Rags to Riches. Nancy Carson

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      He rolled off her and tried to stand but his trousers, still around his ankles, ensured that he lost his balance when he moved, so he stumbled, falling back onto the stairs.

      ‘Oh, Stephen,’ she chuckled. ‘You are funny. Why didn’t you take them off first?’

      He laughed with her, acknowledging how silly he must seem, and sat beside her on the stairs. ‘I forgot I still had them on,’ he muttered, untying his shoelaces. ‘I’m not used to all these shenanigans.’

      ‘Are you suggesting that I am?’

      ‘No, Eleanor, certainly not.’ He kicked off his shoes and reached down to remove his trousers from around his ankles. ‘It’s just that I’ve never found myself in a situation like this before. Not in a hallway as soon as I walk in.’

      ‘Then maybe you’ll have to get used to the idea,’ she said with a gleam in her eye. ‘Come on, let’s go into the sitting room. I’ve opened a bottle of whisky.’

      She stood up and held her hand out to him. He gathered his trousers and his shoes in one hand and took her hand with the other, allowing himself to be led into the sitting room. It was not particularly tidy and the furniture, he knew from previous visits, was past its best and shabby, though comfortable enough. The only light was from a small table lamp standing on a whatnot in the curtained bay window that lent an ambience of intimacy. Eleanor poured him a measure of whisky and leaned over to hand it to him. As she did so, her nightdress fell open, exposing herself.

      ‘Thanks, Eleanor,’ Stephen mumbled, his eyes first catching a tantalising glimpse of the dark triangle of hair between her legs, then her long smooth flanks. He gulped with disbelief. God above, was this real? Was he really so privileged as to be bedding this beautiful girl so soon after they’d been introduced; this girl who had fascinated him from the first moment he saw her? Was he really to be so privileged after all this time of celibacy trying to wheedle the knickers off Maxine Kite? The effort of all that, compared to the lack of effort required to achieve the same result with Eleanor, was unbelievable. That two girls should be so different, should take such different attitudes to sexual contact, was thoroughly confusing. But thank God for it.

      Eleanor sat beside him, leaned against him and he put his arm around her. ‘Why don’t you take the rest of your clothes off and kiss me?’ she suggested.

      He felt like a god. It could never get better than this, surely?

      ‘All right,’ he breathed and nonchalantly took a sip of whisky before removing his jacket, tie, and shirt.

      ‘Don’t forget your underpants,’ she said. ‘And your socks…By the way, I hope you brought some French letters with you this time.’

      He fished an unopened packet from his jacket pocket and showed her proudly, amused that she had given him no chance to use one when he first arrived, that she found him so utterly irresistible that she couldn’t keep her hands off him. As he divested himself of what remained of his clothes, she shifted so that she was lying down on the sofa, then squashed up to its backrest to make room for him. He lay beside her, opened her nightdress and entertained himself with her breasts while he kissed her.

      ‘I wonder what Maxine would say if she could see you now?’ she remarked, trying to stir some life again into his nether regions with delicate fondling.

      ‘I wonder what Brent would say if he could see his dearly beloved spread-eagled almost naked across his own sofa?’

      ‘It’s not his sofa,’ Eleanor replied. ‘It’s mine. Such as it is…’

      Stephen had a mental picture of Eleanor in the stunning dress she wore the first time he’d noticed her at the jazz club. Who would believe she had such a fine dress while her furniture was so threadbare? Such incongruity. Brent’s fabulous Mercedes Benz, too, belied the impoverished state of their home.

      ‘Surely you don’t have to put up with it,’ he suggested. ‘Buy some new stuff.’

      ‘What with? Brent doesn’t earn enough to keep us in fine furniture.’

      ‘But look at that car he’s got. It must have cost a fortune. And those beautiful dresses you wear.’

      ‘We had money once…and you have to keep up appearances…That’s why I hope he’ll do well with this rejuvenated jazz outfit and make some more money at last. At least we’ll have your prissy Miss Maxine to thank for that.’

      He kissed her on the lips briefly and ran his hand over her buttocks as she lay on her side. ‘I hope so as well. At least while they’re out playing and practising we can get on with the serious business of making love.’

      ‘If you ever get this thing hard enough again,’ she said cruelly, and felt between his legs again to check on its current state.

      ‘Oh, it’ll soon be there,’ Stephen promised self-consciously. ‘Why don’t you tell me about Brent, Eleanor?’

      ‘Why, will that do the trick, d’you think?’

      He chuckled at her sarcasm. ‘Hardly. I just wonder about him…about you. I don’t know anything about you.’

      ‘Why do you want to know about Brent? He’s not very interesting.’

      ‘Do you think he’s interested in Maxine?’

      ‘Romantically?’

      ‘Well…yes.’

      ‘I doubt it,’ she said, dismissing the notion. ‘He’s only interested in her because of what she can do for the band and consequently his bank balance.’

      ‘Ah! So you think he’s using her?’

      ‘He says she knows what she’s talking about when it comes to music. She’ll improve the band, he believes. So in that sense, yes, I suppose he’s using her.’

      ‘Where do you come from, Eleanor? You’re not Brummies, are you?’

      ‘God! Do we sound like Brummies? We come from the Cotswolds.’

      ‘The Cotswolds? Fancy. Did you live there when you were first married?’

      She sighed impatiently. ‘Oh, Stephen, do shut up and kiss me.’

      He was about to ask Eleanor why they had moved to Birmingham, but, slightly miffed, he did as she bid and kissed her. She responded eagerly, parting her legs to accommodate his thigh as he pressed it against her. While his hands explored her body once more he felt the stirring in his loins that had seemed to be eluding him, and yet which was actually recurring after a commendably short time. He reached for his jacket, acquired the packet of French letters, but knocked over the glass of whisky.

      ‘Damn!’ he cursed, unable to believe his ill luck and stood with the intention of mopping it up with something.

      ‘Oh, never mind that,’ Eleanor said impatiently, and held her arms open for him. ‘Sod the whisky. Put the damned thing on before he goes limp again.’

      He looked down at her, at her naked body so smooth, firm and inviting, at her outstretched arms entreating him СКАЧАТЬ