Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 ï>¿Another one from Debbie's point of view ...

   The train down from Glasgow was only twenty minutes late when it got
into Hartsholme, the journey giving me just enough time to package up some
emotions and get back into Corporate Me mode, I thought.  Phil was dead and
buried, in the most literal sense of the words, and polite platitudes had
been exchanged with his parents and gung-ho macho man brother.  I knew 
-"and so did they  -"that we would probably never meet again, nonetheless
promises of meetings, cards, sentiments had been exchanged.  With a guilty
start, I felt a twinge of relief that Phil and I had never had kids.  I
loved him, to be sure -"loved him more than anyone else I'd ever known,
perhaps -"but he was gone and now I was free of all the concomitants.  It
was a peculiarly comforting thought, in a bizarre and morally complex sort
of way.

   And it took me off the train and onto the platform in a vaguely positive
frame of mind ...  for the first time in some months, I realised ...  and
capable, once again, of appreciating the strange beautiful of a nondescript
railway station in late Autumn, the Victorian architecture clashing
poignantly with the red plastic and plate glass of modernity.

   OK, I was in a reverie, a little removed from the real world, rejoicing
-"there is really no other word - in this rediscovery of self.  It was thus
slightly disconcerting to note a voice calling "Deborah, Miss Jensen ...."
across from the other platform, more so when I recognised the caller as one
of the architects from Hertford Square.  Colin, my memory finally supplied,
nice enough bloke - "in a puppyish sort of way.  Whenever we'd met before,
he'd been pathetically eager to please, quite unlike his harder edged, more
business like partners.  Against that,I knew he was regarded as the most
creative of the trio, so he was probably also the best choice for the job.
Shrugging, I put on my best business smile, waved acknowledgement and
proceeded through the subway to meet him.  The last trace of my previous
distraction pointed out that said tunnel conspicuously did not smell of
urine.  Bloody hell, I thought, definitely not in London, then.

   Emerging into daylight again - whence my, no our, connecting train would
depart, Colin was obviously keen to get things off to a good start. 
"Deborah!", he exclaimed ...  or maybe ejaculated ...  he was that kind of
bloke.  Still a bit discomfited by his being around at all - I'd thought
we'd meet at the hotel or something - I cut him off quite sharply.  "Its
Debbie, as you well know - we've talked often enough before." He looked
crestfallen, possibly wondering if he'd blown it with a major client - from
what Dave had told me over the weekend, possibly the only client - and for
a brief moment I had a vision of me making everything right, recognising in
an instant the old Debbie and deciding to stick with the new one.

   "OK, we're working together.  When's the train?  Have you sorted out a
taxi from Bowmere or are we busing it?  I know Dave and the team booked
hotels, not a lot more."

   Again, that exultant realisation that it was OK not to know everything.
Not sure that Colin saw it that way but - hey - it actually wasn't that
complicated.  In fact, we were in ensconced in Dave's choice of hotel
within the hour.  Again, I felt an empathy ...  could see the charm.  It
was a good hotel, that was obvious, but eccentric.  The building was
ancient, convoluted, complicated, the staff friendly but ...  distracted
... not always focused on the immediate priorities of their customers.  I
loved it, amused by the fact that Colin loved the fact that he was in a
hotel.  The joy on his face when someone brought us a coffee as we sat down
to map out priorities and objectives ...  oh, and a plan to achieve them
... was wonderful ...

   * ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

   Next morning was time to implement the plan.  Colin took a camera and
some hi-tech measuring gear over to the old slate works - our intended new
home - to meet with the agent and do a preliminary site review, while I
took myself over to the time share complex to begin making arrangements for
the interim accommodation.  This involved meeting Andy the owner - a guy
Dave had singularly failed to bond with, I knew - and I began to appreciate
quite why very rapidly.  I'd worked with a lot of guys in the corporate
world who flaunted the gold Rolex and the hand made suit, mentioned the
Ferrari and the exclusive schools for the kids on a too frequent basis,
generally oozed wealth and smugness, but somehow none of them had struck me
as quite so reptilian as my new acquaintance.  Possibly it was the fact
that the corporate arseholes had had the advantage of actually being very
seriously rich, while young Andy was clearly small time, a chancer,
basically, with a minor empire and some major dreams ...  or possibly
delusions.  He was a big man in only one way, at least on first sight, and
that was mostly fat ...  oh and he had stubble which he probably felt
looked cool but ...  well, it didn't do it for me.

   What also didn't work at all, from my point of view, was the fact that
he was so obviously checking me out right from the point when I first
entered his office.  I began to regret wearing a skirt - even a below the
knee one felt exposed in the face of his leer - and what I now felt was a
too tight jumper, given that he was openly fixating on my breasts.  I took
a deep breath, set my face to impassive and tried to keep things
professional.

   * ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

   Back in the hotel for a lunchtime catch-up, Colin was clearly excited
with what he'd found - it appeared that 'aspects' were good and 'foundings'
advantageous, which I guessed must both (i) mean something to him and (ii)
be something to be pleased about.  So I was ...  it was actually quite a
relief to be away from would be loverboy Mr Timeshare, just spending some
time without having my cleavage checked out on a regular basis.  I felt I
needed a shower, barely three hours since I'd last had one, and resolved to
delegate the afternoon's follow up with Andy to young Colin.  Well, we
needed to sort out things like power and ICT connections to the proposed
workspace over there and I sort of felt that this could be considered an
architectural task.  In a way.  Colin, of course, agreed ...  he'd probably
have done nude handstands on the green if I'd asked him at that point ...
even if I could tell he was mainly keen to get on with sketching ideas and
doing oh so complicated structural calculations.  Well, plenty of time for
that, I felt ...  and it was only a building, for gods sake - been standing
for a hundred years or so, not all that likely to fall down now even if we
did knock it about a bit.

   So I finished my coffee and sandwich, despatched Colin off to do the
necessary and went back to my room.  Where I did have that shower ...  and
phoned a Jane Whitaker at the local college, a biology teacher Dave had met
the previous week, and arranged to meet her that very afternoon.  Must be
the rural ethos, I thought ...  everyone seemed to have a lot of free time.

   Which, I had to admit, was a lifestyle I could buy into.

   * ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

   In fact, I knew that Ms Whitaker had given up a 'free' period - which is
to say, time scheduled for marking and lesson planning, not sitting around
chatting - to meet me.  Which I might have felt slightly guilty about if
she hadn't sounded so obviously enthusiastic on the phone, been quite so
bubbly in person.  Even as I was extracting myself from the taxi I'd taken
down the valley I could see her haring out of the college building, running
towards me with a huge smile and some incoherent cry of welcome.  Teachers,
I felt, had not behaved like this when I was at school.

   Up close, I discovered that she was, well, tiny, as Dave had said -
couldn't have been more than five foot, I thought, and not a raised heel in
sight - but also quite classically beautiful ...  almost like a Greek
sculpture, if you could imagine such a thing with bright red hair ...  and
an Arran jumper over a knee length denim skirt.  She was also smiling
broadly as she grabbed my hand and, talking excitedly the while, more or
less dragged me into the building and, eventually, into a lab prep room ...
apparently the nearest thing to a meeting room she had available.

   OK, so the locust cages were a bit disconcerting, the cockroaches more
so when I finally noticed them, but we talked ...  and talked to some
purpose, given the tsunami of exuberance she was sending my way.  Jane told
me she'd already done a 'guerilla' survey of our site, doing some initial
basic mapping by - umm - simply breaking in one weekend.  (I laughed,
impressed with both the honesty and the initiative) and had a group of
students primed and ready to go ...  avid bug collectors and weed spotters
to a man.  Or to a boy and girl, at least.  In fact, it became clear, all
she really needed from me was the key to the gate padlock ...  and clearly
she was quite capable of managing even without that.  So I gave her the
key, my blessing and - Dave's suggestion - quite a large cheque for the
college's development fund.  And then we talked about other things ... 
lots of other things.

   Actually, we talked through the rest of the afternoon, both of us
surprised to find ourselves disturbed by the sounds of the last lessons of
the day ending, a few hundred or so students making their way home in a
cacophony of trampling feet and excited voices.  That, at least, reminded
me of the schooldays I'd known ...  but they'd had nothing in them to
compare to Jane.  I hoped her students knew just how lucky they were.

   * ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

   I declined the offer of a lift back up the valley - by that time I knew
she lived in Bowmere and didn't feel I could take her so far out of her
way, given the amount of her time I'd already taken up - but we agreed to
meet up on site at the weekend, or sooner if she could swing it with her
head of department and get the students up there in the week.  So I left
Jane at the college reception, giving her a brief hug on parting and made
my way over to the bus stop, thankfully by now mostly clear of students ...
and, of course, with no more buses for an hour or so.  Oh, well, I thought
...  best just walk back into Bowmere and find another taxi.  I was, in
fact, just checking my mobile for messages - while I had a signal and all
that, when a mud encrusted landrover growled its way out of the staff car
park ...  and drew to a halt beside me.  A large smiling woman leaned over
to the passenger side window.  "You wouldn't happen to be Debbie, by any
chance?" she said.  Well ...  Dave was right, I thought ...  their bloody
grapevine is good.

   "Got it in one", I said with a smile of my own.  "And given the vehicle,
and the location, I'd guess that you must be Kath, the IT teacher that Dave
told me about."

   "Touche.  Hop in ...  if you're going up the valley ...  I have a sister
to check up on.  And there won't be a bus for ages, incidentally."

   Which, of course, I already knew ...  so I clambered in with her, giving
her hand a brief shake and asking how she'd recognised me.

   "Well, I just had Jane - Whitaker - going on about this fantastic person
she's been talking to all afternoon and ...  well, we don't get a lot of
tall beautiful blondes hanging around the bus stop of an evening, so it
seemed to be worth a go.  Anyway ...  your colleague Dave - you know he
talked to some of my students when he was up?  - mentioned a bit about you
and I've been dying to meet you ever since."

   I smiled at this, wondered if she knew just how much he'd told me about
her, then settled back to enjoy the ride, Kath given me a running
commentary on all the farms  -"and the farmers - that we passed. 
Apparently there wasn't a sane person in the valley ...  at least if you
took Kath's word for it.

   I decided to keep an open mind.

   * ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

   Back in the village, Kath dropped me at the hotel after making me
promise that I would meet her and her sister Rosie in the bar later on ...
and that I would bring Colin, along ...  or "the fresh meat", as she
actually put it.  I stood and watched her drive off with a silly grin on my
face, quite overwhelmed by the welcome I'd received from two such different
women ...  and in such an unexpected way.  It almost made up for that creep
Andy, I thought with a shudder, before shaking myself down and heading into
the hotel.

   Where I found Colin sitting on a couch in reception ...  looking so
relieved to see me that he must have thought I'd been in danger of being
kidnapped by aliens or something.  Either that or Mr Timeshare's tastes
were broader than I'd thought.

   In fact, the latter wasn't too far off - apparently the guy had talked
about me pretty much constantly, seemingly assuming a rather greater
intimacy between Colin and myself than existed (or was ever likely to
exist) ...  even asking him what my bra size was at one point ...  and how
the hell would he know that, even if we were sleeping together - check my
laundry basket?  All of which must have been rather disconcerting to a well
brought up young man, who, I suspected, did have a slight, schoolboyish,
crush on me, but wasn't quite enough to explain his distraught appearance.
That, it turned out was more to do with our friends at PCW.  Arriving back
at the hotel, he'd found a message asking him - not us - to phone some head
honcho there ...  which he did.  And promptly got told that he needed to
submit all his plans, cost estimates, timescales, etc etc to them in
advance, for approval.  The bastards had even reminded him that they were
his practice's landlords.

   Which, of course, had more than slightly upset Colin ...  but it made me
absolutely livid.  I reminded him, as reassuringly as possible, that he was
actually working for us - that is, Bronstein Associates (Europe) - and that
we'd signed actual legal contracts guaranteeing him payment ...  and our
'ownership' of the work to be undertaken.  I did manage to keep a lid on my
anger long enough to get him calmed down a bit, then sent him to the bar
for a drink  -"which he looked like he badly needed  -"before retiring
briefly to my room to make a few phone calls of my own.

   * ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

   I didn't get very far, to be honest, but at least the folks back at base
knew what was happening - Colin's partners had also reported a similar
approach to them, so it wasn't a shock - and at least one PCW executive had
his vocabulary enhanced by a few of my choicer words.  Ultimately, I felt
that we needed Carla on board and overtly supporting us  -"if nothing else
she was rich and successful, and PCW liked rich and successful people, even
female ones  -"and had strongly suggested to Dave that he get hold of her
pronto.  Which was about all I could do, from here, but I was still
worried. Dave, I thought, didn't seem to realise that just because what he
was doing was, to him, obviously morally right - fair in his terms  -"it
didn't actually make it legal, in the sense of according with our funders
legitimate contractual expectations.  I'd had more experience in this game
than he had  -"hell, Mickey bloody Mouse had more than Dave  -"and whilst I
also knew that the figures really did stack up, that we really could make
lots of people lots of money, I was ...  unsettled.  I knew Dave, I trusted
him, I was in ...  I was not exactly a dispassionate observer. 
Nonetheless, it seemed to me that he was blithely sailing into stormy
corporate waters, assuming that people would trust him because he was, in
fact, trustworthy.  What he didn't seem to realise - or maybe just bloody
mindedly chose to ignore - was that, in the absence of the old school tie,
his backers really needed those overt signs of corporate governance - the
committees, the protocols, the procedures ...  all the shit he hated. 
Hell, I knew whose side I was on - whose world I would prefer to live in -
but ...  There it was.  I felt storm clouds gathering, had to live with the
fact that even knowing that, I couldn't face going back to London, working
that closely with him.  Not yet, anyway.  And, of course, I had a job to do
up here.  Currently, ensuring that a boy wonder architect ate a decent
dinner ...  and then having a drink with a mad ICT teacher.

   The absurdity of it all made me laugh out loud.

   * ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

   Actually, getting Colin to eat wasn't a challenge - a half of bitter had
relaxed him slightly and the food was absolutely excellent - and Kath
turned out to be comparatively sane.  If only by comparison with her sister
...  who wasn't sane at all.

   Both of them were sitting at a small table in the corner of the bar when
we came through from the dining room.  Kath had changed out of her work
clothes and was now wearing jeans and a baggy fleece sweatshirt, her hair
untied and falling around her face as she shared a joke with her sister. 
Rosie, I thought ...  who might actually be on the payroll, given that Dave
had apparently offered her a job without bothering to sort out any of the
details  -"like what she was actually supposed to do, how much we would pay
her, that sort of stuff.  She didn't look anything like her sister, who was
a large woman with a lot of curves and a sort of outdoors appearance. 
Rosie, by contrast, was a much slighter figure, her darker hair cut short
and her body showing angles beneath the grey smock type dress she was
wearing.  Both waved a friendly greeting as they saw us come in and I sat
down with them as Colin politely headed to the bar to get drinks in for the
four of us.

   When he got back - taking a couple of trips to shift the four pints,
much to Rosie's disdain - and we'd got the introductions out of the way, it
was Rosie who made the conversational running.  I think it took her maybe
ten minutes to get both Colin and my life stories out of us, followed by a
swift canter through our current emotional entanglements ...  and our
histories in that regard, too.  I think Colin was a little taken aback by
all this and Kath  -"who, of course, knew something of my recent
bereavement, given that Dave had been staying with her (sleeping with her,
actually) when I'd phoned to let him know  -"looked more than slightly
uncomfortable.  I, though, felt perfectly OK talking about my life -
school, university, PCW, Dave - and loves - a few early liaisons, Phil and
...  Dave?  I think it was simply that there was no subterfuge, no malice,
in the inquiry ...  or maybe it was just a relief to be talking about it
all openly, almost for the first time.  Then again, maybe I was just
putting a marker down, just in case either of them had any future ambitions
regarding Dave.  Oh, and it was nice to clarify things for Colin, too, just
in case he had any actual ambitions regarding me.  Whatever, the
conversation moved on - we'd actually got on to talking about proper beer
(a subject that a few months acquaintance with Dave had given me an
encyclopaedic knowledge of) - when the atmosphere darkened.  Literally, in
fact, as a large shadow appeared over the table from behind me, followed by
a meaty paw on my shoulder.  Yep, it was Andy from the timeshare place,
seizing what he undoubtedly saw as a moment of opportunity, and beginning
to squeeze himself onto the bench beside Colin.

   For a brief moment, I thought that things might get even more unpleasant
as I saw the flash of outraged anger cross Colin's face, felt both the
sisters tense up  -"faces twisted with revulsion which made me think I
wasn't the first of us to be subjected to this treatment.  As it turned
out, Colin didn't try to hit him ...  and I didn't even have to think of
anything politely discouraging to say.  What happened was that he finally
recognised who I was sitting with ...  face visibly paling as he caught
sight of Rosie ...  now staring straight into his eyes with a very peculiar
grin.

   Oh, so quietly, she said,

   "Oh, Andy.  How nice of you to join us.  And what a shame that you've
got to go again, already." She paused, slightly, added with a touch more
emphasis, "Go.  Already."

   He went.  Simply stood up, turned round, walked out of the room, out of
the building.  I sat back in my chair, taking in Colin's stupefied
expression, Kath and Rosie's quietly satisfied looks.  "What the fuck just
happened?", I asked, finally.

   Looks were exchanged, some sort of silent conference taking place
between the sisters.

   "There's history," Kath finally said, "Reasons why Mr Tosshead back
there has reason to behave with a degree of caution around us.  Things we
know, things we might tell."

   "Yeah," added Rosie, less carefully.  "And photos we have, photos we
might might leave lying about."

   God knows what all that was about, I thought ...  but I'd seen the look
of open fear on the guy's face ...  couldn't imagine what would have caused
it.  From my dealings with him that morning, I'd thought that whatever
brains he had were all situated in the groin region, that he probably
didn't possess the imagination to be that frightened.  But then maybe
things had been explained to him very carefully.  Probably, I thought, with
illustrations.  I could see Rosie doing something like that ...  and quite
possibly enjoying it.  I felt strangely glad that she seemed - so far,
anyway - to be on our side.  Which fact she promptly proved by switching
modes in an instant, losing the steely edge to become ...  well, just
another sociable young woman out for a drink with some friends.  She turned
to Colin - who was as white as a sheet at this point, and quite possibly
wondering where he'd left his teddy bear - and began chatting to him
quietly and amicably ...  I could see him begin to relax, feel the charm
carry across the table.  Meanwhile, Kath had turned her charm in my
direction, asking me inconsequential questions about my university days,
why on earth I'd chosen to study philosophy, that sort of stuff.  I knew
she was putting some space between us and the recent unpleasantness, and
grateful to her for doing so.

   And so time passed.  We moved up the valley to the Old Hotel, had
another drink or two, there - Kath driving so staying off the alcohol,
which I appreciated, not being as into eight kilometre night-time walks as
my boss  -"and conversation continued.  Actually, it continued between Kath
and myself, mostly, Rosie and Colin having retreated into a sort of bubble
of their own ...  'fresh meat' indeed, I thought ...  The pub got a lot
busier, later on - early snow had been forecast and the hill walkers were
out in force, the campsite over the road filling up quite rapidly by all
accounts - but we managed to keep ourselves pretty much to ourselves, most
of the time.  Actually, it was a couple of local guys  -"shepherds by the
smell of them - who broke the mood.  I guess by this time Rosie was pretty
far along the road to 'getting off' with my architect friend and so a
certain type of guy would probably have figured that Kath and I were
looking for a similar end to the evening.  Well, these two did, anyway ...
sitting down at the table without asking - well, the place was busy, not
too many seats available - and then buying us both drinks, again without
asking ...  which rankled rather more.  Actually, I surprised myself. 
Sure, it rankled ...  in fact, I was thoroughly pissed off at the cheek of
it.  But I didn't say anything.  Probably for the first time since I was a
giggling teenager I didn't simply tell them to go fuck themselves or -
better yet - simply pour the bloody drink over their heads.  Oh, no.  What
I did was, I waited for Kath to do something.  Which was bloody strange
behaviour, I thought, even as I was doing it.

   Thankfully, Kath didn't let me down.  She didn't tell them to piss off
or do anything messy with the drinks, either.  What she did was stare bloke
A straight in the eye, and asked him in a friendly and interested tone what
he thought of Kant's Critique of Pure Reason.  Was it, in his opinion, a
fundamental advance on Hume's previous scepticism, or was he more with
Schopenhauer in regarding it as important but fundamentally flawed?

   The guy looked baffled.  Taking my cue, I followed her right hook with a
swift philosophical jab to the jaw by enquiring whether he felt that - as
Arthur S had argued - perception was independent of conceptual thought, an
entity distinct from the mechanics of logical thought?  And if so, where
did that leave Kant's fundamental criticism of the romantic philosophers?
He didn't even have a chance to breath - let alone say something inane
about romantic philosophy, phwah, phwah - before Kath was throwing Hegel at
him as well.  He looked staggered ...  against the ropes already, hanging
in the clinch and hoping for the bell ...  and I knew we could keep up this
bollocks all night if we had to.

   Bloke B, it is true, showed a bit more nous, attempting to return the
conversation to something approaching conventional English by interjecting
a sensible if uninspired question as to whether we were, like, philosophers
or something - he almost got the word right, too - but Kath was ready for
him.  "Actually, no, I'm a teacher and my friend here is a business
consultant but that's no reason not to take an interest in the higher
things in life, wouldn't you say?"

   We never got the chance to find out whether he agreed with the
proposition or not, unfortunately, as Rosie chose that moment to emerge
from her - well, from her grope, to be honest - and helpfully interject
that she knew the gentleman of old.  Which fact seemed to embarrass him,
somewhat surprisingly, though less so when she followed it up with a fairly
cutting remark about certain of his physical attributes ...  such as the
size of his penis.  Oh, and a question as to whether he had any promising
ewes on the go this year?

   Dangerous ground, I felt - the male ego crushed can be an unpleasant and
dangerous thing - but again the sisters knew their territory, knew just how
far you could push this sort of stuff hereabouts.  That and the fact that
Rosie had used her peculiar ability to project her voice, thereby ensuring
that the entire pub was now listening to these exchanges, persuaded our new
friends to call it a day, leaving their drinks on the table as they went.

   I'll give them their due ...  they made a fairly gracious exit, managing
not to visibly flinch when their departure brought an ironic cheer and a
round of applause from the audience ...  to which Rosie gave a brief bow,
looking, I felt, appropriately smug.

   * ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

   We drove back down the valley soon after that, though, on the basis that
the Albion bar would be quieter and, as Kath somewhat acidly put it, Rosie
was in danger of getting herself arrested if she didn't get somewhere more
private soon.  Colin, I noticed, had gone very quiet ...  but then, no-one
seemed to be all that interested in his opinions, anyway.  And he looked
happy enough, even if he did look just a bit embarrassed when Kath simply
stopped the landrover outside a house in the village  -"Rosie's, I surmised
 -"and he was dragged out of the back door  -"not quite by his hair  -"and
led unceremoniously up the front path.

   Which left just Kath and me.  We went back to the bar, I bought drinks.
Kath looked at me enquiringly when I came back, put two pints of Coniston's
finest on the table.

   "Umm, you know I'm going to be in trouble if I drink that and drive
home, don't you?  I mean, I'm probably not all that legal at the moment ...
"

   "It had occured to me", I said, "and I can count, too ...  so I don't
think you should be thinking of driving ...  I probably shouldn't have let
you drive down the valley, really, but ...  well, you saw what was going on
between Rosie and Colin ...  we'd have needed at least a bucket of water
over the pair of them before a taxi driver would even think of taking
them."

   "True enough", she said, "And then we'd have had to pay extra for the
wet patch on the seats.  Or wet patches on the seats, should I say ..."

   I laughed with her at the thought ...  watching as she sipped at the
beer, thought better of it and took a healthy swig.  "Still leaves me with
the problem of where to stay though ...  I don't think Rosie would be that
welcoming, in the circumstances - well, actually she might well be but it
might freak your friend out a bit - and I'm buggered if I'm going to sleep
in the truck with work to go to tomorrow."

   "Sure," I said, taking a drink of my own beer, contemplating her calmly
as I decided to go through with it, take the chance.  "So you'd best just
stay with me.  If you'd like to, that is."

   * ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

   One thing corporate life has taught me is that you can do pretty much
anything in a hotel and, if you do it with confidence, no-one bats an
eyelid.  Thus, the sight of a guest giving a long and - err - friendly hug
to another woman in the bar did not discomfit anyone on the staff.  Well,
OK, the guy behind the bar looked suddenly more awake, but neither the
embrace, the rapid draining of drinks or the fact that we proceeded
together towards the bedrooms discomfited anyone on the staff.  Thank
heaven for room-rate hotel bookings, I was thinking to myself as we reached
the bar doorway and Kath suddenly pulled me to a halt.  Just as I was about
to ask what was wrong, she put her arms round me, pulled me tightly against
her and gave me a very deep kiss ...  which was pleasant - and confirmed,
if confirmation was required, that she had taken the invitation the way it
had been meant - but also a bit strange.  Until she backed off a bit, and I
noticed her wink at a middle aged woman, sitting with others of her ilk and
staring aghast at the pair of us.

   "Don't worry," she said.  "Its the vicar.  Long story."

   * ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

   When we got to my room, I found a note under the door - a message from
reception, Dave had called earlier, wanted me to phone him the next
morning. OK, I thought, my mind half on the scene below ...  wondering
about how that would play as we established the business in the future.  I
was acting completely out of character, I knew ...  half thrilled by the
idea ...  and half appalled.  Kath caught my mood, sat on the bed and
looked at me.

   "Are you OK about this, Debbie?  I mean I wasn't actually anticipating
this ...  didn't think you were this way inclined, to be honest ...  and I
can usually tell, believe me ..."

   I shrugged, still preoccupied.  "I'm not, really ...  I mean," I
laughed, "I might drink pints and mainly avoid wearing skirts - oh, and my
hairs quite short, of course - but actually I'd never even contemplated
sleeping with another woman till last week.  But I quite liked it ... 
liked the closeness, I mean, the fact that it was more about friendship
than Relationships or love or whatever ...  well, for me anyway."

   I paused and she continued to look at me, sensing there was more to
come. Was there?  I really didn't know, felt a wave of exasperation ... 
not quite sure why.  "Hell, I probably sound like I'm just using you ... 
maybe I am just using you but ...  oh, I don;t know, you've been so kind,
so much fun to be with ...  it just seemed like a nice idea ..."

   She reached up, took my hand in hers.  "Hey, no worries ...  if you're
OK, then so am I ...  as Eric Berne probably should have said."

   "Or maybe Gandhi?" I smiled at her, sat down on the bed beside her.  She
put her arms around me, gathered me in a hug, gave me a long, lingering
kiss, working my jumper and t-shirt up above my breasts as she did so.  I
pulled free long enough to remove them completely, lay back on the bed ...
just feeling passively compliant as she set to work on my combat trousers,
again taking my panties with them.  I was impressed by the calm efficiency
of the process, reaching around to unclip my bra, throw it to the floor
beside the bed.

   I watched her watching me, now completely naked in front of her.

   "Isn't this a bit one sided?", I asked, "Like, shouldn't you at least -
oh, I don't know, remove your shoes or something?"

   "Sorry ...  its this thing I have ...  I like being clothed with naked
people ...  or the other way round ..."

   I remembered something Dave had told me about his encounter with Kath
... well, everything Dave had told me to be exact, confirmed this aloud. 
"Oh, yeah, Dave said you had a bit of a control thing ...  but, hey ... 
whatever it takes, you know ..."

   She had begun stroking my nipples, gently nuzzling the skin between my
breasts but looked up in surprise.  "He told you that?  God, you guys must
be close ...  and yet you've never slept with him?"

   I shook my head, distracted by her actions even as I got a reply
together, "No ...  its a bit complicated ...  what with Phil - my late
partner - and the job and stuff ...  it just hasn't really felt right,
somehow ...  although ..." I shuddered as her hand moved down to stroke my
pubes "...  I suspect its only a matter of time ..."

   "I hope so ...  he's a nice bloke ...  the two of you should work well
together ...  and he's got a very nice prick, too, for what its worth ..."
She looked up abruptly, going red in the face ...  "Oh, shit, I probably
shouldn't have said that ...  I mean its ...  well ..."

   "Its fine," I said, "I know what went on, and I don't have a problem
with it ...  I mean you're a really nice person yourself ..." I shuddered
again as she began to lick my inner thigh "...  and ...  well ...  just
don't do it again ..." another shudder, possibly a slight groan - she'd
moved up a bit further "...  unless I'm there as well, of course ..."

   She laughed slightly at that - her mouth somewhat muffled by ...  well,
by me ...  went back to work with a vengeance.  I could feel the warmth of
her sweatshirt against my legs, the slight tickling of her hair as it
brushed against me ...  but mainly I felt her tongue and her lips ...  I
felt ecstatic ...  orgasmic ...  yep, definitely orgasmic, I thought, the
shuddering reaching a new peak and ...  definite moan ...  no, groan, no
... definite scream ...  god, yes, that felt good.

   When I calmed down a bit, I found Kath lying beside me, holding me
gently in her arms and stroking my hair.  She grinned, said quietly, "Well
...  that was quite dramatic ..."

   I grinned back at her, decided to assert myself and rolled over quickly,
sitting on top of her and pinning her to the bed while I pulled the
sweatshirt over her head.  She wasn't wearing a bra ...  which surprised
me, given the size of her breasts ...  but then they looked firm enough to
do without support.  I tried nibbling a nipple, then twisted round and
began getting her jeans off, too.  "Hey, should I get dressed or something,
now that you're getting naked?  Would that help?"

   She laughed ...  "No, its not that deep a fetish, thankfully ...  and
after watching your performance ..." I blushed "...  I don't think I need a
lot of help just at the moment ...  I just need you to rub my clit lightly
...  ah, yes, just like that ...  then maybe ....  ooh, yes ...  the tongue
is good ...  the tongue is ...  aah ...  a definite ...  uggh ... 
assistance ...  oh ...  oh ...  at this mo ...  aaah ...  ment in time"

   She gave up the commentary after that ...  or at least became
increasingly incoherent as I tried out a few of the tricks May had shown me
so recently ...  wondering at the simplicity of it all ...  the naturalness
of "unnatural" sex ...  just feeling and sensing the pleasure I was giving
...  with no strings attached ...

   * ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

   Quite a lot later, I lay beside her in the half light, listening to the
sound of her breathing and remembering the many and varied events of the
day

   "You know earlier on," I said, drowsily, "when you gave me a lift up the
valley, and told me how mad everyone here was?" She nodded in agreement.

   "Do you know I actually thought you were joking?"
-------------------------------------------- The author, no philosopher,
acknowledges a debt to wikipedia for the half understood references to Kant
and co above ...