Can newly-widowed Amelia fix her problems by getting a man in?
1. The Widow
Amelia Danvers-Smith was a happy woman. Sufficient time had elapsed since the passing of her workaholic husband that she could finally shed the cloak of bereavement and the not-inconsiderable responsibilities of closing down his business affairs, which were wider-ranging than he had ever deigned to let on. In fact, her early estimates of the value of his estate, which was all coming to her, were nearly an order of magnitude below the reality. In short, she had been left an extremely wealthy widow.
It had taken her some while to get used to the idea of simply 'getting someone in' to do whatever needed to be done -- mundane chores, redecorating, maintenance of her large house, garden, and car, etc. And browsing luxury cruise brochures had now become one of her primary obsessions. However, something else was fast becoming a more pressing requirement, and Amelia was currently at a loss regarding its resolution.
Making love with her husband had been a reasonably regular, if not spectacularly exciting, event. Such activity was now, of course, off the domestic agenda. One thing Amelia definitely did not want, was to start any new relationships -- she had got her house round, and life outside organised to near perfection. In view of her financial situation, she needed to beware fortune-hunters, and neither was she swayed by the idea of suitors offering her more wealth and security. All a conundrum to be solved, because what she really missed was, to put not too fine a point on it, sex.
On one of numerous shopping trips to London, she had bought up half a sex-shop, or so it seemed. Back at home, she soon discovered that the expensive so-called sex-aids were no more than over-priced, mass-produced rubber or plastic moulds, or vibrating devices which offered nothing more than would the body of her own electric toothbrush. There was no interaction, eroticism, surprise behaviour, conversational foreplay... any or all of which relied on a human partner.
On the principle that she could afford to 'get a man in', she fancifully perused the small ads in the regional free newspaper, the back pages of 'Country Life Magazine' and her local parish gossip monthly publication. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing remotely fitting the bill. But everything is available on-line, or so she had been told, so as a final resort, she turned to the Internet, that modern-day Cupid, to fix up her sex life.
2. The Man with a Van
Amelia was apprehensive. Had she been over-confident that this new venture would be nothing more than a purchase, liable to prove good value, or otherwise, and of no significant consequence either way? Years of being the sub-dominant partner in her marriage had suppressed any assertiveness in her nature, and now she was nervous like a teenage girl awaiting the arrival of her first date.
The World-Wide-Web had duly delivered a result, and one claiming relevance for all Hertfordshire, which is a big county. "Ladies, a certain age? Stuck at home?" the blurb had said. "Why should the young have all the fun? Be pampered. Be spoilt. Let us cater for your every whim. And we mean 'every'. Punctuality, courtesy, discretion, and above all, satisfaction, absolutely guaranteed. For a tailored personal therapy package, ring 'All Yours' for more details..."
She had rung. The woman who answered the phone explained the operation of the agency, the booking procedures and the tariffs. There was no explicit reference to sexual services, nor were terms like escort or gigolo mentioned. But serious callers could be left in no doubt what was actually on offer. Amelia was taken aback by the prices -- it seemed to her less expensive seeing a Harley Street consultant. But maybe the high charges were a reflection of the exacting standards demanded by a select clientele. And Amelia could afford it.
The first guaranteed attribute was about to be tested -- punctuality. Time was almost due for Amelia's visiting operative. "Oh no," she exclaimed to herself, spotting a white van pulling into her drive and stopping outside the front door. She hurriedly checked the calendar which hung in her kitchen. No other appointments were recorded for this day. Maybe the driver had got the wrong address. She needed to get rid of him before the 'All Yours' man arrived. In a fluster, and aware that she had dressed rather more provocatively than would be normal for a Tuesday afternoon at home, she answered the door. "Are you sure you've got the right..." she began.
"Hello. Mrs Danvers-Smith? All Yours," the man announced.
"Ah..." Amelia was stopped in her tracks.
The man, observing that she was looking quizzically at him, and his van, explained. "The van? It's a little subterfuge we use. Just in case a client has a nosy neighbour. Gives the appearance of a routine service call."
"Oh, OK. Very thoughtful. Good idea... er... please come in."
The man deposited his hold-all in the hallway. Amelia wondered what might be in it, should it be anything other than just an additional prop for his workman disguise. They went through to the lounge.
"Would you like a coffee? Something stronger, maybe?" she suggested.
"It would be a delight sharing coffee with you, Mrs Danvers-Smith. Strong, black, no sugar, if you wouldn't mind." He was a model of good manners -- unusual for a man of his years -- about thirty, Amelia guessed. Tall, with long wavy fair hair, clean-shaven and with unblemished complexion, he gave the impression he spent hours at the gym, but at the same time had a slightly effeminate side. She wondered if he was bi-sexual, but was not going to ask. "Have yourself a gin and tonic or something, by all means, Mrs Danvers-Smith. In which case I'll join you, but just a tonic for me. No alcohol if I'm going to be..."
"Fucking?" Amelia finished off his sentence, clumsily attempting to break the ice.
"Er... driving."
For the first time in years, Amelia found herself blushing.
