Authors: Frederic Lindsay
As
she
entered,
she
called
out,
but
came
at
once
on
Janet
curled
up
on
the
couch
in
the
lounge
with
her
head
bent
over
a
book.
The
red
of
her
hair
was
vivid
against
a
blanched
prospect
of
winter
garden.
'Enjoying
a
good
book?'
'Oh,
Jesus!'
Janet
cried
out
in
fright.
'My
dear!'
Lucy
said
flustered.
'How
stupid
of
me.’
But
Janet,
uncurling
her
long
legs,
was
getting
up,
recovered
and
smiling.
'It's
me
who
should
apologise.
You
got
more
of
a
fright
than
I
did.
It's
lovely
to
see
you.’
'Country
manners,'
Lucy
said
ruefully.
'I
did
call
out.
But
you
were
lost
to
the
world.
It
must
be
good.’
Curious
she
took
up
the
book.
It
was
a
paperback
with
a
cover
showing
a
busty
beauty
in
a
Regency
dress,
hair
windblown
across
a
background
of
ships
and
swung
cutlasses.
It
was
not
what
she
had
expected
to
see
and
she
began
to
read
at
the
place
where
it
had
been
laid
open:
'Though
she
struggled
against
his
grip
and
pled
piteously,
he
drew
her
towards
him
inexorably.
Slowly
she
was
pulled
down
upon
him
and
despite
all
her
twisting
the
hard
blade
of
his
passion
urged
through
the
gossamer
stuff
of
her
gown
against
her
straining
thighs.’
She
felt
her
cheeks
flush.
Her
eyes
swept
down
the
page,
'as
he
surrounded
the
soft
peak
of
her
breast
with
the
hungry
lapping
of
his
tongue,
a
shudder
passed
through
her
and
her
thighs
fell
open.
The
throbbing
heat
of
him
thrust
into
her.
A
fierce
reply
rose
to
meet
his
driving
need.
The
licking
flames
of
desire –'
'Ohh!'
she
exclaimed,
an
unintentionally
fastidious sound,
and
dropped
the
book
on
the
couch.
'I
don't
think
I
could
cope
with
that
so
early
in
the
day.’
'I
believe
they're
known
in
the
trade
as
bodice-rippers,' Janet
said.
'Soft
porn
for
stupid
women.’
'But
you're
not
a
stupid
woman.’
'No
…
I'm
having
another
drink.
Do
you
want
to
join
me?
Or
is
it
too
early
for
that
as
well?'
There
was
a
glass
on
the
coffee
table
beside
the
couch.
She
wondered
how
often
it
had
been
emptied
already.
'Enough!
–
And
lots
of
lemonade.’
She
settled
into
the
chair
opposite
Janet
on
the
couch.
'Cheers!
I
didn't
feel
like
housework
this
morning.’
Something
ironical
in
the
younger
woman's
gaze
made
her
uncomfortable.
'It's
been
ages.
Wherever
does
the
time
go?'
'Do
you
know
what
age
I
am?'
Janet
took
a
long
swig from
the
glass
as
she
waited
for
an
answer.
'Not
exactly.’
'I'm
twenty-nine.
I'll
be
thirty
on
the
day
before Christmas.
That's
my
present
for
this
year.’
Lucy
was
relieved.
If
that
was
all
that
was
wrong!
'It's
a
present
I'd
be
grateful
for,'
she
laughed.
'It's
rather
too
long
since
I
woke
up
and
found
thirty
in
my
stocking.’
'I
don't
want
to
grow
old.’
'Oh,
old
!
'
Lucy
cried,
half
amused
and
entirely
offended.
Janet
stared,
absorbed
and
unsmiling.
'I
go
to
sleep
at
night
and
wake
up
in
the
morning thinking
about
it.
All
those
creams
and
the
ghastly
diets,
you
know?
And
exercise
…
Like
men
say,
you
know?
Are
you
fit?
And
that's
what
we
pretend
now
too –
that
we're
getting
fit.
Nobody
ever
says
fit
for
what.’
Involuntarily,
Lucy
glanced
at
the
book
on
the
couch;
the
bust
spilling
out
of
the
Regency
top
defied
nature.
She
could
not
bring
herself
to
make
the
joke,
but
it
would
have
been
a
relief
if
Janet
had.
Her
tone
was
horribly
serious.
'But
it
doesn't
stop
–
you
go
on
getting
older
every
minute
of
every
day – even
while
you're
sleeping
it
doesn't
stop
.
You
leave
an
apple
in
the
bowl
and
put
fresh
ones
on
top
by
mistake, and
when
you
get
to
it
it's
gone
black.
Sometimes
it
looks
all
right
–
but
the
side
you
can't
see
is
rotten
.
That's
what's
happening
to
us.
We're
rotting
away.’
Alarmed,
Lucy
wished
she
hadn't
come.
'I'm
so
frightened,'
Janet
said.