“No, no, the egg and cress sandwiches are for table two.

“The cream tea is for table five,” barked Rosemary Clifford. Even the nearby customers winced slightly.

“Oh, right,” answered her husband, meekly.

Since they had taken over the ‘Cobb View Tearoom’, Howard Clifford had come to realise that his wife wasn’t simply particular; she was downright bossy.

When he had retired from the Civil Service at fifty, Rosemary, never Rose or Rosie, had told him that it had always been a dream of hers to own a tearoom on the Dorset coast. Now, four years later, they lived and worked in Lyme Regis.

They only opened for light lunches and afternoon teas. There was absolutely no demand after about four o’clock, when the day trippers all went home. At the time that they had bought the place, they were assured that there was B&B potential as well. This turned out to be a single room with a window that overlooked an alley.

Rosemary and Howard had been introduced by some mutual friends. Being both widowed, this well-meaning couple had felt that they would be ideal for each other. In truth, Howard had thought at the time that there was a smouldering sexuality lurking beneath her slightly fuller figure. He was wrong.

Rosemary was three years his junior and had lost her husband during the war. After all those years without it, Howard assumed that she would be up for anything. Wrong again.

Still, they both worked hard and with the aid of a local woman, who made the cakes and scones, and a young girl, who acted as a waitress at busy times, they made a reasonable living.

As you know, Lyme Regis is known as the ‘Pearl of Dorset’, with a population of just over three thousand. Thanks to the Victorian railway station, visitors often swell this number by four or five times.

Not only is the town picturesque but it was made famous in Jane Austen’s ‘Persuasion’. Added to this, Lyme Regis is well known as the home of Mary Anning, the famous Victorian fossil collector.

Lyme Regis’ only downside, as far as I am concerned, is that it has been situated a little too close to Devon. I suppose nowhere’s absolutely perfect.

“It’s nearly four, as soon as those two ladies have finished chatting you can lock up. How they can make one pot of tea last an hour, I don’t know,” Rosemary instructed Howard.

“You can run along now, Myrtle,” she added softly to her waitress. Rosemary knew that there was nothing to be gained from using anything but short gentle sentences with the girl, it only put her in a fluster otherwise.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Myrtle responded as she slipped her coat on over her black dress and white apron. As the girl was about to leave, a smartly dressed young man held the door open for her. He nimbly stepped into the space vacated by the young woman.

Rosemary said, “We were about to close, but if it’s just tea you want we can accommodate you.”

The handsome man removed his trilby, put down his small suitcase, smiled and said, “Well, I don’t want tea, but I would like to be accommodated, as it were.”

“Sorry?” answered Rosemary, a little confused.

That smile again and he said, “I was told that you may have a room available. I am in the area on business for a month or so and everywhere I’ve tried has been full or can’t put me up for that length of time.”

“It’s only a small room with no view and, other than lunch, we wouldn’t be able to do meals; well maybe just some toast at breakfast.”

“That would suit me down to the ground. I would be out all day seeing customers. I really just need a place to sleep.”

Rosemary thought for a moment and said, “In that case, I don’t see why not.

“Although you don’t appear to have much luggage.”

“Oh no, these are just my samples, I have another case in the car. I’m Peter Logan, by the way,” said Peter Logan, with another broad smile.

“Rosemary Clifford and this is my husband Howard. Pleased to meet you,” replied Mrs Clifford.

True to his word, he left each day before the tearoom opened and arrived back some time after the couple had finished their evening meal.

Peter seemed genuinely delighted when they invited him to listen to the radio in their sitting room with them. He explained that being on the road so much, he missed such pleasant normalities. The three of them chatted freely about themselves. He even managed to act as if it was the first time that he’d heard it when, after he revealed that he ‘travelled in ladies’ stockings’, Howard said, “There’s no law against it!”

“My employer, Kayser Bondor, had an exhibition at this year’s ‘Festival of Britain’ but no amount of magazine illustrations can compare to actually getting a shop manageress to feel what you have to offer,” explained Peter. Rosemary gave Howard a filthy look when he laughed.

The sales rep disappeared upstairs and returned with two pairs of nylons. “These are for you to try,” he said as he handed them to Rosemary.

She removed one from its packet, and said, “Yes, I see what you mean. They are undoubtedly nylon but they feel rather like the finest silk. And such a natural shade of light tan. Thank you so much.”

Each night before they retired to bed, the two men would sit in the courtyard garden and talk and smoke.

“I was just too young to serve in the war but I have done my National Service,” explained the younger man.

Howard looked saddened as he said, “I feel quite guilty that my age and my work at the Ministry prevented me from being called up. But I was an Air Raid Warden during the London Blitz.”

“No need for guilt, old chap. I’m sure you did your bit. You must have seen more than your fair share of death and destruction.”

“Well, yes. Although the worst part of it was that I sent my wife off to live with relatives in Yorkshire, so she would be safe, only for her to catch pneumonia and die.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that. So Mrs Clifford is your second wife?”

“That’s right, we married in forty-six.”

“Still in the passion of wedded bliss, then?” smiled Peter.

“Not quite,” answered Howard.

With hindsight, running a tearoom so soon after the war may not have been the most sensible thing to do, so many of the staples, tea, cream, sugar, jam, etc were still rationed. Fortunately, some leeway was given for small businesses. Added to this, Howard still had a few contacts in the Ministry who steered things in his direction, if you know what I mean.

Particularly useful was a friend of a friend of a friend who ran a small dairy farm just across the border in Devon, who produced the most delicious clotted cream.

Police Constable Goss would drop into the ‘Cobb View Tearoom’ most afternoons for a free cream tea. He was the very fortunate owner of a famous ‘blind eye’.

Howard and Peter sat together listening to the radio one evening.

“No Mrs Clifford tonight?” enquired the younger man, casually.

“Women’s Institute.

“She goes every Tuesday.”

“Ah!”

After a few minutes, Howard added, “Yes, I go to the British Legion on Thursday.”

“Ah!”

“I usually find someone to play snooker with.”

Suddenly Peter’s attention was diverted from the music, “Oh, snooker. I used to play a bit, I wasn’t half bad.

“Mind you it’s been a while since then.”

“Ah!” responded his senior, “Why don’t you come along?”

“Do you think that I could, I’d love a frame or two.”

“Yes, no trouble at all. I could sign you in as a guest,” suggested Howard.

Silence resumed as they became re-engrossed in the music of Mantovani.

Eventually, Peter said, “If you don’t mind me saying, you are a lucky man having such an attractive wife.”

“Possibly, but beneath the surface she is rather cold,” answered Howard.

Since the Second World War membership of the Royal British Legion Social Clubs had rocketed, as you can imagine. Men wished to socialise with others who had shared their experiences. Normally these clubs were open to anyone who had served but there was no requirement to give a chap’s name, rank and number.

Whenever anyone asked Howard if he had served at all, he would simply tap the side of his nose and say, “Still very ‘hush hush’ old man, I’m afraid.” This gave him a sort of added kudos with the other members. They knew better than to ask further.

It was agreed that the first frame should be a sort of dummy, fouls not counted, etc. This would make up for Peter’s rustiness. Nevertheless, he only lost by a few points.

As they played the next few frames, the two men conversed.

“I was rather intrigued by you saying that Mrs Clifford was a bit cold, as it were. That is quite sad. A warm woman is such a joy,” said Peter, as he potted a difficult red and then missed a somewhat easier black.

Howard went red, blue, red, before he said, “Yes, quite a contrast to my first wife.”

“Oh!” said Peter, softly.

The game continued and Howard missed a pink.

“With respect, Howard, it is my belief that any woman can be defrosted.”

Howard huffed gently.

“I expect that you are very courteous to Mrs Clifford in that area.”

“Of course, besides she is not a woman to be bulldozered,” said the husband.

“No, no woman should be forced.

“But on the other hand they do like a man to take control,” stated Peter as he made a long pot.

“You don’t know Rosemary. Take control, how on earth do you take control?”

“Well, it’s a sort of masterful seduction.”

Howard stood upright and rested himself on his cue, and said sternly, “Well, I’d like to see you seduce my wife.”

“That could be arranged.”

“What! You think that you could seduce her?” snorted the older man.

“Yes, and I am sure that I could change her attitude to sex.”

Howard laughed, “Now I really would like to see that.”

“Then you shall old chap, you shall.

“Not the first time, obviously, but certainly the second.”

Howard thought for a moment before saying, tentatively, “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“A gentlemen’s agreement.”

“Consisting of what?”

“We could agree that if I successfully seduce your wife you will then watch me do it on a second occasion.

“If on that occasion it is obvious that she is really enjoying it you must agree that I will continue to educate her, well you both really, in any way I like.”

Howard spluttered, “Now hold on just a minu...”

“What do you have to lose? You don’t believe that I can do it, do you?

“But, if on the other hand I do, you will have a warm, willing and well-trained partner,” explained Peter.

Howard was dumbstruck.

Then he said softly, “No force or threats will be employed?”

“None whatsoever.”

“As you say, nothing to lose I suppose?”

“Then we have the gentleman’s agreement?”

“Yes, I think that we probably do,” agreed Howard, still not entirely sure why.

During the rest of the evening the standard of the snooker declined. Both men clearly had other things on their mind.

The next morning as he was leaving, Rosemary was partially obstructing Peter’s way to the kitchen door.

“Excuse my front,” he said as he squeezed through the gap. As ladies do in this sort of situation Rosemary turned inwards with her back towards him.

Peter gently placed his hands on both of her hips as he slid by slowly. His trouser front travelled over each buttock in turn. She tensed ever so slightly.

So the seduction had begun.

It is strange how something so mundane as a great collection of rocks, whose sole purpose is to protect the small boats in a tiny harbour, can hold such romantic feelings for women of a particular kind. So it was with The Cobb.

Ever since Miss Austen had described Louisa Musgrave’s fall from the steps known as ‘Granny’s Teeth’, women had climbed up and down them in the hope of finding romance as she eventually did.