Hi, the name's David and I'd like to relate a tale of something that happened last week; or perhaps it was something which only began last week?
My wife Judy and I met Bob and Maya while on holiday in Greece. We arrived at a quayside taverna thirty seconds apart and the restaurateur accidentally -- or perhaps not, the place was very busy -- assumed that we were all together and sat us at a single table. We saw the funny side of it, introduced ourselves and enjoyed a very pleasant meal together; so pleasant that we met for dinner twice more during that week.
That was more than twenty years ago and the friendship we formed on that holiday has lasted ever since, albeit at a distance. Bob and Maya live near London, in the south of England; while Judy and I live over two hundred miles north near Ripon. Bob and Maya have family in Scotland though and whenever they're driving up to visit them, they call in for a night and sometimes two at our place.
Conversely, their house is quite handy for the airports at Luton and Stanstead, so while we've never again holidayed together, Judy and I have often spent the night at their place immediately before or after a flight abroad. Additionally, my work takes me in that direction a few times each year and it's become the norm for me to stay the night with them rather than a hotel. Between times Judy and Maya enjoy -- as all women seem to do? - an hour or two gossiping on the phone once every couple of months.
Our cosy friendship was interrupted in the worst possible way ten months ago; Bob dropped down dead! He suffered a brain aneurysm while sat on the couch watching TV, with Maya discovering him there when she awoke the following morning; that's perhaps not a bad way to go, but preferably at ninety-five years old. Bob was a few years older than both Maya and ourselves, but it still hit hard and came as something of a wake-up call; Bob was only fifty-eight!
Judy and I went down for the funeral, but it was a large gathering and we had little opportunity to speak to Maya; we spent the night at a hotel nearby. Since then we'd not flown out of a southern airport and while Maya had been up to Scotland a couple of times, she now went by train, so had no reason or opportunity to visit. I'd been south for work a couple of times too, but I wasn't... comfortable about inviting myself to stay now it was only Maya.
Judy and Maya still spoke on the phone; if anything more often than they had previously and with hindsight, it was a couple of days after one of those girly-chats that the wheels were set in motion: Judy mentioned over breakfast having spotted that one of my overnight-business trips down south was marked on the calendar for a couple of weeks time and she suggested that I could perhaps visit Maya?
It was all very casual and Judy accepted why I might feel it inappropriate for me to stay at Maya's house, but suggested that I could at least take Maya out to dinner in the evening. I don't actually recall agreeing to my wife's proposal, but when I returned home that evening, I was met by a grinning Judy and the words: "Sorted! I've pimped you out for a hot date, with a leggy blonde... She's Dutch and we all know what those Dutch girls are like."
Maya wasn't actually from the Netherlands, but it was a long standing joke between the four of us. Maya's maternal grandfather had been a fisherman in Zandvoort, who early in the Second World War had stolen his boss' boat, loaded it with eighty-odd Dutch Jews and sailed across the North Sea to England. Maya's grandmother Ruth had been one of the people that he'd helped to escape; we'd seen photos of the lady and yes, Maya was the spitting-image of her grandmother.
Two weeks later saw me arriving at Maya's door and when she opened it my breath caught; Maya looked absolutely stunning. I was glad I'd made something of an effort myself as Maya had really pushed the boat out: A new and longer hairstyle since last I'd seen her, a green (silk?) sheath dress, which clung in all the right places and a pair of stiletto heeled sandals. OK, I could've done without those sandals; Maya's two or three inches taller than me to begin with, so that evening she towered over me.
I'd chosen a restaurant that we'd been to with Bob and Maya in the past. I knew it was good, that the owners knew Maya and might possibly remember me too; I didn't want any suggestion that this was anything other than two old friends sharing a meal together. I got the impression that Maya felt similarly, she made a point of speaking to everyone there whom she knew and of introducing me and explaining my presence to them too.
It was a cracking night out and though I'd made our table reservation quite early, we were still one of the last tables to leave. We might easily have been the very last had I not thought it better to ensure that some of Maya's neighbours saw what time I'd taken her home. The food was excellent and the wine -- though I only had the odd glass -- superb; we'd both enjoyed a pre-dinner G&T too. In further deference to the drink-drive laws, I took barely a sip of my brandy before passing it to Maya to finish, along with her own.
It was almost eleven o'clock by the time we reached Maya's and while I saw her to the door, my intention had remained -- though only just, it'd taken all of my self control! - to say our goodnights on the doorstep. Maya would have none of it, insisting that I 'come in for a coffee and sober up a bit' before driving the ten miles back to my hotel. I was stone cold sober, but when a lady asks, especially one wearing a dress like Maya's, it's hard to refuse.
That said, Maya gave me a reminder about propriety when she half-turned on the doorstep and waved toward the house across the road before explaining: "The nosey bitch who lives over there will be peering through her curtains and no doubt be 'just calling around in passing' tomorrow morning to enquire as to who my Gentleman Caller was" Maya was laughing as she said it and I couldn't resist joining her... and giving a small wave of my own.
Maya directed me toward the lounge as she headed into the kitchen to brew the promised coffee; when she joined me a few minutes later, besides the coffee pot there were two more brandies sat on the tray. As Maya was pouring the coffees, I gently reminded her that I had to drive; that garnered an enigmatic smile, followed by. "Well, waste not want not." whereupon Maya drank one brandy straight down; that was perhaps the first moment that I... wondered.
After passing me a coffee Maya settled on the opposite end of the couch with the second brandy glass in her hand; a few seconds later she lifted her feet from the floor and swivelled around to plonk them in my lap, pleading "Unfasten those for me please, David. It's been ages since I've worn high heels and my feet are killing me."
I did as Maya asked while suggesting that those heels couldn't have caused her feet any more discomfort as they'd caused to my neck. Maya was silent for several seconds until understanding dawned on her face; girlish laughter followed and then a crooned "Of course, that explains it David... It was because of your neck getting cricked so badly, that your eyes were constantly dropping to my cleavage."
