for her to slip into. ‘I take it you’ve no time for the drink?’ she asked.
‘I’ve no time for
anything
!’ Helen protested, then, as the coat settled about her shoulders, she was reminded that she had rarely been other than totally naked for the past twenty-four hours. The close proximity to Annabel also brought about another crushing memory. ‘Did you …?’ she asked, then, as Annabel smiled noncommittally, went on, ‘I’m sorry if you were embarrassed.’
Shaking her head Annabel’s smile not only continued but brightened. ‘Envious, perhaps,’ she said. ‘But certainly not embarrassed.’
Flashing the girl a grateful smile, she turned as she heard Turner arrive. ‘Jeffrey?’ she called. ‘I’m going.’
Jeffrey appeared from the depths of the apartment and, reaching out his arms, gave her a gentle kiss on one cheek and then, as he leant into the other, whispered under the eyes of the patiently waiting Turner, ‘I’m tempted to fuck you again before you go.’
‘No!’ she laughed, her protest forcefully loud. ‘I’ve got far too much to do before six!’
Smiling, Jeffrey handed her to the care of Turner before turning back to the attentive Annabel.
‘Think you can handle her?’ Annabel asked.
His answer was a spirited: ‘It’s got to be worth a try, don’t you think?’
‘I’ll say!’ she agreed.
7
STANDING UNDER THE teeming shower Helen felt like a tired child on Christmas night trying to remember her new presents. So much had happened since she was last in her own apartment that she could barely believe it had been only two days. She knew she was not the same woman who had stepped out from this shower two days before. Not only was there Jeffrey and his exquisite talent for erotic surprise but the change that had been wrought in herself. She could now confidently cope with something like the sad Lesley; been made aware that her body was something in which she could take fierce pride; had, under the eyes of one lover, orally taken another, and then, under the eyes of the other, given herself fully to her true lover. With pride she considered she had carried all before her with creditable aplomb. The excitement was not knowing where else this path, on which she had taken only the first few faltering steps, might lead.
Drying herself and hurrying to offer her hair to the salvage of heated rollers, she realised that tonight she was going to an event she had not even heard of hours before and there, in the company of an enviable escort, would meet again the legend for whom even the President of France turned out, and whom she had sexually satisfied. It was then that the echo of his promise to have her pose for him returned. It was enough to still her hands as they curled up her hair. Was it possible that the face staring back out of the mirror was really worthy of, as Qito had claimed, immortality? Would, centuries from now, some man from an as yet undreamt-of generation, look on her body and feel lust for her? Had, she wondered, Mona Lisa harboured similar doubts before going to Da Vinci’s studio when her immortal image was but an idea in the artist’s mind?
One thing was certain, she thought, as she started on her base foundation, no woman had ever been so filled with certainty as she was at that moment.
When Jeffrey arrived she had yet to pack and still to dress and barely opened the door to him before fleeing back into the bedroom, aware of how little time there was before they had to leave.
‘I’ll only be a minute!’ she called out to him as she sat before her mirror to apply an antique golden lip-gloss to her already made-up lips. Then she searched out a pair of silk stockings she’d bought the previous year and never, until now, found occasion to wear. Slipping into the fine silk gown she remembered how it had looked on her the first time she had worn it. How quickly it had responded to her body’s warmth and clung so closely as to even outline her navel. Again
‘I’ve no time for
anything
!’ Helen protested, then, as the coat settled about her shoulders, she was reminded that she had rarely been other than totally naked for the past twenty-four hours. The close proximity to Annabel also brought about another crushing memory. ‘Did you …?’ she asked, then, as Annabel smiled noncommittally, went on, ‘I’m sorry if you were embarrassed.’
Shaking her head Annabel’s smile not only continued but brightened. ‘Envious, perhaps,’ she said. ‘But certainly not embarrassed.’
Flashing the girl a grateful smile, she turned as she heard Turner arrive. ‘Jeffrey?’ she called. ‘I’m going.’
Jeffrey appeared from the depths of the apartment and, reaching out his arms, gave her a gentle kiss on one cheek and then, as he leant into the other, whispered under the eyes of the patiently waiting Turner, ‘I’m tempted to fuck you again before you go.’
‘No!’ she laughed, her protest forcefully loud. ‘I’ve got far too much to do before six!’
Smiling, Jeffrey handed her to the care of Turner before turning back to the attentive Annabel.
‘Think you can handle her?’ Annabel asked.
His answer was a spirited: ‘It’s got to be worth a try, don’t you think?’
‘I’ll say!’ she agreed.
7
STANDING UNDER THE teeming shower Helen felt like a tired child on Christmas night trying to remember her new presents. So much had happened since she was last in her own apartment that she could barely believe it had been only two days. She knew she was not the same woman who had stepped out from this shower two days before. Not only was there Jeffrey and his exquisite talent for erotic surprise but the change that had been wrought in herself. She could now confidently cope with something like the sad Lesley; been made aware that her body was something in which she could take fierce pride; had, under the eyes of one lover, orally taken another, and then, under the eyes of the other, given herself fully to her true lover. With pride she considered she had carried all before her with creditable aplomb. The excitement was not knowing where else this path, on which she had taken only the first few faltering steps, might lead.
Drying herself and hurrying to offer her hair to the salvage of heated rollers, she realised that tonight she was going to an event she had not even heard of hours before and there, in the company of an enviable escort, would meet again the legend for whom even the President of France turned out, and whom she had sexually satisfied. It was then that the echo of his promise to have her pose for him returned. It was enough to still her hands as they curled up her hair. Was it possible that the face staring back out of the mirror was really worthy of, as Qito had claimed, immortality? Would, centuries from now, some man from an as yet undreamt-of generation, look on her body and feel lust for her? Had, she wondered, Mona Lisa harboured similar doubts before going to Da Vinci’s studio when her immortal image was but an idea in the artist’s mind?
One thing was certain, she thought, as she started on her base foundation, no woman had ever been so filled with certainty as she was at that moment.
When Jeffrey arrived she had yet to pack and still to dress and barely opened the door to him before fleeing back into the bedroom, aware of how little time there was before they had to leave.
‘I’ll only be a minute!’ she called out to him as she sat before her mirror to apply an antique golden lip-gloss to her already made-up lips. Then she searched out a pair of silk stockings she’d bought the previous year and never, until now, found occasion to wear. Slipping into the fine silk gown she remembered how it had looked on her the first time she had worn it. How quickly it had responded to her body’s warmth and clung so closely as to even outline her navel. Again
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