by Lorna Peel
“Oh, really?” His eyebrows rose playfully. “So what do you actually visualise me watching on television?”
“I really have no idea, now that I know you’ve seen The Jerry Springer Show.”
“Are you mocking my choice of programmes?” he teased. “I mean, you’re probably glued to the soaps every evening.”
Her mouth fell open in mock-outrage. She quickly put her glass on the floor and hit him with a cushion. He fended her off and managed to pin her down, helpless with laughter, on the sofa.
“I love you,” he whispered, starting to undo her blouse. “I don’t know what I would have done without you these last few days. So let me make love to you,” he said, concentrating on undoing the last button before slipping the blouse off her shoulders. “Come with me.” He took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom and across to the bed.
“You don’t have to reward me,” she said softly as she climbed onto the bed and felt his hands unfastening her bra. “But having you make love to me would be lovely, thank you.”
“Good,” he replied, taking it off and dropping it onto the floor.
“But we’ll have to be quiet,” she told him as he eased her onto his lap with her back to him.
“Quiet?” He slid his hands under her breasts and held them in his hands. “There’s no-one next door.”
“Well, quieter. The walls aren’t four feet thick here.”
“All right, quieter.” He ran his thumbs over her nipples. “I love your breasts,” he whispered in her ear, as he began to massage them, and she rested her head back on his shoulder. “I love you. Look at us.”
“Hmm?” She raised her head and saw them reflected in the wardrobe mirror. His hands cupping her breasts, her skirt up around her thighs and her legs already wide open. She quickly began to close them.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t hide yourself.” She opened them again and felt hot breath on the back of her neck. “I’m hard already. Feel.” He shifted position slightly and she felt his erection through his trousers in the small of her back. “And I want to be inside you. Do you want me inside you?”
“Yes,” she replied and smiled as he kissed her neck then lifted her off his lap and onto the bed before getting up.
He undid his trousers and pushed them and his briefs down, grunting as his erection sprang to attention. He pulled his shoes off then stepped out of them, shrugged his jacket off, then began to unbutton his shirt.
“Wait.” She got up and began to undo the buttons, standing so close to him his erection was pressing into her stomach. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders then began to undo her skirt button.
“My turn.” He smiled and undid it and lowered the zip. He eased both the skirt and her panties down her legs and lifted her out of them. He reached for his jacket and pulled a condom out of his wallet, tore open the packaging and rolled it on. “Kneel on the bed?” he asked.
“Kneel?” she echoed and he nodded. She climbed onto the bed and he positioned himself behind her, turning her so they were facing the mirror again.
He took her hips and bent over her, kissing her back, from her neck down to her buttocks. Holding her hips steady, he eased himself into her, grunting his satisfaction. He pulled out slowly and she raised her head and watched his expression in the mirror, the wondrous and almost painful satisfaction she was giving him evident in his face.
He pushed in again deeper and she let out a small moan. He pulled out almost completely and when he entered her again more quickly, they both groaned. Pulling out, he pulled her back into a hard thrust, then did it again, with a loud grunt each time his groin met her buttocks.
She didn’t want to come yet, didn’t want him to ever stop so she pushed herself up, bringing her back up to his chest, angling her hips so she could fit even more of him inside her. His hands slid upwards from her hips to her breasts and he kneaded them as he thrust upwards into her, finding a rhythm after a couple of moments. He was hitting a spot inside which was setting her on fire. As she grew close to her climax, he slipped one hand between her legs and she felt his fingers stroke her, the movement enough to send her over. He continued to stroke through her orgasm, until with one final thrust, he came with a muffled groan.
When she opened her eyes she saw them in the mirror, almost moulded to each other, his arms around her holding her tightly against him. He bent his head and kissed her neck.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“And I love you,” she replied.
Waking early, she heard him slip out to the kitchen to make a hot drink and rolled over to watch him. There was barely a sound as he put the electric kettle on. He found the teapot, tea and mugs and stood waiting for the water to boil. Looking around at the simple furnishings, the pictures of her parents on the wall, photos stuck to the fridge with magnets, the table with a vase of wildflowers in the middle. He was clearly thinking how homely it was, how warm and friendly, and of his own life in a huge mansion isolated from the town and normal life.
Sophia silently followed him out of bed and stood at the door to the living area. She watched him as he peered at one of the more casual black and white photographs she had taken of him stuck to the door of the fridge.
He sensed her presence and turned around. “Why on earth have you stuck that on here?”
Sophia walked over and took a closer look at the photograph. He looked good enough to eat, both in the photograph and in the flesh.
“I hate having my picture taken,” he protested. “I look like an idiot.”
“No, you don’t. And I’m thinking of using it for a postcard like that American woman wanted.” She laughed and dodged him as he tried to grab hold of her. “Fifty pence a card, we’d make a fortune.”
“Frighten people away, you mean.” The kettle came to the boil and clicked off and she watched him make the tea. “See?” he said as the tea brewed. “I’m not completely undomesticated.”
“Did I ever say you were?” She smiled as he poured the tea and took a mug, realising how very little she knew about him, and yet how much. “Did you have a flat or a house when you were at university?”
“A flat. And I did all my own cooking and cleaning. So coming back here was a shock in more ways than one; no more wandering about at seven in the morning completely naked making tea. So, like I said last night, I don’t know what I would have done without you these last few days. I’m shy.” He smiled comically. “And because I’m shy, I’m lonely, but people think I’m either a snob who doesn’t want to mix with them or a hermit. So thank you for being persistent and patient with me.”
She put the mug down and put her arms around him. “I love you,” she whispered. “You’re neither a snob nor a hermit. Come back to bed and tell me about university.”
They picked up their mugs and got back into bed.
“I had a flat ten minutes from the college,” he told her. “I shared with two others. I went a bit wild the first year but knuckled down to my studies after that. Then in my final year, Lady Heaton suddenly turned up. Father had had a persistent cough. She eventually managed to persuade him to go and see a doctor. He referred Father to a specialist. Advanced lung cancer.” He took a gulp of tea. “I wanted to drop out but she wouldn’t hear of it. I managed to get through the rest of the year, coming back up here at weekends, somehow managed to sit my finals, then moved back here and I’ve been here ever since. Thank God I had that first wild year.”
“A lot of wine women and song?” she asked and he laughed.
“Beer, girls and drunken renditions of Oasis songs mostly. I have to go with Lady Heaton to see Stephanie today.” He grimaced. “We have to go together sometimes otherwise Stephanie is going to think there’s something wrong.”
“What’s going to happen when she comes home?”
He sighed. “I have absolutely no idea. One thing is for sure – she won’t be going back to the flat for a while. She’ll be in the house with Lady Heaton whether she likes it or not. And
whether I like it or not.”
Sophia found her father watching cricket on television later that morning, but he turned it off and smiled at her as she closed the living room door and shrugged off her jacket.
“Tell Thomas that I went to the library. I went surfing the internet and I found out all about grants.”
“I will.” She smiled. “What did you find out?”
“Oh, the different types available. A couple of organisations are sending me some information. Do you think Thomas would give me a hand with some of the forms?”
“I’ll ask, but I’m sure he will.”
“Good. He’s a nice lad. Fancy a cuppa?”
“Yes, please,” she replied and he went out to the kitchen.
She went to the sideboard and opened the doors. Her mother had neatly numbered all the photograph albums and she pulled out 1974-75. Her mother had been working in Leeds with Danielle and Sophia flipped through the pages until she came to photographs of what looked like the company’s Christmas dinner dance.
She sat cross-legged on the floor and picked out her mother and father immediately but where was Danielle?
“What’s this?” Her father put a mug of tea down on the floor beside her. “Ah, Connolly’s Christmas do.”
“Was Michelle’s mum not there?” she asked.
“No, she was ill. Your mum was disappointed that she couldn’t go. There’s a nice photo of your mum with you and Danielle with Michelle.” Sophia turned a few pages and he pointed. “That one,” he said before returning to the sofa.
Sophia turned back to the beginning of the album and went through all the photographs until she came to one of her mother and Danielle on the promenade in Blackpool. It was out of season as the promenade was almost deserted. She stared, trying to remember what her mother had written in her journal about the trips to Blackpool. Despite being wrapped up warm, Danielle was holding a large bag in front of her, the way some television actresses do when trying to conceal their own pregnancy even though everyone knows they are pregnant. Except not everyone had known that Danielle was pregnant. But her mother had. Two pages later was the Christmas do. It was 1975. Thomas was born in May 1976. No wonder Danielle didn’t go, she would have been pregnant at the time. In the Blackpool photograph, Danielle was pregnant with Thomas.
“Dad, can I borrow this album? I want to make copies of a couple of photos.”
“Course you can,”
“Thanks.” She reached into the sideboard again and pulled out 1973-74. Going through the pages, she came to another photograph taken in Blackpool. This time, her mother was seated on the beach in a deckchair while Danielle was crouching behind. “Mum and Michelle’s mum seem to have liked Blackpool,” she commented. “Did you take these?” She held the album up so her father could see the photographs.
“No, it wasn’t me. Your mum and I were never in Blackpool.”
“Can I borrow this one as well?” she asked.
He nodded. “How can you copy photos?”
“Thomas has a scanner, I can scan them.”
Her father looked none the wiser and she took a sip of tea.
“If he asked you to marry him, would you say yes?” he asked.
Sophia looked up at him. “Yes, I would,” she replied quietly. “Would that upset you?”
“All I want is for you to be happy.” He sighed. “And he is a nice lad. Loves you – he made that quite clear at the hospital. If only he wasn’t a lord. You must try and get him out more.”
“Dad, he’s not a recluse.”
“I know that but others don’t.”
“After I’ve been shopping, and lunch, we’re going walking on the moors,” she told him.
“He likes the moors?”
“Yes, he does. And he needs the exercise.”
Back at the flat, she left the two photograph albums on the sofa while she brought up her shopping and made herself some lunch. Munching on her salad sandwich, she looked through the photos again.
“Can I come up?” She heard Thomas’ voice below.
“The door’s open,” she called and heard him coming up the stairs.
“How is your father?”
“Fine, thanks. He’s been looking into grants and is hoping that you’d help him with some forms?”
“Me?” He looked and sounded astonished.
“It’s an enormous compliment.”
“Oh. Well, of course, I’ll help. What have you there?”
“Photographs of Danielle,” she told him. “When she was expecting Stephanie and you.” He froze. “Come and look.” Slowly he walked across the room and sat down. “This one is the first and it was taken in Blackpool,” she explained. “It’s sometime in winter 1974. She was expecting Stephanie. This one is Blackpool again. Winter 1975.”
“She was expecting me,” he whispered.
“Yes. I’ll scan them and I’ll put them on the laptop with the other details.” He nodded. “There’s a clearer one of her…here…Michelle and I were born within a week of each other.”
“Thanks for finding these. Your father wasn’t a bit…strange, about you borrowing these?”
“No, which is why I don’t really think he knew. Mum and Dad married in October 1980. Danielle and Don married in August 1981. Mum moved back here from Leeds when she married. Danielle lived on in Leeds then moved to London when she married. I don’t think there was much opportunity for Dad to get to know her much at all. Michelle came back up here to school but, even so, it was mostly Mum and me and Michelle and her mum who mixed.”
He nodded. “It’s strange. I thought Father would pick someone who looked like Lady Heaton but Danielle doesn’t really. Maybe they did, but Danielle was the only one who would go through with it.” He blew out his cheeks and went to the window. “God, there are times I’m glad that I know and then there are times that I wish I didn’t know. I don’t want Stephanie to know but she’s going to find out. Lady Heaton and I spoke about three words all morning and even they were a struggle. I don’t think Stephanie noticed, she was just happy to see us.”
“How is she?” Sophia asked.
“Still weak but walking a bit further every day. She says thanks for the magazines.”
“No problem. I’ll just get changed. Could you make the flask of coffee?”
Seated out of the wind in the stone circle, she poured the coffee and handed him a cup.
“Thank you.” He took a sip and smiled. “I love it up here. I can almost forget everything when I’m up here with you.”
“Good.” She leaned over and kissed his lips.
He finished his coffee and lay down, closing his eyes. She closed the flask and lay down beside him, running a finger lightly over his lips.
He opened his eyes and stared solemnly at her. “Marry me?” he whispered and her heart somersaulted. “No, you don’t have to answer immediately but the proposal is there. Take as long as you need.” She nodded. “And remember all the other things you need to take into consideration, too.” She nodded again and he lifted her hand and kissed it.
“Will you come out with me tonight?” she asked. “You’ve just asked me to marry you and we haven’t even been on a proper date.”
He rolled his eyes. “I know. Where would you like to go?”
“The cinema?” she suggested. “And a couple of drinks afterwards?”
“I haven’t been to the cinema since…”
“E.T., Stephanie told me. I’m afraid they don’t have those courting seats at the Odeon anymore. Actually, you might have a job squeezing into the ones that are there now. Legroom-wise, I mean.”
“Only midgets go to the cinema these days?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t call them midgets. I just wish they’d turn their phones off and shut up.”
“What’s on?”
“Oh.” She shrugged. “It’s bound to be something extremely violent with lots of car chases.”
“Oh.” His face fell.
“We’ll see. And if al
l the films look terrible, we’ll just go straight to the pub.”
They walked into town and stood outside the cinema weighing up what was on offer, eventually choosing a reasonable thriller, emerging two hours later.
“I don’t know about you, but I miss the courting seats.” Thomas rubbed his knees. They had been forced to sit some way along a row and even she had found it uncomfortable after a while. “And those two behind us were kissing so noisily that I was on the point of asking for the sound to be turned up. I don’t kiss like that?” he asked anxiously.
“No. Oh, God, no. He sounded like he was unblocking a sink with a plunger.”
He smiled. “I haven’t been on a date since the latter part of the twentieth century so, a drink?”
“Yes, please.”
They went into The Swan and he ordered two whiskies.
“Father used to come here,” he told her as he brought the glasses back to their table and sat down.
“Did he ever bring you out for a drink?” she asked and he frowned. “For your first pint or something?”
“No,” he replied in a surprised tone. “Why? Were you brought out?”
“Yes, but not for a pint. Michelle and I had a joint eighteenth birthday party. First legal drink and all that.”
“I don’t think I knew my father at all.” He took a sip of whisky. “I had a twenty-first birthday party but it was mostly relatives who came. It was like an Agatha Christie novel. Without the murder, but you know what I mean. The lord, the major, the maid, the butler, all the clichés were there.”
“When did the staff leave?”
“We had two house-parlourmaids, a butler, and Mrs Fields…Helen. The maids left to get married about a year after father died and MacDonald, the butler, retired a couple of years later. I decided not to replace them – I couldn’t afford to replace them.” He pulled a comical face. “Sorry, I’m supposed to be chatting you up, aren’t I? Trying to get you into bed?” he added in a low voice.
“Excuse me, but I have never slept with anyone on a first date,” she replied in an equally low voice.
“Sophia?” She glanced up. It was Gavin.
