We are sailing, we are sailing,
home again ’cross the sea.
We are sailing stormy waters,
to be near you, to be free.

Sailing/ Rod Stewart

Previously…

As she caressed my body, I was pleased that my breast forms were attached but really wanted some real ones so that I could feel her soft hands on the real me. I would remedy that at the earliest opportunity.

We explored each others bodies, it was so gentle and lovely. Her mouth tasted sweet and minty; her tongue was soft and deliciously moist. Her breasts were firm and her nipples hard with desire as they rose to attention as I licked them...

As we made love, we were crying again, not tears of sorrow, but tears of joy that we had each found a soul mate. Abby, I knew felt the same and it was a time of great joy, love and sensitivity…

I will not say more about that night except to say that it was the most wonderful night of my life and I hoped and prayed that more of the same would happen very soon and that my past would stay firmly–in my past.

And now the story continues…

I woke up the next morning with a smile on my face.

I was spooned against my Abby. I could feel the warmth of her body through the thin silk of our nighties. She was still asleep and breathing deeply. My hand was cupping her breast and it felt both soft and firm at the same time.

As I lay there, slowly wakening and trying to ignore the ever-present raucous cacophony of the seagulls–who appeared to be having a party on my roof–I remembered the wonderful things that we did last night.

Our love making had been lovely and sensuous. Making love to Olivia had been like riding a roller coaster, all speed, ups and downs and a hell of a lot of athleticism. Looking back, it wasn’t love making–it was sex. There is a lot of difference between the two and now, after last night’s wonderful experiences, I knew which I preferred.

Abby stirred slightly and I knew that soon she would wake up. I kissed the back of her neck gently. I didn’t want to move, it was so nice lying here next to her. I held her tight, knowing that soon we would have to get up and then the world would start revolving again.

Jocasta and Katie would come and, hopefully, we would decide on a plan of action that might settle Olivia’s and Nigel’s hash, once and for all…

Abby moved again and then yawned. Stretching slowly, she sort of snuggled back into me and then turned around. She had a sleepy look on her face and her hair was in her eyes. I used my hand to sweep the hair away and then she looked at me.

‘Hello, Tiger,’ She said smiling.

‘Meow,’ I replied.

We both giggled and then she came closer and kissed me gently on the lips; lips that were still a bit sore from our love making last night. But it was a nice sore, so I didn’t mind.

‘I have to get up soon,’

‘I know, the cats will have thought you’ve abandoned them.’

‘No, they know that I will always be there for them and I hope you will too.’

‘Mmm, is that a proposal?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think that I like cats and I love you, but let’s not rush.’

She sighed.

‘I know, we aren’t giggly teenagers, are we?’

‘No, we are fine upstanding pillars of the community. Could you imagine what Lady F would say?’

‘Gels should not get entangled with anyone unless they are of the correct gender, breedin’ stock and have been to the right schools.’

I laughed out loud at that. Would the village tongues wag about us and our lifestyle? I had seen nothing but acceptance here and regarding the Lady of the Manor–according to Jenkins, her butler–her bark was worse than her bite. Well if things continued like they have with Abby and me, we would soon find out what she thought.

I leant over and kissed her gently on the lips, then, with the tips of two fingers, I stroked the nipple of her lovely soft, yet firm left breast–

Sometime later, a little bit out of breath for some reason, we got up and had a shower together. That was interesting as do you know–well never mind that, I will leave it to your imagination.

After a quick breakfast, we went back to Abby’s place and fed the ravenous hoard. The noise they made when they saw us nearly drowned out the seagulls; they soon quietened down after some cat food ingestion.

I helped Abby to do a bit of tidying up, pleased that I was wearing some old jeans and a tee-shirt as it was a bit messy in places. Cats are good at going in trays, but why do some of them insist in tipping the trays up after they’ve finished?

It was about nine o’clock by now and Abby had another quick shower, (without me–sulk) and then we went back to my cottage. I left Abby to sort out some coffee, while I went upstairs, made the bed and did other hausfrau type things.

‘Sam!’

‘Yes?’ I shouted down.

‘Your jelly bone has just gone off. Jo and Katie will be here in half an hour.’

‘Okay, won’t be a mo. Have you made the coffee?’

‘Yep.’

‘Okay.’

I finished tidying up and then changed into a white silk blouse and black knee length skirt. Soon I was downstairs and we were drinking the coffee, sitting at the kitchen table. Abby was wearing a BOHO-type white gypsy blouse and skirt and looked delicious.

We hadn’t spoken about the upheaval yesterday. I didn’t want to dwell on it. The thought of a baby inside Olivia and what she wanted–or threatened–to do to the poor thing was more than I could bear to think about. I preferred to just look at Abby and think nice thoughts.

‘A penny for them?’ she asked.

‘Pardon?’ I said coming out of my dreamlike state a bit.

‘I said “a penny for them”. You looked far, far away in a distant galaxy for a moment there.’

I sighed. ‘I just don’t want to think of horrid things after what we did last night.’

‘Mmm, I know what you mean. I think the earth moved, don’t you?’

‘I never really understood that expression until now. Yes, lover, the earth did move.’

We were interrupted by a knock on the door. I went out into the hall and opened the door.

‘Hi, girls,’ I said to Jo and Katie.

‘You sound a bit more cheerful this morning,’ Jo said as I let them in.

‘Mmm, I am, thanks.’ I said, following them into the kitchen.

After more ‘hies’, Jo, Katie and Abby went upstairs to my studio where there was more room and the view outside was much more agreeable. I followed a few minutes later with coffee and biscuits. We dragged some chairs up to one of my work tables, sat down, had a bit of fuss and bother about who was going to have the chocolate biscuits and then got down to business.

‘Shall I be mum?’ Katie asked, not terribly clearly as she was the first to nab a choccy bikky.

‘You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,’ said Abby, ‘it ain’t perlite.’

We all giggled at that and then things got serious.

‘Right,’ said Katie. ‘Jocasta has explained what’s been going on. Have you got the letter, Samantha?’

I handed it to her. She read it with a frown on her face and I could tell by the way her mouth was set in a thin line, that she was less than pleased with its contents.

‘The bitch!’ She exploded with considerable feeling. ‘Sorry, Jo, your being a vicar’s wife an’ all, but sorry, that woman defies belief. You’re well away from her, Sam, but what are your thoughts on the matter? Your views are the most important and we need to know what they are before we can advise you or see where we can go with this.’

I looked around at my friends and then took a deep breath. ‘I—I’m really worried about the poor baby–that’s my main concern; I have no desire to see Olivia ever again and I want to start my life afresh. We’ve been through this before, Katie and my opinion hasn’t changed. I’m happy here. I glanced at Abby and she smiled.

‘What do you think we should do?’ I asked my friends.

‘Jo, any thoughts?’ Katie asked, after a moment.

‘As you know, I’m against divorce per se, but I do live in the real world. Olivia is poison. It may not be her fault–just look at her father; he’s hardly full of virtue. No, if I was in Sam’s shoes, I would try to protect the child but have nothing to do with that odious toad.’

‘Abby?’

‘Agreed, she gives us women a bad name. How she can even think of using an unborn baby as a bargaining chip, I’ll never know. She deserves to be dealt with, but the child must be protected, if possible.’

‘On a legal basis, she has rather shot herself in the foot,’ Katie said. ‘By writing the letter, she has shown intent to do something illegal if she doesn’t get her ‘husband’ back. The CPS* would possibly have a case against her. It is a crime to plan something like this–conspiracy to commit an illegal abortion. The actual charge would be conspiracy to commit child destruction–a very serious offence if she was mad enough to go through with it. Nigel would be involved too, so it looks like we have a strong case against them.’

‘Would they go to prison?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know, but the publicity alone would scupper Nigel’s chances of a knighthood.’

‘They deserve nothing less than prison,’ Abby said, forcibly.

‘It would be horrid if the baby was born in prison,’ said Jo.

‘I think––’

Everyone looked at me. I suppose when it came down to it, it was my decision to make and my friends were just there to support and give me advice.

‘I think that we should make it known to Olivia, that if she does anything stupid, we’ll go to the authorities.’

‘It’s a difficult one,’ said Jo, ‘if we don’t report it, we could be accused of hushing it up and then we’ll be dragged into this mess. What do you think, Katie?’

‘You made a good point there, Jo. However, as far as Olivia’s concerned, the only person who has read the letter is Samantha. I don’t work for the police force so anything my client says is confidential. Jo, you’re a Samaritan and therefore would keep secrets like this if told in confidence and Abby, what about you?’

‘I just love her.’

‘Awww!’ said Jo and Katie while I and Abby went a bit red in the face.

‘Okay, as you and Sam are metaphorically joined at the hip, we’ll treat you as a single entity. So, as I don’t want to do the CPS’s work for them, we won’t report this to the police. I can’t send a letter or contact Olivia as then I would be more officially involved with this than would be prudent. Sam, I think that I should draft a letter for you and you can send it. How does that sound?’

‘What will the letter say?’ I asked.

‘Just what we agreed–that if she does anything to the baby, she would be reported to the police.’

‘Okay, I just worry about the baby, I know it’s not mine, but any child is precious.’

‘I know,’ said Jo, ‘I feel exactly the same but the child isn’t yours, so don’t get any guilt trips over this. Olivia is the villainess in this–not you. Maybe the mere threat of revealing all to the authorities will be sufficient to prevent her doing something idiotic.’

‘Let’s hope so.’ I said doubtfully.

With that, the meeting sort of finished. Katie said that she would cobble something together and she went off to arrange it. Jocasta had to go to the church to stop Lady F throttling the lady who did the flowers and Abby, after a toe curling kiss and cuddle, went off to her pottery, promising to see me a bit later. That left me to decide what to do: in the end, I did what I always loved to do–paint.

Fifi was an interesting subject and looking at the sketch that I did, I tried to imagine what Lady F would like to see. I donned my painting smock, scrunchied my hair and then set up my easel with a new stretched canvas. Luckily, I didn’t need to prime the canvas as this was already done so I was able to waste little time and get started on my new masterpiece.

I decided, on reflection, to work with acrylics as I needed the paint to dry quickly. Lady F wanted the portrait as soon as possible and it could take weeks for everything to dry properly if I used oils. She didn’t seem the most patient type of person.

To be honest, I preferred oils, being the medium that the old masters used and giving rich deep colours that made a painting come to life; but I wasn’t a snob, knowing that unless you were an expert, you could not tell the difference between acrylics and oils. Anyway, soon I was deep in the zone and creating a portrait that I hoped would meet the approval of Lady Fairbairn and which, above all, she would love and cherish.

Today I was laying the foundation and getting a feel for what I wanted. The background was easy, my photographic memory helping to recreate accurately the scene and setting for the painting. I worked fast as acrylics are unforgiving and dry quickly, despite my spraying the canvas with water occasionally.

After two hours, I stepped back and surveyed my efforts. Nodding with satisfaction, I cleaned my brushes in water and then went downstairs to make a cup of coffee.

I had left my phone on the kitchen table, not wanting to be disturbed when the creative juices were in full flow. There were a couple of messages. I opened the first one.

Hi Sam,
Missing you already, your bed or mine tonight?’
Hugs love kisses and other sloppy things,
Abby XXXX

Grinning, I immediately replied.

Hello Abby,
Your bed tonight, my springs can’t take much more. c u l8er.
Love Sam XXXXX

The next text was from my sister Dawn.

Hi Sis,
Don’t forget, I’m coming with the mob on Sat…Told hubby about U & he’s cool, says that he wants to meet his new sis in law and hopes that you can cook better than me — bloody cheek! Kids don’t care what you look like as long as they get prezzies.
‘Hugs and lots of kisses,
Dawn
XXXX

I smiled and was happy that, at least as far as my family were concerned, they didn’t have issues with me. Mind you, when they saw the ugly duckling in the flesh, they might think differently.

I had just sat down with a sigh, dunked a digestive and was about to eat the lovely soggy mass…when I heard a knock on the door. The biscuit fell into my mug, lost but not forgotten.

‘Bugger,’ I said as I vainly tried to retrieve the biscuit before disintegration set in… Too late–it was a spoon job. The door knocker went again and I said just a few naughty words to myself and went down to answer the door.

‘Yes–?’

There, standing on the door step, in full regalia–dead animal draped around her neck and an equally deceased bird on her hat–stood Lady Fairbairn. She must have been hot, it was eighty in the shade out there and she wasn’t in the shade. She wasn’t sweating–sorry, Ladies don’t sweat, they glow–she wasn’t glowing at all!

‘Are you going to stare at me like a myopic tortoise for much longer?’

‘S—s—sorry, can I help you, M’lady?’

‘Well you can let me in for a start. Those nosey women across the road keep gawpin’ at me–no work to go to? In my day they would be scrubbin’ doorsteps.’

I let her past and she sailed in and I followed in her wake. As I closed the doors, I noticed two things, the lack of seagull noises and the gaggle of women across the road, in a huddle, no doubt wondering why Her High-and-Mightyness deigned to visit one so low as me–or is that I?

Lady F was in the sitting room and was standing in front of the fireplace looking like someone from the Mafia doing her daily round of protection money collection.

‘Well?’ she said as I walked in.

‘Sorry?’

‘Sorry? What are you sorry for?’

‘I mean how can I help you?’

‘Mmm…’ she said looking me up and down. I was acutely aware that in my paint splattered smock, I was looking somewhat less than perfect, but these were my work clothes and I couldn’t always be in a long frock and tiara.

‘How’s the paintin’ of Fifi goin’?’

‘Quite well, thank you.’

‘When will it be ready?’

‘When it’s done, M’lady,’ I replied without thinking, and instantly regretted it.

‘Are you bein’ insolent, young woman?’ she asked, her arched brow, arching a bit more.

‘No, M’lady, just truthful. If you want a quick painting, you’ve come to the wrong woman. I will do it as fast as I can but I will not compromise my art. I could knock up a painting in half an hour, but you wouldn’t be satisfied and neither would I.’

I waited for the lightning bolt to hit me or the earth to open up and swallow me–

‘Mmm–glad of a bit of honesty. For some reason, people don’t always tell me the truth. Jenkins thinks you’re of the right stock.’

‘Jenkins?’

‘Yes, a good butler is the fount of all knowledge and helps one to make the right decisions. He said that you will reflect the real Fifi and I’m willin’ to trust his opinion.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Do not betray my trust.’

‘I won’t M’lady. Can I offer you tea?’

‘No time. Have to sort out the music for the Sunday service. Do you know that they actually wanted someone to play the guitar in evensong? I blame Churchill. ‘Lost the election in ’45 and let Labour in. Country gone to the dogs ever since; must dash, lookin’ forward to seein’ Fifi in oils. Good day t’you.’

She sailed out of the door with a nod and strode off down the road towards the church. After a few moments, the women were back out on the street and the birds appeared again. The sun shone and all was right with the world–I hoped!

___________________________

* CPS: Crown Prosecution Service. See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crown_Prosecution_Service

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To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.