by Alan G Boyes
“Let’s hope so. Please give my regards to her.”
Cindy was less than overjoyed at going away for the weekend, but did not want to hurt Alan’s feelings and found herself saying that it was a wonderful surprise and what a thoughtful husband he was. Her mind was elsewhere. She had been thinking of Gordon and the arrival of his so-called guests at Loch Quoich – and when her husband mentioned the trip to the Lake District her mind could only focus on the following Tuesday, when she would be lunching again at the Bunch of Grapes. How can I be expected to be at ease with Alan in such circumstances? she thought. In fact, the deceit was starting to make her feel more miserable, but she knew she could not, would not, let that change her mind about seeing Gordon.
The next morning Alan drove them in the Jaguar, and they arrived at the hotel just in time for a light lunch. The porter had taken their small overnight cases and, after finishing their meal, Alan and Cindy went to the Corinth Suite. Alan was delighted. The room offered spectacular views across the Lake and was in an elevated but totally private and separate location, yet only a short distance under a covered walkway from the main hotel. He opened the large double glazed patio doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The weather was still very warm and he thought this a perfect place where later in the day he could sit quietly with Cindy over drinks and watch the sun set over the water.
However, Cindy’s deep misgivings about the trip intensified when she saw the large double bed and she was on the verge of complaining about it to Alan. She weighed her options. Whilst she might not really want Alan any more, she had told him she would try harder. She had nothing to gain by continually upsetting him and she also had to be realistic. Gordon was hardly likely to want to get over involved, and if ever things got really messy with her and Alan she reasoned that Gordon would make his excuses and exit from her life pretty rapidly – after all, he had remained single up to now and with his wealth he would never lack for female company. This was not the time for impetuous gestures, so she said nothing. She continued to admire the view and after a brief rest they drove around the twisted lanes and went sightseeing. They took dinner early, at seven thirty, as Alan was quite insistent that as it was such a lovely evening it would be good to take drinks on the patio and watch the sun go down. So, after an excellent meal, they changed into more casual clothes before walking out on the balcony. Alan poured them both a glass of an excellent Pinot Grigio and they sat in the comfortable wicker armchairs. They spoke now and then, but their main attention was divided between looking at the reddening sky and the respective books they were reading.
As the light faded, Alan switched on the soft, unobtrusive balcony lights and dimmed them using the remote control that was handily placed on one of tables. The hotel had a menu-driven cabled music system which could be operated from any room in the suite and he turned it on from the illuminated green panel brightly glowing in the centre of wall next to the patio doors. He scrolled through the options and selected ‘classical’, placing an asterisk against eight of Cindy’s most loved pieces.
For the next hour and a half, they just sat back in their chairs, enjoyed the music and intermittently continued to read their books. It was going as well as Alan could have hoped. The wine had helped Cindy to be noticeably more relaxed and he observed how she frequently shut her eyes for quite long spells, seemingly totally absorbed in the music. Looking over at her reclining in the chair, in slacks and blouse with a thin jumper draped around her arms, he thought she still looked fantastic and admired how well she had kept her figure.
Cindy would have liked to retire to bed and sleep much earlier, but had deliberately not done so. The more tired she could claim to be the better, and with any luck the glasses of wine might affect Alan to the extent of perhaps leading to a postponement of what he had so obviously arranged this trip to achieve. However, at eleven o’clock her eyelids started to drop and she told Alan that she was going to take a shower and go to bed. Alan rose from his chair and having turned off the balcony lights, followed her into the room closing the large doors behind him.
As he heard the sound of the spray, he reflected upon the many times they had undressed and showered together, each gently stroking and caressing the other under the warm foaming water, but tonight Cindy had precluded any such delights by shutting herself behind the locked door of the spacious, marbled en-suite. Several minutes later she came out, her pink face glowing even in the subdued light of the bedroom, wearing her silk dressing gown over the multi-coloured, patterned pyjamas which she had deliberately chosen to wear in the hope of perhaps postponing the ordeal she was about to face in a few moments time. She walked quickly across the room, took off the robe, and slipped between the sheets. She gripped the lightweight duvet that rested easily on the huge bed and pulled it around her before turning her body so that her back faced Alan’s side of the bed.
He quickly undressed and washed, and came out of the bathroom naked. He turned off the music and slowly slid his expectant body into the bed positioning it as close to Cindy as he could manage before placing his arm around her. She could feel him rising against her lower back and swore silently to herself. She did not want this, really did not – but what was she to do? She turned herself over to face him.
“It’s been a lovely day, Alan, thank you,” giving him a brief kiss on the cheek before quickly turning away.
Alan however started gently kissing the nape of her neck and running his fingers through her silky hair. He followed this by sliding his hand inside her pyjama top and gently cupped her right breast. Cindy made a plea that she was very tired but her whispered words vanished unheeded. It was clear that Alan was not listening and any words from her were unwanted and would be ignored. She knew then that if her marriage was not to end here and now, there was only one thing to do. She turned onto her back and pretended to enjoy their lovemaking.
A short while after another excellent evening dinner on the Sunday, Cindy complained of having an upset stomach and made several visits to the bathroom before retiring to bed prior to the onset of dusk. Alan was fussing over her, offering her an assortment of the various medications he always carried as a precaution against the most common ailments and Cindy took an antacid tablet. Having successfully feigned her illness, she was easily able to ward off any suggestion of physical contact from her husband and hoped to enjoy an uninterrupted night’s sleep. Alan, however, could not sleep, slightly troubled at Cindy’s apparent illness.
As the hours passed without her waking to visit the bathroom again, he began to be more and more convinced he had been deceived and that Cindy’s illness was mere subterfuge. He was hurt and angry. Without thinking, he grabbed at the sleeping Cindy and pulled her onto her back.
She stirred and still half asleep murmured, “what… what are you doing Alan?” but he ignored her question. He quickly wrenched her pyjamas down her thighs and threw his body onto hers. She struggled but he held her arms above her head and his weight firmly pinned her thighs. As she tried even harder to get free she started to roll her body from side to side but her plastered leg inhibited her movement and her husband’s superior strength prevented her from getting away. Alan was inflamed now, the rhythm of her movements only making him more excited, his blood pumping so hard through his bluish tinged veins that they swelled and protruded from their imprisoning flesh like thick strands of string and he thrust his swollen penis hard between her open thighs.
“No, Alan, no – I won’t do this” she shouted and moved her leg to try and get free but he continued to move on top of her and with each quickening jerk of his body pushed ever harder and deeper. Sweat started to drip from his flushed, hot face. He had control now and knew her resistance was futile. Holding her shoulders, he pulled her towards him synchronising his movements with hers.
“Come on Cindy… come on… come on baby” he urged, panting breathlessly into her ear, his words subconsciously synchronised to the rhythm of his own body.
Cindy knew her position was
hopeless. She gave up resisting him, and lay still whilst he pumped away until he climaxed a minute later.
“You’re wonderful, wonderful,” he repeated. “Thank you, thank you. That was so good,” he blurted over and over and went to kiss her on the mouth but Cindy turned her face away.
“Then you had better remember it. That’s the last time you’re going to fuck me, Alan. Now get off me and take me home tomorrow.” Cindy spoke slowly, deliberately, determinedly, and pushed him away from her.
They spoke little on the return journey. Alan had made a fulsome apology but Cindy was having none of it. He tried to introduce some topics of conversation about the scenery or the traffic on the motorway but she was disinterested and made only cursory replies. When they had unpacked, she sat in an arm chair in the lounge and watched the television specially choosing a programme she knew Alan disliked. At 10pm she rose and, saying nothing to Alan, went to her bedroom where she had a contented and undisturbed night’s sleep dreaming of Gordon.
13
On Tuesday morning, she heard Alan moving about the house as he prepared for work but did not get up to see him off. By the time she had breakfasted Donaldson and Alan were nearing London. The weather had turned, and a grey overcast sky heralded the possibility of rain. Cindy wore a pair of dark, tailored trousers and a close-fitting, vivid orange jumper that emphasised her figure. She had applied ever so slightly more make-up than usual and spent a great deal of time accentuating her pale green eyes with the skilful application of various shades of eye liner and mascara. Even in the gloomy morning light, her face looked fresh and her complexion radiated a warm natural glow that contrasted with the subtle smokiness of her eyes, sparkling invitingly and promisingly.
As she entered the pub, the effect upon Gordon was both startling and exciting. He was immediately appreciative of the efforts his lunch companion had made to impress him and he stopped walking towards her, took a pace backwards still gazing admiringly upon her and said simply, “Wow, you look terrific”. Then taking her hand, he guided her to the table. As they sat down, he brought out of his pocket a small box, wrapped in gift paper.
“For you,” he said, and laughed as he did so. Cindy wondered what on earth it could be. Surely not a ring or expensive jewellery – he didn’t know her well enough for that sort of thing and anyway she wasn’t certain he was an expensive gifts type man, despite his wealth.
“For me? Can I open it now?” Cindy was eager and her fingers nervously picked at the paper not waiting for his response.
“Of course,” he replied. The paper fell away to reveal a small, dark red, velvet-covered box which she carefully opened. Inside all she could see was cotton wool but a small slip of pale lilac-coloured card was loose inside the lid. In neat script, written with a black fountain pen, were written the words:
To the Lady on Train 204
7 July 2005
It was unsigned. Cindy delved carefully into the box and parted the cotton wool protective packaging. She squealed with delight. It was a gold brooch of the logo for Liverpool Street underground station. Beautifully crafted enamel work reproduced exactly the different authentic colours, including the unique logo with a yellow bar, depicting the Circle line.
A small tear ran down her cheek as she looked up at him.
“It’s wonderful”, she said. “Thank you Gordon, so much, it is so very kind of you.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he answered. “Now, let’s order shall we?”
* * *
Lunch was unhurried and the conversation relaxed. Cindy felt completely at ease. In fact she was immersed in everything Gordon was saying to her and totally absorbed by his presence. He likewise was interested in listening to Cindy and quite overwhelmed when she laughed as her broad, open smile seemingly lit up her face and caused her eyes to sparkle with even greater intensity. At one point, Cindy asked Gordon to tell her more about himself and of the business he had sold. He was usually very reticent about revealing his background, let alone his business interests, but felt that Cindy was different from any other woman he had met. He already regarded her as one of the very few persons whom he could trust and confirmed to her everything she had read on the internet, though he said he sold the software business for 360 million. Gordon added that his main property company had numerous investments across the world and that its portfolio was worth an estimated 200 million such had been the rapid rise in real estate values across the globe. He also had, what he termed, a small private company that managed only the properties which he maintained solely for his personal occupation and use.
“Can you guess what I miss most?” he asked.
Cindy was so relaxed she started to speak impulsively, all her natural reserve gone, “No idea, Gordon. Is there anything you could miss? Not much I should think. That is a heap of assets you are sitting on. Oh, I don’t know – the buzz of running your software business and seeing it grow from nothing.”
Gordon was impressed; that was a large void in his life but it was not his main loss.
“Near. Not bad. No, it’s actually being a programmer. I loved those early days on the Spectrum and the BBC computers. They were real home computers, and more advanced than anything any other country had, but became another example where Britain led the world but failed to develop the products and technology. Eventually that competitive advantage slipped away and others moved in. We could have had our own Microsoft, you know.” He paused. “Sorry, this must be boring you. Its programming I really miss.”
Cindy wasn’t at all bored, she was enthralled. Gordon had opened up to her and she felt, rightly, he had not spoken like this to anyone before.
“But you’ve developed many other interests, like Mealag and so on,” she said reassuringly.
“Yes, but that gives a different pleasure. As for the property company, I am actually in negotiations at the moment to sell it, the whole lot. I shall keep the properties I own in my own private company; Mealag Lodge, the London apartment and I also own a villa in Greece but what do I want with any others? I have no one to share even those with, and life can be quite lonely sometimes, even for me. The property boom will not go on for ever, and I have made two fortunes. For goodness sake, how many fortunes does a man need?”
Cindy was aware the conversation was becoming very personal and quite intense. She was unsure whether to press further but couldn’t resist a little more probing. Smiling, and slightly tossing her head back to sway her hair, she said, “I’m sure you must have had dozens of opportunities not to be alone.”
“Well, not dozens, but I can’t deny that there have been some! Of course there have been one or two people who have come into my life briefly over the years but things never worked out, and I’m not the type for one or even two night stands. Anyway, this is quite enough about me. What about you? I know very, very little about the real you, only your work and background; the stuff we spoke of on the train.”
“I can hardly remember what I said now, but as for the personal stuff… ” Cindy’s speech tailed off and she took a deep breath trying to decide exactly how much she should say.
“If you would rather not, then let’s change the subject. When does the plaster on your leg come off?” Gordon thoughtfully tried to lighten the suddenly sombre moment, acutely aware that Cindy may not wish to explain, yet, why it was she had wanted to meet up again.
“No, no I want to tell you. I do. My teenage and college years were pretty ordinary. I wasn’t a rebel and I didn’t sleep around. I had two or three boyfriends, none serious. I met Alan in a London coffee bar one lunch time in 1999 and we married in 2000. No children. God, said like that, it isn’t much is it?” she ended, slightly relieved.
“Do you think it is too little, then?” This was Gordon at his best. Disarming, yet in a few softly spoken words asking the question to get to the real issue, rather as a top barrister would when discussing a complex brief with the client and his solicitor.
Cindy also realised the importance of the qu
estion. Gordon up to now had just been a kind, seemingly rather ordinary man in many ways, but the flash of intellect behind the question revealed another side, a really sharp brain and someone who would not be fooled.
“Is the cup half full or half empty?” Cindy asked rhetorically. “Mine is half empty… ” She paused and Gordon knew better than to interrupt. “Alan thinks the world of me and is very kind. He works hard and we have all the money we need, though not of course in your league! We have a good lifestyle, home and interests. But, for me, things are not working out and the really sad part is that I don’t want them to. I have known for quite a while that I can never be really happy with Alan.”
There, I’ve said it she thought. This is where Gordon makes for the door. But he remained seated in the chair.
“I think we need another glass of wine and a change of subject,” he said, and called over the waiter.
Their conversation soon returned to the easy discourse of earlier in the meal with laughter and genial banter emanating from their table and, as if on cue, the sun finally appeared from behind broken clouds, adding its own change of mood as the warmth and brightness flooded their table. When it was time to leave, Cindy telephoned for her taxi and Gordon suggested they wait in the car park. As they made their way to the exit, he tenderly placed his arm around her waist to steady her as she walked.
“There is something I think I need to say to you Cindy. Firstly, I shall be away now, out of the country for at least three months tying up the deal on the property company, and sorting out a few other things. I was hoping to postpone it until the plaster had been removed from your leg but the financiers and lawyers are all set up, so regrettably I have to go. It’s probably a good thing in one way that I am away for a while because you are becoming increasingly important to me. I’m not good at saying these sorts of things, but I should very much want to know you better and see you more often. In fact I should like to invite you to Mealag when I get back, but – and it’s a big ‘but’ Cindy – you have to want it too. You are married and Alan sounds a thoroughly good husband, you are very fortunate in that. My experience, little as it is, says that a loyal, loving husband is hard to find. Clearly to continue seeing me has big risks for you. There are very few risks for me and in the end this may not work out for either of us. I am not certain that it is right for us to keep meeting, but I know I want to and I really want you to reflect on what might happen if we do go on seeing each other. Sooner or later someone, or all of us, is likely to get hurt and I do not want to take that risk unless you do as well. Please use the time to think about it and if you want to come to Mealag, phone me in three months’ time. It will be near to Christmas then and I can think of nothing better than Christmas with you at Mealag. Don’t give me an answer now, as I will not accept it.”
