thoughtful. I wish Lil would treat her well.
So I thank her warmly and give her a hug, even though she’s in her underwear. And then I say, ‘I should go and have some dinner. Have you eaten?’
She nods, so I turn to go.
‘Deborah,’ she says, and I turn. ‘Have you seen my display?’ She’s pointing at the opposite wall, and suddenly my eyes are opened. She’s hung a huge pinboard and covered it with pictures and clippings of shoes. ‘It’s amazing,’ I gasp, as I rush over. It’s an explosion of colours and shapes. There are crazy platforms, old-fashioned loafers, ballet shoes for ballerinas, high heels of all shapes and sizes, red shoes, black shoes, rainbow-coloured shoes, celebrities like Marilyn Monroe and some goth woman in the pointiest boots you’ve ever seen … shoes, shoes, shoes. And the sight of them makes me laugh out loud. ‘It’s fantastic!’ I say, clapping my hands together. ‘What fun!’
And when I turn to her, she’s beaming. ‘I knew you’d get it,’ she told me. ‘When you love a thing, you love a thing.’
‘Yes,’ I say, and we hold one another’s gazes for a while, and I feel like I might cry again – but in a better way.
And now, half an hour later, I’m down in the kitchen, tucking into my Lean Cuisine, wearing my new tiger-print stilettos. I don’t know what I feel about them right now. They feel stolen, almost, or like a gift with added baggage. But they’re beautiful objects. And as Janey says, there’s nothing wrong with that.
Chapter Seven
His and Hers
Tuesday, 13 March
11.15 a.m.
Dear Kitten,
I haven’t got long to write to you today because I’m going to Guy’s place this evening. He’s cooking for me, Kitten! I think we’re going to bond some more like we did on the phone … and sex in the bedroom is a whole lot more intimate than fucking ourselves in a field. Also, I’ve had two phone conversations in which Guy hasn’t mentioned phone sex even once. He’s asked me how my day was, and filled me in about a business trip he’s taking in a couple of weeks’ time. There’s something special about talking just for the sake of talking. I think he wants to take things to the next level. Romantically, I mean.
10.45 p.m.
Oh, Kitten, as I write, Guy is asleep at my side, his tanned chest rising and falling, the white sheets twisted round his waist. He’s a very sexy man, Kitten. A real catch. So why do I feel just a little bit empty?
Anyway, when I arrived in a taxi he insisted on paying for, he was right in the middle of creating a lovely meal. Ricotta-stuffed ravioli with home-made tomato sauce, topped with fresh Parmesan and a side salad. For dessert: a pile of strawberries with dark chocolate truffles – he fed these to me on the sofa, as I lounged against him, his breath all close and chocolatey, his eyes a sparkling brown. For every strawberry, he told me I had to kiss him. ‘That’s the cost,’ he teased. And sure enough, I laid each of these kisses along that manly jaw line, enjoying the scent of his aftershave and the smoothness of his just-shaved cheek.
This is where we discussed our star signs. I told him I was Sagittarius and it turns out he’s Aries – we’re meant to be a perfect match! ‘You’re a go-getter,’ I told him.
He gave a soft laugh. ‘That’s true. And what about you, Madame Archer?’ He laid a chocolate on my tongue and I felt it dissolve, oh, so sweetly.
So I give him the low-down on Sagittarians. First, I tell him, we seem very fiery and outgoing, but we’re actually quite sensitive deep down. I also tell him we tend to talk a lot, and sometimes we’re loudmouths – can’t always keep a secret. ‘At the same time, we’re incredibly perceptive. We have a habit of hitting the nail on the head when it comes to getting to the root of things.’
‘A bit of a psychologist,’ he says, ‘like Gladys.’
‘In my way,’ I say. ‘But we’re also wanderers. We like our freedom.’
His eyes
So I thank her warmly and give her a hug, even though she’s in her underwear. And then I say, ‘I should go and have some dinner. Have you eaten?’
She nods, so I turn to go.
‘Deborah,’ she says, and I turn. ‘Have you seen my display?’ She’s pointing at the opposite wall, and suddenly my eyes are opened. She’s hung a huge pinboard and covered it with pictures and clippings of shoes. ‘It’s amazing,’ I gasp, as I rush over. It’s an explosion of colours and shapes. There are crazy platforms, old-fashioned loafers, ballet shoes for ballerinas, high heels of all shapes and sizes, red shoes, black shoes, rainbow-coloured shoes, celebrities like Marilyn Monroe and some goth woman in the pointiest boots you’ve ever seen … shoes, shoes, shoes. And the sight of them makes me laugh out loud. ‘It’s fantastic!’ I say, clapping my hands together. ‘What fun!’
And when I turn to her, she’s beaming. ‘I knew you’d get it,’ she told me. ‘When you love a thing, you love a thing.’
‘Yes,’ I say, and we hold one another’s gazes for a while, and I feel like I might cry again – but in a better way.
And now, half an hour later, I’m down in the kitchen, tucking into my Lean Cuisine, wearing my new tiger-print stilettos. I don’t know what I feel about them right now. They feel stolen, almost, or like a gift with added baggage. But they’re beautiful objects. And as Janey says, there’s nothing wrong with that.
Chapter Seven
His and Hers
Tuesday, 13 March
11.15 a.m.
Dear Kitten,
I haven’t got long to write to you today because I’m going to Guy’s place this evening. He’s cooking for me, Kitten! I think we’re going to bond some more like we did on the phone … and sex in the bedroom is a whole lot more intimate than fucking ourselves in a field. Also, I’ve had two phone conversations in which Guy hasn’t mentioned phone sex even once. He’s asked me how my day was, and filled me in about a business trip he’s taking in a couple of weeks’ time. There’s something special about talking just for the sake of talking. I think he wants to take things to the next level. Romantically, I mean.
10.45 p.m.
Oh, Kitten, as I write, Guy is asleep at my side, his tanned chest rising and falling, the white sheets twisted round his waist. He’s a very sexy man, Kitten. A real catch. So why do I feel just a little bit empty?
Anyway, when I arrived in a taxi he insisted on paying for, he was right in the middle of creating a lovely meal. Ricotta-stuffed ravioli with home-made tomato sauce, topped with fresh Parmesan and a side salad. For dessert: a pile of strawberries with dark chocolate truffles – he fed these to me on the sofa, as I lounged against him, his breath all close and chocolatey, his eyes a sparkling brown. For every strawberry, he told me I had to kiss him. ‘That’s the cost,’ he teased. And sure enough, I laid each of these kisses along that manly jaw line, enjoying the scent of his aftershave and the smoothness of his just-shaved cheek.
This is where we discussed our star signs. I told him I was Sagittarius and it turns out he’s Aries – we’re meant to be a perfect match! ‘You’re a go-getter,’ I told him.
He gave a soft laugh. ‘That’s true. And what about you, Madame Archer?’ He laid a chocolate on my tongue and I felt it dissolve, oh, so sweetly.
So I give him the low-down on Sagittarians. First, I tell him, we seem very fiery and outgoing, but we’re actually quite sensitive deep down. I also tell him we tend to talk a lot, and sometimes we’re loudmouths – can’t always keep a secret. ‘At the same time, we’re incredibly perceptive. We have a habit of hitting the nail on the head when it comes to getting to the root of things.’
‘A bit of a psychologist,’ he says, ‘like Gladys.’
‘In my way,’ I say. ‘But we’re also wanderers. We like our freedom.’
His eyes
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