A Fitting Revenge

by CA Sole

  Juliet had made contact at the worst moment, it had brought her too close to what was going to happen. The house would need to be sanitised somehow and my soul cleansed before she came to stay.

  From the very start our relationship had been an absolute treasure. I was passing through a village near Oxford and was looking right while waiting at a stop sign for traffic to pass, when there was a bang on the left front wing of my Land Rover. I looked round just in time to see an arm come up in the air as the rider fell off her bicycle and out of sight behind my bonnet. By the time I had run round the front of the car, she was already picking herself up. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, ‘I don’t know why I did that, so stupid. My mind was elsewhere. Have I scratched your car? I’m fine but for a dented ego.’

  We looked at the wing together, but there was nothing there. She must have hit the wheel, not the light aluminium bodywork. ‘Not only your ego, your wheel’s buckled’ Head down, trying unsuccessfully to turn it, all I could see were black jeans and suede country boots. I asked, ‘Do you have far to go?’

  I looked up to hear her answer and saw her face properly for the first time. She had thick auburn hair tied up in a pony tail and hazel eyes with a hopeful expression beneath unplucked brows. A light sprinkling of freckles was barely visible across her nose and cheeks. Her complexion was fresh and naturally creamy, my impression was that she spent a lot of time outdoors and seldom bothered with make up. She exuded energy and charisma, was short, perhaps five foot five, but appeared smaller in a heavy olive shooting jacket.

  ‘I do rather,’ she answered, ‘but I’ll get a bus. There’s a stop not far down the road.’ There was a slight hint of Scots in her accent.

  ‘Nonsense, I’ve time on my hands. Let’s find a repair shop for your bike, then I’ll drop you off.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that, it was my own stupid fault.’

  ‘Not entirely, if I hadn’t been there, it wouldn’t have happened.’

  She laughed and that was it. She had a broad smile which lit up her whole face and was easy to summon. We dropped off her bike, explored each other over a pub lunch and at once became inseparable. The first time I said goodbye to her on her way back north, it felt as if my life was on hold until I saw her again. The moment she was out of sight, I looked at the calendar to count the days to our next meeting, and first thing every morning I ticked them off.

  Although we lived apart, Juliet and I saw each other about every three to four weeks in addition to weekends away and taking holidays together. She worked for herself as a landscape designer and stabled some horses for local riders. With the help she had, her life was pretty flexible and she could easily accommodate my relaxed schedule, which was usually two weeks away every quarter, and I could vary the trips as I chose within reason. We respected each other’s privacy and I kept my feelings under control by trying not to think of any other relationships she might have, if any. I was confident that she had similar thoughts. We never broached the subject of marriage, each of us seemingly content with the way things were. Deep down though, I knew that I would step to the fore very quickly to prevent any other man from claiming her for life.

  Once we were together, I couldn’t wait to introduce Juliet to Giles. I was so proud of her, I wanted to show her off to my friend, but for weeks we never managed to meet. When we eventually did, they took to each other immediately. Why would they not? I was their greatest friend, the common link between them. I have an enduring yet purely fictitious image of a scene which symbolised our relationship at that time, an image of us walking down the street: big, tall Giles on one side, a smaller me on the other, with little Juliet almost dancing between us, happy with her friends and her arm linked tightly through mine. She had a deep affection for Giles, I knew that, but she always came home with me. She asked Giles why he never brought a girlfriend to join us. His answer was that there was no one he was serious about at that moment, and he didn’t think having a bimbo along was good enough for his friends.

  A picnic right on the bank of the river: we had spread a blanket down and Giles, who had carried the hamper from the car, opened it to reveal Juliet’s preparations for the day, while I filled our glasses and settled them into the turf so they wouldn’t topple. She brought out cheese: a stilton, a really mature cheddar, I remember, and a red Leicester. She had made some bread, a heavy country loaf that smelt delicious, but wasn’t. Giles broke off a lump and was weighing it in his hand with exaggerated effort. ‘Don’t throw that,’ I warned him, ‘you’ll give someone concussion!’

  So he did. I stepped back in trying to catch it. A sod on the bank gave way and I slithered sideways into the river with a lasting vision of the others shying away from the splash. When I surfaced, Giles was rolling about and Juliet was clutching her sides with laughter. I splashed them, so it became a full on fight. Tina thought this was a great game and jumped in to join me. Giles was throwing hard lumps of Juliet’s loaf at me, while I tried to fend them off and make those two as wet as possible. When he ran out of ammunition, I struggled out followed by Tina who shook herself over us all to joint human protest. I collapsed on my back on the blanket. Juliet promptly sat on my stomach. ‘Serves you right for being rude about my cooking. And now you’ve given me a wet bum!’

  ‘Jules, I love you dearly, but I have to be truthful about your culinary expertise.’

  She made a face and pretended to be hurt, muttering something about us being cruel and not appreciating her efforts. We all laughed, though. Her glass had fallen over, so she paraphrased Coriolanus imperiously, ‘By Jupiter! I am weary; yea my body is tired from laughter. Have we no wine here?’

  I remember that picnic from others particularly, because it was the last time I saw Giles before he married a few months later.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Swamped with self-reproach over Juliet and nervous that I would not be able to perform with a woman that was in the process of extorting my friend, I knew I had to get in the mood. What was needed was some foreplay before the foreplay. Sandra could handle her alcohol well, indeed she could match me drink for drink. If we both had just the right amount, a good meal and a heavy dose of her sensuality, my whole mood might change - hopefully.

  I had to be better prepared for what was to come, I had to consider what Sandra wanted out of this night. Was she just using me to get at Giles out of spite or was it pure misandry? If both, to bring him to his financial and emotional knees would be a satisfying reward, but to humiliate his best friend as well would be a double triumph. Or, heaven forbid, after Giles was she intent on marrying me to go through the whole money making racket again? If so, she would be disappointed with the prize; I was comfortably off, but hardly in Giles' league. No, it had to be the first option. From her perspective, chasing after financial kittens was not worth the effort when there were plenty of fat cats to be had.

  Having reached that conclusion, I felt a little less under pressure. A little. This was not about me, it was about humiliating Giles. I was just a pawn and did not have to be so conscious about watching my back. But I was very aware that she would be alert to any attempt on my part to protect him. I had to be seen as less than the true friend she had been led to believe I was. The fact that, to her knowledge at least, I had not told Giles about our first night was surely proof of a less than true loyalty.

  Sandra arrived on time, seven o’clock as we’d agreed. A throaty exhaust heralded her black Porsche Cayman S outside the front door. I provided a welcome grin on the step and tried to look sincere. She had reverted to her natural dark brown hair colour and kissed me with open lips, her arm round my shoulder, her hand on the back of my head, pressing her whole body into mine. I could feel myself getting aroused; it was going to be all right!

  A whisky later I was definitely more in the mood and was chatting cheerfully over the second one while making a puttanesca sauce for the spaghetti. There was a touch of unintentional irony in this. According to urban
legend, the sauce was popular with puttane, whores, as it takes little time to make, leaving more time to attend to customers.

  She wanted to explore the house while the pasta was cooking. Upstairs, I showed her the two little spare rooms and the one we would use. ‘What’s in there?’ She pointed to my own room when I turned away from it.

  ‘Oh, it’s supposed to be another bedroom, but the bathroom plumbing leaks and the water’s turned off, so I use it for storage.’

  ‘I’d still like to look.’

  ‘I keep it locked because I don’t want the cleaning lady in there. I’ve actually mislaid the key as well. I think I’ll have to get a locksmith before I get a plumber.’

  ‘I’ll ask Anthony to come round. He’ll open the door and fix the plumbing too. He’s good at that sort of thing.’

  ‘I’m sure he is,’ I said with more meaning than I intended.

  She gave me an odd look, ‘I insist, I’ll ask him to come over tomorrow, you’ll be home?’

  ‘Actually no, and I really don’t need to open the room that urgently. It can wait,’ I answered with finality. It was only a little thing, but this was the second time I had refused to do what she wanted, the first being over the nitrous oxide. The force of her will was palpable and she didn’t like the disobedience, but she didn’t take it any further.

  She stopped halfway down the stairs, turned to face me and asked, ‘I thought you were Giles’ most loyal friend?’ This probe led to dangerous ground. I didn’t answer immediately, because I had to give a reply that would convince her that I wasn’t a threat.

  ‘Did you tell Giles about us?’

  ‘Good God, no!’ I answered, hopefully sounding shocked. ‘That wouldn’t be very sensible, would it?’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ She looked up at me, a step above her, and teased, ‘Why are you going to shag your best friend’s wife?’

  I laughed. ‘Why is my best friend’s wife intent on shagging his best friend?’ Then supplied her with the answer, ‘Perhaps we both have pressing needs.’

  She laughed too, a genuine, husky, throaty sound, and the potential for difficulty subsided.

  Scotches consumed and the pasta ready, we progressed to a humble bottle of Chianti. Sandra had the capacity to transform a situation to the way she wanted it to be. I found myself pushing my concerns and guilt into the background and relaxing into the mood. My final reservations melted away.

  ‘You put chillies in this, it’s hot,’ she protested and made a mock blowing sound.

  ‘Only a bit, just to give it a little kick. Too much?’

  Her blue eyes narrowed, ‘You’ll feel the heat on my tongue later.’

  On the landing, she turned around to look over the living room for a moment. I touched her shoulder. We kissed again. Her hand slid down to my belt and deftly released it. A little fumbling and she had my cock in her hand. She laughed delightedly and used it to pull me into the bedroom, while I tottered after her, holding my trousers up and entirely at her mercy.

  I was more than ready now. ‘I think a shower’s in order.’ My voice sounded croaked, my tongue dry.

  ‘Brilliant!’ she enthused and began to strip. Not slowly and enticingly, her clothes came off in a hurry. She didn’t need to tease me, just wanted to get on with it.

  There was no room in the little cubicle for both of us to bend down at the same time. Sandra lathered the soap and started at my feet, rubbing her way up to my thighs but stopping there. Then she worked from the top down, face, shoulders, ‘Arms up!’ Chest. ‘Turn around!’ Back, buttocks, but then she stopped again and handed me the soap. ‘My chance, Sweetie.’

  My God, but this woman had a beautiful body! I soaped and stroked her creamy skin following the same pattern as she had, relishing her perfect form. I didn’t stop though, my hand rubbed up between her legs spreading the lather from back to front. She was breathing rapidly and deeply, thrusting her hips forward repeatedly in response to my fingers. I held her with the other arm and whispered, ‘The soap is yours.’

  ‘Beast!’ she laughed and began to ensure that the rest of my body was as clean as hers with fingers that lingered over every millimetre of skin.

  Dried, we piled through into the bedroom, Sandra in the lead, diving onto the bed then quickly rolling over in about as open an invitation as the camera could capture.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The early morning sun streamed in the window at an angle. I watched its light track slowly across the wall and head towards the mirror opposite the bed. It is always fascinating to see how rapid that earthly movement is when you consider that it takes so many hours for the sun to reach the western horizon. Coffee was in order. Pulling on a pair of trousers, I went down to the kitchen to get some. First though, I went straight to the cupboard where the recorder was and removed the memory card. If the recording was good, Sandra would be seen to lead me into the bedroom, into the shower and then to be a more than willing partner in the acts that followed. Suddenly, the realisation that someone else, maybe a host of other people, would watch this performance sunk home, and a flush of future embarrassment left my mouth dry. Hopefully, if our plan worked, it wouldn’t be necessary. I hid the card with my car keys to take with me when I left.

  Tina came to say good morning as the coffee machine hissed. She nuzzled my hand and wagged her tail while watching me prepare her breakfast. Cupboard love at that moment, of course, but I spent some time thinking how loyal and loveable dogs are, unlike some other devious bitches, one of which was waking up above me. Now that she had well and truly ‘had’ me, I understood better what Giles had said, that she took the initiative and orchestrated people to play the tune her way. Having involved me in her sordid game, what was she going to do now? The only thing we had in our favour was the recording of her infidelity. Would that be enough to force her off her planned course?

  I reflected on the athletic night and how damn good it had been; unbelievable. I never thought I had it in me; all credit to her, I suppose. Then thoughts of Juliet, ever close to the surface, swam up and remorse set in again. How the hell was I going to tell her, even though I still believed it was a necessary ‘job’? That’s what it was, I told myself yet again, it was just a job, even if I had lost myself in primeval lust for a few hours.

  Tina crunched her biscuits while I poured the coffee, then she followed me up the stairs and into the room. I put Sandra’s mug on the bedside table, expecting the dog to stick her nose on the bed in a good morning greeting to my guest, but she didn’t even go to that side; unusual and thus interesting. Sandra said thanks and sat up. Even on waking she looked good, but there was a change in her mood. Her features had hardened and they reminded me of that night at dinner when Giles had overridden her attempt to get Henry to do something before he went to bed. She smiled now, but it was forced and without feeling. I was instantly suspicious. Why? Had she seen something, the camera perhaps? Or, her act now over, her ‘job’ done, could she now revert to her true self?

  We said nothing, sipping coffee, and I noticed that the light had progressed further round the room. Damn! The sun had shone on the mirror which had reflected its light directly at the bookcase. It must have penetrated into the dark cavity I had created, illuminating the camera in its depths and made it visible in the mirror from the bed, the very area under scrutiny.

  With the change in atmosphere, there was nothing other than idle conversation as we got up and dressed. I had no choice but to leave her alone while I went to the bathroom, so she would have ample opportunity to examine the cameras. Thank goodness the separate recorder was in another room, so she couldn’t mess with that.

  She seemed to be undergoing an internal struggle, appearing to be nice, yet having to suppress her fury at my taking the initiative with the recording. Sourly, she initially turned down the offer of breakfast and made to leave. Then abruptly her mood swung and she had herself under control once more, opting for a simple slice of toast and more coffee. Giles was right, what should I
expect next? She put her hand on mine and purred, ‘That was good Sweetie, but I must go. I’ll call you soon.’

  ‘I must go too. I’ve a meeting at Farnborough that will last all of today, Saturday if you please. Some people have no respect.’

  I saw her out of the door and watched as she slithered down into her Porsche. She left slowly, the car purring down the drive, but she stopped before entering the lane. It wasn’t far away and, stepping back from the window so as not to be seen, I clearly saw her dialling a number into her phone. The car’s Bluetooth system would have allowed her to continue driving, but she stayed there and an animated conversation took place. Her hands were gesticulating furiously and her head was moving back and forth in anger. She must be furious about the cameras and even angrier about having lost control of the situation, while someone, some confidant, was listening.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Porsche engine howled and the car fishtailed on the loose surface with a scattering of gravel before gripping the tarmac of the lane. I listened to its angry receding roar for a moment then tried to phone Giles with the news. His phone was off, so I prepared my stuff for the day, teased Tina with a dog treat before giving it to her and locked the house.

  The sun was climbing steadily up into a clear sky. It was a beautiful morning, but my mind was full of the night, wondering what Sandra was going to do next, whether our plan had been thwarted with her seeing the camera and more particularly, how I was going to explain it all to Juliet. It was a jumble of thoughts so I put on the radio and listened to that without hearing anything of what was said. Farnborough was only an hour away and I made good time, arriving early. I left the Land Rover in TAG’s large parking area, which wasn’t strictly the correct place since I wasn’t going there, and took the opportunity to walk to my client who had limited parking further along the road. He too was early and we agreed we could probably complete our work sooner than planned.