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by aaardvarky » Sat May 21, 2022 11:44 am
2.
‘Well, I suppose I had better dress for dinner’, was my diffident response in a voice scratchy and piping, overtaken by shock and surprise.
‘That would be great, darling’, look, Oly has even brought his evening suit’, she added with a grin as she placed her hand on his arm.
Whilst N and Lars busied themselves in the kitchen, I went to hang my coat in the hall closet. I heard the plop of a cork and gentle laughter. The scene, surreal in one sense, was one of quiet domestic bliss in another. At the top of the stairs I passed the closed door of the guest room and glanced along the landing to our bedroom. It was as if I was being drawn there by fearful fascination - wanting, but not wanting to resolve a rush of thoughts. Ahead on the floor rested an overnight bag, clothes strewn across a rumpled bed, the counterpane pulled up peremptorily.
I turned towards my dressing room and house bathroom feeling as an actor without a script. For a moment I stared at my face in the mirror. ‘Pull yourself together, man, you can handle this’, I said silently, and within minutes, dinner suit and tie, I descended to hear my fate.
‘Darling, Lars is so full of surprises. I didn’t know he would be in London tonight, and when he rang, I told him to come for dinner’.
N had an easy way of disarming, her voice happy and animated. Lars smiled with acknowledgment saying, ‘I hope I am not an inconvenience’, to which N quickly responded, ‘how could you ever be inconvenient Oly, come come?’
And that was that. Lars poured the wine. Conversation was light and inconsequential. Coffee and brandy followed pudding. And I was left wondering what direction the rest of the night might take?
‘Pop the glasses in the dishwasher, darling, and I will get Oly settled in’, N announced at last. With that she turned, saying to Lars, ‘let’s get you sorted out’, whilst I retreated to the quiet of the kitchen.
You will recognise those moments when you feel totally uncertain about what to do next? The glasses safely stowed away, I rinsed the cutlery and stacked the plates, not because these were necessary tasks, but to delay my departure until I had reflected on how to handle the next challenge. However one thing that I had learned from Lars’ previous visit was that being unprepared was actually better than being ready. I told myself, ‘just go with the flow….what will be, will be’, knowing this was the best and only advice I could muster at the moment.
From the landing I could see that the counterpane was now pulled back. N had propped herself against the headboard. ‘Come on darling, we have the bed tonight’. ‘I have tucked up Oly in the guest room; so you can have me all to yourself’.
I realise that you will want to know what happened then that night - what transpired between me and N. The truth is that we talked for some while. How did I feel when I saw Lars? Did I mind that she had invited him to join us for dinner? What were my thoughts about him being consigned to the guest room? And finally, had I reached a decision on the holiday?
In fact there was but one question I was burning to ask N: about the crumpled bed I had noticed on my arrival home that evening. Part of me was breathlessly diffident to ask her, the other part thirsting to know. Whilst we made love I received her answer. Her response was teasing - ‘why do you want to know?’, ‘does it make a difference?’, ‘would it excite you to know the truth?....’ And with that I knew what my reply should be to the question of N’s next trip.
As I told N she took me deeply inside her, and almost immediately stiffened to climax, a long, slow, determined orgasm that seemed to seize her whole body. She stifled her scream into a moan of pleasure and satisfaction. With her relief came my release, pulsating, full, knowing at least for that night - if not the first, I was the last person to make love to her.
The morning came quickly, with early Saturday light glancing around the curtain edge. I turned and lifted my arm, feeling for N. I reached out further, then further with my other hand, only to discover the counterpane pulled back. My mind went into a spin. Throwing on a dressing gown I traversed the landing, noting that the guest bedroom door was open but the room bare. For a moment I thought I heard voices from the kitchen reprimanding myself for barging in, but it was the radio announcing the nine o’clock news. Flicking the switch, the house descended into silence with just the slow tick of the hall clock. My eyes settled on the kitchen table. A note in N’s hand, bearing kisses came into focus.
‘Dearest darling, Portugal beckons! I thought I might as well fly out with Oly to make the most of the trip. Be good. N xx
Had I missed the fact that Lars’ trip to the Algarve was so soon? How had N left our bed so discreetly without waking me? When had she packed - was it before or after our nocturnal conversation?
Returning to the bedroom, I glanced inside her dressing room. It had its usual orderly appearance, but along with her wheeled suitcase something else was missing. There before me hung an empty hanger as if it had been given special prominence. ‘The dress’ had gone. And, as if to leave another visceral message, beneath was the empty sleeve from a pair of sheer stockings.
)