Chapter 6: Margot's Dream

Margo was deep in slumber; her recent activities churned in a washing machine of dreaming.

I stare through my office widow into the bright sunshine and let out a sigh. The tedium of winter through this Credit Crisis had been endless.

It was lonely enough with my husband away but with my son away too, life had become awfully boring.

With Guy finishing soon at college I was eager for his return ... But my cosy sentiments fade as into my line of vision appear a pair of mongrels; rudely mating together beneath a tree.

In union, the dog and bitch form a bizarre two-headed creature.

They pant obscenely, oblivious to the world, while frantically copulating.

I turn away, embarrassed that someone may have noticed me watching.

Now I'm feeling rather warm in the suite I've worn today.

Having shed my jacket, I feel old Archer's gaze on my figure as I work around him.

Then unexpectedly, he makes an offer. "I'm driving past your lane after work today Mrs Chiverton, can I drop you off at all?" he asked.

This was uncharacteristically optimistic of Acher but I had no reason to deflate him.

I surprise him by cheerfully accepting while fuelling his interest as well.

"Why how kind of you Archer! While the sun's so warm I'll be able to sunbath in my secluded little garden!"

"Mmm..." he mused with twinkling eyes. "you may even need sun cream applied Mrs Chiverton."

It's hot in the little car and Archer's elbow blithely rubs against my breast as he remarks on the rising sap of springtime.

Bemused at the old chap's sauce, I ponder on events in my own life ... of Gilbert leaving me for Wall Street over two years ago ... of my unanswered letters to him ... our romance lost in the past ... of Guy leaving me for college ... and now hiss return within a couple of days.

When I thank Archer at the end of my lane he grins broadly; his pipe clenched in his jaw.

"The pleasure was mine Mrs Chiverton ... if I can ever be of service?" he said knowingly.

As I walk down my tranquil lane, I daydream over sunbathing in my garden.

A far younger version of Archer kneels attentively, applying sun cream to my naked shoulders. His hands glide across my skin, smooth and slow; his fingers bordering on my breast. Oh Archer; what if my husband walked in now from Wall Street?

Margo felt the sunlight on her eyes and conciousness was returning; yet she clung on to the dream that had been so engrossing.

It was comforting and easy to consume; she wasn't eager to face the vagaries of real life.