Chapter 6: Miss And Hit

The following week the interaction with Penelope Huxtable was predictably brief.

David tried to open a conversation with her by commenting on the weather.

Her response to his, “Nice day, isn’t it?” was brief and to the point, “I have little interest in the weather,” and she turned to her neighbour and began to discuss where she could find a permanent supply of genuine Blue Mountain coffee.

Fortunately he was rescued by Julia Gore saying, sotto voce, “Ignore her. She despises most people here because she classes them all as ‘common’. I heard her say of a very successful business man, ‘He’s in trade you know, not a profession,’ as if what anyone did for a living actually mattered,” more audibly she continued, “Now do tell me, how are things in your life? Are you missing June terribly, or are you back among us because it hurts a little less?”

“To be honest,” he lied, “there isn’t a day I don’t think of her, but my memories of her are mostly good ones. The bad days, at the end, are mostly memories of how kind you all were to her.”

“We did what we could, and what was needed, that’s all. So, how are you coping? Do you have anyone to look after you now?” she asked, meaning, Have you been spoken for?

“I just have a housekeeper at the moment, but I think I’ll lose her soon. Her husband has just returned from a posting to the Far East and I don’t think she’ll still need to fill her time sweeping my floors.”

“What you need is someone who will see to it that you eat properly, and will keep your clothes up to scratch, and will amuse you,” she said, “Perhaps a widowed lady who understands your grief,” Like me?

David took his chance, “Speaking of eating properly, I must be off. I have a table booked for lunch at the Lisboa,” I’m willing to try.

“With anyone interesting?” she asked artlessly, Can I come?

“No, I’m eating alone,” he relied, thinking, I wonder if... and added, “Unless you would consider sharing my table?” And my bed?

“Well, if you are offering, I must admit I liked the Lisboa when my husband was alive. It would be fun to go there again.” Yes please.

“In that case I insist,” he said, and we shall see what transpires. “Shall we take my car?”

“Yes, please,” she said, explaining, “I walked here this morning.”

Lunch was every bit as pleasant, gastronomically, as they had expected. The conversation was curious as every time David risked even a mild double entendre it was understood, and acknowledged with a girlish giggle, which seemed a little out of place coming from a lady of, David guessed, her mid-fifties.

When they had eaten their fill, and disposed of a reasonable bottle of wine David commented, “I would suggest coffee, but it is cheap and nasty here, or possibly authentically Portuguese. Normally I go home and make my own, but I don’t suppose...” Offer her the bait.

“Yes, I know what you mean. I’d love a good cup of coffee, but do let me make it for you, at my place of course.” Come into my parlour said the spider to the fly.

David wondered, Is she avoiding my house, or is she opening her own up to me? Little did he guess how soon that would be answered.

When they arrived at her house, David was shown into a nicely furnished sitting room and told to wait there while she made the coffee.

A very few minutes later she came into the room carrying a tray with the coffee things on it. That did not interest David as much as the indoor clothes she had changed into. Basically she was in a near transparent negligée under a loosely tied dressing gown. He could not actually tell whether that was all she had on, but guessed it was.

“Shall I be mother and pour?” she asked, doing just that, “I hope you don’t mind me getting comfortable, but judging from the conversation over lunch you are a gentlemen who likes, shall we say, informality?”

As she passed him his coffee she bent right forward so that he was proved right about her lack of upper underwear. As she sat opposite him she crossed her legs and as she did so he saw no hint of any coloured cloth between them.

Drinking his coffee, David decided to let her make the next move. He kept silent, knowing that that would force her to say something.

Eventually, as she put her empty cup aside, she offered, “I must make it clear that I don’t do this for just anyone, you know. Since my husband died there have only been two men in my life and both are much older than I and have lost either the ability or the interest. I don’t know which it is but in any case it doesn’t matter. I hope you will have needs beyond having your floor swept and I know I do, so I’m volunteering.”

David rose and said, entirely truthfully, “I hate to spoil a beautiful moment, but may I use your facilities?”

“Of course, up the stairs first on the left, just opposite my bedroom door.”

Assuming that to be an invitation, when he was finished David shed all but his boxers in the bathroom and slipped quietly into her bedroom. As he expected, she was lying on the bed wearing the negligée and a smile.

He sat on the side of the bed and said, “Come here and start me off,” in a somewhat commanding voice.

“Oh sir, whatever do you mean?” she simpered as she slipped off the bed and knelt between his legs. Sliding her hand into the waistband of his boxers she stroked his near solid prick and asked, “What else, sir?”