I New Her as Sandy

I knew her as Sandy. Although what name was printed on her driving licence and her passport, I have no idea. She had a hint of an accent. And she mentioned in passing -- quite early in the piece -- that she had spent much of her childhood in Normandy. So perhaps her real name was Sandrine. When my sister's children were younger, my sister had an au pair named Sandrine. My sister's family always called her Sandy. She also came from Normandy.

I first met Sandy at a party to celebrate Christina's 30th birthday. Christina had been my assistant when I was working in publishing. She was quite a bit younger than me. We had both moved on, but we had remained friends. 'Sandy is looking for a new job,' Christina told me. 'She has a degree in some kind of marketing.'

'Is there such a thing?' I was tempted to ask. Perhaps it was my father's influence, but I had never been a big believer in vocational degrees.

'The brand consultancy for whom Sandy currently works, are moving -- lock, stock, and barrel -- to Manchester,' Christina said. 'But Sandy wants to stay in London. If she can. We're putting the word out.'

'Right. Well, nothing immediately springs to mind,' I said. 'But I'll keep an ear to the ground.'

I ran into Sandy and Christina again a few days later at The Blue Parrot. 'How is the job hunt going?' I asked Sandy.

She made a little rocking motion with her open hand. 'I had a meeting with a head hunter this afternoon,' she said. 'She thinks that I should just move to Manchester and be done with it. She says that Manchester is the place to be.'

'Oh?'

'Yes. Not sure why. But anyway... I don't want to go to Manchester. I like it here in London.'

The ladies' glasses were almost empty. 'Same again?' I asked.

'Nice thought, but I need to be going,' Christina said.

For a moment or two, Sandy looked as if she too was going to cut and run. But then she seemed to change her mind. 'Yeah. OK,' she said. 'Thank you. Why not?'

'What is it? Dry white?'

Sandy nodded. 'Just the house wine. Thank you.'

Christina bade us farewell, and I went up to the bar in search of a large glass of the house white for Sandy and a pint of Pedigree for me.

'Do you live in London?' Sandy asked when I returned with the drinks. 'Or are you a commuter? Essex or somewhere?'

'Bloomsbury,' I said.

'Oh. Gosh. Right here in the heart of things.'

'Well... the heart of some things anyway.'

'When I first moved to London, I had a chance to live in Marylebone,' Sandy told me. 'A flat share with a friend of a friend. Really handy. One of those streets between Marylebone High Street and Baker Street. But, in the end, I decided to live closer to the university.'

'Oh? Which one?'

'Which university? Greenwich. That's where I did my degree.'

'Oh. Yes. I think Christina may have mentioned that you have a degree in some kind of marketing.'

'You don't sound as if you approve.'

'Approve? Hey... what do I know?' I said. 'I have a master's in art history.'

Sandy frowned. 'Greenwich was the first university to offer a degree in marketing communications,' she said, somewhat defensively.

I was about to suggest that that was presumably back in the days before it was a proper university. Back in the days when it was the Woolwich Polytech or whatever. But I decided to bite my tongue.

'How did you go from art historian to property developer?' Sandy asked.

'My grandmother died, and then I met a chap in a pub,' I told her. 'We ended up having dinner.'

'Really?'

'Pretty much.'

Sandy's frown just got deeper.

'Look, I didn't get time for lunch today,' I told Sandy, as the level in our drinks went down. 'Care to join me for a bit of a snack? There's a little Italian place. Nothing very flash. But the fare is rather reliable. Tuscan mainly. And the people are nice.'

For a moment or two, Sandy said nothing. And then she smiled. 'Why not?' she said.

La Casa Bella was only a short walk from The Blue Parrot.

'Buona sera. Table for two?' Gina said as we entered. And she subtly looked Sandy up and down, and smiled. I guess the fact that Sandy must have been about 15 years my junior might have had something to do with it.

'Buona sera and grazie,' I replied.

The restaurant was quite busy. But Gina led us to a table and removed the Reserved sign.

'Well, that was pretty painless,' Sandy said, when Gina had seated us and gone off to get a couple of glasses of Prosecco. 'I take it that you are a regular here.'

'I suppose so,' I said. 'For one reason or another, I do seem to end up here about once a week. It's rather convenient.'

Sandy smiled and nodded.

Gina returned with a couple of glasses of Prosecco and a small basket of straight-from-the-oven pizza bread. 'Do you need menus?' she asked.

'I don't think so,' I said. 'We'll just leave it up to Franco.'

Gina nodded. 'Lamb, perhaps? With rosemary? Oh... and we have new season's asparagus. Grilled. With garlic.'

I looked at Sandy, whose eyes lit up.

'Done,' I said.

Gina headed off to the semi-open kitchen and I raised my glass in a toast. 'To Manchester,' I said. 'Even though you prefer London.'

Sandy nodded. 'What is it they say? The devil you know?'

'There's an element of that, isn't there?' I said. 'I sometimes think about moving to the country. The Cotswolds or somewhere like that. But then I think: No. I think I'd miss London. At least I'd miss parts of London. I don't know... perhaps when I can afford to semi retire. Maybe I could just come up to London a couple of days a week. The best of both worlds.'

Sandy laughed.

Sandy and I had a very pleasant hour or so at La Casa Bella. The lamb and the asparagus were both brilliant. But it was Sandy's company that made things really special. Had I not been catching an early train to Bruges the following morning (to help my sister celebrate a milestone birthday), I might have suggested that Sandy come back to the flat for a nightcap and whatever might follow.

It was a couple of weeks later that I next put in an appearance at The Blue Parrot. Christina was there, sitting all by herself at a table near the door. 'Hello,' I said. 'Have all your little playmates abandoned you?'

Christina laughed. 'Just waiting for George,' she said. (George was Christina's on-again off-again boyfriend.)

'Then perhaps I can keep you company until he arrives. A glass of dry white?'

'Thank you,' she said.

I grabbed a bottle of Pinot Gris and a couple of glasses and took them back to Christina. 'How's your friend Sandy going with her job hunt?' I asked.

'She's gone.'

'Gone?'

'She caught the train to Manchester a couple of days ago.'

'Oh? I thought she was keen to stay in London.'

'She was. But it seems the opportunities here were somewhat limited. She decided to give Manchester a go. See how it works out.'

'Oh, well.' I raised my glass. 'To Sandy,' I said. 'And all who sail in her.'

Christina smiled. 'She said that you two had supper.'

'Umm... yes. We might have shared a crust or two,' I said. 'Just casual. You know.'

Christina nodded and smiled again. And then George arrived and, after 20 minutes or so, I left Chistina and George to what was left of the wine and made my way home.

It must have been about six weeks later that Christina phoned to say that Sandy was going to be in London the following week. 'She's suggesting that we get together for a bit of supper. Perhaps at your favourite Tuscan place.'

'La Casa Bella?'

'Is that what it's called? Charlotte Street. Sandy seemed quite impressed when you took her there.'

'Not grand,' I said. 'In fact far from grand. But simple and reliable. Would you like me to get Gina to keep us a table?'

'I can do that,' Christina said. 'Although since you know them....'

'Give me a day and a time,' I said. 'It will be my pleasure.'

'You have another fan,' I told Gina when I stopped in to make a booking on my way home. 'She has only been here once, and now she is making the journey all the way from Manchester to repeat the experience.'

Gina frowned slightly and then smiled. 'Let me guess,' she said. 'The young woman in the floral dress?'

'The very same,' I said. 'Sandy.'

Gina nodded. 'I thought that you two were getting on quite well.'

'There will be four of us,' I told Gina. 'Chistina -- my former assistant -- and her boyfriend will be joining us.'

I sent Christina a text letting her known that the booking had been made, and suggested that we meet up at The Blue Parrot beforehand.

On the night, I made sure that I was the first to arrive at The Blue Parrot -- given that I was the self-appointed 'host'. Sandy arrived about ten minutes later. I almost didn't recognise her. She was wearing a suit. I had only ever seen her dressed in what I suppose could best be described as 'smart casual'. 'You're looking very.... Crisp?,' I said. 'Is that the word?'

'Oh. The suit. Yes. We were pitching to the board of an investment company. Many fingers in many pies. Our go-between said they tended to be a bit formal. Oscar, my boss, thought that we should err on the side of caution.'

'And did your investors reciprocate?'

'Sort of,' Sandy said. 'Expensive suits worn over dark T-shirts.'

'Ah, yes, that look,' I said. 'The "I have money" look. And were they wearing trainers?'

Sandy laughed. 'One of them was. Yes.'

'So,' I said, 'how is life in the Great Northwest?'

'Mixed,' Sandy said.

'Oh?'

'On the positive side, Manchester is better than I expected.'

'And on the negative side?'

'It's not London.'

'Well, some people might suggest that's a good thing,' I suggested.

Sandy shook her head. 'But not me. I still prefer London.'

'Perhaps, with time, you'll grow to feel the same way about Manchester,' I said.

'Perhaps,' Sandy said. 'But I rather doubt it.'

It was at that point that Christina and George arrived. George did not look at all well.

'Are you feeling OK?' I asked.

'I think I might have picked up a bit a virus,' he said.

'Not Covid, I hope.'

'Shouldn't be,' George said. 'I've had all the shots.'

'Well, let's get a glass of something into you. See if that helps. What will it be?'

'Mmm... maybe a Whisky Mac. A small one,' George said.

I got him a large one.

After a round of drinks at The Blue Parrot, we wandered over to La Casa Bella where Gina set us up with a bottle of Prosecco and some of Franco's wonderful salty garlicky pizza bread. 'The special tonight is Peposo,' Gina said. 'Beef slow-braised in lots of Chianti with tomatoes and lots of black pepper, and served with creamy polenta.' And she poised her pen above her small pad.

'That's a yes from me,' I said. And my fellow diners smiled and nodded. 'Oh... and perhaps you had better open a bottle of Chianti. Let it breath slightly.'

Gina smiled. 'I think Franco just won the wager,' she said.

'The wager?'

'He said that you would want the Peposo and a glass of Chianti.'

I'm not sure how the table talk went from peppercorns to sex. But it did. It seems that one of the women with whom Christina worked had a husband and a couple of 'boyfriends'. Christina, who was hardly a fanatical puritan, thought that this could only lead to trouble. And what made it even worse, was that George didn't seem to have too much of a problem with it. 'You're a sensible chap. What do you think?' Christina asked me.

'These relationships...,' I said. 'Do they have a focus? A reason -- as it were?'

'Just sex,' Christina said.

'Pleasure?'

'Yes. Old-fashioned Tab A into Slot B.'

'And does her husband know about the boyfriends?' I asked.

'Oh, yes.'

'And does he too sometimes take his pleasure outside the marital bed?'

Christina hesitated. 'I, umm... think he has been known to. Occasionally. But not habitually. That's Maria's thing.'

I nodded. 'Well... if it's just sex... if it's just pleasure... and they both understand that's all it is... I can see no reason why it shouldn't work. I think society tends to sometimes get its knickers in a bit of a twist about fucking in the next door paddock. But if it's just abut pleasure....'

'So you think it's OK?'

'If everyone knows that it's just about sex... just about pleasure. Yes. I can't see why it can't work.'

'And what if it became about more than just sex?' Christina said.

'Ah, well... in that case, I think your friends should be having a different conversation..'

Christina frowned but nodded.

George smiled slightly. I got the impression that he and Christina may have already had a similar conversation to the one that she and I were now having.

The Peposo was excellent. Such a simple dish, yet so tasty. And while some people say that it's not Peposo without fresh crusty bread, I find a nice creamy, buttery polenta the prefect accompaniment. Franco also served it with a bowl of smoky charred broccoli florets. Delicious.

Not long after we had done justice to the Peposo, George announced that, as much as he hated to be a party pooper, he was going to have to 'pull for shore'. 'Perhaps an early night,' he said. It made sense.

After George and Christina had disappeared into the night, Sandy and I had another glass of red wine and talked about how one went about getting on the London property ladder. 'If it's not a rude question, how did you get started?' Sandy asked.

'My grandmother,' I said. 'I think I may have mentioned. She died and left me a house. The house was falling down, but I thought that I could sell it and buy myself a small flat with the proceeds. I thought the land had to be worth something. I got talking to a chap in the pub. We ended up having dinner and he convinced me that Gran's house was probably the worst house in one of the better streets. "Don't sell it," he said. "Divide it into three flats. Keep one for yourself to live in, and use the other two as investment leverage." And that's what I did. And then I had the opportunity to buy the second worst house in the street and do it all again. There was a bit of luck involved,' I admitted.

'And then you moved to Bloomsbury.'

'No. No. Gran's house was already right here. Mind you... Bloomsbury was going through a bit of a down patch at the time. Look, it's only nine o'clock. And my place is only a couple of streets across. Why don't you come and have a look? It's taken a while, but it's finally finished. I'll see if I can find us a glass of Grappa.'

'Thank you,' Sandy said.

We went back to my place. I poured us a couple of glasses of Grappa. And next thing I knew, Sandy was kissing me.

'Is there a bedroom?' Sandy asked.

'There are two,' I told her.

'We'll only need one,' she assured me. 'I'll let you lead the way.'

And I did.

It was funny how it all 'just happened'. It was as if it had all been planned. But it hadn't. As I say: it just happened. We kissed again -- and this time I slipped a hand up beneath her immaculately-tailored skirt. And while I was familiarising myself with the warm damp patch at the junction of her thighs, Sandy freed my growing cock. I briefly contemplated removing her knickers, but, in the end, I just pushed her skirt up and pushed the gusset of her knickers to one side. She was (as they say) 'as wet as a shag on a rock'.

'Request permission to come aboard, ma'am,' I said.

Sandy smiled. 'Permission granted.'

I eased her gently back onto the bed and spread her cunt lips while she guided my cock. 'We can keep the foreplay for after,' I said.

Sandy laughed and raised her hips to afford me even better access.

That first fuck didn't set any records for duration. But it was surprisingly joyous. I say surprisingly, because Sandy hadn't struck me as a particularly demonstrative woman. But with a few inches of pink sword inserted into her tight cunt, she was happiness itself.

'Oh, my goodness, yes,' she said. 'Yes! Yes! Yes!'

And who was I to disagree?

'That was fun,' I said as we sipped our Grappe before going for another round of carnal cavorting.

'I thought it might be,' Sandy said. 'I hoped it might be. Right from the moment you told Christina that it was possible to enjoy sex simply for what it was. No strings. No expectations.'

'Pleasure for the sake of pleasure,' I said.

'Exactly.'

It was about eight o'clock the following morning before Sandy finally headed back to her hotel. And, before that, we pursued full-on pleasure another couple of times.

'What adventures does your day hold?' I asked as we towelled ourselves off after sharing a shower.

Sandy laughed. 'Adventures? I think I've just had my adventures. This morning I have a meeting with an existing client, and then, this afternoon, it's back on the train to Manchester Piccadilly.'

'Will I see you down this way again?' I asked.

'Hmm... I hope so,' she said. 'I shall be in touch.'

It was about six weeks later that I got a call from Christina. 'Have you heard from Sandy?' she asked.

'I haven't. No. Have you?'

'I have. She's gone to Australia for a while.'

'Oh?'

'She says she'll send to a note when she gets settled. In the meantime, I wondered if you'd like to catch up for a drink.'

Christina and I met up at The Blue Parrot. 'How is life?' I asked. 'How is George?'

'George and I have decided to go our separate ways,' Christina said.

'By mutual consent?'

'Pretty much,' Christina said. Christina took a sip of her wine and then she said: 'Sandy suggested that I should ask you to show me your flat -- you know... now that that you have your renovations completed. She says that you have a well-honed understanding of the pleasure of simple pleasures.'