She said nothing, but simply smiled at him. He had to turn away.
“Another drink?” he asked, refilling his empty glass.
“No, I need to keep sober, otherwise you may take advantage of me,” she said, her eyes gleaming with humour.
He smiled, but his heart was racing. So, he thought, this is what is feels like to be in love.
4.
The doorbell rang, and Michelle looked at him.
“Do you want for me to answer it?” she asked, a naughty glint in her eyes.
“Would you?” he asked, seeing the potential for winding up his mother.
She laughed, and said, “Of course, would you like me to speak with a heavy accent?”
“No, just be yourself, please,” he said.
Rebecca Fenwick was very cross, as her son had done something without her knowledge and out of her control. She was a very attractive woman of medium build. She was what could be described as a ‘good’ fifty-one year old. In fact, she was excellent for her age and she knew it.
However, it was not without much expense and effort both on her, experts and surgeons parts. Her hair was a deep russet colour, and mostly out of a bottle, as underneath she was grey. Her figure was that of a thirty-five year old, and had cost her a small fortune.
The only daughter of a wealthy country doctor, Rebecca discovered sex at fourteen and with it, the power she had over men. By the time she was eighteen, she had lost count of how many men she had had. When George Fenwick had thought he had seduced her at a spring Ball, she identified that there were only two important things in life, money and sex.
George was forty and a very rich man. He was an experienced and moderate lover, so within six months, they were engaged.
Rebecca’s mother had been horrified at her daughter’s choice for a husband, as he was only a few years younger than she was. However, Rebecca loved him in her own funny little way, and the marriage had gone ahead.
They lived well, as Rebecca enjoyed a healthy sex life, and mostly with her husband. They had two children, Gordon and then Sally, eighteen months later. Rebecca found children distressingly hampering as far as her social life was concerned, so decided that two was enough.
The children were sent off to boarding school at the earliest opportunity, and shortly afterwards she persuaded her husband, now in his fifties, to buy her a house in the Caribbean.
Everything went well for a while, George’s business flourished, as did Rebecca’s sex life. George was spending six months or more in Europe, and she was free to find eager young men with whom she could cavort to her heart’s content while he was away.
In the eighties, the business started to struggle, so they had to sell the house in Tobago. She returned to England, and was more restricted in her amorous liaisons.
George was blissfully unaware of his wife’s extracurricular activities, as she was discreet at least. However, one evening, whilst indulging in legitimate marital sex, he suffered a massive heart attack, dying in his wife’s arms.
“Fuck!” she had said, and called an ambulance.
He was well insured and had catered for her amply in his will, thus her future was relatively secure. After receiving, and declining, twelve proposals within the first six months of widowhood, Rebecca discovered that her age was no barrier to having a healthy sex life.
Now, momentarily between partners, she had taken upon herself to identify a suitable bride for her idiot son, who seemed to be unaware that his genitals were for anything other than passing water.
She stood on the doorstep of his flat, having breached one of her steadfast rules, that of never being early or on time for anything. She was almost curling up in frustration and curiosity, so as the door opened she was wholly ill prepared for the reception she received.
Michelle opened the door, still with the blue and white striped apron around her waist.
“Ah, you must be Gordon’s mother. I am Michelle, I have heard all about you,” she said in faultless English, with a faint accent that Rebecca couldn’t place. Michelle held out a hand.
Rebecca stared upwards, forcing her eyes to travel down the extensive length of the girl’s voluptuous yet athletic frame, and then back up to her eyes again. Totally controlled and unafraid, Michelle stared into Rebecca’s eyes and simply smiled.
Rebecca shook the hand that Michelle offered and entered the flat. Her son was by the drinks cabinet.
“Hi Mother. Drink?” he said.
“Usual darling, please,” she said, but before she could move, Michelle had removed her coat and was hanging it up.
“Michelle, what a surprise. I didn’t know that Gordon had a house guest,” she said, as her son placed a strong gin and tonic in her hand.
“I am between apartments at moment, so as I have just been employed by your son, he was kind enough to offer me his spare room for a little while.” Her English was excellent, but Rebecca was frustrated as she could not identify the accent.
“How nice. You accent is illusive, where are you from?”
“I was born in Donetsk, in the east of Ukraine, and my family come from a small village to the south of the city.”
“You speak very good English. But is that an American accent?”
“My teacher leaned from an American, so I learned the accent too.”
“So, when did you start working for my son?”
Michelle smiled.
“At about three o’clock. Excuse me, I must see to the dinner,” she said, retreating to the kitchen.
Rebecca turned and looked at her son, who stared back with undisguised amusement. She walked across and sat next to him on the sofa.
“So, what do you think, mother?”
“She will have you for breakfast and spit out the bones,” she said, to which he laughed.
“Isn’t she wonderful?”
“Gordon, she’s rather bigger than I think is proper.”
“Mother, she is perfect. She is the first woman I can look at without getting a crick in my neck, and besides, her figure is wonderful.”
“She is not English.”
“So, she is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life. She is intelligent, funny, charming, and quite stunning.”
Rebecca looked sharply at her son. Never before had he reacted to any woman quite like this. She was a little surprised and shocked. She glanced round the flat and immediately saw the flowers, and frowned.
Michelle returned, without the apron. Rebecca silently appraised the girl, and had to admit that she was a very pretty girl. No, Michelle was too tall to be pretty, strikingly beautiful perhaps, but pretty – never.
“Dinner will be in about fifteen minutes. Gordon, could I have another drink, please?”
Rebecca watched her son pick up Michelle’s glass and pour her some vodka and tonic, with plenty of ice and a slice of lemon. She watched him hand her the glass, noticing his fingers linger in contact with hers. She noticed also that the girl smiled, and that Gordon was totally captivated by her. She sighed, her son had found a woman at last, and what a woman!
They chatted idly for a few minutes, and Rebecca was pleasantly surprised at the younger woman’s grasp of current affairs, also that her opinions were sensible and informed. Up until that moment, she had believed all Russians (and she included all ex-soviet states in that category) were ignorant savages.
A buzzer sounded from the kitchen, so Michelle got up and left her alone with her son.
“Well?” Gordon asked.
“She seems very nice,” his mother said, somewhat guardedly.
Gordon smiled, aware that this was high praise indeed.
“Have you taken her to bed yet?” she asked.
Gordon looked quite shocked, so shook his head.
“We’ve only just met,” he said.
“It seems to have been long enough for you to fall in love with the girl.”
“It isn’t like that. She works for me.”
“Then she is playing you like a fish. Be careful, once caught, you may never lose this one,” she said.