Two days later, Mrs Hendry arrived for Tim's next scheduled visit. She was carrying a large plastic bag containing the dance outfit she had borrowed from his deceased wife's extensive wardrobe.
'Thank you so much Mr Symonds. My hubby was very appreciative! I'll just drop these things in the laundry basket, ready for the next wash.'
Tim's gaze was as usual drawn to her voluptuous figure as she left the hallway. Naturally, his perverted mind was immediately preoccupied by thoughts of dirty washing; by his wife's dirty panties in the laundry basket.
She returned. 'No tests for you today, Mr Symonds,' she giggled, 'I think I'll tackle your wife's bedroom next; let in some fresh air and freshen things up shall we?'
Without waiting for his approval, she again turned on her heel and headed upstairs.
Tim was left on his own, sitting in the drawing room, attempting unsuccessfully, to concentrate on his daily newspaper. It was over an hour later that his carer reappeared.
'I've found some lovely framed photos in one of your wife's cupboards, Mr Symonds. They must have been taken at her dancing competitions. Here, look.'
She spread out five photos, showing his gorgeous wife, in various dance poses; each with a different, handsome, younger man.
'She was very attractive, wasn't she? I Like this one - see the date? she must have been well into her fifties when that was taken. I'll bet she didn't have any difficulty finding willing dance partners! Just look at those legs!'
'Err, yes, she would have been 58 then. I haven't seen these before.' replied Tim.
'These photos should be on show. I'm going to put them up around the house, so you can be reminded of your beautiful wife.'
Tim groaned inwardly. It was almost as if Mrs Hendry relished the idea of bringing him disturbing memories and thoughts of his marriage. Nevertheless, despite his anguish, the undeniably sexy shots of his wife, clinging to virile young men, brought yet another disturbance in his trouser department.
She made a point of trying the pictures in a variety of positions, ensuring that Tim could not avoid these disturbing images. For the time being, he was content to watch her long curvaceous legs as she fussed about the room.
'Right, back to work! Let's see what else I can find,' she said as she left him alone with his troubled, perverted thoughts.
Later, over lunch, Mrs Hendry questioned Tim further about his marriage and his work. She went on to describe some of her other 'clients'.
'Some of them would like to have what you might call 'extras', Mr Symonds. 'One or two of them are very persistent, I can tell you; but, what would my boss say? What would my husband say?'
'Oh, yes, I see, it must be difficult for you,' gulped Tim.
Mrs Hendry continued: 'You see, some of my gentlemen have certain 'interests'; I think they're called 'fetishes'. They like to talk to me about them. Of course, I was a bit reluctant at first.'
'Well, yes, it is a very personal topic. It must be embarrassing for you.' said Tim.
'No, not embarrassing exactly, not when I got used to it. In fact I got quite interested really, and they do seem to appreciate my attention. So, rather than use up the time I have for their cleaning and cooking and shopping, I can add an extra hour or two, mainly just to sit and listen, you understand. Of course I have to charge a bit extra. Cash in hand. £50 per hour. Might you be interested in an extra hour sometimes, Mr Symonds?
'Ah, well, err, really, I'm not sure, you see, I...'
Mrs Hendry interrupted, 'No need to make you mind up straight away, Mr Symonds. Why don't I finish tidying your wife's room. You can wash the dishes and we'll have another little chat later.'
With that, Tim was left alone again, conflicted, aroused. He heard the vacuum start into action upstairs and reluctantly went into the kitchen to take care of the dishes, all the while, struggling to keep his mind on the task in hand.
His carer was in his wife's bedroom, not vacuuming, but looking through the drawers. She smiled to herself as she contemplated the next stage in her 'plan'. She was well aware of Tim's predilections, having found, last week, stored under his bed, more than thirty copies of a magazine called 'Leg Show'. She hadn't come across this particular publication before, but was left in no doubt about the interests of its readership, once she'd perused a few issues.
Eventually, the vacuuming noise stopped and Tim heard footsteps on the stairs.
Mrs Hendry appeared at the kitchen door.
'Well, that's all finished. I suppose I'd better be getting home now; unless there was anything else? Did you think things over, Mr Symonds?'
Poor Tim had thought of nothing else.
