Authors: Ashe Barker
I nod. “Yes, better. The antibiotics are kicking in I think. And I had a shower.”
“I can see that. Did you find everything you needed?” He perches on the edge of my bed and shrugs out of his suit jacket. He drapes that over my knees as he loosens his tie. Even with my still sore throat I can’t help but notice my mouth has gone dry. He has an opposite effect on my pussy.
Oh. My. God! Where is this coming from?
“Er, yes… Everything. Except conditioner.”
“Conditioner?”
“For my hair.”
“Ah, right. I’ll get you some. Did you take your medication this afternoon?”
I nod. “Is it time for the next lot yet?”
“No. Not till midnight or thereabouts. It’s not nine o’clock yet.”
“Oh. Have you been at work all this time?”
“Not all of it. We finished this afternoon then went for a meal, and a few drinks. By way of celebration.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Which reminds me, I brought you something. I hope you like Chinese.”
“Chinese? You brought me a take away?”
“Of course. If you want it. I thought noodles would be good for your sore throat. No sharp edges…”
My stomach growls and I look up at him, embarrassed. The truth is, I’m famished. “That sounds wonderful. Shall I get up?”
His cobalt eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the outer edges as he smiles at me, an expression that would melt the polar icecap. Who needs global warming? “No need. Stay there and I’ll bring it in here on a tray.” He stands and makes for the door.
I use the time he’s away to rush to the loo again, and I’m just getting back into bed as he returns with the food. The metal foil containers are arranged on a tray, noodles with beansprouts and sliced onions, and two smaller ones containing meaty, spicy concoctions.
“There’s a beef thing, and a chicken thing. I hope you’re not vegetarian.”
I shake my head. I’m an omnivore, through and through, and my previously dry mouth is now making up for its earlier arid state. The aromas are delightful, utterly divine.
“You tuck in then. I’ll come back later for the empties.”
“Don’t you…? I mean, aren’t you eating?”
“I ate earlier, remember.”
“Oh, yes, of course. I…”
“You want me to stay?”
I nod. He doesn’t even have to talk to me, just to be there for me to ogle would be fine. Naturally I don’t say any of that.
Matt settles himself on the end of my bed. There’s nowhere else he could sit, come to think of it. He gestures to the food, still untouched despite the mouth-watering smells. “Dig in.”
I do as I’m told, and for the next few minutes neither of us speaks. I occupy my time scooping noodles onto the spare plate he supplied and piling first the beef then the chicken onto it. The spicy flavours are an explosion against my tongue after weeks on a diet which varied between bland and non-existent. Even the slurping sounds I make as I suck stray noodles through my lips don’t put me off. The soup earlier was heavenly, but this is better.
At last I glance up from my food to catch Matt’s amused grin. It’s alright for him, Mister Three Square Meals a Day. I just shrug and return to my plate.
Eventually there is nothing left. My stomach feels like it could burst. I’m sure he bought enough for a family of four but I guzzled the lot—the ingrained habit of someone who is not entirely sure where the next meal might come from so leaves nothing.
“I’m guessing you like Chinese then?” He lifts the tray from across my lap and places it on the floor.
“I do. Thank you.” I wipe my mouth with the clean-up towel so thoughtfully supplied in a little plastic sachet. “You’ve been very kind. I… I don’t think I could have…”
He raises his hand to stop the flow of words. “You’re welcome, Beth. I’m just glad I spotted you sneaking into the car park.”
Me too. I’m only now beginning to appreciate how likely it is that by the time anyone else saw me I would have been a cold, still corpse. Matt saved me. I have no idea why, but he did. And I need to say something, anything, in acknowledgement.
“Thank you. For helping me. Not many people would have done that.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“I know. You were going to just throw me out again.”
He nods, his smile wry now.
“So why didn’t you? What made you change your mind?”
“You collapsed in my arms. I couldn’t dump you after that.”
“You could have called an ambulance. That’s what most people would have done.”
“I thought about it.”
“But?”
“But here you are instead.” He shrugs again. “The hardest part was putting you in my Range Rover. Then when we got back here I intended to let you stay for just one night. By the time Sue said you couldn’t go back on the streets until you were well, you were tucked up in my spare room and I thought you might as well stay here. I have the space, and at that time I was still under the impression you wouldn’t eat much.” He eyes the empty tray at his feet. “I can see I was wrong about that.”
“Am I in your way? Just say if I am and I’ll leave; I’ll find somewhere.”
“You’re not in the way.”
“Well I’ll just stay in here, and…”
“No you won’t. When you’re well enough feel free to use the kitchen. Help yourself to food. Watch television, listen to music, whatever. It’s a large apartment and I like my home comforts, but I’m hardly ever here. Most of the time you’ll have the place to yourself and I want you to make yourself at home.”
“I can’t do that. I can’t just wander around, even if you’re not in. For one thing I don’t have any clothes.”
“I’ll lend you some stuff. More T-shirts. I don’t think my jeans will fit you though.”
“Where are my own clothes?” I peer around the room, though I know they aren’t here.
“Packed up to go to the laundry. They’ll be collected tomorrow and be back in few days. Until then you’ll have to make do.
“But I don’t even have any underwear.”
“You didn’t arrive wearing any, as I recall.”
The heat starts at my neck and rises up my face as I recall the peremptory way he undressed me last night. He stripped me naked, seemingly noted that I didn’t have any knickers on, but was so little impressed he just covered me in his T-shirt and put me to bed. I was right. Out of my league. Totally.
“I’ll sort out some stuff for you to wear, and I’ll make sure there’s food in the fridge. When I’m here, I’ll cook for you, but most of the time you’ll have to look after yourself. I’ll leave you my mobile number, just in case. And Sue’s.”
“Right. Okay. Well, maybe I could help out a bit. Clean up, or… something.”
“No need for that. I have contract cleaners who come in every week. You’re a guest, and you’re ill so just take it easy.” He cocks his head to one side, regarding me with concern. “Talking of which, you look knackered again.”
I yawn, conscious suddenly of the crippling fatigue which seems to arrive out of nowhere just now. “I am tired. Maybe I’ll just…”
“Good idea. I’ll wake you when it’s time for your next slug of penicillin or whatever that stuff is.”
I cough at him as he bends to collect the discarded tray. I’m already drifting off to sleep again.
The next few days are uneventful, unless you count the appearance in my room of an entire new wardrobe. It started when I found a Marks and Spencer bag on my dressing table on Monday morning, my third day here. Inside were half a dozen pairs of knickers. Brand new ones, sexy, lacy creations. Not the serviceable sort that the shelters for the homeless occasionally issue, but I don’t suppose Matt Logan ever purchased a pair of serviceable knickers in his life. Why should he start now?
Next came two pairs of jeans, this time from Next. Matt came home on Monday evening with the carrier bag, which also contained a six pack of ladies socks, a large bottle of hair conditioner and a box of tampons. I hadn’t mentioned needing the last items, but somehow Matt knew and provided them.
The socks are more practical than the knickers, extra warm with thermal fibres. Matt knows the way to my heart, though I doubt that is his planned destination. He hasn’t said or done anything in the least suggestive during the entire time I’ve been here. I feel more than a little ashamed of my initial suspicions regarding his motives in bringing me to his apartment.
I thanked him for the jeans, expecting them to be a size or two on the large side as my old clothes that he sent to the laundry were. Not so. Size ten, a perfect fit. It’s been a long time since I had clothing I actually loved to wear, but my sexy panties and skinny jeans are a joy. Even if they are almost completely covered up by Matt’s T-shirts.
By Wednesday I have tops of my own, also in a size ten, two warm sweaters and a pair of trainers. I’m still without bras, but have no intention of mentioning this - he’s already been more generous than I could have imagined.
Matt’s clothes are now just for sleepwear, but they still get plenty of use. I sleep a lot, take a shower each day, and help myself to the microwave meals which seem to keep appearing as if by magic in Matt’s fridge.
He wasn’t kidding when he told me he wouldn’t be here much. He tends to be gone by seven in the morning and is often not back until late in the evening. He always wears sharp business suits, which he fills to perfection. His shirts are pristine, and invariably he chooses blue ties to match his eyes. His hair is dark, almost black, and never out of place. It is expertly styled I suspect so that whatever the wind does it always falls back where it should be. I may be biased, but to me he is perfection on legs, a gorgeous specimen of male beauty. I’ve never seen him looking less than perfectly groomed, the contrast between us startling at times.
Even so, I enjoy his company when he is here, and he seems to like mine. He always asks how I’m feeling, and once my course of antibiotics was completed he started offering me a glass of red wine most evenings. We sit together, on his long black leather sofa. Matt watches the news on television, and I watch him. We both sip our wine and the silence is companionable.
Matt likes books. He has lots of them, in every room except mine. His tastes range from bestsellers by the likes of Clive Cussler and Andy NcNabb, to autobiographies and the classics. Dickens, Shakespeare, even Jane Austen. His non-fiction tends to be scientific, and in answer to my query he explains that he studied environmental sciences at university and now works for a firm specialising in renewable energy research so he likes to keep up with the current thinking. He assures me he has read all his books, or most of them at least, and for the best in fiction he recommends I try the Brontes.
Much to my amazement, I am now a third of the way through Jane Eyre, and loving it.
It’s been ten days since that night Matt scooped me up from the underground car park in Leeds and brought me here. Ten days in which I have slept for twelve hours in every twenty four, eaten enough to nourish a small army, made free with his hot water, his toiletries, his CD collection and his satellite television, and gradually recovered my health.
Doctor Sue called in this morning and did a final check. She says I’m fine again now, though she doesn’t really recommend sleeping rough as a healthy lifestyle choice. Unfortunately I’m short of other options, and however comfortable I might be feeling here, it’s time to be moving on. Matt offered me temporary respite, not a permanent home. I’m not eager to leave, but I resolve to raise the matter with him this evening, when he gets back.
Except he doesn’t come home. It’s after midnight when I finally give in and go to bed, and still there’s no sign of him. I know he’s a big lad, and it’s really none of my business, but I’m disappointed not to see him and perhaps a little worried, but more than anything I’m relieved to be able to put off the conversation for another day.
I make a point of getting up when I hear him moving about the following morning. It’s just after six and I know he can’t have had more than about four hours’ sleep, but still he looks fresh and alert when I join him in the kitchen.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” He glances up from his coffee to regard me, framed in the doorway, barefoot, my hair all over the place and swamped by his Superman T-shirt.
“No. I was listening for you.”
“Oh?” He reaches for the coffee jug and pours me a cup.
I take a seat opposite him.
“Is there something you need, Beth?”
Yeah. Shall we make a list?
“No. Well, yes. I need to talk to you.”
He lifts one perfect eyebrow, and waits.
“I’m better now.”
“I know. I’m glad.”
Glad because it means he’ll get his home back to himself again? I take a sip of my coffee and plough on.
“So, I don’t need to be here any longer.”
He places his cup back on the table and watches me. I find myself squirming under his long, slow perusal. At last he speaks. “Do you need to go? Do you want to?”
I shake my head. “No. Bloody hell, no. I love it here. You’ve been… you’ve been… wonderful.”
“So, why move out?”
“I have to. You didn’t ask me to live with you forever. You just put me up for a few days, when I needed it.”
“You still need a place to sleep. Unless you’ve made other arrangements?”
“You know I haven’t. What other arrangements would I make?”
“So, why leave?”
He isn’t making this easy, and that pleases me. I’d have felt devastated if he’d seemed eager to be rid of me, even though I wouldn’t really blame him. “I don’t want to take advantage. Or outstay my welcome. You’ll get sick of me.”
He smiles and shakes his head. “No sign of it yet. I want you to stay. At least until you
do
have place to go.”
“There’ll never be a place.”
“Then make one. Find one.”
“What are you talking about? It’s not that easy.” My tone is probably sharper than I intended, but really, does he have no idea?
“Beth, how old are you?”
I stare at him, startled. He’s never asked me any personal questions before. I don’t answer.
“Beth, I asked you a question.” His tone has shifted, just a slight hardening, but I know he expects a reply.