Just a few more steps and we’re there. The door is small and unassuming, but I know the moment Brian reads the name, everything will fall into place.
“Oh my god!” he gasps. “The Garden? Are you kidding? Are we really going here? But I thought it took months to get a brunch reservation at the Garden?”
“I might have pulled a few strings,” I reply, mysteriously.
“Shut up,” he says, shaking his head in amazement. “Anyway, are we gonna like share a coffee and a tap water? Because you need serious cash to eat in a place like this.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “This one’s on me. I know you must have been wondering where the hell I’ve been recently, so we’ve got a lot to talk about and I figured, why not do it in style for once?”
“Oh Chrissie,” he says. “You are just too good to be true. Right, come on. Let’s get inside, quick. I want to see which celebrities are here this morning!”
Even though we’re only in West London, the whole place is done out like some amazing tropical paradise. There are ornate iron tables and chairs with crazy patterned cushions, and mirrors and plants everywhere you look. As we wait to be seated, I breathe in the heady scent of jasmine, my ears filling with the buzzing chatter from the tables nearby, and I’m so glad that I managed to get us a table at what is obviously the hottest place in town. Well, it was all Will of course. I couldn’t have done it without him.
We’re shown to our table and the service is so fast that within seconds, we’re both sipping on delicious mimosas, made with fine champagne and freshly squeezed orange juice.
“So then, missy,” Brian says, leaning his elbows on the table and fixing me in a mock-serious expression. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
“I know, I know,” I say, holding my hands up in defeat. “First of all, I guess I need to come clean immediately. Of course I fell for my gorgeous, hunky new boss.”
“I knew it!” he giggles.
“And I guess I’ve been kinda preoccupied, what with my new job and, uh, I suppose my extra curricular activities ...”
Despite all of the things Will’s teaching me about my body, I guess I must be still something of a prude, because I can feel a blush creeping across my face as I coyly let Brian know that things have got serious.
“So that’s where you’ve been, this past month!” he says. “Well, I can’t blame you. If your description of him is accurate, then he sounds like your basic, perfect dreamboat.”
“Oh, he is, he really is,” I say, taking a small sip of my delicious mimosa and savouring it on my tongue for a second before launching into a monologue about all of the many ways Will’s been so perfect and amazing.
And when I’ve finally finished, Brian’s looking at me in total admiration.
“You are a marvel, Chrissie,” he grins. “I knew you had it in you to bag a rich, tall and handsome slice of perfection.”
“There is one thing, though,” I add with a sigh.
“Go on,” he says.
And I know there’s going to be no judgement.
“I guess it’s not so much about him exactly,” I say. “But I met his parents the other day ...”
I pause, not quite sure how to continue.
“And?” Brian says.
“Well, I guess seeing as Will kinda ambushed them with my presence, we were coming back from Paris (I’ll get to that later, by the way), and they were in the house when we got back. He hadn’t told them a thing about me, but it was obvious to anyone with half a brain that we’d just been away on a dirty weekend together. Will promised me that they’d be ‘perfectly English’ and polite, and they were. But his mom! A kiss on both cheeks, how do you do, how charming, that sort of thing.”
Brian laughs. “I know exactly the kind of woman you’re describing.”
“So, from the outside, and I think to Will, it looked like a perfectly pleasant if somewhat awkward introduction, but Brian, you should have seen the look she gave me, done in a way that only I could see. It was like shooting a piece of ice into my heart. I didn’t know that a single look could be quite so expressive, but all at once she said, silently, I know your type, I know what you’re after, I hope you don’t think you’re good enough for my son, and I’m watching you. Not to mention this bitchy little comment about my tattoo, dressed up like a compliment, but I knew exactly what she meant. That I was trash.”
“Ouch,” Brian says. “She sounds like hard work.”
Just then our avocado, feta, mint and quinoa breakfast wraps arrive, and I’m pleased for a short break in the conversation. I don’t want to think about Will’s mom while I eat.
The food is delicious, and I’m so pleased to have spent this morning with Brian. It’s been too long and I’d forgotten how good it feels just to get things off your chest with a friend. It’s not like I even wanted any advice about what to do with Mrs Cavendish, just to get it out in the open – to say out loud that there’s this woman and she was a total bitch to you.
“You need to relax and just enjoy this crazy beautiful situation that you’ve found yourself in,” says Brian. “Even if his mother is the wicked witch of the East, ha, that’s just one problem, right? It’s small fry. Most couples have to deal with shit way more complicated than that. In comparison to most people, your relationship is a walk in the park.”
I sigh again, because of course Mrs Cavendish isn’t my only problem.
“Actually?” I say. “I’m afraid it is a little bit more complicated than that.”
“What else?” he says.
“I’m on this stupid work visa, aren’t I?” I remind him. “It only lasts for twelve months, and I’ve already been here nine. So that means, I’ve only got three months to go.”
A serious look settles on his face. “Don’t remind me,” he says, quietly. “I was trying not to think about London without you in it, so much so that I’d actually managed to forget about it completely.”
“You and me both,” I sigh.
He pauses to think for a few seconds, before adding, “But what about Will? If he managed to bag us a table here on a Sunday morning, then surely he can work some magic with the department of immigration, right?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “You see, the thing is, I haven’t exactly told him yet.”
“About what?” he says.
“About my rapidly disappearing visa,” I explain. “It never came up when he asked me for the job and I guess the time’s just never been right.”
“Oh, darling,” Brian says, “You need to talk to him, because you’ve got some more explaining to do.”
PART FOUR
Two Months Later ...
Of course! Why didn’t I think of that before! We haven’t done it in the kitchen yet. For the last two months, I’ve been enjoying this little game with Chrissie where we make love in the various rooms of the house – the more public, the better.
The library was a particularly exciting tryst.
And now, of course, the kitchen – this is going to be fun.
While Chrissie idly flicks through the Sunday Times, I mentally weigh up the possibilities, to work out whether or not I’m going to pounce on her. It’s Tabby’s weekend to see her grandparents, so no need to worry about her. And most of the staff don’t work weekends. And the only other live-in staff are Mr and Mrs O’Callaghan, the housekeeper and gardener, who live in the Granny flat annexe at the rear of the house.
I can hear the soft buzz of Mr O’Callaghan’s lawnmower in the garden but he almost never sets foot in the house. So apart from the thrilling random possibility of discovery, someone popping by, or the doorbell ringing, the coast is totally clear. It’s time to make my move.
I get up from my seat at the table, casually as I can, asking Chrissie, “More coffee, darling?”
“Hm?” she replies, looking up from her newspaper. “Oh, coffee. No thanks, I’ve had enough already.”
Her face is buried in whatever article she’s reading, so she doesn�
�t notice as I walk behind her, running my hands along her shoulders and down to join hers, burying my face in her neck and hair, in her delicious scent. She starts to sigh and coo with pleasure, as I slowly begin to massage her shoulders.
“Oh, oh yes, that’s lovely,” she murmurs, putting down her paper and leaning back into me. “Don’t stop. Oh, I had no idea. I thought I was relaxed until you started doing that, but don’t stop, it’s great, I love it.”
Still kissing her neck, I begin to make my intentions slightly more dishonourable. Because this is no innocent backrub, after all. Slowly but surely my hands work their way towards the neck of her blouse, massaging her skin and then slowly undoing the first button.
“Hey,” she gasps. “What do you think you’re doing!”
“Exactly what it looks like,” I murmur, easing a second button open.
I can feel myself growing hard at the thought of taking her perfect breasts in my hands.
“But ... here?” she says, her voice trembling a little as I pop open a third button.
“Here,” I growl, opening a forth, baring her chest now, my hands scooping her breasts free of her bra, my thumbs toying with her hardening nipples.
“Now?” she sighs.
“Right fucking now,” I command, my voice tight with lust, my cock so hard for her. “I want to have you, just like I did in the library.”
“But what if someone comes in,” she sighs, but I can tell she’s warming up to the idea of our game. Her breath is coming in shallow little pants and she’s arching her back as I tug and tweak at her nipples.
“They won’t,” I reply. “But on the other hand, they might,” I add, as my hands carry on their wicked work, cupping her breasts.
“But I’m wearing jeans,” she sighs. “In the library I was wearing a skirt. It was easier ...”
“Well you’d better stand up and take off your jeans then, hadn’t you,” I say, and again, it’s more a command than anything.
To my delight, she does just as I ask, pushing herself to her feet, unbuttoning her jeans and then slipping them, along with her knickers, down over her thighs, then to the floor, stepping out of them, so she’s totally naked from the waist down.
“Good girl,” I growl, slipping my hand between her legs from behind, registering the sheer heat of her pussy, her wetness quickly coating my fingers as I toy with her with one hand while fumbling my cock from my slacks with the other.
As I take a step back to quickly sheath my cock with a condom, she eases one knee up onto the wooden kitchen table, spreading herself wide for me, turning to look at me over her shoulder, her lips open in a sexy pout, the sunlight that’s streaming through the windows shining through her hair like a halo, and she looks so perfect, like an angel, a goddess.
I quickly step forward again, taking hold of her hips, easing my hot thickness inside her, loving the way she sighs with pleasure, pushing her perfect bottom back against me, drawing my cock deep inside her beautifully tight wetness, her muscles squeezing me.
And like that, I begin to fuck her, first slowly and sensually but as she begins to moan and groan, faster and faster, until she’s crying out, arching her back, grinding herself against me, my hands on her pretty arse now, as I continue to fuck her, hard and fast, until we both seem to explode in orgasm at the same moment.
I fall forwards on top of her, my cock still pulsing inside her, her pussy clenching in waves around me, both of us moaning and trembling as the last of our pleasure courses through us, no inhibitions left, both of us lost in our own world.
§
After we’ve dressed and put the disarray we caused in the kitchen back together, we cuddle up in the snug, to read and listen to music. We sit in companionable silence, occasionally chatting away, but I love that we can sit here without constant talk.
Even so, I can sense that perhaps something is not quite right with Chrissie. I don’t know whether I’m just being paranoid; I sincerely hope I am. But over the past few months, on and off, I’ve been able to sense a disquiet in her; like something’s gnawing on her perhaps. I can’t exactly put my finger on it, but when I look at her now, there’s this concern etched lightly into her features. She’s chewing her lip, absentmindedly, and I’m sure there’s something on her mind. I just wish she could tell me.
After all, she’s been so wonderful for me, I don’t like the idea of anything troubling her.
“Everything okay, darling?” I say.
“Yes, of course,” she replies, looking up at me and smiling.
Her features relax and I wonder if it was all just a figment of my imagination. She leans over and plants a loving kiss on my lips.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” she says.
And she’s right of course. Everything is so perfect. Why wouldn’t it be?
Two secrets: one good, one bad. I’ve got to tell Will about my visa. Just sit him down and explain that I’m sorry, I got carried away with everything that was happening, I forgot and I didn’t think, and now I’m in trouble with just a single month remaining until I need to leave the country.
And I think Brian’s right. If I just plucked up the courage to explain the situation to Will, maybe he could help. Maybe he’d know a way that it won’t be a problem. I doubt it though. When I applied they were pretty strict about this being a one year only thing. But help from Will is my last option.
And the other secret? I’m actually really excited about this one. I loved it so much when Will surprised me with the trip to Paris, so I want to do something for him, too. My budget doesn’t quite stretch to private jets and a suite in a five star hotel, but I’ve been saving extra hard and I’ve booked us two train tickets to Brighton and a night in a really cute little hotel.
So it won’t be Michelin starred dining, more like fish and chips on the beach, but I can tell he’s not the kinda guy who’s only impressed by money. So I’m pretty sure he’s going to like it. I’ve booked Tabby’s sitter for the weekend, and everything’s set.
Now I’m just nervously pacing the kitchen with my bags packed, waiting for him to come home.
At six o clock on the dot, I hear the door open, and sure enough Will’s back. I’m so excited. I want to rush up to him and immediately tell him what we’re doing, but I know it’s even better to surprise him and play it cool.
So I force myself to wait in the kitchen, and soon enough he strolls in.
“Darling,” he says. “It’s so good to see you.”
And he’s about to walk over and kiss me, when he sees the overnight bag packed by my feet.
“What’s this about?” he says, confused and maybe even slightly alarmed. “Where are you going?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I grin. “But we however are going to Brighton for the weekend!”
“What?” he says. “What about Tabby?”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “It’s all arranged. I’ve booked Tabby’s sitter all weekend. And I’ve even arranged a play date with the twins from number 87. I know we were talking the other day about making sure that she doesn’t end up a spoilt only child. I hope that’s not too presumptuous of me?”
“No,” he says. “Not at all. It’s really thoughtful. The whole thing sounds wonderful. What time do we leave?”
“The taxi’s picking us up to take us to the train station in twenty minutes,” I say.
“Fantastic,” he says. “But so soon? I’d better hurry and pack my bag!”
“No need,” I say, pointing to the tan leather overnight case by my chair. “It’s all taken care of. I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of packing it myself. And I’ve gotta say, Will, it was kinda difficult to find anything suitable for beach casual in your wardrobe. All you’ve got is hundreds and hundreds of business suits! I did find one pair of shorts, and if the weather holds I’m gonna force you to wear them. And I’m making a mental note to take you shopping after this weekend, too.”
“Okay, okay, I admit it,” he laughs. “I’ve rather let the fun
side of life slide for the past few years, I’ve been so focussed on work. But with you in my life now, I’m definitely going to need a few more casual outfits from hereon in.”
He kisses me on the lips, but my heart sinks a little at his words. With you in my life now. Because of course, he doesn’t yet know that I’m about to tell him that that might not even be the case – that I’ve been a stupid careless child and messed up our chances of being together, just because of the mess I’ve made of my visa.
§
Our last trip away was by private jet, while this one is by the 7:15pm Southern Rail service from Victoria station to Brighton. The sheer contrast of these two trips makes me smile. I wonder how long it’s been since Will’s been on a normal train like this – in economy class, no less – so I decide to tease him a little about it.
“Come off it,” he says, “I’m a really busy guy. Most of the time, I would lose money if I relied on train timetables. I’m a Brit remember, we invented the railways, we love trains, but for me, they’re definitely more about pleasure than business, and this is certainly all pleasure,” he adds, squeezing my arm and kissing my cheek.
“Ooh, that reminds me,” I say. “I couldn’t resist popping into Marks & Spencer when I picked up the tickets just now, and I’ve got some treats for us ...”
The first thing I pull out is a bag of candy. I still can’t get over how great British candies – sorry sweets – are. You guys take them so seriously, but I can see why, your selection is always amazing.
“I discovered these the other day and they’re just heavenly,” I pronounce.
“What are they?” he says.
“Percy Pigs!” I exclaim. “And before you ask, no, I don’t feed your daughter these on a regular basis – strictly for treats only. Oh, and I got something else for us on a whim ...” I add, pulling out two slim silver cans.
“Look what I saw!” I say. “Cans of gin and tonic! I’ve never seen anything so English in my life.”
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