Now, as he lay in a bath full of foaming scented oil, warm again, he felt enormously relaxed. There was something about coming to a house run by a woman that was curiously soothing. He supposed it was the feminine touch. He glanced around him at the lacy curtains, at the pink and white towels, at the pink knitted cover on the lavatory seat, and felt comforted and pampered. This is a good idea, he thought. Next, I must persuade Wendy to give me a lift to my Jag in her car, once she’s dried the gorilla suit.
There was a knock at the door. ‘Er… hang on,’ Hector called, ‘… I’m still in the bath.’
‘It’s OK,’ Wendy’s voice said, ‘I’ve just brought you a cup of hot milk and honey. Don’t want you getting a chill. I’ll leave it out here, shall I?’
‘Oh… well, thanks. Yes.’ Whatever next! Hector thought, I suppose I can always throw it down the bog. Hot milk!
However, once he was out, and dried, and had wrapped a bath towel firmly round his waist, he emerged and picked up the mug. He sipped it experimentally. It was delicious! He drank it all down, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Right, he thought, now I feel well and truly restored. Time to go!
‘Hector?’ Wendy called up the stairs. ‘Something awful’s happened…’
‘What?’ He went to the top of the stairs and looked down. Wendy was standing at the bottom, holding up something small and black.
‘I don’t know how to tell you this,’ Wendy began. ‘I thought it’d be OK, but it seems to have shrunk somehow in the dryer. I’m ever so sorry…’
Hector clutched the towel with one hand, and the banisters with the other. Then he went down the stairs. He took the gorilla costume from her and held it up. It was now the size of a child’s romper suit; totally shrivelled.
‘But I can’t wear this!’ he exclaimed in horror. ‘It’s completely f… ruined! What in hell am I going to do now?’
‘I’m afraid I haven’t any clothes that would fit you,’ Wendy said. ‘You’ll just have to stay the night… Yes, that’s the answer. Then tomorrow, I’ll drive over to your place and get some of your proper clothes, and come back, and you can put them on and then I’ll take you to pick up your car!’
‘But I’ve got a busy day tomorrow,’ Hector said, looking agitated. ‘Couldn’t you go now?’
‘Oh I would, Hector. It’s just that I’m really exhausted… and I’ve had quite a bit to drink… and anyway, it’s Sunday tomorrow. You’re not working this weekend, are you?’
‘Well, no.’ Hector conceded reluctantly.
‘Don’t worry,’ Wendy went on eagerly, ‘we can get up really early. It’d be no bother.’ Hector fancied she was blushing and wondered why. She led him into the lounge and sat herself down on a settee.
‘Well…’
‘It’ll be fine, Hector. Don’t worry. Come and keep warm by the fire a minute,’ and she motioned him to sit down next to her.
‘Well, if you’re sure?’
‘Positive.’
‘Well, all right then.’ He sat down.
‘Actually, I’m rather pleased,’ Wendy said, leaning towards him. He became aware that she was wearing a very seductive scent, and that the dressing gown which she had been holding closed at the front had slipped and was now revealing rather a lot of cleavage.
Good grief! Hector suddenly thought. Is this all leading where I think it is? Surely not?
Chapter 5
The gale seemed to have worsened as Jess drove home from the fancy dress party. She had taken off the photograph-covered kaftan, and in its place had put on a heavy sweater and a scarf. She was grateful for their warmth. The gusty force of the wind was causing the Jeep to tremble like a jelly and veer unexpectedly. The rain was a horizontal monsoon, hitting the road in front of her like smoke, with volleys of drops as large as five pence coins gleaming in the beams of her headlights. She was relieved to get safely back to her flat, and closed the door thankfully behind her. As parties go, it hadn’t been such a bad one, but it wasn’t especially good either. Jess sighed and got ready for bed.
Two hours later the telephone shrilled, waking her from a deep sleep. It was Nigel, her News Editor.
‘Sorry Jess,’ he said. ‘Bad timing I know, but there’s some fairly dramatic flooding going on – great stuff!’
‘Uhhh… where?’
‘South of Woodspring. Apart from all the rain, we’ve apparently got an extra-high spring tide with half a hurricane behind it, and it’s smashed through the coastal defences. People are having to be rescued by boats and God knows what else!’
‘Right.’ Jess struggled upright. ‘I’m there.’ She reached for her glasses.
‘So, d’you have any idea where Hector is? I can’t raise him. He’s not at home and his car phone isn’t answering; not like him at all.’
‘I hope he’s OK,’ Jess said, stretching for her clothes with one hand.
‘Oh he’ll be fine. You know Hector. It’s just that it’s a bloody good story and I need you both there.’
‘I could go via his flat, just in case?’ Jess volunteered.
‘Great. Thanks.’ He gave her the location details ending with, ‘Don’t forget your wellies!’ and rang off.
Jess yawned widely, took off her glasses in order to rub her eyelids with her knuckles and then put them on again, before starting to dress.
When she arrived at Hector’s flat it was in darkness, but she could see by the street lights that none of the curtains were drawn. He can’t be there, she thought. Where on earth is he? She tried ringing the bell but to no avail, so, after a few minutes she went without him.
It was impossible to get down to the breached sea wall that night, and anyway there was little point in the dark. Jess went instead to the edge of an inland village which was still accessible by road, and where the largest of the ad hoc shelters had been set up. This was in the village hall, on higher ground which had so far escaped the inundation. Half of the rest of the place was under three feet of fast flowing water, and by the time Jess had arrived the evacuation of the inhabitants was almost over. It was pitch black but for the emergency lighting, still teeming with rain and about as unpromising for photography as could be. She got a fireman who was taking a short break to hold a brolly for her so that she could attempt a few flash photos of the arrival on dry land of the last boat. Then she followed the trail of resigned old people, harassed parents and excited children clutching pets, up to their temporary refuge.
Once inside, she dried her specs with a tissue and her camera lens with its special cloth, pushed the wet hair out of her eyes, and then took a few more shots as the refugees began to bed down for the remainder of the night in borrowed blankets in uncomfortable heaps on the floor. The pictures would be graphic enough, Jess thought, but they wouldn’t be able to capture the real drama of the event; the noise of the storm and the roaring water, and the vibration of the ground shaking underfoot as the roadway nearby was undermined by the flood and great chunks of tarmac were swept away. But above everything there was the smell of it all. Few people in the village hall were entirely dry, and their dampness was caused not simply by rainwater, but by saturated peat and mud and the contents of a large number of backed-up sewers and septic tanks. The authorities had brought in portable gas fires, and people were huddling in front of them with their clothes steaming, rendering the entire atmosphere of the room redolent of old wet dog, and worse.
Hector should be here, Jess thought, screwing up her nose in distaste. He could have written a brilliant piece on all this, and he could have interviewed the more forthcoming victims and really gone to town on it. I’d better get some names and addresses for him, although they won’t be back in their own homes for weeks, I don’t suppose, so finding them again could be tricky. Thank goodness it’s only Saturday (well, actually it’s Sunday by now), so there’s plenty of time to get it together before the Thursday news deadline, and who knows, there may be some dramatic developments between now and then. Goodness, I almost forgot, it’s Chri
stmas next week.
Wendy registered the exact moment when Hector finally got the message, and felt a surge of triumph. All at once, Hector’s face had become flushed, his eyes seemed somehow darker and more intense, and the hand which had been holding the towel tightly round his middle relaxed a fraction, allowing it to sag round his hips in a casually suggestive manner. He no longer looked like a fool in a farce, caught with his trousers down. All traces of embarrassment seemed to have vanished. He was still dishy in spite of not being exactly young, Wendy decided. He was forty-two, after all, but was wearing it well. His torso was solid and muscular and only moderately hairy, and his demeanour was eminently reassuring. He looked jaunty, in control, appraising. Please, Wendy thought, please God make him fancy me. I’ll never get a better chance…
Hector leant towards her. ‘And what would your fiancé have to say about this then?’ he enquired softly.
‘Oh, that’s all off,’ Wendy said at once, displaying ringless fingers with pride. ‘I’m free again. I can do what I like.’
‘I see.’ Hector smiled wolfishly. ‘And just what is it that you do like?’
‘I like you,’ Wendy said. She kept her eyes demurely downcast, but allowed the edges of the robe to part a fraction more.
Hector shuffled himself up so that he was sitting right next to her and then, letting go of his towel, he put his left arm along the back of the sofa and smoothly inserted his right hand under her silky gown, cupping her breast and squeezing it gently. ‘Like this?’ he asked. Wendy gasped, and abandoned all pretence at holding her robe. ‘Or like this?’ Hector continued, sliding his hand over her stomach and down between her thighs.
‘Ohhh…’ Wendy sank backwards so that her head was resting on the arm of the sofa. Her naked body felt exposed and disconcertingly vulnerable, so she closed her eyes tightly and hoped against hope that she was doing what Hector wanted, and that he wouldn’t be disappointed or find her unattractive or worse still, too easy…
Then he must have got to his feet, because he was lifting her legs up on to the seat until she was lying full length, and he was kissing her shins and her knees (her knees?) with little warm dry nibbles of his lips. She lay still, trying to relax, mystified, but already won over by the unaccustomed sensations and her unbelievable delight in the knowledge that at long last it really was Hector who was making love to her… His hands crept up her legs, fondling them, easing them apart. Wendy squirmed and, relinquishing all prudish thoughts, prepared to abandon herself completely to anything and everything that he might expect of her.
But, just as he was about to lower himself on top of her, he appeared to be having second thoughts. He paused. Wendy, roused prematurely from her rapturous trance, opened both eyes and held her breath in suspense.
‘You’re so beautiful, cariad,’ Hector began, ‘but I’m sorry, I haven’t brought… you see, I didn’t expect… I mean, we mustn’t take any chances…
‘Oh…’ Wendy almost laughed with relief. ‘Is that all? Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.’ She made her voice sound as casually convincing as she could. ‘You see, I’m still on the pill.’ She looked up at him with love.
‘You are?’ Hector smiled broadly. ‘You wonderful woman, you! Now are you warm enough, or would this be a good moment for us to move over on to that rug in front of the fire? I don’t know about you, but I’m finding it a bit awkward and cramped here. Yes? Good… Now then, mmmmmm… where were we?’
*
When Hector had realised what was afoot at Wendy’s, he had been well and truly taken aback. He had never even contemplated her as a possible conquest. She was – well to put it kindly – not quite up to the mark in the brains department. She would certainly be no good as a prospective mother; her children might be as thick as she was! This had completely debarred her from consideration, since Hector was unwilling (these days) to waste precious time on dalliance. It had to be the real thing. Then he remembered all the time he had expended on that Caroline woman, and it occurred to him that he was owed a bit of fun, especially as it was so obviously on offer. He wondered as he began to touch her, whether Wendy had fancied him for some time? The idea appealed to him. She has a good mouth for a gift-horse, he thought, kissing it; not brood-mare material, but a tasty little filly nevertheless. Then suddenly, shrinkingly, he remembered that he had no means of contraception to hand. He’d almost convinced himself with his own vasectomy story! Now that would be ironic, he thought wryly. So with great reluctance he’d had to make himself stop just as it was getting damply interesting. But then she’d laughed and had reassured him that she was on the pill, and in his relief and enthusiasm (and in spite of knowing he was absolutely knackered) he’d got carried away and had gone right through his entire repertoire, all in the one night. Somehow Hector felt, when one was doing it simply for fun rather than for serious procreative purposes, one could be much more relaxed and inventive…
Then, just before he had slumped off her, quite exhausted, he had allowed a preliminary verdict – Bit passive, but OK as a stopgap? – to wander idly through his head, before falling deeply into a sticky, satiated sleep for the remainder of the night.
In the morning he felt different altogether. He woke with a start and wondered where the hell he was. Then Wendy turned over sleepily and woke too, with a little gasp of excitement and pleasure. Oh Christ! Hector thought, wishing immediately that he could deflate her and pack her away out of sight in a convenient box, until the next time his sex drive got the better of his critical faculties. He shuddered. God forbid! Then to avoid having to talk to her, he reached over to her bedside radio and switched on the news. Flooding in Somerset was the top story.
‘Jesus!’ he cried, and shot out of bed. ‘SHIT!’
‘Wha?’
‘I’ve only been missing the drama of the decade!’
‘But you’re not s’posed to be working… this weekend?’
Hector had great trouble in convincing Wendy of the urgency of his situation; that at a time like this, no self-respecting journalist could consider himself off duty. And now here he was with no trousers, no notebook, no car even, and a great elemental story wasting away out there in his absence. He switched the radio off before the end of the news and said abruptly, ‘Look I’m sorry, Wendy, but I’ve really got to GO. So if you could just slip over to my flat now and get me some clothes; the trousers and shirt and jacket are on the chair, by my bed, shoes of course, and socks in the bottom drawer. Here’s the keys. It’s the ground floor of the house. OK?’
‘’Nother cuddle…’ Wendy said sleepily, reaching for him.
‘NO!’
He finally persuaded her to go, and then waited for what seemed an age for her to return with his things. When she did so, he was pleasantly surprised to find that she had got it right, even down to matching socks, a jersey and a tie. He took them from her briskly, and dumped them in a heap on the bedroom carpet while he dressed.
‘Yours is quite a small flat, isn’t it?’ she remarked.
‘Yes.’ Hector was struggling into his trousers.
‘And it’s rather dark. I reckon it could do with a bit of painting up.’
‘Mmm. ‘He picked the jersey up off the floor and pulled it over his head.
‘I could go over and do it for you, if you like?’
‘What?’
‘Decorating. I’m quite good at it. I did this place all by myself; only finished the lounge a month ago, and it looks nice, doesn’t it?’
‘Can’t say I noticed really,’ Hector said, putting on his shoes and doing up the laces. ‘And anyway, I hope I won’t be in that grotty flat for long. I’ll be buying myself a proper house soon. Right!’ He stood up straight. ‘I can’t tell you how much better I feel to be properly dressed again. Now, how about running me to my car?’
Later as Hector, alone again, drove the Jaguar away from the deserted car park, he squirted the washers and put the wipers on to clear the smoked-glass effect of the previous night’s salt spra
y, and reached for his car phone to get in touch with his News Editor. I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do, he thought; to Nigel, to the wretched costume hirers, even to Jess, who’s probably been out all night getting epic photos. I only hope Wendy has the sense to keep her mouth shut. I really do not want it noised abroad that she and I…
A nasty thought struck him. I hope to goodness she isn’t expecting a repeat performance? No, she’ll understand that it was just a one-off office party thing – surely? Now, I must make up for lost time…
Some months later, Hector would look back on the rest of that day and realise that it had been fate all along. He had been meant to go to the village hall the day after the flood, when everyone was beginning to get used to what had happened, and were therefore more open to telling the tale. If he had been there the night before, they would understandably have been tired, wet, cross, scared, and probably in no mood to talk to him. As it was, he got some first rate stuff, but better still, he met the ultimate contender for the rank and position of Mrs H. Mudgeley. She might have been born especially! It was love at first sight; there was no denying it. Hector had never felt quite so carried away by a woman. He didn’t even bother to go through his mental list of ‘essential wifely qualities’. There was no need. She was perfect! I must take care, he admonished himself. I must be… cool… That was the word her son had used, when he had given him his surprisingly articulate account of the drama. Hector thought, now I mustn’t rush things…
Nevertheless, he found his writing hand was clumsy, making his shorthand even less decipherable than usual, and the hand holding the notebook trembled as he took down her story. She and the boy had been alone in their cottage beside the Levels when the floods had struck. They had been asleep, and then they’d heard the water pouring in. They had no telephone. They’d had to jump from the back bedroom window on to a shed roof, and from there, climb into the boy’s tree house where they’d waited hours to be rescued. They had no relatives in the area; nowhere else to go…
The Would-Begetter Page 6