Read Online A Friend of the Family by Marcia Willett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marcia Willett
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Surely it wouldnât hurt, just this once, to take her out? After all, Thea need never know. What harm could it possibly do?
âWhy not?â He nodded. âGood idea. Finish up your drink and weâll go round the corner to the little Italian place. Bit rough and ready but itâs very good. You always liked Italian food.â
âOh, George. How sweet of you to remember. Sounds fun. There!â She emptied her glass and stood it on the little coffee table. âReady when you are!â
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AS THE TRAIN SLID out of Paddington, Felicity settled back into her seat. Her expression was an odd one: bleak, contemptuous, triumphant. It had all gone better than even she had dared to hope but there was some element of satisfaction missing. Of course, sheâd sized up Georgeâs weaknesses with masterly precision and exploited them shamelessly and now he was trapped, but even so . . . There was one fact that she had failed to take into her calculations, one thing; she hadnât allowed for, and that was her own feelings on seeing him after all this time. The sheer power of her own emotions had almost unmanned her and sheâd needed all her considerable strength. Heâd looked so tall, so very male. In her plottings George had played a pathetic role. Sheâd seen him as a weak figure to be crushed and humiliated. He had ceased to be flesh and bone and blood and hair but had become, in her imaginings, a puppet to be manipulated. When he had opened the door and sheâd looked up at him, sheâd felt quite dizzy. He was so real. She remembered how the thick greying hair grew, the texture of his skin under her fingers, his smell. It was an evocative, masculine smell compounded of tobacco, aftershave and Georgeâs own particular body smell and she had felt suddenly weak. Sheâd wanted to seize him, feel his arms round her, wanted to be told that it was all a terrible mistake, that he still belonged to her. She had been obliged to hurry past him, forgoing the enjoyment of his look of horror,shock and fear. She had planned to enjoy that look, to savour it, but weakness had overcome her and sheâd had to summon up all her reserves to be able to carry out her plan.
As the train gathered speed, she stared out into the cold, light spring evening remembering how they had chatted during dinner. She had renewed her acquaintance with his hands, long, elegant members with sensitive fingers, that had moved, gestured, clasped, totally indifferent to her whilst she had watched them, mesmerised, longing for their touch. He had kissed her at the end. It seemed the only way to say goodbye that wasnât churlish or simply silly. He had taken her by the upper arms and given her a swift light kiss and, as quickly, released her and put her into the taxi heâd telephoned for from the restaurant.
Now, she sat quite still, containing, controlling her loneliness, calling up her anger and jealousy. Somehow, these fiery emotions which had dominated her waking hours for so long seemed to elude her, swooping and wheeling just outside her consciousness, whilst an aching feeling of loss took hold of her until all she could feel was the grip of his fingers on her arms and the touch of his lips near her mouth. As the train sped westwards she crouched in her corner like a damaged bird, staring out, until the sky beyond the window grew dark and night approached.
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Six
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THEA SAT ON ONE of the benches on the platform of the Old Station House and watched a robin pecking at the crumbs she had thrown down for him. He was very tame, sometimes hopping after her through the original sliding doors that led into what had once been the waiting room. Thea raised her face, eyes closed against the hot June sun, and the sharp, peppery scent of hawthorn drifted into her nostrils. Beside her stood strips of bedding plants in plastic containers alongside several larger shrubs, presently to be put into the big wooden
âWhy not?â He nodded. âGood idea. Finish up your drink and weâll go round the corner to the little Italian place. Bit rough and ready but itâs very good. You always liked Italian food.â
âOh, George. How sweet of you to remember. Sounds fun. There!â She emptied her glass and stood it on the little coffee table. âReady when you are!â
Â
AS THE TRAIN SLID out of Paddington, Felicity settled back into her seat. Her expression was an odd one: bleak, contemptuous, triumphant. It had all gone better than even she had dared to hope but there was some element of satisfaction missing. Of course, sheâd sized up Georgeâs weaknesses with masterly precision and exploited them shamelessly and now he was trapped, but even so . . . There was one fact that she had failed to take into her calculations, one thing; she hadnât allowed for, and that was her own feelings on seeing him after all this time. The sheer power of her own emotions had almost unmanned her and sheâd needed all her considerable strength. Heâd looked so tall, so very male. In her plottings George had played a pathetic role. Sheâd seen him as a weak figure to be crushed and humiliated. He had ceased to be flesh and bone and blood and hair but had become, in her imaginings, a puppet to be manipulated. When he had opened the door and sheâd looked up at him, sheâd felt quite dizzy. He was so real. She remembered how the thick greying hair grew, the texture of his skin under her fingers, his smell. It was an evocative, masculine smell compounded of tobacco, aftershave and Georgeâs own particular body smell and she had felt suddenly weak. Sheâd wanted to seize him, feel his arms round her, wanted to be told that it was all a terrible mistake, that he still belonged to her. She had been obliged to hurry past him, forgoing the enjoyment of his look of horror,shock and fear. She had planned to enjoy that look, to savour it, but weakness had overcome her and sheâd had to summon up all her reserves to be able to carry out her plan.
As the train gathered speed, she stared out into the cold, light spring evening remembering how they had chatted during dinner. She had renewed her acquaintance with his hands, long, elegant members with sensitive fingers, that had moved, gestured, clasped, totally indifferent to her whilst she had watched them, mesmerised, longing for their touch. He had kissed her at the end. It seemed the only way to say goodbye that wasnât churlish or simply silly. He had taken her by the upper arms and given her a swift light kiss and, as quickly, released her and put her into the taxi heâd telephoned for from the restaurant.
Now, she sat quite still, containing, controlling her loneliness, calling up her anger and jealousy. Somehow, these fiery emotions which had dominated her waking hours for so long seemed to elude her, swooping and wheeling just outside her consciousness, whilst an aching feeling of loss took hold of her until all she could feel was the grip of his fingers on her arms and the touch of his lips near her mouth. As the train sped westwards she crouched in her corner like a damaged bird, staring out, until the sky beyond the window grew dark and night approached.
Â
Six
Â
THEA SAT ON ONE of the benches on the platform of the Old Station House and watched a robin pecking at the crumbs she had thrown down for him. He was very tame, sometimes hopping after her through the original sliding doors that led into what had once been the waiting room. Thea raised her face, eyes closed against the hot June sun, and the sharp, peppery scent of hawthorn drifted into her nostrils. Beside her stood strips of bedding plants in plastic containers alongside several larger shrubs, presently to be put into the big wooden
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