Jane and I had just had another transatlantic argument about money.
Its' what married people fall out about apparently, either money or sex.
Our situation was unusual. We had both lived in the United States for a while but it was much harder for me to get work there so we decided to return to England. I was the advance party. I had rented a small house in rural Cambridgeshire and the expectation was for me to drum up enough work to be able to support us both.
I was good at what I did, but I was no magician. Having been out of the country for years meant rebuilding work relationships and trust. It wasn't happening overnight. And Jane was getting frustrated and angry. I shared her frustration but needed more time.
"How much time, for God's sake?" she had screamed at me.
It was very hard work and I felt like one-dimensional man. All work and absolutely no play. Mine was a joyless existence, a real deadening drudge but I was determined to get there, to put my life back in order. My social life revolved around the local pub that was an exclusively male domain. I felt lonely. I missed the human warmth of intimacy and needless to say, I missed sex too.
After our spat I took deep breaths to try and calm myself. I decided to give the pub a miss that night and take a walk instead. Walking in the countryside was my main exercise, and I loved the countryside too, the wilder the better.
I put on my hiking boots and set off down the lane that led from the village to a track that went through woods and fields, uphill and down dale. It was a beautiful summer's evening in an idyllic country village. Smiling inwardly at my surroundings, I thought I should feel happier than this. But my soul felt tired and leaden. The endless search for work was wearing me down. Doing the work was never a problem, just finding it was more difficult.
The village was silent apart from the sound of families going about their everyday lives. I could listen to those sounds for hours.
"Hello," I heard a voice, a woman's voice and looked around.
"Hi," I replied.
I hadn't noticed the small figure of a woman out watering an unkempt flowerbed. She was small and slim. It was difficult to guess her age, but her slightly hippy garb told me she was probably over fifty. We exchanged polite banter, about the weather and this and that as English people often do.
"I'm staying down at Old Mill Farm," I said, filling in the inevitable curiosity of village people.
"I know," she replied and smiled.
"So you know, do you...and how much more do you know?" I asked teasingly and she laughed.
"Fancy a cup of tea?" she asked.
"That would be really lovely," I replied and I meant it.
It would be good to enjoy some female company and a change from the pub too.
Her small cottage was a long thin bungalow. I followed her through to the sitting room. I was like every consultant I knew. I quickly glanced around the room to find out about the person whom I had known for the past few minutes. My powers of making fast people assessments were acute. They had to be. I specialised in repairing broken businesses, in turn-rounds mainly. People often didn't tell you much in those situations. I had learned how to find out about people very quickly by reading the signs.
This was a treasure trove. So many surprises, but so much that was very familiar. I scanned her books and her music collection. I knew the titles well, mainly because I owned most of them myself.
"Shall we introduce ourselves properly now?" I asked. "I'm John."
"And I'm Rosie," she said.
In a very contrived way we shook hands to celebrate our new acquaintance.
"Rosie, may I ask you a question?
"I noticed that we share a lot of the same tastes in books and music, what sort of work do you do?"
"Oh I hope it doesn't put you off, but I'm a counsellor -- a psychologist," she replied self-consciously.
I chuckled since I am a qualified psychologist too. I explained and we both laughed together.
She offered me whisky or tea. I accepted the whisky and she poured us both very ample measures. We talked and talked and talked. Perhaps we were both lonely, I mused to myself.
In a quiet moment when there was time to draw breath, I glanced at my watch. It was one fifteen in the morning. We had chatted incessantly for the best part of five hours.
"Rosie, do you know what time it is?" I asked.
She played guessing games and lost.
"Past my bedtime at least!" I added.
I wanted to see her again.
"Have you heard about that new Turkish restaurant that's opened in Cambridge? On Sheep Street, I think it is. I'd really love to try it. How about dinner some time?" she asked.
I heaved a sigh of relief as she had saved me the embarrassment of asking to see her again. We agreed to have dinner on Friday. It was Wednesday night, now Thursday morning.
I thanked Rosie profusely for the evening. I felt deep gratitude, gratitude for making me feel human again. I got up to leave.
We said our farewells at the door and I leaned forward to kiss her. I had in mind a polite peck on each cheek. My small peck was intercepted and our lips met. We held each other tight and close. Our tongues danced with passion in each other's mouths. Our arms held each other tightly. This was not the behaviour of two people who were strangers until a few hours ago, but it felt natural, entirely natural.
In the kiss, I had found out all about her body in no time at all. She was lithe and slender. She wasn't wearing a bra and her breasts felt firm, small and firm. She held her body close to mine in a way that said yes. Was this yes tonight or yes on Friday? It was simply yes.
Our one kiss lasted forever. It was hungry, passionate, wanton and desiring, so much in a single kiss. When we stopped, we both gasped for breath loudly then broke out in a fit of the giggles, the way teenagers do.
