Betwixt Natasha

by E V Daymuir

  Peter Bunford watched Lydia as she walked along the line towards the wrapping and packing area, he was really fond of her. Their jobs drew them together but it could never go anywhere. Apart from her being twelve years younger, he was married. Not happily, but married. He could just imagine the uproar if he told Julie he was in love with someone else and would like a divorce. She was not the sort to let go, although there was no love in the marriage and very little sex. Once a month if he was lucky, but even then she wanted it over with as quickly as possible. In the early days, when she was keen to get pregnant, they were at it all the time. It never crossed his mind that she did not like it. She made all the right noises at the right time, but when he tried to resume sex after the birth of Rebecca, she told him, point blank, that it was a mucky dirty business. As a matter of duty, she would let him do it once a month, but for a long time now he had not bothered. What was the point?

  When Rebecca came along he had a comfortable job as an engineer with a small components firm, but Julie saw an advert in the job pages of the Hamsworth Bugle, for engineers at Meltcon. He joined them and progressed rapidly to line engineer but was never really happy working for such a large company with all their petty rules and regulations. The self assessment and annual appraisal system was a joke. Anyway, he stuck with it and a positive benefit was the shift pattern, which meant he could share the joy of watching little Becky grow-up. Then Julie decided she wanted to work again. Not at the Bank, where she was well thought of, but as a cleaner. As she built up her cleaning contacts he saw less and less of her, some days they barely said two words to each other as the duty of looking after Becky was handed from one to the other. When Becky started going to school, it was down to him to do the school run, unless he was on the morning shift. Something had to give and inevitably, it was his rugby.

  He watched as Lydia reached over the line and picked out a few Meltcon Bars for random analysis. He knew she was worried about misshapen or underweight bars and wanted to check them against a batch from the night shift production. It chimed with his concern that the line could not run efficiently at the speed Simon Niggard was demanding. He had stated as much in his reports, but no one seemed to take any notice, everything was driven by targets and Niggard gloried in it. He was an odious little creep, the production director was due to retire at the end of the year and Niggard was after his job. God help the company if he got it.

  The clattering of the line caught his attention. A new sound had weighed into the general cacophony. A component somewhere was protesting at the strain. He walked up the line to investigate.

  *****

  Laburnham Grove was on the edge of town and formed the base of what the local Estate Agents liked to call the Golden Triangle; the area where the most desirable properties in Hamsworth were located. The large houses on the south side of the Grove were the most sought after, with gardens of two acres or more backing onto designated green belt. The owners of these elite properties had been secure in the belief that no other building could take place beyond their southern boundaries, but, five years ago, confidence in their scope of influence and support from local planning was shattered by Mervyn Turner. Mervyn Turner owned Laburnham House, halfway along the grove. He also owned Tompkins & Turner, a long established and well respected local estate agency, having bought out his partner Jack Tompkins when he wanted to retire. Now, unbeknown to his wealthy neighbours, Mervyn was poised to stab them in the back. The sale of his business to a national chain of estate agents was front page news in the Hamsworth Bugle one week and the following week, tucked away on page 48, under Public Notices and Tenders, a Notice of Application for Planning Permission revealed that he was seeking to demolish Laburnham House to make way for a development of luxury flats. The wealthy residents of Laburnham Grove immediately formed a ‘Preservation Committee’ and rushed along to Laburnham House to confront Mervyn. But Mervyn was on holiday in a Tuscany villa, owned by the managing director of the building company intending to develop the Laburnham House site.

  The Laburnham Grove Preservation Committee, the LGPC as they soon referred to themselves, set-up a protest campaign. Over two thousand Hamsworth residents, many with no interest in Laburnham Grove, other than that their employers lived there, signed a petition objecting to the development. The Planning Application was turned down.

  ‘It will never happen in my time,’ said Mr Tutt, the Chief Planning Officer for the District Council, at a private meeting with the LGPC – but it did! Mervyn Turner acquired his planning consent on appeal. An appeals officer, coincidentally with the same surname, travelled halfway across the country from Norwich to over rule local planning guidelines. The LGPC were furious; and more so when Mr Tutt was obliged to point out that with permission granted on appeal, the local planners had forfeited any say on detailed planning. Consequently, Laburnham Court became a five storey block of luxury apartments, instead of what could have been restricted to three, or perhaps, even two. In a space where there had been one dwelling, there were now seventeen and mutterings over loss of privacy and the negative effect on property equity rumbled on. However, to an impartial observer, Laburnham Court had all the appearance of a development which had occupied the site for many years. Mature shrubs and trees transplanted into the landscaped frontage by the developer together with pale green cladding on the face of the building, helped it blend in with the genteel surroundings.

  The ProClean van outside Laburnham Court looked conspicuously out of place against the glistening array of Mercedes, BMW’s, and Jaguars precisely positioned in their allotted parking spaces. Julie always dropped Lucy back after they finished cleaning the Travel Plan offices, then the van was hers to do with as she wished. Not that she had a need to do any other cleaning, her share of the Travel Plan money plus her hourly rate, far exceeded what she had previously been earning. She had dropped all her old customers apart from Lucy and Mrs Davidson. She couldn’t let Mrs Davidson down; she was her first customer and now in her eighties. Julie did for her on Tuesday and Friday mornings and for Lucy on Monday and Thursday afternoons. She rarely saw Lucy in the penthouse; she was out looking after her many other business interests. Julie was amazed at the way she had carried on cleaning at Travel Plan when there were so many other things she needed to do. She was a good worker, but perhaps most surprising of all, for one who was obviously well bred and used to wearing the very best of clothes, she was quite happy to let neighbours see her coming and going in van and wearing a cleaning overall.

  Lucy touched her lightly on the wrist. ‘I know it’s not your day to clean for me Julie, but could you pop over this afternoon, say about three? Or will that be too late for you?’

  ‘No problem. Pete’s on mornings this week. He should be around when Becky comes home from work.’

  ‘When’s she off to university?’

  ‘Next Tuesday. This is her last week at the supermarket. I don’t think she’s enjoyed stacking shelves very much, but she needs the money.’

  ‘Don’t we all.’

  Julie though that a bit rich coming from someone who seemed to have everything she could possibly desire. She bit her lip and asked if she would like her to clean today instead of tomorrow. Lucy smiled.

  ‘No, this afternoon is business. We need to discuss what we’re going to do with ProClean. I have plans and I very much want you to be part of them.’ She squeezed Julie’s hand and leant towards her. Julie felt her moist lips brush lightly across her cheeks to plant a soft kiss, on the side of her mouth. She automatically turned her face and Lucy repeated the kiss, full on her lips. She looked into Julie’s eyes as she pulled away and introduced a light laugh into her voice. ‘So I don’t expect to see you wearing your cleaning overall. Come in something casual and we’ll chat things through over a cup of tea, or perhaps a glass of vino?

  ‘Whatever suits you,’ whispered Julie. Lucy opened the door and with a smile and a brief wave, walked briskly towards the grand entrance of the apartments. Julie watched as Charlie do
nned his royal blue, gold trimmed cap and came out from behind his desk to walk in measured strides across the hall. He repeated this routine every morning without fail, timing his arrival to perfection and opening the door as she set foot on the top step. He smiled and saluted. It seemed strange for someone so impeccably turned out to salute a cleaning lady, but Charlie Bell knew which side his bread was buttered. The penthouse covered the whole of the fifth floor, an area four times the size of any of the other sixteen apartments in his care, if you included the roof garden which went with the penthouse. Through the service charge, Lucinda Lovebrace was responsible for one fifth of his wages.

  Julie checked her face in the mirror. Had she blushed when Lucy kissed her? There was no noticeable evidence but the pleasant tingling sensation she had felt between her thighs lingered on. Lucy could not be interested in her in that sort of way, could she? Julie remembered sleeping with Rosemary, a cousin, when she was barely thirteen and Rosemary a few months older. It was the accepted practice for them to share the same bed whenever the families got together, but they were blossoming into young woman and very much aware of the changes taking place in their bodies. Before putting on their pyjamas they had compared breasts and innocently kissed and touched each other. Julie had felt that same warm, prickly sensation then and although nothing else had happened, she dreaded that she could be gay and never shared a bed with Rosemary again.

  Rosemary, lost her virginity when she was fifteen and judging by the number of boyfriends she subsequently enjoyed, was definitely straight. Julie, on the other hand, was not interested in boys, convincing herself that she was waiting for the right man to come along. As if to prove the point, she gravitated towards social functions at the Rugby Club. She was a radiant, rather than pretty young woman and when she married Peter Bunford, considered by all the girls who were chasing him, to be the most handsome hunk at the Rugby Club, everyone said they made a wonderful couple. She even believed it herself. She loved his masculinity, and that she had snatched him away from so many others. Of course, she had led him on to believe she would be hot stuff in bed. But, to be fair to herself, she really had no idea she would hate sex. For the sake of their marriage and because she wanted a child, she carried through with the pretence and counted herself very fortunate to get pregnant so quickly. Almost too quickly! Her competitors were counting the months hoping for proof of a shotgun wedding. She never had achieved an orgasm; she was simply not a sexual person and accepted that. Being married, having a child and being seen to be normal was all that really mattered. Yet, now she was having her doubts. She had become very attached to Lucy who she admired tremendously. Lucy was a successful, beautiful woman who obviously loved men and enjoyed sex. From what she had seen of her goings on, she could even be a nymphomaniac. Julie sighed, the kiss happened by chance. Lucy was all woman and she certainly would not think of her in a sexual way.

  The van grumbled along in first gear as she drove out through the stone pillared exit and turned right onto Laburnham Grove. She waved to the paper girl she saw every weekday morning, rain or shine. Her heavily laden bike wobbled as she waved back. She was an attractive girl with long brown hair and very good legs. Julie looked in the rear view mirror to watch as she stopped by a mail delivery box and push her left foot against the wall to hold the bike upright. Her skirt rode up her thigh as she struggled to ram the newspaper into the box. The van juddered; she had unconsciously lifted her foot off the accelerator as she watched the girl. She changed gear, pressed down on the accelerator and the van progressed smoothly. When she glanced in the rear view mirror again, the girl was over two hundred yards away, peddling furiously towards her next delivery. A Pretty girl; a young woman really. Julie always looked at young women but convinced herself it was from an aesthetic point of view. There was nothing sexual in that was there?

  Charlie Bell opened the door and touched his cap to greet his favourite resident.

  ‘Morning Miss Lovebrace.’

  ‘Good morning Charlie. Has the post arrived?’

  ‘No, not yet. Probably be after ten – as usual.’

  ‘That’s really not good enough Charlie.’

  ‘I know, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about it. I have been onto the post office as you suggested. And I’ve driven over to the sorting office to speak to them about it.’

  ‘Is that the place on the Trading Estate?’

  ‘That’s the one. It’s near the Meltcon factory, they told me deliveries are late because our postman delivers to the outlying villages on this side of town and the route is down to him.’

  ‘I’ll have a word. What’s his name?’

  ‘Dudley – Dudley Wink.’

  The name registered immediately, as well it should. His actions had almost destroyed her main business, but she pretended not to recognise the name.

  ‘Could I have heard of him before?’

  ‘Possibly, he runs the Hamsworth Town Photographic Club. He’s quite well known for his wildlife photography. Had some pictures of a fox and her cubs in the local paper not so long ago.’

  Lucinda Lovebrace was already hatching a plan. She had a need for a good photographer and a bit of sport with Dudley Wink could be amusing.

  ‘See if you can get him to pop up and see me when he arrives, I’m working from home all day today.’

  ‘Consider it done, Miss Lovebrace.’

  Charlie certainly would get it done. Miss Lovebrace was extremely generous at Christmas, and not averse to slipping a fifty pound note into his hand at other times. Take your wife out for a little treat, she would say, giving him a wink. Class act was Miss Lovebrace, it was well worth looking after her and turning a blind eye to all the comings and goings.

  There were three lifts in the building. A service lift for all floors, accessible through the tradesmans’ entrance at the rear of the building and two passenger lifts in the lobby, one designated solely for the penthouse. Her lift was ready and waiting. He reached in, pressed the button for her and touched the peak of his cap as the doors closed.

  The lift opened onto a large, plush carpeted hallway. Four sumptuous leather chairs were arranged around a rich mahogany coffee table, with a bright red telephone sitting incongruously in the middle. Entrance to the penthouse could only be gained by speaking to someone inside via the telephone, or through palm recognition. Lucy pressed her hand against a pad next to the stout hardwood door. The heavy door slid quietly to one side and she stepped through into a small hallway. The door quietly closed behind her as she took three strides across the hallway and pressed her hand against another pad. A second door, swung open to let her enter into a corridor with an open door directly opposite. Ignoring that she turned right and strode briskly along the corridor undoing the buttons down the front her overall as she went. The corridor circled the penthouse, passing several doors before reaching her office, which looked out across fields towards Lippinston. It was a view she usually stopped to admire, but she was in a hurry. She took a disk from the right hand pocket of the overall and placed it next to the computer before moving swiftly into the main bedroom on the other side of the corridor. She posed in front of one of the many mirrors. This was the last time she would wear the overall, ProClean had served its purpose. All the information her travel company needed from Travel Plan was on that disk. The last button of the overall undone, she pulled the lapels back over her smooth shoulders and admired herself. This was a body which had turned thousands, even millions of men on if you counted the hits on the Anita von Beta website. She loved her body; watching herself touch her own breasts and slip a hand down the front of her see-through panties onto her cunt, always gave her a thrill. God, she needed a good fuck! This Travel Plan business had wreaked havoc with her sex life. She thought about using one of her sex toys, but that could wait, right now she needed a bath. She kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot into the bathroom.

  The side walls in the enormous ‘bathing complex’ as she preferred to call it, were draped with
plush red curtains, framing beautiful paintings from the Karma Sutra. As with the bedroom, there was no natural light; she had planned it that way. A rich mahogany door in one corner of the room opened into a sauna. Directly opposite, red carpeted steps led up to a large Jacuzzi set in a mahogany clad plinth. In the centre of the room, on a lush, white, deep pile carpet stood an ornate Victorian hip bath. She walked over and pushed a gold lever at the base of a graceful white and gold swan’s neck, which swung out to the centre of the bath. Water poured from the swan’s beak at a preset temperature and flow rate. She turned to admire her body in the mirrored wall by the entrance. With a shrug the overall coat fell from her shoulders. Slowly and sensuously, she shed her bra and wriggled out of her panties, as if stripping in front of an appreciative audience – which in a sense she was. She stepped gracefully into the bath, positioning her clitoris directly under the stream of water – a perfect way to unwind after a cleaning session.