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The Viscounts Daughter

By: Kezza67



Andrea and Richard - A Saga

Authors note: Any sexual congress described in this story is between consenting adults who are older than eighteen. 

CHAPTER 1 - RICHARD

The first drops splattered my goggles; the rain that had been threatening all day had ceased being a threat and was now to become reality. It was one of those typical English summer days with the early morning promising blue skies and sun. At midday small clouds flirted in the slight breeze and by mid-afternoon the clouds gathered and roiled; dark grey and angry in the sky. I could hear thunder, but there was no flash of lightening to give some idea of its distance. 

The pleasant warmth of the day became a humid cloying heat. I sighed heavily knowing I would probably be soaked long before I arrived home. I had a choice. I could stop and shelter under one of the trees that infrequently lined the lane or carry on. I opted to carry on. The cloud cover suggested that when it started it would rain for quite some time so I thought it better to press on and try to beat the rain although getting wet loomed large as a possibility. Even so that would preferable than sheltering for possibly hours and be late for the evening meal. My mother would be dishing up at six-thirty and would frown upon anyone who was late for the meal particularly me. "You're a growing boy." She would say, "You need your meals." She obdurately ignored that at nineteen I was probably done all the growing that I would. Like most mothers I would always be her little boy. 

The thoughts of that meal started my stomach rumbling. I opened the throttle and the puny engine roared but did not add much to the speed. The BSA Gold Star was a speedy machine when new; today after many years of knocking around our agricultural environment and little or no service its performance was less than mediocre. 

I had found the machine in one of the barns as I was moving old bales of hay. An unpleasant task my dad had asked of me, the hay was old, friable and dusty, crumbling when moved and emitting the dry taste of rot. Neither my dad, nor anyone else was able to enlighten me as to its owner. I was delighted when after many trials and much tinkering I got it going again. It remained a temperamental machine even so and there were many times it wouldn't start. No one else used the bike and I was away at college most of the time. Because of this infrequent use, I had not bothered to tax the bike nor did I have insurance. In the depths of our rural habitat it didn't seem to matter; anyway much of the time I was riding over private land. 

The spattering rain had ceased for a moment a hiatus, gathering itself before the deluge that was bound to come. Heavy fat globules did splash occasionally exploding like liquid grenades presaging a downpour of Olympic proportions. Then I saw her.

The first impression was that she was hobbling. Dressed as she was in a summer dress and high heels, I doubted that she had intended to walk that day. As I got closer I understood the reason for her ungainly steps. One of her heels had broken off! I slowed and applied the brake. The back wheel slipped on some mud; an ever-present problem on lanes, which saw more tractors than cars. I put my leg down, preventing the sideways slide, and stopped. I turned round and watched her walk slowly towards me. I recognized her immediately. "It's going to be a long and wet walk to Broughley, especially with your heel missing." Broughley, in that quaint idiosyncratic fashion of the English was pronounced Broolee.

"How do you know I am going to Broughley?" She queried testily.

"Let's say it's an educated guess. Lady Andrea." She was rightly styled the Honourable Andrea Seddon. However most people around here would invariably refer to her as Lady Andrea. Her father was Viscount Seddon.

"Oh! You know me." She asked cautiously.

"I would imagine that everyone in Broughley knows you." Lady Andrea would often be seen around the village, usually on horseback.

"I don't know you. Who are you?" 

"I'm Richard Carter."

"Are you related to Mr. Carter the Estate Manager?"

I grinned. "Yes. I'm his son."

Her face cleared. "I knew that Mr. Carter had a son, but you don't seem to be around much."

"I'm away at college most of the time. I can offer you a lift, unless you think riding on the back of a motorcycle is undignified."

"I don't really know. I could be soaked if it rains."

"It is starting to rain even now and you will be soaked in any case. I may be able to get you home before it rains too heavily." 

She thought about that and looked up to the clouds trying to decide. "Ok. How do I get on this machine of yours?" I had visions of her skirt flying up which would have been good for me but I doubt that she would view it in the same context. "May I suggest you tuck your skirt between your legs and sit as if you were in the saddle?"

She smiled for the first time and transformed from haughty aristocrat to happy teenager. "I can do that. Do I have to cling on?"

"It's probably best if you hold me around the waist."

I averted my gaze as she gathered up her skirt and I steadied the bike. I reached back and flipped down the footrests for her and she cocked her leg over the pillion seat and settled down. She made herself comfortable and put her arms around my waist. "O.K.?" I asked.

"Fine. Let's go." I pulled the hand clutch in and kicked the gear lever up with my toe. I opened the throttle quite a lot as the bike needed quite a few revolutions to move, and with two on board would need a lot of power. With a wobble to start, the bike picked up and we were off. I would imagine she was quite concerned at first and I could feel the tension in her arms. However, she settled down and after a while, she relaxed. 

Then the rain started in earnest. It did not begin slow and build; the heavens just opened and in less than a minute the dry lane became just a wet slicked crown with rivers running in the gulley's either side. The rain bounced as it hit the tarmac, creating a screen of water about six inches high. I rode along the crown of the lane, hoping that there was nothing coming the other way as keeping over to the left would entail my riding through a torrent of run-off water. At first I thought Lady Andrea was frightened; she was shaking so much but then I realised that she was laughing, giggling for all she was worth.

I doubted that I went more than twenty miles an hour as visibility was so poor and the road conditions were terrible. I had not bothered to replace the worn out tyres when I resurrected the bike so I was concerned about the bikes' grip on the road. Nonetheless, we made it back to Broughley in reasonable time but not quickly enough to prevent us being soaked. I steered into the drive that led to Lady Andrea's home, Broughley Manse, although no cleric had lived there for years. It was a surprise for most people seeing the place for the first time. I was sure that most would think that a Viscount would have some palatial semi-palace. 

Viscount Seddon for all his title never came across as aristocracy. He owned and ran a working estate and the manse had been built in Edwardian times. It was bigger by far than any other home in Broughley but it wasn't huge. I pulled up to the porch and stopped. I steadied the bike as Lady Andrea climbed off the pillion and looked at her to see if she was all right. I needn't have worried she was smiling broadly even as she stood there soaked through. I averted my eyes quickly as her dress was completely wet and clung to her skin, in addition, she wasn't wearing a brassiere so the shape of her breasts were outlined perfectly. "Thank you, Richard. That was an experience." She looked down at her sodden dress. "I look like a drowned rat."

"The best-looking drowned rat I have ever seen."

She seemed to find that amusing. "Do you want to get dry?"

I shook my head. "Thank you Lady Andrea, but I shall get back home, I doubt I can get any wetter than I am now and I will dry off there."

"Don't call me Lady Andrea, just Andrea is fine. Thanks again Richard and I'll see you around." She waved slightly and ran in.

I had kept the motor running as at times it sounded as if it would expire. It lived long enough for me to get back out onto the lane then with a significant pop, it lost all power. I knew immediately that the cylinder head gasket had blown. I switched off the magneto and prepared to push the bike the half-mile home. The Gold Star was described as a lightweight, it certainly did not feel like that as I trudged squelching wet for that last few hundred yards. We lived in the estate yard. It had many barns for produce coming in from the various farms that formed the estate and it was where deliveries of fertiliser, seed and all the other commodities that the estate would need were delivered. 

The cottage that went with the position of Farm Manager was larger than most cottages around here and reflected my dad's position. I dumped the bike in the tractor shed. I would not attempt a repair of the bike until I was next home. I dragged my weary feet towards the cottage and surprised my mum in the kitchen where she was just about to dish up dinner. She took one look at me and told me sharply. "Go and have a shower, then bring those wet clothes down here and I'll put them straight into the washer."

LADY ANDREA

Authors note: Reference to Cirencester. The Royal College of Agriculture is sited in Cirencester.

The day had turned out to be very different than I had anticipated. I had arranged to go out for lunch at a pub a few miles away with a friend, Adrian. He was a recent acquaintance and had been introduced by another friend. The lunch was very pleasant except we were joined by a couple who were friends of Adrian. They came to our table just after we had lunched and without invitation joined us for coffee and then drinks. They stayed until late in the afternoon. 

I needed to go to the ladies room and it was when I was returning that I overheard Adrian in conversation with his friend Leo. They were standing at the bar ordering more drinks and the passage to the ladies room was just adjacent to the bar; also Adrian was speaking in quite a loud voice. "I think it's about time that Lady Andrea should be in receipt of a large male member and I have the member to do that. I am sure she has not been knobbed before."

"She doesn't seem to have made any gestures that would indicate that she wants that." Leo replied.

"Ah! I have been working a plan that will overcome any resistance. Every vodka and tonic she has will be a double vodka and light on the tonic" 

I heard his words quite plainly and I wasn't going to hang around to see if he tried to put his theory into practice. He was stupid twice over, first for boasting before the event, and second for boasting where anybody could hear him. Luckily, I had taken my bag with me, so as soon as he paid for the drinks and went back to where we were sitting in the garden I slipped out of the front door of the pub. I had forgotten to bring my mobile phone with me so unable to call a taxi I started to walk. It would be about three and a half miles, quite a walk. However, my thoughts preferred that to the fate that awaited me if I had stayed. 

Those thoughts set in train another possibility. When he realised that I had walked out on him would he come after me in his car? I left the road and took to a bridle path. As I rode frequently, I knew the bridle paths in the area. High heels and bridle paths are not intended for each other and I hadn't walked more than a few hundred yards when my heel snapped off. Great, I thought. Calamity is piling upon calamity. I slipped both shoes off and was able to walk at a reasonable pace, walking on the grass as much as I could. My stockings were ripped and snagged after a while so I took them off throwing them under a bush. 

The bridle path crossed a lane, which would bring me to Broughley eventually. The gritty surface hurt my feet so I replaced my shoes and hobbled as best I could. That was when the first drops of rain fell and my spirits fell. What else was going to happen to me? I would have cried, tears of frustration and anger, but I was the daughter of a Viscount and as such couldn't bemoan the trials of life.

I heard the motorbike long before it came up alongside of me. The rider turned his head to look and immediately brought the bike to a stop, even correcting the machine as its rear wheel slipped on a cowpat. The offer of a lift was tempting and I accepted when I knew who he was. Broughley was a relatively small village, and everybody knows everybody else even if they have no regular conversation. 

It wasn't surprising that Richard Carter was almost unknown to me, I was boarding at Cirencester Ladies School and he was away at college; however he was a more of a gentleman than Adrian. He averted his gaze as I straddled the pillion seat with my skirt tucked high between my legs. I was nervous at first then as I became confident with my seat and the motion of the bike something most peculiar happened. At first, I held onto his waist, and then I had this urge to hold myself closer to him. My excuse was the rain, which was now very heavy, and by hugging him tightly, I may have kept a little drier. Later I told myself the truth. He was solid and smelt good, he gave off an aura of security. 

My hugging him closer didn't prevent me getting wet, my hair, so carefully brushed and curled that morning hung down like rags. My dress, freshly washed and pressed soaked up the rain like a sponge. I should have been as miserable as sin, but I wasn't. I was elated for some reason and I began to laugh, especially when my nipples took on a life of their own, tightening and elongating to two sharp points, aching for someone's touch. I was wet through from cool rain yet had an inside warmth I didn't understand. It was a great disappointment when we turned into the driveway of Broughley House, because I wanted this to go on and on, seeking new experiences and thrills.

I was aware that my dress being so wet was close to being transparent. I also saw his quick glance and his averting his eyes. An inner voice said. "Look! I want you to look." However, as so often with inner voices he didn't hear and was too much the gentleman to embarrass me. His comment about my being the best-drowned rat he had ever seen was tucked away in my memory. Something that some girls would write down in their diary, instead I memorised his words, the sound of his voice and the picture like a video. To be replayed whenever I wanted to feel that warmth again.

Two days later, whilst I was riding Warlock, my horse, I passed the 'The Gate', our village pub. Richard was standing in the forecourt with a suitcase beside him. This was where villagers would wait for the bus, so I assumed he was going off somewhere. "Good morning, Richard." I called.

"Good morning to you, Lady Andrea."

"Oh don't go all servile, it's Andrea. Are you going off somewhere?"

"Yes, it's back to Bristol."

"Why Bristol, I would have thought you would have gone somewhere like Cirencester."

"I'm not doing agriculture, if that's what you thought." He smiled. "I am doing Drama at Bristol Old Vic."

Now that threw me completely. "Drama?" My surprise communicated itself to Warlock who skittered a little.

He nodded. "Yes. I prance around on stage wearing make-up and funny clothes." 

"Somehow I could not see you as doing that."

"Well it takes all sorts." He turned to look down the road. "The bus is coming. Should you bring the horse away from the road?"

I looked towards the bus. "Yes, I suppose I should." He took hold of the bridle and coaxed Warlock into following him. Now Warlock as a rule didn't like men, but he didn't seem at all unhappy to follow Richard and nuzzled him as well. What was this thing about Richard that people wanted to hug him? The bus came to a halt and the driver got out, walked over to the pub and went inside. No one turned a hair. He wasn't going for a drink; he was going to use the gent's facilities. Richard picked up his case and prepared to board the bus. 

"Perhaps I will see you in about three months." He said to me.

"Yes. Do enjoy your prancing." He grinned and boarded. The driver returned and collected the fare from Richard and the bus drew away to continue the journey to Gloucester. Warlock stood stolidly head down seemingly mournful that his new friend had left. For some reason that I couldn't fathom I felt like weeping.

If Richard had returned to Broughley after three months I wouldn't know, for shortly after that my father decided that I should go to Switzerland and be finished. This was a peculiar habit of the English aristocracy that their daughters needed to have a final polish before they could be let loose on society. It appeared to me that this could be similar to the final fettling of a new car before it rolls off the production line. The school although in Switzerland was decidedly English. We were taught deportment, how a dining table should be laid out, correct address of the various layers of British aristocracy and a good knowledge of French. 

It was all very passé and to be perfectly honest completely out of date. We also learned other lessons; how to make a spliff, what brassiere would give us the most cleavage although that lesson was one I couldn't employ as my pancakes would never be able to get anywhere near cleavage. The most positive aspect was making friends with other young women who it seemed had the same attitude to this education as mine.

I was there for a year and didn't return to Broughley at all in that time. In the term breaks, I was invited to stay with my new friends in the south of France, Spain and Italy. I do believe that there was a time when I didn't speak my native language for at least three months. I returned home to England in my twentieth year and within twelve months was married. Charles Anstruther was 'something in the City'. Quite rich at twenty-seven and bound to be even richer as the years went by. He was charming throughout our courtship, which was why I said 'yes'. He continued to be charming for the first six months of our marriage. 

I lost my virginity on the first night of our marriage and despite being quite sore was required to submit on every night after for the whole of our month-long honeymoon. The exception was when I 'came on'; Charles would not even sleep with me let alone take his marital pleasure with me. When we returned to London and moved into the townhouse he had purchased in Bloomsbury I was surprised that he intended we had separate bedrooms. The activity of the honeymoon was forgotten and he would visit me about once a week for his 'rations'. It was obvious that he was doing his duty, which of course was to get me pregnant as he never used any protection and I was forbidden to go on the pill. I was in all respects 'the bird in a gilded cage'.

CHAPTER 2 - RICHARD

Graduating from the drama school was not the key to immediate success, as much as I would dream of finding my big chance and thrilling the critics and the audience. The only audience I got at first were the shoppers in the supermarket where I stacked shelves. I had joined the Repertory theatre in Bath. In common with all repertories they existed in a world of little cash and make do and mend of costumes. You would appear the epitome of Elizabethan gentleman for a week and two weeks later would wear parts of the original costume in a Sheridan satire. In addition, they paid only when you were part of the current production, so having another job was a necessity. Because I was being paid, I had to register with Equity and register a stage name. I couldn't use my name as there was an actor using Richard Carter, so I used my mother's maiden name of Leigh. Richard Leigh the actor was born. 


The Viscounts Daughter



Opportunity came when that rare event, a British film production was making a film about the Duke of Monmouth. He was an illegitimate son of Charles the Second, and believed he had a right to the throne after his father's death. It was James, Charles younger brother who succeeded Charles, and became James the Second. The aggrieved Duke of Monmouth raised a rebellion. The film crew needed quite a few extras for the battle scene on Sedgemoor and the repertory was approached to help. It is a most peculiar attitude of some actors that making movies somehow degrades their position as serious actors; that the 'theatre' was the only place to practise their calling. The die-hards at the repertory turned down the chance whereas I signed up, much to the disgust of my fellows in the troupe. 

I turned up on set on a very cold but sunny February morning expecting to be given a rudimentary uniform, a Pike and then stand in line freezing my butt off waiting for the call of 'action'. Whereupon we would advance in line with others playing King James troops, Pikes at the ready yelling imprecations at the Duke of Monmouth's rebels. 

Fate works in very funny ways. A bit part player tripped over his sword and broke his leg. The Director looked around for a substitute and as I had the exact build and height for his costume picked me to take the part. I was given a script and told to learn the lines. There was little dialogue to remember it was more a question of position and movement. The director was very pleased with my performance as I made it in one take. I was paid more for ten minutes on camera than a week of stacking shelves. Moreover the director remembered me and a few months later offered me another part. 

It was again just a bit part. However with much more dialogue and I completed the film with something like thirty-five minutes in the can, and eventually twenty minutes in the actual film.

I kept my job at the supermarket but the repertory declined my involvement, I had sold out it appeared. However I was getting quite regular work, albeit in sword and dagger productions mainly for television. One week I would be a Norman Knight yelling insults at Harold's Saxon Thanes, a month later I was one of those Saxon Thanes swearing death to William's Norman Knights. I had the right height and build for these kind of productions. I was not in the mould of Schwarzenegger or Stallone, yet my years of working for my father on the farm had given me broad shoulders and a good physique. Over the next three years I got more and longer parts. Eventually I had to give up the stacking shelves actually before I was sacked for taking too much time off. Richard Leigh was becoming known.

Film work attracts many girls seeking fame of some kind and the majority are quite attractive. Few have the ability to act well; those who can act tend to be the more intelligent and very good company. The other girls become a little desperate and try to gain exposure by exposing. They get their photos in the papers and celebrity; more for how little they are wearing rather than for their acting prowess. Most people reading the showbiz page of their newspaper imagine that the star they accompany is rewarded with a night of passion. 

It does happen although how satisfying it is should be in doubt. From personal experience the lovely seductive woman who hangs on your arm, smiling as if she has captured her true love turns out less interested in their escort and more interested in texting their friends to tell them of their evening. Sex is advertised but grudgingly performed. It was an older actress who caught me. Ashley Marne was well known and lauded as an accomplished actress and she had made a number of critically acclaimed films. Although in her thirties she could still play the romantic heroine as I found out when I worked on one of her films and we had one romantic scene together. 

After shooting I was standing-by in case flaws were found in the rushes. We were sitting together one afternoon drinking tea from the canteen when she asked me out for dinner that evening. To be honest I was astounded. Of course I accepted and we had a very good dinner at a well-known eatery. Afterwards she wanted dessert, which left me gasping and totally wiped out at four o'clock in the morning when she allowed me to get out of her bed. The woman was insatiable!

Ashley had perfected her manners and could deliver 'put-downs' in the most cultured of tones. When in bed she was diametrically the opposite. She asked me to escort her to a film premiere very soon after our getting together. The flashing of camera lights was disconcerting for me yet she took it in her stride, turning on a brilliant smile as soon as she alighted from the car. Questions galore were shouted at her from the press contingent, one of which she took objection to. The question was "Is this your latest squeeze, Ashley?"

She stopped and smiled at the questioner. "This gentleman is Richard Leigh, a very talented young actor who has gallantly agreed to escort me this evening. A squeeze is something you do to a lemon or an Accordion. Would you like me to spell accordion for you?" She swept on leaving the reporter speechless as his fellow reporters grinned with glee having recorded the comment. 

Ashley was in the line up to be introduced to the minor royal who had been delegated to come and watch the film. She asked me to stand close behind her as the line up waited and kept whispering to me "closer, Richard, closer." I did so and she moved her hand behind her and stroked my fly. The inevitable happened and she purred. "Oh good. Keep him like that as I'll be making use of him later." 

The royal stopped and spoke a few words to most people in the line up. When he came to Ashley she performed a most elegant curtsey. His Highness (not high enough in the pecking order to be a Royal Highness) took the opportunity to gawp at Ashley's décolletage before murmuring that he was so pleased to see her when she rose. He moved on and Ashley whispered to me from the side of her mouth. "I wanted to give him something worth seeing tonight. The film's a crock." After the line up the royal was escorted to his seat as the others, who were specifically invited took their places. Ashley hung back and as the foyer cleared, she told me it was time to go.

"We are not seeing the film?" I enquired.

"No, Darling. It's rubbish. We have something far better to do." She led me out of a side entrance and magically her limousine was waiting. We were wafted back to her hotel and once there straight up to her suite. She ordered a light meal from room service and ordered me not to eat too much. "If you're too full you will not be at your best tonight and Richard, my darling, I need you on top form." I ate little of the food as she watched closely, shaking her head if she thought I was too greedy. When she decided that I had eaten sufficiently she stood. As if by magic, the dress slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet, that was all she had worn. She walked to the bed and turned, crooking her finger. "Now Richard, I need you naked and in me."

We were together for five months when she told me our dalliance was over. She had taught me a lot, not just in bedroom skills but also stagecraft and other skills that made me a better actor. Her reasoning was that if we stayed together it would become widely known and it would be rumoured that I was getting parts because of her influence. "Richard that would be wrong. You are good enough to get parts on your own. Darling, you will never be the star with your name above the title. You will be something better. The support that no star can do without. You will always be in demand, which in this industry is rare. You will get parts because the star needs you to make him or her look good. You will be working when the star is not. My fame will fade and if we were still together, you will fade with me and I will not do that to you. You have made me very happy for our few months and I will treasure the memories always. You will find someone soon and you will make her very happy too."

I racked my brain for days and eventually realized that she had paraphrased a speech of one of her characters. This character was dying of cancer but decided not to tell her lover of her illness. I smiled. The next time I saw her was another premiere. I was in the line up this time and she noticed that. She smiled beautifully and blew me a kiss.

ANDREA

My life had changed so much; the carefree girl who grew up in Broughley with the space of the countryside to explore was now trapped in a house in Bloomsbury. Admittedly, it was a very nice house with many big rooms filled with the best furniture and with all the conveniences that modern life would demand. Yet I rattled around in them like the last dried pea in the packet. I didn't have to do anything. Mrs. Hoskins, the housekeeper saw to that. She cooked and took care of the washing. A team of skivvies came in every morning to clean, polish, and vacuum. None of them spoke English and I doubted that any of them were here legally. 

Mrs. Hopkins would speak to me occasionally, usually when she needed instructions. That was not frequent, as she knew her job inside out. I didn't get to decide on what we would have for lunch or dinner except when we were entertaining. The invitees to our entertainment were not friends. Charles didn't have friends. He had acquaintances, people who had been helpful to him or could be helpful to him. My friends were back in Broughley, in the South of France or Italy, girls who became friends when we were at Finishing School. Charles didn't know them and didn't appear to want to know them. 

We would go out at times to receptions. I never knew the reason why there was a reception, but Charles insisted that we should go. He would put on his full fig of white tie and tails and I would put on my latest long dress, the diamond necklace, earrings and bracelet. Charles had wanted to buy me a tiara and was sullen for days as I refused to wear it. 

He liked these events especially the formal introductions to the host for the evening. The Toastmaster would call in a loud voice "Mr. Charles Anstruther and The Honourable Andrea Seddon." I cringed and Charles basked. He was a contradiction in many ways. He had urged me to keep my maiden name when we married, although now I knew why. He thought that as Mrs. Charles Anstruther I could not be 'The Honourable'. That was not actually true. However Charles believed it to be so and I decided not to enlighten him. 

For these functions he encouraged me to get a new dress every time. I used the credit card he had given me and never worried about it being refused; in fact I played a little game at first to see how much I could spend on the card. I got bored with the game well before I reached the limit. 

Charles was very good at making money, indeed it was his work and playtime rolled together into one. If he wasn't working he thought about what he would do the next day when he was working. He was working when we entertained, and he was working when we attended one of these boring receptions. For him Life was complete except for our lack of a child, but as in work he never gave up, still visiting my bed once a week to see if this time he could strike home.

After eight years of being the bird in the golden cage something different happened. Charles announced that he would be going to Tokyo for three weeks. Charles hated travelling; it took him away from his office. If we took a holiday it had to be in England, Scotland was too far away. 

It had to be something very important to persuade Charles to fly halfway round the world. As a dutiful wife I packed for him. He had made a list of things he needed and I packed those things, then I packed the things he hadn't put on his list like underpants, socks, toothbrush etc. If he were going away, admittedly not for a holiday, then I would go away as well."Charles. I think I will take some time when you are away, I'll go and see daddy and possibly take a few days by the sea, somewhere relaxing."

"That's a good idea, Andrea. It will do you good. Take your mobile with you just in case. I shall not ring you as it will be the middle of the night what with the time difference." Charles dislike of travelling extended to not checking the time difference. Actually Tokyo was just eight hours in front of us so there would have been a suitable time to call. It was surprising as most financial concerns kept clocks turned to the actual time of all the exchanges. I said nothing, as I didn't feel the need to hear from him. His conversation would have been all about finance. I liked finance too, well the spending part at least.

I did go to Broughley and seeing daddy again was a tonic. He was the ideal dad. He didn't lay down rules and regulations; he simply discussed life with me and let me work out for myself what was acceptable and what was unacceptable. I learned as I grew, made mistakes but was lucky enough to avoid situations where I was like to be in danger. Of course living in Broughley I had quite a few self-appointed chaperones, the guys who worked the farms. It was amazing the number of times a tractor would turn up and a rough country voice would hale me, "good morning Lady Andrea." If I were intent on mischief it would have been curtailed before it began. 

I re-acquainted with Warlock who was getting on in years and couldn't gallop as once he had. Nonetheless he seemed happy with a gentle trot and an amble around paths we had often used. 

Dad asked me if my marriage was sound. This was a difficult question to answer. "Dad, it is what it is. I have no complaints really. Charles doesn't beat me or shout at me. In most ways he could be described as the perfect husband, he works hard and makes a lot of money. If I have a complaint it is that Charles is not as affectionate as he could be."

My father blushed as he asked the next question. "Are you saying that your marital relations are deficient?"

"No dad. He is as efficient in that way as he is at work."

"I see, well I think I see. Is it that there is little passion?"

"There is no passion. He wants a child. I am quite happy to give him a child, but in order for that to happen he has to sleep with me more than once a week." I was the one blushing now.

"Good grief!" Dad was astonished. "I don't wish to sound as if I am bragging, but I was chasing your mother all round the house day and night. If I didn't chase her, she chased me. The honeymoon only stopped when you came along. Seddons are rather hot-blooded; my grandfather sired a lot more kids than those who bore the name of Seddon."

"Daddy!"

"It's true, Andrea. The number of times he was caught out in the fields playing the two-backed beast with some maid was uncountable. He depleted the coffers quite severely with the bribes he had to pay to console some cuckolded husband." 

I had heard stories about my great-grandfather but no one in the family had ever been so honest about his behaviour. "Well Charles is cut from a different cloth. I am sure I will conceive soon. As far as I know there is nothing wrong with us, it's just one of those things."

"Well I am sure you know what you are doing." He said in a tone that suggested that I didn't. As always he had work to do. Running an estate such as Broughley was not a sinecure.

It was my grandfather who sensing the revolution in farming had brought the estate into the twentieth century. Before, the estate was comprised of small farms run by farmers who paid rent to the estate for their acreage. Gradually grandfather had taken back control of the farms until the estate was run as a big business rather than some twenty-six individual concerns. It was Daddy who refused to grub out the hedgerows and trees to garner more acreage for which the EU would pay a subsidy. His reasoning was that the trees and the hedgerows soaked up much water, which if not taken up naturally would form new courses and depending on the topography would eventually run into the Severn or Wye rivers carrying much of our fertile soil. 

He introduced a diverse policy of production. Nowadays the estate balanced its time old crops with stuff unheard of in our area such as Lavender, Rape, Linseed and Liquourice. Of course our orchards were still important as well as our Hops. 

It was good being home again and sleeping in my own bedroom. The walls were covered with posters of pop-stars, film stars and one particularly huge poster announcing 'ban the bomb'. It was crazy, as when I put it up I had no political thoughts whatsoever; I put it there because it was fashionable amongst the young to rebel against government policy, whatever party was in power. One poster was of a bay in South Devon. We had had a family holiday there when I was about eight years old and it stuck in my mind as the best holiday I have ever had. I had always thought it would be nice to go back. 

I sat up in bed sharply, why not? I could go, I had time on my hands at this moment and a few days by the sea may allay the feeling I seem to have of being dissatisfied. I went on-line and found the village. I couldn't remember the name of the hotel, and none of the pictures rang a chord with me so I just chose the one I liked the look of and booked for the next week.

Memory does play tricks, especially when the memory is that of an eight-year-old girl, who was trying to remember from twenty years ago. I had a fuzzy recollection of our driving west from Battisborough Cross and I retraced that road. However it didn't seem the same as my memory. Silly of me really, why should it be the same as twenty years before? Trees had grown; old cottages would have been restored becoming the bijou second homes for people like Charles. Add to this mix was the size of the latest model of Range Rover I was driving; cynically called a 'Chelsea Tractor' because of its appeal to the sophisticates of Chelsea and Sloan Square. 

I drove carefully fearful of meeting another vehicle in these narrow lanes where the width of the Range Rover would make passing almost impossible. Charles had insisted on the car because he thought it infra-dig to use public transport. I wouldn't use the Range Rover in London preferring to take a taxi. Charles' view of society divided the population into 'us' and 'them'. 'Them' were those people who didn't earn lots of money and that view encompassed even the Prime Minister as he didn't earn more than two hundred thousand pounds per year. Charles' tidemark was at least half a million pounds per annum. He made an exception for people like my dad. Dad was a Viscount and that gave him a pass into Charles' society.

I eventually found the hotel by the simple expedient of asking. This became a necessity after my trusting the Range Rover's Sat-Nav. Unfortunately the equipment had me taking very narrow lanes and driving through fords. When faced with a ford that appeared to be at least three foot deep I retreated. Turning the car involved a very tricky manoeuvre a three-point turn becoming at least a seven-point turn. The hotel was a welcome sight and the warm reception was appreciated. I mentioned to the manageress my previous visit and described the hotel we had stayed in. "Oh, that would have been the Haven. It's an old people's home now." Yes it had been the Haven and had a marvellous view over the bay. At least some of my memory was true.

The next morning I retraced the steps of twenty years ago and walked the track that led down to the beach. I was delighted to see little change. The beach was a mixture of shingle and sand and the feeling of sand between my toes was exquisite. I strolled slowly along the strand; the sun was bright with a pleasant warmth. I had my bikini on underneath my frock and the warmth teased me to take my frock off. I folded it and put it into my sling bag. Another memory pushed into my mind. Yes, the headland! At very low tides it was possible to walk around the headland to a cove. I made my way closer to the headland and inspected the state of the tide. It was nearly out and I thought that if I waited for a half hour it might be possible to walk to the little cove.




The Viscounts Daughter



It was a little scary as other remembrances came to me, that if you didn't stay close to the cliff you could easily be up to your neck in water as the shingle shelved very quickly. The passage was about fifty yards and I breathed easier when I emerged onto the little cove. Things had changed. I was certain that the cove was where the fisherman hauled their boats up away from the highest tide. There was no sign that fishermen used the cove now. The sand was firm and completely untrammelled by neither feet nor the keels of boats. It was completely deserted. 

The cove was quite small and at high tide there would be little sand for beach lovers to use. Even now at low tide there was no more sand than the size of a football pitch. A little stream trickled down the cove and over time had carved a channel through the beach. This was the only feature to disturb the beach. For this moment I was completely alone apart for the wash and drag of the waves and the cry of the sea birds. Fantastic! 

I walked slowly along on the firm sand just recently exposed by the sea. My feet were cooled as they squelched in the damp sand. I stopped occasionally to pick up and examine the shell of some marine creature; it could be whelk or oyster for all I knew. Towards the middle of the small beach I looked to the left and noticed a rather grand villa situated just below the top of the cove. Another memory picture came to me. There had been a simple cottage in that location; at some time it had morphed to the villa I saw now. A figure was descending a path from the villa to the beach. I stopped, why? I didn't know, but something told me to wait. 

The figure came closer and I had this feeling that I should know this person. Who was he? It was definitely a man, a rather gorgeous man at that; wearing just a pair of shorts; exposing nicely made pectorals and a washboard stomach. He stepped onto the sand and approached me with a beaming smile. I looked, recognizing someone from my past, but whom? Suddenly it came to me, the man on the motorbike, Richard...Richard Carter. As he came closer another name came to me, Richard Leigh the film actor. Of course, Richard told me he was studying drama and I had seen one of his films, but didn't associate the man on screen with my motorbike man. He was in speaking distance when he said. "We do seem to meet in odd ways, Lady Andrea.

"Very odd ways. I remember telling you to call me Andrea. I know it was a long time ago, but I should feel slighted that you didn't remember. Now are you Richard Carter or Richard Leigh?"

"I shall be anything you want, Andrea."

That statement was loaded and a slight frisson tickled me. "What are you doing here? Are you on holiday?

"It's a sort of break. The film we are doing had a bit of a problem so we were given some time away. The cottage belongs to my producer and he suggested I came down here for a week. Now I could ask the same question of you."

"Nothing as exciting, just a little break and time to myself."

He nodded. "How did you get here, I mean this cove?"

I turned and pointed at the headland. "I walked round from the beach on the other side of the headland. You can walk round when the tide is very low."

"I see. You do realise that this is private property?"

"Is it? The fishermen used to keep their boats here. So I didn't think for a moment that it could be private."

"It doesn't matter, Andrea. I am the temporary tenant of the cottage and if you are with me, then I suppose it is not a problem. Shall we explore?" 

He turned and started to stroll along the strip of sand. Automatically I did likewise. 

It was fun. We talked as we strolled and I enjoyed our conversation immensely. Richard regaled me with anecdotes of his film career, usually with him putting himself down. He dismissed his success as luck. Even so he asked questions of me, bringing him up to date with my situation. He never actually mentioned Charles and nor did I. We had a shared history of Broughley and although I had only ever met him the once, that tied us together. We had reached the point where the strip of sand ran out and the waves would beat against the rocks when the tide was full. 

We continued on climbing over the rocks and examining rock pools like little children to see if crabs lurked within. I had taken a route that climbed upwards and found that I couldn't go any further. I looked round to see if I could re-trace my path. Richard was close but slightly lower than me. He could see the problem. "Here!" He reached up. "I'll help you get down." He put his hands both side of my waist and effortlessly lifted me down to the small patch of sand on which he was standing. 

I had always had a slim body and Richard was quite well muscled so he lifted me easily. He didn't let me go and I didn't want him to let go. I turned my head up and I knew we were going to kiss. He brought his face close to mine and our lips touched. Sparkles of passion went through me and I opened my mouth and kissed him again. Our lips clung together and our tongues searched and found each other. I felt my nipples erecting just as they had when I was on the back of his bike. They were like two torpedoes searching to explode into his chest. 

In a frenzy I loosed the ties holding my bikini top in place and let it drop before grinding my nipples into his chest. The sensation was beyond anything I had ever felt. Heat rushed through me centring on my nipples and groin. Even though my mouth was mashed against his lips I mewled. I reached down again and started to push his shorts down so I could touch him. He was so hard and so hot. I knew what was going to happen and I welcomed the anticipation. Richard seemed to be just as out of control as I; when he undid the strings of my bikini bottom I simply shook myself to rid myself of that last defence. 

Vaguely I felt the sensation of being lifted and I automatically opened my legs with Richard supporting me with his hands under my thighs like a seat. I was poised to descend on that hot, hard male member. "Yes, Richard yes." I murmured and he slowly let me down. I reached behind me and guided him until the sensation of him filling me was so much that I climaxed. The very first climax of my life, discounting the ones self-administered. On another plane I could still feel his muscles quivering as he supported me. Somehow I knew when his climax was due and he pulled away slightly. "No." I moaned and pushed downwards keeping him inside me feeling those first quivers as he gathered himself to ejaculate. The first squirt seemed to cauterize my vagina, which welcomed his seed as the desert sand would the first drops of water. I climaxed again as he did.

CHAPTER 3 - RICHARD

I could not call it fate that I was there that week. The real reason was the arrogant and self-seeking attitude of one of my fellow cast members a guy named Axel Denniman. We were making a first world war drama set in nineteen fifteen. Whilst the film was set against the background of war, it was really a drama of how the class system in Britain was eroded under the strain of war. I was playing the part of a junior officer. Together with three other subalterns and a Major we were trying to decide how best to capture an enemy officer with the least casualties for ourselves. The answer to our predicament would be provided by a batman corporal who speaking out rashly actually gave us the answer to our problem. 

This was the essence of the drama; that enlisted men were not the dumb monosyllabic functionaries as most officers were trained to believe, indeed with the enlistment programme of that time the ranks were being filled with teachers, solicitors, accountants and even university lecturers. Thus the officer corps had to adjust their thinking. It was important to the drama that the actor playing the corporal should deliver the line. Denniman believed that he should deliver the line, therefore boosting his influence on the drama and his personal profile. He shocked us when he delivered the line before the corporal could open his mouth. "Cut!" Shouted the director.

He strolled over and spoke quietly with Denniman and we went for the second take. Denniman did the same thing. "Cut!" Another conference and another take. Same thing. This time there was a lot of shouting between the director and Denniman which ended with the director saying that it Denniman was not going to adhere to the script then they would have to get another actor who would. Tempers had raised and both the director and actor would not back down. 

With another take ruined, Denniman was escorted off the set and we all relaxed. The part he was playing was not minor and he could not be replaced by promoting one of the extras. The director and one of the producers were in conference for most of the day. Eventually they announced that shooting was suspended for two weeks as the chosen replacement would not be available until then. As the officers appeared in most scenes they could not shoot around the part. Therefore I had two weeks to kick my heels. 

One of the producers, John Lilman approached me. "Richard, what are you going to do with your unexpected holiday?"

"I don't really know, Mr. Lilman."

He nodded. "I have a cottage down on the South Devon coast. I get so busy these days I rarely get down there. Would you do me a favour and take a week or so there?"

"That's very generous of you."

"Not really, Richard. I have a project coming up later this year and I want you in it. Let's say one good turn deserves another."

"Don't tell me it's another war movie."

"Sorry, Richard it is, but it's a multi-national project, so the money will be very good. Your part will be a good one."

"Sounds interesting. Why me?"

"Simple. You turn up on time, you have learned your part, and you have read the whole script not just your part, so you know what the film is about. Then you turn in a good performance. I won't go on else you will get an inflated view of your worth and ask me for more money."

"O.K. Send me the script."

He clapped me on the shoulder. "That's what I like to hear a straight yes and nothing about talking to your agent."

The cottage, as he described it may have been just that at some time in the past, now it was much, much more. The cottage had been built on a spur halfway down a small cove that descended to a miniscule beach. Its situation sheltered the cottage from the all winds except from those that came directly from the south. The accommodation was luxurious with large sliding double-glazed windows in all the living areas and bedrooms. A partially covered terrace gave views over the sea and to one side on a slightly lower level was a swimming pool. The pool was surrounded by high hedges making it a very private place and I suspect the scene of much uninhibited behaviour. 

I was surprised to be greeted by a Mr. and Mrs. Warren who were the housekeeper and general factotum. I had thoughts that I may have had to fend for myself, but Mrs. Warren was an excellent cook so I could enjoy my days lazing and reading in the sun. From the terrace, you could see the whole of the cove and the tiny figure that appeared around the headland that day was seen almost immediately. Mr. Warren had seen the figure too and was preparing to go down and warn the person that he or she was on private property. 

I had a funny feeling that I knew the person so I told him that I would go down. The feeling of knowing this person became stronger as I neared the beach. There was something about her, and I knew it was a 'her' not a 'he', that reminded me of someone. It was the way she walked, the way she turned her head or looked down. It was easy to walk as the whole beach was washed by the tide. She looked up as I approached and I recognised her. Lady Andrea!

If I described what happened between us as a shock, it would be an understatement. I had no inkling that as we walked and talked within minutes we would be coupled together in the most exhilarating experience of my life. I was still breathing heavily as I lowered myself to the sand Andrea kept her hold until I was kneeling and she sat on my thighs her legs either side of me. Guilt washed over me for taking such advantage and I must have been shamefaced. "Don't look like that, Rich." She said.

"I'm sorry, Andrea. I don't know what came over me."

"I'm not sorry, Rich. It happened. It happened for whatever reason, but I am not sorry. It felt like a primitive instinct, me woman, you man, Mate!"

"I understand that, but we are supposedly of a higher culture. You are married; I can see the ring on your finger. We shouldn't have done that."

"So if you had the chance to think we wouldn't have made love?"

I looked in her eyes and saw something, I don't know what but I sensed that she needed the right words from me. "If I was a logical man I would have walked away. However, I am a man driven by impulses that I don't understand. You are so lovely and have given me something priceless. Making love with you was the most beautiful experience of my life. Having said that some people would have described what we did as rutting."

Andrea laughed delightedly. "It was for me as well, Rich, and I can agree that we rutted very nicely too, although the aftermath of having sand in some very tender places is not."

"Come on." I stood up and helped to her feet. I held out my hand. "Let's go and wash that sand off."

She picked up two miniscule scraps, which was her bikini, and I picked up my shorts. Andrea looked at her bikini bottoms and shook her head. They had sand in them. She looked at me with a cheeky grin. "It seems that bathing 'au naturel' is on the cards."

"Well, I have never seen a sea nymph so lovely before."

"Richard! Are you trying to seduce me?" She stopped short and laughed. "Silly me, you have already done that."

"I thought it was you seducing me?" I bantered.

"A well brought up lady like me doesn't do that." I waited, as I knew she was going to say more. "I shall have to adjust my opinion. Seducing and being seduced was wonderful."

Bathing naked in the sea is to be recommended strongly. The sensations it inspires are beyond imagination. I had never done it before and judging from Andrea's cries of happiness I deduced neither had she. We held hands as we dipped our toes to start. When we ventured into deeper water, the swells pushed us apart. "Rich!" I heard her cry as the waves buffeted her. I sort of half swam and waded through chest deep water and gathered her in my arms. 

She clung to me laughing as waves broke over us. Her hair was soaked and hung about her face, a face that was alive with this new experience and then turned sultry as the action of the swells created a friction between our bodies. Wordlessly we turned and made our way back to the strand. My desire for her was obvious as was hers for me. Andrea lay down on the firm-packed sand and held up her arms. I joined her as she murmured, "Yes, yes, yes." The heat we generated was assuaged by the cool wavelets, which washed gently against our legs. The cries of joy and ecstasy were softer this time but no less genuine than before.

We lay clasped in each other's arms in the aftermath, our breathing returning to normal and our hearts recovering a steady beat. Kisses and soft words were exchanged until a wave lifted us slightly. Looking around I could see that the tide was now coming in quite quickly. This was reinforced as Andrea's bikini bottoms floated past on their way out to sea. We got to our feet and I grabbed the voyaging bikini. Andrea rescued her bag before it too took to the sea. I then spotted my shorts still dry but on the point of launching. 

She examined her bikini and declared that it needed sluicing out before she could put it back on. We yet again paddled out to knee-deep water and she bent to rinse out her bikini. I was presented with a most delicious sight of her bottom encrusted with sand the salt and quartz sparkling in the sun. Being the gentleman, I bent and started splashing water over those taut globes. Andrea looked around and understood what I was doing. She laughed. "No one had washed my bum since my nanny, and I was about six at the time." She paused. "But I quite like you doing it."

"Nanny!" I exclaimed. 

Andrea nodded. "Yes. Mummy died shortly after I was born, so I had a nanny."

"Oh! I'm sorry."

"No need, Rich. It was years ago."

We trudged through the waves back to the beach and Andrea steadied herself with a hand on my arm as she pulled up the wet bikini. The top had been further up the beach and had remained dry. I then pulled on my shorts. I looked along the beach and what I saw was demoralising. I touched Andrea's shoulder and pointed for her to look as well. The tide had come in sufficiently for her passage around the headland to become impossible. "Oh bugger!" She exclaimed. "How am I going to get back now?"

I thought quickly. "You could come up to the cottage and I can take you back later in the car."

"Who else is there?"

"Only Mr. and Mrs. Warren. They seem to be the caretakers." Andrea thought for a while. "Well as there seems to be no other option, that's what I will have to do." She smiled. "It seems Mr. Carter that you are rescuing me again."

"If you keep rewarding me as you have just done, I'll keep on doing it."

"That wasn't a reward. That was my pleasure."

We climbed the path up to the cottage. In the steepest parts, large rocks served as steps. As we were getting near to top, I saw Mrs. Warren come out and wait for us on the lawn where the path finishes. Andrea seemed a little nervous until Mrs. Warren held out a towelling robe. "I thought you could use this, Madam. Perhaps you would like a shower to wash off all that salt."

"That is kind of you, and yes I would like a shower."

Mrs. Warren nodded. "I will put out some lunch on the terrace, just Pate and salad. If you would like to come with me, I show you to the shower. They walked away leaving me to wonder how this had happened.

ANDREA

Mrs. Warren showed me into a bedroom and pointed out the bathroom. "There's shower gel, oils and lotion so please help yourself. I'll get you a hair-dryer, I am sure you will want to wash your hair as well."

"Thank you Mrs. Warren."

"It's no trouble Madam. If you let me have your bikini, I will put it through a quick wash. It will be dry in about an hour."

"Please don't go to any trouble. I have a dress in my bag to put over it. Oh! I am Andrea Seddon; you don't need to call me Madam." 

Mrs. Warren homed in on my bag and pulled out the sundress. "Hmm. I'll run an iron over this. Won't take long. Let me have your bikini, Madam." She emphasised the 'Madam' telling me that this was how it was done here. I dare not argue, as she was so positive. I pulled off the bikini top and bottoms and just wearing the robe she had provided went into the bathroom.

I opted for a long shower, washing my hair as well. It was time to relax and reflect on my actions. I had often heard people explain that they didn't mean to do whatever, it just happened. I had a jaundiced view of that excuse, usually thinking 'oh yes?' Now I was using that same excuse. There was no conspiracy here, although others may not believe that. There was no intention, having accidentally met Richard to make love with him. It just happened. OK the first time it did just happen, but I couldn't use that excuse for the second time. Nor could I use that excuse for the next time for I knew I wanted to make love with him again, I wanted to be in this man's arms again, held lovingly with tenderness. I did feel guilt but that was overlaid by the intense pleasure of our loving.

I sat at the vanity mirror in the bedroom and combed out my hair. There was a knock at the door and I called. "Come in." As I expected it was Mrs. Warren.




The Viscounts Daughter



"I have brought you the hair-dryer, Lady Andrea." She plugged it in and waved it around as it got to temperature. "I'll do this; it's easier than trying to do it yourself." She proceeded to brush and dry my hair. I was somewhat bemused. She had called me Lady Andrea. Where had that come from I asked myself. Did Richard mention my family? I doubted it, but I asked the question. "As Mr. Leigh been talking out of turn?"

Mrs. Warren looked flustered. "No My Lady. You mentioned your name and I realized that I had seen a picture of you in Tatler. I hope I haven't offended you?"

"No, of course not, Mrs. Warren. Incidentally, I should not be addressed as Lady Andrea, nor My Lady. Officially, I am the Honourable Andrea Seddon. I usually ask people not to bother, just call me Andrea." 

"I have got into the habit of addressing all ladies who come here as Madam. I am sorry but that is the way of it."

The warmth of the hair-dryer and having my hair brushed was too much a pleasant feeling for me to argue. "How long have you known Mr. Leigh?" Mrs. Warren enquired.

I smiled. I knew what this was about. "We grew up in the same village, Broughley." Not quite exact, but sufficient for her to think Richard and I were re-uniting an old passion. "He was Richard Carter then, before his rise to stardom."

"I have seen a few of his films. I have to confess I get some tingles watching him."

"I know what you mean, Mrs. Warren."

Mrs. Warren was quiet for a moment or two. Then she cleared her throat. "Where are you staying, if I may ask?"

"At the Yealm View Hotel. Why?"

"Well as you are an old friend of Mr. Leigh, I thought you may wish to stay here."

I turned round to face her. "Is that possible?"

Mrs. Warren nodded. "Yes, of course. I can phone Molly Anderson. She will pack your bags and Mr. Warren and I will go up and fetch them. I presume you have a car there, Mr. Warren will drive it back here."

"I should ask Richard before I say yes."

"You don't think for a moment that he would argue?" She laughed.

Mrs. Warren had pressed my dress nicely and wearing that over my dry bikini I found Richard where he sat on the terrace. Mr. Warren followed me out and as soon as I was sitting asked if I would like a drink. He suggested a Pimms as the perfect drink for an aperitif before lunch. I thanked him and within a couple of minutes the Pimms arrived, dressed with a veritable fruit garden. I found the straw and sipped. "Perfect, Mr. Warren."

"You're welcome Lady Andrea."

I wasn't going to go through the niceties of etiquette again so I ignored his erroneous address. Mr. Warren discreetly left and I could then pose the question of staying to Richard. "Rich. Mrs. Warren has suggested that I could stay here until I have to return to London on Saturday. Would that be possible?"

"Would you like to stay here?" He asked.

"Would you like me to stay here?".

He smiled. "Without a doubt."

"Then I will stay. Will we sleep together?" I had little experience of sleeping with someone, Charles, apart from our honeymoon always slept in his own room. I thought sleeping with Rich would be interesting.

"I would like to."

I picked up my shoulder bag and searched for my purse. Having found it I slipped off my wedding ring and placed in the purse. "I will put my ring back on Saturday, but for these few days I am not a married woman, I am a woman on holiday with a very, very good friend." 

"Or possibly a woman on holiday with her lover?"

"A very, very good friend and lover. Yes."

Anticipation is a peculiar sensation. We knew we would be making love later and that thought piqued my imagination for the rest of the day; yet it wasn't in the forefront of my mind. We lunched well, Pate, Salad and lovely fresh rolls complimented by a crisp sparkling white wine cooled to perfection. The afternoon passed by languorously, as we talked of many things. Neither of us mentioned my husband, maintaining the pretence that I was not a wife and that we were two friends re-united after many years. 

Rich asked me a surprising question. Why was my father just Viscount Seddon and not Viscount Seddon of Broughley? "That goes back to the first Viscount." I replied. "It was Queen Victoria who made him a Viscount. In previous centuries being ennobled like that also came with a grant of land to give the recipient an income. If Victoria had made a grant of land then the Viscounts would be known as Viscount Seddon of Broughley. However there was no grant of land. Victoria didn't like giving away Crown land. My great grandfather bought the estates at Broughley privately so the land is owned by the family and doesn't go with the title."

"So you will become Viscountess Seddon in time?" Richard suggested.

"No. A female cannot inherit the title. The only female who can inherit a title is in the Royal family."

Richard was astounded. "That's ridiculous!"

I agreed with him. "Actually it should be illegal under the acts banning sexual discrimination, except that inherited titles were exempted. I believe there are moves to correct that now, but I doubt it is a priority."

"The title will die with your father, then."

"No. It will go to the nearest male relative, which in this case is my cousin, Roger. If I give birth to a male child at some point then Roger is out and my son is in."

We talked less as the afternoon moved on, our conversation seemingly fading, as did the sun in the west. Even so it was pleasant to sit close to each other. I found his physical presence somewhat comforting. At one point Mrs. Warren came out and told me that she had brought all my clothes down from the Yealm View Hotel.

"I have hung them in the wardrobe; it's a good job that Mr. Leigh doesn't take up much room." Evidentially she believed that we would share the room. "You will need to see Mrs. Anderson before you go and sign your card receipt. I suggested that she charge you for the five nights and for dinners. It keeps everything straight." I gave her a look of thanks. Mrs. Warren was a born conspirator. Charles goes through every charge slip so it would appear as if I had stayed at the hotel for the week. She smiled. "Will you want anything more to eat this evening?" I looked at Rich who shook his head, so I spoke for both of us. "No thank you Mrs. Warren."

"Right. I'll bring a small bowl of fruit for you, just in case you get a little peckish." The bowl of fruit when it came was piled with apples, pears, peaches, nectarines and grapes. She also brought small bowls of the same fruits diced and swimming in their own juices. Mr. Warren brought an ice bucket with a crisp chardonnay. They didn't say anything but I viewed the fruits and drink as the foods of love. Rich raised his eyebrows and smiled. When they had gone he murmured. "Do you think they are suggesting something?"

"We ought not to disappoint them." I remarked.

"Exactly what I was thinking." 

I was taken to paradise that night. Rich lavished me with his attention. He entered the bathroom as I soaked in hot scented water. He found the sponge and the perfumed soap I used and washed me everywhere rinsing me off with cascades of water from the sponge. He helped me out of the bath and dried me tenderly; not rubbing but patting with the soft towel until I was dry everywhere. Then he found my body cream and gently anointed me everywhere caressing the cream gently to be absorbed by my skin. 

All this attention had brought me to a state of quivering eagerness. He picked me up and carried me to his bed, gently settling me on the cool sheets. He slipped off his shorts and joined me. "This is all about you." He murmured as he kissed me tenderly. His kisses felt like brands, wherever his lips touched me I felt the heat of his kisses even after his lips had moved elsewhere on my body. He explored me with his lips and tongue as I explored these wonderful touches and sensations, all new to me. He hovered over my breasts. I had always been sensitive about them, as I believed they were too small, I mean 34A is small, isn't it? I said something about being sorry that they were not bigger. "They are perfect." He told me softly. "Completely and utterly beautiful." 

He nipped slowly around the base tracing the crease where my breasts lay on my chest and then moved to my nipples. If my breasts were small my nipples could be prominent, when cold they would become two hard points almost two centimetres long. They were in that state now, but it wasn't the cold that had brought that about. Rich licked and softly nipped them with his lips then he took one into his mouth and sucked strongly. I screamed with the sheer pleasure.

He continued his journey of exploration down and around my body. This was all so new to me and I hung with bated breath for another, even more intense pleasure. When he spread my legs and began feasting on the fount of my womanhood I lost it completely, screaming and bucking, as I no longer had any control. Then I blacked out. I came to in Rich's arms; he was caressing me and murmuring softly in my ear. I had tears in my eyes at that point. I wept tears of joy for where he had taken me and tears of regret that I had never been there before and that after these few days would probably never go there again.

Rich was conscious of my senses and let me relax from that incredible high. Then his kisses became demanding. We were two minds running in parallel. I knew what he wanted and I wanted the same thing. I wanted him inside me. There was an emptiness that needed filling. Without thought my legs spread and my hands urged his hips to the position where he could penetrate me. I told him in the most basic of English terms what I wanted, he responded and yet another scream was dragged from my throat as he slowly filled me, every moment, his every movement brought rapture. I actually felt this time the moment when my senses were overloaded and my body shut down.

I awoke as I had slept, curled against Rich's side, my head in the valley between his shoulder and chest and his arm around me, clasping me. The rattling of cups reminded me of where I was. I put on a robe, opened the patio door and wandered out to meet the day, the scent of coffee urging me onwards. Mrs. Warren was pouring a cup as I sat down under the umbrella. She looked at me with a smile on her face. "There is a look about you, Lady Andrea. The look of a woman well-loved."

I blushed and then remembered my screaming. "I hope we didn't keep you awake last night."

"Mr. Warren is as deaf as a post once he had taken his hearing aids out. He would sleep through an earthquake. All I heard was a woman who was taken to paradise, and I was happy for her." She paused for a moment then asked tentatively. "Do you think you and Mr. Leigh will be together after this week?"

I shook my head. "No. No matter how much I would like to I cannot abandon my other life."

"That's a shame, Madam. You and Mr. Leigh seem to be right for each other." She started to walk away, and then turned. "Enjoy what you can while you can. There will never be any word from anyone to suggest you were here."

I smiled. "Thank you Mrs. Warren."

The days sped past so quickly. Days of laughter and brilliant conversation and nights of ecstasy. Without warning Friday night came with the spectre of my leaving the next day. Rich made love to me so beautifully that night. He was feeling, as I was the poignancy of the following morning.

I replaced my wedding ring at eight o' clock on Saturday morning. Rich and I had clasped each other and our kiss was deep and soulful. I recognized his misery because I was in that black state myself. He went to kiss me again. I put my hand up against his chest. "No, Rich. This is difficult enough without you reminding me of how wonderful these few days have been. If we meet by chance in the future I will have to ignore you, although my heart will be crying. Don't be offended, please. If we were to talk I would almost certainly give away my feelings for you. I have to return to my life and you to yours. I will think of you every day and wish things were different." 

He glumly agreed. "Andrea, I will never forget you. I understand your position; all I can say is that should you ever change that position, I will be there for you."

I tried so hard not to weep as I drove back to my life, but to no avail. The tears came the moment I turned out of the drive to the cottage and continued until I had no more tears to shed. I was on the motorway by that time and my life in London and Charles was only two hours away.

Charles arrived home on Sunday. He spent the day telling me how successful his trip had been and how as a result he would be in line for a very, very large payout. It was as an afterthought that he asked me if I had enjoyed my time.

"Yes, I did, Charles. It was really good to see daddy and spend time with him, then later I went down to South Devon, staying in a place where we had a holiday when I was eight years old."

"Good." He replied. "I will have a lot of work to do over the next few weeks, picking up on stuff that I know they will have neglected whist I was away." So much for my news!

I was in bed later when I heard a knock on my door. "Come in Charles." 

He came in gesturing to the bed. "May I?" 

"Of course, Charles. That would be nice." Knowing that he would visit me I had prepared by using some lubricant. He lifted the covers and slipped in beside me. Ten minutes later he groaned. 

When he had recovered his breath he kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you, my dear. I must get a good nights' sleep, so much to do in the office tomorrow." He got out and put his robe on. "Sleep well, my dear." Then he was gone.

I tried so hard not to compare Charles' efforts to the wonderful loving that Rich had given me. I really did try, but I couldn't stop those images coming to my mind. I wept once again.

Two months later I knew I was pregnant.

CHAPTER 4 - RICHARD

I watched Andrea drive away with a heavy heart. There was no denying that she had affected me. I thought I was a whisker of falling in love with her! It was pointless, as she could never know. Telling her could have placed her in an invidious position. Her parting comments told me that she had feelings for me, but could not declare them. Bringing it out into the open it would make it fact, not speaking of it could allow the pretence that it wasn't so. I felt guilty. I should not have allowed her to stay, now she would have to take up my profession, that of actor. She would be acting twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but unlike me, she would not be paid nor would she have time away from the stage. Would that we could go back six days and change everything. Yet if we could do that, I would not experience the wonder of making love to this beautiful, challenging, funny and interesting woman.

The telephone rescued me from introspection. It was John Lilman. "Richard, it's back to Elstree for you. We restart shooting on Monday."

Without Denniman, the film moved quickly and easily. I had read the whole script and understood the message. Our scenes are not necessarily shot in sequence. Scenes that require the same set are shot together. There is the dichotomy of possibly shooting the first scene and the last scene back to back. However, as the scenes are shot the story came together gradually and we moved quickly to having the whole thing in the can. The actors were released and the unedited film was handed over to the director and the editor to turn it into something that we hoped the public would enjoy. We had taken six weeks and I was considering a week or two without work when John Lilman asked me to come and see him. "Richard, have you read the script I sent you?" He asked without greeting.

"Yes. Mr. Lilman. I have."

"And?"

"Do you really want me to do another film in uniform? I have only just finished this one."

"Ah but Richard. You look so good in uniform." He grinned. Gossip suggested that Lilman was homosexual. I ignored his comment. 

"I have read the script and it is very good. What part do you see me in?"

"I'm promoting you from lieutenant to captain for this one."

That was a surprise. The captain was one of the two main characters sharing most of the dialogue with a German officer. This was good for me. "Ok, John, what are you going to pay me? Don't mess around else I shall have to get my agent to negotiate for me." He named a figure; I looked dubious. He then offered a percentage of two points of the box-office receipts. That could be good if the film did well. "I shall want royalties if you sell it to television and of course repeats."

"Same two percent." He said." I stuck out my hand.

"Deal. Now I have to go and tell my agent, who will tear his hair out, ripping into me for negotiating my own deal. He would suggest that he could get a better deal."

"No he wouldn't, Richard. I've already spoken to him."

That took care of the next six months. Within three weeks, I flew out to Algeria to join the crew. The story was actually set in Libya, but that country was deemed too unsettled and the production team felt that they had found the right kind of desert in Algeria. As John had mentioned this was a multi-national production with finance coming from The U.K., Germany, and India. Reflecting the financing, the cast was also multi-national with British, Germans, Italians, Australians and South Africans. 

As there was no U.S finance, there were no American actors involved. The producers understood for that reason they had little chance of selling the film in North America. However, the intended market was Europe. The moral of the screenplay was that when Europeans stop fighting each other and start working together they live better. I am an actor, not a politician so my thoughts on that have no bearing. I did, however get on very well with one of the German cast, Helmut Scheer. He played the part of a Wehrmacht officer. In a nutshell, he was leading a small detachment on reconnaissance and they had become trapped in quicksand, which I understand was always a threat in the desert war. 

I led a similar patrol and came upon them. They outgunned us, but we had mobility, which they didn't. We couldn't take them prisoner because of the risk of becoming bemired as they were, and they could not take us prisoner, as they couldn't go anywhere. After threats made and ignored by and from both sides common sense took over. The Brits helped the Germans out of the quicksand and after shaking hands and bemoaning the fact that we had to fight against each other we all went on our way. 

This was a film that could not have been made even twenty years ago, as it showed the Germans in a human light. The days of depicting the Germans as unfeeling monsters were done. We had a few days charging around the desert. I with my squad in a M3 half-track, and Helmut and his squad in a Hanomag the German equivalent of the M3. It was great fun with a purpose giving the director and editor plenty of footage for background. Helmut and I talked quite a lot in the inevitable breaks in shooting when the light wasn't quite right despite the battery of lights the crew had brought, or when the Berbers, the local inhabitants, came along to watch what was going on and would get into camera shot. They were persuaded to leave with a gift of money, thereby ensuring that they would be there the next day for more money. 

The Berbers also had a very good business by finding items before they were actually lost. They would come into the camp with them and leave with even more money. Whilst this inevitable delay was going on Helmut and I would sit in the shade of the canteen and drink coffee. 

His command of English was superb. I asked him about that. "It's simple. If a German or anyone who speaks a minority language wants to get on in the world they have to learn English." He replied. "English is spoken the world over. You speak it, the Australians speak it, and the Indians speak it. It is the first foreign language the Chinese learn, it is even rumoured that the Americans speak it." He grinned. A German with a sense of humour! "There are thousands of films made every year; sixty percent of them will be made with English the predominant language. I include Bollywood films, as there are many languages and dialects in India so English is the catchall language. I want to get on in this business so perforce I have to speak English."




The Viscounts Daughter



The nearest city and good hotels to our set was Oran, some sixty miles away over poor roads, so the production had set up a tented town for the actors and crew who would be needed every day. It is astounding how many people are required to film a drama. Leaving out the actors and bit-part players the crew can often be anything up to a hundred. 

The most important amongst them are the Director, the first assistant Director and possibly a second assistant Director. Next came the director of photography who supervises the photography for the whole film along with the cameramen who actually operate the cameras. There is a supervising sound editor who records everything in multiple channels. Then there are the electricians with a Lighting Director and that oddly named position of Best Boy, who is rarely young enough to be called a boy. Actually there are two 'Best Boys' Best Boy Electric and Best Boy Grip. Best Boy Electric is one of the king-pins in lighting; the Lighting Director with the Director have the ideas, it was the Best Boy who makes it happen. Best Boy Grip works with the Key Grip, and they are instrumental in making sure that all the camera equipment, Cameras, Dollies, Track etc are in place.

The term 'best boy' came from the sixteenth century where indentured apprentices learned a craft. The longest serving apprentice having learned almost everything about the craft would work unsupervised for much of the time and was called the Best Boy.

Thankfully we did not have to put up with the same conditions the combatants experienced when the actual battles were taking place, but it did give us an idea. I was damned pleased that I was not here in 1941 and 1942. The uniforms we wore were very quickly stained with dried sweat, dead flies and dirt. Our military advisor told us it was very authentic. He should know for he was here at that time. 

Actually, we had two military advisors, one was English and the other German and they both advised us with personal experience of the North African campaign. Two sprightly eighty year olds who could drink us under the table, enemies sixty years ago and now sitting reminiscing and laughing together. Helmut and I would join them most evenings learning about their war. Lieutenant Colonel (Shorty) Williams would praise the equipment the Afrika Korps had. His opposite number Major Emmerlich, who told us he was a Gefreiter (Corporal) during the war agreed with the comment, "Ja! However, we didn't have enough. The Russian campaign came first in everything."

"We got supplied by that well known armament supplier 'Muddle and That'll do' Ltd." Offered Shorty. "Our Defence Procurement Civil Servants thought that they knew what we needed better than the troops on the ground. They spent millions on the Crusader tank. It was designed to take on the Mark two and three German tanks; yet it was delayed so much the German tanks had been upgraded even before the Crusader came into service. The best you could say about the Crusader was that it was fast; it could get into trouble quickly and get out again just as quickly. Broke down often though. Sand! That got into everything."

"True." Agreed Emmerlich. "What about that American tank, you called it the Grant, and the Shermans. We loved them; they were so easy to brew. We called them Tommy Cookers."

"Oh yes." Laughed Shorty. "The Grant had the big gun in the hull not the turret. When the crew tried to get the gun to bear, they presented a huge target for the eighty-eights." Helmut touched my arm and indicated we should leave then to it. We wandered off towards our respective quarters. The last thing we heard was two old men warbling 'Lili Marlene' One voice in German the other in English.

There is an understanding when away on location. The same understanding that the Yanks mooted about Las Vegas. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Temporary liaisons on location lasted for the location and were then forgotten by the participants. As I strolled towards my tent, I was joined by Monica, one of our Production Assistants, usually known as continuity girls. "Sleeping alone, Richard?"

"I think I should, Monica. Had one more drink with Helmut than I should and as you know we have an early start tomorrow."

Her face tightened into a moue of disappointment. "I could delay your start in the morning. I suspect you would give better performance if you were fully relaxed. I could help you there if you 'rehearsed ' with me tonight." It's a strange thing about continuity. They seem to be just another assistant on the set; yet had the power to stop the shoot at any time if they spot something that doesn't tally with the previous scene.

"I really wish that I hadn't taken those last two drinks, Monica, but I doubt that I could 'rehearse' to your full expectations. However I'll do my best."

Monica was known as the 'voracious virgin'. Completely uninhibited and willing to try anything twice, thrice or more, except she was a virgin in one place and intended to remain that way until she married her long-term fiancé and could proudly present him with her hymen. In the meantime, she was very eager to indulge in all other pleasures that man and woman or woman and woman can devise. 

It was unsatisfying for me although Monica left happily at two o' clock in the morning with a kiss that had as much suction as a vacuum cleaner, saying "see you soon, lover." I was conflicted. In some way, I felt I had been unfaithful to Andrea although I was certain that she would be having relations with her husband, how could she avoid that? I hadn't forgotten her it was if my mind had put her memory into a little compartment in my head that I could take out from time to time and bask in the warmth of those memories. 

Those days with Andrea could not be cast aside so easily; they were important to me. I could not say it to Andrea as that would have put an unfair burden on her, but I could admit it to myself. I really had fallen in love! Monica was the catalyst. I hadn't planned to put this to the test, to know if I could be attracted to another woman. However, I was examined and I had my answer. Yes, I could but Monica was a pale shadow compared to Andrea.

In the original novel upon which this film was based there were no female characters. This was unacceptable in a screenplay so I had a scene with a young starlet taking the part of a nurse. I thought perhaps my melancholy mood would affect my performance; it appeared not as the director seemed delighted with every take. I was wary about one scene when I had to cross the supposed quick sands. This being a film we couldn't use actual quicksands; that would introduce an unpredictable element. Therefore, our special effects department had come up with fake quicksand. It looked like sand but it wasn't. It behaved like quicksand but without the unpredictable element. 

The faux sand was only deep enough to suggest the Hanomag; the half-track issued to the Wehrmacht in quantity was bemired. My character was supposed to have been told by someone who dredged for shellfish on Morecambe Sands, an area notorious for quicksand how to extract yourself if caught. Fall flat was the advice, thereby spreading your weight over a larger area. I was to do exactly that and by rolling over gently could traverse the quicksand. I was not keen to do this. Despite my misgivings, I did as suggested and it worked. My character had demonstrated the technique to the trapped Germans and it was my turn to laugh, as Helmut's character had to do likewise.

I wasn't unhappy to leave Algeria. The country had much to see and the hotels in Algiers were extremely luxurious. However, we had little chance to enjoy them apart from a couple of nights before flying back to the U.K. As soon as I had settled back into my flat, I phoned my agent. Although I had been paid well for this production the taxman would take a large chunk so I needed more work. He had been offered two scripts for me. I turned one down without reading it as it was another uniform role and I didn't want to become too identified with military roles. The other part would be a detective drama, which sounded quite interesting. He then said that I had been specifically requested by the main lead in the film. I asked him if that script could be forwarded. Ashley's prediction was coming true. Never the star but always getting good parts. 

ANDREA

I went in to a Nursing home a week before I was due to give birth. I argued this move but Charles was adamant, he didn't want any last minute pregnancy problems. Ten days later, I was delivered of a beautiful baby girl. Charles may have been disappointed that it wasn't a boy, but hid his chagrin well. He went off to celebrate his success with champagne, leaving me in the nursing home to celebrate with tea and the itching of the stitches needed after a difficult time. I was of a slim build and didn't have the width of pelvis needed for an easy birth. He returned the next day with flowers and the news that he had registered the birth and named our child Charlotte. It was too late to argue, although it would have been nice to discuss her name beforehand. 

Whilst he was there, Charlotte cried a little. Mothers know instinctively when their baby needs feeding as did the nurse. She lifted Charlotte out of the cradle and gave her to me. I unbuttoned my maternity robe and held Charlotte to my breast. Charles was almost indignant. "You are surely not going to feed your child yourself?"

"Mother's milk is best, Charles." I argued.

"But...But that is disgusting!"

"It's natural. This is what breasts are designed for." It suddenly struck me. For all the years of our marriage, Charles had never wished to see me naked. When he visited me in bed, he would lift my nightgown sufficiently for access and replace it when he had deposited. Did he find me unattractive, or did he find the female body embarrassing? My early move into the Nursing Home was for a similar reason. Charles would not have wanted anything so disturbing as my waters breaking at home, or even the possibility that I would have to give birth at home.

Charlotte continued to suck and Charles made his usual quick getaway. "Need to get back to the office." He excused himself.

If you were to ask, most women will tell you that feeding their child is a most wonderful experience. It instils a most serene mood and the nurses called it bonding. It also gave me time to think, first my sudden realisation about Charles. I was certain that it wasn't just my body he found embarrassing, perhaps it was all women that disturbed him. I couldn't be that ugly, after all Richard found me attractive and as an actor he had seen and for all I know been intimate with many beautiful women. Those thoughts moved on as they always did to Rich. 

Those few days had been days of wonder for me. For a woman being admired and desired so much is close to paradise and Rich had taken me there. It had crossed my mind that Rich could be the father and not Charles. Thinking back, Charles had been most regular a visitor to my bed in those eight years of our marriage. Once a week he would come into my bed unless I was with my monthly, when he would hardly touch me. Forty times a year for eight years amounts to over three hundred and fifty attempts of impregnating me, yet six weeks after my escapade with Rich I found I was pregnant. The more I thought about it the more certain I was that Charlotte was Richard's child. On one level, I was happy, as in that case Charlotte had been conceived in rapture. On another level, I had to convince myself that Charles was her father. I had to believe that in order to go on with my marriage and my life. 

Ten days after the birth Charlotte and I returned home to find that Charles had used that extended stay in the Nursing Home to organise everything. Standing in the reception hall was a crisply uniformed Nanny, ready to take Charlotte from me. He had a bedroom converted into a nursery with a bed for the nanny. It was on the top floor, away from Charles' and my bedrooms, so that neither of us would be disturbed by a baby crying. Our Doctor was there to examine me and prescribed pills to dry up my milk. 

There was no argument, Charles had made his wishes known and the doctor acquiesced. It was wrong to make the comparison; but Charles seemed disturbed by my womanly effusions, the milk that came naturally to feed my child and the menstrual blood of my periods. Rich had no such problem, he seemed to glory as he kissed and licked me everywhere, even as I climaxed upon his tongue he would drink of my unrestrained outpourings. He explored me everywhere without qualm and I allowed him again without qualm. He took me everywhere, worshipping my feminity and I accepted him as my lover having domain over my body but not as a master. Now I was back as the chattel of my husband. The bird was back in the gilded cage. 

It had always been thus. My mother died when I was six and daddy although attentive was usually busy. I was brought up from that age by our cook, Mrs. Grainger. At eleven, I was sent to a girl's school in Cirencester as a boarder, getting home for the occasional weekend. At eighteen, I was sent to the finishing school and by twenty, I was married. With no role model upon which I could make judgement I allowed Charles to impose his standards on me. I was so used to his ideas and beliefs that I didn't question my life, until those few days with Rich. That I had become so abandoned with Rich was completely out of character, but having those few days enriched my life. I subdued those thoughts; they were gone and would never happen again. I became the wife that Charles wanted. Quiet, obedient I returned to my role of The Honourable Andrea Seddon. The jewel in his crown.

Our life picked up where it had left off. Charles would rise at seven and breakfast at eight. At eight-thirty, the taxi would arrive and he left for the day. I would join him at breakfast. It was a duty for me to see my husband off for the day. He would enquire if I had slept well and asked me if I had plans for the day. My usual reply would be to shop in the West End and probably take coffee with the wife of one of our acquaintances. His enquiry was merely a way of making noise with the mouth, as was my reply. I probably would not shop, nor take coffee with an acquaintance. Charles would never ask if I had bought anything nor with whom I took coffee. 

He would arrive home at six-thirty and at seven, the nanny would bring Charlotte down for us to see, reluctantly handing her over for me to hold. At seven-fifteen, Charles and I would sit down to dinner. I would always put on something a little dressier to dine and Charles would have changed as well. Six months after the birth Charles once again knocked on my bedroom door on Sunday evenings. 

The receptions and Galas that Charles was insistent we attended came around regularly. Mansion House dinners were his particular favourite as the Lord Mayor of London hosted those events. The speeches at these dinners were incomprehensible. Those making the speech would mangle the English language as did our politicians; they seem to make up words which sounded right but had no meaning. I was sure those words did not feature in the Oxford English Dictionary. Despite this some of the audience would nod wisely as if they understood completely the point the speaker was making. To me they were boring with boring people talking of boring subjects. 

One particular Gala did have something to brighten the evening. I met Ashley Marne. Rich had told me of his short affair with her so I was pleased when she seemed to make a beeline for me after the performance. "Hello." She said. "I overheard the toastmaster when he announced you. Are you by any chance related to Viscount Seddon?"

"He's my father."

"I wondered if there was a connection. I was friends with Richard Leigh and he mentioned the Viscount once. So you must have lived in Broughley as well. Did you know Richard?"

"Very slightly. I was away at school most of the time and met him a couple of times between school and Finishing School." I answered.

"So you didn't know him well?"

"No." I wanted so much to burst out with my week with Rich, to tell everyone that I was his lover. However, I bit my tongue as Ashley rambled on.

"He's changed and I don't know why. His acting if anything is better than ever, but outside of the set, he seems to have lost his spark. It's almost as if he has fallen in love with someone who he can't be with."

Yes I thought. My spark resides where his spark resides. I had followed his career ever since our South Devon adventure. I had noticed for myself that whilst he went to premieres and awards ceremonies the beautiful girl on his arm was always different. There was no suggestion by the gossip columnist that he had formed any attachment. Of course, the paper I read was the Daily Mail. Although right wing, Charles would still grumble that its politics were not right wing enough. Any paper that was left of the Daily Mail would never find a home in our establishment. The Daily Mail tended not to publish salacious gossip.

This even tenor of our life went on. Charles did his duty every Sunday night, religiously. However, such devotion did not result in my becoming pregnant again. He was fulfilled by his work and I was supposedly fulfilled by my indolent days. Perhaps I should have taken up some kind of work for charity; I had actually suggested that to Charles, who pulled a face. According to him, charity was for helping the workshy and he wouldn't be happy with his wife working to alleviate the lot of the poor, who were poor for the simple reason that they wouldn't work. 

That even tenor was disturbed one evening after we had dined. Charlotte was eleven at the time. I was in the drawing room drinking coffee when Charles joined me. I sensed he was unsettled so I waited until he wanted to speak. He finally decided on his words. "Are you going to tell me who is Charlotte's father?"

There was little point in denying. Knowing Charles I was sure he would be sure of his facts. "I was never certain, Charles, but obviously you have proof. I cannot tell you who her father is; he doesn't even know he has a daughter. I really hoped that you were her father if that is any consolation."

"So you will not tell me?"

"No. Charles. I can say that he is no one that you know."

"I see. I suppose that may be some consolation. However, it doesn't alter my decision. I have the proof. I have DNA analysis of a strand of Charlotte's hair and my own."

"And what is your decision?" I held my breath.

"We shall divorce. I thank you for not lying and your assurance that her father is no one in my circle. It doesn't change my decision though. I think the best option is to seek a divorce on the grounds of unreasonable behaviour."

"Charles. If you wish to divorce me for adultery, I shall not contest it."

Charles didn't even think about it. If I knew him, he had decided his course of action before he spoke to me. "No, Andrea. That won't do. I need to preserve my reputation in the City. Being branded a cuckold would not help me at all. Despite not being Charlotte's father, I am fond of her. I shall make an annual contribution to her schooling and general upkeep. Is that fair?"

"That's very generous of you Charles."

"My solicitor has all the details and I shall phone him tomorrow to start proceedings. Do you wish to engage a solicitor of your own? If so I shall be happy to cover his fees."

"No thank you Charles. You always have and I am sure you will be, fair."

"Good! We are agreed. Would you make arrangements to quit this house within a week?"

"Yes, of course. We shall go back to Broughley before deciding my future."

Daddy was very pleased to see us. He didn't bat an eye at the mounds of luggage Charlotte and I brought. Charlie, the name Charlotte preferred, except Charles would not hear of it, loved her grandfather who held his arms wide for her hug. "Granpop, we are coming to live with you. Isn't that great?"