Breach of Faith

by Andrea Hughes

  No, not a bed, that’d be stupid. It’s an office for goodness sake.

  … a desk. Yes, a desk. In the corner. Papers and books were scattered everywhere and I moved closer, intrigued, scanning the title of one volume.

  “It’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover, one of my all-time favourites.” Frank’s amused voice came from behind and I whirled around, embarrassed as if I had been caught snooping.

  Frank grinned and with an elegant sweep of his arms he deposited a large, blue towel gently over my shoulders like a cape. “You’re shivering,” he observed, rubbing his hands energetically up and down my arms. “Coffee?”

  I clutched the towel tightly around my upper body, suddenly not feeling quite so cold anymore. My mouth was dry, my eyes transfixed by the indigo intensity of Frank’s gaze. His hands slowed as he returned my look, his hunger burning straight through me.

  His hand floated up, stroking my face from cheekbone to jaw, caressing my lips, and I closed my eyes, forgetting to breath.

  “You’re beautiful.” His teeth nibbling my ear, breath hot on my neck, his hand following the line of my spine, holding me close. I put my arms around him, my head tilted back, the muscles of his shoulders firm beneath my palms.

  When Frank kissed me, I sparked and fizzed like a firework. Then we were naked.

  How’d that happen?

  His mouth firm, moist on my nipples. His fingers smoothly sensual on my buttocks as he lay me gently on the rug.

  “Bloody hell.” I’d forgotten how to say anything else; I’d forgotten anything but Frank.

  “Bloody hell!” I could feel the immense power build up in my body as waves of satisfaction burst through every pore. It was the best sex I’d ever had.

  I thrust my hips towards him, never wanting it to end. “Bloody …”

  “Kate?”

  “…hell”

  “Kate? Wake up.”

  “Oh … damn?” I reluctantly opened my eyes as The Dream bubble burst.

  “Bloody hell.”

  *

  “Right near the end I was woken up … by Will.” I finished.

  “Oh no.”

  “He thought I was having a nightmare, apparently I was talking in my sleep.”

  Martha clapped her hand over her mouth and giggled.

  “Martha, it was the best sex ever, he’s a perfect kisser, got a great body and he does the most amazing things with his hands.”

  Martha laughed, “that’s why you’ve been avoiding the bakery. I did wonder.”

  “I couldn’t look him in the eye, I’d be thinking about how firm his buttocks are and how his chest tastes of current buns.”

  Martha snorted, “that isn’t why you’ve done all this, is it?” She waved her hand vaguely at my make-over, “to impress Frank Jones?”

  My red cheeks grew scarlet. “No! Of course not.”

  Martha raised her eyebrows, “not even just a little bit?”

  I paused. That question had been rolling around in my own mind ever since that night. I’d come to the conclusion that the dream was most likely a passing phase, my mind compensating for my husband’s lack of attention. But I still couldn’t quite dismiss the idea that I would like to impress Frank. Just a little bit.

  I shrugged, “when I woke up after the dream I felt …fantastic; but by morning, boring, frumpy Kate was back. I guess I want to recapture that allure.”

  “And now? Presumably you’ve got over it if you’re ready to brave the smell of perfect current buns while sinking into the depths of his deep blue eyes.”

  “You really need to stop reading those second-rate romance novels”. I gave Martha a quick hug, “you’d better get going.”

  Am I over it? The question hovered on the edge of my mind as I wandered back along the street, faltering as I arrived at the large, covered step outside the bakery, it looked exactly the same as it had in my dream.

  Why him? Why Frank?

  I’ll admit, he’s hot. But finding a man attractive and being attracted to him are entirely different, so why’s the line blurring? Why am I attracted to sexy Frank Jones?

  “This is ridiculous,” I muttered, “I’m acting like a child.” Reaching out I grasped the handle, took a deep breath and pulled.

  “’Scuse me.”

  I recoiled, a little squeak popping out from between my tightly pressed lips as my heel ground into something firm beneath it.

  “Bugger! Was that your foot?” I turned and stared in consternation at the size nine I’d just crushed with my clumsy heel. I couldn’t see his toes, but was convinced they must be swelling up as I spoke. “I’m really sorry; you surprised me.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the foot.

  “It’s okay. Really.”

  Am I over it? Am I over that dream?

  I looked up into Frank’s friendly face. It was that smile, the one from my dream, the one that made me go weak at the knees.

  “No, I’m not,” I said conversationally as I drowned and he frowned in confusion, “I guess I’m not over it after all.”

  Chapter three

  22 September

  I sipped my wine, cold and refreshing. “I have never run so fast in my life.” I could feel Martha’s gaze and kept my own eyes pointed firmly down. I didn’t need to see the amused pity to know it was plastered all over my friend’s face.

  “He was so confused. First of all I’m blabbering about his foot then, as soon as he tells me it’s okay, I look him in the eye and state that I’m not over it after all. He must think I’m totally bonkers. And then, without another word, I ran away like a third-rate Olympic sprinter. When I got to the corner, I risked a look back down the road. He was still standing there, staring.”

  Martha patted my hand in sympathy, “do you fancy him?”

  I’d been mulling that question over and over in my mind since the whole sorry event had happened. Had it been embarrassment or something else; something infinitely more dangerous that had caused my momentary panic?

  Replay of The Dream, maybe?

  Six hours had passed since that (mortifying) encounter. Six hours in which I had desperately searched for answers, only to be confronted with just more and more questions. Martha had to be able to help.

  I sighed, “well, he’s certainly physically attractive –”

  “Hot.”

  “—and seems like a really nice bloke –”

  “Hot.”

  “—but I hardly know him. I don’t think I could fancy someone that I don’t know.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m no longer fifteen years old –”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “—I’m a mature adult –”

  “Hmm?”

  “—who makes informed decisions and doesn’t let my heart rule my head.”

  “So that was the mature adult in you making the informed decision to scamper half way across town?”

  I glared at Martha’s smug smile, “have you finished?”

  “Sorry. Continue.”

  “The point is –”

  “Yes?”

  “—as soon as I saw him, I had this picture in my mind of him naked. I’ll never be able to face him again.”

  Martha looked thoughtful, “I reckon that’s exactly what you have to do. You have to face your fears, throw away your inhibitions and answer all your questions for once and for all –”

  “You’ve been reading those trashy romance novels again, haven’t you?”

  “ – you have to be strong – “

  “Don’t want to.”

  “—you have to go back into that shop and face him, speak to him, touch his fingers when he passes you that uncut loaf. Only then will you be able to work out if you, Kate Robson, have the hots for Frank Jones.”

  I stared at Martha’s shining face, “you’re drunk, aren’t you?”

  Martha smiled sweetly and rose unsteadily to her feet. “I may be a little bewattled.” She opened the back door and disappeared into the night.


  Lying in bed later, I replayed the conversation in my mind grimacing as I realised that my friend’s solution, however embellished it was at the time, was the only one.

  “It has to be tomorrow.”

  I would walk into town as soon as I dropped Kensie off at school.

  “And I will walk out of that bakery with half a dozen current buns.”

  Apprehensive but determined, I finally fell asleep, but in the back of my mind a little voice nagged.

  What if?

  What if you do fancy him? You’ve been let loose; your husband is gay. What is there to stop you now?

  *

  I stepped into the elevator, ignoring the other occupants, instead concentrating on the numbered buttons indicating the floors the lift stopped at. I hadn’t realised this building was so tall, I could have sworn it would only have three floors but the numbers on the console went all the way to ten. Strange.

  At the first floor, a woman brushed past my shoulder and disappeared as the doors slid closed. There was a rustle of newspapers from one side and I glanced at my last companion.

  Oh, bloody hell, it’s Frank.

  I spun away: maybe he hadn’t seen me, maybe he hadn’t recognised me. Suddenly the elevator came to a spine jolting stop. Escape was imminent.

  “I think we’re stuck.”

  Why does he always speak from behind me?

  I furiously fought the urge to turn, hoping beyond all hope that he was wrong.

  “I’ll find out what’s going on.” He picked up an emergency telephone …

  Do lifts really have those?

  … and spoke briefly to the unseen person on the other end of the line. “Maintenance reckon it’ll be out of order for at least an hour.”

  I swatted away a drip of sweat running down my temple.

  He moved closer. I held my breath. Why was I feeling this way?

  “Kate?”

  He made my name sound like the whisper of a summer breeze through the trees, a flower opening its petals, a nightingale’s mellifluous tones singing exquisite ballads in the still morning air.

  “Frank?”

  I made that one word sound like a cat being strangled. I cleared my throat and turned to face him.

  Bloody hell, he’s naked.

  No, not naked. Not yet. But, damn, those jeans look hot on him.

  “Kate? Are you all right? Maybe you should sit down.”

  I nodded and sank gratefully to the floor.

  Frank dropped down beside me. “I won’t hurt you,” he said quietly. “You’re safe with me.”

  Tearing my eyes away from his denim thigh, I directed my gaze towards his rippling bicep. “Not an axe-murderer, then?” I smiled, finally finding his face. I could feel myself sinking deeper and deeper. I must remember to tell him to wear sunglasses next time.

  “Absolutely not,” he murmured, his breath sweet on my cheek. “I’ve never murdered an axe in my life.”

  The kiss was as good as I had imagined, his body firm, his hands knowledgeable and experienced. He still tasted delicious but not current buns; cheese and bacon scrolls.

  Cheese and bacon scrolls?

  “Oh, Kate.”

  My bones melted, my muscles shuddered. I had never known sex like this.

  “Frank. Oh Frank.”

  “Oh yes! Yes! YES!”

  “Frank. Oh yes, Frank.”

  “Mummy?”

  “Oh … ” What did you call me?

  “Mummy? Can I sleep with you?”

  I sat bolt upright in bed. My body quivering, my hands sweaty, my mouth dry and grainy like I had just eaten sand.

  And Tom was standing next to my bed, thumb firmly inserted into his mouth, blue teddy clutched against his chest. “Mummy?”

  Shaking, I lifted the little boy onto the bed and settled him beneath the sheets beside me. I kissed him on the forehead and watched his eyelids droop.

  It had happened again. Was it never going to end?

  “Mummy?”

  I looked across at the sleepy face next to me, Tom’s eyes were open.

  “Mummy? Who’s Frank?”

  Chapter four

  23 September

  I stared at Will. “Is this it?” I whispered. “Our trip to England?”

  Will grinned as I ripped open the envelope. “We just have to book the flights and accommodation.”

  “ ‘Travel on these tickets not permitted between the fifteenth of December and the fifteenth of January,’ ” I read. “Damn, I wanted to take Kensie and Tom over for Christmas.”

  “I know,” Will commiserated, “but how about we extend the trip. The prize includes two weeks accommodation but it might be nice to pay for another couple of weeks ourselves, stay a whole month. Then we can do your mum’s birthday instead. What do you think?”

  “Oh, Will!” I threw my arms around his neck.

  Will laughed, “steady on. You’ll knock my head off.”

  My face heated up and I pulled away, “sorry. I didn’t mean …um … I …”

  He’s gay, gay, GAY.

  “Are you okay?” Will looked concerned.

  I looked at my watch and took a couple of steps backwards. “Gosh, look at the time. I have to go drop Kensie off at school.”

  “All right. Hurry back, though. I’ll have a shower and we can leave straight away.”

  “Leave?” Me, confused? “For England?”

  “No, silly, we have to confirm dates so I thought we could go and do it this morning.”

  “No!”

  Frank, Frank, FRANK. my brain was screaming.

  “Shut up,” I muttered, “shush.”

  “What?” Concerned, Will took a step closer.

  “Nothing. I mean, I need to go into town myself this morning and I really wanted to walk. Get a bit of exercise.” I pumped my arms experimentally. “I need to buy some … bread.” Nothing like the truth, is there.

  “Bakery or supermarket?”

  “Bakery.”

  “Great. I’ll come with you and treat us to one of those wonderful chocolate buns he makes so well.” Will gave me a little push towards the front door, “you’d better get going, don’t dawdle, it’ll be so exciting to get these dates sorted out.”

  Don’t dawdle, I thought, as I kissed my daughter goodbye for her day at school. Celebrate with Frank’s buns, I fantasised as I wandered home. Please, I begged as I re-entered my house, please don’t let me make a fool of myself.

  *

  “January nineteenth,” I couldn’t get the grin off my face.

  Will smiled and picked Tom up, heaving the little boy onto his shoulders. “Let’s get down to that bakery and buy something very decadent and full of chocolate.”

  I slowed. In all the excitement I’d forgotten about that. “Maybe I should come back down later and get the bread. Or I could get it at the supermarket. Let’s go home and … and I’ll make scones.”

  Will laughed, “celebrate with scones? That’s a good one, Kate. No, nothing but chocolate will do.”

  “I can make scones with bits of chocolate in them.”

  “Kate!”

  “Sorry.”

  We fell silent. I could see Will’s curious face wondering what on earth was going on, and I desperately tried to find some way to explain my reluctance. Or at least change the subject.

  Help came from a rather unexpected source.

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes, mate.”

  “Who fank, daddy?”

  “Fank? I don’t know, mate. What is fank? Can you tell me?”

  “Fank, daddy. Mummy’s fank.”

  “Mummy’s fank?” He glanced at me and I shrugged, a small smile on my face. Don’t ask me. Will grinned back. Understanding a three year old was an art-form that didn’t get the appreciation it deserved.

  “Mummy talk fank. In bed.”

  Bloody hell; did he mean Frank? Mummy’s Frank? Mummy talks to Frank in bed. I had to think fast. “Oh,” I said, hoping I sounded like it had all su
ddenly become clear. “It was … um … last night, when he woke up and came into our bed.” This is definitely what they call thinking on your feet. “He kept asking me about … um … about what thank you means. So we chatted about the word thank in bed.” Perfect, I thought with a puff, mentally patting myself on the back.

  Will grinned, “learning some manners are you, mate. Good lad.” He stopped walking and with a flourish, swung Tom down from his shoulders and pushed open a door. With a small jolt, I realised we were there: Frank’s bakery. I sighed heavily and followed my husband and son through the door.

  As always, the first thing that hit me was the aroma. Bread and buns, croissants and cake, pastries and pies, all vying for attention. Dreadlock man was over by the doughnuts serving the only other customer in the shop. Frank was nowhere to be seen and I sighed in relief. Maybe we could get in and out without even seeing him.

  Will had taken Tom over to the counter and was studying some delectable chocolate things. I licked my lips; not such a bad idea after all.

  “Hello again.”

  I squeaked and turned sharply, already knowing, and already dreading it.

  Frank.

  He was grinning. I was staring at him with my mouth open, like a dazed fish. A dead fish. Unable to drag my gaze away, I stumbled backwards, stepping heavily on Will’s toes. Where the bloody hell had he come from?

  Something was feeling horribly familiar about this.

  “Bugger,” Will huffed.

  Frank was still smiling, “I’m glad I’ve seen you again. I wanted to ask if everything was okay after yesterday.”

  “What happened yesterday?” Still wincing, Will looked intently at Frank.

  “Yesterday? YES!”

  Everyone flinched as my voice peeled, I had to stop him telling Will about my little … episode. “Everything is fine, great, wonderful.”

  Stop now, my brain warned, before it’s too late.

  I thought rapidly, “I fell over.” I whirled around to Will but not before noticing the bemused look on Frank’s face. “I fell over outside and Frank helped me up. Didn’t you?” I turned back to Frank and narrowed my eyes.

  “Um … yes. I couldn’t leave her lying there, you know.” He agreed and I let out the breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding. “Poor woman, flat on her back, skirts around her head; I had to feel sorry for her.” His gaze bore into me, “poor thing was so embarrassed.”