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Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 01

By: Alwaysraining



Though this is written in the first person it is not autobiographical. All characters and events are fictional, and bear no relation to any person living or dead. 

It is a long slow story, be warned! I'm sure an editor could cut out a good deal and make it more zingy, but sorry, I like it the way it is. If you get bored you can always stop reading and wander off to something with a little more pace.

It is in seven parts, all of which are finished, and as far as possible will be posted on consecutive days.

There are some coincidences in this story. At the end of part seven I append a brief account of the coincidences in my life which obliquely gave rise to this story. 

*****

Prologue

Looking through the loft for something else, I, Graham Proctor, happily aged and retired, found a large cardboard box, and on opening it, found it was full of diaries. My diaries. I used to keep diaries! I'd forgotten all about them. I started to keep a diary of my life from early teenage and only stopped when...

Anyway, I became engrossed in those from 1968 onwards when I first came into contact with the dreaded but not entirely dreadful Roasburies: the Dragon and her often absent husband Geoffrey, and their wicked ways. 

Reading the entries in my spidery writing provoked still more memories, and I decided use the diaries to chronicle the whole saga before I forgot it all again, or I died and it died with me. 

Here it is.

-- 

Chapter One

Friday 13 December 1968

I was not worried about bad luck, not being superstitious, so I was happy to go out and about on Friday the Thirteenth. Indeed at the time I blessed my good luck, for I met Penelope Roasburie. Little did I know...

It was at a Christmas carol service on the evening of that very date. The service was in the chapel of a Hall of Residence at Manchester University that I had previously inhabited in my final year as a student, studying for the LLB, my law degree. 

I had left University six summers previously, was now 26 years old, and was very gainfully employed. I was, they always told me, gifted. I had a photographic memory, and seemed to have no trouble with any of my school subjects. As a result I sat my "O" levels at fifteen and my 'A' levels at seventeen, gaining 'A' Grades in English, History and Mathematics.

I had always been interested in the law aspect of history and literature, and applied for a law degree at Manchester, completing it with a First in 1962 aged 20. I was actually sought (nowadays they call it headhunted I believe), by a Manchester law firm, JRW Ltd., the initials standing for the surnames of the three founding fathers of the firm, Jenkins, Reich and Walsh. 

The three founders were de-mobbed together after the war and decided to set up in general practice together. By 1968, the practice dealt mainly with a wide range of company and land law. 

While the three partners may have been interested primarily in my head, they got the whole package, right down to my toenails.

They sponsored me and then employed me through the following three years' training, and by 1968 I had also worked for them for three years fully qualified. The work was varied and at times demanding, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I was by then assigned permanently to companies that had asked for me by name, and was kept busy with them and more casual clients. My bonuses were substantial and even at my young age, there was some talk of my joining the Partners as a Junior Partner, though that did not come to anything, the reasons for which will become apparent.

I had bought, on mortgage, a newly built two bedroom flat: hallway, with kitchen and a large living room to the right, a bathroom ahead and two bedrooms to the left. It was modern, warm, neat and roomy. The mortgage was steep early on, but easily manageable with my bonuses, and since I was single I was very cheap to run. 

Another very pleasant aspect of work at JRW was the personnel. Some of the clerks and all the secretarial staff were female, which was common at the time, but there was also a woman solicitor as well as the eight other men. Her name was Zena. 

Now in those days, Zena would have been called 'coloured' or worse, 'half-caste', and it was a tribute to her that having the two disadvantages of colour and gender, she more than held her own to qualify, and gain a respected position in our practice. Mind you, she was extremely talented: she had to be. She worked in the adjacent office to mine, and we shared a clerk (pronounced 'clark' - don't ask). 

Early on we discovered that she lived on my way to work, so I volunteered to give her a lift, and for five years it had been normal practice for us to travel together to and from work on most days of the week in one or other of our cars, usually mine. 

It didn't hurt that she was really beautiful, with rich brown skin and straight glossy black hair, though I never flirted or made any moves toward her, not that I didn't want to, but simply because I had not the courage. The result was that we became close friends, but never more than that. We would have tea together about once a week at her flat, and from time to time we'd have dinner, or go to a concert or a play. Afterwards one of us would drop the other off and be invited in for coffee, when we would have rampant - coffee. We really were platonic friends. No really!

I suppose I was average looking (there has been some deterioration since then). Six feet tall, twelve stone (a hundred and sixty-eight pounds if you don't know that fourteen pounds equal one stone), slim with decent musculature. So, average looking, not devastatingly handsome, not ugly. You have the picture.

Zena had warned me early on against making advances to the clerical staff or the clerks - that was simply not done - though two of the women who were friends of Zena sometimes got lifts to their homes with me. 

However, outside work, I had a couple of short term relationships which petered out after a few months each. I was not ready to settle and, it seemed, neither were they.

Back to the Carol Concert. The luck of the 13th came from three things acting in my favour: one, the Chaplain had contacted me in a panic when the guitarist who was to accompany the singing went down with 'flu, begging me to fill in for her. Well, I was no professional, but could hold my own (guitar). It was the era of the protest folk song and of folk groups, and I was very much into that genre at the time. Penelope Roasburie noticed me since I was playing at the concert.

The second stroke of luck was that Penny and her flatmate had hosted a party at the university chaplaincy the night before, and there was a small barrel of beer unfinished that Penny needed to move to her flat for the Christmas vacation.

The third stroke was that I had a car and the chaplain told Penny this salient fact. It was a cold, dark, foggy night. So it was beer that brought us together - an auspicious beginning in anyone's book.

The first I knew was a voice behind me.

"Graham?"

I turned. After all it was my name. First impressions: rich brown shoulder-length shiny thick hair, startlingly large green eyes, pretty little nose, full lips, roundish face with good cheekbones. My eyes did not have time to travel further, in any case I was in the thrall of her beautiful face.

"Yes?" As you can see, being a lawyer I had a way with words. I added a smile, no extra charge.

"I'm Penny Roasburie. Tony Ledson said you might be able to help me." Big engaging smile, twinkling eyes - hers not mine. 

I cocked one eyebrow as an invitation to proceed - Athletic see?

"The thing is, we had a party last night at the Chaplaincy, and I need to move a barrel of beer to our flat before the Chaplaincy closes for the vacation. Fr Tony said you're a kind helpful man, very friendly, and you have a car." She stopped and looked hopeful.

"You want me to move a barrel of beer to your flat? How big?" I told you I was bright.

"Living room, one bedroom, kitchen and bathroom," she said with an impish grin. She was growing on me.

"The beer," I said doggedly, though I allowed a grin to cross my lips in acknowledgement of her pedantry.

"A Firkin," she said, her grin continuing and if anything, widening. Was she expecting a firkin risqué response? She didn't get one.

"Seventy Two Pints?" I said knowledgeably, drawing on past experience working in a bar. "I hope most of it was drunk - I couldn't lift a full one." 

She looked impressed. "Yes, I'm sure most of it went last night." Again the expectant wait.

"OK," I said. "You coming as well?"

"Yes, of course," she said with a hint of the patronising, "Tony's given me the key to the bar. You get to drink some as a reward!" and she laughed. It was a tinkling and musical laugh, a laugh one would like to hear often.

"It won't be fit to drink after we've moved it," I argued. "It will have to settle again." 

Now honestly, I never thought this was fishing for an invitation, but I got one nevertheless.

"So you'll have to come round after Christmas when it's settled, won't you?" Again those eyes twinkled; she knew how to charm.

I was duly charmed and nodded vigorously, and she laughed that laugh again, her smile lighting up her face. She definitely deserved more of my time.

Now as I said, though she was not devastatingly beautiful like Zena, she was very, very attractive - slim and well-proportioned: neatly full up top and a neat round behind, good legs. Yes, by then my eyes had done the tour. Most girls of twenty are pretty, but she was more than that, and did I say neat?

She was intelligent and fun to talk to, and we had a good chat on the short drive through the murk to the chaplaincy, and thence to her flat. 

What she craftily hadn't mentioned was that she and her flatmate lived in the attic of an Edwardian house: two long flights of stairs to her top floor flat. The flat took over the whole top floor, and the sloping ceilings following the rooflines gave it an interesting appearance. The landing was spacious, off which were, clockwise, a bathroom, a kitchen, a storeroom/pantry, a very large living room with a minuscule veranda beyond two french doors, and off the living room a large bedroom with two three-quarter beds. 

On a foggy December night it wasn't warm in there, in fact it was bloody cold, though the gas fire soon took the edge off the freezing living room. No central heating: this was a student flat!

She offered coffee and I accepted. We sat and chatted without taking our coats off. Patty, her flatmate, was not in evidence, and I learned she was staying with her boyfriend that night. It seemed his flat was warmer, though I'm sure this was not the only or even the main attraction.

Having done Penny a favour, I felt emboldened to ask her out, and rather to my surprise she accepted eagerly, at least I thought so. 

I had not bargained for our first date being the next day, doing Christmas shopping in the city and returning library books, followed by tea and crumpets back at her flat. It was good enough for me: I was dating a girl, and a pretty one at that. I didn't care what we did, as long as we did it together. There were other things I'd have liked to do together, but it was early days. Little did I know how far away those 'things' would be.

Over the meal it transpired that she was going home for Christmas the following Wednesday. She lived near Chester, about forty miles away, so of course I volunteered to drive her, and of course, after some rather contrived reluctance out of concern for my inconvenience, she accepted. 

To seal the deal we went to a folk club in a city centre pub, the Shakespeare (across a narrow street from Lewis's Department Store) on the Monday night, and we kissed our first chaste lip-kiss when I dropped her off afterwards, gently refusing her offer of coffee, since I had to get to work early the next day to make up for taking the day off on Wednesday.

I could tell she was not sexually loose, so it was becoming clear I would have to go slowly and carefully; already I knew for certain that she was well worth all the self-control I could muster. 

In a way it was a good thing, for we got to know each other well on the journey to her parents' house, each giving the other an autobiography and then plenty of discussion about politics, religion, morality and current affairs generally. We found we were were very comfortable with each other, very relaxed, and in agreement over most things.

The house was in Rowton, a village a few miles outside Chester City. A large house, it sat in its own grounds, and gave testimony that the family were very wealthy indeed. 

Her mother was coolly polite, but I could feel some reserve. I put it down to snobbery since I was a Manchester lad and had never lost the accent, where it was clear these people were Cheshire Set and rejoiced in theirs. Her father was civil bordering on friendly. He apparently owned a manufacturing company, inherited from his father. 

"Penny says you work for a solicitor's practice?" Mother asked, clearly less than eager to spend time conversing with me.

"Yes, it's mainly involved with business law - JRW Ltd."

"Isn't that-?" Penny's father began, but mother was talking, and flashed a crushing glare to silence him.

"In a clerical capacity?" she asked. I detected a sneer. I was beginning to dislike her.

"No," I said. "I'm a lawyer. I deal mainly with creating and assessing contracts, and handling industrial law disputes."

She sniffed at that and excused herself. We could hear her talking on the phone in the hallway.

Penny's father chatted about the problems of late payments and union power then moved on to approve of what Enoch Powell was saying about immigration, and to bewail the Race Relations Act recently enacted. 

I tried to be diplomatic as a guest, and thinking of Zena, I was thankful he did not ask my opinion. He was also upset about the Trades Descriptions Act which he asserted, 'makes my life difficult - too much red tape - typical of a Labour Government, always anti-business.'

I contented myself with commenting that the government was elected by the people, and the Act was in their election manifesto. I don't think he liked that much. Too bad.

Her mother re-entered the room, and the atmosphere cooled dramatically. She made it clear to Penny that it was time I was going since they had unspecified 'things to do'.

I had not been offered any refreshment, nor did her mother thank me for bringing her daughter home for Christmas, though her father did. In view of the atmosphere, I was relieved to be getting on my way.

I took the attitude to be snobbery, and wondered why rich people became so snobbish. It was clear I was not welcome, and Penny's mother did not like me at all. In view of the father's comments, I did not think we would agree on very much, and I could see bitter arguments in the future if I ever returned.

At 'home', Christmas was fun as always; it was good to go home to parents, and connect again with my older sister Jane, younger brother Jack and even younger sister Kitty (short for Katherine). Jane had graduated long since and was into estate management, Jack had moved to London the previous year and was involved in trading stocks and shares, while Kitty was in her first year at Oxford; we always ragged her about being the brains as well as the baby of the family.

The other three stayed in the parental home, while I, whose flat was only five minutes' drive away, slept at the flat and commuted each day, usually on foot. 

While we were all at home as children, I think the best description of our relationships was 'tolerance'. We did not fight, we did not hate each other; if any of us was in need the rest would rally round, but we had our own lives and rubbed along quite well, usually at a distance. 

Now we were all away from the parental home, we rarely saw one another, but when we did gather we got on very well, absence clearly making our hearts grow fonder, and we would go drinking together, sharing our news.

Our parents were their usual gentle selves, delighted we were all together, asking about our love lives, no doubt with grandchildren in mind. From the replies they got, I think they were resigned to being patient for a few more years. Dad was a head teacher and Mum was a nurse.

There was no contact with Penny over Christmas: this was 1968 - no cellphones, no personal computers, and limited access to landline phones. She did not know my address and though I could remember hers at her parental home, it was Christmas and the post would have been too slow. As a result she came back after Christmas and New Year on the train. 

I left it an extra week after the Christmas vacation before phoning her flat on a Saturday morning - by which I mean I phoned the one pay phone on the ground floor hallway of her building from a phone box near my flat. 

Saturday 11 January 1969

It seems strange now to think how few folk had landline phones in Britain even in the mid 60s. One went to the nearest phone box, or went in person to the other person's place if it was urgent. Further afield there were telegrams for emergencies, or letters handwritten with a pen on paper, or typed on a typewriter - remember those? I seem to remember one spent so much time correcting typos with eraser paper that it was usually easier to write by hand.

The concierge and owner of Penny's house lived on the ground floor and signalled three doorbell rings to Penny's flat - the signal that there was a phone call for Penny, two rings would have meant her flatmate Patricia, one ring was someone at the front door for either of them. 

Penny seemed very happy to hear from me and immediately pointed out that the beer would have settled over the holiday, and would I like to come over and help drink it. Would I ever! We made a date for Friday.

Friday 17th January 1969

That evening, after we had done justice to much of the remaining beer (and I was impressed that she was a keen beer drinker), she informed me that her flatmate was away for the weekend seeing her boyfriend, and I was welcome to stay over, rather than drive after drinking - I could then drink even more! 

We had listened to a Bob Dylan LP I had bought her as a belated Christmas present, and had discussed it. Then I got my guitar out of the car and we sang some songs together. By then, I had privately decided that this woman was the one for me, which was a little premature, but I had never felt quite like that about any woman. I said nothing about my plans for fear of scaring her off. 

"Where do I sleep?" I asked. "Sofa or Patty's bed?"

At this she became serious.

"I don't want to give you the wrong idea," she said, quite shyly, "and I've never done this before, but you can sleep in my bed."

"Where will you sleep?" I asked disingenuously with a smile which she misinterpreted.

"We can sleep together," she said and continued hurriedly, "but I mean that and only that, we sleep. I think I can trust you, and that's more than I can say about my previous boyfriends. I wouldn't have let any of them near my bed. You know my feelings about sex, we've talked about that in general terms. Sex for me is about real commitment and we don't know each other enough to be committed."

"I can accept that," I said.

She went to the bathroom to change, and I stripped down to my briefs in her absence and climbed into bed. She emerged from the bathroom in a pair of baggy flannelette pyjamas, and I was pretty sure she had her bra and knickers on underneath. She could trust me, she had said - oh yeah? She trusted her bra and knickers more!

"Which side?" I asked, already on the left.

"As you are," she said, with a red face which was not the result of a vigorous scrub. I could see there was a mixture of fear and excitement, and she was so embarrassed!


Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 01



She climbed in beside me and lay on her back, as I was. I turned towards her. She saw my bare chest and gave a little gasp. I wondered how far any of her previous paramours had got with her, or how many clothes, if any, they had managed to shed!

"Come here," I said gently.

She turned and came over my arm so we were snuggled together. She lifted her face and we kissed. The kiss was certainly not chaste, having an element of primal passion about it, as her hands roved tentatively over my bare flesh, my free hand resting on her waist, unmoving.

She gave a quiet whimper as her hand reached the side of my briefs, and rapidly brought it over my back to my neck out of danger. We gazed at each other and both smiled. 

"I like this," she said. "You feel nice."

"You feel wonderful," I responded, and moved my hand over her pyjama jacket, to caress her back and side in turn, grazing the swell of the side of her breast. I dared not go further for I could sense her reticence. I would have to go very slowly indeed. Yes, she was still wearing her bra.

She sighed. 

"Good night," she whispered.

"Good night, sleep well," I replied and we settled to sleep.

So began our slow and stately courtship. Slow because she was embarking on the final slog to finals and had little time to go out in the evenings, and slow because I became embroiled in some complex contract stuff at work that involved very long hours and some weekend work at home. Slow because I knew she had not had many dealings with men, and had strong views on sex and relationships, and finally slow because I had other friends and a hobby that took up a good deal of time. 

However, there was progress. Kisses became hotter, and hands ranged over each other's backs and over bottoms, no less! If she felt my regular erections, she gave no indication of it. 

At some stage I began to say "I love you."

She rejected it quite strongly at first. "You can't you say that, we hardly know each other."

Eventually I wore her down by virtue of regular repetition and she allowed it, though without saying the same to me. Then in our talks one day I told her I believed that she was the one for me, and asked how she felt. She was unsure. While she liked me a lot, it was too quick for her to be sure, but her kiss that night was passionate in the extreme. It was as if she was telling me not to give up.

The hobby I mentioned is somewhat relevant, as will become clear later. A year before we met I had taken up church bell ringing and joined the team of ringers at a church near my flat. There is no short way to describe church bell ringing. What needs to be said at this stage of the saga, is that it is highly skilful, good exercise, and there is always more to learn. Bell ringers' practice took up one night a week and there was ringing for Sunday services. I would often visit a different tower from my own during a week to improve my skill. Ringers are hospitable folk on the whole and welcome visiting ringers.

Penny and I met on average once a week during the week and at weekends when she was not writing an essay or preparing for a tutorial. We would go to a pub, a folk club, or visit mutual friends, mainly hers. Sometimes we'd take in a film. 

There was no repeat of the overnight stay and little opportunity to spend time intimately, but I would tell her of my certainty that I wanted her for keeps. It always had the same effect: she would kiss and caress me with fiery passion, but say nothing in return. 

Friday 21 March 1969 (Vernal Equinox, OK the day after, that year)

It was just over a month after our first night together, when Patty, George (Patty's current man), Penny and I went to an Equinox party (any excuse). I had the only car, and so was the designated driver. It was a good party, even without drink for me, or at least much of it. The breathalyser had already been introduced, so one had to be careful. A car full of what appeared to be students was ripe for the plods' picking, and a solicitor's career would be ruined by a drink driving conviction. Thankfully my car was fairly upmarket and did not in the slightest resemble a student's banger.

We all went back to the girls' flat for coffee. Afterwards, George and Patty announced they were going to bed. Clearly tipsy, they disappeared into the bedroom giggling and shut the door. A moment later Patty, wearing a pair of very thin pyjamas, passed through the room to use the bathroom, obviously having changed in front of her current beau. The prognosis for the rest of the night was also obvious: it would not be a peaceful one. 

On returning she said, "We're changed and in bed if you want to come in," and went back into the room leaving the door slightly ajar.

I stood up and announced that I was going home. Penny looked exasperated.

"Can I come with you?" she asked, with a grimace in the direction of the bedroom. Of course she could. 

She collected toiletries and stuff for the night and a change of underwear for next day, and we were off. As we drove to my flat, she related the last time George had stayed and how embarrassed she was at the sexual noises the couple made, though she knew they were trying to keep it quiet. It is difficult to mask the regular creaking of bed springs when coitus is in full spate, nor the grunts and moans or more when climaxes hit.

--

Chapter Two

She liked my flat; it being her first visit. As before she changed in the bathroom and joined me in bed wearing a full length high necked thin cotton nightdress. It didn't strike me at the time that she knew there was a second bedroom, but chose to ignore its allure, or was she attracted to mine? 

I had kept my briefs on. When my hands roamed as we kissed, I realised she had removed her bra, though her full briefs were still in evidence, the nightdress having ridden up. I took this as an invitation and caressed her breasts over the nightie. She sighed and moaned but stiffened when my hands went down to go beneath the garment. I stopped.

She whispered "Thanks," and snuggled closer to press herself against me and my urgent erection.

I boldly returned the press against her, and she reciprocated by pushing her breasts against me. Those nipples were sharp!

"Penny this isn't fair," I said. "When are you going to trust me?"

She pulled back with a start. 

"I'm sorry," she said, and after a pause, sat up, pulled the nightdress over her head and threw it aside, then burrowed down again into my arms. "You can touch them if you want." 

Not immediately, I thought. She was now naked from the waist up, and wearing full flowery pattern briefs below. She lay down on her back.

It was her waist I went for first, stroking her sides and back while nuzzling then kissing her neck. Then I gave some attention to her stomach, lightly caressing it all over and dipping into her navel. She began to breathe heavily and to move her hips languidly. 

She sighed and she moaned, so I took this as the signal to accept her invitation, and kissed down to the tops of her swelling breasts, and then gently nipping all around her nipples. Now she began to writhe, moving her chest to get my mouth on her teats. Her hands went to my head as she tried to guide me. She was out of control. 

I licked the right, drew a palm over the left, and she squeaked. I continued the treatment and got an 'Oh!', and then a groaning 'Yes!'. I kissed down and applied some oral love to her navel, when she giggled and gasped, pulling my head up for a kiss.

Her kiss was intense, open mouthed. My hand drifted to her thigh and traced up the inner surface, but moved along the crease of her groin, avoiding her sex. She was rubbing her tit against my chest and seemed at ease with my attention down below. The third time my fingers made the journey the track was over the centre gusset of her knickers.

She stiffened.

"Be a bit adventurous," I whispered. "You'll like it. Please?"

She relaxed and lay back. I pulled at her briefs and she raised her bottom to help me pull them off! Then I played with her sex, tracing over her inner lips and grazing her clitoris. She jerked with a sharp intake of breath.

"Graham! What are you doing?"

"Ssh! Relax. You know what I'm doing."

"I don't. Ooh! Aah! I don't know..."

It struck me then. She had never masturbated, never had an orgasm. Now in the sixties this was more common than it is now, especially among women who were not all that highly sexed. Those who rode bicycles or horses would get a pleasant sensation, but it seems this feeling did not centre on the clitoris.

I continued a lazy stroking with one hand while caressing her breast with the other, while she lay stiff and wondering. Her hand had ceased to rove over my back, head and neck as she began to get lost in the feelings my hands were giving her, and she moved her hips and began to sigh.

"You mean you've never...?" I asked.

"Never wha-a-a-t?" She was now breathing hard. "What's happening to me? O-o-h!"

"Sweetheart, just let me... Just let it happen. It'll be good, I promise."

She relaxed for a second, then tensed, this time in response to her rising libido. I rubbed her, circling her little nubbin. Then with a cry she stiffened, and bucked. Her eyes screwed shut than opened, amazed, as wide as her mouth as she was taken by her first climax.

"Ahh! Ugh! Gerr! Mm!" Her range of non-verbal expletives was impressive, bearing testimony to the intensity of the experience. I felt smug.

I played gently with her private parts as she slowly came down and rejoined the human race. 

"Is that...? Was that...? They said the earth moved... That was just... Oh!" 

Then she giggled. "Oh, Graham, that was... different!"

"Told you," I replied.

"Mm, I never felt anything so good!"

"That was your first ever?"

"Yes, it never occurred to me. I never felt the need."

My prick was still standing hard, begging for attention. I nudged her side with it and she looked at me questioningly. Then lifted the quilt and looked at bulge in my briefs. Then at me again. It was obvious she didn't have a clue what to do.

I slid my underpants down and freed my cock, she lifted the quilt again and her eyes went wide. It was obvious this was another first for her. Again, today that would be surprising, but then there was no internet porn, and women's magazines were not at all explicit; Cosmopolitan Magazine was still six years away.

She looked at me with a 'help me' expression.

I took her hand and led it to my prick, wrapping her fingers round it and then moving her hand up and down the shaft. I let go and she continued to rub me.

"Is this right?" she asked eventually.

"Oh, yes!" I said as my excitement rose.

I took her hand again and led it between my legs, placing it against the crease of my bottom, then pulled upwards over my perineum, groaning as I did so. Then as we reached my balls I let go and she held them before fondling them. She stifled a giggle.

I have to say she was a quick learner. She wasn't totally ignorant about sex; after all, Patricia's and George's activities in an adjacent bed were surely educational. She said later that even though they confined their activities under the bedclothes, the movements of Patricia's hands and George's backside moving up and down under the covers indicated clearly enough that something was going on.

She returned to stroking my cock up and down.

"Am I doing this right?" she asked.

"Mm," I replied. It was bliss. Then her other hand went to my anus and pressed. That surprised me. She traced over my perineum and pressed a little. As I said: quick learner.

I moaned, "Oh, Penny, that's good!"

She giggled and repeated the exercise, all the while wanking my prick.

"Oh that's so good! Keep doing that!" I was begging, and getting close. She speeded up, pressing up between my legs.

"I'm getting close!" I warned, as she was crouched over my stomach. 

"Mm?" she asked, "Close to what?" Too late. I erupted. She was so surprised at the splash of semen that hit her cheek that she stopped stroking.

"Don't Stop!" I cried. "Please!"

To her credit she began again but kept clear as I sent two or three more gobs over my stomach and chest, and catching her arm.

I had been rigid during my orgasm, and now fell back. 

"Oh," I gasped, and she stopped, "Penny, that was intense. You are wonderful."

"So that's what you squirt inside a woman," she said, "sort of milky, slimy and a bit messy!" and she giggled again. Then got out of bed and ran to the bathroom to clean up, while I wiped myself dry with some loo roll that I had by the bed. Why else would a single man have a roll of loo paper by his bed?

She ran back into the room and dived into bed, wrapping herself round me.

"Was that OK?" she asked with a triumphant smile, not really needing an answer.

"Pretty good for a first attempt," I tried, but my grin got a punch for my pains. 

"OK," I compromised. "It was bloody marvellous."

"That's better," she said complacently, snuggling into my side, her head on my shoulder. 

Nothing more was said, for we both fell asleep until the morning, by which time we were back to back. I know I was supposed to be spooned up against her, my erection pressing into the crease of her backside, but it simply did not happen like that. Neither did I have an erection that morning, so spooning would have been a waste of time.

In fact, from what happened next, spooning would not have gone down well at all.

I rolled out of bed, naked, went to the kitchen and made tea, taking it back to the bedroom for Penny. The bed was empty, and when she appeared out of the bathroom, she was fully dressed. She looked unhappy, resentful.

"What's the matter?" I asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Last night," she said.

"Yes?"

"You knew my views on sex and you took advantage of me. You knew I didn't want to go that far and you went ahead and did it anyway."

"Hang on!" I protested. "We've been a couple for four months, and exclusively at that. I got the impression you were committed to me in some sense, and I'm certainly committed to you."

"You've been after me the whole time. You've been wearing me down, and last night you got your wish."

I was staggered. My memory of the previous night was not of a woman who was resisting or even reluctant in any way. Puzzled, yes, but not reluctant. In fact I'm sure I detected a certain curiosity once she got going! I certainly remembered a good deal of giggling on her part.

"Look," I said, somewhat conscious that I was naked while she was fully dressed: somehow I felt it weakened my argument. "Take your tea and go sit down in the kitchen while I dress, then we can talk." 

"If you think you can talk me round, you're wrong. It was wrong what you did last night, and you can't wriggle out of it."

I was getting annoyed. "Go to the living room or the kitchen and I'll get dressed."

She turned and left. I washed, shaved and dressed, and on emerging went in search of her. I looked into the living room then the kitchen, and realised at last she had gone. I was completely at a loss. Her picture of the night before was completely different from mine, and her reaction extreme.

I had breakfast and it gave me time to start to feel unjustly treated and annoyed as a result. I got in the car and went to her flat. I rang their bell once at the front door and waited. At length I heard the clattering on the stairs and the door opened to reveal Patricia, very pretty in skin-tight jeans and tight sexy tee shirt - very revealing!

"Oh, it's you," she said with a certain distain.

"Yes, it's me," I replied, "and I'm not happy."

"Well, neither is she. You fucked her after seducing her. You know she didn't want that. She was keeping her virginity for marriage."

"Hey, Patty, hang about! She told you that?"

"She said you had sex. What else does that mean?'

"In her case, me getting her off with nimble fingers, and she wanking me off."

"You mean?" she stuttered. "That's all? No fuck, not even oral? You did her first?" Patty did not euphemise her sexual vocabulary.

"Of course, then she wanted to do me, so I showed her how. She clearly enjoyed doing it - she kept me on edge and giggled about it, shoved a finger up my arse, played with my balls. She was fine with all that last night, went to sleep in my arms. This morning she had a guilt trip and put all the blame on me, then ran off before we could talk about it."

She looked at me with disbelief. "You're joking! That all? And she went without talking to you. Silly cow!"

She stopped and thought. Then, "Look Graham, go home. I'll talk with her. Can't promise she'll come round, but personally, if you were going out with me, I wouldn't let you go so easily. You're one of the good ones." She looked wistful, "Got her off first, hmm!" She sort of shook herself, then turned and climbed the stairs. She left the front door ajar - what a bottom! What a mover!

Her repines felt good, coming from an experienced woman (five years younger than me). She looked good too as she climbed the stairs; she certainly knew how to move it. Enough to allow a passing thought of putting my name down on the waiting list for when she finished with George, instantly banished.

I went. I needed to do the weekly shop and then clean the flat. Shortly after I finished my household tasks the doorbell rang. I opened the door. There stood Penny. She did not look happy, but it was difficult to read her. I stood back and she walked in, and went to the living room, where she sat down, upright as if she had a rod up her back, on the sofa. Did not take her coat off!

"I had a long talk with Patty, so I'm here to listen to your apology."

"Then you'll be here a long time, 'cause I'm not giving you one." (That was true in more senses than one).

She looked disconcerted. "But Patty said you came to apologise."

"Did she really?"

"Well, she said you'd come to talk, but I assumed-"

"You assumed wrong. I'm prepared to talk. In fact I want to talk with you. But apologise? What for?"

"For taking advantage of me."

"I didn't. You wanted it."

"I did not!"

I was getting frustrated with her attitude, but kept my cool.

"Penny, you asked to come home with me, you took off your bra for the first time before getting into bed, you pressed your braless tits against me and pressed yourself against my cock."

There were raised eyebrows and an 'O' of the mouth at my language, but I continued.

"When I showed my frustration you took off your nightdress and invited me to play with your tits. You invited me! You french kissed me urgently. When I took my hand to your thigh and up to your groin, you moaned and did not stop me. You wanted me, OK?"

"I never wanted to-"

"I touched your sex and you froze, but I told you I'd give you a good time, and you lifted your bum to help me get your knickers off. 

"After that you wondered what was happening to you, but you never gave any indication you wanted me to stop, quite the reverse, you were trying to get me to touch you where you wanted. You had an orgasm and afterwards said you'd never felt so good. 

"Then you wanted to know how to get me off, and you enjoyed playing with my prick and you even played games making me wait; you stuck a finger up my arse, for heaven's sake! 

"After you cleaned up you snuggled with me and fell asleep in my arms. You had fun, you enjoyed it all. I don't understand what your problem is. You. Did. Not. 'Have. Sex'."

That concluded my deposition. As a lawyer I thought it conclusive.

The experience was vivid in my mind (I told you I do have a photographic memory), and I think she was amazed at the accuracy of my account. It silenced her for a minute or two, then her features softened and she looked thoughtful. 




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 01



"You're right, of course. I got carried away."

I was impressed. She was reasonable and was prepared to listen and accept another's point of view. I warmed to her even more than before. I knew then with even greater certainty that I wanted Penny 'till death did us part'.

"But you knew that I want to keep sex for a committed relationship," she said looking at me for an answer, or some justification of her actions now she was open to me.

"We met. We found we liked each other and we kissed. Short kiss. The beginning of a relationship. Eh?" I raised an eyebrow inviting agreement [Roger Moore eat your heart out! Roger Moore? Played James Bond, and the Saint - now I am showing my age. In his own old age, he's still the master of the single raised eyebrow. Drives women wild].

She nodded.

"After Christmas you invited me to stay - in your bed. We kissed and cuddled. I took it our relationship had taken a step further. Do you agree?"

Again a nod.

"Since then we have done more intimate things. Deeper kisses, french kisses, stroking further. For me the actions just reflected a still deeper relationship. I told you how much I wanted you for good. 

"OK, you weren't sure you felt the same, but you were sensuous in the extreme every time I said it. Again it seemed to me that your behaviour reflected the fact our relationship had deepened."

"But we never had sex before."

"We didn't have full sex last night either! It was another step, but only a step. All your signals last night told me you wanted more. Mind you I didn't know that you didn't know what the 'more' was like!"

She laughed. For the first time, she laughed that lovely light laugh. "I never knew..."

"No you didn't," I laughed in my turn, "but I love you and I wanted to show you how much by giving you pleasure. I wanted to get even closer to you. It wasn't full sex, in fact there's a hell of a lot we could do that is even more intimate and still isn't full sex: your vagina is still untouched, unbroken. What we did last night was an expression of our love: we gave each other pleasure.

"I wanted to give you pleasure, make you happy, and afterwards you wanted to do the same for me. You were showing your love. I'm sure that was it. Mind you, it also expressed desire, nothing wrong with that. I do want you, but I'll wait until you're ready to commit to me properly as well."

"But I've always thought that sex needs full commitment. Marriage."

"Full sex. Penetration. I think when people get that far they need to know exactly what each other thinks it's about; after all, it does make babies. I agree it's much too important to treat it casually, but there's a huge range of depth in relationships between 'casual acquaintance' and being married. If you feel both feel comfortable there's a range if things you can do to show your love, how you can give your love, short of full sex."

I waited for a reaction.

This time she sat still and thought. 

"You're the first guy I've been in a real relationship with. I've never allowed boys to take any liberties, so these issues haven't come up. I need to think. Do you mind?"

"Of course I don't mind."

She stood, and I stood. She came to me, put her hands on my shoulders and kissed me gently and with what I thought was real love. Then she turned and left.

-- 

Chapter Three 

She did not refer to the matter when we met the next time, which was a week to the day after our first 'tiff', but she ended up at my flat and came to bed wearing a new bra and knicker set, much briefer and revealing than before, and that was all she wore! She had been shopping. She discarded the bra pretty quickly once I'd seen how pretty it was.

We made love, manually, as we did the time before, though this time she initiated it by giving her attention to my prick. I did the same for her pussy and her tits, and by carefully balancing her rising orgasm against my own, we managed to get ourselves to orgasm together. 

I learned something about her that night. She had gone away and thought about it, had agreed with me, and then simply shown that agreement physically, and without alluding to it verbally. Perhaps that was how she was, perhaps she always just acted on what she learned, without words. Not necessarily a good thing.

-- 

She was not going home for Easter, but was staying to complete her dissertation, which I asked one of the secretaries at the firm to type for her on Penny's own typewriter at my flat, for a consideration obviously.

Trouble.

I was summoned to Partner Kieran Walsh's office.

"What's this about using our secretarial staff for your own personal needs?" he asked with a dour expression. He was good at dour expressions.

"A private arrangement," I said.

"You have no right to make use of secretarial staff in practice time. Consider this a reprimand."

"I object," I replied. "I demand a meeting of the partners if you place this on my record. This is a private arrangement with Holly Smithson to work for me, done for my girlfriend in Holly's own time, and off the premises. Certainly not in the firm's time. Nothing to do with the firm. Nothing to do with you."

"Another of your 'liaisons' with office staff? You are aware that our firm disapproves of relationships between employees."

"Mr Walsh," I snapped. "What staff do in their own time is their own business. You don't own us. I see no clause in any of our contracts 'disapproving' of entering into relationships with other employees, and I defy you to show me it if there is. "

"You are on dangerous ground, Proctor. Your relationships with the female staff does not enhance the reputation of the firm."

"What do our clients know about inter-staff relations?" I asked dismissively. "However, if it puts your mind at rest, I have a regular girlfriend and have no interest whatsoever in any member of staff in the way you are suggesting."

"Not the impression among the staff here."

"A false one."

"This meeting is over. Just watch your step Proctor. No one is indispensable."

I returned to my office and was followed into it by Zena.

"Walsh?" She asked knowingly.

"Yes. Objecting to Holly typing up Penny's dissertation at home, and to me having 'relations' with other members of staff."

She laughed. "It's all in his mind, Graham. He's a sad little man. Don't pay him any attention. I'm sure the other partners know all about his funny ways."

We both shrugged and went back to work.

-- 

During the Easter Vacation, Penny worked all day at my flat, going back to her flat for notes and books as she needed them, and she shared my bed each night. We did not have our limited sex every night, but over the three weeks of her Easter break we would pleasure each other on average two or three times a week. There was much hugging in between.

After Easter she applied for a post-graduate teacher training course at a Liverpool College of Education, and was accepted readily, depending on her gaining a pass grade for her degree. 

Thinking ahead to our separation the following academic year, she urged me to get a telephone, so I made a booking with Post Office Telephones. I was told that I could get a phone on a party line fairly quickly, but a line all to myself would take longer. I would have to join the queue. I opted to join the queue. It took three months to get the line installed and the phone working, just in time for her to leave for Liverpool. It seemed something of a luxury but it made it easier for Penny to call me, and I could call her by arrangement at her local telephone box.

She graduated with a upper second class degree. I was not invited to the degree ceremony, nor to the meal with Penny's parents, her brother and his family. I was not surprised at that and made no comment. Penny looked embarrassed, and seemed on the edge of apologising and explaining, but perhaps did not have the courage to bring up the subject.

I took her for a celebratory meal the following week. It was the best restaurant I had found, and I knew it was far better than the one her family had been to. This embarrassed her further, especially since I still had not commented on my exclusion. This time she felt compelled to speak.

"Graham," she said, "I'm really sorry you were not invited to the degree ceremony. There were only three tickets available. Ingrid and the children couldn't go either."

I stared at her. "And the celebration meal?" I asked. It had irritated me, that snub.

"Well, you see..." she stumbled to a halt.

"Your parents were in charge and I was not invited by them. You mentioned me, but that idea was rejected. The excuse was 'family only'. Am I right?"

She gazed at me in surprise. "Well, yes, that's exactly how it was."

"So I know exactly where I stand with your parents. Nowhere. I'll bet they tried to put you off me as well?"

She nodded. "They said you were not suitable and you'd bring me nothing but trouble."

So the Roasburies were snobs. I bet myself their real name had been Roseberry, or Rosby or some such; affected or what! I would be happy to keep clear of them, as long as they kept clear of me. Her next comment endeared her to me.

"But," she hastily added, "they won't succeed there. I'm with you, my love. This restaurant is streets ahead of the one we went to, and the food is superb."

That was encouraging, and I felt good: I had out-snobbed the snobs! And she called me 'my love'! 

I forbore to comment that it seemed the way to a girl's heart was through quality goods travelling to her stomach, though it did cross my mind, as did an unworthy thought of certain other 'quality' goods from me going into her stomach! As yet we hadn't done oral and it didn't seem likely.

We made the journey to Liverpool to find her a furnished place to live for the year. We found a Victorian house within walking distance of the college, and, as it happened, a slightly longer walk in the other direction to a parish church with six bells (yes, I looked it up at the time), which was adjacent as many are to a very pleasant pub with good 'Happy Higson's' beer. There was a small supermarket, more a self-service general grocery store really, and some other local shops at the end of the road on which the house lay. Self-service shops were still something of a novelty.

The room, for that is all it was, was fairly large on the middle floor at the rear of the house, fully (rather threadbare) carpeted, with a double bed, a cooker, a wash basin/kitchen sink, a table with two chairs, book case, one armchair, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. 

The bathroom was shared with the other rooms on that floor. It was kept spotlessly clean, maintained by the owner who lived on the ground floor, rather like the flat Penny was living in already. 

The room was a little down at heel but clean, and Penny paid the deposit and was set to move in the following September.

It was while we were in the room that I mentioned that the local parish church had a ring of bells, and she expressed an interest in joining me, and seeing how it was done. So once we were back home, I took her to my local tower, and she watched, then asked to learn to ring. I did not teach her, thinking that like learning to drive, it is best taught by someone else.

Summer had finally arrived, and we only had the four weeks in June before she took up a summer job with a firm in London which translated texts to and from different languages. Her degree had been in French and Italian. 

For my part I had my work to do, and this included a trip to the States to put feelers out for our firm to expand our specialised services there for companies that wanted to get a foothold in Britain and vice versa, and to explore openings for an office in New York with indigenous talent. Penny and I would be apart for the whole of July and August. 

I had hoped we would be able to take a week's holiday together at the beginning of September, but she was going to her parents' for a fortnight before she went to Liverpool. 

I was miffed, but she pointed out that she had not seen them since graduation, and after all, they were to fund her post graduate training. I had to agree with her decision; in any case I had no choice. 

She promised we could spend a week together in Liverpool before her course started and I changed my holidays to suit. I noted I had not been invited to see her at her parents' place, not that I minded much after my experience at Christmas and their behaviour at her graduation.

We did spend that week together, and I moved things a little further in our love making: I went down on her. I was kissing her breasts and fondling her pussy, and taking my courage in both hands, or rather in my mouth, I kissed down her body.

Now I had kissed her navel many times, so there was no reaction apart from her chuckles at the tickling sensation, and the little sounds of pleasure that followed them. Then I moved further south.

"Graham!" she squeaked. "What are you doing?"

"Loving you!" I reposted, "Relax!"

"But..."

"Just relax."

I pulled her legs apart; they had clenched together when I reached her furry mound. She let me, but was still murmuring her distrust.

I held her petals apart and licked from vagina to clit, merely grazing the latter. She gave a startled, "Oh!"

I began to repeat the procedure. She pushed at my head.

"Graham don't, it's dirty. I smell! Please don't."

I raised my head and gazed into her eyes.

"Penny, my darling," I said gently, "You're not dirty, and your smell is a good healthy woman's smell and I like it. So just let me get on with this."

She sighed with resignation, but her legs opened wider. 

"Go on then," she said, "if you must."

I went to work. Tongue across her crease, swirl around her button, across her button. She jerked, and gave a little yip. I sucked a little on her button and she moaned. Another few traverses, and she was beginning to writhe while making more and more noise.

"Oh, Graham, what are you doing to me? Oh, yes! Oh right there! Please, ooh! Oh, I think I'm..."

She squealed, cried out my name, called upon God and heaven, and took off in a mad bucking and twitching, her thighs crashing together round my head, her hand pulling my head against her sex. It's a wonder she did not crush my skull!

"That was..." she panted as she regained the power of speech, "I thought I knew... Couldn't get better... But that! Oh I love you Graham!"

It was the first time she had ever said it. I would not hold it against her, said as it was in the languid aftershocks of a strenuous orgasm, but she did say it.

"And I've told you often enough, that I love you," and I left it at that.

We lay for a while, then she stiffened.

"Graham, I... I don't think I can... You know - in my mouth." She raised her head from my shoulder to see my reaction. I stifled my disappointment.

"It's all right, my darling," I said looking into her eyes softly. "Just do what you are comfortable with, you get me off just fine."

She relaxed and smiled, nestling into my armpit. Then her fingers strayed to my very much alive erection, and worked her magic, finding my most sensitive areas, stroking lightly then hard, slowly then quickly, until I begged for mercy, and she brought me off. 

It didn't make the earth move but it relieved my tension and I enjoyed it immensely. Perhaps one day, I thought.

It was on the Monday of the week we spent together, we were in her room and heard the sound of bells. Monday was the Parish Church's practice night. The following Monday before I made my journey home, we visited the ringers and were warmly welcomed. The first ten minutes were given to novices learning to handle a bell, and Penny was called, much to her surprise. The practice she had had in June stood her in good stead, and she was handling the rope really well, holding the bell back and varying the pace. The ringing master expressed his opinion that with someone near to help if necessary, she could try ringing in rounds (rounds means the bells are rung in a scale from high to low).

I was impressed. She had a long way to go before she could keep her place with any accuracy, but she did not panic and handled her rope smoothly. She was excited as we walked back to her room, chattering about her success, giving a little skip every now and then, and giggling softly.

There was a phone box at the corner of her road, and I made a note of the number. She would send me a letter telling me when she would phone me, or we would arrange it at the previous phone call, and I would then phone her back at the box. Wednesdays at 7.30 seemed a good time. It was a system we continued to use thereafter.

I left her on Monday after ringing; she was to start the Post Graduate course on Tuesday. I heard nothing from her until there was a letter on Friday telling me how hectic it had been. It had been written on the Tuesday. Then on Friday evening the phone rang just after I'd finished reading the letter.

"Graham, can I come for the weekend? I'm lonely."

"Of course," I said. "I'll come and collect you."

She laughed. "Well actually I'm at Stretford station."

"I'll pick you up. Wait on King's Road."

"Thanks."

It was raining a fine drizzle when I arrived half an hour later, and there she was under her umbrella. She shook it and put it behind the front seats. We kissed long and hard as she settled into the passenger seat. 

"Are you wet?" I asked. 

"Yes. Not from the rain, but in anticipation!" and she laughed.

"That can be satisfied," I said, "All weekend!"

"I have to do some reading as well as sex, is that all right?" she asked with a grin.

"Instruction manual?" I smirked lewdly.

"No, you maniac. College stuff."

"That's fine. I'll curb my libido. I love just having you around."

"You're so good to me," she was smiling. "Don't curb it too much, I need you."

We picked up fish, chips, peas and curry on the way home, and enjoyed it with bottled beers. 

"Can we go to the pub tonight - not for long?" she asked.

"Want to meet Ian?" I asked. "He'll be there tonight, being Friday."

She smiled. "Yeah, that'll be fun."

We had a good time at the pub and an even better one in bed afterwards. She read her stuff on Saturday while I did my weekly shop and completed some research of my own for work. I made a salad supper with ham, pork pie, and cheese, then we went to bed early and made leisurely limited love listening to the radio. 

She wanted to go to church on Sunday and I was going to ring there anyway. She came and sat in the ringing chamber and watched, and then we stayed for the service.

She did more reading while I played around on the guitar. I roasted a chicken marinaded in Soy sauce and Sesame oil, with roast potatoes, broccoli, carrots, and gravy made on the chicken juices, followed by a fruit salad and ice cream. 

The drizzle which had continued throughout Saturday had abated, and so we went for a walk in the afternoon, and I took her to the train in the city in the evening.

"Thanks so much, my love," she said as she hugged me, hands around my neck, her body pressed against me. "I really needed this weekend. Can I do it again?"

"As often as you want, sweetie," I affirmed, "Just having you in the flat brightens my life."

She sighed with a wide smile and tore herself away as the train pulled to a stop.

In that first term, she came home to me every weekend. She did not have to work all weekend every week, and on two weekends she did no work at all, and we took the opportunity to visit my parents, who took to her and she to them. 

My mother whisked her off into the kitchen to 'help' prepare the meal. My father and I could hear them talking. Mother was asking questions and Penny was answering at some length.

"Seems a nice girl," Dad said.




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 01



"She is."

"Is it going anywhere?"

"I think so, I think she's the one. She's not sure yet."

"She will be," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "I can see that. Just a matter of time."

"I hope so."

That was it. He was always economical with words, but usually right. She said on the way back to my place that my mother gave her the third degree, but very gently.

"What did you tell her?" I asked ingenuously.

"Not telling you," she said with a mischievous smile, "You might get the right idea and get big headed."

I shrugged and left the matter alone. 

Another weekend Penny begged me to take her to see her older brother Derek, married to Ingrid who was originally Scandinavian. They had two young boys, Steven nine and Leo seven.

Unlike my experience with Penny's parents, Derek and ingrid made me feel very welcome and Derek and I hit it off well. He was keen to understand the legal work I did. He was a lecturer in Mathematics at the university. It was a cold sunny weekend, so we wrapped up and played football with the lads in the garden. Ingrid had a smile that drew you in and made you a firm friend. Each time she saw me she smiled that smile. 

It was an enjoyable weekend apart from the sleeping arrangements. They lived in a small house with three bedrooms. Penny got the small bedroom and I got the sofa in the living room. It was not quite long enough and was lumpy in all the wrong places. The boys arrived to play at seven, so my sleep was curtailed, while the other adults slept on. 

I went to Penny's room, and woke her, which did not please her at all, but I pointed out the problems and she gave me a little room in the single bed. The organisation of the bedrooms showed I was not expected to share a bed with Penny, so we had to be alert to any sound of movement from Derek and ingrid's room, so I could be dressed and out of her bed (not necessarily in that order) before we were interrupted.

There was discussion about Penny's and Derek's parents concerning Connie, Penny's younger sister whom she had not mentioned before. Whereas Penny was studious and had ambition, her younger sister was a wild child, and lasted a year at Keele University before dropping out after failing her first year exams. She had been told by her mother that she was not welcome until she returned to university. 

The next day she disappeared, and though Derek suspected she was in London, no one had heard from her since. It distressed Derek, who had made some efforts to find her without success. It distressed Penny as well, indeed for the rest of the visit and the journey home she was quiet and thoughtful.

"She and Mother always rubbed each other up the wrong way," Derek had said with resignation. "They fought like cat and dog all through her high school years." 

We talked about the antipathy of Penny's mother to me, but couldn't find a credible reason. Derek said he thought she'd have been glad Penny was going out with a lawyer; he would talk to her, but nothing more was heard.

I asked her about Connie on the way home, hoping that talking about her would make Penny feel better. 

"It hurts," she said. "We didn't get on all that well, but I do love her. I worry about her."

Silence followed for there was really nothing more I could say. Once in her room in Liverpool she had cheered up and I stayed over, leaving early the next day for work.

With December came the anniversary of our meeting for the first time: 13th December, which that year fell on Saturday. It gave me the great idea to give Penny a treat since her term ended on the twelfth. On reflection I should have checked with her first, but I wanted to surprise her.

So I booked a mid-range hotel in London, two first class rail tickets, and a show. When she phoned on the Wednesday before, I decided to break the news.

"Keep the weekend free," I told her. "I've got a surprise for you."

"Sorry darling," she said blithely, "I'm booked up this weekend, so can you pick me up and bring me to yours on Sunday?"

I was stunned into silence.

"Darling?" she said with some surprise.

I was now annoyed. "What's so important this weekend of all weekends? It's the first anniversary of when we met. I've planned a special surprise for you."

"Well," she said, without a trace of regret, "Friday there's a party for the postgrads, and Saturday the Vicar is hosting a little party for the ringers - a thank you for the year's service. So your surprise will have to wait I'm afraid. So I'll see you on Sunday."

"The surprise can't wait - it's booked in advance. Anyway, you said nothing about these parties last weekend," I muttered. "Didn't notice an invitation to go with you to either of them. You've been coming to me every weekend, you could have said at least."

"Didn't think about it. You booked?"

"Didn't think about the anniversary either?"

"Well, I knew-"

"But it clearly wasn't so important that you could miss your precious parties. OK, I know where I stand in your priorities. Sorry, I can't make it on Sunday, I'll still be away enjoying your surprise with someone else. I can get there Monday evening."

"Away?" she sounded interested, but I was annoyed.

"Yes, a weekend away. Never mind, I won't waste it. See you Monday night. Good bye." 

"Good bye, love," she said after a pause. She could have changed her mind but didn't. 

I put the phone down, and then I phoned Kitty, whose term had already ended (that's Oxbridge for you), and invited her. She was ecstatic. 

"But shouldn't you be taking Penny?" she asked, suddenly all concern.

"She's busy," I said tersely. "Can't make it."

She stared at me, understood there was a big problem there and diplomatically said "OK!" 

Then she prattled on for a while, and we made our arrangements. 

I was out ringing on Thursday, and the ringers went for a pint or two after practice. I joined them, getting home after midnight, since I had the day off on Friday.

Kitty and I had a whale of a time; she was so lively and appreciative. We had the hotel change the booking to a twin bed room, and since nudity was never an issue in the family, we were comfortable with each other, but did not flaunt ourselves either.

I arrived back at the flat late on Sunday night, and needed to get into work early next morning to remedy my absence the previous Friday. I went straight from work to Liverpool, and rang her bell.

She opened the door looking a mixture of upset and angry, and launched into an irate diatribe.

"You took someone else on a weekend away, did you? You think you can just pick up some girl and I'll be happy with that? Well, you'll be pleased to know that I picked up a guy at the postgrad party. Very nice he was too. So how d'you feel about that?"

I stared at her. She had not invited me in, standing on the step, arms folded.

"OK," I said. "Get him to take you home," and I turned to walk away. 

"Graham!" she shouted after me. "Don't be so childish! Come back here!"

I stopped, and turned. "You 'picked up' another man. I thought we were exclusive, clearly it only works one way."

"You took 'another woman' away all weekend, some exclusive! I phoned but you were always out."

"I took Kitty. OK?" I must confess to sneering. Her face registered surprise and then horror.

"B-but..." She stopped, then looked distressed. "I didn't mean it about picking a man up. I just talked with him. We didn't do anything." 

"I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Yes! Dammit!" she exploded. "I have never lied to you. I said it to get back at you. I thought you had cheated."

"Get your stuff, I'll wait in the car." I turned and walked away.

She made two trips to load the car and I lifted not a finger to help her. She got in the car and I drove away. The first ten minutes were passed in heavy silence. Then she couldn't stand it anymore.

"Graham, love," she said penitently, "I did forget our anniversary. I'm very sorry. I'm sorry I didn't cancel my plans for you, I should have. Forgive me?"

"You're forgiven. Forget it."

"So," she ventured, "What did you do at the weekend?"

"First class rail to London, good hotel, meal at a high class restaurant, a show. Kitty loved it."

Silence. Then "You planned all that for me? Why didn't you say?"

"Penny, you spent every weekend with me this term. It never crossed my mind that you'd plan something else. I wanted to surprise you. You had every chance to pass up the parties - who'd have missed you?"

She sniffed, "You're right. The parties weren't up to much either. My own fault, I should have known you'd treat me to something really nice. I won't put you off again, that I promise."

She came to the flat, we ate a takeaway, and went to bed. She came to my arms and we made slow and once more limited love. She apologised again, and I told her to forget it. Then we slept. So ended her first term.

--

Chapter Four 

After our spat over the anniversary, I sensed there was something of a change in our relationship. It was impossible to pin down, but things were not quite the same. I couldn't work out whether things between us were better or worse.

Penny stayed at the flat until the weekend, going shopping in Manchester for Christmas presents, while I toiled at work. We went to my parents' house on the Monday before Christmas so that Penny could leave her presents and spend some time with my family. Kitty ragged Penny dreadfully about the weekend away, and Penny put up with it stoicly. 

On Tuesday evening after work, I took her back to her parents' place. Her father was working late - something he did regularly apparently, and so I was subjected to her mother's distain without any amelioration. 

Again the dragon offered no refreshment, but Penny ignored her rudeness and made me a sandwich and some tea and, I think, to irritate her mother, hung on my arm and cuddled up to me. Mother took one look and disappeared. I left with a scorching kiss from my girl, and a distinct absence from her mother.

Christmas fell on a Thursday, and in England Christmas Day and the day after (known as Boxing Day) are public (known as Bank) holidays, and that year were followed immediately by a weekend (known as a 'weekend'). 

It was on Saturday morning early that I was awoken by the phone.

"Graham," Penny begged, "Please can you come and pick me up from home? I can't stand any more of mother's nagging and her lies. She's ruined my Christmas."

I had nothing else to do, and the trains would be scarce if they ran at all.

"OK," I said. "I need to get dressed and then it's about an hour."

"Thank you, you've no idea."

"You can tell me all about it on the way back, see you soon."

Thankfully it was a sunny morning. When I arrived she was waiting outside the gate with her bag. She piled in and we were off. She vented her frustration half the time on the journey. 

The essence was that her mother constantly denigrated me, said I was a philanderer and fortune hunter(!), badgered her to find a 'more suitable' boyfriend, hinted that she would be 'cut off' if she married me. She said that the tirade continued all Christmas Day, to the extent that Derek told his mother to stop it or he and his family would be going home. The atmosphere was tense all the next day.

Penny said Ingrid was good to her, telling her that Derek got the same treatment when marriage was in the air for them. Mother did not want 'foreigners' in the family! The two women spent most of the time in Penny's bedroom.

There was no mention of her father, so I assumed he kept well out of it. After all, he had to live with her when everyone went home. It reminded me that he spent a disproportionate amount of time at work, and I wondered afresh about their marriage.

"You know I only have tomorrow off," I said as we carried her bags up to my flat.

That's OK," she said cheerfully (her relief at leaving home was palpable), "I can look up some friends and I can be your housekeeper. I can cook, you know."

We spent the rest of the day at my parents' with my siblings, with whom she had made firm friends. 

When we returned to the flat, she expressed her gratitude for her escape by stripping naked, kneeling before me, unfastening my trousers, unzipping, pulling my pants and underwear down, pushing me down on the sofa, and heavens above, taking me in her mouth!

I was shocked. 

"Penny, you don't have to," I said, desperately hoping she would brush aside my concern, which she did. Whey hey!

"Yes, I do," she said. "I talked with Ingrid, and she said it's not too bad."

She bent to her task once more, and I couldn't help feeling Ingrid had been giving instruction in technique, for she was giving a classy blow, no teeth. After a while I felt the gathering, and warned her.

"Penny, I'm close."

She did not carry on, and I did not come in her mouth. She pulled off and brought me off by hand, allowing my spend to splash all over her breasts. It was intense, and when I stopped twitching, she let go of my cock and scooped up some of my semen onto her fingers.

"Ingrid told me to taste it," she explained, and popped the fingers in her mouth. She looked puzzled, scooped some more and tried again.

"It's quite bitter, salty," she opined, "catches at the back of my throat, but doesn't taste of all that much. A bit slimy perhaps, like raw egg." 

Then she laughed and looked mischievous. 

"Are you going to kiss me?" she asked with a knowing smile, and scooping up the last remaining globs of the stuff, stuffing it in her mouth. It was a challenge. She sucked her fingers, swallowed and lifted her face for a kiss. I kissed her and tasted the bitterness on her tongue. I had tasted my own come long since (don't ask!). I wouldn't say it was pleasant but not unpleasant either.

She looked surprised. "Ingrid said you would refuse. Men do," she said by way of explanation. 

"I'd never refuse to kiss you, my darling. Not my favourite flavour, but edible," I said smugly. "Not my first time either."

She looked a little confused at that, but the expression on her face soon changed when I pulled her up, placed her by my side sliding off immediately to pull her to the edge of the cushion. I spread her and began to return her favour. It did not take long before she was groaning and moaning and pushing her mound into my face. I intensified my tongue work and she came in quick time.

"Oh, yes!" were the only understandable words, though the other guttural and squeaky sounds she emitted expressed her pleasure eloquently enough for me.

We filled two glasses with milk and retired to bed. She made a comment about the colour of milk and semen. She thought milk tasted better but wondered about the relative protein content. I couldn't enlighten her on that one.

Next day we joined the family on a Sunday hike in the hills. It was cloudy and cold but we were well wrapped up, followed by a hot dinner at my parents'. Then home for some gentle oral loving - she swallowed; I kissed her after. She grinned.

My work days were short that week since New Year was on the Thursday, and though it would be some years before it was made an official Bank Holiday, for our practice it was another holiday, and the practice gave us the Friday as well. No one wanted industrial legal advice then anyway! Penny stayed in bed each morning, but cooked the evening meal for all three days. 

"We are invited to a New Year's Eve party," she told me over dinner on Tuesday, "You remember Annette? Did Russian, shacked up with Solly? It's at their place." 

Wednesday 31 December 1969

It sounded fun, and Wednesday evening found us pushing at an open door into a fairly large Edwardian house. It seemed that the couple shared the house with four other people. I got into a discussion about the future of computing with a bloke called Bill (not Gates, at fourteen he was too young to come to the party, and anyway he lived too far away), and when I left Bill, I could not find Penny. 

Eventually, after ranging over the house, I saw her sitting on a sofa in the smaller of the back rooms, deep in conversation with a very good looking guy. The room was quite dark and she didn't see me. However I could hear her and it seemed the guy was French and she was talking with him in that language.

The thing that intrigued me was that he was clearly trying to get off with her. The words I did not understand, but the tone and inflection, coupled with Penny's flirty laughter, made it obvious. I wondered where this flirtation might lead, and stood back in the dark hall out of their line of vision and watched.

He would touch her arm, her shoulder, push her hair over her ear as he talked. I'd seen lads at school and university seduce girls and he was following the script. It was when he put his hand on her knee that she stiffened and took it off. He apologised, but kept up the touching. The second time he put a hand on her thigh, and she stood up and said something the tone of which left nothing to the imagination. At that I came round the corner.

"Ah, there you are Darling!" I gushed. He bristled, she smiled.

"And oo ees thees?" he asked her, as if I were an intruder on his turf.

"Let me introduce you, Michel this is Graham, my boyfriend. Graham, Michel has been telling me all about his chateau in the Dordogne."

We shook hands. He made it a contest. As he squeezed my hand hard, I brought my other hand up and applied a finger to a pressure point on his wrist and he let go, grabbing his wrist and wincing.

"Don't try that again, pal," I said nonchalantly, "or I'll break your wrist."

Penny looked confused at the confrontation, and Michel wandered off, muttering something Gallic, an insult I was sure.

We saw in the new year, kissed each other and an undefined number of other folk of the opposite sex. I saw Michel heading for Penny, and was about to intervene, but she turned him down much to his confusion.

On the way home to my flat, she told me all about his pitch to seduce her, and how infantile she found it. I told her of his attempt to crush my hand in the hand shake, and the technique my father taught me to counter it. It seemed to bring us closer.

That weekend we played at being married, though without the full on sex - that went without saying. There was plenty of hand and oral though. She asked to be taken back to Liverpool on Monday, since I had taken an extra day's holiday. We went to the Church and found there was a practice.

Monday 5th January 1970

Penny was welcomed warmly, and I stood behind her. She re-introduced me to each member, most of whom worked in Liverpool and were older than we were, though one about our age was introduced, who lived in the area and was also at the College of Education that Penny attended, so he was more memorable: Martin Greaves. He was a good looking confident lad, I thought, and he knew it.

There were no absolute novices, and so the call was for 'rounds and call changes' and Penny stood up and was given number three of the six. I was impressed at her bell handling; she kept perfect time and made her changes crisply on call. Yes, I was impressed. 

Next Jeff, the ringing master, asked me what I rang. 

"Anything up to London Major," I replied. 

He smiled, "We could do a touch of Kent Minor how's that?" (Major means on eight bells, Minor on six; that tower only had six bells).

We rang a touch of Kent Minor, and it went well. Martin sat out with two other ringers and next to Penny. Then we did some Plain Bob, which Martin rang, and then more call changes. A good evening.

"See you tomorrow, Penny," shouted Martin as we left for her room. She waved.

"Nice lad," I said.

"Yeah," she said. No more.

"On your course?"

"No, I'm doing Primary, he's Secondary Science. After we met at the church, he tends to have lunch with me."




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 01



"You're ringing well," I said changing the subject, "You should be ringing methods soon. Do they ring doubles?" (Doubles are on five bells, with the sixth keeping time, which is easier). "That would be a good start - Grandsire or Plain Bob."

"Perhaps next week. Jeff's very good, he keeps us moving on."

I saw her into the house, we kissed at the door and I left for home. On the way I turned things over in my mind. Memories of the previous week, happy, contented, relaxed. 

Then bringing her to Liverpool, it felt different. I realised that this was a place she was starting to treat as a second home. She was at home there, she had a room and people she knew whom I didn't know. She was living a life of which I knew nothing. Then there was a feeling I was intruding somehow as a visitor, and I remembered she did not ask me in for a drink before I left for home, or was it that I wanted to get away?

I had only just entered the flat when the phone rang. It was Penny.

"Darling, I wanted to be sure you got home safely. I miss you so much."

"Me too," I answered. 

We chatted for a short time and then I suggested she needed to get to bed, with her course restarting the next day. So we signed off with expressions of love and affection. I felt much better. 

Weekend 10 - 11 January 1970

Things settled down. We phoned and wrote, and we worked. The first weekend she stayed in Liverpool which was a break from her routine the previous term, but she pointed out that the course was getting more intensive and she needed to consult papers and books the library would not release, but kept for reference. I met Ian at the pub on Saturday night, and went to the parental home for lunch on Sunday after ringing for the service.

Weekend 17-18 January 1970

She came to my place the following week on the train, and said she really couldn't afford to commute every week. I shrugged and offered to pay her fare, but she said it wouldn't hurt us to see each other once a fortnight and it would mean she could use the library more effectively. She wanted to get a distinction in her course, and that meant working hard. I understood that; she was something of a perfectionist. I remembered how disappointed she had been at not getting a first for her degree.

Sunday 1st February 1970

Two weeks later I went to Liverpool on Sunday morning after ringing, and took her out to Chinatown for lunch. We went for a walk afterwards. I stayed the night and left early the next morning to get to work before the flexitime deadline. I was sure Mr Walsh would be keeping an eye out for me, stop-watch in hand.

Weekend 7-8 February 1970

On the first weekend of February, and I pointed out that the next weekend was Valentine's weekend and was she coming over? Oh yes, indeed she was.

It was on the 13th February 1970, the Friday before Valentine's Day itself, that our relationship took another step forward, or rather two steps. Another Friday the Thirteenth!

For a reason I could not fathom I had felt cut off from her that term, even though we talked on the phone weekly and wrote to each other once and sometimes twice a week. Her letters were all full of love and were often explicitly sexy, as were mine, so I shrugged the feeling off. 

It was during the weekends when we were separated that I missed her badly. So perhaps that was why I felt a strong need to belong more deeply to each other. I wanted her to commit to me as I wanted to be committed to her, and I was going to ask her again to get engaged.

Weekend 13-14 February 1970

Penny made the journey from Liverpool to my flat on Friday evening, and I had booked a table at one of the better restaurants in Manchester, Orchards, the one where we had celebrated her graduation. 

She arrived at the flat and put her bags in the bedroom, and then took to the bathroom for extended preparations for the evening. I brought her tea in the bathroom. She had found the bubble bath bottle, and so most of her charms were covered by the bubbles. She turned down my offer to scrub her back, and so I withdrew.

After the meal, which she appreciated greatly, we returned to the flat and thence to the local pub. We found a fairly quiet table, not easy on a Friday, and once the drinks were in place, I popped the question, or at least I tried.

"Penny my sweetheart, I've asked you before, and each time you've said you were not sure and needed more time, so I'm asking you again-"

"Yes, I will," she said, her eyes sparkling and a grin from ear to ear. 

"Pardon?" I said, taken aback and unsure what she meant.

"I said yes, I will," she said. "To the question you are going to ask."

At last I caught on. "You have decided, then?"

"I've said so, haven't I? Yes, I think we should get married. In fact I'm sure. I do love you very much and I want to be with you. Being apart this year has made it clear to me that I don't want to be apart from you any longer than absolutely necessary."

We did not kiss. I still do not know why - you would have thought it would be almost compulsory.

Instead I sighed with relief. "Thank you. Would you like to look for a ring tomorrow?"

She nodded. "That would be nice," she said with a grin. "Very nice."

"Shall I get us another drink to celebrate?"

"Ooh, yes, I'll have another half of bitter please," and she laughed at my expression. I knew she was a beer drinker, but expected her to want something more extravagant by way of celebration. 

"So, no champagne?"

"No, but on second thoughts I'll push the boat out," a pause, "and have a pint."

I got us a pint each, and I asked her what sort of ring she wanted. She surprised me again.

"You know, what I'd really like as an engagement ring, is a watch. I've not got one, but it would be useful when I start work. It was a problem timing lessons on first practice without one. I don't really mind not having a ring as such."

In truth I was a little disappointed. If she were wearing a ring it would tell everyone we were engaged, whereas a watch would give no message at all. I offered a ring as well, but she turned the idea down, on the grounds that because her parents would probably not fund our wedding since they didn't like our relationship, we would be paying for it ourselves. I had expected as much and saw the wisdom of her thinking.

We left the pub, stopped and kissed at some length, and then we returned to my flat. There we broke out the whisky and a Cointreau for her, and watched a sappy film on the TV. A few more kisses, a little fondling and then it was bedtime, and we were feeling no pain. 

We went to the bedroom and I expected her to go to the bathroom to change, but she didn't go. She took off her clothes right there, one by one, in front of me, facing me, smiling shyly. 

Her sweater, then her blouse, revealing a lacy dark blue bra. My eyes fell to her chest and looking up again saw her looking very self-consciously back at me. She then reached up under her skirt and pulled down her thick tights (this was February after all). Then she unclipped her skirt and allowed it to fall to the floor, leaving her in a matching pair of lacy dark blue french knickers. The bra hinted at her nipples, which in any case were pushing the bra into points, and her bush showed as a darker presence at her mound. 

At this she paused and stood with her hands clasped in front of her, looking at me with apprehension. I smiled.

"You are so beautiful," I said, "so beautiful. Great undies. I'm so lucky to have you."

She blushed prettily, and the bra was then unclipped and fell forward and off, and the view as she stood before me presenting her body for my inspection, was highly arousing and very satisfying.

I took off my tie, undid my shirt and took it off, allowing it to sink to the floor. I kicked off my shoes, and lifted each foot to remove my socks. Then the trousers were unclasped and unzipped and pushed down over my hips until they fell to the floor and I was able to step out of them as they lay puddled at my feet. 

I was erect and my cock was pushing out my boxers obscenely. I am not hung like a horse, and my prick is not as wide as a coke bottle. I am really the epitome of average. Even so, it was making quite an impression on the garment.

I felt confused. She'd played with my prick often enough, and more recently had had it in her mouth, so she knew it by sight, feel and taste, but she was gazing at it as if she were a virgin (which of course she was). I hooked my thumbs over the waistband and lifted them over the obstruction and pushed them down my legs, until they joined my trousers under the pull of gravity. Good old Newton!

I was naked; she was staring thoughtfully; she had on her panties. I cleared my throat.

Her guilty look as her eyes flashed up to meet mine was comical and I laughed. "You're gorgeous and you are entitled to look all you want. After all this is the package you wanted, what you committed to tonight - unless you want to change your mind?"

It broke her discomfiture, and she laughed in her turn, more of a giggle really. 

"No," she smiled, looking downwards again. "It all looks fine to me."

I expected her to climb into bed as she was, but she slid the knickers down her slim legs and stepped out of them, leaving her nude. She stood with her hands by her side with a questioning expression on her face, head tilted to one side. She had never stood for inspection like that before.

"Now it's your turn. Want to change your mind?" Her hands went to her hips, one foot before the other, slightly apart, foremost knee bent, in a challenge.

"No," I mimicked her, "It all looks fine to me."

-- 

Chapter Five 

I think that was the moment the line was crossed, no matter what Penny might have thought. She came into my arms and with her legs spaced pressed herself against me. Her arms went round my neck, which pressed her taut tipped tits against my chest, and her mound against my already grown erection. We kissed gently and lovingly at first and then (and I can't remember who took the lead), increasingly voracious and abandoned. She raised herself onto her toes and my cock obligingly slid between her thighs, then as she sank down it pressed against her furrow and parted her moist petals.

We drew breath and moved rapidly to the bed where we entwined and kissed some more. Things became more and more passionate until either she lay on her back, legs open, or I pushed her. In any case she definitely pulled me over on top of her, of that I am sure, so that I was laying between her wide open thighs and my aching cock was pushing along her now not so secret but well irrigated valley.

I pulled away a little, and she angled her hips, and I was inside her lips. I stopped at the edge between her inner labia, but she grasped my bottom and pulled me further in, and finding her open sheath, I sank to the hilt. 

She had her eyes closed, she was breathing deeply. I pulled back slowly and she whimpered, I pushed back in and she moaned. I did it again, she moaned again. Then I stopped. She made a movement to do it again, then she stopped as well.

There was war going on in me, some of it below consciousness. There was the biological drive to copulate and impregnate, and there was an emotional warning bell and siren that this was a bad idea. 

There was the warm silky feeling of her vagina clasping me urging and impelling me to stroke in and out and feel that indescribable pleasure of her body, and everything else in me shouting to stop before I did something quite stupid and irreversible. 

Just a few strokes, just a few. Do it slowly, you're nowhere near coming. Oh that feeling! That was the temptation. Then a fleeting thought as I lay deep within. There was no resistance, no hymen, no blood? 

That stopped me and I withdrew, rolled to the side and began to caress her. She opened her eyes and they were full of guilt, and I knew why. She pushed my hand away.

"Graham we shouldn't have done that. You knew I didn't want that until I was married." 

She moved away from me in the bed. It provoked annoyance. I was getting the blame - again?

"You knew it as well," I reposted, "but you went ahead anyway. You pulled me in."

"I could be pregnant."

"Unlikely, I was nowhere near; I hardly moved."

"Some sperm could have leaked out."

"As I said, highly unlikely."

"We had no right to take even the slightest risk."

"Wait a minute. You said full sex only if fully committed. Didn't we commit to each other tonight, and didn't you move your hips and push me into you? Or didn't you mean it when you said you'd marry me?"

"Of course I said I'd marry you, and I meant it, but we shouldn't take risks like that until we're married."

"We could use protection." I said, knowing the reaction. 

"I don't want rubber between us. I want us to be open to each other and to having a baby. So I don't want to do it again until we're married."

"We've not done it at all yet," I said peevishly. "That was not full sex. We hardly moved, you didn't come and I certainly didn't."

"I don't care. OK, I want our first time when we do it properly to be without barriers. So don't try anything like that again."

That angered me. "I would point out that I pulled out, by myself. My decision. I didn't notice you pushing me away at any stage. So don't try loading all the guilt on me."

I turned my back on her. All the romantic feelings I had had for her had gone. In my book she had ruined a wonderful evening by blaming me for something we both did, and for which I did not feel in the slightest bit guilty.

"Graham..."

"Just go to sleep. You might like to reconsider some of your comments in the cold light of the morning. You've ruined what could have been a beautiful evening. We both did it, I pulled out. I stopped it. You didn't. So take the blame yourself if you must lay blame. Go on your own private guilt trip if you can't admit it to me, but don't lay it on me. Goodnight."

Silence, then she turned onto her side facing my back. After a few moments, I could feel her crying.

I turned over and took her in my arms.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I was frightened. Sorry, sorry!"

"All right," I soothed. "Just get some sleep. We're both tired." (I could have added 'and drunk').

She lifted her face for a kiss, which she got, then buried her head into my shoulder.

"I really do love you," she said quietly.

"And I love you," I replied. "Now get some sleep."

Next morning was Valentine's Day. I woke up to find the bed empty. My spirits dropped as I remembered the last time, when she came out of the bathroom fully dressed, but this time she came into the bedroom carrying mugs of tea and she was still gorgeously naked.

She carefully put the mugs on the two bedside cabinets, giving me a smouldering kiss and climbing back into bed. We drank the tea before she broached the subject.

"I need to say something about last night," she said, continuing before I could say anything. "I was unfair. After you fell asleep, I couldn't get off to sleep and I realise now that I made the running. I was so excited and I did want you to make love to me, but once you were inside me I was terrified even though I loved the feeling of you there, filling me up. 

"Then you didn't do anything and then pulled out. I felt so empty. It was so unfair of me to attack you as if you had seduced me. So I'm sorry; it was my fault, not yours."

"Penny, we had had a lot to drink as well. It lowered our inhibitions."

"That's as maybe, but I didn't just allow it, I was the protagonist."

Protagonist! She certainly had a way with words.

It was typical of her. She was true to herself, and wouldn't let herself get away with anything, but she had gone to the other extreme: instead of blaming me, now she was blaming herself for the whole thing.

She continued, "I've decided something. I don't think it's a good idea for us to be sleeping together so often, it's an accident waiting to happen. So I won't be coming here so often this term, and if we sleep together, I'll wear pyjamas."

Here we go again, I thought, Make decisions without consulting me.

"Just a minute," I said sharply, "You've decided. You'll not be coming here. You'll be wearing pyjamas." Here a note of sarcasm crept in. "D'you know, I really thought we were a couple. I thought couples discussed things, and agreed things together."

She was quiet. Then, "I can't do anything right, can I? But I've got a lot to lose. I'm the one who might get pregnant, so I think I have a right to make rules, but if you don't agree..."

I took a breath. "This is how I see it. Last night was a special night. We were both on an emotional high, and things got out of hand-"

"That's why-"

"No, wait. We've been together for fourteen months. We've got closer, we've slept naked together for best part of a year. I've wanted you for a long time, but until last night, did I ever give you the slightest feeling that I was going to seduce you?"

"Well, no."

"And from what you've just said, I didn't last night either. I couldn't resist when you offered yourself to me. So don't you think you're overreacting? If we want to marry it means we want to be together as often as possible, we want to be together for life. Now it seems that the day after we commit to marry, you're cutting me off."

"You see," she said, "Losing control like we did last night leads to arguments and anger - and you are angry. But don't you see? It's not your self control that worries me, it's mine. After what I felt last night, I don't know if I can keep away from you. You understand?"

"If you tell me that you might lose control, you can be sure I won't let myself be seduced from now on. You know a number of times I've asked you to trust me. Have I ever let you down?"

"No, every time it's been good for me."

"So trust me again. You want to wait till we marry. OK, I'll wait. But to keep away from me, you think that'll help? It'll make us frustrated and more likely to slip up."

She thought for a moment. "You're right, of course. I'd not thought it would make it more likely that we'd go too far, but in any case, I think I'll be busier this term. There are observations and some practicals."

"So where does that leave us?"

"I'll come to you as often as I can, and you could come to me sometimes, just for a day if I have a lot on. How's that?"

"OK," I said with resignation. "D'you still want to go and choose your watch?"

She smiled broadly, and nodded. We finished our tea, lay down and hugged and stroked, brought each other off, then lay entwined for a while before getting up for the day. She chose an omega watch with a gold bracelet, and I left the shop with a much heavier credit card bill but a light heart. I got an enthusiastic hug and kiss for my trouble, and after some more shopping we made our way home. 

"Darling," she said, as we drove back to the flat, "When should we announce it? What about Easter? Your family gets together and I have to go visit my parents, and Derek and Ingrid would be there. What do you say?"

Well, she'd learned something about discussing things, so I agreed. No one else needed to know until we were ready to tell them.

"One question they're going to ask is when are we getting married," I ventured. "Did you have a date in mind?"

"I thought Easter next year, April." she said, "Suit you?"

"Suits me," I said.

Friday 20 - Sunday 22 February 1970

The following weekend, as if to validate what we had discussed, she came for the weekend. She worked for most of the time, but we went to the pub and met Ian. When she came to bed she was naked. 

That was her all over (yes, yes, because she was naked. I meant she took what I had said about trust seriously). She often showed by her actions that she was implementing important decisions rather than talking further about them.




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 02



biscuit = (US) cookie

Chapter Six 

I don't know if anyone else has had this experience, but after the Easter weekend when we had announced our engagement to the families and I had told Zena on the Tuesday, things felt different somehow at work.

Before Penny met me I had dates, but always had to work hard to impress, and I think I said before, they did not last. Then it was just Penny, and I had relaxed. I felt settled; I was contented. I was no longer on the lookout for a woman. 

It got round the office that I was now engaged. After all, I had told Zena; it wasn't a secret.

Now, suddenly, women were interested in me! In various ways I was propositioned! Admittedly it was mainly flirting, and in fun, but one of the secretaries was quite aggressive and her language was earthy. I definitely felt hunted and it was a sensation I had never before experienced. It quite went to my head, though I took it all as a joke on their part. As I said, I was content with my fiancée, and really I was sure the staff weren't out to get me!

Monday 6 April 1970

The biggest surprise happened on the Monday after I had taken Penny back to Liverpool. I sensed someone was standing behind me as I worked at my desk. 

"Graham?" 

I turned. I usually left the door of my office open, and my visitor had moved noiselessly in. It was Colette. Colette was a lady clerk, not in my department, which was something of a relief, or my penis would never rest. 

For every male in the place lusted after Colette. She was staggeringly beautiful, not just pretty, but beautiful. Everything about her was perfectly proportioned; indeed she was film star material. She was slender, and everything was perfectly balanced, her legs achingly superb in shape, and so long, her face perfectly symmetrical, honey blond hair, striking blue eyes, neat nose, wide mouth and long sinuous neck. I think the word 'perfect' summed her up - how else? - perfectly.

We had nodded to each other, smiled, said 'Hi', but we had never spoken at length. Mind you there was no reason we should have, for she was in property and land law, and they tended to keep themselves to themselves. In any case she terrified me.

"Colette?" I asked needlessly, my knees knocking. I hoped she could not hear them. She smiled, perhaps she could?

"Zena tells me you play bridge," she said with that 'come to bed' voice, and then waited. Then I remembered I'd talked about it with Zena on one of our commuting journeys.

Zena would invite me into her flat for tea (the meal) after work from time to time and we would chat about our lives as colleagues will. Strangely I don't remember ever mentioning Zena to Penny apart from as a colleague ay work, or our innocent chats, it simply did not occur to me: the lifts to work had been going on long before Penny. It was a mistake on my part.

"Well yes," I replied to the vision of perfect loveliness. "I have played. I play with the family, but you should know I'm not much good at it. I'm learning, at least I hope so."

"You know Des Corcoran?" 

I nodded. Colette came round and perched on the end of my desk, displaying a good deal of thigh, and what a thigh!

"He's got a practice of his own now with a friend, at the other end of the country, and so we are missing a bridge partner. There's Harriet - you know Harriet? - Zena and me, and we need a fourth. Fancy joining us? We play on Thursdays."

Now Harriet was another really good looking girl, not in Colette's class but very good looking, if slim bordering on thin. This would be heaven: three ravishing girls and me. 

"I'm not all that good, Colette, I'm sure I'll be a liability." Why was I putting her off? 

"Good God, Graham, we're not that serious: it's just fun. We play bridge, chat and have a few drinks, that's all. We could play three handed, but it's much better with four, and it's good to have a male point of view. We take it in turns to host it. Dinner first and then bridge, every Thursday. How about it?"

I have to say I was guilty: I reacted as a male. I wanted just to be in her presence, to spend time with her any way I could. Look, I was twenty seven years old! For a fleeting moment all thoughts of Penny disappeared. In common with every male, single, married or engaged, I was in lust with Colette and her fabulous face and body. The next moment I felt really guilty for forgetting Penny, and stayed guilty.

"Thank you, I'd love to." See? Guilty!

Colette's face said it all: Yes I know you'd love to and I know what you'd love to! 

At that moment Kieran Walsh passed my open door, stopped, scowled and passed on. I knew he thought I was guilty, especially with Colette's thigh intimidating me at close quarters on my desk.

Her voice said, "It'll be at my place a week on Thursday - Des makes his farewell appearance this week. We usually go straight from work and have dinner together. Would that suit you?"

I remembered Zena never came home with me on Thursday evenings, so that was why.

Thursday 16 April 1970

Colette's flat was very pleasant, light and airy, comfortable. She could certainly cook; dinner was very tasty. 

My performance at the bridge table however, was only passable. The girls helped me out while I got my bearings so to speak, and in fact the first evening was taken with them instructing me. They played ACOL, which I had heard about but had never played according to its conventions. The conversation was light, and I began to relax. 

Yes, I had been feeling guilty, not so much for accepting their invitation, but for wanting more and fantasising about them in the comfort of my flat. I was committed to Penny; I knew that and was never going to do anything stupid, even if the chance arose. 

Let's face it, I'd been giving Zena a lift for years and we were very comfortable as friends. However, when I relieved my sexual tension at home, it was one or other of them, and often Zena, about whom I fantasised. 

No, I did not write and tell Penny all about it, how nice and friendly the girls were, what a good time I was having. I had more sense than that. I did say I had joined a little group for bridge and when she did not ask about it, I told no lies! Guilty!

Thursday 23 April 1970

The next Thursday was at Zena's and followed the same pattern, except that when we left Zena's place the girls all hugged each other, and this time I was included in the hugging. It was arousing and disturbing, but it seemed to me that the girls thought nothing of it. 

Thursday 30 April 1970

The Thursday after at Harriet's was the same, though kissing seemed to have augmented the hugs. The girls air-kissed, but I was kissed on the lips by two gorgeous women. The effect on my nether regions was pronounced and I knew they felt it, since both of them pressed themselves against me. Again they didn't seem to mind it, or react in any way to my excitement. I should have realised it was deliberate on their part, but I was naïve. 

Which two? Well, Harriet hugged and smiled quite shyly. There was always a reserve and distance about Harriet. Guess who the other two were?

The bridge meetings were only once a week, and apart from Zena, I did not see the girls in the meantime, but lived a solitary existence. I tended to meet Ian at the pub, and I went to the Manchester pub some weeks for its folk night, but spent the rest of the time writing to Penny. We talked on the phone on Wednesday nights, but those calls became brief after the first week, as she bemoaned the sheer quantity of work preparing lessons and marking. I knew this from my experience with my father, and I also knew that TP was much more intensive than ordinary teaching.

Her letters also tailed off, but that did not surprise me either, but I began to feel cut off from her, and after the first weekend apart, I asked to see her the following weekend. She put me off: she was just snowed under with lesson preparation and marking. I thought she was doing too much, but held my peace. 

After the third bridge night, with the kissing, I felt uncomfortable about it, having enjoyed it immensely, and decided I must see Penny. I needed her presence and her love to counter these erotic feelings. I wrote that night and posted it first class at the sorting office, asking to see her on Saturday or Sunday and to phone me to tell me which day. 

Friday 1 May 1970 

There was no phone call on Friday, but there was a brief letter, more a note really, saying she was in the library all weekend and couldn't see me. She had to get the work done, there was nothing she could do.

On the Saturday morning, I wrote strongly that it worried me that so soon after our official engagement she had put me off going to see her for two weekends, I hadn't seen her for three weeks, and I was getting frustrated and lonely without seeing her, in the full sense of the word 'seeing'. I really had to see her the next weekend, even if only for an hour. Surely she could spare one hour? I was not being unreasonable.

Wednesday 6 May 1970

Her phone call on Wednesday was quite curt, bewailing the amount of work she had to do, and saying she needed every minute of spare time to prepare perfect lessons. Would I please understand she wanted that certificate with distinction. The implication was 'back off!'. Her tone was rather distant and it unnerved me.

Her brief letter arrived the next morning. She had posted it before the phone call and said much the same thing. She added that I should know that this was where she was assessed for her competence to teach: it was make or break, pass or fail. She said I would just have to be patient for a little longer. She would phone me at 7.30 on Friday to 'talk about it.'

I sent a letter by return, stating I understood, but it did not make it any easier. It did not help that her letters had dried up as well. I told her I could understand that, it took a lot longer to write a letter than to phone. I added that there seemed no end to this total separation. It was as if she did not want to see me. 

I told her that come what may, I would see her the coming weekend. I told her I needed to see her, and would go over on Saturday. Surely, I wrote, she could allow a few hours on Saturday, even half an hour? I would cheerfully drive over an hour each way just to see her for half an hour. I looked forward to working something out on Friday for the following day.

Thursday 7 May 1970

The next day bridge was at my place. I did my normal Spag Bol with a green salad, with apple pie to follow. It went down well. I was also getting much better at this Acol system. 

Colette stayed after the others had gone to help me clear up, and when all was straight she asked me if I could run her home, and of course I agreed. She provided the collapsible card table each week, Zena having brought her and the table earlier. It never occurred to me to wonder why Zena didn't take her and the table back as well.

The journey passed uneventfully, and it was only after I'd carried the table into the house that it happened. We faced each other and I was about to leave when she put her hands on my shoulders, leaned forward and kissed me. This was different.

It was a provocative, sensual, erotic kiss. Her breasts under her dress, unencumbered by a bra, pricked my chest, and her mound pressed against my cock. 

It should not be thought that I stood woodenly and allowed the kiss: within seconds of contact having been made, I was kissing back with interest. Tongues became involved.

Her hands went to the back of my head, perhaps for fear I would pull away, and her fingers tangled themselves in my hair. My hands, with a will of their own, ran up and down her back, and over her bottom. She sighed, she moaned. Her lips left mine and bestowed little pecks and kisses on my chin, then my neck beneath my chin then to the side, licking and nibbling my ear and sucking gently on my neck. The electric shocks pulsed through my body and I was lost in the intensity of it. My rigid prick wanted action badly.

My hands on autopilot sought her breasts, and she pulled away a little to allow access. My thumbs grazed her nips through the light fabric of her dress, as her hips ground against my ramrod hard cock.

"The zip is at the back," she breathed wantonly in my ear, causing the hair on my neck to stand up. 

I had no control left and as the dress came undone, so did I. She stood back and the dress fell to the floor. Her perfectly formed breasts stood proudly, and the only other wisp of fabric was a gossamer light thong. That was a surprise: I had never seen a thong in the flesh, as it were. They tended to be worn by strippers in night clubs! Her beauty was excruciatingly painful and I have to say, irresistible. She exuded sex.

"Come to bed," she whispered, and took my hand, leading me up the stairs, so that I was faced with her tight rounded cheeks with the "T" of her thong-top directing my attention and lust to where the string disappeared, going beneath and snugly wrapping her sex. I really hadn't a chance. I'd been in a sex desert for weeks and here was the oasis. 

She led me to the bed, pushed me down to sit on the edge, while she went to my feet and removed shoes and socks, then snaking upward to push my tee shirt up and off. Her gasp of pleasure was accompanied by a feral smile, as my trouser fastener came undone and I spread my legs as she slowly led the zip down.

"Stand," she said, and tugged my trousers down as I did so. I stepped out of them, and she looked up from her position by my feet, her hands sweeping up my calved, knees and thighs, until they hooked the sides of my briefs and pulled them down over my erection.

I was naked. 

"Sit," she said, and I sat as she stood and then bent forward away from me as she began to slip the thong off, pulling it over her hips and allowing the gusset to remain in her pussy's grip until it released and she shimmied the scrap of lace down her legs and off. Shaved? Completely bare? Another first. All my previous women were hirsute or very closely cropped, never shaved.

She did not sink to her knees and take my cock into her wonderfully wide mouth. She walked between my knees and presented her breasts to my mouth. I fondled and licked and sucked and gently nipped, and she squirmed and moaned and gasped. My other hand stroked her bottom, tracing the valley between her cheeks and under to her smooth sex, which gratifyingly was wet and ready.

I guided her to sit on the bed in her turn, as I moved to kneel on the floor between her thighs. She lay back and offered her sex to my tongue. She was already panting and close to climax, but I tormented her a little avoiding the obvious button and tonguing the inner lips until she cried out.

"You bastard! For god's sake bring me off!" She humped her sopping sex to get my tongue where she wanted it. 

I dodged, until she sagged in defeat, and that was the moment I strummed her clit, and she blew.

When she came down, she pulled me up and we kissed at some length. She held my cock and began to stroke it.

"Fuck me," she said, then, "You have got a sheath? You know - Durex?"

I sagged. "No. I'm engaged to Penny. I don't need them." 

The moment was gone, my member wilted, and I remembered with horror that I really was engaged, and it wasn't to this siren. I felt incredibly guilty. I felt unfaithful. Let's face it I was incredibly guilty! If Colette had offered a condom, we would have done the deed. At least I did not come. Small mitigation, which I knew would never be accepted.

"Next time we'll have a rubber or two," she said and she was not talking about Bridge, "Let's get some sleep."

So we wrapped ourselves round each other and went to sleep. Her last murmured words were "You're very good."

No I wasn't!

Friday 8 May 1970

I rose early while Colette still slept and made my way home. I felt, rightly, as guilty as hell. Why did I do it? What was i thinking? What should I do now? Well, certainly I would not go near Colette again. I'd be on my guard. If necessary I would give up the bridge night. What I couldn't understand was why she hit on me, after all she could have her pick of any sentient male on the planet, and she did know I was engaged to Penny. Should I confess to Penny what had happened? I knew the answer to that one. No way! 

I was no sooner in my office at my desk when Colette was there.

"You left early, Graham? I would have got you breakfast."

I turned round to face her.

"Look Colette," I told her quietly, "What happened last night-"

"Got out of hand. Yes I know."

"You knew I am engaged. I shouldn't have done that. What I did was unfaithful."

"I understand, and I'm sorry," she said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "I couldn't help it, you're so attractive. She's a lucky girl. If you ever break up..."

"I'll come looking - with condoms!" I reposted, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

We laughed as I walked her to the door and she turned and walked away. I watched that bottom sway all the way to the lift. I shook myself and reminded myself that we all had work to do, but I did notice the two women getting a drink from the coffee machine in the corridor talking conspiratorially together while glancing my way, and wondered what they were saying.

Then I spent much of the morning astounded at her comment. I was 'so attractive' - to her? Then the images of what we did the night before. Vivid images! Oh Hell!

Zena did not allude to, or comment on the matter during our commuting, though I knew Colette must have told her. Neither had Zena's attitude to me changed in any way, no censure at my unfaithful behaviour with her friend. 

I had a surge of desire for Penny and it firmed my resolve still further to go and see her. I had to or I would go mad.

I would insist on that when she phoned me at 7.30 that night. I would demand to see her the next day and perhaps stay till Sunday. This time there would be no putting me off. 

Even if I had to sit and read a book or play my guitar while she worked, I would go. I needed her so much I was climbing the walls. It struck me that if I'd seen more of Penny, Colette's little seduction would not have made the same rapid progress. Not much of an excuse, but I was desperate.

As a result, on Friday evening at 7.30 I was waiting eagerly for the phone to ring. It didn't. Neither did it ring all that evening. I began to be worried: she never missed a phone appointment. Then at just after midnight, as I had finally decided to go to bed, the phone rang.

I gave the number and my name. There were beeps while she put money in the box.

"Graham, I'm sorry I missed calling earlier. I'm up at Derek's in Durham. The train was delayed for hours, they had to put on buses. I've just got in." 

Her voice was emotionless, almost as if she didn't care. Perhaps she was tired after her week and the long journey.

I cared though. I was annoyed, no, angry and frustrated. "You knew I was hoping to see you this weekend, but obviously that's out now. I'm beginning to think you are avoiding me. I'm clearly not important enough to merit any consideration. Don't fuss yourself."

"Sorry I totally forgot. I've had a bad week and needed a change." 

Again her tone of voice didn't ring true. It seemed she was just going through the motions. There was definitely something amiss. Her apology did not sound sincere, she seemed to be rehearsing a speech and rolling it off her tongue. I was getting really angry.

"A change? After these weeks without seeing me, that would have been a change! You could have come to me tonight, and if you wanted to see Derek we could have gone together in the car tomorrow." My annoyance and upset was showing; she could not miss it.




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 02



"I've said I'm sorry," she said with a hint of annoyance, "It's too late now. Look, if you come over next weekend, I'll make some time and I won't forget. I've been wrapped up in my work. I will make some time on Saturday, honestly. In any case, there's something I need to talk to you about." 

"OK, That's a date. Confirm it on Friday next 7.30, OK? Have a good weekend, give my regards to the family and to Durham," and I hung up.

She rang back immediately, her voice showed she was worried.

Then it crossed my mind and it was like a thunderbolt: she was phoning from a phone box. You could tell by the beeps telling her to put her money in. That was very odd: Derek had a phone and was an easy going, generous sort of bloke. There would have been no problem about her phoning from there. Why was she out somewhere after midnight in a phone box? 

The thought flashed across my mind in a fraction of a second, but what was she saying?

"Graham, I didn't know the train would be delayed for three hours. I had a bad week, the head of this school gives the impression he doesn't want students, I've got an awful class and the class teacher seems to disappear for hours. I'm shattered. Just let up will you?" 

She was clearly annoyed. Annoyed? After 'forgetting' to phone me? After going to her brother's instead of me? Well, now I was annoyed, nay, angry!

"Not too shattered to get on a train to Durham 140 miles away, when you could have come 40 miles to Manchester to a quiet flat with no noisy children. In any case if you really loved me I should have been the first person you turned to. We are engaged to be married for heaven's sake, or perhaps you've forgotten that? Seems so. 

"Never mind, I just wanted to see you. Natural enough. You do know it's been three weekends now; this is the fourth, and I miss you badly. Don't worry yourself, I'm clearly not that important. Can't be helped, I suppose."

"Graham I'll see you next weekend. I'll ring you at the usual time, I promise." She sounded as if she was doing me a favour. It sounded dogged, hollow, somehow wrong. 

We signed off with expressions of mutual love which sounded automatic from both of us, and I grabbed some milk and stalked off to bed. 

I was irked and couldn't work out why. Was I being irrational and unfair? No! Penny needed a break and went to her brother, not me. I could have been invited as well, but actually I would have refused - sleeping on the sofa in their living room and being woken at seven by the kids was not my idea of an idyllic weekend. It certainly was not the place to go if you were overtired.

She knew I was going to insist on seeing her the next day. Did she go to Derek's to avoid me? Why would she do that?

Hang about! Why was she phoning from a phone box when there was a phone in the house? And there was definitely something different in her tone. Yes, there was! Distant. Flat. It gave me an uneasy feeling.

I sat in bed and listened to the one a.m. news. My troubles seemed to gain a certain perspective. Whatever happened at least we had a future, there were plenty of people in this torn battered world who had no future at all.

I slept.

Saturday 9 May 1970

I went to see my parents on Saturday afternoon, a folk club that night, and on Sunday rang bells and stayed for morning service. Then saw some mates at the pub at lunchtime, followed by watching a local 'village' cricket match with more beer. The weather was sunny and warm, and one never knows if it might be the last sun of the summer! In my drunken state I hit on the bright idea of going over to Liverpool on Monday night to ring at Penny's local church, Monday being their practice night.

It did not occur to me that if she was overwhelmed by work, she would hardly be going ringing. 

I'd decided not to ring Penny on Saturday at Derek's, and I was not at home all Sunday. It was before the era of widely available answering machines, and long before the option to dial 1471 to see who I'd missed. We'd not made any arrangement to phone, so I decided I'd just go on Monday and surprise her. At the very least I could spend a little time with her before coming back. Just seeing her and having a hug and a kiss would be enough.

If there was something I'd done that had bothered her, I needed to talk to her face to face. Perhaps there was, she had said she wanted to talk to me. My guilt at what I'd done with Colette resurfaced. She could not know about that though, could she? 

--

Chapter Seven

Monday 11 May 1970

On Sunday night I warned Zena that I would not be driving home the next evening, and she said she would take her own car. 

Next day I left work a little early to miss the rush hour in Manchester, and drove to Liverpool. I arrived at 5.30, hoping to take her out for a meal before ringing practice, but she was not at home. I returned to the car, and moved it to where I could see the front door and her arrival, finding a space about 50 yards away. I had some water, so settled down to wait. She would have to come back to change: she would hardly be ringing in her teaching clothes. If she wasn't ringing she would be coming home to work anyway.

Ten minutes later she came into view, walking briskly and entering the house before I could get out of the car. I was just getting out, when I saw one of the ringers from the church, who I remembered was called Martin Greaves, and who was at college with Penny. He was hurrying up the road and something made me get back in the car and watch.

He rang the bell, she came to the door, and then my spirits dropped like a stone. She kissed him. It was a long, warm, sensuous kiss with her body pressed against his. Then they went inside.

The feeling was akin to panic. What to do? Go to the front door and ring the bell? Surprise them? See them pretend to be only acquaintances? No. I'd wait and see. No bell ringing for me. I'd watch it out to the end.

Well, I did, and it made things clearer but no less painful. I knew she'd got teaching practice the next day, and likely as not needed to prepare or do marking. I waited over an hour; they were no doubt having a meal. At ten past seven they emerged, and walked off down the street hand in hand. They looked for all the world like a loving couple. 

I followed at a discrete distance on foot until they entered the church tower door, and then, knowing I had at least an hour, went to the pub and had a sandwich. I had little appetite but knew I needed food.

I was in position when the bells were rung down, and watched as the loving couple retraced their steps to the house. At the door they kissed again briefly before she let them in. I returned to the car, and settled myself. It was 9.45. I waited until 1.00 am and he still had not emerged. There was no way I was going to ring her doorbell now. The room was at the back of the house, I waited another half hour, then went round the back. The light was out. I drove home.

The roads were empty, and it was just as well, for my mind was not really on my driving. Neither were my thoughts in any sense logical, they swirled around my head. She was in a relationship with Martin Greaves. She was engaged to me. Was she going to leave me? Was that what she wanted to talk about? Did I want her to stay with me after that exhibition? 

Now I knew I had been unfaithful, so while I was upset she was with someone else, I could not in conscience feel angry. But upset? Certainly. Worried and uncertain now when I had been so certain before. And I did feel angry anyway. 

By the time I got to my flat I felt hopeless, and I really didn't want to know her any more. Then resentful. OK, so I fell. I was seduced, after all, it was a one night failing, but Penny was in more of a relationship than that. What's more it had to have been going on since before my scene with Colette for them to behave that way. There was affection, warmth, and he stayed the night when she had work the next morning. I had forgotten that I too stayed the night with Colette and on that occasion we slept.

Tuesday 12 May 1970

The next night, after a day when I was pretty useless at work (luckily there were no meetings with clients), I was back in Liverpool, parked 50 metres down from her house again, ready for her to arrive home. We would talk about this, we would clear the air and either break up or stay together. No more uncertainty. 

That night was different. It was worse. I was expecting her to be alone, working on her lessons. She had told me how long were the hours she had to stay up working. 

Tonight was different, for he arrived before her and let himself in with a key. I knew he didn't live there, so she had given him a key. Had she given me a key? No, but he got one.

I was really angry now, and despondent. She arrived half an hour later and let herself in. I gritted my teeth and waited it out. As I waited I pictured her room. There was nowhere to sleep except the bed. I couldn't imagine him sleeping on the floor. What would he do while she worked? There was no television, and he brought nothing with him in the way of books beyond a briefcase. 

Wait a minute. This wasn't the first time he'd stayed over. Neither was the day before. It seemed to be a regular arrangement, so he could have moved some of his own stuff in. He too must have been on teaching practice.

Again I waited until after one, and then I wandered to the back of the house again and looked up at her window. Again the light was out. No wonder she didn't want me over.

I drove home defeated. That was the end for me. I had wasted a year and a half of my life on the woman, and for what? I would waste no more. Yes, I was depressed, I was hopeless. There was that dull gaping emptiness in the pit of my stomach. I had loved her, still loved her, still wanted her, but she'd gone after someone else, chosen someone else. So why in hell's name did she say yes when I proposed? Why hadn't she broken up with me first? That would have been honest at least.

Wednesday 13 May 1970

Next morning I awoke and found it was the thirteenth of the month. Not Friday though. Perhaps there was something in the superstition. It didn't help my mood.

I found myself walking into the office very early, not remembering anything of the journey back the night before or of going to bed the previous night, nor indeed anything of getting up and getting to work in the morning. Did I remember to pick Zena up? She was in her office so I assumed I had. I remembered no conversation though. For someone with a photographic memory this was especially worrying.

I had a number of problem contracts to work on, so found the most difficult one and immersed myself in that; anything to forget Penny and what she'd done. I would not waste another day like yesterday. 

In fact I became so immersed that I missed lunch and was deep in the labyrinth of clauses and sub-clauses. Whoever drew this up in such a complicated manner was hiding something nasty somewhere and I was going to find it. There was cheating afoot in this document, and I was actually very angry about it! I wonder why?

Way after finishing time I was still intent on discovering the skullduggery, when Zena poked her head into my office.

"Stop that, time's up!" she said sharply. "Something's up with you. You've had a scowl on your face all day, you said nothing all the way to work, and you've said nothing to anyone all day. Leave it and come talk to me."

It shocked me. Before today the only time we'd talked was on the journey to and from work and during bridge. It was surface chatter, nothing serious. Now her pretty face was creased with worry, and my startled gaze lighted upon her jet black hair, her slender neck and the curve of her firm breast tops revealed by her v-necked jumper. Nice.

My second thought was, Why's she so worried?

It must have shown in my face. She stood with her hands on her hips waiting. I put my work away. Then stood.

"Let's go for a coffee," she said. "Then I'll take you out for dinner." 

I was so surprised that I simply went along with it. I also felt so drained, so exhausted, that I let her take charge, and we found ourselves before long in a Kardomah coffee house with two coffees set before us. We were travelling in my car as usual, but she, after a worried glance at me, had asked to drive and I had let her.

"Spill," she ordered and waited expectantly.

"My fiancée. My engagement, it's off," I began as an opener, and stopped. She looked briefly shocked then recovered.

"Mm?" she encouraged and waited again.

"You really want to know?"

"I really want to know."

"Penny rang me very late on Friday, after midnight, she said she was at her brother's for the weekend, so I decided to go see her on Monday night, do a bit of bell ringing with her, perhaps stay the night and come back here early Tuesday morning. I got there early and waited for her to arrive. She arrived and then a ringer from the church arrived soon after, and they kissed at the door."

"Friends' kiss?"

"A lot more than that. They went in, and I suppose they had a meal, then went hand in hand for ringing practice. They were like lovers, cuddling up and kissing from time to time."

"Who made the running?" she interrupted.

It stumped me, and I tried to remember. It was definitely him, but she went along with it willingly. I told her so.

"Carry on," she said.

"They came back to her house and went in. I waited until after one, went to look up at her window, the light was out, so I came home. Yesterday I went back to talk to her about it, and again got there first. Martin, that's his name, arrived and let himself in with a key! She arrived second, and they did not emerge again. About one, I again went round the back of the house to look up at her window. The light was out. There's nowhere to sleep in that room but the one bed. So that's it."

"Come on," she said, both of us having finished our coffees. "Dinner!"

She took me to a medium priced restaurant that served good simple food. She made no comment until we had finished the meal and were once again drinking coffee.

"Odds are," she began her assessment, "that they are having sex, but that's not your main problem, is it? It's the fact that she's involved with him. They're in some sort of relationship, that's clear. That's cheating big time, Graham, no two ways about it, and it's wiped you out, hasn't it? We've all been worried about you this week."

"I just don't want anything more to do with her," I stated baldly. "You're right, whether she's fucking him isn't the problem, it's the fact they are almost living together while I'm not in evidence. And the deception of course - so much work, can't spare half an hour on a Saturday. I'm not surprised she doesn't want to see me."

"And they have been living together, you know," she added. "From what you say, they were already in a relationship before you found them."

"She kept putting me off going to see her. Said she had too much work. I haven't seen her for four weeks."

Zena paused and then added, "I wonder if she really visited her brother?"

A deafening silence ensued. That comment really threw me. While it was clear she had been keeping the truth from me, it had never occurred to me that she would go out of her way to lie directly, barefaced. Now I knew for certain why she was phoning from a call box on the Friday night: she wasn't in Durham at all. If she'd lied, then it cemented my attitude to her. She was gone. 

Zena drove me back to my flat: I'd been drinking quite a lot at dinner, she'd seen to that, so her driving was an unspoken but obvious action on her part. I appreciated it and made no attempt to put her off.

There was a letter from Penny on the mat. I picked it up and put it on the table.

"Open it," Zena was in charge that night. Obeying her took all the effort I could muster. I opened it.

Dear Graham

I missed you over the weekend and even more after not getting a letter on Monday or Tuesday. 

The weekend with Derek was just what I needed, I was so tired and I really needed the break. I would have asked you to come, but I know how much you hate their sofa, and they wouldn't let you in my bed - so straight laced!

Ringing went well on Monday, I can plain hunt now and keep in time reasonably well. I needed the break for an hour, and it was a bit of exercise. Teaching Practice is going reasonably well, the teacher is staying in the classroom more now, but the head is still stand-offish. Long hours each evening: I'm up late and getting short of sleep. 

I'll phone you at nine tomorrow, Wednesday at 7.30. Till tomorrow,

Love,

Penny.

I snorted in derision and threw the letter to Zena, who read it, raised eyebrows, but did not comment. 

At half past eight the phone rang. I answered it.

"Hi Graham," It was Derek!

"Hi Derek," I answered. Now I would find out. "Penny enjoyed her weekend with you."

"Huh, weekend? Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning, but as you say, it seemed to settle her. I think she was missing you though. Anyway, when she rings you, can you tell her she left her toothbrush and a sweater behind?"

"Will do," I said, with that now familiar sinking feeling. 

We chatted a while and then rang off. 

"That was Derek, where Penny was staying over the weekend," I said to Zena's inquiring gaze. "You remember I told you she rang me late on Friday saying she was at Derek's after a long train journey? Derek just said that she didn't arrive until Saturday afternoon."

Zena simply nodded.

"Derek said she'd left her toothbrush and sweater behind, so she really did go, just not when she said she did."

The phone rang promptly at nine, and Zena dived for it and answered before I could stop her.

"Graham Proctor's residence."

"Hold on I'll get him for you. Graham darling, it's someone called Penny," she shouted as if I was not nearby. She was grinning broadly.

She handed me the phone. Her little ruse countered my anger at Penny's lies. 

"Hello," I made my voice sound dull.

"Who's that?" she asked sharply without a hello. 

"It's me. It's been so long since we last met you've forgotten what I sound like." I know I was sarcastic but I thought I had reason.

"Oh, Graham, stop harping on about the weekend," she snapped. "Who answered the phone? That clear enough for you?"

"Zena." I answered.

"Do I know her?"

"I have mentioned her to you."

"So what's she-"

"She's a friend. I think I'm allowed friends. We had some dinner together after I was working late."

"Oh."

Silence. I had no intention of helping the conversation along. In any case I had nothing to say. I knew enough about her already.

"You didn't write." It was an bare accusation.

"No. You are clearly far too busy to be reading my stuff. Apparently you need every spare minute. I was surprised you had the time to go ringing. You don't have time for me to visit you even for half an hour. I assume you've been up really late the last two nights."

"Yes, if you must know, I was up very late. I needed the ringing to keep me sane, and you know I always have time for your letters. What's the matter? Why are you so upset?"

"I would have thought that would be obvious by now. I wanted to see you last weekend. I had planned to come over on Friday after you rang. Just as well I didn't, eh? What would I have found?" I put as much sarcasm and accusation into it as I could.

"Well, yes," she said sounding worried, "I wouldn't have been there. I'd be on my way to Derek's."

There it was again: the lie.

"Oh yes, Derek's," I paused, then, "Anyway must dash. Got to get Zena home. By the way, Derek rang. Said you left your toothbrush and pullover behind."




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 02



"Oh... Did he...? Did he say anything else?"

I knew I'd worried her now. She was wondering if her lie had been discovered.

"Nothing of importance." I threw away the line.

"Graham you can come over on Saturday, I'll ring you on Friday at 7.30 and we can work something out. We need to talk."

Damn right we need to talk, I thought, then out loud, "Yes, you said. OK. Time to go. Bye."

"Bye."

I replaced the receiver. I wondered what might be going through her mind. She did not ring back, neither did she say she loved me, in fact, no loving endearments on either side - no 'darlings' or 'sweethearts'. Perhaps she was now ringing Derek to find out what he'd said. I hoped so.

"Want me to stay?" asked Zena, breaking into my thoughts.

Now there was a temptation, particularly after that conversation. Was Zena offering what Colette had offered? She was tall, as tall as I, her legs were very long, her face delicate and very pretty, her hair shiny, lustrous and jet black, her breasts pert, swelling and taut, her bum exquisitely tight and round, narrow waist, and her skin was rich brown and it shone. She was mixed Afro-Caribbean and English. I steeled myself, and as before already mentally called myself a stupid fool for refusing.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Zena, though I'd really love to, I want to have something of the high ground when this all comes out."

"I understand," she said. "You've learned from your mistake. That's good."

"Mistake?"

"Colette, last Thursday night."

"Oh yes. She told you?"

"Of course," she laughed. "We girls share everything."

"Even your men?"

"Especially our men." 

She chuckled. I assumed she was joking, perhaps I was wrong.

"Listen," she said. "You're very tired and stressed. If you're willing to risk me driving your car alone, I could take it tonight and pick you up in the morning. Save you coming out."

In my present drunken state I could not drive anyway, so I agreed. She took the keys, gave me a smouldering kiss and a grope at my crotch, giggled and left. For a brief moment I was shocked and then cheered.

I went to bed, and in spite of the hollow feeling of dread and despair, fell instantly asleep.

Thursday 14 May 1970

I was up early in the morning, and was sitting finishing my breakfast in my dressing gown when Zena arrived.

"Great car!" she enthused. "Really plush. I didn't hit anything."

"Glad to hear it," I said dryly. "You're bright and early this morning, I haven't showered or shaved yet. Do you mind?"

"Go ahead. I'll read my book."

While I was in the shower I heard the phone ringing, and when it stopped I knew Zena had answered it. I gave it no more thought until I returned downstairs ready for work. Her face betokened trouble.

"Graham, that was Penny."

"Oh?" That puzzled me as she never rang in the morning.

"You've got trouble. I answered it, saying you were in the shower and could you ring her back. She asked it it were me, and when I told her it was, she hung up quite loudly."

I sighed. 

"Oh dear," I said, "You know what she'll be thinking, with you answering the phone last night and this morning."

"I know," she said, "I didn't get a chance to tell her I'd just arrived, when she slammed the phone down."

"Well, I can't get in touch with her unless she phones again. I'll write her a note explaining the situation. She's got a nerve to get angry after what she's been doing."

It was a busy day at work, and successful: I found those hidden clauses in that contract, and indeed they would have been very injurious to my client. It was also good to go to Colette's for dinner and Bridge to unwind. No one mentioned my problem with Penny, but they were warm and gentle that night. The kisses were not provocative this time but kind and affectionate. Harriet had her car, so I drove Zena, dropping her off, then home alone, and went straight to bed.

--

Chapter Eight 

Friday 15 May 1970

Friday was another busy day and I spent the usual Friday evening at home. Penny had promised she would ring on Friday at 7.30, but I wondered if I would get a call after what happened on Thursday morning. A weekend with her was clearly out of the question as well, not that I wanted to see her any more.

I suspected her, and she suspected me. No call. At 8.30 I left the house to meet Ian at the local for a game of darts.

Ian was an overweight round faced man. By overweight I mean obese, he was like a barrel. For some reason, and it certainly wasn't his athletic figure, he was never short of a girlfriend. Mind you, he was entertaining and very funny, the epitome of the GSOH (good sense of humour) of the present day 'partners wanted' columns in the papers. Penny and I had been out clubbing with him and his latest squeeze a few times, and Penny liked him, in fact she said she could fancy him, with a twinkle in her eye.

When I asked why, Penny had smiled enigmatically and simply said, "Girls look for different things than boys." 

No, he didn't have a 10 inch cock either! I just wondered with his paunch how they had sex at all, if indeed they did.

When I arrived, there were two women sitting with him. I knew Gabby, his latest, but he introduced the other woman as Susan. The girls talked nineteen to the dozen, but Susan found time to talk with me and she was an attractive and interesting companion for the evening.

"I know you're engaged an' all," Ian said as we counted down from 301 on the dartboard (If we'd played 501 we would have been there all night), "but what d'you think of Susan?"

"Very nice, good looking, easy to talk with - yes, very attractive."

"So if we move on to her place, you'll come?" He had put on his wheedling tone.

"OK," I said patiently, "but just remember I am engaged." I wondered with a start whether I was.

He laughed with relief. "You need to sow some oats before you settle down. You've admitted she's good looking and fun. Bit older than you."

"Bit?"

"She's thirty five," he said, "that put you off?"

"No way!" I replied, "She's a lot of fun."

We did go to Susan's place afterwards and had a few more drinks. Ian drank and was driving, but I did not worry. I thought he was a good driver, and we never had an accident.

Susan met me as I was coming from the bathroom.

"I've got tickets for Tom Paxton next Wednesday at the Free Trade Hall, fancy coming?" she asked. I did fancy; Paxton was a great favourite of mine. I loved playing his stuff on the guitar.

"Love to," I said, "Would you like to have a pre-concert dinner in town? I can book."

She would like.

Monday 18 May 1970

I heard nothing from Penny over the weekend, and the post was early on Monday without a letter from her. I certainly was not going to write, but I had an idea. I wondered if this Monday would be a repeat of the first, so on a whim, I took my camera and was outside her house by 5 o"clock.

At 5.15 there they were, walking hand in hand to her house. There was a kiss at the door, her arms round his neck and his ranging over her back and bottom. I was glad the camera had a fast wind mechanism, it was, after all, top of the range for that time. 

I got more pics to and from the Church, and this time they stopped in a local park and snogged on a park bench before strolling home. His hand was up her knee length skirt, and hers on his crotch. I had always thought she was quite demure. What had become of the 'no sex without commitment' mantra she was always reciting? Perhaps we should have spent more time on park benches, I thought wryly.

I didn't bother to wait once they went inside the house, but drove home. I felt depressed, she was a lovely woman, very generous, very loving. However, there was also a sense of relief that I'd caught her before we married rather than after. There was still that unhappy emptiness in the stomach, that I had lost someone I had loved dearly, but I knew I had really lost her. There was no point in trying to talk it through with her. It was the trust thing really.

Tuesday 19 May 1970

I dropped Zena at work and then got the rolls of film to the photographic shop first thing on Tuesday morning, asking them to put the date on each print, and they were ready with some extra prints when I called on the evening journey home. Zena looked at them and sighed, but made no comment.

As I sat in my car at my slot in the flats' car park and looked over them I was quite impressed with the quality. The closeups of their tongue play on the park bench were particularly clear, and it was obvious where their hands were and what they were doing. While I might have been congratulating myself on my prowess with the camera and its telephoto lens, the vivid sharpness of the images drove me deep into depression, despondency and hopelessness. 

I looked forward to my rendezvous with Tom Paxton and Susan.

Wednesday 20 May 1970

On Wednesday evening over the meal with Susan I learned she was divorced with a little boy, and owned and ran a hairdresser's salon. I related my present problems and she sympathised, saying that her ex. had cheated as well. 

We both enjoyed the concert. 

It reminded me of the concert with Bob Dylan four years before. When he used an electric guitar in the second half, someone shouted 'Judas', and a number of people noisily got up and left. I remembered thinking that was weird. Dylan and the group played really loudly in response, which was fun though hard on the ears. All in all a brilliant concert. Tom Paxton suffered no such dissension, he was and is a master writer and performer.

Afterwards, she asked if I wanted to go home with her. The implication was obvious, even to me. I told her I had my car, and led her to some waste ground near Tommy Duck's pub. She wondered at the pub standing alone in the waste land, and I took her inside to show her the ceiling decoration. She looked up and gasped. Pinned all over the ceiling were women's knickers, all shapes and sizes. I told her that women were known to visit the ladies and on emerging hand over their used undergarments to the landlord, who would pin them up.

"No!" she said with an unbelieving laugh.

"It's not compulsory," I said, with a leering smile. She laughed. We had a quick drink and left for her flat which was over the shop she rented. She left no knickers behind, they were still on her: I saw her take them off later.

"My little boy is at home," she said. "He'll be fast asleep. I'll pay off the babysitter."

Her flat was about the size of mine, and like mine had two bedrooms. She steered me to the larger of the two. 

"You may kiss me now," she said smiling, and I obliged. "Good," she said, "Again." 

This time we went at it like teenagers, and in the process she cleverly removed her skirt, then with a minimal break her tee shirt, leaving her in her bra and briefs.

"You too," she said, as she unhooked her bra and slid her panties down her legs (see, I told you: Tommy Duck's loss). 

I undressed quickly, and she led me to the bed. 

"I'm using a coil," she said. "You can do me, but we need to be quiet."

I moved down to give her some oral attention, but she stopped me.

"Let's just do it tonight," she said. "We've both got to be up in the morning."

So we did it. She lay back, legs apart and I pushed into her, finding her moist and open. I thrust, and she lifted and sank in opposition, making my travel all the longer. 

"Harder," she said, "I won't break. Maul my tits."

So I went at her hard, and she grunted her appreciation, which transposed into hushed moans of rising pitch as I squeezed her little tits and pinched her nips hard.

She pulled me on to her and gasped, "Coming! Oh, fuck, keep doing that!" followed by a little shiver and a gasp. She bit my neck hard making mewling noises and a hickey, and it pushed me over the top. I groaned, feeling the juice spurting from my prick. 

I fell off her to the side, and we lay next to each other as we caught our breath for a short while.

Then she said, "Time to go." 

"Now?" I asked, being used to women wanting to cuddle after sex.

"Work tomorrow. I really enjoyed this evening, especially the last bit. Paxton was good too!" she laughed, "but I have early clients from seven on their way to work."

I got out of bed, kissed her as she lay languidly, then dressed and left, feeling a little puzzled and almost satisfied. I wondered if I had performed to her satisfaction, and also how I could disguise the hickey on my neck. Thankfully it was nearer my shoulder than my ear.

I arrived home at two in the morning, and fell into bed, asleep immediately.

My feelings about Penny came and went, as did my resolution to contact her somehow. I vacillated between the need to confront her with what she'd done and get closure, and the apathy which comes from depression and hopelessness to just leave her and the whole sordid thing alone. Perhaps I did not want to face her possible reasons for what she did.

While I had things to do, and people to talk to, especially if they were attractive women, I did not feel too bad, though I wasn't full of the joys of life any more. It was when I was alone at home that the loss of someone I had loved very dearly was felt more deeply. 

Why did I not contact her? Partly just acceptance of a perceived fact she found someone else more attractive (and I admit he was better looking), nearer her age and therefore perhaps a better proposition, but I now think it was mainly because I had been unfaithful before I knew of her betrayal, and the only reason for that was Colette's seduction, her devastating good looks and intense sensuality, coupled with my own sexual starvation after three weeks without even being near Penelope. In the case of my own betrayal there was no strong reason why. It was just lust for an exquisite woman who wanted me.

Into this mix there came the sex with Susan, and over the next few days I wondered why that particular liaison impinged so little on my sense of guilt.

As I thought over that event it occurred to me that on one level, having sex with Susan was disappointing and meaningless. It seemed to me to be a merely physical act. It was two people who liked each other enjoying some pleasurable sensations to round off a pleasant evening. It certainly relieved any pressing tension!

We took off our clothes, copulated, she came and I came, putting my semen in her. I had always wanted more than that. I got more than that in the incomplete sex I had with Penny. Sex with Penny seemed to sum up everything we meant to each other. I simply lay inside Penny so as not to come inside her, for she would not use any form of contraception, but the act of putting my body into her body was an interpenetration of our selves, symbolising our commitment. 

My fingering or eating her, both to orgasm, was always a loving act, an act of love, as was her tossing me off manually and orally. I couldn't help grinning as I thought, she used to toss me off, now she's tossed me away. Ho, ho.

That was why I felt so much more guilty about Colette. Somehow there was more investment even with her: there was an intensity there; a raging desire to be together, rather than simply to relieve tension. Colette wanted me, and I wanted her. Susan just wanted the relief and the action. There was admiration, affection, friendship with Colette. Admittedly it was quite light hearted, and the commitment was not in any sense complete, but there was a certain investment in each other.

Whenever I went over these things, I felt a growing anger and sense of betrayal and also guilt, both. Penny had deceived me, not once but over and over, and she had lied. I had betrayed her trust once, but there was no way she could know that. As far as she was concerned, in those weeks before I went with Colette, she believed I was totally committed to her, as indeed I was, and she in turn had made a promise to me. She broke it, but it was the lies that hurt most. 

I had begun to worry about her commitment after those weeks apart and her putting me off. That was no excuse for what I did, but there was at least an emotional reason why I fell for Colette's seduction. 

In Penny's case, it was clear I was asking again and again to see her, she could not fail to believe I was totally committed to her. She did not want me. Why hadn't she said so?

So went the reasoning when I was alone. The arguments went on and on, and sometimes I was on the point of going to Liverpool and having a showdown, but something would come up and the feeling would go. Then it would be replaced by the usual despondency and apathy, and I let things go.

Nevertheless, each Friday and Wednesday, the days when she would usually phone, I waited at home until the time passed. Each day I would scan the post for a letter from her. Illogical but that's the way it was. 

I wonder now what I was hoping for, because by then I had abandoned any hope we could be reconciled. I resented that she had not communicated in any way, though I ignored the fact that I did not write to her either. Rather childishly I thought it was her turn so why should I? I'd wait. Fool!

Thursday 21 May 1970

Harriet was hosting the bridge meeting, and the dinner and the evening went well. There was a very brief update on my situation, on the lines of 'Any news?' 'No.' 'How d'you feel?' 'OK.' Of course I wasn't. 

There was also a little ribaldry about my hickey, about which I remained coy. Then it was on with the game after which I was duly hugged and kissed, Zena making to give me another hickey on the other side with a wink, and then I made my way home, feeling loved and valued by my three girlfriends.

On the floor behind the door, among the letters and adverts, was a small package. I opened it and had to sit down. It was Penny's engagement watch, sent in a padded envelope. I looked for a note, but there was none. I checked the packaging, no note. She did not even put a return address, or send it registered post, which, considering its high value, was criminal. 

I sat in deep despondency, anger and annoyance. The message was simple, she wanted nothing more to do with me. As far as I knew, the only evidence she had of my bad behaviour was Zena being at the flat evening and morning, and she asked for no explanation, showing she fully believed I would have lied, and that anyway she already had someone else.

Suddenly I wanted someone to share this with. I knew that Zena was going home to her parents after the bridge meeting and was taking Friday off for a long weekend, the Monday being the May Bank Holiday. Harriet had never been on the horizon, in any case she had a boyfriend. I phoned Colette, blessing the fact she had a phone.

"Colette, I've had a package from Penny. It's her engagement watch." My eyes watered and it must have sounded in my voice. Most undignified, but the finality of the loss just washed over me.

"I'm coming over," she said. "Make some tea. Don't go the alcohol route yet. OK?"

"OK," I hiccupped.

Ten minutes later she arrived with a small suitcase. She said nothing but dropped her case and enveloped me in a tight hug. It lasted a long time, and then she separated herself and said, "Now let's have some tea."

We sat on the sofa and drank the tea in silence. I was glad she didn't want to dissect the event, after all it was clear what it meant. The watch sat on the packet on the table. She didn't try to say Penny 'wasn't worth it' or 'perhaps if you explained'. What she did was to hold my hand. She did not stroke, or caress, but simply held it.

When we had finished the tea she stood.

"Come on," she said, "Time for bed."

"C-colette, I've no condoms."

"Don't worry about that, you need someone in bed with you."




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 02



We went to bed. She held my hand as we moved to the bedroom, and once there took off her clothes in a very business-like way, until, breathtakingly nude, she climbed into bed.

I had been standing transfixed holding my breath, watching the unveiling of each of her formidable charms. I had never seen a nude woman so beautiful, so absolutely perfect in every way, even in paintings or dirty magazines. Those tits, the curve of that waist, that bottom, those legs!

"Graham?" she asked with a smile: she had seen that look on male faces before. 

I awoke from my trance with a start and shed my own clothes, climbing into bed after her. She stared at my nudity as I had at hers, and I wondered if she was joking, or trying to bolster my self-confidence.

"You really are a handsome man. Come here," she said extending an arm. That throw away remark made me immediately feel so much better. I knew it was designed as such; I doubted it was the truth but I didn't care.

I crawled into her arms and she pulled me against her, my head against her breasts. They were firm yet soft. It was done with such love and compassion that a peace swept over me and the churning inside seemed to drift gently away. 

Her hand stroked my hair, then soothed my back. She kissed my head. She continued to stroke me wherever she could reach, while I began to be purged of the desolation in which my erstwhile fiancée had again immersed me.

She drew my face up to hers and we kissed. It was gentle, soft and intense. Her kisses travelled then, over my neck, down my breastbone, and all over my stomach. 

I stroked her hair, and admired her shoulders, and her sinuous back. She laid her face on my stomach, and I caressed her cheek, running over her neck and shoulders. Thus we remained for an age, relaxed, in my case drained, and utterly comfortable.

When my hand strayed onto her side and faintly brushed her breast, she roused and came back to my lips, climbing on top of me and lying on my full length. She lifted herself onto her straight arms, allowing her breasts to hang loosely and lowering them to my lips for me to suckle one then the other, while she gave forth a sound almost a giggle, almost a moan, before falling on me again, her legs lying each side of mine, her mound pressing on me.

She was light, and warm, and soft, and so smooth. My penis, up to that moment dormant, began to come to life, gradually making itself felt as it rose up against her sex. She shifted to make room, so that it could rest along the length of her smooth crease. We kissed again, this time with more passion, fighting to reach each other's necks and shoulders.

I was now erect and pressing against her, whereupon she knelt up, moved over me, took my cock in hand and guided it as she sank down, her warm, wet pussy enveloping it and clasping it as if in a fur-lined glove, warm, secure and comfortable. 

"Colette sweetheart," I said, "Contraception?"

"Not tonight, my darling, I'm pretty sure you're clean, in spite of your love-bite, and so am I, and I'm on the pill, so relax. You need this," and she began to move.

It was a gentle rocking motion, rubbing her self against me, then smoothly slowly rising and falling, her hands taking her weight each side of my head, her breasts swinging pendulous above me. 

I opened my eyes, which had closed of their own accord with the intensity of the sensations she was lavishing on me, to find her looking into mine lovingly with a hint of the mischievous. She smiled and so did I. 

So it seemed to go on for an hour, until she was clearly tiring.

"Let me," I said. 

She understood and raised off me, slipping to my side and lying on her back, her legs spread wide, inviting. I knelt, slid forward and slipped in. She pulled me down onto my elbows, and we continued our reciprocal movements, and gazing at each other, until she twitched and yelped and I felt her contractions as she came. It was enough to bring me off in my turn, and I stayed resting over her until she pushed me to one side and wrapped herself around me.

Friday 22 May 1970

The next thing I knew was something I had never experienced before. It was daylight, though very early, and there was a warm mouth laving my penis, sucking a little, bobbing a little. I opened my eyes to find her gazing up into mine with a twinkle in her eye. I little realised at the time what a gift this was: Colette was not a morning person.

"Morning," I gasped as I revelled in the self-indulgent euphoria of exquisite sensations. She did not answer, since it would be rude to talk with her mouth full, but she winked at me, and I couldn't help but laugh.

The laughter died rapidly as I felt my climax approaching.

"Sweetheart, I'm close."

She closed her eyes, and opened them again, and I realised she was fingering herself under the bedclothes, and that realisation sent me into a powerful orgasm. She took it all, not letting go until I was completely finished. 

She came up and kissed me, the bitter taste of my emission on her lips. The lengthy kiss completed, I went down, kissing all the way, and bestowed my best admiration on her sex, from vagina to clitoris, and her pretty inner lips between. Thanks to her own finger activity while blowing me, she came quickly and hard, and then I gave her a reciprocal taste of herself in another torrid and lengthy kiss.

We lay entwined until it was time to shower and have breakfast, both of which were undertaken together, the former taking too long, and involving more climactic pleasure, and the latter accordingly having to be rushed.

Harriet commented we looked really 'relaxed' and 'just fucked', which indeed the two of us were. I certainly felt a good deal better after the shock of the previous night. 

Once at work I buried my head in work and went home late, picking up a chinese takeaway. Colette had something going on with other friends that weekend.

I dutifully waited at 7.30 for the phone call, why, I have no idea. It was obvious she was not going to ring. I think I still hoped for an explanation, some closure, a follow-up to the delivery of the watch. Nothing. I sighed for the umpteenth time that day, and read a novel. It was a light amusing story, but did not cheer me.

At 7.40 the phone rang.

My heart jumped. At last she had decided to talk. I felt elated and excited.

But no. It was Bob Stanford, master of ringers at Birch Church. My spirits dropped stone-like, but I was intrigued.

"Graham," he began, "I've got a problem, and wonder if you"re free to help me out. You've never rung a peal have you?"

"No," I said, "No opportunity."

"Well, the opportunity has now arisen. Peter's ill, and we need a ringer for tomorrow afternoon at one. It's Plain Bob Major, so quite straightforward. Are you free?" 

I was free, and thanked him for the chance to get a peal under my belt. A peal lasts about three hours. Bell ringing is not particularly strenuous as the weight of the bell swinging through 360 degrees does most of the work, and needs only little effort to keep it that way and to control it. Pulling on the bell rope and stretching as the rope goes skywards is good aerobic exercise though. 

The next section between the *** may be omitted for those with no interest at all in the craft.

***

English bells are rung full circle, from mouth up to mouth up (There is an ingenious arrangement whereby you can 'park' the bell with its mouth up). It means that you can't ring tunes on the bells as you can with a carillon where the bells are fixed. Instead they are rung in different orders according to Mathematical principles. 

Apart from the skill of keeping the bell swinging full circle, there is the complication that the clapper only strikes the bell at the end of the 360 degree arc well after you have pulled it off its mouth-up state. There is a lot of skill in judging when it will strike in perfect time with the other bells. 

The bell with the highest note, called the Treble is number 1 and in a ring of eight bells, the heaviest bell with the lowest note of the octave, the Tenor, is number 8. 

They begin ringing 12345678 (called 'rounds'), then when everyone is settled and the bells are struck evenly, the method starts and they change places in pairs, one place at a time, e.g., 

12345678

21436587 

24163857 

42618375 

46281735

64827153 (the beginning of Plain Bob Major)

and so on. 

If you look carefully you will see that each bell follows a path from front to back or back to front of the row. Once the treble has travelled to the back of the row and then returned to the front, there are different ways of changing the order so that the same row of numbers is never repeated in a method. 

There are 40,320 different orders for eight bells, but a peal is only about 5040 changes of those, and it takes about 3 hours to ring. There are all sorts of ways to change the order of the bells, called methods, some very complicated, but the principle that the bells are never struck twice in the same order always applies. Some methods are more tuneful than others, but the sound is usually pleasant and cheerful if the bells are struck evenly.

For services and practices less changes are rung, called 'touches' but the principle that you never repeat the same order twice in a touch is always preserved.

For less skilful ringers there are 'rounds and call changes', where the order 12345678 is repeated over and over again until the ringing master calls a change between two of the bells: e.g. "four to five" when bell four then rings after bell five. This can lead to quite tuneful orders: 13572468 called 'Queens', 12753468 called 'Whittingtons', and 15263748 called 'Tittums' being the most well known.

*** 

I was happier after that call: I had something to look forward to, and there was the prospect of a drinking session with the other ringers afterwards, which could be earlier or later depending on whether we got through the peal without cocking it up. If a peal crashes because someone makes a mistake, you just have to give up and go home, or to the pub.

I went to bed early, taking my book and suddenly finding it a much better read! When my eyelids began to droop, I lay down and fell asleep immediately. I had forgotten completely that Penny had not phoned.

Saturday 23 May 1970

The peal went reasonably well, with only a couple of hairy moments, and we went drinking afterwards, about four, and stayed until closing time at eleven. I had taken the bus to get there, and took a taxi home.

Sunday 24 May 1970

On Sunday I overslept, missed ringing and was roused by the doorbell at lunchtime, to find Colette, Harriet and Harriet's boyfriend, who wanted to take me out for lunch 'on such a sunny day'. They knew of a good restaurant in a hotel that served Sunday lunches. Kieran had been told my sad tale and was sympathetic. A nice man. 

After lunch they came home and we played Rummy and Canasta (Kieran did not play Bridge and did not want to learn). I put together some cheeses and biscuits in the evening and we washed it all down with my best Bordeaux. Harriet was staying with Kieran, and so they went home early, while Colette stayed the night, most of which was strenuously active. The girl was a dynamo! 

Monday 25 May 1970 Spring Bank Holiday

On Monday we slept in, enjoying the Bank Holiday and each other, once awake, then went for a drive and a long walk in the Spring sunshine, of which there was a good deal that month. It was warm as well!

We cooked some steaks with a tomato and onion and a green salad, then watched a film, hugging (and more) on the sofa until about midnight. She went home saying she didn't fancy rushing home to change for work on Tuesday morning. Watching her dressing was almost as erotic as watching her stripping. Well, you didn't think we 'hugged' fully dressed, or indeed dressed at all, did you?

Tuesday 26 May 1970

The next day after work, I went to the ancestral home and told my parents that the engagement was off, and why. As always, they forbore to give advice, but accepted what I had told them with sympathy. Neither did they utter a word of criticism of Penny, which I found to be strangely touching.

Thursday 28 May 1970

On Thursday, Zena was hosting. She was saying that Guyana had celebrated independence and she was happy. We had to do a little special shopping on the way to her place. I helped her prepare the food, and I noted how easily we fitted as cooks, skilfully moving round each other in the smallish kitchen. She did all the actual cooking and we ate Caribbean that night.

I showed the other two girls the photos, and told them I had heard nothing from Penny even after she sent back the watch. Recalling it for them reignited my feelings of discomfort that I had no closure. They were very supportive, and hugged me a lot. That was nice; ' 'tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good!' The bridge game wasn't bad either.

Friday 29 May 1970

On Friday evening I was once again at home in my flat, wondering if even a week after sending the watch she would ring and explain. My mind would not let it go. I knew I would still mourn for what we had and could have had for a good while, but Colette and the girls would be an effective antidote to grief. 

7.30 came and went with a deafening silence, but at 8.00 Colette arrived.

"Look, Graham my darling," she said, "send me away if you want to be alone, but last night you seemed a bit down, so I thought you might like to spend the weekend with me, here or at my place. What do you think?"

Of course I did. Would I send away such a caring woman? Such a sexy, beautiful and eager woman? I went and collected enough for the weekend, and we left for her place. 

Much of the weekend was spent in bed, by turns gentle and affectionate, and by turns passionate and violent. She liked being smacked on her bottom while being taken from behind, displaying her exquisitely rounded and reddening rear. She was inventive and for the first time talked dirty through one of our violent fuckings, and encouraged me to do the same as I slammed into her and she pushed back at me. The orgasms were so intense! 

I left the flat to ring for Sunday service, but she was still in bed when I returned and I joined her, in both senses of the word. On Sunday night she said, "Stay tonight, you can go home early to get ready for work. In any case you have to pick Zena up." 

Monday 1 June 1970

We made love and then again in the very early morning. Then after a shower I went home to change for the office. Colette was not a morning person and I appreciated her efforts on my behalf. She appreciated my silence!

--

Chapter Nine 

Monday 1 June 1970

We decided to have a break from each other on Monday night to get a bit of rest, so I was home alone that evening. The place felt different. I felt at peace. Perhaps at last I was becoming free of the Roasburies, the horrid parents and traitorous daughter.

So, after my evening meal when the phone rang, for the first time I didn't think it would be Penny. In any case it was the wrong day.

As a result the caller completely confused me. It was Derek. No pleasantries.

"Graham," he said in a puzzled rather than angry tone, "What's going on between you and Penny?"

"I don't know," I replied, "but basically, nothing is going on any more."

"She says she's broken off the engagement."

"Well, I received her engagement watch through the post, so I assume that's what she's done."

"You mean she hasn't told you?"

"No. I just got the watch. No note with it."

"She says you're seeing someone else."

"Does she?"

"Well, are you?"

"Derek, I'm not prepared to tell you anything if she's not prepared to talk to me. But I'll tell you this much and you can draw your own conclusions. You remember she came to you for that weekend?"

"Yes, but what's-"

"Just listen, I'll tell you this, and then no more. The previous week I complained that she'd repeatedly put me off seeing her for three weeks and I intended to see her that weekend to talk about it and I expected her phone call to arrange it on Friday, at 7.30 as usual. Indeed she had promised faithfully to phone.

"That call never came, but at midnight, on Friday night, mind, remember that, she phoned to say she was at your place and hadn't been able to phone because the train was delayed three hours. She was phoning from a phone box, Derek."

"But she didn't-" 

"She didn't get to you until Saturday afternoon. She deliberately lied to me. The phone box was a giveaway even if you hadn't phoned about what she'd left behind. You've got a phone. That's all you're getting, Derek. She hasn't told me why she's broken it off."

There was a moment's silence, then, "Thanks Graham. Bye."

So there I was, back to the old uncertainty. When Derek got to her, would she now phone me and explain? Was I to jump at each phone call again, as I had been doing before?

Tuesday 2 June 1970

Tuesday evening, at 7.30 the phone rang. My heart jumped, and I somewhat reluctantly answered it.

"Graham Proctor."

"Graham, it's Penny's mother." The tone of voice was cold which I glibly thought for a dragon was unusual.

"Hello," I said, neutrally, dreading the rest of the call.

"Graham, what's going on?"

"I don't know."

"Don't lie, Graham, Penny says she's broken off your engagement because you're seeing someone else."

"Does she?"

"Don't play games, Graham, you know you are."

I was growing tired of this, but I was damned if I was going to answer accusations from anyone but Penny, and I wasn't sure I could be bothered to answer hers!

"Is this from Derek?"

"He phoned us, yes, he said he'd told Penny she'd better ring me and tell me what was going on."

"Did he tell you what I said?"

"Yes, something about her missing a train, or forgetting to phone you."

I sighed. "OK, I told Derek I wouldn't discuss it with him unless Penny discussed it with me first."

"But she's told you she's broken it off."

"No. She sent her engagement watch back to me. No note, no explanation."

"She said you were being awkward, and you know perfectly well why she's broken it off."

"Listen, she hasn't said anything to me, but she is seeing someone else, which I'm sure will make you very happy. Why you should want to know the details I've no idea, you've never liked me, you've been rude and snobbish, so I have no intention of saying any more to you. What I will do is write your husband a letter, since he at least is civil to me. Goodnight."

I hung up, and I hit the bottle. 

Bloody fucking Roasburies!

Thursday 4 June 1970

On Thursday it was my turn to host the meeting and Zena offered to help. Needless to say everyone knew the latest development and were duly compassionate. We had just sat down to play the first rubber, when the phone rang. Zena's hand was the dummy so she went to answer it. She needn't have, for all play stopped while she was gone.

"Hello, Graham Proctor's Place."

"Yes, he's here, who's speaking please?"

"Zena Bridgehouse, I'm a colleague of his from work."

"I'll get him."

She looked over to me. "Penny's mother."

I walked over to the phone.

"Hello."

"So you have got another woman."

"It's none of your business, nor of Penny's any more, is it?"

"Penny told me this Zena was one of the women you were sleeping with. That woman answered the phone one evening, and was still there the next morning."

"No."

"What d"you mean? Are you calling Penny a liar?"

"Well, yes I am - she is a liar, but in this case she's mistaken. Listen, I can't talk now, I'll give you this much, Zena is here with two other people. We play contract bridge every Thursday. Did Penny tell you about Martin Greaves?"




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 02



"He's her new boyfriend. He's helped her through this awful business. She's only been with him since you were unfaithful."

"I'm sick of this! I was not unfaithful. I can't talk now, these people are waiting to play. And by the way, Penny is lying about Martin as well."

I put the phone down. "Damned woman," I snarled, but I wasn't sure which woman I meant.

I played badly that night, but Zena, my partner, did not complain. Lovely girl! 

Fucking Roasburie bitches!

Friday 5 June 1970

On Friday at home after work, I wrote the letter to Geoff Roasburie outlining the whole saga of infidelity and lack of communication. I enclosed photo's of Penny with Martin Greaves, the loving couple, one of them walking with arms round each other, and the other of them on the park bench with hands on each other's genitals, sealed the envelope and posted it. Perhaps this would finally put an end to my pointless association with the delinquent Roasburies.

When I returned from the post box, Colette's car was outside the flat. As I approached she climbed out and came toward me. She slid her arms around me and lifted her face for a kiss. We kissed. It went on for a while, as her body squeezing against me, waking up further my already stirring cock.

"Anything planned for the weekend?" she asked seductively.

"No," I said as I opened the front door and we climbed to my first floor flat.

"Come with me to Shropshire," she invited. "I booked a hotel in Ironbridge. The food is superb, the beer is local and very pleasant; Wenlock Edge is very pretty. How about it?"

"Sold to the lady in red."

She was a wearing green blouse and a short, darker green skirt. 

"How did you know I've got my red knickers on?" she asked with a pout. 

"You flashed me getting out of the car, and I can see a bit of your bra," I answered smugly. "And you always wear sexy red when you want me to do something."

"OK, pervert. Get some stuff together and let's hit the road. Can we take your car?"

The hotel was in the centre of Ironbridge, and as Colette said the place was very welcoming and the food was superb. She was right about the beer as well. 

Ironbridge is a small town by the River Severn Gorge which boasts the first iron bridge ever built. It is a beautiful structure, with a graceful arch and well worth seeing. It and other towns in the area were at the forefront of the industrial revolution, during which time the whole place looked like hell on earth. Now all is green and pleasant and the area abounds in fascinating museums.

Saturday 6 June 1970

On the Saturday afternoon after we had returned from our drive and hike along the Edge, we had undressed and got into the king sized bed. It was then that Colette became serious.

"Graham I've got something to tell you."

My face must have shown I was expecting bad news, for she hastened to correct the impression.

"No, no," she said, "Nothing bad. It's just that we need to get things clear. You were engaged to Penny, and that shows that you were thinking of settling down and getting married. You're what? Twenty Five? Twenty Six?" 

I nodded, "Twenty Seven." 

She continued. "Zena and I were talking. I don't want you getting serious with me. I'm a little younger than you but I don't want to settle down just yet. I'm very happy the way things are. I like being your friend and I like being your mistress. You're very good in bed, you know, I've rarely felt so loved and cared for. That's it really."

She sat primly in the bed, displaying her perfect breasts which sat perkily and firm, demanding some urgent attention. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Colette," I said as I fondled her twins, "after my experience with Penny I don't want to get too serious either for a good long time. I'm grateful to both of you for all you do for me, and I can't believe my luck that you want to have sex with me at all. So can we just carry on as we are?"

"The only other thing," she said with a gasp and a sigh as I tweaked a nipple, "is that you might not be the only man I sleep with. I don't want you getting all possessive and jealous."

"My only worry is disease," I replied, as my hand travelled south.

"You are the only man I have sex with that I don't insist on a johnny. You remember I insisted the first time we nearly did it. That's always the case for me usually, but you are special. I want you to use a rubber with any other women you go with, OK?"

"OK, that's fair, but you might find you suddenly fall for someone; it does happen. If it does, you must stop our relationship immediately. Promise me that, I don't want to be involved with deception."

I could see it hit home with her; it was after all the reason we were in the relationship we were. Since my hand was between her perfect thighs, she ran hers over my risen prick.

"It's unlikely, but I promise. Now that's clear, it's time for you to do me till I scream for mercy!"

Which is what I did at some length, starting with those delicious tits, and with some intensity the rest of her perfect body, and she did scream, not so loudly and not for mercy. I knew I would never tire of her warm silky channel clasping my cock, nor the sharpness of her tits. I think my groans of release were louder than her screams.

We had a short sleep holding each other before waking and going to dinner. Next day she drove me back in my car, and I continued on to my place to prepare for yet another week at the office.

So we moved further into June and July. The Labour Government was replaced by the Conservatives, for all the difference it made.

In July we had a Dock strike, nothing new there then, and the Commonwealth Games took place in Edinburgh - a sort of reduced Olympics. Neither event impinged on my legal or private life, apart from having to persuade one frustrated export company that it was pointless to sue the dockers' union. 

Those summer months were typical of North West England, mixed, mainly wet! To be fair there were quite a few warm sunny days and we made the most of them with picnics and trips out. I love hiking in the hills, but any weather will do for that. The weather did not impinge upon concerts, discos, clubbing, pubs, and evenings listening to and playing folk music. It was the era of protest as I've said. Of course bell ringing took up one or two evenings of each week, with the odd ringing tour thrown in on Saturdays. Life was busy and enjoyable.

My holidays were scheduled for three weeks in August, the idea being that Penny and I would have been planning the wedding and spending a week somewhere together after her heavy workload in Teacher Training. I cancelled that time off with an option to take time as and when I wanted it.

Penny. After sending the letter to Penny's father, I heard nothing further from any of that family, and she slipped into history. I did wonder what she was doing from time to time, who she was with, whether Martin had taken my place permanently. There was always a twinge of regret and, I suppose, longing, but for what wasn't clear. The intensity of my emotional reaction had diminished as the weeks passed, though there was that nostalgic wistfulness from time to time. 

As Martin Luther King said in another context, 'Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, we're free at last.' That's exactly how I felt.

It wasn't the first time I'd been dumped by girls, and I had dumped girls in my turn. Perhaps the word dumped is a little strong, rather 'finished with' is gentler and more descriptive.

I never saw Susan again after the Tom Paxton night; Ian told me she thought there was no real spark between us. Too right there wasn't. Ian's liaison with Dolly Parton or whatever her name was, had ended, and Susan was her friend.

Ian was mystified when I turned up at the pub with Colette one week and Zena the next. He was also envious and I couldn't blame him. Even after all the weeks that Colette and I had been together, I still could not believe my luck, and I never took her or my loving friendship with Zena for granted.

We had come to the end of the sixties - the 'swinging' sixties. That's what they called them. For us ordinary folk it did not swing too much. Oh, the music was great, with plenty of folk singing old and new, but most girls were not on the pill, so they did not 'put out' easily as a result; pregnancy outside marriage was still frowned upon, and that is putting it mildly. 

Condoms were sold in pharmacies and barber's shops, and you had to ask for them over the counter. Young assistants would glance wistfully, but older ones would glare at one's implied promiscuity. 

For barbers it was a ribald joke. The classic selling technique was, as soon as the haircut was done, the barber would ask "Something for the weekend, sir?" and grin with a knowing expression. I think they enjoyed seeing the flush of embarrassment on the faces of those who answered in the affirmative.

Colette and Zena were ahead of their time in this regard. As Colette had told me, usually they carried condoms with them when they went out for a night on the town, just in case. They were not really into one night stands, so the prophylactics were seldom used until they got to know the man concerned and then they expected him to provide them. The pill was new and 'my' girls were all users of the new contraceptive.

It was an interesting relationship, and one for which I remain very grateful after all these years. Colette and I had regular sex, and she was very comforting, not to say exhilarating, but Zena and I remained platonic and I confided much more intimately in her and she in me.

Both girls had men friends and Colette would go out on dates with the men she met or knew from time to time. What surprised me was that I assumed she was having sex with other men but felt not in the least bit jealous. If she were having a fling with a man, I would not see her, apart from Bridge, for a week or so. Further, the other men had to use condoms, whereas I went bareback. Harriet had always been off limits, still with her Kieran, and for some reason (and it wasn't her colour), Zena and I preferred our non-sexual friendship which was becoming very deep.

I had such a busy social life that I felt no need to go looking for other women: there was too much to do. Occasionally Ian would draft me in to make up a foursome with his latest girl and her friend if the need arose, but the friend rarely showed any interest in having sex, or even kissing me, and the feeling was mutual so perhaps they sensed it in me. 

Colette, as I've said, was not really a morning person, though she could be quite active on occasion when the fancy took her. She loved to wear really sexy clothes and even sexier underwear which was often uncomfortable. She said it made her feel erotic and turned on. She enjoyed making a show of stripping for me and, I assume, for her other lovers. She was vocal during sex and always complimentary. 

"Oh yes, just there," "Oh, you fill me so full," "You stud, how can you be so good?" "You are incredible." These were a few of the many acclamations accompanying our coupling. She seemed to mean them too!

When she orgasmed she used a wealth of profanities, and yelled and screamed. It was very impressive and good for the ego, though I often wondered how the neighbours felt. I was glad she toned it down in Ironbridge.

She would also suggest or rather require me to take her in a certain way. "From behind, baby," "Shove it up me now!" "Eat me!" "Get your tongue down there." You get the idea.

Colette also had a pronounced clitoris, quite long and fat and very sensitive. As a result she could easily orgasm from penetration alone and usually did. Those orgasms would last as long as it took for me to come, and she was so grateful!

Towards the middle of July the four of us decided to give the Bridge nights a rest until the autumn. The light nights seemed too good to waste.

It was in the first week of September that there was a change in our four-way friendship. It was Zena who brought the subject up a week or so earlier.

Thurs 20 August 1970

"Notice anything about Harriet?" she asked as we drove to her place from Colette's after the first of the reconvened Bridge nights.

"Seemed a bit down," I replied. "Normally more cheerful. Problem?"

"She's broken up with Kieran," she answered. "A month ago. He felt he was getting tied down. Trouble is she thought he was getting near to proposing. He took her out for dinner and she got the impression he was going to pop the question. Instead he told her it was over."

"Poor kid," I said, knowing how it felt; it provoked thoughts of Penny, and the pang of regret for my ex. annoyed me; her actions still brought on a certain gentle ache. Would I never be completely free?

"Graham?" she said tentatively. I think I must have stiffened slightly, perhaps I looked depressed, for she stopped short. "You OK?"

"Yes," I said, "Provoked some memories. You were saying?"

"She needs some TLC," she said. "As you did."

"Yes?" I was getting the feeling I was in line to administer the same.

"Well, you really know what she's going through, so I thought..."

I sighed. "OK, does she know I'm about to descend on her? You girls tell each other everything I believe."

"We said we'd approach you. She's open to the idea."

--- 

Chapter Ten 

Friday 27 August 1970

Harriet had always been going with Kieran when we were playing Bridge with Colette and Zena. She and I never actually interacted very much. She always seemed rather aloof. Now I was sitting in a pub at six in the evening waiting for her to turn up.

I had been set up, or rather we both had been set up by our two friends. I wondered if she would resent it. What sort of TLC was wanted? I had no idea. My plan was to let her take the lead this evening. We would do what she wanted to do, talk about what she wanted to talk about. 

She was late. I had been told five thirty. Perhaps she would not turn up at all. As the thought crossed my mind she arrived, and made straight for where I was sitting. I stood, we embraced quite naturally as we always had - somewhat stiffly, hips kept apart.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, but gave no reason.

"What will you drink?" I asked by way of forgiveness.

"Rum and Coke please," she said as she doffed her raincoat and sat next to my place on the bench seat.

As I went to the bar it struck me that because she had always been distant with me, I had not really seen her. There was always Colette and Zena to ogle. Yet she was very pretty facially, one of those women who are naturally very lightly built. I hadn't really noticed how much like a catwalk model she was. She had gentle understated curves as I noticed when she took her raincoat off, and everything fitted together perfectly, but she was thin. Her hair was a rich shiny curly auburn and fell over her shoulders in ringlets. As I walked back I saw her face as if she was new to me. She was beautiful! Her bone structure was perfect; she would always have that beauty.

I sat down and gazed at her, turning towards her. Large hazel eyes, small nose, wide mouth you could imagine would want to engulf you, and a long sinuous neck. How could I have missed all this?

I took all this in for a split second, but my gesture of turning slightly towards her was misinterpreted. The eyes flashed.

"Save it, Graham," she snapped. "I don't want to talk about it; I don't want your sympathy. I'm here because Zena would not let up until I did."

Wow! Some opening. This was why I had always kept a distance. She didn't really like me at all! So why did she come? I was irked because I hadn't wanted to come either, I was annoyed, but I suppressed it - not!

"OK, so you've come, fulfilled your obligation to Zena, now you can drink up and go," I said testily. "I didn't need to be here either, I was badgered into it as well."

She was shocked, I could see it in her face; it was the last thing she expected. She had clearly been handled with kid gloves after her break up, and this aggression confused her.

"I'm sorry?" she said with a worried frown. It was not an apology, but a quest for understanding.

"Sorry? Yes, you're sorry, you're hurt; so am I," I snapped, deliberately misinterpreting her query. "D'you think I came here to enjoy raking up all the trauma of breaking up with Penny? For once in my life I can say something I never say to someone else: I know how you feel. So don't take it out on me; I didn't dump you. I won't stand for it."

I paused for breath. She was about to react in shock, so I preempted her. Now I was much more gentle.

"Now, do you want to call it a day and go home? Or shall we do something else?"

She was startled. Again my change of tone disconcerted her. She was on the back foot (a cricketing term meaning she was now defensive), as well as wrong footed.

"Graham, I apologise. I've resented being pushed together with you. It's not you, it's their well meaning help. They think I'll feel better if..." she stopped.

"We go to bed together," I finished it for her. "Well, that's not going to happen, is it?"

Again she was disconcerted; she was not used to being turned down at the start. Did I see disappointment cross her face? Probably not; wishful thinking? She said nothing.

"Well?" I asked quite gently, "What are you going to do?"

She flinched. "Er, I... I don't know..."

"Have you eaten?" I asked. She relaxed, the tension draining out of her.

"No."

"Would you like to go for a meal? I promise not to mention... that topic." I smiled. She smiled.

"Yes, I'd like that."

"Well," I said, "I booked a table at Orchards for seven. I don't mean people - seven o'clock. I was going to eat there regardless, though I would have cancelled if you didn't like the idea."

She smiled more broadly and finished her drink quickly.

We took a taxi to the restaurant, which I keep saying was one of the best in the city because it was, and she was impressed. Over the meal we chatted and I found that she was quite an athlete. She went running, not jogging, liked jazz and classical music, and enjoyed clubbing, so we had quite a lot in common.

At the end of the meal I asked if she wanted to go to a club, or a pub, or a late film, or home.

"Could we just go to your flat?" she asked. "I don't feel like noisy places tonight."

I forbore to enquire who was partying at her place that night.

The restaurant ordered a taxi for us, and we ran to it through the pelting rain, and laughing, piled into the back seat. At the other end we ran through the still pelting rain into the hallway of the flats, and stood giggling as we panted, catching our breath. Then we walked quite sedately up the stairs and I let her in, asking what she would like to drink as I took her coat.

After a month of heavy rain throughout the country, that last week was dry - except for two hours that evening when it pelted down - a local shower. Perhaps the weather was sympathising with her distress.

"Could I have a rum and coke, just a measure of rum and a full can of coke."

"Diet?" I asked.

"Ooh, yes please," she said with a smile.

I brought her a glass tumbler, the bottle of rum, two cans of diet coke, a glass filled with ice cubes and a dish with sliced lime.

"Here," I said, "You can make your own to your own taste."

She smiled and set to creating her drink, while I poured a generous measure of malt whisky with a wee splash of water. I put on some quiet jazz, Brubeck I think it was, and sat in the nearest armchair to the sofa.

"This is nice," she said, relaxing into the sofa. We sat in silence, and then she began to speak.

"I can't understand him," she said, and I knew of whom she was speaking. 

"We were so..." here she searched for the word, "easy-going with each other. So comfortable, he was always telling me how much he loved me for God's sake, how well suited we were. He said it, not me! 




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 03



Chapter Eleven 

Wednesday 4 November 1970

Towards the end of October, Harriet became depressed again.

"Three months since Kieran dumped her," said Zena in the car on the way home. "He did it on the sixth of August."

"Hiroshima Day?" I stared at her, "I hope the date wasn't intentional on his part."

"I don't think Harriet knows about Hiroshima Day. She's still not over him. Mind you, I've seen him around and he looks thoroughly miserable as well."

I thought about it, as I parked outside Zena's flat.

"Perhaps you and I should go see Kieran," I suggested. "He might have realised what he's lost."

"Hmm." It was clear Zena was not happy with that idea.

"Zena, it can't hurt to find out how he feels."

"Suppose not." Still not convinced.

"Think about it," I urged her. "OK?"

"OK," she muttered.

"In the meantime," I proposed, "how about we all go for a meal on the anniversary? The sixth is on Friday of this week, so we can make a night of it, just the four of us. What d'you think?"

Zena brightened at this. "Yes. Good idea. Can you book somewhere? How about your favourite restaurant, Orchards? I'll sound out the other two."

"Good for me too," I said with a heavy heart. "It's about six months since I got dumped, as well."

She smiled, and kissed me. "All the better. Perhaps we can go clubbing afterwards."

I phoned the Restaurant.

"This is Graham Proctor, can I make a reservation for this Friday Sixth November? 7.00?

"Mr Graham! So good to hear from you. Friday Six is pretty busy, but we will fit you in. There is a party in on that night, but we have a table free in the other room. How many?"

The restaurant had two large rooms, one each side of the entrance and foyer, so that a large party could be entertained in one wing while allowing ordinary diners peace and quiet to enjoy the exquisite food. There was a wide, common bar and lounge between the rooms, accessed from the foyer, where diners would peruse the menu, order their food and wait for their table to be ready.

"Table for four please, Ambrose. You sure you can do this?"

"For you Mr. Graham, it's never a problem."

Friday 6 November 1970

So at 6.50pm Harriet and I were seated in the lounge bar of the restaurant waiting for the other two to arrive, when a group of people came into the lounge at the 'party' end of the bar. They had hardly sat down when a woman I thought I should know left the little group she was with and made a bee line for where we were sitting. She did not look happy.

"You bastard, Graham!" was her opening salvo, though she spoke quietly through gritted teeth so as not to make a scene. "You couldn't let her be could you? Had to come and ruin her night."

This was a surprise. Who was she and what the hell was she talking about? Harriet looked on with a mixture of puzzlement and wry humour.

"You must excuse me, but I know you from somewhere, but can't remember where. Also, I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

"Still the congenital liar, Graham? You know perfectly well why you're here, and it's despicable after what you did to that girl!"

Now I was getting irked. "Still none the wiser. Who are you, lady? And what have I done?"

She stopped and rethought. "Annette? You came to our New Year's party. You know what you've done. A liar and an unfaithful toe-rag!"

She was liberal with her compliments, was Annette.

At this she turned to Harriet.

"You want to be careful with this specimen," she said to her with an evil almost triumphant glint in her eye. "I'll bet he hasn't told you about the other two women he's shagging at the moment? He's been doing one of them for months!

Harriet was now looking more and more amused. "Really?" she said with a hint of mockery. "Ooh dear, Graham, what have you been up to?"

"A blonde and a coloured girl," our visitor continued. "Likes a bit of variety does Graham."

I caught the smile of recognition from Harriet who was starting to enjoy the confrontation.

"Really Graham," she said with mock indignation. "Have you been a busy boy?"

Annette looked disconcerted that Harriet was not taking her seriously, but obviously decided to move on.

"Anyway," she asserted, "You knew this is her favourite restaurant, and now she's teaching round here-"

Recognition dawned.

"You're talking about Penelope," I interrupted. "You're wrong. This is my favourite restaurant, and it was I who introduced her to it. 

"And I'm getting sick of these accusations every time I come into contact with that lying cheating bitch and her abominable family. How could I possibly know what her plans are? She's never spoken to me, and she's turned all the friends I made through her against me. So no, I didn't even know she was back in this area, or that she was coming here tonight, I'm here for a little celebration of my own."

At this Ambrose came over, looking worried. 

"Mr Graham, everything all right?" He looked accusingly at Annette.

"Yes fine, Ambrose," I replied. "The lady and I are catching up on some difficult news."

"Very well," he said, shrugged, and walked off. Annette looked impressed that Ambrose knew me personally.

"Why don't you sit down?" I suggested, "cause less of a disturbance." 

She sat down and I continued where I'd left off.

"We're 'celebrating' with Harriet here the three month anniversary of her being dumped by her boyfriend, and I'm 'celebrating' that Penelope finished with me six months ago. That was a narrow escape. More comfort than celebration tonight, I suppose.

"Penny?" I continued, "She's probably lied to you along with her family and other friends - she's the liar and the cheat, not me."

"Don't give me that!" she snapped, "There's evidence you were cheating long before you got engaged."

"So why didn't she finish with me then? Why string me along?"

"Because we only told her about you when she told us she was engaged. We thought she was making a big mistake."

"You told her?" I was taken aback. "You had evidence? What evidence?"

"Sorry," here she turned to Harriet, "Sorry you have to hear this, but it might stop you making the mistake Penny made. 

"From early February and probably before that, he's been seeing another woman," she told Harriet, "She's a coloured girl and it seems he's cheating on you with her as..."

At this moment she stopped and her mouth dropped open, for into view, with perfect timing, came Zena and Colette. They came and sat down with us, and looked enquiringly at Annette.

"Zena, Colette," I said, "this is Annette, a friend of Penelope."

"That bitch!" exclaimed Colette. "Oh, sorry Annette, but she's not our favourite person, not that we've ever met her. She practically destroyed Graham with her lying and cheating, and just after they got engaged too. We still can't understand why she would do that."

"You're the one he was cheating on her with," Annette shot at Zena with some venom, "Patty and I saw you, over and over. Penny was away in college and-"

"Rubbish!" muttered Zena. "You didn't see anything. As they say in the papers, we're just good friends."

"You can't deny you were with him, we saw you again and again - and eventually Penny caught you!"

"I know which night you're talking about," Zena replied hotly. "That was after she cheated on him. And she didn't 'catch me' as you put it. I took his car home that night, and brought it back the next morning so he could get to work."

"But you spent the evening with him, and I'll bet it wasn't the only one."

Zena sighed, and I interrupted the exchange.

"Just a minute," I said, "Just what is this 'evidence' you've got?"

"Patty - you remember Patty? Penny's flatmate?"

I nodded.

"She lives round here now with Carl - you don't know him - she was at some traffic lights in her car and saw you and Zena here in the car next to hers, so she followed you and the two of you went into an apartment block, and she waited outside. You were there over an hour, Graham. So Patty called me and we started to watch the flat. 

"Two weeks later you both went to the Westbrook Hotel and were there three hours. And later we saw you driving with her to different houses and staying until late, every week! 

"We were so surprised, we didn't think you were that sort, so when Penny told us she was engaged to you, we told her we suspected you of cheating, and that she should do some checking of her own. 

"She went home very upset, and her mother told her that Penny's uncle, who's a lawyer, knew a lot of lawyers here and you have a reputation among them for bedding anything female that moves! Apparently they all laugh about it. She had tried to warn Penny about you when you first met, but she wouldn't listen to her.

"So, what have you to say to that?"

Zena and I both smiled. I was seething inside. Zena it was who spoke: she could see I was too angry.

"Oh dear!" she said with regret. "Shame you or she didn't ask Graham what was up."

"Sorry?" Annette frowned.

"First of all, all four of us work together."

"You work together? Same company?"

Zena nodded. "I live on his way to work and so he gives me a lift there and back. About once a week I invite him in for a meal, a sort of thank you. Now and then we meet clients in the evening, usually at their hotel or at one of our homes. We are friends and only friends. Every week we play Bridge, the four of us. Those are the houses where we went."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Think about it," snapped Zena. "Graham and I both have flats. Why would we be going to a hotel room in the evening? Or other people's houses? Swinging? Don't make me laugh! That's just plain daft. And that mother of hers? She hated Graham from the moment he brought Penny home when she first met him. That bitch didn't know of his 'reputation' then!

"Do you really think if we were fucking him every week he would even get engaged? Why should he?

"More to the point, would he get so upset when she kept putting him off going to see her? Even for half an hour on a Saturday?

"If he were shagging me regularly, would he be so devastated when he found she was lying about where she was, when she phoned to say she was with her brother, and she wasn't there at all?"

Zena was now on a roll, eyes flashing.

"You know what he did? He went to Liverpool without telling her, because she kept putting him off, to talk to her about her behaviour. What did he see? Her and some guy snogging on her doorstep and then the bloke staying the night. Annette, he was distraught!

"That was when the other girls deputed me to take him out for a meal, and listen to his story. That was when I answered the phone to Penny in the evening, then when I brought the car back the next morning, he was in the shower when she rang again. I could have explained if she hadn't slammed the phone down.

"So he saw her being unfaithful and after that she never said or wrote a single word to him. He took that as evidence she wanted rid of him, and when she sent back the engagement watch without even a covering note, he knew it for a fact. He was destroyed, Annette! And that's when Colette here gave him some serious comfort to lessen the pain, only then, not before. Only Colette, you understand? Graham and I are simply friends, and so is Harriet.

Colette added her tuppence worth, "Of course since then he and I have been friends with extras and he's the best of friends to the three of us. You know he's been entertaining and supporting Harriet here for three months since her boyfriend dumped her, and he's never once tried it on with her? Doesn't sound like a philanderer to me. Penny lost a gem there."

She had finished her contribution, and sat back with a knowing smile. Annette looked shell-shocked. 

"And," I added, "if Penny'd had had the courtesy to ring me or write and finish with me decently, she'd have known the truth. I. Did. Not. Cheat. She did, and she lied about it. I didn't know what I was supposed to have done!"

Annette was clearly stunned. "Are you saying she didn't talk to you at all? She just sent the watch back?"

"That's what I'm saying. You probably don't believe me, and I suspect, now that I know what a liar she is, if you ask her she'll deny that as well, but these girls saw the packet. Personally I'm well rid of her.

"By the way, if I'm lying, why did Derek and then her bitch of a mother ring me to ask me what was going on? Check with Derek, because I'm pretty sure the dragon will lie through her teeth: she has always hated me from day one.

"Oh, and I told her mother that I would write to Penny's father and explain everything I knew. Everything you've heard tonight went into the letter, along with two photo's, and there was no reaction. That did surprise me, I thought I got on quite well with him."

Annette looked worried and uncertain. "I never knew she broke it off with you without speaking to you. No wonder she was totally misled. This need never have happened. It's all our fault - Patty's and mine."

"No," I corrected her. "You told her of your suspicions; it was up to her to tell me and see if there was an explanation, instead it seems she went to her bitch of a mother who was delighted to back you up with some made up story about lawyers. I'm sure that was a straight lie. So what's the celebration?"

Now Annette looked very uncomfortable. "Penny's getting engaged. Her family and friends are having a meal here. We're here early in case family arrive, they're coming from Chester, staying overnight. We eat at 8.00. I'm worried if she sees you she'll bolt like she did last time she came. She was with Patty and saw you, I think you were with - Harriet isn't it? She just ran away.

"Anyway, I'd better go and join the group. I'm so sorry Graham. I just didn't know."

"Well, when you don't know, the best thing to do is to ask, which is what you just did. Shame she didn't. You could ask her father if he got a letter from me, and if so why he hasn't had the decency to reply to it."

"You're right. I could do that. I don't know what else I can do now. Now I've heard your side, everything's a lot clearer to me."

"Don't do anything. She's found someone else. Let her get on with it."

She didn't look convinced; I know I wasn't. I was severely tempted to go and surprise the happy group, but I knew that would do no good. It would only cause trouble and no one would believe me in any case. 

Annette went back to her group of friends, and I could see her talking animatedly with them. There were many glances in my direction. It was a distraction, and the girls were well aware of it. There was not much conversation as everyone thought about what we'd been told. It was a relief when we were called to our table and left the lounge.

We all knew it: the evening was ruined. I was preoccupied with the new information I had been given, and my emotions were once again all to pot. The girls were concerned for me instead of cheering Harriet up. The only advantage was that Harriet was distracted from her own thoughts by the development in my life.

There was a lot of discussion concerning what I should do now. Colette was all for going round to their celebration and making a statement. Zena thought Penny couldn't have been all that committed to me to do what she did, and it would be better to leave well alone. Harriet wanted to talk to Annette at more length and perhaps even see Penny at some stage in the future. I sat and listened.

"Thanks girls," I said at length. "I've decided to leave it alone. Let her get on with her new life. I'm history as far as she's concerned. Let's leave it like that. I'm happy as things are."

That was a lie. I was anything but happy, and they knew it, but I knew they would respect my wishes. The bloody Roasburies had done it again. When would I ever be free of them?

We moved on to other things, but the atmosphere was gone, though the food made up for it in some respects. We didn't spend any time chatting afterwards, but left as soon as I got the bill. 

We left the restaurant at eight thirty, and with the night being so young, made for our favourite club. I think we all hoped that some music and a little dancing would obliterate the cloud over our evening. It did to some extent.

Until about ten o'clock.

A hand on my shoulder. I looked up. It was Patricia, Penny's erstwhile flatmate, looking distressed. My spirits dropped again.

"Can we talk?" she asked. "Somewhere quieter?"

I looked at the others. They nodded. I gave a key to Harriet. 

"See you all at the flat," I said and left with Patty. 

There was a pub nearby. I was worried it might also be too noisy, but there was no piped music and the conversation level, while noticeable, would not interfere with what she wanted to say.

"Graham I'm sorry," she said. "I feel so guilty. I don't know why I didn't try to find out the truth from you myself, before messing with your lives. Annette was so certain after I told her what I'd seen. I never realised... Never thought of it any other way.

"Annette caught me when I arrived tonight and filled me in. I can't believe Penny could be so stupid as to cut off all communication with you. We both assumed she'd done it properly and talked to you, but to send that watch back..."

She shook herself, then settled back against the bench seat.

"Is that all you wanted to say? You broke up my evening just for that?" I was annoyed. Why were these people constantly messing with me?

"No, no!" she hastened to say. "You need to know what happened after you left."

"I don't think I do," I retorted. "The less I have to do with you lot, the better."

She shrank a little, then recovered. "I deserved that. We all do. But please, Graham, let me tell you. Please?"

I shrugged. "Go on," said with resignation.

"You'd gone into the dining room when I got there, but the group was still discussing what you'd told Annette, wondering what to do. Half of us thought it wasn't true, and thought we should forget it as you told Annette to do, but others thought if it were true it would be terrible if Penny still loved you and then found out later after she married. Then we argued about whether to tell her before the meal, during the meal or after it, or even later, if at all.

"We reached no conclusion, and then the family arrived: that mother of hers, her dad, her brother and his wife and their two boys, so there were a lot of introductions and conversation and nothing was said about our problem. Then, about ten minutes late, Penny arrived with Nigel."

"Nigel?" I intervened.

"Yes, Nigel Hartington-ffyfe, her fiancé. His father is high up in banking, and he's following in his dad's footsteps."

She saw my expression.

"He's really nice, but a bit - dull. Straight-laced. Penny's mother is ecstatic about him - his family live in Prestbury in among the millionaires."

"She would be. She's the caricature of a snob. She hates me."

"Yes, we all know that. Penny seems to like Nigel though, and he's besotted with her."

I chortled. "A match made in - where? Prestbury?" I quipped.

"Anyway," she said, ignoring my jibe and wanting to get back to the story, "The family were oblivious to the atmosphere, but Penny picked it up straight away and looked puzzled at us. 

"I think she was wondering why we were not all as jolly as we should be on such a happy occasion, but she never got a chance to ask anyone - her mother was organising everyone, so that the family - mother, father, Nigel, Derek, Ingrid and their boys were at one end of the table, then Annette and me half way down, then everyone else at the other end.

"The meal was lovely, and there was a lot of chat to and fro, but I could tell Annette was seething. Anyway, Geoff Roasburie stands up and gives a spiel about welcoming Nigel into the family, and wishing the couple every happiness in the future. Then Smithy, you met him when you were with Penny I think, no tact at all, well he comments from the other end of the table.




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 03



" 'At least a bit longer than the last one eh, Penny? You know - Graham Proctor, the one you dumped?' Everyone laughed except of course the family, and Nigel who looked puzzled.

"That pushed Annette into action. She stood up and spoke quietly and clearly, but the venom!

" 'Yeah, Penny, big coincidence. Graham is in the other dining room celebrating you dumping him six months ago! Is it true you dumped him without trying to find out if what we told you was true? I had a good chat with him earlier and the three women he's with. They all agreed there was a perfectly innocent explanation for what we saw. They all said he never cheated on you at all! Of course that's more than you can say, isn't it?'

" 'Oh,' and she turned to Geoff, 'Mr Roasburie, he asked me to ask you why you didn't reply to his letter telling the story from his point of view, you know, the letter he sent you with the photo's? I think he enclosed two. He told your wife he was going to send it.'

"Well, all hell broke loose then. Penny's parents got into a row about her intercepting the letter. That's what she did, you know. She was saying she was protecting Penny. Something about her brother knowing all about you and your women.

"Penny was shouting that you had a reputation among the lawyers in Manchester for sleeping around, and in any case she caught you at it.

"Derek got up and went round to talk to you, but you and the women had gone. Luckily one of the waiters overheard you'd be going to the Black Cat Club. So I decided I'd come and see you after the meal.

"Anyway, eventually Geoff called for silence and asked Annette what this was all about. Everyone went quiet, Penny had gone pale and was shaking. So Annette sat down and told the story. I think she got it right. She hardly started when Penny's mother interrupted. Geoff told her to shut up. You should have seen her face! He wanted to hear it all.

"She spoke to Geoff, though everyone else listened including Penny and Nigel. She covered everything. She explained your meetings with the coloured girl, Zena was it? Penny challenged her on that but she shot her down. She said the three women you were with worked with you and there was no more to it than giving a lift to a friend. 

"She turned on Penny then, and said she couldn't believe that Penny'd slept with someone else without talking to you first, since you were still engaged to her, and you should have seen her contempt when she talked about what you saw in Liverpool, and how devastated you were at getting the watch without any explanation. Penny looked surprised and I could see she was getting more and more upset. 

"Her father looked totally shocked and glared at Penny. 'That true?' he asked her. 'You suspected Graham of cheating and so you slept with someone else? And you!' he turned on his wife. 'You destroyed his letter to me, a private letter!' Then he sat down and buried his head in his hands.

"Penny started crying at that. 'I was so angry at what he'd done,' she sobbed. 'And he did sleep with that woman!' 

"'No he didn't!' Annette shouted at her. 'She was there in the evening, took Graham's car back to her flat and brought it back the next morning. You should have asked. You buggered up his life; how could you judge and condemn him without even asking him?'

"Then Penny got up and ran out of the room. Nigel looked totally shocked and was shaking his head, but he didn't move. One of the girls went to find her.

"Well, that broke up the celebration and everyone dispersed, and I came to tell you what happened. You need to know, Penny's broken up. She doesn't know what to believe."

We sat for a while in silence. 

Then Patty said "What are you going to do, Graham?"

"Nothing," I replied. "She's engaged to someone else, she's shown she had no trust in me. She'll just have to live with it, won't she? I've had to."

"Well at least you know what happened."

"Er, oh yes, thanks Patty. At least she knows the facts now, though I doubt she'll believe them."

We drained our drinks and left the pub. She kissed me briefly on the cheek.

"Hope things go well for you," she said. "You deserve better."

"Thanks Patty, that was a nice thing to say."

She turned and walked off, back to the restaurant, no doubt to find Annette or anyone else still there. I went back to the flat, to three women and a grilling.

--

Chapter Twelve. 

Still Friday 6 November 1970

I phoned for a taxi and waited on a cold but fine night outside the pub. At first as I waited I seethed. How dare she ruin our little celebration! Nothing from her for six months and then she muscles in on our party. 

Of course I immediately realised this was stupid. Penny no more knew of our booking than we knew of hers, and come to think of it, we probably destroyed her evening more comprehensively than she did ours. There was a fleeting naughty feeling of satisfaction at that before I banished it. I wondered what her double barrelled fiancé made of it.

With the residue of those feelings still fresh, I began to think about her again. I didn't want to but I couldn't help it. 

The information was clear enough. Penny thought I was cheating, unfaithful. So questions arose from this. Did she confide in Martin as a friend, and this turned into a love affair? Did she mistakenly take Patty's suspicions as certainty? Was this why she didn't confront me? There was also what he mother told her when Penny phoned her in distress, according to Patty.

Or after accepting my proposal, did she get cold feet and this gave her the ideal opportunity to get out of it? Was she one of those people who could not face others to break up with them? But why did she have to lie about where she was that evening? Was it on the spur of the moment to keep me at arm's length?

This was all swirling round in my head when the taxi arrived and thankfully the driver had a wealth of opinions on Heath's new government, the local football team and the perceived immigration problem to take my mind off the mess I saw around my own little life.

Three pairs of eyes were fixed on me as I entered the living room. I felt a sense of persecution. I was expected to reveal all. There was a moment of annoyance, then I realised that the expectation was out of love and friendship. I sighed and told them as much as I could remember. When I had finished, the group were quiet.

It was Harriet who broke the silence. "I know it's her own fault, but I feel sorry for her having her special evening ruined."

"How do you feel?" asked Zena. 

"Too many conflicting feelings and thoughts," I replied. 

"Brought everything back to the boil?" asked Colette.

"Hardly the boil," I laughed, "but all the old questions and some new ones are back and I don't like that. I really thought it was all over; now it's back."

"She's got a lot to think about, that's true," said Harriet. "Can you imagine what's going through her mind now. How guilty she must feel? She got everything wrong; wrong about your guilt, wrong about sleeping with that other guy, wrong about not telling you, knowing that if she'd just confronted you everything would have been different. Wouldn't like to be in her shoes tonight." 

"That's if she believes it," I said, "or accepts it. She's got to answer to her fiancé, who'll be asking questions if I'm not mistaken. More lies, I wonder?"

"She had it coming," asserted Zena, "Swanning off to some other guy like that. And it's not taken her long to get engaged again - and to yet another guy, has it?"

"You don't know that, Sweetie," rejoined Colette. "I'll bet she was devastated when she thought Graham here had cheated. I'll bet she cried for days and nights, and all that in the middle of her final teaching practice."

"Yes," added Harriet, "She would have been so down, she would have fallen into that other guy's arms. It would have been easy for him to take advantage. Graham, I have a memory that you said she hadn't had many men friends, you know, relationships. Perhaps she was naïve?"

"Come on, girls," Zena said with some exasperation, "She was engaged to Graham. You can't get away from the fact that she should have at least talked to him. She didn't. That's her fault. 

"OK, it's bitten her in the arse now, but that's what happens when you bugger people about. Sooner or later you pay, as she's paying now. Graham's been paying for months, always in the dark as to what was going on."

"Well," said Harriet, "He knows now."

"Ladies," I intervened testily, "I am here present you know! Thanks for those kind thoughts. I do appreciate them. Now I want to let it all slip back into the past and fade away, and I want to start by going to bed. Tomorrow's another day, you know."

"Thanks for that deep insightful thought, Graham," said Colette, laughing. "You're right though. Time we all went home."

"Hang on," said Zena. "I don't think Graham should be alone tonight. He needs some tender loving care. Colette?"

"Zena, I don't think-" I ventured.

"Be quiet, Graham," Zena retorted. "We're looking after you. You don't get a say. One of us will stay tonight - Colette?" She repeated the request to my sometime bedmate.

I shrugged. Then got a surprise.

"I'll stay," said Harriet. "Graham and I have been through the same troubles."

"But Harriet-" began Colette.

"I said I'll stay with him. OK?" Harriet said belligerently.

Colette cast an interrogative glance my way. I shrugged, trying to keep up. Colette and Zena then smiled uncertainly, and backed off. We all knew what we were thinking: Harriet had never shared my bed, we were like brother and sister, so what was going on here? Pseudo incest?

"Harriet you don't have to, you know," I offered. I felt rather sidelined.

"I know I don't," she said with a gentle smile. "I want to, but if you tell me-"

"No, please," I said. "Stay."

She smiled with satisfaction, and the other two looked on in awe. Then Colette smiled her agreement. That girl had not the slightest scintilla of jealousy in her makeup.

After Colette and Zena had gone, I showed Harriet to the second bedroom.

"This where you sleep?" she asked.

"No this is the guest room. My room is back there," indicating the door nearer the bathroom.

"Come on," she said decisively leading the way back. 

I gave up, and did as I was told. She used the bathroom and then I took my turn. 

As I turned to go, she asked, "Do you wear anything in bed?"

"Not usually," I faltered, "but-"

"Fine," she said, and turned away. I left to wash.

When I returned she was already in bed, completely covered but sitting up enough to show she was naked. She watched me carefully as I debated for a split second whether to strip completely. I unbuttoned and removed my shirt, shedding shoes and socks next before slipping down my trousers. I paused, then pushed my briefs down. She smiled, flipped the duvet off my side of the bed, revealing her whole body in the process, as by that action she invited me in. She smiled again. So did I, she was gorgeous naked, what there was of her.

I settled in on my back and she came into my arms, resting her head on my shoulder, and pressing her sharp little tits against my chest, her mound against my thigh. Her upper leg found its way over, bringing her still closer. Everything about her felt small, slight, apart from her length. She sighed.

"You don't mind?" she asked, with a grin, raising her head to look at me.

"Bit late for that if I do," I returned, "but I don't, not at all."

"Good, because this evening was about me getting over Kieran as well."

"Kind of got lost in the mêlée," I suggested.

"You and me both," she said reflectively, and wriggled against me getting more comfortable. Her slender form was a turn on for its very different feel. My cock stirred.

She lay still for a moment or two, clearly feeling the movement, then, "Time to celebrate a little?"

My cock stirred further, a little more enthusiastically. I knew she felt it for she made a sound between a moan and a giggle. This was a side of Harriet I had never seen. If she treated Kieran like this, the man was a raving lunatic to break up with her.

Further thought was interrupted as her hand snaked down to become acquainted with my best friend. She traced over it, then hefted it, then fondled my balls before beginning a slow stroke which had it standing at full mast ready for play, in no time at all. She gave a sigh.

"I want you," she said, "Make love to me. Please."

"You're sure? Really?"

"Graham, sweetheart, I've never been so sure." A pause. "No matter what."

I didn't understand the latter bit, but I easily understood the former. A woman beautiful and catwalk model shapely, asked me to make love, not fuck, make love. This woman with whom I had become deep friends, with much in common, close - she was naked, she was playing with my balls and wanking me gently. No contest.

I reared up allowing her to fall back onto the pillow, on her back, and kissed her mouth. Our lips roamed over each other's, opening and allowing tongues to invade and retreat. It was gentle, sweet, rather than passionate and aggressive. Her fingers had left my nethers and were now twining themselves in my hair. She was laying herself open. I had hair in those days - she'd have a job on, trying to do that now!

The amazing thing, I noticed, was that on her back her breasts disappeared altogether. Her chest was flat - boyish apart from two long nipples that begged attention. It was a weird sensation sucking and nipping these two mini towers on a flat plain instead of on two hilltops. Different and supremely enjoyable, especially since she moaned and cried out urgently in her pleasure as I attended to them.

She arched her back and grabbed my rigid rod pulling me over her with it. 

"Quick, get inside!" she urged me, "Now! Please, now!"

She spread her legs wider than I thought possible, tilted her hips and pushed my buttocks to her wet snatch. My cock slid along her furrow and found entrance. I thrust hard and was buried.

And she came! She came hard, mouth wide open, head thrashing to and fro, eyes screwed shut, her arms pulling me down onto her. 

"Do it!" she begged, "Do me hard. Please, lover, hard!" Her vagina pulsed and throbbed round my buried cock. So I did it, I did her hard, battering her tightness. People talk of 'banging' a woman, well I really did bang Harriet, and she wanted more of it.

"More, more! Spew your juice into me, bathe my sopping cunt you great cock!" She was delirious. 

It did not take long before I was following her yelled advice, and noises from deep within me bellowed forth as I spurted hard against the end of her sucking vagina. She wrapped her long slim legs scissoring across my back, allowing an extra half inch to sink further within her. 

To tell the truth, while my climax was one of the powerful ones, as the spasms came to an over-sensitised finish I felt thwarted. I had wanted to demonstrate my skill as a muff diver: I had wanted to eat her out first. 

"Graham," she gasped for breath, "That was awesome! I'm still coming a little. Just move a little please, yes, that's it. So good! It was big and round and went on and on."

"Am I crushing you?" I was concerned, she was so slim she seemed fragile.

"Yes, and it's great. Don't worry, I won't break."

"It was a bit quick."

"Nah! There's time yet. I didn't warn you, I can come from having my tits sucked, but I wanted to come with your great fucking cock inside me. There was no time after you did my nips."

"Fucking cock?" I asked.

"Yes, that's what it's for isn't it? Or have I missed something?"

"Well, actually my love, I also usually use it for pissing!"

At this she burst into giggles in which I joined.

"Yes, I suppose you do!" she gurgled, and was off into another peal of laughter. 

Once we had quietened down, I shifted off her and she immediately covered me and lay upon me, light as a feather, those breasts reappearing as if by magic. I could feel their mass as well as being pricked by those nipples. Spooky!

There was a pause while we got our breath.

"I can see why Colette rhapsodises about your prowess in bed."

"She rhapsodises?" I was rather taken aback.

"She does rather go on about it. You have quite a reputation at work, you know."

This was news to me, but it was doing my spirits no harm at all. I said nothing, for what could I say?

Another silence. It was comfortable. She slipped off me and closed her eyes for a while.

"What are you going to do about Penny?" she asked indolently after we had lain recovering awhile.

Where had that come from? I hadn't seen or heard from Penny for half a year. While I now knew she was in the area at some school, I did not know which, nor did I know where she lived. There was no reason to suppose that she would want to contact me. She had moved on, become engaged to a 'suitable' candidate and was set fair for the foreseeably comfortable future with a banker's son. Why should I get involved? Did I want to?

"What are you going to do about Kieran?" I countered. I felt quite clever, turning the tables.

"Why should I want to do anything about Kieran?" she retorted sharply, "He dumped me."

"There you have your answer," I said, turning on my side to look at her with a smile.

She looked pensive, and I knew she would dearly love to reconnect with the man. Was that my sub-text as well? Did I want to get back in touch with Penny?

Harriet was clever, astute, perceptive.

"Hmm," she said. "You still love her."

"Where d'you get that idea?"

"You said I had my answer. I said why should I want to do anything about Kieran, and the reason I should, is that I still love him. So therefore you still love her." Her logic was impeccable. She was a lawyer's clerk after all.

"That doesn't mean I want her back. Things are more complicated than that. I don't know if I could ever trust her again after what she did so autocratically."

"Same here. If Kieran came back, I would be worrying he would run off again. I couldn't stand that."

She began idly playing with my sleeping penis, which obligingly woke up and began to show interest. She smiled. 

"I don't know if I want him at all now," she said with a suppressed giggle, as she gave my waking friend a good pull. "This man in bed with me at the moment seems to have all the necessary equipment, and he's sooo loving. He cares, and I trust him."

My face must have registered indecision, for she pushed me down on my back and rose over me, her breasts growing larger, hanging down as she leant over me. This trick they had was mesmerising and fun. Having straddled my chest, she rotated and presented her sex as she went down on my cock which was nearly at full mast.

69 I thought. I tapped her and we moved to be diagonally on the bed so our legs would have somewhere to go! Then I pulled her towards my tongue. She stopped her own approach and pulled away.

"Graham, you've just come there," she said.

"No matter," I answered, pulling her back to me. Her vulva was tidy and shaved (another one), glistening and wet. Did all three girls shave? By now my emission had become transparent, and I could not tell which part of her wetness was mine and which was hers. I licked, from her mons, over her clitoris, along her inner lips, and swirled round her entrance, before moving on to her perineum and her tight brown puckered entrance, which I rimmed.

"O-o-h" came the response. She was so taken by surprise that she had not yet given my cock any attention, beyond staring at it. "Oh, fuck, Graham, that's so good!"

Then her mouth was all around my cock, as she sucked me in, her needle sharp breasts pricking my stomach. Thereafter it was my turn to groan and force myself to concentrate on giving her sex the attention it deserved. She was plunging down and sucking as she came back up, the roof of her mouth caressing the most sensitive part under the head, and her tongue laving my glans again and again.




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 03



I licked, I sucked. She made a muffled moan, and a hum of appreciation, then a high pitched noise down her nose as she refused to disengage from my thankful cock. I could taste her sweetness and my previous acrid gift and it was erotic and inflaming. I licked faster, sucking and blowing as I went until she stiffened, pulled off my prick which was almost there, on the edge, and let forth a yell as she twitched and bucked. I licked on, holding her hips still, and the climactic moans and cries evidenced her continuing ecstasy, until she begged, "No more! Please, no more!"

I stopped. She breathed heavily for a moment, then went for my cock again, enthusiastically intent on getting me off in my turn. 

"I'm coming," I groaned and she redoubled her efforts until I came, when she hummed with satisfaction and, it seemed, appreciation of a delicious gift, though somehow I doubted that. For me the sensation of my cock sucking my juice from my prostate and squirting it out, was pleasure bordering on pain, it was so intense. Rarely had I ever felt anything approaching the strength and depth of those spasms.

She fell onto me, stretching her legs each side of my head, which made her little bottom deliciously rounded. Her head rested on my thighs. No words, just heavy breathing as we revelled in the completeness of the act we had performed.

Then she lifted off me and rotated, laying her head on my neck, and throwing an arm and a thigh over my chest and softening penis respectively.

She immediately fell asleep. I wondered at her. She was like me, one of the faithful ones: when we committed, we committed fully and exclusively, and when we were let down it hurt deeply and the hurt stayed. I could have added that when we strayed we felt intense guilt as well. Who would have thought that this rather standoffish woman could have such passion and such expertise! She was truly a revelation.

That wasn't all. We were very good friends since we had started platonic dating, we liked the same things, we had enjoyed many different experiences, music, plays, crosswords, walking, hiking, keeping fit (I had joined a gym since she left me standing on that hike), and now the sex was beyond anything I had experienced before.

She was my perfect woman, except for her shape. I was not a fan of thin women, though having said that, if any woman could easily change my mind it was she, I thought.

I slept in my turn.

--

Chapter Thirteen

Saturday 7 November 1970

I woke up wondering who was in my bed. Then I remembered, and since I now had my back to her I turned over, which had the effect of waking her. She was on her back and it was obvious she too wondered where she was and with whom. Then she turned her head and looked at me looking at her. Her smile lit her face.

"Morning!" and she moved to me.

"Morning," and I opened my arms to receive her.

She laid her head on my shoulder and sighed, relaxed and indolent in her waking. We caressed each other, over backs and sides, neck and ears, and we kissed hello.

She made a little humming noise, then, "It wasn't a dream then, I really was thoroughly loved last night, fucked stupid by a super stud!" Her quiet voice was faintly mocking but full of love.

"I thought you were here all night," I answered, "Where did you go?"

She gently punched my shoulder. "Don't fish. You know it was good last night - just what I needed."

I kissed her. "Yes, you're right, it was very good last night."

"It can be good this morning," she grinned, as her fingers walked down to grasp my erect penis.

I rolled her onto her back, cupped her sex, and made to excite her little bud. She caught her breath. I made a move to add my mouth for her pleasure, but she shook her head. 

"I want it missionary with my legs over your shoulders," she gasped. "Put it in me."

She spread her legs wide enough for me get between them, and when I was in position she lifted her legs and put them on my shoulders. 

"Now, ram it in!"

I relished this moment and duly rammed. There was a groan and a moan from both of us, and a ring at the doorbell, as if I had rung the bell with the force of my thrust. We both sagged with frustration. 

"Hang it, they can wait, or go away," I growled, pushing again, though without conviction. She responded with equal diffidence.

"You know you can't," she actually laughed, though her face showed disappointment.

I pulled out, her sex attempting to suck me in and finish the job, I put on my dressing gown, a thick one which hinted at my erection without advertising it, and as the bell rang for the second time, I went to the door.

I opened it. A man and a woman. My first thought was Jehovah's witnesses since they had that earnest look on their faces, then it registered. It was Derek and Ingrid.

I stared, trying to make sense of my visitors.

"Er, Graham," stammered Derek, looking to Ingrid for inspiration.

"Could we come in and talk with you Graham?" she asked sweetly in her sing-song accent.

"Er, yes," I said. "Come in." 

It had slipped my mind that Harriet was lying naked and unsatisfied in my bed with the door wide open, so I ushered them towards the living room just as Harriet emerged onto the hallway, mercifully wearing one of my tee shirts very fetchingly, since it reached about two inches below 'see' level, and I saw Derek's eyes widen as he took in her long slim legs. She stopped.

"This is Harriet," I said. "Harriet meet Derek, Penny's brother, and Ingrid his wife."

They exchanged greetings and handshakes, and then I led the couple into the living room and gestured them to sit. They chose the sofa and sat side by side. Harriet offered coffee and after some hesitation they accepted.

I sat in an armchair and smiled. After all I had nothing against Derek, and Ingrid was always a pleasure to look at and even more of a pleasure to listen to.

"So?" I invited.

Derek looked at Harriet. I took the hint.

"Harriet is a good friend who was dumped by her boyfriend three months ago, so Colette and Zena thought it would be good to celebrate the anniversary, and I could celebrate mine. She stayed the night, as you will have gathered."

Harriet smiled with an air of satisfaction, and it was not lost on the couple, who smiled in return, then she went to make coffee, coming back to the room while it brewed.

"So?" I repeated. 

Derek sat forward. "It's Penny," he said.

"I thought it might be," I interjected with a wry smile, then nodded for him to continue.

"Last night certainly messed her up," he said. "It was going to be a big engagement party, organised by-"

"Your mother," I interrupted again.

"Exactly. Mother wanted it in Chester, but Penny put her foot down and insisted it be held here. This was where she was living and working, and she was damned if she was going to travel to Chester. Nigel's parents go to Spain for the winter, or they would have been there as well. Well, the party was a disaster."

"I heard the gory details from Patty. She came to enlighten me."

"Afterwards we took Penny and Nigel to her local for a drink. Mother and Father went back to the hotel. There's real trouble there. She found your letter, read it and destroyed it. Father is incandescent! She won't tell him or Penny what was in it, and Penny's only got a garbled account of what led to her breaking the engagement. Come to that, I don't know the whole story. You never told me at the time."

"Shame," I said blithely and without a trace of sympathy. "She had it coming."

Ingrid and Harriet both looked startled at that, and Derek looked surprised.

"What's the matter?" I asked. I was annoyed, though with whom I don't know to this day. "What Penny is going through is no concern of mine. It was six months ago. It's over. Finished. Nothing to do with me."

Harriet brought in the coffee and sat at the opposite end of the coffee table. She kept her legs tightly together, but there was still rather more of her exposed than decency would allow. Derek cast a glance in her thighs' direction.

He was silenced by my response. I flippantly wondered to myself if it was the sight of Harriet's legs that tongue-tied him, but knew that really he did not know how to go from there. 

So it was Ingrid who spoke.

"Graham you are not a man unkind, are you? You like to help people in trouble, yes?"

She did not wait for an answer; she knew she was right. 

"Penny did some stupid things. She is a silly girl, but not experienced in love, you know this. Now she is very sad and she needs to know all that happened. I saw her. I saw how sad she is she hurt you, how she was stupid. She would like very much to talk with you. Will you be kind and help her, please?"

Oh dear. How could anyone, anyone certainly of the male gender, ever refuse a request from that woman? Very attractive in that Nordic way, a wonderful way of speaking English with that sing-song intonation. 

I sighed, defeated.

"OK, OK," I said, or rather growled. "If she wants to talk to me she knows where I live. Though I can't see how it will help."

Both the women smiled as if to say I'd been a good boy, and Derek looked relieved.

When they left, Harriet proceeded to reward me by taking me back to bed. Two hours later, and after she had rewarded me to exhaustion, we rose and had a late breakfast.

Over breakfast I thought to get my own back.

"So, Harriet darling, I've opened the way for Penny to talk with me. Any chance of you doing the same with Kieran? I have it on good authority that he's having second thoughts about you and him."

Here I adopted a Swedish accent, a very poor one. "Kieran did silly thing. Will you be kind and help him, please?"

The light dawned, and she laughed.

"Graham Proctor, you're terrible! I suppose I could hardly say no, could I? But I'm not going to be running after him. Zena can find out if he wants to talk or not. Satisfied?"

"Yes," I said with a grin, "that seems fair."

"If Penny wants to come back to you, will you let her?"

"If Kieran wants to come back to you, get engaged, will you let him?"

Long silence.

"See," I said, "It's not as easy as that, is it? Were you looking for a yes or no answer?"

"No, of course not, but I think what I mean is that I'll keep an open mind, take small steps, see where it goes. He's done a lot of damage to my confidence in him, and come to that, my confidence in men at all. What about you?"

"I really don't think so. At least Kieran finished with you. He faced you. She didn't give me a chance, cut me off, sent me her engagement watch through the post with no comment, was in someone else's bed within weeks, and then lied to me about what she was doing. Now six months later she's engaged. 

"So no, best we leave it at that. Patty gave me most of the details of why Penny did what she did, so my mind is at rest, apart from wondering why she took that particular course of action. She can marry her mother's protégé, and I can move on." 

"Oh," she said, looking and sounding disappointed, "but you will talk with her?"

"It's what she wants," I said diffidently. "Can't hurt to listen."

Harriet got her things together, dressed, and went home, looking happier than she had the night before, and ready to come out with the three of us that evening for a bonfire party.

-- 

I, however, was not happier. Until the night before I had been happy. After all I had Harriet and Zena as companions, and Colette as a sometime lover. I had no intention of settling down any more, not for a few years at any rate. I'd had enough of 'serious'.

It had seemed a good idea to celebrate, after all there was the off-chance that a beautiful woman would be in my bed that night. We had to choose my favourite restaurant, and on the same night that my ex-fiancée was celebrating her new fiancé! It had raked up all the old feelings, and I was now upset and annoyed. Of course my romantic girlfriends wanted to see the big reunion, as if oblivious of her engagement to someone else.

Further to that, why on earth should Penny want to talk with me? What was there to gain beyond stoking up all the feelings that had been laid to rest over the past six months? Time is a healer, but now she seemed to want to open the old wounds again before swanning off with her new love.

Of course! She wanted to rid herself of all her guilt feelings now she knew she had messed up my life, then she could go off and marry this double barrelled yahoo with a quiet conscience, while doing nothing for my newly churned up feelings of betrayal and deception, to say nothing of jealousy. Not jealousy of her new paramour, but that she had got everything she wanted while I...

Wait a minute, that idea was stupid. I had a good life. I had what many men would envy: three beautiful women who constantly built up my self-worth by desiring me as a companion and one, no two now, of them as lovers. I did not have to lie or keep one from the other, they all got on together and lived a free lifestyle. I was living a free lifestyle. 

If Penny wanted to get married so early, fine, that was her choice. So let her come and grovel her apologies, what did it matter?

So all that day, I was expecting Penny to phone, but she didn't. 

Thursday had been Bonfire Night, when we commemorate the treason of Guy Fawkes and his crew. Someone said that while other countries celebrate successful revolutions (you know who I mean - 4th July, Bastille Day), we celebrate the failure of ours with fireworks and bonfires.

That Saturday the four of us went to a weekend bonfire party without a bonfire: torrential rain put a atop to that! So we had a drink at a nearby pub, when Harriet asked if Penny had phoned. Of course the others had to hear the rest of the story. 

Colette came home with me for the night, and I wondered if she felt sorry fro me, but when she slowly stripped for me, I didn't care what her motivation was. Fucking is fucking, and making love with a friend is an act of care and concern, even if another friend had been in my bed the night before.

I had excused myself to the other ringers at church, and Colette and I lay in on Sunday, had lunch out at a hotel, and then she went home. The rest of Sunday, I was still half expecting a phone call, or even a ring at the door. Nothing.

On and off for the rest of the week I wondered if Penny would contact me, but there was nothing. Nor the following weekend. Deja vu!

Saturday-Sunday 14-15 Novmember 1970

Once again my attention was on Penny, now wondering why she had not contacted me after sending (I assumed) Derek and Ingrid to beg audience. Once again as the days went by I became more and more annoyed and despondent, wondering if this long drawn out saga would ever end. Would I never get free of those damned Roasburies? It was not the first time I fervently sent up that prayer. It seemed the Almighty was on their side.

The weather did not help, gale force winds and heavy rain from dark clouds alternating with the odd bright sunny morning or afternoon. You didn't know what was coming next. How apt!

My state of mind was not helped by my girlfriends one after another asking if Penny and I had had the talk. Eventually, seeing my exasperated face, they stopped asking, and I in my turn as the dark days went by, stopped expecting anything from Penny. No doubt she had decided to cut me out and commit to Banana Man (Hartington-ffyfe - Fyffes' Bananas? Never mind).

Life went back to normal, and Penny intruded less and less in my thoughts which was a relief. I began really to believe I was over her, and that she was now certainly permanently in the past. A blessed relief!

Monday 7 December 1970

It was the first Monday in December and we were celebrating Colette's birthday. Towards the end of the evening Harriet had to ask.

"So after all this time, nothing from Penny? I suppose you've given up hope now."

The other two looked daggers at her, but I felt no reaction to her question.

"I don't think hope ever came into it. I fell in love with a woman. It didn't work out. Now I look back on it I'm glad it didn't. I have you," I said indicating the girls, "I have a nice flat all to myself and I'm enjoying independence and being single. She hasn't been in touch, what's new? That's fine."

At last I was clear of that family, what a relief! Time to look to the future rather than over my shoulder. As if to reinforce my optimism, after the storms of November the month became calm and sunny, bright and crisp! Things were looking up!

Christmas was coming, the goose was getting fat. 

A New Year beckoned. Oh joy and all that!



Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 04



WARNING in this part, the word 'tomatoes' will be pronounced in the British way. Steel yourselves. Yes we know it is illogical, but we just don't care! Potatoes are quite safe.

*****

Chapter Fourteen 

Wednesday 9 December 1970

I was leaving a conference room in the Royal Bolton Hospital on the following Wednesday in December, after I had been called in to discuss the legal situation following a serious failure of a very expensive and necessary piece of equipment and a very sloppy contract to boot, when I heard my name.

"Graham? Graham Proctor?"

I turned to see Mary Turner hurrying towards me.

"Mary, how good to see you!" I greeted her, "You're working here now?"

Mary had been training as a nurse while I was an undergrad. We never went out together but moved in the same friendship circles. We still exchanged Christmas cards, though neither of us were the sort to add autobiographies to our festive greetings. We hugged, then smiled at each other.

"Yeah," she said. "Got some time? Cup of tea?"

We went to the hospital café and caught up on each other's histories.

She had been working in the hospital since graduation, but wanted to move into general practice. She was dating, as in 'living with', one of the doctors and they were planning on getting married in a year or two. She enlightened me on a number of our common acquaintances.

Then it was my turn. Told her of my job and brought her up to date on our mutual friends as she had done.

"Love life?" she prompted.

"Yes I do!" I replied with a grin.

"Oh, you haven't changed," she said with resignation and a tolerant smile. "Still messing with words. No wonder you're a lawyer. You know what I mean."

I held up my hands in surrender. "OK, I have a number of very good women friends. We play bridge every week. They work with me."

She looked inquisitively at me; I looked at her blandly. She frowned. 

"And?" she asked. "Romance?"

"Not at the moment. I had a relationship with a woman, but she let me down badly. Met her at a carol concert at our old hall. We were together for best part of a year and a half, even got engaged. It's rather put me off getting into anything serious."

"Oh yes? Bracegirdle Hall you say?" she said. "I was two years behind you in Hall, I remember you playing at the folk evenings. Do I know her? I was there four years."

"Don't know," I said. "Her name was Penelope."

"Not Penelope Roasburie?"

"The same."

"She arrived the year I left. Unusual name, that's why I remember her. She let you down?"

"She cheated - went with someone else. I found out shortly after we got engaged, she broke it off by returning her engagement present. No communication at all. Not even a note with the packet."

"This is Penny Roasburie we're talking about? Cheating? Not Penny, I can't believe it!"

"'Fraid so. Never got in touch. Apparently she thought I was cheating on her with someone else, never asked it if was true. She's engaged to someone else now."

"Now I can believe she'd react to cheating. She always distrusted men, and never could finish with them face to face. So it figures."

Silence. That was news to me, but it was irrelevant. In any case my attention was caught by another woman. What's new, I hear you say. This was a blonde. All right, don't repeat the comment. She was a hospital orderly in its unflattering uniform.

These days all hospital staff seem to dress in shapeless overalls. Then, nurses wore demure skirts and so did women orderlies, cleaners, whatever. This girl had her back to us and was mopping the floor of the cafe, and her legs were on show up to the knees and a little flash beyond as she bent forward. They were shapely legs, very shapely. The woman's hair was in a ponytail, and her neck and ears were also spell-binding, slender swan neck and neat ears.

"Graham? Hello?"

I was brought back to Mary who had a broad grin on her face.

"You haven't changed, have you?" she almost accused me. "Always was a leg man!" and she laughed.

I was caught! I grinned sheepishly. "What I see is really stunning, and that's only the back view."

Mary became serious. "That one? I'm worried about her, very worried. So are a few of the other nurses. She's a lovely girl, but she's being bashed about by her boyfriend, if that's what you'd call him. Comes in with black eyes covered up with makeup, bruises on her arms, I'm afraid she'll be badly injured. She's not well off, and I don't think she's got anywhere else to go. I'd take her in, but we've not enough room in our small flat."

"How old?"

"Twenty? Twenty One? Something like that. Shame, she's really nice. Works hard. She can't hide some of the bruises, though she tries to."

By now the girl had picked up her bucket and left.

"Hasn't she got any family?" I asked, intrigued.

"Doesn't seem to have, she won't talk about herself. I see her to chat to, but she clams up about her personal life. I wish I could get her away from that man. She's not happy, sort of downtrodden."

Sometimes I say stupid things. This was one of those times. It was probably the legs and neck wot dun it. 'Engage brain before operating mouth' is an aphorism I did not always heed, a potentially disastrous fault in a lawyer!

"I've got room, but she's hardly likely to want to trust another man after what she's going through. She'd have to leave her job as well. Not likely is it?"

"You got designs on her?" I knew Mary trusted me but was not altogether sure about my intentions.

"Mary, I'm a lawyer. I can't afford any bad publicity, so on that level alone I won't go near her. Look, you know me, I do have some morals about taking advantage of the vulnerable. Let's say I'd get to have some company, she gets a safe place to stay. She can housekeep for me while she looks for another job. 

"I've already got a friend and bedmate, so I won't be feeling frustrated at having a pretty woman around."

She nodded, and we let the matter drop. I left after we exchanged phone numbers. Yes, as a doctor her boyfriend needed a phone.

Friday 11 December 1970

On Friday evening, the phone rang as I got in after work. It was Mary.

She came to the point. "Had a talk with Sandy, you know, that girl you were ogling. I told her about you and your offer and she's coming to our place for dinner tomorrow; her so-called boyfriend is away for the weekend. Are you free? Like to meet her? She's quite intrigued by you, you know, making that offer to flat share."

I mentally kicked myself: Mary had passed on the message. Now what was I getting myself into? Of course, after what I'd said, I knew my conscience would not let me rest if I didn't go.

"Sounds interesting," I said. "Yes, Mary, thanks, I'd like to."

I explained it ail to Colette, with whom I had made tentative arrangements for the weekend. She was most intrigued, and laughed heartily at me wanting to help a pretty young woman. 

"I could be at the flat - in bed - naked - waiting for you tomorrow night. You might be feeling frisky after your evening with another blonde."

"Now that sounds a good idea," I said enthusiastically, "You've still got a key?"

She had.

Saturday 12 December 1970

Flowers for the lady, and a couple of bottles of good wine, one white, one red, were my armoury as I knocked at Mary's door.

"Why thank you, they're lovely!" Mary gushed as she took the flowers, kissing my cheek, leaving me with the wine. Behind her was a tall good looking man. 

She introduced him as her boyfriend Joshua and I unloaded the bottles onto him. He looked at the labels, was suitably impressed and preceded me into their living room, where stood the blonde woman who looked a little timid, or perhaps worried.

"Graham," said Mary, "Can I introduce Sandy Christleton? Sandy, this is the Graham Proctor I told you about."

After what Mary said at the hospital I was expecting a black eye or at least a bruised cheek. I couldn't have been more wrong. Now I was looking at a very pretty face.

She was as tall as I was, on the slim side. She had medium breasts, neat waist, curvy hips and those shapely slim legs I'd seen before, below a shortish dress which her admirable bottom (also hinted at before) pushed out prettily. I noticed at least three inch heels, so she was not as tall as I had initially thought. I noticed the dress was not exactly shabby, but well worn and well looked after. I surmised it was her best dress. Her eyes, though, were dim and lifeless, as if she'd been through all this sort of thing before.

All that was taken in at a glance as I went to her, holding out a hand to shake. She was really very pretty, with delicate features, wide set eyes, small nose, full lips, small chin and that long sinuous neck. What immediately took my attention was the colour of her eyes. I had been expecting blue eyes with blonde hair, so green eyes came as a surprise. I wondered briefly and unworthily whether her other hair was blonde as well. However, regardless of that, the whole picture was very attractive, and I was riveted, though I worked hard not to show it.

"Pleased to meet you, Sandra," I said as we shook hands. I smiled at her, and there was almost a smile from her, though there was that air of worry or shyness about her.

"Nice to meet you, Graham," she replied, and her voice was strong and soft, but without any enthusiasm.

We sat, Sandra and I on the sofa and Mary on an armchair, while Josh excused himself to attend to the meal. Mary and I chatted briefly about university and our stay in the Hall of Residence, including some of our more eccentric fellow students and their antics.

"Mary tells me you went to Manchester and dated someone from there," Sandra said, again with that half smile. "It didn't go well, she said." 

"I can see Mary has filled you in on my murky past," I said with a smile.

"What was she like - you got engaged to her?" she asked, visibly relaxing and her features softening.

"Yes. It didn't last long - a few weeks then she broke it off." My tone must have put her off further questions, and the matter dropped.

Joshua was a very good cook, the meal was excellent and they used my wines. I complimented him and he complimented me and we laughed. Sandy looked puzzled and I wondered if she would ever relax.

It was Josh who brought up the matter at the back of everyone's mind as we began dessert, or pudding as he called it, and I agreed that was the term to use. It was after all a treacle sponge with perfect custard.

"Trevor away this weekend?" he opened to Sandra, "Away game?"

"Other end of the country," she replied with a sigh. "He's staying overnight, with 'the lads'." There was scorn in her voice but an element of relief as well.

"A least he won't be coming home from the pub after they lost," said Mary.

Sandra shot a worried glance my way, which was not lost on Mary.

"Graham's quite safe, Sandy," she said, patting Sandra's knee, "I've known him for years."

I kept quiet, but smiled at her, I hoped, encouragingly. She didn't seem convinced.

"Mary told you about... Trevor?" she asked me.

"Yes," I said. "I'm sorry. Life's not good for you?"

"He knocks her about," Mary intervened. "I keep telling her, she's not safe with him."

"I was desperate and he offered me a place," Sandy explained. "I couldn't afford a place of my own, still can't on my money. He was fine at first, but he wanted more money than I was getting, so to stay there I had to end up in his bed, and then he got all possessive. It's worse when he comes home drunk."

"I keep telling her she needs to get out of there," Mary said hotly. "He's going to really hurt her one of these days."

"You know I would but I've nowhere to go," Sandy retorted despondently. "I don't earn enough for a place of my own."

"I think Mary may have told you, you could come and share my flat," I said, though I tried to affect diffidence. "No strings, no expectations. Your own bedroom. You'd be welcome."

Sandy looked at me in astonishment. "She did say that, but I don't know..."

Mary took it up, "You can trust Graham, Sandy." 

"But... I'd have to give up my job. I wouldn't be able to pay rent."

"Let's face it, Sandy," said Mary with a chuckle, "It's not much of a job. You can look for something over there. It's only about ten miles away you know."

"I don't know," she said with a worried frown. Then to me, "You don't know me, and I don't know you."

Mary looked at me imploringly.

"Sandy," I said gently. "Don't feel pressured. Think about it. I'll give you some extra information, and some people to phone to give me a character reference. Mary has already vouched for you. 

"She is vey keen to see you get out of where you are: you're being abused and taken advantage of. I promise solemnly I won't do that to you, but you need to ask some people who know me so you know you can trust me."

"But why would you do this? I don't understand."

"You are in need of a place to stay; I'm in a position to offer you one. I have a two bedroom flat, and the other bedroom's empty."

She looked surprised and I smiled.

Mary brought some paper and I wrote names and phone numbers: Colette, Zena, Harriet and Ian. I included Patrick Jenkins, one of the partners at work and my own address. It was useful that they all had access to a phone.

"Here you are," I said. "Ask them anything you like."

"I still don't understand why you should do this," she said. "There's got to be something in it for you. My last-"

"Look Sandra, I know what you're thinking. I've already got a girlfriend of sorts, so you won't be expected to share my bed. What I get is company, someone to talk to, provided, of course that you want to keep me company, and someone to share the cooking and cleaning, provided of course-"

"That I want to share doing them." She smiled, and some light came back into her eyes for the first time that night. I felt relief. "You do understand I won't have a job at first, I'll have to look for something local before I can pay my way."

"Not a problem," I said. "I'm living there on my own and all the bills get paid and more to spare. It would cost a little extra for food, that's all, and I can easily afford that."

"So I can just phone these people and ask them about you? You don't mind?"

"No," I said. "You need to do your research for your own safety. Then phone me and tell me if you want to take the place or not, is that all right?"

She nodded.

"Don't feel embarrassed if you feel you can't risk it, but do let me know, OK?"

"Thanks," she said.

The tension was gone and we had a great evening, after which I drove home, wondering what I'd done. Well actually I knew what I'd done and I wondered why on earth I'd done it. Then I thought it was because it made me feel good. Then I thought it was because she was a very pretty girl and she'd be decorative to have around. I thought that was probably all true, and fine with me.

There was a very pretty woman in my bed when I arrived home. Blonde. Naked. A perfect if athletic end to an interesting day.

-- 

Tuesday 15 December 70

"Graham?"

"Yes."

"I got a phone call from a Mary Turner asking for a character reference on behalf of someone called Christleton."

"Yes Zena, she may be coming to share my flat. You told her I was a child murderer I suppose."

"Of course. What else?"

"Ha, ha!"

-- 

Wednesday 16 December 1970

"Hey Graham!"

"Yes Colette."

"Your new girlfriend called me, said you'd given her my number. We had an interesting conversation. So she's actually coming to live with you?"

"If she wants to."

"That mean our little arrangement is finished?"

"No, why should it be?"

"Oh. I thought..."

"Colette, darling, she's in an abusive relationship and needs to get out before she's really badly hurt. I offered my spare room. It's flat sharing, that's all. We can carry on as usual, I did warn her."

"After what I told her, she'll be in your bed in the first week. Wish I'd known, I'd have told her you were a sex fiend - which you are of course, in the nicest possible way."

"Bridge tomorrow?"

"Yes, it's at mine, but you know that."

--

"Hey Graham, you dirty sod!"

"Hello Ian, I take it you've had a phone call."

"Some young thing wanting to shack up with you, I told her you were a sex god."

"You told her-"

"I told her she was perfectly safe and you were a perfect gentleman - unless she wanted you in bed, in which case she was in for a treat."

"Thanks a lot, Ian."

"You're very welcome."

--

"You awake?"

"Hi Harriet. Yes, I'm wide awake - it's only ten o'clock."

"I've had a long phone call with a Sandra Christleton, but you'll have expected that. We had a good chat. I told her how good you've been to me. I made sure she knew that you never tried anything until I moved on you. She sounds nice, and she's in hell. You've got to help her, Graham."

"How's things with Kieran?"

"We're feeling our way. He's changed, Graham, more serious."

"He's grown up. He needed to leave you to realise what was important. Yes?"

"I hope so. It'll be a while before I feel totally confident in him. I think it'll work. You will help her, won't you?"

"My offer's there, it's up to her whether she takes it."

"She sounds nice. Vulnerable though. I hope we can all meet her. She'll need friends, living in a new city."

"If she comes, I'm sure you'll meet her."

"Just cuddle her, she doesn't have to come!" she quipped.

"Wash your mouth out!" I responded. "You didn't come for three months."

"Exactly," she said, suddenly more serious, "That's what I mean - you're a good man Graham. Three months is some foreplay!"

-- 

Chapter Fifteen

Friday 18 December 1970

On the evening of Friday my phone rang. It was Sandra.

"Lovely to hear your voice again," I said; a bit flowery, but I wanted to encourage her.

"Graham, can I take you up on your offer? Is your offer still open?"

"Of course you can. When? How will we organise it, you'll have stuff to bring? I'll come and collect you."

"Will you? That will be so good. Mary said she'd be around as well. He'll be at the match tomorrow afternoon. He'll leave here about two, so we can load up about three if that's all right. I'm sorry to ruin your Saturday."

"No problem about that. I'll get to Mary's about two. You can direct us from there."

"Graham, I can't believe this. This is the first bit of luck in a long, long time."

"I hope you're a good cook and washer-up. That would be real luck!"

She laughed. It was good to hear that musical sound from her. Perhaps she was already free of this other man in spirit.

"I'll come to Mary's when he leaves," she said. "I'm so excited. You're sure you still want me?"

"I'm looking forward to having you here, and the people you phoned are looking forward to meeting you!"

There was the sound of a sob at the other end. Then, a sniff. "You people are so good."

"Come on Sandra, none of that!" I said, getting embarrassed. "Tomorrow we'll get everything sorted out. Have you much stuff?"

"Not that much, but we'll probably need Mary's car as well."

Saturday 19 December 1970 

On Saturday afternoon I arrived at Mary's. She kept me at the front door.

"He slapped her about last night," she said. "Most of the bruises are under her clothes, but don't be too shocked by her face."

Sandra was waiting in the living room, and I immediately understood what Mary meant. One cheek was red and a little swollen, but she had the widest smile to greet me. I raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," she said. "Last night. I'm so relieved to be out of there."

She directed me to the house in which she was living. It was a terraced house, paintwork peeling, windows unwashed, generally neglected, a typically cheap rented place with a landlord who spent nothing on his or her property. 




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 04



She let us in and we emptied her dingy room in fairly short order. It went like clockwork: most of her belongings went into my car, and the rest into Mary's. She wrote a note to 'him' and we were off. 

Sandra rode with me, and we drove in convoy back to my flat. Sandra sucked in a breath when she saw the block. It was a typical 60s new build, square, and fairly featureless, but compared with where she'd been it must have looked palatial. It helped that the modest gardens were well kept and there were plenty of young trees and bushes. She looked a little overawed.

We climbed the stairs, I opened the door and we entered the hallway.

"Kitchen immediately to the right," I said. "Living room next, bathroom dead ahead, two bedrooms to the left. Yours is the first one, here."

"Nice place," said Mary. "The rooms are really large and airy."

Sandra moved forward, exclaiming over each room in turn. Then we began unloading the cars. We unloaded everything into Sandra's bedroom. It looked quite cluttered with boxes and carrier bags all over the bed and the floor but I surmised it would all fit quite snugly into the wardrobe which ran the length of one wall. She really had very little stuff of her own.

We had tea and biscuits and then Mary left, giving both Sandra and myself a hug. Then we were left alone.

"I think we'd better have another cup of tea, and try to sort ourselves out," I began. "You will want to stow your stuff as well."

She nodded, suddenly shy and nervous.

So I poured more tea and we sat in the living room.

"Let's talk round living here together," I said reclining in my armchair. "First of all, do you want to live as a lodger, doing your own thing, living in your room, because if you do, I'll need to get some more furniture for you, and a radio, or do you want to live as a flat-mate and share the common areas all the time?"

She stared at me, confused. "Graham, I don't think it's my place-"

"Sandra," I broke in, "You're wrong. This is now your place, your new home. You decide how you want to live."

"I don't contribute, I have no money."

"If you want to contribute, until you get a job, how can you do it?"

"Well, I can cook, clean (after all I was a cleaner at the hospital), wash clothes, do the shopping."

"So you can contribute. What's more you could contribute by chatting with me, by eating with me, by simply being here - you'll be company for me." 

She sighed. I did not understand why.

"So I ask you again," I said. "Do you want our relationship to be lodger and landlord, or flat-mates?"

Still flushed she stared at me for a long while, as if trying to find a hidden agenda. 

"Flatmates," she said decisively with a real smile this time, a smile I could get used to. It made her face ten times more beautiful. 

"You know," she added, "You could have added sex into the mix but you didn't, you excluded it. Harriet said you took her out, hugged and kissed her, but never made a move on her until she made the first move. You did that for months."

She paused, then there was that devilish smile again. "She said she knew you weren't gay because you were busy with one of her friends."

"That brings me to another point," I said. "I told you I have a sometime girlfriend. Sometimes I stay the night with her, sometimes she stays the night here. If that makes you uncomfortable, and we do tend to get quite noisy, if that upsets you I'll go to her place every time."

"Harriet said you were..." Here she coloured up and stopped, then giggled.

"I was what, Sandra?" I smiled wickedly, putting her on the spot.

She shrugged then said defiantly, "OK, she said you were good in the sack. So there!" She tossed her head and looked triumphant, daring me to go further. She looked so pretty with that playful, defiant look on her face.

"Enough sex talk," I said authoritatively, for I was getting not a little aroused. I realised she was very open about sex, and she was sexy. 

She relaxed; it was a real look of relief. For the first time since she had entered the flat, she really relaxed.

"That's better," I said. "Now you're settling in. You happy?"

"You've no idea," she smiled.

"Oh, I've just thought of something else," I said. "Now don't get the wrong idea, but there is only one bathroom, and the loo is in the bathroom. We are going to surprise each other - there's no lock on the bathroom door. If you want I'll go out now and buy a lock."

"I've no problem with you seeing me naked, Graham, have you a problem with me seeing you?"

"No, not at all," I said. "What about sharing the bathroom, say I'm showering and you want to pee or to wash?"

"No, I'm fine with that," she said. "Perhaps I'd draw the line at shitting. I like to do that alone."

"I understand that and yes, I feel the same way," I agreed, then I had another idea.

"Back to money."

Her face clouded immediately.

"No, listen, while you're at home you said you'd go shopping for us."

"Home," she said wistfully, and drifted a little, then shook herself, "Well, yes, of course I will do the shopping."

"So we need to set up joint housekeeping money. I keep cash in my wallet, but you can't keep coming to me for handouts when we need to shop; we'll need to keep an amount in the flat for you to use. I have a cash book I use to keep count of my own spending. We could use that."

"You'd trust me? Graham you don't know me."

"Sandra we live together. Of course I trust you. In any case you can only spend what I put in, so I don't see a problem."

She smiled at me again, a warm smile. She got up from the sofa, came over to me, sat on the arm of my chair, bent over and kissed me on my lips. 

"Thank you," she said. "I can't believe the change that's happened to me."

"You'll get used to it," I laughed. "Wait till we have our first row."

She shook her head. It was clear she thought that would never happen.

I went to the pot on the mantlepiece and retrieved the spare keys to the flat, one for the flat door and one for the door to the block. I presented them to her. She stared at them and her eyes filled with tears.

"What?" I wondered out loud. Once again she was puzzling me.

"I'm being stupid," she sniffed. "I'm so happy!"

I took her in my arms and hugged her, and that brought on some sobbing. Women!

"I'd better unpack," she said, with another sniff.

"Good idea. I'm going shopping," I said. "I suggest you go right through the flat, including my bedroom, and look in all the cupboards and drawers. Then you'll know where everything is."

I thought it best to leave her to gather herself together, but when I returned after two hours, I found her room untouched, and Colette sitting in the living room with Sandra, having a cup of tea. On the sideboard there was a big bouquet of flowers in my favourite vase. 

"You told Zena that Sandy was coming today," Colette said with a smile.

Sandra was looking somewhat dazed. "She brought those lovely flowers," she almost whispered. Then she smiled wickedly, "She's been telling me more about you."

"I'd better make a start feeling guilty already."

Both women nodded with grins on their faces. 

It was the beginning of a hectic weekend for Sandra, and by implication for me. Colette invited us out for dinner. Sandra looked a little worried, and I did not understand why, but Colette patted her arm and told her everything would be fine.

I walked down the stairs with Colette.

"Interesting talk with her," she said. "The girl left home under a cloud - didn't say why. She's had a really bad time - homeless on the streets for a long time. It eventually became too much to bear and she saw an advert for a cleaning job in Bolton hospital. She got the job but had nowhere to live. So one of the porters offered her a room and she was back in the same situation she'd been before. 

"He took her money as part rent and her body for the rest. Graham, she's got very little in the way of clothes or even shoes. We are the same size, near enough. I'm going to bring her a frock to wear tonight, but we'll all have to chip in and get her a new wardrobe. I'll talk to Zena and Harriet."

Colette was as good as her word, and brought a suitable dress for Sandra, nothing too extreme but good quality and an even better fit. I've no idea how she did it. Sandra was completely at a loss. She looked superb in the dress and I told her so. More embarrassment!

We had a good evening and Colette came back with us to the flat.

"I won't stay over," she said over a coffee. "Let Sandy get settled."

"It's all right for you to stay," Sandra asserted. "I know about your 'arrangements'."

"Another night, perhaps," Colette said with a smile. "You get settled."

It was after midnight when Colette left, and Sandra looked dead on her feet.

"Get yourself off to bed," I said. "You look all in."

"Yes," she said with a yawn, "I still can't believe it. It isn't a dream is it?"

"No," I said. "It's real enough. You're getting the break you deserve. I hope you'll be getting a lot of pleasure and happiness in the next few weeks. After what you've been through, you need a few weeks to rest and recuperate."

"Colette is wonderful," she said.

"True," I said. "Now get yourself off to bed."

She stood, came to where I sat on my chair, sat on the arm once more, put an arm round me and kissed me on the mouth. 

I definitely could get used to this, I thought.

"I don't know what to say," she said, looking down at me from her perch.

"You just said it all," I said, and she laughed.

"Good night," she said and kissed me again, and this time when I kissed back, she chuckled.

She stood and left the living room. I waited while she used the bathroom and retired to her room before doing the same. I noticed she left her door ajar, and I did the same. Lights out.

I lay awake for a while, thinking things over. First I was surprised at her easy way with me, kissing and hugging. We got on fine so far, but there is always a honeymoon period in every shared flat.

Then I thought about her past. All right, the bastard had physically abused her, but worse, he had taken advantage of her dependent status effectively to rape her. She must have been destitute, and that provoked the memory of what Colette had said: she had left home. I wondered why.

Sunday 20 December 1970

I am a fairly light sleeper, and with the bedroom door being ajar, the soft sounds of someone moving about in the flat awoke me. It was eight thirty, and I wondered for a second who it was. Then I remembered. Sandra was in the kitchen. I remained where I was, and eventually she appeared at my door, looking to see if I was awake. When she saw me she smiled and brought in a mug of tea.

"Good morning," she said. She was wearing well worn flannelette pyjamas, and looked wonderful, with her hair awry and no make up. Mind you, she hadn't been wearing makeup the previous day.

"Good morning," I said. "I see you are very civilised, and drink tea first thing."

"Colette told me you like tea first and coffee mid-morning." She smiled as she placed the mug on the bedside cupboard.

"Thanks," I said. "I could get used to this."

"I hope you will," she said curtseying prettily, and gave a short laugh as she left the room.

She was still in her pyjamas when I had showered, shaved and dressed.

"I'm off out now," I said. "Got to get to church by ten."

"Oh," she said, "You go to church on Sundays?"

"I go to ring the bells for church," I said, "then I usually stay on for the service."

"Oh, OK," she said. "See you later."

On returning, when I opened the flat door, there was the smell of fresh coffee and did I detect pastry? I did.

Sandra emerged from the kitchen in sweater and jeans, and her face lit up as she saw me. She was so pretty when she smiled, and her face had softened from the care-worn state it was in when we first met. She was gorgeous. Her red cheek had gone. I wondered about the other bruises. 

"Croissants and Coffee," she said. "Kitchen or living room?"

"Always living room on Sunday," I said. "How did you know about the croissants? Don't tell me-"

"Colette!" we both said at once and laughed.

It was so easy being with Sandra, there seemed to be no awkwardness any more, as if she'd always been there. She'd made me tea in the morning and then breakfast as if she'd always done it.

We ate together at the living room dining table, casting occasional glances at each other, grinning and smiling when we caught each other's eyes. I felt a warm glow and a sense of pride that this beautiful young woman who'd had such a bad time, should now seem so happy. It came to me that it was as if I'd known her for a long time, we were so much at ease with each other.

There was little time to talk about it with her, as Harriet and Kieran called as we finished the meal, and stayed until one, when they went back to Harriet's place. Kieran was distant with me, and I surmised that he knew Harriet and I had been intimate and didn't like it. Not my problem, I never tried to hold on to Harriet, and in fact I remembered suggesting she tried again with him. They would have to sort that out between them.

"They're not quite right with each other," said Sandra after they had gone. "What's the story?"

So I told her and she nodded.

"He's kicking himself that he broke it off and she ended in your bed: he's very jealous. And she's not at all sure that he's ready to settle down, or even that she wants to any more."

That was some insight after seeing the couple for just over an hour.

"Harriet wanted to talk to me alone, probably about you," she said.

"She never said anything," I replied. "How d'you know?"

"I just do," she said smugly. "I think she'll find a way for us to chat - alone - without you!"

"You're welcome to talk with her as much as you like," I said. "Don't mind me!" I affected a huff, but she just laughed. She was extremely perceptive and I admired that in her.

We went out for lunch to a small café, after a walk round the area so she could get her bearings and see where the shops were; the talk was all about the area.

No sooner were we back home, than Zena arrived.

"I called by about an hour ago, but you were out," she told me, then saw Sandra. She looked surprised, then covered it quickly, but I saw it and wondered why - she knew Sandra was coming.

"Sandra!" she said going to her and pulling her into a hug and a kiss on both cheeks. "I'm Zena."

There is a moment when any male realises that the two women in front of him want to talk about women's things or interests and do not want him around, and in any case what they find interesting will usually be boring. I immediately got that feeling and took evasive action.

The two of them sat down ready for a long conversation, while I left for the kitchen to make Zena some coffee and Sandra and me some tea. Then I wondered if Sandra was a coffee person, and on asking, was assured she was more tea-oriented. I made their drinks and then went to my bedroom and did some thinking and some planning about what to do with the possible action at Bolton General, making some notes ready for the coming week. I could hear them talking and there was no let up - yakety, yakety, yak!

After an hour and a half Zena came looking for me. She embraced me from behind, her luscious breasts pressing against my back as I sat at my desk. Yes, I had a desk in my bedroom because that window looked out through trees over some school playing fields with more trees beyond. It also faced north, which meant that the appearance of the sun did not inconvenience me. With Zena's two points of interest pressing on me, I almost regretted not bedding her as well as the other two.

"You OK, sweetie?" she asked.

"Fine," I said, snuggling my head against her ample chest.

"How did you find her?" she laughed. "I'm surprised you'd want reminding. I don't believe it!"

"Ugh?" I asked, puzzled.

"That photo you used to have in the living room. Surely you can see it?"

"What the hell are you talking about Zena? What photo?"

"That one of Penny," she said with some exasperation. "Surely you can see it?"

"I'm sorry Zena, but you've lost me here. What-"

"Graham my darling, you couldn't have found anyone more like Penny to share your flat with if you'd tried. Sandy is so like her."

"In your over-active imagination!" The I had an epiphany. "It's just because she's got green eyes, isn't it?" I said patiently. "Lots of women have green eyes. She's nothing like Penny."

"You've been put off by her blonde hair. Take a good look at her. Surely you can see it? You've chosen to live with someone the image of your dumping girlfriend!"

"Sorry," I said. "I just don't see it. For goodness' sake, I of all people would have noticed."

"OK, forget it. It doesn't really matter. Sandra definitely needs someone like you. She's been through hell, but she's come through without getting bitter. You've no idea how grateful she is to you. You could have her in your bed whenever you want, you know. She'd be more than willing."

"Interesting," I said. "She was so poor she shacked up with some bastard who had her in his bed as part payment."

"I know, she told me."

"So you'll see why the last thing I'm going to do is take her to bed."

"Last thing? How many things before?" she asked mischievously. "It would be nice to know when your arrangement with Colette will be ending."

"Who said it would be ending?" I reposted.

"If I know you it will be ending," she said with some meaning. "Anyway, it's time for me to be going."

She went back to Sandra, the two hugged and kissed, and then I saw her to the door.

We kissed goodbye, and she smiled an 'I know things you don't' smile. I cocked an eyebrow. No point in having a talent for single raised eyebrowing if you never use it!

"By the way," she asked, "Chester. Is that where the Roasburies live?"

"Yes, why?"

"Where exactly?"

"Well, not in Chester - a little village called Rowton." I said with feeling - I'd never have found it without Penny's directions and I never wanted to find it ever again!

"Oh. See you tomorrow," she said with a shrug, and clattered down the stairs.

I returned to the living room.

"Where did you go?" Sandra asked me. "Did we drive you out?"

"I know when Zena wants to cross-question a witness," I said smiling. "You would both be more comfortable without me there. Girls share things that they never share with boys."

She sat in silence, and I could see she was trying to work it out. I gave me a chance to look carefully at her. Like Penny? Nah! Different height, different body shape. OK, green eyes, but was that all. I resolved to find the photo if I hadn't thrown it out, and have a good look at it.

"Look," I said. "It seems to me you've made three new friends, who happen to be my friends as well. That's good. Sometimes they'll want to be with me, sometimes with you, sometimes both of us together. That's fine."

Everything's happening so quickly," she said. "It's hard to adjust, but I've never been happier."

"This is your first full day," I said. "I think we need to give you room to breathe and get used to being here. So no more inquisitions, let's just live for a few days. You need to recuperate from what's gone before. Let's just relax a little, eh?"

She looked relieved, than her face clouded.

"I've learned quite a lot about you," she said and I could have sworn there was a look of adoration in her eyes, more like wishful thinking on my part, "but you know very little about me."

"There's time," I said. "I know enough of you to be happy you're with me. Tomorrow I have to go to work. You'll have all day to do your own thing. Explore every corner of the flat, do what you want."




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 04



"Aren't there private things in your room?"

"No, I have no secrets - unless you are a spy from another legal practice come to steal our clients."

She looked puzzled.

"You know what my job is?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"I'm a solicitor, a lawyer. I work mainly for businesses sorting contracts and takeovers, that sort of thing."

"How long ago did you leave university?"

"Getting on for seven years."

Another silence. 

"You must be about twenty-six."

"Twenty-eight. It's an extra three years to qualify as a solicitor."

"I'm twenty-one, twenty two in May."

"Let's have something to eat, then nip out to the pub."

We met Ian and a couple of other friends of mine, and had a good time.

Sandy and I came home pleasantly oiled. I got the kitchen ready for the morning, and Sandy washed up the remnants of dirty crockery.

We hugged and kissed goodnight, and I undressed and used the bathroom in my boxers, meeting her in the hallway as I came out. She was in her bra and briefs, and I could see she needed new underwear. Colette was right.

Mind you, I was seeing more of her than I had before and she was even more attractive then I'd thought. Her womanly curves, the shape of her legs right to the top of her thighs were mesmerising. What had I done to deserve such a goddess living in my flat? 

Then there were the bruises, which were now turning yellow. They were quite extensive over her rib-cage, and her back. I frowned.

She looked at the expression on my face and she smiled uncertainly.

"It's OK Graham, they'll be gone in a week. Nothing serious."

I nodded. "I'm sorry," I said. "They should not be there at all."

She smiled warmly at me, then there was the vision of her rounded little bottom retreating into the bathroom. I'm sure she gave it an extra sway or wiggle, and was definitely feeling more at home.

It unsettled me, the bruises, not the bottom. On second thoughts the bottom unsettled me in a different way.

-- 

Chapter Sixteen

Monday 21 December 1970

Next morning I was up early and went out for my run in the dark: it was the shortest day of the year. When I returned she had made tea and was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me. She had the radio playing radio 2 and she was reading one of my books.

"Just a quick shower, and I'll be with you," I said passing the door of the kitchen.

"Want your back scrubbed?" she asked with a salacious grin.

"You'd get your clothes wet," I said.

"I wouldn't be wearing any."

"Then I'm absolutely sure the shower would take too long and I'd be late for work."

She laughed cheerfully and went back to her book. She had no intention of joining me in the shower, though I wondered as I lathered my semi rampant penis what she'd have done if I'd called her bluff.

After breakfast I collected my stuff from my room.Then I saw the blue pot I used to hold pens and pencils on my desk, emptied it and then emptied my wallet into it. I found the lid and took it into the kitchen. 

"This is for household money," I said. "See you tonight."

She came to me, gave me a lips kiss and sent me on my way with a "Have a good day!"

We, the bridge four, had a confab at lunch time about Sandra. It was a practical meeting.

"Zena and I are taking the day off tomorrow to do our Christmas shopping," said Harriet, "and we think we'll take Sandy with us and get her a wardrobe."

"No room for one in her bedroom, in any case the one she's got is big enough," I said with a smirk, deliberately misunderstanding them.

Zena growled, and Harriet groaned.

"I'll get some money out," I said, rather disappointed at the reaction to my heavy humour.

"I'll pay," said Zena, "You can write me a cheque after. Any limit?"

"I've got savings, get her what she needs and some luxury stuff as well."

"And I'll get you a Christmas present for her," said Harriet. "Oh, you are bringing her to the office 'do' on Wednesday, aren't you?"

There was only one answer to that, and I duly gave it and earned a smile. I promptly forgot about it, there was so much else happening.

Christmas! I hadn't forgotten; I had bought presents already for the family, but what had Sandra got in mind for the holiday? 

Family! That triggered another thought, more an unsettling suspicion. Zena's questions about the Roasburies and Chester, then her insistence that Sandra was the image of Penny, though I couldn't see it, these ideas came together in my lawyer's mind. Then there was Zena's disappointment when I told her they lived in Rowton.

I got my Road atlas out of the car and found the page on which Chester resided. I found Rowton, and there, a few miles north of Rowton, the village of Christleton! No, no, no! I thought. This could not be. Now I had to find out.

I finished work early, went to the County Record Office and searched the national birth indices. She said she was twenty one. 

I searched in the 'C's for Christleton in all four quarters of 1949. There were plenty with that name but no girls born with the name Sandra. Then I had an idea. I searched again, but for a different name. It did not take long.

Constance Alexandra Roasburie, June Quarter 1949, Chester, Mother's Maiden Surname: Walsh.

Bells were ringing all through my head, quite deafening me. Chester. Alexandra - Xandra or Sandra for short. 

But she was Sandra Christleton. Hang about! She did not want to be found, so she would change her name, wouldn't she? Penny had mentioned that she had been born in Christleton and they moved to Rowton when she was seven. People who change their names tend to use aliases that they can easily remember.

Zena had remarked strongly on her resemblance to Penny. Had I denied it because I did not want to see it?

I felt fear. Heaven forbid I had taken in Penny's sister? What were the chances of that? I laughed out loud and got some funny looks in the Record office. It was a nervous laugh, almost panic.

Then I calmed down. I was a fool. Even their characters were different. Penny the virgin, reluctant about sex, Sandra who was clearly no virgin at all. Penny was very pretty, but Sandra was in a different class altogether, especially now she was emerging from her browbeaten state. I couldn't remember if any member of Penny's family was blond, but I hadn't seen any, though I had already suspected she had dyed her hair. 

Sandra had left home? Connie had been expelled by her mother. Finally her age was right,1949, and a May birth would appear in the indices of the June Quarter.

There was only one way to settle this, and I thought of a simple plan. I dreaded the outcome: could I never escape from the Roasburies? I checked the date, it wasn't the 13th! I could hear a voice in my head:  Beware the Roasburies! Beware! A little histrionic, that.

As I entered the flat my nostrils were assailed by the smell of beef stew, Sandra came to the kitchen door, kissed and hugged me, and looked proud of herself. 

"Smells delicious," I said. "You've been busy!"

She preened. "Dinner in five minutes," she said.

I took my case to my room and changed out of my suit into tee shirt and slacks.

"Zena and Harriet are going to take you shopping tomorrow," I said, as we ate. "This is wonderful, the meat is so tender!"

"I've no money for shopping tomorrow," she said in clipped tones.

"I know," I said. "We're paying. You need to be kitted out with some new clothes and shoes, and those two will do it."

"I can't do this," she said. "I can't keep taking from you all the time."

"Look," I said firmly, "If I know you, you'll be looking for a job after Christmas. You need to be well dressed for interviews. The women have decided to take you in hand, and there's nothing you can do about it. We are all paid extremely well at work, we work in a lawyers' practice for heaven's sake! Ever heard of a poor lawyer? So don't worry. Call it our Christmas present to you from us all."

I could see her eyes watering.

"That reminds me," I said to get her mind off it. "Do you have plans for Christmas?"

"No," she said, rather bleakly. "I have no one. I'll be fine here."

"I don't think you will," I said. "Christmas is a family time-"

"But I don't-"

"You will come home with me," I asserted. "No argument. They'll love you; you'll feel at home, I promise."

"Graham you can't keep doing this," she said. "I feel terrible. I've got nothing to give you in return."

"What am I doing at the moment?"

"You're... you're having your dinner."

"Who shopped for it, who cooked it? Who's a superb cook?"

"Well..." she stopped and a smile crept in.

"Who brought me tea in bed yesterday, and who had breakfast ready for me when I got in from my run this morning?"

"OK," she said, "but that's not much."

"It's enough."

She was not convinced, but let the matter drop.

We cleared the table, and she shooed me out of the kitchen while she did the washing up. It was time for my simple cunning plan. I left the room and waited until she had finished. When I returned to the kitchen she was partially turned away from me, wiping the table.

"Connie?" I said.

"Yes?" she said, looking round at me.

Then she jumped, her face clouded and she spun round and faced me. She looked worried, afraid, nay terrified.

"You are Constance Alexandra Roasburie, aren't you? Penny's sister?"

"How did you know?" she asked, ashen faced, sitting down at the kitchen table heavily.

"It will go no further," I said. "Trust me. It was your secret, now it's just between you and me. It's up to you who you tell, not me. You do trust me? I've no intention of getting in touch with your family. They've done me no favours. None at all!"

She looked relieved, "Yes, of course I trust you. I've no option, and you've been nothing but good to me. I don't understand how you found out; I've told no one."

"Zena noticed first. She'd seen a photo of Penny when I was in the throes of being dumped, and said you were the image of her. I couldn't see it and dismissed the idea. Then the other girls agreed with her. 

"Then Zena asked where the family live, and I told her Rowton and when I looked up the atlas I saw how close Rowton is to Christleton. Then I remembered Penny said she lived in Christleton until she was seven, so you would also until you were about five.

"I went to the Record Office on the way home. There was no entry under Christleton, so I looked under Roasburie and found Constance Alexandra in the Birth indices at the right date. Alexandra so Sandra. Christleton - Roasburie, and you would change your name if you didn't want to be found. Did you know most people change their name to something they can easily remember? So it got me wondering. 

"I didn't know, but I thought if I called you Connie in an unguarded moment, you'd give yourself away. You did. Connie, believe me, this will make no difference to us. None at all."

"Do you know anything about Penny?" she asked.

"Well, she's teaching in this area, but it's weeks since she found out I didn't cheat on her, and she's not been in touch. Derek came with Ingrid to clear the ground for her, but she didn't come, and I've not spoken to her for months, so I don't think it's likely she'll come back now. In any case, I don't want her to. She was engaged to someone else; she probably still is. That relationship is history. So, what do I call you? Connie, or Sandra?"

"Which do you prefer?"

"Connie," I said, "but will that be a giveaway?"

"I changed it in case Daddy looked for me-"

"He did," I interrupted. "As far as I know he's still looking, in London. He was quite broken by your disappearance according to Derek. Derek searched as well."

She started at this, as if hit, and she looked guilty. Then she said, "Are you going to badger me to contact my family?"

"No," I said. "That's your concern. You must do what you think is right there. I will not interfere."

She looked relieved, then thoughtful, but said nothing further.

We passed the evening reading and listening to the radio. I noted that Connie was deeply into her novel, and wondered if she would ever go back to university and finish her degree. What was her degree in? I would not ask her until she told me her story, and I was not going to push her on that. 

Once again on the way to bed via the bathroom we passed in our underwear. I was wearing briefs, and she looked deliberately at my package, then she met my eyes and smiled a knowing smile.

"What?" I asked.

"You enjoy me. I enjoy you. Good isn't it?"

"Yes, Connie, it is. You are very beautiful."

She raised an eyebrow. "And you are very handsome!" she shot back. "Like the knickers!" she said nodding at my underwear and she laughed a guttural laugh. This girl was not at all like Penny! Except in looks of course. I supposed. I still couldn't see it. 

Tuesday 22 December 1970 

Tuesday morning followed Monday's routine. I was treated to my breakfast mug of tea.

"Connie you don't have to get up for me, you know. You could have a lie in."

"Not today, I'm going shopping apparently, or have you forgotten? Anyway I want to get up for you. I like doing these little things for you: you do far more for me. I'd like to come running with you sometime - don't worry, you won't have to wait for me."

"That would be good," I said. 

She smiled happily. "What would you like for dinner?"

"You mean tea?" I asked.

"What else? You have tea with dinner anyway."

"No, we usually call dinner 'tea' round here. What I think you call lunch, we call dinner at home."

"Oh. I suppose you call breakfast something else as well?"

"No, that's breakfast."

"Oh." Silence.

"It doesn't really matter, Connie. Just Lancashire usage, that's all."

"Not Cheshire, at least in our part of Chester," she said thoughtfully. "So any ideas for your 'tea'?" she grinned.

"Surprise me!" I said. "It needs to be a movable feast since you won't be here all day."

"OK."

There was no Zena to give a lift to, and I wondered all day at work how Connie was getting on with her new friends.

I reached home to find the flat empty and dark. Interesting. I wondered what they had done with her, and opened the fridge to see what I could get to eat. There was a pan with a piece of paper trapped on the lid.

Dearest Graham, This is for 'TEA'. Put on stove with gentle heat. Much love, Connie.

Hmm. Dearest. Much Love. Was there a message here? You're damn right there was, and I liked it. I felt warm, the woman was addictive. 

Inside the pan was a chilli con carne, I could smell it, and the red kidney beans were a giveaway. I did as instructed, and went to shower. Emerging I found she was still not home. I got some brown rice and measured enough for two, and put the kettle to boil, then went to my room to look over a long contract and tweak a few of the clauses.

It was going on for seven thirty, when the door crashed open and three merry women fell in giggling. I had never seen so many bags in my life. 

"Hi, darling!" Connie greeted me. "Look what I got! Bags!" and she giggled happily and somewhat drunkenly. She was different! The blond hair was gone and in its place was a rick dark brown with a tinge of red about it. Her sparkling green eyes suited the colour a lot better. 

Then it struck me. Now she was dark haired I could see the resemblance to her older sister. Again it was unsettling, bringing up emotions I did not like too much. Was I falling for her because she was a Penny clone? Another obstacle to get over. I couldn't give myself to someone just because she was like someone else! Then there was the fact that she was a Roasburie. Bound to be trouble; I began to feel uneasy. I believed I had reason: that family had form.

Zena and Connie took the bags to her room and there was a lot of muffled conversation and laughter.

Harriet was smiling. She was sober, and had obviously been the driver.

"Sandy has had a wonderful time," Harriet told me. "The bill is horribly big, but you only owe us a third of it." She handed me a scrap of paper with £134 12s 6d. written on it.

"You spent £500?" I asked aghast. £500 was a sizeable chunk of a month's salary, and was a great deal of money in those days.

"Nearly £600. Graham, she needed a whole wardrobe. We went through her stuff this morning while she was cooking your tea, when we picked her up. She's got nothing. Have you noticed her shoes? She couldn't even afford to get them repaired. Two pairs have holes in the sole. Her white underwear is grey!"

"I'm not grumbling, it was a shock that's all. I'm glad. But it wasn't all shopping? She's had her hair done."

"We convinced her to go to our salon and she said she thought you'd like her natural colour more. This is as near as she could get, and it can grow out without anyone noticing. You like it?"

"She's right. The dark colour goes better with her eyes, and I think it makes her face prettier; the blond was a bit brash."

"She said her last boyfriend pressured her to go blond, he liked blondes, it seems."

"You called in for a drink or two on the way home?"

"Yeah, we called at the pub before coming home. She's great fun. You're bringing her to the office dinner party tomorrow?"

"Oh, damn! I forgot all about it. Yes, if she wants to go."

"Oh, she will!" Harriet laughed. "She's got things to wear now."

She went and collected Zena, and they left, with Connie seeing them to the door, once again in tears, thanking them all the way. There was much hugging before the pair left.

"Love the hair," I said as the door closed. "It suits you far better; your face looks prettier and more delicate."

She said nothing but smiled and disappeared into the bathroom. I put the rice on to boil. The chilli was warmed through and ready. I put together a green salad.

I expected her to gush about her wonderful day, but she said nothing, but ate her meal with a certain concentration.

"Aren't you going to tell me what your day was like?"

"Aren't you?" she smiled devilishly.

"I went to work. I worked. I came home. I found a sweet note in the fridge. I heated this meal you beautifully prepared. I did a bit of work. Three women crashed into the flat. Two were the worse for drink. There was a lot of luggage. We are eating. That's it.

"Oh," I added. "There's the firm's Christmas dinner party tomorrow night. I'd forgotten with all the excitement of you arriving."

"It was exciting?"

"Of course, you are a very exciting woman," I said with arched eyebrows (another facial talent of mine).

"Go on with you!" she laughed scornfully.

"Well, you have lovely brown hair, and a very pretty face."

"Thank you, but I meant about the dinner party."

"Oh, yes. I'd be honoured if you would to go with me?"

"I thought you would never ask. Yes, please. I would love to go with you."

She gave another delicious smile. She was getting more assertive, less humble and submissive.

She said she was sweaty after all that shopping and went for a shower. I heard the shower running and eventually shut off. A pause. Then there was a shout from the bathroom.

"Graham!"

"Yes?" I answered her call, approaching the door. It opened. The room was steamy and she stood before me completely nude, holding her bath towel like a scarf behind her! 

I had seen her in her underwear twice, but this was different. My gaze swept over her to hold her eyes, taking in her close trimmed bush, rounded belly, and perky solid breasts with upturned nipples. Wow! That was some body.

"Have you a dressing gown I could use?" she asked, ignoring her state, or was she deliberately showing me?

"Yes, of course," I said, turning away to go and get it. When I returned she was still standing proudly naked, legs a little apart, one knee bent and the leg forward. It was a classic pose. It was clear now that she had not been a natural blonde, and that the new temporary hair colour was pretty accurate!




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 04



"Yes, Connie, I get the message, and yes you are stunningly beautiful. All over! Is that what you wanted to hear?" I was stern as I handed her the garment. 

She took it but looked puzzled. "Pardon?" she said.

"You called me to get you a dressing gown. You could have asked from behind the door, but you opened it wide and stood there naked. You struck a pose when I returned. I assumed you wanted reassurance that you have a beautiful body. Which you have. Or did you mean another message?"

I turned and walked away into my room and shut the door. I sat on the bed and waited.

A knock.

"Come in," I said. 

She came in wearing the dressing gown done up tightly, looking worried. 

"I don't understand," she said. "Have I upset you? I didn't mean to. You did say you didn't mind me being naked."

"Don't be disingenuous, Connie," I almost snapped. "There's a difference between accidentally showing yourself, and displaying yourself for inspection, and you know it. So why?"

She was standing before me like a naughty schoolgirl. Very attractive!

"Come and sit down," I said. 

She sat next to me. Now she would not have to face me.

"You're right, of course," she said, turning towards me and tucking her legs under her on the bed as women do. "I didn't get all that sweaty from the shopping expedition. I wanted you to see me."

She paused, reached out and took my hand, holding it and stroking the back of it with a thumb. I waited.

"I think it's time you heard the whole sorry business, perhaps it will help you to understand why I do what I do.

"At home, growing up, Derek was successful and so was Penny, and I always felt inferior. Though we're nearly two years apart, thanks to when our birthdays fall there was only one academic year between us. She was one of the oldest in her class, I was one of the youngest in mine, so I always struggled. No one encouraged me by telling me I was actually two physical years behind her so I never believed I could do as well, and I stopped trying. Mother always belittled me, called me lazy, spineless, and because I went out a lot, she called me a whore and a slag.

"I lost my virginity at my eighteenth birthday party in the last year of school. I was drunk and it hurt. I was terrified I was pregnant until I got my period.

"Well, even partying every weekend, I still did reasonably at "A" level and got into Keele. It was a brand new university, about six years old. I was doing English and Social History. I did very little work and spent most of my time partying. My fault. No one else to blame but me.

"After getting deflowered I didn't have full sex again until I got to Keele. That pregnancy scare put me right off, and I felt no interest in getting laid. I did oral and got oral, but that was the limit until I went to Keele. Once there I carried french letters and ended up getting done at parties by boys I fancied. Some of them dated me for a while, others were one night stands. I failed first year and would have to resit.

"Mother screamed and ranted, told me there would be no more money for me unless I stopped all this wild life. I laughed at her, and she told me to get out. So I did."

"Where was your father?" I asked. "I would have thought-"

"He was on a business trip abroad for a month. He wasn't there. That's not unusual in the family. I think it's his way of coping with her - absence makes the heart grow fonder and so on, you know. He was never there when I wanted to talk to him. He's quite ruthless in business, but very gentle at home. I think he has a mistress he takes on his trips.

"You know about them? Dad was married before until she ran off with someone else leaving him with Derek who was eight years old. I think he married Mother on the rebound, got her pregnant and, I think, felt obliged to stay with her. After Penny was born I came along. Two girls! Dad loved us, and I think Mum did too, but she was on the social climbing thing and we had to be the perfect family. Penny fell in with it, but I was the rebel."

"So, you left home?"

"A guy I fancied had just graduated and we had a thing going. I turned up at his place in August, and told him the sorry tale. He was packing to go to London where he had a job and said I could go with him.

"So you did go to London, your Dad was looking in the right place."

"Big place London, easy to lose yourself, disappear. The honeymoon with that guy lasted a week. Then he got kinky. Raped me in the arse, started getting other blokes in to do me while he watched. Double teaming, doing my mouth while his mate fucked me, then swapping over. Then I found they were paying him!

"I left, and lived on the streets for a while. That really is a revelation, believe me. Everyone is a user. I mean they use drugs as well as using any people they come across. It's dog eat dog for survival. They con people. I never got into the drug scene: I couldn't see the point. I actually used to think they were destroying their lives, as if I wasn't!

"I slept under bridges, got raped a number of times by other down-and-outs. Since that first bloke I went to London with, I had been going to family planning clinics and getting the pill on prescription because I was high risk at first, then down-and-out, homeless. I'm no fool Graham, each time some man had me I went to the VD clinic and got tested.

Then I found a bloke who was living in a squat in a disused warehouse. It was better in the warehouse than sleeping rough, but it came at a price. I was passed around the blokes in the squat, they all used me and a couple of other girls. I hated the sex and I hated the men, but I had no option. At least I never got any diseases, and there was a bed and food."

"But you ended up in Bolton."

"Yes. After my second winter in London, I couldn't stand it any more, and when I went for my sex check-up there was a nice doctor at the clinic. I was very down at the time and my 'protector' had beaten me up the night before, so I told the doctor.

"The doc. got out the paper and showed me an advert for a cleaner in Bolton Royal. He actually pulled strings for me and I got the job. He paid my train fare and gave me some money to keep me going. Of course he did me, but he was kind and gentle, and by then it was what I expected to have to do to say thank you to men. I got the coach to Manchester and then got a bus, that way I had some of the train fare to add to what he'd given me.

"Then when I got up here to Bolton I had nowhere to go and ended up where you saw. Again sex was the price to give me a roof over my head and food in my stomach. 

"Graham, look what you've done for me. No one, and I mean no one has done anything for me without getting paid. It started with my mother, I had to do what she wanted. She used money as a weapon. After that my body was used in payment. But you? You've done all this, You've said that you find me attractive and more, but you've never tried anything. 

"I know you're not gay so I don't understand it. What's wrong with me? I used to get fucked without doing anything to provoke it. You confused me, you still do, so I made the usual moves and you still didn't react, I went further and further and still nothing. So tonight I went as far as I could. I actually felt embarrassed doing it, and you turned me down again. 

"So here we are. You've not made a move on me and I don't understand why not. You obviously do it with Colette, and I know she's a perfect woman, totally beautiful, much more than me, but why not me as well? You say I'm beautiful too. What's wrong with me?"

She squeezed my hand, and smiled uncertainly. It had taken a lot out of her to tell me her story. I sighed.

"Connie, I'm sorry for all you've been through. I really haven't thought it through all that much, but I just have it in my head that I must not take advantage of you precisely because you depend on me at the moment, because you've been so abused sexually. 

"I kind of assumed you had been taken advantage of before, your last tormenter being just one of a line. You had a battered look about you; life had put you through the wringer. 

"So I'm just the latest man in a queue, and having sex with you would make me just like those other men: it would give you mixed messages. I don't want to use you Connie; I don't want sex as payment, I don't want to be the latest one in a long line selfishly to exploit you. I simply enjoy caring for you.

"Then there's Penny. I was really committed to her and I'm not over the way she treated me. Though I am over her, I'm wary of committing to anyone so soon, for fear it may be a rebound, someone to fill the gaping hole in my life that she left."

"But you have Colette, and you had Harriet."

"The whole point with Colette is that she doesn't want to get serious, and neither do I. Sex with her is a fun and affectionate thing. She has other men from time to time. Harriet and I never got serious; I steered her back to Kieran, and she tried to do the same with me and Penny, but Penny never showed. 

"The point is we are all equals, they are independent women; if they sleep with me it's because they want to, not because they have to, or that they owe me anything, but with you there is the legacy of this dependency thing, of owing me. I just don't feel I can do that to you.

"You're just the sort of person I would want to commit to; I'd be looking to a long term relationship with someone like you. Your experience of sex has not been a good one. If we do get that far, and believe me I think I do want to get that far in time, if you're still willing, then I want it to mean something more than getting my rocks off, or using you as part payment. I want it clear we give ourselves to each other as equals, and in a long term relationship. So I'd say, let's just give it time."

She looked thoughtful at that and then smiled a smile I could not fathom.

"Do you want to talk about Penny?" she asked.

"I would have thought the women would have filled you in on that."

"Partly, they only said that you were in love with her, she suspected you of cheating and finished with you badly. They didn't want to say more because they said you don't want to rake it up again. Now I'm doing it. They said she hurt you really badly, and they comforted you. They really do love you, you know. I don't really understand her; it doesn't seem like the Penny I knew."

I really didn't want to tell her, mainly because Penny was her sister. 

"I don't want you to hate her, Connie. I think she had so little experience, she didn't know and still doesn't know how to handle it. I hope she's over it and can settle down with her new fiancé."

I told her how we met, how we made slow progress into deeper intimacy. Then the engagement and first sex, and even then the inhibition. Then there was the misguided intervention of Patty, Penny's erstwhile flatmate resulting in Penny cutting me out, leading to her lie about going to Derek's and her relationship with Martin. Finally there was her misunderstanding Zena's presence night and morning in the flat. Then her sending the watch back with no message.

"From there on Colette began taking me to bed. It helped."

She laughed at that, but not in a nasty way. "Stupid cow," she said, then hastily, "I mean Penny not Colette!" She laughed louder at the idea of Colette being stupid.

I continued.

"Then Harriet and I celebrated being dumped, by going to my favourite restaurant with her, Zena and Colette. It turned out we chose the exact same night that Penny decided to celebrate her engagement to some man called Nigel. What were the chances of that pray?"

"I know who you mean, that Nigel" Connie said. "He always fancied her. Carry on."

"Well another friend of Penny's came over before Penny arrived and berated me for being unfaithful. Well, we put her right and she was horrified.

"Apparently they told Penny in public at the meal that she had been wrong, and they had all got it wrong. It seems Penny was so upset she ran out.

"Derek turned up here with Ingrid to beg me to talk to Penny. I told them she knew where I lived, and yes, I would listen to her.

"She never showed. Never has. In fact she hasn't spoken to me since the lie about going to Derek's."

I sat back, feeling miserable again. Connie sat silently, then took my hand, kissing it.

At length she spoke. 

"I'm very sorry I asked you to bring up all those memories. I can see it still hurts."

I shrugged. She seemed hesitant but gathered herself.

"You were with her over a year without sex?"

"She was worth it. At the time she was the one. I'd have a lifetime of making love with her, so I held off and let her make the running."

"Oh, wow, that's really something. No wonder it hurt you so badly."

"It was the speed she fell into someone else's bed that still gets to me. All that time going gently with her, and she's with someone else in weeks, and engaged to still someone else within months."

Connie put an arm round me and laid her head on my shoulder. There was little more to say, we both now knew each other's stories.

Then she sat up. "Now it's time for you to see what you've bought me. Best in the living room. Come on!" 

She pulled me up and dragged me to the living room and placed me in 'my' chair.

I had mixed feelings. I could think of nothing less interesting than Connie trying on jumpers and skirts and slacks, while on the other hand she was so excited by the whole clothes thing that I wanted to share it.

"You do want to see it?" she asked with a worried frown.

"Yeah, that's fine," I said. My tone seemed to be a giveaway for she gave me a quizzical look. I said nothing more.

She left for her bedroom and returned wearing a V necked jumper and a demure skirt, and carrying a pile of clothes. The outfit looked superb. I smiled. She twirled then pulled the jumper over her head and unzipped the skirt. The underwear revealed was sexy! A semi-transparent bra, matching skimpy briefs and a suspender belt. The straps of the belt hung down; no stockings. She saw.

"I've a lots of pairs of stockings and even some tights for the really short stuff, but I don't want to put them on in case they ladder."

I nodded. The underwear was definitely having its effect on me.

After that came a welter of clothing of all sorts: shirts, trousers, slacks, jeans, miniskirts and dresses and a couple of very mini skirts and dresses. 

I commented: "You have the most amazing legs, and those dresses are perfect on your figure."

She smiled enigmatically.

There were two other dresses, a 'little black' number which was really black, mid thigh and shaped to her curves, and then an emerald green version, same shape and same length.

"Connie that dress is breathtaking, it sets off your hair, but more it's identical in colour to your eyes."

She smiled again, and this time it was pride in her attractiveness.

Seeing her strip and dress had me raging hard, all the more so when at the end of the show she stripped off the bra and knicker set and put on another. 

She stripped naturally without a hint of seductiveness, and it was all the more erotic for that. She did that leaning forward and dropping her tits into the cups and waggling for comfort, then the stretch behind to fasten it. Then there was the hip and bum wiggle as pulled on the flimsy gauzy panties. Settling them into her bum crack and accentuating her camel toe.

"There's a suspender belt as well," she said. 

There were still some thin scraps of clothing yet untried, but she stopped in her bra and knicker set.

"They made me get some nightwear as well," she said. "It's pretty sexy. Unless you want to see it, I thought I'd keep it until..." Here she stopped and bit her lip.

"That's fine," I said. "You keep it for a lover."

She looked on the edge of saying something. Then shook herself, gathered up everything and left the room, leaving me with a vision of her retreating bottom swaying, showing both cheeks as they moved alternately up and down. She looked gorgeous.

I settled to read my book, and a while later she returned. She was wearing new pyjamas. They were silk and though loose fitting hid nothing of her shape. Her nipples were clearly defined and her bottom pushed out the fabric tightly over her cheeks. She sat across from me and picked up her own book, sitting cross legged on the chair. The silky fabric stretched over her sex and defined it. 

I looked, looked away, and looked again. I felt she was refusing to look up and catch me staring. Each time she moved, one knee up, both legs down on the floor, both legs tucked under to the side, and back to cross legs. Each movement attracted my eyes as it showed her off in a different way. My cock was raging stiff and my balls were aching. Eventually I closed my eyes.

"Graham," she said at length.

"Yes?" Eyes still closed.

"You know you can have me whenever you want to."

I opened my eyes.

She was sitting demurely on her chair, legs primly together, though her nipples still showed: how could they not? She looked a little worried, as if she had said too much. She had.

I must have frowned, for she suddenly looked fearful.

"No," I said, "Don't worry. That came as a surprise. Don't get me wrong, Connie, I feel very warm towards you, even hot. You really do get me going, but-"

"Yes, I know," she said. "My 'but' is that I know I've fallen in love and I already feel completely at home with you and don't ever want to leave. That's never happened to me before." 

This girl was really up front in a way I'd never experienced before, though Colette came pretty close, doing it physically without a word. Connie had been rescued and was enjoying her new life, and of course she would be on an emotional high. Was that all it was? Would she still feel the same after a few months, when she'd got used to it all?

Of course I wanted Connie, but I had to get rid of all that baggage first. Yes, I admitted it to myself, I did want her. However, she was Penny's sister; did she share some of her older sister's traits? Big worry.

"Time for bed," I said. "We need to close up."

"I'll get the kitchen," she said.

Afterwards she was waiting outside my door in that silk set, and as usual we hugged and kissed. She smelt fresh and warm with only the thin material of the pyjamas between us. I could feel every curve of her nubile young body, and my erection began to rise.

"Good night," she said, smiling up into my eyes, "I feel so much closer to you after our talk."

"Me too," I replied. "Good night."

I felt good as I lay in bed after another near naked embrace and kiss good night from my flatmate. She was so attractive in every way, not just looks. She was up front with her wants and needs. I knew I was falling for her In the same way I fell for Penny, but the knowledge Connie was her sister was unsettling and even off-putting.

I reflected that with Penny I knew I wanted her for life after only a few weeks. There was no inhibition, no reserve, I dived in and she was the reluctant one. I was not even aware it was a risk to commit so quickly. 

Now I had her sister returning that impetuous launch, and I was the reluctant one; I could see big risks. I could see disappointment and bereavement on the horizon like an impending thunderstorm. I could see her attitude change after a few months, and then she would be gone, like her sister.

Oh well, give it time, let it grow if that was to happen. Roasburies - hmph!

-- 

Chapter Seventeen 

Wednesday 23 December 1970

On Wednesday morning at 6.30am, I rolled out of bed into my running gear and emerged quietly only to be confronted by Connie wearing a running kit most women would die for (at least the ones who love running), and would have given most men a heart attack. Tight tee shirt top with obvious sports bra underneath, and brief, brief shorts displaying more than their fair share of bottom cheeks. Was this legal? I asked myself. Further, the temperature outside that morning was well below freezing.




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 04



"Good morning, Connie," I said. "Can I make a suggestion?"

She smiled lovingly, "Of course," she said. How did she manage to make it sound like flirting?

"It's brass monkeys out there," I said.

"Ugh?" she asked.

"It's cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey," I elaborated.

She laughed, understanding.

"Never heard that before?" I said wonderingly. "For someone who's led your lifestyle you're very naïve! It's very cold. May I suggest something for your legs?"

She disappeared and immediately returned more suitably clad. Thick tights or leggings and the shorts on top.

Once again she amazed me. I had it in mind to slow up for her if she lagged behind, but she kept pace with me for the whole three miles. She had long legs. I did shorten my usual run, and we returned to the flat red faced from the cold and panting from the exercise.

I went for the shower, and was no sooner under the hot water, when a naked woman joined me. The shower cubicle was not over generous in size, and there was considerable bodily contact.

She had her back to me, so I lathered up and washed down her front. No, I did not linger over her breasts. It took gargantuan self-control but I remained professional. I washed her mound, her vulva, and her thighs, then she turned to face me, pressing her tits against my chest, I soaped and washed her back and bottom. I did linger over their tight roundness a little, and made sure I cleaned inside her crease. She moaned.

She did me, the same way, and for the first time she took hold of my now erect penis and delicately washed and rinsed it. She did not linger and she did not stroke me. She gave like attention to my backside, and made quite sure my anus was completely clean, as well as my crack and perineum. All the while her breasts were pressed against my chest. 

There was no way we could clean our lower legs or feet, so she kissed me softly and at some length, gently rubbing herself on my erection, before leaving me to finish, then reentering the shower to do her own legs and feet.

I towelled myself and shaved while she finished washing her hair, and then I went and dressed for the day. When I emerged ready for the day, she had made tea and laid out the breakfast things, and was dressed in a demure dressing gown which covered her from head to toe.

I left with a scorching kiss, and I blessed her reticence in keeping the dressing gown closed while she did it.

While I drove to pick up Zena, I pondered over the morning. Connie was behaving like a dutiful and loving wife. I felt such strong affection for her when she exercised such restraint in the shower after keeping me company on my run. My admiration for her ability to keep up with me on the run was absolute; I reckoned she could have gone faster still and further. She was very fit indeed, which impressed me no end, considering the life she had led. I resolved to ask her about that.

I told Zena about the run, though I omitted the shower. 

"Have you noticed what she cooks for you?" Zena asked. "I'll bet it's really healthy and tastes divine?"

"You're right," I said. "I don't know where she finds the ingredients, but it's been a revelation."

"She told us that she kept fit by running up and down stairs when the man of the moment was not around, and she'd walk everywhere, and go running when she could. In spite of the violence in her life, she had a steely resolve not to let it beat her down. She's very strong emotionally you know."

I thought about that, but was not so sure. It was clear she felt embarrassed about the girls' generosity and her inability to repay, and she said she appreciated our gifts, while telling us she felt bad about her dependence. That out of the way, she enjoyed the hell out of her new fortune. She always seemed to grasp life with both hands, but what she had been through had to have had its effects.

We used the shower and bathroom separately that evening, and went to our own rooms to dress up for the 'do'. It was a fairly formal affair, suits and ties. I went in blue with a blue shirt and paler blue tie, black patents, but not winkle-pickers!

I waited in the living room until that moment when one gets edgy. Time was passing. How do women know that precise moment when you are about to shout, to emerge perfectly ready for the evening?

I was floored. Her hair was done in a chignon, showing off her long neck. I had forgotten how long and beautiful it was. Her makeup was understated but perfect and drew attention to those eyes, the dress was full length in deep red. Hang on! I'd not seen that in the fashion show! It had a deep V front and back, hugged her shape faithfully down to her thighs and then flared a little. She was now as tall as I was, so I knew she was in at least three inch heels. 

"Oh Connie!" I gasped, overwhelmed. "So beautiful!"

She coloured and smiled. There was a confidence there. She knew how good she looked.

"Well," I said, "I can see I won't be seeing much of you this evening after the meal! They'll be queueing up to dance with you."

"They can queue all they like," she said, gazing into my eyes. "I'll only be dancing with you tonight."

"I think the Senior Partners might ask for a dance," I said. "It may be politic-"

"Sorry, Graham," she said, "not even the big cheeses."

"Connie, enjoy yourself, please," I urged her. "Choose the right dances and I'm sure you know how to keep your suitors at bay, but you are allowed to feel a little free."

"But," she said, looking shocked, "Won't you be jealous? All the men-"

"You are not my property, Connie," I told her patiently. "You are a free woman and can do and go where you please. It's up to you what you do or don't do. I'll be dancing with Colette and Zena and even Harriet if Kieran lets her, so you should have your fun as well."

"But I will be with you?" she said, now worried. "I want to be seen as your partner."

"Yes, you will be with me, and I will be with you," I assured her. "Everyone will respect that, and if they don't, you tell them where to go. They may be men, but they don't own you just because you agreed to dance with them."

She looked at me, and understood my meaning. Men had all too often forced her because they exercised power over her. I was telling her no one, not even me, had power over her.

She smiled, hugged me, and kissed me carefully, so as not to mess up her lipstick.

The evening went well. I will always remember our entrance at the hotel lounge, the astonishment on the men's faces, the satisfaction on Colette's and Zena's. There was a minor hiccup when we sat down to the dinner. 

Ralph Denshaw sat on the other side of Connie. Ralph was pretty harmless, but he was also 'pretty', or should we say handsome, and he fancied himself with the ladies, who usually fancied him back. He also had no sense of discrimination, hitting on any woman he liked the look of, and he liked the look of Connie.

We were sitting at a long table, and he engaged her in conversation, and rather monopolised her, to the extent that I was spending all my time talking with Colette, who was sitting opposite me. She was looking daggers at Ralph who ignored her unspoken message. 

The first I knew of any misdemeanour was Connie's quiet order.

"Take your hand off my leg!"

He had assumed her politeness meant interest and had placed his hand on her thigh. I could see it; actually it was nearer her knee than her groin. 

He hesitated and laughed, but left his hand there.

"Remove your hand or I stick this fork in it!" she growled. The fork was brandished, the command was quiet but had the element of steel, and her hand with the fork began to move in his hand's direction.

He drew his hand back rapidly and reddened. He said not a word to Connie after that. That was good for me. At the end of the meal, Colette grabbed him and took him to one side. I heard what she said to him.

"Ralph, you are a bloody fool. She's Graham's guest."

"It was harmless. She over-reacted."

"She told you to take your hand off and you laughed and left it there."

"So? Women say these things, they don't mean them."

"I would have thought her reaction and her tone of voice would have told you she was serious, and what you don't know is that she has suffered sexual attacks and was raped. She is suspicious of men, and does not like being touched by strangers. OK?"

"How was I to know?"

"You do now. In any case you should have obeyed."

It was to his credit that Ralph came to Connie as she stood by me, and apologised. She looked surprised; it was not something she had experienced often. She smiled at him and accepted his apology.

The rest of the evening went without a hitch. She danced with me, and was asked by men, including David and Patrick, the Partners, when I was dancing with Zena or Colette. Harriet was monopolised by Kieran, who still shot murderous glances my way. Connie had a whale of a time, and on our way home in a taxi kept on telling me in wonder how nice and respectful were all the men who danced with her. I hoped it would further the healing of some of her emotional scars.

I had danced the last waltz with her, and she was less respectful to me than they had been to her, and I told her so. She just laughed and told me she could tell I enjoyed it by what she felt while pressed against me. I had noticed the envious looks from a few of the men, and really couldn't grumble.

Neither did I grumble about what happened when we reached home, both of us rather the worse for drink. It was two in the morning and I went to grab two mugs of milk. I emerged from the kitchen, turning off the light, to find she had disappeared. I went to her room and knocked and she wasn't there. The bathroom door was shut and I assumed she was in there, so took one mug to her bedside drawers, and took the other to my room.

I entered and stopped dead. 

Connie was standing by the bed, fully dressed, and looking a little uncertain. The following thoughts flashed across my tipsy mind in no time at all: she wanted to sleep with me, she'd been trying all week, she'd been so good, so restrained. Was I going to send her away? Not bloody likely!

I turned and left the room, and heard her anguished cry.

"Graham, I'm sorry!" 

I went into her room and brought her mug of milk back, only to bump into her as I left the room. She looked upset.

"Where are you going?" I asked her, straight faced.

"Well, er-"

"I was just getting your milk from your room," I said innocently.

Her face was a picture. As what I said percolated through, a smile spread across her tipsy face like sunshine after rain, and she relaxed.

"You mean?" she began.

"I mean I'm inviting you to join me in my bed."

To the danger of the mugs of milk, she launched herself at me.

"Whey hey! Watch the milk!" I cried, slowing her in mid launch, both of us ignorant of the unintentional pun (whey - milk?). She threw her arms round my neck and kissed me vigorously, her mouth opening in invitation, which I accepted, thrusting my tongue into her mouth, and allowing hers thereafter into mine, all the while balancing the mugs in my outstretched hands.

Then she turned and preceded me into my room. I put our milk down and turned to her. She simply stood in front of me. Her back to the edge of the bed. Waiting.

I reached behind her and unzipped her, allowing the front to fall forward and away and leaving those perfect breasts on show. The dress seemed to have a bra built in. It slipped to the floor to reveal some flimsy french cut knickers and a matching suspender belt to which were attached a pair of dark stockings.

I went to my knees and unhooked the stockings, rolling them carefully down her long legs. She sighed. The knickers were next, my eyes were level with her bush as I slid the garment slowly down her thighs and calves until she stepped out of them and stood, legs a shoulder-width apart. 

She had a full bush, but very closely trimmed. I reached forward and cupped her bottom from between her legs, my arm pressed against her sex, then allowing fingers to trace a path down the crease of her bottom and on along her sex, the lightest touch being reserved for her button which stood firm and proud already. 

She groaned, "Oh, yes!"

I unhooked her suspender belt and let it fall. She was now nude, and was pushing her mound towards to me, inviting another touch. I guided her to sit on the bed, and untied her chignon, allowing her hair to cascade down, then put two pillows behind her where her head would go.

She looked puzzled for a moment but when I parted her legs, she lay back, widening them still further.

Caressing up her calves, first one then the other, I kissed along her inner thighs, first one then the other, stopping short of her glistening furrow, then repeating, then once again, and once more. By now she was breathing heavily, pushing her hips at me, wanting more attention.

"Ah! I need... Oh, please!" her hands pulling at my head, as she mewed and moaned.

My tongue went below to her anus, rimming and licking across. She jerked, "Ooh!" in surprise. Then again, a low groan. It was time. Up went my tongue over her little perineum, dipping into the by now open and ready vagina, circling its open mouth, kissing it with mine.

Now she was thrashing about desperately seeking my touch. "Oh, fuck! Fucking hell!, Oh yes, yes!" I held her hips still against her striving and her protests while I brought my tongue slowly, oh, so slowly over her neat little inner lips, first left, then right.

She was almost weeping with frustration as I repeated the same pattern three more times, then rapidly dragged over her rampant little button, at the same time thrusting two fingers into her open sheath. 

She howled! She bucked, twitched, spasmed. Again another traverse of her clit, again the yelps and cries as it took her over the edge and she lost all control. 

"You bugger! You lover! Oh, I LOVE you! So much, so fucking much! You STUD! You MAN!" all the while thrashing about on the bed as her thighs crushed my head and I licked her into submission, until her thighs fell open and the spasms diminished into twitches and they in turn became gentle and stopped, while she made little mewing noises, as her hands made random thoughtless passes over my back and stroked my hair, then slowed and stopped, resting on my back.

She lay spent, legs hanging off the bed, her wide-spread thighs limp and relaxed. There was no movement and after I had risen to my feet and stripped off ready for action, I found she had fallen asleep. There was I with my erstwhile raging erection which already had begun to wilt.

I was thankful that the duvet was pulled back, thanks to my obsession with airing it each day. I scooped her up and deposited her gently in the bed, pulling the quilt over her.

" 'Night, Daddy," she smiled in her sleep. I kissed her forehead and she sighed blissfully. Then I left the bedroom and visited the bathroom.

At first I had thought she was talking to me, calling me daddy, but then it occurred to me that she was perhaps regressing in her sleep to her childhood. From what the family told me, he searched and kept on searching for her. He clearly loved her and it seemed she loved him. What to do about that?

Well, nothing initially, but perhaps a tentative word might be in order. After all she was now settling in with me and had no further need to hide. We would see. 

My lengthy micturition complete I returned to bed, and climbed in carefully. She did not stir and I fell into my own alcohol fuelled sleep immediately.

Thursday 24 December 1970

I awoke at ten, headache free but abdominally delicate enough to forgo my run. I went and made tea while Connie slept on. No work today, the office was closed until after Christmas.

I thought back to the night before. I remembered being frustrated and knew I'd have taken her if she'd been responsive. That brought a frisson of fear: it would have been a bad move on someone who had been sexually used so much. I began to feel relief that she had fallen asleep. She had been made love to, and did not have to respond. Perhaps that would heal her a little; another little step. A good thing.

I went out and bought a newspaper came back and read it all at the kitchen table. At eleven thirty there was movement, so I put the kettle to boil. A bleary female figure, naked, hair on end as if she had had a fright, shuffled into the kitchen where I was sitting. Some women look fantastic no matter what state they're in.

"Good morning," I said cheerfully, getting up to pour the boiling water into the teapot. 

A pair of arms went round my waist from behind, and a face pressed itself against my back.

"Umm," came the rely.

"How d'you feel?" I asked.

"Guilty," came the next reply, and the arms tightened. "Headache!"

I took hold of her hands and prized her away from me, led her by the hand to the table and sat down, pulling her onto my lap. Her face buried itself in my neck. Her breath tickled my neck; her warm nakedness felt quite arousing.

"Aren't you cold?" I asked, "Don't you want to get dressed? I've made tea. What would you like for breakfast? How about some toast?"

She nodded into my neck. "Huh? So many questions. I fell asleep on you. I let you down."

I kissed her forehead. "Yes, you fell asleep. No, you didn't let me down. I'm happy; you were lovely all yesterday evening and you were wonderful last night."

"You were wonderful," she said, sitting up and looking into my eyes, "I've never felt like that before, it blew my mind, it was... Well... Intense."

"Connie, you were tipsy, and you had an intense experience after a full and exciting evening, and it wore you out. You fell asleep. It was very rewarding knowing I'd given you that."

"But you didn't get off."

"Who cares? It's no big deal. You had fun, I had fun giving it to you."

"I don't understand."

"How about you get dressed, I make you some toast, put out a couple of paracetamol and you have some breakfast?"

"Then we talk?"

"Then we talk if you really want to."

"I want to."

She got off my knee, bent and kissed me thoroughly. Looked at me, smiled, kissed me again, and sashayed out of the kitchen. That bottom certainly could move! Talk about independent suspension! What a woman!

After breakfast and medication, she led me by the hand to the living room and sat me down on the sofa. Then she sat towards me on the same sofa. 

"Right," she said, all business, "Last night you made love to me. It was something new to me. I've never ever been treated like that. All those years, all that sex and all those men and boys, and not one of them... You really loved me. Then I fell asleep. I'm sorry, you deserved better than that. You didn't get... "

She stopped.

"What were you going to say?" I prompted.

"I was going to say you didn't get your money's worth. But..."

"But you know that's totally wrong?"

"Well, yes. It's a only figure of speech, Graham."

"But in our case?"

She nodded.

"I think you're starting to get it," I said. "You're getting this payment business out of your system. You had been struggling to get enough to eat and you needed money. Not any more. This, what we have, you and I, is not a financial transaction, you don't fuck me to get your bed and meals. 

"It's only a few days since you were trading sex for accommodation, and before that others took their payment for, I suppose, temporary protection. That is not what we have. Tell me, what's your opinion of, or your attitude to the men who had you over the last years?"

She looked surprised, as if she had never considered having an attitude at all. 

"I hated the rapists, they were disgusting. I despised Trevor and the bastard who took me to London. Trevor was revolting. They made me feel filthy, powerless, worthless. They just used me. Don't get me wrong, some of the sex was good, sometimes they'd seem quite loving, but in the end they did what they wanted. They were in it - in me - for their own pleasure not mine. I knew if I didn't go along with it, I'd be on the streets again."




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 05



'Buck House' = Buckingham Palace (The hovel H M the Queen inhabits in London)

Chapter Twenty 

Sunday 3 January 71

A week may be a long time in politics as Harold Wilson opined, but that week between Christmas and New Year was longer by far.

On Sunday the 3rd of January I sat in my armchair in my empty flat, or at least it felt empty even though Colette was sitting on the sofa. I had heard nothing from Connie since she had left on Boxing Day with her father. 

We sat in silence, the feeling of oppression mitigated only by the music playing on the radio. Colette was reading a novel and I was sitting staring into space, something I had done frequently during that week.

What was it with these Roasburies? Two sisters, and they behaved in exactly the same way, except that the older sister had cheated under the impression I had cheated, and now it seemed Connie had the same impression. I had thought the episode at the Orchards in November had cleared that one up.

For the first two days I thought nothing of it, but by the Wednesday I began to worry. She had taken enough clothes for a short visit and all the rest were still in the second bedroom. The girls rallied round as usual, though I did not feel any need of sexual comfort from them. They were, however, just as puzzled as I was.

They dragged me to a New Year's Party, and I wondered all through that evening if she would phone while I was out to wish me a Happy New Year, but there was nothing. On New Year's Day divorce in Britain became very easy and that affected me: it seemed symbolic of the Roasburies, causing something to snap inside me. I rang the house. The dragon answered.

"What do you want?" she asked, after I identified myself.

"And a Happy New Year to you too, Mrs Roasburie," I replied, putting in all the sarcasm I could muster. Bad move. Silly move.

"I don't need any of that from you," she replied tartly.

"I would like to speak with Connie please," I said softening my tone.

"She's not here." Click.

I phoned Derek. Ingrid answered.

"Graham?" she sounded surprised, as well she might. "What's the matter?"

"Happy New Year, Ingrid," I began, "though it isn't very happy for me at the moment."

"I don't understand."

"You remember coming to see me to ask if Penny could talk to me?"

"Yes."

"She never came."

"But that is because what you told to us was wrong. It was not true. You had been seeing other girls. We were there at Christmas, and her mother had proof you had been seeing other women while engaged to her. Derek is here."

"Graham?"

"Hello Derek, what's going on? Connie left here on Boxing Day with her father for a couple of days. It's a week now, and I've heard nothing from her."

"We didn't see Connie," he replied curtly. "We left on Boxing Day morning. They didn't say they'd found her or we'd have stayed."

"So what's this about proof I'd been seeing other women when I was seeing Penny?"

"Mother's brother engaged a Private Investigator to watch you last year when Penny was in Liverpool, and he came up with a report. Cost her the earth she said, thousands. They watched you for months. She didn't use it because you broke up, but after the fracas in November, she showed Penny and at Christmas she showed the rest of us. It's convincing, Graham."

"If there's a report it's a fabrication, because there weren't any women while Penny was in Liverpool. I thought the girls explained that in November."

"Graham, the report detailed your relationships with all those women who backed up your story with dates. From what we saw, you and the three women weren't telling the truth. Quite a little harem you've got there. It's clear the lot of you were lying through your teeth. I think it would be better if you kept well clear of us all in future. Go fuck your sluttish colleagues." Click.

I was dumbstruck. This seemed so unreal, so far from the reality of what actually happened. So now my suspicion began to grow that Connie had also seen and believed that report. I could not understand how it could be so convincing, but it was unlikely I would ever find out, or that I would ever see Connie again either.

I had relayed the information to the girls, and Colette had come to stay for the weekend. We slept in the same bed but by unspoken agreement did not engage in any carnal pursuits. So there we were reading on a dull afternoon as the dusk fell.

"Graham," Colette said at length. "You could do with a break. Why don't you take next week off? You've got holiday entitlement coming to you that needs using up. Have a break. I have some time owing as well, we could go away for a few days. Take the whole week off, and I'll join you."

It seemed a good idea. Colette went home, since we were back at work the next day, when we both booked the following week off. No one else wanted the second week in January! It turned out the week's weather was the warmest for many years, early summer temperatures, though it did rain quite frequently. 

Apparently Walsh made a sarcastic remark to his secretary in someone else's hearing about us taking the same week as holiday, but that did not surprise me at all.

Colette insisted we splash out on a really luxurious hotel in London to cheer me up, so we agreed she would book a suite at the Cavendish Hotel in Mayfair, from Wednesday 13th January to the Saturday after, with the intention of 'doing' the Museums and Art Galleries. We also booked first class returns on the train. It cost us frightening amount of money and as always we split the cost, but it was still very expensive.

I spent the week at work re-organising my diary, working late to complete work and having meetings that would not wait until I returned. Zena would field any urgent developments that might come up.

Wednesday 6 January 71

When I arrived home on Wednesday, quite late on, I knew someone had been in the flat. Nothing seemed to have been touched or moved around, but I had that feeling. I ranged round the flat and ended in Connie's room, when it became obvious that she had been there that day. More of her clothes were missing, and things had been moved around in the room.

I looked for a note. Nothing. Well, I changed that. I wrote one instead and left it prominently in her room.

Bad manners. Ingratitude. Distrust. Underhand behaviour. I didn't think you were like that. OK, you want to throw all the good my friends did for you in their faces, so why don't you take away the rest of the stuff they bought you and sneak out like a thief as you just have. 

Whatever you've been told about me by your conniving mother and sister that's made you behave in such a hateful manner, is all lies. You want to think hard about the short time you were with me, about my family's love, my friends' care for you and Mary's helpfulness. 

What evidence did you notice of me sleeping around while you were here? You knew about Colette but you also knew we did not get together while you were here. If you still won't talk, you're as bad as your sister. In which case good riddance to you. I'm sick and tired of you Roasburies. You're bad news the lot of you.

The note was still there on Thursday evening, but had disappeared on Friday. As far as I could see, she could not have taken very much more. However, there was no note from her in response.

As I might have expected with the Roasburies, I spent much of the weekend wondering if it would provoke any reaction. I could not work out if any more clothing had been taken. There was no reaction, no response.

On Monday I slept in and then Colette took me out shopping and for an evening meal. 

"Tomorrow I'll come over and stay the night again, OK?"

"OK."

"In your bed."

"Definitely. I think Connie's in the past. She's gone."

"I'll bring my Sexy Nightie."

"Oh yes, please." 

Tuesday 12 January 71

On Tuesday, Colette came over in the afternoon with her suitcase and we checked we had everything - train tickets with seats and breakfast on the train booked, and hotel reservations confirmed. She dropped her bag in Connie's old room and we then sat in the living room and drank our tea. 

Late in the afternoon, we were both startled by the sound of the front door being opened with a key. Zena had a key but was at work. The only other person was Connie! Wouldn't you just believe it!

Colette made to get up, but I signalled her to sit tight. Whoever it was went to Connie's bedroom. There was an exclamation of surprise. We nodded at each other grimly. We assumed it was Connie and she had found Colette's bag. 

The footsteps came to the living room and Connie entered, and stopped short at the sight of us. Her face showed shock and surprise, then dislike.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"If you've come for the rest of your things, get on with it." I snapped.

"I've not-"

"Constance, the property you are taking away is yours, but that is not the point. The point is your sheer bad manners and deception in not facing me and giving me an explanation. It's a real slap in the face for all those people who took you to their hearts and offered you friendship. None of us deserve this sort of treatment. So what have you to say?"

She looked puzzled, and I thought that perhaps there was some guilt there, then again dislike. 

She scowled and said, "You told me a pack of lies about what you did when you were with Penny. That's what it's about. You were pretending to love her and saying you wanted to get married and all the time you were sleeping with your 'girls' for months before you proposed to her, and for months after. I suppose it was for release since she was not giving you any. She was devastated when she found out. 

"And you got all these other people to lie to help you." She gestured at Colette. "How could you do that? You would have done the same with me. Mum said it was a lucky escape."

"OK," I said, restraining my frustration and anger. "Putting aside the fact that all that is a pack of lies on Penny's behalf - I assume because she is ashamed of what she has done - putting that aside for now, why not talk to me? You condemned me without giving me a chance, just like your sister."

Connie sat down, looking more uncomfortable. She said nothing.

"Nothing to say, Constance?" I deliberately used her full name to show my displeasure and to needle her. 

"OK, we move on. I'm telling you truthfully that I was never unfaithful to Penny. Ever. At all. She lies. Without talking to me first she slept with another man, and I suspect she did it, not because she thought I was cheating, but because she wanted to. I think that is why she would not face me. So what do you say to that?"

At this Connie seemed to come to life.

"I know you are lying, and it's despicable you pretending you are wronged and innocent. You really conned me. I've seen the proof of what you've done. I've seen a Private Investigator's report detailing where you went with Colette here, and with the other two, staying together overnight. You're all in this together."

"Oh yes," I said dismissively, "that so called report. I don't believe you. Show me this 'report'."

"Mother's brother had you investigated when Penny went to Liverpool. It's a full report by a reputable investigation agency of all your fucking around. So you can stop your posturing. You don't really want to see it, because you know what's in it. Just admit it, you're pitiful."

"Well, since I've not seen this work of fiction, I can't comment. So why don't you show me? I do want to see it. Where is it?"

"Penny's got it," said Connie.

"Oh! Very convenient," I scoffed. "So how are you going to produce it? She won't come near me."

"I could go and get it," said Connie.

I burst out laughing. "And I'd never see you again. You and your darling sister have got form for disappearing. I think this is a bluff to get you out of my flat. Admit it." 

I was goading her: at last I had a chance to get Penny to meet me.

"I could phone her," said Connie, uncertain and now puzzled about my urgency to see evidence that should condemn me. "How would that be?"

"OK," I said, "Get her here with the report, and let me see it."

Connie looked confused at my wanting to see the report, but went off to the hallway to phone.

Connie returned. "Penny's just got in from school. She doesn't want to see you, but she'll bring the report."

"Tough!" I said, "She will see me, because I'm going to answer the door. Then at last we can talk properly."

"We'll talk all right," Connie said harshly, "and there will be some grovelling to be done."

The doorbell rang, and I went to answer it. I opened it. There she stood. She looked surprised, perhaps astonished.

She was just as pretty as she had been when we were together, though now she wore a grimace of distain. It reminded me of her mother and did nothing for her looks. I looked inside myself for some feelings for her but she was like a stranger.

"Come in," I said, no more.

She walked past me and went to living room. She had a briefcase which she put on the dining table, opened it, took out a large envelope and extracted its contents: an official looking booklet. Then she shed her coat and put it over the back of the dining chair.

She stood back, her arms folded. She said nothing to me.

I went to the table, sat down on another chair and read the report carefully, which purported to be a record of the investigator's surveillance of me on and off from October 69 until April 70. 

I glanced at the front of the booklet. The agency was one our practice used! That was why I remembered that man who kept appearing when I was out with one or other of the girls in the summer. The report was very helpful in that it headed each time of surveillance with the date. 

Lawyers are trained to look for small details, and there were enough details to make me wonder why neither of the Roasburie girls had seen them. The first thing was the dates were just that, dates with no day mentioned, so perhaps the dates alone did not ring any bells with Penny. 

Perhaps they didn't want to notice, or perhaps like most people, they only saw what they expected to see.

There were thirty occasions when I was supposed to have offended, just before and then mainly after Christmas and before Easter. Something did not look right, and I went to my room, returning with my diary for that year and my photographs. Then I went through each occasion putting days to the dates lightly in pencil. At length I sat back.

Now I knew that some of the descriptions were outright lies, of the sort the red top tabloid newspapers concoct about the famous. 

One supposedly had a neighbour of Zena complaining of the noise we made making love because the walls were so thin, and moaning about the frequency of such trysts. 

Another detailed a two day hotel visit where the 'investigator' saw evidence of 'intense sexual activity' in our hotel bedroom.

"It's a fabrication," I said. "Some of the descriptions actually refer to the summer after we broke up, and some are totally fictitious. I'm surprised no one noticed, it's obvious if you have a diary."

"You can't wriggle out of it that easily," said Penny coldly. "They catalogue action by action how you cheated on me with dates and places."

"I don't need to do any wriggling," I said. "If the report is actually by this agency, I will be suing them for libel: I'll destroy them. It is not necessary for me to prove that all this is fantasy, I can show it has malicious intent by merely asking you some simple questions." 

I'm afraid the lawyer in me had come to the fore. I was cross-examining a witness. It was Penny in the witness box. Penny bridled but I was ploughing on.

"Do you remember when we went to the Everyman Theatre?" I asked her.

"Yes."

"Remember the date?" 

"It was the beginning of March, we'd only just got engaged. We hadn't announced it."

"It was the Saturday 7th of March. Here, see the entry in my diary. Now, do you remember I took you to the Free Trade Hall for a concert, about two weeks later?"

"Yes, it was Sibelius, Tchaikovsky, and Beethoven."

"Well remembered, that's right," I said. "Sunday 22nd March: see - here is the diary entry. 

"Again do you remember where you were the weekend after I proposed to you on the Valentine's Day weekend? Weekend of the 21st and 22nd of February?"

"I came to your flat that weekend, I remember I worked and you read, but I don't see..."

I went to the relevant page in the report. The report showed the same dates.

"OK, I think those will do. Now look at this page. Here, I've underlined them in pencil: the report dates them, 21st February, 7th March; now here: 22nd March. See?"

Penny began to look puzzled. On each of those days there was a description of me with Colette in compromising situations, hugging or kissing, and the dates were quite clearly the same, except the report did not show the days of the week.

"This one. it says I went into my flat with Colette hugging and kissing, on Saturday 21st February. It even says we had hands on each other's bottoms, me goosing her and pushing up her skirt. I'm sure you'd have noticed us in the flat, since you were in there yourself the whole weekend! Perhaps you were too wrapped up in your work?

"The Everyman theatre, 7th March, in Liverpool, staying overnight in your bed, remember? The report shows me on that date staying in Colette's flat overnight, and leaving early on the 8th in a 'dishevelled state'. Again it does not show the day or you would have known it was a weekend.

"And here I am going into the Free Trade Hall, the report dates it 22nd March, with - you? No! With a woman called Susan with whom I went to a Tom Paxton concert on Wednesday the 20th of May!. Perhaps you went with my doppelganger?"

"I remember the Tom Paxton concert," she said, thoughtfully, "I wanted to go but couldn't get tickets. That was way after we split up."

"Now this one's a pearler!" I must confess to crowing. "Surely you saw this travesty?"

"No? What's so special about this one?"

"12th to the 14th December? Here I am in Ironbridge with Colette!" 

"So?"

"Think Penny! What weekend was that? The last of your autumn term? Two parties?"

It was almost fun to see the dawning realisation. "You organised a weekend away for me, and I didn't go."

"Who went instead, Penny? Colette?"

"No, Kitty. And you went to London. She wouldn't let me forget it!"

"Well, according to this report there was evidence on the dishevelled bed Colette and I shared, of rampant sex! You remember that don't you Colette?"

"First weekend in June," she said, off hand. "The report is accurate about the state of the bed!" she giggled. "Great weekend that!"

Penny looked perplexed. "But...? Why didn't I see that? Especially that date?"

"Perhaps you didn't want to see? Perhaps you were so eager to get proof?"

"No, Graham! I just didn't notice!"

I was being a little unfair. Further the dates without days attached would not have rung a bell. I was actually looking for lies, so I found them. I continued.

"Penny, I don't need to prove when all these events in the report happened, most of them in the summer, only that these are fakes, deliberately falsified. If these, then all!"

She paled. "No, you're right. It's all a nasty lie."

"When did you first get sight of this so called report?" I asked.

"Well, after the November dinn..." She lapsed into silence.

"Exactly. You couldn't have seen it earlier - say just after Easter - because it was concocted over the summer when all those events happened, I assume in case you ever had second thoughts."

"Now, look at this diary entry of mine: Monday and Tuesday 9th and 10th May."




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 05



She read my anguished entry and thoughts, then I put the photographs in front of her. 

"These, along with a letter containing all you did, including that lie of yours about being at Derek's on the Friday, were what your dear mother intercepted and destroyed. They speak for themselves, don't they? Now you know what you did to me."

Penny went and sat down next to Connie on the sofa, and shut her eyes. 

I glanced at Connie who to her credit was showing real worry, registering disbelief at the deception, fear and dawning guilt at her own reaction to it. About time, I thought.

"So," I concluded to no one in particular, "either this investigating agency has knowingly falsified these events under orders, or the report has been concocted by someone else, who had the agency's report and dated a rewritten one at random. 

"The report constitutes deception and libel, since they have been shown to other people to discredit me, and ensure that our engagement stayed ended.

"What do you know about it? Who really rewrote it and who falsified the dates? You can ask them why they did this horrible thing to me and to you, Penny."

"It was mother who said her brother had commissioned the report for her," said Penny, now visibly distressed. "So either she or my uncle altered the report's dates, or the agency she used did it. Either way she's behind this."

"Most of the events are 'true', I said. "I did all those things, but after we broke up, not before. The report about Zena is a straight lie, and I'll bet you won't find anyone in her flats who actually made those allegations: she gets on well with all her neighbours on each side and above and below - I've met them, and those flats are well built and pretty soundproof. I never heard any noise from the other flats, and Zena and I have never made love."

Penny was now distressed.

"Why did she do that? At that stupid engagement party I was ready to go to you and apologise and beg you to forgive me. It was she who stopped me, telling me she had all this 'evidence' that you had concocted an elaborate lie with your friends. 

"Actually, I know why she did it. She was afraid because I got a job in the Manchester area near here, and she knew I was now keen on bell ringing. She needed more telling evidence than hearsay as ammunition. She knew it was likely we would meet and then the truth would come out."

She scowled. "She would use any trick in the book to stop the marriage, or any danger I would get back with you. She'd be sure she was doing me a favour - protecting me from 'an unsuitable match...' 

An anguished Connie broke in, "The lying bitch! Who in their right mind would want to be her kind of 'suitable'? Why the fuck did I ever go home? Wait until Daddy gets home, I'll see to it he knows everything. 

"I left home that first time to get away from that bitch, and it nearly destroyed me, and the man who's 'not our sort' rescued me, and his friends welcomed me and they were so generous and... and..." Here she broke down in sobs, and Colette, bless her, went over to her, sat on her other side and had an arm round her.

The two sisters sat with Colette on the sofa together, breathing hard, pale faced and trembling. They had their eyes cast down. Neither looked at me. Colette left the room to top up the teapot. In the meantime there was silence in the room. 

Colette served them some more tea and they absently thanked her. 

It was Penny who first turned her eyes in my direction. She gave a wan smile of shame. I could see she was thinking, or trying to think of what to say. At last she sighed.

"I was going to see you after that party," she said woodenly. "She produced that garbage," she pointed at the booklet, "and I should have seen through it. Why didn't I see through it? It reinforced everything she told me before, when Patty came up with her suspicions. I never checked the dates at all, except they were winter dates mainly."

She sighed again. "I'm just so... sorry, Graham. I don't know how to tell you how sorry and upset I am. You did nothing wrong and I never gave you a chance. Why, oh why didn't I talk to you when Patty and Annette told me what they'd seen? 

"Instead I went home to mother and she reinforced what Patty had told me. She said my Uncle knew all about you and a number of girls, and you were known to be a sexual hedonist and a disgrace to the profession but you wouldn't be in it for long. She said she'd tried to tell me about you when you first brought me home, but I wouldn't listen. She'd phoned Uncle Kieran and he'd told her you were totally unreliable, would be unfaithful and would bring me nothing but misery. I'm just so... sorry I hurt you so badly. I..."

She lapsed into silence. 

I said nothing. I felt wrung out, depressed at the stupid mess we were in, and the effort to show the report for what it was. I looked at Penny, who was glancing at me hoping for something from me. 

I had to say something. 

"You perhaps now have some idea, Penny, how much you tore me apart. I ached for you and had no answers, just your lie about going to Derek's. I assume you were seeing Martin Greaves, and of course it was hell to see you arm in arm with him, kissing him with such love and affection, spending the night with him. You can have no understanding of how much that hurt. 

"Now months have gone by, and there's no chance of saving what we had. It was over, dead, months ago, and I was over it and over you. Never ever do that to anyone else, Penny."

She looked even more woebegone at that. 

Then she sat up. "Yes, you're right. It's beyond repair, but I want you to know that I'll always regret what I've done."

She stood. "Can I have a hug? Can you forgive me? I so want you to forgive me."

I stood and she came to me, and we embraced. It felt different, she was different, a different shape, more mature. She held onto me, and I enfolded her in my arms. She gave a little sob.

"Put it behind you," I said, "I have no hard feelings any more; they are long past. Yes, I can forgive you. Now you have to forgive yourself, but only for that first refusal to talk. The rest is down to your mother and that uncle. You mustn't take responsibility for what she's done. You were lied to, viciously so. Incidentally what's your uncle called? I might need to sue him."

"Uncle Kieran." she said. "I think he's a lawyer like you. We rarely see him, he disapproves of Mum's marriage to a divorced man."

I started and stiffened. Their mother's maiden name was Walsh. Kieran Walsh? 

She pulled back and looked into my eyes. "What's the matter?"

"I think I know the man," I said. It seemed neither of the daughters knew the connection I'd just made. "I'll make some further enquiries. See if he is the one I think he is."

I would keep this knowledge to myself. Being well aware of Kieran Walsh's antipathy to me, I thought this knowledge might be of use to me in future. I suspected that he had reinforced Penny's mother's opinion of me and firmed her resolution that her daughters would never be allowed to marry me, for their own sake.

"Penny, Connie, please don't mention the report to anyone, not even Derek. I might take action about it, and I don't want anyone forewarned."

They both agreed. 

"Just so you know," Penny said, "When I believed you cheated and was really down, Martin did comfort me, but he is so like you; he did sleep in my bed with me, but he wouldn't do anything until I broke off our engagement."

She paused and searched my face, "Actually, Martin is teaching in Manchester as well, and we're going out. He's very nice, but-"

"Don't say it," I said. "First love is always unique, but later loves can grow much deeper. Is he the one for you, d'you think?"

"I think so," she said quietly, "I hope so. Nigel was a big mistake."

"I'm surprised I haven't come across you both because of bell ringing."

"Oh, first year teaching. We haven't had time yet to join a tower."

We disengaged from our hug, and our meeting was over. 

"I'd better be going," she said. "I'm really glad I came over now. I should have-"

"That's enough," I said. "We've made our peace. It's finished now."

It was faintly depressing this talk of a failed relationship, but while she was distressed, guilty and unhappy, I just felt deflated. I picked up her coat and helped her on with it.

"Thanks," she said and turned for the door.

"Sis?" came a plea from Connie, who had said nothing the whole time. She had stood in her turn, "Can you put me up for a few more days? Just till I sort out where to live?"

"If you can stand the sofa," Penny said. "You're welcome to stay."

Connie's voice prompted me to turn towards her.

"I did exactly the same as Penny, didn't I?" she said to me, dully. "I didn't give you a chance, and after all you did for me. I feel so embarrassed, so humiliated. If you don't mind, I'll collect some stuff another time." 

She fished in her handbag and extracted the keys, laying them gently on the coffee table.

What did I feel? I'm not exactly sure. I think I told myself I had a duty to her since she was still homeless, though I was not sure I wanted her to stay: I was deeply unsettled by her behaviour, so like her sister's, as she had just admitted. I knew that realistically she had nowhere to go. What could I do? The words came out without further conscious thought.

"Where are you going?" I asked her. "I thought you lived here."

She froze and looked at me with some astonishment.

"What's the matter?" I asked her. "You live here, don't you? We agreed that, didn't we? Have I said anything different?"

She seemed dumbstruck, but then stammered, "I-I don't know if I can live here after what I've done. I knew what Penny had done and I still did the same. Then I came creeping in here to take the lovely clothes you all gave me. I was only taking what I needed to wear; these clothes are all I've got. I despised you and I wasn't even going to thank you for what you did do."

She spoke the truth; she was not her own best advocate, but I suspected her mother was the driving force behind it all, and her mother had the same vested interest in keeping Connie safely away from me, as she had for Penny. I couldn't fault Connie on her confession and her honesty about what she'd done, and at that moment I knew I really did want her to stay.

"Up to you," I said. "You have a room here, and I said it was yours as long as you wanted it. I gave you my word on that, and I won't go back on it. Of course, if you don't want to stay..."

Penny looked on, bemused about this development. Connie was also so surprised that she was undecided. Penny broke the spell.

"Connie," Penny said with a flash of a glad smile at me, "Don't be stupid. You know you want to stay. Graham's made you an offer you really can't refuse!"

"I don't know how you can do this," Connie said to me dully, "after what I've done."

"Connie!" I said impatiently. "Are you staying or not?"

She looked startled. Then made up her mind. "Yes," she said. "Yes please, in any case I've nowhere else to go. Penny's right about the sofa." There was a transient grin, gone in a second.

Thereafter there was no smile: her face was creased with worry and uncertainty. I had similar feelings. How would we live together after this? I only knew I wanted her with me, and hoped somehow to find a way to get over it or round it.

Penny moved to the front door and I followed her, leaving the other two in the living room.

She smiled at me, and I remembered our first meeting at the carol service. The smile hadn't changed and now lit up her face as before. She was just as beautiful, but there was no answering attraction or emotion in me at all. All too long ago and too much hurt. Also, one could add, someone else had taken her place decisively, though I'm not sure I was conscious of it at that moment.

"You're a star," she said to me, then sotto voce, "Look after her, won't you?"

I nodded. She embraced me again and kissed me on the lips, sighed, looked vaguely confused, and left.

Am I supposed to know what was going on inside her head? I hadn't a clue, and still haven't. I know I felt that nostalgia for a past relationship which had so much promise, so perhaps she did too. Move on: you can't go back.

-- 

Chapter Twenty-one

I went back to the living room to find Colette and Connie sitting very still and saying nothing. They both seemed relaxed enough. Darkness had fallen so I went to the window and closed the curtains, switching on the electric fire's coal effect. The red effect gave out no heat, but made the room feel warmer, in any case it was plenty warm enough from the central heating. 

When Colette suggested to Connie that she go and settle back in since she was staying, Connie seemed relieved to have something to do and immediately made her way to her room, closing her door behind her.

"How d'you feel?" Colette asked me. "What d'you think?"

"I don't know. This is all a bit sudden."

"What about Connie?" The question was inevitable.

"What about her?" 

"You took her back." Her words were weighted.

"You make it seem as if we were an item, as if she had been unfaithful and I had forgiven her."

"Well, nearly," she said, and I thought she was gaining the upper hand. "She did what her sister did before, and you took her back. She would have been gone long since if we hadn't had the day off. She'd have gone for good and you know it."

"We don't really know that; who knows, after coming back here she may have had second thoughts. It seems you're saying that I'm wrong to let her stay?"

"No, of course I'm not. We precipitated a confrontation which cleared up all the misunderstandings. Both of those girls now know how wrong they were to react against your supposed cheating by refusing to confront you. Penny has realised she threw away something good which she'll never get back. 

"After what happened years ago when Connie was effectively thrown out by that mother of hers, she then too easily believed her mother's lies against you and all our kindness. A bad error of judgement and a worse reaction. She could have phoned you and told you what she'd found out. She didn't. At least she hasn't slept with anyone else."

"So?" I urged, "What are you getting at?"

"Graham, my darling," she said patiently, "You had a week together. One week. I'm sure you were more than flatmates when the week was over. I don't know whether you slept together, but you were definitely more than newly made friends sharing a flat, and, before you deny anything, we all saw what happened to you after Christmas: at the New Year's party you were just as you were after Penny cut you off. So, I'm wondering what you're going to do now. Think about it." 

There was a meaningful pause. Then she added, "You do remember we were going to London tomorrow?"

I had quite forgotten in all the kerfuffle. She had not quite finished.

"Graham, I'm not trying to pry, but what are your feelings for Connie? Don't answer right away. Think. But I want an answer tonight before I go: I need to know if we're still going to London together."

She got up and went to Connie's room, shutting the door behind her. I could hear their voices, but through the door I could not tell what they were saying.

Then Colette came back.

"Connie needs to collect her stuff from Penny's. The clothes she took from here are there. I'll take her."

I nodded and the two left, without Connie coming near me.

Well, what were my feelings for Connie? 

I reprised what had happened since I first met her. I remembered how she looked, how beautiful she was even in her downtrodden rather dowdy state. I remembered her constant worry that she could not pay me for what I was doing. 

There was her settling in, cooking, bringing me tea, running with me, coming to ringing, her contagious happiness when she was kitted out, and her delight in showing me everything, including her body! How overwhelmed she was on her reception by the family and the romantic moments on Christmas Eve. Oh, and our lovemaking; definitely our lovemaking.

Then Boxing Day, Geoff, and her departure. She was happy to be reconciled with the family and promised to come back in a few days, but she didn't return; she cut me off.

It came to me that thanks to Penny my feelings of rejection and hurt were more acute than they otherwise would have been. So, if I pretended Penny had never met me, what had actually happened? 

Connie had been deceived by her mother who hated me. Connie had been loyal to her sister, who she then believed had been mistreated by me. That loyalty made her angry with me, and I saw how deep that sisterly love was for Penny whom she had lost for so long. I wondered if I could add that perhaps there was something genetic in both sisters' refusal to confront me.

Then there was her history. Men used her, deceived her. She distrusted men, and I seemed too good to be true, and she gave in to her feelings of relief that she had at last met a man she could trust. Then the bombshell back home that I was a philanderer and a liar, and was swilling around with a group of 'tarts' as her mother would have put it. No wonder she cut me off!

In fact her response wasn't really so bad after all if I looked at it that way from her point of view, with her history. Then there was her reaction when she found out she had been deceived by her own mother! She was livid at having been hoodwinked into rejecting me by her mother's lies, and that those lies had deprived her of our relationship. That was a more a quality than a deficiency; it seemed from her reaction that she really loved me a great deal. 

I took a deep breath. Where did that leave me? It did not seem so serious now it was over. Would she cut me off again? That was always going to be an unknown, but I thought it highly unlikely. If we were to grow closer, that must be one of the ground rules, one of the most basic ground rules: talk before action. Every time. Talk as soon as there's a problem: no bottling things up. 

Did I want her to stay? Of course. As more than a lodger? Oh yes indeed! Could I risk committing myself to her? Hmm. 

The girls returned and again were closeted in Connie's room. Then Colette went and made tea, bringing me a mugful.

"Connie unpacking?" I asked. 

She nodded. "Yes, there's really not that much, but she's not coming out just yet. You know she was only taking what she absolutely needed? She was going to leave the rest. So, do you love her?"

The question was arresting. I'd not allowed the 'L' word into my deliberations. 

"Don't know," I said, "I am very attracted to her as a woman, she's very good looking-"

"You can say that again!" exclaimed Colette.

"I'm very attracted to her as a woman, she's very good looking," I repeated doggedly, and got a half-smile for it. "She's also thoughtful, she looks after me, she enjoys what I enjoy-"

"So you have had sex then!" she said mischievously, then, "It's all right, she told me you had."

"You've been talking about me to her."

"With her," she corrected. "Anyway, how do you feel towards her?"

"I feel happy when she's around, I feel warm and protective towards her, I desire her, I enjoy her hugs and kisses, I really enjoy making love with her. Does that satisfy you?"

"Yes," she said gaily, "and you certainly satisfy her from what she told me! Yes Graham, you love her, and you're in love with her already, but you're cagey about committing yourself out loud so soon, taking that risk, especially after the last couple of weeks. She's really undermined everything by staying away. It's a trust issue. True?"

"Her mother has undermined everything," I corrected her. "That about sums it up: been burned before? Be more careful near the fire-breathing dragon!"




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 05



"Graham, that girl adores you, she is out of her mind in love with you, and everything you do reinforces it. You really knocked her for six when you told her she still lived here, she's still half crying and half laughing, she's so happy about that. It must be wonderful to be able to make someone as happy as that. Her life has been turned round and you're the one who's done it."

I smiled, and felt warmly content. Who wouldn't? 

"We've done it," I corrected her. She shrugged.

"However," she added seriously. "She's now also out of her mind with worry that there'll be an atmosphere and you'll be stand-offish and surly with her, and she doesn't think she could cope with that. She's really insecure you know; not surprising with her history. So I've thought of something."

My spirits dropped. Colette had that look - you know, the one that says she thinks she has a wonderful plan which will cost me a great deal. She saw my face, and laughed. That made it worse. She hugged me and kissed my lips gently. Now I was really worried.

"I don't like this," I hissed. "It's going to hurt, isn't it?"

"You're so wrong!" she crowed. "So wrong! Take her to London with you tomorrow, use my ticket for the train. I'll pay for her, it's my extra Christmas present for her."

"But it's your holiday," I protested. "You can't-"

"I can, easily," she said with assurance. "One phone call, and I'll be off to Sheffield to see a very good friend - with an enormous prick," she whispered with a salacious grin. "Gives a whole new meaning to doing stretches before taking exercise! He's very nice too, knows how to treat a girl - as you do!" 

She giggled, and arched an eyebrow in an invitation to agree to her plan. I sighed, and nodded.

"Thanks Colette, in any case, I think she needs to go to London in different circumstances from last time - lance the boil as it were."

She got her coat, then picked up her bag from Connie's room, said a few words to her, and then preceded me to the flat door. 

"She doesn't know anything about London," she said quietly. "She's sitting on her bed wondering what to do. She's scared, Graham. It's up to you now."

She kissed me as only Colette could until I could feel my toes curling, so I kissed her back. We looked into each other's eyes, and I knew this was a last goodbye as far as sex was concerned, at least while I was with Connie. I thought it and she nodded.

"Thanks for everything Colette. You saved my life, I'll be forever grateful."

"Hey, kid, look after her like you have Zena, Harriet and me. Believe me, we're as grateful for you as you are for us. Have a nice holiday."

Another prolonged kiss, a mutual sigh and she left, no looking back. 

I closed the door. They say as one door closes another opens. While physically her bedroom door did not open, I began to hope there could be another start with her. I hoped that quite desperately. Perhaps I was in love after all.

I looked at the clock, seven o'clock. I felt hungry. There was not much food in the house because we had been going to London the next day after a night in bed together. I sighed. I'd been doing a lot of sighing that day. 

I did my standby meal that I did when I had little time or little resources. Omelette, cheese filled, grilled tomatoes to use them up, frozen peas, chipped potatoes. I cooked everything except the eggs, laid the table in the kitchen, then went to Connie's room. I knocked.

"Come in."

I went in, and found her sitting on the bed.

"Tea's... I'm sorry, Dinner's nearly ready,"

There was a half smile from her.

I went back and cooked the omelettes, then plated everything.

"On the table!" I shouted. She came pottering through to the kitchen, and sat at the table. I served her her plate and a mug of tea.

"Thanks Graham," she said, eyes down, and began eating. We ate in silence. I did not know what to say to break the ice, and resolved to wait until the end of the meal, which came rather too soon for my comfort.

"I'm going away for a few days' holiday tomorrow," I began, "and I want you to come with me."

She had been looking anywhere but at me, but now she met my eyes. She looked hurt.

"You don't trust me to be still here when you come back?' she asked.

I had not thought of that. 

"No. I'm sorry if I'm giving you that impression. It's just that we need to talk and I'd planned on going away before you came back, so I thought it would be better if you were with me so we can talk about what's happened."

"Can I ask where you are going?" she said, staring at me.

"Will it make any difference?" I asked in return. "Can't you trust me? D'you think I'll strand you somewhere?"

She looked embarrassed. "Well, no. Of course I can trust you, I just wondered."

"You didn't trust me enough to phone me when you saw the report."

She reddened again. There was a short silence, then, "No, you're right."

"I want you to trust me on this, then. You don't have to come. Your choice."

"If you put it that way," she said, then seemed to make up her mind. "OK, I'll come with you.

"We'll be leaving early," I said. "You need to pack tonight. No breakfast in the morning, we'll get it on the way. Taxi will be here at nine sharp."

"What do I need to take?" she asked, and I realised this was more a problem for a woman than a man.

"Something nice for the evenings, three evenings, we're coming back on Saturday. Obviously warm clothing: it's winter. Good shoes or boots for walking, we'll be in town, but we'll be walking about."

I could see she was itching to beg me to say where we were going, but she did not. Before she went to Chester she'd now be making suggestive remarks about the nights. Not this time; the exuberant happiness from before had gone. She was uncomfortable, and come to that, so was I.

"I'll wash up," she said, "then I'll pack and get an early night. It's been very tiring..." she stopped and I did not know to which part of the day's events she was referring. I left the kitchen and went to pack. I had just finished, barring the toiletries I'd need for the next morning, and was leaving my room.

She came to me. 

"Have you got a suitcase I can use?" she asked, "My rucksack will ruin my best clothes."

"Use mine," I said, "it's less than half full." I pointed to my medium sized case. "Will that be enough?"

"Plenty," she said, lugging it into her room.

"I've got a small shoulder bag, if you need it," I offered, "for carrying all that paraphernalia you women need." 

"Thanks, but Zena bought me one," she said. A tentative smile. 

I wondered if we'd ever get back that carefree happiness we had before. I hoped against hope that this trip would do the trick. She was in for a number of significant surprises.

I took my book to the living room and listened to the news before reading for an hour. Connie emerged after an hour and used the bathroom.

"Good night," she said, popping her head round the door.

"Good night," I replied. "Sleep well."

I put the flat to bed and went to bed myself. I slept alone; I had expected no different.

Wednesday 13 January 71

I awoke at seven, made tea and took a mug to Connie. I touched her on her shoulder and she opened her eyes. 

"Tea," I said. "It's seven thirty." Then I left the room.

I was ready at eight thirty, having showered, shaved and the rest. I wore a conservative suit, shirt and tie, and a heavy overcoat, scarf, leather gloves and cap, mainly because it was easier to carry them on my back than in a suitcase.

Connie too had a shower but I noticed she kept well out of my way on her journey to and from the bathroom. At quarter to nine she emerged from her room carrying the suitcase and with her shoulder bag on her shoulder (where else). She was wearing a trouser suit with a blouse beneath and medium heels. She looked fabulous. She got a warm coat and scarf from the hall-stand and put it on, adding her own warm gloves.

I smiled in greeting and she, while clearly unsure, smiled back. It was such a begging smile that I had to restrain myself from taking her in my arms and being late for the taxi. As it was I took the suitcase from her and we left the flat and went down the stairs, arriving at the front door as the taxi arrived. From the time we arrived at Piccadilly Station I would have lots of fun seeing her reactions, and I hoped by the end of the trip we would be back where we started.

As we neared the barrier, she stopped. "Please don't tell me we're going to London!" She exclaimed unhappily. "You know London is my least favourite place."

"OK," I said gaily, "I won't tell you if that's what you want, but this train is the one we're getting."

"In that case, perhaps you'd better go alone. It's not fair putting me through this just because I've upset you."

At last she was beginning to assert herself against me.

"Connie," I said gently, "This is not a punishment. You had a bad time in London. I promise you on my honour, that this trip will lay the ghosts of that time, and reverse the feelings you have at the moment. Now, will you please trust me on this?"

She thought for some time; it was a good thing we'd arrived twenty minutes early for the train. 

"You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" she said at length. There was no smile.

"Yes," I replied seriously. "Absolutely sure that you will come back from London with a completely different attitude to that city. Connie, trust me."

"OK," she said very reluctantly, "but you'd better be right."

I thought that that particular exchange was between equals, perhaps for the first time since she'd joined me in my flat.

We walked down the platform to a first class carriage, and I stopped at the door. She made to go on.

"This is ours," I said.

"But it's 'first'."

"Yes, we have first class tickets."

Her astonished look was priceless. 

"Come on," I said.

We entered and walked down the corridor to our compartment with its wide plush seats and arm rests. Our reserved seats were by the window, facing each other.

"Graham I... I've never gone first class before."

"How did you get to Bolton?"

"National Express," she said. "You know, the coach. Took six hours!"

"Well, this reverses that one," I said. "You'll go back to London first class. These new electric trains take just about two hours forty minutes."

She smiled at that, the first smile since we arrived at the station.

The train had only just pulled out of the station, when the compartment door slid open and the guard came in and punched our tickets, followed by a waiter. By which I do not mean the guard punched the waiter.

"Breakfast is served in the Dining Car," the unpunched waiter said, "You did order breakfast, sir?"

I nodded, and we left our places and went for breakfast, which was well cooked and followed by toast and coffee.

"Graham," she said, now all smiles after the meal, "This is just fantastic!"

Back in the compartment we were still the only occupants, time for a talk.

"I don't know how long we'll have the compartment to ourselves, so I think now would be a good time to talk, don't you?"

She looked uncomfortable, but nodded.

Unfortunately the train was just pulling out of a station, I think it was Stafford, and into our compartment came a middle-aged couple. Talking was off. I shrugged and smiled at her and she smiled back. We passed the odd comment about the scenery, or townscapes. Now and again she would give me an apprehensive look, and I would smile, I hoped reassuringly, back.

We each had a book to read and we settled down. I felt we were on our way, literally and hopefully in our relationship.

-- 

Chapter Twenty-Two 

We arrived at the Chesterfield Hotel in a taxi, and she gasped. "Really? This hotel? I used to pass it often when I was homeless, and now... I never thought then..."

I signed us in and we took the lift to the top floor and to the suite. I noticed that the book showed us as 'Mr & Mrs'. Again she was in awe of the opulence of the room, her eyes sparkling. I was glad that Colette had given half the cost, for it was a very expensive suite for someone on my money, generous though my salary was. We were accompanied by a porter and our single bag.

He opened the door for us and wished us a happy stay; I tipped him and he withdrew.

The room was indeed luxurious, with a four poster bed in the bedroom area, and a three piece suite in the living area, a small dining table for two at the window, and a sideboard. The bathroom was huge and the free standing bath with claw feet sinfully ornate. There was a bowl of fruit and some canapés on the sideboard.

I gestured to her to sit on the sofa, and I took an armchair.

"You were coming here alone? To all this?" she asked.

"No," I said. "I was coming here with Colette."

Her face fell. "You'd given up on me then?"

"Two weeks and I'd heard nothing. I'd phoned your house and your mother said you weren't there. Obviously she wouldn't tell me where you were. I was very depressed. Colette told me I needed a break. This was it."

"Colette?" she said with worry all over her face. "She gave up all this for me?"

"Yes," I said with a smile. "She had a contingency plan - a boyfriend with plenty to offer her in Sheffield, if you follow my meaning."

Her smile told me she did.

"But can you afford all this?"

"Colette is paying half," I told her, "She insisted. A sort of late Christmas present."

I paused, "Connie, would you have phoned me? Written?"

"I really don't know," she said reflectively. "I was destroyed when Penny showed me the report. I've been abused so often and I'd trusted you completely because you were so different, and suddenly you were as bad as all the others. I couldn't cope with that."

"But your father?"

"He didn't comment but we were only together there one day and he was away again. All there were at home were Penny, Mother and me, and Penny and I came back on New Year's Day so she could be ready for school starting. I needed more clothes. I told Mother I ought to phone you and finish with you properly, but she put a stop to that. She said she would come over and help me collect all my stuff one afternoon, and then I could phone that evening to give you your marching orders.

"I told her I would only take what I absolutely needed. She said I should take it all - it was really a bribe from your women to con me into your lifestyle. I told her in that case I would phone you and tell you as much. She immediately gave in and told me to do it my way, but not to phone until I was well clear, and not to believe your story - you were a lawyer and could be very persuasive. I would be taken in, and that would be disastrous for me.

"So I took her advice and didn't phone. I know you said she hated you, but I never realised how much."

"So you might have got in touch?"

She shrugged. "I was so torn. I hated all your lies and how much you'd hurt Penny, but on the other hand, I wanted you so badly that I didn't care what you'd done. Then it seemed so out of character for you - you didn't behave like the other men had, but the evidence seemed so strong I was perplexed and had in the end to accept it.

"So eventually I think I would have. I wanted to give you a piece of my mind, but only later, when I was well over you."

"Eventually might have been too late."

"Graham I am truly sorry, and I don't know how I can make it right again." Her eyes pooled with tears.

"I don't think we need any more apologies," I said. "Sorry's been said, and I accepted it. As you say, the problem is how to make it right again."

"Colette said that it hit you as hard as it did when Penny cut you off," she said.

"Yes, that's true," I agreed. "I simply couldn't believe it had happened again. I couldn't understand why you should behave exactly like she did, after all, even if what Penny believed I had done was true, what had I ever done to you?"

"You know that it will never happen again, don't you?" she said quietly. "I won't care what anyone tells me about you, I'll always know I can trust you, and you'll always be honest because that's who you are. The lies came from somewhere else. I won't be taken in again, not by her. In a way, it's made that solid for me."

"I don't mind you having suspicions," I replied. "It's remembering to talk about it. That's what counts."

"I don't think you'll ever give me reason to suspect you of anything."

"I need to be sure of that," I said, "and it will take time for me to be sure, but Colette said it was obvious to her from how I despondent and depressed I became when you didn't come back. I reacted exactly as I had with Penny, and Penny had been with me for over a year. You and I had been together only a week! She couldn't understand how I couldn't see it, since it was so obvious to everyone else."

"I'm sorry?" she looked puzzled. "Colette said it was obvious? What was obvious?"

"That I'm hopelessly in love with you Connie, and she's right, I am."

She jolted upright. "Graham, did you just say what I think you said?"

"If what you think I said is what I said, then yes, I did say that!" It was my standard response to that question, and I was starting to feel it was getting stale and time to give it a rest.

"Stop it, Mr Lawyer!" she reproved me. "Tell me again."

"I love you Connie."

"Again?"

"Don't push your luck! You heard!"

"After all the hurt I-"

"I wouldn't have been so hurt and depressed if I didn't love you so much. Look, you made a mistake. You've told me again and again how sorry you are. We forgive one another, it's part of being human, being a couple. It means we put it behind us and try to move on without it."

Guess what happened then? Yes, if there were tears in her eyes before, now she began to weep in earnest. What can you do? She was happy; at least I hoped so.

It turned out she was happy; she was smiling through her tears.

"I don't deserve you," she said.

"True," I said with superior smile, and seeing her outrage immediately followed by guilt, I hurriedly followed it with "For goodness' sake, Connie, stop this self-abasement! You've been through ten kinds of hell in London and after, and you've come out strong. I've not had anything like the suffering you've been through, apart from one failed love affair with your sister, which compared with what you went through in this fair city, was peanuts. So let's give the guilt trips a rest, eh?"

"I don't know about that," she said, "but I know I love you very much as well."

"It's just after two. Dinner is at seven. What could we possibly do to kill five whole hours?" I hoped my expression was suitably lustful.

At last, realisation! An open, guilt-free and knowing smile spread over her face. She stood, kicked off her shoes, slipped off her jacket, pushed down her trousers, unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off. Now she was in her cream lace bra and briefs, her suspenders and dark stockings, but there was no posing. She reached behind and unclipped her bra, allowing it to fall forward to the plush carpet, slipped off her knickers, bending to push them to her feet, when she stepped out of them. Then she stood before me, wearing a smile, stockings and suspender belt, and waited.

I smiled, looked her up and down as lustfully as I was expected to do, then surprised her by going to the bathroom and bringing out a bathrobe. She looked puzzled.

There was a knock at the door. She panicked and reached for the robe, which I devilishly snatched it out of reach. 

"Come in!" I shouted and gave her the robe, which she hurriedly put on, turning her back as the door opened and a waiter came in with a bottle of champagne and some nibbles to add to the petits fours on the sideboard. Perhaps he got the merest flash of a stocking top.




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 05



I passed him a ten bob bit (as the new fangled seven sided fifty pence piece was called then; it replaced the ten shilling note in 1969 two years before we went decimal in February '71) as an exorbitant tip and he grovelled his thanks, stole another glance at Connie, her used underwear strewn over the floor, almost managed to suppress a grin, and left.

"You bastard!" she hissed as the man left the room. She was bright red with embarrassment seeing her bra and knickers strewn about the floor with her other clothes, but she was laughing. She dropped the robe. "You need to be punished. Get to the bed and strip."

"Now bend over the bed and lie flat." she ordered after I had lost all my clothes, and my penis had already begun to rise. I did as instructed, laying my upper body on the bed while standing, thus presenting my backside to her. I twisted to see what was to happen. A woman dressed only in a garter belt and stockings was going to punish me somehow. Sexy!

"Lie straight!" she barked. "You have no right to look."

Again I obeyed. Then her hands were on my back, stroking down from my neck, thumbs on my spine and fingers on my sides. Over my bottom cheeks and down my thighs and calved to my ankles. Then up again, but this time her hard nipples pricked the back of my legs as she brushed them upwards over the backs of my knees and thighs. Now I was very hard and excited: it was an unbelievable sensation, especially as those sharp points got to my upper thighs and made their way over my buttocks.

I was just thinking If this is punishment bring it on, when her hand came down hard on my left bottom cheek. I mean hard. It was not breathtaking pain, but a sharp sting. I sucked in a breath.

"You do not," slap to right cheek, "Expose," slap! "me to people," slap! "bringing champagne," slap! "and nibbles," slap! "to our room!" 

The slaps came on alternate cheeks, each harder than the last; they really stung but were never unduly painful but certainly intensely arousing.

Then her body was on my back and her nips were spearing my back.

"Punishment over!" she said gaily, "Now I think you ought to see to me."

She stood, allowing me to climb onto the bed and lie on my stomach across the bed, adjusting my hard cock under me.

"I'm too badly injured to engage in carnal pursuits," I groaned. "I need medicinal treatment, can you open that bottle of medicine the man who enjoyed your underwear so much brought?"

She grunted, left and I turned over to watch her lithe naked form and especially her buttocks and snatch as she bent to pick up the bottle. She stopped and turned to me.

"How do I do this?" she asked, brandishing the bottle, which was dripping from the ice it had been steeped in.

"You don't know?" I asked.

"Daddy always did it, I never paid attention."

"Take the wiring off the cork, then put the napkin over the top of the bottle."

"OK," she said, doing it.

"Now hold the cork tightly through the napkin and twist the bottle until you feel the cork begin to rise, then let go the cork. It'll come by itself."

She did as instructed and with a muffled 'pop' the cork came out.

"Now pour," I said. "Put the open end of the bottle over the glass and tilt-"

"OK, smart arse!" she said with a smiling pout, "I think I can manage to pour it."

She poured and the fizzy, frothy wine overflowed the glass all over the tray.

"Oh!" she gasped.

"Oh, yeah?" I sneered. "So you can manage to pour it, eh?"

"You want punishing again?" she asked over her shoulder, affecting a snarl. Wonderful!

"Promises, promises," I retorted. "Just pour the wine, as I was about to say before Miss know-it-all interrupted - verry gently."

She scowled at me again, which I was finding increasingly arousing, then brought the glasses over to me, setting them at the side of the bed on the cabinet.

I got up and got two of the very large bath towels, bath sheets really, which I laid on the bed and over the pillows.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Lie back on the towel," I gently ordered her. She looked a little puzzled but did as I said, spreading her legs, expecting to be taken. I took my flute and knelt beside her, one knee between her thighs. She was looking into my eyes for clues, when I drizzled the chilled champagne onto one breast and into the valley between the two. She jumped and sucked in a breath.

"Fffss - Cold!"

"Oh, dear," I said, "I've spilled some on your tits. Here let me lick it off," and I immediately began licking and sucking all over her breast and in her cleavage, still holding the glass and spilling some on the other tit. She sucked in a breath again and began to giggle.

"How clumsy," I said, diving onto the wet tit and sucking off the wine. Then more fell on her stomach and into her belly button, and more slurping and sucking, digging my tongue into her naval. More gasps and giggles.

I finished by tipping the glass onto her bush and let it trickle down her crease, licking and sucking to make quite sure none was wasted. It involved licking her arse.

Now she was moaning and groaning as I made reparation with an active tongue and lips. As I reached my destination she lifted her bottom at give me access, while holding my head to her pussy as I suckled her clit. I continued to suck and lick until with a cry she convulsed.

When she recovered, she pulled me up to her to kiss me, looking wanton. Then pushed me onto my back and took her glass.

"I need a drink after that!" she exclaimed, with a satisfied but also devious smile. She sat up and took a drink, then suddenly, "Whoops!" and I felt a splash on my erect cock. 

It was cold!

I gasped and panted, and my soldier began to wilt with the cold. She dived for it, holding her glass level as she engulfed it and sucked me clean, going to my balls and perineum to clean them up as well. I groaned, and my cock regained its former glory.

She took a drink, and then engulfed my cock in her cold, cold mouth, I hissed and moaned and she giggled. She handed me the empty glass and then went to town licking up and down, pulling the foreskin back and laving the head all over. Then more sucking and bobbing, until I began to thrust up against her mouth, feeling the beginnings of my climax.

She stopped, climbed over me, aimed and sank, and immediately began to ride me hard. She made no effort to rub her sensitive nub against me to excite herself, instead sat up and rose and fell to give me maximum sensation and a superb view of her pitching breasts. It did not take long. 

She leaned down and said throatily, "Come on, come in me, lover. Come up me now. Give me your spunk!"

I came, feeling the come as it spurted from the end of my prick, feeling the contractions behind my balls squirting that spunk into her grasping cunt, feeling the wetness and hearing the squelching as she continued to milk me.

She fell forward and covered me, laying her whole length on top of me, and kissed voraciously, first my mouth then my neck, chin, ears, eyes and forehead. Then lifted herself off and to the side, with my arm round her and her head on my chest. So we lay for some time.

"Back where I belong," she murmured.

We drank the remaining champagne more conventionally and finished off the bits and pieces of food. 

Then we bathed together in the huge tub, and as we had back home, we washed each other all over, though this time we excited each other until she turned her back, bent forward onto her hands and knees, and her waggling bottom invited my insertion from the rear. I fucked her with long strokes and she fingered herself until we reached a satisfying though gentle orgasm apiece. The storm we provoked in the bath water sent it everywhere.

We mopped the floor with a towel, dressed and then explored the hotel, finding the restaurant, and checking our booking at reception for dinner that evening, after which we sat at a table near a window in the bar, she with a G & T and I with a Highland Park Malt whisky. We sat and watched the world go by, read a paper each, exchanging comments on the articles and then returned to our room to prepare for dinner for which we were expected to dress more formally.

During the excellent dinner, Connie remarked, "I used to pass this place when I was homeless, and the smells were painful for me. I was always so hungry! And now!" She said no more but smiled. From the amount she consumed at the meal I assumed her hunger had been assuaged, confirmed by her groan as she raised herself to a standing position after the meal was over.

We went to bed after the meal and lay in each other's arms, idly caressing each other, until I was hard enough to penetrate her, which I did from behind, spooning against her on our sides. We did not move much, we were too full of food, but the feelings were delightful and relaxing.

"D'you want to go up my bum?" she asked out of the blue.

"D'you like it like that?" I asked, surprised.

"Doesn't do a lot for me," she answered, "but a few blokes did me that way. They seemed to like it. If they didn't get me greased up first it was bloody painful."

"To be honest, I've never done it, and don't really feel any need to."

"Hmm, OK."

"Why d'you ask?"

"Well, you've done me from behind twice today, I just wondered."

"Do you like it from behind?"

"Sometimes. It feels different and it really excites me, but I like facing each other more. More loving face to face."

That was the end of that conversation. 

Soon I fell asleep, still erect and buried in her. I assume she did the same. When I awoke in the morning, we were back to back at each edge of the bed!

Thursday 14 January 71

After breakfast, I asked her if she wanted to do the usual tourist places, or perhaps shopping on Oxford St.

"Could we do that stuff tomorrow?" she asked. "I'd like to take you on a different tour this morning."

"OK," I said, wondering what she had in mind.

The day was cool but sunny, and well wrapped up we began a walking tour of the capital. It was not a normal tour as indeed she had promised. She took me to the places where she slept rough, where she was assaulted, where she went begging. We went to look at the squat where the girls had been 'passed round the men' as she put it. It had been cleared and was being renovated: workmen in hard hats and a lot of noise. 

The smell under some of the bridges and in some alleyways was overpowering, but she pointed out that there was nowhere to urinate for down an outs except in the corners of those dead-end streets. One had to beg for pennies to use the public conveniences.

She did not argue a case, she simply took me to different places and commented. 

"Joe gave me half a sliced loaf he'd pinched. He was nice, never tried anything, just liked sitting and chatting."

"George was insane. He did me over that bin over there. He was one of the bummers. Thankfully he had a thin prick. I was frightened of him."

"Mazy showed me this corner. We dossed down together, kept each other warm. She was nice."

"Got done by two of them in that alley. You've no idea the taste of a cock that's not been washed for months."

"This theatre was always good for begging, don't know why. I often made enough to get in a hostel for the night."

"Sally Army bring soup and bread to this corner every night. They're saints, those guys."

And so it went on, and I began to appreciate the horror of her life with greater acuity. When we got back to the hotel I undressed her, then myself, and I just held her in bed under the covers for an hour. She didn't weep, but just lay. 

After an hour she said, "Thanks. I needed that."

"Words fail me," I whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm glad you brought me. You were right. I needed to lay the ghosts. I feel much better now I've shown you. I appreciate how far I've come, and I really appreciate you yourself more as well. I still don't understand..." and she sighed.

Then she went to my cock and sucked me to hardness, then crawled over me and fucked me until I came. I did warn her, but she brought me off anyway. It was obvious she did not come. I pointed that out.

"I've very little to give you but my smiles and my love. I wanted to give you something without you giving me something first."

It brought tears to my eyes, that comment, and I pulled her to me, and she moaned and nestled against me.

Friday 15 January 71

The next day was sightseeing, and shopping. We did all the tourist places: Buck House, Westminster Abbey, St Paul's, Trafalgar Square, National Gallery, etc. It amazed me that she'd been in London for two years and had never been to half of these.

"When you're dirty and ragged, you don't go where the clean people go. They look at you with disgust."

Then she laughed. "That life is yesterday. Really!"

I got the double entendre: we did that tour the day before, and her life in London was past as well.

She hugged my arm, "I'm so grateful. I still can't believe what's happening,"

I booked the play at her 'begging' theatre, though I cannot remember what the play was. On our way out there was a young woman begging. I dropped her a five pound note. She nearly passed out when she saw what it was. Her ecstatic smile was a real reward. I got a squeeze from my girl as well.

A few late drinks in the hotel bar saw us off to bed. We were tired and went straight to sleep. Next day we were on our way home.

Saturday 16 January 71

We unpacked, loaded the washing machine, did shopping for the weekend, and bought ourselves a fish and chip supper, after which we relaxed on the sofa in the living room with the dark of the January evening outside. She was reading yet another novel, and I was doing the cryptic crossword in the paper.

"You were right," she said from out of nowhere.

"I was?"

"About London. It did lay the ghosts, and I do have a different view of the place. You said to trust you, and I'm glad I did."

"You'll always appreciate the little things, the ordinary things in your life, more so than the rest of us. You should get extra happiness out of every day. You are very positive, you know."

She hummed agreement which turned into a torrid kiss, which in turn led to shedding of clothes and some intensive action on the sofa, my mouth on her sex and hers on mine after which she straddled me, took her pleasure and gave me mine.

Sunday 17 January 71

Sunday was a return to normal life, ringing in the morning, cooking a Sunday dinner and then preparations for the working week. Everything was getting set for beginning a normal, routine life.

Normal routine life was indeed ours, and each of us appreciated it deeply from rather different backgrounds. Connie insisted on running with me every morning, and enjoyed and excelled at providing varied and often exotic dishes for our evening meal, which she called dinner and I still called tea. She was a talented cook, and I was very happy.

The name Roasburie was no longer bad news, not at all, I thought. However, in its malevolence it was not finished with me yet.

-- 

Chapter Twenty-three

One consequence of the exposure of the lying report was that Connie and Penny became much closer and spent more time with each other. I was happy that Connie was getting out and that now she had a sister to talk with as well as my friends.

What I didn't realise, of course, was what they were talking about and planning at that early time. I assumed it was girl stuff, and that I was well out of it. I had my male friends, of which Ian was the closest.

Martin Greaves and I also became drinking buddies. He was a little uncertain in view of our previous history, but he soon realised that Penny was well into my past and Penny's sister had completely taken her place. In fact it felt as if we were like brothers. 

Another consequence was a more careful watch over Mr Kieran Walsh. What were the chances of two lawyers in the Manchester area having the same name? I looked up the register. There were two Smiths as one might expect but only one Walsh. From what had been said, namely that he organised the PI to watch me, even if he didn't fabricate the evidence it was likely that he was scheming to do me some damage.

I confided to Zena what I knew. 

"Well," she said, "It's common knowledge that he thinks you're a womaniser, and he hates that. I think you're right to be aware of him."

"D'you think he'd fabricate a PI's report?" I asked her.

"I doubt it," she said. "Though if he were to do it, his secretary is completely devoted to him. She'd do anything for him, and she'd never tell a soul, so you'll never know for certain. It could be the PI, you could certainly make enquires there."

Monday 1st February 71

I arrived home to find Penny and Connie in the living room. Penny looked uncomfortable, as if she'd been caught out, but I wandered over to her and gave her a hug and kiss, before getting buried in Connie's arms.

As I emerged, Connie said she had news.

"Derek phoned to tell us that Dad was back home last Friday. We told him what mother had been up to, and he promised to help us."

I looked enquiringly. Help them?

She went on, "I phoned the house and Mother answered. I asked to talk to Dad and she put the phone down. We got back to Derek and he got through to talk to Dad. So now we're waiting for Dad to ring us."

I invited Penny to eat with us and Connie said there was enough for three, so she stayed. It was after nine and Penny had left to do her marking or lesson prep, when the phone rang. Connie nodded at me to answer it.

"Hello Graham," he said. "Derek phoned; said Connie and Penny wanted to talk."

"Yes, apparently Lucy wouldn't let Connie talk to you, which doesn't surprise me, in view of what she's done."

"Oh hell!" he swore. "What is it now?"

"I take it you left on business shortly after taking Connie back home?'

"Yes. I had to go to the States; just got back."

"It may interest you to know that after she left here, Connie made no contact with me for two weeks. It was a repeat of Penny's behaviour, but Connie can fill you in."

Connie then took the phone and gave a concise account of all that passed.

Then she listened.

"Yes, Dad, she'd got that doctored PI's report to discredit Graham..."

"You've never seen the PI's report? Penny was taken in by it after that engagement party, and that's why she didn't contact Graham. Mother showed it to me after you left, and I believed what I saw and I severed contact with Graham as well..."

"No, Graham proved it was faked, and once he'd shown us, we couldn't believe we'd been taken in..."

"Daddy, he didn't cheat on Penny either..."

"Daddy, he was so good. He showed us that the dates in the report were wrong, and then he forgave me for doing what Penny did."

More talking from Geoff.

"Really Daddy? Are you sure?"

More talking.

"OK, Dad, if your mind's made up. She ruined Penny's life with Graham and was trying to ruin mine. We don't want anything to do with her..."

"OK, 'Bye Daddy,"

She put the phone down and we went into the living room.

"He said he's had enough," Connie said. "I suppose he meant he was leaving her."

We sat looking at each other. There were mixed emotions - a marriage break-up is painful and uncomfortable for all the members of a family. After a moment or two Connie sat up and changed the subject.

"Graham," she said, "that's not all Penny and I were talking about."

"No?"

"No. It really is time now for me to be looking for a job. I feel terrible about living off you and I want to pay my way. I know what you're going to say - I keep house and cook, but really that's not enough for me. So I want to get a job so I can give you something back."

She stopped and looked at me expectantly.




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 05



Now the first thing that came to mind was an image of her fucking me senseless in the bed we now shared. I dismissed that as an argument: she had been forced to pay for lodging on her back too many times. I certainly didn't want to fall into the same category as those bastards who had used her.

The second thing was more realistic. She did not need a dead end job; she was far too intelligent and could do better. Perhaps...

"Connie, my sweet, you are highly intelligent. If you go looking for work you'll end up with a job that pays peanuts. Why not get some courses under your belt first and that'll open doors to better jobs?"

"But that means-"

"You would be working towards getting a job which pays well, rather than one at the bottom of the barrel," I pointed out. "Really, Connie, I'd feel better if you went that route. I don't want you cleaning hospital floors again."

She gave in reluctantly, and expressed her agreement by taking me to bed, leaving a trail of clothes all the way there. She was good at agreeing in various styles, and I was grateful for all of them. Mind you, I was sure she had an element of self-interest, judging by her determination to reach orgasmic bliss as often as possible before I surrendered to mine.

Tuesday 2 February 71 Candlemas

The next day she was at the library researching courses she could take. Then at night her father called her again and they had a long conversation.

"Dad says he'll make some enquiries about courses for me," she said eagerly when she returned to the living room. "Apparently he has 'connections'," and she giggled. Then became serious.

"He's tried talking with Mum, but she's obdurate that she's done the right thing. It's so sad: they've been together for nearly thirty years."

"Did he actually say he was leaving?" I asked.

"Well, no," she said, "but he said he didn't know if he could live with her after this."

Connie was so keen and I felt warm all over, and it got me thinking the unthinkable. We were so compatible: we were always touching, patting, stroking, hugging each other. We would kiss any time we passed each other, then kiss again. I wanted her and it was clear she wanted me. All the time.

Wednesday 3 February 71

I awoke to a fine sunny day though cold, we ran our miles together, had breakfast after a joint shower smiling at each other, and everything in life felt just fine. 

When I got to work I was completely distracted by thoughts of Connie. We were so happy and more to the point, contented with each other that I thought it might be time to commit more fully to her, even though really it was so soon after we had met - two months and a bit - but it just seemed right somehow. 

Then there were the problems we'd had thanks to her conniving mother. The spectre of my previous engagement still loomed large in my consciousness, and something in me wanted to leave things as they were, perhaps until well after Easter. Connie seemed happy enough as we were, and really, so was I; why tempt fate?

I needed to talk to someone and that someone had to be Zena.

I talked it over with Zena on the way home from work. Of course she had no problem with the idea.

"Look Graham, you've lived with her all the time apart from that silly break in January, which is more than you ever did with Penny. You say yourself that this relationship is completely relaxed, unlike that with Penny. It just isn't the same situation. There really is no risk here. I think it could only make your relationship deeper and even happier. I'd go for it. Ask her!"

Well, that was positive enough and I could see she was right: we were secure with each other and very happy. Anyway, she could always say no! I could propose on the Valentine's Weekend.

Then I had a thought, more a memory of the previous Valentine's weekend and a similar proposal to a Roasburie woman. Only a year ago! Suddenly I felt an irrational fear about repeating the exercise with another of the same family. No, I'd do it the coming weekend, the one before Valentines.

"Connie darling, Valentine's is a week on Sunday." I began.

"Yes, I know."

"Well, last year I proposed to Penny on Valentine's weekend. I feel it's cast a shadow over that romantic weekend for me, so how about we do the romantic dinner for two on this Friday, and make a weekend of it this weekend at home?" 

She got all dewey eyed at that, and reached round my neck, pulling me in tight for a kiss and pressing herself against me. "That sounds just fine," she said throatily. "I'm different from my sister, but I do see your point." I felt both hers!

That settled, it meant I would be able to get a ring - definitely no watches this time round! 

I decided on our favourite restaurant, Orchards, and booked a table for Friday, which, though fully booked for the following weekend, had plenty of tables for the week before. 

The restaurant held no significance for Connie who had missed the drama of Penny's second engagement party, and I was damned if I was going to be put off the place that had been my favourite for years and where I was known. 

Thursday 4 February 71 

I 'stole' the dress ring that Harriet had bought her for Christmas to get the size right, and took the lunch hour to select and buy a ring, with the option of returning it if Connie didn't like it. It was a solitaire diamond on a gold band.

I had no sooner arrived back at my desk when my phone rang.

It was Geoff. Roasburie. Could we meet for lunch the next day, as he had something to discuss with me. The girls had heard a lot more from Geoff, who seemed to have rediscovered his family. He didn't disappear on business trips as often, and we suspected, perhaps unfairly, that he didn't feel the need to escape the dragon any more.

Friday 5 February 71

"Penny told me something and it's given me an idea," he began after we had ordered and before the food arrived. I nodded by way of encouraging him to continue.

"Connie was round at her place and in the conversation Connie was lamenting she had wasted her time at university, and was only fit for menial jobs. She mentioned you had suggested she got some training."

"She's certainly intelligent enough," I said. "She's agreed to start looking at courses."

"It set me thinking," he continued, "but it would depend on what you think. She wouldn't go against your wishes you know."

"Go on." I was getting an uneasy feeling about the conversation.

"She could go back to Keele and finish her degree. She would need to re-sit first year exams, but I've been in touch with the university admissions - my company has funded a chair at Keele - and that seems quite straightforward, then it's two more years.  

"I would fund all her expenses and I was thinking of renting a studio flat where she could live. There are some brand-new ones on campus, I should know, my company has been involved with building the student accommodation. She's only twenty-one, and she'd have her qualification when she was twenty-four. It would open doors for her. What do you think?" 

My spirits sank. It was as I thought. I decide to propose to Connie; wedding bells in a year or so, engagement ring bought, dinner booked that evening for the proposal, and here was a ruddy great spanner thrown in the works. To say nothing of how reminiscent it was of Penny. As someone once said, it was deja vu all over again!

I was struck dumb. It had never crossed my mind for her to go back to Keele; I was thinking of secretarial courses and the like, done locally and of short duration. But this? 

I could see Geoff was impatient for an answer. He was so excited at his idea, he could not see any snags. I saw plenty.

"Geoff, I need to think about this. It's something that hasn't occurred to me. We're only just settled in together, and you will remember that there is a precedent for this which did not turn out well for me or Penny."

He immediately understood and looked dispirited, so I hastened on.

"Give me a little time to think it through. I'm not against it, don't get that idea. It could be very good for her, but as you say, if she even suspected I was not totally enthusiastic about it she would turn it down flat. You understand?"

He breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Yes," he said. "I hadn't thought of the parallel with Penny. I can see that will arouse uncertainty. Yes, please think it over - talk about it with Connie if you wish. Just know that if you both decide she goes back to University, I will pay for everything. It's the least I could do after the experiences you've both had at the hands of the Roasburies."

"Thanks Geoff. I won't take too long over this; if she wants to go she'll need to apply as soon as possible."

The conversation ruined an afternoon's work: I was lost in thought. Luckily I had no clients to see. The paperwork could be done sometime over the weekend.

I had thought that it was proposing marriage to her that was a risk, and Zena scotched that one. But this? This was a real risk. We would be apart for a week at a time or more, she would be back in student life with all its temptations. I would be waiting for the time when she put me off visiting her, or stopped coming to visit me, citing pressure of work. I vividly remembered when Penny was with Martin and was putting me off seeing her.

There might come a time when she would need to revise and would indeed put me off. How would I cope?

Could I refuse? Could I stop her furthering her own education? The point being that if I even seemed faintly uncertain, I was sure she would not go. I already knew the answer to that.

My spirits dropped as I envisaged that this could well be the beginning of the end of our relationship. I doubted we could survive the long periods apart, but I could not stand in her way. Nothing was ever straightforward with the Roasburies.

Then the thought came, should I propose anyway, and would this keep us together? After all there were people who stayed together when the husband worked away from home, sometimes for weeks at a time. They survived. Then another thought, and some don't survive: one or the other partner cheats. The strain of being alone for such folk was just too much.

Harriet arrived at my office.

"Missed you at lunchtime," she said brightly. "Zena said you're going to propose to Connie tonight. Congratulations!"

"Hold on, Harriet," I smiled. "First of all I haven't proposed yet and she might refuse me. Second I just had lunch with Connie's father, and he wants to send her back to Keele University to finish her degree for two more years."

"But? I mean... I don't follow."

"He's just got her back and he wants to do what's best for her. I have to do the same, don't I?"

"You think she'll go?"

"If I can convince her I'm completely in favour, yes."

"But it's just like-"

"Penny? Yes, back to being apart."

"You aren't happy though."

"What do you think? I can't help thinking she'll find someone else while she's there."

"But that would be so ungrateful!"

"Harriet, you can't base a marriage on gratitude. Gratitude is not enough."

"So are you going to propose?"

"The last time I proposed it lasted a few weeks before Penny was in Martin's bed."

"Graham!"

"Yes?"

"Please talk it through thoroughly with her. At least then you'll both know where each of you stands."

"I think you're right."

So Connie and I went out for a meal at Orchards, and after the meal, over coffee in the lounge bar, I began 'the conversation'. I would convince her to go, after all I was a lawyer: convincing people was a central part of my job!

"Your Dad took me out to lunch today."

She looked surprised and intrigued. 

"He was saying that you regretted dropping out of University."

"Yes. I do."

"It's not often you can put a mistake like that right."

"Sorry?"

"You can put that right. You can re-sit first year exams this coming summer and go back in October."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm with you."

"You can still be with me. The summer vacation is at least three months, and roughly a month at Christmas and Easter, that's five months out of the year. Then there are weekends. Lots of people who work away from home have far less time together. You can find out if courses have changed and spend the next few months revising."

See? Convincing arguments.

"I don't understand. Why d'you want me to leave?"

"I'm not asking you to leave. I'm asking you if you would like to finish your degree. You're more than capable. You've been looking for courses to follow here. This is better."

"But we've only just got together-"

"Hey, Connie, you wouldn't be starting second year until the beginning of October. It's April, that's... five more months together. The two years will only be fourteen months in all, actually away from home. You're only twenty one. This is too good an opportunity to miss."

Where did that come from? Even I had not thought of that one before!

"I couldn't afford to live, and you're not going to be paying for me."

"No I'm not, your Dad is. He wants to rent a studio flat for you, and pay all your expenses. He would love to help you and see you get a degree. Now that would  open doors for you. Think of the opportunities you'll have."

"Why are you so keen to get me out of the way? D'you want Colette back again?"

"Connie we have to trust each other. You'll be alone down there as well. Plenty of opportunity for a fling or two. Parties. Drinking. I have to trust you; you have to trust me. Don't forget, someone else betrayed my trust when she was away at College."

Silence. Had I swung it? 

I added, "When you love someone you want to do the best for them. I think your Dad's offer is too good to refuse. I can come and see you every weekend, or you can come to me, it's only three quarters of an hour on the M6."

"Is this why you took me out tonight, to persuade me to leave you?"

'Connie darling, I don't want you to leave me. I will miss you terribly, but we can get through it and together we can get you a degree. Who knows you might even go on to postgrad! Now that you could do at home.

I had not realised how insecure she was about us - about me. Time for the clincher.

"And I invited you to this meal before your Dad saw me. I had another purpose but this is more important."

"Go on, what was the original purpose of this evening?"

"I was going to ask you to get engaged, to marry me."

"And you're not going to now? Why?"

"Well if you remember I asked your sister to marry me when she was at College and within a month she was in someone else's bed. I thought you might like it better if you stayed free, and it'd be less painful for me."

"So you don't trust me." 

Wow, this was much harder work than I thought.

"I do, but I don't want to go through that again. We can still trust each other."

Connie was quiet for a moment. Then: "But you do want to marry me, and you'd wait until I finished at Keele?"

"Yes."

"Graham, I'm not the girl who dropped out of university any more. You've seen how I lived in London. I've grown up a lot; I know how much I have to lose, and I know I want you and only you. There are much more important things than parties and casual sex. So?"

Aha! Now she was trying to convince me! At this point I was glad I'd brought the ring along.

"Connie, we fit together so well. I know we've only been together a few weeks, but you are the light of my life. Will you marry me?"

"Yes of course I will. There's no doubt at all in my mind. I've been sure a lot longer than you have."

Different response. Very practical. Then I noticed the tell-tale moistness round the eyes. OK, she was emotional about it.

I got out the ring and offered it to her. Her eyes went wide.

"You brought it anyway! You are so Good! Put it on please?"

So I did, I slid it onto her finger and we were engaged.

"So," I said, "are you going to give Keele a try?"

"I will now I'm engaged. I want to do well for you."

"Ah! Sweet!" I simpered. Yes! I thought, metaphorically punching the air. 

She scowled, then gazed at her engagement ring with a soppy smile. 

Here we go again, I thought, ruefully, but this is different. She is different. I desperately hoped so.

--



Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 06



There are some things you don't need to know and this is one of them.

Before 15th February 1971, in Britain we had pounds '£', shillings 's', and pence 'd' (denarii).  12 pence in a shilling, 20 shillings in a pound.  We also had guineas – 21 shillings to complicate matters further. 

The penny was divided into 2 halfpennies (pronounced haypny), and 4 farthings (fourth-things). The latter was discontinued in 1960, it was hardly used even before that. 

Two sayings using the halfpenny:   
"You daft ha'peth!" = "You silly halfpenny (affectionate)!"
"Keep yer hand on yer ha'pny" = "Protect your vulva." (risqué) 



--- 

Chapter Twenty-four

Saturday 6 February 71
I did not fully realise how efficient, thorough, wealthy and influential Geoffrey Roasburie was, but I soon found out. From late Saturday morning (we slept in after a longer and more intense than usual carnal celebration of our engagement the night before), when Connie phoned her father to accept his generous offer, it was only two hours before he was back. 

He asked could she attend with him for an interview at the university first thing on Monday morning followed by a briefing to discuss whether to re-sit the exams in May, or wait for the re-sits at the end of August. Then they would do some flat hunting before returning that night. 

How did he manage all that planning on a Saturday? Or had he arranged it all before talking to me? That was thought-provoking. Was it just my now over suspicious mind? Well, that as well, but his name was Roasburie!

Connie was also rather taken aback at the speed of things.

"What do you think?" she asked me. "Should I go?"

"You've made the decision to go back. Of course you should go. You need all the time you can get to catch up, so the sooner you get started the better."

It then struck me that I had never asked her what she had been studying at university when she dropped out, though I had a vague memory she had told me, something about Social History?

"I never asked, or I've forgotten," I said penitently. "What were you doing at Keele?"

"I was doing English and Social History," she said. "I did OK in course work until Easter, but I failed the first year exams. I just didn't revise. My fault."

That night Connie burrowed into my chest wanting cuddles.

"I'm afraid," she said, quite plaintively, stroking my chest. She gazed into my eyes and she was right, she was frightened.

"Connie," I assured her quietly, "You are highly intelligent. You handled all your coursework well and you weren't even trying the last time. You only fell at the exams. This time you've got a strong incentive to succeed, and after last time and what followed you'll make sure history doesn't repeat itself. Listen to what they offer, you can't lose really."

"Hmm," she muttered, unconvinced, but settled in my arms and fell asleep, leaving me awake and wondering what the future held for us.

Monday 8 February 71
We were up early and forwent our run so as to be prepared for Geoff, ate a cereal breakfast and were ready when he arrived at seven. Connie was still uncertain and fearful. We hugged and I stroked her hair.

"Trust me," I whispered to her while Geoff looked on uncertainly. "Everything will turn out fine. This is your big chance. Go for it!"

She smiled kissed me fervently, and went with her father, who nodded at me with a glance at her: he understood. I nodded back but I could not read his smile.

I went to work, and to my surprise was able to concentrate, which was a relief after my poor performance the previous week. At lunchtime, taken this time 'on the hoof' as I sought to make the progress I lacked previously, all three of my ladies visited me to the envy of every male on the floor.

"Well?" asked Colette.

I raised an eyebrow, "Well what?"

"Did you?"

"Did I–"

"You know, come on Graham."

"Connie and I are engaged."

She squealed, loudly, hugged me and left.

Then Harriet: "Hi Graham!"

"Yes, we are!"

She was puzzled for a moment then broke into a grin. "I'm so pleased," she said and kissed me. Hard. "Good!" she said, and left.

I abandoned work in favour of a sandwich and a coffee, waiting for Zena, who, living next door, was last to arrive.

"Great, just great!" she said with a broad smile on arrival, "You're just right for each other." Then, "The other matter? Any news on that?"

"She's gone to Keele with her father for an interview this morning." 

Her face fell, but recovered quickly, and I understood her feelings, since they reflected my own. Zena and I thought alike on many things, which is why we got on so well together. We were like brother and sister.

"I think on balance things will be different with her," she said, and it wasn't just to encourage me. "She knows this is her main chance – with you as well as the degree."

"I think and hope so too," I replied, shrugged, and took another bite from my sandwich.

She ruffled my hair and left me to my lunch with no further comment.

However, it was clear the girls had been talking, for mid afternoon Colette burst in again.

"No!" she cried. "Graham, you can't let her go – it's a recipe for disaster. She'll find someone–"

"Colette, calm down. Look, she's not her sister; she needs this chance. If she finds someone else, that's life; I can't stop her taking this opportunity, now can I?"

"No," she said on reflection. "I suppose not, but I don't see this ending well for you."

"As I said, that's life. Que sera, etc."

She wandered off, subdued, leaving me to try to concentrate on my own work. While I might have sounded resigned, phlegmatic and unworried, I felt anything but. I could see a real prospect of history repeating itself in some way and it depressed me.

Zena made no further comment on the way home, which if anything made things worse. She could have said there was little likelihood of Connie drifting away or finding someone else, but she didn't, and so I was feeling depressed and pessimistic by the time I was seated at home with a mug of tea.

My feelings were not helped by a little subterfuge I perpetrated at lunchtime that day.  I went to 'Burns Investigations Ltd.' and showing my clerk's ID from the practice, asked if they had another copy of the investigation into Graham Proctor. Yes, they had two more copies.  I paid cash and took the document.

As I suspected, Burns's report had not been altered by them, and the dates all related to late spring and summer. What is more they included the day of the week each time as well as the date. The changes had been made after the report had been received. 

The false report had been professionally typed and had followed Burns's style, and I concluded that either the Dragon had commissioned an experienced typist, or it had been done by Kieran Walsh and his loyal secretary. It remained to check the machine Walsh's secretary used against the copy that Penny had left with me.

I would keep my knowledge to myself until I needed it. It came to me that while Penny's mother used the fabricated report, there was a good chance Kieran Walsh wanted to use the original to further his plans to sack me.

Connie phoned me from a phone box but only had time to say she'd be late, before the pips went. She did sign off with her love. I felt better just for hearing her voice.

I defrosted a stew, made some dumplings and settled to some work I'd brought home to catch up after my unproductive previous week. It was ten o'clock when I heard the key in the lock, and she bustled in, shouting she was home.

I emerged. She was carrying a large box, and Geoff was behind her with another.

"Hi, Graham!" he grinned. "I must be off. She'll tell you all the news. Bye!"

I returned the farewell, and moved to the kitchen to heat her food.

"Dad and I had dinner on the way home," she said, coming into the kitchen. I turned the gas off.

"Oh," I said flatly.

"You didn't wait for...?  Oh you did! I'm so sorry, darling." She came to me and hugged and kissed me softly on my lips. Go and sit down, I'll get you your dinner."

"Don't do the stew," I said dully, "there's too much for one. It'll keep till tomorrow. I'll make a sandwich. Go and unpack whatever it is you've brought home."

I saw her deflate. She had been full of her news when she arrived; now she looked disappointed and wandered off. I made a stilton and salad sandwich and opened a bottle of Shiraz, and sat to eat it at the kitchen table.

She came back in, her face creased with worry. I picked the bottle up as an invitation and she nodded. I poured her a glass and she sat down opposite me.

"Graham I'm sorry," she pleaded. "I didn't think you'd wait."

"It's OK," I said patiently. "So, are you going to tell me how it went?"

She glanced at my face before she began, much of her eagerness had evaporated: now she looked uncertain.

"I didn't realise how much influence Daddy has at Keele, it seems he was heavily involved with the whole planning and building of the new university buildings, and the alteration of the older ones, or rather his company was – though since it's his company..." 

She tailed off, than gained new energy.

"I'm reinstated on the same course and all my previous marks and assessments stand, though if I do any assessments before May and the marks are better, they'll supersede my old ones. Most of the books and material are still the same, though there are a few changes. I'm going to sit first year exams in May/June with the option to re-sit in August if I fail any elements, because they understand there's a lot to do before May.

"I've been assigned to a pastoral tutor, Doctor Desmond Franks, who is going to supervise me. He's a PhD, I think he's in the Maths department. I was surprised at how young he was: he's about your age. Nice man, I have to see him weekly since I'm in a different position from the rest of the students."

She paused and looked worried again.

"Graham," she said earnestly, and then stopped, looking uncertainly at me.

I nodded an encouragement.

"Well, I don't know how to say this, but Desmond said I should start immediately."

It was like a bolt of lightning. I'd suspected it in a theoretical way, but now it was real. I'd thought we would have a few months together before she left, but those hopes were now dashed. My face gave me away for she immediately looked distressed.

"I don't have to..." she faltered, "If you want..."

I knew what I had to say, though it was with a feeling of dread. "So when are you going?"

"Next weekend. Daddy wants to take me, but would you? I mean I'd prefer it to be you."

I started to get the feeling that 'Daddy' wanted to take over her life from me, and I wondered whether, like his wife, he thought she could do better for herself than shack up with me. I asked the question.

"Did you tell him about us – our engagement?"

"Yes." She said no more but her face showed my suspicions were right. This was the second time he'd taken her away.

"That bad eh?"

She shrugged. "I don't know what he's thinking, but he wasn't... enthusiastic. He said something about university might change my mind."

"And you said?" 

"I said I wasn't changing. You were all I'd ever want in a husband, friend and companion. He didn't say anything to that."

I decided to move on. "Where are you staying?"

"They've just built new student accommodation on campus, and some of them are individual flats. There were some just finished that will be offered in September, so they are vacant, and I've got one. Daddy's paid up till the end of the academic year, and if I still like it I've got the option for next year. 

"Daddy said one of the rules was that visitors were not allowed to stay overnight in the flats, so I said we'd have to look elsewhere because you would be staying over most weekends. He went and made a phone call and came back to say that married couples had an exemption, but since we were engaged, you could stay."

I privately wondered if that was a fiction, and my suspicions about Geoff's motives  deepened. Unlike his wife he kept his feelings in, and perhaps then he was able to work to get things done the way he wanted. I resolved it would pay to be more watchful around him. He was more clever and probably more devious than his wife.

"The boxes?" I inquired.

"Books!" she cried. "Lots of books, and stationery. Daddy bought me a typewriter, but I left that in the flat. There's course stuff from the English and History departments I've got to read."

She was so excited! Then she calmed.

"I'm just beginning to realise how much work there is to do to get on track. I don't think I'm going to be very good company until June. There's so much to remember: thank goodness Daddy saved my work when Mother wanted to throw it all away. He brought it with him this morning."

I shrugged. I already knew she'd have a mountain to climb. "I accepted that as soon as you agreed to go back," I said. "Knowing you as you are now, this time you won't be aiming to scrape through, you'll be going for gold."

She grinned. I was right.

Now it was coming home to me as well that our idyllic home life was going to change radically and in short order. In a few days she would not be living in my flat with me, and in the coming days she needed to abandon her usual work around the house, and get down to acclimatising herself to academic work.

"Connie, until the weekend you now have a job – your degree work. You work all day at it; we'll share other jobs as if we were both going out to work. Understand?"

"But–"

"No buts, Get started tomorrow. By the end of the week you should be clearer what you need to concentrate on. Look, from next week I'll be fending for myself, and that's nothing new, you know. What are you going to do for money? Is your Dad funding everything, or do you want an allowance from me?"

"We opened an account and he's paying into it every month. It's enough to live on, and that's all I'll need."

"Any extras–"

"I just ask him and he pays."

It's funny, but that statement really hit home. I'd been her protector, her carer, and I'd enjoyed her dependence on me. Now I felt rejected; in a way she'd left me that way as well and was now independent of me. I realised it was less her independence and more that I didn't like her dependence on Geoff: it just felt like a threat to me. 

However, I was powerless: I couldn't very well throw a tantrum, because there was no way I could support her at university. My money could not run to a flat for her, and there was uncertainty as to whether after dropping out she would qualify for a maintenance grant. In those heady days tuition was free.

As usual she read my face. 

"What's the matter, Graham?"

What to say? The truth, but crafted. I gave it some thought.

"It's a head and heart thing, really. Intellectually, you doing your degree is nothing but good, and your Dad paying for everything is also wonderful because it relieves you of worry. Everything is fine. 

"But emotionally? We're going to be apart, which is a wrench emotionally, and then your Dad paying for everything? Well, don't get me wrong, it's not about power, I don't think you can accuse me of exercising power over you, but I've enjoyed looking after you so much, I've enjoyed giving, and now your Dad has taken all that away. You are completely independent of me.

"As I say, intellectually that's all fine, but I can't stop the feeling of – well – bereavement. I can't do things for you any more."

Her face was a picture as she sought to keep up with my reasoning. She was working hard to understand, her brow was furrowed, and from time to time distressed. Finally there was a look of such love. She nodded.

"Yes, I can see that. And you're right, you never tried to run my life for me, in fact the very reverse. But you will be spending on me, won't you?  You'll come and visit me at weekends, so there's petrol [gas] to pay, more if you come and bring me home."

She used the word 'home' so naturally I smiled, and then she had to explain why.

"Of course this is home. Home is where you are, with you. Really, you know, looking back on life with my parents, I never felt truly at home. Dad organised my life, as he is doing now, Mum constantly made me feel ill at ease and rebellious. So this is my first experience of feeling completely at home, relaxed, safe and secure. You will bring me home some weekends won't you?"

Of course I would. Then I had another idea.

"The University Library Exchange system!" I said excitedly. "You can use Manchester University library during the vacations."

"Really?" she was intrigued. "Dad said I would probably need to stay at Keele during the vacation, but that's a better idea."

Another attempt to keep us apart. It was becoming clearer, though I still did not understand why.

"You've got a student ID card?" I asked.

"Yes, we got one while there. Now please, my darling, can we go to bed, I'm tired."

There was a depth to our love-making that night, though it was short the quality was different, as if her new status gave us a new relationship. The love felt deeper, more accepting.

Tuesday 9 February 71
Next morning we ran together, showered separately, breakfasted together and when I left for work, she was already in her room, and books and papers were scattered all over the bed and available chairs. She leapt to her feet and I got my customary hug and scorching kiss to send me on my way. It felt warming to see her dedication both to me and to her new academic life.

I said as much to Zena, who smiled. "She'll do you and herself proud, believe me, Graham, I don't think you have any need to worry about her."

When I returned home that evening, there was no dinner cooking, no appetising smells. I put my head round her door to see her hard at work.

"Hi, I'm home!" I said.

She started. "Oh hell! I've got nothing ready for dinner – tea," she grinned at that, then looked worried and apologetic.

"Don't worry," I said. "Carry on with your work, I'll do dinner." 

She giggled, I assumed at my use of the 'd' word. She came to me for a hug and kiss then returned to her table. "Thanks, I'm in the middle of something, and I don't want to lose my train of thought."

There was the stew from the night before which only need heating, though I would have to make new dumplings, the others were by now hard little balls which could easily have been used for golf.

The following night there was a vegetable curry ready cooking in the oven, and the rice was cooking on the hob, the table was set and there were mango chutney, onions and raita. The smell was enticing, but she was deep into reading. I went to change when I heard her alarm clock ringing and she was out in the kitchen draining the rice.

A hug and a kiss and we sat down to eat. I enthused about the curry which was delicious.

"My turn again tomorrow," I said.

"I can do it," came the reply.

"I know," I said, "but now you're working, it's turn and turn about."

She looked relieved and gave no further objection. I did steak and onions, with carrots, broccoli and chips. 

"Shall we go out to eat tomorrow?" I asked, implying that Friday was her last night; I had been out shopping for a little something for her flat.

"Can we eat at home?" she asked, "I'd like to spend my last night for a while here."

Friday 12 February 71
So we had chip shop fish, chips and peas. After the meal she disappeared to pack her books and papers into the boxes in which they came, while I washed up. Then she appeared in the living room in her baby doll nightie and no knickers.

We immediately had an early night, but got to sleep late. Nothing out of the ordinary; it was more about our feelings of deep affection and contentment with each other, and so it was gentle rather than athletic with periods of peaceful lying in each other's arms and chatting about the future.




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 06



"You will come and see me, won't you?"

"What do you think? Of course I'm going to be coming."

"I hope you will be coming," she giggled. "Every weekend?"

"Most weekends."

"Only most weekends?"

"Well, once you're settled into a work pattern I thought I'd come and bring you home. You could put some study time in while here. A bit of a change for you, and by that I mean our bed and your work table."

She made a little moan of pleasure and snuggled deeper into my arms. "You say the nicest things," she whispered. Her hand ranging over my chest and stomach and then further. 

"Oh!" she said, a grin in her voice, "Ready again?"

"I think we can manage it one more time, then we really need to sleep."

"OK."

After the one more time, I think we both fell asleep before I slipped from her, for she was still lying half across me when we woke to face the day.

Saturday 13 February 71
The flat was small. Big enough for one person to live comfortably, but small. It followed a predictable pattern: small hallway, a bedroom and a shower room off to the left, a living room ahead big enough for one sofa, a small dining table, floor to ceiling bookcase and a work-desk under the window. 

The kitchen was part of the room at right angles to one end, and small, very small. Two people would constantly be bumping into each other, and one could stand in the middle and reach all the surfaces. There was a small oven with a single electric ring on top, a sink on the adjacent wall with a light over it, a small fridge under the worktop on the third wall and cupboards above and where ever there was a spare foot or so.

The bedroom had a three-quarter bed, a dressing table and a wardrobe; nothing else would fit therein. The bathroom was in fact a shower room with a small sink and a toilet. It had a window, and an extractor fan.

We unloaded all her stuff and she stowed it before we went into Newcastle to shop for essentials.

"There is a student refectory," she said, "and when we were here last Monday the food was OK and inexpensive. I'll probably eat my main meal each day there."

We walked the campus which was quite extensive, unconstrained by a town centre, being out in the country. There was a good deal of building going on – student accommodation and what looked like staff housing. It was clear the idea was that the campus would be independent of the local towns. Connie was telling me how amazed she was at how much building had happened since she had been there for her first year.

She showed me the English and History departments, and the Maths building where her tutor had his office.

We ate in the refectory, and as she had said, the food was varied and well cooked. On the way back we called by the car on my request and I took out the transistor radio and an electric kettle and gave them to her.

"You might like a little background music," I said, "and the odd cup of tea."

She smiled and hugged and kissed me, "You think of everything," she said.

It takes considerable skill or protracted intimacy to sleep two people in a three-quarter bed. As a student I had managed a reasonable night's sleep (and a good deal of fun) sleeping with a girl in a single bed, but over the succeeding years I had become more demanding of space. It was just as well that Connie and I often fell asleep after coition in each other's arms, so after a short planning discussion, we agreed that having an intensive sex session was the best preparation for sleeping in such cramped conditions.

We undertook the activity with pertinacity and thoroughness, and indeed once we were exhausted by our efforts, we slept quite well. We resolved to practise more.

Sunday 14 February 71
I couldn't help but think about Valentine's Day the year before and all that had happened since, but the overwhelming emotion was thankfulness for Connie. So far life had turned out well. So far.

In 1971 Sundays were still quiet days. Shops were generally not allowed to open, and it was not easy to eat out. Pubs were open from 12 until 2 in the afternoon, but those that served food were few and far between and the menu was meagre. 

That Valentine's day we cooked the first meal in the poky kitchen: steaks, baked  potatoes and salad. The rest of the day was spent in each other's company, I was reading my novel and Connie was organising her work ready for the next day when she had lectures in English Literature and History. She was already reading round the topics to be covered.  

After a sandwich that evening, followed by prolonged hugging and kissing, I left her to her first week and drove home. A new chapter in our life as a couple had begun and stretched far into the future, at least I hoped so. Yes, my flat did seem very empty, and though she'd spent her time latterly in my bed, her bedroom seemed doubly so.

Monday 15 February 71
On Monday 15th February, Connie and the whole country were embarking on something new. The country was saying farewell to pounds, shillings and pence, and going decimal, and Connie was negotiating a new start on her degree course, working towards her re-sit. 

So it was back to the old routines that I followed before Connie broke into my life and changed things completely. Work every day, ringing some evenings, drinking with Ian and Martin, and visiting him and Penny, bridge on Thursdays and the odd folk night. 

We had agreed she would phone me on Wednesdays at seven. Her suggestion of a Wednesday phone call caused some reflection which Connie picked up: Penny used to phone at seven thirty on Wednesdays, I told her. Connie laughed at that and said that seven o'clock made everything totally different. 

In the same breath she assured me I was not only welcome but required each weekend without fail as long as I was content to read a book or bring some work of my own when she had a heavier burden of work, which was often in that period leading to her first year exams. If I wanted I could go over during the week as well. Gee thanks! I didn't.

It was a new routine to add to the rest. I had regretfully to resign from the ringers at my local church since I would be in Keele on most Sundays, but they asked me to continue to come to practices.

I organised things at work so that I worked longer hours on Thursdays, and finished early on Fridays. In any case, no client in his or her right mind would want meetings on a late Friday afternoon except in an emergency, so that time was usually spent doing routine things in the office, many of which I could do while I was in Keele.

I would drive down early Friday afternoon and arrive about three, letting myself into the empty flat. Connie had lectures or seminars/tutorials until four. We would eat at the refectory where we'd have fish and chips or omelette and baked potato or some such, and then it was work for the rest of the evening with the radio playing in the background. Saturday was shopping in the morning, work in the afternoon and a meal out in the evening in Newcastle, Hanley or Stoke, followed by a few drinks in the union bar.

On Sunday we would go for long walks, or drive to Cannock Chase or a Stately Home, taking a picnic lunchtime, which at that time of year we would consume in the car. Then more work in the afternoon and then I would drive back home that evening or occasionally (if we got lustfully entangled) early Monday morning. 

I noticed when we used the refectory or the bar at the university campus that she did not seem to interact with the other students beyond a greeting now and then. I asked her about it and she said she had been invited to join other students in the evenings, but her workload was so heavy she always politely declined their invitations. There were a few women on her courses who would join her for lunch, which she had made her main meal of the day. 

I had mixed feelings about that, but on reflection thought that if she passed her exams she might be able to relax a little in the following two years. I certainly admired her dedication to her work. It paid dividends, for her grades for participation and essays were very high. The written comments by lecturers praised her incisive reasoning and the evidence of her wide reading and life-experience. 

So the weeks flew by, and she did not in fact ever come back home for a weekend until the Easter Break. She spent the three weeks of that break either at home or at Manchester University Library, staying until the library closed on those evenings. 

She took a break over Easter Weekend and we visited my parents. The big difference between term time and the break was that we slept together each night in a decent sized bed, though she was usually too tired to do more than a quick hug before falling asleep, and she was out of bed early each morning for our run before sending me on my way and getting down to work, or coming with me to town to use the university library which lay on my way to work.

She always made my breakfast, and cleverly made housework her exercise every hour. I was lost in admiration. From time to time she looked worriedly at me, and I needed to assure her that I understood what was happening, and how much depended on her not just passing her exams but doing well in them, that our sacrifice was worth it – she was worth it. 

Then it was back to Keele and the final push before exams at the beginning of June. The relaxed parts of the weekends were past. She worked every hour she could, and I spent my time each weekend shopping for her, feeding her, and massaging her tension away. She would break every hour or so and either go for a brisk walk outside or come to me for a hug, sitting on my knee and kissing me voraciously, giving me a raging erection and then going back to work. Little was said but we grew even closer in the frustration and tension of that time. 

The only relief of tension for both of us came on Sunday morning early, when she would wake, make tea and come back to bed, when her hand would immediately make its way to my penis which had been growing in anticipation of imminent action. My hands would range over her sinuous curves, fondle her firm breasts and plunge between her open thighs to run the flat of my hand over her sex. Such was the frustration on both our parts that she would immediately pull me over her and into her warm slippery depths would I plunge my rampant cock.

There would follow heedless careering fucking, I plunging again and again into her, and she lifting to intensify her experience and ensure her clitoris rubbed against me. Sometimes she would pull me to one side and we would roll over so she could ride me, sometimes she would spin on my cock and present her back to me as she rose and fell, and sometimes she would disengage and ask me to take her from behind, me standing and hammering at her. Always, before either of us came, she would return to facing me, either her sitting astride or in missionary position so that we could watch the climax of our endeavours in each other's eyes.

A pause for a hug, a cuddle and a catching of breath and she would be up and out of bed, ready to carry on reading, sitting at her desk at the window in the nude, while I prepared a cooked breakfast on the little ring. I wondered if any of her male student neighbours across the quad were enjoying her display!

I would take my leave late afternoon, and she would always kiss and hold me, not wanting to let me go, and sighing with resignation at the inevitability of our parting. Then a hurried phone call on Wednesday at 7pm, which would suffice until once again I was in her arms on Friday afternoon.

When exams started, there was a change of routine. She phoned me in the evening after each exam, telling me how she thought it had gone, until we reached the second week in June and the last exam was in sight.

The weekend before that exam followed the usual pattern: we existed in the same pokey flat while she crammed for her last two exams, one on Monday and the other on Wednesday. On Sunday night we hugged goodbye but as usual she was still thinking about the work she'd just left.

"Last exam Wednesday," I said. "When are you coming home?"

"Thursday," she said. "I can't wait!"

"I'll get the day off," I said, "and I'll get here the night before. We could even go home that night if you want to."

"Hope so," she said. "The sooner the better. I've missed being there."

With that I left. She rang on Monday, and I told her I had taken Thursday off, and barring accidents or emergencies would see her on Wednesday.

As I said, it was my usual practice on weekends to arrive mid-afternoon on Friday – I think I said I worked very late on Thursdays to leave work early. There was no such luck on a Wednesday. I had to clear my jobs for all day Thursday before I left, and of course, leaving at six I hit the rush hour out of town. At least I had the foresight to cancel Zena, put my overnight bag in the car that morning, and was able to make straight for the motorway.

It was well after seven when I pulled into the car park and made my way to the flat. I let myself in and shouted "Hi Connie!" as I put my bag down in the living room. There was no reply: the flat was empty, but her bags were packed and sat in a corner of the living room.

I sat at her desk, got some papers out and set to review and annotate some contracts, and when I looked up it was after nine, and the light was beginning to wane, though the sun was still casting shadows over the quad. With sunset being now quite late, I had not noticed the time passing.

Where was she? Then I realised she must be out celebrating. However, I had said I would  be there on Wednesday evening, and I was miffed she had gone out without me. I went to the union bar in the hope of finding her there, but she was not. I had a couple of pints, ate two sandwiches and made some more notes – Wednesday nights were clearly quite slow in the bar, and being the end of term many students would have gone home.

It was nearly ten when I returned, expecting her to be there, but the place was still empty. I stripped, switched all the lights out and went to bed. I must have dropped off, for I jerked awake hearing the sound of a key in the lock. One o'clock!

"Thanks Des, see you next term. 'Bye!"

The door shut, the hall light went on, and then footsteps passed into the living room. They stopped. A muffled exclamation, and she came back to the bedroom, casting light into the room from the hallway. She stood in the doorway.

She was wearing her 'going out' dress, the short black mini dress. There was a necklace and earrings. Her hair was a little untidy. 

"Graham?" she ventured. "When–?"

"About seven," I interrupted.

"We waited–"

"We?" I cut in again.

"Well yes, Daddy was at a meeting here and he and Desmond – you know, my tutor –  took me out for dinner to celebrate the end of exams."

Daddy again.

"And you told them you couldn't go because I was coming over tonight, and you stayed in and waited for me."

She now looked uncomfortable at my sarcasm. "Well, we waited until six and then–"

"Connie, what time do I finish work?" I said aggressively.

"Er, five thirty or six." 

"So how I could get here by six?" I asked. It was a challenge, conveying my suspicions.

"B-but you finish early." Now her face showed worry: I was not the loving and forgiving fiancé she was used to.

"On Fridays I finish early. I work late on Thursday and there are usually no meetings on Friday afternoons. Today, as if you could forget it, is Wednesday."

"I–I'm sorry, darling, they wanted to celebrate the end of exams with me. I thought you weren't coming tonight, I didn't realise Wednesday would be different."

"Connie, I said I would get here, you know that. I even suggested we might go home tonight!" I sighed, as if defeated. "You coming to bed?"

"I'll take a quick shower first," she said. "Then I'll be with you."

She stripped off to her bra and knickers and left the room. Why leave those on? And why did she need to shower? How do you get dirty going out for a meal? Yes, I knew exactly why: to cover up the smell of illicit sex. Now I was really suspicious.

So she misunderstood about my arrival and went for a meal and a drink with her father and her pastoral tutor, though why her tutor should go along, I didn't understand: it bordered on an unprofessional relationship.

Her farewell to this 'Des' was off hand and brief, but that was at one a.m. Had she been at his place for an hour or two?

Then the thought arose that it was her father 'just happening' to be at a meeting on this particular day, and wondered if his meeting was a fiction, designed to interrupt our relationship. 

The tutor coming along was puzzling as well. Had Connie already made a date with this Des? I resolved to find out about that when she came back from her shower.

I must have fallen asleep waiting for her to return, for the next I knew the light was percolating through the curtains and it was seven o'clock. I rolled out of bed leaving her sleeping, which was unusual, since she invariably woke when I left the bed.

I put on my running gear and left the flat for a run in the rain. Connie and I had run the five mile circuit before, so I knew the way. 

I returned soaking wet but feeling awake and ready for the day. I took a shower and dressed, then went to the kitchen and made tea. I sat in the living room and waited for it to brew.

Connie wandered into the living room, nude. The shower must have awakened her.

"Morning," she said, "any tea?"

"Should be ready," I said. 

She went and filled the mugs, bringing them back and setting them on the table.

"Sorry about last night." she said matter-of-factly. "Stupid of me to go out. When you weren't here to greet me I assumed you weren't coming. It didn't dawn on me it was not like a normal Friday."

"It's OK." I said. "Have a good time?" My tone was heavy with innuendo.

"The meal was nice, then we went to a pub in town, which we've not been in before but we weren't drinking much 'cos both of them were driving. Then Daddy insisted we went to a club he knew of, so we could do a bit of dancing. I danced with each of them once and then Dad said he had to go, though I couldn't see why, we'd only just arrived. Des wasn't drinking and I'd had enough, so he brought me back. He lives on campus."

So, Daddy took them to a pub then a club and soon left them. What was going on with him? Was he pushing them together? Or was I simply being paranoid?

"Bit strange, your personal tutor coming along; how did he know you were going out with your father?"

She stopped dead and looked guilty. "I don't know. Daddy knows him – Dad went to university with Des's father, and Des arrived here at the flat with Daddy. I think Daddy must have invited him." She did not sound convincing.

Even more interesting. My misgivings about Geoff's motives grew again. It was difficult to know how innocent was Connie's part in all this.

I had not responded and she looked worried.

"Look, I really am sorry about this. I just didn't think."

"First time you've been out with your friendly tutor?" I asked and the implication was obvious.

She was flustered and then annoyed. "Yes it was," she snapped. "I can't believe you would think otherwise!"

"Really?" I countered. "You go out before seven, you don't get back until one. One, Connie! You say you were out with your father, but he's not in evidence when you say goodbye to Des at the door. I ask you if you're coming to bed and you go off, in your underwear to a shower. You take so long that I fall asleep and you do not wake me.

"I'm a lawyer, Connie, all that amounts to circumstantial evidence that something is going on between you and Dessy. Think about it and then explain."




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 06



She was still standing there naked, and it was clear I was not aroused. Now she looked thoughtful. 

"Oh God!" she said at length. "What can I say? Don't you trust me?"

"Should I? You know what happened with my last fiancée."

It was then, I think, she realised with clarity that it was not just she who needed careful handling. I was vulnerable in my turn and she needed a certain circumspection about her behaviour. Her eyes filled with tears.

"I'm so sorry," she said disconsolately. "I just didn't think. I promise you that nothing has happened or is going to happen with Desmond Franks. Until last night he was thoroughly professional, and even last night, while he did make a pass at me, it was very gentle, asking me to his flat 'for coffee', and I put him right about you and me straightaway. 

"I see how it must have looked when I wanted a shower, but it was hot in the club and I felt sticky. You were spark out when I came to bed, and I didn't want to wake you. You are driving today. That's all. My darling, you are all I need. You're my only love."

She looked at me with begging eyes.

"OK, let's forget it, Connie. It's one lost evening and I've got you for the long summer break. I got some work finished while you were out."

"I'll get dressed... unless?" she widened her stance nakedly and the implication was obvious.

"Shall we leave it until we get home?" I said. Somehow I didn't feel in the mood.

"OK," she said, subdued. "Shall we go over for breakfast now, or just get on the road?"

"Let's go for breakfast, but I think you'd better dress first." I smiled, and she looked so relieved at that smile!

We went to the refectory for breakfast so as to miss the rush hour on the roads. It was a silent meal: there was nothing to say, but I don't think either of us was uncomfortable. The rain was gently falling and the skies were universally grey.

The journey home was horrible, with rain and spray everywhere, and we were both glad to sink into the chairs in the living room with mugs of coffee and chocolate biscuits (the biscuits were on a separate plate, not in the mugs). Yes, I'm a pedant, comes of years as a lawyer.

Then, "Come on my lover," she said with an almost shy smile, "I missed you last night, and have a lot to make up to you."

An invitation I couldn't possibly refuse. She ran ahead of me laughing and discarding her tee shirt and miniskirt on the way. She was not wearing stockings, so the bra was unsnapped as she reached my bed, and she leapt onto it  and flopped onto her back with a happy, relieved smile. Irresistible! All my worries and misgivings evaporated and I was naked in no time, landing heavily next to her, rearing up at her side, and kneeling, I began to play with her ready breasts, dipping to suck and then stroke. She gave a 'yip' as I nipped her nipple and she pushed my head into her left tit as encouragement to more of the same.

As I nibbled and tweaked the twins, I could feel her pushing down her knickers, lifting her knees to slip them down. I took the invitation and moved over her, kissing down to her ready sex which gaped a little, and then allowed my eager tongue entrance to the furrow. 

Her unique aroma, and her slick valley were welcoming me and I gave her my tongue, up and down, in and out and around and around her little clit until she was yelling out her climax, her hips lifting off the bed and then flopping down, only to rise again as the pleasure took her and she cried and gulped and moaned. At her first thrash I lost oral contact, but she didn't notice. I substituted fingers and continued to extract orgiastic bliss until she begged me to stop.

"Ugh! Arh!" she panted, as she began her return to replete indolence. "Oh, you are superman! So full! So intense! Oh I love you so much!"

I was hard, very hard. My response to her admiration was to slip up her relaxing body, my hips spreading out her legs. Then I kissed her hard and at the same time shoved myself hard inside, deep and powerful, pulled back and thrust the full length in again and again.

"Ugh?" greeted my first invasion, then "Arrh!" at each assault on her feminine delicacy. I hammered on and on until she began to moan and groan as her feelings mounted towards another rapture and my gruff grunting signalled my own approach.

She squealed, "Oh my fucking pussy! I'm going over again! Oh you bugger! How d'you... You fuck so good!"

I simply roared, and ploughed onward to my flushing finish, ejecting my seed into her sucking vagina.

"That's it! Give me your fucking cream, cream me, make me sloppy with your lovely juice! Oh, my lover! You fucker!"

We collapsed. I held off her with my elbows, but had to fall off her and out of her, to lie on my back poleaxed next to her, staring at the ceiling. We were both panting with the intensity of it, and I had no words to describe how her body had felt.

She turned to me and crawled over me, her sex resting on my thigh, and her breasts pressing my chest, her face nuzzling into my neck.  I could feel her leaking onto my leg, but I did not care, indeed it was strangely erotic in its own way.

Her eyes were closed, and there was a look of peace on her face. Eventually she spoke.

"That was... I came like a train! What happened? You've never done me so violently before. Always so gentle, as if afraid I'd break. It was so erotic, so intense."

I did not know what to say. She did not seem upset. So I said nothing, instead I stroked her side and back. Then she was talking again, in a reflectively thoughtful monologue.

"I've had my share of being fucked hard, and it was always horrible and it hurt, but when you did it, it did hurt a bit at first, but I wanted more not less. I've never come like that before, it tore me apart it was so good. The harder you did it the better it got, and now I feel so full, to complete. I feel your love so deeply."

I felt I had to say something. I just let the words come.

"I don't know why I went at you like that, it just seemed to be what had to be done. I wasn't angry or anything like that, I just needed to do you hard. It was an intense feeling and I haven't felt anything like it before. I came harder, much harder than I ever remember. I wanted to get right up inside you, deeper and deeper. I don't know what's going on."

"It's not last night is it?"

That threw me. Was it? Was it resenting her father always taking her away? Was it the arrival of this tutor out of the blue, spending the evening celebrating with her where I should have been, and instead I was sitting alone in the flat? Was I in some primitive way taking her back – owning her?

"I don't know. I felt a lot of conflicting feelings when you were out, but once we were here at home everything felt OK."

"What were you feeling last night?"

I had dreaded that reaction. I didn't want to lie, but I wasn't sure of the truth.

"I didn't know what to make of your behaviour, and after Penny and Martin I had a sinking feeling you might be falling for someone else as she did. I know it's different in that you don't suspect me of cheating, but the fear was just the same."

There was a pause as she assimilated what I'd said and left unsaid: her suspicious behaviour when she returned. 

"Graham, I know you can't help feeling unsure of me, but I promise you solemnly I will not let you down. You are all I need, and you have all my love."

I knew she was being completely honest and was touched by her protestation of love. I was choked up, and could only squeeze her to me.

"I don't understand Daddy," she went on. "I told him you were coming, but he was so keen on taking me out. He said he had a reservation at the restaurant, and we'd be late. He said if you were coming you'd be there by now. And he had Des in tow. That was odd, now I think about it."

She paused in thought.

"All night he seemed to be pushing Des my way. It reminded me of home before I left."

"How?" I asked, intrigued, since I now suspected Geoff, like his wife, did not want me as a son.

"I remember at home the parade of 'suitable' girls that Mother and Daddy put before Derek, and the rows about Ingrid being foreign.  

"Then there were similarly 'suitable' boys for Penny, but she wasn't interested – she had her heart set on university and teaching, and she never brought boys home. In fact she hardly went out on dates at all – until you. 

"Of course mother never even tried to fix me up with a 'nice' boy, I was too wild, too much the slut in her eyes.

"I thought it was all Mother's idea, but Daddy never rejected what she was doing, in fact he always backed her up. How strange! He never struck me as a snob."

She lapsed into silence.

"Let's not worry about it," I said. "I think your Dad is just delighted to have you around and wants to see as much of you as he can. Can't blame him for that! Perhaps that's the only reason."

Neither of us were convinced, I could tell, but we let the matter drop. Our own lives were more important.

We went to Keele to pick up her results and of course she came out near the top in both departments. 

There was no sign of her personal tutor, or of her father, for which I was grateful and relieved, but found the absence of interest in celebrating her results somewhat puzzling.

---- 

Chapter Twenty-five

Looking back on our lives, how much do we really remember? Certainly not the minutiae of every day. We remember the routines we tend to follow day in and day out, after that it's special occasions and life changing events.

So in July and August we fell into the patterns we would follow during all her vacations. A run most mornings, breakfast, work, evening meal. Connie would keep house, shop for food, and voraciously devour book after book on her courses, making copious notes as she went. There were evenings in the pub, evenings in restaurants, ringing at church which she eventually tried herself and enjoyed. 

There were nights out 'with the girls' from which I was excluded. The girls were my three and Penny. While alarm bells might be ringing in your ears, my girls were very moral and I had no qualms about them spending evenings together and looking after Connie's virtue.

I had struck up a friendship with Martin, now Penny's intended, and we'd have our own night out in the local pub, sometimes with Ian who it seemed had ceased to play the field, had lost a lot of weight but none of his humour, and was courting a very pretty girl called Mina. Bridge nights were Thursdays until we gave it a rest during July and August. Connie went to Penny's on those Thursdays.

In September, after the schools opened, Connie and I took a holiday together, this time to Scotland. We toured the West Coast, and apart from a few sunny days, got thoroughly doused with rain most of the time. Hotel rooms varied from ultra traditional to sleek almost clinically modern, but the food was always good and often superb. I got to taste a good number of whiskies of which I'd never heard, so no matter what else happened, I was a happy camper! Connie eventually began to enjoy shopping without feeling guilty – after all it was Dad's money she was now spending and he had plenty!

Sex? Plenty on the holiday, each new hotel bed seemed to bring out the randiness in both of us, and for the rest we fell into a relaxed affectionate coupling three or four times a week. We always hugged, touched, kissed and stroked each other as we passed in the flat. We always sat together and cuddled while watching TV. 

We both enjoyed reading our books of an evening, content simply to be in each other's company. Morning and Night we always kissed our greetings and goodnights with caresses, which often strayed into erogenous areas and turned into more, making us tired in the mornings through lack of sleep, or morning enthusiasm.

All too soon the university term loomed and a return to our previous life, commuting from home to that tiny flat. We packed up her belongings, her books and clothes and set off for Keele.

It's strange how I was affected by this new term. I was now ill at ease about Connie. Looking at it logically I had no need for worry, but emotions don't work like that. As we drove down I wondered what was the cause of this distrust. There was the shadow of Penny's behaviour in a similar situation, then there was her father and a concern that he was up to no good where we were concerned, and finally her night out with her tutor, and her blithe 'See you next term'. 

When looked at like that, should I feel worse or better about her second year at Keele? Certainly there would be a difference from last term: this year she would have more time on her hands to socialise, and therefore more opportunity to find someone else, perhaps nearer her own age. That was unsettling, and it gave rise to a suspicious attitude, and a search for evidence of her straying.

We journeyed down on Saturday morning  and found the campus chock full of doting parents installing their offspring in their various accommodations. Cars were parked all over the place and we could not get near her flat. We parked in the large car park and walked to the refectory and grabbed coffee and toast, then returned. Connie spied a space near her front door and stood in it until I brought the car. Then we unloaded.

Thereafter we relaxed in her bed for an hour, if relaxation is the appropriate word. As we recovered from the excesses of our 'relaxation', she stumped me again. How did she know?

"Graham, you don't need to worry, you know."

"About?"

"About me. I'm your fiancée, I know you suspect Daddy of trying to wreck things. If he is, and I don't think so, he's not going to succeed. If I'm going out with a group I'll phone you. I can't see myself wanting to go out with anyone else, but again I'll phone you first. If I can't get through I won't go. I know you've been hurt by Penny when she was in Liverpool, I won't hurt you like that, I promise. Now, d'you feel a bit better?"

She'd summed up everything perfectly, and had seen my problem. How could I have any doubts after that? 

"Thanks Connie," I said, hugging her. "You're wonderful."

"Yes, I am rather!" she giggled. "I made a mistake last Christmas, and it still makes me squirm at how I behaved. I won't make that mistake again."

So there it was. My mind was at rest, and we settled into a routine. The weekly phone call on Wednesday, and weekends together. In fact she wanted to come home every other weekend, and since she had no lectures that term on Friday afternoon, she could travel up by train and arrive mid afternoon.

Christmas came, which we spent at my parents'. There was no trip to Chester, though we did send a card but did not receive one. Her father rang her on Boxing Day.

After he rang off, I had a thought. I asked her, "I know divorces can take a long time, but what's going on there? Is he getting a divorce? Do you know?"

She looked puzzled and rang back, asking her father if she could talk to Derek. After greetings and good wishes, she asked about the divorce. She listened, put the phone down and looked at me wide eyed.

"You'll never guess." 

"They're together and they're not going to divorce?"

She looked surprised, but nodded.

"Derek said Daddy couldn't face it after all these years together. He does love her and she makes him happy I think. He's still away from home a lot, and he told Derek that she's his anchor. It's only Penny and I who are at odds with mother."

"I think that it's she that's at odds with you both," I said. "Derek is a peacemaker, and you need one of those in every family, though I doubt he'll ever get through to her."

In fact Derek called on his way back home to Durham. We bedded the boys down in the living room and Derek and ingrid had Connie's old room: Connie was now fully ensconced in my, now our, bedroom. Derek told us that the parents seemed happy enough, 'rubbing along together' were the words he used, I think. 

So the Spring Term began (I don't remember 'semesters' being in existence in those days) and once again we settled into our semi-comfortable routine. This term she had tutorials on Friday afternoons so her weekends were shortened, though she kept coming every other week. In fact she 'came' every week, but in different beds.

It was the week before Easter, which I think was the last week in March '72, we decided on announcing the date of our wedding. We had talked it over and Connie desperately wanted us married as soon after she got her degree as possible, so we agreed on July the following year.

I collected her on Maundy Thursday for the Easter break, though as usual she spent most of the time reading and studying. There were also a number of phone calls from men and women fellow students passing the time of day with her. She had made friends this year, though at that time I knew few of them.

Back at work on Tuesday of Easter week, a new face arrived at my office, a pretty teenage girl, who I thought must be in sixth form. I was right, she was in upper sixth and mentioned that she was now able to vote, so she was eighteen. She was interested as a profession, and was using some of her holiday time gaining some insight into how a lawyers' office worked. She was spending a fortnight with us in the city, staying with an aunt, and had already booked a month in summer with a solicitor in general practice in Chester. Her name was Caroline Gresty.

I learned all this from snatched conversations when she brought the post each morning and collected letters for posting in the afternoon. She was a very pleasant and cheerful girl and certainly very easy on the eye. She had the shape of a teenager on the cusp of womanhood, with every pore of her body primed for life.

I wondered out loud to her about neglecting her revision to do this work experience so near her 'A' levels, but she seemed confident she had everything under control. Ah, the optimism of the young!

Now at the beginning of the second week, there was a change in her attitude. She became positively flirty, making comments about Colette and Zena and how they fancied me, and she could see why. Then wondered how many girls in the practice had 'had' me, and said she knew about Colette, Zena and Harriet. How? I wondered. Needless to say I remained tight lipped. 

She hinted that she might be available outside office hours, an invitation I pretended not to hear. Her skirts became shorter, and they had been pretty short before. She would drop letters on the floor and pick them up straight legged, showing her knickers, which were far from demure.  Yes, of course I got hard, but remained behind my desk.

Mind you, as soon as I noticed the beginnings of this change, and being suspicious by nature (that's solicitors for you), I told Zena, who suggested I should press her intercom button so that she could record the conversations. 

It seemed obvious that the girl had a crush on me, and equally obvious both to me and to Zena what she wanted. However she did seem to be unusually forward. The last thing I needed was a complaint about sexual aggression (from me, not her). It was just as well I did, because that was what I got.

Friday 14 April 1972
On the Friday that Caroline was to leave, Zena organised a little collection on our floor and bought her a necklace and earrings set. I was deputed to make the presentation when she came for the afternoon post.

She arrived with a broad smile (read 'the smile of a broad') in a very tight top clearly outlining her young breasts, being as they were unencumbered by a bra, and the shortest skirt to date, more a pelmet really.

As usual, since she had been to Zena first, Zena was ready when I pressed her button on the intercom. I said how much we had all enjoyed her stay with us; our floor would miss her and would like her to have 'this little memento' of her visit. She opened it, gasped and said I shouldn't have, putting on the earrings and asking me to fix the necklace, which I did with the minimum of contact, but which nevertheless elicited a sexy gasp from her. 




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 06



The sight of her young neck started a reaction which I would have preferred not to have happened, because when she turned and kissed me on the lips, pressing her body against me she must have felt my arousal. She smiled knowingly, then went to the door and locked it.

"I've wanted to do this since I met you," she said pulling her top over her head, and slipping off her micro skirt. She was standing in a scrap of dark blue lace and nothing else but a predatory look. Her body looked primed for sex.

"Caroline!" I shouted. "Put your clothes back on and unlock the door!"

"Oh, go on!" she said. "You've been staring at my knickers all week, and your prick has a stiffy. I want you. I want a man who knows what he's doing. You won't ever see me again, no one will know." Her hands went to her knickers, ready to push them off.

"Caroline, stop this. I'm engaged to be married, and in any case you're too young and this is a place of work. It's wrong."

At this she looked annoyed. "Graham, your cock is hard. You want me. I'm eighteen and an adult, don't be such a hypocrite!"

"Caroline, you just stripped naked, you're a very pretty girl and I'm a man, so my body's response is natural, but I don't want you – I don't want this." 

"You don't want me? Aren't I sexy enough for you?" she sulked with an exaggerated pout. I thought it was put on.

"Caroline you know exactly how sexy you are, but I love someone else and so, no, I don't want you that way."

"No one will know, your girlfriend won't know. We're alone. What d'you think your boss would say if I said you made advances to me? Touched me up? Fingered me?"

"First of all," I said doggedly, "I would know and therefore so would my fiancée. I don't keep secrets from her; we love each other. Secondly, I think you are straying into blackmail, and I'll have to take my chances on that."

"OK." she said with a sigh and another pout. "Here, have these as a souvenir."  She stripped off her dark blue lace and threw them on the desk. She really was very pretty in the nude; her skin just glowed. Down boy.

"Come on Caroline, please, get dressed."

She dressed, and with an angry scowl left the room. No goodbye.

Zena came in immediately. "Wow!" she said. "That was some seduction. Hey, I like the knickers. Yours?"

I laughed, and picked them up, spinning them round my index finger.

"Put them away, Graham. It gives the wrong impression to clients!" she giggled. I put them in my drawer.

"I don't suppose we'll need the tapes, but you've got them?"

"All safely locked away. As you say, she'll go off and find some young lad to fuck her eyes out and forget all about us. She had her bit of fun. It was just a teenage crush."

When I got home Penny was there and they both laughed as I told them what had happened. They did not believe me! 

"There's no need to make up stories, Graham," said Penny. "We both know how handsome you are and how good in bed!"

"It's true!"

They snorted.

Monday and Tuesday passed by and the incident was forgotten. Until Wednesday morning. 

Wednesday 19th April 1972
We were all appalled at the report published by Lord Chief Justice Widgery exonerating British Troops for massacring unarmed protesters in the Bloody Sunday demonstration. 

It turned out that for me, my own helping of injustice was about to be served on me, and it would certainly take my mind away from the troubles in Northern Ireland.

Mid-morning, the phone rang. It was Kieran Walsh, senior partner.

"Proctor, I want to see you right away. In my office."  

I thought his demand insulting, but that did not surprise me.

Mr Kieran Walsh, senior partner, during that week was the only partner of the three in the office.  Mr Patrick Jenkins was in London for the week, and Mr David Reich was on holiday. Mr Walsh of incriminating report fame was in sole charge.

Now I think I have mentioned that I had progressed well in the company and it seemed I was due to be offered a junior partnership, probably to stop me going elsewhere. It was rumoured that Messrs Jenkins and Reich were in favour, but Walsh kept vetoing the proposal. He didn't like me and to be honest I didn't like him either.

To be blunt he was a self-righteous little prig. I said prig, not prick. Though come to think about it...  Of course, I now knew he was Lucy Roasburie's brother.

He was a stiff shirt, very proper, with severe, rigid sexual morals. Further he lacked a sense of humour. He certainly did not approve of my association out of hours with three of the most attractive female employees, and made it clear he thought my morals (and theirs) were loose. 

He had a thin angular face, receding grey hair, large ears and bushy eyebrows which met in the middle of his face. His mouth at rest seemed to turn down in a disapproving grimace, as if he resented any happiness occurring in the world.

He asked me to sit, and began to tear my happy life to shreds. He made it clear he was not happy, but what was new? Was he ever? I wondered throughout the subsequent meeting if he saw a possibility that he could now get rid of me altogether from the firm.

"I have had a complaint about your behaviour with one of the ancillary staff, and the complaint is so serious that I'm afraid your position here has come into question." 

That seemed to give him some satisfaction for he grimaced a tight smile which instantly disappeared. "It's her family who've brought the complaint." 

He stopped and looked at me over his glasses, a technique I had become used to. He wanted to intimidate me into a grovelling apology. For what? I simply remained seated and silent.

"Have you nothing to say?"

"No, Mr Walsh. I haven't."

"So you admit it?"

"I understand that silence can indicate consent, but no, I certainly do not admit anything. I was merely waiting to find out exactly of what I've been accused."

"Don't play games with me, Proctor," he snapped. "You know you are in serious trouble. This time you went too far."

"So it appears," I replied peaceably, "but I still don't know what I'm alleged to have done."

"Would attempted rape be serious enough for you? Would taking advantage of the youth of a work experience girl? Would physically interfering with her after locking the door to your office to ensure no one caught you? Would pulling off her underwear and touching her intimately?"

"Yes." I replied. I just love answering questions accurately (and yes, pedantically). He was a lawyer, he should have seen that I had answered the question exactly!

"So you admit it?"

"No, you asked a question and I answered the question. You asked was all that activity serious enough for me, explaining as you did so, of what I have been accused. I answered that yes, it was serious enough."

"You're playing games. Not a good tactic in your position."

"Mr Walsh, the last thing I'm doing is playing games. I'm a little disappointed that you seem to have accepted completely the young girl's serious accusations as the truth."

"Your reputation in this company regarding women is well known. You are known to have an 'association' with at least three women in some sort of group hedonism which is most inappropriate in a practice such as ours." 

"Mr Walsh I think you've said enough. I would like to hear you say that outside the door of this office in front of witnesses. I'm sure the women concerned will be happy to sue you for slander."

"I don't need your impertinence. You'll be suspended pending a full enquiry into your actions. You will leave the building immediately."

"I need that in writing," I snapped. "I will not leave until I get it, and have responded."

"So be it. Wait in your office."

I left his office and went to mine, stopping only to see Zena.

"You know that thing we said might never happen?"

"Eh?"

"Caroline?"

"Oh, yes?"

"It has. I think she's lodged a formal complaint against me. Walsh has suspended me without once asking for an explanation. Once I get the suspension in writing, I'll write a reply and leave until he sees fit to reinstate me."

"But the tapes?"

"Will you hold on to them, Zena?" I asked. "That pompous little prig needs taking down a peg or two."

"You've got at least two really big contracts and one legal action pending. What about them?"

"His problem not mine," I said peevishly. "He was in too much of a hurry to get rid of me to even think about that."

"Ooh dear!" she grinned. "Someone's going to be in the shit and it ain't going to be you!"

The notice of suspension until an enquiry was held was delivered within the half hour. I replied with a complaint of my own that I was suspended without an opportunity to respond to the charges, which was against agreed procedure in our practice. I stressed that three outstanding pieces of work I had to leave behind were of the utmost importance and required urgent and immediate attention. Carbon copies to the other Partners.

I typed it myself and gave it to our clerk to take back to Walsh, asking him to ask if there was to be a reply. Walsh dismissed him with a gesture. As soon as our clerk returned with the news, I left the building, leaving the copies with Zena for when the other partners returned.

The inquiry would have to wait until the other two senior partners returned to the office, and then they would have to give me notice to attend. At least another week. I looked forward to the time off with full pay.

It would be good to be at home with Connie before I took her back to Keele at the weekend for the final drag to the end of her second year.

Well it wasn't – good that is. I arrived at eleven thirty, a good time for a cup of coffee.

"Hello!" my fiancée greeted me. "What's happened? It's not even lunchtime yet."

"I'm home until next week," I said. "I've been suspended by Walsh, subsequent to a complaint about me."

"You've been what?" she gasped looking startled, as well she might.

"That girl I was telling you about – the one who was flirting with me and then undressed in my office? Well, she, or her father or mother or some relative, has made a formal complaint about me, that I attempted to rape her or at the least was sexually aggressive."

Her mouth dropped open, her books forgotten. Then her face clouded.

"Did you do it?"

"Did I do what?"

"Did you make inappropriate advances to her?"

"Pardon?"

"You heard." Her tone was abrupt, accusatory.

I was astounded, then very angry. Connie believed I could have done it.

"Well, thanks a bunch, Connie. Great to have your support in my hour of need. Get on with your reading, I don't want to talk to you. I told you what happened on Friday."

"Graham, that was a typical male fantasy. That just doesn't happen. A young girl of her age stripping in front of a older man? Begging for sex? Don't make me laugh! So why don't you tell me what really happened to get a complaint made?"

I turned and walked out of her room and into the kitchen. She followed me.

"Graham you can tell me. Did she flirt at little too much and you made a pass at her? Felt her up?"

I did not answer. I put the kettle to boil and prepared the teapot and mugs.

"Don't be so childish. This is serious!" Now she was angry.

I looked hard at her. Serious? Too right it was: what was serious was that she did not believe me. 

I said quietly "Oh yes, Connie, this is very, very serious, and it's nothing to do with what happened at work.

"You've all but accused me of being unfaithful to you, by seducing a young teenager. Hell! Not just that but being a rapist! Shows how much faith and trust you have in me, doesn't it? So where does this leave us? In my view, nowhere. You have attacked my morals and my character at the most basic level. I think it's goodbye, Connie."

I was very angry but my own words surprised me. I could see the effect on Connie. She shivered with what I assumed was fear, perhaps realising how important this issue was, and how dreadfully she had failed me. There was also hesitation: she didn't seem to know whether she could trust me and believe my story.

"Graham, I..." 

"I think I'll take you back to Keele and we'll say good bye there. You won't be coming back. I can't trust my whole life to someone who thinks I'm a fantasist and a liar; you have no loyalty to me: you are unsure whether I'm a rapist, for God's sake! I can't stay with someone like that. So I think that it's fair we part. Keep the ring."

She began to tremble, then the tears came. "P-p-please Graham." No more.

"Please what?"

"I'm so sorry! It all seemed like a joke when you told us, but now I can see this isn't a joke. You mean she really did strip? Lock the door? You were being serious?"

"Yes. I'd have thought you'd have known me well enough by now to know I don't cheat. You've plenty of time to find yourself somewhere to live after university. I assume you'll have your flat until the end of next year."

"Please Graham, my darling," she said weeping. "Please don't send me away! I'm sorry."

"Too late, Connie. When someone in trouble turns to the only person he can totally rely on, he looks for support, loyalty, sympathy. He doesn't need her attacking him and accusing him. We're not married, but you've shown what might happen in the future if we were. You don't trust me. How can I trust you to be on my side after this?"

She sat heavily onto a kitchen chair, she was trembling with fear, and had nothing to say. She looked pleadingly into my eyes. 

"You need proof before you'll back me up? Before you can trust me? OK, Zena and I recorded each of Caroline's visits via the intercom. We have all the evidence we need to show her to be the liar she is."

"You mean you thought it odd as well? So it wasn't so surprising that we thought your story was a fantasy?"

I'd not thought about it that way, but now she said it, I could see that. 

I nodded. "All right, I'll concede that much, but that doesn't excuse your reaction. Your first response was to call me a liar and a sexual predator."

"I really am sorry," she whispered.

"Perhaps in something this serious, just saying sorry over and over isn't going to work. The damage has been done."

She gave a cry, got up, left the kitchen sobbing, and went back to her room. Then she emerged and left the flat without another word.

I shrugged. What to do now? Had I over-reacted? I had just told her effectively to get out. Was what she had done so heinous as to break us up? 

She was so lovely in her nature and physically beautiful, and so artlessly loving. I had thought after all we'd been through she would trust me, but her accusatory reaction came as a fundamental shock. No support, just an assumption that I must be at fault in some way. I knew I didn't want to lose her, but when push came to shove she didn't believe in me. Could I live with that? No.

I sighed. 

The thing about being suspended on a Wednesday late morning is that everyone else is at work. I was alone. Like Connie, I wanted to get out of the flat, but where to go? Not to a pub. Drink was not the answer. In any case being alone in a pub would  merely be emphasising how alone I was.

I did what came naturally to me. I packed a bag and a couple of novels, and drove into the hills towards Bakewell, coming across a hotel on Monsall Head, and finding they had a room overlooking the Dale and derelict viaduct, I booked in for one night. I sat in the bar and drank three pints of their bitter, before returning to my room, where I read half a novel, fell asleep, woke after half an hour and then thought things over. I went to the dining room and had a palatable dinner, then I went to bed.

Thursday 20th April 72
Next day I checked out, loaded my car, and leaving it in their car park, went for a long hike. After more rain and high winds than anyone wanted or needed in the first half of the month, that week the sun shone from a cloudless sky. Perfect and pleasantly warm. I did a circular hike of eight miles and had a sandwich at the hotel before driving home..

Did I feel better for it? Yes. Did it affect my attitude to Connie, yes. I had blown the whole thing out of proportion, though her lack of faith in me worried me. Now it didn't seem like a relationship breaker. 

I arrived home at five o'clock to find Penny in the living room, and no sign of Connie. Penny looked apprehensive.

"Can we talk?" she asked. "Please?"

"Of course," I said, sitting down. "You start."

"I've come to beg you not to finish with Connie. She's distraught. She came to see me after school. We talked and then she came back here, but you didn't come home. Honestly Graham, she's out of her mind with worry."

"Did she say what she'd done?" I asked.

"Yes, and she's well aware how horrible it was of her. I think it was the shock of you arriving mid-morning and telling her you'd been accused of molesting a teenager. You know her picture of men's characters is pretty poor: she told you what men did to her, and she was about the girl's age then. 

"I think she just felt it was her time in London all over again. I think she was afraid that while you were very good to her, deep down you might just be a predatory male like all the rest. She's still got a lot of damage to sort out even after all this time. Graham, it was the damage talking."

She sat forward while she spoke and remained on the edge of the seat when she finished. She was clasping and unclasping her hands as I remembered she did when she was anxious.

"Where is she now?" I asked.

"At mine. She came and stayed the night."

"The thing is," I said, "This is a serious complaint, and if it's upheld I will lose my job and I'll be blacklisted. I stand to lose everything – this flat, my car, everything. I won't be able to practise law. There's even a likelihood of the police being involved."

"But she said you've got recordings," she said with animation.

"Yes, as long as they're accepted."

"Oh."

"That's not the point, this was a matter of my livelihood, reputation and everything I have, and she was not on my side. Her first response was not to stand by me."

"Yes, I see that, but as I said–"

"Yes, yes, she has a history with men. By the way, those recordings will be admissible. It won't go beyond the hearing."

"Oh, I hope so!" she said. "So where–"

"Tell her to come home. You can say we'll talk some more. We'll get over it."

"Oh, that's a relief. Thank you so much. I don't know what we'd have done if you'd sent her away." She came over to me, sat on my knee, and planted a long and sensuous kiss on my lips.

"Careful, Penny!" I said when I got my breath back. "If you're not careful you'll bring out my inner predatory male!"

"Perhaps that might be a good idea?" she laughed. "Connie goes on about how good you are in bed, and I never really got the chance to try you out properly."

"You could always ask her to lend me to you," I grinned – I hoped lustfully.

"Fat chance of that!" she exclaimed with a pout as she stood. "She's so bloody possessive where you're concerned."

"I imagine Martin might have something to say about it as well."

"You've got a point there."

She pulled me up to see her out. At the flat door she put her arms round my neck, pressed her curves against me from neck to ankles and gave me another long and erotic kiss. I was getting to like it, a certain growing presence between us proved it and she knew it. Bad idea – good feeling. Mind you she'd obviously picked up a number of good moves since going with Martin, I somehow doubted it was banana man's doing.

"Go and rape Martin, young woman. I'm spoken for."

"Aww!" she laughed, giving my bulging trousers a caressing rub, and left. So forward!

As I wandered back to the living room, I wondered about Penny. She had certainly loosened up in the year or so since we were going out together! She seemed very free with her embraces and her kisses. Was she hoping...? 




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 06



No! She wouldn't do that to Connie, and if she tried it I wouldn't let her. Connie was my girl, and I hoped she'd stay that way. I also hoped she'd have a little more faith in me in future.

I was waiting in the hall when she came through the flat door. She saw me and stopped in the entrance. I held my arms out and she dived for me. There was a sob, a long and open-mouthed kiss and a hug that seemed to go on for ever. It was perfect, right, fitting. Then we went to the living room and sat together on the sofa.

"Graham–" 

"Hush!. You said everything you needed to say. I need to say I over-reacted. Penny made it clear to me that after your experiences with men it would have been surprising if you had reacted any other way."

"But Graham, we've been together now for over a year. You have never changed in any way in your behaviour. It just came out, and I knew I was totally wrong as soon as I said it, but it was too late. It couldn't be unsaid."

"I think it will take longer than just a year to heal those wounds in your life. So shall we start again?"

She nodded and came into my arms.

"There is one thing," I said. "Will you come with me to the hearing? I'll come and collect you from Keele. You'll need to clear it with the university. Tell them you are giving evidence at an enquiry."

"Yes, of course. Will I be giving evidence?"

"I don't know, but it might help."

I was surprised that we got back to normal so quickly. Mind you, the three hours we spent in bed after that little conversation certainly helped. As we lay exhausted, I told her about Penny, and she laughed.

"Yes, she told me when she came back. Got you quite excited, she said."

"She was asking about a threesome." I said with a straight face.

Her expression was priceless. She opened and closed her mouth but no sound came out.

"No she didn't!" I said with a grin. "What she said was, you keep on and on about my prowess, and she never got a chance to give me a proper test drive. She wasn't serious."

"I bet she was!" Connie replied. "Though she wouldn't have gone through with it." A pause. A giggle. "Perhaps." Another giggle. "I hope not!"

"So you wouldn't mind if she gave me a test drive – assuming Martin was agreeable?"

"Humph! He won't be! Of course, according to her, he's no slouch either. Hmm! That's a thought."  She gave me a wicked look. "Foursome? Swap?"

Now it was my turn to look askance. 

"OK," she said with a peaceful smile, "Enough jokes. You don't want that and neither to I."

I nodded. "You're right. That sort of game messes up relationships. I want to commit to you totally."

"And I to you, my darling," she said, covering my mouth with a torrid kiss, which led to a reaction and renewed activity, my fingers and her hand enhancing same, some excited sounds and eventual relaxation.

"There's no room for anyone else," she said idly, tracing my now deflating cock and licking her fingers lasciviously. I delved in her and sucked my own fingers with a lustful look, and we both laughed till the tears came.

"By the way," I asked her, "What happened to banana man? You know, her previous and it seems short-lived fiancé?"

"Oh, she said he didn't last beyond that night. Too much for him." She laughed. "Penny said she was surprised she didn't even miss him – she had too much on her mind. Mother was devastated and blamed you."

Now there was a surprise!

For the rest of the week, we enjoyed a local holiday. Nowadays I think they call it a 'staycation'. We went hiking, we had the obligatory whole day shopping in town, we did the art gallery and the museum, and we ate out at a different place every night. 

Sunday 23rd April 72  St George's Day
On Sunday morning I got a phone call. 

"Graham, it's Patrick. What's going on? I've got two rather irate companies wondering why you've left them in the lurch with no explanation."

"Hello Patrick. You've not heard anything from Mr Walsh?"

"What's all this 'Mr' about, Graham?"

"Mr Walsh suspended me last Wednesday pending a full enquiry. I was told to leave immediately. I sent him a memo by hand pointing out the urgency of the outstanding business with WJT, and also Furvottigen, but received no reply. You should get a copy of my reply via Zena."

"Sorry, Graham. Did I hear you aright? He suspended you? You'd better explain."

"You know we had a girl working here on work experience? Caroline Gresty?"

"Yes. Nice girl."

"Not so nice. She delivered the post and collected at day's end. We'd pass the time of day. It was fine at first, then in the second week suddenly she began to be flirty, and it got more earthy day by day. If you remember she finished the weekend before you went to London, and on that day she came into my office with a very tight top and very short skirt. Very short."

"Yes," he said with a laugh, "I remember the skirts. Who could forget them?"

"She offered herself to me. She locked the door, took off her top (no bra), and dropped the skirt, leaving her in her knickers and nothing else. I told her to get dressed, but she tried to get me interested in having sex with her. She's only eighteen for God's sake! I told her I was engaged to be married and I wasn't interested, flattered as I was by her attention. I then told her sharply to dress and go. She took off her knickers and threw it on my desk, 'to remember her by', dressed and left. She was not happy.

"On Wednesday Mr Walsh summoned me and told me that she had made a complaint against me to the effect that I had manhandled her and attempted to rape her, and when she resisted I took off her knickers as a souvenir.

"Mr Walsh did not ask me if it were true, he simply suspended me, citing the fact that I had three women in the practice with whom I was having perverted sex parties. I challenged him to say that outside in front of witnesses, but he told me to leave immediately. As I said, I informed him in writing of the outstanding work which needed urgent attention, but he did not respond."

"You understand I have to ask this, Graham. Is there any truth in any of this?"

"With the girl? No. With the coven of three women? Partly. When my ex-fiancée Penny broke our engagement I was shattered, as you might remember. Zena lent a sympathetic ear, and that was the only part of her anatomy she lent me: we have always been friends and only friends. I had a relationship with Colette for a while, which helped me. Apart from that, we meet weekly to play contract bridge. They will corroborate that. That's the extent of the debauchery."

He laughed. "I could see Colette 'helping' you over your loss! Any man would love her 'help'!"

"Since I met Connie," I continued, "and since we have become engaged, everything except the Bridge, and giving Zena a lift to and from work, has ceased, and Colette will corroborate that. I mean, Patrick, you know Colette! If I was cheating on Connie with Colette I think Caroline Gresty's story would have been laughed out of court, perhaps even by Mr Walsh! No, on second thoughts, not Kieran!"

Patrick laughed, then was more serious. "But it's her word against yours."

The statement was true.

"That works both ways. It depends on whether I'm innocent until proven guilty, but I'll tell you this, I do have proof of a sort that the girl is lying, but after how Mr Walsh treated me, I'm not saying what it is until the enquiry. He was crowing that this might get me sacked. He's always wanted me out of the way. I'm suspicious he's part of a conspiracy and I'm not happy."

"As you wish," he said. "I'll get a meeting sorted for as soon as possible this week. We can't lose WJT, and it'll take weeks for someone else to get up to speed on that. I think I can hold them. Furvottigen are more patient. Will we need Zena and Colette at the inquiry?"

"Yes, I think so, and I'm bringing Connie."

"As you wish, I'll inform you when the meeting will take place."

I took Connie back to Keele later that day and stayed overnight. I had to return on Monday to be at home when the phone call came. Connie was going to ring each lunchtime to find out if it had been arranged.

I did not have to wait long. The meeting was scheduled for Tuesday afternoon, at two. I collected Connie on Monday evening.

Tuesday 25th April 72
The meeting was held in the largest 'committee room', which had a large table that could seat twelve. Connie and I, Colette and Zena (complete with portable tape recorder) were already seated along one side of the table. Ann Fox, one of the secretaries, was next to Zena, and was to minute the meeting.

David and Patrick entered and sat at each end of the table. I wondered who would chair the meeting, I had no preference as long as it was not Kieran Walsh. They were followed by Kieran and a man I did not know. I looked for Caroline, but she was not there.

As the man sat down, there was a muted exclamation from him and from Connie.

"Mr Gresty!"

"Connie!"

"You know each other?" asked David.

"Yes," said Gresty, "My wife and I are friends of the Roasburies, Connie's parents."

David then made the introductions.

I looked at Connie, and saw at once she had made the connection and was now suspicious about this whole thing, and that in turn triggered my own misgivings.

Let's begin," said David. "This is a meeting to resolve the matter of Mr Graham Proctor and Miss Caroline Gresty. Is Caroline not here?"

"Caroline is still shaken up by the assault." said Mr Gresty. "Mr Walsh took her statement which he notarised." 

David picked up a sheaf of papers and handed them round. We all began to read as David read out the statement.

"This is the statement of Caroline Anne Gresty," he read, and gave the address in Chester, "who was employed here to gain work experience." He gave the dates.

"I was employed in the post room and attached at other times to Mr Jenkins to shadow him. One of my duties was to sort and deliver the post each morning, and to collect the letters to be posted that evening, to put them through the franking machine and take them to the post office.

"I used to enjoy delivering Mr Proctor's post at first. He would pass the time with me and ask me things like what I wanted to do when I left school, which university etc. 
But towards the end of the second week, he became more personal in his remarks, commenting on my hair, and then my legs and body. On the last day he presented me with a necklace and earrings and asked for a kiss. He pulled me tight and said he had to have me. Then he locked the door and put his hands up my top pushing it up and over my head. He fondled my chest, and then put his hand up my skirt and pulled down my underwear, saying he'd keep it as a souvenir. Then he touched me intimately. I begged him to stop, and after feeling me for a while he did stop and told me to put my top on and go.

"I left very upset, and went straight to Mr Walsh's office and told him what had happened, and he contacted my father, and told him there would be an investigation. Then I went home to Chester."

"This is my true statement of what happened.

"It is signed by Caroline Gresty, and witnessed by Mr Kieran Walsh."

David put down the sheet and looked to Gresty.

"This is a very serious matter," said Gresty, "and I want something done about it. At the very least I want this man's employment here terminated, and we'll be looking for compensation from your company."

"Mr Proctor," said David, formally. "Do you have anything to say concerning this statement?"

"Yes, Mr Reich, I do." I said. 

"Paragraphs one and two and the first sentence of paragraph three I can agree with. 

"From the sentence 'But towards the end of the second week...' onwards to the end, I'm afraid the only words to describe it are that it is a pack of lies."

There was an exclamation from Gresty. "Why you–"

"Mr Proctor, can you substantiate that remark?" said David, cutting across Gresty who had half risen from his seat. He sank back glowering at me.

"I am aware," I said, "that in situations like this it is my word against hers, unless there is proof from another source, but my word is that from the time she says I began to be more personal, it was in fact she who became personal. 

"She flirted with me, making comments about Colette and Zena here and how they fancied me, and she could see why. She wondered how many girls in the firm had 'had' me, and she knew about my relationship with Colette. 

"She hinted that she might be available outside office hours, and her skirts became shorter. She would drop letters on the floor and pick them up straight legged, showing me her underwear, and then smile.

"On the last day of her stay, Zena had asked me to present her with a little something the staff had clubbed together for. I presented it to her, and told her how much we had all enjoyed her stay with us; our floor would miss her and would like her to have 'this little memento' of her visit. She opened it, putting on the earrings and asking me to fix the necklace, which I did with the minimum of contact. Then she turned and kissed me on the lips, then it was she who went to the door and locked it.

"Then it was she who took off her top and her skirt. I told her in no uncertain terms to get dressed. She told me no one would know, and she wanted me. I explained that I am engaged, that in any case she was too young for me, and that such behaviour was wrong in a workplace.

"She said she would tell no one, then she asked me what my boss would say if she told him I had approached her. She used the words, 'touched up' and 'fingered'.

"I told her I don't keep secrets from my fiancée. And what she was suggesting was blackmail. I more or less told her to do her worst. It seems she has.

"Finally she slipped off her underwear and threw it on my desk. I told her to get dressed and at last she did. Then she left the room.

"That is what actually happened. So it's her word against mine."

"A likely story!" Gresty said with a sneer. "Why should she make something up like that?"

"That's what I'm wondering," I responded. "But I'd like to ask Colette and Zena and Connie to speak on my behalf.

Colette smiled. "Yes, Mr Walsh, Graham and I had a relationship. It began when his previous fiancée suddenly broke off her engagement to him and he was desolate. He would not do anything with me until then. When he met Connie, we immediately parted, and he's been faithful to her ever since. We know this because we see him everyday at work and we play bridge with him once a week."

Zena took it up."I looked after him when his engagement was falling apart, but we have never been lovers. He was with Colette. That's the sort of guy he is. Our friend Harriet was abandoned by her boyfriend after a long relationship, and we asked Graham to take her out and entertain her. This he did for three months without making any overtures to her. What we're saying is that he's a one woman man. Since he met Connie, he's never looked at anyone else. Connie?"

"Mr Gresty," Connie said, addressing him directly. "You'll know something of the story about Penny and what she did to him, no matter what story my mother will have spun on it. By chance Graham and I met in Bolton when I was being abused by my boyfriend, and that was after a hellish time homeless and living rough in London. I was undernourished and vulnerable.

"He took me in, gave me a room of my own, and despite my attempts to seduce him by way of a thank you, he would not agree. He said enough men had raped and assaulted me, and he would not be like that. I needed a friend not a lover who I had to pay that way for his generosity. He has very strong views about the abuse of women, so it is impossible to accept Caroline's story. From what Penny told me, Caroline is quite a wild child. I'll say no more."

"Oh, I've heard all about you Connie," Mr Gresty went on the attack, "living as a prostitute in London. Who's going to believe a whore?"

There was a horrified silence. Then Connie said in a small voice. "That's my mother talking. She hates me. I was never a prostitute. You know nothing about my life there, what it was like. Keep your accusations to yourself."

David looked at Patrick, and Patrick looked at Kieran Walsh.

It was Walsh who spoke. "What you have here is a statement by an innocent young girl still at school, against the story by a man who is quite clearly promiscuous, and who's brought this coterie of his women along to back up his story. 

"I have a little piece of evidence to add." Here, with quite a flourish, he laid Caroline's 
knickers on the table. 

"In your desk, Mr Proctor. In your desk drawer where you were concealing it. You forgot to take your little trophy home when I suspended you. You're lying. If she'd thrown them at you, you would have brought them to me. You hid them. I know we partners will have to discuss this in private but I also know who I believe and I definitely know what should be done." He gave the nearest thing to a smile of which he was capable.

David looked at me sadly. "Anything further Graham before we close the meeting?"

"Yes," I said. "Until that last outburst by Mr Walsh, I would have trusted you to come to a fair decision. However, Mr Gresty and he have maligned all three of these women as well as myself. So I need to produce some more telling proof. Zena?"

Zena touched the tape recorder and spoke next.

"When Caroline's conversations started getting risqué in the second week," she said, "Graham became worried. It was not the attitude of an 'innocent young girl' as Mr Walsh put it. So he asked if I would record what went on for his own protection. He would press my button on the intercom, and I would record the conversation. There is quite a lot of conversation, but it is the one on the last day which is germane to this meeting."

Here she pressed the 'play' button. The scene played out. As the situation became clearer and clearer, Gresty's face took on a look of puzzlement, then anger and finally disgust. Walsh sat impassive, not a twitch to show he had been bested, but then he was a lawyer!

"The lying little tart!" Gresty spat, then in a more conciliatory tone, "Mr Proctor, I'm very sorry you've been put through this. I can't think why she would want to do such a thing."

"Neither can I," I said. "She seemed such a pleasant girl – a bit precocious, but until the last day, a pleasant enough girl."

"I can," Connie broke in. "Have my mother or father been round at your place recently –  when Caroline was there?"

"Yes, they asked her what she was wanting to do after university and she said law. She told them she was looking for work placements before university." Gresty said, still clearly wondering what the relevance was. "They said they might know a few firms and asked her what type of experience was she looking for. She said business law and general practice.

"About a week later, Mrs Roasburie came round with the address of your firm and advised her to apply."

"Did my mother ask her to let her know if she was successful?" asked Connie. I admired her questioning technique: I thought she'd make a good lawyer.

"Yes, now you mention it. She asked her to go round and tell her."

"You could ask Caroline if my mother asked her to contact Graham for any reason once she was settled here." Connie said in a voice full of meaning. 

"I will, Connie, it's the least I can do," Gresty said, full of repentance. "Your parents told us you'd lived as a prostitute in London."

"They would," Connie said. "I was homeless, got beaten up, got raped, got used sexually in return for bed and board, even in Bolton. Graham is the only man I know who wouldn't take advantage of my dependence on him. He saved my life."

"I'm sorry." Gresty said and I could see it shook him. "But I don't see–" 




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 07



Chapter Twenty Six

Connie and I had a snack before I took her back to Keele. We said not a word about what had happened, though the subject loomed large in the car. When we had unpacked her, I was ready to drive back. She came to me and put her arms round my neck.

"Graham..." she hesitated. "I'm sorry. You know that? I mean about not supporting you."

"Yes, I know. Don't worry about it. When we forgive, we forgive totally: it's over."

She kissed me gently and with obvious love. "Stay for a while?"

I nodded, and she stepped back, pulled her tee shirt over her head, unsnapped her bra, dropped her slacks, kicking off her shoes. Then she gazed at me with that sultry expression of hers as she slipped her french knickers down her legs, her breasts jutting deliciously and wobbling enticingly. She stood straight displaying all her curves and nodded at my clothed body.

I made to untie my shoelaces, but she took my hand and led me to the bedroom, pushing me to sit on the bed. Then she knelt before me and untied my laces, removed my shoes and then my socks. 

"Stand up" she said, and when I did, she unsnapped and unzipped my trousers, pulling them and my briefs down to my feet, when I lifted each foot for her to remove them. She giggled.

"What?" I asked.

"You look funny in a suit, shirt and tie and a monstrous erection peeping out from beneath them." 

How easy it is to boost a man's morale! Monstrous indeed!

I shed the suit, then the tie, then the shirt. 

Once horizontal, she embarked on a tour of my body with her lips, completing it by kissing my cheeks, my ears, my neck, my closed eyes and finally my mouth. As we kissed I felt her hand grasp my cock and then velvet slickness as she pushed herself onto me, and me into her.

She moved. I moved until "A-a-h!" came her cry followed in short order by my own groan. 

"Only you!" she cried. "Only you my darling! Never again! For you! Always!"

It did not make much sense, but my throbbing cock was taking most of my attention, and I think she was saying she would never doubt me again. 

She fell forward onto me, measuring her length along mine, which she loved to do, my cock still in her though not as deep, and I could still feel her shivers from the remnants of her climax. There's no doubt, women have the best deal when it comes to coming!

There was a dawning realisation that her lack of support for me had affected her far more deeply than it had me, and that she was still quite desperate to assure me of her love and trust. She was still damaged by all that abuse, and her self-esteem still needed building.

It led me to say "I love you so much. You are the most beautiful person I have ever met."

She raised her head and looked at me. "Codswallop!" she muttered with a scowl. "Balderdash!" she continued. "Baloney!" she ended her refutation. "Don't you forget, you liar, that I've seen Colette!" She gave a grim smile of triumph. Then as an afterthought, "And Zena! Oh, and Harriet!" By now she was laughing.

"And your sister?" I smirked wickedly. Her face clouded. "Joke!" I said rapidly. "You're prettier than her."

"Than she?" She made to correct my grammar. A pedant after my own heart!

"Yes, OK, the verb 'to be' does not take an object," I said doggedly. "On the other hand if 'than' is a preposition, it takes the objective case – 'her'.

"But I was being precise as well. I did not say you were a more beautiful woman but person. You have suffered so much and you are still so loving, so thoughtful and caring. And you are very beautiful as well. I'm very lucky to have you."

She looked moved, but quickly regained her mischievous grin. "Is that all?" She asked.

"Don't be greedy," I said, then "OK, and you're a great fuck!"

"Perhaps, but I think I'm also a great lover." She looked smug, daring me to contradict her.

"That you are," I said.

"And so are you," she said. "And you're a beautiful person as well. I don't deserve you."

"I think we richly deserve each other." I said. This time she made no verbal reply but nodded her head. 

Then she said as an afterthought, "I think that 'than' is more a conjunction! Therefore 'she', not 'her'!"

I groaned. We left the grammatical argument there – a lawyer and an English undergraduate should know when to agree to differ. A conjunction? Nah! But I kept that to myself.

Wednesday 26th April 72

Next day I was in the office at seven thirty, with a bleary eyed Zena next door who had complained about my enthusiasm for work, but understood my need to get back in harness after the inquiry. I caught up on WJT's case for an hour or so, before phoning their Deputy Chief Executive and acquainting her with my progress. She sympathised with my suspension and expressed her relief that I was still in charge of their case, so that put us back on good terms.

At ten, our clerk informed me that a Mr and Miss Gresty were waiting for me in the foyer. I let Patrick know about WJT, and informed him of the Grestys' arrival. He said he would prefer to be present at the meeting, and I saw the wisdom of that.

We went together to the committee room and asked our receptionist to bring them them up. The door opened and two rather crestfallen people entered.

"Mr Gresty, Caroline," a smiling Patrick said in greeting. "Shall we sit over there in the comfortable chairs," gesturing to the three piece suite at the far side of the room. The Grestys sat on the sofa, while we took the armchairs.

"Madeleine," Patrick addressed our receptionist, who had remained in the room waiting to see if there was anything else needed, "Could we have coffee, please? Perhaps Pauline could bring it for us?"

"Certainly, Mr Jenkins," said the pretty young thing, and left us.

I was looking at pretty young Caroline, who was clearly terrified, and at Mr Gresty who was tight lipped and uncomfortable. I noted there was no micro-skirt in evidence: she was wearing a tee shirt (with obvious bra) and jeans. OK, I felt just a little disappointed – memories!

"Now," Patrick began, taking the chair, as it were, "How shall we start? Mr Proctor?"

Thanks Patrick, I thought, Drop me in it, why don't you? 

"I assume you've both been talking about the matter in hand?" I enquired.

"Yes, we have," said Gresty, "and I have to say I'm astounded at what I've learned."

Caroline looked even more frightened if that were possible – and it obviously was! 

"Good," I said. "I think it would be best if Caroline speaks for herself."

I turned to face Caroline directly. "Now, Caroline," and I gave her a smile which I hoped was reassuring, "This meeting is not about telling you off, or punishing you. It is a quest for information, so try to relax, you are no longer in any trouble."

She smiled shyly at the man before whom she had stripped naked. She sighed. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I feel so embarrassed."

"Don't worry," I continued, my intent being on relaxing the girl, "We're not going to go over what happened, we are looking for the reasons why it happened. That's what I for one do not understand. Do you feel up to telling us why you did what you did?"

She sat on the edge of the seat, nodded, and began.

"I know I've been stupid, but it was because of what I was told."

"Go on."

"Mrs Roasburie [Bingo!] came and gave me the address of this firm. When I learned I'd got in, I remembered that she'd asked me to tell her how I had got on, and I was so happy I went round right away. Well, we chatted away about my hopes, and then she said I could help her in a very important matter which affected someone's safety."

"Connie's," I said.

"Yes, that's right. Then she started telling me about you, Mr Proctor. I know now it was a load of lies, but then I had no reason not to believe her. Please, you understand?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "I think I understand very well. Do continue."

"Well, she said that you had ruined Penny's life. You had seduced her over some months while having a thing with a number of other women, and you forced her and... deflowered her. Penny was badly affected and it took her a long time to get over your attack. Meanwhile you were sleeping with three or four other women from work where I would be going. She said she had an investigator's report to prove it, but couldn't prove the rape. I didn't know–"

"Don't worry, Caroline, I know that story. Carry on."

"Well, she said you had now picked up her younger sister, Constance (that's what she called her) who was a prostitute in London, and you paid her to come with you to Manchester. She said you were abusing her, and using her for your pleasure, and she couldn't do anything about it. She said she feared for her safety."

"But you could do something?" I suggested.

"Yes. You were a respected lawyer in this firm and seemed a very nice man, but you covered up all this womanising and violence. The only way she could think of to save Connie and other women, was to disgrace you."

"You were to seduce me."

"Yes, she told me how to do it. Don't get me wrong Mr Proctor, I'm no blushing innocent, I've been around (sorry Dad). Mrs Roasburie knows my reputation. She said to ramp up the sex talk and the flirting over time, and then offer myself. She said you would jump at the chance to have me and then I could complain and get you sacked."

"But I wouldn't," I added.

"No, so I phoned her and told her it didn't work, and she said–"

"To go ahead anyway: they would always believe a young girl against a powerful lawyer?"

"Yes, yes! Exactly that! She said Mr Walsh would try to see to it you were sacked. Even if it couldn't be proved, the stigma would attach to you and in any case Connie would see you for what you were, and you might still be sacked."

"So because you had no reason to believe she'd be lying–"

"Mr Proctor, I may be a bit of a tart, but I hate men who abuse women. So I hated you. I wanted to bring you down. I'm so sorry." 

She looked woebegone and her father was shooting daggers at her.

"Caroline, you were lied to by someone in whom you should have been able to trust: a friend of the family. You were not to know you were being used. The iniquitous thing is that your written statement is libellous, and would doubtless have resulted in you never being able to practise law yourself. Your family could have been sued for damages after what your Dad said in front of witnesses."

At this the girl began to cry.

"Don't cry, Caroline, We all know this was not your fault, the real blame rests the with outrageous lies that woman told you. By the way, I will give you Penny's and Connie's addresses and you can find out from them the true story. 

"By a faked investigator's report and by destroying other people's letters, Mrs Roasburie broke up my engagement to Penny, then has been trying to do the same with Connie; this is her third attempt. She simply hates me, why, I do not know."

"I don't know what to say," she sobbed. "You were so nice to me, you were kind, even when I tried to..."

"All I'd say to you is that you learn from being deceived. I would also ask if you would act as a witness if I were to bring an action against her."

"That bitch? Yes I would," she said venomously. "She could have ruined our family."

"They are no longer friends of ours," said Gresty. "I can't understand the woman. She's delusional."

We sent them on their way, no doubt with a lot to think about and a sense of relief.

"You wanted to see me?" asked Patrick Jenkins. I nodded.

I had borrowed the 'investigator's report' from Penny and took it from my briefcase, along with the original report from our tame PI firm, and laid them on his desk.

"Have you time to read both these, side by side?" I asked him.

"Yes, I've no meetings until this afternoon."

I proffered the original first. It had the subject of the report – me – and the commissioning agent, Kieran Walsh. It was a carbon copy – that's how we duplicated papers in those days.

"He had you investigated?" Patrick asked. "Did you know about it?"

I shook my head.

He opened it and began to read. His brow furrowed. "This reads like a report for a divorce." He said. I did not reply and he carried on reading. Eventually he closed the booklet.

"What you need to know is that Penny broke our engagement shortly after Easter last year; that date is relevant to this, the second report." I invited.

He read the outer cover. There was now no reference to Walsh, and it was a top copy not a carbon copy. Then he began to read. After three pages he opened the first report and began to compare the two.

"Clumsy!" he muttered. "Ham-fisted."

Then he closed both copies. 

"I don't think I need to read any further. Enlighten me: for whom was this made?"

"You should know that Penny's and Connie's mother is the sister of Kieran Walsh. She's the woman who pointed Caroline to this firm. I don't know who had the report altered and retyped, but it was either Mr Walsh himself – he has access to our secretarial services – or Lucy Roasburie. 

"It was produced to convince Penny that I had in fact been unfaithful before Easter when Penny ended the engagement. It fooled Penny and then Connie. Fortunately I was able to show them that the report was a fabrication. 

"Now that the report has been exposed, there's been this attempt to discredit and ruin me using Caroline Gresty."

Patrick stared at me a while. "You'll leave the matter with me?" he asked.

"Happy to," I said. He smiled.

"That was a close call," he said. "You know that we would have had to take Caroline's word, or the practice would have been in danger of being discredited. That's life, I'm afraid. However, these two," he gestured to the reports, "would have cast a lot of doubt on the girl's evidence. All right, Graham, leave it with me, and I'll get back to you soon."

That evening I received a phone call from Connie.

"Well?" she asked. "How did the meeting go? Did you learn anything?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "I learned something all right."

"Go on!"

"Your mother–"

"Ah! I thought as much. Go on!"

"She painted a totally fictitious picture of the tragedy of Penny and me in which I raped her and turned her into a zombie or some such, continued to portray me as a womaniser who destroyed all Penny's confidence and made her a trembling wreck. I think I remember that she told Caroline that I had also fucked my way round the office. 

"Then you. I picked you up where you were plying for trade on the streets in London, and paid you to come north where I abused you and made you my sex slave. She was in fear of your life but unable to stop me.

"She told the poor girl that though she, your mother, couldn't do anything, Caroline could. The rest you know."

"The bitch! The fucking bitch! To use an eighteen year old girl to trap you by having sex with you! And the outright lies!" 

She paused, obviously thinking. "Graham? Does my father figure in this anywhere?"

"Not as far as I can see. I suspect he's been trying to drive us apart as well, though."

"Hmm. We need to talk about this at the weekend. You are coming here aren't you?"

"I'll see you Friday afternoon."

I then did a little research into Geoffrey Roasburie.

–- 

Friday 28th April 72

"What did you mean about Daddy trying to drive us apart?" she asked. We had returned after dinner in the University Refectory, during the whole of which she had fulminated about her mother. Now we were sitting on the little sofa in the flat with a glass of wine each.

"Haven't you noticed the coincidences?" I asked her.

"Boxing Day: could you go home immediately that day; you went and he disappeared, leaving you to your mother's tender mercies. A couple of days, you said. It turned into weeks, and would had been longer if Colette and I hadn't been at home on holiday.

"Keele, getting you in here so quickly within a weekend, then saying you were not allowed visitors in your flat overnight – I checked, there never was any such rule. Why would he say that if not to keep me from visiting very often? And don't forget he said you'd have to stay at Keele during the Easter Vacation to use the library.

"Your celebration meal last summer. He purported to be there already for a meeting; there was no meeting, I checked. Hurrying you out to the restaurant, then a club where he suddenly couldn't stay, but miraculously Des was there to make your evening complete, and if I remember, to make a pass at you – try it on and see if you'd fall for him. He obviously thinks you're easy after London."

"But... I don't understand." She looked perplexed. She was steeling herself to defend him, after all she did love him as daughters do love their daddies. 

I forestalled her.

"What about him separating from her?" I asked, rhetorically. "It didn't happen, he never made the slightest move in that direction.

"You said Derek told you they've been together a long time," I said. "That he finds life better with her than without her. Next time you pass a phone box ring home, see what happens. You can tell your mother the good news that you passed last summer and are going to pass this year as well.

"She hates me, Connie, you know that. Who knows? Perhaps it was a condition she put on him before she'd let him back. Get rid of Graham."

She was shaking her head, whether in disbelief or amazement at his actions i didn't know and decided not to push matters further. Time would tell.

Wednesday 3rd May 72

On Wednesday night she phoned. "I think you're right," she said.

"About?" I queried.

"Daddy. He was here yesterday. Invited me out for dinner and, low and behold, Des was there as well. Over dinner he told me you were losing your job after assaulting a teenager and wasn't it time to cut you loose? I don't think the Grestys have been in touch since the hearing. Anyway, he really put the pressure on to finish with you. You would have no job and would never be able to practise law again, and you might even have to go to prison.

"He left straight after the meal, leaving me with Des again. This time Des was more aggressive. He wanted me to start dating him now I was dumping you, and he tried to kiss me once we got back. I turned my head and he got my cheek. 

"I told him I was going to concentrate on my work and didn't have time. I didn't say anything about you; I didn't want it to get back to Daddy. 

"By the way I think you're right about Daddy working with Mother. I asked him point blank where he was living, and he had to admit he was back with her – no separation. He said she'd been proved right about you, and she'd only been acting in my best interests. 

"I challenged him on trying to break us up, and he said he only wanted what was best for me. You had turned out to be an evil man. There were better and more suitable men for me; I knew he was talking about Desmond. It was as good as an admission. I said nothing, I wanted to discuss things with you first."

At that moment I knew what we should do.

"OK, we talk at the weekend. You still want me?" I asked, pretty sure of the answer, which I got.

"You're kidding me? I want you more than ever. You're my rock, and I'm glad you're all i've got to rely on. I love you very much."

"And I you," I replied feeling all warm inside.

I was in for a shock the following Friday, and it delayed my arrival in Keele.

Thursday 4 May 72

On Thursday it was announced that Mr Kieran Walsh had decided to retire and would not be returning to work after the two weeks' holiday he was taking after the hearing. I learned the reason on Friday afternoon.

Friday 5th May 72

I was asked to a meeting with Patrick and David on Friday afternoon at 5.00pm, after everyone else had gone home. There was no way I could turn them down, and no way to contact Connie. I could only hope and pray the meeting would be short, and wondered what the agenda would be. I was pretty sure I was not in trouble, but you never know.




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 07



We met in the committee room, very formal. The two of them were sitting at the long side of the table rather than on the easy chairs and that presaged a very serious meeting. Perhaps I was in trouble?

"Come in, come in, Graham!" said David with a smile. I briefly wondered if he was breaking the Sabbath, then realised sunset was a while away. "Sit down there." He indicated a place opposite the two of them. I sat.

"As you know, Graham," said Patrick, "Kieran Walsh has resigned. You realise that it was inevitable after the fracas with the Grestys and that investigator's report, not to mention the near loss of two of our best clients?"

I looked surprised.

"He's been dissatisfied for a while with our running of the practice, and he is approaching retirement age," added David.

I must have continued to look puzzled, for the two of them laughed.

"I know the rumour has trickled through the office," Patrick continued, "that we were considering you for enrolment as a Junior Partner in the practice, and that Kieran vetoed it each time? Well, now he's no longer with us, we can make you an offer."

They both sat back with satisfied looks on their faces.

"This is a surprise," I said. "No, more of a shock really. Pleasant of course."

They laughed.

"Thank you both, I feel honoured you even consider me at my age."

"Graham, no false modesty, now," chided David. "You know you are too valuable an asset for us to let you go. We trust this will keep you firmly in the... firm?" and he giggled! Different!

"I never had any plans to leave," I said.

"Not now," said Patrick, "but there are some pretty big international law firms who could easily outbid us, and your reputation is spreading, you know. We are aware that feelers are already being put out. 

"You are an astute lawyer and the precautions you took in this last unpleasantness shows it. If we were in general practice, you would be thought to be too young to be offered a partnership, but in our specialisms you are more than capable."

"I've not much to invest," I said. "Buying my flat took up a good deal of my savings."

"I think we've got that organised," David said. "Kieran nearly scuppered us with WJT, but you came back and saved us, and now they think the sun shines out of unusual places on your anatomy. You saved our skins there, Graham. Furvottigen are delighted with your work on their takeover, so the practice has done very well financially, and it has enhanced our reputation and more importantly, yours.

"If you were a partner already, you would be getting a great deal of benefit from the profit, so David and I are giving you a bonus equal to that profit. We suggest you plough that back into the practice, and after that you can make up the rest in instalments."

"As a Junior Partner?" I asked. "Surely–"

"No, no!" said David. "Not a junior partner – with Kieran gone, we are offering you a full partnership to take his place."

That floored me. "Are you sure of that?" I asked. "I'm definitely very young for that; I'm a bit young for a Junior."

"Don't be so modest: we know what we're doing," said Patrick, affecting a scowl. "In any case the practice needs some young blood at the top. We were younger than you are now, when we founded this practice."

There was a brief silence while they looked at me expectantly.

"Well, I'd be a fool not to accept. Thank you both."

They both breathed a sigh of relief.

"You can move into Kieran's office on Monday," said David. "We can work out the legalities then, but here is some reading matter for you to go over at the weekend." He handed me a very thick folder. They both stood, and we shook hands.

As I walked to the car, I kept saying it to myself: A partner, a full partner! I hardly noticed the packed roads at the height of the rush hour as I made my painful way to Keele.

I arrived at the flat at a quarter to seven. I remembered the last time I'd arrived this late and wondered as I let myself in if she'd still be there. She was, but so was Desmond! I could hear them talking as I entered the living room.

I stood in the doorway. They were sitting together on the sofa. Connie glanced up at me and looked guilty. I said nothing, but looked at Desmond.

He addressed Connie, "What's he doing here? I thought–"

"You thought wrongly," I said to him abruptly. 

"But you've lost your job!" he said with surprise.

"Well, yes, but Connie is very forgiving, aren't you dear?"

"Graham?" she was puzzled. "You've lost your job? Is that true?"

"In a manner of speaking," I said. "Still want me?"

"You must be joking," Desmond intervened. "She'll not want you now, an unemployed disgraced lawyer? You'd be better just going back home."

"I think I asked Connie the question," I said with a certain amount of acid. "Well, Connie?"

She looked uncertain for a moment, then her face became firm. "Yes, my love, of course I still want you. But–"

"Can we leave that until we're alone?" I asked. She nodded.

"Ashamed of yourself?" Desmond asked. "An attempted rapist?"

"Not in the slightest," I rejoined with a smile. "On the contrary, rather pleased with myself. My fiancée still wants me."

Desmond looked uncertain. "You sticking by him even now? You realise your father will–"

"Disown me?" Connie said. "I couldn't care less what he does. This is my man and I'm sticking with him through thick and thin: this man saved my life. I think you'd better leave."

"If that's what you want," he said in disbelief.

"Yes, that's what I want."

So he got up, and pushing past me without a word, left the room and the flat.

Connie collapsed onto the sofa.

"You've lost your job?" she asked in distress, "but everyone agreed you were innocent!"

"Yes, they did," I said, "and I've only lost my job in a manner of speaking. It's not a job any more, I'm no longer employed. I'm an employer: they've offered me a partnership."

Now she was perplexed. "You mean the Junior Partnership?"

"No, a Full Partnership. I'll be a part owner. Instead of being paid a salary, I get a cut of the profits, broken into months, after expenses are paid out. I've got a folder here with the details. That's why I'm late: they called me in at five. Uncle Kieran Walsh has left the firm and I take his partnership. It's a huge step up!"

She leapt up, squealed and threw her arms round my neck. "My superman!" she cried, "You deserve it, you work so hard. I'm so happy for you!" A tight hug and a steaming kiss followed. 

We went to the nearest phone box and ordered a taxi, and we had a celebratory meal, with a good bottle of wine and then returned to the flat. I did ask her if she'd like to go to a club but she wanted to get back and go to bed. She added she was not in the least bit tired!

What we actually did when we got back was to open the folder and read the documentation. We were stunned. Now I knew how our partners managed to live comfortably in huge houses in the stockbroker belt of Bowden. As a salaried solicitor the practice paid me over twice the average national salary plus bonuses, but in an average year from now on, I would be getting eight times that or more! I would not be getting the full amount, because I would be buying into the partnership, but even so, I was in the money. 

We spent the rest of the evening celebrating in four different positions, in addition to mutually oral ministrations. She was right: she was not in the least tired.

Next day my lover and fiancée returned single-mindedly to her studies, for exams were looming close. She kept glancing at me and grinning! I read and re-read the documents until I knew them by heart. I would be jointly liable for any failures, bankruptcies, losses in civil suits etc. I would have the additional task of deciding on the bonuses and salaries of the staff in consultation with the other partners, as well as responsibility for some of the day to day running expenses and office management.

Monday 8 May 72

On Monday the announcement was made, and I was overwhelmed by the positive reactions of the staff, all of whom seemed to think it was a good thing, and at least to my face there was no jealousy or recrimination. 

Colette hugged me, Harriet hugged me, and Zena hugged me and said she was sad to be losing me as a neighbour. This seemed to be an invitation to the rest of the female staff, some of whom added kisses to the hugs.

As one of them said, "Now you're a partner we'll never get another chance!"

If I had not got Connie at home, I might have been disappointed at the prospect.

My stuff was moved into Kieran's office and I took up my new role. It was real after all; I was not dreaming.

–– 

Chapter Twenty Seven

Wednesday 10th May 72

On her Wednesday phone call, Connie was distressed.

"Dad has ordered me to break off my engagement to you. Apparently Mr Gresty has been in touch and Dad now holds you responsible for the severance between them. He won't believe you were innocent and reckons Gresty was paid off, and like all lawyers you've got away with it."

"I'm sorry, my darling," I said. "So what are you going to do?"

"You need to ask? I told him I would do no such thing," she said in some venom, "and he said he would cut me off financially if I refused to finish the engagement. He won't pay anything towards the flat here or my living expenses next year. But I won't give in, Graham. You come first. If I have to, I'll give up getting my degree."

The realisation came to me that we did not need Roasburie's money any more, thanks to my new position in the practice. 

"Connie," I said severely, "you'll do no such thing. After my promotion we can easily afford for you to keep the flat on next year and to pay all your living expenses. You carry on. Bugger him!"

I could hear her sobbing over the phone. "Oh Graham, what have I done to deserve you? I love you so much!"

"Come on, Connie, don't cry! We can do this easily. Just concentrate on your revision. I'll see you on Friday."

"OK," she sniffed. "You're so good to me."

–- 

I went to bed that night deeply resentful of the actions of her father, who originally I'd thought was on our side. It set me thinking and before falling asleep I had an idea. When I awoke the next morning, unusually the idea was still fresh and appealed even more. I looked forward to sharing it with Connie and getting her response.

So on Friday I arrived early and was waiting for her when she arrived. She hugged me looking a little frazzled.

"Desmond!" she said. "Won't take no for an answer. I told him I was not interested and he launched into a speech. I think my father had coached him! I told him your news and he was so stupid as to say you were lying! I mean, how could such a lie be sustained anyway?"

I kissed her, and then kissed her again. And again. At last she relaxed.

"You make everything right," she said as she hugged me, her head on my shoulder.

"Let's sit down," I said. "I've had an idea I want to run by you – see if you agree. And I've just had another as well!"

She sat down, and I sat next to her, turning towards her. She was all attention.

"I've had enough of all these sabotage efforts from your parents," I began.

"So have I," she agreed. "So?"

"I thought we might bring our wedding forward – as early as possible." I sat and watched her.

Her face showed it all. The idea percolated through, her brow furrowed and then the sun came out in her huge smile. Her eyes twinkled and she looked at me in admiration. 

"What d'you think?" I asked.

"I don't need to think. It's a great idea. How soon can we do it?"

"We can do it right away," I said mischievously, "but the marriage will take a little longer."

She laughed and stood up. 

"OK, I'll put it another way Mr Smart-Arse Lawyer. How soon can we get married?"

As she asked she began to strip, shedding her clothes one by one, blouse, skirt, bra, knickers, stockings, suspender belt. She ran her hands over her sides and up to her breasts, which she pushed together before standing with legs apart and running one hand down her stomach and cupping her sex, which she began to rub, looking her sultry best.

I stood and began to undress. "I thought end of August or early September," I said as I completed the manoeuvre by pushing down my briefs.

"Oh, yes!" she sighed, gazing at me, her glance roving from my feet where the briefs had fallen, slowly over my body. As her eyes fastened on my erect cock and then continued to appraise my stomach and chest, she licked her lips lasciviously and looked into my eyes smouldering with desire. I groaned theatrically, and she smiled with satisfaction.

"Yes," she said. "That'll give me time to get organised, but now stud, take me and roger me stupid!"

"Hey, less of the stupid!" I quipped.

"You know exactly what I mean," she growled. "Now do me."

She ran to the bedroom, her bottom swaying as she went. I was sorry it was not further to the bedroom: I could have watched that bottom all day. That flat was too small! We needed a stately home with a long gallery. What bliss!

She leapt onto the bed, lay on her back and spread her legs as wide as she could. Her sex gaped and it was obvious she was ready. I made to eat her, but she exhaled in annoyance.

"What part of 'do me' and 'roger me' don't you understand? Get that fucker into me and shag me senseless!" 

She lifted her legs over her body holding her thighs. Her vagina was open in an enticing 'O'. I crawled up her and she grabbed my rigid tool and lined it up. In I went, her velvet, slick, dark sleeve offering little resistance but a soft caress.

She rested her legs on my shoulders, and grabbed her tits, mauling them, and tweaking the nipples as she gasped and groaned. I supported myself on my straight arms and gave her the pummelling for which she was begging me. My balls slapped her bottom cheeks over and over, sensitising them. One of her hands snaked down and strummed her clit as her cries and shrieks demonstrated her immediate climax.

The feeling of a firm soft vagina rippling with an orgasm is exquisite, and in my case got me off. I froze deep inside her, stock still as I felt my cock spurting my seed into her, my balls resting on her perineum which twitched delightfully in response to my gift.

She dropped her legs and pulled me down on top of her, pressing me onto her satiated body, her eyelids heavy with repletion.

Still within her, we kissed gently. 

"You've no idea how wonderful it is to be taken hard and violently like that, by someone who loves you for ever."

"Even after your London experience?"

"Especially because of London, it's an immense difference. I love it from you."

My cock slipped out of her and I rolled off her to the side and we hugged.

"Are we really going to get married this summer?"

"We really are if you really want to."

"Oh, yes, I really want to. Really!"

The other thing? We needed to get her clear of Desmond Franks and with her agreement I sent a solicitor's letter complaining of Franks's attentions and demanding a change of tutor. I wondered if Roasburie might try to use his influence to prevent a change, but the University made the change without demur.

–-

June 72.

She did well in her exams and was on course for a first the following year. This time her father was nowhere to be found as the term ended, which was no surprise, but once she was back home, Penny, Martin, the 'girls' and my family were eager to congratulate her and to celebrate her success.

We announced our intention and of course all the females became a thoroughly efficient and energetic team for wedding preparations. We males were abandoned, which seemed to mean we were to keep out of the way unless needed in some ancillary rôle. Martin and I agreed it would mean spending much more time in the local pub. Opportunistic or what! and for once the females agreed! Satisfactory all round.

By the end of July, both Connie and Penny were on summer holidays and my mother completed a formidable trio always free to prepare. I was relieved to be sidelined as I settled into my new rôle at work. 

There were regular partners' meetings and a deal more administrative work which the other two were delighted to pass onto me! I also retained the reputation as 'fixer' in complex transactions, mergers and takeovers. For those early months I worked extremely long hours, but the women hardly seemed to notice.

At a partners' meeting in July, I let things get to AOB.

"Patrick, David, I'm getting married to Connie this summer. Of course you're both invited to the wedding."

The two of them were wreathed in smiles.

"Congratulations Graham," said Patrick, shaking me by the hand.

"Couldn't happen to a better couple," said David continuing the shaking where Patrick left off.

"I'm thinking of a Friday, possibly in September, so I need to give you notice of that. Are you OK with Friday? David?" (I knew he would not be able to attend on Saturday it being Shabbat).

"September? As long as I can get home by seven," he said with a laugh.

Patrick looked thoughtful. "Who else were you thinking of inviting from here?"

"We haven't finalised the guest list yet, but it will definitely be Colette, Zena and Harriet, probably John, my erstwhile clerk, some of the secretaries and possibly more."

"Well," David said, "if you're having it on Friday, shall we close the office, give everyone the day off with pay?"

"Good idea," Patrick concurred. "that way everyone gets to celebrate whether they get invited to the wedding or not."

"That's a brilliant idea," I said. "So any Friday in September would be clear – I've looked in the diary."

Connie and I made the decision that we would choose the venue for the wedding meal and evening disco, and found a hotel with a reputation for superb food near the Parish Church where we were now both ringers.

The hotel had every Friday in September free, for at that time most people still mainly married on Saturdays. The Vicar also said there were no other weddings on the first and eighth of September, and so Friday the first of September was booked.

At this point I must beg indulgence having come this far. The actual ceremony was the victory over all the setbacks, diversions and suffering that I and others had to undergo. It was the putting right of a good deal of wrong, and, I have to say, it was the best thing I ever did. So I'm going to dwell on that ceremony celebrated so many years ago. 

Friday 1 September 72

On Friday 1st September the sun shone all day. No really, it did! 

My best man was my younger brother Jack. He and I, along with Penny, Jane and Kitty, Connie's Bridesmaids, waited in the porch as the bells rang out inviting all and sundry to the service. The ringers were giving their services free, of course, and rang a very pretty touch of Kent Minor as we waited.

Her car arrived and Connie emerged from it and took the arm of Derek who would escort her to me in the porch. There are two things to note here. 

The most obvious is that Lucy and Geoffrey Roasburie were not at the wedding. They had not been excluded by anyone but themselves. The invitation had been sent, but they did not even reply. So Derek took the place of Father of the Bride.

The second is that Connie had decided with that firm jutting of the chin that brooked no refusal, that she would not be 'given away': she was no one's property. As she said, she had been treated as the property of a number of men who abused her, and she would never be property again. 

"And anyway," she added to me, "if anyone deserves to bring me to the altar, it's you."

It brought a lump to my throat. So we were to walk up the aisle together, with Derek and Ingrid (as 'mother of the bride') next, then best man and bridesmaids after them.




Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 07



The dress was white. "I hope it's not too hypocritical," she grinned, "but it symbolises for me that I desire with all my heart to come to you as a virgin and my regret that I'm not. Also it's my first and only wedding."

The dress was also modest, though it was very shaped to her delightful hour-glass figure which could not be hidden, nor would anyone want it to be. It fastened round her neck and was full length. She also had a veil which was over her face as she came up the path. This was a nod at David Reich, who you will have gathered, was Jewish.

The bells silenced, the organ played "All people that on earth do dwell" and it was good to hear everyone singing. When we reached the altar steps the vicar explained the significance of my raising the veil as referring to the story of Jacob in the Torah (I asked him to use the term Torah for David's sake) who was tricked by his father-in- law Laban into marrying his less pretty older daughter, Leah, when Jacob really wanted to marry the younger pretty one, Rachel. The vicar went on to say that all turned out well, since Jacob married Rachel as well, but that was why the groom lifts the veil – to check it's the right woman he's marrying!

He then added something I had not said, but Penny had told him. 

"I believe the older sister in this our story today, did go out with Graham, but is now spoken for! So there will be no surprises and I think Graham will be well pleased with the vision he receives as he now lifts the veil."

I lifted the veil up and over, and he was right, she was unspeakably beautiful. It was probably the makeup so expertly applied, in this case by Penny, but Connie had never looked as pretty as she did then, when I raised the veil.

The ceremony progressed according to the rites of the Church of England, the only surprise for me was that when repeating the vows after the vicar, she added "obey" which he had omitted, causing him to lose his place and raise an eyebrow, as well as a grin. Again, later she said it was an act of faith that I would always treat her as an equal and we would decide things together. She said I deserved it.

We left the church to Widor's Toccata, which was not as common as a recessional as it is today (the Royal Family didn't get round to using it for another eight years). The bell ringers rang rounds until everyone was outside in the sun, and the photos were begun. Then they 'fired' the bells, and went back into rounds, then 'fired' them again twice more.

Firing? The ringing master calls "STAND". All the ringers hold their bells up and when the tenor is up and still, he calls "FIRE". This is not an invitation to evacuate the premises. They ring them all together at once in a cacophony of sound, twice, before going back into rounds again. It is very dramatic, noisy and fun.

We had invited family and close friends to the wedding 'breakfast', and a large number of other folk, including all the staff at work and Connie's university friends, to an evening disco and buffet supper, so it was doubly gratifying to see many of the evening guests at the actual wedding.

Once in the wedding car we kissed 'properly', by which I mean using tongues, which would have been out of place in the ceremony, where our kiss was still thorough, but more suitable before the children present at the service.

I worried a little that her parents' absence would cast a shadow, but she was not in the slightest bothered, and all day her face was lit by a beatific smile. Again she explained to me that they had repudiated her and not just once, and she had lived without them long enough that their absence had no emotional effect at all. "Their loss," was her comment.

Derek took the rôle of Father of the Bride for the speeches. By common consent the absence of Connie's parents was not mentioned in thanking everyone for coming, especially Connie's aunts and uncles (though, like her parents, Uncle Kieran did not reply to the invitation), in any case it was glaringly obvious who was not present or referred to. 

The rest of his speech was short and loving, telling a few humorous anecdotes about Connie's childhood and teenage years, praising his sister for always being herself and for coming through her trials in London with so much balance and strength. Then he toasted us.

My reply was as short as his speech. I simply told the guests that Connie was the best person ever to come into my life when she did, and how loving and strong she had been. I praised her success, due to hard and dedicated work in her university course, and predicted a first class degree if she continued to shine as she had. 

Then we all toasted the bridesmaids. I did not single out Penny, since it would have been awkward for her with everyone knowing about our past.

Jack was a star, thanking me on behalf of the bridesmaids, and then launching into the most embarrassing account of my early sex life. There were things mentioned to ribald laughter that I did not know he knew. Finally he thanked Connie for 'civilising' me, and said he knew she would keep me under control for the rest of our lives. 

It came as a complete surprise to me and everyone, when Connie stood up. Everyone became very still. In those days, brides did not make speeches at weddings. She was brief and to the point, embarrassing me further. It went something like this.

"After my experiences in London as a down and out, and still in an impossible position in Bolton, I was an emotional wreck, and had no worth or self-image left. I have to thank Mary and her husband who brought Graham to me and literally, I am sure, saved my life.

"Graham took me in, cared for me and was so sensitive to my emotional needs. He was so careful not to replicate the behaviour of so many men in that horrible time. Then he introduced me to his family who long before this ceremony made me a member of that family, and made me so welcome. Thank you Mum and Dad, I'll be for ever grateful to you."

I looked over at my mother and father and could see how deeply her calling them 'Mum and Dad' had affected them. Mum had tears in her eyes and the widest smile, and my Dad was wiping his eyes.

Connie went on "As to my dearest loving husband, his contact with the Roasburie family has been a roller-coaster ride, but I hope at last that ride is over, because this woman is now a Proctor! I know I've made vows to you, Graham, in Church, but I want to say that from now on I'll look after you as well as you've already looked after me. I love you very much."

She sat down. There was utter silence, and I could see many in the room, men as well as women wiping their eyes. Then the applause erupted and the cheering, as Connie sat with a huge grin on her face as she looked at my own tear-stained face.

"Gotcha!" she crowed.

And sure enough, she had.

–- 

We consummated the marriage that night. She stripped off her wedding dress and showed me the pure white underwear set, all lace and gauze hiding and revealing at once. There was the obligatory garter in pale blue, which took my attention.

"Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue," she recited. 

"The garter is borrowed and blue," she said. "The undies' set is new," she said, proceeding to slip her thin knickers down, revealing under it a thong the girls had bought her the previous Christmas. "This is the oldest sexy thing I've got," she said almost shyly. She slipped that down as well. There was no suspender belt: the stockings were held up by garters (the blue garter was ornamental). 

"I borrowed the blue garter from your mother!" she said and cackled at my shocked expression, as I wondered when my mother last wore it (apparently at her own wedding)!

"Want to see my tits?" she asked. As if she didn't know the answer! She reached behind her in that deft way women have, sexy in itself, and uncoupled, letting it fell forward off her breasts. There they were, standing proud, nipples rock hard. 

"Your tits are so perfect in every way, and so sharp!" I said with admiration.

"Well then," she said. "Lose the clothes."

I did, and we did make love. No comments, no words at all from then. In fact little noise, for she spread her legs, knees bent, and I lay between them and we did it missionary style. I did her slowly and deeply with long thrusts until her hips told me it was time to hurry up, when I simply did the same gentle strokes but faster. It took longer but had a stronger effect on both of us.

She convulsed with a tiny squeak, her eyes tight shut, then open wide staring into mine: it was a challenging stare and it brought me off with a single grunt and a number of exhalations until I had emptied it all into her lovely body. 

My cock slipped from her and I rolled off her.

"That was very 'nice'!" she said, "You did it with consummate skill!" and laughed a throaty, happy, contented laugh at her own pun.

"A somewhat understated ratification but accurate," I said answering her laugh with my own. 

"You did it very well," she said patronisingly, "and nice in the sense of neat: I think it was another reference by you to my treatment in London, you made it as different an experience as it could be, didn't you?

"Yes. Guilty as charged, me lady. Glad you liked it." I answered with fake humility.

"Enough for tonight?" she said, kissing my cheek, then my ear, then my lips as she leaned over me, her tits threatening to pierce my chest.

"Do it again tomorrow?" I asked.

"You'd better believe it! Then as often as possible!"

Patrick had offered us his cottage in the Cotswolds, and thither we went the next morning, early before anyone was up, without breakfast. We were on our way south towards our honeymoon and the rest of our lives together.

End of Diary entries.

–- 

Forty five years on and I no longer need to beware the Roasburies. Penny married Martin and Connie married me, so neither of them was a Roasburie any more. That all ended forty odd years ago. The Dragon, her brother and her husband Geoffrey have passed on long since, as have my own parents.

Those older Roasburies: a sad story of an obsession which ended badly. Kieran Walsh was told Penny's break-up story 'adapted' by Lucy Roasburie. He saw an opportunity to amass some more information to discredit me which would help him rid the practice of my immoral presence, and commissioned the report, a copy of which he passed on to Lucy. Lucy had it altered without Kieran's knowledge when Penny obtained a post in Manchester near to my flat and Lucy feared we might meet and compare notes. Lucy did not realise Penny had taken the altered report with her.

Geoffrey eventually discovered the truth about Lucy's use of Caroline Gresty. It was the last straw for him and at last he divorced Lucy. The house in Rowton was sold and each of them moved into smaller houses nearer Chester but far from each other. 

Geoffrey made peace with us all. After all, his attempts to split Connie from me were mild compared with Lucy's. He became a doting grandfather to his array of grandchildren. He also married his much younger personal assistant, a very pleasant and pretty woman, who now, in her advanced years is a loving step-grandma. 

Lucy became increasingly bitter and never spoke to any of the family again, in spite of Derek's attempts at reconciliation. She blamed everyone but herself and went to her grave a sad and lonely woman.

Our children have gone their ways into the wide world, and we two sit in our living room, or should I say 'drawing room', in this lovely big old house. She is crocheting something and I am finishing this, typing on my laptop.

I lost Connie three years ago to cancer, and Martin succumbed to a cerebral haemorrhage eight years ago, so you'll have guessed that the woman living here with me is Penny. It seems the Roasburie girls can still surprise us.

It was Connie who ordered us to amalgamate our households,. She called Penny and me to our bedside. She was determined to die at home in our bed, preferably with me by her side. She was very weak, but her voice was firm.

"Now you two, I will soon be gone. I know Penny has always loved our house – she's practically lived here since Martin passed. So I want you, Penny, to sell up and move in with Graham. Bring any furniture or effects you want and Graham will get rid of some of ours to make room, won't you Graham?" She did not wait for an answer: she knew I would deny her nothing.

"Now be clear, I want you two to 'live together'. To be clearer, same bedroom, same bed. Penny, you know Martin would want you to do that. I've sounded out the children – both lots – and they think it's a great idea. 

"I don't want you just to be companions to mitigate loneliness, I want you to be lovers, happy together, and we all three know you will be if you do what I ask. I know you love each other. After a year or two, I want you to get married.

"This is my dying wish, my darling Graham, my lovely Sis. Will you do this for me?"

It came as a shock to both of us. We looked at Connie, who, bright eyed, was grinning her signature grin, full of love. We looked at each other, and we knew. We both nodded.

"Seal it with a kiss," ordered Connie, "a proper one – I want to certain you'll do it."

We kissed, a proper one, and it felt comfortable and right somehow.

Connie sighed and settled back. "Now I feel at peace," she said, and two days later she died. She got her wish, I was by her side. After a goodnight kiss and a gentle cuddle, I woke up next to her the following morning and she'd left me in her sleep.

Now, for Penny and me, after three years 'living together', same bedroom, same bed as instructed, it's time. 

December. 

The family will gather next week, and we will marry in the Parish Church where we ring, on Friday. Immediate family and closest friends only, and that will be a large crowd! The ringers will ring, at our request, with bells half-muffled, in memory of our beloved departed spouses. There'll be no firing.

Why that particular Friday? Penny insists on it. 

It's Friday 13th December 2013. 

Exactly Forty Five years on. 

Like the bells we ring –

Full Circle.

–-

END.

Coincidences.

This story arose from an experience of mine many years ago, which has always intrigued me, though I emphasise the real people were and are nothing like the characters in the story, nor is the fictional story anything like any of theirs. 

While a first year undergraduate I briefly dated a girl, let's call her 'Mary Proctor'. We found we had little in common and parted friends. Four years later I was doing my post graduate Masters at Liverpool University, and met another girl who was introduced to me as 'Ann Proctor'.

"Oh," I said, "I used to go out with someone called Proctor at Manchester."

She was intrigued, and further discussion revealed that Mary was her sister! This must have piqued her interest for she agreed to have dinner with me. 

'Ann' and I dated for some months before she went to Scotland to work. She was very different from her sister both in looks and interests.

About two years after my Masters course ended, a middle-aged colleague joined us and he and I were chatting. I mentioned I had been at Manchester and Liverpool Universities, and he said two of his nieces attended those universities. I told him I dated two sisters, one in each university, and that my two were called 'Proctor'. 

He was their uncle – their mother's brother. He was able to fill me in on their lives since 'Ann' and I parted, and as a result she and I began corresponding again and still do. My wife and I have met her and her husband regularly since.

Sometimes reality is stranger than fiction, though no stranger than the story just completed!