Great Short Stories

by Stan Mason

  ‘I do not wish to know how you got into the sea in that ridiculous dress,’ he went on. ‘All I can do is to count my blessings that you are with me.’

  From the moment she saw his handsome face and lithe body she was romantically attracted to him even though, at that moment, she recognised that she was a married woman and had no right to allow herself to become involved intimately with another man. However, the rules of the game of life had rapidly changed in her favour offering her a path to freedom from a very argumentative and oppressive husband.

  They sailed in to Villa Joyosa, a lovely little port north of Alicante where all the houses were painted in distinctly different pastel shades, and he took her to a small lavender-coloured cottage a short distance away from the shore. He was five years younger than her but that hardly mattered for they were soon deeply in love with each other. He regarded his life as a Greek legend whereby she had come to him like a Goddess from out of the sea and he always called her his little mermaid. Each day he went fishing while she found employment in the local chocolate factory. Then, in due course, she bore him two sons and a daughter. Their world was utterly and totally complete and they lived happily ever after.

  The Date

  Loneliness is one of the saddest emotions to have to suffer in life. It reaches deeply into the soul, touches a nerve in the mind which demands attention and companionship, and forces a person to feel the ultimate of frustration at the void. It happens to so many people, mostly to those of an advanced age... often to those who lose a partner in the autumn of their years... in the twilight of their existence. The solitary period remaining is spent in grief, recalling good and bad memories, but the outcome is a void in their lives which they find cannot be filled. Yet there are younger people who suffer loneliness whereby a wife or husband has been suddenly plucked from them and they cannot get on with their lives because of grief or guilt or for some other reason. However, modern technology has bridged the gap in some ways to compensate such unfortunate individuals by means of creating e-mail contact, chat lines and dating agencies which advertise on television and on the Internet. These new methods are designed to put people in touch with each other and perhaps offer them the opportunity to find permanent partners thus filling the vacuum in their lives in which loneliness prevailed.

  Douglas Prentiss was forty-five years old and he was extremely lonely. Just over one year earlier, his house rang with the sounds of the voices of his wife and two sons. However, his sons had grown up and they met young women with whom they went off to live. Almost immediately afterwards, his wife had a sudden heart attack and died. He was devastated, left all alone in a large house for which he had just paid off the mortgage. It was a significant time too because he and his wife, Marjorie, had planned to go on a series of magnificent holidays as soon as the mortgage was completed... once they had save up sufficient money for their needs. Now that their sons had grown up and left home, it was possible for them to begin to enjoy life to the full. And then, as fate would have it, she collapse without warning one day, and died in hospital twenty-four hours later. Prentiss was beside himself with rage for a while. He castigated God for taking his wife away from him so quickly, so savagely, especially now that she was on the threshold of enjoying her life. Then he began to blame himself for being miserly all those years when they were bringing up their sons. He could have borrowed more money to take her on holiday. Heaven forbid! His main objective was to pay off the mortgage so that they would have no debts whatsoever. In hindsight, he now recognised it had been a ridiculous obsession. Everyone had debts. Paying off the mortgage had become a fetiche and, as a result, he had made every member of his family lead a Spartan life. He recalled a discussion with Marjorie some ten years earlier when he had outlined their future plans.

  ‘We’re on the last leg now, sweetheart,’ he had told her. In nine years time, I’ll be forty-four and you’ll be forty-one. We’ll have paid off the mortgage and there’ll be no more loans. We can spend all we earn on holidays, a new car, and perhaps even buy a villa abroad, somewhere in the sun. How about that?’

  She had smiled at him in her usual pleasant manner. ‘That’ll be really nice,’ she had replied. ‘I can’t wait.’

  And virtually just as the last payment had been made, she had the fatal heart attack. How cruel! How devastating! A young woman of forty-one years of age dying so suddenly! Well a year had gone by and he was occasionally comforted by his two sons but he was unable to prevent the loneliness which invaded his life. He stayed at home and watched television, never going out. He had always found it difficult making friends which was really the mainly the reason for his solace.

  One evening, he fell asleep in front of the television. When he awoke it was almost midnight. He was just about to turn off the set by the remote control when a commercial advertisement caught his eye.

  ‘Why don’t you just pick up the ‘phone and speak to someone from the Chat Club?’ whispered a cool female voice through the speaker. ‘You can speak to any one of a hundred and eighty members in the Club and who knows where it may lead you in the future? Simply pick up the ‘phone and dial now. Right away!’

  A telephone number appeared at the bottom of the screen and he memorised it quickly before writing it down on a piece of paper. Perhaps it was providence that he had fallen asleep and awoken just as the commercial was being shown. It certainly seemed that way. He toyed with the piece of paper in his hand for a while. Surely it was far too late to ring anyone at this time of night. Yet the female voice had urged viewers to do so right away. Hesitantly, he picked up the telephone receiver and dialled the number, extremely uncertain what to expect.

  ‘Hallo,’ cooed a soft female voice at the other end of the line. ‘May I take your name, your address and your telephone number.’ He duly obeyed and waited a few seconds before the next set of questions were asked. ‘I’d like to know your status, your work, your average salary, your height, weight and physique. The colour of your hair, your complexion, and whether you’re a house owner.’

  ‘Divorced, a marketing executive, forty thousand a year plus bonuses. I’m five feet eleven inches tall, weighing twelve and a half stone, and of average physique... perhaps slightly thin. My hair is dark brown, I’ve a normal complexion, and I’ve just finished paying off the mortgage off my house.’ He paused for breath wondering where the answers would lead him.

  There was silence for about twenty seconds and then the voice came back to him. ‘You seem to be a suitable candidate for the Club. In fact, I already have a match. Her name is Carol and she’ll be getting in touch with you shortly. Thank you for joining our Chat Club. Don’t forget, we’re here for you at all times.’

  There was a click and the line went dead. He replaced the receiver into its cradle thoughtfully. Was he too impulsive? Had he done the right thing? What about the club membership fees? He had forgotten to ask about them. The voice never mentioned anything about fees. Well perhaps he would receive an account when something happened... if indeed Carol did contact him. It seemed a little strange that he wasn’t given Carol’s telephone number so that he could contact her. However, the Chat Club obviously had set its own rules and he was forced to wait for her to contact him.

  About five minutes later, his telephone rang and a soft sultry voice came coolly over the line.

  ‘Is that Douglas? This is Carol. The Chat Club got in touch with me a few moments ago and asked if I’d like to ring you... to talk with you. Is that convenient?’

  ‘Yes, it’s convenient,’ he managed to say. Having been married for such a long time and spending the last year on his own had made him quite rusty when it came to flirting with other women.

  ‘You’re a widower. Married for twenty-five years, I understand,’ continued the caller. ‘How long have you been living on your own?’

  ‘For a year. A whole year,’ he replied naively.

  ‘I feel for you,
’ she went on. ‘Loneliness is almost unbearable, isn’t it? My husband died some years ago and I’ve been on my own since then so I know what you’ve been going through. I’ve suffered from loneliness myself.’

  He began to warm to the woman immediately. They had something in common at least, even if it was the macabre death of their spouses. They spoke for a while and then she told him she enjoyed the conversation and would contact him in a day or two. After they had ended the conversation, he felt convinced that he wouldn’t hear any more from her. Perhaps it was the sound of his voice, or something he had said, or maybe something that he hadn’t said that put her off. However, she kept her promise and rang him two days later, cooing down the line in the same soft sultry voice.

  ‘Are you interested in meeting me?’ she asked quietly. ‘If so, perhaps we could have dinner together.’

  He rose to the occasion and readily agreed. ‘Where shall we meet and at what time?’ he asked eagerly, trying to form a picture of the face of the woman in his mind.

  ‘At Fortunatos in the West End at seven-thirty this evening. Does that suit you? I’ll be wearing a black dress and hold a single red rose with a long stem in my hands.’

  He knew Fortunatos well. It was a chic high-class Italian-owned restaurant with a very varied menu. On a number of occasions, he had taken Marjorie there on their wedding anniversary. It was extremely expensive; very exclusive.

  ‘Fine!’ he replied. ‘I’ll see you there.’ He replaced the telephone receiver wondering whether he was starting on a new adventure or whether he had dived into the deep end far too quickly. After all, he knew nothing about the woman. He never had a clue what she looked like, her attitude to life, her ambitions and hopes... not a clue! And there was also the matter of chemistry. However, the deed was done and, whatever the outcome, he knew that he could always return home by himself to his loneliness if it didn’t work out between them.

  They met outside the restaurant and he was more than surprised when he saw her. She was absolutely beautiful. A woman of about thirty-five years of age, with flawless white skin, high cheekbones, slender in figure, and with lovely legs. When he caught first sight of her holding the red rose, he wondered whether it was the same woman who had contacted him. Why had she been a widow for so long living on her own? A woman of such beauty would be snapped up in no time by some good looking man.

  ‘Hi, I’m Douglas,’ he managed to say as a greeting.

  ‘I’m Carol,’ she replied in the same sultry voice. ‘Do you like what you see?’

  His eyes gleamed as he stared at her. ‘I should say,’ he told her point-blank. ‘You’re beautiful!’

  ‘Shall we go inside?’ she ventured, as he stood there like a schoolboy on speech day waiting for a prize.

  ‘Of course,’ he replied, holding the door open to allow her to enter.

  They enjoyed a delightful dinner during which he told her a multitude of details about himself. However, whenever he approached her to offer personal details, she declined to offer him any information, turning the conversation back to him, his work, and his past life. It hardly mattered to him that he knew nothing about her. He was completely fascinated by her looks and her soft sultry voice. As far as he was concerned, she could talk sheer gibberish to him and he would lap it up.

  At the end of the evening, he invited her back to his home where they drank cups of coffee together. He was still unable to take his eyes off her.

  ‘You must let me have your telephone number, or your address at least,’ he insisted as the evening ended and she moved to the front door to leave.

  ‘Ah, that’s a problem,’ she countered easily. ‘You see, I’ve just left a rented property, moving to a temporary address until I find a more suitable place. So I haven’t a land-line telephone at present and I should be moving very shortly. It’ll only take a few days at the most. You’ll have to be patient, I’m afraid.’

  He accepted her explanation and she went on her way promising to contact him within the next few days. A short while later, he sat on the settee with a glass of brandy in his hand dwelling on the events of the evening. Carol was indeed a very beautiful woman, a person delightful to talk to, highly intelligent, with a wonderful attitude to life, but he knew absolutely nothing about her past life. The more he thought about it, the more concerned he came to be. After all, she might decide not to contact him again and, without her address or telephone number, he would have lost her for ever. It was something he didn’t care to think about.

  He need not have worried however because she rang him again two days later and he invited her to return to his home again, this time for dinner. She duly arrived in a beautiful red gown and once more he seemed unable to take his eyes from her face. When they had finished dinner, they settled down to drink liqueurs and, in due course, she moved casually over to the settee to sit close to him.

  ‘I like you, Douglas,’ she admitted candidly. ‘I really like you. I think we have the right chemistry for each other to continue a meaningful relationship.’

  He appeared stunned by her precociousness but recognised that sitting back and talking would amount to absolutely nothing between them in the long run. They were adults and it was necessary for them to become intimately physical with each other, to become involved sexually as young people did these days.

  ‘I like you very much too,’ he managed to say, enjoying the whiff of her delectable perfume.

  ‘Then let’s become more involved,’ she cooed excitedly, slowly removing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.

  It had been quite some time since he had made love to a woman but now he felt a surge of sexual excitement run through his veins. ‘It sounds a great idea to me,’ he retorted quickly, unzipping the back of her dress which slid slowly off her shoulders revealing that she had nothing on underneath.

  Within a few moments, they were laying naked on the settee twisting and turning until they fell to the floor, thrusting and heaving against each other until they achieved harmony, before reaching eventual ecstasy. Afterwards, they lay panting on the carpet and she nuzzled her head on his chest. He felt a degree of delirium in his actions, satisfied to the ultimate, while the woman moaned softly to indicate the same reaction. It had been a wonderful experience; one that he would remember for the rest of his life. But there remained a nagging thought at the back of his mind. He still knew nothing about her. Nothing about her background, her past love life, where she worked, where she lived... nothing! Surely a relationship insisted that both partners knew everything there was to know about each other however good or bad it might be!

  After she had left, he sat down thoughtfully in front of the television hardly noticing the programme that was being shown. Her reticence worried him greatly. He had become involved with the woman so quickly, recognising that he was tentatively falling in love with her. They had enjoyed a sexual relationship which had been totally successful and now he wanted to continue in the same vein for the rest of his life with her. Did she still have a husband, was she divorced, or was she telling the truth about being a widow? Where did she actually live and why wouldn’t she give him her address or telephone number? He was still in the dark and it didn’t make sense! What was the reason for her to deliberately conceal personal information from him? There had to be a reason’

  It was two days later when she contacted him again. This time her tone was somewhat different; much colder, more urgent.

  ‘I must see you as soon as possible,’ she rattled into the telephone. ‘As soon as possible!’

  ‘Come over tonight,’ he said with a concerned expression on his face. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘I can’t speak about it over the telephone,’ she concluded sharply. ‘I’ll tell you tonight.’

  She arrived at eight o’clock, holding a large buff envelope, and sat down nervously on the edge of the settee. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ s
he began, ‘but did you arrange for this to happen?’

  She opened the buff envelope and removed a number of photographs of the two of them making love together two nights earlier.’

  He examined the photographs carefully and shook his head slowly. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ he gasped. ‘How were these taken?’

  ‘There must have been someone outside with a camera. They took photographs of us through the window. Come to think of it, the curtains weren’t drawn, were they?’

  He looked at the photographs again, shaking his head once more. ‘I don’t understand who would do a thing like this.’

  ‘It’s far worse than that,’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘They’re blackmailing me. They want five thousand pounds for the negatives.’

  ‘Five thousand pounds?’ he shouted in fury. ‘Tell them to get stuffed. We’re both consenting adults with no attachments. I’m a widower. You’re a widow... aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied meekly, ‘but they threaten to show these photographs to my parents, my sister and brother, and I haven’t told you that I work in show business. My reputation will be devastated if people saw these.’

  ‘I don’t see why they should do you any harm,’ he ranted naively. ‘Surely you’re not going to pay them!’

  ‘That’s the point,’ she told him sadly. ‘I have to but my bank account has only about two thousand pounds in it. I don’t have enough money.’

  ‘And you want me to fork out the rest of it for you,’ he ventured slowly.

  ‘If you can.’ Her eyes pleaded with him to relent.

  ‘I think we should contact the police and let them deal with the blackmailer.’