He paused and ran his fingers up and down the inside of her legs, slowly, deliberately, bringing them ever higher. She had her eyes closed, hoping against hope that he would use his tongue. He kissed the top of each thigh, gradually bringing the kisses closer and closer to where she longed for them. He then found her wetness and slowly and gently ran his tongue up and down. He did not hurry, he wanted her to savour what was happening. Soon it was too much for her, she groaned and pulled him down on her…..
…..They held each other in a vice-like grip for what seemed like an eternity……..Eventually….
……“I have to go,” he said at last.
“I know.”
He kissed her one more time. He took himself to the side of the bed, stood up and began to dress. Not for one second did they take their eyes off each other. He pulled his jacket on, stepped into the doorway, looked at her one more time and then headed for the stairs.
The car seemed to drive itself. Roger Davidson found himself on Manchester Road heading towards the County Ground. He turned left and took the slower route home through Gorse Hill along Cricklade Road.
“My god, I’ve just had the most unbelievable sex with Patricia Patel. Fuck! How did this happen? Oh Fuck, what do I say to Felicity about being so late.”
He was at the Crossroads in no time, turned into Beechcroft Road and up into Merton Ave. The house was in darkness. He made his way upstairs as quietly as the creaking floorboards would allow. He checked on Rebecca; she was gone to the world. He stepped into his bedroom. Felicity stirred.
“Where have you been Roger,” she asked sleepily, “you’re normally back much earlier than this?”
“A few of us went for a drink afterwards, and somebody had car trouble, so we hung around until the RAC came along.”
Barely awake, Felicity asked, “Whose car was it?”
He hesitated. “Oh, Barry Wentworth’s.”
“Wow, he and Cynthia won’t be pleased; they only bought that new two weeks ago. Give me a kiss. I’m tired.”
Roger leant over and kissed her cheek. Felicity closed her eyes and pulled the bedclothes up. For a split second she sensed something, a smell? In a few seconds she was heading back to the world of sleep.
Patricia Patel stepped out the shower, put on her bath robe and stepped over to her dresser. She finished her wine, stared into the mirror and smiled.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mid-March
….He did as she demanded. She selected a cane from a tall bucket which contained many such instruments.
“Over!”
She moved behind him and commenced. Each stroke of the six was delivered with her customary firmness, but not too hard; that was for later.
“Stand. Go to your desk. Detention will now begin.”…….
He sat down. The pain had been excruciating but he was used to it; indeed he longed for it. He sat there, arms crossed and looked at her.
“You will copy out the first sentence of Chapter One. You will write it out three times. You will do it with the utmost neatness. I shall inspect the lines that you sent me last week. If I discover any errors or any sloppy handwriting, you know what to expect. She placed the book on his desk and returned to her desk and began to carefully scan his “lines”. Her red pen was soon in action. This could only mean one thing.
Meanwhile, he started writing.
“EmmaWoodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.”…..
Mid-November: The next morning
Spence was in his element. The odour of fried eggs and bacon had taken over his kitchen and the coffee was brewing. Radio Four’s ‘The Today Program’ was blaring out and Spence was smiling. Every time James Naughtie was introduced, he simply cracked up.
“Why couldn’t I have had a name like that?” he often thought.
And then memories of the previous night came drifting back and Spence became whimsical. He was managing to place his daughter’s vomiting and Roger Davidson’s demise in the dark recesses. He was remembering Susannah Pearson as he stared out the window at the frost.
“Dad, what the fuck? You’ll set the house on fire!.” She threw her phone on to the table and quickly grabbed the smoking frying pan.
Laura Hargreaves was in remarkably good condition considering what she had gone through only a few hours earlier.
“Where’s the coffee? And what’s that bloody row?”
Laura’s demeanour was the exact opposite of how she was feeling. She loved these mornings with her father, the English fry-up, the strong coffee and Radio 4. Spence knew she loved it.
“Eggs, bacon, mushrooms and fried bread – and the French think they can cook.”
Laura laughed at her father. It was not what he said but the fact that he said the same thing every time they shared a cleansing English breakfast.
“So what was the problem last night? He left you waiting in the cold, he’s started voting conservative or he’s run off with your friend Millicent? Ah yes, Millicent.”
“Dad, stop it! I really can’t handle it when you start fantasising about my friends!”
There were a few moments silence as each of them got stuck into their food.
“Anyway, it was worse than any of that. If he was shagging Millie, I could handle that, after all she’s cuter than me. No, the bastard forgot he was meeting me in town for a feed, and do you know what he was doing instead?”
Spence knew it was best not to answer.
“He was at the football watching Swindon play!”
“They were playing Portsmouth. They got beat. One nil.”
Laura’s expression turned colder than anything outside.
“Sorry Laura, yes he should not have done that. Especially as it was so cold last night.”
“Well that’s it dad, we’re through. He’s treated me wrong for the last time. I’ve made a decision, I’m going to find myself a decent guy, go on one of those computer dating sites. Someone considerate, someone who puts me first.”
They continued eating, Spence poured some more coffee. The Today program continued.
“The Prime Minister has said that he has no intention of seeking the resignation of the Trade Minister, Christopher Morgan. Mr Morgan had been photographed at a Soho gay club two nights earlier, wearing a blonde wig, full make-up and school girl’s uniform. And now the weather.”
Laura and Spence exploded into laughter.
“Of course he’s not going to resign, he’s a Tory for god’s sake. I’d be doubting his allegiance to the party if he wasn’t doing something like that.”
They were laughing when Laura’s phone started vibrating. The few seconds that passed seemed like an eternity.
“Are you going to answer that?” Spence asked. “It