Chloe (11 page)

‘OK,' conceded Peregrine, ‘this is what she says:
His name is Carl and I know you'd
, bla bla. Sorry!
He lives above the tack room – I know the thought of a strapping young man amongst all that leather will probably drive you two wild, but calm down so I can tell you all!
Writes a good letter, our Chloë.'

‘I never went in for leather much, but carry on, dear.'

‘
We're the only youngsters here. Mind you, by your standards, Gin and Dai are spring chooks!
'

‘Sprung whats?' asked Jasper.

‘Ah, she explains,
as the Kiwis say for “chicken”! You know, just as soon as I set eyes on Carl, I felt strange murmurings for him which quickly transpired to be Lust, loud and clear! You see, he's big and blond and sensitive and sexy and perfect. And he kisses divinely.
She must know not to start a sentence with “and”, surely Jocelyn would have drilled her?'

‘Let's make an allowance – the girl's obviously quite beside herself with excitement.'

‘Dormant lust, I'd say!'

‘Whatever! Continue.'

‘Ah, sweet Chloë, listen to this:
As you know, Things were never good with Brett
– I don't know why the capital “T” but never mind –
I realize now that I have never really been kissed before. Before Carl, that is. Can you believe that after a month of near-kisses near-misses, we finally found ourselves mouth to mouth in a tack shop in Abergavenny at lunch-time!
I'm sure she needs a comma or two, but I'll let it lie.'

‘Gracious,' said Jasper proudly, ‘in a tack shop in Aberwhatsit at noon!'

‘All that leather!'

‘So public!'

‘So exciting!'

‘Wild! Please continue, do.'

For some reason, on which Jasper thought it best not to comment, Peregrine took a sip from the empty cup before reading more. ‘
The kiss lasted an age and beyond. And then some! In fact, was it one kiss or many? Heavens, it was so exciting I could hardly breathe, mind you I could hardly breathe because there were two tongues in my mouth and our faces were pressed as close together as was physiognomically possible! I could feel how excited he was, if you know what I mean – in the trouser region, if you like
.'

‘We know what you mean! And yes, we like!'

‘And I don't mind telling you that I felt positively glued to my trouser region!'

‘
Do
we mind her telling us?' Jasper interrupted.

‘I don't think so,' pondered Peregrine. ‘
Do
we?'

‘No, no, I think that will be acceptable, Perers. Go on.'

‘She continues – ha!
Do I mind telling you? I wonder? But who else is there to tell with Jocelyn gone? Do you mind me telling you, though? I hope not. If I know you two, you'll find it riveting! Well, there we were, snogging for England. I mean for Wales, of course. Light-headed and tongue-tied. I was in paradise. I was on another, higher plane and begged the moment to last forever. As I said, we had been kissing for hours – ages, at least – and if it were not for Jones the Tack (honest!) hollering “Hoof picks!” at us, we'd still be at it now! (Who knows, by the time you're reading this, maybe we are, once again!) After we beat a hasty retreat and the fire in our loins had subsided
– what has the girl been reading?'

‘I rather like that – fire in the loins!'

‘You would, you incorrigible old codger. I think it's downright Mills & Boon. Where were we? Fire in loins – ah yes: ‘
had subsided, we sat on a bench and, while I'd love to tell you of the view out over the dingle, I really can't – I didn't even get a glimpse. Mostly I kept my eyes tight shut so I could just feel and taste Carl, soak it all up. Savour the moment. Remember it for eternity. Occasionally, I opened them a peep and caught the dip of his cheek or a snatch of his ear lobe, or a glint of his eye.

‘
I'm not falling in love or whatever, I don't think, –
oh yes she is!
– it just feels so, I don't know, fresh? Fun? That's it – fun. Just what the doctor ordered after those gloomy, sterile Brett years. Strange how, at the time I thought them neither gloomy nor sterile, yet nor was I having fun and feeling adored – as I am now. Having traded boys for horses during my teenage years and enduring only Brett since then, it now feels so liberating. Finally I can snog and grope and do all those other fun, naughty, wholesome things!

‘
Believe me when I tell you his eyelashes are like pitchforks! Pitchforks, I declare! Oh, the beauty of the boy! Adonis is a Kiwi called Carl – and happiness is a gal called Cadwallader. Trust me, you two! I'll keep you posted. With love and passion
, bla bla bla.'

They sat in silence for a while. Chloë was miles away, a different country indeed. There she was having the time of her life. Here they were, Jasper and Peregrine, feeling the winter in their joints, sitting in silence in Jocelyn's house. And yet
silence
in Jocelyn's house was surely anathema.

‘Well?' said Jasper. ‘What do we think?'

‘
I
don't know
what
to think!' answered Peregrine.

‘Well,' continued Jasper methodically, ‘the girl is safe, cosy and having fun. She sounds happy, animated – like when she was a youngster. Now, what would Jocelyn say, do you think? What would be her view? What would she think? And, ought we to go by it?'

They sat quiet a moment longer, Jasper running the envelope through his fingers, Peregrine tapping the pages of the letter against his chin.

‘Jocelyn,' said Peregrine mistily, ‘dear darling Jo Jo. She, I'm sure, would be delighted. She may not approve of the sentences beginning with “and”, nor, perhaps, of the very public site of this first clinch; but she, more than anyone, wished entirely for Chloë's happiness.'

‘Remember how she loathed Brett?' reminisced Jasper. ‘How she longed for Chloë to find the elation and bliss that she had experienced?'

‘Oh so fleetingly.'

‘Just the once.'

‘So long ago,' rued Peregrine. They sat in silence save for a sigh apiece.

‘Hush now, we're becoming maudlin,' said Jasper tapping Peregrine's knee. ‘Jocelyn moved on. So must we. The past is indeed a different country, in which one no longer has a home.'

‘Indeed,' pondered Peregrine.

‘Alas,' concluded Jasper.

‘Come now! Back to matter in hand – our Clodders swept into the clutches of lust! I know damn well what Jocelyn would think – after all, was it not she who placed map and wherewithal into Chloë's fair hands?'

Jasper raised his eyebrows high, a lascivious twinkle to his eye. Peregrine kissed him lightly on the cheek and linked arms with him lovingly beneath the tartan blanket.

‘Good Lord,
Jocelyn
!' exclaimed Jasper, looking up to the eaves and beyond. ‘It
is
you! You're orchestrating all of this, aren't you, old girl!'

‘I've come to see Dr Noakes,' announced Morwenna breezily, shivering slightly beneath her inappropriate silk shirt. ‘For my
once-over
,' she explained, content that the phrase was sufficiently medical.

The receptionist, who was old, grey, unmarried and bitter, noticed Morwenna's erect nipples with flagrant distaste before consulting the time sheet with eyebrows still raised.

It's because I'm cold, stupid
, thought Morwenna, crossing her arms over her breasts defensively.
And just a little excited too
, she conceded to herself with a clipped laugh out loud. The receptionist gave her a withering look and hissed ‘Dr Grey' at her, with a jerk of her head to indicate the waiting room. As she flipped through a laughably out-of-date fishing magazine, Morwenna chanted ‘Why Dr Grey, why
not
Dr Noakes?' to herself incessantly. After an anguished ten minutes, she forced her attention to the magazine and tried to learn something new.

Plenty more fish in the sea? For an old trout like me?

Later, with her personal MOT renewed, Morwenna was slicing onions, wondering if William would remember their dinner date. She realized with some satisfaction, and a little sadness too, that she was not all that bothered if he had forgotten. The doorbell rang out energetically.

‘Don't tell me he's early,' she muttered.

Swiping the back of her hand across her forehead to brush aside a wisp of hair, Morwenna immediately wished she'd wiped her hands first. As the sting of the onions made her eyes smart, the doorbell rang again.

‘Coming,' she called, ‘hold on a mo'.'

She opened the door, squinting hard through the blur of salt-water clinging to her right eye. Her left eye opened wide, startled but sparkling.

‘Dr Noakes!'

‘Merz Saxby!'

‘Gracious!' said Morwenna, wiping an onioned hand over her good eye and suffering the consequences immediately. Blinking fast, she cried with some dread, ‘It's my
once-over
! I was too late, wasn't I? I haven't passed my MOT!' She sounded glib but was actually quite frightened. Why else would a doctor be at her door? After hours. Why else indeed?

Dr Noakes hopped lightly from foot to foot and slung his hands deep into the pockets of his well-cut navy blue coat. The collar was turned up against the chill evening and framed his face attractively.

‘It's chilly, Merz Saxby!'

‘Er, yes! Dr Noakes,' responded Morwenna easily, seeing through her salt-water haze that navy blue suited him very well. ‘Would you like to come in?' she said, blinking hard, oily fat tears squeezing themselves out but managing to creep only to the start of her cheeks.

‘Yes. Would you like to call me Robert?'

‘Yes. Would you like to call me Morwenna?'

Morwenna offered tea or whisky and Robert plumped for the latter. Blotting her eyes carefully with kitchen roll, she waited for an explanation.

‘You were booked in with me,' Robert explained, ‘for your
once-over
, but it was my decision to pass you on to Dr Grey. She's a most excellent physician.' Morwenna raised her eyebrows as if to say ‘And you're not?'

‘But that wasn't the reason for the referral – I'm a pretty dab doc myself!' Morwenna's smile of agreement put Robert at his ease, so the bush was not beaten about for a moment longer.

‘See, it would have been
un-pro-fessional
for me to have given you the
once-over
and, er, then to have asked you if you might like to have dinner with me.'

There!

Morwenna's soul surged. ‘Oh?' was all she could manage.

‘Would you?'

‘Yes!' she said, a little too enthusiastically. ‘Would you?'

‘Would I what?' asked Robert.

‘Why! Give me the once-over before dinner!'

When William remembered about dinner at Morwenna's it was already eleven at night and he had finished two rounds of stilton-and-marmalade sandwiches. First he thought how it was too late to phone. Then he thought that Morwenna would have phoned to reprimand him anyway by now. He thought it strange that she hadn't. Next he thought maybe she had forgotten as well. But he thought that odd as well. He thought for a while longer. But not about Morwenna – he thought no more of it. He went to bed, straight to sleep. Dreamless. He thought no more.

‘S
hit Chlo!' said Carl under his breath, ‘what an ass!'

Chloë spun on her heels and scrutinized her reflection in the glass-fronted mahogany sideboard which sat easily in the tack room next to the grandfather clock.

‘Woe!' she wailed. ‘Is it the riding? All that squidging by jodhpur and squashing by saddle?'

Carl looked puzzled.

‘Is it
very
noticeable?' pleaded Chloë, craning her neck and tucking up her pelvis. ‘
How
huge?' She bit her lip. ‘Well-padded or downright unacceptable?'

‘You what?' said Carl, none the wiser.

Chloë gave herself a hard pinch on the left buttock and batted doleful eyes at him. He broke into a wide smile and walked over to her. Turning her sideways on, he crouched until he was eye-level with her bottom. With a light but skilled hand, he glided over her buttocks; eyes half closed to assist his expert analysis. He stood up and turned her towards him. Putting his hands gently on her shoulders and not letting her eyes venture from his for a moment, he slid his hands down over her back to the base of her spine. Exerting a little more pressure, he traversed his hands over her buttocks and down to the tops of her thighs. To do so, he had to bend his knees slightly. To do so, he had to part his legs a little. This forced him to buck gently into her and, as a consequence, his groin was glued to hers. Keenly, he held on to the tops of her thighs, revelling in the base of her bottom resting lightly on top of his hands.

‘Shit Chlo,' he said hoarsely, ‘all I said was that you have a
great
ass!'

Chloë laid her hands over his pectorals which she could feel and define well beneath the ample layers of wool that the Welsh February decreed. She could feel his erection pressing into her appendix, as was its wont. Having lowered her eyes demurely, she raised them again to his. And smiled.

‘I thought you meant –' she faltered.

‘Daft cow!' said Carl gently. Carl's greatest compliments were his softly drawled insults.

‘You
do
know that my name is Chloë?' said Chloë. ‘Klo
wee
?'

Carl pulled his puzzled expression back down over his face, knowing the effect it would have on her. Chloë clenched her buttocks with delight, tapped him on the nose and gave his chin a quick pinch. Wilfully, she ran her tongue tip over her teeth, finishing with a flourish of a smile.

‘For some reason,' she said, squeezing Carl's buttocks which were firm and fitted her grasp very well, ‘you've taken to prefixing an ab
brev
iation – a true perversion of its virgin state.'