Red Dress

by Bridget Finklaire

  His face was a picture, his breath taken away momentarily. She could tell he was faltering.

  “Well, hello!”

  She was an iron filing in his strong magnetic field, forcibly pulling herself back but her legs stepped forward of their own volition, and she found herself face-to-face with the unlikely object of her desire. They did the continental kiss thing again, but he lingered a little too long.

  “You smell fabulous!” he said. “Where shall we go?”

  He smelled intoxicating, but she said nothing. “There’s a little wine bar not far from here.”

  “Righty-ho! Lead the way!”

  Their shoulders almost touching, they glided from the concourse, their bodies gently brushing here and there as they babbled to each other about numerology, Windsor, and wine. A station full of commuters disappeared beyond the intimate bubble they found themselves in.

  “We haven’t got much time,” said Katy, checking her gold dress watch. “I’ve got to meet Richard at 6 o’clock.” She quickened her pace despite the heels. “I’ll need to leave by twenty-to, and it’s almost 5.00 now!”

  Pandora’s was an old cellar bar which few people knew. It had been tucked away for a hundred years at least and stocked an incredible selection of fine Port, Madeira, and wine. Descending the steep stairs, her derriere jiggling slightly with each step, Katy was acutely aware of Tony’s eyes boring into the back of her butt, the tight dress accentuating every contour and sensual movement. She could feel the silky tops of her stockings slipping against each other as she sat at a small, poky, table and crossed her legs.

  “Glass of wine?” said Tony, beaming at her.

  “Yes! Red!” She winked. Why had she done that?

  The tiny cellar was full, and Tony had to fight his way to the bar. Returning a few minutes later with two large glasses, he handed one to her. “Côte de Beaune,” he said, squeezing into the tight corner beside her. “Cheers!”

  Cramped for space, his leg was pressing gently against hers, sending a delicious shiver up her spine, the taut muscles beneath his suit flexing slightly as he moved.

  “I’ve got something for you.” His warm, sweet breath caressed her cheeks as he spoke, he was so close.

  Leaning forward to reach his briefcase, which he’d tucked between his feet, his face was so near to hers that she didn’t dare move. Her heart was pounding as he fished out a copy of Angels & Demons.

  “Thought you’d like to read his earlier book,” he said, handing her the paperback.

  His thigh was warm against hers, their knees almost kissing. Neither tried to move away as the conversation flowed above the din of the wine bar. Her libido, which had dried up years ago, began to trickle back. To make herself heard, Katy had to lean right in towards him, her hair brushing his face. “How was your day?” she breathed into his ear. His lips were so close when he answered that she could hear the rush of his breath. As they exchanged stories of their respective mornings, she noticed her thigh was pressing harder against his. Hot passion was mounting powerfully within her, like an oil well that was about to blow.

  Glancing at her gold bangle watch, she leaned back and squinted at its minimalist face. It can’t be! “What’s the time?”

  “Oh crikey! It’s quarter to six! We’d better dash, or you’ll be toast!”

  The corners of her mouth turned up at the memory of him saying that in her bedroom one afternoon when she was a sweet but not so innocent fifteen. If your mum catches us, you’ll be toast! She hadn’t heard it in years!

  Slinging on her jacket and grabbing her bag, now bulging from the book she’d wedged in, Katy headed towards the steep stairway, Tony following close on her heels.

  “I’ve got to go too!” he said, dropping behind by another step. The cheeky monkey, he’d be eye height with her magnificent booty! She wiggled it a little more than she needed, fully aware of the effect it would be having. Up at street level, they walked briskly towards the station. Tony was carrying his briefcase rather awkwardly in front of him. She felt sure he was concealing an erection, and the thought sent a delicious tingle through her body. They had to part ways at Paddington, she towards the Bakerloo line and he across the concourse to the mainline trains.

  “Thanks for the drink. It was lovely to see you!” Her smile was a little too broad, the tone a bit too gushing. One large glass of wine on an empty stomach had gone to her head. She smoothed down her hair, convinced he was going to make a move. He pecked her on the cheek, said goodbye and walked away. Damn! She’d got it so wrong! Probably just as well.

  Darting down the steps to the underground, pulse still racing, she knew she had to finish this dangerous game, but couldn’t. Just as she thought she’d hooked him, he’d walked away. Darn the consequences, she’d draw the line at an affair, but she couldn’t stop now – it was kick-starting her mojo! It was good he hadn’t kissed her. If she could keep this up, she could use the mounting tension to boost her flagging sex life with Richard. He was her loyal husband, the father of her children, and she’d been trying to sort this out for ages!

  Running the last few steps, she managed to jump onto the train as the doors began to close. The carriage was packed. She must have read it all wrong. After all, he talked a lot about Lauren and Amber. Perhaps he genuinely wanted a friendship? When she was fifteen, and he was seventeen, she’d thought he loved her, but she’d been misguided. She could easily be mistaken now. Where was that Voice when she needed it, and what was the universe trying to tell her?

  The next station is Warwick Avenue. This is a Bakerloo line train to Harrow and Wealdstone sang the robotic female announcement. Harrow and Wealdstone? Bugger. She was on the wrong train! She needed a southbound one to Elephant and Castle. Oh my God, she’d be late for Richard. The panic was rising now. It must be a punishment for playing away. She’d made a complete fool of herself. Perhaps it was written all over her face because everyone was staring at her. Shameful. Guilty as charged. She scowled back and tumbled off at the next station, running up the steps in her heels to the opposite platform. A heaving train arrived, and she pushed her way through a crowd of young Turks who were jeering and whistling. Turning away from them as best she could, she noticed the entire carriage was full of drunken football supporters with their England flags, their bloated faces painted white with a red cross to match. They were chanting something – “Inger-land”. At the next station, a man dressed in a chainmail balaclava, and his friend, holding a papier-mâché dragon head, stood disappointed at the platform. The carriage was packed to the gills. “Happy Saint George’s!” said an older lady as she stepped off the train. Katy blushed. No wonder people had been staring! She was wearing a red dress with cream trim and an ivory jacket on St George’s Day!

  * * *

  Tony’s train idled out of the station, gathering pace as it eased from the suburbs. His briefcase was resting on his knees. It had been his third meeting with Katy, and it was all he could do not to rip that dress off and lunge at her then and there! Watching her bum wobbling up the steps in front of him had almost sent him over the edge! It had done nothing to assuage the already steamy fantasy that had been brewing all afternoon. Blood was coursing through him now, every jolt of the carriage sending shock waves through his already frazzled system. He had to play it cool. Slowly, slowly, catchy monkey. He had to have her, and he wasn’t about to screw it up again like he had at seventeen! Besides, he’d better get a grip. He’d be facing Lauren in less than an hour. Taking his mobile from his pocket, he dialed The Priory. The answerphone kicked in, and he left a message. “This is Wing Commander Anthony Verde. I’d like to book an appointment to see Dr. Watkins as soon as possible. Please call me on

  * * *

  Richard Stone stationed himself on a park bench in Cavendish Square and unfurled his newspaper. The weak Spring sunshine warmed his back as he enjoyed a moment of solitude in an otherwise pressing day. Turning to the sports section, he lost himself in the back pages, dropping his hand absently into h
is pocket and rustling for a sherbet lemon. She’d be along soon, probably got caught in all the St George’s Day crap. He’d bide his time and steel himself for the performance. Harley Street would be another productive circle in which to move, and he’d been waiting for Kit to invite him for a while. He’d work the room with his usual charm, cleverly engaging those medical types in conversation, lulling them into a false sense of security. People would tell him all sorts of secrets once their defenses were down. A glass of champers, a winning smile, take an interest in them, and they’d usually start spilling a few beans. He felt a cold shiver and pulled his overcoat around his shoulders. An echo, a shadow of something rippled on the surface of his awareness. Looking at his watch, he noticed she was almost thirty minutes late. Must be busy on the tube, he thought, returning to the rugby.

  * * *

  Katy’s train lurched into Oxford Circus, and a throng of people burst out of the carriage, collectively heading for the ticket barriers. A woman in front had an Oyster card that didn’t work, and Katy side-stepped, barging into the queue next to hers. A tourist at the head of the line rifled through his pockets for a rumpled card then stood looking quizzically at the machine. Typical! It was always when she was in a hurry. By the time she got to Cavendish Square, her feet were killing her, and she was almost half an hour late. The frenzy at Oxford Circus and the near jog from there had taken her mind off Tony. Her attention was squarely focused on Richard and the party now. Out of breath, she slowed down to a brisk walk and spotted her husband sitting on a bench on the far side. Lifting her arm to wave and calling “Richard!” she hurried the last few yards and stood in front of him, panting. He finished his article before casually folding The Times under his arm and looking up expectantly with that hang-dog expression of his.

  “Sorry, I’m late.” She’d caught her breath. “St George’s day! Train packed!” He didn’t say a word, just rose to his feet and turned towards Harley Street.

  “Busy day?” she ventured.

  “Yes. The usual shit.”

  “Got most of my paperwork done.” “Good. Kids okay?”

  “Far as I know. I left supper in the fridge, and they’ve got homework. Shirley next door said she’d listen out for them.”

  “Shirley? That interfering old bat?”

  “Rich! She’s actually very sweet, and she cares!”

  Richard grunted.

  They walked up to the house in silence, he striding slightly ahead as she struggled to keep up in her pencil skirt dress and stilettos. He hadn’t noticed her outfit at all. No nod of approval, no pleasant surprise, no eyes fixed on her curves. She was glad when they climbed the broad, shallow steps to the lobby of the Harley Street house. The capacious building swallowed them up as they headed up the elegant staircase to join the party. Fran was already tipsy and chatting up a particularly good-looking plastic surgeon. Katy wondered how much was real. He was too good to be true! She made a beeline for them, helping herself to a glass of Prosecco en route. Richard wandered casually over to a rather smartly dressed Israeli woman in her late fifties, her husband joining them a few moments later with a small tray of drinks. Richard had them eating out of his hand within minutes. Katy saw him from the corner of her eye, working the room with that effortless precision he’d honed. She was proud of him. He was charming, presentable, tall, and attractive. Why would she want anyone else? Circulating in her own way, chatting to almost everyone and graciously receiving their compliments on her outfit, she lost herself in conversation with friends and colleagues. Towards the end of the evening she spotted her husband nearby, engrossed with a cosmetic dentist and his wife. People were leaving, saying goodbye, and she headed over to join him.

  “We were just talking about you.”

  “Oh! Good, I hope?” Katy laughed, and the dentist flashed a perfect smile.

  “It seems you’re quite the star, my dear,” he said.

  Katy turned to Richard. “We should think about heading home, the party’s almost over!”

  “Don’t be a spoil-sport!”

  “Oh, it’s quite alright, we must make tracks too,” said the wife, her white, even teeth glinting beneath her fuchsia lipstick.

  The whole thing came to a grinding halt as the stragglers were politely ushered out onto a rain-splattered street, where they dispersed in different directions.

  Sitting in familiar silence, the train grumbling along the District Line towards Turnham Green, Katy sat opposite her husband. Something flashed across her mind as she watched him nod off. They were living separate lives. Her phone buzzed.

  Great to see you. You looked STUNNING in that dress! xxx

  Three kisses. Her cheeks flushed as a broad beam lit up her face before fading. It was time to stop. She moved across and sat next to Richard, reaching for his hand. The sudden touch startled him awake, and he took her hand in his, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go.

  Chapter 24

  Sitting at her desk on Friday morning, Katy made a radical decision to reduce client work to three afternoons and two evenings a week. It would mean disappointing people, but they could go on a waiting list, or be referred to Fran or one of the psychologists. It seemed the only way of fitting everything in! She had to make time for Richard and the kids, she realized.

  Every time Tony entered her head, she’d push him aside. Family, work, and her spiritual interests were the three pillars of her life, and there was no room for anything else. The last thing she wanted was to crash and burn like some of her clients. It would take a long time to recover, if ever. Making a mental note to stick to a new regime of supplements, raw green juice, yoga, and meditation, she was sure she could keep her head above water.

  This weekend was free, and she’d spend some quality time with the family. Thoughts of Tony persisted, so she booked an appointment with Terry for Monday. It might look like she was in control, but under the facade, a chaotic mix of truncated thoughts, visions and images were vying for her attention. She needed a trusty sounding-board to put them all in order.

  Making a rare appearance at the gym that afternoon, it dawned on Katy that her life was stretched to the limit. The pace was rather like the treadmill she was running on – not fast enough to fall off and hit the deck, but too quick for comfort. Resting between sit-ups, she realized despite her professional insights, the support of her MOSES friends, and Terry’s advice, she couldn’t get herself back on track.

  After a quick stretch and cool down, she hurried back to the changing rooms to shower. The hot water rushed over her and she closed her eyes. Cracks of doubt were splitting open, like a frozen lake giving way to something heavy. She glimpsed the chasm beneath and shivered. Shutting off the water and drying herself, Tony swam back into her thoughts. A mélange of emotions came flooding up like a spring tide, washing away the banks of certainty she’d been clinging to. Caught in the undertow, she was pulled under and disoriented. Saturday tomorrow, she told herself, and she’d spend the morning with Tilly and Freddie. The more she fought to get a grip, the stronger the rising current of feelings became until it tossed her away and she broke down in the cubicle, sobbing quietly into her towel. Waiting for the future hadn’t worked, because ‘tomorrow’ never came. When the babies were older, when she’d established herself, when she’d mastered meditation, when Richard took notice, when she’d changed her name, when they’d had a break, when the kids had left for university. When? Tomorrow was never as bright as it was in her imagination, but it kept her going, took her mind off the present, and kept her busy. Busy was stable, it was forward motion – otherwise, she’d lose balance and tumble. One day she’d get there, wherever ‘there’ was. Meanwhile, cramming her days full kept her too busy to notice the cracks in her marriage, the broken parts of her life! After blowing her nose, she sighed heavily and forced a smile. Fake it till you make it. That’s what they said, wasn’t it? She drove home via the supermarket, determined to make her life work. “I choose a happy marriage and an intimate sex life with my h
usband,” she said out loud. “This is my intention.”

  That night, at around 3 am, heart racing, she was roused from her sleep. Recalling her dream for the diary, she wrote:

  New client – charming at first but suddenly turned on me, like a mad dog. Threatened me in the consulting room. Body language scary. Baring his teeth. Told me I was useless, and he was going to report me – have me struck off. Turned nasty. Had to act calm and in control but was terrified.

  After closing the notebook and taking a sip of water, she returned to a fitful sleep, only to wake in a sweat a while later.

  Recurring nightmare. Third time. Bought a rambling old house – too big and dilapidated to maintain. Every room needs gutting, stripping, refurbishing. No time nor money to do it. Three kitchens merged into one with too many appliances and sinks. Couldn’t choose which to keep. Huge ballroom at the back flooded. Doric columns standing in fetid water. Back staircase full of dry-rot – foot went through – toilet at the top has broken bowl and won’t flush. Stained crack in the U-bend and water, or worse, dripping onto yellowing lino. Massive Victorian greenhouse in the garden – knee-deep in water. River behind tidal. Every tiny pane of glass cracked/broken. Horrified I’ve bought the place. Lumbered with it. Overwhelmed.

  She put down the pen and tip-toed to the bathroom before returning to bed. Half an hour or so later, in another dream, she was grappling with a somber patterned carpet in the gloomy drawing-room of the neglected house. Tony appeared, his smile spilling warm, golden light into the dark recesses surrounding her. Offering his arm, he led her out of the chaos to an oasis of bright, clear space, where he tenderly kissed her forehead. Holding their palms up, they touched each other’s fingertips, then clasped hands before letting go and caressing each other gently. There seemed to be something important about the fingertips but she couldn’t work out what. Tender kisses led to more urgent ones until she was caught in an intimate embrace, his tongue darting between her lips. It was the arousal that woke her from the dream. She wouldn’t write it down – Terry didn’t need to know.