Chapter 35

We were driving south-west, to attend a meeting at Southampton University, a bit distracted, wondering yet again how we could solve the riddle. For lesbians, wanting a child has always been a fraught and dangerous desire. We aren't supposed to be fit mothers, everyone knows we're perverts, we'll bring up our children to be perverts too, if we haven't already infected every child we've ever encountered with our sickness ... that's what we were up against, and just to enhance the negatives was the very basic question of how to get pregnant when sex with men is the very last thing a lesbian wants. Friends told us funny but mildly disgusting tales of sperm-donors dashing from the bathroom with a few drops of semen in a cup, fumbling women with Turkey-basters, and the recipient keeping her legs in the air for hours, while hoping against hope.

Despite everything stacked against it, by the summer of 1981 we had vehemently agreed that we both wanted a child, believing it might provide the last piece of several puzzles. But to find that last piece, we needed a man who we liked enough to provide the necessary fluids. Unfortunately, the few men we knew didn't strike us as the right stuff, and there was no way I was going to give a handsome intelligent stranger a hand-job. The chapter of my life when I might have done such a thing was well and truly over! It was frustrating to the point where it was making us argue, which was almost unheard of.

Our relationship was amazingly equal. In bed I was ruled by an exacting, sternly disciplinarian Mistress, who was also capable of great tenderness. Once in a while the collar ended up round Em's neck, and the tables deliciously turned. At home - which mostly meant Keepers, we worked together with a pleasing symbiosis, providing to each what the other lacked. Noting my comment about using her huge brain, Em had decided to writing a book on women's rights and the justice system, and despite our month off in Morocco, thanks to Em's tutelage I had just completed my law degree, gaining a hard earned 2:2. Not brilliant, but not bad for a part-timer, even Em acknowledged. Both of us worked hard for WOOP. Elvestone Hall was thriving, and Lady H's first hip replacement operation had proved a success, but we had told her nothing about our new plan. If it succeeded, we would give her the surprise of her long life. If we failed, who were we to disappoint her? She wasn't quite as sharp as she had been. Her hearing was starting to fail, and the fags and booze diet of decades was catching up with her at last.

Let's just say, we were both tired, and had been under some strain. I kept on thinking of Morocco. I had spoken to Ed about another visit last time he rang, but it was going to be hard to justify a second holiday in such busy year. Talk about losing one's freedom to responsibility! As we left the motorway, I recognised where we were at once. I found myself shaking, slowing, swerving onto a slip road, and there it was, the Little Chef where Sarah and I had paused during our flight from the police. I pulled up untidily in the car park.

"I'm sorry Em, I just ... This is where Sarah and I ... I've never been here since..." Margaret knew the story, but not the exact location. Sitting there in the car park the memories became unbearable. I sensed that other motorists were noticing, watching us, and I didn't want their pity, their intrusion. I dried my eyes as best I could, started the car and drove carefully away. But there was the turning, the lane where Mark had taken us. In the midst of gloom, remembering young Mark rang like a clear little bell of goodness in my soul. Suddenly I had a burning curiosity to see if he was still there, if his family still lived at that farm where we had spent an unforgettable night.

"Where are we going?" asked Margaret uneasily.

"I have to do this ... maybe seeing where things happened will help to bury some ghosts. Can you put up with that?" I asked.

"Of course Jill, I wish I could bury some of mine in a place like this!" She replied. It was a particularly beautiful day, and the fields, hedges and hills glimmered greenly in the heat haze.

Eight years hadn't changed things much, and even in daylight I knew just where I was going, but instead of turning left up the farm track, I turned right, down a winding drive to a low, half-timbered farmhouse. I had only glimpsed it very briefly in the morning as we left, Mark waving at us, exhausted and awe-struck. So young, so sweet and dazed from his adventure...

I hardly knew what I might say to Mark, or his parents, but blind impetus made me park in front of the house. Leaving Margaret in the car, I yanked the old-fashioned bell-pull. I heard a tinkling sound through the thick oak door, and shifting nervously from foot to foot, waited. I was about to make a fool of myself, to get embarrassed and...

The door opened, and in front of me stood a tall, handsome young man, dark chest hair that matched his head frothing from the open collar of his checked shirt, face burned deep copper by the sun, shy blue eyes that recognised me as soon as I recognised him, and incongruously, a large sandwich in his right hand. Our mouths fell open in synchronisation.

"Jill?"

"Mark!"

For a long moment we just stood their gulping at each other like a couple of goldfish. My mind whirled through a thousand possibilities and fears. He's married, his parents are in the kitchen, what am I doing here?

"Why don't you come on in ... I was just having a bite to eat." He stammered at last.

We sort of dithered, wanting to acknowledge our one night eight years ago in some way. Impulsively, I opened my arms, and hugged him.

"Um ... My ... my partner's in the car." Mark looked curious, and blushed an even deeper red, as he understood.

"Er ... why d ... don't you both come in?" He stammered.

I knew instantly that I felt and would always feel differently towards him than other men. I was shocked at myself. My sexual contact with men had ceased entirely after the rape in Holloway. I had Em to think of, my lover; my greatest lover of all. A knot formed in my stomach. Perhaps I shouldn't have stopped here after all.

I waved at Margaret, and beckoned. She climbed out of car slowly, looking Mark up and down with wary eyes.

"Are you here alone?" I heard myself asking.

"Y ... yes..."

"Parents?"

"They've retired ... moved to Devon."

"You've not married then?"

"Not met the right girl."

'I bet that's our fault ... Sarah's and mine, ' I thought.

Mark, smiled ruefully, as if agreeing with my thoughts.

"Come on in! I'm afraid you've knocked me back a bit ... I never expected to see you again."

"Me neither, but I was on the motorway, and suddenly ... Oh Mark, it's so good to see you ... all grown up too ... you were tall before but now ... wow... !"

Mark in his mid-twenties was a beautiful male animal. I couldn't believe he was still single! He led us in into the kitchen, typically farmhouse, but a lot tidier than I expected for a man alone.

"You've hardly changed, you look ... more beautiful than ever," Mark said, turning his baby-blues on me. I blushed to my roots.

"Well you have changed ... just look at you ... all grown up..." Now it was his turn to blush. We were like star-struck teenagers.

"Look, I have a few things to do ... horses to feed ... and other stuff ... if I do it now ... we can talk after..."

Em cleared her throat, and touched my hand. I gave her a brief reassuring squeeze. The knot inside me was even tighter, but a wild surmise had suddenly lifted my mood, and Margaret had no reason to worry.

"Can this be true?"

"Yes, I really am here."

In the dark kitchen I introduced Mark to Lady Margaret Hunter, and we stood awkwardly, all three of us looking at each other with deepest curiosity.