The Hit-and-Run Man

by Derrick R. Bickley

  “It can't be easy building up your own business.” Greenfield felt obliged to say something in her husband's defence, though reluctant to make too many excuses for him. “New problems must be cropping up all the while. It must be something pretty important to stop him coming.

  “The business is built up. He has more than fifty people working for him.” She lowered her eyes, staring absently at the table. “The real truth, Howard, is that he just doesn't want to leave it. The place would run itself; he doesn't need to be there. But that's where he wants to be, playing with his lathes, his millers and God knows what other machines, rather than alone with me for a few days.”

  “Then he's a fool.”

  Once again Greenfield was stunned by his lack of hesitation. He seemed to be taking on a new personality, becoming a new man. This woman was bringing out in him a measure of assertiveness he would never have thought possible.

  Obviously pleased at the flattering response, she managed another smile. “Each time I've gone back home,” she went on, “the obedient housewife, making the dutiful sacrifices for a husband who is happier with his machines.” The change of mood came suddenly, her tone becoming angry and bitter. “Well sod him, bloody well sod him. This time I am not going home. He can stop on his own and play with his machines. I'm going to have some fun of my own.”

  The Barcelona flight was called again. Her eyes locked onto Greenfield's, sending a tingle racing through his body, from head to toe.

  “Howard, the seat next to me will be vacant,” she said. “I would be pleased if you would join me.”

  Greenfield always found aeroplanes to be claustrophobic, making him feel as though he was sealed up in a closed hollow tube, and normally a cramped, narrow-aisled Boeing 737 did little to relieve this effect. This time, sitting beside Julie, he hardly noticed it. His attention wrapped up entirely in her presence, even the heady feeling that went with the take-off, which usually he found unpleasant, was ignored. Happily, as the aircraft soared upwards towards the sun, he watched her pain drain away, replaced by an aura of contentment, relaxed, but obvious.

  Mid-way through the flight, shortly after they had picked tentatively at the functional, but hardly appetising, aeroplane meal, she slipped off her jacket, dropping it lazily against the back of the seat. He swallowed dryly at the sight of her breasts stretching the fabric of the perfectly-tailored white blouse. In crossing her legs the hem of her skirt had travelled up above her knee. Attracting his gaze to her slender legs, it was impossible to ignore the feelings she aroused within him. He told himself repeatedly he was a happily married man with a teenage daughter, a respectable career, a comfortable home and a contented life-style, but it was a lost argument. This young, beautiful woman gave him her full attention, interested in every word he spoke, gently, and affectionately he thought, touching his arm when she laughed or made a special point, and sometimes leaning closer towards him, fleetingly her shoulder brushing his, as she spoke very quietly, as though the words were meant just for him to hear, the rest of the world excluded. As the flight progressed she became increasingly responsive to his presence, allowing him to brush away some straying strands of hair off her forehead and, as he sensed an invitation to become bolder, to playfully squeeze her hand a couple of times. As the conversation turned just a little flirtatious, the full reality of the situation finally hit him. This was not a dream or a daytime sensual flight of imagination; this was really happening and that was the moment he became aware of the feeling that he wanted this woman more than anything in the world.

  Knowing it was wrong to feel this urge did not make it go away. He knew he should get up now, move to his own seat, read his newspaper or a book, do anything but remain sitting within the magic reach of the woman who, in a couple of hours, had turned his emotions upside down. But his rekindled ego demanded he stayed where he was.

  Yet he was already beginning to have doubts as to whether he could turn the relationship into something more than travelling companions. Though his shyness and awkwardness were gone, his lack of experience remained a handicap. Pauline was the only girl he had ever dated or attempted to date. He was unpractised in judging the mood of a female, guessing how receptive she would be if he asked her out, knowing whether he was underplaying or overplaying his hand. Would Julie agree to a date or would he just be making a fool of himself?

  With Pauline it had been different. Seeing her every day in the office had made for a long getting-to-know-you process and allowed plenty of room for procrastination. Then time had been on his side. Now it was his enemy. As the 'plane began its descent into Barcelona airport, he knew that, very shortly, in the warm afternoon Spanish sunshine, Julie could walk out of his life for ever.

  Arriving a couple of minutes behind schedule, together with the other passengers they clambered aboard the vehicle ferry that took them from then aircraft to the terminal. Unable to sense what she was thinking or how she felt, he saw his chance rapidly fading away. If only she would give him a sign, just the tiniest of signs.

  Finally, she did, more positive than he could ever have hoped for. As they waited in the queue, shuffling slowly through passport control, Julie turned to him and asked, “Howard, is this your first ever visit to Barcelona?

  “Actually, yes,” he smiled.

  “It is such a beautiful city,” she said with overwhelming enthusiasm. “You should cancel all your appointments tomorrow and let me show you the sights.”

  That was the encouragement he needed. True she was only suggesting a sightseeing tour, but the newly-found confidence she had brought out in him pushed him into seizing the initiative.

  “There's tonight first,” he said boldly. “Have dinner with me.”

  Her answer came without hesitation. “I would really like that. I know a super little restaurant, serves the best food in Barcelona.”

  It was done. The deal was struck. He knew then that tonight she would be his and somehow he sensed she knew it too.

  “Where are you stopping?” she asked.

  “Husa Presidente.”

  “I know it.” As the official rubber stamp thumped down on her passport, she added, “I'll pick you up with a taxi about eight.”

  Chapter Three

  Greenfield began to think she wasn't coming. He looked at his watch again as he shuffled uneasily around the foyer of the Hotel Husa Presidente. It was almost eight-thirty. He should have known it would be like this. Since leaving him at the airport that afternoon, she had been completely in his thoughts. And now she wasn't coming.

  His disappointment was close to becoming anguish when she hurried in through the door, sweeping away his desolation as swiftly as she took away his breath. If beautiful was the word to describe her earlier in the day, there were no words superlative enough to do justice to the vision of perfection that stood stunningly before him now, magnificently wrapped in a long, black dress with a wickedly plunging neckline.

  “I'm sorry I'm late. Howard,” she laughed. “Woman's privilege though, you know.”

  “I was beginning to think you weren't coming,” said Greenfield.

  “There was no chance of that.” She linked her arm in his. “I've been looking forward to it too much not to come. The taxi is waiting outside for us. I do hope you like Spanish food.”

  In truth, he didn't, but he would have eaten anything to be with her. It was a happy evening, the soft lights of the restaurant, the romantic sound of the Spanish guitars that accompanied the meal and the heady local wine creating a uniquely relaxing atmosphere of warmth and contentment.

  “We'll get a taxi together. He can drop you at your place first,” suggested Greenfield, though he had no real intentions of going any further than her apartment.

  Yellow taxi cabs buzz around Barcelona like bees around a honey pot, so it was no more than a couple of minutes before they were able to flag one down.

  When they arrived at her apartment, only a short drive from the restaurant, he got out of the vehicle with her and paid o
ff the driver. Nothing was said. She didn't invite him in, he didn't ask, but she made no protest. There was now an air of inevitability about the conclusion of the evening.

  The apartment was large and luxurious, with a lounge that could have come straight out of one of those glossy magazines that delight in showing homes that most people could never hope to own. While Greenfield sank back into the cushions on the sofa, Julie poured two brandies that looked lost in the bottom of the large, bulbous glasses. When she settled beside him, her closeness overwhelmed him. How much he wanted to reach out and touch her, feel the warmth of her body against his hand.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked softly, looking up at him over the top of her brandy glass.

  Her knee fleetingly brushed his as she slightly shifted her sitting position. Greenfield was certain it was no accident.

  “I can't believe this is really happening. Can it really be me sitting here alone with the most beautiful woman in the world?” he said, looking deep into her big, blue eyes. “I'm sure I shall wake up any moment and find it's all just a wonderful dream.”

  Julie smiled and said, “That doesn't answer my question, Howard.”

  “I'm not sure I should tell you what I'm thinking, you may be shocked.”

  “Try me. I'm not easily shockable.”

  “Oh, Julie, you damn well know what I'm thinking,” he sighed. “I'm thinking of what it would be like to touch you, kiss you, how it would be to hold your naked body in my arms. I want you more than anything else in the whole world.”

  Greenfield couldn't believe he had really said that. He had never been able to speak so boldly to a woman before, not even to his wife. Yet with Julie there were no barriers. The inhibitions of a lifetime had melted away. Nothing was beyond his reach tonight.

  She showed no signs of being shocked, but said, “I have a husband.”

  “But he's not here, is he?” he answered. “I am and I think you want me as much as I want you.”

  His ego was rampant now and demanded to be satisfied. For the first time sexually he felt in control. Never with Pauline, however compliant she tried to be, did he feel totally in control. Tonight with Julie, it was different. In the space of only a few hours this incredible woman had induced in Howard Greenfield a metamorphosis more miraculous than that which turns the unattractive caterpillar into the colourful splendour of the butterfly.

  Leaving the sofa, she placed her empty glass on the table and disappeared through a door which could only lead to the bedroom. He was not going to wait till she re-appeared. Tonight he was master of the game.

  The bedroom was spacious, housing a large king size bed and other furniture without restricting space for movement. In the centre of the suite of fitted wardrobes lining the wall was a dressing table, with a large, rectangular mirror set against the wall between the table top and overhead cupboards.

  Standing in front of the mirror slipping off her earrings, Julie stopped when she saw his reflection as he entered the room. Turning to face him, she loosened the zip at the back of her dress and slipped the thin straps off her shoulders. The dress dropped agonisingly slowly down her body. At last she stood naked before him.

  As he rushed forward, she fell into his arms, pressing her lips hard against his. For the first time he experienced the pleasure and excitement of being undressed by a woman. There was also the strange voyeuristic thrill of watching it happen in the mirror behind her as the light caress of her lips followed her hands working their way down the whole length of his body, until his clothes lay in a heap on the floor beside him.

  He could wait no longer. Picking her up in his arms, he carried her to the bed. What had seemed an impossible dream a few hours earlier, thirty thousand feet above the spectacularly snow-capped Pyrenees, was about to become reality in the sultry heat of a Spanish summer night.

  Carlos watched with weary disinterest, but Alfredo was unable to conceal his excitement. His breathing became noticeably quicker and louder, audible even over the monotonous hum of the movie camera, as he spluttered, “What wouldn't I give to be him at this moment.”

  “You wouldn't want to be in his shoes,” said Carlos.

  “For this part I would,” insisted Alfredo, his eyes riveted on the rhythmic movement of the naked couple on the bed.

  Carlos shrugged. “You've seen it all before,” he said. “I don't know why you still get so excited.”

  “It would be different for you if it were little boys instead of a beautiful woman,” retorted Alfredo angrily. “That is more your style, is it not?”

  Carlos lapsed into silence, allowing the purring of the camera and the sound of Alfredo's snatched breathing to seemingly fill every corner of the tiny room. It never ceased to amaze Carlos's meagre intelligence that any amount of noise they made could not be heard in the bedroom, just the other side of the wall. The intricacies of sound-proofing and a mirror that allowed him, together with the camera, to look into the bedroom, while providing only the normal reflection on the other side, stretched the limits of his comprehension. It was uncanny to look straight into the eyes of a man and a woman who could see only themselves.

  The work Carlos found increasingly distasteful, but it was regular, well-paid and one had to make a living.

  “It's over,” gasped Alfredo. “My God, how he must feel now.”

  “It's nothing to how he will feel,” said Carlos wearily. “Let's wrap it up and go home.”

  Chapter Four

  The next morning broke hot and sunny, a clear, blue sky blanketing the big city as its wide avenues, lined with palm trees, burst into noisy life. Despite being back in his hotel room only a couple of hours, Greenfield had been unable to sleep, his body riding a peak of exhilaration, inspired by the night's events, that kept him fresh and alive.

  Not usually a lover of the Continental breakfast, he was happy today to settle for nothing more than a bread roll and a slice of cheese, so that he could get back quickly to his room to get ready for Julie. His appointments for the day already cancelled, he bathed and shaved, happy in the memories of the previous evening. Time and time again he relived in his mind the moment when he picked her up in his arms, stopping to concentrate on it to the total exclusion of all else, the sensational realisation of a long-standing fantasy.

  Physically he was certainly not the strongest of men, so that his wife's persistence in laughing and making herself a dead weight whenever he tried to pick her up in his arms had always made it impossible. With Julie it had been so different. Eager to meet his every demand, satisfy his every whim, she had curled her arms about his neck, taking enough of her own weight to make it possible to lift her effortlessly. What a moment that was!

  Normally a tour of the principal sights of a foreign city would be much to his taste, but he had to admit to himself that the only place he really wanted to be was Julie's apartment.

  Even though she was extremely punctual this time, he was already waiting outside the hotel when the yellow and black taxi pulled up. She opened the rear door and invited him to join her. Dressed simply in a lemon-coloured, open-necked blouse and black skirt, she still presented a vision so stunning he could only stand and stare in wonder, needing a repeated invitation before climbing in beside her. Greenfield was sure she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  “Where are we off to first?” he asked after a quick welcoming kiss he wished had lasted longer.

  “The cathedral,” she smiled. “Everyone who comes to Barcelona should see the cathedral.”

  “Couldn't we just go back to you apartment?”

  Julie laughed. “Howard, you are naughty.” She linked her arm affectionately in his. “The sights first, my darling. We have the whole day ahead of us.”

  Greenfield tried hard to appreciate the grandeur of Barcelona Cathedral, built mainly between the end of the thirteenth and middle of the fifteenth centuries, but it was difficult to concentrate his mind on anything but Julie. Her closeness was intoxicating. She led him up
the cathedral steps, following in the footsteps of the triumphant Christopher Columbus centuries before, returning from his voyage of discovery to the Americas, into the dark interior, exploring the vast array of candle-lit chapels dedicated to a host of saints he had never heard of. But he could pay only lip-service to her obvious enthusiasm. The only place in Barcelona he really wanted to be was her apartment.

  Leaving the cathedral, they wandered leisurely down busy, narrow, shop-lined side streets, Julie pointing out the fairy-tale towers of the Roman Catholic basilica of La Sagradia Familia, the building of which started in 1882, but was still not finished, that dominated the skyline of the Catalan capital city, before picking up another taxi, which swept them past the waterfront monument to Columbus and up a rise overlooking the city.

  Even in his preoccupied state, passing through the archway into the Pueblo Español had a measurable impact on Greenfield. It was a visual delight, a Spanish village created by reproducing streets, churches, mansions and dwelling houses, from the different regions of Spain, illustrating the great diversity of the country's architecture.

  Arm-in-arm, Greenfield and Julie strolled over cobbled courtyards, past the orange trees, towards the old church, working their way back along the terraces in front of the houses to the bar close to the entrance.

  She settled at a table while Greenfield fetched her a glass of white wine and a glass of lager for himself.

  After a quick sip of her drink, she said with a hint of sarcasm, “I had better send a postcard to my loving husband in case he hasn't noticed I have gone. I saw some by the entrance when we came in.”

  “I hope you're not going to say 'wish you were here.' ”

  She squeezed his arm resting on the table. “Not a chance. I'm very happy with the way things are.”