dislike each other. Marisa wondered if it had anything to do with her, for she enjoyed Lyle’s company, his conversation, his tales of England and canal life. Robert would dig at Lyle, then back off as Lyle revealed a sharp tongue and a wicked temper he barely kept in check.
In the large, simple restaurant of a Banbury hotel, Marisa, Nat, Ellie, and Larry stood with a busload of Australian tourists around an upright battered piano and sang “Home on the Range.” Over her shoulder Marisa quickly glanced at the bar and saw Robert smiling and talking to a young blonde girl who couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Jack Lyle walked past the two of them, stopped for only a fraction of a second to stare coldly at Robert, then continued walking out of the restaurant.
You took the words right out of my mouth, Mr. Lyle, thought Marisa, who turned around and sang, “And the skies are not cloudy all day.”
The next morning an annoyed Marisa left the breakfast table to walk out of the hotel and into the quiet streets of Banbury. Robert and Larry were carrying on like college sophomores. The two were having a food fight, throwing pieces of bread and fruit across the table at each other and disturbing the people around them. An embarrassed Ellie and Nat had left the table and sat nearby, their backs to the two men. Other patrons in the dining room looked at Robert and Larry and shook their heads. Americans. What else could you expect from people who insisted on ice in their drinks?
Outside in the chilly morning Marisa shivered, stuck her hands up the sleeves of her sweater, and began walking toward the boat. They’d spent the night in Banbury, with Lyle staying on The Drake to guard it and watch their luggage.
Alone in their hotel room, Marisa had mentioned the blonde girl to Robert.
He said, “If you spent less time talking to that old fart Lyle I wouldn’t have to go looking.”
“You’ll always go looking.”
“Ah, but window shopping isn’t the same as buying.”
“Listen to me, hot breath. If you ever window shop in front of me again, you’ll wish you hadn’t”
“Threat or promise?”
“Both, sweet thing. Both. I don’t like it.”
He shrugged and drew her to him, the palm of one hand gently rubbing her nipple. “Picky, picky.”
She felt herself getting sexually aroused and wished she weren’t. That was Robert’s little trick. Sex was his wonder drug, the cure-all for his lapses, lacks, and various and sundry slips.
“Robert …”
“Been a long time between drinks. Can’t do much in a bunk bed, especially with four people watching. Hmmmmm?”
“Why don’t you like Jack Lyle?”
“Ask him why he doesn’t like me. Take off your clothes and let me play with your private parts.”
His body was tight against hers, pressing her into the wall, and she felt his erection. She also felt herself responding and tried to stop it.
“Robert, Jack Lyle’s a nice old man. He’s very interesting, I—”
Robert’s hand was down into the front of her pants and his fingers into her vagina. She pushed forward to meet his fingers. “Robert, Lyle is …”
Her arms went around Robert’s neck and she whispered, “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”
“Fuck Lyle where he breathes,” said Robert fumbling with his fly.
They made love standing up against the wall, with Marisa’s legs wrapped around Robert’s waist and Robert cupping her bare buttocks.
This morning she turned the corner and saw Jack Lyle just leaving a tobacco shop, his black briar clutched between his teeth. He waved to her. “Out for an early morning stroll, missy?”
She waited until two girls on bicycles passed in front of her, then crossed the narrow cobbled street. She barely made it. Marisa was wearing platform shoes; on the rough cobbles her ankles wobbled, and she pawed the air for balance.
Jack Lyle chuckled, “Them’s not the shoes for strollin’.”
“Tell me about it. My God!” She reached the other side of the
In the large, simple restaurant of a Banbury hotel, Marisa, Nat, Ellie, and Larry stood with a busload of Australian tourists around an upright battered piano and sang “Home on the Range.” Over her shoulder Marisa quickly glanced at the bar and saw Robert smiling and talking to a young blonde girl who couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Jack Lyle walked past the two of them, stopped for only a fraction of a second to stare coldly at Robert, then continued walking out of the restaurant.
You took the words right out of my mouth, Mr. Lyle, thought Marisa, who turned around and sang, “And the skies are not cloudy all day.”
The next morning an annoyed Marisa left the breakfast table to walk out of the hotel and into the quiet streets of Banbury. Robert and Larry were carrying on like college sophomores. The two were having a food fight, throwing pieces of bread and fruit across the table at each other and disturbing the people around them. An embarrassed Ellie and Nat had left the table and sat nearby, their backs to the two men. Other patrons in the dining room looked at Robert and Larry and shook their heads. Americans. What else could you expect from people who insisted on ice in their drinks?
Outside in the chilly morning Marisa shivered, stuck her hands up the sleeves of her sweater, and began walking toward the boat. They’d spent the night in Banbury, with Lyle staying on The Drake to guard it and watch their luggage.
Alone in their hotel room, Marisa had mentioned the blonde girl to Robert.
He said, “If you spent less time talking to that old fart Lyle I wouldn’t have to go looking.”
“You’ll always go looking.”
“Ah, but window shopping isn’t the same as buying.”
“Listen to me, hot breath. If you ever window shop in front of me again, you’ll wish you hadn’t”
“Threat or promise?”
“Both, sweet thing. Both. I don’t like it.”
He shrugged and drew her to him, the palm of one hand gently rubbing her nipple. “Picky, picky.”
She felt herself getting sexually aroused and wished she weren’t. That was Robert’s little trick. Sex was his wonder drug, the cure-all for his lapses, lacks, and various and sundry slips.
“Robert …”
“Been a long time between drinks. Can’t do much in a bunk bed, especially with four people watching. Hmmmmm?”
“Why don’t you like Jack Lyle?”
“Ask him why he doesn’t like me. Take off your clothes and let me play with your private parts.”
His body was tight against hers, pressing her into the wall, and she felt his erection. She also felt herself responding and tried to stop it.
“Robert, Jack Lyle’s a nice old man. He’s very interesting, I—”
Robert’s hand was down into the front of her pants and his fingers into her vagina. She pushed forward to meet his fingers. “Robert, Lyle is …”
Her arms went around Robert’s neck and she whispered, “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”
“Fuck Lyle where he breathes,” said Robert fumbling with his fly.
They made love standing up against the wall, with Marisa’s legs wrapped around Robert’s waist and Robert cupping her bare buttocks.
This morning she turned the corner and saw Jack Lyle just leaving a tobacco shop, his black briar clutched between his teeth. He waved to her. “Out for an early morning stroll, missy?”
She waited until two girls on bicycles passed in front of her, then crossed the narrow cobbled street. She barely made it. Marisa was wearing platform shoes; on the rough cobbles her ankles wobbled, and she pawed the air for balance.
Jack Lyle chuckled, “Them’s not the shoes for strollin’.”
“Tell me about it. My God!” She reached the other side of the
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