Jacques drove up the suburban street in the late-afternoon sunshine, and checked the number of the house. Parking carefully in the driveway, he sat for a moment, thinking. How long was it since he and Francis had worked together? A quick calculation gave four years. He suddenly realised that Francis must be nearly forty, which in turn placed his wife at around twenty-eight, barely younger than Jacques himself. He got out of the car and rang the bell.
Marie-Béatriz opened the door, and saw a tall, slim young man, wearing frameless glasses, which gave him an intellectual air.
« Jacques? I’m Marie-Béatriz. Welcome »
Jacques looked at the woman in front of him. She was fairly tall, slim, with very short blonde hair. She was attractive, rather than stunning, but with dazzling green eyes which lit up her face. She was dressed in a short, dark blue sports skirt, and a lighter blue t-shirt, which clung sufficiently to tell him she wore no bra. 85B, he guessed, or 34 in English terms. Trying not to stare, he met her eyes and smiled.
« I’m pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a little from Francis about you. It’s nice to see you in the flesh, so to speak! »
« All I know about you is that you send him nude photos of women for his birthday, so we’re quits! »
They entered the house and Marie-Béatriz showed him into the lounge.
« Francis won’t be long. Would you like some tea? »
Jacques burst into laughter.
« I see you’ve adopted the local customs! You’ll lose your accent next! »
« I’m afraid that’s not likely! I only have to open my mouth, and voilà! Tea? Francis told me you don‘t drink coffee and it’s too early for anything stronger. See if there’s anything to watch on television while I play at housewives. »
When Francis walked in five minutes later, Jacques was absorbed in a skating exhibition on satellite.
« Stll admiring neat girl’s bottoms, I see! »
Francis had barely aged. His hair was a little shorter, making up for the fact that it was thinning, but he was slim and well-preserved. After the greetings, and a few questions on Jacques’ work in South America, the two men settled down on front of the television. Marie-Béatriz came in with the tray, just in time to hear Jacques say :
« Have you ever seen a more delectable bottom than Butrskaya’s? It’s like a peach! »
« Actually, I have. And it’s a lot nearer to home. Isn’t that true, Marie-B? »
His wife made no reply, but bent from the waist to put the tray on the low table. Her short skirt rode up and Jacques could not avoid the vision of a tightly muscled bottom, sexy despite being covered by a pair of fairly decent blue knickers.
« I see what you mean. Am I allowed to compliment you, Marie-Béatriz? You have a terrific body. »
« I work enough at it! Milk or lemon? »
She seemed determined that, despite the sexual energy she generated, Jacques should not get the wrong idea. As she sat opposite him, he could still admire the view. She sat sexily, her feet tucked under her, showing a lot of thigh, but not blatantly. Jacques decided that Marie-B was a tease, and got his own back by talking, mostly to Francis, about various South American girls with whom he had had adventures, and whose photos he had subsequently sent to Francis as birthday cards. Francis dug them out, and the two men went over them in detail, while Marie-B watched, torn between joining in, and keeping a little distance from all this male complicity.
Francis had booked for three at the restaurant for eight thirty, and Marie-Béatriz disappeared to get ready, while Francis and Jacques chewed the fat.
« She’s quite something! How long have you been married now? «
