by Tanya Allan
“I’m sorry,” he said feeling bad he had asked.
“You did not know. My father died many years ago, but my mother was ill and died in the sickness four years ago. My brother was in the army, and died in Chetchnya. There is no one else.”
“It’s not right to be alone,” he said.
“You are alone,” she said, and he smiled.
“I have my mother, and a sister somewhere.”
“You do not even know where she is?”
“She lives on a boat with her partner, so I know how to get in touch. They live somewhere in the Caribbean. The boat is a large sailing yacht, and they take a paying crew on adventure holidays.”
She smiled, an indolent and useless lifestyle, but fun nonetheless.
He took one of her hands and turned round, looking up into those hypnotic blue eyes.
“Why are you so beautiful?”
She smiled at him so warmly, he felt his pulse increase.
“I am too big to be beautiful,” she said.
“Nonsense! Whoever told you that is a fool, and blind. You are perfect. You’re spectacularly beautiful, a true Goddess amongst women. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met.”
She stroked his cheek.
“Poor boy, you are falling in love with me, yes?”
He stared at her in undisguised admiration and infatuation, his sexual arousal obvious to all but the blind.
“I, I don’t know what I feel,” he stammered, honestly. “I only know I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”
She smiled and licked her lips. He wanted her to kiss him, as he was paralysed with desire. She was about to do just that.
The telephone rang, so the spell was broken.
“Shit!” he said, making her laugh. Her laugh was such a delightful sound that he instantly felt better. He went and answered the phone.
It was his mother checking that she was still expected.
“Yes mother, seven o’clock, as we agreed.”
“We aren’t going to that horrid little Italian place you like so much, are we?”
“No mother. I thought we’d eat in.”
“Good God, since when have you ever cooked?”
“Michelle is making something nice,” he said, grinning inanely as he said it. He met Michelle’s eyes, so she grinned back at him. He smiled, as his heart ached for her.
There was a pause.
“Who is Michelle, pray?”
“She’s a girl who has just come to work for the company. She’s staying with me until she gets her flat sorted out,” he said, and adored having one over on his mother.
“Have I met her?” she asked.
“I doubt it, not unless you have travelled expensively in the old Soviet Union. Ukraine to be precise.”
“Ukraine. Oh, Gordon what are you doing?”
“We will see you at seven. Trust me mother, you will approve, I promise,” he said, putting the phone down.
“You are a very bad man,” Michelle said, smiling at him.
“Why?”
“You tease your poor old mother.”
He laughed.
“My poor old mother is neither poor, nor old. She is fifty-one, but looks forty, and behaves like a seventeen-year old nymphomaniac at times. She wore out my father, God rest his soul, ten years ago. He had a massive heart attack whilst making love to her. She now goes through young men as if they are going out of fashion, and the last one was five years younger than me.”
She smiled, and looked around the flat. There were some nice pictures on the walls and the furnishings were obviously expensive, yet it was characterless.
“You need a woman,” she declared, and he blushed. No girl ever made him feel like a bashful sixteen-year old as she did.
“What makes you say that?” he asked, somewhat defensively.
“Your house has no soul,” she said.
He looked around. It was a very plush flat, but she was right, it lacked depth.
He then looked at her, and his entire being ached with desire for her. She looked at him and smiled. For an awful moment, he felt that she could read his mind, but then he told himself not to be so silly.
“Would you like a drink?”
“Da. Please.”
He loved her accent, as it made her seem more exotic somehow.
“You name it, I probably have it,” he said.
“Vodka?”
“Of course. Neat?”
“Nyet. With orange or tonic. We are not all barbaric alcoholics,” she said, so he laughed.
“Ice?”
“Please.”
He poured himself a whisky and her vodka and tonic. He handed it to her, and their fingers met. He felt an electric thrill as they briefly touched.
“Cheers,” he said, so she raised her glass.
He took a sip, watching the girl. He was uncertain of himself for about the first time in his life, and did not enjoy the sensation. He wanted to reach out and take her, but he knew, with a high degree of certainty that if he did so he could lose her forever.
He watched as she went into the kitchen and heard her filling a pan with water. He took another sip, feeling the amber liquid burn pleasantly on its way down. He had an erection, so felt guilty, but she had a profound effect upon him, not only sexually but emotionally as well. It was almost as if he was unable to exist without knowing that she was near. He shook his head, as if to shake away the thought. But it prevailed, and he frowned.
“I’m going for a shower, if you want anything, just help yourself.” he said, going to his room and shutting the door. He put the whisky on the side and undressed. He stepped into the shower and stood under the hot jets for a while. He closed his eyes, and could still see Michelle’s smile. He tried to think of other things, anything, but he couldn’t. He was totally besotted with her, and he recognised that his life would never be the same again.
Michelle was smiling. She had read Gordon’s mind, so acknowledged that the man was falling in love with her. She analysed her own feelings, to discover no real feelings at all. Life was almost a dream, as everything was so new that it was almost as if she was playing a computer game, so if things went wrong, she could re-boot and start all over again.
Her smile faded, as it dawned on here that this was no game, no dream, and life was for real. The surreal quality faded with her smile, as the seriousness of the situation settled on her. Yet, she was well equipped, both in experience and, thanks to the aliens, with a most efficient body. Life was to be lived, so she intended to make the most of it.
Her smile returned. Moving into the living room, she could hear that the shower was still going, so she went to her bag and picked it up. Leaving the front door on the latch, she went out into the mews, and down to the small florist on the corner.
The shop was about to shut as it was almost six o’clock, but she bought £10 worth of cut flowers, so they threw in some foliage for nothing. She walked back to the flat and let herself in again. Gordon was still in the shower.
She went to the kitchen, where she hunted for some vases. She found a couple, so attempted to do some form of flower arrangements. They were not brilliant, but better than nothing. She put the smaller one in the middle of the dining table, and the other on the mantle piece in the living room. It wasn’t much, but it made the place a little less masculine. It gave it a softer edge, and she liked the feel. The colours of the roses and chrysanthemums brought some life to the rooms, and it pleased her.
She heard the shower stop, so she tentatively explored Gordon’s mind.
He was still thinking of her, but she was rather shocked to discover he had masturbated in the shower whilst thinking of making love to her. She had not intended this to happen, and it worried her. She withdrew, wondering if she could do anything to reverse the affect she had had upon the man. She decided that any such attempt would probably aggravate the situation until she knew what she was doing. Perhaps he would lose interest and she could move on.
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She sat on the sofa, picked up a magazine and flicked through the pages. She sipped her drink, wondering what Gordon’s reaction would have been had she asked for a beer.
There was an article entitled ‘Women are from Venus, men are from Mars.’, which she read with interest. She smiled, as she was from somewhere else entirely.
She looked at her watch and returned to the kitchen to start the curry. She browned the sliced chicken and then added the sauce and peppers. Turning the heat under the wok down low, she then covered it.
The smell from the kitchen gently permeated the living area, as Gordon appeared in a clean shirt and casual trousers. He sniffed the air and smiled.
“That smells fantastic,” he said.
She smiled, running a hand across his cheeks.
“You have shaved,” she said, smelling his aftershave. “You smell very nice.”
Gordon felt on overwhelming desire to take her in his arms, but managed to control it, just.
“All the better to ravish you,” he said, half joking.
She said nothing, but simply smiled at him. He had to turn away.
“Another drink?” he asked, refilling his empty glass.
“No, I need to keep sober, otherwise you may take advantage of me,” she said, her eyes gleaming with humour.
He smiled, but his heart was racing. So, he thought, this is what is feels like to be in love.
4.
The doorbell rang, and Michelle looked at him.
“Do you want for me to answer it?” she asked, a naughty glint in her eyes.
“Would you?” he asked, seeing the potential for winding up his mother.
She laughed, and said, “Of course, would you like me to speak with a heavy accent?”
“No, just be yourself, please,” he said.
Rebecca Fenwick was very cross, as her son had done something without her knowledge and out of her control. She was a very attractive woman of medium build. She was what could be described as a ‘good’ fifty-one year old. In fact, she was excellent for her age and she knew it.
However, it was not without much expense and effort both on her, experts and surgeons parts. Her hair was a deep russet colour, and mostly out of a bottle, as underneath she was grey. Her figure was that of a thirty-five year old, and had cost her a small fortune.
The only daughter of a wealthy country doctor, Rebecca discovered sex at fourteen and with it, the power she had over men. By the time she was eighteen, she had lost count of how many men she had had. When George Fenwick had thought he had seduced her at a spring Ball, she identified that there were only two important things in life, money and sex.
George was forty and a very rich man. He was an experienced and moderate lover, so within six months, they were engaged.
Rebecca’s mother had been horrified at her daughter’s choice for a husband, as he was only a few years younger than she was. However, Rebecca loved him in her own funny little way, and the marriage had gone ahead.
They lived well, as Rebecca enjoyed a healthy sex life, and mostly with her husband. They had two children, Gordon and then Sally, eighteen months later. Rebecca found children distressingly hampering as far as her social life was concerned, so decided that two was enough.
The children were sent off to boarding school at the earliest opportunity, and shortly afterwards she persuaded her husband, now in his fifties, to buy her a house in the Caribbean.
Everything went well for a while, George’s business flourished, as did Rebecca’s sex life. George was spending six months or more in Europe, and she was free to find eager young men with whom she could cavort to her heart’s content while he was away.
In the eighties, the business started to struggle, so they had to sell the house in Tobago. She returned to England, and was more restricted in her amorous liaisons.
George was blissfully unaware of his wife’s extracurricular activities, as she was discreet at least. However, one evening, whilst indulging in legitimate marital sex, he suffered a massive heart attack, dying in his wife’s arms.
“Fuck!” she had said, and called an ambulance.
He was well insured and had catered for her amply in his will, thus her future was relatively secure. After receiving, and declining, twelve proposals within the first six months of widowhood, Rebecca discovered that her age was no barrier to having a healthy sex life.
Now, momentarily between partners, she had taken upon herself to identify a suitable bride for her idiot son, who seemed to be unaware that his genitals were for anything other than passing water.
She stood on the doorstep of his flat, having breached one of her steadfast rules, that of never being early or on time for anything. She was almost curling up in frustration and curiosity, so as the door opened she was wholly ill prepared for the reception she received.
Michelle opened the door, still with the blue and white striped apron around her waist.
“Ah, you must be Gordon’s mother. I am Michelle, I have heard all about you,” she said in faultless English, with a faint accent that Rebecca couldn’t place. Michelle held out a hand.
Rebecca stared upwards, forcing her eyes to travel down the extensive length of the girl’s voluptuous yet athletic frame, and then back up to her eyes again. Totally controlled and unafraid, Michelle stared into Rebecca’s eyes and simply smiled.
Rebecca shook the hand that Michelle offered and entered the flat. Her son was by the drinks cabinet.
“Hi Mother. Drink?” he said.
“Usual darling, please,” she said, but before she could move, Michelle had removed her coat and was hanging it up.
“Michelle, what a surprise. I didn’t know that Gordon had a house guest,” she said, as her son placed a strong gin and tonic in her hand.
“I am between apartments at moment, so as I have just been employed by your son, he was kind enough to offer me his spare room for a little while.” Her English was excellent, but Rebecca was frustrated as she could not identify the accent.
“How nice. You accent is illusive, where are you from?”
“I was born in Donetsk, in the east of Ukraine, and my family come from a small village to the south of the city.”
“You speak very good English. But is that an American accent?”
“My teacher leaned from an American, so I learned the accent too.”
“So, when did you start working for my son?”
Michelle smiled.
“At about three o’clock. Excuse me, I must see to the dinner,” she said, retreating to the kitchen.
Rebecca turned and looked at her son, who stared back with undisguised amusement. She walked across and sat next to him on the sofa.
“So, what do you think, mother?”
“She will have you for breakfast and spit out the bones,” she said, to which he laughed.
“Isn’t she wonderful?”
“Gordon, she’s rather bigger than I think is proper.”
“Mother, she is perfect. She is the first woman I can look at without getting a crick in my neck, and besides, her figure is wonderful.”
“She is not English.”
“So, she is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life. She is intelligent, funny, charming, and quite stunning.”
Rebecca looked sharply at her son. Never before had he reacted to any woman quite like this. She was a little surprised and shocked. She glanced round the flat and immediately saw the flowers, and frowned.
Michelle returned, without the apron. Rebecca silently appraised the girl, and had to admit that she was a very pretty girl. No, Michelle was too tall to be pretty, strikingly beautiful perhaps, but pretty – never.
“Dinner will be in about fifteen minutes. Gordon, could I have another drink, please?”
Rebecca watched her son pick up Michelle’s glass and pour her some vodka and tonic, with plenty of ice and a slice of lemon. She watched him hand her the glass, noticing his fingers linger in contact with hers. She noticed also
that the girl smiled, and that Gordon was totally captivated by her. She sighed, her son had found a woman at last, and what a woman!
They chatted idly for a few minutes, and Rebecca was pleasantly surprised at the younger woman’s grasp of current affairs, also that her opinions were sensible and informed. Up until that moment, she had believed all Russians (and she included all ex-soviet states in that category) were ignorant savages.
A buzzer sounded from the kitchen, so Michelle got up and left her alone with her son.
“Well?” Gordon asked.
“She seems very nice,” his mother said, somewhat guardedly.
Gordon smiled, aware that this was high praise indeed.
“Have you taken her to bed yet?” she asked.
Gordon looked quite shocked, so shook his head.
“We’ve only just met,” he said.
“It seems to have been long enough for you to fall in love with the girl.”
“It isn’t like that. She works for me.”
“Then she is playing you like a fish. Be careful, once caught, you may never lose this one,” she said.
Gordon looked at his mother for a moment, but then he smiled.
“Perhaps I never want to lose her.”
Rebecca nodded, saying nothing.
Michelle announced that dinner was served, having heard the whole of their exchange, a smile played round the corners of her mouth.
The Thai Red curry was wonderful, and Rebecca had a soft spot for Thai food. Wholly authentic, even down to the freshly made prawn crackers, she hastily reappraised the girl who sat laughing at one of her son’s rather smutty jokes.
The girl was nice, no question at all, but was she genuine, or was she a gold digger? That was the question.
Michelle turned to her and asked whether the food was to her taste.
“Yes, thank you. It was delicious. I have rarely tasted such a dish outside a Thai restaurant.”
Michelle smiled.
“I am pleased, I can cook a few dishes, but it is important that what I cook is appreciated.”
Rebecca smiled indulgently.
“May I ask you a question?” Michelle asked.
“Of course.”
“It is hard for me, here in a strange land. You see I have nothing, and yet I want to have a good job, so eventually have my own home. But it concerns me that I will be seen as a girl who tries to catch a rich man, and that is not what I want people to believe of me. What can I do to prevent this?”