(Author's note – In my preamble to Chapter 2, I bemoaned the absence of e-mail response to chapter 1. I've since discovered that there was a technical problem with my inbox, so, if you did write, and didn't get a response, please write to me again. Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this tale – it had to be just a matter of time before Jennifer's superior legs were spread for us...)
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The doorbell rang, and Jennifer Aldridge's heart sank. It must be Matt Crawford – ten minutes early. She checked her reflection in the full-length mirror – immaculate, as always. At least, her appearance didn't reflect the turmoil inside her.
"That'll be Matt, darling," called her husband, Brian, from his dressing-room, where he was putting the final touches to his bow-tie. "Will you get it, please? I'll be another five minutes – I have to make a call before I come down. Oh – and remember what I said about being nice to him."
Brian casual tone belied the pounding in his heart. Ever since the bastard Crawford had run across Brian and Siobhan in that restaurant in London, he had made Brian's life hell. Crawford had done a bit of local snooping, and it hadn't taken him long to discover that Brian's beautiful Irish dinner companion was the estranged wife of the Ambridge doctor – and that the cause of the estrangement had been an affair with a 'mystery' man, from which Siobhan had emerged pregnant and separated from her shocked husband.
Of course, Crawford had put two and two together – and made four! Since then, he had been able to exert his will on Brian on all decisions affecting Borchester Land, of which Crawford was chairman, and Brian was a member of the board of directors.
Brian had always loathed him, anyway – despite his wealth and power, he was a 'common' crude type of man. Brian wouldn't have been surprised to learn he had started life as a barrow-boy, or a second-hand car dealer, polishing up his natural Cockney accent to the pathetic Estuary English he affected these days.
Brian's wife, Jennifer loathed and despised Crawford, and made little secret of it. Brian had a shrewd idea that Crawford had 'tried his luck' with the cool, sophisticated Jennifer a couple of times, and had been told, in no uncertain terms, where to get off ......
As Crawford himself had said to Brian – "She looks at me as if I were the shit off her shoe, old man. Next time I see her, I hope you'll have persuaded her to treat me a bit more civilly – or I might just feel inclined to wipe the superior smile off her face by revealing your little secret ......"
Brian's blood had run cold as Crawford had grinned evilly at him, but he had nodded with apparent confidence. "Oh, that's just her way, Matt – but, I'll have a word with her."
"Good idea, Brian, old chap – tell you what – next time I'm in the area, you can have me round for dinner, and Jenny and I can get to know each other a bit better."
"Yes, of course," Brian had replied, intending no such thing, but he had reckoned without Crawford's crass nerve and, when Crawford's secretary had called a few days later to arrange a suitable evening, while Crawford was at a conference in Birmingham, he had been put on the spot ......
Jenny had protested, vehemently, but Brian had had to stick to his guns, and the arrangement had been confirmed. For a couple of days, Jenny had continually complained, but then seemed to have become resigned to the inevitability of it, and had gone quiet. She had even agreed to be as civil as she could, which Brian regarded as a major victory, and he was quite hopeful that the evening could turn out to be, if not enjoyable, quite tolerable.
As she descended the stairs, immaculate in her royal-blue, shot silk, wrap-around long dress, Jennifer's heart was pounding, furiously. If only ......
If only – what? If only she hadn't had that extra glass or two of Frascati at the Hunt Ball? If only she hadn't agreed to take a turn in the fresh air with her son-in-law, Simon, after they had danced together? It had been such an exhilarating dance, with him – he was, after all, such a charming man, with his easy manners and Canadian accent. And – it had been so thrilling to feel him against her. At first, she had thought it must be her imagination, but after a while there had been no doubt about it – he had an erection, and he was making no bones about letting her know it.
He stayed close to her for long periods, and he even moved it against her, his dark eyes smiling down into hers. She ought to have moved away but, somehow, it felt deliciously naughty, arousing her daughter's husband with her physical proximity. She thought about her daughter, Debbie, moaning and gasping passionately as the length of hard flesh Jennifer could feel, even now, pressed against her trim stomach, thrust between her opened legs, and the thought had set off a minor flood between Jennifer's own slim, graceful thighs.
Unconsciously, she had returned Simon's pressure, luxuriating in the feel of rotating her groin against his, and had smiled at him, conspiratorially. Oh, Debbie had better watch out tonight – little would she know, as Simon took her, quickly and roughly, that it was her own mother who had stoked up the fires ......
The music had stopped, and Jennifer had reluctantly eased away from her partner, flushed with her thoughts. His suggestion that they take a turn on the terrace, to get some air, had seemed like a good one – she needed to cool down, and to restore their relationship to its 'proper' footing. He retained possession of her hand as they strolled out through the French windows on to the terrace, and that seemed perfectly natural ......
It was a glorious midsummer night – the moon full and round in a cloudless sky. The air was still warm, and Jennifer could hear birds singing. Simon led her down the wide steps on to the lawn, and they took one of the avenues leading through the well-kept grounds. The avenue was flanked with bushes and tall trees, the leaves whispering in the slight breeze.
"You're a lovely dancer, Jennifer," Simon had said.
"Thank you," she replied, enjoying the warmth of his hand, holding hers, and occasionally brushing against her thigh as they walked together.
"In fact," he went on, "you're kinda lovely, altogether. No-one would believe you're Debbie's mother."
Jennifer laughed, softly. "Well, I did have her when I was quite young," she murmured, modestly. His hand left hers and slipped round her waist – it seemed only natural to return the gesture. Jennifer was feeling a little light-headed – the wine, and the music, and the dancing, she supposed. They'd soon have to turn back – she hadn't better leave Brian on his own for too long ......
The avenue widened out into a little tree-lined glade. The sound of the music from the ball was only barely discernible, and the lights from the hotel did not permeate this far. There was no exit from the glade – only the way they had come.
They stopped, and turned. Only – they turned in opposite directions and, for a moment, they were facing each other.
"Oops – sorry," giggled Jennifer. Startled by Simon's close proximity, she staggered a little, and he supported her instinctively, his hand round her waist, pulling her against him. Again Jennifer felt the hardness of his erection against him, and she let out an involuntary gasp.
Then both his hands were behind her, sliding over her hips, pulling her into him, grinding her against his tumescent penis. Jennifer closed her eyes, and pushed against his hardness. Her hands slid up the back of Simon's evening jacket and, as his mouth descended on hers, she kissed him, fiercely, passionately.
Somewhere, in the deepest recesses of her mind, the voice of her conscience was struggling to make itself heard, but her lips mashed against her son-in-laws', and her mouth opened to let his tongue slide in ......
His right hand slid up from Jennifer's gyrating bottom, and she groaned as it found her silk-encased breast, his fingers seeking out, and finding, her erect nipple. One of her hands pushed up into his thick, bushy hair, pulling his mouth harder against her own.
Jennifer felt the zip at the back of her dress slide smoothly down, then felt the cool air on her exposed breasts. Simon's hand quickly covered one of them, then she thrilled as his lips fastened on the other and his tongue teased her nipple with almost unbearable dexterity.
She leaned forward to kiss his exposed neck – and saw a shadow move among the trees, slipping away, through the bushes. It was like a dash of ice-cold water, and Jennifer pushed frantically at Simon's shoulders.
