In a Class of His Own (9 page)

“I
love …” he murmured, colour rising in his pale cheeks.

I waited and the dance of
joy skipped into a tango.

He
frowned, which lent his face a fierce, stern expression.

“I
love …” he began again. “What you’ve done with the flat,”
he finished lamely and looked away, concentrating ferociously on the
bespectacled lovely reading the news.

I breathed again,
ridiculously disappointed by what he’d uttered and shocked at my
expectation of what he might have said.

“Tha-thank
you,” I stammered in response. I gestured with my hand, nearly
knocking wine over my landlord’s pristine cream carpet. “I like
to have my things around me.” When he still didn’t respond I
added, “It looks a bit cluttered though.”

“No,
it looks like a home. More than my place will ever be.” He said it
angrily. The moment was most definitely spoiled.

Jack suddenly shifted
irritably. He looked at his watch and grimaced. “Look, I’ve got
to go, it’s getting late.” He rose from the sofa in one swift,
decisive move. “I’ve got an early start in the morning. I’m
going to see Jenny and Colin.” He muttered this to himself and with
an underlying violence that was almost shocking.

I saw him to the door,
although there was hardly any need, as it was about two of his long
paces across the room. I suddenly felt very awkward.

At the door he paused and
then quickly turned back to me. “Goodnight my …” He frowned
again, “Goodnight Nicky.” He looked down at me, his proud nose
casting a dramatic shadow over his face.

“Goodnight
Jack,” I replied, puzzled by his mercurial change in mood. “Thank
you for the wine and the take away and a lovely evening.”

He
took my hand in his and studied it as if it was the most precious
thing he’d ever seen. Then
he rubbed a cool thumb gently over my knuckles and seemed to be on
the brink of saying something.

I thought for an
infinitesimal second that he was going to kiss me goodnight. I closed
my eyes in anticipation and at the jolt of sexual electricity his
touch was creating. I sensed him lean in towards me. But instead of
lip meeting lip his mouth barely grazed my cheek in a mere suggestion
of a touch. I felt his breath stir my hair and his beard growth rasp
at the tender skin on my face. When I reopened my eyes he simply gave
one of his curt nods and walked down the steps, taking them in rapid
strides, disappearing into the darkness.

I
closed the door behind him and leaned my hot head against the cool
wood. I was breathing rapidly and my heart pounded. I was on fire.

I too
wanted to be up early the next morning but disaster intervened. As I
went into the bathroom my bare feet encountered a cold slippery
floor. Water appeared to be leaking out of the cistern and had pooled
in a great lake on the tiles. Frantically I stuffed towels around
where I thought the water was coming from but it was clear that it
could only be a temporary solution. What had Dad advised me to do in
such an emergency? I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and thought
hard. Stopcock,
that was it, I needed to turn the water supply off – and quickly.
One glance at the now sodden towels told me I had to act immediately.
As I had no idea where the stopcock was, I dragged my wrap around me,
took one look at the hard frost outside and unbolted the adjoining
door to find my landlord.

I
walked barefoot along the landing, feeling like the intruder that I
was. Jack had said he needed to be up and out early so I fervently
hoped I hadn’t missed him. I followed the sounds of Radio Four’s
Today programme which appeared to be coming from the far end of the
house. As I padded silently towards John Humphrys’ silken tones I
realised I was heading for the sumptuous master bedroom. Well, the
worst that could happen was that I’d disturb its occupant having
breakfast in bed.

At that moment a door to
my right opened suddenly and the man I’d been seeking stepped
straight out of my fantasy and onto the landing in a cloud of
fragrant steam.

“What
the f … NICKY?” Jack bellowed, startled as well he might be. He
stood there, magnificently naked as nature had designed and with a
horrified expression on his face.

I didn’t know where to
look. Well, actually I knew precisely where to look but didn’t
think it good manners somehow.

His
usual pallor became suffused with a dark red blush and with an
anguished yelp Jack disappeared
back into the wet room.

To my
relief and disappointment he returned a second later with a small
white towel wrapped around him. It was completely inadequate to cover
such splendid manliness and clung damply to every muscle and sinew he
possessed. It became apparent that while his face was proclaiming
shock at finding me in his home, another
part of his anatomy was showing distinct signs of approval.

However,
the man himself was recovering his composure rapidly. “Nicky what
is it, is there something wrong?” He spoke urgently and put his
hand on my arm.

I felt
heat burn through the thin fabric of the silk kimono I was wearing. I
backed off from this vision of masculine beauty
and stared. I couldn’t help it.

For a
minute I didn’t know what to say. I was rendered completely
speechless. My eyes widened as I couldn’t help but take in every
detail. Most people let’s be honest, look better clothed. It was
not the case with Jack Thorpe. Who would have thought that such
physical perfection lay underneath the conservative grey suits he
usually wore? I knew he was broad shouldered and long legged but now
he
was revealed in all his glory.

And what glory.

His
skin glowed pink with heat from the shower and was stretched taut
across an impressive set of pecs. Wide shoulders led my eyes to
Jack’s thrilling arms, with his finely sculptured biceps. A droplet
of water ran down his smooth chest and drew my gaze to the well-honed
six-pack
moulded on his torso. I sighed inwardly, his body spoke of vigour and
perfect physical fitness. How on earth he found the time to maintain
this body astounded me but I was eternally grateful that he had. I’ve
always prided myself that I can look beyond superficial appearance
and in the past I’ve been rather dismissive of friends who are
attracted by simple physical good looks but what I felt now was a
double whammy of pure, unadulterated lust. I wasn’t entirely sure I
wasn’t drooling. I certainly had my mouth hanging wide open.

“Nicky?”
He said again, with a deepening frown while grabbing desperately at
his towel which threatened to slip off entirely.

It was only then that I
realised how embarrassing the situation was. In dismay I clapped my
hands to my now reddened cheeks.

“Oh
I’m so sorry … erm …leak,” I managed idiotically. “Plumber.
I need a plumber.” I shook my head to try to get an inkling of
sense in it. “No, I need to find a cock.”

The merest flicker of a
grin showed at the corner of Jack’s mouth.

I
blushed again, furiously. “No,
the
stop-cock
.”
This time surely I had the sartorial upper hand and yet he was still
making me babble nonsensically. I took a deep breath, pulled myself
together and managed in a rush, “I need to find the stop-cock to
the flat so I can turn the water off.” And after that impressive
speech I winced and added: “Sorry.”

He raised his eyebrows as
he took in the situation and nodded. “Oh God it’s not the seal on
the cistern again? I thought Colin had got it fixed.”

I had to admire how
quickly he was recovering his dignity.

“Hang
on a minute, will you? I’ll just put something on.”

Oh no I thought wantonly.
Stay as you are so I can feast my eyes a little longer.

I eventually returned to
the flat some time later, with Jack’s own, and much more
unwarranted, apology still ringing in my ears. He had to go he’d
said, as he was already late for the meeting with his sister and
brother-in-law but he thrust the number of a reliable plumber in my
hand as he went.

Before
he’d gone he had dragged on a pair of jeans and had directed me to
the stopcock,
serving both properties and which was cunningly hidden under the main
stairs. As he strained to turn the damned thing off I had a fresh
opportunity to study the muscles in his back bulge and stretch. I
could stare at him forever. I was in hormone heaven and I didn’t
want it to end.

Christmas,
as Christmas has a tendency to do in primary schools, started
precisely on November 6
^th
.
I’d agreed the plans sketched out by Ann, and Monica the music
co-ordinator, and they looked impressive. The idea was to have an
infant nativity, and an afternoon of poetry reading and carols
followed by an evening gala of entertainment all on a Victorian
theme, to fit in with the history topic some of the older children
had been studying. The afternoon would also feature an extract from
‘A Christmas Carol’ acted out by some mustard keen Year Six
pupils, Joyce’s granddaughter included. The evening gala was to be
by invitation only and restricted to governors, staff and members of
the PTA. Ann had a vision that there would be old-fashioned dancing
and a buffet too. Luckily, Janice was married to the music teacher at
a private high school and he was organising their school orchestra to
play something suitable to which we could dance. Ann had also thought
it would be fun to make it fancy dress to fit in with the Victorian
theme. I’d worried that it was the last thing the staff wanted to
do after the long gruelling Autumn term but surprisingly the idea was
met with no little enthusiasm from the teachers. The teaching
assistants had even got together and were planning on singing some
Victorian music hall songs.

However, I had my work
cut out to convince Jack to agree to the evening’s entertainment. I
saw it as a powerful morale booster and recognition of the school
community’s hard work and commitment. He saw it as a frivolous
waste of time, money and energy. We’d had the inevitable heated
argument about it in yet another interminable senior management
meeting. But I’d never seen Ann as impassioned about anything as
she was about this and together we had gradually persuaded a
reluctant Jack to admit defeat.

I was
confident that Ann and Monica would do a great job and pleased that
all the staff were pitching in to help, but I had a couple of purely
private concerns. Where
was I going to find a costume and how on earth could I learn to waltz
in the time left available?

The
solution presented itself from an unexpected source. I’d popped
into Mum’s
on the way home one evening.

I thought she was still
looking a little fragile and far from completely well, despite
Joyce’s campaign and my father’s optimism that she was getting
better.

We sat
in the lounge toasting our toes in front of the coal-effect gas fire
and presided over by Dad’s beloved print of ‘The
Haywain’. It was cosy in the bungalow and I was glad I’d dropped
by. Beautifully stylish though my flat was it took most of the
evening to warm up. Beyond Mum’s rose patterned curtains there was
a miserable late November night, with a heavy sleet falling and the
promise of another frost.

“So,
what’s the new flat like Nicola?” Mum looked up from pouring my
cup of tea. “I keep meaning to get your father to run me over to
see it but somehow there never seems to be enough hours in the day.”

This I
privately doubted but I replied that she was welcome to come over and
see the place anytime. Just as long as I’d locked up any gorgeous
stray naked men beforehand,
I added to myself silently and grinned. Poor Jack, he’d never once
mentioned me catching him as nature intended. And the only person I’d
confided in was Bev, who had had hysterics on the ‘phone as I’d
related the encounter.

“Are
you feeling any better Mum?” I asked, as I took my cup of tea. I
was almost afraid of bringing the subject up.

She looked away, quick
tears rising in her eyes. “Some days Nicola I feel like my old self
but on others it’s so hard to go on. Your father, well he tries to
help but -”

I looked at her in alarm.
True, she didn’t look much better but I’d had reports from Joyce
about their activities. They had both come to one yoga session which
predictably Mum hadn’t enjoyed at all. But Joyce had persuaded her
to join the local WI and that had been more successful. The only
problem being that the meetings were held in the evening and Mum was
even more reluctant to go out at night. I shivered, on a night like
this I sympathised.

“Do
you want me to move back in?” I said quietly, guilt as ever quick
to reassert itself. “Would that help? I could you know, I only have
the flat on approval for a few weeks. I’m sure Jack, I mean Mr.
Thorpe, wouldn’t mind me changing my mind.” I looked at Mum,
selfishly wanting a negative reply.

“I
hope you haven’t been talking to all and sundry about our private
affairs, Nicola,” snapped Mum, with a flash of her old self.

“Of
course not Mum,” I sighed in relief and hated myself. “It’s
just that Jack is my headmaster and he needs to know why I have to
leave early sometimes to take you to the doctor’s.” I took a sip
of tea and thought how kind Jack had been recently.

“He’s
been very good, very understanding. I had to tell him something of
the situation and he understands. His own father is ill too so he
knows what it’s like.” I trailed off, afraid I’d said too much.
But Mum didn’t seem to be listening all that closely. I looked
across to what she was staring at. It was the most recent photograph
that Andy had sent. It was sitting on the mantle-piece, in pride of
place, with Andy grinning out of the frame looking sun-tanned and
carefree.

I changed the subject
hastily. “Mum where do you think I could get a Victorian style
dress? The Christmas gala at school is fancy dress and I haven’t a
clue.”