Richard had not been immediately welcomed into 'The Close'. He had been tolerated. Tolerated because of his marriage. Richard's fortune came from dirty money. Dirty in that he made things. He had started as a blacksmith. He now made a lot of things in iron and ferrous metals. He was not always neatly dressed. He didn't wear a suit to work. His tone was often brusque or common, he very rarely mixed his words. It was felt he had married above his station, he quite frankly lowered the tone.
His wife Helen however was well respected. She was old money an intelligent, accomplished lady in many varied fields. She was a partner to a firm of Solicitors. A golf and bridge player, an amateur horse rider whose seat was of international renown. She trained and bred horses as a hobby. Her contacts were moneyed powerful people. Many inhabitants of the mock Georgian houses in the labyrinthine estate had swallowed their pride to network the couple. Forcing themselves to ingratiate Richard as well.
As they lovingly polished the family Mercedes on a Sunday morning or herded their children into the 4x4, he saw the looks cross the close. Saying he shouldn't be there at all. He knew they watched and waited by their plastic columns, gossiped on their neatly trimmed lawns, about the time he would fall from grace and they would see the back of him. No one was ever impolite, but he could see the distrust in their eyes. As an anonymous hardworking man he was either a crook or a profiteer, no decent man made money from his hands.
He could almost hear the cheer rise from behind the double glazed windows, when Helen left their family home. He expected to see the banners and bunting out to send him on his way. To the chagrin of the community he didn't. It was his work and investment, which paid for the place, he was too busy to look for somewhere else. So they contented themselves with barbed comments, whilst the ladies gossiped of his allegedly poor performance, and the insignificance of his physique.
Richard had not intended staying on the estate. It had been Helen's wish to move there in the first place. However knowing of the hostility towards him, made him more resolute to remain. Helen's departure had been painful to him. The first real failure he had ever encountered. With the collapse of his private life, his business perversely continued to flourish. However the continual comments and animosity made it more difficult for him to take pride in his success.
Until he met Natalie, a petite woman, with the lungs of a giant, who took delight in chorusing her pleasure across the night. At first Richard was embarrassed by her encouraging groans and moans. Soon he became as excited as she, by her theatrical throes of passion. The loud cries of admiration for his strong muscular physique, were always the prelude for his entry into her body. His embarrassment transformed into renewed confidence. He took delight on summer evenings of opening all the windows, so that everyone could share his sexual exploits into the early hours.
As the summer wore on he found himself being approached in the pub, or at his car. There were mumbled hints. His neighbours had heard strange sounds in the night. Had he heard anything too? Perhaps he should consider drawing his windows in case he should be disturbed. They knew how hard he worked. As a man who lived by his manual labour, he must need his rest. It would be terrible if his sleep were disturbed. No one was ever going to tell the truth. No one was going to complain. He could see the envy, the looks of admiration, even a hint of camaraderie. He had become the local rogue, the slightly wicked chap they all aspired to be.
Richard ceased to bother about his neighbours, or more importantly what they thought. Natalie would be invited over for Saturdays or Sundays, when everyone was in the garden. Whenever the neighbours had family over for a barbecue. He would watch, the brief note of admiration, followed by a jar of horror, as they scurried around for music, anything that would drown out the noise of Natalie. He would watch them on a Sunday morning, whilst he and Natalie performed. They'd all be whirring with their lawn mowers attentive to the sound.
The summer wore on. Richard saw Natalie less. He felt the neighbours had learnt their lesson. He could now return to life in peace. His expanding business was demanding more of his time he had little left for recreation. No matter how pleasurable Natalie was.
He had just settled down to a Friday evening takeaway, when the bell rang. He was surprised to see Annie from across the road standing at his door.
'Forgive the intrusion, but do you have a moment?' Annie said gliding into the hallway.
She stood by the entrance to the lounge. Richard closed the front door and indicated she should go through. The tray with his takeaway sat on the coffee table, whilst an action film clattered and exploded across the television screen in front of the chair. Richard silenced the film inviting Annie to sit on the sofa opposite him.
'Would you care for a drink? Tea, coffee, wine?' he questioned congenially.
Annie eyed the plate of Chinese food, apologising for the interruption.
'It's okay, I'll reheat it later. What about the drink?'
Annie requested wine. Richard returned with a chilled glass of Chardonnay, the remaining bottle in a freezer sleeve placed on the table between them. He quickly cleared away his tray, and collected a second glass to join her.
'Is your friend coming over this weekend?' Annie asked looking at Richard.
'No.' Richard replied warily, wondering what prompted the question.
'Forgive me asking but is she likely to be coming again soon?' Annie fidgeted. A faint blush coming to her cheeks.
'I'm sorry, I didn't mean it how it sounds. What I was asking was'
'Will she be visiting me again.' Richard completed the sentence for Annie.
Annie dipped her head. She had coloured slightly, the flush of red that first tinged her cheeks, was now spreading across from her neck to her collarbone. Richard decided to be cautious with his replies. The questioning had been unexpected. He tried to discern the motives of Annie's conversation but now found himself distracted.
Annie drank heavily from the glass of wine. He noticed her fingers trembling. The pink flush had now covered her face, spreading out to the concealed edge of her breasts. Annie was a woman in her late thirties, everything about her was round. Not fat or plump, just round. He could see through the lightweight cotton of her flower print dress, the round of her hips, her thighs, her breasts, a series of ellipses tapering down. From beneath the edge of her dress, her dimpled knees led down to a pair of short curved calves tiny feet with painted nails.
'I just wondered when she might visit you again.'
'Is there a problem?' Richard returned his gaze to her face.
Annie's eyes darted about, flicking from him to the furnishings in the room.
