Chapter 6: Eve
It was barely 8:00 a.m. as Paul Haigh drove his window-cleaning van up from the village towards Ashwell Hall. His assistant Gavin barely heard Paul's whispered curse when he saw Lord Gorton's Bentley heading out of the entrance gates as they approached, even worse his Butler/Chauffeur, George Myers was driving him today. That blew any chance of Paul scoring a Christmas Bonus off his Lordship; a pity as he was usually a generous bloke and with George out too, there wouldn't even be a warming brew on offer. The Hall's daily staff of Maggie and Mrs. Dawson wouldn't arrive until 10:00 and whilst Lady Gorton would probably be at home, that snooty bitch wouldn't give you the time of day.
Evelyn Hamilton was locally notorious for her haughty manner and what pissed off Paul and indeed the villagers in general yet further, was that Lady Gorton was actually one of their own. Prior to her marrying Jeremy Hamilton eleven years earlier and overnight acquiring her airs and graces, she'd just been plain Eve Nixon, the younger of Moira Nixon's two daughters. Her mother lived in a cottage just down the lane from Paul's house and you couldn't hope to meet a nicer, more down to earth lady; even Eve's elder sister Jane who was a bloody TV celebrity seemed to be an easy-going, unassuming sort off girl on the odd occasions that he'd met her in the village pub. Paul swore once again; it was a bloody cold day for cleaning windows!
Life was somewhat better for Evelyn Hamilton as she lay between the sheets of her warm and comfortable bed. She was thirty-eight years old but looked ten years younger and despite having borne two children, still possessed a body which most twenty-year olds would envy: 5' 6" tall and an athletic118lbs, with green eyes, a crown of long, thick auburn hair and a pair of seemingly pneumatic 34C breasts. Most of the local lads who'd tried and universally failed to get inside Eve's pants over the years, had thought it a criminal waste when she'd married her employer; a man almost thirty years her senior in Lord Gorton. However, the marriage suited Eve just fine. She now moved in the most exclusive social circles, had her own Mercedes sports-car and a set of credit-cards which were never rejected; best of all, having secured his family name, Sir Jeremy rarely visited the luxurious boudoir in which she was currently reclined.
Whilst Evelyn's sexual preferences had always been for the strictly conservative and indeed fairly infrequent, she certainly didn't consider herself frigid and had recently taken a lover: This relationship too suited Evelyn just perfectly; her occasional bed-mate was Gerald Hindley, Sir Jeremy's Estate Manager; he'd perhaps even more to loose than herself should their liaison become public, thus ensuring that Eve was able to strictly dictate the pattern of these assignations too. Evelyn and Gerald's next tryst had been set for four o'clock that very afternoon, under the guise of an 'Estate Review Meeting' judiciously arranged to coincide with the departure of the household's day-staff and on a day that she'd known that both her husband and his live-in factotum would be away until at least 6:00pm. Even by Evelyn's standards it had been quite some while since their last rendezvous, so she was currently treating herself to a spot of self-indulgent stimulation in anticipation of the pleasures soon to come.
Paul meanwhile was still contemplating what a shit job window cleaning was at this time of the year; his only small consolation being that as he knew under which plant-pot Mrs. Dawson hid the spare kitchen door key, he could at least fill his buckets with hot-water rather than using cold from the outside tap. He gritted his teeth and methodically worked his way around the upper floor windows whilst young Gavin dealt with those at ground level, little realising his day was soon to improve: Evelyn was so engrossed in her self-arousal that she didn't detect the small thud of a ladder hitting her bedroom windowsill, or notice Paul's appearance at the top of it.
Paul could not believe his eyes, her Ladyship was spread-eagled across the bed, gazing sightlessly toward the ceiling; the linen sheets had been kicked down to her ankles and the loose plait of Eve's auburn hair coiled across the white pillow like a bronze snake. This alone would've been arousing, but the hem of Eve's nightgown had been pulled up beyond her waist, to expose firm, shapely and alabaster-white legs, juxtaposed by a neatly trimmed bush which from Paul's viewpoint appeared to flicker like firelight. He was mesmerised by the sight of Eve's fingers raking through the flames and it took several more seconds before he even noticed that Eve's other hand had similarly tugged aside the top of her nightgown revealing a firm full breast, topped with an engorged red nipple that she was manipulating with equal resolution.
Paul continued to stare from his precarious perch for at least a couple of minutes, whilst Lady Evelyn's ministrations gained in fervour by the second; he noticed her hips thrusting skyward with increasing vehemence and such was Paul's concentration, he could even discern the beads of perspiration which sprung up across Eve's brow. Lady Gorton's climax was fast approaching when some sixth-sense finally alerted her to the anonymous presence and shrieking in horror, Eve rolled over to hide her embarrassment whilst frantically re-adjusting her nightgown in an effort to conceal her body. Eve's actions provided Paul with a tantalising but all too brief glimpse of her taut buttocks; before in expectation of Eve's embarrassment rapidly changing to rage, Paul descended rapidly, removed the ladder and beat a hasty retreat around the corner of the house.
Recovering her composure, Eve leapt from the bed and rushed over to the window, only to see her voyeur's back as he disappeared around the corner; she would've failed to recognise him, had she not spotted young Gavin Lowther also watching his retreat with astonishment. It must've been Paul Haigh the window cleaner! Eve's initial thought was to get dressed and go out to confront him, but after only a moment's reflection she realised this would prove counter-productive. Haigh was renowned locally for being a first rate bullshit artist; should he relate the tale of what he'd seen, it would in all likelihood be disbelieved, provided of course, that Eve didn't add any credence to his story by berating him in full view of young Lowther.
No, Eve would bide her time; she would do nothing today, not even this week and probably not even during the next few months, but once Paul Haigh had all but forgotten the incident, she would make him pay big time and also ensure that the bloody oik knew exactly why and by whom, his life had been wrecked. Eve knew that his business relied heavily upon her husband's estate and was fairly certain that he rented his house from the estate too; she was going to destroy him! With that decision made, Eve slammed the curtains closed and returned to her bed, where she dragged her nightgown off completely. Eve knew that she was alone in the house and with all the doors locked, there could be no further interruptions to the unfinished business which by the gnawing ache in Eve's groin, demanded her urgent attention.
Having returned to his appointed task, Paul was waiting in trepidation for the early appearance of a fully dressed and raging Lady Gorton; when she'd not arrived after ten minutes he began to wonder why. Having peered around the corner to find the bedroom curtains were now firmly drawn, Paul managed to convince himself that it was a genuine curiosity at Eve's lack of reaction rather than his raging erection which drove him to investigate further. As he stole furtively back around to the kitchen door; Gavin's enquiry as to what was going on was met with a terse, "Get on with your work and mind your own business!" The lad was further intrigued to see that having slipped through the kitchen's outside door, Paul stealthily crossed the room and disappeared through a further door into the house beyond.
Hearing no movement, Paul crept furtively up the grand staircase and tip-toed in the direction that he perceived Lady Gorton's room to be; having arrived to find the door was opened but a crack, he took an anxious breath and gently teased the gap wider. Paul's breath eased out in relief when the door moved in silence; the gap had reached six-inches before the bed finally came into view and the sight was beyond Paul's wildest expectations. The dirty bitch hadn't come chasing after him because she'd gone straight back to frigging herself; Mrs. Hamilton looked to be on the point of coming once more, only now she was stark bollock naked too! The lads in the pub were never going to believe it!
