"Madame, that dog will not hunt. Eyewitnesses place your son at the scene of the crime."
The attractive dark-haired woman nervously brushed back an ebon lock.
"Monsieur Inspector, your son was also rumored to be in the area and your son, and my Anton have very similar builds and coloring."
"Are you insinuating, Mademoiselle, that my Phillipe is the criminal in question?"
Her eyes grew large.
"Not at all, Your Excellency, just that, in the confusion, your eyewitness might have been mistaken."
"I tell you, Madame that this conversation is only a courtesy. As soon as we conclude our discussion, I will be departing for your home with grandarmes in tow to arrest your murderous son!"
"Mon Deu!" exclaimed the attractive woman who was just a few years younger than the inspector. "My son is innocent!"
"I am sure you believe that. However, in this village, I am the law. No, I do not prosecute but provide the prosecutors with evidence, sworn testimonies, and eyewitness accounts. I certainly can provide all of these as they relate to your son's guilt."
He paused for effect before adding, "Or, innocence."
"Monsieur Inspector! I implore you, have mercy!"
The corpulent inspector took a long lustful look at the widow Turbot. A grand scheme unspooled in his mind.
"Perhaps, mademoiselle, the police do not have to be informed at all. I could use my influence to have the mayor reimburse the supposed "victim," conclude that the case is unsolvable, and terminate the investigation."
The attractive woman took a deep breath.
"And how would such an end be achieved, Monsieur Inspector?"
The corpulent inspector licked his lips. Certainly, he could have this woman, but she would detest him so much there would be no pleasure in the act. By contrast, even the cheapest whore at least tries to look interested and satisfied. No, the delicious charms of the widow Turbot, as appealing as they unquestionably were, would be wasted on him, but Phillipe? After this summer he would leave the village to journey to Paris to apprentice to bar at his uncle's law firm. He needed to be a man before he voyaged to Paris, or the capital would eat him alive. His guest cottage was currently untenanted. Perhaps a season of intimate instruction would be exactly what the lad needed. The fact that His Phillipe and her Anton despised each other with great vehemence made the proposal even better. He slicked his hair back,
"Mademoiselle, I ask of a beautiful, experienced woman a small thing, really..."
**
Anton must not know she told herself. He had a good, honorable job with the bakery. Working nights while the village slept. Perhaps, she could prevent him from finding out? What other choice did she have? Monsieur Inspecter was quite forthright, her virtue forfeited, or her son convicted of a crime he did not commit and sentenced to dozens of years in prison at hard labor. That scoundrel Phillipe! All through their school years he bullied her Anton, flaunting his wealth and connections and mocking her son's fatherless status and modest family background. Now, Phillipe was destined to be rich, while her son, even as a successful baker, would remain humble. Anton was such a better boy! He was caring and sensitive. He worked hard, always putting aside a bit of his pay to take care of his mother. It was so unfortunate that her Anton and the dissolute Phillipe had more than a passing resemblance. Phillipe had engaged in chicanery like this before and Anton had unjustly taken the punishment. This crime, however! It would ruin Anton. It would ruin her! For the rest of her days, she would be embarrassed to show her face anywhere in town. On her widow's pension, she could not afford to move.
Anton drowsed upstairs. By now he was used to seeing to his own meals and other needs. Some weeks, they barely saw each other at all. If Phillipe was in any way sensible, she could arrange things so that her son would be none the wiser. With an ardent prayer that her son remained oblivious, she gathered up her valise and made her way out the back door. The early morning sunlight fell across the valley. Marie had always savored the view, now?
The fence line hid her from view for most of her trek. Few walked behind the ancient fence that marked the old city wall. Marie had to hurry however, the trek to the Inspector's estate was long. She dare not hire a cab, lest she give the game away. Just ahead of noon, she passed the prominent sundial in the inspector's front yard she rushed through the tree line and, her breath coming heavily, she stopped before the inspector's neat little guest cottage. Half wishing, she would expire on the spot, she gently rapped on the door.
The door opened. The blond visage of Phillipe stared at her. Unlike Anton's crystal blue eyes, Phillipe's were black and hard, like obsidian pits in white seas. Those hard eyes toured her body from crown to great toe. She felt like a lamb in the presence of a wolf.
His face lit up, "On time. That is in your favor. Enter, wench."
She swallowed hard, took several long looks around to confirm that she was unobserved, and entered the tidy little cabin. The lad took her valise and led her to a chair.
"Mademoiselle Turbot, we could dance around things all day, or I could come right to the point."
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. She held off the tears she so desired.
"For the next three months, we shall play house. You shall cook for me and clean for me and I shall have all the rights of a husband. You will be obedient, trustworthy, and sincere in your affection for me. Even if you do not feel it yourself, you need to convince me that I am the most man you have ever had and show deep passion for me."
She looked at his face hoping her heart would simply stop beating at this moment. She remained stubbornly alive.
"Do this for me and I will treat you with gentleness and tenderness. I will hold my anger and be in fine humor. Is that clear?"
She nodded.
"Excellent! Now, to see what we are dealing with."
He took her hand and led her to a side room. The tub, sink, and commode were a surprise, she had heard of indoor plumbing but thought it was only in Paris or other large cities. Phillipe turned a spigot and lit the coal tar fire. Steaming water began to fill the tub. She looked at him quizzically.
"I am going to undress you, Mademoiselle Turbot and provide you with a bath."
Her mouth dropped open. After a long moment, her fingers strayed to the buttons of her dress.
"No, my dear. I shall do everything."
"But, but..." she sputtered. He leaned in and stole a kiss. The kiss stunned her, it had been a very long time since she had been kissed. Only once since the passing of Anton's father, and that bit of foolishness was years and years dead. Phillipe stole another kiss. The still young-appearing widow had forgotten the joy of a simple osculation. She felt his fingers on the bodice of her dress.
Slowly, he parted the buttons, revealing her full ivory-hued slip. Every button opened under his fingers. The mauve dress slid to the floor. With a gentle push of the widow's pert bum, Phillipe encouraged her to step out of it. He picked the dress up gently and carefully folded it before placing it on a nearby chair. The widow could not meet his intense gaze, she focused her eyes on the floor and fought to control her breathing. The lad bent and untied each of her ankle-high boots before tugging them off. He stood. Minus her shoes, he was a
bit taller and even more intimidating. He paused and took her in. Her shyness was both puzzling and endearing. Surely, he thought, this woman has been undressed by her husband, why should she be shy now? Her expression of shame mixed with some other emotion he could not read made her more interesting. He was grateful there were no tears or hysterics. She must at some level already performed the mental calculus between obedience and rebellion and realized that the numbers only summed up on one side of the equation.
Gently, he tugged the slip over and down her shoulders before pulling it the length of her body before it pooled on the floor, an ivory nimbus about her feet. Phillip considered the widow, clad now in her bandeau, step-ins, garter, and stockings. It was quite an arousing sight.
"Widow Turbot," do you possess a Christian name?"
"Antionette," she replied softly.
"Lovely, like you."
She flushed visibly.
He embraced and kissed her quite deeply. He fell to his knees slowly, planting little kisses on her anatomy as he bent. His formerly intimidating black eyes began to glimmer attractively. On his knees, he planted a kiss on the front of Antionette's step-ins before kissing the top of each thigh as he unfastened her suspenders. A visible tremor swept through her lithe compact body. He rolled each stocking down her trim, shapely legs kissing each millimeter of skin they revealed. For Antionette, the behavior of the lad was most disconcerting. His attentions felt very good indeed. She expected passionate, frenzied hands and a storming of her Bastille. This approach she was utterly unprepared for. Antionette knew exactly how this day would end. The fear of a simple ravishment left her to be replaced with -- anticipation. What was coming over her? It had been many long years since she had been intimate with a man. Phillipe was just about the same age as her late husband was on the night of their nuptials when they had both ceded their virginity to each other. Though Phillipe did not resemble her late husband physically, he was the same general height, weight, and coloring. At times, Phillipe's grins became those of her lost love. Not helping at all was the fact that on their wedding night, the new husband had broken the tension and nervousness by spontaneously filling the tub and giving his new bride a bath. He likened it to a baptism, the start of her new life. Antionette shook her head, if her first married night had been a baptism, what would this immersion portend?
Phillipe loved her legs. For an older woman, she was marvelously put together. He collected the stockings and tugged away the suspenders. He rose and look into her huge brown eyes and said, "Do not be afraid."
