Chapter 3

Suitably refreshed and beginning to be warm after a rather miserable ride, we sat in the lounge with our stack of mail. But before we settled enough to pick up the first item, Anji spoke.

"Couldn't we light the fire, Pete?"

I wondered, wryly, if perhaps she was able to read my mind, as the same idea had passed through it earlier. There are few more cheerful things than a living fire, and I keep a stack of suitable logs outside the back door, sheltered by a rough rack.

"Why not? Good idea, Anji. Do you want me to do it, or would you like to?"

"Perhaps we could both ... I mean, I could lay it if you'd bring in some logs?"

I was more than happy to go along with that and soon we were watching the flames behind the special glass of the stove door. Then we made a start on the mail. Most of it was junk, of course, and went almost straight in the recycle bin. Some actually had a name with the address, and I make a point of shredding those. Then the official stuff; credit-card statement, one of those letters from the bank 'informing us of a change in the conditions'. A couple of Easter cards. I thought I really should invite Rosie and Ted for a meal; they'd been so supportive.

The last letter had an address written in a feminine hand that I thought I recognised. But I would never have guessed the content.

I sat, holding the letter as my tears dripped on it and smudged the ink. How like her, that she'd used a fountain pen...

I only became aware of Anjali next to me when she gently took the letter out of my hand and gave me a handkerchief.

"You will want to keep that," she said, setting the letter on the table in front of me. Then she folded herself into my lap. I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face in her hair, so my tears wet her head instead of Felicity's letter. Eventually, I lifted my head, mopped up and released my grip on Anji. She squirmed round and straddled my lap, her jeans-clad crotch pressed against me; her hands on my shoulder, arms slightly bent so she was upright, looking straight into my eyes. My hands naturally found her hips.

"Letter from Felicity ... your Mum," I mumbled, twice redundantly.

"I know," she said. "I got one too."

"I really loved her," I said.

"I know." she paused, "I understand that. She was really special."

"So are you," I stated, categorically.

She cocked her head, but didn't say anything.

"I met her, because I'd given up hope of ever finding anyone I could spend my life with. Against all probability, I found what I was looking for in ... a member of the oldest profession."

"A prostitute," she corrected, very seriously.

"Okay, have it that way. A prostitute. But a very special human being. When she died, I had two thoughts. One, that I'd had my chance. I'd had, what, two years, two and a half years, with my soul-mate and she'd been taken from me. That was it. But two, I couldn't just give up, because I'd promised to look after my soul-mate's daughter. It was a duty, a responsibility, though a good one, because it was a link to my Love."

She didn't say anything to that, just looked sad.

"But then..." I paused, "you asked about riding the Norton. Do you remember how I reacted?"

She thought for a moment, "You seemed to ... you were looking at me very strangely. I was almost afraid, then."

"I'm sorry, Anji. I didn't mean to disturb you. It's just that I was disturbed."

"Because I wanted to ride your bike?"

I had to chuckle at that. "No. Because I looked at you and for the first time, I saw Anjali Lindon, not the-daughter-of-Felicity-Lindon."

She gasped and I saw understanding in her eyes. "So..."

"So I saw a very attractive young woman, who apart from being rather younger than myself, was just about my physically ideal woman. I saw a young woman who seemed to share my tastes in life – music, food, leisure activities. All sorts of things that really bugged me about previous girlfriends ... you just don't have. You don't keep me waiting or use a lot of make-up. You like the same things and let me be myself."

"Ah..."

"Maybe it's too early to say 'I love you'," I went on, "but ... I now know that it's possible. The only question is ... do you feel the same way?"

She didn't answer in words immediately; she just leaned forward and pressed her lips against mine. They were soft, and opened against mine, her tongue tentatively probing. I started this story talking about 'simple pleasures'. I can say in all honesty that there was nothing simple about the pleasure of kissing Anji, or, rather, being kissed by Anji. If I were being analytical, I would have said she was ... inexperienced, which surprised me, but she more than made up for any lack of skill with her enthusiasm. More than that, there was a ... connection that made any questions about my feelings moot.

At length she sat back and gazed into my eyes. "Does that answer your question?"

"Well... " I drew the word out, feigning uncertainty, "I'm not quite sure, yet..."

"Huh!" She, in turn twisted away in a pretend 'huff'. As she did so, the state of the fire caught her attention. She propelled herself off my lap in order to feed it and, as the room was heating up, or perhaps because we were heating up, she closed the draught to slow it down. As she returned to my lap, though, she was frowning. Instead of sitting in my lap she did as she had before and straddled me, but sitting upright and a little away. "Pete, I ... I don't want ... I mean, you don't have to ... Oh, hell. What I need to say is I don't want you to feel obligated or pressured. I don't want to manipulate you. But I fell in love with the idea of you when Mum told me about you, and when I met you ... I knew then. I love you, Pete. But I don't want you to be trapped. I need you to be my friend, for always. But I want you to be my lover, too. If you decide you do love me ... I..."