I didn't go home that weekend. A change of clothes was not required since we spent the entire time either sitting watching the view, eating or making love.
The love making was by turns gentle and soft and fast and furious. The food was good and the sitting together was (find the right word, Debs) intimate. I occasionally asked her where this was going and she would only tell me to be patient, to, in her words, "contain my soul in patience." This was not, I admit, easy. I was intrigued by her. I knew little about her except that she was obviously wealthy, did not work, had no pets and did not reveal much of herself to me, emotionally at any rate.
On the Sunday afternoon she called me a cab and with enormous reluctance I left and went home to all the things I had really had to do on Friday evening. As I left she said, "I will call you, I promise. Don't call me. I have a few things to resolve and then, well, we'll see."
Was that enough for me? No, of course it bloody wasn't. Did I remonstrate? Don't be silly.
*
Monday came as a bright, warm Indian summer day. I dressed for work and, eventually, persuaded my ancient Ford to start. I drove into town and faced another day trying to persuade people to use the advertising agency that I work for, trying to have them believe that my hugely witty and penetrating straps would sell their bubble bath or can openers better than anyone else. Trivial it may be to some, but, to be honest, I love it and the people I work with are brilliant. My colleague, Teri, was in the throes of divorcing her husband and we spent far too much time discussing her strategy and her feelings. Greg, the boss, has long held a candle for Teri and she feared that her "freedom" might encourage him, as she put it, "to wiggle his candle where it's not wanted!"
The cry, "Candle alert" became our equivalent of "cave canem."
Teri's preoccupation with her own troubles did not dull her perception.
"OK, dyke," she always called me that and we both knew I didn't mind." So, who is she?" So I told her about the enigma that is Julie. I didn't share some aspects of her. Submission is not a subject with which Teri is acquainted. But I did tell her that I was interested, as in very interested and that I was loving this new relationship. Over lunch she questioned me more fully and I, for my part, took a genuine interest in her divorce and her musings about the man who lived two floors below her in her block of flats.
After work I drove home. I got there around 8, another long day.
There was an unstamped envelope lying on my doormat. I couldn't read the writing because there was also a cat sitting on it looking extremely cross and hungry. I closed the door, hung my coat and fed the cats. I'd almost forgotten the note until I had poured myself a stiff G+T and settled to read the paper. I saw it, still on the mat and picked it up. The addressee was, simply, "Debs."
I opened it and there was a piece of card. It had a scalloped edge, bordered in silver and said, "Julie would like you to join her for a country weekend beginning this Friday through until Sunday afternoon. No reply is necessary. If you can make it, there are more details to follow. If it is not possible, Julie will understand."
Did I tell Teri that Julie was enigmatic?
Tuesday followed my usual working pattern. There was no further information. I did try calling Julie but there was no answer.
On Wednesday there was another envelope and this time the cats had to wait while I read it. It gave the address of a country house not too far away, a time for Friday evening and some instructions as to dress.
