This story, my first effort, is affectionately dedicated to a very special lady from the South (USA), without whose inspiration it would not have been conceived.
The story gets off to a very slow start. Readers who are purely interested in the 'sexy bits' should probably jump to Chapter 6. I hope, however, that there are a few people out there who like a long, slow build-up with a bit of fore-play.
Chapter 1: The Encounter
At last, the Scottish weather had relented. After what seemed almost constant rain throughout March and April, the spring sunshine had finally appeared, and George found it a pleasure to drive the eight miles through the Border hills to the Bridge Club that Monday evening. The trees were resplendent in the soft, fresh green shades of early May, birds were singing and the lambs were now playing in the fields rather than huddling for shelter behind the dry-stone walls. Swallows flew high in the cloudless sky, promising a continuation of the fine weather.
George parked his red BMW 528 in front of the large country-house hotel where the Bridge Club met, and made his way to the clubroom. He smiled a greeting to the secretary, selected a card to determine the table at which he and his partner would start, and looked around the room. He saw the usual selection of members – middle class, middle aged or older - pleasant enough people, but unexciting. He looked at the card he had drawn – Table 3, North-South.
"How many tables this evening, Mary?" he asked the secretary.
"Seven – three boards per table, so twenty-one boards to be played. The coffee-break will be after twelve boards."
He made his way to Table 3, in the corner by a window. Tony, his regular partner, had not yet arrived – he lived near the hotel, and usually arrived just before the starting time of 7pm. George selected the North seat, from which he had a good view of the whole room, and sat down. At least, he thought, with North-South seats he and Tony would not have to move after every three boards.
Not for the first time that day, George reflected on his current life. Six months ago, he had been working regularly seventy to eighty hours a week, running his own business, which he had built up from nothing over twenty-five years to an annual turnover in excess of thirty million pounds. Then, last October, he received an offer from his main competitor to buy his company. George knew that he would require considerable investment and re-structuring to remain competitive, and at the age of forty-eight had lost any enthusiasm for going through again the routine of preparing business plans to lay before banks and other investors. 'I suppose this is what they call a mid-life crisis,' he wryly thought to himself. He knew he was getting stale, and he needed a break. He retained 10% of the shares, and negotiated a non-executive seat on the board of the holding company, but sold the remaining shares to his competitor for a sum sufficient to keep him in comparative luxury for the rest of his life. However, he had not found easy the transition from workaholic to man of leisure. It worried him that these twice-weekly outings to the local Bridge Club were becoming the high-points of his life.
His East-West opponents arrived and took their seats. George settled into the usual trivial chat about the weather, the state of the roads, the weekend TV programmes, all the while watching the door for Tony's arrival. 'God! What have I come to?' he thought to himself. 'I can't continue like this – I need to get hold of my life! I need to sit down and decide where I want to go from here!'
Then he saw her! Morag, one of the regular members, a friendly out-going lady of about forty-five, came through the door. With her was a stranger – petite, about 5' 2", early thirties, very slim, minimal make-up, smartly dressed in a plain navy suit with short skirt, well-groomed dark brown (almost black) hair cut short, and a self-confident manner. Heads turned to look at the new arrival. Morag introduced her to the secretary, and then the stranger smiled. It was as if the sun had suddenly blazed from behind a dark cloud. Her eyes sparkled and twinkled, her lips parted to reveal immaculate white teeth, and two charming dimples appeared on her unblemished cheeks. 'Mmm,' thought George, 'she certainly brightens up the place. I wonder who she is.'
Morag drew a card from the secretary, and she and her partner moved towards Table 7. George noticed with pleasure that they took up the East-West positions. After every three boards, the East-West pairs would all move in a clockwise direction; Morag and her partner therefore would reach Table 3 after the first nine boards had been played, and George would have an opportunity to meet the stranger.
Tony arrived at 6.58 as usual, and almost immediately, the club president called the room to order. Following club tradition, he started by introducing guests and new members. "I'm sure we will all extend our usual friendly welcome to Sylvie Mann. She has recently moved to Melkirk, and I hope she will become a regular member."
The members broke into applause, and the stranger rose to her feet and acknowledged the greeting with a small bow. Once again, her radiant smile lit up the room.
'Melkirk!' thought George. 'I wonder whereabouts in Melkirk she lives. I haven't noticed her in the town, and I'm sure I wouldn't have missed her if she'd passed by!'
The hotel where the club met was roughly equidistant from three Border towns, of which Melkirk was the smallest, and drew its members from all three towns and from the various villages in between. George himself lived in Melkirk.
Play started. George found it more difficult than usual to concentrate on the cards. His eyes kept wandering in the direction of Table 7, and to the lady sitting in the East position. She sat erect, but relaxed, and appeared confident in her play. As she concentrated on the cards, tiny furrows appeared on her brow, and her tongue protruded slightly between her lips. Her skirt had ridden up slightly, and George noted with approval a perfectly formed knee, and the promise of a shapely thigh. He noticed, now, a wedding ring on her left hand.
'Concentrate on the cards!' he said to himself, and dragged his attention back to his own table.
The first nine boards passed without much excitement. George felt that Tony and he were playing well; they had bid all the makeable games, and no slams had been missed. After every three boards, the new member came closer. Finally, after the ninth board, she and Morag approached Table 3.
"Tony, George," said Morag, "may I introduce Sylvie Mann. I think she is a near-neighbour of yours, George!"
Again, that smile broke out on Sylvie's face. In close-up, it was even more striking – an all-enveloping smile, exuding warmth. George extended his hand, and she took it in a warm, firm grasp.
"Very pleased to meet you," he said. "Whereabouts in Melkirk do you live?"
"My husband and I bought Croftbank and moved in last month," she replied, in a soft mellifluous voice, with a slight foreign accent.
"Oh, yes, I know the house. It's about 200 yards from mine. I trust you are well settled in now."
"Yes, thank you. And, so far, we are finding Melkirk very pleasant."
They settled down to play the next hand. George looked at his cards – one queen and one jack, but nothing else of note. His bidding would not be difficult. He studied Sylvie over the top of his hand. Her dark brown eyes glinted, and widened. It seemed she had a good hand of cards!
From close up, she was a little older than he had at first thought – perhaps thirty-five or thirty-six. Her intelligent face, with its high cheekbones, was perfectly framed by her near-black short hair. She wore little jewellery – plain gold earrings, a discrete gold necklace with matching bracelet, a gold Cartier watch, plain gold wedding ring, and an engagement ring (a modestly sized emerald encircled with diamonds). George did not recognise her perfume – subtle, fresh, with a musky undertone. Her plain navy suit fitted perfectly; the silk scarf loosely knotted around her shoulders was by Salvatore Ferragamo, as were her black mid-heeled shoes and matching handbag.
