Chapter 6

Anne had let herself out quietly, and Geraldine lay naked on her front, cuddling her pillow, a draught from the open window playing a sensual tune across her thighs, gently stirring the hairs at the top of her legs, creating a slight arousing tickle. She parted her legs a little more, enjoying the sensation, her thoughts drifting to lovemaking with Edward, wondering if it would ever happen and what it would be like if it did. She wriggled and adjusted her position slightly to ease the discomfort to her chest, her movements gentle and subtle.

Geraldine did not wish to lose the moment – these early daydreams were so precious and often intense in their effect, giving Geraldine a buzz for many hours. As she moved, the cotton sheet rucked a little, and a crease slipped between her legs, gently rubbing against her. Geraldine hardly noticed the additional stimulation as her daydream increased in its intensity.

Gently she rocked back and forth, her mind lost in the erotic dream, pushing herself onto the bed, the crease of the sheet rubbing against her clitoris and stimulating her along with the dreams that aroused her mind. Hands were massaging her shoulders, hands occasionally trespassing as they slipped around her sides to cup her. Her breaths got deeper and deeper as her arousal grew stronger.

She pushed herself hard onto the bed as if she were being mounted by a lover and in her dream felt the thrust into her, her unknown lover seeking to flood her body with pleasure giving fluids. She gasped when the pleasure peaked, her fine hairs slicked back against her body, showing a neat parting as if her body had begun to be unzipped.

‘Wow,’ Geraldine thought, ‘where did that dream come from?’ She arose, panting still, a damp patch visible in the sheet where her body had lain. Her whole body was moist with the perspiration from her fantasy, and she headed to the shower, deciding on the way that the bed needed changing. She would have to change it before she went to Snips for twelve; it was certainly not on the agenda for the afternoon. In the afternoon she meant to sit and watch a Hugh Grant film and ensure that her perfect hair and nails did not go astray.

Allbaston & Edgar’s report was virtually completed, but there was also the report for the computer system at the County Council that had to be finished; presentations were due on Friday afternoon. She had done all the investigations and analysis, and her recommendations were quite clear to her. Geraldine had roughed out the report; it just needed final polishing and her presentation prepared.

‘No’, she decided, ‘not today.’ That report needed her concentration, and just now her brain seemed to have sent her concentration on holiday, her sensibilities seemed missing, presumed lost and her business acumen had been usurped. It seemed her girly brain had returned from its decade-long sojourn and once more taken control.

Ever since Saturday when she had first met and spoken to Edward, she had felt feminine and alive. She had not felt that way for many years, not since she had lost Iain. Business, especially computers and reports and presentations, was a thing that she wanted nothing to do with at the moment, even though it was virtually all that had consumed her life for the past ten years.

Perhaps she ought to take a holiday from her life? This really was a ridiculous state of affairs. After all, she had only met Edward three days before, and already her brain had turned to pea soup. Today, she decided, was not a day for reports and business. No, today was a day to be a woman once more, a day for hair, nails and a slushy film – probably Four Weddings, but most certainly something with Hugh Grant in it, and then hopefully a good evening out.

Anne pulled up on the drive in front of a semi-detached house on the main road to Painswick. The beech hedge was still all brown and thin. Anne so hated beech hedges because of their lingering death-like appearance through the winter months; she much preferred holly and spruce, as at least they looked alive all the time.

There were a few Cotswold stone tubs dotted around the edge of the drive housing a mixture of Erica and winter flowering pansy, of which Anne heartily approved. Anne picked her stones heater up, realising that she was a little fragile still from last night. She decided two hands were needed to hold the heater and another two for balance – somehow she came up short in the hands department.

Gosh, perhaps she shouldn’t even be driving this morning. As Anne weaved a path towards the house, the front door opened, and a tall, thin woman with black hair called a cheery ‘yoo-hoo’.

“Hello Stacey. Where are we going with this today?”

“Upstairs, Anne, I know that we didn’t have much room in the lounge last time, so I have cleared space in the second bedroom, and you can lay all your stuff on the drawer tops, as I’ve emptied them too. I have folded an old sheet up and put it across the drawer tops, just to protect the wood in case of spills, you understand? Not that I’m suggesting that you would spill anything. Oh, you know what I mean, come on in.”

Stacey never changed it seemed; each sentence was a train journey of conversation, each rattling along goodness knows what track. Sometimes Anne felt that she herself had not said a word and that Stacey had used up an entire book. She didn’t quite understand what it was about Stacey.

“Okay, Stacey, let me just get the heater plugged in, and then I can get the rest of the stuff in whilst you have a 5-minute soak in your bath, which I hope you have all ready?”

“Yes, Anne, well, of course it is. I always have the bath ready for your time, and as you are almost always exactly on time, I know that it is important that it is ready because, well, it’s not like a shower that you can just switch on and step under, is it? No, it takes preparation, and usually I would be adding my salts and scent, but I know that you just want me to cleanse, and so I have put nothing in the bath.”

“Stacey, that’s good. Now it’s time for you to put yourself in the bath, and I’ll finish bringing the stuff in,” Anne said, trying to hurry Stacey along as the last of her potions and lotions, oils and gels were brought from the car into the hall. Shutting the front door after locking the car with the remote, she put her keys in the top of her handbag and put it on the hall floor in the corner by the door, slipped her shoes off and put them next to her bag.

Starting with the table, she ferried the tools of her trade up to the bedroom at the back of the house. Stacey had indeed cleared plenty of space, and after leaning her table up against the wall, it always went up last; she pulled the curtains to, leaving a small gap.

As Anne made her few trips up and down the stairs, she passed the bathroom, which was next to the bedroom. Stacey had left the door open and was lying soaking in the warm water. “Now I hope that is not too hot, Stacey,” Anne remarked, walking into the bathroom after she completed her last journey and dipping her fingers in the water. “I don’t want you cooking,” Anne said as she dripped a few drops of lavender oil into the water.

“Oh, you know I only ever follow your instructions to the letter, and I don’t dream ever of trying to go against what you have said.” Stacey paused speaking as she stood up, ready to get out of the bath. “Just do me a favour, Anne, and pass me the robe that is sat on the toilet seat. I suppose I ought to get extra hooks put up so that I can hang more stuff up, but then when I’m in the bath I don’t need to use the toilet, so I can use its lid to store things, can’t I?”

“Here you are, Stacey. Now give me a moment to get ready, and then you can come through. I just need to get the table in the right position.” Anne left a slightly lavender-scented Stacey patting herself down through her towelling robe and went into the bedroom to set up the table.

After the shower had finished and without bothering to dress, Geraldine pulled the bedding off the bed, went into the kitchen and loaded the machine. First the pillowcases, then the bottom fitted sheet, and then finally the duvet cover squeezed in and the door shut. Tablet in the top, Non-Fast Coloureds wash programme, ‘Ping’; sorted.

Back into the bedroom, clean cotton linen from the cupboard, bottom sheet – no problem, pillowcases – no problem. It was the duvet. It was always the duvet. Geraldine really got annoyed with duvets. Although the cover was easy enough to strip off, and tidying the bed each day was a doddle, it just seemed almost impossible to reload a duvet into its cover and get the corners lined up and get the duvet properly filling the cover to each edge if you were by yourself.