back." 

She marveled at his energy. He was obviously fit and she admired his resilience. She was thinking about how that would translate to his performance in bed when she caught herself. 

"For Christ's sake Ingrid, is that the only thing you think about, getting laid?" The answer was of course, "Lately, Yes!"

Steve had already called Maurice's on his cell phone and made the reservation with Jean for between six thirty and seven. He reappeared through the companionway with the tray and some cheese and small cakes and placed it on the dashboard in front of her. He turned and disappeared down the companionway again and returned with two half-glasses of red wine. He placed those on the 'dash' as well, but well away from the instruments. Ingrid tried the cakes and smiled and grunted her approval. Steve had a couple of pieces of cheese and walked over and picked up a wine glass. He took the helm back from Ingrid and stood watching her as she savored the cheese and sipped the wine.

"This is pretty elegant stuff for a boat, don't you think?" 

"Nothing but the best for my lady friend," he replied happily.

"Is this what I can look forward to next weekend?" she asked.

"Why not? Would you prefer we had baked beans on a paper plate and a can of Chateau Labatt's?" he said cheekily. "Maybe this time I'll bring a full bottle of champagne," he laughed.

"You don't have to convince me, but if I lived this way all the time, I'd weigh three hundred pounds," she said ruefully.

"I'm very careful with calories, young lady, even if it doesn't seem like it. I make sure of serving sizes and I emphasize flavor over volume. There are no Big Macs on my table," he said with an arched eyebrow and a haughty look.

"OK, you win. How can I complain when it's all so lovely," she said happily.

She thought back to the last two hours after they had left the small bay. He had asked her to come with him for the Victoria Day long weekend. They would leave on Friday afternoon and return on Monday afternoon. As usual, he would look after all the food and supplies for the trip. All she had to do was say yes and bring her special t-shirt. 

The message in the invitation was crystal clear and her heart raced as she remembered it. A lost weekend together. She didn't have to think for a second to say yes. If it was anything like today, it would be paradise, with the exception of the anchor incident. 

Ingrid was certain that would never happen to him again. She had seen the look of fear on his face and that was enough to convince her. For her part, she couldn't understand the danger, but she was sure he would teach her the significance. 

Then he broke the bad news. He had to go to San Francisco tomorrow and wouldn't be back until Thursday afternoon. Her heart sank when he told her. He assured her that these trips were infrequent, but necessary. He promised he would phone her every night at eight sharp, beginning with Sunday. Four nights without him! I've only known him for five days and already I'm missing him. She was surprised to realize that they had been together for at least a few minutes each day since they had met. 

"I'm flattered that you'll miss me," he said, looking at her lovingly. "I promise to phone every night, no matter what." 

"I'll drive you to the airport tomorrow and pick you up on Thursday," she volunteered. 

"No, Ingrid, don't bother. I normally just catch a cab. I don't want you putting yourself out." 

"It's no bother and I won't take no for an answer," she stated with finality. "Besides, I'm better looking than any cab driver you've ever seen."

"OK, I surrender," he said in a lighthearted but resigned voice. "My plane leaves at two, so if you'll take me out at noon, that should be plenty of time. That's assuming you'll be able to walk by then," he laughed.

She was disappointed he was going away, but happy with his promise to call her and more excited about what might happen on Thursday when she picked him up at the airport. She would have to think of something special to welcome him home.

As Steve had predicted, they were back at the dock at just after six. When Ingrid stepped off the boat and started to walk up the float, she immediately began to feel dizzy. She stopped and turned back to the 'Matron', gradually gaining her balance, but still feeling uncoordinated. 

"A bit woozy, Ingrid?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, a bit. What's happening?" she asked, looking at him questioningly

"Your brain thinks you are still on the boat and wants to compensate for the movement. It'll pass shortly when it figures out you're on terra firma. Just have a seat on the steps and I will get the cart for this stuff and walk you up to the parking lot. 

He had been gone a couple of minutes when she heard the squeaking wheels of the cart. He pushed it up to the side of the boat and loaded the gear. He put Ingrid's coat on the top and they headed off towards the incline ramp and the parking lot. It was nearing six thirty when Steve pulled his Volvo up to the ramp. He quickly loaded the gear while Ingrid sat in the passenger seat. He put the cart back in the shed and returned to the car. He got in, leaned over to a quiet, tired Ingrid and kissed her. They drove out of the lot and onto Marine Drive, eastward to the Village. 

"That didn't take long. Tying up, I mean," Ingrid offered.

"No, but I arranged to have one of the 'boat boys' wash down the 'Matron' when I got back. I guessed you'd be tired and I didn't want you waiting thirty or forty minutes while I washed the salt off and scrubbed the deck. Sometimes, it even takes longer if there's a line-up waiting for a hose."

"Oh thanks," she said gratefully. "You'd have probably come back and found me asleep. You were right about it being physically demanding. Is it always this way?" 

"No, in fact, you'll find that next weekend will be much easier. You didn't know what to expect today, so there was much more stress. Plus, our little adventure at Keates added more tension. No, next weekend will seem like a 'walk in the park.' We will be stopping more often to give ourselves some shore time. We won't be pressed for time. All in all, it will be much more comfortable for you," he said confidently.

"Mmmm, good. I'm already looking forward to it." 

Steve drove in silence and arrived at Maurice's just before seven. Ingrid had changed back into her turtleneck on the boat, citing his beer company t-shirt as just a bit too casual for her taste. The air temperature had dropped as it usually did near the water in the spring, and she wasn't uncomfortably warm in the cotton sweater. They held hands as they walked into the restaurant and waited to be seated by Georges, another of the senior staff. 

Steve gave a small wave to Maurice and then Jean as they headed toward their booth near the west window. "Trust Maurice and his guys, always looking out for their customers," he said quietly. 

Their booth was one of the most sought after, especially when there were romantic sunsets. They were a little early for that tonight, but the next seating would be welcomed by what would most likely be a blazing, orange glow. 

They slid into the booth as Georges informed them that Jean had already placed their order and would they like a glass of wine? Ingrid nodded and Steve ordered two glasses of the Pinot Grigio they had shared the first night they had been here. 

The food arrived within ten minutes. Ingrid ate slowly, but obviously with pleasure at the light salad and Tourtiére. The pastry was light and flaky, the ground meats were exquisitely seasoned, while a dark brown sauce enhanced the wonderful flavors.

"When I walked in here, Steve, I had no appetite," she said slowly. "Their food is irresistible. I feel ten times better." 

"Yes, they have never let me down. They know their customers and they spoil them." 

"Just think, these are the people who taught you," she said enthusiastically. "Are you going to spoil me?" she said, batting her eyelids in 1930's movie star style.

"In every way I can," he smiled.

"Right answer," she laughed. 

They finished their meal, declined a dessert, left a half glass of Ingrid's wine, paid the bill and got up to leave. Steve helped her out of the booth and continued holding her hand as they walked out the door and into the gathering dark. 

Ingrid stopped as they reached the Volvo, tilted her head back and took a deep breath. She put her arms around Steve's neck and kissed him lightly on the lips. She might be giving some of the patrons at the restaurant a bit of a show, but she didn't care. 

For that matter, neither did Steve. He was proud to be in the company of such a fabulous woman and he didn't mind who knew it. He secretly hoped the men inside were jealous of him. 

"I'm tired, Mr. Inhalt. It's time for me to go home," she said sleepily.

"Yes, miss, home it is," he agreed.

The drive to her house was less than ten minutes but out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see Ingrid was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. He pulled up in front of her house and she waited until he walked around the car and opened her door. He took her hand and the ski jacket she was carrying and walked with her slowly up the inclined front walk and the six steps to her front door. 

She pulled her keys out of pocket, unlocked the door and stepped in. Steve followed her and she pushed the door shut after him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him as passionately as her remaining energy would allow. She could feel him respond and his arms pulled her close to him.

"Normally, this is where I would go directly to seduction mode, but I have to confess, I haven't got the go-power tonight," she said apologetically. 

"I know, but I'll be back for an encore soon. In the meantime, I'll call you about ten tomorrow morning. You might be up by then. We'll see how you're feeling, OK?"

"Very OK," she said sleepily. She kissed him again. "It was a fabulous day, Steve. I want lots more just like it."

"So do I, Ingrid, so do I. Now go get some sleep. You're dead on your feet." 

"I think I'll treat myself to a bath," she said. "The perfect ending to the perfect day. Call me?" 

"Ten a.m.," he replied. "Good night, love." He kissed her tenderly once more, turned and opened the front door. He turned back as he stepped onto the top of the stairs, gently ran the fingers of his right hand down her face. 

"Tomorrow." 

He turned and walked slowly down the stairs and the walkway to his car. He got in started it and looked up the walkway to her front door. She was leaning against the partly open door and made a small wave to go with her smile. He waved back, put the car in gear and drove off. 

As he drove away, Ingrid closed and locked the front door and sat for a few minutes on her sofa. She put her head back and said to no one in particular, "We've come a long way today. It wasn't all smooth sailing to use a bad pun, but we've come a long way." She had a deeply satisfying feeling inside as she rose and went into the bathroom. She turned the water on in the tub and began to undress. 

"Yes, a very long way."



Ingrid Ch. 05



This is a re-posting of my original story, Quartet, Ingrid. It has been re-worked to improve punctuation, grammar, and, I hope, readability.

Ingrid Ch.05

Ingrid turned the car out of the drop-off area at U.S. Departures and drove slowly around the ramp to the eastbound road leading away from the terminal. Steve had called her that morning at ten, as he had promised. She was up, but walking very gingerly. Her inner thigh muscles were stiff and sore, just as Steve had predicted. 

She had lounged in the bath last night until she felt herself falling asleep. She got out, drained the tub, dried herself, slipped on a long t-shirt nightgown and crawled happily into bed. She looked at the clock radio and was surprised to see it was just nine-fifteen. It was her last conscious thought until she awoke when her clock radio came on at its usual seven a.m. Nearly ten hours sleep. Almost unheard of for her. 

She lay in bed for a few minutes going over yesterday's events in her mind. So much had happened in such a short time. She seemed helpless to stop herself pushing their relationship forward. It was crazy. They had not even met a week ago and she was acting like they had been together for months. 

She didn't understand her desperation. Did she think this was her last chance? No wonder Steve was defensive. He must think I'm nuts, but he keeps coming back for more. She didn't believe in love at first sight, especially after her disastrously short marriage. And yet, that's what was happening ... again! 

She stopped interrogating herself, put on a robe, and walked to the kitchen. She poured herself an orange juice, took a vitamin pill, and peeled a banana. Aside from the sore thighs, she felt surprisingly good. The bath had been a good idea. She had looked in the mirror and was happy to see she hadn't been burned anywhere. She smiled at the memory of Steve putting the sun block on her. His hands were so soft and gentle, no wonder he aroused her quickly. 

"Two or three more minutes and there would have been no stopping us," she thought. The boat would have been beached and the two of us would have ended up in the water, but we probably wouldn't have noticed. She smiled at what might have been. 

It won't be long now. Thursday will be the day! She needed a special welcome home surprise for Steve. It certainly wouldn't be her cooking a special meal. She was an artist not a cook. They were going away for the weekend and that would be even more exciting. What could she do that would make it even more special?  Think, girl, think!

-0-

She was curled up on the sofa Sunday evening, reading a graphics magazine and marveling at all the new computer software and technical aids now available. They all seemed out of reach, she despaired. Ah well, in the end, it's the ideas and not the equipment that people buy, she rationalized. She would just have to be smarter and more creative to compete against the big houses. 

She thought about the Provincial Government contract that she was short-listed for. Add that to my credentials and I'll really have something to sell. She jumped when the phone rang. She looked at her watch and smiled. It was exactly eight o'clock. 

She picked up the phone and using her sexiest voice crooned, "Hi there."

"Ingrid?" There was a pause. "Is that you?" It was Steve, predictably right on time.

"Who else would it be, handsome?" she continued in her seductive tone.

He laughed. "It's good to hear your voice even if you are being a temptress again." 

"Well, you wouldn't want to have any doubt about what you're missing and what you're coming home to, would you?" the sultry voice continued. 

"I think I'm getting the idea that you're a naughty girl, Ingrid. Is that true?" 

He sounded so naive, she chuckled to herself.

"Don't most boys prefer naughty girls?"

The fun was catching. "Well, yes, but then I can't take them home to mother, if you know what I mean."

"What would I want with your mother, big boy? I prefer one hundred percent all male beefcake for a main course."

"Well if I can't take you home to mother, where can I take you?"

"How about to the moon, fella. Every girl wants a trip to the moon."

"Any ideas on how we could get you there?"

"Don't you have a rocket? I thought I felt one the other day."

"Why don't I come over some time and we can talk about ... propellants?" 

He was really getting into the spirit of this not-quite obscene phone call. She hoped no one was listening in. Luckily, the day of the party line was long gone.

"Do we need a booster for this trip?" she continued.

"Baby, I can send you to the moon with one big stage."

"Well, you certainly sound like my kind of guy. When are you going to be here?"

"How does Thursday sound?"

"I dunno, it sounds like a long way off. I might meet someone else. He might be able to ... come ... much sooner."

"Quality, baby. Yah gotta stick with quality." 

He was starting to snicker and Ingrid could sense he was having a hard time keeping pace with her. There were only so many clever retorts in his repertoire.

They both started to laugh. It had been fun. 

"Is this what they mean by phone sex?" he asked.

"I don't know. I think this was pretty tame compared to some of that stuff," she replied merrily.

"Well we can always raunch it up a little if you like." 

"Now you're talking. Lay it on me, big boy. I'm ready for some hot stuff!" 

She was back in character again.

"I'm going to have to find a special name for this alter ego of yours. Ingrid is just too ...well ... decent," he taunted. 

"You need to have a special persona for this naughty lady friend of yours. Something along the lines of ... oh ... say ... Indigo." 

"Dark blue for a dark personality? It might work."

"Tell me, Indigo. What do you want for your birthday?"

"What else? I want what all bad girls want -- a man!" she said, slipping further into her new character.

"What would you do when you got one, Indigo?"

"Oh, he would be so pleased! I have what it takes to fulfill a man's ultimate fantasy. What's your fantasy?" 

"Ah, my fantasy? It's about freckles and red hair. I know that sounds kinky, but ... I get off on red hair and freckles."

"And how long have you harbored this fantasy?"

"About six days, I think. Can you help me?" 

"I don't know. Does she have to be a real redhead?""

"Oh yes. Any girl can dye her hair. She has to be a real redhead, you know, in that very private area. And the freckles have to be real. I like it when they are all over her body. Can you help me?"  His voice was plaintive.

"Perhaps. What do you plan to do with this real redhead?"

"Oh, I would worship her. I would never make her wear clothes so that I could see all her beautiful freckles and red hair."

"What else would you do with her?"

"I bet she would taste very good. I would want to taste her everywhere. Did you know that different parts have a different taste? Some parts taste very, very good." 

He was on a roll and enjoying the vicarious thrill of verbal stimulation.

"How did you discover that, stud? You sound so ... innocent."  "Why, personal research of course. There's no substitute for personal research." 

"What tastes the best?"

"Oh, I really like the breasts, especially the nipples. I like to run the tip of my tongue around the areolas and then drag my tongue across the nipples. When the nipples get hard, they really are tasty."

"And for the entrée?"

"That's easy. I like that private place. It's so warm and juicy and tasty. It's full of vitamins, I hear. I like to taste the inner thighs first, and then the outside of those secret lips. Then, I like to taste inside. 

"Sometimes, I find a little nub inside, and I tickle it with the tip of my tongue. It makes a woman very aroused though. Sometimes it can get noisy when I'm doing my tasting.  If I can't find what I'm looking for, I use my fingers to find it. Then, I lick my fingers. It's not good table manners, I know, but it's very yummy."

There was a pause. 

"And for dessert?" 

Her voice had grown weaker, and Steve realized she had been completely immersed in this game. He tried to imagine what she was doing on the other end of the phone. 

"Dessert? Why, my favorite dessert is that nice sticky, wet juice that comes out of that special place. There is never enough of it, but it is the perfect ending to the perfect dining experience."

Again, a pause. 

"You bastard!" she spat in a quiet voice. "You did this deliberately, didn't you? All my toys are in my nightstand. I'm stretched out on the sofa with the phone in one had and a sopping, wet pussy in the other. And I thought you were an innocent. Boy, did you have me fooled."

"Now, now, Ingrid! I didn't start this," he cautioned, still playfully. "I just thought if you liked playing these kinds of games, then I'd better learn how to play them too. Everything was under control until we got to the fantasy part. I guess we'd better skip that part in the future."

"God, Steve. If you were here right now ... well, I don't think either of us would survive the experience. You've got me sooooo horny. You better get your ass back here on Thursday, mister, or there's going to be a sexual predator in the neighborhood, and it's going to be me!

"I'm sorry, Ingrid. I didn't mean to do that to you. You've really got yourself worked up, haven't you?" He sounded contrite.

"Didn't that little story turn you on?" she asked, surprised.

"To tell the truth, I was so busy trying to think of a sexy answer that I didn't have time to get turned on." 

"Jesus, man, you missed your calling. I had my eyes closed while I listened to you, and it was so real I was ready to come right then. Maybe we should start an audio-porn business. We wouldn't even have to script it. You were making that up as you went along and I was going crazy!" 

"OK, look," he said, now back in his normal voice. "I suggest we don't play this game until and unless you use a code word. Say, Indigo," he proposed.

"Code name Indigo and we're off to the races, right?" she suggested.

"Code name Indigo. Only you and I will know what it means. OK?"

"Agreed. Just the same, I want to know how Mr. Neat and Tidy knows all about erotic phone play. I'm beginning to doubt your 'born again virgin' routine," she laughed.

"Nope, I'm just who I said I was. But, really Ingrid, I haven't lived in cave, and I am aware of what goes on in the world. I just haven't been a participant." 

"Well, OK then, I'll buy it for now. But you better not be trying to con me, mister," she threatened lightly.

"No, no, no con job, honestly!" he protested.

They were both back to their normal voices and they talked for a few more minutes before Steve said his goodnights. "I'll call you again tomorrow, same time," he promised.

"I'll be right here." she said. "Goodnight. Love you Steve." 

"Good night Ingrid. 'Till tomorrow then." 

He hung up quietly. He couldn't bring himself to say those words yet. 

"I love you, Ingrid," he practiced to himself. He could say it to himself. When would he be able to say it to her and know it to be true? 

They talked again on Monday and Tuesday. Indigo did not make an appearance. Steve told her about his meetings in very general terms, but he got her interest when he told her about his plans on Wednesday. He had followed up on a couple of leads for software programs that might be helpful to Ingrid. 

"I don't want to get your hopes up, Ingrid, but have a lead on a program that might meet your needs without you having to invest time and money in CAD systems. These are not expensive programs, but the real question will be whether they will be useful to you. You'll be the best judge of that. Keep your fingers crossed." 

He sounded optimistic and he had raised Ingrid's expectations.

When he called her on Wednesday night, he was enthusiastic and she caught the mood right away. "I think I've got what you need, Ingrid. In fact, I have two different programs and part of the agreement with the developers is that you test and report on these systems. They are called beta versions. 

"That means they aren't on the consumer market yet, but being tested by a bunch of interested parties who get the program free as long as they report back on performance and problems. You'd be a guinea pig, but the reward is, if the program goes to market, you get the finished version for free! How does that sound?"

"Oh Steve, that's wonderful. When will I be able to try these programs?" 

"I've got the disks for one of them now, and the other will be delivered by courier sometime in the next two or three weeks. That will give you time to try one out and get used to it before the other shows up. 

"And, by the way, the competing companies know you are evaluating both programs. They even asked us to tell them what you liked and didn't like about their competitors software. I'm not sure that's ethical, but we can talk about it," he concluded.

"That's fantastic. I can't wait to try them. Oh, thanks Steve. I love you to pieces for this," she bubbled. "What time does your plane arrive tomorrow? I'll be there with bells on!"

"Ah ... well, there's been a catch. I have to go to a dinner meeting at seven tomorrow night. My plane gets in about five, so it's a tight fit to get through Customs and get downtown," he said apologetically. 

"Oh no, Steve! I was counting on tomorrow night. I had something special planned for us. Can't you meet with them some other time?" she pleaded. 

"I'm sorry Ingrid, when they called today, they wanted to meet me on Friday and I told them I couldn't as I had a prior engagement that couldn't be changed. I didn't tell them that it was with a gorgeous redhead, and I was sailing away with her."

"Why don't you come to the house after your dinner?" 

"I suppose that's possible, but I don't know what these guys expect. They're from Japan and they are prospective clients both for me and my old employer in San Francisco. That's why I was down here this week. These guys will expect to be entertained and I can't predict when I'll be able to get away. I'm sorry, Ingrid." 

"I'll wait up for you. Instead of the phone, I'll sit here waiting for your knock on the door. Please say you'll come." 

"I'll try, I promise," he said. "But remember, Friday is the start of a big weekend for us. I don't want you overtired. I should talk, I guess. Anyway, Friday I've got a lot of running around to do to get the stuff ready for the boat. These guys messed up my schedule for getting all that ready too."

"What time do you want me ready Friday?" she asked.

"Well, I was hoping to get away early in the afternoon, but our Japanese friends screwed that plan up. With any luck, we can cast off by three or three thirty."

"Can I help? I've cleared the decks, so I'm free," she offered.

"Yes, I'm sure you can. Do you have your fax number handy?" 

She gave him the number.

"I'll fax over a list of things tonight that I think you can manage and that will be a huge help in cutting down on the running around. Thanks for volunteering," he said. 

"Happy to do it, especially if it gets us on the water sooner. I can't wait for my next lesson, Captain."  She was noticeably brighter again, the disappointment of his Thursday absence now passing.

"Just one other thing, Ingrid. I'll call you at eight o'clock tomorrow, just as we have all this week. I'm sure my Japanese friends can manage without me for a few minutes. I won't be able to spend much time, but at least I'll hear your lovely voice," he said sincerely.

Ingrid felt her eyes fill. "I'll be here," she said quietly. "Good night, Steve. I love you."

"Good night, Ingrid. Until tomorrow." 

Ingrid wiped the forming tears from her eyes. He couldn't say the words, but the heart is almost there. She sat back in the sofa and rested her head on the soft cushion. Her life was changing rapidly and for a change, it was all for the better. She was beginning to remember what true happiness felt like. She had only a brief glimpse of it a few years ago when she first met Max, her ex-husband.

Just before ten that evening, Ingrid's fax machine beeped and came to life. A one page, hand-written note from Steve appeared. It was a list of items and quantities he wanted for their weekend. She looked it over and decided most of it could be obtained tomorrow. 

She looked at the printed source address for the fax and saw the name of the Marriot in San Jose. His meetings were in San Francisco. He went to San Jose just to help her with the design software. From a little comment and a couple of questions a week ago, he had quickly absorbed the importance of what was needed. 

-0- 

Ingrid awoke sometime Thursday night on the sofa. The room was dark, her neck was stiff and she was chilled without a blanket. She got up and shuffled into the bedroom, fell into bed and pulled the covers over her. She looked at the clock radio. The time was three twenty-two. She put her head down and almost immediately she was asleep again. 

As usual, the radio came on at seven a.m. and she roused herself to a sitting position. She was still wearing the revealing, burgundy negligee she had bought for Steve's arrival last night. She looked down at it and felt a twinge of regret. He doesn't know what he missed, but today's another day. 

She brightened. Steve had called her from the restaurant, just as he'd promised. He told her how important it was for him to hear her voice and she almost sobbed on the phone. She was sure Steve caught the hitch in her voice. Their conversation wasn't long, but it cheered her immensely. She knew that if there was any way he could be with her, he would be. She told him she would leave the light on for him. All he had to do was knock. Regrettably, she heard no knock that night.

She carefully took off the new sexy nightie she had bought for the occasion, folded it carefully, pulled on her terrycloth robe, and walked to the kitchen for her usual breakfast. For the first time in weeks, she pulled the coffee maker out from the wall and started to make a pot. She needed extra brain cells this morning, and the coffee would help. 

She looked at the faxed list on the kitchen counter and reviewed the items they still needed to get today. It wasn't very much since she had managed a good portion of the list yesterday afternoon. Most of today's items were wanted fresh. She looked up at the kitchen wall clock and wondered when Steve would call. God knows what time he got home last night. When he phoned, he said these guys made it plain they wanted a night on the town. 

She finished her juice and started on her first cup of coffee. She began to feel more alive and walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She dropped the robe on the floor mat and stepped into the warm spray. She had no sooner gotten wet when she heard the door bell. 

"Who the hell is that?" she said aloud. "Screw it, it's probably J.W.'s." 

The bell rang again. She thought that odd. Usually, if it's door to door, they just ring once. 

"Ah, shit."  

She stepped out of the shower and picked up the robe and put it on. She padded across the living room rug to the front window and peeked out to see who was there. It was Steve! Ohmigod! She ran to the door, unlocked it and yanked it open. She almost leaped into his arms, then dragged him into the house and slammed the door. She covered him with a long passionate kiss and hugged him with all her strength.

"Does this mean you're glad to see me?" he laughed.

"Oh, you can't know. It's like you've been away for a year. What happened last night? You didn't come here," she blurted. 

"Actually, I did come by last night." he said. "But it was two in the morning and the lights were out. I didn't have the heart to wake you up. Besides, I had a terminal case of Sake breath. Not very romantic, I can tell you. I think I still have some lingering after effects. What do you think?" he asked, pulling her close and kissing her deeply. 




Ingrid Ch. 05



"Oh god, Steve. I'm so happy you're here," she said, embracing him. 

"I like your hair. Is that a new style?" 

She reached up and felt her wet mop. "Oh god, I was in the shower when the doorbell rang. I almost didn't answer it.  It's a good thing you rang twice," she said, almost out of breath. 

"In the shower, eh," he intoned slyly. "Mind if I watch?"

"You really are getting brave, aren't you? Want to join me?" 

"I've already had a shower this morning and a good thing, too. Those two guys must have smoked a pack of cigarettes each. I'll have to have my clothes decontaminated before I wear them again. You go have your shower. I smell coffee and I can't think of anything I need more. Mind if I have a cup?" he asked belatedly.

"Of course not. There's cream in the 'fridge. I'll just be a couple of minutes," she said brightly. 

The disappointment of last night was long gone. Her guy didn't just call, he came to her. She stepped into the shower and began to soap herself, humming some nameless tune. 

Steve sat himself down at the kitchen table and looked through the morning newspaper. It had been on the front porch and he picked it up just as he was about the ring the bell a third time. He browsed the pages one after another and discovered little that deserved his attention. 

He was on Section C when Ingrid walked in. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. She was dressed brightly in a white blouse with greens, reds, and blue brush strokes in the design. The blouse with navy shorts ensemble was tied with a white fabric belt. She had an old pair of slippers on her feet. Her hair was perfect, lovely and smooth in its auburn glow.

Steve stepped back and let out a soft wolf-whistle. 

"God, you look gorgeous."

She flashed him a big smile and then pulled him back to her. It took them a minute or so to untangle. Steve spoke first. 

"I saw the list on the counter. Looks like you got most of it covered already. That's great. Maybe we can get away earlier after all," he said brightly. 

"Oh, I hope so. I'm ready now! Is there anything else I can help with?" she asked. 

"Well, let's have a look at the list and see what needs to be done," he suggested. 

He looked it over for a couple of minutes.

"You know Ingrid, I think we can do this together and get it done quickly," he said looking up at her standing beside him. 

"So here's my plan. Get your weekend stuff, if it's ready, and we'll put it in the car. Then, we'll head out and finish the shopping, stop at my place to pick up my gear, and we're off to the marina. That sound OK?" he asked expectantly.

"Yes, of course! All I have to do is gather my bathroom kit and my bag and I'm ready." 

She hurried off to the back of the house and a couple of minutes later she reappeared with a large overnight bag and a plastic grocery sack containing some shoes. 

"I guessed I should pack light. I won't bother with the ski parka this time. The floater coats will do, won't they?" 

"Yes, good thinking! Just as long as you bring that t-shirt," he smirked.

"Oh, I've got that and more," she answered slyly.

He finished his second cup of coffee, rinsed it out in the sink, put it in the dishwasher, turned to her and said, "Let's go!"

They left the house just before nine thirty and started on their rounds to the various shops for the necessary items. They spent most of their time on fresh food. Steve was very fussy and turned down meats and vegetables that looked just fine to Ingrid. She deferred to his expertise. 

She got to choose the pastries and desserts. He looked after a couple of items at the liquor store, but they didn't include champagne. They held hands and rubbed hips together as they walked through the village, stopping at the occasional shop. Yesterday, Ingrid had spent most of her time at the Mall, collecting her items on the list. Today, they were strolling along Marine Drive in the Village, enjoying the spring air.

The weather was perfect once again. Blue sky, with some puffy white clouds over the mountains. By late-morning they could tell that it would be another warm day, and with a moderate westerly, their sail was bound to be good. With any luck, they'd be on the water before two, and should make Shadow Cove easily before dusk. 

Ingrid, enjoying the close company of her man, was lost in another world. She was tense with anticipation for today and tonight. She felt like she'd been waiting for this day for years and perhaps she had. 'Big Red' has a Man! Stop the presses! She wanted to shout it out to everyone on the sidewalk. 

She used to be embarrassed and angry when someone called her that, but no more. Now, it was her statement! After all, it was completely appropriate. And when that didn't fit the occasion, well, there was always Indigo. 

Steve and Ingrid completed their shopping just before eleven-thirty. They drove back to his apartment, leaving the supplies in the wagon. 

Taking the elevator to his floor, he opened the apartment door. His travel bags were sitting in the living room, open. The sport bag he had used the previous weekend was beside them. The cooler was on the kitchen floor, closed. 

"I'll just be a minute, Ingrid." 

He walked quickly to his bedroom and flicked on the light. She could see through the door that the bed was unmade and there were clothes in a pile on the floor, including what looked like a dark suit. So, he wasn't always Mr. Neat and Tidy, eh! More useful information, she smiled to herself. 

Five minutes later he emerged with several folded shirts and two pair of shorts. He placed them in his bag and went back to the bedroom, emerging less than a minute later with a couple of pairs of khaki cotton pants. One last trip and she saw socks and underwear disappear into the bag. A quick trip to the bathroom, a bit of clatter and the sound of a zipper, and he emerged with his shaving kit, stuffing it into the sport bag. He moved the bag to the front door and reached into the hall closet for his Topsiders. 

"There," he said "we're off."

"You didn't unpack this morning, did you?" Ingrid teased. 

"No, it wasn't my first priority today." 

"What was?" she asked slyly.

"You, of course." 

She moved in front of him and kissed him, quietly and softly. She reached down and picked up his sport bag. 

"You get the cooler," she said, looking at him as if she had just scored some small victory.

"Sounds fair." 

The apartment door closed behind them as they walked to the elevator. Within a couple of minutes they were rolling out of the car park and turning toward Marine Drive.

"I'm hungry, Ingrid. I didn't have breakfast. Why don't we stop at Frisco's and have something to eat? We're doing fine for time." 

"Sure, I'm hungry too," she quickly replied.

They pulled into the deli's small parking area and jumped out of the Volvo. They had their arms around each other as they walked into the small café. They each ordered a sandwich, chose to share a coleslaw salad, and treated themselves to a glass of local white wine. 

Ingrid sat eating her sandwich, looking at Steve and saying nothing. She had a smile she couldn't hide. 

Steve felt a bit uncomfortable with her watching him, but was inevitably drawn back to looking at her and smiling.  He had been looking forward to this weekend more than he realized. He was proud to be seen with this incredible woman. 

"Eat your heart out, boys," he thought. 

They finished their sandwiches and salad, sat quietly sipping the wine and enjoying each other's company.

"I hope it's always going to be this good," Ingrid said out of nowhere.

Steve paused, looking at her, as if considering his answer. 

He smiled and said, "Why not! We've earned it, haven't we?"

Ingrid didn't respond, sitting back in her chair a looking at him with her "I'm happy" smile. There wasn't anything that needed saying. 

They were on the road soon afterward, and arrived at the marina parking lot just before one.

Ingrid remembered the routine from the previous week, and while Steve parked the Volvo, she walked over to the shed and pulled out one of the carts. She had already loaded the gear onto it when Steve arrived back at the ramp. 

"Ah hah!" he exclaimed. "Nicely done. Thank you, we're off!"

He guided the cart down the steep ramp with great care. 

"It's much steeper than I remember it," Ingrid noted.

"Yup. The tide's out. You get this type of change over a six or seven day cycle. The good news is that when we come back on Monday afternoon, it will be almost full and it won't be as hard to come up the ramp. How's that for planning? Aren't you impressed that I even arranged the tides for this weekend?" he laughed. 

"Wow, my guy is a god!" she laughed. "He's a regular King Canute. Do your servants applaud when you do magic tricks for them?" she giggled. 

"Not nearly enough." 

Their mood was contagious. They were playing off each other the way they had on the phone almost a week ago.

He pulled the cart up to the small step-box on the 'Matron' and Ingrid climbed aboard. Steve began passing items to her and she put them on the deck near the stern. When the groceries were passed up, she made sure they were in the shade. Quickly, all the gear was on the boat. 

While Steve took the cart back to the shed, Ingrid began putting the perishables in the refrigerator. When she had finished, she stowed the non-perishables in the lower cupboards, hoping that Steve would be able to find them when needed. 

She then brought the bags down and placed them in the stateroom, and returned to the galley. She had left the cooler on deck. It was heavy and she thought it would be safer if they both handled it down the companionway. She didn't want an accident right at the beginning of their weekend. 

In a minute or so, Steve reappeared, looked approvingly at the deck and thanked her for her effort. They moved the heavy cooler down the companionway together and Ingrid showed Steve where she had stowed the non-perishables. He was happy with all of her decisions, no changes needed to be made. He looked around, turned to Ingrid, put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to him.

"Are you trying to impress me?" he asked quietly, "because you definitely have. Have you ever considered a career at sea?" 

"Not until you came along," she replied. "We make a pretty good team, don't we?"

"We make a very good team. You keep surprising me. I like your kind of surprises," he said softly.

They kissed a slow, passionate, deep kiss. They looked at each other silently, smiling.

"Shall we cast off on our next adventure?" 

"Yes Captain. All hands are on deck, ready for your orders," she answered promptly.

Steve dropped his hands down and patted her backside. A quick peck on the cheek and they headed up to the wheelhouse. The fans whirred and the engine was started. A further inspection by him confirmed the status of all the electrical gear. Fuel level was well over two-thirds, and fresh water tank almost full.

She had changed her clothes before preparing to cast off and was wearing her new powder blue sweatshirt and navy shorts while he wore the golf shirt and shorts that he had been wearing when he arrived at her house this morning. Steve rigged the lines for quick release while Ingrid moved forward to look after the bow. 

She had no trouble remembering his simple instructions and repeated them before going forward. At twenty minutes after one on a sunny, breezy Friday afternoon in May, the 'Matron of the Sea' slipped her moorings and began the slow, careful movement into the narrow channel and out of the cove. 

They cleared Passage Island and Steve gave Ingrid her course and his wind direction estimates before going forward to remove the sail cover. Ingrid handled bringing the boat into the wind almost as well as she had the first time. 

There was more wind and chop this time and it was pushing the boat around, making it slightly more difficult to control. Nonetheless, she had it headed into the wind and Steve quickly raised the mainsail and the big Genoa. With a hand signal, Steve instructed Ingrid to pay off the heading back toward the southwest. They were off and running, just as if they had been doing this for years. Steve couldn't help but marvel how easily she took to handling the 'Matron'.

They met back at the helm and Steve once again complimented her seamanship. He pushed the tilting windscreens open to about thirty degrees to allow circulation in the large, stand-up wheelhouse. They were heeled over to port as they ran south, clearing Bowen Island and running out far enough to allow them a more direct sail up the Sunshine Coast. They would need to tack at least three more times if he was accurate in his plots. It would be a four hour run by his estimate. That should get them to their evening berth sometime around six. 

With Ingrid's confident helm, he could go below when then got within an hour of their destination and begin meal preparation. Today's wind was a typical spring north-westerly. He would have to pay attention to it to keep his plan alive. The wind could easily change with the tide, or as they got further out in the Gulf. Ingrid wasn't equipped to manage those situations, at least not yet. He reminded himself about his moment of carelessness last week, and vowed not to make another mistake.

At three thirty, he tacked the boat onto a westerly heading. He rechecked the wind and noticed that if anything, it had come up a bit. They had just passed the ferry from Nanaimo to Horseshoe Bay, and he reckoned their progress was on target so far. Ingrid had been spelled off at three and she was happily looking at the scenery and snapping the odd picture with her pocket 35mm camera. 

He had volunteered to put sun block on her, but she laughed and pointed out that she was wearing a sweatshirt. He looked a bit disappointed. She made sure he noticed that she was not wearing a bra under her sweatshirt. She teased him and pretended to play hard-to-get. They were playing all the little games that new lovers played, except that they weren't new lovers ... yet. 

Steve had the chart of the lower Sunshine Coast on the chart table in front of him. He was studying the entrance and moorage locations for Shadow Cove, as well as the currents, depth, and any rocks or danger spots. His tide book was along side and he checked for the third or fourth time to be sure of the tide and current at their estimated time of arrival. He went back to the chart and tried to imagine what the bottom would be like. They were going to be there all night and he had to have a secure anchorage. It would nag him until they arrived, and he had set the forward and stern anchors. 

Ingrid watched him as they changed tack again. She had resumed the helm and Steve had gone to the charts. His brow would furrow as he concentrated on his task. His mouth would move and his jaw would work back and forth. He would stand up and peer around for a minute or two, and then return to his study. 

He had pulled his binoculars out of their drawer near the helm and would study the Coastline off to the north. What was he looking for? He was lost in thought. They had hardly said a word other than during the course and helm changes, but Ingrid was content. They were acting like an old married couple, she thought. They were comfortable with each other, each with their own tasks. They didn't need idle conversation. 

Finally, Steve stood up, stretched and yawned, walked over to Ingrid and wrapped his arms around her waist. They were happy to be in each other's arms in this lovely boat, sailing on the Gulf this beautiful afternoon. A few puffy clouds, a nice, stiff breeze, and the 'Matron' and her crew were a happy boat.  

"We're doing fine," he said casually. "Right on the money, I think." He nuzzled against her cheek, and closed his eyes for a few seconds.

"You sound tired," she said, concerned. "How much sleep did you get last night?" 

"I don't know. About four hours I think." 

"How much more time have we got on this tack?" 

"At least an hour, I'd say." 

"Why don't you go below and have a nap. When an hour is up or if I need you, I'll blow the horn. It's four-fifteen now. I'll blow the horn at five-fifteen, OK?" 

She made it sound more like an order than a suggestion, but he knew an hour would do him some good. She was a responsible woman and wouldn't hesitate to wake him if needed.

"OK, Number One, you're in command. Wake me in one hour," he said, kissing her softly. He turned and went down the companionway to the stateroom. 

Ingrid checked her heading and hoped she wouldn't have to blow the horn for an hour. He needed his sleep, especially for tonight. Despite her awkward evening on the couch, she had had a full eight hours and felt fresh and clear-headed. She reached over for a water bottle and took a swallow. She hoped she wouldn't have to use the head before the hour was up. 

She reached out again and turned on the radio. She found a local FM station that played her kind of soft rock and turned it up a bit. She was sure Steve wouldn't hear it, and it kept her mind from wandering. She was singing along with the radio some time later when she looked up at the ship's clock and saw that it was ten past five. Five more minutes for my guy and then he gets "the horn." 

Once again, she looked around to make sure she was in open water with no other boats or ships nearby. Everything seemed fine. She waited until the song was finished, reached over and pushed the button. She gave it a solid, one second blast which made her jump at the sharp sound. She waited for a couple of minutes and was considering pushing the button again when she saw him come up the companionway. He looked fresher and he smiled at her before looking around to see where they were. He stretched and yawned again and again wrapped his arms around her.

"I don't know why you need me at all, love. You have this boat in perfect trim and we've made good headway. I'm convinced, you are a natural!" he said, sliding his hands up underneath her sweatshirt. They roamed upward to her breasts and he caressed them gently. 

"You'd better not do that, Captain. I have to pee, and if you make me lose my control there could be a terrible accident. I'm sure you'd be disappointed in me," she groaned.

"I could never let that happen, young lady. You go to the head and then report back here for further ... developments," he ordered in his "Captain's" voice.

"Aye, aye sir!" She turned, gave him a mock salute, and quickly scooted down the companionway before he could slap her butt. 

Steve watched his redheaded beauty slip down into the cabin and smiled to himself. We are having fun. He couldn't remember just having fun in a long time. 

His one hour nap had helped, although he would have easily taken two if it were available. He fell asleep almost as quickly as he lay down on the bed. He didn't have the slightest concern over Ingrid's command of the boat. He was sure he had barely got to sleep when the horn went. 

He looked at his watch and had to blink a couple of times before he was convinced it was five-fifteen. He pushed himself off the bed and moved to the head. He soaked a wash cloth with cold water and wiped his face and neck. He felt better as he headed for the steps to the wheelhouse.

As he walked onto the upper deck he looked around. They were on course and, he thought, ahead of where he expected to be. They were about ready to make their final tack toward the narrow entrance to Shadow Cove. He was on a high and in a frisky mood. He wrapped his arms around his lovely lady and started to slip his hands up to her breasts. Her comment about having to pee put an end to the play. 

Within a couple of minutes he would make the final tack and then go below to begin the preparations for the meal. Ingrid could guide us near the entrance, and then he would motor into the cove and anchor. 




Ingrid Ch. 05



Ingrid popped up in the companionway with an exaggerated smile. "I'm baaack!"

"Good, we're about to make our last tack and I need your fabulous skills to guide us to the entrance while I start on the dinner preparation. OK?"

"Of course. It's becoming rather old hat now," she said imperiously. "Off you go, cook. And don't come back until I call you. Oh, wait, uh ... I guess we have to change course first, eh?" 

"I recommend it or we'll be having dinner on the rocks over there," he said, pointing to a spot a couple of kilometers north of the target. "Bring her about to zero-two-zero helmsman. I'll tend the sails."

"Aye, aye, Captain," she replied crisply.

The course change took less than a minute and Steve returned to the cabin. He looked out over the bow and checked the wind. 

"The wind's dropping, Ingrid. It's probably being blocked by the mountains in back of here. If the sails start to flap and a few degrees of rudder doesn't fill them again, pip the horn and I'll come up. We'll just motor into the cove. OK?"

"Got it. I mean, aye, aye," she said with mock seriousness. 

"See you later, Captain."

Steve turned and went below to the galley. Ingrid turned the radio back on and was humming along to some of the tunes. She could hear Steve occasionally clanking plates and clinking utensils. She couldn't wait to find out what he was preparing for dinner. The sandwich at Frisco's was long gone and she wished she had asked him to bring her some cheese and crackers. Oh well, too late now. 

She was scanning the coastline ahead when she suddenly caught a flash of light off the port bow. She tried to make out what it was, but in the deepening shadows against the forested mountain, she couldn't tell. She reached over and picked up the binoculars. She scanned the area where she thought she saw the light and saw nothing. 

She was beginning to think she had seen a reflection from shore or even imagining it when the binoculars picked up what looked like a long dark object with a dark, bulky shape above it. She looked at it closely and as she scanned to the left, she noticed a thin white streak at the right end of the object. 

She tweaked the focus on the binoculars and suddenly realized it was water. It was a wake, and the dark object was a barge with a machine sitting on it. Looking from the bright sunlight into the dark shadows made it very difficult to see. She scanned slowly to the right and finally saw a small towboat, about fifty meters in front of the barge. She put the glasses down and surveyed her heading. They were on a crossing course for sure. 

"Steve, can you come up here?" she called firmly.

In seconds he was up the companionway and onto the deck. "What's up?" 

"A tug and barge, off to the left," she said calmly, pointing for his benefit.

He picked up the binoculars and scanned in the direction she had pointed. He saw nothing at first and then picked up the wake from the barge. "Holy cow, Ingrid! How the heck did you spot him?" 

"I saw a flash of light and I got curious. It took a while to find him. I thought we might be on a crossing course. That's why I called you," she said concisely.

"We're on a crossing course all right, maybe even a collision course. Wow! Ingrid, that's amazing," he said with genuine respect.

"Bring us about to two-eight-oh. I'll bring in the sails and we'll motor in. We're ahead of schedule anyway." 

He looked around to her and said, "Wow! Are you Supergirl or something? Don't answer, I probably don't want to know," he chuckled in relief. 

He moved out on deck and went forward to furl the Genoa and then drop the mainsail. Ingrid had found the wind and both sails were slack and flapping gently in the dying breeze. As she watched him stow the sails, she reached over and pushed the starter button on the engine. As it roared to life, Steve looked around, smiled and gave her his typical 'thumbs up'. It sounded too fast, so Ingrid pulled the throttle back gently until it was idling quietly and then slipped the gear lever into forward. 

They moved slowly ahead and she pushed the throttle slightly forward to bring the RPM's up. Steve heard the gear engagement and the revs coming up and he looked back at the wheelhouse and smiled. Show her once, or just let her watch, and she has it down. Amazing! 

How the hell did she see that tug and barge. That was an accident waiting to happen. The crazy bastard hadn't turned on his running lights or his tow lights. From the look of him, he was a little shoestring operator. He wondered how many close calls this guy had had without even realizing it. Someday he'll kill somebody, if not himself. 

He decided he wouldn't tell Ingrid just how dangerous that situation might have been if she hadn't been on her toes. "I owe her one," he thought. He finished stowing the sails and walked back to the wheelhouse. He was shaking his head just thinking about the incident and walked to the control panel. 

"Ingrid, these are the running lights" he pointed, then flicked the switch. "Even though the sun is still up, when we get into the shadows against the sunset with our sails down, it's very difficult to see us. That's why you had a hard time seeing that tug. With the running lights and the mast light, there's a much better chance of being seen." 

As usual, the explanation was brief and to the point.  

"We work well together, don't we," she said. It was a statement, not a question. 

"Better than you realize, Ingrid," he said proudly. He looked forward with the binoculars and saw that they were now clear of the tug's path. "Bring the heading around to zero-six-zero and just hold it there for a while. I don't have much more to do in the galley, so I'll relieve you in about ten minutes. OK?" 

"Aye, Aye, Captain," she said, looking at him with a cocked head and a smile.

Ingrid was on a high. She had guessed the incident with the tug and barge was more dangerous than Steve let on. She could tell by how he had reacted. She was proud of herself, but this boat business seemed very natural to her. She wasn't nervous or uncertain. Steve gave clear, understandable, reasoned instructions and explanations. 

As she made the course changes and adjustments, she could see for herself why the move was made. He called her a 'natural'. Maybe, but it was more that she wasn't intimidated by the boat or the situation. With proper instruction, she wasn't afraid to think for herself. Whatever it was, she knew she loved this boat and their time on the water. 

She hadn't faced bad weather or any of the other hazards yet, but she knew she didn't fear them with Steve by her side. She felt the camera in her pocket and tried to remember to take some pictures of this special weekend. She would want to remember this for a long time.



Ingrid Ch. 06



This is a re-posting of an earlier story, re-edited with improvements to grammar, punctuation and hopefully, readability.



Steve couldn't believe their good luck. There were three moorages still open in the cove. He checked the chart and chose the one closest to the entrance. He had expected that he would have to mooch around and find a spot to anchor, but this was a windfall. He quickly tied off the bow line to the mooring float while Ingrid held the boat in position with her newly learned skills. 

Steve walked briskly to the stern and pulled the small anchor out of the locker under the seat. It was linked to twenty feet of chain and a large coil of nylon line. He dropped it over the side away from the shore, making sure all the chain was on the bottom and tied the line off to a nearby cleat on the rail. He tucked the remaining line back into the locker, making sure there was none on the deck. The whole process had taken less than ten minutes. 

Ingrid had left the boat in neutral when Steve had finished with the bow line. When he had secured the stern anchor, she pulled the throttle all the way back and killed the engine. It was suddenly quiet. No wind, no waves lapping on the nearby rocks. She looked around and she immediately thought of paintings she had seen many times. They may have been local clichés, but this scene was one of the inspirations for those paintings. 

Seagulls and Cormorants stood on rocks and floats on the opposite shore. Several houses and a single store were visible among the trees on the steep cliffs. A narrow road ran down near the water. The dock consisted of a short pier and a ramp down to the three floats that were tied to the four sets of pilings extending out into the cove. 

Several boats were tied along side each side of the floats. Two appeared to be work boats with LS followed by numbers painted on boards mounted on their cabins. Beachcombers. Three small pleasure boats were moored at the dock while two larger motor cruisers sat out in the cove with the 'Matron.' 

"The attendant will be along shortly to collect his fee," Steve said. "Twenty dollars, probably."

"That sounds like a lot for one night," she said.

"Too many boats, too few sheltered mooring spots. Supply and demand," he said in a resigned voice. "However, it's a safe, quiet place, and we'll get an easy exit in the morning ... when we want to," he said, looking at Ingrid, his voice trailing off. 

"If it's stinky or rough, we can stay here until noon, no extra charge. If it's really crummy, we can stay a second night. That wouldn't be tragic. We could take the inflatable ashore and go exploring. Or, we could stay aboard and do other kinds of exploring," he said slyly.

"Got it all figured out, eh Captain," she said returning his grin.

"Be Prepared, that's the Boy Scouts Marching Song!" he chortled.

She looked over his shoulder and saw a small dingy moving out from the dock. This must be the attendant. 

It was soon along side and its occupant, a rough, heavyset, grease-stained man called, "Ya here for just tonight?"

"Yes." Steve answered.

"Fifteen bucks. Ya get the early season discount." 

"Lucky me," Steve mumbled and fished in his pocket, pulling out a twenty. "Got change?"

"Sure." He took the bill, reached in his pocket and pulled out a greasy, rumpled bunch of bills, found a five and passed it to Steve. "Next day starts at noon, ya know," he said in a raspy growl.

"Right," Steve replied. The man sat back in the dinghy and put the tiny outboard in gear and scuttled back to shore. "How'd you like to have him serve you dinner?" he asked disdainfully. 

"Yuck!" Ingrid replied quickly.

Steve turned back to Ingrid. "And now my lovely lady, tell me you're hungry and you're ready for something to eat," he demanded softly, wrapping his arms around her.

"I'm starved. Get to it, Captain."

"Give me ten minutes. In the meantime, I have a lovely Spanish Red that I know you'll like. Be right back." 

He turned and slipped down the companionway to the galley. Ingrid lifted the port side bench top in the stern and removed four flat cushions and set them in place around the stern. Steve was back with two glasses of wine which he set on the dash. He went below again and returned with two sturdy teak folding tables that he set up near the stern, covering them with dark green fitted table cloths. The cloths had the MO monogram stitched in white at the corners. 

He went back below deck while Ingrid placed the wine on one of the tables. She took a sip from one of the glasses and was rewarded with a cool, smooth, softly flavored red. It was the perfect choice. In a couple of minutes a familiar aroma began to drift up from the galley and a sharp hunger pang ran through her.

"Hurry with that Steve. The aroma is killing me," she pleaded.

"Coming up in two minutes," he called back. 

She wondered if she would survive the next two minutes. Shortly, she heard the oven door bang closed and with a bit of clatter, Steve rose once again through the companionway. He was wearing an oven mitt and carried a large baking sheet covered with bruschetta. 

The aroma nearly overpowered her. He had made then larger than the bite-sized ones at his apartment. He placed two pot holders on the vacant table and set the tray down. Ingrid was reaching for a piece as he warned her. 

"Careful, they're hot!" 

In his other hand he placed two side plates on the table beside the wine glasses. He zipped down into the galley and quickly returned with a wooden spatula and placed a steaming appetizer on each plate. Ingrid was almost beside herself wanting to pick up the seductive first course.

"Dinner will take a bit of time," he said apologetically, "so I thought I'd better have enough to ward off starvation." He looked apologetic. 

Ingrid hardly noticed. She was concentrating on nibbling on the edges of the first piece, desperately trying to get some of the appetizer into her mouth without burning it. 

"It will cool down quickly, so give it a minute and you'll be able to enjoy it." 

She had finally managed a proper large bite and was savoring the familiar wonderful flavors. "Oh god, that was torture," she said with her mouth almost still full. 

She waited to finish another bite and turned to him and said, "I would have done anything for this, you know. Anything!" 

"I'll have to remember that," he smiled.

Ingrid finished the second piece and sat back on the bench with her eyes closed. "I think I'll live now."

"Glad to hear it," he said. "I'm going to set the barbeque up now, so if you can move over toward the wine table, I'll get started."

Ingrid slid to her right and picked up her wine glass. She watched Steve open a hatch on the deck and pull out a briefcase sized metal box and two stainless steel rods, bent roughly in a right-angled 'S' shape. He placed the rods into two metal slots on the stern rail and then slid the box onto the top part of the 'S.' There were two slots in the side of the box to accept the rods. 

The box was now elevated to about waist height, and Steve he began to unfold it. It produced two angled sides and a foot high back, all three of which locked together to form a three sided wall. A stainless steel grill sat flush with the top of the box, but Ingrid could see there were guides along the angled sides to elevate the grill. He stood the grill at his feet and went below. 

Returning with a bag of charcoal, and a can of lighter fluid, he carefully arranged the rough, random and angular shaped charcoal in the bottom of the box. He then sprinkled what seemed to be a very small amount of lighter fluid on the charcoal. He pulled a butane probe-lighter out of his pocket and lit the fuel. 

"This barbeque is an invention of one of my clients," he said. "It's very compact for applications like this. Even so, I can cook a full meal for six people on it with no problem. It also comes with a battery powered spit, all of which can be stowed in that one compact box." He was clearly impressed with this simple device.

"The charcoal looks different too," Ingrid noted.

"It is," he agreed. "It's imported from Spain and Portugal. It's real charcoal, not the manufactured stuff. It burns better, slower, cleaner, and with a more even heat. We've been using the briquettes for so long we've forgotten what real charcoal is like. When we're done tonight, it will be nothing but clean ash, which I can dump overboard without concern." 

Ingrid had picked up one of the unused cushions and placed it behind her back. She was slowly taking smaller bites out of the third bruschetta and stopping for a taste of the wine. She slipped off her boat runners and tucked her feet up underneath her. She looked around at the tiny cove. It was completely in shadow except for the very top of the hill behind the store. 

She could feel the cool softness of a whisper of breeze on her face. The water in the cove was mirror flat. The occasional ripple from one of the sea birds was the only sign of movement. The tide was a couple of hours from high slack. Steve had said the night low was a half tide. She watched him organize around the barbeque. 

"Now that you've hung up your Captain's cap for a while and you've put on your Chef's hat, may I ask what the entrée will be this evening?" 

"Sorry, not yet. The 'Chef's Special' is always a closely guarded secret," he said looking back at her and winking.

"How do I know I'll like it?" she challenged.

He turned and looked at her with mock consternation. "Did I disappoint you with my previous offerings?" he asked, feigning offence.

"No Chef," she answered contritely.

"Well, I don't intend to disappoint you tonight either," he promised.

They were sparring, and Ingrid was curious what he would be preparing. In the meantime, three pieces of the bruschetta had taken the edge off her hunger, and she was comfortable waiting for the main course. She hadn't seen what he had bought for meats as she had been in another store deciding on the pastries. It didn't matter. Whatever he chose, it would be wonderful.

Steve had brought a square, tapered sided device with dozens of holes in it. It fit perfectly on the barbecue's surface and she noticed it was half filled with a variety of the vegetables he had bought. He also had a small bowl with a dark brown liquid and an old paint brush. He put the pot on the now heated barbeque and in a couple of minutes began to stir the vegetables with a wooden spatula and then brushing the contents with the sauce. 

In a few minutes Ingrid could smell the cooking veggies, or more accurately, the basting sauce. Steve poked and prodded them briefly and when he was satisfied, put on an oven mitt, picked up the strange vessel and went below. Ingrid heard the oven door open and close. 

Quickly back on deck empty handed, he sat down beside her, wrapping his arm around her. He picked up his wine from the table and offered the glass toward Ingrid. She met it with hers, lightly clinking them together. 

"To our lost weekend together," he toasted, looking deeply into her eyes. 

"Together," she answered simply. She was looking back when he leaned toward her and kissed her gently and held her there for a few seconds. The smells of the cooking and the scent of his body were mixed together as she inhaled them. It was an intoxicating mix. 

She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. A feeling of complete contentment washed over her. They sat together for a while until at last he stirred.

"Time to get the entrée started," he said quietly.

He rose slowly, leaned down and kissed her softly on the cheek and headed back down to the galley. He returned a couple of minutes later with a plate on which two small, thick pieces of dark meat sat. The plate was covered with clear plastic wrap and he put it on the bench seat in front of the barbeque. He went below again and Ingrid could hear him after a couple of minutes, closing the door on the microwave oven. A few beeps later and he appeared on deck. 

The wrap came off the meat plate and with a pair of wooden tongs he placed the meat on the grill. There didn't appear to be any sauce or other condiment on the meat, not even pepper or salt. He looked at his watch, came back to the table where Ingrid sat, and picked up his wine glass, taking a sip. He picked up the bruschetta tray and took it back down to the galley. Back up in a moment with the picnic basket, he began to set the table.

"Let me do that, please," Ingrid insisted.

"Sure," he said, grateful for the help. 

"I'll take these to the warmer," indicating the dinner plates. 

Ingrid quickly set the teak table with side plates, cutlery and two clean wine glasses. There were no champagne flutes or champagne in the picnic basket this time.

Steve returned to the barbeque and turned the meat. Ingrid couldn't quite identify the aroma from the meat. The microwave beeper went off and Steve headed back down the companionway. 

Ingrid began to wonder how many times he would have to make that trip. No wonder he's fit! She heard the 'thock' of a cork and the sound of a bottle being placed in a cooler with ice. In a moment he was back up on deck and placed the cooler on the bench beside the dinner table. 

He returned to barbeque, poked and prodded the steaks gently with a fork and nodded in satisfaction. He moved the steaks to the now cleaned plate they had arrived on and once again he was down the companionway. He returned in less than five minutes with the two dinner plates. 

The meat was again the centre of the presentation with the vegetables stacked in a pyramid leaning on the thick steaks while the other side featured a rice dish, obviously well seasoned. A grizzle of the dark brown sauce trailed around the outside of the rice and meat. 

He carefully slid a plate in front of Ingrid and the other in his own place. He picked the bottle of white wine out of the cooler and poured some into each of their glasses. He showed Ingrid the label and she saw that I was the Italian Pinot Grigio they had enjoyed the first day they had met. 

"I want you to try the meat, Ingrid," he said.

Ingrid looked at him and picked up her knife and fork. She cut a corner from the steak and was astounded at the ease with which the knife cut through. It looked like any other steak on the outside, but was a pale gray-tan colour inside. She put it in her mouth and savored it carefully. 

"Oh, Steve, it's wonderful. I've never had a filét as tender and tasty as this," she exclaimed. 

"Glad you like it. It's fresh Albacore Tuna," he said proudly. "I assume I have correctly guessed you would enjoy it?" 

"It's lovely. But if I was blindfolded, I would swear it was filét mignon." 

"It's as light as a feather, very good for you in the way that ocean fish is, and it's as fresh as anything you'll get in the premium restaurants," he boasted.

"I'm convinced. And the rest of the meal is wonderful too. I'm getting spoiled in a hurry. You can do wonders no matter where you are," she marveled.

"Actually, the rice dish is a heat and serve microwave item. You do have to compromise now and then."

They consumed the meal almost in silence. It was nearly eight and dusk was well upon them. The temperature was dropping, but Ingrid was still comfortable in her sweatshirt. 

"Are you warm enough?" she asked him. 

"It is getting cooler. I'll just grab a sweatshirt." He got up to go and she stopped him.

"Wait here, you've been up and down those stairs a hundred times. Besides, I've got something for you," she said, stepping down the companionway. In a few seconds, she was back with the dark green sweatshirt, the twin of the one she was wearing. "Try this on," she said.

Steve took it from her and tried it on. It was a perfect fit. "It's very nice. I really like the colour." 

"I'm glad. I bought it this week along with this blue one and I hoped we would wear the same size. After you've worn it for a day or so, I'll trade with you. I like the scent of you on my clothes. You might like the scent of me on yours, too," she grinned.

"Thank you and yes, that scent of yours is very sexy. I think you need another glass of wine," he said, noticing her near-empty glass.

Ingrid looked up at the sky and saw the bright orange glow of sunset on the horizon. The first stars had begun to appear. They had been sitting together, Steve with his arm around her, and Ingrid with her head on his shoulder. It would be completely dark soon. 

A little light came through the companionway to the deck, but otherwise, only the red and green markers on the rigging were lit. She could see cabin lights from the two cruisers moored off their stern. Steve had mentioned that there was no restaurant for a couple of miles, and most boaters staying here would eat on board. We were all transients, usually leaving in the morning.

"Ingrid," Steve said quietly.

"Hmmm," she replied dreamily.

"There's something you need to know. Something about me you need to know. It might help explain me and maybe help us both understand what's happening to us," he offered quietly.

Steve felt her tense immediately. "Don't be frightened, Ingrid. It isn't something terrible. You'll understand when I tell you," he said, trying to be reassuring.

Ingrid raised her head from his shoulder and sat up. She looked at him as he stammered and stuttered and tried to begin.

"After Diana died, I told you I went to stay with my dad in Toronto. I was a mess. He was very consoling, but I was trying to deal with it myself and not doing very well. One day, a couple of months after I got there, he sat down at the breakfast table and said he wanted to talk to me. 

He told me that when he and Mom had divorced and he had to leave us both in California, he was a basket case too. He felt he was to blame for the divorce. He kind of became a hermit for a while, and his health was starting to suffer too. His doctor finally sat him down and told him he needed to get his emotional house in order before the medical profession could help him. He said he would refer him to a psychiatrist if he would agree to go." 

Steve paused and then started again.

"Dad said he wasn't very enthusiastic about seeing a 'shrink,' but he said deep down he knew he needed help. So, he finally agreed to see a Dr. Weisman. Well, the short version of the story is that it helped. He understood the things he could control and the things he couldn't. 

"Dad had been forced to make some critical decisions about his life and he had to be able to justify them to himself. A few weeks later he said he was able to look in the mirror and see who was really there."

Ingrid sat quietly, compelled to hear him out.

"I didn't need to be too bright to figure out where his story was going. He was trying to get me to do something about my own problems related to Diana's death. I guess he'd had about enough of me moping around the apartment and generally being a downer for everyone. No wonder I never got to meet his girlfriends. Well, except for one, that is.

"I went to see his doctor and he asked me a bunch of questions about what had happened and how I was feeling and all the usual baloney psychiatrists ask. I thought it was all a big mistake, but I had promised Dad, so there I was. He asked me what I wanted to do in the near future and I told him I didn't have a clue. He made a suggestion that before our next session, I should sit down and list three or four things that I might want to do. Not trivial things ... meaningful ones. 

"He suggested I think back to my youth, especially my teenage years and try and remember the things that made me happy, or the dreams I had for the future. It didn't sound too goofy an idea, so I went home and sat down, but after about three hours of thinking, I hadn't written a single thing. 




Ingrid Ch. 06



A couple of days later, I was walking along the waterfront and I saw a sailboat coming out of the inner harbor. I remembered how much fun I had had with my friends on their sailboat, and I realized it was something I wanted to do again. When I got home, I wrote 'Learn to Sail' as item one on my list. 

"If I was going to learn to sail, I needed to be near the water. The more I thought about it, the more I knew I wanted to be back in B.C. It's where I was born and lived until I was thirteen. I loved the mountains and the smell of the ocean. The weather let you do things all year around. It rains a lot compared to California, but it had the scenery and the outdoors I enjoyed so much in my childhood and early teens. So, 'Move Back to B.C.' became number two on the list.

"I had been living with my dad for a couple of months. I hadn't contributed much to the household except some vacuuming, dusting and changing sheets on the bed. You know, routine housework. I washed the stuff that didn't go in the dishwasher, but I didn't interfere with the cooking. 

If Dad wasn't home, I either went out for dinner of got something 'heat-and-serve' from the local deli. I thought about how I wished I could cook and started to experiment on my own. I had some idea of what to do, but I didn't have the timing and organization to get everything ready at the same time, still hot. So item three became 'Learn to Cook.' 

I tried hard but couldn't think of anything else that applied. I had graduated from college with a degree, and I had a great job if I still wanted it. As a desperate act, I listed number four as 'find a new companion.'

"I took them to our next session and he looked them over." 

'Well, the first three are fine, but number four might not be a good idea for you yet. Firstly, it's too soon for you to jump back into a relationship. Secondly, they don't happen on demand. They take time to develop and usually aren't planned to a timetable. Thirdly, especially considering your need to find exactly the right kind of relationship, it's not so much an objective as a wish. However, you can dedicate your time to the first three and produce some satisfying results.'

"He began to probe into my relationship with Diana and how if felt about her loss. He kept pushing and poking. He made me look at myself, and it didn't take long before I got angry with his constant prodding. I was yelling at him one time when I just blurted it out. I felt relief when she died! Relief! I couldn't believe what I was saying. 

"Naturally, he zeroed in on the 'relief.' I didn't know how to tell him. Finally, he got me to spit it out. I felt relief because I didn't have to stay married to her. She was dead and that meant I didn't have to be married to her. That was the guilt source, he suggested. But it didn't explain the relief. 

"I had to face up to something I didn't want to admit, not to anyone. I had to admit to myself that I did not love Diana. Not in the way that I thought the word love was supposed to mean. 

"I wanted a love that was like the poets and songwriters and authors all described. I wanted an unconditional, no-holds-barred love without which I could not live. With Diana it wasn't that kind of love. We were friends, a deep abiding friendship that you could easily mistake for love. I did. We had been together since we were kids, and we thought we were in love. 

"Dr. Weisman said that Diana may really, truly have been in love with me. He thought that was where my feeling of guilt was centered. I had rationalized that this other 'friendship love' was the 'real world' and it was how 'real people' lived their lives. The poets and songwriters were idealists with no grounding in our daily lives. The doctor made me look around. 

"He talked about the idealism of love and how all those poets and songwriters had to have some understanding that it was possible. Their themes were all the same. They defined love in the same terms. The words and phrases and melodies changed, but the themes were all alike. That special kind of love was real to them, and I had to understand that even if I couldn't have it with Diana, perhaps I could have it with someone else. 

"He convinced me that genuine, poetic love was just as real as any other love. If I was going to have another relationship with a woman, I should be searching for that love. I had to understand that it was possible, and not a fantasy. I probably wasn't going to be able to settle for anything less, and that it might take me some time to be sure that it was the 'real' thing. 

"I thought about that over and over, and in time, I began to accept it. And it was hard to accept. I didn't want it to be true, but it was. I lost a lot of sleep in those four weeks. It took me a while to get my feet back under me. Nobody wants to be told they hide things from themselves." 

He stopped and looked at Ingrid. She hadn't said a word since he had begun. 

"Ingrid, I promised myself I wouldn't tell you or anyone about this ghost in my personal closet until I was sure of my feelings for you. Ingrid, I'm sure. I love you and I want to be with you for a long time -- forever." 

He was speaking in a soft, but confident voice. There was a hint of nervousness, but not indecision. He meant what he said and felt a sense of relief flood over him as soon as he spoke those few, simple words.

Ingrid blinked several times. His revelation has been the last piece in the puzzle that was Steve Inhalt. Now she knew all the truth, and it was a therapy for her too. Difficult to experience, and a relief when it was over, but it answered the last questions. She struggled for something to say, surprised as a feeling of annoyance came over her.

"Isn't this lovely," she said in a harsh, biting whisper. "A Hollywood ending! You wanted it to be perfect, so you put me through the hoops. Well you listen to me Mr. Steve Inhalt. Life isn't perfect, you know. It isn't some movie where people never catch colds or go to the bathroom, women never have periods, and men never have shit stripes on their underwear! 

"That world doesn't exist! You've had pain, I've had pain, the whole fuckin' world has had pain. You aren't special! I want you just the way you are. I didn't ask for perfection. I can live with flaws. I have them too in case you didn't notice. I've got a foul mouth, an oversize body, and sometimes a nasty disposition, and it isn't all PMS." She had run out of steam and stopped.

Steve looked at her. He had destroyed that carefully constructed mood. He had thought that it was what she wanted from him. He was wrong. He let out his breath and snorted. He put his head in his hands while his body began to shake and Ingrid thought it was sobs. He looked up at her and Ingrid could immediately see that he had not been crying. He had been laughing. 

"Am I that pompous an ass?" he asked her when he could control himself. The smile on his face told her that he was not intimidated by her outburst

His self-deprecating question completely defused the tension. He was laughing at himself, she realized.

"Ingrid, I know the difference now. I know what real love is about. I know the feeling and I know you are the one," he said sincerely.

She didn't reply, but moved to his side, put her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. Her mouth open, her tongue probing inside and demanding a response from him, her kiss lasted almost a minute. Almost caught off-guard, Steve took a few seconds to respond, but soon he was caught up in her passionate insistence. 

After a while, Ingrid had composed herself and quietly said: "I have to warn you, sir, I have a very large appetite for both food and sex. You've passed the food test, now I want to find out if you pass the other test." Her face was only a couple of inches from his as she spoke. 

"I, uh ... I guess I'd better," he said carefully. 

"Yes, I guess you'd better," she smiled. "Now, what do you say the Captain takes his woman to his cabin and has his way with her." 

He took her hand and without a word, led her to the stateroom. 

-0-



Ingrid Ch. 07



This is a re-posting of my first story on Lit. I have re-edited it to improve grammar, punctuation and, I hope, readability.




Ingrid had pushed Steve back onto the stateroom bed and told him to wait there. She took a black plastic bag from her overnighter, then walked toward the head. As she left the room, she looked back over her shoulder and arched her eyebrow in the most provocative manner. 

Steve smiled, "Message received and understood." 

He sat up and peeled of his golf shirt, shorts and shoes. He lay on his side on the bed in his bikini style jockey shorts, his anticipation already beginning to produce an erection. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine how it would be, but couldn't visualize the scene. 

"Might as well just relax and wait to see what she has planned," he thought.

He had turned on one of the bedside lights. They were very low wattage and cast a yellow, incandescent glow over the room. He saw the light in the head and galley go out, and in a moment Ingrid appeared in the doorway. He didn't gasp, but his head came up and his smile was instant. 

She was barely covered in a beautiful burgundy negligee that only just reached her hips. Her breasts were partially visible through the silky material. Her nipples were erect and clearly outlined in the cool night air. She turned around and revealed the back of the garment. Her spectacular backside overwhelmed the skimpy top. The thong she wore offered no cover from the rear. 

She turned again and her generous breasts were locked together by her hands in the revealing top. Both the front and back of the top were cut very low, leaving little to the imagination. She sauntered toward the bed, and as she stood along side, she ran her fingernails gently up his inner thigh. His reaction was immediate. It was like an electric shock and his erection was full as he felt the excitement in his loins. He became aware that the tip of his cock was pushing past the top of the low-cut waistband.

Ingrid had rehearsed this in her mind a thousand times. How would it be when they first made love? She didn't want it to be some out-of-control sex-crazed tearing at each other. Her vision was a slow seduction leading to both of them exploring and touching and probing each other. She dreamed of multiple orgasms and hours of lovemaking, but she doubted she could hold out that long. There was only one way to find out. As he lay on the bed, watching her intently, she began her dance.

She kept just out of his reach, and turned around again and looked over her shoulder as she tweaked her nipples, then turned back to him. She bowed her head as she caressed her generous, fleshy mounds and slowly ran her index finger in a circular pattern around the areolas and then stroking her now erect nipples. She pressed them together again, pushing them up close to her searching tongue. 

Looking at Steve without raising her head, her tongue flicked out and back, finally running along her lower lip. Her head went back so far that she was staring at the ceiling as she turned around again. Her hands left her breasts, slowly moving down her rib cage and her abdomen, finally meeting at the center of her heat. 

She paused for a few seconds, lowering her head and now looking at him. Her hips began to rotate in what could only be described as a grinding motion. Then, her hands began to move again, her fingers slipping inside the silky thong. Her eyes closed as her head came forward and her auburn hair spilled over one eye. Her fingers moved inside the thong and her eyes were now just slits. She turned again and looked back over her shoulder at her soon-to-be lover. 

One hand appeared at the opposite shoulder and she gently pushed the strap of the garment, watching it slide down her arm. She looked at the other shoulder and her fingertips pushed the strap and let it fall. She turned back to him, taunting him, daring him to pull the garment down. Only her breasts held the negligee in place.

She raised an index finger to her lips while another finger traced the line of the top of the nightie and pulled it slowly away. It fell to her feet as she moved a little closer to Steve. 

He was fixated on her physical beauty.  

Her hands returned to the tiny remaining undergarment and slowly pushed it down until it too fell at her feet.

He moved his hand to hold his swollen manhood. 

"No, no, no!" she commanded softly. "That's mine tonight. You're just going to have to wait, lover." 

Steve moved his hand back to his side and looked at her with a silent plea. 

Ingrid ran the fingertips of her right hand down his chest and abdomen and paused lightly on the head of his erection. A wet spot had appeared and she smiled, looking up at his face. She touched it with her fingertip, then brought the finger to her mouth. She smiled as she tasted his emission.

He was fully aroused and struggling to suppress his instincts. Every fibre in his body was screaming at him to take her. Take her now. Still, he held on.

She traced the outline of his manhood with her fingertips and then, leaning forward, both hands went to the waistband of his briefs. Her fingers began to pull the garment down and Steve arched his back to help her. She slid them over his knees and ankles, and with a devil-may-care flip, tossed them over her shoulder.

"You won't need those for a while," she said seductively. She moved to the side of the bed and climbed on, straddling his legs as she perched on her knees. She leaned forward, and with her hands on each side of his thighs, began slowly moving toward him. 

She kissed his abdomen and he reached for her pendulous breasts. He held them in his hands, gently rubbing his thumbs over her already erect nipples. She moved further up and their lips met. They kissed passionately, releasing some of the pent-up sexual tension she had carefully built. 

"I want you Steve, I want you now. Take me Steve. I'm ready," she whispered.

She reached down and held his erection, moving it toward her waiting center. Ingrid lowered herself toward the rigid member and felt it touch her. They both felt the shock of the erotic contact. Ingrid let out a small gasp of surprise as it happened.  

Steve was holding his breath. He began to slowly rub the head on her waiting lips. 

"Ohhhh," Ingrid moaned, as she pushed downward against his stiff shaft. 

Her left hand went to her groin and she used her fingers to spread the lips of her labia and welcome him in. 

Steve felt the wet, slippery opening and pressed his hips upward. Ingrid pushed back and he entered her most private place. His hands cupped her beautifully rounded butt, pulling himself into her in a single, long, slow stroke. 

"Ohhhh, gawwwd," Ingrid moaned again. 

Her eyes were closed and her head was lolling from side to side, inches above his face. She was bracing herself with her arms and hands on each side of his shoulders. She moved her hips slowly, pumping while Steve pushed upward to meet her as she descended on him. He was beginning to quicken his movement, and Ingrid responded by matching his rhythm. At last they were experiencing the oldest pleasure, destined for the ecstasy that would be their mutual reward. 

Steve had been quiet. He was using all his powers of concentration to preserve himself. He had only one mission ... please Ingrid. He could please himself anytime, but Ingrid! He was committed to making this a perfect experience for her. She deserved no less. 

Her erotic dance was an irresistible message to him. The costume and the apparently rehearsed play-acting said she wanted him very much. He could see her lovely face, lost in the moment, eyes closed, breasts swinging freely as they moved their bodies together.  

Ingrid drifted in some other world. They had been joined for a few minutes when she began to feel urgency to their lovemaking. Her vaginal muscles began to contract and little flashes of light were flitting across her consciousness. She smiled to herself as she recognized the signals. 

She lowered herself to Steve's lightly haired chest and began to push against him more urgently. He responded immediately, their union becoming more forceful, losing its matching rhythmic pace, now random but more intense. His fingers dug into her cheeks as he thrust recklessly into her, nearing the edge.

"Awwwhhhhggggg!" she cried. Steve felt her body shake and snap, first this way and then the other. "Huhhhhhhh, Steeeeeve," she cried weakly. 

She had lost control and was gripping the top of his head tightly with her hands, holding on for dear life. "Ahhhhh! ... Ahhhhh! ... ahhhh!" And then, in a moment, she exhaled in a long, single breath.  

He followed her over the sexual precipice a few seconds later. 

She slipped quietly off him and lay on her side, holding him in her arms. He turned toward her and looked at her now open eyes. His hand moved to embrace her face and they kissed gently. 

"Did you like my dance?" she asked quietly. 

"Yes, very much," he said. "You planned all this, didn't you." It was a statement not a question. "You had this little one act play in your head and you couldn't wait to perform it, could you?" he chuckled quietly. 

"Uh huh. But I don't remember any protests from you," she responded. 

"Hmmmm ... what sane, healthy male would protest ... or resist," he smiled. "Will I be entertained this way every night?" 

"What makes you think there will be another night?" she teased.

"How can I convince you that there should be another?" 

"Let's see now ... perhaps an encore performance?"  

She reached down and her hand grasped his fading erection. 

"Please sir, may I have some more?" she begged in a little girl's plaintive voice. 

She began to gently squeeze his softening cock, hoping it would soon respond. 

"I could use your help," he whispered.

She slipped down his body and took his soft member in her mouth. Slowly and tenderly, she licked and sucked and played with him until she could feel his resurgence. 

"Ohhhh, Ingrid," he sighed. "You are so lovely, so beautiful." 

"Hmmm ...." 

She continued to restore him and it wasn't long before he was once again rigid.

"Ready?" he asked.

She laughed. "Oh yeah. Bring it on, big boy."   

"I'm in your hands, love."

Again she took his hardened cock and guided him into her effortlessly. Almost immediately they found that same, satisfying rhythm that had made their earlier coupling so perfect. They lost track of time as their union seemed to float in space. Sometime later, Steve could feel his ability to sustain himself begin to erode. 

Slowly he withdrew and before Ingrid could protest, his lips moved down her body and his tongue probed her navel. She responded, arching her back to reach toward him. He began to move his body down further as he continued once again his inexorable path to her torrid center. His lips reached the red, soft, curly hairs and his tongue licked the edges of her lips. 

He slid further down and moved between her legs, grasping her lovely cheeks in both hands. He kissed her inner thighs and then licked them, tasting their moist, warm essence. First one side, and then the other. 

Ingrid brought her knees up, and almost involuntarily they spread wider. His lips and tongue continued their back and forth actions until she felt the electric jolt of his tongue on her clit. 

"Uhhhh," she gasped. 

Her hands snaked down to her pussy and her fingers spread her lips apart, offering herself to his probing tongue. He pushed his tongue into the warm, wet opening, tasting her essence and teasing her clit. Her head arched backward and she brought her knees further back, putting her feet on his shoulders. It was a posture of complete surrender.  

He scraped his tongue over her sensitive nub and she snapped back involuntarily again. 

"Ahhhh! Ahhhh! Ahhhh! Uhhhhhh!" she cried, plaintively.  

She pushed herself at his mouth and tongue, trying to bring him further in her. He stroked the clitoris slowly with the rough top of his tongue, and her hips surged again. Her hands slid down to the back of his head as she tried again to pull him further into her. 

"Huhhhhhhh," she continued to moan incoherently. 

The orgasm, when it came, was vocal.

"Oh, fuck, Oh ... fuck. God ... my god ... Oh ... Oh god!" 

Ingrid was gasping for air as she came down from the erotic high. She lay on her back, her eyes unfocused.

Steve was sure the whole harbor could hear them. He didn't care. He had never experienced anything like this. It was explosive and wanton and primitive and wonderful, all at once. The pure physical power of her body and her volatile response to his touch was nothing that he had ever known with Diana. He wondered if this could last. Was this just a special night, or was it the beginning of a whole new world for him? 

Her grip on his head had been released and several times she banged her hands and arms on the bed beside her. Her eyes were now wide open, but Steve couldn't see them. He continued to service her center with his tongue, and she continued in the throws of a seemingly never-ending orgasm. She was breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating. 

Her hands were waving about in all directions in some random, uncoordinated ballet. He slowed his tongue's movements and gradually withdrew from her clit and started to suck on the labia, trying to extract her secretions. The only sound was the sucking of his mouth. Her breathing had slowed and her hands had fallen on the back of his shoulders. 

At last, they rested.

"Not bad for a 'born-again virgin', Mr. Inhalt," she said moments later in an exhausted voice, still breathing deeply. "You keep surprising me. I'm beginning to wonder about you ... and the stories you tell." 

Steve could hear her breathing, still labored with her exertions. 

"I once read that wise men respond to their partners. You warned me that you had a big appetite for sex, remember? My first rule says I had to meet that challenge." 

"You definitely did," Ingrid grunted. "Very thoughtful of you," she added. Her head turned abruptly toward him. 

"Have you gone yet?" she asked incredulously.

"No rush," he answered lazily. "There's plenty of time for that. Besides, it's not what I expected from myself, to tell the truth. You inspired me."

"What's your second rule?" Ingrid asked curiously. 

"When making love to your partner, make sure she is satisfied. Do whatever you have to do to make sure of it ... and ... don't take her word for it," he laughed.

"Ohhhh, I like those rules," she cooed. "Are there any more?" she asked.

"Not until I make one up," he answered, propping himself up on his side and surveying her magnificent body. "If you've got any you'd like me to add, I'd be happy to consider them." 

"Give me some time," she said in a sultry voice. "I'm sure I can think of some with you as my inspiration."

"Tell me," she continued. "Where did you learn to give such lovely oral satisfaction?" 

"Diana usually enjoyed oral foreplay," he said matter-of-factly. "Mind you, she didn't respond quite as dramatically as you do."

Ingrid realized he was talking about his late wife. He seemed to be talking about her without any emotion or reticence. She recognized the big leap he was making. She was tempted to change the direction of this conversation, but her curiosity got the better of her.

"Did she reciprocate?" she asked innocently.

"No, not really," he answered, again without emotion. "She tried a couple of times, but it was a mental block I guess. She didn't want to and I didn't want to push her into something she didn't enjoy." 

"Well, well. Do I have news for you," she said playfully. "I like everything if it's done well," she boasted. "I'm going to enjoy teaching you all the things I like and how I like them!" she smirked. "You keep trying to tell me you're a virgin, but I have serious doubts about that if tonight is any example."

"I'll be a willing student. When and where do you want to start?" 

"No time like the present. I think you should be rewarded for your careful attention to my needs." 

With that, she slid down the bed once more and was up on her haunches again. She pushed him onto his back and took his now relaxed cock in her hand. With her other hand, she cupped his scrotum, softly squeezing and caressing the tender sac. 

Almost immediately his organ began to respond. He propped himself up on his elbows and watched her begin her ministrations. She looked up at him, smiled and then lowered her head to his waiting cock. Her tongue flicked out and she licked the tip of the glans, briefly tasting the evidence of his previous emissions. 

Her next stroke caught the underside of the glans and he jerked in response to the rush that coursed through him. He lay back and reached behind to the top rail of the small headboard, gripping it with both hands. Ingrid ran her tongue all the way up the underside of his rigid organ, scrotum to tip. She was watching his reactions to her progress. 

She had moved her hands to his abdomen, while holding herself above his groin on her arms. She could feel his reaction to her every move. She repeated these long, slow strokes a few times, and then shifted to his soft sac. She first licked and then sucked on the soft, lightly haired package before pausing to raise her head and look at him.

His eyes were closed and he was holding the headboard with both hands in a death grip. She lowered her head and began to take the head of his erection into her mouth. At first, just the tip with her tongue stroking the sensitive underside, then the whole head. Her mouth closed around the top of his shaft and she began to work her mouth slowly up and down. 

She could feel the tension in the muscles of his abdomen. She had taken half the length of his shaft in her first strokes. He wasn't huge, but he was more than big enough to satisfy her. She became more insistent as she began to take more and more of him and her strokes became longer. Her tongue continued to stroke the underside of his member and her head now bobbed up and down, taking almost all of his length. 

She heard him groan.

"Ingrid, oh god, Ingrid," he called in a strangled voice. "I can't hold out any more. I'm cominnnnng. I'm cominnnnng! Ahhhhh! Ahhhhh!" 

She felt the involuntary spasms in his sac as he began to release. She closed her mouth over the exploding organ and took the brief spurts of semen in. His orgasm lasted but a few seconds. His head snapped back and up and back again as the contractions took their toll. 

"Ahhhhhhhh!" he moaned. "Holy shit! Oh, man ... what a trip!"

Ingrid felt his erection begin to soften and gently released him from her mouth and kissed it as it lay on his flattened belly. She slowly kissed her way up his body. His chest wasn't terribly hairy, but to her, he looked very male. He had released his hold on the headboard and brought his arms down to embrace her as she moved toward him. 

She kissed his cheeks and his forehead. She wasn't sure how he would react to her kissing him on the mouth so recently full of semen. She didn't have long to wait. 

He moved his hands to her head and pulled her to him. He kissed her deeply, his tongue probing her mouth, his head moving back and forth in their ardent embrace. He held the kiss for what seemed like a long time. He looked at her as he held her head and smiled.

"That was amazing," he gasped. "Just amazing! I had no idea."

Ingrid looked at him and smiled. "It must have been. You actually swore!" 

She kissed him and continued, "There is no known occurrence on this planet of a healthy male, possessing the necessary functional equipment, not enjoying a good old fashioned blow job," she stated. "It's a known fact!"

Steve laughed. "I didn't know what I was missing. Thanks for the lesson."




Ingrid Ch. 07



"My pleasure," she smiled, "And I mean it. After two fabulous trips to the moon, it was the least I could do."

They lay together for a few minutes, not talking, just stroking and caressing and fondling. After a while, Steve rolled over to pick up his watch and pressed the light button. It was almost eleven. 

"Ingrid, I'm going up on deck to check things out. Why don't you join me and we can count the stars," he said quietly.

"Love to," she replied. "I think we should have a drink to celebrate, don't you? We've earned it."

"Definitely!" he said, rising up. The air in the boat had cooled noticeably as he threw his legs over his side of the bed. "There's some clean sweat pants in the bottom drawer. That and your sweatshirt will keep you warm enough," he suggested. 

She watched him pull on a pair of old, faded jeans and his new green sweat shirt. Since arriving in the cove, he had been wearing a pair of cream-yellow moccasins with flat rubber-like soles. 

She pulled on the sweatshirt and pants and slipped her feet into her sandals. Steve came around to her side of the bed and held out his hand to help her up. They embraced, kissed briefly, and headed up to the deck. 

They were holding hands as they moved out into the open air of the stern deck. As it had been, it remained quiet. The birds were long gone to bed, and the lights were out on the moored cruisers. 

Ingrid looked up and was immediately struck by the blanket of stars covering the sky. Countless numbers of them dotted every visible part of the heavens. Steve was standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist, hugging her closely. 

"A beautiful sky for a beautiful woman," he said quietly. "Could it be any more perfect than this?" 

"Ummmm, no, never," Ingrid softly replied. 

They stood there a while, holding each other closely, content, happy, optimistic about tomorrow and the tomorrows after. Steve was the first to move. 

"I didn't forget something special, Ingrid. Wait here for me." 

He disappeared down the companionway. In a minute, Ingrid heard the unmistakable sound of a champagne cork popping. She smiled to herself. 

"I should have known he would remember." 

He appeared in the now lit wheelhouse holding two flutes, the second half bottle of Moet, and a small tray. He placed the tray on one of the tables from their earlier meal and placed the glasses and bottle of Moet down beside it. In the dim light, it was difficult for Ingrid to see what was on the tray. 

Steve picked one up and offered it to her.

"What is it?" 

"A truffle," he replied. "Have you tried them before?" he asked.

"No, never." She took the dark, small confection from his hand and bit into to it gingerly. 

"Oh, it's wonderful. These could be addictive," she said softly. 

They had been talking very quietly since coming back on deck. The silence of the cove made them conscious that the sound of their voices would carry. Ingrid wondered if the sounds of their lovemaking had found an audience on the decks of the houses above them, or in the boats moored behind. 

Steve poured the champagne, and handed one to her. 

They moved together again and with an arm around each other, they touched their glasses and silently toasted their new relationship. They moved to the stern cushions and Steve turned them over to avoid the dew that had formed on the exposed surface. 

"I hope it's always like this, Ingrid." 

"It will if we want it to. It's all up to us," she answered.

"No bad weather, no pain, no mistakes, no angry moments?" 

"Can't avoid that stuff," she replied. "I know, I tried," she murmured. 

"We have a lot to learn about each other, I think." 

"We do ... we do. But something I do know," she said nodding and turning to him. "I've fallen in love with you. I promised myself I wouldn't rush into another relationship and you have messed that all up," she said in a mock accusatory whisper. She leaned toward him and kissed him tenderly.

"What a coincidence," he said brightly. "It just so happens I've fallen in love with you, too. What I don't know is how far I've fallen. Maybe I'm only half way," he said, semi-seriously. "Will that be OK for now?"

"Well, having heard your confession earlier, I guess it will have to be. But I'm not going to settle for half-a-loaf, you know. I'm an all-or-nothing girl, so be prepared for a full frontal assault," she growled.

"Full frontal assault, eh?" he said with a sly smile. "You've certainly got the weapons for that."

"Smart ass!" 

"Let's not rush this, Ingrid," he said after a pause. "I want this to be right more than you can know."

"What will it take to convince you?" 

"That's the part I can't come to grips with," he said slowly. "Right now, I'm so overwhelmed by what's happened to us in such a short time that I can't think straight. I never imagined a beautiful woman like you would ever want someone like me, an ordinary guy. It's like the movie star and the delivery boy. It only happens in the movies." His chin was resting on his knees while he spoke.

Ingrid put her arm around him and squeezed. "Quit downplaying yourself. You're far from ordinary. Finance and business whiz, chef, sailor. Does that sound ordinary? I think not!" she stated emphatically. 

"Sometimes, you just have to go with your heart, lover. Don't be afraid to fall in love. Celebrate us! Please ... celebrate us," she whispered.

Steve turned to her and kissed her, holding her head and lingering on her lips. "Yes ma'am," he said quietly. He poured the last of the champagne with his free hand and they sat, holding each other.

They awoke Saturday morning in each other's arms. It was just after six and the sun was already lighting the cove. Steve gently stroked Ingrid's tousled red hair away from her eyes as he lay on his side facing her. He saw her eyelids flutter once or twice before she stirred in his arms. She stretched and yawned and brought her arm down over his back and snuggled into him. 

"Good Morning Ms. Solberg," he said quietly.

"Mmmphhhh," was her muffled reply as she stretched and yawned again. Her eyes blinked open in surprise and her head snapped back as she looked at him. He felt the breath go out of her as she relaxed and smiled. 

"And what interesting dream were you having, young lady?"

"I'll never tell. You'd just get jealous," she replied groggily as she curled back into his shoulder. 

"I already am. Who were you expecting to see when you woke up?" he asked playfully.

She wrinkled her nose and frowned at him. "You don't know me well enough to get all my secrets ... yet," she mumbled into his body.

He smiled and stroked her flawless back and ass with his hand. He kissed her forehead gently and softly blew the stray red forelock away from her eyes and nose.

"Any special requests for breakfast, love?" 

Ingrid's hand slipped down his front and grasped his semi-erect morning erection, softly stroking it with her thumb and fingers. "This will do nicely," she smiled, tilting her head back and kissing his nose and cheeks. "I have to warn you, though. I have bad breath in the morning. Will that ruin our relationship?" 

"Well, we could always keep a small bottle of mouthwash in the bedside table," he laughed.

"I've got a better idea," she said, promptly pushing back the covers and moving down to face the hand holding his now rigid manhood. She looked at him with a wicked grin and bent her head and flicked her tongue out to snap at his glans.

Steve felt a jolt of surprise and an electric-like shock go through him. He had no sooner looked back down at her when she had covered the head of his cock with her mouth, using her tongue to finish the job. She took him fully in her mouth and began a rhythmic stroke. Her head was moving up and down, her face hidden from him. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable conclusion of this sensual act. It wouldn't take long.

"Oh, Ingrid, I can't ... I can't hold on," he moaned.

She stopped abruptly, looked up at him, and smiled. 

"Then don't." She promptly went back to her task.

He came almost immediately, and she accepted his ejaculation hungrily, almost sucking it out of him before he was finished. She swallowed the semen and continued to lick and rotate her mouth around his slowly declining erection. In a minute or so, she rose up on her knees and grinned at him. "Well, that looks after my bad breath. Now what do you want to do about yours?" she challenged.

Steve didn't need a written invitation. He rose and pulled her toward him and turned her, pushing her gently on her back with her legs dangling over the side of the bed. He climbed down, and on his knees, pushed his hands under her buttocks to raise her up, moving between her thighs. He began kissing her inner thighs above the knee and gradually worked his way upward toward her now very wet sex. 

Her scent was strong and Steve felt his erection returning. He looked into her eyes for a moment, then bent his head and using his tongue, began to tantalize her from anus to pubic bone. Ingrid's hips rose to meet him and he stroked his tongue on that same path over and over again. He then began to probe between her labia and upward to her clit. 

Ingrid was rising with more ragged movements now, and he was certain he was reaching her. She made it clear she had no patience with his foreplay. She pushed her hips against his tongue and mouth, seeking to increase her pleasure. He responded with more aggressive strokes. 

He could feel her orgasm beginning to build and chose to risk everything at that moment. He pushed his mouth as far up and in as he could and allowed his upper teeth and tongue to pinch between her pubic bone and Clitoris. Ingrid exploded in a writhing gyration that threw him off her. He thought he had made a horrible mistake until she grabbed at his head and pulled it back violently into her. 

She had made some sort of indistinguishable cry when she had reacted to his sexual bite, but he had no idea what it was. Her thighs had slammed against the side of his head, producing a ringing in his ears. She pulled his tongue and nose, and for that matter his whole head into her center until her orgasmic spasms had slowed.

It took her a few moments to recover. 

"What the fuck was that?" she gasped. 

Steve looked up sheepishly between her raised legs. She had propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes as big as saucers, her mouth wide open, and her panting audible. She looked at Steve in disbelief, then flopped back on the bed with a thud. He could no longer see her face but could see the rapid rise of her breasts as she tried to catch her breath. He slowly raised himself up and crawled up the bed beside her.

"I'm sorry, Ingrid," he said quietly. "It was a stupid thing to do. I guess I got carried away."

Ingrid opened her eyes and looked at him. "What the hell are you apologizing for? You just set off Krakatoa and you're apologizing? I tell you now, Steve Inhalt, I have never ... I repeat never ... had an orgasm like that in my entire life. 

"Where did you learn to do that Mr. Neat and Tidy ... Mr. Born Again Virgin ... Mr. I Only Ever Had One Girl Friend? You just blew your cover story all ...to ... hell!" 

She was still panting when she finished.

"Ooops!" Steve had a contrite look on his face. "In the words of Maxwell Smart, would you believe, I read it in a book?" 

"In the words of Ingrid Solberg ... Bullshit!" 

He crawled up to her and put his face mere inches from hers. "It's about that breath thing," he said slyly, moving the last couple of inches to kiss her. Ingrid's arms slowly wrapped around him as they kissed deeply. 

"In the words of Desi Arnaz, you got some 'splainin' to do," she purred.

"I need time to concoct a believable story," he replied smiling, bending down to kiss her once more.

"I'll bet you do. Now, about that breakfast. I'm starved."

"Go have a shower and I'll look after your hungers ... all of them," he boasted, playfully slapping her butt before sitting up. 

Both of them were naked while Steve showed Ingrid how to work the water controls for both the toilet and the shower. Ingrid was absent-mindedly fondling his cock as he explained the system. 

"I think there's just enough room in here for both of us," she said smiling. "It would be the responsible, water-conservation thing to do, wouldn't it?"

"OK, but breakfast will be ten minutes or so late," he laughed. 

He turned on the water and adjusted the temperature while Ingrid got her bathroom kit from her bag. By the time she had returned, Steve had already entered the stall and Ingrid squeezed in beside him. From the beginning it was obvious that while both could stand in the small stall, both could not wash at the same time and any idea that they could have sex in the stall was clearly out. 

The sound of banging elbows against the walls brought gales of laughter and little washing. They finally figured out that if one washed the other in sequence, they could accomplish their task. 

When they stepped out of the shower, Steve took two large bath towels off the warmer and used one to wrap up Ingrid from shoulder to knee. She shivered in the cool morning air. Her beautifully freckled skin had goose bumps, not to mention very erect nipples. 

He wrapped the other towel around his waist and proceeded to pat and rub Ingrid dry with his hands on the outside of the towel. She turned her back to him and leaned back, allowing him to wrap his arms around her and explore her body as he dried her. She rested her head on his shoulder and kissed his neck and cheek. 

"What a lovely way to start the day," she smiled. 

When they had finished, Steve began the breakfast preparation. He had snapped on the coffee maker as they exited the shower. Ingrid poured the juice, cut some fresh fruit, and then made toast. 

Steve began preparations for omelets and bacon. He looked at the clock and was not surprised to see that it was just past seven thirty, still early. He thought about their course for the day, but decided he'd better get a handle on the weather before he got too far ahead of himself. Breakfast first, and then plan the day, making sure Ingrid was included.

A few minutes later they sat down at the galley table and enjoyed their first breakfast together. Steve couldn't help watching Ingrid as she ate. He felt rewarded with her enjoyment of the food he prepared. It was a treat to cook for her. 

She looked up occasionally, noticing him watching her, but just smiled and continued eating. He had to pinch himself to remember that they had made love for the first time mere hours ago, and woke together in the same bed only an hour or so ago. They had three more days of freedom ahead of them, and no matter what the weather, he was sure it would be an idyllic time. 

They exchanged small talk while they enjoyed their coffee. Steve cleaned up last night's remains and cleared the dishes. With Ingrid's help, they washed, dried, and stowed away the plates, pans and utensils. Each item had a place as Steve explained that when rough weather came along, the last thing you wanted was crockery and hardware flying around the galley. 

Ingrid poured them each another coffee before moving up the companionway to the wheelhouse.

After Steve had opened the curtains and wiped the dew off the seat covers, he started the engine. A slight whiff of diesel passed through the boat.  

He moved over to the radios and tuned in the local and regional marine weather reports. He listened carefully to the wind and sea conditions, paying particular attention to both his desired route, and an alternate route. He was pleased that either would be fine today, and once again the prevailing winds would fill their sails nicely.

"Looks like we're in for another fine day Ingrid. Come over here and we can decide where we want to go," he suggested.  He pulled a chart from the rack below the wheel and spread it out in front of them. 

Ingrid stood beside him as he pointed out where they were and what options were within their reach. 

"So it boils down to the 'going ashore in town' route, or the 'sailing into the wilderness route,'" she summarized. "Do we need supplies?" 

"Nope. We're good for the weekend and then some," he said positively.

"Then I opt for the wilderness route, assuming I get a vote," she said deferentially.

"You get a vote, and it's the deciding vote!" he smiled. "We're off to Hotham Sound!"

Steve began preparations to depart and showed Ingrid what she would need to do differently this time. It was a bit more complicated as it involved holding the mooring line while Steve pulled the stern anchor. He had no concerns about leaving this task to her, but the little cove was very tight, there was an outflow current near the mouth, and he had to make sure he didn't get into difficulty maneuvering in the tight anchorage.

"I'm just happy I have you along today and don't have to worry about it. We are the 'A Team' you know," he said proudly. 

Ingrid smiled at the reference to her newfound skills and got ready for his signals. Within ten minutes they were motoring out of the tiny cove, heading out into the Gulf of Georgia. 

By now, Ingrid needed no instructions when making sail. Steve removed the cover on the mainsail and Ingrid began to bring the boat about into the wind. Within minutes they were under sail with the engine off and only the sounds of the wind and water against their hull. Steve came back to the wheelhouse and began to remove the cover on the mizzenmast sail. 

"You haven't used this sail before," Ingrid commented.

"No, when I'm by myself, I don't usually use it. It's worth a couple of knots, but sometimes it's more work than speed," he said. "Today, we're going a fair distance, so we can use some extra speed, if that's the right word for it," he laughed.

"I love this boat," Ingrid said sincerely. "Don't you dare say a negative thing about it ... I mean her." 

"I hope you've got lots of film for your camera, Ingrid. You're going to get some spectacular sights if this weather holds." 

"I've got about forty eight, I think. I hope that's enough." she replied.

"Should do, but if you run low, we can stop and get some more at one of the marinas along the way." 

Two hours after leaving the cove, they were making good headway north along the west side of Texada Island. The winds were holding and the sea was a sparkling light chop. Sunglasses and sun block were the order of the day. 

The windscreen in the wheelhouse was open about twenty degrees to allow circulation and the back curtains had been rolled up and tied to the corners. The side windows were fully open and the wheelhouse was bathed in bright sunlight on the starboard rear quarter. Ingrid was at the helm for her first watch while Steve was lost in thought staring off into the distance ahead.

"A penny," she said, breaking the silence.

"Ummmh?" he replied absently.

"A penny for your thoughts," she smiled, looking at him.

He was silent for a few moments. He was neither smiling nor frowning. "Oh nothing. Just absorbing these last few days," he said not looking at her. "I'm celebrating, I guess."

"That's good, but what are you celebrating," she probed.

"You ... and maybe having my faith in my definition of love ... you know, that romantic ideal my 'shrink' said was real ... having that come true." 

He had turned to look at her as he spoke and made the few steps to her side as he said them. He put his arm around her waist and lightly hugged her.

Ingrid flushed and looked straight ahead, hoping he wouldn't see the tears forming in her eyes.

"I don't think I've ever been this happy, Ingrid. Not ever," he said, kissing her ear.

The tears began to stream down Ingrid's face and she turned to him and then turned away. "You're going to put us on the rocks if you keep that up, Captain," she said trying to laugh. "I can't see a thing. Must be a bug in my eye."




Ingrid Ch. 07



"Darn those bugs," he said quietly. He wrapped both his arms around her and held her tightly.



Ingrid Ch. 08



This is a re-posting of my earliest story, Quartet: Ingrid. I have re-edited it to correct errors in punctuation, grammar, and hopefully, readability.



Monday evening, Steve and Ingrid strolled across the parking lot of Maurice's, their arms around each other. Their idyllic weekend was coming to an end and they would be returning to their regular lives tomorrow. 

They had avoided talking about what came next as neither had a fixed idea of where their relationship would turn. They had been so absorbed in enjoying their three days and nights together on the 'Matron', they had conveniently deferred any thought of their future. 

They knew now they were destined to be together, and Ingrid was convinced that Steve had fallen in love with her. He had bridged that gap on Saturday morning when he told he was falling in love with her, but he hadn't mentioned the subject again for the rest of the trip. 

"Tired?" he asked her quietly as they approached his car.

"A bit. We didn't exactly have a regular sleep pattern, did we?" 

"When do you want to talk about us, where we go from here?" he asked.

"How about in bed tonight?" 

"OK, but I don't think we'll be coming to any big decisions there, do you?" he replied with arched eyebrows.

She turned and looked into his eyes with a sober expression. "I should be taking this more seriously, shouldn't I?" 

"It's up to you. This is about what's right for you too, Ingrid," he said quietly. "You've had your heartaches. You've already told me you didn't want to rush into a new relationship."

"I know," she said as her eyes searched his. "Do you love me, Steve?" she asked simply.

"Without a shadow of a doubt," he smiled. "No doubts ... no ifs ... no ands ... no buts. You've given me what I knew I had to have. This is the real thing for me, Ingrid ... and I'll wait until it's the real thing for you too."

Ingrid's face melted and the tears began to flow. She pulled Steve to her and kissed him with all the energy she could summon. She stepped back after a moment and smiled a wrinkled smile.

"Let's go home and plan our future," she said at last.

"Yes, but ... whose home?" he smiled gently.

"Ladies choice. My place," she said happily though her tears. "But I guess this puts the pressure on me to get your ... I mean ... our ... new home ready, doesn't it?"

"Come on, let's go home," he said, opening the passenger door and guiding her in.

When he awoke on Tuesday morning, it took him a few seconds to remember where he was. Ingrid's bedroom, but he was alone in the bed. He wondered where she was. He hadn't been here before and the surroundings were strange. The clock radio on her night table said it was just after seven thirty. 

There was no ensuite in the master bedroom of the older home. He slid out of bed and padded toward the hallway. He stopped and went back for his shorts but couldn't find them. He wandered up the hallway. No one was in the bathroom and the kitchen was empty as well. He walked into the living room and peeked out through the curtains. His car was gone!

"Damn it!" he thought, "Someone has stolen my car!" But that didn't make sense. He walked back to the bedroom and checked his pockets for his keys. Nothing! My cash and wallet and other pocket stuff were all on the table where I had left them, but my keys were gone. 

"Ingrid!" he realized. "She must have taken the car. Of course, she couldn't get her car out, so she took mine. But where?" he wondered.

He pulled on yesterday's shirt and pants and slipped his bare feet into his boat shoes. It was another beautiful West Coast day and likely to be warm as well. The only thing he would need to move from his apartment would be his laptop and some clothes. Well, maybe some cooking utensils as well. 

He walked into Ingrid's kitchen to familiarize himself with the layout. A bit older than his, but all the essentials were there. He poked around in the cupboards and found few pots and pans. He'd need some of his to supplement this motley collection. He found the coffee maker and the coffee, and put the machine to work.

He returned to the living room and pulled the curtains open a couple of feet. He wondered when Ingrid would return. In the meantime, he became aware of his somewhat ripe body and recognized he needed a shower. They'd been too tired to clean up last night.

He undressed in the bedroom and walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He found plenty of bath towels in the closet and for soap and shampoo, he would use Ingrid's. He stood in the shower for several minutes, relaxing and cleaning his skin of the last of the salt and sweat from their weekend voyage.

After drying himself, he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked back to the bedroom. He headed for the closet and jumped back when he came face to face with Ingrid, standing in the closet with a big grin on her face.

"Good morning," she smiled brightly. She leaned forward and kissed him.

"Oh, Hi," he sputtered. "Where did you go?" 

"Over to your place to get some clothes and your computer," she said with a self-satisfied grin.

"Well, aren't you the clever one." 

"I like to think so," she said haughtily, her nose in the air. 

"Well, since you are the hostess, what's for breakfast?" he asked brightly.

"I don't know about you, but I'll be having my normal, workday breakfast. Juice, yogurt, fresh fruit, muffin and coffee." 

"That's not my regular, but it sounds sensible. Mind if I mooch your supplies?" he asked.

"I think that's how it's supposed to work, Steve," she said laughing.

He poured coffee for both of them and sat at the kitchen table. 

"So this is domestic life, is it?" he sighed, smiling.

"Yep, this is it. You bored already?" 

"Not yet." 

They sat at the table and ate their morning meal. It was sunny and warm and Steve briefly thought about sitting outside on Ingrid's small deck. He decided the view indoors was better and savored his first cup of coffee.

Steve suddenly looked up and snapped his fingers.

"I've forgotten something," he announced. He rose quickly, walking to the front door and out to his car. He rummaged around in the back for a moment and then stood up, closed the hatch and returned to the house. He was holding a box and a medium size manila envelope. He sat back down at the kitchen table and began to open the envelope.

"This is the design program I told you about, Ingrid. I have some notes from the designers. They said we just need to load it onto your computer, and then follow the instructions."

"Wonderful ... oh I can't wait to see it," she chirped.

She picked up the disc containers and quickly walked into the living room to her Mac and loaded the first disc into the tray. There were two discs and it took a few minutes to load and dump the contents into the hard drive. Happily it wasn't a huge pile of data. Ingrid's machine was limited for hard drive capacity. When she had finished loading and installing the program, she hit the 'Open' icon and watched the new program boot up. 

There were a number of screens declaring the license and beta development data after which the main program appeared on screen. Steve passed the instructions to Ingrid, pulled up a nearby chair and sat down to watch Ingrid work through the tutorial, options and base development screens. The only sounds were the clicks of the mouse, the clack of the keystrokes and Ingrid's occasional 'ohhhh' or 'ahhhh' as she worked he way through the screens. 

After a few minutes, Steve asked her if she wanted a coffee refill and she shook her head wordlessly. He walked into the kitchen with a satisfied smile on his face. She was totally absorbed in the screens, and he hoped that it might be the answer to her business needs. If not, there would be another coming along in a couple of weeks, and maybe that would be the solution. 

He sat at the kitchen table again, watching her face from a distance. She was completely absorbed in the computer screen and he could see her eyebrows rise as she discovered something new or special. Her smile was evidence that he may have found a winner, and he was delighted for her. 

He turned his attention to the carton and quietly opened it and unpacked the contents. On the spur of the moment, he had wandered into the electronics store at San Francisco airport before his flight home. He strolled about for a few minutes, perusing the various items until he came to the digital camera display. He remembered Ingrid's little 35 mm flash camera, and an idea popped into his head. 

A clerk approached him and Steve described what he was looking for in general terms. The sales assistant showed him three or four cameras and Steve settled on one and purchased it. It was a simple to use, all weather, waterproof, dustproof, two megapixel Kodak that would be perfect for both her job and their time together on the boat. 

While Ingrid was absorbed in her new toy, Steve assembled his gift and inserted the batteries. He booted it up, adjusted the settings to the day's time and date, reviewed the program options, and quietly went to the back of the house to test the camera without Ingrid seeing him. With a few quick shots inside, he again slipped by the living room and sneaked out the back door to try the outdoor shots. As best he could tell from the little view screen, the camera was working just fine. He turned it off and returned to the kitchen. 

Ingrid had been at the computer screen for over an hour when Steve heard her exhale and push back from the computer screen.

"It's fantastic!" she hollered, hoping Steve would hear her. "It's everything I could have hoped for. Easy to use, quick to change, and capable of handling odd sizes and shapes. It even has a decorator's program where I can add paintings or drapes or lamps or all kinds of accessories including furniture." 

Steve walked into the room and stood by Ingrid's side, his hand on her shoulder.

"Glad to hear it," he said smiling. "Don't forget, you have some feedback to send DataScope in San Jose. I think their reply form is on the second disk."

"It's fabulous. I can't wait to use it on a real job," she enthused.

"Great. By the way, in all the excitement Friday morning, I forgot to give you a gift I got for you on my trip."

"Oh Steve, you didn't need to do that. Our weekend and this program is all I could ever want." 

"Well, call it a spur-of-the-moment decision," he said. 

He walked back into the kitchen and picked up the camera and brought it back to her.

"For you, love." He smiled and he bent to kiss her cheek and hand her the camera.

"Oh, god, you shouldn't have." She was on the verge of tears.

"Oh yes I should have," he said firmly. "First of all, it's another aid for your business and secondly it perfect for use on the boat. Call it an early Christmas present," he grinned.

"Christmas is seven months away," she laughed. "You are spoiling me ... and I love it," she added, standing to throw her arms around him and kiss him soundly. 

He spent a few minutes showing her how the camera worked and the options that were built into the programs inside. They loaded the software onto her computer and downloaded the test pictures he had taken. They were clear, color-correct, and perfect for her program. She hugged him again, her ever present smile lighting up the room. 

"You deserve a reward for all this," she grinned.

"It's not necessary, but then again ... what do you have in mind?" 

Ingrid adopted a sly grin and reached up with her hand to gently pinch his earlobe.

"You realize the true advantage of both of us working from home, don't you?"

"Probably, but tell me anyway," he smiled, turning to kiss her wrist.

"We can take a 'sport break' any time we want," she said brightly.

"And what exactly is a 'sport break', young lady?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"A combination of mental rehabilitation and physical exercise," she replied, her face only an inch or two from his. "Very therapeutic, I understand," she continued, grinning. "Are you up for it?"

"I will be soon. I suggest we retire to the gymnasium for this activity," he responded slyly.

Ingrid took his hand and led him down the hallway to her bedroom. She pushed him onto the still unmade bed and began to undo his belt and lower his zipper. Steve reached up and slid his hands under her tank top, removing it in a single upward motion. In less than a minute they were naked and rolling on the bed, their hands exploring every inch of the other's body. 

Steve pushed Ingrid up the bed as he moved between her thighs with his mouth moving directly to her rapidly engorged nether lips. She was already moist, and as he attacked her with his tongue she quickly became very wet, her hips responding to his aggressive actions. Ingrid's hands slapped down on his shoulders and then moved to his hair, grabbing handfuls as she held on while Steve's tongue brought her quickly to orgasm. 

It was a wild and uninhibited sexual adventure. In their brief time together, there had been moments, but this was a reckless, no-holds-barred raw sex-fest. They were fucking, pure and simple. Every possible position they could imagine was tried and abandoned as they looked for that instant of gratification. While Ingrid was the initiator, Steve became the leader, looking for new ways to satisfy his beautiful lover. 

Ingrid's orgasms were explosive and irregular. She came twice while Steve ravished her orally. She came before and during Steve's first orgasm as he took her from behind. She sucked him aggressively, revitalizing his flagging cock, then rode him, first forward, then reverse "cowgirl" to bring herself to yet another orgasm. 

Then it was sixty-nine as Ingrid brought Steve to the brink, then backing down as she demanded he finish her with a "power fuck." He obliged her, pushing her thighs up onto his shoulders, folding her back and driving the last few long strokes into her from above as they both came within seconds of each other.

They lay beside each other, not touching, but each looking at the other, gasping for breath. 

After what seemed several minutes, Steve spoke.

"Ingrid?"

"Yes love."

"I think we need to change the sheets."

Ingrid burst into laughter, alternately gasping for breath and holding her stomach.

"I think we'd better get some extra bedding if we're going to behave like this," she laughed. 

"That was wild! Now I know for sure that 'goody two-shoes' story of yours is B.S." 

"I'm just using stored up energy," he replied lamely. 

"Oh sure! Every young innocent knows all those bedroom tricks, don't they," she snorted.

"It's true! Until we made love on Friday, I hadn't had sex for almost three years," he said seriously.

"You can't hide this forever, you know," she lectured him. "Sooner or later you're going to have to tell me how you know all this dynamite sex technique stuff."

"I told you, I learned it all by reading," he said, gamely trying to sound sincere. 

"You don't seriously expect me to believe that, do you?" she shot back.

"Suit yourself!" 

"Show me!" she challenged.

"No!" 

"What do you mean, No!" she demanded.

"No means no!" Steve restated. "I will not tell you how I know what I know. Period!" 

He turned his head toward Ingrid and fashioned a crafty smile.

"I've told you everything about me. My plain vanilla life is an open book. You know all you need to know ... for now," he said cryptically.

"What are you hiding?" she asked seriously. 

"Nothing important ... possibly nothing at all," he smirked. "Aren't you forgetting something, Miss Solberg?"

"What?" she answered petulantly.

"I know nothing about you other than some sketchy basics. If anyone has some 'splainin' to do, it's you, young lady," he said, trying to be more serious in tone. 

"What are you hiding, huh?"

"Nothing ... nothing ...," she answered absently.

"And nothing is what I get for an answer?" he asked with a pained expression.

"For now," she answered, propping herself up on one elbow and reaching over to clasp his arm. "Some ghosts are better left hidden, Steve. Trust me. I'll tell you all about myself, but some ghosts ...," her voice trailed off.

Ingrid fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a while. Her face was expressionless, but thoughts were racing through her mind. Steve decided to be patient and let her decide when and what to tell him. She turned her head to look at him. 

"All right then. I guess I owe you that much," she said quietly.

She returned to staring at the ceiling and began to tell him of her childhood in Kelowna. She had been born just after her parents had immigrated from Gothenburg, Sweden. It was a happy and secure family environment. Her father was a skilled custom furniture builder, and her mother was a housewife with an artist's eye. She had a younger sister and brother. 

Her sister was two years her junior and looked like becoming a permanent student at a well known university in Ontario. She was living with an older man in a common-law relationship. Her brother was three years younger, married, living in Vancouver, and had a great job in the communications business. On the whole, a typical new-age family. Nothing remarkable about that. 

She talked of her high school days and her early awkwardness and unhappiness with her unusual height, finally blossoming into the woman she had become. She had attended an Arts College only a few miles from home and had excelled. She had inherited her mother's love of art and color and shape, but not in the classic sense. She wanted to be a designer of fine homes, homes which would feature her personality as well as the personality of the owners. 

She met Max Davidson at a party in her second year of college. He wasn't a student, but a friend of one of the guys who lived in her dorm. He was handsome and had an air of adventure about him. Six weeks after graduation, they were married, much to the consternation of her parents. 

Max didn't appear to have a steady job, but seemed to have a ready supply of cash. Ingrid didn't care. She discovered she loved sex, and Max was a ready and willing initiator. She was adventuresome, but he was downright kinky. 

Two things ended the marriage just before their first anniversary. First, Max suggested they open their marriage and invite others in for intimate sessions. What he had in mind wasn't just other couples, but some of his buddies as well. Ingrid was having none of that and said so in no uncertain terms. 

The second and fatal blow was Ingrid arriving home from work a bit earlier than usual and finding Max in bed with their frumpy next door neighbor. She filed for divorce the next week when some of her friends admitted that Max had been screwing anything that wasn't from another planet before and during their marriage. 

Ingrid cried, got angry, cried some more, and then got even. She hired a very clever lawyer who wanted to know exactly what Max's assets were prior to any settlement agreement. Her lawyer hired a private detective, and his investigations began to uncover a dubious history and some significant blank spots in Max's background. What the detective confirmed was that Max was living off the avails of several illegal activities, and had carelessly stashed a very large amount of cash in a very accessible bank. 

Ingrid's lawyer told her only the basics of their discovery and then arranged for a meeting with Max and his lawyer. Max, ever the confident one, saw no need for a lawyer and attended the meeting alone. The lawyer, licking his proverbial chops at the prospect, laid out the facts of life to Max and suggested he had two options. 

One: pay Ingrid a substantial settlement in cash plus the house they were living in ... or two: deal with the police and answer to his various activities and the cash supply. Ingrid's lawyer made sure Max had some money left to get out of town and disappear as he made it clear his presence would be a threat to his freedom. 




Ingrid Ch. 08



Max swore and refused and threatened and slammed his fists on the table and swore some more, and then reluctantly agreed to the settlement. Ingrid now had enough cash, less the lawyer and detective fees, to carry on with her life. She sold the Kelowna house for a tidy profit and retired the small mortgage. A wiser and chastened Ingrid Solberg packed up all her worldly possessions, kissed her mother and father goodbye, and headed for the coast. 

That was over four years ago. She used some of the cash for a substantial down payment on a small bungalow in West Vancouver and set up her home business: Ingrid's Designs. It had been a long, hard slog to get the business established, but gradually the repeat and referral business began to happen and it started to look like she would be able to stand on her own two feet. The government contract would put her over the top and she would be established. Then, along came Steve.

Steve listened to her story and knew she would eventually tell him more of the details. For now, it told him what he needed to know. It also told him there was something more to tell. Just as he had been reluctant to tell Ingrid about his past, particularly the death of Diana and its aftermath, he sensed she too had more to share when the time was right. He could be patient, especially considering they had only known each other two weeks and were already professing their love. No wonder they were confused and bewildered by their emotions. It had been a reckless, headlong rush to ... where? 

-0-

Ingrid lay back in her old recliner, her eyes closed. Steve was out on a business call and would be home before supper. Today was the anniversary of the day she had first met him. Four weeks ago today it had all begun. She could recall almost every minute of it. It had been something from a fairy tale. Not all perfect, but so much of it very, very lovely. 

They had made love every day since the sailing weekend with the brief exception of her period last week and even then, they found ways to be intimate with each other. Some of it had been gentle and loving while at other times it was raucous and uninhibited. She loved the unpredictability of it. It was exciting. She was often the initiator, but it took little to get Steve to participate.

She laughed out loud the other day as she passed the entrance to the school parking lot and remembered her thoughts about everyone else getting laid except her. That status was over with, hopefully forever.  She was no longer a spectator, she was once again a participant. There was still a bit of mystery about Steve, but she had dismissed any thought that it would put a barrier between them. 

He was every woman's wet dream. Wealthy? It seemed so. A caring and adventurous lover. A cook ... no ... a chef for god's sake! A sailor. She hadn't realized how much she would come to love that homely boat, but she couldn't wait for their time on the 'Matron.' 

She had taken his picture many times with her new camera. Each time she seemed to be taking the image of a magazine model. Not a hair out of place, no wrinkles in his shirt, no dirt smudges on his face. Just once, she'd like to catch him in a state of disrepair, just to know it exists.  Mr. Neat and Tidy indeed! Well, Mr. Neat and Tidy was in love with her and she was in love with him. Of that much she was sure.

The renovation had begun to progress a little more on plan as the problem with the garage floor was resolved. They had worked out the inside and outside colors, and design. The custom window-wall in the new kitchen was under construction and should be ready on time. The gutting of the inside partition walls had been the first project and was as easy as expected since none of them were load-bearing walls. So far there had been no ugly surprises, but renovations were always a lottery in that respect. 

Steve and Ingrid had spent hours on the master bedroom and ensuite, trying to give each other the perfect setting. In the end, it was going to be a compromise, but he had made sure the finished design was tilted toward Ingrid and she knew it. Steve had designed the kitchen and Ingrid was happy with that. It was his domain.

She had completed her evaluations of the two developmental computer design programs. Either one would have been more than enough for her, but she knew she would have to decide on one or the other. Finally, she chose the second one. Both were easy to use and both gave her all the necessary options. But the second concept had a particular feature she thought would be very valuable to her. 

It permitted the inclusion of photographs and their manipulation to integrate them into the design. She had already developed a new file for their house, and it had given Steve a much better feel for how the finished job would look. Until that point, he was relying on Ingrid's "eye" and her sketches to relay the ideas. She was "over the moon" with her new computer program and now, her new computer. 

On the recommendation of the software developer, Steve had convinced her to purchase an Apple PowerBook to give herself portability. She initially protested that she couldn't afford it, but Steve convinced her by suggesting she take out a business loan from him which he would formalize. It would permit her to write both the cost of the computer off as a business expense as well as the interest. The fact that there was no interest, nor for that matter any formal payment plan, was not discussed. 

She had been using the new laptop since the second program had arrived and it was faster than her now aging Mac and with a great deal more memory. In addition, she could write to CD for a permanent backup of all the jobs, plus the ability to share the files with existing and prospective clients. In the space of a month, her entire business outlook had changed for the better. The phone call this morning was the big news of the day, and she couldn't wait to share it with Steve.

The call had come at ten-thirty that morning and it was from a Gordon Davenport, Provincial Ministry of Health. 

"Ms. Solberg?"

"Yes. How can I help you?" she responded anxiously.

"Ms. Solberg, your proposal to our ministry has been accepted in principle as one of two possible successful entrants. However, there have been some changes to the concept and we would like to discuss those with you before we make our final decision," he stated. 

"What kind of changes?" she asked, again cautiously.

"Well, we like what we are seeing from these proposals, particularly the fact that they are somewhat under the budget allotted for the work. We would like to expand the contract to include more work to ... ah ... meet the budget allotment. 

"There's a truism in government," he continued. "If the budget isn't spent, it gets cut the following year." 

"Oh, I see. Well, what would you like me to do?" she asked more hopefully.

"We'd like to schedule a meeting with you here at the Ministry offices and discuss the expansion plus a few technical questions. Would you be available for a meeting in the near future?" 

"Ah, yes, of course. When do want to meet?" 

"The sooner the better," he replied. "Can you be here on Friday, say about ten thirty a.m.?"

"Yes, I think so. What do I need for the meeting?" she asked, feeling herself getting excited.

"Not much. If you have your presentation notes and calculations, it would probably speed up the revisions. Otherwise, it's pretty much more of what you have already proposed." 

"Yes, that's not a problem. I have everything on a portable computer so we can review things right in your office," she bubbled.

"Excellent. Sounds like you're right up to snuff on the new technology. I'll look forward to seeing you on Friday then," he said happily.

Davenport stayed on the line long enough to give Ingrid directions and let her know who else would attend the meeting. 

Ingrid hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment. She was conscious of letting her breath out. She had no idea how long she had been holding it.

"Yesssss!!!!" she cried aloud. She silently congratulated herself for taking the time to load her presentation on the computer in the new program format, just in case. Well, here was "just in case" right in front of her. She had scanned in the drawings, loaded the calculations, and produced some new renderings with the newest program. In a matter of a couple of hours, she would be able to add anything to her original designs and calculations with just a few keystrokes. 

"Wait until Steve hears about this," she said aloud. "Yippee!" she shouted again.

Steve arrived home just after five and was promptly jumped upon by Ingrid.

"Steve, you won't believe what happened today!" she blurted, excitedly.

"You're right," he smiled. "I probably won't."

Ingrid spilled her story out in hurricane fashion. Steve had to stop her a couple of times to get the thread of the tale back on track in his mind. All the while, he had a big smile on his face as he watched Ingrid's excitement and enthusiasm as she babbled away to him.

"That's wonderful, Ingrid," he said hugging her closely and kissing her soundly. "I'm delighted for you. You've earned it."

"I haven't got the contract yet, but I'm close," she admitted. "They wouldn't invite me over there just to tell me they are giving it to someone else, would they?" she asked seriously.

"You wouldn't think so. You can believe him when he says your bid is less than the budget, they need to pump it up to the 'cap,'" he said with an air of cynicism. "That's how government departments treat taxpayer money." 

"Oh, don't pour cold water on me now, babe," she pouted. "I want you to be happy for me. This is a very big deal for me."

"I know it is and I am happy for you," he said sincerely. "Don't go listening to an old sourpuss like me," he laughed.

"Let's go out and celebrate love," she pleaded.

"Let's do that," he smiled, kissing her deeply and holding her closely to him.

-0-



Ingrid Ch. 09



This is the final chapter of a re-post of my first story, Ingrid. It has been re-edited to improve the punctuation, grammar and, I hope, the readability.




Ingrid sat fidgeting in the anteroom of the Ministry of Health office, located on the third floor of an office building three blocks from the Legislature. She was naturally nervous and she was struggling to compose herself before she went into the conference room. She jumped when the door opened and a tall, slim man in his mid-forties walked out and smiled at her.

"Ingrid Solberg?" he asked politely.

"Yes," she answered.

"Welcome. Thank you for coming so promptly," he continued lightly. "I'm Gordon Davenport. I'm the Assistant Director for this Department." 

"Nice to meet you Mr. Davenport. Thank you for the invitation to meet with you," she said, still nervous.

"Well, we were impressed with your presentation Ms. Solberg. Won't you come in and I'll introduce you to the others." 

He held open the door and allowed Ingrid to enter before him.

There were three others in the meeting, all men. Two were casually dressed young men she recognized from her original presentation. The third was older, possibly in his fifties, and dressed in a business suit. The two younger men were junior clerks in the procurement group, while the more senior man was introduced as Eric Knorr, Deputy Minister of Health. 

Davenport introduced her, and they seated themselves with Davenport at the head of the table, Ingrid on one side and the other three on her opposite side. Ingrid looked nervously around the table and wondered how the meeting would start. She didn't have long to wait. Davenport passed out an agenda on a single page and began to discuss the details of Ingrid's bid. 

In a little over an hour, they described the options available to expand the contract and wanted to know what more work could be accomplished if the current base was increased by twenty, twenty-five and thirty percent. After assuring Ingrid that the additional work was identical in scope to her original criteria, she pulled out her computer and opened the program to the contract application. The group gathered around behind her as she showed them the base calculations and various special costs. Within ten minutes they had estimates, subject to confirmation, of all three. The group returned to their seats and complimented her on her professional methodology. 

"That's impressive, Ms. Solberg. Your competition wants another week to put the revised bid together," Davenport said seriously. "How long will it take you to confirm these calculations?" 

"You'll have them before your day starts on Monday," she said confidently. "I can fax them to you over the weekend, if that's satisfactory." 

"It certainly is!" Davenport exclaimed. "I'll give you our private fax number so that it doesn't get lost in the office mail. I think that concludes our meeting Ms. Solberg. Once again, thank you for coming on short notice." 

"You're welcome. Thank you for this opportunity," she smiled, feeling more confident as everyone rose to leave the room.

"Ms. Solberg." It was Eric Knorr. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course," she replied, suddenly wary.

The Deputy Minister sat down in the chair opposite Ingrid and waited until the door had been closed behind the departing group.

"I was very impressed with your presentation and professional approach, especially considering you are a one person operation," he smiled.

"Thank you Mr. Knorr," she replied, still cautious.

"You live in the riding served by my Minister, Michael Saggert, don't you?"

"Yes, that's right," she replied simply.

"Have you met the Minister, Ms. Solberg?" 

"No, I haven't." Ingrid was becoming visibly nervous.

"I see." He looked at her carefully. "Do you know a Steve Inhalt?"

Ingrid's heart jumped and the shocked look on her face answered his question immediately. "Yes ... Yes I do," she stammered. "Why?"

"I had a visit from my Minister yesterday. He was asking about this contract and what decision we would likely make. I gather he and Mr. Inhalt are friends and he wanted to know if you were likely to be awarded the contract," he continued. "Ministers almost never involve themselves in contracts this small, but I'm not in the position to ignore his interest."

Ingrid had begun to overcome her shock and her face was beginning to change to one of anger. 

Eric Knorr could not help but see the change, and correctly interpreted the meaning. He held up his hand to her. 

"I gather you knew nothing about this," he suggested.

"No! Absolutely nothing!" She was visibly shaking and her face was crimson. "I can tell you sir, that this presentation was developed and made by me. I expect no favors from anyone, and I certainly don't expect to get a contract I haven't earned," she spat.

The Deputy Minister had a faint smile on his face. 

"I gather Mr. Inhalt is going to hear of your displeasure, Ms. Solberg."

"Is he ever! I'm embarrassed that this has happened, sir. My apologies are all I can offer," she said in a little more even-tempered tone.

"We didn't have this discussion, Ms. Solberg. The others in the room don't know anything about this and don't need to. Your bid will be considered fairly, and you will be notified shortly on how you have done," he said, rising to leave. 

He held out his hand. "Good luck. I think you'll be a good choice," he concluded with an arched eyebrow. 

He left the room as Ingrid stood in stunned silence. After a few moments, she began to gather her papers and computer together and left on shaky legs.

By the time she had reached her car, her anger had returned. She looked at her watch. It was only quarter of twelve. She had time to catch the two o'clock ferry to the mainland if the early summer weekend traffic wasn't too heavy. Waiting in the ferry line-up would give her plenty of time to decide what to do about Mr. Steve Inhalt and his insanely dangerous interference. 

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Where the hell did he get off going behind my back and trying to get the Minister to pull a favor? Ingrid knew she was politically naïve, but she knew enough that an intervention gone wrong might have poisoned the water for a long time to come. 

"How could he be so ... so ... interfering!" she thought. "He doesn't think I can do it myself, that's why!" 

Now she was really mad. 

"He thinks I'm just a dependent woman who can't make her way in the world without a man's help. First the computer program, then the camera, then the laptop, now the fiddle with the government minister." 

Ingrid was working herself up into an evil mood. She nearly snapped the head off the ferry attendant when she misheard the amount for her passage. 

"Speak up, dammit. I'm not a lip reader," she snarled.

A dirty look and a curt "Lane fifteen," was the response. 

She had no appetite. She should be celebrating again. Davenport made it clear he was impressed with her, and thank god he didn't know anything about the interference. Her stomach ached. There must be a quart of acid down there. 

When Ingrid stomped in the door of her house, she literally yelled, "Steve! Where are you?"

In a moment, Steve came from the back of the house, looking warily at Ingrid.

"Here," he replied with a curious look on his face.

"Get your stuff and get the hell out of this house!" she demanded.

"What?"

"You heard me! Get your clothes and your computer and your god damn pots and pans and get the hell out," she hollered.

"Ingrid, what the hell is going on?" he asked, baffled.

"Well Mr. Smartass. You nearly got me thrown out of the Ministry of Health all by yourself. You and your bloody pal, Saggert nearly submarined my bid all by your big-mouth self," she steamed onward.

"You don't think I can do this by myself, so you take it upon yourself to go behind my back and try and fix the outcome. I'm just some helpless broad that can't make it in your man's world and constantly need your help." She was on a roll.

"Well I've got news for you pal, I can make it on my own. I don't need you or your high powered pals, and I sure as hell don't need you in my life to fuck it up. Now get your shit and get out! I'm not kidding!" 

She had finally run out of steam and was standing in the middle of the room with her briefcase in one hand and her laptop in the other. The look on her face was pure venom, and her crimson complexion underscored it.

"Ingrid," Steve started in a bewildered voice. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't give me that innocent act, buster. You know very well what I'm talking about."

"No I do not!" he stated emphatically, beginning to get angry himself. "Just exactly what am I being accused of?" he demanded.

"You know perfectly well!" she shouted. "You went behind my back to that hack politician Saggert and you tried to get him to give me that contract. Well, it didn't work! In fact it backfired. The Deputy Minister had a little chat with me and made it clear it didn't work. I nearly lost everything because of you. How can you stand there and pretend you don't know what this is all about?" she fumed.

"Because I don't!" he said emphatically. "I know Mike Saggert, yes. He's a client, and I've set up some blind trusts for him while he's in office. But I have not, I repeat not, asked him for any favors on your behalf," he stated in a rising voice.

"Then just exactly how did the Deputy Minister get your name and use it to grill me?" she blasted back.

"I have no idea," he looked bewildered. "Ingrid, I know how much this contract means to you. I would never do anything that would jeopardize that opportunity. You have to believe that," he pleaded.

Steve tried again. 

"I'm smart enough to know that you don't use political pressure that way. It can backfire more often that it can help. All it takes is a change of Minister or a change of Government. I know better than that! Please believe me," he begged her.

Ingrid slowly walked to her desk, set her briefcase on the floor, and carefully placed the computer on her desk.

"I'm too angry to talk to you right now. If you value your health, you'll get the hell out of here. Maybe when I calm down in a week or two, I'll talk to you ... maybe!"

Steve turned quietly and went back to the spare bedroom that he had been using as a temporary office. He silently packed some of his clothes and his computer and walked back into the living room. 

"Ingrid, will you please ..."

"Not now!" she shouted.

He turned silently and walked out the front door. He stood on the front porch for a minute, his mind spinning out of control. 

"There has to be a way to make her understand," he thought. He walked slowly to his car parked out at the curb and put his two bags in the back and looked back at the front window. There was no sign of her. He got in the car and drove slowly away, not certain where he was going.

Ingrid collapsed on the sofa and put her head back and let her breath go in a huge sigh. In a moment, the tears began to flow and shortly after she was racked with sobs. It began to dawn on her that she may have ended the best relationship she had ever had. The best she had ever hoped for. Had she let her ego get in the way? Was he really innocent and she wouldn't listen? She cursed herself for her stupid prideful attitude. She had to prove herself to everyone, but mostly to herself. 

She sat on the sofa for a couple of hours when she began to realize she was hungry. She had skipped lunch in favour of working up her anger, and now it was nearing seven and she hadn't had anything since her light breakfast early this morning before rushing out the catch the first ferry. 

She slowly rose and headed for the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and looked for something quick and easy. Steve had obviously prepared something for dinner and some of it was ready to eat. She pulled out the salad bowl and the devilled eggs. 

"This will have to do," she thought. 

She placed the food on the kitchen table and sat down. She stared at her food without much enthusiasm. Her anger had dissipated by now, but it had been replaced by emptiness. She had allowed her temper to drive Steve away and she didn't know how she would replace him. 

The tears came again and she sat at the table with her head in her hands and just let them flow. After a while she got up and headed for the bedroom. She undressed, used the bathroom, and crawled under the covers. Alone in her bed for the first time in almost a month, she cried herself to sleep.

-0-

Steve unlocked the front door of his apartment for the first time in two weeks. He flicked on the lights and shuffled to his bedroom. The place was quiet. All the windows were closed, the central air conditioner hummed quietly as Steve dropped his overnight bag and placed his computer on his desk. 

He was in shock and disorientated. He knew Ingrid was volatile, but her explosion this afternoon was beyond anything he had imagined. He could understand her anger if he'd done something wrong, but he had done nothing to deserve this. What the hell had happened to cause this?

He picked up the phone and dialed Mike Saggert's home number. It rang several times before the answering machine picked up. He left an urgent message for Mike to call him, leaving both his apartment and his cell phone number. The Legislature had adjourned for the summer, so he knew he wouldn't be in Victoria after today. On the chance he might still be there, he phoned Mike's Victoria number and again got the answering machine. He left another urgent message and hoped Mike would get one of them soon.

He walked into the living room and looked out over the narrows and Stanley Park as the sun began to set. He searched his memory to try and understand how this had happened. He had met with Mike twice in the last two weeks since he had become the Minister of Health. Mike was trying to comply with the new Legislative rules regarding Conflict of Interest related to investment ownership when in office. Steve was helping him conform to the rules, while making sure his investments were still secure. 

They had become friends over time and often discussed their personal lives, but not in detail. Steve remembered mentioning Ingrid to him and how excited he was to have found her. He remembered telling Mike what her business was about and vaguely recalled him mentioning her opportunity with a provincial government contract. Yet, he didn't say which ministry she was bidding through. Surely, that wasn't what caused all this. But then again, what else could it have been? Mike would have to help him out of this mess.

He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. He stood under the water for several minutes before stepping out and toweling himself dry. Dressed in shorts only, he headed for the kitchen. Like Ingrid, he had no appetite and was happy to grab one of the four remaining beers from his fridge, and flop down in front of the television. He must have surfed around the dial more than twice before realizing there was nothing worth watching. He had no current TV Guide and finally gave up and turned off the set. 

He got up and wandered back and forth from room to room. His mind was full of questions without answers. Both he and Ingrid had been up early this morning in order for her to catch the first ferry. She had refused to let him go with her, and now he was glad he hadn't. He headed for the bedroom and crawled into the bed and tried to go to sleep. It was hopeless. 

He tossed and turned and finally clicked on the radio, looking for a FM station that would sooth his rattled nerves. Sometime near midnight he finally drifted off to a fitful sleep.

When he awoke in the morning, he briefly thought of calling Ingrid, but decided against it. He had no new information that would change her mind. It was Saturday morning. If he didn't hear from Mike soon, he would assume he was away for the weekend. That meant no help until next week at the earliest. 

He forced himself to have a bagel and some orange juice. He would have to go shopping for fresh food sometime today, but not right now. He wandered around the apartment for a while, then decided to go for a run. He pulled on his running shorts, t-shirt and shoes, stuffed a ten dollar bill and his key into the waistband pocket, and headed out toward the seawall.

Steve pushed himself mercilessly, trying to expunge the toxins he had gathered in the last few hours. He finally stopped running when he neared exhaustion. The sweat pouring from his pores and his breath coming in spasms, he looked around and realized he was at the other end of the village. He was several kilometers from his apartment, and faced a long trek back. 

He began walking back the way he came, gradually cooling down and recovering. He remembered the bill he had tucked in his shorts' pocket, turned up the nearest connector to Marine Drive, and found a small outdoor café. He ordered coffee and Danish, relaxing for a few minutes. The extra exertion of the run seemed to clear his head. 

He had convinced himself that Mike Saggert was his best solution to resolving the problem with Ingrid. In fact, it was the only solution he could think of. Ingrid had at least left a crack in the door open with her parting shot ... "Maybe when I calm down in a week or two ... maybe ..." It was a slim hope, but the only thread he had to hold on to. 

One thing he was certain of beyond all doubt, he loved her. He had found that deep, unshakeable, romantic love he had longed for. The thought of losing it ... losing her, was more than he could handle. He understood what it meant now. It wasn't all joy and happiness. There was pain and fear as well. But it was the proof he had been searching for.

-0-

Ingrid tried to finish the formal resubmission of her bid that same Saturday morning. It wasn't going very well. She couldn't concentrate and after an hour of little progress, she abandoned the effort for later in the day. She retreated to the kitchen for a "food fix," the solution to all her problems she thought. A couple of heat-and-serve English Muffins in the toaster, slather on some butter and jam and she would feel better. She reheated the tea in the microwave and sat at the kitchen table wondering what to do with herself today. 

She was a basket case. She couldn't put two thoughts together in an orderly fashion to save her life. 

"You've done it this time, girl. You've really done it. You've just thrown away the best thing in your life, and you don't know how to fix it. Was it that unforgivable or just your big, bloody ego getting in the way the way of common sense? After all, what had he tried to do? 

"Even if he was guilty as charged, he'd tried to help you, not hurt you. Sure, maybe it wasn't what you wanted him to do, but he wasn't trying to hurt you," she told herself over and over again. 

"And what if he was innocent? What if he hadn't done anything? What if it was all a big misunderstanding? What then?"

She decided to go for a walk to clear her head. The seawall was only a couple of blocks and a stroll across the playground away. She slipped on her running shoes, picked up her keys and headed out the front door. She tried desperately not to think about the last few hours. She tried to concentrate on the contract revisions, and what she had scheduled to do this coming week. 

"Shit!" she exclaimed to no one in particular. "I've got a meeting with Steve and Tony on Wednesday to cover the next phases of the renovation. How the hell am I going to get out of that?" she asked herself. 

"I'd better delay the meeting," she thought. "I'll call Tony and ask him to call Steve. I'll put if off until the week after. I'll tell him I'm not prepared." It wasn't much of a plan, but it at least something. 




Ingrid Ch. 09



But something about her decision didn't feel right. She wouldn't phone Tony until Monday or even Tuesday. That would make it sound more authentic. 

She had no idea as she crossed Marine Drive and strode down toward the seawall that Steve was walking toward her only half a block away. Neither saw the other.

-0- 

Later that afternoon, Ingrid put the finishing touches on her revised proposal and printed the pages. She had finally been able to concentrate on the task, and having checked it for errors and omissions at least three times, was satisfied. She scanned it one more time for anything she might have missed, then faxed it to the number Gordon Davenport had given her. 

A sigh of relief followed the last of the seven pages as they ran through the fax machine without a problem. She sat looking at her laptop for a few minutes, her mind lost in thought before closing the program and shutting off the PowerBook. 

She looked at her watch and saw that it was a quarter of six. Time to do something about dinner. She had been spoiled these last three or four weeks. Steve had looked after feeding her, and she hadn't needed to even think about buying groceries, much less cook. 

She picked up the phone, and deciding to take the easy way out, called Pizza Man. She went to the fridge and pulled out the salad that Steve had made for last night. It looked a bit wilted, but maybe with some dressing on it, it would do. She reached in the back and extracted a chilled bottle of white wine and opened it while she waited for the pizza delivery.

It wasn't gourmet cuisine, but at least if filled her and there were a couple of pieces left over she could keep in the fridge for lunch on Sunday. She was on her second glass of wine and was idly looking at the television guide to see what was on this evening. In a word, nothing! It was summer reruns, bad movies, good movies overly interrupted by commercials, and crappy summer replacement series. 

She thought about her collection of taped movies when she remembered her special collection, hidden in the bottom drawer of her nightstand. Even Steve didn't know about these. He would probably have freaked if he knew she had a collection of pornography. 

She grabbed four or five from the drawer and headed back toward the living room when she stopped and returned to the nightstand. She retrieved her 'toy box' and then moved to the living room couch for an evening of self entertainment.

She refilled her wine glass, pushed one of the tapes into the VCR and flicked on the remote. It was one of the old standby's she had relied on in the pre-Steve days. The plot was simple. Big-boobed-bimbo applies for secretary's job and gets interviewed by well hung stud. She blows him, he eats her, they screw in the usual variety of positions and viola, she's hired! Simple, and in the past, effective in getting Ingrid aroused to the point where the toys would be employed. 

But not tonight. Those two couldn't hold a candle to what she and Steve had enjoyed in the last month. There was no passion and the acting was decidedly fake. Fake orgasms, fake cries of passion, even fake erections. There was nothing fake about her sex life in the last while. She ejected the tape and pushed another into the slot. Different movie, same verdict! Predictable and now, somehow boring. Definitely not arousing. 

"Shit!" she cried aloud. "I can't even get any satisfaction here!" 

She flopped herself down on the couch as the second movie continued. Ingrid closed her eyes and tried to remember their time on the 'Matron' that first long weekend. She smiled as she recalled their reckless lovemaking throughout Saturday afternoon and evening. He had taken her from behind in the wheelhouse in a moment of sexual abandon. 

Their romp in the stateroom after dropping anchor in Hotham Sound was a wild and sweaty affair. Afterward, they went skinny dipping briefly in the cold shallows below the waterfall. They had used any excuse to have sex, and had taken to wearing the minimum of clothing more for warmth or comfort than propriety. 

Ingrid had called it their "Festival of Debauchery" as the weekend wore on. She recalled the soreness that threatened to put a hold on their activities until she had remembered the lubricant she had in her travel kit. Each time they thought they had reached their limits, they found new energy to carry on. 

Their last night, anchored off Thormanby Island, was a slow, sensuous, quiet night. No acrobatics, no screams of joy or passion. Just the languid, sensory touching of lips and finger tips and loving whispers. It was these memories that aroused her now and brought her some satisfaction.

-0-

Ingrid's business phone rang at ten thirty on Monday morning. She was able to pick up just before the third ring.

"Ingrid's Designs, good morning," she answered softly.

"Good Morning Ms. Solberg. My name is Michael Saggert. I think you know who I am, and possibly why I'm calling," he said directly.

"Yes, sir ... Mr. Minister. I know who you are," she replied cautiously.

"May I call you Ingrid?" he asked politely. "You can call me Mike ... I don't stand on formality," he said. 

"Yes, that's fine ... Mike." 

"Ingrid, I wanted to call to clear up a misunderstanding that is entirely my fault. I understand that you had a conversation with my Deputy, Eric Knorr, about my inquiry on your bid proposal. I think things got a little out of hand after that. Please allow me explain," he requested in a firm voice.

"Go ahead," she replied quietly.

"As you are probably aware, I'm new as Minister of Health. I was in Travel and Tourism prior to this appointment, and it's a junior portfolio. The Ministry of Health has the biggest budget in Government and as a result, has the most experienced and senior civil servants available. Eric Knorr is one of the most respected and professional people I could hope for. Unfortunately, my inexperience in this Ministry caused me to ask him about your bid. 

"I should never have done that. Eric has been trained that even the smallest hint to him about an issue is worthy of his close examination. He would never have been in that meeting on Friday, but my question to him was the catalyst. I talked to him this morning and explained my indiscretion, and he told me that you and he had resolved it and that it would go no further. I am pleased that he recognized my error." 

The Minister paused for a moment and then continued.

"Steve and I are acquainted because he has been my financial advisor, and is also assisting me to conform to the new Conflict of Interest regulations passed in the previous session. We have become friends, and in the course of that friendship, he has recently told me about meeting you and how important you have become to him. 

During the various conversations we've had he mentioned you were bidding on a contract, but he didn't know much about it. In my typical nosey fashion, I decided to find out and much to my surprise, discovered it was with my Ministry. It was then that I asked Eric Knorr what the status of the bid was." 

He paused again.

"Ingrid, at no time did Steve ever ask or even hint that my intervention was welcome. It was my idea to find out and I botched it! It will give you no comfort to know that my wife is mad as hell at me when I explained what had happened, and I'm getting the full treatment from her as a result. I talked to Steve last night and again this morning and he's very concerned that you think he had something to do with this. I can only assure you, he did not," he finished.

There was a noticeable pause and then Ingrid responded. "I see. But I'm afraid I may have ... I mean ... some things were said that can't be taken back," she said quietly.

"Ingrid, I talked to Steve last night and I can assure you, there's nothing that can't be fixed," he said confidently. "I may not be the smartest guy in politics, but I can tell how he feels about you and he's devastated that he might lose you. Trust me, of this I am sure."

"Thanks Mike," Ingrid said, brightening somewhat. "I hope you're right."

"I know I'm right." he stated emphatically. "Ingrid, when this is all over and things have settled down, Marge and I would like to have you and Steve over for a social evening. We owe you that at least for all the hurt I've caused," he said sincerely. "I can only apologize for my stupidity and hope that everything works out well for you and Steve. Thank you for hearing me out," he concluded.

"Thank you for calling. I appreciate your honesty. I'll call Steve this morning and see if I can patch things up," she said haltingly.

"Good luck." he said.

"Thanks, good bye." She hung up.

Ingrid looked at her hands. They were shaking, and she thought she might throw up as a wave of nausea passed through her. She reached for the phone again and then stopped.

"What will I say to him?" she thought. "I was so mean and hateful to him. How will I make it right?" 

She stared at the phone and closed her eyes for a few moments. Then she reached for it again, and entered his number. After the fourth ring, the answering machine kicked in and she waited until the beep.

"Hi, it's me. Call me," she said in a quiet, plaintive voice, then hung up.

She went into the kitchen and poured the last of her tea. It was too strong and she diluted it and then warmed it in the microwave. She took a large oatmeal and raisin cookie out of the half-dozen she had purchased yesterday. She wandered back to the living room, sat on the couch, and waited for the phone to ring. 

Where was he, she wondered? Probably out with a client. Maybe out for a morning run. Maybe he went shopping. Surely he'll call before noon. No wait, it's only a few minutes before noon now. 

She had taken a bite from the cookie, but realized she had no appetite and probably wouldn't keep it down anyway. Her stomach was in a knot, and she was getting a beauty of a headache. She shuffled to the bathroom, opened the cabinet, pulled out the Tylenol, and took two capsules. Back to the couch to await her fate. She put her head back, closed her eyes and tried to relax. 

Ingrid had fallen asleep on the couch, and it took her a moment after hearing the door chime to realize where she was. She pushed herself off the couch and padded to the door to open it. The bright midday sun was streaming through the doorway and it took her a second or two to recognize who it was.

"Steve!" she cried. She stood still trying to absorb the fact that he was there.

"May I come in," he asked seriously.

"Yes ... yes ... of course," she said, slightly dazed.

There was an awkward moment as Ingrid closed the door behind him and Steve turned to face her in the foyer.

"You called," he said simply.

"Yes ... yes, I did," she acknowledged. Another awkward pause ensued.

"Mike ... I mean, the Minister called me this morning. He said it was entirely his fault. He said you didn't interfere. He said he didn't want to see this come between us. He said he wanted us to come to his place for a social when ... when ...," her rapid-fire hyper-voice trailed off.

Steve made the two steps to close the gap between them and wrapped his arms around Ingrid and held her to him. She began to shake and he realized this was the release she needed. Her tears flowed and her sobs shook her whole body until they became hiccups. Steve didn't say a word, just held her and let her emotions run their course. 

When the hiccups subsided and tears had slowed, she slowly raised her head to look at him.

"How can you ever forgive me?" 

"It's easy," he said quietly, "I love you." 

"Oh Steve, after all the horrible things I said to you. I can't forgive myself. I wouldn't listen to you. I just let my stupid temper and my stupid ego get the best of me," she confessed.

"Do you think it could happen again?" he smiled questioningly.

"No ... maybe ... I don't know." 

"Then I guess I just have to learn to live with it," he grinned.

"Oh Steve, I feel so terrible. I haven't had a peaceful moment since you left that afternoon," she cried softly.

"Neither have I. I'm just glad Mike came home last night and not after a two or three week vacation. I think I would have gone crazy by then."

Ingrid looked up and him and kissed him tentatively on the lips. Steve looked at her for a moment then kissed her more firmly and finally they merged and it was the kiss of renewed love that they had both hungered for these last few days. They stood in the foyer for several minutes in a long-lasting embrace and kissed, professing their love to each other. Finally, Ingrid took Steve's hand and led him to the couch and they both sat down, but both on the edge of the cushions. 

"Tell me, Steve... has this hurt us permanently?"

"No Ingrid. These are temporary wounds. We should try and learn from them," he answered seriously.

"I think real love is about trust," he continued. "You must know now that I would never hurt you. I would never do anything that would damage or destroy us. We still have a lot to learn about each other, and this past weekend was part of that learning." 

She was near tears again. "God, you're so forgiving," she said, taking his hands in hers. "The things I said to you. I didn't trust you. I was so wrong and I hurt you."

"You are forgiven, my love," was his simple reply. 

"Take me to our bed, Steve. I want us to make love. I want you inside me again. I'm so lost without you. I'm so empty," she sobbed as the tears began to flow again.

Steve rose and helped her up and led her down the hallway to their now familiar bedroom.

Sometime after five that afternoon, Steve quietly padded out to the living room, picked up the phone and entered Mike Saggert's home number. His wife Marge picked up the phone.

"Marge, its Steve Inhalt calling," he said quietly.

"Hi Steve. How are you?" she asked 

"I'm fine, Marge. I think things are going to be OK with us now. I just wanted to call and thank Mike for his help. It definitely made the difference." 

"He damn well should have after the total screw-up he caused. He hasn't heard the end of this," she said firmly.

"Don't be too hard on him, Marge. He and I just made a couple of rookie mistakes. Luckily there's no lasting damage." 

"Well he's just lucky, then," she continued. "I'd have never forgiven him if it had caused you two to break up. Is Ingrid there ... can I talk to her?" 

"She's sleeping right now. I don't think either of us got much sleep in the last three days."

"Well, I'm planning a barbeque in a couple of weeks, just a social affair. Both of you are invited and then I'll get a chance to meet her and we can discuss you two in private," she laughed.

"I'm sure Ingrid will look forward to it. Thank you for the invitation, but can we agree not to talk business?"

"I think that goes without saying. I'll call you or Ingrid with the details and we'll see you then," she said brightly.

"Thanks again, Marge. Bye!" 

Steve walked to the living room window and looked out in the afternoon sun. In the background, the FM station was playing Katie Melua's "Closest Thing to Crazy." He nodded his head in understanding.

The knot in his stomach had disappeared and he was feeling much better. They had made love at the slowest possible pace, trying to make it last as long as they could. It was an expression of how they felt for each other. As he told her just before she drifted off to sleep, it was about their undying, indestructible love for each other.

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