Chapter 4

Eating together was very pleasant. Stuffy had more stuff than Sarah, of course; books, records (and something to play them on) a television...

Sarah commented.

“Yes, that’s mine. I rarely bother with it, except to play films. Mostly I just listen to the radio. Since the War, there just aren’t the facilities to broadcast much of interest.”

They chatted, of course, but mainly about professional matters. The meal was pretty good, though the same as both trainees and staff were eating (with minor variations needed for dietary reasons). Nothing more happened; both were cautious about developing a relationship, but they enjoyed it and it became a regular feature of their lives; every couple of days they’d get together, share the standard meal, chat, and separate.

On Wednesday, work was started on the cell next to the office. Extra power points and an Ethernet connection, and a curtain-track behind the bars. It was done quickly, with surface ducting and fittings. Thursday brought an examination couch, medicine cupboard and refrigerator, desk, office chair, and a chair for the ‘patient’. Another cupboard was installed for sheets, towels and disposable materials.

The computer was not installed until Saturday, when Sarah was duly instructed in its use. By then, she’d at least chatted to all the trainees, read their notes, and met most of the staff. She was effusive in her compliments to Imogen, who tried to downplay her efforts.

“My quarters, thanks to you,” Sarah emphasised, “were lovely, and I had to do nothing there to be more comfortable. I loved the pot pourri. And the meals are excellent. I really appreciate your work.”

Imogen was blushing hotly, but managed, “Thank you, Sister. I’m glad you’re happy.”

A couple of weeks after joining the Centre staff, on Saturday, though, an opportunity arose which she had been anticipating. Actually, she’d finished setting up her computer the way she wanted, and organising files for each potential ‘patient’. She wondered whether it was too soon to visit Stuffy again. She was about to pack up and leave, when Reg Smith entered the Centre. During the course of that first week, their paths had not crossed for various reasons. She shut and locked the barred door to the cell which had become her clinical room and office, and followed Reg into the office.

“Sergeant Major,” she spoke quietly, but with a smiling lilt.

He turned. “Sister,” he responded, smiling also.

“Can you spare me a few moments?”

“Is it urgent, or can I get a handover first?”

“Oh, there’s nothing pressing. I’ll sit in, if I may?”

“Of course! I can’t think there’s anything you shouldn’t know about.” He turned back to Sandy Brown, “Is there, Sergeant?”

She smiled too. “No, S’maj. Actually, I think Sister Sanders is officially cleared for all levels of communication within the Horseshoe. But in all honesty, S’maj, Sister, I’ve nothing significant to report, which is, more or less, what I’ve been writing. Steve is with Fifty-two. He may have something to say.”

Sarah, thinking of Imogen and Heidi couldn’t help a twinge of unease at the thought of Imogen and Heidi’s husband indulging in sex with a woman who was, in fact, old enough to be his mother. She forced herself to set it aside, remembering what she’d been thinking about with Stuffy.

“Sergeant Major,” she said, “I don’t think I need much of your time. If you’ll come next door with me, perhaps Steve will have finished in a few minutes.”

“Sounds good, Sister. After you.”

She had to unlock the door to ‘her’ room again, and waved Reg to the vacant chair next to her desk. She sat in her swivelling office chair and turned to face him. “I haven’t had a chance to chat to you recently,” she began, “but there’s something you need to know about so you can think what – if anything – you’ll do about it. First, though, you’re not married, or in a relationship, are you?”

“No, Sister.” He was looking puzzled.

She smiled at him, quite naturally. “Can we be Reg and Sarah, in private, like this?”

He was beginning to look worried. “If you wish ... Sarah.”

“Thank you, Reg. You’re looking worried. I’m not coming on to you. I do like you, respect you, but my sights are set elsewhere.”

He did relax then. “I wonder where?” he smiled.

She nodded. “Quite so. But what I wanted to say is, you have an admirer. She’s fairly young, but well old enough to know her mind. You’ve never taken advantage of your right to take a trainee back to your quarters, have you?”

“No, ma’am. Sarah. That doesn’t sit well with me, somehow.”

“No. I can imagine it doesn’t. You’re a decent man, Reg Smith. Suppose I tell you that one of the trainees would be helped by some individual attention from you? That she would happily clean your apartment, and be delighted to share your bed? That doing so would really raise her self-esteem? That she would love to be your concubine? In fact, I suspect she would marry you, if you asked.”

She would never have imagined that big, tough, Regimental Sergeant Major Reg Smith could go as pale as he did then.

“I’ve never...” he hesitated, “I never found a woman I liked, who would put up with a military life. Women in the military cannot serve with their husbands, of course, and who wants to be dragged all over the globe to deployments, or left at home, worrying about her husband?”

“You aren’t in the Army any longer, Reg. I was told that, even though I’m a Reservist, there is little chance of my being recalled to duty, and I can’t see that you’d be much different. Dammit, Reg, aren’t you over fifty?”

“That’s just it, Sis ... Sarah. I am fifty-one. Which trainee are we talking about?”

“Fifty-nine. Louisa Reynolds.”

“But she’s only twenty!”

“Twenty-two, Reg.”

“And that makes such a difference!”

“Because it doesn’t matter, Reg. Look. The country needs your genes. Louisa is young and fertile, and would be delighted to bear your children. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought of having children!”

“Yes, but...”

“Sorry, Reg. I didn’t intend to bully you. I just want you to think about the girl. See if you can bring yourself to give her some attention. You obviously enjoyed what you did with her last weekend – perhaps as much as she did!”

“Sister ... Sarah ... I will think about it. I may have a chat with Fifty-nine myself. But I want to get things straight in my mind first.”

“That’s good enough for me, Reg. I trust you to work out what’s right in your own mind and do it, whichever way that goes. Is there anything you want to ask, or talk to me about?”

“You mean, apart from the practicalities of a man in his fifties keeping up with woman in her twenties who has just discovered her pussy?” He was smiling.

“That, too.”

“No, Sarah, but thank you. I’d better go and see what – if anything – has been happening while I’ve been off duty.”

He left Sarah’s office, but she stayed there for several minutes, realising that she needed to heed her own advice. Eventually, she rose, left the office and locked the door behind her.

She looked in to the office, where Steve was talking to Sandy and Reg. Steve stopped and the three looked at her. “I’m off to my quarters,” she said. “Call me if you need me.”

Back in her apartment, she boiled a kettle and brewed peppermint tea. She turned the radio on, which was tuned to a classical music station. There was rarely anything fresh on the radio, even the news tended to be dull and repetitive and, of course, it was almost impossible to maintain orchestras to produce new recordings. She sipped her tea and sighed.

Finished, she rang the kitchen and asked for her evening meal to be delivered to ‘Major Prestwick’s quarters’. The kitchen were fairly accustomed to this by that point, and didn’t query that she’d been there only the previous evening. Then, she took a leisurely shower, dried and brushed her short, dark hair to a gloss, and dressed very carefully.

If not as warm as the Centre, it was comfortable in the accommodation section, and she picked out light, silky underwear – in dark blue – and admired her reflection in the mirror. A little more than average height, she had a figure that many women would envy, a well-defined waist (she was too muscular to be wasp-waisted) swelling hips, and well-supported C-cup breasts. She squeezed the latter, and pinched the nipples through the sheer, slick, fabric. She was tingling, moistening, and forced herself to stop before she would have to change her knickers. She dropped a light cotton dress over her head and smoothed it into position; it was a dark yellow which emphasised her dark hair, but didn’t, quite, obscure, the dark-coloured bra and panties. She could see that they showed slightly through the dress fabric, but decided she didn’t care. By that time, it was past six in the evening, so she walked the few yards to Stuffy’s quarters and tapped on the door.