The Builders' Report (chapters 7 & 8)

Chapter 7

By early evening, they had begun looking for somewhere to dine so they could rest their feet. The visit to the stately home had been followed by a walk through its beautiful park and woodlands. They had hardly noticed their surroundings because Jason had found a way of getting her to talk. She didn’t ‘talk’, unless it was to do with business, but it seemed that that had now changed. He had managed to worm information out of her that wasn’t to do with either of their businesses. His easy-going manner had imperceptibly slipped passed her defences so that she had relaxed her guard. For the first time, she found she liked discussing things whose only relevance was for the subject at hand. She knew she was stiff and yet it hadn’t seemed to matter to him as he continued to coax responses from her, continued to make her laugh. It was a beginning, but to what?

They had had a stroke of luck in finding a restaurant that was open; a French restaurant called 'Le Restaurant du Coin'. This was probably due to it being on the corner across from a very popular pub. Even as they approached, they could see a party of people leaving the pub, probably after a pre-prandial drink, and crossing the road in a bee-line for the restaurant. A slight chill had replaced the warm day. Jason naturally put an arm around her shoulders to draw her nearer to him as they too headed for the restaurant. She felt his warmth and actually snuggled a little closer. They were no different from the couple ahead of them, who might have been married. The idea added an extra dose of warmth to Cleo’s cheeks.

It had been early evening when they were given a table but they had lingered until after ten. If the restaurant had had more customers, they might have felt obliged to move on but the ‘patron’ hadn’t seemed anxious to be rid of them, so they only left with the last of the diners. Finding themselves outside again at the end of a fairly long day had left them in a bit of a dilemma. It was Sunday on a ‘Bank Holiday’ weekend and everything was closed and quiet.

“I’ll take you home, Cleo, unless there is somewhere else you would like to go?” Jason suggested.

She just stood there looking at him with an awkwardness that had returned now that she was put in control again. She felt limp and the chill in the air after the warm restaurant made her shiver. He put an arm around her sensing she needed sheltering and she leaned into him almost unconsciously, indecisive.

“Would you like ta see where I live? ’Tisn’t as grand as your place but I’ve come ta like it.” It was said without guile, cautiously and Cleo picked up on that. She hadn’t thought about where he lived until now but she found that she was suddenly curious to see his environment. She wondered if he’d have any particular type of decoration style. When she thought about it, she couldn’t begin to guess his taste in furnishings. ‘Please… don’t let there be jazzy carpeting or wallpaper’, she now hoped quite desperately. She was only too familiar with working class taste and shied away from it instinctively. While she was thinking, it had taken a fraction too long to answer, which affected Jason more than he would have liked.

“You must be tired. I’ll take ya home.” He had reverted to his original suggestion without much enthusiasm. He didn’t want to give her up, and yet, he wasn’t really sure that he had her. He began walking back to his car with an arm around her.

“I’d liked to see where you live. I would!” They were words said quickly almost as though she wanted to get them out before she could change her mind.

“If you’re sure…?” He gave her the chance to back out.

“I would like to, really.” The words encouraged him to give her an affectionate squeeze.

It was a semi-detached house in red brick. It was probably a post-war construction like those she’d seen many times. It was exceptional in that it was in a desirable, rather chic neighbourhood and it was sitting on a well-angled piece of land. Its location was near to shops and a train station. As he pulled up onto the driveway, a fox’s eyes shone white in the headlights and then it disappeared over the wall into what must be a garden.

“Did you see it?” She asked Jason excitedly.

“They’re all around here. Bet ya have them where ya are too. Guess they’ve been around for a while ’cause there’s a pub not far called ‘The Fox’ and one of the main roads is called ‘Fox Lane’. You’re not scared are ya? If so, sit here while I make a bit of a rumpus. They’re skittish and don’t hang about.”

“No, I’m not scared, just a little surprised…”

So, they got out and went to the house. Jason had his key ready for the front door which was an unpretentious, natural hardwood door. For Cleo, it was a good start which continued as he revealed the interior of the house. All the floors were a varnished wood which was darker than pine. Doors, archways, stairs, cupboards, shelves were all of the same wood. As he took her through to the open-plan kitchen, she saw that everything was plain and simple. Walls were a creamy white and the only colours to be seen were blues, mauves and purples in the throw rugs and cushions on the blue, over-stuffed couch at the far end of the room. A wooden table and chairs were interposed between the kitchen and couch. The cool colours in the room went well with the warmth of all the wood. She felt herself relax as she admitted she liked the look of his place, which was sort of countrified.

“Some wine?” Jason proposed. “Or would ya like a coffee liqueur? Otherwise there is always tea and coffee – decaf. perhaps?”

“Wine would be wonderful, if you have red? I prefer white but am afraid that it would chill me too much.”

It was probably the word ‘chill’ that had prompted his movement. Jason came up to her so quickly that she didn’t have time to think. As he reached out for her waist he commanded,

“Come here for a cuddle. I’ll soon have ya warm enough for white wine if ya want it.”

Like a dancer following her partner’s lead, she went into his arms and naturally followed his movement. His arms held her against his chest without trapping her and she gradually melted against him, happy to find him comfortable. After a couple of minutes, he let her go.

“Warmer? It was really a sneaky move on my part because I don’t have any white wine.” He chuckled, pleased with himself.

Cleo laughed and made a gesture to push him away but in a flash, he had caught her hand and had reeled her into his arms again bringing his lips to hers greedily. He was surprised to find that she responded, opening her mouth, allowing him to taste the soft flesh of her lips. She had retained a hint of the coffee from the meal but there was more to her deliciousness than he would be able to define. He wanted to devour her and yet was afraid that she, too, was skittish. He gave one last kiss before putting her away from him and turning to go into the kitchen to get a bottle of red. He hardly knew what he was doing and had to stop and think. ‘Ah, yes – a bottle-opener, glasses. What had she done to him?’

Their embrace had affected Cleo too. She’d backed up against a wall for support hoping that Jason wouldn’t notice her wobbly legs. He returned with two glasses in one hand, the open bottle in the other and would have continued to the couch but the way Cleo was looking at him, brought him to a staggering halt. He carelessly put everything down on the wooden table, hardly noticing how close to the edge they landed. Without a break in his movement, he took Cleo back into his arms and ravaged her mouth. She gave in to him and within a blinking of an eye returned his ardour, hardly allowing for breath. He caressed her as he kissed. He put both hands on her buttocks to draw her against his hard-on and then groaned because of his tight trousers.

Perhaps it was the groan he had made, or his rigid sex rubbing against her or perhaps just the smell of him, which caused Cleo to lose control. She tried to draw him nearer, to absorb him in some way. His tongue had begun to send chills, thrills through her that she could not ever remember experiencing. Her legs were more than wobbly, they were weak but it didn’t prevent her from wanting to wrap herself around Jason. Desire blunted her reasoning until she was aware that Jason had pulled her blouse free and was trying to unbutton her jeans.

“No! Stop!” The frantic words somehow escaped from her mouth the instant he had moved to kiss her neck. Her hands, which a second before had been pulling him to her, now tried to push him away.
It didn't matter if it had been the thrust of her hands or the distress in her words that had cut into Jason's desire. The effect was instantaneous.

Taken aback, Jason’s hands released her, his head dropped and he visibly slumped, his breathing heavy. He took one step back and, without raising his head to look at her, managed to say in a husky voice,

“Sorry, Cleo, sorry.”

To make things worse, Cleo began to cry with her hands to her face. Jason was bewildered and unarmed. This was something he had never experienced and least of all expected, especially as her kisses had been fervent, her body inviting.

“Please don’t cry. It's my fault. I thought ya wanted more. Please believe me, I am sorry.” He didn't know what else to say because in his many years of seducing or being seduced, no tears had ever been shed.

Cleo was sobbing, sniffing and wiping her eyes with one corner of the blouse that was loose. Seeing her predicament, Jason backed into the kitchen and got the roll of paper towels. He clumsily tried to give her several squares, one fluttering to the ground but at least one finishing a little crumpled in her hand. Gradually, her sobs disappeared and instinctively Jason went to take her in his arms to comfort her, repeating he was sorry.
She stiffened automatically, making him feel awful again; as if he had forced himself on her or was a threat. No one could accuse him of that. As it was now obvious that the evening was suddenly over, Jason said the only thing he could in the circumstances.

“Come on, Cleo. All I can do now is to take ya home. You’ve had a long day and I’m so very sorry it has ended badly.”
'Sorry. Such an inadequate, over-used word that is supposed to make everything right', Jason thought. 'How could I have been so wrong?'

Chapter 8

By the time Jason had delivered Cleo home, she had calmed and appeared to be nothing more than a woman who was tired after a long day. He had gone to her door with her to make sure that she got in all right but they hadn't touched or said more than a few words. For once in his life, he was definitely at a loss for them,. Rather than feeling irritated by or even indifferent to the incident, he felt hollow and hesitant. As Cleo opened the door and paused a minute on the doorstep, Jason, nevertheless, felt he couldn't quite let go.

"Will I see ya again?"

Under normal circumstances, he would have kicked himself for the plaintiveness in his voice, the hovering sound of doubt. She didn't answer but gave a vague shrug of her shoulders. In a flash, it took him back to his orphanage days when a similar gesture of indifference had hidden a lack of confidence. It could also mean that one was hiding something. What was Cleo hiding? He had come close enough that he had frightened her into action. It came over him like a wave of relief as he realised that it was really nothing to do with him personally. It was that he had come too close to something that she was, in a sense, protecting or masking. Now he was really intrigued because he had often been exposed to cases of dissimulation by kids in care. Hadn't his own cockiness been a bit of bravado so hide his own insecurity?

He took a card out of his wallet and pencilled his mobile phone number on the back. This was not his work phone number but his personal number, reserved for special people. The test came as he held it out to her. Would she take it and more important, would she use it? He felt obliged to add the clarification.

"It's my personal number. I really would like to see ya again sometime. If ya give me a call we can go to a pub, or... wherever ya like. I'm sorry Cleo if I spoiled anything. The day was good for me."

She slowly took it with a weak smile and a slight nod.

"Thank you, Jason. It was a good day. My behaviour is me, how I am. I over-reacted and now I have spoiled what should have been perfect. Give me time. I can't say better than that; until I've slept and am less tired. OK?"

She looked at him frankly and he tried to discern if he should understand more, if he were missing unsaid words. He slowly took her hand between his, gave the back a soft stroke, then a light squeeze and dropped it.

"Good night, Cleo. Do I get a quick, good night kiss?" he dared to ask with a hint of his cheekiness.

She laughed involuntarily at his daring after all the awkwardness. How could she not give this man a kiss? She liked him a lot and no one had ever made her feel quite so contented – until the crossing over of limits...
She leaned towards him and immediately took in the light, fragrant cologne he was wearing with the hint of something exciting. She planted her lips on his and he sighed. All was not lost.

"Good night Jason."

He turned as she did and this time they didn't wave to each other. They were both too lost in thought.

Cleo stood in the barren hallway looking up the uncarpeted stairs and then along the passageway towards the kitchen. There was enough light coming in from the street lamps and possibly the moon, for her to see how empty the place was. A twinge of guilt ran through her as she thought back to her conduct in Jason's house less than an hour ago. She knew her reaction had been exaggerated simply because she had panicked. Why had that happened when she knew deep down that she had nothing to fear from him? He had been drawn to her as she had been to him. She had recognised the mutual attraction from their first cup of coffee and yet, she was plagued by the idea that every man was out to get what he could from a woman, before running. She climbed the staircase with the lethargy that always came to her after she had cried. Toilet, teeth and bed. She wouldn't be capable of more.
Somehow, she got into her sleeping bag and it was the last thing she remembered.

Jason had driven home in a semi-trance. He lived less than ten minutes away from her, when there wasn't any traffic. He kept going over the day's happenings leading up to that unfortunate moment in his kitchen. Some of them had made him smile as well as making his abdomen stir. Little signs became apparent now that he looked for them. Her stand-offishness to begin and her general reluctance to encourage any physical contact. He had originally put it down to her 'class' or the work image that she must be used to projecting but he had soon discovered that as 'class' went, she was no better than he. The light kiss she had condescended to giving him as he prepared to leave had reassured him that she didn't hate him. She must quite like him because she could so easily have shut her door in his face. So – she was hung-up about something and should she phone him, he was determined to get to the bottom of it. If she didn't phone him, perhaps he would just make a point of contacting her. She already knew that he was impudent.

Reluctantly he returned to his kitchen. The bottle of red still stood majestically, unsampled, on the table, precariously near to the edge. He poured himself a glass and took it with him upstairs to his bedroom. Later in bed, as thoughts have the habit of doing, it came to him out of the blue that he really should buy some white wine. The day might come when he would need to open a chilled bottle of it.