No Ordinary Affair (7 page)

“There will be no school tomorrow,” he said. “I’m away to a conference in London, and to a special store where I plan to pick up a tawse for any student who decides to test me upon my return.”

I shuddered and he laughed. “Not that you will need it. I expect a very good girl waiting here to greet me. So I shall see you the day following?”

I nodded and began walking to the door. But as I reached it I stopped.
 
“Professor?”

“Yes, Mary?”

“Are there…others?”

“Others?”

I bit my lip and blushed. I knew I had no right to feel jealous or possessive. I was married, for Christ sakes. And yet I could not help myself.
 
“Other students,” I said quietly.

“Well of course!” he said, laughing and waved his hands towards the empty classroom. “I spoke of them the first day. Didn’t you see them all around you?”

I looked down, feeling silly and he walked over and took my face in his hands.

“Pretty Mary,” he said. “Schoolgirls can be so jealous, but put your mind at ease. Do you see anyone else here?”

“No,” I said.

“That’s right,” he said. “Only a star pupil would get this level of detention.”

He turned and patted me on my still sore bottom. “Now off you go,” he said and I walked out, feeling awful and exhilarated and confused and content all at the same time.

The drive home went far quicker, it seemed, than the drive to the Drumlin
'
s school. I prayed that Mark would still be at work. He was and I breathed a sigh of relief as I pulled up in the drive.

I was inside in record time and pulled my clothes off in the foyer, sobbing as I did. I smelled like sex and sweat and chalk and Ethan. My hands shook as I threw my clothes in the wash, not caring that the sweater was marked Dry Clean Only. I put the washer on the hottest setting and ran upstairs to the bath, where I stood under the shower for as long as I could stand the steaming water sluicing down my body.

I was frantically scrubbing my still sore pussy when I heard the bathroom door open, and before I could stop him Mark had opened the shower door. Fortunately my back was facing the wall and he could not see my striped bum.

“Do you mind?” I asked sharply, feeling awful when his appreciative expression gave way to a crestfallen look.

“Sorry,” he said defensively. “I heard you in here and thought I might hop in for a bit.”

“No. I…not tonight, Mark,” I said. “I’m sorry. I was just getting out in fact.”

As if to prove I wasn’t lying I reached behind my back without turning and cut the water off before grabbing the towel from hanging over the door and wrapping it around my body.

“You sure?” Mark asked with a small smile.

“Positive.” I said nothing more and let my expression do the talking instead. Mark quickly got the message and shut the door with sigh. As he left the bathroom I let out one of my own before stepping from the shower and reaching for the big terrycloth robe that hung on the back of the door.

I put it on, pulled the sash tight and turned to the mirror, where I concentrated on my reflection as I brushed my wet hair away from my face. I looked so young and plain and innocent without my makeup, every bit the schoolgirl that Ethan pretended I was. But I knew the truth of who I really was. I was a cheating wife. An unfaithful strumpet. A whore.

And I was a liar, not just to Mark but to myself. I’d told myself that what I was doing wasn’t really cheating. Now there was no question. I’d told myself it was casual, but even now I couldn’t stop thinking about Ethan Willoughby and how his mouth had felt on my breasts. I told myself it was Mark’s fault, but it wasn’t. Not really.

It was mine.

“I won’t see him again,” I said quietly to my reflection. “That’s it. It’s done. I won’t do this anymore.” I turned and pushed the robe aside to look at my bum, wincing as I did. It was striped with purplish lines that would take God-only-knows how long to fade. No, I could not do this anymore at all.

I quickly rubbed some cream onto my face and then opened the bathroom door, listening for sounds to indicate where Mark might be. I could hear the strains of
Dr. Who
coming from downstairs and breathed a sigh of relief. I’d be left to myself now, at least for an hour.

I put on my most unattractive pair of high waist knickers and flannel pajama pants and shirt before tucking myself in bed with a glass of water and a sleeping pill. I was not eager to face lying to Mark again, and if he found me sleeping when he came up to bed later I’d not have to fib and say I was too tired to entertain his attentions.

The pill worked quickly, but my sleep was not deep. All night was plagued by dreams of searching for something I knew I would never find.

When I awoke, it was to find Mark gone. On the pillow was a chocolate bar and a note reading, “Love you, tonight perhaps?”

I’d forgotten that he was headed in early to work early to welcome visiting teams from other schools participating in the science fair. Again I was thankful for his absence, and felt guilty for being thankful. But I had much to sort out in my head as I went to the closet to dress.

I reached for the dowdiest thing I owned, a pair of rather shapeless jeans and a worn but comfortable fisherman’s sweater and pair of clogs. But as I held them I thought of how I felt wearing those prettier things. I felt more feminine, more submissive somehow and there was something delightful about that, something I appreciated even if Mark never would.

I put the drab clothes back and selected a long, flowing black skirt, strappy black heels and v-necked silk blouse with tiny pearl buttons. As I put them on I noticed a pile of folded clothes sitting on the bedroom chair by the door. It was the outfit from the previous night and I realized in horror that I’d left it in the wash. Mark, ever the dutiful husband, had obviously taken them out and put them on to dry. I wondered if he thought it odd that the entire outfit, including knickers, had been thrown into the wash with disastrous results. The hot water had felted and shrunk the sweater, and the color from the skirt had bled into the blouse. The outfit was all but ruined.

My eyes filled with tears as I picked the clothing up and tucked it onto a shelf in the closet. The laundry mishap was another of a string of odd behaviors that Mark would have to be blind to miss. But it wasn’t too late, and I reminded myself that the whole mess was over now, and that I could concentrate on redeeming myself in my own eyes for what I’d done. I could redeem myself by being a better wife.

I arrived at the shop determined to work and grateful that
Miss Parsham
had not scheduled any outings for that day. Her company and ever-present list of demands would keep me adequately busy and leave no time to reflect on my tawdry behavior or the man who so successfully brought it out in me.

At lunch I half-expected Ethan Willoughby to walk through the door, so much in fact that when I heard the bell I jumped a little. But I was pleased to see not him, but Helen Costin, the wife of the accountant who kept the books for Curiosities.

“Helen!” I said with a smile as she walked over. As she did I instantly took note of her appearance. It was vastly improved since our last meeting. With her husband Tristan’s business doing so well, Helen had plenty of time to indulge her interests. Her favorite was horseback riding, and despite her stunning face and figure it was rare to see her out of her barn clothes. Today, however, she was wearing a lovely blue dress and matching heels and her usually braided hair hung loose in glossy waves to her shoulders.

“You look absolutely gorgeous!” I said.

She laughed. “Do I? It’s odd, I’m sure, seeing me like this. I just got tired of dressing like a stablehand.

“I bet Tristan loves your new look,” I said with a smile.

“Tristan?” she snorted a laugh. “He’s so busy I could walk by with a flashing light on my head and he’d not take notice. I think he’s become married to his work, that one.”

“Oh yes, it can seem that way,” I commented. “I know I feel that way about Mark at times. If it’s not school then it’s some activity associated with it.”

“Yes, they can be quite blind to our needs can’t they?”

“Good Lord, listen to you two.”
Miss Parsham
stood there, her lips pursed in disapproval as she stared at the two of us over her glasses. “You act as though your husbands are beating you three times a day rather than out there working to do their part. I’d have given anything to have found a man willing to do that. However, it was never in the cards for me.”

“Well sometimes getting married isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Helen said.

“Maybe,”
Miss Parsham
said. “Maybe not. I suppose the grass is always greener.”

She walked away with a laugh, leaving us standing there.

“So what can I help you with?” I asked, changing the subject.

“My Aunt Chloe. She mentioned she was in here a few weeks back and you had the most unusual watch, a little cuckoo clock..”

I sighed. “We did,
” I said. “But that gentleman b
ought it. The one who moved to the Drumlin place. Ethan….”

“…Willoughby?” she finished my sentence and stood looking at me, a shocked expression on her face. “You know him?”

“No,” I stammered. “I don’t know him. He’s been in here once or twice and made a purchase or two.
  He introduced himself.  We... uh... chatted."

Helen stared at me, her friendly expression completely gone. She looked tense now, and suspicious, her eyes looking me up and down as if sizing me up. I felt extremely uncomfortable.

“That’s a lovely outfit,” she said. “I just realized that you’re a bit more dressed up than usual, too.”

I touched my hand to my collar. “Yes,” I agreed. “I just decided to….”

I looked at her then and saw her eyes narrow a bit.
 
“Have you seen his place?” The question was put to me sharply, as if she were daring me to give her an answer she didn’t want to hear.

“You mean the Drumlin’s place? Why, I…no.”

“You’re positive?” Her tone was somewhat shrill, and it made me angry.

“Excuse me, Helen, but if I had why would it matter? Drumlin
'
s is a place of historic significance. Is there something about the place that’s dangerous? You seem upset about something and I’m frankly at a loss to understand what.”

The question seemed to bring her back to herself.

“No,” she said suddenly. “No, I don’t
know anything about it at all." 
She turned. “I must be going. Thanks for your help.”

The door closed behind her with a ‘ding’ leaving me and
Miss Parsham
standing behind the counter looking after her as she went.

“What on earth was that about?” my employer asked.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” I replied, but deep down I knew I was wrong, about more things than one.

“Well, we’re a moody sex,” Mrs Parsham said
, but even after her light comment, she was still looking after Helen, puzzled
.

I couldn’t help but smile. “That we are.”

Fortunately, finally, Miss Parsham's attention turned to something else
. “Well look at this,” she was saying. “How unusual.”

“What?” I turned to see her holding up a perfect, life-sized glass apple.
 
“Where did that come from?” I asked.

“The Weaver estate. Lovely, isn’t it?”

I put my hand out. “May I hold it?”

She handed it to me. “An app
le for teacher,” she said. “It’d
make a great gift for an educator.”

I closed my hand on it. “Yes.” I paused. “
Miss Parsham
, may I buy this?”

“Oh I don’t know. I may not want to sell it.”

I rolled my eyes.
“You sell everything. Come on now, sell
it to me. Please?
”

“No,” she said and I scowled. She could be so –

“I’ll give it to you.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “But put it in your coat pocket this once if you really want it. You know how prone I am to changing my mind.”

I did as she asked, looking at the glass apple for a long moment before tucking it in the pocket of my coat.

“An apple for teacher,” I thought, and the pain of his memory hit me like a ton of bricks. I’d promised myself that I didn’t care, that he didn’t matter, that we were finished. But the sight of that apple had brought all the desire for him,
and with it the doubts Helen’s visit had added to it.

What right did I have to be suspicious? Even if Ethan was seeing Helen as well, I was a married woman. I could hardly play the jilted lover when I was the one doing the jilting.

And yet I felt more down by the moment, and so taciturn by the end of the day that
Miss Parsham
took to asking me whether she’d done or said something to offend me.