Rosie Dixon's Complete Confessions. Rosie DixonЧитать онлайн книгу.
How super to see you.”
Robert is wearing a green velvet smoking jacket with gold piping and a white frilly shirt. He looks as if he is about to compere Come Dancing.
“I hope I’m not too early,” I simper.
“You could never be too early. Are you going to wear that jacket or shall I take it?”
“Um, well, it is nice and warm, perhaps I can take it off.”
Careful, Dixon. You’re yawning already. Robert slides my jacket from my shoulders and, holds it up to the light.
“It’s beautiful,” he says. “What is it? Worth?”
“About four pounds,” I say. “I got it at C & A. It’s not real.”
It is only then that I realise he did not say “What’s it worth?” Oh dear.
“Amazing.” Robert looks faintly disturbed. “Come upstairs and have a drink. I’ve mixed us a teeny-weeny dry martini.”
He leads the way upstairs and I am impressed at how well furnished the place is. Lots of cream coloured carpet and white walls. Not like our semi where everything is scuffed brown and the shiniest thing is the threadbare hair-cord on the stairs.
“Is this all yours?” I ask.
“I own it but I share with a chappie in advertising—you know, we take the hippocratic oath, they take the hypocritic oath.” He looks at me expectantly and I am quick to smother a yawn and try to smile. I can never remember being so tired. Maybe it is because the house is so warm.
Robert steps to one side at the top of the stairs and waves me into a room containing comfortable leather backed chairs and a sofa. There is a sheepskin rug in front of the roaring fire and on the walls coloured drawings of people fox hunting. “Sit down and I’ll get you that drink. I know just how tired you can feel when you’re not used to it.”
He pokes the fire as if he has a grudge against it and I notice a hairy wrist protruding from his frilly white cuff. How sexy! I can see why Penny responded.
“Tell me if it’s not right.”
He hands me a small glass which has an olive on a stick protruding from it and I wonder what to do with the olive.
“I’m certain it’s lovely,” I say.
In fact, the first sip tastes like cough medicine and I can hardly swallow it. The only Martini I can remember having was red but I am certain that Doctor Fishlock knows what he is doing.
“Bung ho!”
“Cheers.”
It is very difficult to keep the olive in the glass when one is drinking and I look carefully to see what Robert is doing with his. He does not have one.
“If you don’t like olives you can always chuck it in the fire.”
“Oh no. I think they’re delicious.” I sink my teeth into the firm flesh and— “Ouch!”
“The stones are a damn nuisance, aren’t they?” sympathises Robert. “Now tell me. Where do you come from?”
“Woodford,” I say. Actually it is Chingford but I think Woodford sounds better.
“Oh. Winnie’s old seat.”
I try a small laugh but Robert is swift to realise that I have no idea what he is talking about. “Winston Churchill. It used to be his seat when he was in the House of Commons. Do you know the Wrights?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I used to play squash with the eldest son. I think they lived at Woodford. It’s on the way to Epping, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s er-um very nice.”
We nod enthusiastically and it is clear that we both think that Woodford is a very nice place. I stare into the glowing heart of the fire and realise that I am tipping my drink onto the rug. I expect that by this time Robert’s love truncheon was racing in and out of Penny’s spasm chasm like an express train with hiccups. Not, of course, that I am envious. Oh dear me, no. I am far too tired for one thing. Apart from my natural reluctance to get stuck into the pudding before I have had my soup.
Robert takes my empty glass and smiles at me. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say, wondering what he is talking about and wishing I didn’t drink so fast when I was so nervous.
“I’ve invited you round here because I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in ages and here we are talking about Woodford.”
I wonder how Penny got round here. She was obviously best at something. This sofa is so comfortable that I don’t think I will ever be able to get out of it. If only I could stretch out and go to sleep.
“You look gorgeous when you half close your eyes like that.” Stick around, Doll, I think to myself. You could go out of your mind when you get the full treatment. I look down and find there is another drink in my hand. It must be strong to taste like that. I could get drunk on the olives.
“I’m afraid I’m not saying very much,” I say. Good old Dixon! Slow on chat but strong on honesty.
“Don’t worry your beautiful head about it,” purrs Robert, “it’s a delight just to sit here and feast my eyes on you.”
“You are nice,” I say. I hope he likes the inside of girls’ mouths because he gets a perfect view of mine as I release my forty-fifth yawn of the evening.
“You poor girl. I can see you’re exhausted. Let me try something.”
The words “no” and “not yet” are framed on my lips but it is my temples that he caresses lightly. “Massage,” he murmurs. “Tell me if it helps.”
“Uuuhm. That’s nice.” It is too.
“Close your eyes.” Never has a request been easier to comply with. My peepers are jammed shut faster than a spinster’s legs at a Congolese bachelor party. “Tell me if it feels better.”
“Uuuuhm.”
“Put your feet up on the sofa. Here, let me.” My legs are gently lifted onto the settee and the delicious pressure on my breasts continues—my breasts? Oh well, I suppose he knows what he is doing. The room is so warm that I can barely keep awake. And talking of “barely”, don’t I feel supple fingers tweaking my naked flesh? If I was not certain that I would never allow such a thing to happen 1 would swear that my nipples had been exposed.
“That’s better, isn’t it?”
“Uuuuuuuuhhhhmm.”
Amazing the tricks that your imagination can play when you are practically asleep. I can actually hear the sound of clothing being removed. I stretch out my hand and feel—oh, yes. Now I know I must be dreaming.
“Is that nice?” murmurs Robert from somewhere inches deep in my subconscious.
“Uuuuuuuuhhhmm!” I murmur. “Absolutely uuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmm ! ! ! !”
I must have been very tired because it is twenty to eleven before I wake up again. I hardly have time to thank Robert for his hospitality and the comfortable settee before I am racing back to the nurses home. Whatever happens I must get there before the door is locked. The thought of having to endure what Penny went through is too horrible to dwell on.
“Your friend still out?” G.B.H.’s ugly mug settles into an expectant leer as he leaps towards the door.
“She had an early night,” I say, savouring the look of misery that spreads across the dirty old devil’s face.