by Charles Owen
Mystified, Julian stared at him for a moment but then made the connection. ‘Yes ... yes ... of course ... I'm sure my firm would ... look after you.’ Stanford the wheeler-dealer. Mr Sprague would be proud of him.
The porter smiled broadly and the anxious fingers returned to their place on the top of the desk.
Julian walked across the hall and pushed open a door. It was like stepping off an aeroplane into brilliant, sub-tropical sunshine. In the raised gallery that ran the length of the solarium, powerful lighting under a large glass dome created the impression of a hot white sky. Below him was a magnificent swimming pool surrounded by elegant tables and chairs shaded by colourful umbrellas. There were palm trees and behind them a trompe d'oeil, a panorama of hills dotted with elegant villas running down to the sparkling waters of the Mediterranean.
Two children were laughing and splashing in the blue water. An attractive young woman in her late thirties, with jet-black hair and skin like dark wheat, was emerging from the pool. She pressed her hands down the sides of her white one-piece bathing suit as if to emphasise the admirable lines of her figure. A handsome grey-haired man in a white linen suit raised himself from his chair and handed her a towelled robe. He had never seen Victor Skordias but the walnut complexion and strongly marked features left him in no doubt that it was the Greek shipping tycoon and his beautiful wife Marianna.
As he returned to the hall, Suki appeared. ‘I have been looking at the river. You promised to make it blue for me. Remember?’ She pouted like a sulky child. ‘I don't think you are trying very hard. It turns a dreary shade of grey when the sun goes in.’
As the lift doors closed behind them, she kissed him lightly on the lips. ‘Don't look so desolate,’ she chided. As he tried to put his arms around her she ducked out of reach. ‘How do you like my outfit?’
He stood staring at her, running his tongue over his lips, still tasting that glossy pink kiss.
‘At least say you like the hat.’ She tipped the straw hat with its wide blue ribbon at a rakish angle.
‘It's amazing.’
‘And the rest?’ She performed a slow pirouette like a mechanical doll. Her jacket and skirt were white and very close-fitting, the collar and pockets trimmed in navy blue. From her shoulder a shiny white leather bag hung by long straps. She walked his fingers down the sides of her jacket, into the cinch at the waist and then over the smooth curve of the hips. ‘Clothes like these make a woman feel like a woman, Mr Standfast. You don't think they are immodest?’ She took his hand and laid it in the deep V of her neckline.
He snatched back his hand as if he had rested it on top of a hot stove.
Suki chortled, ‘You are so amusing, Mr Standfast.’ The doors opened and she stepped out onto the thick-pile carpet of the lobby. He fumbled in the pocket of his suit for the keys and would have walked ahead of her to the front door of the apartment but she put out a hand to stay him. ‘Let's do everything together from now on, Mr Standfast, just as we planned.’
‘Very well,’ said Julian stiffly. He tucked a hand under his arm, nursing it as if it had been scorched.
‘Very well,’ she mimicked. She made a face at him. ‘Come on, Mr Standfast, loosen up a little. Let's have some fun!’
‘Fun!’ he echoed bitterly. ‘It's no fun being made a fool of.’ Savagely he drove the key into the lock.
Turning his face to her, Suki kissed him very quickly on the tip of his nose. ‘Now I have made Mr Standfast angry. I'm sorry.’ She blew on his cheeks to cool them. ‘How red you are! A furious Mr Standfast!’
He pushed open the door. ‘Whatever we do, we must keep everything immaculately tidy,’ he said severely.
Suki put her hands on his arms and turned him once more to face her. She was frowning. ‘Whatever we do? What can you be thinking of?’
He hung his head. ‘I really don't know,’ he said miserably.
Suki raised her chin. ‘If you don't know, I am sure I don't.’ She closed the door behind them. She giggled, ‘You go first. You know – just the way we rehearsed it.’
He set off across the hall. He could sense her eyes following him. He must look ridiculous. What should he do with his arms, swing them or keep them tight against his sides? And what was the layout of the apartment? It had gone clean out of his head. Liz had rushed him around it that first week. He wished that he had paid more attention. And where was the brochure? He must have left it in the car. At least it would have been something to hold.
‘You must tell me what to look at,’ she cried after him. ‘Isn't that what estate agents are supposed to do?’
Julian waved vaguely to left and right, ‘This is the hall.’ What more was there to say?
He would have gone into the reception room but she called again, ‘Stop there, silly. Wait for me. Can't you remember anything?’ She skimmed her hat at him and he had to duck as it sailed over his head and down the passage.
He would have run after it but she came skipping up to him and, throwing her arms about him, waltzed him into the room. ‘This is the reception room, Mr Standfast,’ she reminded him, ‘this is where I shall receive.’ She steered him expertly around a coffee table and between the twin sofas. ‘You are my first guest, Mr Standfast. I hope you feel honoured.’
‘You do like it, Suki?’ he asked anxiously. ‘It would be such a help if –’
‘Like it? I adore it! I can't live without it,’ she exclaimed breathlessly as they danced past the huge picture window. ‘Look, Mr Standfast! Bridges ... and barges ... and houseboats ... and seagulls ... and, what is more, the river is blue! What a love you are – you have kept your promise!’ She spun to a stop and raising his hands to her lips, ran rapid kisses along his fingers. ‘Meet me outside the dining room,’ she whispered, ‘I need something from the kitchen.’ She rounded her eyes at him and tapped her shoulder bag. Whistling a lively hornpipe, she capered through the door.
When she returned she was carrying two glasses in her hand. ‘Let's have a drink, Mr Standfast!’ she cried. ‘We have so much to celebrate.’ She stuffed the glasses into the pockets of his jacket and ran down the zipper of her bag. ‘Look what I brought with me!’ Taking his hand, she curled his fingers around the neck of a bottle. ‘It's a Pol Roger. Isn't that just the wickedest name for champagne? If I'm the Pol ...’she pressed her pretty little teeth into her under lip, ‘what does that make you?’
Stanford blushed and removed his hand quickly. ‘You ... you haven't seen the ... the dining room,’ he stuttered. ‘The colours–’
‘Show me the colours, if you insist.’ Putting her arm around his waist, she peeped in through the door. ‘Green and red – good for the gastric juices. How are your juices, Mr Standfast?’
‘A bit subdued,’ he confessed, remembering his lunchtime sandwich.
‘That's too bad – just wait until you've had a glass of bubbly. You will feel like a sparkler at a birthday party.’ She kicked off her shoes and ran a stockinged foot gently up the inside of his calf. ‘I have had an idea, Mr Standfast.’
‘Another idea?’ His eyes narrowed anxiously.
‘Yes, another idea.’ She swayed up against him and breathed into his ear. ‘Let's pretend we are courting and it's late and we have gone back to my lodgings and there's a dreadful old harridan of a landlady who will turn us onto the street if she catches us.’ She took his arm, ‘So, not a sound, Mr Standfast!’ Like a pair of stage villains, they tiptoed up the passage to the door of the bedroom.
‘Look at that bed!’ Suki shrieked. ‘I have always wanted a brass bed.’ She dropped her bag, threw off her jacket and, sprinting across the room, took a running dive across the satin counterpane. Seizing the brass rail, she pulled herself up to the foot of the bed. ‘Let's play lions and tigers, Mr Standfast.’ She tossed her golden mane from side to side and made low growling sounds at him from between the bars.
Julian picked Suki's jacket off the floor and placed it over the arm of a chair. ‘We mustn't make so much noise. Supposing–’
‘I can't help myself. I feel wild and tempestuous. You will have to tame me. Do you think you could tame me, Mr Standfast?’
‘I'm not sure...’ he said doubtfully.
Suki rolled over onto her back and stretched out her arms to him. ‘Pour me a drink, lover,’ she entreated. She rolled her eyes upwards and caught sight of the picture above the bed, ‘Look at that picture, Mr Standfast!’ With a squeal of pleasure she jumped to her feet, bouncing up and down on the bed. ‘All fauns and frolics! Isn't it just shameless?’
As he tried to fill her glass, Suki shaped her lips for a kiss. His lips parted, seeking hers. Suki leaned down, looked deep into his eyes and blew a cloud of froth at him. She collapsed on the bed gurgling with laughter. ‘If you could see yourself, you poor darling. You have got bubbles on the end of your nose.’ Throwing back the counterpane, she plumped up the pillows, stretched out and, with a little sigh, closed her eyes.
Stanford took the dripping glass from her fingers before it tumbled to the floor and placed it on the table. His blood was running like a tide race. He threw off his jacket and tie, half expecting to see steam rising from his shirt. Suki opened her eyes and raised herself on her elbow but he pressed her shoulders down onto the bed. ‘I want you, Suki.’ In his ears, his voice sounded as thick as treacle.
She swung up her legs and lifted him off her as neatly as a mechanic raising a car on a hydraulic ramp. She rolled to the other side of the bed and sat up. ‘You go too quickly, my sweet.’ She pushed her hair back off her forehead. ‘Calm down or you will spoil everything.’
He grabbed his glass and drained it at a single gulp. His fingers fumbled at the buttons of his shirt. For the life of him he could not stop trembling. His nerves were vibrating like harp strings. ‘I'm sorry, Suki,’ he muttered, ‘my feelings ran away with me.’
‘Run after them and catch them, Mr Standfast. Tell them to behave. Feelings are like small children. They demand treats all the time. Tell them to be patient.’
‘How can I be patient, Suki, when I feel ... like ... like this?’
‘Like what, Mr Standfast?’ she teased, trailing her fingers through his hair.
He groaned. ‘You know how I feel. Why torture me?’
Suki stood up. She took his hands and, pressing them to her lips, looked into his eyes. ‘You should see your face, Mr Standfast. It's all lined and twisted as if you had a migraine.’
‘Oh! Suki! Please–’
‘Try to be good for a little longer. When I have had my bath–’
‘A bath! You're not–’
‘Certainly I must bathe. You should too.’
‘I had a bath this morning.’
‘Well, I didn't. Turn on the taps for me, there's a pet.’
He went into the bathroom. All mirrors and marble. Bending down, he lifted a corner of a towel and brushed it against his cheek, searching for the fragrance, the softness that her body would lend it. He kissed it and pressed it gently through the ring above the bath. He let the water run slowly, allowing it to trickle through his fingers ... this water that would hold her ... encompass her...
As he came back into the bedroom, Suki was tucking in the sheet at the foot of the bed. She straightened quickly. ‘You look as red as a turkey cock, Mr Standfast. Are you terribly excited?’
‘It's all this waiting, Suki.’
‘I won't be long. I swear it.’ She placed his hand against her heart for a long moment and then returned it to him. ‘Think about me while you wait or, better still, play the undressing game.’
‘What's the–’
‘Don't talk. Watch!’ She raised the hem of her skirt and reaching underneath, rolled her stockings slowly down her long, silky smooth legs. Julian felt his mouth drying, his heartbeat quicken.
‘Every time you bare a new part of your body,’ she explained, ‘you must promise it a treat. Start with each of your toes and work upwards.’ She ran down a zipper and, with a deft wiggle of her behind, shuffled her skirt down to her ankles. Hooking the skirt with her toes, she hoisted it neatly onto a chair and skipped off towards the bathroom.
He glowered at her retreating figure. ‘What did you promise your ... I mean ... the part you bared...?’
Suki plucked a bath towel from the rail and threw it to him. ‘Unimaginable delight, Mr Standfast. That's what I promised myself. I have great expectations of you. You must live up to them.’
She had left the door ajar. He listened acutely. Above the sound of the running water, she was singing to herself. And then came the clink of buttons on the marble floor. Her blouse. She had removed her blouse. Her hands would be reaching behind her for the hooks of her brassiere. Unfastening ... freeing her breasts ... now she was padding over to the bath ... bending over the edge to test the temperature of the water ... her body curved like a drawn bow ... then dipping her finger into the warmth, stirring it into excited ripples ... straightening again ... sliding her fingers under the waistband of her...
‘Are your shoes and socks off yet, Mr Standfast?’
He reached down to tug off a shoe. ‘Almost...’
‘Promise each of your toes a little treat,’ Suki reminded him. ‘The treats get more thrilling as you go higher.’
Barefoot, he walked over to the window and stared out through the balcony railings to the river. The cars crawling across the bridges looked no larger than toys, the office blocks like models on a town planner's board. What would they say, the people down there, inching along in the traffic or languishing in their cell-like offices, tapping away at their dreary keyboards. What would they say if they could see him now, if they could raise their heads from their Lilliputian existence to–
‘Are you undressed yet, Mr Standfast? Wonderfully, gloriously naked?’
‘Not quite, Suki.’ He undid the buttons on his shirt and let his belt out a hole. Suddenly he needed a drink. He refilled his glass, drained it at a single gulp and replenished it once more.
He could hear her splashing out of the bath ... patting herself dry. He let out his belt another hole and plucked at the top of his trunks. He wished now that he had chosen the Oxford blue. How could he have chosen that washed-out colour? It was the colour of funk. Blue funk. And his skin – how pale it was. His arms – how thin they looked. It was his mother's fault. She had passed on her skinniness to him.
Wonderfully, gloriously naked! What a travesty of manliness Suki would think him. The shame! The humiliation! It was not to be borne! His eyes flashed to the door. If he fled, ran now – there was time – still just time enough to grab his clothes – make a dash for it. He groaned out aloud.
‘I won't be long now, lover.’
Where were his socks? He ran across the carpet. The room looked like the aftermath of a jumble sale. Frantically he cast around for his shoes. And his jacket ... his tie...
‘I wonder what Mr Sprague would say if he could see us now.’
Julian stopped dead. Mr Sprague! For a moment he had forgotten the man. He must get back … but if he ran now... No! Suki wasn't the sort of woman that men would leave. At least not like this. She would go crazy! She would ring Sprague! Scream down the telephone! In her fury she might say anything. That he had assaulted her! Lured her to this apartment and tried to rape her! He would get back to the office and find the police waiting for him. Oh, God! What was he to do!
‘Coming, lover...’
It was too late. In a panic he dumped the collection of oddments at his feet, threw off his remaining clothes, all save the disparaged shorts, wrapped the bath towel tight about him, scrambled into bed and pulled the covers to his chin.
Suki came out of the bathroom like a swan alighting on water, her white bathrobe spreading like wings as, with a huge leap, she landed at his side. With a yelp of glee she tore back the bedclothes and threw them on the floor. His hands clutched at the towel, ‘No! Suki! Don't!’ But with wonderful adroitness she reached under it and tugged his shorts down to his ankles and over his wildly threshing feet.
>
‘You lying hound! You said that you were gloriously naked!’ She rolled the shorts into a tight ball and hurled them across the room where they came to rest on the dressing table.
‘Please, Suki–’
She covered his face with kisses, ‘You are a cheat, Mr Standfast. That is what you are. And cheats have to be punished.’ She spread herself over him and placing her forehead against his, fluttered his eyelids with her long lashes. ‘You have guilty eyes, Mr Standfast.’
‘Suki, no–’
‘Yes, you have. I believe you almost ran out on me.’
‘No, Suki. I promise–’
‘Do you know what I wrote on the bathroom mirror? I wrote, “I love Mr Standfast” in that beautiful pink soap smelling of strawberries. I have a good mind to scrub it all off and write “Mr Standfast is a rat.”’
‘It's not true, Suki!’
‘Prove it!’ She ran the tip of her tongue around the lobe of his ear and then in a moist trail down his neck to his shoulder. ‘Does this delight you, Mr Standfast?’
‘It's won … d …der ... f … ful!’
‘It's going to get better.’ Gently she ran kisses along his fingers, nuzzling for the damp palm of his hand until he released his hold on the towel. Slipping to his side, she laid him bare to the waist.
‘No, Suki! No!’ Her mouth came down on his, stifling all protest. He felt his lips swelling, the walls of his nostrils widening as his body cried out for air. Sensation tracked through him like a thermal vest wired up to a power station.
‘As long as you live, Mr Standfast, you will never forget this afternoon.’ She printed kisses up the inside of his arm, following the long blue vein from the wrist to the shoulder. ‘And that's a promise.’ She cradled his arm in her hands, fondling it as if it was the dearest part of him, running her cheek along its length, stretching it gently at the elbow, moving it higher, easing it away from his body like a door swinging back on well-oiled hinges.