Who Would Have Thought It?

Talk about moths to a candle! It had been less than a week since Henry's funeral and already Molly had had four phone calls and three visits from members of Henry's 'drinking gang'.

Don Taylor had been the first to phone. He had also been the first to visit. 'I was just down the road,' he said. 'I thought that I had better look in and make sure that you were remembering to eat and stuff like that.'

'Thank you, Don. That's very kind of you. And, yes, I am remembering to eat.'

Don Taylor had also bought a bottle of wine. An award-winning Sancerre. Molly noticed that it was already chilled.

'How are you?' Molly asked.

'I'm good. Yes. Good. Very good.'

'And Louise?' Molly asked.

'Umm ... Louise? Yes ... good. Yes. It's her book group tonight.'

'Oh?' Molly nodded. 'You don't participate?'

'Umm ... no. The book group ... it's a girl's thing. You know. A chance for them to get together and talk about whatever it is that girls talk about when they get together. I think that the books are just an excuse, aren't they?'

Molly Walden smiled and nodded again.

'And there's nothing you need?' Don said.

'Well, a decent night's sleep would be nice. But, apart from that ...'

'OK. Yes. Yes, of course. Well ... I just thought ... And if there's anything you do need, you know you just have to ask. You have my number.'

'Thank you, Don. I'm sure that it'll be in Henry's notebook. Henry never quite trusted electronic directories and stuff like that. He liked things written down. He was a funny boy like that. But then I'm sure you knew that anyway.'

Don Taylor was hardly out of the door when Pete Linden arrived. Pete was also carrying a bottle of wine. 'I thought that I'd just pop in and see how you were,' he said. 'Just say hello. You know.'

'That's very kind of you, Pete,' Molly said. 'I'm a bit tired, but, all things considered, I seem to be bumping along quite well.'

'Tired? Yes ... well ... these things can be a bit tiring, can't they?'

'So it would seem,' Molly said. 'And you?'

'Yeah. I'm OK,' Pete said. 'And are you ... umm ... eating properly?'

'Properly? Mmm. That might depend on your definition of properly,' Molly said. 'But, yes, as you can see, I'm in no danger of fading away - if that's what you're worried about.'

'Well ... not exactly worried,' Pete said. 'Just ... well ... you know. These things. Sometimes when ... well, you know. I know if I'm on my own ...'

Molly smiled.

'If you feel like a bit of light supper at some stage,' Pete said. 'Just something casual. A pizza maybe. Or The Carpenter's Arms. They do very good pub grub at The Carpenter's Arms. Have you tried it?'

'No,' Molly said. 'Henry used to like Finnigan's if he felt like a bit of pub grub. Bangers and mash in particular. He reckoned Finnigan's made the best onion gravy in London.'

'Oh, well ... perhaps one night. You know. I normally have to fend for myself on Tuesdays and Thursdays.'

'Thank you. I'll keep that in mind,' Molly said.

'Yes. Or Finnigan's,' Pete said.

By the time that Scott Duffy came knocking, it was a bit after 9:15. Molly had just added Don and Pete's unopened bottles of wine to the selection in the pantry, and she was about to have a quick shower and head for an early night. Scott didn't bother with wine. He arrived bearing a bottle of Scotch. Famous Grouse. 'I thought that you might be feeling a bit lonely,' he said.

'Lonely?' Molly laughed. 'Gosh, no. It's been like Paddington Station here tonight, Scotty.'

'Oh?'

'Half of London seems to be worrying that I'm not eating properly,' she said.

'Oh? Are you not?' Scott said with a slight frown.

'Oh yes. I'm remembering to strap on the nose bag at least twice a day.'

'Oh, good. Yes, good.' Scott unwrapped the bottle of Scotch. 'I, umm, thought that you might fancy a little nightcap,' he said.

Molly smiled and glanced at her watch. 'A lovely thought, Scotty. But I was just about to go to bed.'

'Not just a little one? Not just a wee tot to help you drift up the wooden hill?'

'Perhaps another day, Scotty.'

'Right. Well ... if you're sure.'

'I am,' Molly said. 'But thank you for popping in.'

Scott nodded. 'I'll leave this here then.' And he placed the bottle of Scotch on the kitchen table. 'Perhaps another night.'

In some ways, Molly wasn't surprised by all the attention. Henry had sort of warned her. 'You're going to be in demand, kid,' he said. 'Once I'm gone, you're going to have to fight them off with a big stick.'

'A big stick?' Molly had said. 'That sounds serious. And just so I know ... who is "them"?'

'Well, Marcus, for one.'

Molly laughed. 'Marcus? Never!'

'Oh yes. Marcus has always fancied you.'

'What about his wife?'

'I don't think that he and Nancy really get on that well. I mean ... they sort of share a house and a couple of kids, but that's about it. Separate lives. She has her friends, Marcus has his.' Henry had chuckled.' I'm sure that he will be more than happy to add you to his list.'

'Oh? Marcus has a few women friends, does he?'

'Nothing serious. At least not that I know of,' Henry had said. 'But ... well ... you know.'

Interestingly, at the end of Molly's first month as a widow, Marcus was just about the only one of Henry's drinking gang who hadn't been to visit her. Perhaps Henry had mis-read Marcus. Or perhaps Marcus already had 'a full dance card' (as Molly's mother used to say).

And then it was September, by convention the beginning of autumn, 'season of mists and mellow fruitfulness'. On the second Sunday of September - 'Don't want to close the door on summer too hastily,' Don Taylor would say each year - 'the gang', complete with their significant others, would gather for the Long Autumn Lunch. It had started out, several years earlier, as the Long Italian Lunch, but then Franco had retired and sold his restaurant to a Greek couple who had promptly abandoned most of the Italian dishes. Not that it really mattered. The main point of the long lunch was that it should be long and there should be plenty of wine.

In some ways Molly had been surprised that she had been invited. She had never considered herself to be a part of the gang. The gang was definitely a boys' thing. And while Molly sort of knew all of their significant others, it wasn't as if she was particularly close friends with any of them.

'Oh, you'll have to come,' Don Taylor said. 'Louise will never let me ... well ... you know. And you don't want to get on the wrong side of Louise. Well, I don't anyway.'

And so Molly had agreed to put in a guest appearance. 'Maybe I could just look in for a bit,' she said. 'Just to say hello.'

In was a beautiful day and Spiro had set up a table for them in the small courtyard to one side of the restaurant. 'Oh, yes. Perfetto,' Scott Duffy said. And then he corrected himself. 'Oh, no. That's Italian, isn't it? What's the Greek for perfect?'

Don Taylor frowned. 'Tele? Tele-something? Teleios, is that it? Something like that. I think. But don't quote me.'

There were eleven of them including Molly. And, at one end of the table, there was an empty place for Henry.

'Oh-oh. Henry has an empty glass,' Don said. 'That's not something you see very often.' And he took one of the bottles of wine and splashed a decent slosh of the pale straw-coloured liquid into Henry's glass. Then he lightly touched the glass with his own and raised his glass towards the sunny blue sky. 'Here's to you, old chap. Keep an eye on us, will you? Make sure that we don't get too untidy.'

'How untidy is too untidy?' Molly asked.

Don chuckled. 'Ask me again in about three hours' time,' he said.

Whether by design or accident, Molly had ended up sitting opposite Nancy Albright. 'How are you?' Nancy asked.

'Better than I expected to be,' Molly said. 'Yes, better than I expected to be. I miss him, of course.' She nodded in the direction of the empty place setting. 'But we had a few months to get used to the idea. In a funny sort of a way, that probably helped. I think that it would have been a lot worse if he'd just dropped dead without warning.'

Nancy nodded.

Lunch started with a meze platter: pita bread, stuffed vine leaves, chunks of crumbly white feta, fat black olives, spanakopita, deep-fried squid rings, and, of course, hummus.

'Are you still with that consultancy?' Nancy asked.

'Yes. Still at Carrington & Co. Although, of course, I don't actually dispense advice. I just tidy up the prose and the layout in the advisors' reports. Try to make them a bit more readable. There are some very clever people at Carrington's, but, when it comes to putting pen to paper, one or two of them have a serious talent for mangling the English language.'

Nancy nodded. 'All those people who have grown up using PowerPoint to write their reports.'

Molly laughed. 'Well, that certainly doesn't help,' she said. 'And what about you? Are you still at the library?'

'Part time now. I'm trying to do a Master's.'

'Oh? Good for you,' Molly said.

'Well, the girls will be off to uni soon, and I figured that I need to find a way to make myself employable for a few years yet.'

'Will you stay in the library sector?'

'Not sure,' Nancy said. 'Who knows? Everything's changing, isn't it? The government keeps telling us that we should retrain. But as what? For what? They are forecasting a shortage of fast-jet pilots, but I think that I might have left it a bit late for that.'

Molly laughed again.

One of the little traditions of the Long Autumn Lunch was that whenever a diner left the table for 'a pit stop' - or for any reason, really - one of the other diners took his or her place, and thus the seating arrangement changed throughout the afternoon. When Nancy left to 'powder her nose', her place opposite Molly was taken by Scott Duffy.

'How are you, Molly?' Scotty asked.

'Well, as you can see, I'm eating,' Molly said with a broad smile.

Scotty frowned.

'You were worried that I might not be eating when you called around a few weeks ago,' Molly said.

'Oh. Yes. Well ... you know.'

Molly had only intended to stay for a short while. But when the slow-roasted lamb with rosemary and garlic arrived, accompanied by roasted potatoes, and spinach and pine nuts, she thought that maybe she would stay just a little longer.

Before the afternoon was over, Molly got to chat with Marcus. It was a pleasant enough chat, but Molly certainly didn't get the impression that Marcus was making a play for her affections. Perhaps Henry had misread that one. 'Nancy was telling me that she's gone back to school,' Molly said.

'Umm ... yes,' Marcus said. 'She doing something in communication. Something like that. She says that it will help her to get a better job. To be honest, with her experience, I would have thought that if she wants a better job she only has to ask. But there you go. Bored, perhaps.'

'And are you still dealing drugs?' Molly asked.

Marcus laughed. 'Yes. Still at GSK. Still trying to discover the elusive wonder drug that will cure all that ails mankind.'

'And are you making progress?'

'Depends. Some days it feels as if progress is just over the horizon; other days it feels as if even the horizon itself is just an illusion. A mirage. It's a slow business, Molly. Always has been. Probably always will be. Still ... we box on with our fingers crossed.'

'That sounds rather uncomfortable,' Molly said, crossing her own fingers and taking a pugilistic stance.

Marcus laughed and took another swig of his wine.

It was about five o'clock by the time the group started to break up. Scott Duffy was in favour of leading a delegation to The Fox for a cleansing ale. Don Taylor said that he would join him. 'Just for a swift half.' The rest started talking about black cabs versus minicabs.

'I think I'll walk,' Molly said when Nancy asked her if she'd like to share a cab. 'Walk off some of the lunch.'

'OK. But we should catch up sometime,' Nancy said. 'Grab a glass of wine or something.'

'Yes. I'd like that,' Molly said. 'Let me give you my number.'

It was a couple of weeks later that Nancy called. 'I know it's a bit short notice,' she said, 'but I wondered if you might be available for that glass of something.'

'What? Now?'

'Well ... I'm not sure what time you usually finish, but yes.'

'Actually, I'm pretty much done for today,' Molly said. 'What are you thinking?'

'There's an All Bar One quite near your offices, isn't there?'

'Just around the corner,' Molly said.

'Well, that's fairly grown up.'

'It is. Give me a time.'

'Say half an hour?' Nancy said.

'I'll see you there.'

In a funny sort of way, Molly hadn't really expected to hear from Nancy. Not really. But she was glad that she had.

'This is a bit outside your pale,' Molly said, when they had found a table and now sat facing each other across a couple of glasses of Spy Valley Sauvignon Blanc.

'I had to meet a chap at The Wallace Collection. A bit of research for my thesis.'

'Marcus said that your degree has something to do with communication.'

'Sort of. Informing travellers in the age of the internet. The days when every self-respecting traveller relied on their trusty Baedeker or Michelin Guide have given way to Trip Advisor and Savvy Travelr. Clicks and ticks have taken over from those exquisite and well-informed mini essays. The ubiquitous paperback guide has largely given way to whatever screen the traveller has in his or her pocket.'

Molly frowned. But then she nodded.

'I'm looking at what the hotelier, the restaurateur, the destination or historic-site manager, has to do to get their message heard over the clatter of the real-or-otherwise thumbs-ups and thumbs-downs,' Nancy said.

'And?'

'And? Oh, I don't have an answer. Well ... not yet. In fact, I don't think I'm even close to an answer. I'm still trying to get my head around the question.' And Nancy laughed.

As the two women chatted and sipped their wine, they laughed a lot. Somewhat to her surprise, Molly found Nancy both erudite and entertaining. And Nancy certainly seemed to enjoy Molly's company. But, eventually, Nancy announced that she should be going. 'Make sure that the girls haven't burned the house down or anything like that.'

'Oh? Do they do that often?' Molly asked.

Nancy laughed again. 'This has been fun,' she said. 'We should do it again.'

'We should,' Molly said.

There was what might have been an awkward moment as they left the bar, each to go their separate way. But then they hugged. And Nancy gave Molly a gentle but slightly lingering kiss. Molly was a little surprised. But she didn't fight it.

'Soon,' Nancy called back, as she headed in the direction of the Bond Street Tube Station.

Soon came sooner than Molly expected. Molly had not long arrived at work on the following Monday morning when Nancy phoned to see if Molly might come and have supper with her on Tuesday evening. 'Just the two of us,' Nancy said. 'Marcus is off at some conference in The States. And the girls are away on a school trip to Normandy.'

'That would be very nice,' Molly said. 'Thank you. What can I bring?'

'Just yourself. I thought that we could have something simple. Fish perhaps. Do you like fish?'

'I do,' Molly said.

'Excellent,' Nancy said, and she gave Molly an address. 'It's about a three-minute walk from the Holland Park Tube Station. Five at the most.'

'I'm sure that I'll find it,' Molly said.

On her way to the Tube, Molly stopped off at the off licence and bought a bottle of wine. 'Something that will go with fish,' she told the young man who was restocking shelves. He suggested a New Zealand sauvignon blanc.

'Oh, Vicar's Choice,' Nancy said when Molly removed the wine from its bag. 'I'm not sure that I've ever tried that one.'

'Yes. I'm not sure what vicars know about wine - other than communion wine, that is - but the chap at Oddbins seemed to think it would go well with fish.'

'Well, New Zealand winemakers certainly seem to know what to do with sauvignon blanc grapes,' Nancy said.

'You sound as if you are a bit of an expert.'

'An expert? Oh, no. Far from it. But I did do a wine appreciation course last winter. And the woman who was leading it was a big fan of New Zealand sauvignon blancs. In fact, she was a big fan of New Zealand wines in general.'

For supper, Nancy cooked swordfish steaks with grated fresh ginger, garlic, and lemon zest. And then she served the steaks with pommes allumettes and steamed green beans with lightly toasted sliced almonds. The wine went with the swordfish perfectly.

'Perhaps when the robots take over the library, you could open a restaurant,' Molly said. 'I can't imagine a robot ever making anything half as nice as this.'

Nancy smiled. 'Ah ... but then I'd still need to work out how to navigate the Trip Advisor crowd,' she said.

'Well, you're working on that,' Molly said. 'One step at a time. I think get the master's out of the way first, and then you can think about the restaurant.'

Nancy smiled again.

Thinking about it later, Molly still wasn't quite sure how they went from the dining table to the bedroom. They had finished eating and there was still some wine left. Nancy had suggested that they take it through to the sitting room. But then, somewhere en route, they had both stopped, put down their wine glasses, and kissed. Molly remembered that it had felt very nice. And then Nancy had led Molly upstairs to one of the bedrooms.

'I've never done this before,' Molly said. 'You may have to give me instructions.'

Nancy laughed lightly. 'Yes. This is all a bit new to me too,' she said. 'I think we may just have to make it up as we go along.'

They kissed again, and then they started gently removing each other's clothes. And then, half undressed, they kissed again. 'This is nice,' Molly said. 'Yes. Very nice.'

Nancy nodded. 'It is. I somehow thought that it might be.'

Thinking about it later, Molly realised that, had she had time to think about it, she would not have done it. Not in a million years. But she hadn't had time to think about it. It had just happened. And she was glad that it had happened.

With both women now dressed in just their bras and knickers, Nancy threw back the duvet that was on the bed that dominated the room. 'Shall we?' Nancy said.

Molly smiled and nodded, and they both sat on the edge of the bed and kissed once more. And when they had kissed, Nancy gently pushed Molly back onto the bed and slipped her hand down the front of Molly's knickers.

'Pretty knickers,' Nancy said. 'But I think that they might have to go.'

'Oh? You think so?' Molly said.

'I do,' Nancy said.

Molly raised her bum, and Nancy slipped the pretty pink-and-dove-grey knickers down over Molly's hips, past her thighs, past her knees, and past her ankles. And then she returned her fingers to Molly's now-naked fur-covered mound. 'You really are beautiful,' Nancy said. 'You really are.'

Henry had been an expert at working Molly's 'pink bits' (as he had referred to them), but Nancy may have been another step up again. A woman's touch perhaps, Molly decided. Nancy knew exactly where the buttons were. And she knew exactly how to press them for maximum pleasure.

And then it was Molly's turn.

'I think that your knickers will also have to go,' she told Nancy.

'I thought you might say that.'

Molly had always loved it when Henry went down on her, exploring her with his tongue, licking and sucking and nibbling. She positioned herself between Nancy's spread thighs and began, tentatively, kissing Nancy's plumped-up labia. And then, as Nancy opened up, Molly really got down to her work. A disinterested observer would never have guessed that it was the first time that Molly had ever gone down on another woman.

'Oh, fuck, yes,' Nancy muttered. 'You have no idea how good that feels.'