Chapter 4

Petra Perkins escorted us into her living room and offered refreshments; She and I both had a glass of Newcastle Brown ale, while Bella sipped at a glass of wine.

"You'll gather I'm not your run-of-the-mill solicitor," she began, "Zeke and I were friends on the classic bike circuit for years. When he met and married Beth, we kept in touch, but obviously..." she paused, "anyway, things changed. Then Beth ... died. Zeke ... didn't stop riding completely, but he wanted to make sure he was there for you, Bella. He asked for my help. I gave him advice, agreed to act as executor and some other things. I had to point out I couldn't do something that was illegal. I have some money in trust for you, so you don't have to struggle. I don't think there'll be any problem with probate, and I'll handle that for you. We'll just need to get together to deal with tax and so on."

Bella sat silent for several minutes. "You were ... close ... to my father, weren't you?"

It was the older woman's turn to be silent; her head bowed, she appeared to be studying her hands. Then looking up, at us, we could see the gleam of tears in her eyes. "He was the finest man I ever met," she said.

Bella stood, crossed the room, took Petra's hands and drew her to her feet before throwing her arms round her. They made a slightly odd picture, Bella's five foot three against Petra's almost six foot; Petra slim, I suppose willowy would be the term, Bella almost stocky by comparison, but there was no doubting the emotional intensity of their embrace as they wept together. I should have felt uncomfortable, but somehow I didn't. When they separated, some time later, Bella stepped back and looking into Petra's eyes, just said;

"Thank you."

There was no formality about the meal we had together; Bella and I sat in the kitchen as Petra prepared sausages, beans and chips, telling us stories of Zeke, motorbikes and the sixties. It was late when we parted for me to take Bella home, but Bella made it clear she wasn't ready to sleep. I agreed to have some cocoa with her ... it made sense after a night ride in November. If you've never ridden a motorbike in winter, I'll just say that the wind-chill is rather important; every mile an hour of wind has the effect of a one-degree drop in ambient temperature (I'm not sure if that's Fahrenheit or Celsius. It doesn't matter, really; you get cold.)

We sat together on that little sofa and sipped cocoa.

"So..." I began slowly, uncertain whether to tackle the issue right then. If not then, when? "Bella ... I'm your boyfriend?"

She looked frightened. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all. I'm unsure ... Bella, no relationship I've ever had with a woman has lasted longer than three months. I'm old enough to be your father, we've only known each other less than a week. You ... are a young woman and beautiful..."

"You really think I'm beautiful?"

"In every way," I said.

"And you like me?"

"More than that..."

"How..."

"I ... love you, Bella. You captivated and fascinated me the day we met. I don't want to think of my life without you in it."

Her face lit up; she put her mug on the table in front of us, took mine and placed it next to hers; reached up and used both hands to draw my head down to hers and kissed me.

"Then, I don't think the rest matters, Andrew. I love you, and I believe you are the one I've been waiting for."

Well! Her kiss was ... a little clumsy, maybe, but sweet and conveying enormous passion. I could no more have resisted it than stop a train with my bare hands. I kissed her back and we were soon so involved time had no meaning, at least for me. It was some time later that she pulled away and said, in a somewhat shaky voice, "Time for bed, Andrew."

I'd run my hands over as much of her as I could reach and she'd reciprocated; I'd been wondering whether to start ... exploring ... under her clothing when she'd said that. Clearly not. It looked as though I was in for another frustrating night. I suppressed my sigh, though. She really was that important to me!

She (for once) went first and was in bed when I got there, the duvet pulled up to her chin. Down to t-shirt and boxers, I slid in beside her, only to have a naked arm reach out and pull me to her. It rapidly became clear she was, as the joke goes, 'barefooted all over'.

"You're a tad over-dressed, Andrew," she declared, sliding her hands under the t-shirt.

Who was I to object? I decided, then and there as my hands lid over her smooth skin, that she was, without doubt, not only beautiful but also the most desirable woman I'd ever shared a bed with. Remember, too, this was the third night we'd slept together; I was quite ... excited, but also very aware of her inexperience. I really did not want to mess up.

"Don't make me wait, Andrew."

"Bella, I..."

"Andrew, you can't get this wrong ... I promise."

I dipped my head and kissed her again, very aware of the pressure of her breasts against me, my penis nestling against her. I rubbed against her; she was very wet. As I hesitated, she moved, lunging against me. She winced, and I was there, her pussy a soft, warm, snug vice on me. I savoured the ecstasy.

"Oh... Andrew."

It wasn't much, but the tone said volumes. Then, she moved under me.

With all due modesty, I have played my girlfriends' bodies like a violin in the past. Bella just didn't let me. I couldn't hold back, but to my astonishment, she came with me. A little sweaty, deeply satisfied, we slept, wrapped together.

I don't understand men who can couple with a woman and walk away afterwards. It always means something to me – sometimes more than it does to the woman. With few exceptions, it's always been the girl that's ended it. So when I woke in the morning, still entangled with Bella, I knew there would be no leaving her if it were my choice. But after my history, I was frightened she would give me marching orders. Okay, it wasn't logical or reasonable, but it was understandable, I think. So, when her eyes opened and she looked at me and smiled, I felt enormous relief, as if the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders. She kissed me, (morning breath and all) rubbing her breasts on my chest.

"I want to do it again," she said, "and again and again. But I think a shower and breakfast would make it much better. I must be pretty disgusting, and I think we need to change these sheets."

"You could never be disgusting," I smiled, "but, yes, shower, breakfast and clean sheets is probably the best thing." I held her, stroking her back with my flat hands. "Bella ... I think ... it would make me very happy if you would marry me."