Rokeby Venus

Rokeby's Venus

This story is set mainly on the coast of England in East Anglia, northeast of London, at the time leading up to Brexit, and with the Covid pandemic nowhere on the horizon.

The Rokeby Venus painted by the famous Spanish Diego Velazquez in the mid 17

th

Century has been used to inspire many related works over the centuries. The original painting can be seen in the National Gallery in London. The Royal Academy of Arts' (RA) annual summer exhibition appears in a purely fictional way as an essential thread of my story line.

Apart from the use of the RA as plot device, any resemblance of the contents of this story to real places, people or events is purely coincidental. This is pure fiction folks. It uses English english and local terms such as knickers for panties, as best as I can muster. (I'm sure any discrepancies will be pointed out to me.)

The slow burn of this story may not suit readers anxious to get to the sexy, that include anal, bits. To those turned off by such considerations, I simply ask you to please go elsewhere for your reading pleasure.

******

Gerry Jenkins smiled to himself as he leaned over and silenced the alarm radio showing 3:58am, two minutes before it was due to come on. He was pleased that he had not lost his lifelong waking-up skills even after more than a decade in retirement. His internal clock was still working.

He heard a toilet flush. His grandson, Steve, and his girlfriend, Sarah, were awake. They had to leave for Heathrow Airport by four-thirty for Steve to catch a plane to Dubai. The mid-week drive would take at least three hours from the house in Suffolk. They'd allowed enough time to be caught up in an accident or delayed due to road works.

This was Steve's first big overseas assignment. As the assistant to his boss, he was excited to be chosen for this huge international project. He was packed and ready to go. Sarah was less pleased, mainly because he'd be away a whole month.

The couple had a quick coffee in the kitchen promising to get something more substantial at the airport. Before leaving Gerry whispered in his grandson's ear that if Sarah wanted to get away from London in his absence, she'd be welcome to come back. He waved them goodbye at precisely four-thirty. It was still dark and comfortably warm outside.

Gerry took the remains of his coffee up to his bedroom. Rather than return to bed, he decided to go out onto the large balcony associated with the bedroom. The view faced east over the North Sea. As he sat on the large wicker chair, he could see the dawn arriving at the horizon.

He relaxed as the sky grew brighter. There were no clouds. The sea was calm.

He thought back to the last time he was awake to watch the sunrise. He knew it was precisely two years less ten days ago. Today was the longest day, the summer solstice. Gerry's wife, Sylvia, died on the first of July two years earlier. She had demanded to be brought home from the hospice to die in familiar surroundings after a year-and-one-half fighting cancer.

He remembered that night was also warm. Sylvia was restless and slept intermittently. Gerry slept in a single bed close to Sylvia. He awoke in what seemed the middle of the night and needed some air. He quietly moved out to the chair on the balcony in his pajamas and listened to the lapping of the waves on the beach just beyond the greensward and the sea wall. He had been sitting out there for about fifteen minutes when he was called by Sylvia. He went back into the bedroom to her.

She asked, "Were you outside?"

"Yes. I couldn't sleep, so I went out there. It's really quite warm."

"Carry me out with you."

"Are you sure?"

"Never been more certain."

As he carried her now light frame outside, her arm around his neck, she whispered in his ear, "Sit me on your lap."

Gerry sat back down on the wicker chair holding her as he sat. Sylvia snuggled up to Gerry. She looked up, "Kiss me like you used to."

Despite himself and the concern he had for his wife he did as he was asked. But it was not much more than a peck. She reached up and pulled his face forward to engage his lips as he tried to break away out of concern for her. He felt her need. He relaxed and reciprocated her miraculous passion. They necked for a few minutes like school kids. A wave of irrational embarrassment washed over him as he became aroused. Sylvia broke away and gave a girl-like giggle.

"I can still get you going, you old dog. Unfortunately, I am but a shell." Her head drooped. Sylvia's burst of energy sapped her strength for a moment. She looked up into Gerry's eyes as she corralled her strength once more. There was an earnestness in her voice, "Listen to me: when I am gone, and it will be very soon, find yourself a younger woman and give her what you gave to me over all our married life. We were always sexy beasts until this thing hit me. We enjoyed our sex and there was plenty of it. I still can't believe that you were still giving me ten to fifteen orgasms a week when I was sixty-five. I counted. You had your share too with eight to ten by my reckoning. You're still vital. Use it when I'm gone. Now, let's watch the sunrise." She slumped again.

"I've always loved you. And lusted after you." Gerry choked up.

She whispered, "Promise me you'll find a good woman."

"I promise."

Together they saw the sun rise over the horizon. The reflected ribbon of golden light over the calm sea looked like a highway to heaven. Sylvia fell asleep in Gerry's arms. He carried her back into her bed and kissed he on lips as her breathing became more ragged.

She died later that day.

Ten days short of two years later Gerry had tears running down his cheeks as he remembered that last encounter with the love of his life and the promise he made.

******

Gerry had a text from Steve he had arrived safely in Dubai and that all was well.

Two days later he received a phone call from Sarah.

"Steve told me about your invitation to visit you. I'd love to, but unfortunately, I must earn some money for my return to Uni. My mum keeps pumping money into my account, but I must stand on my own two feet sometime. I'm hoping to find something for the next month until Steve returns."

Gerry knew she was in her final year studying business. She'd met Steve at an after-talk cocktails event when he tagged along with his boss who gave a guest lecture on real-world accounting to the class Sarah was in.

"That's alright. Of course, I'd love to see you, but I do understand. What type of job are you looking for?" Gerry felt a need for company and wanted to extend the conversation. He liked Sarah.

"Most of the jobs are filled. I've really left it much too late. I thought I'd be spending the summer with Steve until he was pulled out to accompany his boss on this big project. I might only be able to find something waiting on tables or cleaning toilets." Her voice was glum.

"That's a bit rough. Is there really nothing out there in the professional field?"

"I have sent out fifty CVs to companies for a summer intern position and had thirty immediate automatic proforma declines, twenty-eight boilerplate declines within three days, and I am waiting on two without much hope. Even Steve's company didn't have anything for me. I'm game for anything now. Being realistic I'm much too late and the summer employment for students is already in full swing. All that said, your offer to stay with you gets more and more attractive."

"I could make some calls. I've been out of the business for about a decade but still have a few contacts left. Like me to make some calls?"

"Of course, that would be lovely, but after all those rejections I'm not sure I could handle another Dear Jane letter or email. I think I prefer to go eyeball-to-eyeball with a restaurant manager than sit by my computer waiting for it to light up. The whole recruitment paradigm has changed so much over the last decade or so. So impersonal."

Gerry was puzzled by her brushing off his offer, but it was her life. "As you wish. But if you change your mind, I will make some calls. What sort of money do you reckon you can make?"

"I'm hoping for about seven-fifty a week, with tips. Hey, here's an idea, would you like a housekeeper for that price, for a month. I'm a good cook and I will clean toilets. Best of both worlds?" She laughed as if was it was a joke before adding, "Just kidding."

"Now, there's a thought. Let me chew that over. Give me until late tomorrow."

"Seriously. I was joking you do know that don't you? Well, to be totally honest, more like randomly throwing it out there."

"Are you saying you don't want to be my housekeeper for a month? And I should drop considering it as a possibility?"

"Would you really think about it seriously? That would be too much."

Gerry registered she was young, inexperienced, lacking some confidence and a touch naïve. "Straight question to you. If I came back to you tomorrow with an offer to be my housekeeper for four weeks at, say, seven hundred a week, five-day week, full board, and the fare to and from London, would you accept or reject it? Don't answer me now. Think about it and I will get back on this line to you tomorrow whether to make you an offer."

Gerry heard her say a puzzled, "Okay."

"Okay, then. I'll call tomorrow." He rang off.

Almost as soon as he had ended the call, he was asking himself what he was doing. His grandson's girlfriend, about a fifty-year age difference, and a make-work job did not add up to a viable situation. She was not what Sylvia would have called finding himself a good woman, even though he found her attractive and pleasant to be around. He managed the house quite well for the last two years on his own with the two cleaning ladies who came in every other week. He found he quite liked doing the laundry and the boxed meal menus with ingredients were not a chore to prepare. Also, there were takeaways. It helped give him variety in his activities. On the positive side she would be company in the evenings, and a bit of the dirty old man in him thought she may be fun to flirt with.

As his mind kicked around the pros and cons of having Sarah come and stay with him for a month, he suddenly noticed the time. He should be leaving for his painting session. He and five others rented the church hall in the afternoons on Tuesdays and Thursdays for four hours to paint.

Victoria was the leader of this loosely knit group. She liked to be called Vicky. She was a graduate professional artist who made a modest living by selling her quite large, sea and landscape oil paintings in the three to four thousand price range through a stable of galleries. In the last few years, she also created abstracts for the corporate world. Gerry had seen some her earlier work that showed she could paint hyper-realistically when she put her mind to it. She mentored the others in the group and from time to time gave demonstrations relating to technique.

One of the other ladies of the painting group specialized in botanical flower watercolours and had a serious following. The other man and the other two ladies all accepted themselves as interested and competent amateurs. Gerry was considered the best of this bunch but made no effort to make sales. He gave most away to friends or family.

When they first coalesced around Vicky about six months after Sylvia's death, Gerry found himself flirting with her. She quickly put a stop to that in a pleasant and straight forward way by revealing that she was a lesbian and had no interest beyond friendship. Their relationship did develop into them becoming good friends and they exchanged many confidences over the eighteen months they had known each other. Gerry did not bond closely with any of the other four members of their little group, but they all did get along well together around their art activities.

Gerry was anxious to get Vickey alone at the tea break to get her opinion about the appropriateness of having Sarah come and work for him as a housekeeper. He was a bit frustrated when Vicky announced she planned to demonstrate a technique used by the old masters using an earth-tone, monochrome underpainting and then glazing the coloured pigments in multiple thin layers. She painted an underpainting to get the values and layout established copying a Velazquez portrait. She brought along various other paintings using the same technique at varying stages of completion. The questions from the group kept on coming right through the tea break, frustrating Gerry. He finally cornered her at the end of the session and asked her to join him for a drink at the local pub. She agreed. They had shuffled over to the pub many times before.

Gerry explained the jam he had got himself into with Sarah. Vicky laughed and teased him. "Afraid you couldn't manage a young and vital one then?" There was often a sexual overtone to their conversations.

Gerry went defensive., "It's not that." He stumbled not quite knowing what his objection really was.

Vicky kept up the teasing pressure. "Oh, poor Gerry, can't get it up for anyone under the age of fifty then?"

Gerry took the bait and showed some indignation in his reply, "Eighteen to ninety, the equipment still works just fine, thank you very much."

"How old is she anyway?"

"I reckon about twenty-two, twenty-three."

"Attractive? Good figure?"

"Bit of a striking face with a Roman nose and lush black hair. Lots of character in her features. Come to think of it, sparkling grey eyes. One thing though, she's the same height and, what's the word, configuration as Sylvia. Even worse is that she has the same gait as well. When I see her say walking away from me, I see Sylvia."

"What you are saying is that she doesn't look like Sylvia, but she does. Have I got that right?"

Gerry nodded. Vicky saw Gerry's dilemma and decided to lighten the mood up, "The lush black hair. Hope that's not a beard." Vicky giggled at her own joke.

"Oh, Vicky!"

"You should go for it. Having Sylvia's clone around may be some help in getting you fully back into the real world. I think the company, as plutonic as it may well turn out to be, will do you a lot of good. Also, I have an ulterior motive. Sarah may solve a problem I have if we play our hand right, and she's, of course, suitable."

"And prey what problem would Sarah be solving? I hope it's not that you are looking for a girlfriend. She's Steve's."

"I have in mind to do a large Rokeby Venus painting like Velazquez's, as a homage to him using the technique I was showing you today."

"Not sure she'd take her clothes off to be painted."

"Oh, perhaps she could be persuaded." An evil grin spread over Vicky's face as her thoughts went elsewhere for a moment. "Maybe we start with a portrait she can give to her parents. Anyway, what sort of girl is she? Is she a complete prude."

"I have no idea. It may be difficult. She's the youngest of eight children. Got the impression parents have some sort of religious bent. Nudity may be an impossible challenge. On the plus side she's pretty naïve, and not overly worldly."

"Is Steve smitten?" Vicky kept the questions coming.

"I didn't get that impression. He didn't seem too unset about leaving her for a month. He's gone on business to Dubai."

"Go for it, Gerry. If nothing else, it will be a pleasant challenge and distraction to see us through to the dog days of summer."

"Okay. I'll let her know and get her down quickly. But one thing I insist on, everything we do, and I need to have your assurance that you will strictly follow this, will have Sarah's full consent."

"Of course, darling. Full concurrence. If she says no, we abandon the project at that point. But am I allowed to try two times?"

"No more than twice. We have a deal. Another gin and tonic?"

******

Gerry called Sarah the next day. He did not mention anything about sitting for paintings. Details were agreed and arrangements made for her to arrive the following Monday.

******

Sarah pulled up to Gerry's door in Steve's car just after two-thirty. First, they settled Sarah into her room two doors down from Gerry's bedroom, with a bathroom separating them. Her quite spacious bedroom complete with sitting area and writing desk overlooked the sea and had its own balcony. After she had unpacked and joined Gerry in the living room, they spent next two hours touring the house and dealing with such things as the burglar alarms and the outside CCTV. They decided on a mutually acceptable routine to start with, both with the understanding it may well have to be modified as they went along.

Sarah started off rather formally addressing Gerry as Mr. Jenkins. He quickly told her to call him Gerry. Sarah agreed that she'd call him Gerry.

The first hiccup in their arrangements came at suppertime. Gerry had directed Sarah to use the ingredients in one of the boxed meals with its associated menu, which was his usual fare, until they had a chance for her to determine what food they should stock up on the following day.

Sarah delivered the meal into the dining room at their agreed time, steaming hot. She wore an apron. After putting the plate in front of Gerry she quickly turned and exited towards the kitchen. He thought she had forgotten something. When she had not returned after five minutes he rose and went to the kitchen. She was sitting there reading a book and eating a sandwich.

"You've been watching too much Upstairs Downstairs or was it Downton Abbey? My fault though. I'd like for us to eat together, either in here or the dining room. I'm not fussy. Also, I thought you'd have what I'm eating, unless you don't like it."

"Oh. Really? Together?" Her expression was a mixture of surprise and concern that she had not picked up on this arrangement.

Gerry ignored her surprise and turned to his kitchen wine cooler to pull out a bottle of white wine. "We'll have wine with every supper. Come with me. Grab two wine glasses. Let's talk about the social side of this gig." He realized she had taken the master-servant relationship too literally and needed a confidence boost to get them onto a much more equitable footing.

"Sit next to me." Sarah sat. "Look, I know you are working for me and getting paid. You are my grandson's girlfriend. This makes us at the very least friends, maybe almost family. I would like you to forget you actually work for me and are here with a willingness to help. That's all I ask."

"Okay. Whatever you think best." Gerry noticed the deference still there. He'd live with that.

He poured them both a large glass of wine. "Tell me about your family. I believe they are very religious, not that religion means anything to me. I am agnostic, bordering on atheist."

"Yes, religious. Although I'm not one who goes to a lot of services, but steeped in good values, I guess." This came out as almost an apology. She continued, "I'm the youngest of eight, with two brothers in the mix, all the rest older sisters. I learned to do what I was told early on. Some of my friends rebelled. Not me. I liked the quiet life. Easygoing you might say."

"And now? Still easygoing?"

"Guess I still go by the rules even now." She took a long swig from the wine glass.

"A good religious girl then?"

"I try to be." Sarah gave a broad smile, once more attacking and draining the glass.

Gerry refilled her glass. He could see she continued to be nervous. "So how do you get along with Steve?"

Sarah brightened at the mention of Steve. "Oh, we hit it off straight away. He is very kind and looks after me. A bit frisky, but I understand that." The alcohol was enhancing her smile into a grin.

"Frisky? Maybe a bit like me." Gerry chuckled. "From that I take that you are intimate. If you know what I mean?"

For a moment Sarah looked shocked. "You want me to answer that?" She frowned and chewed her lip as she debated with herself before continuing. The alcohol had loosened her up enough for her to answer the question. "It's none of your business, but the answer is no. Like you just said I'm a good religious girl. I am saving myself for marriage. Can we change the subject? And to finish up I don't think your frisky at all. You're nice."