There was a slight tinge of regret as he thought of Becky. She had so nearly been perfect for him, but then she let him down. If she had been just a little smarter she would have done. Not the real thing, but a very close replica with some more work. Now he had to think about Sarah and she was far from perfect. So different. But Stephanie liked her.
He thought back over his conversation with Stephanie word by word, replaying it all in his head as he imagined her at home in the kitchen, except he didn’t know what her kitchen looked like, or any of the rooms for that matter, but he liked to imagine her in the kitchen.
He had a good idea what it might look like, knowing her tastes, so let his imagination fill in the gaps. As he played the conversation back he was sure something was wrong. Had she changed her mind? She certainly didn’t sound very enthusiastic. She had asked for Tuesday, the 21
st
? He was sure she had. Had he done something wrong? Fuck the painting. He walked out of the conservatory and screamed,
‘Terry, Terry, where the fuck are you?’
He sat on the sofa in the lounge staring into the fireplace as he waited for her to come running. He could hear her footsteps slopping across the hallway as she approached.
‘Right, I’ve got two people for dinner on Tuesday. What are you going to cook for them? And make it something decent, something special. It’s supposed to be a pre-Christmas dinner party.’ He continued to stare into the flames, seeing Stephanie’s head emerge and then burn away.
‘Um, what sort of meal d’you want? D’you want a three course meal, two courses, five course banquet? What? Who are the two you have invited? Not that Becky?’
Robert looked at her.
‘Becky? D’you seriously think she’d come back here again? Anyway, what the fuck business is it of yours?’
‘I d’know? So if it’s not her? Who is it?’
Robert stared back at the fire. Maybe he would phone her again? Why not? Why shouldn’t she come back again?
‘So? You going to tell me?’ Terry persisted.
‘Stephanie. So it has to be special, and you know the kind of thing she likes. Nothing heavy, no fish. And some friend of hers, Sarah. I went out with her other night, remember?’
‘I’ll think about it.’ She turned to walk out of the room, but as she got to the door, he called,
‘And get that Becky on the phone, I want to talk to her.’ He watched her raise her eyebrows. ‘Just do as I say,’ he shouted. Fucking woman. Why did he put up with her? But he knew he wouldn’t easily find a replacement, there’d been too many before who hadn’t been able to live with his ways.
Terry handed him the phone.
‘Becky for you.’
‘That was quick!’ She walked away, ignoring him. Robert took a long drag on his cigarette and then spoke in his most charming voice.
‘Becky. How are you? Did you get the flowers? And the perfume?’ There was only silence. Very softly, he continued, ‘Becky? Look I’m really truly sorry about what happened the other night. Honestly, if I could take it back, I would. I’ve been so stressed. That isn’t what I’m like. You know that. You know me. I’m not that sort of person. I just got frustrated.’ Still silence down the phone. ‘I want to make it up to you. Won’t you let me make it up to you? Why don’t you come over? Tonight, come over tonight? I’ll come and get you?’ Her gentle breathing informed him she was still there listening. ‘Becky, I’m on my knees here. I’m begging you to forgive me. Please. We’ll have a bottle of wine and we’ll sit and talk. That’s all, just talk. If that’s all you want to do.’ He heard her clear her throat. ‘Please Becky, I like you so much. You know I do.’
‘You’ll come and get me? In your car? Not send a taxi?’
She was nearly his.
‘Of course I will. I wouldn’t trust you and that beautiful body of yours to a taxi.’ He smiled. She didn’t answer, so he continued. ‘I’ll pick you up about eight. Wear the perfume. Hang on a moment and I’ll give you to Terry, and she’ll write down your address. Ok?’ Not waiting to hear an answer he shouted for Terry.
She was coming. Well of course she was! Why wouldn’t she? He was Robert D’Lyn.
When Terry came into the room, he sat with his arm outstretched shaking the phone at her,
‘Take Becky’s address will you. And get some directions for me. Then put a bottle of … hang on.’ He put the phone back to his ear, ‘What d’you like to drink, besides champagne?’ After listening he held the phone towards Terry again, ‘find something white and sweetish, and open a bottle of Chianti for me.’ Terry took the phone from him, but he didn’t look up at her, not wanting to see the kind of face she was pulling. He heard her talking to Becky as she left the room. He supposed he should go and have a shower before going to get her and felt a little excitement rising at the prospect of her being here, sitting next to him.
Closing his eyes, he recalled the last time they had been sitting on the settee together. His hand slid down the length of her hair, letting it fall through his fingers, the sensation so reminiscent of old times he closed his eyes and lifted it to his nose. A faint odour of clean shampoo. Although it was pleasant, he felt a tiny stirring of anger. It wasn’t the right smell. He placed his face into the crook of her neck to kiss her, and smelt her perfume; cheap and slightly acrid to his nose. Again the wrong smell.
The anger rose a notch higher.
When he put his hand over her breast she responded by putting her hands around his neck, and whispered his name. He had to tell her to shut up! He didn’t want to hear her common little voice. She withdrew then, and so he gently coaxed her back, stroking her and kissing her.
But the anger nagged away inside; the smell was wrong; her reactions were wrong and he couldn’t forget how she had insulted him. As he kissed, her the anger grew with the lack of sensation in his groin. Playing with her nipples, she began to moan, causing the anger to increase. Why should she be enjoying this when it wasn’t right for him?
Opening his eyes he looked at her. She looked back, worry apparent in her eyes,
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
The anger was fuelled.
What’s wrong? How dare she? Nothing was wrong with him. It was her, not him. She didn’t excite him. It was her fault. He smiled at her.
‘Nothing’s wrong with me.’
He leaned in, putting his lips against hers and forced her head down onto the arm of the settee. While kissing her he pulled up her dress, pushed his knees between her legs and thrust his fingers hard inside her. She struggled; tried to pull her head away; her back convulsed in an attempt to move, but he held her hard. He bit into her lips hard, keeping his mouth covering hers so she couldn’t scream; her hands beat against him, trying to push him off. His fingers thrust deeper.
Pulling his head away, he looked down at her as she stopped struggling; her voice gone, as she responded to his fingers. He fell on her with his teeth, biting her neck then her breasts, hard. Unable to stop until the sound of her scream cut into his head.
Robert opened his eyes. He got up and placed another log on the fire, but the erection made it awkward for him to bend down, instead he picked up the poker and stoked the ashes. Flames leapt once more. Terry had taken her home later; arranged the flower delivery and sent a cheque. He had sent the perfume personally though.
Tonight it would be different, it would be good. She would be wearing the right perfume; she would smell right. And tonight they were not going to talk about his paintings; she was going to listen to him talk, she would agree with him. And everything would be right. Yes, tonight it was going to be quite different.
.
.
R
obert stood in the kitchen, watching Terry bustle around. Her earphones in, she sang as she worked, to some non-existent music, certainly nothing he recognised. What did she have to be so happy about? Watching her work, he thought, as he usually did, whenever he ventured into this area of the house, which was not very often, it really wasn’t a well planned kitchen. The cupboards were spread out, the oven yards away from the sink, the washing machine and dishwasher were also too far away. What plumber had done that? Again, as usual he wasn’t bothered by it, because it didn’t affect his life. Terry was paid to put up with it. The worst aspect, and something that sometimes did affect him, was the distance from the kitchen to the dining room. He wasn’t keen on cold food.
There was a dining area as part of the kitchen; an antique pine table, surrounded with four chairs. He certainly never ate there. He wasn’t sure if anyone ever did, then supposed Terry must eat there sometimes, because she certainly never ate with him.
‘What d’you want?’ Terry yelled over the silent music when she turned round to see him in the doorway.
‘Checking everything is ok.’ From the look on her face even though she couldn’t hear his reply she knew what he was saying. She pulled an ear plug from one ear.
‘Of course it is.’ Then replacing the ear plug she continued washing salad, her head nodding from side to side, her hips swaying slightly and he could just hear her singing in a whisper to herself. He was totally unmoved by her body’s movements. There was nothing, absolutely nothing that he found attractive about her. Her hair, mousy and a mess, and her clothes, non-descript, like her face, he thought. Fucking dyke. He was sure of it. Although he had never seen the proof, she had never had a man around either, which just proved his point. Watching her, he realized he knew no more about her now than when she came to work for him. God it must be nearly three years ago now.
He’d been impressed how she arrived with her backpack at the interview, ready to start work there and then; recognising the look in her eyes. She was running away from something or someone. He wasn’t interested and didn’t care about the who or why, except how it would work for him. As long as she was on the run, she would stay with him and be cheap at the price. He hired her on the spot; she was ready and he was desperate. The pay and isolation of the job didn’t attract many people.
He deliberately kept his name out of the adverts because he didn’t want to attract the ‘fame diggers’ as he called them. Bad experiences had taught him some applicants were not so much interested in his money as his celebrity status; all they wanted was a part of his fame, to be in magazines and be famous themselves. Just for working for him! Fucking bitches on heat. He was glad how Terry chose to avoid the lime light, never pushing herself forward. It was such a shame she was such a fucking dyke, because they could have had a great relationship.
She proved surprisingly good at her job; putting up with his foul moods and language; she sorted out his problems; learnt his habits. But, he decided, she would not be coming with him on his tour to Japan. She was really beginning to get on his nerves, she just wasn’t diffident enough. Something had changed recently between them, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Her insolence was worse than usual, in fact lately she’d been fucking rude to him. No, it was time to find someone else. She may know more about him than he did about her. But who the fuck cared? She was a nobody; an ignorant shitty little dyke.
He turned away from the kitchen towards the games room. Once there, he sat at the bar, took a packet of cigarettes from his top pocket and pulled the lighter from his trouser pocket. He inhaled deeply then, as he exhaled, looked at his watch. It was minutes away from seven o’clock. She would be here any minute; she was never late.
He’d tried not to get ready too early; having a swim before his shower. Terry ironed his shirt and laid his clothes out for him; a sea green shirt and light beige trousers. He’d have felt more comfortable in his jeans but Stephanie had spoken to Terry. He noticed Terry had also tided his bedroom carefully; clean towels in the bathroom; a couple of extra toothbrushes on the window sill; new soap in the dish. Stephanie must have had quite a conversation with Terry.
The anticipation of Stephanie being in the house again, was almost too much. He looked over at the optics desperate for a drink, but the idea of Stephanie’s wrath at his drinking was not worth inviting. Instead he picked up a billiard cue. He could always do with the practice. Placing the cigarette in the corner of his mouth he aimed the cue at the white ball. As the ball cruised down the baize he heard the door bell ring. Deliberately placing the cue back in the stand, before forcing himself to walk slowly to the door, he heard Terry run across the hall before him. He glared hatred at her as she grinned towards him, wiped her hands down her trousers and opened the door.
‘Stephanie,’ she breathed, ‘you look stunning.’ She lunged towards her, arms going to her neck and kissed her eagerly on the lips.
Robert watched, repulsed as Stephanie stepped into the hallway and returned Terry’s kiss. Christ she kissed her on the lips. Surely she hadn’t been there? She wouldn’t have lowered herself so low. Not Stephanie. But watching them, Robert couldn’t be sure. Stephanie was saying something quietly about how well she looked and hugging her, regardless of her dress against Terry’s dirty clothes. No, Stephanie was just being her usual nice self. Terry was not her type, Robert convinced himself.
‘Terry! For godsake, put her down!’ he shouted, too loudly, ‘Stephanie doesn’t need you slobbering all over her.’ Stephanie looked up and over at him, her face less than pleased. ‘Steph,’ he held his hands out to her.
‘You look divine, Robert,’ she said soothingly. She turned her face avoiding his lips, and let him kiss her on the cheek. He consoled himself with the thought he would get one later, and more than a hug. Over her shoulder he glowered at Terry, and as Stephanie moved away he said,
‘Two glasses of wine,’ turned to Stephanie, ‘or champagne?’
‘Oh, champagne, I think,’ she turned to Terry, who smiled back at her before going to the kitchen. ‘And one for yourself, Terry.’ She added before Robert could stop her.
Robert took her hand, guiding her to the games room. Her long silver dress extenuating every contour of her body. She did look stunning and the colour suited her. Her hair hung loose down her naked back. Without thinking he placed his hand on her head and let it slide down her hair. Before he reached her shoulders, she silently moved away, leaving his hand flapping in the air.