Chapter 3a

Part 1

Sarah Turnbull's maternal grandmother, Ellen Penrose, was born in Cornwall in 1942, so she was hardly touched by the effects of World War Two. Her father worked on the land, a reserved occupation, so he was never away from home like so many other children's fathers who were called up to serve in the Armed Forces. And living in the countryside, where although food was rationed it was still plentiful, she was relatively safe and well-nourished. But for some reason, the grass is always greener, as the familiar adage goes, and while she was growing up in rural Cornwall, her juvenile thoughts often turned to the far off and mysterious land called London. She knew all about the bombing that had happened during the war and that the streets weren't really paved with gold, but that was where a part of her heart and her soul longed to be.

Although in 1962 Ellen had still not reached the age of majority, her parents, somewhat reluctantly it should be said, permitted her to leave home and strike out on her own. She had been working since she was fifteen, so with some of her personal wealth that she had saved in a post office account since that time, she brought a cheap one-way ticket to the country's capital city, where she intended to put down her personal roots.

It was a great time to be young, free and single and living in London at the time when the country was finally shaking off the effects of war-time austerity and into a period of relative prosperity; and socially and culturally, it was definitely the place to be. 'You've never had it so good', Harold Macmillan, the British Prime Minister was quoted as saying in 1957, and for Ellen Penrose a half dozen years later, this was certainly true.

Well, to cut a long story short, Ellen continued to enjoy her life in London until the first year of the new millennium, when her husband of nearly thirty-seven years died suddenly and unexpectedly. Ellen by then had an adult daughter and son-in-law and a teenage granddaughter, all of whom loved her, but nevertheless she decided that another change of lifestyle was required, and that change entailed her moving back to the county of her birth. She was lucky inasmuch as her family home in a North London suburb was paid for and her husband had left her, if not rich, at least comfortable, so she started to search for a suitable property in which to spend her remaining years—which hopefully would be quite a few, as she wasn't yet at that time 60. Eventually a suitable property was found: a detached cottage in a Cornish village near the sea, which again, fortuitously, Ellen was able to buy before the prices of such desirable properties sky-rocketed beyond the means of many.

Her granddaughter, Sarah, helped her to move into the cottage the year after Ellen's husband's sad demise and this story takes place in the ensuing years after Ellen's successful transposition.

A major feature of Ellen's cottage, was the small, sandy cove at the bottom end of the long back garden. The beach, which wasn't technically part of her property, was enclosed by sheer horseshoe-shaped cliffs, some twenty or thirty feet high, which prevented it being reached by any means other than the sea or a flight of wooden stairs that were accessed from her garden. These stairs had been there some years, and apart from the occasional battering from high seas and constantly being exposed to the elements, they were reasonable sound. The former owner of the cottage: a lady in her seventies when she moved away, had said that she rarely used them, but Ellen thought that she might like to, although she was a little concerned about how safe they might actually be. She had therefore said to her granddaughter that she would make some enquiries about getting them replaced at some time. Ellen and Sarah had chanced the stairs and spent quite a lot of time on the beach when the teenager last visited, but as soon as she had returned to her home in London, Ellen started to ask around in the village about local builders, and although the village was quite small and self-contained, one name reoccurred several times: Ken Anstiss.

Ellen had seen the name on the side of several commercial vehicles, so she guessed that she might even have seen the man himself; although they had never met as far as she knew. However, when she got home she tried ringing the number that she had been given and after several attempts she spoke to the builder and he said that he would call round to see her that evening when he finished work.

At seven o'clock someone knocked on Ellen's front door: she had no expectations, apart from getting an affordable estimate, however, when she opened the door she set in motion a series of events that would change her life.

Now Ellen was a handsome woman who was approaching sixty, and the man on her doorstep appeared to be a gentleman of a similar age. From the very first moment they met he was courteous and helpful and although Ellen had only been widowed for just over a year she later admitted that her first impressions of the man were favourable and she even felt a sense of attraction towards him.

"Thank you coming, Mr Anstiss—won't you come in, please! Can I get you a cup of tea?"

"That would be very welcome, Mrs McMahon," he said in his soft Cornish accent, "and everyone around here calls me Ken."

"Then I shall, too, Ken. And won't you please call me Ellen. Have a seat, Ken, I shan't be more than a few minutes—are you expected home?"

He took a seat on Ellen's sofa and waited to reply until she returned from the kitchen, bearing a tray with two mugs and several slices of cake.

"The cake's home-made, Ken, help yourself." He took a generous slice of cake and put it on a small plate.

"Thank you very much, Ellen—it certainly looks very nice! And in answer to your question: no, I'm not expected home; my Kate passed two years back."

"Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that, Ken: I lost my Jack over a year ago."

And so the introductions were made and commonalities established, and after a little more small talk by new neighbours —Ken lived in the village—they discussed Ellen's requirements.

"I shall have to see it in the daylight, of course, and I won't give you a price until it's costed up, but it sounds like a fairly straight-forward job. Once the measurements were taken, I'd make it in my workshop, then assemble it on site. I think the cost of materials might be quite high, though: it's needs to be made out of some substantial seasoned and treated timber. Would you like me to come back another day and have a look?"

"Yes, I'd like that! Now, Ken, as we're practically neighbours, would you like to stay for supper; I haven't eaten yet, and there's more than enough for two."

"Well—if you don't mind—"

They ate and chatted over the course of the next few hours, and although there was nothing else to suggest that it was anything other than a new friendship, perhaps both of them felt the stirrings of a mutual attraction. Ken had lived in the village for most of his life and he was well-known and well-liked by everyone. His business was thriving and he employed several local men, but he confessed that since his wife had died he'd had little outside of his business to keep him occupied. Ellen said that she knew that feeling, too. She was happy in London, living near her family, but she had felt that she was still too young to just sit around and do nothing with her life and she intended to stay active and get involved with village life for as long as she could.

Ken's other jobs kept him busy, but a few days after his first visit he returned to see Ellen during the daylight and he gave her an honest appraisal of what he thought needed doing and an estimate of how much he thought that it would cost. She accepted his estimate and Ken said that he would source the materials and make a start as soon as possible. There was no great hurry for the new steps—except that Ken wanted to get them installed before the weather conditions changed unfav­ourably, so when they were ready, he offered to work one Saturday and Sunday to remove the old ones and replace them with the new. Ellen said that that was fine: with the proviso that Ken stay and eat with her on those days and that she would be allowed to do any fetching and carrying that was needed. It should be added that although they hadn't been dating or anything, Ken had already invited her to join him in the village pub on a few occasions, so that she could get to know the locals better. They were always in a group of other people, but Ken always offered to escort her home afterwards and she had even accepted his offer to see his own cottage and stay for a cup of tea.

So on the weekend that the new stairway was to be installed, Ken called round at eight o'clock and they had tea and bacon sandwiches before they began the day's work. Ellen could easily pass for someone much younger than her actual age and she was dressed in a pair of faded denim jeans and a T-shirt; Ken wore something similar. He arrived in a lorry laden with scaffold poles and boards and their first job was to carry these all the way from outside the cottage and down to end of the rear garden. Ellen did indeed do her fair share, although she couldn't match Ken's strength, and he made her take regular breaks, so as not to overtax herself. It took several hours to then erect the scaffolding, so that Ken had a safe environment to work in. Ellen continued to help as much as she could and by the time the light was beginning to fade, the original steps were dismantled and the old timber was stacked in the garden.

"Right, a good days work, I think!" Ken said, "Now before I eat, I need to clean up. I'll just pop home and shower and change while the meal is cooking."

"Okay, Ken! You've got at least an hour, but longer if you need it. If I'd have thought of it, you could have brought a change of clothes and washed up here: why don't you do that tomorrow and bring your work clothes back with you today and I'll put them in the washing machine for you."

Ellen was well-organised and after Ken had left she quickly prepared vegetables and then went to shower and change herself. She was quite hot and dirty from her days labours, but she and Ken had worked well together and she felt a deep sense of satisfaction for what they had achieved: she also experienced a strong sense of connection with her builder, plus she was also now sure in her mind that she felt something other than just friendship for the sturdy Cornishman. Ellen and her husband, Jack, had always had a good physical relationship, even up to his sudden death, and Ellen now admitted to herself that she almost missed that as much as the man himself. So as she stood under the hot shower and the water washed away the dirt and eased the fatigue, she allowed her hands to roam over her body in a way that she hadn't really done in over a year.

By the time that Ken returned, the food was nearly cooked and the table was set. He had left his lorry behind and walked back to the cottage. Ellen greeted him with a smile.

"It won't be long, now, Ken. Would you like some tea, or I've got some beer in the fridge?"

"Then I'll have a beer, if you don't mind. I was going to ask you if you wanted a walk down to the pub later, but you might be too tired after all you've done today. I brought back clean and dirty clothes like you asked me."

"Well, it might be a bit late for the pub once we've eaten, but we can see how we feel later." She got two beers from the kitchen and they sat in the living room while they waited for the food.

"So do you think we'll finish tomorrow, Ken?"

"I'd like to think so, if we can get an early start and the weather holds up. We can only do our best!"

Ken had already sampled Ellen's cooking, and on that day she'd made him one of his favourites: steak and kidney pudding, which they washed down with another beer. Afterwards they sat for a while, talking, and then they washed up the dinner things. They decided to give the pub a miss and instead adjourned to the sitting room with more beer.

They were neither of them regular TV watchers: Ellen invariably read in the evenings and Ken sometimes walked across to the pub, only a short walk from his cottage; or he would catch up on any necessary paperwork to do with his building firm, before either going to bed or falling asleep in an armchair. So at about eleven-thirty he said:

"Well, I really ought to be going. It's been a good day, though." Ellen looked a little hesitant, then she replied:

"I'm a bit nervous about this, Ken, but I'd really like you to stay, with me, if you want to! My Jack and I used to talk about what would happen if something happened to one of us, and we both agreed that if someone we really liked came along, then we should go for it! But I'll understand if it's too soon for you."

"You do mean share your bed and make love."

"Yes, I do. My periods stopped around the time Jack passed away—probably something to do with that—but I realised today that I wasn't ready to give up that part of my life yet. And I don't know if you realised, but I'm very attracted to you."

"I think I had an idea that you were, but I didn't want to say anything yet—the feeling is mutual, you know! It's been a while for me, but I'd like to have a go. So, shall we turn in?" Ellen leaned in and took Ken's head between her hands and softly kissed his lips.

"There's no pressure on you, though. We'll just take our time, and if not tonight, then another night."

She took his large hand and led him towards the bedroom, stopping to turn off the light on the way. Inside the bedroom they stood in front of each other and embraced and kissed, taking the time to get to know how the other felt under their clothes. They undressed each other, slowly, pausing briefly after each item of clothing to satisfy their curiosity. When Ellen removed Ken's shirt she ran her fingers through his soft chest hair and kissed each of his nipples in turn. And when he unfastened her bra and lifted it away from her body, he carefully lifted both of her breasts; squeezing them and taking each of her nipples and licking and sucking them for a few seconds.

Ellen folded her duvet back towards the foot of the bed and then they both pushed their remaining underwear to the floor before climbing onto the bed, facing each other, only a few inches separating them. They kissed and caressed each other and then Ellen said:

"Did you and your Kate go in for oral sex, Ken, Love?"

"You mean sucking me and the like? No, she never really liked the idea, so we just stuck to kissing and cuddling until it was time to—you know! But I always wondered. So did you and Jack—"

"Yes, we were quite adventuress for the first few years that we were married; and sometimes later oral was nice if we didn't feel like going all the way. We'll leave it for now, but I hope that there will be more after this."

Ellen reached down and started to stroke and squeeze Ken's penis, which she noted even in its flaccid state seemed quite big, and it didn't take long for the blood to start to make it swell in her hand.

"—Mmm! That feels nice!" he exclaimed, "It's been some time since I got ready to enter a woman—I hope you won't be disappointed!" Ellen smiled.

"No, I don't think that's going to happen. I think I'm ready if you are."

She rolled over onto her back and Ken positioned himself between her parted thighs and over her. He was a strong man and easily took all the weight of his large frame on one arm as he guided his hard penis up to Ellen's waiting vagina. There was a moment of expectation, and then she felt only the second man in forty years pressing against her and then her body giving way and adjusting as his thick length entered her. He stopped when he was all the way in and they kissed.

"You feel so good inside me, Ken! Take it nice and slow and let's enjoy it for as long as we can."

Ken had never been a speed merchant in bed and he knew from all the years he spent making love to his wife that he could last for quite a while, so he quickly established a rhythm that he and Ellen were both happy with, and when she asked him to go faster, he did. It wasn't important to them that they reach a climax at the same time, only that they both enjoyed themselves, which they did; although fortunately Ellen had an orgasm shortly before Ken came inside her. He rolled off and they lay in each other's arms, spent but happy, where they fell asleep.